Stockholm Syndrome

Watari

Emma came out of the bedroom a few hours later, and found L fidgeting with the panel that controlled the security system of the apartment. He didn't mind her, and continued analysing it as she walked past him towards the fridge.

"You can look at it all you want, it's not going to move without my fingerprint," she stated with confidence, but the detective ignored her. When she looked over at the coffee table, she noticed that the file had not moved. Even the pieces that had fallen out of it were still at the same place she had left them.

When she opened the fridge, however, her brows furrowed — it was empty. "Where's all the food?"

"I ate it," L absent-mindedly responded.

She shut the door with a little more force than expected and turned to glare at him, even though he had his back turned. "What? Now I have to—" and turned to glare at him, even though he had his back turned. "What? Now I have to—"

They both stopped dead in their tracks.

"You did it so I would have to go out to get more food, and unlock the door so you could see how the security system works."

L went back to studying the control panel. "I was hungry. As you may recall, I haven't eaten in almost one month." He paused, but shortly after added, "Besides, I already know how the system works."

She was prepared to contradict him and confess that she had made sure he got enough nutrients while her was knocked out cold. But his following statement caught her off guard. "What?"

"It uses a three-factor authentication method. To arm or disarm it, it needs a physical key, a fingerprint, and a passcode. I assume the passcode is only needed after a certain amount of time, since I heard you open the blinds a few hours ago. The only input is located right next to the front door," he explained. "You must have set it that way so you don't have to input a six-digit passcode each time you want to open or close a window. Quite rudimental, if you ask me."

Emma grunted. "I can regenerate my fingerprint."

At that, he turned around to finally face her. "I take back that last comment, then."

"How did you know it was a six-digit passcode, though?" she asked, trying to look over his shoulder at the control panel.

"There are exactly five keys that seem to be more worn out than the others. Of them, one is more worn out than the rest — which means you have a double-digit in it, somewhere. You should really consider a different type of keypad. Perhaps one that does not have the numbers painted on."

He was right — there were certain keys that looked a little more worn out, but she couldn't count more than three. Also, she couldn't have figured out which one was the double-digit if she hadn't already known it. They all looked the same to her. With the intention of changing the code as soon as possible in mind, she dismissed the matter and went back to searching the cupboards for something to eat.

"You should have focused those deductive skills on the case," she said as she grabbed a bag of salted chips.

"I have no interest in your case."

Emma opened the bag and sat down at the bar. "You should, since it's your only way of getting out of here. I'm supposed to be at work in three hours. I want it solved by then."

At last, L was able to tell the time.

"Holding me hostage and making me solve cases in your name has nothing to do with humanity. People are dying because of Kira. If you want to act noble and understand humanity, I suggest you start there," he spoke again, taking a seat on the sofa in his usual crouched manner.