A shiver of fear descended down Kim’s spine. He quickly went to the car and deposited the food and drink. Heading back to the dispenser he sought the proper coins from his pocket. With a trembling hand he got out one of the papers. The door to the dispenser clattered shut.
Any lingering hope the story did not concern him was dashed when Kim saw a photo of himself below the headlines. It was several years old with his normal shock of dark hair.
Ducking back into the car, Kim turned back the front page of the newspaper. The story was on page two:
EXCLUSIVE TO THE MORNING SUN TIMES:
Dr. Kim Reggis, a respected cardiac surgeon and the former head of the department at the Samaritan Hospital and now on staff at the University Medical Center, has taken the law into his own hands vigilante style. In response to the tragic death of his daughter on Saturday, he allegedly disguised himself with blond hair color, got a job at Higgins and Hancock under a false name, and then brutally murdered another worker by the name of Carlos Mateo. It is thought that the motive for this unprovoked killing is that Dr. Reggis believed his daughter died of meat slaughtered at Higgins and Hancock.
Mr. Daryl Webster, the president of Higgins and Hancock, has told the Times that this is a preposterous allegation. He also said that Mr. Mateo was a valued worker and a devoted Catholic, who tragically leaves behind an invalid wife and six young children. . . .
Kim angrily tossed the paper onto the passenger seat. He didn’t have to read any further to be disgusted—and concerned. He started the car and drove back to the motel. Carrying the food and the paper, he entered.
Tracy heard him come in and poked her head around the bathroom door. She was toweling her wet head, having just gotten out of the shower.
“You’re up,” Kim commented. He put down the food on the desk.
“I heard you go out,” Tracy said. “I’m glad to see you back. I was a little afraid you might leave me here with the idea of sparing me. Promise me you won’t do that.”
“The idea crossed my mind,” Kim admitted. He sank dejectedly into the only chair.
“What’s the matter?” Tracy asked. Although she knew there was more than enough on Kim’s mind, he seemed far more despondent than she expected.
Kim held up the newspaper. “Read this!” he said.
“Is it about the man at Higgins and Hancock?” Tracy asked fearfully. She wasn’t sure she wanted to read the details.
“Yes, and about me, too,” Kim said.
“Oh, no!” Tracy cried with dismay. “You’re already associated with it?” She stepped into the room while wrapping herself in the thin towel. She took the paper and read the headlines. Slowly she sank onto the edge of the bed, turning the page to read the rest.
It didn’t take Tracy long. When she was finished, she closed the paper and put it aside. She looked at Kim. “What a character assassination,” she said somberly. “They even included mention of your recent arrests and that your hospital privileges have been suspended.”
“I didn’t get that far,” Kim said. “I only read the first two paragraphs, but it was enough.”
“I can’t believe this has all happened so quickly,” Tracy said. “Someone must have recognized you at Higgins and Hancock.”
“Obviously,” Kim said. “The man we killed wasn’t trying to kill José Ramerez. And when he failed to kill me, the people who were paying him opted to destroy my credibility and possibly send me to jail for life.” Kim laughed mirthlessly. “And to think I was worried about the legal ramifications. I never even considered the media. It surely gives you an idea of the money and power of this industry in this town that they can manage to distort the truth like this. I mean, there was no investigative reporting in this article. The paper just printed what the meat industry told them. They have me murdering a God-fearing family man in cold blood in a fit of revenge.”
“This means we don’t have twenty-four to forty-eight hours to decide what we’re going to do,” Tracy said.
“I should say not,” Kim said. He stood up. “It means we should have decided last night. And for me it also means there’s no longer a question. I’ll fight this travesty but definitely from afar.”
Tracy stood up and stepped over to Kim. “There’s no longer a question for me either,” she said. “We’ll go together and fight this together.”
“Of course it will mean we’ll miss Becky’s service,” Kim said.
“I know,” Tracy said.
“I think she’ll understand.”
“I hope so,” Tracy managed. “I miss her so much.”
