“I assume the hunger strike is over,” his father said.
“You got it,” Theo said. And it had worked. He had never used the threat of a hunger strike to outflank his parents, but he had just added it to his bag of tricks. One of the great advantages of being an only child was that his parents didn’t have to worry about making a bunch of silly rules for the other kids to follow. They could be more flexible, and Theo knew how to work them.
Chapter 16
At eight thirty, Theo was sitting at his desk in Mr. Mount’s homeroom, staring at the clock, watching the second hand slowly sweep through its rotation, waiting for the bell that would begin the day. He had arrived early and had tried unsuccessfully to convince Mr. Mount that he should march into Mrs. Gladwell’s office and demand that Theodore Boone be allowed to skip homeroom and hustle on over to the courthouse where the courtroom was undoubtedly already packed. Mr. Mount was of the opinion that they had bothered Mrs. Gladwell enough already. Just cool it, Theo.
The bell finally rang and the class came to order. Aaron raised a hand and said, “I don’t think it’s fair that Theo gets to go watch the trial today and we don’t. What’s the deal?”
Mr. Mount was in no mood to quarrel. “There’s no deal, Aaron,” he said. “Theo will watch the trial today and give us a recap tomorrow in Government. If you don’t like that, then you can write a three-page paper tonight on the presumption of innocence and deliver it tomorrow.”
Aaron had no further questions or comments.
Mr. Mount said, “Theo, you’d better take off. Miss Gloria has your pass.”
Woody and a couple of other clowns booed and hissed as Theo sprinted from the room. Miss Gloria worked the front desk and thought she controlled the entire school. In spite of the fact that she had a thankless job, one that involved dealing with sick students, and students who were not sick but trying their best to fake it, and angry parents, and frazzled teachers, and a tough boss (Mrs. Gladwell), and all manner of stressed-out people, she managed to keep a smile on her face. Twice Theo had given her free legal advice, and he would gladly do so again because Miss Gloria had the power to let him sneak out of school. He might need her later in the week, but for today his early exit had been cleared. She handed him an official pass, one that would protect him from the pesky truant officers who often roamed the city looking for kids skipping school. They had caught Theo twice, but both times he managed to talk his way out of trouble.
He jumped on his bike and raced away, headed for downtown. The trial would start promptly at nine a.m., and Judge Gantry ran a tight courtroom. Theo was sure all seats had already been taken. Two television news crews had set up cameras in front of the courthouse and a small crowd milled about. Theo parked well away from them and chained his bike to a rack. He entered through a side door and bounded up a narrow stairwell that was seldom used. He said hello to a clerk in an office where they kept the property deeds but did not slow down. He zigzagged through some smaller offices, spoke to another clerk, and found a dark corridor that led to a landing near the room where the jury deliberated. He held his breath and opened a larger door that opened into the courtroom. As expected, a crowd was already there, and the courtroom buzzed with great anticipation. Ike waved him over, and Theo managed to squeeze into a tight spot next to his uncle. They were in the third row behind the table where Mr. Jack Hogan and his team of prosecutors were going about the busy work of preparing for the start of the trial.
Across the courtroom, Pete Duffy sat at the defense table with Clifford Nance and another lawyer. While waiting in jail, the hair he had dyed blond had returned to its normal color — black with a lot more gray than the last time. He wore a dark suit with a white shirt and tie, and he could have easily passed for just another lawyer.
“Any trouble?” Ike asked.
“No. My parents changed their minds this morning.”
“No surprise there.”
“Did you talk to them?”
Ike just smiled and said nothing. Theo suspected his uncle had made a phone call during the night and convinced Woods and Marcella Boone that he belonged in court.
At exactly nine a.m., according to the large clock on the wall above the judge’s bench, a bailiff stood and bellowed, “All rise for the Court.” Everyone immediately stood as a few stragglers scrambled for their seats. Judge Gantry appeared through a door behind the bench, and the bailiff continued: “Hear ye, hear ye, the Criminal Court for the Tenth District is now in session, the Honorable Henry Gantry presiding. Let all who have matters come forth. May God bless this Court.”
Judge Gantry, with his long black robe flowing behind him, took his place behind the elevated bench and said, “Please be seated.” Theo glanced around. There was not an empty seat anywhere, including the balcony where he and his classmates had been sitting during the opening of the first trial.
This trial was different. During the first one, there had been the general feeling in town that Pete Duffy had killed his wife, but that the State would have a hard time proving it. His great defense lawyer, Clifford Nance, would do a superb job of punching holes in the State’s case, of creating enough doubt to free his client. Now, though, at the start of the retrial, there was the strong belief that Duffy was guilty of murder and headed for death row. Everyone knew he had escaped. He had to be guilty! Even Theo, who strongly believed in the presumption of innocence, could not force himself to view Duffy as an innocent man.
According to Ike, Clifford Nance had tried valiantly to cut a deal with Jack Hogan, a plea bargain that would allow Duffy to plead guilty to murder and escape and spend twenty years in prison. He was forty-nine years old, and if he survived prison he might still be able to live a few years as a free man. Hogan, according to Ike, wouldn’t budge. His best offer was life in prison without the chance of parole. Duffy would die in prison, one way or the other. Ike thought Duffy should take the offer. He said there was a big difference between being locked down on death row and living in the general population of a prison.
Judge Gantry instructed a bailiff to bring in the jury. A door opened, and the courtroom was still as the jurors filed in and filled the jury box. They had been selected the week before in a closed courtroom. There were fourteen of them — twelve regular jurors and two alternates in case someone got sick or had to be excused. Everyone watched them closely as they took their seats and settled in. Strattenburg was a small city, only seventy-five thousand people, and Theo thought he knew almost everyone. But he didn’t recognize a single person. Ike claimed to know juror number six, an attractive middle-aged woman who worked in a downtown bank. Other than her, they were strangers.
Judge Gantry quizzed them for a few minutes. He was concerned about improper contact. Had anyone spoken to them about the case? And so on. Judges always did this and the jurors always said no. But this case was different. Pete Duffy had money — how much no one knew at this point because of all he’d been through — and given his desperate situation he was not above dirty tricks.
Jack Hogan stood and walked to a small podium in front of the jury. He was tall and wiry, and he wore the same black suit every day. He was a veteran prosecutor and very well respected. Theo had watched him many times in court. He began with a pleasant, “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen of the jury.” He introduced himself again and asked the members of his team to stand. Hogan was not flashy, but he did a nice job of breaking the ice and getting the jury to relax. He explained that his job was simply to present the facts and let them decide the case.
The facts: Myra Duffy, age forty-six, had been strangled to death in the living room of her home, on the sixth fairway of Waverly Creek golf course. Golf was a crucial element in the case. At the time, her husband, the defendant Pete Duffy, was playing golf, alone, as he often did. Hogan stepped over to his table, hit a key on a laptop, and a color photo of Myra Duffy appeared on a large screen opposite the jury. She was a pretty lady, the mother of two fine young men. The next photo was of the crime scene: Myra Duffy lying peacefully on a carpeted floor in the living room of a spacious house. No blood, no signs of a struggle, just a well-dressed woman seemingly asleep. The cause of death was strangulation. The next photo was an aerial view of the large, modern home sitting on a heavily shaded lot and hugging the sixth fairway. Using photos and diagrams, Hogan walked the jury through the events of that awful morning. At eleven ten, Pete Duffy teed off on the North Course with the intention of playing eighteen holes of golf. He was alone, which was not unusual. He was a serious golfer who liked to play by himself. The day was cool and dreary; the course was practically deserted. He picked the perfect time for the perfect crime.