"You're in more trouble than you can possibly understand at your age. We'll put up a good defense but at this point the prosecutor has all the cards in her favor."

Bill Metzger stared through the thick glass wall at the boy sitting on a hard plastic chair. The kid looked thoroughly crushed by the experience most normal fifteen year olds would never face. But then how many boys this age had murdered their parents?

Bill had first read about the crime on the front pages of the Herald three weeks ago. Murder was a guaranteed winner of a story for the news media and they had lavished a lot of attention to the story even though the perpetrator was a juvenile.

Someone in the Sheriff's office had released a good deal of information to the press. It was an election year and the Sheriff was going to make the most of this while he could, but that source had been stopped with a gag order by Judge Marlowe during the boy's first court appearance. Now there was only speculation to sensationalize the crime, and most of what the media had now was wrong.

Timothy Witherspoon-Little seemed like a nice kid with no prior arrests and a fairly clean juvenile record. One shoplifting incident, one curfew violation. But look at him now, Bill thought. Twenty-five days of incarceration had worn the boy down and it wasn't going to get any better.

Tim looked small in his oversized jail clothing, a diminutive figure of an adolescent that was sure to cause the boy grief in a real prison. He probably weighed all of a hundred and twenty-five pounds soaking wet. His brown hair had been shaved close to the scalp and all that remained was stubble.

For now he was isolated in a cell by himself to prevent any problems. There was no doubt in Bill's mind, the boy was going to do hard time after his day in court unless there were some mitigating circumstances.

The boy leaned forward and took a sip of the cola through the straw and then took another nervous bite of the donut. Bill had been in these lawyer booths before and knew the setup. The glass wall had a hole in it for ease of conversation and so he could serve the kid a soda if he slid two straws together. The donuts he had pressed between napkins and slid under the glass on the counter which was supposed to be for documents.

The kid's situation was bleak, especially since his two friends had turned state's evidence against him. They had at first been considered accessories after the fact, but that had been dropped because they reported the crime. Most of what they had to say would be admissible in court. But excitable boys made lousy witnesses.

Tim had told the deputies that he had killed the step-father and didn't mention the mother right away. He wasn't proud of it but felt it was something that had to be done and now that the initial paperwork was finished Bill could pursue the why.

Tim must have felt he had a good reason to put a .22 caliber rifle bullet into his mother's head. One clean shot behind the ear had killed her instantly. But the stepfather was the more aggressive murder as Tim shot eight bullets into his chest and neck from close range…and for some reason a ninth bullet had been carefully aimed at the man's crotch which nearly severed his penis.

Bill had slated several sessions with a psychiatrist he knew, someone who could delve into the boy's mind and bring clarity to the motive. But here they were face to face and a good defense would rest on the reasons Tim had pulled the trigger.

"You need a shower," Bill said.

"I took one yesterday, but I don't have any shampoo," Tim said, and he frowned. "They cut off all my hair, said it was jail policy, but I think they enjoyed it. It doesn't matter…I don't have money for anything."

"You do now. I put a hundred dollars in your commissary account this morning."

"You did? Wow ... thanks," Tim said, but then he frowned again. "Why?"

Bill took a sip of his coffee and decided the social part of their visit was over, it was time to get down to business.

"I was assigned your case by the Public Defender's Office. Do you know how that works?"

Tim shook his head so Bill continued. "I'm working pro bono which means for free. My law office requires each of us to give some free time to the public for cases like this. Well, not like this, your case is exceptional. Anyways, I asked to be assigned to this case."

Tim looked confused, uncertain of where Bill was going with all this.

"I read the story in the newspaper, at least the crap the sheriff told the reporters. I figured there has to be more to it than that. Did you read the story or see it on television?"

Another shake of the boy's head. Christ, the boy didn't even know what they were saying about him.

"I don't have a television in my cell and we don't get newspapers."

"How do you pass the time?" Bill asked.

"They come around with a cart from the library once a week so I have two books. Yesterday a preacher came by and wanted to pray with me, but I said no. He left me a magazine about golfing. I sleep a lot…and think. So you want to know why I did it."

Not a question, Tim knew his lawyer would have to be told.

