Welcome to the first part of this four-part story, The Happy Detective, written and read by me, WillSelf. I was sitting in my office when the phone rang. It was Grierson from Homicide.You better get over here, Hillary, he said. They found Pendleton in a culvert at 22nd and 5th.He paused, and I could hear an ocean of static sadness. His buttocks have been grated to a bloodypulp. I was renting space on the 32nd floor of the Westin building that year. You had to ridethree separate elevators to get down to the lobby, an atrium so big that the fountains,ornamental pools, and sunbright arc lamps created strange interior weather systems.Small clouds obscured the terrace restaurants.Second level. I bought a pack of nicotine gum at the concession stand and got my car from theunderground lot. The traffic was heavy, and it took me several hours to get across town.By the time I reached the crime scene, the guys from the morgue had already gone with Pendleton'scorpse. Grierson had gone too. There was only a patrolman sucking a lollipop beside the candystriped tape. Don't you ever get sick of this, Seamus, he said, dabbling his foot,in the mud that used to be a man's blood. Me? I was genuinely bemused. No, I never get sick of it.See, I'm a happy guy. I love my work, because it's all about helping folks.You help this guy? He withdrew his lollipop with a plop.Pendleton? I sighed. No, I couldn't help him. He? He had all these crazy ideas.