The Imposter (15 page)

Alex
walked down the hall towards the community room, her heart again thudding in
her chest.  She knocked on the door and was admitted by a grim-faced Don
Montgomery.

Don's
greeting was tinged with scorn.  "It's about time.  Where in the hell have
you been? I can never find you when I need you.  When I don't need or want to
see you, you're hanging around my office!" Montgomery's normally grating
voice had a caustic edge to it.

Alex
ignored him.  Sweeping feelings of déjà vu encompassed her.  This is just like
before, she thought.  Just like February, right before Mardi Gras.  Even the
players were the same, she thought to herself as she looked at the group
assembled around the table.  Monique was sitting next to Jack, her face
tear-streaked and pale.  Jack was fighting strong emotions not to overly
comfort Monique, while working hard not to beat the hell out of the pompous CEO
as he railed out at Alex.   Jack looked like hell.   It was clear he hadn't
been home at all.   He must have come here straight from the murder in the
Quarter.   A nurse was also present.  Alex assumed it was the night shift
charge nurse.  Missing were Dr.  John Ashley, the chief of medicine who was out
of town, and Betty Favre.  The other person in the room was Whitset, who waved
and smiled benignly at Alex, greeting her as if she was his best friend.  
Monique hardly seemed to notice Alex’s entrance.

"What's
happened?" Alex's voice was cool, but she was seething with anger at Don
Montgomery’s disrespect.

Montgomery's
voice was loud and testy.  "We have a dead patient,  – a dead, whacko
patient –
that's what happened
!" He looked around
impatiently and continued, "A dead crazy, right here at CCMC.  I just love
it." Montgomery's voice dripped sarcasm as he peevishly added,
"Where's Elizabeth? We've got to cover our asses on this one with the
media.  Where is she, Alex?" Don demanded, his face red with anger.

Alex
shrugged her shoulders and said, "I don't know where Elizabeth is.   I
would imagine home in bed unless someone has called her.   Did anyone
call," Alex asked, looking around the room?

Everyone
gestured in the negative.  No one spoke.

Don's
harsh voice broke in again.  "Desmonde, you're the medical person here. 
Call Tippett and get her in here. 
Now
! I can't expect anything from you
physicians." Don glared at the psychiatrist.

Alex
could feel Monique's fury and she saw the tell tale blush of anger climbing her
bruised and battered neck.  After several moments, Monique stood, stared at
Don, recovered herself, and said clearly, "Mr.  Montgomery, I'll be happy
to call Elizabeth Tippet.   Generally, the unit administrator calls, who in
this case would be Mr. Whitset.  But I gather that hasn't happened, so ....”

 Whitset
jumped to his feet, his eyes flashing, and harshly interrupting Monique said,  
"How dare you single me out in front of a group for a responsibility I
never knew I had.  I will get you for this ...."

Monique
didn't let him finish, "Don't threaten me, Mr.  Whitset.  We'll talk about
this later."  Then she turned to face Don, leaned over so she was inches
from his face and said, "As I was saying before Mr.  Whitset interrupted me, 
I will call Elizabeth, but I won't respond to any more of your callous behavior
or profanity.  Is that clear to you?" Monique's voice was calm and cool
and her intent was clear.   She had regained her professional demeanor.   Alex
telepathically cheered her on.  
That's my girl,
she thought.
  Go
Monique.

Alex
noticed the ruthless look Whitset gave Monique and it sent shivers up her
spine.   The look was downright evil and Whitset had even bared his teeth.   He
was furious at her  and Alex was afraid he would physically hurt her or
sabotage her.   She had to remind Monique to be careful and watch out.   She
turned to Jack and immediately knew that Jack had seen the look as well.   His
face revealed his anger and he looked like he would like to strangle the
administrator.

"Just
get Tippet in here," Don roared.  He glowered at Dr.  Desmonde again and
said, "I run this damn place, such as it is.  I'll say whatever I want to,
when I want to!" Montgomery pointed his finger in Monique's face and said,
"Don't try to bully me, Desmonde, with your calculated, psychiatric
bullshit.  If you knew how to run a psychiatric service, we wouldn't have
patients murdering each other."

