Jennifer 8 Page #3

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BERLIN:

I dunno .. Guess the dozer

musta shifted him? You need

some hands up here to look ..

ROSS:

You heard. Look for the knife.

Swatting smoke ROSS directs anger at a fat cop called VENABLES.

You, too .. Move that ass ..

BERLIN hands the film to ROSS as he gets into identical gloves.

You done the pockets?

BERLIN:

No, Sir. I haven't started

till Monday. I'm a "tourist."

ROSS:

"Welcome to Eureka."

By now ROSS is crouched next to the Corpse examining the wound.

How long's he been feeling like this?

BERLIN:

Week or two. Musta been on the ker-

osene. Stinks like a diesel engine.

BLATTIS:

Fucken noddle's hanging off ..

ROSS:

Mr Blattis, of our local news-

paper. You sure it's a suicide?

BERLIN:

Uh huh .. He's well rehearsed ..

BLATTIS:

What does that mean, Sergeant?

BERLIN:

Cut your own throat, you're ner-

vous about it, tend to hesitate.

He's got three trial cuts, lower

left side of the neck, before he

works up courage for the big one.

BLATTIS looks vaguely impressed. ROSS begins searching pockets.

BLATTIS:

You think Popeye would know that?

ROSS:

I don't think Popeye would be here.

VENABLES (V.O.)

Dead dog over here, Sir ...

ROSS:

Find the knife. And Venab-

les, is the coroner called?

VENABLES:

Yes, Sir .. He's delayed ..

BLATTIS:

Alright, gentlemen, I'm gonna

leave you. I got a couple of

questions for the paper, Serg-

eant? Mind if I swing by later,

wring out a tea-bag with you?

BERLIN:

My pleasure .. Who's Popeye?

BLATTIS:

Your predecessor. He did-

n't like to get outta bed.

Catch you later, Freddy T ..

Off he fucks under an ailing sky. BERLIN lands a friendly grin.

BERLIN:

So what happened to the

barbecues, and fishing?

ROSS:

Watch my lips, coz you're not

gonna believe this - this is

a rare occurrence. We haven't

had a body in eighteen months.

He finds keys and change and a sandwich in the Wino's raincoat.

How does anyone dead

as this lose a knife?

BERLIN:

What about that kid, Ross?

ROSS:

Oh, sh*t. Of course. The kid.

(Stands to shout)

Travis. Find that kid and get

the knife off him. He's gonna

lie to you - but he's got it -

so get it. Well, go on, get on

with it. Whatta you staring at?

TRAVIS stares up like he just stuck his dick in a light socket.

TRAVIS:

I think I found some-

thing horrible, Sir

ROSS:

Whatta you mean, "horrible?"

TRAVIS:

I think I've found a hand.

12:
EXT. INFILL. GARBAGE DUMP. DAY.

ROSS crouches in garbage. Peers into a trash sack with assist-

ance of a flashlight. "You're right. It's a fucken hand." Pas-

ses the light to BERLIN. His turn to examine the ruptured bag.

BERLIN:

Looks like a woman's hand?

BERLIN finally stands. Offs the flashlight. And hands it back.

ROSS:

What do you think?

BERLIN:

I think you're here all day.

13:
EXT. INFILL. GARBAGE DUMP. DAY.

Pissing with rain and unspeakably miserable. The 'grid-search'

is in progress and 50 square yards of the dump have been ripp-

ed to pieces. Intermittent voices from police radios. More veh-

icles down below including an ambulance with hazards revolving.

Up here half a dozen arc-lights scald off vapor. BERLIN search-

es under a busted umbrella. Looks up and runs into ROSS's eyes.

ROSS:

How much longer we here? We're

not gonna find nothing else .. ?

He wears a rubber cape & looks like a huge pissed-off Napoleon.

BERLIN:

We give it one more hour. Did

the photographer do the dogs?

ROSS:

The dogs?

BERLIN:

Two dogs. He should do the dogs.

And both turn towards a Voice shouting from deep in the gloom.

VENABLES:

Sergeant - we got a brassiere over

here. Looks like it could be blood.

ROSS:

Oh, sh*t.

BERLIN:

Alright, I'm coming ..

Another intrusion from the radio. TRAVIS repeats the question.

TRAVIS:

The coroner wants to know if

we can release the derelict?

ROSS:

Ask him.

BERLIN:

Yeah, he can go ...

ROSS:

Think I'll lay down with him.

Only way I'll get outta here.

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