Toxin

THIRTEEN

Saturday evening, January 24th

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you." Tracy said. "God. I feel drained."

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

They started walking up the pathway.

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

Tracy only nodded.

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

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

"Kim's having a hard time," Tracy said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's okay, Carl," Tracy said wearily.

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

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

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

"I can't remember," Tracy said.

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

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

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

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

"Really?" Carl questioned. He was hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then don't let me keep you from it," Tracy said. "You wouldn't mind?" Carl said. "I'll have my cellular phone. You can call me, and I can be back here in twenty minutes tops."

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

The car's instrument panel splashed light on Kim's face. Marsha stole glances at him as she drove. Now that she'd had a chance to observe him, she had to admit to herself that he was a handsome man even with his two-day stubble.

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

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

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

"Why not?" Marsha asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How are we going to work this?" Kim questioned.

"Work what?" Marsha asked.

"My getting into Mercer Meats." Kim said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You seem awfully cavalier about this," Kim commented.

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

"And you get into trouble," Kim said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can't say that I have," Kim said.

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

"That's disgusting," Kim said.

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

"Really?" Kim asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nor does the general public," Marsha said.

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

"Ready?" she asked.

"You're sure I should come?" Kim asked.

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

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

"Mercer Meats is closed," he said through the glass.

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

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

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

"What did I tell you?" she said. "It was no problem at all."

The security guard walked over to the end of the reception area and peered down the hall. He watched as Marsha and Kim disappeared into the changing room leading to the production floor. He returned to his desk and picked up the phone. The number he needed was on a Post-it stuck to the edge of the counter.

"Mr. Cartwright," the guard said when the call was answered, "that USDA lady, Miss Baldwin, who you asked me to watch for, just walked in the door with another guy.

"Was her companion dressed in a white lab coat, something like a doctor's?" Jack asked.

"Yup," the security man said.

"When they leave, get them both to sign out," Jack said. "I want proof they were there."

"I'll do that, sir," the guard said.

Jack did not bother to replace the receiver. Instead he pressed the appropriate button on his speed-dialer and waited. A moment later, Everett 's stentorian voice reverberated through the line.

"Marsha Baldwin and the doctor are back at the plant," Jack said.

"Good grief!" Everett sputtered. "That's not what I wanted to hear. How the devil did you find out?"

"I left word with security to call if they showed up," Jack said. "Just in case.

"Good thinking," Everett said. "I wonder what on earth they're doing there."

"My guess is they're going to try to trace some meat," Jack said. "That's what he asked me to do this morning."

"Let's not guess," Everett said. "You get the hell over there and see what they're up to. Then get back to me. I don't want this to ruin my evening."

Jack hung up the phone. He didn't want it to ruin his evening either. He'd been looking forward to the dinner at Bobby Bo's for a month and had certainly not anticipated having to go back to the plant. He was in a foul mood when he got his coat and went out to the garage for his car.

Kim stamped his feet and flapped his arms. He didn't quite understand it, but the thirty-five-degree temperature of the patty room felt more like twenty-five or even fifteen. He'd pulled on a Mercer Meats white coat over his own hospital coat, but they were just cotton, and underneath he had on only his scrubs. The three layers were not nearly enough insulation against the chill, especially since he was essentially standing around. The shower-like white cap didn't help at all.

Marsha was leafing through the patty-room logbooks, and had been doing so for more than a quarter of an hour. Locating the specific dates, lots, and batches was taking longer than expected. Initially Kim had looked over her shoulder, but the colder he'd become, the less interested he was.

There were two other people in the room besides Marsha and Kim. They were busy pulling hoses around as they cleaned the patty-formulating machine with high-pressure steam. They had been there when Marsha and Kim arrived but hadn't made any attempts at conversation.

"Ah, here we go," Marsha said triumphantly. "Here's December twenty-ninth." She ran her finger down the column until she came to Lot 2. Then moving horizontally, she came to the appropriate batches: one through five. "Uh-oh," she said.

"What's the matter?" Kim asked. He came over to look.

"It's just what I was afraid of," she said. "Batches one through five were a mixture of fresh boneless beef from Higgins and Hancock and imported frozen ground beef. The imported stuff is impossible to trace other than maybe the country. Of course, that would be useless for what you want."

"What's Higgins and Hancock?" Kim asked.

"It's a local slaughterhouse," Marsha said. "One of the bigger ones.

