by Tracy Brown
Misa didn’t know what to do. She looked around at her mother, her sister, her friends. All of them loved her, but she alone was facing serious hard time in prison for murder. She wondered if she should take the deal, if she should accept responsibility for what she had done.
But when she thought about Shane, she shook her head. There was no way she could be away from her son for that long, no way that she could endure the horrors of prison knowing that her already wounded son was growing up without her. To her, going to prison would be the equivalent of a death sentence. If the jury decided that was what she deserved, so be it. She was prepared to accept it. But there was no way she was going down without a fight.
“For me, it’s not a performance,” she said, correcting Teresa. “My life is riding on this. My son was all that I thought about that night and he’s all I’ll think about every day for the rest of my life if I get another chance. But I just want to tell my story, and explain why I did it. So then if they want to send me away for life, fine. But I have to have my say and I really need to know if I’m crazy for doing what I did.”
“You’re not crazy,” Celia said, squeezing Misa’s hand. She thought that Misa was incredibly brave. Aware that she and Baron were financing Misa’s defense, she reassured her. “And you have my son’s support regardless of what you decide. You will not be left alone, Misa.”
“Thank you, Miss Celia,” she said. Looking at Teresa, she said, “I don’t want the deal. I’m ready to testify.”
Teresa nodded. “All right, well, today’s the day.”
“Let’s pray,” Lily suggested.
Misa and Camille looked at each other and struggled to suppress their laughter as they recalled the countless times their mother launched into evangelical sermons whenever she was called on to pray. They snickered at their private joke as Lily prayed that they all would gain the strength it took to endure the day ahead.
* * *
Misa stood up in front of the packed courtroom, her long hair hanging loosely at her shoulders, her pretty face uncertain as she took the oath and sat down in the witness seat. She wore very little makeup and a simple black suit. Her trembling hands were barely noticeable as Teresa began.
“Misa, we’ve heard weeks of testimony regarding the type of parent that you were to your son Shane—some of it good, some of it not so good. How would you honestly describe your relationship with your son?”
Misa took a deep breath, glanced warily around the courtroom. She was so nervous, but so anxious to put this day behind her. She finally spoke, her voice strong and slightly melodic.
“I love my son. I wanted the best for him, for him to have the best of everything.” She paused for a moment. “I wasn’t always there like I should have been. But I just wanted to have the perfect family. He deserved two parents, a big house, lots of toys, nice clothes, and the best schools. And I was doing what I thought I had to do to make all of that possible for him.”
“Who cared for Shane besides you?”
“My sister Camille mostly. My mother sometimes, his teachers at preschool.”
“Did you ever suspect that Shane had been abused in any way?”
Misa shook her head. “Never. I paid attention to Shane and he was a happy kid, just being his usual sweet self.”
“When did Steven Bingham begin babysitting your son?”
Misa clasped her hands together, squeezing. “When I left Shane with my sister. I had been at the hospital, visiting a friend. Camille was babysitting for me and nothing was wrong with Shane when I left.”
“How long were you gone?”
Misa shrugged, trying to remember. “A day or so.”
“Had you called to check in on Shane?”
Teresa had warned her that she would have to ask her questions with tough answers. It was a risky tactic, which would deprive the prosecution of pointing out Misa’s flaws. If Misa’s attorney revealed her best and worst traits, the prosecution would be robbed of the opportunity to do it themselves.
“No, I didn’t call. I trusted my sister with Shane and I knew that he was in good hands with her. My friend was recovering from a coma and I wanted to be there for him.”
Some members of the jury—mostly the women—were studying Misa like she was an art exhibit. They were observing her body language, following her eyes when she looked around, and hanging on her every word. Teresa moved on, knowing that what they saw and heard today was crucial.
“So when did you discover that Steven Bingham had been caring for your son?”
“When I came to pick Shane up, he opened the door—”
“Who opened the door? Shane?”
“No.”
“Who opened the door?”
Misa squeezed her eyes shut, clearly struggling to even utter the name of the bastard who had sodomized her son. “Steven,” she managed through clenched teeth, her hands still clasped tightly together and her eyes staring intently at Teresa.
Teresa was glad that the jury could see how devastated Misa was by what had happened to her son. Any mother would understand Misa’s rage.
“Did you observe Shane behave strangely in the presence of Steven Bingham?”
Misa looked at her hands, nodded slowly. “When I got there, he … Steven … opened the door and I asked where my sister was. He told me that Camille had been upset that her and Frankie broke up. I was surprised to hear that because my sister and I hadn’t talked. I didn’t know that she was having … I didn’t know that Frankie had left her.”
