The Advocate - 02 - The Advocate's Betrayal Read online

  The Advocate's Betrayal

  The Advocate [2]

  Teresa Burrell

  Silent Thunder Publishing (2010)

  Rating: ★★★★☆

  Tags: Mystery, General Fiction

  Mysteryttt General Fictionttt

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  Sabre Orin Brown is a legal advocate for children in the San Diego justice system. She witnesses her share of horror every day. Every now and then, that horror gets personal. When Sabre's friend Betty calls one morning with the shocking news that her husband was murdered in his sleep, Sabre makes it her mission to find the killer. The cops suspect Betty, and Sabre has no leads. It would be easier if Betty wasn't hiding something, but even after she gets thrown in jail, she refuses to say a word about her past and the mystery that chased the couple across the country and ultimately hunted her husband to his death. Sabre can't put her own life on hold, either. She is still trying to protect the two children on her caseload whose parents have brainwashed them with a violent racial hatred. Even more, she's also still recovering from the horrific events of the previous year, when a stalker burned her home to the ground. Life never gets easy, but at least Sabre is not alone. She has the comfort of her calm and stable boyfriend, Luke, and the help of good friends. But when a private detective, JP, follows the murder from Betty's empty trailer home to a small town in Texas and a nightclub in Chicago, it starts to seem like finding the answers may be more dangerous than ever. Only one thing becomes remarkably clear: When the people closest to you have so much to hide, you can't trust anyone.

  ### Review

  Teresa Burrell's gripping legal thriller is sure to excite mystery fans with its fast pace and surprise filled plot. --Jeff Sherratt, author of the Jimmy O'Brien mystery series

  ### About the Author

  AUTHOR, ATTORNEY, ADVOCATE. Teresa Burrell has dedicated her life to helping children and their families in both the courtroom and the classroom. As an attorney, Burrell maintained a private law practice for twelve years, which specialized in domestic, criminal, and civil cases. Her work in family law and juvenile court focused on representing abused minors and juvenile delinquents. Miss Burrell has received several awards and special recognition for her countless hours of pro bono work with children and their families. Burrell has also enjoyed a satisfying career as a teacher. She has taught children of all ages with diverse backgrounds and special needs. After creating an after-school program that kept kids off the street, she received a community service award. Now in semi-retirement in California, Burrell continues to educate groups about social issues impacting children and write novels, many of which are inspired by actual legal cases.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  Note to Reader

  THE ADVOCATE’S BETRAYAL

  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 Betrayal / Teresa Burrell — 2nd. Ed. ISBN 978-1-938680-007

  Published by Silent Thunder Publishing

  San Diego, CA 92111

  To every child who has endured the physical or emotional pain from abuse or neglect.

  To my family who shared the pains of childhood with me while giving me many precious moments to carry forward; and to my family and friends who continue to give me comfort and inspiration as an adult.

  To my editor, Marilee Wood, who constantly holds my hand.

  And in loving memory of my sister, Elaine Johnson Lecy, who will forever remain in our hearts as one of the most unique and fun-loving women to ever walk the face of this earth.

  Prologue

  Pain, from a sharp knife plunged into his chest, yanked John out of a deep sleep. He forced his eyelids open. The only thing worse than the pain was the shock when he saw who was standing over him. It wasn’t until the blood dripped on his face that he realized it was not a dream.

  “No, no, not you….” John reached out, hitting his hand against the wall. He tried to speak again, but could only mumble. “Our Father, who art in heaven…”

  The killer mockingly said, “Are you praying, old man? Here, use this….,” tossing John’s rosary at his open hand near the floor. It caught on his fingertips and dangled there. John felt his air diminishing as his lungs filled up with blood. He fumbled his fingers until his thumb and index finger clasped the first large bead, the words no longer audible. “…hallowed be Thy name…”

  His attacker stepped back, gazing at him lying there, holding the knife dripping with blood, his blood. John reached for his chest, but his arm wouldn’t move. “…Thy kingdom come…” The naked walls of the trailer felt like a box. They were so close on every side. It was stifling. This was his box, his cage, his coffin. The only illumination came from the front room. He listened as the footsteps echoed back and forth at the end of his queen-size bed that filled the room, leaving less than a foot on each side. And then he heard the rubber soles of the shoes exit the bedroom.

  He heard water run. His backside felt wet. Was it water? No, the water came from the kitchenette; blood pooled around his body. John heard his assailant washing away his blood in his kitchen—his murderer washing away the evidence. “…Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven…”

  Footsteps returned to John’s bedroom, and with them returned his fear. Was the attacker returning to finish the job? John couldn’t protect himself; he couldn’t even move. Then the fear subsided. It was too late. The damage already done. “…Give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses…”

  The floor creaked all the way to the front door. Click—door unlocked, opened. The lights went out in the front room, completely dark, or was it the light in his mind that ceased? The pain in his chest intensified. His body felt lethargic. The front door closed. John listened carefully—no lock. The trailer shifted when the last step was vacated. He was alone, left to die alone.

