Angelina's Choice (Hobson & Choi - Case Five)

By Nick Bryan

“Finding my real parents isn’t as simple as I hoped, but after all the trouble Hobson’s past gives us, surely I’m owed my chance?”

After solving other people’s cases all summer, Angelina Choi is itching to look into her most personal mystery - who were her birth-parents? Why did they abandon their infant daughter in a cardboard box next to a pub?

But with her detective boss John Hobson trapped in the dark underbelly of London’s trendy online taxi services, Angelina ploughs on with her investigation alone.
Will her single-minded obsession cause irreparable harm? Can discovering the truth about her family make her happy?

Angelina’s Choice, the fifth volume in the Hobson & Choi series, brings the dark comedy-drama detective saga to a crossroads, with every character forced to question their decisions past and present. But as the end looms nearer, their options are vanishing.
PRAISE FOR HOBSON & CHOI SERIES

“A gripping read that will have you laughing, tearing up a bit, and unwilling to put it down.”
VIRGINIA MCCLAIN, AUTHOR OF BLADE’S EDGE

“A great story with a wonderfully dark sense of humour. Perfect for a quick read.”
CHELE COOKE, AUTHOR OF THE OUT OF ORBIT, TEETH AND LA CIRQUE NAVIRE SERIES

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nick Bryan
• Release date: May 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370326105

Nick Bryan

Nick Bryan is a London-based writer of genre fiction, usually with some blackly comic twist. As well as the almighty detective saga Hobson & Choi, he is also working on a novel about the real implications of deals with the devil and has stories in several anthologies. More details on his other work and news on future Hobson & Choi releases can be found online at NickBryan.com or on Twitter as @NickMB. Both are updated with perfect and reasonable regularity. When not reading or writing books, Nick Bryan enjoys racquet sports, comics and a nice white beer.

Book preview

ONE

Bag For Death

Alright, Hobson nodded. He straightened his usual black tie and addressed the person on the other side of the desk. Traditionally, that was where the client sat to spill their guts to a sympathetic detective. Take your time. Why don’t you tell me what happened?

Angelina shifted in the seat, struggling to get comfortable — not just because this chair felt thin, angular and gnarly. She’d been on this side of Hobson’s desk many times before, perched on the same exact dented cushioning, but never like this.

As usual, she judged his dull fashion choices, even though nerves led her to wear the most boring white-blouse-black-trousers office outfit possible. Her own assistant’s desk sat only a few paces behind her, but felt miles away. The outside world had long ago dissolved, leaving just the two of them, buried inside a building of rented space.

Okay, so, I was found in a box in Penge. My parents adopted me. You know that.

Yes. Hobson said, rolling his eyes with a put-upon sigh. But I’ve never met your parents so I didn’t even know they were white until you told me.

Yeah, I… I guess you wouldn’t, Angelina said, letting that pause run long. She often felt her adopted status radiating off her body in waves. In reality, she’d only blurted most of the facts out to Hobson last Friday, after solving that YouTube murder.

So, yeah, you know, she continued, spinning her engine back up, a box, I think one of those long ones with oval holes in the sides that shops get fruit in.

Classy. Did you smell faintly of mangoes?

Shut up. And, um, I was wrapped in this. She lifted the jumper with one hand. As it flapped, Markus the dog wuffed from behind the desk. Taken by surprise, she flinched.

To keep me warm, I suppose, she added.

Strange. Hobson stared at the old grey thing, moving as if to reach for it, before pulling his hand back. Angelina felt hyper-aware of its chewed, manky state. No fully completed return address label, I suppose?

No, she chuckled. "No. Just the word ‘CHOI’ scrawled in capital letters on the label. My adoptive parents thought it might be my real name so they let me keep it."

"So your birth parents might’ve borrowed it from a neighbour," Hobson said.

Exactly, Angelina said, her nerve wavering at the sight of him pondering this case.

Hobson looked off into the distance. Obviously, you know, could be anything. So that’s it, then? Where in Penge were you found?

