The Baby Snatchers (25 page)

“Oh, those. That’s my boss’ idea.”

“You mean Marjorie Whitely. Your sister,
right?”

“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.

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 have 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.