by John Grisham
Officer Peckinpaw leaned his bike against a signpost and removed his helmet. “What’s your name, kid?” he demanded, as if Theo might be a serial killer.
“Theo Boone.” The two had met several times over the years, at least in passing. This, though, was Theo’s first real run-in with Officer Stu.
“That name’s familiar,” he said, and gave Theo the opening he always wanted.
“Yes, sir. My dad is Woods Boone and my mother is Marcella Boone. The law firm of Boone & Boone.”
“Rings a bell. So, if both parents are lawyers, then you should know the law, right?”
“I guess.”
“City code prohibits bikes on sidewalks at all hours of the day and night, no exceptions. Don’t you know this?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
Peckinpaw glared at Theo as if he might whip out the old handcuffs and slap both wrists together. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then get home and stay off the sidewalks.”
“Yes, sir. Thanks.”
Officer Stu had the reputation of having a loud bark but no bite, and he rarely wrote tickets to kids on bikes. He liked to yell and threaten, but preferred to avoid the paperwork. Theo sped away, greatly relieved to be out of trouble, but also curious about what else might happen on this eventful day. His cell phone beeped and he stopped to answer it. It was his mother, telling him to head home. The meeting with the Treens was finally over, and it had been a success.
His parents were eating a frozen pizza when he walked into the kitchen. They were exhausted. They asked about the shelter, but were almost too tired to talk. Theo was curious about the Treens and what happened after he left, but the old attorney-client shield was quickly thrown up and the conversation was cut off. His parents never talked about their clients. Never. A client’s business and the conversation between lawyers and their clients were strictly off-limits. Mrs. Boone did say an agreement had been reached, and the Treens would seek counseling.
Theo had a lot of things to discuss. Two punctured tires, a vandalized school locker, now a rock through his office window. Someone was tormenting him and he needed to talk. But it would be a long conversation, and all the Boones, including Judge, were ready for bed. His father, a lawyer who usually avoided conflict, seemed especially fatigued by the three-hour ordeal with the Treens. Mrs. Boone was complaining of a headache. Theo was about to press on anyway because he needed help and advice, but just as he was about to say something, the phone rang. It was Mrs. Treen, upset again.
Theo and Judge went upstairs to bed.
Chapter 7
The following day, Wednesday, Theo raced to school as always, though he did avoid downtown, and he did stay off the sidewalks. He did not have the chance to chat with his parents over breakfast because his father, as always, left for early gossip with his coffee group and his mother was walking out the door, late for a meeting. Theo and Judge ate alone and in silence.
According to the headlines, there was no sign of Pete Duffy. Thieves had broken into a computer store on Main Street. Two students at Stratten College had been arrested for cyber stalking. Not a single word about some unknown thug vandalizing the law office of Theo Boone, since the police had yet to be notified.
Theo was thankful for Wednesday; it would certainly be better than Tuesday.
During second period Geometry, Theo’s Wednesday suddenly became much worse than his Tuesday. Over the loudspeaker, the shrieking voice of the school secretary, Miss Gloria, demanded, “Miss Garman, is Theo Boone present?”
At that moment, Theo was drifting away and daydreaming about the upcoming camping trip to Lake Marlo. At the sound of his name, he bolted upright and felt as though he’d been slapped.
“He is,” Miss Garman replied.
“Send him to the office, please.”
Theo jumped to his feet and left the room.
There were two detectives in dark suits sitting in the office of the principal, Mrs. Gladwell, who looked like she had seen a ghost when Theo walked in. She gushed, “Theo, these two gentlemen are with the police department and they would like to talk to you.” Neither detective stood, neither smiled. The short one was an older man, a Detective Vorman, and Theo had seen him around the courthouse. In fact, Theo had watched him testify in a trial a couple of months earlier. The other, Detective Hamilton, Theo had never seen before. He said, “Theo, we’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Since there were no empty chairs, Theo leaned with his back against the wall and wondered why they were there. His first thought was the broken window, but he quickly dismissed it. Such a minor act of vandalism would not require the involvement of two detectives. Theo managed to say, “Okay.”
Hamilton went on, “Did you happen to be downtown last night?”
Theo did not like his tone, nor his frown. Combined, they gave the strong impression that they suspected him of doing something wrong. Theo looked at Mrs. Gladwell, who was nervously tapping her fingers on her desk. He looked at Detective Vorman who was writing something on his pocket notepad.
