Toxin (33 page)

“It will be at the Sullivan Funeral Home on River Street,” Tracy said. “And it will be on Tuesday.”

“That's fine,” Kim said. He just couldn't bring himself to think too long or hard about it. “I'd like you to meet me at the mall.”

“Don't you want to hear the rest of the details?” Tracy asked.

“At the moment, meeting me at the mall is more important,” Kim said. He hoped he didn't sound too cold. “Then I'd like to ask if you'd come back with me to our old house.”

“How can going to the mall be more important than our daughter's funeral?” Tracy asked with exasperation.

“Trust me,” Kim said. “You can give me the details of the arrangements when I see you.”

“Kim, what's going on?” Tracy asked. She sensed an excited anticipation in his voice.

“I'll explain later,” Kim said.

“Where at the mall?” Tracy asked with resignation. “It's a big place.”

“Connolly Drugs,” Kim said. “Inside the store.”

“When?” Tracy asked.

“I'm on my way,” Kim said. “Get there as soon as you can.”

“It will take me more than a half hour,” Tracy said. “And you know they close at six tonight.”

“I know,” Kim said. “That's plenty of time.”

Tracy hung up the phone. She wondered if she was hurting Kim more than she was helping him by having let him avoid participating in the funeral arrangements. But she didn't have much time to dwell on it just then.

Despite their bitter divorce, thinking about Kim
brought out the mother in Tracy. She found herself wondering when Kim had eaten last. She knew she wasn't hungry, but guessed it would be best if they both had something. So before leaving for the mall, Tracy threw some food into a bag and carried it out to the car.

On the way to the mall, Tracy decided that she would insist that Kim participate in finalizing the plans for Becky's service. It would be best for both of them.

Since it was late afternoon on a cold, rainy Sunday, there was no traffic, and Tracy made it to the mall faster than she estimated. Even the parking area was relatively empty. It was the first time Tracy had ever been able to get a spot within a few steps of the main entrance.

Inside, the mall was more crowded than she expected given the number of cars outside. Just beyond the door she was confronted by a group of senior citizens bearing down on her while doing their version of power-walking. Tracy had to step into the lip of a shop for a moment to avoid being trampled. Walking on to the center of the mall, she assiduously avoided looking at the skating rink for fear of the memories it would invariably evoke.

Connolly Drugs was as busy as ever, particularly at the prescription counter where there were upwards of twenty people waiting. Tracy made a rapid trip around the store but didn't see Kim. On a slower transit, she located him in the hair-products section. He was carrying a box containing a pair of hair clippers and a bag from one of the mall's trendy clothing stores.

“Ah, Tracy,” Kim said. “Just in time. I want you to help me pick out a hair rinse. I've decided to go blond.”

Tracy lifted her hands onto her hips and regarded her former husband with bewilderment. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Kim said. He was preoccupied looking at the panoply of hair products.

“What do you mean you want to go blond?” Tracy asked.

“Just what I said,” Kim asserted. “And not just dirty blond. I want to be very blond.”

“Kim, this is crazy,” Tracy said. “You have to know it. And if you don't, I'm even more worried.”

“There's nothing to worry about,” Kim said. “I'm not decompensating if that's what you think. All I want to do is disguise myself. I'm going undercover.”

Tracy reached out and grabbed Kim by the shoulder to steady him. She leaned forward, suddenly transfixed by his earlobe. “What's this?” she questioned. “You're wearing an earring!”

“I'm pleased you noticed,” Kim said. “I had a little time before you got here, so I got an earring. I thought it was sufficiently out of character. I also got a leather outfit.” He held up the shopping bag.

“What are the hair clippers for?” Tracy asked.

“Those are for you to give me a haircut,” Kim said.

“I've never cut anyone's hair,” Tracy said. “You know that.”

“That doesn't matter,” Kim said with a smile. “I'm aiming for a skinhead look.”

“This is bizarre,” Tracy complained.

“The more bizarre, the better,” Kim said. “I don't want to be recognized.”

“Why?” Tracy asked.

“Because I visited Kelly Anderson,” Kim said. “And she refuses to lend us her investigative journalistic skills until I supply her with some incontrovertible proof.”

“Proof of what?” Tracy asked.

“Proof of the allegations Kathleen Morgan and
Marsha Baldwin made about the meat industry and the USDA.”

“And how is a disguise going to help you do that?” Tracy asked.

“It's going to help me get a job,” Kim said. “Marsha Baldwin told me slaughterhouses like Higgins and Hancock don't allow visitors, but she suggested I could get a job, especially if I were an illegal alien. I don't mean to say I'm trying to look like an illegal alien, just some marginal member of society who needs to earn some money.”

“I can't believe this,” Tracy said. “You mean you are going to go into Higgins and Hancock to try to get a job after someone tried to kill you in there?”

“I'm hoping the employment officer and the man with the knife are two different people,” Kim said.

“Kim, this is no laughing matter,” Tracy said. “I don't like the idea at all, especially if your fears about Marsha are true.”

“It might be a little dicey if they recognize me,” Kim admitted. “That's why I want the disguise to be good. Marsha contended that Higgins and Hancock is always in need of help because turnover is so high. So I'm counting on their not being particularly choosey.”

“I don't like this one bit,” Tracy said. “I think it's too risky. There's got to be another way. What if I talk to Kelly Anderson?”

“She's not going to budge,” Kim said. “She was clear about that. I've got to go in Higgins and Hancock, risk or not. Even if there is risk, I think it is worth it for Becky's sake. For me, it's a way to make her loss less meaningless.”

