Shadow of Written Lies
A small lamp lit up the desk, illuminating a pile of police reports. It was going to be a long night reviewing the reports. The police officer in question had been given a tip from a local private detective. Unknown to his boss, he was focusing on this over his normal night shift duties. He was hidden from view in the records room, behind dusty shelves with a single lamp barely bright enough. A white plastic coffee cup sat nearby, trying to keep himself awake. The light barely showed his rounded brown frame glasses and brown hair slowly turning grey. He said very quietly, not drawing attention to himself, “Let’s start here.” Digging into the pile of papers at the bottom, he found what he wanted. The single-page report read out loud, “Officer report classified and references redacted, destroy this memo and any records around the incident in question.” Looking up in shock, he started to check other bits of paperwork. Most reports were redacted, with rewritten copies marked to replace the originals. Post-it notes with instructions had not been completed. Leaning back on the metal folding chair, he picked up only one untouched. Out of 20 bits of paper, this one had escaped. Officer report May 30th: An emergency services call was made for a police escort from the Church to the dockyards. Hearing gunshots, officers began to attend the scene with a further request made by members of the public. This is inaccurate; known dirty cops had visited an apartment complex instead, trying to collect evidence to frame somebody for gangsters. They opened fire within the building when questioned why they were breaking and entering. This report is updating the public record and providing the facts.
He was stunned. The single bit of paper contained every single bit of juicy detail. Worse still, it was detailed with names. No author and looked like an early draft. A small light in the distance began to appear between the shelving units. He switched off the light and gathered the papers up. The clerk’s help desk was near, and he moved towards it, hiding under it. Footsteps drew closer, torchlight flicking in the dark room. An unfamiliar male voice spoke, “Should be somewhere here, box 960, I can’t see it,” walking over to the help desk. He continued his train of thought, “959, 961 but no 960, wait a minute, this box is empty.” Turning around, he suddenly tripped over a box and landed on the floor. Leaving the help desk after throwing a box under his feet, the police officer quickly made his escape. Paperwork in a folder he had borrowed from the desk he was hiding under. Walking down the white hallways past the coffee machine towards his office. Peeking from behind the green plant, nobody was close by. Stopping at the admin section, he opened the photocopier and made a copy or two. Two folders in hand, he made his way towards the car park. Once inside the car park and checking nobody had followed him, he called the private detective and got into his car to go meet him.
He said, “Why did I agree to this?”