“No.”
Peter braced his elbows on the table and his chin on his knuckles, holding his breath, watching Vince spring the trap.
Vince turned back toward the lectern and Glory Lynn frowned. “Did you drink any alcohol on that day, the day of the procedure?”
Glory Lynn tossed her head. “Of course not.”
“Is it fair to say that you were experiencing a high level of stress by the time you arrived at the clinic that day?”
“Yes, I was in pain.”
“Ah, yes. The pain.” He turned on his heels, facing Peter and Dooney, tapping a finger to his lips. “Were you anxious about the procedure?”
She lifted her chin. “No. Not then. It was the pain that bothered me.”
His brows arched high and he turned back to her. “So your only concern before the procedure was the pain?”
“Yes.”
Peter managed to keep himself from closing his eyes.
“No second-guessing at that point? Just concern about the pain; so please tell the court how it was that in the procedure room, after taking a strong drug that you’d never taken before to settle you down, you suddenly became so concerned about the fetus that you’d decided to abort?”
“It was the cry—I heard my baby cry!”
“Then why didn’t you just say so? Whether such a cry was your imagination or not isn’t the question. If you thought you heard an infant’s cry and you could see that the Defendant hadn’t, why didn’t you just tell him? Why the incoherent screaming; fighting with the nurse, the confusion?”
“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. She looked at the floor. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Everything was such a mess. And they’d told me there wouldn’t be much pain, and then I was in the labor room and it all happened so fast.” She pressed her hand to her forehead. “Like I said before, I don’t remember much after I heard that cry.”
Hold on, Glory Lynn. Hold on.
“Isn’t it true that you were confused by the large dose of valium that you’d taken before the procedure?”
“No.”
“Isn’t it possible that you imagined that cry?”
“No!”
“Isn’t it true, in fact, that it wasn’t until you woke up the next morning that you had second thoughts? Isn’t that when the remorse struck, Miss Chasson, after it was too late? Isn’t that why you’ve sought help in counseling, and this . . . this . . .” he turned and arched his hand over the courtroom, “this public flagellation? You need someone to blame and that someone is the Defendant!”
“Objection, Your Honor! This is outrageous.” Peter was already halfway to the bench. From the corners of his eyes he saw Glory Lynn hunch over and drop her face into her hands, sobbing.
The gavel slammed down. “Objection sustained.” Calvin Morrow looked at Vince McConnell. “Let’s move on, Mr. McConnell.”
Peter halted near the lectern.
“Any redirect Mr. Jacobs?”
Peter looked up at the Judge. Glory Lynn had done well, but she couldn’t handle any more. “No, your honor,” he said. With a long deep breath he nodded to Glory Lynn and she rose. He waited for her, then slipped his arm around her shoulder and walked her to the gate in the railing.
Glory Lynn’s father and mother stood as she came through the gate. Her mother put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. Her father followed them up the aisle, fury stiffening his neck and back.
Peter returned to the table, and stood behind it, arms dangling, looking up at Calvin Morrow. He drew in his breath as Judge Morrow’s voice rang out.
“Call your next witness, Counsel.”
Turning, he scanned the gallery futilely for Mac. “The State calls Clara Sonsten,” he said.
The bailiff opened the door and peered into the hallway and Peter looked at Dooney. She shook her head—I don’t know. The bailiff turned his head from left to right, scanning the hallway as he held the door. “Miss Clara Sonsten? Sonsten. Clara Sonsten?” After a moment he shook his head and turned back toward the front of the courtroom, “No one out here answering to that name, Mr. Jacobs.”
Dooney rose. “I’ll check the witness room again.” Peter stood as Dooney brushed past him and he heard her hurrying up the aisle toward the door. Too late for that, he knew. They wouldn’t be there.
“The State’s witness has not arrived yet, Your Honor. If you’ll give us a moment . . .”
“What’s going on here, Mr. Jacobs?” Morrow’s voice was ice. “We don’t waste time in my courtroom.”
“I understand, Judge. Miss St. Pierre’s going to find out what’s happened, and if we could have a short break, perhaps ten minutes, I’m certain we can straighten things out.”
Vince McConnell stood. “The defense objects to a recess at this point, Your Honor. It’s late in the day and counsel’s wasting time. Every minute passing in this courtroom further damages an innocent man’s reputation, and his business. Let the prosecution call another witness.”
Peter opened his mouth and then caught Morrow’s glance at the clock. Seconds passed as Morrow frowned and looked down at something on his desk. Peter turned his head, still hoping to see Dooney come through the door with Clara Sonsten.
“It’s four o’clock,” Morrow said at last. “We’ll recess for the day.”
With a deep exhale, Peter felt the tension leaving his shoulders. “Court will reconvene at nine sharp in the morning.”
In the general melee, Alice rose and hurried out following the crowd from the elevator, through the lobby and out onto the sidewalk. The weather had changed and there was a new chill in the air. She buttoned her sweater as she scanned the traffic for a taxicab.
