The Advocate's Homicides

by Teresa Burrell

  Sabre felt heaviness in her chest. She told herself to breathe. As prepared as she thought she was, this hit her hard. She immediately turned to Tray. Tears were already rolling down his cheeks. Sabre could barely hear the words he muttered.

  "We lost," he said. “That’s not what was supposed to happen.”

  Part II

  The Oscar Hazelton Case

  Chapter 35

  Present day...

  The news anchor announced the name “Ruben Parks,” grabbing Sabre’s attention. She recognized the name from a recent report she had obtained from JP. Reaching for her remote, she turned up the volume. "Ruben Parks was discovered in a shallow grave a few hundred feet from another body found approximately three years ago. Although the discovery took place on the twelfth of May on Coyote Ridge in El Cajon, it has taken more than three years to determine Ruben's identity. Ruben's widow, Rachel Parks, and her alleged boyfriend, Larry Norbit, who is still on parole, were arrested today in Parks' home on Mt. Helix. Well-known criminal attorney, Jerry Leahy, is representing the widow. Leahy told Channel 10 News that ‘my client is innocent and she's grieving the death of her husband. We're confident that the truth will come out and my client will be exonerated.’"

  "Of course you are, Leahy," Sabre said with a smile at the television.

  Sabre was still watching the news when Bob called her. "Did you see they arrested someone for killing that guy who was buried near Irving?"

  Sabre muted the sound on her television. "Yes, I was just watching it. I guess some good came out of this case. They may never have found the body if that kid hadn't peed on Irving."

  "There are just so many things I could spin off of what you just said," Bob said.

  "But please don't."

  "Did you see that?"

  "What?"

  "Wait. It's something about another body."

  Sabre turned her volume back up.

  "...found less than two miles, as the crow flies, from the bodies of Irving and Parks," the news reporter said.

  "They found two more bodies. That makes four in that area. It looks like El Cajon has a new burial ground," Sabre said.

  "It's a lot cheaper than the cemeteries," Bob said. "I think I'll put that in my trust. Just dump my body in the hills in El Cajon. Give the wild animals a feast. They have to eat too."

  "Listen." Sabre turned up the volume.

  "Our sources say that based on evidence found on the two new bodies, there may be a connection to Glen Irving's death, whose body was found more than three years ago on Coyote Ridge."

  "What? Do they think Tray killed those guys too? Isn't he still locked up?"

  "He's in Northern Youth-to-Adult Conservation Camp. It's a special program for violent offenders who have proven to be low risk. It's a higher security level than most of the camps. I was able to have him transferred there after he was beaten up twice at Division of Juvenile Justice in San Bernardino. I tried to get him moved sooner, but there wasn't anywhere available any better than where he was. Shortly after he turned seventeen, that's the minimum age requirement for the camp, I managed to get him sent to Northern Youth—but only because he almost died the second time he was beaten."

  Sabre paused for a second to listen to what they were saying on the news. "Unless the bodies have been there more than three years,” Sabre said, “law enforcement can't blame these on Tray."

  "I don't think the reporter said how long ago the men were killed. The coroner likely doesn't know that yet."

  "This could be good news," Sabre said.

  "How's that?"

  "Maybe the real killer will be caught."

  "You still don't think Tray did it?"

  "No. I don't. I'm sure he didn't murder Irving. Maybe he killed him in self-defense, but we'll probably never know that. He still hasn't changed his story."

  "The news reporter said Parks' body was connected to Irving's, but he didn't say what the connection was," Bob said. "It could be someone Irving associated with at some point. Or maybe it's a copycat killer. A lot of information came out about the murder during the trial."

  "True, but if there is an actual connection, we may get enough for a new trial for Tray."

  "Any word on your last appeal?"

  "I heard yesterday. It was denied. We've filed every appeal and writ available. We’ve exhausted all our avenues for release. The only thing left is if we can find new evidence, and even then it would have to be substantial."

