She gave Archer a stiff 'hello' before joining the county attorney. They were all in place when the chambers' door opened and Judge Leisinger appeared. He was a gray sort of fellow: thick silver-grey hair, putty-grey shirt, and a metal-grey tie visible just above the neck of his robes. Even the black robes had a silvery sheen as if time was worn away the blackness and softened his judicial demeanor. He took his seat behind the lowered bench, picked up a file, flipped through a few pages and smiled at those gathered.
"Morning all." Murmurs of morning rolled back at him from the left side of the courtroom. Mrs. Crane sat and lowered the clipboard to her knees. The judge continued on. "We are here today to complete the petition for legal custody of the minor, Hannah Sheraton."
Judge Leisinger rested his eyes on Hannah. His gaze indicated that all those who appeared before him were children, so his expression registered no surprise at her appearance or comportment. "How are you today, Hannah?"
"Fine, thank you, Judge," she answered.
He smiled at her, but the big woman from the county lumbered up and captured his attention.
"Judge," she said, in a deep and gravelly voice.
"Good morning, Mrs. Rice." Judge Leisinger smiled, his greeting solving the mystery of the attorney's gender.
"Morning, Your Honor." She answered back as if such niceties could barely be tolerated by someone like her with so many important things to do on that hot, hot day.
"I haven't seen you in this court for some time, Ms. Rice. I thought Hermann was handling this."
"He was, Your Honor, but he's on leave,"
"I hope nothing serious," Leisinger noted conversationally.
"Heart Attack. He'll recover," Mrs. Rice said offhandedly.
"Then I suppose you're going to kick the can down the road until he returns?" His tone was that of someone who always hoped for the best.
"Not at all, Judge. We intend to . . ." Leisinger held up his hand.
"A moment, please. I'm not so quick on the uptake first thing in the morning." His eyes rested on Archer. "I assume you are representing Hannah, sir?"
Archer rose and addressed the court. "I'm here to support Hannah."
"Excellent. Mrs. Crane I know well, so we are all accounted for. Counsel? Now it's your turn."
"Your Honor, we have a situation," Mrs. Rice said.
An Outbuilding in the California Mountains
Josie hadn't meant to sleep so long, and now the cement cell was heating to an almost unbearable degree. She was sweating as she worked the hinges on the old metal door.
"What are you doing?"
Josie held up Erika's shoe without looking at the other woman, "I took it out of your closet. I'm glad you wear high heels."
"You're not going to get very far." Erika's voice had a dreamy quality that made Josie take notice. She stopped her efforts to work the hinge, sat on her heels and looked more closely at the other woman.
Erika Gardener was laying on her back, curling her hair around one finger, her eyes lazily moving from the hole in the wall to Josie and back again. She was obviously more interested in the small patch of outside that she could see.
"If he comes this morning, we should ask him for some toilet paper."
Josie couldn't help laughing. "Tell you what, when we get out of here we'll find a real bathroom, but first we have to get out."
Josie slammed the heel of the shoe up against the bolt that held the hinge tight. Rust fluttered over her bound hands. What she wouldn't give to be free of the rope.
"Want to help?"
"No, thank you," Erika answered lazily.
"Okay," Josie answered and hit the heel of the shoe against the metal so hard the shoe broke.
Edleman Children's Court, Monterey Park
"We don't deny Josie has gone missing. It's all over the news, Judge."
It was Archer's turn to speak now that Mrs. Rice had her say, and her say had been laced with ugly innuendo. "But to suggest she is willingly absent or unreliable is bull."
The judge raised one finger, a warning for Archer to watch his language. The big man rotated his shoulders under his jacket. He couldn't remember the last time he'd put on a jacket and tie, yet that morning he did it without thinking. In fact, he would have worn a straight jacket if that were what it took to plead Josie's case. When the jacket lay a bit more comfortably on his shoulders, Archer readjusted his language.
"Josie would have walked over hot coals to be here, and you don't have to take my word for it."