Leaning her head back against the seat she looked blindly through the window thinking about what she’d seen in the courtroom that day. Vicari hadn’t changed a bit. The thing that worried her the most was that she’d detected a slight sympathy in the judge’s attitude toward the defendant, and she’d sensed that growing throughout the day. That could make her decision more difficult, she mused. But, the day in court had confirmed her worst fears, regardless. She had a decision to make right now.
36
Rebecca was strong enough these days to walk down the stairs and wander around the house. She smiled to herself, thinking that only two weeks were left until the baby’s arrival. There was so much to be accomplished before that event; there were only a few days left before Brightfield needed the new brief that she was working on. She wanted to hire someone to paint the nursery; had finally picked out the color. White.
When she’d told Peter that, he’d laughed. Weeks of agonizing over paint, and she’d decided on white?
And then, there was still the nanny problem.
Last week Rose Marie called to say that she’d found several good possibilities. Rose Marie had interviewed them herself, this time, and said she’d found one woman that she really liked. Rebecca had asked her to hold off for a week or two, until she finished Brightfield’s brief, and—although she didn’t mention this—until a verdict was rendered in Peter’s case.
The baby moved then and she rested her hand over the spot, feeling the sharp little jabs, reminding her again that soon she’d have to make a decision on a nanny, or two, or three. Frowning, she pressed a protective hand over Daisy.
She heard Peter coming down the stairs and through the living room. She put a smile on her face and turned just as he entered. The last thing he needed this morning was to worry about his wife. Clara Sonsten hadn’t shown up in court the day before, she knew. Illness, she’d said.
A case of nerves, Shauna, Peter’s legal assistant had said. Shauna was certain that Clara would revive after a good night’s sleep. If not, a subpoena would be issued, and a sheriff would deliver her to the courtroom. But Clara Sonsten as a hostile witness was not a happy thought.
Rebecca leaned against the counter while he poured coffee into a mug and then turned to her, gulping it down. The lines around the corners of his eyes and mouth were deeper today, she noticed. He said he didn’t think he’d be home until late again, and her heart sank.
The newspaper article about day one of the trial had generated some commotion. There were a few protestors gathering at the doors of the courthouse when Peter arrived on Wednesday, but, for the most part the crowd was polite, quieter than he’d expected.
Some of them were in the courtroom now, the bailiff told him. He saw signs piled against the wall in the hallway.
Judge Morrow was already present, sitting at the bench, dealing with a motion from another case. Peter took his place at the table and opened his briefcase, pulling out the notepad. He saw that Dooney had been here; the evidence boxes were on the floor near her chair. A third chair had been placed beside the boxes.
Shauna was here today, talking to the bailiff. They stood near a small table with a slide projector set up near the jury box, just in front of the witness stand.
Dooney arrived just before nine o’clock, when court was convened. Shauna took a seat in the chair beside Dooney, waiting.
At a nod from the judge, Peter stood.
“The State calls Fred McAndrews to the stand.”
Peter turned his head, watching as the bailiff stuck his head out into the hallway and called to Mac. Peter, Dooney, and Shauna watched Mac walk toward them carrying a large brown paper bag, folded and clamped shut at the top. Mac was wearing his court suit today, Peter saw. The same old dark blue suit that he insisted on wearing for good luck every time he testified as the lead investigator in a case.
He turned to Dooney. “Go find out if Clara’s been rounded up for this afternoon, will you? By the time I’ve finished with Mac, we need to know. If we need to stall, call Stephanie Kand. I’ve got her on standby.”
Dooney nodded.
Peter greeted Mac, and watched as he walked to the table where Shauna had been standing with the bailiff, and set the brown bag on it. After the swearing in, Peter ran quickly through the preliminary questions. Then he moved on and asked the detective to describe what had happened the morning that Glory Lynn Chasson and her father had appeared at the station house to file the initial complaint.
Mac described his interview with the accuser and her father.
“Did you advise her of her rights at that time?”
“No. It wasn’t necessary. She was not a suspect.” He described in detail the process of the interview, then the filing of the complaint, and later obtaining a warrant to search the Alpha Women’s Clinic for the body of Baby Chasson.
“So you executed the warrant immediately after receiving the complaint?”
“That’s right.” Mac established that the warrant was signed by a judicial officer in Jefferson Parish, and executed on the same day, and this was entered into State’s evidence for the record.
Then Peter returned to the witness stand and looked at Mac. “Why the hurry in obtaining the warrant, Detective?”
Mac looked out over the spectators. “Miss Chasson was concerned that the clinic would dispose of the infant’s body right away. These were extenuating circumstances.”
The testimony was clear as Mac explained step by step how he’d developed the case leading up to the defendant’s arrest. He’d attempted to talk to both Charles Vicari and Eileen Broussard, Vicari’s wife, during this process, he said. But both, through their lawyers, had refused.
“Who else was there conducting the search, beside yourself?” Peter asked. As he asked the question, he glanced at the place where Dooney usually sat. She had not yet returned. His heart raced as he turned back to face his witness.
Mac named several officers from the sheriff’s department, Dr. Stephanie Kand—the forensic pathologist from the coroner’s office—her assistant, and others who were present at the time of the search. Peter then turned toward Shauna and she rose and carrying a box of slides, took a seat at the table holding the projector. During the search of the clinic, the team had taken pictures. They waited while the bailiff set up a viewing screen in front of the projector at an angle visible to everyone—including the judge, the defense, spectators, and the press.
