Southern Poison (28 page)

Chuck finished the bottle of water with a single tilt of his head and told Peggy Lee that they would immediately stop blending the secret additive into the Derma-Zing adhesive. Meanwhile, he’d list the Derma-Zing company for sale.

Lost in her own thoughts, she nodded again.

Chuck smiled. The single product’s huge success would ensure a quick sale, probably to one of the large cosmetic manufacturers. That would be his seed money to start phase two. And so it would go, for as long as Chuck could keep Project Antisis alive.

Meanwhile, there were loose ends to take care of—two of them. He had to dismantle the lab and move production of the Derma-Zing adhesive back to his main facility in Virginia. And he had to keep Peggy Lee quiet, until he decided the best way to eliminate her. Chuck had enough foresight to know that the chemist might start to turn, and he’d bought the jewelry weeks ago, just in case she did. He went to his briefcase and returned with a small gift-wrapped box.

Eyes opened wide, she ripped off the paper and opened the lid to reveal a gold ring with a big diamond in the center of it. “Oh, Chuck!”

“Peggy, I had planned to propose to you after we sold off Derma-Zing, when we could take a break and travel for our honeymoon,” he said, trying hard to make the ridiculous lie sound sincere. “But considering the circumstances, I’m going to go ahead and ask you now. Will you marry me, Peggy?”

Unable to speak, she stood and hugged him tight. When she found her voice, Peggy Lee remembered the tiny life that steadily grew inside her. “What about my baby?”

“You’ll have the baby—
our
baby—and we will raise him to be a good person, who will take care of his environment.”

Tears rolled down Peggy Lee’s flushed cheeks. “Oh, yes! Yes I’ll marry you, Chuck.”

Saying the matter
was urgent, Dr. Warner called and wanted to talk in person. We met at Le Catalan French Café, which for me was a short walk from the Block. Foamy balls of clouds crept across the sky and we sat outside, facing the riverwalk, to watch them. I ordered the chicken curry salad with fresh bread and she had the quiche of the day. Bypassing the extensive wine-bar menu, we both opted for ice water.

“I’ve seen three other patients with the same symptoms Lindsey exhibited. After checking with the other physicians at Daisy Obstetrics&Gynecology, we’ve identified eleven girls going through the same thing,” Pam said.

“All from the same high school?”

“No, that’s the first thing I checked. Several go to Lindsey’s school, but one goes to a private school and one is home schooled. Another is a student at UNC. And one eighteen-year-old lives in Ohio. She was vacationing with her family.”

“There must be a common element,” I said, when the obvious
plowed into my brain with the force of a jackhammer. “Good God. It’s the Derma-Zing.”

“Come again?”

“I think it’s the Derma-Zing, Pam.” I thought of Lindsey’s television spots and the help I’d given Holloman by suggesting college-logo stencils, and felt sick. “Did you happen to notice if your three patients wore Derma-Zing designs?”

“That stuff is so popular that we see it on kids all the time. None of the doctors in our practice would bother to note whether or not a patient had a design. No reason to.”

I rubbed my temples, my old concussion headache creeping back. “There is now.”

Our lunch arrived. Neither of us bothered to pick up a fork.

“My girls love drawing their little designs on each other,” Pam said. “They’ve used the product for a couple of months now and they’re fine. But tell me why you think the Derma-Zing is causing Lindsey’s symptoms.”

I downed some ice water to stop the queasiness in my stomach and told her exactly why. Holloman’s odd behavior that could have been an ad for bipolar disorder and his obsessive interest in Derma-Zing, when the product was less than 4 percent of the total net revenue for ECH Chemical Engineering&Consulting. The hardcore environmental causes that he supported. The fact that he’d built a satellite lab in Wilmington, where only one chemical additive was manufactured, by only one employee. And that employee was a loner who’d spent years researching a fertility drug. Plus, the timing worked. Lindsey’s health problems became evident just after she became a heavy user of the product.

Pam cut off a corner of her quiche but didn’t eat. “You think they are intentionally putting something in Derma-Zing, which is causing—”

“Problems with the girls’ reproductive systems,” I finished,
flashing back to a conversation with Holloman at the Block. “When talking about marketing, Holloman said his goal was to
expose
as many girls to the product as possible. He used that exact word. Expose.”

Pam’s face went pale. “This sounds like something out of a futuristic horror movie. Do you think he’s purposely trying to sterilize young females?”

