Accidental Life

by Pamela Binnings Ewen

  She straightened and looked at him. “Nurse Sonsten.”

  “Do you know how many milligrams?”

  “Five.” She hesitated. “And then the pain got worse, and Nurse Sonsten called Miss Broussard—Nurse Broussard—and she removed the laminaria. Then they gave me another valium . . .”

  “Please tell the court, how much valium you received this time.”

  “Five milligrams again.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “The nurses helped me out of the bed and took me into another room and helped me up onto that table.” She twisted her hands, looking at Peter now. “Nurse Broussard seemed worried and kept asking where the doctor was, and Nurse Sonsten went out to look for him.”

  “Nurse Broussard seemed worried?” He asked the question in a tone of surprise, and turned so that he could see both the defense table and the galley.

  “She sounded worried, or maybe surprised. She said things were moving fast. And when Dr. Vicari arrived, she told him to hurry.”

  “Do you know what time that was?”

  “No. I’d lost track. Couldn’t think.” Tears ran down her cheeks now. He wished that he could reach out and hold onto her hand, but all he could do was turn to the bailiff and ask for Kleenex. She wiped her cheeks with the heel of her hand, and when the bailiff brought the box over, she pulled out a tissue and patted her face.

  “Please continue. What happened then?”

  “It all happened so fast,” she said. Wringing the tissue in her hands, she looked up at the judge, then back to Peter. “I, I . . .” Her eyes swung to the Defendant and she lifted her arms, flailing as her voice rose. “I could see that things weren’t right, that things were happening too fast. Everything seemed so far away and I could hear the nurse talking to him, and—”

  Peter broke in, moving toward her. “By him, do you mean Dr. Vicari?”

  “Yes, yes. Dr. Vicari.” Her eyes darted to the defendant and away. Then she looked out over the courtroom, and he knew that she saw no one in the gallery. She was watching herself on that long afternoon. “Suddenly, I felt it . . . the baby . . . I felt it slip through me and out . . .” Her voice broke.

  “Just like that,” she cried, swinging her eyes from one side of the room to the other. “There wasn’t any pain then, not really. It just slid out.” And she lifted her hands, cupping them, as if she could feel it. “I could tell that something was wrong . . . I could tell from the nurse’s voice, and then Dr. Vicari pushed her aside, and then I heard the cry!”

  Peter walked to her side. Stuck his hands in his pockets and looked across at the defendant. “You heard the infant’s cry?”

  “Yes. Yes!”

  The room was silent as a stone as Glory Lynn bent forward, sobbing.

  Peter looked at the judge. “May we take a break, Your Honor?”

  The judge’s face was creased, strained. He gave a brief nod and looked out at the spectators. “Court will recess for fifteen minutes.”

  Dooney took Glory Lynn to the ladies room down the hallway and waited for her there. Peter returned to his seat at the prosecution table. He wished that there was some way he could help Glory Lynn with the guilt and remorse that she’d bottled up inside. Anger tightened in his chest as he thought of what Vince McConnell would likely do on cross-examination. Please God, help her take some of the steam out of Vince McConnell’s engine. Please protect this child.

  34

  Glory Lynn Chasson was back on the witness stand. Peter stood at the prosecution table. Judge Morrow leaned back in his chair, hands crossed and resting on his stomach as he stared up at the ceiling.

  “Read the witness’s last two answers back, please,” Peter said to Michelene.

  Michelene looked down at the tape and read, her voice devoid of emotion:

  Answer: “There wasn’t any pain then, not really. It just slid out. I could tell that something was wrong . . . I could tell from the nurse’s voice, and then Dr. Vicari pushed her aside, and then I heard the cry!”

  Question: “You heard the infant’s cry?”

  Answer: “Yes. Yes!”

  Michelene looked up.

  “Thank you,” Peter said. He strolled around the table toward the jury box, stopping about ten feet before reaching Glory Lynn.

  “Now, Miss Chasson.”

  Glory Lynn stared at him, eyes wide, hands settled on her lap.

  “You say you heard the infant cry?”

  “Yes.” She pushed back her hair. “Twice.”

  “You’ve just testified about the first time. When did you hear the second cry?”

  “Well, the first time took a few seconds, maybe half a minute, to register, I guess. And then, when I realized what I’d heard I think I screamed . . . I screamed, and all I could think of then was to get to my baby, to hold my baby, and Nurse Broussard was holding me down, pushing me back down, and Dr. Vicari was saying something, and someone else came in, Nurse Sonsten came in, and that’s when I heard the second cry and it just cut right through my . . . heart.”

  She choked on the last words, ducking her head. “All I could think of was getting to my baby.”

  “And tell us, then what happened?”

  “It’s all so confusing and hard to remember.” She hesitated, looking at Peter, hanging onto his eyes, and he felt that if he moved one fraction of an inch, Glory Lynn Chasson would collapse.

  “I . . . I was trying to tell Nurse Broussard that I wanted my baby, trying to make her understand . . .” She curled her hands into fists, pressing them together as she lifted them, pumping them with the cadence of her words. “I was fighting her, trying to make her understand, trying to make Dr. Vicari understand, and she was telling me to lie back down, to lie back down.”

