Accidental Life

by Pamela Binnings Ewen

  Rebecca started. Avoid stress. The new woman partner must avoid stress? Impossible. She fixed her eyes on a chart of the human body on the wall before her, thinking that over.

  Matlock seemed to read her thoughts. “This isn’t a suggestion. It’s an order. You’re going to have to stay in bed. Only for a few days, if the bleeding doesn’t resume.”

  There was the Auriel deal. There was Brightfield’s brief. Peter squeezed her shoulder.

  Her voice ripped up the scale when she was able to speak. “For how long, exactly? How long in bed?”

  “We’ll just have to see. If there’s no more bleeding, I’d say you could try getting up and around after a few days.”

  “But . . .”

  “But none of those long hours I know you’re used to working. No stress. No heavy lifting, or long walks or exercise.”

  “I can’t . . .”

  “And,” he went on, ignoring Rebecca’s protests, moving his eyes to Peter. “Romance will have to wait awhile.”

  “Listen, Dr. Matlock. I’ve got work to do. I can’t just go to bed for a few days.”

  “Yes, you can.” His voice was casual. He took the stethoscope from around his neck, and turned around, looking for his black bag. The bag was on an aluminum table, painted white, just under the chart on the wall. “You’ll do it because that’s what you need to do for your baby.” He opened the bag, stuck the stethoscope inside, snapped it closed, picked it up, and turned back to Rebecca.

  The Auriel closing was in a month. And it would take place in Bakersfield, California. “Will I be able to travel after that, after I’m up and about again?”

  He gave her a long look. “I doubt it.”

  Peter spoke up: “Tell us; what’s the worst that could happen?”

  Matlock paused. Worked his tongue around in his cheek. At last he said, “Miscarriage, possibly.”

  Rebecca bowed her head. Matlock quickly added, “But that’s unlikely if you’re careful.”

  She nodded.

  “I want to see you once a week from now on. And we’ll schedule another ultra-sound in about a month.” He picked up the hat he’d worn and put it on his head, looking at them both.

  “We’re going to watch this carefully and take every precaution. Baby’s going to be fine. Just fine.”

  Alice was resting in bed, her feet propped up on a pillow she kept just for that purpose.

  When the telephone rang, she decided to ignore it. And then it rang again.

  Once. Twice. She struggled to her feet. Hurrying into the kitchen she picked up the receiver. “Hello?” She could hear the hint of worry in her voice.

  “Alice. I’m so glad you’re there.”

  She slumped against the wall. Chicago. Not again. “I’m here. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. At least, I don’t think so. But a detective came by our office today. A man named Fred McAndrews. From New Orleans, he said. He was looking for you, Alice. Asked for you by name, Alice Braxton.”

  “Did you tell him anything?”

  “Of course not. You know how New Hope is. I just wanted you to know. Like you asked.”

  25

  A few days later, Mac sat in Peter’s office, legs crossed, notebook open and resting on his knee. An accordion file folder was on the floor beside him, standing upright against the leg of his chair. He was describing the conversation he’d had with Lucy Ringer in Chicago. When he got to the part about Alice Jean Braxton, Peter felt it—there was something here.

  “Vicari routinely performed late-term abortions, Lucy says.”

  He nodded, not wanting to interrupt.

  “The blow up between Alice Braxton and Charles Vicari made a big impression on the staff, according to Lucy. Apparently it’s unusual for a nurse to go to war with a physician. Lucy was able to pin down a range of dates from the other nurses’ recollections and then she checked the duty rosters. Only one date around then showed Alice Braxton working with Vicari.” He reached down and heaved the file to his knees and looked through it until he came to the page he wanted and pulled it out.

  “Here’s a copy of the roster for that day. Alice Braxton worked with Vicari on December 3, 1979, about two and a half years ago.” He handed the page over to Peter. Bending over the desk Mac pointed upside-down to an entry on the sheet that Peter held, a notation at 5:30 p.m. “It looks like Eileen Broussard was originally scheduled to work with Vicari, and then her name was crossed off and Alice Braxton’s is scribbled above that. According to Lucy, the next day they had that argument.”

