The Imposter (4 page)

Bridgett
didn't respond.  Her expression showed no emotion and her affect was flat.  
Sandy glanced at Alex and Dr.  Desmonde, who shrugged her shoulders and nodded
her head.  "Let's go, Sandy," Monique said gesturing forward with her
hand.   "We've got to break through this denial somehow." Jack's face
was impassive.   Alex knew him well enough to know that he was feeling
phenomenal stress.   She patted his hand for reassurance.

The
sounds of the E.D., the newly renovated patients’ rooms, and the spanking clean
floors brought no comfort to Alex.   As physicians and nurses glanced at her
and offered tight smiles, she felt their pain.   They all knew Angie and many
had worked with her over the years at CCMC.   They had celebrated her graduations
from nursing school - first from Delgado at Charity Hospital and then LSU. They
had celebrated her marriage and the birth of Jessica.  They had worked side by
side with her every day.   Angie was one of the team, one of their team.   She
was their friend.   She was one of their own, one of CCMCs highly skilled and
coveted nurses, and one of the millions of caregivers all over the world who
gave endlessly and selflessly of their time, talents, and gifts every day.  

Alex
noticed that Monique was eyeing Sandy carefully.   They both knew this was
especially hard for her.   Angie had worked in the E.D. prior to the birth of
her baby and Sandy had hosted her baby shower.  Sandy had already lost her good
friend and mentor, Diane Bradley, during the tragic accident in the emergency
department just before Mardi Gras earlier in the year.   Sandy seemed to be
holding up pretty well.  
Nurses are tough creatures,
Monique thought to
herself. 
Much tougher than we docs.

As
they entered the patient bay, they walked slowly towards the bed.   Bridgett
looked hard at the patient in the bed and said angrily, "What in the world
is going on?  I don't know who this is, but it certainly isn't Angie.   What
kind of sick joke is this?”  Bridgett's eye flared with anger as she glared at
Alex.

 The
next few seconds seemed like eons and finally Monique said gently, "Yes,
Bridge, it is Angie.   Look carefully.   Her face is swollen, her jaw is
broken, but it is Angie."

"It
is not, it is
not! 
Why are you all doing this to me?  I thought you
were my friends." Bridgett’s enormous blue eyes brimmed over with tears as
she stared at the faces of her friends around the bed.

 Sandy
reached to remove the O.R. cap from Angie's head.   When Bridgett saw the long,
mussed up blond curly hair, just like her hair only matted with dark, dried
blood, she knew and she began to scream, "Oh, no! Oh, no, no, ... PLEASE,
no, it can't be.  Angie, Angie, talk to me, Please, Angie, please answer me.”
Bridgett touched the long knife wounds extending from her sister's forehead all
the way around her face.   She looked at her friends around the bed.  
"Who did this? Who did this?  It must be a monster.   It looks like
someone tried to cut off her face!"  When she noticed her sister's
Mother's Ring with Jessica's birthstone she began to sob, "Oh, no, she
wanted that ring for so long and Johnny just gave it to her on Mother's
Day."  Her sobs became uncontrollable and could be heard throughout the
E.D.  

Sandy
and Monique lead the sobbing Bridgett away while Alex and Commander Françoise
stayed by Angie's bedside, continuing to observe her injuries.   Alex, numb
with shock, turned away, attempting to control her emotions.   Jack gently
touched her on her shoulder, "Alright, Alex, we can go.   You've seen enough."

"No,
just give me a moment.”  Alex drew a deep breath and turned to face Angie
again.   As she worked hard to dissociate herself from the body of her friend,
she noticed some funny shaped marks on Angie's left shoulder, visible where her
hospital gown had fallen to the side.   She eyed them curiously and looked at
the Commander.   "Jack, what are these?  They look weird."

Commander
Françoise shuffled uncomfortably.   “It's a damn bite mark, Alex.   The SOB bit
her at least three times.   He's a sick son of a bitch.   I'd like to kill
him.   I will kill him when I find him," Jack hissed, as he felt for his
holstered gun under his coat.

