“That we do not know.”
“Is it possible to hide so basic a defect from a lover? Never having been, or had, a lover, I am not in the best possible position to say.”
Koznicki chuckled. “It is a good question, Father. We know that his colorblindness was a condition Hunsinger felt most reserved about. He even managed to keep it out of the team’s physical-health record. Apparently, he was also able to keep knowledge of his condition from his teammates … no easy feat, considering how very closely they live for much of the year. If he was able to keep the defect from his teammates, could he also have kept it from a paramour. .?” Koznicki left the question hanging.
“Which, I suppose, brings us to the one Cougar player who freely admitted that he knew about Hunsinger’s problem: Niall Murray.”
“Ah, yes, Mr. Murray. Fresh from Ireland and he finds himself in the midst of a murder investigation. The one who knows everything and does nothing.”
“What do you mean, Inspector?”
“Mr. Murray is well aware-as are almost all his athletic colleagues-of Hunsinger’s compulsions. He knows Hunsinger needs corrective lenses for astigmatism. He has heard of Hunsinger’s. . uh. . active social life, which dictates a second shower at home after games. He knows about the poison in the apartment. He has at least a slightly reasonable motive in that he is one of the new young players Hunsinger has tried to corrupt. . although, even with that in mind, he seems to have considered Hunsinger a good source of advice and counsel, not a subject for murder.
“And finally, he and Mrs. Hunsinger are the only ones to admit knowledge of Hunsinger’s colorblindness.”
“Yet,” Koesler picked up Koznicki’s review, “Murray and Mrs. Hunsinger are the only ones who have an alibi with no holes for the entire time in question on Sunday. Now I see what you mean by he knew everything but did nothing. Something like that old saw about the medical profession: an internist knows everything but does nothing; a surgeon knows nothing but does everything; a pathologist knows everything and does everything, but it’s too late.”
“Yes,” Koznicki smiled, “something like that.”
“Isn’t it odd that out of eight possible suspects, the six who have the strongest motives for doing harm to Hunsinger”-Koesler could not bring himself to use the term murder, even though the use of strychnine could have no other purpose-“also have the most opportunity. While the two with the least motive each have airtight alibis.”
Koznicki shook his head. “If this were fiction, and I were writing it, I would alter the plot so that the police would have an easy job of it. But this is life. And life, I believe is not painted in bold black and white strokes, but rather in shades of gray.
“Somewhere, among these people, is one who had the motive, the opportunity, the necessary knowledge, including-whether he or she will admit it-awareness of Hunsinger’s colorblindness. The one who did the deed. We will find that person.”
Koznicki pronounced the final sentence so decisively that, with really nothing more to go on but this statement, Koesler was convinced.
The waiter brought their beverages. Tea for Koznicki, decaf for Koesler.
“What do they do today?” Koesler asked.
Koznicki’s eyebrows arched in a metaphorical question mark.
“I mean the Cougars,” Koesler clarified. “What’s their schedule for Tuesday?”
“Oh. Well, as far as the players are concerned, this is, for all intents and purposes, their day off. For the coaches, quite another matter. They will be closeted throughout the day, reviewing film of next week’s opponent, which is”-Koznicki consulted his notes of the day’s schedule that he had received from Lieutenant Harris-“New York. Then, gradually, through the day, they are to devise a game plan for next Sunday’s contest. While the coaches will be busy with their game plan, we will be occupied with ours. We have teams of detectives who will be continuing the investigation and interrogating the suspects.”
“Teams of detectives!” Koesler sipped the steaming decaf. “Isn’t that rather. . prodigious?”
Koznicki waved an impatient finger. “It is not fair; I know that, Father. We have only so many homicide investigators. And we must spread them too thinly on all the cases we must investigate. But every so often a case such as the murder of Mr. Hunsinger comes along, and public pressure-from the news media, the mayor’s office, the community finally-simply demands as speedy a solution as possible.
“This is not good. On the one hand, we must take detectives from cases they are developing, to spend more of their valuable time on this case. On the other hand, this demand for a solution can, if we are not very careful, cause mistakes, which, under ordinary, less pressured circumstances, we would not make.
“Every day-and frequently more than once a day-reporters are all over the fifth floor, and demands are made for newspaper and television interviews. The reporters have their job to do and are under pressure from their editors. They want, if not a solution; a constantly developing story, when oftentimes there are no developments.
“As I say, Father, it is not fair. But that is the state of a notorious case such as this.”
“You’re right. It isn’t fair. And you’re also right: it is life.”
“By the way, Father,” Koznicki signaled for the check, “I understand that the Bible discussion group is scheduled to meet this evening. What do you call yourselves? The God Squad. . is that correct?”
“Yes. I guess so. Under the circumstances, I assumed it would be canceled or at least postponed. But according to Mrs. Galloway yesterday, the meeting is on. And I was really flabbergasted when she said it would be at her house. . I mean, her husband’s house. . I mean their house. I guess I mean her house. I mean,” Koesler floundered, “what with their relationship I didn’t think the meeting could possibly take place there. In any event, I thought it better not to attend.”
“Oh, no, Father,” Koznicki appeared intent. “It is very important that you attend. Already you have contributed much to this case. Perhaps not in a quantitative sense, but surely in a qualitative degree. One never knows what may be revealed at a gathering such as the one tonight.
“And it is safe to assume that there will never be an assembly of the God Squad to equal the one to take place tonight. One of your members is dead and, with the exception of yourself and young Murray, all the other members are suspect to one degree or another. There will be a special dynamic tonight that in all probability will never be repeated. We will need eyes and ears to that dynamic and, to paraphrase a popular religious metaphor, we will have no eyes nor ears but yours. We are dependent on you, Father, to glean what could be most important information. No one but yourself can do this for us.”
“Inspector, I am reminded of an experience some young friends of mine had years ago when they were conducting a prayerful demonstration against the Vietnam War. They were young Jesuit priests who were praying on the steps of the Pentagon. There were only five of them and they didn’t even draw a crowd. People-top brass, other officers, enlisted men, civilians-just kept passing by with no more than furtive glances in their direction.
“Finally, after a few hours, they decided to call it off and go home. Besides being ineffectual, they were getting cold. Just before they were about to disband, an older Jesuit priest, one of their superiors, came up to them and specifically ordered them, under their vow of obedience, to disband. Their only thought, at that point, was that they had been the victims of administrative overkill.
“That,” Koesler concluded with affectionate emphasis, “is how I feel. All you really had to say was, ‘I wish you’d go,’ and I would have gone.”
Koznicki smiled appreciatively. “You know, Father, I knew that before I started. I knew if I asked you to go, you would. But if that were all I had said, you would not have been motivated, really motivated, to observe and listen tonight as carefully and astutely as you will now.”