They Sue Kajin and John Dugan dealt with dead bodies in different ways. Kajin stuck a finger in a jar of Vicks she kept in her briefcase, rubbed the ointment under her nose, then pushed a little into each nostril. Her partner put a lighted match to the end of the large, cheap cigar he'd kept in the small briefcase he took on patrol each day. With the strong odor of the ointment obstructing Kajin's nostrils and the protective cloud of smoke around Dugan the officers climbed out of their cruiser, leaving it double-parked outside a three-story apartment building on Pine Street in the West End section of Portland.
"I hope there isn't a pet dog in there."
Kajin looked at her partner and nodded in understanding.
An anxious looking man waited at the front door of the wood-framed building. Harold Weeks, the manager of the apartment building, was sweating, as much from the bulk he carried around his waist as from the summer's mid-day heat. He introduced himself and then led the two officers along the first-floor hallway and up a flight of stairs at the back of the building, Weeks stuttered nervously as he explained that he'd called because tenants were complaining about a putrid odor coming from a second-floor apartment.
The oppressive heat that had been punishing Maine's coast for a couple of weeks could mean a badly decomposed body inside the apartment. Dugan repeated his prayer, this time silently, that the occupant of the apartment did not have a dog. A dog, or even a cat, after it's gone hungry for a couple of days, goes for the exposed flesh of the face, neck, and hands of its former owner.
Weeks unlocked the door, pushed it open, and jumped aside as the stench of decaying flesh assailed his unprotected nostrils. Dugan brushed by the retreating manager to enter the apartment. To the right, in the kitchen area, was a man's body. It showed no signs of hungry pets. Kajin moved in to check the rest of the apartment while Dugan moved over to the body.
"The guy smells pretty bad," Dugan called out to his partner, "but doesn't look bad, yet."
Dugan was crouched beside the body when Kajin came out of the adjoining bedroom.
She could see the dead man was on his knees, his arms wrapped across his chest. In death, he had slumped forward, his forehead resting on the floor.
"Everything appears to be in place," she said. "There's no sign of a struggle in the bedroom, bathroom, or in here, and all the windows are locked from the inside. I called the detectives from a telephone by the bed. Will it be all right to open a couple of windows to air out this place?"
"Sure, but first, come over here and take a look at this guy's face."
Kajin bent low beside Dugan. She could only see the man's profile. The eye visible to her was open wide, as was the man's mouth. The mouth was twisted as though a scream had forced its way out as the man died. "Looks like he'd been frightened by something," she said.
"Yah," said Dugan, "or he was in a lot of pain."