[The Advocate 04.0] The Advocate's Dilemma

by Teresa Burrell

  Chapter 34

  A small group gathered at the cemetery for George Foreman. It only included his wife and two children, Celia and Frank Davis, JP, Sabre, and Marla, the social worker on the case. Nearly half of the attendees were there because of the fallout from his death. That was not a good testimonial to his life. No church service of any kind was held and Dana insisted on a traditional burial as opposed to cremation. George had not wanted to be cremated. According to Dana, George always figured he would burn enough in hell; he didn’t need to add to it before he got there. The funeral director led the short, simple, impersonal service.

  He began. “The loss of a loved one affects us all in different ways....”

  Dana wept for her husband. Riley stared at the coffin but he didn’t cry. Marcus cried quietly. Everyone else remained solemn, but no tears accompanied their grief, if in fact they felt any. Sabre didn’t believe they did. The majority of the sorrow expressed was not for the body in the casket or even the grieving widow, but for the children because they lost their father.

  “We need to accept the sorrow from our loss as a part of life,” the officiator continued. Sabre only half listened to his words. She wondered how a man lived forty years and had so few people mourn his death. She knew from what Marla had told her that George didn’t have much family. He and his half-sister were raised in foster homes. George hopped from one home to another and eventually lost track of his sibling. His mother spent most of her time in prison and his father was believed to be a prison guard, but it was never confirmed. That explained his family, but had he not been so difficult to get along with he would have developed closer friendships over the years. Sammy seemed to be the closest thing he had to a friend and perhaps he would’ve attended if he weren’t locked up himself.

  “George Foreman was a father, a husband, a son. When you think of him, remember the good times,” the man continued. The monotone voice did little to keep Sabre from yawning. She hadn’t slept well again. The nightmares had become a nightly routine. She covered her mouth and stifled her yawn. JP winked at her, a gesture she took to mean that he understood her boredom.

  Sabre wondered if there really were any “good times” in George Foreman’s life and for a moment Sabre felt sorry for him, but her feelings soon found their way back to his boys. She remembered her own father’s memorial and what comfort it brought her to see the church fill up with hundreds of people who came to pay their last respects. Seeing the crowd at his service made her feel that the world loved him as she did. He had to be a great man if so many people thought so.

  Sabre returned to the present when she heard the man ask, “Would anyone like to say a few words?”

  An awkward silence filled the already solemn air. No one stepped up to speak about him or on his behalf. There had been so many people who had come forward at her father’s service that it took nearly two hours to complete. This one was closer to five minutes. Are people’s lives summed up in the length of their memorial service? She knew the boys had never been to a funeral service before. She could only hope that since they didn’t have anything to compare it with that they didn’t feel what was so blatantly missing at this one. No one celebrated his life and few grieved his death.

  “May he rest in peace,” the officiator said.

  “Amen,” was mumbled through the small group.

  Everyone stood still for a few moments. No one seemed sure of what to do next. Then Frank put his arm around his wife and they led the two boys away. Within a few steps, Marcus stopped and went back for his mother, who was still standing there staring at the casket. Marcus led her to the car. As soon as Marla left, Sabre and JP began walking toward the parking lot.

  “That was dismal,” Sabre said.

  “Funerals aren’t supposed to be fun,” JP said.

  “Some of them are. I’ve been to memorial services that were real life celebrations and sure, people cried, but they also laughed and remembered good things. Did you hear any good things said about that man’s pathetic life? I can’t help but feel a little sorry for him.”

  “The man was a louse. Those kids deserved more from him.”

  JP had a way of stating the obvious and Sabre’s concern for Foreman fled. “How did your interview with Sammy go yesterday?” Sabre asked.

  “It’s hard to tell. That boy is more full of wind than a corn-eating horse. He could be just bragging but I think he does know Tuffy. The question is: How well does he know him? He told me how the operation works and he claims he knew Tuffy before Tuffy started this scam. In fact, he likes to take credit for the idea himself.”

