They stood in twitchy silence, watching as the Inspiration Gestation Station filled up with policemen. The cops scraped at the blood on the floor, crowding up the stairwell, bringing in men in white, taping off the lift and door.
Jacq was pulled away by paramedics, but no sign of Matt's remains being moved. Angelina desperately wanted to be gone before the mangled corpse-splat was paraded past her.
Ellie, meanwhile, swooped between gangs of police spitting terse instructions, glancing over at Hobson to ensure he felt out of the loop. The big detective was preoccupied leaning against the desk, looking nonchalant so she knew it wasn't working.
Honestly, it was like Angelina never left her school playground.
At last, Ellie ran out of people to instruct, so came over to them.
"John. Have they searched you and your partner?"
"Yes, Ellie. It was very sexy."
It had not, in fact, been sexy. Angelina was checked over by a woman, but it remained embarrassing. Her most sustained physical contact with anyone besides parents and doctors hadn't lived up to her fantasies.
"Good," Ellie continued, "outside, then. Quickly. And try not to step in any more blood."
They emerged into the small driveway outside the IGS, and Angelina breathed deep. It was a skinny gap between buildings, very quaint and unique in the open air, but in the dark, full of blue lights and with a lake of blood behind her, it felt a lot like an alleyway. A small, dark rut, just about big enough for people to drive round the back to park their cars.
The London air was polluted with exhaust fumes from half a dozen emergency vehicles, but tasted amazing compared to the stale, bloody musk indoors.
Ellie pointed behind a large van. She stood Hobson and Angelina against it and turned to address them like a drill sergeant.
"Okay, you two. I'm told it looks like Matthew Michaelson was killed by a dog again, and although you have many fucking character flaws, John, I can't see any reason or method for you doing this."
"Thanks."
"So, after I've taken statements from you both about what you saw here, you can go. But, and I want to make this as clear as I can: no more blundering around crime scenes. To be honest, if you could drop this case entirely, that would be helpful."
"I'll have to consult with my client," Hobson said.
"Fantastic." She gestured to one of her flunkies. "Okay, Sergeant Jensen, take Mister Hobson around the corner while I have a chat to his partner."
Hobson was led off past the front of the van before she could say a word to him. Ellie made eye contact with Angelina for the first time, and she felt cold and small. Her dead-straight hair gave her an air of terrifying severity, along with the big coat and ironed suit. Hobson's black suit seemed increasingly like an affectation, but his ex-wife owned it.
"So, Miss Choi, is it?"
"Um, yes."
"Okay, Miss Choi," she said with a surprisingly warm smile, "why don't you tell me what happened here tonight? Don't worry if it makes John Hobson look bad, he does that to himself."
She thought about how best to present the story, but her fear choked all the thoughts at birth. So she opened her mouth and began.
*****
Hobson's wait against the front of the police van, with a large sergeant watching him, was grim. He tried to make small talk about the case, hoping this guy would cough up some forensic results, but no luck. Only a few 'Dunno mate's and a lot of stony silence.
So the two of them stood there, picking at their fingernails. Hobson wondered if he could start texting, just as Choi came back around. She looked dazed, but not choked or beaten.
He chanced a few words. "You alright?"
She just nodded.
"Good. Want to head home on your own or wait for me? I'm warning you, pretty sure the papers will be here by now."
Police cars boxed them in, a fair way behind the tape that surrounded the scene. Still, when Hobson and Choi glanced over towards that barrier, the flash and throng of a dozen cameras was visible.
"I'll wait, thanks."
"Fair enough. So, I take it she's ready for me?"
Another small nod.
"Ugh."
*****
"So, you went upstairs, splashed around in the blood a bit, then rushed back down again because you thought your teenage sidekick might be in danger?"
"More or less, Ellie."
"And I suppose the fact you were rushing heroically to save the day means I should let you off for stamping through the evidence?"
"Do what you want."
"John, I'm doing you a favour by not arresting you for tampering with the scene of the crime. The least you could do is not be a prick about it."
"Shit, you're right Ellie. Thanks ever so much. Without you, I'm just a stupid arsehole bumbling around playing detective. I don't have a clue what I'm doing and what I need is for a real police dogsbody to show me the light."
"Many a true word spoken in that particular jest, John."
"Such as?"
"Like I'm not sure dragging that kid around with you is helping anyone. She almost cried under interrogation just now. Let her go."
"So you want me to fire Choi and back off the case?"
"Yes. We know what we're doing, we can solve it fine without your help."
"I'll think about it."
"I hope so."
"Anything else?"
"Been in any fights lately, John?"
"I'm staying out of trouble."
"Good. Because if people involved in this case start turning up beaten without any claw marks on them, your record means you're our first call."
"I'll be taking my sidekick and leaving, if that's okay Ellie?"
"Of course. Lovely seeing you as ever."
*****
After Angelina stared at the growing paparazzi for a while, the policeman watching her asked if she was okay. She reassured him everything was fine, then tried to look stronger and less troubled.
He didn't look away, this wasn't working. Thankfully, Hobson turned the corner a few minutes later. It felt like his statement was shorter, even though more had happened to him. Maybe he had more experience.
"Choi," he declared as ever, "time to take a walk."
Before sweeping her away, though, he turned to the policeman. "Sergeant, thanks for looking after us. I especially enjoyed the part earlier where you gently touched my inner thigh while searching me."
The tall guy scowled at him and prowled off to rejoin Ellie. Once the police guy's footsteps faded away, the two of them began winding around towards the police line. The media were building up numbers there.
"So, um, Hobson, are we keeping on the case?"
"Damn right. We've got a client, you're in with Social Awesome, we're well on the way."
"But Matt's dead, and the police told us to back off."
