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on her way home from work. And with daylight saving time, it would be light out.
    â€œFine,” Daniel said with the disinterest of a man who was used to having people order him around.
    Leaving her Palm Pilot on the table, she read off another condition of his probation. “You have both alcohol and drug terms.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œIt means you’re not allowed to frequent bars or any establishments where alcohol is served.”
    â€œI don’t drink.”
    â€œThen you won’t have a problem,” Carolyn said. “You also have to consent to drug testing whenever I feel it’s necessary.”
    â€œYou mean illegal drugs?” Daniel asked, placing his chair upright. “I’m taking medication for my illness.”
    â€œWhat type of illness?” she asked. Brad had mentioned something about him feigning mental illness while at Chino, although she hadn’t found any mention of it in his paperwork. Of course, she’d only had a few hours to review his case.
    â€œSchizophrenia,” he answered. “I have the prescription, if you want to see it. It’s a new drug. I give myself an injection once a month. I mean now that I’m out. At the prison, they gave me the shots in the infirmary.”
    â€œWhen were you first diagnosed?”
    â€œMy junior year in high school,” Daniel answered, his cocky, almost menacing demeanor replaced by a look of sadness. “I spent three months at Camarillo State Hospital. I’d rather go back to prison than that hellhole.”
    â€œI need to see your prescription.” Carolyn stuck out her hand, waiting until he fished out another crumpled piece of paper. “Stay here,” she said, standing. “I have to make a copy for the file.”
    After using the copy machine a few doors down, she quickly returned to the interview room and handed him back his prescription. She didn’t recognize the drug—decanoic acid phenothiazine—but she wasn’t that familiar with psychotropic medications. She jotted down the letters DAP, reminding herself to check out the drug on the Internet. A new treatment for schizophrenia was interesting.
    The fact that the medication was administered in a syringe, though, presented a problem. She’d run it by Brad before she decided how to proceed. Glancing at his terms and conditions, she was surprised that he hadn’t been ordered to undergo regular psychiatric treatment. He had drug terms, yet no psych terms. They saw this type of idiotic mistake every day. She’d petition the court to have the term added.
    Carolyn reached over and grabbed his left forearm. Daniel jerked away, looking as if he were about to slug her. “Roll up your sleeves.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI have to check for tracks.”
    She examined both arms and didn’t find anything. Even in prison, narcotics were readily available. Some of the things criminals came up with were mind-boggling. Pretending he needed treatment with an injectable drug would be the perfect way to cover up a heroin or methamphetamine addiction. He’d have to bring his medication in when he came for his monthly appointments. After she verified it wasn’t narcotics in the syringe, he would then have to administer the drug in her presence. Not finding tracks on his arms didn’t mean he wasn’t an addict. She’d known men who would shoot the stuff in their penis. “You can pull your sleeves down now,” she told him, thinking she might have stumbled across a way to avoid supervising him. If he required a full body search every month, he’d have to be reassigned to a male officer.
    â€œLet’s complete the formalities,” Carolyn continued. “You must not associate with any known felons. You must secure gainful employment. If you commit any type of crime whatsoever, your parole will be automatically violated.”
    She shoved the document across