Firmstone glanced at the police report. "The murder is definitely connected to some sexual abuse because the body had the word GOOF written in black marker across his forehead."
"I saw that in the report. I'm not familiar with that term, but apparently you are."
"It's prison slang for a pedophile, usually one who likes young boys. It was used in the prisons in the 1940s, more in Canada than here."
"Apparently, the kids have started using it too,” Sabre said. “Recently, one of my other clients referred to the guy who molested him as a goof. I thought at the time that was a strange way to describe him. Now I know why."
"It's becoming more common, I guess."
"Anyway, I'm sure Tray isn't the only one Irving had molested, so it doesn't necessarily mean Tray murdered him. There's never just one molest victim with these guys." Sabre shivered with repulsion and changed the subject. "What do you want to do about representing him? He wants me to do it, but you are so much more experienced than I am with this kind of case."
"I'd love to try to help this kid. Since we don't get that many murder cases, I'd hate to lose it, but I'm good either way."
"I just want him to have the best representation."
"If he won't talk to me, I can't represent him very well, but I expect he'll come around with a little time."
The bailiff from Department Three approached them. "Are you two ready on Copley?"
"Sure," Sabre said. They both stood up and followed the bailiff.
"So, what's the plan?" Firmstone asked.
"How about if we leave the attorney appointment up to the judge?"
***
Judge Trapnell was on the bench when Sabre and Chris walked in. He waited until they were at the table and then asked, "Who's going to represent this child?"
Chris and Sabre looked at each other as if to ask, 'Who's going to talk first?’. Chris raised his eyebrows.
Sabre said, "Your Honor, Tray has asked that I represent him. He's comfortable with me and I believe he will be more forthcoming. Hopefully that will give him the best defense. However, I'm not nearly as experienced in this type of case as Mr. Firmstone and I want what is best for this young man."
"How many P.C. 187 cases have you handled, Ms. Brown?"
"Only one, Your Honor, and that was not a juvenile. I have represented two juveniles where someone was killed, both P.C. 192 cases. One was a vehicular manslaughter and the other an accidental shooting."
"And you, Mr. Firmstone?"
"I have handled six P.C. 187 cases and eight P.C. 192s, Your Honor. All of them were initially filed in juvenile court, although in four of the murder cases, the cases were sent downtown and the minors were tried as adults."
"Clearly, you are more experienced, Mr. Firmstone. However, I've seen this young man and he doesn't appear to be a hardened criminal. I can see where he would benefit from counsel who already has a relationship with him." Judge Trapnell looked from one attorney to the other. "Therefore, I'm going to appoint you both as co-counsel on this case."
"Really, Your Honor?" the prosecutor, Marge Benson, said. "He needs two attorneys?"
"You have a whole department behind you, Ms. Benson, but if you are intimidated by this team, maybe you can get one of your esteemed colleagues to help you."
"I'm not intimidated, Your Honor," the prosecutor said indignantly. "I'm just trying to save the taxpayers a little money."
"That's very thoughtful of you, Ms. Benson, but my concern at this moment is that this young man has effective counsel. Look at it as a compliment to you, that it takes two defense attorneys to match one of you."
Sabre did all she could to keep from smiling at Judge Charlie Bozo's sarcastic, yet smooth, remarks. He received his nickname from his father when he was a child, but he made the mistake of telling someone in an interview years ago and it had followed him to juvenile court. It seemed to fit him since he "clowned around" unlike most of the stuffed shirts who sat on the bench. The majority of attorneys, both defense and prosecutors, respected Judge Trapnell. He was smart, knew the law, and wasn't afraid to make decisions even when they went against public policy, but he did it all with a sense of humor. He had been on the bench for nearly thirty years and had long since quit trying to walk the political tightrope that was expected of him.
The judge looked at the bailiff. "Bring the child in, please."
Sabre appreciated that he referred to her client as a child, instead of "the defendant." Judge Trapnell had a way of not dehumanizing the defendants as so many judges and prosecutors seemed to do. But, she also knew that if the facts were such that he found the “child" guilty, he seemed to have no trouble issuing a harsh sentence for him or her.
The bailiff returned with Tray who, when he spotted Sabre, had a pleading look on his face. The bailiff brought Tray to the table and the boy sat next to Sabre. "Are you going to be my attorney?" he asked softly.
She whispered to him, "The judge is going to let you keep both Mr. Firmstone and me on the case." She thought she heard a slight sigh of relief emanate from her young client. He looked so scared and innocent sitting there next to her. Sabre was relieved too. Tray had the best of both worlds. So many unanswered questions ran through Sabre's mind. How did this happen? How could Tray have gotten caught up in this mess? Could he have actually killed Irving?
Chapter 7
Bob and Sabre sat across from each other at the small table with the pink tablecloth at Pho Pasteur, where they dined almost daily. The waiter brought them each a #124, the only meal Bob ever ordered.
"Tell me about Tray. I can't believe he killed Irving. He's such a well-behaved kid."
"I don't believe he did. There has to be more to this. I'm hoping JP can figure it out."
