There is a knock at the door ..

‘Come.’

A constable opens the door and enters a Detective Sergeant’s office. The DS is sitting behind his large desk, head down, busy with paperwork, the sun streaming through the window at his back showing him in dark relief. A large bookshelf on one wall has a collection of family photos, many of them pictures of men in military uniform and garlanded with medals and awards.

The Detective Sergeant flips a piece of paper across his desk towards the constable.

‘Explain this.’

It’s the constable’s deposition, due for submission to the Coroner’s Court in two days.

‘I don’t understand, sir.’

‘You don’t mention the fact that matches were found with the body.’

‘There weren’t any matches, sir.’

The Detective Sergeant stares at the constable, unsmiling.

‘Yes they fucking were, son, because that’s what my deposition says.’

‘But, sir  …’

‘Don’t interrupt me constable, there had to be matches, how else would he have lit his cigarette?’

‘But I can’t swear to something that’s wrong.’

The Detective Inspector sighed, clasped his hands together on his stomach, swiveled his chair around and gazed out of the window.

The constable waited.

‘Sir?’

‘Get out.’