The Imposter (27 page)

Monique
was unnerved by the hang up phone call.  She pressed redial, but no one spoke
or answered her repeated 'hello.'  There was just a dead, ominous silence.  
Whitset listened on the other end of the phone, relishing the increasing panic
in the shrink bitch's voice.

Monique
tried to convince herself that she was being paranoid.  It could've been
anybody -- even a wrong number.  In desperation, she dialed Jack's home phone
and cell again.   No answer.  Then she paged his beeper, entering her number
with the 911.  She waited 15 minutes for a return call, but her phone didn't
ring.

Jack,
Jack, where are you,
she said to herself.
  I'm frightened half to
death.  I have to find you.  I have the answers you need. 
Monique, her
hands shaking, looked up the non-emergency phone number of the NOPD in the New
Orleans phone directory.  Finally, after an endless amount of time, she was
connected with the watch officer.  He chuckled when she asked for Commander
Françoise
.

The
watch officer said, "The Commander sure is popular tonight, Dr. Desmonde,
and you're the second person looking for him.  He's out of New Orleans.  He's investigating
a crime over in Alabama.  He's been gone and unreachable all afternoon."

Monique
was panicked.  "Has he called in?"

"Nope,
not since 6 o'clock this evening.  Said he would be unavailable until morning
…."

"Can
you reach him? It's really urgent." Monique was working hard to keep the
hysteria out of her voice.

"No,
ma'am.  If the Commander could be reached, he would've left a number.  If you
need help, I'll send a blue and white over,”
the watch
officer offered,  trying hard to be helpful.  He felt sorry for the poor
lady.   He knew something was very wrong.

"No,
no.  I'm all right.  I'll call a friend." Monique managed to say, as she
was fighting for control.

"Listen,
Dr. Desmonde, if you are in any danger, just tell me.  I'll send a car over.  The
Commander said that if you called and needed anything, I was to give you
everything you needed, plus more."

Monique
smiled at the watch officer's remarks and said, "What I need is Jack
Françoise.  I'll call a friend to come over.  Thanks.  If the Commander does
call, please tell him to call me stat."

"Huh,
stat? What do you mean?" The watch officer didn't understand and he'd
picked up on the frantic sound of Monique's voice.

"ASAP. 
As soon as possible," Monique clarified.

"Yes,
ma'am.  I will.  Take care now.  Good night."

Monique
laughed a little hysterically.  "Yes, I will.  Thank you."

After
Monique hung up the phone, the watch officer radioed the mobile unit closest to
Monique's house and asked them to drive by periodically.  They assured him they
would.  It was a good move on the part of the watch officer, a very good
move.   Besides, he didn't want to piss off the Commander.   He'd done that
once before and was, to this day, stinging from the rebuke.  No one ever wanted
to mess with Commander Jack Françoise -- not because he was a Commander, but
because he was Jack Françoise.

Monique
decided to call Alex and was relieved that she was coming over.  Alex had a
good analytical mind and would help her sort out what she needed to do. 
Finally, after an endless period of time, she heard a knock at her door.  Alex
was standing on her porch.  Monique noticed the silver Mercedes with the lights
on out front.

"Alex,
thank goodness.  I'm so glad to see you.  Who's in the car?"

"It's
Robert.  He dropped me off.  He was over for dinner and we …."

"Oh,
I'm so sorry," Monique interrupted her.  She looked at her friend.  Alex
looked lovely.  Her eyes were as blue as the denim work shirt and jeans she had
hastily donned for her late-night visit.  Her beautiful face was flushed and
her eyes were shining.  Monique didn't think she had ever seen Alex look so
ravishing.  She continued, "I interrupted something, didn't I?" Her
voice was apologetic.

"Monique,
it's okay.  I'll tell you about it later.  What's up?  You look scared,
frightened to death.  I’ve been trying to find you all evening.  Where were
you?"

"I
was so angry after the executive committee meeting, that I decided to go to
City Park and walk off my frustrations.  Then, I went over to the Art Museum to
see the Monet exhibit." Monique paused for a moment, capturing in her mind
again the beauty and elegance of the French artist's late works at Giverny. 
"It was magnificent … and sad.  Alex, you really must go."

"I
will, I will.  Then what happened?" Alex asked impatiently.

"I
went to the Pavilion.  It's a good thing I did.  One of my patients had been
raped, Rose, remember her?"

Alex's
heart sank.  Another attack and rape.  When would it end? "Of course I
know Rose.  Is she okay?  Who raped her?"

"Physically
she's okay.  She won't tell who did it.  One of the psych techs found her lying
in her bed whimpering.  She wasn't in the day room for supper.  That's when
they went to search for her and found her sobbing.  I tried to get her to tell
me who did it, but she just looked at me and cried."

