A tall, striking woman walked into JP’s dining room wearing his faded, black George Strait T-shirt. Her long, shapely legs protruded from the bottom of the shirt. “Got any more of that coffee?”
Concentrating so hard on his work, JP had almost forgotten about his house guest. “You bet,” he said. He stood up and walked to the kitchen, retrieved a mug from the cupboard, and filled it up. He picked up the sugar bowl and a spoon and set all three on the table. “Have a seat,” he said, motioning to the chair situated directly across from where he had been seated.
“Thank you.”
“I hope Louie didn’t wake you with his barking at the birds.”
“No, I was already awake.”
JP watched as she placed three heaping teaspoons of sugar into her coffee. He cringed, wondering how someone could ruin a perfectly good cup of joe.
As if she could read his thoughts, she said, “I know it’s not good for me, but I can’t seem to break the habit. I love the taste of sweet coffee. At least I don’t load it up with milk and chocolate and whatever else is the fashion these days.”
“Whatever puts stars in your sky,” JP said.
Robin smiled. Her long, dark hair lay softly on her shoulders. At forty-five she was still as beautiful as she had been at twenty when she won the Reeves County Beauty Pageant—in spite of her swollen lip and the yellow and purple marks that now surrounded her left eye. JP looked again at her shirt. Why had he given her that shirt to wear? That was the second time a woman in distress had worn his George Strait tee. He thought of Sabre for a moment.
JP had been shocked to see Robin when she appeared at his front door two nights ago. Her hair was disheveled, her lip swollen, she had several bandages, and her eye was black and blue. She was such a mess he almost didn’t recognize her until she opened her mouth and said, “I had nowhere else to go.”
He took her in and learned she had driven from Texas, stopping only to fuel her tank with gas and her brain with caffeine. She was exhausted, yet wired, and didn’t want to talk about what happened so he didn’t push her. After a few hours of catching up on family and friends, Robin cleaned up and went to bed. JP moved her car into his garage in case someone came looking for her.
Robin ran her finger along the rim of her coffee mug. She looked up at JP. “I’m glad we kept in touch all these years. I never realized when you told me that you would always be there if I needed you just how much I would. It’s time I explained a few things.” She stood up, picked up her mug, and walked to the sofa. “Come sit with me.” JP followed, noticing the scars on her left leg as she glided across the floor.
Chapter 9
The Wheeler Case
Children: Holly (F) and Bradley (M), age 9 years (twins), four other children
Parents: Father—Willie Wheeler, Mother—Debra Wheeler
Issues: Physical Abuse, Neglect
Facts: Dirty Home, drugs, alcohol, physical abuse, mental problems
“How’s ‘Whacky Willie’ Wheeler this morning?” Sabre asked Bob, as they checked into Department Three.
“I think he’s making my hair turn gray,” Bob said.
“Your hair is already gray.”
“See, I told you. It’s from spending the past two years on this case with Willie that’s done it.”
Sabre laughed. “You know you love working with him.”
“He does add color to my otherwise drab existence. You gotta love a guy who calls you SpongeBob SquarePants.”
“Yeah, I saw that in the report. Maybe he really thinks you are. I wouldn’t wear anything yellow around him if I were you.”
“He was just yanking the social worker’s chain, but she bought into it. Oh, and it’s not just SpongeBob SquarePants. It’s Attorney SpongeBob SquarePants. The guy is actually pretty lucid. He’s just ‘off the wall’ strange. And he cries all the time. Whenever he starts talking about anything serious like his kids, he starts to cry. I don’t know what to do with that. I like it better when he acts nuts.”
They walked out of the courtroom into the hall where Willie waited for Bob. Willie approached and unintentionally blocked the door so no one could get inside. Bob put his left hand on his shoulder and maneuvered him across the floor as they spoke. Sabre stayed to Bob’s right, as far from Willie’s body odor as she could without being rude.
“Attorney Sabre Orin Brown, you need to get my kids home to me. They need me. Holly was so upset when I saw her yesterday. Yep. She keeps asking to come home.”
Sabre looked at this tall, gangly man in his forties, whom she surmised hadn’t bathed in weeks, her expression soft and caring. “Willie, I know it’s hard for you, but you need to try not to cry when you go see your kids. It makes it harder for them. It especially upsets Holly. Your attorney is doing all he can for you, and you know I’m trying to do what’s best for your children.”
“I know you are, Attorney Sabre Orin Brown. Yep, I know you are.”
“You can just call me Sabre if you’d like,” she told him for the umpteenth time.
“I think that would be disrespectful.” He turned to Bob. “Are they gonna send the kids back after the house is cleaned up?”
“Not this time, Willie. There are a few more problems we have to deal with. Is someone helping clean the house?”
“Yep. The social worker, Miss Heather What’s-Her-Name, said….”
“Heather Staples.”
“Yep. That’s it. Do you suppose she’s related to the Staples store?”
“I doubt it, Willie. Focus. What did she say?”
“She said she’d send someone after we got the car engine out of the living room and the trash bags out of the kitchen.”
Sabre was tempted to ask why there was a car engine in his living room, but decided it wouldn’t serve any purpose. Instead she asked about his wife. “Did Debra go into rehab?”
