Oath of Office
  • Oath of Office
  • Oath of Office

Oath of Office

3.7 73
by Michael Palmer
     
 

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To protect. To defend. To obey? This heart-stopping thriller from New York Times bestselling author Michael Palmer will have you questioning everything you know about those entrusted with our lives.

In a suburb of Washington, DC, Dr. John Meacham goes on a shooting spree in his office, killing his associate, staff, and two patients before killing

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Overview

To protect. To defend. To obey? This heart-stopping thriller from New York Times bestselling author Michael Palmer will have you questioning everything you know about those entrusted with our lives.

In a suburb of Washington, DC, Dr. John Meacham goes on a shooting spree in his office, killing his associate, staff, and two patients before killing himself.

“A SHOCKER.”
—Associated Press

On a quiet country road, a housewife finds herself compelled to drive recklessly, nearly killing herself and her passenger.

“If MEDICAL THRILLS are what you’re after, PALMER DELIVERS.”
—Booklist

In a quaint restaurant, a kitchen worker wields his knife, unable to stop himself from almost severing his hand.

“A DARN GOOD READ.”
—Examiner.com

What is the connection? How can Dr. Lou Welcome clear his friend Meacham’s name? And what is the unspeakable conspiracy that leads all the way to the White House?

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
In this suspenseful thriller from bestseller Palmer (A Heartbeat Away), Dr. Lou Welcome, who nine years earlier lost his medical license “for self-prescribing amphetamines,” now works for the organization that cured him of his addiction, the Physician Wellness Office, counseling doctors with similar problems in Kings Ridge, Va., outside Washington, D.C. When John Meacham, a client of Lou’s who had “a better-than-decent recovery program,” fatally shoots seven patients and staff members at his office before shooting himself, the PWO suspends Lou. Other strange anomalies in Kings Ridge that Lou uncovers lead him to the U.S. president’s wife, who’s received a mysterious warning from a man known only as Double M. An unusual corn crop, giant termites, and greed combine to create a grave threat. Palmer’s easy mix of science and individual courage should please his many fans. Agent: Jane Rotrosen Agency. (Feb.)
Kirkus Reviews
Is there something in the water making people around the nation's capital commit crazy, unhinged acts? After a respected doctor once disciplined for alcoholism and anger issues shoots several people to death and kills himself, it's assumed he suffered a relapse. But his friend and sponsor, emergency-room veteran Lou Welcome, isn't buying that and the mystery takes him all the way to the White House. In his 17th medical suspense novel, Palmer (A Heartbeat Away, 2011, etc.) draws on his experience helping doctors with dependency and mental-health issues. Unable to convince his superiors that his late colleague, Meacham, was fully recovered and not in need of psychiatric counseling, Welcome is suspended. After Meacham's wife commits a strange, reckless act and a young man bizarrely causes himself physical harm in a trendy local diner, Welcome crosses paths with the First Lady, Darlene, whose husband has been acting with uncharacteristic rage. The First Lady has learned that the former agriculture secretary, a school friend of hers forced to resign after being videotaped in a motel room with a naked underage girl, was framed. The president orders his wife to stay away from him, but acting on the instructions of an unidentified source with knowledge of who did the framing and why, the First Lady becomes determined to clear the disgraced secretary's name. Ultimately, Welcome and the First Lady team up against bad guys who will do anything to keep secrets. This thriller raises compelling issues and features a likable hero, but the plot is dragged out and undercooked and the White House scenes ring false.

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Product Details

ISBN-13:
9780312587536
Publisher:
St. Martin's Press
Publication date:
02/14/2012
Edition description:
First Edition
Pages:
384
Product dimensions:
6.40(w) x 9.40(h) x 1.40(d)

Read an Excerpt

Oath of Office


By Michael Palmer

St. Martin's Press

Copyright © 2012 Michael Palmer
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-5043-5


CHAPTER 1

One hour down. Three hours to go.

The afternoon was turning out just as Lou had hoped it would. Enough traffic through the ER to keep things from being boring for Emily, but nothing that would leave her with a lifetime of nightmares and therapy bills. Not that the teen wouldn't be able to handle just about anything that came down the pike. But in an inner city emergency room — even a small satellite facility like the Eisenhower Memorial Hospital Annex, the pike, on occasion, might be carrying violence of the highest order.

"Okay, Em, Mr. Schultz is being a perfect patient. Ten stitches and not a peep out of him. Two more and we'll get him bandaged, up, and home."

"Thank you, Doc," the man beneath the saucer-shaped light said in a raspy voice that could have cut stone. "I didn't feel a thing. Your dad does great work, miss."

