Adv04 - The Advocate's Dilemma

by Teresa Burrell

  JP didn’t know if he could stand to listen to one more word from this man’s mouth.

  “A thoroughbred, huh? Well, there’s nothing like having the real thing,” JP said. He turned toward Shannon, for fear his voice would show his hostility if he looked at Smithe. “It’s true. You can put lipstick on a pig, but he’s still a pig. Ain’t that right, ma’am?”

  Shannon and Smithe both laughed. Both sounded forced, but the sound coming from Smithe turned his stomach. JP reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone, opened it as if he had a call. “This is JP,” he said. He paused. “Okay. Okay. Yes, I’ll be right there.” He closed the phone, put it back in his pocket. “Sorry, I have an emergency. I’ll be back.”

  Shannon followed him for a few steps. “When can I expect you, Mr. Torn?”

  JP raised his hand without turning around and picked up his speed. “I’ll call you. Gotta go.”

  JP walked quickly across the car lot to his pickup. Louie wagged his tail and flipped around as JP opened the door. The dog loved to go for rides and JP took him along whenever the weather permitted, as long as he wouldn’t be left too long in the truck by himself. He patted Louie on the head and then picked up Louie’s water bottle from the seat. He removed the lid and poured the water into the plastic dish that was attached to the end of it. Louie lapped it up for a second or two and then lost interest. JP turned the bottle back up straight and watched the water flow back inside before he capped it and put it down. He patted Louie again, stepped inside, and drove off a little too quickly. He glanced at Louie. “Thoroughbred,” he mumbled. “Like a thoroughbred in a donkey race, I’ll beat his ass.”

  On his way home, JP stopped to see his friend Ernie at the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department in Vista. JP wanted to share everything he had gathered about Smithe with Greg Nelson, who fed him information on the Foreman murder case, information that Klakken wouldn’t give him. But he knew if he went to Greg with this, he’d have to answer too many questions.

  Ernie, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so inquisitive.

  “I need a favor,” JP said to his friend.

  “Anything, you know that.”

  “I need you to check a guy’s fingerprints for me.”

  “Sure, anything you can tell me about him?”

  “Not much. He works in Fallbrook, but I don’t know if he lives there. He has a connection to a guy who was recently murdered, but I think it’s worse than that.” JP knew how Ernie would interpret that. “Worse than murder” could only mean children were involved.

  Ernie shook his head. “Whatever you need.”

  JP carefully removed the camera from his pocket by the string. Ernie called for someone to come take it to the lab and have it dusted. “It won’t take long,” he said. “Then you can take the camera back with you.”

  They sat and visited for a while until the lab technician returned with the camera.

  “I’ll let you know as soon as we have something for you,” Ernie said.

  JP stood to leave. “Thanks, Ernie. And I’ll let you know if anything else breaks on my investigation. By the way, have you ever heard of someone with the moniker,Tuffy?”

  Ernie thought for a second. “Tuffy. Nope. But I’ll ask around.”

  Back at his house, JP continued the search he had started earlier that morning to find any information he could on Warren Smithe. He hoped it would lead him to Foreman’s murder because without Marcus’ cooperation it would be very difficult to charge him for his assault on Marcus.

  JP researched criminal records online. He made phone calls to Alabama and surrounding states, including Tennessee, Mississippi, and Georgia. He checked high schools and universities in the area searching for Warren Smithe. Due to the time difference, JP mostly left messages. He kept at it until late in the night when he found a school on classmates.com that listed a Warren Smithe in Mississippi.

  Chapter 30

  JP was back at his computer by six in the morning. Louie sat at his feet waiting for the occasional pat on the head. So far, JP had nothing on Tuffy. However, the previous night JP had obtained a birth date from a record of the California driver’s license listed for Warren Smithe. He was born on June 12, 1969, and living in Fallbrook, California. By eight o’clock in the morning he had established that a Warren Smithe with the same birth date had received a Master of Education degree in Elementary Education from Delta State University in Cleveland, Mississippi.

  By nine o’clock Ernie had confirmed that the fingerprints belonged to Warren Smithe and the birth date was correct. By ten o’clock JP’s research had taken him to the small town of Scooba, Mississippi where Smithe taught in a public elementary school for two years before leaving for a school in Montgomery, Alabama, in 1995. He taught for eight years in a private school in Montgomery where he was officially listed as “resigning under special circumstances.” JP couldn’t find anything that indicated what the “special circumstances” consisted of, nor did he find any other schools where he had taught.

  JP did the math in his head. If he stopped teaching in Montgomery in 2003, that left only a little over a year until he started working at Mercedes-Benz Fallbrook. At best he could have taught one year somewhere else, but if he had, JP couldn’t find it. After several conversations with administrators and other teachers in the school districts in both Scooba, Mississippi and Montgomery, Alabama, JP hadn’t been able to confirm his suspicions but he was awaiting phone calls from other personnel at both facilities.

  The closest he could get was a comment he received from one of the secretaries at the school in Scooba who stated that Smithe had left that school because he was too “friendly” with the students. She wouldn’t expound on her statements.