"My mom allowed that asshole in our house when I was ten."

"Your stepfather?"

"I called him that, she insisted, but they weren't married."

"Everyone thinks they were married," Bill said. "Are you sure they weren't married and just didn't tell you?"

"No marriage. Stan said he wouldn't marry a slut like my mom but she was good enough to fu…sorry," Tim said.

"You don't have to censor your thoughts with me. I need to know what you're thinking and you have to be honest."

"He used to fuck her on the couch while I was in the room watching television. I was ten, I didn't dare turn around but I knew what they were doing. He used to slap her so she would cry out and I would look around…he wanted me to look. Then he would wave his cock at me and ask if I had ever seen one that big before."

"Jesus," Bill said.

"He didn't touch me until I was thirteen, but I knew it was coming. One night he grabbed my crotch and told me if I wanted to keep my equipment then I would have to suck his cock. Mom was right there stoned out of her mind. He made me suck his dick in front of her and she did nothing to stop it."

"He made you…?

"Yeah, I did it to keep him from squeezing my balls, but I threw up in his lap when he ejaculated. He thought that was funny but he was stoned like usual. I spent most of my time in my room after that, especially when he was home. I read a lot of books just to pass the time and skipped dinner to avoid him."

"You didn't eat?"

"I did when I came home from school because Stan didn't get off work until six. Then he would start drinking and doing drugs so I would go lock myself in my room. Sometimes that worked, other times it didn't."

"And when it didn't he sexually assaulted you?" Bill asked.

"Yeah," Tim said. "He broke my door so I couldn't lock it. He would just push his way into my room and grab me. He started pulling my pants off and grabbing my junk. He was just too big, I couldn't stop him."

Tim frowned and looked down at his lap, twitching his fingers and cracking his knuckles. Bill watched the boy's face. There was little emotion behind the way he recited the assaults as if he had learned to distance himself from the reality. The question of why he put nine bullets into the man was becoming very clear.

"I had just turned fourteen when he raped me the first time," Tim said. "He said I was a better fuck than my mother. He made me take these pills so I would relax. It got to the point that if I didn't pass out I would just lay there as he did it until he grunted and was done."

Tim looked up and Bill was shocked to see a smile on the boy's face. "So now you know why I killed him…he deserved it. But she watched Stan rape me and never did anything to stop him…she deserved it, too. I just don't remember doing it."

Bill let out a long sigh, realizing he had been holding his breath as Tim explained the why. Dr. Moore would have a better means of analyzing Tim's story and would probably agree that the boy had solved this problem in the only way he thought he could.

It wasn't spontaneous, Lord no, Tim had plenty of time to think about the killings…it might be considered premeditated. Why hadn't he told anyone what was going on? What drugs did Stan give him? This conversation had been exhausting and Bill knew it was time to wrap it up for now.

"I have only one more issue today. We're going to meet several times a week to plan your defense and I have a psychiatrist coming to visit you. I'm sure you know you'll be expected to tell him everything, he'll be very important to our case."

"The deputies had me talk to a shrink just two days ago. She asked a lot of questions but I didn't tell her about the rapes. Dr. Talbot, yeah, that was her name."

"They never mentioned that to me," Bill said. "But we will get to see her records when I file for discovery. Dr. Moore will be on our side so be honest with him."

"The deputy said I'll be going to prison for the rest of my life so what's the point in defending me?"

"Laws have a lot of twists and turns in them. A jury can decide a case depending upon what they hear and they might return a verdict in our favor. Sometimes things add up to counter a good prosecution and make the jury think you're being treated unfairly.

"So far the Sheriff has been running his mouth and we might decide that prejudices your case and influences a potential jury. The prosecution is going to make mistakes, maybe not big ones yet but there is still time. I've been your lawyer of record for almost ten days and they had you examined by a doctor without my knowledge which is a violation of procedure.

"None of that will get your case thrown out but it makes them look bad and they will continue to make mistakes. You signed a Miranda form and agreed to talk to the police, but you're fifteen and there was no adult advocate in the room…that's illegal, too."

"You know a lot," Tim said. "What kind of lawyer are you? I know there are lots of different kinds…I read that in a book."

