by
M. D. Cliatt
Smashwords Edition
© copyright 2011 M. D. Cliatt
All
rights reserved
Chapter 16: The Police Station
Chapter 22: Voluntary Commitment
Wednesday Evening
In the capital city of Pennsylvania, the Juvenile Probation Department celebrated getting two-hundred-fifty thousand dollars in grant money by throwing itself a party. About one hundred probation officers and their spouses, dressed in semi-formal attire, mingled around dinner tables in a ballroom in the swankiest hotel. Life size pictures of detention centers, hung from each wall and photos of handcuffed children adorned pamphlets that were strewn about on the sea of tables.
In the front of the room, Director Christopher Cullen, a tall distinguished looking man, in his late sixties leaned on a black cane as he stood behind a podium under a chandelier. He wore a shimmering silver suit that matched his thick, wavy gray hair. His narrow, yellow tinged eyes seem to sparkle with delight and his razor-thin lips curled into a smile.
"Many of the children in our county are in need of our services, and we believe that they are better off in our system. As you know, juvenile crime surged in the past year. To handle this devastating increase, we sought and received new authority to implement new programs from our Juvenile Court Judge, Ronald Givens. His Honor is here, so please, show him your appreciation and give him a hand." The speaker started clapping his hands to lead the crowd.
Enthusiastic applause rang out. Judge Givens, a lean, stern looking man in his late fifties with short gray hair, sat near the front of the room with his wife and guests. He rose and then turned to face the crowd with the hint of a smile and waved to the audience before sitting back down.
Cullen continued, "Thankfully, we received more money from the state's Juvenile Court Judges Commission to help us address this problem. The Commissioners are here, including their newest member, Elena Figueroa." He pointed at a table with two older white men and a middle-aged Latina. "Please give them a round of applause. Without their generosity and understanding, many of you wouldn't have your jobs." The distinguished man laughed. The crowd followed suit, laughing and applauding.
The three Commissioners, including Elena Figueroa, an attractive, elegant woman in her late fifties with short, white hair wearing a modest, knee length, gold, A-line dress stood up. All of them turned and then waved to the dinner guests; only Elena failed to smile, and then all of them sat back down. He held out his hand toward another table near the front when he said, “And we cannot forget to thank our partner and new manager of the juvenile detention center, the Slaxis Corporation. With its gift of one million dollars, we will meet our goals.”
"With this money, we hired thirty new probation officers, created new positions and made new partnerships with the Harrisburg Police Department. Working hard to help coordinate all of these new initiatives has been Jonathan Bates.” Cullen pointed to a man seated in the audience. “John, please come up here."
He wore a tailor made designer black suit and the look of self-importance. A dapper, young blonde man with piercing blue eyes in his early twenties stood up in the middle of the room. He waited. The crowd applauded with underwhelming politeness as he basked in their acknowledgement. He strode with confidence toward the podium with a smirk as he looked at his fellow colleagues.
A haggard-looking man with shocking white hair in his late fifties, dressed in faded blue jeans, a wrinkled white dress shirt and a blue blazer, looked on from the back of the room while leaning against the wall. When Bates reached the podium, the haggard-looking man walked to the commissioners’ table and whispered in Commissioner Figueroa's ear. She nodded in response and then looked down at her watch. She whispered something to him, and he turned around to leave.
Cullen continued to speak. "And now, I want to award Jonathan Bates the Juvenile Probation Officer of the Year Award. As many of you know, he has worked diligently to monitor the juvenile crime rate and ensure that these children receive appropriate treatment. He supervised the juvenile summary reports, made detention decisions, obtained grant money and guided many of you. He reminds me of myself at his age. Along with this award, I am promoting John--now, he didn't know this," he paused, held out his hands, palms up, and grinned with satisfaction, "--to Assistant Director." He turned to Officer Bates and patted him on the back. The crowd offered subdued applause again. Cullen announced, “At the end of this month, I will retire. John will take my place.”
Bates beamed.
Through the sea of tables, the haggard-looking man hurried from the ballroom unnoticed. He jogged through the lobby full of various booths that had pictures of children plastered all over them. Representatives from various juvenile placement programs tried to entice him to take one of their many pamphlets or trinkets. He ignored them as he rushed to leave the hotel.
###
Down a dark and an empty hallway lined with closed, gray metal doors, loud angry voices bounced off the walls. The sickening sounds of fists pummeling flesh and furniture crashing to the floor took her by surprise. She quickened her pace to get to the office to see what was happening, her heels clicking on the linoleum. She didn't want them to hear her so she walked on the tips of her toes.
From the doorway of an office with dim light, she could see the silhouette of a person standing in front of a desk. The silhouette picked up a heavy object and bashed someone else behind the desk over and over again. She gasped in horror. Frightened, she slipped into the janitorial closet next to the office and hid. She didn’t close the door all the way so that she could see. Someone screamed and then she heard a groan. From the closet she watched the attacker run out of the office and down the hallway to a pitch black stairwell.
She trembled behind the closet door. She saw an eerie green glow coming from the office where the attack happened, and she could hear a muffled voice. Her muscles tensed and beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. Silence enveloped her. Her fear paralyzed her, but she forced herself to move fast to get out of the closet and into the office. The sweat began to creep down her face and sting her eyes. She was wasting too much time. She eased out of the closet and looked both ways. No one in sight.
The office door was ajar; she slipped inside. Finding the room in disarray, she took two apprehensive steps forward. She stumbled over black loafer clad feet. A body wearing faded blue jeans lay on the floor behind the mahogany desk bleeding from the head. The janitors would find dark red pools tomorrow morning. She took two steps forward. Her feet straddled both sides of his legs as she crouched over the body. From the glow of the screen saver on the computer, she could tell the hair was caked with blood.
She waddled near his head and then reached down with her hand to touch his neck as if she were checking a child for a fever. No pulse. She could feel her stomach churn with nausea as she stared at the blood on her fingers. She stood up and then stared down at him.