I, um, down the side of a pub. I think it’s a Wetherspoons now.

At least it’s not a McHellerman’s. Hobson tutted. Right.

Yes. So, um, what do you think?

What do I think?

Yes.

He leaned back in his chair, possibly looking at something behind her in the main office. Was he deep in thought, or had Markus scampered off to chew her handbag again?

I can look into it, he concluded at last. Doubt the jumper has anything useful forensically after all this time, but can’t hurt to have a go. So as long as you’re patient — I need to do the work that pays my rent as well — I’m prepared to at least try.

Okay. Angelina grinned, too widely.

But, he continued, raising one finger, just as I’m not Batman, I also ain’t an international man of mystery. If your parents don’t come from the UK — and it’s possible — you might need to hire someone more qualified. Okay?

Sure, she said, holding herself still.

Good. Last thing, yeah, and this sounds harsh but I won’t do it unless you hear and understand. Ready?

Angelina gulped. Ready.

Sometimes people abandon their kids in boxes because they don’t feel ready or they’re broke. Other times, something properly awful goes on and they end up too dead or maimed to care for a baby.

Hobson stopped talking, clearly to check on her. So she stuck out her jaw and refused to look away.

With a sigh, he continued. As you know, Choi, our record for stumbling upon depressing shit is very strong. So, one more time: do you want to go ahead with this?

Yes, Angelina said, making sure not to hesitate, her hands gripping the sides of the chair. Yes, I do.

Right, Hobson said, as she inspected him for signs of disappointment. Okay then.

But before he announced their first step in finding her real parents, the phone on his desk rang and he seized it.

Hey there, Hobson declared with conspicuous enthusiasm, Hobson Agency, John Hobson speaking. How can I help you?

Pause.

No, madam, I haven’t checked my email this morning. What’s your case?

Angelina picked up the jumper again.

Three cats? Hobson removed the excitement from his voice in an instant. That’s awful. Can I just take your name?

He grabbed a pen and scribbled on a post-it note.

Much obliged, Ms Davis, he concluded, and if you give us your address, we’ll come over and check it out.

He wrote the address down after her name with a gruff Cheers, offered further condolences for her loss, then hung up.

Alright, Choi, it looks like we’re off to Ealing to look into the death of several cats. Choked to death in those weird expensive shopping bags, she says.

Bags for life?

Yeah. ‘Life’. With a smirk, Hobson held out the post-it note for her. Enter her into the computer, then get your coat. Are you allowed to look into this case, or is it too dangerous now you’re on your last warning with your mum?

I think I can manage a few cats. Relieved to move around again, Angelina made it over to her own desk before turning back. And, um, I was just wondering about our first step for looking into… you know?

Hobson rattled off a list like he would for any other case, which she appreciated. Well, we’re gonna look at the forensic angle, I’ll visit this pub, we may even need to look into genetics but the abandonment angle makes it a tricky one. He sighed. That’s the other point you gotta prepare for, of course, Choi. We might just find fuck all.

Yeah, she said, quickly. Yeah, I knew that.

Good. He stood up so suddenly, it sent Markus yelping out from the office. Now, let’s get the admin done and head out. Surely our internet audience will like us avenging murdered cats.

People online like cats, Angelina agreed, though they might be sad to hear they’re dead.

As long as they know we didn’t kill them, that’s fine.

Yeah. Choi leaned over the back of her desk chair and tapped Ellen Davis’ information into the ‘Active’ tab of their clients spreadsheet. So, um, do you reckon it’ll take long to determine whether the other case is going anywhere?

Would her parentage be ‘the other case’ forever?

Oh, you know, Hobson said, with a little swagger in his voice, this one’s only cats. Shouldn’t take long.

*****

I don’t wanna sound heartless, Ms Davis, Hobson began, with great care, but your cat is definitely dead. Could you not get the police involved?

They stood in her garage in Ealing, looking at a carrier bag. All around the walls, stacks of boxes and gardening equipment threatened to crush them, but a sacred circle of space remained around the two dead cats. Even the floor looked cleaner there.