“Me too,” Kim said.
Kim and Tracy looked into each other’s eyes. Then Kim reached out and put his arms around his former wife. Tracy put hers around Kim, and they hugged, pressing themselves against each other as if they’d been involuntarily separated for years. Another long moment passed until Kim leaned back to look Tracy in the eye. “It’s like old times to feel close to you like this.”
“Very old times,” Tracy agreed. “Like in a previous life.”
Kelly Anderson looked at her watch. It was almost one-thirty. She shook her head. “He’s not coming,” she said to Brian Washington.
Brian adjusted the TV camcorder on his shoulder. “You really didn’t expect him to, did you?” he asked.
“He loved his daughter,” Kelly said. “And this is her funeral.”
“But there’s a policeman right outside,” Brian said. “They’d arrest him on the spot. The guy would have to be crazy to come.”
“I think he is a little crazy,” Kelly said. “When he stopped in to my house to get me interested in his crusade, he had a wild look in his eye. He even scared me a little.”
“That I doubt,” Brian said. “I’ve never seen you scared. In fact, I think you have ice in your veins, especially with as much iced tea as you drink.”
“You more than anyone should know it’s just an act. I’m scared every time I go on the air.”
“Bull,” Brian said.
Kelly and Brian were standing in the foyer of the Sullivan Funeral Home. There were a few other people milling about and whispering discreetly. Bernard Sullivan, the proprietor, was standing near the door. He was clearly anxious and glanced repeatedly at his watch. The funeral service had been booked for one o’clock, and he had a tight schedule for the day.
“Did you think Dr. Reggis was crazy enough to kill someone like they said in the paper?” Brian asked.
“Let’s put it this way,” Kelly said, “I think he was pushed to his limit.”
Brian shrugged. “I guess you just never know,” he said philosophically.
“Maybe the good doctor’s absence is understandable,” Kelly said. “But, for the life of me, I can’t understand where Tracy is. She was Becky’s mother, for God’s sake. And she has no reason to avoid the law. I’ll tell you: this has me worried.”
“What do you mean?” Brian asked.
“If the good doctor has really lost it,” Kelly said, “it wouldn’t be so far-fetched to think that he might blame his former wife in some twisted way for his daughter’s death.”
“Oh, geez,” Brian said. “I never thought of that.”
“Listen,” Kelly said, suddenly making up her mind. “You go call the station to get Tracy Reggis’s address. I’ll go have a chat with Mr. Sullivan and ask him to page us if Tracy Reggis shows up.”
“You got it,” Brian said.
Brian headed back to the funeral-home office, while Kelly walked over to the funeral director and tapped him on the arm. Twenty minutes later, Kelly and Brian were in Kelly’s car, gliding to a stop in front of Tracy’s house.
“Uh-oh,” Kelly said.
“What’s the matter?” Brian asked.
“That car,” Kelly said. She pointed to the Mercedes. “I think that’s the doctor’s car. At least it’s the car he was driving when he came to visit me.”
“What should we do?” Brian asked. “I don’t want any madman running out of the hou
se with a baseball bat or a shot gun.”
Brian had a point. Following her scenario, Reggis could very well be in the house holding his former wife as a hostage or even worse.
“Maybe we should go around and talk to the neighbors,” Kelly suggested. “Somebody might have seen something.”
At the first two houses they approached, no one responded to the front doorbell. The third bell they rang was Mrs. English’s, and she answered the door promptly.
“You’re Kelly Anderson!” Mrs. English said excitedly, after taking one look at Kelly. “You’re wonderful. I see you on TV all the time.” Mrs. English was a diminutive, silver-haired lady who looked like the quintessential grandmother.
“Thank you,” Kelly said. “Would you mind if we asked you a few questions?”
“Am I going to be on TV?” Mrs. English asked.
“It’s a possibility,” Kelly said. “We’re researching a story.”
“Ask away,” Mrs. English said.
“We’re curious about your neighbor across the street,” Kelly said. “Tracy Reggis.”
