There's nothing quite like...
...an arterial bleed. I mean really.

Dahn Lahndan (or, "down in London" for those of us who are not cocker-knees) we were called by the fuzz to a block of flats south of the river to a "stabbing, injuries unknown, lots of blood."

We get there to be met by policeman doing what we in the trade call the "epileptic windmill" (see my profile for a description). The policeman used the phrase "sarge says he's fucked - you need to get there right now."

Bugger, I think. I've just had a kebab.

So up we run, 4 flights of stairs. At this stage I ask "why...the...cunting...fuck...aren't...we....using...the...lift?"

The copper says...."you don't want to use the lift. We've cordoned it off."

Err...OK

We get to the 4th floor, and the hallway is...covered. And when I say covered, I mean covered. Ceiling, floor, walls, windows. There was even a slightly pissed off looking cat with spatters of blood sitting on a windowsill.

"Where's the patient?" I ask

At this stage, a sergeant wanders round a corner.

"He's round here. Don't worry - you won't need any of that gear."

I'm assuming that the policeman has enough grasp of basic physiology to work out that the patient is (forgive the medical term) "proper fucked, like."

Ah.

Yes...he was.

The patient was not alive. Alive people have more neck. And colour. And warmth. He was lying in the lift. Knifed in the carotid artery. He got a whole 6 steps before he ran out of blood.

Length? Well about 2 hours until the coroner arrived. Then the paperwork. Then the statements....
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Tue 12 Aug 2008, 22:35, Reply)