Sabre finished reading the report. She shuffled back through the pages again. Nowhere in the report did it indicate that the social worker had spoken to Hammouri, the chicken farmer. So either she hadn’t interviewed him or she deliberately left it out of the report because it didn’t support her recommendation. Both scenarios were unacceptable.
Sabre stepped into Department Four, closing the door quietly behind her. She sat down next to Bob in the front row directly behind the bailiff.
“Hi, snookums,” he whispered. “This hearing is almost over. Watch Wagner’s client. She keeps staring at Mike, the bailiff. She’s practically drooling.”
“Is that the one who keeps flashing her boobs at him?” she whispered back.
“Yeah, Mike’s girlfriend.” Bob spoke just loudly enough for Mike to hear him.
The bailiff turned around, leaned over the railing, and said to Bob, “Hush, or I’ll throw you out of here.”
Bob and Sabre both smiled. They knew he was joking. They teased Mike relentlessly and in turn he did the same. Sabre was certain Bob had been jabbing him all morning about his “girlfriend.” Every time this client came to court she wore low cut dresses and she always made sure Mike saw her. He hated to be on the metal detector when she came to court because she would hang out near it trying to talk to him. She wasn’t particularly unattractive, but her face looked weathered from the sun and when she smiled several gaps appeared in her teeth. Her hair was bleached and she was about thirty pounds overweight. Everything about her seemed extreme. Her skirt was too short, her heels too high, and her makeup too heavy.
Sabre and Bob watched her as the hearing continued. The woman had positioned herself so she was showing Mike plenty of leg. She seemed to be paying little attention to the judge, more interested in Mike than whether or not her children would be returned to her. Sabre glanced at Mike. He tried to look everywhere except at her. The client shifted in her seat, bobbing her head, and swinging her leg in an obvious attempt to catch Mike’s attention. Even the judge saw it and smirked.
When the hearing ended the client wiggled her butt as she pranced out of the courtroom, looking back every few steps at Mike. He just shook his head. When the door closed behind her Mike said to Bob, “Don’t even start, or I’ll throw you in a cell with the other derelicts.”
Bob laughed, “She’s your girlfriend, not mine.”
“Are you ready on your cases? I want you out of here,” Mike said.
Bob went out in the hallway to see if his client on the Lecy case had arrived.
“Did she show?” Sabre asked.
“Naw. Let’s just do it. Anyway, this hearing should’ve been vacated when they issued the Pickup and Detain Order on Bailey.”
“They probably thought she’d be back by now.”
The Lecy case was called and continued without further date until Bailey was picked up.
The Johnson case was called next. Bob brought his client, the mother, Leanne Johnson, into the courtroom. She appeared nervous or anxious. Sabre wasn’t sure which. She felt sorry for the woman who had no idea where her oldest child was and who was unable to visit very often with the rest of her children. But Sabre felt even sorrier for her children. They missed their mother and their siblings terribly. They constantly asked for one another whenever Sabre visited them. Sabre saw the pain on this mother’s face and thought how hard it must be to not see one’s children. Sabre dealt with different cases every day and the hearings seemed to come up quickly to her, but to the parents and the children the waiting must seem like forever.
The mother came to court probably thinking something would actually happen for her today, even though Sabre knew Bob had explained the process to her. The parents always wanted the process to not be prolonged. Instead, another hearing would be set and the parents and children would be required to wait for the wheels of justice to turn. She knew they didn’t understand. Heck, sometimes she didn’t either.
“In the matter of Cole, Hayden, Alexandria, Blake, and Wyatt Johnson …” the court clerk called the case.
Bob stood up. “Your Honor, this will be a trial set on behalf of the mother.”
County Counsel spoke up without standing. “Your Honor, since Cole is still missing we’d like to continue this matter for a couple more weeks.”
