Revenge of Innocents (2 page)

Tuesday, October 12—9:55
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arolyn Sullivan’s eyes rested on a framed print to the right of her desk, a winding path through a lush, green forest. Only a year ago, the walls were covered with pictures of Brad Preston standing in front of high-powered race cars. When the director of the Ventura County Probation Department had retired, Preston had been promoted to chief deputy over probation services. Carolyn had been appointed to his position as division manager over the investigative unit.

She was finally earning a decent income. The only problem was it came with a heavy price. Her wedding was only two weeks away, and all she could think about were the horrible crimes human beings committed against each other. There was no way to stop them. The only thing she could do was punish them.

Carolyn spun her chair around to face Veronica Campbell. At forty, Veronica was an outspoken woman. She had a daughter almost the same age as Carolyn’s son, John, as well as three other young children. She wore her curly blond hair short, and had a round, friendly face. She’d never lost the weight from her last pregnancy, and the extra twenty pounds had settled in her midsection and thighs. The two women had known each other since grade school. They didn’t always agree on everything, but they were best friends. “Brent Dover should spend the rest of his life in prison,” Carolyn told her. “Unfortunately, we don’t have that as an option. How could you not recommend a prison sentence? Dover sodomized Patricia Baxter. She has permanent brain damage. As far as I’m concerned, he killed her.”

“For one thing,” Veronica countered, “Patricia Baxter is a guy, not a girl. His real name is Patrick, but he went to court and changed it to Patricia. Cute, huh? Only a few letters difference, so he wouldn’t forget it. Secondly, Brett Dover wasn’t convicted of sodomy or attempted murder. This is a 245 violation, Carolyn. He didn’t use a gun, a knife, or a baseball bat. I’m not sure how we even got him for assault with a deadly weapon.”

“This whole thing is the DA’s fault,” Carolyn answered, shoving a thick mass of wavy brown hair behind her ear. The year before, she’d chopped her hair off during a midlife crises. It now brushed the top of her shoulders, and was far more flattering to her heart-shaped face. Like Veronica, she’d also turned forty the previous year. Now that she’d gotten over the hump, she realized that forty was young. People today were living longer. Since she’d never smoked, drunk heavily, or gorged herself on fatty foods, she might have another fifty years ahead of her. If she died prematurely, it would be from stress. “Dover would have been convicted of attempted murder if they hadn’t tacked on the assault charge.”

Prosecutors frequently filed a number of counts, all representative of the same crime, just with varying degrees of punishment. The reasoning was if the jury didn’t find sufficient evidence to convict on one count, they might convict on the other. Anything was better than an acquittal. “Dover is a linebacker at Ventura High,” Carolyn continued. “His body is a deadly weapon. He beat Baxter to a pulp. He bit off her nipples, for Christ’s sake. He demolished her face. To look even halfway normal, she’ll have to go through years of plastic surgery. The jury should have convicted on the GBI charge.” GBI was great bodily injury, and served as an enhancement to extend the term of imprisonment.

“Don’t you believe the victim carries some of the responsibility?” Veronica said, swinging her leg. “Maybe none of this would have happened if he hadn’t tricked the defendant into believing he was a girl. I mean, it’s not like I think Baxter deserved to get the shit kicked out of him. I just don’t see how sending Dover to prison will accomplish anything. His grades are excellent. He goes to church every Sunday, even sings in the choir. You should read the stack of glowing letters people sent me about him. A year in custody at the local level and a ten-thousand-dollar fine isn’t exactly a walk in the park, Carolyn. He’s already lost his football scholarship. Send him to prison and he’ll come out a hardened criminal. How’s that going to benefit society?”

“It’s called justice,” Carolyn said. “Maybe in prison Mr. Dover will find out how it feels to be violently sodomized.”

“Yeah, sure,” Veronica said. “What was Baxter doing in an alley behind a bar in a ten-inch skirt? He was a prostitute, Carolyn. Isn’t it obvious? It was to the jury.”