"Don't worry, Choi, I didn't pay much attention to her when we were married, I'm sure as fuck not starting now. Not to mention," he said with worrying cheer, "imagine her face when we solve the whole damn thing while she's still pulling dog hairs out of Matt's handstump."
"Okay." Angelina blinked a few times and felt an uncomfortable feeling rising in her stomach. They turned into a bank of flashing cameras and shouting journalists, which only made things worse.
"Choi, say nothing to anyone. Even no comment is too much comment, you get me?"
She nodded, faced front and shoved, because a proper young professional didn't need to be told twice. They waded into the crowd, the road only five or six people away but seeming unreachable, messages smashing into her ears.
"–confirm details of a serial killer–"
"–Twitter detectives at crime scene–"
"–no comment from police at this time–"
"–truth to rumours of wild animal loose in the city–"
"–anything to say to families of victims–"
"–conveniently took this case for free before it escalated–"
"–connections to underground dog fighting–"
"–seedy sex parties gone wrong at Social Awesome–"
"–ex-husband of police detective now walking free from crime scene–"
"–cynical opportunists–"
"–traumatised receptionist was unable to comment–"
"–Edward Lyne and John Hobson, of course, both men with shady pasts–"
"–no interest in justice–"
Dizzy, blinded, Angelina felt a huge hand tug her loose. She still almost staggered over the kerb before Hobson pulled her back from that too.
She turned around to look back at the crowd, unable to process the pushing, shoving mass of hands and noise, long-lens cameras almost jabbing her in the face. In the end, Hobson had to pull her towards the station by the shoulder to get her moving again.
A few opportunistic media types gave chase down the street, but Hobson took a few heavy steps in their direction and they ran away. He didn't even need to clench his fists – skinny journalists trembled at the sight of violence. It made Angelina laugh how utterly terrified some of them were.
Neither Hobson nor Angelina said anything out loud until they reached the train platform and sat down on a bench. Compared to everything else, this seemed like a sanctuary, a precious reserve of boring normality. Drunks meandered along the platform, twitching at passing trains. Sober passers-by, however, were giving them the eyeball. The recognition factor was getting worse.
Nonetheless, Angelina enjoyed being in this completely bland, generic grey station interior. Even the pastel shades of the IGS were too much in her current mood.
Hobson took a long sigh. "Alright, Choi, this is going to be harder than I'd thought, but I reckon we can crack it still."
"You do?"
"Damn straight. We'll be fine. Could you get in early tomorrow? We've got a lot of ground to cover if we're gonna tear this case open."
She just nodded, leaning back against the bench and closing her eyes.
"Good. Oh, and let's try not to finish up the day in this trendy neighbourhood again, eh? It's shit."
*****
Angelina knocked on the door and waited for her mother to unhook the stupid metal bar. Must admit, she'd hoped to get home earlier than this.
As she withdrew from the front door, her mobile began to ring, then immediately stopped. Before she could even check the missed call, the bar clanked off and door flew open, revealing her Mum standing there, hair askew and phone in one hand.
"Angelina," she said with pretend calm, "I've just seen you on the ten o'clock news."
Shit. She forgot her parents sometimes watched TV.
"You told me you were staying out of danger, Angelina. And yet I see you and that massive brute storming out of a building where someone has been ripped apart and what on Earth is he thinking?"
"Well, it's not as if I wanted to be next to a dead body, I'll try and stay away from that stuff in the future, I promise."
"Not good enough. I'll be calling Mister Hobson and your school tomorrow. You can finish your work experience somewhere safer." She snorted to herself. "A prison, perhaps."
"Mum, you can't, it's just getting interesting! You're ruining it!"
"Angelina, I don't want to hear another..."
The mobile in her mum's hand started to ring, and she glanced at it mid-reprimand. It tilted enough for Angelina to read Number Withheld on the screen. Giving a clear glare to indicate the shouting would continue after this short break, she took the call. Angelina stomped inside, slamming the door and scowling, while her Mum stuck a finger in one ear to make out the telephone voice. "What was that, sorry?"
Her eyes widened, and she hung up, clamping one hand over the mobile even though it couldn't hear her anymore.
"Angelina," she said, in a flat monotone, "that was a gentleman from the newspapers, asking why I let my teenage daughter hang around bloody murders."
"Oh fuck."
"Pardon me, Angelina?"
"Oh... fiddlesticks."
*****
Hobson slammed into his office and barged around to his desk, putting his feet up and sighing.
First, he pulled the main office phone cable out. Thank God the press hadn't beaten him back here and set up one of their little refugee camps outside. Next: he tugged his boots off and crashed them together. A fine powder of dried blood drifted into the air, settling in and around the bin. Last of all, he turned on his computer and read online coverage, growing more annoyed with each piece.
This wouldn't do. All the sundry bullshit was getting in the way. He pulled his mobile out – thankfully they didn't yet have this number – and dialled the client.
"Mister Lyne? I hope I'm not disturbing you?"
"I'm fine, Hobson. I assume you're calling about the incident earlier."
"I am. You sad about Matt Michaelson dying?"
"Yes. Finding good programmers is very tedious."
"Interesting answer." He clicked his tongue. "Since your company won't be in the office for a few days, I want you to email the phone numbers and home addresses of all your employees over to me. Include the murdered ones, if you'd be so kind."
"Of course. Anything else?"
"Yeah. I'd like your permission to torture them a little to find out who's doing the killing."
"You think it's someone at Social Awesome?"
"At this point, yeah."
"I suppose so, Mister Hobson. But I've seen some disturbing implications about you on the news, so I have to ask: what kind of torture did you have in mind?"
"Strictly hands off, Lyne; no worries. Email the stuff over as soon as you can, ta."
The smiling detective hung up before Lyne could reply. Good to hear the undead-looking batfuck sounding afraid.