by Tracy Brown
Teresa held up two dolls in front of the witness stand. “These are the dolls you used with Shane, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Can you please demonstrate what Shane showed you?”
Ms. Thomas took the dolls from Teresa and positioned them so that one was facedown with its pants down around its knees and the other was straddling it. She spoke into the microphone, narrating for the court what Shane had described.
“At first, the child was unwilling to do more than position the dolls in a manner such as this. He wouldn’t talk about what happened, but would only show us what had taken place. We asked him to point to which of the dolls was ‘Shane’ and he pointed to the doll on the bottom. We asked him to point to where Shane had been hurt and he pointed to the doll’s buttocks area. We also showed him a dollhouse and asked him to point to where in the house he was victimized. He pointed to the couch and to the living room floor.”
Many of the jurors were moved to tears by what Ms. Thomas described and the judge interrupted and asked if they needed to take a break. The jurors declined taking a recess and Judge Felder told Teresa to continue with her questioning.
“And so far Shane has not talked about what happened to him, is that right?”
“Well,” Ms. Thomas said, “that was the case until our last session with Shane yesterday.”
Some jurors leaned forward in their seats, while many in the courtroom began to talk among themselves, all of them eager to hear what Shane had finally said about his abuser. Misa almost jumped out of her seat and Louis’s mouth hung open in shock.
Teresa seemed caught off guard, as well. “Shane spoke about it for the first time yesterday?”
“Yes,” Ms. Thomas said. “He was very quiet as he spoke about it, his voice was barely audible. But he did tell us that he still sees the bad man in his dreams at night. We assured him that the bad man was not going to hurt him anymore, but it was clear that the very thought of his molester tormented him. He told us that he did not want to play hide-and-seek anymore.”
Misa’s heart stopped for a moment as she recalled Steven telling her how he liked to play the game with Shane. She sat transfixed as Ms. Thomas continued.
“We asked Shane if the bad man had hurt him while they were playing hide-and-seek and he nodded. He whispered, ‘When I hide, I be quiet. But he still find me.’ I asked Shane who finds him. And he told me that it was ‘Unca Steben.’ And we understood that to mean Uncle Steven.”
The courtroom was filled with gasps and so much of an uproar that the judge was banging his gavel and yelling for the court to come to order. Misa turned and locked eyes with her sister and mother, tears streaming down her face, and saw that they were crying, too. Emotions surged through them—anger about what had been done to poor Shane and relief that Misa hadn’t killed the wrong man after all.
Mary Bingham ran from the courtroom, having heard the evidence that her son was guilty of molesting Shane. There was no doubt in her mind as she fled the room that Steven had victimized the little boy in the same manner in which his father had preyed upon him. Frankie ran out after his mother, his own emotions running wild. Behind him, he heard Teresa announce that she had no further questions, heard the judge calling for a five-minute recess with the commotion continuing in the courtroom.
Frankie followed his mother out into the vestibule and down a flight of stairs leading to the restrooms. He called out after her and finally caught up to her, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her to his chest in a firm embrace. Clinging to her son, Mary cried so hard that her body quaked in agony. Frankie felt his heart breaking, and he was powerless to stop it.
“Ma…” His voice trailed off as the words escaped him. He didn’t know what to say to her.
He noticed cameras flashing as reporters perched nearby, snapping pictures of the two of them as if they were part of a freak show. Frankie pulled his mother into the nearby men’s room and locked the door behind them.
“Stop crying,” he said, thinking instantly that he was asking his mother to do the impossible. He hated to see her cry. It brought him right back to the old days whenever he saw her in tears. “We gotta get you out of here.”
He thought about weighing the enormity of the situation—that Shane had named his brother, that his mother was racked with guilt. But right now, if he took the time to digest what was happening, it might swallow him whole.
“I’m gonna have Tremaine take you home,” he said. He was determined to stay in court and hear the outcome of the day’s events. “Wait right here. Keep the door locked until I come back.”
