Detective O'Brien and Agent Brown had been on the scene for well over an hour and had made no progress whatsoever. "Jaysus Christ," O'Brien finally said. "Look at the fookin' state of that boy. How does a fella that age wind up like that, anyway?"

Brown held his nose and moved over to the body for closer inspection. "You reckon he's been sittin' here long? His face is fookin' purple."

"How the fook should I know? He's dead. What does it matter? Are you plannin' on taken him out for a date or sumthin'? Show him roun' the city and give him a nice kiss on the way home?"

"Give over, you oul shite," Brown snarled. It was their last case of the day, and Brown had just about enough of O'Brien carry on for one day. "What are we gonna say to Finnegan? He's gonna want some answers."

"Well, we'll tell him the truth, won't we? Fella's dead. There's no witnesses, no fingerprints, no motive -- there's no point gettin' our knickers in a twist about it, now is there? Sure look at him. He's all broken. No good to nobody. It's not our fault."

Brown hated to admit it but O'Brien was right. It'd been over an hour and they'd made no progress whatsoever. If there were clues to be found, they would have gotten a lead by now.

Both men began to pace around the room stroking their beards.

"Are you sure there's no prints? Go on and give the door knob the once over again."

O'Brien scrunched up his face and reluctantly went over the door. The door knob was covered in all manner of blood and guts and weird shite.

"Not a fookin' thing," O'Brien says, after giving the knob the once over. "It's no use. We may as well go home."

"You're right. Bloody hell, lets go. The dinner'll be gettin' cold."

As the men were packing up, Finnegan entered the room.

"What are you fookin' do, boys? It's not time to go home yet. What's happenin', anyway? How'd the fella die?"

"Not the foggiest," they replied.

"What do ya mean, ya daft cunts? Sure there's blood everywhere. And there's a knife over there for goodness sake!"

"There's no leads, boss. The place is sterile. Nothin' more to be done.

"O'Brien have you lost your fookin' marbles? There's blood everywhere. I can see the bloody prints on the door knob."

"Boss, look," O'Brien said, "I'm tellin' ya. There's no leads."

"Is he off his fookin' head?" Finnegan says to Brown.

Brown shook his head. "No, boss. He's tellin' the truth."

"They said it was fookin' drug case? How can there be no leads? Have you checked in the body for any?"

"Any what?"

"Drugs?"

"No, he didn't have any. Jus' those fruit loznegers," O'Brien said.

Smith nodded. "God, they don't taste like they used to, do they?"