Aftermath (45 page)

“OBJECTION!” Teresa yelled, back on her feet.

“Sustained.” Judge Felder glowered at Dean Davidson. “I've warned you about the theatrics, Mr. Davidson. Cross-examine the witness!”

“Sorry, Your Honor,” the prosecutor lied. He looked at Misa, his facial expression conveying his lack of faith in her testimony.

“Ms. Atkinson, you've painted quite a vivid picture for the court today,” he said. “You described yourself as a mother who wasn't always perfect, but who wanted the best for her son. Is that an accurate depiction?”

Misa nodded. “Yes.”

“Yet, you left Shane in your sister's care for more than a week while you sat at your boyfriend's bedside?”

Misa didn't answer. She stared at the prosecutor contemptuously.

“Speaking of your boyfriend, Baron Nobles, can you please tell us the nature of his injuries?”

Misa looked confused.

“Why was he in a coma?”

“He got shot.”

The jury squirmed and so did Misa.

“He got shot,” the prosecutor repeated. “For those present in the courtroom today who are unaware of the circumstances of that shooting, Baron Nobles was injured when he and his father—the notorious drug kingpin Doug Nobles—were ambushed in a recent gunfight.” He held up a copy of the
Daily News
with the headline reading
NOTORIOUS NOBLES DEAD IN AMBUSH!

“And this hoodlum is the man you dropped everything for?”

“Objection.”

“Overruled.”

Teresa sat back down, dejected.

“I was very close with Baron,” Misa explained. “It was the holiday break and I thought Shane was safe with my sister.”

“The date of this newspaper article was December 15, 2007. You admittedly spent the days leading up to Christmas Day at the hospital with Baron Nobles. So let's see…” Dean began to count off the days on his fingers demonstratively. “Ten days passed before you returned to pick up your son, not the day or so you testified to earlier, Ms. Atkinson. Isn't that correct?”

The courtroom hissed with condemnation. Misa thought about that. She hadn't realized that ten days had passed. It hadn't seemed that long at the time. But she had to admit the facts were correct. “Yes.”

The jury seemed to have turned on her as evidenced by their body language. A few were shaking their heads in contempt. Misa hung her own head in shame.

“What else have you lied about?” the DA asked.

“Objection!”

“Careful, Mr. Davidson,” the judge snarled.

“You testified that you became suspicious when you arrived at your sister's house to find Steven babysitting Shane and Shane curled up and hiding in the bathtub?”

“Yes.”

“You found that odd?”

Misa frowned. “Hell, yeah, I found it odd. My son was hiding and he looked scared.”

“You found that strange, and yet you still suggested bringing your son back to Steven Bingham later on that night. Isn't that how you testified, Ms. Atkinson? That you asked your son if he wanted to go back to Aunt Camille's house? Back to Steven's care?”

“I didn't know that he was—”

“You didn't think that he was a pedophile then, did you?”

“No. Not right then. But when I thought about it later on … after Louis told me that Shane had been hurt, I thought about it…”

“You crafted this scenario in your mind that Steven Bingham was the one who molested Shane because you really had no clue who could have victimized your son.”

“That's not true.”

“You were never around. You didn't even know that Shane had been left in Steven's care. You had no clue that your sister's marriage had fallen apart. You didn't even know what the top story was on the news at that time because all you were concerned about was catering to your gangster boyfriend!”

“OBJECTION!” Teresa yelled. “Mr. Davidson is badgering the witness. He hasn't asked a single question in the past ten minutes!”

“I'll get right to it, Your Honor,” the prosecutor hurriedly assured him. “You testified that your ex-husband came and got Shane on the night of Christmas 2007. You went back to the hospital and continued to attend to Baron Nobles until the night of January fourth. So yet another ten days passed before you checked in on your son again. Is this right?”

“Yes,” Misa allowed, her voice low and sad.

“This time when you disappeared, Shane was with his father and the news wasn't good. Shane had been molested. Understandably angry, Shane's father tells you that it's all your fault; that you're irresponsible; that you should never see your son again.” The DA looked at Misa like she was a worthless piece of shit. “Don't you think Mr. Crowley was right?”

