An Accidental Life (45 page)

Stephanie Kand was effective in her rebuttal of the conclusions of the defense witness, George Barnett, Peter thought, although Morrow had showed no sign of particular interest. During Dr. Kand’s testimony the judge had stretched back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his neck and stared at the ceiling.

Could be, he was bored.

Or, could be he’d already made up his mind.

But the judge hadn’t heard the story of Abby Gordy yet, either, Peter reminded himself. He stood by the prosecution table watching Stephanie Kand as she walked back through the railing gate and up the aisle to the exit door. It was four forty-five. Now was the time to confront Morrow.

Morrow roved over the courtroom. “This is as good a time as any to stop for the day.” His eyes stopped on Peter. “What’s our schedule look like for tomorrow, Counsel?”

“Here we go,” he muttered to Dooney. “May we approach the bench, Your Honor?” he said.

Morrow eyes roved over the courtroom. “That was a simple question.”

“We need to discuss it, Judge.”

“Come on up.”

Peter rose along with Dooney, and Vince McConnell, and the three of them walked toward Judge Morrow.

“The State will call two witnesses in rebuttal tomorrow morning, Your Honor.” Alice and one of the Gordys. He’d have to meet the parents before he decided which one.

Morrow’s eyes narrowed.

“New witnesses?” Vince turned to Peter. “Are they on your list, or were you saving them for a surprise?”

“They’re not on the list.” Ignoring Vince, Peter kept his eyes on Morrow. “We’ve been looking for one of them for months, not knowing if she was even relevant. Just found her. We only learned about the existence of the other one two days ago.”

“Two days would have been better than no notice at all, Mr. Jacobs.” Judge Morrow crossed his arms over his chest, the billowing sleeves flowing into a waterfall of black cloth.

“This is rebuttal, Your Honor. The evidence was speculative until the defense presented its case.” Peter cut in. That was a stretch, but it would have to do for now. “One is from out of town.”

“Your Honor, this is outrageous,” Vince said, his voice rising, his face turning red. He shot Peter a look. “The defense knows nothing about these witnesses. We’ll have no time to prepare.”

“Pipe down,” Morrow snapped.

“My client is under great stress, Your Honor. His business has been closed for months, his reputation ruined. No new issues were raised by the defense. Nothing to justify these tactics.”

“I’m inclined to agree with Mr. McConnell.” Morrow nailed Peter with his eyes. “We’ve got a schedule to keep—I’ve got a full docket to consider.”

“Excuse me.” All heads turned toward Dooney.

Peter hid his surprise.

She looked up at Judge Morrow. “Your Honor, I find it hard to believe defense counsel’s statement that the witness testimony this morning presented nothing new when his own witness suggested that there is no possible way for a twenty-four-week-old infant born alive after an induced labor abortion to survive in any ongoing, meaningful way, and that therefore the infant is not a person . . .” She paused, took a breath, and spread her hands, “
Ergo
. . . killing the living breathing infant is not the same as killing a person. That is a new claim that the State must rebut.”

Morrow looked at her and then looked off. He shook out his sleeves and flopped his arms down on the desktop and looked at Dooney again. “You do make a point, Miss Dorothea.”

Dooney flushed. It was unusual for Morrow to remember a young ADA’s name at all, even if only her first. The judge picked up a pen and rolled it between his hands, looking down. After a beat he put down the pen and turned to Peter.

“We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning at nine sharp, Mr. Jacobs, at which time you may call your witnesses.” His eyes narrowed and the corners of his lips turned down. “If the evidence addresses new issues raised by the defense in rebuttal, we’ll hear it before deciding whether it’s admissible.”

Vince exclaimed and Morrow turned to him. “If the evidence turns out to be inadmissible, Mr. McConnell, the court will not consider it when rendering the verdict.” He spread his hands. “You’ll have your cross-examination. And, no jury—no prejudice.”

Vince muttered something under his breath.

Morrow put his hand behind his ear, and leaned slightly toward Vicari’s lawyer. “What did you say?” His tone was malevolent.

Vince’s response was quick. “Nothing, Your Honor.”

Morrow gave him a long look. Then he turned to Peter. “But I don’t like tricks in my courtroom. New witnesses brought in at the last minute had better be addressing testimony that hasn’t been worked over in this courtroom for the past week.” He lowered his brows. “Or you’ll regret it. I’ll be on the bench in this courtroom for a long time, Counsel, as long as you’re around.”

“Yes, sir.”

51

The doorbell rang and heaving a
long sigh, Peter put down the pen and rose. He glanced at his watch and saw it was eleven thirty p.m. This must be Mac. The Gordys’ flight had been delayed. Shauna had just called to say they were now ensconced at the hotel and exhausted. He would meet them at the hotel in the morning. They were cutting things close.

As he passed the study, heading for the front door, he stuck his head in and Rebecca looked up. They’d moved the computer from the bedroom down to the study two weeks ago. Now she sat there surrounded by casebooks and paper. Rebecca had volunteered to write the brief that Judge Morrow had demanded from the prosecution and defense at the end of the trial. He would use it when considering his verdict.

