each tank. His were the only prints of unauthorized personnel we found in that area.”
“That’s interesting. So he seems to have emptied the nitrous oxide tanks. I’m not familiar with that. What’s nitrous oxide used for?”
“It is one of the gases that is used as part of a mixture in anesthesia.”
“And if there isn’t any nitrous oxide?”
“The patient does not go to sleep—at least not as rapidly or deeply as the anesthetist would expect.”
“Hmmm. So, emptying the tanks . . . that wouldn’t seem to accomplish much. Sounds like it’s right in the ball park for those guys. What was he trying to do anyway?”
Koznicki shook his head. “He claims he was trying to call attention to the hospital to reveal its immoral deeds. But, at that point, he becomes quite incoherent.”
“Strange.” The rationale made no sense to Koesler. But then he did not consider any of the hospital’s policies immoral. “At any rate, he certainly got everyone’s attention.” He looked at Koznicki questioningly. “But then, you said he claims he didn’t do it.”
Again Koznicki frowned. “He is an odd person and this is an odd case.”
“Oh?”
“He freely confesses that he bled the nitrous oxide tanks—which affected virtually nothing. But he denies tampering with an extremely dangerous tank that might have injured or even killed someone—anyone, in this case —and which did become a media event.”
“Excuse me, Inspector, but that doesn’t sound very odd to me. It seems kind of understandable that someone would admit doing something harmless yet deny responsibility for a serious crime . . . no?”
“As far as that goes, Father. But Mr. Whitaker goes on to confess and deny things he has not been charged with. Some things which are—well, incredible.”
“Such as?”
“Do not feel inappropriate should you laugh at this Father; everyone else has. He claims that he mutilated a shipment of curtain hooks, mistaking them to be—can you imagine—intrauterine devices!” Koznicki barely suppressed a snort.
Koesler started to laugh, then suddenly stopped. “Wait a minute! That explains it. I was here in this cafeteria when a woman brought in a box of curtain hooks that had been damaged. The presumption was that it was the manufacturer’s fault. But if I remember correctly, the lady said she had stored them in the compartment reserved for IUDs.”
“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
