The Advocate - 02 - The Advocate's Betrayal (22 page)

Mr. Kemp’s face turned red and he half rose from his chair. Bob grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. “Sit,” he said, a little louder than he probably intended. Then he leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Mr. Kemp nodded, took a deep breath, and squeezed his lips tightly together. Wagner spoke to his client as well, most likely in anticipation of her outburst.

The judge continued, “I see a lot of cases come through here. Every day I deal with parents who lose control and beat their children, sometimes to death, or neglect their children because of their sick addictions, but I have to say this case disgusts me even more than some of those. Although I’m not excusing their behaviors, those people need help with their tempers, with their addictions, but you two you are making a conscious choice to teach your children to hate. And you do it in the name of religion. That is just wrong on so many levels.” Her voice had risen almost to a shout. She shook her head and lowered her voice. “I don’t think there’s any hope for you. No amount of therapy is ever going to teach you anything. You’ll never believe you’ve done anything wrong, and when one of your children gets killed because you taught them to put themselves in impossible situations, you’ll blame the minority, and it’ll just boost your sick beliefs another level.”

The judge took a deep breath, blew it out, closed her eyes as if she were meditating, and then said, “The parent’s motion is granted. The petition is set aside….”

Mr. and Mrs. Kemp both stood up. Mr. Kemp threw a clenched fist in the air shouting, “Yes!” He turned and faced his wife, and each reached up with their right hands and clapped it against the other’s.

The bailiff walked over to Mr. Kemp, tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Sit down.” Another bailiff entered from the back and stood on the opposite side of Mr. Kemp. Another who had entered from the hallway stayed directly behind Mrs. Kemp, keeping a vigilant watch on her movements.

The judge spoke over the confusion. “Enough, Mr. Kemp, or I’ll hold you in contempt.”

He snapped his head up toward Bob and asked, “Can she do that?”

“She sure can. You might want to just sit down and be quiet.”

“What about my right to free speech?” The bailiffs stepped in closer.

“What about quitting while you’re ahead?” Bob said quietly. “Now please sit.” Mr. Kemp grumbled as he sat down.

Judge Hekman continued, purposefully ignoring the outbursts. “I do not believe those children are safe in your home, but I also don’t believe the department filed a worthy petition. So, I’m not sending the children home today.”

Mr. Kemp started to rise from his chair shouting, “What the f…” when the bailiffs each put their hands on his shoulders and arms, and pushed him back in his chair.

Just then Mrs. Kemp jumped up and began to climb across the table toward the judge yelling, “You bitch!”

County Counsel slid her chair out of the way, making room for the bailiff to react. Mrs. Kemp put one foot up on her chair and flung the other one up on the table, kicking Sabre in the head as she stepped up. Sabre let out a yell as Bob tried to catch her, but she fell to the floor with a thud, knocking the wind out of her. Gasps resounded throughout the courtroom. The bailiff grabbed Mrs. Kemp by both arms and pulled her back into him, falling against the railing and almost going down with her. “Get your hands off me,” she hollered, as her legs flew up in the air and came back down on Sabre’s chest.

Bailiffs rushed into the room from both directions. Mr. Kemp tried to take down two of them by himself in a frenzy to reach his wife. He yanked away and lunged toward her, but a bailiff slapped the handcuffs on him before he reached her.

Sabre heard Judge Hekman bang her gavel on the sounding board. She looked up from the floor to see two bailiffs on either side of Mr. Kemp, another two surrounded Mrs. Kemp, and both parents in handcuffs. Sabre saw Bob on his knees bending over her as she started to stand. She held on to him. “I’m okay,” she said, “really.” She rubbed her chest. “She whacked me pretty good, but I’m fine.”

Bob helped her to her seat. “Are you sure?”

“Yup.” She looked up at the judge and gave her a half smile, cleared her throat, and said, “I’m ready, Your Honor.”

The judge shook her head and her whole body trembled with it. She looked directly at the parents. “Hmmph….As I was saying, the children are not going home today. And instead of ruling on the motion this afternoon, I am now taking it under submission and we’ll continue this hearing next Wednesday.” She shifted her gaze to County Counsel. “The department needs to give serious consideration to a new petition or be prepared to let this case go,” she paused, “depending, of course, on my ruling on the demurrer.”

