An Ordinary Kind of Sadness
Picture credit: HBO Some years ago, I spent Christmas Eve in the living room of an elderly lady’s one-bedroom flat. The Wizard of Oz was playing on the TV. The lady sat bolt upright on the sofa, neatly dressed, eyes glued to the screen. On her lap was a Yorkshire Terrier, growling and snappy. Perhaps he didn’t care for the Wicked Witch, or Toto was setting him off? Or maybe he was upset about the lady being dead. The telly was on a high volume. That was the giveaway. When it stayed on all night and all morning, neighbours called the police and I turned up to force entry. I was twenty-two years old and had been a copper for about a year. My colleague was even fresher out of the box, yet to deal with his first body – a sudden death, as they’re known. I’d already encountered a few, so it was my job to show him the ropes. When people think about policing and dead bodies, the fir...