The Baby Snatchers

by Chris Taylor

  “Yes, she’s the NUM—the Nursing Unit Manager,” she added.

  “Thank you, I’m aware of what it means.”

  Rosemary stared at him a moment and then shrugged. “Marjorie thought having the business cards available might ease the burden of dealing with the sudden death, even a little. Grieving over a lost baby, even thinking about arranging a funeral and all it entails, is very difficult and is sometimes beyond our moms. It was Marjorie’s suggestion that we try and help them any way we can, including pointing them in the direction of a reputable funeral home.”

  While Rosemary’s explanation made sense, Cam was disconcerted to discover the idea had originated from Marjorie Whitely. When he’d put the same question to the NUM, she’d refused to answer. He couldn’t help but wonder what she had to hide.

  Could she have an illegal arrangement with the funeral director? Was that the reason she urged her grieving patients to use that particular service and was so reticent to talk about it? Or was he completely off the mark? Once again, he didn’t know and it irritated the hell out of him. What he did know was that he needed to pay a visit to the Peaceful Passing Funeral Parlor and Crematorium.

  “Will that be all, Detective?”

  Cam forced his attention back to the nurse. “Almost. I have one more question: You and your sister established an adoption agency some years ago, right?”

  A wide smile broke out across Rosemary’s face. “Oh, Detective! Are you looking to lend your support to our charity? We’re always open to donations.”

  A blush stole across Cam’s cheeks. “No, I…um… I wanted to know more about the agency. You started it with your sister, didn’t you? The two of you are directors.”

  “Yes. Marjorie and I have always worked as midwives. In the early years, we came across many girls who, for one reason or the other, found themselves unable to care for and raise their newborns. We grew up in the country and there were limited facilities and resources that catered to girls who found themselves in trouble. We decided to open up an adoption agency to help facilitate matters.”

  She glanced up at him. He scrawled a few notes and then nodded for her to continue.

  “Marjorie and I already knew the girls. It was a small hospital. One or the other of us was usually on the ward. The girls trusted us to take care of their babies. We kept it private; we made it easier for them to give up their unwanted children.”

  Cam stared at her and felt like he was suffocating. Had his birth mother been one of those girls? Relying on the discretion of kindly midwives to help her problem disappear? Did she even have a second thought for the baby she was giving up? He squeezed his eyes shut tight against the pain. He couldn’t bear to think about it.

  “Are… Are you all right, Detective?”

  With an effort, he opened his eyes and found Rosemary staring at him with an expression of concern. He forced a smile.

  “Yes, I’m… I’m fine. It’s been a long day.” He glanced at his watch. “I think we’re done.”

  Cam stood and Rosemary pushed away from her chair. “It was nice meeting you, Detective. You look tired. You go home and get some rest.”

  Cam nodded. “I will. Thank you for your time.” With that, he showed her out of the room.

  When the door closed behind her, Cam returned to his seat. With a heavy sigh, he leaned his elbows on the makeshift desk and rested his head in his hands. Despite several hours of interviews, he’d made very little progress. The whole process had raised more questions than answers.

  There was the curious reaction of Marjorie Whitely, but what did it mean? He’d been sure Tammie Sinclair was sincere and yet she’d been very nervous. Not only did she need money, Rosemary Lawson had accused the nurse of being delusional. None of the other nurses had provided him with anything useful. The only nurse he hadn’t interviewed was Georgie.

  He was comfortable with his decision not to speak with her formally. Though she’d been involved with some of the deliveries, she wasn’t on duty when any of the babies had died. She couldn’t possibly be a part of it—whatever “it” was. At the moment, he had no hard evidence connecting anyone to a crime.

  Besides, he was sure he knew her well enough to know she’d never be involved in something as heinous as the murder of a baby and even if the premier’s accusations of baby stealing were closer to the mark, Cam didn’t believe she was capable of that, either.

  He groaned, feeling hopeless. It was like he was going round and round in circles. He’d talk to the owner of the funeral parlor in the morning. Perhaps he could clear things up. It was worth a try.

  In the meantime, he’d ask one of the junior detectives to dig further into the activities of the City of Sydney Adoption Agency. Rosemary had spoken about the agency almost as if their use of it had been contained to the past. It would be interesting to know just how recently the last adoption had taken place.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Cam entered the modest front room of the Peaceful Passing Funeral Parlor and Crematorium and waited for someone to appear. The décor was much as he remembered when he’d come there with his sister to make arrangements.

  Dark velvet drapes blocked out a lot of the morning light that shafted in through the single window and shrouded most of the room in shadows. A cheap, imitation leather sofa and two matching armchairs almost filled the small space. A pine coffee table covered in a scattering of dated fashion magazines was the only other piece of furniture.

  Cameron glanced at his watch, impatient to ask his questions and be gone. The whole place was deathly silent and he couldn’t help but remember the last time he’d been there. Cynthia had been a wreck, sobbing uncontrollably. He was surprised that she’d even remembered the coffin with the gold and white bows. The niggling thought that baby Josephine might not have died as his sister had been told, just wouldn’t go away. That was part of the reason he was here, at the funeral home. He wanted answers.

