The Lasko Tangent Read Online Free PDF

at me thoughtfully. “OK,” he finally said. “I called a friend of mine at Civil Service. Carelli got out of law school when you did. University of Chicago, top 10 per cent. Scholarship student. The records show that she went to work as a staffer on the Senate Commerce Committee, the bunch that keeps tabs on us. So I called a guy I know over at the committee. Turns out he knew her, but not as well as you might think. She keeps her private life to herself. He did say that she is very tough and very partisan. She didn’t have any rank on him, but he crossed her up on something and nearly lost his job. Turned out she had some senator’s ear. So my buddy’s not her biggest booster. But he admits that she is very smart. So that’s it,” he concluded in an unimpressed tone. “A typical Washington biography. If you hanged people in this town for being political, you wouldn’t have anyone left to answer the phone.”
    He was still eyeing me. “All right,” I smiled, “I’ll put her on the back burner.”
    Robinson looked relieved. I rose, then remembered McGuire’s lunch. “I heard a rumor,” I fabricated, “that one of the commissioners was leaving.” If one really was, it was news to me. “But I forgot who. Heard anything?”
    “Yeah. I had lunch with Ludlow’s assistant the other day. He says Ludlow’s going back into private practice. But keep that down. He hasn’t announced it yet, and the White House hasn’t come up with a replacement.”
    Joe McGuire would do nicely. “That’s too bad. I liked Ludlow. Well, I’d better get to work on a subpoena for Sam Green. Next Monday OK with you?”
    “Fine.” He leaned back. “You know, this kind of case only makes careers in reverse. So stick to Lasko and leave the other alone.”
    I knew what he meant. Robinson liked thinking about Green and Lasko much better than thinking about Mary Carelli. He had organized his world long ago. Carelli, he, and I were all “shirts” Green and Lasko were “skins.” I couldn’t really blame him. It made keeping score a lot easier.
    I took some files back to my office to work on Green’s subpoena. Debbie had a phone message from Mary Carelli. The first tug on my leash. I thought about ignoring it. Then I headed out to see what she wanted.
Five
     
     
    The trip to the Chairman’s office was upward, both literally and esthetically. The top floor suite was a soothing collection of rust shag rugs, white walls, padded leather, and impressionist paintings. What struck me, though, was the quiet, as if good taste swallowed noise. I was used to the third floor catacombs—sounds of typing, telephones, shouts, and footsteps ping-ponging between tile and cinder blocks. It was as though I had stepped from a rush hour subway directly into a library. The sensation was pleasant. I found myself wondering how it felt to McGuire.
    The receptionist fit the room. She was a thin, birdlike woman who could have been the custodian of rare books. I stifled the urge to request the Summa Theologica and asked instead for Mary Carelli. I had barely sunk into one of the leather chairs when Chairman Woods surprised me.
    “You’re Chris Paget, aren’t you? I’m Jack Woods.” He was tall—about six feet two—and broad shouldered, with short brown hair. He offered me a large, strong hand, and gestured toward his office with the other. “Come on in and chat for a second. Mary’s running a little late.” He had a deep, rich voice and a youthful lopsided smile which knocked several years off an age I gauged at late thirties. It was all very democratic. I trailed him into his office.
    Woods waved me in and sat behind a simple cherry desk. I chose another padded chair and looked around. The office had the same look of shag and cool white. The walls were improved by two bright Chagall prints, from which effect I subtracted the stolid cheerlessness of one formal picture of the President. His books ranged from financial tomes to the Meditations of