The Fugitive (3 page)

M
rs. Boone picked Theo up at the school Monday afternoon. During the ten-minute drive home, she wanted to know every detail about the trip and Washington. Theo was tired—he had slept little Sunday night because Woody and Aaron played a stupid game to see which one could stay awake until morning, and he hadn't slept on the bus because there had been a lot of punching, slapping, loud music, laughing, and, of course, passing of gas—so he had little to say to his mother. He promised her he would give her a full report after a nap. At home, she fixed him a grilled cheese sandwich and asked him when was the last time he took a shower. He thought it was either Friday or Saturday, and she instructed him to take one right then, after lunch. When Theo was in the shower, she went back to the office.

Theo Boone did not take naps. Even though he was dead tired, he had somewhere to go. It was, after all, Monday afternoon and he was required to visit Ike. He did not always look forward to these visits, but today was different. They had important business.

Ike had been able to run a number of photos of Pete Duffy through FuzziFace, and Theo was eager to know what he had found.

It was the old Ike—no dark suit, no white shirt and tie, no shiny leather loafers. Instead, he was wearing his standard office attire of faded jeans, faded T-shirt, and sandals. Bob Dylan was singing softly on the stereo when Theo and Judge bounded up the stairs to his messy office. Ike was excited and spent fifteen minutes showing Theo the various images of Pete Duffy on his laptop. The FuzziFace software analyzed every inch of Duffy's face from the old photos Ike had found, and compared those to a still shot from Theo's video. The bottom line: There was an 85 percent chance it was Duffy.

Theo and Ike were convinced beyond a doubt.

“Now what?” Theo asked.

“Have you told your parents?”

“No, but we should. I don't like keeping secrets from them, especially something as big as this. They might even be ticked off when we tell them everything we've already done.”

“Okay, I agree. When do you want to tell them?”

“How about now? They're both in the office. It's Monday, so we'll go to Robilio's for dinner, as always. Let's catch them in about half an hour. Will you come with me?”

It was a complicated question because Ike avoided the law offices of Boone & Boone. He had once worked there; in fact, he and Theo's father had started the first Boone law firm in the same building many years earlier. Then something bad happened. Ike got into trouble, left the firm on bad terms, lost his license to practice law, went to prison, and now generally avoided anything to do with his old firm. But, thanks to Theo, the difficult relationship between Ike and Woods Boone was showing signs of improving. During the first Duffy trial, Ike showed up at the office one night when Judge Gantry stopped by for an important conversation with the entire family.

Ike would do almost anything for his nephew. “Sure,” he said. “Let's go.”

“Great. I'll see you there.” Theo and Judge left in a hurry. After four days in the big city, Theo was thrilled to be back on his bike and darting along the streets of Strattenburg. These were his streets and he knew every one of them, and every alley and shortcut. He could not imagine being a kid in a big city where the streets were clogged with cars and the sidewalks were packed with pedestrians.

Theo took the long way back to the office, stalling until five thirty when Elsa Miller would close up her desk, lock the front door, and go home. Elsa was the firm's receptionist and head secretary, and a very important person in the lives of the Boones. She was like a grandmother to Theo, and at that moment she would pounce on him with amazing energy, even more amazing when you considered that she was seventy years old, and hit him with a hundred questions about his trip to Washington. Theo just wasn't in the mood, so he did a few laps around the block, with Judge close behind. He hid behind a tree down the street—a favorite hiding place—until he saw Elsa's car leave. He entered the building through a rear door and went straight to his mother's office. As usual, she was on the phone. Judge parked himself on a dog bed by Elsa's desk, one of three such beds at the office, while Theo went up the stairs to check on his father.

Woods Boone was smoking his pipe and reading a document. His desk was stacked with papers and files, many of them untouched for months, maybe even years. He smiled when he saw Theo and said, “Well, well, how was the big trip?”

“It was great, Dad. I'll tell you all about it over dinner. Right now there's something we need to talk about, something really important.”

“What have you done?” Mr. Boone asked, suddenly frowning.

“Nothing, Dad. Well, not much anyway. But, look, Ike is on his way over and we need to have a family meeting.”

“Ike? A family meeting? Why am I nervous?”

“Can we just meet with Mom in the conference room and talk about it?”

“Sure,” Mr. Boone said, putting away his pipe and getting to his feet. He followed Theo downstairs. Ike was knocking on the front door and Theo unlocked it. Mrs. Boone emerged from her office and asked, “What's going on here?”

