Blind Eye: The Terrifying Story of a Doctor Who Got Away With Murder (38 page)

HARARE
—The Ministry of Health and Child Welfare is investigating an American expatriate doctor for allegedly fatally injecting five patients at a district hospital in the Midlands province.

Dispelling fears that the expatriate doctor was now operating at Mpilo Central Hospital in Bulawayo, the Minister of Health and Child Welfare, Dr. Timothy Stamps, said the doctor had since been dismissed.

He said the doctor only worked for a week at Mpilo where, due to an acute shortage of medical practitioners, he had been employed after being dismissed by the ministry in October last year.

The American doctor has been accused of deliberately
and unlawfully experimenting with patients at Mnene District Hospital in Mberengwa, by injecting them with unknown chemical substances which allegedly led to the death of five patients at the hospital.

The article was much more extensive and accurate than the brief January account in the same newspaper; it alleged that the doctor had “sneaked into patients’ wards at night,” that “nurses actually saw him give the injections,” and that a “cocktail of drugs” was discovered by police at the doctor’s house in Mnene. Still, the article did not name the doctor.

Dongozi was upset that the
Chronicle
’s sister publication had beaten him to the story. “We’ve been scooped,” his editor complained.

CHAPTER
TWELVE

L
YNETTE
O’H
ARE
excused herself from the guests at her champagne brunch to answer the phone. Born in British Burma, O’Hare had moved to Rhodesia as a child. Tall, with erect posture, she had a dignified manner, impeccable manners, and an accent that all spoke of her colonial British background and her training at the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art. She’d had the servants get out her best crystal and silver for the occasion, a farewell party for her daughter, Paulette, who, at age twenty-seven, was leaving home and, like many other white Zimbabweans in recent years, moving to England.

“Paulette,” O’Hare called, “it’s for you.”

Despite the festive trappings that morning in late March 1996, O’Hare was depressed that her only daughter was moving so far away. Her husband had died in 1990, and his hunting trophies, including the head of a water buffalo, hung on the walls. She’d become a certified public accountant—though her real loves were drama and speech—and she had taken a job at National Foods to support herself and their daughter. Now that Paulette was leaving, O’Hare would be left without close relatives in Bulawayo.

Not that she was likely be alone with time on her hands. She had two servants, Mary Chimwe and Elizabeth Keredo, who lived in a cottage next to the swimming pool and were in the house most of the day, as well as a gardener who maintained the collection of flowering vines and plants in the walled gardens that surrounded her spacious house in Malindela, an attractive suburb just south of the Bulawayo Golf Club. O’Hare not only had her job, but was prominent
in Bulawayo’s influential Rotary Club and the Presbyterian church (though she was contemplating conversion to Catholicism). She also gave private voice lessons. Still, she’d miss Paulette and her youthful circle of friends, who so often enlivened gatherings at the house.

When Paulette returned from taking the call, she seemed delighted. “It’s an American chap I know from Bible study,” she told her mother. “Why don’t you take him in?” Indeed, every Tuesday evening the Bible group joined hands to pray for one cause or another, and just the week before, Paulette had asked everyone to pray “that someone nice would come to live with Mum.” Paulette had pretty much convinced her mother that the solution to her anticipated loneliness was to find a suitable lodger, and now a possibility had presented itself.

The gardener admitted Michael Swango through the front gates a few days later, on March 31, 1996, and O’Hare met him at the door. She noticed a tic, or squint, that seemed to affect his right eye. She looked around to see what kind of car he drove, but there was none in sight. He introduced himself as Michael Swan.

O’Hare invited him into the parlor, where the two sat down and Keredo served them tea. O’Hare was immediately reassured when “Swan” told her he was a doctor, a profession that was not only eminently respectable but would assure her of steady rental payments. He said he had been working at Mpilo Hospital, and had come from America to help “uplift” the Africans, “to do his part for humanity.” She asked him his age, and he teasingly replied, “How old do you think I am?”

“Thirty-five,” O’Hare guessed.

“Oh no,” he answered, in mock indignation. “I’m twenty-seven.”

“That’s Paulette’s age,” O’Hare exclaimed, delighted that she would have someone her daughter’s age around the house.

