Kid Lawyer

by John Grisham

  Theo quickly summarized this in an e-mail and zipped it to Woody. He sent another e-mail to Mr. Mount and explained that he was not at school and would miss Government. He sent a quick Hello to April.

  The clock on the wall seemed to freeze. Mrs. Hardy was busy with her typing. All the dead judges seemed to stare down at Theo, none of them smiling, all somber-faced and suspicious, as if to say, “Son, what are you doing here?” His father was out in the hall, on the phone, dealing with some crucial real estate matter. His mother was on her laptop, pecking away as if lives were at stake. Ike was still by a window somewhere, blowing smoke out of the building.

  Theo wandered off. He climbed the stairs and stopped by the Family Court office where he hoped to find Jenny, but she was not there. He drifted down to Animal Court, but the room was empty. Then he climbed an old, dark stairwell, the one no one used and few people even knew about, and silently made his way through a dimly lit hallway on the third floor until he came to an abandoned room that had once housed the county law library. It was used for storage and packed with boxes of old land records and outdated computers. A thick layer of dust covered everything, and Theo left footprints on the floor as he tiptoed through the rubble. He opened the door to a small closet, then closed the door behind him. The space was so dark he could not see his hands. Near the floor was a crack, a sliver of an opening, and through it Theo could see the courtroom below. His view was from high above, over the heads of the jurors.

  It was a splendid view, one that Theo had discovered himself a year earlier when a crime victim testified in a case so horrible that Judge Gantry cleared the courtroom. Her testimony made Theo ill and he’d wished a thousand times that he had not spied on the trial. From inside the courtroom, the crack in the paneling could not be seen. It was just above a row of thick velvet curtains above the jury box.

  One of Mr. Duffy’s golfing buddies was on the witness stand, and though Theo could not hear well he got the gist of the testimony. The witness was explaining that Mr. Duffy was a serious golfer, who, for several years now, had often played alone. This was not unusual. Many golfers, especially the more serious ones, like to work on their game by playing alone.

  The courtroom was packed. Theo could not see the balcony, but he guessed it was crowded, too. He had a clear shot at Mr. Duffy, who sat among his lawyers at the defense table. He looked confident, almost certain that the trial was playing out in his favor and that the jury would find him not guilty.

  Theo watched for a few minutes, then the lawyers started yelling and he slipped out of the closet. He was halfway down the stairwell when he saw something move on the landing below. Someone was down there, in the shadows, hiding. Theo froze and got a whiff of something burning. The man was smoking a cigarette, which was against the rules because they were still inside the building. He blew a huge cloud, then stepped onto the landing. It was Omar Cheepe, visible now with his massive slick head and black eyes. He looked up at Theo, said nothing, then turned and walked away.

  Theo did not know if he’d been followed, or if the stairwell was one of Omar’s smoking places. There were cigarette butts everywhere. Maybe others sneaked down there for a smoke. A voice told him, though, that the encounter was not an accident.

  It was almost 1:00 p.m. when Judge Gantry yanked open the door to his office and walked straight to the Boones as they sat like naughty schoolchildren waiting in the principal’s office. He wore no robe, no jacket, just a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the tie loosened, the look of a man hard at work and under pressure. He did not smile and was clearly irritated.

  The Boones jumped to their feet. There were no Hellos or greetings of any nature. Judge Gantry just said, “This better be good.”

  “Sorry, Judge,” Mr. Boone managed to say first. “We understand what’s happening right now and realize the strain you’re under.”

  “Our apologies, Henry,” Mrs. Boone added quickly. “But it’s a crucial matter that might impact this trial.”

  By calling him Henry instead of Judge or something more formal, Mrs. Boone managed to cool things a bit. Regardless of how irritated the judge might appear, she was not the least bit intimidated.

  “Just five minutes,” she added as she picked up her purse.