  A door further down the corridor opened and closed and footsteps sounded, moving in his direction. He breathed a sigh of relief. At least someone was in residence. A moment later, a white-haired, elderly man, sporting a hideous comb-over, filled the open doorway to the room. It was the same man Cameron and Cynthia had met with to arrange Josephine’s cremation.

  “Can I help you?” The man stared at him with narrowed eyes, showing no signs of recognition.

  Cam got to his feet. “I’m Detective Sergeant Cameron Dawson. Are you the owner here?”

  Fear flashed across the man’s face. Though it wasn’t unusual for people to feel threatened to have a detective in their midst, even if they’d done nothing wrong, Cam filed it away.

  “Y-yes. Bernard Lawson’s my name.”

  Cam stepped closer and shook the man’s hand. Too late, he remembered the last time he’d done it: Bernard’s hand had been cold and clammy, reminding Cam too much of the man’s undesirable occupation.

  “What are you doing here?” Bernard muttered.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions. Do you work as the undertaker?”

  The man nodded. “Undertaker, embalmer, receptionist and anything else that needs doing.”

  “I take it you work alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “No employees?”

  Bernard shook his head. “I like it that way. It’s not like I’m too busy to cope. You’re the first person to come in today.”

  Cam contemplated what the man had said and found it a little peculiar. If he was the preferred funeral director for the Sydney Harbour Hospital, Cam would have expected the man to be rushed off his feet.

  “I understand you get referrals from the Sydney Harbour Hospital. I was hoping you could tell me about the newborns you’ve had through here.”

  Bernard’s expression turned wary. “It’s a sad thing, burying babies. It’s not meant to happen like that. I feel for those poor mothers. They’ll grieve until the day they die.”

  Cameron couldn’t help but think of Cynthia. “How many babies hav
e you prepared for burial during the past twelve months?”

  The man pursed his lips and appeared to think about it. “Ten or twelve? Maybe a few more. I don’t know, Detective. I don’t keep count. It’s not something I like to dwell on.”

  “No, of course not. Do you keep records on them?”

  “Yes, but I’m so behind on the paperwork and my filing system’s way out of date. I wouldn’t know where to put my hands on anything.”

  Yet, he seemed to have no trouble locating his invoice book. Cameron recalled the bill he’d received in the mail within a week of Josephine’s cremation. He’d paid with a check that had been presented to his bank the very next day.

  “Will there be anything else, Detective? I must get back to what I was doing.”

  Cameron stared at him. Given that the man had told him he wasn’t run off his feet, Cam wondered at Bernard’s impatience to get away, but he had no evidence to contradict the undertaker’s answers.

  “Do you take referrals from other hospitals?”

  “No. My arrangement is exclusively with the Sydney Harbour hospital.”

  “Whose idea was it?”

  The undertaker frowned. “Whose idea was what?”

  “The referrals. The business cards. Did you approach the hospital or did they approach you?”

  The man thought for a while. “I can’t rightly remember, Detective. The arrangement’s been in place for so long, I’ve forgotten how it came about.”

  Cam stared at him for a long moment, trying to gage the man’s sincerity. Bernard held his gaze. Cam was the first to look away. With nothing further to ask, he thanked him for his time and left.

  Outside, Cam stood on the pavement and thought about their conversation. He’d gained very little from his visit, apart from more or less confirming the number of deceased newborns. The man had no employees, so there was no one else to question. Though Bernard was kind of weird, there was no law against that. Cam supposed anyone who chose to work with the dead would have to be a little unusual.

  With a sigh, he jammed his hands in his pockets and turned toward the squad car parked a short distance down the street. From the corner of his eye, he spied a brand new shiny, black Porsche Cayenne in the driveway of the funeral home.

  He came to a halt and stared at the vehicle. The car was worth close to two hundred thousand dollars. It was so at odds with its owner and the building it was parked beside, Cam was taken aback. Taking note of the license plate, he went back to his vehicle and ran it through the computer. It was registered to Bernard Lawson.

  How the hell could the undertaker afford a car like that when he hadn’t seen a customer all day? Cam shook his head and cursed under his breath. Just another thing to puzzle over.

  Frustrated and out of sorts over his lack of progress, Cam returned to the station. Checking through his emails, he found a message from Georgie and was immediately flooded with guilt. He hadn’t spoken to her since he’d left her bed. She must be wondering what the hell had happened.

  With a sigh, he reached for the phone and dialed her number. She answered on the second ring, sounding breathless. He couldn’t prevent the soft smile that came to his lips.

  “Hello, you,” she breathed.

  “Good morning to you, too.”

  “It is a good morning, isn’t it?” she said.

  He remembered their night of passion and his body tightened in response. “The best,” he agreed, hoping like hell he wasn’t about to put a lie to his words.

  “I thought you might have called me yesterday. Is everything okay?” He heard the uncertainty in her voice and hated himself.

  “Yes, of course. I’ve just been busy. Work’s getting out of control.”

  “I understand.” There was a pause and then she said, “So, are you calling about anything in particular, or did you just want to say hello?”

  “I miss you. I wish I didn’t have to leave you the other night. It was lonely in my bed.”