Bob said, “The mother would like to have the jurisdictional trial set as soon as possible. Cole was not in his mother’s care but rather in the care of the Department of Social Services when he disappeared. She has no idea where her son is or what has happened to him. The department has neglected to protect Cole and now they want to buy some time to make their case of neglect against the mother. So unless the department is willing to return the other four children to her care while they continue the case, she wants her trial date. These children have been out of the home too long already.”
The judge turned to Sabre, “Counselor, what’s your position on this?”
Sabre stood up. “My investigation is not exactly in sync with DSS so I think a trial needs to be set. Until I hear more evidence or a clarification of the evidence, I’m uncertain what my position will be at trial. Also, today I’d like to obtain a more specific order as to visitation for the mother and for the siblings. The familial ties are very close, but the foster home placements are quite a distance from one another. I’d like to see an order for at least a two-hour visit weekly for the mother and the same for the children. If twice a week is too much for the department, perhaps the social worker can take all of the children to a central place so they can visit their mother. The family can meet as a unit.”
The social worker whispered something to her attorney. The County Counsel spoke up. “The social worker is doing her best to schedule the visits as it is. With so many children it’s a scheduling nightmare, and the department usually only does one-hour visits.”
Sabre remained standing. “It’s a scheduling nightmare because the children are housed in three different foster homes, four if you count Cole’s, and it’s a four-hour bus ride for the mother because of all the stops and transfers. These children need to see their mother and their siblings. Wyatt cries himself to sleep at night and Allie asks to see her brothers every day. It would seem that one regularly scheduled visit for two hours a week would simplify scheduling, not create greater problems. And two hours in one visit is far less time than one hour in four visits. They can all be together as a family, which I believe they need.”
“How many times have the children seen each other since the detention hearing?” the judge asked.
Sabre knew the answer but she waited for County Counsel to respond. He turned to his client, the social worker, spoke quietly, and then said, “There has only been one visit and that was between Allie, Blake, and Wyatt.”
“And Hayden hasn’t seen his siblings at all?”
“No, Your Honor, but the social worker is trying to coordinate the visits between the foster parents.”
The judge didn’t show any emotion. He looked down at his file and said, “Off the record and we’ll pick a trial date.” Once they agreed upon a date several weeks into the future, the judge said, “Back on the record.” He read the trial date into the record and then said, “There’ll be one two-hour visit with mother and all the children each week at a set time. DSS will coordinate the place and time.”
The social worker said something to her attorney but he waved his hand slightly as if to dismiss whatever she was saying. Sabre assumed Gillian had objected to the order. County Counsel knew not to object. This judge always took a strong stand on sibling contact.
After the hearing, Bob and Sabre walked out together. “Are you finished with your calendar?” Bob asked.
“Yup, you?”
Bob nodded affirmatively. “Pho’s?”
“Sure.” Sabre turned her cell phone on as they exited the courthouse and listened to her three messages. Bob checked his as well and made a quick phone call. By the time they reached Bob’s car, they were both off their p
hones.
Bob said, “JP is joining us for lunch.”
“Good. Then I don’t have to call him. He just left me a message saying he has some information about the old car on the video.”
30
“So, how’s Louie?” Bob asked as he sat down at the table in the Pho Pasteur restaurant with Sabre and JP.
“Who’s Louie?” Sabre asked before JP could answer.
“He’s JP’s gay, beagle puppy.”
Sabre’s face lit up with a smile. “You have a puppy?”
“He’s not gay,” JP said seriously.
“The dog’s favorite toy is a pink flamingo,” Bob teased.
“You’re the one who gave it to him,” JP protested.
“Yeah, but he wasn’t supposed to become so attached to it.”
“I don’t think the dog cares much what color the toy is,” Sabre said. The waiter walked up, interrupting their silly conversation, and took their orders. Sabre shook her head at Bob and turned to JP, changing the subject. “So what did you find out about the car on the video?”
“I just may know who it belongs to,” JP responded.
“You were actually able to track that old Plymouth from a picture of just a fender and partial bumper?” Sabre asked.
