With Dishonour We Serve

By Thomas Anderson

Daniel Pierce was a drug user and petty thief. Breaking in to one house too many he unknowingly takes evidence of police corruption on a massive scale.
When he realises what he has in his hands, he panics and passes it on to Martin Dawson a self-styled journalist cum people's investigator.
There follows a deadly cat and mouse game involving murder and evidence planting while the corrupt police officers attempt to retrieve the items that could destroy them. Martin Dawson and Co have to try and evade capture long enough for the damning evidence to explode onto the news.
With the help of his employee Emily and her friend Hannah, a journalist from Wales, They work as a team to get all the evidence to the BBC where the truth can finally be unveiled.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Anderson
• Release date: Aug 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301760930

Thomas Anderson

Thomas Anderson is a specialist on German armoured fighting vehicles of World War II. He regularly contributes to popular modelling and historical magazines, including Military Modelcraft International (UK), Steel Art (Italy), Historia Militar (Spain) and Batailles & Blindes (France). He lives in Germany.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Martin Dawson opened his eyes and looked at the clock. Showing 7:08 am and with the morning sun shining through, he leisurely stretched and sat up, running his fingers through his dark hair. Knowing he had 45 minutes to get to work, he quickly headed for the shower.

As he washed away the sleep, he mentally went through the work he needed to look at and update.

With his shower complete and feeling fresh, Martin threw on a pair of jogging bottoms and a t-shirt before wandering downstairs.

With no real sense of urgency, he boiled the kettle and settled on a bowl of cereals for breakfast.

His morning routine quickly finished and already onto his second cup of coffee, Martin again checked the time, 7:48 am.

With a sigh, he got up from the chair, his coffee in one hand and walked to the study, or his den, as he preferred to call it.

Booting his computer up and putting his coffee down, Martin waited for the screen to flash up and ask for his password. Once entered, he waited a few seconds for his home screen to show.

Checking for the last time, the clock on his computer showed 7:53, Martin was at work 7 minutes early.

He immediately started checking emails, slowly weeding out and deleting any junk not caught by the various filters already set up within the program.

There was no doubt Martin enjoyed his work. He set his own hours, but generally maintained a strict regime of sticking to them. Working from home, for him, didn’t mean being stuck there all day, more often than not, having to get out and about at least three days out of five to chase up stories.

Unemployed for nine months prior to being self-employed and not only bored but running out of savings, Martin decided to set up a website. Unsure exactly what he would use it for, his initial concept being purely to use it to let off steam and talk about the various injustices of looking for work, dealing with Centrelink, employment agencies and any other government agencies he came across.

It turned out people started to read his site cum blog and respond to various discussions and topics he brought up.

Over time, he had expanded the site to include other people’s gripes together with outcomes from any stories he placed there, where possible.

With nothing better to do, he started researching answers for the people too old, too infirm or too stupid to find answers for themselves.

It also gave him impetus to start looking at how rules and laws said one thing but certain, civil servants, politicians, police officers and others blatantly got away with things the general public could not.

He started researching, collecting articles and creating FAQ’s and within a further six months, his site had again evolved to becoming a forum for outing minor crimes, misdemeanours and policy abuses committed by the very people meant to uphold and enforce them within the various government agencies.

A further 18 months and Martin was happy that his site pretty much ran itself.

It was now set up into areas, a page for each government department and a list of stories, pictures and videos on each, relating various stories of employees from said government departments breaking the rules that they enforced on the public and getting away with it.

His favourites at the moment being police caught speeding or parking in no parking areas while they bought food from local take-away outlets and a high up civil servant washing his car while water restrictions were in force.

Martin knew he would never be famous or have any Big Scoops as the saying went but the advertising on his site and his $2.00 a month online magazine subscription generated enough income to keep him financially secure and pay a part time employee.

In addition, he now also acted as an unofficial journalist for the local paper, occasionally asked to write about and expand upon some of the stories covered on his site.

Though infrequent, those extra few hundred dollars were always welcomed.

With the junk removed there were still about 150 emails to get through, 25 of them Martin had initially marked and red-flagged to be read first.

Checking his watch and nearly 40 minutes had passed. Getting up, he started Emily’s computer knowing she always arrived about 10 minutes early. With her computer booting up, he went to make coffee in anticipation of her arrival.