"What about the other lot?" Kim asked.

"Let's check that," Marsha said. She turned the page. "Here's the date. What were the lot and batch numbers again?"

" Lot six, batches nine through fourteen," Kim said, consulting his paper.

"Okay, here it is," Marsha said. "Hey, we're in luck if the January twelfth production is the culprit. Those batches were all from Higgins and Hancock. Take a peek."

Kim looked at where she was pointing. It indicated that the entire lot was made from fresh beef produced on January ninth at Higgins and Hancock."

"Wasn't there some way to narrow it down to one or the other?" Marsha asked.

"Not according to the short-order cook at the Onion Ring," Kim said. "But I dropped off samples from both production dates at the lab. They should have the result by Monday."

"Until then we'll assume it's the January date," Marsha said. "Because that's the only one that's going to be traceable. Hopefully, we'll be able to go beyond Higgins and Hancock."

"Really?" Kim questioned. "You mean we'll be able to trace the meat back further than the slaughterhouse?"

"That's the way the system is supposed to work," Marsha said. "At least in theory. The trouble is a lot of cows can go into one of those two-thousand-pound combos of boneless beef. But the idea is to be able to trace the animals through purchase invoices back to the ranch or farm they came from. Anyway, the next step is to go to Higgins and Hancock."

"Give me that goddamn book," Jack Cartwright yelled.

Marsha and Kim leaped in fright as Jack lunged around Marsha and snatched up the ponderous logbooks. The noise from the high-pressure steam had kept them from hearing the man enter the patty room and approach them.

"Now you have finally overstepped your bounds. Miss Baldwin!" Jack sneered triumphantly, while pointing an accusatory finger into Marsha's face.

Marsha straightened up and tried to regain her composure. "What are you talking about?" she asked, attempting to sound authoritative. "I have a right to examine the logs."

"The hell you do' Jack said, while continuing to poke his finger at Marsha. "You have the right to ascertain we keep the logs, but the logs themselves are private property of a private company. And more important, you do not have the right to bring in the public under the authority of the USDA to look at these logs."

"That's enough," Kim said. He stepped between the two. "If anybody is to blame here it's me."

Jack ignored Kim. "One thing I can assure you, Miss Baldwin, is that Sterling Henderson, the district USDA manager, is going to hear about this violation of yours

ASAP."

Kim batted Jack's brutish finger to the side and grabbed a handful of the man's white coat. "Listen, you oily bastard…

Marsha gripped Kim's arm. "No!" she cried. "Leave him alone. Let's not compound this."

Reluctantly Kim let go.

Jack smoothed his lapels. "I want you two out of here" he snarled, "before I call the police and have you arrested."

Kim glared back at the Mercer Meats vice president. For a blind instant the man was the embodiment of all Kim's anger. Marsha had to pull on his sleeve to get him to leave.

Jack watched them go. As soon as the door closed, he hoisted the logs up to chest height and slipped them into their appropriate shelves. Then he followed them into the changing room. Marsha and Kim were already gone. Out in the hall he walked down to the reception area. He got there in time to see Marsha's car leaving the lot and accelerating up the street.

"They didn't pay me no attention," the guard said. "I tried to tell them they had to sign out."

"It doesn't make any difference," Jack said.

Jack walked back to his office and phoned Everett.

"Well, what did you learn?" Everett demanded.

"It was just as I suspected," Jack said. "They were in the patty room, looking at the patty-room logs."

"They weren't looking at the formulation logs?" Everett asked.

"The guard said they hadn't gone anyplace but the patty room," Jack said. "So they couldn't have looked at the formulation logs."

"At least that's a blessing," Everett said. "The last thing I want is for someone to find out we're recycling outdated frozen patties. And that might happen if someone were to snoop around in the formulation logs."

"That's not a worry with this crisis," Jack said. "What is a worry is that this duo might end up at Higgins and Hancock. I heard them talking about Higgins and Hancock before I surprised them. I think Daryl Webster should be warned."

"An excellent idea," Everett said. "We can mention it to Daryl when we see him tonight. Better yet, maybe I'll give him a quick call."

"The sooner the better," Jack said. "Who knows what these two might do, as crazy as that doctor seems to be."

"See you at Bobby Bo's," Everett said.

"I might be a tad late," Jack said. "I've got to go all the way back home to change before I drive over there."

