The Washington Post today featured a front page article to die for:

The investigator turns to the kitchen and opens the refrigerator. The shelves are empty. The house lights don't work, and dust floats like snowflakes in the flashlight's beam. Flies, hundreds of them, are buzzing and bouncing off window shades. That's why MacWilliams is here: Neighbors called about the flies.

He creaks up the stairs, and when he reaches the bedroom he finds what he expected: a corpse. The dead man is half-resting on a bare mattress; his skin looks like leather. The detective digs through some drawers and finds ear plugs, ear wax remover and hundreds of cotton swabs. "He was probably hearing voices," MacWilliams surmises.

This is the kind of police investigation that the public rarely hears about and that few inside the force are eager to conduct. Tracking down the bodies of people who die naturally or take their own lives can be emotionally draining, physically uncomfortable, lonely.

This sounds like a job for, well, Dirty Jobs.