(2012) Political Suicide

by Michael Palmer

  “Dr. Welcome, welcome back,” Bryzinski said, his expression suggesting he took some pleasure in the double use of Lou’s last name. “What can I do for you now?”

  Sarah introduced herself and shook hands with the man. “Thanks for making time for us,” she said.

  “Hey, no problem. No problem.” Bryzinski replied, giving Sarah the once-over. “It just can’t be long, though. We’re swamped today. Four accidents and one homicide.”

  “Detective, could we speak in your office?” Sarah asked. “These matters are sensitive, and I’d prefer a more private area in which to discuss them.”

  Bryzinski grunted a reluctant concession and asked the desk officer to buzz them through the next door. Then he led them down the corridor to his office. The policeman’s desk was, if anything, even messier than when Lou had been there. He suppressed a grin, watching Sarah’s distaste as she breathed in the fetid air and surveyed the cluttered landscape. They remained standing while Bryzinski took a call and quickly dealt with whatever it was.

  “So?” he asked, not inviting them to sit down or bothering to do so himself.

  “We won’t take up much of your time,” Lou said. “Attorney Cooper just wanted to talk with you about the CD I dropped off yesterday.”

  “In the interest of discovery,” Sarah added, “I’d like to make sure to give a copy to the district attorney’s office as well. Have you listened to it yet?”

  “Actually, no. It’s been really crazy here since the congressman’s murder. Tips keep coming in. Despite the fact that we are confident we have our man, we still have to—”

  “Could I see it, please?” Sarah asked.

  “Detective Cartwright’s in charge of managing everything that comes in on this case. By the time we’ve had the chance to follow every one of them up, there’ll be buds on the trees and flowers in the garden.”

  “I certainly hope not,” Sarah said. “My client, Dr. McHugh, is in jail, and we’re counting on you and those tips to help us get him out.”

  Bryzinski mumbled something that sounded like fat chance, and unclipped the radio from his belt.

  “Hey, Mike,” he said, “it’s me. What’d you do with that disc?”

  Crackle and static spit back, making it hard to hear all the words, but Lou picked out the two most important ones: what and disc.

  Bryzinski pushed the Talk button on his radio. “The one in the brown cardboard jacket,” he said.

  More static.

  Lou heard Cartwright clearly say, “Hang on.”

  “Hang on,” Bryzinski interpreted for Lou and Sarah.

  The static and crackle returned. Lou wondered if there was a special button on the detective’s radio to make it that way.

  “It’s not there,” Cartwright said.

  “What do you mean, it’s not there?”

  “Not … in … pile,” were the three audible words this time.

  “All right. Keep looking,” Bryzinski said. “When you find it, bring it back here and leave it on my desk.” After some difficulty managing the truck tire above his belt, he replaced the radio. “Cartwright’s having trouble locating it,” he said. “That happens sometimes. But it’s there. I promise you. Nothing to worry about.”

  Lou turned to Sarah, who looked as unfazed as she had while staring out the windshield from the passenger seat of his car.

  “I don’t understand,” Lou said, his voice up half an octave. “I dropped it off just yesterday morning.”

  Lou felt Sarah squeeze his wrist. Cool it, was the message.

  Bryzinski did not back down. “Sorry, Doctor. If I wasn’t so damn busy, and I had more time, I would go down to Cartwright’s office and find it myself. I did sign for it, didn’t I?”

  “I don’t think so,” Lou said, feeling his cheeks flush.

  “No big deal. Listen, tomorrow, if things slow down, I’ll have it for you.” He turned to Sarah. “I told the doc, here, my department had too many tips to follow up on for him to be rushing us. We process these things as they come in. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am falling farther behind by the second.”

  Lou was about to say something when Sarah’s grip around his wrist tightened even more.

  “Thanks for your time, Detective,” she said. “Here’s my card. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

  “My pleasure,” Bryzinski replied, sliding the card into his pocket without even glancing at it. He then escorted them back to the waiting area for a perfunctory good-bye.

