An Accidental Life (29 page)

“Get someone else to pick up Stern. I need you looking for Alice, Mac. Find someone to meet him and take him to the hotel. Let him know that we’ll want to go over his testimony tomorrow night, though. Tell him Dooney and I will meet him there around six thirty.” He glanced at his watch, then Dooney. “You ready?”

She stuck her fork into a hunk of lettuce and snatched a last bite, nodding as she pushed the plate away.

Mac put his burger down on the plate and slid from the booth to let Dooney slide out. “I’ll stay and finish lunch,” he said.

Peter shoved his notepad into his briefcase, and stood. “Get word to us if you have any information on Alice Braxton. The clock’s ticking, Mac. We need to find her fast.”

33

“The State calls Glory
Lynn Chasson
to the stand.”

Alice felt her heart pumping in her chest. She turned her head as the bailiff opened the courtroom door and the young woman lawyer, the assistant DA who’d been sitting at the prosecution table with Peter Jacobs all morning, entered along with another woman, someone much younger. They started down the aisle together, the lawyer steering the young woman toward the gate.

So. This was Glory Lynn Chasson, the mother who’d made the complaint. Alice leaned forward for a better look. It couldn’t have been easy to step up to the altar of public opinion the way she had. Glory Lynn clung to Peter’s assistant as they walked past. Alice guessed her age at nineteen or twenty. Her face was pale. Her expression was set, her lips pressed together into a thin line and shadows deepened her eyes. She wore a soft green dress with long sleeves. The skirt billowed around her knees. About a decade out of date, Alice figured. As they reached the rail-gate, she stumbled and the lawyer caught her. Nerves.

Peter Jacobs was waiting for her. He reached out and Glory Lynn took his hand, while the woman lawyer hurried back to her seat at the table. Peter walked the witness toward the stand where the clerk was waiting. He watched while she put her hand on the Bible, looked at the clerk, and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Peter waited until Glory Lynn was settled in the chair behind the wooden partition. Then he turned to her and asked her to state her name for the record. For about ten minutes they wandered through some questions about her life—her age, Alice had been right, she was young, twenty. Occupation: secretary. He asked a little about her job and her life, and what schools she’d attended. Even from the back of the courtroom, Alice could see the girl slowly starting to relax.

And then, like a sudden shift in weather, everything changed.

“Miss Chasson.” Peter turned toward the witness, leaning one arm on the lectern as he looked at her. “You could have chosen to remain anonymous. You could have chosen to give your testimony in camera, or in a closed court. Why didn’t you?”

Glory Lynn looked out over the spectators. Her voice now was clear and firm. “I want to take responsibility for what I’ve done. I want other women to know that . . . that when they chose to have an abortion with induced labor there’s a chance the baby may be born alive.” She paused, shivered. “I don’t think people realize that. And, now I know that even as premature as my baby was, it’s possible that he could have lived a normal life. I . . .”

“Objection!” Vince McConnell shouted.

“I’d just never thought of that.” Glory Lynn’s eyes darted toward the witness table.

“Objection.”

“So I want them to know, to hear what can happen from someone who’s gone through it, from a real person just like them.”

Vince was on his feet. “The witness is testifying without any foundation, Your Honor. Miss Chasson is not an expert on the life expectancy of a fetus.”

Peter looked at Judge Morrow. “The witness is merely stating her belief, Your Honor. And we’ll be presenting autopsy evidence later to support her statement, so far as it addresses her belief.”

Morrow swept his eyes over both lawyers. “The objection is overruled, pending prosecution’s submission of evidence supporting the witness’s statement.” He glanced at Vince. “There’s no jury here to be confused, Counsel.”

Peter turned and walked to the witness stand, standing just to one side. “Miss Chasson, have you sought counseling since the night of the abortion?” Her remorse was deep and he wanted the judge to understand her state of mind. But he’d warned her that this would open the door for the defense on cross-examination to probe what had happened in those sessions.

