The Advocate - 03 - The Advocate's Conviction Read online

  The Advocate's Conviction

  The Advocate [3]

  Teresa Burrell

  Silent Thunder Publishing (2011)

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  Rating: ★★★★☆

  Tags: Mystery, legal suspense

  Mysteryttt legal suspensettt

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  Sabre Orin Brown's clients keep disappearing. A young boy and a teenage girl are both missing from foster care. With seemingly no connection between the two cases, Sabre enlists the help of her southern PI friend, JP, and her best friend, Bob, to find each of them - before it's too late. When her search seems to land her in a hotbed of Satanic ritual, everything points to the occult. But Sabre doesn't believe in the dark forces, and the pieces just aren't adding up. In her race against the clock, Sabre must determine whether contemporary horrors are being buried in the shadow of dark traditions - or if it's something else at work. A conspiracy years in the making, secrets hidden for decades, and the twisted work of a mysterious society have all come together in the ultimate test of the strength of Sabre's conviction.

  ### About the Author

  AUTHOR. ATTORNEY. ADVOCATE. Teresa Burrell has dedicated her life to helping children and their families. As an attorney, Ms. Burrell has spent countless hours working pro bono in the family court system. Ms. Burrell continues to advocate for children's issues while writing novels, many of which are inspired by actual legal cases.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 56

  Note to Author

  THE ADVOCATE’S CONVICTION

  By Teresa Burrell

  Published by Silent Thunder Publishing

  Copyright © 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  SECOND EDITION

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons (except celebrities with an incidental role), living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  The Advocate’s Conviction/ Teresa Burrell — 2nd. Ed. ISBN 978-1-938680-01-4

  Published by Silent Thunder Publishing

  San Diego, CA 92111

  To all mothers everywhere and in particular to both of mine, Clara and Virginia, who each in their own way provided me with guidance, clarity, and love. Clara, for her spiritual guidance, protection, and her selfless devotion to her nine children until she left this earth way too early. And to my stepmother, Virginia, who came into my life at a time when I needed her most, teaching me the importance of independence, developing my self esteem, and affording me unconditional love and encouragement. May they both rest in peace.

  A special thanks to my friends for their help with research and for making this book possible; Bob Pullman, Jerry Leahy, Richard Arroyo, Eric Orloff, Chris Broesel, Ron and Kim Vincent, and especially Marilee Wood.

  Prologue

  The fourteen-year-old girl struggled to break free from the bindings on her hands and feet. One woman on each arm held her as she fought. Her feet were in stirrups, and the unbearable pain shot through her abdomen. Her blonde hair was wet with sweat. She yanked her right arm away but the heavy-set woman holding her arm threw her body across the teenager, pinning her down on the hospital bed.

  “No,” the teen screamed. “No! Don’t take my baby.”

  “Push,” the body-blocker said. “Just push.”

  The tall, thin woman holding the teen’s left arm spoke calmly. “You need to stop fighting and breathe. Your baby is coming. You need to push.”

  The girl looked around the small, dirty room for help, but all she saw was a man wearing a surgical mask sitting at the end of the bed between her legs, waiting for her to give birth. He would be no help. After all, she had agreed to this. The candles flickered around her, casting soft shadows around the room. The oak tree painted on the wall and the circle around her bed would protect her, or so she was told. But she hurt so badly and no one seemed to care.

  The heavy-set woman was face to face with her. The girl could feel her breathing and smell her garlicky lunch. “Just push,” she said again.

  The girl screamed.

  “This is your child’s fate. Your baby must be sacrificed. Are you a believer?”

  The girl wanted to say no. She didn’t know what to believe, but fear won out. “Yes,” she said.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, I believe. I believe in the power of the oak. I believe in the power of the oak.” She was chanting now and the two women joined her.

  “I believe in the power of the oak. I believe in the power of the oak.”

  The young girl screamed again as another contraction shot through her. She pushed as hard as she could, then stopped.

  “Again!” the man at her feet yelled. “Push!”

  She pushed and screamed in agony until she felt the mass exit her womb. Her body lay limp on the bed as she heard the baby cry. The heavy-set woman continued to hold her in place while the tall woman took the baby to the back of the room and out of sight. The baby’s cries still filled the room.

  Then, silence.

  A few minutes later the woman returned without the child.

  The girl turned her head away and closed her eyes. What have I done?

