Toxin

FIFTEEN

Sunday, late morning, January 25th

It was déjà vu all over again for Kim. He was back in the same courtroom with the same judge. The only real difference was the weather outside. This time there was no sun; the day was cloudy with scattered snow flurries, and Judge Harlowe's mood matched the gray day.

Kim was seated at a scarred library table alongside Tracy. Standing before them and directly below the bench was Justin Devereau, a lawyer and longtime friend of Kim's. He was aristocratic in appearance, a Harvard-trained lawyer who'd followed the old adage: "Go West, young man." He'd started what had become one of the largest and most successful law firms in the city. His case success rate was unrivaled. Yet, on this particular morning, he looked concerned. He'd been fighting an uphill battle against Judge Harlowe's ire.

Kim looked worse than ever, having spent yet another night in jail in the same outfit. He still hadn't shaved or showered. He was also clearly anxious about the outcome of the current proceedings. The last thing he wanted to do was go back to jail.

Justin cleared his throat. "Allow me to reiterate that Dr. Kim Reggis has truly been the proverbial pillar of society up until the tragic affliction of his only daughter."

"His daughter's illness was the excuse for his appearance before this court yesterday, Counselor," Judge Harlowe said with impatience. "For my weekend on call, I don't like to see the same face twice. It's an insult to my judgment for having allowed the individual his freedom after the first infraction."

"Dr. Reggis's daughter's recent death has caused him monumental stress, Your Honor," Justin persisted.

"That's apparent," Judge Harlowe said. "What's in question is whether he is a threat to society in his current state of mind."

"These were aberrant episodes that will not be repeated," Justin asserted. "As you have heard, Dr. Reggis is full of remorse for his rash actions."

Judge Harlowe toyed with his glasses. His eyes wandered to Kim's. He had to admit the man did look penitent. As well as pitiful. The judge looked at Tracy. The woman's presence and testimony had impressed him.

"All right," Judge Harlowe said. "I'll allow bail, but what has swayed me is not your Ivy League bombast, Counselor, but rather the fact that Dr. Reggis's former wife has graciously consented to come before this court to attest to his character. With my probate experience, I find that a convincing testimonial. Five thousand dollars bail and trial in four weeks. Next case!"

Judge Harlowe struck his gavel and picked up the next set of papers.

"Excuse me, Your Honor," Justin said. "There's no question of flight here, so five thousand dollars is blatantly excessive."

The judge peered down over the tops of his reading glasses. He raised his eyebrows. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," he said. "And I advise you not to push your client's luck, Counselor. Next case, please!"

Justin shrugged and beat a hasty retreat back to Kim and Tracy. After gathering his things, he motioned for them to follow him out of the courtroom.

With Justin's help the bail was quickly posted. In less than a half hour the group emerged from the courthouse out into the overcast, wintery morning. They paused at the base of the courthouse steps. A few isolated snowflakes drifted down from the sky.

"At first I was afraid Harlowe wasn't going to give you bail," Justin said. "As the judge implied, consider yourself lucky."

"Under the circumstances I have a hard time considering myself lucky," Kim said with little emotion. "But thanks for your help. I apologize for getting you out on a Sunday morning."

"Glad to do it," Justin said. "And I'm terribly sorry about Becky. My heartfelt sympathies to you both."

Kim and Tracy echoed their thanks.

"Well, I better be going," Justin said. He touched the brim of his hat. "I'll see you two. My best to you both at this difficult time."

Justin gave Tracy a peck on the cheek and Kim a handshake before starting off. He got only a few paces away, when he stopped. "A word of advice to you, Kim. Don't get arrested again. If you do, I can guarantee you won't get bail. Back-to-back arrests like you've managed obviously puts you in a special category."

"I understand," Kim said. "I'll be careful."

Kim and Tracy watched Justin walk away until he was completely out of earshot. They turned to each other.

"Now I want you to tell me really what happened," Tracy said.

"I'll tell you as much as I know," Kim said flatly. "But I have to get my car. Would you mind giving me a ride out to Higgins and Hancock?"

"Not at all," Tracy said. "I'd planned as much."

"We'll talk in the car," Kim said.

They started across the street in the direction of the parking lot.

"I'm living a nightmare," Kim confessed.

"As I said last night," Tracy responded, "we both need help, and we might be the only people who can give it to each other."

Kim sighed. "It must seem crazy to you that I've plunged headlong into this E. coli crusade. Our daughter is dead and all I want to do is race around like some cloak-and-dagger sleuth." He shook his head. "All these years I prided myself on being the strong one, but now I see that, really, you're the one with the inner strength. I know I can't avoid the fact of Becky's death forever, but I just can't look at it now. I hope you can understand that I'm just not ready to deal with it."

Tracy was silent for a while. Then she reached out and put a hand on Kim's arm. "I understand," she said. "And I won't rush you. I'll even support you in your quest. But you won't be able to deny Becky's death forever."

Kim nodded his head. "I know," he whispered. "And thank you."

The ride went quickly. Kim gave Tracy all the details from the time Marsha showed up at his house until the police booked him and put him in jail. When he described the attack by the man with the knife, Tracy was aghast. He even showed her the shallow slice across the top of his hand.

"What did this man look like?" Tracy asked. She shuddered. She couldn't imagine the horror of being attacked in a dark slaughterhouse.

"It happened so fast," Kim said. "I wouldn't be able to describe him very well."

"Old, young?" Tracy asked. "Tall, short?" For some inexplicable reason she wanted an image of this individual.

"Dark," Kim said. "Dark skin, dark hair. I think he was Mexican or at least Latin American. Slender but well-muscled. He had a lot of tattoos."

"Why didn't you tell all this to Justin?" she asked.

"What good would it have done?" Kim said.

"He could have said something to the judge." Tracy persisted.

"But it wouldn't have changed anything," Kim maintained. "In fact, it might have made things worse. I mean, it sounds so improbable, and I just wanted to get away from there so I could think of what to do."

"So you believe Marsha Baldwin is still in Higgins and Hancock?" Tracy asked. "Possibly being held against her wishes?"

"That or worse," Kim said. "If it were human blood I found, she could have been killed."

"I don't know what to say," Tracy admitted.

"Nor do I," Kim said. "I keep hoping she got out. Maybe I should call my answering machine. Maybe she called."

Tracy pulled the phone from its car cradle and handed it to Kim. He dialed and listened. After a couple of minutes. he put the phone back.

"Well?" Tracy asked.

Kim shook his head dejectedly. "No luck," he said. "Just Ginger."

"Tell me again exactly what you heard when you were talking with her the last time," Tracy asked.

"I heard the sound of breaking glass," Kim repeated. "It came right after she said someone was at the door. Then I heard a series of crashes, which I believe were from chairs falling over. I think whoever came through the door chased her out of the room."

"And you told all this to the police?" Tracy asked.

