Blind Eye: The Terrifying Story of a Doctor Who Got Away With Murder (41 page)

In the wake of the incident, O’Hare terminated Swango’s car privileges, a decision he greeted with what she considered a cold, hostile stare.

Then a fax arrived for Swango from a medical school in Pretoria, South Africa, which O’Hare retrieved from the machine. “Because you are forty-two, we cannot accept you for the course,” the letter began. It was addressed to Michael Swango, not “Swan,” the name by which O’Hare knew him. O’Hare was startled. He had told her he was twenty-seven, her daughter’s age. That evening she asked him about his name and age. Without any hesitation, he explained that Swango was pronounced “Swan” in America to avoid ethnic prejudice. (Swango is an Anglicized name of Swedish origin, according to family members.) As for his age, the school must have misread his résumé. “The ’68 in my birthdate looks like ’53,” he said. That all sounded plausible when he said it, but the more she thought about it, the less sense it made. When she mentioned the discrepancies to Keredo, the maid again led O’Hare into Swango’s room, where she opened the cupboard and showed her Swango’s Zimbabwe work permit. The birthdate on it was not 1968. It was 1954. He was actually forty-one.

O’Hare wondered if Swango’s strange symptoms might indicate post-traumatic stress disorder. Was he perhaps a Vietnam War veteran? She decided to phone his former girlfriend, whom she still knew only as LeeAnne. She’d wondered at the time why she’d broken off the relationship, and thought the reason might shed some light on the recent strange events. She retrieved LeeAnne’s phone number, which she’d saved from the time Swango had asked her to call and tell LeeAnne she was making a mistake in breaking off with Swango.

O’Hare told LeeAnne that she was Swango’s landlady and reminded her that they had met when Swango brought her to the house, adding, “I know you’ve broken up.” She didn’t want to sound alarmist, so O’Hare said only that she’d begun to feel “uneasy” about Swango. “Were you uneasy as well?”

“I can’t say,” LeeAnne replied.

“Is he possibly older than he claims?” O’Hare continued.

Not that she knew of, LeeAnne said. “I saw a document, a driver’s permit, that said he was twenty-eight.”

But LeeAnne hardly seemed talkative or forthcoming, so O’Hare got directly to what was really worrying her. “Do you think I’m in any danger? Am I quite safe with him in the house?”

“I don’t want to answer,” LeeAnne replied, which was hardly reassuring.

“Why not?”

LeeAnne hesitated, as if she might say more. But then she said, “You know what he’s accused of,” and hung up.

O’Hare suddenly felt weak and lightheaded. There must be something to the Mnene charges after all. She had to find a way to get Swango out of the house without alarming or angering him. She immediately called her cousin in South Africa.

“I’m scared,” she said. “I want to get rid of him.” She and her cousin worked out a scheme in which the cousin would send a fax to the effect that her son would be teaching at the university in Bulawayo and would need a place to live, both a bedroom and an office. The fax arrived. O’Hare took it and nervously presented it to Swango when he returned that evening. She said that under the circumstances, she’d have to give him two weeks’ notice.

“Fine,” he said. “I’m running out of money anyway. I don’t know how much longer I can afford the rent.” He even mentioned that he might leave for work in Zambia, which lies north of Zimbabwe. O’Hare was immensely relieved that he had taken the news so calmly and didn’t ask any questions about her flimsy cover story.

The next day, Thursday, August 8, 1996, when O’Hare returned from work, Keredo met her at the gate. “Mike has done something,” she said breathlessly. “He’s too happy. He’s been singing, and playing your CD player.” This annoyed O’Hare, because Swango had been expressly asked not to use the CD player.

When she entered the house, tapes and CDs were strewn about the lounge. She knocked on Swango’s door. “Mike, I believe you’ve been playing my CD,” she said when he opened it. “You know that’s my private property.”

“Since when?” he replied, and slammed the door.

O’Hare immediately phoned her lawyer and told him everything—the Mnene allegations, the bizarre behavior, the missing money, and the unauthorized use of her tapes and CDs. “Get him out today,” her lawyer said. “I’ll come out to help.”

She went back to Swango’s room and knocked again. This time she said, “Mike, I want you to leave tonight.”

He seemed resigned to her decision. It looked as though he
had already cleaned out his room. “I suppose you’ll refund the rent money,” he said curtly, and she wrote him a check for the balance.

Then she told him she was changing the locks and hiring a security guard.

