Thomas A Skull In Connemara By Martin McDonagh

Youd think being a policeman would be awful morbid work. Coming across
all sorts of bodies just minutes dead. I would like there to be bodies flying
around everywhere, but there never is.
The only dead body Ive ever seen was a fella in a block of flats on the
road to Shannon. The fattest bastard youve ever seen in your life. Tits like
this. Sitting, no clothes, in his armchair. No clothes, now. Television still on.
A heart attack, the doctor said. All well and good. He knows more than
me. But I had meself a look in that fat mans fridge, now. A mighty fridge,
it was. Six feet high. What was in there? A pot of jam and a lettuce. Eh?
And nothing else. A pot of jam and lettuce in the fridge of the fattest man
youve ever seen in your life. Nothing suspicious in that? I pointed it out in
my report to them, and they just laughed at me. And watching television
stark naked too? Nothing suspicious in that?
The first thing Im going to do when they promote me is reopen the case
of the lettuce and jam man, cos I cant sleep at night sometimes thinking
of that poor fellas murder going four years unsolved, as cold and alone in
his big fat grave he lies. Oh, and the fella who drowned on wee is another!
I may bring in a urine expert on that one.
(A pause)
Im beginning to think I may never get promoted.