Theo said, “I was at the Highland Street Shelter last night.”
“Were you on Main Street for any reason last night?” Hamilton asked.
“Why are you asking me these questions?” Theo asked, and this really irritated both detectives.
“I’ll handle the questions, Theo. You do the answers,” Hamilton sneered like a bad TV actor.
“Just answer the questions,” Vorman chimed in, a real bully.
“No, I was not downtown,” Theo said slowly. “I went to the shelter, then I rode my bike home.”
“Did you bump into Officer Stu Peckinpaw?” Hamilton asked.
“Yes. I accidentally ran into him, but everything was okay.”
“And where did this take place?”
“On Main Street, Main and Farley.”
“So you were downtown last night, weren’t you, Theo?”
“I was on my bike.”
The detectives gave each other a smug look. Mrs. Gladwell tapped her fingers even faster. Hamilton said, “There’s a computer store on Main Street, two blocks down from Farley. It’s called Big Mac’s Systems. You know the place?”
Theo shook his head. No. However, he remembered the name from his quick review of the morning’s local headlines. The store had been broken into the night before.
Vorman helped out. “They sell PCs, laptops, printers, software, the usual, but also the latest tablets, SmartPads, e-book readers, even cell phones. You’ve never been to the store, Theo?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you have a laptop?”
“Yes, sir. Jupiter Air, thirteen inch. Got it for Christmas.”
“Where is it now?”
“In my backpack, back in the classroom.”
“Do you ever keep it in your locker?” Hamilton asked.
“Occasionally. Why?”
“Again, Theo, we’ll handle the questions.”
“Okay, but I get the feeling you think I’ve done something wrong. And, if that’s the case, then I want to call a lawyer.”
Both detectives found this amusing. A thirteen-year-old kid asking for a lawyer. They dealt with thugs and criminals all day long, and every one of them demanded a lawyer. This kid must watch too much television.
“We’d like to see your locker,” Hamilton said.
Theo knew it was unwise to agree to any type of search. Car, home, pockets, office, even locker—never agree to a search. If the police believed there was evidence of a crime, then they could go to a judge and get a warrant, or written permission, and conduct a search. However, Theo knew he had done nothing wrong and, like all innocent people, wanted to prove this to the police. He also knew the school could open his locker without his approval.
“Sure,” he said, somewhat reluctantly, and both detectives, as well as Mrs. Gladwell, could not help but notice that Theo hesitated before agreeing to a search. The four left the office and headed down the em
pty hallway. The bell would ring in less than fifteen minutes, and there would be plenty of students to witness Theo in the presence of two dark-suited strangers. Within seconds the entire school would know that he was being investigated for something. When they stopped in front of his locker, Theo glanced around. The hall was empty.
“When did you last open your locker?” Hamilton asked.
“When I got to school this morning. Around eight thirty.”
“So, about two hours ago.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And did you notice anything unusual at that time?”
“No, sir.” Theo wanted to mention the fact that a stranger had been in his locker on Monday, but he was suddenly in a hurry. He was terrified that someone might see him with two cops and the principal.
“You can open it now,” Hamilton said.
Theo punched in the code—58343 (Judge)—and pulled open the door. Nothing appeared to be missing, but something had certainly been added. On the left side, leaning against some textbooks, were three slender objects Theo had never seen before.
“Don’t touch anything,” Hamilton said as he leaned down and in and breathed on Theo’s neck. Vorman and Mrs. Gladwell huddled close, and for a few seconds no one moved or said a word. Finally, Hamilton asked, “See anything unusual, Theo?”
With a dry mouth, Theo managed to say, “Yes, sir. Those are not mine.”
The slender objects were Linx 0-4 Tablets, the hottest and lightest personal computers dominating the marketplace. With stunning graphics, unlimited memory, a million applications, and a price tag of $399, the 0-4 was cheaper, yet far more sophisticated than its current competition. Detective Vorman, wearing surgical gloves and treating the 0-4s like rare diamonds, placed them side by side on Mrs. Gladwell’s desk. Big Mac had been called and was on his way to identify his stolen property.
“Please call my mother,” Theo said to Mrs. Gladwell. “Or my father. It doesn’t matter.”
