The Advocate's Ex Parte (The Advocate Series Book 5) (12 page)

Sabre moved quickly toward the window and looked out. “My window is broken,” she said.

“Both of the front windows. The bullet went straight through and probably hit this window as well.” The officer turned to Mrs. Walker. “There’ll be some detectives here shortly who will take a statement from you.” Turning back to Sabre, he said, “You’ll need to speak to them before you leave.”

After the police left the house, Sabre called the social worker to report what happened. Then she sat down for a minute with Mrs. Walker.

“They won’t take Kordell from me because of this, will they?”

“I can’t be certain what the social worker will do. He’ll be here shortly to assess things. We all just want Kordell safe.”

Mrs. Walker looked frightened. Sabre surmised that her fear came not from the gunshots, but from the prospect of losing her grandson. “I just wanted Kordell to be safe from Isaiah. To keep him from getting beat up all the time.”

“Do you think Isaiah could be the one who shot up the neighborhood today?”

“I doubt it. He’s more of an ‘in-your-face’ guy. He has a terrible temper and he likes people to know how tough he is.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Sabre said. She chastised herself for saying that. She didn’t know that for sure, and she hated when people said things like that when they didn’t really know. Sabre stood up. Her hands were shaking. She hadn’t realized until that moment how the events had affected her. She wanted to leave, but she needed to talk with Kordell first. She took a deep breath and went to Kordell’s room to see him.

“Are you okay?” Sabre asked.

“Yeah. It was pretty scary at first, but not as bad as when Isaiah would get mad at me or my mom.”

“What would he do to you?”

“He’d just start whuppin’ on me. He’d grab me by my arm and flip me around and whup me. He’s so big.”

“Did he do that often?”

“Only a few times, but I never knew when it was coming.”

“Tell me about the last time.”

“I got in trouble at school. This bigger kid kept picking on me and pushing me around. Then he started taking whatever he wanted from my lunch. That time, when I tried to stop him from taking my sandwich he pushed me right off the bench. It made me so mad that I choked up, and then he called me a baby and told everyone that I cried. I didn’t. I was just mad.”

“So, what did you get in trouble for at school?”

“I stole a bunch of Jell-O from the school cafeteria and I put it in that big kid’s locker. Someone saw me, I guess, and squealed on me.”

“And then you got in trouble at home for stealing the Jell-O?” Sabre asked.

“No. Isaiah got mad because he said I was a coward and there was nothing worse than a coward. He told me I should have fought like a man and then he started whuppin’ on me.”

Chapter 17

Sabre sat at the bar waiting for Bob to arrive, sipping her blended, Midori Margarita. It had been a rough day, and she wouldn’t be driving since her car sat in the body shop around the corner awaiting new windows. She looked around the bar at the young crowd who frequented the place. It appeared to be mostly college students who were probably there for Happy Hour. The prices were good and it wasn’t far from San Diego State College. More importantly, it seemed to be one of the last places around to still serve a good spread of appetizers for free. The bar jutted out from the wall with three barstools on the end. Then it curved around and extended for another fifteen stools before it turned back into the wall.

From where Sabre sat, on the end barstool closest to the curve, she had a good view of the front door. She watched people enter. Few left. A man about sixty or so came in, still wearing his construction work clothes. He sat at the opposite end of the bar, directly across from her. He must’ve been a regular because the bartender brought him his beer before he even ordered. Three more young patrons entered through the front door. They quickly found their way to their friends.

The next guest appeared to be more interesting and a little older than the barrage of students. Probably thirty-five, Sabre thought. He was tall, handsome, and sported an expensive-looking black cowboy hat. The cowboy looked around for just a second as if to acclimate himself, then walked toward the bar and took a seat next to Sabre. He didn’t look at her. When the bartender arrived, he asked, “Got any Shiner Bock?”

“No, sorry,” the bartender answered.

“A Bud then.”

The bartender nodded and went to retrieve his beer. The man laid a twenty-dollar bill on the counter.

Sabre found herself staring at the man but thinking of JP. It must be the hat, she thought. He must have felt her looking at him because he turned slowly toward her and said in a strong Texas accent, “Good evening, ma’am.”

