by Nick Bryan
“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
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.”
“Okay okay, sure.”
She glanced across the tables to see how many people were staring at her: only three so far. Good start. Even though it wouldn’t stop them looking, she started talking again to take her mind off it.
“Why are we using this microphone thing, anyway? You can get apps for this on smartphones if you’d just buy one. Seriously, like an old-fashioned walkie-talkie app, where you hold down a button and speak, that sort of thing. It’s awesome, kinda retro-cool, y’know?”
“Choi, please stop trying to sell me mobile phones, it’s just embarrassing.”
“Fine.”
“Good. Now, get ready to have useful feedback. We’re here.”
And through her earpiece, Angelina heard the lift doors sweep open.
*****
There wasn’t much blood in the lift, Hobson noted. It looked like the serial killer and their dog managed to keep things clean, rather than leave a spattering of gore for him wallow in.
As he stepped back out into the bright, tasteful hall, the door to Lyne’s flat already open, he readied himself for crimson spill. To his surprise, not a drop here either. Nothing in the doorway, or anywhere else, not even any spilt at the lift exit while trying to escape. The lock was unbroken, no cops examining it.
“Not much blood in the hallway, Choi,” he said into the mike, “looks like they’ve finally taught the pooch some manners.”
“You think they’re getting careful?” she murmured back.
“Either that or they left Lyne’s flat by abseiling out the fuckin’ window, or parachuting, or they’re still hiding in the…”
A sharp cough stopped Hobson mid-hypothesis. It was Ellie, leaning out from the flat doorway and already looking weary. “John, I thought I said leave the kid at home.”
She glanced around the hallway. Hobson smiled and tapped his ear. “The kid’s taking part remotely, Ellie. You got your wish.”
“Yes, John, but I didn’t mean…” She shook her head. “Fine. Well done, you win. Come in, please.”
They entered Lyne’s flat and, at long last, the redness started. Still not as much as he’d expected, though. The other dog-murder crime scenes resembled an explosion at a blood bank. This one was just Lyne’s body, mangled halfway off one of the leather chairs he’d so enjoyed, red mess limited to the pool around it.
“Um, still not much spatter, Choi. Going to look at the body now.”
Ignoring Ellie, he went over to the chairs and sat down in the one Lyne wasn’t using. His body was exactly where Hobson had last seen him: head and shoulders still sitting on the chair, legs hanging towards the ground. Those parts were unscathed, but between them was a bloody whirl of tearing. As if someone stuck a blender into his stomach, or held a dog’s head tightly while it chewed and ripped at a single point.
There were intestines visible, Hobson saw the edge of a stomach, drying up but not yet starting to smell. The scary black eyes were whiting out; skinny limbs made Lyne look skeletal after only a few h
ours dead. Second time in three days Hobson had come this close to fresh violence, but he wasn’t getting used to it again yet.
The huge gash in Lyne’s stomach was raw and frayed around the edges — thin, papery skin trailing off into blood. Hobson, as the external consultant, could feel the police in the room and Choi in his ear, all waiting for keen insight. All he could summon up was: “Fuck me.”
“I’m alright, thanks John,” Ellie came back first, “got anything else?”
“The arsehole must be bonding with his dog to get such a precise job here, after the last two bloody splatterfucks.”
“Maybe it wasn’t the dog? Maybe someone just wants us to think it is?”
“Maybe.”
“Or Lyne was the killer and the dog turned on him?”
“Could be.”
“Well, thanks for coming, John. You’ve been very useful.”
“Oh, quiet down.”
Hobson stood up and scanned across the room. Ended up gazing out of the huge window that made up one wall of Lyne’s flat. In the mid-morning, the view was drab and grey, rather than the twinkling cityscape of last night. No romance anymore, he thought.
After the silence went on long enough, Choi piped up: “So, um, what’s it like up there?”
“Not as messy as you’d think, Choi. Looks like our killer’s been taking the dog to obedience classes, or doing the job himself with big knives.”
