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the morning to see something so confronting, we may never get over this, you know,” Randall said, gathering up his bag and jacket from the floor. “Anyway, we better get back to it, big fella, we can’t get much work done here.”
    Walking down the hall side by side, they passed the front inquiry counter where Randall saw a very frail, elderly lady making a report to the station constable. “I’ll see you in the office,” he said, wiping the small tears from the corners of his eyes. Always the consummate professional, he cleared his throat and gathered his composure as he motioned the station constable over.
    “Morning , Constable.”
    “Morning , boss,” he replied keenly.
    “Well , what’s the story with the elderly lady over there?” He whispered.
    “Just a break-in, Sarge, not much in it.”
    “What did she lose?”
    “Her late husband’s war medals and some jewellery.”
    Randall t hought for a moment as the constable eagerly awaited his instruction. He watched as one of the bailed local criminals came in to sign in at the front desk, right next to her. She shuffled along the counter away from him. This is no place for her , he thought. “Listen, could you take the report, get all the details, then send her into me for a little talk, will you? We’ll look after it from there on.”
    “Are you sure , Sarge? I don’t mind doing it, it’s pretty straightforward,” the constable said, looking puzzled by the interest shown by Randall..
    “I’m sure. Just sen d her over,” he ordered.
    “Yes , Sarge, it should only take ten minutes, then I’ll bring her straight over.”
    Ran dall walked over to the counter. “Sign up quickly and get out of here,” he barked, pointing to the door. He quickly scribbled his name on a card and scrambled for the door. Once he had left, he focussed his attention on the old lady. He looked warmly into her eyes and extended his hand. Even though she was wearing white gloves, her small hand felt cold. “Ma’am, I am Detective Sergeant Randall. The good constable here will take some particulars of the theft from you, then we will have a little talk. I will have my detectives investigate your theft and we will return your property to you. Rest assured.”
    The old lady gave an appreciative smile and whispered, “Thank you , Detective. God bless.” Randall nodded to the station constable, left the counter area and walked purposefully along the long hallway that led to the detectives’ office at the southern wing of the building.
    The d etectives’ office was Randall’s kingdom, which housed six detectives. The carpet around the desks was worn through to the underlay from the constant rolling of office chairs back and forth under the desks. There were two large office desks in the centre of the main room, which were pushed together, forming a square. The desktops could not be seen through the accumulated paperwork. Randall would often charge out of his office yelling, “Clear up that bloody desk, will you.” The staff would, but about a week later it would be the same again. Paperwork was a necessary evil of the job, and anyway Randall’s desk was usually just as bad as theirs. There were a further five desks scattered on the outskirts of the room, arranged so as to best capture the limited natural light from one of the four tiny windows. In two of these windows sat small air conditioning units, which at the height of summer struggled to cool down the entire office area. The lack of ventilation and reoccurring roof leaks meant there was generally a slight musty smell to the whole office.
    Off to the left of the main office area were two rooms. The first was a dedicated interview room with a large table and two chairs. On the table sat the interview-recording machine. On the wall was a large grey filing cabinet that contained the audiotapes and videotapes for the interviews. The larger second room was a dedicated Task Force office, housing the more serious and