“Hi,” Sabre said. “Sorry…er…your hat reminded me of someone.”

“Someone you like, I hope,” he said.

Sabre smiled. “Yes, a good friend.”

“You from these parts?”

“I live in San Diego, but not around here. I brought my car to the shop near here to get a broken window or, windows fixed. I have to leave it because there’s not enough time to fix it today so I’m waiting for my ride.” Sabre didn’t usually explain so much to strangers, but she felt like she owed him for staring.

“You said windows? More than one?”

“Yes, it’s a long story.” She decided that was more than she needed to tell. “Do you live here in San Diego?”

“No, I just have some things to take care of here and won’t be in town long.” The bartender returned with his beer, took the twenty, and walked away. “Say, you don’t know a good lawyer do you?”

“I know a few. What kind of lawyer?” Sabre thought about what he might need. Her first guess was a DUI.

“The good kind.”

“I mean, what kind of trouble are you in?”

“Oh, it’s not me. It’s my sister. She has herself in a mess and I’m worried about her kids.”

“What happened?”

“She hooked up with some guy who keeps beatin’ her up. Told her over and over again to leave him, which she did, but she always goes back. Offered to give him a bit of his own medicine, but Sarajean begged me not to. Now he’s hitting the kids, too.”

“Is she still with him?”

“Not living with him now. Social Services came in and took the kids away. That’s why she needs the lawyer.” The bartender returned with the man’s change and laid it on the edge of the bar. The man left it there. “So, do you know any good ones? Lawyers, that is.”

Sabre reached into her pocket, took out a business card, and handed it to him.

He flipped the card over and read her name aloud. “Attorney Sabre Orin Brown.” He looked surprised. “You’re a lawyer?” he asked. Then he looked her over. “Knew you wasn’t just some ordinary working girl. You’re much too classy for that. Right pretty, too.”

Sabre felt her face heat up. It must be the margarita, she thought. She couldn’t decide if she appreciated the comment or if it annoyed her.

“Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to be fresh.” He reached his hand out to shake hers. “Clint Buchanon.”

Sabre shook his hand, smiled, and said, “No problem. Thank you for the compliment. Have your sister call me and I’ll talk to her. If I can’t represent her, I’ll give her a referral.”

“Really appreciate….”

Bob Clark walked up, put his arm around Sabre, and gave her a quick squeeze. “How’s my snookums?”

“I’m fine.” Sabre nodded toward the cowboy. “Bob, this is Clint Buchanon. He’s looking for an attorney for his sister.”

Bob reached out and shook his hand. “Bob Clark,” he said.

“Bob’s an attorney also,” Sabre said. “He does this kind of work as well.”

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

Bob turned back to Sabre. “You ready?”

Sabre took one last drink of her margarita, stood up, and said, “Let’s go.”

“Aren’t you going to finish your drink?” Bob asked.

“No, I’m good,” Sabre said. She looked at Clint. “It was nice to meet you. Enjoy your stay here in San Diego…if you can.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Clint said. “I’ll be sure to give your card to Sarajean.”

Sabre took a step toward the door. Bob picked up her margarita glass and finished it off.

“Picking up guys in bars now?” Bob asked, as they reached the door.

“He was just telling me about his sister. That’s why he’s in town.”

“I bet she never calls you…but
he
will.”

Sabre gave him a funny look. “You think? Well, if so, it was a pretty bad pickup line.”

“It worked on you, didn’t it?”

“No, it didn’t work on me. I’m not going out with the guy or anything. And besides, that’s not fair. I’ve had a rough day, dodging bullets and all.”

Bob shook his head. “That’s why I don’t represent kids if I can help it. Too dangerous.”

“Yeah, your clients are so much better. They just get
you
thrown in jail.”

They stepped into Bob’s car. “So, when can you get your car?”

“Monday. The repair shop couldn’t get to it today. I just barely made it in there before they closed. I’m lucky I could get it back from the San Diego PD.”

“They didn’t want to keep it for evidence?”

