The Advocate's Ex Parte (The Advocate Series Book 5) (6 page)

“Do you know that Isaiah Banks was scheduled for a psych eval with Dr. Heller yesterday?”

“No, I didn’t realize that. Do you know if he went?”

“No, but I’ll see what I can find out.”

JP made a note to follow up. Then he went back to his stack of files. Howard, the shaken baby case, had reports for both parents, but neither was written by Dr. Heller. JP put a line through
Howard
. He went back and did the same for
Fisher
. He would concentrate on the cases that had a connection to both Judge Mitchell and Dr. Heller.

JP picked up the Tran file. Louie growled. JP laid it back down and walked to the sliding glass door. Louie yipped as he paced back and forth in front of the window. “What’s the matter, boy?” JP asked. “Do you want out?”

Louie barked, louder this time.

JP opened the door and Louie bounced across the yard as several small birds took flight. JP closed the door and left Louie to play. He refilled his coffee cup and then returned to the table to look at the Tran file.

Dr. Heller was scheduled two days ago to evaluate the mother, Kim-Ly Tran, but a written assessment was not available yet. JP made another note to follow up to see if the report had been written.

The last file was Wheeler. After sifting through several files, JP found reports on both parents. Dr. Heller had evaluated the father a little over a year ago. JP placed the folder on top of the Martinez file to read the complete report later.

JP looked at his list. He still had five strong suspects. He had eliminated Fisher, the case with the volatile parents, and Howard, the shaken baby case. It was just as well, he thought. If he had to come too close to the perpetrator on the Howard case, he wasn’t sure he could prevent his new leather Tony Lamas from stomping on someone’s head. JP hated child abusers, and a tiny baby, no less. As far as he was concerned there wasn’t a lower form of life on this earth. They were right up there with men who beat women.

A tall, striking woman walked into JP’s dining room wearing his faded, black George Strait T-shirt. Her long, shapely legs protruded from the bottom of the shirt. “Got any more of that coffee?”

Concentrating so hard on his work, JP had almost forgotten about his house guest. “You bet,” he said. He stood up and walked to the kitchen, retrieved a mug from the cupboard, and filled it up. He picked up the sugar bowl and a spoon and set all three on the table. “Have a seat,” he said, motioning to the chair situated directly across from where he had been seated.

“Thank you.”

“I hope Louie didn’t wake you with his barking at the birds.”

“No, I was already awake.”

JP watched as she placed three heaping teaspoons of sugar into her coffee. He cringed, wondering how someone could ruin a perfectly good cup of joe.

As if she could read his thoughts, she said, “I know it’s not good for me, but I can’t seem to break the habit. I love the taste of sweet coffee. At least I don’t load it up with milk and chocolate and whatever else is the fashion these days.”

“Whatever puts stars in your sky,” JP said.

Robin smiled. Her long, dark hair lay softly on her shoulders. At forty-five she was still as beautiful as she had been at twenty when she won the Reeves County Beauty Pageant—in spite of her swollen lip and the yellow and purple marks that now surrounded her left eye. JP looked again at her shirt. Why had he given her that shirt to wear? That was the second time a woman in distress had worn his George Strait tee. He thought of Sabre for a moment.

JP had been shocked to see Robin when she appeared at his front door two nights ago. Her hair was disheveled, her lip swollen, she had several bandages, and her eye was black and blue. She was such a mess he almost didn’t recognize her until she opened her mouth and said, “I had nowhere else to go.”

He took her in and learned she had driven from Texas, stopping only to fuel her tank with gas and her brain with caffeine. She was exhausted, yet wired, and didn’t want to talk about what happened so he didn’t push her. After a few hours of catching up on family and friends, Robin cleaned up and went to bed. JP moved her car into his garage in case someone came looking for her.

Robin ran her finger along the rim of her coffee mug. She looked up at JP. “I’m glad we kept in touch all these years. I never realized when you told me that you would always be there if I needed you just how much I would. It’s time I explained a few things.” She stood up, picked up her mug, and walked to the sofa. “Come sit with me.” JP followed, noticing the scars on her left leg as she glided across the floor.

