“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.”