“That’s right, I guess.”
“Are you married, Ms. Taylor?”
“No.”
“Ever been?”
She hesitated a split second. “No.”
“Ms. Taylor?” Lieutenant Harris had been standing in the doorway between the living room and bedroom for some time. Jan hadn’t noticed him. His words startled her.
“Yes?” She looked up at him.
“Could you tell us why there was a bottle of DMSO in Mr. Hunsinger’s bathroom?” Harris had heard enough to learn that Jan Taylor would have been in a position to know just about everything about Hunsinger.
“He kept some here and some at the stadium. It was for pain. Mostly in his shoulder. Sometimes his knees. He’s had a lot of operations. He never knew when the pain was going to flare up. I guess it’s supposed to be a controlled substance, but. .” Her voice trailed. She couldn’t understand why with a man dead the police were concerned about DMSO. Even though it was not approved for use as a painkiller, anyone could buy it as a solvent in any number of stores. It was like worrying about bank robbers being illegally parked.
“I’m not so concerned about its being a controlled substance as I am about why it would be on a shelf in the shower area with other toiletries. And why the DMSO container should be open as if it were being used during his shower.”
Jan appeared perplexed.
“If you’ll accompany me to the bathroom, I’ll show you. .” Harris stepped in the direction of the bathroom as if inviting her to follow him.
“Is. . is he. . uh … still there?”
“Outside of turning off the shower, nothing’s been touched, Ms. Taylor.”
“There must be some other way. . without having to see him again.” She thought for a moment. “Wait; that’s all wrong. Hun kept the DMSO in the medicine cabinet. It was never on the shower shelf. Where did you find it? Where was it on the shelf?”
Harris consulted his notes. “The second container from the left.”
She need only a moment to consider this. “Second from the left? That’s where he kept the shampoo.”
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely.”
“Always?”
Ewing, smiling, broke into the conversation. “Apparently when Mr. Hunsinger did anything, he always did it the same way. A bit of a compulsive, I take it.”
Jan nodded.
Ewing sensed that Harris had no more questions for Jan. Nor had he. “I have your address and phone number, Ms. Taylor. We’ll undoubtedly have more questions as this investigation continues. So we’ll probably be in touch with you.”
“May I leave now?”
Ewing glanced at Harris before dismissing Jan Taylor.
“Come on,” Harris said, “I want you to see a few things.”
“She lied to me twice,” said Ewing as Harris led the way back to the bathroom.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. She knew the skin flick was on when she came in, but wouldn’t admit it until I confronted her with it.”
“And?”
“Claimed she’s never been married.”
“What makes you think she has?”
“Ring indentation on her third finger, left hand.”
“Could have been an engagement ring.”
“Could have been-but I doubt it. Very heavy hunch.” Ewing smiled. “It may come in handy if I have to question her again. I can tell her, ‘You lied to me before; why should I believe you now?’”
“Detectives do not live on hunches alone.”
They entered the bathroom and crouched near the body.
“Can you figure the grin?” Ewing asked.
“No. It’s grotesque. His eyes are wide open, like he was terror-stricken. And then he has this fixed grin. It doesn’t fit together at all. And look here. .” Harris pointed to areas on Hunsinger’s nude body. “See here, on his hands? Looks like some kind of rash, doesn’t it? And up here, on his scalp. . and you can see it all over his head through that short brush cut: the same kind of rash. Whataya think?”
“I dunno. Suppose it could be contagious? Some kind of contagious disease?”
“I don’t know either. That’s why I called Doc Moellmann.”
“Willie Moellmann? On Sunday night? You got a death wish?”
“Willie knows that I don’t call him at home unless it’s serious. He’s on his way here.”
“You and I ought to team up more often. With my brains and your clout, no killer would be safe.”
Harris grinned and stood up. Ewing did the same.
“There’s the DMSO.” Ewing nodded at the uncapped second bottle from the left. “What the hell is it, anyway?”
“I’m not positive. I read something about it somewhere. It was supposed to have been a miracle drug of the 1960s. Supposed to alleviate almost any kind of pain, from arthritis to toothache. Somehow, it never got on the market.”
“Hmmm. Looks like Hunsinger was using it. It’s the only open container on the shelf. But why would he use DMSO in the shower?”
“Wait. .what did that woman say? The slot second from the left was for the shampoo. And he kept the DMSO in the medicine cabinet.”
They looked at each other and together headed for the medicine cabinet.
“Sure enough,” said Harris, “here’s the shampoo. If Hunsinger was as compulsive and meticulous as we’ve been given to believe, do you suppose somebody switched bottles?” He frowned in thought. “But. . if so, why?”
Ewing began to hum tunelessly as he made several quick trips between the shower area and the medicine cabinet, taking notes as he did so.
“Look at the two bottles, Ned: They’re identical in size and shape. Both tall, cylindrical containers. Both with ribbed caps. Both caps can be unscrewed or opened by their fliptops. Both bottles hold six fluid ounces. As far as size, shape, and heft go, they’re identical. But one has a boxed label stating clearly that it is DMSO, 99.9 percent pure dimethylsulfoxide. And the other one has a lion monogram and the trade name, Royal Copenhagen, on it.”
“Okay,” Harris reasoned, “we know that Hunsinger needed help with his eyes. His contacts are still out there in the cooker. Maybe his eyes were bad enough so he couldn’t read the labels.”
“Okay,” Ewing returned, “but look at the color, Ned. The DMSO container is white opaque. The shampoo bottle is translucent and you can see its pink color plainly through the bottle.”
Harris shrugged. “He had soap in his eyes?”
“A killer could count on that?”
The doorbell rang. It was the Wayne County medical examiner, Dr. Wilhelm Moellmann. Ewing ushered him into the bathroom. All three stood still and silent as Moellmann made a cursory preliminary study of the body.
“Remarkable specimen,” said Moellmann finally. “Who was he?”
“Hank Hunsinger,” Ewing said.
“Hmmm. Who?”
“Hank (‘the Hun’) Hunsinger,” Ewing tried.
“Hmmm. I seem to have read the name somewhere. But where?”
“He was a professional football player,” Harris explained. “With the Cougars.”
“Ah, yes, of course. That would explain the mammoth size. And all those contusions. And all those scars. His surgeon would have been well advised to put zippers instead of stitches in his knees.” Moellmann looked about for some show of appreciation of his humor. Finding none, he squatted to study the corpse more closely.
While Harris filled Moellmann in on what the two officers had found, Ewing proceeded with his investigation of the premises.
“This is what concerns me,” said Harris, finally arriving at his reason for calling the medical examiner. “This rash here on his hands and here again on his scalp.”
Moellmann studied the rash. He did not touch it. “It is peculiar. And, you see, there are similar marks here on his neck and there on his chest.”
“Any ideas?”
“Ideas? Ideas! You mean guesses! Guesses, like Quincy makes on TV! No, no guesses! This is science, not television!”
A brief but spirited performance. Harris had been subjected to many similar ones by Moellmann. On reflection, Harris decided he should not have asked the question. He decided to stay on surer ground.
“How about the DMSO, Doc? Can you fill us in on that?”