“Did anybody die?”
“CariAnne!”
“I’m just asking.”
“I don’t think anybody’s dead.” Julia smiled at Rachel’s horror, realizing her precious little girl would dare to be as blunt as her mother.
It still surprised Julia to see Rachel, the mom. The woman reported some of the most gruesome crimes in the District. In fact, they liked to tell people how they had met over the dead bodies of a hooker and her pimp. Rachel definitely wasn’t naïve or a newcomer when it came to the brutalities that people were capable of. But when it came to her daughter, Rachel was upset by the slightest sign that CariAnne was aware of the ugly facts.
Julia, of course, had learned how to be a grown-up when she was ten. She thought kids were coddled too much as it was.
“My friend Lisa gets to spend the night in the hospital,” CariAnne told Julia and exchanged a look with her mom.
“Lisa’s very sick,” Rachel said. “I keep telling CariAnne that staying overnight at the hospital is not like a slumber party.”
“Yeah, she probably has to have needles stuck in her arm.”
“Julia!”
“Ewww. I hate needles.”
“Twelve kids were hospitalized,” Rachel told Julia. “They said the CDC and Homeland Security were at the school. Is that true?”
By now Julia thought that was probably old news. So without hesitation she answered, “Yes.”
A news alert flashed at the bottom of the television screen. The block type crawled across the bottom telling about the District public-school outbreak and said that it was caused by a negligent food handler.
“That’s not true,” Julia said. “Who the hell are they getting their information from?”
The last part of the statement moved across the screen.
“ … according to the Secretary of Agriculture.”
FORTY-TWO
After dropping off Julia and Bix, Platt had driven directly to USAMRIID. He had left Digger with his parents so going home to an empty house didn’t even entice him. The little dog would act as a better security alert than their electronic system. Before he left, Platt had told his father about the black SUV that had tailed him from the diner.
“Just be careful,” he had warned his dad.
“Always am” was the response, but Platt knew his parents lived in a whole other world. And he hated that he may have brought one of the dangers from his life into theirs.
He had called them several times throughout the day and everything appeared to be normal. He was hoping last night’s incident was more curiosity than threat.
For the last hour he had kept himself so busy that he didn’t think about Ali, Mary Ellen, or the miserable memories that had flooded his head. He concentrated on preparing slides from the garbage he and Racine had bagged along with some of the vomit. Bix had even shared some samples from the sick high schoolers in Norfolk. It hadn’t taken long before he found the bacterium—salmonella. But Bix was right. It was an unusual strain.
By now the scientists down in Atlanta knew what they were dealing with. Usually the bacterium was found in ground beef, poultry, or eggs. Sometimes it even ended up on raw vegetables or fruit. Platt also knew that some strains had become resistant to the antibiotics that were fed to cattle and poultry.
Confirming what the bacterium was didn’t make it any easier to decipher what food it had hidden in. Platt was hoping that’s where his samplings of the schoolkids’ vomit would come in handy as well as the food packaging.
Under the microscope the bacteria looked like tiny pegs jammed in among the cells. They attached themselves to the linings of the gastrointestinal organs. The bacteria would work their way through the stomach, inflaming the mucosa and usually causing severe vomiting. From there the bacteria continued migrating down, depositing themselves onto the walls of the intestine, causing it to bloat and dilate. That’s what caused the extreme pain and diarrhea. If the pesky critters decided to take an additional stay in the colon during their trip down, they could force the inner lining to tear away. The entire passage took less than two hours.
Less-severe cases were often misdiagnosed as stomach flu or irritable bowel syndrome. Truth was, sudden bouts of stomach flu didn’t happen that often. Most people didn’t realize that their upset stomach—especially within two to six hours after a meal—was mostly caused by some food-borne bacteria.
Ali had the stomach flu. That was all that Mary Ellen thought it was. It was her reason, her explanation for not calling Platt, for not telling him sooner. He had been in Afghanistan just after the start of the war, a world away, but he would have commandeered the fastest ride home if he had known his daughter was seriously ill. He had never been able to forgive Mary Ellen for waiting to contact him. She had waited too long and he had never had a chance to even say good-bye to his little girl.
Seeing Mary Ellen today and hearing that she had a new husband and a new baby should have reminded that him what had happened in the past was an awfully long time ago. Instead the memories, the physical pain was still so close to the surface. He felt as though she had ripped a scab off a wound—a wound that had never healed properly.
He sat back from the microscope. Rubbed his face, hoping to wipe away the exhaustion. He plucked through his assortment of “leftovers” and “Dumpster” samples, wondering where to begin, when his cell phone rang. He almost shoved it away until he noticed the caller ID, then he couldn’t grab it fast enough.
He caught his breath before he answered, “Hey, Maggie O’Dell.”
“I keep forgetting you’re an hour ahead of me. Did I wake you?”
“No, I’m still at the lab.”
“At USAMRIID?”
“Yeah, a weird case. I’m trying to help the CDC figure out what made a hundred and five schoolkids sick.”
“Food poisoning?”
“Looks like it. I’m pretty certain it’s a salmonella strain but it hit two different schools in the same week. About two hundred miles apart. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it. It’s all over the news.”
“Actually I haven’t seen or heard the news since yesterday. Been a little weird here, too.”
“Sure, conferences can be that way.”
“I’m not at the conference.”
“Oh.” He wanted to kick himself because his immediate response was that he was hurt she hadn’t told him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. Just a little … overwhelmed,” she said.
Platt knew it was a lot for her to admit. They had started out as doctor and patient and sometimes Platt too easily reverted to that role. He couldn’t help it. He cared about her, more than he was willing to admit—at least, to her. It was only recently that he had admitted it to himself. He couldn’t risk losing her as a friend.
Platt knew Maggie was skittish when it came to romantic entanglements. That’s what she called them: “entanglements.” Amazing what could be learned about a person’s attitude toward something just by listening to the words she used to describe it. She didn’t talk about her divorce except to say how exhausting the marriage had been. And she didn’t talk about past entanglements, either.
To be fair, he hadn’t told her much about his marriage. There were large chunks of their lives that they hadn’t shared. Maybe they didn’t know each other as well as he thought. He did know that Maggie wouldn’t let anyone take care of her. And she rarely let down her guard. It was a big deal for her to even admit that she was overwhelmed.
“Tell me what’s going on,” he said.
She gave him an abbreviated rundown, which made him tense. Once again, she was chasing a killer. Coming way too close for his comfort level. No matter how many times he told himself it was what she did for a living, it still set him on edge.