"Your Honor," Mrs. Rice interjected. "It is not a function of this court to speculate about why Ms. Bates is gone, only to establish that she is. Now we must analyze how that impacts the best interests and welfare of the child, Hannah Sheraton. We all know where statistics stand on matters like this. There's a greater chance that Ms. Bates, a single woman used to living alone, may have simply found the idea of being legally responsible for Hannah too much. There's a greater chance of that than of foul play."
"She didn't find the idea of defending Hannah from a frame-up too much of a bother. Or what about making sure she had a home to live in all this time, and a school to go to?" Archer retorted. Mrs. Rice glared at him, her eyes almost disappearing in the folds of her cheeks.
"The court isn't concerned with history," Mrs. Rice drawled.
"Your Honor, can I approach?" Archer asked. He was no attorney, but he knew the protocol.
Leisinger waggled two fingers. Archer stood in front of the bench and looked right into the judge's eyes. What the man was thinking was a mystery. The guy was good.
"Josie Bates is the most reliable person I know, but we can't change the fact she isn't here. But if she were, she'd be the first to say that all she wants is what's best for Hannah. I can tell you, leaving Hannah in Hermosa is what's best for her." Archer squared his shoulders. "You've got Hannah's file, and you know that history is the only thing important here. Hannah's had a hard life until Josie took her in. Staying in Hermosa gives her the stability Mrs. Rice is talking about."
He shot the woman a glance that withered her a bit but didn't knock her down.
"Judge, the people of Hermosa are worried about Josie, but they are also friends to Hannah. They are a family now. If you knew Josie, and knew the people I'm talking about, you'd know I'm right. No foster home could be better for Hannah than we are."
"Well, doesn't that argument just have a lot of holes in it? We don't even know if these people exist. We know nothing about this man, and I think that bears looking into. Also, why does he so desperately want to be responsible for this young girl?" Mrs. Rice cried.
Mrs. Rice had a dirty mind, which could be forgiven considering what she heard inside these courtrooms. Archer still didn't like the insinuations. He looked back at Leisinger.
"Retired LAPD, Judge. Private investigator now, and I do some freelance photography and-"
"And," the big, fat woman interjected. "Accused of killing his own stepson. Let's not forget that."
Archer gave her a long, hard look and this time she didn't flinch. Slowly he turned back to the bench.
"And exonerated."
"But they were charges of violence against a child. Exonerated or not, that cannot be overlooked. Transcripts show that he had no regard for the boy, and that he refused the mother's wishes that he care for the boy after her death. It doesn't matter if this man didn't actually kill anyone, it is his attitude toward children that is critical."
Archer wanted to strangle the woman. She was like a mindless animal. Her teeth were dug into something she shouldn't have a hold of, and she didn't know enough to let go. She added:
"Hannah Sheraton is, after all, a child."
Even the judge could not help himself. He and Hannah shared a glance. One side of the courtroom knew very well that Hannah was no child. But Leisinger was an old hand at this and the indication of his understanding was no more than a flicker in his eye, a barely perceptible twitch of his lips.
"Mrs. Rice, please. You know better than to try histrionics here." His time at Children's Court had given the judge the patience of a saint and the ability to reprimand like a parent.
"Then let me call Mrs. Crane, Hannah's case manager." Mrs. Crane rose in anticipation of her moment in the spotlight only to hesitate as Leisinger's ever so expressive finger pointed to Archer.
"I would like to speak to this gentleman." He gave her a look over the top of his bifocals. "You may sit, Mrs. Crane. You, too, Mrs. Rice."
The attorney heaved her great bulk to the left. She heaved to the right. She was unsure of which way she should turn now that the judge was rewriting her script. Finally, she plopped herself on the bench next to the caseworker.
"Thank you." The judge turned his attention to Archer. "It's time for twenty questions, sir. Let's begin with where you think Ms. Bates might be."
"No idea. We have her car. We have information that is pointing us to an old client who was recently released from prison."
