John Grisham - The Accused

He eventually got on his bike and continued to the office, where he eased through the rear door and found Judge asleep under his desk. He tiptoed down the hall and managed to avoid seeing anyone. Elsa was tidying up her desk and preparing to leave. She was subdued and worried about Theo, and he felt worse after chatting with her.

The clock inched closer to 5:00 p.m.

The police were waiting, at the curb in front of 886 Mallard Lane, home of Woods and Marcella Boone and their only child, Theo, who had never lived anywhere else. They were waiting in two unmarked cars, and for this the Boones were thankful. Two police cruisers adorned with all the bells and whistles would have attracted neighbors like a magnet.

Theo wheeled in first on his bike, with his parents right behind him. Detectives Vorman and Hamilton approached from the street and introduced officers Mabe and Jesco, both in plainclothes. They were invited inside where Mrs. Boone made a pot of coffee and everybody else sat around the kitchen table. While the coffee was brewing, Mr. Boone slowly read the search warrant again, then handed it to Mrs. Boone who did the same.

“I fail to see why it’s necessary to search every room in the house,” Mr. Boone said.

“It’s not necessary,” Mrs. Boone added sharply. Their anger was clear, but under control, for the moment anyway.

Hamilton said, “I agree. We don’t plan to be here all night. We would like to take a look at Theo’s room and maybe a couple others, then the garage, the basement, maybe the attic.”

“There’s nothing in my room,” Theo said. He was standing in the doorway, watching and listening.

“That’s enough, Theo,” his father said.

“You plan to go through our attic?” Mrs. Boone asked in disbelief as she poured coffee.

“Yes,” Hamilton replied.

“Good luck. You may not make it out alive.”

“Do you have any outbuildings?” Vorman asked.

“There’s a storage shed out back,” Mr. Boone said.

“What’s in it?”

“I don’t keep a list. The usual stuff. A lawn mower, garden hoses, Weed Eater, old furniture.”

“Do you keep it locked?”

“Never.”

Theo blurted again, “There’s nothing in the attic and nothing in the storage shed. You’re wasting your time because you have the wrong suspect.”

The six adults stared at him, then his father said, “Okay, Theo. That’s enough.”

“Well, I agree with Theo,” his mother said. “This is a waste of time and effort. The longer you suspect Theo the longer it will take to find the real criminal.”

“We’re just doing our investigation,” Hamilton said. “It’s our job.”

Theo’s room was in surprisingly good shape. His parents gave demerits for an unmade bed, or clothes on the floor, or books off the shelves. Demerits translated into a reduction in his weekly allowance, so, to Theo, some serious cash was on the line if he didn’t tidy things up. It was agreed that Mrs. Boone would stay with the officers in the room and monitor the search. A ten-minute inspection revealed nothing, and the search party moved to the guest bedroom and its closets, then to the den. With Mrs. Boone watching every move, the officers carefully looked into cabinets and shelves. They gently touched every item in a coat closet. They almost tiptoed through the house, as if they were afraid they might break something.

After they left the den, Theo and his father turned on the television and watched the local news. Theo tried to appear relaxed, but he could think of nothing but the storage shed and how easy it would be to hide the loot out there. His stomach ached and he wanted to lie down, but he tried gamely to look nonchalant. What if he heard them yell, “We found it!” or “Here it is!”? His life would be over.

Mrs. Boone led them to the basement where they searched the laundry room, a game room, and a utility room. Nothing. She led them to the attic, cramped and stuffed with boxes of the typical useless junk that would eventually be thrown away.

“Does Theo come up here often?” Hamilton asked Mrs. Boone.

“Only when he hides stolen goods,” she replied. Hamilton vowed to ask no more questions.

It took almost an hour to open all the cardboard boxes and storage bins. Finding nothing, they moved to the garage and searched another utility room and a large closet housing the heating and air-conditioning units. While they were out of the house, Theo asked his father, “Can I go to my room, Dad?”

“Sure.”

As Theo was leaving the den, his father said, “Theo, your mother and I believe you one hundred percent. Do you understand this?”

“I do. Thanks, Dad.”

Upstairs, Theo stretched out on his bed and patted a spot next to him. Judge was waiting for the signal and hopped up on the bed-a no-no in the eyes of Mrs. Boone. But the door was locked and Theo was safe from the world, for the moment anyway. He heard a noise from the backyard and knew the search party was poking around the storage shed. He waited, tried to relax, and tried to shake the feeling that his room had just been invaded by the police.

Minutes passed and there were no excited noises from outside. Nothing unusual was found in the storage shed, and after two hours the search ended. The police thanked Mr. and Mrs. Boone for their cooperation-as if they had a choice-and left Mallard Lane.

Mrs. Boone knocked on Theo’s door and he opened it. “They’re gone,” she said as she hugged him. “Are you okay?”

“No, not really.”

“Neither am I. Look, Theo, I’m a pretty good lawyer. So is your father. We’re determined to protect you and make sure nothing bad happens, okay? The detectives are good men who are just doing their jobs. They will eventually find the truth, and this nightmare will be over. I promise you there will be a happy ending.”

“If you say so, Mom.”

“Your father has a great idea. Since you don’t have school tomorrow, let’s go to Santo’s and get a pizza.”

Theo managed to smile.

As they were driving away, Theo, from the backseat, asked, “Say, have you guys ever heard of a spitting llama?”

“No,” his parents replied in unison.

“Have I got a story for you.”

Late Friday morning, when he should have been in third-period Government, Theo finally got bored with his suspension and admitted to himself that he missed school. His mother was in court. His father was buried in paperwork at his desk. No one in the law firm had time for him, so he informed Elsa that he was going to visit Ike. She gave him a hug and once again looked as though she might cry. Theo was so sick of all this pity.

Judge ran along behind him as he pedaled through Strattenburg, being careful to avoid the busy streets because the last thing he wanted was to get stopped by a cop or a truant officer. Kids were caught all the time skipping school, and serious truants were hauled into Youth Court. Theo had a hunch that he was about to see more of Youth Court than he had ever dreamed. And the way his luck was running this week, he was almost certain another cop would stop him.

He made it safely to Ike’s office, though, and bounded up the steps to a wonderfully messy room where his cranky old uncle barely earned enough money to survive. In spite of his cluttered desk and his Boone-like fondness of work, Ike did not really push himself. He lived alone in a small apartment. He drove an old Spitfire with a million miles on it. He didn’t need much, so he didn’t work much. Especially on Fridays. Theo knew from experience that most lawyers ran out of gas around noon on Friday. The courthouse was much quieter. It was hard to find a judge on Friday afternoon. The clerks took longer lunch breaks and began sneaking away as soon as possible.