Theodore Boone: Kid Lawyer (5 page)

“Not a shred of evidence!” he boomed in a deep, husky voice that echoed off the walls.

“Not a shred of evidence!” he boomed again, as if someone could have missed it the first time. Theo caught himself flinching.

“Nothing! No witnesses. No crime-scene proof. Nothing but this clean, neat, tidy little story Mr. Hogan has just shared with you, not one word of which is evidence. Just his fanciful version of what
maybe
could have happened. Maybe Pete Duffy wanted to kill his wife. Maybe he carefully planned it all. Maybe he raced around an empty golf course. Maybe he arrived at his home just in time to pull off one of the cleanest killings in history. Then, maybe he stole some things, left the front door open, raced away back to the fifth tee, and resumed his game. Maybe that’s what happened.”

Mr. Nance was pacing now, slowly, before the jury, a perfect rhythm to his words.

“Mr. Hogan is asking you, ladies and gentlemen, to play the Maybe Game. Maybe this happened, maybe that happened. And he wants you to play along because he has no proof. He has nothing. Nothing but a man playing golf, alone, minding his own business, while his wife gets murdered in their lovely home less than a mile away.”

He stopped pacing and walked closer to the jurors. He picked out an elderly gentleman on the front row and seemed ready to pat him on the knee. He lowered his voice and said, “I don’t really blame Mr. Hogan for playing the Maybe Game. He really has no choice, and this is because he has no evidence. He has nothing but a vivid imagination.”

Mr. Nance shuffled to his right and made eye contact with a middle-aged housewife. “Our Constitution, our laws, our rules of procedure, they’re all built on the ideas of fairness. And guess what? There is absolutely no room for a bunch of ‘maybes.’ Our laws are clear. Judge Gantry will explain them later, and when he does, please listen carefully. You will not hear him utter the word
maybe
a single time. What you will hear is the very well-known and time-honored and old-fashioned American rule that says when the State accuses you of a crime, the State must walk in here with all of its resources—investigators, police, experts, prosecutors, crime-scene analysts, all of these smart and experienced people—and prove beyond a reasonable doubt that you did, in fact, commit the crime.”

Mr. Nance shuffled to his left and looked sincerely, and convincingly, at the six jurors on the second row. He spoke with no notes, his words smooth, almost effortless, as though he’d done this a thousand times but had lost none of his passion.

“Beyond a reasonable doubt. Beyond a reasonable doubt. The State has a heavy burden, one that it cannot possibly meet.”

He paused while everyone took a breath. He walked to the defense table, picked up a yellow legal pad, but did not look at it. He was an actor on center stage, and he knew his lines by heart. He cleared his voice, then at full volume continued. “Now, the law says that Pete Duffy does not have to testify, does not have to call witnesses in his defense, does not have to prove anything. And why is this? Well, it’s very simple. He is protected by one of our most cherished safeguards. It’s called the presumption of innocence.” Mr. Nance turned and pointed at his client. “Pete Duffy sits here an innocent man, same as you, same as me.”

He began pacing again, slowly, his eyes never leaving the eyes of the jurors. “However, Pete Duffy will testify. He wants to testify. He can’t wait to testify. And when he takes that seat right here, on the witness stand, he will testify, under oath, and he will tell you the truth. The truth, ladies and gentlemen, is something far different from the little story Mr. Hogan just created. The truth, ladies and gentlemen, is that Pete Duffy was indeed playing golf that fateful day, and he was alone, his preferred way of playing. The records will reflect that he teed off at eleven ten, drove away from the first tee in his own golf cart, one that he keeps in his garage, as do most of his neighbors. He was on the course, alone, while his wife was at home getting ready to leave for a lunch in town. A thief, some unknown criminal who’s still at large and will probably remain so at the rate we’re going, entered the house quietly, and mistakenly thought no one was home. The alarm was off. The front door was unlocked, as was the back door. This was not, is still not, uncommon in this neighborhood. Unexpectedly, the thief encountered Myra Duffy, attacked her with his hands because he had no weapon, and at that point he became something else. He became a murderer.”

Mr. Nance paused and walked to the defense table, where he picked up a glass of water and took a long drink. Everyone watched him. There was nothing else to watch.

“And he’s still out there!” he said suddenly, practically yelling. “Or he could be here,” he said, waving his arms, taking in the entire courtroom. “Since we’re playing the Maybe Game, then maybe he’s here, watching this trial. Why not? He’s certainly safe from Mr. Hogan and his gang.”

Theo noticed that several of the jurors glanced toward the spectators.

