Corrupted

by Lisa Scottoline

  “Hello, how can I help you?” the woman asked.

  “I’m wondering if I could talk to whoever does the juvenile work here.”

  “He’s not here now. I can take a message for you.”

  “Let me ask you a quick question.” Bennie got out a spare copy of her papers and turned to the waiver in the back. “This is a waiver used in Juvenile Court, which I think is constitutionally defective. Do you have any idea where this form came from?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever seen it before?”

  “No.”

  “Is it more likely it came from the D.A., the judge, or somebody else?”

  The woman shook her head. “I can’t say. Fact is, we don’t get a lot of juvenile cases.”

  “That brings me to my other question. My client’s father was told he didn’t qualify for a public defender because he made too much money. The client whose income you should’ve been looking at isn’t the father’s, but the son’s. The son is a student and he would’ve easily qualified for a defender.”

  The woman bristled, flicking back her hair again. “I wasn’t the one who said that and I don’t know why it was said.”

  “Thanks. I’d love a call back, from whoever knows.” Bennie pulled a business card from her wallet, left the building, and headed back to the courthouse. She had boxes to check and enemies to make.

  Nobody becomes a lawyer to be liked.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Good morning, may I help you?” asked an older court stenographer, who appeared at the Transcription Services counter. She had a narrow face framed with close-cropped silvery-gray hair and she wore a prim blue suit and earrings shaped like Christmas trees.

  “Yes, I’d like to order a transcript.” Bennie fished her bar card from her wallet, pulled out another copy of her petition, and set both on the counter.

  “I’ve never seen an ‘Emergency Petition for Readjudication’ before.” The court stenographer skimmed the petition, then looked up. “What’s the emergency?”

  “A twelve-year-old was wrongly sent to River Street and I’d like to get him out as soon as possible.”

  “Twelve years old?” The court stenographer lifted a graying eyebrow. “That’s quite young to be misbehaving.”

  “He wasn’t, it was just a minor fight at school.”

  “I see.” The court stenographer pursed her lips. “The judge doesn’t tolerate any sort of misbehavior in school. Somebody has to keep the schools safe.”

  “My client was being bullied by another boy. That’s how the fight started, it wasn’t his fault.” Bennie had spent enough time in courthouses to know that everybody talked about the cases, and a good word could travel.

  “But it takes two to tango, and you can’t be too careful these days. My sister lives in Windber, near Shanksville. You know, where Flight 93 crashed.”

  “Is that near here?”

  “Only three hours west. The poor souls on that airplane, my heart breaks for them, and I hate to think what would’ve happened if they crashed into a neighborhood. These terrorists, they’re inhuman.”

  “I agree with you, but my client isn’t a terrorist. He’s a child.”

  “Hmph. If you’re in the right, you should prevail.”

  Bennie let it go. If only that were true. “How long will it take to get the transcript?”

  “Fifteen minutes. It will be easy to transcribe because the juvenile judge doesn’t waste any words.”

  “So I hear.” Bennie realized that the court stenographer could have some behind-the-scenes information. “Have you worked in the judge’s courtroom as a stenographer, when he hears juvenile cases?”

  “Yes, he’s very intelligent, and he’s tough but he’s fair.”

  “That’s good.” Bennie kept her tone casual. “When you’ve been in his courtroom, have you noticed how often the juveniles are represented?”

  “Rarely, if ever. Now, come back in a few minutes, I’ll have the transcript ready.”

  “Terrific, thanks.” Bennie took off for the stairwell, reached the third floor, and approached the crowd in front of Courtroom 302, the double murder trial. Reporters with notepads and spectators in heavy coats packed the balcony, mingling with local police in black insulated jackets and thick gun belts. She wedged her way toward one of the cops, who stood in front of a set of long metal tables by a metal detector.

  “Officer, I’d like to go in and observe the judge. I have a case before him and I want to see how he operates.”

  “I get it, like recon.” The cop smiled in a knowing way. “Wish I could admit you, but I can’t. We got a full house. Nobody’s getting in unless somebody comes out.”

  “What about standing room?”

  “We don’t allow it.” The cop leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “But I can tell you something about how he operates. Is it a criminal matter or civil?”

  “It involves a juvenile.”

  “Oh.” The cop shook his head. “He’s tough on kids. He’s known for it. You know what his nickname is?”

  “Judge Zero Tolerance?”

  “No. Napoleon.”

  “Thanks,” Bennie said, getting the picture. She made her way back toward the stairwell, descending two floors to the first floor, where she headed back to the Transcription Services office. She walked back inside just as the court stenographer emerged from the hallway, carrying a few papers.

  “Perfect timing,” the court stenographer said, with a smile.

  “Finished already? How much will that be?”

  “Five dollars.”

  “Great.” Bennie slid a five from her purse and handed it over.

  “Hold on while I get you a receipt.” The court stenographer stepped away from the counter.

  “Thanks.” Bennie opened the transcript, which was only four pages long, counting the title page and the certification by the court reporter. It read, in toto:

  JUVENILE OFFICER: Mr. Lefkavick, please step forward.

  (Whereupon, the party was sworn in.)

