The Imposter (Alexandra Destephano Book 2) Read online

  "Yes, that's right, but we're not raising anybody's privileges around here now. We've got to wait for things to settle down a little bit and …." Monique stopped for a second and looked straight at her often violent, schizophrenic patient.

  He was getting mad, really mad. His face was red and his eyes were glazed over. He started moving towards her in a menacing manner. "Listen to me bitch, you useless, cold-blooded pig. I'm going to kill you. You hear, you Dr. Pig?" Anthony's voice was low, but threatening. His eyes were gleaming with an evil intent.

  Monique knew she was in trouble. She felt her normal calm demeanor slip away. She knew she couldn't let him know she was scared. She never took her eyes off Anthony's face as she felt around her for something to throw for help. She wasn't close at all to an ASA red button. The nearest one was at least 3 feet away. She let her eyes wander for one brief second before she was convinced that no one was nearby. She only hoped someone was in the nursing station watching the security monitors.

  It only took Anthony that one brief second to realize that Monique was frightened. Her fear gave him the edge he needed. The moment her eyes left his face, Anthony knew he was in charge. Quick as a flash, he reached out for the psychiatrist’s slender white throat and wrapped his huge hands around it. At first, he exerted only a little pressure on Monique's neck, enjoying the fear and terror he saw in her eyes. Anthony had a fleeting remembrance of how much fun killing was. He should do it more often. He liked the sense of power it gave him. He applied a little more pressure, watching her eyes dilate with fear at the certainty of her fate.

  He began to talk to her in a soft, sensual voice, "You're a pretty lady, Doc. Wish I had time to get a little piece, but I guess it's not much time left in this life for us -- at least for you. Maybe in another life. That's okay, though. Squeezing your neck is almost as good as .…" Anthony was surprised that he was so sexually stimulated. This killing thing felt good. He would do it more often, he thought, once he got out of this hell hole. He'd steal the shrink's keys and escape. The thought gave him another pleasure thrill.

  Anthony applied a little more pressure.

  Monique began to feel dizzy and felt her body grow weak. Anthony moved his face in position to kiss her and Monique became furious. In a last ditch effort to free herself, she brought her knee up sharply in between his legs. He gave a yelp like a wounded dog when she kicked him. He grabbed his crotch, hurling profanities and vulgar epitaphs at her as he lay writhing in pain on the floor. Monique ran for the red button, pushed it, and then threw a stainless steel bedpan down the hall to attract attention.

  Within several seconds, a powerful, young psych tech grabbed Anthony from behind and wrestled him back down to the floor. Anthony fell down on his stomach, moaning and holding his testicles.

  In a matter of seconds, Donna Meade appeared with a syringe full of Haldol. As she squatted on her knees beside Anthony to inject his arm, the patient gave a huge yell, let go of his testicles, and grabbed Donna's crotch. In an instant, he had ripped through her uniform pants and pantyhose, while Donna lay writhing in pain on the cold linoleum floor.

  Monique immediately retrieved the syringe and jammed it into Anthony's outstretched arm, sighing with relief when several additional psychiatric aides showed up and carted the angry patient off to the furthest seclusion room on the far hall.

  Dr. Desmonde immediately ducked into the utility room and returned with a blanket, which she placed over the moaning Donna Meade. Monique tried to talk with her, but the nurse manager was in too much pain. She also appeared to be shocky. Monique checked her pulse, finding it weak and thready and her blood pressure low. She ordered a stretcher and waited until two attendants had taken Donna over to the main CCMC emergency room. My God, what a day she thought. And, it's only 2:15 in the afternoon.

  Sensing that the staff was now in control of the unit, Dr. Desmonde escaped to her office and locked the door. After forcing herself to calm down, she called over to Don Montgomery's office to tell them she was running late and would be over shortly. She breathed a sigh of relief when Leticia told her they were starting at 3 o'clock. The meeting was delayed for an hour because Betty Favre had a prior commitment -- probably at the hairdresser, Monique thought ruefully. What a bitch! Thinking about Favre raised Monique's blood pressure and she actually felt better. She could handle Favre, no problem. It was some of the others that were scary. Favre was passive aggressive and a pain in the ass, but nothing like some of the other major players of the day.