"Was
it Jim or Anthony?"

"No,
impossible.  Both of them were locked in seclusion.  I don't know who it was. 
Anyway, we sent her to the emergency department.  She hadn't returned to the
unit when I left ...," Monique's voice trailed off.

Alex
pondered her comments.  "I can't imagine who did it.  With Jim and Anthony
locked up, our saga has a new twist.  I guess we'll know later." Alex
looked at her friend.  She had become very quiet.  She was sitting on the sofa,
twisting her hands.

"Monique,
what else happened? What else do you know? Tell me, for goodness sake!"

"This
sounds crazy, Alex.  Bear with me, but it's true.  Whitset is not
Whitset."

"Huh,
what! What the hell are you talking about? For heaven's sake, Monique, spit it
out.  Make sense." Alex's voice was snappish.   After all, her friend had
just interrupted the first potential sex she had had in years.

"Stop
interrupting me, Alex.  I'm doing my best." Monique paused for a moment,
as if getting her facts straight.  "This afternoon when I searched
Whitset's office, I noticed the diplomas on the wall were dated 1963 and 1965. 
Whitset didn't look old enough to me to have graduated that long ago.  So, I
went to my office and looked in the personnel file at his resume.  He lists his
date of birth as being 1950.  It's inconceivable that he could have graduated
with a Masters degree in 1965.  Whitset is an imposter.  I don't know who in
the hell he is, but I'm convinced that he's parading around as a psychiatric
administrator without the education."

Alex
was quiet, taking all of this in.  Finally, she said, "Who do you think he
is, Monique?"

Monique
shook her head.  "I don't have a clue.  I think he's probably a former
psych patient who somehow got hold of the real Whitset's degrees and has been
pretending to be him for years!  Unbelievable, isn't it?"

Alex
sighed deeply.  "Yes, it is, but it does explain his outbursts this
morning.  He's definitely a crazy."

Monique
glared at her.  "Come on, Alex, cut me some slack.  You know I hate that
term.  It's unfair to label people like that."

Alex
waved Monique's objections away.  "Okay, sorry.  Anyway, we have an
unbalanced, possibly very mentally ill man running our psychiatric service. 
Now, that's a real legal problem!  Did you find anything else in his office,
Monique, that could lead us to figure out who he really is?"

"Alex,
I'm freezing to death.  Do you mind if I open the French doors for a few
minutes?  Maybe we could go outside for a few minutes so I can warm up."
Monique's teeth were chattering, more from fear than the air-conditioning.
"That'll warm you up.  It's still in the high 80s out there.  Hot and
sultry.  Nope, I don't mind.  Let's do it."

Monique
unlocked the deadbolt on her French door and walked out on the balcony.  Alex followed
her.  It did feel a little better.  Alex was also cold.

"Do
you mind if we sit out here for a few minutes? I promise I won't keep you out
here long.  As soon as we warm up, we'll go back in."  Monique rubbed her
arms, as if to rub away the uncertainty and chill bumps.

Alex
smiled, "Of course not.  These chairs look pretty comfortable." Alex
seated herself.  "Monique, this is really a lovely balcony."  She
admired the perfectly manicured, flowering plants in hanging baskets. 
"You are quite a gardener."

"As
are you.  Yes, I love working out here.  It's a great stress reliever.  Where
were we?"

Alex
thought back for a second.  "I had just asked if you had found anything
else in Whitset's -- or whoever he is -- office?"

"No. 
Place was obsessively neat and clean.  It was very dark in there.  Drapes were
completely drawn.  There was nothing else significant."

Alex
pressed for more.  "Tell me everything you remember about the office,
Monique.  Was there any correspondence on his desk, books, anything like
that?"

Monique
thought hard.  "He had some current psychiatric journals and textbooks
lying around.  The most significant things were his degrees.  Of course, I
could've missed something.  Someone knocked on the door when I was in there.  I
thought I was going to have a heart attack! Scared me to death! My heart was
racing!"

"What
did you do?" Alex could imagine Monique's fright and it bothered her
immensely that someone knew she was in there.  "Who do you think it
was?"

"It
could've been the cleaning staff.  Anyway, I crouched under his desk for a few
minutes."

"Did
you go through his desk drawers?"

Monique
raised her eyebrows at Alex and laughed, "Of course, I did.  I was playing
super snoop.   It was the usual stuff.  Oh …."  Monique's voice trailed
off again.

Perceiving
that Monique had remembered something, Alex urged her.  "What, Monique,
what else did you see?"

"It's
probably nothing.  His bottom right drawer was locked.  There was a fine gold
chain hanging out of it.  It looked like a woman's gold chain.  I only noticed
it because I was hiding on the floor beside his desk." Monique's voice was
noncommittal as she told the story to Alex.