She reminded herself about why she came, and she used her clean hand to rummage through papers with a sense of urgency, files and books on his desk. She had to find those papers. She looked in the metal file cabinet behind his desk. The soft hum of a clarinet and a sultry male voice crooning from the radio on the corner of the desk startled her. She switched it off. She opened the first cabinet drawer and found a box of tea bags. She opened the second drawer and found a battered manila file. She grabbed it, and the papers inside the file crackled in the silence. She opened the file, unfolded the first page, held it up near the computer screen glow and skimmed it. Yes, these were the papers she needed, and she shoved the file under her arm.
She looked down at the body and noticed his eyelids were open. She crouched down and bent over him, putting her ear close to his mouth. She could hear shallow breathing coming through his lips. Horrified, she stood upright and looked for his phone. Shaking, she lifted the receiver off the desk phone. She heard a dial tone, and then used her index finger to push the numbers 9-1-1.
A male operator's flat business voice asked, "911, what's the problem?"
She didn't answer. She laid the receiver on its side on top of the scattered papers and then ran out of the room. As she ran, she stumbled but caught herself by grabbing the doorknob. She turned to take the route down the hallway opposite the attacker's path. She headed for the other darkened stairwell, skidded to a stop at the top of the stairs and then took off her shoes. She let her hand slide down the metal handrail as she flew down the metal steps until she reached the bottom.
She ran for the side door, and the red and white "EXIT" sign above the door beckoned to her. She burst through the door and raced toward alley, escaping into the cool evening air. As she ran, the bells from the cathedral next door chimed several times.
She turned at the sound of a car driving toward her. A black sports utility vehicle sped around the corner of the building and down the alley. She ran away from the light of the street lamps to cower in the dark behind the bushes alongside the wall.
The black vehicle pulled up to the corner of the alley and parked. The attacker got out with a gas can, walked to the sidewalk, and up to the building. She ran down the alley in the opposite direction from the attacker toward her parked car behind the courthouse. Once inside, she jammed her key into the ignition and started the engine. She threw the file and her shoes on the seat and pressed the gas pedal.
She passed a speeding police car with flashing lights. Through her rearview mirror, she saw it come to an abrupt stop in front of the building she just escaped. Two officers jumped out of the car just as glass shattered overhead and flames exploded through the windows.
Thursday Morning
In the amber glow of morning, Maeven Dayne reached across her bed, patted the covers until she felt the hard handle of her friend, her pepper spray gun. Satisfied she knew where the cell phone ended up as she tossed and turned throughout the night, her fingers felt for the flashlight. Next, she patted the bed until she felt the land-line phone. All of her tools were in place; everything was okay.
She was going back to sleep when her cell phone alarm cried out at five o'clock that morning. She didn't want to get up yet.
Why bother? What are they gonna do? Fire me?
She turned over, grabbed the screaming cell phone and fumbled to find the button on the side to turn it off. If Cloud, their white German Shepherd heard it, she would come charging into the room with demanding whines and whimpers until Maeven got up. Nathan would be home soon, so she hurried to put the pepper spray gun under the bed.
She heard him open the bedroom door and the repeated sound of Cloud’s thick tail smacking the wall over and over again. She patted her curly black hair into place and pretended to be asleep.
Nathan was five eleven or six feet depending on how he felt when you asked him. He had caramel-colored skin that covered a stocky frame with muscular arms and legs, trophies from his days playing high school football.
He kissed her on the forehead. "I know you're awake," he whispered.
She felt a wet nose on the sole of her right foot, and she laughed, "Cloud, stop. I'll let you out in a moment." Nathan reached in his pocket, pulled out a brand new pink ball and threw it down the hallway. The dog raced out of the room chasing her new toy.
"You caught me!" Maeven confessed with a smile.
"Why do you do that?" He kissed her on the head again.
Still smiling she inhaled. "Because I like it when you kiss me awake." She sniffed him. "You smell like . . . fire?" Alarmed, she sat up and sniffed again. "Yeah, fire!"
"We had a big one last night downtown at the probation department," He explained.
"Really? Anyone hurt?"
"We found a body."
"Oh my God!" She exclaimed. “Anyone we know?”
Nathan sat down on the bed, bent forward and patted the floor. "I see you slept with your friend again. You didn't keep it in the bed did you?"
"Uh . . . um."
"Maeven! Stop doing that!"
"When we get a burglar alarm, I'll stop doing it."
"You're gonna roll over and spray yourself with mace!" He scolded.
"Shhh." She raised her finger to her lips. "You're gonna wake the boys."
With a look of regret, he added with a softer voice, "Look, every time I price an alarm, you're the one saying wait because of the money."
“You’re right.” Maeven didn't want to douse him with unwarranted guilt. He would do anything to protect them. “Maybe, I shouldn’t take this job offer with our budget being so tight,” she said as she turned to look out the window.
He smiled his reassuring smile and said. "I know, I know, but you shouldn't let that stop you Maeven. So your new job means a slight pay cut. We'll handle it. We always handle it."
"It's a three thousand dollar pay cut!"
"At least we'll be able to send the boys to college for free; you've got to factor that into the equation when you're deciding the value of the job," he said. "We have nothing saved up for college. On top of that, you won't have to work weekends, holidays and evenings like you do now." Gathering steam, he continued, "And for what? Who?” He put his thumb on her chin and with gentle pressure turned her head until she faced him. “Ungrateful clients and colleagues?"
"You're right. I know you're right. But, I'm gonna miss my kids and the excitement of the battle. Sometimes, they appreciated my effort.” She paused for a moment while she contemplated life without her kids at work. "Well, I could use the extra time with you guys."
"And the stress?" He looked deep into her eyes and rubbed her face.