“We need to talk,” Theo said. Mrs. Boone gave Ike a quick hug, the kind you're expected to give but don't really want to. She gave her husband a curious look, like “What's he done now?”

When they were situated around the conference table, Theo told the story: Last Thursday in DC, leaving Ford's Theatre, on the crowded subway, the man who looks like Pete Duffy, the secret video made by Theo, the call to Ike, Ike's quick trip to DC, the second spotting of Duffy, the trailing of Duffy to his run-down apartment building, the FuzziFace software and examination of the photos, and, most importantly, their belief that the man is Pete Duffy.

Mr. and Mrs. Boone were speechless.

Ike had his laptop, and it took Theo only a few seconds to wire it to a big screen on a wall at the end of the conference table. “Here it is,” Theo said, and the video began in slow motion. Theo froze it and said, “This is the best shot right here.” It was an image of the left side of the man's face just as he dipped his newspaper.

Ike pecked on his keyboard and the screen split between that image and one of Pete Duffy taken from an old newspaper photo. Side by side, the men looked somewhat similar.

Mrs. Boone finally said, “Well, I suppose it sort of looks like the same man.”

Mr. Boone, always the skeptic, said, “I'm not so sure.”

“Oh, it's him,” Ike said with little doubt.

“He even walks like Pete Duffy,” Theo added.

“And when did you see Mr. Duffy walk?” his father asked.

“During his trial. We walked behind him and his lawyers during the first day of the trial. I remember it clearly.”

“Have you been reading spy novels again?” Mrs. Boone asked. She and Mr. Boone were still staring at the images on the screen. Theo did not answer.

“What do you have in mind?” Mr. Boone asked Ike.

“Well, we have to go to the police, show them the video, show them these images, and tell them everything we know. At that point, it's up to them.”

The four pondered this for a moment, then Ike continued, “But that, of course, might present another problem. We have a good police department, but Pete Duffy has a lot of friends. There could be leaks. A stray word here or there, then a quick phone call, and Duffy could disappear into thin air.”

“Are you suggesting Duffy might have a mole inside our police department?” Mrs. Boone asked, her eyebrows arched with skepticism.

“It wouldn't surprise me,” Ike replied.

“Me neither,” added Mr. Boone.

Theo was shocked by the suggestion. If you can't trust the police, who can you trust?

Another long pause as the four stared at the screen and considered the situation. “What are you thinking, Ike?” Mrs. Boone finally asked.

“He's a fugitive, currently number seven on the FBI's Ten Most Wanted list, right? So we go to the FBI and keep it away from the Strattenburg Police.”

“Well, whatever we do, we're keeping Theo out of it,” Mr. Boone said.

That was perfectly fine with Theo. The deeper he sank into the Duffy matter, the more worried he became. However, it was exciting to think about working with real FBI agents.

“Of course we are,” Ike said. “But I suppose they'll want to meet with him and get his version of events. We can keep that all nice and secret.”

“And when do you think we should meet with the FBI?” Mr. Boone asked.

“As soon as possible. I'll call them first thing in the morning and arrange a meeting. I'll suggest that we meet right here if that's okay.”

“Guess I'll have to miss school tomorrow,” Theo said.

“You will not,” his mother said sharply. “You were out of class Thursday, Friday, and today. You will not miss tomorrow. If we meet, we'll do it after school. Okay, Ike?”

“Sure.”

They invited Ike to dinner at Robilio's, their Monday night place, but he declined saying he needed to get back to the office. Theo was relieved, because Ike at dinner would mean a lot of talk about the Duffy case, and Theo had had enough of it for the moment.

He puttered around the office for half an hour, then left for home with Judge. At seven o'clock sharp, the Boone family settled around its favorite table in the restaurant and ordered the same food they had eaten the week before, and the week before that. As they waited, Theo began a lengthy review of his trip to Washington. As always, his parents peppered him with questions—about the museums and monuments, the hotel, the other kids. Did everyone behave? Any problems whatsoever? What was his favorite attraction? And so on. Theo unloaded every detail he could possibly remember, except perhaps for some of the behavior on the bus. He held their attention with a thorough description of Ford's Theatre, along with a play-by-play account of Lincoln's assassination. At the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, he had found the name of Joel Furniss, the young soldier Ike had known as a kid and the county's first casualty. He loved the Washington Monument, the space museum, and the other war memorials, but was bored with most of the Smithsonian.

Mrs. Boone asked him if he would like to return to DC and spend an entire week seeing the other sights. She and Mr. Boone had talked about going there for their summer vacation. Theo wasn't so sure. At the moment, he'd seen enough.

