An Accidental Life (16 page)

Peter glanced at his watch. “It’s nine thirty, Mac, and I’m beat. Just tell me what you’ve got.”

“Can’t, my friend. Get over here. This won’t take long. It’s important.”

“Not tonight.”

Mac’s voice took on an urgent tone. “Peter. I’m at the payphone in the hallway and Clara Sonsten’s here with me. She’s waiting at a table and she’s got a lot to say about that night and Glory Lynn. Sonsten wants to talk. Wants to waive her rights.”

“What? Back up. Are you talking about the nurse from the clinic?”

“That’s right. So, get over here quick.”

Peter grimaced and shook his head. “What are you doing, Mac? Does she know Chasson’s filed a complaint?”

“Yeah. We’re okay. She understands what’s going on and she says she just wants to tell us what happened.” Seconds passed and he heard Mac’s exasperated sigh. “Just get on over here. Give her immunity in exchange, but I’m telling you, you’re going to want her on that witness stand.”

Peter was silent. An offer of immunity could be arranged.

“Look, right now we’re having a friendly conversation. I’ll fill you in later. Just get over here. You know where this place is?”

Peter rubbed his forehead. “Yes, sure.” He knew the place, the usual red and white checked plastic tablecloths and Chianti bottles covered with candle wax. “Give me ten,” he said, looking at the half-eaten sandwich on the plate.

“Got it.”

Walking toward the front door, he rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned his collar. He’d call Rebecca if this took more than a half-hour.

Through the large plate glass window in front of the restaurant he could see Mac inside, talking to a nice-looking woman about fifteen years his junior. Mac sat at the end of the table with the woman he assumed was Clara sitting beside him.

They hadn’t noticed his arrival, and for a moment he stood near the door, just inside, assessing the nurse as a potential witness, envisioning her as a jury would if she were seated before them. Her plain brown hair barely touched her shoulders, curling under at the ends. Her head was down as she listened to something Mac said. She wore a flowered dress with long sleeves, a straight skirt, and a belt at the waistline, instead of a nurse’s white uniform. Beside her, Mac had shed the jacket and tie he usually wore. Between them was a large, half-eaten pizza.

When Mac finished talking, Clara straightened and nodded. Peter started toward the table then. Mac saw him first. With a word to Clara, he pushed back his chair and stood, extending his hand. From the corner of his eyes Peter saw the nurse giving him the once-over.

“Peter,” Mac said. “Glad you could make it.” He turned to Clara and introduced them.

Peter shook Mac’s hand and said hello to Clara. He pulled out an empty chair across the table from them and sat. Mac slid the pizza tray toward him. “Have some. It’s still hot.” He twisted around. “Where’s the waitress. We need another plate.”

“No thanks,” Peter said. “I just ate. But I’ll take a cup of coffee.”

The waitress approached and Peter ordered the coffee. As she departed, Mac leaned toward Clara, jabbing his thumb at Peter. “Clara, Peter here is the district attorney I was telling you about.”

Clara studied him in silence.

He turned to Peter. “I’ve explained everything to Clara, Peter—advised her of her rights. She wants to waive them. She wants to tell you what she knows.” He glanced at Clara and she nodded, then turned to Peter.

Arms on the table, Peter leaned forward, eyes fixed on Clara. “Are you certain this is what you want?”

“Sure I am. I know what I’m doing. Immunity for my testimony, right?”

He nodded.

“All right then.” She picked up a piece of pizza from the plate and took a bite. Chewing slowly, she held her eyes on Peter. “Let’s get on with this. I don’t have all night.” She dropped the pizza onto her plate, picked up a napkin, and wiped her hands.

“Glory Lynn is convinced that baby was born alive,” Peter said. “I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

“Glory Lynn was a sweet little thing.”

Mac turned his eyes to Peter. “Clara here was on duty that night.” He looked at Clara. “Just go ahead and tell Peter what you’ve told me.” He picked up a glass of water and took a drink. “Just tell it the same way.”

Clara Sonsten pushed her own plate back, away, and knotted her hands together before her. When she finally spoke, Peter had the impression that she was choosing each word.

