The Fugitive

Chapter 15

Theo awoke on Monday morning to the sounds of thunder and rain hitting his bedroom window. It was dark outside, too dark to be awake, but then he had slept little. He stared at the ceiling, lost in a world of heavy thinking, when he realized something was moving beside his bed. “All right,” he said, and moved over so Judge could crawl into the bed. Judge did not like thunder and felt safer under the covers than under the bed.

How would the bad weather affect the trial? Theo wasn’t sure. It might keep some spectators away, but that was doubtful. The courtroom would be packed. The town had talked of little else since the day Pete Duffy had been captured in DC.

Would Theo be in the courtroom? That was the big question. Mr. Mount had asked Mrs. Gladwell, the principal, if his class could attend the opening day, same as the last time, but the request had been denied. The boys had other classes, other obligations, and it wasn’t fair to allow one homeroom so much time out of school. This had really irritated Theo, and Mr. Mount as well, but there was nothing they could do.

The second murder trial of Pete Duffy was even bigger than the first. Why couldn’t Mrs. Gladwell understand this? The boys would learn far more in the courtroom than they would suffering through yet another day of Spanish or Chemistry. Once it became apparent that they could not attend as a group, Theo began scheming of ways to get himself excused from school. He had thought about getting sick again, and not just his usual hacking cough or upset stomach or fever caused by placing a hand towel on the furnace vent and then draping it across his forehead. None of those would work, mainly because his parents had seen them so often. He had Googled flu symptoms, and strep throat, and whooping cough, even appendicitis, but realized those afflictions were too serious to fake. Besides, his mother would insist that he stay in bed for days. He’d thought about appealing to Judge Henry Gantry, a close ally, and trying to convince him that he, Theo, was actually needed in the courtroom. Maybe he could be useful in some way. He had talked to Ike about a scheme whereby Ike would check him out of school to attend a funeral, but remembered that that trick had already been used. Finally, he had convinced Mr. Mount to intervene and write a request that Theo be allowed to watch the first day so he could report everything back to their Government class. Mrs. Gladwell had reluctantly said yes, but only if Theo’s parents agreed.

And that’s where he hit a wall. His parents were of the opinion that he had missed too many classes already. Usually they split; if one said yes the other said no, and vice versa. But this time they remained united and Theo, so far, had been unable to persuade them.

He could not imagine missing the trial.

The rain stopped and the sky began to lighten. He showered, dressed, brushed his teeth, studied his thick braces, and finally went downstairs for the final round of battle. His parents were at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. His father was dressed in his usual dark suit. His mother was still in her pajamas and bathrobe. The air seemed tense. Everybody said good morning, and Theo sat in a chair, waiting. They seemed not to notice him.

After a few awkward minutes, his mother said, “Aren’t you eating breakfast, Theo?”

“No,” he replied abruptly.

“And why not?”

“I’m on a hunger strike.”

His father shrugged, glanced at him with a quick grin, and returned to his newspaper. Starve if you want to, son.

“And why are you on a hunger strike?” his mother asked.

“Because you’re not being fair, and I don’t like the injustice of it.”

“We’ve had this discussion,” his father said without taking his eyes off the newspaper. Theo was often amazed at how much time his parents spent reading the local paper. Did Strattenburg really have so much fascinating news?

His mother said, “Injustice is a pretty strong word, Teddy.”

Theo replied, “Please don’t call me Teddy. I’m too old for that.” It sounded far too harsh and she looked at him sadly. His father shot him a hard look. A tense moment or two passed as Theo twiddled his thumbs and Judge looked up, obviously starving.

His father turned a page and finally asked, “And how long will this hunger strike last?”

“Until the trial is over.”

“And what about Judge? Have you discussed it with him?”

“Yes, we had a long talk,” Theo said. “He said he’d rather not take part.”

“That’s good to hear.” His father lowered the newspaper and looked at Theo. “So let me get this straight. Tonight we’re going to Robilio’s, your favorite Italian restaurant. And I’ll probably order either the spaghetti and meatballs or the ravioli stuffed with spinach and veal, after, of course, we start with mozzarella and roasted tomatoes. Your mom will probably get the seafood capellini, or maybe the grilled eggplant. They’ll serve us a basket of their famous garlic bread. We may even have their famous tiramisu for dessert. And the entire time you’ll be sitting there watching us eat, smelling the garlic bread, looking at trays of delicious food being hustled about by the waiters, and doing nothing but sipping from a glass of ice water. Is that what you’re telling us, Theo?”

Theo was suddenly starving. His mouth was watering. His stomach was aching. He could almost smell the delicious aromas that hit him every Monday night when he walked in the door of Robilio’s. But he managed to say, “You got it.”

“Don’t be silly, Theo,” his mother said.

His father said, “Think of the cash we’ll save. Ice water is free at Robilio’s. And all that lunch money.”

Judge reached up with a paw and raked it across Theo’s leg as if to say, “Hey, buddy. I’m not on strike.”

Theo slowly got up and opened the refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of whole milk — neither he nor Judge could stand skim — and got the Cheerios from the pantry. As he was pouring the cereal into a bowl, he saw something important. His father lowered the newspaper just an inch or so, just enough to make eye contact with his mother, and gave her a wicked grin.

The fix was in. They were playing games.

Theo placed the bowl on the floor and resumed his seat at the table, starving. Things were too quiet, and he decided to start another serious discussion. What did he have to lose? “So, again, I don’t see any harm in allowing me to watch the opening day of the trial. Both of you know it’s the biggest trial in the history of Strattenburg, probably the biggest trial we’ll ever see, and it’s just not fair to make me skip it. The way I see things, I’m sort of involved in this case because if it weren’t for me, we wouldn’t even be talking about a trial. Pete Duffy would be in South America and the police would never find him. An accused murderer gone free. But no, thanks to me and my keen powers of observation, and my amazing ability to recognize fugitives, not once but twice, we, the people of this town and of Stratten County, are about to witness our judicial system in action. Thanks to me. Plus, I know more about this case than almost anybody. I tracked down Bobby Escobar, the prosecution’s star witness.” His throat tightened and for a split second his lip quivered. He would not, however, give them the satisfaction of watching him crack up. “It’s just not fair. That’s all I can say. I really think you guys should reconsider.”

He folded his hands and stared at the table. They were lost in the newspaper and seemed not to hear him. Finally, his mother said, “Woods, do you think we should reconsider?”

“Fine by me.”

She looked at Theo and gave him one of those big, motherly smiles that made everything warm and happy. “Okay, Theo, we’ve reconsidered. But only for today. Deal?”

Theo was thrilled, but he had the presence of mind not to agree to any deal. He knew he would be in the courtroom later in the week when Bobby Escobar testified, but he hadn’t figured out how exactly. He jumped to his feet, hugged his mother, said thanks a dozen times, and went for the Cheerios.

“I assume the hunger strike is over,” his father said.

“You got it,” Theo said. And it had worked. He had never used the threat of a hunger strike to outflank his parents, but he had just added it to his bag of tricks. One of the great advantages of being an only child was that his parents didn’t have to worry about making a bunch of silly rules for the other kids to follow. They could be more flexible, and Theo knew how to work them.

Chapter 16

At eight thirty, Theo was sitting at his desk in Mr. Mount’s homeroom, staring at the clock, watching the second hand slowly sweep through its rotation, waiting for the bell that would begin the day. He had arrived early and had tried unsuccessfully to convince Mr. Mount that he should march into Mrs. Gladwell’s office and demand that Theodore Boone be allowed to skip homeroom and hustle on over to the courthouse where the courtroom was undoubtedly already packed. Mr. Mount was of the opinion that they had bothered Mrs. Gladwell enough already. Just cool it, Theo.

The bell finally rang and the class came to order. Aaron raised a hand and said, “I don’t think it’s fair that Theo gets to go watch the trial today and we don’t. What’s the deal?”

Mr. Mount was in no mood to quarrel. “There’s no deal, Aaron,” he said. “Theo will watch the trial today and give us a recap tomorrow in Government. If you don’t like that, then you can write a three-page paper tonight on the presumption of innocence and deliver it tomorrow.”

Aaron had no further questions or comments.

Mr. Mount said, “Theo, you’d better take off. Miss Gloria has your pass.”

Woody and a couple of other clowns booed and hissed as Theo sprinted from the room. Miss Gloria worked the front desk and thought she controlled the entire school. In spite of the fact that she had a thankless job, one that involved dealing with sick students, and students who were not sick but trying their best to fake it, and angry parents, and frazzled teachers, and a tough boss (Mrs. Gladwell), and all manner of stressed-out people, she managed to keep a smile on her face. Twice Theo had given her free legal advice, and he would gladly do so again because Miss Gloria had the power to let him sneak out of school. He might need her later in the week, but for today his early exit had been cleared. She handed him an official pass, one that would protect him from the pesky truant officers who often roamed the city looking for kids skipping school. They had caught Theo twice, but both times he managed to talk his way out of trouble.

He jumped on his bike and raced away, headed for downtown. The trial would start promptly at nine a.m., and Judge Gantry ran a tight courtroom. Theo was sure all seats had already been taken. Two television news crews had set up cameras in front of the courthouse and a small crowd milled about. Theo parked well away from them and chained his bike to a rack. He entered through a side door and bounded up a narrow stairwell that was seldom used. He said hello to a clerk in an office where they kept the property deeds but did not slow down. He zigzagged through some smaller offices, spoke to another clerk, and found a dark corridor that led to a landing near the room where the jury deliberated. He held his breath and opened a larger door that opened into the courtroom. As expected, a crowd was already there, and the courtroom buzzed with great anticipation. Ike waved him over, and Theo managed to squeeze into a tight spot next to his uncle. They were in the third row behind the table where Mr. Jack Hogan and his team of prosecutors were going about the busy work of preparing for the start of the trial.

Across the courtroom, Pete Duffy sat at the defense table with Clifford Nance and another lawyer. While waiting in jail, the hair he had dyed blond had returned to its normal color — black with a lot more gray than the last time. He wore a dark suit with a white shirt and tie, and he could have easily passed for just another lawyer.

“Any trouble?” Ike asked.

“No. My parents changed their minds this morning.”

“No surprise there.”

“Did you talk to them?”

Ike just smiled and said nothing. Theo suspected his uncle had made a phone call during the night and convinced Woods and Marcella Boone that he belonged in court.

At exactly nine a.m., according to the large clock on the wall above the judge’s bench, a bailiff stood and bellowed, “All rise for the Court.” Everyone immediately stood as a few stragglers scrambled for their seats. Judge Gantry appeared through a door behind the bench, and the bailiff continued: “Hear ye, hear ye, the Criminal Court for the Tenth District is now in session, the Honorable Henry Gantry presiding. Let all who have matters come forth. May God bless this Court.”

Judge Gantry, with his long black robe flowing behind him, took his place behind the elevated bench and said, “Please be seated.” Theo glanced around. There was not an empty seat anywhere, including the balcony where he and his classmates had been sitting during the opening of the first trial.

This trial was different. During the first one, there had been the general feeling in town that Pete Duffy had killed his wife, but that the State would have a hard time proving it. His great defense lawyer, Clifford Nance, would do a superb job of punching holes in the State’s case, of creating enough doubt to free his client. Now, though, at the start of the retrial, there was the strong belief that Duffy was guilty of murder and headed for death row. Everyone knew he had escaped. He had to be guilty! Even Theo, who strongly believed in the presumption of innocence, could not force himself to view Duffy as an innocent man.

According to Ike, Clifford Nance had tried valiantly to cut a deal with Jack Hogan, a plea bargain that would allow Duffy to plead guilty to murder and escape and spend twenty years in prison. He was forty-nine years old, and if he survived prison he might still be able to live a few years as a free man. Hogan, according to Ike, wouldn’t budge. His best offer was life in prison without the chance of parole. Duffy would die in prison, one way or the other. Ike thought Duffy should take the offer. He said there was a big difference between being locked down on death row and living in the general population of a prison.

Judge Gantry instructed a bailiff to bring in the jury. A door opened, and the courtroom was still as the jurors filed in and filled the jury box. They had been selected the week before in a closed courtroom. There were fourteen of them — twelve regular jurors and two alternates in case someone got sick or had to be excused. Everyone watched them closely as they took their seats and settled in. Strattenburg was a small city, only seventy-five thousand people, and Theo thought he knew almost everyone. But he didn’t recognize a single person. Ike claimed to know juror number six, an attractive middle-aged woman who worked in a downtown bank. Other than her, they were strangers.

Judge Gantry quizzed them for a few minutes. He was concerned about improper contact. Had anyone spoken to them about the case? And so on. Judges always did this and the jurors always said no. But this case was different. Pete Duffy had money — how much no one knew at this point because of all he’d been through — and given his desperate situation he was not above dirty tricks.

Jack Hogan stood and walked to a small podium in front of the jury. He was tall and wiry, and he wore the same black suit every day. He was a veteran prosecutor and very well respected. Theo had watched him many times in court. He began with a pleasant, “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen of the jury.” He introduced himself again and asked the members of his team to stand. Hogan was not flashy, but he did a nice job of breaking the ice and getting the jury to relax. He explained that his job was simply to present the facts and let them decide the case.

