"I called my mother in Mexico," Carlos admitted guiltily.

Shanahan rolled his eyes and started to worry that he would now have to get rid of Carlos. The trouble with this kind of work was that when things started to go wrong, they had a way of quickly getting out of hand.

"But my mother has no phone," Carlos said. "I called a phone in a store where my sister works."

"What kind of a store?" Shanahan asked.

"A big store," Carlos said. "It sells all sorts of things."

"Like a department store?" Shanahan asked.

"Yeah, like a department store," Carlos said.

"When did you call?" Shanahan asked.

"Last night," Carlos said. "The store is open late on Saturday night, and my mother always goes to walk my sister home."

"Where in Mexico?" Shanahan asked.

" Mexico City," Carlos said.

Shanahan felt relieved. An anonymous call to a large store in the most populous city in the world wasn't much of a lead.

"And that was the only call?" Shanahan asked.

"Yeah, man," Carlos said. "Just one call."

"Let's get back to the doctor," Shanahan said. "Does he know what happened to the woman?"

"Probably." Carlos said. "He saw her blood."

"One way or the other, he's a threat," Shanahan said. "He's got to go. We'll pay you the other hundred plus three hundred extra to do the job. What do you say?"

"When?" Carlos asked.

"Tonight," Shanahan said. "We know where he lives, and he lives alone. It's in the Balmoral section of town."

"I don't know," Carlos said. "He's a big guy."

"With the reputation you have, I didn't think that would matter," Shanahan said.

"It's not the killing that will be hard," Carlos said. "It's getting rid of the body and the blood."

"You don't have to worry about that," Shanahan said. "Just do the trick and walk out. Maybe you could make it look like a robbery by taking money and valuables. Just don't take anything that can be traced."

"I don't know," Carlos said. "The police don't like us Mexicans driving around in the Balmoral neighborhood. I've been stopped up there."

"Listen, Carlos," Shanahan said. He was quickly losing his patience. "You don't have a lot of choice at this juncture. You screwed up last night. As I understand it you had plenty of time to kill the doctor. Besides, you don't even have a green card."

Carlos shifted his weight and rubbed his upper arms against the damp cold. He had no coat and was still wearing his leather vest without a shirt.

"What's the address?" Carlos asked with resignation.

"That's more like it," Shanahan said as he handed over a typed three-by-five card.

Defying the revocation of his hospital privileges by the medical staff as delivered by Robert Rathborn, Kim went around the hospital and visited all his in-patients. He spent the most time with Friday's post-ops. As Tom Bridges had promised, he'd been following all the patients closely. Kim was pleased that all were doing well and without complications. By the time Kim left the hospital it was mid-afternoon.

Kim had considered trying to call Kelly Anderson to arrange a meeting but then decided it would be better just to drop in. Besides, he didn't have her phone number, and he rationalized it was undoubtedly unlisted.

Kelly Anderson lived in a prairie-style house in the Christie Heights section of town. It wasn't quite as upscale as Balmoral but it was close. Kim pulled to the curb and stopped. He turned off the ignition and gazed at the house. It took him a moment to build up his courage. For Kim. coming to Kelly Anderson was akin to conniving with the devil herself. He felt he needed her but certainly didn't like her.

Kim trudged up to the front door; realizing that there was a very good chance he would not even make it across the threshold.

Caroline, Kelly's precocious daughter, opened the door. For a moment, Kim could not find his voice. The child brought back the unwelcome image of Becky in the ICU.

Kim heard a man's voice from inside the house, asking Caroline who was there.

"I don't know," Caroline yelled back over her shoulder. "He won't talk."

"I'm Doctor Reggis," Kim managed.

Edgar Anderson appeared behind his daughter. He was an academic-appearing fellow, with heavy dark rimmed glasses. He was wearing an oversized, elbow patched cardigan sweater. A pipe hung from the corner of his mouth.

"Can I help you?" Edgar inquired.

Kim repeated his name and asked to speak to Kelly Anderson.

Edgar introduced himself as Kelly's husband and invited Kim inside. He showed him into the living room, which had the appearance of never being used.

"I'll let her know you are here," Edgar said. "Please sit down. Can I offer you anything? Coffee?"

"No, thank you," Kim said. He felt self-conscious, as if he were a mendicant. He lowered himself onto an immaculate couch.

Edgar disappeared, but Caroline stayed to stare at Kim from behind a club chair. Kim could not look at her without thinking about Becky.

Kim was relieved when Kelly swept into the room.

"My, my," she intoned. "This is curious. The fox chasing the hound. Sit down, please!" Kim had gotten to his feet when she'd entered. She plopped into the club chair. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?" she added.

"Could we speak alone?" Kim asked.

Acting as if she had been unaware Caroline was in the room, Kelly told her daughter to find something entertaining to do.

As soon as Caroline had left, Kim started by telling about Becky's death. Kelly's glib demeanor changed immediately. She was obviously deeply moved.

Kim told Kelly the whole story, including the details of the discussions he'd had with Kathleen Morgan and Marsha Baldwin. He told her about his visit and arrest at the Onion Ring restaurant. He even told her about the harrowing episode in Higgins and Hancock, culminating in his second arrest.

When Kim fell silent, Kelly exhaled and leaned back. She shook her head. "What a story," she said. "And what a tragedy for you. But what brings you to me? I assume there is something you want me to do."

"Obviously," Kim said. "I want you to do a story about all this. It's something the public needs to know. And I want to get out the message about Marsha Baldwin. The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced there's a conspiracy here. If she's alive, the sooner she's found the better."

Kelly chewed the inside of her cheek while she pondered Kim's request. There were some intriguing elements to the story, but there were also some problems. After a few moments, she shook her head. "Thank you for coming by and telling me all this, but I'm not interested from a professional point of view: at least not at this time."

Kim's face fell. As he'd told the story, he'd become progressively convinced of its merit, and Kelly's rapid negative decision came as a disappointing surprise. "Can you tell me why?" he questioned.

"Sure," Kelly said. "As much as I sympathize with you about the tragic loss of your darling, talented daughter, it's not the kind of TV journalism I generally do. I go after harder, bigger stories, if you know what I mean."

"But this is a big story," Kim complained. "Becky died of E. coli 0157:H7. This has become a worldwide problem."

"True," Kelly admitted. "But it's only one case."

"That's the point," Kim said. "Only one case so far. I'm convinced she got it at the Onion Ring restaurant on Prairie Highway. I'm afraid she's going to turn out to be the index case of what could be a big outbreak."

"But an outbreak hasn't happened," Kelly said. "You said yourself your daughter got sick over a week ago. If there were going to be an outbreak, there would have been more cases by now, but there haven't been."

"But there will be," Kim said. "I'm convinced of it."

"Fine," Kelly said. "When there are more cases, I'll do a story. I mean, one isolated case is not a story. How can I say it more clearly?"