Randall: Emotional Strain

            I like hospitals. They're stark and clean. I always wanted to work in a place like this. I thought I would be good at it. Lots of doctors have the problem that they connect to their patients too much. They can't take the emotional strain. Me? Emotions aren't helpful. Therefore I don't have them. Simple.

           Mendrick didn't look too pleased at being sent back here again, although even he admitted that this time it might be serious. I doubt it will be, though. I got a good look at him while we were waiting for the paramedics. No major arteries have been severed, although he's losing a fair amount of blood. I've seen worse. He'll be fine.

           I turn my thoughts back to the current case. My last one, if things go to plan.

          The ransom call was made from my phone, although we don't know who made it because of the voice encryption. On the day that it was made, no one was in the office - Alannah, Charlie and myself were at Lawrence's house. The techies were the ones who picked it up, and their offices are on the floor below. Apparently they saw no one unorthodox go up to our floor, although they could have used the lifts.

         But that is all irrelevant, because to get inside the building you have to have ID and go through the security guards. No one broke in. No one unorthodox got past the guards. One of them might be bent, of course, but I doubt whether that would have helped as there is never just one on duty. And all five of them - bent? I seriously doubt that.

         So there is only one option left. The phone call was made from someone inside the building who had orthodox access, knew the case, knew us, and could easily get into our offices without arousing suspicion from the techies downstairs.

         Who fits all those boxes?

The End

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