"Of course," Kim said. "But a lot of good that did! Yet it's understandable. They think I'm some kind of nut. When I tried to show them the blood, it had been washed away. When I tried to show them her cell phone, it was gone. Even her car wasn't in the parking lot where it had been when I got there."

"Could she have taken the phone?" Tracy asked. "And driven away in the car?"

"I hope to God she did," Kim said. "I hate to think of any alternative, and I feel so responsible. She'd gone there because of me."

"You didn't force her to do anything she didn't want to do," Tracy said. "In the short time I had with her. I could tell she wasn't the kind of person people could push around. She definitely had a mind of her own."

"What I'd like to do is get my hands on the guard." Kim said. "He had to know Marsha was there, even though he denied it."

"If he lied to the police, he certainly isn't going to tell you anything," Tracy said.

"Well, I've got to do something," Kim said.

"Do you know anything about her?" Tracy asked. "Like where she lives, or where she's from, or whether she has any family in the area?"

"I know almost nothing about her," Kim admitted, "Except that she's twenty-nine, and she went to veterinary school."

"Too bad," Tracy commented. "It would be a help if you could establish for sure whether or not she's missing. If she is, then the police would have to listen to you."

"You just gave me an idea," Kim said. He straightened up from his slouch. "What do you think of my going to Kelly Anderson and getting her to help?"

"Now, that's not a bad idea," Tracy said. 'The question is, would she do it?"

"There's no way of knowing unless I approach her," Kim said.

"She's caused you enough grief," Tracy said. "It seems to me she owes you something."

"Gosh, the media could be a big help," Kim said. "Not only with the Marsha problem, but also with the whole meat-contamination issue."

"The more I think about this, the better I like it," Tracy said. "Maybe I can help you convince her."

Kim looked appreciatively at his former wife. With the bitterness of the divorce and the rancor of the custody issues he'd forgotten how warmly attractive she was. "You know, Trace," he said, "I'm really thankful that you came to court this morning and not just because you made the effort to raise the bail. I'm just thankful you're willing to be with me after all that's happened."

Tracy looked over at Kim. The remark was so out of character for him, yet seeing his eyes she knew he was sincere. "That's a very nice thing to say," she told him.

"I mean it," Kim said.

"Well, I appreciate your saying it," Tracy said. "I can't remember the last time you thanked me for anything. In fact, it must have been before we were ever married."

"I know," Kim admitted. "You're right. I had a little time to think last night in jail, and I have to say that the events over the last twenty-four hours, particularly concerning Becky, have opened my eyes."

"Opened your eyes to what?" Tracy asked.

"To what's really important in life," Kim said. "I suppose that sounds melodramatic, but I've realized I've made a terrible mistake. I've focused too much on career and competition, at the expense of family. And us."

"I'm impressed to hear you say such a thing," Tracy said. This did not sound like the Kim she'd divorced.

"I'm afraid I've been selfish all my adult life," Kim continued. "It's a little ironic since the whole time I've been hiding behind the facade of the charitable, selfless physician. Like a child, I've needed constant praise and constant reinforcement, and being a surgeon was a perfect fit."

"All this makes me feel sad and ashamed. It also makes me want to apologize to you and wish I could take back a number of wasted years."

"I'm surprised and overwhelmed," Tracy said. "But I accept. I'm impressed by your insight."

"Thanks," Kim said simply. He stared out the windshield. They had turned onto the side road and were approaching Higgins and Hancock. The building looked peaceful and clean under the dusting of snow.

"Is this it?" Tracy asked.

Kim nodded. "The entrance to the parking lot is coming up," he said. "My car should be right in front of the main door. At least that's where I left it."

Tracy turned where Kim indicated. Kim's car was immediately apparent. It was standing in total isolation. There were only two other cars in the lot, but they were all the way at the end of the plant.

"Marsha's car was parked where those two cars are," Kim mentioned. "Maybe there's an employee entrance over there."

Tracy pulled up alongside of Kim's car. She stopped and set the emergency brake.

Kim pointed to the record-room window that he'd smashed to gain entrance into the building. It had been boarded up. He explained to Tracy he'd done it with one of the large rocks lining the parking lot.

"What's the plan?" Tracy asked when Kim paused.

Kim sighed. "I've got to get to the hospital. Tom's agreed to look in on my patients, but I have to see them too. Then I'll go see Kelly Anderson. I happen to know where she lives."

"We have some decisions to make concerning Becky," Tracy said.

Kim nodded but looked off in the distance.

"I know it is difficult," Tracy said. "But we have to make funeral arrangements. It might even help us accept her death."

Kim bit his lip.

"Anger and denial are part of the grieving process," Tracy said when Kim didn't respond. "I'm guilty of using them as well as you, but we do have responsibilities."

Kim turned to face Tracy. There were tears in the corners of his eyes. "You're right," he admitted. "But, as I said, I need a little more time because of what's happened. Would it be too much to ask for you to go ahead and make the arrangements without me? I know it's asking a lot. I'll certainly agree to anything you decide, and, of course, I'll be there for the service. I'd just like to follow up on this Kelly Anderson idea immediately."

Tracy tapped her fingers against the steering wheel while she stared at Kim and pondered his request. Her first thought was to say no and to tell him that he was just being selfish again. But then she reconsidered. Although she didn't want to make the arrangements by herself, she knew that the service itself was far more important than making the arrangements. She also recognized that at the moment she was probably more capable than he was.

"You won't mind what day I pick?" Tracy questioned. "Or where a service might be?"

"Not at all," Kim said. "Whatever you decide."

"All right," she said. "But you have to promise to call me as soon as you get home."

"I promise," Kim said. He reached over and gave Tracy 's forearm a squeeze before getting out of the car.

"I'll wait to make sure your car starts," Tracy said.

"Good idea," Kim said. "And thanks." He shut the door. He waved before heading over to his car.

Tracy waved back and wondered if she was doing the right thing.

Kim opened his car door, but didn't get right in. He looked at Higgins and Hancock and shuddered at the memory of the previous night. The terror he'd felt running from the man with the knife came flooding back. It was an experience he knew he'd never forget.

Kim started to get into the car but hesitated again. For a brief moment, he entertained the idea of talking with the guard on duty to find out how to get in touch with Curt, the guard from the previous night. But Tracy 's admonition immediately came to mind, and Kim decided she was right. If Curt were willing to lie to the police about Marsha's presence, he certainly wouldn't be apt to tell the truth to Kim. And the fact that he probably was lying meant there was more to this affair than might appear on the surface.

Kim's car started with ease, and he waved at Tracy who waved back before preceding him out of the parking lot. Kim followed at a distance, rethinking their recent conversation. He thought it was ironic that the awful events of the last few days-Becky's death and his having come close to being murdered-could end up making him feel closer to Tracy than he had in years, maybe even ever.

They parted company on the freeway. Kim beeped his horn in farewell. Tracy beeped back as she sped away toward her neighborhood. Kim took the exit appropriate for the med center.

