Editor, Kindle Nation Daily
©Kindle Nation Daily 2011
In Teresa Burrell's novel The Advocate's Betrayal, Sabre Orin Brown is a legal advocate for children in the San Diego justice system.
She witnesses her share of horror every day.
Every now and then, that horror gets personal.
The best legal thrillers have us sitting on the edge of our seats long before the action ever enters the courtroom. As an attorney, an advocate, and an author, Teresa Burrell weaves experience and imagination into a terrifying 5-star tale that reviewers are calling "legal suspense at its finest."
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When Sabre's friend Betty calls one morning with the shocking news that her husband was murdered in his sleep, Sabre makes it her mission to find the killer. The cops suspect Betty, and Sabre has no leads. It would be easier if Betty wasn't hiding something, but even after she gets thrown in jail, she refuses to say a word about her past and the mystery that chased the couple across the country and ultimately hunted her husband to his death.
Sabre can't put her own life on hold, either. She is still trying to protect the two children on her caseload whose parents have brainwashed them with a violent racial hatred. Even more, she's also still recovering from the horrific events of the previous year, when a stalker burned her home to the ground. Life never gets easy, but at least Sabre is not alone. She has the comfort of her calm and stable boyfriend, Luke, and the help of good friends.
But when a private detective, JP, follows the murder from Betty's empty trailer home to a small town in Texas and a nightclub in Chicago, it starts to seem like finding the answers may be more dangerous than ever. Only one thing becomes remarkably clear: When the people closest to you have so much to hide, you can't trust anyone.
What The Reviewers Are Saying About The Advocate's Betrayal
"Sabre Orin Brown is destined to be a favorite mystery heroine. From the opening scenes of this legal thriller to the final twist, this book will keep you guessing. Teresa Burrell surpasses herself in this stand-alone follow-up to her debut novel. Sabre must overcome innumerable obstacles as she is faced with the seemingly impossible task of clearing the name of a good friend who has been accused of murder." --Molly B Good
"Teresa Burrell delivers another smash mystery legal thriller in this follow-up to The Advocate. This time Sabre Orin Brown tackles a personal case involving the death of a close friend. The story takes a bunch of twists and turns until the final explosive ending. Page turner until the end!" --Hamlet, Reviewer
"What distinguishes the Advocate series from other books is that these legal thrillers are being written by a real lawyer. I'm so tired of all the generic legal dramas/comedies/etc series filling a reader's head with such a fictional view of the judicial system. Thank you Teresa for getting it right for a change!" --Ann Onimuss
"I read Ms. Burrell's first book, The Advocate, and thought it was great! This one is even better. It is fast paced and has some mysterious turns that leave you wondering how it is going to all work out...or if it will. You can't go wrong with this book."
--Mr. Ravic, Reviewer
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An Excerpt from
The Advocate's Betrayal:
A Novel by Theresa Burrell
Copyright © 2010, 2011 by Theresa Burrell and published here with her permission
Prologue
Pain, from a sharp knife plunged into his chest, yanked John out of a deep sleep. He forced his eyelids open. The only thing worse than the pain was the shock when he saw who was standing over him. It wasn't until the blood dripped on his face that he realized it was not a dream.
"No, no, not you...." John reached out, hitting his hand against the wall. He tried to speak again, but could only mumble. "Our Father, who art in heaven..."
The killer mockingly said, "Are you praying, old man? Here, use this....," tossing John's rosary at his open hand near the floor. It caught on his fingertips and dangled there. John felt his air diminishing as his lungs filled up with blood. He fumbled his fingers until his thumb and index finger clasped the first large bead, the words no longer audible. "...hallowed be Thy name..."
His attacker stepped back, gazing at him lying there, holding the knife dripping with blood, his blood. John reached for his chest, but his arm wouldn't move. "...Thy kingdom come..." The naked walls of the trailer felt like a box. They were so close on every side. It was stifling. This was his box, his cage, his coffin. The only illumination came from the front room. He listened as the footsteps echoed back and forth at the end of his queen-size bed that filled the room, leaving less than a foot on each side. And then he heard the rubber soles of the shoes exit the bedroom.
He heard water run. His backside felt wet. Was it water? No, the water came from the kitchenette; blood pooled around his body. John heard his assailant washing away his blood in his kitchen -his murderer washing away the evidence. "...Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven..."
Footsteps returned to John's bedroom, and with them returned his fear. Was the attacker returning to finish the job? John couldn't protect himself; he couldn't even move. Then the fear subsided. It was too late. The damage already done. "...Give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses..."
The floor creaked all the way to the front door. Click-door unlocked, opened. The lights went out in the front room, completely dark, or was it the light in his mind that ceased? The pain in his chest intensified. His body felt lethargic. The front door closed. John listened carefully-no lock. The trailer shifted when the last step was vacated. He was alone, left to die alone.
John tried to move, to struggle, to fight, but his body wouldn't budge. He saw his life-the despicable parts when he was a kid, the pain he inflicted on others-but mostly he thought of the man he had become. The man who tried his whole life to fix what he had done as a child, that's who he really was. It pained him to have to think he would suffer eternal damnation for the crimes he committed so long ago. Was this his punishment-betrayal, death, eternal damnation? "...as we forgive those..."
Chapter 1
When the phone rang at four o'clock in the morning Sabre knew it could only mean trouble, but she was used to trouble. "Who screwed up now?" she mumbled, forgetting for a second Luke lying in bed next to her.
"Umm...," Luke groaned.
Sabre savored the smell of clean sweat and faint cologne, reliving the touch of his mouth on the nape of her neck and his hard body holding her, making love to her for the first time. It had been a long time coming. She struggled to find the phone on the nightstand, knocking over a glass of wine. "Damn it," she mumbled. When she put the phone to her ear, she heard her friend Betty breathing heavily and stammering over her words as she tried to speak. Sabre's heart quivered in her chest.
"He's d..dead. John's dead," Betty cried.
"Betty, where are you?" Sabre's heart beat faster. She felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"At home. Th...there's so much blood."
"What happened?"
"I don't know."
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"I'll be right there." Sabre's arm felt weak. She dropped the phone to her chest and lay there for a second, her body still and in shock. Luke reached his arm around her waist and pulled her shapely naked body close to him, nibbling on her earlobe. Sabre yanked away, throwing his arm off her and slamming the phone into the cradle. "Not now," she said curtly, but with no anger in her voice. She stood up and flipped on the light.
"What is it?" Luke asked, scratching his head as he sat up.
"John's dead." She snapped, sounding more like a question than a statement, propelling Luke from the bed. "I'm going to help Betty." She stepped into her jeans, wrestling with her sweatshirt as she pulled it over her head, twisted her shoulder-length, brown hair up on top of her head, and stuck a clip in it.
Luke had his shirt on before she finished speaking, looking around for his pants and shoes. "I'm going with you." He reached for her arm, squeezing it lightly. "I'm so sorry, Sabre."
Tears filled her dark brown eyes. John and Betty were her friends, and although Sabre was about thirty years their junior, they had grown very close. They were extended family, more like an aunt and uncle to her. They had been there for her during her turmoil last year, and now John was dead and Betty needed her.
The summer morning air felt cool on Sabre's tear-filled face as she ran to the car. "Put your keys away. I'm driving," Luke said. Sabre's hand shook as she opened the door to Luke's silver metallic BMW Z4 Roadster.
Luke drove east on I-8 at speeds above eighty. Sabre didn't complain about the speed as she would have under normal circumstances. She didn't even notice. She watched as the buildings passed her window, most of them barely visible without their lights on. Only a few cars on the freeway, but too many she thought. Where were they going? How many were going to help a friend whose husband had just died? Why John? It felt like losing her father all over again, and a piece of her brother, Ron, as well. Ron had introduced her to John and Betty just a few months before his disappearance. The couple had been such a great help to her, consoling her and always trying to keep her hopes up. John reminded her so much of her father-the same lighthearted strength that is so hard to find in a man, and a deep, resonant voice that always brought her comfort. She'd never hear that voice call her "Sparky" again. He tagged her with that nickname the first day they met, and he never called her anything else. Sabre remembered that day. The couple was always holding hands, only letting go when Betty went to get John a cup of coffee - before he ever asked - or when John went to check the gas in Betty's car. They took care of each other.
Luke and Sabre drove for about two minutes without speaking. Luke broke the silence. "What happened? Do you know?"
"No, she didn't say, just that he was dead...and there was blood." Sabre shook her head. "What will Betty do without him? She loved him so much. She used to say, 'I'd like you to find someone just like my John, but there's no one quite like him.' That's why she tried so hard to get us together, you know."
"I know." Luke squeezed her hand. "I'm glad she did."
Within fifteen minutes of the call, they had driven into the motor home park and pulled up in front of space number twelve, a thirty-five foot, twenty-year-old trailer, the only home in the park with lights on. As they stepped out of the car, the lights went on next door. No light illuminated Betty's porch. Luke took Sabre's hand as they went up the short, dark walkway. She couldn't see much, but she could smell the gardenias along the path. Just as they reached the door, the porch light went on and Sabre heard the click of the door unlocking. She felt an ache in her stomach when she saw Betty's puffy eyes with black liner smeared down her face, her usual perfectly spiked, fire-red hair flat on one side and the rest sticking out in clumps, and the deep lines of confusion on her forehead. What had once been white kittens on the side of her pale blue pajama top were now soaked red with blood. When Sabre hugged her friend's plump body, it felt listless and tears dampened Betty's cheeks.