Frankie reached for the doorknob, but his mother stopped him, placing her hand over his. “I won’t be quiet this time. You have to accept that he did it, Frankie. And she’s that child’s mother. Should she go to jail for the rest of her life for protecting her son?” Mary’s voice shook. “I wish I would have protected you that way. And Steven.”
Frankie stared at her. He was at a loss for words. Finally, Mary let go of his hand and he quickly exited, heading back into the courtroom to get Tremaine. His feet felt heavy as he walked amid the stares and chatter in the courthouse. Frankie’s mind was reeling. Steven couldn’t have been that twisted without him knowing it. Shane wouldn’t lie about it, would he? Had Misa been justified? Could Mary handle the truth? Could he?
These things and more raced through his mind as he stepped back inside the courtroom. Aware that all eyes were on him, he walked over to Tremaine and whispered to him. Tremaine nodded and hurriedly left the courtroom in search of Frankie’s mom, with instructions to bring her home and stay with her.
Gillian looked different when Frankie sat beside her again. He could tell that she was having doubts about his brother’s innocence. He couldn’t help wondering if she was second-guessing him as well. Her back was stiff, her hands folded in her lap, legs crossed. Her eyes searched his for something Frankie hoped she found. And then she looked away, no reassuring words, no touch of comfort. Frankie noticed this as the court officer called them all back to order.
Everyone listened as Ms. Thomas was cross-examined by the prosecution.
“You say that young Shane points to the deceased as his predator only now, after months of saying nothing?” The DA sounded skeptical.
“It’s normal for a child to withhold the identity of their attacker out of fear. Particularly a child as young as Shane.”
“What explanation has he been given for being removed from his mother’s custody? How has that been explained to Shane?”
Ms. Thomas reviewed her notes once more. “He’s been told that his mother is away for a little while, but that she’s coming back for him soon.”
“And what about the ‘bad man’ as Shane refers to his predator? What has he been told has happened to the bad man?” DA Dean Davidson was staking his career on a win in this case. No amount of theatrics was going to allow Teresa Rourke to score an acquittal.
Ms. Thomas checked her notes again. “That the bad man was destroyed, and will never hurt Shane again.”
Dean was practically salivating now.
“Shane has been tormented by nightmares of his attacker, which he shared with us and with his father. In order to get Shane to fall back asleep at night, Mr. Crowley told his son that the bad man was gone forever.”
“Has Shane mentioned his uncle Steven by name since your investigation began?”
“No.”
“So how did he just spit out ‘Uncle Steven did it!’ all of a sudden?”
Ms. Thomas didn’t appreciate the prosecutor’s sudden shift in tone. He was being downright accusatory. “Well, we asked him specifically about each of his closest family members, teachers—”
“So you asked him about his uncle Steven?”
“Yes, we—”
“What specifically did you ask him?”
“We just said the names of different people who’ve been close with Shane over the years and watched to see what his reaction would be.”
“Please give us the order of the names you recited to Shane.”
Ms. Thomas listed them: Misa (Mommy), Aunt Camille, Uncle Frankie, Grandma Lily, Uncle Steven. “His response to each name was noted. Each solicited a positive reaction. It was when we got to Uncle Steven that Shane stopped playing, laughing, and reacting positively. He grew quiet, withdrawn, went back to sucking his thumb. We repeated ‘Uncle Steven’ to Shane and he said, ‘No!’ His voice was loud and defiant and then his facial expression changed. He began to cry. We assured Shane that there was no need to cry and he eventually stopped. When we asked Shane if Uncle Steven was the bad man—”
“You asked the child point-blank if his uncle was the bad man?”
Ms. Thomas frowned slightly, nodding. “Yes, we did.”
“So is that what you’re trained to do, Ms. Thomas? To tell a child what you want them to say? To imply that Uncle Steven was the bad man that haunts this toddler in his dreams?”
“OBJECTION!” Teresa was on her feet and her voice boomed loudly over the prosecutor. But Dean wasn’t having it. He kept right on peppering Ms. Thomas with accusations.
