The cavalry was on its way.

"Is Mom coming to the hearing?" Hannah asked as Tyrell ghosted back into the courtroom.

"She should be," Betsy replied. "She was adamant that she didn't want a lawyer for herself, but she'll have to testify to Tyrell's out-of-control behaviors if you won't consent to shelter. I don't think that would be very good for the family, do you? For a mom to have to rat out her own son?"

The disturbing truth was that Betsy truly did care for this family. She'd nonetheless failed utterly to see the cause of Tyrell's "behaviors" and the danger to Mom.

But to answer Betsy's question, Hannah didn't want either family member to have to rat out the other.

"What about relatives, Betsy? Is there anybody who can take Tyrell in?"

"Neither Mom nor Dad identified any. I called Dad down at the prison, but he said the only family in the area is on Mom's side."

Betsy hadn't asked Tyrell. Hannah stifled a howl of frustration. Tyrell was nearly six feet tall and had already saved his mother's life once, but Betsy hadn't thought to ask him about relatives or a friend he might stay with.

Brian Patlack sauntered out from judge's chambers, sparing Hannah not even a glance. "Ready to go, Betsy?"

"We might want to wait a few more minutes," Betsy said. "Mom isn't here yet, and she's the one who can testify to Tyrell's out-of-control behaviors."

Patlack shot his cuffs. "Does Trent Knightley know you're contesting this case, Ms. Starch?"

"Stark. S-T-A-R-K. I neither know nor care what Trent Knightley's a.s.sessment of this case would be if he were here. I will ask the Department to at least put on testimony. What is it, exactly, that you think Mom will testify to?"

Hannah directed her comments to the social worker, behaving as dismissively toward Patlack as he had toward opposing counsel.

"Tyrell gets pretty mouthy," Betsy said, consulting her notes. "He uses the F-word, and he's been telling his mother he's thinking of running away."

Now Hannah did direct her words to Patlack.

"No threat of harm to the child there, at least not without some steps toward actually running. Is there a reason why you can't steer Mom to Juvenile Services if Tyrell is a child in need of supervision?"

"What else have you got, Betsy?" Patlack asked, ignoring Hannah's question.

"Mom says she's afraid Tyrell will get physical with her."

"Has he ever lost his temper like that in all his fourteen years?" Hannah asked.

"Not yet."

"Has Tyrell's mother chosen violent partners in the past?" Hannah pressed, and at that, Patlack seemed to start paying attention.

"Tyrell's dad, but you know about that. This guy Ray seems OK, if you don't mind a little machismo."

"What's Ray's last name?"

"Santiago."

Hannah swung a brittle smile on Brian Patlack.

"Let's wait another ten minutes for the mom," she said. "Your worker can call her to be sure she's on her way, and I'll hit the criminal case database. Give me a birth date, Betsy, and we'll see how Ray has been behaving lately."

Patlack swore succinctly and barked at the worker to call Mom and tell her to get her a.s.s over to the courthouse. He turned a sardonic smile on Hannah.

"What have you got?"

"I have a kid who is sick of watching his mom get beat up, and a mom who won't tell her family what's going on. Grandpa is on his way over here to say he's willing to take Tyrell, and last I heard, relative placement is preferred to foster care under Maryland law."

Patlack offered a genuine hint of a smile. A stingy effort, but then, what would a steady diet of foster care cases do to somebody afflicted with a soft heart to start with?

"Betsy is not the brightest bulb in the chandelier of life. Did Knightley scope this out for you?"

Hannah regarded Patlack with a raised eyebrow of her own, mimicking his expression even as she knew the question was intended to deflect her from the weaknesses in his case.

"What is it with you and Trent? He may be here any minute, but he really did have a domestic violence case that wasn't heard this morning. Do you truly want the taxpayer footing the bill for this kid to be in foster care when there's a relative willing to take him?"

Patlack straightened his tie, which sported an honest-to-Pete gold tie tack to go with his gold cuff links.

"You may be buying this kid's version of events, Ms. Stark, but my guess is Mom's story is the version that will fly with Judge Merriman. She takes a dim view of uppity teenagers."

"Go ahead and put Mom on the stand, then, Mr. Patlack. I will ask her, one by one, how she got all those fresh bruises, and I will ask especially about her black eye. Let's just agree her dear friend Ray will not be present in the courtroom when I do, or he'll no doubt beat the daylights out of her again because she isn't good enough at perjury to convince the judge."

"I f.u.c.king hate f.u.c.king loser cases."