She closed her eyes to block out the painful memories. She lost cases she shouldn't have because of political judges beholden to their party politics and not to the law. She lost pregnancies she shouldn't because of genetics and stress. One miscarriage after the other, one lost baby or juvenile after the other, until she stopped counting. She took a slow breath to quiet her nerves.
"Are you ready for your day?" Her alarm sounded again. Nathan took it from her, and turned it off. He lay down beside her and asked again, "Are you ready for today?"
She took a deep breath and answered, "Yeah." She turned on her side to face him and smiled. "It's time."
Nathan reached out with his hand and caressed her face. "You know you are the best they ever had or will ever have because you care."
She replied, "That is the problem; I care too much. It's all consuming when you're trying to make up for everyone else who doesn't."
"That's why you'll be a great clinician because you'll care about your students."
But what if I'm bored out of my mind? Not wanting to seem selfish, she said, "I'm flattered that my old professor would invite me to work in the law school clinic." She tried to sound excited. "Me, a law school clinician, it may be a great opportunity." She beamed at him with her best all teeth smile. However, she thought, many law professors who teach doctrinal courses have no respect for law school clinicians.
Nathan joked, "More importantly, maybe we can spend some quality time together."
She tilted her head to the side and asked with a smirk, "When you say quality time, you mean husband and wife . . ."
With his own crooked smirk, he said, "You know exactly what I mean. This thing about only on the weekends was killing me."
She snatched the pillow from underneath his head and hit him in the face. He shot up and grabbed both of her arms. He pulled her to him and pressed his lips against hers. She dropped the pillow and wrapped her arms around him.
He let her go. "Are we giving Gavin a ride or is he taking the bus?"
She smiled and kissed him on the chest and the head. "Well, last night, I told him I would."
Nathan chuckled, "That boy." He turned his back to her and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “You know they get over on you."
She quipped, "You know he wants to sleep late. If he rides with us, he sleeps a whole extra fifteen minutes. Besides, he made the honor roll again."
Nathan reached for the lamp on the bedside plastic shelves and then turned it on. "I'm gonna take a shower. You want to take it with me?"
Eager, she sat up and pushed the covers back. "Yep."
Later, while walking down the hallway to the kitchen, Maeven buttoned her black suit jacket with thin white pinstripes that matched her pants. She could smell bacon frying, and when she reached the kitchen, she spotted Nathan standing in front of the stove. She was approaching from the side. She knew he could see her, but she tiptoed with exaggeration as if to surprise him. She put her arms around him and kissed him on the neck.
He reached back toward her and rubbed her hip. "It's a big day for you." With his cooking fork, he picked up the bacon and placed it on a plate covered with a paper towel.
"It's a big day for us!" She stepped to the side where the plate lay on the counter and watched the grease stain grow on the paper towel. She picked up a piece of bacon and was about to put it in her mouth when she heard footsteps in the hallway.
Their youngest son, fourteen-year-old Jason, walked into the kitchen rubbing his eyes. She looked him over as she contemplated how much he'd grown. He had reddish mahogany skin and wavy short hair. He wore black tinted glasses and a fake diamond earring. He was adorable with a smile that could transform from warm, to devilish, to bashful in the span of a second. His wickedly dark sense of humor always made her laugh. He was tall enough to look her in the eye and she was five-foot-eight. Where had the time gone? she thought.
"Mom, what time is it?"
"It's six thirty. Why are you up so early? You don't need to get up for another hour yet." As she often did, she walked over to him and hugged him.
Jason patted her back, stood on his toes and then stretched. "There's a woodpecker on the tree outside." He yawned, "I can't go back to sleep."
She sniffed him and then wrinkled her nose. "When was the last time you bathed?" He hated to take the time to bathe. Usually, when she or Nathan asked this question, he would ask if he could just wash up with a washcloth in the sink.
He tilted his head to the side, closed one eye and stared at the ceiling with his other eye while he struggled to remember. "Uh--two weeks ago."
In unison, Maeven and Nathan repeated "Two weeks!"
Maeven commanded, "Boy, you better find your way to the bathtub."
Jason pleaded, "Can I just wash up in the bathroom sink instead."
Nathan boomed, "Boy!"
Jason scurried off.
"I better go wake Gav." Maeven headed down the hallway toward his room which shared a wall with Maeven' and Nathan's. As she passed by the bathroom, she called out to Jason to use deodorant and wash under his arms.
"MOM! You don't have to tell me that!"
She walked to Gavin's room, stood in the doorway and called his name until he stirred. He was only sixteen-years-old, so tall and so handsome with his low haircut and caramel skin. Gavin arched his chest and reached with one arm toward the ceiling. While yawning, he responded, "I'm up. I'm up. Thanks for letting me sleep a little longer mom."
"No problem sweetie, but get a move on. No slowing around this morning.”
She turned and headed back down the hallway, passing the bathroom and kitchen as she walked into the living room where she found Nathan. He sat on the brown leather couch watching the local news. Gavin followed behind her, but turned left to head down the stairs across from the kitchen.
After a few minutes, Gavin came back up the stairs. "Mom, did you wash any of my shirts?"
With gentle sarcasm, she answered, "I know it sounds strange, but look in your closet where most people put their clothes. Oh yeah, I forgot, you don't put your clothes up after I fold them and put them on your bed.
Gavin took a deep breath and exhaled. "Okay, okay. Do you have to be sarcastic about it?"
"Do you have to be lazy about it?" She asked. "By the way, do you still want me to drive you to school?"
“Yep.” He smiled big. "Thanks mom."
"Who loves ya kid?" She stood up to get her briefcase beside the couch. Jason came out of the bathroom and Maeven turned to look at him. "Why was your bath so short? Did you use soap?"
Attempting to portray a serious expression, with a glint of amusement in his eyes, Jason offered, "You can smell me."
"Don't tempt me!" she warned.
The phone rang. Eager to avoid his mother, he dashed off to the kitchen to check the caller identification. "It's grandma! Should I answer it?" He yelled.
