Sam: I still think we need to entertain the possibility this could be a racial killing. Hunt: Oh, let's entertain it. Let's take it out for a prawn cocktail, a steak and a bottle of Liebfraumilch. Then let's kick it to the gutter where it belongs!
Skelton: I wonder what killed him. Hunt: That would be the bloody enormous hole in his chest where the bullet went in!
Sam: Why don't you let me see if I can get something out of her? Hunt: You trying to get something out of her, or something into her?
Hunt: Look at her. She's as nervous as a very small nun at a penguin shoot.
Hunt: What the bloody hell are you playing at? Sam: A bit of good cop, bad cop. Hunt: No, no, no, no, no, you're more like absolutely gorgeous cop. Sam: I think she's telling the truth this time. Hunt: And I think she's as fake as a tranny's fanny.
Hunt: You great soft cissy girly nancy French bender Man United-supporting puff!
Hunt: Bloody brilliant. Old butterfingers here meets our killer and lets him go. Couldn't catch the clap in a French brothel.
Sam: Maybe the N.F. shot him, left the heroin there, to make him look bad. Hunt: The N.F. are far too stupid for that. They could stick a shotgun up my arse and pull the trigger, they'd still miss.
Sam: I think we need to explore whether this attempted murder was a hate crime. Hunt: What, as opposed to one of those "I really, really like you" sort of murders?
Hunt: Now, yesterday's shooting. The dealers are all so scared we're more likely to get Helen Keller to talk. The Paki in a coma's about as lively as Liberace's dick when he's looking at a naked woman. All in all, this investigation's going at the speed of a spastic in a magnet factory. What? Sam: I think you might have missed out the Jews.
Hunt: You said he was dead! Carling: Well, he wasn't moving. Hunt: Chris doesn't move but he's not dead!
Annie: Guv? Hunt: What? Annie: He's got a pulse. He's alive! (Hunt pours coffee onto the victim's head. He stirs.) Hunt: He is. Isn't he? Sam: See? That's why you need women detectives.
Annie: Boss, there's a viscous yellow liquid in his ear. Hunt: No, that's a drip from my fried egg buttie, love. Well done, Miss Marple, that's why we need women detectives.
Hunt: You've got fingers in more pies than a leper on a cookery course.
Music used in this episode: Dance With The Devil by Cozy Powell Breathless by Atomic Rooster Snow Flower by Ananda Shankar Rocket Man by Elton John I Had A Dream by The Audience Hot Sand by Shocking Blue Traveller In Time by Uriah Heep Whiskey In The Jar by Thin Lizzy
Sam: Well, it's better than even I expected. Copper leaps to a conclusion, then finds the evidence to fit. Birmingham Six, here we come. The Birmingham Six were convicted of the Birmingham pub bombings of 21 November 1974 and sentenced to life imprisonment. At a third appeal against the convictions, in 1991, the Court of Appeal considered that new evidence discredited both the mens' confessions and critical forensic evidence against them, making the convictions unsafe. The case has subsequently been held up as an examplar of corrupt police work.
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