by John Grisham
“You got it, Ike.”
Boone & Boone was quiet when Theo made his appearance a few minutes after 6:00 p.m. Elsa, Vince, and Dorothy were long gone. Mrs. Boone was at home, no doubt skimming the pages of another bad novel. Her book club would meet at seven, at the home of Mrs. Esther Guthridge, for dinner and wine and a discussion of almost everything except their book of the month. The club had ten women in all, and they took turns selecting the books. Theo could not remember the last one that his mother enjoyed, not even the ones she’d picked. Each month she could be heard complaining about whatever book she was supposed to be reading. It seemed an odd way to run a club, at least in Theo’s opinion.
Woods Boone was stuffing his briefcase when Theo entered the upstairs office. Theo often wondered why his father crammed files and books into his briefcase and hauled it home every night as if he just might work until midnight. He did not. He never worked at home, never touched the briefcase, which he always placed under a table in the foyer near the front door. And there it sat, all night, until Mr. Boone left early in the morning for breakfast and then to the office, where he unpacked the briefcase and flung its contents onto his terribly disorganized desk. Theo suspected that the stuffing was always the same—same books, files, papers.
He had noticed that lawyers seldom go anywhere without a briefcase. Maybe to lunch. His mother hauled hers home, too, but she occasionally unlatched it and read some of its contents.
“A good day at school?” Mr. Boone asked.
“Great.”
“That’s good. Listen, Theo, your mother has book club tonight. I’m going over to Judge Plankmore’s for a little while. The old guy is fading fast and I need to sit with him for a couple of hours. Won’t be long before there’s a funeral.”
“Sure, Dad. No problem.”
Judge Plankmore was at least ninety years old and dying from multiple causes. He was a legend in the Strattenburg legal world and most of the lawyers adored him.
“There’s some leftover spaghetti you can zap in the microwave.”
“I’ll be fine, Dad. Don’t worry. I’ll probably study here for an hour or so, then go home. I’ll take care of Judge.”
“You’re sure?”
“No problem.”
Theo went to his office, unloaded his backpack, and was trying to concentrate on his Chemistry homework when there was a slight knock on the back door. It was Julio, for the second day in a row.
“Can we talk outside?” he said, very nervous.
“Come on in,” Theo said. “Everyone’s gone. We can talk in here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. What’s up?”
Julio sat down. Theo closed the door.
“I talked with my cousin an hour ago. He’s very nervous. There were policemen at the golf course today. He thinks you’ve told them about him.”
“Come on, Julio. I haven’t told anyone. I swear it.”
“Then why were the police out there?”
“I have no idea. Did they want to talk to your cousin?”
“I don’t think so. He disappeared when he saw the police car.”
“Were the policemen wearing uniforms?”
“I think so.”
“Were they driving a car that was obviously a police car?”
“I think so.”
“Look, Julio, I gave you my word. I haven’t told the police. And if they wanted to talk to your cousin about the murder, they wouldn’t be wearing uniforms and they wouldn’t be driving a car with the word POLICE painted on the doors. No way. They would be detectives, with coats and ties and unmarked cars.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Okay.”
“I guess your cousin gets pretty nervous when he sees policemen, right?”
“Most illegals do.”
“That’s my point. Tell your cousin to relax.”
“Relax? It’s hard to relax when you might get arrested any day of your life.”
“Good point.”
Julio was still nervous, his eyes darting around the small room as if someone else might be listening. There was a long, awkward pause while each waited for the other to say something. Finally, Julio said, “There’s something else.”
“What?”
His hands were shaking as he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled out a clear plastic bag, a Ziploc. He laid it carefully on Theo’s desk as if it were a gift he never wanted to touch again. In it were two objects, white in color, slightly worn, and wadded.
Golf gloves.
“My cousin gave me this,” he said. “Two golf gloves, worn by the man he saw go into the house where the lady was killed. One for the right hand, one for the left. The right hand is new. The left hand has been used.”
Theo gawked at the gloves in the bag, but couldn’t move and for a moment couldn’t speak. “Where did he find—”
“When the man came out of the house, he took the gloves off and put them in his golf bag. Later, on the fourteenth tee, he placed these gloves in the trash bucket next to the water cooler. My cousin’s job is to empty the trash twice a day. He saw the man and thought it was strange that he was throwing away good gloves.”
“Did the man see him?”
“I don’t think so. If he had, I don’t think he would have left the gloves behind.”
“And this is the man who’s on trial now for the murder?”
“Yes, I believe so. My cousin is pretty sure. He saw him on television.”
“Why did he keep the gloves?”
“The boys out there go through the trash, looking for stuff. My cousin took the gloves, and within a couple of days he was suspicious. I guess there’s a lot of gossip around a golf course and there was talk about the dead woman. So my cousin hid the gloves. Now he’s scared and he thinks the police are watching him. If they find him with the gloves, who knows? He’s afraid he might get in trouble.”
“The police are not watching him.”
“I will tell him this.”
A long pause, then Theo nodded at the gloves, still afraid to touch anything. “And what do we do with these?”
