The Fugitive Page 9

  prosecution. He’ll say anything to stay in this country.” He looked into the face of each juror, and slowly walked back to the defense table.

  That was it! The shortest opening statement in the history of American law.

  • • •

  Over lunch at Pappy’s Deli, Ike said, “Brilliant, just brilliant. He zeroed in on the strongest piece of the prosecution’s case and destroyed the credibility of Bobby Escobar.”

  Theo, who’d had a knot in his stomach ever since Clifford Nance sat down, said, “You think the jury will believe Bobby’s lying?”

  “Yes I do. Clifford Nance will destroy him on cross-examination. The jury is already suspicious. You need to understand, Theo, that immigration is a red-hot issue in this country. According to the experts, we, as a nation, are split right down the middle when it comes to undocumented workers. On the one hand, many people realize that these people primarily do the jobs that nobody else wants to do. But on the other hand, there are thousands of small businessmen who can’t compete with the cheap wages paid to illegals. I’ll bet that most of the people on the jury know of someone who lost his or her business because they wouldn’t hire undocumented workers. They resisted the temptation to cut corners, and they paid dearly for it when they closed their doors. Illegals are paid in cash, and they often earn far less than the minimum wage. There is a lot of anger out there directed at people like Bobby Escobar.”

  “But Waverly Creek is the finest golf course around. Why would they hire undocumented workers?”

  “To save money, and lots of it. Plus, Theo, they don’t always know. There’s a lot of fake paperwork around. Some employers don’t ask questions. Often, the guy who owns the business will hire a smaller company to do the dirty work and look the other way. In Bobby’s case, there’s a good chance he works for some small-time landscape company that has a contract with the golf course. It’s a murky world and evidence is hard to find. It’s easy to just ignore things and save money.”

  Theo, who hadn’t touched his sandwich, asked, “Okay, what happens to an employer who gets caught using undocumented workers?”

  “He gets busted, pays a big fine. But that rarely happens. There are too many workers and too many employers willing to pay cash and get the cheap labor. Eat your lunch.”

  “I’m not that hungry. In fact I feel kind of sick. I wish I’d never dragged Bobby into this mess.”

  “This mess was started when Pete Duffy killed his wife. It’s not your fault, or mine, or Bobby’s. A crime often drags in innocent people, people who would rather not get involved. That’s just the way it goes. If witnesses were afraid to testify, a lot of crimes would never be solved.”

  Theo managed to nibble around the edges of his sandwich, but he had no appetite.

  • • •

  The afternoon session began when Jack Hogan called the first witness for the prosecution. Her name was Emily Green and she was the younger sister of Myra Duffy. After she was sworn in, she sat in the witness chair and tried to smile at the jurors. She was obviously nervous, as were most folks when they were put on the stand. Jack Hogan slowly walked her through the events of the day when she found her sister dead. They were supposed to meet for lunch, and when Myra didn’t show up, Emily began calling. When there was no answer she suspected something was wrong because her sister usually had her cell phone in hand. Emily hurried out to Waverly Creek, to the Duffy home, found the front door slightly open. She stepped inside and there was Myra, lying on the living room carpet. There were no signs of a struggle, and at first she thought Myra had simply fainted, or maybe had a heart attack. She checked her pulse, and when she realized she was dead, she panicked and called 911. As she told her story, she became emotional but managed to keep her composure.

  Clifford Nance rose and said he had no questions on cross-examination. Emily Green was excused as a witness and took a seat in the front row behind the prosecution.

  Jack Hogan called his next witness, Detective Thomas Krone. After a few preliminary questions, Detective Krone described the crime scene. A large photo was displayed on the screen, and the jurors got another look at Myra Duffy as she was found on the carpet. She was wearing a pretty dress; her high heels were still on her feet. Hogan and Krone went through every detail of the photo. The next one was a close-up of her neck, and the detective explained that as he first examined the body he noticed a redness and slight puffiness on both sides of her neck, just under the jawline. He immediately suspected strangulation, and moments later, when Ms. Green was being tended to by another detective, Krone opened the right eye of Myra Duffy. It was completely red, and he knew at that time that he was dealing with a murder.

