The Baby Snatchers (11 page)

“Her name was Josephine.”

“Of course,” he said quickly, relieved she’d
responded. It could help with Danielle’s investigation if he heard
about his sister’s experience. After all, there were many
similarities and he wasn’t yet prepared to dismiss them. “Tell me
about little Josephine,” he added and reached over to squeeze her
hand. “I’d really like to know.”

Cynthia began quietly and hesitantly, but
gradually her voice picked up strength. She talked about the tiny
baby she’d had for such a short time and Cam couldn’t help but tear
up. Knowing he never got to meet his young niece saddened him
beyond words. He couldn’t imagine how his sister felt—she who had
carried the little girl inside her for so long.

“She had so much dark hair, just like
Albert,” Cynthia murmured with a sad smile. “And the cutest little
rosebud lips. She was the most perfect thing I’d ever seen.”

“Did any of the staff give you any
indication there was something wrong?”

She shook her head, looking mystified. “No,
that’s why it came as such a shock when the nurse came in early the
next morning to tell me Josephine had…died. I had no idea she’d
been born with problems.”

Cam squeezed her hand again. “From what
Georgie told me, she was born perfectly healthy. They’ve put her
death down to SIDS. Sometimes terrible things like that happen and
nobody can explain why. It makes it so much harder to deal with,
but it’s just the way it is.”

Cynthia nodded sadly. “Yeah, that’s what Ava
says.”

Cam lifted his eyebrow in question and then
remembered Ava Wolfe was the psychiatrist his sister was seeing.
“Who told you Josephine had passed away?” he asked gently.

“I don’t know her name. She was an older
woman, a nurse, but I think she was the one in charge. I heard her
giving some of the other nurses orders.”

Cam nodded. If necessary, he’d be able to
get a copy of the staff rosters which would tell him who had been
on duty over the relevant time. “What did she say to you?” he
asked.

“I can’t remember the exact words.
Everything from that day’s a bit of a blur. She said something
about finding Josephine in her crib and discovering she was no
longer breathing. I… I started screaming at her. I needed to know
my baby was all right. It was then that she shook her head and told
me… She told me that she’d died.”

Cynthia’s voice hitched. Tears filled her
eyes and ran slowly down her cheeks. Cam’s heart clenched with pain
and he wished he could make things easier, but the truth was, he
needed to know. “Did you get to see Josephine again?”

His sister shook her head. “No. When I asked
if I could, the nurse told me it wouldn’t be wise. Apparently, by
the time they found her, Josephine had been…gone for a while. The
nurse told me she…didn’t look so good. She urged me to remember my
baby the way she’d been the night before—beautiful, tiny, perfect.
She said it would be better that way.”

Cam pressed his lips together, thankful that
his sister had at least been spared the pain of seeing her baby
cold and dark and still in death. If the baby had been deprived of
oxygen for an extended length of time, she might even have turned
black. It happened sometimes and it wasn’t pretty. The nurse had
made the right decision.

“I’m sure she was right,” Cam said, wanting
to reassure his sister. “This way, your memories of the time you
had with your beautiful baby remain perfect and untarnished for the
rest of your life.”

Cam picked up his fork again and resumed
eating. He was relieved to see Cynthia do the same. It couldn’t be
easy to dig up the painful memories from that day, but she seemed
to be handling it, and for that, he was glad.

“The same nurse gave me the card with the
details of the crematorium. I took it from her, not knowing what
else to do with it. I hadn’t even thought about disposing
of…Josephine’s remains. The nurse must have seen something in my
eyes because she reassured me the crematorium staff would know what
to do. All I had to do was contact them and they’d look after my
baby.”

Cynthia looked up at him and gave a small
shrug, her expression filled with sadness. “That’s about it. You
found me not long after.”

“You gave me the card and I called the
crematorium. It was all done very quickly and efficiently. I must
admit, it’s the first time I’d had to do something like that, so I
wasn’t quite sure what to expect, either.”

Cynthia nodded. “I was still in a daze, but
I remember listening while you discussed the details with that man
at the funeral parlor. We chose a tiny white casket with white and
gold bows around the sides and a gold cross on the top.”

