The Advocate - 02 - The Advocate's Betrayal (3 page)

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.

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. He 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 Counsel 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.”