Theodore Boone: The Accused

by John Grisham

  When Baxter stepped through the door and saw the other three, he ran his index finger across his lips. Nobody rats.

  While Woody was getting grilled by Mrs. Gladwell, Theo and Griff and Baxter sat on a wooden bench under the watch of Mr. Mount, who felt sorry for the boys. They were all good kids and nothing would be gained by suspensions. Still, rules were rules.

  Of the four, Woody would be the last to crack under pressure, and he refused to answer any question from Mrs. Gladwell. When she asked him if he hit Baxter, he responded, “Name, rank, and serial number only.”

  “Very funny, Woody. You think this is a game?”

  “No.”

  “Did you throw the first punch?”

  “I refuse to incriminate myself,” he replied.

  “Get out of here.”

  The weakest link was Griff, and when he survived his little question-and-answer period with Mrs. Gladwell by refusing to rat, she reassembled the four boys in the room. She said, “Very well. I’m going to suspend each of you one day for fighting, and another day for your refusal to cooperate. Today is Thursday and the suspension will run today and tomorrow. You will return to classes on Monday, at which time you will begin a thirty-day probation. Any violation during the next thirty days, and you will be suspended for a week.”

  The prospect of missing classes for two days did not really trouble Theo, but the reality of facing his parents was painful. He thought about calling Ike first because Ike would understand and probably praise Theo for taking a stand. Perhaps Ike could then break the news to Theo’s parents and soften the impact. Theo was contemplating this when Mrs. Gladwell said, “I’ll call your parents.”

  It took an hour to work out the details of the suspensions and do the paperwork. The boys stayed in the room, at the table, facing each other while Mr. Mount sat, bored, at the end of the table. He stepped out once to get coffee, and while he was gone Baxter said, “Sorry, Theo.”

  “No problem,” Theo said.

  Woody did not apologize.

  Woody’s parents and Baxter’s parents had jobs; thus, no one was home during the day. Mrs. Gladwell explained they would be receiving “in-school suspensions” and would be required to sit in separate study rooms at school from 8:40 a.m. until classes ended at 3:30. They would be alone with nothing to do but extra homework. No cell phones, laptops, nothing but textbooks. They would eat lunch at their desks, alone. This seemed far worse than the old-fashioned suspensions where they kicked you off campus. Griff’s mother was a housewife so he could stay at home, and probably sleep late, watch television, play with the dog, and do whatever he wanted, unless, of course, his parents were ticked off enough to impose penalties. Theo, too, had a place to go—the offices of Boone & Boone.

  His mother was in court. His father picked him up from school. As they were driving away, Theo said, “What about my bike?”

  “We’ll get it later,” his father replied. So far, he had been remarkably cool and undisturbed, at least on the surface.

  A block or two later, his father said, “What happened?”

  “It’s just between me and you, right?”

  “What happened, Theo!” his father snapped.

  “You’re not telling Mrs. Gladwell, are you? I can’t rat on the other guys.”

  “No. Just tell me what happened.”

  Theo told him everything. The details poured forth in a rush, and Theo, who had been unable to tell his side of the story, unloaded. When he finished they were sitting in the small parking lot behind the office. “Are you upset with me, Dad?” Theo asked.

  “You know the rules, and you broke the rules,” Mr. Boone said sternly.

  “I did, but at the time, I had no choice.”

  Mr. Boone turned off the ignition and said, “That’s the way I see it, too.”

  Chapter 13

  Theo sat in his dark office, lights off, shades pulled, just him and Judge brooding in the shadows and thinking about what could possibly happen next. In a couple of hours, his mother would return from court. She and his father would huddle behind a locked door and have one of those deadly serious conversations that only troubled parents can have. Then he would be hauled in like a felon to face the music. He would be lectured. His mother would cry. Suspended from school! How could he do such a thing? And on and on. He was already tired of thinking about it.

  His father’s initial response was somewhat comforting. There had been no drama, though his father generally was not one for theatrics. No yelling, but then Woods Boone was too laid back to yell. No threats or additional punishment, though Theo knew his parents always chatted first before throwing the book at him.

