Theodore Boone: The Accused (5 page)

Judge, who slept under Theo’s bed, had been awake for thirty minutes and was tired of waiting. He was whimpering and wanted to go downstairs, then outside. Theo adjusted his neckerchief again, approved of what he saw in the mirror, grabbed his backpack, and bounced down the stairs.

For the moment, he had forgotten about the Pete Duffy disappearance.

His mother, who was not an early morning go-getter, was sipping coffee at the kitchen table and reading the newspaper. “Good morning, Theo. Aren’t you cute?”

“Good morning,” Theo said as he kissed his mother on the forehead. He hated the word “cute” when she used it to describe him. He opened the door and Judge disappeared outside. Before his chair was the usual—a box of cereal, a carton of milk, a bowl, a spoon, and a glass of orange juice.

“No sign of Pete Duffy,” his mother said, her nose still stuck in the paper.

“They’re not going to find him,” Theo said, repeating what he had said numerous times over dinner.

“I’m not so sure about that. It’s hard to run away from the FBI these days, with all the technology they have.” Theo had heard this, too, over dinner. He fixed his bowl of cereal, then opened the door again so Judge could race in. Judge did not waste time in the mornings when breakfast was being served. Theo poured cereal and milk into the dog bowl, and Judge attacked it.

Without taking her eyes off the newspaper, Mrs. Boone said, “So you have scouting this afternoon, huh?”

No, Mom, it’s Halloween.

No, Mom, all of my other shirts are dirty.

No, Mom, this is an attempt to confuse you so that you’ll only think it’s the first Tuesday of the month, then maybe you’ll show up in the wrong courtroom.

Oh, all the things he wanted to say, but Theo, being a good Scout and respecting authority, and also being a good son and not wanting to anger his mother with a smart remark, said, “Sure.”

“When is the next camping trip?” she asked, slowly turning a page.

“A week from Friday, at Lake Marlo.” Troop 1440 spent at least one weekend per month in the woods, and the camping trips were Theo’s favorite adventures.

There was at least one clock in every room of the Boone home, a clear sign of organized people. The one in the kitchen gave the time at 7:55, and Theo finished breakfast every day at 8:00 a.m. When Judge slurped his last bit of breakfast, Theo rinsed both bowls in the sink, returned the milk and orange juice to the refrigerator, then raced up the stairs where he stomped around his room a few times to make some noise. Without brushing his teeth for a second time, he sprinted back to the kitchen where he pecked his mother on the cheek and said, “I’m off to school.”

“Lunch money?” she asked.

“Always.”

“Is your homework done?”

“It’s perfect, Mom. I’ll see you after school.”

“Be careful, Teddy, and remember to smile.”

“I’m smiling, Mom.”

“Love you, Teddy.”

Over his shoulder he said, “Love you, Mom.”

Outside, he rubbed Judge’s head and said good-bye. Racing away, he repeated the word “Teddy,” a bothersome little family nickname that he despised. “Cute little Teddy,” he mumbled to himself. He waved at Mr. Nunnery, a neighbor who would spend his entire day sitting on his porch.

As Theo sped through Strattenburg, he remembered yesterday’s incident in Buck Baloney’s backyard, and decided to stay on the streets and obey the rules of the road. He also thought about the Duffy trial, and all the excitement he would miss because the defendant had chosen to become a fugitive. Theo thought about a lot of things as he dashed along the sleepy streets of Strattenburg. His locker—he was anxious to see if it had been violated. His slashed tire—could it possibly happen again? Omar Cheepe and Paco—might they still be watching him?

Homeroom was buzzing with the latest Duffy gossip. All sixteen boys were brimming with opinions and scenarios they had picked up over the dinner table and heard their parents debating. One report had a possible sighting not far away by a rural mail carrier; another had Pete Duffy murdered by drug lords; yet another had him safe and untouchable in Argentina. Theo listened to the chatter but did not participate. He was just happy he had found his locker secure.

The bell rang and the boys filed out of the room and drifted to the hallway, another dreary day of classes underway.

