Monique continued, "I'm not just talking about physicians and nurses. I also mean social workers, music therapists, and other caregivers. I think in some ways we're looking for validation that we’re not alone, that some of the things we do are okay and are done by other people, too." Monique gave a bright, false smile. "Anyway, that's my theory, such as it is."
Alex asked cryptically, "Is this in any way akin to Whitset's imposter theory?"
"Hell, no! It's not even close! That got my attention though," Monique said, shaking her head in reference to the imposter theory. "He is very strange and possibly pathological."
Alex's thoughts returned to Lester Whitset. She thought about him for a few seconds. "I'm not sure Whitset's all he's cracked up to be. I think he's one of those 'little bit sick' people you mentioned who choose psych as a great place to hang out, possibly to hide."
Françoise roared, "A little bit? Hell! That SOB is totally crazy!"
Monique contemplated Alex's statement and arched her finely etched eyebrows. "Could be, Alex, could be. You never know. But, I hardly think he's responsible for these crimes and murders. Granted, he is a weird one. Probably has a personality disorder of some type. Forget him." She waved her arm in dismissal of Whitset. "Anyway, lots of bright and creative people suffer from various forms of mental illness."
"Oh yeah, like who?" Jack roared in a deprecating voice. Jack's world was clearly defined in black and white. He couldn't imagine any nut bunnies being bright or creative.
Monique glanced at him in disbelief. "Jack, really. Open your eyes. There are millions. Look at Winston Churchill and Edgar Allen Poe for starters. Also, Abraham Lincoln who, as history reports, was prone to melancholia. Lincoln was most likely bipolar, as was Churchill."
"Weren't there lots of artists who had diagnosed mental illnesses?" Elizabeth asked, fascinated.
"Yes, many of them were also bipolar. Vincent van Gogh and Paul Gauguin, to name a couple. Certainly they were creative."
Jack was not buying a word of it. "Is that why that dumb SOB cut off his ears?" Jack inquired as he shook his head.
Monique gave Jack a dirty look and continued, "I believe it was only a piece of one ear that he cut off. There are many famous writers who also had a diagnosed mental illness – Walt Whitman, Mark Twain, Cole Porter, Ernest Hemingway, and our own Tennessee Williams suffered from major depressive syndrome, as did Virginia Woolf and Sylvia Plath. Who knows? If we'd had Lithium, Lamictal, and Prozac years ago, no telling what these artists' contributions to music, art, and literature would have been! Lots of severely ill patients are extremely talented," Monique added, finishing her diatribe on a high note.
"This is very enlightening, but somehow, I don't think it's going to make Bridgett or the Smithsons feel better about their dead and/or maimed family members." Françoise's voice was sarcastic, as he looked at his watch. "But, thanks for the review, Monique. I didn't know so many famous people were bipolar." Jack felt a bit guilty for demeaning Monique's profession. He would have to work through his opinions of and bias against psychiatric patients. After all, it was Monique's life work. He glanced over at Elizabeth and Alex. "Sorry to break up the party, but I need to get downtown and get some work done," Jack said.
Monique stood and said, "I've got to go as well. I'll see you all later. I've got patients starting in a few minutes. Anyone free for lunch?"
"Sure. Hospital cafeteria at 12:30 okay?" Alex asked, as she glanced at Jack and Monique. They both nodded and walked out of the hospital. Elizabeth declined, but walked outside with them. Alex, Monique, and Jack continued to the car and Alex watched as Jack gave Monique a quick peck on the cheek as he opened the door for her. He looked around quickly to see if anyone could have seen. No one was anywhere close to the silver Caddy.
"Give it up, Commander. The windows are tinted. You're safe," Alex teased him. Monique smiled up at him from the seat. Jack looked smug, embarrassed, and a little like the tomcat who stole the cream.
Elizabeth smiled, looked at Alex, and said, "Well, this is news. It looks like the two of them are an item. That's pretty cool."
Alex returned the smile. "Yes, it's very cool, but let's keep it quiet until these crimes are solved."
"Gotcha, mum's the word," Elizabeth promised on her way out.
