Toxin

TWELVE

Saturday, January 24th

Weak early-morning sunlight slanted through the mote-filled air of the courtroom and created a swath of light on the floor. Kim was standing in the beam and squinting from the glare. In front of him Judge Harlowe was presiding, in his black judicial robes. Reading glasses were perched precariously on the judge's narrow, knifelike nose. To Kim, he appeared like an enormous black bird.

"After more than twenty years on the bench," Judge Harlowe was saying while glaring down at Kim over the top of his spectacles, "I should not be surprised at what I see and hear. But, this is one strange story."

"It's because of my daughter's condition," Kim said. He was still attired in his long white coat over hospital scrubs, with his surgical mask still tied around his neck. But the coat was no longer crisp and clean. From having slept in it overnight in jail, it was wrinkled and soiled. Below the left pocket was a reddish-brown stain.

"Doctor, I have great sympathy for you given that your daughter is gravely ill," Judge Harlowe said. "What I have trouble understanding is why you are not at the hospital at her side."

"I should be," Kim said. "But her condition is such there is nothing I can do. Besides, I had only intended to be away for an hour or so."

"Well, I'm not here to make value judgments," Judge Harlowe said. "What I am here for is to address your behavior in regard to trespassing, committing battery on a fast-food restaurant manager, and, perhaps most egregious of all, resisting arrest and striking a police officer. Doctor, this is unacceptable behavior no matter the circumstances."

"But, Your Honor, I…" Kim began.

Judge Harlowe raised his hand to quiet Kim. "It doesn't matter that you suspect your daughter's illness might have originated at the Onion Ring on Prairie Highway. You of all people should know we have a Department of Health which is mandated to look into this kind of thing, and we have courts of law. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Kim said resignedly.

"I hope you seek some help, Doctor," Judge Harlowe said. "I'm plainly mystified by your actions, knowing that you're a renowned cardiac surgeon. In fact, you operated on my father-in-law, and he still sings your praises. At any rate, I'm releasing you on your own recognizance. You're to return for trial four weeks hence. See the court clerk."

Judge Harlowe struck his gavel and asked for the next case.

On his way out of the courthouse, Kim eyed a public phone. He hesitated for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to call the hospital. The evening before he'd tried to call Tracy, but he'd failed to reach her with the calls he had been allotted. Now, with a phone available, he dithered. He felt guilty about having been gone for so long, as well as embarrassed for what had happened. He was also afraid of what he might find out about Becky. He decided to go rather than call.

At a cab stand just outside the courthouse, Kim caught a cab to the Onion Ring. The deserted restaurant looked completely different in the morning prior to its opening. Kim's aging vehicle was the only one in the parking lot and there wasn't a soul in sight.

Climbing in his car, Kim set out for the hospital. En route he made a detour to Sherring Labs.

Inside he approached a receiving counter and rang a stainless-steel bell. A woman appeared within seconds. She was dressed in a lab coat.

Kim fished the two hamburger patties, now defrosted, out of his left pocket and handed them to the woman. "I'd like these patties tested for E. coli 0157:H7," he said. "Also for the toxin."

The technician eyed the discolored meat warily. "I think it might have been better if you'd refrigerated the samples," she said. "When meat's been at room temperature for more than a couple of hours it's going to grow out a lot of bacteria."

"I understand that," Kim said. "But I don't care about other bacteria. I only want to know if E. coli 0157:H7 is present."

The woman disappeared for a moment. She returned wearing latex gloves. She took the meat and put each sample into a separate container. Then she took the billing details. Kim used his office account.

"How long will it take?" Kim asked.

"We'll have a final reading in forty-eight hours," she replied.

Kim thanked her, washed his hands in a restroom, and went back out to his car.

As he neared the hospital, Kim became increasingly anxious. He started trembling as he parked his car; the tremors grew worse as he rose up in the elevator. Preferring to face Tracy after checking on Becky, he used a back route to the ICU to avoid the ICU waiting room. As he passed through the halls, people eyed him with curiosity. Kim could well understand, considering his appearance. Besides his soiled attire, he needed a shower and a shave and his hair needed combing.

Within the ICU. Kim nodded to the ward clerk but didn't offer any explanation. Approaching Becky's cubicle. he found himself making a pact with God. If only Becky could be spared…

Kim slipped in by Becky's bedside. A nurse was changing her IV bottle. Her back was to him. Kim gazed at his daughter. Any faint sliver of hope of improvement he had entertained instantly vanished. Becky was obviously still in a coma. Her eyelids were taped shut and she was still intubated and being respired. What was new were large, deep-purple patches of subcutaneous bleeding under the skin of her face that made her look cadaverous.

"Oh, my goodness, you frightened me," the nurse said when she caught sight of Kim. She put a hand to her chest. "I didn't hear you."

"She doesn't look good," Kim said. He kept his voice even in an attempt to hide the grief, anger, and humiliating impotence he felt.

"I'm afraid not," the nurse said, eyeing Kim with some misgivings. "The poor little angel has been having a terrible time."

Kim's trained ear drew his attention to the cardiac monitor screen. The beeping was irregular as were the blips of the cursor.

"She has an arrhythmia! When did this develop?"

"Relatively recently," the nurse said. "It started last night. She developed a cardiac effusion which quickly brought on symptoms of tamponade. She had to be tapped."

"When?" Kim asked. Now he felt even more guilty for not having been available. Dealing with a cardiac effusion was something he knew about.

"Just after four this morning," the nurse said.

