by Chris Taylor
“Yes,” Georgie replied, relieved he was taking it in the manner she meant.
“I admire you for getting her to open up to you and I’m grateful for it. She raised the subject with me this morning over breakfast, so your revelation doesn’t come as a complete surprise.”
Georgie was filled with satisfaction, pleased that Cynthia had taken Georgie’s words of advice to heart. “She did?”
“Yes, I was going to call you and thank you, but I hadn’t found the time.”
“What did she say?”
“Pretty much what you just did, only your name came up in the conversation as the relevant third party. I think she suspects there might be something between us.”
Georgie’s heart beat a little faster. She tightened her grip on her phone. There was something between them? Had Cameron just admitted it? She couldn’t believe how much she wanted it to be true.
“Cynthia was plain about her feelings,” Cam continued. “She wanted to know where she stood; what would happen to her if I moved a girlfriend into my apartment.”
“W-what did you tell her?”
“That it didn’t matter who I was dating; she’ll always have a home with me for as long as she needs it.” His tone lowered to a husky drawl. “I told her I was sure you’d understand.”
A swarm of butterflies took up residence in Georgie’s stomach and her pulse kicked up another gear. She couldn’t believe they were talking about having a relationship; that he’d begun to think of her in that way—the same way she’d begun to think of him.
After leaving his condo, she’d spent the rest of the night dreaming about what it would be like to spend every spare moment with him, claiming him as her own. The fantasies had been overshadowed by her concern about his attitude toward adoption and she’d been kept sleepless for the past two nights. She’d woken tired and restless, yet eager to see him again.
From what he’d just said, he was as keen about her as she was about him, but she needed to be certain. She was way past the age of playing games and the last thing she wanted to do was embarrass herself by presuming feelings that might not be there. She cleared her throat of a bout of nerves. “Just so we’re clear on this, you… You like me, right?”
“I thought I made that clear when I kissed you the other night?”
Georgie blushed once again at the memory, but managed to reply. “Yes, well I guess you did. It was a very nice kiss.”
“Nice?” he asked, his voice tinged with laughter.
Georgie smiled into her phone. “Okay, it was a little more than nice. It was…amazing.”
“Yeah,” he agreed softly, “it was.”
Silence fell between them, like they were both remembering the explosiveness of their first kiss. Georgie couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to take things further.
“I want to kiss you again,” Cameron murmured.
“Me, too,” she admitted breathlessly.
“Where are you?”
“At work. How about you?”
“Same.”
“What time do you finish?”
“Six. How about you?”
“I’m supposed to get out of here at four. If I’m in the middle of assisting a labor, I’ll sometimes stay later, but today I’m working on the post-natal ward, so I should get away on time.”
“We might be able to get together, maybe grab a bite to eat.”
Georgie’s heart skipped a beat. “Are you asking me out?”
There was another brief pause and then Cam said, “Is that all right?”
Excitement and anticipation swirled through Georgie’s belly. An image of her infant son materialized before her, but she steadfastly pushed it away. She forced a grin. “You bet.”
“Great. I’ll call you when I get done here and we’ll work something out. Is that okay?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll wait to hear from you.”
Cam cleared his throat. “I… I was wondering if I could ask you something work-related?”
“Sure.”
“Do you remember when I asked you about the number of babies that have died on your ward during the last twelve months?”
Georgie frowned slightly, bemused at his change of topic. “Yes.”
“I’ve been going over the hospital records. The actual number is fifteen.”
Shock rendered her momentarily speechless. “Fifteen! No, there’s no way that can be right.”
“That’s exactly what Deborah Healy said at first, but the records verify the fifteen.”
Georgie’s thoughts spun madly. She’d worked on Ward Seven the past two years. Surely she’d know if there were more deaths than the ones she’d been directly affected by. The nurses had a handover before the start of every shift. Something like the unexpected death of a newborn would be mentioned as a priority… Wouldn’t it?
She thought back to the three dead infants she knew of and tried to remember whether any reference to them had been made in front of the other staff. She realized that only the death of Cynthia Dawson’s baby had been mentioned by her mother at the handover. For the babies of Danielle Jamison and Sandra Briggs, Marjorie had spoken to her in the privacy of her mother’s office. Was it possible so many more babies could have died on the ward without her knowledge or the knowledge of some of the other nurses? She refused to believe it.
“The records must be wrong,” she replied adamantly. “I know of only three. I… I was involved in the delivery of all three. It’s not something I’ll ever forget. You need to go back to the general manager and get her to check those records out. There must be some explanation for the mistake.”
“That’s the thing, Georgie,” Cameron replied, his voice now scarily somber, “I don’t think there has been a mistake.”
Georgie stared dazedly at the beautiful day that surrounded her and was oblivious to the warm sun on her face. Cameron sounded so certain… But how could that be right? She needed to talk to her mother. Marjorie had been in charge of the ward for many years. She’d know the true numbers. She might also know why the hospital records were wrong. Georgie would go to her right away and seek an explanation. If anyone knew how to set her mind at ease, it was her mother.
“I-I have to go, Cameron. My break’s nearly over.”