Such a gentleman, but at least Tyrell hadn't overheard that language. "No one likes to lose, Mr. Patlack, and no one wants to see this family slip through the cracks. They need help, and your people can get it for them, but not if they swallow Mom's baloney. I know Tyrell is probably a handful at home, but he toes the line at school, and he has no delinquency record. Shelter the kid with Grandpa, order a family a.s.sessment to include Ray, and let Grandpa be the gatekeeper for visitation with Mom and Tyrell."

Hannah had his attention. She was offering him an uncontested hearing-a way to leave early on Friday-a solution to his way of thinking, so she plowed on.

"I'll agree to a statement of facts that there's been increasing tension in the home since Dad was put away, and tempers are running near the boiling point. I will agree Tyrell is moody and possibly at risk for self-injurious behaviors, and I will agree Mom cannot control him or make choices consistent with his best interests."

Patlack exchanged nods with Judge Linker, who ignored Hannah as he hustled by with his robe over his arm.

"Put it on the record, we'll go for it-if my worker can get Mom here. You understand the Department can't consent to placement with the grandparent, though. We don't know anything about this guy, except that he raised a woman who nearly got herself killed by her husband."

Got herself killed... Hannah set aside the need to shake Patlack until his lawyer bling went flying in all directions. This is not a game.

"If I recall the regulations," Hannah said through gritted teeth, "the Department is supposed to meet with all parties to discuss ways of keeping this case out of court. Based on my impression of Betsy, I'm guessing that meeting never took place."

"Now, Ms. Stark, no need to get touchy. All I'm saying is we don't know Grandpa, so we can't say the kid is any better off there. Maybe Betsy held a meeting, and Mom had a good reason for not letting us know how to get in touch with Gramps. If you had more experience with these kinds of cases, you might understand that the pleadings don't always reflect the entirety of the family's problems."

If she had more experience with these kinds of cases...

The statistics regarding the number of children abused in foster care should have been tattooed on Patlack's forehead.

Patlack was looking at her oddly, and Hannah realized he expected a reply.

"I'm off to the law library to research Mr. Santiago," she said, but her first stop was the ladies' room, where she spent a good three minutes largely failing to get her temper under control.

When she returned to the courtroom, she found Tyrell sitting beside an older African American man.

"Lucien Medley?"

"That would be me." The man rose and extended a hand. He was a mature version of Tyrell. Scholarly, wearing wire-frame gla.s.ses, and slender, but no longer afflicted with the rail-thin, emaciated look of an adolescent in the double grip of emotional problems and a growth spurt.

Hannah shook his hand and introduced herself. "Can you provide a home for Tyrell?"

"I can and I will. My daughter has made some sorry choices in the company she keeps, and that Ray Santiago is no fit influence on my grandson."

"We have another few minutes before the judge comes on the bench," Hannah said, turning to Tyrell. "Did Ray go by any aliases that you know of?"

Raymundo del Santiago, Raymond St. James, Raoul Sandia... Hannah stopped writing after five. "Is he illegal?" she asked.

"I dunno," Tyrell said. "He ought to be."

Another small smile, and a clear point of agreement between grandfather and grandson.

Hannah hurried off to the law library, pa.s.sing a tall African American woman whose sungla.s.ses didn't entirely hide one heck of a shiner.

The lady was still wearing her sungla.s.ses when Patlack called the case by its docket number a few minutes later.

"This matter comes before Your Honor as a shelter care hearing," he went on, "and I believe the boy's mother agrees that thirty days of shelter care is necessary at this time. Tyrell is represented by the firm of Hartman and Whitney, and I will leave it to the Court to inquire regarding consent on behalf of the minor child."

The Honorable Louise Merriman was a mature, attractive brunette with a light of keen intelligence in her eyes. Hannah rose, thinking the judge managed to be both pretty and intimidating.

"Hannah Stark, Your Honor, and the firm of Hartman and Whitney on behalf of the respondent, Tyrell Oliver. We contest the Department's plan to place the child in a shelter care facility. Tyrell's grandfather, Lucien Medley, is here today and willing to provide a home for his grandson. Moreover, Your Honor, on Tyrell's behalf, I dispute that his behaviors are the exclusive cause of shelter, and would instead offer an agreed-upon statement of facts."

Hannah waited for the judge to say something, to ask for testimony, to ask for the statement of facts, anything. But the woman stared at Hannah as a silence took root in the courtroom.