Alex
looked at Jack Françoise with alarm.   He was working himself into a frenzy.  
Not good, she thought to herself.   Ever since the spring, when Jack had
finally gone to Dr.  Robert Bonnet complaining of chest pain, Alex had been
afraid that Jack's stress level and stressful job would cause him a heart
attack or stroke.   He'd done absolutely nothing Robert had recommended.   Typical,
stubborn Jack.   He was still overweight, had high blood pressure, and had high
cholesterol.   He drank gallons of black coffee every day, and his diet was
horrendous. 

Jack
had spent his life living on the edge.   He had been a football star in high
school and at Tulane University, where he had played linebacker.   Shortly
after graduation, Jack had joined the service and gone Army Spec Ops.  Alex
assumed Jack had been engaged in Black Ops, but didn't know for sure.   Jack
didn't talk about it much, but she knew that he had been everywhere in the
world where there had been a skirmish in the last 25 years.  He finally retired
from the reserves about 10 years ago.  

Of
course, now, he was a police Commander in New Orleans working in the city with the
highest crime per capita of any city in the U.S.  Plus, he now was Commander
over the district with the most crime.   This was further complicated by the
fact that Jack was an honest cop and still clung to his ideologies, even after
all of his years of investigating murders, assaults, drugs, and abuse.   Jack
didn't even need to be in the trenches anymore.  He was a Commander, for God's
sake!  But, Alex knew that Jack would never leave the trenches.   It wasn't in
his genes.  He didn't go to meetings, ever if there was a way he could get out
of them.   He cared about victims and worked endlessly to avenge the dead and
maimed.   Besides, Jack liked to get even, and Jack liked to get back at the
perpetrators.   It was who Jack was and what had earned him the nickname of
"Get Back Jack."

For
a fleeting moment, Alex considered calling Dr.  Robert Bonnet, the chief of
surgery at CCMC.  Robert and Alex were close to Jack and shared concerns about
him.   Six months earlier, Jack Françoise had saved both of their lives as they
were being pursued through the French Quarter by an assailant intent on
murdering them.  Consequently, a short while later, Robert had overseen Jack's
surgery after he'd been shot by that same man.  Robert had been injured as
well, by a gunshot injury to the medial nerve in his right arm that could still
cost him his career as a surgeon. 

Robert
couldn't operate.   The verdict was still out on his injury.  Additional
surgery and physical therapy would render a determination of Robert's future in
a few months.   Hopefully, he would be able to operate again.   If not, he'd be
an excellent medical doctor, as Alex had told him repeatedly.   Robert was a
natural healer but he was NOLA’s most outstanding surgeon.   The police
Commander, the surgeon, and the lawyer had become close at that time and forged
a bond that would never be broken.  The three had traveled to Alex's home in
Virginia with her grandfather, Congressman Adam Patrick Lee, and her
grandmother, Kathryn Rosseau Lee, for a well earned vacation and deserved
respite.   Alex and Robert had been married while attending the University of
Virginia.  Later they divorced, but had begun to build a new relationship in
New Orleans.

Alex's
thoughts briefly returned to her relationship with Robert Bonnet, back when the
two were still married.  Alex had loved Robert without reservation.  They  met
when Robert was a surgical resident and Alex was a doctoral student in clinical
nursing.  They dated for over a year, became engaged, and married at the University
Chapel on the Lawn in Charlottesville in a very proper circumspect ceremony. 
The marriage had merged two of the most powerful political families in the
South:  the Bonnets of Louisiana and the Lees of Virginia.   Robert's family
had been prominent in the social, cultural, and political fabric of the state
since the French had discovered Louisiana in 1769 and his ancestral grandfather
had been the first governor of French Louisiana.  Robert’s father, a former 
governor, presently served as a United States Senator for the great State of
Louisiana.

