Young Wives (39 page)

Tears welled up in Mrs. Jackson’s eyes and she took a cloth handkerchief out of her purse. It was white and spotless. Jada knew that the woman had never had a pair of panties that clean, and wondered if it was Clinton or Mr. Creskin who had bought her the damn hankie. Her mother-in-law took a moment to wipe her eyes. “My grandchilrun was sad and tired and hungry and dirty. And she didn’t—”

“Who do you mean when you say she?” Mr. Creskin asked.

“Jada Jackson. She didn’t even call or nothin’ to find ’em. Can you imagine? I have an answering machine and I have messages from that night. And she didn’t even telephone.”

A lie
. Jada wrote across the pad.
I called a dozen times. They didn’t answer the phone
.

“Don’t worry,” Angie whispered. “We’ll tear her apart under cross-examination. We’ve got the goods on her.”

Angie stood up and pulled down her jacket. She had conducted only a few cross-examinations in her career, and she was nervous but confident. She knew the danger here was to act too aggressive, to appear cruel to this nice old lady.

“Mrs. Jackson, I know this must be very hard for you, but I need to ask you a few more detailed questions,” she began. Cautiously, Mrs. Jackson nodded her head. Angie made a few bland inquiries about dates and times, and nodded as Mrs. Jackson answered them. Then she said, “Now, you’ve stated that when the children arrived with your son, they were in very bad condition?”

“Oh yes.” She nodded her head vigorously. “They were dirty. I could smell the little one.”

“And you say their clothes were dirty?”

Mrs. Jackson nodded.

“I’ll need you to answer that aloud,” Judge Sneed directed. Angie looked up at him for the first time and tried a very small smile and a nod. She got back nothing, except to see Sneed look at his watch and turn back to Mrs. Jackson.

“Yes,” Mrs. Jackson said very loudly. “The clothes was dirty and they was crying.”

“Now, didn’t you testify that your son had been taking care of the children? Could we read back Mrs. Jackson’s testimony?” Angie asked the stenographer. “It was something about her son spending his life taking care of the children.”

It took a few moments for the court stenographer to locate it, but then she read it back ‘“My son had to feed the kids and wash ’em down,’” the stenographer read tonelessly. “‘He spent his life taking care of those kids.’”

“Thank you,” Angie said, and tried to keep the smugness she felt out of her voice. This was going to be easier than she’d thought. “So if what you said was true, none of the children was dirty or hungry. Unless it was because your son
wasn’t
taking care of them. So which was it?” Mrs. Jackson looked upset.
Good
.

“They were dirty. Their mother—” she began.

“According to your testimony, this doesn’t concern their mother. Was your son being irresponsible, or were the children well taken care of?”

“Objection, Your Honor. Miss Romazzano is badgering the witness,” Creskin said.

“Objection sustained. But there is an issue here,” Judge Sneed said to Angie. “Lighten up, counselor.”

Mrs. Jackson took out her handkerchief and used it to wipe her upper lip. That was good, Angie thought. She wanted to see the old woman sweat, not cry. “If the children were dirty and hungry, why hadn’t your son cleaned them?”

“I told the truth,” Mrs. Jackson said. “They
was
dirty. But my son, he had been busy. He had been lookin’ for a job. So maybe just then he wasn’t doin’
everything
for them.”

“I see,” Angie said. “And how long has Clinton Jackson been looking for a job?” she asked, trying to keep her voice flat.

“Oh, he’s been lookin’ hard for a
long
time.”

“So how long has he been jobless?”

Angie saw Mrs. Jackson’s eyes move from side to side as if she actually saw the jaws of the trap closing. “Well, he’d pick up some work now and then.”

“So, sometimes he’s working and
can’t
take care of the children?” Angie asked, her voice raised in doubt.

“No. He’s always takin’ care of the chilrun,” Mrs. Jackson said, ruffled as an old turkey buzzard. “He just hasn’t had a regular job since his company kinda went down.”

“And exactly how long ago was that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. About four years ago…or maybe six.”

Angie knew she had to be careful, but she thought she could go for a little more juice right there. “Well, which one was it? Was it four years, or six years? That’s a long span.”

