Sudden Death fk-7

by William X. Kienzle

  “The true colorblind person is called a monochromat.” He did not bother to spell. “The monochromat is unable to match one color with any other color. Everything, to the genuinely colorblind person, is either white, black, or gray.”

  “Until now,” Harris commented, “I thought Hunsinger had done his apartment in Art Deco. Everything is white, black, or gray.”

  Glowacki nodded vigorously. “I’ve never seen Mr. Hunsinger’s apartment, but I’m not surprised. Without assistance a colorblind person could not help making serious blunders in decorating an apartment. Even a color-deficient person probably would err. For a person like Mr. Hunsinger, it would make great good sense for his decorator to use black, white, and gray. That, after all, is exactly the way he saw life.”

  “This question just occurred to me,” said Ewing. “Wouldn’t his colorblindness be a serious problem for him playing football. . you did know he played football?”

  “Of course. No, it didn’t hinder him. Remember, he saw things in the same way a normally sighted person sees a black and white television picture. There were times when his colorblindness was a help to him.”

  The officers registered incredulity.

  “For instance, when two competing teams wear the same colors; say, blue and white. It happens. It can be confusing for the person with normal color vision. But as far as Mr. Hunsinger was concerned, his team was wearing dark pants and white shirts. While the other team wore white pants and dark shirts. That’s the way all team colors appeared to him.”

  “One more-maybe the final-question,” said Harris. “To your knowledge, did many other people know Hunsinger was colorblind?”

  Glowacki thought for a moment. “I rather doubt it. No one learned it from me. I have never discussed it with anyone other than Mr. Hunsinger. Now it no longer makes any difference to him. But I got the clear impression that while he lived he wanted it kept a secret. He was, after all, a member of an infinitesimal minority. Less than one percent of males are colorblind. I don’t know if it was because he was a private person or he was ashamed of his condition or he was just exceptionally vain.”

  “If you had to guess?” Ewing prodded. It was important that they learn all they could about the victim.

  “Well,” Glowacki pulled at his lower lip, “I’m no psychologist. But if I had to guess-and this is just a guess-I would say he was too vain to have admitted to being colorblind.”

  “Reasons?”

  “I remember when contact lenses first became popular, Mr. Hunsinger was among the very earliest to use them. I sensed he had always been embarrassed to appear in public wearing glasses. He used to come in quite regularly because the frames were bent out of shape. They’d been in his pocket getting bent when he should have been wearing them. Then, as I say, at his earliest opportunity, he got contacts, so people wouldn’t know that his vision needed correcting. Even though the contacts he first wore were rigid lenses.”

  “Is there a problem with rigid lenses?” asked Harris.

  “They have a tendency to pop out rather easily. You can imagine how troublesome that would be in a violent game like football! So as soon as the Toric soft lenses came out he started wearing them.”

  “The difference?”

  “Well, for one thing, soft lenses need more elaborate care than the rigids. I’m sure that after a game, Mr. Hunsinger’s eyes would be sensitive and red. He’d surely remove the lenses and clean them.”

  “As a matter of fact,” Ewing commented, “they were ‘cooking’ when Hunsinger died.”

  Glowacki again shook his head, reminded that the man they were discussing had been murdered only yesterday. “Yes, he’d do that. First thing after getting home. Mr. Hunsinger was a bit of a compulsive.”

  “ So we’ve been given to believe.”

  “And also proud,” the doctor continued. “Proud of his physique. Proud of his appearance. Proud of his accomplishments. Too proud, I’m sure, to ever let it be known that he belonged to an exclusive minority of people who are colorblind. He considered that a blemish, a defect. But one that was, as far as others were concerned, invisible. And I’m sure he did everything in his power to make sure it stayed that way.”

  The officers thanked the doctor for his time and information. They advised him that his late patient’s colorblindness was becoming a significant factor in their investigation and warned him not to reveal the fact to anyone, at least while the investigation continued.