“Objection!”

“Overruled.”

Misa looked out at the courtroom and heard the question echoing in her ears. She looked at people she'd lived close to, girls she had gone to school with, her family, reporters, court personnel, at Frankie, and finally at the prosecutor. She felt her eyes well up with tears. “He might have been right,” she admitted. Misa was crying now, guilty tears that rolled down her face the way a ball rolls down a hill, picking up speed on the way down, slowing at the bottom, hanging from her chin.

She looked at the jury. “I was a bad mother. Louis was a bad father. But that didn't give Steven the right to hurt my son. It didn't give him the right to touch him!”

“What right did you have to take a man's life without getting all the facts?”

Misa was crying now, not bothering to answer.

“You didn't even know for sure that it was Steven. You couldn't have known for sure that night.”

“I knew in my gut,” Misa said defiantly.

“You took the law into your own hands! You brought the gun with you because you wanted to kill Steven for what you believed he did to your son. Isn't that right?”

“I brought the gun for protection.”

“You went into that house and you waited for him. You waited in the dark like a hunter stalking its prey.”

“I was thinking about what I should say…”

“You were thinking about how you were going to blow his brains out when he came in from the guesthouse.”

“Your Honor—” Teresa interrupted.

“Weren't you mad as hell that night?”

“I was mad!” Misa yelled. “Anybody in my shoes would be mad.”

“And you wanted somebody to pay for what had been done to your son. So you ambushed Steven Bingham when he came into that kitchen. You had the gun drawn and you confronted him about what had been done to Shane. And when he denied it, you shot Steven Bingham in cold blood while he stood motionless, posing no threat to you.”

“He was coming at me!”

“You shot him in the chest. Then twice in the head. Surely he must have fallen then.”

“I blacked out.”

“You blacked out, firing until the gun was empty, is that what you want us to think?”

“That's what happened!”

“Then, when the gun was empty and Steven Bingham lay dying on the floor, you didn't bother to call for help, did you?”

“No … I was in shock.”

“You wanted Steven Bingham dead and you sat there and made damn sure he wouldn't survive.”

“Your Honor!” Teresa was having a fit.

The prosecution pushed on, not waiting for the judge's response. “You accused him, convicted him, put him on trial, and executed him all within a matter of hours and you didn't need the police to help you do any of that.”

Teresa's objections were barely heard beneath the DA's booming voice.

“If you could go back to that night and do it all again, would you spare Steven Bingham's life?”

“No!” Misa yelled over all the commotion. “No, I wouldn't spare that bastard's life after what he did to my son!” she seethed.

“No further questions, Your Honor,” Dean Davidson spat.

Misa kept right on talking. “Any mother out there should thank me for killing him! He deserved to die for what he did to my son. Anybody sick enough to hurt an innocent child deserves to die!”

Teresa walked quickly over to her client, eager to silence her. “Misa, come down off the stand,” she instructed, her voice stern yet soothing.

Slowly, Misa climbed down from the witness stand, completely aware that she may have just ruined her one shot at freedom.

In Summation …

As the warm spring morning unfolded before him, Frankie lay awake in bed watching Gillian sleep. Things had changed between them somehow without either one realizing it. Gone was the twinkle in her eye that used to greet him whenever he looked at her. And he assumed that she had noticed his distance, how he had withdrawn from her ever since the truth about his family had been laid bare. He hadn't meant to pull away from her. But it was the only way he knew how to handle things when they overwhelmed him. He pulled away and secluded himself as a defense mechanism rather than facing whatever was making him feel vulnerable.

He looked at Gillian now, sleeping peacefully, and wished he'd never fallen for her. If he hadn't complicated their friendship with love, it would be easier for them to continue doing business together. Now, even as he knew their future together was impossible, he was forced to find a way to end it without hurting her too badly. He touched a strand of her hair, swept it out of her face, and touched her lips lightly. She was so beautiful and he loved her. But uncovering the ugliness of his past had changed him in a way that made it clear that he wasn't ready to start a new relationship. He needed time to sort everything out by himself—without the added burden of having to love her right.