"Ummm . . . no," Maeven replied.
Jason walked back toward his parents and started stuffing things into his book bag. Maeven watched without commenting. She had told him many times to put his loose papers in his notebook so that they wouldn't wrinkle or tear, but he never did.
"Jason, put your stuff in your notebook or your folders. It's the beginning of a new school year. Try to start it off organized."
His shoulders slumped, and he started pulling everything out again. She walked over to him and hugged him. "Be good at school, stay out of trouble and watch your mouth." And then she remembered, "Oh yeah, Gavin wants to play Monopoly tonight."
He hugged her back. "You don't have to tell me that! I'm not like your kids at work, and by the way, you know I hate Monopoly."
She waited until she heard him at the bottom of the second set of stairs. She turned to Nathan. "Did the school call about whether Jason will receive gifted education classes?" Maeven picked up her coat and then lifted her keys from the hook in the wall. Then she snatched her purse and briefcase off the couch.
"No. You know, if he doesn't make it this time, he'll be very disappointed."
Maeven sighed. "I know. I don't want him to go through this a third time if he doesn't make it this time."
"I agree."
She called for Gavin and moved to the top of the stairs. He yelled his acknowledgement. After a moment, he came running with his book bag hanging off his shoulder and his blue jeans hanging off his butt. She hated his sagging jeans, but she gave up a long time ago because he wore really long tee shirts that covered his butt.
She frowned at him. "Where's your belt?"
"I can't find it."
"We just bought it. I don't think you looked." She countered. “You always say you can’t find a belt.”
Nathan walked over to them and hugged her. "I've already started your car. You'd better go before he's late."
"You're right." She started down the stairs.
Nathan touched her shoulder. "Do you have your friend?"
She looked down at her purse and patted it. She felt the hard bulge. She looked over her shoulder and uttered, "Uh huh."
Gavin, taking advantage of his mother's convenient distraction, and he hurried down the stairs two steps at a time. "He's right mom. Let's go." He flew out of the door before she could continue to protest his sagging pants.
She walked down the steps and opened the door. Before stepping through the doorway. She yelled over her shoulder, "BYE Jason!"
From downstairs, she guessed the computer room, she heard him yell, "BYE MOM!"
"BE GOOD, MIND YOUR MANNERS, AND DON'T GET IN ANY TROUBLE!"
"YOU DON'T HAVE TO TELL ME THAT!"
"RIGHT! I FORGOT. SORRY."
###
The clear blue sky made a beautiful backdrop to the hills decorated with trees sporting brilliant fall colors. The scenery lifted Maeven’s spirits.
During the drive to school, Maeven asked, "How is school going?"
He replied, "Fine."
"Why do I only get one word answers to describe school?" He shrugged and stared out the window. "Nothing new happens at school."
"Well, your teacher is recommending you for Honors English and that was new," she corrected.
He nodded in agreement. For a moment, there was silence. He surprised her by asking, "Can I get a job?"
Surprised, she turned to look at him with a quizzical expression. "What made you start thinking about getting a job?"
With a wry smile, he answered, "Well, you know how much I like money." He continued, "Instead of depending on you and Dad to get everything I want, I'll earn it myself."
She stole a quick look at him. "Well, as much as I hate it, you are getting older. What, you're sixteen now?" she joked.
"Mom," he asked with feigned incredulity, "and you call yourself my mother." Pretending to be horrified, he slapped his hands against the sides of his face.
She reached across the car and playfully pushed his head to the side and laughed, "I'm just kidding." She continued, "I remember my first job. It was hard at first, and people weren't very nice to me. But, I did like earning my own money. Let me talk to your father. If he's okay with it, then I'm okay with it." She drove up to the school.
He had grown so much. She felt a little emotional. "Hey, I love you. Be good, stay out of trouble."
Exasperated, he exclaimed, "You don't have to tell me that mom! Really, you don't."
"What? I love you?" she asked while trying to assume an innocent tone and look.
"Unlike the kids at your job, I'm always good," he reminded her.
She drove into the school parking lot and picked a parking space several yards away from the entrance.
He was right, but she couldn't help worrying about them given what she knew. "I know you are. I'm really proud of you." She watched him open the car door and put one foot outside. “I’m sorry I seem a little paranoid.” Her worst recurring nightmare involved one of her boys getting arrested and being at the mercy of this shady, unforgiving juvenile justice system. She gave him an apologetic smile.
He turned to her. "I love you too." He got out. She smiled to herself as her heart melted. With his usual heavy handedness, he slammed the door shut and jarred her right out of the moment.
As she watched him walk toward the school, she saw her friend Tanya. Maeven met Tanya and another friend, Renee, at a detention hearing when she first started working at the Public Defender's Office. Tanya was assigned to Gavin's school as a Juvenile Probation Officer. Maeven always took comfort in the fact that her friend worked at her son's school because she could watch out for him, and more importantly, call her if anything happened.
Maeven pushed the button to lower window and called, "T-A-N-Y-A! OVER HERE!"
Tanya looked from side to side searching for whoever called her. She saw Maeven and walked over. "Hi Maeven. Droppin' off Gavin?"
Maeven opened her car door and then got out. "Yeah,” she answered while walking around the front of the car to greet Tanya.
As usual, Tanya's long, thick black hair looked perfect. All of her gold rings on all of her fingers flashed in the sun as she jostled her bags against her hip. When Maeven began her career as a public defender, Tanya welcomed her. The rest of the probation department either shunned her or treated her with open hostility. Tanya had remained a good friend ever since, even though they hadn't always agreed on cases. She could always count on her. Tanya came to the hospital for every a miscarriage.
Maeven noticed her probation issued gun on her other hip. “So, you passed your test?” Maeven pointed at the gun. When the probation officers went to the shooting range for testing, Tanya always needed more than one attempt, sometimes two, to qualify to carry her gun on duty. As a result, she often worked desk duty and suffered pay reductions until she passed.
