“How bad did it get?” JP asked.
“They both lost their jobs—first Dana, then George. They were way behind on their rent and down to one car that only ran on occasion. We begged them to let us take the kids in, but they wouldn’t because the kids meant income to them. Dana received welfare for them and they used the children as a bargaining chip with us. They trusted that we’d continue to give them money for the kids.”
“But you stopped doing that?” JP finished his coffee and considered asking for more, but instead he set his cup on a coaster on the table next to his chair.
“We tried. At first, we would take food to them to make sure they had something to eat and clothes to keep them warm. But George wouldn’t let us see them. He’d take the stuff we brought and not let us in unless we gave him money. I refused, but then Celia started giving it to them without my knowledge. When I found out, we had a big fight over it, the first of many. That went on for years. I’d find out she was giving them money and we’d fight.”
“Is that why you and Celia split up?”
“Ultimately, that was the reason. We get along great most of the time. The fights over the years were mostly over Dana. We’ve been arguing about parenting since she was a teenager. I tried not to interfere since she wasn’t my child, but sometimes I just couldn’t sit back and watch Celia enable her.”
JP noticed the lack of emotion in his voice. He spoke evenly as if he were in a business meeting. He wondered if it was his training in the business world or if it was just too many years of the stress that made him not show his emotion. “So, you stopped giving them money?”
“I did, and eventually Celia did too, but not before it tore us apart. I think she finally realized everything she gave them just went to drugs and not the kids. Dana and George were evicted from their apartment and living on the streets when CPS picked them up.”
“That’s when you decided to help again?”
“Those boys are my grandchildren and I will do whatever I can to help them. We agreed to take the children in but since we were living apart, I told Celia she could live here with the boys. We’re trying to work things out between us, and it’s best for Marcus and Riley that we’re together right now, especially with their dad gone.”
“It must be real hard on the boys.” JP paused. “Do you know who may have wanted to kill him?”
“Not a clue. As I told you, we didn’t see much of him the last year or so. I’m sure he made some enemies on the streets with his drug deals.”
“So, George was dealing?”
“I don’t know it for a fact, but once when Dana left him she told us he was. I suspected he was peddling marijuana when he and Dana first met. Who knows what he was into now. Like everything else he did, he wasn’t very good at it, so I’m sure he ticked off a lot of people.”
“You didn’t like him much, did you?”
“No. That’s no secret. I’m sorry he’s dead, but he wasn’t much of a father or husband. Would you want a man like George marrying your daughter?”
JP shook his head slightly. “No, I guess I wouldn’t.” JP absently reached for the empty cup, then realized it was empty and set it back down.
“Would you like more coffee?” Frank asked.
JP shook his head. “No, thank you. I need to run.” He stood up and reached to shake Frank’s hand. “Thank you for your time. Please tell Celia I’ll come back another time when she’s feeling better.”
Frank walked JP to the front door. As JP opened the door, he turned and said, “Great coffee, by the way.”
“I have it flown in from Huehuetenango, Guatemala. Since I found it, I haven’t been able to enjoy anything else.”
When the door closed behind him, JP paused before he started toward his car. He looked out at the beautiful blue ocean that was visible from nearly every part of the property and inhaled the salty air. As incredible as this was, he was out of his comfort zone. East County was much more his style.
Chapter 7
Sabre finished her morning run and made herself a cup of decaf coffee on her new Keurig single-cup coffee maker. She chuckled to herself about her recent purchase. She had avoided getting a “single-cup” coffee maker for some time. It made a statement that left her a little uncomfortable. It wasn’t that she wanted to be married, at least not right now, but she did miss having a relationship. It had been a while now since she had met anyone who interested her.
Sabre walked out on her little veranda. From there she could look out at Tecolote Canyon. Her neighborhood was usually quiet, but it was especially so on early Sunday mornings. A song sparrow lit on the three-foot wall that separated her property from the common ground. The little bird had dark streaks on its back, a whitish underbelly, and dark streaking on its breast. His face was grey and the brown streak on the top of his head looked like a little cap. Sabre knew he was a male by his coloring. She had been watching the birds since she moved into her condo and when she’d see one she couldn’t identify, she researched it online. The song sparrows were her favorites. She loved to listen to their little tunes. The songs changed over time. It seemed as though they sang one for a while and then learned another. This morning the song was so crisp and clear, it was especially melodious to her ear.
Sabre sat quietly, drinking her coffee as the little bird walked back and forth on her wall, occasionally stopping to sing. A couple of other birds joined him. She wondered if he had called them. Then for no apparent reason, other than that he could, the little sparrow flew about ten feet to the large pine tree that stood like a giant in front of her home. The other birds followed.
Sabre sat there appreciating the peaceful environment and thinking how fortunate she was to have this life. Every day she dealt with children who often had no peace; children who hated waking up in the morning for fear of what might lie ahead; children who lived in squalor; children who couldn’t trust their own parents to protect them; women who were victims of domestic violence; and men and women whose lives were ruled by drugs and alcohol.