“But how would they even get a dog up a building that cushy without someone noticing? I mean, I’m sitting down here looking at the entrance, the security on the door is huge, plus they might have cameras.”
“You… raise a valid point.” Hobson spoke slow, cogs whirring in his mind until he turned around. “Hey, Ellie, you turned the old CSI loose on this place yet? Any dog hairs in the lift or anything?”
“CSI?”
“Forensics. Crusty Semen Inspectors. Whatever you call them. The men with the microscopes.”
“They’ve been and gone. We’re talking to witnesses, but no-one seems to have seen anything.”
“And Pete and Ric never moved from their house overnight?”
“Not according to the two officers watching it.”
“I’m liking this, Ellie. It’s like being a real cop.”
“Get to the point, John, or I’ll throw you out.”
Hobson stood there, nodding for a few moments. He took another glance back at the window, and then finally made eye contact with Ellie. “Gotta go, Ellie. Sources to check out. But I think we’re close. Let me know if the Semen People find anything.”
“Yeah, okay.” He was halfway out of the door already by the time she yelled after him: “John, I hope you’re not hiding anything. Ex-husband or not, I won’t tolerate you obstructing the police.”
“Nope, of course not. Everything’s great!”
He yelled that back to her just after pressing the button, and sighed as the lift doors closed. “Choi, you out there?”
“Yeah. What the hell just happened?”
“We’re going back to Social Awesome. I gotta… check some records.”
“It was Lyne, wasn’t it? He’s evil, just like we always knew?”
“No fuckin’ comment.”
*****
“Guys! Hi!” Jacq said, waving as Angelina re-entered the Inspiration Gestation Station, Hobson just behind her. Angelina tried not to let her eyes widen at the sight of Jacq behind the reception desk, but couldn’t quite manage it.
“Jacq, hi, weren’t you…” Angelina took a few seconds to find the words, so of course, Hobson cut in.
“Dribbling, shouting and crying on a sofa like a crazy woman? And only yesterday, as well. You sure you should be in work?”
Jacq’s smile stayed rooted beneath her tumble of hair, but the rest of her face wavered. “You were right, Mister Hobson, I heard you saying that nothing had really happened to me, so I shouldn’t make too much of a fuss.”
“Ah, well, you shouldn’t take me too seriously, y’know, I say all kinds of shit. You wouldn’t believe the amount of stuff I tell people to shove up their arse.”
There was a silence as the two women let that sink in.
Angelina tried to summarise the situation. “What Hobson meant to say is: you shouldn’t force yourself back to work just because he’s rude.”
“I’m fine,” Jacq said, smiling still. “It’s good to be back. I want people to take me seriously, you know? I don’t want to be some precious flower who needs weeks off work to recover from a slight knock to the head. I mean, you’re about twelve, you saw a lot more than me that night, and you’re still going.”
“I’m sixteen!” Angelina yelled out, as Hobson and Jacq burst into laughter.
“Anyway,” Jacq said through the last of the snorts, “you guys want to go back up to Social Awesome?”
“Yeah, sign us in. Got to look at some stuff.”
They filled out the visitor form and stepped into the flower-covered lift. Jacq kept eye contact and a firm smile until they were out of sight.
“Gotta say, I’m impressed with her.” Hobson commented as they hummed upwards.
“You don’t think she’s a little not-okay underneath? Maybe she should let herself rest?”
“You are what you do, Choi. If she thinks she’s up to coming in, no reason not to try. Gotta be better than Emily’s sofa.”
“I suppose.”
*****
Social Awesome was getting dusty. No-one had done a second of work there since Matt died, and Hobson couldn’t imagine the death of the owner would encourage them. The desk chairs were all neatly pushed in, police forensics took Matt’s body parts but refused to mop up the bloodstains. The smell was getting into the air now, even Hobson recoiled a little.