  Backing into the chair again, he leaned back. “Ordinarily Alice refused to work with Vicari, Lucy said. He performed abortions and Braxton had filed a conscience objection with the hospital, Lucy says. So this particular substitution was unusual.”

  “The nurse you talked to, did she know if there was an investigation on what happened, afterwards?”

  “She didn’t know of anything and I couldn’t push that far.” He gave Peter a wry smile. “I was supposed to be looking for my missing wife.”

  “Missing wife?”

  “Yes. Eileen Broussard.”

  Peter frowned. This was more than he wanted to know.

  “I tried getting information from personnel about Alice’s whereabouts and got nowhere. The lady in PR picked up the phone and called house counsel the minute I asked the question. He must’ve told her to clam up because she had a sour look when she hung up the phone. Bottom line—they don’t give out information on former employees without a local subpoena.”

  “Do they know you talked to Lucy?”

  “I didn’t mention that.”

  No one spoke for a moment. Mac broke the silence. “So. What do you think?”

  Peter pushed out his bottom lip, studying the detective. He swung his hands onto the desk before him. “You think you could get a sworn statement from Miss Ringer?”

  “Once we’ve got a case filed I think she might cooperate.”

  “All right. Even without her, I think we’ve got a case. I’d sure like to talk to this other nurse, this Alice Braxton.” He looked off for a moment, then turned his eyes to Mac. “But, I’ll talk to Ham this afternoon anyway. We’ve bypassed the usual screening process here, but with the forensic report and Clara Sonsten’s statement backing up the complaint and the receptionist Melanie Wright supporting Sonsten, I think we’ve got enough to take to the grand jury.”

  “Good. I want another look at that clinic.”

  “Hold off on the warrant until I talk to Ham. I’ll give you a call soon as that happens.” Leaning back, Peter clasped his hands behind his head. “We need to find Alice Braxton though. Something happened up there in Chicago, and if it’s anything like this, we’d be able to show he’s done this before. To show prior knowledge of such a thing happening, and intent.”

  “Lucy Ringer thinks Alice Braxton was from Louisiana so she may have had a nursing license here. I’ll start in Baton Rouge. That’s not much to go on. But if her license is current in this state, I’ll find her.” Mac slapped his hands on the tops of his thighs. He stuck the notebook into his jacket pocket and picked up the file from his side of Peter’s desk, then stood.

  “What are you thinking for Vicari? Manslaughter? Homicide?”

  Ham would want to go for manslaughter which required a showing of real negligence, but wouldn’t have to prove intent—the intentional killing of a human being. Homicide laws in Louisiana were divided into first and second degree murder, manslaughter, negligent homicide, and vehicular homicide.

  Peter met Mac’s eyes. “As far as I know, a baby born alive in this state has a constitutional right to life; some sort of medical assessment, and then appropriate medical care. I’m tempted to go for second degree murder, but we’d have to prove that Vicari specifically intended to kill this child.”

  Mac didn’t
say anything.

  Peter shook his head, looking off. “I don’t know. Maybe Alice Braxton can shed some light on that issue. But I’m guessing, if we go forward, Ham will want manslaughter.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Yeah. Well, we’ll see.” He’d fight for second degree murder, but that was between him and Ham. “Either way, though, if we take this case forward, we’ve got to win.”

  Mac gave him a nod and headed for the door. Peter watched him go, but as he reached the door, Peter called to him.

  Mac halted and turned.

  “We need to keep this low-key, Mac. No media. If anyone from the press contacts you, refer them to public relations.”

  “You got it.”

  Peter picked up the phone and began to dial the district attorney’s office.

  “Abortion is established law, Peter. The Supreme Court in Roe v. Wade established that nine years ago. And that decision wiped out the State of Louisiana’s abortion laws.” Ham stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back as he looked out over the river toward New Orleans. He’d finally gotten Ham’s attention on the Chasson case. They’d spent an hour going through the evidence.