  They got in their car. Harris inserted the key in the ignition, but did not turn it. Instead, he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “I’ve got a feeling that we’ve got the essence of the thing. How about you?”

  “Yeah,” Ewing agreed, “the perpetrator didn’t bother to pour a mixture of DMSO and strychnine into the shampoo bottle because he-”

  “Or she-”

  “Or she-knew it didn’t matter. Hunsinger, seemingly an ironclad victim of habit, would reach for the second container from the left, assuming that everything was in its proper place-as everything in his life was. The bottle was the same shape and size as the shampoo container. He couldn’t read the label because his contacts were in the ‘cooker,’ where they always were when he showered after a game. And he couldn’t tell the liquid in the bottle was white instead of pink because he was colorblind.”

  “We are looking for someone with a motive for killing Hunsinger,” said Harris, “someone who had the opportunity to kill him and who knew his compulsive routines: knew of his showering at home after a game, knew his eyesight was bad-and knew that he was colorblind.”

  “Of all that, it seems the best-kept secret was his colorblindness.”

  “Well, let’s get crackin’.”

  “Right. On to good old Father Koesler.”

  In 1954 Robert Koesler was ordained a priest to serve in the Archdiocese of Detroit. He was ordained in Blessed Sacrament Cathedral on June 4. The next day, Sunday, June 5, he offered his first solemn Mass at 10:00 a.m. in his home parish, Holy Redeemer. In the congregation at that Mass were Grace Hunsinger and her seven-year-old son, Hank.

  Conrad Hunsinger, Grace’s husband and Hank’s father, was not there. Conrad was not present because he was not a Catholic, and, further, he never attended any church service. Grace was there because a first Mass of a returning ordained young man was an extremely important parochial event for deeply religious Catholics. And Mrs. Hunsinger was a deeply religious Catholic. Hank was there because his mother made him attend.

  In three months, Conrad Hunsinger would be dead. Very sudden. A heart attack. Very sad. Robert Koesler would not know any of this. In August 1954, he would be working in his first parochial assignment on Detroit’s east side. He and Conrad Hunsinger had never met.

  To a degree, Grace Hunsinger had watched Bobby Koesler grow up. She had attended at least one Mass almost every day of her adult life. Frequently she would kneel back in the shadows of the enormous Romanesque Holy Redeemer church and watch little Bob Koesler, altar boy, in cassock and surplice, serve Mass. She knew, from the churchy gossip of other daily Mass attendants, when he went away to the seminary. She noted, on his return during vacations, that he still played the part of a faithful altar boy well into his twenties. From time to time, she wished the church bug had bitten her son. It was not to be.

  Koesler knew Grace Hunsinger, although not by name. He knew her as a quiet gentle lady who seemed always to be in church. There were several like that, mostly women, mostly middle-aged to elderly, who seemed to be in church most of the time, especially during Masses and novenas. He had no way of knowing that one day, many years later, the unseen son of this nice lady whose name Koesler did not know would, for a short time, play an extremely important role in his life.

  That day, June 4, 1954, was the culmination of all that Robert Koesler had dreamed of since he was of an age to remember dreams. As far back as he could recall, he had always wanted to be a priest.

  Shortly after he had gone to the seminary in the ninth gra
de to test his vocation, Going My Way, one of the greatest recruitment films of all time, was released. Inspired by that movie, lots of little Catholic boys concluded that it might be neat to grow up to become Bing Crosby’s Father Chuck O’Malley, turn a bunch of juvenile delinquents into a celestial choir, rub elbows with Rise Stevens, stand backstage during a Met performance of Carmen, become savior of parishes on the brink of financial disaster, and reunite an old Irish pastor with his aged Irish mother when they both should have been dead.

  Great as Going My Way was, Bob Koesler hadn’t needed it for motivation. Long before “. . just dial ‘O’ for O’Malley,” Koesler was convinced the priesthood was the life for him. He viewed the twelve years of preparation-four high school, four college, four theologate-as just so many obstacles to be overcome, so many hurdles to be leaped. And he took them pretty much as hurdles, clumsily kicking over many on the way.

