The Girl Who Tweeted Wolf (17 page)

*****

Hobson wasn’t paying attention to much. He got the impression he’d solved another case, which was satisfying. Always good to cross one off the list. Fucking hell, he was a genius.

The mobile doctoring men were patching up his leg, so he probably wouldn’t die today either. Couldn’t walk, move or feel anything, but wasn’t complaining. Nice not to worry.

He could just lie back and pretend everything was okay again.

A second later, Ellie knelt down beside him, put her hand on his arm, said “John,” and the trick was complete.

FIFTEEN: A Long Weekend

FIFTEEN
A Long Weekend

On Friday morning, Hobson woke up in his flat and looked around the place. Nothing was happening. He made a point of keeping his home tidy, no casual drinking or ordering takeaway — all part of staying clean. He was a force of nature, trapped in a deliberately boring life.

He dragged himself into his tedious kitchen and began making a green smoothie. The wounded leg still hurt like hell, even with the stitches and painkillers, so he dropped another couple of pills, even though he couldn’t remember when he’d taken the last dose. He wouldn’t end up using a cane, would he? Hobson may have retired from the all-action life, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be a cripple.

As he sipped the horrible veg-goo, he wondered what to do now. Ellie accompanied him to the hospital, but hadn’t hung around long. Once the docs confirmed he wouldn’t lose the leg, just needed stitches and injections against animal diseases, she’d patted him on the head and left to start processing Pete Vole.

Maybe he’d call Choi, he thought, before shaking his head. She’s about seven years old and his work experience girl,
not
a friend. Hobson turned to his last resort: putting the TV on.

*****

Angelina always enjoyed visiting her friend Zoë’s house, treating it as a fun exercise in the unfamiliar. Zoë’s parents were chatty and messy, their house a tip, cardboard boxes spilling clutter everywhere. Angelina’s Mum would faint at the sight of it, which made hiding from her here all the more satisfying.

They made it to Zoë’s room with a takeaway pizza and talked work experiences, as shelves of coloured book series creaked around them.

“How’s it going, Angelina? Is it exciting working for a detective? I bet it’s pretty exciting. I saw you guys working on that dog murder on the TV.”

“Well, yeah, it was pretty amazing at times, I saw loads of… I mean… it was cool, but you know, people died. Some of them I knew, too, that was sad.”

“And how about being on the news?”

“That was a bit… I dunno, they wouldn’t leave us alone. It’s not as fun as it looks,” she said, trying to crack a smile. “My parents aren’t super-keen on me working there, but hopefully I’ll get to finish it out.”

“Oh, right,” said Zoë.

“How’s yours?” Angelina said.

“Oh, it’s been quite interesting, actually.”

“Yes?”

“Yeah! I learnt to do a VLOOKUP on Excel and generated a load of spreadsheets for the MD and she said I’m just the sort of enterprising young woman who could go far and she’s the most successful woman ever in the company and she said to call me if I ever…”

Angelina tuned out.

*****

“Evening, Tony.”

“John. You look like shit.”

Hobson limped around the table and dragged the chair out, inch by scraping inch, before levering himself into place for an arse-drop. When it came, Tony almost jumped out of his seat, an amusing physical jerk from one so skinny.

“Jesus,” he said on recovery. “So, this is why you dragged me out to your neighbourhood.”

“Yeah. Sorry, Tony. No long commutes right now.”

“Fucking good footage of your dogfight on the telly, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah. Makes you look like a total superhero.”

“Really? Even though I nearly died and had to be rescued by a chubby housewife?”

“Maybe not a
total
superhero, but y’know.” Tony shrugged. “No publicity is bad publicity, right?”

“So my assistant tells me. Not sure I’m agreeing, though.”

“This the Asian girl?”

“Yeah, Choi.” Hobson said. “She’s got one of her two weeks left to finish me off.”

“Finish you off? John, she’s made you a star!” Tony said, lunging forward to gesticulate into Hobson’s face. “Have you checked your office email in the last two days?”

“I’ve been avoiding them.”

“Do it, man. Two of my friends asked if I could fast-track their cases ‘cause we’re mates. I’m telling you, Johnny, you’re like the Simon Cowell of crime.”