"Counsel will please approach the bench," Judge Merriman said.

Hannah and Patlack came to stand directly before the judge, who turned on a white noise generator before she spoke. "Ms. Stark, have you been in practice long?"

Patlack made no effort to hide a smirk, clearly antic.i.p.ating a trip to the judicial woodshed for Hannah.

"I started with Hartman last month, but it's not my first position out of law school." Temping counted as a position, sort of.

As the judge continued to study Hannah, Patlack's smirk faded.

"May I ask if you have family in the area, Ms. Stark?"

"No close family, ma'am."

"I see." The judge sat back and steepled her fingers against her lips. "For reasons which are not relevant to either of your cases, I cannot hear this as a contested matter. I propose that Tyrell be permitted, by virtue of a service agreement between his mother, his grandfather, and the Department, to visit his grandfather indefinitely. Call it temporary custody, whatever Mom will accept."

Patlack spoke first. "The worker would need a minute to determine if Mom is willing to sign such an agreement."

Hannah didn't object, because the agreement wouldn't be as binding as a court order, but it would give the Department plenty of ammunition to deal with Mom and Ray nonetheless.

"Domestic violence has to be addressed." Hannah pa.s.sed a printout to Patlack. "Mom's current paramour has a rap sheet as long as your arm, with ample helpings of a.s.sault and battery, as well as disturbing the peace."

Patlack scanned the printout and handed it up to the judge-criminal history was public record, and easy enough to get before a judge in proceedings that did not strictly follow the rules of evidence.

"Child Protective Services is not in the business of finding homes for wayward mothers, Ms. Stark," Patlack said. "Domestic violence there might be, but we can't save everybody."

The judge looked at Hannah, apparently expecting a retort.

And Hannah had one ready. "This child has already seen his mother beaten nearly to death by one man, Mr. Patlack. How do you think he'll fare knowing Mom is living alone with another abuser in her life?"

"Judge, perhaps you have some ideas?" Patlack asked, the stinking soul of stinking humility.

"As it happens, I do. Your worker will negotiate the service agreement with Mrs. Oliver before she leaves the courtroom, Mr. Patlack, and will include an immediate referral to the women's shelter, and I do mean immediate. I will have the sheriff's deputy accompany Mrs. Oliver to retrieve her effects from the home if necessary, and I'm sure your worker will discuss a domestic violence restraining order with her too."

The judge turned again to Hannah, her gaze searching, taking in Hannah's features one by one.

The attorneys returned to their respective tables. The judge turned off the white noise and signaled to the court reporter, who turned on the recording system.

"Tyrell, Mrs. Oliver," the judge said, "with the consent of both counsel, I'm continuing this case, which means the court takes no action on it today. Mr. Medley, my thanks for your attendance especially, because Tyrell will be staying with you for a time if matters go as planned. Mrs. Oliver, I antic.i.p.ate a discussion between you and the social worker, and I suggest you take advantage of every service she can put at your disposal. We all need help at some point, though we're not all smart enough to ask for it."

After another pointed study of Hannah, the judge left the room before the bailiff could tell everybody to rise.

Chapter 14.

Trent had realized long ago that n.o.body liked shelter care hearings. They forced choices all around, on short notice for high stakes, with little warning. Even if the Department and the parents worked out some agreement at the last minute, the very fact that the case had been brought to court meant a child was in serious trouble.

When the Department made mistakes, children were plucked from all they knew, traumatized, and thrust into that situation every child is told is dangerous-that of relying on strangers.

If the judge denied shelter in the wrong case, the child remained in a dangerous situation, one often made worse by a parent's realization that the Department could take anybody's child at any time on the strength of little more than a few phone calls.

And yet, this shelter wasn't going according to the usual game plan. Hannah and Brian Patlack stood before the bench, consulting with Judge Merriman in voices too low to be overheard.

A printout of some form was thrust at the judge, probably somebody's criminal record.

More conferring, and then, after Louise Merriman had given Hannah about six visual once-overs, Hannah prowled back to the counsel table. Trent could practically see a long, feline tail twitching behind her and hear a low, menacing rumble coming from her side of the room.

And then, the case was continued, shelter neither granted nor denied, and the judge nearly scampered off the bench.

Trent hustled to the front of the room, lawyerly curiosity, pride in Hannah, and a niggle of foreboding hurrying his steps.

"Stark, can you explain to me what just went on in here?"

She gave him a look such as Merle conferred on stinkbugs. "My client is a little upset right now, Mr. Knightley."