“Christ, you’d think the building would’ve cleaned up by now,” Hobson grumbled to no-one in particular. “Do they ever want anyone to rent this office again?”
“So you think Social Awesome’s finished?”
“Considering it was a scam to begin with, I can’t see it surviving Lyne dying, no. That’s why we’re here.”
She looked around the desks and stray papers. “Why?”
“To go through this stuff before they start emptying out the place. This is our chance to straighten out what’s going on.”
“I thought we’d already settled on Pete and Ric.”
“We have. But we still gotta make sure we haven’t missed anything, maybe find some clue.” It was leg-work, it bored Hobson a little, but he wanted to close this case before the weekend and it was already Thursday lunchtime.
“Okay.”
“Glad we settled that. So, one desk at a time, Choi. Let’s try and get this over with in time for a sandwich.”
*****
An hour later, Hobson looked up from a file and yelled. “Okay, I think I’m nearly through. Can we run through who’s still alive and make sure we’re on the same page?”
His sidekick shrugged. “If you like.”
“Okay, so: Emily Allen — blonde, bossy, executive complainer, fancied by Matt, William and Pete. Two of those guys now dead. Connection?”
“You think she killed Matt and William, so Pete is next?”
“Nah, not really. She doesn’t like us, though.”
“She’s just refined. Maybe if you toned down the swearing.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Okay, my turn. Jacq Miller. Twee, quiet, lovable, probably not a serial killer.”
“But, Choi, she does seem kind to animals. Maybe she bonded with the vicious dog and it turned her evil.”
“Maybe. She does seem less pathetic than we suspected.”
“Oh God, I was joking. Move on.”
“Okay then… last woman in the group, Lettie Vole, Pete’s sister. Angry, temperamental, swears almost as much as you. Does that make her a killer?”
“I dunno. Matt was her boyfriend and she seemed pretty upset when he died.”
“Unless it was a cover.”<
br />
“Unless it was a double-bluff.”
“Really?”
“Nah, doubt it’s her, but she might know something useful. Which brings us on to our likely real killer: Peter Vole. Lettie’s brother, creepy, prone to unpleasant anger, needed more spanking as a child, in my expert fuckin’ opinion.”
“Thanks, Hobson.”
“Any time. The question is, why? Jealousy over Emily, his sister, both? And why do Edward Lyne?”
“Throw us off the trail?”
“Maybe. Maybe he just likes being a serial killer. Desire for fame, y’know.”
“And Pete’s housemate Ric McCabe. You don’t like him, do you?”
“No. Tedious, unfunny, tryhard prick. Stupid hair.”
“I think he’s fun.”
“You’re a teenage girl, you would. If he were still sixteen, his behaviour might be forgivable. But he isn’t, so he should be next in line for that spanking.”
“But you don’t think he’s the killer?”
“No, he’s not got the balls. Might be covering Pete’s tracks though.”
*****
Hobson leaned back and tossed his final file aside.
“Well, Choi, I’ve worked out that Pete expenses most of his lunches for no reason. What a tosser. Let’s beat him up regardless.” Angelina didn’t give him the courtesy of a response, so he dug harder. “You got anything?”
“Not much. Emily didn’t lock the instant messenger logs on her computer, so I’ve got a load of Google Chat records showing her avoiding taking lunch at the same time as Pete or Matt.”
“Print them out just in case.”
Angelina blushed as she scrolled a bit further down. “Fair bit of, um, dodgy chats with William Lane too.”
Hobson rose out of Pete’s desk chair, circled around the bloodstains and leaned in over her shoulder, before bursting out laughing. It was so loud, her ears ached. “Brilliant. And disgusting. Don’t let me catch you printing those out to take home.”
Angelina closed the chat logs with a shudder and got up from Emily’s computer. “Have we found anything useful yet?”
“No, it’s all shit. I got one more big part to go, though: Lyne’s private office.”
In perfect sync, they looked over towards it. Door shut, it loomed in the corner like some grim cave, dragon inside ready to pounce.
