“Is this a bat cave, or the office of Peter Jacob’s, chief prosecutor?”
He looked up to see Mac standing in the doorway, backlit by the light behind him in the hallway. “Come on in. And switch on the light.”
The room flooded with electric light and Mac pulled up a chair before the desk, facing Peter.
“Tell me you’ve found Alice Braxton.”
“Nope.”
“Any leads?”
“None. It’s been pretty futile; she could be anywhere, but I’m still looking. The health care industry is paranoid about patients, their procedures, their employees. Everything. It’s like trying to get information out of East Berlin.”
Desperation made Peter push. “Call Lucy Ringer again, Mac.”
The detective gave him a look. “She’s not going to help. And worse, she’d lie on the stand if we try to force her.”
“Then, we’ve got to find Alice.”
“Every hospital I’ve visited so far has called their lawyers the minute I opened my mouth.” He shook his head and stretched his legs. “And every lawyer requires a subpoena. And every subpoena gives them plenty time to pull the stuff together.” He shook his head. “Two, three, four days.”
Peter clicked his tongue. “We’re working a criminal case here. A murder charge. You’d think they’d cooperate. And we don’t have much time left.”
Mac shook his head. “Beyond privacy rights, we’re dealing with bureaucrats protecting territorial imperatives, my friend. Every department head demands to review the records before they’ll even send the request for information on to their lawyers.
“Private practitioners move a little faster, but there are hundreds of doctors’ offices in the city and in the Parish where this nurse could be working.”
“We’ve got to find her, Mac.”
He held up one hand. “I know. I’ve pulled in two other guys to work on this. We’re moving fast as we can.” And with that he headed for the door.
When Mac was gone, Peter looked down at the notes he’d been making for tomorrow. Dooney had called earlier from the Royal Orleans, where she was with Dr. Stern. They planned to review his testimony again, later on tonight.
He thought of Rebecca and he thought how much he’d like a break from it all right now and he made up his mind. Home was out of the way, but he longed for a little down time, an hour or two with Rebecca, talking about the baby, planning. Just laughing together like they’d used to do before this case took over his life. He glanced at his watch. It was six-thirty. Half an hour to get to home, an hour for dinner, and half an hour to drive down to the Quarter and find a parking spot.
First he phoned Rebecca and said he’d be there in half an hour, just for a break, and that he’d be bringing dinner with him. Then he left a message for Dooney at the front desk of the hotel that he’d meet Dr. Stern and Dooney in the lobby at eight thirty, at the latest.
He stopped for Popeye’s fried chicken and mashed potatoes. “It’s all low-cal and heart-healthy,” he told Rebecca when she recoiled. They were sitting at the table in the kitchen.
“So, tell me what happened in court today.”
“Not now.” He watched the candle she lit flickering. “Later, Rebbe. I need a break.” He needed a respite from the darkness. He picked up a piece of chicken and held it with the tips of his fingers, studying her in the candlelight. She was beautiful. “Tell me what you did today.”
She smiled. “Well, for one thing, I finished the brief for Bill.” Her eyes shone. “I never would have thought I’d like doing this so much, the research for an appeal, putting it all together.” She began gesturing, telling him about the key issues and the cases she’d found, and the new way she’d thought of to use the reasoning from two cases to make a point.
“The computer is amazing. It saves hours of time in research.” Cutting a piece from the chicken breast on her plate, she brought it to her mouth. “I got the brief off to Brightfield this afternoon. He was thrilled. Says he’ll have another one coming up soon.”
“Sounds like you’re keeping the messenger room busy.”
She smiled. “They’re here several times a day.”
“How’re the interviews with nannies going?”
“Hmm.” She hesitated. “Well. Rose Marie’s got a couple lined up. But, I’ve put that on hold for a while. Just for a few weeks.” She smiled at him. “I’ve decided to take the maternity leave the firm offered after all. Three months.”
“That’s good. I’m glad.” Nodding, he watched Rebecca as he chewed. A change had come over her lately that he couldn’t quite figure. She picked up a fork and pricked the mashed potatoes a couple time. He took another bite. The chicken was crisp and spicy, and still hot.
“How’s this going to work with these nannies after the leave? What’s the plan?”
Rebecca gave a little shrug. “Either we hire someone to live with us, or we’ve got to hire a couple to work in shifts.” Her expression went blank as she sliced another bite of chicken and ate it.
“Shifts.” Peter ate and thought about that for a minute. Then he looked at Rebecca. “How many shifts of nannies would we need to hire, do you think?”
She lifted the iced tea and took a sip. “With our work hours? Unless we find a live-in, I guess we’ll need three shifts, eight hours each through the first year at least. After that maybe we’ll cut down to two.” She lifted a brow, watching him. “I don’t really know, Peter. It’ll be trial and error, I suppose.”
He reached across the table and gave her arm a pat. “We’ll figure this out.” He forced a hearty sound into his voice. Their house was turning into a hotel. But Rebecca loved her work as much as he loved his, and he would honor any choice she made.
He leaned forward. “How’s Gatsby?”