  It wasn’t long before the phone rang. The call was from the same area code as he had called earlier in Montgomery.

  “This is JP Torn. May I help you?”

  “Hello.” The person spoke softly. “Your name and number were given to me from someone who said you had called earlier regarding Warren Smithe.”

  “Yes, ma’am. May I ask who I’m speaking to?”

  “First, please tell me something.”

  “What’s that?” JP asked.

  “I understand you’re trying to find out why Mr. Smithe left our school district. Is that correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Why do you need this information?”

  He considered using a cover but decided something close to the truth would work best. “I am an investigator for an attorney who represents a young boy in an abuse case. We know that Mr. Smithe has had contact with this young man. I’m trying to determine to what extent Mr. Smithe may be involved in this case.” JP spoke carefully, trying to keep from violating Marcus’ confidentiality. He knew he had to tread lightly and hoped he hadn’t gone too far. “Did he leave the school district on his own accord?”

  “He was asked to resign.”

  “Do you know why?” JP felt Louie curl up by his ankle and lay his head on his foot.

  Several seconds of silence filled the phone. Then she blurted, “He was accused of molesting a young boy, several of them, but only one would give enough information to bring charges against him and he left town.”

  “Smithe left town?”

  “No, the child and his family moved. They snuck out of town. I understand they thought running away was preferable to putting the child through the pain of testifying. He was already having a hard time dealing with the harassment from other students and some of the community members who didn’t want to believe him or have him taint the reputation of the school. I think the mother encouraged the move. She feared her husband would kill Smithe if they stayed.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I was on the school board. The decision was made to ‘just get rid of Smithe and let it all go.’ I didn’t like it, but I was fighting mostly men on the board and they didn’t want the ‘stigma’ on our school. I was outvoted and they decided to make him an offe
r. If he would resign, the school board wouldn’t take any legal action. Of course, that didn’t bind any of the families from doing something, but none of them did. I was furious and frustrated. I should’ve spoken out and just lost my seat on the board, but I didn’t. I fought to get the ‘under special circumstances’ clause in the official documents, hoping it might trigger questions if he tried to go to another school district. And I went on record to say if I ever heard of another child in trouble with him I wouldn’t keep my mouth shut.”

  “How old was the little boy?”

  “Ten or eleven. I think he was in sixth grade.”

  “So he would be around twenty now?”

  “Yes.”

  “You seem to be pretty connected to the community. Do you know where the family moved?” JP asked

  “I have a cousin who was good friends with the boy’s mother. She told me they moved to a small town in southern California. Temecal or Temecland or something like that.”

  “Temecula?” JP said the name slowly and clearly.

  “Yeah, that’s it, but I don’t know if they’re still there.”

  “Could Smithe have known where he went? Perhaps followed him?”

  “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “Because he lives and works only about twenty minutes from Temecula.”

  “Oh, no.” She gasped. And then she added quickly, “He’s not teaching again, is he?”

  “No, but I’m concerned about the young man and his family.” JP didn’t want to tell her what he was thinking. If Smithe did kill Foreman, who knows what he might have done to his previous victim and his family.

  “Do you really think he might have followed them there? Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know, but Smithe may be more dangerous than he appears. I’d like to follow up on the family if you’ll be so kind as to give me the names. I’ll try to keep you out of it if I can.”

  The woman gave JP the names of the young boy, his parents, and two older siblings. She also provided descriptions as best she could remember. “And my name is Ada Adams if you ever need me. I’ll do what I can to right this wrong.”

  Chapter 31

  Marcus had just started his evening meal when Sabre entered his hospital room. The food on his tray was soft—chicken broth, mashed potatoes, and orange Jell-O sitting next to a container of chocolate milk. The intravenous antibiotics continued to flow into the pic line in his arm.

  “I see you’re eating. That’s a good sign,” Sabre said.

  “Yes. The doctor said if I eat today I may be able to go home tomorrow.”

  “That would be wonderful. You look much better today.” She looked at the faded yellow and pink line on his neck. The bruising had nearly faded away, but a redness remained where the rope had burned him. Sabre noted that his color was better as well. “You sound good, too. Does it still hurt to talk?”

  “Not so much.” He took a drink of his chocolate milk and then looked at Sabre with sad eyes. “Am I going to a group home?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because I heard them talking at Polinsky when I was there about kids who got in too much trouble and so they sent them to group homes. Most of them didn’t like it much.”

  Sabre smiled and touched his hand. “First of all, children from Polinsky aren’t sent to group homes for punishment. Sometimes it’s the best placement for them. Second, you are not in trouble and you’re not going to be punished in any way. We just want to keep you safe. I spoke with your social worker this morning and we all feel it’s best if you go home to your grandma’s unless you have some reason for not wanting to go there.”

  A look of confusion drifted across his face and then he said, "I’d like to go there.”

  “Good. You’ll continue to see your doctor and you’ll have to go to therapy. Your grandma and Frank both want you to go home and they’ve even provided an in-home nurse for part of the day so you can stay there. Are you okay with all that?”

  He nodded his head in affirmation.