Cam nodded and another wave of tears pricked
the back of his eyes. “It was beautiful, honey. Just like your
beautiful Josephine.”

As Cam reached out to cup his sister’s
cheek, she gasped aloud on a sob. Her face crumpled and she buried
her face in her hands.

“I didn’t even get to take a photo of her!”
she sobbed. “If only I’d had a phone! It didn’t even occur to me to
ask one of the other patients. I’d only just given birth to this
perfect, tiny person. I had no way of knowing it was the last time
I was going to see her.”

Her tears now fell in earnest and Cam’s
heart broke at the sight of her pain. Pushing away from the table,
he closed the distance between them and pulled her upright so he
could hold her close. Her arms went around his waist and she buried
her face in his shirt.

Her sobs were desolate and heartbreaking.
She cried like she’d never stop. The tears Cam had tried so hard to
hold back slowly ran down his cheeks. He tightened his arms around
her and let her weep. When at last her sobs quieted, he pressed a
gentle kiss against her hair.

His little sister had been through so much
and she still had her whole life to live. He couldn’t help but pray
the toughest days were behind her and from that point on, she could
begin to look ahead. Georgie had told him time was the greatest of
healers and he knew she was right. He only hoped Cynthia would give
herself the time she needed and learn to accept the inevitability
of what had happened.

It was a sad fact that SIDS sometimes
happened and nobody could explain why. Even still, he couldn’t help
the fresh wave of unease that had crept into his gut as he listened
to Cynthia’s story. The similarities between her experience and
Danielle’s were too many to be discounted. He was more curious than
ever to discover just how many babies had died of SIDS at the
Sydney Harbour Hospital.

It was much later when Cam finally found a
moment to call Georgie. He was disappointed, but not surprised,
when his call went through to her voicemail. It was after eleven
and she’d told him she was rostered on an early shift the next
morning. He left a message, thanking her again for her kind offer
and confirming Cynthia was looking forward to spending the day with
her. He ended the call by asking her to call him back with the
details. Tossing the phone on his bed, he sighed softly and headed
for bed.

Dear Diary,

Every once in a while, I stare down at yet
another tiny scrap of squalling humanity and wonder if this baby
wouldn’t be better off with its birth mother. Then I listen to the
torrent of abuse that spews forth from the mouth of that same
mother who is coming off opiates or the loud snores that erupt from
the one who’s sleeping off the enforced withdrawal from meth and I
know that I made the right decision.

So many babies born to so many unworthy and
ungrateful women. It turns my stomach to watch them. They don’t
deserve those babies. Most of them don’t want them and can’t
conceive of what it takes to raise them. It’s all about their next
fix, their next high and the wholly selfish pleasure that comes
with it.

It is the barren ones I feel sorry for. The
women who yearn with quiet desperation to hold and love and nurture
a baby of their own. It is for them that I do this. Them, and the
children…

* * *

Georgie checked the monitor beside the
woman’s bed and then adjusted the straps over her enlarged belly.
They had slipped a little low and for a few moments, Georgie
couldn’t find the baby’s heartbeat. A minute later, the monitor
picked it up again, and she sighed quietly in relief. The labor had
been progressing nicely and even though the woman had been at it
for more than six hours, it was still early days.

The patient was giving birth to her first
child and first labors often went for at least twelve to fourteen
hours. Some went a lot longer. Georgie had examined her twenty
minutes earlier, and judging by the dilation of the cervix, they
still had some time to go. Reaching for a washcloth, she dampened
it under the faucet and then handed it to the girl’s partner who
stood by her side near the bed.

“Here, Wes. Use this on Sandra’s forehead.
She’s perspiring and this will ease her distress.”

The boy, who barely looked legal, took the
cloth and stared at it a little uncertainly. Georgie nodded her
encouragement and he swiped it hesitantly over his girlfriend’s
face. The cool fabric seemed to calm her and she blew out her
breath on a grateful sigh.

“How much longer?” she rasped. Georgie told
her.