The facts: Myra Duffy, age forty-six, had been strangled to death in the living room of her home, on the sixth fairway of Waverly Creek golf course. Golf was a crucial element in the case. At the time, her husband, the defendant Pete Duffy, was playing golf, alone, as he often did. Hogan stepped over to his table, hit a key on a laptop, and a color photo of Myra Duffy appeared on a large screen opposite the jury. She was a pretty lady, the mother of two fine young men. The next photo was of the crime scene: Myra Duffy lying peacefully on a carpeted floor in the living room of a spacious house. No blood, no signs of a struggle, just a well-dressed woman seemingly asleep. The cause of death was strangulation. The next photo was an aerial view of the large, modern home sitting on a heavily shaded lot and hugging the sixth fairway. Using photos and diagrams, Hogan walked the jury through the events of that awful morning. At eleven ten, Pete Duffy teed off on the North Course with the intention of playing eighteen holes of golf. He was alone, which was not unusual. He was a serious golfer who liked to play by himself. The day was cool and dreary; the course was practically deserted. He picked the perfect time for the perfect crime.

At this point, Jack Hogan talked about motive. Pete Duffy was in real estate and had made a lot of money. But, the markets had turned against him and he had a lot of debt. Some banks were squeezing him. He needed cash. There was a one-million-dollar life insurance policy on Myra, and her husband was the beneficiary.

With great drama, and with the jurors absorbing every word, Jack Hogan said, “The motive was simply money. One million dollars, payable to Pete Duffy in the event of his wife’s death.”

Back to the facts: At the time of her death, Myra was preparing to meet her sister in town for a noon lunch. The front door was unlocked and slightly open. The alarm was in standby mode. The time of death was approximately eleven forty-five. Using a large diagram, Hogan explained that Pete Duffy was somewhere near the fourth or fifth hole on the North Course, about an eight-minute ride in a golf cart from their home.

Hogan paused and stepped closer to the jury. He said, “At that point, Pete Duffy left the North Course and sped away. His destination was his own home. He arrived around eleven forty and parked his golf cart near the patio. Mr. Duffy was right-handed, so like virtually all right-handed golfers he was wearing a glove on his left hand. A well-used glove. But as he entered his house by the back door, he did something strange. He quickly put a glove on his right hand. Two hands, two gloves, something never seen on the golf course. He disappeared inside, attacked his wife, and when she was dead he raced through the house, opening drawers and taking such things as jewelry and vintage watches and handguns. He made it look like a robbery, so that we would believe some unknown thief broke into the house with the intent to burglarize it and stumbled upon Myra, who, of course, had to be eliminated.”

Another long pause. The courtroom was deathly silent. Hogan seemed to enjoy the drama. He continued, “And how do we know this? Because there was an eyewitness, a young man by the name of Bobby Escobar. He worked at the golf course cutting grass and such, and at eleven thirty that morning he began his lunch break. Bobby is from El Salvador and he is an undocumented worker. He is here illegally, like so many others, but that does not change the fact that he saw Pete Duffy hurry into his home that morning.” Hogan touched his laptop and another aerial photo appeared. Using a red laser pointer, he said, “Bobby was sitting in the woods right here, about halfway through his thirty-minute lunch break. From where he was sitting, he had a clear view of the rear of the Duffy home. He saw Pete Duffy park his golf cart, put the second glove on his right hand, and hurry inside. A few minutes later, he saw Duffy emerge, in an even bigger hurry, and speed away.”

Jack Hogan walked to his table and took a sip of water from a plastic cup. Every juror watched him. He stuck both hands into his front pockets, as if it was time for a friendly chat. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, it is easy to criticize, even to condemn, Mr. Escobar because he is not supposed to be in this country. He came here seeking a better life. He left his family at home, and he sends money to his mother every month. But, he is here illegally, and this will be kicked about at length by the defense. They will attack him. He speaks little English, and when he testifies it will be through an interpreter. Please don’t allow this to cloud your judgment. He doesn’t want to testify. He’s afraid of courtrooms and those in authority, and with good reason. But he saw what he saw, and what he saw was an important part of this crime. He has no reason to lie. He didn’t know Pete or Myra Duffy. He wasn’t looking for trouble. He didn’t know she had been murdered. He was simply a lonely and homesick boy who was having a quiet lunch by himself in the woods, away from his fellow workers. He happened to be in the right place at the right time to witness something profound. It takes great courage for Bobby Escobar to come forward, and for him to testify in this courtroom. Please listen to him with an open mind.”

Jack Hogan sat down, and at that moment Theo could not imagine that anyone believed Pete Duffy was innocent.

Judge Gantry tapped his gavel and called for a fifteen-minute recess. Theo was not about to risk losing his seat, so he and Ike stayed put. Ike whispered, “Have you heard from Bobby?”

Theo shook his head. No.

Chapter 17

A month earlier, the identity of Bobby Escobar had been revealed during a closed-door hearing before Judge Gantry. Jack Hogan had kept his name a secret until the last possible moment, but the rules of procedure required that all witnesses be named before the trial. Judge Gantry had delivered a stern lecture: Any unauthorized contact with Bobby would result in harsh penalties. Tampering with a witness was itself a crime, a serious one, and Judge Gantry would not hesitate to punish anyone who tried to intimidate him. The judge’s comments were specifically aimed at Clifford Nance and his defense team, and at one point Nance had objected by saying, “Your Honor, with all due respect, you seem to be implying that we would engage in criminal activity. I find this offensive.”

To which Judge Gantry replied, “Take it any way you want, Mr. Nance. But no one says a word to this boy, okay? I’ll be closely monitoring his situation.”

The police moved Bobby to a secret location and gave him security around the clock. He had limited access to his friends and family. He went to work each day at the golf course with a cop in plainclothes nearby.

It took Theo almost a week to find out where he was staying. Julio spilled the beans one day during recess at school. Julio said Bobby was even more frightened and wished he’d never come forward; said he was painfully homesick and worried about his mother back in El Salvador. She was ill and wanted him to come home. He was threatening to disappear into the vast underground that brought him to Strattenburg in the first place. He wished he’d never found the job at the golf course. Theo urged Julio to convince his cousin to stand firm, be brave, and all that, but even Julio was having second thoughts about getting Bobby involved. He said it was easy for Theo to believe in doing what’s right and to believe in justice the American way. But Theo didn’t understand what it was like living illegally, unwanted, afraid all the time, unable to speak the language, and constantly worried about being arrested and deported. Bobby didn’t trust the police because they spent a lot of time rounding up illegals and putting handcuffs on them. Sure, they were being nice to him now, but what about life after the trial?

Watching Jack Hogan, and hearing Bobby’s name tossed around the courtroom, Theo was having second thoughts of his own. He was responsible for finding Bobby and getting him involved.

Things would get worse.

When court was called to order, Judge Gantry said, “Mr. Nance, you may make an opening statement for the defense.”

Nance rose importantly and strolled across the courtroom to the jury box. As usual, he began with a bang. Loudly, and with great drama, he proclaimed, “Bobby Escobar is a criminal. He violated the laws of this great nation by illegally crossing our border for economic gain. He has been living here, illegally, while enjoying the benefits of our country. He has a job, one to which he is not entitled, while many of our citizens remain unemployed. He has three meals a day, while ten million American children go to bed hungry every night. He has a roof over his head, while half a million Americans are homeless. When he is sick, he is allowed to go to our hospital for excellent health care, courtesy of the taxpayers.” Nance stopped and walked to the other end of the jury box. He glared at the jurors, then continued, “Why is he not in custody? Why is he not being deported back to El Salvador? The answer, ladies and gentlemen, is because Bobby Escobar has cut a deal with the police and the prosecution. He’s figured out a way to stay in this country, and not only stay here but to live here without fear of being arrested. He has become a star witness in this case. He will take this witness stand, and when he does he will say anything the police and prosecution want him to say. And after he testifies, he will not be arrested, he will not be deported. Why? Because he has cut a deal. In exchange for his bogus and unreliable testimony against my client, Mr. Pete Duffy, he will be treated differently from all other illegal immigrants. He will be given a special status, that of immunity. Immune from deportation. Immune from the punishment that our law says he deserves. He will be protected by the police and prosecution while they scramble around and try to find him a work permit, perhaps even a green card. Who knows, perhaps they’ve even promised him the fast track to US citizenship.” Another pause as he walked to the other end of the jury box. All jurors watched him closely. He spread his arms and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s not be fooled by a desperate man. Bobby Escobar will say anything to avoid prosecution. He’ll say anything to stay in this country.” He looked into the face of each juror, and slowly walked back to the defense table.

That was it! The shortest opening statement in the history of American law.

Over lunch at Pappy’s Deli, Ike said, “Brilliant, just brilliant. He zeroed in on the strongest piece of the prosecution’s case and destroyed the credibility of Bobby Escobar.”

Theo, who’d had a knot in his stomach ever since Clifford Nance sat down, said, “You think the jury will believe Bobby’s lying?”

“Yes I do. Clifford Nance will destroy him on cross-examination. The jury is already suspicious. You need to understand, Theo, that immigration is a red-hot issue in this country. According to the experts, we, as a nation, are split right down the middle when it comes to undocumented workers. On the one hand, many people realize that these people primarily do the jobs that nobody else wants to do. But on the other hand, there are thousands of small businessmen who can’t compete with the cheap wages paid to illegals. I’ll bet that most of the people on the jury know of someone who lost his or her business because they wouldn’t hire undocumented workers. They resisted the temptation to cut corners, and they paid dearly for it when they closed their doors. Illegals are paid in cash, and they often earn far less than the minimum wage. There is a lot of anger out there directed at people like Bobby Escobar.”

“But Waverly Creek is the finest golf course around. Why would they hire undocumented workers?”

“To save money, and lots of it. Plus, Theo, they don’t always know. There’s a lot of fake paperwork around. Some employers don’t ask questions. Often, the guy who owns the business will hire a smaller company to do the dirty work and look the other way. In Bobby’s case, there’s a good chance he works for some small-time landscape company that has a contract with the golf course. It’s a murky world and evidence is hard to find. It’s easy to just ignore things and save money.”

Theo, who hadn’t touched his sandwich, asked, “Okay, what happens to an employer who gets caught using undocumented workers?”

“He gets busted, pays a big fine. But that rarely happens. There are too many workers and too many employers willing to pay cash and get the cheap labor. Eat your lunch.”

“I’m not that hungry. In fact I feel kind of sick. I wish I’d never dragged Bobby into this mess.”

“This mess was started when Pete Duffy killed his wife. It’s not your fault, or mine, or Bobby’s. A crime often drags in innocent people, people who would rather not get involved. That’s just the way it goes. If witnesses were afraid to testify, a lot of crimes would never be solved.”

Theo managed to nibble around the edges of his sandwich, but he had no appetite.

The afternoon session began when Jack Hogan called the first witness for the prosecution. Her name was Emily Green and she was the younger sister of Myra Duffy. After she was sworn in, she sat in the witness chair and tried to smile at the jurors. She was obviously nervous, as were most folks when they were put on the stand. Jack Hogan slowly walked her through the events of the day when she found her sister dead. They were supposed to meet for lunch, and when Myra didn’t show up, Emily began calling. When there was no answer she suspected something was wrong because her sister usually had her cell phone in hand. Emily hurried out to Waverly Creek, to the Duffy home, found the front door slightly open. She stepped inside and there was Myra, lying on the living room carpet. There were no signs of a struggle, and at first she thought Myra had simply fainted, or maybe had a heart attack. She checked her pulse, and when she realized she was dead, she panicked and called 911. As she told her story, she became emotional but managed to keep her composure.

Clifford Nance rose and said he had no questions on cross-examination. Emily Green was excused as a witness and took a seat in the front row behind the prosecution.

Jack Hogan called his next witness, Detective Thomas Krone. After a few preliminary questions, Detective Krone described the crime scene. A large photo was displayed on the screen, and the jurors got another look at Myra Duffy as she was found on the carpet. She was wearing a pretty dress; her high heels were still on her feet. Hogan and Krone went through every detail of the photo. The next one was a close-up of her neck, and the detective explained that as he first examined the body he noticed a redness and slight puffiness on both sides of her neck, just under the jawline. He immediately suspected strangulation, and moments later, when Ms. Green was being tended to by another detective, Krone opened the right eye of Myra Duffy. It was completely red, and he knew at that time that he was dealing with a murder.

Other photos showed cabinets and drawers the murderer had opened, with items strewn about, all in an effort to make the crime look as if it had been first a robbery, then a murder. Missing were some vintage watches owned by Pete Duffy, three handguns from his collection, and several pieces of Myra’s jewelry. These items had never been found. There was a photo of the front door, the patio door, found closed but unlocked, the alarm panel in standby mode. Hogan used an aerial photo for Krone to give the jury a clear picture of the Duffy home and its closeness to the sixth fairway on the Creek Course. Other photos showed the front and sides of the house, all heavily shaded and secluded, the point being that the place was very private. A number of fingerprints had been lifted from the doors, doorknobs, windows, cabinets, drawers, jewelry cases, and the antique mahogany box where Mr. Duffy kept his watches. The fingerprints matched only those of the Duffys and their housekeeper. This was to be expected since they lived and worked there, but it also proved that the killer either wore gloves and was very careful, or the killer was either Pete Duffy or the housekeeper. The housekeeper was not on duty that day. She had a solid alibi.