  In the parking lot, Lou waited for Sarah to erupt.

  Silence.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” he said finally, quickening his steps to catch up to her. “But I still believe it’s going to turn up, and I do have the copy. These are cops, not criminals.”

  Sarah stopped, spun around on one foot like a ballet dancer, and stared Lou down. “Do you have time to get that CD for me?”

  Lou flashed longingly on his bed and considered asking if she had ever worked an all-night shift in a busy ER.

  Instead, he nodded. “I’ll drop you off and then take the disc to your office.”

  “If it’s not too much trouble, could you drive me by your place? I want to get it right now.”

  The subtext of her request was obvious: I don’t trust you.

  “No problem,” Lou said.

  Sarah pulled her coat around her and took her place on the passenger seat of the Toyota. “And no more grandstanding,” she felt the need to add. “We get this done, and you back off and let us handle things from here.”

  Lou began his breathing mantra, and finally climbed behind the wheel. “I’ve only been doing what I felt was right to help an old friend,” he said.

  “You are too much. Never budge an inch. Is that something from the Hippocratic oath?”

  “I won’t cause you any trouble.”

  “Hope that you don’t,” Sarah said, her eyes flashing.

  For a time, they drove on in silence.

  “So, tell me,” Lou asked finally, “do you think Wyatt Brody’s the one?”

  “Let me hear what’s on that CD before I decide anything. What I really want to know at this point, is what Spencer Hogarth has to do with Detective Chris Bryzinski?”

  “Hogarth, the secretary of defense?”

  “Bryzinski had what looked like a to-do list on top of that pigsty of a desk of his. Tops on that list was to update ‘S. Hogarth.’ There was a number there, but I couldn’t make it out.”

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” Lou said.

  Spencer Hogarth, the controversial, polarizing secretary of defense, had a love–hate relationship with the media, Congress, and the public. Many viewed the former secretary of the Navy’s politics as a throwback to the days when America answered the world’s most pressing challenges with firepower rather than diplomacy. To some, he was an incendiary with a frighteningly short fuse. To others, he was a crusader standing firm against terrorism in any and every form. For years, his prime adversary on Capitol Hill had been one Elias Colston.

  “Could it be another Hogarth?” Lou wondered out loud.

  “Correction, another S. Hogarth. I suppose anything’s possible. But Hogarth and Colston were rivals over some pretty important stuff, and now a note to update him shows up on the desk of the cop who’s investigating Colston’s murder. Coincidence?”

  “I think not,” Lou said in perfect unison with her.

  They laughed, and for the first time, Sarah’s expression softened. “You know,” she said, “it’s hard for me to believe, but it appears you might actually have a sweet side to you. Sweet and idealistic. I’ll bet you’re even a half-decent doctor.”

  Lou glanced over at her, but aside from her words, there were no giveaways. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ve been thinking the same about you. You know, I always thought of Hogarth as being tough, but never dirty. Maybe he’s just anxious to keep on top of the case because of the history he and Colston had.”

  “I wish I could believe that everyone wanted to
play by the same rules you want to play by, Lou. Your naïvete, at least until it wears thin, is sort of endearing.”

  “Bryzinski will turn up that disc,” Lou averred.

  Sarah’s expression was strained. “Dr. Welcome,” she said, “I don’t know if I believe in global warming, UFOs, or Bigfoot, but I am a thousand percent sure of one thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Detective Christopher Bryzinski is up to something.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Lou could tell much about a person from their reaction to his neighborhood. The less they shrank at the sight of graffiti, boarded-up windows, and loitering bands of kids, the more likely it was that Lou would get along with them. Surprisingly, Sarah seemed completely at ease, if not indifferent, to Lou’s street. Perhaps they were destined to overcome their differences after all. Either that, or she was too absorbed in getting her hands on the copy of the Colston CD to notice the surroundings.

