After getting word of the judge’s decision from family members, Jessica became irate. She was appalled that her case was being held up. The idea that she could not argue for bond in Vinson’s courtroom before having the baby brought tears to her eyes, she said in letters. It wasn’t fair. She needed to be home with her husband, preparing for the birth. The prosecution had not proven a thing! What about being considered innocent before being proven guilty?

On the night of September 25, 2002, five days past her due date, Jessica wrote the judge a long letter, describing her feelings. It turned into what was a ten-page, single-spaced missive, replete with accusations and speculations, random thoughts and a complete firsthand account of Jessica’s opinion of prison life.

Jessica wrote that she’d had her hopes set high that she was going to make bond, now that a criminal judge was behind the gavel. Maybe a criminal judge, if no one else, would see how she and Jeff needed to be together, not only to give birth to the child, but to begin to build a credible defense. Obviously, Jessica wrote, waiting means that my husband and I will be separated for the birth. . . . She said she wouldn’t have any support if that were the case. It appeared that Detective Laura Brignac’s wish—that Jessica would give birth alone, and the child would be quickly taken from her arms—was about to come true. And it was clear that Jessica was scared to death of that happening. She wrote how she was terrified to give birth alone.

After she had the child, Jessica wrote to Judge Vinson, within forty-eight hours, I will be forced to leave my newborn. There would be no bonding or breast-feeding. She talked about how she’d had a history of postpartum problems and medical difficulties: I have nearly bled to death. . . . She begged for bond, Please give it to us now.

As the letter continued, Jessica spoke of how the last seven months had been hell on her and Jeff because of the accusation. She wrote she deserved a chance. But she realized that in the real world you were guilty before you were able to prove innocence. She called herself a decent human being. Then she promised she would, when given the opportunity in a court of law, prove her innocence as well as her husband’s. Still, with all that said, if the court took away the moment of birth between a husband and his wife, such a special time, it was something—a memory—she and Jeff could never recover.

Lost forever.

For another half a page, Jessica ranted about how the system was designed in favor of the prosecution. As much as she understood the reasons behind it, she was only asking for a chance to spend that mother-child connection time before trial with her newborn. She had been on bed rest, in isolation, in the medical block of the jail since August 18. She wrote she had been assaulted, threatened, harassed. None of the deputies inside the jail, she wrote, would help her. Instead of making out a complaint, she wrote, they laughed in her face, saying, “Get over it.”

There was never any evidence presented to support these accusations. On top of that, this would become a common battle cr y of Jessica’s: that the prison system, correctional officers and anybody else working for the legal system were out to get her; that conditions inside the prison were unbearable; and that the prison monitored everything Jessica did, said and wrote.

Indeed, prison life was no vacation from life.

On another page Jessica gave an evaluation of the psych ward she had been once placed in. It was full of—you guessed it—mental patients. She wrote how many of them urinate and defecate everywhere except in the toilet. When the women menstruate, she added, blood is everywhere. They brought one woman into the ward who had complained of having ants and maggots in her cell bed. She was placed next to Jessica: She was bitten by the ants, yet nobody did anything. . . .

Hell on earth.

Nobody had explained to Jessica, obviously, that less was more—because for the next five pages of the letter, all she did was accuse doctors and guards, inmates and the justice system as a whole, of being out to punish her. She made claims of doctors watching her bleed and not helping, of cellmates preventing her from buzzing the nurse, of guards not allowing her to take showers or to use the bathroom. She had no TV, no radio, no contact with the outside world. The emotional stress was crippling. Yet, there was one thing that hurt more than anything else, she revealed: Albert Bailey, her stepfather, had died back on June 25 (Jessica’s thirty-first birthday) from a reported heart attack, and I was denied a family grieving visit . . . my grandfather passed away [last] April and I couldn’t go to his funeral. She hadn’t seen her kids in months. She wasn’t being allowed to write to Jeff. She was fed poorly. Many of the food servers in the jail were HIV positive and have hepatitis, she lamented. Inmates were required to wash their undergarments in the sinks and toilets inside their cells if they wanted them cleaned. She quoted an article from American Baby magazine describing how breast-fed babies were more unlikely to get ear infections. Then she broke off into a rant about the scores of diseases she and her newborn could get inside the prison. She promised the judge she’d meet any conditions asked of her by the court if the judge let her out on bond. Psych exams, she wrote, to demonstrate my mental state and lack of hostility. She said she’d check in daily with the powers that be. She wasn’t running. She just wanted to be with her newborn, husband and children.

I am a good person. . . . I am innocent, she wrote, but not before begging one last time for a chance.

The judge took everything Jessica said seriously. Thought about it. Then she kept the court’s order and denied Jessica McCord bond.

Jessica had her baby. Not long after the delivery, the infant was taken from her and placed with family members. Jessica was now the jailed mother of five. Christmas, 2002, came, and New Year’s Eve chimed in with a bang as word came down that Jeff McCord was getting a separate trial. Inside Jeff’s camp the discussion centered on the possibility of him taking a deal to avoid any chance of facing a jury that held his life in its hands. Jeff’s trial was scheduled for April, but Jessica would face a judge and jury first.

As Jeff contemplated his future, Jessica got busy doing the only thing she really knew how to do at this point: scribing more missives to Judge Vinson. This, mind you, as it was announced that Jessica’s trial was set to begin as early as February 12, 2003—almost a year to the day that she had allegedly masterminded and, with Jeff, carried out a plot to murder Alan and Terra.

This recent letter was shorter than those preceding it. Once again Jessica wanted Judge Vinson to know that she was not happy with her counsel. She demanded that the court appoint her new attorneys. She said her lawyers were not devoting enough time to preparing her case.

I find this to be intolerable, she wrote. She wanted an immediate hearing to rectify the problem. She said she had written every week since she was indicted late the previous year, and she was certain that the jail personnel was tampering with her mail.

The same old story. A broken freakin’ record.

By the end of the one-page letter, however, Jessica made a grave mistake—that is, if she was ever hoping to reach the judge on a personal level.

She blamed her legal woes on Judge Vinson. Jessica claimed that by the judge’s denial of her bond, Vinson had forced her to compromise her defense. Jessica wrote that the prosecution [was taking any] action [necessary], legal or illegal, to manipulate [her] conviction. A fair trial, in Jessica’s humble opinion, was now going to be impossible.