Kid Lawyer

by John Grisham

  “Well, my cousin was sitting under some trees in a dogleg, sort of hiding because his lunch break is the only time he can be alone, and he saw this man in a golf cart going real fast down the path along the fairway. The man had a set of golf clubs on the back of the cart, but he was not hitting balls. He was in a hurry. Suddenly, he veered to his left and parked the cart near the patio of the house where the lady was murdered.”

  Theo, who was holding his breath, said, “Oh my gosh.”

  Julio looked at him.

  “Keep going,” Theo said.

  “And so this man jumped from the cart, walked to the back door, quickly took off his golf shoes, opened the door, and went inside. The door was not locked and the man was moving fast, like he knew exactly what he was doing. My cousin didn’t think much about this because the people who live out there play golf all the time. But it did seem a little odd that the man took off his shoes on the patio. And he did something else that my cousin thought was strange.”

  “What?”

  “The man was wearing a white glove on his left hand. This is normal, no?”

  “Yes. Most right-handed golfers wear a glove on the left hand.”

  “That’s what my cousin said. So the man was playing golf somewhere and decided to stop by this house—”

  “And he forgot to take off his glove,” Theo said.

  “Maybe, but here’s the strange part. After the man took off his shoes and put them by the door, he reached into his pocket, pulled out another glove, and quickly put it on his right hand. Two white gloves.”

  The knot in Theo’s upper chest now felt like a football.

  “Why would the man wear two gloves before he opened the door to the house?” Julio asked.

  But Theo didn’t answer. His mind was locked on to the image of Mr. Pete Duffy sitting in the courtroom, surrounded by lawyers, with a smug look on his face as if he’d committed the perfect crime and couldn’t be caught.

  “Which fairway?” Theo asked.

  “Number six, on the Creek Course, whatever that means.” The Duffy home, Theo said to himself.

  “How far away was your cousin?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been out there. But he was well hidden. When the man came out of the house, he looked around, very suspiciously, to make sure no one saw him. He had no clue my cousin was watching.”

  “How long was the man in the house?”

  “Not long at all. Again, my cousin was not that suspicious. He finished his lunch and was saying prayers for his family when the man came out of the same door. He walked around the patio for a minute, took his time, looked up and down the fairway, and as he was doing this he removed both gloves and stuffed them in his golf bag. He put his shoes on, then hopped in his golf cart and took off.”

  “What happened next?”

  “At noon, my cousin went back to work. A couple of hours later, he was cutting grass on the North Nine when a friend told him there was some excitement on the Creek Course, said the police were everywhere, that there was a break-in and a woman had been murdered. Throughout the afternoon, the rumors spread like crazy around the golf course, and my cousin soon learned which house it was. He ventured over in one of the utility carts and saw the police hanging around the house. He drove away, in a hurry.”

  “Did he tell anybody?”

  Julio kicked a rock and glanced around again. It was dark now. No one was watching them. “We’re still talking secrets, right, Theo?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, my cousin is illegal. My mother has papers for us, but my cousin has none. The day after the murder, the police arrived with lots of questions. There are two other boys from El Salvador out there, and they’re illegal, too. So the boss told my cousin and the other two to get lost, to stay away for a couple of days. That’s what they did. Any contact with the police and my cousin would be arrested, put in jail, and then sent back to El Salvador.”

  “So, he’s never told anyone?”

  “No. Only me. He was watching television one night and there was a story about the murder. They showed the house, and my cousin recognized it. They showed the man, Mr. Duffy I think, walking down a sidewalk. My cousin said he was pretty sure the man walked just like the man he saw enter the house.”

  “Why did he tell you?”

  “Because I’m his cousin and I’m in school. My English is good and I have papers. He doesn’t understand the court system and he asked me about it. I told him I would try and find out. That’s why I’m here, Theo.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Tell us what to do. He could be an important witness, right?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Then what should my cousin do?”

  Run back to El Salvador, Theo thought but didn’t say. “Give me a minute,” he said, rubbing his jaw. His braces were suddenly aching. He kicked a rock and tried to imagine the storm that would hit if Julio’s cousin took the witness stand.

  “Is there a reward of some kind?” Julio asked.

  “Does he want money?”

  “Everybody wants money.”

  “I don’t know, but it might be too late. The trial is half over.” Theo kicked another rock and for a moment the two boys studied their feet.

  “This is unbelievable,” Theo said. He was almost dizzy, and confused. But his thinking was clear enough to know that this was far over his head. The adults would have to deal with it.

  There was no way this secret could be kept.

  “What?” Julio pressed. He was now staring at Theo, waiting on words of wisdom.

  “Where does your cousin live?”

  “Near the Quarry. I’ve never been there.”

  That’s what Theo figured. The Quarry was a rough part of town where lower income people lived. Strattenburg was a safe city, but there was an occasional shooting or a drug bust, and these always seemed to happen around the Quarry.

  “Can I talk to your cousin?” Theo asked.

  “I don’t know, Theo. He’s really nervous about this. He’s afraid he might get in serious trouble. His job is very important to his family back home.”

