The Imposter (20 page)

Monique
glared at him and answered his question.  She was as angry as Montgomery, but
much more in control.  "Mr.  Montgomery, did you really want Mr. Smithson
to see his mother with a knitting needle hanging out of her mouth? Did you want
him to see her blood and brains on the walls? Did you want him to see that his
mother no longer had a face?  Do you think that would've settled him
down?" Monique's voice was strong and quiet.  Her intent was clear, and
her argument was strong.  Monique glanced over at Alex, who seemed to be
silently cheering her on.

Donald
Montgomery turned his eyes away from the straightforward glance of his chief of
psychiatry.  He was quiet for several moments and then said heatedly,
"Hell no! That would not have been good …, but ….  It's still your fault. 
If … if …."  Don was groping for words.  "I don't see why you all
didn't see them hours ago and calm them down.  He's in my office threatening to
call the press.  Says he's going to sue Crescent City for all it's worth.  Said
his mother was brutally murdered in my hospital by one of my patients.  The
man's insane!" Don's red face had turned grey and he was shaking,
obviously anticipating an onslaught of press reporters and TV cameras. 
"Where do people get these lies?"

Alex
and Monique stared at each other in disbelief.  What was going on with
Montgomery? Didn't he remember the murder?

Alex
spoke to him.  "Don, his mother was murdered in the Pavilion.  She was
murdered in our hospital and Dr.  Desmonde talked with the family this
morning.  We asked you to see them as well.  You refused.  You tufted it to
Lester Whitset and me.  We're seeing them in a few minutes.  Do you remember
any of this?" Alex watched Don closely as his anger and rage returned.

Montgomery
glared at Alex as if she were a moron.  He raised his voice and said
impatiently, "Of course I remember the murder in the Pavilion.  As far as
I'm concerned, the Pavilion isn't CCMC.  We're a world-class hospital.  Those
wackos don't count when we look at the good things that are done here. 
Psychiatry isn't an important part of the hospital! It never has been.  The
Pavilion is a dump.   It's a loser.  As a matter of fact, I don't even consider
psychiatry a part of this hospital at all." Don was thinking.  Alex could
see the wheels turning in his mind.  He was completely oblivious to the look of
contempt Dr.  Desmonde was giving him.  He continued, "Hell, I'm not even
sure that psychiatry is part of the practice of medicine! Those sons of bitches
never get well.  They never even get better.  They are just leeches on
society.  It's a losing battle all the way around.  Even the psychiatrists are
half crazy!" Don looked smugly at Alex and Monique and folded his hands on
the table, as if patiently waiting for their anger.

Alex
thought she could see smoke pouring from Monique's ears.   She was speechless
at Don's diatribe and accusations.   She could feel energy, negative energy,
radiating from Dr.  Desmonde.  Monique could hardly contain herself.  Alex
tried to settle the physician down by placing her hand on her arm, but it was
useless.  Desmonde was not to be quieted.  She rose and stood over the CEO, her
face faintly flushed, her dark hair and eyes glistening in the artificial light
of the restaurant.

"Montgomery!
You know something.  Your behavior is infantile, it's inexcusable.  You are an
idiot.  You treat this hospital like a toy shop, lining up your favorite toys
and beating up and discarding the ones you don't like.  That's what you did to
the psychiatric service.  You sold us out to contract management.  Psychiatric
services have been going downhill ever since." Monique paused for a moment
and began again, her voice seething with anger, "Frankly, Montgomery, I
think you need a bed in the Pavilion.  Not only are you an idiot, you have a
behavioral disorder!" Monique stared down at the CEO, clearly repulsed by
what she saw.  With a quick glance at Alex, she stalked out of the café.

Donald
Montgomery was silent for a moment, then he turned to Alex and laughed. 
"Our famous shrink looks pretty good when she's mad.  She is much easier
on the eyes when she's irate.  Maybe I should make her angry more often.  Then
I can almost stand to look at her!"

Alex
was enraged at Don, but refused to play into his sexist remarks.  She said
quietly, "Don, psych is a part of CCMC and the situation over there will
affect the hospital and our image.  You may as well prepare for a lengthy
wrongful death action and a lot of negative publicity." Alex watched Don
as reality set in.  She chastised herself for feeling a bit victorious.  She
had humbled the CEO.  "How did you leave Mr.  Smithson?"

"Not
well.  I sent him to your office.  He's probably there now.  Take care of him,
Alex.  Handle it, and do it right.  I don't need this stuff so soon after
February!" Don was actually pleading with her.  His voice was quiet.