“Yep. She went there yesterday and I think she maybe took the poltergeist with her ‘cause I haven’t seen him since she left.”
“How is the resident ghost doing, Willie?”
“I was hopin’ he’d help me rebuild my engine, but I don’t think he knows nothin’ ‘bout cars.”
Bob encouraged his delusion. “Maybe he lived when there weren’t any cars.”
Willie nodded his head a couple of times, taking his time to respond as if in deep thought. “Yep. That would explain why he dresses so funny.”
“And how’s that, Willie?” Bob asked.
“He most always has a white shirt with a high collar and one of them scarves around his neck. I think they call them ascots or something. It’s bright blue with some kind of red pattern on it. Yep. And a black cape that comes to his waist. Not like a superman cape or nothin’. It’s like a coat but with no armholes.” Bob started to say something, but Willie continued. “Oh, and leather shoes with buckles. Yep, yep. And a round hat.”
Willie paused. Bob waited a second and then with a straight face he said, “Does he wear the same thing all the time?”
“Sometimes he don’t wear no cape.”
“No cape.”
“Yep. When it’s hot, he don't wear no cape.”
“That makes sense,” Bob said.
Sabre turned away so Willie couldn’t see her smile. She wondered just how much of this he believed and how much he made up. Bob was convinced that he did a lot of it to make people think he was crazy. Sabre wasn’t sure. And there were so many things he did that were harmless, but the environment he provided for his children was not healthy and often not safe. And yet, the children seemed to function so much better when they were together and with their parents.
All of the children were presently at Polinsky Receiving Home, where they would stay until the paternal aunt returned from her father-in-law’s funeral in Arkansas. They usually did okay at Polinsky as long as they had plenty of family contact. Sabre thought it was because they knew it was temporary. When they went to foster care they became very despondent. Holly, in particular, would suffer. She
became very depressed, her grades dropped, and she would stop talking to anyone except her brother, Bradley, who reacted similarly but not to the same extreme.
The Wheeler case came into the system two years ago when a teacher made a home visit and discovered the dirty home. The children were placed with the mother’s sister while services were provided to get the house cleaned and to train the parents on how to keep it clean and safe. The mental instability of the parents, which was exacerbated by the drugs and alcohol, soon came to light. The placement with the maternal aunt fell apart and the children went to foster care where they did not manage well, partly because they were all split up. After some time the paternal aunt came forward and took the children until they were returned to the parents approximately six months ago.
Unfortunately, the parents couldn’t keep it together. The mother started using drugs again, the condition of the house deteriorated, and the father became more delusional. Sabre hated this case because she wasn’t sure what to do. She had tried so hard to keep this family together because that’s what appeared to be best for the children. Six months ago the therapists all agreed that the children were better off with their parents than without them, but now they were back in court again. Something had to change. The system was failing.
“Can anyone join this party?” Debra Wheeler’s attorney, Regina Collicott, said as she approached.
“Sure,” Bob said. “We were just discussing the Wheeler ghost.”
“Oh, is Parnhart back?”
“His name is Parnhart?” Sabre asked.
“Parnhart. Yep. That’s his name,” Willie said.
“And how do you know that?” Sabre asked.
Bob put his hand on Willie’s shoulder. “Willie, before you answer that, let’s you and I have a little chat.”
“Whatever you say, Attorney SpongeBob SquarePants.”
“Before you leave, what are you doing with this case?” Sabre asked. “Will there be a trial set?”
Bob lowered his head and peered at Sabre over his glasses. “Well of course, Ms. Brown. My client wants his day in court.” Bob led Willie down the hallway to a more secluded spot. The last thing Sabre heard him say was, “And maybe you should stop calling me that. At least while we’re at court.”
Chapter 10
Tyson Doyle Cooper
Tyson rose early, in spite of the previous day’s long drive from Texas to San Diego and his restless sleep. Yesterday he had consumed too many Monster Energy drinks while driving and drank a six-pack of beer before he crashed last night. The bed wasn’t all that comfortable, either. He wondered if he should’ve stayed at a nicer hotel, but he didn’t know how long this journey would take and he didn’t want the cash to run out. Besides, he could keep a lower profile here. No one paid any attention to him.
He made a pot of coffee and then spent about an hour on the computer Googling “John Phillip Torn” and “Sabre Orin Brown.” He found little about JP but quite a bit about the attorney, most of which centered around the case that was the subject of the newspaper clipping he found in Robin’s things.
He also found some addresses, but he couldn’t be sure they were current so he decided to call Blake. “Can you verify a couple of addresses for me?”
“Sure, cuz.”
Tyson gave him the names and information he had obtained. Ten minutes later Blake called back confirming JP’s address, Sabre’s office address, and a home address for Sabre Brown. He jotted them down and stuck the paper in his pocket. He picked up his holster and gun, put the holster on his belt, and covered it with a light windbreaker.
Tyson drove first to the address for JP Torn. It led him to a small strip mall. He pulled into a parking spot and double checked the address he had written down. The address he’d put in his GPS was the same as the one he had found online and Blake had confirmed. He drove his car past several businesses until he came to the exact address. Sitting between an Asian supermarket and a Home Town Buffet was a strip of buildings which included a Postal Annex. This time he parked a couple doors down and exited his car.