  Other photos showed cabinets and drawers the murderer had opened, with items strewn about, all in an effort to make the crime look as if it had been first a robbery, then a murder. Missing were some vintage watches owned by Pete Duffy, three handguns from his collection, and several pieces of Myra’s jewelry. These items had never been found. There was a photo of the front door, the patio door, found closed but unlocked, the alarm panel in standby mode. Hogan used an aerial photo for Krone to give the jury a clear picture of the Duffy home and its closeness to the sixth fairway on the Creek Course. Other photos showed the front and sides of the house, all heavily shaded and secluded, the point being that the place was very private. A number of fingerprints had been lifted from the doors, doorknobs, windows, cabinets, drawers, jewelry cases, and the antique mahogany box where Mr. Duffy kept his watches. The fingerprints matched only those of the Duffys and their housekeeper. This was to be expected since they lived and worked there, but it also proved that the killer either wore gloves and was very careful, or the killer was either Pete Duffy or the housekeeper. The housekeeper was not on duty that day. She had a solid alibi.

  When they finished with the photos, Jack Hogan displayed a large diagram of Waverly Creek and walked Detective Krone through the locations of the Duffy home, the three golf courses, the clubhouse, and so on. According to the computer log in the golf shop, Pete Duffy teed off on the North Nine that morning at eleven ten, alone. The weather was not good and there were very few golfers on the three courses. He was using his own golf cart, as opposed to walking the course, and according to tests they had performed, he was either on the fourth or fifth hole at the time of his wife’s death. Riding in a cart identical to his, a person could travel from the fourth or fifth hole to the Duffy home in about eight minutes.

  As far as Detective Krone could determine, no one had seen Pete Duffy racing from one course to the next in an effort to hurry home. No one saw him return to the North Nine after the time of his wife’s death. No one had been seen entering or leaving the Duffy home. No neighbor reported a strange vehicle near the house, but, then, privacy was expected at Waverly Creek. They lived behind gates “out there,” and the neighbors were not accustomed to watching the streets. All in all, it had been a perfectly quiet morning with nothing unusual reported, until, of course, Emily Green showed up.

  Detective Krone testified that he and his team were in the house for almost ten hours. He was there when Pete Duffy arrived in a rush around two thirty and saw his wife still on the floor. He appeared stunned and distraught.

  Like all good prosecutors, Jack Hogan was slow and methodical, but he began repeating questions that sought the same answers. After two hours, Clifford Nance began to object, but Judge Gantry was in no hurry. When Hogan finally said, “No further questions,” the judge announced a fifteen-minute recess.

  Theo hated to admit it, but he was getting bored. It was almost four p.m., and school was out. He wanted to find Julio and make sure Bobby was okay, but knew that wouldn’t happen. Bobby was being guarded and Julio had little contact with him.

  Ike said, “I think I’ve had enough for one day. Are you staying?”

  Ike, of course, had the luxury of watching the entire trial. Theo’s time was limited. He replied, “I guess so. Who’s the next witness?”

  “W
ell, first Clifford Nance gets a crack at Detective Krone. Not sure he’ll get much, but he’ll try and beat him up.”

  “Might be fun. I’ll stick around. See you tomorrow.”

  Ike tapped him slightly on the knee and left. Theo wanted to pull out his phone and text Mr. Mount, but didn’t dare. In Judge Gantry’s courtroom, anyone caught using a cell phone was escorted out, banned from coming back, and fined a hundred dollars. Not even Theo could talk his way out of such a jam. The phone stayed in his pocket.