19
Alex felt her armpits begin to sweat as she and Commander Françoise walked down the hallway to Pavilion II. She didn't want to do this, but she knew she had to. She knew there'd be a huge lawsuit against CCMC and she needed all the information she could get. This was absolutely a case of wrongful death. CCMC would pay; the question was how much would it cost them? She would certainly sue if Mrs. Smithson was her relative and, as hospital attorney, she felt compelled to review the crime scene. They were about to enter the room when they ran smack into Nadine Wells in the hall. She looked disturbed, but crisply professional.
"Have you been in, Nadine?" Jack asked.
She shook her head.
"Are you ready to go?" Jack looked carefully at the police expert.
Nadine nodded her head, still not speaking.
Jack was getting irritated and you could hear the impatience in his voice. "What the hell – cat got your tongue, Nadine? This ain't going to be pretty, Alex, Nadine. It's pretty awful. One of the worst crime scenes I've ever seen. Just expect to see the worst.”
Neither woman replied, so Jack continued, "You can't even imagine it, so don't try." Françoise looked hard at the young, beautiful attorney and the grim-faced forensic expert. Alex seemed to be wavering.
Françoise scrutinized her and said, "You sure you want to go, Alex? You don't have to. We’ve got plenty of pictures."
"Nope, I'm going," Alex said in a firm voice. "Got to. Remember, Jack, I've seen some pretty horrible things already this year."
"Yeah, but this is worse, and no puking – either one of you. I can't take any more of that today," Jack said, as he thought back to February. "You ready?"
Alex nodded.
Nadine opened the door and stepped into the alcove of the room. Both of them gasped at the smell that greeted them.
Alex was assaulted by the stench of death. It enveloped her and caught her unaware. The metallic smell of old blood and decay entered her nostrils. She was overcome with wooziness. She felt cold and clammy. Even with the air-conditioning set at fifty degrees to delay decomposition, the smell was overwhelming. She looked at Nadine, who seemed to be struggling as well. After several moments, Alex plunged forward and peered around the curtain of the room.
Alex could barely stifle the scream that came from her mouth as she viewed the remains of Mrs. Smithson. Her knees were weak. She felt dizzy and lightheaded. The room was covered in blood. It was all over the bed and the pale yellow walls. And the smell, it was even worse than the smell in the alcove. The smell, salty and fetid, turned Alex's stomach. It was like a scene from a horror movie. The room was a red print of destruction, the aftermath of a massacre. Alex couldn't look closely at Mrs. Smithson. She took some deep breaths and regrouped slowly. Finally, she turned to look down at the body. It was a hideous sight.
Alex, incapacitated and paralyzed at the sight of the elderly lady, clutched futilely at the air for support. Emotions were clouding her objectivity. These emotions turned into distress and shock as she continued to look around the room.
Mrs. Smithson no longer had a face. Her eyes had been completely gouged out by the knitting needle. Alex couldn't even tell if they were open or closed. Her nose was a torn piece of flesh that was barely connected to her face. There were numerous stab and puncture wounds all over her head. Her ears had been desecrated in the attack. Most of her beautiful silver hair was matted with blood. The knitting needle protruded ominously from her mouth. Alex felt her knees buckle and Jack caught her. With effortless ease, he held her up until she felt strong enough to support herself. Alex barely noticed when Nadine left the room.
Alex gasped. "I can't believe this. This is terrible – horrible. What
kind of a despicable, loathsome animal could mutilate a little old lady like this? My Lord, Jack! This is … there are no words to describe this."
Jack stood silently next to Alex and nodded in agreement, his arm around her shoulders for support, and led her to a chair. He nodded his head silently, tears in his eyes.
Nadine returned to the room and continued to view the body objectively. She had said nothing since reentering the room.
Alex was impressed by her dispassionate inspection of the body or, at least, she thought she was.
Jack said quietly, "I don't know, Alex. It's bad. The perp is … an animal. No human could create such brutal devastation."
Alex rose from the chair and walked back to the bed. She studied the body of Mrs. Smithson and noticed that the elderly lady's hospital gown was pulled up to her chest. Her small, frail hips were completely exposed. With tears in her eyes, she asked the Commander, "Can we cover her up, Jack?"
