Michael Baden - Remains Silent

You must promise, my heart. For Joseph’s sake and for mine, you must accept what is inevitable. God is more powerful than Dr. Ewing. I believe it is His will to take me to His bosom and to leave you and Joseph on this frail earth to live out your lives in happiness. You are forgiven- by me and by God.

So this is goodbye. It is the heart that animates life. When the murmur of the heart finally ceases, the rest remains silent. I cover you with a thousand million kisses and feel yours in return.

Your Isabella

Pete had attached a note:

Jake,

For God’s sake show this to no one. It is a sacred treasure, and I entrust it to your care.

P

A treasure indeed, Jake thought. After Pete guessed who the bones belonged to, he must have swiped the dental records and the photographs from the Academie on Friday afternoon. Maybe he was still hoping it wasn’t her, but when the mandible was unearthed Saturday afternoon- bingo. When we discovered the other bones, he had his proof that she had not died in childbirth but had been killed, so he left the note in my glove compartment and hid the dental chart and pictures in “Gardiner’s” samples for dual protection. The poor shell of a man. What a shock it must have been. No wonder he was so sick that day. His sins had come back to claim him.

MANNY CALLED Jake’s cell phone and told him everything she’d discovered. “I’ll go to Haskell Griffith,” she said. “He’s the best lawyer I know. Fought the government a number of times- even won a few. I’ll co-counsel with him. I want to get back at those roaches, those who are still alive. It’s personal.”

“Where are you calling from?”

“Home.”

“You’re back in the city?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.”

“Why? I’m lying here in bed, dressed in a diaphanous La Perla nightgown, waiting for my lover to get his ass across town and fill my bedroom with the intoxicating odor of eau de formaldehyde.”

“You’ll have to call a different ME,” Jake said. “I’m on my way to Albany. I thought if you were still upstate, you could do the investigation with me.”

“What investigation?”

“To find Isabella’s baby’s adoptive parents.”

Manny sat up, electrified. “You mean the child’s alive?”

“Hardly a child anymore. And I’ve no idea if he’s alive. Still, it’s worth a try. Maybe Pete found him, kept in contact with him, supported him.”

“Talk about a needle in a haystack. Couldn’t you at least wait to go until tomorrow morning?”

“I want to get there first thing. I’ll find a motel for the night. Maybe pick up a hot tootsie to keep me company.”

“Try it and I’ll know. I have the nose of a bloodhound.”

“But not, thank goodness, the looks.”

“I still say it’s a waste of time.”

“How many babies were adopted in this area in 1964? It shouldn’t be that difficult.”

“If the adoptive parents lived in the area, and if they still live there, and if they’re still alive, and if it was a legal adoption. You’re right: shouldn’t be difficult at all.”

“If I can’t find him, it’s not so terrible. I’ll have only wasted a day.”

“Worse,” Manny said. “You’ll have wasted a night.”

It was a huge haystack. Jake sat in the Hall of Records cursing himself; the task seemed formidable. The Baxter County clerk had been a friend and admirer of Dr. Harrigan- knew him when he worked at Turner. Harrigan had told him nice things about Jake. So when Jake called him and told him he needed to look through the records as a part of a murder investigation, he readily permitted it. There were over twelve thousand adoptions recorded for the year 1964. How would I know the right couple even if I found them? Did Isabella use Pete’s last name? He looked up “Baby Harrigan.” Nothing. Mostly the babies were listed by their first name. “Baby Joseph.” He riffled through the pages. Twelve Baby Josephs, though he might have missed a few. Slowly he matched them with their adoptive parents; if necessary, he’d contact them all. He took out his notebook and began to jot down names and addresses.

Abbot, Cohen, Fronz, Giordano, Levine, McAuliffe, Murray, Pavlin, Rodgers, Snell, Tracy… He raised his head and threw down the pen. The truth hit him with the force a pilot feels when his plane breaks the sound barrier. He raced through the remaining pages, skipping U and V.

There it was. Baby Joseph.

Winnick.

Manny had slept with her previous best lover, Mycroft. Kenneth had brought the precious poodle home from Rose’s, and their mutual delight with the reunion was expressed in an orgy of kisses, hugs, and exclamations of delight.

Now, rested and healing nicely, she was determined to spend the day on her own work. She had the Martin settlement conference on her schedule this morning, and it couldn’t be adjourned. Kenneth had called early to make sure she wasn’t going to be late for court; he would bring the file in the car with him.

The phone rang as she was going out the door.

“Ms. Manfreda?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Lawrence Travis in the ME’s office. Dr. Rosen called from upstate. He wants to apologize for not calling you himself, but he’s at a crime scene where there’s no cell service. He needs to show you something important, and then he wants to take you to dinner. He wants you to meet him at Bellevue later- around six o’clock.”

Manny would be finished with the Martin hearing by three; it would give her the rest of the afternoon to catch up.

“No problem. In his office?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Manfreda, could you repeat what you just said?”

“Where does he want me to meet him? At his office?”

“In the morgue. He says he’s found something relevant to the bones. I have no idea what he meant, but he said you’d understand.”

“I sure do.”

The morgue. How exciting.

Dora and Joseph Winnick lived in a small but neatly kept and freshly painted two-story house on a modest farm in Hillsdale, New York, not forty miles from Albany. Jake had no trouble finding it, having been given precise driving instructions. He had called, told them his name, and was greeted with the honor accorded to the Queen of England. Wally’s boss? They had heard so much about him; Wally had never been so happy or so fulfilled. Dr. Rosen was welcome. On such short notice, would it be acceptable if they served a simple salad for lunch?

It was more than acceptable, he had assured them, and arrived to find a platter of chicken, meats, and cheeses along with greens, radishes, mushrooms, cucumbers, spectacular bread, and a homemade apple pie, still warm from the oven.

Wonderful people, Jake thought, touched by their generosity and warmth. No wonder Wally’s so kind, so giving. He spent much of the meal answering questions about himself; only when he had forced down a second portion of pie was he able to ask about Wally.

“Joseph’s brother William- deceased now, alas- worked as a groundskeeper at Turner Hospital,” Dora said. She was a birdlike creature in her late seventies with a face, skin, and stance as testaments to a life lived mainly outdoors. “Joseph and I couldn’t have children of our own. One day a Dr. Ewing called- the dearest man- and asked if we were interested in adopting a newborn baby.”

Joseph, tall, lean, and equally weathered, took his wife’s hand. “Seems William had mentioned our plight to Dr. Ewing. Warned us that the child had a physical defect, a clubfoot, but was sound of mind and heart. Would we like to visit the hospital and see him?”

Dora’s eyes sparkled at the memory. “He had the sweetest face! Couldn’t have been a month old, but he waved his little hands at us, as though to say hello, and I picked him up, and- well, he just seemed to fit.”