First to come to mind was Ethel Laidlaw. First, because she was least likely. And least likely because she was such a klutz herself. It was ludicrous to imagine that Ethel might follow behind Whitaker to correct his mistakes. To mix a metaphor, it would be a case of the blind leading the blind.
But, wait a minute! Whitaker’s first name was Bruce. And that was the name Ethel had mentioned as her new boyfriend and possible spouse. It must be the same person. With that relationship in mind, mightn’t she be the one who conclusively altered the chart and programmed the nitrogen tank?
No. Impossible. Whatever Ethel’s possible motivation, she had as good a chance as Whitaker of getting things right. Which was no chance at all.
Next in the least likely category, as far as Koesler was concerned, would be Sister Rosamunda. Of the four people he had in mind, Rosamunda probably had the strongest motive for wanting Eileen out of the way. Rosamunda’s fear of a forced retirement was almost pathological. For her, there were no gray areas in retirement. Everything was black and bleak. She seemed to envision it as a sort of burial alive.
But, while her fear of the fate Eileen was forcing upon her was morbid, Rosamunda gave no indication that she was insane. And some form of insanity would have to be present before a dedicated religious woman would seriously consider murder. It was unimaginable that Rosamunda could have plotted the death of anyone, let alone that of another religious.
In considering John Haroldson as a possible suspect, Koesler slipped away from the “least likely” category. The priest hated to consider anyone capable of premeditated murder, but someone was guilty. And of those he knew as prime suspects, Haroldson had to be seriously considered. His motive was practically identical with Sister Rosamunda’s. Each of them saw Sister Eileen as the one responsible for condemning them to retirement.
And where retirement for Rosamunda was a living death, for Haroldson, it seemingly spelled death itself. He did not consider himself capable of continued life if he were separated from the hospital for which he lived.
Added to that was his festering resentment over the fact that Eileen held the post that he coveted. And, according to Haroldson’s lights, the position of chief executive officer should, by rights, be his. His background in theology, medicine, and business qualified him as CEO to a far greater degree than Eileen. As far as he was concerned, she had gotten the job for one reason alone: She was a member of the religious community that operated this and other institutions in this section of the country. So blinded was Haroldson that he simply could not appreciate the abilities and achievements that perfectly qualified Eileen as CEO.
But, thought Koesler, even with all this perceived provocation—murder? He wondered about that. The likelihood of Haroldson’s plotting murder paled when Koesler compared him with the one who topped Koesler’s list of suspects.
Like the others, particularly Rosamunda and Haroldson, Dr. Lee Kim had a strong motive for wanting Sister Eileen out of the way. She had been on the very verge of dismissing him from St. Vincent’s staff. Few words could adequately describe how much he feared that.
As a doctor, he could have had a good life in his native South Korea. But nowhere near as good a life as he might have garnered here in this land of near limitless opportunity. He was a young man with long life promised him. He had plans for that long life. He anticipated an ever-improving lifestyle. He would make very worthwhile the sacrifice of leaving his homeland to set up shop in this foreign country. Kim could virtually taste the luxury and affluence of his future.
But at this stage of his life, very low on the rungs of the ladder he planned to climb, one person stood in his way. More than stood in his way; Sister Eileen threatened to throw him from the ladder entirely and permanently. If she moved against him, it was possible he might be forced to leave this country of his dreams. Conceivably, he might even find it difficult to set up practice in his homeland now. In sum, Dr. Kim had the very real prospect of losing not only everything he had, but all he hoped to have.
In addition, there was that attitude of Kim’s that so disturbed Koesler.
Death certainly was no stranger to doctors. Of all vocations, doctors dealt with death more than almost anyone. Surgeons, moreover, not infrequently were helpless to prevent death even during their ministrations. Koesler had suffered only momentary shock when hearing surgeons refer to a part for the whole—as in operating on a “hand” or a “head.” But Koesler had not been prepared for Dr. Kim’s elation that a “head” had expired in emergency . . . so that no extra time would have to be expended for the “hand.”
Of all four of Koesler’s suspects, Kim was, by far, the most likely. He had a motive, arguably the strongest of the four. He certainly had the means. The operating room would be to him like a second home. And of the four, Kim seemed most at home with death and most casual in his attitude toward it.
There was one person he hadn’t considered. Now that he thought about it—and he hadn’t before—Dr. Fred Scott was certainly suspectable, particularly from an opportunity standpoint. He was certainly as conversant with hospital procedures as any of the others. Although he and Koesler had established a rapport, Koesler was conscious that it was always possible that Scott’s befriending him could have an ulterior motive. And Scott was not a creampuff; he had the grit and the spine—and the stick-to-it-iveness—to carry him along any path he chose, without looking back or suffering second thoughts.
Yes, Koesler concluded reluctantly, Scott would have to be included.
But what would his motive be? There was the rub. As far as Koesler could figure, there was none. Scott was good at his work, happy at his work, and seemed to have come to terms with the contradictions of life at St. Vincent’s. Indeed, rather than wishing ill to Sister Eileen, he was one of her staunchest champions.
No, on second thought, Koesler decided, at least for the moment, to cross Scott off his list of possible suspects. Which left Dr. Kim as the leading nominee. And as Koesler once more retraced his rationale, he nodded to himself. Yes, that was it.
The priest emerged from his reverie far more assured than he had entered it. He returned his attention to what was going on in the room just as Lieutenant Harris completed his summary of what the investigation had revealed.
“So,” Koznicki said, “what we have here is a suspect who may be telling us the whole truth, the entire story. Or he may not. But at least with the corroboration of some of the bizarre ingredients of his confession, the likelihood that he speaks truth grows.
“If what Mr. Whitaker says is true, then he had proceeded in a most roundabout way to attempt to focus media attention on this hospital for the purpose of exposing what he believes to be, in the context of Catholic medical moral ethics, immoral. But all he has managed to do is to come up with such an incredible, confused, ridiculous story that, to this point, the media are having a field day making a fool of our bumbling suspect.
“On the other hand, if what Mr. Whitaker claims is true, there is someone else in this hospital, who, for whatever reason, has been following our suspect, correcting his mistakes, improving on his schemes. But”— Koznicki spread his hands palms up—“who? And why?”
During Koznicki’s summation, Father Koesler had been fidgeting in his chair, like an eager schoolboy who knows the answer.
And now, like a benevolent schoolmaster, Koznicki recognized him. “I believe Father Koesler may have something to add at this point.”
Koesler, well aware that he was among police professionals and not one of them, spoke as deferentially as possible. “I am almost embarrassed to say anything about this matter. And I wouldn’t, except that . . . well, I’ve been part of this hospital’s personnel for a little while, even if only on a temporary basis. So I got to know many of the people here. And it’s just my familiarity with the situation here that prompts me to speak.”
Lieutenant Harris looked heavenward. He was convinced the priest had nothing of substance to say. He just wished Koesler would get on with it.
Even Koesler was aware that this was becoming awkward. Everyone in the room knew he was out of his depth. There was no need to belabor the point.
“What I’m getting at,” Koesler finally explained, “is that I think I know who tried to kill Sister Eileen.”
There was a brief, uncomfortable silence.
Harris cleared his throat. Was there a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth? “Nobody tried to kill Sister Eileen,” he stated.
“But . . .” Koesler was bewildered. “. . . but she was the patient being operated on. It’s perfectly possible— probable—that the tank was supposed to explode while the operation was in progress.”
“Immaterial,” Harris said.
“But—” Koesler felt his face redden.