Alex
used the situation to her advantage and said, "I'll do my best, Don.  At
the executive meeting this afternoon, I expect you to approve additional
permanent staff positions for the Pavilion, as well as a temporary increase in
security -- at least until this stuff clears up.  Deal? We need both strong
young bodies up there for security, as well as professional caregivers
permanently." She looked carefully at Don, contemplating her next move.

Don
shrugged his shoulders.  "You give me a good argument, you'll get the
money.  Favre maintains that psychiatry is well staffed.  So does Whitset. 
Just keep these people out of my office -- the crazies and their crazy
relatives.  I'm busy and I don't have time for this kind of stuff. 
Understood?" Don was recovering from his momentary lapse into fear and
uncertainty.

Alex
shook her head negatively, signed her lunch check, and headed for her office. 
Don, since he was already there, decided to have lunch.  What was left on Alex 
and Monique's plates looked pretty good.  He waved for the waiter.  Things were
quiet for him.  He had over an hour until the executive committee meeting, so
he settled in for a tasty lunch.  Besides, he deserved it.  It'd been an awful
day, and he did run the place.  He was entitled to a reward.

Don
was a lucky man.   He had no idea how close Chef Pierre had come to putting
crushed glass into his lunch.

As
Alex made her way back to her office, she became more and more infuriated at
Don Montgomery.   The man was an absolute egomaniacal idiot.   Monique was
right.  The CEO probably did have some sort of a personality disorder.  She
wondered if asshole was a legitimate diagnosis in psychiatry and asked herself
how much longer she could stand working for him.  Again, the letter from her
colleague in San Francisco surfaced in her mind.  Maybe she would consider it. 
It was only a year and she could return to New Orleans if she chose.  Dealing
with Montgomery was getting pretty old and very tiring.

Alex
paused outside her office door for a few moments, contemplating the best way to
handle the Smithsons and the sad tale of their mother's death.   When Jack had
spoken with them earlier, it had been difficult enough, but he had kept with
the police procedure and said nothing about how the crime had occurred.   She
shook her head, as if to clear it, hoping for some clarity on how to best
manage the conversation.   When she entered her outer office Lester Whitset was
sitting on her sofa reading a magazine.   Mona was not at her desk.  Alex's
heart began to beat frantically -- just seeing him made her uncomfortable.  He
was repulsive.  She felt her stomach flip-flop.

Whitset
rose when he saw Alex, his eyes raking her face and body.  "Alex, you're
looking amazingly well for such a long day.  Marvelous in fact!" His voice
was soft and seductive.

Alex
pulled back reflexively as his hand touched her wrist.  The coldness of his
fingers sent a shiver through her.  "Are Mr. and Mrs. Smithson here? 
Where's Mona?"

"Your
secretary just took them into the conference room.  She's getting them coffee. 
She seems to be obedient enough -- she a good worker?" Whitset smiled
balefully at Alex.

"Obedient?
What do you mean by obedient?" Alex looked suspiciously at the
administrator.  Obedience was becoming a theme in Lester's conversations.

"You
know what obedient means, Alex dear."  Whitset's voice was soft, almost
hedonistic.  "It means that she did what I asked her to do as soon as I
asked her to do it.  She scurried right out of here.  I like that!" 
Lester had a half smile on his face and his dark glittering eyes were locked
with Alex's blue ones.  He moved closer to her.  She could feel his breath on
her cheek, and for some reason, she was powerless to move back.  It was if he
had a strange hold over her.   Whitset continued to talk with her in the same
soft voice.  “Another pretty girl.  Mona is her name, isn't it?   She looks
like a darker version of your regular secretary, Bridgett.  They're the same
size…  Just the hair is different.  Isn't that correct?"  He continued to
stare at Alex, his dark eyes raking her face as his look commanded her
attention.   Alex could barely suppress the shutter she felt crawling up her spine.
 And yet, there was something about him that fascinated her and made her feel
powerless.  It was almost as if there was an electric energy between them.

Alex
was startled.  A dozen thoughts were dancing through her head.   How did Lester
Whitset know Bridgett?  Did he know she was Angie's twin sister?  Did all of
these things mean something?  She was frantically trying to sort the
information through her tired brain as Whitset continued to leer at her.

Just
at that moment, the door opened and Bridgett walked in.  She looked terrible. 
Her face was streaked with tears and she was crying.  She had a gold cross in
her hand.