“Do whatever you want,” he said.

When he later emerged from the room, carrying his bags, a neighbor had arrived. O’Hare hoped there wouldn’t be a scene. But to her surprise, he now seemed as charming as ever. He smiled and shook O’Hare’s hand, bidding her farewell.

“I hope you’re not going to talk about me,” he said. “And then I won’t talk about you.”

“What do you mean by that?” O’Hare asked indignantly. “What could you possibly say?”

“That you’ve gone raving mad.”

With that he left, slamming the door behind him.

The next morning, O’Hare discovered what had evidently put Swango in such a good mood the previous day. She tried to start her car, but the motor quickly sputtered and died. She tried several times, but the car wouldn’t start. On Sunday, she had the car towed to a service station. It didn’t take long to diagnose the problem. “Your tank is full of sugar,” the mechanic said.

Furious, O’Hare went directly to the police, accusing Swango of sabotaging her car.

O
N
August 9, the day after Swango left O’Hare’s place, Joanna Daly drove him to Gweru for a hearing in his lawsuit against the Lutheran church. Since the day before, he’d seemed on edge. He was especially worried that reporters might hound him at the hearing, and he told Joanna that under no circumstances did he want to talk to the press. Nor did he want Joanna to witness the proceedings. He told her to wait in the car.

David Coltart and his firm continued to represent Swango, not only in the suit against the church, but in the administrative proceedings that had begun in Harare to suspend his license to practice medicine. But Coltart’s enthusiasm for Swango had begun to cool. Judith Todd, his fellow civil rights lawyer, had mentioned at church that O’Hare was “unhappy” with Swango. Though she hadn’t been able to provide any details, this had caused Coltart some concern,
since he respected O’Hare. Partly because of growing doubts about Swango, he sent an associate to handle the hearing, which was held at the Midlands Labour Relations Office before an administrative officer.

The lawyers expected the church to reveal the evidence it had regarding Swango’s involvement in the mysterious deaths at Mnene, which might also shed some light on where the criminal investigation was headed. But any concern Swango might have felt about this possibility quickly evaporated. In keeping with its strategy of attracting as little attention as possible to the Mnene deaths, the church surprised Swango’s lawyers by relying entirely on a technical procedural defense. It argued that it couldn’t be sued for wrongfully dismissing Swango, since he was actually employed by the Ministry of Health, which paid his salary. Thus the church lawyers sidestepped the actual cause of Swango’s dismissal.

While no ruling was made, Swango was elated. There had been no reporters at the proceeding, and no mention of his alleged crimes. The hearing officer had given the church’s argument short shrift, even noting in passing that six other labor complaints against the church were pending from Mnene. Joanna now felt justified in her belief that Swango had been unjustly dismissed.

But Swango’s euphoria proved short-lived. Several days later, Joanna answered the phone, then called to Swango and said the police wanted to speak to him. He turned pale and told her to say he was out. The police called several more times, and each time she said Swango wasn’t there. Finally he called the police and asked what they wanted. They were vague, saying they wanted to interview him in person. He agreed to appear at the police station on August 28.

In the next few days Swango seemed increasingly on edge. His squint and eye twitch became more pronounced. The
Chronicle
had reported on July 28 that “investigations [at Mnene] were at an advanced stage and officers would be questioning the last group of people soon.” Soon after the calls from the police, Swango told Joanna that he thought he might take a vacation. He felt he needed to get away after the stress of the court hearing, and said he’d like to visit the national park at Nyanga, a wild, mountainous region on Zimbabwe’s northeast border with Mozambique, where he said he had friends. Numerous hiking trails cross the border in the wilderness
area, and many local people walk across the border without observing any immigration or customs formalities.

Joanna had mixed feelings about Swango’s impending departure. She thought it a bit abrupt. After leaving O’Hare’s, Swango had agreed to house-sit for a family he knew from church, and several weeks remained before their return. He asked Joanna if she’d check the house every day while he was gone. Though she agreed, it was an unwelcome addition to her daily chores. He also hadn’t asked her to accompany him on his vacation, and although she probably couldn’t have left the children in any event, the omission had hurt her feelings. Moreover, she was growing a little tired of having him around the house all day, of having to cook for him, talk with him, follow his directions; of being constantly fearful that she might be violating his privacy. And he had never taken her to dinner, paid for a movie, or given her a present.

