Cry From The Grave
Chapter 13
The Sam Priest Center at Webster University provides nearly eight thousand square feet of space to the school's Department of History, Politics, and International Relations. built in 1905 as an eighteen-room house and acquired by the university in 1990, the historic structure on Big Bend Boulevard had just undergone an extensive summer renovation. The face lift included a more efficient cooling system with insulation, a rain garden, interior storm windows, and new roofing tiles. Much to Ballack's delight, the transformation also included a new wheelchair ramp on the south end of the property. The slope led to a pair of automatic doors that opened into a classroom painted in light pink. Ballack thought the color was less than conducive to the learning process.
Having tried to reach Zakhary at his home, Tori spoke with his wife, who mentioned he would be grading exams until at least two o'clock in his office. When Tori called him, the professor had been resistant to any intrusion, begging to be left alone with his tests. Only when Tori mentioned the "therapy incident" with Dean Hibbler did Zakhary relent, and graciously so. Tori sensed neither trepidation nor anxiety from him, although it was difficult to perceive either over the phone. Zakhary met them in the pink classroom moments after they walked in and made the obligatory introductions and Zakhary viewed their identification badges.
"This should do if you want to speak with me," he swept his arm toward a space near the front of the room. "No one normally comes in but for a few minutes at a time on a weekend. I'm sorry. Where are my manners, Ms. Vaughan. Here's a comfortable chair so you don't have to squeeze into one of these collegiate-style desks."
"You teach full-time here at Webster?" asked Tori as she seated herself.
"Political science," Zakhary mentioned. "Even though this is a university that leans more heavily toward the performing and fine arts, there's still a great deal of energy in the humanities. From what you said on the phone, I assume you are here regarding my mother-in-law's session and Dr. Hibbler's actions yesterday?"
"In a manner of speaking," replied Ballack.
Zakhary looked confused. "What manner of speaking?"
Tori chose to speak next. "Dr. Zakhary, we're here because this morning, Dr. Hibbler was discovered dead in his office at St. Matthew's Grove. It appears he had been murdered. We've come to ask you some questions regarding Dr. Hibbler, your experience having your mother-in-law there as a patient, and about your whereabouts this morning."
Zakhary was not prepared for the word murdered. He stumbled back half a pace and steadied himself against the white board. Seating himself after a half minute, he finally found his quavering voice.
"Mur...murdered?" he sputtered. He snatched a tissue from his pocket and dabbed his forehead, even though it was hardly warm in the room. "Good heavens! I mean...I was just there yesterday! I saw him. And now he's dead?"
Either legitimate shock or pure salesmanship, thought Ballack. "Yes, Dr. Zakhary. He was discovered just after ten o'clock this morning by staff members at the hospice. While an official autopsy has not yet occurred, there is no doubt he was murdered." Ballack paused for effect. "It would be most helpful, Dr. Zakhary..."
"Musa," the professor stammered. "Please," he said, holding up palms that revealed smooth, perfectly proportioned fingers, "call me Musa."
"Very well, Musa," Ballack went on without slowing down. "It would be most helpful if you could tell us about your interactions with Dr. Hibbler. When did you and your wife put Verna McBride in St. Matthew's Grove?"
Zakhary steadied his breathing before he attempted an answer. "Kerry and I made a difficult decision regarding her mother. We wanted the best for her, but ovarian cancer is not the sort of item you manage well at home. Our children would not benefit from being spectators to their grandmother's horrific demise. Kerry visits her mother every day and I make a couple stops per week. Verna and her husband Michael were very good to me as in-laws. No ethnic prejudices. Of course, it helped that I was Coptic Orthodox rather than Muslim. Anyhow, we placed Verna there at the start of the academic year. I believe the exact date was the twentieth of August."
"And did Dr. Hibbler oversee the admissions process?" asked Tori.
"Most of our interaction was with Mrs. Andrews. I assume you've met her if you've come to see me. She handled the paperwork and discussed the plan of care with us. A fine lady, if you ask me. In my opinion, she should be the head of the facility. Hibbler met with us at the end to let us know Verna had been accepted as a patient. The look on his face told me how supremely disappointed he was that he'd have to work that much more."