  After a few minutes, Monique’s thoughts returned to Lester Whitset. She was still tempted to search his office, but her eagerness had been waylaid by Anthony's attempt on her life. Besides, as Monique reviewed the scenario with Anthony, she considered the possibility that Anthony was a more likely suspect in Angela's rape and Mrs. Smithson's murder than either Whitset or Jim. Anthony was totally psychotic now. God knows what he could do.

  Monique continued to think about Anthony. Anthony Gavette did have a history of malicious assault. But, was it sexual assault? Monique couldn't remember. Her heart fluttered once again when she allowed herself to realize how close she'd come to death. Another minute, and well ….

  Monique shook off those thoughts and returned to Anthony. He was a diagnosed schizophrenic and did have delusional behavior. Besides, this was the second time in two days he had gone after a woman. Yesterday he'd tried to attack Rose in the community meeting. Monique had considered the behavior a manifestation of Anthony's jealous rage, but then, an attack was an attack.

  Gosh, Monique continued to think to herself, was it only yesterday? It seemed like ages ago. Then, today, he had attacked her. That was certainly a notable escalation of psychotic behavior. Both assaults had been accompanied by profane sexual language. She dared herself to look at her hands -- they were still trembling. She put her face into her hands to make them stop. She was still frightened, and she was frustrated, for tons of reasons, and she was scared. She'd never been scared on her own psychiatric unit before. These feelings were new and she didn't like them. She needed to talk to Jack, but she couldn't reach him. She felt defenseless and very vulnerable. Monique didn't like vulnerability, not at all.

  Chapter 24

  Alex was uneasy. She'd been put off when the meeting had been delayed. She, too, had decided that was another manifestation of Favre's uncooperative, passive aggressive behavior. Favre remained useless. Unfortunately, she knew that Favre's management style was similar to that of many nursing leaders. Favre neither supported nor appreciated the efforts of the great nursing staff at CCMC and rarely advocated for them in tough situations. Her style was more one of nepotism and fear. Hence, her nickname was Bigfoot in polite company, but she had more ribald nicknames that were used in the back of the cafeteria. With the initials B.F., it didn't take much imagination.

  It was well-known that Betty had pet nurses. One of the male nurses in critical care served as her on-call gardener, weeding her garden and mowing her lawn. Another nurse baked cookies for her every week and catered her dinner parties at no charge. Of course, they were rewarded -- with favors, promotions, and extra time off. It was so unfair and so unethical. Alex just shook her head. This favoritism had to end.

  Alex's thoughts turned from Favre to Whitset. She was convinced he was playing a large part in the current events at Crescent City Medical Center. She wondered if Jack had been able to find out anything on either Whitset or Anthony Gavette. She'd asked Monique after the executive meeting. Alex was so deep in thought that she jumped when her private phone rang.

  "Alex here," she spoke into the phone.

  "Alex, it's Sandy Pilschner. We've got Donna Meade over here in emergency." Sandy paused, waiting for a response from Alex. When none came, she continued, "Did you know there was another incident over the Pavilion?"

  Finally, Alex squeaked out a no.

  Sandy continued, "Apparently one of the patients whacked out and tried to strangle Dr. Desmonde … Alex, are you there?"

  "
Oh, no, no. What happened?" Alex's voice was a whisper.

  "I don't know much, Alex. The techs had to hurry back. They said the place was wild and they couldn't stay."

  "Is Monique all right? Is she all right," Alex repeated to herself in her anxiety.

  "What?" Sandy seemed confused for a moment. "Oh, Alex, I'm sorry. I wasn't clear. Yeah, I guess she's okay. Dr. Desmonde is not here. Donna Meade is. She's the one who is hurt. The tech said Dr. Desmonde seemed okay."

  "How's Donna doing?" asked Alex.

  "Well, I guess she's doing as well as any woman can -- who's just had most of her lady parts ripped at. She's in a lot of pain … and in shock, too."

  "My God! I can't imagine." Alex cringed at the thought. “That's horrible, just hideous. Who did it?"