Carolyn was inundated with the details of every crime that passed through the system. She had to know as much about the case as the investigating officer. That meant reviewing police reports, trial transcripts, evidence. After the probation officers conducted their investigations and made their recommendations as to an appropriate sentence, they then had to conference the case with Carolyn to get her approval. She felt like a computer about to run out of memory. She had to shove things to the back of her mind just so she could answer a question.

This particular case was controversial in a variety of ways. Brett Dover was white; the victim was black. Ten members of the jury had been not only men, but Caucasian. They probably perceived Baxter to be a twisted pervert who’d enticed a clean-cut young white boy into engaging in sex. The facts clearly refuted such an assumption. The case made Carolyn’s blood boil.

She wouldn’t be having this discussion with Veronica if the crime wasn’t what they referred to as a wobbler. Section 245 of the California Penal Code allowed the court to sentence the defendant to serve a year in the local jail, or two, three, or four years in a state prison facility. The Judicial Council in San Francisco had developed specific rules that were to be applied to determine if the interest of justice would be best served by one sentence or the other.

“Don’t you understand?” Carolyn argued, slapping back in her chair. “Whether the victim was male or female doesn’t matter. Patricia Baxter is only a few months past her nineteenth birthday. When her sex organs didn’t develop normally, her mother made the decision to raise her as a girl. Granted, this may have been a poor decision, but Patricia wasn’t the one who made it. She’d never had sex with anyone, male or female. Her mother was saving money for a sex change. Regardless, the medical report showed significant injuries from a violent sexual assault. The jury simply chose to ignore it because of the circumstances.” She paused and sucked in a breath. “So what if she was hanging around a nightclub in a short skirt? Would you feel the same if something like this happened to Jude?”

“Hey,” Veronica said, pushing herself to her feet, “if you want to trump me on this one, go right ahead. You’re the boss now. No one cares what I think.”

“You know I respect your opinion,” Carolyn told her. “I have to call the cases as I see them, Veronica. This was a brutal attack that resulted in great bodily injury. Circumstances in aggravation clearly exist and support the maximum term of four years in prison. I’m sorry, but I have to ask you to rewrite the report and submit it under those conditions.”

“Can I go now?” Veronica said, her voice tinged with sarcasm. “I have to track down a probationer.”

“Which one?”

“Phillip Bramson.”

“Is he in violation?” Carolyn asked, hating it that her investigators had to supervise people because of the overflow in field services.

“I called the place where he works yesterday and they haven’t seen him in over a week. My guess is he’s using again. I left a message on his cell phone. He didn’t check in, so I’m going to try to track him down today.”

The details of Bramson’s case were beginning to surface in Carolyn’s mind. “Doesn’t he have a suspended sentence?”

“Yep,” Veronica said. “He doesn’t get to pass go or collect his two hundred dollars. If he tests dirty, all I have to do is put him on the next bus to prison.”

Because of the overcrowding in the state prisons, judges were utilizing suspended sentences more often. “I’m going to get these supervision cases off your back,” she told her. “I’ll dump them on one of the new people. It was a mistake to assign them to you in the first place.”

“I could manage if I didn’t have to rewrite reports.”

Carolyn was upset that her friend was taking things personally. She could understand Veronica’s jealousy over her promotion. They’d been on the job for almost the same amount of time. What Veronica didn’t factor in was all the time she’d taken off on maternity leave, as well as management’s belief that a woman with four children might not be able to meet the demands of the position.

Carolyn had also made a name for herself as an interrogator, and had years of experiencing assisting Brad Preston, the former supervisor of the unit. “Your dress is at my house. Are you still going to be my maid of honor?”

“I guess,” Veronica said, shrugging.

“Please, sit back down,” Carolyn said, gesturing toward the chair. When Veronica settled herself in the seat again, she noticed the dark circles under her eyes. She’d always been an earthy type, but lately she’d stopped wearing makeup. Something was bothering her. She should have noticed it before now. “I’ve been so busy, we haven’t had much time to talk outside of work,” she said. “Marcus and I should have got married by a justice of the peace. I never thought this wedding would turn into such a big production. How are things with Drew and the kids?”