Teresa nodded. “And what happened then?”
“He told me that he had been babysitting Shane while Camille was gone. I asked where Shane was and he told me that he didn’t know. He said that Shane liked to play hide-and-seek a lot.” Misa’s voice caught in her throat.
“Hide-and-seek? The same game that Shane has told his social worker that he doesn’t want to play anymore?” Teresa asked.
“Yes,” Misa said.
“Where did you eventually find Shane?”
“He was curled up in the bathtub hiding and he wouldn’t come out. Not until … Steven … he told Shane to get up and go with me and Shane jumped up. He wasn’t talking, though. Shane wasn’t acting the same after that.”
“What did you think after that incident?”
Misa shook her head. “I thought Shane was upset that I wasn’t spending enough time with him. I thought he was acting up because he was mad at me. So I just took him home. It was Christmas Day and I had a whole bunch of presents for him at home. But he wasn’t really happy like he usually was. He didn’t want to talk to me. He just played in his room by himself. I tried to play with him and tried to talk to him, but he was ignoring me for some reason. I didn’t know why he was mad at me. So I asked him if he wanted to go back to Aunt Camille’s house. He didn’t answer me. I thought that was a ‘yes’ so I said, ‘Fine. I’ll take you back to Aunt Camille’s house and Uncle Steven can watch you.’ And … Shane got so mad! He threw a toy car at me and he started crying for his daddy.”
Misa started to get emotional, recalling how angry Shane had been at her, as she unknowingly threatened to bring him back to the very monster who haunted him.
“Did you call your ex-husband then?” Teresa nudged.
“Yes. He came and got Shane about an hour later.”
Teresa nodded, placed a box of tissues on the witness stand for Misa’s use, and continued.
“When were you told that Shane had been molested?”
“It was January 4, 2008. I came home from the hospital and I called Louis to check up on Shane. He cursed at me, told me that I was never going to see my son again. He called me an irresponsible bitch and told me that somebody…” Misa began to cry. Teresa plucked out a few tissues and handed them to her client while she struggled to compose herself. “He told me that somebody had been molesting my son.”
Teresa waited a few minutes for Misa to compose herself.
“He hung up on me, and when I called back, nobody
answered. So I went over there.”
“Did your ex-husband allow you to see your son?”
Misa shook her head, sniffling. “No. He tried to spit on me, he lunged at me, cursed at me. His girlfriend held him back, otherwise he might have hit me.”
“What did you do then?”
“I drove back home. I thought about killing myself. I was so distraught, and so … my son had been raped. I don’t know how to describe what I was feeling. I was scared of the way that I was feeling and I just had to sit and figure out who had done that … who had hurt my son.”
“And who did you think of?”
“Everyone,” Misa said, honestly. “Everybody was a suspect in my mind. But I started eliminating people who I knew would never hurt my son. I thought of all his teachers at school—male and female. But Shane hadn’t been in school for weeks because of the holiday break. It had to have been someone he had been around recently. Frankie was never around. When Steven came to mind, I just … I felt it in my gut that it was him.”
“Why?” Teresa pressed her. “Why did you dismiss Frankie as a suspect easily but know intuitively that Steven had been the one?”
“I thought about that day when Shane was hiding in the bathtub. I thought about all the times I had noticed how weird Steven was, how he used to stare at people. I had never had a problem with Shane misbehaving until the day that I mentioned returning Shane to Camille’s house and letting Steven watch him. It just made sense to me.”
“So what did you do then?”
“I decided to go and confront Steven.”
“Why didn’t you call the police?” Teresa asked.
Misa took a deep breath. Oath or no oath, she couldn’t answer that question truthfully. The truth was that no amount of legal justice would have been enough for her. No arrest could have made it all right. She wanted Steven dead for what he had done to her son and she set out to kill him when she went to Camille’s house that night.
“He was a part of my family,” she lied. “I didn’t want to call the police until I had proof that he had done it. I wanted to see what he would say when I confronted him.”
“Why did you bring the gun?”
“I was afraid for my safety,” she answered. Misa gestured with her hands emphatically, trying to express her frame of mind that night. “So many things were going through my mind,” she said. “I was so upset about what happened to my son, scared that I would never see him again. I thought I knew who had done it, and I wanted to know for sure. But I was scared, too. I was afraid that if I was right that Steven might try to keep me quiet, that he might hurt me. So I brought the gun with me for protection.”
