“No!” the child cried, turning away from her father. She began tugging on her mother’s skirt.
Shauna, smiling at Suzanne, pulled a doll from her briefcase. “I brought this with me for just this occasion,” she said, with a wink.
Suzanne turned Abby around so that she could see the doll dangling from Shauna’s fingers. Abby’s mouth closed and she stared at the doll for a moment. Then slowly she reached out with one hand, and Shauna knelt beside her, handing her the doll. Abby released her grip on Suzanne’s skirt and held onto the doll, gripping it with both hands as Shauna began telling her the doll’s name, and where she lived, and . . .
And they slipped out.
Still, Peter’s backward glance caught Abby’s baleful look, just before the door closed.
“It’s kind of you to join us, Counsel,” Judge Morrow snapped when they returned. Suzanne took her seat behind him.
“Call your next witness, please,” he said, writing something on his notepad. Then he looked up again. “Is this your last one?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” When the judge remained silent, with a glance at Suzanne, Peter called Kenneth Gordy to the stand.
The bailiff went into the hallway, and a moment later Kenneth appeared in the doorway. He watched as Abby’s father marched down the aisle with a determined stride, like a soldier going to war. Kenneth stopped at Suzanne’s side and touched her shoulder before pushing through the railing. As he greeted Kenneth and showed him to the witness stand, Peter tried to imagine the emotion this man must be struggling to contain as he stood in the same room with Charles Vicari.
Kenneth was sworn in and entered the witness stand. When he sat, he sat upright, both hands gripping the wooden partition, locking eyes with Peter and studiously avoiding Charles Vicari’s.
Peter walked to the witness stand. “Good morning, Mr. Gordy. Please state your name for the court.”
“Kenneth Chase Gordy.”
They went through his place of residence, his marital status. Peter caught the judge’s glance at Suzanne Gordy once again. Kenneth stated his profession, schoolteacher, math, ninth grade.
“Any children?” Peter asked.
“One. Abby is her name. Abigail Suzanne Gordy.” He looked at Peter. “As you know, she’s adopted.”
Suddenly it seemed to Peter that the entire gallery behind him drew breath and held it, everyone at once.
Peter handed Kenneth the court records of his and Suzanne’s adoption of their daughter and asked him to identify each document. Then he gave copies to Vince McConnell and the judge, and entered the originals into evidence. The clerk stamped and recorded them, and returned them to Peter.
With the remaining records in hand, Peter walked to the open space between the prosecution table and Kenneth Gordy and looked at his witness. “Mr. Gordy, how old is your daughter?”
“She is three years old.”
“Please tell the court the circumstances of your daughter’s adoption.”
Kenneth shifted back in the chair and his hands slipped to his knees. Eyes on his wife in the gallery, he began. “My wife was in New Hope Hospital. She’d had a hysterectomy, and was extremely upset over this because we so desperately wanted a child.” He looked down for an instant, then back at Peter. “I can’t put into words the disappointment we were feeling.”
His voice grew husky as he went on. “Well anyway, to cut through it all, one of the nurses on the floor told us about Abby, how she’d been abandoned, how she was in neonatal intensive care, struggling for her life.”
“Can you tell us the date you first saw Abby?”
“I’ll never forget it. It was December 17, 1979. Just before Christmas.”
When he paused, Peter said, “Please continue.”
Kenneth leaned back and cleared his throat. “My wife asked if we could see her, the little girl—pediatrics was just down the hallway, and Suzanne was feeling low. The nurse said, sure, and took us down to see her, and there she was . . .” His eyes strayed to his wife again. “. . . all hooked up to those machines, and fighting for her life.”
“Do you know how long she’d been there when you saw her that day?”
“They said a couple of weeks.” He glanced at Suzanne. “I don’t remember exactly.”
“Objection, hearsay.”
Kenneth turned his eyes to Vince, and then quickly back to Peter.
“Sustained,” Judge Morrow said.
