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White Hills Landfill in Sanpete County could be a permanent tomb for a tiny body.
The county Sheriff's Office called off the search for what was said to be a stillborn infant this week after deputies and landfill workers combed 100 square yards 24 feet deep but found nothing.
Officers will talk to witnesses again -- the teenage mother, her friend. But without a body, prosecutors will have nowhere to go.
"We don't know where to turn from here," says Sheriff Kevin Holman.
It all seems so been-there, done-that. So unnecessary. So sad.
Utah's Safe Haven law was supposed to prevent this from happening. Eight years ago, when it seemed girl after girl dumped her baby -- in an airport toilet, in a dresser drawer, in a park -- Utah lawmakers passed legislation allowing mothers to give up their newborns within 72 hours. No questions asked.
And still, a teen mother in Vernal tired of pregnancy paid a man last month to beat her into miscarriage. On May 4, investigators started sifting through garbage after they were told a teen dropped her stillborn baby into the trash. A few years ago, West Valley City police started an investigation -- even releasing the mother's handwritten note to the media -- when a baby was left on the steps of a ward house. A week later, they dropped it, belatedly worried about discouraging other teen mothers from abandoning infants while they were still breathing.
"We're on TV. We're on radio.
In eight years, it's hard to say how many babies have been saved in Utah. No one really keeps track.
"There's a lot of ifs," says Jenny Mayfield, adolescent-health coordinator with the Utah Department of Health. Some girls walk away after delivering in a hospital. Others, like the girl in West Valley, wrap their babies in a blanket and leave them on the church steps. The law designates emergency rooms as drop-off spots.
"We don't know how many babies end up in Dumpsters. We don't know how many babies we've saved," says Arent. She figures maybe half a dozen.
That's half a dozen that didn't end up in the dump.
The law has made strange allies of anti-abortion activists and civil libertarians alike. Conservatives who originally panned the law now back it as a viable alternative to abortion.
The Safe Haven law is funded piecemeal with occasional state money and donations. Promotion is both formal and informal: Four years ago, the state launched a 24-hour hot line ( 1-866-458-0058) and web site (http://www.utahsafehaven.org). There's a slick DVD about the law that will be incorporated into the state's health curriculum for junior high and high school students. And two weeks ago, Safe Haven volunteers went to X96's Big Ass show at Usana Amphitheater to pass out lip balm wrapped in the hot-line number.
"It takes awhile," says Jeri Openshaw, a television producer who worked for KUTV and KSL.
Openshaw compares the campaign to the "Baby Your Baby" drive for prenatal care. It took three years for that initiative to infiltrate public consciousness and become a household phrase. She passed out Safe Haven lip balm all day.
"There are still some people who looked at me with blank stares," she says. "But I think we're getting there."
Readers note: The hotline number listed has been corrected from an earlier version.
