Toxin (44 page)

“Wow, that seems bright,” Kim said, squinting at the overhead light.

Tracy used the dimmer to cut the glare.

“I'm a basket case,” Kim admitted. He slipped out of his Higgins and Hancock white coat and held it out at arm's length. “This thing should be burned. It's probably got E. coli plastered all over it.”

“Just throw it away,” Tracy said. “But it's probably best to throw it in the trash barrel outside in the back. I can only imagine what it's going to smell like in the morning.” She took off her own coat and winced at the pain in her chest. Something hard had struck her just to the left of her sternum when Carlos had collided with her. At the time the pain had been so acute she'd thought she'd been stabbed.

“Are you all right?” Kim asked seeing her reaction.

Gingerly Tracy felt along the edge of her breastbone. “Is there anything that can break in here?” she asked.

“Of course,” Kim said. “You could have fractured either a rib or the sternum itself.”

“Oh, great!” Tracy said. “What should I do, Doctor?”

“Some ice wouldn't hurt,” Kim said. “I'll get some after getting rid of this white coat.”

Kim started for the back door via the kitchen. Tracy opened the hall closet and hung up her coat and kicked off her shoes. After closing the door, she started for the stairs. Halfway she suddenly froze and let out a screeching gasp.

Kim had only made it to the threshold of the kitchen when he heard Tracy's cry. He came running back. He was relieved to discover her unharmed in the center of the front hall. She was calm, but she seemed oddly transfixed at something in the living room. Kim tried to follow her line of sight. At first he saw nothing and was perplexed. But then he too saw what she was looking at. He was equally as startled.

In the shadows of the half-darkened room was a man. He was sitting motionless in the wing chair next to the fireplace. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie. A camel-hair coat was draped carefully over the back of the chair. His legs were casually crossed.

The man reached up and turned on a floor lamp.

Tracy let out another plaintive whine. On the coffee table in plain sight and within the man's easy reach was a black automatic pistol with an attached silencer.

The man was the picture of serenity, which only made him that much more terrifying. After turning on the light, his hand returned to the armrest. His expression was stern, almost cruel.

“You have made me wait much longer than I had intended,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was angrily accusatory.

“Who are you?” Tracy asked hesitantly.

“Come in here and sit down!” he snapped.

Kim looked to his left, judging how quickly he might be able to shove Tracy behind the arched wall of the foyer and possibly out of harm's way. He didn't see how he
could be quick enough especially since she'd then have to get out the front door.

Derek responded to their hesitation by snapping up the handgun and training it on them.

“Don't aggravate me further!” he warned. “This has been a bad day, and I'm in a cross mood. I'll give you two seconds to come in here and sit on the couch.”

Kim swallowed hard, but his voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “I think we'd better sit down.”

Kim urged Tracy forward while he berated himself for not having checked the house when they'd arrived. He'd made the effort that morning to be able to tell if anyone had come in while they were away, but then after the death of Carlos, he'd not even thought of it.

Tracy sat down first. Kim took a seat next to her. They were on the couch diagonally opposite the wing chair.

Derek calmly replaced his gun on the coffee table and leaned back. His hands returned to the upholstered arms of the chair with his fingers slightly curled like a gunfighter ready to draw. It was as if he were daring the people in the room to try to flee or take the gun, thereby giving him an excuse to shoot them.

“Who are you?” Tracy repeated. “What are you doing in my house?”

“My name is immaterial,” Derek said. “Why I'm here is another matter. I was brought to this city to kill the doctor.”

Both Kim and Tracy swayed slightly. Derek's frightening revelation made them momentarily dizzy. They were speechless in their terror. The man was a hired killer.

“But something went wrong,” Derek said. “They brought me all the way to this godforsaken city and then withdrew the contract without any real explanation other
than to say they had someone else who was going to do the job. They even had the gall to ask for the down payment back after I flew all the way out here.”

Derek leaned forward and his eyes blazed. “So not only am I not going to kill you, Dr. Reggis, I'm going to do you a favor. Now, I cannot figure out why these beef people want you dead.”

“I can tell you,” Kim offered anxiously. He was more than willing to cooperate.