On Sundays the doctors' parking lot was almost empty, and Kim was able to park close to the front entrance. As he climbed out of his car he told himself the first order of business was for him to go directly up to the surgical locker room. He wanted to clean up, shave, and change into the street clothes he'd left there Friday morning.

Martha Trumbull and George Constantine were both in their early seventies, and both had been faithful volunteers at the University Medical Center long enough to have been awarded the prestigious Friends of the Hospital service pins. Martha proudly wore hers on the front of her pink volunteer smock, whereas George wore his on the lapel of his cerulean volunteer blazer.

Martha and George's favorite assignment was manning the information desk in the hospital lobby. They particularly liked to work there on Sunday when they had it to themselves. On the other days of the week, a paid hospital employee was in charge.

Taking their roles seriously, they not only knew the layout of the hospital with the same detail as the floor plans of their own homes, but they also knew the names of the entire hospital professional staff. When Kim came through the door on his way to the elevator, they both thought they recognized him yet they weren't a hundred-percent certain.

Martha glanced at George. "Is that Dr. Reggis?" she whispered.

"I think so," George said. "But I can't imagine what he's been doing in that white coat, unless he had to change a tire."

"I think the beard looks worse than the coat," Martha said. "Someone should tell him, because he's such a nice-looking man."

"Wait a second," George said. "Weren't we supposed to call Dr. Biddle if we saw Dr. Reggis?"

"That was yesterday," Martha said. "You think it's the same today?"

"Why take a chance?" George said as he reached for the phone.

To Kim's relief the elevator was empty when he boarded it on the ground floor, and he was able to ride solo all the way to the surgical floor. He wasn't quite as lucky on his transit of the surgical lounge. There were a number of the OR nurses and on-call anesthesiologists having coffee. Although no one said anything, those assembled eyed him with curiosity.

Kim was glad to get into the surgical locker room and away from the inquiring faces. He was particularly pleased to find it vacant, and he lost no time. After rescuing his hospital I.D., a few papers and pens, plus some surgical tape from the pockets, he pulled off the coat, the scrubs, and even his underwear. Everything went into the laundry hamper.

Completely naked, Kim was shocked to catch his reflection in the mirror. His visage was far worse than he imagined. His ratty whiskers were significantly more than a five o'clock shadow but far from being a beard. And his hair was a mess, plastered down across his forehead yet standing straight up in the back, suggesting he'd just gotten out of bed.

Opening his combination lock, Kim got out the toiletries he kept in his locker and quickly shaved. Then he got into the shower with a vial of shampoo.

Kim had his head under the jet of water when he thought he heard his name called. Leaning out from the stream but with his eyes closed tightly against the suds, he listened. Someone repeated his name. The voice was definitely more authoritative than friendly.

Kim rinsed off the soap, then looked toward the shower entrance. He was in a common shower with four heads. Standing on the tiled threshold were Dr. Forrester Biddle, Chief of Cardiac Surgery, and Dr. Robert Rathborn, Acting Chief of the Medical Staff. They made a curious pair. In contrast to Forrester's ascetic gauntness, Robert was the picture of self-indulgent obesity.

"Dr. Reggis," Robert repeated when he was confident of Kim's attention. "As the current head of the medical staff, it is my duty to inform you that your hospital privileges have been temporarily revoked."

"This is a curious conversation to have while I'm in the shower," Kim said. "Or was it your specific intent to catch me naked?"

"Your glibness has never been more inappropriate," Forrester spat. "I've been warning you, Dr. Reggis."

"You couldn't wait for five minutes?" Kim questioned.

"We felt it was important enough to inform you as soon as possible," Robert said.

"What are the grounds?" Kim asked.

"For obstructive behavior during your daughter's cardiac resuscitation attempt," Robert said. "Three doctors and two nurses have filed formal complaints of physical intimidation by you that precluded them from carrying out their duty."

"And I am appalled at your decision to perform open-heart cardiac massage on your own daughter," Forrester said. "In my opinion, it is beyond the pale of acceptable professional behavior."

"She was dying, Robert," Kim hissed. "The closed chest massage wasn't effective. Her pupils were dilating."

"There were other qualified people on the scene," Robert said sanctimoniously.

"They weren't doing crap!" Kim snapped. "They didn't know what the hell was going on. Nor did I until I got a look at her heart." Kim's voice broke, and he looked away for a moment.

"There'll be a hearing," Robert said. "The issue here is whether you are a threat to patients or even yourself. You'll have an opportunity to present your side of this unfortunate episode. Meanwhile, you are not to practice any medicine within these walls, and you are specifically forbidden to do any surgery whatsoever."

"Well, it's good of you gentlemen to come into my office like this with such good news," Kim said.

"I wouldn't be so glib if I were you," Forrester warned.

"Nor would I," Robert said. "This incident and our action will be communicated to the Board of Medicine. You could very well find your medical license in jeopardy."

Kim turned around so that he could present what he thought was the most appropriate part of his anatomy to his two guests. Bending forward, he went back to completing his shampoo.

The El Toro bar looked like a completely different establishment in the daylight. Without the red glow of the neon bull and without the lively, percussive sound of the Hispanic music, the ramshackle building looked abandoned. The only evidence it wasn't were the freshly discarded beer cans scattered about the deserted parking lot.

Shanahan shook his head at the miserable scene as his black Cherokee navigated the pockmarked parking area. The rainy, foggy weather didn't help as it blanketed the area with a dense pall. Shanahan pulled alongside Carlos's truck whose condition matched the surroundings.

Carlos climbed out of his truck and came around to Shanahan's driver's-side window. It was heavily tinted, and Carlos could only see his own reflection until Shanahan lowered it.

With no greeting and no explanation, Shanahan handed Carlos a hundred-dollar bill.

Carlos looked at the money then back at Shanahan.

"What's this?" he said. "You told me two hundred. The woman's been taken care of just like we talked about."

"You messed up," Shanahan said. "It wasn't clean. We heard about the doctor. You should have done him. You knew he was there looking for the woman.

"I tried," Carlos said.

"What do you mean, tried?" Shanahan asked with derision. "You're supposed to have this great reputation with a knife. The guy was unarmed."

"I didn't have time," Carlos said. "He set off the silent alarm when he broke in, and the police got there before I could finish him. I was lucky to get rid of her blood and stuff."

"What did you do with her car?" Shanahan asked. "It's in my cousin's garage," Carlos said.

"We'll pick it up," Shanahan said. "I don't want anybody using it. It's got to be junked."

"Nobody's going to use it," Carlos said.

"What about her phone?" Shanahan asked.

"I got that in my truck," Carlos said.

"Get it!" Shanahan ordered.

Dutifully Carlos returned to his truck. A minute later he was back at Shanahan's window. Carlos handed the cell phone to the security man.

Shanahan tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. "I hope I don't have to ask you if you made any calls."

Carlos raised his dark eyebrows innocently but didn't respond verbally.