Her life wasn’t perfect. She had had her share of tragedy. She missed her father who passed away when she was in college. She missed her brother, Ron, who disappeared six years ago. She and Ron had been very close. He was a couple years older than she was and although he teased her mercifully, he also protected her and she could tell him anything. Whenever she found herself in a mess, it was Ron she called. She often thought of him when she sat outside watching the birds. Ron loved the outdoors. Anything that kept him inside too long made him feel caged. He was kind of like the song sparrow flitting from branch to branch. He had a beautiful voice, too, but unlike the sparrow, his was a deep baritone.
She still had her mother who lived about an hour away, although she had never been as close to her as she was to her father. She was definitely a daddy’s girl. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mother, but growing up they were much more likely to butt heads. She didn’t often confide in her and even now with her father and brother both gone, she wouldn’t run to her mother if something went wrong. Instead she would go to Bob. He was her rock now. Guilt crept into her mind as she thought about her mother and she decided to make a greater effort to see her more often.
Sabre’s phone rang and as she stood up the little sparrows flew away. She took her coffee cup, went inside locking the door behind her, and answered her phone. It was a social worker at Alvarado hospital.
“Yes, this is Sabre Brown.”
“The file lists you as the attorney of record for Marcus Foreman. Is that correct?”
“Yes, I represent him in a dependency case. Is he okay?”
“He was just admitted to the psychiatric unit.”
“I’ll be right there,” Sabre said.
Sabre felt bad for Marcus as she wondered if his fragile state of mind was due to the death of his father or if something else had happened. He had been through so much already in the few years he had spent on this earth.
She ran upstairs, took a quic
k shower, dressed, and drove to Alvarado. She arrived within forty minutes of the phone call. Sabre was expected to see her minor clients within four hours upon admission to a psychiatric facility. She often received these calls in the wee hours of the morning, so even though this call interrupted her peaceful Sunday morning, she was glad it was still daytime.
***
Sabre checked in with the receptionist who called for the social worker on the case. Shortly, a thin, young, African-American woman, who was carrying a stack of files in one arm and a coffee mug in the other, approached Sabre in the lobby.
“I’m Kim Matlock, hospital social worker. We spoke on the phone earlier.” She was pleasant and cheery.
Sabre smiled back at her and was about to extend her hand, but Kim’s hands were occupied so she just said, “Sabre Brown.”
“Please follow me,” Kim said, as she headed down a hallway at a fairly rapid pace. “I need to drop these files off.” She stopped at the second door she came to. “Just one second.” She opened the door, stepped in, and placed all but one of the files on a desk.
Then she came out and walked with Sabre around the corner and down the hallway toward another office. A dark-haired, dark-skinned man approached them as they walked. “Hi, Doc,” Kim said.
“Good morning, Kim,” the man replied.
She continued talking as she walked, greeting everyone they met in the hallway. Two women passed them and when Kim said, “Good morning,” neither of them responded.
“They weren’t very friendly,” Sabre commented.
“Don’t pay any attention to them. That’s Grumpy and Bashful. We have all of the ‘Seven Dwarves’ here. You should see Dopey.”
Sabre smiled.
“It’s been a crazy morning. There must have been a full moon last night. We’ve admitted more than our share already today,” Kim said.
“And yet, you’re still smiling,” Sabre observed.
“Yeah, I’m one of the Dwarves, too, ‘Happy’ is my moniker. If you don’t make an effort to keep a good disposition in this job, you’ll burn out in a week. Just look around you at the employees here; you won’t see too many who are content. They’re either fat because they turned to food, or drunks because they turned to alcohol, or so bitter you can’t stand to be around them. I like my work and I want to continue to like my work so I decided to keep a good attitude, and when I can’t, I’ll move on.”
Kim continued down the hallway. Sabre wondered if she was in a hurry this morning or if this was her normal speed. Perhaps the pace was part of her whole plan to stay positive. She appreciated a person who moved from task to task without wasting time. Sabre did it herself. Bob and other colleagues often complained to her for “running” when she could have been walking. For a while Sabre tried slowing down for Bob but decided it wasn’t worth it. She had too much to get done before she stopped each night.
Kim stopped at a tiny office that held only a desk with a small file cabinet and two chairs. She nodded toward a chair and seated herself behind the desk before Sabre sat down. She picked up a file on the desk and said, “Marcus came in a little over an hour ago. You’ll be able to see him in a few minutes.”
“How did he get here?”
“The police brought him in.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“According to his grandfather, Frank something….” She looked at the paper in her folder and continued “Frank Davis is his name.” She continued partly reading, partly speaking from memory. “He said Marcus was upset because he had to get up this morning, and by the time they made it to the breakfast table he was grumbling and complaining. He got angry and threw his plate across the room, and when his grandmother reached out to him and tried to calm him he swung his arm around and hit her in the head. She lost her balance and fell backward. The grandfather said he had never seen him so enraged, so he grabbed him and threw him down. He held him on the ground, but even with all his weight on him, it was a struggle, so he had Riley call the police. He held him there until they arrived, which apparently was within just a few minutes.”
