by John Grisham
Elsa had entered the room crying. Dorothy seemed ready for a breakdown. But not Vince. He was smiling as he leaned against the door. “Way to go, Theo. Did you pop him a good one?”
Theo smiled, finally. He realized he would tell his story a hundred times, so why not dress it up a bit? “Yep,” he said.
“Attaboy. Look, Theo, you’ve just learned a valuable lesson. There comes a time when you gotta stand your ground, regardless of the circumstances.”
“I couldn’t back down,” Theo said.
“Suspensions are no big deal, as long as they don’t become a habit. I got one in the sixth grade.”
“No kidding?”
“True story. I grew up in Northchester and we walked to school. There was a bully named Jerry Prater, a tough kid, and he was giving me a hard time. About once a week, he would catch me on the playground before school and knock me down, kick me some, and grab my lunch box. He would take the good stuff, the chips, Twinkies, ham sandwiches, and leave me the apples and carrots. The next day, he would grab one of my buddies and go through the same routine. I guess Jerry was always hungry. Anyway, he was making our lives pretty miserable. I had an older brother in high school, and he explained to me that bullies are really cowards and until you take a stand things will just get worse. My brother told me what to do. I hid my lunch in my backpack and filled my lunch box with rocks. The next morning I saw Jerry on the playground and headed toward him. He was about to punch me when I suddenly swung the lunch box and hit him in the face. Hard. I mean it was a nasty blow that cut a gash in his cheekbone. He screamed and fell down, and I whacked him a few more times in the head. There was a crowd by now, and a teacher came running over. They took him to the doctor and sewed him up. Eighteen stitches, ten across his cheekbone. Everybody yelled at me and my dad came to the school and picked me up. I explained the situation and he had no problem with it. My mom cried, but that’s what moms do. Anyway, Jerry left me alone after that.”
“That’s awesome. How long was the suspension?”
“A week. I was a hero for a short time, but after a while I felt bad about it. Jerry Prater deserved to get punched, but he had this scar on his face. That was my last fight, Theo. I stood up to a bully, but I used a weapon. I should have used my fists and nothing else. I still feel bad about it.”
“What happened to Jerry?”
“He dropped out of school and later went to prison. Never had much of a chance. Anyway, you did the right thing, so don’t spend too much time worrying about it.”
“I don’t want my mom to yell at me.”
“She won’t. I know that woman very well, Theo.”
After he left, Theo fell asleep and Judge went to look for food.
They met in the conference room during lunch. Theo sat at the end of the long, imposing table, with a parent on each side. Before him was a chicken salad sandwich which he had no desire to eat. His appetite was gone.
His mother was not smiling but she wasn’t yelling either. It was obvious that she and Mr. Boone had had their little private meeting about their son and his suspension, so Mrs. Boone was over the shock.
“If this happened again, what would you do differently, Theo?” she asked, calmly, as she sipped an iced tea.
Theo chewed on a piece of lettuce and considered the question, which he found interesting. “Well, Mom, I’m not sure. I could do nothing to prevent the fight because it began so quickly. And, I couldn’t exactly break it up because Woody and Baxter were really going at it. When Griff jumped on Woody, I felt like I had no choice. Woody was fighting for me. The least I could do was help him.”
“So, you wouldn’t do anything differently?”
“I guess not.”
“Does that mean you’ve learned nothing from this little episode?”
“I’ve learned that I don’t like fighting. Getting punched in the face and kicked in the head is not that pleasant. There are a few guys who like to fight, but not me.”
“I’d say that is a valuable lesson learned,” Mr. Boone chimed in as he took a bite of his sandwich.
It appeared as though Mrs. Boone was about to begin a lecture when Elsa tapped on the door. She opened it and said, “Sorry to bother, but the police are here.”
“Why?” Mr. Boone asked. Theo wanted to crawl under the table.
“They want to talk to Theo, and his parents, of course.”
Detectives Hamilton and Vorman were back. With lunch interrupted, they settled into two seats on one side of the table and placed a large white envelope in front of them. The Boones readjusted themselves on the other side.
“Sorry to disturb lunch,” Hamilton said. “We stopped by to chat with the two of you and were told that Theo is here. A suspension?”
“That’s correct,” Mrs. Boone said sharply. She was obviously irritated.
“Suspension for what?”
“I’ll be happy to answer that if you can convince me it’s any of your business.”
It was none of their business, and Hamilton’s face blushed as his partner gave him a look of frustration.
Go get ’em, Mom, Theo said to himself. With a lawyer on each side, he felt well protected. However, he was nervous and sitting on his hands to keep them from shaking.
“I’m sure there’s a good reason for this visit,” Mr. Boone said.