"Well, get a move on," Everett said. "I want you there for the Prevention Committee meeting."

"I'll do what I can," Jack said.

Everett hung up the phone and then searched for Daryl Webster's phone number. He was in his upstairs study off his dressing room, half-dressed in his tuxedo. When Jack had called he'd been struggling with his shirt studs. Formal attire was not a common requirement in Everett 's life.

" Everett!" Gladys Sorenson called from the master bedroom. Gladys and Everett had been married for more years than Everett wished to acknowledge. "You'd better shake a leg, dear. We're due over at the Masons' in half an hour."

"I gotta make a quick call," Everett yelled back. He found the number and quickly dialed. The phone was answered on the first ring.

"Daryl, Everett Sorenson here," Everett said.

"This is a surprise," Daryl said. The two men not only had traveled similar career paths; they even resembled each other physically. Daryl was equally heavyset, with a thick neck, shovel-like hands, and a ruddy, plethoric face. The difference was that Daryl had a full head of hair and normal-sized ears. "The Mrs. and I are just about to walk out the door on our way to the Masons'."

"Gladys and I are about to do the same," Everett said. "But something's come up. You know that young, pain-in-the-ass inspector, Marsha Baldwin, who's been causing me grief?"

"Yeah, Henderson told me about her," Daryl said. "A real independent troublemaker as I understand it."

"Well, she's hooked up with that raving maniac doctor who got himself arrested last night at an Onion Ring restaurant. Did you see that in today's paper?"

"Who could miss it?" Daryl said. "It gave me a cold sweat with him carrying on about E. coli."

"You and me both," Everett said. "And now it's gotten worse. A little while ago she snuck into my plant with the doctor. Somehow he's got her to help him trace meat."

"Presumably looking for E. coli," Daryl said.

"Undoubtedly," Everett said.

"This is very scary," Daryl said.

"I couldn't agree more," Everett said. "Especially since Jack Cartwright overheard them talking about Higgins and Hancock. We're concerned they may show up at your establishment on the same crusade."

"This I don't need," Daryl said.

"We're going to be talking about a long-term solution tonight," Everett said. "Did you get the message?"

"I did," Daryl said. "Bobby Bo called me."

"In the meantime, maybe you should take some precautions," Everett said.

"Thanks for the tip," Daryl said. "I'll call my security and alert them."

"That's exactly what I would have suggested," Everett said. "See you in a little while."

Daryl disconnected. He held up a finger to indicate to his wife, Hazel, that he had one more quick call to make. Hazel, dressed to the nines, was impatiently waiting at the front door. While she tapped her toe, Daryl dialed the main number at the slaughterhouse.

Marsha turned into Kim's driveway and stopped directly behind Kim's car. She left the motor running and the headlights on.

"I appreciate what you've done," Kim said. He had his hand on the door, but he didn't open it. "I'm sorry it didn't go more smoothly."

"It could have been worse," Marsha said brightly. "And who knows what's going to happen? We'll just have to see how it plays out."

"Would you like to come in?" Kim asked. "My house is a wreck, but I could use a drink. How about you?"

"Thanks, but I think I'll take a rain check," Marsha said. "You've got me started on something I intend to finish. By the time you get the lab results on Monday, I'd like to have the meat traced as much as possible. That way we'd be that much farther ahead of the game when we try to make an argument for a recall."

"Are you planning on doing something now?"

"Yup," Marsha said, with a nod. She glanced at her watch. "I'm going to head directly out to Higgins and Hancock. This might be my only chance. As I said earlier, the district USDA manager and I have never gotten along. Come Monday, when he hears about our little escapade from Jack Cartwright, I might be out of a job. Of course, that would mean I'd lose my ID. card."

"Gosh," Kim remarked. "If you lose your job, I'm going to feel terrible. It's certainly not what I intended."

"There's no need for you to feel responsible," Marsha said. "I knew the risk I was taking. Even in retrospect, I think it was worth it. Like you said, I'm supposed to be protecting the public."

"If you're going to the slaughterhouse now, then I'm coming along," Kim said. "I'm not going to let you go alone."

"Sorry, but it's out of the question," Marsha said. "I didn't think there'd be a problem at Mercer Meats and there was. It's a different story at Higgins and Hancock. I know there'd be a problem. Heck, it might be tough for me to get in there even with my USDA card."

