Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
The Advocate Series
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
About the Author
The Advocate’s
Dilemma
Teresa Burrell
Silent Thunder Publishing
San Diego
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
THE ADVOCATE’S DILEMMA. Copyright 2012 by
Teresa Burrell.
Edited by Marilee Wood
Cover Art by Karen Phillips
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
ISBN: 978-1-938680-06-9
DEDICATION
To Jeff Sherratt:
I was moved by your friendship,
motivated by your spirit,
and changed by your life.
The world was a better place with you in it.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I will forever be indebted to my good friend and editor,
Marilee Wood.
Without her, my books would not be possible.
THE ADVOCATE SERIES
THE ADVOCATE (Book 1)
THE ADVOCATE’S BETRAYAL (Book 2)
THE ADVOCATE’S CONVICTION (Book 3)
THE ADVOCATE’S DILEMMA (Book 4)
THE ADVOCATE’S EX PARTE (Book 5)
THE ADVOCATE’S FELONY (Book 6)
THE ADVOCATE’S GEOCACHE (Book 7)
Chapter 1
“Why is there a dead man in your office?” Bob asked.
Sabre spun around to face her friend.
“Oh Bob, I’m glad you’re here.” Sabre shuddered. “The police just arrived.”
Several police officers and detectives were checking for evidence. Sirens blared as more police cars arrived. An officer approached Bob and asked, “Who are you?”
Bob reached out to shake the officer’s hand but put it back down when he realized the policeman was looking elsewhere. “I’m Attorney Robert Clark, a friend of Ms. Brown’s.” He nodded his head toward Sabre. He looked around the room and then added, “And her attorney, if I need to be.”
“Please step back. Actually, I’d like both of you to wait in there.” He pointed to another office next to Sabre’s. “And please don’t disturb anything.”
Bob and Sabre entered David’s office. Sabre hadn’t been in there in a long time as David seldom came to work. He spent most of his time with his new ice cream business. Sabre walked her new Gucci heels and cobalt blue suit over to David’s window. Her brown hair hung just beyond her shoulder. Bob followed her to the window.
Sabre started practicing law when she was twenty-five, just over six years ago. Bob started a few years earlier. They both knew not to touch anything and were very careful. As they gazed out the window, they watched the cops block off the area outside of the building.
Bob put his arm around Sabre’s shoulder. “You okay?” he asked.
“It was a bit of a shock to find a body on my desk, but I’m all right. I’m just wondering how and why it’s there.”
A tall, thin detective with blond hair entered the office. Sabre had spoken earlier with another detective, but she had yet to meet this man. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, around Bob’s age. His hair was just beginning to recede.
He reached out his hand to Sabre and then Bob. “I’m Detective Shane Klakken with the San Diego Police Department.”
“Sabre Brown. This is my office. Well, not this office; the office with the body is mine.”
“I’m Robert Clark. I’m a friend and colleague of Sabre’s.”
“Have a seat if you’d like,” Klakken said.
Sabre looked at the black powder on the beige chair and decided to remain standing with Bob and the detective.
Klakken looked at Sabre. “I understand you found the body.”
“Yes, I did.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. I walked in and found him lying across my desk.”
The detective turned to Bob. “Where were you?”
“I wasn’t here; Sabre called me. I was on my way to court, so I wasn’t far away.”
The detective turned back to Sabre. “Come with me and show me exactly what you did.” He looked at Bob. “You wait here.”
Sabre walked out the door, the detective close behind her. Bob followed. Klakken frowned at Bob but didn’t say anything. Sabre walked past her office and into the small entranceway to the back door. The area also functioned as a copy room.
“I came in here through the back door.”
“Was the door locked?” the detective asked.
Sabre thought for a second. “Yes, I think so. Yes, it was. I had to put my key in the door and I…I turned the lock.”
“You’re sure?”
Sabre nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“And then?”
“I walked into my office.”
“Show me, please.”
Sabre walked past a large copy machine that had a sign on it that read, “TEMPORARILY IN ORDER,” past a small desk, and through the hallway until she reached her office. A policewoman was leaning over the body, examining him. The dead man was still sprawled across the desk, lying exactly as Sabre had seen him earlier. He appeared to have been standing behind her desk and had fallen forward. His face was turned away from them, his right arm hung partway off the far side of the desk, and his left elbow lay next to his body with his hand on a manila folder. He wore torn jeans and a dirty, black t-shirt. The only other things on the desk were a penholder, a desk lamp, and the key box, all of which sat near the corner of the desk closest to the door. Sabre kept her desk very tidy. Two other men were in the room. One was dusting for prints; the other was looking through Sabre’s bookshelf.
