Cry From The Grave (Chapter 11)

Cry From The Grave

Chapter 11

     Ballack's cell phone buzzed and he answered it to hear Hull's voice. "Anna Barber was rather uncooperative. Beat around the bush on a lot of questions. Spent more time checking her cell phone than anything else."

     "She didn't use it, did she?" Ballack said more sharply than he intended. Of course, he realized, she could always text half the world once out of their sight.

     "More of a nervous tick than anything else," said Hull. "She'd pull it out, look at the screen, huff around, but never clicked a button. She did give us one intriguing sliver of detail. Said that yesterday Hibbler interfered in a physical therapy session involving Verna McBride and James Caple. Apparently, he got nose to nose with Isabel Andrews and told off the physical therapist."

     "The therapist's name?" asked Ballack.

     "Eric Carter," replied Hull. "Part-time here, part-time student at Eden Seminary next door, if what Barber said is on target. He also works at the seminary bookstore and lives in a house or apartment nearby. Evidently, Hibbler fired him on the spot for negligent behavior."

     "During the session? That's fairly serious."

     "Well, the McBride woman, her son-in-law was there. Egyptian gut, professor over at Webster..."

     "Good night, is everyone located within a three-block radius?" Ballack asked aloud. "This is like St. Basil's all over again."

     "What?"

     "Never mind. Did you get the son-in-law's name?"

     "Zakhary." Hull spelled it out for Ballack. "But when we asked Barber what she saw, she confessed she heard it secondhand. Wasn't even in the room. Not even in the building."

     "Well then, who was there? You told me about Carter and Zakhary. Who else?"

     "Beverly Overton. Billy Hanspard, who is another nurse. And Isabel Andrews, as previously mentioned."

     "We have her next. Get Hanspard's number and call him in. After we're done with the staff here now, we'll need to talk to him, Carter, and Zakhary. Also, we'll have to check out Nick Fisher, the rector at the church across the street. Could come to nothing, but Father Giles was over there during the time range of the murder and I'd like to confirm that and other details."

     "You got it. We'll touch base after the next round."

     Tori opened the door and brought Isabel Andrews with her up the center aisle. The nursing director's eyes were already shifting back and forth between the detectives. Ballack knew first instincts could be misleading, but he had rarely possessed such a strong presumption of guilt. With slow, clumsy steps, Isabel approached him and took the same spot in the front pew as Father Giles had before.

    Again, Ballack had Tori begin the interview. Isabel had worked as a pediatric nurse at Cardinal Glennon Medical Center for several years before shifting her interest toward the elderly, infirmed, and terminal. Now a veteran of hospice care, she had served St. Matthew's Grove for fifteen months before being promoted to nursing director. It had been a difficult five years in that role, with a high level of scheduling headaches along with maintaining stability on the nursing roster. Tori brought up Hibbler's name and both detectives noticed Isabel flinched slightly.

     "Was Dr. Hibbler an easy person to work for?" asked Tori.

     Isabel drew a deep breath before answering. "No one is all sweetness and light in a hospice setting. Obviously, the tagline is that people come here to live well, but beyond the advertising, we know that death takes no prisoners. That can lead to tensions that no one can foresee."

     Ballack spoke up. "I get unplanned friction. Our question wasn't necessarily about the facility's esprit de corps but about yours. Had there been a history of conflict between you and Dr. Hibbler?"

     "No more conflict," said Isabel, less evenly than before, "than anyone else had."

     "Spreading the antagonism more thinly may have benefits for you, Mrs. Andrews," Ballack replied with a smirk, "but if we want to know of snags between the doctor and the rest of the staff, we'll ask them in turn. I'll ask again as my partner already did. Was Dr. Hibbler an easy person to work for?"

     "We had our differences."

     "What sort of differences?" asked Tori.

     "They could be significant at points," Isabel replied. Though seated, she drew herself up as much as possible and flexed her fingers. Ballack sneaked a peek at her hands. With her svelte and willowy physique, she had hands that looked as if they could palm a basketball. And that, thought Ballack on a second look, was not their only distinguishing feature.

     "Mrs. Andrews," he broke in, "it is absolutely critical that you be completely honest with us. We have received information about two separate moments of tension between you and Dr. Hibbler within the last two days. We know that your little group tete a tete did not go well at Robust Wine Bar and you stormed out over the issue of Hibbler's involvement in--shall we say--the potential reconstructing of St. Matthew's Grove future. And we've been told there was an altercation yesterday during a physical therapy appointment, one in which you both were nose to nose."

     Isabel's eyes were now slits. She drank in Ballack's remarks with visible annoyance. "I suppose that you are owed an explanation for those, but it's actually quite simple. I was merely defending the rights of the staff to have some sort of consensus on the hospice's future. I didn't agree with Dean heading up what could well be our demise, but then again if you've spoken with Rory Giles, you know he was less than thrilled himself. And if you are referring to the therapy appointment, then yes--Hibbler accosted me, but I was not the only one." She leaned toward Ballack. "He also fired Eric Carter within seconds of his arrival, so now we have no physical therapist anymore. I mean, in public, with several staff members and a guest standing around! And to make matters worse, he verbally assaulted a patient's relative!"

