Blind Eye: The Terrifying Story of a Doctor Who Got Away With Murder (35 page)

Dr. Zshiri had to face the possibility that a killer was at large in his hospital. He “panicked,” as he later put it.

T
HE
next day P. C. Chakarisa, a superintendent in the Zimbabwe Republic police, was summoned by the commander of the Midlands
district to an emergency meeting in Zvishavane, the nearest town of any size to Mnene. Zvishavane is a dusty place with an aging asbestos mine as the center of economic activity; the police station is a cluster of three tin-roofed, open-air buildings grouped around a small courtyard shaded by a jacaranda tree. When Chakarisa arrived, he met the Midlands medical director, Dr. Davis Dhlakama, Zshiri’s superior in the Zimbabwean medical system, and the person ultimately responsible for hiring Swango.

The day before, immediately after interviewing Mzezewa, Zshiri had called Howard Mpofu at Lutheran church headquarters in Bulawayo. Mpofu could hardly believe the reports he heard from Zshiri about the nice young man he’d met at the airport, but he told him to call Dr. Dhlakama immediately. Whereas the U.S. hospital system is decentralized, all medical doctors in Zimbabwe are paid by the state and are indirectly accountable to the minister of health in Harare, who operates through the provincial medical directors such as Dhlakama. Thus, while nominally an employee of the Lutheran church, Swango was paid by the Zimbabwe government and was accountable to Dhlakama.

While shocked by Zshiri’s revelations, and concerned that reports of Swango’s activities might cause panic among patients, Dhlakama had concluded immediately that the police had to be notified and brought into the case. This was in sharp contrast to the approach adopted at Ohio State. It was also obvious to both Zshiri and Dhlakama that such a situation involving a white American doctor who might be murdering Zimbabweans was politically explosive—and could cost both men their jobs.

At the meeting, Dhlakama looked grim. The medical director quickly briefed Chakarisa: a doctor at Mnene Hospital, Dr. Swango, had allegedly caused a number of deaths “through the administration of noxious substances or drugs.” Since the doctor was an American, Dhlakama speculated that he might be using “foreign” drugs unfamiliar to the local doctors, and added that at the very least, there had been reports that he used unsterilized syringes. All the suspicious deaths had been certified by Dr. Swango. Dhlakama felt the police had to move quickly—there had been two deaths in the previous four days, and attempts had apparently been made on the lives of patients still in the hospital.

Chakarisa applied immediately for a search warrant, which was granted by the police superintendent at about four
P.M
. About an hour later, he, Dhlakama, and two police detectives reached Mnene, where they met an obviously shaken Zshiri. Zshiri spent about fifteen minutes briefing them on his recent discoveries, then indicated that Swango was on duty in one of the wards. When the group arrived, Swango was chatting with a nurse and looked relaxed. Zshiri called him aside, then led him outdoors, where he introduced him to the police officers and Dr. Dhlakama. Swango seemed calm, neither surprised nor alarmed, and suggested that the group join him in his bungalow next to the hospital.

When they reached Swango’s verandah, Chakarisa produced the search warrant, gave Swango a copy, and then, reading from the warrant, said that he and his colleagues were authorized “to look for and locate drugs and syringes that are in the possession of Dr. Swango and under his control, which are on reasonable ground to believe [
sic
] might afford evidence of the commission of the crime.” When they entered, they found the house a mess, with Swango’s few clothes strewn about along with some soiled lab coats. The bed was unmade; in the kitchen they found evidence of the popcorn Zshiri had often smelled and empty Coke cans. The detectives found several charts and X rays, which they assumed to pertain to Swango’s patients, as well as a list of names on a chart from Mpilo Hospital. But what immediately captured their attention was an extensive array of drugs and medical equipment. Several used syringes still contained fluids. Many of the substances were unfamiliar to Zshiri and Dhlakama. In any event, drugs were supposed to be stored in the hospital’s dispensary, not in doctors’ residences.

Of the hundreds of medication containers in Swango’s house, forty-six had been opened, indicating the possibility they had been administered to patients. Among them were adrenaline, ephedrine, Valium, Xylocaine, Nupercainal—all fatal if injected in sufficient doses—and potassium chloride, which is not only deadly but virtually impossible to identify as a cause of death, since potassium levels are typically elevated post mortem.