“There’s something strange going on there,” Mrs. English said. “That’s for sure.”
“Oh?” Kelly questioned. “Tell us about it.”
“It started yesterday morning,” Mrs. English said. “Tracy came over and asked me to watch her house. Now, I watch it anyway, but she was very specific. She wanted me to tell her if any strangers came by. Well, one did.”
“Someone you’ve never seen before?” Kelly asked.
“Never,” Mrs. English said unequivocally.
“What did he do?” Kelly asked.
“He went inside.”
“When Tracy wasn’t here?”
“That’s right.”
“How did he get in?”
“I don’t know,” Mrs. English said. “I think he had a key because he opened the front door.”
“Was he a big man with dark hair?”
“No, he was average-height with blond hair,” Mrs. English said. “Very well dressed. Like a banker or lawyer.”
“And then what happened?” Kelly asked.
“Nothing. The man never left and when it got dark, he didn’t even turn on a light. Tracy didn’t come back until late with another blond man. This man was bigger and had on a white coat.”
“You mean like a doctor?” Kelly asked. She winked at Brian.
“Or a butcher,” Mrs. English said. “Anyway, Tracy didn’t come to talk with me like she said she would. She just went into the house with the second man.”
“And then what happened?”
“They were all inside for a while. Then the first man came out and drove away. A little while later, Tracy and the other man came out with suitcases.”
“Suitcases like they were going on a trip?”
“Yes. But it was a strange time to go on a trip. It was nearly midnight. I know because it was the latest I’ve stayed up for as long as I can remember.”
“Thank you, Mrs. English,” Kelly said. “You’ve been most helpful.” Kelly motioned for Brian to leave.
“Am I going to be on TV?” Mrs. English asked.
“We’ll let you know,” Kelly said. She waved and walked back to her car. She climbed in. Brian got into the passenger seat.
“This story keeps getting better,” Kelly said. “I wouldn’t have guessed in all the world, but Tracy Reggis has apparently decided to go on the lam with her fugitive former husband. And to think she seemed like such a sensible person. I’m blown away!”
By three o’clock the chaos of the lunchtime rush finally faded in the Onion Ring restaurant on Prairie Highway, and the exhausted day shift gathered up their things and left: everyone except for Roger Polo, the manager. As conscientious as he was, he couldn’t leave until he was sure there was a smooth transition to the evening shift. Only then would he turn things over to Paul, the cook, who acted as the supervisor in Roger’s absence.
Roger was busy installing a new tape in one of the cash registers when Paul arrived at his station behind the grill and began arranging the utensils the way he liked them.
“Much traffic today?” Roger asked while snapping the register’s cowling shut.
“Not bad,” Paul said. “Was it a busy day here?”
“Very busy,” Roger said. “There must have been twenty people waiting to get in when I opened the doors, and it never let up.”
“Did you see the morning’s paper?” Paul asked.
“I wish,” Roger said. “I didn’t even have a chance to sit down to eat.”
“You better read it,” Paul said. “That crazy doctor that came in here Friday murdered a guy out at Higgins and Hancock last night.”
“No kidding!” Roger blurted. He was genuinely dumbstruck.
“Some poor Mexican guy with six kids,” Paul said. “Shot him through the eye. Can you imagine?”
There was no way Roger could imagine. He leaned on the countertop. His legs felt wobbly. He’d been mad about being struck in the face; now he felt lucky. He shuddered to think of what might have happened had the doctor brought a gun when he’d come to the Onion Ring.
“When your time’s up, it’s up,” Paul said philosophically. He turned around and opened the refrigerator. Looking into the patty box, he could see it was almost empty.
“Skip!” Paul yelled. He’d seen Skip out in the restaurant proper emptying the trash containers.
“Do you have the newspaper?” Roger asked.
“Yeah,” Paul said. “It’s on the table in the employee room. Help yourself.”
“What’s up?” Skip asked. He’d come to the outer side of the counter.
