Chapter 7
Ronan
Ronan, Jude, and Fitzgibbon sat in the West Side Magick conference room going over everything they’d learned yesterday, which, to be honest, wasn’t much. Tennyson and Cope had early morning readings, but would join the others when those obligations ended.
After the kids had gone to bed, Ronan had gotten back online trying to find people associated with St. Agnes House.
The pickings had been slim. There were a few names that he came across repeatedly for the twenty years the maternity home was in operation; Doctors Anthony and Andrew Savini, Nurse Kitty Maxwell, and Matron Elizabeth Peters.
Researching and finding these people was his top priority for the day.
“Is there any way we can get medical records from the St. Agnes House? If we could, we’d have addresses, phone numbers and family member names that we could use to help track down some of these women. ”
“That’s not entirely true,” Jude said. “According to this article, crisis centers aren’t considered covered entities under the HIPAA laws. It’s possible we can get access to the files.”
“If they still exist,” Ten said, walking into the conference room.
“We’re talking about files that would be between fifty to seventy years old, depending on when the babies were born.
Do you honestly think someone held on to those records in some musty corner of the church basement with the old Nativity Scene costumes? ”
“Doesn’t seem likely,” Fitz said.
“Do you think it’s worth a phone call to find out?” Jude asked.
“No!” Ten and Fitz said at the same time.
“Ten said the priest he spoke to didn’t know the graves were empty. If we ask him for these records he’ll put two and two together and destroy the files if he thinks they can damage the church, parish, archdiocese or the Vatican.”
“I agree,” Ronan added. “I hate banging my head against the wall as much as you all do. We need something to break our way to really kick start this investigation. We can’t exactly go to the press based on the word of a seven year old who found empty graves in a cemetery.”
“Going to the press would be a great way to get the word out that we’re looking to reunite birth mothers with the adult children they gave up for adoption,” Jude said. “Of course those vultures would want to know why we wanted to get the word out and who was involved.”
“You might not need HIPAA or the media,” Carson said, running into the room, nearly out of breath.
“Why?” Ten asked.
“Natalie is here. She wants to see you and looks like she’s walking on air.” Carson’s eyes glittered with keen interest.. “I think she’s got big news for you. Do you want me to bring her back here?”
“Please, Carson.” Ten could feel his entire body buzz with excitement. There was only one thing that could bring out that kind of enthusiasm in Natalie.
“Tennyson!” Natalie sang out as she came into the room. Her ear to ear smile dimmed when she noticed he wasn’t alone.”
“Natalie, this is my husband, Detective Ronan O’Mara, his partner, Detective Jude Byrne, and their captain, Kevin Fitzgibbon.”
“Nice to meet you all,” Natalie said. “Is it possible to speak with you about that matter from the other day?”
“Ronan and his colleagues are aware of your situation. I’ve been working with their cold case team for years. They understand and trust my gift.”
Natalie’s gaze moved between all three detectives.
She seemed to be sizing them up. Once she was finished, she took a seat at the table.
“I did what you asked and sent my DNA to public genealogy companies. I was able to overnight samples to several companies and got the results back this morning. I found her, Tennyson! I found Amanda!”
The detectives exchanged a dark look.
“What? I saw that look pass between the three of you. What’s wrong?” Natalie sounded almost frantic.
“We’ve done a bit of investigating on our own, which we’ll tell you about momentarily, but first, tell me all about Amanda. What did you learn?”
Natalie’s attention switched back to Tennyson.
She clasped her hands together. “You’re not going to believe this, but Amanda lives on the north shore in a little town called Newburyport.
Her name isn’t Amanda, her adoptive parents named her Hope Susannah.
She has a husband and three children of her own; triplet boys named Beau, Chance, and Isaiah.
They’re twenty-five years old. Chance is married and has a daughter named Katie.
Can you believe I found my baby girl! I finally have a family of my own. ” Natalie burst into happy tears.
Ronan handed Natalie a box of tissues. He noticed his soft-hearted husband had teared up, along with Jude and Fitz. He could see his partners had questions to ask, but for the moment, all three were holding their tongues.
Ten dashed away tears of his own.
“How did you find out all of this information? Did your grandsons and great-granddaughter show up on the DNA results as well?” Ronan asked.
