An Accidental Life (31 page)

“Yes.”

Vince nodded. “It was your own choice. No one dragged you there?”

Glory Lynn shook her head.

“Answer for the record, please.”

“No. It was my own choice.” Peter saw Glory Lynn’s anger rising, exactly what Vince was after. Vince raised his voice and half-turned toward the gallery, with a bemused look on his face. “So no one dragged you to the Alpha Women’s Clinic. You went there on your own and asked them to take you as a patient, do I have that right?”

Peter rose. “Objection. Asked and answered.”

“Sustained.”

Peter and Dooney had spent hours preparing Glory Lynn for this cross-examination. They’d shown her a few tricks, how not to show when she was angry, but to let the energy out by wiggling her toes or feet behind the wooden partition where no one could see. He’d warned her to sit up straight, and to press her hands together in her lap to keep them still. No fidgeting to signal that she was nervous. And volunteer nothing.

Yet, two minutes into the cross-examination, there she sat with her hands gripping the top of the partition, knuckles turning white.

Vince stood beside the witness box, looming over her. “You testified there were several forms you filled out when you first entered the clinic, did you not?”

“Yes.”

“And did you bother to read those forms, Miss Chasson?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

She hesitated. “Yes. Ah, some of them. Not all.”

O’Connell walked back to the lectern and pulled several pages from the folder on the lectern, holding them up, like grenades. They were copies of the forms that Peter had introduced into evidence earlier. He turned and waved them toward Peter. Peter nodded.

Vince looked at Judge Morrow. “Permission to approach the witness, Your Honor?”

“Permission granted.”

Vince handed one of the forms to Glory Lynn and stood beside her, pointing. “Is this your signature on the bottom of the page?”

She glanced down. “Yes, it is.”

He nodded. “Then, please read for the court what is written across the top of this form.”

Glory Lynn read out the name of the clinic, and then “Consent for Medical Procedures.”

Vince nodded and tipped his head toward the page. “And below that, two lines, down. Please read that part also. What medical procedure is described on this consent form?”

“Induction abortion.”

Vince nodded. “And now, a little further down to the middle of the page, where it says “Gestation.” Do you see that?”

Glory Lynn nodded.

“You must answer out loud, please.”

“Yes. I see it.”

“And what is written on that line, underneath, beside the word
gestation
?” He stepped aside, allowing spectators full view of the witness.

Glory Lynn jutted out her chin, looking down at the page. “Twenty-two weeks.”

“And is that your handwriting?”

She looked at Peter, then Dooney. “Yes,” she said.

Vince clasped his hands behind his back and looked at Glory Lynn. “And based upon that information, and a physical examination performed by the Dr. Vicari at the clinic, Dr. Vicari estimated the gestational age of the fetus you carried as twenty-three weeks. Is that not correct?”

“So far as I recall.”

“Yet, thereafter the autopsy report indicated gestation at twenty-four weeks.” He paused. “That’s quite a difference from your original guess. Half a month, in fact.”

Peter lifted his hand. “Objection. I didn’t hear a question there.”

The judge gave him a look. “Sustained.” He turned to Vince. “Rephrase the question, Counsel.”

Vince turned to Glory Lynn. “Isn’t it true that you lied about your period of gestation to obtain an abortion, Miss Chasson? Isn’t it true that you knew if you told the truth, that your pregnancy was more advanced, the clinic might have been reluctant to admit you?”

Her eyes grew wide. “How dare you!”

“Objection!” Peter was on his feet. “Counsel is badgering the witness.”

Morrow frowned. “Overruled; this is cross, Mr. Jacobs. I’m giving the defense some leeway here.” He looked down at Glory Lynn. “Answer the question, please.”

Glory Lynn flushed. “I didn’t lie. I—”

“But that is your handwriting?” Vince pointed to the line on the page again. “Here, where you wrote twenty-two weeks?”

