by John Grisham
Theo pointed to himself, tried to think of something to say.
“The whole class,” Deputy Gossett said. “And hurry.”
They scrambled into formation behind Deputy Gossett and hustled down the stairs.
“In chambers” meant the judge was in his office behind the bench, adjacent to the courtroom. This office was different from his formal office down the hall. It was confusing and Theo was attempting to explain this when Deputy Gossett opened the door to a long, wood-paneled room with old portraits of old bearded judges covering the walls. Judge Gantry, without his black robe, rose from behind his desk and stepped out to meet the boys.
“Hello, Theo,” he said, embarrassing Theo slightly. The other students were too awestruck to speak.
“And you must be Mr. Mount,” the judge was saying as they shook hands.
“Yes, Judge, and this is my eighth-grade Government class.”
Since there were not enough seats for everyone, Judge Gantry addressed the boys where they stood. “Thank you for coming. It’s important for students to see our judicial system in action. What do you think so far?”
All sixteen boys were mute. What were they supposed to say?
Mr. Mount rescued them. “They are fascinated by the trial,” he said. “We just debriefed over lunch, rated the lawyers, talked about the jurors, and had a lot of opinions about guilt and innocence.”
“I won’t ask. But we have a couple of pretty good lawyers, don’t you think?”
All sixteen heads nodded.
“Is it true that Theo Boone actually gives legal advice?”
A few nervous laughs. Theo was both embarrassed and proud. “Yes, but I don’t charge them anything,” he said. A few more laughs.
“Any questions about the trial?” Judge Gantry asked.
“Yes, sir,” Brandon said. “On television you always see a surprise witness that comes out of nowhere and changes the trial. Is there a chance of a surprise witness here? If not, it seems like the State has a pretty weak case.”
“Good question, son. The answer is no. Our rules of procedure prohibit surprise witnesses. Television gets it all wrong. In real life, before the trial starts, each side must provide a list of all potential witnesses.”
“Who’s the first witness?” Jarvis asked.
“The victim’s sister, the lady who found the body. She’ll be followed by the homicide detectives. How long can you stay today?”
“We need to be back at school at three thirty,” Mr. Mount said.
“Okay. I’ll call a recess at three, and you can ease out. How are the seats up in the balcony?”
“Great, and thank you.”
“I’ve moved you down to the floor. Things have cleared out a bit. Again, thanks for taking such an interest in our judicial system. It’s very important to good government.” With that, Judge Gantry was finished. The students thanked him. He and Mr. Mount shook hands again.
Deputy Gossett led them out of chambers, back to the courtroom, down the main aisle, and to the second row behind the prosecution’s table. In front of them were the two young men who’d been introduced as Mrs. Duffy’s sons. The lawyers were only a few feet away. Across the aisle, Omar was now sitting behind Pete Duffy, his black eyes darting around the courtroom as if he might need to shoot someone. Once again, he looked directly at Theo.
They had gone from the cheap seats to ringside, and they couldn’t believe it. Chase, the mad scientist, was to Theo’s right, elbow to elbow. He whispered, “Did you pull some strings, Theo?”
“No, but Judge Gantry and I are pretty tight.”
“Nice work.”
At precisely 1:00 p.m., the bench bailiff stood and wailed, “Court is now in session. Please remain seated.”
Judge Gantry appeared in his robe and took his seat. He looked at Jack Hogan and said, “The State may call its first witness.”
From a side door, another bailiff escorted a well-dressed lady into the courtroom and to the witness chair. She placed her hand on a Bible and swore to tell the truth. When she was seated and the microphone adjusted, Mr. Hogan began his direct examination.
Her name was Emily Green, the sister of Myra Duffy. She was forty-four, lived in Strattenburg, worked as a fitness counselor, and on the day of the murder she had done exactly what Mr. Hogan described in his opening statement. When her sister didn’t show for lunch, and didn’t call, she became worried, then panicky. She called her repeatedly on her cell phone, then raced to Waverly Creek, to the Duffy home, and found her sister dead on the living room carpet.
It was obvious, at least to Theo, that Mr. Hogan and Ms. Green had carefully rehearsed her testimony. It was designed to establish death, and to evoke sympathy. When they finished, Clifford Nance stood and announced that he had no questions on cross-examination. Ms. Green was excused, and she took a seat in the front row, next to her two nephews, directly in front of Mr. Mount’s students.
The next witness was Detective Krone, from Homicide. Using the large screen and the projector, he and Jack Hogan laid out the neighborhood, the Duffy home, and the crime scene. Several important facts were established, though the jury already knew them. The front door was found open. The rear door and the side patio door were not locked. The alarm system was not engaged.
And new facts emerged. Fingerprint tests found matches throughout the house for Mr. Duffy, Mrs. Duffy, and their housekeeper, but this was to be expected. No other matches were found on doorknobs, windows, phones, drawers, the jewelry case, or the antique mahogany box where Mr. Duffy kept his expensive watches. This meant one of two things: (1) the thief/murderer wore gloves or carefully wiped away any prints, or (2) the thief/murderer was either Mr. Duffy or the housekeeper. The housekeeper was not at work on the day of the murder—she was out of town with her husband.