Mr. Nance shifted gears and talked about the life insurance policy, and specifically the fact that Mr. Duffy had indeed purchased one that made him the recipient of a million dollars in the event his wife died. But, there had been an identical policy on his life naming Mrs. Duffy as the recipient. They had simply done what most married couples do. They had purchased dual policies. He promised to prove to the jury that Pete Duffy’s business affairs were not nearly as dire as Mr. Hogan claimed. He admitted that the Duffys had struggled with their marriage, and they had separated on more than one occasion, but they had never filed for divorce. In fact, they were determined to work through their differences.

Mr. Mount sat in the second row in the balcony, behind his students. He chose his spot carefully so he could see all sixteen, if necessary. So far they had been riveted by the opening statements. Not surprisingly, Theo was more engaged than the others. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

When Mr. Nance finished, Judge Gantry called for an early lunch recess.

Chapter 6

T
he Government class crossed Main Street and headed east, toward the river. Mr. Mount held back a step or two and listened with amusement as the boys argued back and forth, some of them using phrases and words they’d just heard from the real lawyers.

“This way,” he said, and the group hung a left onto a narrow side street. They filed into Pappy’s, a famous deli known for its pastrami subs and onion rings. It was ten minutes before noon and they had beaten the rush. They ordered quickly, then huddled around a long table near the front window.

“Who was the better lawyer?” Mr. Mount asked.

At least ten answered at once and there was an even split between Jack Hogan and Clifford Nance. Mr. Mount prodded them with questions like: “Which lawyer did you believe? Which would you trust? Which did the jury tend to follow?”

The food arrived and the conversation dropped dramatically.

“A show of hands,” Mr. Mount said. “And you must vote. No fence straddling. Raise your hand if you think Mr. Duffy is guilty.”

He counted ten hands. “Okay, not guilty.”

He counted five hands. “Theo, I said you must vote.”

“Sorry, but I can’t vote. I think he’s guilty, but I don’t see how the State can prove its case. All they can prove is motive, maybe.”

“The Maybe Game, huh?” Mr. Mount said. “I thought that was very effective.”

“I’m with Theo,” Aaron said. “He sure looks guilty, but the prosecutor can’t even place him at the scene of the crime. That’s a problem, right?”

“A large problem, I’d say,” Mr. Mount replied.

“What about the stolen jewelry and watches and guns?” Edward asked. “Did they find this stuff? It was never mentioned.”

“Don’t know, but then the opening statements are somewhat limited.”

“They seemed pretty long to me.”

“We’ll find out when the witnesses are called,” Theo added.

“Who’s the first witness?” Chase asked.

“I haven’t seen the witness list,” Mr. Mount said. “But they usually start with the crime scene. It’ll probably be one of the detectives.”

“Cool.”

“How late can we stay today, Mr. Mount?”

“We have to be back at school at three thirty.”

“How late will the trial go?”

“Judge Gantry likes to work,” Theo said. “At least until five.”

“Can we come back tomorrow, Mr. Mount?”

“Afraid not. It’s a one-day field trip. You do have other classes, you know. None as exciting as mine, but that’s just my opinion.”

The deli was suddenly packed and a line formed outside. Mr. Mount told his students to finish up. Pappy, the owner, was famous for barking at people who occupied tables long after they had finished eating.

They strolled along Main Street, which was busy now with people scurrying around on their lunch breaks. At a fountain, office workers ate and talked while soaking up the sun. Officer Peacock, the ancient traffic cop, directed traffic with his worn-out whistle and yellow gloves, and managed to prevent accidents, which was not always the case with Officer Peacock. Just ahead, a group of men in dark suits left a building and headed in the same direction as the students. Mr. Mount whispered loudly, “Look, men, it’s Mr. Duffy and his lawyers.”

The boys slowed for a second as the group of dark suits moved on in front of them. Pete Duffy, Clifford Nance, two other solemn-faced lawyers, and a fifth man Theo had not seen in the courtroom that morning, but one he knew well. His name was Omar Cheepe, and he was not a lawyer, though he was well known in legal circles. Mr. Cheepe was a former federal agent of some variety who now ran his own firm. He specialized in investigations and surveillance and other activities that lawyers needed from time to time. He and Mrs. Boone had once been involved in a nasty dispute in a divorce case, and Theo had heard Omar Cheepe described as “an armed thug,” and a “man who enjoyed breaking the law.” Theo, of course, was not supposed to hear such comments, but then he heard a lot around the office. He had never actually met Mr. Cheepe, but he’d seen him in court. The rumor was that if Omar Cheepe was working on the case, then someone had to be guilty.