“Yes.” Her eyes darted to Peter. Peter couldn’t help her. He knew that Vince was setting the groundwork for a defense. Later he would argue that Glory Lynn’s misdirection had caused the defendant to underestimate the age of the unborn child, “I was mistaken,” Glory Lynn said.

Vince nodded. Hands clasped behind his back, he turned, angling his body toward the spectators, He let a beat go by, emphasizing this self-indictment.

“Did it occur to you that if Dr. Vicari believed the fetus was a week or two younger, that he would also believe that it was impossible for it to be viable?”

Peter had explained this reasoning to Glory Lynn in their sessions preparing for trial. If Vicari could claim that he’d had no way of suspecting that her unborn child was viable, able to survive outside the mother’s womb at the time of the abortion, he was on his way to a possible defense to the charges—complete and utter surprise at the live birth. Confusion.

“My guess of twenty-two weeks wasn’t a lie. It was a mistake.” Glory Lynn’s glared at Vince McConnell. “I was confused, that’s all.”

Vince pressed his hand to one side of his forehead and stepped back. “That’s all? That’s all?”

“Objection.” Peter stood. “Harassing the witness.”

“Sustained.” Morrow turned to McConnell. “If you have a question, Counsel, ask it.”

Vince changed the subject abruptly. “Miss Chasson, you testified that on the day you arrived at the clinic for the abortion you were given five milligrams of valium while waiting to go into the delivery room. And again you were given five milligrams right before you went into the procedure room. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Had you ever taken valium before?”

“No.”

Peter braced his elbows on the table and his chin on his knuckles, holding his breath, watching Vince spring the trap.

Vince turned back toward the lectern and Glory Lynn frowned. “Did you drink any alcohol on that day, the day of the procedure?”

Glory Lynn tossed her head. “Of course not.”

“Is it fair to say that you were experiencing a high level of stress by the time you arrived at the clinic that day?”

“Yes, I was in pain.”

“Ah, yes. The pain.” He turned on his heels, facing Peter and Dooney, tapping a finger to his lips. “Were you anxious about the procedure?”

She lifted her chin. “No. Not then. It was the pain that bothered me.”

His brows arched high and he turned back to her. “So your only concern before the procedure was the pain?”

“Yes.”

Peter managed to keep himself from closing his eyes.

“No second-guessing at that point? Just concern about the pain; so please tell the court how it was that in the procedure room, after taking a strong drug that you’d never taken before to settle you down, you suddenly became so concerned about the fetus that you’d decided to abort?”

“It was the cry—I heard my baby cry!”

“Then why didn’t you just say so? Whether such a cry was your imagination or not isn’t the question. If you thought you heard an infant’s cry and you could see that the Defendant hadn’t, why didn’t you just tell him? Why the incoherent screaming; fighting with the nurse, the confusion?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. She looked at the floor. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Everything was such a mess. And they’d told me there wouldn’t be much pain, and then I was in the labor room and it all happened so fast.” She pressed her hand to her forehead. “Like I said before, I don’t remember much after I heard that cry.”

Hold on, Glory Lynn. Hold on.

“Isn’t it true that you were confused by the large dose of valium that you’d taken before the procedure?”

“No.”

“Isn’t it possible that you imagined that cry?”

“No!”

“Isn’t it true, in fact, that it wasn’t until you woke up the next morning that you had second thoughts? Isn’t that when the remorse struck, Miss Chasson, after it was too late? Isn’t that why you’ve sought help in counseling, and this . . . this . . .” he turned and arched his hand over the courtroom, “this public flagellation? You need someone to blame and that someone is the Defendant!”

“Objection, Your Honor! This is outrageous.” Peter was already halfway to the bench. From the corners of his eyes he saw Glory Lynn hunch over and drop her face into her hands, sobbing.

The gavel slammed down. “Objection sustained.” Calvin Morrow looked at Vince McConnell. “Let’s move on, Mr. McConnell.”

Peter halted near the lectern.

“Any redirect Mr. Jacobs?”