Jack hesitated for a moment, unwilling to disturb the crime scene, and then wavered. "Yes, I'll cover her up. She deserves that much dignity. Okay with you, Nadine?"
"Yeah, Jack. Trust me, I've seen enough. We've got pictures, right?” Nadine's voice was terse and despondent.
"Yeah, got plenty of them."
As Alex and Jack moved towards the bed, Alex saw that the patient’s call bell on Mrs. Smithson's right side was covered in blood. It was clear to Alex that Mrs. Smithson had rung the call bell repeatedly for help. Her trained eyes immediately traveled the length of the electric cord to the wall outlet, where the bell was connected to electrical power. The bell cord had been pulled out of the wall. The alarm had long ceased ringing – perhaps even hours before the patient had died. Whoever did this was smart enough to disconnect the bell from the wall. But, who? A patient? A staff member? Someone with knowledge of hospital equipment had killed Mrs. Santa Claus. Alex just knew it.
"Jack," Alex said breathlessly at the upsetting discovery. "Did you notice that the call bell had been disconnected from the wall? This call system is antique and it won't ring if it has been disconnected from the wall. So, even if someone had been close to the nursing station, the bell would not have rung in there. It has been disconnected from the operating call system in the patient's room!"
Jack shook his head. “No, I hadn't noticed. There were so many folks in here earlier I didn't notice. I am sure the CSI team picked it up. Shit! Unbelievable. This murdering SOB knew what he was doing!" Jack's face had taken on a fierce look. His normally cautious eyes were dark, brooding, and as hard as black coal. He trembled with anger and outrage at the pain and fear Mrs. Smithson must have endured.
Alex and Nadine watched quietly as Jack put the scene together.
"This bastard knows hospitals. This maniac restrained the poor lady in four-point leather restraints and disconnected her call bell. He knew his way around this unit!” Jack's face was flushed with anger. His eyes had turned into burning sockets in his head. He thought his head was about to explode.
Nadine continued quietly examining the body. "Look here, Commander. Check this out." Nadine was pointing to an area on Mrs. Smithson's fragile right shoulder.
Jack crossed over to Nadine's side of the bed. He looked at the mark. Their eyes met with recognition. "Nadine, these look like puncture wounds on her neck. What do you think?
"What is it? What is it?" Alex implored as she tried to see around the two police officers.
Nadine looked at Alex coldly. "It's a bite mark, Alex. Our killer here is the same man who attacked, raped, and beat Angela. He's probably already selected his next victim."
This was more than Alex could handle. Her face immediately crumpled. She left the room and the locked unit and walked briskly back to her office on the main hospital campus not even noticing the heat of the day. She was still cold with fright. Sticky from the New Orleans heat, but cold on the inside. Alex shuddered as she passed the yellow-tagged crime scene where Angela was assaulted.
She nodded briefly to Mona on the way in and then closed and locked her door. Then Alex cried and cried. She cried for the violent acts committed against two completely vulnerable and undeserving women. She sobbed until no more tears would flow. She vowed to herself that she would make every effort and use every opportunity within her power to make Crescent City Medical Center a safer place for patients and staff. She also decided that she would no longer compromise her own personal value system for the good of the hospital, no matter what or who got in her way. She would work based on her own values and ethical beliefs. The hell with Don! For a short while, Alex sat at her desk, oblivious to the world around her. She began to wonder if she was losing her own mind.
20
Shortly before noon, Mona knocked softly on Alex's office door. Mona knew that Alex was upset and hated to disturb her, but she felt she needed to check on her. So far, she had been successful in holding off the hordes of people searching for the hospital attorney this morning and she had managed to successfully stall and reschedule most of her meetings. Still – Mona hated to bother her. Alex had been so distressed when she returned from the Pavilion a little while ago. Mona had heard her crying in her office.
There was no answer to her knock. Mona hesitated, thinking before she knocked again. If she hadn't received the phone call from Donald Montgomery, she wouldn't bother Alex. But, as usual, Montgomery had acted like such an ass on the phone she knew she had to notify Alex. Hesitantly, she knocked again on Alex's door.
