An Accidental Life Read Online Free PDF Page A

man.” His voice was thick with sorrow and he shook his head. “And then we transported it to the morgue. Kand said she’d get on the autopsy and the forensic analysis soon as she can.”
    Peter bent forward, staring at the desktop, hands shielding his eyes. “Let me know as soon as you find anything, Mac, cause and manner of death.”
    “Should have that by Monday, she says.”
    Both of them fell silent. Minutes passed. Peter knew nothing about children. He wondered if the child, the fetus, whatever it was at that point, had fingers and toes, and facial features. Babies had never been a part of his life, nor were they a part of his life plan.
    Mac broke the silence. “Like I said, it’s a crazy case. But if Glory Lynn’s right and there was someone else in that room—that second nurse, Clara Sonsten—we might get a break. I’ll find her; get her statement.
    “I’ll talk to the receptionist again,” he added. “We’ll need another search of the place, and we’ll want to search those records.”
    “Healthcare privacy issues won’t make that easy.” Peter chewed his lower lip. “Mac, check out this doctor’s background, and his connection with the clinic. Find out how long he’s been there, any ownership interest. Where he was before. Like that.”
    Mac nodded.
    Peter straightened, mulling over the contradictions. Glory Lynn Chasson choosing an abortion and then changing her mind when the infant was born alive. Laws governing abortion prior to birth were clear. But what happened here? And where does the law draw the line? Did a woman’s choice extend to an infant born alive?
    That was only one question.
    He roused himself. He needed more facts. Peter looked at Mac. “I’d like to see the autopsy and pathology reports as soon as Stephanie completes them.”

4
    Sunshine streamed through the window over the kitchen table where Rebecca sat brooding. It was Monday morning and she was attempting to read the paper but couldn’t concentrate. A slice of toast lay untouched on a small plate beside her. Beside the plate, an almost translucent fluted china cup of chamomile tea waited, steaming. She’d thought it would settle her stomach; better than her usual coffee.
    The Times-Picayune was folded in half and then in quarters, and Rebecca struggled to focus her eyes and thoughts on the article she’d begun reading before the words had seemed to move. A sheen of perspiration shone on her forehead and cheeks as she fought to relax. Peter would be down soon and he’d spot that something was wrong right away. She didn’t want to think about what was causing this nausea. She only had forty-five minutes to get to work and prepare for the meeting today and she wasn’t feeling well. She didn’t have the energy to put on an act that would convince Peter that nothing was wrong.
    The article, which took up a significant portion of the front page, covered Peter’s current trial, a death by raining bullets last New Year’s Eve. Drugs were involved. This case had been stuck in the black hole of pre-trial preparation since then, and she knew that Peter was glad it was finally in court. The longer a defendant stalled, the more frightened and forgetful witnesses became. They were picking the jury this morning, she read, and glancing at the clock, she knew she’d gotten a reprieve from an inquisition. He was running late and he’d fly through the kitchen this morning at the speed of light to get to the courthouse.
    Rebecca wrinkled her nose and turned the page. As a general rule she viewed litigation as a zero sum game—in order for one to win, someone else had to lose. She picked up the cup and sipped the tea, feeling the soothing warmth as it went down her throat. Shaking a crease from the page, she refolded the paper, and sipped the tea again, realizing that she was already feeling better.
    When Peter strode in a few minutes later she could see that he was feeling good. Relieved that the nausea had disappeared, she