An Accidental Life (35 page)

“Sure. I’ve heard of that.”

“So, are you telling this court that because the Defendant chose to use an induction procedure for the abortion, which results in an intact fetus and is therefore the safest—that when you walked into that room and saw the intact fetus in the Defendant’s hand, in the midst of all that confusion you somehow determined in a split-second that the Defendant’s considerable judgment and work, and Miss Chasson’s clear decision not to have a child—all of those decisions should be reversed so that you, Miss Sonsten, could call an ambulance?”

Clara dropped her arms to her sides, uncrossed her legs, and glanced at Peter. He saw the growing confusion in her face. She turned to Vince. “Yes. I wasn’t thinking of any of that. What else could I do? The baby was alive!”

“I’m asking the questions, Miss Sonsten.” Vince stepped close. His voice dropped, sounding low and ominous. “Should a woman choosing to have an abortion during late term be required to accept the risk of a far more dangerous procedure than induced labor, just to make absolutely certain that the fetus will expire in-utero—before it’s expelled?”

“No, of course not.”

“Do you believe that you have the right to interfere with the physician’s judgment?”

“No.”

“Do you believe that you have the right to interfere with the woman’s decision not to be a mother, based upon a snap judgment you’ve made in the midst of confusion?”

“Ah. No. But . . .”

Clara began shaking her head, but before she could answer, Vince stepped back, away and turning to the gallery, said, “Let me put it this way: If you’d been in Miss Chasson’s position, if that had been you, would you have wanted to use the safest procedure for an abortion, induced labor, even though there may be some slight, very slight risk that the intact fetus might take a few breaths after being expelled?”

Peter shot up. “Objection, Your Honor. The witness is not here to answer hypothetical questions.”

Judge Morrow’s expression as he gazed at Peter was cold. “I’d like to hear the witness’s answer. Overruled.”

Vince turned and looked at Clara.

“Well, I don’t know. I don’t know what procedure I’d choose!” Her eyes shot to Peter, then to Dooney. She put her hands to the sides of her face, turning to Vince. “All I know is that I held that infant and there was time to get it to a hospital, time to save his life.”

“Objection,” Vince said, turning toward the judge. “Move to strike the last sentence of the witness’s answer.”

“Sustained.” Morrow waved his hand toward Michelene.

Vince looked at Clara. “Your answer is that you don’t know?”

Clara’s eyes were wide. “Yes.”

Before she could say anything more, Vince turned toward his client and held out his arm, looking over his shoulder at Clara. “But you see, Miss Sonsten, Dr. Charles Vicari did not have the luxury of musing over that question on the day that Miss Chasson came to him for help. He had to make a decision. Miss Chasson wanted an abortion. The doctor, the Defendant, offered her the procedure that he, using his best medical judgment, believed to be the safest one for his patient.” He turned back to face her.

“So, again I want to ask. When you asked the Defendant’s permission to clear the fetal air passages and call an ambulance, did it cross your mind at all that you were interfering with Miss Chasson’s constitutional right to choose under the laws of this nation?”

“But he lived,” Clara cried. “I held him in my arms for over an hour.”

“So you say. But, then what happened?”

“He died.”

He gave her a long look. “Exactly.”

“He could have lived longer. With help he could have lived.”

Vince angled himself toward the gallery, smirking. His tone dripped with sarcasm. “You’d been working in the clinic for a while, hadn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So you had no illusions about what happens in an abortion clinic. Are you now telling this court that on the night of Miss Chasson’s procedure, it suddenly occurred to you that the location of a fetus is what made the difference in your mind?” He turned back to her, holding up his hands.

“If the fetus had died one second earlier, Miss Sonsten—say, two inches back inside Miss Chasson’s body, that would have been all right with you?”

She looked at him and seconds passed. Then she said in a trembling voice, “It’s a question, isn’t it? I’d never thought of it that way before, but it’s really all the same, isn’t it?”

“Move to strike the witness’s last answer as unresponsive,” Vince said.