“Amanda has a public family tree. Her side is empty, save for her children and grandchild. Tim’s side is filled with relations all the way back to his family’s beginnings in Southern France in the sixteenth century.” Natalie reached for another tissue to blot her eyes.
Ronan’s eyes narrowed as he made a mental note to change their family tree on Ancestry from public to private. “I’m guessing that Amanda’s tree is public in the hopes this day would come. Obviously she knows she’s adopted.”
“That was my thought as well,” Natalie said, her emotions back under control. “I came here this morning to tell you what I’d learned, but to also ask if you could help facilitate a meeting between my daughter and I?”
“Yes, I would be happy to reach out to Amanda/Hope. Before we do that, I want to fill you in on what we’ve learned over the last few days.”
“I’m all ears.” Natalie’s hands shook as she reached for the bottle of water she’d brought with her, before taking a sip.
“Our daughter, Everly, has similar gifts to my own, only hers are more powerful,” Ten began.
Natalie’s eyes widened. “How old is she?”
“Seven. Everly’s in the second grade.”
As Ten spoke, Ronan was struck by just how young his daughter actually was.
When he was that age, he read comic books and played with He-Man and Skeletor action figures.
“We went to Angel of Mercy Cemetery to visit Amanda’s grave.
Not only was her grave empty, but for the casket you witnessed being interred, but all of the graves in the St. Agnes House section were empty as well. ”
“What?” Natalie gasped. “Just how many graves are there?”
“Fifty-seven,” Ronan said. “Everly checked every one. There are no bodies buried in any of them.”
“What does that mean? How is this even possible?” Natalie asked, looking horrified.
“We have several theories,” Fitzgibbon added, his voice gentle, “but I think speaking to Amanda and her adoptive parents, if they are alive and willing to have a chat, would go a long way toward figuring out what happened at St. Agnes House all those years ago.”
“I agree. How do we go about finding Amanda’s phone number?” Natalie’s voice shook as she spoke.
“I already found it,” Jude said. “I’ve got a Hope Simons who lives on Lime Street in Newburyport.”
“That’s her,” Natalie said, her eyes filled with tears that weren’t as happy as when she’d first arrived.
“Are you okay?” Ten asked, reaching out a hand, which Natalie grasped like a lifeline.
Natalie shook her head. “I’m terrified. What if she hates me? Or doesn’t want to speak with me? Or curses the ground I walk on?”
“We’re not going to think like that,” Ten said, giving her hand a squeeze.
“We’re going to think positive, happy thoughts about this reunion that you’ve waited your entire life to have.
You and I will keep breathing together, while Ronan dials the number, okay? ” Ten’s eyes were on Ronan as he spoke.
“O-Okay,” Natalie muttered, not letting go of Ten’s hand.
“I’ve never done anything like this in my entire career.” Ronan smiled at Natalie. “I’ve made dozens of death notifications and was never half as nervous and scared as I am to make a life notification.” Ronan took a deep breath.
“I trust you, Detective O’Mara.” Natalie offered Ronan a smile.
Nodding, Ronan dialed the number and hit the speaker button. The sound of the phone ringing filled the room.
“Hello?” a tentative voice asked.
“Is this Hope Simons?” Ronan asked.
“Yes, who’s this?” Hope sounded ready to hang up at any second.
“My name is Detective Ronan O’Mara. I’m calling from the Salem Police Department.”
“Salem Police?” Hope gasped. “Is it Tim or my boys? Has anything happened to my granddaughter?”
“Everyone’s fine, Mrs. Simons. I’m not calling in my official capacity, at least not yet.” Ronan grimaced as he spoke.
“I’m confused. If you’re not calling as a detective, why are you calling me?” Hope asked, sounding wary.
Ronan took a deep breath. He could do this. He could reunite mother and daughter. “I’ve had a conversation with a woman named Natalie Fairchild, who has spent decades looking for a way to reunite with an infant she was told died at birth back in 1972.”
“What?” Hope asked, sounding equal parts curious and scared.
“This is going to sound odd, but my husband is a psychic. His name is Tennyson Grimm.”
“I know him,” Hope said. “Well of him, anyway. He did a public reading at PsychicCon a few months back. I was hoping he’d connect with me, but that didn’t happen.”
“Hi, Hope, this is Tennyson. I’m so sorry I didn’t connect with you then, but hopefully the reason we’re calling today is what you wanted to speak with me about back then.”
“Tell me what you know.”