“It’s very likely that Shane, crying and afraid after being barraged with a list of names and questioned about his nightmares, just told you what you wanted to hear. Three years old, separated from his mother, and told that the bad man won’t bother him anymore as long as he says that the bad man is Steven Bingham!”
“OBJECTION!” Teresa looked like she was ready to fight Dean Davidson as she stormed toward the bench.
Judge Felder banged his gavel and Misa looked on as the jury took it all in. She wondered what they were thinking, prayed that their minds hadn’t been changed by the DA’s twisted logic. The judge was fuming and the courtroom had erupted in anarchy. Demanding to see the lawyers in his chambers, court was recessed for the second time.
Camille rushed to Misa’s side and hugged her sister tightly. “Are you all right?” she asked, pulling back but holding tight to Misa’s hand.
Misa shook her head. “I knew it, Camille. I knew all along that it was him. I don’t care what the DA says. My baby told the truth, Camille.”
Toya, Dominique, Lily, and Celia had formed a circle around the sisters as the nosy spectators looked on, hanging on their every word and movement. Leaning in, Toya whispered to Misa.
“Stay strong, girl. I’m watching the jury. They’re paying attention and Teresa is doing a great job.”
“That’s right,” Celia cosigned. “The truth always prevails.”
Frankie stared across the room at the circle of women surrounding Misa and Camille. He was oblivious to the Staten Island Advance reporter snapping a picture of him in profile, looking so perplexed as he stared at his brother’s killer. The photo was a poignant one, showing the inner battle being waged within a man torn between a painful truth and his quest for justice.
Gillian didn’t know how to feel. To her, it seemed that there was no victory for any them. Shane had been molested, Steven killed, Misa jailed. Camille had lost Frankie, but she was having his child. Gillian had lost her father, her mother, too, in some ways. Baron had fallen from grace, and Frankie had lost it all.
She wondered now if she and Frankie could survive this. Once, she had been so sure. Now, she couldn’t imagine what the future held.
The attorneys and the judge finally emerged from chambers, Dean red-faced and Teresa looking as if she’d just been scolded by her high school principal. Judge Felder had warned them both to tone down their melodramatic camera-posturing or else.
Ms. Thomas took the stand for the third time that day, easily the most controversial witness called by either side so far.
The prosecution got back down to business. “I asked you if you’ve been trained to suggest possible suspects to children who’ve been victimized.”
Ms. Thomas didn’t like the DA at all. “We did not suggest anything to the child. We are trained to make a child feel safe in speaking about what has been done to them and that was what we did.”
“You said that Shane had a negative reaction to hearing his uncle’s name. And then you repeated ‘Uncle Steven’ to which Shane yelled ‘No!’ according to your testimony. Had you repeated any of the other names more than once?”
“No, because none of the other names elicited the reaction that Steven’s did.”
“Please answer simply yes or no to the following questions,” Dean instructed. “Shane was told that the bad man was gone forever, correct?”
“Yes.”
“He was asked about the nightmares he has and he told you that he sees the bad man in his dreams, correct?”
“Yes.”
“You asked him to tell you who the bad man was and he refused?”
“Yes.”
“Then you listed names for him, repeating his uncle Steven’s name twice, and everyone else’s name only once. Is that correct?”
Ms. Thomas wanted to elaborate but knew she could only answer yes or no. This bastard was crafty. “Yes.”
“The second time you mentioned Uncle Steven, the child yelled ‘No!’ Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you asked Shane if Uncle Steven was the bad man who hurt him, right?”
“Yes.”
“How long had you been questioning the child at that point?”
Ms. Thomas reviewed her notes. “For less than an hour.”
Dean Davidson smirked at her. “You questioned a three-year-old child for close to an hour,” he remarked, “and when he told you that his uncle Steven was the bad man, did the questioning end?”
Ms. Thomas shrugged. “Not immediately.”
“So you continued to question him beyond that?”
