Free The Advocate's Conviction by Teresa Burrell Page A

clothes were strewn about, food cartons spattered the area, and a small red-and-white shopping bag that appeared almost new was leaned against the wall near where the old woman was sitting on a stack of boards. The stench of garbage was not as strong as it was at the opening, but the smell of alcohol was more powerful.
    By the time they reached the group, the conversation had stopped. Some of them stared. Others hid under their blankets or coats. The group seemed to be going up to the old woman one at a time as she doled out food. She stopped and looked up.
    Sabre said, “Hello again. We met in the park yesterday.”
    The old woman said nothing. She nodded at the next person in line. He stepped forward and she gave him a container with what looked like half of a burrito.
    Sabre removed the photo of Cole from her bag. She held it up, moving it from side to side, for all to see. “Has anyone seen this missing child?”
    A murmur passed over, but no one volunteered anything. Several of them looked toward the old woman. Sabre turned to her again. “What’s your name?” she asked.
    “The boy,” she said.
    “No, what’s your name?” Sabre asked again, pointing at the woman.
    She didn’t say anything. A younger woman spoke up from where she sat in the dirt, eating some French fries very deliberately and slowly. Sabre wondered if she was trying to make them last longer. “We call her ‘Mother Teresa’ or sometimes just ‘Mama T.’”
    “Okay, ‘Mama T’ it is. Have you seen this boy?”
    “The boy,” she said, shaking her head from side to side, “the boy.”
    JP stood close to Sabre, observing the crowd. He noticed the younger woman nodding her head as Mama T repeated “the boy.” The younger woman’s eyes darted back and forth. JP stepped closer to her. “Will you come over here please,” he asked softly. “I want you to get a better look at the picture.”
    She stood up and walked toward them. Sabre showed her the picture.
    “You’ve seen him, haven’t you?” JP asked.
    She nodded her head.
    “When?”
    “He was here for two days, but he ate too much. Mama T gave him the best food.” She looked at Mama T, but the woman seemed to ignore her and started handing out more food.
    “So what happened?”
    She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Some of the guys got mad and told him he had to go away. So he left. Mama T was very angry. She liked the boy.”
    “Do you know where he went?”
    “That way.” She pointed to the right of the park.
    “When did he leave?”
    “This morning.”

14
     
     
    Bob dipped his cigarette butt into the sand at the top of the tall, stone ashtray that stood in front of the San Diego Superior Court Juvenile Division. The perfect brittsommar day, as his Swedish grandmother would have called it, made him want to be anywhere but here. He walked through the metal detectors and upstairs where he had agreed to meet his client, Karen Lecy. Noon seemed like a good time since he knew his client wasn’t an early riser. He would rather have done this in his office, but it was easier for Karen to go to the courthouse.
    Bob walked over to the wall that stood about four feet high and looked over. From there he could see the entire lobby as well as the front door. Karen was late. Bob expected nothing else. He’d be surprised if she even made it at all. It wasn’t unusual for his juvenile court clients to make appointments and not keep them, especially the court-appointed cases. The clients who paid out of their own pocket were much more considerate of his time.
    Bob opened his manila file folder and glanced quickly through the detention report. There was nothing in there he didn’t already know. He placed it back in the file where it laid loosely inside. Bob never attached anything to the folder and seldom had more than the latest report. He kept the facts in his head, and when he needed something else he generally borrowed it from Sabre if she was on the case. He checked his