"Oh,
Alex.  It's so horrible.  This is all been so dreadful." Bridgett was
crying pitifully.   Her voice coming out in gasps.  "The nurse in the ICU
just gave me Angie's cross.  She's not doing well at all.  She still won't talk
to me -- they say she can't!  I don't think she is conscious, but her eyes are
open and she stares at the wall.   Alex, will she get well?"  Bridgett
burst into fresh tears.

Alex
walked over to hug Bridgett.  "Sure she will, Bridge.  She'll be okay in a
few days.  It'll take some time." Alex continued to hug Bridgett,
conscious of the gaping, sly smile Whitset was giving them.  It was almost
pornographic, she thought.   Whitset was relishing Bridgett's pain.  Bridgett
seemed unaware of him.  Alex doubted that Bridgett had noticed him in her
grief.  

She
held Bridgett close for a few more moments, becoming more and more
uncomfortable with the effect Whitset was having on her.  He was openly smiling
at both of them.  He looked pleased with himself and Alex didn't understand
why.  He seemed to enjoy the secretary's grief.  He was enjoying it -- feeding
on it!   It was as if he were a voyeur, basking in Bridgett's abject misery. 
His smile turned benignly gleeful, and once again, spittle formed in the side
of his mouth.  He continued to leer at them, as the two women comforted each
other. 

Finally,
Alex broke the embrace.  "Bridgett, this is Lester Whitset.  He's the
contract administrator for psychiatry."

Whitset
stepped forward and took Bridgett's hand. 

Bridgett
visibly flinched when he touched her.   An involuntary reaction, Alex guessed. 
She said, "Oh yes, Mr.  Whitset.  My sister mentioned you to me.  I'm
pleased to meet you." Instantly, Bridgett dropped Whitset hand, as if
touching him was unpleasant to her. 

Whitset
seemed to pick up on Bridgett's feelings towards him.  "Sorry if my hands
are cold, my dear Bridgett.   Poor circulation, I suppose.  But you know what
they say about that..." His eyes gleamed at her as he continued,
"Cold hands, very warm, warm heart."

Bridgett
just stared at him, speechless.

Whitset
was nonplussed and continued, "I liked your sister.   She seemed to be a
competent nurse, although she was not as obedient as I would've liked.   I do
hope she improves soon."

Obedient,
obedient
.   
There was that word again,
Alex
thought.  The word continued to frighten and grab at her, but Alex remained
silent.   Alex was also troubled by Whitset's use of the past tense, “liked
your sister,” “seemed to be competent,” ....  It gave her a sick feeling in her
stomach.

Bridgett
said nothing, but nodded her head.  She turned to Alex, "Do you know where
I could get another chain for this necklace?  I have a feeling that if I could
fix it and get it back on Angie, she will get better.  She got this cross and a
St. Christopher's medal when we were confirmed at St. Anthony's as children. 
She always felt it protected her.  See, I have one just like it."  Bridgett
opened the neck of her blouse to show Alex.

Alex
heard an unusual noise.  She turned sharply toward Whitset.  She thought she
heard a giggle come from his mouth.  He was leering at both of them, his mouth
open, his eyes bright with a strange light in the fervor of his enjoyment of
the scene.  He looked insane, crazed.

Alex
turned to Bridgett, "Yes, I'll get it fixed this afternoon and bring it
back this evening.  Trust me, I promise," she reassured Bridgett.  
"I'm going to get Mona so she can be with you for a while.   Mr.  Whitset
and I have a meeting to go to.  Wait for me here."

Bridgett
looked around frantically.  She saw Whitset staring at her.  His cold black
eyes were raking her body with a sense of familiarity.  Alex saw his eyes rest
on Bridgett's right shoulder. 
Oh My God,
Alex thought. 
What is
wrong with this man?
  Whitset was licking his lips.  Then, Alex chided
herself.  She had to be imagining these things, but she was alarmed at the
attention and reaction Bridgett was getting from Lester Whitset.

Bridgett
noticed his gawking as well.  She clung to Alex and said quickly, "No, No,
Alex.   I'll come with you.   I want to catch Mona up on a few things in your
office."

Alex
picked up on Bridgett's discomfort.  She took her arm and ushered her into the
private office.  She examined Bridgett carefully.   Bridgett's eyes were wide
with fright.  
She feels it, too,
Alex thought.  Mona was entering
Alex's office from the conference room on the right.   She stared at both of
them with surprise.

"What's
with you two? You look like you've seen a ghost." Mona eyed them
cautiously.

Neither
woman was able to speak.  Both were tied up in their own thoughts.  Bridgett,
her fear subsiding, began to cry again, her shoulders shaking as her blue eyes
welled over with tears.