  Lou parallel parked his car directly in front of Dimitri’s Pizza, which occupied the entire lower level of his building and featured, he would tell anyone who would listen, the tastiest, most lovingly prepared pies and calzones in the city. The aroma wafting out from the shop said the ovens were already in action. As usual when he arrived home to that distinctive bouquet, Lou began fantasizing about a large vegetarian—his and Emily’s favorite.

  “I’ll wait here,” Sarah said.

  “It’s fine for you to come up. You can meet Diversity, our cat.”

  “Our?”

  “Mine and my daughter Emily’s. She lives in Arlington, but spends a lot of time here. She and I train at the Stick and Move boxing gym across the street.”

  “Sounds like my kind of gal. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but most of the doctors I deal with live in places, well, more like Dr. McHugh’s.”

  “No offense taken. Living here helps keep me right-sized. Emily, too. The place and what’s left over after every month’s rent payment helps fill in a hole I once dug for myself.”

  “I think I know something about that. And you both feel safe here?”

  “This is a great neighborhood with terrific people. We’re careful enough not to leave our doors unlocked, but that’s about it. My ex wishes I would move out to the burbs, but I feel perfectly safe. Time for coffee?”

  Sarah climbed out of the car, checked her watch, and frowned. “Thanks, but I’ve got to hurry, actually. I have back-to-back meetings that will take the rest of the day.”

  Lou picked up his mail in the dimly lit foyer and led Sarah up one flight. The first few steps, he found himself hoping that Tiny Booker and his cronies could provide the promised protective services for Gary. The last few, he was focused on Sarah, trying to get a read on why she was still so distant, and hoping that once she had the copy of the CD he had made for her, things between them would lighten up.

  Then he saw that his apartment door was slightly ajar.

  We’re careful not to leave our doors unlocked, but that’s about it.

  Instantly, he was on red alert, every fiber tense. He turned, held a finger to his lips, and motioned toward the door. Then he slipped his parka off and dropped it silently to the floor. His senses were crackling like a defective jumper cable as he mentally retraced his steps when he left for the hospital last evening.

  We’re careful not to leave our doors unlocked.…

  This was not carelessness on his part. He was sure of it. Something was wrong—very wrong.

  “Go back outside and call 911, Sarah,” he whispered. “Four fifty Clinton Street.”

  “Is there a rear entrance?”

  “Yes, but I keep it double bolted.”

  They listened.

  “I don’t think anyone’s in there.”

  “Please go down and make the call.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Damn lawyer! he wanted to scream. This is no time to be standing here taking a deposition.

  “I’m going in,” he said.

  “Wait until I get back up here.”

  Damn it, just go!

  “All right, but hurry.”

  As Sarah headed softly down the stairs, cell phone in hand, Lou debated crashing into the apartment. If he did, what little ground he had gained with the woman would certainly be lost. In fact, if this open door had anything to do with the disc he had hidden in his bureau drawer, the ground was lost already.

  He knelt and made a careful study of the locking mechanism and the door itself. There were scuff marks along the base of the door that he had a hard time believing were there before. Again, he held his breath and listened.

  Again, only silence.

  Where is she?

  His pulse hammering, Lou was about to ease into his apartment when Sarah opened the foyer door and started back up the stairs. Without waiting, he pushed against the door. The hinges creaked, as if reluctant to reveal what secret lay inside. Lou could feel Sarah behind him, her breathing rapid and uneven. Light spilled through the door and onto the landing. Lou was certain he had left the apartment dark except for a small lamp in the bedroom.

  This was going to be bad.

  The first sign of destruction, an overturned end table by the couch, was just the beginning. Lou pushed the door open more fully, swallowing back the bile that was percolating into his throat. He took one footstep inside and then another, now not only assessing the carnage, but also scanning the place for Diversity.

  In the kitchen, he slid a huge carving knife from his butcher block holder.

  “Don’t you want to wait for the police?” Sarah asked.

  Now who’s being naïve?

  “They don’t rush to these neighborhoods,” he replied. “Besides, I don’t think anyone’s here.”

