The Love Potion Murders in the Museum of Man_ A Norman De Ratour Mystery - Alfred Alcorn [23]
I may, of course, be reading too much into the incident. For Diantha it was no doubt a kiss that got away. Or perhaps that’s the way people in show business comport themselves. Disport themselves more like it. Or perhaps she is needful of an affection that, under the right circumstances, can inflame one to more tangible desires. It may also be that the presence or probability of individual finality stirs us in ways that are only superficially grotesque. As Father O’Gould has reminded us on more than one occasion, it is easy to forget what we are descended from.
Speaking of which, Malachy Morin accosted me in the Club at lunch on Friday and I couldn’t get away from him without agreeing to meet with him and “the big-money guys” from the Wainscott Office of Development. I do not consider myself a snob, but it seems to me the Club ought to be one of those places you can go to avoid people like Mr. Morin.
9
Although it is still early in the afternoon, I have closed the door and asked Doreen to hold my calls while I peck at these keys and at a crabmeat salad sandwich we had sent in. I usually don’t interrupt my workday to make entries into this subfile. But Lieutenant Tracy came in around eleven accompanied by Dr. P.M. Cutler, the Medical Examiner, and Dr. Arthur ffronche, a forensic endocrinologest from the state crime lab, and I want to record our conversation while it is still fresh in my mind.
Dr. Cutler, as those who read the account of the Cannibal Murders may recall, specializes in analyzing the stomach contents of individuals who have met a suspicious end. A professional gentleman of the old school, Dr. Cutler parts his abundant white hair in the middle, perches his half-moon spectacles on his nose, and wears bow ties bordering on the flamboyant.
Dr. ffronche, a large man of frowning if mischievous mien and extravagant hair in the style of Einstein, spoke English with a noticeable Irish accent.
Dr. Cutler gave us each a copy of his report, and, speaking in one of those Brahmin drawls that go with old silver, he took us through some of the more arcane findings.
“As I reported earlier, the victims, and I think we can safely assume they were victims, more than likely ingested the poison, or the substance that acted as a poison, with what might be called ‘snack’ amounts of recognizably ethnic Chinese food. These included dim sum, vegetarian spring rolls, and pork strips.
“Further analysis reveals the presence of a potent cocktail of both neurophysiological and biomechanical agents. That is, substances that work on both the brain and the sex organs.”
“Unlike Viagra,” Lieutenant Tracy put in.
“Exactement,” said Dr. ffronche. “This potion must work on the libido and, how do you say, the plumbing.” He went on, “Sildenafil citrate, the active ingredient in Viagra, acts, in these prescribed amounts, as a vasodilator in the penis.”
The Medical Examiner, raising his calm gray eyes to both of us, said, “Not to bore you with the details, it prevents the breakdown of a compound, cyclic guanosine monophosphate, and that, apparently, releases nitrous oxide, which is what causes the smooth muscle cells of the arteries to relax, increasing the flow of blood.”
Dr. ffronche nodded his agreement. “That is to say, it enables and prolongs, but does not cause, an erection.”
“For that, you would need a psychoactive substance,” Dr. Cutler explained.
“Unless the individuals involved were lovers,” Dr. ffronché put in. “And in this case that is not the case, yes?”
“Yes,” I said, “most emphatically not the case.”
“Which leads us to the more problematic part of our report.” Dr. Cutler glanced at his colleague as he spoke.
Dr. ffronche knit his brows together. “Absolutely. In this case we have a veritable cocktail, as you say.” He picked up his copy of the report. “We have found evidence of