Political Suicide (12 page)

His punishment for the shoplifting gaffe was the payment of a month’s allowance to the proprietor of the store, and a two-page essay about why it was wrong to steal. He glanced over at the attorney he had wanted so much to impress, and wondered if he was going to get away that easy.

He slipped the car into the flow of traffic and headed west.

“Do you mind telling me what’s going on?” he asked finally. “Why the rush to go back to see Bryzinski?”

Sarah’s look held all the warmth of concrete. “Do you think you went into medicine because you were arrogant, or did you become arrogant because you became a doctor?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“All right, let me try this another way: Do you think it would be right for me to stroll into the emergency ward and start sewing up patients?”

Lou was about to go for a flip answer, but bit it back at the last instant. “No,” he said solemnly. “That wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“So, do you think the rules we have for handling evidence in legal cases is any less crucial and binding than the rules you have for treating patients?”

“I suppose not, but—”

“There is no ‘but.’ You may have messed up. You physicians screw up all the time because you just don’t listen. The rules to follow are there, starting with, Listen to the patient. But you decide when you’re going to pay attention to them and when you just don’t feel like it. Even if this Bryzinski has taken perfect care of that CD, the potential is there for disaster. Trouble at home, an alcohol problem, some sort of scary medical report from his doctor. He loses his concentration or isn’t paying attention to you in the first place, and all of a sudden, all your good intentions fly out the window. When your patients tell you something, do you listen?”

“Of course I listen.”

“And what about when I told you something back at Gary McHugh’s house. Did you listen?”

Lou could not understand why she was so upset. It wasn’t as if he were a naïve idiot. He had made a thorough, even brilliant, search and had turned up a CD that was going to help his friend and her client. Then he had made two copies of the CD, and took the original to the police. What was wrong about any of that?

She should have been ecstatic about the discovery. Perhaps her vitriol was nothing more than a stab of jealously at Lou having proved his worth to McHugh’s case in just a matter of days. He decided to push the envelope.

“Sarah, I found evidence that should at least infuse doubt into the case against Gary. I don’t see why you’re so upset.”

She sighed deeply while Lou weaved through the increasing volume of early afternoon traffic. “You just don’t understand how things work,” she said.

Lou wanted her to look at him. The angrier she got, the more he wanted to appease her. They should be forging an alliance—for Gary’s sake, they needed to be on the same team.

“Why don’t you explain to me how things work instead of getting so upset with me? I did try calling you.”

“But then you decided you could just handle things yourself. The old M. Deity.”

“What’s your deal?” Lou asked. “All that matters is the police have the evidence you’ll need to help Gary.”

Finally, Sarah turned to him. He immediately wished she hadn’t. “Do they?” she asked. “Just in case, did you make sure the copies you had made were flawless reproductions?”

“No, but—”

“And did Jeannine Colston see you find the CD?”

“She was sleeping off a migraine and asked me not to wake her unless I had to. I didn’t even know what was on the disc yet, and I felt she had done enough, spending so much time with me. She was really a mess.”

The Toyota picked up even more speed.

“So nobody knows that you found this evidence that will possibly help cast doubt on the guilt of Gary McHugh?”

“Well, Bryzinski does.”

“You told me he didn’t listen to the recording in front of you. Did Bryzinski know that nobody else had heard that recording?”

The speedometer’s needle inched ahead.

Lou nodded. “I understand what you’re getting at.”

“At last, light dawns. Doctor, this isn’t a child’s game. A man’s life is at stake here.”

Lou began to boil. “I think I appreciate what’s at risk.”

“Do you? You think this is just about evidence? A congressman has been murdered, Lou. Don’t you get it?”

Lou realized it was the first time she had called him by his given name.

“This is about sound bites and CNN and twenty-four-hour-a-day news coverage. It’s about getting somebody fingered for the crime, winning in the court of public opinion, and lastly putting the so-called scumbag who the DA says did it away for life. It’s about elections and promotions, and that has nothing—
and I do mean nothing
—to do with evidence.

“Who looks bad if Gary McHugh isn’t the killer? Who looks bad if your tip capsizes somebody’s boat—someone with a lot more power and influence than you and I have, someone who doesn’t want the public to think that an investigation into a congressman’s murder was shoddily handled? Whose ass is in a sling when the media starts reporting that the Keystone Kops bungled yet another high-profile investigation? I’m not talking evidence. I’m talking the facts of life in the law—real and often very ugly facts.”

Lou glanced down at the speedometer and saw that he was now traveling eighty in a fifty. “We’ll be there soon,” he said.

CHAPTER 16

The remainder of the ride to the state police barracks in College Park was made in absolute silence.

Breathe in … breathe out …

Lou used the mantra to keep focused on the speed limit and on the likelihood that in a short while, there would be no further tension between him and Sarah Cooper. The detective in charge of the Colston murder would produce the CD, and Gary McHugh would no longer be the only suspect. Case closed—or, more to the point, just beginning.

Sarah Cooper had an edge like honed steel. It was humbling and not a little embarrassing to be spoken to the way she had spoken to him, but he could see her point. His enthusiasm and, yes, maybe his arrogance had overwhelmed his objectivity. And for whatever reason, Sarah was disinclined to cut him any slack at all.

The flag outside the low brick building was still at half-mast. With all the violence in the world, Lou wondered if its condition might be permanent. The two of them were kept waiting only a short time before Chris Bryzinski lumbered into the waiting room and motioned them to follow him into the inner sanctum. Lou watched as the man’s girth nearly brushed against each side of the doorframe, and he mused about what would happen if the detective were ever forced to chase a criminal. They stopped in the hallway just beyond the door.

“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.”