  Judge Gantry glared at Theo as if he’d just shot someone, then he looked at Ike, managed a brief smile, and said, “Hello, Ike. It’s been a long time.”

  “Yes it has, Henry,” Ike said.

  The smile was gone, and Judge Gantry said, “You have five minutes.”

  They quickly followed him back into his office, and as the door was closing Theo glanced back at Mrs. Irma Hardy. She was typing away, as if she had no interest in what was about to be discussed. Theo figured she would know everything within half an hour.

  The four Boones lined up in chairs on one side of a long worktable in one corner of the huge office. Judge Gantry faced them on the other. Theo sat between his parents, and though he was quite nervous he also felt well-protected.

  His mother went first. “Henry, we have reason to believe that there is a witness to the murder of Myra Duffy. A witness who is hiding. A witness unknown to the police, the prosecutors, and certainly to the defense.”

  “May I ask why Theo is in the middle of this?” the judge asked, his eyebrows arched and twitching. “Seems to me he should be in school right about now. This is not exactly a matter for a child.”

  First, Theo actually preferred to be in school at that moment. Second, the use of the word child really irritated him. Theo said, slowly, “Because, Judge, I know who the witness is. They don’t, but I do.”

  Judge Gantry’s eyes were red and he looked very tired. He exhaled, a long, impressive release of air, much like an inner tube finally being relieved of too much pressure. The thick wrinkles in his forehead flattened and relaxed. He asked, “And what’s your role in all this, Ike?”

  “Oh, I’m just Theo’s legal adviser.” Ike thought it was funny but the humor was lost on the rest of them.

  A pause, then, “Okay, why don’t we start at the beginning? I’d like to know what this witness allegedly saw. Who can tell me this?”

  “I can,” Theo said. “But I promised I would never reveal his name.”

  “You promised this to whom?”

  “To the witness.”

  “So you’ve talked to this witness?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you believe he’s telling the truth?”

  “I do, yes, sir.”

  Another release of air. Another rub of the eyes. “All right, Theo. I’m listening. Please move things along.”

  Theo told the story.

  When he finished, the room was silent. Judge Gantry slowly reached over to a phone on the table, pushed a button, and said, “Mrs. Hardy, please inform the bailiff that I will be delayed for thirty minutes. Keep the jurors in the jury room.”

  A crisp voice answered, “Yes, sir.”

  He fell back into his chair. All four Boones watched him but he avoided their gaze.

  “And you have the gloves?” he said, his voice much lower, much calmer.

  “They’re in our office,” Mr. Boone said. “We’ll be happy to hand them over.”

  Judge Gantry raised both hands, both palms visible. “No, no. Not yet anyway. Maybe later, maybe never. Just let me think for a moment.” And with that, he slowly got to his feet and walked to the window behind his massive desk at the other end of the room. He stood there for a moment, looking out, though there wasn’t much of a view. He seemed to forget that just down the hall there was a courtroom full of people and they were all anxiously waiting on him.

  “Did I do okay?” Theo whispered to his mother. She smiled, patted his arm, and said, “Nice job, Teddy. Smile.”

  The judge was back, in his chair, across the table. He looked at Theo and asked, �
�Why won’t this person come forward?”

  Theo hesitated because if he said too much more, he might compromise the identity of Julio’s cousin. Ike decided to help. “Judge, the witness is an illegal immigrant, one of many around here. He’s skittish right now, and you can’t blame him. Any whiff of trouble, and he’ll vanish into the underground and be gone forever.”

  Theo added, “He thinks he’ll be arrested if he comes forward.”

  Ike added, “And Theo promised the guy he wouldn’t tell a soul.”

  Mr. Boone added, “But he thinks it’s important to inform the court that a crucial witness is missing from the trial.”

  Mrs. Boone added, “While at the same time protecting the identity of the witness.”