Tanya shrugged. “Finally passed.” She tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Only took me three tries this time. So, I get to come back to the school and they’re reinstating my pay.”
“Congratulations.” Maeven leaned in close and put her arm around Tanya, pulling her into a warm embrace. “That’s wonderful.”
When they let go of each other, Tanya smiled and said, “Thanks, I needed that.” Her facial expression changed to a serious look. “You know I’ll pay all of you back.”
Maeven patted Tanya’s shoulder. “No rush, no worries. Nathan and I are fine,” Maeven lied with a smile. “I’m sure Renee is willing to wait too. Hell, you just got back. No one’s going to be knocking down your door for money.”
“You’re a good friend.”
“You would do it for me and Renee. We were all pulling for you. Knew you could do it.”
“I’m glad you did because I wasn’t so sure this time.” Tanya frowned. “Damn gun,” she muttered.
“Well you did, and now you’re back,” Maeven said before asking, “Glad to be back?"
"No. I think the kids have lost their minds!"
"On your case load?"
"Every time I turn around, I'm locking one up."
Although she was serious, Maeven couched her next comment in a joke, "Well, then stop locking them all up!"
"What are you complaining about?” Tanya asked. “You won't let anyone forget it's your last day. My case load just seems to be going through the roof."
"Sorry to hear it."
"The powers on high had a staff meeting to discuss expanding detention guidelines to include more offenses than we do now and other factors for low risk kids."
Maeven asked in an exasperated tone, "You mean stupid little stuff?"
"I wouldn't call it stupid." She shrugged. "Minor, maybe."
"Oh, I call it ridiculous! Do you remember that kindergartner who the cops called Sarah June about because the kid took that little girls glasses and they wanted to charge him with theft?"
Smiling, Tanya relented. "You're right on that one. He hid the glasses in the teacher's desk."
Maeven's temper and voice rose. "You handle that with a good talking to or in some houses, a spanking. Anyway, our detention center can't handle all those kids. That's why we should be judicious about who's detained--"
Tanya held up her finger to stop Maeven’s torrent of words. "HEY! You’re preaching to the choir! Why are you going off on me?"
"Because I think zero tolerance means zero common sense! Our school administrators have decided that school detentions, suspensions, parent meetings or expulsions aren't good enough! Nooooooo! Let's just refer all the little kiddies to court, you know, the school-to-prison pipeline. Juvenile detention is not a daycare center."
Tanya raised her eyebrows. "Again, why are you going off on me? Are you finished?"
Wincing because she had let herself get carried away, she replied, "I guess I was feelin' it."
"For the record, I don't want to lock everybody up for every little thing." The bell rang. Tanya turned to look at the stragglers racing to the school doors before the second bell rang. "I better go check on the little darlings now before you start ranting again. Bye."
Before she could escape, Maeven remembered to ask, “What happened last night with the fire at your office?”
Tanya looked serious as she leaned closer to her. “You heard from Nathan about the body?”
“Yes, I did. Anyone I know?”
Tanya shook her head. “They’re keeping really quiet about it right now with the investigation underway. But, as I’m sure you can imagine, everyone wants to know. People are kind of just doing their own head counts of friends and coworkers.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, well, the police are everywhere right now, and the security cameras and elevators are out, police tape everywhere.” Tanya leaned away to look around the parking lot. “Hey, I better get inside. Need to keep the paychecks coming.”
Maeven noticed the very last group of students dawdling outside the school doors. As Tanya walked away, Maeven yelled out, "Whatever you do, don't lock up my son! Call me first!"
"Come on now! You know I would never let anything happen to him. Ya’ll are like family." Tanya jogged off toward the school, and she disappeared from Maeven’s sight in the midst of a throng of teenagers.
Maeven moved her car out of the parking lot, and as she drove to work, she picked up her cell phone and called Nathan. When he answered, she said, "Guess who asked if he can get a job." She paused to let it sink in.
Without answering, Nathan asked, "Do you think he's ready? I know I liked working when I was his age."
"That's because kids know they can quit whenever they want. They're not depending on it for their livelihood. It's fun for them."
Nathan challenged, "Well, isn't that why you're doing what you're doing today? Because it's not fulfilling for you?"
She could hear his hope for a particular answer. She hesitated before replying, "Well," she began. "When I get home, we should talk about it." She didn't mind talking for hours, but she wanted to get off this topic. "Have a great day babe."
"You too. Mave?"
"Yeah?"
"Trust your gut."
"Okay."
"Bye," they said in unison.
Thursday Morning
During the drive to work in her old, golden brown, four-door Chevrolet Cavalier, Maeven dreaded one more day in her thankless career that she loved.
She drove into the parking garage that faced the alley that separated the garage from the Courthouse and parked her car. As always, she parked so that it faced the courthouse, and that way, she could always remember on which side of the garage she parked. Absentmindedness plagued her and she had to take precautions lately. She got out of the car and then grabbed her purse. She pushed the trunk button on her keyless entry and headed to the rear of her car. She heaved her heavy rolling catalog case out of the trunk of her car and then put it on the ground. She pulled up the handled and then started toward the green elevators.
As she stepped out of the garage and crossed the alley, she felt a cool, but comfortable autumn breeze. She turned her head left to look across the street at the trees with brilliant yellow leaves lining the Susquehanna River front. She noticed the fluffy, white clouds in the bright blue sky.
Is the universe sending me a beautiful autumn day as a going away present? The river shimmered in the sun as it ran beside the golden looking trees lining Front Street. Early morning walkers and joggers ran alongside the river, some with dogs and others with companions. The homeless souls who slept between the shrubs behind the courthouse and beside the garage were now sitting on the benches beside the river.