"How can that be?" Kim asked. "As a USDA inspector, can't you visit any meat establishment?"

"Not where I'm not assigned," Marsha said. "And especially not a slaughterhouse. They have their own full-time contingent of USDA people. You see, slaughterhouses are akin to nuclear installations as far as visitors are concerned. They don't need them, and they don't want them. All they can do is cause trouble."

"What are the slaughterhouses hiding?" Kim asked.

"Their methods, mostly," Marsha said. "It's not a pretty sight in the best of circumstances but particularly after the deregulation of the eighties, slaughterhouses have all pushed up the speed of their lines, meaning they process more animals per hour. Some of them run as much as two hundred fifty to three hundred animals an hour. At that speed contamination can't be avoided. It's inevitable. In fact, it is so inevitable that the industry sued the USDA when the agency considered officially calling meat with E. coli contaminated."

"You can't be serious," Kim said.

"Trust me," Marsha said. "It's true."

"You're saying the industry knows that E. coli is in the meat?" Kim said. "They're contending it can't be helped?"

"Exactly," Marsha said. "Not in all meat, just some of it."

"This is outrageous," Kim said. "This is something the public has to find out about. This can't continue. You've convinced me I've got to see a slaughterhouse in operation."

"Which is exactly why the slaughterhouses don't like visitors." Marsha said. "And that's why you'd never get in. Well, that's not entirely true. Slaughtering has always been a labor-intensive business, and one of their biggest headaches is a constant shortage of help. So I suppose if you got tired of being a cardiac surgeon, you could get a job. Of course, it would help if you were an illegal alien, so they could pay you less than the minimum wage."

"You're not painting a very flattering picture," Kim said.

"It's reality," Marsha said. "It's hard, undesirable work, and the industry has always relied heavily on immigrants. The difference is that today the workers come from Latin America, particularly Mexico, rather than Eastern Europe, where they came from in the past."

"This is all sounding worse and worse," Kim said. "I can't imagine that I've never given it any thought. I mean, I eat meat, so in some ways I'm responsible."

"It's the downside of capitalism," Marsha said. "I don't mean to sound like a radical socialist, but this is a particularly flaming example of profit over ethics: greed with a complete disregard for consequence. It's all part of what prompted me to join the USDA, because the USDA could change things."

"If change was considered desirable by those in power," Kim added.

"True," Marsha agreed.

"Putting this all in perspective," Kim said, "we're talking about an industry that exploits its workforce and feels no compunction about killing hundreds of kids a year." Kim shook his head in disbelief. "You know, the total lack of ethics that this represents makes me worry even more about you.

"How do you mean?" Marsha asked.

"I'm talking about your going off right now to visit Higgins and Hancock essentially under false pretenses," Kim said. "By using your USDA I.D., you'll be suggesting you're there on official business."

"Obviously," Marsha said. "That's the only way I could get in."

"Well, as security-minded as they are," Kim said, "won't you be taking a risk? And I'm not talking about your job security."

"I see what you mean," Marsha said. "Thank you for being concerned, but I'm not worried about my well-being. The worst that could happen is that they'd complain to my boss, like Jack Cartwright has threatened to do."

"Are you sure?" Kim asked. "If there were any danger, I wouldn't want you to go. To tell you the truth, after the episode in Mercer Meats, I feel uncomfortable about you doing any more on my behalf. Maybe you should just let me do what I can. If you go out there tonight, I'll be nervous the entire time."

"I'm flattered by your concern," Marsha said. "But I think I should just go and see what I can. I'm not going to get hurt or in any more trouble than I already am. I might not even get in. And as I said, you wouldn't be able to do anything on your own because you certainly wouldn't be able to get in."

"Maybe I could get a job," Kim said. "Like you suggested."

"Hey, I was only kidding," Marsha said. "I was just trying to make a point."

"I'm willing to do what I have to do," Kim said.

"Listen," Marsha said, "what if I take my cellular phone with me and call you every fifteen or twenty minutes? Then you won't have to worry, and I can keep you posted about what I'm finding. How's that?"

"It's something, I guess," Kim said without a lot of enthusiasm. But the more he thought of the idea, the better it began to sound. The concept of his getting a job in a slaughterhouse was far from appealing. But most important was Marsha's adamant assurances about the lack of risk.

