Chapter 28

Sergeant Steve Norman floored the accelerator and the squad car roared out of the station car park. They were on their way to interrogate Councillor Michelle Fowler, the owner of the car in which the murdered corpse of Laura Palmer was found. Inspector Pigshit looked through the selection of CDs in the glove compartment and chose Pelican West, the debut album from the legendary jazz-funk pop combo, Haircut One Hundred.

Favourite Shirts (Boy Meets Girl) started up.

“This one’s a total fucking classic,” noted Pigshit as Nick Heyward’s vocals came in over the frenetic guitar riff and the wild congas.

Steve nodded. The rain was still pissing down and the wind was still winding, but at least there were no roadworks to contend with.

Pigshit googled Councillor Michelle Fowler.

“It says here,” said Pigshit, reading from his phone, “that Councillor Fowler is an environmental campaigner.”

“Oh aye?”

“A bit fucking suspicious, don’t you think?”

“Why’s that, boss?”

“What’s an environmental campaigner doing with a car? She should be thinking of the fucking polar bears. She should have a bike. Reduce her carbon footprint and all that.”

Steve spun round a corner, overtaking a bus and swerving to avoid a cyclist.

“Good point, boss.”

“And the other thing,” said Pigshit, “is that women can’t drive properly anyway.”

“I hope they won’t be driving the fucking trams,” said Steve.

They both laughed.

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