An Accidental Life (19 page)

He closed his notebook. He was finished with her for now; but if they took the case forward, she’d be on the stand, that was certain. She’d told him plenty. “All right,” he said. “Have it your way.” He stuck the notebook in his pocket, and put the pen back in his jacket.

His hand was on the door, when she said, “Hey.”

He turned his head.

“There’s another side to it too, you know. It’s the woman’s right to choose.”

Mac walked back to his car in the parking lot, opened the door, got in, and gazed through the windshield. Glory Lynn Chasson had told the truth. Then he banged his fist on the steering wheel. He’d learned to distance himself from cases long ago. And, he’d thought he’d seen and heard it all. But for a few minutes back there, it seemed to him that the world had just turned upside down. There should be cheers and congratulations when a child was born alive.

Shaking his head, he backed the car out of the parking spot, shifted the gear forward, and then suddenly hit the brakes. For a few minutes he sat there letting the engine idle, seeking a horizon. So he focused his eyes on the straight lines of the buildings across the street, anchoring himself with the dependable vertical and horizontal lines, and the solid walls.

“So it’s true, then.” Peter looked at Mac. Mac nodded.

Peter swiveled his chair toward the window. For an instant he closed his eyes, forcing the image away. “He told Clara Sonsten to take the baby to the utility room,” he murmured, as if to himself.

Mac said nothing.

Peter gazed through the window, past the levee and out over the Mississippi River rolling south toward the Gulf thinking of Glory Lynn and that baby.

Mac was silent. The hour was late and typewriters and phones were quiet in the outer office. When, at last, Peter turned back to Mac, anger burned in his chest. The slow burn rose in the back of his throat, bringing with it the same choking sense of disbelief he’d felt when he’d first seen the autopsy photos. Glory Lynn’s story was true.

“It’s just hard to comprehend,” he finally said.

Mac nodded, working a cuticle at the edge of his thumbnail. “I figure Vicari and Broussard have done this before.” He lifted his eyes. “I figure they ran into some trouble up there, in Chicago.”

“It’s possible.”

“I’d like to go up there and check things out, Pete. I’m thinking something might have happened that made them leave. I don’t believe they left and came all this way just because the clinic was for sale. There’s something more—some other reason for leaving. The hospital wouldn’t give me much when I called, but I think I could do better in person.”

Peter looked at the detective and their eyes met and held. He nodded. “I’ll take care of the paperwork, and Ham.” He leaned back, crossing his arms, and looking at Mac. If anyone could dig up information without a warrant, Fred McAndrews could. “You go on up there and see what you can find.”

22

Shuffling forward in the taxi line
at O’Hare Airport, Mac glanced at his watch. Four forty-five. Plenty of time to catch the night shift at the hospital. At the head of the line, he lifted his bag and swung it into the open trunk of the taxi. The driver slammed it shut, and Mac slid into the backseat.

The driver twisted his neck to look at Mac. “Where to?”

“New Hope Hospital.” Mac read out the address.

The driver nodded and started the car.

“How long?”

“Little more than half-hour.”

The hospital was located in Oak Lawn, a suburb of Chicago and south of O’Hare. It was a smaller place than he’d pictured in his mind. But still, it was a fully equipped hospital, not merely a clinic. Retrieving his bag from the driver he entered the revolving doors. At the reception desk, two ladies looked up. Both wore nametags identifying them as volunteers.

“My wife’s having a baby,” Mac said, sounding breathless.

They looked at the bag over his shoulder and his frantic expression and smiled. “The maternity ward is on the second floor,” one of them said, pointing to an elevator bank to the left. “Take the elevator to the second floor and turn right. The waiting room’s right down the hall. Just give the nurse your name.”

“Thanks.” Mac turned toward the elevators.

“Congratulations,” she called after him.

He threw her a smile as he pressed the elevator button.

In the waiting room on the second floor, he set the bag down in a corner by a row of empty chairs. There was a family sitting in the far corner, a man, an older woman, and two children, waiting. He figured the bag was as safe here as anywhere for a while. Hands in his pockets, he strolled out into the hall and looked at the sign on the plaster wall facing him.
Obstetrics
, it read, with an arrow pointing to the right.

It was six o’clock and getting dark outside. Ahead he spotted a nurses’ station, and there the hallway split in two along either side of the station. A sign to his right said
Pediatrics
, with an arrow underneath pointing to a doorway to the right. The top half of the door was opaque pebbled glass blocking his view. The door was closed.

He took a jog to the left, on past the nurses’ station, his stride taking on a sense of purpose. On both sides of the hallway were patients’ rooms. Most of the doors were shut. Ahead, where the hall ended, were two double doors, and the sign on those said
Hospital Personnel ONLY—O.R.

Mac stood looking at the doors for a moment, considering. Then he turned and headed back toward the nurses’ station. Behind the V-shaped counter a man in blue scrubs stood talking to one of the nurses. He held a cup of coffee in one hand and leaned against the wall while the nurse looked up at him, smiling.

Mac strolled on around the counter toward the other end where he saw a nurse sitting alone. He figured her for early to middle thirties. Her white-capped head was bent as she wrote. He stopped just before her and rested his hand on the countertop, waiting. She wore no wedding ring, he saw.

Just then she looked up. “Can I help you?”

With a tenuous smile, he ran his fingers back through his hair and shuffled his feet. “I’m looking for a friend,” he said. “I haven’t seen her in a while, and—well,” he ducked his head and let her study him for a moment before looking up again. “I’m in town for a day or two and thought I’d look her up. Thought maybe I’d drop in and surprise her while I’m here.”

