White turned the door handle and leaned against the crowbar, his grunt of effort turning the a 'ha' of achievement when he felt the front door move. It had taken Peters and himself the best part of ten minutes to clear the front door of old post and boxes only to find it had been painted over more than once. This necessitated Sergeant Peters to make a trip back through the piles of assorted junk to fetch a crowbar from the car.
With an almighty crack the door jamb split and crowbar loosened, sending White tumbling backwards toward the ceiling-high piles of boxes and old takeaway cartons. Only Peters's timely intervention prevented an avalanche of kitsch, clothes and newspapers.
“Careful, sir. Wouldn't want you squashed to jam under all that lot.”
“I didn't realise you cared, Sergeant.”
“Oh no, sir. It's the paperwork. 'Witness to the death of an officer during the course of his duty' is thicker than 'War and Peace'.”
“Which I suppose you've read.” White dusted himself off and returned to the door. Despite the damage to the frame it still wasn't open properly.
“Ah. Started to. It was a required book on the A level literature course but honestly, it's a load of old tosh. I gave up after twenty pages and read the Cliff notes instead.”
“If only more people were as honest as you, sergeant.” White inspected the door. “Ah. I see the problem. The doors been nailed shut as well.”