  “All right, all right,” Judge Gantry said, and glanced at his watch. “I can’t stop the trial at this point. We’re almost ready for the jury to begin deliberations. If a surprise witness appeared now, it would be difficult to stop the trial and allow him to testify. And we don’t even have a surprise witness. We have a phantom witness. I can’t stop the trial.”

  These words echoed around the room and fell heavily onto the table. All Theo could think about was Mr. Duffy sitting with all his lawyers, smug and confident that he was about to get away with murder.

  “Judge, can I make a suggestion?” Ike asked.

  “Sure, Ike. I could use some help.”

  “Gossip is that you’re going to hold court tomorrow, on Saturday, and wait on a verdict.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why not send the jury home until Monday, like most trials? Bring them back Monday morning to start their deliberations. This is a trial, not emergency surgery. Things aren’t that urgent.”

  “So what’s your plan?”

  “I don’t have one. But it would give us some time to think about this witness, maybe find a way to help him. I don’t know. It just seems wrong to rush to a verdict, especially a verdict that might be wrong.”

  “Wrong?”

  “Yes. I’ve watched some of the trial. I’ve watched the jurors. The State started with a weak case and it’s gotten even weaker. Pete Duffy is about to walk.”

  Judge Gantry nodded slightly, as if he agreed, but he said nothing. He began getting ready. He buttoned his cuffs, adjusted his tie, stood and reached for his black robe hanging near the door.

  “I’ll think about it,” he said, finally. “Thank you for your, uh . . .”

  “Intrusion,” said Mr. Boone with a laugh. The Boones were pushing back and standing up.

  “No, not at all, Woods. This presents a unique situation, something I’ve never encountered before. But then, every trial is different. Thank you, Theo.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Are you watching the rest of the trial?”

  “We can’t get a seat,” Theo said.

  “Well, let me see what I can do about that.”

  Chapter 17

  Once the jurors had taken their seats and the courtroom was quiet and all eyes were on Judge Gantry, he said, “Mr. Nance, I believe you have one more witness.”

  Clifford Nance stood, straight and important, and said, with drama, “Your Honor, the defense calls Mr. Peter Duffy himself.”

  The tension was suddenly thick as the defendant made his way to the witness chair. Finally, after four long days of trial, the accused would take the stand and tell his side of the story. But, in doing so he would also subject himself to questions from the prosecution. Theo knew that in 65 percent of murder cases the defendant does not testify, and he knew the reasons why. First, they’re usually guilty of the murder and cannot withstand a clever and nasty cross-examination from the prosecution. Second, they usually have a record of prior criminal activity, and once on the witness stand the record becomes fair game. In every trial the judge tries to explain to the jury that the defendant does not have to testify, does not have to say a word nor produce any witnesses on his behalf. The burden is on the State to prove him guilty.

  Theo also knew that jurors are very suspicious of a defendant who will not testify to save his own neck. If they were suspicious of Pete Duffy, Theo could not tell. They watched him closely as he settled into the witness chair, raised his right hand, and swore to tell the truth.

  Theo could see it all because, thanks to Judge Gantry, he was sitting in a ringside seat in the second row, behind the defense, with Ike to his right and his father to his left. His mother had appointments back at the office. She said she couldn’t waste the afternoon sitting through a trial, though it was obvious to the other three Boones that she really wanted to.

  Clifford Nance cleared his throat and asked the defendant to state his name, a necessary but rather silly thing to do under the circumstances. Everyone in the courtroom not only knew Pete Duffy, but also knew a lot about him. Mr. Nance then began a series of simple questions. He took his time establishing the basics—Mr. Duffy’s family history, education, jobs, businesses, lack of criminal record, and so on. The two had spent hours rehearsing all this, and the witness settled into a routine. He often glanced over at the jurors in an effort to establish an easy conversational tone. Trust me, he seemed to be trying to say. He was a nice-looking man in a stylish suit, and this struck Theo as a little odd because none of the five male jurors wore a coat or a tie. Theo had read articles about the strategy of what lawyers and their clients should wear during a trial.

