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contributing factor that led to the late nights, drinking and perceived flawed personality. The kids’ pictures on the wall reminded him of happier times when they were all together as a family. Michelle never knew of DL, no one knew of DL. He often wondered if it would have been different if she did know. Perhaps she may have understood him better, and understood the magnitude of his work. She might have even felt some compassion towards him. But that ship had sailed long ago. Anyway, he could never tell her, the last thing he wanted was for his kids to be orphaned as he was, and that would be the expected outcome if he spoke to anyone about the organisation (DL).
    Under his desk to the ri ght was a small bar fridge that was always stocked with a few beers for those long late nights at work, where one or two beers helped him relax. His office was his retreat, his sanctuary and a place where he spent long hours, a second home, really.

    CHAPTER 5 - OLD LADY WITH PUNCH

    Randall sat at his desk and stared at his cactus, trying to avoid the inevitable mountain of paperwork that overflowed from his in-tray onto the desk behind him. Slowly swivelling around in his chair, he switched on his computer, stretched his arms and reclined. “All right then, first of all the computer work. They run our lives these things,” he complained. Reading through events on the computer he did not expect anything too significant or newsworthy as he would have got a call at home, usually when he was either asleep or well on the way. Glancing up from his screen he saw the elderly lady from the front counter coming towards him. The station constable busily cleared her path of chairs as she shuffled onwards.
    “ Shit, was that ten minutes already,” he said, shovelling the unsightly paperwork from the desktop into the top drawer of his desk. Once his desk looked presentable, he forced the crammed drawer closed.
    “Sarge, Mrs . Campbell is here.”
    He got to his feet and met her at the door. “Hello, Mrs. Campbell, come in, come in,” he invited, leading her to the vacant seat opposite his. “Thank you, Constable, I will look after it from here.”
    Randall col lected the report from the constable, sat down, and had a quick flick through the details. He saw that Mrs. Campbell had been born in nineteen twenty-two, stood about five feet tall with short white-grey hair. He was amazed at how good the well-dressed lady looked for her age. He could tell by the way she choked her handbag straps that she was still very nervous and upset.
    “Mrs . Campbell, I haven’t had my morning cuppa yet, how about I put the billy on, and fetch you one before we start?” he said with his trademark, charismatic smile.
    “That would be great , thank you.”
    He stood and headed towards the door. Touching her shoulder gently, he said, “I’ll get out my special teacup and saucer. I only use them for very special visitors, you know.”
    “That sounds marve llous,” she said, looking more at ease. “If it’s not too much trouble, could I have milk with one sugar, please?”
    “Certainly , ma’am. I won’t keep you too long.” A few minutes later he returned with his usual chipped brown mug for himself and an elegant teacup and saucer for his guest. “Here you go, Mrs. Campbell. I would have brought you a nice biscuit too, but looks like the guys have raided the jar. I should have known better than to buy the good Tim Tam ones.”
    “Well , thanks for the tea, anyway, Detective,” she said, pushing her spectacles up against the bridge of her nose. As she raised the cup to her lips Randall could see her hand trembling. It was clear to him she was still very shaken by the theft. As they openly chatted he learnt that she was the widow of a war veteran, Robert Campbell, who had passed away about fifteen years earlier. Mrs. Campbell was the mother of three children, two boys and a girl. She had lived in the same Summer Hill house all her life. After they