Next came a Latino migrant, one Ernesto Palmeiro, age thirty, who had gotten drunk, "borrowed" a tractor, and headed east, plowing a half-mile-long furrow across several semi-rural lawns before the highway patrol could head him off.

"He deeply regrets his actions," said the translator, "but he went a little loco when his wife left him and went home to Mexico. He's already repaired most of the damage and throws himself on the mercy of the court."

I rather doubted if that was what he'd said, but what the h.e.l.l? "Fifteen days suspended on condition that he finishes putting all the yards back the way they were, including any plantings that he might have destroyed."

I looked at his boss, a Latino landscaper, who'd spoken on his behalf. "And I'd suggest, sir, that you teach him how to lift the plows before you let him near another tractor."

I sent the exhibitionist for a mental health evaluation and gave the guy who'd tried to steal an antique lamppost from the town commons ten days of jail time.

The woman who bopped her boyfriend over the head with the Christmas turkey while it was still on the serving platter? Ten days suspended if she completed an anger management course.

Finally, Kevin called, "Raymond Alito, illegally parked in a handicap s.p.a.ce in violation of G.S. 2037.6(e)."

A heavyset white man of early middle age rose and came forward. He was neatly dressed in black slacks and a gray nylon windbreaker worn over a red plaid shirt. His black hair was thinning over the crown and there were flecks of gray in his short black beard. He did not look familiar to me, but if Linda Allred was here, then he'd probably been cited for at least one earlier infraction of the code.

"I see you have chosen not to use an attorney, Mr. Alito. How do you plead?"

"Your Honor, could I just tell you what happened?"

"Certainly, sir, as soon as you tell me whether you're pleading guilty or not guilty."

"Not guilty then, ma'am."

"Mr. Foster?"

"Your Honor, we will show that on December twenty-third of last year, Mr. Alito illegally parked in a s.p.a.ce reserved for the handicapped at the outlet mall here in Dobbs. Mr. Alito is not physically disabled and he does not possess a handicap permit. The ticketing officer called for a tow truck, which impounded his car. This is Mr. Alito's second ticket for this infraction."

With appropriate gravity, I asked, "And is the ticketing officer in court?"

"She is, Your Honor. I call Dr. Linda Allred to the stand."

"Huh?" said Alito as Allred steered her motorized chair over to a position in front of the witness seat, which was one step above floor level. "She's the one who gave me a ticket? She's no police officer."

"You'll have your chance to speak, Mr. Alito," I told him. "The witness may swear from her own seat."

The bailiff handed her the Bible and my clerk swore her in.

Dr. Allred is a dumpling of a woman with short straight gray hair parted high on the left and piercing eyes that usually cast jaundiced looks over the top of her gla.s.ses. Although her doctorate is in psychology and she teaches statistical a.n.a.lysis on the college level, she lives in Dobbs and in her heart of hearts, she's Dirty Harry. Or maybe I should say Betty Friedan because a lot of her work is rooted in women's issues.

Her particular pet peeve, however, is able-bodied drivers who park in s.p.a.ces reserved for those with impaired mobility. Any time she spots one, she writes up a ticket, something that she's officially allowed to do, as Kevin's next question made clear.

"Dr. Allred, are you a sworn law officer?"

"No, Mr. Foster, but I was made a special deputy and given ticket-writing authority by Sheriff Bowman Poole and I try not to abuse it."

"Would you describe what happened on the twenty-third of December?"

"Certainly." She took a small laptop computer from a pocket on the side of her chair and opened it to a screen full of photographs. "On the afternoon of December twenty-third, a friend and I were finishing up our Christmas shopping at the outlet mall. I was just getting out of my van when Mr. Alito pulled into the only empty slot. It was directly in front of ours. I immediately noticed that his car did not display a handicap tag on the rearview mirror, so I took out my camera and snapped the first picture."

The bailiff handed me her laptop. There, in glorious color was a view of Alito in his late-model black Honda with the edge of the blue warning sign just visible. His rearview mirror was dead center. Nothing dangled from it except a set of rosary beads.

"Mr. Alito then got out of his car and had no trouble walking into the Gifts and Gla.s.s Warehouse. That's the second picture on the screen, Your Honor. Now if you'll click to the third picture?"

I clicked as directed.

"My friend helped me with my wheelchair and I went around to the rear of his car and took a third picture of his license plate. As you see, it is a standard North Carolina plate, not one issued to the disabled. At that point, I called for a tow truck and wrote out the citation."

I signaled for the bailiff to show the laptop to Mr. Alito, who looked at the pictures with a distinctly sour expression.