“Where did you get the gun?”
Misa stared at Louis. She stared at him and a smirk lingered on her lips as she watched him squirm. He knew that he had given her that gun years earlier, that she could easily throw him under the bus now. But she was no snitch. Lily had raised her better than that, although the thought of revenge was tempting. “I found it,” she said. “Years ago when I used to live in the Stapleton projects.”
“And you kept the gun for protection as a single mother concerned for the safety of you and your child?”
“That’s right,” Misa said, liking how Teresa made it sound so noble.
“Walk us through the early morning hours of January 5, 2008.”
Misa took a long sip of water and glanced at the jury box. Each of the twelve people sitting there looked mesmerized as she began to tell her story.
“I remember looking at the dashboard clock in my car and it was 12:03 A.M. when I pulled up at my sister’s house. I don’t remember driving there. It’s like I was in a dream or something. But I recall seeing that time on the digital clock. I got out of the car and I let myself into the house with my key.”
“Why did you have a key to your sister’s home?” Teresa asked.
“Shane was there a lot and Camille had given me the key months ago.”
“What did you find upon entering the home that night?”
“It was dark. Nobody was home. I sat in the dining room and tried to get my thoughts together. I was upset and I couldn’t think straight. I kept trying to think if I had missed a clue … if Steven could really be the one who did that to my son. There was a candle in the center of the table and I lit it. I sat there and I was just … lost in thought.” Misa stared at her hands, recalling the murderous thoughts she’d had that night. “I imagined what had been done to my son.” Misa looked at the jury, made eye contact with a few of the women. “It would kill any mother to know that someone has molested your child. To think of somebody touching your little boy, thinking of him crying in pain…” Misa cried. “To think of some sick, disgusting man getting pleasure from hurting my child … I just felt so powerless and so hurt, so angry!” She blew her nose, wiped her eyes and saw a few of the jurors crying, too. “Steven came in from the guesthouse and I heard him walk into the kitchen.”
Frankie’s eyes watered as he imagined his brother walking into an ambush unknowingly.
“I got up and walked into the kitchen, too. I was standing behind him and he didn’t know it. He turned around and saw me and he jumped. I think I scared him.”
Teresa nodded. “Did he say anything?”
“He kinda chuckled. He said, ‘Damn, girl. You scared me.’ ” Misa felt her anger growing as she thought about the smug expression on Steven’s face that night. It felt like he was laughing at her, laughing at Shane. “I asked him what he had done to my son.”
Teresa saw that the jurors were literally on the edge of their seats.
“He asked me what I was talking about. And I told him that I knew he had touched Shane. I started yelling. I called him a fucking freak and I was yelling that he had molested my son.” Misa’s voice rose now as she thought back on that night. “He laughed at me. He laughed in my face! He told me that Shane was lying.”
Misa had snapped right at that moment. She had pulled out the .38 special that Louis had given her, pointed it at Steven and watched the smile slowly drain from his face.
“Put that away,” Steven had said, his face suddenly serious. “The little muthafucka is lying.”
Misa had pulled the trigger then, kept pulling the trigger until it clicked empty, and Steven lay dead in a bundle at her feet.
Teresa’s voice lured her back to the present and to her carefully crafted story for this moment. “What happened then?”
“I told him that I knew what he had done to Shane and all of a sudden, he lunged at me. I jumped back and I pulled out the gun. I held it up, but my hands were shaking. I was scared to death.”
“Did he stop advancing toward you?”
Misa thought about the forensics expert who had testified that Steven couldn’t have been in motion at the moment the first bullet struck him. “He reached for the gun real quick,” she lied. “And I fired just to stop him. But he didn’t stop. I thought I had missed the first time, because he kept coming toward me. So I fired again and again. I was just trying to keep him away from me. Then he fell on the floor and I had no more bullets. So I dropped the gun and I ran back into the dining room. I was distraught, crying, I was scared. I sat down and tried to stop my heart from racing, my hands were shaking. And that’s how my sister came in and found me.”
Teresa was proud of her client. “Did you go over to your sister’s home that night with the intention of killing Steven Bingham?”
“No,” Misa said convincingly. “I did not.” She looked at the jury. “I only shot Steven in self-defense because I was in fear for my life.”
“No further questions,” Teresa announced, and took her seat.
The district attorney stood up and applauded. “Very nice performance, Ms. Atkinson. Did you and your attorney work on that long?”
“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 witn
ess!”
“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.”
