Toxin (24 page)

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Marsha said.

“He is basically a good man,” Tracy said. “Egotistical and self-centered, but still a very good doctor. Certainly one of the best surgeons in his field.”

“I'm not surprised,” Marsha said. “One of the things that impressed me about him was that in the middle of all this he was still thinking about other children.”

“How do you feel about helping him after what you've seen here this afternoon?” Tracy asked. “It would be wonderful if he could channel his anger about Becky in some positive direction.”

“I'd like to help very much,” Marsha said. “But I guess he scared me. I don't know him the way you do, it's hard to put his actions in any perspective.”

“I understand,” Tracy said. “But I hope you'll consider it. I'll give you his address. Knowing him as well as I do, I'm sure he'll hole up there until his anger and sense of injustice drive him out to do something. All I can hope is that with your help his energies can be channeled into action that will make a difference.”

 

M
arsha climbed into her car. She didn't start it immediately but mulled over the events of this strange day. It had all started when she'd impulsively decided to put in a few hours of overtime at Mercer Meats.

Marsha wondered how to go about getting the information that Kim wanted. The source of meat for the various lots was recorded in the patty-room logs, but reading
specific entries was not within her usual province. Her job was just to confirm that the log was being kept. Knowing that someone was always looking over her shoulder, she wondered how she could do it without raising suspicion. The problem was she didn't want her own boss to know what she was up to, and that would be tricky since Mercer Meats was in close contact with her superiors concerning everything she did.

The answer was obvious. She'd go after hours when only the cleaning crew was there. In fact, Saturday was an ideal day for her to try; it would be quieter than usual.

Marsha got out the address Tracy had given her and consulted the city map she had in the car. Kim's house was relatively close; she decided to pay him a visit to see if he was still interested in her help.

It didn't take long for Marsha to find the property, but when she arrived, she was dismayed there wasn't a single light to counteract the gathering gloom. The house was a huge black hulk silhouetted in its dense surround of trees.

Marsha was about to leave, when she caught sight of Kim's car parked in the dark shadows in front of the garage. She decided to get out of her car and go to the front door on the off chance he was there.

Marsha rang the bell. She was surprised at the loudness and clarity of the chimes until she noticed that the front door was not fully closed. When Kim didn't respond to the bell, she rang it again. Again there was no response.

Mystified and concerned by the door being ajar in the middle of the winter, Marsha took a chance and pushed it open farther. She leaned into the front hall and called out Kim's name. There was no answer.

From where she was standing, Marsha's eyes adapted so she could see up the staircase, as well as through the
dining room and all the way to the kitchen. She called Kim's name again but again there was no response.

Unsure what to do next, Marsha thought about leaving. But then Tracy's comment about Kim possibly hurting himself came into her mind. She wondered if she should call the police, but that seemed a fairly extreme action to take based on so little evidence. She decided to probe further before deciding what to do.

Marshaling her courage, Marsha stepped into the foyer, intending to go to the base of the stairs. But she didn't get far. Halfway across the hall she stopped dead in her tracks. Kim was sitting in a club chair in an otherwise empty room less than ten feet away. He looked like a specter in the half darkness. His white doctor's coat appeared to glow like the radium dial of an old wristwatch.

“My God!” Marsha exclaimed. “You scared me!”

Kim didn't respond. He didn't even move.

“Dr. Reggis?” Marsha questioned. For a fleeting moment she wondered if he was dead.

“What do you want?” Kim asked in a tired monotone.

“Maybe I shouldn't have come. I just wanted to offer my help.”

“And just how do you plan to help?”

“By doing what you'd asked me earlier,” Marsha said. “I know it won't bring your daughter back, but I'd like to help you track the meat in those lots you think might be contaminated. Of course, it might be futile. You have to understand that, in this day and age, the meat in a single hamburger patty can come from a hundred different cows from ten different countries. But, be that as it may, I'm willing to give it a try if you still want me to.”

“Why the change of heart?” Kim asked.

