The Advocate (The Advocate Series) (5 page)

“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.

Bob, on the other hand, had an equal number of hearings, but all of his files together were about as thick as one of Sabre’s. She eyed his files. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“All you have in your files is the report for today’s hearing, and it’s not even fastened in. It’s just thrown in there. I could never function like that. Besides, I always need to look back in the file to find some bit of information in the middle of a hearing.”

“It’s all up here.” He pointed to his head with his index finger. “Anyway, you’re on most of my cases, so if I need something, I can always have you look it up.”

“I don’t know how you function when I’m not around,” she teased back. She admired his intelligence and his memory. He seldom wrote anything down. Sabre wished she could do that, but she didn’t trust herself enough to rely on her memory, so she made sure everything stayed at her fingertips.

Sabre picked up three of her files and walked with Bob down the long corridor to Department Five, past the counter in the middle of the room with the big “Information” sign hanging overhead. Bob and Sabre thought the space could be put to better use as a coffee stand. Unfortunately, the court administrators didn’t agree.

A line formed at the information counter, and the hallways filled with people waiting to see what would happen next in their dysfunctional lives. On a bench near the wall, a mother sat next to a ten–year–old boy facing burglary charges. Most of the delinquent minors were detained in Juvenile Hall, located behind the courthouse. They would be brought through a tunnel from The Hall directly into the courtroom when the judge called their case. The majority of the clients were there for dependency hearings, which consisted of child abuse or neglect, and stretched across all races and professions. Abuse didn’t seem to have any real boundaries. It found its way into all walks of life.

“Hey Sabre, Bob. Wait up.” Thomas Gilley, the public defender on the Murdock case, called from within the crowd about ten feet behind them.

“Hi, Tom, how goes the war?” Sabre asked, as he caught up to them.

“I need to talk to you about the Murdock case. Do you have a minute?”

“Sure.”

“You should hear this too, Bob. Don’t you represent Jamie’s father?”

“Yeah, for what it’s worth. The guy’s in some institution. I’ve tried to talk to him, but he’s a few French fries short of a Happy Meal,” Bob said. “Why, what’s up?”

“I had a long talk with Gaylord, my client. He seems like a pretty nice guy. I don’t have the police report back yet, but it appears his girlfriend, Peggy, has drug history. He’s very worried about his baby she’s carrying. His version of the incident last week differed from hers. When he came home, he could tell she’d been using and a fight ensued, an argument actually. When he confronted her, she flipped out. She started screaming at the top of her lungs and swinging at him. She picked up a soup ladle from the kitchen and started hitting him with it. When he tried to calm her down and restrain her, she pulled away and fell and hit her head on the coffee table.”

“His story fits with what Alexis told the police,” Sabre said, “but why didn’t he just tell the police Peggy was using? Why did he let them arrest him?”

“Because he didn’t want Peggy taken into custody. She’s so close to having the baby, he feared she might give birth in county jail. He didn’t want his child born in jail. Besides, the cops weren’t exactly open to any scenario except domestic violence. They didn’t give any credence to what Alexis told them. You know as well as I do men are always the ones arrested when there is a hint of domestic violence.”

“Here, look at this.” Tom handed her an album covered with bright, Barbie-pink fabric. The cover contained the words “Alexis Murdock” in big block letters. Underneath her name in slightly smaller letters, it said “My Pride and Joy.”

“I thought you might find it interesting. My client was reluctant to give it up, even for a second, until I impressed upon him the importance of your viewing it. Why don’t you hold onto it this morning so you can look it over. I’ll get it back from you before we break for lunch. Just be very careful with it; I had to promise him my firstborn if I didn’t return it in perfect condition.”

“I’ll be careful. I’m going to be in pokey Judge Kaylor’s courtroom. As slow as she is, I’ll have plenty of time to review it between hearings.” She took the album and walked to Department One.

Sabre found a seat in the back corner of the courtroom where she wouldn’t be interrupted while she waited for her case to be called. She looked at the bright pink cover, untied the ribbon, and opened it. On the first page she saw a sonogram and the words, “Alexis’ first photo.” It had her footprints, her first artwork, and a photo of her every year on her birthday. It contained awards ranging from “The Sandbox Award” through “Best Citizen.” The album held spelling-bee conquests, ribbons from sporting events, and poems Alexis had written. It captured Alexis’ life from birth to present.