“Actually, having part of the grill in the picture made a big difference,” JP said.
“But still, you tracked it from very little information.”
“I think I tracked it,” JP said, correcting her. “I’m not one-hundred percent sure it’s the same car. If we had a license number or serial number it would be very simple, but now I’m tracking what I think is a 1948 Plymouth from the Fontana area. I started by going backwards from the Las Vegas Museum.”
“Huh? I’m confused,” Sabre said.
“My friend, Skip, is an expert on antique cars. He’s the one who verified the make and model of the car from the photo. He said they made the same body style from 1946 to 1948. Then the grill changed, so he knows it wasn’t any later than that. He also told me that the only serious collector in the area was a doctor from Fontana, who had collected every Chrysler made in the thirties and forties, but that was many years ago.”
“Anyone could have an old car. It wouldn’t have to be a collector,” Bob said.
“True, but most people who have a refurbished car have more than one, and generally they register them. Collectors are an unusual breed, especially of antique cars. They like to show them off.” He paused. “You’re right. It could be a car that was bought new and handed down through the generations. If that’s the case, it’s going to be a lot harder to trace. This is the easiest place to start.”
Sabre asked, “So why did you start in Las Vegas?”
“I’m sorry. I guess I was tryin’ to feed the horse before I harvested the hay. Let me back up. In the fifties or sixties there was a small antique car museum in Fontana called Ro-Val. It had mostly cars from the twenties and thirties, but before they closed their doors, they had many cars from the forties as well, due partially to a generous donation from a wealthy doctor. The doctor in Fontana who had the collection of old Chryslers left all his cars to Ro-Val when he opened himself up a worm farm.”
Sabre wrinkled her forehead. “A worm farm?”
“When he hit the dust. You know, passed on.” He looked down at her, raising his eyebrows as if she should know what that meant. “Anyway, his cars went to the museum. Then William Harrah, the big casino boss, bought all the cars when the museum closed its doors.”
“When the museum opened itself a worm farm?” she teased.
JP shook his head slightly, but gave her a half smile and continued. “From there the cars went to the museum in Las Vegas. But when I checked on the Plymouths in Las Vegas, they had Harrah’s 46 and the 47 but not the 48. There was a 1948 Plymouth in the museum but it was purchased from a guy in Indiana and the car had never been in the state of California. It was added to the collection about five years ago, so it was never a part of Harrah’s collection.”
“So the doctor had all the Chryslers in his collection, but the 1948 didn’t make it all the way to Las Vegas,” Sabre said. “So maybe Harrah kept it.”
“That’s what I thought.” JP paused while the waiter set the food down in front of them. “But I was able to get a list of the cars in the Harrah Collection as well as a list of the cars Harrah bought from Ro-Val, and it didn’t appear on either list.”
“So, the doctor’s estate either kept it or the doctor never had it.” Sabre sat her chopsticks down on the side of her bowl.
“Oh, the doctor had it all right. The word was he had every single Chrysler ever made for that two-decade span. Not only that, with a little more digging and the help of a young filly from the Las Vegas museum, I was able to get the original list of cars that was provided to Harrah when he first started negotiating with Ro-Val.”
“And it was on that list, but Harrah didn’t buy it?”
JP nodded his head. “Yup. By the time they actually made the deal, the doctor’s estate that had left the cars to Ro-Val bought two of them back, a 1931 Chrysler Imperial and a 1948 Plymouth.”
“Do you have the name of the doctor?”
“Dr. Ronald Cavitt. He was a bigwig at Kaiser Hospital in Fontana. For some reason, which I haven’t yet figured out, his estate bought those two cars back.”
“So who got the cars?” Bob asked.
“I’m not sure yet, but I do know Cavitt had three sons—Roger, Robert, and Richard. I’m thinking the boys may have been given the cars.”
“So why weren’t three cars bought back then?”
“Roger was killed in Vietnam. So that left only two sons.”
“Do you know anything about Robert and Richard?” Sabre asked.