“No. They just took a bunch of photos and gave it back. It’s not like they needed prints or anything.” Bob’s car entered the freeway that would take them toward Sabre’s home. “Can you pick me up on Monday morning and give me a ride to court?”

“Sure, but you’ll be without a car the rest of the weekend. You don’t want to get a rental?”

“No, I don’t really need one. I’m not going anywhere. Besides, I have a bike if I need to go to the store for anything.”

***

Shortly after the two attorneys left the bar, the bartender returned and bussed the area where Sabre had been sitting. Clint Buchanon, aka Tyson Doyle Cooper, asked, “What was my lady friend drinking?”

“A Midori Margarita—blended.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Ty said, as if he had forgotten.

He finished his beer, stood up, removed the card from his pocket and flipped it over so he could read it. “You’ll hear from me soon, Attorney Sabre Orin Brown.”

Chapter 18

The Martinez Case

Children: Ray, age 2 (M), Falicia, age 5 (F), Jesse (Jesus), age 7 (M)

Parents: Father—Gilberto Martinez, Mother—Juanita Martinez

Issues: Abuse, Domestic Violence

Facts: Mother beat the father with a lamp in front of the children. Alcohol abuse by both parents.

A medium-sized, mixed-breed dog strolled down the sidewalk as JP drove slowly toward the Martinez residence in National City. Three young Latino boys halted their soccer game so JP could pass. The neighborhood was old but generally well kept. Most of the lawns were manicured and contained beautiful flowering plants. Several of the houses were painted bright colors. A few had white picket fences, but more were surrounded by chain-link. JP counted three red doors in a two-block span. He looked for the number 422. The curbs weren’t marked, nor were some of the houses. He noted the numbers were declining as he passed 424. When he saw a house with only the four and the two, he pulled his car up to the curb. Other than the lack of recent attention to the yard, the house looked much like the rest of the neighborhood.

JP exited his car and approached a Mexican-American woman next door who was watering her plants. The woman appeared to be in her seventies. He introduced himself, explaining he was there on behalf of the Martinez children.

“I feel so bad for
los niños
. They are all very sweet, especially Jesse. He comes every Monday evening to put my trashcan out on the street. And when he comes home from school on Tuesday afternoon, he brings it back in for me. I offered to pay him, but he said no, so a lot of times I will give him cookies for his lunch and he always shares them with his brother and sister.”

“Do you know the parents?”

“Yes, they’ve lived here quite a while, maybe three years. Gilberto is a nice man. Juanita is another story. She’s
muy
loca
. I hear her yelling and screaming all the time. When they first moved in, my husband, may he rest in peace…” She made the sign of the cross. “…wanted to give Gilberto a bit of his own medicine, but it didn’t take too long to see it was her, not him, creating the problems.”

“When Juanita lived here, did you talk to her very often?”

“She hardly talked to anyone. One time she saw me in the yard and she screamed at me because my cat went in her yard. She was
muy
boracha
...you know, drunk. She threatened to kill my cat if he went there again.”

“Did anything happen to your cat?”

“No, but I try not to let him outside anymore.”

“Were you here the night Juanita was arrested?”

“You mean the last time, a couple of weeks ago?”

“Yes.”

“The cops come a lot to that house. Once this was a good, safe neighborhood. Now, you never know what is going to happen. I’ve lived here for almost fifty years and never saw a cop for the first forty. But it’s different now. A lot of the people are gone who raised their children here.” She paused.

JP wondered if she forgot the question, so he prompted her. “And the night of the arrest?”

“Yes. Yes, I was here. I didn’t go outside, though. I could see and hear it all from my window. I heard a lot of yelling inside the house and then Gilberto ran outside. Juanita followed right behind him, beating him with a lamp. He tripped and fell down and she jumped on him and just kept hitting him. The kids were all screaming and Jesse tried to pull his mom off of his dad. I wanted to help, but I knew I couldn’t really do anything. Several other neighbors came out of their houses, but no one really did anything except Patricia, who lives across the street. She took the two younger children away from the fight. She tried to get Jesse, too, but she had her hands full. I think she’s the one who called the cops.”

“Have you seen either of the parents since that night?”