Omar looked directly at Theo. He was thick, powerfully built, with a large round head that he kept shaved. The man tried to look menacing, and he was successful.

He turned away and hurried after Duffy.

They walked down Main Street, the boys in a loose group, moving fast to keep up with the defendant and his team. Omar Cheepe’s hulking frame protected Pete Duffy from the rear, as if someone might take a shot. Clifford Nance told a funny story, and the men had a good laugh.

Pete Duffy laughed the loudest. Guilty. Theo hated to believe this because not a single witness had testified. Plus, he liked to tell himself that he believed in the presumption of innocence.

Guilty, Theo said again, to himself. Why couldn’t he follow the law, give Mr. Duffy the benefit of innocence? Why couldn’t he do what good lawyers were supposed to do? This frustrated him as he followed along behind Mr. Duffy and his lawyers.

There was something missing in the case, and based on what had already been said in court, Theo suspected that the mystery might never be solved.

They filed into their seats, front row left side of the balcony, and allowed their lunch to settle. Judge Gantry had recessed until 1:00 p.m., some fifteen minutes away. Deputy Gossett, the old bailiff, lumbered over to them and said, “Theo.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is this your class?”

What else would it be, Deputy Gossett? A teacher, sixteen students? “Yes, sir.”

“Judge Gantry would like to see you, in chambers. And hurry. He’s a busy man.”

Theo pointed to himself, tried to think of something to say.

“The whole class,” Deputy Gossett said. “And hurry.”

They scrambled into formation behind Deputy Gossett and hustled down the stairs.

“In chambers” meant the judge was in his office behind the bench, adjacent to the courtroom. This office was different from his formal office down the hall. It was confusing and Theo was attempting to explain this when Deputy Gossett opened the door to a long, wood-paneled room with old portraits of old bearded judges covering the walls. Judge Gantry, without his black robe, rose from behind his desk and stepped out to meet the boys.

“Hello, Theo,” he said, embarrassing Theo slightly. The other students were too awestruck to speak.

“And you must be Mr. Mount,” the judge was saying as they shook hands.

“Yes, Judge, and this is my eighth-grade Government class.”

Since there were not enough seats for everyone, Judge Gantry addressed the boys where they stood. “Thank you for coming. It’s important for students to see our judicial system in action. What do you think so far?”

All sixteen boys were mute. What were they supposed to say?

Mr. Mount rescued them. “They are fascinated by the trial,” he said. “We just debriefed over lunch, rated the lawyers, talked about the jurors, and had a lot of opinions about guilt and innocence.”

“I won’t ask. But we have a couple of pretty good lawyers, don’t you think?”

All sixteen heads nodded.

“Is it true that Theo Boone actually gives legal advice?”

A few nervous laughs. Theo was both embarrassed and proud. “Yes, but I don’t charge them anything,” he said. A few more laughs.

“Any questions about the trial?” Judge Gantry asked.

“Yes, sir,” Brandon said. “On television you always see a surprise witness that comes out of nowhere and changes the trial. Is there a chance of a surprise witness here? If not, it seems like the State has a pretty weak case.”

“Good question, son. The answer is no. Our rules of procedure prohibit surprise witnesses. Television gets it all wrong. In real life, before the trial starts, each side must provide a list of all potential witnesses.”

“Who’s the first witness?” Jarvis asked.

“The victim’s sister, the lady who found the body. She’ll be followed by the homicide detectives. How long can you stay today?”

“We need to be back at school at three thirty,” Mr. Mount said.

“Okay. I’ll call a recess at three, and you can ease out. How are the seats up in the balcony?”

“Great, and thank you.”

“I’ve moved you down to the floor. Things have cleared out a bit. Again, thanks for taking such an interest in our judicial system. It’s very important to good government.” With that, Judge Gantry was finished. The students thanked him. He and Mr. Mount shook hands again.

Deputy Gossett led them out of chambers, back to the courtroom, down the main aisle, and to the second row behind the prosecution’s table. In front of them were the two young men who’d been introduced as Mrs. Duffy’s sons. The lawyers were only a few feet away. Across the aisle, Omar was now sitting behind Pete Duffy, his black eyes darting around the courtroom as if he might need to shoot someone. Once again, he looked directly at Theo.

They had gone from the cheap seats to ringside, and they couldn’t believe it. Chase, the mad scientist, was to Theo’s right, elbow to elbow. He whispered, “Did you pull some strings, Theo?”

