The Advocate's Justice

by Teresa Burrell

  “Your Honor,” Sabre objected, “the prosecutor is attempting to show what a sophisticated criminal my client is, which is irrelevant if my client isn’t physically capable of committing the crime.”

  “He is physically capable of shooting the gun,” Benson argued.

  “Which, in and of itself, does not show planning or criminal sophistication.”

  The judge raised his hand in a motion to stop. “I got your point, Ms. Brown. Let’s move on.”

  Sabre turned to the witness. “You testified that Bullet was beat up and then shot, correct?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Was there anything in the reports that indicates that the beating and the gunshot were done by the same person?”

  “No.”

  “Did Conner have marks on him when he was arrested to make you believe he may have been in an altercation?

  “No, but it was almost a week later when he was arrested. He could have healed by then.”

  Sabre could have expounded on the size difference and the damage Bullet would have done to someone Conner’s size, but she had made her point to the judge. That’s all she needed to do here. She moved on. "Conner has no criminal record, correct?"

  "Not that I was able to find," Woolard said.

  "And you've done a thorough investigation, correct?"

  "Yes, of course, but he has lived in other states, which sometimes takes a little longer to find."

  “How old is Conner?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “And he has lived in California for just over four years, correct?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “So, you haven’t found any convictions since he was ten or eleven years old, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  "And he has no arrests in California, correct?"

  "Correct."

  "Are you aware of any other crimes that Conner has either planned or committed?"

  "No."

  "And he has never received a referral for misconduct in school, correct?"

  "That's correct."

  “And he gets average or better grades?”

  “About average.”

  “Does Conner have any record of fighting in school?” Sabre asked, changing tactics.

  “No.”

  “Any history of violence of any kind?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Can you tell the court what happened to cause Conner’s present injuries?”

  Woolard glanced at her report, then up at Sabre. “There was an altercation in the Hall with another inmate.”

  “When you say ‘altercation,’ do you mean a fight or an attack?”

  Woolard hesitated. “It was more like an attack on Conner.”

  “Where did the attack happen?”

  “In the hallway on the way back from lunch. Calvin Greene, another inmate, came up alongside Conner, called him by name, and when Conner turned, Greene punched him in the face.”

  “Did Conner fight back?”

  “No.”

  “In fact, Conner raised his arms and put his hands out, palms open, in an attempt to protect himself, is that correct?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Did Greene stop after one punch?”

  “No, he slammed Conner against the wall and hit him twice more before the probation officers were able to break it up.”

  “Did Conner get punished for this altercation?”

  “The Hall has a zero tolerance for fights.”

  “So, that’s a yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “But Conner didn’t fight, correct?”

  “That’s correct, but both boys were put on room confinement.”

  “And while on room confinement, they’re not allowed out of the cell for education or programming, correct?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Ms. Woolard, did Conner’s behavior in the altercation show criminal sophistication?”

  Woolard shifted in her seat. “No, but it doesn’t mean he couldn’t shoot a gun.”

  Sabre continued questioning for another thirty minutes, and when she made her argument, she used the incident to show that Conner was not a hardened youth. She also pointed out all his good behaviors and argued that he was too young. “Your Honor, I understand that the present law is set at the age of fourteen to be considered for adult court. But as I’m sure the court is aware, there is a bill before the Assembly right now, SB 1391, attempting to change that age to sixteen. In all likelihood, it will pass in the next few months.”

  “Your Honor,” DDA Benson said, “that’s all well and good, but that is not the law today. The court needs to follow the law that is presently in effect.”

  Sabre was going to argue, but before she could say anything, the judge spoke. “I’m well aware of the law, Ms. Benson, and my duty to abide by it.”

  “Since the present law gives this court the discretion,” Sabre said, “I would ask that you consider why the legislature is proposing the change, primarily the issues pertaining to the ability of these young minds to rehabilitate and their decision-making process at this age. I have submitted the arguments with my pleadings.”

  “Thank you, counselor,” the judge said. “Anything further?”

  Benson made one last argument to have Conner tried as an adult.

  Sabre felt reasonably good about the way the hearing progressed. The prosecution didn’t have any real compelling evidence to show her client was unfit for juvenile court, but the burden was on her to prove that he was, in fact, fit. It was a difficult burden to meet, particularly with a crime such as murder. Sabre just hoped she had done enough.

  Judge Feldman said, “Thank you, counselors. I’ll take this under advisement and let you know when I’ve made my decision. This court is adjourned.”

  Chapter 39

  JP was about to go see Derek Bloome when his cell rang.

  It was Gene. “You can take Donna and the Professor off the list.”

  “Why’s that?” JP asked.

  “Trust me, they didn’t do it.”

  “That’s just it, Gene. I don’t trust you.”

  “They didn’t do it. They both have alibis.”

  “Where were they?”

  “I checked out both of them, and they couldn’t have done it.”

  JP rolled his eyes and left them on the list.

  “You’re not taking them off, are you?”