“Tony, I know the Simon Cowell of crime and he ain’t me. And don’t call me
Johnny
.”

Tony flopped back in his chair to shake his head at Hobson. The rest of the pub kept going around them, clattering, drinking and chatting. Even this quiet shithole lit up on a Saturday night — it was awful.

“What’s your problem, John? You solved the case, you’re not dead, you’re crime-fighting flavour of the month — it’s all good, innit?”

“Firstly, I’m meant to be staying away from violent crime, I don’t need it phoning me up. Secondly, I won’t be getting shit from that case because the client got dogged to death.”

“Ah, that’s some balls. Didn’t he leave you anything in his will or nothing?”

“No, he just…” Hobson sat straight upright, drawing stranger looks from Tony. “Wait.”

“What?”

“Just remembered, he did leave me something. We might be alright after all.” Hobson grinned to himself for a few seconds, then looked up at Tony. “Now hurry up and get me a drink, I’m fuckin’ disabled over here.”

*****

After some wheedling and begging, Angelina negotiated an overnight stay at her friend’s house. Wouldn’t last forever though. Zoë had ballet class for three hours the next morning, and Angelina couldn’t follow her there.

She tried, but Zoë got weird about it after a few minutes. Even the library could only kill a couple more hours. So she went home at lunchtime on Saturday, as the wind whipped harder outside.

Could she make it up to her loft without confrontation? Angelina got one foot on the bottom stair before her Mum emerged from the kitchen. Eyes staring as ever, usual look of recent crying around her face.

“Hi, Mum.” Another stupid impotent wave — must stop doing that.

“Angelina. Are you… are you okay?”

“Yeah. I was fine. You saw on the news? Never in any danger.”

“Except when you were in the house with the murderer for twenty minutes.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Angelina dropped to the ground floor, groaning. “Because it doesn’t, okay Mum?”

“Are you going back there on Monday?” She spoke and at a measured, careful pace, determined not to lose her temper.

“Hope so, as long as Hobson’s okay. Are you going to try and stop me?”

“No.”

“Right. Look, I’m sorry I threatened you and stuff, okay? That was… that wasn’t good of me.”

“No, look,” tears again, “I know I get worked up sometimes, but it is only because I worry. There is real danger too, I don’t think I’m being hysterical.”

“I know.”

“If this is really what you want, okay, but can you at least try and stick to less dangerous cases?”

“I suppose so.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They paused for a while, then Angelina instigated a hug. Her observations of past conversations suggested that would bring proceedings to a close. Sure enough, she was soon on her way back upstairs.

Maybe Angelina was biased, but her apology had been way better than her Mum’s. More sincere too.

As she flopped backwards onto the bed in her personal loft conversion, Angelina wondered if it was time to move on. If her real parents would understand her more. If Hobson was the right guy to help her find them.

She’d have to get her feet properly under the table first.

*****

Hobson obtained access to the Inspiration Gestation Station by calling the building owner until he agreed to open the building up on a Sunday just to end the phone calls. After taking a huge dose of painkillers to stop his leg complaining too much, he jumped on the train over there.

Tell the truth, he
could
have met Tony at a more mutually convenient pub last night. Still, what use is a horrific injury if it doesn’t get favours out of your friends?

He rolled up outside the IGS and looked around. He’d been told someone would meet him to open the doors. Sure enough, Jacq ran up from the street behind him a minute later, breathless and falling over herself to get there on schedule.

“Mister Hobson! Sorry! Running late! My local Overground was closed!”

“Building owner got you out of bed? Sorry ‘bout that, just want to take a look at something.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mister Hobson.”

“Just Hobson, c’mon.”

Jacq shrugged as she rooted in her bag for the building key. “Calling people by surnames just seems strange to me,” she said, “sorry about that.”

“Stop apologising, too. So you’re still alright? Not gone back to crying on a sofa?”

“No sir. No point in that, I told you. Don’t want people to think I’m silly.”

“Good girl. Like your spirit.”

She might’ve blushed, hard to tell against her already-flushed cheeks. “Thanks, Mister Hobson.”

