Toxin (25 page)

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

 

T
he 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.

 

K
im 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 showerlike 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.

 

M
arsha 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.”