“I’m not keeping them.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“You know what to do, right, Theo?”
“I have no clue. Right now I’m wondering how I got in the middle of this mess.”
“Can’t you just drop them off at the police station?”
Theo bit his tongue, preventing a phrase or two that would certainly be taken as sarcastic or cruel or both. How could Julio be expected to understand the system? Sure, Julio, I’ll just run by the police station, give the receptionist a Ziploc with two golf gloves, explain that they were worn by the nice man who’s now on trial for killing his wife, and who in fact did kill his wife because I, Theo Boone, know the truth because I, for some reason, have talked to a key witness no one else knows about it, and, please, Miss Receptionist, take these to a detective down in Homicide but don’t tell him where they came from.
Poor Julio.
“No, that won’t work, Julio. The police will ask too many questions and your cousin could be in trouble. The best thing to do is to take these gloves with you and I’ll pretend I never saw them.”
“No way, Theo. They now belong to you.” And with that, Julio jumped to his feet, grabbed the doorknob, and had one foot outside when he said, over his shoulder, “And you promised not to tell, Theo.”
Theo was behind him. “Sure.”
“You gave me your word.”
“Sure.”
Julio disappeared into the darkness.
Chapter 14
Judge devoured his bowl of spaghetti, but Theo hardly touched his. He put the dishes in the dishwasher,
locked the house, and went to his room, where he changed into his pajamas, grabbed his laptop, and crawled into bed. He found April online and they chatted for a few minutes. She, too, was in bed, but her door was locked, as always. She was feeling much better. She and her mother had gone out for a pizza and even managed to laugh together. Her father was out of town, they thought, and that always made life easier. They said good night, and Theo closed his laptop and found the latest copy of Sports Illustrated. He couldn’t read, couldn’t concentrate. He was sleepy because he had not slept much the night before, and though he was worried and even frightened he soon nodded off.
Mr. Boone came home first. He crept up the stairs and opened the door to Theo’s room. The door hinges squeaked, as always. He flipped on the light and smiled at the peaceful sight of his son fast asleep. “Good night, Theo,” he whispered, and switched off the light.
The closing of the door awakened Theo, and within seconds he was lying on his back, staring at the dark ceiling, thinking about the golf gloves hidden in his office. There was something terribly wrong with Ike’s advice to simply butt out, to ignore the existence of an eyewitness, and stand by quietly while the judicial system went haywire.
Yet, a promise is a promise, and Theo had given his word to Julio and to his cousin that he would keep their secret safe. What if he didn’t? What if he marched into Judge Gantry’s chambers first thing in the morning and flung the gloves on his desk and told everything? The cousin would be toast. He would be chased down by Jack Hogan and the police and hauled into custody. His testimony would save the day for the prosecution. A mistrial would be declared. A new trial would be scheduled. It would be all over the newspapers and television. The cousin would be the hero, but he would also be locked up as an illegal immigrant.
But couldn’t he, the cousin, make a deal with the police and prosecutors? Wouldn’t they cut him some slack because they needed him? Theo didn’t know. Maybe, maybe not, but it was too risky.
Then he began thinking about Mrs. Duffy. In his file was a newspaper clipping with a nice photo of her. She was a very pretty woman, blond with dark eyes and perfect teeth. Imagine her final seconds as she realized with horror that her husband—wearing the two golf gloves—had not stopped by the house for some harmless reason, but instead was going for her throat.
Theo’s heart was racing again. He threw the covers back and sat on the edge of his bed. Mrs. Duffy was only a few years younger than his mother. How would he feel if his mom were attacked in some savage manner?
If the jury found Mr. Duffy not guilty, he would literally get away with murder. And, he could never again be brought to trial for the crime. Theo knew all about double jeopardy—the State can’t try you a second time if the jury finds you not guilty the first time. Since there were no more suspects, the murder would remain unsolved.
Mr. Duffy would collect his $1 million. Play even more golf. Probably find another pretty young wife.
Theo crawled back under the covers and tried to close his eyes. He had an idea. After the trial, after Mr. Duffy was acquitted and drove away from the courthouse, Theo would wait a few weeks or months, then he would send the gloves to Mr. Duffy. Ship them in an anonymous package, maybe with a note that would read something like: “We know you killed her. And we’re watching.”
Why would he do that? He didn’t know. Another foolish idea.
The thoughts became more random. There was no blood at the scene, right? So there would be no traces of blood on the gloves. But what about hair? What if a tiny strand of Mrs. Duffy’s hair was somehow stuck to one of the gloves. Her hair was not short, certainly long enough to touch her shoulders. Theo had not dared open the plastic bag. He had not touched the gloves, so he didn’t know what might be on them. A strand of hair would be even more proof that her husband killed her.
He tried to dwell on his spectacular victory in Animal Court on behalf of Hallie, his client and potential girlfriend. But his thoughts swung back to the crime scene. Finally, he grew still and fell asleep.
