Inspector Poon stepped gingerly through the cow field, leaping over large fetid piles of shit with the best ability his limited coordination would allow. He reached the clearing, pulling back the police tape and entering the scene of the crime.

"Oh, fucking hell," cursed Captain Mallory, clutching at his temples. He turned to Poon and motioned him over. "Alright, let's get this farce over with. The body's over here."

"Where exactly?" asked Poon, his head reeling from the heaping spoonfuls of methadrone he had slurped up like a dog in his small Pinto.

"Over here—JESUS, POON! You're standing on the body! You're standing on the body! Get off! Off!" Mallory waved his arms frantically.

"Alright, alright, I'm off. Your majesty. So what seems to be the problem?"

He leaned over, taking care to grab the heroin spoon he had dropped earlier without Mallory noticing.

"His wife found him earlier," said Detective Richards, nodding his head at the corpse.

 

Poon surveyed the grisly scene. On the ground, a farmer lay with his arms and legs sticking at odd angles. His head was buried to the neck in the anus of a cow, also dead.

"This is an obvious case of asphyxiation," surmised Poon.

"Alright fine," grumbled Poon. "But did you also know that he was MURDERED?"

 

How did the Inspector know foul play was involved?

Poon had noticed a sinister, shifty look in the cow's face—surely evidence that the devious animal had had it in for the farmer from the start. On a hunch, Poon went back to the farmer's ranch house and, despite repeated protests from the corpse's wife, rooted through the farmer's things. It was his hope that he would find some evidence of a previous relationship between the farmer and cow.

He found no no such evidence. He did, however, find thirty-seven dollars in bills and small change, and quickly pronounced the case closed.

"But you didn't find anything!" Mallory protested as Poon hopped back into his car.

"Didn't I, Mallory?" countered Poon, jangling the change in his pocket. "Didn't I?"

"No!" yelled Mallory.

"Fucking hell, Mallory," growled Poon, shutting the door and leaning out the open window. "The poor fucker's got his head buried up a cow's ass, man. I think he'd rather we let this one go. Besides, solving this bitch wont make him any less dead, will it?"

"Well, no, but..."

"Exactly," said Poon, revving his engine and flooring it away from the crime scene. He took great care to make sure a large plume of shit-encrusted sludge splashed all over Mallory as he drove off.

"There goes the greatest analytical mind in the world," said Detective Richards, walking up to Mallory.

"What, in the car ahead of that idiot Poon?" asked Mallory.

"Yeah, the red Honda. That's Inspector Renard from Paris. He's visiting for the week to help out with the Red Carnation Murders."

"Really? Wow. I hear he's good OH GOD POON JUST RAN HIM OFF THE ROAD!"

The mushroom-like explosion ballooning out of the Honda's gas tank could be seen several cities away.

"What the hell was that?" mumbled Poon, who'd been tuning his car radio and hadn't been watching the road.