“An officer must have been close to the scene,” Sabre said.
“Or maybe when you have that kind of money they respond a little quicker,” she said. She sounded a little sarcastic, but not bitter.
Sabre didn’t respond to her comment. “Did the grandparents come in?”
“They did, but I sent them home. There was no need for them to hang around. I told them Marcus would likely remain here on a seventy-two-hour hold and if not, we would call them.”
“Has the doctor seen Marcus yet?”
“Yes. Marcus had to be sedated, but he was given something pretty mild. It was just enough to calm him down. I haven’t spoken to the CPS social worker yet so all I have is an intake sheet and the little information I obtained from the grandparents. Can you give me some history of the case?”
“For starters, his father just died; he was possibly murdered. Marcus’ life has been in turmoil pretty much from birth. His parents chose drugs and alcohol over parenting their children. They moved from place to place, disrupting his schooling and a chance to make solid friends, until they finally ended up homeless. An anonymous report was made about Marcus running the streets at night. That’s when social services removed the children.”
“But his grandparents appear to be pretty well off. Didn’t they help?”
“They tried, but in many ways their help only made the situation worse. When Marcus’ parents would get money they’d spend it on their habits. And it was difficult for the boys because they knew life could be so much better than what they had. They’d spend some time at this beautiful mansion with a swimming pool and a maid and then go back to squalor. It was like that all their lives. There would be periods of overindulgence alternated with chaos.”
“Does Marcus have any delinquency history?”
“A few weeks ago Marcus tried to steal a bottle of liquor from an undercover cop. It caused quite a stir, though, because it almost blew their investigation. We’re in the process of dealing with that right now. We’re hoping to get it dismissed because it appears that he did it because his father told him to, but Marcus isn’t ready to give his dad up yet.”
“Does Marcus have any history of violence?”
“According to the reports, he has always been more difficult to handle than Riley, but I’m not aware of anything out of the ordinary. Riley lived his first few years in a somewhat stable environment with the grandparents. Marcus didn’t get that opportunity. The mother freely says, ‘Riley is my good boy,’ with the obvious implication that Marcus is the ‘bad boy.’”
“It’s likely Marcus has tried to live up to his title. Children often do,” Kim said.
“May I see Marcus now?” Sabre asked.
“Let me see if they have him ready for you.” Kim picked up the phone and spoke to someone in the hospital. She stood up. “I’ll take you to him.”
They walked down a hallway to the door of another room. Sabre asked, “Is he restrained?”
“Not now. We had to restrain him when he first came in. He kept banging his head against whatever he could, including the attendants, and screaming. ‘I know. I know.’”
“What do you suppose he meant by that?”
“The doctor thought it was just his way of trying to get us to stop whatever we were doing…you know, agreeing with us. We’d tell him to stop fighting and he’d say, ‘I know, I know.’ But to me the tone of his voice didn’t fit. It seemed like he was trying to tell us something else.” She patted the air with her hand in a gesture of dismissal. “It was probably nothing. Just my lame attempt at amateur sleuth.”
Chapter 8
Marcus appeared almost angelic with his tussled, dark, curly hair, his round face, and droopy eyes. He sat very still on a bench with his back against the wall. Sabre pulled a chair up close to him and touched his hand lightly.
“Hello, Marcus.”
“Hi.”
; “Do you know who I am?”’
“Uh huh.”
“Who am I?”
“My attorney.” He spoke slower than normal but coherently.
Sabre had seen him enough times before to know he had been sedated even if the social worker hadn’t told her. Sabre didn’t like the use of mind-altering drugs on children. She saw them used too often and she had fought many a battle in court over the excess use of prescription drugs. She wondered if it was necessary this time. From the account she was given, it likely was but she would look into it later.
“And my name?”
“Sabre Brown.”
“That’s right. How are you feeling, Marcus?”
“Alright,” he shrugged.
“Do you remember what happened this morning?”
“Grandpa made me get up and I didn’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“I was tired.”
“Were you up late last night?”
“Sort of.”
Sabre tipped her head to the side and gave him a questioning look. “What were you doing?”
“When everyone fell asleep I snuck into the office and used the computer.”
“Were you playing games?”
“No. I was just reading stuff on there.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Just stuff.” He rubbed his eye with the back of his hand.
“What kind of stuff?”
“Just different stuff.” He looked guiltily at Sabre.
“Marcus, were you looking at porn?”
“Naw,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not into that. I was reading about astronauts. Did you know that the word astronaut means ‘space sailor’? It’s Greek, I think.”
“No, I didn’t know that. Would you like to be an astronaut?”
“Yeah, but I probably won’t.”
The Advocate's Dilemma Page 4