"Thank you. I know," Emily replied. "He loves sewing my jeans when they tear, and he was always stitching up my stuffed animals, even when they weren't ripped."

"My son's school has Take Your Kid to Work Day, just like yours," Schultz said, "but I'm a roofer. Three stories up with the wind blowing doesn't seem like a great place for a nine-year-old, so Marky went to the nursing home with my wife and helped her put the trays together. What does your mom do, miss?"

"My name's Emily, Mr. Schultz," she reminded him. "Emily Welcome. My mom's a psychologist. Mostly couples therapy. She didn't think her patients would enjoy having her thirteen-year-old kid sitting in on their sessions."

"I can see why she might feel that way."

"But for a second choice," Lou said, tying off the final stitch, "I believe Mom might have chosen to send Emily up on the roof with you, rather than into this place."

In fact, the first argument he and Renee had gotten into in months was about her belief that there had to be a rule against bringing a doctor's family member into an emergency room — even one with only three nurses, a licensed nurse's aide, an armed security guard, a receptionist, one ER resident, and one board-certified emergency specialist. The Annex essentially served as a walk-in center to reduce the volume of the massive mother ship, just six blocks away.

"Let me send her into the office with Steve," Renee had pleaded.

"Steve's not her father. I am. Besides, how interesting could it be for her to hang out surrounded by a bunch of starched shirts and musty law tomes? I can hear her now reporting to her class: 'I spent my day with my mother's new husband, Steve, watching him making piles of money off a bunch of unfortunates who are suing a bunch of other unfortunates. Or you might as well send her to my brother's office. Graham does even better at making money than Steve. Plus it might actually give him something to talk to me about besides my lack of a 401(k).'"

Even though Lou had ultimately won that round, he had to admit that as usual, Renee had a point, and he had told her so when he apologized for sounding like a jerk. For whatever reason, he had been feeling sorry for himself on the day the forms were due back to the Carlisle School. And despite some misgivings of his own about exposing Em to the raw underbelly of D.C., he had decided to turn Take Your Student to Work Day into Little Bighorn.

Two hours and thirty-five minutes to go.

So far, so good.

Despite a steady stream of patients, Gerhard Schultz was about as challenging a trauma case as the Eisenhower Annex typically saw. Lou missed the action in the main ER, but in his past life, he had squirreled away enough action points to star in a video game. For now, part-time shifts at the old Annex would do just fine.

Not surprisingly, the patients and the staff loved Emily to pieces. There was a grace and composure surrounding her that won people over almost as quickly as did her dark, unassuming beauty. Thirteen going on thirty. People loved to say that about their kids — especially their daughters. But the old saw, though true in Emily's case, invariably brought Lou a pang. It was hard not to believe that in many ways he had robbed those seventeen years from her.

"Okay, Mr. Schultz," he said, "one of the nurses will be in to dress your arm in just a few minutes. No work until next Monday. If you need a note, the nurse will put one together and I'll sign it. Last tetanus shot?"

"A year or so ago. I ... um ... tend to bump into sharp things."

"Sharp, rusty things," Lou corrected. "We'll give you a wound-care sheet."

"Your dad's a good man," the roofer said again. "I been around a lot of doctors. I can tell."

"I've been around a lot of fathers, and I can tell, too," Emily said.

Lou wouldn't have been surprised if her smile had healed Schultz's nasty gash then and there, in addition to curing any illness that might have been lurking inside him.

Looking utterly perfect in her sky blue scrubs, she walked back to the doctor's lounge, shoulder to shoulder with her father.

"Well, that was fun," she said when he had settled her in on the sofa, around a cup of hot chocolate from the Keurig machine.

"You think you might like to be a doctor?" Lou asked, remembering that he could have answered that question in the affirmative when he was four.

"I suppose anything's possible. You and Mom are certainly good role models."

"She's a terrific shrink."

"It's hard for you, isn't it."

"What's hard?" Lou asked, knowing perfectly well what she was talking about.

"The divorce."

"It wasn't what I wanted, if that's what you mean."

"People get remarried to their exes. It happens on TV all the time."

"Em, Mom is remarried. You got that, bucko? Add me to the mix, and you get a sitcom that would compete with Modern Family."

Emily chewed on her lip and picked at a fingernail. "I'm glad you won out and brought me in with you today," she said finally.

"I didn't win anything. It's Take Your Kid to Work Day, and you're my kid. You always were, and you always will be."