“Damn!” Tyson said on the phone to Blake. “Torn’s address is a mailbox place. Make a few calls and find out if the attorney’s office address is correct. Anything else you can find out about either of them would be helpful, too. There’s a coffee shop here. I’m going to wait for your call before I start running around again.”
Tyson took his laptop and walked into the coffee shop. He ordered a cup of coffee and took a seat inside where he could take advantage of the WiFi. He couldn’t find a website for Torn or for Sabre Brown. With a little digging around, however, he found Sabre’s photo in martindale.com. She looked to be around thirty, assuming the photo wasn’t twenty years old, was quite attractive, and had a 4.9 peer rating, whatever that meant. JP proved to be another matter. He couldn’t find anything of any consequence on him, no social media connections, nothing.
After about fifteen minutes, Blake called back. “Sabre’s office address is correct. She’s not there, though; she’s at juvenile court. The address for the courthouse is 2851 Meadow Lark Drive in San Diego. The receptionist said she’d be back this afternoon after four if we wanted an appointment.”
“Good work. And text me the picture on JP’s driver’s license. I can’t find anything with his photo on it.”
“Do you think Robin’s with that JP fella?”
“He’s her ex, and she told me once that he was always ‘there for her,’ whatever the hell that means. I’m sure that’s where she is.”
“What are you going to do when you find him?”
“I’m going to show him he can’t mess with Tyson Doyle Cooper.”
“Do you think Robin will come home with you?” Blake said, lowering his voice on the last few words as if he wished he hadn’t asked.
“Of course. She’s my wife.” Tyson’s nefarious tone made Blake pause. Tyson quickly added, “She’ll come home—one way or the other.”
Within a few minutes Tyson received the text with a photo of JP. He packed up his laptop and drove to juvenile court. He parked where he could see the front door and waited.
Tyson watched as people came and went from the courthouse—men and women in suits, teenagers who looked like they should be locked up, and families with too many kids and not enough money. Many would come out for a cigarette break or just to smell the air. Occasionally an attorney came out with a disgruntled client and Tyson could hear them yelling at one another. Others would stand around near the door until a bailiff stepped out and called them for their hearing.
Well over an hour had passed before he saw Sabre exit the building with a man dressed in a suit, whom he assumed was another attorney. The man looked a little older than her and had started to gray. He looked at the photo of JP on his phone. That was definitely not him. They walked across the parking lot and got into a black Mercedes parked just a few cars away from his, Sabre on the passenger side and the man behind the wheel. Tyson waited until they left their parking spot and then followed them.
They made a left out of the parking lot, then a right, another right, and up over the freeway. He stayed back far enough so he wouldn’t be spotted. He followed the car when it turned into a little strip mall. They parked, and Tyson drove past them and circled around the lot. He watched them enter a restaurant with a sign that read Pho Pasteur.
Tyson didn’t wait there. He drove to a fast food place, picked up some food, and went back to his room to rest. He had a few hours before Sabre would return to her office.
Chapter 11
JP and Robin sat on JP’s sofa in silence for several minutes before she finally spoke, still gazing at the floor and avoiding JP's eyes. “I met Tyson Doyle Cooper, that’s how he introduced himself, at a church picnic about four years ago. He went there with my cousin Sandy and some other friends. He kept flirting with me and when I called him on it he told me he wasn’t really with Sandy, that they were just friends. I found out later that was not entirely true. They had b
een friends, but this was their first—and what turned out to be their last—date. He started calling me, sending me flowers, and leaving me little notes on my car until he wore me down. I talked to Sandy before I ever accepted a date with him. She was over him by then and gave me her blessing.”
JP reached for his coffee cup on the table, took a drink, and waited for her to continue. She sat next to him, her leg less than an inch from his.
“Ty was very good to me and he was incredibly charming. After about two months of a whirlwind romance, he proposed.”
“And you accepted.” JP said, glancing at the ring on her left hand.
Robin held her coffee mug tightly in her hand. She looked down at the mug as if she were talking to it. “I thought I was in love. I was in love.” She looked back up at JP. “He wanted babies and my biological clock was ticking. Three weeks later I became Mrs. Tyson Cooper. The first month everything was great. We spent all of our spare time together. He insisted I quit my job, which I was happy to do. We tried to get pregnant, but it didn’t take. Then I started receiving phone calls from other women asking for him and lots of hang-ups. I figured it was just old girlfriends since I’d known him less than six months, but when I mentioned it to him, he became very angry. Somehow he turned the argument back on me and the fact that I hadn’t gotten pregnant yet. And soon we were having ‘angry’ sex. It was like he was a different man. I’d try to talk to him afterwards, but he’d just turn over and fall asleep.”
JP looked at this woman he had once loved. She had been so young and so beautiful. She was still striking, but her innocence was gone. As JP listened, anger at Tyson Cooper welled up inside him, but he forced himself to not let it show.
The Advocate's Ex Parte (The Advocate Series Book 5) Page 5