“I would like to speak to this gentleman.” He gave her a look over the top of his bifocals. “You may sit, Mrs. Crane. You, too, Mrs. Rice.”
The attorney heaved her great bulk to the left. She heaved to the right. She was unsure of which way she should turn now that the judge was rewriting her script. Finally, she plopped herself on the bench next to the caseworker.
“Thank you.” The judge turned his attention to Archer. “It’s time for twenty questions, sir. Let’s begin with where you think Ms. Bates might be.”
“No idea. We have her car. We have information that is pointing us to an old client who was recently released from prison.”
Mrs. Rice rolled her bulk as if she was going to stand up. The judge waggled his finger and went back to Archer.
“How long has she been gone?”
“Two days; almost three.”
“Do you live with Mrs. Bates?”
Archer hesitated for the briefest moment then answered, “No, Your Honor. We have separate residences.”
“Who else lives at the home with Ms. Bates and Ms. Sheraton?”
“No one, Judge.”
“So Hannah would be alone in the house if I disallowed CPS’s request to remand her to their custody?”
“Yes. But . . .”
“Let’s stick with the basics. What are your plans for Hannah should I release her to your custody?”
Archer looked over his shoulder at the girl. His eyes lingered on her while the filmstrip of their existence together ran through his brain. Hannah looked back, knowing Archer could go either way where she was concerned. She didn’t try to sway him by look or word. He would do what he wanted, and it would be weighted in everyone’s best interest, not just hers. Hannah could accept that. Finally, he turned back to the bench.
“Could you clarify, Judge?”
“Considering you are here, and you are speaking for Hannah, I would assume you arrived with a plan for her custody until the matter with Ms. Bates is resolved.”
“I would check on her. I can always be reached.”
“But she would be alone in the house?”
“There’s the dog. The house has a security system. Hannah’s been alone before,” Archer answered.
That was just too much for Mrs. Rice. She tried to shoot out of her seat only to need an assist from Mrs. Crane. The drama of her outrage was lost in the moment.
“Your Honor, isn’t that the point here? To show that the court has compassion? Place her, so she is not left alone.”
“Placement is more alone than being in Josie’s house.”
All heads turned. It was Hannah who responded to Mrs. Rice’s argument and her retort was sharp and honest. No one spoke, no one tried to hush her, but they all judged her. To Mrs. Rice Hannah was a widget on the assembly line, to Mrs. Crane she was an uppity brat to be beaten down, to the judge she was a refreshing curiosity, and to Archer she was Josie’s protégé, a young woman who now spoke for herself fearlessly.
Hannah’s long-fingered hands were crossed in her lap, resting quietly, her tapping and counting was perhaps forgotten but probably just controlled. She was poised and confident, but all one had to do was look a little deeper to see that her green eyes smoldered and her jaw was clenched. She spoke to the judge.
“Have you ever been in a county home?”
“I’ve visited many times, yes,” the judge answered.
“No, I mean, have you ever lived in one?” she pressed.
The judge shook his head. Hannah looked at Mrs. Rice and Mrs. Crane. Both had the good sense to lower their eyes.
“Well, visiting is different than living in one,” she went on. “If you’re lucky, it’s just lonely in those places. If you’re not so lucky, you have to fight for food or fight off some guy who says he’s your foster father and he needs some love. Sometimes the women beat you. Sometimes you have to take a beating, so they don’t do it to the little kids. Even if you have a good house, the foster mother won’t remember your face a year later. These people aren’t real parents; these women aren’t real mothers.” Hannah looked over at the two women. “Why don’t you all go stay a week in a placement, then come back and tell me I have to go.”
When Hannah was done and there was no response, she looked just long enough at the two women to underscore her challenge, and then turned her eyes back to the front of the court. She couldn’t look at Archer for fear she would be tempted to beg him to save her. She didn’t look at the judge because he was one of them, one of the three arbiters of the state’s idea of justice.
