A mangled car wreck, a spider's web of electrical cords in a drug house; grisly autopsy photos.

Senior Constable Ian Pearson's work plays in unison on two computer screensavers on his desk.

"I'll just shut this down, eh?" he says with an apologetic smile and wriggle of his computer mouse. "Post mortems are fascinating," he muses as a grisly image disappears.

"Truth is stranger than fiction. You wouldn't write some of the stuff that we see."


Pearson, dressed in a calming lilac shirt and slacks, has seen it all in his two decades of policing; from bizarre burglaries and midnight