“Well, when did he have to join the rest of the team before the game?”
“Oh, that’d be yesterday morning at eight at the Pontiac Inn for the pregame meal and taping.”
“Then he might have left his place at-uh, how long does it take to get out to the inn from Jefferson and the Boulevard? About 45 minutes, doesn’t it? So, about seven or seven-fifteen?”
“I suppose. Why don’t you find out from the doorman?”
“We did ask the doorman. But in investigations like this, we crosscheck. We may well ask you questions that we have asked others. There’s no telling where an investigation will lead.”
“Oh.”
“Just a minute, Mr. Galloway,” said Harris, “I thought it was the custom for teams to stay at a hotel the night before a game, even if they were playing at home. How come your team doesn’t get together until game day itself?”
Galloway glanced nervously at Harris. He was the one to be wary of. “We decided long ago it would be better for the players to be at home until just before the game whenever possible. Helps relax them. So, when we play at home, we assemble on the day of the game.”
Harris, Ewing, and Koesler each had the same thought: staying at home saved an overnight hotel bill. To Harris’s thought was added: you stingy bastard.
Ewing resumed the questioning. “Mr. Galloway, were you aware that Hunsinger had any physical problems or flaws?”
“Physical problems?”
“Any impairment?”
“Well, he had a chronic problem with his shoulder. And his knees were in horrible shape. But anybody who’s played as long as the Hun would have to have a lot wrong with him.”
“Anything, any impairment not connected with football?”
Galloway took another long drag and jammed the cigarette butt into a large ashtray. As with most smokers, he failed to completely extinguish the cigarette; it continued to smolder as he lit another. “His eyes? You mean his eyes?”
“That’s right.”
“Yeah; he wore glasses. Contacts. He was nearsighted or something.”
“Anything else?”
“Not that I know of. Actually, he was in pretty good shape for the length of time he’d been in the game.”
“I mean anything else about his eyes?”
Galloway frowned. “Something, I think it was astigmatism. You’d better check with Dave Whitman, or with Jack Brown, my trainer. They know more about the physical condition of the players than I do.”
“What do you know about Hunsinger’s death?”
“Just what I’ve read in today’s papers. I’ve been on the phone all morning. But I haven’t been able to find anyone who knows more about it. Or, at least anybody who’ll talk. He was poisoned. That’s all I know.”
“It was strychnine.”
“Strychnine!”
“We found a container in the apartment. Did you know it was there?”
“No. N-no. I don’t think so. Why would I?” For some time he had been swiveling his chair from side to side. It was obvious he was nervous and wanted this interrogation over as quickly as possible.
“Mr. Galloway, do you know of anyone who would want to kill Hunsinger?”
For the first time, Galloway showed a brief smile. “Just about everybody he ever played against.”
Ewing returned the smile. “We’re trying to narrow this investigation, Mr. Galloway. We’re concentrating on those who might have had access to his apartment and might have both a motive and the means. Specifically, right now, six of the men who met at his apartment in the discussion group.”
“The discussion group!” Galloway seemed genuinely shocked. “That was a Bible discussion group, for God’s sake. Besides, with the exception of the good father here, we were all with the same team. Why would any of us want to hurt the Hun, let alone kill him?”
“Think, Mr. Galloway.”
Galloway butted another cigarette, left it smoldering in the tray, and began drumming his fingers on the desktop. “Hoffer, I suppose. He played behind the Hun. He may have resented the Hun, but”- he shook his head-“not enough to kill him. No,” he shook his head again, “the idea is just preposterous.”
Softly, without moving in his chair, Harris asked, “What about your wife, Mr. Galloway?”
“What!” Abruptly Galloway lurched forward as if he were about to stand. “Marjorie! What has she got to do with this?”
“We have information that she was a very close friend of Hunsinger at one time.” Harris retained his calm manner.
“B-but that was ages ago. A year or more. There isn’t anything between them anymore.”
“Then you knew about the affair?” A hint of a smile played at Harris’s lips.
Galloway’s shoulders caved slightly. He had been trapped. Even though he had known Harris was the dangerous one.
They were on the brink of a confessional precipice. Ewing, for one, did not wish to cross it at this time. “Were you aware of Hunsinger’s attitude toward routines. . habits, Mr. Galloway?”
Galloway remained erect in his chair. He would not chance relaxing again during this conversation. “Routines! Hell, yes. Everybody knew the guy was compulsive. Hell, he was a compulsive-obsessive!”
“You say that was general knowledge?”
“Everybody in the league knew it. Everybody who read the sports pages knew it. The guy wouldn’t play if a shoestring got crossed.” Galloway looked from one officer to the other, then glanced at his watch. “Is that about all? I really have a lot to do.”
“Just a few more questions, Mr. Galloway,” said Ewing.
“Can you account for your whereabouts yesterday between 7:00 a.m. and 6:00 p.m.?” Harris asked.
“M-me! My whereabouts!” Galloway flushed. His lips trembled. He clearly was angry. “What do you mean, my whereabouts! Are you accusing me of this thing?” He reached for the phone. “I think I’d better get my attorney!”
“Before you do that”-Ewing raised a hand; Galloway did not lift the receiver-“you should know that you are not being accused of anything at this time. We are merely conducting a preliminary investigation. We are going to be asking this question of quite a few people.”
Galloway removed his hand from the phone.
“Now,” Ewing continued, “can you tell us what you did yesterday between 7:00 a.m. and 6:00 p.m.? Try to be as thorough as possible.”
“Okay. I got up about six-thirty, had some coffee, read the papers. Got down to the Pontiac Inn about ten. Joined the gang for some brunch. Went directly from there to the stadium. After the game, I went out to dinner with some friends from GM. That would take me up to about ten last night.”
“So you were in the company of others from six-thirty in the morning until ten last night?” Harris asked.
“Not exactly. I was alone until I got to the inn.”
Harris raised his eyebrows. “So no one can corroborate your story until after ten yesterday morning?”
“I’ve had about enough of this, Lieutenant.” Galloway stood and leaned forward, his whitened knuckles pressing against the desktop. “Are you saying that I’m a suspect in this murder?”
“No one has said that,” Harris stated.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Galloway continued. “Why would I do a thing like that? I had no reason at all.”
“How about, just for the sake of pursuing the idea, jealousy or revenge for what he did to your wife?” Harris suggested.
A sardonic smile cracked one side of Galloway’s mouth. He would rather not have addressed the subject at all. If Harris had not tricked him into admitting knowledge of the affair, he would have responded in some vague manner. As it was, he had to answer openly. And he was prepared to do so.
“Your source, whoever it was, about the affair my wife had with the Hun failed to fill you in on the status of our marriage. My wife and I are separated. We have been for over a month. Hunsinger was not the cause. . although he may have been the final straw. You can ask any of the gossip columnists. They’ll tell you my wife really gets around. It’s going to be a messy divorce. The media can hardly wait. They’ll tell you.”
The ensuing moment of silence was awkward if not embarrassing.