True to form, as the kettle boiled, he heard his front door open and Emily walked in.

Hi Martin, good start so far?

At 27, Emily Jackson was 4 years Martin’s junior. A sister of his friend, he had initially elicited her help when she was doing her journalism degree. It was meant to be just a bit of work here and there but over the last 12 months had become a 4 hour, Monday to Friday job.

So far so good he replied. You’ve got about 100 emails to sort through, we’re still waiting to finish the article on the Department of Housing employee who went to the top of the housing list and there’s about four pictures of a state MP supposedly holding hands with a woman more than half his age and not his wife. Personally it looks like his daughter to me but check it out when you have time.

Ok, is that coffee for me? Emily asked

Martin did a lame act of looking over his shoulder before saying no-one else here and smiling as he passed the cup over.

Emily smiled back and took it off his hands before heading in to the den.

Martin watched her go, his eyes drifting down to her rear as she headed for her seat.

Emily was a pretty girl without doubt. Not stunning but more the fresh faced girl-at-home/next door type of woman that most men realistically hoped to marry far more than the unattainable models they would never meet.

An inquisitive mind, healthy smile and gently spoken voice together with flaming red hair, a killer backside and a figure to match, allowed her to somehow extract far more detail from any male interviewees than Martin ever could.

With a sigh and thoughts of Keep work and private life separate, Martin returned to his seat across from Emily.

Chapter 2

Sergeant Steven McInnis stepped over the body and into the kitchen. Gloves already on to prevent scene contamination, he scanned the table and the methamphetamine production paraphernalia that covered most of the table.

Looking beyond, he saw the jackpot, small bags of crystal meth already set out into manageable quantities and ready for distribution. Retrieving a larger re-usable shopping bag from the cupboard under the sink, McInnis proceeded to place the smaller bags inside. The task complete, he turned back, again stepped over the body and left. He was pretty certain it would be at least a day before the home chemist would even be reported missing let alone found.

Walking round the corner to his car, the shopping bag in plain sight, McInnis opened his door and placed the bag in the passenger well. Removing his mobile phone, he dialled a number, the phone ringing three times before it was answered. I’ve taken care of our problem and picked up a bonus. There’s about 15 grands worth of product he informed the person on the other end.

Take it to Denby, tell him he can have it for $10,000, $5000 now and the remainder by next week the voice at the other end replied.

Will do said McInnis before ending the call, starting the car and driving off.

Seeing the time at 10:30, Martin stopped typing and spoke to Emily You ready for coffee again?

Yeh I think so, I brought biscuits too if you want some, Hob Nobs Emily replied

Just coffee for me Martin smiled as he went to make it.

While Martin left for the kitchen, Emily went through her routine of checking the junk emails before final deletion. It happened rarely but there were occasions when a genuine email ended up in the junk folder. The majority of junk confirmed and deleted, Emily stopped. The email she was looking at was vague but it didn’t appear to be selling, Viagra, penis enhancements, work from home or any of the other items she had become so accustomed to just dumping.

She read it slowly, the heading simply stating I need your help

Martin Dawson,

I need your help, I’ve come across something that would definitely interest you but I’m not sure if you’re equipped to deal with it. I know I’m not.

If any attempt is made to make what I have public, it could get us both hurt.

If you want to know more, reply via this email (It is just a fake email address by the way but I didn’t want to use my real one).

There was no more. No name, no further information.

Emily re-forwarded the email to Martin and placed it into her own inbox as well.

As she did so, Martin returned with a coffee in each hand.

"So how was your weekend? He asked

Slow, I tried to write a bit more of my book but for some reason, writers block

I’m sure it’ll pass and you’ll end up with a bestseller Martin replied

I just sent you back a junk email, take a read and see what you think Emily stated, not really wanting to talk about her book or writers block for the moment.

Moving the mouse to turn the screen back on, Martin went to his email. He scanned down the list until he saw the one she meant and quickly read it.

Doesn’t say a lot does it he commented

No and it may be just some idiot trying to be clever. It doesn’t cost you anything to reply and say you’re interested in whatever they have to show you though

What? To hghhhjhjttrtrergf at hotmail.com, you think?