“Okay. I guess I’ll call you later.”
If he was puzzled by her abrupt farewell, Georgie didn’t care. She had to speak to her mother and get this sorted out, once and for all.
With that, she finished what was left of her coffee and tossed the Styrofoam cup into the trash. Brushing off her skirts, she headed back to the ward. She was halfway back when another thought raised its head: Cameron was a detective. Why was he looking at the hospital records? Though she had nothing to fear, she shivered with a sudden premonition that her life was about to be turned on its end—and not in the way she imagined.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Cameron stared at the files piled high on his desk and sighed. He was certain Georgie’s shock at the number of babies who had died on her ward over the past year was genuine and that certainty only emphasized the GM’s suspicion that the lines of communication had broken down.
The three most recent deaths were the ones Georgie had referred to and she’d been the midwife on duty during the births, though the files showed she’d not been on duty when the infants died. According to the hospital notes on each patient, autopsies had been offered, but none of the mothers had taken up the opportunity to possibly get answers into the cause of their babies’ deaths. His sister included.
Cynthia’s file had been among the most recent baby deaths that had occurred on Ward Seven. Georgie’s report of the labor was much as she’d said: The labor was uneventful. Cynthia delivered a healthy baby girl. There were no abnormalities detected on the tests conducted on the baby straight after her birth. The report was eerily similar to the one he’d read in Danielle Jamison’s file.
The later report, prepared by Marjorie Whitely in her capacity as the Nu
rsing Unit Manager, stated that at 0200 hours, the baby was found in her crib, cold and unresponsive. CPR was administered, but the baby couldn’t be revived. The mother had been informed and was understandably devastated. An autopsy was offered, but declined. It was Marjorie Whitely’s opinion that the baby died from complications arising from the mother’s long-term, illicit drug use.
The line caught Cam’s attention and he frowned. Cynthia hadn’t done drugs… How could the NUM have gotten it so wrong? He flipped over a few pages and found a copy of the hospital’s death certificate which gave SIDS as the cause of death. It had been signed by a Doctor Frederick Rolleston, who had a string of letters after his name.
Had Marjorie Whitely merely presumed Cynthia’s baby died from the side effects of her mother’s drug habit, without ever giving the matter serious consideration? Was it because the majority of patients who gave birth on Ward Seven were drug addicts that she’d jumped to the most obvious conclusion? Was that all it was? A mistake made in the early hours of the morning when no other evidence of the cause of death was forthcoming?
To Cam, it sounded sloppy at best. He couldn’t help but think of the premier’s accusations. Could there be something more sinister at play? Could there be a murderer on Ward Seven? Or alternatively, could someone be stealing babies and selling them?
The very thought was ludicrous, but once it had formed, Cam found it impossible to dislodge it from his brain. With an impatient curse under his breath, he flipped through the remaining files.
The twelve other files contained much the same information. The major difference was that Georgie wasn’t the midwife present at the delivery. Out of the twelve, four deliveries had been assisted by a nurse by the name of Jennifer Proctor. Another three had been delivered by Nurse Olive Bardon. The remaining five listed Julia Flowers as the midwife.
Interestingly, the night nurses on duty at the time the babies died were smaller in number. Cam accepted that in most professions where shift work was necessary, there were a certain type of staff who preferred to work nights. The staff on Ward Seven appeared to be no different. In almost all of the cases where babies had died unexpectedly, two names consistently appeared: Rosemary Lawson and Tammie Sinclair.
In itself, it wasn’t necessarily alarming. Staff who preferred to work night shifts tended to work only those shifts. It wasn’t unusual in itself to find the same two names showing up on almost all of the reports. The women worked permanent nights. The babies had all died in the early hours of the morning. But, he needed to find out more about the nurses. He needed to interview them and get a sense of them; find out what they had to say.
Cameron thought about Georgie and not for the first time wondered if it were wise for him to get involved with a woman who could very well be a witness in his investigation. At this point in time, he wasn’t sure if there would be an investigation, but his gut was telling him something was definitely off. Just like his gut instinct told him to believe Georgie had nothing to do with it—whatever it was.
What he knew with certainty was that he didn’t want to lose her. In all of his twenty-seven years and countless women during that time, he’d never felt like he did with her. The mood between them was so relaxed and comfortable, like they’d known each other for years. She was sweet and kind and smart and beautiful. And when they kissed… Whoa! The passion had been instant and explosive. He couldn’t wait to kiss her again…and more.
With a sigh, Cam went to close Cynthia’s file. Josephine’s death certificate stared back at him. On a hunch, he checked the other files for death certificates and discovered that, though the names and dates were different, they’d all been signed by Doctor Frederick Rolleston and like Josephine’s certificate, the cause of death for each of them was the same: Undetermined. Probable cause SIDS.
Cam frowned. The same doctor had been on duty each and every time. The likelihood of that happening seemed highly improbable. Surely a hospital as large and busy as Sydney Harbour had a number of obstetricians employed? And yet one man had certified every single one of the unexplained infant deaths.