Vorman leaned forward and said, “Yes, well, we wanted to talk to Theo about the baseball cap that was stolen from his locker on Monday. Would you describe it for us, Theo?”
Theo looked up at his mother, then at his father. Both nodded. Go ahead, answer the question. He said, “It’s navy blue with a red bill, adjustable strap, with the Twins logo in the middle of the front.”
“Any idea who made the cap?” Vorman asked.
“Nike.”
“Any identifying marks on the cap?”
“My initials, T.B., on the underside of the bill.”
“What did you use to write your initials?”
“A black Magic Marker.”
Vorman slowly opened the envelope, removed a cap, and slid it across the table to Theo. “Is this your cap?”
Theo held it, gave it a quick inspection, and said, “Yes, sir.”
“Where did you find it?” Mrs. Boone asked.
“At the computer store, Big Mac’s. The cleaning crew comes in every Wednesday night, after hours. Last night, they were doing the floors when one of them swept under a counter and found this. The thief broke in around nine p.m. Tuesday night, and somehow in the mad scramble to steal what he wanted and make a quick getaway, he lost his cap.”
Theo stared at the cap and wanted to cry. His favorite cap was now being used as evidence against him. It did not seem fair. The proof was piling up. For some weird reason he could hear Baxter’s obnoxious voice: “Jailbird. Jailbird.”
For a moment, his parents seemed unable to speak. Theo wasn’t about to make a sound. The detectives stared at them with looks of grim satisfaction, as if to say, “You’re nailed. Let’s see you worm your way out of it this time.”
Finally, Mrs. Boone cleared her throat and said, “Looks as though the thief is very clever. He planned his crime carefully, with the intention of framing Theo. On Monday, he stole the cap, then left it at the scene of the crime, and on Wednesday he returned to the locker with the stolen goods.”
“That’s one theory,” Vorman said, “And you might be right. But we’re also working with another theory, one that has Theo wearing the cap Tuesday night, maybe to help disguise his face when he entered the store, around nine, and we know he was in the vicinity around that time, he even admits this, and in his rush to grab the tablets and laptops and cell phones he lost his cap, and here it is. And, of course, we found some of the stolen loot in his locker on Wednesday.”
“It’s kinda hard to ignore Theo as a suspect,” Hamilton added.
“Very hard,” Vorman agreed. “In fact, with most investigations we don’t have this much evidence against a suspect.”
&nb
sp; It was Hamilton’s turn. “We find it odd that you didn’t report the first break-in on Monday. Locker theft is rare at the school, yet you didn’t report it. And you have given us no good reason for this failure.”
Vorman: “It could be that there was no break-in on Monday. When you got caught with the stolen tablets on Wednesday, you said someone broke in and left them in your locker. To make this sound believable, you added the little twist that someone had robbed your locker two days before.”
Hamilton: “But there was no record of that. No proof.”
Vorman: “And this mysterious thief was unseen by anyone at the school. Kinda hard to believe with eighty eighth graders and dozens of teachers, plus janitors and assistants. Busy hallways and such. Hard to believe.”
Hamilton: “Pretty incredible story, if you ask me.”
This tag team was making Theo sick. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and told himself not to cry.
“You don’t believe my son?” Mrs. Boone asked. To Theo, it was obvious that they did not.
“Let’s just say that we’re still investigating,” Vorman replied.
“Did you check the cap for fingerprints?” Mr. Boone asked.
“We did. It’s difficult to get good prints from cloth, so we were unsuccessful. Our lab guys are pretty sure that there are no prints. Looks like the thief wore gloves and was very careful. No prints on the tablets, none on the cap, none at the crime scene.”
“Do you plan to charge Theo?” Mrs. Boone asked.
“We haven’t made a decision yet,” Hamilton said. “But it’s safe to say we’re headed that way.”
The Boones absorbed this, and said nothing. Mr. Boone exhaled and looked at the ceiling. Mrs. Boone scribbled something on a legal pad. Theo was still fighting back tears. He knew he was innocent and telling the truth, but the police did not believe him. He wondered if his parents did.
Vorman broke the silence with still more bad news. “We’d like to search your house,” he said.
Mr. and Mrs. Boone reacted in disbelief. “For what?” Mr. Boone demanded.
“For evidence,” Vorman replied. “For the rest of the stolen goods.”
“You can’t treat us like common criminals,” Mrs. Boone said angrily. “This is outrageous.”
“We will not consent to a search,” Mr. Boone said.
“We don’t need your consent,” Vorman said with a nasty smile. “We have a search warrant.” He grabbed some folded papers from his coat pocket and slid them across the table. Mrs. Boone adjusted her reading glasses and read the two-page document. When she finished, she handed it to her husband. Theo wiped a tear with the back of his hand.
