The Fugitive Page 6

  trial. They’re probably still around.”

  “Maybe not. They might’ve skipped town when Duffy did. And let’s say they are still here. What do they gain by harming you? You’re just a kid. If they beat you up, how does that help Duffy with his murder trial?”

  “I won’t care if I’m beat up.”

  “Relax, Theo, you’re worrying too much.”

  “Okay, here’s something else to worry about. This is a long shot, but I do think about it. Let’s say Duffy goes to trial, gets convicted of murder, and the jury gives him the death penalty. Then one day they walk him into the death chamber down at Deep Rock Prison, put a needle in his arm, and it’s lights-out. If they execute him, I’ll get some of the blame.”

  “Look, Theo, you always say you believe in the law, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “And the law in this state says that if a person is convicted of capital murder, then that person deserves the death penalty. I don’t agree with that, but it’s the law. Nobody will blame you just because they followed the law.”

  Theo swallowed some frozen yogurt and tried to think of something else to worry about. Thinking of nothing, he said, “You don’t believe in the death penalty?”

  “No, I think it’s awful. Don’t tell me you want the state to execute people.”

  “I don’t know, to be honest. My dad is in favor of capital punishment. My mom agrees with you. They argue about it and I hear both sides. What are you supposed to do with serial killers and terrorists?”

  “That’s why we have prisons, to lock up nasty people and keep them away from us.”

  “So, if they prove Pete Duffy strangled his wife just to collect a million bucks in life insurance, you think he should be sent to prison for the rest of his life?”

  “Yes. What do you think they should do with him?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it. But if his thugs come after me, then I’m in favor of the death penalty.”

  “Relax, Theo. You’re worrying too much.”

  “Thanks, April. I always feel better when I talk to you.”

  “That’s what friends are for, Theo.”

  “And please don’t tell anyone.”

  “Stop worrying.”

  • • •

  Ike wasn’t worried either. He was sipping on a beer and listening to old Motown tunes when Theo and Judge arrived for the mandatory Monday afternoon meeting.

  “Any news?” Theo asked. Ike drank and played poker with some old guys, retired judges and policemen, even some shadier types who had never been caught by the police and had never faced judges. He took great pride in collecting the gossip.

  “There’s a rumor that Duffy will not fight extradition. He could be back here in a couple of days. Things are looking bad for the old boy. He’s broke and probably can’t afford to hire Clifford Nance again, probably can’t hire any lawyer with any talent. He lost a million bucks on his bond, and that lovely home out in Waverly Creek is about to be owned by the bank.”

  “Who’ll be his lawyer?”

  “I have no idea. He’ll find someone, some hungry lawyer looking for a big case. Would you take his case, Theo, if you were a young lawyer in town? You say you want to be a big courtroom lawyer.”

  “I don’t think so. He looks pretty guilty.”

  “He’s innocent until proven guilty. Lawyers don’t always get to choose their clients, and most criminal defendants are guilty anyway. Someone has to represent him.”

  “He’s guilty of escape. That’s ten years right there. Not much a lawyer can do with that.”

  “Right. I have a hunch Duffy might want to cut a deal, a plea bargain. He pleads guilty to the murder, avoids a trial, and in return the state agrees not to pursue the death penalty. Happens all the time. He’ll spend the rest of his life in prison, where he belongs, but at least he’ll be alive.”

  “How bad is prison, Ike?” Theo asked cautiously. It was a subject that had always been off-limits.

  Ike kicked back and put his feet on his desk. He sipped beer from the bottle and thought for a long time. “You could say I got lucky, Theo, because I was not in a terrible prison. They’re all bad, you know, because you’re locked away and forgotten. I lost everything, including my family. My name, respect, profession, self-worth, everything. That’s what you think about when you’re in prison—all the things you take for granted. It was awful, just awful. But, I was not in a place where bad things happened to us. Sure there was some violence, but I never got hurt. I made friends. I met other men who had been there much longer, and they were surviving. We had jobs, got paid, read thousands of books, had access to newspapers and magazines, watched television, sometimes old movies, wrote letters, exercised. The food was terrible but I actually got healthier in prison because I stopped smoking and drinking and jogged every day.” He took another sip and stared at a wall. “The prison Duffy will go to will be much worse, but it will still be something he can survive. If he goes to death row and waits for an execution, he’ll be placed in a cell by himself and locked up there for twenty-three hours a day. Bottom line, Theo, if I were Pete Duffy, I’d beg for a plea bargain and avoid death row. He’ll be alive and that’s worth a lot.”