She’d readily agreed.

“Yes,” she said. She dropped her eyes. When she looked back up, her eyes glistened. “After it all happened, I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat.” She shook her head back and forth slowly. “So, I made an appointment with Dr. Maxwell Tombe two days after . . . after I left the clinic. He’s a psychiatrist my parents recommended.”

Peter looked down at his notes. “And how many times did you see him?”

“Twice a week, for three months.” Glory Lynn put her hand on her forehead, and then it slid down the side of her face and dropped into her lap.

“Tell the court, please. How many times did you see Dr. Tombe altogether?”

“Twenty-four.”

“And did you talk with him about the fact that you would testify in court? That your name would be revealed?”

“Yes.” Her voice rose. “I don’t want any questions left unanswered after this trial is over.”

Peter nodded. He folded his arms and took a step back, looking across the well of the courtroom at the Defendant. “Did anyone at the Alpha Women’s Clinic ever mention to you that with an induced labor abortion there was a risk that the infant could be born alive?”

“No.”

“No such warning is required under the law, Your Honor,” Vince said, waving his arm dismissively toward the witness box.”

“Is that an objection, Mr. O’Connell?” the judge asked.

Vince stood, hands braced on the table, leaning forward. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Does Louisiana law require such information be given to the patient prior to the procedure, Counsel?” Judge Morrow looked from one to the other of the lawyers.

“No, Your Honor.”

“I’ll sustain the objection.”

“Miss Chasson,” Peter turned to Glory Lynn. “Did you have a personal physician, an OB/GYN before you became a patient at the Defendant’s clinic?”

“No.” She looked down. “I was afraid. I didn’t want to know, I guess. And I’m . . . ah . . . a little overweight anyway so I was able to hide it.” She glanced up at the judge. “I was waiting to see what my boyfriend would do. I was hoping, ah . . .” She turned back to Peter. “We’d been going together for so long. I was hoping we’d get married.”

“What caused you to go to the clinic?”

She hesitated. Coughed. Asked for a glass of water. When the bailiff handed the glass to her she drank, then resting the glass on the partition, still holding onto it, she looked at Peter.

“I, um, didn’t know what to do. I kept going back and forth in my mind about an abortion. My boyfriend . . . wanted me to do that.”

“And for some time you waivered?”

“Yes.” She lifted the glass and took another sip of water. “Like I said, I wanted to get married.” She looked down. “And then, Christmas came, and then the weeks seemed to fly by so fast.”

“What finally got you to the clinic?”

She hesitated, looking up at Peter, she took a breath and lifted her chin. “He did. The father—my boyfriend. He that said he just didn’t want it. And then, he told me that he didn’t want to get married, either. He’s in school, in college.” Her tone was bitter. “He’d have to quit school, he said, if his parents found out. They wouldn’t pay for school if he got married and had a kid. He’d have to quit and get a job.”

“So, the relationship was finished?” Peter leaned against the jury box, arms crossed.

“Yes.”

“And after that?”

Glory Lynn glanced over at Dr. Vicari. Her voice broke. “And then, it was just my problem. That’s when I made the choice. Blake . . . He wouldn’t go with me. So, I went alone.”

“And how did you choose this particular clinic, Alpha Women’s Clinic?”

“I heard about it from a friend. And they do some advertising too.” She paused and looked at the empty jury seats behind Peter. “And I’d heard about them from others who’d been there.”

“And what had you heard?”

“I’d heard that it was easy.”

“Objection.” Vince McConnell stood. “The question calls for hearsay.”

“Sustained.” Morrow looked at Michelene. “Strike the last answer.”

Peter straightened and stood and stuck his hands in his pockets, looking at Glory Lynn. “The first time you went to the clinic, you said you were alone?”

“Yes.”

“And you filled out some forms. Were there a lot of them?”

“Yes. There were plenty.”

Peter dipped his chin. “Please describe the procedure required to become a patient of the clinic.”