  John tried to move, to struggle, to fight, but his body wouldn’t budge. He saw his life—the despicable parts when he was a kid, the pain he inflicted on others—but mostly he thought of the man he had become. The man who tried his whole life to fix what he had done as a child, that’s who he really was. It pained him to have to think he would suffer eternal damnation for the crimes he committed so long ago. Was this his punishment—betrayal, death, eternal damnation? “…as we forgive those…”

  1

  When the phone rang at four o’clock in the morning Sabre knew it could only mean trouble, but she was used to trouble. “Who screwed up now?” she mumbled, forgetting for a second Luke lying in bed next to her.

  “Umm…,” Luke groaned.

  Sabre savored the smell of clean sweat and faint cologne, reliving the touch of his mouth on the nape of her neck and his hard body holding her, making love to her for the first time. It had been a long time coming. She struggled to find the phone on the nightstand, knocking over a glass of wine. “Damn it,” she mumbled. When she put the phone to her ear, she heard her friend Betty breathing heavily and stammering over her words as she tried to speak. Sabre’s heart quivered in her chest.

  “He’s d..dead. John’s dead,” Betty cried.

  “Betty, where are you?” Sabre’s heart beat faster. She felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  “At home. Th…there’s so much blood.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Sabre’s arm felt weak. She dropped the phone to her chest and lay there for a second, her body still and in shock. Luke reached his arm around her waist and pulled her shapely naked body close to him, nibbling on her earlobe. Sabre yanked away, throwing his arm off her and slamming the phone into the cradle. “Not now,” she said curtly, but with no anger in her voice. She stood up and flipped on the light.

  “What is it?” Luke asked, scratching his head as he sat up.

  “John’s dead.” She snapped, sounding more like a question than a statement, propelling Luke from the bed. “I’m going
to help Betty.” She stepped into her jeans, wrestling with her sweatshirt as she pulled it over her head, twisted her shoulder-length, brown hair up on top of her head, and stuck a clip in it.

  Luke had his shirt on before she finished speaking, looking around for his pants and shoes. “I’m going with you.” He reached for her arm, squeezing it lightly. “I’m so sorry, Sabre.”

  Tears filled her dark brown eyes. John and Betty were her friends, and although Sabre was about thirty years their junior, they had grown very close. They were extended family, more like an aunt and uncle to her. They had been there for her during her turmoil last year, and now John was dead and Betty needed her.

  The summer morning air felt cool on Sabre’s tear-filled face as she ran to the car. “Put your keys away. I’m driving,” Luke said. Sabre’s hand shook as she opened the door to Luke’s silver metallic BMW Z4 Roadster.

  Luke drove east on I-8 at speeds above eighty. Sabre didn’t complain about the speed as she would have under normal circumstances. She didn’t even notice. She watched as the buildings passed her window, most of them barely visible without their lights on. Only a few cars on the freeway, but too many she thought. Where were they going? How many were going to help a friend whose husband had just died? Why John? It felt like losing her father all over again, and a piece of her brother, Ron, as well. Ron had introduced her to John and Betty just a few months before his disappearance. The couple had been such a great help to her, consoling her and always trying to keep her hopes up. John reminded her so much of her father—the same lighthearted strength that is so hard to find in a man, and a deep, resonant voice that always brought her comfort. She’d never hear that voice call her “Sparky” again. He tagged her with that nickname the first day they met, and he never called her anything else. Sabre remembered that day. The couple was always holding hands, only letting go when Betty went to get John a cup of coffee – before he ever asked – or when John went to check the gas in Betty’s car. They took care of each other.

  Luke and Sabre drove for about two minutes without speaking. Luke broke the silence. “What happened? Do you know?”

  “No, she didn’t say, just that he was dead…and there was blood.” Sabre shook her head. “What will Betty do without him? She loved him so much. She used to say, ‘I’d like you to find someone just like my John, but there’s no one quite like him.’ That’s why she tried so hard to get us together, you know.”

  “I know.” Luke squeezed her hand. “I’m glad she did.”

  Within fifteen minutes of the call, they had driven into the motor home park and pulled up in front of space number twelve, a thirty-five foot, twenty-year-old trailer, the only home in the park with lights on. As they stepped out of the car, the lights went on next door. No light illuminated Betty’s porch. Luke took Sabre’s hand as they went up the short, dark walkway. She couldn’t see much, but she could smell the gardenias along the path. Just as they reached the door, the porch light went on and Sabre heard the click of the door unlocking. She felt an ache in her stomach when she saw Betty’s puffy eyes with black liner smeared down her face, her usual perfectly spiked, fire-red hair flat on one side and the rest sticking out in clumps, and the deep lines of confusion on her forehead. What had once been white kittens on the side of her pale blue pajama top were now soaked red with blood. When Sabre hugged her friend’s plump body, it felt listless and tears dampened Betty’s cheeks.