"What did you do next, Dr. Allred?" Kevin asked.

"The parking lot was quite crowded. There were regular s.p.a.ces way off to the side, but all the other nearby handicap s.p.a.ces were legally taken. An elderly couple with a tag asked us if we were coming or going so they could have my spot, but I told them just to wait a few minutes and that the one in front of me would be opening up as soon as the tow truck got there. Then my friend and I went inside and finished our Christmas shopping. When we came out, Mr. Alito's car was gone and the other car was parked there."

"No further questions," Kevin said.

"Your turn, Mr. Alito," I said. "Do you wish to question the witness?"

He bl.u.s.tered a moment, then said, "I'd just like to ask her if she followed me in the store and saw what I bought?"

"No, sir," Dr. Allred responded promptly.

"Well, if you had, you'd've seen me buy a Christmas present for my eighty-nine-year-old mother and she does have a handicap tag. Her heart's so bad she couldn't walk across this room without her oxygen tank."

Dr. Allred looked at him over the top of her gla.s.ses. "I'm sorry to hear that, sir, but she wasn't in the car with you, was she?"

Alito turned to me. "Ma'am, can I just explain what happened in my own words?"

"Certainly," I said. "But first, I have a question for Dr. Allred."

She looked at me expectantly.

"Dr. Allred, you say you try not to abuse the authority Sheriff Poole gave you. It's my understanding that you usually just write a ticket. Could you tell me why you called a tow truck for Mr. Alito's car?"

"Because this is the second time I've caught him in a handicap s.p.a.ce." Her fingers played over the keyboard. "According to my records, I ticketed him on the fourth of September in front of a grocery store."

Alito's mouth dropped open when he heard that.

"Thank you, Dr. Allred. No further questions. You may come up and take the witness stand, Mr. Alito."

They pa.s.sed in the s.p.a.ce before my bench and I heard Alito mutter, "b.i.t.c.h!"

"Did you say something, sir?" I asked.

"No, ma'am. Just clearing my throat." He took the Bible and promised to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

"Yeah, I know I shouldn't have parked there, but I really was just going in to buy a present for my poor old mother. I bet I wasn't in there ten minutes. Well, twenty if you count the time I had to wait in line to check out."

"One present?" I said. "That was all?"

"Well, maybe I did pick up a couple of little things on my way back to the front, but my mother's present was really all I went in for. I got back outside, I almost had a heart attack myself. I thought my car'd been stolen, but when I called the police and they saw where I'd been parked, they told me to call the county's towing service. Cost me a hundred-fifty to get it back, and what I don't understand is how come this ticket's for two-fifty, when the first one was only fifty."

He paused briefly to glare at Dr. Allred but there was a whine in his voice when he turned back to me and said, "So what I'm saying here is yes, I did wrong, but I don't see why it's got to cost me four hundred dollars. It was Christmas and the parking lot was jammed. She says there were s.p.a.ces further out, but by the time I parked out there and walked to the store, I could have already been in and out. Can't we just let the towing charges take care of everything?"

I shook my head. "Sorry, Mr. Alito. If this were your first citation, I might have been inclined to let you off more lightly. But this is your second offense here in this district. If I were to have my clerk run your license plate, would I find that you'd collected more tickets elsewhere? Say in Raleigh?"

By the way his jaws clamped tight, I was pretty sure I'd hit home.

"Those s.p.a.ces aren't there for the convenience of the able-bodied. The State of North Carolina reserves them for its citizens who are not as fortunate as you are, sir. I find you guilty of this infraction and fine you the full two-fifty plus court costs."

"Court costs!" he yelped. "That's outrageous! That's highway robbery! That's-"

"That's going to be a night in jail if you make me hold you in contempt," I warned him. "The bailiff will show you where to pay."

As he stomped out in one direction and Dr. Allred serenely rolled out the other way, two middle-aged sisters came forward to argue over a pair of diamond earrings valued at about three hundred dollars. According to the younger sister, their mother had given her the earrings before she died. The older sister did not dispute that their mother might have let her borrow them, but that her mother's will left them to her. When the younger sister refused to give them up, the older one had taken them from the other's house, whereupon the younger sister called the police and charged her with theft. The earrings were nothing more than two small round diamonds set in simple gold p.r.o.ngs. Identical earrings could be found in any discount jewelry store in any mall in America, so I did the Solomon thing. I threw out the larceny charge and awarded each sister one earring. "Why don't you two ladies go have lunch together, buy a pair to match these and then think of your mother whenever you wear them. I bet she'd be horrified to think you'd let these two little rocks destroy your relationship."