  THE COURT: You’ve been charged with fighting in school, how do you wish to plead?

  THE JUVENILE: Guilty.

  THE COURT: Based upon his admission, I’ll adjudicate him delinquent. What makes you think you have the right to do this kind of crap?

  THE JUVENILE: I don’t, sir. I never—

  THE COURT: How long have you been at Crestwood?

  THE JUVENILE: Uh, since, I’m in—

  THE COURT: You heard me speak at assembly?

  THE JUVENILE: Uh, yes.

  THE COURT: Told you what type of conduct I expected from children in that school, relative to the juvenile justice system?

  THE JUVENILE: Uh. Yes.

  THE COURT: Is fighting acceptable in school?

  THE JUVENILE: No, but—

  THE COURT: No buts. What did I say would happen if you acted in an unacceptable way in school?

  THE JUVENILE: Um, I don’t remember.

  THE COURT: You don’t remember? You don’t remember me saying that if you did anything unacceptable in school that I would send you away? You don’t remember me saying I won’t tolerate violence in school? You don’t remember those words?

  THE JUVENILE: No, sir.

  THE COURT: Were you sleeping?

  THE JUVENILE: No, no.

  THE COURT: You can’t remember that?

  THE JUVENILE: No, sorry.

  THE COURT: I’ll remind you of what I said, I walked into that school and I spoke to your student body and I wasn’t just doing it to scare you, to blow smoke, to make you think that I would do that when I wouldn’t. I’m a man of my word. You’re gone. Send him up to River Street. Let him stay there ninety days. Let’s see if that’s time enough to remember the difference between right and wrong, acceptable and unacceptable in school. Thank you.

  FATHER OF JUVENILE: No, wait, please, that’s not fair. That’s not what the lady said. Judge, please, you don’t understand, he’s a good boy.

  TH
E COURT: Thank you.

  (Whereupon, the proceedings were concluded.)

  Bennie closed the transcript. She had expected the hearing would be inadequate, but seeing how inadequate turned her stomach.

  “Here we go,” said the court stenographer, returning to the counter with the receipt. “My, are you okay, dear?”

  “No,” Bennie answered, taking the receipt. “But thanks.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sunlight struggled through the dirty windows, and Bennie watched as Jason made his way across the empty visiting room, his feet scuffing the gritty tile floor, his head downcast. Her heart went out to him, and she was still angry after what she’d read in the transcript, seeing how unjust his hearing had been.

  “Hey buddy,” Bennie said, as Jason reached the table, and up close, she noticed that his eyes were bloodshot and there were dark circles underneath them.

  “Hi.” Jason sat down heavily in the hard chair opposite her, slumping backwards.

  “How’re you doing?” Bennie heard shouting in another room, and the air smelled dirty and felt cold, though the ancient radiators knocked constantly.

  “Okay.”

  “How did you sleep?”

  “Okay.”

  “You should feel free to talk with me, even if you just want to complain.”

  “I’m no whiner.” Jason swallowed hard, his little Adam’s apple going up and down.

  “It’s not whining.”

  “Whining and complaining are the same thing.”

  “Not when the complaining is to a lawyer,” Bennie said, gently. “In fact, every lawsuit is started with a piece of paper that gets filed with a court. You know what that paper is called?”

  “No, what?”

  “A Complaint.”

  “Really?” Jason’s eyes narrowed with adult skepticism.

  “Truly. If you don’t tell me your complaint, I can’t do my job. Now, let’s start over. Did you sleep okay?”

  “No.” Jason hesitated. “I was, like, afraid. It’s dark, and there’s weird noises, and these boys, they talk all night. They yell and I heard somebody crying.”

  “That’s sad. I would cry if I were in here, too.” Bennie wondered if Jason had cried. “Did you have any classes today? They’re supposed to hold classes for you.”

  “They said they’ll do that later. I don’t know how.” Jason bit his lip. “My teachers don’t come here, do they?”

  “No, they have different teachers.” Bennie wasn’t sure how it worked, in fact.

  “My grades, they’re going to go down. I’m already so far behind. We had to read a book over the weekend. The Giver. I didn’t bring it and I only got done eleven pages.”

  “I’m sure you’ll catch up,” Bennie said, though she was worried. She wondered if this was what being a parent was like, giving comfort you didn’t feel and reassuring someone when you were worried as hell.

  “I told my dad and he’s going to bring more books tonight. I can read in my room, I keep away from everybody, and Richie and the boy next door to me, he’s seventeen. They call him Wrinkles.” Jason lowered his voice. “I think he did something bad to a little girl. You know what I mean?”

  Bennie’s mouth went dry. “Stay away from him.”

  “Oh, I will,” Jason shot back.

  “What about Richie? How is he?” Bennie realized she was worried about Richie’s being on the same hall as a sex offender. She never would’ve felt that way before, her loyalties newly confused.

  “I stay away from Richie, too. I stay away from everybody.” Jason’s eyes went rounder, his fear plain. “I just try to stay out of everybody’s way, like school, only worse.”

  “Are they bullying you already?”

  “They call me names. The guard calls me Fats Domino.”

  “I could do something about that, you know.” Bennie felt anger tighten her chest.

