Diary of a Detective

31/11/1997 9.20pm Me. Underpaid, overworked Tejas. It's moments like these that really make me hate my job. It's a thankless one. The invisible shadow cleaning up after every crime. Not one fails to cheer as a robber’s neck snaps upon the noose; everyone clamours to be the one to hoist the rope. Even earlier today when that sorcerer was lynched everyone was hollering and shrieking. Sadists. It isn't a detective's job to be social though (thankfully). I'd be just fine being my lonely self, as long as crime stays out of this town. As long as my duty is done. Which these headaches aren't helping. It takes the better part of my strength just to get out of bed. I barely feel rested - tired even - in the morning. And all of the responsibility is piled on me still. A responsibility to keep this place under control. A thankless job indeed. 1/12/1997 10.08pm I don't feel any better. Worse, perhaps. Have no idea where these damned sleeping problems popped up from, they started just a few days ago and they’ve been running wild ever since. As if my own issues weren't enough, there's been an assassination in the village. The mayor, the one we’ve had for years already, killed. Admittedly senility was catching up to the old figurehead but perhaps one dissatisfied resident had taken things too far, with nothing but a knife and quite a bit of courage. Even then there's an amazing lack of evidence for a stabbing. Blood all over the table, but absolutely no prints. The mayor's badge is gone too; maybe sold, maybe pawned. Been questioning a few possible suspects - ex-convicts, those in debt. The mayor's a prime target of the place - the killer must have a motive. I've a feeling I'm finally on to something more than a migraine.