  “This isn’t about abortion,” Peter replied, yet again.

  Ham turned. He studied Peter for a moment. Peter held steady, but he could almost see the wheels turning in the district attorney’s head, evaluating the chances for success, and failure. This case was sure to attract the press. He was stepping down in two years and the last thing he wanted was a big loss on his record at the end of the road.

  Peter sat on the corner of Ham’s desk with one foot on the floor and the other dangling. When Ham walked back to the chair behind his desk, Peter stood and took his place at the window, looking out over the river.

  “Tell me again why you think you can prove second degree murder.”

  “The Chasson complaint says it loud and clear,” Peter said, turning around. He crossed his arms and began pacing back and forth before Ham’s desk, speaking in a reflective tone as if this was the first time he’d run through the argument. “Look at the facts. We have a living human being, outside the womb and completely separated from the mother. Breathing. Crying. Moving. The abortion’s over.” He stopped and looked at Ham. “What could be more clear?”

  “Nothing in this area’s clear.”

  “The facts are there. Dr. Kand’s report is clear.” He continued pacing back and forth. “Stephanie concludes that the infant lived for some period of time after birth, breathing voluntarily on his own.” He halted and wheeled toward Ham. “Time to get to a hospital.”

  The DA held up his hands. “I’m the devil’s advocate for a minute.” He paused, worked his tongue around in his cheek, and then looked at Peter. “The mother chooses to have an abortion. Roe v. Wade gives her that choice. She does not want to be a mother. So when the infant accidently survives the procedure and the doctor renders medical assistance and the child lives, what’s happened to her choice?”

  “Her right to choose ends at birth.”

  “Have you got a case on point that says that, a case that’s been tried?”

  “There are a couple manslaughter cases, but different facts. None where the infant was completely separated from the mother and continued breathing.”

  “No second degree murder?”

  “No.” Peter let a beat go by. “Like I said, none with these facts.”

  Ham looked at him in silence.

  Peter dropped into a chair before the DA’s desk. “Listen. We’ve got a live birth here.” He raised fingers one at a time to tick off his points. “One: The autopsy concludes the child was alive for a period of time, and yet no medical assessment was performed. Two: The autopsy and the forensic analysis determined that the infant was well formed, premature, of course, but well formed. And, three: We have intent. According to the witness staements, there was plenty of time to get that baby to a hospital. Plenty of time to try to save his life. And according to one witness, Charles Vicari said no. He refused to let the nurse clear the infant’s air passages, or to call an ambulance.”

  Ham shifted his eyes to the door behind Peter. Minutes passed. Peter sat before the DA’s desk stiff and silent, almost holding his breath.

  “We’d do better with negligent homicide,” Ham said at last. He picked up a pen on the desk beside him and focused all of his attention on rolling it back and forth between his fingers.

  Peter shook his head. “This was deliberate, Ham. I want to go for second degree murder.”

  Ham looked up. “How will you prove intent?”

  “We’ll get there.” Once again he summarized Clara Sonsten’s testimony. And Melanie Wright’s. He went through the autopsy report and the pathology conclusions again. Ham reviewed the autopsy photos as he talked, his eyes narrowing as he replaced each one with the next. Peter considered telling Ham about Lucy Ringer’s statement that this circumstance wasn’t unique, but didn’t want the DA’s answer to depend on that. The Chicago nurse’s cooperation wasn’t assured.

  “And this nurse Sonsten, and Miss Wright, they’ll both testify?”

  He hesitated. Melanie Wright might be a hostile witness, but Mac thought she would tell the truth. And Clara Sonsten was reliable. “Yes,” he said.

  Ham pushed the pencil back and forth. “Second degree, you say?”

  “A line’s been crossed here, Ham.”

  The DA grew still. He held Peter’s eyes. “I’m retiring soon, you know.”