Bill smiled. "And what are you reading now?"

"Stephen King ... It," Tim replied. "It was the longest book they had on the cart."

"Pennywise the Clown, I remember that name. That's a pretty intense book."

"Yeah, eleven hundred pages and I'm only on page two hundred, but it passes the time."

Bill nodded. The kid was no dummy and that would only help in his defense. He didn't think they should favor a temporary insanity plea which was damn near impossible to prove. No, Tim had all his wits and Dr. Moore could work with him. It just seemed that all the emotion had been swept out of his mind by the situation.

"I'm a criminal lawyer…I defend thieves and murderers," Bill said. "I was in the Public Defender's Office for five years before I went to work for a law firm. I'm a partner there now."

"Do you win a lot of cases?" Tim asked.

"Some of them, I have a pretty good record."

"I'm sorry…my case might spoil your record," Tim said.

Bill shook his head. "I don't keep score, that's not why I took your case."

"Then why?"

"There are over two thousand young men serving life without parole in this country for crimes they committed as juveniles. The laws passed by state legislatures have tied the hands of judges with all these mandatory sentencing guidelines.

"I believe it's wrong when some idiot in the state house gets a law passed simply because it makes him look tough on crime. It allows no leniency by the court due to circumstances and judges hate that. These laws present a cruel and unusual punishment for young men like you and to a lot of us in the legal profession that violates your Constitutional rights.

"But short term state officials pass laws to get reelected, and that kind of short-sighted mentality applies to our Sheriff here. Somewhere there needs to be a case that we can take into appeals in higher courts, and beyond if necessary. I won't say that's what will happen to you, but each time a case like this comes up anything is possible."

"This is going to take a long time, isn't it?" Tim asked.

"I would imagine three or four months before they want to see you in court but I would ask for an extension. One of my law professors once said that the law is like a pile of rocks that is constantly being rearranged. The prosecution would like to grab a bunch of rocks and begin building a wall against you but every time we can I will take those rocks away so the wall never gets finished."

"So you better go ... it's almost lunch time here," Tim said.

"You like the food here?"

"Food's okay, better than what I got at home. Thanks, Mr. Metzger…for the food you brought, the money, and the help you're giving me."

Bill smiled. "You may call me Bill. I'll be back in the middle of the week and we can talk a little more about your evaluation with Dr. Moore. I don't want you to write down anything about your actions because that might fall into the wrong hands."

"Yeah, the deputies have already searched my cell once. I understand what you mean."

"I don't want you to get the impression this is going to be easy, but you have friends on the outside who are going to help you. I'm sure it's depressing to be in a cell by yourself but that's the safest place for you at the moment. I'll do whatever it takes to make it better."

With that Bill stood up and collected the empty soda can and the paper trash, shoving them into his briefcase. He looked up at Tim and the boy smiled. Then he rose and turned for the door where he knocked on the surface. Bill watched as the deputy in the corridor opened the door and let Tim out. The kid didn't even look back…he was a part of this awful place once again.

There was so much wrong with this case that Bill wasn't really sure where to start. He looked at his watch and saw he had time to visit the office. His meeting with the prosecutor, Barbara Lowe, wasn't until four, and she would be in court until then.

Bill didn't mention her to Tim. Why scare him any further? The woman was developing a reputation already and she had only been on the job six months. A stone cold bitch he had heard and one who was clawing her way up the ladder in the prosecutor's office.

That just meant she deserved a grudging respect. Bill wasn't afraid of her since they had never met in court or out of it. But he had a few issues to challenge her leadership in this case and he would bet she already had some problems because of the Sheriff. It was time to go back to the office and see if there was any more ammunition he could use against her.

Lemuel, Isakson, Greene and Metzger read the brass plaque on the outside wall of the office building. It was nothing more than a converted storefront on a busy city street within walking distance of the courthouse, the local lawyer's row. Bill made his entrance, picked up his stack of pink message slips from Candice--don't ever call me Candy--and walked down the hall to his office.

There were three files centered on his desk as he set his briefcase on top of them and removed the trash from his visit to Tim.

