William Kienzle - Deathbed

“You mean—”

“It makes some sort of crazy sense now. Apparently, he went looking for the IUDs, but didn’t know what they looked like. He found the hooks in the drawer with an IUD label on it.” He shook his head. “I must admit, if you didn’t know what an IUD was, these hooks might just pass for IUDs. But . . . “His brow furrowed. “. . . why would he want to mutilate IUDs?”

Koznicki tapped an index finger methodically on the table. “If he was telling the truth, at least about his reason for bleeding the nitrous oxide tanks, he wanted to call attention to the hospital—for whatever reason.”

“Mutilating IUDs seems a pretty roundabout way of doing that, although I guess it could work. Of course no doctor would put a mutilated IUD in a patient. But if one were to assume that a woman was fitted with something like that, you could be certain she’d be hurt. She’d probably see another doctor, then a lawyer. Next, she’d be talking to reporters.”

Koznicki looked intently at his coffee, with a bemused expression. “You know, Father, I never thought I would hear a rational explanation for, on the one hand, mistaking curtain hooks for IUDs, and, on the other, mutilating the hooks. But I believe you may have hit upon it.”

“It does sound like his method of operation, doesn’t it? Like the MO of all four of those guys. But you would have found this out anyway, Inspector. In your investigation you would have discovered the mutilated curtain hooks that had been stored in the wrong drawer.”

“That is true. But it is a happy coincidence that you happened to be there when the damage was reported. It has saved us much time. I wonder if I would be tempting fate to test you on Mr. Whitaker’s second bizarre confession?”

“I would really be surprised if it worked. But go ahead, Inspector. What was it?”

“Well, this confession was as unsolicited as was his admission that he had mutilated curtain hooks. He claims that several nights ago he altered a patient’s chart, putting a woman into a test program she should have been excluded from because she was allergic to the medication used in the program.”

Koesler’s eyes widened.

“In addition,” Koznicki continued, “he claims that his scheme worked even though he is certain he omitted an essential part of the plan. He says he forgot to remove from the chart a sticker which informed medical personnel that the patient was allergic to the medication being used in the test.

“And the reason he forgot to remove the sticker was because he had been observed by a security guard who—and Mr. Whitaker can offer no explanation for this—neither stopped him nor apprehended him. The guard, Mr. Whitaker claims, merely challenged him from a distance down the hallway and then, could anyone believe it, disappeared.” The Inspector looked more bemused than ever. “In all my years in the department, I have never encountered anyone like Mr. Whitaker.”

Koesler was silent for a few moments. Then, “You know, Inspector, strange as it seems, I think I can put that one together.”

It was Koznicki’s turn to look surprised.

“I remember the mix-up when a patient got the wrong medication,” Koesler began. “It must be the same case. The patient had pneumonia and was given penicillin but she was allergic to it and had a bad reaction .. . right?”

“That is what he claimed. Indeed it is.”

“I remember that very well because I talked to the woman shortly after she was admitted. She told me she had been asked to be part of that test, but she told them she was allergic to penicillin, so she’d been excluded. I had no more to do with her—she was on Sister Rosamunda’s floor—until I overheard some nurses discussing her deteriorating condition. Then I remembered her allergy and pointed it out.

“Everyone thought it was an accident, one of those foul-ups that are forever happening in hospitals. Fortunately for St. Vincent’s, the patient had a faith in God so strong that she attributed everything that happened to her as coming from God—even what seemed to be a near-fatal blunder in a hospital.

“But you undoubtedly would have uncovered that incident also in your investigation. Just as you would have found the mutilated curtain hooks. And it’s always possible that Whitaker was aware of these incidents, just as I was, and was confessing to them for God-knows-what reason.” Koesler looked to Koznicki for some reason.

“Well, under this hypothesis, he might have been building a basis for some sort of insanity plea. Or he may just be one of those compulsive people we meet from time to time who must confess to every crime imaginable.”

“Okay,” Koesler agreed, “but what may be unique about what Whitaker told you was the part about the security guard who challenged him from a distance down the corridor and then seemingly disappeared. If that part is true, then it would add a lot of credence to his overall story, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, but how could it be true?”

“There’s a patient named ... let me see, I’m sure she’s still here.” Koesler checked the current patient list he’d picked up earlier. “Yes, here she is: Alice Walker. I was sure she’d still be here. Sister Rosamunda made sure she’d stay here long enough to have her infected feet taken care of.

“Okay, on the night in question, the night that Whitaker claims he altered a patient’s chart and was challenged by a vanishing guard, this Alice Walker’s life was saved by what had to be that same guard.

“The official story had it that Mrs. Walker was having a before-bedtime snack when she started to strangle on some crackers. At that point, or so the guard claims, he happened to be passing her room when he heard choking noises. He claims he came to her rescue and with the Heimlich Maneuver saved her life. That’s the story the guard told and the story that went around the hospital.

“However, the next morning, I heard Mrs. Walker’s confession and brought her Communion. And, after Communion, she told me quite a different story of what had taken place.

“According to Mrs. Walker—and I have no reason to doubt her—the guard did not ‘just happen’ to be passing her room when she began coughing. He had been in her room a considerable time. He was . . . um . . . carousing in the other bed with someone, a nurse or an aide, Mrs. Walker couldn’t be sure. The curtain had been pulled around her bed.

“Anyway, at about the time she began choking, the guard didn’t apply any Heimlich Hug. He fell out of bed, rolled across the floor, hit her bed, knocking her out of it; she fell on top of him and that dislodged the food that had been stuck in her windpipe.”

Koznicki could not help himself. He began to laugh. It was several minutes before he was able to compose himself.

Somehow, when Alice Walker told the story, Koesler had not found it all that funny. Now, as he recounted it to Koznicki, it seemed ludicrous. Only gradually, inspired by the Inspector’s example, was Koesler able to get control of himself.

“And she has told no one but you?” Koznicki asked, finally.

“As far as I know. You see, Mrs. Walker is on the same floor as the pneumonia patient . . . uh . . . Millie Power. So it makes sense. Bruce Whitaker could have been tampering with Mrs. Power’s chart when he was discovered by the security guard who challenged him. Now, what could possibly distract the guard from checking out the person who was fooling with some patient’s chart?”

“I see. Yes, that does make sense. It is possible, then, that Mr. Whitaker has been telling us the truth. You say that this Mrs. Walker is still in the hospital. So her statement can be taken officially. It will be a simple matter to locate and speak to the guard. Now, then, let us get to the bottom of this.”