Otherwise, like all garages, it smelled of damp, dust and disinterest. Ellen Davis herself was a short woman — even smaller than Choi — who wore loud dresses and trebled her speaking volume to compensate.

Of course I called them! she yelled, thankfully nowhere near level with Hobson’s ear. I called them after the first and second ones! They didn’t help at all, in fact I rather get the feeling they thought I was stupid for caring! That’s why I’m hiring you! My children loved those cats, this is cruel!

Right. Hobson leaned over a few degrees, taking another hurried glance into the carrier bag. The cat died bloodlessly, thank god, but remained rank. Legs twisted into un-natural angles, the corpse already turning a lifeless grey colour, the first step before real decay set in.

He’d ask Choi to look at the body, but she’d backed away as soon as they’d entered. Markus whimpered at the entrance with her, finding the dead cats screechingly repulsive. You’d think he’d see it as a win for his species.

Hobson decided he wanted to leave the central circle as soon as possible.

They said they’d look into it and then just ignored my calls! Ms Davis continued. Even though I got my vet to confirm they all suffocated! I got a second opinion!

Well, that’s heartless of them. He joined Choi below the huge sliding door, nudging her to stop reading her phone. If he had to talk about dead animals, so did she. Obviously, I’m not a vet so I can’t tell much from looking at the cat. Did they reach any other conclusions?

They said they were probably fed drugged food, then put in the bags and tied off tight. Then they were unconscious so they suffocated. It’s just awful!

It is. And then they left the bags outside your front door?

Yes!

The tears finally started flowing. Hobson took a more pointed look at Choi, accompanied by a cough.

After a pause, the kid came up with: You’re right, Ms Davis, it’s so, so awful. Do you know of anyone who might want you to hurt your cats?

No! I don’t think so! No-one’s ever complained to me about them!

And they’re not keeping the cats, Choi mused, so they don’t even make any money off it.

Hearing this only upset the client more. Hobson thanked her and they made their escape, promising to call in the next day or two.

As they moved quickly down the road past three different white-fronted phone shops, away from Ms Davis’ house, Markus wuffing with relief, Choi turned to him. So what do you think?

I dunno, Hobson nodded along as he spoke. Usually it’s the husband, do cats have husbands? What’s the equivalent? The neighbour whose flower bed they shat in?

So this one might take a while?

Choi, he turned up his voice, I wasn’t joking about the rent. The show must go on. I’ll stay on your other case as well. I can do two things at once, you know.

You haven’t managed it in the time I’ve worked here.

I managed to look into Clayton Chapman and a murder last week.

I had to finish the murder on my own.

Honestly, Choi, he laughed, what kind of person says that to their boss? While asking for a freebie, as well?

Which reminded Hobson, he should tidy his living room. Since incompetent blackmailer Clayton Chapman hurled a brick through the front window, he’d replaced the glass but not swept up the dust and grime sprinkled around the carpet and sofa. How depressing.

Anyway, he said, talking over Choi’s half-arsed apology, never mind that shit. Let’s bury these cats quickly, then get back to your secret past.

TWO

And Other Stories

Look, and I don’t want to complain, Angelina said, aware she was complaining, but telling him about my real parents was one of the hardest things ever for me. I still haven’t even told my adoptive parents we’re seriously looking. And then we spent a week peering at dead cats! We started in May and it’s June now!

Yeah, I know, Will agreed, not sounding that bothered. They were in Jamie’s Café in Peckham for a drink, after Will finished work down the road. Technically their fourth date, and her friends had definitely stepped up texting her innuendo since number three.

After two trips to bars without getting kicked out, despite Angelina being underage at nearly-seventeen, the hammer finally fell on that third outing. They’d tried the Chando’s in Leicester Square, because Will wanted to head up the West End.

Thanks to its central location, the pub got busy around the end of work time, and the layout teemed with nooks and crannies where unwelcome guests could hide. Angelina stayed back, told nineteen-year-old Will her order and scurried into a booth, but an attentive barman rumbled them.