  After a second or two Sabre noticed he hadn’t eaten anything yet. She said, “You should try to eat some of your food.”

  Marcus stuck his fork in his mashed potatoes and stirred them around a bit. “When will I be able to live with my mom?”

  “I don’t know for certain,” Sabre said. It was always difficult for her to have to explain to a child why they can’t be with a parent. This was worse than usual because Marcus would never be able to live with his father again and Sabre had serious doubts about his mother’s recovery. On the other hand, she had to give him hope and some still remained. “Your mother has a lot of programs she has to attend and it’ll take some time, but as she gets better you’ll be able to spend more and more time with her.”

  Then as children are so prone to do in these situations, Marcus made the excuses. “I guess that’s why she hasn’t been here to see me.”

  Sabre felt her face redden. She was surprised Dave Carr hadn’t been able to convince Dana to come back to the hospital and Sabre had been so busy with other cases she hadn’t followed up to see if she had been there. “I’m sure that’s it,” Sabre said.

  “She did call me once,” Marcus said.

  “Has your grandma been here?”

  “She comes every day and so does Frank.” He reached over to the stand next to his bed and picked up a Game Boy. “They brought me this and it has lots of cool games with it.”

  “What about Riley? Has he been here?”

  “He’s usually in school when they come.”

  Sabre glanced toward his tray. “Eat,” she said.

  Marcus took a couple of bites of his potatoes and drank some of his chicken broth. Then he ate all his Jell-O and drank his chocolate milk. Sabre visited with him until he finished his food, talking mostly about the games he’d been playing and what levels he had conquered. She still had a sensitive subject to talk to him about and she didn’t want to interrupt his meal.

  After about ten minutes of just visiting, Sabre took a photo that JP had blown up for her out of her bag. “Marcus, I’m going to show you a couple of photos and I want you to tell me if you recognize this man.”

  “Okay.”

  When Sabre handed him the pictures she saw the muscles tighten in his neck and for a second his face flinched. “That’s the man in the black Mercedes,” he said immediately.

  Sabre took the photos back and put them away.

  “Thank you. I’m sorry you had to look at those. I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

  “Did he kill my dad?”

  “We don’t know, but if he did, the police will get him.”

  “You didn’t tell him about me, did you?”

  “Of course not. I wouldn’t do that. You know, Marcus, if you ever want to tell the police what happened to you so we can have him arrested you just tell me and I’ll set it up for you. He should pay for what he did to you.”

  “But then I’d go to jail.”

  Sabre shook her head. “No, Marcus. You won’t go to jail.”

  “My dad said I would. And so did Sammy. They told me not to tell anyone or I’d go to jail because I tried to scam him.”

  Sabre wanted to take him in her arms, hold him tightly, and convince him he was safe. She continued to try to persuade him to believe her and not his father, but he held tightly to the advice his dad had given him. He had so little of his father to cling to and that coupled with his fear of incarceration made it easy to understand why he chose to believe him. She finally let it go.

  Sabre gathered up her bag to leave. “I need to get going but I’ll see you real soon.”

  “Will I be going to the funeral on Saturday?”

  Sabre found it interesting that he always asked that question, as if he had to go rather than if he could go.

  “The doctor said if you’re able to go home tomorrow you’ll be okay to attend the funeral as long as you feel up to it. Do you want to go?”

  “I think so.”


  Chapter 32

  JP drove north with Louie on I-15 past the Fallbrook exit and towards Temecula. He turned off on Highway 74 and drove east, turning whenever Ursula, his GPS, told him to. Sabre had named his GPS and the name had stuck. It was the same name she had given to hers and to Bob’s. It had since become a joke that JP spent more time with Ursula than he did them.

  The house he was looking for was situated away from the center of town. He turned left onto a road in dire need of new pavement and drove about a mile until Ursula said, “You’ve reached your destination.”

  The old, ranch-style house was surrounded by a chain link fence but the gate was open. JP drove inside onto the dirt driveway. The yard consisted of mowed weeds and more dirt, two overgrown pepper trees, and two large eucalyptus trees that offered shade to a picnic table and an old grill. A splash of bright magenta-colored bougainvillea climbed one corner of the fence. Several other dead bougainvillea bushes covered the north side of the fence. A small red tricycle, a plastic bat, and numerous other toys were strewn about the yard.

  JP lowered the windows about halfway down on both sides of the truck to let air in for Louie and stepped out. A heavy-set, African-American woman and a golden retriever came out of the house to greet him. The dog ran directly to JP’s truck. He stretched his body upward until his paws reached the top of the door and his nose found Louie’s.

  “Charlie!” the woman yelled, as she walked toward the truck. “I’m sorry. Charlie is just excited to have a visitor.” Louie whined to get out. Charlie held his position, his tail wagging.

  The next voice JP heard was a deep baritone. “Charlie!” The golden retriever dropped to the ground and ran directly to the tall man standing by the front door. The man’s head was shaved clean but he had a goatee and mustache on his face, and his size and his voice commanded respect. Louie continued to whine, scratching at the window to get out. The man walked over to JP, Charlie at his side.