“You don’t believe me?” Theo asked, wounded.
“Look, Theo, I don’t know if you’re lying, and I don’t know if you’re telling the truth. It’s too early for me, as the detective handling the case, to make that decision. We don’t have much evidence in this case, so far, but what we do have points to you. Do you understand this?”
Theo nodded slightly, but it was obvious he wasn’t pleased with it.
Hamilton looked at his watch, closed a file, and said, “Now, I thank you folks for stopping by, and, as I said, we’ll be in touch.”
The Boones walked out of the police building in a small group. No one was smiling.
Theo tried to study in his office at Boone amp; Boone, but he was too distracted. A new window had been installed, and the shattered glass had been removed. There was no sign of the damage from yesterday afternoon, but Theo could still hear the crash of the breaking glass, the sharp thud of the rock hitting the bookshelf, the splattering of debris, the shriek of panic from Judge, followed quickly by a furious round of barking in the frantic seconds afterward. Theo could almost hear something else. He thought he had heard it in a dream. He thought he had heard it once that morning at school during first period, before the police showed up and ruined his day. He could almost close his eyes, place himself at his desk when the rock came crashing through, and then, in the seconds that followed, he could almost hear footsteps. Someone was running away. The person who threw the rock was making his escape from close by. Theo wished a dozen times he had been able to catch a glimpse of the person running away.
Who was this mysterious person? Was it an adult? Another student? Male or female? A lone gunman or a member of a gang?
Even Judge seemed a bit jumpy. The first return visit to the scene of the crime brings back bad memories, and Theo found it impossible to do his homework. He finally locked the door, took a peek through the new window, saw no one, and left the building on his bike, with Judge in hot pursuit.
Chapter 10
The photo was sent from an anonymous GashMail account, and initially sent to the in-boxes of a dozen or so students at Strattenburg Middle School. From there it rapidly picked up steam, and by 7:30 Wednesday evening hundreds, if not thousands, of people in town had seen it and knew what it was all about.
It was taken by a person who was determined to remain nameless and faceless, and, evidently, he or she was hiding somewhere across the street when Theo, his parents, and Ike left the police station. The photo clearly showed all four, frowning and worried, and just behind and above them, on the front of the building, in bold letters were the words: S tr a ttenburg P olice S t a tion.
With the photo was a description: “Theo Boone, age thirteen, of 886 Mallard Lane, leaves the Strattenburg Police Station with his parents after being arrested for the Tuesday night break-in and burglary of the well-known downtown computer store, Big Mac’s Systems. Sources say the police found stolen merchandise Wednesday morning in Boone’s locker at the middle school. He is expected to appear in Juvenile Court next week.”
As always on Wednesday evenings, the Boones were having Chinese takeout. They were in the den, dining on folding TV trays while watching television. Judge, who considered himself at least half human, was sitting next to Theo, getting an occasional bite of sweet-and-sour shrimp, his favorite. There was almost no conversation over dinner. Theo was burdened by recent events, which seemed to be snowballing. His parents were preoccupied with thoughts of protecting their son. Mrs. Boone hardly nibbled at her chicken chow mein. Mr. Boone chewed with a vengeance, as if he were off in court somewhere slugging it out with the bad guys and proving that Theo had done nothing wrong.
Theo’s cell phone vibrated-a text message was arriving. He glanced at it. April Finnemore, his close friend, said: TB, check email now. Urgent.
Interrupting dinner was frowned on by his parents, so Theo, between bites, texted back: What is it?
April replied: Terrible. Urgent! Go now.
Theo replied: OK.
He took a few more bites, chewed, and swallowed quickly, then announced, “I’m stuffed.” He stood with his plate and glass and headed for the kitchen.
“That was fast,” his mother said. His father was in another world.
Theo rinsed his plate and went straight for his backpack on the kitchen counter. A few seconds later he was online, then he opened his mailbox. He clicked on “Urgent Message from GashMail,” and saw the photo. Bright, clear, no doubt about who was leaving the police station. His first reaction when reading the description was disbelief. His jaw dropped, his mouth fell open wide, and for several seconds he stared at the image of himself leaving the police station. The shock was quickly replaced by anger. Anger at the lies, the fiction. He had not been arrested. He was not due in court. Then the questions-Who took the photo? Where had they been hiding? Why would anyone tell such outright lies? How many people have seen this? “Guys!” Theo yelled.
His parents crowded behind him and gawked at the monitor sitting on the kitchen counter. A photo taken secretly by some punk and then broadcast to the world with a bunch of lies to describe it. As lawyers, their first reaction was-what could be done legally to stop it, to fix it, to bring the guilty party to justice?
“I’m assuming this is everywhere,” Mrs. Boone said.
“Probably so.” Theo replied.
“What is GashMail?” Mr. Boone asked.
“It’s kind of a shady server you use when you don’t want to get caught. A lot of unknown e-mails start there, and it’s really hard to track them down.”
“So we can’t track this?”
“Anything is possible with the Internet, but it would be complicated and expensive.”
“The Internet,” Mr. Boone said in disgust, and walked to the window above the sink and stared into the darkness of the backyard.
Theo sat down at the table and rubbed his temples. “I guess my life is ruined,” he said, and for a moment was near tears.
“This can be explained, Theo,” his father said. “Your friends will know the truth. What strangers think doesn’t matter.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Dad. You don’t have to face all those kids at school tomorrow. And you don’t know how fast rumors fly on the Internet. Half the town is looking at the photo right now and deciding that I’m guilty.”
Theo’s mother sat next to him and patted his arm. “You’re not guilty of anything, Theo, and the truth will come out.”
“I’m not so sure about that, Mom. You saw Detective Hamilton today. He thinks I’m guilty. What if they don’t find the real thieves? What if they finish their investigation with nothing but me, just me and those three stolen tablets in my locker? At some point, they have to charge somebody with the crime, and it could easily be me. I saw the owner of the store today, they call him Big Mac, and, believe me, he’s convinced I’m guilty and he’s out for blood. He’ll see this photo. The police will see it, too. It makes it easier to believe I’m guilty.”
There was a long, heavy pause as Theo’s words settled in the kitchen. Was reality gradually seeping in? Was it possible that Theo could actually be charged with the crime? And once the wheels of justice began moving, could the Boones do anything to prevent a terrible outcome?
Each tablet had a value of approximately four hundred dollars, for a total of twelve hundred dollars. When the combined value of stolen goods was in excess of five hundred dollars, then the crime was deemed a felony, a more serious crime than a misdemeanor. Theo knew the law; he’d been pondering it for hours now. He had even double-checked the codes and statutes at the office when he was supposed to be doing his homework. If he were eighteen or older, he would be staring at a felony charge. However, because he was only thirteen, the case would be handled in Juvenile Court where the rules were different. Things were more private there. The files were not made public, nor were the hearings. There were no juries; all matters were decided by a Juvenile Court judge. Jail sentences were rare, and seldom for long periods of time.