"Where is he?" Luke asked.
"In there." Betty pointed to the bedroom.
Luke walked to the back of the trailer, his body tall and straight. Sabre could see the muscles strain on the back of his neck as she and Betty followed. Sabre noticed Betty held a rosary. As far as she knew, Betty wasn't Catholic. She stopped and put her arm around Betty's shoulder. "Were you praying?" she asked motioning toward the rosary.
Betty slipped it in her pocket and said, "It belonged to J...John. The only thing he had from his childhood."
They walked into the bedroom, Luke several steps ahead. "Oh..." Sabre covered her mouth to stifle her cry. John lay on his back, the blankets pulled up to his waist. His right arm hung over the edge of the bed, the left side of his chest covered in blood. Sabre suddenly longed for her strong, energetic friend, John. She wanted him to comfort her. This wasn't him. A lifeless, slaughtered body laid in his bed, no longer the man who gave her fatherly advice or comforted her when she needed to feel like a child.
Luke put his arm around Sabre. He reached down and touched John's arm. "He's cold," he said.
"Have you called the police?" Sabre asked.
"No."
"Why not?"
Betty started to sob, "I didn't kn..know what to do. So, I called you."
Sabre walked over to where Betty stood in the doorway, her voice low and undemanding. "Betty, what happened?"
"I...I don't know."
Sabre reached out and took Betty's hand. "Tell me, what did you do when you left us at Viejas?"
"I came straight home and went to bed."
"You just crawled into bed next to John?"
"I thought he was sleeping, so I kept very quiet." She gulped. "I didn't even turn on the light in the bedroom. I just put my pajamas on and slipped into bed beside him." Sabre nodded encouragement. "I went right to sleep because he wasn't snoring." Betty stopped to catch her breath and shook her head from side to side. "He always snores. Why didn't I know there was something wrong?" She sobbed. "I was so thankful he wasn't snoring, I didn't even check on him."
Sabre squeezed her hand a little tighter. "Betty, when did you know there was something wrong?"
"When I got up to go to the bathroom, I felt my wet, sticky pajamas. I...I turned on the light and saw it was bl..blood. Then I saw John." Betty's chest throbbed as she continued to sob. "He just lay there all covered with blood."
"Betty, we need to call the police."
"W...would you?" Betty took a step forward, then back, then stood there rocking, confused.
"Of course."
Sabre called 9-1-1, and within minutes three squad cars arrived, plus two detectives in an unmarked car and an ambulance followed by a coroner. The dawn broke as neighbors exited their mobile homes to catch a glimpse of the show, many of them watching from their porches, others edging closer and forming a crowd near Betty's and John's trailer. They stretched their necks to see. Some asked questions of the officers, others relayed what they saw and what they speculated, but all buzzed with curiosity as the police put up the yellow and black ribbon partitioning off the area.
One man wandered onto the green rock lawn. "Please step back," a short, young man in uniform said curtly. "Please stay behind the police line."
A police officer entered the motor home, glanced around, and started spouting orders like he was reading from a bad script. "I need everyone to step outside. This is a crime scene. Please don't touch anything."
"Sabre, what are you doing here?" Detective Gregory Nelson asked, as he walked up to the mobile home while pulling on his tie.
"These are friends of mine. Betty called me."
"I'll want to talk to you, but first I need to go inside. Please wait out here."
Betty stumbled to a folding chair outside near the door and sat down. With one elbow on the arm of the chair, she lay her head in her hand and wept. Sabre approached her and put a hand on her shoulder, but she didn't know what to say. Betty continued to cry. Sabre looked back and saw Luke standing with his hands in his pockets by the pink geranium bush, watching her from a distance.
When Detective Nelson came out, he asked Betty for her name and the name of the victim, about what she had seen, and when. He wiggled the knot on his tie. "Sabre, would you mind getting Betty some clothes? We'll need the pajamas."
"Greg, is she a suspect?"
"Not at this point, but we need the pajamas. They have blood on them, and they may be evidence." He turned to an officer standing at the door. "Please escort Ms. Brown inside. She needs to get a change of clothes for the victim's wife."
As Sabre entered the trailer she focused on two policemen walking around the living room with kits and brushes, dusting for fingerprints. She saw an officer pick up a knife from the sink, put it into a bag, and zip the bag closed. She watched as they opened drawers and cupboards, invading her friends' home. She walked past the kitchen table containing the ceramic rooster, two placemats, and a deck of cards. She scanned the room for answers but saw only a worn, dark green sofa with two pillows, an end table next to it with a stack of loose newspapers and a pair of reading glasses, and Betty's sketch book. A small desk across from the sofa housed a laptop computer. Only one picture adorned the wall, a drawing Betty had done of an old cabin in the woods, and except for the shelf with a small collection of salt and pepper shakers, the room contained very few mementos, an observation Sabre hadn't made until now.
When they approached the bedroom, Sabre could see an officer taking photos. It hit her that something was missing. She looked around and saw only a few picture frames with photos, and none of them photos of Betty or John. She wondered how she had missed that before, and if it mattered.
Sabre continued to observe the officers as she gathered up Betty's things. She looked around, processing every detail of each officer's task. She watched as they bagged evidence-the pink rug with the blood stain, the book of matches from a Las Vegas casino, and the Viagra bottle by the side of the bed. It didn't seem real. Never in her twenty-nine years of life, including her six years of practicing law, had Sabre seen anything so gruesome. She had dealt with many crime scenes in court, but she'd never seen an actual murdered body or the officers at work gathering the information on a crime. This was a corpse, not her friend whom she had known for five plus years and to whom she had grown very close. Emotions confused her-sadness for her friend John, concern for Betty, and fascination at the process she observed.
When she brought the clothes out to Betty, Detective Nelson approached her. "Sabre, will you and your friend....Lucas, is it?"
"Yes sir, Lucas, Luke Rahm," Luke said.
"Will you two please meet me down at the station? I'd like to speak to each of you. I'll take Betty with me."
Up until this point, Sabre had been there as Betty's friend, but Betty was a suspect, regardless of what Nelson said. Sabre realized she should be treating her like a client and advising her accordingly. She took a deep breath and cleared her head. She needed to think like an attorney. She didn't have the luxury of being just a friend.
Sabre touched Betty gently on the shoulder. "Betty, you ride with Detective Nelson to the police station. I'll be right behind you. Here are your clothes. And listen carefully to what I'm about to say. You do not talk to him," she said, pointing at Nelson, "or to anyone else until I get there. Don't say a word. Understand?"
"Do I have to go?"
"I'm afraid so. If you don't, it'll only be worse."
"Sabre, I'm scared. I don't want to go," she pleaded. Sabre felt physical pain for her friend. Betty had been there for her so many times. She had held her when she cried for her missing brother. She had become family to her, an aunt she could confide in when she couldn't talk to her mother. Simple yet worldly, Betty didn't talk much about her past, but Sabre knew she had experienced some pretty rough times.
Sabre put one hand on each of Betty's shoulders, looked her directly in the eye, and said, "I'm sorry, but they'll take you one way or the other. Just go with Nelson, and please don't say anything. Just tell them you're waiting for me. Understand?"
"Okay," Betty said, her chin buried in her chest as she walked to the car.
Sabre turned to Detective Nelson, "Greg, don't question her without me. I'm her friend, but I'm also her attorney," Sabre said sternly.
"We're not arresting her," he said.
"I know, but I'm shaken up about all this and about losing John, and I haven't been thinking clearly either. Just give me a little time to get my act together here, too. A crime appears to have been committed. Betty and John are my friends and I don't want anything to go wrong."
"Your call. I'll see you there in a few."
Luke and Sabre maintained silence on the way to the station. With his left hand on the wheel, Luke reached with his right and put it on Sabre's knee. She took a deep breath and sighed. She looked at Luke, his face solemn. She hadn't really thought about the effect this had on him, but John and Betty were his friends, too. She squeezed his hand.
Sabre's mind drifted back two months to when she first met Luke at a barbecue at Betty's. Betty claimed she hadn't been trying to set them up, but Sabre knew differently. When she arrived at their house, Betty sent Luke out to her car to help her bring in the ice. Sabre was smitten the moment she looked into his dark, bedroom eyes. He apparently felt the same because, after a few hours together that afternoon, he asked for her phone number. He called the next day, and within a few weeks they were exclusive.
A feeling of warmth came over her as she remembered that afternoon. John leaned over the barbeque to flip a burger. Betty brought him a beer. They both looked at Sabre and Luke, chuckled a little, and when Betty walked away, John tapped her lightly on the butt. Betty lunged forward a little. "Oof," she said.
Sabre and Luke had driven on surface streets about five miles from the police station when Luke asked, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, just trying to process everything." She shifted in her seat. "Not such a great way to end the evening, our first time making love and all."
"I know, baby, but I'm glad I was there with you." He pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed it, holding it there for several seconds.
"Me, too." She sighed. "I just feel so bad about John, and I'm so worried about Betty."
