Toxin (20 page)

“Excuse me,” Kathleen interrupted. “The USDA was not responsible for discovering the E. coli contamination involving Hudson Foods. It was an attentive public health official. Normally what happens is the USDA is forced to make a show after an outbreak occurs. Then they make a big deal to the media to give the impression that they are on the job of protecting the public, but unfortunately nothing substantial ever gets done. Ironically enough, the USDA doesn't even have the power to recall meat it finds contaminated. It can only make a recommendation. Nothing it determines is binding.”

“You mean like with Hudson Foods?” Tracy asked. “At first they recommended that only twenty-five thousand pounds of meat be recalled.”

“Exactly,” Kathleen said. “It was consumer groups that forced the USDA to up the recommended recall to over a million pounds. It wasn't the USDA who was the instigator.”

“I'd had no idea about any of this,” Tracy said. “And I like to think of myself as a reasonably informed person.”

“Perhaps the worst part,” Kathleen continued, “is that when the USDA talks about contamination with its inspectional services, they're generally talking about
gross contamination with visible feces. The industry has fought against any microscopic or bacteriologic inspection for years. Now there is supposed to be some culturing, but it is only a token.”

“It's hard to believe,” Tracy said. “I guess I've always just assumed that meat was safe.”

“It's a sorry situation,” Kathleen said. “With tragic consequences.”

For a few moments, no one spoke.

“How well we know,” Tracy said, as if suddenly realizing this was no idle conversation. Her daughter was no abstraction. A fresh tear streaked down her cheek.

“Well, that settles it,” Kim said. He abruptly got to his feet.

“Settles what?” Tracy managed. “Where are you going now?”

“To Bartonville,” Kim said. “I'm going to pay a quick visit to Mercer Meats.”

“I think you should stay here,” Tracy said with exasperation. “You know better than I that Becky's condition is grave. Dr. Stevens and Dr. Morgan have impressed upon me there might be some difficult decisions to be made.”

“Of course I know Becky's condition is grave,” Kim snapped. “That's why I have so much trouble sitting here doing nothing. It drives me crazy. I have trouble even looking at Becky, knowing there is nothing I can do medically to help. Besides, hearing all this about the beef industry and the USDA makes me furious. I said I was going to find out how she got sick. I'm going to follow this E. coli trail wherever it leads; at least I can do that for Becky.”

“What if we need you?” Tracy asked.

“My cellular phone is in my car,” Kim said. “You can call me. Anyway, I won't be gone that long.”

“Yeah, just like yesterday,” Tracy said.

“I've learned my lesson,” Kim said. “I'm not going to lose my temper.”

Tracy didn't look persuaded. “Go if you have to,” she said irritably.

Kim stormed out of the ICU waiting room. Not only was Becky's relentless downward course weighing on him, but so was Tracy's hostility. Just the day before, she'd professed to understand his frustrations. Now it was as if she'd forgotten she'd ever said anything.

Once on the freeway, Kim used his cellular phone to find Tom. He tried him several places before catching him in his lab at the hospital.

“I have to ask another favor,” Kim said.

“How's Becky?” Tom asked.

“To be honest, she's very bad,” Kim said. “I've been using a lot of denial about her condition, but I can't do that anymore. It doesn't look good. I had no idea this E. coli was so pathogenic and essentially untreatable once the toxin gets into the system. Anyway, I'm not optimistic.” Kim paused, fighting tears.

“I'm so sorry,” Tom said. “What a tragedy. What can I do to help?”

“Could you follow my inpatients for a couple of days?” Kim managed. “I'm strung out.”

“No problem at all,” Tom said graciously. “I'll be doing my own rounds when I finish here in the next few minutes, and I'll just add them on. I'll also tell the nurses so they'll call me if there're any problems.”

“Thanks, Tom,” Kim said. “I owe you.”

“I wish I could do more,” Tom said.

“Me too,” Kim said.

Bartonville was less than forty minutes out of town. Kim cruised down its main street and then followed the directions he'd gotten from a service station at the freeway exit. He found Mercer Meats without a problem.

It was a far bigger plant than he'd expected. The building was all white and modern-looking but otherwise nondescript. The grounds were immaculately landscaped with granite-lined drives and islands of trees in the parking area. The whole complex projected an aura of high profitability.

Kim parked relatively near the front door in one of a half-dozen “visitor” spaces. He slid out from behind the wheel and started toward the entrance. As he walked, he reminded himself not to lose his temper. After the experience at the Onion Ring, he knew that if he did, it would only work against him.

The reception area looked like it belonged at the entrance to an insurance company rather than a meat-packing concern. Plush wall-to-wall carpeting covered the floor, the furniture was richly upholstered, and there were framed prints on the walls. Only the subject matter of the prints gave a hint of the nature of the business: They were prints of various breeds of cattle.

A matronly woman wearing a cordless headset sat at a circular desk in the center of the room.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“I hope so,” Kim said. “What's the name of the president of Mercer Meats?”

“That would be Mr. Everett Sorenson,” the woman said.

“Would you call Mr. Sorenson and tell him that Dr. Kim Reggis is here to see him?” Kim said.

“Can I tell Mr. Sorenson what this is about?” the woman asked. She eyed Kim skeptically. His appearance was bordering on that of a homeless person.

“Is it necessary?” Kim asked.

“Mr. Sorenson is a very busy man,” the woman said.

“In that case,” Kim said, “tell him it's about Mercer Meats selling contaminated hamburger patties to the Onion Ring restaurant chain.”

“Excuse me?” the woman said. She'd heard Kim, but couldn't quite believe it.