"Are any of her doctors still here?" Kim asked.

"I believe so," the nurse said. "I think they're talking to the patient's mother in the waiting room."

Kim fled. He couldn't stand to see his daughter in such a condition. Out in the corridor, he paused to catch his breath and regain some composure. Then he walked down to the waiting room. He found Tracy talking with Claire Stevens and Kathleen Morgan. As soon as they saw Kim, their conversation stopped.

For a moment there was silence.

Tracy was clearly distraught. Her mouth was a grim line. She had her knees pressed together and her hands clasped. She gazed at Kim with a sad, confused expression reflecting both concern and contempt. She shook her head. "You're in the same clothes. You're a mess. Where on earth have you been?"

"My visit to the Onion Ring took a lot longer than I thought it would." He looked at Claire. "So Becky has now developed pericarditis."

"I'm afraid so," Claire said.

"My God!" Kim exclaimed. "What next?"

"At this stage, just about anything," Kathleen said.

"We've confirmed that this is a particularly pathogenic strain of E. coli that produces not one but two extraordinarily potent toxins. What we're seeing is full-blown HUS."

"What about the plasmaphoresis?" Kim asked.

"Dr. Ohanesian made an impassioned plea to the AmeriCare Review Board chairman," Claire said. "But as we warned, the committee probably will not give the okay."

"Why not?" Kim demanded. "We've got to do something, and I said I'll be willing to pay for it."

"Your being willing to pay doesn't matter," Claire said. "From their point of view, it would set a dangerous precedent. They could then be forced to offer it to families that couldn't or wouldn't pay."

"Then let's get Becky to someplace where it is offered," Kim snapped.

"Dr. Reggis," Claire said sympathetically. "Becky is in worse condition today than she was yesterday, and yesterday she was in no condition to be transferred. But plasmaphoresis is not totally out of the question. There's still hope they could give the green light. We'll just have to wait."

"Wait and do nothing," Kim said with a scowl.

"That's not true," Claire said hotly. Then she caught herself and sighed; talking with Kim was a chore she did not relish. "We're supporting her every way possible."

"Meaning you're sitting on your hands and treating complications," Kim spat.

Claire stood up and looked at Tracy and Kathleen. "I think it's time for me to see the rest of my inpatients. But I'll be available if needed: just page me."

Tracy nodded. Kathleen responded that she'd be doing the same thing in a few minutes. Claire left.

Kim collapsed into the chair vacated by Claire and buried his head in his hands. He was struggling with a roller coaster of emotions: first anger and then sadness, then back to anger. Now sadness returned. He fought back tears. He knew he should be seeing his own inpatients, but for the moment he was incapable.

"Why did your visit to the Onion Ring take so long?" Tracy asked. As irritated as she was by his behavior, she couldn't help but be concerned about him. He looked pitiful.

"Actually, I was in jail," Kim admitted.

"Jail!"

"If you want me to tell you that you were right, you were right," Kim said. "I should have calmed down before I went."

"Why were you in jail?" Tracy asked.

"I lost my temper," Kim said. "I went there to find out about the possibility of tainted meat. The manager's self-righteous denial drove me up the wall."

"I don't think it's the fast-food industry's fault," Kathleen offered. "With this E. coli problem the fast-food restaurants are as much a victim as the patrons who are infected. They get contaminated hamburger."

"I figured as much," Kim said, with his face still buried in his hands. "My next visit will be to Mercer Meats."

"With Becky's condition, it's hard for me to think," Tracy said. "But how can there be contaminated meat? Aren't these places continually inspected? I mean, doesn't the USDA certify the meat?"

"They certify it," Kathleen said. "But in this day and age, it's an unfortunate assumption to believe that it's not contaminated."

"How can that be?" Tracy asked.

"For a lot of reasons," Kathleen said, "chief of which is that the USDA has an inherent conflict of interest."

Kim lifted his head out of his hands. "How so?"

"It's because of the USDA's mandate," Kathleen said. "On the one hand, the agency is the official advocate for U.S. agriculture, which includes the powerful beef industry. That's actually the USDA's main job. On the other hand, it has inspectional obligations. Obviously the two roles don't mix. It's a genuine case of asking the fox to guard the henhouse."

"This sounds incredible," Kim said. "Is this something you know for a fact, or is it something you've heard and are just passing it along?"

"I'm afraid it's something I know about firsthand," Kathleen said. "I've been looking into the problem of food contamination for over a year. I've gotten active through a couple of consumer groups who are fighting an uphill battle to do something about it."

"How did you get involved?" Tracy asked.

"It would have been hard for me not to," Kathleen said. "Food contamination and the illness it causes have become a major part of my practice. People in general seem to want to keep their heads in the sand about all this. But it's a problem that is getting worse by the day."

"This is unbelievable!" Kim exclaimed as anger again overcame his sadness.

"There's more," Kathleen said. "Not only is there a conflict of interest with the USDA, but from what I've seen, the USDA and the beef industry are much too close."

"What are you implying?" Kim asked.

"Exactly what I said," Kathleen added. "Particularly in middle-management positions, there's a kind of musical chairs with people moving back and forth to make sure the industry is interfered with as little as possible."

"This is all for profit, no doubt," Kim said.

"To be sure," Kathleen said. "The beef industry is a multibillion-dollar business. Profit maximization is its goal not the public health."

"Wait a second," Tracy said. "How can all this be true? In the past, the USDA has uncovered problems and has done something about them. I mean, not that long ago with Hudson Foods…"

"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 0157: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 tire 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."