Alex's
head had started thundering.  She felt the hairs on her neck stand up.  Her
entire body went weak all over and she felt dizzy.  She said to Monique in a
strained voice, "Monique, are you warm enough to go in?  I'm feeling
really warm!"

The
psychiatrist couldn't see Alex's face in the dark, but she distinguished the
change in her voice.  She knew something was wrong.  She said, "Sure, I've
warmed up.  Let's go in and have some ice coffee."

Neither
woman saw the crouched body of Lester Whitset hidden behind the latticework and
a massive copper planter at the end of the balcony.  He'd heard every word the
women had said and he was enraged.  The voices were screaming and his head. 
Kill … Kill … Kill.  Whitset was drenched with sweat. 
Would the voices ever
stop
?

Alex
could barely breathe as she entered Monique's living room.  She was weak and
trembling all over.  Monique looked at her strangely.  "What is it, Alex?
What is it?"

For
once, Alex was too frightened to speak.  She was speechless.

Monique
instructed her in an authoritarian tone of voice.  "Alex, take some deep
breaths and calm down.  You've got time.  What you've got to say will keep
until you get control of yourself." Monique sounded stronger than she
felt.  She was terrified at the look in Alex's eyes.  After a minute or so,
Alex was able to speak.

"It's
Whitset.  It's Whitset," she gasped, stopping to take a breath. 
"Monique, Whitset's the one that raped and beat Angie!" Alex gasped
out the words, her heart racing and pounding in her chest.

Monique
stayed calm.  She faced Alex, standing by the French doors.  "Whitset? How
do you know, Alex? What makes you so sure?" Monique noted the fast
pounding and beating of her own heart.  

"Because
…. Because …. The chain, the gold chain you saw, goes to her cross, her
religious medal.  Bridgett brought it to me today in the office.  I took it to
a  jeweler this afternoon to have the chain replaced …." Alex was so weak
from her discovery, she wasn't sure she could stand.

Monique
felt the force of the earth coming down on her shoulders.  She could hardly
speak.  She was so frightened.  She was about to ask Alex whether she thought
Whitset was involved with Mrs. Smithson's murder, when, to her horror, her
French door opened and Lester Whitset entered her living room carrying a long
metal pipe.

Alex
turned and froze in place.  Monique looked like a marble statue.  She was
transfixed.  All color had drained from her face.

Whitset
stared at Monique.  It happened again.  She was so white.  She was plastic. 
Once again, right in front of his eyes, she had turned to plastic.  So, he had
been right.  The voices were screaming at him to kill the shrink.  Lester
watched in horror and fascination as Monique's face assumed a hard, shiny
appearance.   Her green eyes turned into emerald green plastic ovals.  Lester
could hardly stand what he was seeing.

He
stared at the psychiatrist and said in a cold, measured voice, "I'm going
to kill you, you shrink bitch imposter.  They are telling me to!"

Monique
spoke to him through her pale plastic lips.  Lester was startled because she
could speak.  He had never heard an imposter talk and it confused him.  Once
they turned, they lost their voice, but, he recognized her voice.  Yes, he said
to himself, it's her, it's still the shrink bitch.  Even though she is plastic,
she is the same bad person.

Whitset
made no response to Monique's question.  He continued to look at her, a slow
smile spreading across his face.  He looked very pleased with himself. 
Finally, he turned towards Alex and said to her in a slow and sexy voice,
"Alex, I'm so glad you're here." He shook his head a little, as if to
clear it.  "As soon as I take care of her, we can leave.  I wasn't sure
you would meet me."

Whitset
raped her body with his eyes and returned to her face, his eyes boring into
hers.  Alex ventured a look at him out of the side of her eyes.  His intent was
clear.  Whitset meant to rape her.  A large amount of spittle had again
gathered at the side of his mouth and had begun to run down his chin.

Alex
stood mutely trying to decide the best thing to do.   Whitset moved closer to
her and reached out and gingerly touched her.  She flinched at his touch.

Whitset
became angry.  He gawked at her, squinting as if to see her better.  Was she
one of them to? No, she didn't appear to be.  Her face stayed the same.  He
reached out and touched her face.  It was warm and soft.  She didn't move. 
Lester was satisfied.  Alex was real.  She wasn't an imposter like the bitch
standing next to her.

Alex
stood there, like a dead person, while Whitset began to run his hands over her
body.  He put his face next to hers and started to kiss her.  She was
overwhelmed by the smell of whiskey.  Suddenly, he pulled back in anger.  He
was furious.  He screamed at her.

"You
whore! You slut! You've been with somebody else! Who is your lover?  Who have
you been with, whore?" Whitset was dancing around with rage, waving his
lead pipe madly.

