The Advocate - 01 - The Advocate

by Teresa Burrell

  4

  Ring, ring. Sabre bolted upright in her bed early on Saturday morning, too early for light to be shining through the window. Ring, ring. The bright red numbers on her clock read 5:32 a.m.

  “Hello.” She cleared her throat.

  “Good morning, ma’am. May I please speak to Ms. Brown?”

  “This is Sabre,” she said, trying to sound awake. “Who is this?”

  “Oh, ma’am, I’m so sorry. Did I wake you? I just realized how early it is in California. I’m calling from Atlanta, Georgia, and it’s 8:30 here. I was returning my phone calls and this one came up next. I’m so sorry. Go back to sleep, ma’am. I’ll call you later. Oh, this is Detective Carriage, Joe Carriage. I’m sorry, ma’am,” the smooth, southern voice continued.

  “No, no. It’s fine. It’s time to get up. It’s a good thing you called,” she fibbed. “I called you about a case I’m working on here in juvenile court. I’m a defense attorney, and I represent the children in a dependency case.”

  “And how do I fit in?”

  “The family is from Atlanta and I need some background checks. I know the Department of Social Services has asked for them, but I wanted to take it a step further. We need the information very soon. I don’t want to keep those children out of the home if they’re not at risk.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll be delighted to follow up on the background checks to see what the holdup is. I’ll need a little information, names, etc.”

  “The names of the adults are Gaylord Murdock and … .”

  “Did you say Murdock?”

  “Yes. Why? Do you know him?”

  “Murdock is a well-respected name in these parts. They’ve been around for years, practically built this city. I apologize, ma’am. I didn’t let you finish. Who else is involved?”

  Sabre provided him with an overview of the case and gave him the details he needed to run a check on both Peggy Smith and Gaylord Murdock.

  “Sounds like a simple domestic violence case. Do you know something you haven’t told me?” Detective Carriage inquired.

  “Just some things Alexis said made me uneasy. It may be nothing.”

  “You said you wanted more than a background check. Is there anything in particular you want me to be on the lookout for?”

  “The usual stuff – criminal history, drug involvement, family background. If you wouldn’t mind, would you see what you can find out about Alexis’ mother? She left the picture approximately five years ago, and Alexis hasn’t seen her since. Her folks may be still living there. Perhaps they can shed some light on the situation. I sure would appreciate any help I can get.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am. I owe you one, just for waking you up at 5:30 in the morning. I’ll sure see what I can find out. I have to run, but I’ll get to this as soon as I can.”

  “Thanks, Detective.”

  Sabre hung up the phone and leaned back on the propped-up pillows. She needed to plan her day so it didn’t slip away, but first she reached into her nightstand and pulled out a little red, tattered notebook. She held it as one might a precious piece of artwork. She brushed her hand across the top of it and pulled it close to her heart. She thought about how her eight-year-old brother Ron had saved his nickels intended for the church collection plate. Instead, he had bought her the notebook for her sixth birthday. So, at six years and two days old, Sabre started to create a list of things she planned to accomplish in life.

  As she did every morning when she first woke up, she read through her list, checked a few things off, and reviewed what she had accomplished and what she still had yet to do.

  The list had grown over the years. The items had become more realistic and defined. Every single entry, except one, developed into some form of manageable dream. Some of the “kid’s fantasy” ideas, like become a famous movie star had been adjusted to fit Sabre’s life. She didn’t actually aspire to be a star, but she did want a part in a movie, so that remained as her focus. Only one entry did she ever actually cross out and that was Marry Victor Spanoli, the little boy who had lived next door. Sabre chuckled to herself every time she read that part of the list. She remembered the day Victor had moved into the neighborhood. Two days after her sixth birthday, they’d met. His name had been her first entry in the notebook. Sabre wondered whatever had happened to Victor – if he still played his sax and what he looked like today.