Chapter 9

The Wheeler Case

Children: Holly (F) and Bradley (M), age 9 years (twins), four other children

Parents: Father—Willie Wheeler, Mother—Debra Wheeler

Issues: Physical Abuse, Neglect
Facts: Dirty Home, drugs, alcohol, physical abuse, mental problems

“How’s ‘Whacky Willie’ Wheeler this morning?” Sabre asked Bob, as they checked into Department Three.

“I think he’s making my hair turn gray,” Bob said.

“Your hair is already gray.”

“See, I told you. It’s from spending the past two years on this case with Willie that’s done it.”

Sabre laughed. “You know you love working with him.”

“He does add color to my otherwise drab existence. You gotta love a guy who calls you SpongeBob SquarePants.”

“Yeah, I saw that in the report. Maybe he really thinks you are. I wouldn’t wear anything yellow around him if I were you.”

“He was just yanking the social worker’s chain, but she bought into it. Oh, and it’s not just SpongeBob SquarePants. It’s Attorney SpongeBob SquarePants. The guy is actually pretty lucid. He’s just ‘off the wall’ strange. And he cries all the time. Whenever he starts talking about anything serious like his kids, he starts to cry. I don’t know what to do with that. I like it better when he acts nuts.”

They walked out of the courtroom into the hall where Willie waited for Bob. Willie approached and unintentionally blocked the door so no one could get inside. Bob put his left hand on his shoulder and maneuvered him across the floor as they spoke. Sabre stayed to Bob’s right, as far from Willie’s body odor as she could without being rude.

“Attorney Sabre Orin Brown, you need to get my kids home to me. They need me. Holly was so upset when I saw her yesterday. Yep. She keeps asking to come home.”

Sabre looked at this tall, gangly man in his forties, whom she surmised hadn’t bathed in weeks, her expression soft and caring. “Willie, I know it’s hard for you, but you need to try not to cry when you go see your kids. It makes it harder for them. It especially upsets Holly. Your attorney is doing all he can for you, and you know I’m trying to do what’s best for your children.”

“I know you are, Attorney Sabre Orin Brown. Yep, I know you are.”

“You can just call me Sabre if you’d like,” she told him for the umpteenth time.

“I think that would be disrespectful.” He turned to Bob. “Are they gonna send the kids back after the house is cleaned up?”

“Not this time, Willie. There are a few more problems we have to deal with. Is someone helping clean the house?”

“Yep. The social worker, Miss Heather What’s-Her-Name, said….”

“Heather Staples.”

“Yep. That’s it. Do you suppose she’s related to the Staples store?”

“I doubt it, Willie. Focus. What did she say?”

“She said she’d send someone after we got the car engine out of the living room and the trash bags out of the kitchen.”

Sabre was tempted to ask why there was a car engine in his living room, but decided it wouldn’t serve any purpose. Instead she asked about his wife. “Did Debra go into rehab?”

“Yep. She went there yesterday and I think she maybe took the poltergeist with her ‘cause I haven’t seen him since she left.”

“How is the resident ghost doing, Willie?”

“I was hopin’ he’d help me rebuild my engine, but I don’t think he knows nothin’ ‘bout cars.”

Bob encouraged his delusion. “Maybe he lived when there weren’t any cars.”

Willie nodded his head a couple of times, taking his time to respond as if in deep thought. “Yep. That would explain why he dresses so funny.”

“And how’s that, Willie?” Bob asked.

“He most always has a white shirt with a high collar and one of them scarves around his neck. I think they call them ascots or something. It’s bright blue with some kind of red pattern on it. Yep. And a black cape that comes to his waist. Not like a superman cape or nothin’. It’s like a coat but with no armholes.” Bob started to say something, but Willie continued. “Oh, and leather shoes with buckles. Yep, yep. And a round hat.”

Willie paused. Bob waited a second and then with a straight face he said, “Does he wear the same thing all the time?”

“Sometimes he don’t wear no cape.”

“No cape.”

“Yep. When it’s hot, he don't
wear no cape.”

“That makes sense,” Bob said.

Sabre turned away so Willie couldn’t see her smile. She wondered just how much of this he believed and how much he made up. Bob was convinced that he did a lot of it to make people think he was crazy. Sabre wasn’t sure. And there were so many things he did that were harmless, but the environment he provided for his children was not healthy and often not safe. And yet, the children seemed to function so much better when they were together and with their parents.