Staring at the papers in front of him, Cam’s heart thumped. Dread trickled like icy tentacles through his veins. Something strange was happening on Ward Seven of the Sydney Harbour Hospital. He was sure of it. The only things he wasn’t certain of was who was involved…and why.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Georgie returned to the ward with her heart beating fast, intent on finding her mother and demanding some answers, but one of the other nurses informed her Marjorie had left for a meeting. Disappointed, Georgie did her best to keep her mind off Cameron’s bombshell by spending extra time with the babies in her care.
Most of them had been born weeks before they were due. Premature birth was another common side effect of illicit drug use during pregnancy. Some of the preemie babies had difficulties feeding and that left both mother and baby tired and irritable. One tiny infant, Nathan, was particularly upset. Georgie glanced at his mom who lay groaning in her sleep, the recent track marks up her arms, clear for all to see.
Bending over the crib, Georgie lifted Nathan out of his bed and cuddled him close. A surge of protectiveness rushed through her and for a few seconds, she was transported back to the night, twelve years earlier, when for the tiniest amount of time, she’d held her newborn son against her chest. The feeling almost overwhelmed her and she closed her eyes against the pain. Blinking furiously, she forced back hot tears.
The baby continued to fuss and squirm and she switched positions. Lifting him over her shoulder, she patted him on the back. Swaddled tightly for security and warmth, she jiggled him gently up and down and murmured wordless sounds of comfort. Scanning his chart, she noted he was due for a bottle. No wonder he was irritable. With Nathan in her arms, she headed for the milk room.
The bottles were all labeled with the name of each baby’s mother and Georgie took care to check each label closely. Although all of the bottle-fed babies were given the same kind of formula, each infant had their own bottle. Locating Nathan’s, she put it into the microwave and quickly warmed it. She took a seat in one of the comfortable recliners in the back of the room and coaxed Nathan with the teat.
The baby continued to fuss, even though his mouth opened and closed in a desperate effort to grasp the teat. Patiently, Georgie used her finger to ease the teat past his lips. When he finally sucked it into his mouth and hungrily began to feed, she was filled with a fierce surge of satisfaction. Relaxing against the recliner, she closed her eyes and let the baby take his fill.
The bottle was almost empty when Nathan finally pulled away. A tiny bubble of milk remained on his rosebud lips. His eyes drifted closed and within moments, he’d fallen soundly asleep. Wriggling to the edge of the recliner, Georgie stood and went over to the change table that had been conveniently set up in one corner of the room.
Careful, so as not to wake him, she changed Nathan’s diaper and then swaddled him with a wrap once again. Babies suffering from withdrawal needed the comfort and security of being held close and tight and the swaddling served this purpose well, especially if Mom wasn’t well enough or interested in cuddling. Georgie put the sleeping baby over her shoulder and was gratified when he let out a little burp. Almost immediately, his eyes closed once again in sleep. She smiled and her heart filled with joy.
For years, she’d resisted her mother’s urging to train as a midwife. Georgie was content to nurse sick children. A part of her was afraid about how she’d react watching other women give birth. The absolute joy of welcoming a baby into the world; the indescribable hours of wondrous discovery and bonding, surrounded by a halo of love. They were things Georgie had been cheated of and she was sure she wouldn’t be able to cope watching them happen for others.
Her mother kept telling her she was wrong, that working in a maternity ward was exactly what she needed. When Marjorie intimated that Georgie was afraid of becoming a midwife, Georgie at last found the courage to apply for the course and prov
e her mother wrong. And she hadn’t regretted her decision.
While it was heartbreaking to witness yet another drug-addicted woman give birth, Georgie loved being surrounded by babies. Each and every one of them was a special gift from God and she couldn’t help but feel guilty over her decision to give her son away.
Working on Ward Seven became her penance and eased the turmoil in her soul. Over time, she came to love the hours she spent there. She strove hard to ease the suffering of the newborns and offered unconditional support and compassion to their moms. She gave it her everything and took from it comfort and satisfaction, knowing she’d done all she could to help.
She turned and headed toward the exit with the sleeping baby snug in her arms. The door to the milk room opened and Marjorie stood before her. At the sight of her mother, Georgie’s heart skipped a beat.
“Here you are, Georgina. Julia told me you were looking for me.”
Georgie’s heart picked up its pace. Now that the moment of confrontation was upon her, she wasn’t sure she had the courage to give voice to the questions that burned inside. A sense of foreboding told her she wasn’t going to like the answers. She stared at her mother with a steady gaze and knew she didn’t have a choice. Her mother was in charge of Ward Seven. She had to know what was going on.
“Yes, I… I needed to ask you some questions.”
Her mom looked at her long and hard and Georgie did her best not to squirm. It felt like Marjorie could see right through her to the questions she dreaded to ask.
Or maybe Georgie was imagining the tightness around her mother’s lips? Maybe there was a perfectly reasonable explanation about why fifteen babies had died on Ward Seven shortly after delivery and why it was that Georgie was only aware of three. There was only one way to know for sure. With her courage in both hands, she took a deep breath and plunged in.
“Why didn’t you tell me about all the other babies that have died in the past year? Each time a baby of mine died, we talked about it, including the most recent death. Why haven’t you ever said anything about the other twelve?”