“Or better yet,” Kim said, already beginning to forget his promise to himself about maintaining his composure, “tell him I'd like to discuss the fact that my only daughter is fighting for her life after consuming a Mercer Meats patty.”

“Perhaps you'd like to sit down,” the receptionist said. She swallowed nervously. Kim was now leaning over her desk, resting on his knuckles. “I'll give the president your message.”

“Thank you,” Kim said. He gave the woman a forced smile and retreated to one of the couches.

The woman spoke into her headset, while casting nervous glances in Kim's direction. He smiled again. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but from the look on her face, he knew it was about him.

Kim had his legs crossed. He bounced his foot. Five minutes dragged by. The more he waited, the more his anger flooded back. Just when he thought he couldn't sit there any longer, a man appeared with a long white coat not dissimilar to the one Kim was wearing, except it was clean and pressed. On his head was a blue baseball hat with
MERCER MEATS
emblazoned above the bill. He was carrying a clipboard.

He came right up to Kim and stuck out his hand. Kim stood up and shook the man's hand although he'd not intended to.

“Dr. Reggis, I'm Jack Cartwright. I'm glad to meet you.”

“Where's the president?” Kim asked.

“He's tied up at the moment,” Jack said. “But he asked me to come out and talk with you. I'm one of the vice presidents and among other things I'm in charge of public relations.”

Jack was a stocky individual with a doughy face and a slightly upturned porcine nose. He smiled ingratiatingly.

“I want to talk with the president,” Kim said.

“Listen,” Jack said without a beat, “I'm truly sorry to hear that your daughter is ill.”

“She's more than ill,” Kim said. “She's at death's door, fighting for her life against a bacteria called E. coli O157:H7. I imagine this is a bug you've heard of.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Jack said. His smile vanished. “Everyone in the meat business is aware of it, especially after the Hudson Meat recall. In fact, we're so paranoid about it, we make an effort to exceed by far all USDA rules, regulations, and recommendations. And as proof of our efforts, we've never been cited for a single deficiency.”

“I want to visit the hamburger-patty production area,” Kim said. He wasn't interested in Jack's obviously canned spiel.

“Now, that's impossible,” Jack said. “We understandably limit access to avoid contamination. But . . .”

“Hold up,” Kim interjected as his face reddened. “I'm a doctor. I understand contamination. I'll be willing to put on any suit that's normally worn in the area.
Whatever has to be done, I'll do. But I'm not going to take no for an answer.”

“Hey, calm down,” Jack said good-naturedly. “You didn't let me finish. You can't go onto the production floor, but we have a glassed-in observation walk so you can see the whole process. What's more, you don't have to change out of your street clothes.”

“That's a start, I suppose,” Kim said.

“Great!” Jack commented. “Follow me.”

Jack preceded Kim, leading him along a corridor.

“Are you only interested in hamburger production?” Jack asked. “What about some other meat product, like sausage?”

“Just hamburger,” Kim said.

“Fine and dandy,” Jack said cheerfully.

They got to a stair and started up.

“I want to emphasize we're tigers about cleanliness here at Mercer Meats,” Jack said. “Hell, the entire meat-production area gets cleaned every day, first with high-pressure steam and then with a quaternary ammonium compound. I mean, you could eat off the floor.”

“Uh-huh,” Kim intoned.

“The whole production area is kept at thirty-five degrees,” Jack said as they reached the top of the stairs. He grabbed the handle of a fire door. “It's tough on the workers but tougher on the bacteria. You know what I mean?” Jack laughed; Kim stayed silent.

They went through the door and entered a glass-enclosed corridor perched a floor above the production area. It ran the entire length of the building.

“Pretty impressive, wouldn't you say?” Jack said proudly.

“Where's the patty area?” Kim asked.

“We'll get to that,” Jack said. “But let me explain to you what all this machinery is doing.”

Below, Kim could see workers going about their business. They were all dressed in white uniforms with white caps that resembled shower hats. They were also wearing gloves and shoe covers. Kim had to admit that the plant looked new and clean. He was surprised. He'd expected something significantly less impressive.

Jack had to speak loudly over the sound of the machinery. The glass on either side of the walkway was single-paned.

“I don't know if you are aware that hamburger is usually a blend of fresh meat and frozen,” Jack said. “It's course ground separately over there. Of course, the frozen stuff has to be defrosted first.”

Kim nodded.

“After the course grind, the fresh and the frozen meat are dumped into the formulation blender over there to make a batch. Then the batch is finely ground in those big grinders.”

Jack pointed. Kim nodded.

“We do five batches per hour,” Jack said. “The batches are then combined into a lot.”

Kim pointed to a large rubber or plastic bin on wheels. “Does the fresh meat come in those containers?” he asked.

“Yup,” Jack agreed. “They're called ‘combo bins,' and they hold two thousand pounds. We're very particular with our fresh meat. It has to be used within five days, and it's got to be kept below thirty-five degrees. I'm sure you know that thirty-five degrees is colder than a standard refrigerator.”

“What happens to the lot?” Kim asked.

“As soon as it comes out of the fine grinder it goes by
this conveyor below us to the patty-formulating machine over yonder.”

Kim nodded. The formulating machine was in a separate room, closed off from the rest of the production area. They walked down the glass corridor until they were directly over it.

“An impressive machine, wouldn't you say?” Jack said.

“How come it's in its own room?” Kim asked.

“To keep it extra-clean and protect it,” Jack said. “It's the most expensive piece of equipment on the floor and the workhorse of the plant. That baby puts out either regular tenth-of-a-pound patties or quarter-pound jumbos.”