When they finished with the photos, Jack Hogan displayed a large diagram of Waverly Creek and walked Detective Krone through the locations of the Duffy home, the three golf courses, the clubhouse, and so on. According to the computer log in the golf shop, Pete Duffy teed off on the North Nine that morning at eleven ten, alone. The weather was not good and there were very few golfers on the three courses. He was using his own golf cart, as opposed to walking the course, and according to tests they had performed, he was either on the fourth or fifth hole at the time of his wife’s death. Riding in a cart identical to his, a person could travel from the fourth or fifth hole to the Duffy home in about eight minutes.

As far as Detective Krone could determine, no one had seen Pete Duffy racing from one course to the next in an effort to hurry home. No one saw him return to the North Nine after the time of his wife’s death. No one had been seen entering or leaving the Duffy home. No neighbor reported a strange vehicle near the house, but, then, privacy was expected at Waverly Creek. They lived behind gates “out there,” and the neighbors were not accustomed to watching the streets. All in all, it had been a perfectly quiet morning with nothing unusual reported, until, of course, Emily Green showed up.

Detective Krone testified that he and his team were in the house for almost ten hours. He was there when Pete Duffy arrived in a rush around two thirty and saw his wife still on the floor. He appeared stunned and distraught.

Like all good prosecutors, Jack Hogan was slow and methodical, but he began repeating questions that sought the same answers. After two hours, Clifford Nance began to object, but Judge Gantry was in no hurry. When Hogan finally said, “No further questions,” the judge announced a fifteen-minute recess.

Theo hated to admit it, but he was getting bored. It was almost four p.m., and school was out. He wanted to find Julio and make sure Bobby was okay, but knew that wouldn’t happen. Bobby was being guarded and Julio had little contact with him.

Ike said, “I think I’ve had enough for one day. Are you staying?”

Ike, of course, had the luxury of watching the entire trial. Theo’s time was limited. He replied, “I guess so. Who’s the next witness?”

“Well, first Clifford Nance gets a crack at Detective Krone. Not sure he’ll get much, but he’ll try and beat him up.”

“Might be fun. I’ll stick around. See you tomorrow.”

Ike tapped him slightly on the knee and left. Theo wanted to pull out his phone and text Mr. Mount, but didn’t dare. In Judge Gantry’s courtroom, anyone caught using a cell phone was escorted out, banned from coming back, and fined a hundred dollars. Not even Theo could talk his way out of such a jam. The phone stayed in his pocket.

Clifford Nance began his cross-examination of Detective Krone with a few simple questions. He established that Myra Duffy stood five feet, seven inches, and weighed 131 pounds at the time of her death. She was forty-six years old, fit and healthy, and had no physical limitations, as far as Krone knew. She played a lot of tennis, jogged occasionally, and was really into yoga. Pete Duffy was three years older, four inches taller, and weighed 175 pounds. According to his own statement, he exercised little and smoked two packs a day. In other words, she was not a small woman; he was not a large man. She was in better shape than him.

Was it reasonable to believe Pete Duffy could grab his wife, get his hands around her neck, and strangle her to death without the slightest evidence of a struggle? She had no broken fingernails to indicate she resisted. He had no scratches on his hands, arms, or face to indicate a desperate fight.

Yes, it was reasonable, the detective explained. First of all, she knew and trusted him. Thus, he was able to get close to her without alarming her. If he stood behind her, and grabbed her with both hands around the neck, and applied intense pressure for only a few seconds, she would become unconscious. Keeping the pressure on, she would die in about four minutes.

Manual strangulation was a common form of murder in domestic matters, Krone said.

Nance bristled at this, and asked Krone how many similar murders he had investigated. When Krone couldn’t think of another, Nance attacked him as an unreliable witness who said too much. The cross-examination quickly spiraled downward, with both men getting angry and interrupting the other. Judge Gantry barked at both and tried to calm things, but the fight was on.

As Nance hammered away, Krone admitted he was no doctor and had no medical training, not even classes for homicide detectives. Krone admitted he wasn’t sure how the murderer grabbed and strangled the victim. He admitted Pete Duffy was not thoroughly examined for scratch and claw marks. He said he knew that Duffy was wearing two golf gloves, and said perhaps this protected his hands from her efforts to free herself.

“Perhaps!” Nance roared. “Maybe this! Perhaps that! What if this! Suppose that! Are you certain of anything, Detective?”

The longer they argued the worse the detective looked, and Nance was scoring points by pecking away at his testimony. After an hour of brutal questioning, Nance said he was finished. Judge Gantry quickly adjourned for the day. Everyone needed a break.

Chapter 18

Late Monday afternoon Theo was in his office, trying to concentrate on his homework, with his dog snoozing at his feet and his troubled mind wandering in many directions. His main thoughts, though, were of Bobby Escobar and the nightmare awaiting the poor kid when he stepped into the courtroom. Clifford Nance would pounce on him like a rabid dog and probably make him cry. He would call him names. He would accuse him of cutting a crooked deal with the prosecution so he could remain in the country. He would tell the jury that Bobby would say anything to save his own skin. There was no way to prepare Bobby for what was coming.

And it was all Theo’s fault. If not for Theo, Bobby would have never been identified as a witness. If not for Theo, Pete Duffy would be hiding in South America and none of this mess would be troubling him.

He felt perfectly miserable and wished he’d never seen a courtroom. For the first time he could remember, the law made him sick. Maybe he’d become an architect instead.

He was jolted from his misery by a knock on his rear door. Judge jumped up and offered a weak growl, but only to show Theo that he was awake and doing a proper job of guarding the place. Judge really wasn’t that brave and preferred to avoid trouble.

It was Julio, frightened and unsure of what he was doing. He’d been there once before, but the thought of going to a downtown law office made him uneasy. He sat in the only other chair in the room and seemed overwhelmed.

“What’s up, Julio?” Theo asked.

“Well, how is the trial going?” When they first met at the homeless shelter, he spoke with a thick accent. Now, though, the accent was barely noticeable, and Theo was amazed at how quickly Julio was learning English.

“Okay, I guess,” Theo said. “They let me skip school today and watch everything. How’s Bobby?”

“They got him in a motel in another town, wouldn’t tell me where because the police warned him not to tell anybody. But he’s really scared, Theo.” Julio paused and looked nervously around the room. It was obvious he had much more to say and wasn’t sure if he should do so. But he gritted his teeth and plowed ahead. “You see, Theo, Bobby has a friend, a guy he works with, an American, and this guy was off today. He went to the courtroom, sat up in the balcony, and watched the trial. He told Bobby that things are real bad, said the lawyers called him a criminal and a liar and all sorts of bad stuff. This friend told Bobby he’d be crazy to walk into that courtroom. Said the lawyers will jump on him and make him look stupid. Said that the jury is already convinced that Bobby is just another lying illegal worker who’ll say anything to help get a green card. Is this true, Theo?”

Theo was immediately tempted to fudge a bit on the truth, to assure Julio that Bobby would do just fine. Nothing to worry about and all that, but he just couldn’t do it. “How do you know this?” he asked.

“I talked to Bobby.”

“How did you talk to Bobby when the police have him locked away in a motel?”

“Because he has a cell phone, a new one.”

“And how did he get a cell phone?”

“The police gave him one. They thought it was important for him to have one just in case something went wrong. He called me about an hour ago, said he’d talked to his friend, said he didn’t know what to do. Are things really that bad, Theo?”

Theo took a deep breath and tried to think of some way to make the truth sound better. “Well, Julio, you need to understand how things work in a trial. I know it’s probably confusing, but, no, it’s not that bad. In a trial, lawyers sometimes say things that maybe aren’t exactly accurate. Remember, Julio, that Pete Duffy is on trial for murder, and he’s facing the death penalty, and he has really good lawyers and they’re fighting hard to win the case for him. So they’ll say stuff that sounds bad but maybe really isn’t so awful. Bobby’ll do fine when he gets on the witness stand. And without him, the prosecution will have a hard time getting a conviction.”

“Did they call him a criminal?”

“Yes, they did.”

“And did they say he would lie to get some sort of a deal?”

“Yes, they did.”

Julio shook his head in disgust. “Sounds pretty bad to me.”

“It’s just the first day of the trial. It’s gonna be okay.”

“How do you know, Theo? You’re just a kid.”

Theo certainly felt like a kid. In fact, he felt like a stupid little boy who’d stuck his nose into a world where even grown-ups got roughed up.

Across the street and half a block away, Omar Cheepe sat low behind the wheel of an old cargo van, the kind of vehicle no one would ever notice. He was reading a newspaper that partially hid his face, and thin white wires dropped from his ears, as if he were listening to his iPod.

But it wasn’t music on an iPod. Omar was listening to every word being spoken in Theo’s office. Over the weekend, he and Paco had spent two hours inside the offices of Boone & Boone. The rear door had been easy to jimmy with a thin jackknife blade. The firm had no security system. It was, after all, just a law office with nothing of any real street value to protect. Once inside, they planted four listening devices, each the size of a small matchbox: one in the back of a credenza in Mrs. Boone’s office, in a spot she would never see; one between two dusty old law books on a top shelf in Mr. Boone’s office; one on top of a thick law book in the conference room; and one on the underside of the rickety card table Theo used as a desk. Each would transmit for about two weeks before the batteries died. If they were ever discovered, chances were they would not be identified as listening devices. And, the Boones would have no idea who put them there. If necessary, Omar and Paco might reenter the offices during the night and retrieve their gadgets. But they probably would not. Why bother? The trial would soon be over.

Vince, the firm’s paralegal, had arrived first on Monday morning. As always, he turned on the lights, adjusted the thermostat, unlocked the doors, made the coffee, and gave the place his usual halfhearted inspection. He had seen nothing out of the ordinary, but then he expected to see nothing. The rear door was locked; there were no signs of an illegal entry.

Omar smiled to himself. “You’re just a kid,” he whispered.

Julio said, “This is all your fault, Theo. Bobby is my cousin and he’s a nice guy. He was just having a quiet lunch that day, sitting by himself in the woods, all alone so he could think about his family, saying his prayers, wanting to go home, and he just happened to see that guy in his golf cart. He didn’t know a murder took place. He was just minding his own business. He made the mistake of telling me and I made the mistake of telling you, and you got your parents involved, and then the judge. He was so happy when that Duffy guy ran away because then he didn’t have to get involved. Just think what it’s like, Theo, for a guy like Bobby. He doesn’t know what to do. We trusted you, and now Bobby is hiding in some motel with a couple of cops guarding him, just so he can come to court and get ripped up by a bunch of lawyers.”

He paused and stared at his feet. Theo could think of nothing to say. A long minute passed and the room was deathly quiet. Finally, Theo said, “Bobby’s doing the right thing here, Julio. It’s not easy, but sometimes a person just has to do what’s right. Bobby is a very important witness, in fact he’s the most important witness in the entire trial. No, he didn’t ask for this. He doesn’t want to get involved, but a woman was murdered by her own husband, in her own home, and he deserves to be punished. We can’t let murderers go free. Sure, Bobby was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but he can’t change that now. He saw what he saw, and he has a duty to come forward and tell the jury. He has nothing to gain, and the jury will believe him.”

Julio closed his eyes and looked as if he might start crying. Instead, he asked, “Will you talk to him? You have a cell phone.”

The idea terrified Theo. “Not sure that’s a good idea. The judge might think I’m trying to tamper with a witness.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a crime when either side tries to influence a witness. It’s called tampering. It’s okay for the lawyers to prepare their own witnesses for trial, but it’s not okay for someone else to, you know, put the squeeze on them. I’m not sure if it would apply to me, but it just doesn’t feel right.”

“I don’t understand all of this, and neither does Bobby. I guess that’s the problem. This is not our world.”

Theo stared at a wall as his mind raced in circles. Something told him it was important to get Bobby’s phone number. “How’s his English?” he asked.

“Not good. Not at all. Why?”

“Just thinking. Why don’t you send him a text on my phone, in Spanish of course, and tell him things are not as bad as he thinks?”

“Will we get in trouble?”

Fifty-fifty, Theo thought, but then they were not really trying to influence Bobby’s testimony. They were just trying to reassure him. And, Theo would have his number in his phone’s memory.

“No, we won’t get in trouble,” he said, without the slightest trace of confidence.

“I’ve never sent a text,” Julio said.

“Okay, just write a short message in Spanish and I’ll do it.”

Theo handed him a notepad and a pencil.

“What do I say?” Julio asked.

“Try this: ‘Hello Bobby, it’s me, Julio, on Theo’s phone. He says there’s nothing to worry about. You’ll do fine and you’re going to be okay.’”

If given the time, and also a Spanish dictionary, Theo could have prepared the message himself, but now was not the moment to experiment. Julio wrote in Spanish and handed Theo the notepad. “What’s the number?” Theo asked as he pulled out his cell phone.

Julio reached into his pocket for a scrap of paper and read from it: “445-555-8822.”

Theo punched in the number, the message, and hit Send. He placed the phone on his desk and watched it for a few seconds, hoping for an instant reply.

“How long has he been in a motel?” Theo asked.

“They moved him Saturday. His boss was upset, but the police told him to cool it. Bobby is an important person right now, and the police are being very nice to him.”

“I guess so. He’s the star witness. He’s gonna be fine, Julio, stop worrying.”

“Easy for you to say. I need to get home. I’m babysitting Hector and Rita.”

“Tell them I said hello.”

“I will.”