  “Will the state offer him a plea bargain?”

  “Don’t know and it’s too early to speculate. Jack Hogan is a very good prosecutor and it’ll be his decision.”

  “I really want to watch another trial.”

  “Sorry, but you don’t get a vote.”

  The phone on Ike’s desk rang and he glanced at the caller ID. “I need to take this.”

  Chapter 12

  Two days later the big news spread through Strattenburg. Pete Duffy would not fight extradition and was on his way back to town. On the late news Wednesday night, the lead story was the arrival of Mr. Duffy, and a television crew filmed him from a distance as he got out of the backseat of an unmarked car and shuffled through a side door of the jail. He was handcuffed and his ankles were obviously chained together. He wore a cap and sunglasses, and he was surrounded by policemen. It was just a brief glimpse of him, but enough to get Theo excited.

  He was watching the news with his parents. It was past his bedtime, but they were ignoring the clock so he could see this breaking story. The reporter said that, according to an unnamed source, Mr. Duffy would make his first appearance in court on Friday.

  Theo began scheming of ways to skip school and be in the courtroom.

  “How does this make you feel, Theo?” his mother asked.

  Theo shrugged and wasn’t sure how he felt.

  She said, “If not for you, Duffy would be in South America right now. A free man, and probably free for the rest of his life.”

  On the one hand, Theo sort of wished Duffy was down there, but on the other, he was excited to see him back in town and staring at another trial. Theo said, “I know we’re supposed to presume he’s innocent until proven guilty, but that’s kind of hard to do right now. If he were innocent, why did he run away like he did?”

  Mrs. Boone said, “It’s difficult because he is guilty of escape and evasion. That’s pretty clear.”

  “Ike thinks he’ll try to get a plea bargain,” Theo said.

  “I doubt that,” said Mr. Boone, always quick to disagree with Ike. “Why would he agree to accept a life sentence with no chance of ever getting out?”

  “To save his neck,” Mrs. Boone said, always quick to disagree with her husband, at least on legal matters. “He’s facing the death penalty, Woods.”

  “I know that.”

  The reporter walked a few steps and said hello to Jack Hogan, the longtime prosecutor for Stratten County. She asked Mr. Hogan about the details of Duffy’s capture in DC, but Hogan said he could not discuss the matter.

  For a second, Theo couldn’t breathe.

  Then she asked Hogan about the charges Duffy was facing. Same as last time, he replied. Murder, first of all. And now, obviously, escape. When would Duffy m
ake his first court appearance? That had not yet been determined, Hogan replied, and it was clear he wasn’t saying much. The reporter finally thanked him and signed off.

  “Bedtime,” Mrs. Boone said, and Theo trudged up the stairs with his dog at his heels.

  Judge had no trouble falling asleep under the bed, but Theo couldn’t keep his eyes closed. At some point in the long, dark night, a brilliant idea came to him. Mr. Mount required a ten-page research paper to be turned in at the end of the semester. Theo would write his about the preliminary matters that take place before a big criminal trial. There were all sorts of important maneuvers in the early stages as the lawyers tried to gain advantage. They argued about bail. They filed motions to change venue, or move the trial to another city. They fought hard over what evidence should or should not be presented to the jury. And so on. Most people were not aware of all the work that went into a trial long before it ever started.

  Theo, though, would explain it all in his research paper. And, if Mr. Mount agreed, Theo would need to spend a lot of time in court.

  The more he thought about it, the more he realized how brilliant it was.

  Mr. Mount liked the idea, too. Theo was so excited it was impossible to say no. That was Thursday. On Friday, Theo informed him that he needed to be in court at one fifteen for Pete Duffy’s first appearance since being hauled back to Strattenburg. To be in court on time meant Theo had to be excused from PE class by Mr. Tyler, and study hall by Mr. Mount himself. Theo had to haggle with Mr. Tyler for a few minutes before he gave in. It was, after all, Friday afternoon, and Theo was normally exempt from PE anyway. He had an asthma problem that he used to his advantage whenever necessary.

