“It turns my stomach when I think of what hamburger has in it,” Marsha said.
“What do you mean?” Kim said. “It’s muscle.”
“Muscle and a bunch of other stuff,” Marsha said. “Have you ever heard of the Advanced Meat Recovery System?”
“Can’t say that I have,” Kim said.
“It’s a high-pressure device that they use to clean every scrap off cattle bones,” Marsha said. “It results in a gray slurry that they dye red and add to the hamburger.”
“That’s disgusting,” Kim said.
“And central-nervous tissue,” Marsha said. “Like spinal cord. That gets into hamburger all the time.”
“Really?” Kim asked.
“Absolutely,” Marsha said. “And that’s worse than it sounds. You’ve heard of mad cow disease?”
“Who hasn’t?” Kim said. “That’s an illness that terrifies me. The idea of a heat-resistant protein that you get by eating and that is fatal is the ultimate horror. Thank God we don’t have it in this country.”
“We don’t have it yet,” Marsha said. “At least it hasn’t been seen so far. But if you ask me, it’s just a matter of time. Do you know what is thought to have caused mad cow disease in England?”
“I believe it’s thought to have come from feeding rendered sheep to the cows,” Kim said. “Sheep that were sick with scrapie, the sheep equivalent.”
“Exactly,” Marsha said. “And in this country there’s supposed to be a ban on feeding rendered sheep to cows. But you know something, there’s no enforcement, and I was told by insiders that as many as a quarter of the renderers admit in private they don’t pay any attention to the ban.”
“In other words, the same circumstances that resulted in mad cow disease in England are present here?”
“Precisely,” Marsha said. “And with spinal cord and the like routinely getting into hamburger, the chain to humans is in place. That’s why I say it’s just a matter of time before we see the first cases.”
“Good God!” Kim exclaimed. “The more I hear about this shoddy business, the more appalled I get. I’d no idea about any of this.”
“Nor does the general public,” Marsha said.
The white hulk of Mercer Meats loomed up, and Marsha turned into its parking area. In contrast to earlier that day, there were few cars. She pulled up close to the front door in the same spot she’d been in that morning. She turned off the engine.
“Ready?” she asked.
“You’re sure I should come?” Kim asked.
“Come on!” Marsha said. She opened the door and got out.
The front door was locked. Marsha rapped on it. Inside, the guard was seated at the round reception desk, reading a magazine. He responded by getting up and coming to the door. He was an elderly gentleman with a thin mustache. His security uniform appeared to be several sizes too big.
“Mercer Meats is closed,” he said through the glass.
Marsha held up her Mercer Meats I.D. card. The guard squinted at it, then unlocked and opened the door. Marsha immediately pushed in. “Thanks,” she said simply.
Kim followed. He could tell the guard looked at him suspiciously. but the man didn’t say anything. He merely locked the door.
Kim had to run to catch up to Marsha, who was already beyond the reception desk and briskly walking down the corridor.
“What did I tell you?” she said. “It was no problem at all.”
The security guard walked over to the end of the reception area and peered down the hall. He watched as Marsha and Kim disappeared into the changing room leading to the production floor. He returned to his desk and picked up the phone. The number he needed was on a Post-it stuck to the edge of the counter.
“Mr. Cartwright,” the guard said when the call was answered, “that USDA lady, Miss Baldwin, who you asked me to watch for, just walked in the door with another guy.
“Was her companion dressed in a white lab coat, something like a doctor’s?” Jack asked.
“Yup,” the security man said.
“When they leave, get them both to sign out,” Jack said. “I want proof they were there.”
“I’ll do that, sir,” the guard said.