  “No don’t.” Jason’s expression changed, his eyebrows flying upward in anxiety. “Let it roll off your back. Like a duck, remember I told you?”

  “I won’t say anything, but you have to make me a promise. If you are in any kind of physical danger, I want you to go to the guard and tell him. If anybody shoves you, or pushes you, or tries to touch you”—Bennie was choosing her words carefully—“then I want you to go to the guard and I want you to tell him you want your lawyer. I will come, any time of day or night. You understand?”

  “Okay. I promise. So when am I going to get out? After you win in court, like in Law & Order?”

  “Not exactly, and you—”

  “So will I get out after the jury says so?”

  “There’s no jury, just the judge. I just filed some papers, trying to get the judge to take another look at your case.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He didn’t say yet. It takes longer than—”

  “So tomorrow?”

  “No, at best, by the end of the week. The judge could deny my motion, which means he could just say no. We could lose. So try not to get your hopes up.”

  “Why would you not win, if you’re right?”

  “Good question.” Bennie wasn’t sure she could explain it. “Because the judge has the power and he can be wrong. He already has been, hasn’t he?”

  “Do you have to ask the same judge? Oh no.” Jason sighed, his soft shoulders sagging. “The judge isn’t going to change his mind. He’s mean. Why can’t you go ask another judge?”

  “That’s not how it works. I’m going to do everything I possibly can, Jason.” Bennie reached across the table and patted his hand, which felt warm. “Just hang in there, can you?”

  “The guard took Richard the Strong and my other bricks. They said I couldn’t have them. They weren’t approved.”

  “Who did that?”

  “Just leave it alone. They put them in a box and they said my dad can have them next time he comes.” Jason rallied. “He said he’ll come tonight with my pictures.”

  “Pictures of what?” Bennie thought she’d burst into tears if Jason said his mother.

  “Of Patch. I know, that sounds dumb, but, well, she always sleeps on my bed.”

  “It doesn’t sound dumb. My dog sleeps on my bed, too.”

  “Cool.” Jason’s face lit up, for the first time. “Patch likes to run around at night. My dad always lets her, but my mother never did. She was too worried she’d get hit by a car.” He frowned. “I’m worried she might, too.”

  Bennie remembered she had thought the same thing. “I’ll ask your dad to keep her in at night. Would you like that?”

  “Yes.” Jason’s eyes filmed. “She should stay in until I get home.”

  “Yes, at least until then,” Bennie repeated, her throat constricting.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Bennie charged up the courthouse stairwell, her determination renewed by her visit with Jason. She reached the judge’s chambers and opened the door on the secretary. “Hello, I’m—”

  “Yes, I remember.” The secretary was standing by the coatrack, putting on her parka.

  “I’m checking to see if the judge was able to take a look at my petition.”

  “Yes, and he issued the order during the morning recess.”

  “Great!” Bennie said, surprised. “May I see the order? Did he give the Commonwealth three or ten days?”

  “I’ll give you a copy of the order. I sent it to the clerk for filing, but it may not have been docketed yet.” The secretary crossed to her desk, opened a manila folder on top, slid out a paper, and handed it over.

  “Thank you.” Bennie skimmed the single paragraph, which read: The Commonwealth shall file a responsive pleading in no more than three (3) business days. She almost cheered. “This is wonderful! Thanks so much!”

  “Now, excuse me, I’m on my way to lunch, and we keep chambers locked.” The secretary walked to the door and held it open, but Bennie wasn’t leaving just yet.

  “According to this, he didn’t schedule a hearing.”


  “I’m sure he will make that decision after both parties have filed their pleadings.”

  “Do you think it’s possible to get the hearing by Christmas?”

  “That isn’t for me to say.”

  “Court isn’t closed next week, is it?”

  “No, it’s closed only Wednesday, Christmas Day.”

  “By the way, is the judge in now?”

  “No.” The secretary gestured to the door again. “Please?”

  “Okay, thanks.” Bennie left chambers, went downstairs, headed for the exit doors, and hit the cold. She squared her shoulders, tilting into the wind as she headed to the parking lot. She reached the car, turned on the ignition, and pressed Matthew’s number into her phone. The call rang once, then was picked up. “Matthew, good news. The judge ordered the Commonwealth to respond to our petition in three days.”

  “That’s good?” Matthew sounded disappointed.

  “Yes, remember, I told you, on the way in?”

  “Yes, but Jason will have been in a whole week by then. He already feels like he’s been there forever.”

  “I know, he told me. It’s the best we could have hoped for, at this point.” Bennie realized the only thing worse than being a child who was incarcerated was being the father of a child who was incarcerated.

  “Well, thank you. What happens next?”

  “If the Commonwealth files its response on Friday, I’m hoping that the judge clears his desk by the holidays—”

  “So Jason would be home by Christmas!”

  Bennie reminded herself to check him. “I’m trying, but that’s not a guarantee.”

  “That’s what lawyers always say, isn’t it?”

  “No, I’m not just saying it. There’s too many variables that we can’t control. By the way, I did go visit Jason, and he says, please don’t forget to bring his book and pictures. Also I think he’d feel better if you kept the dog in at night.”