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Liz fumed all the way back to the police station and was in a foul mood for the rest of the day. She sat down with Sarge to bring him up to date on what she had found. She told him about Sarah Perkins and about her conversation with Dr. Goodman.
“She confessed, Sarge! She just confessed and said there were more. Can we get an indictment?”
“I don’t know, Roberts. It happened 65 years ago; the statute of limitations has probably run out. Plus you’ve got her age and her health. We can talk to the DA, but I wouldn’t count on him getting too excited about this. Maybe if we can come up with other victims. Any chance she’ll tell you who they are?”
“I doubt it,” Liz said with disgust. “She’s having too much fun yanking my chain. This is all a game to her.”
“She told you she’s dying... maybe she wants to clear her conscience.”
“Doesn’t look as if she’s got much of a conscience to me,” Liz muttered. “But even if we can’t get an indictment, maybe I can at least find out who some of the babies were and try to find their birth parents. Do you think we can get a warrant for her medical records?”
“Probably not, unless we have specific names that we're looking for. Judges don’t like opening up doctors’ confidential files just to let the police go fishing for information.”
“I can go back to the office manager and see if she’ll give me names of ‘the girls’ who Goodman housed in the apartments. But then, she thinks the doctor is some kind of saint. Everyone does. They all talk about her charities and the people she has helped.” Liz shook her head. “I don’t know if people didn’t know what she was up to, or just didn’t care.”
“Maybe some of both,” Sarge told her.
She had other open cases that needed attention, but before she put this one aside for the afternoon, she put in a call to Linda Graly. She told her about Sarah Perkins and that she claimed to have had a baby in Dr. Ramsey’s office, delivered by Dr. Goodman, on January 27, 1946. There was silence and Liz began to wonder if the line had gone dead.
“Are you telling me that this woman is my mother,” Linda asked softly.
“I think so,” Liz told her. “You will probably want to get a DNA test to make sure, but her story seems to match up to the one your mother told you. Her name was Sarah Odem then, and she was 15 years old.”
Linda’s voice choked with tears. “I... I didn’t really expect you to find her, certainly not so quickly. Thank you, Detective. Thank you so much.”
Liz gave Linda Sarah's phone number and address. That was one happy ending... or at least a satisfactory resolution. She wondered how many of the 300 or so babies that Goodman sold knew the truth about their births and were trying to locate their birth parents.
Friday morning, she decided to drive to Lindsay and talk to Goodman’s niece and nephew. She was not sure that they would know anything about her work. However, Goodman said girls came to her from neighboring towns and counties; it was possible her family might have referred some girls to her.
Liz had a map printed from the internet on the seat next to her. She drove south on Highway 99 to Visalia, where she took the interchange for Highway 198 and headed east. Ten miles outside of Visalia, she turned right onto Highway 65, going south. She slowed as it turned into Kaweah Street through the city limits of Exeter, passing the high school and water tower, then back into the country. Although it was still Highway 65, it was a two-lane road, bordered by orange groves on either side. She turned left to follow the highway east for a short way and then around a big curve until she was once again headed south, now on a wide, four-lane highway. She found the street she needed to turn onto and followed the directions, turning left off the highway, then right, two lefts, and another right onto ever-narrower roads. She found the large mailbox with the address printed across the top and turned onto a gravel lane running between rows of orange trees. The leaves were dark green and glossy. The trees were heavy with oranges, many still small and green.
The lane ended in a circular driveway. Beyond the driveway was an expanse of lawn and a large house. It was two stories, white clapboard with a dark gray shingle roof, and a large screened-in porch that wrapped around the front and both sides of the house.
Liz parked the car and got out as a large Great Dane, white with black spots, loped around from the backyard. Liz froze, but the dog sniffed her feet and pant legs, and then pushed her huge head under her hand, evidently wanting a rub.
“She’s not much of a watchdog,” said a man as he stepped out of the house. “But if any burglars come around, they will be too busy rubbing Duchess’s head to actually steal anything.”
Liz laughed and scratched the big dog’s ears. The long, curved tail thudded against the car and Liz thought Duchess would purr, if she were a cat. The man came down the steps of the porch to greet her. He was tall, well over six feet, with bushy white hair. His face was broad, with a wide forehead. Clean-shaven, his gray eyes twinkled. Liz saw a family resemblance and thought he must be Dr. Goodman’s nephew.