"You don't think she had anything to do with this, do you?"
Sabre responded with indignation that he would even ask. "Of course not. She wouldn't hurt anyone, certainly not John. You know how much she loved him." She looked at Luke, eyebrow raised. "Why, do you?"
"No...no, I don't think so, either," Luke said as he looked out the window, his voice trailing off.
"Besides, he must've been killed while Betty was with us. We're her witnesses. We can vouch for her."
"True." Luke cleared his throat. "At least you can. I wasn't with her the whole time. I was playing blackjack for a couple of hours while you two were off doing whatever it was you were doing. You were together, right?"
"Not the whole time. We went to play bingo, but then Betty decided she wanted to play the slots, so I stayed and she went to play the machines." Sabre shifted in her seat and took a deep breath. "But she was there. I know she was there. I saw her about ten-thirty on the slots, and she told me she'd be leaving shortly."
Silence filled the car the rest of the way to the police station.
Chapter 2
"Thank you for coming in, Sabre."
"We shouldn't even be here, Greg. She doesn't know what happened." Sabre tilted her head to one side and looked Nelson directly in the eye. "You think she killed him, don't you?"
Detective Nelson loosened his tie. "I have no idea who killed him, but you know the drill, Sabre." His voice softened. "I just need to ask her some questions." He took Sabre by the arm. "Come on, let's go talk to your client," he said, as he led her to the interview room. The tiled floor resounded with the click of her heels as Sabre walked through the nearly empty corridor. When they reached the door, Detective Nelson opened it and held it for Sabre to pass. "Go on in. I'll be there in just a second."
Betty sat in the sparse interview room in the brown pants and the jailhouse orange, long-sleeve shirt Sabre had picked out for her. Sabre suddenly regretted her fashion choice for Betty. The bloody pajamas had been placed in the custody of the San Diego County Sheriff's Department. The room contained only a table and two chairs, the dirty cream-colored walls needed paint, and the tile screamed "early fifties." It resembled every other interview room in the county justice system-no windows and poor lighting.
"How are you holding up, Betty?" Sabre asked when they came in.
"Ok," she said.
"Did they try to question you before I got here?"
"No, the officer just asked if I wanted something to drink. Nothing else."
"Good."
"What do they want from me?" Betty spit out the words as she stood up and ran her hand through her hair. "Oof," she said bringing her hand down quickly.
"Right now they're just trying to get information. Just tell the detective what you told me and hopefully we can get out of here. If I don't like the questioning, I'll stop it."
"Do they think I had something to do with this?" Before Sabre could answer, Betty said. "I didn't, you know." She sounded so vulnerable and childlike.
"I know you didn't," Sabre was taken aback by Betty's statement. "They need to start somewhere, and you were the last one with John as far as they know."
Detective Nelson came in carrying another chair and seemed to take control of the room. He sat down and took Betty's statement. "Why did you call Sabre and not the police?" Nelson asked.
"John was dead. I was upset." Betty shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. She's the first person I thought of."
"Why didn't you just call the police?"
"I don't know."
"Did you and your husband have a fight tonight?"
"No, we seldom fight," Betty said assertively.
"Why didn't he go to the casino with you?"
"He doesn't gamble."
"Does he ever go to the casino with you?"
"He's been once or twice, but he gets bored, so when I go it's usually with friends. I don't go very often, either, a couple of times a year maybe."
"Do you know anyone who might want your husband dead?"
"No." Betty shook her head.
"Has he fought with anyone recently? Neighbors? Fellow workers?"
"No, not that I'm aware of." Betty's brow wrinkled. "He never fought with anyone. Everyone loved him. Sabre and Luke loved him. I loved him. Everyone loved him."
"I'm sure they did, but why didn't you call the police when you found him?" Nelson asked again.
"I don't know."
"What time did you last see John?"
"Around six-thirty. We usually eat dinner around that time, but I fixed John's dinner a little early because of my plans to eat with Sabre and Luke. John ate about six and I cleaned up the kitchen and left. I left in such a hurry, I didn't even kiss him goodbye." Betty began to cry.
Nelson stopped his questioning for a moment and then asked, "Did he seem upset about anything before you left?"
"N..No."
"Did you talk to him after that?"
"No," Betty sucked the air in through her nose, stifling her cry. Sabre brought her a Kleenex, glancing at Nelson out of the corner of her eye.
"What time did you get home?" Nelson asked.
"About eleven P.M."
"But you didn't notice there was a problem until this morning?"
"No, I thought he was asleep."
"When you saw the blood, why didn't you call the police?"
"Greg, she said she didn't know," Sabre interrupted. "She was in shock when I got there." Nelson looked at his notes and Sabre continued. "She's answered all your questions. Most of them more than once. May we go home now?"
"Yeah, we're done for now."
Sabre, Luke, and Betty left the police station heading west on I-8, the morning commuter traffic in full force. Sabre, afraid she would be late for court, called her friend Bob and asked him to cover until she arrived.
"I'm taking you to my house, Betty. You can get some rest there. Luke will stay with you. He has his computer so he can work from there today." Sabre turned to Luke so Betty couldn't see her and mouthed, "Thank you."
Luke winked back at her.
"Sure," Betty responded, wringing her hands together. "Whatever you think."
Sabre arrived at court about ten-thirty. The parking lot was full, so she had to park in the dirt and walk past Juvenile Hall. With an arm full of files, dressed in her black power suit and her Gucci high-heeled pumps, Sabre rushed to the courthouse. Inside at the metal detector, the bailiff waved her through. She walked across the crowded hallway and set her files on her usual shelf, one that protruded from the wall near the information desk.
Bob tapped her on the shoulder. "Hey, Ms. Sabre Orin Brown. How's my little Sobs this morning?" Sobs was Bob's nickname for Sabre. Sometimes he called her his little S.O.B. He loved to tease her about her initials.
Sabre managed a smile. She looked at her friend and thought how much he reminded her of the actor, Bill Pullman, but with prematurely-gray hair. He wasn't movie star gorgeous, but was still devilishly cute, and he delivered his lines with great finesse. "I'm hanging in there."
"Well, I'm glad you're here. It's been a crazy morning."
"Yeah, tell me about it." Sabre didn't look up at her friend but she felt better just having him near. Sabre and Bob met when they both started working juvenile about six years ago. They had their first jurisdictional trial together, which they won, and soon after discovered that winning was no easy task. Their work at juvenile court and their deep compassion for the children bonded them. They were best friends, but they never gave Bob's wife, Marilee, anything to worry about.
"Hey, are you okay? What's going on? And why are you late?"
"You know my friend Betty, the little red-headed spitfire?"
"Yeah, I've seen her a few times. Why?"
"Her husband, John, is dead. He was murdered last night."
"Murdered?" Bob said loudly, as he placed his hand on Sabre's shoulder. "How?"
"Someone stabbed him in his bed. When Betty came home from the casino, John was apparently already dead. Betty didn't know it until she rose to go to the bathroom and found blood on her pajamas. Luke and I went over there as soon as she called. We've been at the police station most of the night."
"Do they know who did it?"
"Not yet. Remember Detective Greg Nelson from the Murdock case?"
"Yes."
"He's one of the investigating officers, and I'm glad, because he treated her better than someone else may have."
"Are they accusing her of the murder?"
"No, at least not yet, but they don't have any other suspects."
"Attorneys Brown and Clark, please report to Department Four." Mike, the bailiff, announced their surnames over the intercom.
"I guess we better go," Bob said. "I did a couple of your reviews in Department One, but I haven't done anything yet in Four."
Bob and Sabre hustled into Department Four. Mike, her favorite bailiff, was assigned to this department. Apart from being good looking and intelligent, he was also a dedicated father. He asked, "What shenanigans are you two wild and crazy ones up to this morning?"
"The usual," Bob answered. "Wreaking havoc in Kiddie Court."
Mike shook his head. "Like we'd expect anything else." He turned to Sabre. "Brown, you ready?"
"I'm ready on everything except Thomson. My client's in custody and I need to speak to her before the hearing," Sabre responded.
"Well, let's see what else we can get done here, and then I'll put Thomson in an interview room for you," Mike said.
They completed four cases before they started losing attorneys to other departments. Sabre walked toward the interview room to speak with her client in custody, and Bob went to another department to finish his calendar. On her way to the interview room, Sabre walked past a minor with green, spiked hair and holes in his earlobes the size of quarters reading a newspaper and a man in an expensive business suit and bare feet.
She also passed a bedraggled looking couple with seven children. Sabre had just spoken with the social worker on that case who, without telling the parents the reason, had the children brought into court to be taken into protective custody. Someone must have let it slip, because just as Sabre passed by, the parents started shouting and the children began running in different directions. One of them, a child of about seven years old, almost knocked her down trying to reach the door. Bailiffs rushed from the courtrooms and the back office, chasing children aging from two to sixteen. The six-year-old twin boys ran out the back door onto a patio expecting to find a way out, but were trapped and grabbed up by one of the officers. One girl ran down the hallway and ducked under a bench. Another ran up the stairs and into the bathroom, once again trapped. They found her crouched on a toilet seat crying. The bailiffs quickly blocked the front door, but not before the oldest boy ran away carrying his two-year-old baby brother.
