The Advocate - 03 - The Advocate's Conviction

by Teresa Burrell

  “You mean like someone in the cult?” They walked over to a concrete planter that surrounded a small tree and served as a bench and sat down.

  “I don’t think there is a cult. I don’t think Cole’s mother is involved with satanic rituals. She just doesn’t strike me as the type.” Bob paused. He took a deep breath. “Do you think Cole could be involved in something like that? Could someone have him under some spell? He’s young and impressionable.” Bob removed a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and took one out.

  “I doubt it. I don’t really know him that well, but he’s like the ‘little man of the house’ and very determined to take care of his family.”

  “Which makes him that much more impressionable. Sabre, I’m not suggesting he’s a bad kid. I’m just saying he could be under someone else’s control.” Bob put the cigarette in his mouth and lit it.

  Sabre gave him her “I don’t approve” scowl. “That’s it. Maybe the abductor is not after just any kids, maybe he’s just after the Johnson kids?”

  “Their father,” Bob stated. “That could explain why Cole would listen to him.”

  Sabre sighed. “I’d rather think that he was with his father than that he’s out there all alone. It would have to be a better scenario. You’d think, right?”

  “You’d think.” Bob took a drag off the cigarette and then placed it down low to his right so the smoke wouldn’t go in Sabre’s direction.

  Sabre thought Bob must know more about the father than had been reported, but she didn’t really want to know that right now. “Can you talk to your client and see if she has seen anything strange that might indicate Cole has some involvement with a cult? I don’t think he does, but we better check it out. He’d be in as much or more danger if it’s an outside influence on him. And what about those chicken feet and goat blood?”

  “It’s just food,” Bob replied, emphasizing the word food. “She got it from the guy up the street with the chicken farm. They were hungry. I don’t think it has anything to do with satanic rituals.” Bob raised his hand in dismissal. “That social worker is nuts. She’s seeing Satan everywhere. Just because the police uncovered that house doesn’t mean every juvenile case is involved.”

  “But the house was discovered after this case was filed,” Sabre reminded him.

  “I still think she’s nuts. She hasn’t found anything else that indicates any abuse, and absolutely nothing ritualistic.”

  “That’s true, unless they have a hand in this … this abduction.”

  Bob shook his head.

  Sabre said, “I’m just saying we need to look at all possibilities. And in that vein, what else do you know about the father?”

  “Not a lot. He was abusive to his wife, but Leanne says he never got real physical with the kids. He’s an alcoholic and his abusive behavior had been escalating toward her and the children. She kicked him out before he could start hurting the kids.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “She doesn’t know. She says she hasn’t seen or heard from him since.” Bob put his cigarette out.

  “Please find me anything you can on him and I’ll have JP try to track him down. If he’s behind this, who knows what he’s into.”

  “Have you heard anything on Bailey?”

  “Not a word,” Sabre said. “How did the meeting go with her mother?”

  “Fine. I told her to call if she hears from Bailey.”

  “Do you think she will?”

  “Probably not.”

  “What happened with her case downtown?”

  “She entered a plea to a misdemeanor. It’s her first offense. She expects to get probation.”

  “That’s good. If she cleans herself up, it’ll be better for Bailey.”

  Bob didn’t respond, but looked pensive.

  “What is it? What are you thinking?”

  “Do you know an attorney named Barry Betts?”

  “That name sounds familiar.” Sabre closed her lips tightly, moving them from left to right. “Hmm, I just heard that name recently, but I don’t know where. Why?”

  “He’s Karen’s attorney on the criminal case. He’s in private practice and somehow he volunteered to take her case pro bono.”

  “That happens.” Sabre stood up. “You ready?” She turned around and suddenly looked wide eyed at Bob. “I know where it was.”

  “Where what was?”

  “The name … Barry Betts. I know where I heard the name. It was in court the other day on Collicott’s case. She knows him from adoptions. That’s his specialty. He was here representing the mother.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “Kind of a sleaze. Tall, skinny guy, greasy hair. He was so thin his cheeks sunk in. You saw him come out of the courtroom. Remember? You called him Ichabod Crane.”

  “That was an attorney? I thought he was a parent. That guy was weird. I talked with him a few minutes out front that day. I went outside to get a little fresh air and …”

  “You mean pollute the air.”

  Bob ignored her and finished his sentence. “… he starting talking to me.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I only talked with him about five minutes, but he managed to tell me he was a Harvard graduate. He didn’t say he was a lawyer, just that he went to Harvard. He had an odd twitch. He bobbed his head, kind of like one of those little, toy dogs that sit in people’s car windows. It looked even stranger because he had such a long, skinny neck.”

  “Harvard?”

  “Yeah. I just thought he was a client and he was making up crap. He asked me a couple of questions about procedure here, but he still didn’t sound like an attorney, just someone wondering what was going to happen next. He was very odd. And then a cab pulled up and he got in it and left.” Bob raised his hands, palms up. “Who takes a cab to work?”

  “Maybe his car broke down or something.”

  “Maybe. But you know what’s really strange. He offered to represent Karen Lecy in juvenile court … pro bono also. Why would he do that? No one in their right mind would do this work for free.”

