Page 3 of Miki

My whole body shook with the horror of what I’d just seen. It wasn’t as though I hadn’t seen worse things. In the seven years that I had been in the Police, I most certainly had. But this was my dad, and that made it even more horrible.

I knew Dad was shot in the head, but thankfully I hadn’t needed to identify the body. Uncle Roy had done that, and it was a closed coffin at the cremation. Despite being a police officer, I hadn’t been allowed to see any of the crime scene photographs because I was family. So, witnessing my dad in that state for the first time was utterly shocking.

Lying on the bathroom floor, I took steadying breaths as I fought a battle against the vomit that kept threatening to rise again. Finally, my stomach settled, and I slowly climbed to my feet. My legs felt shaky, my body weak.

Clinging to the side of the sink for support, I rinsed my mouth. The water poured down my throat, cooling the burning sensation and helped wash away the rancid taste left behind by the bile. Then I splashed some water on my face and looked in the mirror. My shocked, pale visage stared back at me.

The images raced through my mind as I gazed at my reflection. I understood the message conveyed by the photographs, but I couldn’t fully comprehend what I had witnessed. The distress of seeing my dad like that must have been messing with my head. Surely, it couldn’t be true? I had to be mistaken.

Eventually, I recovered enough from the shock and nausea to return to the bedroom. Approaching the desk slowly, my dread built and sweat broke out all over my body as I slid into the chair and reached out a shaky hand. I didn’t want to look at the photographs again, but I knew there was no choice.

My entire world shrunk down to the pile of images laid before me. My eyes glued to my dad’s prone form. The shallow breaths and small sounds in the back of my throat as I held on tightly to my emotions, the only other thing I was aware of as I studied the image, looking for clues.

There was little I could glean from the photograph that I hadn’t seen already. I needed to know who the man with the gun was, but it was hard to identify him with his back toward the camera.

Closing my eyes, I turned the photo over. I’d tortured myself long enough. I would never look at that image again, but I vowed I would find the killer and make him pay, and anyone else involved.

Keeping my eyes closed, I took deep, steadying breaths as the vow took hold. As my resolve solidified, and my nerves calmed, I finally forced myself to pick up the rest of the photos and take another look.

As I got to the last image, one I’d not yet seen, I gasped. It revealed someone with the same build, hair, and clothing as the killer, handing over a file to Aiden Mathieson, who was standing next to Uncle Roy. The file looked just like the one my dad had been reading. I looked at the photograph again and stared at the face of my dad’s killer. He was familiar. I’d seen him before. I couldn’t remember where or who he was yet, but I would soon find out.

Why was he with Uncle Roy? There was only one conclusion I could draw. The one I’d tried to avoid. My Uncle Roy really was corrupt. That meant my colleagues could be too.

Not only that, but it appeared that they, or at least Roy, had something to do with my dad’s murder.

Fuck!

As that thought took hold, I felt faint. How could he do that to my dad and me?

He was dad’s best friend, his partner, the man who should have had his back.

Tears blurred my vision as I thought about how Roy had mentored me since Dad died. We were close. We always had been. And the other guys from my department, they’d been Dad’s colleagues and friends too. These were all people I’d idolised. This couldn’t be happening.

Had everything been a lie?

Wetness on my cheeks alerted me to the fact that I was crying. It felt like my world was falling apart; everything I thought I knew, the truths and people I’d held dear, looked up to even, were not real.

Anger infused me. I swept the photographs off the desk, screaming in frustration.

That’s when I saw a small slip of paper I hadn’t noticed before. It fluttered to the ground, landing on top of the mess I’d made. Picking it up, I saw the name John Aldridge, with a time and place for a meeting. Nothing else.

I’d cried myself to sleep after that, grieving the loss of my dad, the death of my illusions, and that nothing in my world would ever be the same again.

Shaking my head, I forced my mind back to the present.

Pushing aside the memories of yesterday, I stuffed the same slip of paper into my trouser pocket. That meeting was for later today, and I’d be there because whoever this John Aldridge was, he had answers I needed.

Throughout the night, I had looked through the photographs again—all but one of them—and now they were burnt into my mind. Technically, I should hand it all over to my boss and get him to re-open my dad’s case, but since my boss appeared to be involved, that was not an option. Neither was going to anyone else at this time, because I did not know if any of my other colleagues were involved, and I didn’t know how high up this corruption went.

It was actually frightening to think that I did not know who I could trust.

Opening the small safe I had in my wardrobe where I kept all my valuables, I stuck the envelope inside.

There was no other choice in the matter. I needed to investigate things myself, and I would start with meeting Mr Aldridge.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, then headed for the door. It was time to go to work and face the men from the pictures.

How the heck I was going to deal with these men I’d called friends and colleagues without confronting them about my suspicions? I didn’t know. My stomach churned with nerves as I drove, and even cranking up the volume on the radio couldn’t distract my busy mind.

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