  “Not unless you tell me why.”

  Gene sighed. “They were together, and the Professor had a heart attack. Donna took him to the hospital and stayed with him. When the Professor’s wife got there, Donna left, but that was long after Bullet was killed.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

  “Because it’s more fun yanking your chain.”

  “You’re so annoying you could make a bishop kick in a stained-glass window.” JP shook his head even though Gene couldn’t see him. “What are you doing next?”

  “I have a few other things to check on. They may take a while.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m out gathering information.”

  That was vague. “I wish you would tell me where you are in case something goes wrong.”

  “Nothin’s gonna go wrong.”

  “Gene, stay away from Soper and—”

  “Sorry, bad connection.” The phone went dead.

  JP was anxious to solve the case and get Gene out of his hair. It was bad enough that he couldn’t find who killed Bullet, but he had to babysit his brother and parent his niece. He kind of liked taking care of Morgan, but Gene? He’d had enough.

  ~~~

  Ron Brown sat watching the apartment where Judd Soper lived. The lights were on and the front curtain was open. Ron could see a football game playing on the large-screen television. Every once in a while, Soper would come into view and watch a few minutes of the game. After a fifteen-minute lull, Soper came into the room, carrying a plate of food. He sat
down with his back to Ron, eating and watching the game.

  Ron kept thinking about Addie, a policewoman he’d met on a case Sabre was involved in. He had finally worked up the nerve to ask her out, and she’d said yes. It had been difficult to find a time that worked for both of them, but the date was all set for that night. When JP called earlier and asked for his help, Ron had been tempted to say no, but he needed the work and JP needed help. Right now, he regretted the decision. Addie seemed to understand when he’d told her, but he didn’t want this thing to end before it even started.

  After an hour, Soper shut off his television, stood up, and left the room. A few minutes later, he walked out the front door toward his pickup, which was parked a few cars away. Ron tailed Soper all the way to The Conversation.

  Such a creature of habit, Ron thought as Soper parked and walked into the bar. Ron followed. He had an advantage on Soper because they had never met. He could watch him without Soper knowing. JP had been adamant about not getting too close to either him or Rankin for fear of what they might do.

  Soper took a seat with Rankin and two other guys. The table was about ten feet from the bar, so Ron parked himself on a barstool and ordered a beer. He had a good view of Soper and Rankin, but he couldn’t hear anything that was said. JP had also given strict orders to not get too close to either man. He sat nursing his beer as the thugs powered down two bottles each.

  Rankin answered a cell call, then said something to the other men, and walked toward the front door. Two minutes later, Soper guzzled the rest of his beer and did the same. Ron was suspicious about why they didn’t leave together, but he followed them out anyway.

  Ron was careful when he opened the exterior door, looking around for anyone who might be lurking. No one was there. He couldn’t see either Soper or Rankin, but Rankin’s truck was still in its parking spot. Worried, Ron hurried to his car, still glancing around. Just before he reached it, Rankin stepped out from behind a van and punched Ron in the face. He fell backward and hit his head on the pavement. Rankin kicked him in the leg.

  “Stay away from me, punk.”

  Ron scrambled to get up, and Rankin’s heavy boot came at him again. This time in the shoulder. Ron yelped with pain. His eye was already swelling shut and his head hurt, but he tried to stand. When he saw Rankin come at him again, he rolled under the van instead. Rankin’s foot got him again just before he got fully underneath. He scooted toward the middle where he couldn’t be reached.

  Ron heard someone yell, “Leave him alone.” He couldn’t see the man, but he recognized the voice. Rankin’s footsteps clicked across the pavement, then Ron heard a commotion that sounded like another fight just a few steps away. Ron couldn’t see what was going on. He scooted toward the opposite side of the van and looked out. Three men moved across the lot, but he couldn’t tell who they were. He heard the sound of an engine, and about a minute later, Rankin’s truck drove away.

  Ron reached for his cell phone, but it wasn’t in his pocket. He looked back under the van, but it was too dark to see. As he scooted back across to the other side where he came in, he felt around but didn’t find it. Once out from under the van, he tried to stand up, but he felt dizzy and faint. He stayed on the ground, searching for his phone where the scuffle had started.

  There were no lights in this part of the parking lot and little light from the moon. Ron’s head throbbed, but he kept feeling around. As he neared a pickup next to the van, he saw a dark spot by the tire. He crawled over and retrieved his phone. It wasn’t busted.

  Ron called JP. “Rankin just beat me up.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At The Conversation bar.”

  “Do you want an ambulance?”

  “No. I’m a little dizzy, but I won’t get up. I’ll just lie here until you come.” Ron heard JP’s truck engine start up.

  “I’ll be right there. I’m less than five minutes away.”

  Ron breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I’ll put you on speaker, and I want you to stay on the line. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Where are you hurt?”

  “My head, my leg, my face, my shoulder, my pride.”