“Overruled.”

“I’m finished with this witness.” Vince’s tone was thick with sarcasm.

Peter exhaled and only then did he realize that he’d been holding his breath. But inside he almost smiled. Because with his last question and Clara’s answer, Vince had made a point that he didn’t even understand.

38

In the gloom that evening Peter
sat in his office, thinking. One element of Vince’s strategy was coming clear: Vince intended to convince Judge Calvin Morrow that Infant Chasson’s live birth had been a complete surprise to the defendant, and given the confusion in the room and Glory Lynn’s needs, there’d been no time to make any other decision. And Morrow would probably fall for it, he thought. That was the easy way out for the judge. Unless he, Peter Jacobs, could come up with something more.

Ham had warned him that if he took this case he had to win—you don’t charge a physician with murder without clear legal precedent to stand on—as here—unless you’re certain you’ve got the proof. He dropped his face in his hands and took a deep breath. He needed to be able to show that Charles Vicari was well aware of the risk of live birth during late-term abortions, and that he’d done this before. Lucy Ringer would have been a trump card if she’d been willing to come down and testify. But she’d made clear to Mac that was out of the question.

“Is this a bat cave, or the office of Peter Jacob’s, chief prosecutor?”

He looked up to see Mac standing in the doorway, backlit by the light behind him in the hallway. “Come on in. And switch on the light.”

The room flooded with electric light and Mac pulled up a chair before the desk, facing Peter.

“Tell me you’ve found Alice Braxton.”

“Nope.”

“Any leads?”

“None. It’s been pretty futile; she could be anywhere, but I’m still looking. The health care industry is paranoid about patients, their procedures, their employees. Everything. It’s like trying to get information out of East Berlin.”

Desperation made Peter push. “Call Lucy Ringer again, Mac.”

The detective gave him a look. “She’s not going to help. And worse, she’d lie on the stand if we try to force her.”

“Then, we’ve got to find Alice.”

“Every hospital I’ve visited so far has called their lawyers the minute I opened my mouth.” He shook his head and stretched his legs. “And every lawyer requires a subpoena. And every subpoena gives them plenty time to pull the stuff together.” He shook his head. “Two, three, four days.”

Peter clicked his tongue. “We’re working a criminal case here. A murder charge. You’d think they’d cooperate. And we don’t have much time left.”

Mac shook his head. “Beyond privacy rights, we’re dealing with bureaucrats protecting territorial imperatives, my friend. Every department head demands to review the records before they’ll even send the request for information on to their lawyers.

“Private practitioners move a little faster, but there are hundreds of doctors’ offices in the city and in the Parish where this nurse could be working.”

“We’ve got to find her, Mac.”

He held up one hand. “I know. I’ve pulled in two other guys to work on this. We’re moving fast as we can.” And with that he headed for the door.

When Mac was gone, Peter looked down at the notes he’d been making for tomorrow. Dooney had called earlier from the Royal Orleans, where she was with Dr. Stern. They planned to review his testimony again, later on tonight.

He thought of Rebecca and he thought how much he’d like a break from it all right now and he made up his mind. Home was out of the way, but he longed for a little down time, an hour or two with Rebecca, talking about the baby, planning. Just laughing together like they’d used to do before this case took over his life. He glanced at his watch. It was six-thirty. Half an hour to get to home, an hour for dinner, and half an hour to drive down to the Quarter and find a parking spot.

First he phoned Rebecca and said he’d be there in half an hour, just for a break, and that he’d be bringing dinner with him. Then he left a message for Dooney at the front desk of the hotel that he’d meet Dr. Stern and Dooney in the lobby at eight thirty, at the latest.

He stopped for Popeye’s fried chicken and mashed potatoes. “It’s all low-cal and heart-healthy,” he told Rebecca when she recoiled. They were sitting at the table in the kitchen.

“So, tell me what happened in court today.”

