The Black Door Read Online Free PDF Page B

the film. This looks like a big one.” I’d discovered that brusqueness was the only way to handle Caselli. Conversation inevitably led to controversy, and quickly.
    Frowning, Caselli walked away, glancing up at the clearing sky.
    Kanter was talking to Jim Campion as I joined them.
    “I don’t think he has any children. I’m almost positive that he—”
    Campion extended a hand, for a handshake. “I’ll bet you exactly five dollars that he has both a boy and a girl. And, further, I’ll bet that, as of six months ago, both kids were going to Bransten College.”
    Grumbling something, Kanter turned away as his own photographer approached, and immediately behind the Dispatch man came Campion’s photographer. Bunching up now, the radio and TV people were arriving, unloading their cameras and their cables. Watching them, I speculated that they must have received knowledge not given to the press. TV equipment was expensive. It didn’t follow ordinary crimes.
    The black door opened. Dr. Stanton, the medical examiner, nodded good-by to Larsen and was coming up the walkway. Immediately behind Stanton came the police photographer and his assistant, carrying their bulky gear.
    The reporters, now numbering eleven or twelve, gathered in an eager group, waiting for Dr. Stanton to approach. But, smilingly holding up his hand and shaking his head, the slim, elderly doctor said, “Come on, fellows. I’ve got my orders: not a word.”
    “Aw, Doc.”
    “How long’ve they been dead, Doc?”
    “How long’ve you been here?”
    “What’s Captain Larsen doing?”
    But, still shaking his head, although still smiling at us, Dr. Stanton was edging around, on the grass. A couple of radio newsmen walked with him to his car, but their efforts were useless. The doctor liked reporters. But he had his orders. It was common knowledge that Captain Larsen was a perfectly amiable, reasonable Dane—as long as his orders were precisely obeyed.
    “… long now,” Campion was saying.
    I turned to him. “What?”
    “I said, it shouldn’t be long now. Everyone’s come out but the Captain, the Lieutenant and Carruthers.” And, as he spoke, the black door opened once more. Carruthers stepped out and briskly walked toward our waiting group. Immediately the notebooks and the ball-point pens appeared, and the group pressed forward. But Carruthers held up his hand.
    “One reporter from each outfit, that’s all. The Captain’ll see you inside.” And, like a scoutmaster tallying his troup, he passed us down the narrow walkway, motioning most of us forward, holding back the photographers and second-stringers.
    “But what about pictures inside?” someone asked.
    “That’s up to the Captain,” Carruthers answered, herding those approved before him.
    I was the first to reach the black door. Opening it, I passed through a narrow hallway into the apartment’s small living room. Ramsey and Larsen stood against the opposite wall. Quickly glancing around, I inventoried the furnishings: a cocktail table made from a massive cut-down oak dining table, floor cushions on rush matting, and bulky overstuffed furniture, probably bought secondhand. Opening off the living room were two doors, one to the kitchen, one to the bedroom. In the bedroom, through the half-open door, I saw an overturned lamp and a jumble of bedclothing strewn on the floor. I closed my eyes, moistened my lips, and then turned my attention to the two detectives. By this time, my colleagues were crowded around me, all standing. Most of them, I noticed, glanced at the partially opened bedroom door, but only once. All of them stood silently, expectantly looking at Larsen. The Captain waited until Carruthers had come into the room.
    “I won’t beat around the bush,” Larsen said then, looking us over with his pale blue eyes. “I’ve got a lot to do, and so do you, I know. So—” His eyes slid off toward the bedroom door as he sighed.
    “So I’ll give you what we’ve got so far.