  "This connection could be anything, Sobs. I'm worried about you getting your hopes up."

  "I always do. I’d better call JP and see what he can find out."

  ***

  Private Detective JP Torn stood in the doorway at Sabre's office, waiting for her to notice he was there. She was focused on the file in front of her. When she finally looked up, she smiled at him.

  "Hey, kid,” said JP. “I hear you're looking for a good private eye."

  "Yeah, you know any?"

  He sauntered over to her desk, removed his black Stetson, and kissed her gently on the neck. "Good enough for you?"

  "I'm not sure yet." She turned her head toward him so their lips met. "Yeah, you'll do."

  JP had been working with Sabre for several years, but they hadn't started dating until recently. They were drawn to each other right from their first meeting, but both denied the connection until they couldn't any longer. He was the yin to her yang. Sabre was an "A-type" personality; JP was a quiet, no-nonsense cowboy, boots and all. Previously, he was a San Diego deputy sheriff, but now he freelanced as a private detective. Their age difference of eighteen years seemed to bother him more than her.

  He moved around the desk and took a seat across from her.

  "So, what's the connection between Irving and the two new dead guys?” Sabre asked. Before he could answer she added, "Have they been identified yet?"

  "I think the police know who they are, but I couldn't squeeze that information out of anyone. They're still notifying family, or trying to." He paused.

  "And the connection to Irving?"

  "At least one of them had GOOF written in black marker on his forehead."

  Sabre sighed. "Maybe they'll find the real killer."

  JP shook his head. "They think they already have Irving's killer. They're looking for a copycat. Tray’s case has been all over the news and the Internet and they’re talking about the word GOOF. Anyone could have seen that and copied it."

  "Is there anything else that is similar?"

  "Not that we know of yet. We’re not even sure if the other men who were murdered are pedophiles because they haven’t yet been identified. As soon as I find out, I'll let you know. Then we can see if there's anything else that may connect all three of them."

  Chapter 36

  Sabre entered Mary Ellen Wilson Group Home. When Sabre first started practicing at juvenile court, she was curious about the name of this group home. After doing a little research, she discovered the group home was named after one of the first children in New York to receive protection from the court system. In Sabre's opinion, this was one of the better group homes in San Diego County. As a rule, she tried to keep her minor clients out of group homes because placing the children with family or in foster homes seemed like more natural, normal settings. Most of her clients did not fare well in the group homes. But for some there was no alternative. If no family came forward and if the foster homes refused to take a child because of the child's behavioral issues, a group home was the next step or often the only option. Sexually abused children were harder than usual to place because parents feared what might happen to their own children. Wilson was opened to house children who were victims of sexual abuse.

  Sabre was greeted at the door by the group home facilitator, Jesse Alder, a tall man with an athletic body, a chiseled face, and a thunderous voice. Most of the children came to respect him after being in the group home for a short time. She found him to be caring and gentle with the boys, but he didn't put up with any nonsens
e. When he spoke, they jumped. She wondered how much that had to do with his deep, commanding voice.

  "Hello, Ms. Brown. Nice to see you again."

  "You too, Jesse. How's my boy doing?"

  "Oscar's a handful, but he's coming around. He's been looking forward to your visit."

  Sabre shook her head. "It's pretty sad when your attorney is the only constant in your life."

  "I know, but it's more than that. He seems to like you, and he doesn't like many people. He hasn't warmed up to any of the social workers. Admittedly, they keep changing. You, on the other hand, have been with him from the start, almost a year."

  "There are times when he has opened up to me about things that happened to him when he was very young, but most of the time I get nothing."

  "From what I understand that's more than he's done in therapy. I'm glad you're on this case. He needs you."

  Sabre sighed. "Thanks. Anything I should know before I see him?"