  Until a few hours earlier, Theo had never dreamed he would get suspended from school. He had never thought about it, and as he pondered the incident he asked himself if it was worth it. He didn’t believe in breaking rules. He didn’t enjoy disappointing Mrs. Gladwell and Mr. Mount. He suspected his parents would view it as an embarrassment, and this troubled him. And, to be honest, there had been no pleasure in the violence, the frantic melee in which all four warriors seemed to be kicking, punching, scratching, and cursing each other while some students in the crowd gawked in awe and others egged them on.

  On the other hand, there was some pride in the fact that he had gone to the aid of a friend who was being double-teamed. He had seen the admiration in the eyes of the spectators, his classmates and friends. He, Theo Boone, was being falsely accused, and had gone on the attack to defend his good name and also to protect a friend.

  What a friend! Theo could not help but smile as he replayed the encounter. He marveled at the speed and fearlessness with which Woody had stepped forward and shut up big-mouth Baxter. And, Theo had a hunch Woody was not finished. Most likely, he would wait until he caught Baxter off-campus and close his other eye. Theo hoped his fighting days were over, but if another bout popped up he wanted Woody nearby.

  There was a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” Theo said.

  It was Elsa, red-eyed and with tears on her cheeks. She flipped the light switch and reached down to hug him. “Theo, I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said. This was the last thing he wanted—big-time drama from those who loved him. He endured the hug. “I’m fine. It’s nothing, okay?” he said, getting irritated. She stood and wiped her cheeks with a tissue. “I can’t believe it. You’re the nicest kid in the world.”

  “Probably not. Maybe top five. Look, Elsa, I’m okay.”

  “Who attacked you?”

  “No one. It was just a stupid fight, okay? No big deal.”

  She patted her cheeks with the tissue and began to realize that her sympathies were not being appreciated. “I still love you, Theo,” she said, as if he had killed someone.

  “I’m fine, Elsa, just fine.” Now would you please get out of here?

  She left and Theo turned off the light. He and Judge returned to their brooding, which was actually quite enjoyable. Five minutes passed and there was another knock at the door. “Yes,” he said. The door opened slowly and Dorothy, his father’s real estate secretary, took a step inside. She flipped on the light and said, “Theo, are you okay?”

  “Yes,” he said, shortly, and for a long second he was afraid she might lunge at him with an awkward hug, as if he needed her physical support.

  “I can’t believe it. Why would the school suspend you?”

  “Because I got in a fight, plain and simple. Fighting is against the rules.”

  “Yes, but, Theo, surely it wasn’t your fault.”

  Theo shook his head and looked out the window. How many times would he be forced to explain what happened? “Doesn’t matter who’s at fault. A fight is a fight.”

  After an awkward pause, she said, “Well, if you need a friend, I’m just down the hall.”

  “Thanks.” Oh sure. I’m going to unload my troubles to a fully grown adult who’s old enough to be my mother.

  She left and Theo turned off
the light. His cell phone beeped with a text from April Finnemore.

  Just heard. U ok?

  Yep. At office. No classes. Luv it.

  Your parents?

  Mom n court. Dad’s not 2 sore.

  Who’d u punch?

  Not sure. Lot of contact.

  Wounds? Blood?

  Theo suddenly wished he had more to show for his efforts. Typically, he decided to exaggerate a little. He wrote:

  Busted lip. Blood.

  Awesome! When can I see?

  Later. U need to study now.

  He again returned to his brooding. Five minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Before Theo could respond, Vince stepped in and turned on the light. With his arrival, the entire firm of Boone & Boone had now come to pay its respects. Except, of course, Marcella Boone, who would arrive soon enough.

  Vince had been her paralegal for many years. He did the grunt work for Mrs. Boone’s divorce cases, and it was not always pleasant. He spent a lot of time out of the office, investigating clients, and spying on their husbands, and checking facts. Theo had known for many years that divorce clients often do not tell the truth to their lawyers, and Vince was called upon to verify their stories. He was about thirty-five, single, a nice guy with a tough job.

  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.”

  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.