“Not so fast,” Hamilton said. “We have some more questions.”
“I’m not answering any more questions,” Theo said. “I want my parents here.”
“If Theo says he didn’t steal these tablets, then I believe him,” Mrs. Gladwell said.
“Thank you so much,” Hamilton said.
“How did you know they were there?” Theo asked.
“And once again, young Theo, please, we’ll handle the questions,” Hamilton said. His tone and attitude had been lousy to start with; now, with the evidence in hand and the crime apparently solved, he was becoming unbearable.
“Can I call his parents?” Mrs. Gladwell asked.
“Sure you can,” Theo said. “They don’t run this school. They can’t tell you what to do.”
“Knock it off, kid,” Vorman said.
“I beg your pardon!” Mrs. Gladwell said. “Don’t talk to my student in such a manner. Theo is no criminal. I believe whatever he says.”
Theo walked to a spot beside Mrs. Gladwell, who was seated at her desk, and removed his cell phone. Using speed dial, he called the offices of Boone & Boone. Elsa answered, and Theo, staring straight into the angry eyes of Detective Hamilton said, “Hey, Elsa, it’s me, Theo. I need to talk to Mom.”
“Something wrong, Theo?”
“No. Just let me talk to Mom.”
“She’s in court, Theo. She’ll be tied up all morning.”
“Okay, then let me talk to Dad.”
“He’s not here. He’s in Wilkesburg closing a land deal. What’s going on, Theo?”
Theo did not have the time to chat with Elsa, and she could not help him anyway. The detectives were fuming and Theo figured he was almost out of time. He canceled the call to Elsa, punched another number for speed dial, and said, “Ike, it’s me, Theo.”
Ike replied, “Good morning, Theo. Why are you calling me at ten thirty?”
Theo said, “Ike, I’m at school and there are two detectives here accusing me of stealing computers that someone put in my locker. Can you get down here?”
“That’s enough, kid,” Hamilton growled. Ike did not respond but his office line went dead.
Theo slapped his phone shut and returned it to his pocket. Technically, this was a violation of school rules. Only eighth graders were allowed to have phones on campus, and a few of them did. Their use was strictly controlled. All cell phones had to be turned off during classes and could be used only during recess and lunch. Under the circumstances, though, Theo doubted if Mrs. Gladwell would be upset with him. She was not.
“We haven’t accused you of anything,” Hamilton said. “We’re just doing our investigation, and when we find stolen goods in someone’s possession, then we have to ask questions. Doesn’t that make sense?”
“Theo didn’t steal the computers, okay?” Mrs. Gladwell said firmly.
Vorman decided to play the nice cop and offered a sappy smile. “So, Theo, if you didn’t place these computers in your locker, then someone else obviously did. Who else has the entry code to your locker?”
Safe question. Theo replied, “No one that I know of, but someone was in my locker Monday. They stole a Twins baseball cap and some other items. I didn’t report it at that time, but I was planning to.”
Mrs. Gladwell turned and looked at Theo. “You should have told us, Theo.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I was going to discuss it with my parents first, then report it to you, but I never got the time.”
“And the school has a list of all entry codes?” Vorman asked.
“Yes, but it’s protected in a secure file in our main computer,” Mrs. Gladwell said.
“Has anyone ever hacked into it?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Has the school had a problem with people breaking into lockers?”
“No,” she replied. “Occasionally a student will fail to properly close a locker, and the door will be left slightly open. This might lead to a missing item or two, but I cannot recall a situation where a student obtained an entry code and went into another student’s locker.”
“How about you, Theo?” Vorman asked. “Do you know of anyone who got somebody else’s code and broke into their locker?”
“No, sir.”
Hamilton glanced at his notes, then looked at Theo and said, “During the break-in last night at Big Mac’s Systems, the thief or thieves took ten of these tablets, six fifteen-inch laptops, and about a dozen cell phones. You have any idea where this stuff is now?”
Theo gritted his teeth and said, “I don’t know anything about the break-in last night because I wasn’t there, and I don’t know how these tablets got into my locker. I said I wanted to talk to a lawyer, and I’m not answering any more questions until my lawyer is present.”
“Things will go smoother if you cooperate with us, Theo,” Hamilton said.
“I am cooperating. I allowed you to search my locker, and I’m telling the truth.”