Chapter 14
For the next half hour, they haggled over the details. The air was thick with tension, and the exchanges between the detectives and Theo’s parents were testy. It was finally agreed that the Boones would not enter their home until 5:00 p.m. that afternoon, at which time they would meet the detectives and other officers who would conduct the search.
The only words Theo could muster were, “It’s a waste of time. There’s nothing there.” Both parents told him to be quiet.
After Hamilton and Vorman left, and Theo could finally speak, he reassured his parents that he was not involved in the crime in any way, and that a search was a waste of time. All three were stunned by the turn of events. Theo had never seen his parents so confused, and even frightened. They agreed they would seek the advice of a criminal defense lawyer, a friend, and Mrs. Boone left the conference room to make a call.
At 2:00 p.m., Mr. Boone drove Theo back to the school where they met with Mrs. Gladwell. Theo apologized for fighting. Mr. Boone said he and Mrs. Boone understood the decision to suspend Theo, and had no problems with it. They were disappointed, of course, but supported Mrs. Gladwell. Afterward, Theo got his bike, found his tires unslashed, and rode back to the office.
His parents were busy with clients and urgent legal matters. They closed their doors and seemed to forget about Theo. Elsa, Vince, and Dorothy were also preoccupied with piles of paperwork that were far more fascinating than chatting with a thirteen-year-old. Or, perhaps Theo was being too sensitive. He and Judge finally retreated to his office where he attempted to plow through some homework. Nothing happened. He couldn’t take his mind off Spike Hock, a kid who lived one block away who was caught selling drugs in the ninth grade and spent eighteen very unpleasant months in a juvenile detention center two hundred miles away. Though Theo did not know Spike and had never spoken to him, he had heard many stories of his life behind chain-link fencing and razor wire. Gangs, beatings, cruel guards, a long ugly list. Spike never got his act together and fell back into the street life. Theo had been in court when Spike, at the age of seventeen, was sentenced as an adult to twenty years in prison for a multitude of crimes. Spike testified, begged for mercy, and blamed his troubles on the bad conditions he endured in the juvenile detention center.
Spike was a tough kid from the streets. Theo was not. Theo was a nice kid from a good family, a Boy Scout, an A student with plenty of friends. How was he supposed to survive locked away with gang members and tough guys? Separated from his parents, his friends, Judge. He was overwhelmed with fear and could think of nothing else. He stretched out on Judge’s little bed, and, fortunately, fell asleep beside his dog.
A beeping cell phone awakened him. It was April Finnemore. “Theo, where are you?” she asked nervously.
“At the office,” he said, jumping to his feet. “What’s up?”
“I’m in Animal Court with my mom and Miss Petunia. We need your help.”
“I think I’m sort of confined right now.”
“Come on, Theo. We’re really scared and need you. It won’t take long.”
“I didn’t say I would help this woman.”
“I know, Theo, I know. But she’s really upset and needs a friend. Please, Theo. She can’t afford a real lawyer and, well, she’s been crying for the past hour. Please.”
Theo thought for a second. No one had specifically ordered him to remain at the office. Everyone else was super busy and probably wouldn’t miss him. “Okay,” he said, and slapped his phone shut.
“Stay here, Judge,” he said, then eased out of the back door, ran around to the front of the building, and quietly got his bike off the front porch. Ten minutes later he was parking it at the bike rack in front of the courthouse.
Miss Petunia grew flowers and herbs in a yard behind her small cottage just outside the city limits of Strattenburg. Every Saturday morning from March through October, she hauled her plants to the city Farmer’s Market in Levi Park near the river. There, she joined dozens of farmers, gardeners, florists, fishermen, dairymen, producers, and other vendors who displayed their goods in booths that were arranged in neat rows on small patches of land that were carefully divided and regulated. Because Miss Petunia had been selling her flowers and herbs for many years, she had perhaps the best booth, one next to the entrance to the market. Next door to her was the booth run by May Finnemore, April’s eccentric mother, who made and sold goat cheese. Miss Petunia was pretty weird, too, and naturally the women had become close friends over the years.
The market was wildly popular in Strattenburg, and on a bright Saturday morning half of the town would be there. Virtually anything edible could be found. Crispino’s Tortilla Hut was the all-time favorite, with a long line forming by 10:00 a.m. Martha Lou sold her “World Famous” ginger cookies by the pound and always attracted a mob. Many of the vendors relied on the market to show a profit for the year, and there was a waiting list of those wanting booths.
Because Mrs. Boone spent little time in the kitchen, the family was not attracted to the market. Theo and his father played eighteen holes of golf on Saturday mornings, teeing off at 9:00 and having lunch at 1:00. To Theo, this was far more important than buying tomatoes and veggie burgers.
