The Girl Who Tweeted Wolf (12 page)

“Yeah, hi. What do you two want?”

“Is Jacq here?” Hobson said, straight to business.

“Maybe.”

“We were wondering if we could ask her a few questions about what happened back at the office.”

“Weren’t you both right there?” Emily said.

“She was there earlier, though.”

“I don’t think she’s up to it.”

“Come on, look, Mister Lyne wants us to sort all this out. Give us a few minutes and we’ll be out of your hair. Don’t you
want
to catch whoever killed Matt?”

Emily’s hand twitched on the edge of her door, as if weighing up smashing it into his face, but she nodded in the end. “Okay. Fine.”

Angelina wondered if she knew Edward Lyne had been arrested. Possibly not, as the door flew open without a word about it, allowing them to step into her spotless blue-painted corridor.

“So, um, bad news about Matt, isn’t it?” Angelina had another go at connecting with Emily as they pulled their coats off.

“He was a harmless enough guy, I suppose.”

“Did you know he was dating Lettie?”

“Really? Wow. I suppose it had been a while since he asked me out. At least he wasn’t
too
weird about it.”

“He seemed a
bit
weird.”

“Well, at least he didn’t stare at my tits as blatantly as Pete.”

“Yeah, I know, I hate it when people stare at my, um, yeah.”

Angelina trailed off her attempt to sound grown-up, feeling a blush spread upwards. She couldn’t help but notice Hobson and Emily exchanging smiles.

They faced the door on the left. Emily put a hand on the doorknob and paused, all trace of amusement dropping away. “Could you please try and be nice? Jacq hasn’t been great since it happened, okay?”

“We’ll be charming,” said Hobson, “now let’s get to it.”

Not looking reassured, Emily leaned into the door. It swung open to reveal a decent-sized front room, with two sofas, a huge window, more of that blue colour and a medium TV. There were a few bland paintings up, a toy teddy bear on the mantelpiece. Finishing off the decor, sprawled across one sofa, was Jacqueline Miller.

Her pyjamas were sweated through and baggy — probably borrowed from the bigger Emily — curly hair clinging together, moaning in fitful sleep.

Angelina drew away. “Hobson, maybe we
should
come back later.”

She never got to hear a reply, as Jacq lurched up from the sofa like a zombie. She turned to see the two of them, then started panting, breathing heavily and yelling, eyes fluttering, legs finally moving to the edge of the sofa and wrecking her balance. As she tumbled backwards onto the floor, Emily rushed around to check she was okay.

“Fuck me,” Hobson muttered, “my contact said there wasn’t any brain damage. And why do people keep bloody wailing at us today?”

“What’s wrong with her?” Angelina muttered.

“Looks like trauma.” He scratched his head. “She’s either a
really
sensitive soul, or she’s over-acting the shit out of it.”

“And which one do you think it is?”

“What do you fuckin’ think?”

*****

Watching Emily coax Jacq back onto the sofa was boring Hobson rigid. And not in the good way.

First, they talked on the floor for a while, then Emily helped Jacq stand up, and
then
she needed hours of assistance to lie down again. How could the basic act of falling over take so long? Didn’t these women know he had better things to do?

Hobson realised Choi was glaring at him.

“Yes? What’s wrong?

“You’re tapping your foot and muttering, could you try not to? Must be very pressuring for poor Jacq.”

“
Poor Jacq
my arse.”

“Charming.”

After a few minutes of work, Emily had Jacq comfortable again. She looked disappointed to see Hobson and Choi were still there.

“Okay,” Emily said, “I suppose you can talk to her now. If you must.”

“About time.”

She stepped back to let them file around Jacq’s sofa. Hobson loomed overhead, while Choi sat down near her legs. Jacq was staring straight ahead, pale as anything, eyes wide, off-white dressing on her head where they’d sewn it shut. Curly hair splayed all around her, limp and washed out.

Looking down at Jacq, as she gazed back like a poor, helpless injured bird, Hobson scowled, trying to get
some
reaction. Any rumble of vicious anger which might hint that her helplessness was all faked. Taking his silence as a cue to move in, Choi leaned closer and started the interview herself.

*****

“So, um, Jacq, I’m Angelina, do you remember me? And this is Hobson?”

She nodded, Hobson grunted.

“Do you remember we were investigating the murders?”

Another faint nod.

“Look, we don’t want to upset you, but can we ask you some questions about Matt dying?”

“Yes. Of course, I want to help.”

“Okay. Do you have any idea who ambushed you in the lift that night?”

“Um, I don’t know. Big hands, I think, breathing sounded like a man, but he might’ve had the dog with him, I couldn’t remember.”

“That’s good, thanks.” Angelina grabbed her hand. “Do you have any idea who might want to hurt Matt
and
William Lane?”

“Matt was awkward, William never really fitted in, maybe… I don’t know, Matt was so harmless, he kinda reminded me of me. Do you think they blame me?”

“Who?”

“Matt’s family. I was on reception, I should’ve been guarding the building against stuff.”

“I don’t think anyone was expecting you to fight off serial killers with attack dogs, Jacq.” Angelina squeezed her fingers. “You did fine.”

“I told them I could handle it. I said I was stronger than I looked, it would all be fine, but first difficult situation and it all just went…”

“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

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 Pete’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?”