An Accidental Life by Pamela Binnings Ewen Read Free Book Online Page A

the details: The decedent was 11.80 inches, crown to heel. Weight, one pound, eight ounces, or 680.4 grams. Probable gestation: 24 weeks. Time of death was uncertain, due to the fact that the time of birth was uncertain—but she estimated that the small body had been found approximately nineteen hours after birth, with a margin of error of one hour.
    Cause of death was respiratory failure.
    Peter picked up the photographs before reading on, bracing himself as he looked at each one, fighting off emotions and attempting to maintain some objectivity, some distance. Photographs of the small body after cleaning showed no obvious evidence of malformation that he could see. But his was a meaningless evaluation. When he’d gone through the stack, he set the pictures down and skimmed through the detailed autopsy report.
    Stephanie Kand had concluded that Baby Chasson had breathed on his own for some time after birth, before he’d died, but as yet she hadn’t pinpointed exactly how long he’d survived. He hoped that she’d be able to come to a conclusion on the time in her forensic analysis. Peter leaned back in the chair when he’d finished reading, closing his eyes. What had happened in the time between birth and death, and how much time had passed? Mac had said Eileen Broussard refused to cooperate, at least so far. He wondered if Mac had been able to talk to the second nurse, Clara Sonsten, yet.
    He placed the reports and photos on the desk, and then, clasping his hands on top of the desk, he looked at the walls before him. The sun outside was going down. Minutes passed, and then he read through the report again. In the gloaming, typewriters and telephones and voices faded, until, at last he was left alone in the silence, still turning the information over in his mind.
    Glory Lynn Chasson’s baby boy had been born alive. That much of her story was corroborated by the autopsy. So, why hadn’t the infant been given medical assistance? It seemed clear to him that even if the clinic didn’t have the facilities on site, they could have called an ambulance to take the preemie to neonatal intensive care.
    Why hadn’t the physician in charge, or one of the nurses, called for help?
    Glory Lynn Chasson was entitled to answers to these questions. He sat there looking at nothing for a long time and thinking of those pictures. Suddenly he smashed his fist down on the desktop. And then he dropped his face into his hands. Dear God, he prayed. Help me understand.

7
    On Tuesday morning, excited about the office move, Rebecca left home early, before Peter woke. When she walked through the doorway into her new office on the seventeenth floor of the Merchant Bank Building, she halted just inside and looked around. Three long windows across the outer wall let in sunlight. The bookcases she’d used in her old office were there on her left against the wall, stretching from the doorway, around the corner and ending two-thirds of the way toward the windows. She walked to the bookshelves and surveyed the rows of books. Sure enough, they were in the same order as in her old office.
    She turned, inspecting the furniture placed in the corner, as she’d requested. There was a smooth cushioned beige sofa and two chairs. They weren’t exactly what she’d have selected had there been more time, but they matched the carpeting on the floor and she could jazz them up with colorful pillows. There were small square tables at each end of the sofa, and these tables were placed at an angle to the chairs. Someone had placed some of her Lucite transaction mementos on the two side tables and now they glittered, catching the sun. Each table held a lamp. And finally, a small, rectangular glass-topped coffee table was placed before the sofa, atop a pretty blue and white woven rug that tied everything together.
    She stepped back, looking at the area as one would see it through a Spin-it camera lens. The lamps were too plain, she decided. They’d do for the