Aftermath (32 page)

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“My God!” Jeanie
shrieked, gripping the phone tightly.

Toya heard her mother yelling and rushed from her bedroom to the spare room where Jeanie was supposed to be asleep. It was early—just past nine o'clock on Saturday night—but Jeanie had turned in already, exhausted after a long day of shopping in New York City.

As Toya entered the room, she saw her mother sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand covering her mouth in apparent shock, the other gripping the telephone tightly.

“Yes,” Jeanie was saying. “Yes, okay. Okay. Yes.”

Toya grew impatient and stepped closer to her mother. “What's wrong?” she whispered.

Jeanie held one hand up as if to silence Toya and listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone. “Oh my God,” Jeanie said, sighing. “Was he alone?”

Instinctively, Toya knew that her father was dead. She wasn't sure how she knew, but there was no doubt in her mind that Nate was gone and her mother was shaken by the news.

Toya watched her mother scribble an address down on the back of a Macy's receipt and listened as she thanked the mystery caller. The second she hung up the phone, Toya asked if her suspicions were correct.

“He's dead?”

Jeanie's eyes flooded with tears and she nodded, sending them pouring down her face.

Toya hugged her mother, rocked her as she cried. “I'm a widow,” Jeanie wailed and Toya had to fight the urge to laugh at her melodramatics. Her parents hadn't been together for years, yet her mother was carrying on like she had lost her soul mate.

“Sweets, it's okay,” Toya told her. “He made his peace with everyone before he died. He's in a better place now.”

She waited a few minutes for her mother to calm down before she probed further. “What happened?”

Jeanie took a deep breath and looked her daughter in the eye. “He was renting a studio apartment and the landlord lives upstairs and hadn't seen Nate for a few days. Then he didn't show up for work at his job as a porter. Finally, the landlord rang the bell, knocked on the door, and called his phone. When he got no answer, he called the cops and they went in there—found him lying dead on the floor.”

Toya gasped.

“They think he had a stroke, but they won't know until they perform an autopsy.”

Toya's emotions got the best of her as she wondered how long her father had lain there before anyone found him. Even an animal like Nate didn't deserve to die alone on the floor like that.

Together, she and her mother prepared to go down to the medical examiner's office and formally identify the body. As Toya got dressed and thought back on her recent conversations with her father, she felt chills run down her spine. Her father had come back into her life to seek her forgiveness and had died without receiving that. She couldn't help feeling somewhat relieved that they hadn't been forced to begin the tough work of reestablishing a relationship as father and daughter. She knew that it would have required her to confront some painful parts of her past, and she hoped now she would be able to bury that painful history along with him.

She paused as she pulled her shoes out of her closet. She recalled something Nate had said to her during their last conversation at Junior's.

“I don't know if this means anything to you, but I'm real proud of you.”

Toya sat down on her bed and closed her eyes, realizing how much it had meant for her to hear those words come out of her father's mouth. In so many ways, she had waited a lifetime to hear them. And now he was gone forever.

Opening Arguments

March 2008

The excitement in the courtroom was at a fever pitch. Packed with lawyers, family members, spectators, police, and plenty of press, the place felt like an arena right before a concert.

Weeks of jury selection had culminated in twelve men and women plus six alternate jurors who would decide Misa's fate. Those jurors hadn't filed into the courtroom yet, and neither had the defendant.

Camille sat as close as possible to the defense table, hoping that Misa would be able to glance at and hopefully gain strength from her sister during the tough moments that lay ahead. Today, Camille was feeling empowered. She wore a Calvin Klein suit and a glow that could only emanate from a woman with child. Lily and Celia flanked her, and Camille drew strength from them. She tried not to be fazed by the reporters and sketch artists analyzing her every detail.

Toya and Dominique sat behind Camille, both of them lovely in basic black. Toya was explaining to Dominique how sick she was of having her mother as a houseguest.

“Sweets won't leave,” Toya said. “She came to town over a month ago. My father died, she handled her wifely duties, and now she needs to go back to Atlanta!”

“You'll miss her when she's gone,” Dominique said.