Alex's
Virginia heritage was equally impressive.  She could trace her ancestry to
Richard Henry Lee, father of Robert E.  Lee, Commander and Chief of the
Confederate Army during the Civil War.  Her uncle still owned the ancestral
family home, Stratford Hall, in Westmoreland County.   Another relative owned a
historic plantation on the James River near Richmond.  Alex's grandparents,
Congressman Adam Patrick Lee and his wife, Kathryn Rosseau Lee, owned a large
estate in Hanover County, Virginia -- not far from Scotchtown, the home of
Patrick Henry.

Congressman
Lee, a diehard law and order politician, had been overwhelmed with respect for
the then Captain Françoise's integrity, character, and investigative skills. 
He had tried unsuccessfully to lure Jack into a high-level position with the
FBI in Washington, D.C., but Jack was resistant.  He had told the Congressman
quite bluntly, and on several occasions since then, that he "wasn't
working for no damn bureaucrats," that he was not for sale.  Congressman
Lee had loved the response and had tried even harder to recruit the burly,
fearless New Orleans policeman.   In fact, the Congressman was still trying to
get Françoise to come to Washington and work on some special law enforcement
projects, particularly anything related to terrorism, but Jack still
refused.    Alex knew Jack would never leave NOLA.   Alex felt an arm on her
shoulder that halted her daydreaming.  She turned and looked at Jack Françoise.

Alex's
mind returned to the grim situation at hand.  She stared again at Angie's
battered body.  Alex noted how pale, almost waxen, Angie's face looked and
turned to Jack.  

"Jack,
she is so pale.   She looks like a corpse.   Feel how cool she is." 

"Yes,
I see."  Jack was thinking back to the pale young corpse he had seen at
Dr.  Jeanfreau's morgue last week.   She had looked just like Angie.

 Alex
continued to stare at Angie's face and said, "Most of these areas look
like bruises, but they aren't discolored like I would have thought they should
be.   Bruises generally are discolored from blood perfusion.   These slice
marks look superficial, and there is little blood.   Jack, it looks as if she
has been cleaned up and prepared for burial.  I guess her eyes are swollen from
her brain swelling.   We call those raccoon eyes," Alex exclaimed,
remembering her own ICU nursing days, feeling more angry and agitated than
before.   Just at that moment, Sandy re-entered Angie's room with the O.R.
transport.

"Gotta
go, folks," Sandy said, as she helped the O.R. disconnect and reconnect
Angie's tubes to portable equipment and push the bed out of the bay.   Alex and
Jack watched respectfully as Angie was wheeled from the E.D.

Alex
shook her head and looked at Sandy.   "She just looks awful--why, she
already looks dead.   She's so pale.   How much blood did she lose?"

"I've
no idea but there must have been a lot at the scene.   Her head wound is a
closed fracture, so no blood loss.   Her blood values, specifically her  H
& H are 5 & 18, really low, almost incompatible with life.   We're
thinking there must have been a ton of blood at the scene because we frankly
cannot explain the blood values.   Several of the docs think the attacker
thought she was dead when he left.   Did you notice the rope burns on her
wrists?  They were bleeding a little.   One of her wrists was slit."

Alex
felt her poise and composure completely leave her.  She knew she had to get out
of the E.D.   She looked at Jack, whose face was a mask of outrage and fury.

"Sandy,
I've got to get out of here before I lose it.   Jack, let's go to the cafeteria
and grab a bite.  We'll talk, and you, you can fill me in." Alex smiled at
him and firmly, but gently, removed him from Angela's bedside.  Sandy hugged
Alex as she left the E.D.

"Yeah,
I'd like that." Jack looked at his watch.  It was almost noon.   The
thought of something sweet improved Jack's mood significantly.  "Do you
think they have any jelly donuts left?  I didn't get one earlier.   Maybe if I
get my blood sugar up, I won’t be so damn angry."  Françoise looked at
Alex sheepishly.  She laughed and said, “Yeah, maybe, but I doubt it.   If they
do have donuts, I may fight you for them.   I am in need of some comfort
food." As they walked towards the cafeteria, the pair reminisced a
little.  It seemed like a good way to diffuse their incredible stress and
anger.

