by Tracy Brown
“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.
Camille stood in the aisle and watched as Gillian walked past her. She wanted to snatch the bitch, but instead she waited until Frankie walked behind her. “I need to talk to you,” she said. “It can’t wait, and this is the last time I’m going to ask nicely. Let’s go back to the house and have a discussion. Just me and you.”
Frankie stopped in his tracks and looked at Camille like she had lost her mind. “Right now?” He didn’t even know why he was entertaining the thought.
Camille nodded. “Meet me at our house, Frankie.” Camille walked off and left him standing there with a confused expression on his face. He watched her leave, followed by Lily, Dominique, and Toya.
Celia stood at Frankie’s side and touched him gently on the arm. “I need to serve you with these,” she said softly. Celia handed Frankie the divorce papers Camille had asked Teresa to draw up. She watched him look over the paperwork and then at her, perplexed. “Camille has been a good wife, Frankie,” Celia said honestly. “You know I love you. Doug loved you, too. And if he were here, he wouldn’t like the way you’ve been handling this.” Celia noticed Frankie looking convicted. “You may say that it’s none of my business.”
Frankie shook his head. “I respect you, Miss Celia,” he said.
“So, go and talk to Camille,” Celia urged. “I think you two have a lot to discuss.”
She walked off and didn’t bother to speak to Gillian. Gillian pretended not to notice and looked on as Frankie read through the papers he’d just been given.
“What’s that?” she asked.
He looked at her. “Camille filed for divorce,” he said.
Gillian beamed with joy. Finally, Camille was giving up. “That’s a good thing, right?”
He nodded. “She wants me to come over to the house to talk to her about it.” His eyes scanned her face, saw the flash of hesitation. “I’m gonna go and put an end to everything. Finish it once and for all.”
Gillian didn’t have time to protest before Mayra appeared at their side. “Frankie, we need to talk,” she said. Looking at her daughter, she forced a smile. “Gillian.”
Gillian smirked. It was clear that her mother was mad at her and she didn’t care. “Mother.”
Mayra turned her attention back to Frankie. “When did my husband sign Conga over to you and when were you going to tell me?”
Frankie looked like this was the last thing he needed. “Mayra, let’s talk about this some other time,” he said. “I have to go and take care of something.” He kissed Gillian good-bye and then turned to his mother. “Ma, Tremaine is gonna drive you and Gillian home, all right? I have to go and handle some business.”
Mary nodded and smiled weakly when Frankie kissed her on the cheek. As he left the courtroom, Mary, Gillian, and Mayra watched him leave, all three of them oblivious to Misa as she and her attorney slipped past them and out into the lobby.
Mayra looked at her daughter. “Why don’t you call me after you drop off Frankie’s mom?” she suggested. “Then you and I can grab some lunch. We have some things we need to talk about.”
Gillian didn’t blink before answering, “No. I don’t have time today. I’ll call you.” She walked out ahead of the rest of them, leaving Mayra standing alone in the empty courtroom.
* * *
Camille watched from the front window as Frankie’s car pulled up in the driveway. She thought back on the countless times over the years when she had watched her husband arrive home this way; recalled the anticipation she felt whenever she knew he was about to grace their home with his presence. She laughed at herself now, realizing that she had lost herself in their marriage. She had become Mrs. Frankie Bingham and had lost Camille in the process.
She watched as her husband climbed out of his truck and up the stairs. She saw him do a double take when he saw the FOR SALE sign posted on the lawn. Finally, he let himself in with his key and stood in the foyer for several moments.
Frankie looked around. It felt strange stepping into his home. He hadn’t been back here since the night his brother was killed. He remembered the way his knees had all but buckled as Sergeant Denton told him the bad news.
“Your wife … arrived home to find that your brother had been shot in the kitchen.”
He walked toward the kitchen now, entered it, and looked around. It had been cleaned up since the night of the murder, but it didn’t matter. Frankie could still see the pool of blood in his mind, could still hear the crunch of broken glass from the beer bottle underneath his feet.
He glanced at the walls, which had been smeared with his brother’s blood. It was gone now, but the hairs on the back of his neck still stood up. He looked over at the refrigerator, pictured his brother opening it, taking out a beer and then being gunned down right where he stood.
Camille came into the kitchen and saw her husband standing there frozen in the spot where Steven had been shot. She knew he was reliving that night, as she had done countless times over the past few months. Frankie turned and faced her and she stared back at him, unsure how else to greet him.
“Thanks for coming to meet me,” she said. “I won’t keep you too long. I just want to go over some things real quick before the trial starts and everything
gets crazier than it already is.”
Frankie nodded, but gawked at her in silence. She looked so beautiful standing there, her face and body showing signs of her pregnancy. Earlier in court, he hadn’t noticed how full her face had gotten, how her skin glowed and her hair had grown since the last time they’d seen each other. Her belly was swollen with his child inside and it dawned on him fully in that moment.
He followed his wife as she led the way to the living room. They sat down and Camille couldn’t help wondering when they’d last sat down in this room together. It had been months, she was certain, and she felt a wave of sadness wash over her as they began to discuss the situation at hand.
Frankie watched her lay out some paperwork on the table. He was relieved that Camille was seeking a divorce, but increasingly torn about the baby she was carrying. He had so many questions, so many things to talk to her about, but he didn’t know where to begin. He was so glad that she wasn’t crying this time. “What’s up with the ‘For Sale’ sign outside?” he asked.
Camille sat back and looked at him. “I had Toya list it since I can’t live here anymore. Aside from everything that happened here, I can’t afford this place by myself and I can’t keep going hungry waiting for you to talk to me.”
Frankie stared at her. “How can she list the house for sale without my permission? I’m the owner.”
Camille nodded, stared back at him. “Yes, you are,” she said. “In fact, you own everything. Or at least your mother does,” she said sarcastically. “I thought you bought this house for me, Frankie. Remember that? I thought we were a team, that everything was ours, regardless of whose name it was in. But I guess you don’t see it that way.” She shook her head. “You put all the businesses in Mary’s name so that I couldn’t lay claim to anything.”
Frankie didn’t respond. It was clear that Camille and her attorney had done their homework.
“But what’s yours is mine,” Camille said. “I’m your wife. And as your wife, I’ve been very loyal to you. I’ve been there through sickness and in health, for better or worse, for rich or for poor … kept your secrets.” She let the meaning sink in.