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Even then, he’d wait for the DNA reports before he shared that information with anyone. He’d had the collection of samples overnighted to his lab, and then went to see the former head of the hospital, to talk about the facility back in the nineties.
That’s where he was now—sitting in the driveway outside the mansion of former St. Francis Hospital CEO Orson Tate. He killed the engine of the Jag and walked up to the front door.
It was an impressive home, filled with all the charm a traditional Charleston home should have, but few could afford. It wasn’t an historical landmark, but a new building with classic details, bordering the golf course behind it. Harley rang the doorbell and waited a few moments before Orson Tate answered. He had a full head of white hair, and was wearing bifocals and a sweater.
“Mr. Dalton?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Come on in,” the older man said, gesturing inside as he stepped out of the doorway.
Harley shook his hand after he closed the door behind them. “Thank you for taking the time to speak with me today, Mr. Tate.”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty of time. I can’t play golf every day. At least that’s what my wife tells me. Come this way. We can chat out in the sunroom. My wife put out some tea and cookies for us.”
He followed the man through the house and out a pair of French doors to a sunroom that overlooked the golf course. His prized view included a water hazard with a fountain that attracted cranes and other wildlife. Harley could see a group of golfers out on the course, laughing and playing the nearby hole.
The two of them settled into a pair of white wicker patio chairs with a platter of sweet iced tea and sugar cookies between them. Harley took out his phone to record the conversation, as he always did, and got started on their chat.
“So what’s this all about, Dalton
?” Tate asked as he took a sip of his tea and sat back in the cushions with a weary sigh. “Jeffries didn’t tell me much on the phone, just that you would be in touch.”
Harley imagined that the current CEO wanted as few people as possible to know about the situation. “Mr. Jeffries hired me to look into allegations that babies were switched at the hospital back in 1989. Specifically during Hurricane Hugo.”
Orson winced and shook his head sadly. “That was a hell of a thing. Absolute chaos. I like to think we ran a pretty tight ship at St. Francis, but if something was going to go awry, that would’ve been the time for it. We were so close to the coast we got hit hard. It was all hands on deck. Even I was giving out water and helping nurses in triage. You know it’s bad when that happens.”
He could only imagine. Harley had been just a few months old at the time, with no memories of the storm, but his mother had spoken about it from time to time. Everyone in Charleston did. You didn’t even have to say hurricane. It was just Hugo, like some beast had come ashore and ravished the town.
“Mr. Jeffries gave me access to all the files. There wasn’t much in terms of security in place back then, at least not that survived the last thirty years. Even then, I can’t help but think it would’ve had to have been an inside job. Perhaps one of the doctors or nurses working the floor. They were the only individuals who would’ve had access to the babies.”
The older man nodded thoughtfully. “We considered our technology to be state of the art back then, but it’s nothing compared to now. They damn near put a GPS tracker in their diapers these days. I hate to think one of our staff might have been involved in something like that, but you’re right. It’s that or gross incompetence, and I can’t imagine how that could happen. The babies each had name bands that matched them to their parents. The bands stayed on through baths, treatments, even surgery if it was needed. You had to practically cut them off the baby’s leg when they were discharged. They did not slip off. Never.”
That confirmed Harley’s suspicions that someone had deliberately done it. He couldn’t imagine how it would happen otherwise. That meant it was time to dive into the staff’s backgrounds. “I reviewed the personnel files for everyone who was working in the maternity ward during the storm.” Harley reached into his bag and pulled out copies of photos taken for their hospital ID cards. He handed them over to Orson. “I don’t expect you to remember every employee that worked at the hospital, but I was hoping maybe you might remember something about them that might help the investigation.”
Orson flipped through the photos, studying each one thoroughly. “Dr. Parsons and Dr. Ward. Two great physicians. Never saw them lose their cool even under unimaginable stress.” He turned over a photo of a nurse next. “Karen was one of our best. Uh... Karen Yarborough, I believe. She retired from the hospital after over forty years working labor and delivery. I remember her well. These other two, not so much. Although...” His voice trailed off as he studied the last photo. “This one stands out to me, but I don’t remember why. What’s her name?”
Harley glanced at the photo of the dowdy redhead. “That’s Nancy Crowley,” he said, flipping through his notes. “She worked at the hospital from 1987 to 1990, although only for a few months in maternity. Looks as though she left St. Francis not long after the hurricane, judging by what I wrote down.”
“Ah,” the older man said, tapping the picture with his finger. “I remember now. She didn’t quit. I’m sorry to say it, but she killed herself. There were rumors that she had a drinking problem and some issues at home, but I can’t be sure of it now.”
Harley had a hard time disguising his surprise. He turned back to the notes and realized that her termination date was less than a week after the storm. “May I ask what happened?”
“She threw herself off the roof of the hospital. I had plenty of employees die during my twenty-five-year tenure, a few even committing suicide. It’s high stress work, after all. But Nancy was the only one who did it on hospital property. That’s hard to forget. It haunted the staff, especially the ones who found her. We had to bring in trauma counselors to help folks work through it. Her coworkers couldn’t understand it. They said she was always so upbeat and friendly with the staff and the patients. If she had a drinking problem, she hid it well enough. No one suspected anything until it was too late.”
Harley listened thoughtfully. It was an interesting lead to follow up with later. He’d have his team look up anything they could find on Nancy’s death. The timing was too coincidental to ignore. “Did you ever hear anything else about it? Was a police investigation conducted?”
Orson nodded and handed the photos back to him. “Yeah, but it was pretty open-and-shut. The roof was restricted access. Surveillance cameras showed her going up there alone. When they spoke with her brother and her boyfriend, they all seemed pretty torn up about it. They didn’t expect something like that from her, either. I guess you never can tell. Everyone has their demons.”
* * *
When the alarm went off Monday morning, Jade woke up to a cold, empty bed. Harley had been there when she’d fallen asleep, but judging by the feel of the mattress beside her, he’d been awake for a while. She pulled on her robe and stumbled down the hallway to search for him.
Harley was sitting at the kitchen table, staring down at his coffee mug as though the answers to all the questions of the universe would be in there. Jade watched him curiously as she walked past him, poured her own cup of coffee and then sat at the kitchen table across from him.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, skipping the morning pleasantries. He wasn’t in the mood, judging by the look on his face. “Did you get any sleep?”
“Not really. I have too much to think about.”