“Mac?” she said.

“Yeah. We’ll be working for a while.”

“I will too.”

“How’s it coming?”

“Great. I’m finally getting somewhere.”

“That’s good.” With a smile he said to remember that Gatsby needed his sleep, and withdrew.

The bell rang again. Peter opened the door, greeted Mac, and stepped aside.

“The flight was late, but we got what we need.” He hustled past Peter and turned, setting down the briefcase he carried. He slipped off the raincoat and glanced around. “Snow in Chicago. Rain here. Cold both places. Where to?”

“The kitchen. Are you hungry?” Mac picked up the briefcase and they walked through the living room. “We’ve got some cold chicken and potato salad. Or I could fix sandwiches.”

Mac shook his head. “Ate on the plane. Let’s get through this so I can go on home. I’m bushed.”

Mac threw his coat over the back of a chair and set the briefcase on the table. Peter went to the counter and poured two cups of coffee.

“Did the Gordys arrive?” Mac asked.

“They just got in. Dooney and I are going over there early in the morning, before court. Shauna was taking them to get something to eat. Alice Braxton, ah, Hamilton, is with them. Then they’ll go on to the hotel. Shauna says they’re exhausted.”

He brought the two cups of coffee to the table and set one down before Mac. He stood, sipping from the cup looking over Mac’s shoulder as Mac pulled two thick brown envelopes from his briefcase. “This is the treasure,” he said, holding up the envelopes.

Peter nodded and sat beside him. Mac tossed down one down on the table and opened the other. He drew out the papers, and set them before Peter. “The baby’s medical records. Four months intensive care. Certified.” He picked up the coffee and took a swallow, then set it down and picked up the second envelope.

Peter was already scanning the medical records.

“There’s an affidavit in there from Nan Allan, that nurse in NICU, Alice’s friend. The one she mentioned. If the defense challenges Alice’s testimony that she brought Baby Doe into intensive care that night, we can use this. Then, to link them up, Baby Doe’s blood has been matched to Vicari’s patient that night, the mother. And we’ve got the duty roster, certified, showing Alice was the nurse.”

“Good. That’s just what we need.”

Peter glanced over as Mac began shuffling through the second set of documents. Mac pulled out some papers and held them up. “The adoption records and Abigail Gordy’s birth certificate—the one created after the infant was placed in NICU.”

“Good. All good.” Peter swallowed some more hot coffee. “Let’s go through these one by one. I’ve got to take notes for tomorrow. I’ll introduce the certified records into evidence, then ask you to read them aloud on the stand. We’ve got to show an unbroken line of identification between the child the Gordys adopted, and the infant delivered by Charles Vicari that night, and we’ll do that through Alice.”

“I’ve spent the last four hours going over this stuff on the plane,” Mac said. “It’s solid.” He began spreading the documents in order.

Rebecca heard Mac come in. She tapped her pencil against her bottom lip, looking across the room. She could hear rain hitting the windows and the bushes outside scraping against the glass. The fire was lit and she watched the flickering flames. Putting one hand over Daisy, she bent her head and closed her eyes. She wanted to ask God’s help for Peter in court tomorrow, and for comfort for Alice and the Gordy family. Prayers did not come easily to her. They never had.

This was all so new.

But feeling the baby under her hand stirred something. And Peter’s passion for this case, the almost desperate feeling she sensed building in him day after day as the trial progressed, brought the prayer. Day by day since she’d begun reading the four Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John in Amalise’s Bible—the four witnesses to an event that spoke for itself—she became more certain that someone was listening. That he was there, and that he’d been there all along.

And she asked him also to protect her child, and to help her as she learned to be a mother, because she didn’t know a thing about it, not even how to change a diaper or how to bathe a baby, or anything else that a baby would need. The months seemed to have flown by and she’d always meant to dig into these things, but she’d been so busy, she explained, and then, the thought struck her out of the blue—the sudden realization that the only thing she knew for certain about motherhood right now was that she couldn’t stand the idea of leaving Daisy with a stranger.

As the rain beat against the windows outside and thunder cracked, she settled back in the big leather chair beside the fireplace with her eyes still closed, feeling something new, a settling feeling, like the great white egrets in the swamps fluffing their wings before they tuck down for the night.

“Just take it all to the Lord,” Amalise had said. And for the first time, Rebecca understood those words.

In her apartment on Oak Street, Alice lay in her bed under a thick quilt on this December night, listening to the thunder rolling across the city. Seeing Kenneth and Suzanne Gordy tonight had brought back memories of the old days, her days as the wife of Charlie Braxton—brief as that time was—and of the child she’d once dreamed they’d make. Through the window by the bed she watched a flash of lightning light up the sky for an instant; just a flash, a moment in time, like the love she’d felt for Charlie that had burned up of its own accord when she’d finally realized he wasn’t coming back from the war.

It wasn’t that she still cared for him. But thinking of all those years, she realized what was missing, what had always been missing. Another human being that cares how you feel, who celebrates when things are good, and comforts you when things are bad. Someone to count on, who loves you always no matter what. Like a parent loves a child. Like a man should love a woman.