“I’m so sorry,” Tom said. “What a tragedy. What can I do to help?”
“Could you follow my inpatients for a couple of days?” Kim managed. “I’m strung out.”
“No problem at all,” Tom said graciously. “I’ll be doing my own rounds when I finish here in the next few minutes, and I’ll just add them on. I’ll also tell the nurses so they’ll call me if there’re any problems.”
“Thanks, Tom,” Kim said. “I owe you.”
“I wish I could do more,” Tom said.
“Me too,” Kim said.
Bartonville was less than forty minutes out of town. Kim cruised down its main street and then followed the directions he’d gotten from a service station at the freeway exit. He found Mercer Meats without a problem.
It was a far bigger plant than he’d expected. The building was all white and modern-looking but otherwise nondescript. The grounds were immaculately landscaped with granite-lined drives and islands of trees in the parking area. The whole complex projected an aura of high profitability.
Kim parked relatively near the front door in one of a half-dozen “visitor” spaces. He slid out from behind the wheel and started toward the entrance. As he walked, he reminded himself not to lose his temper. After the experience at the Onion Ring, he knew that if he did, it would only work against him.
The reception area looked like it belonged at the entrance to an insurance company rather than a meat-packing concern. Plush wall-to-wall carpeting covered the floor, the furniture was richly upholstered, and there were framed prints on the walls. Only the subject matter of the prints gave a hint of the nature of the business: they were prints of various breeds of cattle.
A matronly woman wearing a cordless headset sat at a circular desk in the center of the room.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“I hope so,” Kim said. “What’s the name of the president of Mercer Meats?”
“That would be Mr. Everett Sorenson,” the woman said.
“Would you call Mr. Sorenson and tell him that Dr. Kim Reggis is here to see him?” Kim said.
“Can I tell Mr. Sorenson what this is about?” the woman asked. She eyed Kim skeptically. His appearance was bordering on that of a homeless person.
“Is it necessary?” Kim asked.
“Mr. Sorenson is a very busy man,” the woman said.
“In that case,” Kim said, “tell him it’s about Mercer Meats selling contaminated hamburger patties to the Onion Ring restaurant chain.”
“Excuse me?” the woman said. She’d heard Kim, but couldn’t quite believe it.
“Or better yet,” Kim said, already beginning to forget his promise to himself about maintaining his composure, “tell him I’d like to discuss the fact that my only daughter is fighting for her life after consuming a Mercer Meats patty.”
“Perhaps you’d like to sit down,” the receptionist said. She swallowed nervously. Kim was now leaning over her desk, resting on his knuckles. “I’ll give the president your message.”
“Thank you,” Kim said. He gave the woman a forced smile and retreated to one of the couches.
The woman spoke into her headset, while casting nervous glances in Kim’s direction. He smiled again. He couldn’t hear what she was saying, but from the look on her face, he knew it was about him.
Kim had his legs crossed. He bounced his foot. Five minutes dragged by. The more he waited, the more his anger flooded back. Just when he thought he couldn’t sit there any longer, a man appeared with a long white coat not dissimilar to the one Kim was wearing, except it was clean and pressed. On his head was a blue baseball hat with MERCER MEATS emblazoned above the bill. He was carrying a clipboard.
He came right up to Kim and stuck out his hand. Kim stood up and shook the man’s hand although he’d not intended to.
“Dr. Reggis, I’m Jack Cartwright. I’m glad to meet you.”
“Where’s the president?” Kim asked.
“He’s tied up at the moment,” Jack said. “But he asked me to come out and talk with you. I’m one of the vice presidents and among other things I’m in charge of public relations.”