"I'll
never forget the first time I met you, Jack Françoise.  You were brutally
interrogating a nurse and eating a jelly donut.  Might I remind you how rude
you were to me.  I was not impressed!" Alex's voice was stern and
emphatic, but her blue eyes were laughing.

"It's
all in the past now, Miss Lawyer Lady.   I had to check you out good, you know,
and you finally earned your stripes!" Jack teased, then turned his
attention to the food line.  Ahead he could spot the donut case.  "Oh,
good.   This day’s getting a little better -- two jellies left."

Alex
shook her head as she watched Jack help himself to the remaining two jelly
donuts and a cup of black coffee.  She helped herself to decaffeinated black
currant tea and a bagel.  She decided to spare the Commander any lectures on
his health.  The day had been difficult enough, and it had barely started.

As
they moved through the line towards the cashier, Commander Françoise said,
"You pay, Alex.  You make the big money.  Besides, I don't get a hospital
discount, although I should considering how much time I spend in this
place."

Alex
laughed and nodded in agreement as she handed her CCMC ID badge to the cashier,
who scanned the amount and charged it to Alex's account.  The two selected a
private table in the back of the physician's dining room.  They munched in
silence for a few minutes, each caught up in their own thoughts about Angie and
Bridgett.   Finally, Alex broached the inevitable topic, "Well, Jack, what
you got?"

Jack
shook his head.  "Not a lot.   These kind of cases make me sick.   Nurses
should never be expected to walk that far alone at night.   It's at least two
blocks from the psych unit to the parking deck.  It's unlit, heavily shrubbed,
and unsafe.   It's a perfect setting for a brutal crime like this one.  I'm
surprised there haven't been more crimes over there."

Alex
and Jack were interrupted by Dr.  Desmonde, who joined their table with a cup
of tea.  Her voice reflected Jack's anger, "I agree.   You're right,
Jack.   I've been screaming at Montgomery and Favre for three years to do
something about the location of the psych units, or at least the parking.   I
would have been satisfied with some lights, for God's sake.   Alex, you have
known my concern about this for a couple of years!  We both tried to get
administration to move towards making the psych areas safer.   This hospital
doesn't give a rip about psych because it isn't a money maker."  Monique
slammed her teacup down on the table in frustration. 

Alex
eyed her friend carefully.   Monique was a beautiful woman in her
mid-forties.   She was clearly distraught over Angie.   The tall, thin
psychiatrist was impeccably dressed as always, but her luxurious dark hair had
fallen out of its neat chignon.   Her normally pale, lovely face was flushed
with anger and frustration.   Her voice, usually low and controlled, was close
to hysterical, or as close to hysterical as Monique would ever be.

Alex
nodded.   She knew Dr.  Desmonde was right.   She didn't challenge her at all. 
Monique Desmonde was uncharacteristically upset.   She rarely wore her emotions
on her sleeve and she was a master at controlling her feelings and behavior.  
After giving her friend a chance to recover and compose herself, she asked Dr. 
Desmond how Bridgett was.

"Bridgett's
gone home with her husband.  I gave her a sedative and a prescription for
later.  They were going to get Angie's baby, who I may add was in the hospital
nursery all night.  I would think the nursery workers would become suspect if a
nurse never showed to pick up her child.  Damn, these people." Monique's
deep voice was loud.  Several physicians looked curiously at her from their
tables in the private dining room.

Alex
intervened and changed the subject.  "What do we have as far as evidence?
Did forensics get anything good?"

Jack
answered first.  "Just the normal stuff -- you know, pubic hair, oral,
anal, vaginal and rectal swabs, that kind of stuff.  We also got some skin and
blood that we found under her nails.  She must have gotten one swipe at him
before he beat her into submission." Jack paused for a few moments while
Monique and Alex watched the emotions of hate and rage cross his face.  He continued,
his jaw clenched, "I'd like to kill the SOB." Neither Monique nor
Alex doubted the intensity of Jack's desire for true justice.