"Come in. Door’s open," Alex said, her voice faint and hard to hear.
Mona opened the door slowly and stood in the doorway. "Sorry to interrupt you, Alex, but Montgomery has called an emergency meeting of the hospital executive committee about the attacks. Latetia called about an hour ago." Mona sounded apologetic for interrupting.
Alex picked up on Mona's hesitation. "Thanks, Mona. It's okay. Thanks for letting me know. I'm okay now, but I did lose it this morning. When's the meeting?"
Alex spoke in a flat voice and she looked whipped. She didn't sound or look better to Mona. Mona examined her critically. "It's at 2 o'clock this afternoon in the executive conference room. Latetia said something about a press release and some other matters that will be discussed. You sure you're okay, Alex? You're looking mighty beat up!"
Alex smiled at Mona's typically Mississippi description of her. "I'll be okay. I just look terrible because most of my makeup has worn off. I cried it off. I'll put it back on before the meeting. Thanks, Mona." Alex hesitated for a moment and added, "I appreciate your concern. Thanks for letting me cry and giving me the time to do it. I know you rescheduled all of my meetings."
Mona nodded and left the office. As Mona returned to her desk, she thought about Alex. Alex had been up practically all night, had been through hell, and was going back for more this afternoon. Mona silently agreed with Bridgett, who adored Alex. They had discussed how amazing Alex was and how great a role model she was for women. Bridgett had confided to Mona that she thought Alex was insecure with men and had also whispered that she didn't think Alex had ever gotten over her marriage to Dr. Bonnet. Besides, it had only been six months since her relationship with Mitch Landry had ended so tragically. Poor Alex, thought Mona. She has so much, but she also has so little. As she returned to her computer, Mona was infinitely grateful for her husband, her two small children, and her little house in Kenner. She was thankful for being able to work part-time and was totally glad she wasn't the high-powered Alexandra Destephano. Regardless of how beautiful she was, how much money she made, or how much respect she garnered, Alex’s life was hell.
21
Alex checked her watch. It was half past noon and time to meet Monique and Jack for lunch in the cafeteria. She sighed. She was exhausted and felt as if she was a hundred years old. Every iota of energy had been drained from her. She walked into her private bathroom to redo her makeup and was shocked at her appearance in the mirror. Mona had been right – she looked bad, really awful. She looked like hell. No question.
For the first time, she noticed small dry lines and wrinkles in the corners of her eyes and around her mouth. Her flawless fair skin was pasty white and her normally lustrous auburn hair looked dull and lifeless.
I'm really a mess! I look terrible, and I feel like hell! As she repaired the damage to the best of her ability, she made a pact with herself to take some extra vitamins and get more exercise. She needed to get more rest as well. That would help. Finally, reasonably pleased with her appearance, she headed towards the cafeteria when her thoughts were interrupted with what she was sure was a telepathic message from her grandmother, Grand. Kathryn Lee had always told her to look her best when she was on her way to slay her dragons and Montgomery and Whitset were certainly the dragons du jour. Bastard dragons, actually.
Alex smiled when she thought about Grand. She made a mental note to call her tonight. She missed her grandparents and she missed Virginia. She was beginning to hate New Orleans. Her mind flickered to the job offer on her desk. Maybe, just maybe, she ought to consider it. It would take her home to Virginia. Besides, her grandparents were getting older and, even though the congressman hadn't slowed down a bit, Alex had noticed some fatigue and weariness in her grandmother that she had never seen before and it bothered her. Just thinking about her home in Virginia and her grandparents lifted her spirits and gave her the energy she needed to move forward. God bless them, she thought.
Alex steeled herself for the rest of her day and admitted that it totally sucked, as she walked towards the hospital cafeteria. As she contemplated her afternoon, she frowned. She wasn't looking forward to meeting with the Smithsons, especially with Whitset present, and she knew the executive meeting she was headed to was going to be a battle or, more likely, a sham.
Dead and Gone Page 18