Mrs. Rice rolled her bulk as if she was going to stand up. The judge waggled his finger and went back to Archer.
"How long has she been gone?"
"Two days; almost three."
"Do you live with Mrs. Bates?"
Archer hesitated for the briefest moment then answered, "No, Your Honor. We have separate residences."
"Who else lives at the home with Ms. Bates and Ms. Sheraton?"
"No one, Judge."
"So Hannah would be alone in the house if I disallowed CPS's request to remand her to their custody?"
"Yes. But . . ."
"Let's stick with the basics. What are your plans for Hannah should I release her to your custody?"
Archer looked over his shoulder at the girl. His eyes lingered on her while the filmstrip of their existence together ran through his brain. Hannah looked back, knowing Archer could go either way where she was concerned. She didn't try to sway him by look or word. He would do what he wanted, and it would be weighted in everyone's best interest, not just hers. Hannah could accept that. Finally, he turned back to the bench.
"Could you clarify, Judge?"
"Considering you are here, and you are speaking for Hannah, I would assume you arrived with a plan for her custody until the matter with Ms. Bates is resolved."
"I would check on her. I can always be reached."
"But she would be alone in the house?"
"There's the dog. The house has a security system. Hannah's been alone before," Archer answered.
That was just too much for Mrs. Rice. She tried to shoot out of her seat only to need an assist from Mrs. Crane. The drama of her outrage was lost in the moment.
"Your Honor, isn't that the point here? To show that the court has compassion? Place her, so she is not left alone."
"Placement is more alone than being in Josie's house."
All heads turned. It was Hannah who responded to Mrs. Rice's argument and her retort was sharp and honest. No one spoke, no one tried to hush her, but they all judged her. To Mrs. Rice Hannah was a widget on the assembly line, to Mrs. Crane she was an uppity brat to be beaten down, to the judge she was a refreshing curiosity, and to Archer she was Josie's protégé, a young woman who now spoke for herself fearlessly.
Hannah's long-fingered hands were crossed in her lap, resting quietly, her tapping and counting was perhaps forgotten but probably just controlled. She was poised and confident, but all one had to do was look a little deeper to see that her green eyes smoldered and her jaw was clenched. She spoke to the judge.
"Have you ever been in a county home?"
"I've visited many times, yes," the judge answered.
"No, I mean, have you ever lived in one?" she pressed.
The judge shook his head. Hannah looked at Mrs. Rice and Mrs. Crane. Both had the good sense to lower their eyes.
"Well, visiting is different than living in one," she went on. "If you're lucky, it's just lonely in those places. If you're not so lucky, you have to fight for food or fight off some guy who says he's your foster father and he needs some love. Sometimes the women beat you. Sometimes you have to take a beating, so they don't do it to the little kids. Even if you have a good house, the foster mother won't remember your face a year later. These people aren't real parents; these women aren't real mothers." Hannah looked over at the two women. "Why don't you all go stay a week in a placement, then come back and tell me I have to go."
When Hannah was done and there was no response, she looked just long enough at the two women to underscore her challenge, and then turned her eyes back to the front of the court. She couldn't look at Archer for fear she would be tempted to beg him to save her. She didn't look at the judge because he was one of them, one of the three arbiters of the state's idea of justice.
"It is not a perfect system, Hannah," Judge Leisinger said quietly, "but it is what we have. Should the court find placement preferable, I will take your comments into consideration and personally review the situation."
Mrs. Rice had the decency to lower her voice when she caught the court's attention. She fumbled through her papers and came up with what she wanted.
"Your Honor, I would like to introduce a letter from Hannah's mother. She objects to the proposed custody of her daughter by Josie Bates. She loves her daughter dearly and does not -"
"That's rich," Archer sniffed. He leaned forward like a man on his third shot of whiskey wanting to argue a critical call in the World Series. "Her mother is a murderer. She tried to have this girl take the rap for what she did. Hannah's mother is at-"
"We believe in rehabilitation in this state," Mrs. Rice interrupted.