I was slowly nodding, my cerebrum working, when recall of another conversation caused a chill to shoot up the back of my neck. “His goal is population control. Peggy Lee said that Holloman thinks the world is already overpopulated. Apparently, they’ve been having sex and she got pregnant.”

“Wait a minute,” Pam said, thinking. “Is that Peggy Lee Cooke? I think she’s been seen at our practice.”

“Exactly. That’s where I first met her—in your waiting room. Anyway, Holloman told her to get an abortion. He doesn’t know she’s still carrying his baby.”

Our server stopped by to refill water glasses and ask if anything was wrong with the food. We assured her the food was fine, and no, we didn’t need any to-go containers.

“Jersey, I called you because you’re a personal friend and I’m concerned about Lindsey. I was just trying to clarify in my own mind what the next step should be. Contact all the other area physicians’ offices to see if there’s a pattern? Notify CDC?”

“All of the above.”

“But I still don’t have a diagnosis. And we don’t have any proof that Derma-Zing is tainted.”

“Then you need to get those tests on Lindsey done,” I said. “I’ll take care of rounding up evidence. We’ve got to stop him, Pam.”

Pam chewed on the lemon slice from her water glass. “Wait a minute. What if it’s the chemist? Maybe Holloman doesn’t know anything about it.”

“They both know about it,” I said. “They’d have to.”

“I pray to God that you’re wrong about all this, Jersey.”

“Me, too,” I said, but knew I wasn’t. “Where’s the closest lab that will analyze the product, quickly, without questions?”

“I’d go through your cop friend, to take advantage of the forensics lab they use,” she told me. “Plus, I’d use a second lab, so you get two independent results. As soon as I get back to my office, I’ll call you with the name of a good one. But let me warn you, analyzing the product for proof of tainting will be hard, if not impossible.”

“How so?”

Pam explained that any number of potentially suspect substances could be found in Derma-Zing, but if they weren’t known toxins, they wouldn’t cause alarm. If the chemist was manufacturing something new, especially an ingredient derived from a plant hormone, discovering its long-term effect could take months or years of trial testing. The bottom line, my doctor friend said, is that Derma-Zing was considered a cosmetic and therefore not regulated by the FDA.

“It’s something like a forty-billion-dollar industry. Cosmetic products contain thousands and thousands of chemical ingredients, which aren’t screened for safety or FDA tested,” she said. “If you read some of the reports that I do, you’d be scared to use deodorant or body lotions, much less wear wrinkle-reducing creams and skin-firming makeup.”

Pushing the uneaten quiche around on her plate, she threw out some shocking examples, including cancer-causing chemicals found in children’s bubble bath, toxins found in nail polish, and traces of lead found in lipstick.

“Derma-Zing is just like any other unregulated cosmetic product,” she said. “They can put anything from beeswax to synthetically manufactured chemicals to exotic plant and berry extracts in there.”

“And it’s all being absorbed through the skin,” I said. “But the
difference with Derma-Zing is that they are willfully trying to sterilize an entire generation of young women.”

“Possibly,” Pam said, her scientific training mandating caution.

Although Lindsey’s appointment for the additional tests was a week away, Pam agreed to do them tonight, in her office, after hours. Leaving our uneaten lunches behind, we headed out, spotting a couple of college students with ankle designs.

I was waiting to pick Lindsey up when school let out for the day and we drove straight to the Block. I dragged her upstairs and used nail polish remover and baby oil to get all the Derma-Zing off her body. Afterward, I made her take a shower and scour her skin with an exfoliating body wash. Even though she thought I was overreacting, she was good-natured about it, and promised to tell everyone at school to stop using the product.

“I’m going to feel really silly, though,” she said. “I mean, like, here I’ve been on television telling everybody how great this stuff is, you know? And now, I’ve got to tell people that it’s bad for them?”

“Until we get the proof we need for a national recall, you’ve got to get your friends and those at your school to stop using it.”

“But if I tell somebody it’s bad for them, I’m going to sound like an idiot,” she complained. “Hey, I know. I’ll put the word out that little kids are into Derma-Zing. You know, like twelve- and thirteen-year-olds? Then
nobody
will want to be seen wearing a design. It will be totally uncool. I can even tell them how to get their designs off, with nail polish remover and baby oil.”

“Good idea. You do whatever works. Don’t talk to anyone from Derma-Zing, not even the PR lady or ad people,” I said. “If Holloman calls you, just hang up. And if you see the man, stay away from him, okay? This is a serious situation, Lindsey.”

“You are like, so wigged out. And you’re not even sure that Derma-Zing is what caused my period to stop.”

