Free Sullivan's Law by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

into the office Tuesday morning. Behind each partition were two workstations. Since Carolyn had seniority, her desk was located next to a window. Veronica Campbell’s desk was on the opposite side of the partition, but since she had the desk near the wall, the two women could see each other and converse. Veronica had a tendency to talk too much, one of the reasons she had trouble staying on top of her work.
    â€œI’m so sick of this job I can’t even think straight,” the woman said, scowling. “Preston assigned me two new cases this morning.” She picked up a stack of files, then tossed them back down on her desk. “There’s no way I can finish these reports on time, even if I stay here every night until midnight. I’ve got a husband and three kids. I think Drew has a girl on the side, and my two-year-old thought I was the babysitter last night. No wonder the agency makes so many mistakes. We’re not machines, you know.”
    â€œTell me about it,” Carolyn said, walking into her cubicle and placing her purse and briefcase on the floor next to her chair. The two probation officers who shared partitions with Carolyn and Veronica were seldom around. Blair Ridgemore, who shared a space with Carolyn, was one of the small group of people in California who were still addicted to nicotine. When Ridgemore wasn’t interviewing victims or defendants, he dictated his reports into a tape recorder while sitting on one of the concrete benches outside in the courtyard where he could smoke. Sandra Wagner, who shared Veronica’s space, had been on maternity leave for the past six months.
    â€œSo when do you think you’ll graduate from law school?” Veronica piped up again. “Then you can leave this drudgery and become rich and famous. I can’t wait to see you on those TV shows talking about all the slimy bastards you’ll be defending.”
    â€œThanks,” Carolyn answered, sighing as she pulled out the file on Daniel Metroix. “Even slimy bastards are entitled to legal representation, Veronica. It’s not like I intend to represent child molesters, rapists, or murderers. That is, unless I’m convinced they’re innocent.”
    â€œRight,” Veronica told her. “That’s what everyone says. Why don’t you become a divorce attorney? Then you can stick it to all those cheating husbands. If I catch Drew fooling around, I may be in the market for a divorce attorney myself.”
    â€œI’d rather defend criminals. Domestic law is the worst. Not only is it maddening, half the clients can’t pay. Criminal law is what I know best. Who knows? I might become a prosecutor.”
    â€œYou go to class tonight, don’t you?”
    â€œNot tonight,” Carolyn answered, thinking once the children were in bed, she might be able to catch up on her reading. Thank goodness, Judge Shoeffel, or Arline, as she’d asked Carolyn to call her, hadn’t assigned them another paper to write this week.
    â€œI don’t know how you do it,” Veronica continued. “My kids would burn the house down if I left them alone for more than an hour. Jude is almost fifteen, but she’s a rotten babysitter. Micky was a goof, you know.”
    â€œYou mean the baby?”
    â€œYeah,” the woman said. “I’ll be raising children until I retire. Besides, I could never tackle law school. You don’t even have a husband to help you.”
    â€œIt isn’t easy,” Carolyn admitted, gazing out the window. “As far as the kids go, I’m lucky that John is so responsible. Rebecca can be difficult. I hope I can finish school before she starts getting involved with boys.”
    Carolyn went into a room with the intention of dictating a report on the Sandoval shooting. She kept thinking of Daniel Metroix, though. Since she would be seeing him that evening, she decided to search the computer archives to see what