“I’ll withdraw the question,” Peter said. The New Hope medical files on Abby’s time in NICU were a matter of record. He could link the facts in his closing argument.
“Please go on, Mr. Gordy.”
Kenneth held his eyes on Peter’s like a lost sailor spotting a lighthouse, his way of fighting the urge to look at Charles Vicari, Peter supposed. “Well we fell in love with her right away. She was ours from the moment we saw her.” He shrugged. “The rest of it, we had lawyers to handle the paperwork and the court and all that. When Suzanne—that’s my wife—when Suzanne was released from the hospital, we took an apartment in Chicago, one of those temporary ones you can rent near hospitals with furniture in them and all, just until Abby could come home. We ended up being there almost four months. I took a leave of absence for the first few weeks.”
He looked down, wiped his brow, then looked back at Peter. “After that, I’d go back to Cincinnati for work, and return on the weekends. Suzanne stayed the whole time. She was with Abby in the nursery all day every day, and many nights. We’d already begun the adoption procedures. That’s where we met Alice Braxton, ah . . . Hamilton. The nurses were good to us; they made sure we knew everything that was going on.”
He paused and swallowed, pinching the skin between his eyes beneath his forehead. “The adoption was final before she left the hospital. But the happiest day of my . . . our lives . . . was the day we took Abby home.”
A smile crept across his face. “She’s a fighter, that little one.”
“And how is her health?”
“Oh, she’s—”
Suddenly a shriek filled the courtroom. Peter turned and saw Suzanne rising from her chair, and behind her light streamed through the open door into the courtroom from the windows across the hallway outside.
“Dada!” And Abby charged down the aisle toward her father, slipping past the bailiff as he bent to catch her. She’d spotted her father on the witness stand and her little legs beat a path toward him. Peter had to smile—Abby still held Shauna’s doll.
“Daaaa . . .!” she wailed as she ran, and then Suzanne swooped her up just before she reached the gate and just as suddenly, looking wide-eyed at her mother, she was silenced. She looked at her mother, then she turned her head and looked at Kenneth and Peter, and then her gaze traveled on and stopped on the judge, the huge man in black sitting high above her father.
Peter turned to the judge. Calvin Morrow was speechless, for once.
“I’m so sorry,” Suzanne stammered as she looked at Peter, blushing. Peter was speechless too.
Then she turned to Calvin Morrow, bracing Abby on one hip, and said, “I apologize for the disruption, sir. I’ll get her out of here right now. Please excuse—”
“Wait.” Morrow’s voice was calm, as he held up one hand. “Are you Mrs. Gordy?”
Suzanne hugged Abby to her. “Yes, sir.” Abby leaned against her mother, that finger hooked into her mouth again. The doll dropped to the floor.
Morrow nodded toward the bundle in her arms. “Is that your daughter? Abigail?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Suzanne gave the judge a proud smile and moved a little so that he could see her child. Peter stood still, watching them and was amazed. He couldn’t have planned this if he’d tried.
Suzanne inched closer to the rail gate, looking only at Judge Morrow. “This is Abby.”
Artificial overhead lights can sometimes be cru
el to beauty, and Peter and every lawyer who’d ever worked in this particular courtroom had noted that fact at one time or another. But today the lights seemed only to illuminate Abby and Suzanne. In that moment, the little girl’s smile shimmered with the knowledge that somehow she’d become the center of attention. Her eyes were shining, bright and alert—inquisitive as she looked back and forth between her father and the judge.
She allowed inspection for only a moment, and then suddenly Abby looked at her father, threw out both arms, and strained forward in her mother’s arms, with a wide smile as she cried out for him.
Judge Morrow coughed. He cleared his throat. Seconds passed and then he said, “Thank you, Mrs. Gordy. She’s a fine little girl, but perhaps now you should take her out.”
Kenneth turned to Judge Morrow and said with a little laugh. “As you can see for yourself, Judge, Abby made it through intensive care. She’s a lively, healthy little girl.”
“Objection, objection, objection!!”
