“So,” Chief Martin began to recapitulate, “you just happened to be walking down this corridor at the right time. And what made you go into Mrs. Walker’s room?”
“Well,” said a modest George Snell, toeing the carpet, “she had stopped breathing.”
“You heard her stop breathing.” Martin used his most incredulous tone.
“Uh . . . no . . . ’course not. I heard her choking. That’s it, I heard her choking.”
“Then what?”
“Well, I looked around for some help. But all the nurses and aides were occupied, I guess.” Snell glanced down at his side where Helen Brown stood, a smug smile on her face. For some unaccountable reason, Snell feared that Helen might mention how it was she was occupied. But she said nothing.
“So?” Chief Martin prompted.
“So there being no one else around, I entered the room and ascertained that she was indeed not breathing . . . uh . . . choking.”
“So?”
“So then I picked her up out of bed and performed the Himmler Maneuver.”
“Heimlich,” Helen whispered.
“Heimlich!” Snell corrected himself. “And then this lady”—he gestured toward Helen Brown—“came in and . . .”
“I see,” Chief Martin said. “How did you happen to know about the Heimlich Maneuver?”
“Uh . . . I read about it, I guess. Shoot, everybody knows that. It’s all over the place. Information on how to do it.”
“Then how is it that Mrs. Walker has bruises all over her side?” Chief Martin pressed.
“I guess she must have hit her side on the guardrail when I picked her up out of bed. I didn’t have time to be very delicate, you know.”
“What is this, Chief, the Inquisition?” one of the nurses challenged. “After all, Officer Snell just saved a woman’s life. This is a time of celebration, not incrimination.”
“All right! All right!” Chief Martin knew when he was creating a needlessly hostile crowd. And he knew when to retreat. “I just have to get the facts for my report. But you’re right. Congratulations, Snell! Drop into my office before you leave in the morning and we can finish this report.”
Snell might just as well have been revealed to be Superman in disguise. Patients and staff pushed forward to congratulate him. It was clear that everyone felt safer physically, emotionally, medically, and spiritually for having this shining knight on duty to protect them. If an election had been held at that moment, Snell would have been a shoo-in chief executive officer against whoever else might be running.
Only one person other than Snell knew the truth. But Helen Brown was not talking. If she had . . .
Helen Brown could not recall the exact moment when she became aware that something was wrong. It had to have been sometime between their initial torrid coupling and George’s yet-to-be-demonstrated bravura performance. It must have been a reflex of her health-care training. There was a moment when that hypnotic chewing sound was supplanted by a small inoffensive strangling noise, followed by an ominous silence.
It was at that moment, as George was about to strike, when Helen realized that they had only a few seconds to act or a fatal calamity would occur in the neighboring bed.
She had been unable to convince George that this was an inopportune moment for his beau geste. So she had shoved him—hard. Taking into account their comparative size, a shove, no matter how vigorous, would have been fruitless had George not been in a state of precarious balance.
Balance upset, George had tumbled out of bed and hit the floor rolling. He struck Alice Walker’s bed with considerable force. Enough force to, in effect, knock the bed right out from under Alice. The bed eventually hit the nearby wall. Alice, proving again that what goes up must come down, landed atop George—which was fortunate for Alice since George broke her fall. As it was, she collected a few bruises from the impact. If George had not been beneath her, the fall easily could have been fatal.
The masticated crackers that had matted and lodged in her throat became dislodged in the fall and she began breathing again.
But Helen had no way of knowing whether any serious damage had been done by the crackers or the fall. So she signaled code blue. By the time the resuscitation team reached Room 2218, Helen and George were fully, if untidily, clothed and Helen had somewhat breathlessly instructed George on the basics of the Heimlich Maneuver to which he would attribute Alice Walker’s resuscitation.
Helen was able to run through her original and fictitious scenario with George while the code team checked Alice Walker and found that all was well, with the minor exception of the bruises.
By the time Chief Martin and the crowd had gathered, George had pretty well learned his lines and was letter-perfect—with the one flaw of not being able to remember the name Heimlich. But, as with most things in life, one need not be able to spell it if one can do it.
Beyond sotto-voce correcting George when it came to specifying the method used to revive Alice Walker, Helen had little to contribute. Thus, she had time to reflect on the incongruity that while she and George were bandying about the Heimlich Maneuver, she had yet to experience the storied Snell Maneuver.
She wondered if she ever would.
* * *
One pair of eyes had followed Bruce Whitaker throughout this evening with keen interest.
God knows what is going on down the hall. But as long as everyone is occupied with that, I have a chance to see what he was up to.
Now, which chart was he working on? Ah, here it is. He didn’t bother to push it back in place tightly. God, I can barely see, the pain in my head is so intense. Nothing to take for it either. Wait, give yourself a little time. There, it seems to be easing up a bit.
All right. He removed at least one sticker; that is obvious. He seems to have added one. But for what purpose? Let me think. He seems to be putting her on a program. But why? No, she can’t be on the program! Not as long as . . . Ah, I see what he had in mind. Hmmpf; all he had to do was remove one more sticker . . . how could anyone be so stupid!
But the final question: What does he hope to accomplish by this? If this were to go through the way he has set it up—if he had done it correctly . . . why . . . yes—this would be a blunder so egregious that the hospital would have no way of covering it up. This would indeed make the news media.
First the attempted mutilation of IUDs. Now this. He does not seem capable of carrying it off. Yet, all unknowing, he seems to be trying to do just what I would wish. But he needs some help. Oh, yes, he certainly needs help. And I can give it. I will just take this other sticker off the chart.
Now, Bruce Whitaker, your plot will work. It may prove a costly price to pay, but we will be rid of that troublesome nun before she gets rid of me.
I have no idea why you are doing this, Bruce Whitaker, but you are playing right into my hands. And with you as my emissary, I now hold all the cards.
At long last, farewell, Sister Eileen!
* * *
Pat Lennon lifted her glass of sherry in salute.
“Congratulations, Joe. You broke it.”
Joe Cox inclined his head ever so slightly in acknowledgment. Then he frowned. “But, when you think of it, what a waste! All that destruction and all those injuries because somebody was peddling substandard joints.”
Having accepted her toast and waited for her to take a sip of sherry, Cox tasted his Gibson. The smile returned. No water in the world, he thought, was as clear and inviting as vodka or gin.