"There you are," Sonny said, appearing in the doorway. "How did your visit with Timothy go?"

"Pretty well, the kid seems to be coping with his situation," Bill said, closing the lid on his briefcase and setting it beside the desk.

Sonny Lewis was his para-legal assistant, his researcher…his everything. At five-five she was the shortest person in the office but the most valuable. She might be taken for an inexperienced college girl at first glance but that was a dangerous supposition. After six years of big city police work she had quit and returned here to take care of her aging mother.

Tom Isakson had hired her as a gift to the new legal partner and Bill had yet to find anything she couldn't do, and do well. Her research was impeccable and sharpened by a good sense of street smarts from her cop days. She took night classes in law at the university and everyone hoped she would stay with the firm when she got her degree.

"Folder with the red tab is the Peterson case. I came across some interesting facts about the old man that he withheld from us. Blue tab is the NCIC search info on Theresa Williams. The FBI was very cooperative on that one because they've been looking for her almost five years now…and behold, here she sits in our county jail. They will be taking her into federal custody on Thursday so we'll be out of the picture.

"As for Timothy, his step-father was quite a piece of work. If Tim hadn't shot him someone else would have."

"I gather he was not one of our outstanding citizens," Bill said.

Sonny shook her head. "Major arrest record in Ohio on everything from drunken disorderly to armed robbery and sexual assault. But none of the big stuff stuck until he did two years for fondling a little girl. It seems he came back to the state of his birth to get away from all that and moved in with Mrs. Little. The only thing he has on record here is a couple of DUI arrests." And there she stopped and smiled.

"What?" Bill asked, looking up from the folder.

"It seems old Stan has a passel of relatives living in our fair county, and the Sheriff is one of his cousins."

"Sheriff Barnes is his cousin?"

"Yes, and the DUI arrests were dismissed. Funny thing is old Stan should have been on the sex offender registry but he's not. I would bet our Sheriff fixed that as well."

"My, My ... the games our Sheriff plays. I think we need to get a court order to have the boy moved out of that jail."

"Judge Parker is available this afternoon…I checked," Sonny said.

Bill smiled. "You're a real beauty."

"Aw, all the guys say that and it gets me nowhere."

"Perhaps they're a little intimidated by all those Tae-Kwan-Do awards hanging on your office wall. Parker is the perfect choice and Tim will be a lot safer over in Barnhill. I hear they serve real food over there."

"Poor kid, how is he passing the time?" Sonny asked.

"He reads books, Stephen King at the moment. Look, you know this is a tough case with some real hard time for him if we lose. If we get him into Barnhill before the trial then the jury will have greater choices to ponder.

"The kid was abused, drugged and sexually assaulted. He had a pretty strong motive behind his actions. Dr. Moore can work with the Barnhill staff and produce a much better medical profile. Lowe is going to try every trick in the book to tear down our defense but the good Sheriff is a weak link in her armor and we'll have to exploit that."

"I'll call Judge Parker's office and see when he can fit you in," Sonny said.

"Thank you," Bill said. "Now all we need is a miracle…I don't suppose you…"

Sonny laughed. "I don't have any heavenly connections if that's what you're after."

She left the office to make his appointment. Parker was a good choice since he had been on the bench for over two decades and was senior to most of the other judges. That meant he was immune to the Sheriff and his manipulations. But the Sheriff's deputies ran the jailhouse and that put Tim at risk.

He set aside the Theresa Williams folder. Their legal obligations with her would end when she went into federal custody. The woman was a menace to the community and had finally been caught dealing oxycontin. The Feds would put her away for a long, long time.

Daniel Peterson had been caught selling land that didn't belong to him, and it seems this wasn't the first time. The man had neglected to mention his prior arrests and Bill would have the option of dropping him as a client. He would have to talk to Tom Isakson about that. Peterson had some deep pockets and law firms always needed paying customers.

Bill made a note and stuck it to the folder to be passed along…that left Tim's folder. He lifted a blank legal pad from a drawer of his desk and began a list. These would be things Sonny would have to research and the first item was Tim's name.

If the boy's mother, Susan Witherspoon, wasn't married to Stan Little then why was Tim listed as Timothy Andrew Witherspoon-Little? Find a marriage certificate or have the court notified of the error.

