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.
“You don’t believe my son?” Mrs. Boone asked. To Theo, it was obvious that they did not.
“Let’s just say that we’re still investigating,” Vorman replied.
“Did you check the cap for fingerprints?” Mr. Boone asked.
“We did. It’s difficult to get good prints from cloth, so we were unsuccessful. Our lab guys are pretty sure that there are no prints. Looks like the thief wore gloves and was very careful. No prints on the tablets, none on the cap, none at the crime scene.”
“Do you plan to charge Theo?” Mrs. Boone asked.
“We haven’t made a decision yet,” Hamilton said. “But it’s safe to say we’re headed that way.”
The Boones absorbed this, and said nothing. Mr. Boone exhaled and looked at the ceiling. Mrs. Boone scribbled something on a legal pad. Theo was still fighting back tears. He knew he was innocent and telling the truth, but the police did not believe him. He wondered if his parents did.
Vorman broke the silence with still more bad news. “We’d like to search your house,” he said.
Mr. and Mrs. Boone reacted in disbelief. “For what?” Mr. Boone demanded.
“For evidence,” Vorman replied. “For the rest of the stolen goods.”
“You can’t treat us like common criminals,” Mrs. Boone said angrily. “This is outrageous.”
“We will not consent to a search,” Mr. Boone said.
“We don’t need your consent,” Vorman said with a nasty smile. “We have a search warrant.” He grabbed some folded papers from his coat pocket and slid them across the table. Mrs. Boone adjusted her reading glasses and read the two-page document. When she finished, she handed it to her husband. Theo wiped a tear with the back of his hand.
Chapter 14
For the next half hour, they haggled over the details. The air was thick with tension, and the exchanges between the detectives and Theo’s parents were testy. It was finally agreed that the Boones would not enter their home until 5:00 p.m. that afternoon, at which time they would meet the detectives and other officers who would conduct the search.
The only words Theo could muster were, “It’s a waste of time. There’s nothing there.” Both parents told him to be quiet.
After Hamilton and Vorman left, and Theo could finally speak, he reassured his parents that he was not involved in the crime in any way, and that a search was a waste of time. All three were stunned by the turn of events. Theo had never seen his parents so confused, and even frightened. They agreed they would seek the advice of a criminal defense lawyer, a friend, and Mrs. Boone left the conference room to make a call.
At 2:00 p.m., Mr. Boone drove Theo back to the school where they met with Mrs. Gladwell. Theo apologized for fighting. Mr. Boone said he and Mrs. Boone understood the decision to suspend Theo, and had no problems with it. They were disappointed, of course, but supported Mrs. Gladwell. Afterward, Theo got his bike, found his tires unslashed, and rode back to the office.
His parents were busy with clients and urgent legal matters. They closed their doors and seemed to forget about Theo. Elsa, Vince, and Dorothy were also preoccupied with piles of paperwork that were far more fascinating than chatting with a thirteen-year-old. Or, perhaps Theo was being too sensitive. He and Judge finally retreated to his office where he attempted to plow through some homework. Nothing happened. He couldn’t take his mind off Spike Hock, a kid who lived one block away who was caught selling drugs in the ninth grade and spent eighteen very unpleasant months in a juvenile detention center two hundred miles away. Though Theo did not know Spike and had never spoken to him, he had heard many stories of his life behind chain-link fencing and razor wire. Gangs, beatings, cruel guards, a long ugly list. Spike never got his act together and fell back into the street life. Theo had been in court when Spike, at the age of seventeen, was sentenced as an adult to twenty years in prison for a multitude of crimes. Spike testified, begged for mercy, and blamed his troubles on the bad conditions he endured in the juvenile detention center.
Spike was a tough kid from the streets. Theo was not. Theo was a nice kid from a good family, a Boy Scout, an A student with plenty of friends. How was he supposed to survive locked away with gang members and tough guys? Separated from his parents, his friends, Judge. He was overwhelmed with fear and could think of nothing else. He stretched out on Judge’s little bed, and, fortunately, fell asleep beside his dog.
A beeping cell phone awakened him. It was April Finnemore. “Theo, where are you?” she asked nervously.
“At the office,” he said, jumping to his feet. “What’s up?”
“I’m in Animal Court with my mom and Miss Petunia. We need your help.”
“I think I’m sort of confined right now.”
“Come on, Theo. We’re really scared and need you. It won’t take long.”
“I didn’t say I would help this woman.”
“I know, Theo, I know. But she’s really upset and needs a friend. Please, Theo. She can’t afford a real lawyer and, well, she’s been crying for the past hour. Please.”
Theo thought for a second. No one had specifically ordered him to remain at the office. Everyone else was super busy and probably wouldn’t miss him. “Okay,” he said, and slapped his phone shut.
“Stay here, Judge,” he said, then eased out of the back door, ran around to the front of the building, and quietly got his bike off the front porch. Ten minutes later he was parking it at the bike rack in front of the courthouse.
Miss Petunia grew flowers and herbs in a yard behind her small cottage just outside the city limits of Strattenburg. Every Saturday morning from March through October, she hauled her plants to the city Farmer’s Market in Levi Park near the river. There, she joined dozens of farmers, gardeners, florists, fishermen, dairymen, producers, and other vendors who displayed their goods in booths that were arranged in neat rows on small patches of land that were carefully divided and regulated. Because Miss Petunia had been selling her flowers and herbs for many years, she had perhaps the best booth, one next to the entrance to the market. Next door to her was the booth run by May Finnemore, April’s eccentric mother, who made and sold goat cheese. Miss Petunia was pretty weird, too, and naturally the women had become close friends over the years.