Whoever took the jewelry, guns, and watches had also yanked open several other cabinets and drawers and flung items on the floor. Detective Krone, who was pretty dull to listen to, methodically went through photo after photo of the mess left behind by the thief/murderer.
For the first time, the trial began to drag. Mr. Mount noticed a few of the boys starting to fidget. A couple of the jurors looked sleepy.
At precisely 3:00 p.m., Judge Gantry banged his gavel and announced a fifteen-minute recess. The courtroom emptied quickly. Everyone needed a break. Theo and his friends left the courthouse, boarded a small yellow bus, and ten minutes later were back at school in time for dismissal.
Thirty minutes after he left, Theo was back in the courthouse. He sprinted up the stairs to the third floor. There was no sign of the Finnemore war—no lawyers in the hallway, no sign of April. She had not called or answered his e-mails the night before, nor had she posted anything on her Facebook page. Her parents would not allow her to have a cell phone, so she could not text. This was not that unusual. About half of the eighth graders at the middle school did not have cell phones.
Theo hurried down to the second floor, entered the courtroom under the suspicious gaze of Deputy Gossett, and found a seat on the third row, behind the defense table. The defendant, Mr. Duffy, sat less than twenty feet away. Theo could hear his lawyers as they whispered important things. Omar Cheepe was still there. He noticed Theo when he sat down. As an experienced observer, Omar had the ability to see all movements, but he did it casually, as if he really didn’t care.
The witness was a doctor, the medical examiner who performed the autopsy on the victim. He was using a large color diagram of a human body from the chest up, with emphasis on the neck area. Theo paid more attention to Clifford Nance than to the witness. He watched Mr. Nance as he listened intently to the testimony, and took notes, and continually glanced at the jury. He seemed to miss nothing in the courtroom. He was relaxed and confident, though ready to attack if necessary.
His cross-examination of t
he doctor was quick and revealed nothing new. So far, Mr. Nance seemed content to agree with most of the prosecution’s witnesses. The fireworks would come later.
Judge Gantry adjourned court just after 5:00 p.m. Before he excused the jurors, he again warned them against discussing the case with anyone. After they filed out, the courtroom emptied. Theo hung around, watching the lawyers gather their files and books as they repacked their thick briefcases and talked in hushed tones. There were words across the aisle. Jack Hogan said something to Clifford Nance and both men laughed. The other, lesser lawyers joined in, and someone said, “How about a drink?”
Enemies one moment, old pals the next. Theo had seen it before. His mother had tried to explain that lawyers are paid to do a job, and to do it properly they had to park their personal feelings at the door. The real professionals, she said, never lose their cool and carry grudges.
Ike said that was nonsense. He despised most of the lawyers in town.
Omar Cheepe was not laughing, and he was not invited to have a drink with the enemy. He and Pete Duffy made a quick exit through a side door.
Chapter 7
Tuesday night meant dinner in a soup kitchen. It wasn’t the worst meal of the week. That would be Sunday night, when his mother attempted to roast a chicken. But it wasn’t a great meal either.
The soup kitchen was just called that. It really wasn’t a kitchen and they rarely served soup. It was a large dining room in the basement of a converted church where homeless people gathered to eat and spend the night. The food was prepared by volunteers who usually offered sandwiches, chips, fruit, cookies.
“Stuff from a bag,” Theo’s mother called it. Not all that healthy.
Theo had heard that there were around three hundred homeless people in Strattenburg. He saw them on Main Street, where they begged for money and slept on benches. He saw them in garbage Dumpsters scrounging for food. The city was alarmed at this number and by the lack of beds in shelters. The city council seemed to argue about this problem every week.
Mrs. Boone was alarmed, too. She had been so concerned about homeless mothers that she started a program to assist victims of domestic violence. Women who’d been beaten and threatened. Women who had no place to live, no one to turn to. Women with children who needed help and didn’t know where to find it. Mrs. Boone, along with several of the other female lawyers in town, had started a small legal clinic to reach out to these women.
And so every Tuesday night, the Boone family walked a few blocks from their office downtown to the Highland Street Shelter, where they spent three hours with the less fortunate. They took their turns serving dinner to the hundred or so folks gathered there, then afterward they had a quick bite.
Though he wasn’t supposed to know, Theo had overheard his parents discussing whether they should increase their monthly donation to the shelter from two hundred to three hundred dollars. His parents were far from wealthy. His friends thought he was rich because both parents were lawyers, but the truth was their work was not that profitable. They lived modestly, saved for Theo’s education, and enjoyed being generous with those of lesser means.
After dinner, Mr. Boone set up a makeshift office at the far end of the dining room, and a few homeless people drifted that way. He would help them with problems that usually ranged from being evicted from their apartments to being denied food stamps or medical care. He often said that these were his favorite clients. They couldn’t pay a fee, so there was no pressure to collect from them. They were grateful for whatever he tried to do. And, he genuinely enjoyed talking to them.
Because of the more sensitive nature of her work, Mrs. Boone saw her clients in a small room upstairs. The first client had two small children, no job, no money, and, if not for the shelter, no place to sleep that night.
