Doctor Huckleberry Fudgecicle Stickybum Baboon IV's Apartment - 6.00AM
Chief McMurtagh stands over the dead body of the doctor and rubs his stubbly face. He shakes his head and places his hands on his bulging hips.
"Chief, why are you poking that dead body and rubbing its stubbly face?"
Behind him lurking are O' Halloran, Pip and Detective Suicide Jones.
The Chief wags his stumpy index finger into the faces of O' Halloran, spit spewing from his angry mouth.
"Jeezus, O' Halloran, murders just keep on following you don't they? This Doctor Huckleberry Fudgecicle Stickybum Baboon IV is dead on your watch, O' Halloran.".
"Somebody shot him before we had time to get inside and the last time I looked I wasn't wearing a watch, Chief".
"And where the fuck did this killer disappear to? They a fucking magician? Is that it, O' Halloran, we dealin' with a fucking David Copperfield here? Or maybe he's Paul Daniels? Or Tommy Cooper with the fez and the catch-phrases?"
The Chief rubs the sweat from his forehead. He doesn't look well. His wife kicked him out again and he's living with his retarded sister Judy down at the old Wilson house by the docks - the place due for demolition tomorrow morning unless he comes up with the 5 big ones for Mister Big the developer.
The Chief is angry, afraid and alone.
He now directs his frustration towards the out of town copper.
"And what about you, Detective Suicide Jones? Are you a fucking mute?".
"I'm suicidal, Chief. Don't fuck with me!"
She hovers her finger over the detonation button on the belt of dynamite strapped to her chest. The Chief realises that he better ease up on the insults or the whole place could go kaboom.
"Ok, ok. Its been a hard day. My wife left me for that Goddamed kangaroo. Fucking Australian marsupials.... they come over here and steal our women", he grumbles.
"Chief, if it makes you feel any better, I have hemorrhoids. My ass is like a war zone"
"Thanks, O' Halloran. I know you're only tryin' to cheer me up...and it's worked, you old son of a gun". The Chief mock punches O' Halloran on the chin and then gives him a big bear hug, followed by a wet sloppy kiss full on the lips.
"Chief, not in front of the others", O' Halloran flinches.
"Sorry. It's just you're too damn sexy for me, ya know that, O' Halloran. maybe it's the moustache, or the hemorrhoids or something completely different".
Detective Suicide bends down to pick up something. O' Halloran and the Chief admire the view of her pert rump.
"Sweet ass. Like a big ripe watermelon. Boy, I'd love to sink my teeth into that fat hump of burnin' love-bump".
The Chief gestures lewdly, bumping and grinding as he simulates some doggy-style action.
Detective Suicide rises and holds something in a tweezers.
"What you got there?", O' Halloran asks.
"It appears to be some sort of hair".
"Hair, eh? You mean, like hair from a dog? 'Dog' as in dog collar? 'Dog collar' as in what priests wear around their necks? 'Priests' as in Father Putrid, the Parish Priest of St. Massacre's Church - the same guy we saw coming out of Dangly McDaniels House of Whores?"
"Jeezuz, O' Halloran. I just found a hair. Stop jumping to conclusions!".
Detective Suicide shakes her head in disbelief at O' Halloran's warped train of thought.
But Pip steps forward and defends his colleague.
"Hold on there, Detective Suicide. I've known O' Halloran for a few months now and in that time I've been constantly amazed by his level of intuition and insight".
The Chief agrees.
"I agree. O' Halloran certainly has a nose that can sniff out the shit lurking at the back of a radiator".
O' Halloran strokes his chin.
"That Father Putrid character could have overheard Dangly telling us about the Doctor and plotted to kill him too."
"But why?", Detective Suicide still can't accept O' Halloran's twisted logic.
"Priests are known for two things: molesting children and organising fund raisers. Fund raising initiative's require lots of paper work - especially letters. Letters need to be posted and posting requires stamps!"
The Chief grins.
"Holy shit, O' Halloran! You've done it again, you old shit stabber you. Thats the connection!"
Detective Suicide can't help but feel this is all too neat.
"Something just doesn't seem kosher about this".
"What? You want me to cater for Jewish tastes too?", O' Halloran cuts in.
"Let me put it this way, Detective - I think your idea is a crock of shit. This man was murdered seconds before we entered the room. What age is your Father Putrid?"
"He's 89 years young"
"Do you really think an 89 year old priest could make a swift getaway in the space it took us to break in here?"
It dawns on O' Halloran that his idea is a crock of shit - and a stinky one at that.
"Maybe we should think this through a little more first."
They all agree.
The Chief loosens his belt and lets his belly flop out over his beige pants.
"I think you should all get a good nights rest. A bit of shut eye will make everything clear - thats what my ol' Poppy used to say...until he died in his sleep"
"But, Chief, we work the night shift", Pip reminds him.
"Night shift, smight shift. Just get yourselves off home and grab forty winks - or in your case, o' Halloran, 40 wanks"
FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS NEXT IN CHAPTER 5