“Lindsey, I am sure. I just can’t prove it yet.”

Unconvinced, she shrugged.

I tried a different route. “Here’s the thing. If anything bad happens to you, your mother will make you go back to California in a skinny minute and none of us wants that.” It was a cheap shot, but at least I got through to her.

“You know I don’t want to go back to live with Mom and Albert.”

“Then you must promise to do what I’ve asked, even if you don’t necessarily agree.”

“Okay,” she finally said. “I promise. The whole Derma-Zing thing was getting kind of old, anyway.”

When she went downstairs to work her shift, I tried to shove my personal feelings aside and figure out a course of action. The headache I’d acquired at lunch hadn’t quite gone away, and it was difficult to think. There was simply no plausible way to alert the millions of Derma-Zing users that they might be poisoning their reproductive systems. At least not yet. We had to get something tangible to take to Ashton, and CDC, and NIH, and anyone else who’d listen. Even the national press wouldn’t touch the story until they had substantiating evidence. With help from a chemist, Soup was still trying to make sense of the data copied from the laboratory’s computer. The testing facilities wouldn’t have conclusive results from the samples for days, maybe weeks. Pam Warner couldn’t prove what was causing her young patients’ similar symptoms. The immediate answer was to put pressure on the chemist and see what she’d divulge. I’d have to pay her a visit in the morning.

My headache revved up a notch when another text message appeared on my phone:

A slow death will allow you to think about what you’ve done.

Too excited to
sleep, Peggy Lee had been fully awake since three o’clock, her mind a swirl of thoughts. Chuck hadn’t mentioned a date, but she assumed he’d want to get married quickly, before their baby began to show. Where would the ceremony take place? It would be a small affair, but special nonetheless. Maybe they’d do a short and sweet ceremony on the beach, or maybe Chuck would want to do something wild such as fly to Las Vegas for the weekend.

Hugging her pillow and flipping over, Peggy Lee wondered how much she could spend on a dress. She’d always wanted a delicate, silky, layered, sequined gown, under which she’d wear a lacy garter belt. Regardless of where they did it and what she wore, Peggy Lee was ecstatic. She would soon be the wife of a president of a research company. An established businessman and chemist. Someone who understood the scientific world. Someone with a vision. Flipping to her other side, Peggy Lee readjusted the pillow and conceded that she didn’t have to wear an expensive gown. She wouldn’t mind getting married in a dress, with Chuck at her side in a nice suit and tie. She
knew he would spend lavishly on their honeymoon, even if he hadn’t yet sold the Derma-Zing division. Staring at the rotating ceiling-fan blades, she wondered where they’d live. Virginia, of course. But would she move into his current place? She’d never been there, but knew it would be spacious and open and adorned with beautiful upgrades such as granite and tile and oversized picture windows. All the things she’d seen in home and leisure magazines. Feeling the ever-so-slight roundness of her belly, she thought again of her baby and went through a list of baby names. Restless, she sat up and turned on a light to look at the mobile of stuffed animals she planned to hang over the crib. Deciding she’d never be able to sleep, Peggy Lee headed to the shower. Going to the lab early would give her a jump start and she could leave before the evening rush hour to visit a bridal shop.

Few commuters were on the road before sunrise and Peggy Lee made it to her lab more quickly than usual. Strangely, the alarm system was off. She could have sworn she’d set the alarm the prior evening. When the fluorescent lights flickered on and flooded her lab with bluish illumination, Peggy Lee screamed.

Metal tables lay twisted, overturned, and glass vial remains were scattered everywhere. Refrigerator doors stood open, their contents broken. She immediately went to her desk and found the computer on the floor, its casing broken as though it were smashed with a baseball bat. Using a Swiss army knife she’d carried since she was a kid, Peggy Lee removed the hard drive. It took some doing to detach the bent metal cage from the mangled frame and when she did, she couldn’t believe what she saw. Several long nails had been driven through the guts of the hard drive, effectively destroying it. Every bit of her work had been saved on there, and whoever had trashed it knew something about computers. But they didn’t know about her backup disks, which Chuck insisted she keep at the lab instead of in a secure, off-site lockbox. She threw open the bottom
drawer, only to find it empty. On her hands and knees, the chemist searched the floor and every single place the backup disks could conceivably be. Nothing. Her personal hard copy files were missing, too. She prayed that Chuck’s set of backups—the second and only other set—were safe and intact. Otherwise, her years of research and documented findings on the wild leafy shiff bush were gone.