It seemed that in no time “Swan” had ferreted out O’Hare’s interest in military history, something that even some of her friends in Bulawayo didn’t know about. He told her his father had had a military career, and then mentioned several books in the field he’d read. O’Hare was captivated. She proudly showed him her own extensive library, each book carefully shelved and catalogued. He exclaimed
over her works of English literature, and told her that he loved everything English. That, too, delighted O’Hare, an unabashed Anglophile.

Terms of Swango’s lodging were quickly reached. O’Hare would provide a room, breakfast, and lunch. Lizzie Keredo and Mary Chimwe would clean, provide linens, do the laundry, and cook for him. In return, he would pay Z$800 per month. He would also be responsible for buying his own meat for the evening meal. O’Hare gave him a choice of bedrooms, and he picked the one that had been Paulette’s, at the rear of the house. O’Hare found him charming, delightful, articulate, and well-read. She could hardly believe her good fortune. It seemed that Paulette’s prayers had indeed been answered.

Swango arrived the next day with two metal trunks, a large duffel bag, and a backpack. Keredo and Chimwe had moved Paulette’s furniture out of the room Swango had chosen, but now he changed his mind, saying he preferred the room at the front of the house, directly adjacent to O’Hare’s corner bedroom. The two women were annoyed, because they had to shift the heavy furniture again and Swango neither offered to help nor even thanked them when they had finished. Indeed, O’Hare’s servants took an almost instant dislike to Swango, a feeling that hardened as he proceeded to give them orders, act rude and unfriendly, and never express any appreciation for their efforts.

But none of this was apparent to O’Hare, who was so pleased with her new lodger that she began inviting him to share dinner with her. They would discuss books—both turned out to be avid fans of political novelist Allen Drury, author of
Advise and Consent
—and current events, which they would typically discuss after watching the evening news while sipping a cocktail, often prepared by Swango. One evening Swango brought LeeAnne to the house, introducing her to O’Hare as his girlfriend. O’Hare found LeeAnne attractive and pleasant, though obviously lonely, because of her failed marriage.

O’Hare did notice, however, that Swango never seemed to be at work at the hospital, or anywhere else for that matter. Keredo and Chimwe reported that he spent most of his days in the house.

“Are you taking a leave?” she asked one evening.

“No,” he replied. “I’m waiting for my work permit to come through.”

This sounded plausible to O’Hare, who like many white Zimbabweans had been appalled by the decline in administrative efficiency since independence. She gave the matter little further thought, assuming the permit would arrive in due course. She hadn’t noticed the article in the
Sunday News
, which appeared the same day as the brunch.

Another reason that Swango was at home so often was that LeeAnne had curtailed their visits and outings. Her husband was coming from South Africa to visit the children, and she said she thought it best if Swango wasn’t around when he arrived. When he told Lorimer this news, Swango seemed incredulous. He couldn’t believe that LeeAnne would banish him in favor of her husband, who’d been so abusive to her. Though he was upset, he remained confident that LeeAnne would come to her senses (as he saw it) and resume their relationship as soon as the husband left. But during the visit, LeeAnne phoned to tell Swango that she and her husband might reconcile, as her parents hoped they would do. Although she didn’t mention it, it is also possible that she or her parents had seen the
Sunday News
article and connected it to Swango. Whatever the cause, she said she couldn’t see Swango again, and broke off the relationship.

When O’Hare saw Swango that evening, he was ashen and shaken. He could talk of nothing but LeeAnne, and seemed desperate. He even asked O’Hare to phone LeeAnne to tell her she “was doing the wrong thing.” But O’Hare demurred, feeling it would be pointless to get in the middle of what was obviously a tangled domestic situation. Besides, she didn’t even know LeeAnne, having met her on only the one occasion. Swango seemed bitterly disappointed, as though O’Hare had let him down, and retreated to his room.