  Clifford Nance began his cross-examination of Detective Krone with a few simple questions. He established that Myra Duffy stood five feet, seven inches, and weighed 131 pounds at the time of her death. She was forty-six years old, fit and healthy, and had no physical limitations, as far as Krone knew. She played a lot of tennis, jogged occasionally, and was really into yoga. Pete Duffy was three years older, four inches taller, and weighed 175 pounds. According to his own statement, he exercised little and smoked two packs a day. In other words, she was not a small woman; he was not a large man. She was in better shape than him.

  Was it reasonable to believe Pete Duffy could grab his wife, get his hands around her neck, and strangle her to death without the slightest evidence of a struggle? She had no broken fingernails to indicate she resisted. He had no scratches on his hands, arms, or face to indicate a desperate fight.

  Yes, it was reasonable, the detective explained. First of all, she knew and trusted him. Thus, he was able to get close to her without alarming her. If he stood behind her, and grabbed her with both hands around the neck, and applied intense pressure for only a few seconds, she would become unconscious. Keeping the pressure on, she would die in about four minutes.

  Manual strangulation was a common form of murder in domestic matters, Krone said.

  Nance bristled at this, and asked Krone how many similar murders he had investigated. When Krone couldn’t think of another, Nance attacked him as an unreliable witness who said too much. The cross-examination quickly spiraled downward, with both men getting angry and interrupting the other. Judge Gantry barked at both and tried to calm things, but the fight was on.

  As Nance hammered away, Krone admitted he was no doctor and had no medical training, not even classes for homicide detectives. Krone admitted he wasn’t sure how the murderer grabbed and strangled the victim. He admitted Pete Duffy was not thoroughly examined for scratch and claw marks. He said he knew that Duffy was wearing two golf gloves, and said perhaps this protected his hands from her efforts to free herself.

  “Perhaps!” Nance roared. “Maybe this! Perhaps that! What if this! Suppose that! Are you certain of anything, Detective?”

  The longer they argued the worse the detective looked, and Nance was scoring points by pecking away at his testimony. After an hour of brutal questioning, Nance said he was finished. Judge Gantry quickly adjourned for the day. Everyone needed a break.

  Chapter 18

  Late Monday afternoon Theo was in his office, trying to concentrate on his homework, with his dog snoozing at his feet and his troubled mind wandering in many directions. His main thoughts, though, were of Bobby Escobar and the nightmare awaiting the poor kid when he stepped into the courtroom. Clifford Nance would pounce on him like a rabid dog and probably make him cry. He would call him names. He would accuse him of cutting a crooked deal with the prosecution so he could remain in the country. He would tell the jury that Bobby would say anything to save his own skin. There was no way to prepare Bobby for what was coming.

  And it was all Theo’s fault. If not for Theo, Bobby would have never been identified as a witness. If not for Theo, Pete Duffy would be hiding in South America and none of this mess would be troubling him.

  He felt perfectly miserable and wished he’d never seen a courtroom. For the first time he could remember, the law made him sick. Maybe he’d become an architect instead.

  He was jolted from his misery by a knock on his rear door. Judge jumped up and offered a weak growl, but only to show Theo that he was awake and doing a proper job of guarding the place. Judge really wasn’t that brave and preferred to avoid trouble.

  It was Julio, frightened and unsure of what he was doing. He’d been there once before, but the thought of going to a downtown law office made him uneasy. He sat in the only other chair in the room and seemed overwhelmed.

  “What’s up, Julio?” Theo asked.

  “Well, how is the trial going?” When they first met at the homeless shelter, he spoke with a thick accent. Now, though, the accent was barely noticeable, and Theo was amazed at how quickly Julio was learning English.

  “Okay, I guess,” Theo said. “They let me skip school today and watch everything. How’s Bobby?”