“Fine,” Veronica said, still miffed.

“Look,” Carolyn said, folding her arms on top of her desk, “we promised we wouldn’t let my promotion come between us. Let’s go to lunch one day this week.” She glanced at her calendar. “Friday works for me. How about you?”

Veronica stood, ignoring her question. “You’re probably right about Brett Dover. After what happened last year, I’ve become more sympathetic toward people who make mistakes.”

Carolyn knew what she was referring to, but she also knew this wasn’t the time or place to discuss it. Both of her lines were ringing. Her assistant, Rachel Mitchell, would pick up one of them. She reached over and grabbed the other. “I’ll be with you in a minute,” she said, placing the caller on hold so they could firm up their lunch date. When she turned back around, though, Veronica had already slipped out of the office.

Driving dangerously fast over the narrow residential streets, Veronica kept her fingers locked on the steering wheel. She and Carolyn had grown apart recently. It was more than the promotion. While she was living a nightmare, her friend seemingly had everything. She was marrying a wealthy, handsome man who was madly in love with her. Her son was attending college at MIT, studying to become a physicist. Her daughter was one of the most popular girls at Ventura High.

Veronica had been assigned to handle the unit while Carolyn was in Europe on her honeymoon, with no compensation above her normal pay. She couldn’t fault Carolyn for the supervision cases, however. She had asked for them so she could qualify for a county car.

Her husband no longer loved her. They hadn’t had sex in four years, not since their last child was born. She was certain Drew was having an affair, but she had no way to prove it. In reality, the problems had been present from the onset of their marriage. Now they seldom spoke. They lived together like strangers.

Veronica’s biggest problem was her eighteen-year-old daughter. Jude had become pregnant at thirteen, claiming she’d had sex with too many boys to identify the father. This had been the onset of a five-year period of promiscuity and delinquency. She got involved with drugs, served two terms in juvenile hall, and had undergone a number of abortions. Since Jude was now legally an adult, Veronica refused to continue supporting her. Although she had no means of support, she was going to demand that Jude move out by the end of the month. It was a hard decision for a parent to make, but she had no choice. She had to safeguard the well-being of her other children.

Veronica had distanced herself from her religion because of the way the church had sheltered priests who were known sex offenders. Her belief in God had fallen by the wayside as well. There was too much evil in the world. If the devil was responsible, then God was either indifferent or powerless. All the innocent children who died agonizing, violent deaths needed a God who would protect them. The promise of eternal life with Jesus and Mary meant nothing to a kid in the hands of a sadistic maniac.

During the past summer, Jude had slept all day and stayed out all night. When Veronica gave her a list of chores to do around the house, her father sometimes did them for her. Usurping her with her daughter was another way for Drew to express his contempt for their marriage.

Veronica slammed on the brakes at a stoplight, reaching in her purse for a bottle of pills. She popped one in her mouth and swallowed it without water. Her doctor had placed her on antidepressants, and given her a referral to see a psychiatrist. Her daughter was the one who needed counseling. She didn’t have time for Jude’s bullshit. She had five reports due next week, and she had to chase down a drug dealer who should already be in prison.

Hearing a horn honking, Veronica realized she’d dozed off waiting for the light to change. She stepped on the gas and took off. Everyone placed demands on her. The previous year, the agency had implemented a new program that allowed investigators to work from their home three days a week. She’d jumped on it, thinking she could save a fortune in day care. During the past six months, she’d desperately tried to keep up with her caseload, but concentrating with three kids under eight and a belligerent lazy teenager in the house was next to impossible.

When Veronica finally went to bed, sometimes as late as four in the morning, as soon as she drifted off she would jolt herself awake, as if there were something in her subconscious she couldn’t bear to face. The problems with Jude weighed heavily on her mind, but what she sensed was more sinister. It was like glimpsing something just outside your range of vision, and then forgetting what it was you saw. Was it her guilt over her daughter’s abortions, or was she having a legitimate breakdown?