"What happens to the patties when they come out of the formulating machine?" Kim asked.

"A conveyor takes them directly into the nitrogen freeze tunnel," Jack said. "Then they are hand-packed into boxes, and the boxes into cartons."

"Can you trace the origin of meat?" Kim asked. "I mean if you know the lot number, the batch numbers, and the production date."

"Sure," Jack said. "That's all recorded in the patty-room log."

Kim reached into his pocket and withdrew the piece of paper on which he'd written the information from the labels in the Onion Ring walk-in freezer. He unfolded it and showed it to Jack.

"I'd like to find out where the meat came from for these two dates and lots," Kim said.

Jack glanced at the paper but then shook his head. "Sorry, I can't give you that kind of information."

"Why the hell not?" Kim demanded.

"I just can't," Jack said. "It's confidential. It's not for public consumption."

"What's the secret?" Kim asked.

"There's no secret," Jack said. "It's just company policy."

"Then why keep the logs?" Kim asked.

"They are required by the USDA," Jack said.

"Sounds suspicious to me," Kim said, thinking about some of Kathleen's comments earlier that morning. "A public agency requires logs whose information is not available to the public."

"I don't make the rules," Jack said lamely.

Kim let his eyes roam around the patty room. It was impressive with its polished stainless-steel equipment and lustrous tiled floor. There were three men and one woman tending to the machines.

Kim noticed that the woman was carrying a clipboard on which she scribbled intermittently. In contrast to the men, she did not touch the machinery.

"Who's that woman?" Kim asked.

"That's Marsha Baldwin," Jack said. "She's a looker, isn't she?"

"What's she doing?" Kim asked.

"Inspecting," Jack said. "She's the USDA inspector assigned to us. She stops in here three, four, sometimes five times a week. She's a real hard-ass. She sticks her nose into everything."

"I suppose she could trace the meat," Kim said.

"Sure," Jack said. "She checks the patty-room log every time she's here."

"What's she doing now?" Kim asked. Marsha was bending over, looking into the yawning mouth of the patty-formulating machine.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Jack said. "Probably making sure it was cleaned the way it was supposed to be, which it undoubtedly was. She's a stickler for details, that's all I know. At least she keeps us on our toes."

"Three to five times a week," Kim repeated. "That's impressive."

"Come on," Jack said, motioning with his hand for Kim to follow him. "The only thing you haven't seen yet is the boxes being packed into the cartons, and the cartons being put into cold storage prior to shipping."

Kim knew he'd seen as much as he was likely to see. He was convinced that he would not get to talk with Everett Sorenson.

"If you have any further questions," Jack said back at the reception area, "just give a holler." He gave Kim a business card and flashed a winning smile. Then he pumped Kim's hand, slapped him on the back, and thanked him for his visit.

Kim walked out of the Mercer Meats building and got into his car. Instead of starting the engine, he turned on the radio. After making sure his cellular phone was on. he leaned back and tried to relax. After a few minutes, he rolled the window partly down. He didn't want to fall asleep.

Time moved very slowly. Several times he almost gave up and left. He was feeling progressively guilty about having abandoned Tracy in the ICU waiting room. But a little over an hour later, Kim's patience paid off: Marsha Baldwin walked out of Mercer Meats. She was dressed in a khaki coat and carried what looked like a government-issue briefcase.

In a mild panic to get to her before she climbed into her car, Kim struggled with his door. It stuck once in a while: a legacy of an old fender bender. Several thumps with his palm got it open, and he leaped out. He sprinted toward the woman. By the time he got to her, she had the back door open of her yellow Ford sedan. She was just straightening up from having stowed her briefcase on the floor of the backseat. Kim was surprised by her height. He estimated she had to be at least five foot ten.

"Marsha Baldwin?" Kim demanded.

Mildly surprised at being accosted by name in the parking lot, Marsha turned to Kim and gave him a once-over with her deep emerald-green eyes. By reflex she swept a lock of her dark blond hair off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. She was confused by Kim's appearance and immediately put on guard by the confrontational tone of his voice.

"Yes, I'm Marsha Baldwin," she said hesitantly.

Kim took in the whole picture, including the bumper sticker that said "Save the Manatees" on what was obviously a government-issue car and the image of the woman who was, in Jack Cartwright's words, "a looker." Kim estimated she couldn't have been much over twenty-five, with coral-toned skin and cameo-like features. Her nose was prominent but aristocratic. Her lips sculpted in sharp relief.

"We have to talk," Kim averred.

"Really?" Marsha questioned. "And what are you, an unemployed surgeon or did you just come from last night's costume party?"

"Under different circumstances I might think that was clever," Kim said. "I was told you are a USDA inspector."

"And who gave you this information?" Marsha asked warily. She'd been warned in her training that occasionally she might have to deal with kooks.

Kim motioned toward the Mercer Meats entrance. "By an unctuous Mercer Meats PR man named Jack Cartwright."

"And what if I was a USDA inspector?" Marsha asked. She closed the rear door of her car and opened the front. She had no intention of giving this strange man much time.

From his pocket Kim extracted the paper with the details from the labels of the patty cartons in the Onion Ring. He held it at the top corner shoulder high. "I want you to find out where the meat came from for these two lots."

Marsha glanced at the paper. "What on earth for?" she questioned.

"Because I believe one of these lots has made my daughter deathly sick with a bad strain of E. coli," Kim said. "Not only do I want to know where the meat came from, but I also need to know where these lots were shipped to."

