Another radio sketch...
INT. CRIME SCENE
PC SANDERS:
Can I help you, sir?
INSPECTOR DAWSON:
Detective Inspector Dawson, CID; what are we looking at here?
PC SANDERS:
Good evening, Inspector; sorry to drag you out in the middle of the night.
INSPECTOR DAWSON:
Let's just get to business, shall we?
PC SANDERS:
Of course, sir - sorry, sir. The victim is a… Caucasian female, twenty six years old, no previous. You might want to take a minute before you go in there, sir – it's not a pretty picture.
INSPECTOR DAWSON:
Just show me where the…(HORRIFIED) My God, what happened to her?
PC SANDERS:
They're writing it up as a broken heart.
F/X: A WOMAN SOBS.
INSPECTOR DAWSON:
The serial monogamist! Not again, damn it! How many times does this have to happen before we catch this scumbag?!
PC SANDERS:
I don't know, sir, somehow he's always a step ahead of us.
INSPECTOR DAWSON:
It makes my skin crawl. Wait a second, what's this?
PC SANDERS:
What's what, sir?
INSPECTOR DAWSON:
This… in the victim's hand! A piece of paper with a number! This could be the breakthrough we're looking for - how did you not find this?
PC SANDERS:
I'm sorry, sir - it's just this case, it's got me so rattled I'm not thinking straight.
INSPECTOR DAWSON:
Is this…my God... this is a phone number!
PC SANDERS:
You mean he finally slipped up and left us a clue?
INSPECTOR DAWSON:
What are you asking me for? Call it, man! Call the damned number!
F/X: DIALLING AND DEAD TONE.
PC SANDERS:
It's a digit short, sir.
INSPECTOR DAWSON:
That sick bastard!
F/X: THE SOBBING WOMAN HOWLS IN ANGUISH.
