Chapter 30
A t nine o’clock Saturday morning, Kenyon went back to the University of Michigan library.
She’d been tossing in bed, unable to sleep since five-thirty, having become obsessed with finding out more about what she’d read the night before.
A librarian noticed her interest in the topic of baby-selling cases from the past and suggested she call one of the law professors who’d done research on such cases.
In fact, the librarian said, the professor, one Dr. Crow, taught summer school and often worked in her office on Saturday mornings to catch up on paperwork. Maybe Kenyon would find her there.
Armed with a second article she’d found on microfiche, she walked across campus to the cluster of law department buildings. The red brick buildings would be perfect for a picture labeled “vintage college scene” in the encyclopedia.
Roaming the unfamiliar halls of the third floor of Jeffries Hall – her communication classes hadn’t been anywhere near this part of the sprawling campus – she eventually came upon the office of the professor in question, the sign on the door saying “Dr. Inez Crow, PhD, SJD.
The door stood ajar so when she tapped on it, it swung open to reveal a spacious corner room with large windows on two walls, swathing the room in light.
An ancient maven sat stooped over an antique wooden desk the size of a hearse.
The academician looked up and eyed Kenyon over the rim of her wire-rim glasses that sat perched down her nose. The frown she wore signaled her displeasure at being disturbed.
“Dr. Crow?”
“What.” It wasn’t a question but a barked statement of annoyance.
Kenyon had to remind herself that she wasn’t six, she hadn’t done anything wrong, and this wasn’t the principal’s office.
“I, um, I’m doing research on baby-selling cases and the librarian told me you’ve studied cases like that.
I was hoping we could talk.” She nervously shuffled from foot to foot.
“If you’re busy, perhaps we could set an appointment. ”
The daunting woman’s jaw relaxed, the frown softened, and her eyes sparkled. She shoved her glasses up where they belonged and popped out of her chair. “Come in! Come in!” She motioned her guest in and offered her a chair.
As she sat down, Kenyon couldn’t help but gawk at the cavernous room.
Bookshelves covered the walls, all stuffed to the ceiling, except for a tall oak hutch that reminded her of a medieval apothecary with mysterious doors and drawers.
Messy stacks of papers covered the top of every flat surface, including half the desk.
The woman herself was an enigma. Although an octogenarian, Kenyon guessed, she was spry and ableminded.
Her mass of white hair was pulled up into a careless topknot with wayward wisps escaping in all directions.
What appeared to be chopsticks stuck out of it.
She wore a loose summer dress, dangling earrings, bracelets, and red sneakers.
Quickly deciding she didn’t need to be intimidated by someone wearing red shoes, the novice sleuth liked the spritely maven.
“Are you a student here? What’s your name? You’re not in one of my classes are you?” The professor happily peppered Kenyon with questions.
“Oh. I’m Kenyon O’Brien. I just graduated in communication, so no I’m not in one of your classes.”
“Ah, yes. Kenyon O’Brien, the daughter of the news anchor who everyone knows from TV. Llayne O’Brien. I heard you were on campus the last few years, but we never had occasion to meet. Now, tell me about your research.”
“I’m writing an investigative article to submit as part of a job interview for The Detroit News.
The idea for black market baby-selling cases came up when a friend of mine – her name is Dalia – she recently discovered she was either sold in a legal private adoption or more likely in an illegal one. In Amberton.”
“Amberton! Oh dear girl, I’ve been waiting eons for this!
Someone who has a connection to that case.
I investigated it for years. Interviewed everyone who’d talk to me.
I could never find proof. The state police got involved but that came to nothing.
I wanted the FBI, but they wouldn’t look into it without documentation.
I’ve always believed somebody in that town knew – maybe still knows – something but was paid off.
Would your friend be willing to talk to me? ”
Kenyon hadn’t thought of that. “Well, I don’t know.
She’s pretty busy right now. She and her mom, the woman who raised her, are opening a new business.
And she’s a single mom with a five-year-old.
And she’s dating a new guy.” She stopped herself and paused, deciding to be more candid.
“Truth is, I think she’s in a bit of denial.
I mean, she’s been raised by a couple she considers to be her real parents.
The woman she thought was her biological mother died and before her last breath she told my friend she’d been ‘bought.’ It was a horrific shock.
We took her birth certificate to the Amberton County Courthouse, and they said it’s a fake. But the doctor’s name on it is real.”
“Don’t tell me. Dr. Clive Upton. That damned bastard. How awful for your friend.”
“We couldn’t find out any more at the courthouse but across the street in the park we ran into a Mr. Steinburg. He told us about the suspected black-market baby-selling scheme.”
“Ah. Saul. Good fellow, that man. He and I worked together on this for a long time. With no one with any real information being willing to talk to us, we made little headway.”
Kenyon pulled out the library articles from her tote bag and handed them over. “I found these about a scam in Memphis, Tennessee, a long time ago. People had suspicions and tried to prove it, but it was a long time before the perpetrators got caught.”
