The Girl Who Tweeted Wolf - Hobson & Choi Case One

TWO - Dry Blood

"Well," Ric said, "we never liked him."

Not letting them digest that, Ric pushed open the second of the two doors on the right, and they entered a dingy living room. It had a window, at least, although enclosed by overhanging neighbours to stop too much light reaching it. There were two dusty sofas, a small TV and one used breakfast bowl on the table.

Commanding attention above those things was another mess of police tape around the closed door at the back. That must be the kitchen. A smear of red slipped beneath the crack of this door, and she could see more reflecting behind it, clotting and dark. That packet of cheap crisps stirred inside her.

"Hobson..." She said his name without meaning to. At least she hadn't called him "Daddy".

He glanced over at her, kept his face immobile but seemed to register something. Was she turning green, like a cartoon character?

"Mister McCabe," he said, "has the mess from the murder been cleaned up yet?"

"Afraid not," he sighed, "they make you do it yourself, did you know that? The cops cart off your mate's body, then you have to either scrub his guts up, or pay through the nose to get a crime scene cleaner in."

"What, seriously?" Angelina said. "They just leave them there?"

"I know, it's a fucking disgrace isn't it? I mean, it's not as if I killed him."

"Thanks for clarifying, Mister McCabe. So you haven't called a cleaner?"

"Well, y'know," Ric said, "it took us long enough to arrange a guy when the washing machine packed up."

"I can probably recommend someone if it'll help."

"We're kinda hoping the landlord will take care of it, to be honest."

"I see. You say we, is the other housemate in?"

"Pete, no, think he's at work. Do you want to question him and stuff?"

"Would be nice to have a word. But I should probably look at your kitchen first."

The thought of hard blood left untouched on a kitchen floor was scabbing over Angelina's thoughts, but instead of wrenching the door open this time, Hobson turned to her.

"Choi," he said, pulling out his wallet, "saw a Subway up the road, could you get me a meatball sub? Brown bread, no onions, coke. And whatever you want too." He thrust a ten pound note at her.

She wasn't sure whether to be thrilled or disappointed. "But... what about..."

"I've asked my friends and they say this is what interns are for. Get the sandwich. Mister McCabe can talk me through the murder. You've read up already, it'll be boring for you."

Telling herself it was fair enough, Angelina nodded. She took the money, turned and headed out the door with a wave, pulling her hood up to deter the paparazzi. It was unlike her to be conflicted about the prospect of a free Subway – last time her Mum had offered to buy one, she'd danced two full circuits around the living room.

As soon as she popped her head outside, the flashing and clicking started, but died down when they realised it was just some little girl. She sighed and headed back the way they came.

Must try not to look too hard at the meatball sandwich with globs of tomato sauce, in case it reminded her of crushed guts.

*****

"Seriously, Mister Hobson, you sure you're a detective?" McCabe was facing the other way when he said it, so chanced a clever-clever smile. Hobson saw his smug face reflected in the living room window. "Because based on the suit, you'd be better off as an insurance salesman."