An Accidental Life (48 page)

Alice studied him, and then said, “No. I wasn’t thinking of any of that. I was thinking of the baby’s life.”

“Did you have any reason to think that the . . . baby, as you call it . . . could possibly sustain life after that in a meaningful way?”

“I thought it could, yes. I’d seen . . .”

Vince’s voice was harsh. “Just stick to my questions, please.”

“Then, my answer’s yes. I’ve seen many preemies develop to full term.”

“Not from twenty-three weeks, I’d guess, and you’re not able to say for certain, are you.”

“No. In general? No, I cannot say for certain what would happen with each case.”

Vince slowly turned around to face the gallery. “So please tell the court this, Miss Hamilton. How long did the infant survive that night?”

Peter drew in his breath, unable to believe Vince had crossed into the minefield. He could feel Dooney’s tension as they both sat very still. Vince had just violated trial procedure 101: never ask a question of a witness unless you’re pretty sure you know the answer.

He let out his breath as the first mine exploded.

“She’s still alive,” Alice said. “She was adopted.”

54

Vicari rose to his full height
and shouted that Alice was a liar. In the courtroom, pandemonium ensued. The gavel banged—Morrow threatened to clear the courtroom. Vicari shouted liar twice more before the officers got to him. He twisted and turned, struggling as they fought to snap the handcuffs on. Then, Vince was able to convince him that it was in his interest to quiet down.

Judge Morrow’s threats to clear the courtroom quieted the gallery too, but still he called a short break in the proceedings, motioning all three lawyers to a sidebar. The sheriffs now stood behind the defendant, hands clasped behind their backs, while Vince walked up to join Peter and Dooney at the bench.

Morrow leaned down and hissed that he was inclined to send all three lawyers to lockup overnight. “If we’d had a jury I’d have probably had to call a mistrial,” he said. Then he looked at Peter. “I told you, no tricks.”

“That wasn’t a trick, Judge,” Peter said. “The witness answered defense counsel’s questions.”

Morrow turned to Vince. “And you. One more outburst from your client and I’ll revoke his bond and he’ll sit in jail for the rest of the trial, and during the time I’ve got the verdict under consideration.” He narrowed his eyes. “Understand?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“And that could be a long time.”

“I understand, Judge.”

“Well see that your client gets it too.”

“Are you finished with this witness?” He nodded to Alice, still on the stand.

“Yes, Your Honor.”

The judge then called for a brief recess, just long enough to hear a quick motion on another case.

Peter went to the witness stand, took Alice’s hand, and helped her out. He told her she’d done a fine, fine job. As he turned, he saw Suzanne rising from her chair behind the railing. Alice took the lead, and he followed her up the aisle. They would spend the recess time in the witness room. He looked at Dooney, but she shook her head and said she’d wait right there.

Rebecca caught his eye from her back row seat. He was relieved to see her smiling; she was a tough judge herself. If Rebecca was smiling, he knew they’d made some progress.

Molly sat beside her. He stopped, greeted Molly, and leaning across his secretary, brushed a kiss on Rebecca’s cheek. “How’s Gatsby doing today?”

“Daisy’s fine.”

Straightening up, he asked if they’d like to go to the witness room. He needed to make certain that Kenneth Gordy was ready to testify next. Both declined. They were comfortable now. They’d stay where they were.

Suzanne and Alice were waiting just outside the door when he came through, and together they headed for the witness room. He warned Kenneth that cross-examination would take place after he’d finished with his questions. Kenneth just said, “Bring it on.” Suzanne was anxious about Abby, but the quick peek on her daughter turned out to be a mistake. Abby wailed when, a few minutes later, the bailiff called down the hallway that time was up, trial was resuming. Peter, Alice, and Suzanne turned to leave. Kenneth took Abby’s hand.

“No!” the child cried, turning away from her father. She began tugging on her mother’s skirt.

Shauna, smiling at Suzanne, pulled a doll from her briefcase. “I brought this with me for just this occasion,” she said, with a wink.

Suzanne turned Abby around so that she could see the doll dangling from Shauna’s fingers. Abby’s mouth closed and she stared at the doll for a moment. Then slowly she reached out with one hand, and Shauna knelt beside her, handing her the doll. Abby released her grip on Suzanne’s skirt and held onto the doll, gripping it with both hands as Shauna began telling her the doll’s name, and where she lived, and . . .