“Mainly because you were right about the effect of
seeing a sick child. But also because you were right to an extent about the USDA. I wasn't willing to admit it earlier, but I know there's foot-dragging by my superiors and too much collusion between the agency and the beef industry. Every one of the deficiency reports I've filed for violations I've uncovered have been suppressed by my district manager. He's all but told me to my face to look the other way when there's a problem.”

“Why didn't you say this to me before?” Kim asked.

“I don't know,” Marsha said. “Loyalty to my employer, I suppose. You see, I think the system could work. It just needs more people like me who want it to work.”

“And meanwhile meat gets contaminated and people get sick,” Kim said. “And kids like Becky die.”

“Unfortunately that's true,” Marsha said. “But we in the business all know where the problem is: it's in the slaughterhouses. It's simply profit over safe meat.”

“When are you willing to help?” Kim asked.

“Whenever,” Marsha said. “Right now if you're up for it. Actually, tonight would be a good time for me to try because there'll be less risk. The only people at Mercer Meats now would be the overtime cleaning crew. I can't imagine they'd think much if I browse through the patty-room logs.”

“All right,” Kim said. “You're on. Let's go.”

Saturday evening, January 24
th

T
racy felt shell-shocked. Her divorce had been tough, especially the custody battle with Kim, but it was nothing compared to what she was feeling now. Thanks to her experience as a therapist, she recognized clearly the symptoms; she was on the verge of slipping into a serious depression. From having counseled other people in similar circumstances, she knew it wasn't going to be easy, but she wanted to fight it. At the same time, she knew she had to let herself grieve.

As she rounded the final bend in the road and approached her house, she could see Carl's yellow Lamborghini parked at the curb. She didn't know whether she'd be glad to see him or not.

Tracy pulled into her driveway and turned off the engine. Carl came down the steps to meet her, carrying a bouquet of flowers.

Tracy stepped out of her car and into Carl's arms. For
a few minutes they didn't talk; he just held her in the late-afternoon darkness.

“How did you find out?” Tracy asked, with her head still pressed against Carl's chest.

“Being on the hospital board, I hear all the news,” Carl said. “I'm so sorry.”

“Thank you,” Tracy said. “God, I feel drained.”

“I can imagine,” Carl said. “Come on. Let's get you inside.”

They started walking up the pathway.

“I hear Kim really lost it. That must make it extra tough on you.”

Tracy only nodded.

“The man's clearly out of control. Who does he think he is—God? I tell you, the whole hospital is in an uproar.”

Tracy opened the door without responding. She and Carl went in.

“Kim's having a hard time,” Tracy said.

“Ha!” Carl commented. He took Tracy's coat and hung it along with his in the hall closet. “That's an understatement. As usual, you're being generous. I'm not nearly so charitable. In fact, I could club him for carrying on the way he did in the Onion Ring restaurant last night about Becky's getting sick there. Did you see the article in the paper? It's had a big effect on the Onion Ring share price. I can't tell you how much of a paper loss I've suffered from his lunacy.”

Tracy went into the living room and collapsed on the couch. She felt exhausted and yet wired and anxious at the same time. Carl followed her.

“Can I get you something?” Carl asked. “Like a drink or some food.”

Tracy shook her head. Carl sat across from her. “I spoke to some other members of the Foodsmart board,” he said. “We're seriously thinking about suing him if the share price continues to fall.”

“It wasn't an idle accusation on his part,” Tracy said. “Becky had a rare burger there the night before she got sick.”

“Oh, come on,” Carl said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Becky didn't get sick there. Hundreds of thousands of burgers are made in the chain. No one gets sick. We cook those burgers to death.”

Tracy didn't say anything. Carl quickly realized what he'd said.

“I'm sorry. That was a poor choice of words under the circumstances.”

“It's okay, Carl,” Tracy said wearily.

“I'll tell you what bugs me about all this,” Carl said. “Hamburger has gotten a bad rap with this E. coli brouhaha. It's now like a knee-jerk reaction: E. coli and hamburger. Hell, people have gotten the same E. coli from apple juice, lettuce, milk, even swimming in a contaminated pond. Don't you think it's unfair that hamburger has to take all the crap?”