"You never got the sense he was keen on having your mother-in-law there?"
"I never got the sense he was keen on being there himself."
"For our purposes, this next question is absolutely essential," said Ballack. "What provocative or tense situations might have arisen within the last month between you and Dr. Hibbler?"
"The last month?"
"Even the last week will do," Tori broke in. "The therapy session will be just fine."
Zakhary hesitated, to which Ballack said sharply, "Dr. Zakhary--Musa--you have a couple of options. Cooperate fully now or save it for the police station."
It was abundantly clear that Musa Zakhary had zero experience in this type of scenario. His shoulder slumped and he began, "Well, the issue began roughly three weeks ago. Verna doesn't want to go quietly. Ovarian cancer can really strip all your power and will if you let it, but she was never that type from the beginning. She loves going out, even in her wheelchair." He paused as if aware Ballack could take that statement as a slight. When the detective nodded understandingly, Zakhary went on. "Physical therapy, though limited, can drain her, but it's better than doing nothing. Eric Carter has difficulty making the transition from normal therapy to hospice therapy."
"In what way?" Tori asked.
"In every way. I think he had worked with athletes before, so it is hard for him to work with elderly folks who are just focused on moving from their chairs to their beds or maintaining some decent occupational therapeutic activities and fine motor skills. He's trying to be something that is beyond their reach, but it ends up causing him to look as if he's in over his head, which he isn't in terms of ability. The hospice, according to standards of care guidelines, should be offering occupational, physical, and speech therapy for all who need it, and to be fair to him, Eric is stretched thin. And it's not his fault."
"And for you to say that," Ballack remarked, "means you believe the fault lies elsewhere."
"I do. We quickly discovered that offering services means one thing, and determining how much quality applies to which patient is another. Four times over the course of Verna's time there, including three times in the last month, we've requested specific goals and activities in her therapy program. Eric Caret and Isabel Andrews signed off on that, but Hibbler denied it. We checked things out and soon found he had a history of denying therapeutic activities. It's almost like he is--was--determined to let the patients run out the clock. Well, Verna McBride does not run out the clock!"
"I believe you," said Ballack. "Tell us about yesterday and be as detailed as you can, please."
Zakhary went through a helpful--if somewhat painstaking--summary of the events of his prior visit, ending with his shaken sensation after Hibbler's slur. The detectives listened in silence, not interrupting once. When he had finished, Ballack and Tori exchanged a quick glance.
"Obviously," said Tori, "Mrs. Andrews had shared more information than one would expect. Does that cause you concern, that your mother-in-law might lose her hospice?"
"Of course, it would cause us concern. Verna has been strong and has lived past the time we thought she had, and so we'd need to think transfer if she lives longer. But that is a minor issue compared to the experience under Hibbler."
"An experience that she no longer has to bear," reminded Ballack. "Was this the first time you heard Hibbler use an expression like raghead?"
"Yes, first time, but the ongoing impudence has gone on since Verna was placed there."
"And after this incident," asked Tori, "what did you do?"
"I went straight home," said Zakhary. "I was so irate, I knew I had to get far away from there. Kerry and I discussed it after dinner, and re-living it only gave me a bad case of indigestion. I never got any grading done last night, so that's the reason why I'm here at the office today."
"Retrace your steps for us today," Tori continued. "From when you got up until now."
"I woke up around seven, showered, ate a bit of breakfast, and came straight here. I left the house around eight and arrived here ten minutes later. We live in Shrewsbury, so it's not far. I've been here since then."
"Is there anyone here that can verify you've hung around here all morning?" Ballack asked.
Zakhary paused, obviously calculating the difficulty of an open alibi. "A fellow professor in the history department called at quarter till nine. Dr. Frank Crockett. He asked if I was going to be here past the time the mail arrived, as a package could be arriving for him today. I told him I'd look out for it. That was it."
"So, no one saw you physically enter the building, nor can anyone definitively confirm your presence here for the full time since your arrival." Ballack spoke each word carefully, slowing the pace of his words as the sentence continued.
