A horror writer's mind is a very bizarre place.
I had to buy a new battery (again!) for my scooter today. To prep the battery, one needs to fill it with the enclosed solution of sulfuric acid.
I, doing this, realized that one could conceivably purchase enough untraceable sulfuric acid to dispose of an organic mass--say, a body--through the mass purchase, in cash, of small liquid-cell batteries. This was my first thought, and one that predominated any thoughts that came after, remaining in the priority position as my mind wandered through a thousand brief scenarios in which this knowledge may one day be useful to me.
So I file it away, with the reckoning number adjacent to the other one which deals with manufacturers, costs, and delivery fees for the 55-gallon drums of sulfuric acid in case I write a character that has access to such things without it being trite or cliche.