“I don't know,” Tracy said. “I'm sorry I can't be more responsive. I feel numb. It's hard for me to think.”

“Of course, dear,” Carl said. “I'm the one who should be sorry for carrying on like I am. I think you should eat. When was the last time you had a meal?”

“I can't remember,” Tracy said.

“Well, there you go,” Carl said. “How about we go out to some quiet place?”

Tracy looked at Carl in total disbelief. “My daughter just died. I'm not going out. How can you even ask?”

“Okay,” Carl said, raising his hands in defense. “It was just an idea. I think you should eat. I suppose I could get some takeout food. What about that?”

Tracy lowered her face into her hands. Carl was not helping. “I'm not hungry. Besides, maybe it would be better for me to just be alone tonight. I'm not very good company.”

“Really?” Carl questioned. He was hurt.

“Yes, really,” Tracy said. She raised her head. “I'm sure there's something you should be doing.”

“Well, there is the dinner at Bobby Bo Mason's house,” Carl said. “Remember me telling you about that?”

“I can't say that I do,” Tracy said tiredly. “Who's Bobby Bo?”

“He's one of the local cattle barons,” Carl said. “Tonight's the celebration of his assuming the presidency of the American Beef Alliance.”

“Sounds very important,” Tracy said in contrast to how she felt.

“It is,” Carl said. “It's the most powerful national organization in the business.”

“Then don't let me keep you from it,” Tracy said.

“You wouldn't mind?” Carl said. “I'll have my cellular phone. You can call me, and I can be back here in twenty minutes tops.”

“I wouldn't mind at all,” Tracy said. “In fact, I'd feel bad if you missed it on my account.”

 

T
he car's instrument panel splashed light on Kim's face. Marsha stole glances at him as she drove. Now that she'd had a chance to observe him, she had to admit to
herself that he was a handsome man even with his two-day stubble.

They drove in silence for quite a ways. Finally Marsha was able to get Kim talking about Becky. She had a feeling it would be good for him to talk about his daughter and she was right. Kim warmed to the subject. He regaled Marsha with stories of Becky's skating exploits, something Tracy had not mentioned.

When the conversation about Becky lapsed, Marsha had talked a little about herself, explaining that she'd been through veterinary school. She'd described how she and a girlfriend had become interested in the USDA and had vowed to join the agency to make a difference. She'd explained that after graduation, they'd discovered there were obstacles for them to get into the veterinarian side of the USDA. The only entry-level positions available were with the inspectional services. In the end, it had only been Marsha who'd joined. The friend had decided the year or so it would take to be transferred was too big a sacrifice and had opted for private veterinarian practice.

“Veterinary school?” Kim questioned. “I wouldn't have guessed.”

“Why not?” Marsha asked.

“I don't know exactly,” Kim said. “Maybe you are a little too . . .” Kim paused as he struggled for a word. Finally he said: “. . . too elegant, I guess. I know it's probably unfair, but I'd expect someone to be more . . .”

“More what?” Marsha asked as Kim paused again. She was enjoying Kim's mild discomfort.

“I guess tomboyish,” Kim said. He chuckled. “I suppose that's a stupid thing to say.”

Marsha laughed too. At least he could hear how ridiculous he sounded.

“If you don't mind my asking,” Kim said, “how old are you? I know that's an inappropriate question, but unless you are some kind of child prodigy, you're not in your early twenties like I'd guessed.”

“Heavens, no,” Marsha said. “I'm twenty-nine, pushing thirty.”

Marsha leaned forward and turned on the windshield wipers. It had started to rain. It was already as dark as pitch even though it was only a little after six in the evening.

“How are we going to work this?” Kim questioned.

“Work what?” Marsha asked.

“My getting into Mercer Meats,” Kim said.

“I told you, it won't be a problem,” Marsha said. “The day shift is long gone along with the supervisors. Only the overtime cleaning crew will be there, along with a security guard.”

“Well, the guard's not going to be excited about letting me in,” Kim said. “Maybe I should just wait in the car.”

