He took a step forward and stopped, blocking the entrance.
"Oh, my God!"
Les King pushed through. His eyes widened, but that was his only reaction. Then his camera swung up into position. The bulb flashed. He lowered the camera.
"Somebody cut the bastard's throat!" he marveled.
Frank Corson moved forward. "Good lord! It looks as though he just sat there and let himself be murdered."
"Suicide maybe?"
"No knife close enough. It's over there in the sink."
"Well, he didn't cut his own throat and then walk back here."
Frank Corson had been studying the wound. He pressed his fingers against the crimson shirt front and rubbed them together, testing the feel of the blood with his thumb.
"What's wrong?" King asked.