He climbed out of bed, got dressed in silence, and crept out of her house before the sun had fully peeked its head above the clouds.

*   *   *

Camille was in
her Staten Island home packing up the last of her belongings while talking with Officer Eli King on her cell phone. An early bird, Camille was up before the sun rose trying to finish boxing what remained of her life with Frankie before court that day. It was the day of closing arguments in Misa's trial and Camille was feeling antsy. When Eli called, fresh off the night shift, she was wide awake and eager for the distraction of hearing about his night. She was laughing at a joke he had just told her about a rabbi, a priest, and a Buddhist when she noticed headlights pulling into her driveway.

“Now, who could this be?” she wondered aloud, happy that she was on the phone with a cop just in case she needed backup.

Eli was concerned. “It's only five-thirty in the morning. Who would be pulling up at your house this early?”

She gasped a little when she saw Frankie get out of his car. Camille felt her pulse quicken. “It's my husband,” she said. “Can I call you back?”

Eli agreed, not bothering to point out that he was no longer her husband since signing the divorce papers a week ago. They hung up and Camille greeted Frankie at the front door, a look of confusion etched on her face.

He held up a bag. “I brought breakfast from Perkins,” he said. “Figured you're pregnant … you might be hungry.” He knew he sounded just as awkward as he felt. He had been so mean to Camille that it was hard to know where to start now.

Camille stared at Frankie. She had been pregnant for seven months, and hungry every minute. And
now
he decided to come by with breakfast? She wondered what was up as he stepped inside the house. Seeing everything packed up, Frankie froze. It was all so real now—the marriage, the house, everything was coming undone.

“Thanks,” Camille said, taking the bag out of his hand. “But I must say this is a big surprise.”

Frankie nodded, led the way to the couch where they both sat side by side. He watched as Camille unpacked the food. She sat back and looked at him questioningly.

“What do I do now?” he asked her, his eyes searching hers desperately.

Camille stared back at him, not sure what he meant. She could tell that he was tormented by the way he looked at her—his confusion causing his face to collapse under the weight of it.

“I don't understand,” she said softly.

“My brother…” Frankie's voice broke off.

Camille sat speechlessly, not knowing how to respond to him.

“I didn't know that he was…”

“I know, Frankie.” Camille could tell that he was still struggling with what Steven had done. She didn't believe for a minute that Frankie had known about the demons that haunted his brother.

“My mother blames herself,” he said at last. “I blame myself, too. I left them behind. He must have suffered when I left.” Frankie shook his head, the thought of that too much for him.

Camille knew that there was clearly plenty she didn't know about Frankie's childhood. Watching him battle his emotions now, she wondered how much he didn't even know.

He kept stammering. “Nobody told me anything. And Steven … he's dead. Shane…” Frankie knew he wasn't making sense as all his thoughts spilled out of his mouth in the same random order in which they were conceived. “Shane is just a little boy,” he said. Frankie sighed, held his face in his hands and shook his head. Looking at Camille again, he shrugged. “And Misa … what about … the baby…” He seemed like he was slowly coming apart.

Camille knew that the enormity of the situation had just begun to settle in for Frankie and she shook her head. “It's all one great big mess,” she said.

Frankie nodded. That it was. He looked at Camille and spoke, his voice full of sincerity. “I'm so sorry.”

Camille looked at Frankie for a long time, his words resounding in her head. He was sorry. Well, so was she.

“I went about this all wrong,” he said. “You didn't deserve what I did to you, Camille. I needed a way out and I went too far. I abandoned you. When I found out that my brother was dead … that Misa killed him … to me you both became the villains and I hated both of you. It never even occurred to me that Steven could do something so sick to Shane.” Frankie shut his eyes for a moment as if to block out the thought. “I can't apologize for what he did to that little boy. But I can tell you that I'm sorry that Shane was hurt. I'm sorry for what happened to Misa's son.” His voice cracked, then. He was still trying to come to grips with the fact that Misa had killed his brother. As much as he wanted to forgive her, he wasn't there yet.