Bill wanted a complete psychological workup. Evan Moore had last worked with him on the Sebastian murder case three years ago. He was a dynamite witness on the stand and his specialty was child psychology. He had attended John's Hopkins Medical School, received other related degrees from Northwestern University, and was a former president of the Institute for Psychiatric Services with the American Psychiatric Association.

The first question Bill had asked him was what had brought him to town. With a resume like that why would a renowned doctor leave all that fame behind?

"I know a very good doctor who told me I had to get away from all the pressure and settle someplace where I could look forward to retirement in a few years. My kids are all grown and married…I'm a grandpa for goodness sakes. But that doctor was me, and if a psychiatrist can't follow his own advice then he's a fool."

"You're no fool," Bill had replied.

"Exactly."

That was all five years ago when Bill was first coming into private practice. He had seen Evan on the stand in trials for the prosecution and as a defense expert. Bill had consulted with Evan on several issues and they became friends. Perhaps it was because the good doctor never tried to analyze Bill's life.

His phone buzzed and Bill answered.

"You have an appointment with Parker at one o'clock which is twenty minutes from now. He'll give you thirty minutes before he has to be in court," Sonny said.

"That should work," Bill said.

"Oh, and I have Stan Little's court records coming in from Ohio on the fax machine this very minute. Parker might find them interesting."

"Great," Bill said. "I better get moving."

The courthouse parking lot was always full, but Bill only had to walk two hundred yards across the street from the office to reach the front doors. He was perusing the file Sonny had given him as he walked across the plaza to meet his appointment in the judge's chambers. That focus kept him from seeing the man in uniform approaching on his right.

"Hello, Metzger."

Bill closed the file and turned at the sound of a familiar voice. Sheriff Barnes stood there in all his pomposity, shiny gold star and all.

"Good afternoon, Sheriff."

"You coddle that little murderer way too much, Metzger. Feeding inmates during a visitation is against policy. I just might have to send a note to the Bar Association about that."

Bill smiled. "You go right ahead and do that. I imagine they will have a lot to say about you violating attorney-client privileges during my visit."

"Your boy is in a precarious position, Metzger."

"But I'm sure you'll take good care of him, Sheriff. The media would be all over you if the boy was to receive even a scratch while he's in your care and custody. This being an election year I'm sure you only want positive press."

"Just saying ... things happen."

"They do, but not in this case. Have a good day, Sheriff."

Bill continued on towards the courthouse doors. He wanted Tim out of that jail today. Barnes would be a bigger fool if he thought they could get away with harassing the boy. Tim might fall down in the shower or get scalded by hot water. The deputies played games, but all of it came at the direction of Barnes. The bastard.

It was exactly one o'clock when Bill entered the outer office of Judge Parker's chambers and Eli Parker was standing beside his clerk's desk shuffling through paperwork. The county had decided to computerize everything and go paperless but that was an impossible situation in the courthouse.

"Bill, good to see you," Eli said.

"You look well, Your Honor," Bill replied.

"Sharon, let's get this information off to the Appeals Court right away," Eli said. "Come on in, Bill…let's talk."

Eli shut the door once Bill had passed across the threshold.

"Nice tie, Eli," Bill said.

"My daughter gave this to me for my birthday. It borders on being a little too loud for courtroom duty. What do you think?"

"I think it will keep the lawyers awake which is probably a good thing."

Eli smiled. "I agree. So take a seat, what's on your mind?"

"Timothy Witherspoon…we have a problem."

"I thought it was Witherspoon-Little?"

"There is no evidence that his step-father ever married the boy's mother. No marriage license in the county records, we're searching the rest of the state," Bill said.

"We can get that changed…but that's not why you're here, is it?"

Bill flipped open the folder in his hand and summarized the issues he had with Tim being in the county jail. He added the contents of his conversation with Barnes on the plaza and then looked up.

"We need to get him moved," Eli said. "Barnes has a definite conflict of interest, and in your favor that will eliminate him as a witness at trial. Denny Marlowe did the right thing with that gag order. Barnes is an asshole, but then you know that.