Toya gave her a look that cast sufficient doubt on that theory.

Frankie stepped into the room and the buzz in the room swelled even more. He walked in with his mother, Mary, at his side, followed by Gillian and Tremaine. Mary wore all black as if she were still in mourning, a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, her innocent eyes peering from behind them. She held a rosary and appeared to have a firm grip on Frankie's hand as he led her to a seat close to the front. Gillian looked like a different person. She wore a simple ponytail and a demure gray dress with a high collar and black pumps. Her look was so understated that Toya had to admit that if she were a juror, she would think the woman was legit.

“If she's trying to look the part of a sweet family friend lending support, she's doing it,” Toya said. “I wish we could tell the jury the whole truth.”

“Yeah,” Dominique agreed. “Look, there's Gillian's mother. She's a hot tamale, ain't she?”

Mayra sauntered in wearing a skintight Dolce & Gabbana suit with a neckline down to there.

Turning around in her seat, Celia chimed in. “She's gonna catch a cold.”

They all giggled and Lily shook her head at Gillian's mother, noticing that she sat rows behind her daughter and Frankie. “She's feeling young again now that her husband is dead.”

Camille didn't look. She didn't want to sneak a glance at Frankie and Gillian and see them looking happy, see them looking like a couple. She wanted to focus on Misa and on keeping her out of jail.

Toya and Dominique checked Frankie out, though. He wore a custom-fitted Armani suit and a pair of cuff links he had incidentally gotten as a gift from his wife. He looked very handsome and seemed eager for the trial to get under way.

Celia and Lily each grabbed hold of one of Camille's hands and held it. Camille smiled, faced forward and tried not to think about Frankie. Misa was in for the fight of her life.

Louis arrived with his frowning girlfriend, Nahla, and the social worker, Ms. Thomas. Lily couldn't help wondering if it was mere coincidence that he arrived at the same time as the woman who would ultimately have the biggest say in where Shane was placed on a long-term basis. Ms. Thomas sat two rows behind Louis and Nahla and began taking notes about God knows what.

Finally, Teresa Rourke led Misa into the courtroom, surrounded by court officers. Misa noticed her family seated up front and smiled at them weakly, hoping to reassure them that she was being strong. But inside, Misa was scared to death.

After getting seated and going over some quick notes, Teresa turned to her client. “Today will be over before you know it. Just keep your game face on, no sudden outbursts. But don't be a zombie, either. Show some emotion, just make sure it's not too much.”

Misa nodded. “I'm ready.”

Teresa hoped so. The Staten Island district attorney, Dean Davidson, stood with two of his assistants going over notes for the day's opening arguments. This case had garnered a ton of publicity, making it the most sensational trial the borough had seen in years. Dean was staking his career on a win, and Teresa was determined to prevent that from happening.

The jury was led in, followed by Judge Travis Felder. Misa sized him up, surmised that he was about fifty years old, and noticed that he was sizing her up, too, as he looked at her over the rim of his glasses. Once all those present were seated and the court officers placed themselves around the perimeter of the room, the judge gave the jury its instructions and then the prosecution set forth its case.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Misa Atkinson murdered Steven Bingham in cold blood. She gunned down an unarmed man in the middle of the night as he went to the refrigerator for a beer in his brother's home. This was no accident! Misa Atkinson didn't mistake her brother-in-law for an intruder. In fact,
she
was the one who was in the house unexpectedly that night. She entered the home using a key she had procured months prior and she waited in the dark for Steven Bingham. She waited until Mr. Bingham—a man with no criminal past, no known enemies or even angry creditors—came into the kitchen for a late-night drink. And she ambushed him. She pumped him full of bullets until the illegal handgun she brought was empty.”

Misa noticed some members of the jury looking at her to see if she seemed capable of such atrocities. She did her best to keep her poker face on as the prosecution painted Steven as an angel.

