The broken window was in a small door, part of the large door which let trucks in and out.
"Nice eye," Scott said to Whelton.
Bennington agreed.
The break in the window was just big enough to allow a hand through the door, a small hand through the pane to the lock on the inside of the door.
Scott stretched out his arm to try to slide his big, freckled hand through the break in the window, but abruptly Thornberry stepped forward, catching the chief's hand in mid-gesture.
"One moment, Chief Scott!"
The chief was startled. "What's up?"
"This isn't your job, it's mine. If that poor boy is in there, he needs a doctor, not a bullet."
"Whatthehell—" Scott sputtered, the phrase emerging as a single word.
"Thornberry's right, Chief Scott, though he's right for the wrong reason. Clarens is our job."