"Then you must believe in Santa Claus," he muttered.
"That's enough," the judge ordered, his anger presenting itself as annoyance. "I am fully aware of the history of both mother and daughter. Step back, sir."
The judge would not allow a parent – murderer or not – to be disparaged. This was children's court, and even a child like Hannah Sheraton would not be subjected to more pain than she already carried if he could help it. He motioned for Mrs. Rice to step forward. She handed him the letter. He read it, sent it along to his clerk, and turned his attention to Hannah.
"Ms. Sheraton, your principal is concerned about you," he said.
"I haven't missed one class, Judge. I'm on the honor roll. I lied to Mrs. Manning about where Josie was because I didn't want her freaking out. Josie is important now, not me. Please, I need to be home when she comes back. She'll need my help."
Hannah's head dipped. Her cloud of hair hid her face briefly. When she raised her head, tears glistened in her eyes, one spilled over her lashes and coursed down her cheek but her gaze never wavered and her voice did not break when she said:
"Please, don't make me leave my home."
The judge did Hannah the courtesy of watching her a minute longer before he turned to the county attorney.
"Mrs. Rice? Do you have anything else?"
"Yes, Your Honor. I'd like to give Mrs. Crane a few moments."
"Go ahead."
He picked up a pencil and tracked Mrs. Crane's precise steps. Archer sat down next to Hannah. As he did so, his knee touched hers, his shoulder bumped against hers. They faced forward, but that second of contact, that moment of connection, changed everything. Hannah knew she had a champion, and Archer understood why Josie had needed to rescue this girl. What he loved about Josie, he could admire in Hannah: determination, strength in the face of fear, and an absolute belief that right, not expediency, should prevail. Now the only thing that prevailed was Mrs. Crane, and her voice was filled with the constipation of county crap.
"Your Honor, Ms. Bates' residence is acceptable in terms of the physical layout. Hannah has her own bedroom, and the home is clean and well taken care of. She has been attending her meetings with her psychologist. And, indeed, she is an excellent student." Mrs. Crane took a deep breath so that her energy would be high
when she launched into the bad stuff and, indeed, what came out of her mouth was bad. "But, Your Honor, there are obvious problems that even you cannot ignore."
"I will do my best to follow you," he answered evenly.
"Well, I took it upon myself to look a little further into the environment Ms. Sheraton finds herself in. She spends much of her free time at a restaurant/bar called Burt's by the Beach. Hermosa has problems with public intoxication and young people are greatly affected. In fact, just last year the statistics for alcohol related crimes – both misdemeanors and felonies – among minors was alarmingly…"
"Do you have those statistics," the judge broke in.
"Of course." She minced toward the bench, handed over her research with flair.
"Anything else?" he asked.
"Yes. There is another child named Billy Zuni. He also seems to have difficulty at home. He and Hannah spend quite a bit of time together. We cannot have children watching out for children. I've already started an investigation into Billy's home situation and, if need be, I will ask the court to remand him to county custody, also."
"No, you can't do that!" Hannah shot straight out of her seat and was at the judge's bench before anyone could stop her. "Are you going to let that bi-"
"Be careful," the judge warned even as the two women gasped.
"I'm sorry." She put her hands up in apology and took two steps back. When her hands came down again, she took two steps forward. "It's just you have to understand. Everyone in Hermosa looks after everyone. We're not out getting drunk every night."
"Billy Zuni has been arrested for truancy," Mrs. Crane added.
"And half the time he isn't in school because he's with his mom who's hung over. What's wrong with that? He's taking care of her." Hannah shot back. "Why don't you let me talk?"
"I think that would be a good idea, Mrs. Crane. You can sit down," Leisinger directed.
Hannah stood up straight and put her hands by her side. Archer saw her index finger start to tap her thigh. The heel of her left shoe was being raised and lowered almost imperceptible. It took everything he had not to speak for her, but that wouldn't help. Hannah had to have her say.
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