She lifted her eyes with a slight smile. “Are you referring to Daisy?”
Peter’s spread his hands. “It’s a million to one,” he said. “The odds were always against you. It’s the great race.”
“Men. Listen, mothers know. Women are intuitive. She’s a girl.” Sipping the water, she studied him. “You look tired, Peter.”
He massaged his temples. “I am.”
As they talked on, avoiding discussing the trial, he felt Rebecca’s strength and love, a bond vibrating between them that gave him new energy. The painter had come at last; he was almost finished in the nursery. And Amalise and she had picked out curtains—Rebecca had described what she wanted and Amalise had brought her samples. The baby’s chest of drawers was filling up too. Amalise again—she was enchanted with the idea of a daughter for Rebecca.
Peter snorted. “She’ll be surprised when a son arrives.”
“I’d like to ask Amalise and Jude to be the baby’s godparents, Peter.”
His fork stopped halfway to his mouth.
She continued eating as if nothing she’d said should surprise him.
“Well of course. That’s a great idea,” he finally said.
“And I want her baptized at Rayne Memorial, too.”
He nodded. “Another good one,” he said. Something had changed. Rebecca—an agnostic as long as he’d known her—was talking about godparents and baptism. As she went on detailing everything that she and Amalise had accomplished with the nursery in the last few days, he found her mood infectious and began feeling better. For the moment, all thoughts of the trial slipped away.
When they’d finished eating, he glanced at his watch and saw the respite was over. He had to meet with Dr. Stern and prepare him for his testimony scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. As he stood and Rebecca walked with him to the door, he felt rejuvenated, committed again as he’d felt at first. The case was solid. He could do this.
39
The next morning in the courtroom on Thursday, Peter called the receptionist Melanie Wright to the stand. She’d refused to c
ooperate, refused to give a sworn statement, so Peter had her subpoenaed. She was frightened, she’d said. Didn’t want to lose her job. Things would be different when she was on the stand, though, he knew, unless she chose to take the Fifth.
He glanced at Charles Vicari when the bailiff called Melanie’s name and caught his reaction, the startled look just before Vicari twisted around to watch the witness arrive. When the door opened and she came in with the bailiff, he grabbed Vince McConnell’s coat sleeve and they began a soto voce conference.
Melanie gave Peter a furious look as she swung through the railing gate and past the prosecution table, heading for the witness stand. He’d have to work for every answer he could pull from her, he knew.
Across the aisle Vince shook loose his client, and stood. “Permission to approach the bench, Your Honor?”
“Come on up.”
Peter and Dooney joined him. They all huddled around the side of the bench opposite the witness stand. Vince spoke first.
He jerked his chin toward the witness. “This young woman is an employee of the Alpha Women’s Clinic, Your Honor. The defense objects; we received no notice that she’d be taking the stand.”
Peter turned from Vince to Morrow. “The witness has been on the list for months, Judge.”
Vince: “We’ve got nothing, Your Honor. No statement, or suggestion that Miss Wright would testify has ever been turned over to us in discovery. This is outrageous.” Vince crossed his arms over his chest. “Whatever happened to full disclosure?”
“We’ve got nothing to turn over,” Peter said, spreading his hands. “Miss Wright has refused to provide a formal statement.” Mac had only one conversation with Melanie Wright. He’d tried to get her to talk a few more times, but each time she’d refused. No cooperation.
Morrow turned to Vince. His tone was dry. “If she’s been on the list all along, Counsel, you’ve no one to blame but yourself for the hubris.”
Vince leaned in toward the judge, lowering his voice. Peter and Dooney did the same. “There must . . . I repeat, must . . . be some boundaries placed on this witness’s testimony, Your Honor. Our concern is patient privacy rights. As the clinic receptionist, Miss Wright is the first person anyone meets when they walk in for help. And in the course of her employment, she has access to every patient’s file.”
Frowning, Judge Morrow glanced over the galley and rose. “Let’s continue this in chambers.” He stood, signaled Michelene, and announced that court would take a brief recess. A low, collective groan rose from the gallery.
In chambers, Judge Morrow motioned for them to take a seat at the conference table.
Seconds passed, and then Vince glanced at Peter. “I’ll take a continuing objection on this one, Peter. And you can be sure we’ll check this out.”
“Go right ahead.”
“I don’t imagine she’ll be employed by the clinic much longer.”
“You may object for the record, but the defense will not retaliate against a witness who’s been subpoenaed and is required to testify under oath in my court,” the judge snapped, walking over to the table and sitting down. He sat at the end, facing Peter. Holding up one hand, Morrow looked at Michelene. “We’re off the record here.”
She nodded.
Peter chewed his bottom lip, pondering the situation. What was the defense so worried about? He decided that if there was time, he might rethink some of his questions for the witness.
The judge leaned back and stretched one arm flat on the table before him, looking at Vince. “Am I making myself clear? No retaliation; not against any witness in my courtroom. Not without cause separate and apart from giving testimony in this case. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
This must have happened before. It had to be that the receptionist could testify that this had happened before at the clinic.