“Duchess, get around back,” he ordered and the dog reluctantly turned and walked away. “I’m Henry Goodman Jr.,” he said, extending a large hand to Liz.
“How do you do, Mr. Goodman,” Liz said, shaking his hand. “I’m Detective Liz Roberts. In the course of an investigation, the name Ellen Goodman came up. She is your aunt, right?”
“Sure, she’s my aunt. I don’t know why you drove all the way out here. Aunt Ellen is there in Fresno, in the Flor Rosada Retirement Center.”
“Yes, I know,” Liz said. “I’ve already talked to her. I just want to talk to any family she has to get a little background. Dr. Goodman is quite elderly and she may have forgotten details that you might remember.”
“If you want someone with a memory for details,” he said with a booming laugh, “then Aunt Ellen is the one you need to talk to. The old girl’s memory is better than mine is. Now what is this about? Is Aunt Ellen the focus of your investigation?”
“Yes, actually, she is. And it would be helpful to get as much information as I can from family and friends.”
“I’m not sure what a 97 year old woman who can’t even get out of bed by herself could have done to warrant a police investigation.” Henry chuckled. “I can’t really see anyone throwing her in the pokey.”
Liz smiled. “Mr. Goodman, I’m just trying to get answers for a former patient of hers. I would really appreciate it if I could talk to you.”
“Well, let’s go on inside,” he told her. “It’s cold out here.”
She followed him up the steps and across the porch, furnished with rocking chairs and two couch-type swings. He opened the door and stood back for Liz to enter first. She stepped into a large living room. A braided rug in varying shades of green and gold sat on the polished hardwood floors. The rug's colors were picked up by the dark green sofa and chairs. A vacuum cleaner, soft cloths and a can of furniture polish were there, as well as a mop and bucket sitting just inside the kitchen.
Henry introduced Liz to his sister, Pauline Johnson. She was close in age to her brother, but while he was large, she was tiny, not much over five feet tall and thin. Her white hair was short and curly, her face narrow, her chin pointed. She had the same gray eyes as her brother and aunt. Pauline was spry as she moved about without any hint of her advancing years. Liz sat in a chairs, while the brother and sister settled on the sofa.
“You will have to excuse the disarray,” Pauline said. “We're busy getting ready for the Sabbath.”
“Sabbath,” Liz asked. “Are you Jewish?”
“No,” he said with a chuckle. “Were Seventh-day Adventists, and we observe the Sabbath from sundown on Friday until sundown on Saturday. Are you familiar with the Seventh-Day Sabbath?”
“Well, yes I’m Jewish... half Jewish, anyway. My father was and my mother isn’t, so I probably spent as much time in churches as I did in synagogues growing up. It really wasn’t much for either one of them. Now that you mention it, someone did tell me Dr. Goodman was a Seventh-Day Adventist. Loma Linda University... where your aunt went to medical school... that is a Seventh-Day Adventist institution, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes. My grandmother was an Adventist, so Dad and Aunt Ellen grew up in the church. My parents were always active in the church, but I think Aunt Ellen stopped going once she left school. She’s never shown much interest in it since.”
“This house is beautiful,” Liz said. “It must be nice and quiet out here.”
“Oh, yes,” Henry said. “It’s amazing how quiet it is. Pauline and I grew up in this house. Actually, our grandparents built it and Dad and Aunt Ellen also grew up here, too.”
“And did your children grow up here, too,” Liz asked.
“Oh no,” Pauline said. “Of course, they spent summer vacations here and lots of weekends and holidays. But I moved away to San Francisco when I got married. I didn’t move back to Lindsay until five years ago, when my husband passed away.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Liz murmured.
“I’ve always been in the area,” Henry said. “I was a pharmacist. My wife and I moved back to the ranch when I retired 10 years ago. She passed away last summer.” His face momentarily saddened and then he seemed to shake himself mentally. “Pauline moved here to take care of me.”
“How much property do you have?”
“Only this five acres now. Since neither of us was interested in taking over and making our living from the oranges, Dad started selling it off when he retired. So now there is just this plot with the house and a few orange trees.” Henry leaned forward, clasping his hands and resting his forearms on his knees. “Now, what is it that you want to know about Aunt Ellen, and just what is it that you think she’s done?”
Liz pulled out her notebook and opened it to a blank page.