Peter looked up at the Judge. Glory Lynn had done well, but she couldn’t handle any more. “No, your honor,” he said. With a long deep breath he nodded to Glory Lynn and she rose. He waited for her, then slipped his arm around her shoulder and walked her to the gate in the railing.

Glory Lynn’s father and mother stood as she came through the gate. Her mother put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. Her father followed them up the aisle, fury stiffening his neck and back.

Peter returned to the table, and stood behind it, arms dangling, looking up at Calvin Morrow. He drew in his breath as Judge Morrow’s voice rang out.

“Call your next witness, Counsel.”

Turning, he scanned the gallery futilely for Mac. “The State calls Clara Sonsten,” he said.

The bailiff opened the door and peered into the hallway and Peter looked at Dooney. She shook her head—I don’t know. The bailiff turned his head from left to right, scanning the hallway as he held the door. “Miss Clara Sonsten? Sonsten. Clara Sonsten?” After a moment he shook his head and turned back toward the front of the courtroom, “No one out here answering to that name, Mr. Jacobs.”

Dooney rose. “I’ll check the witness room again.” Peter stood as Dooney brushed past him and he heard her hurrying up the aisle toward the door. Too late for that, he knew. They wouldn’t be there.

“The State’s witness has not arrived yet, Your Honor. If you’ll give us a moment . . .”

“What’s going on here, Mr. Jacobs?” Morrow’s voice was ice. “We don’t waste time in my courtroom.”

“I understand, Judge. Miss St. Pierre’s going to find out what’s happened, and if we could have a short break, perhaps ten minutes, I’m certain we can straighten things out.”

Vince McConnell stood. “The defense objects to a recess at this point, Your Honor. It’s late in the day and counsel’s wasting time. Every minute passing in this courtroom further damages an innocent man’s reputation, and his business. Let the prosecution call another witness.”

Peter opened his mouth and then caught Morrow’s glance at the clock. Seconds passed as Morrow frowned and looked down at something on his desk. Peter turned his head, still hoping to see Dooney come through the door with Clara Sonsten.

“It’s four o’clock,” Morrow said at last. “We’ll recess for the day.”

With a deep exhale, Peter felt the tension leaving his shoulders. “Court will reconvene at nine sharp in the morning.”

In the general melee, Alice rose and hurried out following the crowd from the elevator, through the lobby and out onto the sidewalk. The weather had changed and there was a new chill in the air. She buttoned her sweater as she scanned the traffic for a taxicab.

Leaning her head back against the seat she looked blindly through the window thinking about what she’d seen in the courtroom that day. Vicari hadn’t changed a bit. The thing that worried her the most was that she’d detected a slight sympathy in the judge’s attitude toward the defendant, and she’d sensed that growing throughout the day. That could make her decision more difficult, she mused. But, the day in court had confirmed her worst fears, regardless. She had a decision to make right now.

36

Rebecca was strong enough these days
to walk down the stairs and wander around the house. She smiled to herself, thinking that only two weeks were left until the baby’s arrival. There was so much to be accomplished before that event; there were only a few days left before Brightfield needed the new brief that she was working on. She wanted to hire someone to paint the nursery; had finally picked out the color. White.

When she’d told Peter that, he’d laughed. Weeks of agonizing over paint, and she’d decided on white?

And then, there was still the nanny problem.

Last week Rose Marie called to say that she’d found several good possibilities. Rose Marie had interviewed them herself, this time, and said she’d found one woman that she really liked. Rebecca had asked her to hold off for a week or two, until she finished Brightfield’s brief, and—although she didn’t mention this—until a verdict was rendered in Peter’s case.

The baby moved then and she rested her hand over the spot, feeling the sharp little jabs, reminding her again that soon she’d have to make a decision on a nanny, or two, or three. Frowning, she pressed a protective hand over Daisy.

She heard Peter coming down the stairs and through the living room. She put a smile on her face and turned just as he entered. The last thing he needed this morning was to worry about his wife. Clara Sonsten hadn’t shown up in court the day before, she knew. Illness, she’d said.