Morrow’s narrowed eyes roved over Peter and he snapped to. The judge’s eyes moved on to Dooney, and then again back to Peter. “You’re aware of course of the State’s legal duty to turn over to Mr. McConnell here any exculpatory evidence in your possession, information you may have that could benefit or assist the defense in any way.”
“Yes, Your Honor, and there is none. For one thing, Miss Wright is a hostile witness for the State. We had to subpoena her to testify, and she’s refused all along to give any statement.” And there was certainly nothing in what she’d told Mac that would help the defense.
The judge nodded and turned to Vince. “You mentioned placing limits on this testimony? What do you have in mind?” Morrow’s heavy lids dropped like shades pulled halfway down as he looked at Vince, waiting.
Vince straightened under the scrutiny. “We’re concerned about patient privacy rights, Your Honor.” He placed his hands flat before him on the table, spreading his fingers, studying them.
Peter spoke up. “We’re aware of the privacy concerns, Your Honor. But the defense has the opportunity to object at any time, and they have not objected on that basis during Miss Sonsten’s testimony, nor with respect to any of the other employees on the witness list that may be called—the part-time nurse, the cleaning woman.”
Vince interrupted. “Miss Wright is different. Miss Wright sits in the reception room all day long chatting with patients while they’re waiting. She knows their names. She knows more about most patients than are kept in their records—private confidences—and those women are entitled to their privacy. As you know, Judge, patients’ privacy rights are protected by state and federal law and even the slightest invasion will subject the clinic to liability. Not to mention frightening away the very young women the clinic supports.”
Morrow nodded, as Peter had expected.
“And in addition, we’ve got the press out there.”
“Why wasn’t this issue addressed pre-trial?”
Vince opened his mouth and closed it again. He’d had a copy of the potential witnesses for many months and Melanie Wright’s name had been on it, along with all other employees in the clinic, with the exception of Eileen Broussard.
“There were one hundred, twenty-five names on the State’s list, Your Honor,” Vince said. “This particular employee is never involved in cases—and she wasn’t involved in this one. We had no reason to believe that she’d be called.”
Morrow turned to Peter, reinforcing the point. “You understand the gravity of the situation, Counsel—patient privacy rights?”
“Yes, Judge.” But while he had the receptionist on the stand he hoped to pry from her any information she might have on past born-alive infants at the clinic. She’d been unwilling to go that far with Mac, but he’d sensed that she wasn’t surprised by what had happened to Glory Lynn Chasson’s infant. She knew something more, he was convinced.
Judge Morrow turned his eyes to Vince. “I’m inclined to let the witness testify and address problems if and when they arise.” Then he swung his eyes to Peter. “But I don’t like tricks in my courtroom, either, Mr. Jacobs. You will not ask the witness to discuss or otherwise identify any patient at the clinic, at any time, other than Miss Chasson.”
“Yes, Judge.”
Before Peter could say anything, Morrow held up his hand. “If I hear one question from you or Miss Dorothea in breach of my order”—his eyes strayed to Dooney, then back to Peter and his hand cut through the air like a knife—“then I will hold you both in contempt.”
The room was silent as he looked from Peter to Dooney. “Is that clear?”
“Clear, Your Honor,” Peter said. Dooney echoed him.
“Good.” With a huff, he turned to Michelene. “We’re going on record now.” Peter, Dooney, and Vince sat in silence as he stated for the record the limitations he’d placed on the State’s questions and the witness’s testimony in the case. And, he added the warning of contempt charges against both Peter and Dooney if the warning was violated.
Back in the courtroom, Peter heard Vince arguing with Charles Vicari over the results of the meeting in chambers. Vince and his client continued arguing even after the judge arrived and was seated. Melanie was sworn in and sat in the witness chair looking bored. Morrow slammed down the gavel and told McConnell and the defendant to quiet down.
Once they got started, Melanie Wright was clear and concise in her answers. Peter led her through the initial questions about her position in the clinic, what she’d been doing on the afternoon of Glory Lynn Chasson’s procedure, letting her set the pace. And then, at last, as they came to her testimony about that night, he led her into it slowly, gradually pulling from her the corroboration he needed for Clara Sonsten’s testimony.
In a strong, clear voice, she told how she’d come into the procedure room in the back of the clinic, planning to set it up for use in the morning. This was her routine before she left the office at night, she testified. And then she told of finding Clara Sonsten, sitting in the room, holding the infant.
“She had the fetus wrapped in one of the blue towels. She was sitting on a chair near the bed, holding it in her arms.” Her eyes slid to the defendant and quickly away. “The light was off when I went in there. I saw them when I turned it on.”
From the corners of his eyes, Peter saw Charles Vicari grab his lawyer’s arm, pulling. Vince pushed him away.
“Did the infant show signs of life when you saw him in Miss Sonsten’s arms?”
“It was difficult to see. She had the towel wrapped around him.” Her eyes faded to the left, toward the jury box. “Like I said, it was all covered up, and she held it down, like this . . .” She demonstrated, cradling her arms and lowering them, holding them toward her chest. “So I really couldn’t see.”
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