Shanahan closed his eyes, put a hand to his forehead, and shook his head in dismay. "Please tell me you didn't use the phone," he said through clenched teeth, although he already knew the answer.

When Carlos still didn't respond, Shanahan opened his eyes and stared dumbfounded at his accomplice. He tried to control his rage. "All right, who did you call? Don't you know they'll be able to trace the call? How can you be so stupid?"

"I called my mother in Mexico," Carlos admitted guiltily.

Shanahan rolled his eyes and started to worry that he would now have to get rid of Carlos. The trouble with this kind of work was that when things started to go wrong, they had a way of quickly getting out of hand.

"But my mother has no phone," Carlos said. "I called a phone in a store where my sister works."

"What kind of a store?" Shanahan asked.

"A big store," Carlos said. "It sells all sorts of things."

"Like a department store?" Shanahan asked.

"Yeah, like a department store," Carlos said.

"When did you call?" Shanahan asked.

"Last night," Carlos said. "The store is open late on Saturday night, and my mother always goes to walk my sister home."

"Where in Mexico?" Shanahan asked.

" Mexico City," Carlos said.

Shanahan felt relieved. An anonymous call to a large store in the most populous city in the world wasn't much of a lead.

"And that was the only call?" Shanahan asked.

"Yeah, man," Carlos said. "Just one call."

"Let's get back to the doctor," Shanahan said. "Does he know what happened to the woman?"

"Probably." Carlos said. "He saw her blood."

"One way or the other, he's a threat," Shanahan said. "He's got to go. We'll pay you the other hundred plus three hundred extra to do the job. What do you say?"

"When?" Carlos asked.

"Tonight," Shanahan said. "We know where he lives, and he lives alone. It's in the Balmoral section of town."

"I don't know," Carlos said. "He's a big guy."

"With the reputation you have, I didn't think that would matter," Shanahan said.

"It's not the killing that will be hard," Carlos said. "It's getting rid of the body and the blood."

"You don't have to worry about that," Shanahan said. "Just do the trick and walk out. Maybe you could make it look like a robbery by taking money and valuables. Just don't take anything that can be traced."

"I don't know," Carlos said. "The police don't like us Mexicans driving around in the Balmoral neighborhood. I've been stopped up there."

"Listen, Carlos," Shanahan said. He was quickly losing his patience. "You don't have a lot of choice at this juncture. You screwed up last night. As I understand it you had plenty of time to kill the doctor. Besides, you don't even have a green card."

Carlos shifted his weight and rubbed his upper arms against the damp cold. He had no coat and was still wearing his leather vest without a shirt.

"What's the address?" Carlos asked with resignation.

"That's more like it," Shanahan said as he handed over a typed three-by-five card.

Defying the revocation of his hospital privileges by the medical staff as delivered by Robert Rathborn, Kim went around the hospital and visited all his in-patients. He spent the most time with Friday's post-ops. As Tom Bridges had promised, he'd been following all the patients closely. Kim was pleased that all were doing well and without complications. By the time Kim left the hospital it was mid-afternoon.

Kim had considered trying to call Kelly Anderson to arrange a meeting but then decided it would be better just to drop in. Besides, he didn't have her phone number, and he rationalized it was undoubtedly unlisted.

Kelly Anderson lived in a prairie-style house in the Christie Heights section of town. It wasn't quite as upscale as Balmoral but it was close. Kim pulled to the curb and stopped. He turned off the ignition and gazed at the house. It took him a moment to build up his courage. For Kim. coming to Kelly Anderson was akin to conniving with the devil herself. He felt he needed her but certainly didn't like her.

Kim trudged up to the front door; realizing that there was a very good chance he would not even make it across the threshold.

Caroline, Kelly's precocious daughter, opened the door. For a moment, Kim could not find his voice. The child brought back the unwelcome image of Becky in the ICU.

Kim heard a man's voice from inside the house, asking Caroline who was there.

"I don't know," Caroline yelled back over her shoulder. "He won't talk."

"I'm Doctor Reggis," Kim managed.

Edgar Anderson appeared behind his daughter. He was an academic-appearing fellow, with heavy dark rimmed glasses. He was wearing an oversized, elbow patched cardigan sweater. A pipe hung from the corner of his mouth.

"Can I help you?" Edgar inquired.

Kim repeated his name and asked to speak to Kelly Anderson.

Edgar introduced himself as Kelly's husband and invited Kim inside. He showed him into the living room, which had the appearance of never being used.

"I'll let her know you are here," Edgar said. "Please sit down. Can I offer you anything? Coffee?"

"No, thank you," Kim said. He felt self-conscious, as if he were a mendicant. He lowered himself onto an immaculate couch.

Edgar disappeared, but Caroline stayed to stare at Kim from behind a club chair. Kim could not look at her without thinking about Becky.

Kim was relieved when Kelly swept into the room.

"My, my," she intoned. "This is curious. The fox chasing the hound. Sit down, please!" Kim had gotten to his feet when she'd entered. She plopped into the club chair. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?" she added.

"Could we speak alone?" Kim asked.

Acting as if she had been unaware Caroline was in the room, Kelly told her daughter to find something entertaining to do.

As soon as Caroline had left, Kim started by telling about Becky's death. Kelly's glib demeanor changed immediately. She was obviously deeply moved.

Kim told Kelly the whole story, including the details of the discussions he'd had with Kathleen Morgan and Marsha Baldwin. He told her about his visit and arrest at the Onion Ring restaurant. He even told her about the harrowing episode in Higgins and Hancock, culminating in his second arrest.

When Kim fell silent, Kelly exhaled and leaned back. She shook her head. "What a story," she said. "And what a tragedy for you. But what brings you to me? I assume there is something you want me to do."

"Obviously," Kim said. "I want you to do a story about all this. It's something the public needs to know. And I want to get out the message about Marsha Baldwin. The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced there's a conspiracy here. If she's alive, the sooner she's found the better."

Kelly chewed the inside of her cheek while she pondered Kim's request. There were some intriguing elements to the story, but there were also some problems. After a few moments, she shook her head. "Thank you for coming by and telling me all this, but I'm not interested from a professional point of view: at least not at this time."

Kim's face fell. As he'd told the story, he'd become progressively convinced of its merit, and Kelly's rapid negative decision came as a disappointing surprise. "Can you tell me why?" he questioned.

"Sure," Kelly said. "As much as I sympathize with you about the tragic loss of your darling, talented daughter, it's not the kind of TV journalism I generally do. I go after harder, bigger stories, if you know what I mean."

"But this is a big story," Kim complained. "Becky died of E. coli 0157:H7. This has become a worldwide problem."

"True," Kelly admitted. "But it's only one case."

"That's the point," Kim said. "Only one case so far. I'm convinced she got it at the Onion Ring restaurant on Prairie Highway. I'm afraid she's going to turn out to be the index case of what could be a big outbreak."

"But an outbreak hasn't happened," Kelly said. "You said yourself your daughter got sick over a week ago. If there were going to be an outbreak, there would have been more cases by now, but there haven't been."

