Robin Cook - Toxin

"I want to talk with the president," Kim said.

"Listen," Jack said without a beat, "I'm truly sorry to hear that your daughter is ill."

"She's more than ill," Kim said. "She's at death's door, fighting for her life against a bacteria called E. coli 0157:H7. I imagine this is a bug you've heard of."

"Unfortunately, yes," Jack said. His smile vanished. "Everyone in the meat business is aware of it, especially after the Hudson Meat recall. In fact, we're so paranoid about it, we make an effort to exceed by far all USDA rules, regulations, and recommendations. And as proof of our efforts, we've never been cited for a single deficiency."

"I want to visit the hamburger-patty production area, Kim said. He wasn't interested in Jack's obviously canned spiel.

"Now, that's impossible," Jack said. "We understandably limit access to avoid contamination. But…"

"Hold up," Kim interjected as his face reddened. "I'm a doctor. I understand contamination. I'll be willing to put on any suit that's normally worn in the area. Whatever has to be done, I'll do. But I'm not going to take no for an answer."

"Hey, calm down," Jack said good-naturedly. "You didn't let me finish. You can't go onto the production floor, but we have a glassed-in observation walk so you can see the whole process. What's more, you don't have to change out of your street clothes."

"That's a start, I suppose," Kim said.

"Great!" Jack commented. "Follow me."

Jack preceded Kim, leading him along a corridor.

"Are you only interested in hamburger production?" Jack asked. "What about some other meat product, like sausage?"

"Just hamburger," Kim said.

"Fine and dandy," Jack said cheerfully.

They got to a stair and started up.

"I want to emphasize we're tigers about cleanliness here at Mercer Meats," Jack said. "Hell, the entire meat-production area gets cleaned every day, first with high-pressure steam and then with a quaternary ammonium compound. I mean, you could eat off the floor."

"Uh-huh," Kim intoned.

"The whole production area is kept at thirty-five degrees," Jack said as they reached the top of the stairs. He grabbed the handle of a tire door. "It's tough on the workers but tougher on the bacteria. You know what I mean?" Jack laughed; Kim stayed silent.

They went through the door and entered a glass enclosed corridor perched a floor above the production area. It ran the entire length of the building.

"Pretty impressive, wouldn't you say?" Jack said proudly.

"Where's the patty area?" Kim asked.

"We'll get to that," Jack said. "But let me explain to you what all this machinery is doing."

Below, Kim could see workers going about their business. They were all dressed in white uniforms with white caps that resembled shower hats. They were also wearing gloves and shoe covers. Kim had to admit that the plant looked new and clean. He was surprised. He'd expected something significantly less impressive.

Jack had to speak loudly over the sound of the machinery. The glass on either side of the walkway was single-paned.

"I don't know if you are aware that hamburger is usually a blend of fresh meat and frozen," Jack said. "It's course ground separately over there. Of course, the frozen stuff has to be defrosted first."

Kim nodded.

"After the course grind, the fresh and the frozen meat are dumped into the formulation blender over there to make a batch. Then the batch is finely ground in those big grinders."

Jack pointed. Kim nodded.

"We do five batches per hour," Jack said. "The batches are then combined into a lot."

Kim pointed to a large rubber or plastic bin on wheels. "Does the fresh meat come in those containers?" he asked.

"Yup," Jack agreed. "They're called 'combo bins' and they hold two thousand pounds. We're very particular with our fresh meat. It has to be used within five days, and it's got to be kept below thirty-five degrees. I'm sure you know that thirty-five degrees is colder than a standard refrigerator."

"What happens to the lot?" Kim asked.

"As soon as it comes out of the fine grinder it goes by this conveyor below us to the patty-formulating machine over yonder."

Kim nodded. The formulating machine was in a separate room, closed off from the rest of the production area. They walked down the glass corridor until they were directly over it.

"An impressive machine, wouldn't you say?" Jack said.

"How come it's in its own room?" Kim asked.

"To keep it extra-clean and protect it," Jack said. "It's the most expensive piece of equipment on the floor and the workhorse of the plant. That baby puts out either regular tenth-of-a-pound patties or quarter-pound jumbos."

"What happens to the patties when they come out of the formulating machine?" Kim asked.

"A conveyor takes them directly into the nitrogen freeze tunnel," Jack said. "Then they are hand-packed into boxes, and the boxes into cartons."

"Can you trace the origin of meat?" Kim asked. "I mean if you know the lot number, the batch numbers, and the production date."

"Sure," Jack said. "That's all recorded in the patty-room log."

Kim reached into his pocket and withdrew the piece of paper on which he'd written the information from the labels in the Onion Ring walk-in freezer. He unfolded it and showed it to Jack.

"I'd like to find out where the meat came from for these two dates and lots," Kim said.

Jack glanced at the paper but then shook his head. "Sorry, I can't give you that kind of information."

"Why the hell not?" Kim demanded.

"I just can't," Jack said. "It's confidential. It's not for public consumption."

"What's the secret?" Kim asked.

"There's no secret," Jack said. "It's just company policy."

"Then why keep the logs?" Kim asked.

"They are required by the USDA," Jack said.

"Sounds suspicious to me," Kim said, thinking about some of Kathleen's comments earlier that morning. "A public agency requires logs whose information is not available to the public."

"I don't make the rules," Jack said lamely.

Kim let his eyes roam around the patty room. It was impressive with its polished stainless-steel equipment and lustrous tiled floor. There were three men and one woman tending to the machines.

Kim noticed that the woman was carrying a clipboard on which she scribbled intermittently. In contrast to the men, she did not touch the machinery.

"Who's that woman?" Kim asked.

"That's Marsha Baldwin," Jack said. "She's a looker, isn't she?"

"What's she doing?" Kim asked.

"Inspecting," Jack said. "She's the USDA inspector assigned to us. She stops in here three, four, sometimes five times a week. She's a real hard-ass. She sticks her nose into everything."

"I suppose she could trace the meat," Kim said.

"Sure," Jack said. "She checks the patty-room log every time she's here."

"What's she doing now?" Kim asked. Marsha was bending over, looking into the yawning mouth of the patty-formulating machine.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Jack said. "Probably making sure it was cleaned the way it was supposed to be, which it undoubtedly was. She's a stickler for details, that's all I know. At least she keeps us on our toes."

"Three to five times a week," Kim repeated. "That's impressive."

"Come on," Jack said, motioning with his hand for Kim to follow him. "The only thing you haven't seen yet is the boxes being packed into the cartons, and the cartons being put into cold storage prior to shipping."

Kim knew he'd seen as much as he was likely to see. He was convinced that he would not get to talk with Everett Sorenson.

"If you have any further questions," Jack said back at the reception area, "just give a holler." He gave Kim a business card and flashed a winning smile. Then he pumped Kim's hand, slapped him on the back, and thanked him for his visit.