Page 16 of Dead Rattled
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.”
Fitzgibbon shook his head. “When HIPAA came into practice in the mid-1990s, it extended coverage to all individual health information held by covered entities until fifty years after the patient’s death. So, no, we can’t legally access the St. Agnes House records.”
“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.”
“Ifthey 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 mustycorner 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 aboutthatmatter 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 HopeSusannah. 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.”
