by Tracy Brown
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 Camill
e 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.
Camille touched Frankie’s hand. She wanted to hate him, but she couldn’t. He had been cruel to her since deciding he wanted out of their marriage. But she still loved him and hated to see him hurting so badly.
“We all have regrets,” she said. “And all of us can find reasons to blame ourselves. But the truth is that none of us are at fault for what Steven did. None of us could have known … Frankie, all we can do is try to pick up the pieces and move on. Soon, we’re going to be parents and we’ve gotta figure out how to get along and get past what happened.”
He smiled slightly. “That’s why I came over here,” he said, chuckling uneasily. “Figured breakfast would be my olive branch.”
Camille smiled weakly at him. “It’s a good start.”
Frankie reached out his hand, inching it slowly toward her swollen belly. Camille watched him as he touched her stomach softly, feeling the tightness and drawing his hand back in shock. “Oh my God!” he said, surprised by the way it felt.
Camille took his hand and placed it back on her belly, holding it there this time as Frankie’s face contorted in amazement. His eyes widened in wonder as the baby moved within her womb, kicking his hand.
Frankie wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. “That feels crazy!”
Camille smiled at him, happy that he was sharing in the excitement of her pregnancy at last. Better late than never.
Frankie questioned her for more than an hour about her pregnancy—what she was feeling, what foods she craved, how often the baby moved, what vitamins she was taking, how often she went to the doctor, and even how she handled swollen ankles. Finally, as the hour drew near for court to begin, Frankie rose to leave. He looked at Camille awkwardly. He wanted to give her a hug, but worried that she might think that he wanted to reconcile. He didn’t. Frankie wanted nothing more than to sort out what happened in his childhood so that he could be a better parent to the child he was about to have. He prayed that both Gillian and Camille would give him the space he needed to do that.
But as he stared down at his wife, glowing with his child in her womb, he felt so much love for her. Despite all that he had done to her, she was still willing to listen to him, still willing to forgive him. He thought she looked more beautiful standing there then she had in years. Taking her face in his hands, Frankie kissed Camille softly on her lips. Looking at her for a moment, he paused before kissing her again. Then he turned and left. Camille lingered in the doorway long after his car pulled away. She hated how much she loved that man.
* * *
The prosecutor was presenting his grand finale and the jury was spellbound.
“Misa Atkinson showed a depraved indifference for human life when she shot Steven Bingham in cold blood on January 5, 2008. It was a premeditated act of murder, nothing less. She went to her sister’s house in the middle of the night, stalking her brother-in-law because she decided that he was guilty of a crime he may or may not have committed.”
Frankie cringed a little then. He looked at his mother who sat with her eyes straight ahead, her hands clutching a rosary as usual.
“We’ll never know beyond a reasonable doubt whether or not Steven Bingham molested Shane because he’s no longer alive for us to determine that. Misa Atkinson took matters into her own hands that night. She went there armed with a gun and she waited in the dark. By her own admission, she sat there and waited for Steven for close to an hour—time enough for her to reconsider, to come to her senses and call the police. She didn’t share her suspicions about Steven with anybody—not a single soul. Instead, she ambushed him.
“She shot him six times, ladies and gentlemen. The first shot hit him in the chest. Forensics has determined that he was not moving, therefore posing no threat to Misa Atk
inson when she plugged a bullet in his chest. According to her testimony, he continued advancing toward her—perhaps in a desperate attempt to stop her before she pulled the trigger again. But she did just that. She shot him twice more—both shots to the head.”
Mary couldn’t stop the tears that fell now, slowly down her face, as she imagined her son riddled that way.
“He had surely fallen by then,” the prosecutor surmised. “And yet Misa Atkinson continued firing, hitting Steven Bingham three more times in the legs and torso.” He paused for dramatic effect, letting the jury imagine that. “When all her ammunition was gone, she sat there, showing no regard for the law or for human life, and waited for her sister to come home.” He looked at Misa with such contempt that she wondered if he’d been friends with Steven or something. He was taking this far too personally.
The jury was watching everything.
“Misa Atkinson was a terrible mother. She abandoned her son for weeks at a time with his aunt, hiding behind single motherhood as an excuse for poor parenting. Rather than admit her own flaws, she’s more content to remind us that Shane’s father has a new girlfriend he’s more interested in than anything. There are thousands of single women across the country who manage to spend more than a few days a month with their children. When her shortcomings as a mother were brought to the forefront, she went looking for someone else to blame for it. And she set her sights on a target, and executed that target, showing no remorse. She hasn’t apologized once for what she did. In fact, she said—under oath—that Steven Bingham deserved it. She decided that he deserved it.”
He looked at the jury, standing close to them and making eye contact with each one. “That’s vigilante justice. Imagine if it was your son, or your brother. As a favor to a friend, he babysits a toddler. And God forbid, that toddler has been victimized. Your brother, your son is the first person the parents suspect. And rather than giving your loved one the chance to defend themselves, the parents take matters into their own hands. They kill your loved one and then claim self-defense. That’s not justice. That’s murder. And that’s how we ask you to find Misa Atkinson—guilty of murder in the first degree.”
