The Girl Who Tweeted Wolf (8 page)

“So,” she began, “I’m a bit worried it might be Edward Lyne.”

“Dammit Choi, I was finally starting to agree with you about it being Matt.”

“Sorry.”

“Never mind.” Hobson grinned. “We’ll come back in a few hours for this after hours meeting, he’ll confess, then you’ll really have earned the nothing I pay you.”

SEVEN: Could Be Darker

SEVEN
Could Be Darker

They’d debated locations for evening food, but the winner was clear from the start: Subway, yet again — Hobson still wanted that sandwich. He got the full footlong meatball, whilst Choi sat there, moaning that she
couldn’t
have the same thing for
both
major meals of the day.

The more she sulked, the slower Hobson ate.

After he took her down the road and bought her a Cornish pasty, they found themselves on a bench, a few feet back from the street near some grass and a church. She devoured the whole brown pastry-blob in less than a minute. For such a tiny thing, she ate like a wolf — maybe she was the killer. At last, both finished, they stared at the sky.

The Inspiration Gestation Station was only five minutes’ walk away, and they tried to wait away from public transport. Didn’t want any of the Social Awesome staff to pass by and realise they were heading back later.

“So, Choi,” Hobson said, “what do you think Matt wants to tell us? Now you’ve decided he’s not the killer.”

“Maybe he’s gonna tell us the same thing Lettie told me — Lyne killed William to keep Social Awesome going.”

“She didn’t
really
tell you that, and Lyne told me he didn’t do it.”

“And he would never tell a lie? He’s basically Skeletor,” Choi said, grinning in satisfaction at her own insight.

“How does someone as young as you know who Skeletor is?”

“From the internet, other people mention it.”

“Right. Good.” Hobson sighed and brought the conversation back around. “There isn’t some dark secret, y’know? They’re just a bit lazy. You don’t kill someone to stop that spreading, you just pay them off.”

“But Lyne’s evil,” she said, as if he’d missed the winning argument.

“Real people aren’t
evil
, Choi.” Although, he must admit, Edward Lyne often seemed despicable. “So you’ve gone off Matt as a suspect?”

“Maybe he’s just creepy.”

“Maybe,” he said, happier with that sentiment.

The dark settled, the commuters were drifting out onto the pavement around them. Most were on their way to the area’s many bars and shops, ready for action after escaping the office. Their ties were steadily loosening. Hobson kept his pushed up tight. “When did Matt’s stupid note say we should meet him?” he said, foot twitching.

“Seven.”

Hobson looked at his watch. “Half an hour’s time. Let’s get this over with.”

They got up, threw their rubbish away and joined the surge of people down the road, watching for the shadow of the IGS in the left darkness. The building’s decor was less infuriating when he couldn’t see it.

*****

When Angelina first visited the Inspiration Gestation Station, it felt like a friendly, welcoming place. She enjoyed the chatty receptionist and bright colours. Social Awesome’s business environment seemed way better than her own, at first anyway.

That hadn’t lasted long. Not only were Social Awesome not all they seemed, but returning to the IGS late at night, the sunlight dissolved away, it didn’t seem as wonderful. The sharp angles loomed above her like a haunted rock. All the lights were out, except Social Awesome’s. Even the reception area was in darkness. She jumped out of her skin as a car started nearby, Hobson glared at her.

An intercom sat on the wall next to the glass card-locked front door, and she pointed at it, nervous. “Um, Matt’s note said to buzz him and he’d come let us in.”

“This really is stupid,” Hobson said.

“He’s a nervous guy, maybe he feels safe behind a locked door.”

Hobson tutted, then took a closer look at the front door of the IGS — it was ajar. His body tensed up, fists flexing, and Angelina shrank even more.

He stretched out a foot and kicked the door. Giving no resistance, it drifted inwards. “Doesn’t seem like we need the buzzer.”

“Yeah,” Angelina said, adding for the sake of it: “Guess he left it open for us.”

“Yeah.”

Angelina broke eye contact with Hobson. She mounted the small step from the pavement, ready to march inside.