  “They got him in a motel in another town, wouldn’t tell me where because the police warned him not to tell anybody. But he’s really scared, Theo.” Julio paused and looked nervously around the room. It was obvious he had much more to say and wasn’t sure if he should do so. But he gritted his teeth and plowed ahead. “You see, Theo, Bobby has a friend, a guy he works with, an American, and this guy was off today. He went to the courtroom, sat up in the balcony, and watched the trial. He told Bobby that things are real bad, said the lawyers called him a criminal and a liar and all sorts of bad stuff. This friend told Bobby he’d be crazy to walk into that courtroom. Said the lawyers will jump on him and make him look stupid. Said that the jury is already convinced that Bobby is just another lying illegal worker who’ll say anything to help get a green card. Is this true, Theo?”

  Theo was immediately tempted to fudge a bit on the truth, to assure Julio that Bobby would do just fine. Nothing to worry about and all that, but he just couldn’t do it. “How do you know this?” he asked.

  “I talked to Bobby.”

  “How did you talk to Bobby when the police have him locked away in a motel?”

  “Because he has a cell phone, a new one.”

  “And how did he get a cell phone?”

  “The police gave him one. They thought it was important for him to have one just in case something went wrong. He called me about an hour ago, said he’d talked to his friend, said he didn’t know what to do. Are things really that bad, Theo?”

  Theo took a deep breath and tried to think of some way to make the truth sound better. “Well, Julio, you need to understand how things work in a trial. I know it’s probably confusing, but, no, it’s not that bad. In a trial, lawyers sometimes say things that maybe aren’t exactly accurate. Remember, Julio, that Pete Duffy is on trial for murder, and he’s facing the death penalty, and he has really good lawyers and they’re fighting hard to win the case for him. So they’ll say stuff that sounds bad but maybe really isn’t so awful. Bobby’ll do fine when he gets on the witness stand. And without him, the prosecution will have a hard time getting a conviction.”

  “Did they call him a criminal?”

  “Yes, they did.”

  “And did they say he would lie to get some sort of a deal?”

  “Yes, they did.”

  Julio shook his head in disgust. “Sounds pretty bad to me.”

  “It’s just the first day of the trial. It’s gonna be okay.”

  “How do you know, Theo? You’re just a kid.”

  Theo certainly felt like a kid. In fact, he felt like a stupid little boy who’d stuck his nose into a world where even grown-ups got roughed up.

  Across the street and half a block away, Omar Cheepe sat low behind the wheel of an old cargo van, the kind of vehicle no one would ever notice. He was reading a newspaper that partially hid his face, and thin white wires dropped from his ears, as if he were listening to his iPod.

  But it wasn’t music on an iPod. Omar was listening to every word being spoken in Theo’s office. Over the weekend, he and Paco had spent two hours inside the offices of Boone & Boone. The rear door had been easy to jimmy with a thin jackknife blade. The firm had no security system. It was, after all, just a law office with nothing of any real street value to pro
tect. Once inside, they planted four listening devices, each the size of a small matchbox: one in the back of a credenza in Mrs. Boone’s office, in a spot she would never see; one between two dusty old law books on a top shelf in Mr. Boone’s office; one on top of a thick law book in the conference room; and one on the underside of the rickety card table Theo used as a desk. Each would transmit for about two weeks before the batteries died. If they were ever discovered, chances were they would not be identified as listening devices. And, the Boones would have no idea who put them there. If necessary, Omar and Paco might reenter the offices during the night and retrieve their gadgets. But they probably would not. Why bother? The trial would soon be over.

  Vince, the firm’s paralegal, had arrived first on Monday morning. As always, he turned on the lights, adjusted the thermostat, unlocked the doors, made the coffee, and gave the place his usual halfhearted inspection. He had seen nothing out of the ordinary, but then he expected to see nothing. The rear door was locked; there were no signs of an illegal entry.

  Omar smiled to himself. “You’re just a kid,” he whispered.

