“Of course. All one needs to know is what to expect the deficient person to perceive in this test. Father told me you were likely to want to test two subjects separately. So I took the precaution of borrowing another copy of the Ishihara test. You’re perfectly welcome to borrow both, if you wish. “
“You have been most cooperative, Doctor,” said Koznicki. “Ned, you and Ray take one and check out Mr. Galloway. Father Koesler and I will take the other booklet and visit Mrs. Galloway. Call us at the Galloway home as soon as you have completed the test.” He turned to the ophthalmologist.
“Thank you once again, Doctor. You’ve been an enormous help. And remember, not a word of this to anyone. Not until the entire investigation is completed.”
As the three officers and the priest left his office, Dr. Glowacki was tingling. He had never before participated in a murder investigation. It was thrilling. He would, of course, keep their secret. Even from his wife, who would quite naturally want to know what the strange quartet had wanted. Just as she had wanted to know why he was sending her to borrow Dr. Graven’s copy of the Ishihara test. She would learn all in good time. When he and the police had completed their investigation. And when, together, they had apprehended the person who had murdered his late patient.
If Dr. Glowacki was any judge, that would be soon.
Marj Galloway answered the door. As Koznicki and Koesler entered the house, they could see a couple of domestics dusting in the dining area. The living room was unoccupied. Mrs. Galloway invited them in, reluctantly, Koznicki felt, and seemingly with an air of foreboding and inevitability.
Both Koznicki and Koesler separately concluded that even without benefit of makeup, dressed in an old housecoat, and with her hair disheveled, Marj Galloway was a strikingly attractive woman.
“I hope,” Koznicki opened, “that you do not too much mind our intrusion.”
Marj shrugged as if to comment, And if I did. .?
“We will not take up much of your time,” Koznicki proceeded. “We are continuing our investigation into the murder of Mr. Hunsinger. And I wonder if you would be so kind as to help us. “
“Inspector-you did say you are an inspector? — ah, well, Inspector, when is this nonsense going to end? I had an affair with Mr. Hunsinger about a year ago. Apart from the football field, or at a great distance at a few social events, I haven’t had anything to do with the Hun since we broke up. To be perfectly frank with you, I don’t give a good goddamn that he’s dead. But I had nothing to do with his murder.”
“Sometimes,” Koznicki’s voice was soft and persuasive, “it is through your voluntary cooperation that we are able to establish just that: that you are innocent. We are not charging you with any crime. We ask only that you help us by taking a simple, uncomplicated test.”
“A test? What kind of a test?”
“A vision test. “ Koznicki produced the Ishihara booklet.
“A vision test,” she repeated. “Oh, what the hell; let’s get it over with.”
Koznicki held the booklet so all three could see the pages as he turned them.
“Twelve,” Marj read.
Everyone could discern that one, Koesler remembered.
“Eight.”
Uh-oh.
“Five.
“Twenty-nine.
“Seventy-four.”
There was no doubt about it: Marj Galloway was not color-deficient.
“Seven.
“Forty-five.
“Two.”
It had to be her husband, Jay. Koesler could almost see, in his mind’s eye, probably even at this very moment, Jay rumbling through the test, unable to correctly discern any number but the first.
“There’s no number on this page at all.”
Koesler could envision Lieutenant Harris grudgingly admitting the validity of Koesler’s theory. The priest was not a vindictive person; he would not rub it in when next he met Lieutenant Harris.
“Sixteen.
“Is that it? That was pleasant. Did I pass? Do we go on to the Rorschach test? Do you have any nice little ink blots for me to identify?”
“You did very well, Mrs. Galloway.” There was no trace of acrimony or chagrin in Koznicki’s voice. Seemingly, he was genuinely pleased that she had done well.
Koesler, eyes darting from side to side, a reaction foreign to him, was waiting for something. The phone rang. That was it.
After several rings, which Koesler felt to be a dozen, the phone was answered. A moment later a no-nonsense working woman appeared in the archway. “Is there an Inspector Koznicki here?”
“I’ll take it.” Koznicki unfolded from the chair and went into the dining area.
“Koznicki,” he identified to the caller.
“Ned Harris here, Walt. How’d it go with Marj Galloway?”
“She has normal color vision. “
“Same with her husband. We had a devil of a time convincing him it wasn’t necessary to call his lawyer about thirty seconds after we entered his office. But he settled down when he saw what the test was about.”
There was a pause.
“There is more?”
“Yeah. We told him his wife was taking the test too. That was one of the reasons why he agreed to take it without benefit of counsel. He asked why we were giving both of them color vision tests. That was after he’d passed it with flying colors … no pun intended.
“So we told him that color perception was relevant to our investigation and that we’d noticed the rather odd color scheme of his living room, and we were just checking. I’ll give you his exact reply.”
Koznicki could hear the pages of Harris’s notepad being riffled.
“He said, ‘Marj doesn’t have any trouble with color; she just doesn’t have any taste. It’s about the only flaw in an otherwise Ms. Perfect. I never paid any attention to her horrible sense of decor because she is such a good piece of ass.’” There was just an instant’s hesitation. “I don’t suppose you’d want to pass that entire quotation on to the good Padre.”
“No.”
“Now, would it be okay if we get on with the police investigation of this case?”
“Yes.” Koznicki let the sarcasm pass without comment and replaced the receiver on the phone. He reentered the living room.
“Was that-” Koesler began.
“Yes. That was Lieutenant Harris. His results were negative also.”
Koesler’s spirits sank.
“We will be leaving now, Mrs. Galloway.” As he spoke, Koznicki looked about the room, seeing it in a different light. It was true, the furnishings were an uncomplementary mixture of colonial, contemporary, and just about every other style.
“I hope you’re finished. I mean I hope this is the last time I will be subjected to a random interrogation regarding a dead person I don’t give a damn about.” It was evident that Mrs. Galloway was not amused.
“Mrs. Galloway,” Koznicki spoke firmly, “this is an investigation into a crime. . into murder. We go where the investigation leads us. But we will make every effort not to trouble you further, unless it becomes necessary.”
Outside the house, Koznicki told Koesler of Harris’s report, omitting what it was that Galloway most appreciated in his wife.
It was a silent ride back to St. Anselm’s. Koznicki felt very sorry for his friend. As for Koesler, he could recall, wincingly, times past when he had felt extremely foolish. The present moment might not represent the nadir of foolishness in his life. But it ranked.
They did not have far to go. Just an elevator ride to the basement of the Silverdome. Harris and Ewing showed their badges and entered the Cougars’ dressing room, only to find that almost everyone, including the man they wanted to see, was on the field. So they walked up the ramp to the playing surface. The Cougars were fortunate this week that no other major activity was scheduled for the Silverdome. Otherwise, their artificial turf would have been removed or covered and they would have had to search for some other practice facility.
The scene that greeted the two officers was one of organized chaos.