Sabre was no longer shocked by the sights. Her six-year stint at juvenile court had long since hardened her reaction to the behaviors of the perpetrators or their victims. Occasionally she would have a weak moment, especially if a child was testifying or accounting an abusive event, but she couldn't let that be the practice or she wouldn't survive. Nevertheless, this affected her. The frightened looks on the faces of those poor children brought a sick feeling to the pit of her stomach. According to the social worker, the children needed to be removed; it was just unfortunate it happened this way.
Sabre continued through the crowd of attorneys who spent their lives at juvenile court diligently working to make a difference, sheriffs trying to keep order, interpreters speaking several different languages, and the abused and the accused. By the time she reached her courtroom she saw an officer walk in the front door with the sixteen-year-old escapee and his little brother.
Chapter 3
Sabre completed her calendar and waited in the courtroom while Bob finished. She listened as the court clerk called Bob's last case. "In the matter of Kat and Kurt Kemp." Sabre saw a tall, blue-eyed, blond, hard-looking but not unattractive man with a shaved head sitting next to Bob. Next to him sat a slightly overweight, bleached blonde woman with big hair with no attorney present.
Judge Hekman shook her head as she looked at the report, then up at the mother and father. She sighed. "I see this is a detention hearing. Mr. Clark, you're available for appointment for Mr. Kemp?"
"Yes, Your Honor. I represented Mr. Kemp on a previous case," Bob said without flinching.
"Fine, then you're appointed to represent Mr. Kemp, and the Public Defender, you're appointed for the minors."
A short, round woman with salt and pepper hair spoke up. "I'm sorry, Your Honor, the Public Defender's Office has a conflict with this case."
The judge looked at her file and then to the back of the courtroom. "Ms. Brown, can you take this case?" Sabre stood up, but before she could answer Judge Hekman said, "Of course you can. This case is tailor-made for you. You're appointed to represent the minors."
Sabre walked forward, opened the gate, and stepped inside. As she approached Bob, she observed a ring of swastikas tattooed around his client's neck. The client scowled as Sabre walked up and asked Bob, "Why does the judge want her on the case? What did she mean by that? 'Tailor-made?'"
"I'll explain later. Don't worry. Ms. Brown is as fair and open-minded as you're going to get. We could do a lot worse."
Bob handed Sabre his report. She tried not to show any emotion as she read the allegations.
The judge turned to the mother, shaking her head in disapproval. "And Mrs. Kemp, do you have counsel?"
Before she could answer, county council spoke up, "Mr. Rodriquez was on the rotation this morning, but Mrs. Kemp refused to speak with him. He opted to pass on the case. There's no one here this morning to counsel her, although Mr. Clark explained the process to her. There is definitely a conflict between the mother and father that would warrant separate counsel."
"There's no conflict between us. What the hell is he talking about?" Mr. Kemp said to his attorney but loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Mr. Clark, does your client have something to say?"
Bob whispered to Mr. Kemp and then stood up. "Your Honor, I've explained to my client that his wife will need her own attorney because of the 'legal conflict' in this case. He wanted the court to know they are together on this petition but understands I can't represent both of them."
The judge continued. "Fine, an attorney will be appointed for the mother. This case is trailed until tomorrow morning."
Mr. Kemp leaned over and whispered to Bob. Bob spoke up, "Your Honor, my client would like to be heard on detention. He's asking the children be detained with him."
"I'm sure he is, Mr. Clark, but that's not happening. The children will remain in Polinsky." She turned to Sabre. "Can you go see them today?"
"Yes, Your Honor. I haven't had a chance to read the report, but if there..."
"I know what you want Ms. Brown. You want concurrence for any change, but there isn't going to be any change. Those kids are staying right where they are tonight. They're not going to family or anywhere until after the hearing tomorrow."
Bob stood up to speak. "Sit down, Mr. Clark. I know what your client wants, but he's not getting it. There'll be no visitation today. We'll talk about it tomorrow. I'm sure you can explain the reasons behind my decision to Mr. Kemp." She closed her file. "The detention hearing is trailed until tomorrow morning at eight-thirty." The judge stood up and walked out of the courtroom before any more objections could be made. Just before she reached the door, she turned, "Mr. Clark, I think you need to have a long talk with your client about courtroom protocol."
"I will, Your Honor."
Bob walked out of the courtroom and sat down to speak with his client. Sabre went outside to wait for Bob. It was his turn to pick the lunch venue, the choices limited since Bob would only eat at a few places.
As Bob walked out of the courthouse he reached inside his jacket pocket, but came up empty. "Looking for a death stick?" Sabre asked.
"Yeah, I guess so. I haven't smoked since I made that promise to you six months ago, but I still keep reaching for my cigarettes. It hasn't been easy."
"I know, but just think how much longer you'll be around to taunt me. So, where are we eating?"
"Want to Pho-nicate?"
"Sure, Pho's it is. You can drive."
They drove to Pho Pasteur, the Vietnamese Restaurant they had discovered when they started practicing at juvenile court. A favorite lunch spot, they frequented Pho's about three times a week. They walked into the restaurant, past a cluttered counter and a huge fish tank, and into the main dining area. Pictures of menu items decorated the walls with the item name in Vietnamese. The simple, square tables with pink, polyester tablecloths sat all along the walls. In the middle of the room two large, round tables filled the remaining space. A plastic flower in a glass vase adorned each table, dwarfed by a huge bottle of red hot sauce.
"Nice client, your Mr. Kemp," Sabre teased.
"Yeah, he's a real peach. Did you read the report?"
"Some of it. What a mess."
"Yeah, this is going to be interesting with Hekman on the bench."
"My client already hates her," Bob sniggered. "So, how are things with you and Luke?"
"They're good. We just had our two-month anniversary. That's a record for me lately. Mostly I'm done after the first date, but he's different. He's good to me. Luke's a lot of fun, and he's a pretty smart cookie. And best of all, he's not clingy. I can do my own thing and he doesn't seem to mind, so I don't have to be with him every minute. You know how I hate to feel caged."
"He seems like a good enough guy, except for the Republican part."
"Hey, I didn't say he was perfect."
"He just better be good to you, or I'll have to kick his ass."
Sabre chuckled at Bob's brotherly concern and at the thought of Bob "kicking his ass." That was unlikely. Bob didn't look like a fighter. He wasn't overweight, but he wasn't toned, either. Luke, in contrast, worked out every day and had a six pack that would put most athletes to shame.
"Well, there he is now," Sabre smiled as she answered her cell. "Hi, Luke. What's up?" Sabre listened for a moment and then said, "Oh no, I'll be right there. Just tell her not to talk." Sabre stood up as she hung up the phone.
"What is it?" Bob asked.
"The police are there...about Betty."
"Let's go." Bob jumped up, put his arm around Sabre's waist and escorted her out to the car.
By the time Bob and Sabre arrived, Betty was about to be handcuffed.
"Sabre, help me," Betty yelled.
Sabre approached the officer. "I'm this woman's attorney. What's going on?"
"She's under arrest for the murder of John Smith."
"I didn't kill John. I didn't kill him," Betty cried, jerking away from the officer and stepping toward Sabre. "Sabre, tell him I didn't kill John."
The policeman yanked her back, slapped the handcuffs on her, and pulled her toward the police car.
"Betty, listen to me. You need to calm down," Sabre said, moving as close to Betty as she felt legally comfortable.
"But I didn't do anything," Betty said, her voice a little quieter.
"I know. I'll get this sorted out."
The policeman helped Betty into the police car.
"Betty, don't say anything to anyone. I'll be right there to speak with you. Just tell them you want your attorney."
The policeman closed the door. Betty nodded at Sabre without looking up as they drove off.
Chapter 4
Bob returned to court and Luke sped to the police station with Sabre. She wanted to see Betty before they booked her. When they arrived Luke took hold of Sabre's hand and squeezed it, letting go as they entered the building.
"Thanks for coming with me," Sabre said.
"I wouldn't be anywhere else," Luke said, kissing her lightly on the forehead. "I'll wait out here until you're finished. I have my computer in the car. If it takes too long, I'll do some work." He walked over and sat on a wooden bench in the lobby.
Sabre walked up to the desk, showed her bar card and identification, and asked to see Betty Smith. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself, but she was still shaking when the officer opened the door and took her to the back room. She met Detective Nelson just as he brought Betty in. Betty stood between two officers, with her hands cuffed behind her back. Her raccoon eyes from the smeared, black mascara were red and puffy, and her hair was disheveled.
"I'm sorry, Sabre. I know she's your friend," Nelson said.
"May I please see her alone?" Sabre sighed.
"Come in here. I'll give you a few minutes."
"Thanks." Sabre took a deep breath and stood up straight. She had to be brave.
Nelson brought Betty into an office and removed her handcuffs. "You only have a minute. You may see her again this afternoon after she's booked."
"I appreciate it, Greg." The detective left the room and Sabre spoke to Betty. "Are you okay?"
"Just scared. What will they do with me?"
"They're going to put you in lockup, and in a few days they'll have an arraignment and bail hearing. I'll be there for you."
"I don't have any money for a lawyer or for bail."
"I'm going to help you, Betty."