As the detectives collected and inventoried the array of drugs, Chakarisa asked Swango if it were true that he had been injecting
unauthorized drugs into patients, specifically Sibanda and Mzezewa. In contrast to his earlier statement denying that he had injected Mzezewa at all, Swango said he had injected water into his intravenous tube in order to flush it, a routine procedure. He also acknowledged that he had on occasion used unsterilized needles and had reused the same syringes. Chakarisa was offended by Swango’s nonchalance, later characterizing him as “boastful.” He and the others were particularly offended by one of Swango’s comments to the effect that “as Africa was a jungle, syringes can be used repeatedly without harm.” Swango added, by way of example, that in the Congo “injections were used again and again.”

At this point, Chakarisa warned Swango that anything he said might be used against him, a statement known in Zimbabwe as a “caution,” the equivalent of the U.S. Miranda warning, by which suspects are advised they have the right to remain silent. Swango said he would say nothing further until he consulted a lawyer. Dr. Dhlakama told Swango that his medical privileges would be suspended pending an investigation, and that he was not to enter any of the hospital wards.

The next morning, Swango showed up in Zshiri’s office. “What’s happening?” Swango asked, obviously upset.

“The staff is concerned” about the sudden outbreak of unexplained deaths, Zshiri said.

“People are against me,” Swango countered. “They think I’m killing patients.” Zshiri nodded, looking closely at Swango, since that was precisely what people were thinking. Swango looked very earnest, very grave. “It’s not true,” he said.

Zshiri thought Swango seemed too sincere, almost as though he had rehearsed the line. Earlier, perhaps, Zshiri might have believed him. But now he did not. He told Swango the suspension would have to remain in effect; that the matter was “out of his hands” now that Dhlakama, the provincial medical director, was involved. Swango accepted the news quietly. Zshiri was relieved when Swango left the office. He was under the impression that most Americans carried guns, and he feared Swango might have one.

During the next few days, Police Superintendent Chakarisa moved swiftly to interview the nurses and others at the hospital, including Sibanda. He traveled to Mzume, where Mzezewa was under
guard and in isolation. The accounts he heard left Chakarisa with little doubt that he was dealing with a killer. As he later put it, “they gave startling revelations of how the murders were committed and how they discovered the crimes.” He had the remains of Margaret Zhou, Swango’s most recent victim at Mnene, sent to Bulawayo, where a pathologist removed tissue samples from several organs and sent them to Harare for analysis.

For his part, Zshiri drafted a letter to Dhlakama, a copy of which he sent to Lutheran church headquarters in Bulawayo. Dated July 22, 1995, the letter began “RE: Unexplained deaths, Mnene Designated District Hospital”:

“There has been a sudden rise in unexplained deaths in the hospital. This led to a lot of questions and rising [
sic
] of eyebrows within the Mnene community, hence the coincidental findings and reports given to me by the staff. The matter is already known to you, but still I believe it is more appropriate to put it in writing.”

The letter briefly summarized the mysterious deaths of Mahlamvana, Chipoko, Ngwenya, and Zhou. “The two last patients worried every health worker in the hospital. I could tell the staff had something to tell but they could not. I had to probe the sisters in charge of the wards and to my surprise there was a lot told . . .

“I have a lot of written statements from the nurses and I received today, the 23rd July, 0800 hours, after yesterday’s proceedings, yet another piece of information about Mr. Katazo Shava, 52 years, male. This patient was in the ward admitted 18 June 1995, died 26 June 1995. Sudden death in the ward. I’m not aware of this death but the sisters have a lot to tell.”

This was too much for Zshiri. Writing to Dhlakama, he described his reaction: “I panicked . . . . I felt I could not handle this.”

