Free First Offense by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg Page B

lot of people of an income tax form. The state of California had enacted a determinate sentencing law many years back, with specified terms for each crime. “Sure,” she told him, “come into my office and we’ll go over it right now.”
    Perry Rogers was a wisp of a man in his late twenties, so thin and emaciated that he had to sit on a pillow when he was at his desk. Ann had never seen him so much as touch food, and the rumor was that he suffered from an eating disorder. But he was a likable guy, and Ann was always willing to lend a hand to less experienced officers.
    “Okay, Perry,” she said once he’d pulled a chair up next to her desk. “Give me your bingo sheet and the court order, setting forth the convicted counts, along with your recommendation.”
    Rogers handed Ann the entire file and waited while she pored over the particulars. One of the reasons he was encountering so many difficulties, Ann noted, was that the case he was handling involved multiple counts, all sex crimes. Sentencing guidelines for sex offenses had become more complex than those for any other crime. Every year a new law was enacted affecting sentencing. As everyone knew, Ann was the expert at this particular task. She could compute a fifty-count case in her head in a matter of minutes, whereas Rogers and most of the others had difficulty doing it at all.
    “Here’s where you went wrong,” she told him, pointing at the sheet as she talked, “this count must be served consecutively, not concurrently, and you put the enhancement for the prior burglary offense in the wrong spot.”
    Rogers wasn’t following what Ann was saying. “Why can’t the damn judge just figure this out for himself? They make a lot more money than we do.”
    This was the sentiment of the majority of probation officers assigned to court services, and Ann had heard this so often she shrugged it off. “Why don’t you see what you come up with now. Perry?” she said, handing him the sheet with her corrections and waiting while he tried to complete it.
    Through the years the job had become increasingly more technical. Up until six months ago Perry Rogers had been assigned to field services. In that position he only supervised offenders and filed reports when they violated their probation. Field officers were a different breed from court investigators. Many were negligent in managing their caseloads, came to work in jeans and T-shirts, and seldom had to appear in court on their cases. Now that Perry had transferred to court services, however, his job centered on writing and investigating presentence reports for the court.
    “Why did you aggravate this count?” Ann said, looking over his shoulder at the form.
    “Because he used a gun,” the man responded.
    “But you’ve already added a two-year enhancement for the use of the firearm. Therefore you can’t use it to ask for a higher term. Don’t you see?” Ann said. “That’s like double jeopardy. He can’t be punished for the same crime twice.”
    “Well,” Rogers said, clearly confused, “his prior record is an aggravating factor, and I’ve enhanced his term for it. Isn’t that the same thing?”
    “No, it’s not,” Ann said, beginning to get as frustrated as Perry. She knew it was complex, and she felt sorry for the man, but he had to understand the law in order to do his job. “This enhancement is for one particular prior, this burglary. You’ve aggravated the crime based on his criminal record as a whole. See the difference?”
    Ann glanced at the stack of files on her desk and back to her coworker. She didn’t have the time to sit here all day trying to explain it to him. Grabbing the sheet out of his hands and inserting the correct terms, Ann computed it herself and handed it back. “There you go, Perry,” she said. “But one of these days you’re going to have to take the time to learn it yourself.”
    After Rogers had returned to his own cubicle next to Ann’s, he started talking