“I think…” Angie saw Mrs. Jackson’s eyes flick over to George Creskin when she paused, as if she were getting Morse code from over Angie’s shoulder. Whatever the dots and dashes for
Shut up
were, Mrs. Jackson received them. She closed her lips as tightly as she’d closed her hankie-filled purse. “I fail to remember exactly,” she said with great feigned dignity.

Angie kept herself from smiling. Now was the time to pop the big question. “Mrs. Jackson, do you have a drinking problem?” She allowed herself to look behind her at Creskin, waiting for him to jump up and object. But, oddly, he didn’t.

“No! Who said that? Who lied and said that?” Mrs. Jackson demanded, indignantly.

Judge Sneed looked over at Creskin. “Counselor, are you permitting this line of questioning?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Creskin said, the odd little smile continuing. “My witness has nothing to hide.”

The judge again looked at his watch. “Well, let’s see where this goes,” Sneed said, but Angie could tell he was as impatient as a commuter on a bus line. She’d cut to the chase for Judge “Speed,” and use some of the expensive investigative stuff they’d paid for.

“Mrs. Jackson, have you ever been arrested?” Angie shot a look over to Creskin to see if she’d surprised him, but his little smile had turned into something more concerned and impassive. Angie thought that she wouldn’t even want to play poker opposite this guy, then remembered that she was attempting something a lot more risky than a card game. She turned back to Mrs. Jackson, who was now wiping her forehead with the handkerchief.

“I think I once did,” the old lady admitted.

“You
think
you got arrested? Wouldn’t you remember?”

“I mean, yes. I did. But I’m not proud of it.”

“Weren’t you arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct?
And
for resisting arrest?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Jackson whispered.
Bingo
, Angie thought.

“We can’t hear your response,” Judge Sneed said, but he didn’t sound too concerned.

“Yes,” Mrs. Jackson repeated louder, directly at Sneed. “But that was a long time ago, Your Honor. I just once got into trouble.”

“Oh, I think it was more than once,” Angie corrected. “Don’t you also have two citations for driving under the influence?”

There was a very long pause. The courtroom was silent. Mrs. Jackson opened and closed her purse and the loud click in the quiet room sounded like the slam of a car door. “Yes,” Mrs. Jackson admitted, “I used to drink. It was wrong and I hated it, but I couldn’t stop.”

Angie didn’t need any more. Mrs. Jackson was finished. “So you may have been wrong when you—”

“I haven’t had a drink in four years. God saved me. I know what I did was wrong, but I have not had a drink in years, since God stepped into my life. I was saved.”

Angie couldn’t be more pleased. Their detective had done a good job, and Angie was prepared. “So, if that’s the case, why did you appear at Alcoholics Anonymous meetings at the River Street Baptist Church in April and May of this year and admit to dozens of witnesses that you were drinking again?” Angie stared at Mrs. Jackson and saw her face collapse in on itself. A handkerchief wouldn’t help her now. Angie, momentarily, felt sorry for the woman. But then the judge spoke up.

“Miss Romazzano,” he said. “From this bench I have
directed
people to attend twelve-step meetings in various anonymous groups. Do you know why they are called Narcotics or Alcoholics
Anonymous
?” He put the emphasis on the last word. “It’s because what goes on in those rooms is privileged information. Those programs do a world of good. If you had plans to use information gleaned from those meetings, you can forget about it right now. That undermines not only the well-being of people making a huge effort, but also undermines this courtroom. I will not allow testimony in that direction. Give it up, counselor. Now.” He looked at his watch yet again. “We’ll take a short recess now. Back in ten minutes. I want you all back here in ten.”

“All rise,” the bailiff said, and they did.

Consisting of liar, liar pants on fire

“How was I supposed to know that Sneed wouldn’t allow a witness to testify about Mrs. Jackson’s binges? Or that AA was sacrosanct to him?” Angie asked her mother as they gulped coffee in the hallway of the family court building. Natalie and Laura and Bill had showed up for the last—and worst—fifteen minutes of questioning. Now they were clustered in the wide hallway of the courthouse. Angie didn’t feel quite so confident now about either the case or her job security.

“Well,” Natalie said tartly, “some of us happen to know that he’s in AA himself, and has been for over twenty years. Although there have been a couple of well-publicized slips.” Natalie sighed. “You could have asked.”

“It didn’t even occur to me,” Angie admitted.

“Michael,” Laura said. “
You
should have known it.”

