An Accidental Life (33 page)

Judge Morrow looked at Mac. “I remind you that you’re still under oath, Detective.”

Peter turned, looking for Dooney. She was there, and she nodded. Relief flooded him—Clara was back on board. His heart rate slowed as he turned back to Mac.

“Yes, Your Honor.” Mac stood, adjusted his tie, and stepped from the jury box. With a smile for Dooney as he passed by, he hurried through the gate.

At twenty minutes ’til two that afternoon, Vince McConnell stood at the lectern before the bench looking down at the notepad he’d just placed there. Time stretched as he adjusted his tie, his sleeves, and then turned toward Mac. Vince had his own assistant working the projector and slides during the cross.

But Mac’s testimony was factual and he was a strong witness. Peter wasn’t worried. Vince would get nothing new from Mac. Still, once again he regretted the loss of the jury. Smart move on McConnell’s part, he admitted, watching Vince pace up and down the well of the court, beginning to poke at Mac.

37

At three o’clock Mac escaped the
witness stand, and, at Peter’s request, the bailiff called Clara Sonsten. Peter watched as Clara appeared. She wore high spike heels, a tight red skirt that ended some inches above her knees, and a long-sleeved black sweater that showed her curves. The sweater had red and green and white Christmas designs knit around the neck and sleeves. Well. You do what you can.

With a sideways glance at Peter, Clara walked to the witness stand. Reaching the box, she fixed her eyes on the clerk’s, seeming to freeze him with a long slow smile. And then she swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth in a low drawl. A flush ran up the young clerk’s cheeks. Then he returned to his desk, and Clara entered the jury box and sat.

Peter stood and walked to the lectern. “Please state your name for the court,” he said, looking at the witness.

“My name is Clara Sonsten. I am a Registered Nurse.”

A series of personal questions followed, her background, her education, the places she had worked, her experience at the clinic. She testified that she’d been on duty when Glory Lynn Chasson had first come in to register as a patient at the clinic, and on the night that she’d delivered.

And then she’d quit her job.

“And where are you employed now, Miss Sonsten?” Peter moved a few steps back from the lectern, facing her, hands loose in his pockets.

Miss Sonsten said that she now worked in the Obstetrics Department of a large hospital in the city. Returning to the lectern, Peter braced his fingers on the edge of the stand and began a general line of questions on her new employment. And then, he began walking toward the witness box, halting halfway between the lectern and Clara.

Jamming one hand into a pocket, he looked at Clara. “On the night that Glory Lynn Chasson was in labor at the Alpha Women’s Clinic, were you assigned to assist the Defendant at the birth?”

“No. My job was to look after two patients who’d had procedures earlier that day. I was to give them follow-up instructions. Watch them for a couple hours. Give them some medicines for pain, if they needed it. That sort of thing.”

“But at some time that evening you ended up in the procedure room with Dr. Vicari?”

“Yes. Both patients had just left when Miss Broussard called for me. There’s a bell in the room, and she rang the bell. And then I heard a scream.”

“Where did you think the scream came from?”

“It came from the procedure room, where Dr. Vicari was with Glory Lynn . . . uhm, Miss Chasson.”

Peter moved toward her. “And what time was that?”

“It was about fifteen minutes after six, in the evening.”

“How can you be so precise?”

“I’d just heard the bell when I was headed to the kitchen to get a Coca-Cola. I was scheduled to work overtime that night, and there’s a big clock there on the wall and I was looking at it wishing I were home when I heard the bell ring.”

Peter raised his brows as if this was new information to him. “What did you think was happening when you heard that bell?”

Her eyes darted to the defendant, and away. “It was the call bell. I knew Eileen Broussard was in there with Dr. Vicari. The call bell meant she needed help.”

“And what did you do then?”

She cocked her head. “Well I went immediately to the procedure room.”

“And what did you see when you entered?”

Clara’s eyes faded again toward Vicari as she described what she’d seen upon entering the room, just as she’d described it to Peter and Mac at the pizza place over six months before, and many times since. The facts as she gave them had never changed, and her voice was steady, almost monotone as she spoke. Vince McConnell, eager to break the rhythm of Peter’s examination, interrupted with frequent objections.

When Clara described entering the procedure room, Peter turned aside in order to watch the defendant while he questioned Clara. He’d waited for this moment for six months, struggling to understand.

“Dr. Vicari was sitting on the stool at the foot of the bed,” Clara said. “The sheet was up, and I saw that he was holding the infant in the blue delivery towel in his hand. Of course it was so small. I saw some blood, but not so much. He’d cut the cord, but he was struggling, holding that baby and trying to help Glory Lynn expel the placenta, and like I said, there was some blood. And Miss Broussard was over by the patient, over at the side of the bed, pushing her back down. It looked like Miss Chasson was trying to get out of the bed; she was fighting some, pushing Eileen away, and crying and struggling to sit up.” She hesitated, took a breath.

“And then I heard the baby cry.”

Peter paused long enough to let her words sink in. Behind them there was the hum again, but muted. “Are you certain, Miss Sonsten?”

“Yes. I know what I heard.”

“And then what happened?”

“Dr. Vicari shouted to me to get over there.”

“And at that time, was Dr. Vicari still holding the infant?”

“Yes. So I walked over there and when I looked down I saw it move, its legs and arms . . . and it was breathing on its own.” The corners of her eyes and mouth turned down. “I was startled, you know, that it was . . . that it was alive.”

“Objection, Your Honor!” Vince didn’t rise; he gave Clara a look of distaste as he went on. “Move to strike the witness’s answer. The term
alive
has no relevance in this case. Under
Roe v. Wade
, the question is whether the fetus is viable—at a minimum, able to sustain life independently for a period of time—after separation from the mother.”

