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?”
Moellmann rose as did Harris.
“Ah, yes, DMSO,” said Moellmann, staring at the opened container on the shelf. “A most intriguing compound. It never got FDA approval, but that hasn’t stopped people from buying it. At one time it was thought to be the ultimate and harmless answer to pain. This much can be said of it: when applied to the skin, it penetrates the skin and immediately enters the bloodstream. Many have testified that upon application, it relieves their pain immediately.”
“Then why didn’t it get FDA approval?”
“Now, then, my memory grows a bit vague. I believe the problem lies in testing it. In any such test, there must be a control group.”
Harris immediately called to mind all those kids with the cavities because they were in the control group that wasn’t using the sponsor’s toothpaste.
“The control group,” Moellmann continued, “should receive some sort of placebo, some admittedly ineffective substitute for the substance being tested. Something like a sugar pill instead of aspirin. But they’ve never been able to come up with an appropriate placebo for use instead of DMSO, because the application of DMSO usually causes a reddened skin and a very bad breath. People in the control group would know they were not being given DMSO because no other substance causes both an inflammation of the skin and the strong breath.”
“Red skin?” Harris mused.
“Yes, red skin,” Moellmann repeated.
Harris and Moellmann as one looked down at the corpse. Their gaze was fixed on the rash on Hunsinger’s hands and scalp.
“I wonder. .” said Moellmann.
Ewing entered the bathroom, carrying a gallon plastic container. “Found it in the kitchen! Strychnine, if you can believe the label. But from what we’ve seen here, if I had a last dollar I wouldn’t bet it on the truth-in- packaging in this place.”
“Where would anyone get strychnine these days?” Harris asked. “It’s off the market, isn’t it?”
“I thought so,” Ewing agreed.
“Oh, yes, definitely,” Moellmann affirmed. “You can’t get it anywhere these days. Commercially, that is. Nixon signed an order taking it off the market back in 1973, I believe.”
“Well, either this is or it isn’t,” said Ewing, hefting the half-filled container. “But at least the label says it’s strychnine.”
