John Grisham - The Accused

“If this happened again, what would you do differently, Theo?” she asked, calmly, as she sipped an iced tea.

Theo chewed on a piece of lettuce and considered the question, which he found interesting. “Well, Mom, I’m not sure. I could do nothing to prevent the fight because it began so quickly. And, I couldn’t exactly break it up because Woody and Baxter were really going at it. When Griff jumped on Woody, I felt like I had no choice. Woody was fighting for me. The least I could do was help him.”

“So, you wouldn’t do anything differently?”

“I guess not.”

“Does that mean you’ve learned nothing from this little episode?”

“I’ve learned that I don’t like fighting. Getting punched in the face and kicked in the head is not that pleasant. There are a few guys who like to fight, but not me.”

“I’d say that is a valuable lesson learned,” Mr. Boone chimed in as he took a bite of his sandwich.

It appeared as though Mrs. Boone was about to begin a lecture when Elsa tapped on the door. She opened it and said, “Sorry to bother, but the police are here.”

“Why?” Mr. Boone asked. Theo wanted to crawl under the table.

“They want to talk to Theo, and his parents, of course.”

Detectives Hamilton and Vorman were back. With lunch interrupted, they settled into two seats on one side of the table and placed a large white envelope in front of them. The Boones readjusted themselves on the other side.

“Sorry to disturb lunch,” Hamilton said. “We stopped by to chat with the two of you and were told that Theo is here. A suspension?”

“That’s correct,” Mrs. Boone said sharply. She was obviously irritated.

“Suspension for what?”

“I’ll be happy to answer that if you can convince me it’s any of your business.”

It was none of their business, and Hamilton’s face blushed as his partner gave him a look of frustration.

Go get ’em, Mom, Theo said to himself. With a lawyer on each side, he felt well protected. However, he was nervous and sitting on his hands to keep them from shaking.

“I’m sure there’s a good reason for this visit,” Mr. Boone said.

Vorman leaned forward and said, “Yes, well, we wanted to talk to Theo about the baseball cap that was stolen from his locker on Monday. Would you describe it for us, Theo?”

Theo looked up at his mother, then at his father. Both nodded. Go ahead, answer the question. He said, “It’s navy blue with a red bill, adjustable strap, with the Twins logo in the middle of the front.”

“Any idea who made the cap?” Vorman asked.

“Nike.”

“Any identifying marks on the cap?”

“My initials, T.B., on the underside of the bill.”

“What did you use to write your initials?”

“A black Magic Marker.”

Vorman slowly opened the envelope, removed a cap, and slid it across the table to Theo. “Is this your cap?”

Theo held it, gave it a quick inspection, and said, “Yes, sir.”

“Where did you find it?” Mrs. Boone asked.

“At the computer store, Big Mac’s. The cleaning crew comes in every Wednesday night, after hours. Last night, they were doing the floors when one of them swept under a counter and found this. The thief broke in around nine p.m. Tuesday night, and somehow in the mad scramble to steal what he wanted and make a quick getaway, he lost his cap.”

Theo stared at the cap and wanted to cry. His favorite cap was now being used as evidence against him. It did not seem fair. The proof was piling up. For some weird reason he could hear Baxter’s obnoxious voice: “Jailbird. Jailbird.”

For a moment, his parents seemed unable to speak. Theo wasn’t about to make a sound. The detectives stared at them with looks of grim satisfaction, as if to say, “You’re nailed. Let’s see you worm your way out of it this time.”

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.

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.