Derek raised his hand. “There's no need for me to know the details at this point,” he said. “I tried to find out, but I gave up. It's your business. What you should know is that these people want you dead enough to hire me or someone like me. My way of getting back at them for taking advantage of me is to tell you that you are in grave danger. What you do with the information is entirely up to you. Am I making myself clear?”

“Perfectly,” Kim said. “Thank you.”

“No reason to thank me,” Derek said. “I'm not doing this for altruistic reasons.”

Derek stood up. “The only thing I ask in return is that you keep this conversation just between us. Otherwise I might have to come back and visit either one of you again, and I hope that's just as clear. I should warn you that I am very good at what I do.”

“Don't worry,” Kim said. “We won't discuss this with anyone.”

“Excellent,” Derek said. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to try to get home.”

Kim made a move to get up from the couch.

“Don't bother,” Derek said, motioning Kim to stay put. “I saw myself in; I'll see myself out.”

Kim and Tracy watched dumbfounded as Derek slipped on his camel-hair coat. He picked up his handgun
and slipped it into his pocket. Then he picked up his briefcase.

“I wouldn't have been quite so rude if you'd gotten home at a decent hour,” Derek said. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Kim said.

Derek walked out of the living room.

Kim and Tracy heard the door open and then slam closed.

For several minutes neither spoke.

“This is all so incredible. It's as if I'm in a nightmare and just can't wake up,” Tracy said.

“It's a nightmare that keeps on going,” Kim agreed. “But we have to do what we can to end it.”

“Do you still think we should go to a foreign country?” Tracy asked.

Kim nodded. “At least I should. It seems I'm a marked man. In fact, let's not even stay here tonight.”

“Where will we go?” Tracy asked.

“Hotel, motel, what does it matter?” Kim asked.

Tuesday, January 27
th

A
s soon as early-morning daylight began to creep around the edges of the cheap curtains, Kim gave up trying to fall back asleep. He eased out of bed to avoid disturbing Tracy, gathered up his clothes, and padded silently into the Sleeprite Motel's bathroom. He closed the door as quietly as possible, then turned on the light.

Kim looked at himself in the mirror and cringed. Between his ridiculous blond hair and sutured laceration framing sunken, red eyes, he hardly recognized himself. Despite his exhaustion, he'd slept fitfully and had awakened for the final time just after five. All night he'd reviewed the previous days' horrific events, agonizing over what to do. The idea of being pursued by hired killers was almost too much to comprehend.

Kim shaved and showered, thankful for simple tasks to divert his mind for a few moments. Brushing his hair down flat, he thought he appeared significantly more presentable.

After pulling on his clothes, Kim cracked the door. He was glad to see that Tracy had not budged. He knew she'd slept equally poorly and was pleased that she was now getting some real sleep. Kim was thankful for her presence but ambivalent about allowing her to share the current risk.

Kim went to the desk and used the pad by the phone to scribble a short note to tell Tracy that he'd gone to bring back some breakfast. He put the note on the blanket on his side of the bed. Then he picked up the car keys.

It was more difficult to get the entrance door open silently than it had been with the bathroom door because the entrance door was metal, and it had a chain-lock and a throw-bolt in addition to its regular lock.

Once outside, Kim reminded himself that he was being pursued by hired killers. The thought made him acutely paranoid despite being relatively certain he was safe for the moment. He and Tracy had used assumed names when they had checked in at the motel and had paid in cash.

Kim went to the car and climbed in. He started the engine but didn't pull out immediately. He watched the man who'd checked them in six hours earlier. He'd seen Kim come out of the room but had gone back to his chores. He was busy sweeping in front of the office. Kim wanted to make sure the man didn't do anything suspicious before he left Tracy alone, like suddenly run back inside the office to use the phone.

Recognizing his paranoia, Kim chided himself. He knew he was going to have to pull himself together or risk making the wrong decisions. Putting the car in gear, he backed up before driving out of the parking lot.

A few miles down the road was a donut shop where Kim ordered two coffees, two orange juices, and an assortment of donuts. The place was nearly full of
truckers and construction men. While Kim stood in line at the cash register, many of them eyed him skeptically. From their point of view, no doubt he was quite a sight.

