An Accidental Life (28 page)

The courtroom was silent.

“Your Honor,” he said, in a firm, steady voice. “I’ll make this brief. Under your instructions, both the State and the Defense have stipulated that the issue in this case is not abortion. We are here today because of the murder of an infant born alive during an abortion procedure. The abortion was performed by the Defendant.” Here he turned, angling his body toward Charles Vicari. Vicari appeared to be looking straight ahead.

“The State will prove beyond a reasonable doubt that after the live birth of Glory Lynn Chasson’s infant son, the Defendant’s actions knowingly and intentionally caused the death of that child.”

He waited a beat, turned back to face the judge, dropped both arms to his sides, and added, “Your Honor, this is a case of an
accidental
life.”

Alice shivered. Peter Jacobs continued for ten more minutes about the things the State intended to prove during this trial, but her vision blurred and she couldn’t think. Instead, memories rose of that night in Chicago. She closed her eyes, willing them to go away, with Peter Jacob’s words reverberating in her brain—over and over again came the words: an accidental life.

When at last she could focus on what was happening, the prosecuting attorney seemed to be wrapping up.

“In summary,” Peter was saying. “The State will prove that the Defendant’s actions harmed two people, Your Honor. There are two victims in this case—Miss Glory Lynn Chasson, and her child—Infant Chasson.”

With a dramatic pause, Peter stepped back from the lectern. Alice studied the judge’s face, looking for some hint of what he might be thinking. But his expression was blank. He seemed almost bored.

She watched as Vicari tilted his head back, observing the prosecutor as he walked back to the table as though he were a specimen on a slide back in his medical school days. That was the same righteous and uncompromising look the physician had given her and every other nurse at New Hope every day.

Fierce tears rose and anger swept her—fury for giving in to these emotions and fury toward Vicari. She’d promised herself that she’d not let this happen if she came here today. Yanking a Kleenex from her purse, Alice dabbed the corners of her eyes. She’d thought that by now the deepest parts of the wounds had healed. But she was wrong.

Judge Morrow was speaking. “Mr. McConnell, are you ready for your opening statement?”

McConnell stood up. “Defense will present an opening statement at the close of the State’s case, Your Honor.”

“Very well.” The judge glanced at the clock hanging on the wall over the jury box. It was twelve fifteen. “We’ll recess for lunch, now, and return at two o’clock. He turned to Peter. “Be prepared to call your first witness then, Counsel.”

“All rise,” the bailiff called.

32

As Judge Morrow disappeared through the
door, the hum of the voices behind him rose. Peter picked up his briefcase and looked at Dooney. “Who’s with Glory Lynn?”

“Shauna’s got her. They’ll be here at one thirty.”

“Good.” If anyone could keep the witness calm, Shauna Rameri could. The paralegal was a star, every lawyer in the DA’s office fought to have her on their team. Shauna was organized and efficient, with a warm, easy-going personality.

“Let’s grab some lunch,” he said, picking up his briefcase. “I told Mac we’d be at Lockdown Brown’s and to join us if he has time. I want to talk to Mac, see if he’s made progress finding that Chicago nurse.”

Dooney nodded. She glanced down at the boxes and briefcase. “They’ll be all right in here,” Peter said. Then she put on her coat and slung her purse over her shoulder.

Dry heat and the smell of hamburgers hit them as they walked into Lockdown Brown’s. The restaurant was empty, except for an elderly man hunched over his plate at a table in the corner, and a woman wearing blue scrubs sitting at the counter. She didn’t look up from her paper when they entered. Peter gestured toward an empty booth by a window. Dooney slid in on one side, and Peter on the other. Dooney reached for the menu.

“You ordering the same thing?”

“Sure.” He opened the briefcase and pulled out a yellow legal pad. “You should have that menu memorized by now,” he said. He put the tablet down on the table and slipped sideways out of the seat. “Be right back. I need to call Mac.”

He went to the pay phone booth in the corner and slipped in a dime. Then he dialed the number for Mac’s office and waited.

Mac answered at once. “How’d it go?”

Peter leaned a shoulder against the wall of the booth, looking through the glass door. “All right, I guess. I’d have rather been talking to a jury.” He watched the woman at the counter folding her newspaper. She put it on the counter beside her and picked up her purse. “Have you been able to get Lucy Ringer on board yet?”