The bailiffs walked the parents out the back door into the holding tank. The attorneys left through the front. Bob said, “Those kids are staying at Polinsky. Damn it, we had that one won until they flipped out.”

Sabre said, “Do you think they’ll keep the parents?”

“They might let my guy go, but I think they’ll keep the mom. She went too far,” Bob responded.

Wagner growled. “The stupid woman deserves it. We had won, and then she blew it. They don’t listen to a damn thing we tell them.” Wagner was still grumbling when Sabre and Bob left him and walked out of the courthouse toward their cars.

As Sabre entered her car, she felt the discomfort in her chest where Mrs. Kemp had kicked her. She drove directly to Long’s Drug Store and bought a pregnancy test and two ice packs. She’d use them tonight and see how she felt in the morning.

From there she drove to her office to check her phone messages and pick up some files for court the next day. While she was packing up her files her cell phone rang. “Hi, sweetie,” Luke said. “Can you pick me up at the airport tomorrow evening?”

“Sure.” The sound of his voice made her breathe easier, surprised to hear he was coming home so soon. The last time they talked he hadn’t mentioned it. “What time?”

“My flight arrives at ten minutes to seven. I’ll meet you outside in front about seven o’clock.”

Sabre smiled and then took a deep breath, but the stretch hurt. She placed her hand on her sore chest. She knew she had discomfort to look forward to for a few days.

She still had to run that test. She didn’t want it to be positive. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready. It was such a responsibility, and did she want to bring children into this world of destruction? A world with Kemps spreading hate. She couldn’t stand the thought of her children, or any child, living with such hatred.
The test will be negative. It has to be.

26

JP’s hands were dry and his face chapped from the wind as he drove into Brighton, Wisconsin. He drove past miles of trees along the highway and acres of land with old wooden fences enclosing animals or defining boundaries. The trees glistened with moisture, interspersed with green fields of wheat. He knew that, within a few months, the fields would be brown and bales of hay would be spread out across them. He liked the Midwest. The people were easy to talk to and generally quite helpful. Life here was quiet and uncomplicated. A cow mooed.

“Are you agreeing with me, or insulted because I think your life is too simple? Just like a woman,” JP said aloud. “Wow, I’m talking to cows. I better get back to the city.”

Once in town, he spotted a coffee shop and decided it would be a good place to start asking questions. If that didn’t work, there was always a bar.

When JP walked into the coffee shop, there were only three people inside, likely left over from the breakfast crowd. He took off his cowboy hat and hung it on the rack by the door. Lunch was approaching. If he had coffee, then lunch, and coffee again with dessert, he could spread it out long enough to maybe speak to several people. He took a seat at the counter next to an old man with white whiskers, leaving the seat on the other side open for another possible informant.

“Morning,” JP said.

“Not much left,” the old man said, as he took a bite of his food.

“Of your breakfast?”

“Nope, of the morning.”

“True enough. Have you eaten here before?” JP asked.

“Yup, lived here all my life. Best place in town for breakfast, except when Pearl burns the toast.” JP thought he was joking, but saw no smile on the old man’s face.

“I heard that, Charley,” a voice rang out from the open kitchen directly behind the counter. “I don’t burn the toast. You’re just too damn fussy.”

“She’s got hearing like a bat, that one.” Still no smile.

The middle-aged waitress, with mousy brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and wearing a beige dress and brown apron, approached JP. “Coffee?” she asked.

“Yes, for now. And could you leave a menu. I may want to eat in a bit.”

She laid the menu down, poured a cup of coffee. “Cream?”

“No, thanks.”

“What are you doing in these parts?” the waitress asked.

“Looking for the people on this list.” JP opened his list of names. “I found this among some stuff in my dad’s belongings. He died when I was pretty young. My mom had a box of things that belonged to him, and I found it after she passed away last year. She would never talk about my father, so I know very little about him. I was hoping I might find some answers here in this town.”

“Let me take a look at that.” The old man took the list and held it at arm’s length. “What was your pa’s name?”

“Jacob Johnson.”