"How do you know it was one of these lots?" Marsha asked.

"I don't know for sure," Kim said. "At least not yet."

"Oh, really?" Marsha questioned superciliously.

"Yes, really," Kim said hotly, taking offense at her tone.

"Sorry, I can't get you that kind of information," Marsha said.

"Why not?" Kim demanded.

"It's not my job to give such information to the public," Marsha said. "I'm sure it's against the rules."

Marsha started to get into her car.

Picturing his deathly ill daughter in her hospital bed, Kim roughly grabbed Marsha's arm to keep her from getting into the car. "Screw the rules, you goddamn bureaucrat," he snapped. "This is important. You're supposed to be protecting the public. Here's an opportunity to do just that."

Marsha didn't panic. She looked down at the hand gripping her arm, then back up into Kim's indignant face. "Let go of me or I'll scream bloody murder, you crank."

Convinced she was a woman of her word, Kim let go of her arm. He was nonplussed by Marsha's unexpected assertiveness.

"Be nice, now," Marsha said as if she were talking with a juvenile. "I haven't done anything to you."

"Like hell you haven't," Kim said. "If you USDA people weren't acting out a sham and really inspected this meat industry, my daughter wouldn't be sick, nor would some five hundred kids die each year."

"Now, just wait one minute," Marsha shot back. "I work hard at my job, and I take it very seriously."

"Bull," Kim spat. "I've been told that you people work hard at going through the motions. I even hear you're in bed with the industry you're supposed to be inspecting."

Marsha's mouth dropped open. She was incensed. "I'm not going to validate that comment by responding," she said. She climbed in behind the wheel and pulled her door shut. She stuck her key in the ignition.

Kim rapped on her window. "Wait a sec," he yelled. "I'm sorry. Please!" He ran a worried hand through his disheveled hair. "I'm desperate for your help. I didn't mean anything personal. Obviously I don't know you."

After a few seconds' deliberation, Marsha rolled her window down and looked up at Kim. What had appeared to her a moment previously as the visage of an eccentric oddball now looked like the face of a tortured man.

"Are you really a doctor?" she asked.

"Yes," Kim said. "A cardiac surgeon to be exact."

"And your daughter is really sick?"

"Very, very sick," Kim said with a voice that broke.

"She has an extremely bad strain of E. coli. I'm almost positive she got it from eating a rare hamburger."

"I'm truly sorry to hear that," Marsha said. "But listen, I'm not the one you should be talking to. I've only been working for the USDA for a short time, and I'm at the bottom of the inspectional service totem pole."

"Who do you think I should contact?" Kim asked.

"The district manager," Marsha said. "His name is Sterling Henderson. I could give you his number."

"Is he sort'a what you'd call middle management?" Kim asked. He could hear Kathleen's voice in the back of his mind.

"I suppose," Marsha said.

"I'm not interested." Kim said. "I've been told there are real problems with the USDA inspectional services in terms of conflict of interest, especially in middle-management positions. Is this something you know anything about?"

"Well, I know there are problems," Marsha admitted. "It's all very political."

"Meaning, a multibillion-dollar industry like the beef industry can throw its weight around."

"Something like that," Marsha said.

"Will you help me for my daughter's sake?" Kim asked. "I can't help her medically, but I'm sure as hell going to find out the how and the why she got sick, and maybe in the process do something about it. I'd love to spare other kids from the same fate. I think one of these lots on this piece of paper has to be contaminated with a particularly dangerous strain of E. coli."

"Gosh, I don't know what to say," Marsha responded. She tapped the steering wheel as she debated with herself. The idea of saving some children from a serious illness had great appeal. But there were risks.

"I don't think there's any way for me to get this material without your help," Kim said. "At least not fast enough to make a difference."

"What about calling the department of public health?" Marsha suggested.

"That's an idea," Kim said. "I'll be willing to try that too on Monday. But, to tell you the truth, I wouldn't be optimistic going that route. I'd just be dealing with another bureaucracy, and it probably would take too long. Besides, I kinda want to do this myself. It's to make up for not being able to help my daughter medically."

"I might be putting my job on the line," Marsha said. "Although maybe I could enlist the aid of my immediate boss. The trouble with that is that he and I have never had what I would call a good working relationship."

"Would that be the district manager whom you mentioned earlier?" Kim asked.

"That's right," Marsha said. " Sterling Henderson."

"I'd prefer we just kept this between you and me," Kim said.

"That's easy for you to say," Marsha said. "The trouble is, it's my job not yours."

"Tell me," Kim said, suddenly having an idea. "Have you ever seen a child ill with this E. coli problem? The reason I ask is because I never did before my own daughter got sick, and I'm a doctor. I mean I'd read about it, but it was always an abstraction, a statistic."

"No, I never have seen a child sick with E. coli," Marsha admitted.

"Then come with me to see my daughter," Kim said. "After you see her, you can then decide what to do. I'll accept whatever decision you make. If nothing else, it will give added meaning to your work."

"Where is she?" Marsha asked.

"She's at the University Med Center," Kim said. "The same hospital where I'm on the staff." Kim motioned toward Marsha's cell phone that he could see between the two front seats. "Call the hospital if you question what I'm saying. My name is Dr. Kim Reggis. My daughter's name is Becky Reggis."

"I believe you," Marsha said. She wavered. "When do you have in mind?"

"Right now," Kim said. "Come on. My car is right over there." Kim pointed over his shoulder. "You can ride with me. Afterwards I'll bring you back here to get your car."