Zshiri was by now under considerable stress. He worried that he might be held accountable, either by the Lutheran church or by the government, for deaths occurring on his watch. He realized as well that Swango was entitled to some sort of due process, although, never having been confronted with such a dire situation, Zshiri wasn’t sure what procedures should be followed. At the same time, he didn’t want to be viewed as a troublemaker, a whistle-blower, someone who might bring scandal upon the church and government. All of this is evident in his concluding passage:

Finally, I would like to take this opportunity to say I am not against Dr. Mike, he is my personal friend, but the authority I was given by the Ministry of Health and the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Zimbabwe I feel it’s a must that I take up these issues to you, the responsible authorities, and I have to safeguard the good works of Mnene Hospital as a district hospital. In addition, not a single one of the above patients was directly under my day-to-day care, but as overall in charge as DMO [District Medical Officer]. This is only a report as given to me.

Thank you,

Dr. C. Zshiri

District Medical Officer

I
N
mid-August Dhlakama received a letter from Swango warning him that “something nasty” was likely to “land” on his desk from Mnene, and that if his suspension remained in effect, “the Mnene doctors and the Mission will have to bear the consequences.” Dhlakama angrily replied that he would not respond to such “threats” and that he stood behind the decision to suspend Swango from his position as a doctor at Mnene. Dhlakama phoned Mpofu in Bulawayo to inform him about the letter, telling him he thought the situation with Swango at Mnene was “very unsafe.” But Dhlakama did not have the authority to terminate Swango’s license to practice medicine in Zimbabwe; that action could be taken only after cumbersome administrative procedures at the Ministry of Health.

So Mpofu agreed that the church would assume responsibility for removing Swango. On October 13, he drove to Mnene and personally handed Swango a letter from the Evangelical Lutheran church formally terminating his employment. Without being specific as to the causes, the letter cited a pending investigation by the Ministry of Health and Child Welfare and added, “Also be advised that the community you have been recruited to serve has since expressed their disgruntlement with you . . . . Your services are terminated.”

The letter was signed by S. M. Dube, the secretary-treasurer of the Evangelical Lutheran church in Zimbabwe.

Mpofu was frightened that Swango might react violently, but all Swango said was that the allegations were “unfounded” and that he would be consulting a lawyer. He was given a week to remove his belongings, but several nights later Zshiri noticed that Swango’s cottage was dark. Swango had left without saying good-bye.

Though he had left quietly, Swango’s letter to the effect that the doctors at Mnene would have to “bear the consequences” left Zshiri and Larsson skittish, fearful that Swango would return to exact his revenge. Zshiri resigned his position at Mnene to pursue additional studies in Harare, citing his fear of Swango. When Larsson’s contract expired at the end of the year, he and his family returned to Sweden. No doctors responded to ads seeking to replace them.

The nursing staff, similarly afraid that Swango might return at any time, did its best to care for patients who were not only sick but, in many cases, terrified. Stories of mysterious deaths at Mnene circulated throughout the Mberengwa region, passed from homestead to homestead, village to village. Some said the Mnene nurses were practicing witchcraft. Others spoke of a sinister doctor in a white lab coat. Many heard hearsay accounts of Keneas Mzezewa’s and Virginia Sibanda’s injections and seizures. Increasingly, people in the bush turned to traditional healers for care. Admissions to the hospital dropped off.

Mpofu, who had greeted Swango with such enthusiasm and had been so happy to recruit a doctor from America, was stunned to find that Swango’s legacy might be a mission hospital bereft not only of doctors, but also of patients.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

D
AVID
C
OLTART
, then thirty-eight, tall, slender, sandy-haired, and articulate, seems at first glance the embodiment of Bulawayo’s colonial British heritage, but he is in fact Zimbabwe’s most prominent human rights lawyer, a specialty that, under the oppressive regime of Robert Mugabe, has kept him in constant demand. He has often aroused the ire of the dictator. In a 1999 speech defending his government’s imprisonment and torture of two journalists, Mugabe cited Coltart by name as “bent on ruining the national unity.”

Ironically, Coltart first gained prominence as a civil rights lawyer representing dissident politicians who were being harassed in the early years of Zimbabwean independence, many of them now prominent government officials. He founded Zimbabwe’s leading human rights organization, the Bulawayo Legal Projects Center, and his dedication to constitutional government, the rule of law, and the rights of the poor and powerless have earned him a wide following and the admiration of many white and black Zimbabweans. He is easily the best-known lawyer in Bulawayo, and he also attends the Presbyterian church.