Part V: Duct Tape! Duct Tape! My Kingdom for Some Duct Tape!

Susan McCorkindale
4 min readSep 23, 2023
Photo by Jackson Simmer on Unsplash

During the 13 days my son was in jail, I kept wondering why the attorney wasn’t doing more to get him out. I kept calling and asking. Asking if he or his associate had visited my son. Had they told the prosecutor of my son’s autism? Had they explained that, while he looks like a real, live, 31 year-old man, his mind is that of a 13 year-old? Did they explain that to the prosecutor? And if so, why was this person so bound and determined to delay a bond hearing for as long as possible?

My gut said they’d explained nothing. My gut also said that, while this man was a good attorney, he was not the right attorney.

I had to find the right attorney and I had to find him or her fast. The longer my son stayed in that cell, the more his mental health would deteriorate. To say nothing of my own.

I was pretty much losing it.

When I wasn’t sick to my stomach at the thought of my autistic kid sitting in a jail cell surrounded by God knows who, I was angry. Angry that zero was being done to get him out of that jail cell. Angry at him for getting himself put in a jail cell.