“No, but Judge Gantry and I are pretty tight.”

“Nice work.”

At precisely 1:00 p.m., the bench bailiff stood and wailed, “Court is now in session. Please remain seated.”

Judge Gantry appeared in his robe and took his seat. He looked at Jack Hogan and said, “The State may call its first witness.”

From a side door, another bailiff escorted a well-dressed lady into the courtroom and to the witness chair. She placed her hand on a Bible and swore to tell the truth. When she was seated and the microphone adjusted, Mr. Hogan began his direct examination.

Her name was Emily Green, the sister of Myra Duffy. She was forty-four, lived in Strattenburg, worked as a fitness counselor, and on the day of the murder she had done exactly what Mr. Hogan described in his opening statement. When her sister didn’t show for lunch, and didn’t call, she became worried, then panicky. She called her repeatedly on her cell phone, then raced to Waverly Creek, to the Duffy home, and found her sister dead on the living room carpet.

It was obvious, at least to Theo, that Mr. Hogan and Ms. Green had carefully rehearsed her testimony. It was designed to establish death, and to evoke sympathy. When they finished, Clifford Nance stood and announced that he had no questions on cross-examination. Ms. Green was excused, and she took a seat in the front row, next to her two nephews, directly in front of Mr. Mount’s students.

The next witness was Detective Krone, from Homicide. Using the large screen and the projector, he and Jack Hogan laid out the neighborhood, the Duffy home, and the crime scene. Several important facts were established, though the jury already knew them. The front door was found open. The rear door and the side patio door were not locked. The alarm system was not engaged.

And new facts emerged. Fingerprint tests found matches throughout the house for Mr. Duffy, Mrs. Duffy, and their housekeeper, but this was to be expected. No other matches were found on doorknobs, windows, phones, drawers, the jewelry case, or the antique mahogany box where Mr. Duffy kept his expensive watches. This meant one of two things: (1) the thief/murderer wore gloves or carefully wiped away any prints, or (2) the thief/murderer was either Mr. Duffy or the housekeeper. The housekeeper was not at work on the day of the murder—she was out of town with her husband.

Whoever took the jewelry, guns, and watches had also yanked open several other cabinets and drawers and flung items on the floor. Detective Krone, who was pretty dull to listen to, methodically went through photo after photo of the mess left behind by the thief/murderer.

For the first time, the trial began to drag. Mr. Mount noticed a few of the boys starting to fidget. A couple of the jurors looked sleepy.

At precisely 3:00 p.m., Judge Gantry banged his gavel and announced a fifteen-minute recess. The courtroom emptied quickly. Everyone needed a break. Theo and his friends left the courthouse, boarded a small yellow bus, and ten minutes later were back at school in time for dismissal.

Thirty minutes after he left, Theo was back in the courthouse. He sprinted up the stairs to the third floor. There was no sign of the Finnemore war—no lawyers in the hallway, no sign of April. She had not called or answered his e-mails the night before, nor had she posted anything on her Facebook page. Her parents would not allow her to have a cell phone, so she could not text. This was not that unusual. About half of the eighth graders at the middle school did not have cell phones.

Theo hurried down to the second floor, entered the courtroom under the suspicious gaze of Deputy Gossett, and found a seat on the third row, behind the defense table. The defendant, Mr. Duffy, sat less than twenty feet away. Theo could hear his lawyers as they whispered important things. Omar Cheepe was still there. He noticed Theo when he sat down. As an experienced observer, Omar had the ability to see all movements, but he did it casually, as if he really didn’t care.

The witness was a doctor, the medical examiner who performed the autopsy on the victim. He was using a large color diagram of a human body from the chest up, with emphasis on the neck area. Theo paid more attention to Clifford Nance than to the witness. He watched Mr. Nance as he listened intently to the testimony, and took notes, and continually glanced at the jury. He seemed to miss nothing in the courtroom. He was relaxed and confident, though ready to attack if necessary.

His cross-examination of the doctor was quick and revealed nothing new. So far, Mr. Nance seemed content to agree with most of the prosecution’s witnesses. The fireworks would come later.

Judge Gantry adjourned court just after 5:00 p.m. Before he excused the jurors, he again warned them against discussing the case with anyone. After they filed out, the courtroom emptied. Theo hung around, watching the lawyers gather their files and books as they repacked their thick briefcases and talked in hushed tones. There were words across the aisle. Jack Hogan said something to Clifford Nance and both men laughed. The other, lesser lawyers joined in, and someone said, “How about a drink?”