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22 August 2007 @ 04:04 am
Andes and Doris, on the job!  
So here's some non-slash with our favorite detectives are their female accomplice! So much fun...

Title: Crime Scene Error
Fandom: Hot Fuzz
Character/s: General
Prompt: 85.Dirt
Word Count: 131
Rating: PG-13


The cat in the window swished its tail languidly, blinking as an avalanche of magazines cascaded across the floor, yawning and stretching as the DS cursed.

“This place is filthy,” Andrew grumbled, curling his upper lip. “Hasn’t seen a broom in years, I’d say.”

“Well, sometimes people go funny,” Doris agreed, holding a handkerchief firmly against her nose and mouth.

The partially decomposed body of Arnold Fletcher lay in an armchair amdist a sea of dirty dishes, old circulars, small, broken porcelain figurines, and a menagerie of garbage accumulated over a lifetime. The ragged hole in the underside of his upturned jaw, along with the gun lying in his lap, indicated he suffered a rough end.

There was something amiss in their crime scene, but they still couldn’t figure out what.



Title: Crime Scene Oversight
Fandom: Hot Fuzz
Character/s: General
Prompt: 86.Mud
Word Count: 122
Rating: PG-13


Andy lifted one of Mr. Fletcher’s boots from the kitchen floor, a dried crust of mud breaking reluctantly with the tile floor.

“Andrew,” he called into the house, “Come and look at this!”

Doris and Andrew carefully made their way into the room, the heavy scent of rot and putrification present here as well.

“Weird, huh?” Andy prompted, handing the boot to his partner.

“What is?” Doris asked, turning the volume down on her radio.

“Well,” Andrew said, turning the boot over in his hands, “Mr. Fletcher came in through the front door and left his keys in the hall before apparently coming in here for his pills. Trouble is, I didn’t notice any muddy footprints on the way in, did you?”



Title: Crime Scene Investigating
Fandom: Hot Fuzz
Character/s: General
Prompt: 87.Face
Word Count: 171
Rating: PG-13


CSI was still five minutes out when Andrew and Andy began inspecting the decaying body, trying to discern from the entry wound where the bullet hand landed.

“Hang on,” Andrew said, narrowing his eyes as he knelt beside the chair, “This is an exit wound.”

“How d’you know that?” Doris asked, barely keeping her lunch down as she crept closer.

“S’all ragged, torn up, see?” Andrew indicated with a laser pointer Andy offered him. “Andy, see if there’s any burns on his head.”

Andy dodged around the chair, fumbling through garbage, and used a shred of newsprint to gently prod Mr. Fletcher’s head, the disgusted expression on his face nearly comical. It was no wonder Andrew called him girly at times.

“Got an entry wound here, close range, probably,” Andy replied. “There’s a circular burn radiating from the hole. S’not self-inflicted, to say the least.”

“Then the bullet’s in the chair,” Doris deduced.

All three officers shared a nauseated glance; at least it wasn’t their job to dig the slug out.
 
 
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