"I can't do that," Marsha said. "I don't know you from Adam."

"All right," Kim said, warming to the idea of Marsha seeing Becky. "Follow me. I was only worrying about where you'd park once at the hospital, but screw it. Just follow me right into the doctors' lot. What do you say?"

"I'd say you are persistent and persuasive," Marsha said.

"All right!" Kim exclaimed, raising a clenched fist for emphasis. "I'll loop around here, so just follow me."

"Okay," Marsha said warily, unsure of what she'd gotten herself into.

Jack Cartwright had had his nose pressed against the window. He'd kept an eye on Kim and had witnessed the entire confrontation between Kim and Marsha Baldwin. Of course he'd not heard what they'd said, but he did see Marsha follow his car out of the lot after the two had seemed to reach some agreement.

Leaving the reception area, Jack hustled down the central corridor, passing the stairwell where he'd taken Kim up to the observation tunnel. At the far end of the hall were the administration offices.

"Is the boss in?" Jack asked one of the secretaries.

"He sure is," she said without interrupting her word processing.

Jack knocked on the president's closed door. A booming voice told him to "come the hell in."

Everett Sorenson had been successfully running Mercer Meats for almost twenty years. It had been under his leadership that the company had been bought out by Foodsmart and that the new plant had been constructed. Sorenson was a big man, even stockier than Jack, with a florid complexion, small ears for his size, and a shiny bald pate.

"What the hell are you all wired up about?" Everett asked as Jack came into the room. Everett had a sixth sense about his minion whom he'd personally elevated right off the patty-room floor into the company's hierarchy.

"We got a problem," Jack said.

"Oh!" Everett said. He tipped forward in his desk chair to lean his bulky torso on his elbows. "What's up?"

Jack took one of the two chairs in front of Everett 's desk. "You know that article you pointed out in the paper this morning? The one about the crazy doctor carrying on about E. coli and getting arrested in the Onion Ring restaurant on Prairie Highway?"

"Of course," Everett said. "What about it?"

"He was just here," Jack said.

"The doctor?" Everett asked with disbelief.

"The exact same guy," Jack said. "His name is Dr. Reggis. And I'll tell you straight, this guy is a nutcase. He's out of control, and he's convinced his daughter got her E. coli from one of our patties."

"Damn!" Everett intoned. "This is not what we need."

"And it gets worse," Jack said. "I just watched him have a conversation in our parking lot with Marsha Baldwin. Afterwards they drove away in tandem."

"You mean, you think they drove away together?" Everett asked.

Jack nodded. "That's the way it looked. Before they left, they'd talked for quite a while in the parking lot."

"Jesus Christ!" Everett said, slapping the surface of his desk with one of his shovel-like hands. He pushed back from the desk and got to his feet to pace. "This is not what we need! No way! That goddamn Baldwin bitch has been a thorn in my side from the day she was hired. She's constantly filing these stupid deficiency reports. Thank God Sterling Henderson has been able to can them."

"Can't Sterling do something about her?" Jack asked. "Like get her fired?"

"I wish," Everett said. "I've been complaining until I'm blue in the face."

"With the money we're paying him as if he still works here," Jack said, "you'd think he'd at least get her transferred."

"In his defense, it's a difficult situation," Everett said. "Apparently her father is connected in Washington."

"Which leaves us up the creek without a paddle," Jack said. "Now we've got an overzealous inspector who doesn't play by the rules teamed up with a loose-cannon physician who's willing to get himself arrested at a fast-food restaurant just to make a point. I'm afraid this guy could be like a kamikaze pilot. He'll sacrifice himself, but he's bent on taking us with him."

"I don't like this," Everett said nervously. "Another E. coli fiasco would be devastating. Hudson Meat management didn't survive their run-in with the bug. But what can we do?"

"We've got to do damage control," Jack said. "And we have to do it quickly. It seems to me that this is the perfect time to call into play the newly formed Prevention Committee. I mean, this kind of situation is exactly what it was formed for."

"You know something," Everett said, "you're right. It would be perfect. I mean, we wouldn't even be involved."

"Why not give Bobby Bo Mason a call," Jack suggested.

"I'll do that," Everett said, warming to the whole idea. This type of tactical thinking and decision-making was why he'd promoted Jack to the vice presidency.

"Time is of the essence," Jack said.

"I'll call right away." Everett said.

"Maybe we can take advantage of Bo's dinner party tonight," Jack said. "That might speed things up. I mean, everybody will be there."

"Good point!" Everett said as he reached for his phone.

Kim parked quickly. He got out in time to direct Marsha into one of the spots reserved for doctors that Kim was relatively confident wouldn't be used on a Saturday. He opened her door the moment she stopped.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Marsha asked as she got out. She looked up at the imposing facade of the hospital. After having time to think about the plan during the drive into the city, she was having second thoughts.

"I think it is a masterful idea," Kim said. "I don't know why it took me so long to think of it. Come on!"

Kim took Marsha's arm and guided her toward the entrance. She put up a token resistance at first but then resigned herself to the situation. She'd rarely been in a hospital and didn't know how she'd respond. She was afraid it might upset her more than she bargained back in the Mercer Meats parking lot. To her surprise, while they waited for the elevator in the hospital lobby, she noticed that Kim was trembling, not she.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"To be truthful, no," Kim admitted. "Obviously I've been in and out of hospitals since medical school, and it's never bothered me even at the beginning. But now with Becky's situation, I get this awful anxiety every time I come through the door. I guess it's the main reason I've not been staying here around the clock. It would be different if there were something I could do. But there isn't."

