"José Ramerez, sir!" Jed said.

"Did he show you any identification?" Daryl asked.

"Not that I recall," Jed said evasively.

"What did he look like?"

"He is a little strange-looking," Jed said. Jed was confused. He couldn't fathom what difference it made what the man looked like.

"Could you give me an idea?" Daryl asked.

"Kind of punk" Jed said, trying to think how his fourteen-year-old son would describe the man. "Bleached hair, earring, tattoos, leather pants."

"Is he a fairly big guy?" Daryl asked.

"Yeah, over six feet for sure."

"And he has some stitches on his face?"

"Yeah, he did," Jed said. "How did you know that, sir?"

"Did he say where he was living?" Daryl asked.

"No, and I didn't ask," Jed said. "I have to say he's been quite appreciative of getting the work. He's even agreed to work a shift and a half."

"You mean he's working tonight?" Daryl asked. "As part of the cleanup crew?"

"Yup," Jed said. "We had someone call in sick just this morning."

"That's good," Daryl said. "That's very good. Good job, Jed."

"Thank you, sir," Jed said. "Is there something you'd like me to do or to say to Mr. Ramerez?"

"No, nothing at all," Daryl said. "In fact, keep this conversation of ours confidential. Can I count on you for that?"

"Absolutely, sir," Jed said.

Jed recoiled when he heard the line disconnected. It had been so precipitous. He looked quizzically at the phone for a second before hanging up.

Not wanting to be caught in the head-boning room where there was nothing to sweep, Kim had retreated back to the main kill floor. He still had no clue as to what Marsha was talking about when she mentioned that last head now that he'd followed the trail through most of the plant. The only unknown was what happened to the heads after disappearing down the black hole.

Kim went back to the evisceration area and reswept parts of the floor he'd already cleaned several times. The frustrating part was that in certain areas, it only took about fifteen minutes to look like he'd never been there.

Despite his earplugs, he suddenly could hear a sustained raucous buzz. He straightened up from his work and looked around. He immediately saw that the cattle had been halted in the chute. No more animals were being killed. The pitiable cows close to the executioner had been given a momentary reprieve. The executioner had put aside his tool and was in the process of coiling the high-pressure hose.

The animals that had already been killed advanced through the line until the final one had been eviscerated. At that point the line was stopped, and the tremendous din was replaced by an eerie silence.

It took Kim a few moments to realize that part of the silence was due to his earplugs. When he took them out, he heard the noises of the power tools being stowed and a buzz of animated conversation. Workers started swinging down from the catwalks, while others used stairs and ladders.

Kim stopped one of the workers and asked him what was going on.

"No speak English," the worker said, before hurrying off.

Kim stopped another. "Do you speak English?" he asked.

"A little," the man said.

"What's happening?" Kim asked.

"Lunch break," the man said, before hurrying after the first.

Kim watched as the hundred or so workers streamed from the catwalks and lined up to pass through the fire door. They were en route to the lunchroom and the locker area. An equal number of employees came from the main boning room via the head-boning room. Despite the pall of death and the stench, the camaraderie was evident. There was much laughter and friendly jostling.

"How anyone could eat is beyond me," Kim said into his microphone.

Kim saw the man who'd attacked him, along with his partner. They walked by without a glance to join the ever-lengthening queue. Kim felt even more confident about his disguise.

Kim stopped one of the eviscerators whose damp white coat had become variegated with shades of pink and red. He asked the man how to get to the basement. In return, Kim got a look that suggested he was crazy.

"Do you speak English?" Kim inquired.

"Sure, man, I speak English," the eviscerator said.

"I want to go below," Kim said. "How do I get there?"

"You don't want to go downstairs," the man said. "But if you did, you'd go through that door." He pointed to an unmarked door with an automatic closer mounted on its upper edge.

Kim continued sweeping until the last worker had passed through the fire door. After all the noise and chaotic activity when the line was in operation, it was strange for Kim to be alone with forty or fifty suspended, steaming carcasses. For the first time since Kim had arrived, the floor around the evisceration area was free of gore.

Putting his broom aside, Kim walked over to the unmarked door the man had pointed out. After a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being observed, he pulled the door open and stepped inside. The door closed quickly behind him.

The first thing that Kim was aware of was the smell. It was ten times worse than the kill floor, which had sickened him so quickly earlier. What made it so awful was the added stench of putrefaction. Although he retched a few times, he didn't vomit. He assumed it was because his stomach was empty.

Kim was standing on a landing above a flight of cement stairs that descended into utter blackness. Over his head was a single, bare lightbulb. On the wall behind him was a fire extinguisher and an industrial-sized, emergency flashlight.

Kim yanked the flashlight from its brackets and turned it on. He aimed the concentrated beam down the stairs, revealing a long flight descending to a deep cellar. The walls were stained with large, Rorschach-like blotches in brown. The distant floor looked smooth and black like a pool of crude oil.

Kim got one hand free from his rubber glove and located his earphone. After removing his earplug, he slipped it into his ear.

"Can you hear me, Trace?" Kim said. "If you can, say something. I just put in my earphone."

"It's about time!" Tracy said irritably. Her voice was loud and clear despite Kim's being surrounded by reinforced concrete walls. "I want you to come out here immediately."

"Whoa," Kim said. "What are you all wound up about?"

"You're in this slaughterhouse with someone who has tried to kill you twice," Tracy said. "This is ridiculous. I want you to give up this madness."

"I've got a little more investigating to do," Kim said. "Besides, the knife guy hasn't recognized me, so calm down!"

"Where are you?" Tracy asked. "Why haven't you put your earphone in until now? It's been driving me crazy not to be able to talk to you."

Kim started down the stairs. "I can't risk the earphones except when I'm alone," he said. "As to where I am at the moment, I'm heading down into the basement, which I have to admit is no picnic. It's like descending into the lower circles of hell. There's no way I could describe the smell."

"I don't think you should go into the basement," Tracy said. "I like being able to talk with you, but it's safer if you stay in a group. Besides, you're probably not supposed to be in there, and if someone catches you, there'll surely be trouble."

"Everybody's at lunch," Kim said. "Being caught down here is not my worry."

Breathing through his mouth to help avoid the stench, Kim reached the bottom of the stairs. He shined the flashlight beam around the vast, pitch-black space. It was a warren of vats and Dumpster-like containers. Each was connected with a duct that led upward through the ceiling to catch the blood, unwanted guts, and discarded bones and skulls.

"This is where they store everything until it gets trucked to the rendering plant," Kim said. "Obviously from the odor it's all in various stages of decay. There's no refrigeration down here. Although it's hard to imagine as bad as it smells now, it must be worse in the summertime."