Alex's
heart was racing frantically, skipping beats.   She felt hot all over
.  
Murder!  So that's what happened.   It wasn’t just a dead patient, but one that
had been murdered?  On the psych unit at CCMC?  Murder involving patients?  Oh
My God!  Oh, no!
This was worse than she'd expected.  Her legal mind was
boggled with the thoughts of it, not to mention the repercussions.   A million
thoughts were racing through her head all at once.

Monique
continued standing, undeterred by Don's anger, ranting, and rudeness.  She
stated again, her voice firm, "Mr.  Montgomery, I'll call Elizabeth, but I
want you to guarantee that you will conduct yourself in an acceptable manner
and cut the vulgarity and innuendos."

Don
nodded his head and threw up his hands.  "Just do it, Dr.  Desmonde!"
His voice was scathing and his emphasis on the word
doctor
was derogatory. 
Monique left the room to call Elizabeth Tippet, the young woman in charge of
media relations at CCMC.

Alex
looked frantically at Jack Françoise.  "What happened, Jack? Who was
killed?"

Françoise was positively grey with
fatigue.   He looked at Alex and spoke softly.  "An elderly patient, Mrs. 
Smithson, was found dead in her room about an hour and a half ago.  She

had been stabbed
repeatedly.  She had only been dead for a short period of time.  Her body was
still warm."

Alex’
stomach lurched forward and she thought she would be sick on the large walnut
conference table.   She immediately remembered Mrs.  Smithson from the day
before.  She was the little, white-haired lady who had been admitted with
depression.  Just yesterday, Alex had questioned Monique and Donna about the
clinical judgment of placing an elderly, depressed woman on a unit with so many
violent patients.

Her
voice was hushed.   She could hardly form her words.  "Mrs.  Smithson? Do
you mean the little, white-haired lady who was knitting yesterday in the
community room?  The one who looks like Mrs.  Santa Claus?  The little lady
with the apple-red cheeks?"

Whitset
was clearly loving Alex's reaction.   His smile was inappropriate.   He
couldn't wait to respond.   His voice was remarkably clear and sounded gleeful,
"Yes, Alex dear, that's her.   But she doesn't have apple cheeks anymore
and the knitting needle is now stuck in her mouth.

Alex
was stunned, her jaw dropped in shock.  Even Don looked surprised at the sound
of Whitset's voice, but his surprise was short lived.   To deflect attention
from his administrator, Don moved closer to Alex, his face leering into hers,
and said,  "Looked like Mrs.  Santa Claus.  You've got it, Alex," he
said sarcastically.  "Mrs.  Santa Claus has been murdered at Crescent City
Medical Center by her next-door neighbor, Mr.  McMurdie, our inpatient member
of the New Orleans Police Department on the wacko unit.  Right, Commander
Françoise?" Don Montgomery turned his sarcasm on Jack and glared at him.

Alex
could see Jack struggle for control.   Jack despised Montgomery, who he had
disliked before the mayoral election.   Now he had two sworn enemies.

 The
CEO continued, "One of your protégés wasn't he, Captain Françoise?  NOPD’s
finest.  Great work!" Montgomery spit his words at the police Commander.

"It's
now Commander Françoise," Monique said automatically  “He is the highest
ranking officer in this police district.”

"Well,
whoop-de-do!  Everyone knows the New Orleans police are all crooked,
incompetent or on the take," Don snarled, staring at Jack.

Alex
placed her hand on Jack's arm as if to restrain him from knocking Montgomery
senseless, a dream the Commander had coveted for months.  The blood was bad
between the CEO and the police Commander -- very bad, in fact.  Alex knew that
the meeting could easily erupt into a free-for-all between the two men and that
the Commander would lose, not physically, but most assuredly politically.   She
also knew Don would be a bloody mess.   There was nothing Don would like more than
to get Françoise fired or, at least, reprimanded.  Jack's judgment returned
with a touch of Alex's hand.  He sat down.  Alex noted with some relief that
Monique had returned to the room, her composure intact.

Françoise
settled down and looked at Alex.  His tone was grave.  "It looks now, at
least from the preliminaries, that McMurdie is guilty.  He was covered with
Mrs. Smithson's blood."