  So, at ten minutes after one, Theo and Ike were sitting in a courtroom that was buzzing with excitement since quite a few other curious folks showed up for a look at Mr. Duffy. Theo recognized most of the clerks and bailiffs. There was the usual collection of bored lawyers who hung around the courtroom, doing little but trying to look important. There were at least three reporters and a few off-duty policemen. At the defendant’s table, Mr. Clifford Nance was chatting with two other lawyers. At the prosecution’s table, Mr. Jack Hogan and his crew were reading some documents that must have been difficult to read, judging by their frowns.

  A door opened and two large deputies stepped into the courtroom. Behind them was Pete Duffy, in an orange city jail jumpsuit, his wrists and ankles cuffed and chained. Everyone stopped talking and stared in disbelief. It was really him. Caught! The rich guy with the expensive suits and confident air was now reduced to the status of a lowly inmate in the city jail. The handsome, well-groomed gentleman now looked like a lowlife with badly dyed blond hair and an unshaven face.

  The deputies quickly unshackled him. He rubbed his wrists as they led him to a chair at the defendant’s table. Clifford Nance leaned down and said something to him. Duffy looked wildly around the courtroom, startled at the number of people there to observe him. He looked frightened and disoriented, like he couldn’t believe he was back.

  In the front row behind the bar, where the spectators sat, Theo caught a glimpse of Omar Cheepe, one of Duffy’s men.

  A bailiff called court to order, everyone stood, and Judge Henry Gantry appeared from a door in the rear. He tapped his gavel and asked everyone to have a seat. Not wasting time, he looked at the defendant and said, “Would you approach the bench?”

  Duffy stood and took a few steps to a spot in front of the bench. He looked up. Judge Gantry looked down. Clifford Nance slowly made his way over to stand beside his client.

  “You are Pete Duffy?” the judge asked.

  “I am.”

  “Welcome home.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is Mr. Clifford Nance here still your lawyer?”

  “He is.”

  “You are still charged with the capital murder of your wife, Ms. Myra Duffy. Do you understand this?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you wish to plead guilty or not guilty?”

  “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

  “And you are also charged with escape. Have you discussed this charge with your attorney?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “And how do you wish to plead?”

  “Not guilty.”

  “Thank you. You may be seated.”

  Duffy and Nance sat down. Judge Gantry said he wanted the case to proceed as rapidly as possible, would not tolerate delays by either side, and was quite eager to set a trial date. Clifford Nance mentioned the possibility of a hearing on the issue of bail, and Judge Gantry cut him off. No, Mr. Duffy would be spending his days and nights in jail as he awaited trial. Bail was not a possibility. Nance seemed to know this was coming. Everyone else did too. The lawyers went back and forth arguing about how much time they needed to prepare.

  Theo whispered to Ike, “I thought you said Duffy wouldn’t be able to afford Nance this time around.”

  Ike whispered, “Anything is possible. Everyone thinks Duffy is broke. Maybe he’s got some loot stashed away. Maybe Nance will work cheaper just so he can stay involved. Who knows?”

  Ike often spouted off screwball theories with nothing to back them up. Theo suspected he spent too much time gossiping with his old retired buddies, all of whom were over the hill and prone to speculate about things without having any facts.

  Theo was being careful. He was sitting low and ducking behind the person in front of him. He did not want to make eye contact with Pete Duffy. Sure the guy was in jail and should probably be considered harmless, but Theo wanted to keep his distance. They had looked each other in the eyes last Saturday at the airport in DC, and Duffy might remember. Of course, Theo was partially disguised then. He had discussed this with Ike, but Ike didn’t frighten too easily.

  Then there was Omar Cheepe, a shady-looking character known to hang around Clifford Nance’s office and do his dirty work. He had a sidekick named Paco; just a couple of thugs.

  When the hearing was over, Theo had two choices. He could hop on his bike and hustle back to school, or he could suggest having a frozen yogurt with Ike at Guff’s just down the street. He knew Ike would never say no, and that his uncle would happily buy the treat.

  Theo ordered the usual—chocolate drenched with crushed Oreos. Ike had a small serving of mango with black coffee. “I have a question for you, Ike,” Theo said, then shoveled in an impressive spoonful of frozen yogurt.

  “I’m sure you do,” Ike said. “You always have questions.”

  “As I understand the way things work, before the trial, both sides will be required to give the other a list of their witnesses. Right?”

  “Right. It’s called discovery. Not only the names of the witnesses, but brief summaries of what their testimony will be.”

