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He wished he’d never seen the interview. Thank you so much, Barrie Travis, whoever the hell you are. For days now he would be haunted by thoughts of David, and Vanessa, and the baby who had died in the White House nursery.

What galled him most was that the interview might spark a renewed public interest in him. People would begin thinking, supposing, connecting the dots. And then the shit would start flying all over again.

* * *

David Merritt paced in front of his desk in the Oval Office. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows; his hands were deep in his pockets. Beneath an errant lock of hair, his brow was furrowed. “I’ve never heard of it before. What the hell is it?”

“It’s called Munchausen syndrome by proxy, named after a German count who got off by inflicting pain on himself.”

“I thought that was masochism,” Spencer Martin remarked.

Dr. George Allan shrugged and poured himself another scotch from the President’s private stock. “It’s a little out of my area, and I haven’t thoroughly researched it.”

“Barrie Travis did.” Merritt made it sound like a rebuke, and the doctor took it as such.

Looking abashed, he said, “The ‘by proxy’ kicks in if the pain is inflicted on someone else, typically a child.”

“What’s it got to do with SIDS?” Merritt asked. “Why’d Barrie Travis go into it so deeply?”

Dr. Allan took a quick sip of his scotch. “Because adults afflicted with the disorder sometimes take it to the extreme. They injure their children, sometimes even kill them, in an attempt to get attention and sympathy for themselves. Some mysterious infant deaths, previously attributed to SIDS, are now being reinvestigated as possible murders.”

Muttering a curse, Merritt sat down behind his desk. “Why couldn’t that Travis broad have stuck to the subject without bringing all those horror stories into it? Pour me one of those, will you?”

The doctor did as asked.

“Thanks.” Merritt thoughtfully sipped his drink for a few moments, then looked over at Spence. He didn’t like what he saw. Spence was in his thinking mode, and the matter under consideration was troublesome.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have encouraged Vanessa to grant the interview,” Merritt ventured.

“I disagree. What possible harm’s been done?” the doctor asked.

“For God’s sake, George, you better than anyone should know,” Merritt said testily. “This goddamn series has got her bouncing off the walls again.”

“

People are noticing,” Spence remarked quietly. Merritt gave him a sharp glance that demanded names. “Staff, sir. People have noticed the First Lady’s mood swings, and they’re concerned about her.”

In another implied rebuke, Merritt turned to the physician.

“I can’t control her mood swings with medication when she’s drinking as much as she is,” Dr. Allan said.

Merritt dug his fists into his eye sockets. “Clete’s on my ass about that. I keep reminding him that she’s lost her baby. That, coupled with her condition, how can he expect her not to be a little unstable.”

“Everybody responds to tragedy differently,” the doctor said, trying to be helpful. “Some people pitch themselves into their work, hoping to exhaust themselves so they don’t have the energy to dwell on it. Some people find God, light candles, and pray. Some—”

“I get it, I get it,” Merritt snapped. “My father-in-law doesn’t.”

“I’ll talk to him if you’d like,” Spence offered.

The President barked a mirthless laugh. “Clete doesn’t like you, Spence. You’re the last person he’d want commenting on Vanessa’s emotional health. She’s not too crazy about you either.” He turned back to the doctor. “But you, George—maybe if you spoke with him, explained…”

“I’ll call him tomorrow and say that you told me about his concerns. I’ll reassure him that she’s being carefully monitored.”

“Thanks.” Merritt smiled, as though the matter were closed.

“It’s not just Clete we’ve got to worry about,” Spence said. “Next year is an election year. This administration needs its First Lady. We need Vanessa, we need her soon, and we need her well adjusted and ready to campaign.” He turned to the doctor. “Can you deliver?”

“Of course. There’s no alternative.”