"No, I can't expect you to. You've done so much already. They'll appoint me a public defender, won't they?"
"They will, but don't worry. I'm going to help you through this." Sabre put her hand onto Betty's shoulder.
"I didn't do it." She spoke softly but with conviction.
"I know," Sabre said, confident her friend spoke the truth. "I'm so sorry."
Betty turned and saw her reflection in the window. "God, I look just awful. Look at my face, and my hair."
Sabre reached up and pulled out some of the spikes on Betty's hair, filling the gaps that had formed. She took a Kleenex from the desk and wiped away the smeared mascara. "There, all fixed."
"Thanks." Betty's voice cracked.
Nelson opened the door. "Got to go, Sabre."
"Okay." She turned to Betty. "I'll be back here right after my trial this afternoon. You don't tell them anything, just name and address and basic information, nothing about the incident."
Betty's brow wrinkled and her eyes opened wide. "Right," she said as she walked out with Detective Nelson.
Sabre left Nelson's office and walked past an officer questioning a suspect dressed in dirty, ragged clothes. The man reeked of urine and body odor, the smell so strong it caught her breath. Trying not to breathe, she continued to the lobby of the precinct wondering how she could help Betty. And what was I thinking, calling John's death "the incident?" How insensitive can I be? she thought. The law reduced his death to something impersonal, and she embraced the system that carried it out.
Sabre had been through this procedure many times with juvenile clients, but never with a friend. She knew she had to keep focused and maintain a professional distance, but it wasn't easy. She gave a half smile when she saw Luke waiting for her in the lobby.
"You okay, babe?" he asked.
"Yeah, I guess. This is just hard. She looks so depressed and I feel so helpless."
Luke put his arm around her shoulder. "You are helping her. You're helping her a lot. How many people have a good friend with them through a process like this? She has someone by her side she can trust. That's invaluable."
"I know. It just doesn't seem like enough."
"Sabre, I need to tell you something," Luke said dropping his arm from around her and turning to face her. "I'm afraid I may have screwed up."
"Why? What did you do?"
"When Detective Nelson asked me if I could vouch for all of Betty's time at Viejas Casino the night of the murder, I told him I couldn't. I told him I was playing blackjack and she went with you to play bingo."
"Well, that's the truth. That's all you can do."
"He asked me if you were with Betty the whole time, and I told him I didn't know for sure because I wasn't with you."
Sabre threw her hands in the air, waving them back and forth. "What does he think? Does he think she killed John and then went out to gamble with her friends?" Sabre paused. "Or does he think Betty left the casino and drove home, killed him, and then came back and played the slot machines?"
"I don't know, but I didn't know what to say. I hope I didn't cause problems for Betty. I wouldn't want to do anything to make her life worse right now."
Sabre's voice calmed. "No, you did fine. I'm not going to lie about what happened, and I certainly don't expect you to, either. I just think it's absurd they think she planned this whole thing." She hit her file folder against the chair, her voice raised. "Damn it. Premeditated murder? She's not capable of that." Sabre looked around and saw all the eyes in the room on her.
Luke put his arm around her and led her out of the building. Sabre took a breath and her voice leveled. "I'm just going to have to work even harder to pinpoint the time. And then I'll have to convince the jury she didn't have time to kill him while she was with us."
They walked across the blacktop of the parking lot, weaving in and out of cars with Luke's arm still around her shoulder. By the time they reached the car Sabre was crying. Luke pulled her head against his chest and they stood there, not speaking, for several minutes. When Sabre stopped sobbing he opened her door, but before he let her in, he drew her close to him and gave her a short but tender kiss on the lips.
As they drove off Sabre realized how happy she was to have Luke in her life. Things were going so much better for her in so many ways. She wished Betty were as lucky.
Sabre composed herself and called Bob to let him know she was on her way back. She didn't have time for lunch, but at least she wouldn't be late for court. He was waiting inside for her when Luke dropped her off at the courthouse.
"How'd it go?" he asked.
"She's really scared. It's awful. First, she loses her husband and now she's charged with his murder. And I don't know if I can help her."
"We'll do what we have to do," Bob assured her.
Sabre pushed her hair back, sliding her hand down the back of her head. "Do you think I should handle the case?"
"Would you rather she was represented by a public defender?"
"There are some really good lawyers in that department. We've worked with some of them, and they do this every day. Maybe she'd be better off with one of them."
"Yeah, but there are some bad ones, too, and you don't know who she'll draw. It's not high profile, so she isn't going to get the cream, maybe even some rookie."
"You mean like me?" Sabre said, tilting her head to the side and rolling her eyes
"You're no rookie, my Queen." Bob hugged her. "You're the best of the best. You've handled plenty of criminal cases. You've handled plenty of felonies for delinquents, and several of them were sent downtown to be tried as adults. And you just finished a manslaughter case with that kid."
"Yeah, that turned out well."
"He was guilty. You can't change that."
"I know in this element I'm good at what I do, but I'd be playing with the big boys downtown on a murder case. A murder. I've never handled a murder, and my friend's life is at stake."
"Well, if you're asking me if you're up to the task, I'd have to say 'yes,' and no one is going to put the effort into it that you would."
Sabre turned to him with a sheepish smile and asked what she had been thinking for some time. "Would you second chair with me? I know together we could do it."
"You know I will."
"It's pro bono, you know."
"I wouldn't expect anything else."
"Thanks, honey." Sabre grinned. "I'll go meet with her this afternoon. I'll get the police report and get you up to speed on the hearing dates and all. The hard part is going to be getting our cases covered in juvey when we're both gone."
"We'll manage." Bob put his arm around Sabre's shoulder. "We better go finish our trial." They walked into the courtroom, arms still around each other.
Fortunately for Sabre, she didn't have an active role in her afternoon trial. Her client lived out of state, he supported the recommendations of the Department of Social Services, and he had little interest in the outcome of the case other than the negative effect it would have on his ex-spouse, for which he seemed to be gleaning a perverse kind of pleasure. Sabre's mind focused more on Betty and John than the case before her. Because she had handled this type of case so many times before, she could do this without any conscious thought. She responded when needed to, objected when warranted, and concurred with County Council's argument at the end.
She left court and went to see Betty at the substation, since they hadn't transported her to Las Colinas Detention Facility yet. Betty wasn't available to interview when Sabre arrived, so she took a seat in the lobby, removed a file from her bag, and read through the Kemp report while she waited. The words made her physically ill.
Three-year-old Kurt K. Kemp lifted the gun and pointed it at the picture of the black man taped to the wall. Mr. Kurtis K. Kemp prompted him, "What do you do now, Kurt?"
"Kill the nigger, Daddy. Kill the nigger."
Sabre was glad she hadn't eaten, certain she would've thrown up if she had any food in her stomach.
Betty sat in a damp, musty holding cell containing only a pay phone, two hard benches against the wall, and the cold, gray concrete floor. As she sat down, a pain shot through her leg from her backside all the way to her ankle. She stood up, wobbly and a little dizzy. She looked around. Everything seemed to be the same color, and it all felt so cold. She shivered and started to walk around the ten-by-ten foot room in an attempt to alleviate the pain from her sciatic nerve, which hadn't bothered her in weeks until now.
She waited there alone for about fifteen minutes, until they brought in another woman wearing a low-cut top, her breasts exposed almost to the nipples, and a skirt barely covering her crotch. Her bare midriff exposed a roll of fat hanging over her hip-hugger skirt. Her ratted, bleached hair matched her thick, poorly applied makeup. She reeked of cheap perfume and strong body odor, making Betty feel queasy. Within the hour, officers escorted three more women into the cell, all very thin from what Betty surmised was from drug use. One had open sores on her mouth and bruise marks on her throat. Each of them had missing teeth and disheveled hair.
The women spoke loudly and profanely at each other and at the guards. Their voices echoed off the cinder block walls. Betty's head ached and her stomach hurt. When they tried to engage her in conversation, she said as little as possible. She wondered how she came to be in such a place with these women with whom she had nothing in common. Or did she? She knew that in some ways she really wasn't that different. They basically all wanted the same things-to have food and shelter, to love and be loved, and to be safe and free-and she had broken the law, just like they had.
A female officer, not much taller than Betty, with long, manicured nails, approached the cell calling her name. Betty stood up and followed her to a desk where another officer fingerprinted her. A different officer, a male this time and young enough to be her grandson, returned her to the holding cell, where she waited for another hour before someone escorted her to a second room. Betty was handed a brown paper bag as she walked in. A dozen other women mulled around with their bags in hand. Three female officers spread themselves around the room. One of them, with a very deep, commanding voice yelled, "Quiet." There was a slight murmuring and then silence fell over the room. "You're here for a cavity search in case you're wondering. You need to strip, squat, and cough. Most of you know the drill."
Betty looked around as everyone started to remove their clothes. She stood there for a second, not moving, knowing she had no choice but to do what they said. Yet, she thought she could just as well have removed her clothes in the middle of a shopping mall. An officer walked up to her and quietly said, "You need to do this, ma'am." Betty slowly began to unbutton her blouse, gritting her teeth and fighting back the tears. She attempted to cover herself with her hands and shelter her breasts with her arms, but she continued to expose herself as she removed her garments and placed them in the brown paper bag. By the time they did the body search on her, everyone else was done and standing around watching. She shut her eyes and pretended to be alone, but it didn't work. She felt dizzy, her head hurt, her stomach twisted in knots. She heard the officer say, "Cough." She coughed, vomit spewing over several inmates as they scrambled to move out of the way. Betty tumbled over in her own puke.