"Marlowe will have all the preliminary work to do but he probably won't be the trial judge…and neither will I. That being said you can tell me where you are going with all this."

"You know the laws better than I do," Bill said. "I don't see how we can avoid the statutory sentencing guidelines. I know the U.S. Supreme Court struck down mandatory life sentences for juveniles last year, but that is going to take years of litigation to eliminate.

"That means the boy will get double life without parole if they win and then we will have to appeal based on the new ruling. All that is costly and the state isn't required to help him on appeal. So to give us more information Evan Moore is going to evaluate him and I think we need to get the boy moved to Barnhill until his trial date."

"I agree," Eli said. "Barnhill is no picnic but he will be safer there. Okay, I'll write it up…when do you want him moved?"

"Now ... I don't trust Barnes, and neither do you."

Eli buzzed his clerk and she entered the office.

"Sharon, I need an immediate release order and facility transfer from the county jail to Barnhill. Please note in the text that I will be holding this case sub curia until trial. Oh, and notify Captain Willows I will need two of his best troopers to deliver the document to the jailhouse and transport the prisoner to Barnhill. Tell Willows I would like this to happen before super time today."

Sharon had been writing furiously and then she looked at Bill. Anyone who could get the judge to do something this fast deserved her respect.

"Inmate's name?" Sharon asked.

"That's a complication as well. His actual name is Timothy Andrew Witherspoon but the jail has him listed as Witherspoon-Little…their error," Eli said. "You should note that name as an aka until we clear up the records. Don't want those idiots refusing to release the boy."

"I'll get right on it," Sharon said, and she left the room.

"What are we going to do about Barnes?" Eli asked.

"He's got powerful support from the electorate," Bill said.

"Bought and paid for no doubt. But if we can keep him off the stand in your case then it will be worth saving all these little tidbits about him until the election cycle begins. Barnes is his own worst enemy and with enough rope…"

Bill smiled. "Thank you for moving the boy, it might just save his life."

"You think it will come to that?"

"I'm going to be there when the troopers serve your paper. The reaction of the Sheriff's men ought to be priceless. Now I guess I better call Barnhill and tell them to expect him."

"The boy doesn't know what a good lawyer he has," Eli said. "You ought to run for a seat on the bench."

"A judge…me?" Bill had to smile.

"I'll keep asking. We could sure use the help."

"Okay, Eli…ask me again in about ten years. I better go downstairs and cancel my appointment with Ms. Lowe if I plan to be at the jailhouse when the cavalry arrives."

"You take it easy around Barnes and call me if he gives you any trouble," the judge said.

"Count on it," Bill replied as he stood, and they shook hands.

Bill took the elevator down to the second floor where the prosecutor's offices were located. Lowe was probably in court, but at least he could leave her a message with the clerk.

"District Attorney Lowe doesn't like last minute appointment changes," the woman in the outer office told Bill.

"She was an Assistant DA the last time I checked, and you tell her my clients come first. I'll phone later to reschedule."

"Can I tell her why you won't be here?"

Bill smiled. "No…that would be privileged information."

He walked back to the office, glad to note that there was no further harassment by the Sheriff and his minions. Eli was right as usual. They had to get rid of the son of a bitch. Sonny was in the lobby talking to Candice when he walked through the door.

"Captain Willows with the State Police called," Candice said. "He's sending two troopers to the jail and they plan to be there by four o'clock."

"Perfect," Bill said.

"You want me along for moral support?" Sonny asked.

"Have you seen those State boys? They look like attack dogs. I seriously doubt if Barnes will offer any resistance. Judge Parker was very gracious, he's even keeping Tim sub curia with his court order."

"Oh?" Sonny said.

"What does that mean?" Candice asked.

Sonny smiled at her wondering how she ever got a job in a law firm without knowing the lingo.

"It means the judge is keeping a finger on our client for the foreseeable future, at least until a trial judge is appointed." Sonny looked at Bill. "Any idea who that might be?"

"Not a clue. I'm just sorry it won't be Parker, but all of them will have their hands tied by the law. Now what I need is some lunch and a chance to read these files."

"I'll go next door to the deli," Sonny said. "What do you want?"

