What I’m trying to figure out is, why use your business card? If I want to leave someone a note, I’ll use a Post-it.

HAMILTON: Could he be homeless? Mentally ill? Maybe I gave him money, I don’t know, and that’s how he got my card … ?

LAMB: ‘Here y’are, my good man, go get yourself a sandwich and oh, here’s my card in case you’re ever arrested for, you know, plagiarism … ’

HAMILTON: Yeah, okay.

LAMB: In any case, I don’t think he’s homeless.

Hamilton looks at Lamb.

LAMB: The homeless have an unmistakable … (taps his finger on his nose) aroma. He doesn’t. And there’s no way to say if he’s … (makes ‘crazy’ gesture) I called the CAMHs and psych wards in the area. No one’s gone missing.

HAMILTON: It’s pretty clear he’s drugged, though.

LAMB: Yeah. (snaps his fingers) Maybe he was playing hard to get, so the two kids gave him a roofie …

Hamilton stares at Lamb.

LAMB: I know, I know. My wife says I’ve got the worst combination ever: a foul sense of humour and lousy timing.

HAMILTON: It’s fine. (beat) The download joke was okay.

LAMB: Yeah? With two daughters of Internet age, you learn a thing or two about copyright.

HAMILTON: (smiles, angles to leave) Anyway –

LAMB: Okay, can I be that guy?

HAMILTON: What guy?

Lamb takes out his phone.

LAMB: The guy who brings up his kids and then immediately shows you their picture?

HAMILTON: … Sure.

LAMB: I used to hate people who did this. Before I had kids, right? And then I had my own … (smirks) Now I’m that douchebag.

Lamb hands the phone to Hamilton.

LAMB: That’s Erin, she’s thirteen, and that’s Iris, seven.

HAMILTON: They’re lovely.

LAMB: Yeah. They’re pretty special.

I finish my shift just in time for presents in the morning.

Hamilton hands the phone back to Lamb.

LAMB: Any kids?

HAMILTON: No.

LAMB: Lucky you, in a way. Because a wife and two daughters? That’s a lot of estrogen in the house. I mean, lots of pink, lots of pastel-coloured everything, eh? Yeah. Wow.

But you know what the worst is? The bathroom. Hands down.

So much (pronounces ‘shea’ as ‘shee’) shea butter this, pomegranate that … It’s a goddamn fruit garden is what it is. I swear, you could fart in there all day and no one would ever know. (laughs)

All right, all right, you know you’ve hit bottom when the fart jokes start, am I right? (beat) Hit bottom?

HAMILTON: Oh, yes. I see.

LAMB: Wait, I’ll say it for you: ‘Shut the hell up, Inspector.’ (laughs) Oh, I should follow my own advice sometimes.

HAMILTON: (thin smile) Don’t worry about it. (puts out his hand) I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help, Inspector.

They shake hands. Hamilton turns to leave –