“Not now.” He watched the candle she lit flickering. “Later, Rebbe. I need a break.” He needed a respite from the darkness. He picked up a piece of chicken and held it with the tips of his fingers, studying her in the candlelight. She was beautiful. “Tell me what you did today.”

She smiled. “Well, for one thing, I finished the brief for Bill.” Her eyes shone. “I never would have thought I’d like doing this so much, the research for an appeal, putting it all together.” She began gesturing, telling him about the key issues and the cases she’d found, and the new way she’d thought of to use the reasoning from two cases to make a point.

“The computer is amazing. It saves hours of time in research.” Cutting a piece from the chicken breast on her plate, she brought it to her mouth. “I got the brief off to Brightfield this afternoon. He was thrilled. Says he’ll have another one coming up soon.”

“Sounds like you’re keeping the messenger room busy.”

She smiled. “They’re here several times a day.”

“How’re the interviews with nannies going?”

“Hmm.” She hesitated. “Well. Rose Marie’s got a couple lined up. But, I’ve put that on hold for a while. Just for a few weeks.” She smiled at him. “I’ve decided to take the maternity leave the firm offered after all. Three months.”

“That’s good. I’m glad.” Nodding, he watched Rebecca as he chewed. A change had come over her lately that he couldn’t quite figure. She picked up a fork and pricked the mashed potatoes a couple time. He took another bite. The chicken was crisp and spicy, and still hot.

“How’s this going to work with these nannies after the leave? What’s the plan?”

Rebecca gave a little shrug. “Either we hire someone to live with us, or we’ve got to hire a couple to work in shifts.” Her expression went blank as she sliced another bite of chicken and ate it.

“Shifts.” Peter ate and thought about that for a minute. Then he looked at Rebecca. “How many shifts of nannies would we need to hire, do you think?”

She lifted the iced tea and took a sip. “With our work hours? Unless we find a live-in, I guess we’ll need three shifts, eight hours each through the first year at least. After that maybe we’ll cut down to two.” She lifted a brow, watching him. “I don’t really know, Peter. It’ll be trial and error, I suppose.”

He reached across the table and gave her arm a pat. “We’ll figure this out.” He forced a hearty sound into his voice. Their house was turning into a hotel. But Rebecca loved her work as much as he loved his, and he would honor any choice she made.

He leaned forward. “How’s Gatsby?”

She lifted her eyes with a slight smile. “Are you referring to Daisy?”

Peter’s spread his hands. “It’s a million to one,” he said. “The odds were always against you. It’s the great race.”

“Men. Listen, mothers know. Women are intuitive. She’s a girl.” Sipping the water, she studied him. “You look tired, Peter.”

He massaged his temples. “I am.”

As they talked on, avoiding discussing the trial, he felt Rebecca’s strength and love, a bond vibrating between them that gave him new energy. The painter had come at last; he was almost finished in the nursery. And Amalise and she had picked out curtains—Rebecca had described what she wanted and Amalise had brought her samples. The baby’s chest of drawers was filling up too. Amalise again—she was enchanted with the idea of a daughter for Rebecca.

Peter snorted. “She’ll be surprised when a son arrives.”

“I’d like to ask Amalise and Jude to be the baby’s godparents, Peter.”

His fork stopped halfway to his mouth.

She continued eating as if nothing she’d said should surprise him.

“Well of course. That’s a great idea,” he finally said.

“And I want her baptized at Rayne Memorial, too.”

He nodded. “Another good one,” he said. Something had changed. Rebecca—an agnostic as long as he’d known her—was talking about godparents and baptism. As she went on detailing everything that she and Amalise had accomplished with the nursery in the last few days, he found her mood infectious and began feeling better. For the moment, all thoughts of the trial slipped away.

When they’d finished eating, he glanced at his watch and saw the respite was over. He had to meet with Dr. Stern and prepare him for his testimony scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. As he stood and Rebecca walked with him to the door, he felt rejuvenated, committed again as he’d felt at first. The case was solid. He could do this.