Inspector Pigshit often thought that, if they were to make a film of his life – and why wouldn’t they? – the part of Maggie Watson would be played by that annoying woman off that programme he didn’t like. Unless, of course, the Hollywood scriptwriters decided to spice things up so that Maggie wasn’t just a fairly minor character whose main trait is being a pain in the arse. If, for example, they rewrote her as being his secret lover, she’d probably then be played by that Scottish girl from Doctor Who. This being the real world, however, Pigshit and Maggie weren’t secret lovers because to Pigshit, she was, simply, a pain in the arse.
“So, Pigshit,” began Maggie, intercepting the inspector on his way out of the mortuary. “What can you tell me about this case you’re working on?”
“I can’t tell you anything right now, Watson,” replied Pigshit, getting into the car. “It’s police business. I suggest you bugger off and write about pandas or something.”
He closed the door. Maggie rapped on the passenger-side window.
“Do you know why Laura Palmer was found in Councillor Fowler’s car?”
“No comment,” said Pigshit as he rifled through the glove compartment for a CD to listen to.
“Have you found her boyfriend yet?”
“Laura’s dad owns a removals company. Have you been over to their premises at all?”
Sergeant Morrison started the engine. Pigshit selected Islands, the second Kajagoogoo album, the one they made after Limahl had been fired. Pigshit nodded to Morrison and they drove off, leaving Maggie standing alone and abandoned in cold, beer-scented Edinburgh wind.