"I'm listening."
When she finished the story, he asked, "What kind of bat?"
Not quite the reaction or question Sabre expected, she said. "The scary kind. Who cares?"
"What color was it?"
"It was red – a big, red, scary bat!"
"Did it have some white on it?"
"Yeah, I think so. I can't be certain. Why?"
"Different kinds of bats inhabit different parts of the country. I've done a little research on them."
"Why would anyone do research on bats?"
"I have strange hobbies," he said. "Do you mind if I call the police officer handling your case? I may even be of some help to him."
"No, go ahead." Sabre took the detective's business card out of the drawer next to her bed, and gave Joe the name and number on the card. "He should be able to give you the information you need."
"Thanks, Sabre," he said. "By the way, what happened at the hearing this morning?"
"We continued it until next Monday."
"Great. So we have another week."
We? Sabre found it odd Detective Carriage took such possession of this case, but she wasn't about to decline any favors. Grateful for any help she could get, especially in Atlanta, she needed to keep him in the loop.
"I finally spoke with Ruby Sterling," Sabre continued, "for what it's worth. She wouldn't tell me anything. She's a nut I don't think I can crack, and I'm not sure she could help us even if she wanted to. I'm not convinced she even knows anything."
"Don't give up on her. I believe she has more information than you may think."
"Why do you say that?"
"Just a hunch. Listen, I know it's none of my business, but I don't think it's a good idea for you to be working in your office alone at night."
"I've been hearing that a lot today." She laughed.
"Well, just be careful, okay?"
As she hung up, Dr. Steele entered her room. "Are you getting any rest?" he examined her head and eyes.
"It seems like I've been in bed for a week. May I please go home?"
"Maybe tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? What's wrong with today? I'm feeling fine."
"Is your head still hurting?"
"A little," she lied.
"A little or a lot?"
"Okay, a lot, but I can hurt at home as well as here."
Sabre studied the doctor as he examined her. She still saw her brother, although she had spotted some major differences. Ron always stood tall and walked like he meant it; Dr. Steele had a shuffle, as if he couldn't quite raise his feet off the ground. Although Dr. Steele had a pleasant smile, she never saw the little smirk occupying such a part of Ron's personality. She felt sad. What would Ron be like if he were still around?
Sabre, so absorbed in her scrutiny of the doctor, started when he spoke. "You're making good progress. You should be able to leave in the morning, but I want you here one more night and I want you to make an appointment with my office to come in on Wednesday."
"Whatever you say; you're the doctor."
"Yes, I am," he asserted, quashing any notion he may be someone else. "Try to rest. I'll see you in the morning." He walked out the door. Sabre watched him leave and observed his every move. His shoulders drooped, not straight and tall like Ron's. The door closed. Sabre conjured up an image of her brother, some of which had started to fade, but grew clearer now. At least she got that much from Dr. Steele. Sabre laid back, closed her eyes, and tried to rest, hoping the hammer would stop swinging in her head.
CHAPTER 15
Joe Carriage's shift ended at 4:30 p.m. Before leaving, he walked down the hallway to the records room, checked in with the clerk, and looked through the old files to determine if the Sterling case could have been misfiled. He double-checked the log-in sheet to see if the file had been removed by anyone else. Joe had logged the file back in on October 25th at 3:24 p.m. and had personally delivered the file to the record room. Nothing indicated anyone else had checked the file out.
After nearly two hours, he gave up the search and went back to his office. He picked up the notepad where he had written the name, Gregory Nelson, the detective whose number Sabre had provided.
When Joe reached Nelson, he introduced himself and explained he was helping Sabre on a juvenile case. "Do you think there is a connection?" Nelson queried.
"Perhaps, but I don't have anything to substantiate it. If I come across anything I'll certainly let you know. I'm curious about the bat. Can you tell me what kind it is, or at least what it looks like?"
"Actually, we just got the report back from forensics. They had some expert examine it. Let me see, it says . . . . You know what, I'll fax it to you and you can read it yourself."
"Thanks." Joe gave Nelson his fax number, thanked him for his help, and hung up. The fax arrived within moments. Joe still marveled at how quickly things could move across the country. Most people his age functioned comfortably in the tech world, but Joe, raised on a farm, didn't take technology for granted, a southern boy through and through. His idea of fast was a tractor at full throttle.
He read the faxed report, but he already knew what it would say. Only a few species of bats were red in color.
The flying mammal is a member of the Chiroptera Order. It is commonly called a "Red Bat" because of the color of its fur. It is 11.2 cm. in length and weighs 13.4 grams. It is bright red in color, indicating it is a male. (Unlike other bats, the male red bats are a different color than their female counterparts, who are more of a dull red.) Its back and breast are frosted white in color, and there is a whitish patch on each shoulder.
The Red Bat flies at speeds up to 60 km. per hour. It is one of the fastest bats in North America. They seem to be attracted to the light. They have been observed around streetlights at night and are often reported as a "red blur." The Red Bat lives east of the Rockies, across southern Canada and most of the Eastern United States. It is highly unusual to find one in California. Contrary to popular belief, they do not attack humans, but because of their extremely fast speeds, it could appear as such, particularly in close quarters. The head resembles a mouse, but it has smaller eyes and a larger mouth full of teeth, therefore much fiercer looking than a mouse.