"It must be heart-wrenching," Marsha said.

"You've no idea," Kim said.

They boarded a crowded elevator and didn't talk until they were in the corridor leading toward the ICU.

"I don't mean to be nosy," Marsha said, "but how is your wife holding up under the strain of your daughter's illness?"

"We're divorced," Kim said. "But we're united in our concern for Becky. Tracy, my ex-wife, is taking it hard, although I sense she's doing better than I. I'm sure she's here. I'll introduce you."

Marsha shuddered. Having to share a mother's anguish was going to make the experience that much more disturbing. She began to question why she'd allowed herself to be dragged into this.

Then, to make matters worse, Marsha saw signs to the ICU that pointed in the direction they were walking.

"Is your daughter in intensive care?" she asked, hoping for a negative response.

"I'm afraid so," Kim answered.

Marsha sighed. This was going to be even worse than she'd feared.

Kim paused at the threshold of the ICU waiting room. He saw Tracy and motioned for Marsha to follow him. By the time be reached Tracy, his former wife had gotten to her feet.

" Tracy, I'd like you to meet Marsha Baldwin. Marsha is a USDA inspector who I'm hoping will help me trace the meat Becky had."

Tracy didn't answer immediately, and seeing her expression, Kim instantly knew that something else had happened. It seemed that every time he came back, Becky got worse. It was like a bad movie playing over and over.

"What now?" Kim asked grimly.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" Tracy asked with weary exasperation.

"It didn't ring," Kim said.

"I tried to call," Tracy said. "Several times."

Kim realized he'd left his phone in his car when he'd been in Mercer Meats and when he had been with Marsha.

"Well, I'm here now," Kim said disconsolately. "What happened?"

"Her heart stopped," Tracy said. "But they got it going again. I was in the room when it happened."

"Perhaps I should leave," Marsha said.

"No!" Kim said emphatically. "Stay, please! Let me go in and see what's happening."

Kim spun on his heels and ran from the room.

Tracy and Marsha regarded each other uneasily.

"I'm so sorry about your daughter," Marsha said.

"Thank you," Tracy said. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a tissue. She'd cried so much in the previous forty-eight hours that she was almost out of tears. "She's such a wonderful child."

"I wasn't aware your daughter was quite this ill," Marsha said. "It must be a terrible burden."

"Unimaginable," Tracy said.

"I feel terrible about intruding at a time like this," Marsha said. "I'm very sorry. Perhaps I should just leave."

"You don't have to leave on my accord," Tracy said. "Kim sounded emphatic that he'd prefer you stay. How he can even think about tracing meat at this juncture, I cannot understand. I'm having difficulty just breathing."

"It must be because he's a doctor," Marsha said. "He made it clear to me he was interested in trying to prevent other children from getting the same problem."

"I suppose I hadn't thought about it from that angle," Tracy said. "Maybe I shouldn't be so quick to judge."

"He's afraid there's a batch of contaminated meat out there," Marsha said.

"I guess that's a real possibility," Tracy said. "But what I don't understand is why he brought you here. I don't mean that to be rude."

"I understand," Marsha said. "He'd asked me to help trace the meat in some specific lots. I was reluctant; it's really not part of my job. In fact, giving out that kind of information might cost me my job if my boss found out. His idea was that seeing your daughter and witnessing firsthand what this E. coli can do might change my mind. At a minimum, he thought seeing her would give added meaning to my work as a meat inspector."

"Seeing Becky's suffering might make you the most conscientious inspector in the world. Are you still interested in knowing how sick she is? It'll take a bit of fortitude."

"I don't know," Marsha said truthfully. "And as I said, I don't want to intrude."

"You're not intruding," Tracy said with sudden resolve. "Come on. Let's make your visit."

Tracy led Marsha out of the waiting room and across the corridor. She paused at the ICU door.

"Stay close," Tracy said. "We're not supposed to be wandering in and out of here unaccompanied."

Marsha nodded. Her heart was beating rapidly, and she was perspiring.

Tracy opened the door and the two women entered. Tracy walked quickly toward Becky's cubicle, with Marsha right behind her. Several of the nurses saw the women but said nothing. Tracy had become a fixture in the ICU over the previous forty-eight hours.

"I'm afraid it's going to be difficult to see much at all," Tracy said as they reached the cubicle's threshold. Besides Kim, there were six doctors and two nurses packed into the tiny room. But it was Kim's voice that could be heard.

"I understand that she has arrested several times," Kim yelled. He was furious from a combination of fear and exasperation. Drawing on his vast clinical experience, he knew his daughter was at death's door, but no one was giving him a straight answer, and no one was doing anything but stand around and figuratively stroke their chins. "What I'm asking is why it's happening."

Kim stared at Jason Zimmerman, the pediatric cardiologist to whom he'd just been introduced. The man looked off, pretending to be absorbed in watching the cardiac monitor that was tracing an erratic rhythm. Something was terribly wrong.

Kim twisted to look at Claire Stevens. Over her shoulder, he caught sight of Tracy and Marsha.

"We don't know what is going on," Claire admitted. "There's no pericardial fluid, so it's not tamponade."

"It seems to me it's something inherent in the myocardium itself," Jason said. "I need a real EKG."

No sooner had these words escaped from the cardiologist's mouth than the monitor alarm sounded. The cursor swept across the screen tracing a flat line. Becky had arrested again.

"Code blue!" one of the nurses shouted to alert the others out in the intensive-care unit proper.