  “Maybe he thought it would help her case downtown or maybe he’s trying to get a foot in the juvenile door. Or maybe he’s just a good guy trying to do some penance.” But Sabre thought the same thing. Why would anyone do juvenile work pro bono? Every attorney knows it’s the kind of law you need to do on a regular basis or you can’t do it well, and it takes precedent over other courtrooms so you lose control of your calendar when you do juvenile work. “It’s a little odd, I guess.”

  16

  The dawn had nothing on JP. He often arrived before it did. This morning was no exception and this time he had help waking up. His arm was hanging over the edge of the bed when he felt a warm, wet, rough tongue on his fingertips. He reached down and picked up his new roommate—a brown and white beagle puppy.

  “Good morning, Louie,” he said as he sat him down on his bare chest. Louie stuck his face right in JP’s. JP turned his head but not before Louie got in a few good licks. “Wrong, Louie. Not on the face.” JP grabbed Louie around the stomach with one hand, flung the covers back with the other, and stepped out of bed. Wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, he carried Louie out the back door, and gently sat the dog down on the grass. When he finished his business they both went back in the house to have some breakfast.

  JP wanted to stay home and spend time with Louie. They were just getting to know one another, but he had a full plate and he was determined to find Cole before one more nightfall. In addition to locating Cole and Bailey, he needed to follow up on several other things for Sabre. He had appointments to meet with Regina Collicott, gather information on Barry Betts, finish canvassing the stores near Cole, and investigate Cole’s father. But first he needed to find Cole. That awful feeling in his stomach wouldn’t abate until he did.

  The sun was coming up just as JP arrived at the park, his black Stetson in the front seat next to him. He picked up his hat and placed it on his
head as he exited the car. Experience had taught him to wear the hat when he interviewed strangers, although he generally wore it anyway. But for some reason people seemed more willing to open up to a “cowboy.” He made a quick trip around the park, checking all the places where a little boy could hide. He questioned the few people he saw, waking vagrants and stopping joggers, but to no avail.

  After his search of the park, he made a round of all the stores where he thought Cole might try to steal some food. He had been to most of them yesterday, but today he brought copies of Cole’s picture to leave at each store so clerks on different shifts might recognize him if he came in.

  JP entered a convenience store on H Street and waited as the clerk finished ringing up a customer. JP introduced himself and handed the picture to the large, young man behind the counter. He stood about six-foot-four and had to weigh over three hundred pounds. His voice was deep but pleasant and JP could see the concern in his eyes when he told him the little boy was missing.

  “What’s your name?” JP asked.

  “Mikey.”

  JP was a little surprised at the name. This little name didn’t seem to fit such a big guy. Mike or Michael, maybe, but not Mikey. That was a kid’s name—a pet name for a child—but then, he was someone’s child. “This little boy has been missing for several days. Have you seen him?”

  Mikey studied the picture for about thirty seconds and then shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’m sorry.”

  “We have reason to believe that if he’s hungry he might go into stores and try to steal something to eat. Do you know if you’ve had food missing off the shelves?”

  “Stuff is always getting stolen here. It’s hard to keep track. We get these scumballs that come in here and pocket things all the time. They’re usually in groups and one or two will cause distractions while others heist stuff. I catch more of them than most of the clerks. I’m pretty good at it.”

  “But you’ve never seen this kid? He’s nearly four feet tall, thin, and his hair is a little longer than the photo.”

  Mikey looked at the photo again. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe what?”

  “When I came on my shift last night, a kid darted past me just before I came in the door. He flung the door open and took off running. It could’ve been him.”

  “Did you see his face?”

  “Not really. I reached for the door just as it flew open. I was trying to keep from getting hit with the door so I didn’t really look down. And before I knew it, he was past me.”

  “What time was that?”

  “My shift started at ten o’clock. I was here about fifteen minutes before that.”

  “Did you see where he went?”

  “He ran around the building.” Mikey pointed to his left making a half circle motion. “By the time I turned around he was gone.”

  JP looked up at the surveillance camera in the corner. The light was on and it was moving from left to right scanning the store. “Any chance I could see the camera footage from last night?”

  Mikey shook his head. “There’s no tape in there. There’s something wrong with the machine and it doesn’t record. The boss leaves it on, hoping it will stop some thieves, but they don’t seem to care anyway. I told him I could fix it for him. I know all about fixing things, but he doesn’t want me to.”

  JP smiled, turning his head so as not to offend the young man. He recalled how nice it was to be young and know everything. He tried to remember when it was that he became stupid again. At seven or eight years old he felt stupid most of the time. But through his teen years, he thought he knew so much more than the adults around him. It was somewhere between twenty and thirty years old that things changed. It’s not like he woke up one day and suddenly realized his parents, and most of the other adults in his teen years, actually knew what they were talking about. But somehow through the years he knew he started to heed their advice and even seek it out. Ah, to be young again. No, maybe not. Not in this world.

  JP questioned Mikey a little longer and then handed him his card. “Thanks for all your help. Please call if you see him.”