The young nurse smiled. “What’s her name?”

“Eileen Broussard? Is she, ah, is she around?”

The nurse put down the pen she’d been using and rested one hand atop the other on the desk. “I’m sorry, Mister . . .”

“Oooh, don’t tell me.” He shook his head. “She’s not here.” He slapped the counter, closed his eyes, and dipped his chin. “I knew it. I just knew it.” From his lids he saw the pity forming, the wrinkled forehead, the eyes.

“Eileen quit six or seven months ago, sir.”

He gave her a gloomy look. Seconds passed, and then somewhat awkwardly he reached across the counter, offering his hand. “Fred McAndrews,” he said. With a worried look, she shook his hand.”

“Broussard was her maiden name. I’m her husband.”

The young nurse picked up the pen she’d been using and tapped it on the desktop. “Oh. Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

“Do you know where I can find her?”

She shook her head, still tapping the pen, avoiding his eyes. “She’s moved out of the city. I heard she went someplace down south.”

Mac planted his elbows on the counter and rested his forehead in his hands.

The tapping stopped and she looked at him. “Are you all right?”

He lifted his head, staring at her. “No. Not really.” Then he straightened. Dropped his hands to his sides. “I’ve been looking for her for a while.”

He heard the chair squeak back on the tiled floor. “I’m so sorry,” the nurse said in a tone of compassion. She stood. “How long has it been since you’ve seen her?”

Mac turned his eyes to her, releasing a long sigh. “She’s been gone a while. Too long. I should’a come after her sooner.” He drew out the words. “One day she just disappeared.”

“Well, I never would have guessed that about Eileen Broussard.” She came around the counter and he turned, looking down. She was a head shorter than him. “My name’s Lucy Ringer,” she said. She took his arm and he let her lead him down the hallway to the right, behind the counter and her desk. “We’ve got a kitchen back here. I’ll take a break right now and fix you a cup of coffee, or a soda, or we have hot tea if you’d like that.”

“I don’t want to be a bother.”

“No trouble at all.”

“Well, that’s nice of you. Thanks.” She pulled him into a small kitchen, and she pulled a chair from underneath a table and motioned for him to sit.

“Coffee?”

Mac gave her a dazed look. “I guess so if you’ll join me.”

“Sure,” she said. “You sit right there and just relax. I hated giving you bad news.”

“Thank you, Miss Ringer.”

“Lucy.”

He nodded, watching as she bustled over to a counter near a sink and filled two cups with coffee from a machine there. “Cream and sugar?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.

“Just black.”

She spooned sugar into her own, added cream, and stirred. Then she carried both cups to the table, placed one before him, and sat down. Reaching for the napkin dispenser on the table, she pulled out two and placed one near his cup.

“Thanks.” Mac lifted the coffee, watching her over the rim. “What’s her life been like, up here?” He glanced into the hallway and then back at her. “She was a nurse, at home. Is that . . .” His voice caught and his words hung in the air between them.

She rolled in her lips and reached across the table, patting the top of his hand. “She was in obstetrics and pediatrics here. She was a good nurse.” Pulling back, she picked up her cup and sipped, holding his eyes. He knew enough not to break the silence.

At last she spoke. “I worked with Eileen, your wife, once in a while. I didn’t know her well, though.” She ducked her head and circled the cup with her hands, eyes focused on the coffee. “I wouldn’t say we were really friends. She kind of kept to herself.”

“She always was quiet.”

He saw a flick of something in her eyes at that. Lucy gave the coffee cup a little shove with her finger tips and looked up, seeming to gather her thoughts. “Eileen worked mostly with Dr. Charles Vicari. He’s Obstetrics and Pediatrics.” She hesitated for a moment, pursing her lips, watching him. “Dr. Vicari left at the same time.”

He jerked up his chin and let his voice trip up the scale. “They left together?”

She nodded. Glancing through the door to her right, she leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I don’t want to upset you, Fred. But seems to me you’re entitled to know the truth.”

“They had something going?”

“Looked like it, I’m afraid.”

He rubbed his eyes. Then, aware that she was studying him, he stretched his neck, stretching it to one shoulder, then the other, and then he straightened up and gazed at her. “I appreciate that. Truth can set a man free. But why’d they leave?”

“I don’t know about that.” She looked at him from under her lids.

He nodded.

Quickly, she dropped her eyes. Lifting the coffee to her lips, she took a sip, and set the cup back down. “There were rumors around the time they left, some problems.”

He said nothing, watching as her brows drew together. The corners of her eyes turned down.

After a few seconds, she said, “I’ll tell you what I know, but you’ve got to keep me out of this. You can’t ever say that it came from me.”

He said sure, but didn’t promise. This was a murder investigation, after all. He’d use the power of the courts if he had too, but this way was better, for now.

“Lucy!”

Her head whipped around and she waved at someone passing by in the hallway. Then she hunched toward him and lowered her voice. “We can’t talk about this here. I’m on shift. If anyone found out I told you . . .”

Mac felt a rush of adrenaline. Maybe he was getting somewhere. He glanced at his watch. “What time do you get off?”

She tipped her head to one side and gave him a look. “Half an hour. I’m off at seven.”

“Can I buy you dinner?”

Seconds passed and then she nodded. “Sure. A frog’s gotta eat.”