Children of Wrath by Paul Grossman Read Free Book Online Page B

Feces got through. And sometimes, inadvertently, workers spread it from the hide onto the meat itself, especially trimmings sliced from outer surfaces, such as Strohmeyer used. Trimmers removed whatever feces they spotted, but, according to a report by the Amalgamated Meat Workers’ Union, with a half carcass rolling down the hook lines every five seconds, oversights occurred. The tripe rooms, where intestines were gutted, were also rife with contamination.
    Strohmeyer purchased fillers—trimmings, fat, blood—as well as casing intestines large and small from at least a dozen suppliers at the Viehof . He relied on them to test their products for bacteria and did his own testing only after the ingredients were ground together. Technically this conformed to a turn-of-the-century Ministry of Public Health guideline suggesting but not ordering sausage processors to test ingredients before grinding. “Optimally, every production lot should be sampled and tested before leaving the supplier and again before use at the receiver,” the guideline urged. But the problem, Willi’d learned, was that many slaughterers would not sell to grinders who insisted on such strict testing, and so the grinders let things slide. According to its own safety program, in 1910 Strohmeyer had obligated itself to obtain certificates from all suppliers showing no bacteria had been found in any purchased lots. But Strohmeyer did not follow its own policy. It obtained no safety certificates whatsoever for the entire decade of the 1920s. Willi’d checked. Every single file in the company records. Not a single certificate since 1919.
    “Are we perfect?” Strohmeyer asked. “No. But what we have done is to show continual improvement.”
    Criminal negligence, more likely, Willi thought.
    “Nor will we stand still. As soon as we get back to production, Strohmeyer A.G. will take only the most aggressive measures to ensure our products’ safety. But, as I have urged the Ministry of Public Health, all efforts must be redoubled to track this pestilence back to the slaughterhouses. They are the source.”
    Everyone loved to point a finger.
    True, Willi thought, no signs of Listeria had shown up here at Strohmeyer. Not that the company’s own testing was anything other than random. Plenty of batches got through untested. But government inspectors had pounced all over this plant the minute Listeria had been traced to sausages, and their findings were also negative. Willi now understood, though, why these things took time—because Listeria was so damned resilient. Some scientists postulated that under high-stress conditions these bacteria could actually reduce themselves to a dormant state. Test results could only be conclusive over time. “You must keep testing, testing, testing,” Frau Doktor Riegler had said the first time they’d met. According to her, the Listeria would almost certainly show up here because it had almost certainly passed through. In nine out of ten cases—the doctor’s cheek twitched as she told him—the tainted sausages could be traced directly to Strohmeyer Wurst A.G. Which did not, however, mean the infection began there.
    The route these things traveled was up to scientists to determine. Willi was simply on the trail of gut feelings. After listening to the Wurst King these many hours, his had pretty much congealed: Strohmeyer was as willing to add filler to the truth as he was to his sausages.
    Time had come to poke at the marrow.
    “To trim costs”—he gave the man only the slightest glance—“might your company ever go outside the market and purchase from, say—an unlicensed peddler?”
    One of Strohmeyer’s eyebrows dropped, his voice darkening from the enormity of his dismay. “Herr Sergeant-Detektive. This is a family business. Since 1892.”
    “Yes, of course.” Willi held up a hand. “I ask only out of duty.”
    *   *   *
    Outside it had turned overcast, as if it was going to rain. Or snow. Willi