Jacq pulled the key out, opened the front door and they stepped into the darkened reception. Hobson was hit by a flashback to last week’s bloody night when Matt died, but shook it off with a twitch.

The lights flickered on, and Jacq dashed behind her reception desk, dropping her massive bag on top of it. Immediately, she seemed more comfortable. “Did you want me to turn the lift on for you, Mister Hobson?”

“No worries thanks, I’ll take the stairs. Gotta size the place up, see if there’s any furniture worth saving.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m moving in, Jacq. Taking over the old Social Awesome office.”

“I thought you hated it here?”

“I do. But it’s much bigger. Also negotiated the chief twat of the building down way low, ‘cause I don’t care about working in a bloody murder site. Choi might not like it, I suppose, but she can man up.”

“Aha. Very clever.”

“Also, most of the pricks phoning offering me jobs live in this area. Gotta move with the times, Ms Miller. Now, if I give you some money, will you run out and get us both Subways?” He paused. “Or is that demeaning?”

“No, I like Subway, and it’s better than just waiting around here.” She grinned.

“Good. Bring it up when you’re back.”

Jacq seized her bag and ran round the desk to pluck the money from his hand. Within seconds, she locked the door behind her again. Another quick smile before she dashed down the pathway. Hobson shook his head, unused to dealing with this kind of cheer.

Putting it out of his mind for now, he barged through the door to storm the stairs. There was another reason he’d obtained this office: Edward Lyne had reams of interesting paperwork still in his filing cabinets. Hobson wanted all of it; there were leads to follow up, and the building manager had agreed to turn a blind eye for a while.

Most crucial of all was a large folder labelled
JOHN HOBSON
. He’d glimpsed it the other day when he and Choi had searched the place. Looked like a full account of his life to date, covering incidents that even the police shouldn’t know about. He wasn’t letting Lyne’s personal effects out of his sight until he’d solved that mystery.

HOBSON & CHOI
RETURN IN

CASE TWO:
RUSH JOBS

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BONUS STORY: The Left Hand Is Always Right

BONUS STORY
The Left Hand Is Always Right

In the cheap pubs, the old men sat, nursing their pints and muttering to themselves. Anna could see why they ended up here — obviously didn’t have the money to plant themselves in a trendy gastropub all day.

A few were clearly here with mates, but others merely permanent items of the pub’s sticky furniture. The Left Hand wasn’t even a regular venue for Anna, just too horrible, but she still recognised some of them. Big old men, small ones, real ale or cheap lager, some sticking to the bar, others sharing their table with a free newspaper they’d read six times.

Once she got chatting to her friends, maybe knocked back a couple of drinks, Anna could ignore them. The dark mutterings under their breath, the way their eyes sometimes flicked up to her. But there was a problem with her strategy. She was stuck alone at a table in the back half of the pub, nice and visible in the middle, nursing a drink and getting twitchy.

All Chloe’s fault. The only reason she ever came to this rathole was because it was near Chloe’s house and she couldn’t always persuade her friend not to be bone idle. Most times, Chloe at least did Anna the favour of turning up on time, after making her haul her arse over from Wood Green.

But she wasn’t here, and showed no sign of arriving. Messages went unanswered, one phone call went straight to voicemail. Probably still at work or asleep on the sofa.

It was Tuesday night, so the old men were really swarming. Or perhaps there weren’t enough young people to dilute them.

Anna glanced up from her mobile and took another tiny sip of her wine, nursing it until Chloe arrived to buy her an apology drink. As she raised her eyes to get the glass, they panned around the room. At least two of the scary guys were staring at her. From under their hats, above their beards, inside their red faces.

Sitting in a pub drinking alone, normally she’d hope some arsehole wouldn’t clumsily try to get in her pants. Right now, the arrival of someone age-appropriate and not-terrifying appealed, even if they were a dickbag. Or maybe she’d change her mind once the situation came up.

No sign of any pricks, so she’d never know. Just the two staring old men. Anna glanced back at her mobile, just because. Maybe there would be an interesting post on Facebook. It had to happen eventually.