  “So the identity of Bobby Escobar will be known to Duffy and his lawyers. They will find out that the prosecution has a witness who’ll say he saw Duffy dash into his home at the same time his wife was strangled. Right?”

  “Normally, yes.”

  “Normally? Is there an exception to the rule?”

  “I think so. As I recall from my days in the trenches, the prosecution can ask the judge to allow it to withhold the name of a witness if that witness needs to be protected. It’s the result of some of the old Mob cases where the star witness against a Mafia leader was a snitch from within the organization. If his identity had been revealed, they would have found the guy at the bottom of a lake wearing concrete boots.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “I’m glad you approve. In this case, I’ll bet Jack Hogan and the police will try their best to keep Bobby’s identity a secret until the last possible moment.”

  “I sure hope so. I saw that creep Omar Cheepe in the courtroom. I’m sure Paco is lurking somewhere in the shadows. If they find out about Bobby, it could be dangerous.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much, Theo. Hogan knows he doesn’t have much of a case without Bobby. You remember the first trial.
It was going badly for the prosecution and Duffy was about to walk free. Hogan and the police will protect the boy.”

  “You think I should warn him?”

  “No, I think you’ve done enough. It’s a dangerous situation and you need to keep your nose out of it. Okay?”

  “I guess.”

  Ike reached over and grabbed a wrist. With a hard frown, he said, “Listen to me, Theo. Butt out, okay? It’s none of your business.”

  “Well, it sort of is. Bobby Escobar wouldn’t be involved if I hadn’t convinced his cousin Julio that he should come forward. And, we wouldn’t be having this conversation if I hadn’t spotted Duffy on the subway.”

  “True. Nice work. Now leave it alone. You can write your research paper. We’ll watch the trial and hope justice prevails. Just stay on the sidelines, okay?” Ike released his wrist.

  “Okay,” Theo said reluctantly.

  “Now, you need to get back to school.”

  “I don’t think so, Ike. It’s Friday afternoon and I’ve had a tough week.”

  “A tough week. You sound like a workingman who puts in forty hard hours in a factory.”

  “Look, Ike, even kid lawyers have tough weeks.”

  Chapter 13

  Across Main Street and four blocks east of Guff’s Frozen Yogurt, another meeting was underway and the topic was also the Duffy trial. Clifford Nance had a splendid office on the second floor of what had once been the finest hotel in town; in fact, Mr. Nance owned the entire building and used most of it to house his busy law firm. From his high, arching windows he had great view of the streets below, the courthouse, even the river in the distance. Not that he had much time to enjoy the view; he did not. He was an important lawyer and one of the most prosperous in town.

  He was at his desk sipping coffee and chatting with a young lawyer named Breeland, one of the many associates who took orders from him. Nance was saying, “When Judge Gantry stopped the first trial and sent everybody home, he explained to me and Jack Hogan the following morning that a surprise witness had come forward and had information that was crucial to finding the truth. He would not tell us the name of this witness, nor would he tell us what the witness might say. He left us completely in the dark. We were preparing for the retrial, and at some point Jack Hogan would have been required to disclose the names of all of his witnesses. Before this happened, of course, our dear client skipped town.”

  “So we still have no clue about this witness?” Breeland asked.

  “None whatsoever. Now, though, I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

  “And what do we do?”

  “Depends on who he is and what he’ll say.”

  “Sounds like a job for Omar.”

  “Not yet. But remind me to remind him that threatening a witness for the prosecution is a serious crime.”

  “Omar knows that.”

  Breeland’s cell phone vibrated. He glanced at it and said, “Well, speaking of the devil. Omar is downstairs and wants to talk.”

  “Send him up.”

  Omar entered the office and took a seat next to Breeland. Nance said rudely, “I have a meeting in ten minutes, so talk fast.”

  “Okay,” Omar said. “I was just at the jail talking to Duffy. That little Boone kid was in the courtroom this afternoon—don’t know how he manages to skip so much school—but he was there with his crazy uncle. I saw them. Pete saw them, and Pete swears he saw them last Saturday at the airport in DC when the Feds snatched him. He can’t figure that one out. But if you’ll remember, the night before Judge Gantry declared a mistrial, we saw him walk to the Boone & Boone law firm and meet with the family, including the kid and the crazy uncle. Next day—Bam! A mistrial. Something strange is going on here.”