“It is not a perfect system, Hannah,” Judge Leisinger said quietly, “but it is what we have. Should the court find placement preferable, I will take your comments into consideration and personally review the situation.”
Mrs. Rice had the decency to lower her voice when she caught the court’s attention. She fumbled through her papers and came up with what she wanted.
“Your Honor, I would like to introduce a letter from Hannah’s mother. She objects to the proposed custody of her daughter by Josie Bates. She loves her daughter dearly and does not -”
“That’s rich,” Archer sniffed. He leaned forward like a man on his third shot of whiskey wanting to argue a critical call in the World Series. “Her mother is a murderer. She tried to have this girl take the rap for what she did. Hannah’s mother is at-”
“We believe in rehabilitation in this state,” Mrs. Rice interrupted.
“Then you must believe in Santa Clause,” he muttered.
“That’s enough,” the judge ordered, his anger presenting itself as annoyance. “I am fully aware of the history of both mother and daughter. Step back, sir.”
The judge would not allow a parent – murderer or not – to be disparaged. This was children’s court, and even a child like Hannah Sheraton would not be subjected to more pain than she already carried if he could help it. He motioned for Mrs. Rice to step forward. She handed him the letter. He read it, sent it along to his clerk, and turned his attention to Hannah.
“Ms. Sheraton, your principal is concerned about you,” he said.
“I haven’t missed one class, Judge. I’m on the honor roll. I lied to Mrs. Manning about where Josie was because I didn’t want her freaking out. Josie is important now, not me. Please, I need to be home when she comes back. She’ll need my help.”
Hannah’s head dipped. Her cloud of hair hid her face briefly. When she raised her head, tears glistened in her eyes, one spilled over her lashes and coursed down her cheek but her gaze never wavered and her voice did not break when she said:
“Please, don’t make me leave my home.”
The judge did Hannah the courtesy of watching her a minute longer before he turned to the county attorney.
“Mrs. Rice? Do you have anything else?”
“Yes, Your Honor. I’d like to give Mrs. Crane a few moments.”
“Go ahead.”
He picked up a pencil and tracked Mrs. Crane’s precise steps. Archer sat down next to Hannah. As he did so, his knee touched hers, his shoulder bumped against hers. They faced forward, but that second of contact, that moment of connection, changed everything. Hannah knew she had a champion, and Archer understood why Josie had needed to rescue this girl. What he loved about Josie, he could admire in Hannah: determination, strength in the face of fear, and an absolute belief that right, not expediency, should prevail. Now the only thing that prevailed was Mrs. Crane, and her voice was filled with the constipation of county crap.
“Your Honor, Ms. Bates’ residence is acceptable in terms of the physical layout. Hannah has her own bedroom, and the home is clean and well taken care of. She has been attending her meetings with her psychologist. And, indeed, she is an excellent student.” Mrs. Crane took a deep breath so that her energy would be high when she launched into the bad stuff and, indeed, what came out of her mouth was bad. “But, Your Honor, there are obvious problems that even you cannot ignore.”
“I will do my best to fol
low you,” he answered evenly.
“Well, I took it upon myself to look a little further into the environment Ms. Sheraton finds herself in. She spends much of her free time at a restaurant/bar called Burt’s by the Beach. Hermosa has problems with public intoxication and young people are greatly affected. In fact, just last year the statistics for alcohol related crimes – both misdemeanors and felonies – among minors was alarmingly…”
“Do you have those statistics,” the judge broke in.
“Of course.” She minced toward the bench, handed over her research with flair.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Yes. There is another child named Billy Zuni. He also seems to have difficulty at home. He and Hannah spend quite a bit of time together. We cannot have children watching out for children. I’ve already started an investigation into Billy’s home situation and, if need be, I will ask the court to remand him to county custody, also.”
“No, you can’t do that!” Hannah shot straight out of her seat and was at the judge’s bench before anyone could stop her. “Are you going to let that bi-”
“Be careful,” the judge warned even as the two women gasped.