“On the night of January 5, 2008, Misa Atkinson acted as judge, jury, and executioner. As the victim lay bleeding to death on the kitchen floor, she pulled up a chair in the dining room. Blood was splattered on the dining room wall, indicating that she wiped the victim's blood off of her, and then sat down and waited for Steven Bingham to die!” Misa sat stone-faced as the DA instructed the jury to pay close attention to the evidence and to find her guilty of murder in the first degree. She watched in silence as Teresa Rourke stood up, walked to stand in front of the center of the jury box, and faced the twelve as if speaking only to them. Though her voice was audible throughout the room, she made eye contact with each juror as if she were addressing them specifically.

“A young, uneducated, single mother is left to raise her child virtually on her own. We've all heard the story over and over. Some of us have even lived it. But Misa Atkinson had the added misery of discovering that her child had been victimized, sodomized by someone entrusted with his care. While she worked hard as a dental assistant, struggling to make ends meet, Misa Atkinson entrusted her son to her family members—her sister, Camille, her brother-in-law, Steven Bingham.” Teresa paced the floor slowly, her eyes scanning the jurors.

“When Camille became troubled by problems in her marriage, Steven volunteered to keep an eye on Misa Atkinson's son so that she could keep food on the table. Imagine the horror she felt when she discovered that while in Steven Bingham's care, her son had been molested. Her three-year-old baby boy sodomized repeatedly by someone he was supposed to trust. The evidence will show that my client went over to her sister's home to confront her brother-in-law, Steven Bingham. She did use her key and entered the home where she eventually encountered Steven. And when she presented him with her questions, he lunged at her, forcing her to draw the weapon she had brought with her for protection. Only when Mr. Bingham charged at her did Ms. Bingham fire her weapon. In a sense, she just snapped.” Teresa snapped her fingers for good measure, the sound echoing off the walls of the old courtroom. “And as she pulled the trigger, she was in a trance—a mother who only sought to protect her child from a predator.”

Misa wanted to applaud but held her composure. She listened as Teresa coaxed the jury to ask themselves what they would have done, to wait until they heard all the facts of the case before they made up their minds about a woman's life, a child's life, as well. “When the evidence shows that this was a case of self-defense, I ask that you find Misa Atkinson not guilty and give a young single mother and her son a second chance.”

She sat back down and the judge gave the jury a long list of instructions on what was expected of them for the duration of the trial. Glancing around the room, Misa saw just about everyone she knew and she was embarrassed to be on display in this way. Her mother gave her a reassuring wink and it made Misa feel better. She caught Camille's eye and the sisters smiled at each other. Despite the differences between them, the events of the past few weeks had brought them closer than they had ever been. Misa knew that Camille was still—probably would always be—the one who cared about public perception as much as personal happiness. But at least she had finally let Frankie go. As hard as it had been for her, Camille was still standing firmly by Misa's side, and she was grateful to her sister for that.

Misa glanced at Dominique and Toya and felt the love coming from them. “Face forward. You don't want to appear disinterested,” Teresa urged her.

Misa snapped forward and listened as the judge scheduled testimony in her trial to begin the following day. She was anxious to get out of that courtroom and back to the safety, comfort, and isolation of her mother's home—away from the news cameras, the jury's stares, and the cold, menacing expression she saw on Frankie's face as she peeked at him now.

He stared at Misa with such intensity that Gillian whispered in his ear: “Frankie, look at me.” He did and she squeezed his hand. “She's gonna pay for what she did. Don't worry.”

He nodded, tried not to look at Misa anymore. But he couldn't help it. She seemed so convinced that she had done the right thing. He wanted to kill her just as she had killed Steven.

Gillian glanced over at Camille sitting on the opposite side of the courtroom and noticed that she was seated beside Celia. Apparently, Baron's mother had chosen sides, and that was fine with her. Camille, Baron, her mother, and anyone else who stood in the way of her happiness would be cut off soon enough.

The judge adjourned the court for the day, reminding everyone to arrive on time tomorrow morning for the start of the prosecution's case. Misa let out a sigh, grateful that she had survived the first part. Teresa urged her to stay behind until the courtroom emptied out and the court officers were able to clear out the lobby. The two busied themselves with paperwork and small talk as the courtroom slowly emptied.