The officer in charge shook her head. "Damn it. Get her to the shower."
Two officers helped Betty up. One picked up the brown paper bag with her clothes and shoved it at her. The officers led Betty to the shower. She shivered as the cold water sprayed out over her head. She reached for soap, but there was none. Less than a minute later, the officer shut the water off.
"That's it." The officer handed her a towel. It smelled musty as Betty put it to her face. "Make it quick," the officer scowled.
Betty dried off as quickly as she could and then started to wrap the towel around her when the officer took it out of her hands and led her back into the room where the search took place. The other inmates were all dressed. Betty was handed some garments to wear, with little regard for their size. She put them on without complaint although the bra was too small and it cut into her back; her pants hung so low she had to roll them up twice at the waist and roll a cuff at the bottom of the leg. Humiliated, Betty walked to another cell where she waited for the bus to take her to her new home, but before her transportation arrived, another officer came in and informed her of her attorney's presence.
The deputy sheriff brought Betty into the interview room and spoke to Sabre, "Don't be too long or she'll miss her bus to Las Colinas and have to take the late one." Then she handcuffed Betty to the bench and walked out.
Betty's hair lay flat against her head, still damp from the shower, and with a hint of gray growth at the roots creeping through. Her clean face, stripped of all makeup, made her look like a different person. All the spunk seemed to be drained out of her. Sabre's chest ached from the sight of her. Under normal circumstances, her friend would never be seen without perfectly spiked hair, open-toed high heel pumps, and well-applied makeup.
"Are you okay?" Sabre asked. "Of course, you're not okay. Why do I keep asking you that?"
Betty slowly lifted her head, the terror evident in her eyes. "They made me strip, squat, and cough while they all watched. It was so humiliating."
"I'm so sorry." Sabre shook her head from side to side. "I'm just so sorry you have to go through this."
Betty lowered her eyes. "I'll be okay. How much worse could it possibly get?"
Sabre didn't want to tell her it could possibly be a lifetime of this humiliation. "Betty, listen to me. If you want me to represent you, I will. And Bob said he'd help. We'll get this thing all sorted out. But you need to know that although I've done a lot of criminal work, most of my experience has been in juvenile court, and while the rules of evidence are the same, the system is quite different."
"How's that?"
"Well, for one thing, there are no jury trials in juvey, and you'll definitely need a jury trial. And there are other things, too. I don't know the judges, and they don't know me. Sometimes that can be an advantage, but sometimes not. I want you to decide what you want, but know that either way, I'm going to be here for you."
"Thanks." Betty looked up at Sabre like a whipped puppy. "I'd feel much better if you were my attorney, but you know I don't have any money to pay you. All I have is the trailer and it's not worth much, but I'll give you everything I have."
"I know that. Don't worry about it. I don't want your money, but I need to tell you up front that I've never handled a murder case. So if you'd be more comfortable with a public defender, it's your choice."
"No, I want you. I trust you. And you know I didn't kill John. They may not believe me. You do believe me." She paused and looked at Sabre. "Don't you?"
"Of course I do. I know you didn't do it. I've known you what, five years now? No, almost six. I know you couldn't kill anyone and especially not John. I know how much you loved him."
"God, I miss him so much. He'd know what to do right now. I don't know what to think or what to say. He always handled the big stuff." Betty put her hands over her face and cried.
"I'm so sorry. I know this is hard." Sabre's heartfelt words sounded empty even to her. "Listen, Betty, hopefully I'll have the police report tomorrow or the next day. Arraignment should be set for Tuesday. Once I have the report we can see what kind of case they have. Do you have any idea why they're charging you, other than that you were with him?"
"No," she sobbed, "but I didn't do it."
"I know. We'll get to the bottom of this." Sabre waited a moment while Betty composed herself. "Did John have any enemies?"
"No, everyone loved him."
Sabre, in an effort to reassure Betty, said, "I'm going to talk to a private investigator I know and get him started on the case."
"What will a PI do?"
"Try to find out who really killed John. He'll dig into his past and see...."
Betty sat up straighter. "Why would he do that? I told you John didn't have any enemies," Betty said with a hint of anger or fear in her voice. Sabre wasn't sure which.
"We just want to find out who did this," Sabre said softly as she touched Betty on the shoulder. "Is there anything else I should know, anything you may have forgotten to tell me?"
Betty looked up at Sabre and then she lowered her eyes. "No, I'm sorry. I wish I could help."
Chapter 5
Sabre walked through the front door of Polinsky Children's Center, a facility consisting of ninety-two thousand square feet of buildings that stretched over ten acres. It had an Olympic-sized pool, sports fields, and a library. It was a far cry from the old facility that had housed abused and neglected children for so many years in San Diego. Still, although the new accommodations were clean and comfortable, the children who had been removed from their homes, more often than not, would have preferred to stay in the squalor and pain just to be with their families. Sabre looked around at the freshly painted walls and the white tiled floor and wondered, as she always did, what this case would bring.
Sabre handed her bar card and driver's license to the young receptionist with a purple streak in her hair. "I need to see Kat and Kurt Kemp," Sabre said. The receptionist rolled her eyes, picked up the phone, and asked someone to bring the children down to the lobby to see their attorney.
"Is there a problem?"
"No," she said abruptly. She added in a softer tone, "They'll be right down."
Sabre wondered what the receptionist meant as she waited in the lobby until an attendant appeared with two beautiful blond-haired, blue-eyed children. The three-year-old boy, Kurt, with his military short, almost white hair, and deep ocean-blue eyes marched in like a little soldier. Five-year-old Kat's sandy blonde hair hung almost to her waist in soft curls. Her eyes were much lighter, and she appeared delicate and very feminine. She reached for her brother's hand but he pulled away.
"You must be Kat," Sabre said to the little girl.
"Yes, my name is Kat K. Kemp."
"And this is your little brother, Kurt?"
"Yup," Kat said. Sabre walked the children to an interview room with a sofa, two stuffed chairs, a bookshelf with children's books, and a box of colorful toys. As they entered Kurt immediately headed for a box of toys.
Sabre led Kat to the sofa where they sat down. "My name is Sabre Brown and I'm your attorney. Do you know what an attorney is?"
"Nope." Kat shrugged her shoulders.
"An attorney is someone who helps you when you have a case in court. I'm here to help you and to appear for you in court so you don't have to. Did the social worker explain to you why you are here?"
"She said it's not safe at home right now, but I don't get it."
"She's right. There are some adult problems going on, and the judge has to decide when it is safe for you to go home. And I will appear in court for you and let the judge know what I think is best for you and what you want."
"I want to go home," Kat said, her eyes suddenly wet with tears.
"I know, sweetheart, but for now that's not possible. We will sort this out as soon as we can." Sabre's heart ached as it always did when children were removed from their families. "But right now I need to ask you some questions. Do you think you can help me understand what's going on?"
"I guess," Kat responded, while Kurt found a toy truck in the corner and amused himself.
"How old are you, Kat?"
"Five, but I'll be six next week."
"I'm going to talk to you about a really big word. The word is 'confidential.' Do you know what that is?"
Kat shook her head.
"Well, when something is confidential, it's like a secret. Do you know what a secret is?"
"Yup."
"Attorneys can't tell any secrets their clients tell them. Since I'm the attorney and you are my client, if you tell me a secret and you don't want me to tell anyone, then I can't tell." Kat squirmed in her seat. "Do you understand?"
"I guess."
"Do you have any secrets?"
"My mama and daddy have a secret siety?" Kat said proudly.
"How do you know that?"
"Because they talk about it and we go sometimes."
"You go, too?"
"Yeah, but we play with the other kids. We don't do the secret stuff." Kat stood up and went to the toy box. Sabre followed.
"What kind of secret stuff do they do?"
Kat shrugged her shoulders, and picked up a Barbie doll. "She's pretty."
"Kat, can you bring your Barbie and sit and talk with me just a little longer?" Kat walked back to the sofa with Sabre and sat down, fiddling with the doll's hair. Sabre asked, "Do you go to school?"
"I was in kindergarten, but now I'll be a first-grader."
"Do you like school?"
"Yup."
Sabre looked at the report for a second, pinpointing something she had read earlier. "It says here you had some fights last year in your classroom. Can you tell me about that?"
Kat shrugged her shoulders.
"Who did you fight with?"
"Jasmine, but it wasn't my fault."
"Who's Jasmine?"
"She was my friend, but she tried to hug me so I pushed her." Kat shook the doll at Sabre like a pointer.
"Why didn't you want her to hug you?"
"Cause she's dirty." Kat wrinkled her nose. "You know."
"No, I don't know. What do you mean?"
"Ahem..." Kat exhaled, "...I don't want to be a nigger. If she touched me I would get dirty like her."
Sabre's mouth opened in total astonishment. Just when she thought she had seen and heard it all, she gasped with horror at the injustice done to this little girl. She cleared her throat and went on. "Kat, who told you that?"