“It appears Robert left Fontana after he graduated from Bucher High School. I haven’t been able to track him down yet. The youngest son, Richard, followed in his father’s footsteps and became a doctor. He went to UCSD Medical School right here in San Diego.”
“So he could be the owner of the car,” Sabre said. “He could still be living here.”
“He could be, but that’s as far as I’ve gone with my investigation, and as I said I’m not entirely sure we’re tracking the right car. I’m still investigating Richard. I don’t have an address or much information on him yet. I hope to have it by this afternoon.”
“Wow, you’ve been a busy boy.”
“I aim to please, ma’am,” JP replied in an exaggerated Texas drawl. “And now that I have a name I can see what cars are registered to Dr. Richard Cavitt.”
They all finished eating their rice noodle and pork dishes, the number 124.
31
When Sabre and Bob returned to court for their afternoon trials, JP drove to Poway to see his techie friend and pick up some enlarged photos of the portly man in the video. Some of them were pretty clear. Whatever he had done to enhance the photos definitely worked.
From Poway, JP drove back to his office to continue with his investigation of the Cavitt family. He made a few phone calls and did some digging on the computer. Although Richard seemed to be the most likely of the two boys to have the Plymouth, he searched equally as hard for Robert, or Ric and Rob, as he soon discovered they were called in high school.
JP’s search for Ric Cavitt proved to be a fairly easy trail to follow, although he failed to find any recent photos to attempt a match to the photo from the disc. He called his friend, Kim, at the DMV and left a message on her cell asking which cars were registered to Dr. Richard Cavitt.
Delving into the doctor’s educational background, he discovered Ric went straight from high school to college and then to med school. He received his BS in physiological science from UCLA. From there he went to graduate school at UCSD where he obtained his medical degree. He completed his residency at Scripps in the Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology.
Ric’s work record was equally easy to research, partially online and the rest with help from two friends,
one who worked for the U.S. Department of Justice and the other who freelanced … and was extremely good at hacking into government and other necessary records. JP determined that after his residency, Dr. Ric Cavitt stayed on staff at Scripps for four additional years. He was named in a law suit during that time and although the terms of the settlement were not disclosed, it likely resulted in a resignation of the doctor. Dr. Cavitt left Scripps in the early nineties and went to work at Alvarado Hospital Medical Center. After only two years there he moved on to a couple of local clinics, The Mountain Health Center in Campo and then the Clairemont Community Health Center. Approximately four years ago he appeared to be “retired.” He was named in two more law suits after Scripps. One of them settled and the other appeared to be still pending.
JP obtained an address for Dr. Cavitt from his friend at the justice department and then drove to the San Diego County Public Records Department on Pacific Coast Highway. There, JP’s research led him to the home that Dr. Ric Cavitt bought in the Clairemont area of San Diego in 1989. It was an older home but was located in a clean, well-kept residential neighborhood. He remained the owner of record.
It was nearly 4:00 p.m. as JP headed to the courthouse to research Cavitt’s marriages. He drove to State Street, parked the car in one of the Ace Parking lots, and walked to the courthouse. He entered through the main door on Broadway, looking around to see if he recognized any of the sheriffs on duty, but he didn’t see anyone he had once worked with. They all looked about twelve years old. Heck, he’d been gone from the force half of their life. He passed through the metal detector, took the escalator to the second floor, and entered the first door to his right. The records department was a large room with a long counter about ten feet inside that stretched across the entire front of the room. The fifty feet or so behind the counter was filled with desks manned by clerks. Only three of the twenty stations were open at the front counter. Earlier in the day they would’ve been all buzzing with clerks serving the public. A row of computers lined the front wall stretching from the door to each end of the room. JP turned toward the wall just inside the door and typed in the names he was looking for. After using the computer to narrow his search, JP took the elevator downstairs to the basement where the archived files were housed.
The Advocate - 03 - The Advocate's Conviction Page 16