He went to bed early and slept for nine hours.

E
arly Tuesday morning, while Theo was in school, Ike contacted the FBI office in Northchester, an hour away from Strattenburg. The first phone call led to a second, then a third as the matter became urgent. Calls were made to Theo's parents, and a meeting was arranged.

Theo was having lunch with April Finnemore when the principal, Mrs. Gladwell, appeared from nowhere and whispered, “Theo, your mother just called and you're being excused. She wants you to get to her office as soon as possible.”

Theo had a pretty good idea what was going on, but he said nothing to April. He got his backpack, checked with Miss Gloria at the front desk, and hopped on his bike. Minutes later, he wheeled to a stop behind Boone & Boone.

They were waiting for him: his parents, Ike, and two FBI agents. The white one was named Ackerman and was a little older, with some gray in his dark hair, and he greeted Theo with a frown, which would turn out to be permanent. The black one was named Slade, thin as a rail and with a mouthful of perfect teeth. Everyone suffered through a few minutes of nervous chatter before they got down to business. Theo told his story. Ike ran the video, then did the comparison of Duffy images. Back to Theo, who began answering the agents' questions. His parents sat beside him, quiet but ready to protect him if need be. Ackerman asked if they could have a copy of the video. Mrs. Boone said certainly. After half an hour of discussion, Slade stepped out of the conference room to call his boss back at the office.

Elsa brought in some sandwiches and managed to shoot Theo a serious look as if to ask, “What on earth have you done now?” He tried to ignore her. As they ate, the two agents politely asked Theo some of the same questions over and over, taking notes the entire time, pinning down the details. Time of day, Metro stations, number of cars in the train, exact location of “the subject.” They did not refer to him as Pete Duffy; he was always “the subject.” An hour passed as they watched the video again, talked, and waited on word from the FBI office in Northchester. Mrs. Boone left to make a few phone calls, and when she returned Mr. Boone went upstairs to check on some pressing matters. Once, both agents were on their cell phones, backs turned to the others, almost whispering important details. When one wasn't on the phone, the other one was. As the afternoon dragged on, they became more animated. It seemed, at least to Theo, that they had managed to get the attention of more important FBI people.

Around two p.m., Slade got off his phone, placed it on the table, and said, “Okay, here's the plan right now. We've sent the video and photo to our office in Washington. Our experts are going through it now, but their quick analysis is that there is an eighty percent chance this guy is the real Pete Duffy. We'll have several agents on the Metro this afternoon, and we'll also stake out the apartment on Forty-Fourth Street. There is an outstanding warrant for his arrest, so the paperwork is already in place. If our guys see him, they'll grab him, search him, search his apartment, and, with luck, we'll have our man.”

Ackerman said, “We need to get back to our office now, but we'll be in touch.”

Slade looked at Theo and said, “On behalf of the FBI, Theo, we want to say a big thanks for doing what you've done. It took a very sharp eye to see what you saw.”

Ackerman turned to Ike and said, “And to you as well, Mr. Boone. Thank you for getting involved.”

Ike waved him off as if it was no big deal. Just another day at the office.

After the agents left, Mrs. Boone looked at her watch and said, “Well, I guess it's too late to go back to school.”

“Of course it is,” Theo said helpfully. “I think I should stick around here and wait to hear from the FBI. They might need me again.”

“I doubt that,” Mr. Boone said, also glancing at his watch. Time to get to work.

When his parents were gone from the room, Theo smiled at Ike and said, “It must be cool to be an FBI agent, don't you think, Ike?”

Ike grunted his disapproval. “Listen, Theo, about the time you were born I got into some trouble and the FBI came knocking on my door. It was not pleasant. When you're on the other side of those guys, it's hard to be a big fan. They're good, and they know it, but they're not always right.”

Ike's troubles were deep, family secrets. Theo, being the nosy kid, had fished around a few times for details from his parents, but had learned nothing. Now that Ike had opened the door, Theo was tempted to go barging in. But he bit his tongue and said nothing.

Ike said, “Just think about it, Theo. Right now your video is being analyzed by the best experts in the world. Pretty cool, right?”

“Very. Say, Ike, we haven't talked about this, but have you thought about the reward money? They're offering a hundred thousand dollars for information leading to the arrest and conviction of Pete Duffy. I'm sure you know this, right?”

“Sure, everybody knows it. And, yes, I've thought about it. What will you do with that kind of money?”

“Well, I think you should get some of it. What if we just split it, okay?”