"A grilled cheese and a bowl of their chicken noodle soup will do just fine." Bill pulled out his wallet and handed her a twenty. Sonny left and he made his way back to his office.

The arrest report on Tim had stated that they found the .22 rifle on the floor in the hallway between the two bodies and tagged it as the murder weapon. But they had also found a nine millimeter handgun in the parent's bedroom.

There was no mention of any identifying marks on the handgun or the serial numbers, perhaps because they weren't considered important. How absurd, these reports were supposed to be filled with detail. But if it belonged to Stan how had he come in possession of a firearm with a felony record?

Stan's body had been laying in the hallway outside the boy's bedroom door, the mother just inside the doorway to her bedroom. Tim had said nothing to the police about the actual shooting, just that he had killed them.

The National Criminal database Sonny had accessed gave them a history on Stan's past criminal activity. The ten year old girl he had molested was a neighbor in the apartment building where Stan worked as the superintendent. His two years in prison seems to have gone without incident and he had served his six months parole while registered as a sex offender. He seems to have left Ohio the moment his parole was over.

The two local DUI charges should have revealed his past record and thrown up a red flag for failing to register his sex offender status. But those charges were not in the national database, just on his motor vehicle record. How had Barnes managed to pull that off?

It was obvious by the comments Barnes had made on the plaza that the lawyer's booth in the jail was bugged. None of that conversation could be used against the boy but Bill wondered if the DA's office would be made aware of what they had discussed. There would be time enough to report that violation to the Bar Association and let them run with it.

Bill had been careful in his conversation with Tim not to dig up too many facts about the assaults or the shooting. Those things were better left to the mental health professionals. Tim would like Evan Moore and placing him in Barnhill's relaxed atmosphere would certainly help.

Tim had been represented at his preliminary hearing by an untested lawyer from the Public Defender's office. That was just a pro forma appearance before a judge to make sure the arrest was all in order and that they had cause to hold the boy. No bail had been requested because Tim had nowhere to go under adult supervision. He would remain incarcerated until trial which could be at least six months from now.

Barnhill Institute was a mental health facility. The hundred year old mansion had been converted into offices for the staff and there were now four wings in the new building behind it. Tim would be placed with other juveniles that were being evaluated and be able to socialize.

There had been no time to prepare Tim for this transfer. The boy would certainly notice a difference when he got to Barnhill. There would be no contact with the severely impaired mental patients, but Tim would quickly understand this was still a place where he was locked in.

Sonny brought his soup and sandwich, gave him one look and left him alone with his reading. Bill unwrapped his grilled cheese on Texas toast and bit into it. There were things he wanted to ask the boy but felt he had to defer to Evan's need to know.

Tim had apparently been sexually assaulted, but how many times? Had he reported any of that to his teachers or the police? That didn't seem likely so why had he kept it a secret? It seems like the boy had just let it go on until the breaking point and solved his problems with a gun.

Did Tim think there was no other way out of his situation? His emotions about shooting his mother had seemed flat when he spoke about it. He wasn't even sure he had killed her. She did nothing to stop the assaults and it seems Tim had disconnected his feelings towards her as a caregiver…she had failed him.

Bill sat and wrote down what he could remember of the conversation with Tim. He wanted to remember what had been said in case the information turned up later, like in a press release to the media or a conversation in court with the prosecutor. He was all but certain Barnes would feed that information to Lowe.

He was deeply involved in writing out his thoughts when Sonny knocked on the doorframe.

"Three-thirty…you have to be at the jail by four."

Damn, where had the time gone? "Thanks, Sonny."

There was an unmarked state car sitting in the police parking zone in front of the jail. It was past visiting hours so Bill found his own spot to park close to the entrance. As he got out the two troopers exited their car and Bill smiled. Attack dogs had been an apt description.

Their crisply starched uniforms and the gleaming gold insignia inspired respect, or perhaps it was the campaign hats that made them look like Marine drill instructors. It seemed they had been expecting Bill and approached to shake hands.

"I'm Sergeant Connors and this is Corporal Mills," the taller one said. The intro was totally unnecessary since they had name tags. "I have the court order here, shall we proceed?"