As Sabre studied the album, Bob walked in and took a seat next to her. She handed it to him. “Have a look at this. A lot of effort and love went into this album. Murdock obviously cares a great deal about his little girl, his ‘pride and joy.’”

“Hmm . . . He seems genuinely concerned about his unborn child as well. If what he said about the fight is true, he has good reason for concern. Unfortunately, in this state, there isn’t anything a father can really do until his baby is born. He certainly has no means to keep the mother from using if she decides to. He can’t lock her up or place any kind of physical restraints on her to protect his child.”

“I guess his frustration is understandable . . . if it’s true.”

6

The sun had set and twilight faded enough to make the lights inside Sabre’s office visible. After her experience on Saturday night, she felt relieved to have company. She entered through the back door, dropped her files on her desk, and walked to the front of the building to say hi to Elaine, the receptionist.

Sabre’s office, furthest from the front entrance and the least desirable of the three, seemed perfect to her. Jack Snecker occupied the front office. He had first pick since he discovered the building, leased it for himself, and then sublet the office space to other attorneys. The building had once been a beautiful, old Victorian home. Fortunately, someone had the foresight to convert it to office space rather than tear it down. Jack’s office, the largest, had once been the living room. It had a beautiful bay window across the front providing him a view of the street from his huge, antique mahogany desk and chairs. In front of the fireplace, a little settee and a couple of chairs created a cozy sitting area for guests.

“Hi Elaine,” Sabre greeted the receptionist. “How has your day been going?”

“Not bad, actually,” she responded with her dry sense of humor. “The copy machine broke down again, I spilled coffee on my desk and made a big mess, I accidentally hung up on Jack’s wife when she called, but the good news is we’ve only had eight calls today from your favorite Looney tune, Crazy Carla. I don’t know how you can deal with that woman. She ranted and raved about some nonsense. I couldn’t make any sense of it.”

“She has problems we can’t even imagine, Elaine.” Sabre sighed. “I’ll call her in a minute and calm her down. Did you hear anything from the Atlanta Police Department?”

“Oh yeah, here’s the fax and your mail.” Elaine handed her the police report on Peggy Smith and the stack of mail she had opened for her. “One of the pages is not legible, though. I called and left a message, but it’s late in Atlanta so you’ll probably have to wait until tomorrow. I didn’t speak to Detective Carriage. I left a message with some night clerk.”

“Thanks, Elaine.” Sabre took the report, along with the twenty-two pink slips containing phone messages, and went to her office. She shuffled through the pink slips as she walked down the hallway, pulling out the ones from Carla. When she returned to her desk, she called Carla. This task always took some time, but Sabre wanted it out of the way. It was a daily routine, not one she particularly enjoyed, but it had to be done even if every call was the same. Sabre would call; Carla would scream for a little while making no sense. After she rambled for five minutes or so, Carla would take a breath and Sabre would start talking to her about butterflies and green pastures. It always soothed her. Sabre couldn’t remember when she had discovered how to do it, and although uncertain if it was the words or the way she had learned to deliver them, it calmed Carla down.

Today’s call was no different. Sabre called her, and while Carla yelled, Sabre turned the volume down on her headset and started thumbing through her mail. Sabre hated that some tree had to die for all the junk mail. She separated the mail into stacks of bills, checks, correspondence needing to be filed, personal items, and the junk. Even though Elaine opened all the mail, Sabre still wanted to view everything coming in so she could decide what to keep and what to throw away.

She tossed the junk mail into the recycle trash bin, put the bills in a basket on her credenza, clipped together the checks and correspondence and placed them in a box for Elaine, and set her personal items in another basket on the corner of her desk to take home and look through later.

She heard Carla take a breath. Sabre turned up her volume and started to speak. She had to be quick or she would miss her opening. “Butterflies, green pastures, and butterflies,” she began. “Carla, imagine yourself walking through the field and a beautiful purple and blue butterfly lights on your arm. You look around and you see little dots of color–pink, blue, red, and yellow–the tall, green grass moving ever so slightly in the light breeze, and a rainbow of multi-colored butterflies dancing across the pale blue sky. There’s no one else in your world, just you and your butterflies wandering through your green pasture.” Sabre went on until she heard Carla breathing comfortably and then she said, as she always did, “Don’t worry, Carla. I’ll take care of everything.”