  The back-and-forth finally got around to something important when Mr. Nance brought up the subject of the $1 million insurance policy on the life of Mrs. Myra Duffy. The witness explained that he was a firm believer in life insurance, that when he was a young man with a young wife and young children he had always saved his money and invested in life insurance, both for himself and for his wife. Life policies are valuable tools to protect a family in the event of an untimely death. Later, when he married his second wife, Myra, he had insisted on purchasing life insurance. And Myra agreed. In fact, the $1 million policies had actually been her idea. She wanted the protection in case something happened to him.

  Though he seemed unable to completely relax, Mr. Duffy was believable. The jurors listened carefully. So did Theo, and more than once he reminded himself that he was watching the biggest trial in Strattenburg’s history. Plus, he was also skipping school, with an excuse.

  From the life insurance, Mr. Nance moved the conversation to Mr. Duffy’s business ventures. And here, the witness scored well. He admitted that some of his real estate deals had gone sour, that some of the banks were squeezing him, that he’d lost a few partners and made some mistakes. His humility was touching and well received by the jurors. It made him even more believable. He strongly denied that he was even remotely close to bankruptcy, and rattled off an impressive series of steps he was taking to unload debt and save his assets.

  Some of it was over Theo’s head, and he suspected a few of the jurors were slightly confused, too. It didn’t matter. Clifford Nance had his client thoroughly prepared.

  Under the State’s theory, the motive for the killing was money and greed. This theory was looking weaker and weaker.

  Mr. Nance then moved to the delicate matter of the Duffys’ marital troubles, and here again the witness did a fine job. He admitted things had been rocky. Yes, they had gone to marriage counselors. Yes, they had consulted separate divorce lawyers. Yes, there had been fights, but none violent. And yes, he had moved out on one occasion, a miserable one-month period that made him even more determined to patch things up. At the time she was killed, they were together and happy and making plans for the future.

  Another whack at the prosecution’s theory.

  As the afternoon wore on, Clifford Nance steered the testimony to the subject of golf, and there they spent a lot of time. Too much time, in Theo’s humble opinion. Mr. Duffy was adamant in his assertions that he had always pr
eferred to play golf alone and had been doing so for decades. Mr. Nance produced a file and explained to the judge that it contained his client’s scorecards that dated back twenty years. He handed one to the witness, who identified it. It was from a golf course in California, fourteen years earlier. He had shot an eighty-one, nine over par. He’d played alone.

  One scorecard followed another, and the testimony soon became a tour of golf courses all over the United States. Pete Duffy played a lot of golf! He was serious. He kept his records. And he played alone. He went on to explain that he also played with friends, played for business, even played with his son every chance he got. But he preferred to play alone, on an empty course.

  When the tour was over, there seemed little doubt that another of the prosecution’s theories had been shot down. The notion that Pete Duffy had been planning the murder for two years, and that he began playing golf alone so he could pull it off with no witnesses around, seemed unlikely.

  Theo kept thinking: There are four people in this crowded courtroom who know the truth. Me, Ike, my dad, and Pete Duffy. We know he killed his wife.

  Ike kept thinking: This guy’s about to walk and there’s nothing we can do. It’s the perfect crime.

  Woods Boone kept thinking: How can we find the mysterious witness and bring him in before it’s too late?

  The last scorecard was from the day of the murder. Mr. Duffy had played eighteen holes, shot six over par, and played alone. Of course, the scorecard had been kept by him, so its accuracy could be questioned.

  (Theo had already learned that, in golf, most scorecards reflect something other than the actual number of strokes.)

  Mr. Nance became much more somber when he questioned his client about the day of the murder, and his client responded well. Mr. Duffy’s voice grew quieter, sort of scratchy and pained as he talked about his wife’s brutal death.

  I wonder if he’s going to cry, Theo was asking himself, though he was moved by the testimony.