Troop 1440 met in the basement of a building owned by the VFW (Veterans of Foreign Wars). Upstairs, the older soldiers gathered each afternoon for pinochle, cribbage, and beer, and on the first and third Tuesdays the Boy Scouts met below for their official meetings.

The scoutmaster was a former Marine who preferred to be called Major Ludwig, or simply Major for short. (And occasionally “Wiggie” behind his back, but only when it was absolutely certain that he was far away.) Major Ludwig was about sixty years old and ran Troop 1440 as if he were preparing a bunch of Marines for an invasion. He was a serious runner, claimed to do five hundred sit-ups and push-ups before breakfast, and was constantly pushing his boys to swim farther, row faster, hike longer, and, in general, do everything better. He monitored their report cards and expected every member of the troop to attain the rank of Eagle. He tolerated no bad habits and was quick to call parents if a Scout was falling behind. And, though he could bark like a drill sergeant, the Major knew precisely how to mix discipline and fun. He liked to yell, but he also liked to laugh. The boys adored him.

Occasionally, when he wasn’t dreaming of becoming a great trial lawyer or a wise judge, Theo thought about becoming a full-time scoutmaster, just like the Major. Such a future posed problems, though, because scouting was volunteer work.

At precisely 4:00 p.m., the Major called for order and the large room fell silent. Troop 1440 was divided into five patrols—Panther, Rattlesnake, Ranger, Warthog, and Falcon. Each had a patrol leader, assistant leader, and seven or eight other members. Theo led the Falcon patrol. At rapt attention, and under the intense gaze of the Major, the troop pledged allegiance to the flag, then said the Scout pledge and motto. After the Scouts were seated, the Major led them through a well-organized agenda that included reports from each patrol, rankings and merit badge updates, fund-raising activities, and, most importantly, plans for the next weekend campout at Lake Marlo. There was a fifteen-minute video on first aid for puncture wounds, and that was followed by a work session with ropes and knots. The Major explained that he was less than impressed with the troop’s overall level of hitching, lashing, and knotting, and he expected better work during the camping trip. Because he had been practicing for years, the Major was a whiz with the square knot and clove hitch, but what dazzled the boys was his mastery of the more complicated knots such as the timber hitch and overhand bend.

As always, the ninety-minute meeting flew by, and at precisely 5:30 it was adjourned. Most of the Scouts left on bikes, and as Theo shoved off with the gang, he realized there was a problem.

The rear tire was flat.

Gil’s Wheels was closing as Theo approached, tired and sweating from the ordeal of pushing his bike at least ten blocks from the VFW. “Well, well,” Gil said as he rubbed his hands on a shop rag he kept in a front pocket. “My favorite customer.”

Theo felt like crying. Not only was he tired, but he was overwhelmed with the thought of buying another tire and, more importantly, frightened that someone was really after him. Gil spun the rear tire, stopped it, poked at the incision, and said, “Yep, probably the same knife that got the front tire yesterday. This happen at school?”

“No, at the VFW, while I was in a Scout meeting.”

“So this person is following you around, huh?”

“I don’t know, Gil. What should I do?”

“Have you told your parents?”

“No one knows but you.”

Gil had a wrench and was slowly removing the rear tire from the bike’s frame. “Me, I’d start with my parents, then I’d think about filing a report with the police. And someone at the school should know about it, too. I’ll bet you’re not the only kid who’s getting his tires cut like this.”

“Have you seen others in here?”

“Not in a couple of weeks, but this isn’t the only bike shop in town. Of course, it’s the best, if you want my unbiased opinion.” Ha-ha. Gil laughed at his own humor, but Theo could not crack a smile.

“Eighteen dollars?” he asked.

“Same as yesterday,” Gil replied.

“I guess I’d better talk to my dad.”

“Good idea.”

Woods Boone was in his office meeting with another lawyer. Marcella Boone was in her office with a divorce client. Elsa was on the phone when Theo arrived, and Dorothy and Vince were running errands. Only Judge was waiting for Theo, and the two made their way to his tiny office in the back of the building. Theo unloaded his backpack, and his desk—an old card table—was soon covered with books, notepads, and his laptop. He was daydreaming, though, and unable to concentrate on homework.