“I don’t think we need to thread that needle, Judge,” Peter said. “Moving voluntary muscles and breathing are obvious signs of
life
.” Peter had expected Vince’s objection. Life, to Vince McConnell, was a subjective judgment. But Clara’s testimony here was critical to establish a fact, that Glory Lynn Chasson’s infant was born alive.

Still, Vince battled on. “The movement the witness claims to have observed could have been purely mechanical, Your Honor. Instinctive movements, and the witness is not an expert on that question. It’s well known that mechanical movement like breathing, muscle movement, sounds, can occur when the unformed brain is dead.”

“Overruled,” Morrow said in a dry tone.

Peter turned to Clara. “Miss Sonsten. You say you saw the infant moving?”

“Yes. The arms and legs were moving.”

“And what happened then?”

“I held out my arms and Dr. Vicari handed me the towel and the infant, and I held him.” She paused. “It was a boy.”

“And what was Nurse Broussard doing at this time?”

“She was still trying to get Miss Chasson to lie down. And Miss Chasson was all upset, crying, but I couldn’t understand what she was saying. By the time I was holding the infant, Nurse Broussard had got her down on that bed and she seemed to be calming down.”

It was the valium that calmed down Glory Lynn Chasson, Peter knew. He paused for a moment because the next line of questions and answers would help establish Vicari’s intentions that night. He gave Clara a hard look, hoping she’d remember his warning to be precise in her answers.

“Did the Defendant say anything to you at the time he gave you the infant?”

“Yes.” She looked down at her hands. “He told me to take it out of there, to the utility room. That it was upsetting the patient.”

Peter turned so that the gallery could clearly see and hear. “And what did you take those instructions to mean, Miss Sonsten?”

“I took that to mean I should take the baby to the utility room.” She paused and lifted one shoulder. “What else? I was to leave it there to die, I suppose.”

A collective gasp rose from the spectators. Peter dropped his head and passed his hand over his eyes. As the hum continued, Judge Morrow banged the gavel. “Quiet, or I’ll clear the courtroom.”

Peter waited until the room behind him was silent. And then he looked at Clara. “To your knowledge, has that ever happened before at the clinic? Leaving an infant to die in the utility room?”

“I’ve never seen it, but I’ve heard that’s what happens sometimes, when the fetus survives the abortion.”

“Objection.” Vince was on his feet. “Hearsay. Your Honor, please. The Defendant can’t defend against wild speculation and rumors!”

“Sustained.”

Peter had expected this. Clara’s testimony about prior live births was clear hearsay, something she’d heard from someone else. But Judge Morrow had heard her words and Peter hoped that they were burned in his mind.

Now he folded his arms across his chest and turned, looking at Charles Vicari. “Let’s get this straight. Dr. Vicari has handed the infant to you, in the towel, and while you’re holding it the Defendant instructs you to take it out of the room, to take him to the utility room?”

She nodded, and followed it with, “Yes.”

“And what was your response?”

“I asked Dr. Vicari if I should suction and then call an ambulance for help.”

“Can you explain to the court what you mean by that?”

She shrugged. “Sure.” Turning, she spoke to the judge. “You use a little suction bulb to clear the throat, try to clear the air passages for the baby to help him breathe. Sometimes you can clear the throat with your fingers if you have to. Premature babies have immature lungs, and this could give us time to get him to a ventilator.”

“A ventilator, respirator, monitors. To your knowledge does the Alpha Women’s Clinic maintain that type of equipment?”

“No.” With a glance at the defendant, she frowned. “But I was thinking that might give us time to call an ambulance, get him to a hospital.”

Peter nodded. “Your thought was to get the infant to a hospital neonatal intensive care unit?”

“Yes.” Again, she glanced at the defendant.

Peter followed her eyes. He’d expected more reaction from the defense table during Clara’s testimony. But Vicari sat casually back, one elbow planted on the arm of his chair, his cheek resting in his hand. His look was one of disdain.

He looked back at Clara. “And Dr. Vicari said, no?”

“That’s right.” She looked down. “He was furious. He took the baby back from me. Then he wrapped that towel all around, kind of tight, so it covered the baby’s face. Like a mummy, you know? And then he handed it back to me and told me to get out, to take it to the utility room. He said I was upsetting Glory Lynn.”

Peter turned, angling his body toward the spectators. “So what did you do then?”

“He went back to working on Glory Lynn and I unwrapped the towel from the infant’s face. He was still struggling to breathe.”

“Did Dr. Vicari see that?”

“No. He was focused on his patient.”

“What did you do next?”

“I left the procedure room, with the baby. I kept the towel around him best I could to keep him warm. He looked to me to be a perfectly formed little boy.” In the silence, she began to cry.

“Objection.” Vince McConnell lifted his hand without rising. “Strike the last sentence. Beyond the witness’s expertise.”

“Sustained.” Morrow looked at the court reporter. “Strike the last sentence from the record, Michelene.”

Peter signaled the bailiff. The Kleenex box appeared. He pulled out two tissues and handed them to Clara, then placed the box on the wooden partition beside her. She took the tissues from him without looking up. Wiped her eyes. Blew her nose.

“So you left the delivery room with the towel wrapped around the baby. What did you do then?”

Minutes passed. She sniffled. Blew her nose again, then looked up at Peter. “I took him into an empty room, down the hallway, near the back.” She ducked her head and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Lights were still on in there.” She looked at Peter from under her lids. “And then . . . then I sat down on the stool and held him. I cleared out his mouth and throat with my fingers, best I could to help him breathe. Then, I just cradled him in my arms.”

Spectators erupted. Judge Morrow banged the gavel. “One more outburst and I’ll have the bailiff clear the courtroom.” He glared out over the courtroom, the gavel hovering midair.

Peter turned back to Clara. He didn’t want to lose this momentum.