Led by teachers, at least forty little heads of different shades and complexions bobbed up and down as they skipped, ran or walked along the riverside. The children's squeals and giggles carried a melodious sound through the air. As she stood there watching them, she was taken by their innocence. A cute little brown girl with long braids tried to catch a football thrown over her head by a taller white boy with a pronounced overbite.
Maeven thought, in five more years, the police would probably be chasing these kids through their neighborhoods. Some officer will take the stand and tell some judge that the arrest was justified due to the children's suspicious presence in a "high drug crime area." Every neighborhood, including the playground and the churches, in this forsaken city qualified as a high drug crime area. None of these children can step off their porches without being suspicious to some eager officer looking to make a case.
As she rounded the corner to walk on the alley behind the courthouse, she observed a group of black, Hispanic and white children, of different shades and complexion, ranging in ages from ten to late teens, dressed in gray sweatshirts with blue sweatpants emerging from the back of the local detention center’s white van. Sheriffs instructed the children to line up by the courthouse back door. She couldn't see their hands or feet because of the cement barrier that partially blocked the view of the entrance way to the courthouse from people in the alley and parking garage. She envisioned the shackles on their hands and feet. She looked back at the small children playing near the river and then back at the group of juvenile boys at the back of the courthouse. I wonder how many of them use to run alongside that river.
A high male voice startled her out of her thought. "Hello Maeven. Enjoying the morning?" She didn't bother to look at her colleague, Bill Witmer. He chuckled, "See any future clients?" He matched his stride with hers as she walked.
Damn, I should’ve walked faster.
He was a rather interesting, short, balding, white man in his late fifties who was on his third career. At first, the Chiefs didn't want to hire him, but as a favor to one of the Judges, who happened to be his neighbor, they conceded and gave him the job. Maeven thought he was smart, lazy, whiny and volatile. A year ago, Bill grabbed a woman who worked for the Victim Witness Department by her shirt collar when she told a district attorney something about his case that he didn't want them to know. It made her wonder if that's why he was on his third career.
Distracted, Maeven answered, "Yeah."
"Yeah, you're enjoying the morning or yeah, you see future clients?" Bill asked with a teasing grin.
Her gaze fell on the group of boys and girls at the courthouse door. Unlike the younger children frolicking by the river, these children hung their heads as they pondered their fate. Some faces were streaked with tears, others were as hard as stone, some fearful and some vacant. Her kids--if she weren’t resigning.
She looked to the children playing by the river and then to the children behind the courthouse and back to Bill. Now, the morning didn’t seem so wonderful. She sped up, trying to distance herself from Bill’s haunting question.
"Are you going to the Bar Association Dinner?" he asked.
"We're Public Defender's Bill,” she reminded him with a sarcastic tone. “Just because they come and secretly ask us for advice on their cases doesn't mean they want us in their world of 'real lawyers'."
He looked at her with a stony expression. Sounding a little resentful, he said, "Well, as of today, you'll no longer have to worry about the taint of being a P.D. You can wash your hands in academia."
She said, "Well, I've heard that law school professors view law school clinicians the way the rest of the world views Public Defenders. So, you should be happy to hear that I'll get no respect no matter what I do."
In silence, they walked through the alley toward their office building which sat beside the courthouse. They passed the old church beside the parking garage along the way. As they approached the parking lot behind their office building, the church bells started ringing, signaling it was eight o’clock. When Maeven looked around, she saw police cars and media vans parked alongside the church sidewalk. Camera men blocked their path and a throng of reporters huddled in the intersection.
Maeven uttered, "Excuse me." She tapped shoulders and pressed forward. They moved aside, or she ran over their toes with her catalog case.
"Excuse me," she repeated. She bodied her way through. She hated it when they came. They just got in the way with stupid questions no one should answer.
"I wonder who the District Attorney is sending to jail today." Bill mused aloud. "You know the D.A.'s office calls the media for these events."
Maeven shook her head in agreement, "They just love being on camera so they can taint every potential juror." She said, "They actually have the news stations' numbers on speed dial."
“People!” A gruff voice barked, "I don't have any answers right now!" Detective Reed, flanked by two police officers she recognized. The tall brown one, Greg Jamison, she knew from Nathan’s flag football team. The short portly one like to beat people he arrested, even her young clients. Officer Jamison, whom she recognized from Nathan’s flag football team, and Officer Duncan, whom she would never forget because he beat up several of her clients, broke free from the center of the crowd of reporters. The Detective turned and then stormed off in the direction of the probation department behind the parking garage.
One of the reporters from the crowd yelled, "So you have no information about the identity of the person found inside or the manner or time of death? No suspects?" Without replying, Detective Reed started jogging away.
Maeven mumbled aloud to herself. “That must’ve been about the probation office murder.”
Bill almost squealed and then he rubbed his hands together. “Oh! A Murder?” He asked, pressing for more information. He couldn’t contain his excitement.
She ignored him. Once they were inside the office building, John, the tan-colored Hispanic security guard with massive muscles stepped from behind his desk and took hold of her carrying case, purse and cell phone. Besides his children, he prided himself on his physique and his bodybuilding exploits, so she always managed to remember to ask him about his family or his bodybuilding. In return, he always went out of his way to assist her whenever he saw her loaded down with bags. John was always trying to get her to join a gym since their county benefits would cover the costs.
"Maeven, I swear you carry more stuff than anybody should. Have you worked on your arms lately?"
“No,” she laughed. "How was your weekend John? Did you get to compete?" She walked through the security magnetometer and took her bags from him: the bags he never bothered to place on the conveyor belt for x-ray. Every morning, she buried her pepper spray gun deep inside her big black purse knowing neither John nor the sheriffs would challenge her about it.
"Nope, not this weekend. They found somebody dead over at the Juvenile Probation Department last night. They increased security and paid us all overtime."
Maeven replied, “I heard."
"Yeah, one of those damn kids you represent or their parents done killed somebody," he said with disapproval.
"Not my kids, John. Maybe Bill's," she joked with a wink.
