The Accused

by John Grisham

  What a surprise, thought Theo. For reasons he would never understand, the relationship between his parents and Ike was complicated, and there was nothing he could do to simplify things. “It doesn’t take long to eat dinner,” he said.

  “Tell Marcella I said thanks.”

  “Will do.”

  Theo often confided in Ike, and told him things he would not tell his own parents. He considered mentioning how bizarre his day had become after leaving the courtroom that morning, but decided to let it pass. He could always tell Ike later, and seek his advice.

  They talked baseball and football, and after half an hour Theo and Judge said good-bye. His bike was right where he had left it, with two tires full of air, and he dashed away with Judge following. He found both of his parents back at the office and went through the routine of briefly describing his day.

  Marcella Boone did not enjoy cooking and was often too busy to even attempt it. Woods Boone was a lousy cook, but a fine eater, and since Theo was a toddler the family enjoyed sampling the wonderful ethnic foods of Strattenburg. On Monday, they ate Italian at Robilio’s. Tuesday was soup and a sandwich in a homeless shelter, not exactly fine cuisine. They bounced back Wednesday with Chinese carryout from one of three restaurants they liked. On Thursday, Mr. Boone picked up the daily special at a Turkish deli. Friday dinner was always fish at Malouf’s, a rowdy Lebanese bistro. On Saturday, they rotated selections, with each of the three picking their preference without input from the other two. Finally, on Sunday, Mrs. Boone would assume command of her kitchen and try a new recipe for a roasted chicken. The results were not always spectacular.

  Precisely at 7:00 p.m., the Boone family entered Robilio’s and were led to their favorite table.

  Chapter 5

  Tuesday morning. And not just any Tuesday, but the first Tuesday of the month, which meant Theo, and about fifty other Boy Scouts from Troop 1440, Old Bluff Council, wore their official scouting shirts and colorful neckerchiefs to school. The school board had decided that the wearing of a full uniform by a Boy Scout on school property would not be tolerated. There was a dress code that was vague, loosely enforced, and always causing trouble, and a full Scout uniform would not violate it. However, the school board was worried that if it allowed Boy Scout and Girl Scout uniforms on campus, even for just one specific day each month, then all types of uniforms might follow. Sports uniforms, karate uniforms, theatrical costumes, even religious garments like Buddhist robes and Muslim burkas. The entire issue had become complicated, and when a compromise was reached, Theo and the other Scouts felt lucky to get a partial uniform one day a month.

  He showered quickly, brushed his teeth, which were covered in thick braces and virtually unseen, and put on his official khaki short-sleeved shirt adorned with the required council shoulder patch, blue-and-white troop numerals, patrol emblem, and Life Ranking Award. When the shirt was perfect and tucked into a pair of jeans, he carefully fitted the orange neckerchief around his neck and secured it with the official Scout slide. A full uniform would have allowed Theo to show off his merit badge sash, something he was proud of because he had just been awarded his twenty-second and twenty-third merit badges, for astronomy and golf. If all went according to plan, Theo would attain the rank of Eagle the summer before he entered the ninth grade. His goal, other than becoming an Eagle Scout, was to have at least thirty-five merit badges, all colorfully displayed and sewed on in perfect order by his mother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  No, Mom, it’s Halloween.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Lunch money?” she asked.

  “Always.”

  “Is your homework done?”

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

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

  “I’m smiling, Mom.”

  “Love you, Teddy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  The rear tire was flat.

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

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

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

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

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

  “Have you told your parents?”

  “No one knows but you.”

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

  “Have you seen others in here?”

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

  “Eighteen dollars?” he asked.

  “Same as yesterday,” Gil replied.

  “I guess I’d better talk to my dad.”

  “Good idea.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “What happened?”

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

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

  “Good idea,” said Mrs. Boone.

  “Any idea who did this?” Elsa asked.

  “No,” Theo replied.

  Chapter 6

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

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

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

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

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

  “Stop the lying, Roger,” she said.

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

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

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

  “No,” she replied. “I’m not taking orders from you anymore.”

  “I’ll ask you to leave,” Mr. Boone said firmly.

  Mr. Treen smiled, touched his right pocket, and said, “Maybe I don’t want to leave.”

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

  There was a long pause. No one moved. Finally, Mrs. Boone said, “I have an idea. Let’s step into the conference room, just the four of us, get some coffee, and have a conversation.” Because she negotiated divorce settlements and spent a lot of time in the courtroom, Mrs. Boone understood the need for compromise. Her soft voice and even temper drained some of the tension.

  It was a standoff. Mr. Treen was not leaving. Mrs. Treen was not leaving with him. And no one wanted to provoke the guy with the gun. Mr. Treen blinked first, and in doing so kept the situation from getting worse. He said, “Okay, let’s talk.”

