The Baby Snatchers by Chris Taylor Page B

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).
    He frowned. Marjorie Whitely. Could
the woman be Georgie’s relative? Perhaps her sister? Or even her
mother? With no way of knowing Marjorie’s age, any possibility
could only be a guess. Then, of course, there was the possibility
that the woman wasn’t related at all. He wrote down the name on his
notepad. Just another thing he’d ask the general manager.
    A copy of the preliminary death certificate
was attached to the file. The