His favorite judge was the Honorable Henry Gantry, and he entered the great man’s outer office at twenty minutes after 8:00 a.m.
“Well, good morning, Theo,” Mrs. Hardy said. She was stirring something into her coffee and preparing to begin her work.
“Morning, Mrs. Hardy,” Theo said with a smile.
“And to what do we owe this honor?” she asked. She was not quite as old as Theo’s mother, he guessed, and she was very pretty. She was Theo’s favorite of all the secretaries in the courthouse. His favorite clerk was Jenny over in Family Court.
“I need to see Judge Gantry,” he replied. “Is he in?”
“Well, yes, but he’s very busy.”
“Please. It’ll just take a minute.”
She sipped her coffee, then asked, “Does this have anything to do with the big trial tomorrow?”
“Yes, ma’am, it does. I’d like for my Government class to watch the first day of the trial, but I gotta make sure there will be enough seats.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, Theo,” Mrs. Hardy said, frowning and shaking her head. “We’re expecting an overflow crowd. Seating will be tight.”
“Can I talk to the judge?”
“How many are in your class?”
“Sixteen. I thought maybe we could sit in the balcony.”
She was still frowning as she picked up the phone and pushed a button. She waited for a second, then said, “Yes, Judge, Theodore Boone is here and would like to see you. I told him you are very busy.” She listened some more, then put down the phone. “Hurry,” she said, pointing to the judge’s door.
Seconds later, Theo stood before the biggest desk in town, a desk covered with all sorts of papers and files and thick binders, a desk that symbolized the enormous power held by Judge Henry Gantry, who, at that moment, was not smiling. In fact, Theo was certain the judge had not cracked a smile since he’d interrupted his work. Theo, though, was pressing hard with a prolonged flash of metal from ear to ear.
“State your case,” Judge Gantry said. Theo had heard him issue this command on many occasions. He’d seen lawyers, good lawyers, rise and stutter and search for words while Judge Gantry scowled down from the bench. He wasn’t scowling now, nor was he wearing his black robe, but he was still intimidating. As Theo cleared his throat, he saw an unmistakable twinkle in his friend’s eye.
“Yes, sir, well, my Government teacher is Mr. Mount, and Mr. Mount thinks we might get approval from the principal for an all-day field trip to watch the opening of the trial tomorrow.” Theo paused, took a deep breath, told himself again to speak clearly, slowly, forcefully, like all great trial lawyers. “But, we need guaranteed seats. I was thinking we could sit in the balcony.”
“Oh, you were?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How many?”
“Sixteen, plus Mr. Mount.”
The judge picked up a file, opened it, and began reading as if he’d suddenly forgotten about Theo standing at attention across the desk. Theo waited for an awkward fifteen seconds. Then the judge abruptly said, “Seventeen seats, front balcony, left side. I’ll tell the bailiff to seat you at ten minutes before nine, tomorrow. I expect perfect behavior.”
“No problem, sir.”
“I’ll have Mrs. Hardy e-mail a note to your principal.”
“Thanks, Judge.”
“You can go now, Theo. Sorry to be so busy.”
“No problem, sir.”
Theo was scurrying toward the door when the judge said, “Say, Theo. Do you think Mr. Duffy is guilty?”
Theo stopped, turned around and without hesitating responded, “He’s presumed innocent.”
“Got that. But what’s your opinion as to his guilt?”
“I think he did it.”
The judge nodded slightly but gave no indication of whether he agreed.
“What about you?” Theo asked.
Finally, a smile. “I’m a fair and impartial referee, Theo. I have no preconceived notions of guilt or innocence.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say.”
“See you tomorrow.” Theo cracked the door and hustled out.
Mrs. Hardy was on her feet, hands on hips, staring down two flustered lawyers who were demanding to see the judge. All three clammed up when Theo walked out of Judge Gantry’s office. He smiled at Mrs. Hardy as he walked hurriedly by. “Thanks,” he said as he opened the door and disappeared.
Chapter 2
The ride from the courthouse to the middle school would take fifteen minutes if properly done, if one obeyed the traffic laws and refrained from trespassing. And normally this is the way Theo would do things, except when he was running a bit late. He flew down Market Street the wrong way, jumped the curb just ahead of a car, and bolted through a parking lot, used every sidewalk available, then—his most serious offense—he ducked between two houses on Elm Street. Theo heard someone yelling from the porch behind him until he was safely into an alley that ran into the teachers’ parking lot behind his school. He checked his watch—nine minutes. Not bad.
He parked at the rack by the flagpole, secured his bike with a chain, then entered with a flood of kids who’d just stepped off a bus. The eight forty bell was ringing when he walked into his homeroom and said good morning to Mr. Mount, who not only taught him Government but was his adviser as well.
“Talked to Judge Gantry,” Theo said at the teacher’s desk, one considerably smaller than the one he’d just left in the courthouse. The room was buzzing with the usual early morning chaos. All sixteen boys were present and all appeared to be involved in some sort of gag, scuffle, joke, or shoving match.
“And?”
“Got the seats, first thing in the morning.”
“Excellent. Great job, Theo.”
Mr. Mount eventually restored order, called the roll, made his announcements, and ten minutes later sent the boys down the hall to their first period Spanish class with Madame Monique. There was some awkward flirting between the rooms as the boys mixed with the girls. During classes, they were “gender-separated,” according to a new policy adopted by the smart people in charge of educating all the children in town. The genders were free to mingle at all other times.
Madame Monique was a tall, dark lady from Cameroon, in West Africa. She had moved to Strattenburg three years earlier when her husband, also from Cameroon, took a job at the local college where he taught languages. She was not the typical teacher at the middle school, far from it. As a child in Africa, she had grown up speaking Beti, her tribal dialect, as well as French and English, the official languages of Cameroon. Her father was a doctor, and thus could afford to send her to school in Switzerland, where she picked up German and Italian. Her Spanish had been perfected when she went to college in Madrid. She was currently working on Russian with plans to move on to Mandarin Chinese. Her classroom was filled with large, colorful maps of the world, and her students believed she’d been everywhere, seen everything, and could speak any language. It’s a big world, she told them many times, and most people in other countries speak more than one language. While the students concentrated on Spanish, they were also encouraged to explore others.