Marcella Boone arrived home just before 11:00 p.m. She checked the refrigerator to see what Theo had for dinner. She checked the dishwasher to make sure things were in order. She spoke to Woods, who was reading in the den. She climbed the stairs and woke up Theo for the second time in an hour. But he heard her coming and pretended to sleep through the ritual. She did not turn on the light, never did. She kissed him on the forehead, whispered, “Love you, Teddy,” then left the room.
An hour later, Theo was wide awake, worrying about the hiding place he’d chosen for the gloves.
When the alarm on his cell phone buzzed at six thirty, Theo wasn’t sure if he was awake or asleep, or somewhere in between, nor was he convinced he’d slept at all. He was fully aware, though, that he was tired and already irritable and facing another long day. The burden he carried was not normal for a thirteen-year-old.
His mother was at the stove—a rare spot for her—frying sausage and grilling pancakes, something she did about twice a year. Any other morning, Theo would’ve been starving and ready for a big breakfast. He didn’t have the heart to tell her his appetite was gone.
“Did you sleep well, Teddy?” she asked as she pecked him on the cheek.
“Not really,” he said.
“And why not? You look tired. Are you getting sick?”
“I’m fine.”
“You need some orange juice. It’s in the fridge.”
They ate around the morning paper. “Looks like the trial is just about over,” she said, her reading glasses halfway down her nose. She began most Fridays with a quick trip to the salon for work on her fingernails, so she was still in her bathrobe.
“I haven’t kept up,” Theo said.
“I don’t believe that. Your eyes are red, Theo. You look tired.”
“I said I didn’t sleep well.”
“Why not?”
Well, Dad woke me up at ten and you woke me up at eleven. But Theo couldn’t blame his parents. He was losing sleep for other reasons. “A big test today,” he said, and it was sort of true. Miss Garman had threatened them with a quiz in Geometry.
“You’ll do fine,” she said, and returned to the newspaper. “Eat your sausage.”
He managed to choke down enough pancakes and sausage to satisfy her. He thanked her for the big breakfast, and as soon as possible he wished her a good day, said good-bye, gave a pat on the head to Judge, and took off on his bike. Ten minutes later he was racing up the steps to Ike’s office, where his cranky uncle was waiting for the second early morning meeting in two days.
Ike looked even rougher on Friday. His eyes were puffy and redder than Theo’s, and his wild gray hair had not been touched that morning. “This better be good,” he growled.
“It is,” Theo said as he stood in front of the desk.
“Have a seat.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“Okay. What’s up?”
Theo unloaded the story about Julio and the two golf gloves in a plastic bag, now hidden behind some old Boone & Boone divorce files at the bottom of an old file cabinet in the basement where no one had ventured in at least a decade. He left nothing out of the story, except, of course, the identity of Julio and his cousin. He was finished in minutes.
Ike listened intently. He scratched his beard, took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, sipped his coffee, and when Theo went silent Ike managed to mumble, “Unbelievable.”
“What are we gonna do, Ike?” Theo asked in desperation.
“I don’t know. The gloves need to be examined by the crime lab. They could have small samples of skin, Mrs. Duffy’s skin, or her hair, or they could even have DNA from Mr. Duffy’s sweat.”
Theo hadn’t thought about the sweat.
“The gloves could be crucial evidence,” Ike was saying, thinking out loud, still scratching his beard.
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“We can’t just ignore this, Ike. Come on.”
“Why did you keep them?”
“I didn’t really keep them, you know? It was more like my friend just left them. He’s scared. His cousin is really scared. I’m scared. What are we gonna do?”
Ike stood and stretched and took another gulp of coffee. “Are you going to school?”
What else would I do on this Friday morning? “Sure. I’m already late.”
“Go to school. I’ll go watch the courthouse. I’ll figure out something and I’ll text you later.”
“Thanks, Ike. You’re the greatest.”
“Don’t know about that.”
Theo walked into homeroom five minutes late, but Mr. Mount was in a good mood and the class had not exactly come to order. When he saw Theo, he pulled him aside and said, “Say, Theo, I was thinking that you could give us an update on the trial. Later, during Government.”
The last thing Theo wanted to do was talk about the trial, but he could not say no to Mr. Mount. Plus, Mr. Mount was known to be a bit slack with his class preparations on Fridays, and he needed Theo to help fill in the gaps.
“Sure,” Theo said.
“Thanks. Just an update, fifteen minutes or so. It goes to the jury today, right?”
“Probably so.”
Theo took his seat. Mr. Mount tapped his desk, then called the roll. Announcements were made, the usual homeroom routine. When the bell for first period rang, the boys headed for the door. A classmate named Woody followed Theo into the hall and grabbed him near the lockers. One look at his face, and Theo knew something was wrong.
“Theo, I need some help,” Woody said quietly while glancing around. Woody’s home life was chaotic. His parents were on their second or third marriages and there wasn’t much supervision there. He played the electric guitar in a bad garage band, was already smoking, dressed like a runaway, and was rumored to have a small tattoo on his rear end. Theo, like the rest of the boys, was curious about the tattoo, but had no desire to confirm the rumor. In spite of all these distractions, Woody maintained a B average.