  1

  Attorney Sabre Orin Brown hurried through the crowd at San Diego Juvenile Court toward the clerk’s office. She thought about the newspaper article that reported child abuse was down. Where were they getting their statistics? The halls were so crowded she had to squeeze through. The construction in the lobby didn’t help, either. The powers that be had decided it would be a good time to move the information desk from the middle of the room up against the wall. It wouldn’t provide any more space and it didn’t really look any better, but it might make it a little easier for the clerks to go from the work room to the desk. She was on calendar for detentions this morning and she was running late. It was the first morning she could remember that she hadn’t arrived at cour
t an hour early.

  “You okay, Sobs?” Bob, Sabre’s best friend, asked. Sobs had become her juvenile court nickname. S.O.B. were Sabre Orin Brown’s initials and her colleagues were quick to tease her about the nickame. At first it was only Bob that called her Sobs, but the name had caught on and some of the other attorneys used it as well. Bob had nicknames for a lot of his co-workers, most not as lovingly applied as hers. “I can’t believe I beat you to court.”

  “I just had a little trouble getting rolling this morning, but I’m fine now.” Sabre gave a half smile. “How many detentions are on calendar?”

  “We have three. And there’s just you and me on detentions. There’s an out-of-control teenager, a drug baby, and …” Bob stood there in his gray suit and Marshall- bought Florsheims, shuffling through the blue petitions. A quirky smile came over his face.

  “What is it?”

  “Heh, heh,” Bob made a strange sound with his throat. “I’m not sure, but it looks like one of those ritual cases.”

  “Another one? There was one last week and I’m pretty sure Wagner had one last month. Why are they filing this stuff? Most of it is just ludicrous. I wonder how many more there are that we don’t know about.”

  “It’s about time we got something interesting. I’m bored with broken arms, tox babies, and creepy guys who molest little children.” Bob picked up the social worker’s report and started to read through it.

  Sabre shook her head. She knew Bob cared as much about the children as she did. She watched his expression turn from grin to grimace as he read through the report. Although he was in his early thirties, his full head of hair had already started to gray. She figured hers would too if she continued in this line of work. “So what is it?”

  Bob leaned in closer to her and in a deep, creepy voice said, “Goat blood and chicken feet.”

  “No.” Sabre said in disbelief, grabbing the report out of his hand. “Give me that.”

  Bob laughed as he picked up another copy from the box on the desk.

  “Ewww. It does say goat blood and chicken feet were found in the home.”

  “You take the kids.” Bob said “I want the mom on this one. I can win this. It’ll be another win for the king.” He threw his fist in the air.

  “You’re sick, but you are the king of juvenile court. You have more jurisdictional wins than anyone.” Sabre separated the other petitions, glancing at the potential appointments. “Do you want the tox baby or the teenager?”

  Bob tilted his head down and looked over his glasses. “You can have the teenager. I hate working with teenagers. For that matter, you can have the tox baby, too, if you want.”

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll take mom. If they all go to trial, you’ll have too much prep to do. Not that there’s that much to do on the drug baby cases, but still …”

  “Fine. You have the kids on Johnson and Lecy and I have the baby on Hernandez. There’s no appointments for the fathers, right?”

  “Nobody in the picture on any of these cases right now.” Sabre picked up her files, her petitions, and the reports. “Let’s go find our clients.”

  They walked out of the closet the county called an attorney’s lounge. It was originally a storage room, but space was so tight now they needed every nook and cranny to use as a courtroom. A lounge for the attorneys was the least concern to the county. Bob watched a large breasted woman with a low-cut blouse walk across the hallway.

  Sabre flicked his arm. “Hey, you’re a married man.”

  “I’m married, not dead.” He grinned at her. “Nice tie, by the way,” Bob said as he sauntered away.

  Sabre received her first Jerry Garcia tie as a present from her brother, Ron, when she entered law school. He teased her about holding her own in a male-dominated profession, but if she was going to do it, she should have the Grateful Dead by her side. Sabre wasn’t sure if he ever meant her to wear the tie, but as a tribute to her brother it became the first of a large collection.

  Sabre walked across the floor where the information desk used to be, catching her three-inch heel in a rough spot on the floor and almost turning her ankle. Another wardrobe staple, the heels stretched her to a full 5’7”. She reported the spot on the floor to the desk and they quickly placed a caution sign on it to avoid further incident.

  Sabre stopped in the restroom. The stalls were full and she turned toward the mirror while she waited, taking a rare moment to just breathe. She looked slim, well-dressed, not unattractive. It seemed she needed to reassure herself these days. She smoothed the jacket on her suit, took her sunglasses off, and ran a brush through her shoulder-length, brown hair. She pushed her sunglasses back on her head, using them as a barrette to hold her hair off her face.