"Well, you'll have another client soon."
"No I won't. Kids who kill are tried as adults in this state."
Bill interjected, "I wouldn't mind getting a crack at a murder case." John and Maeven looked at each other with looks of disgust for Bill because Bill would want anything that would bring him glorious attention. He looked hurt by their expressions and defended himself by exclaiming, “What?” Not everyone wants to stay in the Juvenile Division, Maeven. I want to move up.”
Maeven changed the topic. "Well, John, I'm sorry you didn't get time with the kids this weekend."
"I'm taking the family to Hershey Park this weekend, but I'm working on bringing a wrestling match here sometime this fall."
"Really? That's great. Let me know, I'll bring my bunch."
He smiled big and said, "You know it! I'll let you know."
Bill asked, "Hey John, where's the newspaper for our office?"
John answered, "You weren't first today. Somebody else took it up."
Once they were through the glass security doors, Bill shook his head and said, "He never takes my stuff."
Because no one likes you, she thought. When they reached the doors leading to the foyer where the elevators were located, she reached into her purse that was hanging haphazardly off her shoulder to retrieve her employee identification card.
"Hey, hold on! I've got it." Bill hurried to flash his employee identification card in front of the security key pass box to unlock the door. "I know how you can never find your ID with all that stuff." They walked through the doors. He continued, "It looks like we have a busy day today. Didn't it look juvenile probation, brought in about fifty kids? I've got . . ."
Maeven tuned him out. She didn't feel like talking to him so she just let him blabber on non-stop, every now and then she nodded her head as if she were listening. He was whining about having to submit juvenile billing reports to their secretary and so on. All Maeven heard was blah, blah, blah.
Maeven saw the back of Stacey Jackson's bald brown head and felt relief, her mentor, getting on the elevator. He turned when he heard them coming. His large, rotund body blocked the elevator door from closing, and he waited for them to catch up and get on. All of them rode the elevator to the second floor, but Maeven put her hand on Stacey’s arm to stop him from walking to the office. They waited for Bill to leave and then she showed Stacey her resignation letter. He looked down at the letter and his stoic expression changed to one of disappointment.
In his baritone voice, he said with sadness, "Is this what you want?”
She nodded.
“Who will I talk to about my cases?” He pretended to look worried. “Who's going to defend me when the boss man thinks I'm being too aggressive with the judges and the prosecutors in court?"
Maeven winked with great exaggeration and replied, "Oh, I don’t know.” She paused for effect and then said with a grin, “Bill."
They both laughed at the thought of Bill standing up for anyone. Stacey waved one hand as if to dismiss such fantasy. Scoffing, he said, "I'd rather you skin me alive."
"If there's one thing I know about you, you're an army all by yourself. Besides, I'm only a cell phone away." She admired Stacey's courage, trial prowess and intellect. She hoped he knew how much she believed in him.
He mustered a half-hearted smile. He cocked his head to the side as he said, "I overheard one of the chiefs, Peter I think, telling Walter that the Commissioners aren't going to let us fill the four vacant positions we have from the last four people who quit."
Maeven wasn't surprised, just irritated. "Isn't that cute?" she said. "They just let the prosecutor's office hire two more prosecutors and they have no vacancies. Fairness anyone?"
Stacey just grunted. They walked down the hall to the Public Defender's Office and saw an impatient crowd of people waiting in the reception area. Some of them leaned against the wall; others sat on the edges of their seats and rocked crying babies in one hand while clutching court documents in the other hand. Security glass attached to the wall extended from the receptionist wooden desk to the ceiling. Maeven heard a man yelling at Sharon, the receptionist, who was sitting behind the glass. "Get off the phone and find my son's lawyer now!" he shouted, eyes bulging with anger.
Sharon looked up at the man through the glass and said, "Sir. Calm down. I'm trying to get to everyone."
Stacey walked up behind the man and tapped him on the shoulder. "Have a seat sir. She'll get to you."
The man looked from Stacey’s feet to his head and then hunched his shoulders and sat down. Sharon mouthed to Stacey, "Thank you." In a louder, relieved voice, she said, "I'll let you in." She reached under the desk and pushed a button. The door made a clicking sound as the bolt slid back to allow entry.
Stacey held the door open as Maeven carried all of her things inside. "You carry too much stuff."
Maeven muttered, "Thanks. I know." She moved past him into the interior hallway where she faced several gray cubicles for the paralegals and the secretaries. All of the support staff greeted them, and then Maeven joined their huddle and Stacey walked off toward his office. Maeven showed them the resignation letter, and they congratulated her.
After her brief chat with the staff, she walked to her office at the end of the aisle and found a stack of files on her desk. Her secretary followed behind her and added a new stack." Before the secretary could leave her office, Maeven asked, "Lily, have you seen Luz this morning?"
"It's not my turn to watch her," Lily snapped. She started to turn and leave.
Like a whip, Maeven lashed at her. "Well, then what do you do? You never did much for me, or any other attorney for that matter, while I've been here."
Lily's only reaction was to wordlessly open her mouth in surprise and stare for a few seconds. She closed her lips and then opened them again to say, "I'll let Luz know you're looking for her when she comes in." She stomped out of the office, and soon, Maeven could hear her heavy footsteps on the carpeted hallway begin to fade.
Maeven sighed and plopped down in the chair behind her desk in an office the size of a small walk-in closet. She'd been waiting for a long time to tell her secretary exactly what she thought of her. As she sank into her seat, she turned her back on her desk to face her computer on the credenza behind her. Reluctantly, she looked toward the phone which sat on the windowsill and saw a flashing red light on her telephone. She had messages. She always had messages, at least ten to fifteen. She could only imagine how many calls she had to return.
