A small crowd of gaggling townsfolk gathered outside the closed office, some peering through the glass, most moving away after a few moments, disinterested. When Martinson came, he did not hesitate. Pushing those closest aside, he snapped his foot against the door several times, kicking it in, almost falling flat on his face when he eventually broke through.
A jumble of voices, curious but unconcerned, looking for gossip, not wishing to offer any assistance. “Where is he?” asked someone. “Is he hurt? Is he dead?” On his knees in the doorway, Martinson climbed to his feet, dusted off his trousers and rounded on them.
“I"ll take it from here,” he said.
“I heard a gunshot.”
Martinson, not liking the sound of that, ushered them away, returned the door to an upright position and, before wed