Swango also wrote to Coltart to tell him of his plans. He said that he’d been contacted by the police, and “an officer wanted to speak to me. He agreed to delay my coming in until August 28. I have a strong suspicion” as to what this was about, the letter continued, but “I will be gone for a few days,” and would be “back on the 28th.”

He sent two cards to the Lorimers, one wishing Ian good luck on some upcoming medical exams, another wishing Cheryl a happy birthday on August 27. He took two trunks and dropped them off at the Mirtles’ house, asking Cheryl’s parents if they’d mind keeping them for him until he returned and found another place to live.

On August 14 Joanna drove Swango to the Blue Arrow bus terminal in downtown Bulawayo. Blue Arrow operates long-distance buses to major cities in Zimbabwe, South Africa, and neighboring countries. He had packed carefully, leaving one box of belongings with her, carrying only his duffel bag and backpack. He told her he would be gone for two weeks.

He kissed her, asked her to collect any mail for him, said he would be in touch with her, and vanished into the bus station.

A
UGUST
28 came and went. Swango did not keep his appointment at the police station. Joanna began to worry when he didn’t return.
She told the police he was with friends in Nyanga, but he had never told her their names, and she had no way to reach him. It dawned on her that he was gone, and that she’d never see him again.

When Swango didn’t show up for his police interview and Coltart hadn’t heard from him, his misgivings increased. He phoned the U.S. Embassy in Harare to ask about Swango, and was stunned by what he was told: Swango was wanted for murder in the U.S.
¹⁴

Ironically, Coltart won the Lutheran church case for Swango. In early October, the labor relations hearing officer ruled that Swango had indeed been wrongfully discharged by the Lutheran church, and awarded him Z$35,000 in damages. The award wasn’t collected, nor were Coltart’s bills paid.

After several weeks, Joanna tore up the mail she was keeping for Swango and went through the box of things he’d left behind. She found only two things of interest. One was a bottle of blond hair dye. She was surprised that he had evidently been dying his hair. The other was a supply of Ant-Kil, a brand of ant poison. How odd, she thought. Why would Swango have a supply of ant killer? She put the Ant-Kil with her household supplies and threw everything else away.

E
VEN
after the sugar was removed from the gas tank, O’Hare’s car continued to have problems. No one seemed able to locate the trouble. Finally a mechanic discovered crystallized sugar in the carburetor.

O’Hare’s health problems persisted. In addition to the occasional nausea and headaches, she felt weak, and had a nagging cough, which a doctor thought was chronic bronchitis. She mentioned her symptoms one day to Mike Cotton, one of the doctors who had worked with Swango at Mpilo. Cotton told her he thought she should have a hair sample tested. “Why?” she asked. He explained that given her symptoms—recurrent bronchitis is a side effect of arsenic poisoning—and the nature of the accusations against Swango, he thought it would be a good idea. O’Hare was shocked.

“Surely he didn’t do anything to me,” she insisted, but she agreed to the test. The hair sample was sent to a laboratory in South Africa, which found a concentration of arsenic that was more than twelve times the norm. O’Hare had to go on long-term disability from her job.

The Lorimers and the Mirtles heard of O’Hare’s plight, and also learned that books and other objects had disappeared from her house. Ted Mirtle called her and mentioned the trunks Swango had left with them, saying he would bring them over to her house. Perhaps her missing items might be found there.

O’Hare opened the trunks and went through Swango’s belongings. She was shocked by what she discovered. There were about ten hospital gowns from Mpilo, all of them rank and filthy. There were a kidney-shaped hospital dish and a used syringe. There were numerous newspaper clippings about the O. J. Simpson murder case and the Christie serial killings in Britain. There was a cardboard hospital form with a list of names written on it. O’Hare noticed the name “Edith,” which she recognized from newspaper accounts as one of Swango’s alleged victims. There were some Mensa puzzle books. There were books about murder and the supernatural. In one book Swango had underlined a sentence, “The British are arrogant.” Swango had written “Yes!” in the margin, which O’Hare took as a personal affront. And there were books, including the anthologies
High Risk
and
High Risk 2: Writings on Sex, Death, and Subversion.
Glancing at some of the pages made O’Hare feel faint. Several passages were highlighted in yellow marker. They were violent, scatological sexual descriptions that O’Hare found revolting. But most upsetting to O’Hare was makeup that had belonged to her daughter, Paulette, as well as a pair of Paulette’s panties.