The Girl Who Tweeted Wolf

by Nick Bryan

  “That’s enough.” The tears were starting again. Emily moved around behind Angelina, stooping into her eye line and pointing towards the front door. “I hope that helped, but you’re upsetting her. Time to go.”

  “Okay.” Angelina looked up at Hobson. “Anything else?”

  He just shook his head, letting Emily usher them out of her flat. Their host didn’t say anything else, just held her front door open for as little time as possible, then shut it behind them. Once they were back in the stairwell, Angelina turned to Hobson.

  “What happened to you in there?”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Choi. I didn’t realise she was this badly fucked. Didn’t realise people actually were this twee and sensitive, to tell you the truth.”

  “So you thought she was faking everything about herself?”

  “That’s more or less the size of it. God, wouldn’t life be easier if we just killed all the hipsters?”

  “She’s not a hipster, she’s just quiet.”

  “Whatever the fuck she is, Choi. Whatever the fuck.”

  *****

  It was a shade after lunchtime when they stopped in yet another local sandwich shop. Hobson was willing to settle for non-branded vendors if he couldn’t find a Subway. They sat at the back, on the other side of the counter and its ice cream boxes full of fillings, shielding themselves from the vultures.

  “So, ready to give up on it’s always the quiet ones yet?” Choi said.

  “Because it wasn’t Matt and probably isn’t Jacq?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe.” He sighed. “Still think it’s one of them from that company, though.”

  “Or we’re coming at it all wrong and it’s a business associate of that dog-fighting guy getting revenge for his death.”

  “Maybe if the second victim had been Pete or Ric, no reason to come after the colleagues though. I still think it’s got to be Social Awesome. Instincts bitchslapping me.”

  “So if it’s not the quiet ones, maybe it’s the obviously evil boss?”

  “Yeah.” Hobson took another bite of his sandwich. “Maybe all you people are right and it is him.”

  Choi was in the middle of a smug moment when she caught sight of the TV, flickering away in the corner of the sandwich bar. “Hey, speaking of the literal devil.”

  Hobson had to bend his neck all the way around to see it, but there was the news. The two sandwich preparation artists gazed at it, not even trying to disguise their boredom.

  “…Edward Lyne released from police custody, charges dropped for now…”

  On that, Hobson couldn’t stop himself bursting out laughing. “Fuck a duck, is Ellie enforcing the law by flipping a coin now? That’s gotta hurt. Poor bitch.”

  “That’s not very nice.”

  “If she’s going to arrest people on sketchy evidence because they look dodgy, she deserves everything she gets. I think I’m gonna go see him.”

  “Aren’t we doing a Social Awesome tour? Next stop Pete and Ric, surely?”

  “Those two arseholes? We can do them tomorrow.”

  “Or I can do them now.”

  “Nah, go home, Choi. You should get back at a reasonable time and without anyone dying. Don’t want your parents to properly disown you.”

  “You don’t need to worry, I can take care of myself.”

  “By going round to hang out with the boys?” He caught her eye, making sure to smile as she looked away. “Home, Choi. We’ll do them tomorrow, if I can’t get Lyne to confess now.”

  “So now your ex-wife’s let him go, you’ve decided you want to prove he did it after all?”

  “Shut up. Home.”

  ELEVEN

  Head To Head

  “What’s the matter, Mister Hobson? Surprised I don’t sleep in a coffin?”

  “Heh.” Hobson looked around Lyne’s tiny hallway, struggling to fit. “A little.”

  Coming to meet the well-tailored Social Awesome owner, Hobson expected his second towering townhouse of the day, a skinny four-floored monster like the Vole property. Instead, he was whisked up in a lift so clean he daren’t touch the sides, rising to a flat with nothing but shiny surfaces. Not even a rug as a comfortable pause. Well, at least he could be certain Lyne had a reflection.

  The reception area behind the door was small, but soon morphed into a huge room. It was bigger than the Social Awesome office or Hobson’s entire home, one wall occupied only by a gigantic window. Before entering this cushy building, Hobson resolved to be unimpressed, but this was luxury he’d only ever seen in films.

  The evening was settling in by now, it was cold outside — not in here, obviously — and they were in the outskirts of Canary Wharf. The part of East London where the wealthy held off the young and trendy by pricing them out of the market. The view was amazing, as long as you liked modern architecture. Skinny towers, fat blocks, glass and brick, standing firm against the fingers of sunset. A thousand panes of glass, a few people working hard in suits behind them, a million lives. If Hobson lived here, he could work from a sofa facing the window with a pair of binoculars, sending Choi out for occasional sandwiches.

  Anyway, Lyne was talking to him. “Drink, Mister Hobson?”

  “Got a beer?”

  “Of course.”

  “Go on then.”

  Lyne reached into his fridge and pulled out two cold bottles — it occurred to Hobson this host would always take the same as his guest, no matter what the depraved drink order. They moved over towards two leather chairs pointed at the middle-sized TV. These were the closest to softness in the room, but still glistened. Hobson sat down and almost sighed out loud from the comfort. Lyne settled into the chair across from him, curled his thin legs up and stared at Hobson from small, black eyes.

  Hobson cracked his beer open, and gave a friendly nod in lieu of a toast. Decent brand of drink; not too common or too trendy. This guy knew what he was doing.

  “So, Mister Lyne…”

  “I think we can finally get down to first names, can’t we?”

  “Okay then, Edward.” He forced Edward out, even though it didn’t sound right. “What the hell happened? Why did the police grab you?”

  “The same reason you treat me like a Bond villain, I suppose. Everyone hates someone who ignores the niceties of how things should be and just tries to make a living.”

  “So not because you’ve been knocking off your employees with a giant dog?”

  “John, why would I bother? I can fire them, I’ve set up their contracts to make that easy. Having them killed draws attention.”

  When Lyne said John, Hobson noted, it sounded natural. “So you didn’t have any business secrets you wanted hushed up? Nothing like that at all?”

  Lyne’s creepy smiling calm cracked and he looked away for a moment, gazing out over the sky. “So you heard we’re not all we seem?”

  “I gathered your company is some kind of halfarsed con-job and William Lane was considering outing you, if that’s what you’re fucking referring to.”

  “Yes.”

  “As if I didn’t know it was all bullshit as soon as I heard the name Social Awesome. Was that why you were arrested? Someone pass that on to the cops, did they?”

  “Indeed. Obviously, it was Violet Vole.” His expression didn’t flicker as he said that. “Considering I employed her as a favour to her brother, she’s rather rude and ungrateful.”

  “That is a bit of an arse-ache, Edward. Maybe you should have your dog rip her into pieces, or some such similar shit.”

  “John, please. It wasn’t me.”

  “Urgh. This case is such a clusterwank. Maybe it was all Violet Vole and she’s trying to cover her tracks.”

  “I think she’s just stroppy, John.”

  “You’re probably right. Doubt she’d have killed Matt if she was doing him.”

  “Violet Vole was sleeping with Matt Michaelson?” Lyne sat up, spine straight for the first time in minutes. “I thought she was seeing P
ete’s surviving housemate.”

  “Ric? That guy with the hair? He’s a prick.”

  “As is Violet Vole.”

  “Fair point.”

  But even as he bantered, Hobson’s internal computer clicked, hummed and spun. He flickered through his thoughts drawing conclusions, and glancing at the other guy, could see Lyne doing the same.

  “So,” he muttered to break the silence, “we’re both on the same lines, yeah?”

  “That considering they both lived uncomfortably with the first victim and had reasons to resent the second, Pete Vole and Ric McCabe are now our most likely suspects?”

  “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.