Her
voice was frozen.  She tried to talk, but couldn't.  Only grunts came from her
throat.  She looked frantically at Monique.

Monique
had been contemplating the best approach to use with Whitset.  She decided to
try a blunt one – one that would catch him off guard and give them an
opportunity to defend themselves.

Monique
addressed Whitset, her voice hard.  "Whitset, what are you doing here?
Don't you know the police are watching this place?  They're probably looking
for you by now."

Lester
looked at Monique and laughed, the sound of a maniac -- a loud,  piercing,
surreal laugh.  "Shut up you bitch imposter! Just shut up!" He moved
towards Monique and pushed her hard against the sofa.  She fell backwards on
it.  "I'll take care of you in a minute." He turned to Alex and said
in a sad, soft voice, "How could you do this to me, Alex? How could you
betray me? You know I want you.  I love you.  We've been special for a long
time.  How could you be with someone else?"

"Lester,
I didn't."  Alex finally found her voice and it was soft.  "You look
so tired.  Why don't you just sit down for a few minutes and I'll get you
something cold to drink.  Then, we'll talk."

Whitset
smiled at Alex, the same slow, seductive smile that gave her chills.  He said
softly, "You're a bad girl, Alex.  You're very naughty.  Very, very,
naughty.   Lester's going to make you pay for being naughty."

Then
Whitset began to sing to her, once again in that childlike voice that rhymed

Alex
is a bad, bad girl,

Bad
as all girls in the world,

Lester's
going to make her pay,

Lester's
going to have his way, way, way, way…

The
sound of his voice and the emphasis on the word "way" froze Alex's
blood.  She stood paralyzed with fear as he approached her.

Whitset
stride was broken, disjointed, as he moved towards Alex with an evil and
threatening look on his face.  He hurled himself toward her, the lead pipe
raised in fury.  He swung the pipe at her head but Alex ducked, barely missing
contact with the lead.  She felt the cool rush of wind whistle by her ear.  The
stark realization of what was happening  propelled Alex into action.  She moved
behind the chair, ducking another swing of the pipe.

Monique
came to life and attacked the administrator from behind.  She jumped on his
back, her arms around his throat as she shoved her knee up into his groin. 
With a loud yell, Whitset threw her off and she fell to the floor, striking her
head on a marble end table. 

Whitset
laughed at her as he clutched his groin.  "Look at you, you plastic
bitch.  I see your plastic head did not split.  As soon as you wake up, I'll
really fix you.  I'll split that plastic head!"  Then, he began to laugh
again -- the high pitched, rumbling laugh of an insane maniac.  The sound was
the most evil cacophony that Alex had ever heard.  She bent to the floor to
help her friend.

Just
then the phone rang.  It rang three times, as Alex, who was sitting on the
floor by Monique, and Whitset each looked at it.  Finally, Monique's voice mail
clicked on and Alex heard Commander Françoise’s voice.

He
was desperate.  "Monique, where are you? Answer the phone!" There was
a pause, and then Jack's voice continued, "Stay inside and lock your door!
I have information on Whitset.  He is parading around as his brother.  I think
he's Weston Whitset, the brother of Lester Whitset.  If it's him, and I'm sure
it is, he was locked up in the hospital for the criminally insane in Alabama
for years after killing two women and possibly more.  I've been here in Alabama
all night gathering information.  I've called the precinct and they'll be
checking on you." Jack's voice stopped again.  Finally, in a desperate
voice he said, "I love you Monique.  I'll be there soon.   Please stay
safe."

Whitset
went into a rage after hearing the message.  He took his lead pipe and beat the
phone repeatedly with it.  He ripped the phone plug out of the wall.  The low
sound caught his attention.  He whirled around in his mania and saw that Alex
and Monique were talking softly.  Monique was attempting to sit up.  He gave
another furious howl and swung the lead pipe at Monique's head, striking her
fiercely on the right side.  Monique immediately slumped and lost
consciousness.  Alex cringed at the sound of the pipe breaking Monique's
skull.  She knew Whitset's blow had been a deadly one.  She watched helplessly
as Whitset cut Monique's face with a knife he had in his belt.

Alex
stood up slowly, seething with hate and rage at her attacker.  Her voice was
filled with fury and wrath.  "You crazy bastard, you've killed her!"
Alex grabbed a porcelain lamp and hurled it toward Whitset.  It missed him, but
landed on the wrought-iron balcony, breaking into a thousand pieces.  Whitset
laughed again, the high pitch sound of a maniac, as he sprang towards Alex,
knocking her to the floor.  He began ripping off her clothes and hitting her in
the face.

She
fought against him furiously.  It was a losing battle.  Whitset had the
superhuman force of the criminally insane.