“No,” she stammered. “What I’m saying is that we assured him that he was not in danger, that his mother would not be harmed. And he was upset. So we ended our session for the day and returned him to his family’s care.”
“So you rewarded him by ending the session when he told you what you wanted to hear?”
“Objection!”
“I’ll withdraw the question,” Dean said. “Ms. Thomas, why didn’t you tell Mr. Crowley what his son had revealed to you during your session yesterday?”
“Mr. Crowley did not pick Shane up yesterday. His paternal grandmother did, and we decided to wait until we were able to meet with both parents before revealing our findings. Unfortunately, I was called to testify before I was able to meet with them.”
Misa felt so guilty then. Louis was pawning Shane off on his mother just as she had pawned him off on Camille. She wanted nothing more than to get her son back so that she could get a do-over.
“Ms. Thomas, one final question,” Dean said, much to her relief. “Do children often make mistakes when identifying their attackers?”
Ms. Thomas sighed. “From time to time, they do. But I wouldn’t say that it happens often. And in this case, I believe Shane. I don’t think he was making it up. I’ve seen hundreds of cases over the years. I’ve seen children lie and I’ve witnessed them fall apart when they face the adults who preyed upon them. And in my professional opinion, Shane is telling the truth. His uncle Steven sodomized him.”
“No further questions,” the prosecutor said, scowling as he sat back down.
After giving the jury some instructions on which testimony to consider and which things to disregard, the judge adjourned for the day, sending everyone home until first thing tomorrow morning.
Misa noticed that her lawyer and the DA were huddled together instead of retreating to their corners like boxers in the ring the way they usually did at the end of each day. She waited and watched as Frankie and Gillian sulked out of the courtroom. Camille watched, too, amazed at how little she had known about the man she called her husband for so many years. She wondered if she’d ever know the whole truth, even as she carried his child in her womb.
Self-Defense
May 15, 2008
Camille stood and stared ou
t of the living room window, watching the flowers blooming on her sprawling lawn as spring arrived in New York City. This view had been one of her favorite parts of living in this house over the years. She looked around now at all the boxes labeled for the movers to take them to a storage unit until she could decide on where she wanted to go next. Her beloved house was being sold, her divorce papers had been signed, and her baby was due in only eight more weeks.
She marveled at how drastically things had changed in a year. The doorbell rang and she wobbled over to it and ushered her friends inside. Teresa had suggested that everyone meet at Camille’s house that morning before heading to court. She had something she wanted to discuss and felt that everyone should gather together in private to weigh in.
Toya, Dominique, Misa, Lily, and Celia were all assembled in Camille’s living room by the time Teresa arrived at eight-thirty in the morning. Misa sat there in the same room where she and Frankie had faced off on the night of the murder and she shuddered a little. So much time had passed, yet not nearly enough for the healing to begin. Teresa breezed in, thanked everyone for coming and got right down to business.
“The DA realizes that he may not win this case,” she said. “So he’s offering you a plea deal.”
Misa’s heart raced, wondering whether or not this was good news. “What kind of deal?”
“You plead guilty to second-degree manslaughter in exchange for five to fifteen years in prison.”
“Wow!” Lily muttered.
“What kind of a deal is that?” Toya asked.
Teresa unbuttoned her suit jacket and sat down among the forum of women. “The murder one charge carries a maximum sentence of—”
“Twenty-five to life,” Misa finished, fully aware of what she was facing.
The room fell silent, everyone weighing the odds.
“We’ve put on a good case,” Teresa said at last. “Obviously, the fact that Shane points to Steven as his attacker is in our favor. It shows the jury that you were correct in your assumption. Shane corroborates your theory. We’ve shown that Louis was no saint, either, and explained why you may have been flawed, as well.” Teresa shook her head, looking seriously at her client. “But you confessed. You claimed self-defense. So now, all we have is your testimony. If you roll the dice and proceed with the trial, you have to know that everything is riding on your performance on that stand.”