Vince was on his feet, storming toward the bench. “This is clearly a stunt, Your Honor. Choreographed entirely by the prosecution, I’m sure. The defense demands a recess.” Flailing one arm toward Peter, he added, “The defense moves for mistrial.”
Judge Morrow peered down at McConnell. His tone was dry as he said, “Don’t bother, Mr. McConnell. There’s no jury to be swayed. Pull yourself together. I won’t stand for a mistrial after all the time we’ve spent on this case, so save it for your closing argument, which”—he included Peter in his glare—“I assume will be tomorrow.”
“Yes, Judge,” Peter said.
Peter watched Suzanne walking back up the aisle between the spectators, carrying in her arms the best evidence he’d ever had the good luck to present in a murder trial.
55
Abigail Gordy’s story made front-page headlines the next day. Any hope of keeping Alice’s past from Dr. Matlock was gone; her cover had been well and truly blown.
She’d told Dr. Matlock the day before that she’d need the morning off again today. His response had been somewhat surly, but she was determined not to miss the closing arguments.
She took one last look at herself in the mirror, put on her hat and pulled the half-veil down over her eyes, slipped on her best white gloves, and went downstairs to wait for the taxi.
She’d done the right thing with Abby, and no matter how the verdict came out for Baby Chasson, they had all proved that during abortions sometimes babies were accidently born alive. And given a chance, those babies could survive.
At the end of any trial Peter thought how lucky he was that his office was located in the courthouse building. To avoid the press his only hurdle was a brief elevator ride and a short dash through the hallway to the courtroom.
As he entered the courtroom, he saw the gallery was filling up. The Chasson family were sitting in the first row, up front and to Mac’s left, in the seats just behind the prosecution table. He’d spoken with Glory Lynn last night and she’d sounded happy, and relieved that the trial was almost over. Behind him, Dooney walked in with the Gordys and Alice. The witnesses filed into the first row on Mac’s right side, and Peter and Dooney continued on through the rail gate. The hotel had found a sitter for Abby for the day, Dooney had said.
Mac had saved a seat for Rebecca too, but Peter told him to give it up. Rebbe wanted that same place near the back. The baby was really active these days, and she had to be able to come and go with ease. Again, Molly elected to sit in the back with her.
The bailiffs took their positions at the doors and he glanced at his watch, his stomach beginning to roil, like an early warning earthquake tremor. The judge would be here soon. He ran through the first few lines of his closing argument in his head.
Dooney edged around behind him and pulled out her chair. “Just a few minutes and it’s all over. Except for the verdict. How are you feeling?”
“Pretty good,” he said. “I think we did our best.”
“All rise,” the bailiff called, and he heard the excited murmuring and shuffling behind him as everyone stood, but the blood rushing through his head drowned out everything else. This case was a part of him now. Gooseflesh rose on his forearms. He had to win. He had to expose to the world the secret of what was happening to these children.
He thought of the tender shoots of new faith he’d observed in Rebecca. She hadn’t mentioned this to him, but he’d noticed. He thought that perhaps, besides the baby, that this trial might have had something to do with that. Now, as he stood watching Judge Morrow enter the courtroom, Peter took a long breath and said a little prayer to God to help him say the right words.
When he’d settled back, Judge Morrow’s eyes swept the courtroom and the bailiff said that everyone could now be seated. Morrow’s eyes landed on Peter. “Is the State prepared for the closing argument?”
“The State is ready. Thank you, Your Honor.”
Peter rose, glanced at Dooney and stood. She gave him an encouraging smile. Ordinarily, if a jury had been present, Peter would have moved directly to the jury box. He’d have stood about five feet from the rail, and he’d have looked into the eyes of each man and woman in those twelve seats the entire time he talked.
But today was different.
Today only one juror was present in the courtroom. So he walked to the lectern instead, and stood before Judge Morrow. Yesterday Peter thought he’d glimpsed a slight change in the judge, for the first time a slight softening around his eyes and mouth as he’d looked at Abby Gordy in her mother’s arms.