  Koesler’s professors as well as his contemporaries would agree that his seminary career was “interesting.” By no means a serious student until perhaps the final few years of the seminary, Koesler could more frequently be found on the athletic field or the stage.

  But at the end of twelve years his determination to be a priest was more firm than ever. The seminary officials found no good reason to deny him; some even found good reasons to recommend him. So, on June 4, 1954, came his ordination, followed by his first Mass, with, unbeknownst to him, Grace and Hank Hunsinger in attendance.

  The years of his priesthood were, like his seminary career, “interesting.” After three parochial assignments, he was appointed editor of the Detroit Catholic, a weekly newspaper owned by the Archdiocese of Detroit. For that post, his lack of qualification was remarkable. Somehow he mucked through, learning much along the way. Eventually he became what he was now: pastor of St. Anselm’s, a suburban Dearborn Heights parish.

  By far, the most “interesting” turn of events took place in 1979, when Koesler stumbled onto a clue in the murder of a Detroit nun. Thence he was drawn into the investigation of what turned into a series of murders of priests and nuns. From this grew a close friendship with Inspector Walter Koznicki, head of the homicide division of the Detroit Police Department.

  Since that first homicide investigation involving Koesler, he had, through a sort of recurrent kismet, been drawn into other similar investigations. At times, he became involved because the murdered victims were members of the Catholic clergy, other times because victims were found in Catholic churches, still other times because the dramatis personae in the investigation were members of his parish. Now it seemed he was about to become involved in yet another homicide investigation because the victim happened to be a member of a Bible study group that included Koesler.

  When Inspector Koznicki had phoned earlier this morning and requested Koesler’s participation in at least the early stages of the investigation into the death of Hank Hunsinger, the priest had been stunned. At breakfast he had read in the Free Press about Hunsinger’s death and was shocked. As in the death of most murder victims there was a special element of surprise in Hunsinger’s demise. It was so unexpected. This was a strong young man, a man whose body was not prepared for death. And readers did not have to wait to reach the sports pages to learn of the murder of the tight end; it was splashed on page 1 with companion stories throughout Section A.

  Koesler had not been able to talk at length with Koznicki. After accepting the inspector’s invitation to render whatever assistance was possible in the investigation, Koesler had to marshal his rectory forces to cover for him, locate a priest to fill in at daily Mass, and reschedule several appointments.

  All had been done. Now he awaited the promised arrival of Lieutenant Harris and Sergeant Ewing, both of whom he knew from previous investigations.

  Although he had met Hunsinger several times in the Bible study group and had seen him play football any number of times either in person or on television, Koesler remained unaware of their connection through Holy Redeemer parish. He had known Grace Hunsinger by sight. But he had not known her name. He had never met the young Hunsinger. Even though the seven-year-old had been dragged to Koesler’s first solemn Mass, Koesler of course had no way of recognizing the young lad’s presence. And Hunsinger himself had long ago dismissed the memory as that of one more meaningless ceremony.

  Koesler did not know it, but he was in for a big surprise.

  “This is probably going to sound like one of those ultimate philosophical questions,” said Father Koesler, “but, why am I here?”

  “It wasn’t our idea.” Lieutenant Harris was the less diplomatic of the two officers.

  In a flash, Koesler pictured the scene. Koznicki suggesting the priest be included in at least the beginning of the investigation. Harris objecting, undoubtedly strenuously. Koznicki closing the discussion considerately but firmly.

  “Actually, Father,” Ewing explained, “you, all by yourself, are our control group.”

  “Huh?”

  Harris was driving. They had picked Koesler up at his rectory and were now en route to the Silverdome.