"But there will be," Kim said. "I'm convinced of it."

"Fine," Kelly said. "When there are more cases, I'll do a story. I mean, one isolated case is not a story. How can I say it more clearly?"

"But hundreds of kids die each year from this bacteria," Kim said. "People don't know that."

"That might be true," Kelly said. "But these hundreds of cases are not related."

"But they are," Kim said with exasperation. "Almost all of them get it from ground beef. The meat industry that produces the hamburger is a threat to everyone who eats ground beef. It's a situation that has to be exposed."

"Hey, where have you been?" Kelly asked with equal exasperation. "It's already been exposed, particularly by the Jack-in-the-Box outbreak and the Hudson Meat recall. This E. coli has been in the news just about every month."

"It's been in the news but the media has been giving the wrong message," Kim said.

"Oh, really?" Kelly questioned superciliously. "I suppose that in addition to being a cardiac surgeon you're also a media expert?"

"I don't profess to be a media expert," Kim said. "But I do know that the media coverage of this issue has given two important false impressions: one, that the presence of this dangerous E. coli in ground meat is unusual; and two, that the USDA is on the job inspecting meat to guarantee its safety. Both these messages are false as evidenced by the deaths of up to five hundred kids a year."

"Whoa!" Kelly commented. "Now you're out on very thin ice. I mean, now you're making a couple of major accusations. How can you back it up? What kind of proof do you have?"

"My daughter's death," Kim said with obvious anger. "And the CDC's reports of the other deaths."

"I'm talking about the accusation you made about E. coli being so common and the USDA failing to inspect the meat."

"I don't have specific proof right now," Kim said. "That's what I expect you to find when you do the story. But so many kids wouldn't be dying if it wasn't true. And all this was substantiated by Marsha Baldwin."

"Ah, of course," Kelly said dubiously. "How could I forget. The mysterious USDA inspector who you say has been missing for less than twenty-four hours. The one you feel has fallen victim to foul play."

"Exactly," Kim said. "They had to silence her."

Kelly cocked her head to the side. She wasn't a hundred-percent sure she shouldn't be afraid of Kim, especially considering his double arrests. She had the sense his daughter's death had done something to his mind. He seemed paranoid, and she wanted him out of the house.

"Tell me again," Kelly said. "The reason you think Miss Baldwin is missing is because of the interrupted telephone call and the blood you found in the slaughterhouse?"

"Exactly," Kim repeated.

"And you told all this to the police who arrested you?" Kelly asked.

"Of course," Kim said. "But they didn't believe me."

"And I can see why," Kelly said silently to herself. All at once she stood up. "Excuse me, Dr. Reggis," she said out loud. "I'm afraid we're going around in circles. This is all hearsay and therefore smoke and mirrors as far as I'm concerned. I'd like to help you, but I can't at the moment, at least not until you have something tangible, something that a story could be based on."

Kim pushed himself up off the low couch. He could feel his anger returning, but he fought against it. Although he didn't agree with Kelly's position, he had to admit he understood, and the realization only renewed his determination. "All right," Kim said resolutely. "I'll get something substantive, and I'll be back."

"You do that," Kelly said, "and I'll do the story."

"I'm going to hold you to that," Kim said.

"I always keep my word," Kelly said. "Of course, I have to be the one who decides if the evidence is sufficient."

"I'll make sure there're no ambiguities," Kim said.

Kim exited the house and ran down to his car parked at the curb. He wasn't running because of the rain, although it had increased in intensity while he had been in the Anderson house. He was running because he'd already decided what he was going to do to satisfy Kelly's need for proof. It wasn't going to be easy, but Kim didn't care. He was a man with a mission.

Kim made a U-turn and stomped on the accelerator. He didn't notice Kelly standing in the doorway of her house or see her shake her head one final time as he sped away.

As soon as Kim made it onto the freeway he punched in Tracy 's phone number on his cellular phone.

"Trace." Kim said with no preamble when she answered. "Meet me at the mall."

There was a pause. At first Kim thought the connection had been broken. Just when he was about to resend the call, Tracy 's voice came over the line: "I took you at your word. I've made arrangements for a funeral service."

Kim sighed. At times he was able to put Becky entirely out of his mind. Thank God for Tracy. She was so strong. How could he face this tragedy without her?

"Thank you," he said at last. It was hard to find the words. "I appreciate your doing it without me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll explain later," Kim said.

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

"Connolly Drugs," Kim said. "Inside the store."

"When?" Tracy asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are the hair clippers for?" Tracy asked.

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

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

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

"This is bizarre," Tracy complained.

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

"Why?" Tracy asked.

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

"Proof of what?" Tracy asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because of what happened in the ICU?" Tracy questioned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No need," Kim said. "The door's unlocked."

"That's not very wise," Tracy commented.

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

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

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

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

"Mind?" Kim questioned. "Not at all. Help yourself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tracy had climbed the stairs, feeling a twinge of nostalgia. It had been some time since she'd been on the second floor of the house. Outside of Becky's room, she'd paused, gazing at the closed door and wondering if she dare enter. Compromising, she merely opened the door and stood on the threshold.

Becky's room had not changed. Since Tracy and Kim shared custody, Tracy had gotten new furniture for her daughter and left the old where it was. Becky didn't mind and preferred to leave what she considered her childhood objects in her old room. She'd not even taken her stuffed animal collection.

The idea that Becky was gone was inconceivable to Tracy. She'd been the center of Tracy 's life, particularly after Tracy 's relationship with Kim had deteriorated.

Tracy took a deep breath and pulled the door closed. As she walked down toward the master suite, she wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes with her knuckle. She knew from her professional experience how difficult the next few months would be for her and for Kim.

Tracy entered the master bath directly from the hall instead of going around through the bedroom. Once inside, she flicked on the light and closed the door behind her. She surveyed the room. It wasn't nearly as clean as it had always been when she lived in the house, yet it was still beautiful, with its granite-topped vanity and marble shower.

Leaning into the shower stall, she turned on the water and adjusted the showerhead to deliver a pulsating jet. Then she opened the generous closet and got out a large bath towel along with a Turkish robe. Placing them on the vanity, she began to remove her damp clothes.

Carlos heard the shower and smiled. This job was going to be easier than he'd imagined. He was standing in the walk-in closet in the master bedroom, intending to wait until Kim unknowingly opened the door. But hearing the shower running, he thought it would be better to corner the doctor in such a conveniently confined space Escape would be impossible.

Carlos cracked the door and a sliver of pale light fell across his face. He looked out. The bedroom was still mostly dark with the only light coming from the bathroom. Carlos was pleased about this as well. It meant he would not have to worry about being seen as he approached the bathroom. For what he had to do, surprise was an important element.

Carlos opened the door wide enough to step out into the room. He had his knife in his right hand.

Moving like a cat advancing on its prey, Carlos inched forward. With each step, he could see progressively more of the bathroom's interior through the open passageway connecting the rooms. He saw a hand flash by and drop clothing onto the counter.