Dr. Crow merely glanced at the papers. “Ah yes. The Georgia Tann case. I know it well. Her real name was Beulah George Tann. It ended in 1950 when that evil bitch died only a few weeks before being arrested. She’d been the head of a black-market baby kidnapping and selling syndicate for over twenty-five years, as far as anybody knows.
Sold over 5,000 children. Some to movie stars like Joan Crawford and Dick Powell.
Long before your time but famous in their day.
Joan’s adopted daughter wrote a book called Mommie Dearest , a tongue-in-cheek title.
So you can guess how that mother-daughter relationship went.
Of course, many adopters had no idea the children they were paying for had been stolen.
They thought they were paying for a legitimate private adoption of an otherwise unwanted baby.
” She handed back the articles without needing to read them.
Kenyon disgustedly shook the papers before putting them back into her bag. “It says she was in cahoots with a number of accomplices, including a family court judge and the mayor.”
“There weren’t good laws back then for protecting children. Tann was the director of the Tennessee Children’s Home Society, an unlicensed adoption agency. Greed seemed to radiate out of her into those around her. She had no trouble covering her crimes for a very long time.”
“That’s so awful. It says she’d steal the newborns of unwed mothers and tell the mothers their babies died.
” Kenyon’s voice rose as she became indignant with ire.
“And she’d claim to be taking a child to give it medical care and do the same thing.
She took unwanted, homeless, and poor kids from all over, promising they’d be well cared for by the county.
Then she’d tell the parents their child died, and she’d sell the poor, innocent little beings. ”
Dr. Crow, nodded emphatically. “She had many methods of securing children, including out-and-out kidnapping. She built up a reputation amongst the wealthy, particularly in New York and California, for being the best source for adopting a child. She made a fortune that way. It’s so tragic.”
“It also said that Georgia Tann didn’t hesitate to sell children to pedophiles and sadists, too. Children were murdered. How horrible.” Kenyon ran out of steam, slouching in her chair as her spirit hopelessly deflated at the horror of it all.
“I know it’s heartbreaking. When I first learned about it I couldn’t decide what to feel first – violent anger or sheer disgust or debilitating sadness.
I landed on all three. In the end, Georgia Tann got off the hook by dying herself.
It’s a very sad statement about the human condition that such heathens live among us. ”
The professor got up, went over to a tray table that had a glass kettle of water on a hotplate and turned on the burner. From her apothecary cabinet she took out two china teacups with saucers and two tea bags, a bag going into each cup.
“Do you take cream or sugar?” she asked Kenyon.
“Oh, no thanks. Straight up.”
Dr. Crow talked while she fussed with the tea.
“I’d known about the Tann case for years when I started hearing rumors about something similar in Amberton.
It had happened once, and could easily happen again.
When there’s that much illicit money to be had, unfortunately there’s always somebody around willing to try to get it.
” She handed Kenyon a steaming teacup on its saucer and set her own cup and saucer on her desk.
She went back to her cabinet where she piled English shortbread on a plate and brought it over to share.
Once settled back in her chair, she said, “Now, tell me what you know about Amberton. We’ll compare notes. ”
They sipped tea and nibbled shortbread as they talked. Kenyon didn’t hold back divulging facts, suspicions, and sheer speculation. She even revealed the visit to Nellie Franklin and the stint in jail, which made the older woman laugh.
By the time their tête-à-tête ended Kenyon had learned a lot, and she’d also found a mentor of sorts.
Maybe even a friend. After expressing profuse thanks, she started to go but had become comfortable enough with this woman to reveal one final thought.
“I’ve been thinking of visiting Nellie Franklin one more time. See if I can wear her down.”
Inez Crow’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh yes? When?”
“Tomorrow. I want to ask Dalia if she wants to come. It’s a Sunday and Dalia probably goes to church with her mom and daughter, so it would be in the afternoon.”
“Yes, that’s the right thing to do, to ask her. Might you need a third wheel? Nellie and I go way back. Maybe seeing me again will be the final straw for her.”
“Sure, if Dalia says it’s okay. Now, mind you, we ended up in jail last time. It could be more dangerous this time.”
“ Pfft .” Dr. Crow waved a hand of dismissal.
“Haven’t been in jail since … let’s see.
It’s been a good twenty years. It was, ummm , a march on Washington to protest the Vietnam War.
What a fantastic gathering of like-minded people, in jail and out.
It’s time for me to ruffle some feathers again.
” She cackled like a devilish witch. “In fact, who knows? At my age, this might be my last chance.”
“Okay then. I’ll give you a call when I have details.”
Kenyon took the professor’s home phone number and left feeling the weightlessness of having a glimmer of hope. She might actually get somewhere for Dalia’s sake, and she might actually be able to write a breaking news article. Her future might not be entirely futile after all.