Sullivan's Law by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg Read Free Book Online Page A

the curriculum geared toward passing the bar. Since UCLA was a far more prestigious university, she assumed he’d made the move out of financial necessity. Either that, or he’d done more partying than studying. The school was full of intelligent, good-looking young women. Carolyn had to admit she was flattered by his advances. She’d never expected her relationship with Brad to become permanent. He’d been the first man she’d slept with since her divorce. A flush spread across her face. The sex had been incredible.
    The professor, Arline Shoeffel, was also the presiding judge of Ventura County. At forty-six, she was a tall, willowy redhead, her fair skin sprinkled with freckles. Her hair was cropped close to her head, and she wore tortoiseshell glasses. Her manner of dress suggested a person who had no concept whatsoever of fashion, and no desire to do anything other than to cover her body. She was wearing a flower print dress that Carolyn suspected she’d had for twenty years.
    â€œGood evening,” Shoeffel said, leaning back against a podium in the front of the class. “Leave your papers on my desk during the eight o’clock break. Tonight we’re going to briefly review the differences between criminal and civil law. Mr. Reynolds,” she said, “can a crime be defined or created by the court?”
    â€œSure,” David said, laughing as he glanced across the room at Carolyn.
    â€œIncorrect,” the professor told him, giving him a stern look. She scanned the room, then rested her eyes on Carolyn. “Ms. Sullivan….”
    â€œCrimes can’t be created or defined by the courts. This must be accomplished in the state legislature. It’s then up to the courts to decide on a case-by-case basis whether a crime has been committed by an accused defendant.” Carolyn paused, collecting her thoughts before continuing. “Interpretation of the statutory criminal law resides with the court system in each of the states.”
    â€œExcellent,” Shoeffel said, turning to the blackboard to write down their next assignment before she continued her lecture.
    When the class ended at nine, Carolyn lingered behind to finish her paper on her laptop. She’d worked on it during the break and had only a paragraph or two left. She couldn’t print it out, so she saved it on a disk and wrote her name across the front with a black marker. Placing her computer inside her backpack, she left the disk on Judge Shoeffel’s desk, hoping she might think she had accidentally missed it when she’d picked up the other students’ papers.
    Heading to her car in the parking lot, Carolyn spotted Arline Shoeffel standing in front of a silver Acura, anxiously checking her watch. The rain had stopped before she’d left the courthouse. The evening was chilly and damp, though. She continued walking, then made her way between the cars to speak to the professor.
    â€œI never know whether to call you professor or judge,” Carolyn said timidly. “This isn’t the safest place for a woman alone. Are you waiting for someone?”
    â€œMy car won’t start,” Arline Shoeffel told her. Wearing a tan trench coat, she was tapping her umbrella on the asphalt. “I called Triple A almost thirty minutes ago.”
    â€œDo you think it’s the battery, Judge Shoeffel? I could try to jump it for you. I carry jumper cables in my trunk.”
    â€œPlease, call me Arline,” the woman said. “I appreciate your offer. I’m sure they’ll show up any moment.”
    â€œI’ve waited over an hour before,” Carolyn told her. “Why don’t you let me take a look? A girl was raped in almost this same exact spot last year.”
    â€œOh, yes,” the judge answered, “Maggie McDonald. I recall her being attacked in the parking lot. I wasn’t aware it was in this particular section.” She scanned the lot.