Alex
took charge, sending Mona numerous messages with her eyes.  "Mona, show
Mr.  Whitset into the conference room.  I presume the Smithsons are already in
there?" Mona nodded affirmatively.

"Then,
take Bridgett out through the back door for coffee.  Put the phones on
forward.  Still better, Bridgett, go on over to the coffee shop.  Mona will
meet you in five minutes -- okay? Can you do that?"

Bridgett
seemed to be in a trance, but she nodded her head.  She said quietly to Alex,
"Angie didn't like him.  She said he was trouble in the Pavilion and that
he stirred up the patients.  He gives me the creeps.  I think he's bad."

Alex
held up her hand to stop her.  "I know, Bridgett.  We'll talk later.  Now
go!  Mona will be there soon."

Bridgett
left the office via the back conference room door, as Mona went to get
Whitset.  Alex attempted to compose herself and went into the conference room.

Mr.
and Mrs. Smithson were seated at the far end of the table in Alex's conference
room.  They were dressed in the same clothes they'd been in at 5 am and both
looked worn and sad.   Mrs. Smithson was drinking black coffee and Mr. 
Smithson had a can of diet Sprite.  He stood deferentially as Alex entered the
room.

Alex
smiled once again, thinking how handsome Mr. Smithson was.  She walked toward
the distinguished gentleman.  "Mr.  Smithson, I am Alexandra Destephano. 
I am the legal counsel for the hospital and I want you to know that …."

"Legal
counsel? So you're the hospital lawyer?  I thought we were meeting with administration.  
Does anyone know anything that is happening around here?" Mr. Smithson's
voice was deep and his face was flushed.  He was impatient and angry.

Alex
tried to ease his concerns.   She said softly, "I'm representing
administration.  Mr.  Whitset will be joining us and I believe Dr.  Desmonde
will be coming, as well."

Alex
turned as Whitset entered the room.   He stood to the side of the table,
glaring at the weary, older couple.  There was no concern or compassion in his
face for the Smithson family.  His face was set in an ominous scowl and he
looked prepared for battle.

Alex
introduced Whitset to the Smithsons and was appalled when Whitset ignored Mr. 
Smithson's outstretched hand.   He waved it aside and sat down.  He turned his
glittering cold eyes toward Mrs.  Smithson and stared at her.  The gentle-faced
woman seemed nervous at his look and her hands fell to her lap, where she began
to play with the catch on her pocketbook.

Alex
began, "Mr. and Mrs. Smithson, on behalf of the hospital, I'd like to tell
you how very, very distressed and sad we are over your mother's death.  We're
very sorry about the circumstances and hope that …."

Mr.
Smithson, still smarting from the rebuke by Lester Whitset, interrupted her. 
"Thank you, Ms. Destephano.  I understand that.  My wife and I want some
answers."

Alex
nodded, urging him to continue.

“We
want to know precisely how my mother died, and we want to know exactly why my
mother died.   We've had no information at all.  When Dr.  Desmonde talked with
us this morning, she only told us that my mother had died – that she had been
murdered!"

Alex
felt her heart sink.  She hadn't wanted to do this.  She began, "I
understand that Dr.  Desmonde told you this morning that your mother had been
attacked and murdered by someone, possibly another patient and…"

"Yes,
yes, we know that."   Mr. Smithson was clearly impatient.  "How did
she die?  By what manner did she die?  Did someone shoot her?  I don't mean to
sound short, but you've jerked us around since 4 o'clock this morning.   I
tried to see your CEO, Mr. Montgomery, and he literally threw me out of his
office.   I don't mind telling you, Ms. Destephano, that didn't sit well with
me."  Mr. Smithson sat back in his chair tiredly.  He looked exhausted.

Alex
took a deep breath and said clearly, "Mr. Smithson, your mother was
stabbed -- with a knitting needle."

There
was a silence that seemed to last for hours.

After
an audible gasp, Mrs. Smithson ventured a few words.  "A knitting needle
? 
Her
knitting needle?"  Her voice sounded incredulous.  "Could
being stabbed with a knitting needle kill you?  It seems impossible.  Are you
sure?"

"She
was stabbed more than once," Alex said, wishing she had someone there she
could count on for support.  She looked over at Whitset who was staring at the
wall, smiling to himself.  The wheels seemed to be turning in his brain.  Alex
prayed he kept quiet and behaved.

"How
many times?" Mr. Smithson looked directly at Alex.

Alex
didn't respond.  She was thinking.

"Ms. 
Destephano, I asked you, how many times?"  Smithson's voice was loud and
demanding.