  Sabre raised her eyebrows. “Maybe Sammy is Tuffy.”

  “I thought about that, but I don’t think he’s smart enough, to tell you the truth. He gets involved in stuff he has no business in and then brags about it, puffing himself up way beyond reality. I think he’s luckier than a leprechaun that he’s survived out there this long. One of these days his bragging is going to get him killed.”

  “So, what now?”

  “I’m going to use what he told me and try and find out who Tuffy is. If that doesn’t work I’m sure America’s Finest and our friendly DA will be glad to take a man like Tuffy off the streets, even if it means making a deal with Sammy.”

  “Can you do that without betraying Marcus’ confidence? He’s just not ready to share this with anyone else yet.”

  “Don’t worry, kid. I won’t do that. I’m hoping if I can find out who Tuffy is, it’ll lead us to Foreman’s murderer and then the stuff about the other children will probably come out anyway and Marcus won’t have to tell his story, if he doesn’t want to. The biggest problem right now is I don’t have enough information without Marcus to get anyone’s interest.”

  ***

  JP drove Sabre home and returned to his office to see what he could find on the internet about Tuffy. He had very little to go on and after several nonproductive hours he decided to drive back downtown to search the streets again. Several times in the past he had gone undercover as a homeless person and still had the clothes and the face makeup to fit the occasion. He dressed up, drove to a spot near where Marcus had been staying before they were picked up by CPS, and parked his car. From there he followed the route Marcus had indicated he took to where he met Smithe. He wandered around the area for a while, watching people come and go.

  When he reached Fifth Street he moved with the crowd through the Gaslamp District until he stopped, sat down on a concrete step, and leaned against the wall of a brick building. A couple of women walked down the sidewalk. As they approached one glanced at him and quickly turned her head, and then they edged their way closer to the street to avoid any contact. Several teenagers and men in suits passed him, all too engrossed in their own conversation to even notice his presence. It was the perfect cover, JP thought. For the most part, he blended into the background. People weren’t afraid to talk in front of him and no one ever looked closely enough to identify him. It was as if he were an object rather than a person. He felt about as visible as the cement step he sat on and less important. At least the step had purpose.

  A young, skinny boy who appeared to be about nine years old sauntered down the sidewalk past JP. He caught JP’s attention because the boy was alone. JP stood up to follow the child when he noticed a man with a baseball cap following the boy. Scraggly, light brown hair escaped from under the back of the man’s cap. He stood about five-foot-ten, his weight proportionate to his height. The cap shadowed his face but JP guessed his age to be in the late teens or early twenties. JP followed as the two of them maneuvered their way through the crowd.

  Near the end of the block was a restaurant with sidewalk seating. A maitre d’ stood outside near a stand that contained a stack of menus. He was taking reservations and seating people from the group that had gathered. For a few seconds the child disappeared into the crowd of people waiting to be seated. When the boy came out the other side, he hurried across the street. The man who appeared to be followi
ng him turned to the right, away from the boy, and walked up the street in the direction of Horton Plaza. JP wanted to follow the man in the cap but at this point he wasn’t sure if they were even together. He opted for the child since he was too young to be out by himself.

  JP had to pick up his speed because the boy moved swiftly along the sidewalk, dashing in and around people. He turned right at the first block and then right again on Fourth Street, circling back to where the man with the cap had headed. When he reached the end of the next street, he crossed it and ducked into the parking garage for Horton Plaza Mall. JP ran across the street and entered the parking facility, but by the time he reached the interior the child had disappeared among the mass of parked cars. The child could’ve gone to any one of the three levels of parking or out one of the numerous exits onto different streets. He could have even slipped into the mall and out the other side. It was hopeless. He had lost him.

