“Finally, we all know that structure and opportunity for success are key issues in determining what is best for a child in the unfortunate circumstance of separated parents. I will say right now, and I believe you will agree, that a home with a father, great-grandmother, brother, sister, and numerous cousins and aunts nearby would provide a more thoroughly supportive experience for a child than to be raised by a mother who lives three thousand miles from what little family she does have, and who thus far has changed her mind twice about her own commitment to the child in question.
“Having said that much, I am not here to malign Ms. Johnson. She is, by all accounts, a perfectly decent parent when she chooses to be one. What I am here to do is illuminate the common-sense conclusion that my client’s son, and any child, is better off with a parent whose commitment has never wavered, and shows no sign of doing so in the future.”
In our pretrial meetings, Ben and I had agreed to keep everything civil, if we could. I knew ahead of time what he was going to say, but here in the courtroom, and in front of Christine, it sounded different to my ears. It now seemed depressingly combative, not unlike what Anne Billingsley had just done to me in her opening.
I felt a little guilty. No matter what kind of mud Christine’s lawyer wanted to fling, at the end of the day I was still responsible for my own actions, and even my lawyer’s. That was something Nana had hardwired into me a long time ago.
One thing hadn’t changed, though. My resolve was still strong; I was here to bring my youngest son back home to Washington. But listening to Ben Abajian’s statement, I had the feeling that this case would have no winners. It was only a matter of who lost less.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t be Little Alex who lost.
Chapter 34
“MS. JOHNSON, can you please tell us in your own words why you are here today?”
I wondered if anyone else could see how nervous Christine was on the stand. She grasped the fingers of one hand with the other, stopping all but the tiniest bit of shaking. I couldn’t help grimacing, and my stomach was tightening up. I hated to see her like this, even now, under the circumstances that she had created for herself.
When Christine answered Anne Billingsley’s questions, her voice was steady, though, and she seemed perfectly at ease.
“It’s time for my son to have a permanent arrangement and stability in his homelife. I want to ensure him the kind of consistency I know he should have. And mos
t of all, I want him to be safe.”
Billingsley stayed in her chair, feigning—or maybe feeling—supreme confidence. “Could you please tell us about the events leading up to your separation from Mr. Cross?”
Christine looked down and took a moment to gather herself. I couldn’t imagine that she was acting right now. Her integrity had been one of the reasons I fell in love with her, in that previous lifetime of ours.
“Just after I became pregnant, I was kidnapped and held hostage for ten months,” she said, looking up again. “The people who kidnapped me were out to hurt Alex. When that terrible time was all over, I found it impossible to return to a normal life with him. I wanted to, but I just couldn’t.”
“And just for the record, by Alex you mean Mr. Cross?”
Not Agent or Doctor Cross, but Mister Cross. Any little dig the lawyer could get in.
Even Christine winced, but then she said, “That’s right.”
“Thank you, Christine. Now, I want to go back just a little bit. Your son was born in Jamaica, while you were being held hostage. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Was he born in a hospital in Jamaica, or under any medical supervision?”
“No. It was in a small shack in the woods, the jungle. They brought a midwife of some kind, but she didn’t speak English, at least not to me, and there was no prenatal care at all. I was extremely thankful that Alex Junior was born healthy, and stayed that way. Essentially, we lived in a prison cell for those months.”
Ms. Billingsley got up, crossed the room, and handed Christine a tissue. “Ms. Johnson, was this abduction the first time that your involvement with Mr. Cross brought violence into your life?”
“Objection!” Ben was on his feet right away.
“I’ll rephrase, Your Honor.” Billingsley turned her solicitous smile back to Christine. “Were there any other violent incidents, prior to or after your son’s birth, related to Mr. Cross’s line of work that directly affected you?”
“There were several,” Christine said without hesitation.
“The first time was just after we met. My husband at the time was shot and killed by someone Alex was looking for in another terrible homicide case. And then later, after our son was born, and when he was living in Washington with his father, I know that at least once Alex Junior was taken out of the house in the middle of the night, for safety’s sake. Actually, all of the Cross children were taken out of the house. A serial killer was coming after Alex.”
Billingsley stood at the petitioner’s table, waiting. Finally, she pulled a stack of photographs from a manila folder.
“Your Honor, I would like to submit these as evidence. They clearly show Mister Cross’s home on the night of one such emergency evacuation. You will see my client’s son here being carried out by a non-family member in the midst of the confusion that was apparently taking place.”
I wanted to yell out my own objection to this so-called evidence. I knew for a fact that it was John Sampson and not some nameless police officer who carried Little Alex out that night, the night Christine had a photographer—a private investigator!—outside my house. No one had been in danger because we had acted judiciously and quickly. But the photos were allowed to speak for themselves, at least for the time being.