“I need more burgers from the walk-in,” Paul said. “And while you’re at it, bring a couple of packages of buns.”
“Can I finish what I’m doing first?” Skip asked.
“No,” Paul said. “I need ’em now. I only have two patties left.”
Skip muttered under his breath as he rounded the counter and headed to the restaurant’s rear. He liked to finish one job before starting another. It was also beginning to bug him that everybody in the whole place could boss him around.
Skip pulled open the heavy, insulated door to the freezer and stepped into the arctic chill. The automatic door closed behind him. He pushed back the flaps of the first carton on the left but found it was empty. He cursed loudly. His colleague equivalent on the day shift always left him things to do. This empty carton would have to be cut down for recycling.
Skip went to the next carton and found that one empty as well. Picking up both cartons, he opened the door and threw them out of the freezer. Then he walked into the depths of the walk-in to locate the reserve patty cartons. He scraped the frost off the label on the nearest one he could find. It said: MERCER MEATS. REG. 0.1 LB HAMBURGER PATTIES, EXTRA LEAN. LOT 6 BATCH 9-14. PRODUCTION: JAN. 12, USE BY: APR. 12.
“I remember this baby,” Skip said out loud. He checked the flaps. Sure enough, the carton had been opened.
To be certain there weren’t any older patties, Skip scraped off the frost from the label of the final carton. The date was the same.
Grabbing the first carton by its flaps, Skip dragged it to the front of the freezer. Only then did he reach inside to pull out one of the interior boxes. As he’d expected this box had been opened as well.
Skip carried the patty box back to the kitchen, and after squeezing by Paul who was busy scraping the residue off the grill, Skip put the patty box in the refrigerator.
“We’re finally using those burgers I opened by accident a week or so ago,” Skip said as he slammed the refrigerator door.
“That’s cool as long as the other ones are finished,” Paul said, without looking up from his labors.
“I checked,” Skip said. “The older ones are all gone.”
The large wall clock on the wall of the WENE news-room gave Kelly the exact time. It was 6:07. The local news had been on since five-thirty. Her segment was scheduled to begin at 6:08, an
d the technician was still fumbling with her microphone. As usual Kelly’s pulse was racing.
One of the large TV cameras suddenly was rolled into place directly in front of her. The cameraman was nodding and speaking softly into his headphone. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the director pick up his microphone wire and hear in her direction. In the background she could hear the anchor, Marilyn Wodinsky, finishing a wrap-up of the national news.
“Good grief,” Kelly snapped. She pushed away the technician’s hand and rapidly secured the microphone herself. It was a good thing because within seconds the the director held up five fingers and gave the countdown, ending by pointing at Kelly. Simultaneously the camera in front of Kelly went live.
“Good evening, everyone,” Kelly said. “We have an in-depth report this evening concerning a sad local story; a story that plays like a Greek tragedy. A year ago we had a picture-perfect family. The father was one of the country’s most renowned cardiac surgeons; the mother, a psychotherapist, highly regarded in her own right; and the daughter, a darling, talented ten-year-old, considered by some as a rising star in figure skating. The denouement started presumably with the merger of the University Hospital and the Samaritan. Apparently, this put pressure on the marriage. Soon after, a bitter divorce and custody battle ensued. Then a few days ago, on Saturday afternoon, the daughter died of a strain of E. coli which has surfaced in intermittent outbreaks around the country. Dr. Kim Reggis, the father, pushed to the limit by the sad disintegration of his life, decided that the local beef industry was responsible for his daughter’s death. He became convinced that his daughter had contracted the toxin from an Onion Ring restaurant in the area. The Onion Ring chain gets its burgers from Mercer Meats, and Mercer Meats gets a significant amount of its beef from Higgins and Hancock. The distraught Dr. Kim Reggis disguised himself as a blond drifter, obtained employment under an alias at Higgins and Hancock, and shot dead another Higgins and Hancock employee. The deceased is Carlos Mateo, who leaves behind a disabled wife and six young children.