Omar watched Julio get on his bike and speed away. When the kid was out of sight, he removed his earphones, picked up his cell phone, and called Paco. With a nasty grin, he said, “Mr. Julio Pena just left the law office of young Theodore Boone. You’re not going to believe this. Our boy Bobby is now hiding in a motel in an unnamed town, cops all around. Can’t touch him, but he now has a cell phone and we got the number.”

“Beautiful.”

“How’s your Spanish?”

“What do you mean? It’s my native tongue, remember?”

At Robilio’s, the Boones settled around their favorite table and exchanged pleasantries with Mr. Robilio, the owner, who waited on them every Monday night. He bragged about the stuffed ravioli, the evening’s special, said it was perhaps the best ever. But then he said that every week about every special. After he left, Mrs. Boone immediately said, “Okay, Theo, tell us about the trial. I want to hear everything.”

Theo was sick of the trial and didn’t want to talk about anything. However, his parents had been kind enough to allow him to skip school, so he figured he owed them a summary of the day’s events. He started at the beginning, with the opening statements, and was in full stride when Mr. Robilio returned.

“What’ll you have, Theo?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Mr. Boone said loudly. “He’s on a hunger strike.”

“A what?” Mr. Robilio asked in horror.

Mrs. Boone said, “Woods, come on. The hunger strike lasted about ten minutes.”

“Stuffed ravioli,” Theo said quickly. Mrs. Boone ordered a calamari salad, and Mr. Boone went for the spaghetti and veal meatballs. Mr. Robilio seemed to approve and he hustled away. Theo continued his narrative. His parents were shocked at the comments made by Clifford Nance in his opening statement.

“He can’t call Bobby a criminal,” Mrs. Boone said. “He’s never been convicted of anything.”

“Did Hogan object?” Mr. Boone asked. “It was clearly improper.”

“No objection,” Theo said. “Mr. Hogan just sat there.

“It’s gonna be bad for Bobby,” Theo said. “I feel sorry for him. And I feel kinda lousy for myself.”

Mr. Boone chomped on a slice of garlic bread and, with crumbs dropping from his mouth, said, “Well, it seems to me as if Nance might hurt himself if he attacks Bobby for telling the truth.”

“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Boone. “There is a lot of resentment toward undocumented workers.” Theo could not remember a single time when his parents agreed on anything related to the law. They were soon quibbling over how Bobby might be viewed by the jury. The food arrived and Theo dug in. It was obvious his parents were captivated by the trial, same as everyone else in town. Why, then, couldn’t they simply go to the courthouse and watch some of it? They claimed to be too busy. Theo suspected, though, that they were not willing to admit that another lawyer’s trial might be more important than their own work. Seemed silly to him.

Suddenly, Theo was not hungry and could not enjoy his food. After he choked down the first ravioli, his mother said, “Theo, you’re not eating. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, Mom. I’m fine.” Sometimes, when he was starving, she scolded him for eating too fast. Sometimes, when he was worried and had no appetite, she pressed him for details about what was wrong. And when things were perfectly fine, and he was eating at a proper pace, she said nothing.

What his parents needed was another kid or two, somebody else around the house to observe and analyze. When it came to being an only child, he had already decided that the good outweighed the bad. There were times, though, when he needed some company, someone else to get the attention. But then, Chase had a big sister who was thoroughly obnoxious. And Woody’s oldest brother was in Juvenile Detention. And Aaron had a little brother who was mean as a snake.

Perhaps Theo was indeed lucky.

Still no word from Bobby.

Chapter 19

In a motel thirty miles from Strattenburg, Bobby Escobar sat on his bed and watched yet another old movie on television. There was no Spanish-language station, and he struggled to understand what was happening. He tried, though. He listened hard and often tried to repeat the rapid English, but it was overwhelming. It was his third night in the motel, and he was tired of the routine.

There was a connecting door to the adjacent room, and he could hear Officer Bard in there laughing at something on his television. Officer Sneed was in the other room next door. Bobby was sandwiched between, thoroughly protected. The two cops were going overboard to make him comfortable. For dinner, they went to a Mexican restaurant with good enchiladas. Lunch so far had been either pizza or burgers. Breakfast was at a waffle house where the locals gathered and wondered who they were. Between meals, they either stayed at the motel playing checkers or roamed around the town killing time. For fun they coaxed Bobby into repeating English words and phrases, but his progress was slow. The cops were getting bored, too, but they were professional and serious about their job.

At 9:07 p.m., his new cell phone vibrated beside him. A text message in Spanish read: Bobby, you are a dead man in court. The lawyers will devour you. You are an idiot if you walk into that courtroom.

He grabbed the phone, stared at the unknown number, and was stricken with fear. No one had his number but the police, his boss, his aunt Carola — Julio’s mother — and Theo Boone. He’d had the phone for less than a week and was still trying to learn how to use it. Now, a stranger had found him.

What should he do? His instinct was to yell at Officer Bard and show him the text, but he waited. He tried to calm himself by breathing deeply.

Two minutes passed, and at 9:09 p.m., the phone vibrated again with another text message: Bobby, the police plan to arrest you immediately after the trial. You can’t trust them. They are using you to get what they want, then they’ll slap on the handcuffs. Run!

The Spanish was perfect. The unknown number had the same 445 area code. He panicked but didn’t move. He felt like crying.

At nine fifteen, the third text arrived: Bobby, the police are lying to you, Julio, Theo Boone, everybody. Don’t fall for their trick. They care nothing for you. It’s all a trap. Run, Bobby, run!!!

Slowly, Bobby pecked out a reply: Who is this?

Half an hour went by without a response. Bobby felt sick and went to the bathroom. He hung his head over the commode and tried to vomit, but nothing happened. He brushed his teeth, killed some time, and never took his eyes off the phone. Officer Sneed checked in and said he was going to sleep. Bobby assured him everything was fine. Tomorrow was Tuesday, the second day of the trial, and they doubted Bobby would go to court. According to Sneed, Jack Hogan still planned to call Bobby to the witness stand on Wednesday. So, tomorrow would be another slow day.

Thanks, Bobby said, and Sneed went off to bed. Officer Bard was winding down in his room, the adjoining door still open. He puttered around his bathroom, put on a T-shirt and gym shorts, then stretched out on his bed for more television. Several times Bobby almost walked into his room to show him the text messages, but he hesitated.

He didn’t know what to do. He liked the cops and they were treating him like someone important, but they lived in another world. Besides, they were just regular street cops. Their bosses made the decisions.

At nine forty-seven, the fourth text came through: Bobby, we know your mother is very ill. If you walk into that courtroom, you will not see her for years. Why? Because you’ll be rotting away in an American jail waiting to be deported. It’s all a trap, Bobby. Run!

The battery was half dead. Bobby quietly plugged the phone into his charger. As he waited, he thought about his mother, his dear sick mother. He had not seen her in over a year. His heart ached when he thought about her and his little brothers, and his father and how hard he worked trying to feed the family. He had encouraged Bobby to travel to America, to get a good job, and hopefully send money home.

At ten o’clock, Officer Bard stuck his head through the door and asked, in awful Spanish, if all was well. Bobby smiled and managed to say, “Good night.” Bard closed the door, turned off his lights, and Bobby did the same.

An hour later, he eased from his room into the hallway, down one flight of stairs to the ground floor, through an exit door, and into the darkness.

Theo and Judge were sleeping soundly around midnight when a soft noise interrupted the peace. It was the gentle vibration of a cell phone on the nightstand. The dog wasn’t bothered by it, but Theo awoke and grabbed it. The time was 12:02.

“Hello,” he said, almost in a whisper, though he could have yelled and his parents would not have heard him. They were asleep downstairs, far away, with their door shut.

“Theo, it’s me, Julio. Are you awake?”

Theo took a deep breath and thought of all the smart retorts he could serve up at that point, but quickly realized something was wrong. Otherwise, why the call? “Yes, Julio, I’m awake now, so what’s the matter?”

“I just talked to Bobby. He called here, woke us up. He’s run away from the police. He’s scared and he’s hiding and he doesn’t know what to do. My mom is crying.”

Great. Crying is so helpful at this point. “Why did he run away?” Theo asked.

“He said everybody is lying to him. The police, you, me, the judge, the prosecutor. He doesn’t trust anyone and thinks he’ll be arrested as soon as the trial is over. He says he’s not going near the courtroom. He’s very upset, Theo. What are we going to do?”

“Where is he?”

“In the town of Weeksburg, wherever that is. He was in a motel with the police, and he waited until they went to sleep. He says he’s hiding behind a quick shop that’s open all night, says it’s a rough part of town. He’s very scared, but he’s not going back to the police.”

Theo was out of bed and pacing around his room. Still half asleep, he was struggling to think clearly. Judge watched him curiously, irritated that he was awake and ruining a good night’s sleep. “You think he would talk to me?” Theo asked.

“No.”

“Probably not a good idea anyway.” In fact, it was a lousy idea. Theo knew it was time for him to butt out and let the adults handle the situation. The last thing he wanted was Judge Gantry yelling at him about tampering with a witness. In fact, Theo decided right then to forget the trial. Forget Pete Duffy and Bobby Escobar. Forget Jack Hogan and Clifford Nance. Forget everything and just return to being a normal kid.

If Bobby Escobar wanted to vanish, Theo couldn’t stop him.

“I don’t know what to do, Julio,” he said. “Really, there’s nothing we can do.”

“But we’re worried about Bobby. He’s out there hiding.”

“He’s out there because he wants to be out there, plus he’s a pretty tough guy, Julio. He’ll be all right.”

“This is all your fault.”

“Thanks, Julio. Thanks a lot.”

Theo got in the bed and stared at the ceiling. Judge quickly fell asleep, but Theo was awake for hours.

He slowly filled a spoon with Cheerios, then flipped it, dumping the cereal back into the milk. He took a bite every now and then, but couldn’t taste anything. Fill the spoon, then dump it. Below him, Judge was having no such trouble.

Mrs. Boone was in the den, enjoying her diet soda and newspaper, oblivious to the disaster that was about to unfold in the Pete Duffy trial. By now, the police had discovered that Bobby was missing. They had undoubtedly called Jack Hogan, and the entire prosecution was in chaos. What would the courtroom be like in an hour or so? Theo was dying to know, but then he was also determined to ignore the trial.

At eight a.m., he rinsed their bowls in the sink, put the milk and orange juice back in the refrigerator, walked to the den, and kissed his mother on the cheek. “Off to school,” he said.

“You look sleepy,” she said.

“I’m fine.”

“Do you have lunch money?” She asked the same question five days a week.

“Always.”

“And your homework is complete?”

“It’s perfect, Mom.”

“And I’ll see you when?”

“After school.”

“Be careful and remember to smile.” Theo hated to smile because his teeth were covered with thick braces, but his mother was convinced that every smile made the world a happier place.

“I’m smiling, Mom,” he said.

“Love you, Teddy.”

“Love you back.”

Theo smiled until he got to the kitchen. He hated the nickname “Teddy” and mumbled it under his breath. He grabbed his backpack, patted Judge on the head and said good-bye, and left the house. He flew across town and ten minutes later was standing in front of Ike’s desk. Theo had called an hour earlier and Ike was waiting, red-eyed and looking awful.

“It’s a disaster,” he growled. “A complete disaster.”

“What’ll happen, Ike?”

Ike gulped coffee from a tall paper cup. “Remember Jack Hogan’s opening statement, when he promised the jury they would hear from Bobby Escobar, his star witness? Remember?”

“Sure.”

“Well, that was a mistake, because now, if Bobby doesn’t show, the defense will move for a mistrial, and Judge Gantry will have no alternative but to grant one. A second mistrial, Theo. And guess what? Under our laws, a second mistrial means the charges will be dismissed. It means Duffy will walk on the murder charge. He’ll serve a few short years for the escape, but he’ll be out soon and living the good life. He’ll get away with murder, Theo. That’s what’s about to happen. It’s a disaster.”

Although Ike had not mentioned the reward money in some time, Theo suspected he thought about it a lot. He earned a simple living as a tax accountant, but had little to show for it. His car was twenty years old. He lived in a run-down apartment. His office was shabby and disorganized, though Theo loved it.

Ike seemed particularly upset by the fact that a second mistrial was now likely. He said, “They have to find this boy.”

Theo wasn’t about to tell anyone he had Bobby’s cell phone number; not that it would help. Theo was quite certain that Bobby, wherever he was hiding, was not about to answer his phone. Theo asked, “When do they tell Judge Gantry that the star witness has disappeared?”

“Who knows? If I were Jack Hogan, I’d keep it quiet as long as I could and hope like crazy that they find Bobby. Hogan has a bunch of witnesses he can put on the stand before he needs Bobby, so he’ll probably keep going forward as if nothing is wrong. But by tomorrow, if they don’t find him, the game is over. I don’t know, just speculating.”

“And there’s nothing we can do, right?”

“Of course not,” Ike snapped. “All we can do is wait.”

“Okay, I’m outta here. Off to school. You headed to the courthouse?”

“Oh yes. I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I’ll call you during the first recess.”

Julio was waiting by the bike rack. He and Theo whispered for a few minutes as they headed to class. No word from Bobby. He was not answering his phone. Theo said, “I’m sure the police are searching everywhere. Maybe they’ll find him.”

“You think he’s okay, Theo?”

Theo said, “Sure, he’ll be fine.” But he had no clue.

“I’m sorry I said it was all your fault, Theo. I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay. Let’s get together during lunch break.”

“You got it.”