  She continued to read through the list of things she hadn’t yet accomplished: play a part in a movie; learn to oil paint; take a dance class; visit every state in the U.S. The list went on. She’d been busy the past few years getting an education and establishing a stable home. Soon she could start doing the fun stuff, not that she hadn’t done a lot in college and law school. She managed to travel quite a bit, but it only made the list grow because she discovered new things she wanted to do or see.

  Sabre looked at the notebook. She had tried so hard over the years to protect it, but time had taken its toll. Once a deep red, now almost without color, the cover was partially off the wire spiral. Several pages had been taped back in because they’d been torn completely out. Only half of the back cover remained intact.

  The notebook served as a checklist of her life – what she had accomplished and what she had yet to do. It acted as a guide for her and helped get her back on track when she strayed. Most of all, the notebook provided her a lifeline to Ron. She thought of him every time she saw it. Sabre wondered if he knew just how much it meant to her and how it helped her achieve her dreams. When she wrote something in the notebook, it represented a commitment to her brother, and with the exception of her goal to marry Victor Spanoli, she was determined to meet her commitments. Tears swelled up in her eyes and she murmured, “I sure do miss you.”

  Sabre rose from her bed, slipped into an old pair of gray sweats and a t-shirt that read: “I wonder what wine goes best with guilt.” She headed out on her Saturday routine of visiting minor clients in their relative’s or foster home placements, group homes, or mental hospitals.

  By seven in the evening, she had finished her visits. She drove to her office to check her messages and to write a de facto parent status motion that needed to be filed by Monday. Her office, located in an old Victorian style home downtown, had its parking lot in the back alley. Sabre parked as close as she could, approximately twenty feet from the back door. The only illumination came from an adjacent office building and the sixty-watt bulb above her office’s back doorstep, making it difficult for Sabre to see. Fog had started to set in, blocking any light from the moon.

  She opened the office door. A familiar odor caught her attention – faint, but recognizable. Her brother’s favorite cologne, Kantor. It had been years since she had experienced the smell of his cologne, unsure if they even still made it. She’d check with the other attorneys on Monday to see who in the building wore the cologne. She started to dismiss it when she noticed that her brother’s photo, on the credenza behind her desk, was facing the wall. She knew she hadn’t moved the photo.

  Putting it out of her mind, she sat down and began to work. The silence in the office provided the perfect atmosphere to write the motion she needed for Monday. No phones ringing, no interruptions from clients or delivery persons. Sabre found it difficult to focus, though; she still felt a little uneasy about the cologne and the photo.

  She tried to bury herself in her research and drafting of the motion. As she delved into the legal issues, she forgot all about her concerns until the phone rang. Sabre jumped.

  She took a deep breath and answered the phone, “Law Office.” No one responded. “Hello.” Still silence. “Hello,” she repeated. She hung up the phone and went back to work.

  Ring, ring … She picked it up again. “Law Office.” Still not hearing anyone on the line, she hung up the phone. She began gathering up her cases, waiting for the phone to ring again. This time she didn’t answer it. She picked up her files, shut off the lights, and walked to the back door. She stood sideways as she locke
d the office door, glancing from side to side, and looking over her shoulder. She hurried to her car, each step picking up the pace. She hit the button on her keys to open her trunk and tossed her files into it. As she reached her car door, she heard a rustling across the parking area in the bushes. A shadow moved across the pavement. Her hand shook as she hit the button to unlock her door. She jumped in her car, locked the door, and drove off, skidding as she left the parking lot. Several miles down the freeway, the nervousness in her stomach began to dissipate.

  5

  Sabre could see the sun streaming in through the window. It promised to be another beautiful day in San Diego. No time to waste on negative thoughts. She leaned over, opened the drawer in her nightstand, pulled out the little tattered notebook, and commenced reading through her list. She felt good about her life, in spite of the struggles she had encountered along the way. It had been a long, hard road, but she had finally made it. The majority of her dreams had been accomplished. College had been tough, working two jobs and attending school full time, and law school even tougher, especially the last year without Ron, but things seemed easier now.