Chapter 8
Big Mac was a small man, only slightly taller than Theo, and when he entered Mrs. Gladwell’s office he glared at the suspect as if he wanted to shoot him. Theo stood his ground behind the principal’s chair and watched as the detectives offered Big Mac a pair of surgical gloves.
“Why don’t you two wait outside?” Hamilton said, and Theo and Mrs. Gladwell stepped outside into the reception area. When the door was shut, she said, quietly, “I don’t know why they have to be so rude.”
“They’re just doing their job,” Theo said.
“Do you want to call your parents again?”
“Maybe later. They’re not in the office and they’re busy.”
The bell rang loudly, and Theo looked for a place to hide. Students would be changing classes, and it was not unusual for several of them to rush into the front office for urgent business. Someone might see him sitting there, looking guilty, detained for some reason. He found a magazine, hid his face behind it, and cowered near the watercooler as the noise from the halls rose through the school.
/> Inside Mrs. Gladwell’s office, Big Mac removed a small plate on the back of each tablet and checked the registration numbers. Using gloves to avoid smudging any possible fingerprints, he compared the number to his inventory list. “Yep, these came from my store,” he said. “Looks like you got your man.”
“We’ll see,” Hamilton said.
“What do you mean by that? You found these in that kid’s locker, right? Looks to me like you got him nailed, caught red-handed. I want to press charges right now. Let’s put the squeeze on him so we can find all the other stuff he stole.”
“We’ll handle the investigation, Mac.”
“I think I saw that kid in my store last week.”
Vorman looked at Hamilton. “Are you sure about this, Mac?”
“I can’t prove it, you know? A lot of kids come and go, but that one looks familiar.”
“He told us he’s never been in your store.”
“What do you expect him to say? We know he’s a thief, don’t we? If he’ll break in and steal, then I’m sure he’ll lie, too. I want that kid busted, okay? I lose a ton of money every year to shoplifters and thieves, and I prosecute everyone I catch.”
“Got it, Mac. We’ll wrap up the investigation and stop by the store when we’re finished. Thanks for your cooperation.”
“No problem. Just find the rest of my stuff, okay?”
“We’ll do that.”
Big Mac slammed the door to Mrs. Gladwell’s office, and as he stomped past Miss Gloria’s desk, he saw Theo hiding near the watercooler. “Hey you, kid, where’s the rest of the stuff you stole from my store?” he demanded. At that moment, there was a sixth-grade teacher chatting quietly with Mrs. Gladwell not far away, and there was a seventh-grade student with a fever lying on a small sofa. Everyone looked at Big Mac, then at Theo, who couldn’t speak for a second or two.
“I want my stuff, okay?” Big Mac said, even louder, and took a step toward Theo.
“I don’t have it,” Theo managed to say.
“If you don’t mind,” Mrs. Gladwell said to Big Mac. The door opened and Detective Vorman stepped out. He pointed a finger at Big Mac and said, “That’s enough. We’ll handle things here. You can go now.” Big Mac left without another word.
The bell was ringing to start third period. The sixth-grade teacher was staring at Theo as if he were a murderer. Mark Somebody, the student with the fever, was sitting up, staring at Theo. Miss Gloria’s eyebrows were arched, and her forehead was creased with thick wrinkles, a very guilty look. Theo wanted to shout that he was not a thief, had not stolen anything belonging to Big Mac, in fact had never stolen anything in his life, but for a few long seconds he just stood there in disbelief.
He had never before been accused of a crime.
Detective Vorman said, “Could you please come in?” Theo followed Mrs. Gladwell back into her office, where she sat in her large swivel chair behind her desk. Theo stood beside her; the two of them versus the two detectives.
Vorman said, “These were identified by the owner. Registration numbers match up all nice and neat. Now that we have recovered some of the stolen property, we need to thoroughly examine Mr. Boone’s locker. Check it carefully for fingerprints. Inventory its contents. That sort of thing.”
Hamilton chimed in, “And we’ll need to talk to the kids who have lockers near this one. Maybe they saw something or someone suspicious, you know, just routine stuff. The sooner we can do this the better. Kids have short memories, you know.”
Mrs. Gladwell knew that thirteen-year-olds have far better memories than adults, but she would not argue. She said, “Okay, but I’m certain you can wait until after three thirty this afternoon when classes are over. Why disrupt school during the day?”