Kim was happy to leave. As he stepped off the curb on his way to his car his eye saw the headlines of the paper placed behind the window of the dispenser. It said in bold, capital letters: “BERSERK DOCTOR SEEKS REVENGE BY MURDER!” Then along the bottom of the page in smaller print was: “THE ONCE RESPECTED PROFESSIONAL NOW A FUGITIVE FROM JUSTICE.”

A shiver of fear descended down Kim's spine. He quickly went to the car and deposited the food and drink. Heading back to the dispenser he sought the proper coins from his pocket. With a trembling hand he got out one of the papers. The door to the dispenser clattered shut.

Any lingering hope the story did not concern him was dashed when Kim saw a photo of himself below the headlines. It was several years old with his normal shock of dark hair.

Ducking back into the car, Kim turned back the front page of the newspaper. The story was on page two:

 

EXCLUSIVE TO THE
MORNING SUN TIMES
:

Dr. Kim Reggis, a respected cardiac surgeon and the former head of the department at the Samaritan Hospital and now on staff at the University Medical Center, has taken the law into his own hands vigilante style. In response to the tragic death of his daughter on Saturday, he allegedly disguised himself with blond hair color, got a job at Higgins and Hancock under a false name, and then brutally murdered another worker by the name of Carlos Mateo. It is thought that the motive
for this unprovoked killing is that Dr. Reggis believed his daughter died of meat slaughtered at Higgins and Hancock.

Mr. Daryl Webster, the president of Higgins and Hancock, has told the Times that this is a preposterous allegation. He also said that Mr. Mateo was a valued worker and a devoted Catholic, who tragically leaves behind an invalid wife and six young children. . . .

Kim angrily tossed the paper onto the passenger seat. He didn't have to read any further to be disgusted—and concerned. He started the car and drove back to the motel. Carrying the food and the paper, he entered.

Tracy heard him come in and poked her head around the bathroom door. She was toweling her wet head, having just gotten out of the shower.

“You're up,” Kim commented. He put down the food on the desk.

“I heard you go out,” Tracy said. “I'm glad to see you back. I was a little afraid you might leave me here with the idea of sparing me. Promise me you won't do that.”

“The idea crossed my mind,” Kim admitted. He sank dejectedly into the only chair.

“What's the matter?” Tracy asked. Although she knew there was more than enough on Kim's mind, he seemed far more despondent than she expected.

Kim held up the newspaper. “Read this!” he said.

“Is it about the man at Higgins and Hancock?” Tracy asked fearfully. She wasn't sure she wanted to read the details.

“Yes, and about me, too,” Kim said.

“Oh, no!” Tracy cried with dismay. “You're already associated with it?” She stepped into the room while
wrapping herself in the thin towel. She took the paper and read the headlines. Slowly she sank onto the edge of the bed, turning the page to read the rest.

It didn't take Tracy long. When she was finished, she closed the paper and put it aside. She looked at Kim. “What a character assassination,” she said somberly. “They even included mention of your recent arrests and that your hospital privileges have been suspended.”

“I didn't get that far,” Kim said. “I only read the first two paragraphs, but it was enough.”

“I can't believe this has all happened so quickly,” Tracy said. “Someone must have recognized you at Higgins and Hancock.”

“Obviously,” Kim said. “The man we killed wasn't trying to kill José Ramerez. And when he failed to kill me, the people who were paying him opted to destroy my credibility and possibly send me to jail for life.” Kim laughed mirthlessly. “And to think I was worried about the legal ramifications. I never even considered the media. It surely gives you an idea of the money and power of this industry in this town that they can manage to distort the truth like this. I mean, there was no investigative reporting in this article. The paper just printed what the meat industry told them. They have me murdering a God-fearing family man in cold blood in a fit of revenge.”

“This means we don't have twenty-four to forty-eight hours to decide what we're going to do,” Tracy said.

“I should say not,” Kim said. He stood up. “It means we should have decided last night. And for me it also means there's no longer a question. I'll fight this travesty but definitely from afar.”

Tracy stood up and stepped over to Kim. “There's no
longer a question for me either,” she said. “We'll go together and fight this together.”

“Of course it will mean we'll miss Becky's service,” Kim said.

“I know,” Tracy said.

“I think she'll understand.”

“I hope so,” Tracy managed. “I miss her so much.”

“Me too,” Kim said.