“Security is not going to be a problem,” Marsha said. “I have both my USDA and Mercer Meats I.D.'s.”

“That's fine for you,” Kim said. “But what about me?”

“Don't worry,” Marsha said. “They know me. They've never once even asked to see my I.D. If it comes up, I'll say you're my supervisor. Or I'll say I'm training you.” She laughed.

“I'm not dressed like someone from the USDA,” Kim said.

Marsha shot Kim a glance and giggled some more. “What does a night security man know? I think you look bizarre enough to pass for most anything.”

“You seem awfully cavalier about this,” Kim commented.

“Well, what's the worst-case scenario?” Marsha said. “We don't get in.”

“And you get into trouble,” Kim said.

“I've already thought of that,” Marsha said. “What happens, happens.”

Marsha exited the expressway and started through Bartonville. They had to stop at the single traffic light in the town, where Mercer Street met Main Street.

“When I think about hamburger,” Marsha said, “I'm surprised anyone eats it. I was a half-ass vegetarian before this job. Now I'm a committed one.”

“Coming from a USDA meat inspector, that's not very reassuring,” Kim said.

“It turns my stomach when I think of what hamburger has in it,” Marsha said.

“What do you mean?” Kim said. “It's muscle.”

“Muscle and a bunch of other stuff,” Marsha said. “Have you ever heard of the Advanced Meat Recovery System?”

“Can't say that I have,” Kim said.

“It's a high-pressure device that they use to clean every scrap off cattle bones,” Marsha said. “It results in a gray slurry that they dye red and add to the hamburger.”

“That's disgusting,” Kim said.

“And central-nervous tissue,” Marsha said. “Like spinal cord. That gets into hamburger all the time.”

“Really?” Kim asked.

“Absolutely,” Marsha said. “And that's worse than it sounds. You've heard of mad cow disease?”

“Who hasn't?” Kim said. “That's an illness that terrifies me. The idea of a heat-resistant protein that you get by eating and that is fatal is the ultimate horror. Thank God we don't have it in this country.”

“We don't have it yet,” Marsha said. “At least it hasn't
been seen so far. But if you ask me, it's just a matter of time. Do you know what is thought to have caused mad cow disease in England?”

“I believe it's thought to have come from feeding rendered sheep to the cows,” Kim said. “Sheep that were sick with scrapie, the sheep equivalent.”

“Exactly,” Marsha said. “And in this country there's supposed to be a ban on feeding rendered sheep to cows. But you know something, there's no enforcement, and I was told by insiders that as many as a quarter of the renderers admit in private they don't pay any attention to the ban.”

“In other words, the same circumstances that resulted in mad cow disease in England are present here?”

“Precisely,” Marsha said. “And with spinal cord and the like routinely getting into hamburger, the chain to humans is in place. That's why I say it's just a matter of time before we see the first cases.”

“Good God!” Kim exclaimed. “The more I hear about this shoddy business, the more appalled I get. I'd no idea about any of this.”

“Nor does the general public,” Marsha said.

The white hulk of Mercer Meats loomed up, and Marsha turned into its parking area. In contrast to earlier that day, there were few cars. She pulled up close to the front door in the same spot she'd been in that morning. She turned off the engine.

“Ready?” she asked.

“You're sure I should come?” Kim asked.

“Come on!” Marsha said. She opened the door and got out.

The front door was locked. Marsha rapped on it. Inside, the guard was seated at the round reception desk, reading a magazine. He responded by getting up and
coming to the door. He was an elderly gentleman with a thin mustache. His security uniform appeared to be several sizes too big.

“Mercer Meats is closed,” he said through the glass.

Marsha held up her Mercer Meats I.D. card. The guard squinted at it, then unlocked and opened the door. Marsha immediately pushed in. “Thanks,” she said simply.

Kim followed. He could tell the guard looked at him suspiciously, but the man didn't say anything. He merely locked the door.

Kim had to run to catch up to Marsha, who was already beyond the reception desk and briskly walking down the corridor.