Why would anyone slash his tires and vandalize his locker? He had no known enemies, at that point in his life, unless he considered Omar Cheepe and Paco, and he was convinced they had more important things to worry about. They were career thugs, real pros, not exactly the types to do their dirty work around a middle school. How could they possibly sneak through the hallways of the school without being noticed? There was no way. And, why would they be interested in stealing a three-pack of inhalers and a Twins cap? He could not imagine them loitering around the bike racks by the front flagpole, watching for the right moment to cut his tire, or following him to the VFW for a Boy Scout meeting.

Theo suspected the vandal was another student. But who, and why? Theo was lost in these thoughts when, literally, his world was shattered.

There was a door that led from his office to the rear parking lot of Boone & Boone, and the top half of the door was comprised of four panes of glass. A large rock suddenly burst through the glass, crashing loudly and sending shards of broken glass everywhere—onto the bookshelves, over his desk, across the floor. Judge jumped and barked loudly. Theo instinctively threw both arms over his head in case there was another rock on the way. He waited for a few seconds, trying to catch his breath, then bolted to his feet. He yanked open the door but saw no one outside. Judge, growling and barking, jumped down the steps and raced around the small parking lot, but found nothing.

The rock was the size of a softball and came to rest next to Judge’s bed. Elsa rushed in and exclaimed, “Theo, what in the world!” Then she saw the shattered windowpanes and broken glass. “Are you okay!?”

“I think so,” Theo said, still in shock.

“What happened?”

“Someone threw a rock,” Theo said as he picked it up. They examined it. Mrs. Boone appeared and asked, “What’s going on back here?” Then Mr. Boone walked in behind her and asked the same thing. For a few minutes they inspected the damage and scratched their heads. Elsa found a piece of glass in Theo’s hair, but there were no wounds.

“I’ll call the police,” Mr. Boone said.

“Good idea,” said Mrs. Boone.

“Any idea who did this?” Elsa asked.

“No,” Theo replied.

Chapter 6

It was proving to be an eventful afternoon. Because Mrs. Boone handled a lot of divorces, and always on the side of the wife, the office was occasionally the scene of some bad family drama. Just as the dust had settled in Theo’s office, and as Mr. Boone was heading toward the conference room to call the police, there were loud voices near the front door. An angry man and a shrieking woman were having a spat, and it quickly led to a confrontation. The woman was Mrs. Treen, a new Boone & Boone divorce client, and the man was her husband, Mr. Treen. They had a house full of kids and a world of problems, and Mrs. Boone had been trying to convince them to undergo marriage counseling instead of going the divorce route. According to Mrs. Treen, her husband had become violent and abusive and impossible to be around.

He certainly appeared to be violent as he stood by Elsa’s desk and growled at his wife. “You are not filing for divorce! Over my dead body.” He was a thick, stout man with a beard and eyes that flashed when he spoke. Mrs. Boone, Elsa, and Theo entered the reception area and stopped to watch.

Mr. Boone took a step forward and said, “Let’s take a deep breath here and try to be civilized.” Mrs. Treen eased away and stood close to Mrs. Boone. Elsa and Theo stayed in the background, all eyes and ears.

“I can’t live with you,” Mrs. Treen said. “I’m tired of getting punched and slapped around. I’m taking the kids and leaving, Roger, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I’ve never hit you,” he replied, though no one believed this. Mr. Treen had the look of a brawler who might slap just about anyone.

“Stop the lying, Roger,” she said.

“Perhaps we should step into my office,” Mrs. Boone said calmly.

“He’s got a gun,” Mrs. Treen said, and all spines stiffened. “It’s in his pocket.” All eyes went straight to the pockets of Mr. Treen’s pants, and, sure enough, there appeared to be something dangerous there.

“Get in the car, Karen,” Mr. Treen said with eyes glowing and jaw muscles clenching. No one with any sense would get in the car with this guy.