“We're not there yet, Theo. First, they've got to catch him. Then there's the small matter of another trial. Duffy has great lawyers and he'll put up a strong defense, just like last time. You watched the trial and you know that the prosecution was about to lose when Judge Gantry declared a mistrial. Getting a conviction will not be easy.”

“I know. I was there, but that was before we knew about Bobby Escobar. He's an eyewitness, Ike. He saw Pete Duffy sneak into his home at the exact time his wife was killed. And he found the golf gloves Duffy was wearing when he strangled his wife.”

“Right. Let's just wait until there's a conviction, and then we'll talk about the reward money.”

“Okay. But what would you do with fifty thousand?”

“Theo.”

• • •

At four thirty, Theo was at his desk in his office, with his dog at his feet, doodling at his homework and staring at a Twins clock on the wall. He closed his eyes and imagined the crowded Metro train as it stopped at the Judiciary Square Station.

A dozen FBI agents in various disguises are on the train, watching, waiting. The doors open, a crowd of com-muters rushes into the train. One of them is Pete Duffy, and he is soon identified by an agent who whispers into a mike. “PD is identified, car number four, halfway back.” Duffy reads his newspaper, clueless that his life as a fugitive is about to end. Clueless that he is about to be arrested and hauled back to Strattenburg. At the Metro Center Station, even more agents pile on board; some maneuver so close to Duffy they could touch him. But they wait. They're patient, professional. They whisper into their mikes, text messages on their cell phones, ride the train as if they do it every day, and before long they're at the Tenleytown Station. Duffy folds his newspaper, sticks it under his arm, gets to his feet, and when the train stops and the doors fly open, he steps onto the platform, same as everyone else. More agents are waiting at the station. They trail Duffy up through the quiet, leafy streets of Northwest Washington, watching every step. When he turns on 44th Street, he comes face-to-face with armed men in black trench coats. One says, “FBI, Mr. Duffy, you're under arrest.” Duffy almost faints, or does he? Is he relieved that his life as a fugitive is over? Probably not. Theo suspects Duffy would prefer to live on the run. They handcuff him and lead him to an unmarked van. He says nothing, not a single word. At the jail he calls his lawyer.

At five o'clock, Theo was staring at the phone on his desk. He called Ike, who'd heard nothing and said to relax. They'll get Duffy, but maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. Be patient.

Really, Ike?
Theo said to himself.
How many thirteen-year-olds understand how to be patient?

After dark, and without a peep from the FBI, the Boone family walked three blocks from their office to the Highland Street Shelter, where they volunteered each week. They began in the kitchen where they donned aprons and served soup and sandwiches, always with smiles and warm greetings. Most of the faces were well known—they either lived there or showed up week after week. Theo even knew the names of some of the kids. The shelter provided permanent housing to about forty homeless people, including a few families. It also fed a hundred every day at lunch and dinner. After everyone was served, the Boones grabbed a quick bite while standing in a corner of the dining room. Vegetable soup with corn bread and a coconut cookie for dessert. It wasn't Theo's favorite meal, but it wasn't the worst either. Every time he ate at the shelter he watched the faces of the people. Some were blank and distant, as if they weren't sure where they were. Most, though, were just happy to have another warm meal.

Mrs. Boone, along with several other female lawyers in town, had started a free legal clinic at the shelter to help women and their families. After dinner, she went to a small room and began seeing clients. Theo went to a play area where he helped kids with their homework. Mr. Boone set up shop at one of end of a dining table and began reviewing documents for homeless people who'd been evicted from their apartments.

At eight twenty, Theo got a text from Ike.
Call me now.
He stepped outside and punched the number on speed dial.

“Just talked to the FBI,” Ike said. “Agent Slade called me with an update. Everything went as planned, said they had about a dozen agents involved, but no sign of Duffy. Nothing. They watched his apartment for three hours and didn't see him. They didn't search it, can't really do that until they have him in custody.”

“So, what does this mean?”

“Not sure, really. Duffy is a smart guy and he could be staying at more than one place. Maybe he saw a suspicious person; somebody stared a bit too long. Who knows?”

“What's the plan?”

“They'll try again tomorrow. They'll watch his apartment all night, see if he comes out in the morning, and they'll monitor the trains. But you know how it is; there are about a million people on the Metro during rush hour. I'll call when I hear something.”

Theo was devastated. He was certain the FBI, with its unlimited manpower and technology, would have Pete Duffy in custody by midnight.

He walked into the shelter to tell his parents.