     "In the room?" asked Tori.

     "Musa Zakhary," continued Isabel. "His mother-in-law is Verna McBride and she was one of the therapy patients. Musa and I were speaking in the hallway outside the room when Verna tottered. Eric might not have been using proper precautions. I can't say for sure because I didn't see it occur; I only saw Verna tip toward the floor. Musa dashed in and was able to stabilize her before she hit the ground. Both he and Eric managed to get her back on the therapy table. Whether it was Eric's fault or not, Musa was relieved Verna was okay. He wasn't angry with Eric, nor do I recall Musa chewing him out. That's when Dean blew in there without even knowing what went on and screamed at all of us up one side and down the other. He told Eric to clean out his stuff and leave! And then turned on Musa, got in his face, and told him if he didn't care for how we did treatment here, then maybe Verna would be better off elsewhere! And then..." Isabel broke off, clearly upset. "He called Musa a raghead!"

     "A raghead?" Ballack's disgust was unmasked in his voice. Certainly, there was ethnic prejudice alive and well amongst physicians, even anti-Middle East bigotry. But to express it out loud broke bounds of modesty and professionalism. "That was the exact expression?"

     "You can confirm with Dr. Zakhary, but yes--I was there when those words came out of Dean's mouth. I was...oh, dear Lord, I was so embarrassed. And ashamed we had that man as our director."

     "Angry?"

     Isabel glared at him. "Of course, I was angry, but who wouldn't be? Don't attribute emotions specifically to me that others would have!"

     Ballack was unmoved. "Dr. Zakhary is the one at Webster."

     "Rory obviously let you know," said Isabel, more calmly. "You can confirm with him."

     "In due time, Mrs. Andrews," said Ballack. "There is the matter of where you were from seven to ten o'clock this morning."

     "I was not here until nine-thirty," she replied. "During his little stunt in the therapy room yesterday, Dean ordered me to meet him in his office at ten, presumably to bawl me out. I made it a point to get here, get some work done in my office, and then see him at the last possible moment. His door was closed when I arrived."

     "No one can verify you got here at nine-thirty?" Tori pressed her.

     "Beverly Overton was the first to see me when I couldn't get into Dean's office. I tried to enter through the narthex side, so if you find my prints on the handle, it's because I tried to go in through that door for a meeting which never happened."

     "And you never were in that room until you and Mrs. Overton walked in and discovered the body?"

     "Correct. Beverly went to get a key."

     "From where?" Ballack asked.

     "The maintenance closet."

     "You can get into the maintenance closet? Just walk in? So anyone could have access?"

     "I didn't think about that at the time, detective."

     "I believe no one here has thought of security issues like that at all," Ballack replied. "But nothing has changed since then or from when we arrived?"

     "Meaning what?"

     "You haven't touched anything from the scene or moved anything in the office?"

     "No, I haven't. I went in a bit to see that he was, in fact, dead. Nothing has changed."

     "All except," came Ballack's lightly mordant tone, "the fact that you've washed your hands and changed your pants since we arrived."

     "What?"

     Ballack smiled ruefully. "You were standing to the side in the cafeteria when we arrived. I took a peek at your left hand and there was something scrawled in blue marker or ink on it. Now that mark is missing. Also, even though you still have the same white jacket and scrub top, you changed scrub pants. These are royal blue, like the others, but the pair you wore in the cafeteria had a matching blue drawstring, and the drawstring for this pair is white. Not to mention even a casual view of your right pant leg shows this pair is untouched at the hem, while the previous pair had significant stitching which revealed them were hemmed."

     Silence reigned in the chapel. Ballack glared hotly at Isabel.

     "The question that my partner is asking," Tori interjected, "is why you changed scrubs and why you washed your hands when a dead body was in that office and detectives had arrived."       If Ballack had a whiff of guilt before, this was a gale-force wind. Isabel Andrews, however, cagily directed her reponse to Tori. "If your partner must know, I washed my hands for the reason of cleanliness. I checked on Lawrence Gildea after you met with us this morning and--murder investigation or not--I need to follow hygienic procedures. And as for the scrubs, I changed for a better fit." She looked at Ballack. "Is that good enough for you?"

     It wasn't terrible as far as reasons went, thought Ballack, but he had taken enough of her edginess. "That will do for now, Mrs. Andrews."

     Tori stood. "I'll need to come with you and place your previously worn scrubs in a bag."

     "Please keep this conversation private, Mrs. Andrews," Ballack added. "We still have more questions to ask, but at this point, you are free to continue your other obligations."

     Before the last syllable was out of Ballack's mouth, Isabel Andrews was headed for the door.