Taking one more step, Carlos had a full view of the bathroom, and he froze. It wasn't Kim. It was a strikingly lithe, sexy woman in the process of unhooking her bra. In an instant, her soft, white breasts were revealed. The woman then hooked her thumbs beneath the elastic of her panties and pulled them off.

Carlos was transfixed by this unexpected but welcome spectacle, as Tracy turned her back toward him and climbed into the billowing mist coming from the shower stall. She closed the moisture-streaked glass door behind her, and threw her towel over a bar at the shower's rear.

Carlos moved forward as if drawn to a siren. He wanted a better view.

Tracy put her hand under the water spray then pulled it clear. It was much too hot, which was what she expected. It had been her intent to turn the shower stall into a modified steam bath.

Reaching behind the stream of water, she adjusted the mixing valve. While she waited for the water temperature to change, she glanced at the soap dish and noticed it was empty. The bar was out at the sink.

Tracy opened the door to get the soap when a flicker of light caught her attention. It had come from the bedroom. At first she couldn't believe her eyes, and she blinked. There was the spectral image of a man in black standing just within the penumbra of the bathroom light. The flash had come from the blade of an enormous knife in the man's right hand.

For a beat the two people stared at each other, Tracy in shocked horror and Carlos in libidinous interest.

Tracy was the first to react. She let Out a horrendous scream as she yanked the shower door shut. Then she snatched the tubular towel bar from its brackets and passed it through the U-shaped handle of the heavy glass door to prevent it from opening.

Carlos reacted by springing forward into the bathroom. He wanted to get to her before her scream brought Kim. Switching the knife to his left hand, he grasped the handle of the shower door and yanked. Frustrated by not being able to get inside, he put up a foot to give himself more leverage. The light tubular towel bar slowly dented under his effort and began to bend.

When Tracy 's scream sounded through the house, Kim was on his way up the cellar stairs with his armload of firewood. Already on edge from the run-in with the mice, Kim's heart leaped into his throat. He dropped the firewood with a tremendous clatter as the logs tumbled back down the stairs, knocking all sorts of things off the steps that had been inappropriately stored there.

Afterward Kim would not even remember how he got through the kitchen, dining room, foyer, and up the stairs. As he reached the upper hallway, he heard Tracy scream again, and he redoubled his efforts. He hit the thin, paneled bathroom door at a full run and shattered it on his way through.

Kim burst into the bathroom and skid on the shag rug as he tried to stop. He saw Carlos with his foot up against the glass shower stall, apparently trying to open it. He saw the knife and immediately realized he should have brought something to defend himself.

Carlos reacted by spinning around and slashing out with the knife. The tip of the blade caught Kim across the bridge of his nose as he backed up.

Carlos tossed the knife into his right hand and turned his full attention to Kim. Kim's eyes were glued to the knife as he backed up toward the broken door to the hall.

Tracy struggled with the dented towel bar to extract it from the shower-door handle. When she finally was able to do it, Kim and Carlos had disappeared out into the hallway. She grasped the towel bar at one end and frantically pushed out of the shower. Naked, she rushed after the two men.

Carlos was still forcing Kim to back up by menacing him with his blade. Kim had picked up a broken door stile and was using it in a vain attempt to counter Carlos's repeated thrusts. Blood from the cut over Kim's nose was running down his face.

Without hesitation, Tracy ran up behind Carlos and clubbed him several times over the head with the towel bar. The hollow tube was not enough to hurt Carlos, but he had to defend himself against the repeated blows. He turned around to take a few swipes at Tracy who immediately backed up.

Kim took the opportunity to grab the leg of a small console table. He ripped the table from the wall and then smashed it over the banister to free the leg. By the time Carlos turned to face him, Kim was brandishing the leg like a truncheon.

With Kim on one side and Tracy on the other, Carlos decided that his lethal weapon was trumped. He bolted down the stairs.

Kim followed, with Tracy close behind.

Carlos threw open the front door and ran down across the front lawn. Kim was close behind, but he stopped when Tracy yelled for him. He looked back. She was standing in the doorway.

"Come back," Tracy yelled. "It's not worth it."

Kim turned in time to see Carlos leap into a truck parked in the shadows. An instant later, exhaust billowed out of the tailpipe, and the vehicle lurched forward and picked up speed.

Kim hurried back up to the house and pushed open the door. Tracy was standing in the foyer. She'd pulled on her coat to cover her nakedness.

Kim enveloped her in his arms. "Are you okay?" he asked urgently.

"You're the one who's hurt," Tracy said. The laceration that stretched across Kim's nose and into one eyebrow was gaping and still bleeding.

Kim let go of Tracy to step into the powder room where he examined himself in the mirror. He was surprised to see how much blood was involved. Over his shoulder, he saw Tracy 's face. She'd come up behind him.

"Gosh, it was close," Kim said, redirecting his attention to his wound. "This could have been serious. First he cut my hand, and now right between the eyes."

"Are you suggesting this was the same man who attacked you last night?" Tracy asked with astonishment.

"There's no doubt," Kim said. "I would have had trouble describing him, but I didn't have any trouble recognizing him."

Tracy shuddered and then couldn't stop. Kim could see in the mirror that she was shivering despite her coat.

Kim spun around and grasped her shoulders. "What's the matter? You're okay, aren't you? I mean, you didn't get cut or anything?"

"Physically I'm all right," Tracy managed. "It's just the reality of what happened is finally dawning on me. That man wanted to kill us."

"He wanted to kill me," Kim said. "I have a feeling you were a surprise, and enough of one to have saved my life. Thank God you weren't hurt."

Tracy twisted out of Kim's grasp. "I'll call the police," she said on her way to the family room.

Kim caught up to her, and grabbing her arm, he pulled her to a stop. "Don't bother to call the police," he said.

Tracy eyed Kim's hand clasped around her upper arm then looked up into his face. She was incredulous. "What do you mean, don't bother?" she questioned.

"Come on," Kim urged, gently pulling her back toward the stairs. "Let's get my gun. I doubt the guy will be back, but there's no sense in taking any chance of not being prepared."

Tracy held back. "Why don't you want to call the police?" she questioned. "It doesn't make any sense."

"They won't do anything," Kim said. "We'll end up spending a lot of time for nothing. Undoubtedly they'll attribute this episode to a failed burglary, whereas we know what it is about."

"We do?" Tracy asked.

"Of course," Kim said. "I said it was the same guy from Higgins and Hancock. Obviously what I was afraid had happened to Marsha, did happen, and the people responsible, whether they're from Higgins and Hancock or the meat industry in general, are afraid of me."

"That seems like all the more reason to call the police," Tracy said.

"No!" Kim said emphatically. "Not only won't they do anything, they might cause trouble. Above all, I don't want them interfering in my attempt to get evidence for Kelly Anderson. In their eyes, I'm already a felon. They think I'm a nutcase."