“Can’t say as I recall anyone by that name.” He moved his coffee cup forward for the waitress to fill it. “But I can tell you a few things about some of those people on yer list.”

“That would be great.” JP took out his pen to make notes. The cafe was starting to fill and the noise level had picked up.

“The Jones boys have all passed on. Mary Lou’s still here. She’s married to Jerry Tollefson. His sisters, Ruby and Mabel, went off to college and stayed away.” He paused as if he were trying to remember. “Don’t know where they are, but I expect Jerry would. The Gerstner girls passed on, one just a few months ago, the other a few years back. Charles still lives here, but he’s been a little tetched since Vietnam. Don’t think he’d be much help.” Charley read through the list again. “Don’t remember anyone named Paul.” He looked around the restaurant and raising his voice asked, “Anyone in here remember someone in this town named Paul or Yvonne Marticello?”

“No, nah…,” the crowd responded half-heartedly. The waitress came over and filled his coffee cup.

Big, round Pearl stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on the bottom right corner of her stained, white apron. Her white hair was in an old but stylish do sprayed so no hair moved; she wore light makeup except for the bright red lipstick. She smiled a sheepish smile. “I remember Paul Marticello. Best looking kid in school, especially by the eighth grade. He was in my class. He moved away the summer before high school. Too bad, too. He was just starting to notice me.” She pretended to swoon.

Two men, one in overalls, the other wearing a plaid shirt, Levis, and a Detroit Tigers baseball cap walked over to Charley and looked over his shoulder. “What’s going on?” the man in the overalls asked.

“This young man’s trying to find these folks to see if they can tell him anything about his pa.” Charley stood up and turned toward the tables, most of which had filled up. “Does anyone in here remember a guy named Jacob Johnson?”

“He would’ve probably been here in the late fifties,” JP added.

The crowd murmured, “Nope.”

Charley, still standing and facing the crowd, more of whom had gathered closer to the counter, asked, “Anyone know what happened to James Herold?”

“Nope.”

“How about Roger Torvinan?”

Mumbles could be heard around the cafe. “Roger joined the Army. After he did his tour, I heard he moved to California,” the man in the overalls said.

Charley asked, “What about Martha Broden or Edith Underdahl?”

Pearl, still standing there with the crowd, said, “The Broden girl married a guy from Milwaukee and moved there. Edith left in high school. She and her mom moved somewhere. No idea where to, but Mary Lou might know. They were best friends.”

The waitress was taking orders and putting up order slips for Pearl, but Pearl didn’t seem to be in a hurry to read them. Charley handed the paper back to JP. The crowd meandered to their seats. Pearl was still standing there when Charley spoke up, “Don’t you have some cookin’ to do, woman?” She waddled off to the kitchen.

The waitress took JP’s order for the meatloaf. Charley paid his check and left a dollar tip. He stood up to leave. “I hope you find what yer looking for…about your pa, I mean.” He smiled and walked out. JP wondered if he knew he was after something else, the smart old goat.

JP finished his lunch, obtained directions to Mary Lou and Jerry Tollefson’s house, and went on his way. Pearl had called ahead to see if anyone was home and if it was all right for him to drop by.

When he arrived at their home, Mary Lou graciously invited him inside, appearing delighted to have company. JP removed his hat as he walked in, but kept it in his hand. Jerry offered him a beer, which he declined. Mary Lou brought him some iced tea. “What can we do for you?” Jerry asked.

JP handed him the list. “As Pearl explained, I found this in my father’s things and I was hoping to find someone who could tell me something about him. Both of your names are on the list. Did either of you ever meet a man or boy named Jacob Johnson? That was my father’s name.”

Mary Lou shook her head. “Not me.”

“Me neither,” Jerry said.

“Perhaps you know something about the people on the list. If I could find them, maybe someone will remember.” JP fiddled with his hat. “The folks at the diner were very helpful, but there were a few they didn’t know about. I’ve marked them with an X.”

Jerry handed Mary Lou the list. She picked up her reading glasses off the end table and put them on. “Let me see….I have no idea what happened to James. He left here shortly after high school, but I don’t know where he went.” She turned to Jerry, “Do you, Jer?”