The life of detective O Conner

I am not good at english but i want to try to improve and I am going to write stories to try to improve. I was writing this and i would like some feed back comment:

"we found another leg breh" said the small detective. Detective o connor looked at the grey horizon from the window of his offiice. He couldnt help but drift away from the present when he was asaulted with memories of his past. He was thinking of the bottle of Jameson in his drawer. Where would it lead him, if he drank that? Back in the nightclub at age 60? Back in the gutter? No he cant go there again. He must stay focused on the case. Finding the match box killer. Maybe he could talk to his doctor friend who is a psychiatrist. "Hes so close to being a killer himself, he can understand them" He thought to himself.

He left the office and went outside. It was a dark day in dublin and there was a haze of rain in the air. The roads were shining with the slick of water and the cars drifted past like clouds. He dropped a euro in the cup of a homeless man. he knew how easy it was to get there himself so he always thought of them when he saw them. They are the real honest people in this world because they have nothing to fight for but there lives he said to himself as he walked to his new black ferrari. He was the best paid cop in ireland but that was all in the past now. he had to find the killer who had the president's daughter. Time was ticking, tick tock tick tock. There is no time to waste. He couldn't help but think of the killer, who is a genius, and wonder if he is getitng pleasure out of knowing that everybody is looking for him and nobody can figure out whats going on. The world is such a strange place and theres no way out, except alcohol or suicide. But he cant, not until he has found the matchbox killer. He is probably out there right now, looking for his next vicitim.


That's life he says to himself. That's life.