"He's your man. Or at least he should be. Speaking of which, are you ever going to give that guy a chance?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You have to know JP's smitten with you."
"He's never asked me out."
"Because he's afraid of you."
"Yeah, 'cuz I'm so scary." Sabre turned her head to the side, opened her mouth real wide, stuck her tongue out, and shook her head like a wild woman.
"See. You are scary. You should ask him."
"I'm not going to ask him out. We have a great working relationship. When you start crossing those lines, things get messy." She took a drink of her water. "I think the vodka's getting to your brain," Sabre said.
Bob picked up his water glass. "This isn't vodka; it's water."
"I know that's water, but tell me you didn't have a glass of vodka last night."
"Of course I had my vodka last night. I had to toast the goddess Brodinia."
Sabre shook her head. “They've charged Tray with murder. They have a witness who says she saw him at a grocery store with Irving on Saturday, and no one saw Irving after that. He was killed sometime between then and when they found his body on Sunday, a week later."
"What does Tray say?"
"He claims he was at his therapist’s office during that time frame, but I can't verify that right now because his therapist is in Africa."
"Then the witness must be wrong."
"Oh yeah. By the way, she's a nun."
"Well, there you go. You can't trust those church people. Too much religion. It's worse than the vodka."
The waiter brought their meals and they began to eat.
"I think you should try a new dish next time we come here," Sabre said.
"Why?"
"Because there are a lot of good things on the menu."
"Nope, I like this."
The banter continued throughout the meal. Sabre checked the time on her phone. "We need to get going. I'm meeting JP at 1:30."
***
Elaine, Sabre’s red-haired receptionist, buzzed Sabre.
“Yes, Elaine?”
“Your cowboy is here.”
“Please send him in.”
Before Sabre let go of the button, she heard JP say,
“I have a name, you know.”
She was still smiling when JP walked into her office. “Elaine can’t get past your Stetson hat and your boots. She doesn’t see them often. Mostly we get attorneys dressed in tailored suits.”
“I’m just a country boy. It comes with a uniform.” He seated himself in front of her desk.
Sabre reached across her desk and handed JP a blue document.
"Isn't Tray Copley that cute little black kid you were telling me about who made the dollhouse for his sister?" JP asked as he looked up from the petition charging Tray with murder.
"That's the one."
"I can't believe he killed anyone," JP said, "even that creep Irving.” He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “A guy like that was so low he had to look up to see hell."
Sabre smiled at his comment. "I don't believe it, either. And you get to prove that he didn't."
"Where do you want me to start?"
"The police report says there's an eyewitness who puts Tray with Irving the day he disappeared. We don't know for certain if that was the same day he was killed."
"So we don't know when he was killed?"
"Not exactly. We know it was about a week ago," Sabre said. "But if Tray was with him, then he lied to me because he said he hadn't seen Irving since he was removed from his home by CPS. It makes more sense that the eyewitness is wrong, that she didn’t see Tray." Sabre smiled. "Oh, and by the way, the eyewitness is a nun."
JP raised his eyebrows. "A nun?"
"Nuns make mistakes too."
"Okay, I'll see if I can break her down." He smirked. "Or would you suggest I try to charm her?"
"Whatever works, baby," Sabre said jokingly. She regretted the comment as soon as she said it. She sounded too flirtatious. She really liked JP, but the last thing she wanted right now was to get involved and have her heart broken again. "And talk to the foster parents and see if Tray was missing for any length of time or if he could’ve even been where the nun says he was."
"Will do." JP made another note. "What other evidence do they have on Tray?"
"The DSS record showing that Tray had been a victim of Irving's sexual abuse."
"That might give him a motive, but I'm sure there are a lot of people who wanted to kill that man. The murder obviously has something to do with Irving being a pedophile or they wouldn't have gone to the trouble to write GOOF on his forehead with a black marker."
"Agreed."
"Do we know of any other molest victims?"
"Irving's not in the criminal system. At least nothing was turned up by DSS when Tray's case was filed."
"I'll see if I can find anything. It's most likely the perp is someone close to one of the children who was violated. So, we need to find out who else has been affected by Irving. I'll question his friends and family—if he has any." JP jotted a few notes down in his notebook. "Do you want me to talk with Tray?"
"Not yet; he's too gun-shy. Attorney Firmstone tried to question him this morning and he just clammed up. I'm hoping he'll open up to me, but he's pretty scared."
"So far you haven't given me enough for the DA to charge him. What else do they have?"
"They have Tray's notebook with the word GOOF written all over the cover with a black marker. GOOF was also written on the inside of his school locker in several places. The style matches what was written on Irving's forehead. They have a handwriting analyst who says the words on the body, in the locker, and on the notebook were all written by the same person."
"And that person is Tray?"
"Yes. They compared the writing to other things Tray has written and according to the analyst, the handwriting is a match. And here’s another thing: according to the news, when they found Irving, they found a second body."
"But they haven't charged Tray with that murder, have they?"