"Is
there any forensic evidence other than what you've just told us, Jack?"
Alex looked at him, expectantly.

"Labs
aren't back yet.  We don't know if we're even going to get the PEPA and the PGM
-- you know, those semen tests -- because too much time may have gone by."
Jack shook his head.  "I sure hope we can nail him with the
forensics."

"You
got to catch him first, Françoise." Dr.  Desmonde reminded the Commander.

Jack
raised his eyebrows and glared at the shrink.  "Not to worry, Doc, not to
worry.  I'll get 'em.  In fact, I plan to get him soon.   You know me, Get Back
Jack," the stocky police Commander declared to  the psychiatrist.

Alex
was deep in thought.  As a nurse and an attorney, she knew the proper
collection of forensic evidence was critical for a court conviction of a
rapist.  She also knew that semen usually contains three genetic markers at
levels adequate enough to allow for routine typing for evidence. 
Unfortunately, PEPA decreases within three hours after intercourse and PGM
would not survive for more than six hours. Consequently, the early gathering,
testing, and analysis of the semen specimen was pivotal to building a
successful case.  The semen genetic markers were ABO blood group antigens and
testing was done by quantitative electrophoresis analysis.  Since the genetic
markers occur in variable amounts in different populations, their presence or
absence in combination with each other often were used to arrive at a
percentage or likelihood of whether the suspect is the rapist or not. 
Hopefully, the comparison of the crime scene evidence with blood and hair
samples from the suspect would provide compelling evidence in court and would
render a guilty verdict.

Alex
continued to review her knowledge of forensic medicine and asked, "Jack,
how do the experts handle the bite marks on her back and shoulder? Who did you
call in to look at that?" She shuddered as she thought about Angie being
bitten by her attacker.

"Damn
bastard, a real animal.  SOB must be crazy.  Probably one of your patients,
Monique! Have you thought about that possibility?" Jack turned toward the
psychiatrist, flashing his angry, dark eyes.

"Yes."
Monique practically hissed at him.  "I've thought about it, Françoise! Do
you think I'm an idiot? That's all I have been thinking about since this
morning! I've got the team working on it now, looking at charts and putting
together a profile among the inpatients." Dr.  Desmonde glared at the
Commander from across the table, barely able to conceal her anger.

Alex
ordinarily would have interceded between the two, but knew Jack and Monique had
been friends since childhood and were actually pretty close.  Alex also knew
that Jack was uncharacteristically affected by this rape because of his
fondness for Bridgett and Angela.   It would be difficult for the psychiatrist
and the police Commander to be completely objective on this one. 
And, me as
well,
Alex thought. 
Angie and Bridgett have been my friends since I've
been here.

Alex
asked again, "What about the bite marks, Jack? What do you make of
them?"

"Don't
know yet.   The crime guys photographed it and were smart enough to include a
reference scale this time." Jack rolled his eyes and told Alex and Monique
both about the time that the NOPD crime team had forgotten to use a reference
scale with the bite mark.  "When we got to court, the evidence was useless
because there was no reference scale with which to compare the size of the bite
with the mouth and teeth of the suspect.  As you can imagine, the evidence was inadmissible. 
It was a big loss to the prosecution.   Lots of heads rolled on that one."

"I
bet they did and they should have," Alex said.  "A huge error of
omission.  I bet the prosecutor was enraged." Alex could imagine the
colorful and politically astute Harry Connick Senior, the New Orleans
prosecutor, being caught with his pants down. 
The man just hates to lose,
just like me,
Alex thought.
 
I do hate to lose
. 

"Are
you all sure you did everything right this time," Alex inquired, with a
hint of that old Virginia southern drawl slipping passed her lips.

"Yeah.  
Best I can tell.  We took the photos, included the scale, and called in a
forensic dentist.  The crime team also asked that casts be made to use later to
identify the perp.  I think we are covered.   One thing the CSI team said is
that one of the forensic nurses noticed some puncture wounds on each side of
Angie's neck.   She said they were hard to see because they were in the slice
wounds going around her face."

