Reinvigorated by another bad 20p coffee from the machine in the corridor, Pigshit marched purposefully along to Mitchell’s office. He still had The Power to Forgive by Kajagoogoo echoing round his head. Nick Beggs at the absolute peak of his powers. Perhaps the meeting wouldn’t be that uncomfortable, he thought. With a bit of luck, she might want to discuss the case. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. He walked in without waiting for a reply.
DCI Mitchell – an attractive woman in her early fifties with an odd, but nonetheless rather pleasant Aberdeenshire accent – was sitting behind her desk, reading a book.
“Ah, Pigshit. Excellent. Take a seat. How’s the investigation coming along?”
“We’ve made a start, ma’am.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t call me ma’am. Juliet Bravo hasn’t been on TV since 1985.”
Champion!, thought Pigshit. She wants to talk about the investigation!
“But I didn’t drag you back here to grill you about some murder case you’ve only spent five minutes on.
Bollocks, thought Pigshit.
“Have a look at this.”
She passed the book to him over the desk. The first thing Pigshit noticed was a large illustration of a naked couple in flagrante.
He flipped the book over to see the cover. Successful Sexy Sex. Damn, he thought. Another awkward conversation about her sex life.
“What do you think of that, Pigshit?” asked Mitchell, pointing to the big photo of the naked couple.
“I don’t know.”
“Does Mrs Pigshit ever do that to you?”
“Well,” Pigshit hesitated. “Sometimes …”
“And how stimulating would you say that is? On a scale of, say, 1-10, one being ‘not very arousing’, 10 being ‘absolute OMG’?”
“Don’t know. Six or seven?”
Mitchell stared at Pigshit.
“Well?” asked DCI Mitchell firmly.
“Which is it: six or seven?”
“Maybe an eight sometimes.”
Mitchell took the book back and flicked through some pages until she found the part she wanted. She pointed it out to Pigshit.
“Mr Mitchell hasn’t been giving it to me for a few months. I’m thinking we could maybe try this.”
Pigshit squinted at the photograph and tried to make sense of the accompanying text.
“Have you ever done it to Mrs Pigshit like that?”
“What about with an earlier sexual partner?”
“No. Afraid not.”
“Oh. You see, the problem is, Mr Mitchell, when I can get him interested, doesn’t spend enough time stimulating my breasts. I was thinking this might be worth a try, to encourage him to work on my erogenous zones a little bit more. Maybe start with my thighs, I don’t know.”
Pigshit found himself lost for words. He glanced up at the clock. He knew from bitter experience that it would be a long time until lunch.