"No. There's been no mention of that body at all. See what you can find out about the other victim."
"I'll get right on it." JP rose from his chair. "How about if we get some dinner first? I'm starving."
Sabre hesitated.
"Never mind," JP said. "On second thought, I don't really have the time. I'll catch something on the run."
Sabre wondered if he was asking her out. They had eaten together many times, but lately the tension had begun to grow between them. Sometimes he appeared to be interested in her and other times he seemed so distant.
That's the last thing I need right now.
"Let me know what you find out," she said.
Chapter 8
JP read through the police report one more time. He was looking for anything that might help with his investigation, but the report was sparse. Everything they had on Tray was circumstantial. They didn't even have a murder weapon. JP made a list on his whiteboard of the facts in the case, a technique he had become proficient at while he was with the sheriff's department, and it still came in handy. In the center of the board he wrote the name Glen Irving. He drew a line to the left and wrote Tray Copley. Then he added another line and wrote Nun. He added the facts he knew about each, which were very few so far.
Another line ended with the word GOOF, all in capitals just like on the victim. This was the most damaging evidence they had.
JP sat back and looked at the board. He thought about Sabre and how certain she was that this young man couldn't have committed such a crime. But then, she always approached a case as if her clients weren't guilty until it was proved otherwise. Even then, she’d give them the best defense she could. He could hear her saying, "Every defendant deserves the best our Constitution can give him or her. I don't have to agree with my clients or like what they did, but if their rights aren't protected, then neither are ours. I'm defending their rights, not their actions."
JP, on the other hand, saw most criminals as a bunch of scumbags, although when it came to minors, he was a little more open. Working cases with Sabre created a good balance.
He suddenly found himself thinking more about Sabre than the case. He hated that he was so attracted to her. He knew a relationship with her wouldn't work. She was beautiful, smart, educated, and classy. He was just a cowboy who was eighteen years older than she was. She could have any man she wanted. Why would she ever want him?
He shook off further thoughts of Sabre, picked up the phone, and called the foster parents to see if he could meet with them.
***
An hour later, JP pulled up in front of the home of June and George Longe, Tray's foster parents. The home was in an older neighborhood, and based on the well-kept yards, he surmised that it was primarily owner-occupied. A motor home was parked on a concrete slab that ran along the side of the house.
An attractive, petite woman in her early sixties with platinum, shoulder-length hair greeted him at the door. She introduced herself as June Longe and explained that her husband was working. June was soft-spoken and her eyes were kind. June offered JP something to drink, which he declined. They sat down at the dining room table to chat.
"How long has Tray lived with you?" JP asked.
"About four months," June said.
"Have you had any problems with him?"
"Not really. He does what he's told to do. He cleans up after himself. He keeps his room cleaner than any child I've ever had. He likes to help around the house, especially if we're doing a chore together. I expect he just likes to be with someone who cares for him. And he's great with his sister. I have to remind him sometimes that I'm the parent and he doesn't have to do so much for her. He's getting better about letting me take over that role. I think it's just that he had to take care of her at home and he's used to it." She paused. "I'm sorry. I'm rattling on. But he's such a sweet kid. I can't imagine he committed any crime, let alone killing someone."
"You're fine, ma'am," JP said. "How well does he do in school?"
"He's a very bright boy, but he has fallen behind because he missed so much when he was at home. But he always does his homework and I work with him every night. He reads to me
and his sister, now that she’s here with us. The teachers say he's showing a lot of improvement."
"Does he have many friends?"
"There's one boy he hangs around with sometimes. His name is Drew and he lives a couple of doors away. Tray doesn't have a lot of friends at school. It's not like he has enemies or anything and he hasn't had any trouble at school. I think when he's there he stays to himself a lot. He's not real social."
"He doesn't hang out with Drew at school?"
"Drew is a year older than Tray and started high school this year. Tray is still in middle school."
"I'll need Drew's last name and his address."
June walked to the desk and got a sticky notepad. She wrote “Drew Fletcher” on the paper along with his address, and handed it to JP.
"Thank you." JP stuck it on a page in his notebook. "Between a week ago Saturday and today, has Tray been anywhere by himself?"
"No. He goes to school, to see his therapist, and he had one visit with his mother."
"Has he spent any time at Drew's house? Even a couple of hours?"
"A couple of times, but never for more than a few hours."
"Do you know if he was there last Saturday?"
"Yes, he was. That was a bad day for me. My father had a heart attack and was rushed to the hospital. Drew's mother agreed to watch Tray, so he was at Drew's house most of the morning. He had a therapy session late morning and Maggie, Drew's mom, volunteered to take him there because I was still at the hospital. Tray ended up staying with the Fletchers until after dinner. That's when I finally got home."
"Is your father okay?" JP asked with genuine concern.
"Yes, thanks for asking. He's home and as spry as any eighty-five-year-old can be."
"I'm glad to hear that." JP smiled. "You said Tray had one visit with his mother. When was that?"
She looked at her calendar again. "It was Friday, the third."
The Advocate's Homicides Page 3