Before a single cell of her body crossed the threshold, Hobson grabbed her by the shoulder and tugged her backwards. She gasped, so unprepared that her feet almost left the floor.

“Choi,” he growled, “just in case it wasn’t fucking clear, I will be first into the darkened building, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, no worries.” His grip pinched into her and she tried to recoil. With so little flab on her shoulder, Hobson was squeezing the bone. Still, he waited a few moments, as if making sure she’d heard her own words, before letting go and dropping the weight back onto her feet.

“You don’t need to pull me around,” Angelina grumbled, “I’m not a little girl.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Why’d you let me come at all, then?”

Hobson looked up at the black windows, streetlight reflections floating in them like grim stars. “Right now, Choi, I’m not sure. But you’re already here, and I’m not leaving you out on the street either.”

Exchanging one last look, they tugged the door open and stepped into the glowing reception area. Nothing happened, no alarm went off. A few moments after they entered, a weak strip light shuddered into life on some kind of automatic sensor. Angelina breathed a sigh of relief, looking around and taking comfort in the silly pasture designs on the walls. The desk was tidy, door to the stairs closed and dark. No-one was there, nothing was wrong.

“Lift’s dead,” Hobson muttered.

“What?”

“The lift, they’ve turned it off. Reception closes at six according to the sign, guess Jacq shuts it down when she leaves.”

“Right.”

Shaking his head, Hobson went back over to the door, reached outside and pressed the
Social Awesome
button on the intercom. It rang, sounding more desperate to Angelina with every tone, until the machine gave up the ghost. Silence fell, and the cold was flooding through the open door now, chilling her even further.

“Brilliant,” he said.

“Now what?” Angelina hoped the answer involved going home.

“We get the fuck out of here, Choi,” he snapped.

“Thank God.”

“And next time a nerd asks you out, I’m not chaperoning.”

Before she could blush or complain, there was a scream, a yell, a clear human awful noise. It pierced through the walls of the building and almost squeezed the Cornish pasty out of Angelina’s stomach. Finally, it ended with a thud. She yelled, jumped, landed, then spat out:
“HobsonWhatTheFuckWasThat?”

He glanced at the lift, and then behind him at the door marked
STAIRS
. “Don’t know,” he said, “but think it came from in there.”

“Well, let’s run away from it, then.”

Hobson looked through the gloomy porthole in the door. “There’s something dripping down in there.”

“Let’s
definitely
run away.”

“Gimme a second.”

Hobson poked the stairwell door open bit-by-bit, stepping inside once there was space. He took a wide diversion around something just the other side, underneath the staircase itself. The lights flickered on in the porthole as he entered, revealing him edging towards the back wall, before climbing the stairs slowly.

After another glance out to the street, Angelina crept up to the window in the door. There was something falling down in there, from the first floor to ground level. A steady rush of blood poured through the plastic railings and smashed into the floor. It was thickening and red, congealing around the edges of its own splat.

Gulping, she looked up, and saw the source: a ripped up torso of a body creeping towards the edge of the next level, glooping its insides everywhere. Hobson was kneeling down next to the remains, eyes wide and back of huge hand covering his mouth and nose.

Angelina pushed the door gently open — enough to let her voice through, without risking a trip into the thin waterfall of gore.

“Hobson?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that Matt?”

He looked down towards her and nodded.

Angelina inhaled so deep, she almost made herself sick.

*****

The door slammed downstairs, and Hobson sighed. Was it too late to send Choi out for a sandwich again?

Blood sopped through Matt’s clothing, dripping between the claw-marks in his shirt and trousers. His left forearm was missing, right hand still clasped loose around the stump. The amputation and hacked-up side of his torso oozed the most red sludge. His neck and head, though, somehow escaped mauling. Whatever attacked him lacked high reach, and he’d stayed upright. For a while, at least.

The longer the body lay there, the more the mess pooled. His straggly hair lay in the blood puddles, sticking together and turning a dirty red-brown colour. The eyes were cold, face sad. This one wasn’t the killer, Hobson concluded, and felt a little guilty that he and his assistant spent so long asking if he was. But, again, that was the job.

The dead smell was travelling up Hobson’s nose and down his throat. He stood up again, taking a firm step back.