Zakhary looked down, then back up at Ballack again. "No on, I'm afraid. You only have my word to go on. Hopefully, that's what will do, for now, Detective Ballack."
"To be honest, Musa," Ballack replied, "that's what makes the difference in the very end." He produced one of his cards and handed it to the professor. "If you think of anything else, please call. We'll let ourselves out."
Having tried to reach Zakhary at his home, Tori spoke with his wife, who mentioned he would be grading exams until at least two o'clock in his office. When Tori called him, the professor had been resistant to any intrusion, begging to be left alone with his tests. Only when Tori mentioned the "therapy incident" with Dean Hibbler did Zakhary relent, and graciously so. Tori sensed neither trepidation nor anxiety from him, although it was difficult to perceive either over the phone. Zakhary met them in the pink classroom moments after they walked in and made the obligatory introductions and Zakhary viewed their identification badges.
"This should do if you want to speak with me," he swept his arm toward a space near the front of the room. "No one normally comes in but for a few minutes at a time on a weekend. I'm sorry. Where are my manners, Ms. Vaughan. Here's a comfortable chair so you don't have to squeeze into one of these collegiate-style desks."
"You teach full-time here at Webster?" asked Tori as she seated herself.
"Political science," Zakhary mentioned. "Even though this is a university that leans more heavily toward the performing and fine arts, there's still a great deal of energy in the humanities. From what you said on the phone, I assume you are here regarding my mother-in-law's session and Dr. Hibbler's actions yesterday?"
"In a manner of speaking," replied Ballack.
Zakhary looked confused. "What manner of speaking?"
Tori chose to speak next. "Dr. Zakhary, we're here because this morning, Dr. Hibbler was discovered dead in his office at St. Matthew's Grove. It appears he had been murdered. We've come to ask you some questions regarding Dr. Hibbler, your experience having your mother-in-law there as a patient, and about your whereabouts this morning."
Zakhary was not prepared for the word murdered. He stumbled back half a pace and steadied himself against the white board. Seating himself after a half minute, he finally found his quavering voice.
"Mur...murdered?" he sputtered. He snatched a tissue from his pocket and dabbed his forehead, even though it was hardly warm in the room. "Good heavens! I mean...I was just there yesterday! I saw him. And now he's dead?"
Either legitimate shock or pure salesmanship, thought Ballack. "Yes, Dr. Zakhary. He was discovered just after ten o'clock this morning by staff members at the hospice. While an official autopsy has not yet occurred, there is no doubt he was murdered." Ballack paused for effect. "It would be most helpful, Dr. Zakhary..."
"Musa," the professor stammered. "Please," he said, holding up palms that revealed smooth, perfectly proportioned fingers, "call me Musa."
"Very well, Musa," Ballack went on without slowing down. "It would be most helpful if you could tell us about your interactions with Dr. Hibbler. When did you and your wife put Verna McBride in St. Matthew's Grove?"
Zakhary steadied his breathing before he attempted an answer. "Kerry and I made a difficult decision regarding her mother. We wanted the best for her, but ovarian cancer is not the sort of item you manage well at home. Our children would not benefit from being spectators to their grandmother's horrific demise. Kerry visits her mother every day and I make a couple stops per week. Verna and her husband Michael were very good to me as in-laws. No ethnic prejudices. Of course, it helped that I was Coptic Orthodox rather than Muslim. Anyhow, we placed Verna there at the start of the academic year. I believe the exact date was the twentieth of August."
"And did Dr. Hibbler oversee the admissions process?" asked Tori.
"Most of our interaction was with Mrs. Andrews. I assume you've met her if you've come to see me. She handled the paperwork and discussed the plan of care with us. A fine lady, if you ask me. In my opinion, she should be the head of the facility. Hibbler met with us at the end to let us know Verna had been accepted as a patient. The look on his face told me how supremely disappointed he was that he'd have to work that much more."
"You never got the sense he was keen on having your mother-in-law there?"
"I never got the sense he was keen on being there himself."
"For our purposes, this next question is absolutely essential," said Ballack. "What provocative or tense situations might have arisen within the last month between you and Dr. Hibbler?"
