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.
At this point, Jack Hogan talked about motive. Pete Duffy was in real estate and had made a lot of money. But, the markets h
ad turned against him and he had a lot of debt. Some banks were squeezing him. He needed cash. There was a one-million-dollar life insurance policy on Myra, and her husband was the beneficiary.
With great drama, and with the jurors absorbing every word, Jack Hogan said, “The motive was simply money. One million dollars, payable to Pete Duffy in the event of his wife’s death.”
Back to the facts: At the time of her death, Myra was preparing to meet her sister in town for a noon lunch. The front door was unlocked and slightly open. The alarm was in standby mode. The time of death was approximately eleven forty-five. Using a large diagram, Hogan explained that Pete Duffy was somewhere near the fourth or fifth hole on the North Course, about an eight-minute ride in a golf cart from their home.
Hogan paused and stepped closer to the jury. He said, “At that point, Pete Duffy left the North Course and sped away. His destination was his own home. He arrived around eleven forty and parked his golf cart near the patio. Mr. Duffy was right-handed, so like virtually all right-handed golfers he was wearing a glove on his left hand. A well-used glove. But as he entered his house by the back door, he did something strange. He quickly put a glove on his right hand. Two hands, two gloves, something never seen on the golf course. He disappeared inside, attacked his wife, and when she was dead he raced through the house, opening drawers and taking such things as jewelry and vintage watches and handguns. He made it look like a robbery, so that we would believe some unknown thief broke into the house with the intent to burglarize it and stumbled upon Myra, who, of course, had to be eliminated.”
Another long pause. The courtroom was deathly silent. Hogan seemed to enjoy the drama. He continued, “And how do we know this? Because there was an eyewitness, a young man by the name of Bobby Escobar. He worked at the golf course cutting grass and such, and at eleven thirty that morning he began his lunch break. Bobby is from El Salvador and he is an undocumented worker. He is here illegally, like so many others, but that does not change the fact that he saw Pete Duffy hurry into his home that morning.” Hogan touched his laptop and another aerial photo appeared. Using a red laser pointer, he said, “Bobby was sitting in the woods right here, about halfway through his thirty-minute lunch break. From where he was sitting, he had a clear view of the rear of the Duffy home. He saw Pete Duffy park his golf cart, put the second glove on his right hand, and hurry inside. A few minutes later, he saw Duffy emerge, in an even bigger hurry, and speed away.”
Jack Hogan walked to his table and took a sip of water from a plastic cup. Every juror watched him. He stuck both hands into his front pockets, as if it was time for a friendly chat. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, it is easy to criticize, even to condemn, Mr. Escobar because he is not supposed to be in this country. He came here seeking a better life. He left his family at home, and he sends money to his mother every month. But, he is here illegally, and this will be kicked about at length by the defense. They will attack him. He speaks little English, and when he testifies it will be through an interpreter. Please don’t allow this to cloud your judgment. He doesn’t want to testify. He’s afraid of courtrooms and those in authority, and with good reason. But he saw what he saw, and what he saw was an important part of this crime. He has no reason to lie. He didn’t know Pete or Myra Duffy. He wasn’t looking for trouble. He didn’t know she had been murdered. He was simply a lonely and homesick boy who was having a quiet lunch by himself in the woods, away from his fellow workers. He happened to be in the right place at the right time to witness something profound. It takes great courage for Bobby Escobar to come forward, and for him to testify in this courtroom. Please listen to him with an open mind.”
Jack Hogan sat down, and at that moment Theo could not imagine that anyone believed Pete Duffy was innocent.
Judge Gantry tapped his gavel and called for a fifteen-minute recess. Theo was not about to risk losing his seat, so he and Ike stayed put. Ike whispered, “Have you heard from Bobby?”
Theo shook his head. No.
Chapter 17
A month earlier, the identity of Bobby Escobar had been revealed during a closed-door hearing before Judge Gantry. Jack Hogan had kept his name a secret until the last possible moment, but the rules of procedure required that all witnesses be named before the trial. Judge Gantry had delivered a stern lecture: Any unauthorized contact with Bobby would result in harsh penalties. Tampering with a witness was itself a crime, a serious one, and Judge Gantry would not hesitate to punish anyone who tried to intimidate him. The judge’s comments were specifically aimed at Clifford Nance and his defense team, and at one point Nance had objected by saying, “Your Honor, with all due respect, you seem to be implying that we would engage in criminal activity. I find this offensive.”
To which Judge Gantry replied, “Take it any way you want, Mr. Nance. But no one says a word to this boy, okay? I’ll be closely monitoring his situation.”
The police moved Bobby to a secret location and gave him security around the clock. He had limited access to his friends and family. He went to work each day at the golf course with a cop in plainclothes nearby.
It took Theo almost a week to find out where he was staying. Julio spilled the beans one day during recess at school. Julio said Bobby was even more frightened and wished he’d never come forward; said he was painfully homesick and worried about his mother back in El Salvador. She was ill and wanted him to come home. He was threatening to disappear into the vast underground that brought him to Strattenburg in the first place. He wished he’d never found the job at the golf course. Theo urged Julio to convince his cousin to stand firm, be brave, and all that, but even Julio was having second thoughts about getting Bobby involved. He said it was easy for Theo to believe in doing what’s right and to believe in justice the American way. But Theo didn’t understand what it was like living illegally, unwanted, afraid all the time, unable to speak the language, and constantly worried about being arrested and deported. Bobby didn’t trust the police because they spent a lot of time rounding up illegals and putting handcuffs on them. Sure, they were being nice to him now, but what about life after the trial?
Watching Jack Hogan, and hearing Bobby’s name tossed around the courtroom, Theo was having second thoughts of his own. He was responsible for finding Bobby and getting him involved.
Things would get worse.
When court was called to order, Judge Gantry said, “Mr. Nance, you may make an opening statement for the defense.”
Nance rose importantly and strolled across the courtroom to the jury box. As usual, he began with a bang. Loudly, and with great drama, he proclaimed, “Bobby Escobar is a criminal. He violated the laws of this great nation by illegally crossing our border for economic gain. He has been living here, illegally, while enjoying the benefits of our country. He has a job, one to which he is not entitled, while many of our citizens remain unemployed. He has three meals a day, while ten million American children go to bed hungry every night. He has a roof over his head, while half a million Americans are homeless. When he is sick, he is allowed to go to our hospital for excellent health care, courtesy of the taxpayers.” Nance stopped and walked to the other end of the jury box. He glared at the jurors, then continued, “Why is he not in custody? Why is he not being deported back to El Salvador? The answer, ladies and gentlemen, is because Bobby Escobar has cut a deal with the police and the prosecution. He’s figured out a way to stay in this country, and not only stay here but to live here without fear of being arrested. He has become a star witness in this case. He will take this witness stand, and when he does he will say anything the police and prosecution want him to say. And after he testifies, he will not be arrested, he will not be deported. Why? Because he has cut a deal. In exchange for his bogus and unreliable testimony against my client, Mr. Pete Duffy, he will be treated differently from all other illegal immigrants. He will be given a special status, that of immunity. Immune from deportation. Immune from the punishment that our law says he deserves. He will be protected by the pol
ice and prosecution while they scramble around and try to find him a work permit, perhaps even a green card. Who knows, perhaps they’ve even promised him the fast track to US citizenship.” Another pause as he walked to the other end of the jury box. All jurors watched him closely. He spread his arms and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s not be fooled by a desperate man. Bobby Escobar will say anything to avoid