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Summary
Sometimes, it’s not a metaphor, you just need power tools.
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Bookmark Notes:
A good oneshot. Could be a missing scene.
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Bookmark Notes:
Youre shitting me
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Bookmark Tags:
Bookmark Notes:
The Door.
The Unopenable Door.
The Soon-to-be Formerly Unopenable Door.
/“For fuck’s sake Harry, it was glowing. It’ll take your skin off. Did you think it was shooting sparks as your personal celebratory fireworks display?” Jean’s nostrils flare.
Kim says nothing, but maintains his grip on Harry’s jacket until he feels the struggle cease.
“Okay,” Harry answers after a pause, seeming to accept this. “There’s a southerly wind; it should cool quickly. Eight minutes.”
Jean looks like he wants to argue - probably in favour of ten minutes - but Harry says it with such certainty that it’s probably correct. Kim checks his watch. “Eight minutes,” he agrees.
/
Harry touches the metal with a finger first. Satisfied, he grasps exposed metal, and pulls.The door is still jammed, but it judders under Harry’s grip. Without the lock reinforcing it, it’s no longer impossible to open - merely challenging. If they fail here, then they’ll attack the hinges, but the grinding, squealing sound and the give of half-an-inch suggests it won’t be needed.
Harry’s face shows strain as he applies both hands. The door yields yet another degree.
/“You have got to be shitting me,” Jean mutters.
Chester drops to his knees.
Mack is speechless.
Kim sighs deeply, and then reaches into his pocket for his notebook.
The skeleton, sitting on a chair inside the doorway, says nothing.
“I told you,” Harry wheels around, triumphant. “I told you there would be -”
“No way. It’s a prop.” Mack folds his arms with this declaration.
“I don’t think it is,” Kim says calmly, stepping tentatively into the gloom and examining it more closely.
“Okay, okay.” Chester seems to be trying to convince himself of what he’s seeing, grasping his head in his hands. “So someone got themselves trapped in an old military depot, it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a m-”
Kim silently lifts an old pistol from behind one of the chair legs.
Jean scrubs a hand over his face. “Please tell me the body’s over 50 years old and no longer our jurisdiction. Please, Lieutenant.”
“There’s threads,” Kim says apologetically, peering into the cavities. “Polyester fibres, if I’m not mistaken, which means -”
“Damn it!”
Harry grins all the more widely, and steps inside the depot entrance to examine the corpse himself.
“How the fuck -” Jean gives up the rest of the sentence to a groan, sinking his whole face into his palm.
Kim begins dutifully writing the details into his notebook.
*
Harry is practically skipping on the way back to the motorcarriage. Judit drops neatly outside to go and greet them, but takes one look at their faces and stops still.
“No way.”
“Not a fucking word,” Jean tells her, as he pulls the door open, and grabs the radio.
“10-2, 10-5. This is Precinct 41 -”
“10-4. Jules.” Jean sighs, wearily. “10-79. Requesting transport.”
“Are you seri--- uhm. 10-79, 10-4.” Jules covers the moment smoothly. “Will dispatch to scene. Over.”
“You found a corpse.” Judit says it incredulously, when Jean concludes radioing it in.
“A skeleton,” Harry informs her, delighted.
Judit’s face goes through the multitudes of expressions that Jean wore previously, before finally settling on resignation. “That’s the sixth one this year.”
They name the case THE SKELETON AT THE DOOR.