Lou crossed to the door and glanced over at the two new arrivals in the waiting room — a Latina woman and the extremely ancient man he assumed was her father. The fellow's color was poor, and he was working for each breath.

"Check an oh-two sat on him, Roz," he said to the nurse, "and have Gordon start going over him right away."

"Thanks. I'm glad you feel that way," Emily was saying. "What would you say if I told you I was losing interest in school?"

Lou narrowly missed spraying out his coffee. "You're, like, tops in your class. You get all A's."

"I'm looking out the window and daydreaming a lot. That can't be anyone's idea of an education."

"You don't go to school to get an education."

Emily immediately perked up. "What do you mean?"

"Call it Welcome's Law. You go to school for the degree. Anything you learn while you're there is gravy.

Her eyes were sparkling now. "Go on."

"Every single day that you manage to stay in school translates into ten thousand people in the world that you won't have to take BS from in your life. The more degrees you have, the fewer little, small-minded people there will be who have big power over you. I stayed in school long enough to get an M.D. degree. Now, nobody can boss me around."

"What about Dr. Filstrup at the Physician Wellness Office?"

Lou groaned. In terms of insight and verbal sparring, Emily was her mother's daughter.

So much for Welcome's Law.

Lou's affiliation with the PWO went back nine years — to the day when his medical license was suspended for self-prescribing amphetamines. He had always been a heavier-than-average drinker, but speed, which he took to handle the sleep-deprivation of working two moonlighting jobs, quickly brought him to his knees. Enter the PWO, an organization devoted to helping doctors with mental illness, physical illness, substance abuse, and behavioral problems. The PWO director arranged for an immediate admission to a rehab facility in Georgia, and kept in close contact with Lou's caseworkers and counselors until his discharge six months later. After that, a PWO monitor met with him weekly, then monthly, and supervised his recovery and urine screens for alcohol and other drugs of abuse. After a spotless year, his license was restored and he returned to work at Eisenhower Memorial. Three years after that, he was hired as the second of two PWO monitors. For the next year, things went perfectly. Then Walter Filstrup was brought in by the PWO board to head up the program.

"You know, bucko," Lou said to his daughter, "sometimes you're too smart for your own good."

Although he seldom went out of his way to discuss his job frustrations with his child, neither was Lou ever one to measure his words. And the kid was a sponge.

"All right," he said. "Consider my current position with PWO the exception that proves the law. Now, let's get out there and see some patients. You ready to stay in school?"

Emily cocked her head thoughtfully. "For the moment," she said.

"That's all I can ask for. So, let's not fall behind. In the ER business, you never know when something's going to come out of left field and slam you against the wall."

CHAPTER 2

With a nurse, the licensed nurse's aide, and the resident busy with the old man in one of the back examining rooms, Lou handled an ear infection in a toddler, an upper respiratory virus in an elderly woman, and a cracked finger bone in a fifteen-year-old high school shortstop, who was dangerously close to losing an entire limb if he didn't stop leering at the doctor's daughter.

Sixty minutes to go.

It may have been a case of doing the right thing for the wrong reason, but Take Your Kid to Work Day was proving to be a total success.

The nurse clinician, a newlywed named Barbara Waldman, appeared behind a wheelchair at the door to the treatment room. The man in the chair was someone Lou knew well — a sixty-two-year-old who lived in various doorways near the Annex.

"Desmond!" Lou exclaimed, helping the man onto the examining table and out of his tattered air force jacket. "That gang again?"

Desmond Carter dabbed at his bleeding nostrils with a rag and nodded.

For most of the homeless in the area, being beaten for sport by any of several gangs who roamed the neighborhood was routine. Usually, though, the attacks occurred at night. Desmond, though black, was known for playing Irish tunes on a battered pennywhistle. When the music business was slow, he cashed in bottles. A Vietnam vet, he was rail thin, but with eyes that never betrayed the hardship of his life. Today, his face was swollen and bruised, with a split lip and the bloody nose. His oily trousers were shredded at the knees, revealing deep abrasions. One shoe was missing.

"Good to see you, Dr. Lou," Desmond said.

"Sorry this keeps happening, my friend. Want us to send for the police?"

"Ain't worth it. Just some bandages and fix my nose if it's broken. How you been?"

"Doing fine."

"Still at the gym?"

"When I have time. A little sparring, some training when one of the up-and-comers asks for it. Listen, we got to get you undressed and cleaned up. Then we'll check you over and get an X-ray of your nose and any other part that needs it. Desmond, that gorgeous young woman over there is my daughter, Emily. She's here helping us out for the day."

"Ms. Emily," Desmond said, nodding and managing a weak, toothless grin. "It's fine with me if you want to stay."