  Moments later, Sabre was back in the crowd. The room was filled with people, some trying to get their lives in order, others just fighting the system. She saw a couple leaning against the wall entwined in each others arms. The woman was dressed like a hooker and was obviously high. The man wasn’t in much better shape. His hair looked like it hadn’t been combed in weeks and he was in serious need of a haircut and shave. Sabre smiled to herself. There seems to be someone for everyone if they look in the right places. For a brief moment she wondered if she’d find someone again. Her thirtieth birthday was fast approaching and she was still happily single … most of the time. She didn’t want to be married, and as much as she loved them, she didn’t plan on having children. She was satisfied with her work and passionate about the people she worked to help. But occasionally she wanted a relationship. Then she’d think of the last time she was involved and change her mind.

  Sabre walked through the lobby until she found her client, Maria Hernandez, on the drug baby case. She was young. It was her first baby and her drug activity seemed to be fairly new. Maria agreed to enroll in all the programs and Maria’s mother was willing to help out with the baby. The social worker recommended detention with the grandmother as soon as the baby was released from the hospital and was willing to let Maria stay there as long as she was active in her court-ordered programs. Sabre saw Bob talking with grandma and knew he’d be okay with the recommendations if he was comfortable that grandma could protect the baby. When everyone worked toward what was best for the child, the cases were easy. Sabre believed this was one of those cases.

  The two of them left the courtroom just in time to witness an arrest at the metal detector. A twenty-nine-year old woman emptied her pockets into the tray and walked through the machine. The sheriff picked up the contents of the tray, opened a vial containing cocaine, and placed the handcuffs on Karen Lecy.

  “Uh oh,” Bob chuckled and shook his head. “Stupid woman.”

  “What is it?” Sabre followed Bob toward the arresting officer.

  “That’s the mom on the detention. The one with the out-of-control teenager.”

  “Gee, that might explain some of the kid’s problems.”

  “Excuse me, Jerry,” Bob said to the sheriff. “That’s my client. Can I talk to her?”

  “I’ll put her in an interview room after we book her.”

  Bob turned to Karen Lecy. “Don’t say anything until we talk.”

  Sabre stared at the woman being taken away. “She’s the mom?” Sabre asked, not really expecting an answer. “She looks like a teenager herself. She’s so young.”

  The crowd in the room had stopped buzzing as they stood around and watched the arrest. Some were probably feeling bad for her; others appeared glad to have the attention off themselves, even for a moment, but everyone was gawking as the woman was taken back to the holding tank.

  “You ready on the Johnson detention?” Sabre asked.

  “Yeah, mom’s denying everything. She swears she doesn’t know anything about any rituals, satanic or otherwise.”

  “And how does she explain the goat blood and chicken feet?”

  “She can’t explain the goat blood, but she has a very plausible explanation for the chicken feet.”

  “I c
an’t wait to hear this.”

  “It’s simple really. They eat them,” Bob said with a straight face.

  “Ewww … what’s to eat on a chicken foot? There’s no meat on them—just dirty, scaly-looking skin that’s been walking around in chicken feces.”

  “Really, Sabre.” His voice serious. “I think she may be telling the truth. She’s having a tough time making ends meet and she can get chicken feet free. She said her mother used to make them when they were kids.”

  “And you’re buying this?” Sabre looked at Bob, her face quenched in disbelief.

  “Leanne Johnson is either a really good liar or she’s just trying to feed her kids. The part that got to me was that even though she’s devastated about losing her children, she knows they’ll have food.” Bob shrugged. “I don’t know. See what the kids say.”

  “I will. I’ll go to Polinsky this afternoon and see them. I have to see the Lecy girl, too. Now that her mother has been arrested, we have another issue to deal with on that case.”

  2

  Sabre walked up the brick walkway leading to the Polinsky Children’s Center, reading some of the names on the bricks as she went. She had dedicated a brick herself in honor of some friends who had lost a child a few years ago. She still hadn’t seen the brick with his name on it but she knew it was there somewhere. One day she would take the time to find it. But not now. Now she had to determine what was going on with the Lecys and the Johnsons.

  The clerk recognized Sabre when she entered. She exchanged some pleasantries and then placed her ID on the counter and requested to see the Johnson children.

  “All of them at once?” the clerk asked, her eyebrows rising quizzically.

  Sabre looked at her petitions. “Bring me Cole first. In about ten minutes bring Hayden, and then I’ll see Alexandria, Blake, and Wyatt all together.”

  Sabre waited in the lobby, reading through her reports until a counselor showed up with a tall, lanky, eight-year-old boy with brown hair that fell below his ears. Sabre watched his body language as he approached. He carried himself like he was in charge, yet he appeared guarded. The counselor called Sabre aside while Cole waited.