"They don't think I'm a nutcase," Tracy said.

"They might," Kim said. "As soon as you tell them you've been spending time with me."

"You think so?" Tracy questioned. That was a point she'd not considered.

"Come on," Kim urged. "Let's get the gun."

Tracy followed Kim out to the foyer. They started up the stairs. She was confused but for the moment allowed Kim's determination to sway her. Yet the attack by the man with the knife terrified her.

"I'm having serious second thoughts about your getting more involved in all this," Tracy said.

"Not me," Kim said. "I feel even more committed. Any residual benefit of doubt I'd felt has flown out the window now that I know what they're willing to do to protect themselves."

They passed the broken door to the bathroom. Tracy could hear the shower still running. She shuddered anew at the image of the killer separated from her by a mere layer of glass.

Tracy followed Kim into the bedroom. He went directly to the bedside table and took out a small Smith amp; Wesson thirty-eight-caliber pistol. He checked the cylinder. It was loaded. He slipped the gun into his jacket pocket and looked over at the open door to the walk-in closet.

"That prick must have been hiding in there," Kim said. He walked over and switched on the light. Most of the drawers had been emptied onto the floor. Kim pulled out the drawer where he kept his minimal jewelry. "That's nice," he added. "He helped himself to my father's Piaget."

"Kim, I think we should forget about this whole thing," Tracy said. "I don't think you should try to get a job in Higgins and Hancock."

"I don't have any choice at this point," Kim said. "I'm not going to give up my father's watch without a fight."

"This is no time for jokes," Tracy said. "I'm being serious. It's too dangerous."

"What would you have us do?" Kim asked. "Move away to some foreign country?"

"That's a thought," Tracy said.

Kim laughed mirthlessly. "Wait a sec," he said, "I was just kidding. Where would you want to move?"

"Someplace in Europe," Tracy said. "I had another conversation with Kathleen after the three of us talked. She told me there were some countries, like Sweden, where the food is not contaminated."

"Seriously?" Kim questioned.

"That's what she said," Tracy offered. "They may pay a little more for the extra scrutiny, but they've decided it's worth it."

"And you'd seriously think of going to live in another country?" Kim asked.

"I hadn't thought about it until you mentioned it," Tracy said. "But yes, I'd consider it. Given what happened to Becky, I'd like to be public about it-use the move to make a statement about the food situation in this country. And it certainly would be a lot less risky."

"I suppose," Kim said. He thought about the idea for a moment, but then shook his head. "I think running away is too much of a cop-out. For Becky's sake, I'm going to see this to the bitter end."

"Are you sure you're not doing this just to avoid coming to grips with Becky's death?" Tracy asked. She took a nervous breath. She knew she was touching a sensitive area. The old Kim would have reacted with rage.

Kim didn't answer immediately. When he did, his voice didn't sound angry. "I've admitted as much already, but I think I'm doing this for Becky's memory as well. In that sense, part of her legacy would be preventing other kids from sharing her fate."

Tracy was touched. She went up to Kim and put her arms around him. He truly seemed to be a different man.

"Come on," Kim urged. "Get out of that coat and back into your clothes. We'll get the stuff we bought and get the hell out of here."

"Where will we go?" Tracy asked.

"First to the hospital," Kim said. "I have to get this laceration sutured up, or I'll be looking at it the rest of my life. Once that's done, we can go on to your house if you wouldn't mind. I think we'll feel a lot safer there than we will here."

"Now, who the hell is that?" Bobby Bo Mason asked. He and his wife, along with their two children, were having a small Sunday night dinner of sirloin steaks, double-baked potatoes, peas, and corn muffins. Their chewing concentration had been broken by the front-door chimes.

Bobby Bo lifted the tip of his napkin to blot the corners of his lips. The other end of the napkin was tucked into his shirt just below his sizable Adam's apple. He looked up at the clock. It was just a few minutes shy of seven.

"Want me to get it, dear?" Darlene asked. Darlene was Bobby Bo's third wife and mother of his youngest children. He also had two kids at the state agricultural school.

"I'll get it," Bobby Bo grumbled. He pushed back from the table, stuck out his lantern jaw, and headed for the front door. He wondered who had the nerve to ring his bell during dinner, but he guessed it had to be important because whoever it was had gotten through security down at the gate.

Bobby Bo pulled open the door. It was Shanahan O'Brian. The man was literally holding his hat in his hand.

"You don't look happy," Bobby Bo said.

"I'm not," Shanahan admitted. "It's not good news."

Bobby Bo glanced over his shoulder to make sure Darlene hadn't followed him to the door.

"Come on into the library," Bobby Bo said. He stepped aside to let Shanahan enter. Then he preceded his security head into the library. He closed the door after them.

"All right," Bobby Bo said. "What's the scoop?"

"I just had a call from Carlos," Shanahan said. "He didn't get the doctor."

"I thought this guy was supposed to be some kind of ace with a knife," Bobby Bo complained.

"That's what I'd been told," Shanahan said. "Carlos insists this doctor is just lucky. He broke into the doctor's house. He'd been told that the doctor lived alone, but when the doctor came home this time he apparently had a woman with him."

"Big deal," Bobby Bo said. "This Carlos is supposed to be a killer. What difference does it make if a woman was there?"

"She apparently confused him," Shanahan said. "He caught her naked and…"

"Enough," Bobby Bo said, raising his hand. "I don't want to hear any more details. The fact of the matter is this amateur wetback botched it up."

"That's the long and short of it," Shanahan said.

"Damn!" Bobby Bo said. He slapped the edge of his desk and began to pace and loudly curse.

Shanahan let his boss blow off some steam. He'd learned over the years it was best to say as little as possible when Bobby Bo was irritated.

"Well," Bobby Bo said, while still walking back and forth in front of the fireplace. "This all goes to show how stupid it is to save a few bucks by relying on a novice. So much for the vaunted Protection Committee. Let's call the professional up in Chicago and get him down here ASAP to straighten out this mess. What's his name again?"

"Derek Leutmann," Shanahan said. "But he is expensive. I think we should let Carlos have one more crack at it."

"How expensive?" Bobby Bo asked.

"At least five K," Shanahan said.

"Hell, five K is cheap if it prevents another major meat recall," Bobby Bo said. "I mean, we're talking about hundreds of millions of dollars, if not the viability of the industry as we know it, if the public learns the true extent of this E. coli problem. It'll be a thousand times worse than James Garner having to have bypass surgery after touting meat for us." Bobby Bo giggled at his own joke.

"I'm worried about the doctor causing trouble in relation to Marsha Baldwin," Shanahan said.

"Yeah, well, that too," Bobby Bo said.

"What about Carlos?" Shanahan asked. "He's really angry at this point. He's willing to do it for nothing. It's become a matter of pride."

"What's been the upshot of this last botched attempt?" Bobby Bo asked. "Have the police been called? Do I have a lot of media nonsense to look forward to?"