Lou considered the situation and shook his head.

"Yeah," Emily said. "You walk around your apartment all the time in your boxers."

Had Barbara Waldman been chewing gum, she would have swallowed it.

"You have your hands full with that one, Dr. Welcome," she managed.

"Listen, Em," Lou said, "I don't think so. Why don't you wait in the lounge until we get Desmond taken care of."

He missed his daughter's glare as she left the room.

Nurse and doc gently stripped the vet down and helped him into a pair of disposable scrub pants and a johnny. He had absorbed a pounding, but it was hardly the first time. His abdominal wall was a road map of scars — the result of wounds, Lou had learned, that had led to two Purple Hearts.

Lou clenched his jaw. He had encountered more than enough violence and depravity to have developed something of an immunity, but in truth, he knew he would never be inured — especially when the victim was a guy like Desmond Carter.

He was preparing to examine the man when he heard the soft clearing of a throat from the doorway. Emily was standing there, hands on her hips, looking incredibly like her mother.

"Dad, you know how much I hate being treated like a baby," she said. "I've seen street people before and black people, and even hurt people. It's okay for me to watch — I promise you. You're not protecting me from anything."

Lou looked up at the ceiling and then the wall — anyplace but at his daughter's wonderful face. He had been outmatched by her from the day she was born. Besides, exposing her to Desmond Carter this way seemed right. Still, it was probably something he should discuss with Renee. He envisioned his ex after the fact, arms folded, tapping her foot in exasperation, and heard her reminding him that she did, in fact, have a cell phone.

Better to ask forgiveness than permission, he decided.

"Barbara, does Desmond have a record of an HIV test?"

"Negative test drawn here four months ago," she said.

"Em, you can come in," he heard himself say. "But stand over there by the wall. Barbara, how about getting her into double gloves and a gown. Might as well give her a face shield as well."

Swimming in her gown and looking like a teenager from outer space, Emily inched forward and watched as Lou packed both Desmond's nostrils and explained what he was searching for in each segment of his physical exam. He could see her eyes widen at the man's scars.

"Desmond, are you sure about no police?" Lou asked.

"Next time, maybe. I got a caseworker. I'll tell her."

Sure.

"Barbara," Lou said, turning to the nurse, "how about ordering a chest film and nasal bones? Maybe get a CBC as well. Then we'll do whatever we have to, to fix that schnoz."

"Okay. Then I'm going to stop in the back and see if Gordo and Roz are all right with that poor old man. I think they're going to transfer him."

"No problem," Lou said.

Moments later, the receptionist appeared at the doorway.

"Dr. Welcome, there's a Dr. Filstrup on the line for you — he says it's urgent."

Lou suppressed a smile.

An urgent call from Walter Filstrup. That had to be an absolute first. He probably wanted Lou to pick up some tuna on his way home and drop it off at the office.

Largely because of the documented strength of his recovery, and the way he related to clients, Lou was well regarded by the PWO board. But he was hardly ready to take over as director. And the truth was, there were few beside Filstrup who seemed interested in the job.

From day one, he and Filstrup were like a cobra and a mongoose — actually, more like a cobra and a baby goose. The wellness office was a small one as physician health programs went, leaving the opinionated, bombastic therapist with only a couple of minions to boss around ... chief among them, Lou.

"Em," Lou said, "Barbara will be right back. Linda, please patch Dr. Filstrup over to the doctors' lounge. I'll talk to him there."

The phone was ringing as Lou entered the lounge.

"Welcome? It's me."

Lou cringed at the sound of his boss's voice. "I'm a little busy right —"

"Welcome, listen. You've really blown it this time."

"I left the seat up in the office men's room?"

"You're not funny. In fact, you're never funny."

"Walter, what is this all about?"

"It's about your darling client, John Meacham, the man whose license you single-handedly got restored."

"He's a terrific guy and a terrific doc. I had coffee with him the day before yesterday. He's doing fine."

"Well, today he shot seven people to death in his office and then turned the gun on himself."

Lou sank onto the arm of the worn leather sofa, unable to take in a breath. "If you're messing with me, Walter," he managed finally, "I swear, I'm going to hang you by your thumbs."

"Turn on the news. Any news."

"You sure it's our client?"

"Your client. In case you forget, I never thought he was too tightly wrapped, and I told you that on more than one occasion. I kept pushing to get rid of that touchy-feely social worker therapist you were using, and to get him to a psychiatrist. But no."


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Oath of Office by Michael Palmer. Copyright © 2012 Michael Palmer. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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