Jason responded by pushing Kim away from the side of the bed. Immediately he began external cardiac massage by putting his hands together and pumping on Becky's frail chest. Jane Flanagan, the anesthesiologist who'd responded to the initial code and who was still there, made sure the endotracheal tube remained in proper place. She also upped the percentage of oxygen delivered by the respirator.

ICU nurses brought the cardiac crash cart on the run. They practically collided with Tracy and Marsha who had to leap out of the way.

Inside the cubicle there was a flurry of activity as the doctors present all lent a hand. It was apparent to everyone that the heart had not just stopped effective beating, but that all electrical activity had ceased.

Tracy clasped a hand to her face. She wanted to flee but she couldn't. It was as if she were frozen in place, fated to watch every agonizing detail.

All Marsha could do was cringe behind Tracy, fearful that she would be in the way.

Kim initially stepped back, recoiling in disbelief and horror. His eyes swept back and forth between the monitor screen to his daughter's pitiful body being savaged by the pediatric cardiologist.

"Epinephrine!" Jason yelled while he continued his efforts.

The nurses at the crash cart responded by efficiently filling a syringe with the medication and handing it off. After several changes of hand, it was given to Jason who stopped his massage long enough to plunge the needle directly into Becky's heart.

Tracy covered her eyes and moaned. Marsha instinctively put her arms around her, but couldn't take her own eyes off the ghastly drama unfolding in front of her.

Jason went back to the massage while he eyed the monitor. There was no change in its relentless tracking straight across the screen.

"Bring the paddles!" Jason yelled. "Let's see if we can get some electrical activity going with a shock. If that doesn't work, we're going to have to pace her, so be prepared."

The experienced nurses had already charged the defibrillator. They handed the paddles forward. Jason stopped his massage to take them.

"Everybody back!" he yelled while he positioned them. When everyone was clear, and the paddles where he wanted them, he pressed the discharge button.

Becky's pale body jerked and her white arms flailed. Everyone's eyes went to the monitor, hoping to see some change. But the cursor was not cooperating. It persisted in its straight, flat line.

Kim pushed forward. He didn't like the way Jason was doing the massage. "You're not getting enough excursion," he said. "Let me take over."

"No." Claire said, coming up behind Kim and pulling him back. "Dr. Reggis, it's not appropriate. We'll handle this. I think you should wait outside."

Kim shook off the pediatrician. His pupils were dilated and his face flushed. He was not going anywhere.

Jason responded to Kim's complaint. As a man of small stature, it was hard for him to develop much force in a standing position. To make it easier for himself, he climbed up onto the bed and assumed a kneeling position. Now he got better chest compression. It was so much better that everyone present could hear several of Becky's ribs snap.

"More epinephrine!" Kim barked.

"No!" Jason managed between pants. "I want calcium!"

"Epinephrine," Kim repeated. His eyes were glued to the monitor cursor. When no syringe was forthcoming, he turned to look at the crash cart. "Where's the epi?" he demanded.

"Calcium!" Jason repeated. "We've got to see some electrical activity. There's got to be an ion imbalance."

"Calcium's coming up," Claire said.

"No!" Kim yelled. He pushed through the group to stand in front of the crash cart. He glared at the nurse.

The nurse looked from Kim's florid face to Claire's. The nurse was confused as to what she should do.

Unaccustomed to being overruled, Kim snapped up a syringe packet and tore it open. Then he grabbed a vial of epinephrine and broke off its top. His trembling fingers dropped the needle. He had to get another.

"Dr. Reggis, no!" Claire said. She grabbed Kim's arm. Walter Ohanesian, the hematologist, tried to help by grabbing Kim's other arm.

Kim easily shook off both of these doctors and filled the syringe unimpeded. Pandemonium ensued as he tried to push his way back to the bedside. Both Kathleen and Arthur, the nephrologist, came to Claire and Walter's aid. The scene devolved to a shoving match with shouts and threats.

"Oh, God!" Tracy moaned. "What a nightmare."

"Hold it, everybody!" Jane shouted at the top of her lungs to get everyone's attention. The struggle stopped. Then Jane added with urgency but in a more normal volume: "There's something very strange happening. Jason's getting good chest excursion, and I'm up to a hundred-percent oxygen, and yet her pupils are dilating! For some reason, there's no circulation."

Kim shook off the hands that were impeding him. No one moved or spoke except for Jason who kept up with the massage. The doctors were stymied. They were at a temporary loss as to what to do next.

Kim was the first to respond. His training as a surgeon would not allow him to deliberate a moment longer. He knew what he had to do. With no circulation despite good chest excursion, there was only one alternative. He spun around to face the nurses at the crash cart. "Scalpel!" he barked.

"Oh, no!" Claire shouted.

"Scalpel!" Kim repeated more insistently.

"You can't," Claire yelled.

"Scalpel!" Kim screamed. Tossing the syringe of epinephrine aside, he lunged past the others in the direction of the crash cart.

Kim snatched the glass tube containing the scalpel. He unscrewed the top with trembling fingers and extracted the sterile instrument. He tossed the glass tube aside; it shattered on the tile floor. He picked up an alcohol swab and tore open its package with his teeth.

At this point, only Claire was willing to attempt to bar his way. But her efforts were in vain. He pushed her aside with a gentle but firm shove.

"No!" Tracy cried. She wasn't a physician, but her intuition told her what Kim was going to do. She started forward, and Marsha let her go.