Joe stopped reading. The report made him think about his friend, Steve Parker, and the case he had been working on when Joe first joined the Atlanta Police force. It still hurt to think about Steve. They had known each other since grade school, and he was the reason Joe had joined the police force. They ran track together all through high school and had continued to run together several times a week afterward. Steve had always known he would be a cop. It was as much a part of him as the blood in his veins. His passion grew stronger every day he spent on the force. His sole mission in life, to make the world a better place to live, ended prematurely; his life was taken from him on his way home from work one night by a hit-and-run driver. They never found the person who ran him off the road and into the lake. He left behind a three-year-old boy and a pregnant wife.
Prior to his death, Steve had been working on a case that puzzled him. Joe needed to see the puzzle, so he drove to see Sally Parker, Steve's widow. She greeted him with a big hug and invited him in. "Joe, it's been way too long. How have you been?"
"Good, and you?"
"Things are okay. Little Steven is in the third grade now. He's doing really well. He can't seem to get enough sports. He's playing soccer, baseball, and basketball. He just goes from one sport to another. Steve would've been proud." She paused a moment. "Ella Mae is in gymnastics. It's so fun to watch those little ones tumble and roll. She takes it all very seriously. She has to wear certain clothes when she goes. She calls it her uniform, like her big brother's. So, Joe, when are you going to start raising a family?"
"I don't know. I can't seem to find anyone who's willing to put up with me, much less bear my children." Joe smirked.
"You need to slow down long enough to let one of those young women catch up with you."
"You said on the phone you wanted to look through some of Steve's old notes. I hope you know what you're looking for, because it's not going to be easy to find anything. As you know, he wasn't the most organized person around, but I managed to put his papers and old notebooks in plastic bins so they're all in one spot."
She walked towards Steve's old office, Joe following her. "They're all in here," she said, as she walked into the room. Joe looked around, thinking about the many times he had been in this room with his friend. Not much had changed. Steve's desk still sat in the corner, with the computer on it and the same eight-by-ten photo of Steve and Sally in Hawaii on their honeymoon. Except for the new computer and the color of the walls, the room hadn't changed.
"I have the bins stacked in here," Sally said, as she opened the closet door. "There are quite a few of them, so it may take you awhile. Just make yourself at home, and take as long as you need."
"Thanks, Sally."
"Can I get you a cup of coffee, coke, or some water, maybe?"
"No, thanks. I'm fine. I just finished a huge cup of coffee."
"Just yell if you need anything." Sally smiled and left the room.
Joe pulled the four fifteen-quart, clear containers out of the closet and stacked them near Steve's big black office chair Sally had bought for their second anniversary. Joe had helped her get Steve out of the house for the surprise delivery.
Joe placed the first container on the corner of the desk, sat down in Steve's comfortable chair, and started looking through the mishmash of loose papers, yellow notepads, and little bound notebooks. Some of the notebooks were dated. Some not. Some notepads even had case names written on them, but most didn't. It wouldn't be an easy task. The few materials with dates on the outside really helped Joe's search, which he limited to the time just prior to Steve's death. He had to thumb through many of the notes to find dates. He set aside everything except what Steve had written his last year. The process took Joe over an hour. He ended up with one plastic container about three quarters full.
He put the other three containers back in the closet and sat down to read. Just then, Sally stuck her head in the door. "Would you like to join us for supper?"
"No, thanks. I'm fine. I really want to get through this."
"Okay." Sally smiled. "I remember the many times, in the early years, when Steve would work right through supper. After little Steven arrived, though, he made an effort to be at the table – like a family – whenever he could." She left Joe to his research, but returned with a plate of food. Joe surmised she had done the same thing many times for Steve. She set the plate down on the desk. "You gotta eat."
"Thanks," he said.
She left the room and Joe resumed his reading, taking an occasional bite from his plate. He spent the next couple of hours going through the notes, remembering conversations they had had about the cases. It didn't matter much what they were doing – playing basketball, running, or whatever – Steve talked nonstop about his work. Except for his family, nothing else appeared important to him, his work always at the forefront of his mind.
A little over halfway through the box, Joe found an entry containing a date about one month prior to his death and at the top of the sheet the name, "Sterling." He flipped quickly to the last entry Steve ever wrote. It read, "Not a bird . . . a RED BAT."
CHAPTER 16
Flower bouquets of all shapes and sizes filled Sabre's room. There were mixed flower arrangements, three different colors of roses – red, pink, and a beautiful salmon color – and a colossal bouquet of fully opened, yellow gladiolas. "Wow! You think you have enough flowers?" Bob exclaimed.
"Aren't they beautiful? Everyone has been so thoughtful."
"Yeah, and only a few people know your whereabouts. Can you imagine if the word got out? You would have to get a bigger room just for the flowers. Everyone loves you, Sobs."
"I don't know about that. I obviously have my share of enemies, or I wouldn't be here."