Miss Petunia was having trouble with the law because of her beloved pet llama, Lucy. April had mentioned t
he matter to Theo the day before during lunch, but he had been too preoccupied with his own troubles to worry about Miss Petunia’s. At April’s request, though, he had done some research into the city’s laws and ordinances. He had passed this along to April and considered the matter closed, as far as he was concerned.
Certain that he was already a marked man and the subject of gossip all over town, and especially around the courthouse, Theo entered through a side door and hustled down a back stairway. Animal Court was in the basement, a fitting place for the lowest court in town. Real lawyers tried to avoid it. People with complaints could act as their own lawyers, and that is what attracted Theo to it. On most days anyway. Today, though, Theo was not excited about making an appearance in court.
For the first time in his life, the word “court” meant a place to be avoided.
He entered the door for Animal Court and walked inside. There was a dusty aisle down the middle of the room with folding chairs on both sides. To his right, Theo saw April, her mother, May, and a third person he assumed to be Miss Petunia. She had purple hair and round granny glasses with bright-orange frames. April had described her as “weirder than my mother.”
Theo sat down and began whispering with the women.
Judge Yeck was not on the bench. Across the aisle, several people were waiting. One was Buck Boland, or Buck Baloney as he was better known, and he was wearing his standard tight-fitting dark brown uniform, one issued by All-Pro Security. Buck wore the uniform everywhere, on duty or off, and he’d been wearing it last Monday morning when he stopped Theo as he cut across his backyard. He had grabbed Theo’s bike and threatened him. Earlier, he had thrown a rock at Theo, and now Buck glared across the aisle as if he would like to strangle him.
Judge Yeck’s ancient clerk sat at a table in one corner, doing her crossword and trying to stay awake. After a few minutes, Judge Yeck walked through the door behind his bench and said, “Remain seated.” No one had attempted to stand. Formalities were dispensed with in Animal Court, also known as Kitty Court. The judge was wearing his usual outfit—jeans, combat boots, no tie, an old sports coat, and he conducted himself with his usual disdain for his job. He had once been in a law firm but couldn’t keep a job. He ran Animal Court because no one else would do it.
“Well, well,” he began with a smile, “it’s Mr. Boone again.”
Theo stood and said, “Hello, Judge. Always nice to see you.”
“And you. Who’s your client?”
“Miss Petunia Plankmore, the owner of the animal.”
Judge Yeck looked at some papers, then looked at Buck Baloney. “And who’s Mr. Boland?”
“That’s me,” Buck said.
“Very well. The parties can come forward and we’ll try and work things out.” Theo knew the routine, and he and Miss Petunia stepped through the small gate in the bar and took a seat at a table closer to the judge. Buck followed them and sat as far away as possible. When they were in place, Judge Yeck said, “Mr. Boland, you have filed this complaint against Miss Petunia. You go first. Keep your seat and tell us what happened.”
Buck looked around nervously, then plunged in. “Well, Judge, I work for All-Pro Security and we have the contract for the Farmer’s Market.”
“Why are you wearing a gun?” the judge asked.
“I’m a security guard.”
“I don’t care.”
“And I have a permit.”
“I don’t care. I don’t allow guns in my courtroom. Please remove it.”
Buck grabbed his holster and snapped it off his belt. He placed it and the gun on the table.
“Up here,” Judge Yeck said, pointing to a spot on his bench. Buck awkwardly stepped forward and placed the gun right where he was told. It was a very large pistol.
“Now go on,” Yeck said when Buck returned to his seat.
“And so anyway, it’s my job to provide security at the Farmer’s Market. There are two of us, me and Frankie. He works the west end, and I watch the front. Been doing it for a few months. And Miss Petunia here has a booth near the front entrance where she sells flowers and herbs, and right next to her booth is a small open area where she keeps her llama.”
“That would be Lucy?” Judge Yeck asked.
“Yes, sir. Two Saturdays ago I was walking by her booth, same as always, just doing my job, you know, when this llama walks up and stares at me. We’re about on the same eye level, me and the llama, and at first I thought she might try and kiss me.”
“The llama kisses people?” Judge Yeck interrupted.
“She’s a very sweet llama, loves people, or most people,” Miss Petunia blurted.
Judge Yeck looked at her and politely, but firmly, said, “You’ll get your chance in a moment. Please do not interrupt.”
“Sorry, Judge.”
“Continue.”
Buck sucked in his ample gut and went on: “Yes, sir, the llama kisses people, especially little kids. Kinda gross if you ask me, but there’s usually some folks hanging around to get a better look at the llama, and occasionally she’ll sort of lean down and kiss one of them.”
“Okay, okay. We’ve established that Lucy the llama likes to kiss people. Now move on.”