Kim reached the bedside and literally knocked Jason off the bed. He swabbed Becky's chest with alcohol. Then, before Tracy could quite get to him, he sliced open his daughter's thorax in one decisive, bloodless sweep.

A collective gasp rose from everyone present except for Tracy. Her response was more of a wail. She staggered back from the appalling scene and would have collapsed if she hadn't been caught by the nephrologist, Arthur.

On the other side of the bed, Jason struggled to his feet. When he saw what was happening he, too, shrank back.

Kim lost no time. Oblivious to the others in the tiny room, the consummate surgeon used both hands to pull Becky's slender ribs apart with a decisive crack. Then he shoved his bare hand into his daughter's open chest and began rhythmically to compress her heart.

Kim's Herculean effort was short-lived. After only a few compressions, he could feel that Becky's heart had perforated and was far from normal in texture. It was as if it weren't muscle but rather something much softer which seemed to squish between his fingers. Stunned by this unexpected situation, he withdrew his hand. In the process he also pulled out some of the foreign-feeling tissue. Confused as to what it could be. he brought the bloody material up to his face to inspect it.

A shrill, agonizing whine escaped from Kim's lips when he realized he was holding necrotic shreds of Becky's heart and pericardium. The toxin had been merciless. It was as if his daughter had been eaten from within.

The door to the ICU burst open. Two uniformed hospital security personnel spilled into the room. They had been called by the head nurse after the scuffle over the epinephrine.

As soon as the two men took in the scene, they stopped in their tracks. Becky was still being respired by the ventilator; her pink lungs intermittently filled the gaping incision. Kim stood by her, his hands bloodied, his eyes wild with grief. He tried to gently return the necrotic tissue to Becky's chest cavity. When he was finished with this futile gesture, he put his head back and let out a wail of anguish unlike anything ever heard in the ICU before.

Tracy had recovered enough to step forward. Kim's anguished cry cut her to the quick. She wanted to comfort him and be comforted herself.

But Kim was blind to everyone and anything. He shoved his way out of the cubicle and dashed across the ICU. Before anyone could respond, he was through the door.

In the corridor. Kim went into headlong flight. People who saw him coming got out of the way. One orderly didn't move quickly enough; Kim slammed into him, sending the man and his water cart flying.

Outside of the hospital, Kim ran to his car. Gunning the engine, he shot out of the doctors' lot, leaving a line of rubber in his wake.

Kim drove like a madman out to Prairie Highway. Lucky for him, he encountered no police cruisers. When he turned into the Onion Ring parking lot he was going fast enough to bottom out just as he had on his previous visit. The car bounced violently until he brought it to a screeching stop directly in front of the busy restaurant. Yanking on the emergency brake, he made the motions to get out. Then he hesitated. A glimmer of rationality seeped into the corners of his emotionally overloaded brain. The Saturday afternoon crowd enjoying their burgers, milkshakes, and fries and oblivious to his psychic pain yanked him back to reality.

Kim had raced to the Onion Ring in search of a scapegoat. But now that he was there, he didn't get out of the car.

Instead he raised his right hand and stared at it. Seeing his daughter's dark, dried blood confirmed the awful reality: Becky was dead. And he hadn't been able to do a thing to save her. He began to sob. All he could do was drape himself helplessly over the steering wheel.

Tracy shook her head in disbelief of everything that had happened. She ran her hand through her tangled hair as Marsha Baldwin patted her shoulder. On top of everything else, it was hard to believe she was being consoled by a stranger.

Tracy had responded the opposite of Kim. Instead of flying off in a blind rage, she'd found herself paralyzed, unable to even cry.

Right after Kim's precipitous departure, Claire and Kathleen had accompanied Tracy to the ICU waiting room. Marsha had followed although at the time Tracy was unaware of her presence. Claire and Kathleen had stayed with Tracy for some time to offer their sympathies and to explain what had happened. They had spared no details in response to Tracy 's questions, including how the E. coli toxin had obviously attacked both Becky's heart muscle as well as her pericardium, the covering around the heart.

Claire and Kathleen had offered to help get Tracy home, but Tracy had told them that she had her car and that she'd be all right to drive. It wasn't until the two doctors had left that Tracy realized that Marsha was still there, and the two women had begun a long conversation.

"I want to thank you for staying here all this time." Tracy said. "You've been a wonderful support. I hope I haven't bored you with all these Becky stories."

"She sounds like she was a wonderful child."

"The best." Tracy said wistfully. Then she took a fortifying breath and sat up straight in her chair. The two women were sitting in the far corner of the room by the window where they'd pulled two chairs close together. Outside the long shadows of a late, wintery afternoon crept ever eastward.

"You know," Tracy said. "We've been talking all this time and haven't mentioned my ex-husband, the man who's responsible for your being here."

Marsha nodded.

"Life is full of surprises," Tracy said with a sigh. "Here I lose my beloved daughter who was the center of my life, and I surprise myself by worrying about him. I just hope Becky's passing doesn't drive him over the edge."

"What do you mean?" Marsha asked.

"I'm not sure," Tracy admitted. "I guess I'm terrified at what he might do. He's already been arrested for assaulting the manager at the restaurant where he suspects Becky got sick. I just hope he doesn't do something really crazy and end up hurting someone or himself."

"He does seem angry," Marsha said.

"That's putting it mildly," Tracy said. "He was always such a perfectionist. It used to be his anger was directed mostly toward himself. It served as a stimulus for achievement, but that's been changing over the last few years. It's a big reason why we ended up divorcing."

"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."

Marsha 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 either, 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."