“What looks different than the way you left it yesterday?” De
tective Klakken asked.
Sabre pointed to her desk chair that was now about two feet from her desk. “My chair was pushed in behind my desk, not over there. That photo of my brother on the credenza was standing up. And there was no body on my….Oh no!”
“What is it?”
“Ron’s hourglass is gone.” Sabre stepped forward and pointed to a spot on the desk near the man’s head. “There was a large hourglass sitting right there.”
“What did it look like?”
Sabre fought back the tears. She had so few things left that belonged to her brother and couldn’t bear the thought of losing one more.
“It was an antique, mahogany, Victorian hourglass. Very solid and heavy, about ten inches tall,” Bob said, helping her out.
Klakken noted it on his pad and then walked over and told the man standing near the bookshelf. Bob put his arm around Sabre. She took a deep breath and composed herself. She looked at the man on the desk and muttered. “I guess there are worse things than losing a keepsake.”
Klakken returned. “Start from the top and tell me what you did and what you saw when you came into the room.”
Sabre took a deep breath and blew it out. “When I came in here, the first thing I saw was him lying on my desk. I dropped the files I was carrying because I was startled.”
The detective looked around at the floor. Two manila folders, each at least one inch thick, lay on the floor near the door. A number ten envelope lay just under the desk near the leg, and a single sheet from a yellow legal notepad lay close to the folders. “Is this all you had in your hands?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. Then she shook her head. “No. I also had my keys.”
“Where are they?”
“I dropped them in that little box on my desk. That’s where I always put them.”
“Where is your purse?”
Sabre looked puzzled. “What?”
“Your purse? What did you do with your purse?”
“I don’t carry a purse.”
“You don’t carry a purse?” Klakken asked skeptically.
Bob spoke up. “Nope. She doesn’t carry a purse.”
The detective shook his head and mumbled. “I’ve never met a woman who doesn’t carry a purse.”
“Well, now you have. I have a briefcase that is with me most of the time. That’s in the trunk of my car. I don’t need another piece of luggage to drag around.”
“Okay,” the detective said, “so after you came in, you saw the body and dropped your files. Then you put your keys in the box?”
“No. I still had my keys in my hand.”
Bob spoke up again. “Does it really matter what she did with her keys?”
“I’m just trying to get a clear picture of exactly what happened and what may or may not have been disturbed.”
“It’s okay, Bob.” Sabre said. “I remember yelling, ‘Hello,’ but he didn’t say anything. I said something else like, ‘What are you doing here?’ Still nothing. I pulled my phone out of my pocket.”
“With which hand?” the detective asked.
“With my left. My keys were still in my right hand. He didn’t move. That’s when I reached over to try to awaken him.”
“You didn’t know he was dead yet?”
“He looked dead, but I thought he might be drunk.”
“You weren’t afraid?”
“A little, but I didn’t really think about it. I just wanted the man off my desk, so I touched him on the arm. He felt cold, so I called 9-1-1.”
“What did you do before the police came?”
“I stepped out of the room and I called Bob.”
“Do you know the dead man?” the detective asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” Sabre said. “I walked around the desk and looked at him, but I didn’t stand there studying his face. I’m pretty sure he’s not anyone I know. At least I didn’t recognize him.”
“Well, let’s take another look.” He led her around the side of the desk. Bob followed.
“Do you know him?”
Sabre shook her head. “No. I’ve never seen him before.”
Bob ran his hand through his prematurely gray hair and said, “I recognize him.” He looked up at Sabre and Klakken. “He’s the husband of one of my clients.”
Chapter 2
“Why is your client’s husband lying dead on Ms. Brown’s desk?” Detective Shane Klakken asked Bob as they entered David’s office, along with Sabre.
“I have no idea,” Bob answered.
Sabre sat down in David’s chair behind the desk and Bob and Klakken sat across from her. The detective gave Sabre a disconcerting look because she had taken the big chair. It was an unconscious power play which she realized when she saw the look on Klakken’s face. He hadn’t missed it. “What’s his name?” the detective asked Bob.
“George Foreman.” Bob smirked.