Theo’s task was to help with the homework. The shelter had several families that were allowed to stay there for up to twelve months—that was the limit at Highland Street. After a year, they had to move on. Most of them found jobs and places to live, but it took time. While they were in the shelter, they were treated like other residents of Strattenburg. They were fed and clothed and treated for medical problems. They were either employed or looking for work. They were invited to churches for worship.
And their children attended the local schools. At night, in the shelter, homework sessions were organized by volunteers from a church. Theo’s job every Tuesday was to teach English to two second graders, Hector and Rita, and to help their brother with algebra. They were from El Salvador, and their father had disappeared under mysterious circumstances, leaving them homeless. They were found by the police living under a bridge with their mother.
As always, Hector and Rita were thrilled to see Theo and clung to him as he stuffed down his sandwich. Then they scurried down the hall to a large open room where other children were being tutored.
“No Spanish,” he said repeatedly. “Only English.”
Their English was amazing. They were absorbing it daily at school and teaching it to their mother. They found a corner table and Theo began reading a picture book, something about a frog lost at sea.
Mrs. Boone had insisted that Theo start Spanish in the fourth grade, as soon as it was offered. When the classes proved too easy, she hired a private tutor who stopped by the office twice a week for rigorous lessons. With his mother pushing him hard, and with Madame Monique giving him daily inspiration, Theo was learning rapidly.
He read a page, then Rita reread it. Then Hector. Theo corrected their mistakes, then moved on. The room was noisy, even rowdy, as two dozen or so students of all ages plowed through their homework.
The twins had an older brother, Julio, a seventh grader Theo saw occasionally on the playground at school. He was extremely shy, to the point of being awkward. Mrs. Boone speculated that the poor kid was probably scarred from the trauma of losing his father in a strange country with no one to turn to.
She always had a theory when someone acted strange.
After Theo finished the second book with Hector and Rita, Julio joined them and sat down at the table.
“What’s up?” Theo said.
Julio smiled and looked away.
“Let’s read another book,” Hector said.
“In a minute.”
“I’m having trouble with algebra,” Julio said. “Can you help?”
“He’s with us,” Rita said to her brother, and appeared ready to fight.
Theo picked out two books from a shelf and placed them before Hector and Rita. Then he arranged two writing tablets and two pencils. “Read these books,” he said. “Say every word as you read it. When you see a word you don’t know, write it down. Okay?”
They yanked the books open as if it were a contest.
Theo and Julio were soon lost in the world of pre-algebra.
At 10:00 p.m., the Boones were at home in front of the television. Judge was asleep on the sofa, his head in Theo’s lap. The Duffy murder was the only news in Strattenburg and the town’s two television stations covered nothing else that evening. There was a video of Pete Duffy walking into the courthouse, surrounded by lawyers and paralegals and other men with dark suits and somber faces. Another video, this one shot from the air, showed the Duffy home on the sixth fairway at Waverly Creek. A reporter outside the courthouse gave a rapid-fire account of the testimony so far. Judge Gantry had a gag order in place; thus, none of the lawyers or police or other witnesses could share their thoughts or opinions.
Judge Gantry also banned cameras from his courtroom. The news crews were kept out.
Theo had talked of nothing else, and his parents shared his suspicion that Pete Duffy was guilty. Proving it, though, looked difficult.
During a commercial break, Theo began coughing. When this did not get the attention of his parents, he coughed some more, then said, “My throat is getting s
ore.”
“You look sort of pale,” his father said. “You must be getting sick.”
“I don’t feel well.”
“Are your eyes red?” his father asked.
“I think so.”
“A headache?”
“Yes, but not bad.”
“Sniffles, runny nose?”
“Yes.”
“When did this happen?” his mother asked.
“You’re a very sick boy,” his father said. “I say you should skip school tomorrow so you won’t spread this terrible infection. But, it might be a good idea to go to court instead and watch the Duffy trial. What do you think, Mom?”
“Oh, I see,” she said. “A sudden onset of the flu.”
“Probably just another one of those nasty twenty-four-hour episodes that seems to end miraculously when the school day is over,” his father said.
“I really don’t feel well,” Theo said, busted but gamely trying to hang on.
“Take an aspirin, maybe a cough drop,” his father said. Woods Boone seldom saw a doctor and believed most people spent far too much money on medications.
“Can you cough again for us, Teddy?” his mother asked. As a mother, she was slightly more sympathetic when he felt bad. The truth was that Theo had a history of faking it, especially when he had something better to do than go to school.
His father started laughing. “Yes, it was a pretty lame cough, Theo, even by your standards.”
“I could be dying,” Theo said, trying not to laugh.
“Yes, but you’re not,” his father said. “And if you show up in the courtroom tomorrow Judge Gantry will have you arrested as a truant.”
“You know any good lawyers?” Theo shot back. His mother burst out laughing, and, eventually, Woods saw the humor.
“Go to bed,” he said.
Theo limped up the stairs, thoroughly defeated, with Judge trailing behind. In bed, he opened his laptop and checked on April. He was relieved when she answered,