Read The Advocate - 02 - The Advocate's Betrayal for Free Online

the effort into it that you would.”
    Sabre turned to him with a sheepish smile and asked what she had been thinking for some time. “Would you second chair with me? I know together we could do it.”
    “You know I will.”
    “It’s pro bono, you know.”
    “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”
    “Thanks, honey.” Sabre grinned. “I’ll go meet with her this afternoon. I’ll get the police report and get you up to speed on the hearing dates and all. The hard part is going to be getting our cases covered in juvey when we’re both gone.”
    “We’ll manage.” Bob put his arm around Sabre’s shoulder. “We better go finish our trial.” They walked into the courtroom, arms still around each other.
    Fortunately for Sabre, she didn’t have an active role in her afternoon trial. Her client lived out of state, he supported the recommendations of the Department of Social Services, and he had little interest in the outcome of the case other than the negative effect it would have on his ex-spouse, for which he seemed to be gleaning a perverse kind of pleasure. Sabre’s mind focused more on Betty and John than the case before her. Because she had handled this type of case so many times before, she could do this without any conscious thought. She responded when needed to, objected when warranted, and concurred with County Counsel’s argument at the end.
    She left court and went to see Betty at the substation, since they hadn’t transported her to Las Colinas Detention Facility yet. Betty wasn’t available to interview when Sabre arrived, so she took a seat in the lobby, removed a file from her bag, and read through the Kemp report while she waited. The words made her physically ill.
Three-year-old Kurt K. Kemp lifted the gun and pointed it at the picture of the black man taped to the wall. Mr. Kurtis K. Kemp prompted him, “What do you do now, Kurt?”
“ Kill the nigger, Daddy. Kill the nigger.”
    Sabre was glad she hadn’t eaten, certain she would’ve thrown up if she had any food in her stomach.
     
    Betty sat in a damp, musty holding cell containing only a pay phone, two hard benches against the wall, and the cold, gray concrete floor. As she sat down, a pain shot through her leg from her backside all the way to her ankle. She stood up, wobbly and a little dizzy. She looked around. Everything seemed to be the same color, and it all felt so cold. She shivered and started to walk around the ten-by-ten foot room in an attempt to alleviate the pain from her sciatic nerve, which hadn’t bothered her in weeks until now.
    She waited there alone for about fifteen minutes, until they brought in another woman wearing a low-cut top, her breasts exposed almost to the nipples, and a skirt barely covering her crotch. Her bare midriff exposed a roll of fat hanging over her hip-hugger skirt. Her ratted, bleached hair matched her thick, poorly applied makeup. She reeked of cheap perfume and strong body odor, making Betty feel queasy. Within the hour, officers escorted three more women into the cell, all very thin from what Betty surmised was from drug use. One had open sores on her mouth and bruise marks on her throat. Each of them had missing teeth and disheveled hair.
    The women spoke loudly and profanely at each other and at the guards. Their voices echoed off the cinder block walls. Betty’s head ached and her stomach hurt. When they tried to engage her in conversation, she said as little as possible. She wondered how she came to be in such a place with these women with whom she had nothing in common. Or did she? She knew that in some ways she really wasn’t that different. They basically all wanted the same things—to have food and shelter, to love and be loved, and to be safe and free—and she had broken the law, just like they had.
    A female officer, not much taller than Betty, with long, manicured nails, approached the cell calling her name. Betty stood up and followed her to a desk where another officer