  She picked up a pencil and read from the notebook: Home with an ocean view. She had lived in her first home for a week now, a spacious two-bedroom condo with an office, three bathrooms, an ocean view, within walking distance of the beach, or so the ad read. The ocean view was a stretch, but she could see some water from one little corner of her living room window. She checked it off.

  Sabre got up and opened the shade to let in more sun. She dashed downstairs, plugged in the coffee pot, jogged back upstairs, and took her shower while her decaf coffee brewed. She fluffed her dark hair in front of the mirror. It had finally grown almost to shoulder length.

  The smell of the coffee beckoned her to the kitchen. She picked up the cranberry scone she had bought the night before, cut it in half, poured her favorite mug about half full of skim milk, and filled the rest with coffee. She stepped through the sliding glass door to sit on the front porch in the early morning sun. Perusing the newspaper’s headlines, she found nothing but sadness and crime. She saw enough of that at work. She laid the paper down and watched the mourning dove in a nearby magnolia tree.

  As Sabre sipped her coffee, she reflected on her life. Others may not have found it ideal, but she chose this life. She mulled over what she had to do today: several hearings this morning; the trial on a drug baby case this afternoon; and a visit to Jordan Receiving Home to meet with a four-year-old client who had been found sleeping in the bushes in a cemetery and now suffered from post-traumatic-stress syndrome, as evidenced by her total lack of speech. Then to the office to respond to the phone calls, write a couple of letters, and open those two new cases from yesterday … a pretty normal day, probably ending about midnight. Putting in full days didn’t matter much since she had no social life. Being a lawyer often proved to be hectic, frustrating, even demanding, but never boring. Now she had her new condo to come home to. What more could she ask for?

  Sabre opened her closet door and picked out a very expensive black suit she had purchased the day she received the news she had passed the bar. Up until then, her wardrobe had consisted mostly of jeans and t-shirts. She used her one suit for job interviews. When she received her first paycheck as an attorney, she spent the entire check on power suits and silk blouses, but her black suit, still her favorite, made her look as good as she felt. She added two inches to her height with her black-leather Gucci pumps, which brought her up to five-foot-three-and-a-half-inches.

  Sabre picked up her calendar and a huge stack of files, threw them in the trunk of her Beemer, and drove to court. She felt the same kind of exhilaration she remembered from junior high school, excited to get there to see her friends. The juvenile court attorneys were a different breed, not like Domestic Court where she had started her career in law. She had quickly tired of the conflict and backbiting she experienced handling divorce cases and soon found her element in “kiddie court.”

  Her mood dimmed as the events of Saturday night at her office crept back into her mind, especially the smell of the familiar cologne. She pulled into the parking spot adjacent to her friend Bob.

  “Good morning, Sobs,” Bob said as he exited his car. He always sounded so pleased to see her. “How’s my post-pubescent nugget of love and carnality this morning?”

  She smiled. “Hi, honey. You sure know how to change a girl’s mood.”

  He walked over, put his arm around her, and gave her a little hug. “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m not sure anything is, but it feels like I’ve entered the twilight zone.” She explained what had happened in her office on Saturday night. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation for each thing that happened, but all together they made me uneasy.”

  “Well, let’s look at it. The phone ringing and no one there, that happens all the time. It could’ve been someone on a cell phone unable to make a connection, or someone who dialed wrong and just hung up. There are a thousand possibilities. The photo being turned could have been the janitorial crew.”

  “They only come on Wednesdays.”

  “Okay, but you could’ve bumped it when you turned around or, you said yourself, you may have looked at it, been distracted by something, and then placed it back down askew, right?”

  “Right,” she acquiesced.

  “And as for the cologne, it probably belonged to someone who had come in with one of the other attorneys in your office. A strong smell can linger awhile.”