  JP walked through the parking structure, watching cars as they left the garage. Across the lot he saw a black car pull out of a spot. JP ran across the lot to try and get close enough to see if the child was in it. Another car came down the ramp and around the corner just as JP stepped out. He dodged to the side, avoiding the car filled with teenagers that moved far too quickly for a parking lot. JP yelled, “Slow down!” Then he dashed across the lot. The black car turned to the right and headed down the exit ramp away from him. JP was too far away to see the passengers. He wasn’t even certain what the make of the car was, but he feared it was a Mercedes.

  Chapter 35

  Sabre slipped on a pair of gray sweat pants with the letters P-I-N-K down the front right leg and a t-shirt that matched. Grabbing the towel from the rack she rubbed her hair, still wet from the shower. It was getting long again. She had decided a few months ago to let it grow, but now she was considering a short style. It would soon be at a length where she could donate it to a cancer organization. The length now was good because she could pull it back and braid it when she went for her morning runs, but if she had it really short she wouldn’t have to worry about keeping it off her face. As she reached for a white, large-toothed comb that lay in her bathroom cabinet, the doorbell rang.

  She wondered who was calling on Sunday morning. Expecting to find solicitors or someone disbursing religious paraphernalia, she moved swiftly down the steps with the comb still in her hand and to the door. She peeked through the peephole and the first thing she saw was a black Stetson. Before opening the door, she quickly ran the comb through her hair and dropped the comb in her pocket.

  “Good morning. What brings you calling this bright, sunny morning?” She smiled and opened the door wide for JP to enter.

  “Hi, kid. You gotta minute? I’d like to go over some things with you.”

  “Sure. Would you like some coffee?”

  “That would be great.”

  He followed her into the kitchen. “Decaf or regular?”

  “Decaf is fine. I’ve already had more caffeine than I need this morning.”

  JP took a seat on a bar stool at her island counter. Sabre poured a cup of black coffee, handed it to him, and then added half a cup of hot milk to her own before she sat down next to him.

  “So what’s up?” she asked.

  “I’ve been doing some research on Tuffy but so far I can’t find anything. I think it’s time to involve the police.”

  “How can you do that without violating Marcus’ confidence?”

  “I’ll talk to Gregory Nelson and tell him there’s a scam going down using kids and all I have is the street name of ‘Tuffy.’ And I’ll tell him what we know about Smithe’s background.”

  “You can’t do that. You heard Tuffy’s name from Marcus, as well as the description that led us to Smithe, and Marcus asked us not to tell.”

  JP raised his voice, something he seldom did, and he never did it when speaking to Sabre. “We can’t just do nothing. I saw a little boy last night who may have gotten into Smithe’s car. We can’t just let that scumbag keep molesting kids.”

  “I know this is horrible. I haven’t been able to sleep since this case started. I have nightmares every night of dead people hanging from the ceiling and ever since you showed me the photo of Smithe, he’s become one of the bodies in my dreams. I don’t like it any better than you do, but until Marcus gives me the go ahead, I can’t…no, we can’t say anything.”

  JP sighed. “So, what am I supposed to do?”

  “You need to find something on these guys independent of Marcus.”

  “The thing that happened to Andre Washington was totally independent of Marcus.”

  “But what will they do with that? All you can tell them is there’s a suspected child molester selling cars in Fallbrook. It happened outside of this department’s jurisdiction more than ten years ago, and you have no witnesses. There’s nothing they can do.”

  “But he’s a freaking pedophile. And he may be a murderer.”

  “JP, there are pedophiles living in every neighborhood. You only have to go on the Megan’s Law site to see how many there are. And they are only the ones who have been caught and forced to register. There are probably as many who haven’t been convicted.”

  He tipped his hat back. “That’s my point.”

  “And my point is we have an obligation to our client. We cannot defy a confidence. First of all, it violates the Professional Rules of Responsibility and I can be disbarred for doing that. Secondly, and more importantly, I believe whole-heartedly that without that rule of confidentiality, the system wouldn’t work. My clients need to be able to tell me anything and know that I will keep their confidence.”