So they’d sat at the top of Trafalgar Square, admiring the huge concrete steps falling away from them, like a staircase for giants. Will put his arm around her and she reflected on how she never came up town much. Will, of course, had a story about every building they passed, most involving him or a friend being so wasted.

A prolonged kiss outside Charing Cross station and the third date ended, or maybe the two-and-a-half-th? Was this the real third? Was that why Lettie Vole, kinda creepily, kept asking if she’d remembered condoms?

She had, because she couldn’t not be sensible, but the idea of using them made her head spin a little. Going out with him was okay, she was getting her first few dates out of the way, but did she want him that close to her? Did she want Will forever etched in stone as her ‘first’, when she looked back on her life?

She didn’t know, and had no real intention of deciding tonight.

Still, the good news is we solved the cat case! she said pointedly, after ignoring another grim text about ‘prophylactics’. Put the thesaurus app away, Lettie.

Oh, really? Will said, sliding his own phone back into his pocket, a spark leaping into his voice. Who was it? Was it the weird cousin?

No, Angelina said, easing into storytelling mode as he took more notice, it turns out it was her landlord.

What the fuck?

Yeah, he wanted to add a ‘no pets’ clause to her tenancy, but chickened out of telling a family with two kids they couldn’t have cats anymore. So he killed them off instead. She had no idea, because he’d never even spoken to her about them, just jumped straight to murder.

"That’s mental." Will laughed.

Apparently he had a similar dispute with a tenant in another property and it spiralled into weeks of arbitration. So this time, he didn’t bother negotiating.

Fuck me. Will shook his head. Where do you find these people? Did the world just happen to go mad when you became a detective?

I know! Angelina burst out laughing. It’s so weird. So anyway, maybe we’ll finally get to look into my…

Her phone pinged and she reached for it at once. She’d grown twitchier about her text alerts since telling Hobson about her parents. Any message could be an important update! Or Lettie rambling about the withdrawal ‘method’ again!

Thankfully, this latest one was a text from Hobson.

She read the message, then slapped her phone down onto the table with a growl. Café owner Jamie looked over at the noise. Even though his café changed gears into a softly-lit, chilled-out drinks venue after hours, he allowed Angelina to stay as long as she ordered soft drinks and made polite conversation. Generous, considering he hated Hobson after a past incident involving the streets of Peckham and dozens of bin bags.

What’s wrong? Will said, taking her hand sweetly and making her wonder, for a second, if maybe she could live with him seeing her naked.

Oh, Hobson’s been reading his emails again. Angelina shook her head, keeping her mind on the crime. We have a new case. Some woman’s family think she’s been kidnapped.

Is she missing?

No, she’s on holiday and sending back selfies, but apparently they think they’re fake.

Sounds complicated.

Yes. So I guess that’s me back-burnered for another week.

Angelina’s mood never recovered from thinking through those implications, even after their goodnight kiss lingered the longest yet and his hands ended up resting on her waist. She mumbled so yes I’ll see you soon and found herself on the train, feeling flushed and annoyed about half a dozen things at once.

She stared at the humming roof of the carriage, listening to someone’s inane conversation about Janine at work, right? After five minutes, she calmed down enough to draft a text to Lettie about how she was sick of feeling excited and nervous and impatient and scared at once about the same damn things, and was this how everything would be now?

Then she deleted it without sending.

*****

Hobson’s investigation of the Moon and Stars in Penge started with the pseudo-beer-garden up one side. It comprised three picnic tables in an alleyway, green damp-mould around all the edges. Still, it was nearly July and people just wanted to sit in the sun, no matter how slimy the furniture.

Squinting at the front windows to see inside, all he saw was darkness, stained carpet and the silhouettes of whispering regulars.

He took another couple of walks up and down in front of the building, before returning to Choi, who he’d left hiding in a bus shelter up the road.

Alright, kid.

She jumped down from her seat to accost him. What did you see? Anything?

He chuckled, she scowled. Nowt obvious, sorry. What were you expecting? A matching mango box with a note?