Resting both hands on the lectern, he looked up at Calvin Morrow and began.
“Despite what any person in this courtroom thinks about when life begins, as instructed by this court, the State is not here today to challenge the law of the land,” he began. “But we are here to uphold the right of one small child to live—a right that was denied him by the Defendant.”
He paused and took a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets. “The State has introduced evidence to the court through an autopsy report, a pathology report, and testimony of witnesses that Baby Chasson was born alive on the evening of May 13, 1982 at the Alpha Women’s Clinic. The Defendant was the only physician in attendance.
“After the infant was born, Glory Lynn Chasson, the mother, heard the infant cry.
“After the infant was born, Nurse Clara Sonsten heard the infant cry. Nurse Sonsten also testified that she saw the infant, a boy, breathing, and moving various limbs while still in the Defendant’s hands. And then, the Defendant handed the infant over to Nurse Sonsten, still in the delivery towel. When she asked the Defendant’s permission, as the physician in charge, to suction the child’s air passages so that he could breathe, and then to call an ambulance for help, the Defendant said no. Instead he took the infant back from her and wrapped the towel tightly around the infant’s head and face as if it were already dead, and then handed the bundle back to Nurse Sonsten and told her to take it away . . . to the utility room, where medical waste was kept.”
Peter held the judge’s eyes as he spoke. Morrow did not look away.
“Those actions of the Defendant were deliberate and intentional.” Peter lifted his finger, emphasizing his next words. “When Dr. Charles Vicari ordered Nurse Clara Sonsten not clear the baby’s throat, not to call an ambulance, but to take him out of there, to take him away to the clinic’s utility room after wrapping a towel around his face so that he could not continue breathing, Dr. Vicari understood exactly what he was doing.” He paused. “And what was kept in the utility room?”
He answered his own question. “The evidence tells us: medical waste.” He held the Judges eyes. “Oh, yes. The Defendant was fully aware that his actions would result in the infant’s certain death, as he intended.”
He dropped his hand back onto the lectern and waited a beat. “But, Nurse Clara Sonsten defied the Defendant’s orders. Inste
ad of abandoning the infant in the utility room, she testified that she unwrapped the towel from the infant’s face, and attempted to clear the air passages with her fingers. She took it to an empty room at the clinic, and there she held that infant in her own arms until it died. He struggled to breathe, she said. He fought to live. For—over—an—hour, the evidence shows, Baby Chasson fought to live.”
Peter dropped his arms to his sides, and, despite his earlier resolve, he began pacing back and forth before the bench as he went on, describing Melanie Wright’s testimony that she’d seen the infant in that back room with Nurse Sonsten; that she’d seen the infant breathing, moving. And he repeated Stephanie Kand’s conclusions from the autopsy and the pathology report that the infant could possibly have lived for over an hour.
Here he halted, looking at the judge. “Dr. Kand further testified, and the autopsy shows, that Baby Chasson presented no apparent anomalies. The heart was beating. The infant was breathing. The skull formation was normal for the infant’s age. The circulation system was well developed and healthy and normal for the age.”
He paused and took a breath. “The State’s witness, an ambulance driver, testified that it would have taken only twenty minutes to get that baby to a hospital neo-intensive care facility. It’s clear from the evidence that if an ambulance had been called, but for the Defendant, Baby Chasson might be alive today. Like Abigail Gordy.” He felt threatening tears and forced them back.
His voice rose as he resumed. “Your Honor, the Supreme Court of the United States has never considered the crime that we have before us today, the possibility that an infant surviving an abortion might be burdened with his mother’s prior choice and charged to die because of that. And there is a reason that decision did not cover this situation. That is because this crime is already covered by another law. The governing law before us today is not Roe v. Wade. The law governing this crime is murder. Because under the laws of the United States of America and the State of Louisiana, once Baby Chasson was born and breathed and his heart continued beating, he was a living human being with the right of every other human being in this country and this state to live, to fight for life.”
Accidental Life Page 35