The Girl Who Tweeted Wolf (13 page)

“Christ, Edward, I don’t have a sister, but would you kill someone because he was sleeping with her? That’s fucked up.”

“I do have a sister, and I must admit, if I disapproved of the suitor enough, I might consider it.”

“Fuck me. It’s always this way, isn’t it?”

“How do you mean, John?”

“I mean, with the big murder cases, the messy ones in real life or on TV or
whatever
. It’s never just about corporate intrigue or some shit, is it? It always ends up being about Violet Vole’s vagina.”

“I’m not sure it’s always that
specific
vagina.”

“You’re probably right. Ah well. Maybe we can wrap this shit up at last.”

“That would be delightful, John. I’m looking forward to getting my business back underway. Shall we call the police and tell them our suspicions?”

“No.”
Hobson’s voice came out as such a bark, Lyne laughed. “Let’s sort it out before calling the filth. I want to turn up at their damn donut station with the right guy, a file of cast-iron evidence and the dog trotting in front of me on a lead.”

“Any particular reason?”

“I’m a right conscientious detective.”

“Fair enough.”

He stood up from the chair, even though it was amazing, and wondered if he could break in later and steal it. Best focus on the murders for now.

“Edward, I’d best be on my way, you’ve given me a lot to think about.” Hobson handed him back the beer bottle, with another nod and the thinnest of smiles. “I can let myself out. I’ll let you know what happens.”

“I’d appreciate it, John.”

Hobson strode out of the flat, squeezing himself through the corridor. As he stepped back into the lift, pausing for another glance through the window, he pulled out his mobile. Choi answered quickly, sounding nervous.

“Hey, kid. Got news straight from the evil horse’s nosebag.”

The lift doors hummed shut.

“You can’t talk because you’re
where?
Fucking where? What did I tell you about going there? Jesus Christ.”

It swept towards the ground, nowhere near quick enough for Hobson’s liking.

“Okay, look, don’t reckon I should tell you anything now,
get out
and text me a place to meet you, okay?”

“Good. Good. Fuck.”

With that, he hung up, and wondered if a huge chap jumping up and down might make this lift accelerate. It was risky, so he put it aside for the moment. Maybe he should call the police, though?

*****

Angelina sat, phone still clasped to her ear, a good ten seconds after Hobson finished swearing and hung up. She was silent for so long, Ric looked perturbed.

“Hey, you alright there, Angelina? What’s wrong?”

She tried to shake herself out of it. “Um, yeah, Mister Hobson sent me to talk to you about the, um, murders.”

“I guessed. Was that him? Did he grunt something and then swear at you for asking about it?”

“Um, he didn’t say much. Did you say Pete was home too?”

“Oh yeah,” Ric pointed towards his living room ceiling, “he’s up there, don’t worry. Probably crying about Emily or something. Soon he’ll be down and then we can get this sorted.”

“Actually, well, it’s late, my parents have worried about me since, um, that thing with Matt, y’know, maybe I should just get going instead.”

“You’ve only just arrived, come on, stay for a while. We never get any visitors since William got himself eaten.”

Ric had dyed his hair a deep black since Angelina had last seen him. She couldn’t decide if this was cool or unsettling. He wasn’t helping matters by smiling like a hungry wolf.

*****

“Ellie, you there?”

“John?”

“Yeah, can you get some uniform gimps over to Pete and Ric’s house?”

“Please don’t refer to the dedicated men and women of the Met as ‘uniform gimps’.”

“Fucking hell, okay, the house where you found William Lane, can you get some
people
over there? I think Choi might be in danger.”

“Your intern?”

“Yes. I think one or more of them two pricks might be the killer. I’d appreciate someone getting there before she discovers the dark side of dogging.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Just do it, for Christ’s sake.”

“Got any evidence for this claim?”

“Probably more than you did when you arrested Lyne.”

“For fuck’s sake, John.”

“
For fuck’s sake, Ellie
, you’re meant to be the law. Get over there before she gets eaten.”

“Okay, enough. I’ll sort it out.”

“Thank you. I’m getting on the tube now. See you there.”

“Goodbye John.”