  “Just the same, I would wait,” Sarah said. “Whoever did this might be in the back room, in a closet or something.”

  I hope they are, Lou thought, tightening his grip on the knife handle.

  He turned on the overhead light.

  The search, at least from what he could see in the kitchen and living room, was professionally thorough. The cushions of his couch had been slashed open, spilling out clumps of stuffing like the fatty tissue of a wound. Chairs were upended. End table drawers were pulled out, the contents tossed onto the floor. His laptop was gone. The kitchen was a total shambles. Cabinet drawers were pulled open and solid cat food, mixed in with shards of his dishes, littered the floor.

  The back door at the end of the hallway was closed, and he could see it was bolted. It looked as if the intruder had entered and exited through the front.

  Still tense and brandishing the knife, Lou approached his bedroom. As he stepped through the doorway, Diversity dashed out and across Sarah’s shoes.

  “Jesus!” she cried out, lurching back against the wall.

  “That’s Diversity.”

  “I know,” she said acidly, recovering her breath. “You told me in the car. Doctor, not that I don’t care about your cat, but where did you put the CD?”

  One look into his bedroom, and Lou knew they were in trouble. The room had been taken apart as meticulously as the others. His attention went immediately to his bureau, where the drawers had been pulled out and their contents dumped onto the floor. Sarah, arms folded, watched as he searched through the pile of his clothes.

  “It’s gone, isn’t it,” she said. “That’s what they were after.”

  Lou continued throwing aside clothing, but he knew the effort was fruitless.

  “It was hidden in that drawer under some papers. I … didn’t think anyone would do this. They took my computer, too.”

  Sarah didn’t bother to retort.

  “You tried,” she said finally. “Whoever did this knew exactly what they were after and how to find it. It would have been easier on you if you had just left it on the kitchen table.”

  “Feel free to say you told me so.”

  “Okay, I told you so.”

  “Now what?”

  Sti
ll holding the knife, he led Sarah to Emily’s room. There was not a thing out of place. Not a pillow, not a game, not a stuffed animal. The closet was similarly intact.

  “I guess that clinches what they were after,” Sarah said.

  Diversity had returned and now was doing a figure eight around their legs, purring loudly. Ignoring him, Lou left the room and buried the blade in the wall.

  “I feel so damn stupid,” he said.

  “I would say this wasn’t your best day. I’m sorry about your place.”

  “That’s just stuff. I can’t believe I did this to Gary.”

  “Well, we’ll do our best to fill in the pieces. Now we have two questions we need to answer: Who? And why?”

  “I’m really sorry,” Lou said.

  “I know you are.” In the distance, they heard the siren of an approaching police car. “No sense crying over spilt milk. You stay and take care of this business. I’ll take a cab back to the office.”

  CHAPTER 18

  It took most of two days for Lou to put his apartment back together—two days during which he had not heard a word from Sarah. No surprise. His next step would be to re-create as best he could the clandestinely recorded conversation between Elias Colston and the young marine named Hector. Not exactly evidence Gary’s attorney could use in court, but the closest he could come to another apology.

  First, though, it was Emily’s weekend. Lou watched from the kitchen as the teen made a curious check of the apartment. He had done a decent job putting things back together, and she never turned the sofa cushions over, so his hasty suturing job remained undiscovered. Crate & Barrel still carried white china, and a new Mac was no problem, especially since she had brought over her own laptop.

  Still, even though Emily’s room remained intact, she was stunningly intuitive, and Lou wondered if sooner or later he would have to go from omission to outright lying, a skill at which he was totally inept. For a time, he debated if he should even allow her to spend the weekend, but finally decided that whoever ransacked their home had left with what they came for and weren’t likely to return.

  Gradually, it began to feel as if his gambit had succeeded, and it was back to business as usual. Emily was alternating string games with Diversity with setting up a game of Monopoly on the alcove table. She and Lou had a movie lined up for the evening. But now their day would feature lunch with Lou’s father at the Wave Rider, virtually the only restaurant the three of them ever ate at together.