In his latest letter Frank Head stipulated that Alan was going to give Jessica one more opportunity to fall in line with the court’s ruling and live up to her end of the divorce decree. It was that, or “Alan will have no alternative but to file a contempt petition.” Alan wanted “makeup” visitation for the time he had missed. Head encouraged Jessica to “contact him immediately” to set up a new visitation schedule—and this time, well, she had better stick to it.

Frank Head waited.

Jessica or her lawyer never replied.

It was time to file contempt charges, Head suggested to Alan.

Alan had thought about it, and he didn’t want to do it. But maybe he needed to take things to the next level. Maybe a good kick in the behind by the court would snap Jessica into order. He agreed to the filing.

Jessica was busy herself. She and Jeff applied for a marriage license. Jessica soon found out that Jeff had some money his mother controlled, and she convinced Jeff to push his mother into giving them the money so they could get married and buy their own house in Hoover.

Jeff balked at first, then he started working on his mother.

“It had been a long time since Jeff had any type of contact with his family,” a McCord family friend later said. “He just pops in town and visits his grandmother and drops by to see [his mother]. The strange part of this is that Jeff would have never done what follows . . . unless he was harassed to do so. We found out it was to ask his mother for money for a down payment on a house. . . . Bottom line, she gave him money, but it was not the generous amount she had planned.”

Jeff’s mother, as well as his family and friends, recognized he was being manipulated. “Because after they got the check,” that same family friend recalled, “the not responding to calls began [all over] again.”

34

The HPD had a solid tip from an inside source: Jeff and Jessica McCord were in Alabaster. So officers staked out the house. On February 21, 2002, as the hazy sun rose over the eastern side of Alabaster’s Old Highway 31, the HPD was in position to make the arrests.

Most of the team parked outside the home. One of the investigators called Jessica on her cell phone, explaining that it was best she and Jeff calmly walked outside with their hands raised above their heads. If they did, there would be no problems.

The arrest could go easy, or Jeff and Jessica could make it difficult. Either way, by the end of the morning, Jeff and Jessica McCord were going to be behind bars. There was no one else Jessica could call. No one else she could manipulate. No way she was going to talk her way out of this.

The HPD knew enough about Jessica to assume that few things in her life were ever done without some sort of fuss, problem or, in this case, maybe much worse. The thought was, if she had talked Jeff, an armed and potentially dangerous former cop, into helping her murder her ex-husband and his wife, how hard would it be for her to convince that same man he should run out of the house, guns blazing? Jeff was a fallen police officer. Now he was accused of double murder. He had weapons.

As agreed by phone, Jessica walked out of the house first. Tom McDanal was waiting for her.

“I’m pregnant,” Jessica said upon seeing the detective. Apparently, she was hoping the announcement would convince the HPD to show her some sympathy.

Should anyone believe her? The HPD had caught Jessica in so many lies by this point, how could she be trusted?

“At that point,” one investigator told me, “we couldn’t believe anything she said.”

The plan was for Detective Laura Brignac to escort Jessica to the county jail. A warrant officer would drive them. Brignac could sit in the front seat, Jessica in the back, so the detective could keep an eye on her suspect and maybe open up a dialogue.

There was going to be media at the jail when they arrived, Brignac explained to the warrant officer.

“Be prepared.”

Brignac read Jessica her rights as Jeff was escorted away from the scene without incident. Then Jessica was handcuffed and searched.

“Watch your head,” Brignac warned, helping Jessica into the backseat of the cruiser.

Brignac went around and sat down in the front passenger seat.

Jessica and Jeff were formally charged with capital murder. Their lives had just taken a solemn turn. It was a crime punishable by the death penalty. If there was something Jessica wanted to say—or needed to confess—now would be a good time to do it. After the two of them were split up, chances were that one or both would want to make a deal at one time or another. Husbands and wives often turned on each other. After a bit of pressure, faced with the reality of life in prison or death by lethal injection, matrimonial loyalties faded like memories of romantic sunset walks on the beach. If that was the case here, Brignac and the other detectives knew, this was going to be some day. Since Brignac was a female, maybe Jessica would feel more comfortable.

“Do you want to talk to me?” Brignac asked. They hadn’t left the scene yet. Jessica was in the backseat of the cruiser. Shifting around. Twisting and turning. Trying to get her handcuffs in a position that didn’t strain too much or bite into her wrists.

“This is uncomfortable. My wrists hurt.”

“You want to talk?”

“Not without an attorney,” Jessica said.

Brignac could sense a defensive, rebellious attitude in her voice, as if Jessica was saying, You’ve got nothing!

“Okay,” Brignac said, nodding to the warrant officer.

It was time to move.

Brignac sat down. Jessica mumbled something to herself. Then: “These cuffs are too tight, come on.”

“Hold up,” Brignac told the officer. “Don’t leave yet.”

The detective got out. Walked around. Loosened up the cuffs a little.

“Better?”

“Could you adjust my bra and blouse?” Jessica asked. Apparently, her bra was digging into her skin. Her blouse was hung up on the cuffs.

Brignac fixed the garments.

“This is so uncomfortable,” Jessica pleaded.

“Too bad,” Brignac said while slamming the door shut.

The media end of the case was of great concern to Brignac and members of the HPD. Jessica’s kids were just now learning to accept their that dad and Terra were dead. Did they need to now see their mom being brought into the jail in handcuffs on television, sneering and snapping at reporters, turning away from the camera, doing the perp walk?

As they worked their way down the interstate toward the county jail, Brignac unhitched her seat belt and spun around. She wanted to address Jessica, face-to-face. One more shot, the detective figured. Never can tell when a suspect will crack. Most are immediately defiant, a normal human reaction. But after they have some time to think about jail, what they’ve done and what is ahead, many change their minds. That’s when a good, experienced cop can step up the pressure and get what she needs.

“Have you told your kids about the service coming up for their dad and stepmother this weekend?” Brignac asked. Kids were a surefire way to get a suspect to think about the future.

Jessica moved around in her seat. Smiled out of the corner of her mouth. “My kids are none of your business, Detective.”

“Oh, okay, then, Mrs. McCord. I take it that they are not going to be attending their dad’s service?” There was sarcasm in Brignac’s otherwise calm and soothing Southern drawl. She wanted Jessica to understand that by her determination to try and control this situation, she was going to hurt the children more than they had been already.

“Look, my children are none of your damn business!” Jessica said again. More authoritative and direct. “I’ll be out’a there in no time, Detective—and I’ll take care of my kids.”