Chapter 20

At nine a.m., as Theo sat through Madame Monique’s Spanish class, he watched the clock on the wall and wondered what was happening in court. The trial was starting its second day. The courtroom was undoubtedly still packed. The jury was being brought in to hear the next round of witnesses for the prosecution. Everything seemed fine. No one but Jack Hogan and his team knew the truth — that their star witness had gone missing. An hour later, Theo was suffering through Geometry with Miss Garman and thinking of Bobby, who was probably hiding in the woods somewhere watching police cars zip around Weeksburg in their frantic search. He had managed to travel all the way from El Salvador, through Mexico, across the border, and into Strattenburg, without being detected. Theo had often wondered how millions of people could enter the country illegally and live and survive. They knew the secrets of moving in the shadows and avoiding the authorities when necessary.

If Bobby wanted to disappear, they would never find him.

There was a ten-minute break between Geometry and Government with Mr. Mount, and Theo rushed to the playground to call Ike. No answer. He was watching the trial, unable to talk or text.

In Government, Theo stood before the class and gave a summary of the opening of the trial. Since the boys had seen the first day of the first trial, they had a hundred questions. Theo gamely went along, answering them all.

At noon, during the lunch break, Ike finally called. He said the morning had gone as planned without a word about the missing witness. Jack Hogan had told no one. Judge Gantry seemed oblivious. However, Clifford Nance and his defense team seemed much more confident than the day before. “They know,” Ike said. “Something tells me they know.” But Theo wasn’t so sure. Ike tended to exaggerate at times.

Theo found Julio and explained what was happening at the trial. Julio suggested they call Bobby on Theo’s cell, but Theo said no. “He’s too smart to answer his phone, Julio.”

The afternoon dragged by, slower than ever, and Theo suffered through Chemistry, study hall, and Debate Team practice. When the final bell rang at three thirty, he hopped on his bike and headed for the courthouse.

It was odd, watching the trial as if everything was fine, but knowing that the entire show was about to come to another shocking end. The jurors listened intently to the witnesses. The lawyers took pages of notes, scanned documents, and took turns questioning the witnesses. Judge Gantry presided solemnly, occasionally ruling on objections from the lawyers. The court reporter captured every word. The clerks shuffled papers and kept things in order. The spectators watched it all, captivated by the drama. The defendant, Pete Duffy, sat surrounded by his lawyers, and never changed his expression.

Jack Hogan and the prosecution team did indeed look a bit frazzled, but Theo could not detect an unusual amount of confidence on the other side of the courtroom. Everything seemed as normal as you might expect in a big trial.

The last witness of the day was a banker. Jack Hogan was walking him through a series of questions about Pete Duffy’s loans and finances, all in an effort to prove the defendant was desperate for cash. Thus, his need for the life insurance proceeds. Thus, a motive for murder. Some of the testimony was over Theo’s head, and it became quite dull.

As Theo listened, he watched Judge Gantry, and he felt a mix of sadness and anger. He was sad because the judge was presiding over an important trial, thought things were going well, and had no idea serious trouble was just around the corner. Theo was angry because the trial was about to blow up, and Pete Duffy would once again dodge a conviction for murder. He was certain the police were combing every square inch of Weeksburg, looking for Bobby as the clock ticked and a disaster loomed. And what if they found him? Could they arrest him, and haul him to the courthouse, and force him to testify? Theo didn’t think so.

Judge Gantry adjourned at five fifteen and sent the jurors home. Theo and Ike chatted for a moment outside the courthouse. Across the lawn, Omar Cheepe was smoking a cigarette and talking on his cell phone. He glared at Theo as he did so. Ike promised to call if he heard anything, and Theo said good-bye. He took his time riding back to the office. He locked his door and lay on the floor, talking to Judge, telling him how awful things were going. As always, Judge listened intently, staring at Theo with eager eyes, believing every word and ready to help. It always felt good to talk to someone, even a dog.

Mrs. Boone was in her office with a late appointment. Mr. Boone was upstairs, smoking his pipe and reworking the language of a thick document. “Got a minute, Dad?” Theo asked, interrupting.

“Well, sure. What’s on your mind?”

“You’re not going to believe this, but Bobby Escobar has disappeared.”

Mr. Boone’s jaw dropped. Theo told him the rest of the story, even the part about having Bobby’s cell phone number.

It was Tuesday night, and the Boones walked a few blocks to the Highland Street Shelter to visit the homeless. As always, Theo worked the food line, serving hot vegetable soup and sandwiches to people who had no place to go. Many of the faces were familiar, sad folks who had lost everything and somehow survived without a place to live. They slept on park benches, and under bridges, and in cheap tents hidden in the woods. They rummaged through Dumpsters and begged on the streets. The lucky ones, about fifty in all, lived at the shelter, but most would eat their dinner, slowly, and leave to return to the darkness. Some abused drugs and alcohol. Some were mentally ill. Volunteering at the shelter always made Theo stop and remember how lucky he was.

After everyone was served, Theo, his parents, and the other volunteers had a quick dinner in the kitchen. Some of the volunteers began washing dishes and storing the leftovers. The Boones drifted away. Mrs. Boone went to her little room to meet with clients. Mr. Boone set up shop in a corner and began reviewing Medicare forms for an elderly couple.

Theo was tutoring a fourth grader in math when his cell phone vibrated. It was Julio. Theo excused himself and stepped outside where he could talk. Julio explained that he had just talked to Bobby. He was hiding in an apple orchard far from town, in an old warehouse where other undocumented workers were living. The police had stopped by once, but the workers knew how to avoid them. He was in the process of arranging a ride back to Texas where he would recross the border and head home.

“Did you tell him he needs to stay and to testify tomorrow?” Theo asked, though he knew the answer.

“No, Theo, I did not. Bobby’s gone.”

Later, when they were home and Theo was getting ready for bed, he told his parents about the phone call.

His father said, “Well, tomorrow should be a very interesting day in court.”

Theo replied, “I think I should be there.” Though he was telling himself he had no interest in the trial and didn’t care what happened, he couldn’t deny the truth.

“And why is that?” his mother asked.

“Come on, Mom. Why can’t you admit that you and Dad and every other lawyer in this town would love to be in court when Jack Hogan is forced to announce that his star witness has disappeared? Talk about high drama. Clifford Nance will go nuts and jump up and down demanding a mistrial. There’ll be a big fight, everybody yelling, everybody shocked at what’s happening. You know you would love to see that.”

“I’m very busy tomorrow, Teddy, and so are you. You’ve missed enough school and—”

“I know, I know. But school is so boring. I’m thinking about dropping out.”

“Might be a bit tough getting into law school if you don’t finish middle school,” his father observed wisely.

“Good night,” Theo said, already headed for the stairs with Judge at his heels. He locked himself in his room, stretched out on his bed, and stared at the ceiling. There was only one thing left to do and he’d thought about it all afternoon. The idea was to send Bobby a text, a final, desperate plea to do what was right. He was convinced he could do it and not get caught. Bobby wouldn’t tell anyone; in fact, Bobby was probably racing across the country now, stuffed in the back of a truck full of apples headed for Texas.

Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was still hiding, and his only means of contact was his cell phone.

Theo opened his laptop and wrote a message: Hi Bobby, Theo here. The trial is almost over. Tomorrow is very important. And we need you to be here. You will be safe and you will do a great job in court. Please come back. Your friend, Theo.

He pulled up a Spanish dictionary and began translating. Madame Monique always said that language learners make the mistake of trying to translate word for word, but at the moment, Theo had no choice. He tinkered with it for half an hour, certain it was full of little mistakes, then punched it into his cell phone. He hesitated, knowing he was doing something wrong, but sent it anyway.

After an hour of fidgeting and tossing, he finally fell asleep.

Chapter 21

Theo awoke, well rested and ready for the day. In the shower, he thought about Bobby, but managed to dismiss all thoughts of the trial.

As he was getting dressed, he thought about Jack Hogan, but managed to dismiss all thoughts of the trial.

As he fixed two bowls of Cheerios, he thought about Pete Duffy, but managed to dismiss all thoughts of the trial.

As he was riding his bike to school, he crossed Main Street and saw the courthouse in the distance, but he managed to dismiss all thoughts of the trial.

As he was listening to Madame Monique talk about Spanish adjectives, he thought about his last text message to Bobby. Of course, there had been no response. But he managed to dismiss all thoughts of the trial.

As he was sitting in Geometry, and daydreaming about an upcoming camping trip, someone knocked on the door and it swung open. A grim-faced Mrs. Gladwell stepped into the room, ignored Miss Garman, looked straight at him, and said, “Theo, please come with me.” His heart and lungs froze and his knees were weak as he headed for the door. Outside, waiting in the hallway, were Officers Bard and Sneed. Neither smiled, and Theo’s hands and wrists froze, too, just waiting for the handcuffs.

Mrs. Gladwell said, “I just spoke with Judge Henry Gantry, and he would like to see you in his office, immediately. He’s sent these two officers to drive you over to the courthouse.”

Theo couldn’t think, couldn’t talk, couldn’t do anything but stand there like a frightened little boy who really wanted his parents. “Sure,” he finally managed to say. “What’s going on?”

Oh, he knew. Somehow his two text messages to Bobby had been discovered, and he was about to be charged with witness tampering. Judge Gantry was furious. Clifford Nance was demanding an arrest. His life was over. He was headed for Juvenile Detention.

“Let’s go,” Bard said. They marched him down the hall like a man being led to the electric chair, or the gas chamber, or the firing squad. Theo was often amazed at how quickly gossip spread through Strattenburg Middle School, so he was not that surprised when several nosy teachers were standing in their open doorways, watching. In the front lobby, some seventh-grade students were arranging art on a bulletin board. They stopped and gawked at the prisoner as he was led away. A black-and-white police car, complete with logos and lights and antennas, was waiting at the curb.

Sneed said, “Just hop in the backseat.”

Theo climbed in and sank low. He could barely see out the window as the car began to move, but he managed to glance back at the school. Dozens of students were standing at the windows, watching young Theodore Boone get hauled away to face the fury of the criminal justice system.

After a few minutes of total silence, Theo asked, “So what’s up, guys?”

Bard, the driver, said, “Judge Gantry will explain everything.”

“Can I call my parents?”

“Sure,” Sneed said.

Theo instead called Ike, who answered. Theo said, “Hey, Dad, it’s me, Theo. Look, I’m on my way to the courthouse to see Judge Gantry.”

Ike said, “Okay, I’m outside the courtroom. There’s a recess; the jury is still out. Nothing has happened in the courtroom but I suspect Jack Hogan finally had to admit that Bobby Escobar has disappeared. Things are pretty tense.”

Tell me about it. “Well, I’ll be there in a minute. Guess you’d better tell Mom.”

“Will do.”

They parked behind the courthouse and entered through a rear door. To avoid everyone, they took an old elevator to the second floor and hurried into the outer room of Judge Gantry’s chambers. It was packed with lawyers — Jack Hogan and his gang and the entire defense team. Hogan and Clifford Nance were in one corner, whispering about something that was terribly important. Everyone stopped and stared at Theo as he followed the two policemen to the big door.

Inside, Judge Gantry was waiting, alone. He dismissed Bard and Sneed and said hello to Theo. He didn’t seem particularly aggravated, just tense. He said, “Sorry to bother you like this, Theo, but something important has come up. It seems as though Bobby Escobar has disappeared. Do you know anything about it?”

At that point, Theo wasn’t sure what was right and what was wrong, but he couldn’t change what had been done. And, he trusted Judge Gantry. He said, “Yes, sir. His cousin Julio Pena called me around midnight Monday and said he’d just talked to Bobby, said he had left the motel and was hiding.”

“So you’ve known about this since Monday night?”

“Yes, sir. I wasn’t sure what to do. I’m just a kid, you know?”

“Did you tell your parents?”

“I told Ike yesterday morning and my parents yesterday afternoon. We were hoping they would find Bobby and everything would work out.”

“Well, they haven’t found him. Any idea where he is?”

“Last night he called Julio and told him he was hiding in an apple orchard somewhere around Weeksburg, said he was planning to go back to Texas and cross the border. Julio called me and told me this.”

Judge Gantry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was sitting behind his massive desk in shirt sleeves and a tie. Theo was sitting in a chair across from him, his feet barely touching the floor. He felt very small. “There’s something else,” he said, removing his cell phone. He found the two text messages to Bobby and handed the phone across the desk.

Judge Gantry read the texts and shrugged. “These are in Spanish. Did you write them?”

“I had help translating the first, but I wrote the second one.”

“What does it say?”

“I just told Bobby that today is an important day, that he’s needed here in court, that he’ll do fine and he’ll be safe. That’s all. I wasn’t trying to tamper with a witness. I promise.”

Judge Gantry shrugged again and slid the phone back across the desk. “I’m impressed with your Spanish.”

Theo grabbed the phone and felt his entire body relax. What, no handcuffs? No jail? No yelling at me for sending text messages to a crucial witness? He took a deep breath and managed to fully exhale. The knot in his stomach loosened a bit.

“Did he respond in any way?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you talked to Julio this morning?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, it looks like I’m staring at another mistrial. Jack Hogan described Bobby’s testimony to the jury in his opening statement, and now the kid is gone. I can’t believe the police allowed him to get away.”

“Hard to believe,” Theo said, but only because he couldn’t think of anything else.