  “Yeah, that bothers me the most. I checked with the other attorneys. No one had been there. Do you think I just imagined the smell?”

  “I doubt it, but I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation. Maybe someone walked past the office wearing the cologne, or maybe someone in the offices upstairs had it on and the fragrance came through the vents. It’s an old building. It’s not exactly air tight.”

  “You’re right. It just made me really miss my brother. I guess a part of me expected him to walk in the door. Five years and I still haven’t accepted he’s dead.”

  “It’s harder when you don’t get closure.” Bob appeared to be empathetic, but Sabre knew he had never lost anyone close to him.

  “He must be dead, because I can’t believe he wouldn’t have contacted me somehow if he were still alive. Maybe he was hit over the head and he has amnesia.” She chuckled.

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  “You know, we had a conversation the night before he disappeared. At the time it seemed perfectly normal – normal for Ron, anyway. But afterward it made me wonder if he knew he was in some kind of danger.”

  “Why? What did he say?”

  “Well, he made me promise to visit our mother more. He said, ‘She needs you, and she’s going to need you even more.’ At the time, I just thought she’d been complaining about me not spending enough time with her, but I think he knew he might not be around much longer.”

  “Did he say anything else that struck you odd?”

  “Ron always said odd things, just to drive me crazy. I’ve played that conversation over in my head a thousand times, and I haven’t come up with anything else. He was going fishing the next day. He lived in Dallas at the time, but he loved to go to Seeley Lake near Missoula, Montana. We’d go there every summer when we were kids and stay with our grandparents for a couple of weeks. Anyway, that’s where he said he was going, but they found his car abandoned at the airport a few days later, in short-term parking. The police checked with all the airlines, but his name didn’t appear on any of the passenger lists.”

  “So, if he flew out of there, he used an assumed name. Why would he do that? Why would he not contact the people he loved? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I agree. We were really close, and it’s impossible to believe he wouldn’t have done something to contact me.”

  They reached the courthouse and waited in line to go through the metal detector. “Good morning, Mike
,” they both said, almost at the same time.

  “Well, if it’s not the king and queen of juvenile court!” Mike joked.

  “Yeah, we’re going to Burger King today to pick up our crowns. I hear they have some with our names on them,” Bob responded. “I see they fixed the metal detector. It’s amazing we don’t have more trouble than we do with fathers in the same room with some pervert who molested their kid.”

  “If anyone ever dared to molest my little girl, he wouldn’t live to appear in court,” Mike said.

  Mike often helped out at the front door until the hearings began in Department Four, his regular station. Sabre admired most of the bailiffs who worked at juvenile court, but Mike was her favorite. He loved to tease, but she knew he meant what he said about the child molesters hurting his seven-year-old daughter, Erin. Mike went through some hard times when his wife filed for divorce, but fortunately for him, she seemed more concerned about flying around the country with her airline pilot than about staying home with their daughter. Consequently, she didn’t fight his pursuit of custody, and Erin faired better for it. Everyone knew Mike lived for his little girl. He attended all her gymnastic events, her dance practices and recitals, or whatever she happened to be involved in at the moment.

  “You two have a good day. I’m here if the bad guys get out of line. Just yell and I’ll come running and perform my Clint Eastwood act. You know how I love to play Dirty Harry.”

  Sabre picked up her bundle of files from the belt on the metal detector and walked over to the side of the room to lay them on the ledge protruding from the south wall, so she didn’t have to carry them from courtroom to courtroom. Some of the attorneys had huge briefcases. If Sabre tried to pack all of her files in one of those, she wouldn’t be able to lift it, much less carry it around all day. She hated those goofy little carts you stack things on and pull around. Besides, they’d slow her down. Her stack of files approached nearly a foot in height. She had eight hearings scheduled. With the exception of two fairly new cases, each file measured between one and three inches thick, all labeled and color coded.