Political Suicide Read Free

have done just as well.
    “Just because you were once a drug addict,” Filstrup went on, “doesn’t give your opinions greater authority here.”
    “I can’t believe we’re going at it like this because I came in here to ask for more work.”
    The phone rang before Filstrup could retort. He flashed an annoyed look and pushed the intercom button. “I thought I told you to hold all my calls, Mrs. Peterbee,” Filstrup said.
    I thought you were expecting one, Lou mused.
    “I’m sorry, Dr. Filstrup,” the receptionist said. “Actually, this is for Dr. Welcome. I have the caller on hold.”
    Lou gave Filstrup a bewildered look. “Who is it, Mrs. P?” Lou asked.
    “Our client, Dr. Gary McHugh,” Peterbee said. “He said it’s urgent.”
    Filstrup reflexively straightened up. “McHugh, the society doc?” he said. “Put him through.” Filstrup allowed the call to click over, then said in an cheery voice, “Gary, it’s Walter Filstrup. How are you doing?”
    The director’s conciliatory tone churned Lou’s stomach, but it was not an unexpected reaction, given who was on the other line. Gary McHugh tended to the D.C. carriage trade and probably numbered among his patients a significant portion of all three branches of the government. He was renowned for his acumen, loyalty, and discretion, as well as for making house calls. What he was not known for, at least within the confines of the D.C. Physician Wellness Office, was for being one of Lou Welcome’s closest friends since their undergraduate days together at Georgetown.
    Several years before, McHugh had lost his driver’s license for operating under the influence and refusing to take a field sobriety test. The board of medicine’s knee-jerk policy was to refer such physician offenders to the PWO, and in the absence of another associate director, Lou was placed in charge of his case.
    Although McHugh adhered to the letter of his monitoring contract, he regarded the whole business as something of a joke. Lou could not help but enjoy the man’s spirit, intelligence, and panache, even though he never had much trust in the strength of McHugh’s recovery—too much ego and way too few AA meetings. Still, McHugh, a sportsman and pilot with his own pressurized Cessna, had always been irrepressible, and Lou looked forward to their required monthly progress meetings, as well as to any other chance they had to get together.
    “Am I on speakerphone?” McHugh barked.
    “I was just finishing a meeting with Lou Welcome,” Filstrup said, as if the appointment had been on his calendar for weeks.
    “Dr. Filstrup, I need to speak with him.”
    “I’m here,” Lou said.
    “Dr. Welcome, get me off speaker, please.”
    Lou stifled a grin at Filstrup’s discomfort, and with a what can you do? expression, took the receiver. “Hey, Gary,” he said, pressing the phone to his ear to seal off as much sound as possible, “what gives?”
    “Welcome, thank God you’re there. I’m in trouble—really, really big trouble. I need to see you right away.”
    “Talk to me.”
    “I can’t. Not from where I am.”
    “Where, then?”
    “My house. You have the address?”
    “Of course,” Lou said.
    “When can you get there?”
    Filstrup kept quiet and still. Lou forced any urgency from his voice, and pressed the receiver even tighter against his ear. He checked his Mickey Mouse watch, a Father’s Day gift from Emily. Nearly four—eight hours before he was due at the ER for the graveyard shift. McHugh lived in a tony neighborhood, midway between the Capitol and Annapolis.
    “I can be there in about forty-five minutes,” Lou said.
    “Get here in thirty,” McHugh urged. “Before too much longer, the police are going to show up here to arrest me.”
    “For what?”
    “For murder.” He hung up without saying good-bye.

CHAPTER 2
    Murder.
    The word reverberated through Lou’s mind as he left the city and headed east.
    Gary McHugh, suave, adventurous, almost painfully