  “Isn’t there some rule about future crimes?”

  “Yes, if I know someone is in danger of a future crime that changes things up, but we don’t actually know that. And besides that, we may never know if Smithe or Tuffy killed Foreman if the police go after them for something else. It could just scare them off.”

  JP threw his left hand in the air, almost spilling the coffee in his right. “So, what do I do? I feel about as useless as a screen door in a submarine.”

  “All you can do is keep digging until you find something we can use. In the meantime, I’ll keep talking with Marcus. At some point he may change his mind about what I can tell and what I can’t. I expect he wants the police to find the man who killed his father, so you just need to find something that points at Smithe or Tuffy.” Sabre took a drink of her coffee. “By the way, do you know who Klakken has on his list of suspects?”

  “There’s you.”

  “Me? Why me?”

  “Just because they found him in your office, but you’re not a serious suspect.”

  “I would hope not.”

  “There’s Bob, Dana, Frank, Celia, numerous homeless people who didn’t like George, and some drug dealer. I’m pretty sure they’re not talking about Sammy.”

  “And we can add Sammy, Smithe, and Tuffy to that list…and remove Bob and me.” Sabre shook her head. “I don’t know. I just can’t imagine they have anything concrete.”

  “Apparently not, or they would’ve made an arrest by now.”

  Sabre noticed JP’s cup was nearly empty. “Do you want more coffee?”

  “No. I’m good.”

  “Is Klakken seriously considering Bob a suspect?” Sabre asked.

  JP sighed. “I didn’t want to alarm you, but according to my sources, he not only has him on his list, but Bob’s quickly moving to the top. Apparently, there was a slip of paper in Foreman’s pocket with an address on it.”

  “Yes, I remember that. The day we found the body, a detective came into the office where we were talking to Klakken and told us about the note, but what does that have to do with Bob?”

  “The address is Bob’s mother-in-law’s house.”

  “What? That doesn’t make any sense. Why would Foreman have the address of Bob’s mother-in-law?”

  “Beats me, but I’m sure that was the same reaction Klakken had when he
saw it. I talked to Bob on the way over here. He doesn’t have a clue why Foreman had that address.”

  “I guess that’s all the more reason to find something on Smithe or Tuffy so you can go to Klakken with it.”

  “I’ll give it to Greg. I’d rather not deal with Klakken and besides, he isn’t going to take my lead anyway. The man hates me.”

  “Why is that?” Sabre’s brow wrinkled.

  “It’s not important. What’s important is that Klakken is steered in the direction of someone other than Bob.”

  “Do you think his hatred of you will make him come after Bob?”

  “No. He’s not like that, but he would delight in proving me wrong or seeing me suffer if a friend of mine were in trouble. If anything, he’ll take his time to make sure there are no holes in his investigation before he arrests him. That’s probably why he hasn’t done it already.”

  Sabre felt her face flush. Fear for her friend consumed her. She knew she had to do something to lead the police investigation in a different direction. The idea of Bob being a murderer was preposterous and she didn’t want to see him spend one minute in jail.

  Chapter 36

  Sabre and JP waited outside Department Five for a delinquency matter to be called. JP didn’t like going to court and consequently only went when he had to, but Sabre needed him this morning to authenticate some photos on a trial that had been continued from last week. They stood near the information desk. Sabre glanced up and saw Dave Carr about ten feet away where he leaned against a counter that jutted out from the wall. He winked at her. She turned her head so he wouldn’t see her smile.

  “Do you think they’ll call us soon?” JP asked.

  “It shouldn’t be long now. The court officer said there was only one case left on their morning calendar and then they’ll call our trial. I still have to do the Foreman case, but Department Four is tied up with some crazy woman. Hopefully, we can do this case first or we may be trailed and you’ll have to come back this afternoon.” She wrinkled her nose. “I hope that doesn’t happen.”