“I’m sorry.” She put her hands up in apology and took two steps back. When her hands came down again, she took two steps forward. “It’s just you have to understand. Everyone in Hermosa looks after everyone. We’re not out getting drunk every night.”
“Billy Zuni has been arrested for truancy,” Mrs. Crane added.
“And half the time he isn’t in school because he's with his mom who’s hung over. What’s wrong with that? He’s taking care of her.” Hannah shot back. “Why don’t you let me talk?”
“I think that would be a good idea, Mrs. Crane. You can sit down,” Leisinger directed.
Hannah stood up straight and put her hands by her side. Archer saw her index finger start to tap her thigh. The heel of her left shoe was being raised and lowered almost imperceptible. It took everything he had not to speak for her, but that wouldn’t help. Hannah had to have her say.
“Your Honor. Judge. I’m only sixteen, but I’ve been around. Not like those women want you to think, but I’ve seen a lot. One thing I know is that adults screw up and make bad choices, and kids have to pay for them; kids screw up and make bad choices and they get creamed. I never had one person looking out for me, and now I’ve got a whole little city worried about me and Josie. You don’t know how worried everyone is, and how they are all trying to help. I may have screwed up with the posters, but I was trying to do the right thing. Maybe that wasn’t the right thing, but I have to tell you there’s one thing I can do that nobody else can.”
“What would that be, Hannah?” Judge Leisinger asked.
“I can wait. I know how to keep my eye on the door. If I’m not there, Josie will know. If I am there, she’ll come back to me eventually. Waiting always brought my mom back, and she didn’t even care about me.”
Nobody could argue with what Hannah brought to the table. In that final sixteen-year-old argument for independence, was a message of hope and faith and love that was both an uplifting explanation of her own strength, and a devastating commentary on the system.
“Judge?” Mrs. Crane cleared her throat, and it sounded like she was singing too loud in church. “That was quite lovely, but we have to also point out that it is this person,” she half turned toward Archer, “a man who has been Ms. Bates’ significant other who appears to be offering himself as interim guardian to Hannah.”
Mrs. Rice lumbered up beside her counterpart in a show of solidarity. Her sweater had bunched up on her substantial hips; her arms were akimbo instead of at her sides because of her bulk. She couldn’t help but add her two cents.
“It would be one thing if this gentleman was in a committed relationship with Ms. Bates, then we could argue that he was a father figure within the household. But this relationship is casual, and that is hardly the optimal situation for Hannah. She will be a young woman alone in an environment that this man has access to, day or night.”
Outwardly, Archer didn’t flinch; inside he was boiling. It was a good thing this woman wasn’t talking that kind of trash in Burt’s bar. Archer would have decked her in a minute, wiped that self-righteous piggy purse off her lips. Hannah, though, started. He pressed his shoulder against hers and felt the tension in her body.
“We’re good,” he whispered.
“Thank you for that input, Counsel. Mrs. Crane.” The judge took thirty long seconds to consider the paperwork on his desk.
“Your Honor,” Mrs. Rice didn’t know when to quit. Judges could be like sleeping dogs, better to let them lie. The expression Leisinger showed to her was less than pleased. She didn’t notice and kept poking at him. “Please also consider that Ms. Bates is known to have been attorney of record in some quite notorious defendants. Even this man.” She indicated Archer. “Even he admits that they are tracking one of her clients as the possible perpetrator of her disappearance. But he is not the only possibility. No matter what has taken Josie Bates away from Hannah Sheraton, it boils down to the fact that there are only two choices – the situation she finds herself in is dangerous or she is selfish. ”
Archer was on his feet. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sit down,” The judge snapped. “Now.”
Before Archer could settle in his seat, the judge who had heard enough nonsense, made his ruling.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO:
Josie Bates’ House, Hermosa Beach
“Totally awesome, Hannah! Come on, you gotta admit it. Three patties on those burgers is way awesome. And fries? And onion rings? And pie?”
