Page 8 of Miki

“Open the door, you arsehole!” I screamed as I banged on the thing.

“Leave, Detective. I’ve helped all I can!” he said through the door.

Frustrated, I leaned against the door frame.

“Please, Mr Aldridge!” I pleaded.

“No, I’m sorry, Miss Campbell, but I have children to protect. I won’t get any more involved,” he replied, and I could hear the conviction in his voice.

Fine, I would have to do this myself.

Clutching the file, I turned away from the closed door and walked back down the hall, letting everything I’d learned in our brief exchange finally sink in. It felt like my life really had been turned upside down.

It was all true. My dad was murdered while looking into corruption within the department that I now belonged to myself. I could no longer cling to the tiniest little hope I carried that somehow I had been wrong. There was no denying it anymore; my colleagues had to have been involved. Uncle Roy had to have been involved.

Memories of the times my dad and I had spent with Roy at his home, on holiday, laughing and joking together, and then me being hugged and comforted by Roy at my dad’s funeral, assaulted me. Each memory felt like a punch to the gut, and by the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, I felt sick.

Shoving open the door, I ran out into the street, one hand holding the file, the other held desperately over my mouth in a vain effort to stop myself from throwing up. I just got to the end of the block of shops and turned into an alleyway before finally retching.

Bent over and using the edge of the building for support, I vomited on the ground as my stomach forcibly ejected the little food I’d eaten earlier.

Eventually, when there was nothing left, I took a deep breath and quickly wished I hadn’t, because the smell made me dry heave. Backing away a few steps and keeping my breath shallow finally calmed the nausea, and I could stand up straight again. After wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I staggered back to my car, thankful nobody was around to witness the evidence of my trauma.

Still feeling like shit, I climbed into the driver’s seat and sat there clutching the steering wheel and breathing heavily as my anger built. All this time, Roy Allen had been lying to me, pretending to be grieving over my father’s loss, when, in fact, it looked like he had been involved in his murder.

He won’t get away with it! None of them will!

The vow I’d made that morning solidified in my mind. I was going to finish what my dad had started, expose the corruption in the department and bring his killer to justice. I would avenge my dad’s death if it was the last thing I did.

CHAPTER 4

MIKI

LONDON – A WEEK LATER – THE BLACKMAIL

Standing outside the coffee shop, my eyes narrowed on the man as I took him in. He wasn’t much to look at, pretty average; nothing about him stood out. He was small and lean, with a thin, pinched face, slightly receding hairline, and small wire-rimmed glasses. At first glance, you would likely dismiss him as no threat. I knew better.

Nigel Simpson was a prominent criminal defence lawyer here in London and while he might not outwardly exude power, as I had been told I did, he was definitely powerful and no doubt highly intelligent. He wouldn’t be so successful if he wasn’t.

So, while I knew I could bring him easily to his knees with the information I now held on him, I would still need to watch the slimy little weasel. He wasn’t someone that could ever be trusted, even with the threat of blackmail hanging over his head.

The guy was as corrupt as they came. It was that corruption that had caused him to be a part of several conspiracies against me and mine. He was also a man who had a tendency to play hard and break the law, even as he upheld it, and those tendencies would be his downfall. Starting today.

Opening the door of the coffee shop, I made my way towards him, with Vlad, my friend and bodyguard, following closely behind.

Fisting my hands, I took a deep breath to help stay in control, as I slipped into the seat opposite him.

Finally, I was face to face with one of the men who had been orchestrating attacks on my family and the Polish Mafia for some time. They’d brought misery and upset to us and for that, they would pay. I tampered down the rage I felt at having to wait to take revenge on this little weasel. I couldn’t give in to it, not yet. For now, I needed him.

Simpson looked up from reading his newspaper, and his breath hitched when he recognised me. Trying to pretend otherwise, he lifted his coffee towards his mouth, “Can I help you, Mr… eh?” he asked.

However, from the slight trembling of his hand as he drank from his cup, it was all too obvious that he knew exactly who I was… and was afraid. Very good, he should be afraid.

“I believe you know exactly who I am, Mr Simpson. Now, regarding how you can help me, I want the name of the person you work for. The one who has been behind the attacks on my family and business,” I stated, my voice sounding pleasant, my expression anything but.

“I do not know what you are talking about!” he exclaimed before standing and picking up his briefcase, ready to leave.

“Sit!” I told him firmly, remaining in my seat.

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