There was a profound silence on the other end. With either the toxic or the disease scenario, Ben knew he was now pretty likely to have the FDA pay a visit. Just to make sure that the product they shipped was not contaminated. OSHA would be equally fascinated, on the chance that the illness had been contracted at the plant by exposure to some substance or some unhealthy condition. Even though his plant routinely passed every inspection with flying colors, this would be a different sort of thing. An IRS audit would be mild in comparison. Also, any interviews with employees, assuming they could be found, could really complicate his life, and involve the INS paying a visit, as well.
The Immigration and Naturalization Service was in a perpetual overload state and had been for years. But if FDA and OSHA both hit them with a report, they might well actually respond this time. The odds were at least even, anyway. The Immigration violations and fines, bad publicity, and all that went with it could really hurt the plant. I was glad it was Ben’s problem and not mine.
“I’ll have our in-house inspection team on it as soon as possible,” said Ben.
“That’d be great,” I said. “Somebody from our office should be there, then, too.”
“Was he worried about OSHA or the FDA?” asked Henry.
“I think so. Probably should be.”
Henry chuckled. “Well, don’t tell him yet, but this is also going to be reported to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta. CDC has even more clout than the others.”
“That’s pretty heavy stuff,” I said. It was also fascinating. I’d never worked a case with CDC being involved. This could be neat.
“The U of Iowa labs will refer it, if they haven’t already. Since the 9/11 business,” said Henry, “these things are moved along fast.”
“Right.” The anthrax mailings had been quite a lesson, not to mention the attendant media frenzy.
“I think our biggest concern will be the media-if they get this, and it gets blown out of proportion. I’d hope,” said Henry, “that we could conclude this quickly enough to avoid that.”
I just looked at him. “Good luck.”
Henry gave us each a sheet of paper with a list of things he’d like us to find out about the late Jose Gonzales, and questions to ask of any of his close friends, relatives, and coworkers. He also told us to report to him at the clinic at 08:00.
“I don’t know what it is,” he said. “Therefore, I don’t know how long it takes from exposure to onset of symptoms. We get to stick you again tomorrow morning.” He grinned. “That’s the fun part of my job.”
The list of things Henry wanted answered ran as follows:
1. Did the victim(s) travel outside the U.S. in the last thirty days?
2. List common denominators of victims: a. Race b. Socioeconomic status c. Sociopolitical groups d. Associations e. Locations f. Events g. Travel h. Religion
3. What do the victims think made them ill?
4. Do the victims know of anyone else who has become ill?
5. Did they see any unusual activities or devices?
6. Have they noticed any unusual odors or tastes?
7. Have they noticed any sick or dead animals?
“We’re gonna have a little problem with the items under question two here,” I said. “The ACLU would be all over us like stink if we started asking those sorts of questions.”
“At least he doesn’t want questions asked regarding sexual preferences,” she said. “Did you check out number seven?”
Actually, I’d been too busy talking. I looked at seven again, and we both had the same thoughts. First, our newly acquired mascot, Big Ears, had been found under the victim’s bed and was still alive and well a short time ago. Second, these guys were meatpacking plant workers, and they’d likely seen lots and lots of dead animals recently. We went back into the clinic and told Henry.
“Where’s the dog now, and where will he be? I want the vet to examine him as soon as possible.”
“We’ll keep him at the jail,” I said.
“Okay…just don’t let the other personnel be exposed to him until we get him checked out.”
Talk about way too late. “How about if we just don’t let the next shift be exposed,” I asked. “Little dogs attract lots of attention.”
“Sure. That’s the little dog I petted, isn’t it?”
“Yep, that was him. He belongs to Hester,” I said, and got a dirty look.
CHAPTER 11
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 19, 2001 08:09
Hester and l MET at the clinic to have our blood tested. I wasn’t too worried, as I’d checked with Pam at Dispatch and discovered that Big Ears was still alive, well, and had peed on the floor. He’d been checked by the vet and pronounced healthy. Our personal canary, so to speak.
We were in the little waiting room outside the lab, just starting to get organized, when a nurse stuck her head around the corner, looked at us, and then disappeared. I heard her say, “They’re right in there,” and then Judy Mercer, intrepid reporter for KNUG, came hustling around the corner, followed by a cameraman.
I stood up and said, “No camera in here. Period.”
“Sure, sure,” she said. “No problem, we’ll do an interview outside anyway. Better graphics. So, just what can you tell me about all this?”
“All what?” Not exactly a brilliant response, but she’d come right out of nowhere.
“The man who died from the toxic exposure. The sheriff said you were up here, and you’d talk to us about it.”
“Just a sec,” I said, and pulled out my cell phone. Before dialing, I checked. Damn. The signal strength indicator wasn’t even visible. Well, of course not. I was probably five feet from the X-ray room. I closed the case and said, “Excuse me, but I need to move away from the lead shielding,” and pointed to the X-ray sign. I indicated Hester. “You can ask her about the dog we have in custody,” I said, indicating Hester, “while I call the office.”
I hustled down the hall as I heard Judy Mercer said, “Dog? This can’t be a dog-bite case.”
I had to stand inside the rest room, near the little window, before the cell phone worked. Lamar was gone already, Pam told me. Didn’t say where he was headed. But, yes, he’d told the media to talk to me. He really, really hates the media, but honest to God, he could have warned me.
“Look, did he give you any idea what he wants me to say?”
“Not really. He just said, ‘My investigator is at the clinic; you better talk to him,’ and left.” Pam was new. Sally would never let him get away with that.
I sighed. “Okay. Hey, you should be off by now…”
“Midnight to eight,” she said brightly. “Just finishing my logs.”
“Lucky you. Well, give my best to Big Ears, and I’ll see what I can do with the media crap.”
“Okay,” she said, sounding altogether too happy. “It’s always great seeing you on the tube.”
I looked at the rest room window. My only other way out, and I’d probably get stuck. The way Judy Mercer worked, I figured I’d still end up on the ten o’clock news, explaining how a man died from some toxic substance while I was protruding from a rest room window. Not quite the image I wanted to project. Reluctantly, I went back out into the hall and began to walk toward Hester and the TV pair. I heard the muted sound of at least two separate phones ringing. Just before I got to the waiting area, I heard Henry’s muffled but hearty hello from behind the closed door of the lab. Maybe I could palm this one off on him, if I could just get him out in the hall.
Hester, as usual, had things firmly under control. “Why don’t you,” she said, as she saw me approaching, “tell Carl what you just told me. I’m sure he’d be interested.”
There was no camera running, no recorder. The best way to talk to the media, as far as I’m concerned.
“Well,” said Judy, “like I said, I got a phone call really early this morning. A friend who said that there was something really interesting over at the U of I med complex, and that I should check it out.” She shrugged. “Just chatting, really, over coffee. I found out that there were people suddenly donning protective gear, that there was a