Bob walked around the room reading the cards and commenting. When he stopped at the three-foot gladiola extravaganza, he asked, "Who are these from?"
"I don't know. There's no card, but whoever sent them knows my favorite flower and color, or they just got lucky with their selection. The card must have been lost between the flower shop and the hospital. I wish I knew who to thank for them."
"Or you have a secret admirer," Bob said. She knew the mysteriousness made him uncomfortable. Bob sighed, "Look, Sabre, too many strange things have happened, and the bat incident has put it over the top. I don't want you to be alone. If I had it my way, I wouldn't even let you out in public, but I know I can't stop you. I know you'll be cautious, but I also know you won't hide from the world. I'm just worried about you and so damn frustrated I can't help you find this cowardly son-of-a-bitch."
"I know. I've represented hundreds of clients, especially minors whose parents might be unhappy with me. Heck, all the attorneys at juvenile court have; it comes with the territory. But I'll be careful, and I already promised you I wouldn't be at the office alone. You know I won't break a promise to you."
"I know, but I plan to stick close to you."
"Geez, if you stick any closer, we'll have to wear the same clothes."
Bob smiled, "Come on Sobs, you need to leave this 'sick' place before you catch something you can't get rid of."
"I'm ready."
Bob carted the flowers to the car. While he was gone, Sabre caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked like she had been beaten. Scratches occupied a good portion of her face, a bandage covered the right side of her forehead, and the bruising on her right eye had darkened. In spite of how she looked, she felt fortunate and anxious to return to work.
When Bob returned, he tried to convince her to go home, but she insisted he take her back to the office.
"I won't work long," she said. "I just need to go through my phone messages, return a couple of calls, and pick up my files to take home. Besides, my car's still there. I'll need to drive it home."
"All right," he acquiesced. "But I'm staying at the office with you, and I'm following you home. I'm not leaving until I know you're safe."
"You worry too much," Sabre said. "So how'd court go today?"
"Piece of cake. I'm the king of juvenile court. There's nothing there I can't handle."
"You are the king," she said. "You have earned the title. You're the best attorney juvenile court has ever seen, except for me, of course. You know the law, you're personable, and the judges, the clerks, and the bailiffs all love and respect you. You're an excellent trial attorney and you have an incredible, although somewhat twisted, sense of humor. I think my cases were in capable hands."
"Thanks, but it's no fun without my queen." He smiled. Sabre's skills complemented Bob's. Where he excelled in the courtroom, she negotiated her way through. She was organized. He was not. They both enjoyed the work, and they loved to pull harmless pranks on unsuspecting people. Together on a case, they became almost unbeatable. Even if they lost, they entertained the court.
When they arrived at the office, Elaine and Jack greeted her. Sabre handed the red bouquet of roses to Elaine and said, "Here, put these on your desk."
"Thanks, they're beautiful." She smiled. "Your mail and messages from yesterday are on your desk, and here are the rest of the messages from this morning. There have only been about six messages from Crazy Carla in the past two days. Have you been talking with her?"
"Yes, I spoke with her several times yesterday and again this morning. I figured it was something I could do while I lay around."
She took the messages, thanked Elaine, and she and Bob walked back to Sabre's office. "If you still insist on sticking around, you can use David's office to make phone calls or whatever."
"Thanks, I will. Just do what you need to do. I don't have court this afternoon, and since your trial continued, we're both free." Bob placed the bouquet of gladiolas on Sabre's desk a
nd went into David's empty office to work.
Sabre sat down at her desk and read through her messages. She spotted one from Ruby Sterling. It read, "Please do not call me at home." She had left a different number and indicated she'd be there until about 3:30 p.m. Sabre looked at the clock; it read 12:23 p.m. With the time difference in Atlanta, she had about seven minutes to reach her. She picked up the phone and dialed, hoping Ruby hadn't left early.
A female voice answered the phone. When Sabre identified herself, she put Ruby on the line.
"Hello, Mrs. Sterling. Are you okay?" Concern colored Sabre's voice.
"Yes, I'm fine. I need to talk to you, but I couldn't talk from home. I need to know how my granddaughter is." Mrs. Sterling's voice cracked. "Where's Alexis now? Is she safe?"
"She's fine. She's in a receiving home. It's a temporary placement where children stay while they're waiting for the courts to decide their placement."
"Can people get in to see her?"
"Not without approval from the court, and then the visitation is supervised. The only ones who can see her are the psychologist, the social worker, her father, and me, of course."
"Can anyone go with her father on a visit?" Before Sabre could answer, Mrs. Sterling asked another. "Can he take her out of there?"
"No, he can't take her out of there and he can’t bring anyone with him on the visit. Why? Is Alexis in some kind of danger? Will her father hurt her?"
"Yes, Alexis is always in danger, but not from her father. He won't hurt her. He loves her with all his being, but he may not be able to protect her."
Mrs. Sterling took a deep breath. Silence ensued, and Sabre waited.
"Before I tell you anything more," Mrs. Sterling continued, "I need your word you won't tell anyone. What I have to say may help protect Alexis. That's the only reason I'm telling you. But if you talk, it could get her killed. Do you understand?"
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