“You’d better hang around for a while, just in case he decides to call. Unless, of course, you want to go back to class.”

“I’ll stay.”

Judge Gantry pointed to a chair wedged in a corner between two heavy bookcases. “Take a seat over there and don’t make a sound.”

Theo scampered to the chair and became invisible. Judge Gantry pushed a button on his phone and said, “Mrs. Hardy, send in the lawyers.”

Within seconds, the door flew open and all the lawyers who’d been waiting poured into the room. Judge Gantry directed them to a long conference table and took a seat at the end. The court reporter set up her stenographic machine next to him. When everyone was settled, Judge Gantry said, “Let’s go on the record.” The court reporter began pressing her keys.

He cleared his throat and said, “It’s about ten thirty on Wednesday morning, and the State has called all of its witnesses, with the exception of one Bobby Escobar, who is not here and evidently cannot be found. You agree, Mr. Hogan?”

Jack Hogan kept his seat. He was obviously angry and frustrated, but also resigned to defeat. “Yes, Your Honor, that appears to be the case.”

“Mr. Nance?”

“Your Honor, on behalf of Pete Duffy, the defendant, I move for a mistrial, on the grounds that the prosecutor, Mr. Hogan, promised the jury in his opening statement that they would hear from an eyewitness, a witness who would be damaging to our case, a witness who could well determine the outcome. The jury had every right to believe this; indeed, we all believed it. Since Monday morning, the jury has been expecting the State to put this witness on the stand. Now, however, it appears as though this will not happen. This is grossly unfair to the defendant, and it’s obvious grounds for a mistrial.”

“Mr. Hogan?”

“Not so fast, Your Honor. I think this situation can be explained to the jury, and the jury can be told to disregard my opening comments. I’m happy to apologize to the jury and explain my actions. Everything was in good faith. We have presented enough proof to convict the defendant even without the testimony of Bobby Escobar. A second mistrial means that the murder charges will be dropped, and that would be an injustice.”

Judge Gantry said, “I’m not inclined to agree, Mr. Hogan. The damage has been done, and the defendant has no way to cross-examine the witness. It seems quite unfair to him to promise the testimony of such a crucial witness and then not deliver.”

Hogan’s shoulders slumped and he shook his head. Clifford Nance barely suppressed a smile. Theo couldn’t believe his good luck — a ringside seat at the most important moment in the biggest murder trial anyone could remember. He absorbed every word without moving a muscle. No one seemed to realize he was there.

Judge Gantry said, “We’ll stand in recess until this afternoon. The search is not over and I may have some new information. We’ll meet here at two. Until then, not a word of this to anyone. I don’t want my jurors to know what’s going on. Meeting’s over.”

The lawyers slowly got to their feet and headed for the door. Judge Gantry motioned for Jack Hogan to stay behind. When the door closed and they were alone, he said to the prosecutor, “There’s an apple orchard outside of Weeksburg. Get the police to search it immediately.”

Hogan left quickly, and Judge Gantry sat in his chair behind his desk. He looked at Theo and said, “What a mess. What would you do in this situation?”

Theo thought for a second. He was struck by the loneliness of the job, the importance of making decisions that had such a heavy impact on the lives of so many people. When he wasn’t dreaming of being a great courtroom lawyer, he was dreaming of being a wise and respected judge. Now, though, he was having second thoughts. He wouldn’t want to be in Judge Gantry’s shoes at the moment.

He said, “I like what Jack Hogan said. Why can’t you just explain things to the jurors and let them decide the case based on the testimony they’ve heard? There’s a lot of evidence that points directly at Pete Duffy.”

“I agree, but if he’s convicted he will appeal, and the Supreme Court of this state will surely reverse the conviction. No trial judge likes to be reversed, Theo. That would mean we would have to try Pete Duffy for a third time, and that doesn’t seem fair.”

“But wouldn’t that give us time to find Bobby Escobar?”

“Do you really think they’ll find him?”

Theo considered this for a second and said, “No, sir, not really. He’s probably halfway back to Texas right now. Can’t say that I blame him.”

There was a loud knock on the door, and before Judge Gantry could respond, Mrs. Marcella Boone barged into the office and said, “Henry, where’s Theo?”

Theo jumped to his feet and said, “Hi, Mom.”

Judge Gantry stood and said, “Hello, Marcella. Theo and I are just discussing the trial.”

“I heard he was arrested,” she said.

“Arrested for what? No, he’s helping me consider the motion for a mistrial. Have a seat.”

She took a deep breath, shook her head in either frustration or disbelief, probably both, and managed to relax.

Chapter 22

The police combed through the three apple orchards near Weeksburg and found nothing. Every undocumented worker within five miles had vanished into the woods; there was no sign of them and certainly no sign of Bobby. By noon, they had reported the bad news to the Strattenburg police. They checked on Julio and his mother, Carola; neither had heard from Bobby. They talked to his boss and he knew nothing. The search was over. The witness was gone.

Theo had a pleasant lunch with his parents and Ike at Pappy’s Deli. His father suggested that he go back to school, but Theo thought otherwise. Judge Gantry needed him, he explained. He was under strict orders from the court to stay close to the courtroom, just in case Bobby decided to check in. “No chance of that,” Ike said, chewing on a world-famous pastrami sandwich.

Mrs. Boone was due in court at one, and of course Mr. Boone had urgent business back at the office. Theo and Ike strolled up and down Main Street, killing time, waiting for two p.m. when the lawyers would meet again and Judge Gantry would do the unthinkable: declare another mistrial.

At one point Theo said, “Say, Ike, do you ever think about the reward money?”

“Sure,” Ike admitted.

“What will happen to it?”

“Don’t know. On the one hand, Pete Duffy has been caught and he’ll serve a few years for escape. I suppose we can make a claim for the money on the grounds that he was found, brought back, convicted, and sent to prison. But on the other hand, the reward offer states that the money will be given to any person who provides information that leads to the arrest and conviction of Pete Duffy for the murder of Myra Duffy. Murder, not escape and evasion. So, it might be hard to collect the money if there’s another mistrial.”

“Then we’re out of luck.”

“Looks that way. Have you been thinking about the money?”

“Every now and then.”

“Well, forget about it.”

In front of Guff’s Frozen Yogurt, they passed two of the jurors, faces they recognized from the courtroom. Both wore large, round buttons with the word JUROR across the center, so everyone would know they were important and were not to be quizzed about the Pete Duffy matter.

Ike wanted coffee so they stopped at Gertrude’s, an old diner on Main, world famous for their pecan waffles. Theo often wondered if every small town boasted of some dish that was world famous. The place was packed with other familiar faces, folks Theo didn’t know but had seen in the courtroom. Everyone seemed to be waiting for two p.m.

If they only knew.

Theo said, “This is where my dad comes every morning for breakfast. He sits over there at that round table with a bunch of old guys and they eat toast and drink coffee and catch up on the gossip. Sounds pretty boring, doesn’t it?”

“I once did that, Theo, many years ago, at that same table,” Ike said sadly, as if he remembered a time that was far more pleasant. “But I don’t miss it. Now it’s more fun hanging out in bars late at night and playing poker with shady characters. The gossip is much better.”

Theo ordered an orange juice and they killed more time. At one thirty, his phone vibrated. It was a text from Judge Gantry: Theo, heard anything?

No, sorry.

Be here in 15 minutes.

Yes, sir.

“That was Judge Gantry,” Theo said. “He wants me back in his chambers in fifteen minutes. You see, Ike, he needs my help to decide this very important matter. He realizes how brilliant I am and how much of the law I know, and he has decided to lean on me during this crucial moment.”

“Thought he was smarter than that.”

“He’s a genius, Ike. It takes one to know one.”

“So how would you rule in this matter?”

“I would explain everything to the jury, proceed with the trial, and hope the prosecution has enough evidence to convict Duffy.”

“The prosecution doesn’t have enough evidence. We saw that during the first trial. And if you don’t declare a mistrial now, and if there’s a conviction, it’ll just be thrown out on appeal. You wouldn’t make a very good judge.”

“Thanks, Ike. What would you do?”

“He has no choice but to declare a mistrial. That’s what I’d do. Then, I’d tell the police to give us the reward money.”

“You told me to forget about the money.”

“Right.”

At one forty-five, Theo followed Mrs. Hardy into Judge Gantry’s chambers. She closed the door and left. Theo took a seat and waited while the judge finished a phone conversation. He looked tired and frustrated. A half-eaten sandwich was on a napkin in the center of his desk, next to an empty bottle of water. Theo realized that Judge Gantry didn’t have the luxury of stepping out for lunch. Some clown would surely ask about the trial.

He hung up and said, “That was the sheriff over in Weeksburg, a guy I know pretty well. No sign of our friend.”

“He’s gone, Judge. Bobby lives in the shadows, like a lot of undocumented workers. He knows how to disappear.”

“I thought your parents were trying to sponsor him and speed along his citizenship requirements. What happened?”

“Not sure, but I think the paperwork got backed up in Washington. They’re still trying, but things are moving real slow. Now, I guess it doesn’t matter. His mother is sick in El Salvador and he’s going home.”

“Well, he sure screwed up this case.”

“Judge, I have a question. During the first trial, when Bobby finally came forward, you declared a mistrial. The following week, Bobby went to Jack Hogan’s office and gave a formal statement. They used some ace translator, someone who does the Spanish in trials, and everything was recorded by a court reporter, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“So why can’t that statement be read to the jury? That way, they’ll hear everything Bobby has to say and we can finish the trial.”

Judge Gantry smiled and said, “It’s not that easy, Theo. Keep in mind that when you’re accused of a crime you have the right to face your accusers, to cross-examine those who testify against you. Pete Duffy didn’t have that chance because his lawyers were not in the room when Bobby gave his statement. If I allowed his statement into evidence now, that too would be grounds for a reversal on appeal.”

“I guess it takes guts to be fair, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, you could say that.” Judge Gantry looked at his watch, frowned, tapped his fingers on his desk as if he were in no hurry, and said, “Well, Theo, I guess it’s time. You want to stay here or go back to class?”

“I’ll stay.”

“Figures.” He pointed to the same chair in the same corner and Theo reassumed his position. Judge Gantry punched a button on his phone and said, “Mrs. Hardy, send in the lawyers.” The door flew open and the room was soon crowded as they all gathered around the table. When the court reporter was ready, Judge Gantry said, “It is now two p.m. and the search for Bobby Escobar has been called off. The court has before it a defense motion for a mistrial. Anything further, Mr. Hogan?”

Jack Hogan reluctantly said, “No, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Nance?”

“No, sir.”

“All right.” Judge Gantry took a deep breath and said, “I’m afraid I have no choice in this matter. It would be unfair to the defendant to proceed without the testimony of one Bobby Escobar.”

From his pocket, Theo’s phone vibrated. He grabbed it, looked at it, and almost fainted. It was Bobby. He blurted, “Hang on, Judge!”

Chapter 23

Pursuant to Bobby’s request, Judge Gantry, Theo, and the translator drove five minutes to Truman Park and waited by the carousel. When they were in place, he stepped from behind a row of giant boxwoods and walked to meet them. His boots had mud caked on them. His jeans were dirty. His eyes were red and he looked tired. In Spanish he said, “I’m sorry about this, but I’m frightened and not sure what to do.”

The translator, a young lady named Maria, passed it along in English.

Judge Gantry said, “Bobby, nothing has changed since the last time we talked several months ago. You are an important witness and we need you to tell the court what you saw.”

Maria raised a hand — “Not so fast. Short sentences please.” She handled the Spanish, and Judge Gantry continued: “You will not be arrested or harmed in any way, I promise. Just the opposite. I’ll make sure you are protected.”

English to Spanish, and Bobby managed a quick smile.

News that the witness had been found roared through the courthouse and the downtown law offices. At three p.m., an even larger crowd gathered. Theo and Ike had prime seats two rows behind the prosecution, where they were joined by Woods Boone, who had somehow managed to pull himself away from the urgent business on his desk. As Theo looked around, he noticed a lot of the town’s lawyers jockeying for seats.

Pete Duffy was brought in and sat at his table. He looked pale and confused. He chatted with Clifford Nance, who was obviously upset and animated. Gone was the smug confidence Theo had seen only an hour before.

The bailiff called the court to order and it took a few seconds for the mob to settle in. All seats were taken and people lined the walls around the courtroom. Judge Gantry assumed the bench and instructed a bailiff to bring in the jurors. When they were seated, he looked at them and began an explanation: “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I apologize for the delay. I know it’s frustrating to sit around for hours waiting for the lawyers and me to resolve matters, but that’s what usually happens in a trial. At any rate, we are now ready to proceed. The State will call one more witness, a Mr. Bobby Escobar, who does not speak English. Therefore, we will be using a court certified translator. Her name is Maria Oliva — I’ve used her before and she is very good — and she will be sworn to tell the truth, just like the witness. It’s sort of an awkward way to receive testimony, but we have no choice. I read an article one time about a federal court in New York where they have certified translators for over thirty languages. I guess we’re lucky here; we just deal with two. At any rate, the testimony will be a bit slower, and we’re not going to rush. I ask you to pay close attention and be patient. Are the lawyers ready to proceed?”

Both Jack Hogan and Clifford Nance nodded.

Maria Oliva stood and walked to the witness stand. A bailiff produced a Bible and she placed her left hand on it. The bailiff said, “Do you solemnly swear that you will translate the testimony truthfully and accurately and to the best of your ability?”