There he remained for eight days. He stopped shaving and looked increasingly gaunt and haggard. His curtains were drawn. He refused to emerge for meals, demanding that one of the servants bring them to him on a tray. When they knocked on his door, he opened it only slightly before wordlessly taking the tray and slamming the door shut. He refused to allow Keredo and Chimwe to
clean the room, answering their knocks with a surly “Who is it?” and “What do you want?” Finally he told them, “Don’t worry about me. I’m only worried about my girlfriend.” If he encountered O’Hare when he emerged to use the bathroom, he’d immediately retreat, or rush to the bathroom and close the door. When O’Hare’s nephew, Duncan, visited from South Africa, she insisted that Swango come out to meet him. He did so briefly, seemed hostile, and immediately returned to his room. When the Kerrs, other friends whom she wanted Swango to meet, came for drinks, Swango refused to greet them.

O’Hare was so worried about Swango that when she had to leave for a visit to South Africa, she feared he might attempt suicide. She called a local organization, the Samaritans, spoke to a psychologist named “Dave,” and asked him to phone Swango in her absence.

But Lizzie Keredo took a more wary view of Swango. She told O’Hare that she was growing frightened of him and that he had treated her and Mary Chimwe rudely. Once he threw a tantrum, saying he didn’t like the smell of floor polish. He continued to lock the two women out of his room so they couldn’t clean, asking “Why are you so curious? What do you want to see?” Swango insisted on the same breakfast every morning: two fried eggs, four slices of toast, and a full kilogram of fried bacon. He was furious if he was served less than a kilogram of bacon, which Keredo thought was an exorbitant and costly amount. He also ran up electricity bills, always using a space heater while he bathed and frequently using it in his bedroom as well. (Few homes in Bulawayo have central heating.) When O’Hare complained about the high electricity bills, Swango denied using the heater. Keredo and Chimwe were too frightened to contradict him, though they knew he was lying. Even more ominous, Lizzie had recently mentioned to her boyfriend that they were living with an American doctor, and the boyfriend had asked, “Is he the one who killed people at Mnene?” Shocked, she replied that no, he worked at Mpilo. But the question had made her wonder.

When Keredo mentioned this to her employer, it reminded O’Hare of the brief article about an unnamed American expatriate doctor who was “experimenting” on patients. O’Hare had noticed the original, January article, but had given it little thought since
then. Now it dawned on her that she was living with a white expatriate doctor who had worked at Mnene, and how many others fitting the description were there likely to be? “I think he’s the doctor from Mnene Mission Hospital,” Lizzie Keredo told her.

Somewhat alarmed, O’Hare got on the phone to Ian Lorimer, whom she knew from church and as a friend of Paulette’s. She also knew that Swango and LeeAnne had been socializing with Lorimer and his wife. “Ian,” she began, “[Swango] is behaving very peculiarly.” She explained that he’d been virtually locked in his room since breaking up with LeeAnne. Then she mentioned the article in the newspaper. “Is he this expatriate?”

“He is,” Lorimer confirmed, but then he quickly reassured O’Hare. “It’s all a put-up job.” He explained that the nurses at Mnene, evidently jealous of Swango’s authority, had been spreading false rumors that he was killing patients. This struck a chord with O’Hare, who is of the belief that, as she put it, “jealousy is part of the African nature. One has to be very careful.” She had read of a recent episode in Harare in which a white anesthetist had been accused of experimenting on patients; the case was widely viewed as one of discrimination against white doctors. But what clinched the matter for O’Hare was that Lorimer told her that David Coltart was representing Swango, and that he was suing Mnene Hospital. O’Hare thought the world of Coltart. It was inconceivable he’d represent someone unless he had a good case. Now she assumed that she knew why the newspaper hadn’t printed Swango’s name: it wouldn’t dare to if he was represented by Coltart.

Immensely relieved, O’Hare nonetheless took advantage of the conversation to get a message to Swango through Lorimer. “He’s upsetting my domestics,” she said. “I wish you’d say something to him.”

The next day, having spoken to Lorimer, Swango emerged from his isolation to join O’Hare at breakfast. He had showered and shaved. “I understand you’re worried,” he said reassuringly. When she explained that she was indeed upset by his recent isolation and state of mind, and then had read the newspaper article, he offered much the same explanation that Lorimer had. The nurses at Mnene had grown jealous, he said. That same morning, he apologized to Lizzie Keredo and Mary Chimwe. O’Hare felt her heart go out to
this poor, young, idealistic doctor who was being persecuted, and she chastised Keredo for her dark suspicions. “If you were educated,” O’Hare told her dismissively, “you would understand.”