Page 22 of Miki

Thinking back over yesterday, I noted my errors. The first was not allowing myself proper rest, and the second was not controlling my emotions. I was putting my stupidity in nearly running straight into the guard down to my upset over seeing what I believed to be the gun that killed my dad.

However, that was no excuse; I was trained to work better under pressure and in stressful situations. From now on, I needed to stay clear-headed and focused. I had to keep a grip on my emotions, and I had to stop getting distracted, and that included by gorgeous men.

Images of the mystery man and our antics flashed through my mind, making a mockery of my vow to forget about him. I huffed, annoyed with myself. The man was way too distracting.

No matter how I tried, I couldn’t focus on anything but the feel of his lips.

They really were sexy lips.

Aargh!

Damn that man. I needed to get out, go for a run, and clear my head.

Grabbing my running clothes and trainers, I pulled them on in annoyance, huffing and mumbling about purging the annoying male from my mind.

It was a chilly morning. The crisp air assaulted my lungs as I ran. However, every breath felt like a cleansing of my mind and body, so I pushed myself hard, concentrating solely on my breathing until all other thoughts disappeared.

Eventually, with a clearer mind and feeling more in control of myself, I returned home.

After a long shower, I felt refreshed, more focused, stronger and ready to take on the world. Or at least my colleagues. Alone or not, I could do this!

Opening my phone, I downloaded the photos I took in Mathieson’s office onto my computer to look through them. It definitely was some sort of escape cache that confirmed, without a doubt, that the asshole was corrupt.

However, there was nothing there I could use against him or Roy. I had stopped calling him Uncle Roy. He wasn’t my uncle, and he no longer deserved the privilege of being an honorary one. The thought of calling him uncle ever again made me want to puke. The fucker!

Thinking about him reminded me it was time to call Aunt Maisie. After a brief chat, she invited me over for dinner later in the evening, just as I had hoped.

Afterwards, I settled at my desk with my notebook and started making notes.

I had four prime suspects regarding the corruption in my department. All of whom were on my shift, and most of whom were long-serving prominent members of the CID Roy, Sergeant John McBride, and two Detective Constables, Steven Ridley, and my partner, Martin Johnson.

It was time to gather my thoughts and get properly organised.

Starting a file on each of the officers, I wrote out everything I knew about them, no matter how insignificant. I spent the rest of the morning thinking about the various incidents I had witnessed at work that were in any way odd, jotting down everything I could remember as I tried to figure out exactly what these officers were involved in.

There was one incident a few months ago involving Sergeant McBride while I had been on secondment. We had been driving around and the Sarge had told me he needed to talk with some of his informants about a case he was working on.

Naturally, I thought nothing of that. Using informants was a big part of a detective’s life, and many informants would only speak to a particular officer. So, when I was told to wait inside the car as he went around various pubs and clubs chatting with people, it didn’t ring any alarm bells. It was boring but not unusual.

However, as the night wore on, I thought his behaviour seemed a bit off. It had been almost as if he was on edge, and I got the impression the Sarge was nervous about my presence. Especially when he talked with the bouncer at the last club we visited. He kept glancing towards me as he spoke. I pretended I wasn’t watching and saw him slip something to the guy, who then gave him something in return.

It had seemed a little shady, but I had scoffed at myself for thinking that and ignored my concerns. I’d simply thought that the Sarge was paying an unofficial informant for the information he was getting instead of going down the normal route.

Usually, criminal informants—also known as Covert Human Intelligence Sources—were properly sanctioned and paid for out of police funds. However, not everyone who gives out information to the police regularly wants to be an official informant. I’d just thought the Sarge was acting a bit off the books, but thoughts of him actually being corrupt hadn’t entered my mind.

In hindsight, I now knew it likely was something nefarious after all.

To make matters worse, that was just one of several similar incidents I’d witnessed involving the Sarge and my partner Martin during my secondment.

Shaking my head in disgust with myself, I wondered how the heck I hadn’t questioned things sooner.

Shame filled me as I realised just how naïve I’d been. I’d trusted my colleagues and as a result, I’d missed so much.

Well, the blinkers were off. My eyes were well and truly opened now, and in some ways, I wished I could go back to that time of blissful ignorance, but unfortunately, there was no going back. All I could do now was to bring these officers to justice and redeem myself for my stupidity and blind faith in men that didn’t deserve it.

The alarm on my phone went off, telling me it was time to put yet another part of my plan into action.

Grabbing a backpack, I packed my gloves, tools, and some lunch and headed to Martin’s house. If he wasn’t home, I planned on breaking in and looking around. If he was, I would just observe for a while and see if anything came of that.

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