She said, “I do.”

Judge Gantry said, “Mr. Hogan, you may call your next witness.”

Hogan rose and said, “The State calls Bobby Escobar.”

A side door opened, and Bobby emerged, following a bailiff. He ignored the crowd, the lawyers, and the defendant, and walked with some measure of confidence to the witness stand. He had been there before. A week earlier, before the trial started, Jack Hogan had brought Bobby to the empty courtroom and put him through a lengthy, grueling dress rehearsal. Hogan had fired questions at Bobby. Maria had interpreted. An assistant prosecutor had played the role of Clifford Nance, and even managed to yell at Bobby. He called him a liar! At first, Bobby had been rattled and uncertain. But as the day wore on, he began to understand the nature of testifying, and especially that of a brutal cross-examination.

When that session was over, Jack Hogan had confidence in his witness. Bobby, though, wasn’t so sure.

He swore to tell the truth and took his seat. Maria was in a folding chair next to him, also with a microphone in her face. The courtroom was silent and still. The jurors were gawking, waiting.

Theo had never seen nor felt such tension. It was awesome!

Hogan began with slow, easy questions. Bobby was nineteen years old and he lived with his aunt and her family. He was from El Salvador and had been in the United States for less than a year. He had crossed the border illegally to find work. Back home he had family — parents and three younger brothers — and they were poor and hungry. Bobby did not want to leave home, but felt he had no choice. Once in Strattenburg, he found a job at the Waverly Creek golf course, mowing grass and doing general maintenance. He was earning seven dollars an hour. He was trying to learn English but it seemed overwhelming. He had dropped out of school when he was fourteen years old.

Moving on to the day in question: It was a Thursday, a cloudy, windy day and the golf course wasn’t that busy. At eleven thirty, Bobby and his coworkers began their thirty-minute lunch break at the maintenance shed hidden on the Creek Course. As he often did, Bobby eased away from the others and went to his favorite spot beneath some trees. He preferred to eat alone because it gave him time to think about his family and say his prayers.

Jack Hogan nodded to an assistant, and a large aerial photo of the Creek Course’s sixth fairway appeared on the screen. Bobby took a red laser pointer and showed the jury exactly where he had been eating lunch.

His testimony continued: About halfway through his lunch break, he saw a golf cart speed along the asphalt path that hugs the fairway, then cut across it to a home that had already been identified as the Duffy residence. A man wearing a black sweater, tan slacks, and a maroon golf cap parked the cart next to the patio, got out, and reached into a golf bag. He removed a white glove and quickly put it on his right hand. There was already one on his left. He walked across the patio, stopped at the door, and took off his shoes. In Bobby’s opinion, the man was in a hurry. Sitting under the trees, between sixty and one hundred yards away, Bobby had a clear view of the man and the back of the Duffy home. At the time, Bobby thought nothing of it, though he was curious as to why the man put on the additional glove and why he left his shoes on the patio. Many of the people who lived at Waverly Creek played golf and stopped by their homes for whatever reason. A few minutes passed as Bobby continued with his lunch. He owned neither a watch nor a cell phone and did not know the exact time. No other golfer was on the sixth fairway of the Creek Course at that time. The man emerged from the house, quickly put on his shoes, took off both gloves and put them in his golf bag. He glanced around, evidently saw no one, then sped away in the direction from which he came. A few minutes later, Bobby returned to the maintenance shed. Lunch break was over. The foreman, Bobby’s boss, ran a tight ship and made them resume their work at precisely noon. An hour or so later, Bobby and a coworker were working on a sprinkler head near the thirteenth green, and he saw the same man as he arrived at the fourteenth tee box on the South Nine. The man looked around, saw no one, reached into his golf bag, removed something white, and placed it in the trash can. At the time, the man was wearing a white golf glove on his left hand, same as all right-handed golfers. Bobby couldn’t tell what the man put in the trash, but a few minutes later he rummaged through it and found two gloves — one for the right hand, one for the left. He explained that the boys who work on the course empty the trash twice a day, and that they routinely go through it, retrieving old golf balls, tees, used gloves, all types of junk. Bobby kept the gloves for a few days. When he realized the man was a suspect in his wife’s murder, Bobby gave the gloves to a friend who gave them to the police.

Jack Hogan walked to a small table next to the court reporter and picked up a plastic bag. He handed it to Bobby and invited him to open it and touch the gloves. Bobby did so, taking his time. When he was convinced, he looked up and nodded. “Yes, these are the gloves I found, the gloves left behind by the man in the black sweater, tan slacks, and maroon golf cap.” He set the gloves aside.

His testimony continued: Not long after he found the gloves, word spread through Waverly Creek that the police were swarming around a house on the sixth fairway of the Creek Course. A lady had been found dead! Curious, Bobby returned to the maintenance shed, then eased through the woods. When the rear of the Duffy house came into view, he saw the same man sitting in his golf cart, surrounded by policemen. The man was obviously upset. The police were trying to calm him.

Jack Hogan asked the witness if he’d ever met Pete Duffy. No. He and the workers were told to be polite to the golfers but never speak to them. Another image was flashed onto the large screen, one of Pete Duffy sitting in the golf cart, surrounded by policemen. He was wearing a black sweater, tan slacks, and a maroon golf cap.

Bobby had no trouble identifying him as the man who entered the house at approximately eleven forty-five, or halfway through lunch, and later tossed away the two golf gloves.

With great drama, Jack Hogan, said, “Your Honor, please let the record reflect that the witness has identified the defendant, Mr. Pete Duffy.”

“It so reflects,” Judge Gantry said as he glanced at his watch. Everyone had forgotten about the time; it was five ten. “Let’s take a fifteen-minute recess,” he said. Bobby had been on the stand for two hours and needed a break. His testimony was captivating, mainly because it was so believable, but the back and forth between the languages was exhausting for everyone.

“Looks like Henry plans to work late today,” Ike said.

“I thought he always adjourned at five,” Woods said, but then Woods never spent time in the courtroom.

“Depends,” Theo said, like a veteran lawyer.

Pete Duffy stood to stretch his legs. He looked frail and thin and his shoulders sagged. All of his lawyers were frowning. Clifford Nance huddled with Omar Cheepe and Paco, who were seated in the first row behind the defense. Few people left the courtroom; no one wanted to lose their seat.

At five thirty, Judge Gantry returned to the bench, but only for a moment. He explained that one of the jurors was not feeling well, and, since it was late in the day anyway, court was adjourned until nine the following morning. He tapped his gavel and disappeared. Bobby was escorted from the courtroom by two deputies.

Theo assumed he would be taken to a safe place and watched closely throughout the night.

As the crowd slowly filed out of the courtroom, Mr. Boone said, “Hey, Ike, we’re having Chinese take-out tonight. Why don’t you stop by the house for dinner, and we’ll talk about the trial.”

Ike was already shaking his head. “Thanks, but I—”

“Come on, Ike,” Theo pleaded. “I have a lot of questions for you.”

Ike seldom said no to his favorite nephew.

Chapter 24

The kitchen table was covered with paper plates, napkins, and cartons of chicken chow mein, sweet-and-sour shrimp, fried rice, wonton soup, and egg rolls, all from Theo’s favorite restaurant, the Dragon Lady. Ike used a fork and Theo wanted to, but his mother insisted he eat the food properly, with chopsticks. Judge, however, ate like a dog as he devoured two egg rolls.

Ike was saying, “Based on what I’ve heard, the medical examiner found nothing on the body of Myra Duffy that came from the leather golf gloves. No fragment, no thread, nothing. The theory is that Pete carefully wiped everything off with a towel or something before he left the scene. The left glove, the one he normally wore when playing, was older and well used, and they were able to isolate DNA from some sweat inside the glove. There was nothing from the right glove, probably because it was brand new. He put it on just to strangle her, then took it off.”

Mrs. Boone asked, “Does the DNA match Pete Duffy’s?”

“Of course it does, but why bother? With Bobby’s testimony, you have an eyewitness who explained it all to the jury.”

“So the medical examiner will not testify again?” Mr. Boone asked.

“Don’t know. He was in the courtroom today, and Hogan might put him on the stand tomorrow. I certainly would, just to be safe. His testimony would add some weight to Bobby’s.”

“How did Bobby do on the stand?” Mrs. Boone asked.

“Pretty amazing,” Ike said.

“Very believable,” Mr. Boone said.

“Theo?” she asked.

It wasn’t every day that Theo was asked to express his legal opinions to a group of adults, all of whom knew a ton about the law, so he swallowed hard and collected his words. “It seemed to take a few minutes for the jury to get used to the translation, and for me, too. Spanish comes across awfully fast, but then I guess every other language does when you don’t speak it.”

“I thought your Spanish was pretty good,” Ike interrupted.

“Not that good. I didn’t understand very much. But after a few questions, I got the hang of it. Maria, the translator, was very good. It was obvious that Mr. Hogan had practiced with her and Bobby. His questions were brief and to the point, and Bobby’s answers were also short, but truthful. I kept asking myself, ‘What does he gain by lying? Why wouldn’t the jury believe every word?’ And I think they did.”

“Oh, they did,” Mr. Boone said. “I watched their faces. They missed nothing and they believed it all. Pete Duffy is about to be convicted.”

“What happens tomorrow?” Theo asked.

“It’ll be ugly,” Ike said. “Clifford Nance will attack Bobby, just like he did in his opening statement. He’ll squawk about the illegal immigrant issue, and he’ll accuse Bobby of cutting a deal with the State: his testimony against Duffy in return for a promise not to deport. I’m afraid Bobby’s in for a rough day.”

Theo swallowed hard again and said, “I think I should be there.”

Both parents almost choked as each tried to speak first. “I’m afraid that won’t happen, Theo,” his mother said sharply. She was usually one step quicker.

“You missed school all day Monday and most of today,” his father said. “That’s enough.”

Theo knew there were times when it was okay to push a little, and there were other times when pushing only made matters worse. This was a good time to back off. He knew he couldn’t win. It was better to take defeat with some dignity.

As he got up from the table, he said, “Better hit the old homework.”

Both parents were watching him suspiciously, both ready to pounce if he dared to mention the trial again. As he and Judge left the kitchen, he said, barely audible, “I think I’m getting sick.”

At seven forty-five the following morning, Theo was eating breakfast and reading the local newspaper online. His father had already left. His mother was in the den reading the old-fashioned print version of the same newspaper.

The phone rang. Once, then twice. It never rang in the morning. Theo wasn’t about to answer but his mother said, “Theo, would you get that, please?”

Theo stepped to the phone, grabbed it, and said, “Boone residence.”

A familiar voice said, “Good morning, Theo. This is Judge Gantry. Can I speak to one of your parents?”

“Sure, Judge.” He almost added, “What in the world is going on?” but managed to bite his tongue. He said, “Mom, it’s for you.”

“Who is it?” she asked, and picked up in the den before he could answer. Theo bolted to the doorway to eavesdrop. He heard her say, “Well, good morning, Henry.” A pause. “Yes, yes.” A longer pause. “Well, Henry, I just don’t know. He’s missed so much school already this week, but...” A pause as she listened. Theo could feel his heart quicken. She said, “Well, yes, Henry, Theo makes very good grades and I’m sure he could catch up. But...” Another pause. “Well, if you put it like that, Henry, I guess it’s not a bad idea.” Theo was about to jump out of his skin. Then, “A coat and tie. Well, sure. Fine, Henry, thanks. I’ll tell him right now.” As she hung up, Theo scurried back to his chair, grabbed his spoon, and crammed in a mouthful of Cheerios.

Mrs. Boone walked into the kitchen, still wearing her bathrobe, but Theo ignored her. He was too busy staring at his laptop. She said, “That was Judge Gantry.”

No kidding, Mom. I just spoke to him.

“And he says he needs a law clerk today in court, says you were very important yesterday, and says you might be helpful today in dealing with Bobby.”

Theo managed to look up and say, “Gee, Mom, I don’t know. I have a pretty busy day at school.”

“He wants you there at eight fifteen, wearing a coat and tie, just like a real lawyer.”

Theo bolted for the stairs.

At eight fifteen, Theo followed Mrs. Hardy into Judge Gantry’s chambers. She said, “Here he is,” and turned around and left. He took a seat across the wide desk and waited for Judge Gantry to finish reading a document. He looked tired and grumpy. Finally, he said, “Good morning, Theo.”

“Good morning.”

“I thought you would want to be here today. It promises to be rather eventful, and since you’re the real reason we’re even having this trial, I thought you might enjoy watching it come to an end.”

“An end?”

“Yes, an end. Do you know what a law clerk does, Theo?”

“Sort of. I think they do research for judges and stuff like that.”

“That’s part of it. I use clerks from time to time, usually law students home for the summer. Often they’re more trouble than they’re worth, but occasionally I’ll get a good one. I like the ones who don’t say much but are good listeners and watch things closely in the courtroom.” He stood and stretched his back. Theo was afraid to speak.