  “I understand. But, I need to nail down the facts before I can decide what to do. How often do you see your cousin?”

  “Once or twice a week. He stops by the shelter and checks in with my mother. He’s very homesick, and we’re the only family he has.”

  “Does he have a phone?”

  “No, but he lives with some other guys and one of them has a phone.”

  Theo paced around the gravel parking lot, deep in thought. Then he snapped his fingers and said, “Okay, here’s the plan. I assume you need help with your algebra homework tonight.”

  “Uh, I guess.”

  “Just say yes.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Get in touch with your cousin and tell him to stop by the shelter in about an hour. I’ll run by to help with your homework, and I’ll bump into your cousin. Tell him I can be trusted and I will not reveal his secrets to anyone unless he says so. Got it?”

  “I’ll try. What happens after you talk to him?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t got that far.”

  Julio disappeared into the night. Theo returned to his office, where he kept a file on the Duffy case. There were newspaper articles, a copy of the indictment, and Internet searches on Pete Duffy and Clifford Nance, even Jack Hogan, the prosecutor.

  All lawyers kept files.

  Wednesday night meant Chinese carryout from the Golden Dragon. It was always eaten in the den while the Boones watched Theo’s favorite television, reruns of the old Perry Mason show.

  Mrs. Boone was still with the client, a poor woman who could be heard crying through the locked door. Mr. Boone was on his way to the Golden
Dragon when Theo explained that he needed to run by the shelter and spend a few minutes with Julio.

  “Don’t be too late,” Mr. Boone said. “We’ll eat at seven.”

  “I won’t.” Of course we’ll eat at seven.

  The firm had a library on the ground floor, near the front. There was a long table in the center of it with leather chairs all around. The walls were covered with shelves loaded with thick books. The important meetings were held in the library. Occasionally groups of lawyers met there for a deposition or a negotiation. Vince the paralegal liked to work there. Theo did, too, when the office wasn’t busy. He also enjoyed sneaking into the library late in the afternoon, after the firm had closed, after the others had left.

  He and Judge entered and closed the door. He did not turn on the lights. He eased into a leather chair, propped his feet on the table, and stared at the semilit rows of books. Thousands of them. He could barely hear the distant voices of his mother and her client down the hall.

  Theo knew of no other kid whose parents worked together as professionals. He knew of no other kid who hung around an office every day after school. Most of his friends were playing baseball or soccer, or swimming, or hanging around the house waiting on dinner. And there he was sitting in a dark law library pondering the events of the past hour.

  He loved the place—the rich smell of worn leather and old rugs and dusty law books. The air of importance.

  How could it be that he, Theodore Boone, knew the truth about the Duffy murder? Of all the people in Strattenburg, some seventy-five thousand, why him? The town’s biggest crime since something bad happened back in the 1950s, and he, Theo, was suddenly in the middle of it.

  He had no idea what to do.

  Chapter 10

  There were a few rough-looking men hanging around the entrance of the Highland Street Shelter when Theo parked his bike. He walked through them with a polite “Excuse me” and a metallic smile, and he really had no fear because the men wouldn’t bother a kid. The foul odor of stale booze hung in the air.

  “Got any change, kid?” a scratchy voice said.

  “No, sir,” Theo said without slowing down.

  Inside, down in the basement, Theo found Julio and his family finishing dinner. His mother spoke passable English, but it was obvious she was surprised to see Theo on a Wednesday night. Theo explained, in what he thought was perfect Spanish, that Julio needed extra help with his algebra. Evidently, she did not understand perfect Spanish because she asked Julio what Theo was talking about. Then Hector began crying about something and she got busy with him.

  The cafeteria was packed and overheated, and there were other crying children. Theo and Julio escaped to a small conference room upstairs, one that his mother sometimes used to see her shelter clients.

  “Did you talk to your cousin?” Theo asked, after he closed the door.

  “Yes. He said he would come, but I don’t know. He’s very nervous, Theo. Don’t be surprised if he doesn’t show up.”

  “Okay. Let’s work on the algebra.”

  “Do we have to?”

  “Julio, you’re making C’s. That’s not good enough. You should be making B’s.”

  After ten minutes they were both bored. Theo couldn’t concentrate because his mind was on Julio’s cousin and the potential bomb his testimony would be. Julio was drifting because he hated algebra. Theo’s cell phone rang.

  “It’s my mom,” he said as he flipped it open.

  She was leaving the office and was concerned about him. He assured her that he was fine, working diligently with Julio, and would be home in time for Chinese, even though it might be cold Chinese. What difference did it make, hot or cold?

  After he flipped the phone shut, Julio said, “It’s pretty cool that you have a cell phone.”

  “I’m not the only kid in school with a cell phone,” Theo said. “And it’s only for local calls, no long distance.”

  “Still cool.”

  “And it’s just a phone, not a computer.”

  “No one in my class has a cell phone.”

  “You’re just a seventh grader. Wait till next year. Where do you suppose your cousin is right now?”

  “Let’s call him.”

