Chapter 2

“Bollocks,” said Inspector Pigshit. “I was hoping for a quiet morning. Are you sure?”

“Yes, boss.”

“No, are you really sure? Have you checked the flow chart?”

Sergeant Jim Morrison walked across the office towards a cork noticeboard. There, pinned up was a sheet of lined A4 with a crudely-drawn flow chart. Morrison studied the chart. Pigshit muttered something about not even getting the chance to check the Racing Post website.

“Yes, boss. It’s definitely a murder.”

“There’s actually a body, then?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“And it’s not suicide?”

“From what I’ve been told, boss, that would be very unlikely. Apparently, the victim’s heart was removed with some kind of saw.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Yes, boss.”

“Can’t Rebus take this one?”

“He’s on another case.”

“So? Could be a serial killer. Could be the same guy he’s after.”

“I really can’t say, boss.”

Rebus!” scoffed Pigshit. “What a fucking tart he is.”

“DCI Mitchell wants us down at the crime scene asap.”

“All right. Should I check my email first? See if she’s sent me anything?”

“She cc’ed me. I’ve printed everything off. Save you the bother.”

“You and your fucking printer, Morrison.”

Inspector Pigshit finished his 20p coffee and left the empty plastic cup on his desk for someone else to clear away.

“Where we going?”

“West End.”

“Right. Get the motor running,” said Pigshit, throwing a set of car keys to Morrison. “I’ll see you in a couple of minutes, I’m just going to the stationery cupboard to pick up a few notebooks and some spare pens. Tell Steve to meet us there with some hot bacon rolls.”

“Yes, boss!”

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