CHAPTER ELEVEN
At the courthouse the next morning, I got my ten minutes with Tina—five minutes after getting her file. It didn’t take long to figure out I held a “dummy file,” something to show she was charged with a new offense, with nothing in the way of meaningful information. No police report, no school records, no intake forms—nothing. I entered my appearance for Tina at the hearing and flew by the seat of my pants with what little I had.
In a quick conversation with ASA Ellen Martinez beforehand, I’d been able to find out that the softball bat found next to Shanae Jackson’s body had belonged to Tina and had Tina’s prints on it, as well as Shanae’s blood. A neighbor had also overheard Shanae and Tina arguing on the day Shanae died and other occasions. Since our last meeting, Mart