Billy Zuni balanced on the low wall that separated the Strand from the sand. Every fifth step he threw out his arms, pretending he was going to fall, but Hannah didn’t bite. She walked a few steps ahead, her thumbs crooked in the pockets of her low cut jeans. Her sweater was tied around her waist because it had been too hot to wear a sweater in the first place. She had thought it would be okay since it was made of an open weave cotton that she figured the breeze would go right through it, if there ever was a breeze. It was the heat that made her even more edgy an impatient with Billy. The burgers were awesome, but she wasn’t going to go on like some fool about them. Besides, Billy was ignoring the fact that Burt was treating them like kids whose parents were divorcing.
“He gave you a deal, Billy. Burt doesn’t charge twenty bucks for all that food,” Hannah sniffed.
“So?” Billy jumped down from the wall, his flip-flops slapping on the concrete. He ran ahead of her and turned around to walk backward. “Doesn’t mean that they weren’t awesome, does it?”
“No,” she muttered.
“And maybe he just wanted to celebrate that the judge let you go. I know I want to celebrate. Man, you beat the whole system.”
Hannah couldn’t argue with him about Burt’s generosity so she didn’t try. She just didn’t like overt kindness. It bothered her, made her skin itch, made her think there was another shoe that was going to drop if she gave in to comfort. Burt had put his hand over hers as he passed on his way to give an order to the kitchen. She had smiled at him even though she didn’t like people touching her. When he stopped to ask if there was anything she needed at the house, he didn’t take no for an answer and promised to send over some ready-made meals. She would have preferred he accepted her word that she was fine. When he didn’t, it made her feel like he thought she was lying. And when he went about his business, greeting other patrons and filling their orders and that made her mad too. She didn’t want anyone to be doing business as usual. Nothing was usual.
Then she saw his mangled legs, trophies from that horrid motorcycle accident. He had almost died but he worked his way through the pain and terror and come out the other side, business as usual. That’s when Hannah got up to leave. She didn’t mind working through the pain and terror, she just didn’t want to be more mangled when she reached the end of the
journey. So she left the restaurant and Billy followed. He caught up with her, but knew better than to actually touch her as she walked. He fell behind for a while, then for a while he walked in front of her. All Billy really wanted was to help.
“Bet Archer was glad you didn’t have to go to a foster home, too.”
Hannah’s eyes lowered, and she couldn’t help smiling. She and Archer had both been jazzed when they walked out of court, leaving the two county witches to stew over the fact that they hadn’t cast the proper spell on Judge Leisinger. Archer had even managed a smile. It wasn’t big and it wasn’t wide, but Hannah saw it.
“Forty-eight hours isn’t much but it’s something,” Hannah said, not wanting to voice what she really thought.
In her soul, Hannah took this as a sign that everything was going to be all right. She had tried to thank Archer, but he got back in the Hummer like he hadn’t heard her so she didn’t try again. The morning had turned to afternoon by the time he dropped her back at Josie’s. The last thing he did was reach in the back for her big bag. He gave it to her and said:
“Put that stuff away.”
He took off, needing to catch up with Liz Driscoll and check his messages hoping the people he was tracking had called him back with information that could lead to Josie. It was Archer’s twenty that had bought them the feast at Burt’s, and now Hannah was getting antsy. She wanted her phone to ring. She wanted to get home to see if there was a message on the house line. She wanted Max by her side because he made her feel like she was home for sure, but Billy was sticking to her like glue. He was walking backward again, jabbering as he always did about nonsensical stuff, hardly noticing that Hannah wasn’t just lost in thought, she had come to a dead stop.
“Hannah, want to go over to …”
A few steps later, Billy figured out she was mesmerized by something she saw over his shoulder. He stopped, too, and shook back his blond shock of hair.
“Hannah? You okay?”
Without a word, she put her hand out like a sleepwalker and pushed him aside. Billy followed. He didn’t see anything, yet it was clear that Hannah did. She walked slowly at first, and then picked up the pace until she was running. That pretty sweater unwound from her waist and dropped to the ground as she ran. Billy scooped it up and followed after her.
Expert Witness Page 20