Just try it Emily replied I don’t know, there’s something about this one

With a sigh, Martin quickly typed I’m interested and hit the reply button.

Now can we have coffee in peace? he asked.

Daniel Pierce sat in his room in the half way house. At 32 his life hadn’t added up to much.

Born into a decent family, Daniel rebelled at 16, walked out at 17 and was an addict before reaching his 18th birthday. Stealing and breaking into houses to feed his habit, by the time he was 28 he had spent 6 of the intervening 10 years in prison.

His last sentence getting him 18 months, he had managed to kick the drugs but not the thieving. Since being released 8 months ago, Daniel had mostly gone straight but still notched up 6 burglaries.

He wasn’t to know his last one was a coppers house as he came across a locked drawer. Already having found and pocketed nearly $1500 in cash and what looked like an expensive watch, he decided the drawer must contain something valuable.

Breaking it open, he had no time to examine the items inside.

Hearing a noise upstairs and sure that he had disturbed someone, he emptied the drawer’s contents into his bag and ran out the same way he had come in, through the now broken back door.

He didn’t stop running until he was at least five streets away. Catching a bus back to the half-way house and getting to his room, it was only then he took a good look at what he had taken.

His heart raced and he started sweating as he realised the value of what he had. So valuable it may cost him his life. It would take him a day or so to calm down but when he did, the email he would send would set off a chain of events, from which there would be no turning back.

Chapter 3

With Emily now gone for the day and most of the website updated, Martin took a break.

He’d spend the last half hour going through any emails that had come in throughout the day before signing off.

Making his coffee and feeling ready to tackle whatever needed to be read and sorted, it was the fourth email that caught his attention.

He had a reply to his reply. If this person was a hoax or a scammer he, or she, wasn’t playing by the normal rules.

Martin read the contents, only a few lines.

I hope so. Meet me at 2pm tomorrow in the Queen Street Mall food court. You don’t know me but I’ll recognise you from your web site picture.

Come alone.

Martin frowned. If this was a hoax, he couldn’t see someone doing this to him; after all his was only a small site and he didn’t have lots of money in the bank.

Maybe just some old bloke convinced of conspiracies because his electric has been cut off or something he thought.

Nevertheless Martin decided to give it a go. Emily would leave at about 1:00 pm tomorrow and Martin could get her to drop him off at Coopers Plains station on the way.

While Martin made up his mind to go, In Brisbane Central police Station, Senior Constable Sol Turner walked over to Sgt McInnis. Can I talk to you Sarge? he asked quietly, motioning his head to indicate he meant to talk privately.

McInnis nodded back and headed for one of the side rooms. Unlocking the door, both men entered, with Turner closing it behind him.

Steven McInnis had been a cop for 13 years. He had only played it straight for the first five years before an offer of easy money to be made on the side had turned his head.

At 5 feet 11 inches, and with blonde hair, he was every inch a copper to look at. Unfortunately he was also a member of a large group of bent cops intent on collecting nice big nest eggs for retirement and extra-curricular perks while still in the service.

Turner spoke quietly if only because he felt the beginnings of a headache starting and didn’t want to make it worse I think we may have found your intruder Steve. I’ve been checking any and every local CCTV for the few days. I’ve come across some footage of a lowlife I recognised, mainly breaking and entering, standing at a bus stop less than 10 minutes from your house that night, and only 15 minutes after you went downstairs and found yourself broken into.

Do we have a name? McInnis asked

A Daniel Pierce, early 30’s, released about 8 months ago. He’s been in and out a lot these last 12 years, mainly a junkie, though tells his parole officer he’s now clean. The last 4 drug tests showing him clear but no guarantee he isn’t still using.

McInnis let out a deep breath if it is him, it’s going to save us a lot of problems. Do you think he’s told anyone about the things he took from me?

Turner got up, appearing to be deep in thought and walked behind McInnis. Placing an arm around Steve’s throat, he bent forward and spoke angrily into his ear.

Let’s get this straight, If it was him, it’s going to save YOU a lot of problems and you had better hope he hasn’t said anything to anyone

Trying desperately to breath, McInnis managed to gasp Fucking let go, I’m your Sergeant not some fucking crim

Turner cut him off "No Steve, out there your my fucking Sergeant, in here you’re a useless pile of shit that may have put all of us on show. Just