  "Yeah, it is. Awful. No question. I don't know who did it. You know, Alex," Sandy paused briefly, "I would never work in the Pavilion. It's dangerous, and it's a hell hole. I think Angie hated it."

  "I expect she did, I sure do. It is a hell pit. I understand perfectly, Sandy. Perfectly." Alex silently agreed with her. She would never work there, either.

  "Gotta go, Alex." Sandy's voice was brisk. "We’ve got red blankets on the way in. Just thought I'd keep you up-to-date."

  "Thanks, Sandy. I appreciate it," Alex said as she hung up the phone. She was in a state of bewilderment. She rubbed the chill bumps that had formed on her arms, as she thought about what happened to Donna and Monique. Something had to give up there or the whole place would spontaneously combust. I've got to call Monique, she thought to herself, and make sure she's okay.

  Monique answered Alex's call on the first ring. She hoped her disappointment wasn't reflected in her voice. She had hoped it was Jack returning her call. Monique assured Alex she was not injured and promised she could see for herself shortly. Then, Monique decided to take the plunge. "Alex, do me a favor? Go over to Don's office and make sure Whitset's there. If he is, call me right back. I want to take a quick look in his office and I sure as hell don't want him to catch me."

  Alex felt a quickening in her gut. "Monique, are you sure? Suppose someone sees you?"

  "I'll be very careful, don't worry. Just call me back as soon as you get over there." Monique's voice sounded strong and steady.

  "Okay, I'm with you. Give me about five minutes. Just be careful – promise me." Alex's voice was pleading and Monique detected a tinge of fear.

  "Promise. You got it. Just call," Monique said as she hung up the phone.

  Alex called Monique back a few minutes later and reported that the coast was clear. Latetia had confirmed that Whitset was in Don's private office and Alex had even interrupted them to be absolutely sure. She tolerated the ridicule in Don's voice with a small degree of triumph. At least Monique wouldn't be apprehended by Whitset as she quickly searched his office.

  Dr. Desmonde walked quickly down the hall towards Lester Whitset's office, nodding briefly to staff, patients, and family members. She waved aside the questions of several staff, assuring them that she was okay and would return to the unit later.

  She failed to notice the curious glances that several patients in the day room gave her. It was completely out of character for Dr. Desmonde to rush. She was the coolest, calmest, most collected cucumber that most of the patients had ever seen.

  Rose was relatively indifferent to the physician's movements, but was concerned. She'd been worried about Dr. Desmonde for the past few days and had heard through the patient grapevine that Anthony had just attacked her. Rose, in her confused and flustered state, really liked Dr. Monique. She decided the physician may need some help, so she decided to follow her.

  As Monique entered the hall between Pavilion I and Pavilion II, she looked around furtively. The last thing she needed was someone reporting to Whitset that she'd been hovering and snooping around his office. Her heart froze when she thought of the possible repercussions, but she shook off the fear. Monique looked around again, just to be safe. The coast was clear.

  She didn't see the waiflike profile of Rose peering at her from around the corner.

  Dr. Desmonde tentatively turned the knob on Whitset's door. It was locked. Just my luck, she thought to herself. She thought for a second and then pulled the master key to the psychiatric unit from her pocket. She inserted the key into the lock, her heart pounding in her chest. She'd never broken into anything before. Please Lord, please Lord, let it open, she prayed to herself. She was in luck. The lock clicked with a slight turn of her wrist and she pushed the door open. She entered Whitset's office, closing the door softly behind her.

  The first thing that struck the psychiatrist when she opened the door was the darkness of the office. The heavy curtains had been drawn over the double windows opposite the door. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noted that the office was immaculate. Nothing was out of place. Whitset's highly polished walnut desk was completely clear of any notes, files, or correspondence. The leather desk set and inkstand were easily visible. The round, leather container held four different colored ballpoint pens. Several pencils with sharp points were also in the container. A bookcase held several psychiatric reference books and several recent journals were on an end table, next to a pair of leather side chairs. All in all, the office looked like a magazine advertisement for office furniture. It was as if no one really worked in the place. It didn't even have a scent. It smelled like nothing. Monique sniffed again. Well, maybe it did smell like something. She could smell something metallic. It had a salty, metallic scent, kind of like old blood.

