Political Suicide (20 page)

Adele Green’s revelation hit Lou like a spear. Elias Colston was not only interested in Wyatt Brody, but he had also uncovered the unusual subject of the man’s Ph.D. thesis.
But why?

“Justice will be served,” Lou said, picturing Gary McHugh in his hideous orange jumpsuit.

He took the volume and settled inside an out-of-the-way carrel, then flipped open the bound thesis and read the title page:

Studies on the Neurochemistry of Fear

Clinical Experiments and a Review of the Literature.

Divided into the standard scientific form the thesis was extensive and impressive.

Introduction

Materials and Methods

Observations

Discussion and Literature Review

Conclusions

Bibliography

The bulk of Brody’s research, Lou quickly learned, focused on the centers in the midbrain known as the amygdalae and the hypothalamus—hardly lightweight stuff. Even with the advent of real-time MRI, which over recent years had opened the doors to so many neurologic mysteries, the mechanisms of function of the amygdalae and the related limbic system remained the source of contention. But in the mid-’80s, Wyatt Brody had formed solid, fascinating hypotheses, and his laboratory work seemed to bear his theses out.

Brody’s experiments, many of them simple to the point of absolute elegance, involved rats that were programmed with electrical shocks to the feet to fear specific benign stimuli, such as a pet toy or specific food. “Learning to fear,” he called the process. By measuring the response activity in the rat’s brain chemistry, Brody homed in on a number of structures that created the state of fear. Then he set out to identify the neurotransmitter chemicals produced and released by those structures.

Simple … not!

Hours passed. Lou was in med school mode—processing, dissecting, memorizing, scratching notes on his ubiquitous yellow legal pad. None of med school had ever been particularly easy for him, but the sense of achievement when a concept was mastered was one he loved.

Lou could not help but smile at Brody’s absolute brilliance. He wondered how much Elias Colston, with a background in the law, had gleaned from the sometimes quite dense explanations of the experimental findings—especially the theories on how to block the fear reactions once they had been learned.

At the center of Brody’s work on the neurochemical blockade of emotional arousal was a set of receptors located throughout the midbrain. This portion of Brody’s thesis seemed to Lou to be more ragged and less authoritatively expressed than the others. It appeared that Brody had identified three or four transmitters. But his ability to block these transmitters with other chemicals had not been clearly worked out at the time he wrote the conclusions to his research.

Strange,
Lou thought. It was as if in a heartbeat, Brody had lost confidence or possibly even interest in his work. But even so, from what neurochemistry Lou knew, this was still cutting-edge work, deserving of the Ph.D. Brody had been given.

He read through the final portion of the thesis, looking specifically for any hint as to why Brody did not push harder into the discussion and conclusions of the paper. There were no shimmering revelations or revolutionary, Nobel Prize–worthy contributions to the field, but there was one surprise, and a huge one, at that. Brody believed that the most promising antagonist versus the chemicals released by the fear centers of the amygdalae and rest of the midbrain was an old friend of Lou’s—methamphetamine.

In its back alley form, methamphetamine looked like rock candy and carried the name crystal meth. Besides booze, Lou’s drug of choice had been Adderall, a prescription dextroamphetamine. But from time to time, he drifted down the dark road to crystal. He had managed to steer clear of it most of the time by reminding himself that the substance was one of the most dangerous and addictive drugs ever cooked up—a stimulant that, taken long-term in high-enough doses, could actually produce distinctive, irreversible lesions in the brain.

He had been intervened upon before he could become addicted at a high level, but he had seen his fair share of meth heads over the years—fidgety, loquacious, and quick-tempered, with horrible tooth decay, dilated pupils, wasted muscles, and sores.

Though mentioned, Brody’s observations on methamphetamine lacked a powerful discussion and a dynamic conclusion. If there were a practical application for the drug or the drug in combination with others, the future creator of Mantis did not spell it out.

Strange.

Bleary, Lou took some final notes, and then prepared to return the thesis to Adele Green. Nearly four hours had passed since their initial meeting. During those hours, some doors had been opened, but a myriad of questions remained.