  Elsa quickly added, “I’ll get the coffee.”

  The Treens and the Boones stepped into the conference room and closed the doors. At first Theo and Elsa were not sure if they should call the police or wait on Mr. Boone. Theo was worried about his parents being in there with a somewhat agitated and emotional man who was unstable enough to carry a pistol in his pocket. What if things took a turn for the worse? What if they suddenly heard gunfire popping in the conference room? Theo wanted to call the police immediately.

  Elsa, though, had a different approach. Mr. Treen had agreed to talk peacefully about their problems. If the police showed up and arrested him on some weapons charge, then he might crack, go off the deep end, and do something crazier the next time. Elsa was confident her bosses could defuse the situation and perhaps make progress in settling some of the Treens’ issues.

  Elsa called a glass repairman who advertised 24-hour service.

  Minutes passed with no gunfire from the conference room. Nor were there loud, angry voices. Theo settled down somewhat, though given the events of the day, he was still unnerved. He and Elsa decided to take photos of the office and show the police later. They swept up the glass and saved the rock for evidence. The repairman arrived after dark and began replacing the broken panes.

  Usually, on Tuesday nights, the Boones left their offices and walked a few blocks to the Highland Street Shelter where they served food to the homeless and helped in other ways. Mrs. Boone, along with three other female attorneys in Strattenburg, had started a small, free legal clinic for abused women, several of whom were homeless and stayed at the shelter. Mr. Boone saw clients there, too, typically folks who had been wrongfully evicted from their homes and apartments, and people who had been denied benefits. Theo’s job was to help the homeless children with their studies.

  The meeting with the Treens gave every indication of lasting forever, so Theo decided to go to the shelter alone. His parents would catch up later, if for no other reason than to have dinner. After they served the homeless, they always had a quick bowl of soup or a sandwich before dispensing legal advice. Theo was starving and tired of the office. He said good-bye to Elsa and rode his bike to the shelter. He was too late for dinner but found leftovers in the kitchen.

  His current project was teaching Math to the Koback boys. Russ was eight and Ben was seven, and they had been living in the shelter with their mother for the past two months. Mrs. Boone was handling the legal matters for Mrs. Koback, and, though Theo did not know the details, he did know the little family was reeling from some type of tragedy. Mr. Koback had been killed in a faraway place, and in a manner that was not being discussed. After he died, the family lost everything and had lived in an old truck for several weeks before finding beds in the shelter.

  For Theo’s Eagle Scout project, he was planning to organize a program in which teenage volunteers who were old enough to drive would adopt a homeless kid, sort of like Big Brothers–Big Sisters. He was also thinking about building another shelter, one that would house homeless people who were still living in tents and under bridges. However, his father had warned him that such a project would cost millions.

  As usual, the Koback boys were subdued, even shy. Their young lives had been filled with turmoil and misery. Mrs. Boone said they were damaged and needed counseling. Theo managed to coax a few smiles as they plowed through the Math workbooks. Their mother sat nearby, watching, and, as Theo suspected, trying to learn the Math, too. Theo knew she could not read well.

  Each visit to the shelter reminded Theo how fortunate he was. Only half a mile from his warm, secure environment, there were people like the Kobacks, sleeping on cots in a shelter and eating food donated by churches and charities. Theo’s future was fairly predictable. If all went according to plan, he would finish high school, go to college (he had not yet decided where), then on to law school to become a lawyer. The Koback boys, on the other hand, had no idea where they would be living in a year. Highland Street allowed its “friends” to stay for twelve months only, during which time they were expected to find a job and a more permanent place to live. So, like everyone else, the Kobacks were just passing through.

  At 9:00 p.m., all volunteers checked out of the shelter. Theo said good-bye to Ben, Russ, and their mother, and left the basement. There was no sign of his parents, so he decided to bike back to the office to get his backpack and his dog, and hopefully find everyone still alive. There was almost no traffic at that hour, and Theo darted through the streets with little regard for the rules of the road. He jumped curbs, dashed along sidewalks, ran stop signs, and along the way reminded himself of how nice it was to have two fully inflated tires.

  At the corner of Main and Farley, a red light had two cars waiting in front of Theo, so he swerved onto the sidewalk. As he was executing a rather risky sliding turn onto Main, he slid into another bike, one being ridden by a uniformed policeman—Officer Stu Peckinpaw, a lean, gray-haired veteran who’d been patrolling downtown Strattenburg for decades. Every kid in town knew him, and tried to avoid him.

  Theo bounced up, unhurt, and brushed the dirt off his legs. “Sorry about that,” he said, half expecting to be arrested and hauled away to the police station.