  Peter nodded.

  “I’d like you to be my replacement, you know.” He looked off, pushing out his bottom lip, then back at Peter. “But, if you take this case, you’d better win, Peter. Because if not . . . you won’t stand a chance, politics being what they are. This one’s explosive.”

  “We can win it.”

  “All right, then,” Ham said, tapping the stack of photographs on his desk to square them. He set them down beside him and looked at Peter. His brows met, forming slashing lines between his eyes. “Last time I looked at the Code, any infant born alive in this state is a ‘person’ with all the rights that entails, including the right to live, to fight for his life. We’ll go for second degree murder.”

  Peter nodded. He stood, feeling the flutter in his stomach. Ham handed the file back to him.

  “Take it to the grand jury, Peter.” The grand jury would give the DA some cover with the voters, Peter knew.

  “Let’s move forward.”

  26

  Over the next week Rebecca felt Peter’s growing tension, but she didn’t ask what was wrong and he didn’t volunteer. Preparation for the grand jury on the Chasson case absorbed all his time and attention. She’d returned to work five days after the incident that had landed her in the hospital, but since then problems at work were mounting.

  The meeting with Case Roberts and Warren Williams to inform them of her doctor’s orders not to travel had not gone well. She’d tried her best to convince them that with Sydney Martin handling things in Bakersfield at the closing, and with Rebecca available at all times on the phone, the closing would go smoothly.

  Case had worn a pained look as he listened. When she’d finished arguing her case, there’d been a long silence in the room and then, clasping his hands on the table, he’d looked down at them and said, “This is disappointing, of course, Rebecca.” He’d glanced at Warren and back at her. “I understand your problem. Doctor’s orders are final. That’s that.”

  She’d just begun to relax when he added, “But I’m not comfortable not having a partner present at the closing.” He turned to Warren. “What do you think?”

  Avoiding her eyes, Warren clasped his hands together, exactly as Case had done, and studied them in the same melancholy manner. “Things come up, you know. Eye to eye is best. Sometimes those are the most controversial, most important discussions.”


  He turned his eyes to her. “Problems often come up at the last minute; you’ve got to be in the same room.”

  Case interrupted. “Warren’s right, I’m afraid. Faxes and telephones are fine, and I’m sure Sydney Martin’s a capable lawyer, but we need a partner that can make decisions right there in Bakersfield.” He sat back and crossed his arms, his brows lowering, his eyes sorrowful.

  Rebecca felt her throat close. His meaning was plain and if she didn’t take charge quickly and give them what they wanted, they would go someplace else. To some other law firm. She’d break a record—the firm’s first partner to bring in a client and lose him before the first transaction.

  “I understand. And certainly no one here at Mangen & Morris wants Roberts Engineering to be unhappy,” Rebecca said, elbows and arms on the table, as she leaned forward, smiling. Her tone was casual, cheerful. “That’s not a problem. I’ve got someone in mind, Amalise Catoir. She’s one of our best and she could step right in.”

  Oh please, please, let Amalise have the time.

  Case and Warren glanced at each other.

  “All right. That’s fine,” Warren said. “You’ll get her up to speed quickly?”

  “Yes, right away.” She pushed a strand of hair back from her forehead, talking a deep breath as she added, “And since this is our problem, not yours, we’ll bill Roberts Engineering only for her time on this project from now on.”

  Case frowned. “But, you’ll stay involved?”

  “Sure. I’ll be here, in the background. This is just a little lagniappe.” A little something extra that meant she’d be working for free on what had just become Amalise’s deal. Acid burned in the back of her throat. She was having to turn over her first big client to Amalise.

  Back in her office, Rebecca called Amalise and explained the situation. Amalise said that she’d be glad to help. Rebecca didn’t mention the billing arrangement. Amalise would report all of her billable hours on the deal, and there’d be plenty. But she’d have been uncomfortable knowing that Rebecca was donating her own time. Still, she was doing what was necessary to hold on to the client.