“Eileen Broussard was the assisting nurse that night,” she said, looking at Peter. Mac leaned back now, one arm stretched to the table, listening. “She and Dr. Vicari were in the procedure room with Glory Lynn.”

“What was the procedure?” Peter struggled to infuse some warmth into his voice.

She shrugged. “I wasn’t assigned to the case—she wasn’t my patient. So I wasn’t there at that point, but I assume it was induced labor. That’s usual when the patient’s so far along. It’s safest for the client.”

“The clinic performs late-term abortions?”

“Sure they do. Well, if the fetus isn’t viable. And even after that if the woman’s health is involved.” She glanced at Mac. “Like high blood pressure, or depression, or . . . whatever.”

“And how far along was Glory Lynn?”

She lifted her chin and her voice rose. “I don’t know. I already told Mac. She wasn’t my patient. You’d have to look at the records.” Frowning, she swung her eyes from Peter to Mac, and back again. “Listen, I was only in that room a couple times. It was the last time when Eileen rang for help that I was telling Mac about.” Her voice caught on the last few words.

Peter nodded, softening his expression. “Okay. Just tell me what you saw.”

Clara’s eyes pooled with tears. Peter pulled a napkin from the holder on the table and handed it across to her. “I know this is hard for you, Miss Sonsten.”

“Clara.” She dabbed her eyes.

“Okay. Just tell me what you saw. Start from the beginning.”

She nodded. “The first time Eileen rang I went into the room and Glory Lynn was in labor.”

“Was she awake?

“Yes.”

“Having a hard time?”

“Not too bad. It’s not like that when the fetus is so small . . . not like at full term.” She looked down, twisting the napkin in her hands. “Eileen needed some instruments and I went to get them. Brought them back, and handed them to her.” Her eyes dropped to her hands. “Dr. Vicari was beginning to deliver at that point, I think.”

“What time was that?”

Fingertips pressed against her mouth, she looked off. “About six fifteen at night, I think.”

“All right. Go on.”

“So I went back out. Started down the hallway, and then I heard a scream.” She looked at Peter. “It wasn’t the kind of sound you’d expect to hear in the clinic. It wasn’t a series of cries, like you might hear during hard labor or anything. It was just . . . one loud scream.”

“I stopped when I heard that scream, and then kept on down the hallway. I was going to get a Coke-Cola or something out of the fridge in the kitchen when I heard the bell ring again.” She glanced at Mac, and he nodded. “So I went back into the room, the delivery room, and there was Glory Lynn and she was half off the table, trying to sit up and she was crying, just sobbing, and Eileen was struggling with her.

“Dr. Vicari was still on the stool at the end of the table, and I saw he was holding something in his hand. On the delivery towel in his left hand. And then I heard the cry.” Her voice broke, and bending her head, she pressed her hand over her forehead. “I looked again, and then realized he was holding an infant, and that I’d heard it cry.” She looked at Peter. “He’d cut the cord, but the baby, it was alive!”

An image of Rebecca’s gently swelling belly rose in Peter’s mind. And then, the autopsy photos rose and, swallowing, he forced those thoughts away; forced himself to concentrate only on Clara’s words. This was critical. Clara was corroborating Glory Lynn Chasson’s complaint.

He leaned forward, arms on the table. “You’re certain that you heard a cry?”

Her shoulders heaved. “Yes. Yes!” A tear slipped down her cheeks and she brought the napkin to her eyes. “It was a boy—I found that out later. But after I heard that cry, Dr. Vicari told me to get over there, and when I came close, I could see that the fet . . . uh, the, the infant was breathing.” Crumpling the napkin in her hands, she dropped them onto the table, looking at Peter.

“Glory Lynn was beside herself. She was crying and Doctor Vicari was telling Eileen to calm her down. He was worried about extracting the placenta, telling her to keep still.”