"My mom. She said I could play with Jasmine as long as I didn't touch her."
"And your dad, what did he say?"
"He was real mad 'cuz I even played with her. Then I got in more trouble for not beating her up when she touched me."
"Were you punished?"
"My dad spanked me and sent me to my room." She pulled the doll's hair up in a twist on her head.
"What did he spank you with?"
"His hand. He took his belt off, but mama stopped him."
"Has he ever hit you with a belt or anything besides his hand?"
"Just once, with a belt."
"What happened that made him hit you with the belt?"
"I can't remember," Kat shrugged.
"Has he ever hit Kurt with anything?"
"He spanks him. That's all." Kat stood up again, laying the doll on the sofa.
"Kat, what about your mama? Does she spank you or Kurt?"
"Not so much."
Sabre had to bite her tongue to keep from lecturing this little girl on the evils of bigotry, but it wasn't the time or place. She made a note in her file to obtain therapy for these children as soon as possible. She also made a note to ask for a CASA worker, a volunteer from the Court Appointed Special Advocates program. Sabre had worked with some wonderful child advocates from the Voices for Children, the San Diego CASA chapter. They were always dedicated individuals, and this case needed a dedicated volunteer more than most-someone to monitor the services and to help the children make sense of their brainwashing.
Sabre could see Kat was getting antsy and tried to engage her in something less threatening. She wanted to put her at ease again before she took her back. "Do you listen to music?" Sabre asked.
"Yes, mama always has music on."
"What kind of music?"
"Different stuff, but not any of the 'jungle bunny' stuff."
Sabre took a deep breath and tried again. "Do you go to church?"
"Yeah, we go to the white church."
"Is it pretty?"
"Yeah, sort of." Kat picked up an outfit for the doll and brought it back to the sofa.
"What does it look like, besides being white?"
"It's not white. It's kinda yellowish," Kat responded as though Sabre should understand.
"But you said it was whi..." Sabre paused. "What did you mean when you called it the 'white' church?"
"It only has white people. It's God's church."
Sabre put both hands to her head, ran them through her hair, and exhaled. Everything came back to hatred. This was worse than physical abuse, and emotional abuse was so much harder to prove. Besides, she knew she was dealing with constitutional issues that would make a good argument for the parents. As much as she believed these children needed the protection of the court, she knew she could easily lose this fight.
Chapter 6
The sun had risen, but very little light shone through the windows in Sabre's bedroom. June gloom brought another overcast day to San Diego. Sabre sat up, reached into the nightstand, and removed the little, tattered, red notebook her brother had given her on her sixth birthday. She used it as her life plan. Everything major she ever accomplished started as an entry in her notebook. It was her tribute to her brother's memory; he had been gone for over five-and-a-half years now.
She read through her list. The first and only entry she ever crossed out read, "Marry Victor Spanoli." She had met Victor two days after her sixth birthday and remained his best friend until he moved away at the ripe old age of eight. She had long since given up on marrying Victor or anyone else for that matter, until now. Although it was way too early to consider marriage to Luke, he was the first man in a long time with whom she felt comfortable. They liked a lot of the same things, and when they didn't agree on something, he could compromise. More than anything, though, they just enjoyed each other's company. She loved John and Betty all the more for introducing them.
Sabre continued down the list of things in her notebook she had yet to accomplish. She made a new entry whenever she developed a new goal. It had been some time now since she had added anything. The last entry was made about six months earlier, right after she was abducted and almost killed by the maniac who burned her house down. It read, "Run a marathon." She had started to train a few months back, and although she was comfortable running about five miles, she still had a long way to go. It would take time. "I'll beef it up this month. Perhaps get to ten miles by the end of summer," she said aloud.
With nothing new to add to her notebook, she stepped out of bed, passing boxes half-packed as she went into the kitchen. She pushed the "Start" button on a pot of decaf coffee, which she always prepared the night before so it would be quick in the morning. While it brewed, she showered and dressed for court. Then she picked up her files, a muffin, and her coffee cup and walked to her car. She didn't care much for apartment living, but her condo was being rebuilt after the fire had destroyed it. It would be ready in a few weeks and she could move back in.
On her way to court, Sabre phoned JP, who was kind enough to put her up when her condo burned. "Hey, JP, it's your old roommate."
"Hi, Sabre. Good to hear your voice. What may I do for you?"
"I have a case I need your help on. You may have read about it in the newspaper: 'John Smith, Stabbed to Death in His Bed.'"
"Yeah, I did read about that. Who's the perpetrator?"
"His wife, Betty. She's a good friend of mine, and I'm sure she's innocent."
"Oh, that's the worst kind. It's always a lot easier when they're guilty; not so much gets invested in the win. Hey, I'm sorry about your friends. I'll do whatever I can to help."
"Good, can you meet me at Las Colinas around twelve fifteen? I'll introduce you to my client and give you whatever information I have. I don't have the police report yet, but I want to get started as quickly as we can. She'll be arraigned on Friday."
"I'll see you there."
Juvenile court seemed more crowded than normal. Sabre plowed her way through the lobby toward Department One where Bob was waiting inside for her. She passed Richard Wagner in the hallway, where he was speaking with his client, Patricia Kemp. Sabre smiled. Blond-haired, blue-eyed Wagner was perfect for this case. She liked Wagner. He always made the cases more interesting, even though he irritated the court officers. He never seemed to be ready when the court was, and sometimes he would just walk off. The court officers evened the score by putting his cases to the bottom of their stack, which meant he was always the last case to be heard and often trailed to the afternoon. Of course, the other attorneys on his cases suffered as well, but at least Wagner was fun to be around.
When Sabre first came to juvenile court, she had only been practicing about six months, knew little about the system, and didn't know any of the attorneys. They all seemed to know one another and were rather clique-ish. Sabre felt like she was back in junior high. Wagner offered her help and gave her some insight on the different judges and the procedures, saving her several times from floundering. He showed her where the lounge was, where to file motions, and told her what she needed to go over with the clients at each hearing.
Wagner always went to bat for his clients in the courtroom, but he didn't pull any punches. On any given day, you could hear him chew out a client for doing something stupid. Most of the attorneys tried hard to be tactful with the clients and not rile them up. Wagner didn't seem to care if they acted out. Rather, he seemed to enjoy it. You could hear him say, "Hey, it's your life. If you want to screw it up more than it already is, that's fine with me. Now if you want to try to get out of this unscathed, then you better start listening. But if you want to act a fool, and don't care whether you get your kids back or not, that's your choice."
Inside the courtroom, Sabre sat down in the back of the room to review the file while Bob finished his conversation with the social worker. She read the allegations on the petition. It was filed under Welfare and Institutions Code 300 (c). A "c" petition was what the Department of Social Services used to remove children from what they determined were abusive homes. In these situations, there was no physical evidence, making it very difficult to prove. Kat's petition read:
(c) The child is suffering serious emotional damage, or is at substantial risk of suffering serious emotional damage, evidenced by severe anxiety, depression, withdrawal, or untoward aggressive behavior toward self or others, as a result of the conduct of the parent or guardian or who has no parent or guardian capable of providing appropriate care. No child shall be found to be a person described by this subdivision if the willful failure of the parent or guardian to provide adequate mental health treatment is based on a sincerely held religious belief and if a less intrusive judicial intervention is available...in that the parents have taught Kat to hate anyone of a different race, religion, or sexual orientation to such a degree it has resulted in fights at school on a regular basis.
Kurt's petition was also a "c."
...in that the parents have taught Kurt to hate anyone of a different race, religion, or sexual orientation to such a degree it has resulted in the child making statements of killing other human beings and the father has taught the child to aim a real gun at targets depicting other races.
Sabre knew the petitions to be true based on her one conversation with the children, but she also knew how difficult it would be to prove.
"Hi, Sobs," Bob said as he walked over to her.
"Good morning," Sabre said. "It looks like Wagner has the mother on Kemp. He's outside talking to her right now."
"Oh, good." Bob grinned. "This is going to be fun. And Wags and I are going to win this one. That will be one more jurisdictional win for me-the king of juvenile court!"
"Yeah, right. In front of Hekman? I don't think so."
The door opened and Wagner walked in. "You ready to send these kids home, Sabre?"
"I'm going to ask they be detained with you, Wagner, and Judge Hekman is going to make regular unannounced visits to your house. What do you think of that?"
"I think you're crazy," Wagner responded and walked off to let the court officer know he was ready.
"I'm going to tell them we're ready, too, before we lose Wags," Bob said as he followed Wagner.
Within minutes the attorneys and their clients assembled at the tables. The defense-Bob with the father and Wagner with the mother-and Sabre, representing the children, sat on the right side; County Council and Thelma, an African-American social worker three months away from retirement, sat on the left. Thelma, sixty-one-years old and carrying about fifty extra pounds, was a sharp woman with plenty of experience dealing with these cases, but she was tiring of the whole juvenile court thing and ready to move on to the next chapter of her life. She had lasted longer than most. The burn-out rate for social workers appeared to be fewer than ten years, and Thelma was still going strong some thirty years later. Sabre liked her as a worker and thought she was generally fair in her assessment, but she knew this one would be tough for her and didn't envy her position.