All of the children were presently at Polinsky Receiving Home, where they would stay until the paternal aunt returned from her father-in-law’s funeral in Arkansas. They usually did okay at Polinsky as long as they had plenty of family contact. Sabre thought it was because they knew it was temporary. When they went to foster care they became very despondent. Holly, in particular, would suffer. She became very depressed, her grades dropped, and she would stop talking to anyone except her brother, Bradley, who reacted similarly but not to the same extreme.

The Wheeler case came into the system two years ago when a teacher made a home visit and discovered the dirty home. The children were placed with the mother’s sister while services were provided to get the house cleaned and to train the parents on how to keep it clean and safe. The mental instability of the parents, which was exacerbated by the drugs and alcohol, soon came to light. The placement with the maternal aunt fell apart and the children went to foster care where they did not manage well, partly because they were all split up. After some time the paternal aunt came forward and took the children until they were returned to the parents approximately six months ago.

Unfortunately, the parents couldn’t keep it together. The mother started using drugs again, the condition of the house deteriorated, and the father became more delusional. Sabre hated this case because she wasn’t sure what to do. She had tried so hard to keep this family together because that’s what appeared to be best for the children. Six months ago the therapists all agreed that the children were better off with their parents than without them, but now they were back in court again. Something had to change. The system was failing.

“Can anyone join this party?” Debra Wheeler’s attorney, Regina Collicott, said as she approached.

“Sure,” Bob said. “We were just discussing the Wheeler ghost.”

“Oh, is Parnhart back?”

“His name is Parnhart?” Sabre asked.

“Parnhart. Yep. That’s his name,” Willie said.

“And how do you know that?” Sabre asked.

Bob put his hand on Willie’s shoulder. “Willie, before you answer that, let’s you and I have a little chat.”

“Whatever you say, Attorney SpongeBob SquarePants.”

“Before you leave, what are you doing with this case?” Sabre asked. “Will there be a trial set?”

Bob lowered his head and peered at Sabre over his glasses. “Well of course, Ms. Brown. My client wants his day in court.” Bob led Willie down the hallway to a more secluded spot. The last thing Sabre heard him say was, “And maybe you should stop calling me that. At least while we’re at court.”

Chapter 10

Tyson Doyle Cooper

Tyson rose early, in spite of the previous day’s long drive from Texas to San Diego and his restless sleep. Yesterday he had consumed too many Monster Energy drinks while driving and drank a six-pack of beer before he crashed last night. The bed wasn’t all that comfortable, either. He wondered if he should’ve stayed at a nicer hotel, but he didn’t know how long this journey would take and he didn’t want the cash to run out. Besides, he could keep a lower profile here. No one paid any attention to him.

He made a pot of coffee and then spent about an hour on the computer Googling “John Phillip Torn” and “Sabre Orin Brown.” He found little about JP but quite a bit about the attorney, most of which centered around the case that was the subject of the newspaper clipping he found in Robin’s things.

He also found some addresses, but he couldn’t be sure they were current so he decided to call Blake. “Can you verify a couple of addresses for me?”

“Sure, cuz.”

Tyson gave him the names and information he had obtained. Ten minutes later Blake called back confirming JP’s address, Sabre’s office address, and a home address for Sabre Brown. He jotted them down and stuck the paper in his pocket. He picked up his holster and gun, put the holster on his belt, and covered it with a light windbreaker.

Tyson drove first to the address for JP Torn. It led him to a small strip mall. He pulled into a parking spot and double checked the address he had written down. The address he’d put in his GPS was the same as the one he had found online and Blake had confirmed. He drove his car past several businesses until he came to the exact address. Sitting between an Asian supermarket and a Home Town Buffet was a strip of buildings which included a Postal Annex. This time he parked a couple doors down and exited his car.

“Damn!” Tyson said on the phone to Blake. “Torn’s address is a mailbox place. Make a few calls and find out if the attorney’s office address is correct. Anything else you can find out about either of them would be helpful, too. There’s a coffee shop here. I’m going to wait for your call before I start running around again.”