If Wyatt Brody was responsible for the break-in at his apartment, how had he learned about the CD? Given the attack by the Palace Guards, it was unlikely that Hector had talked. Even though it seemed Brody had given up on the final stages of his research, had he subsequently developed a neurochemical agent capable of blocking the fear response? If so, was he actually using it? To what end? What, if anything, did all this have to do with the Reddy Creek Armory and Elias Colston’s murder?

His thoughts swirling, Lou closed the cover, gathered his things, and returned to the reference desk, his legs trying to recall exactly how they were supposed to move.

Adele Green looked as though she had just arrived at work. “I walked past your carrel a couple of times to see if I could be of any help,” she said, flipping absently through the pages of Brody’s thesis. “I suspected you might be asleep, but that was hardly the case. You never even looked up to see me.”

“Whatever the opposite of ADD is, I think I have it,” Lou said.

“I’ll bet you’re a very good doctor.”

“I try.”

“Did you find whatever it was you were looking for?”

“Not as much as I was looking for, but I did find some useful information.”

“I’m glad. From what I just noticed, in addition to Congressman Colston, Dr. Brody had some other pretty important connections.”

“What do you mean?”

“Here, look at this.” Adele slid the volume around to face Lou. It was open to the last page—the dedication.

Instantly, Lou experienced a midwinter chill.

Dedicated with deepest respect to my mentor, friend, and advisor, Admiral Spencer Hogarth

“I think that’s pretty interesting,” Adele said. “Don’t you?”

CHAPTER 27

Lou sat in Devlin and Rodgers’s opulent waiting room, nervously tapping out bongo riffs on his briefcase and trying to arrive at a truce with the stiff leather armchair he had chosen. He had not been in contact with Sarah since the break-in, and felt certain when he finally did call to set up this meeting, she would refuse to see him. But here he was.

He had feared that what relationship existed between the two of them had vanished along with Elias Colston’s CD. After trying his best to ignore the subject, he finally admitted to himself that Sarah had made a strong impression on him both as an attorney and as a woman. He had pinned his hopes for a reconciliation on her professionalism and concern for her client, and was prepared to take any port in this storm.

For the moment, at least, it seemed as if he had read her correctly. Sarah Cooper was a lawyer first and foremost and would want to be made aware of all the evidence pertaining to Gary McHugh, including what Lou had uncovered regarding Mantis and Wyatt Brody. He had been in the waiting room for ten minutes when she emerged from behind a paneled door, dressed sharply in a gray business suit and crisp white linen shirt. Her expression, as usual—at least in his presence—was stony.

“We’ll go to my office,” she said, not even bothering with a greeting or handshake.
Any port in a storm,
Lou reminded himself. At least he had made it through the door. But if Sarah’s lack of warmth were any indication, his hope for rapprochement was teetering on the brink. Undeterred, Lou gratefully left his chair behind and followed her down a lengthy corridor, his feet sinking into the plush carpeting as if he were crossing a putting green.

Not surprisingly, Sarah’s office was decorated with tasteful, understated elegance. Light from a gray, overcast day filtered in through floor-to-ceiling windows. For someone who had yet to make partner, she had a space featuring an impressive collection of artwork, a leather sofa with two matching chairs, and built-in mahogany bookshelves filled with legal tomes. The few photographs on display spoke of a woman into fitness, friendship, and the wild outdoors. There was one nearest her desk of a tall, tanned, exceedingly well conditioned man standing proudly beside an ocean kayak. Lou sensed strongly that it was her late husband, David.

“Your office is really beautiful,” Lou said.

“Thank you.”

“I always wondered if people with offices like this one worry that their clients will think the fees they are handing over are going for lavish furnishings.”

“Actually, we believe our clients want to think that we make enough money so that we can afford it,” Sarah said, settling in behind a desk roughly the size of a polo pitch.

“Touché.”

“So, did you come here to tell me that you found the CD?”