It looked like a dog had killed this one too. Could be the same animal that did William Lane, maybe a different beast, but the bite marks clinched it. Fucking hell. A canine serial killer?

Hobson looked beyond the body, to a trail of blood splurges stretching up the stairs. Matt stumbled from where he’d been attacked, down the building until he bled to a halt right here. If the original mauling site wasn’t Social Awesome on the third floor, he’d ditch detective work right now — maybe go into online marketing.

He looked down at the door he’d come through. The lift was turned off, and this stairwell the only other way up. So the kid was safe in reception alone, surely? He texted her:
Choi, sit tight, going to check all clear up there. Text if anything happens.

Breathing deep with anticipation, Hobson clenched his fists and started climbing the stairs.

*****

Angelina wasn’t sure if this was a good strategic position. She cowered behind the reception desk, staring at the crap underneath it: books, magazines, couple of dusty pairs of shoes, bin overflowing with tissues and crisp packets, wires and receipts leaking from the drawers. Jacq did not keep a tidy workplace.

All this filth hung around her head as she pressed further into the footwell. She liked being encased on all sides, away from the dripping corpse.

Should she go outside? Run away home? Follow Hobson upstairs?

Her phone pinged, and a text from Hobson popped up.
Sit tight,
he said? At least she had permission from her supervising adult to do nothing, but it still didn’t feel right to her. As she read his text, Angelina realised — she had a mobile.

Feeling stupid for taking a few minutes to notice her beloved smartphone, she flicked to the telephone keypad and dialled. Waited a few seconds for someone to pick up, then said: “Yes, hi, police please? I’ve got a, um, corpse over here.”

*****

The blood never ran out, all the way to the third floor. It flowed softer as Hobson climbed, though. Matt’s grip on his injuries must’ve weakened as he descended the stairs.

No sign of his severed forearm, nor a dog running along chewing it like a lucky bone. Every so often, the trail of half-shaded red footsteps thinned or thickened, as if Matt had swayed back and forth, but never fallen. Fair enough, Hobson could respect that. Matthew Michaelson may have been a scrawny, maladjusted loser, but he’d fought to survive.

And failed, but nonetheless, credit where it was due.

Hobson reached the door to Social Awesome. The lights were still on. He stole a glance through the window into the office, trying not to be obvious.

No humans nor animals, not a single sound, but quite the fucking blood stain. Filmed over Lettie’s desk at the front, all the way to Matt’s own chair at the back. It was thin but obvious; the dark carpet shone with red highlights. The centrepiece of the whole awful tableau, of course, was Matt’s forearm, white with red specks, flat in the middle of the stain. Horrible teeth marks in the wrist — the dog had seized it as a plaything after all.

Hobson pushed the door open gently and stepped inside, wincing as the carpet squelched underfoot. He’d been so careful to avoid standing in the blood until now.

Moving aside to escape the slime, he looked across the room. There were signs of a struggle, a few stains on computers, books strewn around, but this hadn’t been an epic battle. The dog swiped into its victim until it was pulled away, leaving Matt alive to embark on a post-attack hike down the stairs. Why?

Squinting, as if that helped him see into the past, Hobson made his way towards Matt’s desk at the back.

There was a crunch underfoot, shuddering up Hobson’s leg. Oh good fuck, please don’t be a tooth. When he looked down, though, it was a piece of plastic — one of many, strewn along the floor. A mobile phone stamped into fragments, probably by a human heel or handheld weapon. Crucially, didn’t look like animal jaws had tried to bite it.

He took another look around the room, but nothing and no-one jumped out at him. Nearly time to call the cops and let Ellie have a go, see if her forensic chaps could turn up anything.

As Hobson went for the door again, there was a sudden mechanical hum, shaking out of the walls themselves. It took a second to realise it was the lift coming back to life, the lights above it flickering on. The glowing arrow indicating it was heading down from the second floor, towards the reception area where he’d left Choi.

*****

Angelina sat against the front of the reception desk, playing with her phone and resisting the urge to livetweet this experience. Would get her
loads
of new followers. She eyeballed the stairwell again.