Glory Lynn described the process. She described the forms that she’d filled out to her best recollection. And she described the initial interview in a separate room, and then the physical examination.

“And the interview and examination occurred on your first visit?”

“Yes.”

“And that was, on May 11 of this year?”

“Yes.”

Peter walked to the table and Dooney handed him a sheaf of paper. He looked at Judge Morrow. “May I approach the witness?”

Judge Morrow nodded. “Yes.”

Studying the top of the first page, Peter walked back toward the witness and handed her the forms. She identified the date and her signature on each one. He had her read specific parts out loud. One by one they went through the forms that she’d signed, consents to the abortion, statements of her medical history, prescribed medicines.

Peter handed them to the clerk, to be admitted as State’s evidence. He returned them to Peter. Holding onto the forms, he returned to Glory Lynn.

“Who performed your initial physical examination, Miss Chasson?”

Her eyes slid toward the defendant’s table. “Dr. Vicari.”

“The Defendant, Charles Vicari?”

“Yes.”

“And is that the first time that you’d seen or met Charles Vicari?”

“Yes. It was.”

“Was there anyone in the room with you during the examination?”

“A nurse named Clara Sonsten.”

Peter nodded. He stepped back, leaning against the railing before the jury box. “In all this time at the clinic, while you were filling out forms and being interviewed and during the examination, at any time did you discuss the gestational age of the unborn child?”

“I wrote it down on several of the forms that I filled out.”

He handed one of the forms to her. “Is this your signature?”

She took the page, glanced at it, and looked up. “Yes, it is.”

He leaned toward her and indicated a space on the page. “Will you read this to the court, please—the gestational stage of your pregnancy, as you gave it to the clinic?”

“Approximately, twenty-two weeks.” She looked up, eyes wide. “I know it’s a long time to have waited, but . . . the pregnancy was unexpected.”

Peter nodded. “And how did you calculate that information, the number of weeks?”

Glory Lynn looked to her left at the empty jury box, then her eyes fluttered over the galley, and back to Peter. “I figured it from the first time I remembered missing my period.”

“And were you certain of that date?”

“No. I told Miss Sonsten that was the best I could remember. We talked about it for a while. After the examination, Dr. Vicari said he thought maybe I was a little further along. He asked if I’d seen another doctor yet, and I told him no.” Her voice turned defensive. “I mean, I kept thinking we’d get married and then I’d go to a doctor and everything would be all right.”

“And so, gestation was calculated based upon your best memory?”

“It was my best guess.”

“After the physical examination, did the Defendant agree?”

“He said afterward he thought I was twenty-three weeks along.” Peter saw her face close. They were getting close—tiptoeing up to the heart of the case and she was losing courage.

She lifted her chin and said with a sudden note of defiance, “My pregnancy was still within the second trimester.”

With his back to the gallery, he gave her an encouraging smile. “What happened after the physical?” This part would be difficult for her, he knew. They’d worked on this testimony, on keeping it concise, and yet correct.

Glory Lynn took a deep breath and knotted her hands together on top of the wooden partition, her eyes riveted to his. “Well, Dr. Vicari explained that induced labor would be the best procedure to use, the safest, he said—for late term. It would take about twenty-four hours, in all, he said. And then he left and I got dressed and made an appointment to come back the next day when they would . . . um, get things started.”

“Was Nurse Clara Sonsten present during that conversation?”

“Not all the time.” Glory Lynn seemed to shrink back, knowing what was coming.

“Miss Chasson. Can you tell this court what happened on the following day when you returned to the Alpha Women’s Clinic?”

Seconds passed as she looked at him, and in her eyes he saw sorrow morphing to a deadening acceptance, as if all of the emotion that she’d stored inside for the past months had suddenly burst through a new level of awareness. He’d heard about iced-fog in northern winters and her expression reminded him of that; the sudden, all-encompassing recognition of consequences freezing into place.