The door number #10 is closed again.

The door number #10 is closed again.

[Leave.]

Knock.

Nothing happens. The real estate agent must have left.

You hear someone walking around inside, rearranging the furniture. The number on the panel says #10.

Knock again.

This time the steps come closer. "Who is this?" demands a female voice, wary and tense.

[Leave.]

"This is the police. Open up."

"Do I have to open the door?" You hear the clacking of heels again, as the other side walks right up to the door. Her tone is now getting a defensive edge...

"Do you have a warrant? I'm not obligated to open the door if you don't have a warrant."

"Let's go," the lieutenant says, "we don't have a reason to get inside that apartment."

Later then. Entering this door seems a physical challenge.

It's generally easier to do things if you have literally any reason.

Knock.

The walking stops abruptly, but no one comes to the door.

You can feel tension on the other side.

Sounded like a woman. A woman's shoes.

"This apartment is supposed to be empty. Did you break in here?"

"Excuse me? Of course not!"

Scare them. Suspected of some big crime!

There's no sweet-talking your way in there. Be official.

You have plenty of reason to enter.

"I don't need a warrant if I suspect there's been a break-in."

"Oh, come on!" There's a pause, before you hear the door being unlocked.

Well, that was easy.

"That was smart," the lieutenant says, nodding toward the unlocked door.

"Are you cooking morphine in there?!"

"Then open the door, so I can verify your identity."