  JP drove off to continue with his search. He turned around the side of the gas station where Mikey had indicated the young man had fled. He drove through the alley past the rear of a thrift store and out onto the street. He was several blocks from the park now and even further from where he was purported to be with Mama T. If it was Cole, he had covered a lot of ground assuming he came from the park. And what was he doing out so late at night by himself? JP circled around covering several blocks around the gas station while looking for Cole or some indication of a place where he might hide. He found nothing other than the standard dumpsters and rear entrances to stores with steps that might provide a bit of shelter from the night air. He questioned every bum and every store clerk within the circle but he didn’t find one lead.

  JP checked his cell phone for the time. He could make it to Regina Collicott’s office in time for his appointment with about fifteen minutes to spare.

  The law office of Regina Collicott was that of a sole practitioner. There was no receptionist to greet JP, nor was there a fancy lobby. JP didn’t see a secretarial staff and he remembered that when he called to make the appointment Regina had answered the phone herself.

  JP opened her office door. It seemed so private, he felt like he should knock, but he didn’t. Regina remained behind her large, mahogany desk when he walked in. The light scent of perfume and cigarette smoke lingered in the air. The smoke scent wasn’t very strong; she probably smoked outside and brought it in on her clothes. She motioned to a chair. “Please have a seat. And thank you for coming by this morning.” Her words were spoken quickly but not abrasively.

  “No problem. I was surprised you had me come by this time of day. Most of the juvenile court attorneys never have morning appointments. They’re always in court, especially Sabre and Bob.” JP sat down across from her in a gray office chair, one you might see in furniture rental places, not horribly uncomfortable but not a chair anyone would want to sit in too long. He wondered if they made them that way because it was cheaper, or if they were designed to keep meetings short.

  “They both carry huge case loads. Only about a fourth of my calendar is dependency work. I spend the rest of the time on adoptions. There are a lot fewer court appearances.” Regina handed him a juvenile court detention report. “I actually have two cases I’d like you to investigate, if you’re willing, of course. I represent the children in this case and the case has been tagged as a ‘ritual case’ for lack of a better term.”

  “But you’re not sure?” JP thought he detected some doubt in her voice.

  “I certainly haven’t ruled it out. The social worker points to self-mutilation of the seven-year-old girl as an indicator, which by itself could be many things. There are also the pictures the five-year-old boy has been drawing.”

  “What are the pictures of?” JP asked.

  Regina reached into a file and removed a copy of a picture and handed it to JP. “Like this one.”

  “I don’t get it,” JP said.

  “What do you see in the drawing?”

  “I see geometric shapes. It looks like a math worksheet. There’s a circle, a triangle, a rectangle, and what looks like a poorly drawn trapezoid, or maybe it’s a bug. It’s hard to tell.”

  “The social worker saw it quite differently and she found a therapist who seemed to agree with her. See how the triangle overlaps the circle.”

  “Yeah,” JP said.

  “The social worker thinks that’s a pentagram.”

  “But it’s only one triangle and it barely overlaps.”

  The social worker pointed to the rectangle shape. “And this she says is a coffin. The circle is a child.”

  JP raised his eyebrows. “And the bug?”

  “That’s the devil. See the two points on the end of it?”

  “Yeah, they sort of look like antennae, but I really thought the little boy overlap
ped his lines.”

  “She thinks it illustrates a ritual commonly known as some kind of rebirth into Satan’s world.”

  JP shook his head. He still thought it was a math paper.

  “Were there any other ‘satanic’ indicators?”

  “Just one. According to the report, when the social worker arrived to remove the children, the baby had feces smeared on his face and chest. But all the pictures show is a small smudge on the baby’s cheek and I’m not sure anyone verified that it was even feces. It may very well have been chocolate since the five-year-old had a melted Twix bar in his pocket.”

  “Assuming it was feces, what does that have to do with anything?”

  “It’s another act that supposedly is performed by Satanists. They use excrement in rituals to defile the innocence of children and to humiliate them. This somehow puts them closer to Satan, I guess.” Regina continued to speak quickly. At first JP thought she might be in a hurry, but after a while he decided she just spoke that way.

  “What do you think? Do you think these are satanic rituals?”

  “Personally, I think it’s a stretch, but that’s what I‘d like you to find out.”

  “Anything you specifically want me to do? Or anywhere in particular you’d like me to start?”

  “Talk to relatives, neighbors. Check the backgrounds on anyone you might find suspicious. Do another check on the parents. See if the department missed anything.”

  “Can I talk to the children?”

  “Certainly. I’ll set that up. I’ll be there, of course. You do know how to interview children, don’t you?” Before JP could answer, Regina continued, “Of course you do. I apologize for being so blunt. It’s just that we’ve never worked together before and I don’t really know how you operate. But you work with Sabre Brown and Bob Clark all the time and I trust their judgment.”

  JP was sure she was going to say more, but he jumped in. “If it’ll make you more comfortable, you can do the talking. I mostly want to watch their body language. Sometimes I learn more from that than the actual words. It would probably be better for the children anyway.”