“She’s furious about that story I told her. Says she can’t remember what we talked about when I was up there, and she’s positive it won’t come back to her anytime soon. I told her the long arm of the law could reach that far, but she didn’t blink. Says she’ll lose her job if she testifies.” He paused. “And she’s probably right.”

Peter turned, studying the wall. He’d known it was a long shot, but couldn’t vanquish the disappointment.

“So now we’ve got to find that nurse, Alice Braxton. Any luck yet?”

“A little. She’s activated her Louisiana license.”

“So she’s practicing somewhere in the state. That’s good news.”

“Easy as finding a goldfish in the Gulf.”

“We’re recessed ’til two. Dooney and I are at Lockdown’s. We’re putting Glory Lynn on this afternoon. Everything set for tomorrow?”

“Yeah. We worked with the out-of-town witnesses on the phone all last week. They’re set. Listen, I’m on my way, order me something, will you? A hamburger’s good. Dressed. Ice tea.”

“You got it.” He hung up and pushed the door open. The woman at the counter was digging through her purse. She pulled out a wallet and looked around. Spotting the waitress, she held up a couple dollar bills. The waitress nodded and left the cloth on the table that she’d been wiping down.

Dooney lounged back against the burgundy vinyl seat, watching people passing by on the sidewalk. “Mac says Alice Braxton’s in Louisiana. She reactivated her license.”

“That’s good news.”

Peter pulled a pen from his pocket and looked down at the tablet containing notes for the first witness, Glory Lynn Chasson. He ran his eyes down the page, mentally checking off the points he would need to make. Glory Lynn would set the scene. She’d tell her story—paint a dramatic picture that he hoped would stick with the judge throughout trial. Going first was one of the benefits of prosecution.

“How’s Rebecca holding up?” Dooney said.

Peter made a small dot at the end of each paragraph as he ran his eyes down the pages. “She’s doing fine. She was bored for a few days, and then one of her partners in the Mangen & Morris trial section asked her to write another appellate brief.” He glanced up. “She’s getting some good experience on those things. She thinks Brightfield—that’s her partner—might be angling to set up a new appellate section in the firm.”

“How’s she doing the research?”

“She’d been giving her secretary lists of cases, then the firm sent photocopies to her. But a couple weeks ago I bought her a computer.” He smiled. “It was a surprise, an IBM. It’s one of those new personal computers. It’s small; not like the big ones, the mainframes. You’ve probably seen them before; some libraries have them now. They’ve got databases in various areas. And some news reports are available, like the AP wires.”

“We learned a little about that in law school. They’re amazing. But everyone’s still using books.” With a wry smile, she added, “No surprise.”

His eyes were on his notes, but he thought of Rebecca’s expression when he’d wheeled the computer into the bedroom. Without explaining, first he’d brought in a small table, placing it next to the one that held her nightlight and phone and other things. Then he’d wheeled in a rolling desk, one with a top that would slide over her legs in bed, like hospitals use, but the sliding part was wider. He’d bought it at a medical supply store on Claiborne Avenue.

But her eyes had grown wide and her mouth had dropped open when he’d brought in the computer, monitor, and keyboard. He’d put the computer on the new table, and the monitor and keyboard on the rolling desk. Then he’d hooked them all up according to the directions.

“Just look at this,” he’d said, holding his hands up like a magician when he’d finished. He slid the desktop with the monitor and keyboard over her legs so that she could reach it. The monitor, with the curved screen and the workings behind it in a large, rounded case resembled a television set, he thought.

“I don’t know how to use it,” she’d said, looking up at him. But her eyes shone.

“Someone’s coming over tomorrow to teach you.” Sitting beside her on the edge of the bed, together they’d looked at this pile of technology. “You’ll be a one-man band with this equipment, Rebbe. This is everything you’ll need for research. There’s data storage capability in this machine, and that new legal system that organizes all the cases.”

Peter smiled to himself and focused again on his notes.

Dooney watched him in silence for a while. Then she asked, “Why do you think Glory Lynn agreed to testify? Her name will be splashed all over the papers.”

Peter looked up. Dooney’s brows drew together.

