Lies. That is how Alan’s family and friends summed up this statement Jessica made in court. There was documentation and anecdotal evidence proving Alan did everything in his power to see and speak to his children. It was Jessica who outright refused to allow him to do either.

Jessica knew Alan’s lawyer was not going to let up. The more she pushed, the harder and more forceful Frank Head was going to pull. So Jessica called out to Jeff one night. It was before the new school year started. They were home, according to Jeff. She needed something done.

Jeff ran over. “What is it?”

By this time Jessica knew she was going to have to do some jail time at some point. There was no way to avoid it. That said, the court still had to serve her papers or, by Jessica’s view, find her before it could uphold the order.

“Take the mailbox down,” Jessica told Jeff.

“What?” Jeff didn’t understand. Did she want him to repair it? Was it broken? What the hell was she talking about now?

“Take it down! They cannot serve me if they don’t know where we live.”

Jessica was “tired” of the letters from Frank Head’s office, anyway, she told Jeff. This custody matter and all the paperwork was getting out of hand.

Out of sight, out of mind.

“Okay,” Jeff said.

“If the deputies come around here,” Jessica concluded, “and they’re looking for me, or somebody comes to try and serve papers, you tell them you don’t know where I am. You got that?”

Jeff thought about it. “Yes.”

38

Naomi got a call on June 26, 2001, a day after Jessica had turned thirty. It was not a happy occasion. “Can you believe he forgot my birthday?” an impatient, agitated Jessica announced.

Naomi had not been over to the Myrtlewood Drive house since Jessica and Jeff had moved in. Naomi worked two jobs. She had a husband and kids to take care of. She was busy tending to her own life. Jessica was high maintenance. She never reached out to say hello, or stopped over to just hang out. There was always a dilemma or a problem when Jessica came knocking. For Naomi, phone calls would have to do right now. She was far too busy to deal with Jessica’s instability.

Not too long after this, Jessica said she was pregnant with Jeff’s child. She was going to have another baby. Later that summer, while Jessica was “seven or eight months” into the pregnancy, Jessica called Naomi.

It was late at night. The call was unexpected. “I need to stop by and drop a box off,” Jessica stated.

“A box?”

“Yes. We’re on our way to California and you’re on my way.”

“No problem, come on over.”

Jessica, the kids and Jeff walked into Naomi’s house that night. Jeff sat on the couch, Naomi said, “stone-faced. He had this look to him.” He didn’t talk. Barely moved. No emotion. Flat.

Jessica put the box in the basement. Came back up the stairs and said they were leaving. Naomi knew she was definitely pregnant this time because Jessica looked it.

Off they went.

A few days later, Jessica sent Naomi a postcard letting her know they had arrived in California without a problem.

You know, I’m awfully worried about you, Naomi thought, staring at Jessica’s postcard.

“She should not have been on the road at that point in her pregnancy,” Naomi recalled later.

Jessica’s new attorney managed to convince Frank Head they needed another postponement for the trial.

Frank said okay. Still, he needed to get Jeff McCord into his office for a court-ordered deposition, which Jeff, playing the same game as his wife, had been putting off. As of late, Frank Head had not heard from Jeff or Jessica.

Meanwhile, it was the middle of the summer and Alan didn’t have his kids. Furthermore, Alan still didn’t know which school the kids were attending. Or if Jessica, who had said she was planning on homeschooling them, had acquired her certificate and was teaching them herself.

Maybe it was time, Alan considered, to just sue for full custody? He had talked it over with Terra. His family. Nothing else seemed to be working.

The trial date was postponed again, this time to July 31, 2001.

Alan’s blood boiled. He couldn’t even get a day in court anymore. Jessica came up with every excuse imaginable, and the court was allowing it.

Because of privacy issues, the trail of red tape to get information from the school system—even though Alan was the father of the girls—turned out to be as long as this postdivorce fight. There was no end to how much the system wasn’t working for Alan. Sooner or later, he knew, the authorities would catch up with Jessica, arrest her and cart her off to jail. But what about right now? What about the welfare of the children today? Who was watching them? He had not seen or heard from them in almost a full year.

July came and the court postponed the trial again, this time to September 19, 2001. This mess of Jessica’s contempt charge had gone on now, well over a year. Alan began to wonder if he would ever see Jessica in a court of law.

On September 28, 2001, Jessica gave birth to Brian (pseudonym), a healthy baby boy. Her and Jeff’s first child together. With Jessica in the hospital, postdeliv-ery, Naomi paid her a visit. She wanted to see the new baby. Of course, Naomi had no idea what was going on behind the scenes. She didn’t know Jessica and Jeff were basically hiding out. Nor did she have any clue that deputies were looking for her friend. What she did know, however, was only what Jessica had told her—that she was “in and out of court” and there were more court dates coming.

In reality—Jessica hadn’t been to court in years.

When Naomi arrived at the hospital, Brian was in the nursery getting several of his shots. Jessica was in bed. She looked beaten and bitter. Not even a visit by her friend had brought a smile. At one time Jessica was a beautiful woman. Long, flowing hair. Clear skin. Great shape. Inspiring attitude. Now she was a thirty-year-old mother of four, countless abortions behind her, fighting a battle with her ex-husband that she could never win in the long run. No career. No schooling to fall back on. Married to a cop she had apparently hooked up with out of necessity.

A train wreck.

“The baby’s not here,” Jessica told Naomi.

“It’s okay,” Naomi said. She understood. No problem. Another time. How ’bout the two of them just sit and chat. Like old times.

Jeff was there. As usual, he sat and said nothing. The man just stared and looked at Jessica whenever she barked an order.

Naomi was sitting when Jessica picked up the phone and berated a nurse for no apparent reason. “Get my child in here right now!” Jessica screamed. She wanted the baby in the room so she could show him off to her visitor. “Now.”

Naomi was embarrassed. “Look, I have all afternoon, Jessica. I can wait. Don’t worry about it.”

Jessica didn’t care. “Bring the baby in here right now!” she kept yelling into the phone.

Jeff never moved. Never said a word. Just another day in the life of Jessica McCord. Flip the page of a magazine and do what she says. Life was so much easier that way.

Georgetown Place is what they call the grounds surrounding three-acre Batson Lake, which is located in Hoover on eight acres of unspoiled landscape. There’s playground equipment and plenty of things for the kids to do on the lake grounds. There’s a gazebo at the end of a dock, out on the water. In winter months the place is all but deserted. Jessica and Jeff lived down the street from the lake and passed by a certain area of the park whenever they left their house. In fact, their Myrtlewood Drive home was on the same street as the park entrance.