  “You see,” Ewing continued, “between the time a new security system was installed in Hunsinger’s apartment building and the time that Hunsinger was killed, seven people were recorded as his visitors. All seven came the same evening. You were one of them. All seven had the opportunity to case. . er. . study the security system and discover an easy way to beat it. If one of them did that, he’s our man.”

  “Then I’m a suspect?” Koesler hoped his question was facetious.

  Ewing laughed. Koesler’s hope was affirmed. He breathed more easily.

  “No, you’re not a suspect. Like I told you in the beginning, you are our one-person control group.

  “You see, it didn’t take us long to discover the connection between you seven. Now comes the interrogation. We have no sure way of knowing whether this or that person is answering all our questions truthfully. You are the only one we can rely upon to tell the truth. It just may work out that we can measure the truthfulness of the others by your answers and recollections.

  “There are, by the way, three other people who had or may have had keys to the apartment: Hunsinger’s mother, his mis-uh, girlfriend, and, possibly, Mrs. Galloway. But then, you wouldn’t know any of them, would you?”

  Koesler shook his head.

  “Okay, so we’ll concentrate on the members of the discussion group. Let’s start with Hunsinger while we’ve got a little time. Why would a guy like him join a Bible discussion group anyway?”

  Koesler hesitated. “I haven’t given it that much thought. For one thing, for athletes to join some sort of Christian organization is very prevalent. . like the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, for instance. You know, there’s more than one religious discussion group just within the Cougars.

  “Now that I think of it, though, it was an odd group. On the surface, they seemed to have nothing in common but football. Some actually played the game; then there was the trainer, of course, and the two in management.

  “But it seemed to me that something was going on just beneath the surface. For one thing, there was a good deal of conflict. The arguments that occurred between the Hun and Bobby and Kit, I always felt, were more than mere differences of opinion.

  “Then, in the group at large, I got the impression that most of them were there because they just had to know what the others were doing, what the others were thinking. A couple of the players attending represented the highest paid athletes on the team. The welfare of the players, how they were spending their time away from the field, seemed a special concern of the trainer. And of course the players wanted to get every clue they could as to what plans management had.

  “As for Hunsinger specifically,” he shook his head, “I just don’t know. It might have been his way of saying, in effect, You guys think you know me, but you don’t. You don’t know where I’m coming from. You think I’m incapable of anything spiritual, but I’ve read my Bible too. . and jus
t because I don’t turn the other cheek doesn’t mean I don’t know what you’re getting at.” He shook his head again. “But then, I don’t usually spend a lot of time trying to analyze people’s motivations; I tend to just take them at face value. . Maybe Hunsinger thought he needed some higher-up help. .”

  “All in all, Father,” Ewing had been jotting notes, “you’re not describing a very altruistic bunch.”

  “After a few get-togethers, I didn’t think I was attending very altruistic meetings either. But it was a fascinating study in human behavior nonetheless. I learned some things. And not just about human behavior. About Scripture too. Each of these men had his own peculiar interpretation of Scripture. Through those interpretations, I think I learned something about each of them and also got some fresh insights into Scripture.”

  Ewing had half turned toward the rear seat. He now swung his left arm over the front seat and faced Koesler. “I’m going to tell you some things now, Father, that we hope no one outside the investigating team will learn. Things that are vital to our investigation and are not to be revealed to anyone else.”

  Koesler nodded and smiled. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

  So far, the news media knew only that Hunsinger had been poisoned. Ewing now explained in detail the manner in which the dead man had been killed.

  At the end of the account, Koesler sighed. It had been an ugly if quick way to go. The older he grew, the more dismayed he became that anyone would take it upon himself that another should not live. That conviction stretched from abortion to war to capital punishment.

  “You’ve been involved in enough of these investigations to know that we’re looking for someone who had a sufficient motive to kill, had the opportunity, and actually did the deed,” Ewing continued. “But, in this case, there are a few other things we’re looking for along the way. We think that in order to use the method he did to commit murder, the killer had to know certain things about Hunsinger. So, let’s see what you knew about him and, maybe, what you think the others knew.”