Chapter 12

Pigshit knew he had to put the meeting with Mitchell out of his mind. Worry about it later. Deal with it later. He cranked up Ordinary Day, track six of Keep Your Distance. It definitely wasn’t an ordinary day.

Minutes later, Morrison steered the car into the reserved parking spaces outside the city mortuary. Pigshit switched off the CD player and carefully put back his Curiosity Killed the Cat CD back in its plastic jewel case. The two officers undid their seat belts and got out of the car.

Teenage goths in My Chemical Romance T-shirts were hanging around outside the mortuary, trying to catch the vibes. They’d probably shuffle on up to the cemetery later, Pigshit thought.

“You twats not got anything better to do?” asked Pigshit.

One of the goths mumbled something in response.

“Get back to fucking art college,” instructed Pigshit. “And try painting something cheerful. Bright colours, yeah?”

One of the other goths mumbled something in response.

Inspector Pigshit and Sergeant Morrison went inside. They marched purposefully down the corridor to the little room that reeked of disinfectant where Dr Adam Chance worked.

“Frank,” said Pigshit, addressing Police Scotland’s top pathologist. “What have you got for us?”

“Well,” began Dr Chance in his odd Aberdeenshire accent. “It seems the deceased is a young woman by the name of Laura Palmer.”

“We know that, you daft pillock. What did she die of? Nut allergy?”

No. I believe she was asphyxiated then her heart was carefully removed with a surgical saw.”

“Wasn’t peanuts, then?”


“Can’t be too careful these days, you know.”

“The cause of death, Inspector, was definitely asphyxiation.”

Pigshit turned towards Morrison.

“You know you don’t get packs of nuts on planes any more? Fucking ridiculous.”

“We went to Italy last year and they gave us wee packets of pretzels.”

“Pretzels, my arse.”

Pigshit turned his attention once more to Dr Chance.

“Time of death?”

“I’d say about ten, eleven last night.”

“And any suspicious stuff? Bits of moths? Cryptic symbols? Babylonian numerals, that sort of thing?”


“Thanks, Frank. Stick her back in the fridge and no taking bits home, yeah?”

Pigshit and Morrison made their way back to the car in silence. It was still very windy outside.


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