  After looking around a second time, Monique decided the most impressive thing about the office was that it was unimpressive -- except for its neatness, which was pretty typical of an obsessive personality. She continued to look around carefully, convinced that if she searched closely enough, she'd find something. She walked around to the side of Whitset's desk and switched on his brass desk lamp. A warm glow from the light bathed the office in a comfortably colored hue. The polished wood of the desk gleamed brightly in the lamplight. Monique's eyes searched the desk and nearby bookcases for any possible clues.

  Once again her senses were heightened to the metallic smell. What was that smell? As she tried to open the desk drawers, her eyes noted something glistening in the lamplight. It was hanging out of the bottom left desk drawer. Monique reached to pick it up and found it was a slender gold chain that was caught in the drawer. She tried to pull it out, but couldn't because it was stuck between the drawer and the desk frame. Monique reached down to examine the chain more closely. She saw that the chain was broken and missing several links. The clasp was in place. The chain looked like one a woman would wear. It was much too fragile to be male jewelry.

  Monique tried for several moments to detangle the chain from the desk drawer. Convinced that she couldn't remove the chain, Monique looked around the office again. Her eyes fell on Whitset's diplomas, which were hanging neatly on the wall over his bookcase. He had an undergraduate degree from some university in Europe. His graduate degree was a masters in business administration from the University of Pennsylvania. Monique looked closely at the date on the MBA. The degree was conferred in 1966. Immediately, her heart started beating hard. It seemed impossible. Whitset certainly didn't appear old enough to have received a Masters degree in 1966! She didn't think he was over 45. If he had received a Masters degree in 1966, he must be a lot older than she thought he was – how then could he look so youthful? Monique intuitively knew that it wasn't Whitset's degree. She quickly looked back at his undergraduate degree. It was awarded in 1963. Damn, that was impossible!

  As she stood contemplating this information, there was a soft knock on the office door. Her heart sank. She immediately killed the light and ducked behind the desk, holding her breath for what seemed like an eternity. Her pulse beat rapidly. Wow, the smell was overwhelming. What was that smell? At that point, Monique noted a green bottle, the shape that red wine came in, on the bottom book case near the back. She picked it up a sniff
ed. Oh My God, the smell of old wine and metal about knocked her out. She had to take several deep breaths to recover. Whew, she thought to herself. If I drank that stuff, I'd be loco, crazy too.

  After several minutes of silence, Monique rose from her hiding place and slipped surreptitiously out of the office. When she reached her own office, she pulled out her personnel file on Whitset. Her eyes scanned his resume. His date of birth was recorded as January 27, 1951. Monique smiled a half smile. She knew Whitset was smart, but she doubted he was smart enough to have been awarded a Masters degree when he was only 15 years old! Her watch beeped. It was almost 3:15. She rushed over to the main campus to the executive meeting, her face highly colored because of her discovery.

  Chapter 25

  Alex was getting antsy at the meeting. She found herself fidgeting in her chair. Where was Monique? Where was Commander Françoise? She'd expected that he would attend the meeting to report on the progress of the investigation. Don was obviously getting cross about being held up by his 'employees'. Favre was droning on and on about how safe the psych units were and how other hospitals didn't have the sophisticated monitoring systems that CCMC had installed several years ago. Favre maintained the staffing numbers in the Pavilion were better than the staffing numbers of several hospitals considered competitors to Crescent City Medical.

  Alex wanted to hug Robert Bonnet, present at the meeting because he was acting chief of surgery, when he interrupted Betty Favre's drone.

  Robert directly addressed the nurse executive in a reasonable tone, "Ms. Favre, how can you suggest that the Pavilion is safe? Only last night an elderly patient was murdered and no one heard her screams because the only staff member was on the far hall, a long distance from where the incident occurred."

  Betty raised her eyebrows and gave the handsome surgeon a dirty look. "Dr. Bonnet, last night was an extreme and unusual situation. There'd been an emergency over on the prison unit. All other staff had been sent over there to handle it. This is an isolated incident!" Favre gave Robert a tight little smile.