I said to Bleeker, “Do you know a nurse here named Phyllis?”
He leaned against the lab bench and puffed out his cheeks. “Phyllis... Phyllis... No, sir; I don’t.”
“Find out who she is, will you, Lover? Let me know, but keep it quiet.”
The autopsy on Norma Walden revealed what I had half expected. There was evidence of long standing myocardial damage, which explained her failing to survive severe shock. I reported my findings in writing and sent a copy to Mr. Conrad. It read in part:...POST MORTEM EXAMINATION DISCLOSES THAT THIS FEMALE SUFFERED SHOCK SYNDROME OR ACUTE CIRCULATORY COLLAPSE OF REFLEX ORIGIN WHICH RESULTED IN IRREVERSIBLE CIRCULATORY EMBARRASSMENT. THERE WAS MARKED CARDIAC HYPERTROPHY AND MYOCARDIAL INSUFFICIENCY. PROBABLE CAUSE OF DEATH: CONGESTIVE HEART FAILURE...
It was still overcast when I walked into Southport for a haircut late that afternoon. I nosed through the newspapers but saw nothing about the riddle at South-port General. Good for Conrad; he hated publicity.
Stopping at Southport Inn for a sandwich and coffee, I ran into Gerald Houser, an old colleague of mine who was on the surgical staff at Southport.
“Any developments on that nurse business, Claude?” he wanted to know.
“Two of them resigned, you know.”
“No! Well I’ll be darned. Very singular, indeed. I hear Conrad has a private investigator on it.”
“Well, well,” I chuckled. “The foxy so-and-so never said anything to me about it.”
I elected to walk rather than take the bus back to the hospital, although a fine drizzle had begun to fall. I thought about the rusty streak on Norma’s face and the beaded handbag that nurse had carried. A paper bag would look better...
I paused a moment in front of the nurses’ home. It was a two-story affair, rectangular and nondescript, contrasting sharply with the one-storey hospital. Now it was growing dark and I felt the first trace of autumn chill. One of the windows showed light in the second floor rear; the rest were black and sightless.
I shivered a little and walked hurriedly up the deserted street to the brightly lighted main building.
A typewritten note was fastened to my lab coat with a huge safety pin; it read: Dr. C: Ph. is Mrs. Minetti on W-3. Also please call Conrad at his home. Bleeker.
A duplicate message was anchored under my telephone. Bleeker was thorough, even if he was itchy. I called Conrad right away.
“I wanted your opinion, Dr. Claude,” he said. “Do you think the police should be called on this business? Miss O’Neil thinks so.”
“You mean the Norma Walden matter, of course.”
“Yes.”
I thought for a moment, while we listened to each other breathe. “No, Mr. Conrad, I don’t. I mean, not yet, anyway.”
“You’re sure?”
“Well, no. I’m a doctor, not a policeman. But let’s face it; there’s been no foul play that we know of. Surely, Miss Walden wasn’t murdered. I went over that body very carefully.”
“But how about the agency that frightened those girls — and caused all this mess? Perhaps it’s still extant. Shouldn’t the police give that nurses’ home a good going over?”
“Now, that’s something else. You have a point there. I hadn’t thought about it that way.”
“I have. But I don’t want bad publicity for the hospital. Do you see? We’re new, so vulnerable.”
“Let’s sleep on it, Mr. Conrad. Anyway, don’t you have a private detective on this?”
“Maybe I have. That’s not the police, though.”
“No.”
“All right. Thanks for calling, Dr. Claude. Good night.”
“Wait a moment... Mr. Conrad?”
“Yes?”
“I should tell you something. I said I hadn’t thought about having the police go into the matter of what frightened those girls. What I really meant was I think the answer lies among the girls themselves. I don’t think there is an outside agency.”
“Do you know this?”
“I’m convinced of it.”
“You’re holding out on me, Claude.”
“Well, I am.”
“That’s a fine thing. I’m only the superintendent.”
“You have my word, Conrad, I’ll give you all I have tomorrow.”
There was a brief pause. “There’ll be no more trouble?”
“Not the way I see it.”
“All right. All right, Dr. Claude. Good night.”
Phyllis Minetti was off duty so I called her at home.
“Yes, I can come in, Dr. Claude,” she said. “I’ve got to give the children their supper first. My husband won’t be home until later.”
I’d seen the plump dark haired Mrs. Minetti on Ward 3 several times. When she walked into the laboratory I knew her at once. I came right to the point.
“Do you know why I asked you to come in, Mrs. Minetti?”
“I’m sure it’s about Norma Walden... and the others.”
“I’m no investigator, you know.”
“No. But you were here. And you’re about second in command at this hospital.” She smiled. “In charge, I mean.”
“Do you know anything about what happened, Mrs. Minetti?”
“No.”
“No ideas?”
“None.”
“Well, a few days ago you walked into Physiotherapy with at least two other nurses. Remember?”
She looked completely surprised, but showed no signs of distress. “You saw us...?”
“I was in there. Oh, I wasn’t spying on you. I was lying down with a headache when you people came in.”
“Well, if you were there, you know I had nothing to do with this hand business, Dr. Claude.”
There it was. But I missed it. “I know. I believe you, Mrs. Minetti. I heard you when you declined to have anything to do with some conspiracy. Miss Kirk called you by name. But you see, it follows that you knew what was going to happen.”
“I’ll have nothing to do with it, Dr. Claude.”
“You’re already involved.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“This isn’t a whodunit, Mrs. Minetti. You know as well as I do that a girl is dead. Another is deranged, perhaps irretrievably. Two more resigned at an ungodly hour without a moment’s notice. For all we know they may be mentally disturbed, too. All this without any explanation, which undoubtedly you can provide.
“I have reason to believe that Mr. Conrad is going to notify the police department tomorrow. Don’t you see the position this puts you in? Puts all of us in?
“It’s almost a certainty that a group of you girls got together for some kind of mischief, or practical joke, and the thing backfired. I think, Mrs. Minetti, that those four girls were — if you’ll permit a touch of melodrama — hoist by their own petard.”
She shook her head stubbornly. “Dr. Claude, I know exactly how you feel — how Miss O’Neil feels. But why pick on me? Ask the girls who resigned. Ask Ruth DeMaras or Marjory Herron; they were there. I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean any disrespect, but I had nothing to do with what happened and I’m not going to get mixed up in it now.”
I sighed. I decided the woman was not too bright. “Well, all right. I’m only trying to help us all. Thank you for coming in and talking to me.”
Shelley and I looked in on Edith Kirk that night; there was no change.
We stopped to chat in the doctor’s lounge and that’s when I saw the whole thing. It struck me like a thunderbolt. Unwittingly, Phyllis Minetti had told me, and it nearly slipped away. Something she said came back to me as I talked with Shelley.
The resident had asked me if open surgery were ever done in cases of Dupuytren’s contraction. Then I remembered her remark, well, if you were there, you know I had nothing to do with this hand business... Those were the words Mrs. Minetti had used.