The
three sat in silence for a few moments, pondering the horrific attack on
Angie.  Finally Alex said, "Puncture wounds.   Why would she have puncture
wounds?  Have you ever seen that before, Jack?"

Jack
thought for a few minutes and answered, "No, I haven't.   I really didn't
notice them in the E.D., but we'll cross check that with other similar injuries
in the data base.   We may get a hit."

"Did
they mention a lot of blood at the scene?"

"Nope.  
It didn't come up, but I haven't been to the scene yet.   If there was, it'll
show up in the crime scene photos," Jack replied, looking at both women.

After
several minutes of silence Dr.  Desmonde asked Alex, "What do you think
the liability of the hospital is on this?"

Alex
shook her head.   "I don't know yet, probably significant.   Personally, I
feel that we should provide a safe place for our staff to work and that we
should provide security for them to get to and from their cars, which we do
...."

Monique
interrupted her angrily, her face flushed.  "Dammit, Alex.  You sound just
like a Main Street lawyer! You know as well as I do that the location,
staffing, and administrative management of the psych department are unsafe. 
It's a joke!"

"Unsafe
to you and me, Monique, nevertheless, the standard of care." Alex sighed. 
This was getting difficult.  She continued, hesitating a little and then
continued, "Well, the nurses can choose to call security to escort them to
their cars when they get off and …."

"Stop
it, Alex.  That's shit." The usually tranquil chief of psychiatry at CCMC
was livid, her pale face colored with anger.  Monique rarely used bad
language.  "You and I both know it! Escorting nurses to their cars during
the off hours is the lowest security priority in the entire hospital.  Last
night Angie Richlieu stayed late.  There was some sort of patient commotion. 
One of the patients attacked a woman in the day room.  I don't have the
details, yet.  Anyway, the patient incident got the entire unit in an uproar. 
Angie stayed late to help the night shift calm the unit down.  She didn't have
to.  She doesn't get paid for staying late anymore.  In exchange for staying
three hours overtime, she's told it'll be 30 to 45 minutes before security can
escort her to her car! Alex, for heaven's sake, give it up.  You know it's
wrong!" Monique's voice and hands were shaking.

Alex
sat quietly and said nothing.   She knew it was a losing conversation.  
Commander Françoise placed his big, callused hand over the psychiatrist's
small, manicured one.  He said to her, "Monique, you've got to calm down
some.  Things are terrible, but for us to help Angie and her family, we've got
to get ourselves together.  You're an important player in this.  Right,
Alex?"

"Right,
Jack." Alex looked at Monique.  "I agree with everything you say,
Monique.   You're singing to the choir.  Don't forget, I'm a nurse!  I've been
on your side the entire time about everything -- about relocating the Pavilion,
putting up lights, increasing staff.  This will give us an opportunity to
really address these things and make some changes.   Let's take the lead  on
this for now.  First things first"

Dr. 
Desmond retorted angrily, “Alex, don't give me any of that psychobabble. 
That's my job!” Monique hesitated for a moment, thinking.  Then, she said to
Jack and Alex, her voice uncharacteristically sarcastic, "So what did the
esteemed leaders of the hospital do for the psychiatric service? They
contracted it out and gave us to strangers to manage.   People who have no
knowledge of New Orleans, our culture, heritage, or diversity.   Give me a break!
We now have contract management in psychiatry, which is inadequate to say the
very least, and the patient care conditions, safety, and units are less safe
now than they were last year.   This is totally pathetic and self-serving of
hospital administration.  The contract administrator has actually cut
staffing." 

Monique
paused briefly and continued angrily, her voice becoming higher and higher,
"I'm sure the bottom line has come up.  The place is probably making money
now, but what a dump.   That contract administrator, Lester Whitset, looks like
a patient.    He even gives me the creeps.   I’d like to give him a frontal
lobotomy.”  Monique tossed her head angrily, her dark hair bobbing, her tone of
voice acrimonious.