The Lasko Tangent Read Online Free PDF Page B

Marcus Aurelius, several Faulkner novels, and a volume of poetry by Dylan Thomas. I searched his face for clues as to whether he had read any of them. The dark blue eyes, strong jaw, and broad, open face were pleasant, but uninformative. Of more interest was his nose; it had once been aquiline but now featured a couple of detours to the right. I remembered that he had played football; someone’s elbow had lent his face some character. It gave a faintly jarring hint of subcutaneous tension to the nice-boy look. But it told me nothing about the books.
    He had followed my eyes. “I don’t have much time for reading these days. Breaking into this job has been a real experience.” The engaging smile reappeared. “I hope I can keep up.”
    I wasn’t used to commissioners seeking my encouragement. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
    He looked thoughtfully at the Chagalls, as if they had some connection to his work. “Still, I’m concerned. A lot of commissioners come into agencies like this for PR value. They punch their tickets and leave. But they never really learn their jobs. Never really have an impact. I don’t want to be another one.” I agreed with him about ticket-punching. But if this was just for my benefit, he was an awfully quick study. I half-believed in his sincerity.
    Woods waved up at the law school diploma which hung behind his desk. “You went there, too, didn’t you, Chris?”
    I wondered whether he knew as much about McGuire’s other ninety-nine lawyers. “Yes, I did. I got out three years ago.”
    Woods smiled slightly at the diploma, as if satisfied that we were peers. Then he turned his candid eyes to me. “I’m very concerned about the Lasko case.” He spoke seriously, leaning forward as if he wished to share the full weight of his concern.
    I chose a neutral tone. “So I understand.”
    The eyes seemed to at once accord trust and demand attention. He was very, very good. “I’m concerned for several reasons. To be honest, I know I’m young for this job. I want to do well here. And I don’t want this agency to act indiscreetly. That means both that I don’t want us to go out on a limb and that I don’t want inaccurate charges against Lasko to rub off on the President. Is that understandable?”
    I said that it was. He continued. “But most of all, I want this investigation to be good. I don’t want anyone to say we dropped the ball, or pulled punches. It’s how an agency handles cases like this that sets the tone for whether it’s got basic integrity or is just another hack outfit. I’m political, sure, and I’ve existed in a political world. But I came over here to do a job.” His eyes locked in an intent, determined look. “And I believe the best politics, in the long run, is to do that job as fairly and honestly as I can.”
    If that were true, I was all for him. “I’ll do what I can to help.”
    “Just keep in touch with Mary,” he said easily. “I want to know what’s happening in this thing.” His voice dropped, and his words took on a slow rhythmic emphasis. “But if you need anything, any help at all, don’t hesitate to come to me direct. I’ll do anything reasonable to help you out.”
    “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
    “Good.” He rose. “You’ll be wanting to talk to Mary.” I wasn’t so sure, but my time was clearly up. We walked together to his door.
    “Thanks, Chris.” He shook my hand again. “I hear you’re very good at this. I’ll look forward to seeing you.” The smile that went with the handshake said that he meant it. “And I’ll need your help on other things as I go along.” The warm voice bespoke pleasant hours of purposeful escape from my catacombs, amidst the impressionist serenity. He instructed the receptionist to get Mary Carelli, then backed into his office and closed the door. He left behind a bracing warmth, like a shot of good whiskey. I returned to the subject of the books. My best guess was that Woods read them,