Chapter 3

By his own admission, Inspector Pigshit was not a superstitious man. That said, he always considered it unlucky to bet on horses that were trained, fed or jockeyed by anyone called Chris; he would never eat crisps on a Sunday; and he always made a point of getting himself a brand new notebook at the start of every new investigation. He marched purposefully along the corridor and downstairs to towards the admin department, where the stationery cupboard was. The fact there was yet another brutal murder to investigate really pissed him off.

Pigshit opened the stationery cupboard and scanned the shelves. He took five small boxes of paperclips and shoved them in his pockets. It wasn’t because he needed paperclips, but he felt that low-level pilfering of office stationery was good for one’s self-esteem. And good for one’s morale, too. He stuffed an assortment of cheap biros into his coat pockets and was just about to choose a nice new notebook when WPC Diane Lawton appeared.

“Hey, Pigshit. Stopping by the stationery cupboard again?”

Pigshit ignored her, and continued his assessment of the available notebooks. Did he want a spiral notepad, or one with ring binding? And who was the arsebucket that ordered those thin staple-bound notebooks? Honestly. Waste of fucking money.

“Do you get it? ‘Stopping by’?”

Pigshit took a deep breath. “I can see you’re trying to make some sort of feeble joke, but I think you’re confusing the word ‘stationery’ with ‘stationary’”.

“Never heard of play on words?”

“It’s Monday morning. Just fuck off.”

Lawton turned and walked away. Inspector Pigshit wasn’t in the mood for her cheeriness, and in any case, Lawton reminded him of someone he once slept with on a Club 18-30 holiday in Spain back in 1986. Same height, same hair, same deep brown eyes. He often wondered if it was indeed the same woman. Lawton must be, what, late forties? Age profile would fit, certainly.

Returning to the selection of notepads, Pigshit narrowed it down to a couple of B5-sized notebooks. The first was similar to what he used on his last investigation (and had proved to be fairly reliable), but the other had a nice purple cover and the paper seemed thicker: 81.4 gsm, compared to the other one which was only 70 gsm. Pigshit was one of those old-school coppers who liked to write on both sides of the paper, so obviously, the thicker stuff was better. The book had a decent number of lines per page, properly spaced out. Good solid lines, too; none of those stupid faint dotted lines. That settled it. Satisfied with his decision, he took six purple notepads and closed the cupboard door.

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