The Disillusionists cont'd. . .

Jim Williams, Regional Crown Counsel, opened a file entitled Jeanette Alexis Donaldson. Inside was a three sheet fax.

Her education was unremarkable, streamed into general level etc., special merits - music. Medical showed nothing out of the ordinary... fractured tibia at age twelve. Dental - braces fillings, that kind of thing. No criminal record beyond theft under, public drunk and punching a cop (!?) Employment nominal. Retail stuff, groceries, clothing, record stores... Interestingly, taxation records came to a stop around the age of twenty-five.

The outpost station wherever he was hadn't warranted a budget for computers lately. Jim had to rely on the fax.

It's dull witted paper had no heft to it - no way to express the gravity of what wasn't written. The first day of her last year at high school, for example. Her cat had been missing for a week and as she got ready she looked out her bedroom window and saw Loco, lying on his side in the backyard. In the grass. Pointed home.

Jeanette went outside. He was still warm. His tongue hung out and his ears were folded back. She stroked him over once and then scratched under his chin because he loved that so much... She lay down on the lawn beside him and tried not to cry. It was the beginning to a long year of incredible changes which eventually led, you could say, to this place.

Williams shut the file on Jeanette and lay the folder down. He looked in the rear-view mirror of his car and brushed back what was left of his hair. He got out and went around to the trunk to get his laptop and a bunch of pending files. Might as well knock off some paperwork while he was stuck in this shithole little town.

He trundled up to the door. He was a big man, light on his feet and he bounced heavily against the locked door of the station. He looked around for a buzzer as he pounded the door with his fist. A young constable appeared, his sleeves rolled up, as though he'd been doing dishes.

"Jim. Long time no see."

"Yeah, whatever..." said Williams as he squeezed in the door. "Doing some cleaning?"

"Got some company tonight. Hadda clear out the other cell. We been using it to store shit."

The constable locked the front door again.

"Have you filed any charges?" asked Williams.

"Not as yet. We've got more information for you..."

Jim Willaims threw his coat over a chair in the interview room and then sighed as he leaned over to find an outlet for his laptop because he was pretty certain the battery was runnin' low.