A weathered brown door. The number reads '20'.

A weathered brown door. The number reads '20'.

Something smells good -- soupe à l'oignon?

The lieutenant motions you to go ahead and knock.

This is the door, you already know it's the right door. This is going to be so hard.

Get yourself together. It's just police work.

Don't knock, just leave. You don't need this. You don't need to sad it up.

Knock.

No one answers the door.

"It's too late, I think everyone's already asleep. We should try again tomorrow."

No one answers the door. They must be sleeping at this hour. Better try again tomorrow.

"Hello! Who is it?" A voice calls out from the other side of the door.

And someone turns down the radio.

"Is this Billie Méjean's home? This is the police, please open the door."

"The police? A moment, please, give us a moment." You hear shuffling inside.

Tidying up. Nervously.

There's fear in her voice.

She unlocks the door. "Come in, the door is open."

Look at the lieutenant first.

He gives you a short encouraging nod.

[Leave.]

"Hold on, Kim, we should discuss this before we move on. What should we expect?"

"You're right, let's talk this through." He looks at the apartment door and lowers his voice a bit...

You hear some light footsteps and what appears to be a daily weather forecast playing on the radio.

"We have our first preliminary identification -- in all likelihood the deceased is the husband of Billie Méjean. We need to confirm this, as well as deliver the death notification to Billie herself."

"Now, delivering a death notification is never an easy task. There's a reason why it's often called the most stressful part of our job. This is why it's usually done in pairs. You got this. I'll be monitoring reactions, ready to act if necessary."

"What if I don't want to do this?"

"Yes, it's hard." He stares at the front door for a moment, his face still. "But there is no easy way to handle this information. It just has to happen, as soon as possible."

"Alright, I think I'm ready." (Proceed.)

The lieutenant motions towards the door.

"Kim, I don't want to do this, let's turn around." (Try to bail out.)

"We can't. Someone has to deliver the news." He motions towards the door. "Let's go."

This only made it harder. Here comes the pain.

"Do you have any advice on how to tell her he's...?"

"Dead? Just don't say that you know how they feel. You don't."

Good advice.

"Chances are that whoever's going to greet us behind that door is somehow related to the deceased. This means that our job here is to deliver the death notification, as well as identify the body."

You hear some light footsteps and what appears to be a late-night talk show playing on the radio.

You hear light footsteps passing by the door and some folk music playing on the radio.