The photographs, selected in pre-trial hearings and reluctantly approved by the defense were admitted as State’s evidence. The judge then told Peter to proceed.
And so they began. Shauna stood behind the projector, turned it on, and as Peter introduced each photograph taken by the search team, Shauna slid the matching slide into the projector so that the same photo showed on the screen. With Mac’s testimony, Peter’s plan was to give the judge and the spectators in the gallery a clear picture of the scene that would stay with them throughout the trial. He wanted to burn into their minds that the clinic was a crime scene.
To set the first scene he showed a picture of the procedure room used by Glory Lynn Chason on the night that Infant Chasson was delivered. Mac identified the room. The slide showed a stark room with fluorescent lights overhead casting sharp-edged shadows of a wide, six-foot long metal table onto a white tiled floor. Metal stirrups were attached to the bed at the end nearest the camera.
Peter paused, letting a few seconds go by, giving everyone time to visualize Glory Lynn lying on the big table. Then he asked Mac to describe each item found in the room. The room was designed for precision and efficiency, not warmth and comfort. A table on the left side of the slide held several gleaming instruments, bottles, a glass jar of swabs and cotton, and a stack of folded gauze. Underneath the table were shelves storing sheets, thin blankets, and disposable blue padding and towels.
Moving on to the reception room at the entrance of the clinic, Peter led Mac room by room through the Alpha Women’s Medical Clinic, a tour for the court. With each photograph Mac described the area and if it was searched, and if so, what was found and taken as evidence.
Beyond the reception room, there was another waiting room for patients scheduled for physical examinations, and for those waiting to go into the procedure rooms. This room contained rows of metal folding chairs lined up against a wall. There were lockers for clothing and a dressing area with benches and long mirrors, and a restroom, which was large and appeared clean.
At one end of the hallway leading from the interior waiting room was a storage closet which Mac referred to as the utility room. The camera view from the doorway, from right to left, showed it to be about twenty feet by ten, with a narrow cabinet running the length of the wall facing the doorway. Above the cabinet were rows of somewhat narrower steel shelves reaching to the ceiling. Folded sheets and towels and other such items were stacked along the shelves. To the left of the doorway, in the interior of this room, the camera swung to a large, round metal container with a top held closed with clamps. A large label on the side said Medical Waste.
At a signal from Peter, Shauna then showed a picture of a large square freezer. The room housing the freezer looked like a garage with boxes and large cans and tools scattered around.
Peter took a deep breath. “Please tell the court what we’re looking at in this photograph, Detective McAndrews.”
“This is a photograph of a storage room at the back of the clinic.” He pointed, looking at the screen. “And over to the side, there, that is a large storage freezer.”
“Was this area included in the search warrant?”
“Yes, it was.”
Peter nodded to Shauna and then turned, looking directly at the defendant. Shauna clicked on the next slide. On the screen the photo loomed. Behind him, Peter heard the gasps. He waited for the gavel, but Judge Morrow was staring from the matching photograph in his hand to the enhanced one on the screen. On the scr
een, he could clearly see the frozen body in the slide.
“Please identify this photograph for the court, Detective McAndrew.”
“This is a picture taken inside the freezer.” He leaned forward, peering at the screen. “You can see, there on a shelf to the right side, wrapped in that blue towel, you can make out the body of a premature infant.”
“Oh.” Someone in the gallery cried out. “Oh, no. No!” Judge Morrow banged the gavel. “Order in the court. If there’s another outburst, I’ll clear the courtroom.”
Turning to Mac, Peter took a step back. “Please continue.”
Mac nodded, leaning now toward the screen. “The infant in this photo has been matched by blood type to Glory Lynn Chasson. It . . . he . . .” Mac paused, glancing at Peter. “The infant is a male, approximately a foot long, and as described in the autopsy report, weighing one pound, eight ounces.
“The body in this photograph is frozen. As you can see, it’s partially wrapped in a blue towel, similar to the ones stacked on a shelf of the small table in earlier photographs of Miss Chasson’s procedure room.”
In pre-trial hearings, McConnell had fought hard to keep this picture out, arguing that it was inflammatory. Peter had wanted to show several photos from different angles, but Judge Morrow had allowed only this one from the initial search, and two others from the autopsy which Dr. Kand would later introduce in her testimony.
“Who was the forensic pathologist at the scene?”
“Dr. Stephanie Kand, from the coroner’s office.”
Mac described the procedures used by Dr. Kand to bag and preserve the body, three fibers, and the blue towel. Shauna clicked the slides to a photo of the fibers.
“At this time the State would like to introduce into evidence the blue towel you saw in the slides and fibers seized under warrant.” Peter looked at the judge.
Morrow nodded. “Go ahead.”
Mac stood and walked to the table. From an inside pocket of his jacket he pulled two gloves and slipped them onto his hands. Opening the brown bag, he lifted two plastic bags from inside, one large, one small. These he placed on the table. He identified the large bag as containing the towel; the smaller bag as containing three fibers.
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