And they slipped out.

Still, Peter’s backward glance caught Abby’s baleful look, just before the door closed.

“It’s kind of you to join us, Counsel,” Judge Morrow snapped when they returned. Suzanne took her seat behind him.

“Call your next witness, please,” he said, writing something on his notepad. Then he looked up again. “Is this your last one?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” When the judge remained silent, with a glance at Suzanne, Peter called Kenneth Gordy to the stand.

The bailiff went into the hallway, and a moment later Kenneth appeared in the doorway. He watched as Abby’s father marched down the aisle with a determined stride, like a soldier going to war. Kenneth stopped at Suzanne’s side and touched her shoulder before pushing through the railing. As he greeted Kenneth and showed him to the witness stand, Peter tried to imagine the emotion this man must be struggling to contain as he stood in the same room with Charles Vicari.

Kenneth was sworn in and entered the witness stand. When he sat, he sat upright, both hands gripping the wooden partition, locking eyes with Peter and studiously avoiding Charles Vicari’s.

Peter walked to the witness stand. “Good morning, Mr. Gordy. Please state your name for the court.”

“Kenneth Chase Gordy.”

They went through his place of residence, his marital status. Peter caught the judge’s glance at Suzanne Gordy once again. Kenneth stated his profession, schoolteacher, math, ninth grade.

“Any children?” Peter asked.

“One. Abby is her name. Abigail Suzanne Gordy.” He looked at Peter. “As you know, she’s adopted.”

Suddenly it seemed to Peter that the entire gallery behind him drew breath and held it, everyone at once.

Peter handed Kenneth the court records of his and Suzanne’s adoption of their daughter and asked him to identify each document. Then he gave copies to Vince McConnell and the judge, and entered the originals into evidence. The clerk stamped and recorded them, and returned them to Peter.

With the remaining records in hand, Peter walked to the open space between the prosecution table and Kenneth Gordy and looked at his witness. “Mr. Gordy, how old is your daughter?”

“She is three years old.”

“Please tell the court the circumstances of your daughter’s adoption.”

Kenneth shifted back in the chair and his hands slipped to his knees. Eyes on his wife in the gallery, he began. “My wife was in New Hope Hospital. She’d had a hysterectomy, and was extremely upset over this because we so desperately wanted a child.” He looked down for an instant, then back at Peter. “I can’t put into words the disappointment we were feeling.”

His voice grew husky as he went on. “Well anyway, to cut through it all, one of the nurses on the floor told us about Abby, how she’d been abandoned, how she was in neonatal intensive care, struggling for her life.”

“Can you tell us the date you first saw Abby?”

“I’ll never forget it. It was December 17, 1979. Just before Christmas.”

When he paused, Peter said, “Please continue.”

Kenneth leaned back and cleared his throat. “My wife asked if we could see her, the little girl—pediatrics was just down the hallway, and Suzanne was feeling low. The nurse said, sure, and took us down to see her, and there she was . . .” His eyes strayed to his wife again. “. . . all hooked up to those machines, and fighting for her life.”

“Do you know how long she’d been there when you saw her that day?”

“They said a couple of weeks.” He glanced at Suzanne. “I don’t remember exactly.”

“Objection, hearsay.”

Kenneth turned his eyes to Vince, and then quickly back to Peter.

“Sustained,” Judge Morrow said.

“I’ll withdraw the question,” Peter said. The New Hope medical files on Abby’s time in NICU were a matter of record. He could link the facts in his closing argument.

“Please go on, Mr. Gordy.”

Kenneth held his eyes on Peter’s like a lost sailor spotting a lighthouse, his way of fighting the urge to look at Charles Vicari, Peter supposed. “Well we fell in love with her right away. She was ours from the moment we saw her.” He shrugged. “The rest of it, we had lawyers to handle the paperwork and the court and all that. When Suzanne—that’s my wife—when Suzanne was released from the hospital, we took an apartment in Chicago, one of those temporary ones you can rent near hospitals with furniture in them and all, just until Abby could come home. We ended up being there almost four months. I took a leave of absence for the first few weeks.”