"Apparently not," Shanahan said. "We've monitored the scanner all afternoon and evening. There's been nothing."

"Thank God for small favors," Bobby Bo said. "I'll tell you what. Make the arrangements with Leutmann, but if the situation presents itself, let Carlos have one more chance. What do you think?"

"Leutmann will demand a down payment just to come here," Shanahan said. "It's not the kind of thing we can get back."

"So we save two and a half K," Bobby Bo said. "Plus we have our bases covered. One way or the other, we'll be rid of this pesky doctor."

"Okay," Shanahan said. "I'll get right on it."

"Good," Bobby Bo said. "Just make sure that the next time you talk to me, it's good news."

"I'll make it my personal responsibility," Shanahan said.

"One other thing," Bobby Bo said. "Get some bio on this doctor. When Leutmann gets here, I want him to know how to find him without screwing around."

The emergency room at University Medical Center was as busy as usual. Kim and Tracy were in the waiting room, sitting in seats close to where they'd been when they'd waited with Becky. Kim was holding a sterile four-by-four gauze pad against his laceration.

"This is a rather unpleasant déjà vu," Kim commented.

"Seems like a year ago since we were here," Tracy said wistfully. "I can't believe so much could happen in so few days."

"In some respects it seems like a long time and in others like a blink of the eye," Kim said. He gritted his teeth. "I can't help but wonder if things wouldn't have turned out much differently if Becky had been seen quicker on that first visit and cultures taken."

"I posed that question to Dr. Morgan," Tracy said. "She didn't think it would have mattered that much."

"It seems hard to believe," Kim said.

"Why didn't you want to call one of your surgical friends to sew you up?" Tracy asked.

"For some of the same reasons I didn't want to call the police," Kim said. "I just want to have it stitched and be done with it. I don't want there to be a big rigmarole. With a friend there'd be questions, and I'd feel guilty about lying."

"They'll undoubtedly ask you how it happened even here," Tracy said. "What will you tell them?"

"I don't know," Kim said. "I'll think of something."

"How long do you think we'll have to wait?" Tracy asked.

"According to David Washington, not long," Kim said.

By chance they'd run into the evening ER head when they'd first arrived. He'd heard about Becky's passing and had offered his deepest sympathies. He'd also promised to get Kim in and out of the ER as soon as possible and was unconcerned when Kim told him he wanted to use an alias.

For a while they sat in silence while mindlessly watching the pathetic parade of the sick and injured that passed in front of them. Tracy was the one who broke the silence. "The more time I have to think about what we just experienced, the less inclined I am to allow you to go through with what you're planning. I mean, it's plainly self-destructive for you to even consider going into Higgins and Hancock after everything that's occurred."

"What do you mean, allow me?" Kim questioned irritably while still musing about the ER visit with Becky. "What are you going to do, physically stand in my way?"

"Please, Kim," Tracy said. "I'm trying to have a conversation with you. Because of what's happened to Becky, I'm worried about whether you're capable of making reasonable decisions. It seems clear to me that getting a job in Higgins and Hancock is too risky."

"It might be risky," Kim said. "But there's no other choice. It's the only way to get the media involved, and the media is our only hope of doing anything about this sorry situation."

"What can you hope to accomplish in Higgins and Hancock to justify the risk?" Tracy said. "I mean specifically."

"That I can't say until I get in there," Kim admitted. "Never having been in a slaughterhouse, I don't know what to expect. But I know what I'm interested in and what the issues are. The first concerns how Becky got sick. Marsha Baldwin discovered something about the head of the last animal slaughtered on January ninth. I want to find out what it was. The second issue is Marsha Baldwin's disappearance; somebody's got to know something. And lastly there is the issue about how E. coli generally gets into the meat. Marsha suggested it has something to do with the way they slaughter the animals. I want to see it with my own eyes and then document it. Once I have, I'll get Kelly Anderson involved. Exposing the USDA angle will be up to her."

Tracy stared off in the middle distance.

"You're not going to respond?" Kim commented after a short silence.

"Sure," Tracy said, as if waking from a mini trance. "You make it all sound so reasonable. But I'll tell you something. I'm not going to allow you to go by yourself. I've got to be involved in some form or fashion so that I can help if need be, even if I have to get a job too."

"You're serious!" Kim said. He was amazed.

"Of course I'm serious," Tracy said. "Becky was my daughter too. I don't think you should be the only one taking the risk."

"Well, that's an interesting idea," Kim said. Now it was his time to stare off while he pondered.

"I wouldn't even have to worry about a disguise," Tracy added. 'They've never seen me.

"I don't know whether you could get a job," Kim said. "At least not easily."

"Why not?" Tracy asked. "If you could get a job, why couldn't I?"

"Marsha said they were in constant need of help but only in the actual slaughtering side of the business," Kim said. "I don't think you're ready for that."

"No, but maybe they could use me as a secretary or something along those lines," Tracy said. "We don't know unless I try."

"I've got a better idea," Kim said. "Remember Lee Cook who worked for me back at the Samaritan?"

"I think so," Tracy said. "Wasn't he that clever technician who could fix anything electronic and who kept all the sophisticated electronic equipment functioning at the hospital?"

"You got it," Kim said. "After the merger, he retired. He's building his own airplane in his basement and doing other odd jobs. But I'm sure he could wire me up with a bug. In that way you can be in the car in the parking lot listening in real time. Then, if need be, you can use your cell phone to call for the cavalry."

"You mean so I could hear you all the time?" Tracy asked.

"Yeah, continuously," Kim said.

"Could I talk with you?" Tracy asked.

"Well, I don't know about that," Kim said. "I'd have to have an earphone of some kind. That might be a giveaway. I can't imagine too many Higgins and Hancock employees wear earphones."

"I could even record what you say," Tracy said, warming to the idea.

"That's true," Kim agreed.

"What about video?" Tracy asked.

"Hey, maybe so," Kim said. "I know they have some tiny cameras nowadays. Maybe that could be the documentation we'll need for Kelly Anderson."

"Mr. Billy Rubin!" a voice called out over the heads of the waiting crowd.

Kim raised his free hand and stood up. Tracy did likewise. An ER resident dressed in all white saw them and walked over. He was carrying a clipboard with Kim's ER registration sheet attached.

"Mr. Billy Rubin?" the resident repeated. His name tag said: DR. STEVE LUDWIG, EMERGENCY MEDICINE RESIDENT. He was a brawny fellow with a ready smile and closely cropped, thinning, dirty-blond hair. "Did you know that bilirubin is a medical term?"

"No," Kim said. "I didn't have any idea."

"It is," Steve commented. "It comes from the breakdown of hemoglobin. Anyhow, let's take a look at your laceration."

Kim pulled away the four-by-four. Due to swelling, the wound was more gaping now than earlier.

"Whoa!" Steve intoned. 'That's one nasty cut. We'd better get that sewn up. How did it happen?"

"Shaving," Kim said.

Tracy couldn't help but repress a smile.