“You’re kiddin’ me!” Wes responded. “You
mean we ain’t even halfway through?”

“It’s a little hard to tell,” Georgie said
calmly. “Everybody’s different. But if I had to guess, I’d say
Sandra is about halfway there. But you’re doing fine, honey.”
Georgie smiled her encouragement, directing her comment to the
patient.

“No one told me it’d hurt so much.” The
woman gasped around another contraction.

“I can arrange for an epidural, if you
like,” Georgie offered. “It will take away the pain.”

Wes nodded enthusiastically, but Sandra
looked less convinced. “I’ve been clean for three months, now. I
don’t want no more drugs.”

“But, Sandy, this is a hospital drug. It’s
different and you won’t feel no pain,” Wes said with a hint of
urgency.

Sandra’s jaw set in a stubborn line and once
again, she shook her head. “No more drugs, Wes. I made a promise to
our baby.”

Wes made a sound of impatience and scrubbed
a dirty hand through his lank and greasy hair. “You’re bein’
stupid, Sandy. Take the fuckin’ drugs! It’s not like you’re gonna
get addicted. These ones are comin’ from the doctor.”

Georgie stepped forward and intervened.
“It’s all right, Wes. She’s doing great on her own. If she doesn’t
want the epidural, that’s fine. There are other things we can
use—hot cloths on her back and massage are other great pain
relievers.” Georgie directed her attention to her patient. “Would
you like Wes to rub your back, Sandra?”

“Yes, please.” The girl moaned and turned
further onto her side.

Wes looked even more uncertain, but placed
his hands on Sandra’s back. With awkward movements, he did his best
to attempt a massage.

“Lower, Wes.” Sandra gasped. “You need to
move lower.”

“Fuck, Sandy, I don’t know what to do! I’ve
never given anyone a fuckin’ massage! What do you expect me to
do?”

Sandra responded with another moan that
escalated in volume and depth for the length of the contraction.
When it was over, she gasped in relief.

“Big, slow breaths, Sandra,” Georgie
murmured. “Just like we talked about. You’re doing great. Take it
one contraction at a time.”

The girl relaxed and Georgie moved closer to
the monitor and checked that the readings were satisfactory. Her
thoughts wandered to Cynthia, who was only a few years younger than
Sandra, and then, of course, they landed on Cameron.

She was disappointed she’d missed his call
the previous night, but he’d phoned after she’d gone to bed. Still,
she was filled with anticipation at the thought of seeing him
again, even if she’d be spending most of the time in the company of
his sister. As soon as her shift was over, she intended to hit the
shops in search of a dress that would be sure to capture his
attention. She had no idea if he could become romantically
interested in her, but she intended to give it her best shot.

“Ow! Ow! It hurts, nurse! It hurts!”

Sandra’s distressed cries broke into
Georgie’s musings and she once again focused her attention on her
patient. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she swallowed a sigh
and returned to the job at hand.

* * *

Cameron reached for the phone that sat on
his desk and dialed the number of the Sydney Harbour Hospital. As
agreed, Deborah Healy had sent over the hospital file belonging to
Danielle Jamison and he’d spent the afternoon going over it. The
information seemed straightforward. The girl had presented to the
hospital with her parents by her side. She was already in labor and
at 1500 hours, after an uneventful delivery, her baby boy was born.
He noted the use of twenty-four hour time. Like the military and
the police service, its use was common practice in hospitals.
Reading further, his heart had skipped a beat when he discovered
the midwife who delivered the child was Georgie Whitely.

The birth report noted that routine tests
were carried out by the midwife and the findings fell within normal
limits. The patient and her baby were returned to the ward within
the hour. They’d been left in the company of the new mother’s
parents.

The information was matter-of-fact and
straightforward and gave no indication of the tragedy that was to
come. Less than twelve hours later, the night nurse would discover
the child had died. Flipping over a few more pages, Cam found the
relevant report. It had been written by the Nursing Unit Manager.
Printed underneath the signature in a small neat script was the
name
Marjorie Whitely
(NUM).