Kim felt tears spring to his eyes. “Besides,” he managed to add, “I have the time now that I'm unemployed. I'm on a forced, temporary leave from the hospital.”

“Because of what happened in the ICU?” Tracy questioned.

“Uh-huh,” Kim said. “Apparently you were the only person who thought my action was courageous.”

“It was courageous,” Tracy asserted. She was impressed. Kim had come around one-hundred-eighty degrees. He really wanted to do something for Becky's sake and was willing to risk his career and reputation to do so. She couldn't argue with his motives or his goal. Without another word, Tracy turned to the shelving and walked along the aisle until she found what she considered the best bleaching rinse.

 

C
arlos had waited until dusk before driving his dilapidated pickup into the Balmoral neighborhood. He liked the fact that the streets were dark. The only lights were at the corners over the street signs. Having looked at a map, it didn't take him long to find Edinburgh Lane and eventually Kim's house.

Carlos turned off his single working headlight before gliding to a stop in the shadow of some trees lining the street. He switched off the ignition and waited. From where he was parked he could see the silhouette of Kim's house against the darkening sky. Carlos was pleased. The lack of light suggested that Kim was not home. Once again Carlos would have the benefit of surprise, only this time it would be even better. Kim would be caught totally off-guard.

Carlos waited in his truck for twenty minutes before he felt comfortable enough to get out. He heard a dog bark, and he froze. The dog barked again, but it sounded farther away. Carlos relaxed. He reached into his truck and extracted one of the long kill-floor knives from beneath the seat. He slipped it under his coat.

Skirting around the front of his aged Toyota, Carlos entered the trees that separated Kim's house from its neighbor. Wearing a black leather coat and dark trousers, Carlos was all but invisible as he silently slipped through the thicket.

Carlos was pleased when he got a full view of the back of Kim's house. Like the front, there wasn't a light on in any window. Now he was certain the house was empty.

Hunched over, Carlos ran from the protection of the trees across Kim's backyard and flattened himself against the house. Again he waited for any suggestion that his presence was known. The neighborhood was deathly quiet. Even the dog that he'd heard earlier had fallen silent.

Staying within the shadow of the house, Carlos approached Kim's screened back porch. The knife flashed briefly in the dim light as Carlos cut a slit in the screen just long enough for him to silently slip through. Burglary was Carlos's true forte; the killing talent had been born of necessity.

 

K
im turned off the main road and drove through the gate marking the boundary of Balmoral Estates. He glanced in the rearview mirror to see Tracy's car follow suit. He was pleased that she was willing to help him with his hair, more for her company than from need. He was also pleased about her offer to make them something to eat. Kim couldn't remember the last time he had an actual meal although he guessed it had been Thursday night.

After parking his car in front of his garage, Kim gathered his bundles and went back to meet Tracy as she climbed from her car. It was raining harder than ever. In
total darkness, they navigated the black pools that had formed along the front walk.

When they reached the cover of the porch, Tracy offered to hold the packages while Kim got out his key.

“No need,” Kim said. “The door's unlocked.”

“That's not very wise,” Tracy commented.

“Why not?” Kim said. “There's not much in the house to take, and it makes it easier for the realtor.”

“I suppose,” Tracy said, unconvinced. She opened the door, and they entered the foyer.

They took off their coats and wiped the moisture from their foreheads. Then they carried their parcels into the kitchen.

“I'll tell you what,” Tracy said while putting her bag of groceries onto the countertop, “I'm happy to make us something to eat and help you with your hair, but first I'd really like to take a shower and warm up. Would you mind?”

“Mind?” Kim questioned. “Not at all. Help yourself.”

“It's sad to say,” Tracy added, “but the shower is the only thing I miss about this house.”

“I understand completely,” Kim said. “It was the only thing we made our own. There's a robe in with the towels if you'd like. Of course you also have some clothes here, but I moved them out to the hall closet.”

“Don't worry, I'll find something,” Tracy said.

“I had a shower at the hospital,” Kim said. “So I'll start a fire in the fireplace here in the family room. Maybe it will make this empty house a little less depressing.”

While Tracy headed upstairs, Kim got out a flashlight from the kitchen junk drawer, and headed down to the basement where the firewood was stored. He turned on
the light, but the single bulb had never been adequate to light the huge, cluttered cellar.

Kim had never felt comfortable in basements because of a disturbing experience he'd had in the basement of the home where he'd grown up. When Kim was six, his older brother had locked him in an unused wine cellar and then forgot about him. With the insulated door, no one had heard Kim's hysterical cries or his frantic pounding. It was only after his mother became worried he'd not appeared for dinner that his brother had remembered where he was.

Kim could not go down to the basement without remembering the terror he'd felt thirty-eight years previously. When he heard a thump in a neighboring storeroom as he loaded wood in his arms, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He froze and listened. He heard the noise again.

Steeling himself against the desire to flee, Kim put the wood down. Taking the flashlight, he walked over to the door to the storeroom. It took strength of will to make himself push the door open with his foot and shine the light in. A half dozen pairs of tiny red rubylike points of light stared back at him before scampering off.

Kim breathed a sigh of relief. He went back to the woodpile to finish loading up.

 

T
racy had climbed the stairs, feeling a twinge of nostalgia. It had been some time since she'd been on the second floor of the house. Outside of Becky's room, she'd paused, gazing at the closed door and wondering if she dare enter. Compromising, she merely opened the door and stood on the threshold.