Alex
fought another visceral response and thought about how she could possibly keep
herself from  throwing up.   It had been hours since she had eaten.  "Who
found Mrs. Smithson," Alex questioned.

"I
did," responded the nurse at the conference table.  Alex turned to look
again at the nurse.  She looked familiar, but Alex couldn't quite place her.  
She thought for several moments and then remembered her from the evening
before.  She was a nurse from an agency, who had been working evenings; the
nurse who had admitted to Alex that she had no psychiatric nursing experience. 
This is just great,
Alex thought to herself. 
A jury will love this. 
We’re fish bait on this one.   This really sucks.

Alex
spoke to the nurse.  "Didn't we talk earlier?   Weren't you on the evening
shift?  Sorry, I can't remember your name."

"I'm
JoAnne Waters.  Yes, we did talk and I was on evenings.  The agency couldn't
find anyone else to send for nights, so I volunteered.  I guess the word's out
around town about the nurse that was attacked and raped.  Anyway, I agreed to
stay over, you know, do a double.  I didn't know I'd signed up for murder."
Alex noticed that Joanne was super pale and had tears in her eyes.

"You
were the one who found Mrs. Smithson," Alex asked.

"Yes,
I found her when I was making rounds at 2:00 AM.  She was dead.  I immediately
called security and they called the other people who are here.   Mr.  Whitset
was already here, in his office, and came out when I was making the phone
calls."

Whitset
was here.   What the hell was Whitset doing here on the night shift?
 
"Did
something happen on your shift that could’ve  caused something like this to
happen?" Alex looked speculatively at the tearful, frightened RN.

Joanne
answered in a quavering voice, "No.   Nothing.   The evening was quiet. 
The patients were doing well.  There was no trouble at all." At that point
JoAnne turned to look at Lester and said, "Wouldn't you agree, Mr. 
Whitset?  You were here until after midnight …."

Whitset
gave the nurse a sly smile.  "Yes, it was quiet.  I agree.  I left shortly
after midnight to grab a coffee and returned to my office to do some
work." He looked around the group as if to be sure that everyone heard
him.

"Anyway,"
Joanne continued, "On the night shift, shortly after Mr. Whitset left,
there was a big ruckus on the prison unit next door.  They called a stat page
for help and I sent my two psych techs over.  Apparently, several inmates were
trying to attack a third man and my techs were tied up for some time.  I was
alone on this unit.  There was a lot of noise and screaming that I could hear
from the prison unit.  The noise woke up several of our patients who became
alarmed and frightened.  One was a new admission.  I medicated him, along with
two others, and told them all to go back to sleep.  I guess that was what I was
doing when the murder occurred … I didn't hear anything.   I promise you, if I
had known this had happened or heard Mrs.  Smithson's bell, I would have gone
there immediately.   She went to bed around 9:00 and was sleeping soundly at
midnight.   I had no idea ...."  Joanne started crying softly into a
tissue, deftly handed to her by Whitset.

Alex
pondered Joanne's remarks for a few seconds.  She looked at the Commander who
nodded his head.  Jack also believed Joanne's story.  Alex turned her gaze to
Whitset and asked him coldly, "Why were you here so late, Mr. 
Whitset?"

Lester
gave Alex a placating smile.  "I frequently work late, Alex.  I make it a
point to be on the unit at different times during the day and night so I can
evaluate the quality of care the patients are receiving.  It's my own system of
quality management, you see.  I'm a clinical and administrative manager.  
Besides, I love being here at night.   It is quiet and I can get so much more
work done than during the daylight hours." His voice was soft and smooth,
even sensuous.   Alex found herself once again mesmerized by the man.   He
continued to smile at Alex the entire time he was talking.

Then
Whitset added, "Besides, I don't like imposters working at my hospital.  
I oversee all operations, clinical and administrative.”

Alex
was confused.   "Imposters? What do you mean, imposters?" Alex
questioned.

Whitset
hesitated for a second and said, "Imposters, people that pretend to care
for patients, but who don't know how.  People who aren't in tune with patient
needs and don't understand them are imposters.  Many psychiatric staff are
actually imposters -- they pretend to be someone they aren't.”