They found the body on a Tuesday. And the surprise came on a Friday. In the mean time, not much happened.
At home, his wife had passed by Wednesday evening, but only to pick up some clothes and to criticise him for not visiting his daughter and granddaughter yet. So he went by on Thursday afternoon. There was nothing to do in the office anyway.
Peppy´s boyfriend opened the door.
– “Ah, it´s you.”
Peppy´s boyfriend had a lot of hair, most of which was knotted in a rastafari fashion. He made a gesture with one of his long arms to show him in.
– “As a matter of fact, yes, it is me,” said the Inspector.
In passing, the Inspector noted that the boy only wore some kind of bedsheet around his waist. The corridor was littered with clothes, packs of tobacco rolling paper, little metal tins, coloured hairclips, broken pencils, raffia mats and bits of uncooked macaroni. In the living room he saw his wife. She sat on the only chair in the room, with a huge african drum between her legs, some kind of turban around her head and an uncomfortable smile on her face. She looked like a protestant pilgrim´s wife visiting an Indian tribe on the first thanksgiving day.
– “There you are,” she said. And with her head she motioned which he way he should look.