  “Do you think anything is broken?”

  “I haven’t a clue.”

  “Are you bleeding?”

  “A little.”

  “Is Rankin still there?”

  “No.” Ron hesitated. “But JP, I think Gene is with them.”

  Chapter 40

  Sabre and Morgan sat at the table, playing a board game called Four Square. “Gotcha,” Morgan said.

  “You’re pretty good at this,” Sabre said.

  “I was the champion at home.” Morgan grinned.

  “Well, champ. I’m afraid it’s bedtime.”

  “But Uncle Johnny isn’t home yet.”

  “He’s working late and may not be home for hours. You’ll see him in the morning.”

  Morgan reluctantly stood and walked toward her room.

  A few minutes later, Sabre tucked her in. As part of their ritual, Sabre sat on the bed, and they talked about their days. Each one told the other something that happened. There were no rules. It could be a funny story, or something happy or even sad, or maybe just an interesting event. Sabre wasn’t sure how it had started, but they had done it every night since Morgan had moved in. It was her turn to go first. Sabre struggled to find something that wasn’t depressing or inappropriate to share with a ten-year-old.

  “We had a singing telegram at court today,” Sabre said. “A man came in with a bunch of balloons and sang to an attorney who was having a birthday. She was really embarrassed.”

  “Did he give her the balloons?”

  “Yes, and a present.”

  “What was the present?”

  “I don’t know. She didn’t open it in front of us,” Sabre said. “Your turn. What do you have to share?”

  “Another kid said something about my brother today, but I didn’t get in a fight.”

  “That’s a good thing. I’m happy to hear you controlled yourself.”

  “Sabre,” Morgan said, chewing at the side of her lip.

  “What is it?”

  “Will things ever be like they were?”

  “Sweetie, life changes constantly, and things are never the same today as they were yesterday. But even when things seem really bad, they always get better with time.”

  “Will I ever be back with my family, and will Conner ever be home again?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but your uncle and I are doing everything we can to get Conner home. Unfortunately, these things take time, and when you’re young, it seems even longer. As for going back to your mom—is that what you want?”

  “I love my mom, but it’s better when Daddy’s home. I feel safe when he’s there, and I’m not afraid to go to sleep at night.”

  Sabre let her talk as long as she needed, then kissed her goodnight, and shut off the light. She hated when children felt this kind of grown-up pain, caused by the adults who were supposed to protect them.

  Sabre fixed herself a cup of herbal tea and signed into her online dating site. She went straight to her inbox to check her messages, moving through them and eliminating the ones that weren’t the right age or height. Then she started to read the profiles of those left. She was getting faster at this, but it was still time-consuming. She was so glad she wasn’t doing this for herself, or she would’ve given up already. She had little patience for this sort of thing.

  She read one that made her laugh. She saved it so Bob could see it. It read:

  I’m looking for someone to have sex with. If you’re still interested after that statement, please read on. I’m in a long-term relationship which I have no intention of ending. It has grown cold, but she’s a wonderful woman. If you’re looking for someone to have fun with, without any worry of commitment, please message me.

  A new message pinged in her inbox. It lacked a photo, so she opened it immediately. It read
:

  Hello there. You have a lovely smile and a great profile. We seem to have a lot of common interests. I bet you are amazing. I’d like to know you. I’m Bill and do you have kids?

  A tingle ran up her spine. A man named Bill who’d asked about her children. He either hadn’t read her profile, or he was trying to sound as if he hadn’t noticed the kids. Either way, he was a likely candidate. She clicked on his profile and found he was thirty-five years old. Still promising.

  His profile description read:

  I do not have a photo posted because of my work, which, unfortunately, I cannot disclose here. I travel a lot, often internationally, with my career choice. It’s intriguing and rewarding, but it does limit me.

  I’m fun, adventurous, physically fit, and my mother says I’m handsome. Let’s get together and you can tell me if she’s right.

  Sabre hit reply and typed:

  Hi Bill,

  I’m intrigued by your profile. Yes, I have two beautiful girls who are very important to me. So, if you asked that question because you don’t want to be around children, then we wouldn’t work. However, if you do like children, I’d like to get to know more about you.

  Sheila

  Sabre decided to stay with the name Sheila even though it wasn’t what she’d initially planned.

  The rest of the emails held little hope. She checked the matches the computer had generated, then ran a discovery for new matches for herself. The criteria she used was minimal, no photo, age, or height. The search returned pages of matches. She went through about ten and gave up. She had emails to answer for work and reports to read for the next day. She switched to her work inbox and started through those.

  About ten o’clock, she closed her mailbox and checked the dating site again. Only one message, and it was from Bill.

  I love children and don’t have any of my own. How about dinner tomorrow at 7:00 at George’s in La Jolla?

  Sabre responded:

  How about coffee at 1:30 tomorrow afternoon at Starbucks at 4380 Kearny Mesa Road?

  Sheila

  She waited a few minutes but got no response. Sabre shut down her computer and sat down to watch a movie. She was tired, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. She hoped JP would be home soon.