  She sighed over the other end of the phone and he could tell she was pleased. “I wish you could have stayed, too, but I understand about Cynthia. You didn’t want to leave her alone all night.” She paused again and then added softly, “I miss you, too.”

  “Are you at work?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What time do you finish?”

  “Same time as yesterday, but I’m in the labor ward today and birthing Moms don’t always keep to a schedule. Why?”

  “I thought we might try to get together again. Maybe we could go out for dinner? There’s a great little Italian restaurant not far from where I live.”

  “It sounds great,” she replied. “I’ll let you know how my day develops.”

  “Great.”

  “There’s a rumor going around that you were interviewing some of the night staff yesterday.”

  Cam bit back a curse. He kept his voice as casual as hers. “Yes.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation. Let’s just say you have nothing to worry about.”

  “Good.”

  Cam winced. The relief in her voice was palpable. Feigning a pressing appointment, he quickly brought the call to an end and tried to ignore the rush of guilt that flooded his veins.

  Shit. Now what? He couldn’t very well tell her he was investigating members of her family. It would be unprofessional at best and might even compromise his case. The justification for keeping quiet didn’t make him feel any better. He wished he could fast forward to the time when the whole thing was behind him and he could concentrate on getting to know her even better. One thing he did know, he was falling for her, fast.

  “Cameron, you got a minute?”

  Cam looked up and spied one of the junior detectives. “Sure, Felix. What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve finished with the research on that adoption agency. I’ve printed out a few things. I have them here, if you want them.”

  Cam took the sheaf of papers from the younger man’s outstretched hand. “Thanks, Felix. Good job.”

  The man blushed under Cameron’s praise. “No problem, Cam. I’m always happy to help out. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Will do.”

  Cam glanced through the papers. The first page gave details of the directors and told him the adoption agency had been established in the early seventies. The next few pages listed real estate owned by one or both directors. Cam noted several impressive addresses: Darling Point and Edgecliff were exclusive eastern suburbs locations; Seaforth boasted multi-million dollar mansions on the waterfront, north of the harbor; Leura was a sought-after area situated in the Blue Mountains, a couple of hours west of Sydney.

  Felix had also printed out two pages of testimonials given by past clients of the agency. Cam scanned them. Every one of them was phrased in glowing terms and several mentioned Marjorie Whitely and Rosemary Lawson by name, thanking them for their kindness, compassion and professionalism. To some of their clients, the women were the closest thing to a saint.

  Though none of the testimonials bore an exact date, the month and the year were given at the end of each one. Cam flipped the page over and noticed the last testimonial was dated three months ago. Several others had been written over the course of the present year.

  He frowned and cast his memory back to his interview with Rosemary. Even though she’d joked about taking donations, from the way she’d spoken, he’d assumed the agency had been used mostly in the past, when single Moms with no one to turn to had offered their babies for adoption. He’d even assumed his own mother had fallen into that category.

  But the testimonials seemed to paint a different picture. In fact, all of the testimonials on the pages Felix had provided had been made in the past two years. It was obvious the agency was well and truly still in business.

  And then another memory struck him like a blow. His heart beat so hard it felt like it was going to explode right through his chest. He couldn’t
believe he hadn’t made the connection earlier.

  Lawson was the surname of the funeral director he’d spoken to. Okay, the name wasn’t exactly uncommon, but it could be the missing link that provided him with the evidence he needed to prove something was horribly wrong and Georgie Whitely’s family were right in the middle of it.

  With adrenaline pumping through his veins, he pulled his keyboard toward him and opened the page to a search engine. He typed in Bernard Lawson’s name and then added the words: Peaceful Passing Funeral Parlor and Crematorium. Almost immediately, he was rewarded with several hits. Scrolling through them, his eye snagged on an article from the social pages of one of the city’s daily papers.

  Cam clicked on the article and waited impatiently for it to open. When it did, he was confronted by a large photo of Bernard Lawson and his “lovely wife, Rosemary.” And there it was. The connection. No wonder Rosemary had done her best to cast suspicion on Tammie Sinclair. It all clicked into place.

  Rosemary Lawson and her sister were midwives who also owned an adoption agency. By her own admission, Rosemary agreed she and Marjorie had assisted young mothers in giving up their babies for adoption, now, and in the past.

  Rosemary had been on duty when twelve of the fifteen babies had died on Ward Seven. Rosemary’s sister was the head of the ward and prepared the final report. Coincidentally, the death certificates had been certified by none other than Marjorie’s husband.

  Even more interesting was the fact Rosemary Lawson was married to an undertaker. The very same undertaker who was recommended to grieving patients by none other than Marjorie—at least, that’s what Rosemary said.

  Cam could do nothing but shake his head back and forth in utter disbelief. The tangled web pulled tighter and tighter. He was stunned at the extent of the deceit. He had one more call to make.

  With a sense of urgency, he dragged the phone toward him and punched in the numbers for Deborah Healy. His impatience eased slightly when the phone was answered on the second ring and the general manager’s receptionist confirmed her boss was in. Cam tapped his fingers on the desk while he waited for Deborah to take the call. A moment later, she came on the line.