Judge Hekman took a seat on the bench. The case was called, and Wagner was officially appointed to represent the mother. "Also, Your Honor, a bit of housekeeping," Wagner said. "The petition reads 'Patricia Kemp' as my client's name. That's incorrect. I have a judgment here with a legal name change to Kelly K. Kemp." Wagner stood up. "May I approach the bench?"
"Yes, counselor."
Wagner walked up to the court clerk and handed her a copy of the judgment, which she in turn handed to the judge. Wagner then gave copies to each attorney at the table. "We're asking the petition be changed to depict her correct name."
"Hmpff...so ordered," Judge Hekman said.
Bob stood up, "Your Honor, we're asking the court to grant us a demurrer. We do not believe a legal cause of action exists for the facts stated in the petition. Even if the facts stated are true, and we're not suggesting they are, it doesn't constitute a cause of action under the W&I Code §300. We ask for the petition to be dismissed."
"Nice try, Mr. Clark, but I'm not granting your demurrer this morning. If you would like to file the appropriate motions, I'll hear it." The judge turned to county council. "The department is put on notice that this is a pretty weak petition."
Mr. Wagner stood up. "We'll be joining in Mr. Clark's demurrer and we're requesting a trial date on the merits should the court not see fit to grant the demurrer. We'd like the trial as soon as possible."
"We'll go off calendar and pick a trial date. But I want psych evals on both parents and the children," she demanded.
Bob jumped up. "My client objects to having a psych eval done pre jurisdiction. According to Laurie S. v. Superior Court (1994) 26 Cal. App. 4th 195, the court does not have the jurisdiction to order a psych eval until they actually have jurisdiction. If the department doesn't have the facts to support their petition, they can't order my client to do something to try to bolster their lack of facts."
"You're right, counselor, but I can order a psych eval for dispositional purposes, because it is relevant for placement of the children."
"That's true, Your Honor, but for the record we're objecting to that evaluation being ordered at this point in time."
"So noted."
"May I be heard on detention of the children?" Bob asked.
"I'm assuming you want the children placed with mom and dad. Is that correct?"
"Yes," Bob responded.
"I'm not going to do that, but we will pick as early a trial date as we can." The judge turned to the court clerk. "When's the next available trial date?" She turned back to the court recorder. "We're off the record." The clerk gave the next date available, which was about three weeks out. Counsel all agreed to the date. "That was easy," the judge said. "The children will be detained in Polinsky pending foster care or detention with an appropriate relative, if you can find one." She turned to Sabre, "I'm sorry, Ms. Brown. Did you have anything to add on behalf of the children?"
"Only that I have concurrence for any relative detention."
"So ordered. Visitation will be supervised for both parents," the judge ordered. Mr. Kemp grumbled something to his attorney. Bob calmed him down and did not address the court. Judge Hekman continued. "And I don't want any relative supervision of visits. The department will supervise pending the trial. Psychological evaluations ordered for both parents and both children, assuming little Kurt is verbal enough to have one. The evaluations are for disposition purposes only. See you all in three weeks. Case is adjourned."
Wagner stood up, "There's one other thing, Your Honor. My client is requesting a different social worker be appointed on this case. She believes the social worker is prejudiced and cannot make a fair assessment of this case."
"Prejudiced?" the judge said as she snapped her head up. "Did you just say prejudiced?"
"Yes, Your Honor, that is my client's contention. She just wants a fair trial."
Judge Hekman shook her head, never one to hide her attitude. "Request denied. Good day, Mr. Wagner."
Chapter 7
As soon as Sabre finished her morning court calendar, she drove to Las Colinas. She checked in, showing her identification. "My investigator will be here shortly. When he arrives, would you please bring him into the interview room?"
"Sure, Counselor," the deputy responded.
Betty approached the interview room, escorted by a deputy sheriff. She sat down on the opposite side of the glass and picked up the phone. The sheriff said, "Ring when you're done," and walked off.
Sabre nodded, but the deputy left before he could see her response.
"Hi, Betty. You look tired."
"Yeah, not much sleep last night. The blankets are made of wool and they're scratchy. I'm allergic to wool." She raised her sleeve and showed the red bumps forming up and down her arm. "You know I'm not picky. I've slept in some pretty awful places, but this place is horrible. Are you going to be able to get me out of here?"
"The judge may hear bail arguments at arraignment. I don't know for sure what this particular judge will do, but it's always difficult to get bail in capital cases. You know I'll try."
"It doesn't matter if he does grant bail. I don't have any money or a house for collateral. I doubt if they'll take our old, beat-up trailer."
"Betty, if he grants bail, we'll find a way to get you out. Let's just take it one step at a time."
"Okay, so where are we?"
"Here's how it works. The police make the arrest, but the prosecuting attorney decides whether or not to file charges, and if so, which ones. Then they file the documents with the court alleging the charges against you. They set an arraignment hearing at which you are formally advised of your charges and your constitutional rights. Bail may be set at that time, but in this type of case, the judge often does not grant it. Your arraignment hearing is set for Tuesday." Sabre struggled with this process. She didn't want to be explaining these things to her friend. She took a deep breath. "Betty, I'm so sorry."
Betty raised her head slightly, her mouth turned down, and just nodded.
Sabre continued. "Look, I don't have the police report, so I don't know what they're claiming as probable cause for the arrest, but Nelson said he'd try to have it for me this afternoon. As soon as I know anything, I'll pass it on to you. In the meantime, I've hired a private investigator. His name is JP Torn. He's the best, and he's coming by this afternoon to meet you. He's going to help you through this, but you need to tell him anything he asks. It's all confidential, just as if you were talking to me. We need to know anything that might help us find the real killer. Something may not seem important to you, but it could be the lead that points us in the right direction."
"I'll do the best I can," Betty responded without looking up, her elbow on the table propping up her head.
The door opened and JP walked in, carrying his ever present black, felt cowboy hat in his hand, his boots clicking across the floor. Sabre realized these were two of her closest friends, and yet they'd never met. When she introduced JP to Betty, she noticed Betty sat up a little straighter.
JP said, "Nice to meet you, Betty. I wish it were under better circumstances. I want you to know you're in very capable hands with Sabre, and between the two of us we're going to find out who did this and get you out of here. Are you willing to help?"
"Yes," Betty said, looking into JP's calm, hazel eyes.
"Good, you'll need to answer all my questions. Some of them will seem inane, but humor me. I have a reason for every question I ask. I'll be starting with your background, where you lived before, who you knew, etc." Betty looked down, losing eye contact with JP. He continued, "I'll need to know everything I can about John as well. There's a lot at stake here."
"I know. And thanks for believing in me," Betty responded, still not looking JP in the eye.
"Hey, Sabre says you're innocent. That's all I need. Sabre doesn't lie." He glanced at Sabre and smiled.
Sabre said, "I need to get back to court. Are you staying, JP?"
"Yes, but I'll walk you part way." Sabre said her goodbyes, and they walked to the end of the hallway.
"She's holding something back," JP said as soon as they were out of earshot.
"You think?" Sabre was baffled by the comment. She truly believed in Betty's innocence, but she also trusted JP's instincts. Reconciling herself, she said, "Well, we all have our secrets, don't we? But I know she didn't kill John."
"Okay, that's the way we proceed. I'll call you later."
JP returned to Betty and began his interview, asking about the details of the night of the murder, establishing her timeline, looking for anything they may have missed. Betty's responses matched Sabre's account of events. He was starting to agree with Sabre. Betty was hiding something, but he didn't think it was the murder. And he knew it must be big, or why wouldn't she share it with them and help get her off the hook? He continued his interview with Betty, asking probing questions and taking copious notes. An hour and a half later, he folded up his tattered notebook. "That's it for today. Would you mind if I look around your trailer to see if I can find anything to help our case?"
"What do you expect to find?" Betty pushed herself back in the chair.
"You can't know a horse until you ride it," JP said, throwing one of his granddaddy's lines at her.
Betty looked puzzled.
"I'm sorry.... I don't know what I might find or what I'm really looking for until I look. Do you mind if I go in?"
"I guess not. Sabre has the key."
"You've been very helpful, but you look beat. I'll be back if I need anything else." JP stood up, put on his hat, and rang for the guard.
JP left and the deputy escorted Betty back to her cell. It was a step up from the holding tank at the station. It felt more like a large dorm room than a cell, except Betty knew she couldn't leave. Rows of stainless steel bunks lined the walls, each covered with a thin mattress, flat sheets, and a wool blanket. A row of block wall shower stalls stood in the middle of the room. On the back side of the showers was a row of stalls for metal toilets and sinks, all with open fronts, allowing no privacy for personal bodily functions. The block walls on the showers and toilets stood low enough for the guards, or anyone else who chose, to look over. Everything had the same odor; the clothes, the bedding, and the rooms all smelled of cheap detergent.
Betty went to her bunk, lay down, and tried to sleep. The noise hurt her head and her mind raced. Her life, as she knew it, would never exist again. John was gone, yet the nightmare continued. She prayed Sabre would be able to help her. It all seemed so hopeless. She tried to sleep to avoid the guilt she felt, but the torment of the vision of John's bloody body wouldn't allow it. Had she done the right thing?
... continued ....
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