  “Where is he?” Luke asked.

  “In there.” Betty pointed to the bedroom.

  Luke walked to the back of the trailer, his body tall and straight. Sabre could see the muscles strain on the back of his neck as she and Betty followed. Sabre noticed Betty held a rosary. As far as she knew, Betty wasn’t Catholic. She stopped and put her arm around Betty’s shoulder. “Were you praying?” she asked motioning toward the rosary.

  Betty slipped it in her pocket and said, “It belonged to J…John. The only thing he had from his childhood.”

  They walked into the bedroom, Luke several steps ahead. “Oh…” Sabre covered her mouth to stifle her cry. John lay on his back, the blankets pulled up to his waist. His right arm hung over the edge of the bed, the left side of his chest covered in blood. Sabre suddenly longed for her strong, energetic friend, John. She wanted him to comfort her. This wasn’t him. A lifeless, slaughtered body laid in his bed, no longer the man who gave her fatherly advice or comforted her when she needed to feel like a child.

  Luke put his arm around Sabre. He reached down and touched John’s arm. “He’s cold,” he said.

  “Have you called the police?” Sabre asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Betty started to sob, “I didn’t kn..know what to do. So, I called you.”

  Sabre walked over to where Betty stood in the doorway, her voice low and undemanding. “Betty, what happened?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  Sabre reached out and took Betty’s hand. “Tell me, what did you do when you left us at Viejas?”

  “I came straight home and went to bed.”

  “You just crawled into bed next to John?”

  “I thought he was sleeping, so I kept very quiet.” She gulped. “I didn’t even turn on the light in the bedroom. I just put my pajamas on and slipped into bed beside him.” Sabre nodded encouragement. “I went right to sleep because he wasn’t snoring.” Betty stopped to catch her breath and shook her head from side to side. “He always snores. Why didn’t I know there was something wrong?” She sobbed. “I was so thankful he wasn’t snoring, I didn’t even check on him.”

  Sabre squeezed her hand a little tighter. “Betty, when did you know there was something wrong?”

  “When I got up to go to the bathroom, I felt my wet, sticky pajamas. I turned on the light and saw it was bl…blood. Then I saw John.” Betty’s chest throbbed as she continued to sob. “He just lay there all covered with blood.”

  “Betty, we need to call the police.”

  “W…would you?” Betty took a step forward, then back, then stood there rocking, confused.

  “Of course.”

  Sabre called 9-1-1, and within minutes three squad cars arrived, plus two detectives in an unmarked car and an ambulance followed by a coroner. The dawn broke as neighbors exited their mobile homes to catch a glimpse of the show, many of them watching from their porches, others edging closer and forming a crowd near Betty’s and John’s trailer. They stretched their necks to see. Some asked questions of the officers, others relayed what they saw and what they speculated, but all buzzed with curiosity as the police put up the yellow and black ribbon partitioning off the area.

  One man wandered onto the green rock lawn. “Please step back,” a short, young man in uniform said curtly. “Please stay behind the police line.”

  A police officer entered the motor home, glanced around, and started spouting orders like he was reading from a bad script. “I need everyone to step outside. This is a crime scene. Please don’t touch anything.”

  “Sabre, what are you doing here?” Detective Gregory Nelson asked, as he walked up to the mobile home while pulling on his tie.

  “These are friends of mine. Betty called me.”

  “I’ll want to talk to you, but first I need to go inside. Please wait out here.”

  Betty stumbled to a folding chair outside near the door and sat down. With one elbow on the arm of the chair, she lay her head in her hand and wept. Sabre approached her and put a hand on her shoulder, but she didn’t know what to say. Betty continued to cry. Sabre looked back and saw Luke standing with his hands in his pockets by the pink geranium bush, watching her from a distance.

  When Detective Nelson came out, he asked Betty for her name and the name of the victim, about what she had seen, and when. He wiggled the knot on his tie. “Sabre, would you mind getting Betty some clothes? We’ll need the pajamas.”

  “Greg, is she a suspect?”

  “Not at this point, but we need the pajamas. They have blood on them, and they may be evidence.” He turned to an officer standing at the door. “Please escort Ms. Brown inside. She needs to get a change of clothes for the victim’s wife.”

  As Sabre entered the trailer she focused on two policemen walking around the living room with kits and brushes, dusting for fingerprints. She saw an officer pick up a knife from the sink, put it into a bag, and zip the bag closed. She watched as they opened drawers and cupboards, invading her friends’ home. She walked past the kitchen table containing the ceramic rooster, two placemats, and a deck of cards. She scanned the room for answers but saw only a worn, dark green sofa with two pillows, an end table next to it with a stack of loose newspapers and a pair of reading glasses, and Betty’s sketch book. A small desk across from the sofa housed a laptop computer. Only one picture adorned the wall, a drawing Betty had done of an old cabin in the woods, and except for the shelf with a small collection of salt and pepper shakers, the room contained very few mementos, an observation Sabre hadn’t made until now.