Kim and Tracy looked into each other's eyes. Then Kim reached out and put his arms around his former wife. Tracy put hers around Kim, and they hugged, pressing themselves against each other as if they'd been involuntarily separated for years. Another long moment passed until Kim leaned back to look Tracy in the eye. “It's like old times to feel close to you like this.”

“Very old times,” Tracy agreed. “Like in a previous life.”

 

K
elly Anderson looked at her watch. It was almost one-thirty. She shook her head. “He's not coming,” she said to Brian Washington.

Brian adjusted the TV camcorder on his shoulder. “You really didn't expect him to, did you?” he asked.

“He loved his daughter,” Kelly said. “And this is her funeral.”

“But there's a policeman right outside,” Brian said. “They'd arrest him on the spot. The guy would have to be crazy to come.”

“I think he is a little crazy,” Kelly said. “When he stopped in to my house to get me interested in his crusade, he had a wild look in his eye. He even scared me a little.”

“That I doubt,” Brian said. “I've never seen you
scared. In fact, I think you have ice in your veins, especially with as much iced tea as you drink.”

“You more than anyone should know it's just an act. I'm scared every time I go on the air.”

“Bull,” Brian said.

Kelly and Brian were standing in the foyer of the Sullivan Funeral Home. There were a few other people milling about and whispering discreetly. Bernard Sullivan, the proprietor, was standing near the door. He was clearly anxious and glanced repeatedly at his watch. The funeral service had been booked for one o'clock, and he had a tight schedule for the day.

“Did you think Dr. Reggis was crazy enough to kill someone like they said in the paper?” Brian asked.

“Let's put it this way,” Kelly said, “I think he was pushed to his limit.”

Brian shrugged. “I guess you just never know,” he said philosophically.

“Maybe the good doctor's absence is understandable,” Kelly said. “But, for the life of me, I can't understand where Tracy is. She was Becky's mother, for God's sake. And she has no reason to avoid the law. I'll tell you: this has me worried.”

“What do you mean?” Brian asked.

“If the good doctor has really lost it,” Kelly said, “it wouldn't be so far-fetched to think that he might blame his former wife in some twisted way for his daughter's death.”

“Oh, geez,” Brian said. “I never thought of that.”

“Listen,” Kelly said, suddenly making up her mind. “You go call the station to get Tracy Reggis's address. I'll go have a chat with Mr. Sullivan and ask him to page us if Tracy Reggis shows up.”

“You got it,” Brian said.

Brian headed back to the funeral-home office, while Kelly walked over to the funeral director and tapped him on the arm. Twenty minutes later, Kelly and Brian were in Kelly's car, gliding to a stop in front of Tracy's house.

“Uh-oh,” Kelly said.

“What's the matter?” Brian asked.

“That car,” Kelly said. She pointed to the Mercedes. “I think that's the doctor's car. At least it's the car he was driving when he came to visit me.”

“What should we do?” Brian asked. “I don't want any madman running out of the house with a baseball bat or a shot gun.”

Brian had a point. Following her scenario, Reggis could very well be in the house holding his former wife as a hostage or even worse.

“Maybe we should go around and talk to the neighbors,” Kelly suggested. “Somebody might have seen something.”

At the first two houses they approached, no one responded to the front doorbell. The third bell they rang was Mrs. English's, and she answered the door promptly.

“You're Kelly Anderson!” Mrs. English said excitedly, after taking one look at Kelly. “You're wonderful. I see you on TV all the time.” Mrs. English was a diminutive, silver-haired lady who looked like the quintessential grandmother.

“Thank you,” Kelly said. “Would you mind if we asked you a few questions?”

“Am I going to be on TV?” Mrs. English asked.

“It's a possibility,” Kelly said. “We're researching a story.”

“Ask away,” Mrs. English said.

“We're curious about your neighbor across the street,” Kelly said. “Tracy Reggis.”

“There's something strange going on there,” Mrs. English said. “That's for sure.”

“Oh?” Kelly questioned. “Tell us about it.”

“It started yesterday morning,” Mrs. English said. “Tracy came over and asked me to watch her house. Now, I watch it anyway, but she was very specific. She wanted me to tell her if any strangers came by. Well, one did.”

“Someone you've never seen before?” Kelly asked.

“Never,” Mrs. English said unequivocally.

“What did he do?” Kelly asked.

“He went inside.”