"The last month?"
"Even the last week will do," Tori broke in. "The therapy session will be just fine."
Zakhary hesitated, to which Ballack said sharply, "Dr. Zakhary--Musa--you have a couple of options. Cooperate fully now or save it for the police station."
It was abundantly clear that Musa Zakhary had zero experience in this type of scenario. His shoulder slumped and he began, "Well, the issue began roughly three weeks ago. Verna doesn't want to go quietly. Ovarian cancer can really strip all your power and will if you let it, but she was never that type from the beginning. She loves going out, even in her wheelchair." He paused as if aware Ballack could take that statement as a slight. When the detective nodded understandingly, Zakhary went on. "Physical therapy, though limited, can drain her, but it's better than doing nothing. Eric Carter has difficulty making the transition from normal therapy to hospice therapy."
"In what way?" Tori asked.
"In every way. I think he had worked with athletes before, so it is hard for him to work with elderly folks who are just focused on moving from their chairs to their beds or maintaining some decent occupational therapeutic activities and fine motor skills. He's trying to be something that is beyond their reach, but it ends up causing him to look as if he's in over his head, which he isn't in terms of ability. The hospice, according to standards of care guidelines, should be offering occupational, physical, and speech therapy for all who need it, and to be fair to him, Eric is stretched thin. And it's not his fault."
"And for you to say that," Ballack remarked, "means you believe the fault lies elsewhere."
"I do. We quickly discovered that offering services means one thing, and determining how much quality applies to which patient is another. Four times over the course of Verna's time there, including three times in the last month, we've requested specific goals and activities in her therapy program. Eric Caret and Isabel Andrews signed off on that, but Hibbler denied it. We checked things out and soon found he had a history of denying therapeutic activities. It's almost like he is--was--determined to let the patients run out the clock. Well, Verna McBride does not run out the clock!"
"I believe you," said Ballack. "Tell us about yesterday and be as detailed as you can, please."
Zakhary went through a helpful--if somewhat painstaking--summary of the events of his prior visit, ending with his shaken sensation after Hibbler's slur. The detectives listened in silence, not interrupting once. When he had finished, Ballack and Tori exchanged a quick glance.
"Obviously," said Tori, "Mrs. Andrews had shared more information than one would expect. Does that cause you concern, that your mother-in-law might lose her hospice?"
"Of course, it would cause us concern. Verna has been strong and has lived past the time we thought she had, and so we'd need to think transfer if she lives longer. But that is a minor issue compared to the experience under Hibbler."
"An experience that she no longer has to bear," reminded Ballack. "Was this the first time you heard Hibbler use an expression like raghead?"
"Yes, first time, but the ongoing impudence has gone on since Verna was placed there."
"And after this incident," asked Tori, "what did you do?"
"I went straight home," said Zakhary. "I was so irate, I knew I had to get far away from there. Kerry and I discussed it after dinner, and re-living it only gave me a bad case of indigestion. I never got any grading done last night, so that's the reason why I'm here at the office today."
"Retrace your steps for us today," Tori continued. "From when you got up until now."
"I woke up around seven, showered, ate a bit of breakfast, and came straight here. I left the house around eight and arrived here ten minutes later. We live in Shrewsbury, so it's not far. I've been here since then."
"Is there anyone here that can verify you've hung around here all morning?" Ballack asked.
Zakhary paused, obviously calculating the difficulty of an open alibi. "A fellow professor in the history department called at quarter till nine. Dr. Frank Crockett. He asked if I was going to be here past the time the mail arrived, as a package could be arriving for him today. I told him I'd look out for it. That was it."
"So, no one saw you physically enter the building, nor can anyone definitively confirm your presence here for the full time since your arrival." Ballack spoke each word carefully, slowing the pace of his words as the sentence continued.
Zakhary looked down, then back up at Ballack again. "No on, I'm afraid. You only have my word to go on. Hopefully, that's what will do, for now, Detective Ballack."
"To be honest, Musa," Ballack replied, "that's what makes the difference in the very end." He produced one of his cards and handed it to the professor. "If you think of anything else, please call. We'll let ourselves out."
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