"Definitely," Bill said. "I don't know if we will encounter any resistance…"

Connors held up a hand. "I will listen to complaints about procedure but any attempt to violate the order will be dealt with severely."

There were three armed deputies in the outer lobby and four unarmed ones in the reception office behind the bulletproof glass. That was a lot of muscle from the Sheriff's department…didn't they have anything better to do? It seems they had been expected, but how? Connors gave his partner a glance and Mills took out his cell phone and made a brief call.

"Can I help you, Sergeant?" One the deputies behind the glass said. He wore corporal's stripes but he looked like a college boy. His name tag said Marsh, T.

"I have a release order for one of your inmates," Connors said and slid the paper under the glass.

The Corporal took it but barely glanced at it. He looked up at Connors and smiled. "I'm afraid it's too late to release anyone today. It's after office hours and the Sheriff isn't here to approve the release."

"The Sheriff won't be needed. Just bring the inmate to the sally port and we'll take custody," Connors said.

"I can't do that without the Sheriff's approval."

Connors placed his hands on his hips and leaned towards the glass. "Son, if you plan on keeping that badge you will present that inmate to us immediately."

"I can't do that…"

"I mean NOW, deputy," Connors barked.

The three deputies in the lobby placed their hands on their side arms and Mills grinned. Bill watched as the trooper pressed a button on his cell phone.

"Corporal Marsh ... you need to come out here," Connors said. "I'm placing you under arrest for failing to obey a lawful court order and for interfering with an officer in the performance of his duty. That's a felony in case you didn't know. Probably get you a few years in Ravenswood. They eat former deputies up there…"

Connor's performance ended as six members of the State Police Swat Team entered the lobby in full riot gear and carrying shotguns. The Corporal behind the glass looked like he was about to pass out. Instead he turned to one of the other deputies and yelled for the man to go fetch the boy.

It was a tense five minutes before Bill heard the steel door open at the rear of the sally port and Tim was placed inside behind the bars of the outer door. The boy looked confused as Connors looked him over.

"Where are your shoes, young man?" Connors asked.

"In my cell ... I didn't have time to put them on."

Connors looked at the Corporal behind the glass. "Someone go fetch his shoes so we can end this charade," Connors said.

The shoes were sent for and Connors asked the deputy to sign the transfer order while they waited. The steel door opened and Tim's shoes were tossed in. The boy struggled into them as Connors took his receipt and approached the sally port door, motioning Bill to join them.

"Timothy Witherspoon? I'm here with your lawyer to inform you that you have been transferred from the custody of the county jail to the Barnhill Institute by court order. I'm sorry, son, but you'll have to go in handcuffs since you're still a prisoner."

Tim looked at Bill who nodded. "Just do as he says, Tim. We're doing this for your own protection."

Tim nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Don't turn around, just place your hands together in front of you, Mr. Witherspoon," Connors said, and when the boy complied the handcuffs were snapped in place.

"Open the sally port," Connors commanded and the electric gate began to move.

They were escorted out of the lobby by the SWAT team and Bill followed Tim over to the state car.

"You did all this?" Tim asked.

"I explained your situation to the judge and he agreed to send you to Barnhill."

"That's a place for crazy people."

"Not all of them," Bill said. "I think the real crazy people are the ones in that building behind us."

Connors chuckled after hearing that and opened the rear door to the car. "Come on, young man. We need to get moving or you'll miss dinner."

"I'll follow you, Tim," Bill said. "We have some things to talk about."

Connors closed the door and Bill smiled. "Thank you, Sergeant, you handled that very well."

Connors shrugged. "I deal with assholes all the time, it goes with the job. If you shut them down fast they tend to crawl back in their holes rather quickly. What a nice coincidence that the SWAT boys just happened to be nearby when we needed them."

Bill laughed. "Coincidence, yeah, like I believe that."

"The Captain thought we might have some trouble. No love lost between him and the Sheriff. But you gotta love those SWAT guys. They tend to take the argument out of any situation. Are you following us?"

"Right behind you."

On to Chapter Two

Chapter Index

Chris James Home Page

"Falling Down" © Chris James.
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