“A woman came to see me last week. Dr. Goodman delivered her when she was born. Her mother recently died. Before she died, she told this woman that she had not given birth to her. She said that they had bought her as an infant, and that Dr. Goodman... facilitated the sale.”
“Hmmm... so you think that Aunt Ellen sold this baby? Is there proof?”
“The woman had a DNA test done and her mother was not her mother... not her birth mother, at any rate. But Dr. Goodman put her name, and her husband’s name, on the birth certificate.”
“I don’t believe it,” Pauline said, shaking her head. “Aunt Ellen would never do anything to harm a child. She was involved in all kinds of charities for children.” She looked from Liz to Henry and back to Liz. “Isn’t there some other explanation? A mix-up in the hospital, maybe?”
“No, actually, there isn’t. I found the woman who gave birth to that baby and she told the same story. When I spoke to your aunt about it... she admitted that she had sold the baby, and that there were others.”
“That just doesn’t seem possible. I can’t believe Aunt Ellen is capable of such a thing.” Henry shook his head and sat back. “She’s always been a little private about things, but she’s as honest as they come. And ethical.”
“I’m sorry; I know this must be hard. What I’m hoping to do is find out who the other babies were, maybe some of them will want to try to find their birth parents. I know she had apartments for the pregnant girls to live in and she said they came from all around. I thought her family might know who some of them were.”
Pauline reached for a tissue from a box sitting on the end table. She dabbed her eyes and sniffed.
“It don’t understand how this can be,” she said shakily. “Aunt Ellen is 97; we’ve known her all our lives. She was always a loving aunt and devoted to her patients. Now it’s as though we didn’t know her at all.”
She shook her head in disbelief. Henry reached over and patted her hand.
“She never married,” Liz asked.
“No,” Henry replied. “Her love life was something she definitely kept private. She didn’t talk about any men she might have dated.”
“Of course, there were rumors,” Pauline interjected.
“What rumors were those?”
“There was that contractor she seemed awfully close to.”
“Angelo Goldberg.”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“I came across some old newspaper articles that linked their names.”
“He was married,” Henry said. “She never brought him home to meet the family and she never talked about him. I remember Mom tried to ask her about him once, and she just refused to talk about him.”
“And she never had any children?”
“No,” said Henry.
“Well... ” Pauline said at the same time.
“Pauline,” Henry warned.
“This is a police investigation, Henry. If Aunt Ellen really did these things, maybe this had something to do with it. The whole thing never did make any sense.”
“What whole thing,” Liz asked.
“There was one Christmas when Aunt Ellen came home... it was 1940. She had graduated from medical school the summer before, and we all went to Loma Linda for the ceremony. She was an intern in Los Angeles and she came home for Christmas. She was sick the whole time, and moody. One minute she would be laughing over old family stories and the next she would run crying from the room. She yelled at Henry and me for making noise... and Aunt Ellen never yelled at us.”
Henry took up the story. “I was 10 years old and Pauline was eight. One night we overheard our parents talking and Mom said she thought Aunt Ellen was pregnant, because she was so sick and emotional. Dad told her not to mention it again. He said that if it was true, it was up to Aunt Ellen to tell Grandma and Grandpa. She went back to LA and we never did hear any more about her being pregnant.”
“So as far as you knew, she never had a baby,” Liz asked.
“No,” Pauline said slowly. “But there was a baby. Sometime in the fall, she wrote a letter to the family saying that some poor girl had a baby at the hospital and Aunt Ellen was friendly with her, trying to help her out. She said the girl couldn’t care for the baby and had asked her to raise him. She said she was going to adopt him.”
“So you think she actually gave birth to this baby and then made up a story about adopting him?”
Henry shrugged. “Well, Mom sure thought so. All we know is that suddenly she had this baby living with her. She called him Isaac.”
“And where is Isaac now?”
“That’s just it,” Pauline answered. “We don’t know. They took him away from her and we heard he was put up for adoption.”
“Who took him away, and why?”
“The police did, when that whole mess happened with that janitor.”
Liz frowned in confusion. “What mess are you talking about?”
“Well,” Henry said, “we were just kids and neither of us knows exactly what happened, or how Aunt Ellen was involved. But it was a pretty big story back then; you can probably find it in old newspapers.”
“OK, I can do that. What am I looking for?”
“Just look for stories about the janitor. His name was Abraham Moss.”