Abacus

it was just a matter of time.
    * * *
    Enjoying a relaxing read of the daily newspaper, Randall was interrupted. “Boss, you got a sec?” Georgie G called from the doorway.
    Peering to the side of the publication, Randall joked, “Can’t you see I’m flat out, Georgie.” He turned to leave. “Come in, mate, I’m just having a lend of you. Take a seat,” he said, putting his paper down and folding it neatly.
    Georgie sat in the seat opposite . “Boss, you know the trial for that home invasion with that grub Kel Digby?”
    “Yes,” Randall said attentively.
    “Well, the jury has come back with a not guilty on all counts, the break in, the robbery and the sexual assaults on the women.”
    Randall shook his head. “ How did that happen it was a bloody strong case?”
    G eorgie G shrugged. “I don’t understand.”
    “ That’s what happens when barristers, solicitors and judges get together and stop half the bloody evidence getting in.”
    Georgie G lo oked out the window. “The way it is going, boss, the jury won’t be able to hear any evidence so no one will be convicted.”
    “The problem is,” Randall added, l owering his voice for effect, “the judges, barristers and solicitors live in affluent areas of the city. The closest they come to serious crime is being short-changed at the local grog shop. So when it comes to determining sentencing and the laws governing admissibility of evidence, they don’t give a damn.”
    Georgie nodded. “Eventually crime will spread to their areas, but it will be all too late by then.”
    “Oh well , we’ll keep locking them up and they’ll keep letting them out. That’s modern day justice, and there is not much we can do about it,” Randall said, quietly justifying his DL assignments.
    “ I just thought I would let you know,” Georgie said, getting to his feet. “Now the worst part, I have to tell the victims.”
    Rand all shook his head. “I know, Georgie. They’re not going to take it well. It is going to be hard for the girls to move on when they know that piece of shit is walking around, free as a bird. It’s just not right.”
    Once Georgie had left the room , Randall spun around and looked out the window, shaking his head. He felt really angry and at the same time sympathy for the victims. Glancing up to the bookcase, he parted two folders and pulled out his concealed small moleskin-covered book. He spun around and opened it on his desk. On the very first page he looked down the list of six names who all possessed what he called the Jenkins Gene . He was not sure how or why, but over time, one by one, the six names had been crossed out with a single black pen stroke. He figured it was one of the guys in the office having a bit of fun. The police regulations dictated that black pens were always used by anyone under the rank of sergeant, blue by sergeants and red by inspectors. So it was more than likely the black lines were from one of his staff. They were also the only ones who had regular access to his office. Pulling his blue Mont Blanc pen from his shirt pocket, he added Digby’s name to the list in the book, which now became the only name that had not been defaced. Looking at the black lines, he said, half smiling, “One day I will find out who is bloody doing this and why.”
    All day Randall stewed over the Digby acquittal. It annoyed him as he had personally worked with Georgie G on the case and had come to know the young female victims quite well. He knew how seriously affected they were by the crime, and Digby’s acquittal would compound the pain they felt. The offences committed by Digby had parallels to those committed against his parents, so Randall had Digby firmly in his sights. By the end of the shift, Randall was still restless and annoyed at the acquittal. He knew he wouldn’t sleep that night until he did something about it. So he decided to check on the welfare of his newest addition to the moleskin book.
    * * *
    Later that evening, he sat patiently in his Merc outside the rundown red brick unit block in which Digby had last resided. He wanted to confirm he still lived there and what his movements were these days. About eight P.M., Digby emerged from the unit block, dressed in a pair of faded jeans and hooded black jacket. As he strolled along the path, Randall slowly drove behind him from a safe distance of about three hundred metres. Digby did not appear to have a care in the world as he casually peered into shop