"I'll tell you what," Marsha added. 'This visit won't take me that long, and after I'm done, I'll come back and have that drink you offered. That is, if the invitation is still open."

"Of course," Kim said. He nodded as he went over the plan one last time. Then he gave Marsha's forearm a quick squeeze before getting out of the car. Instead of closing the door, he leaned back in. "You better take my phone number," he said.

"Good thinking," Marsha said. She fumbled for a pen and a piece of paper.

Kim gave her the number. "I'm going to be waiting right by the phone, so you'd better call."

"No need to worry," Marsha said.

"Good luck," Kim said.

"I'll be talking with you soon," Marsha said.

Kim slammed the car door. He watched as she backed up, turned, and accelerated down the street. He watched until the red taillights and their reflection in the rain-slicked street were swallowed by the night.

Kim turned and looked up at his dark, deserted house. Not a single light relieved its somber silhouette. He shuddered. Suddenly left by himself, the reality of Becky's loss descended. The crushing melancholy he'd felt earlier flooded back. Kim shook his head in despair at how tenuous his world had been. His family and his career had seemed so substantial, and yet within a relative blink of the eye, it had all disintegrated.

…

Bobby Bo Mason's house was lit up like a Las Vegas casino. To provide the proper gala atmosphere for his inaugural dinner celebration, he'd retained a theatrical lighting specialist to do the job. And to make the scene even more festive, he'd hired a mariachi band to play under a tent on the front lawn. A little rain certainly wasn't going to dampen his affair.

Bobby Bo was one of the largest cattle barons in the country. In keeping with his image of himself as well as his position in the industry, he'd built a house whose flamboyant style was a monument to Roman Empire kitsch. Columned porticos stretched off in bewildering directions. Plaster-cast, life-sized, imitation Roman and Greek statues dotted the grounds. Some were even painted in realistic skin tones.

Liveried valet parkers lined up at the head of the circular drive to await the arrival of the guests. Six-foot-high torches bordering the drive sputtered in the light rain.

Everett Sorenson's Mercedes beat Daryl Webster's Lexus but only by less than a minute. It was as if they'd planned it. As they exited their cars they embraced as did their wives.

The cars were whisked away by the valets, while other staff protected the guests with large golf umbrellas. The foursome started up the grand staircase leading to the double front doors.

"I trust you called your security," Everett said.

"The moment after I spoke with you," Daryl said.

"Good," Everett said. "We can't be too careful, especially now that the beef business is back to being relatively healthy."

They reached the front door and rang. While they waited, Gladys reached over and straightened Everett 's clip-on tie.

The double doors were whisked open. The light from within was enough to make the newly arrived guests squint as it reflected off the white marble foyer. In front of them stood Bobby Bo framed by the massive granite jambs and lintel.

Bobby Bo was heavyset, similar to Everett and Daryl, and, like his colleagues, he believed in his product enough to eat staggeringly large steaks. He had a lantern jaw and a barrel chest. He was impressively attired in a custom-tailored tuxedo, a hand-tied bowtie edged with gold thread, and diamond studs and cuff links. His fashion idol had been the "Dapper Don" prior to his conviction and incarceration.

"Welcome, folks," Bobby Bo beamed. His smile revealed several gold molars. "Coats to the little lady and please help yourself to champagne."

Music and gay laughter floated out from the living room; the Sorensons and the Websters were not the first to arrive. In contrast to the outside mariachis, the inside music was more restrained and emanated from a string quartet.

After the coats had been taken, Gladys and Hazel strolled arm in arm into the thick of the party. Bobby Bo held back Everett and Daryl.

"Sterling Henderson's the only one not here yet," Bobby Bo said. "As soon as he is, we'll have a short meeting in my library. Everyone else has been alerted."

"Jack Cartwright's a bit delayed as well," Everett said. "I'd like him to sit in on it."

"Fine by me," Bobby Bo said. "Guess who else is here?"

Everett looked at Daryl. Neither one wanted to guess.

"Carl Stahl," Bobby Bo said triumphantly.

A shadow of fear fell over Everett and Daryl.

"That makes me feel uncomfortable," Everett said.

"I'd have to say the same," Daryl said.

"Come on, you guys," Bobby Bo teased. "All he can do is fire you." He laughed.

"I don't think getting fired is something I want to joke about," Daryl said.

"Nor I," Everett said. "But thinking about it is all the more reason we have to nip this current problem in the bud."