Maeven could hear muffled footsteps running toward her office. "I'm here!" Luz Pena, dressed in a yellow pant suit and red stiletto heels, rushed inside and stood over Maeven's desk with another stack of files in her arms. Maeven wondered how she avoided breaking her ankles. For every miscarriage, Maeven had heard Luz clicking down the hospital hallway in a pair of stiletto heels before she saw her. As usual, without pausing, Luz fired off in rapid succession. "Ready to close the Tiffany Franks' case. Bout time huh? Monster case. Good thing she didn't get sent away huh? Morning."
"Whoa! Good morning Luz. Hey, I was wondering--"
Luz interrupted. "I know. You have several messages that I forwarded to your voice mail yesterday--"
Laughing, Maeven teased, "From your voice mail of course!"
Luz returned the smile and responded, "Why would I want to talk to them? They’re your clients!"
"You're my paralegal! My gatekeeper. You're supposed to separate the wheat from the--"
"No, Lily's supposed to do that. Besides, maybe you don't know how much they don't pay me, or how much work I have to do," quipped Luz.
Maeven recognized the truth in that statement. "Good point. But today's my last day, so you'll be talkin' to 'em anyway."
"Not if you take me with you." Luz smiled and then dropped the charade for her more usual business tone. "Anyway, you are scheduled for twelve detention hearings this afternoon at 1:30." Luz handed her a sheet with the list of hearings.
"Wow! Why does it seem like the detention lists get longer every week?" Maeven skimmed over it. She would never have enough time to review the police reports for all twelve hearings, return all her telephone messages, negotiate with the Assistant District Attorneys and prepare for court this afternoon.
After each name on the list, she tried to remember if she had dealt with the child before. She came to a name she remembered all too well. "Not him again." She frowned as she recalled how the Juvenile Probation Department had insisted on transferring him to the adult criminal system. How she had fought to work out a deal with the prosecutor's office to keep him in the juvenile system. "They'll transfer him for sure this time." She breathed a heavy sigh of regret.
"Freddie?" Luz asked with a knowing look and said, "Yeah little criminal.”
Maeven shuddered when she remembered him. "Uh, yeah, he's a little scary."
Luz raised one eyebrow and scoffed. "More than a little. Definitely more than a little."
Maeven nodded her agreement. "I don’t recognize anyone else on this list.” She grimaced. “Ugh. They’re all assigned to Officer Bates.”.”
Without warning, remembering that she was in the middle of her morning update, Luz ordered, "Focus please! You have to get your juvenile billing completed so that Lily can forward it to Juvenile Probation so that the county can get reimbursed for your precious time."
"I know that," Maeven complained.
"Then why haven't you done it for the past two months?" Luz demanded.
Almost shouting, Maeven ranted, "Because it galls me to report to them about what I've done on a case. Doesn't anyone find that offensive or unethical? Juvenile Probation isn't our client! Hell, they're basically our adversaries on every case since they try to behave as opposing counsel, and hell, we don't even get the money back into this office! It goes into the County Commissioners' coffers!"
Luz matched Maeven’s glaring with an unblinking stare. "Again, you have no choice. While you're at it, you need to sign off on the grant application for the juvenile probation department."
"Do I have a choice?" Maeven asked.
"Not really, unless you’re quitting effective this instance,” Luz answered and then she raised her eyebrow while she waited for Maeven’s reply. When Maeven didn’t say anything for a few seconds, she said, “If you don't sign the application, then not only does the Probation Department not get any money, but neither do we."
"We," Maeven waved her finger back and forth as she pointed to her chest and Luz’s, "don't get the money anyway. Not a dime comes to the juvenile division. Why don't we just apply for our own grant money?"
"I'm just the paralegal; nobody cares what I think," she replied. "But, since you asked Sunshine, it's because it would be political death to seem as though you are aiding criminals. We aren't seen as the good guys. That's why the D.A.'s office can have a fleet of detectives, attorneys and etcetera. If our clients were arrested, then you know,--"
Maeven finished her statement, "--they must be guilty."
Holding up her hands and shrugging her shoulders, Luz said, "Exactly. I'm just the paralegal, but I'm just saying--"
Maeven rolled her eyes, sucked her teeth and then said, "Oh shut up. You know that's not true; you are not just the paralegal." Maeven assumed a more serious and sincere tone. She continued, "I'd be lost without you."
Trying to hide any emotion, Luz gave a laughing retort. "And don't you forget it!"
For a brief moment, the two women stared at each other, remembering all they had endured together fighting for kids. They would never want to go to battle without the other. Luz and Maeven always joked that, one day, they would make tee shirts with an acronym for saying, Free Underprivileged City Kids, emblazoned on the front.
Maeven's phone rang with the familiar interoffice short ring, breaking the bond of memories. With an apprehensive look, she looked to Luz and then at the phone. "Should I answer it?" She looked at the caller identification and saw Peter Miller was calling her. Anything he might say right now was going to annoy the hell out of her. Peter was a Deputy Chief Public Defender, and he, along with Keith Hilliard, was in charge of assigning cases to the attorneys who worked on adult cases. If she answered the phone, he'd ask her to cover a hearing for one of the adult cases. She didn't have any time to cover hearings for them today. None of them would ever offer to cover hearings for the juvenile attorneys. Usually, they would run from the office and hope that Peter or Keith would find some other poor sap to stick with helping out.
"No," Luz replied, "It's Peter, right?" Maeven nodded confirmation. "He wants you to cover some parole violation hearings today." Talking fast, Luz added, "All day, starting at ten."
Maeven erupted. "They would never cover juvenile hearings! Besides, I have to do detention hearings this afternoon.” She slammed the palm of her hand on the top of the stack of files. “They'll have to assign Bill to cover parole--"
Luz cut Maeven off. "Always looking out for you girl." Luz touched her forefinger to her lips, signaling to be quiet while she walked toward the door. She peeked outside and then shut it. She whispered, "You know Bill is always lurking. I already asked Peter, and he said no. He doesn't want Bill. However, you get to dump the detention hearings on Bill. It should be fun to watch him explode."
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