I had hoped for sheepish looks and murmurs of reconciliation. What I got were glares and snarls as they both huffed off, still mad at each other and now mad at me as well.

I sighed and adjourned for lunch.

As I went down the hallway to the office I was using that week, I heard hearty laughter coming from within. I pushed the door open and there sat Portland and Dr. Allred munching on bowls of pasta salad. Portland immediately pulled out a third disposable bowl and waved a plastic fork. "She got one for you, too."

"Thanks," I said, unzipping my robe. "I meant to bring my lunch today, but Cal couldn't find his spelling book this morning and I didn't have time. Good to see you again, Dr. Allred."

She rolled her eyes at Portland. "When is she going to start calling me Linda?"

"Probably when you stop hauling a.s.sholes up before her in court," Portland said, and speared a cherry tomato on the end of her fork. "Wonder if the baby's allergic to tomatoes?"

"Yes," I said, and plucked it from her fork. Like most tomatoes this time of year, it had been picked way too early and was almost tasteless, but the morning's session had left me hungry and soon I was digging into my own salad.

"So what were y'all laughing about?" I asked.

"Tell her," Portland urged.

The professor smiled and an impish gleam lit her face. "It was outside the cafe where I picked up our salads just now. First this dilapidated wreck of a pickup with a crushed front fender and a closed-in topper slides into the curb and parks."

"In a handicap spot?"

"Yep. And no, they didn't have a tag."

"Are we to a.s.sume a tow truck's on the way even as we eat?"

Dr. Allred shook her head. "I didn't have the heart. See, the driver's door opens and a grizzled old man gets out. He's got one foot in a cast and his arm's in one of those rigid slings where his elbow is on the same level as his shoulder."

She demonstrated the awkward angle.

"Then the pa.s.senger door opens and out comes a pair of crutches, followed by a woman with both legs in casts."

I laughed. "You're making that up."

"Word of honor. They then help each other hobble around to the back, open up the door and a dog jumps out."

"Don't tell me the dog's wearing a cast?"

"No, but it's only got three legs."

"No way," I protested.

Eyes twinkling, she crossed her heart. "True story. Now how could I write those poor folks a ticket?"

"You're all heart," I told her.

She laughed and finished off the last of her salad. "Gotta go. If you need any more data, Portland, just give me a call. Good seeing both of you."

I held the door for her, but more than that she would not allow. Fortunately the courthouse is completely accessible and I knew that her van was equipped with full hydraulics so that she could manage easily.

"What was all that about?" I asked when she was gone.

Portland wiped a small dollop of mayo from her upper lip and handed me a manila folder. "She brought me a rough draft of the statistical a.n.a.lysis she's doing on domestic violence. Especially as it relates to threats made and threats carried out."

I leafed through the graphs and charts and row of numbers that were meaningless to me.

"Bottom line?" Portland said grimly. "Once physical violence accelerates, if the violent partner threatens to kill the significant other, there's d.a.m.n little the authorities can do to stop it. I plan to show these figures to Bo and Dwight and see if they can't prove her wrong in the case of Karen Braswell."

CHAPTER 11.

If all farmers were true to principle with respect to the disposal of their products, there would be less perversion of the good and useful.

-Profitable Farming in the Southern States, 1890 Friday night found Dwight and me heading in opposite directions. Uncle Ash had brought home a mess of rainbow trout from the mountains and Aunt Zell had invited us to supper, but the Canes were back in Raleigh for a home game, so Dwight said he'd pick Cal up and head on into town for a supper that was something other than pizza.

"Did Portland talk to you about her client?" I asked.

It was my afternoon break and I had caught him still at his desk, reading through reports.

"And that ex-husband who keeps hara.s.sing her? Yeah. Like I told her though, there's not much we can do if he decides to punch her out, but at least Portland doesn't have to worry about him shooting her client. Judge Parker sent over an order for us to search Braswell's place and confiscate any guns we found. We got a shotgun, a .22 rifle and a .9-millimeter automatic. It's too bad though, that she and her mother can't move to another state before he gets out next week."

"Why should she be the one to run?" I asked indignantly. "He's the problem, not her."

"Hey, I'm not saying she's at fault," he said, holding up his hands to fend off my irritation. "I'm just saying we can't provide round-the-clock protection and if the woman's that worried ... Be fair, Deb'rah. You live on the beach and you know a hurricane's coming, you know you need to move to high ground till the storm's over, right?"

"I guess," I said glumly.