Page 5 of A New Days Don

“I won’t be staying long. I wanted to drop off our newest case. Jeremiah Wilson. Age 43 from Las Vegas. Four counts of child molestation. We are working on adding child pornography and forcible confinement to his list as well.” I hold the package out to my closest colleague.

He stands from his desk, approaching me slowly, and my cheeks flush as they always do. Kaden was informed about my case five years ago. I was supposed to be on his desk, and he was supposed to ensure that James was locked up in a prison with men who destroy people like him, but the cops on my case ruined my evidence. There was nothing he could do to help locate and lock him up, but he had been preparing outside of the detective's work to make sure he knew every law and constitutional line to use against him.

“We have won every case since you started putting together evidence.” Kaden notes, and I shrug, handing him the set of files, both digital and physical, “You shouldn’t shrug it off. You should be proud. My wife was telling me how much safer she feels knowing that you are taking the lead on so many of these cases.”

I am proud.

I am.

Maybe.

I wish I could bury my own demons. I am glad I have helped put dozens of rapists and murderers behind bars over the last three years since becoming a recruit with the Las Vegas Police Department, but a part of me is still stuck at 21. Stuck hating that the man who hurt little Mila is still out there.

Kaden must recognize the shift in mood because he slowly backs up to his desk and says, “Have you found any leads?”

“Not yet. I put my drawings through our facial recognition system, but there were no matches. I went through all the identifiers I had, James, hazel eyes, he would be late thirties now, or at least I predicted so. I even broadened that range.” I let out a puff of breath in frustration.

It took me six years to get to where I am today. Still an underling to misogynistic men with far too much power, but after the last three years since graduating, I have proved each and every one of their opinions of me wrong. Where many of my fellow recruits left when the job became too tough, I stayed and pushed my way into a desk. As of this year, I run solo investigations on cold cases in between collecting information and studying current cases with one of the leading detectives.

“Might be worthwhile to check his old stomping grounds,” Kaden suggests, but my stomach sinks at the thought of returning. Nausea churns, and my head becomes light, almost airy, the way it always does when I contemplate going back.

My own screams fill my ears. Red. Blood.

Flashes of the man’s face try to piece themselves together, but it’s like my brain erased him from my memory.

A ring.

James.

A chill runs down my spine as I shove those memories back. Going back there is an inevitability. The low vibrations of panic seep through my veins at the thought.

I have avoided any interactions with bars and clubs since that fateful evening, but as I run into dead ends on the case with James, I know I can’t solve the cold case at my desk. The thought of going back to that club, however, feels eons away.

“I have camera footage pulled, but I have to put a pause on it for a little while. Detective Vicek has asked me to join him on the recent murder case. One more sex worker raped and killed, and he will be categorizing it as serial. Only took him fifteen women.” When I growl, Kaden’s brows pull together, concern morphing across his soft features. “Make sure you lock him up for the maximum on each count. I will see you later.”

Before I can slip out of his office, Kaden calls for me, “My wife has been trying to get a hold of you.”

“I know, I have been dodging her calls,” I smirk at Kaden, who chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

“Call her back.” He laughs, returning to his desk, and I leave his office, waving him off.

I pull up to the precinct and park the cruiser in the back. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I slip it out of the pants I am wearing.

He knows this. He was the one who insisted I see a psychologist every week since I was hired on, citing and I quote, ‘Miss Mila Lewis will have regularly appointed psychology meetings as a condition upon her hiring. If they deem her mentally incapable at any point, then she will be suspended.’

They didn’t have this condition for any of the men who joined alongside me. Only me. Detective Vicek also worked my case, my case that ran cold and had evidence ruined because of their negligence. He is well aware that I didn’t join the force to only serve our community. He knew, and currently knows, I am working on my own case. Vicek also knows that if I find evidence of his personal negligence, he will be questioned and have his own suspension looming. That is why he keeps me busy with every possible case he can throw my way. As if the mental hurdle of tackling my case isn’t a big enough roadblock.

I make my way around the building, fixing my Kevlar vest and making sure my gun is secure. The Vegas heat beams down on me, even though it is only nine in the morning. The humidity has already picked up, making it muggier than usual, which tells me a rainstorm is coming. Sweat slowly begins to bead along my forehead as I walk up to the crosswalk and press the button on the post to signal the lights to change for a walker.

There is nothing out of the ordinary around, but I still check each of the streets and take the long way around to the psych office to avoid passing one of the alleyways. Cars whiz past, going well over the speed limit, even past the precinct. One of our rookies takes off in a cruiser after them. The streetlights change from green to red, allowing me to cross. The psychologist's office I use is across the street and is conveniently the one most staff assigned to this request use. The building is an older-style building. The only update done to the sixties-style brickwork building was the main entrance.

Unlike typical doctors’ offices, the psych office has comfortable sofas and chairs set up to look more like a living room than a waiting room. The walls are painted a calming beige colour, and in the corner is a fish tank full of small colourful fish with a waterfall.

Slumping into one of the plush sofas, I pull my phone out to see a slew of texts from Vicek.

I roll my eyes as I read each and every one of his idiotic texts. The man thinks he runs the precinct, yet he has no power to fire me or threaten it over his appointed psych meetings.

I turn my phone off, sliding it into my pocket as my therapist calls for me.