“Tainted meat?” Nick interrupted. “How do you know that meat was tainted?” Nick crossed his arms and remained standing.
“We removed samples from each dinner location. I suspect you know this since your chefs allowed us access to the meat,” Clint said.
Nick didn’t respond. Clint continued. “The test results confirmed anthrax, both in the cured ham and in the cooked pork that you served here in Athens. Anthrax was in the white mold of the ham, which very likely contributed to the outbreak of inhalation anthrax.” Nick sat down, but said nothing. He waved his hand to an empty chair, inviting Clint to sit if he would like. Clint remained standing and looked down at Nick.
“I need to know precisely where you got both the ham and the fresh pork,” Clint said. “Purchase orders, receipts, vendor information, everything you have.”
Nick looked up at Clint and delivered his response carefully. “Clint, those illnesses and deaths I’ve read about are tragic. But if they are a result of a foodborne illness, and I’m not saying they are, by your own admission those dinners were private events. They have nothing to do with The Federal or any of my restaurants.” Nick had rehearsed his response many times in the past twenty-fours hours both to himself and on the phone with his attorney who assured him this demand would be forthcoming.
Clint took the seat. He leaned forward and rested his left arm on Nick’s desk. “This issue is very simple, Nick. I’m here representing FSIS and I need the source of that meat. Unless you have something to hide then they are the ones responsible for the anthrax, since anthrax comes from the soil. Now, if you would prefer to not cooperate we will be forced to assume there may have been intended wrongdoing. In that case we’ll have the FBI here tomorrow and at each of your locations.”
Nick heard what he wanted to hear, that he wasn’t the focus of the investigation. He pulled open a file drawer and retrieved Blake’s file, writing down Blake’s address and phone number on his personalized stationary. “Here,” Nick said, handing the note to Clint. “This is the man you want to speak to.”
***
Blake leaned with his back against a pine tree near the entrance to his driveway, his head cocked up and pressed against the bark. His eyes traced the long, straight pine that appeared to pierce the sky as if it were an arrow. Catching his breath, he looked once more at his phone that had registered no service for the past three hours. He was left with no choice but to hobble on his own down the mountain, leaving a trickled path of blood in the woods alongside the road. Twice he had heard a car coming down the road, and twice he had taken cover in thickets to avoid any encounters. To avoid answering helpful questions, such as “why’s your leg bleeding so badly?”
The phone finally registered a single bar next to the time, 6:21 p.m. One single reception bar. Too late to be of any help as he knew he could make it the last few hundred yards. A message flashed on the phone indicating that he had one new voice message. Blake pushed off the tree and grimaced as his right leg seared with pain. He limped along the driveway, unable to move any better on the groomed drive than he had been in the uneven terrain of the woods. He brought the phone to his ear and listened to the message from the 404 area code.
“Mr. Savage this is Clint Justice, Senior Compliance Investigator with the Food Safety and Inspection Service. Nick Vegas has given me your name, number and address as a supplier of meats to him. It’s about this matter that I must speak to you right away. Please call me back at the following number today or tonight.”
Blake stopped and stood in the driveway. He turned and looked behind him to see if anyone was coming, even though he had heard nothing. Another wave of terror washed over him. Momentarily paralyzed, he was afraid to move forward, afraid that vehicles were already at his home, waiting to incarcerate him. He put his left thumb in his mouth and chewed on the nail, unconscious of doing so. He glided his thumbnail back and forth between his upper and lower front teeth as if attempting to floss them as he stared into the gravel drive and played out the scenario. He hobbled slowly through the woods next to the house as he imagined a team of snipers on his own rooftop, armed with long-distance listening devices trained on his direction. In his imagination the sound of the smallest twig cracking sent a barrage of bullets flying into the woods.
Through the trees, he caught his first glimpse of the house, a twinkling reflection from the windshield of his F-150. He was relieved that they hadn’t come to repossess that, even though he had paid cash for it. Other than his truck, there were no other vehicles visible. He emerged at the edge of the woods and stood for a moment, looking closely around the house. There was no movement.
Blake walked to the kitchen door and opened it, praying silently that no one other than Angelica would be there. He opened the door and exhaled, momentarily releasing his tension and smiling at the woman who stood there. The woman who was the answer to his prayers.
“What happened?” Angelica asked. The girls were watching a movie that she had put in for them.
“Oh,” Blake began as he searched for words, “just hurt myself in the woods. But it’s all done. I’m done now. With everything.” He felt himself wanting to confess more, needing to blurt out years’ worth of secrets, of lies. Of deceit. Angelica took his arm and walked him to the bathroom. She helped him slide his pants off, supporting his beefy frame as he flinched with pain. Like any good nurse she showed little emotion when the two-inch gash was revealed just above Blake’s knee. Still, the location of the wound alarmed her. “Oh goodness!” she said. “You’re lucky this is a shallow wound. It just missed your femoral artery. And I mean just missed it!”
“Sit still. I’ll be right back.” Angelica walked through the sliding glass doors in the living room that led to the front yard. She snipped off several fresh yarrow leaves and went to the kitchen. She washed the leaves thoroughly in vinegar, rinsed them with water and returned to Blake. “Here,” she said. She pressed the leaves on the cut, grabbed the medical tape and bandages and secured the yarrow to the wound.
“What happened?”
“I—I was working in the woods and took a stick through my leg,” Blake said. Angelica looked up at him. Lying had become such a habit for Blake that he could no longer even recognize when he did it. He always told himself that he lied to Angelica about his activities for her protection. Damn it! Is that what I’m doing now, protecting her? Just tell her truth, that a pig did it to you!
“Keep this on for an hour or two until we’re sure the bleeding has stopped,” she said. Angelica walked back to the kitchen and picked up the note from the sheriff and brought it to Blake. “Look,” she said. Blake jerked up at the sight of the sheriff’s signature and winced at the pain. “When did this come? Did you see him?”
“It was in the door when the girls and I came in for lunch from the garden.”
“Did you call him? What did he want? What did he say?” Blake was standing and felt a sudden urge to pack, to flee.
“No, I didn’t call him,” Angelica said while cleaning up the medical supplies she had taken from the cabinet. “I wanted to speak with you first. It’s too late to call him now.”
Blake read the note again. “Angelica, please call my office ASAP. Sheriff Lonnie Jacobs.” Why in the world does he want to speak with Angelica? To interrogate her? Thank God I didn’t tell her anything. Don’t start now!
“I wonder what he wants,” Angelica said.
Blake was shocked at how carefree Angelica was, but then he realized that she, of course, had nothing to hide. Nothing to fear. Why shouldn’t she be carefree? She walked in to the living room and sat with the girls.