Abacus

stepfather.
    “He’s good but he will never replace you,” Jane said diplomatically.
    “My jokes would have to be better than his, surely?”
    “Yeah , Dad, you’ve got the best jokes,” Tim mumbled with a full mouth.
    Randall was looking forward to spending the whole weekend with his kids. Often work interrupted their visits, but this time he was hopeful things would be different. “How’s the food, sweetie?” he asked his daughter.
    “Excellent , Dad. The way you prepare this fried bacon and eggs is amazing. I will have to get the recipe from you one day and try it at home.” Randall looked at his daughter and smiled; she was growing up too fast, and unfortunately had taken on some of his smart-ass traits.
    Just as Randall stood up to scrape his scraps into Arnold’s dish, the general work mobile phone rang. They all sat silently and stared at the phone as it annoyingly rang out on the table. The kids had seen this play out over and over. Randall had no choice, he was permanently on call and had to answer it. Looking apologetically at his kids, he shrugged and answered it. “Yeah, Randall.” The kids looked at him fearing the worst. “I see… perimeters set up, right, and canvas… yep, no problems, call out Forensic… all right, about half an hour… yeah at the scene. Bye.”
    Randall looked at his kids, he didn’t have to say anything, they knew. Many times before, work had got between them and their father h aving a nice weekend together. This weekend was to be no different. “I’m sorry, guys, I’ve got a real serious crime to investigate, it just came in.” He didn’t like to share the gruesome details of his work with his kids. He wanted them to maintain a positive attitude about the world, and not be as cynical and distrusting as he had become. Randall was a product of his environment, and thought it best his kids lived their lives, blissfully unaware of the darker side of humanity.
    “What happened , Dad? Somebody killed, a shooting or stabbing or something?” Tim asked excitedly.
    “No , son, nothing like that, but pretty serious just the same.” He knew the crime scene he was about to go to was a lot more macabre than that. Randall held his boy and gave him a hug. “Anyway, guys, I have to go. I’m really sorry. I will have to ring your mum and get her to take you to footy, mate. I’m sorry I have to miss it, I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks.”
    Clearly disappointed , Tim said, “Yeah, I know, Dad.”
    Randall kiss ed his daughter on the forehead. “I love you both very much,” he said softly. “I hope you both understand that there are other people out there who really need my help. But you will always be the most important people in my life, remember that.”
    * * *
    After arranging his ex-wife to collect the kids, Randall stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie up to the collar of his crisp white business shirt. He knew there would be significant press interest in this case, so wanted to look presentable.
    Once in the police car, he turned on the police radio and pushed his work phone into the hands-free cradle. He frantically felt his trouser leg for his DL phone as he reversed down the driveway, and relaxed when his fingers felt the shape of it in his pocket. The officer who had called him out was a uniform sergeant, Mick Abernethy. Having Mick there initially gave Randall confidence, as he was a very capable officer. Randall couldn’t hear transmissions about the scene on the police radio, so it appeared that the sergeant had managed to keep the job low-key, which always helped.
    Experience told Randall that once a crime of this nature was announced over the airway, every media outlet in Sydney would be swarming t o be first to report it. He understood the need and importance of media in investigations; he also knew the importance of having some sort of control over them. He knew that once a story broke, the element of surprise was lost. Randall had friends in the press upon whom he could rely, but being a give and take relationship, he would drip feed them exclusive stories from time to time in return for their assistance.
    Reaching forward, he punched the work number into his mobile phone, which was answered by a young female constable. “Ashfield Police, can I help you?”
    He pushed the button on the phone to turn down the volume. “Sall, yes, you can, it’s Sergeant Randall here. Listen, Sall, can you call out my staff for