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always need to look back in the file to find some bit of information in the middle of a hearing.”
    “It’s all up here.” He pointed to his head with his index finger. “Anyway, you’re on most of my cases, so if I need something, I can always have you look it up.”
    “I don’t know how you function when I’m not around,” she teased back. She admired his intelligence and his memory. He seldom wrote anything down. Sabre wished she could do that, but she didn’t trust herself enough to rely on her memory, so she made sure everything stayed at her fingertips.
    Sabre picked up three of her files and walked with Bob down the long corridor to Department Five, past the counter in the middle of the room with the big “Information” sign hanging overhead. Bob and Sabre thought the space could be put to better use as a coffee stand. Unfortunately, the court administrators didn’t agree.
    A line formed at the information counter, and the hallways filled with people waiting to see what would happen next in their dysfunctional lives. On a bench near the wall, a mother sat next to a ten–year–old boy facing burglary charges. Most of the delinquent minors were detained in Juvenile Hall, located behind the courthouse. They would be brought through a tunnel from The Hall directly into the courtroom when the judge called their case. The majority of the clients were there for dependency hearings, which consisted of child abuse or neglect, and stretched across all races and professions. Abuse didn’t seem to have any real boundaries. It found its way into all walks of life.
    “Hey Sabre, Bob. Wait up.” Thomas Gilley, the public defender on the Murdock case, called from within the crowd about ten feet behind them.
    “Hi, Tom, how goes the war?” Sabre asked, as he caught up to them.
    “I need to talk to you about the Murdock case. Do you have a minute?”
    “Sure.”
    “You should hear this too, Bob. Don’t you represent Jamie’s father?”
    “Yeah, for what it’s worth. The guy’s in some institution. I’ve tried to talk to him, but he’s a few French fries short of a Happy Meal,” Bob said. “Why, what’s up?”
    “I had a long talk with Gaylord, my client. He seems like a pretty nice guy. I don’t have the police report back yet, but it appears his girlfriend, Peggy, has drug history. He’s very worried about his baby she’s carrying. His version of the incident last week differed from hers. When he came home, he could tell she’d been using and a fight ensued, an argument actually. When he confronted her, she flipped out. She started screaming at the top of her lungs and swinging at him. She picked up a soup ladle from the kitchen and started hitting him with it. When he tried to calm her down and restrain her, she pulled away and fell and hit her head on the coffee table.”
    “His story fits with what Alexis told the police,” Sabre said, “but why didn’t he just tell the police Peggy was using? Why did he let them arrest him?”
    “Because he didn’t want Peggy taken into custody. She’s so close to having the baby, he feared she might give birth in county jail. He didn’t want his child born in jail. Besides, the cops weren’t exactly open to any scenario except domestic violence. They didn’t give any credence to what Alexis told them. You know as well as I do men are always the ones arrested when there is a hint of domestic violence.”
    “Here, look at this.” Tom handed her an album covered with bright, Barbie-pink fabric. The cover contained the words “Alexis Murdock” in big block letters. Underneath her name in slightly smaller letters, it said “My Pride and Joy.”
    “I thought you might find it interesting. My client was reluctant to give it up, even for a second, until I impressed upon him the importance of your viewing it. Why don’t you hold onto it this morning so you can look it over. I’ll get it back from you before we break for lunch. Just be very careful