“George Foreman? A skinny, little, white guy named George Foreman?” Klakken asked.
“I didn’t name him. I just represent his wife.”
Sabre looked at Bob, her eyebrows raised. “He’s the father on the Foreman case?”
“Yes,” Bob said.
“Oh, no.” Sabre thought of his children and what they had already endured.
“What kind of case is it?” Klakken asked.
Sabre answered. “It’s a juvenile dependency case. I represent the children—two boys.”
“Please don’t tell me he named them George.”
“No. They’re Marcus and Riley.”
“Abuse case?” Klakken asked.
“Neglect, primarily. Drug use, kids not attending school, nothing that unusual.”
“May I see the file?”
“Not without proper protocol,” Sabre responded. “You’re welcome to the reports but I would need to remove any work product first. I’m sure you know that you’re not entitled to my opinions or legal theories or any notes or materials prepared with an eye towards impending litigation, such as my investigative reports or memoranda. So I would have to remove those before I could give you the file. It would probably be quicker for you to obtain the file from the Department of Social Services.”
A tall, African-American woman walked into the office. “Excuse me, Klakken. You wanted an update?”
“What is it?” he asked.
“It appears that the victim was killed here, but we’re still not certain. There’s a large bruise across the victim’s temple. It seems he had a blow to the side of his head that may or may not be the cause of death. He has a number of bruises and scrapes on his arms and a small scratch on his face, but most of them look old. There’s no sign of forced entry so either the door was unlocked, he had a key, or someone let him in. His driver’s license says his name is George Foreman and the address on it is La Jolla.”
“La Jolla?” Klakken asked. “He sure doesn’t look like a La Jolla resident.”
The detective just nodded and continued. “His wallet contains a piece of paper with an address on it and two business cards—one for Marla Miller, Department of Social Services, and the other for Attorney Regina Collicott. He has what looks like an old prom photo of two teenagers. The boy looks like it could be him. The young girl is very attractive. He had no money or credit cards. He also has a vial of what looks like meth in his pocket.” She handed him a manila folder. “This file was under his hand on the desk. It appears to be a juvenile dependency case. And….” she hesitated.
“What is it?” Klakken asked.
“He had a cigarette butt inside a baggie tucked into his belt.”
Bob and Sabre exchanged looks. “That’s odd,” Bob said.
Klakken nodded to the other detective and she left the room. “We see some pretty strange things in this business, as I’m sure you do.”
Klakken opened the folder and Sabre didn’t object. She knew by the looks of it that it wasn’t her file and even if it belonged to her, it was part of the crime scene. Although, if it was her file, she wo
uld’ve attempted to stop him. Sabre’s conviction to her oath of office was strong. She believed wholeheartedly in the attorney-client privilege. Without it, the system failed. If a client couldn’t trust his attorney and know she wouldn’t betray a confidence, he would never tell her anything. It was balanced by rules of professional conduct that didn’t allow an attorney to provide false information to the court. So, if a client admitted to a crime, his attorney couldn’t let him testify and say he didn’t because the attorney couldn’t intentionally let a witness commit perjury. It made for a fair system. As a result, some attorneys didn’t want to know if their clients had done the deed. Sabre didn’t operate that way. She wanted to know, and then gave the best defense she could. She found it a lot easier to represent a client when there were no surprises.
The folder contained a social study from the Department of Social Services, a petition, and a detention report, nothing the police couldn’t easily obtain. Sabre would’ve given him that much. Her only concern was her work product. She watched as he glanced through the paperwork.
Klakken turned to Bob. “How well did you know Foreman?”
“I only met him once. I had an appointment with his wife and he tagged along. He was pretty angry and I had to ask him to leave the office. Actually, it was Sabre’s office.”
“Your office?” Klakken said, looking at Sabre. “Here? In this building? Where he is now?”
Sabre shrugged. She hadn’t realized until now who Bob had met with when he used her office.
“My office had a gas leak and so we met here,” Bob said.
“I’ll need to speak to your client,” Klakken said. “We’ll need her to identify the body. Can you have her meet us at the coroner’s office? You’re welcome to be present if you’d like.”
“I’ll get her there.” Bob stood up. “I’ll call the court and let them know I’ve been detained. Sabre, do you have court this morning?”
“Yes. When you call, let them know I’ll be a little late. I’ll cover what I can for you.”
After Bob left the room, Klakken said, “Is there anything else you can tell me about what happened here?”
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