*****

Pete entered, and Angelina gulped. He looked dishevelled, sweaty, rubbing his arms inside a thick sweater as if he couldn’t stop feeling cold. His angular face pointed down at her like an arrow. She preferred it when he tried too hard to flirt with her, honestly. Even Ric’s bright sarcasm and goth-haired grin diminished as the sulking presence drifted into their living room.

“Evening, Pete. What’s up?” he said, on the off chance his housemate felt like chatting.

But Pete just indicated Angelina with a thumb. “Why’s she here? I thought we’d agreed not to talk to anyone.”

“Oh, I know we’re not talking to the papers, but we know her, don’t we? She’s partners with the big grumpy one.”

“Hobson, yeah. The man who protected us so well, Matt died while he was downstairs.”

“Hey, Matt was dead when we got there, it’s not our fault.”

Pete made a great show of sitting down on the side of her dusty armchair. “What was that? You think I should let you off for being fucking useless?”

“No, I just don’t think… I mean, we weren’t there to
protect
you really…”

“My housemate is dead, my sister’s boyfriend as well…”

“So you knew Lettie and Matt were seeing each other, then?”

The two men exchanged glances, before Pete carried on talking. “Well, yeah. Lettie isn’t as good a spy as she thinks, and Matt can’t keep a secret at all.”

“And what do you guys think about the two of them?”

“Well, y’know, I thought Matt was a bit creepy and awkward to tell you the truth, but whatever makes her happy. Well,
made
her happy. At least Matt moved on from gazing at Emily.”

“And how about you, Ric?”

“Um,” Ric seemed lost for words, “I suppose I’m a little jealous. I mean, Lettie’s a decent catch, not sure how she ended up with a guy who got whiplash whenever he looked up from the floor.”

“I see.” Angelina nodded. She also spotted Pete darting his eyes towards Ric when he referred to Lettie as
a decent catch.

The small, brown living room seemed more and more cramped. It was getting hard to ignore the fact there were two of them, both bigger than her, and Pete was right up close, scowling and fidgeting. Angelina preferred it when he’d been uncomfortably familiar — at least she hadn’t feared for her safety.

“So go on then?” He jeered at her. “Whodunnit? Found anything useful?”

“I…”

“I’m sure she just needs more time.” Ric cut in. “Not to mention: at this rate, there’ll only be one Social Awesome employee left by next week. That one will definitely be the killer.”

“Thanks.” She nodded to him, chancing a smile.

“No worries.”

He smiled right back and Pete, seeing this exchange, rolled his eyes, levering himself off the chair with a heavy sigh. Angelina flinched away despite herself.

“I’ll leave you two to it then. Glad everyone’s deaths could bring you together. And glad you’re not lingering too much over my sister Ric, not when there’s some fucking slant-eyed jailbait handy.”

And before anyone could comment, he’d stormed back the way he came, ascending the stairs with maximum noise, leaving both Angelina and Ric gaping after him. Moments later, his bedroom door slammed.

“So, um, was that….” She trailed off.

“Yeah,” Ric picked it back up, “that was uncomfortably racist. Not sure what’s happened to Pete lately, sorry.”

“Lately… Has he been weird and moody since people started dying, then?”

“Well, kinda quiet, angry, comes and goes, leaves his dirty plates in my sink, refuses to wash them. Sometimes I wonder if…”

“Yes?”

Angelina was on the edge of her seat, when there was a string of crashing noises at the front door, seeming to shake the house.

“You two arseholes! Get out here and check yourself before you shit yourselves!”

The spell broken, Ric stared in the direction of the sound, looking like he feared for his life. “Is that…?”

“Yeah, that’s my boss. But don’t worry, he’s not really going to…”

“Hand over my intern before I show that guy’s hair a new shade of red!”

“Okay, we should open the door before he hurts himself.”

Ric showed no sign of moving. Angelina sighed, leapt over the arm of her chair and threw herself into the corridor. Before she went for the front door, she glanced up the stairs to check for movement from Pete. Nothing — the whole upper floor was in darkness.

She went to let Hobson in, just as his latest round of punching noises started up. He was so surprised by the door swinging open, a fist fired past the gap and over his intern’s shoulder, brushing through her hair. Angelina stood firm and stared him down as he retracted the arm.

“Do you mind?”

His whole body relaxed, fists dropping to his side. “Choi. Everything okay?”