“Touché again,” Lou said. “Nice thrust. When’s the last time someone bled to death on your carpet? Look, Sarah, I’ve decided to issue one blanket apology that will cover all my wrongdoings from talking back to my folks through sneaking a kiss from Arlene Silver in the back row of the Bing Cinema to not being more careful with the CD.”

“That’s not much of a list,” Sarah said. “I hope it’s the abbreviated version.”

“Actually, I had to make up the part about Arlene. She wouldn’t even let me hold hands. All I’m trying to say is you’re going to have to forgive me if you want my help.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing?” she scoffed. “Helping me?”

“It might not come across that way at first,” Lou said. “But I’m more helpful than you know … so far.”

Sarah set her elbows on the desk, rested her chin atop her interlocked hands, and leaned forward, her eyes mischievous. “Please, enlighten me,” she said.

Lou began with his prolonged, ill-fated attempts at creating a verbatim transcript of the CD recording.

“I told you it would be impossible,” she commented.

“Like I said, no more apologies—just a plea to give me a chance to make amends. I’ve been at this nonstop since the break-in, and I’ve got some stuff for you.”

Sarah leaned back in her chair, her body language suggesting a bit more openness.

“
The Persistent Little Puppy,
” she said.

“What?”

“It was my favorite book when I was a little kid. The puppy kept trying and trying until she got whatever it was in the end. I could never get enough of that story. Drove my mom crazy. Please go ahead, I’m sorry to have interrupted.” She gestured for him to continue.

“After I gave up on the transcript, I made a call to Jeannine Colston.”

Lou detailed the conversation and his subsequent meeting with Hector. Color drained from Sarah’s cheeks as he recounted the events in Hayes, and the chase through the woods, which had probably ended with the frigid death of the Palace Guard marine who was chasing him.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not making any of this up,” she said.

Best offer I’ve had today,
Lou was thinking as he did what she asked.

“There’s more,” he said. “Much more. What did you say that book was called?”

“The Persistent Little Puppy.”

“You never struck me as the kind of person who would fall in love with a book with redundancy in the title.”

Sarah got it immediately. Lou loved her smile.

“Funny,” she said. “I read that little picture book well into high school, and never noticed that.”

“I told you I’d be of use somewhere along the line. I’m not sure what the moral is here, but I’m sure there must be one.”

“You said there was more.”

“Chapter two of this tale deals with Wyatt Brody. You may want to strap yourself in for this one.”

Sarah listened, spellbound as Lou took her through the Mantis fortress, Brody, and his arcane handgun gallery.

“He actually threatened you?”

“Not in so many words, but he was preparing to send me back to town alone along a mile or so of freezing, pitch-black trail. It’s hard to believe there wouldn’t have been some of the boys from the woods waiting out there for me.”

“My God.”

“If the cops hadn’t shown up when they did and been brought to the office by one of the soldiers, I guarantee you I’d have been frozen toast.”

Sarah rose from her chair, turned away from Lou, and gazed out the window. When she turned back, her arms were folded tightly across her chest and her jaw was set. “Who is he?” she asked, as much to herself as to Lou. “Who is Wyatt Brody?”

“Funny you should ask,” Lou said, unclasping his briefcase.

He extracted a folder of notes and photocopies, set them on the desk by her hand. Then he went over his hours in the library.

“The persistent not-so-little puppy,” she said, not bothering to cull the awe from her voice.

“Just call me Big Dog. Anything that’s not clear,” he said, “just ask.”

For several minutes, she examined the copies, diagrams, and notes.

“You mention here that Brody seemed to stop writing analytically as he got nearer and nearer to the end of the thesis. What do you make of that?”

Lou shook his head. “It stuck out, is all I can say.”

“Do you think it means that his experiments were a failure?”

Lou met her gaze and could tell she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Or a success,” he said.

“I’ll read through this later. What next?”

Lou had been waiting for this moment. “That depends,” he said. “Have you had a cardiogram lately?”

“Heart like a horse,” she said, patting her chest. “Devlin requires every one of us to have a yearly physical. He doesn’t want any of us conking off in the middle of a big case.”

“Okay. If you’re sure, take a look at this.” With as much drama as he dared, Lou slid the dedication page across to her.