“No, you phrased it perfectly,” Beatrice started walking again. “We’ll talk more about it in my private office,” she said as they approached a door that was locked. Beatrice took out a big silver key, turned it hard and let Cindy in.
The office was oddly narrow and dimly lit. Situated between two outdoor boulders, there was a view only of the dark side of a hill. Beatrice sat down behind her desk and motioned to Cindy to a chair opposite her, making sure the meeting had an entirely professional tone.
“We do have to be careful of how we speak in public,” Beatrice repeated. “As I said it’s easy to be overheard and have one’s words distorted. Rumors can fly like poison arrows all over the place.”
Cindy was startled. This hardly seemed like a place filled with poison arrows.
“This case seems to have created quite a stir,” Cindy murmured.
“Right from the start,” Beatrice was exasperated. “We’ve been warding off reporters from day one.”
“Is that because Tara and Owen were so well known?” asked Cindy.
“Not necessarily,” said Beatrice, “it was because the accident was so gruesome and dramatic. And, because the patient remained in a coma for so long. People started wondering if she would ever come out of it. It became a guessing game.”
“She never did, did she?” asked Cindy.
“Well, if you check the records,” Beatrice breathed heavily, “you’ll see that there is no medical record of the patient having come out of the coma. But naturally, when a patient is in a coma for a long while people begin to assume all kinds of things. Some say Tara did come out. That’s because, due to reflex responses, at times it can seem if patients are talking, smiling or even waving. But they aren’t.” Beatrice looked at Cindy then carefully, to make sure she understood.
“I can understand all the confusion,” Cindy remarked cautiously.
“Good,” said Beatrice then, “I’m glad I’m talking to a sane person at least.”
“Are there insane people involved with the case?” Cindy was fascinated.
“It’s not up to me to evaluate an individual’s sanity,” Beatrice carefully bypassed Cindy’s question. “Naturally, the family was devastated as the process went on and on. It was a huge strain on everyone, including the staff.”
“Why the staff?” asked Cindy, surprised, “because of the attention by reporters?”
“Yes, that, of course, and also the reaction of the patient’s husband,” Beatrice breathed. “He never left the room, slept, bathed, and ate in that spot for two months.” Then Beatrice looked up at Cindy to see what she thought of that.
“He sounds extremely devoted,” Cindy remarked.
“Or extremely nervous to leave Tara alone,” Beatrice responded. “Owen watched over everything each nurse did as though she were coming to take his precious wife away. Finally, he wouldn’t even allow Tara to have a night nurse. He said he’d take the night shift himself.”
“All the more reason to feel that he didn’t do it,” Cindy said carefully.
“Not necessarily,” Beatrice leaned closer. “The strain on him, too, was beyond belief. How long can one keep going on like that? It’s entirely possible that he snapped.”
“Anything is possible, of course,” said Cindy. “But that’s an assumption; it’s not evidence to have him locked up.”
Beatrice looked at Cindy harshly. “I’m not suggesting my remarks are evidence of anything. I’m just filling you in. If you’re speaking of hard, cold evidence, there’s none of it. There’s no possible way of determining who put the lethal substance into the patient’s IV. None at all. There were many who felt relieved when she finally passed.”
“Someone knows though,” Cindy murmured, half to Beatrice and half to herself.
“What’s that you’re saying?” Beatrice leaned closer.
“I believe someone knows, who put the substance into the IV,” Cindy repeated more clearly.
“What do you base that upon?” Beatrice seemed momentarily frightened.
“I base it upon investigating many cases,” Cindy reported. “When we dig long enough, we always find someone who knows the answer, someone who’s seen something crucial. I’ve grown to count on it.”
Beatrice tossed her head back. “Well, that’s out of my domain, I wouldn’t know. My job is to oversee the nurses here. I’m head nurse on this floor, that’s all.”
“That’s quite a lot,” said Cindy.
“I like my job and I’m good at it,” Beatrice looked Cindy straight in the eye.
“I’m sure you are,” said Cindy. “You’ve had so much experience with patients in comas. Did you think Tara would come out of it and be okay?” Cindy decided to suddenly throw Beatrice a curve ball.
The question jostled her. “Of course it depends what you mean by okay,” Beatrice remarked. “I’ve seen patients recover fully after a lengthy coma, but more commonly they’re left impaired. Often the family feels it’s kinder to let them go.”
“Are you suggesting someone from the family did this?” Cindy pushed on.
Death by Request (Caribbean Murder #11)
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