Read Sullivan's Law for Free Online

he said after some time. “We used to live in the same apartment building. It’s been so long, I guess you don’t remember me.”
    â€œNo,” she said, curious now. “Where did you live?”
    â€œThe subsidized building on Maple Street,” he told her. “I think it was called the Carlton West. Pretty fancy name for such a lousy building.” He dropped his eyes. “Anyway, that’s what my mom used to say. You lived a few doors down from us. You always wanted me to play with you.”
    â€œYou’re mistaken,” Carolyn said curtly. “I never lived in that building.”
    She pulled out a chair and sat down at the table, gesturing for Metroix to do the same. She had kept her maiden name when she’d married. Brad was right about Ventura being a small town, but something about Metroix set her hair on end. The number of people she’d pushed along the road to prison was enormous. Metroix couldn’t hold a personal grudge against her, though, as she was in high school when he’d been convicted. Her picture was occasionally in the paper. Perhaps she’d investigated one of his former cell mates. Had he called one of his prison buddies and told him the name of his new parole officer? Could his talk about knowing her have been a way to cause her to let her guard down? With the Internet, you could find out information about anyone. She had lied when she said her family had never lived in the Carlton West apartments. But Metroix couldn’t have remembered her. She’d only been five years old at the time.
    Carolyn saw him staring at her left hand. She’d been divorced for seven years now.
    â€œWhat did he do?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œYour husband,” Daniel said. “What did he do to make you stop loving him? You used to be married, didn’t you?”
    â€œI don’t discuss my personal life at work,” Carolyn said, knowing she needed to establish a position of authority at once. She placed his file on the table and opened it, removing a piece of paper listing the terms and conditions of his parole. “You’ve been placed on parole for a period of thirty-six months,” she said. “As a condition of your parole, you are to report to this office on a monthly basis. Do you understand?”
    Daniel nodded, tilting his chair back on its hind legs.
    â€œYou are to submit to home visits with or without advance notice.”
    â€œWhat if I don’t have a home?”
    â€œWhere are you living?”
    â€œI just got into town,” he told her.
    â€œBut you were released two weeks ago.”
    â€œI wanted to do some sight-seeing,” Daniel said. “I spent some time in L.A. My release papers said I didn’t have to report here until the end of the month. All I had to do was call and set up an appointment. When I called, a lady told me to come in this afternoon.”
    Great, Carolyn thought, reminding herself that this was a parolee. After spending most of their life inside an institution, some of them committed suicide. “You can’t live on the street. If you don’t have a place to stay or necessary funds, you’ll have to stay in the shelter.”
    Daniel reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “A guy on the bus gave me the address of a motel. As soon as I leave here, I’ll get a room. It’s called the Seagull, over on Seaward Avenue. What do you think? Is it worth checking out?”
    â€œI’m not a travel agent. Call and let me know if this is where you’ll be staying. I’ll need to check your living situation.” Carolyn pulled out her Palm Pilot. She had a paper to turn in tonight at law school, and she doubted if she’d have time to complete it. She had planned on working on it during her lunch break. “We’ll set the appointment for five-thirty tomorrow evening.” That way, she thought, she could stop by