  "He was in a fight yesterday with a new kid, a fourteen-year-old. The new kid was a lot bigger than Oscar, but that never stops him. From all accounts, this time Oscar didn't start the fight, but he's on disciplinary action just the same since we have a zero tolerance rule about fighting."

  A young man about twenty-five with a full, dark beard who stood approximately six-foot-four and weighed about 300 pounds walked up with Oscar. It made Oscar look even shorter than his five feet. He was an angry, twelve-year-old boy with an angelic face; a sandy, Beatles-style haircut; freckles; and cornflower blue eyes. He was the kind of kid you would like to hug when you first meet him. But then he'd open his mouth and spew out his rage. Then, he'd seem more like a grizzly bear than a teddy bear.

  "Have you met Callum?" Jesse asked Sabre.

  Sabre turned to the big man. "I saw you last time I was here, but we didn't actually meet." She extended her hand. "Nice to meet you, Callum."

  "You too," he said. He looked at Oscar. "Now, you mind your manners and no swearing. You hear?"

  Oscar mumbled something that Sabre didn't understand.

  "Hi, Oscar,” said Sabre.

  "Hi."

  "Let me know if you need anything," Jesse said, and he and Callum walked away.

  Sabre sat down on a chair near the table in the twelve-by twenty-foot room they used for interviews. It contained a small table with four chairs and a love seat. One wall was lined with windows, two of which were open. The other walls were bare and had no pictures. The room contained no plants or any other decor. It was supposedly a work in progress, but it hadn't changed in the four years that Sabre had been going there. The money was always needed elsewhere.

  Oscar didn't sit. Instead, he walked around the room, picking up speed with each pass.

  "Would you like to sit down and talk with me?"

  "No. I'm good."

  "How are things going here?"

  "Terrible."

  "How's that?"

  "I got in a fight yesterday and now I'm on restriction."

  "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

  "No."

  "Okay, you don't have to tell me about the fight. What is your restriction?"

  "The new kid is a fu..." he paused, "stupid ass…." Oscar fidgeted and struggled for the words as he rounded the table. He slowed down and looked at Sabre, and yelled, "He's a stupid jerk!"

  Sabre had to give him credit for trying not to use the cuss words. The last time she was here, he’d sounded like a drunken sailor.

  "What did he do to you?"

  "He kept calling me ‘Pipsqueak,' and then he put his hand on my head and tried to hold me down. But I kicked him real hard in the leg so he let go. When he lost his balance and fell down, I jumped on him. I was getting him pretty good when Hagrid broke us up."

  "Hagrid? Who's that?"

  "The giant from the Harry Potter books. That's what everyone calls Callum. He's big like him, but he's real nice."

  "But you shouldn't call him names."

  "Callum doesn't mind. He likes it. We watch the Harry Potter movies all the time, and Hagrid is his favorite."

  "If you're sure." Sabre paused. "And then you got put on restriction?"

  "Yes."

  "Both of you?"

  "Yes, but he got more than me. It's a point system and you lose points for each offense. I only got in trouble for fighting. Junior got it for fighting, calling names, and insatgating, instantgating, or something."

  "Instigating?"

  "Yeah, he instigating-ed the fight. And that's worse." Oscar moved quickly around the room. As he circled, he bounced one foot against the wall and kept going almost as if he were walking along the wall.

  "Oscar, could you come here and sit for just a few minutes? It won't take long."

  He scowled but sat down across from Sabre. Instead of looking at her, though, he faced the window. This is how their sessions usually went. Oscar would start out like she was a stranger but before she left, he was talking to her like she was his friend. The only subject she could never get him to open up about was the molestation. One of his mother's drunken boyfriends had abused him on several occasions. That and his mother's alcohol abuse is why he and his brother were removed from the mother's home.

  "So, what was your punishment?"

  "I lost game room privileges for three days." He wiggled around in his chair.

  "Other than your recent fight, how have things been going here?"

  He bobbed his head. "It sucks, but it doesn’t suck any more than other places I've been."