He shook his head. “It was the cry she heard. That’s what she says. Until then she’d just thought of what was inside as tissue, but the cry took her by surprise, made everything real.” He pushed the legal pad aside and folded his arms on the table, gazing through the dirty windowpane to his right.

“Now, she’s a mother who’s lost a child, and she’s angry. She talks a lot about that struggle she had with Eileen Broussard and realizes how different things would be today if she could have just gotten out of that bed.”

“From the autopsy report, it looks like she’s right.”

“I imagine she blames herself.” Peter picked up his menu. “Let’s order. Mac’s on the way.”

The waitress arrived and they told her someone else was joining them, and ordered. Immediately she returned with three glasses of iced tea and set them down on the table.

When she’d left again, Dooney said, “I got to know Glory Lynn some in the past few weeks. I sure hope you can keep her calm on the stand, Peter. She’s fragile; just can’t let go of the fact that she gave her consent in the first place. Even with all our preparation, I don’t think she really understands what McConnell’s going to do to her on the witness stand.”

“I’ll do my best.” He lifted a shoulder. “But you know, it doesn’t hurt for the judge to see her remorse, the real emotion.” He glanced at his watch. Mac had better hurry. “She likes you. That’ll help, seeing you sitting there in front of her will help. But it’s not going to be easy.”

Dooney lifted her arm, waving to someone outside, and he turned just as Mac entered the shop. Raking his hand back through his hair, Mac walked to the booth. Dooney scooted toward the wall to make room.

“Where do we stand right now on finding Alice Braxton?” Peter looked up from reading his notes.

Mac crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. “I’ve scoured Baton Rouge—hospitals, private offices, agencies. Nothing.”

Mac spooned sugar into his iced tea and stirred, looking across the table at Peter. “I’m looking here now, in the Parish. And also New Orleans.”

Peter nodded. The waitress arrived with their food and set the plates before them. They were silent until she’d left.

Mac picked up his burger. “My idea is to check all the hospitals in both places first. If she’s working here, most likely she’s in a hospital. If not, then I’ll backtrack to the private offices. But that’s where the real problem is. There could be thousands.” Shaking his head, he bit into the hamburger and chewed.

Peter picked up his sandwich. “How old did Lucy Ringer say she was?”

“Around sixty.”

Dooney pushed lettuce around her plate. Peter bit into the sandwich and looked at Mac. “We don’t have much more time. I figure we’ll take two days, maybe three, before we rest our case.”

“We could be on a wild goose chase, Peter.”

“Keep trying.” Peter swallowed some tea and picked the sandwich up again. It tasted like crumpled cardboard. “I’m putting you on the stand tomorrow, Mac.” As lead detective in the case, Mac would testify as to evidence from the clinic searches. “We’ll be dealing with motions first, so plan on being there at ten.”

He turned to Dooney. “Make sure we’ve got copies of all the search photos and records. We’ll need them for Mac’s testimony. Triplicate copies.”

“Already done.”

“Double check. Make certain, will you?”

“Yes.”

Mac scowled. “How long do you think I’ll be on tomorrow? I need all the time I can get looking for that nurse.”

Peter shrugged. “It’s not a complicated crime scene. A couple of hours at most.” Absently he moved the fork beside him one inch to the right, and then one inch to the left. “We’re putting Clara Sonsten on tomorrow afternoon.” He looked at Dooney. “Who’s babysitting?”

“Shauna, again.” Dooney stabbed a piece of tomato with her fork and looked across the table. “She’ll get Clara to the courthouse at twelve forty-five. We can join them during the break.”

He nodded. “Good. I want you to talk to Clara this evening. Make sure she’s sticking to her statement.” He watched absently as Dooney chewed the tomato. Clara Sonsten was on edge, he knew. But Dooney was good with this witness. She had the right mix of compassion and determination needed to keep up Clara Sonsten’s spirits.

Dooney nodded and swallowed. “I’ll do that.”

He looked at his notes and then at Mac. “What about Dr. Stern?” Mortimer Stern, M.D. would be a formidable expert witness for the prosecution. Ham had recommended him; he’d remembered Stern from a conference last year where the doctor was the keynote speaker. His credentials were not only in the field of obstetrics—he also held a law degree from Stanford University.

“His flight gets in around two tomorrow afternoon and I’ll pick him up. We’re putting him up at the Royal Orleans.”