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protracted investigations. It contained a number of whiteboards used to chart the path of investigations.
    In the centre o f the room was a large rectangular meeting table, which was home to a dozen tired swivel chairs. Large lockable filing cabinets were pushed against the walls for the storage of briefs of evidence. The walls themselves were a dirty plain white with pieces of paint missing, from where the posters and butchers paper notes had been stuck up and pulled down as the continual tide of task force investigations had come and gone. The only window in this office was barred from the inside with thick steel vertical rods. This was a high security room in the police station that could only be accessed by those assigned to the task force occupying it. It was important that the sensitive information held in this room be protected. Likewise, discussion regarding the course of an investigation to others outside of the task force was strictly forbidden. This even included discussion with other policemen.
    At the end of the main office was Randall’s office, known as the Fishbowl, which was appropriately named due to its full glass frontage. He liked the design as it allowed him to be vigilant over all his subjects. As Randall walked towards his office, he passed Hobbs standing near the centre desks surrounded by three other detectives. Hobbs was recounting the earlier events in the cellblock with the prisoner. Imitating the transvestite hurling the fruit, Hobbs had the others completely captivated.
    “Morning , staff,” Randall greeted as he walked towards his office, appearing totally unfazed by the earlier event. He loved a bit of banter and laughter in the office. In this line of work, he saw it as an important coping mechanism.
    Randall’s office was quite a small room, being about four metres squared. On the entry door hung a sign that read, Chief of Detectives. On the left hand side wall was a large bookcase which housed the various Crimes Acts, reference books, folders and a small hard moleskin-covered book secreted between two folders. At the rear of the office was a small window, which looked directly at a steel corrugated sheet fence. To soften the outlook, Randall kept a small prickly cactus in the centre of the windowsill. He called this the “Cactus of Knowledge,” which he would often stare at when looking for answers. Quite often the cactus would come through for him too. Randall chose a cactus for the sill because they thrived on neglect, which sadly, was all he could offer a plant.
    On the right hand wall hung a few colourful pictures that were drawn by his two children when they were much younger. She was now twelve years old, but he kept this picture as it reminded him of when she was so young and innocent. There was another picture of small hands in red paint with the name “Tim” written neatly underneath. His boy was now fourteen, and as Randall saw it was blessed with his outgoing nature and good looks. All in all he was very proud of his children, but at the same time saddened that he could not spend as much time as he wanted to with them. His divorce from wife Michelle five years earlier meant things were not the same. He missed seeing them day to day as they grew up. His hectic workload meant his private life was virtually non-existent, and as a result, visitations with his children were sporadic. He hoped his children would someday understand the importance of his work. He also hoped that his dedication to it did not diminish the love they had for him. His children were one of the great motivations for his shadowy work with DL, and he prayed that one day they would understand the sacrifices he made.
    Randall’s relationship with his ex was now better than ever. His long hours at work, perceived lack of human compassion and warmth , and late night drinking binges, had killed off any chance, back then for mutual happiness. Then there was Deliver Live (DL), which on reflection was the major