Clara’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling and then dropped back to Peter. “It was pandemonium in there, I’ll tell you. Glory Lynn struggling with Eileen like she wanted off the bed. When I reached him, Dr. Vicari shoved it into my hands, towel and all. I looked down and . . . and, it was so small.” Wide eyed, she looked at Peter, pausing, then she brushed the napkin over her face. “That’s when I saw it was a little boy.”

“And then what?”

“Well.” She sucked in a shuddering breath. “I just stood there holding it, waiting. I didn’t know what he wanted me to do.”

“What was the doctor doing at that moment?”

“He’d turned back to Glory Lynn.” She squeezed her eyes shut for an instant, then looked at him. “There was blood and he was telling Eileen to keep her still.” She dropped the wadded napkin onto the table and brushed her hands over her eyes. “And I’m standing there holding the infant, watching him struggling to breathe, moving his legs, his arms, and not believing what I’m seeing.” She shook her head.

Peter steepled his hands beneath his chin, studying her. “You’re certain of all of this?”

“Yes.” Clara jutted out her jaw and looked at him. “I’m not a fool.”

“I don’t take you for one.” He paused. “What happened next?”

“Well, Vicari finally noticed I was still there and he shouted at me, told me to take it away, take it away. He said to take it to the utility room. I thought maybe he hadn’t realized it was alive. I thought maybe he didn’t understand. So I said the baby was still breathing and I asked should I suction and call an ambulance?” She hesitated and lifted her shoulders. “I mean, it was alive!”

“And?”

“He said, no. He flew into a rage then. He turned around and took the baby from me. He wrapped the towel all around it, covering the face, too; like you’ve seen mummies wrapped? And then he handed it back to me. He’d covered him so I knew he couldn’t breathe.” She paused. “And then he turned back to Glory Lynn and said to get it out of there and put it in the utility room. Said I was upsetting his patient.”

“What did he mean . . . take it to the utility room?”

“That’s where medical waste is kept. There, or the freezer until it’s picked up.” She stared at him, as if deciding whether to go on.

He nodded.

“Well, I unwrapped the end of the towel from around the face and saw the baby still fighting to breathe. Dr. Vicari wasn’t paying any attention to me right then. He was all focused on Glory Lynn.”

She frowned and hunched forward, an intense look on her face. “I’d heard before, from a nurse at a clinic I worked in before coming to Alpha . . . I’d heard that sometimes when a fetus survives the abortion they’ll just let it die.”

“Was she talking about Vicari?”

“No. She just said that it happens.” Clara straightened and shook her head. “The whole point of using the induction procedure that late is to keep the fetus intact, so I guess I should have thought of that before.” She glanced at Mac. “It’s safer for the woman. But I’d never believed that some could live through the trauma.”

Peter fought the urge to close his eyes. He worked to keep his expression blank. “Did you ever hear anyone talking about that at the Alpha clinic?”

“No. But I hadn’t been there long. A little over a month. And Eileen mostly worked with the doctor. I took care of clients before and after.”

Peter took a deep breath.

Clara looked off.

Mac touched her arm. “Tell him the rest of it, Clara.”

After a tick she turned back to him. “I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t let the baby die alone. So I went into another procedure room, one way at the back of the clinic, where the lights were out. And I held him there in my arms until he died.” She folded her arms on the table and dropped her head on top of them. Then she sat there, hunched, and very still.

Peter’s throat seemed to close. An ache spread down his throat and into his chest. He put his hand on the aching spot, rubbing it as he looked at Clara Sonsten. To his left, Mac was writing. “What time did he pass away?”

“I don’t know.” She straightened. “Over an hour; maybe an hour and a half later. I can’t remember exactly, I was upset.”

Minutes passed. Then she added. “I quit the next morning.”

Peter’s eyes met Mac’s. There were a lot of holes, but even so, he thought maybe they had a case.

18

Alice Hamilton’s apartment was not far
from Dr. Matlock’s office; easy to get to on the streetcar. Her apartment was on the second floor of a wooden house on Oak Street, on the downriver side of the streetcar tracks and only one block off Carrolton Avenue. The house was built in the 1940s and had seen its best days years ago, but the rent was low and she liked the location. Right across the street on the opposite diagonal corner there was a small family grocery store.