Judge Gantry said, “I was here until almost midnight last night, Theo, meeting with the lawyers. A lot of stuff is happening, and I want your opinion.” He began pacing behind his desk, still stretching as if he had pulled a muscle somewhere. “You see, Theo, Myra Duffy has two sons, Will and Clark, two fine young men who are in college. I’m sure you’ve seen them in the courtroom. They’ve been here every day.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Their father was killed in a plane crash when they were young teenagers. After a few years, she married Pete Duffy, and Will and Clark got along well with their stepfather. Pete was good to them, provided for them, took them places, and has paid for their college. Of course they are bitter and broken over what happened to their mother, and they want him punished severely. But they have decided that they do not want Pete to get the death penalty. They think it’s too harsh, and they still have some feelings for the man, in spite of what he did. They’ve spent a lot of time with their aunt, Emily Green, Myra’s sister, and together they’ve made a family decision. No death penalty for Pete. Yesterday, after Bobby testified, and after it became pretty obvious that the jury is likely to find Pete guilty, they approached Jack Hogan and asked him to back off the death penalty. This puts Jack in a tough position. As the State’s prosecutor, he has the obligation to punish murderers to the fullest extent of the law, but Jack has never asked a jury to condemn a man to death. He also allows the family of the victim to have considerable input into the matter. Last night, Jack Hogan approached Clifford Nance and told him of the family’s decision. Hogan also offered a deal — a plea bargain. If Pete Duffy will admit to the murder, the State will suggest a sentence of life in prison, without the chance of parole. LWOP, as it’s known. Life without parole. I was notified, and we met here for several hours last night discussing the plea bargain. It means, of course, that Pete Duffy will eventually die in prison, but he won’t sit on death row waiting to be executed. It also means that this case will come to an end and the lawyers won’t be forced to spend the next fifteen years fighting through the appeals. As you probably know, capital murder verdicts drag on for years. Now, I have to either approve of the plea bargain, or not. What do you think about it?”

“Will Pete Duffy take the deal and plead guilty?” Theo asked.

“Don’t know yet. I suspect he had a very long night in jail. Clifford Nance is leaning in favor of the deal, and when we last spoke he had decided to recommend to Pete that he take it. Anything is better than living on death row waiting for an execution.”

“I like it, Judge,” Theo said. “When I think of the death penalty, I think of serial murderers and terrorists and drug dealers, really nasty people. I don’t think of men like Pete Duffy.”

“Murder is murder.”

“I guess, but Pete Duffy wouldn’t commit murder again, would he?”

“I doubt it. So you’re in favor of the plea bargain?”

“Yes, sir. I have some doubts about the death penalty anyway. With this deal, the man gets punished, the family is satisfied, and justice is done. I like it.”

“Okay. The lawyers will be here in a few minutes. I want you to take your seat over there and stay out of the way. Not a peep, okay?”

“Sure, but would a real law clerk have to hide in the corner?”

“So you want a seat at the table?”

“Sure.”

“Sorry. Just consider yourself lucky to be here.”

“Yes, sir. And thanks, Judge.”

Chapter 25

The air was heavy with tension as the lawyers filed into the room. Several glanced at Theo in the corner but no one seemed to care. There were far more important matters at the moment. They packed around the long table, opened their briefcases, pulled out papers and notepads, and settled into place. Judge Gantry took his seat at one end and the court reporter situated herself next to him. On one side was Jack Hogan and his gang of prosecutors. On the other was Clifford Nance and his defense team. Pete Duffy was not present.

Judge Gantry said, “Let’s go on the record,” and the court reporter began pressing keys.

“Mr. Nance, the offer on the table has not changed since midnight. Has Mr. Duffy made a decision?”

Clifford Nance looked as though he hadn’t slept in a week. He wore expensive suits and always looked the part of a successful trial lawyer, but now his tie was crooked, his shirt wrinkled. He said, “Your Honor, I met with my client at midnight, and again this morning at six a.m. He has finally agreed to plead guilty and take the deal.”

“Mr. Hogan, do you have the Plea Agreement?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” One of Hogan’s assistants produced a neat stack of papers and everyone got a copy. Hogan said, “It’s fairly straightforward, Your Honor.”

Theo had heard this before. In fact, his father claimed that when a lawyer says something is “fairly straightforward,” then you’d better look out. It’s actually pretty complicated.

The lawyers slowly read the agreement. It was only two pages long, and, in fact, fairly straightforward.

Judge Gantry said, “The defendant pleads guilty to one count of murder and gets a sentence of life without parole. He also pleads guilty to one count of escape and gets a sentence of two years, which will run concurrently with his life sentence.”

“That’s right, Your Honor,” Hogan said.

“I have decided to approve this Plea Agreement. Bring in the defendant.”

A deputy prosecutor stepped to the door, opened it, and nodded at someone in the reception area. A uniformed officer walked in, followed by Pete Duffy, who was followed by another officer. There were no handcuffs and no leg chains. Duffy was wearing his standard dark suit. Oddly, he seemed relaxed and managed to smile at Judge Gantry. As he was about to sit next to Clifford Nance, he glanced around the room and saw Theo. His smile vanished. His spine stiffened. He took a few steps toward the corner.

Theo knew Duffy wouldn’t hurt him, not at this point anyway, but his heart froze for a second. Duffy glared at him and said, “You found me, didn’t you? At the airport in Washington. It was you, wasn’t it?”

Theo wasn’t about to answer, but he returned the glare and didn’t blink.

“That’s enough,” Judge Gantry growled as an officer grabbed Duffy’s elbow. He led him back to the table where he sat next to Clifford Nance. Theo took a deep breath.

Judge Gantry said, “Mr. Duffy, I have here a two-page Plea Agreement that I want you to read carefully.”

Duffy didn’t reach for the document. Instead, he said, “I know what’s in it, Judge. I don’t need to read it. Mr. Nance has explained everything.”

“And you wish to plead guilty?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. In order to accept your guilty plea, I have to ask you a series of questions.”

Reading from a well-used manual, Judge Gantry began the questioning. First, he made sure Duffy knew what he was doing. Had he discussed all the issues with his lawyer? Yes. Was he satisfied with his lawyer’s advice? Yes. Did he have any complaints about his lawyer and the job he’d done? No. Did he understand that he would spend the rest of his life in prison? Yes. That by pleading guilty, he was giving up all rights to an appeal? Yes, he understood. That he could never change his mind after he signed the Plea Agreement? Yes. Judge Gantry inquired about his mental state. Was he taking medications? No. Anything that might cloud his judgment? No. Anything that might prevent him from making such an important decision? No.

This began to drag a bit, and Theo had a great idea. He slowly pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, and hiding it behind a leg while staring at the back of the judge’s head, sent a text to Ike: With Gantry now. Duffy pleading guilty!!

The reply came seconds later: I knew it.

Typical Ike. He thought he knew everything regardless of how much he really knew.

Theo was suddenly hit with the horrible thought that he had violated the trust Judge Gantry had placed in him. The judge would certainly want this little meeting to be kept quiet. This was a matter of the most serious nature.

Theo hurriedly sent another text: Keep it quiet, big mouth.

Ike replied: I’m in the courtroom. Everybody knows it.

That made Theo feel somewhat better. Secrets were hard to keep around the courthouse, anyway, and it was safe to assume the gossip was spreading like wildfire. He wisely decided to stick the phone back in his pocket.

When Judge Gantry finished his thorough questioning, he said, “Very well. I am satisfied that the defendant, Pete Duffy, is fully aware of what he is doing, has been properly advised by counsel, and is not being coerced in any way. Mr. Duffy, I hereby find you guilty of the murder of Myra Duffy, and I find you guilty of escape and evasion. All parties will now sign the Plea Agreement.”

As the judge spoke, Duffy sat back in his chair and glanced at Theo. Slowly, Duffy shook his head.

When the paperwork was finished, Judge Gantry stood and said, “Gentlemen, take your places in the courtroom, and I will address the jury.”

Mr. and Mrs. Boone were seated with Ike in the crowd, waiting. Everyone seemed to be talking at once, and the large, stately room buzzed in anticipation. When the lawyers appeared from the back, people took their seats. All eyes were on Pete Duffy as he walked to his chair, offering a fake smile along the way, as if things were just swell.

A bailiff stood and bellowed, “Order in the Court.” Things were instantly quiet and still.

Ike leaned over to Mrs. Boone and said, “I don’t see Theo.” She shrugged. Mr. Boone looked puzzled. The kid was nowhere to be seen.

The bailiff waited until everyone was nice and settled, then yelled, “All rise for the Court.” Everyone jumped to their feet as Judge Gantry stepped through the rear door, his long black robe flowing behind him. And right behind the robe was his young law clerk.

As Theo stepped onto the bench and saw the packed courtroom, with everyone standing because of tradition, and everyone staring up out of respect, he decided at that instant that perhaps being a judge wasn’t so bad after all. He told himself not to smile; things were far too important for that.

Judge Gantry lowered himself into his heavy, black chair, and said, “Please be seated.” As the crowd fell noisily back onto the benches, he pointed to an empty chair next to the bench and whispered, “Take a seat there, Theo.” Theo quickly sat down. His spot was just a few feet lower than the bench — more like a throne — and from there he could see every face in the courtroom. He winked at his mother but doubted she caught it. He gazed up at the packed balcony, and thought about all his buddies at school, toiling away in class. He noticed a few people staring at him, no doubt wondering “What’s that kid doing up there?”

Judge Gantry said, “Good morning. Please bring in the jury.”

A bailiff opened a door and the jury filed in for the last time. Theo looked at the defense table and realized Pete Duffy was glaring at him.

Too bad, Pete. You’re headed for a few decades in the slammer. And you’re lucky to get that.

When the jurors were in place, Judge Gantry addressed them: “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. A few minutes ago, in my chambers, the defendant, Mr. Pete Duffy, pled guilty to murder.”

Every juror looked at Pete Duffy, who was studying his fingernails. A few gasps rumbled through the crowd.

Judge Gantry continued, “In a month or so he will be formally sentenced by this court to prison for the rest of his life, without the chance of ever being paroled. So, at this point this trial comes to an end. I want to thank you for your service, for performing your duties as citizens. Our judicial system depends upon the unselfish service of people like you who do not volunteer for jury duty, but give of your valuable time anyway. You have been a wonderful jury, alert, attentive, and willing to serve. Thank you. At this point, you are dismissed.”

All of the jurors were surprised, some looked confused, but all seemed suddenly eager to leave the courtroom.

The judge looked at Pete Duffy and said, “The defendant will remain in the custody of the Stratten County sheriff until further notified.” He tapped his gavel and said, “Court’s adjourned.”

As they were leaving the courtroom, Judge Gantry put his hand on Theo’s shoulder and said, “Nice work, Theo. Now get your butt back to school.”

Chapter 26

A week later, Theo was in his office, suffering through his homework, listening to raindrops on his window, thinking about how boring life had become since the Duffy trial ended, when his mother opened his door and said, “Theo, could you please join us in the conference room?”

“Sure, Mom.” The meeting had been scheduled, though Theo would have little to say. He walked to the conference room, said hello to Ike, and shook hands with Sheriff Mackintosh. Both of his parents were there, and the adults had been meeting for some time before Theo was called in.

The sheriff explained that, in his opinion, Theo was entitled to the entire reward of $100,000. It was Theo who had spotted Pete Duffy, not once but twice. It was Theo who had been quick enough to take a video. He had called in Ike, and so on. It was Theo who had been recruited by the FBI to track down Duffy.

Theo certainly agreed with all of this. His problem was that his parents were getting in the way.

Mr. Boone said, “Yes, Sheriff, we know all of this, and we are very proud of Theo. But, as we’ve said, Theo has no business with this kind of money. Now or later.”

Mrs. Boone added, “And he had some help. Ike dropped everything and went to Washington to help Theo. We think Ike should get some of the money.”

Ike wanted a fifty-fifty split with Theo, but he wouldn’t admit to this.

Mr. and Mrs. Boone had already suggested that half of the money should be given to Bobby Escobar, for obvious reasons. Without Bobby, there would have been no pressure on Pete Duffy to plead guilty. And, if anyone needed the money it was Bobby.

Mr. Boone suggested that $25,000 should be paid to Theo. The money would go into a trust account for college. Another $25,000 should be paid to Ike, in cash. And $50,000 should be given to Bobby, in another trust account to be handled by Mr. Boone. The money would be supervised by the court and spent wisely.

Theo didn’t understand everything about a trust account. What he did understand, though, was that the money was off-limits to him and would be controlled by his parents. In other words, he couldn’t touch it. He wasn’t thrilled with the way the money was being divided. He couldn’t get his hands on a dime. Bobby deserved something, but half?

However, Theo couldn’t bring himself to argue with his parents. He didn’t want to seem greedy, nor did he want to take anything away from Bobby.

Ike wasn’t too thrilled either, but $25,000 was more than he had a month ago. Two days earlier, in a meeting Theo had not been invited to, Ike had argued with his brother and Marcella over how to split the money. He wanted more for Theo and himself and less for Bobby. They would not yield.

The sheriff asked Ike, “Is this okay with you, Mr. Boone?”

“Sure,” Ike said. Whatever. He was tired of arguing.

“And you, Theo?” the sheriff asked.

“Sure,” Theo said, though he really didn’t have a vote.

On the narrow street behind the office, Omar Cheepe and Paco sat low in a four-wheel drive pickup. On the dashboard was a receiver with the speaker on. As they listened to the Boones and the sheriff, they shook their heads in disbelief.

“Now we know,” Omar said. “I suspected that kid all along, and Pete knew he and his crazy uncle were in the airport. Now we know.”

“But it’s too late, right?” Paco asked.

Omar smiled and said, “Paco, Paco. Haven’t you learned that it’s never too late for revenge?”