  Theo hesitated, then thought, Why not? He didn’t have all night to spend with the cousin. He punched the numbers, handed the phone to Julio, who listened for a few seconds and said, “Voice mail.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  The cousin was still wearing a khaki work suit with WAVERLY CREEK GOLF in bold letters across the back of the shirt and in much smaller letters over the front pocket. His matching cap had the same wording. He wasn’t much bigger in size than Theo, and certainly looked younger than eighteen or nineteen. His dark eyes danced around wildly, and before he even sat down he gave the clear impression that he was ready to leave.

  He refused to shake hands with Theo and refused to give either his first name or his last. In rapid Spanish he went back and forth with Julio. The words were tense.

  “He wants to know why he should trust you,” Julio said. Theo was thankful for the interpretation because he’d understood almost none of the Spanish.

  He said, “Look, Julio, how about a quick review? He came to you, you came to me, and now I’m here. I didn’t start this process. If he wants to leave, then good-bye. I’ll be happy to go home.” It was tough talk and it sounded pretty strong in English. Julio passed it along in Spanish, and the cousin glared at Theo as if he’d been insulted.

  Theo did not want to leave. He knew he should. He knew better than to get involved. He’d been telling himself to butt out, but the truth was that Theo relished being exactly where he was at that moment. “Tell him he can trust me and that I will not tell anyone what he says,” he said to Julio.

  Julio passed it along, and the cousin seemed to relax a little.

  It was obvious to Theo that the cousin was deeply troubled and wanted some help. Julio kept rattling on in Spanish. He was heaping praise upon Theo, who understood some of it.

  The cousin smiled.

  Theo had printed a color Google Earth Search map of the Creek Course, and he had marked the Duffy home. The cousin, still unnamed, began to tell his story. He pointed to a spot in some trees in a dogleg on the sixth fairway, and spoke rapidly about what he had seen. He’d been sitting on some timbers near a streambed, just inside the tree line, eating his lunch, minding his own business, when he saw the man enter the house from the rear door and exit a few minutes later. Julio gamely hung on with his interpretation, often stopping his cousin so he could do the English for Theo. Theo, to his credit, began to understand more and more of the Spanish as he grew accustomed to the cousin’s speech patterns.

  The cousin described the frenzy around the golf course after the police showed up and the gossip spread. According to one of his friends, a kid from Honduras who waited tables in the clubhouse grill, Mr. Duffy was having a late lunch and a drink when he got the news that his wife had been found. He made a scene, hustled out, jumped in his golf cart, and raced home. This friend said that Mr. Duffy was wearing a black sweater, tan slacks, and a maroon golf cap. It was a perfect match, said the cousin. The same outfit worn by the man he saw enter the Duffy home and exit just minutes later.

  From his file, Theo produced four photographs of Pete Duffy. All four had been found online, in the archives of the Strattenburg daily newspaper. He had enlarged them to 8 by 10 inches. He spread them on the table and waited. The cousin could not identify Mr. Duffy. He estimated that he was between sixty to a hundred yards away when he was having his quiet lunch and saw the man. The man he’d seen looked very similar to the one in the photographs, but the cousin could not be certain. He was certain, though, of what the man was wearing.

  A positive identification by the cousin would be helpful, but not crucial.
It would be easy to establish how Mr. Duffy was dressed, and the fact that a witness saw a man in the identical clothing enter the home just minutes before the murder would nail a conviction, at least in Theo’s opinion.

  As Theo listened to Julio translate into Spanish, he watched the cousin closely. There was no doubt he was telling the truth. Why would he not tell the truth? He had nothing to gain by lying, and plenty to lose! His story was believable. And, it fit perfectly into the prosecution’s theory of guilt. The problem, though, was that the prosecution had no idea such a witness even existed.

  Theo listened, and again asked himself what he should do next.

  The cousin was talking even faster, as if the dam had finally broken and he wanted to unload everything. Julio was working even harder to translate. Theo typed feverishly on his laptop, taking as many notes as possible. He stopped the narrative, asked Julio to repeat something, then off they went again.

  When Theo could think of no more questions, he glanced at his watch and was surprised at how late it was. It was after 7:00 p.m. and his parents would not be happy that he was late for dinner. He said he needed to leave. The cousin asked what would happen next.

  “I’m not sure,” Theo answered. “Give me some time. Let me sleep on it.”

  “But you promised not to tell,” Julio said.

  “I won’t tell, Julio. Not until we—the three of us—decide on a plan.”

  “If he gets scared, he’ll just disappear,” Julio said, nodding at his cousin. “He cannot get caught. Understand?”

  “Of course I understand.”

  The chicken chow mein was colder than usual, but Theo had little appetite for it. The Boones ate on TV trays in the den. Judge, who had refused dog food since the first week as a member of the family, ate from his bowl near the television. There was nothing wrong with his appetite.

  “Why aren’t you eating?” his mother said, her chopsticks in midair.

  “I am eating.”

  “You seem preoccupied,” his father said. He used a fork.

  “Yes, you do,” his mother agreed. “Something happen at the shelter?”