  The courtroom was silent. Glory Lynn slowly dropped her hands, and leaned forward gripping the partition.

  This was the moment. Peter worked to keep his voice steady, and soothing. “What was it that you wanted Dr. Vicari and Miss Broussard to understand?” He held her eyes and prayed that Judge Morrow would take this in and sympathize with Glory Lynn.

  “I wanted my baby.” Her tone was fierce as she looked at Peter. “I didn’t want anyone to hurt my baby.”

  “But hadn’t you come to the clinic especially for an abortion?”

  “Yes. But everything changed when I heard him cry! That made everything different. My baby was alive, and I wanted him to live.”

  Seconds passed. Glory Lynn slumped in the chair and looked out over the courtroom.

  Peter’s voice turned gentle. “What do you remember next?”

  Slowly she shook her head from side to side. Glory Lynn’s voice dropped a key. “I was fighting and no one would pay attention. I remember the nurse pushing me down on the bed, and . . . and then . . . the lights overhead seemed to spin and I just felt so tired, and I think I must have closed my eyes, because that’s all I can remember.” She choked back a sob. “Just those lights.”

  She looked at Dooney, then at Peter. “And then I woke up in a different room and everything was over. They told me that I’d done fine; that I could go home.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Miss Broussard.”

  “Did you see Nurse Sonstein after that?”

  “No.” She hesitated. “Miss Broussard, Nurse Broussard drove me home.”

  “All right. Just a few more questions.” Peter moved closer.

  She looked up.

  “When you first went to the clinic and signed forms consenting to the abortion procedure, was it ever your understanding that if the infant was born alive that medical assistance would be withheld from the child because of that consent?”

  “No. Of course not. I never thought of—”

  “Objection, Your Honor.” Vince was on his feet. “The question assumes evidence not of record
, that the infant was viable, and that medical assistance was necessary and withheld.”

  Peter walked to the bench. “Respectfully, Your Honor—”

  Judge Morrow threw up his hands. “Objection sustained.”

  “I’ll rephrase the question,” Peter said.

  Peter walked back to the center of the well and looked at Glory Lynn. “Miss Chasson, let me put the question this way.” He folded his arms and looked up, searching for words. “When you signed the consent forms at Alpha Women’s Medical Clinic prior to the abortion procedure, was it your understanding that there was any possibility that the infant could be born alive in any manner of speaking?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And I will never forget the sound of that cry. Never.”

  “Objection.”

  “The witness will answer only questions asked,” Judge Morrow said. He looked at Michelene. “Strike the witness’s last statement from the record.”

  But Peter knew that Calvin Morrow would remember the sound of those agonizing words. He turned to the bench, and said, “No more questions for this witness, Your Honor.”

  Morrow nodded and beckoned to his clerk. “We’ll take a fifteen-minute break, Counsel.” He looked at Vince McConnell. “You’ll take the witness on cross when we return.”

  “All rise,” the bailiff called. Judge Morrow rose, and disappeared through the door behind the bench.

  Dooney asked Glory Lynn if she’d like to go to a private witness room to wait during the short recess. Glory Lynn said no, she just wanted to be left alone for a while. She would wait in the chair on the witness stand.

  When Doony returned, Peter glanced up at her. “Clara Sonsten’s on next. Make certain Shauna and Clara are here, please.”

  “Sure.” Dooney rose and headed toward the room where the prosecution witnesses would wait prior to being called.

  A few minutes later, Dooney pushed through the gate to his right.

  “They’re not here.” She sounded breathless

  Peter looked up, frowning. “Shauna and Clara?”

  “Right.” Dooney brushed hair back from her forehead. “They’re not here, Peter. I phoned the office. Molly says she hasn’t heard from them.”

  “Great,” Peter muttered. He blew out his cheeks, thinking. Behind Dooney he saw Vince McConnell coming down the aisle.

  Glancing at his watch, Peter gazed over the courtroom, lowering his voice. “I don’t know how long Vince will take on cross with Glory Lynn, but we’ve got to have a stand-in, someone else for the rest of the afternoon. Calvin Morrow will go ballistic if we’re not ready. See if you can find Mac, will you? If he’s not in his office, have him paged. And find out how long it’ll take him to get here.” He glanced back at the empty bench.

  “And hurry. If we don’t have someone lined up when Vince is finished, Morrow will eat us alive.”

  35

  Court was back in session. Judge Morrow held up his pen and pointed it toward Vince McConnell.

  “Counsel,” he said. “Your witness.”

  Vince picked up a manila file folder, stood and walked to the lectern, Without looking at the witness, he opened the file—taking his time—running his eyes down the first page before closing it again. Then he strode toward the witness stand where he stood ten feet away, arms behind his back, hands clasped, looking at Glory Lynn.

  “Miss Chasson. My name is Vince O’Connell, and as you know, I’m counsel for Dr. Charles Vicari.”

  Glory Lynn looked at him and nodded. “I know.”

  “Something’s been puzzling me since I heard your testimony earlier.” He paused, studying Glory Lynn. “You came to the Alpha Women’s Clinic of your own accord, did you not?”

  “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?”