He looked down, wiped his brow, then looked back at Peter. “After that, I’d go back to Cincinnati for work, and return on the weekends. Suzanne stayed the whole time. She was with Abby in the nursery all day every day, and many nights. We’d already begun the adoption procedures. That’s where we met Alice Braxton, ah . . . Hamilton. The nurses were good to us; they made sure we knew everything that was going on.”

He paused and swallowed, pinching the skin between his eyes beneath his forehead. “The adoption was final before she left the hospital. But the happiest day of my . . . our lives . . . was the day we took Abby home.”

A smile crept across his face. “She’s a fighter, that little one.”

“And how is her health?”

“Oh, she’s—”

Suddenly a shriek filled the courtroom. Peter turned and saw Suzanne rising from her chair, and behind her light streamed through the open door into the courtroom from the windows across the hallway outside.

“Dada!” And Abby charged down the aisle toward her father, slipping past the bailiff as he bent to catch her. She’d spotted her father on the witness stand and her little legs beat a path toward him. Peter had to smile—Abby still held Shauna’s doll.

“Daaaa . . .!” she wailed as she ran, and then Suzanne swooped her up just before she reached the gate and just as suddenly, looking wide-eyed at her mother, she was silenced. She looked at her mother, then she turned her head and looked at Kenneth and Peter, and then her gaze traveled on and stopped on the judge, the huge man in black sitting high above her father.

Peter turned to the judge. Calvin Morrow was speechless, for once.

“I’m so sorry,” Suzanne stammered as she looked at Peter, blushing. Peter was speechless too.

Then she turned to Calvin Morrow, bracing Abby on one hip, and said, “I apologize for the disruption, sir. I’ll get her out of here right now. Please excuse—”

“Wait.” Morrow’s voice was calm, as he held up one hand. “Are you Mrs. Gordy?”

Suzanne hugged Abby to her. “Yes, sir.” Abby leaned against her mother, that finger hooked into her mouth again. The doll dropped to the floor.

Morrow nodded toward the bundle in her arms. “Is that your daughter? Abigail?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Suzanne gave the judge a proud smile and moved a little so that he could see her child. Peter stood still, watching them and was amazed. He couldn’t have planned this if he’d tried.

Suzanne inched closer to the rail gate, looking only at Judge Morrow. “This is Abby.”

Artificial overhead lights can sometimes be cruel to beauty, and Peter and every lawyer who’d ever worked in this particular courtroom had noted that fact at one time or another. But today the lights seemed only to illuminate Abby and Suzanne. In that moment, the little girl’s smile shimmered with the knowledge that somehow she’d become the center of attention. Her eyes were shining, bright and alert—inquisitive as she looked back and forth between her father and the judge.

She allowed inspection for only a moment, and then suddenly Abby looked at her father, threw out both arms, and strained forward in her mother’s arms, with a wide smile as she cried out for him.

Judge Morrow coughed. He cleared his throat. Seconds passed and then he said, “Thank you, Mrs. Gordy. She’s a fine little girl, but perhaps now you should take her out.”

Kenneth turned to Judge Morrow and said with a little laugh. “As you can see for yourself, Judge, Abby made it through intensive care. She’s a lively, healthy little girl.”

“Objection, objection, objection!!”

Vince was on his feet, storming toward the bench. “This is clearly a stunt, Your Honor. Choreographed entirely by the prosecution, I’m sure. The defense demands a recess.” Flailing one arm toward Peter, he added, “The defense moves for mistrial.”

Judge Morrow peered down at McConnell. His tone was dry as he said, “Don’t bother, Mr. McConnell. There’s no jury to be swayed. Pull yourself together. I won’t stand for a mistrial after all the time we’ve spent on this case, so save it for your closing argument, which”—he included Peter in his glare—“I assume will be tomorrow.”

“Yes, Judge,” Peter said.

Peter watched Suzanne walking back up the aisle between the spectators, carrying in her arms the best evidence he’d ever had the good luck to present in a murder trial.

55

Abigail Gordy’s story made front-page headlines
the next day. Any hope of keeping Alice’s past from Dr. Matlock was gone; her cover had been well and truly blown.

She’d told Dr. Matlock the day before that she’d need the morning off again today. His response had been somewhat surly, but she was determined not to miss the closing arguments.

She took one last look at herself in the mirror, put on her hat and pulled the half-veil down over her eyes, slipped on her best white gloves, and went downstairs to wait for the taxi.