“Under control. Are
you
okay?”

“Not sure. Might’ve over-reacted a tad.”

Angelina sidestepped to look around his huge shoulder. Five uniformed police fanned out behind him, along with Ellie. She wore her own sweeping coat and looked unimpressed.

“You brought the police?”

“I’m
sure
one of these guys is this dog-killer.”

“Oh.”

Ric crept out from behind Angelina. “Is everything okay? Have they got the wrong house in a drug bust?”

“Not sure yet.”

“You there, smug little prick.” Hobson spat that out on sight.

“Hobson, try to be nice.”

“Choi, I’ll be nice when I’m dead. Now, Ric McCabe: you didn’t like your housemate and resented Matt for sniffing around Lettie Vole. Did you kill them?”

“No, sorry. I’ve never been good with animals, they give me the sneezies.”

Angelina’s shoulders slumped.

Hobson turned around to his ex-wife. “Detective Ellie! Arrest McCabe
and
Vole until we work out which one it is.”

“No, John. Sorry.”

“Can’t you at least nab that one for obstructing justice by making shit jokes?”

“Tempting, but probably not.”

“Also,” Angelina piped up, “if it’s either of them, it’s Pete. He was being horrible earlier, and Ric said he’s been like that since this started.”

All eyes turned to Ric. “Um, I don’t wanna get him in trouble. He was just weirded out.”

“Oh my God, you’re useless!”
Angelina turned around and screamed at him, as most of the watching policemen burst out laughing. A few neighbours chuckled on their doorsteps.

Just like that, it was over. Ellie turned to her men. “Okay guys, we haven’t got enough on either of them yet. Since Miss Choi is unharmed, we’re out for now.”

They went back for their vehicles, Hobson and Angelina staring wide-eyed at the idiocy, as Ric slammed the door to his house. For a moment, it looked like Ellie was going to come over and say something to Hobson, but even that didn’t happen. Total anti-climax. She merely shot him a look before leaving with the other policemen, their space on the pavement quickly filled in by the ever-present lingering infection of the press.

*****

Hobson’s efforts to avoid sleeping in his office were not going well. This was the second night in a row, but at least he curled up on the floor rather than passing out in a chair.

But the feeling of progress was a hollow one, especially after his mobile phone woke him at eight in the morning. Not the alarm either, but a proper phone call from Ellie. Would she finally order him point-blank to get off the case?

Eyes still closed, he took the call.

“Ellie, hi.”

“John, we’ve got another body in the dog case.”

Now he was awake. “Fuck me. Who?”

“Edward Lyne.”

“Ripped to giblets again?”

“In his flat, yes. You can come have a look if you think you’ve got anything to add, please don’t bring the kid.”

“I thought you wanted me to fuck off to save the families?”

“You seem to be more in with these people than us. I need something to show the boss after that Edward Lyne fuck-up.”

“No worries. Although I will say,
the kid
is more in with Social Awesome than I am.”

“Don’t push it, Hobson.”

“Sorry. Any chance we can pin it on Pete or Ric?”

“That’s the thing, John,” she sounded disappointed, “after you were so emphatic about your suspicions, I put men on their house and we’re pretty sure they didn’t leave all night.”

“So it wasn’t…”

“Looks that way.”

“Oh
fuck
.”

TWELVE: Crusty Semen Inspectors

TWELVE
Crusty Semen Inspectors

Ten in the morning, Angelina in yet another café. She’d guessed becoming a detective’s assistant would involve hanging around, but honestly, she might buy a Kindle. At least she could catch up on her reading.

Not to mention, another gadget would help her fit in against this particular eatery. It was a chain she’d never heard of near Canary Wharf, among a cluster of shining buildings resembling mirrors. All the sandwiches were paninis, the coffees had Italian names, punters looked like cartoons of bankers. She’d dressed up, worn a suit jacket and her most expensive black skirt, but still felt like a pleb.

She ignored them, stared at her coffee, updated Twitter and fiddled with the black radio box in her hand. It connected to her ears and the microphone clipped to her shirt.

“Hobson? Testing, testing, testing? You in there yet?”

Her boss’ voice was a low bass rumble making her skull shake. “Calm it down, Choi. This lift wants to take its own sweet fuckin’ time while I check out the shiny walls.”