Michael nodded. “I did know. I just didn’t know his witness policy. AA isn’t a priesthood, after all.” He shook his head. “I don’t think there’s a chance of discrediting Mrs. Jackson now,” Michael said, moving them forward. “Here comes our client. Let’s be optimistic. You did a really good job with the beginning of the cross anyway.” Angie was grateful that Jada was with Michelle in the ladies’ room and hadn’t heard this, though she was sure that Jada knew perfectly well that they had blundered.

Then Jada and Michelle came out of the rest room together and joined their group. “I just can’t get over the lying she did,” Jada said. “I can’t get over it. It isn’t fair.”

“Fair? They’re so far off base they aren’t even in the stadium. We just saw Tonya in the bathroom, fixing her eye makeup as if this was an appearance on
Oprah
.” Michelle took Jada’s hand and Angie was tempted to take Jada’s other one, but instead just gave her a quick pat on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it,” Angie said. “Your mother-in-law contradicted herself. I think we’re fine. And Creskin’s gonna call Tonya next. We’ll take her apart.”

“We better get in there,” Michael said. “Judge Sneed’s a nut about punctuality, so let’s not be late.”

“Oh yeah,” Laura agreed. “He once gave me eleven minutes for an entire cross in a wrongful death suit. But I won.” She looked at Angie. “The bailiff said he’s leaving tonight for his vacation place in Fort Myers. You better not dawdle.”

“What?” Angie asked. “This has to wrap today? But I have six witnesses. And before that, all of Creskin’s to cross.”

“Do it fast,” Laura said.

“This isn’t the trial,” Michael reminded them all. “It’s only the
pendente lite
. It’s not the final word.”

“No. Just temporary custody and purgatory,” Jada said.

“There’s not much room for maneuvering. And no chance for a continuance,” Michael said.

“Rocket Docket rides again,” Natalie said, throwing away the rest of her coffee. “Let’s not be tardy,” she added, and led the way back into the court room.

From her seat in the middle of the courtroom, Michelle looked at Tonya Green as carefully as she could from behind her sunglasses. Despite her primping at the mirror during the break, the woman was a mess. She was wearing a too-tight turquoise dress and every bulge of flesh snowed. How could Clinton have picked that woman over elegant, tall, slim Jada? Of course, Michelle could see—even with her puffy eye—that Tonya Green was being presented as a caregiver, not a girlfriend. Too bad she dressed like a slut. The creepy lawyer—Michelle couldn’t remember his name—was questioning her only about her role as a sitter to the kids.

“What was the most surprising or disturbing thing about the children when they first came into your care?” the creepy guy asked Tonya.

“Well,” Tonya said, leaning forward, her heavy breasts shifting under the cheap fabric of her dress, “they wouldn’t talk for three whole days. It was the worst I’ve seen in children in ten years of doing this.”

“Why do you think they didn’t speak?”

“I think it’s because they were afraid of her. Their mother. That she’d punish them. They don’t like her.” Michelle saw Angie rise and heard her object, though she couldn’t hear what else was said by the judge and the creep. Then Tonya responded and said, “They never mention their mother. None of them cried for her. And little Kevon—I call him my angel—he curl up on my lap after two days and he say, ‘Would you be my mommy?’”

Michelle felt sick to her stomach. If one of her children had ever…But, of course, Kevon hadn’t done that, either. Of the three children, Michelle knew Kevon was the mama’s boy. But Michelle thought of what it must be like to be Jada at that moment, and the pain she felt for her was almost unbearable. She wished she could get up on the stand and tell people, tell that judge, what she had seen and what she knew about how Jada supported them, monitored them, and loved them day in and day out over the last seven years that she’d known Jada.

Jada must be dying, Michelle thought, but Michelle felt as if a part of her were dying, too.
I’d rather be bacon burned in the pan than face this
, Michelle thought. At
least bacon can wiggle and spit and curl up
.

Although she’d seen plenty of trial scenes on television and in the movies, she had never before been in a courtroom. The thought of being in one with Frank, the thought of being on the stand, harried and hounded until she talked herself into some terrible corner, until she admitted the truth about what she knew, about what she had found, made her sick enough that she nearly had to leave the room. But she forced herself to focus on what was happening in front of her. She and Jada had gone into the same booth in the ladies’ room and she’d just silently held her friend while she trembled. She might be needed again.