The Death at Yew Corner Read Online Free Page B

quickly eliminated because they had been seen by others or were in other parts of the building during the thirty minutes when the scalding death would have had to occur. Four had taken a coffee break together and were in the canteen room during the crucial time period.
    Bambi Williams, R.N., sat primly before the desk that was now occupied by Rocco. She clasped her hands on her starched lap and looked intently at Rocco as if to discern some hidden meaning in his posture.
    â€œWhere were you between nine-forty-five and ten-fifteen, Miss Williams?”
    â€œI was giving out midmorning meds.”
    â€œAnyone see you?”
    â€œThe patients, of course. At least the ones who can still think.” There was a biting edge in her voice, a vehemence that chilled the room and made Bea immediately feel compassion for the helpless individuals served by this bitter woman.
    â€œAnd you took Dr. Bunting to the tub room during that period?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œIn the rush of events you forgot about her.” Rocco’s voice was matter of fact and without any judgmental quality.
    â€œI certainly did not.”
    â€œSomeone charted her for PT. The charts were in your possession during that period.”
    â€œThey were at the nurses’ station and available to anyone while I was in the rooms.”
    â€œDid you see anyone take Dr. Bunting to the tub room?”
    â€œNo. The last time I saw her she was careening down the hallway to the sun-room to make more trouble.”
    â€œWhat sort of trouble?” Bea interjected.
    â€œShe’d been yelling out her window all morning. I had to restrain her.”
    â€œRestrain?”
    â€œNot in the physical sense. I took her away from the window and locked it. That’s when she went to the sun-room and that’s the last I saw of her.”
    â€œThank you, Miss Williams.”
    The nurse rose from her chair as if catapulted and walked briskly toward the door.
    â€œYou didn’t care for her, did you?” Bea said.
    â€œShe was a crotchety old bitch,” Bambi Williams said as she left the room.
    â€œI have the feeling that the lady does not like her work,” Rocco said.
    â€œGod help the infirm. Who’s next?”
    Rocco looked down at his list. “The last one is an aide named Mike Maginacolda.” He called out, “Mr. Maginacolda, please.”
    Maginacolda swaggered into the room. It took Bea a few moments to decipher what it was that made him incongruous in this setting. His defiant attitude initially put her off, but then she realized that it was his hospital whites. They fit too well. The usual bunch of fabric across the rear of the shoulders so usual in rented linens was missing. His uniform had been tailored.
    Maginacolda slouched into the chair Rocco indicated. He glanced over at Bea with a smile of prurient, crude sexuality.
    Rocco looked studiously at a personnel file in front of him. “It has been brought to our attention that you took Bunting to the physical therapy room.”
    â€œThat’s a goddamn lie!” Maginacolda leaned over the desk and slapped his palms loudly on its surface. “I was nowhere near the second floor when she croaked.”
    â€œIs that right?” Rocco looked impassively at the man bent over the desk. “Exactly where were you?”
    The questioning continued as Rocco quietly probed at the angry aide. It seemed to go nowhere, and Bea realized it was fruitless. If anyone in the hospital had taken Fabian Bunting to PT, they were not admitting it—to anyone.
    When Maginacolda started for the door, she asked him, “Why aren’t you out on strike?”
    â€œHell, I’m shop steward for the bona fide local.”
    â€œI don’t understand.”
    â€œMy union always used to represent the workers here until Rustman and that black chick carded everyone and called an election. They’ll wise up and we’ll be back in the saddle