  Sabre's heart ached for this young man. He had never really had a childhood. His mother and father were both mean, angry alcoholics. The domestic violence in that household was non-stop for the first six years of Oscar's life. He would get so scared when they started fighting that he would hide under his bed with his ears covered to drown out the noise. She knew that because he had told her about it some time ago.

  Oscar looked out the window and his eyes narrowed with contempt. Then the color suddenly drained from his face. Sabre turned to see what had brought on the anger or fear she was seeing in his face. Two cops were outside talking to Jesse.

  "Do you think I'll be arrested?"

  "Why would you be arrested?"

  "For fighting yesterday."

  "I'm sure they're not here to arrest you for fighting. Jesse already dealt with all that." Then Sabre considered that the other child's parents may have called the police, but she didn't think it very likely.

  "I hate cops," Oscar said. He stood up and came closer to Sabre.

  "Why?"

  "Because they took my dad from me."

  "But your dad is not in jail."

  "Not now, but when I was little my mom and dad got into a fight. I started to go hide under the bed, but my mom was holding my baby brother and I was afraid he would get hurt."

  "So what did you do?" Sabre asked.

  "I grabbed him from my mom and I hid him under the bed. One of the neighbors called the cops, and when they showed up, my dad was furious."

  "What did he do?"

  "I forgot to shut the door, so I could see them from where we were hiding. My mom and dad were punching each other. There was blood everywhere. They were both swinging and screaming, and the cops were trying to get them apart. I saw my mom fall to the ground. Blood was shooting from her mouth. One cop pounded on my dad with his billy club."

  "Did you come out from your hiding place?"

  “No. I wrapped the pillow I kept under there around my brother, and I hid until the cops found us. My mom went to the hospital and my dad went to jail. If those stupid cops hadn't shown up, my dad would never have left us."

  "But your mom could've been hurt really bad."

  "The cops made him madder and so he hurt her more. He was always worse when they came."

  "How long did your dad stay in jail?"

  "I don't know because when he came out he went to a rehab center, and he never came home to stay after that. He got married about a year later, and the
n he stopped seeing us kids completely. He just left us and made a new family." Oscar kept his eyes on the cops outside as he spoke, and then he moved closer to Sabre.

  Sabre told him, "Sometimes parents do things that aren't right, but that doesn't mean he stopped loving you." Sabre searched for anything that might make this boy feel better.

  "No." He shook his head. "He didn't love us anymore. I used to beg to go see him, but he didn't want to see me. Then one day he came by the house and I thought he was coming to get me, but he was there to pick up something he had left in the garage. My mom asked him for some money, and he told her he didn't have any—that he had his own kids now to take care of. I hate cops."

  Oscar was standing right next to her now. Sabre wanted to reach out and wrap her arms around him and tell him that everything was going to be okay, but she knew that wouldn't really be the truth. She considered explaining that it was not the cops' fault, but he didn’t want to hear that right now. She guessed that his fear and hatred for cops stemmed from more than the issues with his father. The man who molested him was a security officer. It made Sabre angry to think what his parents had done to their son: the fear and the abandonment that he felt for most of his life, and the neglect and the abuse by his mother's boyfriend. He never had a chance to be a normal child.

  The two cops followed Jesse toward the building where Sabre and Oscar were talking. Oscar's eyes darted from the window to Sabre.

  "Don't let them take me to jail," Oscar blurted.

  Sabre stood up. "I'll see what's going on."

  Jesse opened the door and walked in with the two deputy sheriffs.

  "Ms. Brown, these officers are here to talk to Oscar," Jessie said.

  Sabre walked around the table toward the door, but Oscar stayed behind. "What about?" She looked from one officer to the other.

  The taller of the two cops spoke. "We just want to ask him some questions, ma'am."

  "I don't know what this is about, but I'm his attorney and no one will question him without me present."

  "That's fine, ma'am."