  Julio said, “This is all your fault, Theo. Bobby is my cousin and he’s a nice guy. He was just having a quiet lunch that day, sitting by himself in the woods, all alone so he could think about his family, saying his prayers, wanting to go home, and he just happened to see that guy in his golf cart. He didn’t know a murder took place. He was just minding his own business. He made the mistake of telling me and I made the mistake of telling you, and you got your parents involved, and then the judge. He was so happy when that Duffy guy ran away because then he didn’t have to get involved. Just think what it’s like, Theo, for a guy like Bobby. He doesn’t know what to do. We trusted you, and now Bobby is hiding in some motel with a couple of cops guarding him, just so he can come to court and get ripped up by a bunch of lawyers.”

  He paused and stared at his feet. Theo could think of nothing to say. A long minute passed and the room was deathly quiet. Finally, Theo said, “Bobby’s doing the right thing here, Julio. It’s not easy, but sometimes a person just has to do what’s right. Bobby is a very important witness, in fact he’s the most important witness in the entire trial. No, he didn’t ask for this. He doesn’t want to get involved, but a woman was murdered by her own husband, in her own home, and he deserves to be punished. We can’t let murderers go free. Sure, Bobby was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but he can’t change that now. He saw what he saw, and he has a duty to come forward and tell the jury. He has nothing to gain, and the jury will believe him.”

  Julio closed his eyes and looked as if he might start crying. Instead, he asked, “Will you talk to him? You have a cell phone.”

  The idea terrified Theo. “Not sure that’s a good idea. The judge might think I’m trying to tamper with a witness.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s a crime when either side tries to influence a witness. It’s called tampering. It’s okay for the lawyers to prepare their own witnesses for trial, but it’s not okay for someone else to, you know, put the squeeze on them. I’m not sure if it would apply to me, but it just doesn’t feel right.”

  “I don’t understand all of this, and neither does Bobby. I guess that’s the problem. This is not our world.”

  Theo stared at a wall as his mind raced in circles. Something told him it was important to get Bobby’s phone number. “How’s his English?” he asked.

  “Not good. Not at all. Why?”

  “Just thinking. Why don’t you send him a text on my phone, in Spanish of course, and tell him things are not as bad as he thinks?”

  “Will we get in trouble?”

  Fifty-fifty, Theo thought, but then they were not really trying to influence Bobby’s testimony. They were just trying to reassure him. And, Theo would have his number in his phone’s memory.

  “No, we won’t get in trouble,” he said, without the slightest trace of confidence.

  “I’ve never sent a text,” Julio said.

  “Okay, just write a short message in Spanish and I’ll do it.”

  Theo handed him a notepad and a pencil.

  “What do I say?” Julio asked.

  “Try this: ‘Hello Bobby, it’s me, Julio, on Theo’s phone. He says there’s nothing to worry about. You’ll do fine and you’re going to be okay.’”

  If given the time, and also a Spanish dictionary, Theo could have prepared the message himself, but now was not the moment to experiment. Julio wrote in Spanish and handed Theo the notepad. “What’s the number?” Theo asked as he pulled out his cell phone.

  Julio reached into his pocket for a scrap of paper and read from it: “445-555-8822.”

  Theo punched in the number, the message, and hit Send. He placed the phone on his desk and watched it for a few seconds, hoping for an instant reply.

  “How long has he been in a motel?” Theo asked.

  “They moved him Saturday. His boss was upset, but the police told him to cool it. Bobby is an important person right now, and the police are being very nice to him.”

  “I guess so. He’s the star witness. He’s gonna be fine, Julio, stop worrying.”

  “Easy for you to say. I need to get home. I’m babysitting Hector and Rita.”

  “Tell them I said hello.”

  “I will.”

  • • •

  Omar watched Julio get on his bike and speed away. When the kid was out of sight, he removed his earphones, picked up his cell phone, and called Paco. With a nasty grin, he said, “Mr. Julio Pena just left the law office of young Theodore Boone. You’re not going to believe this. Our boy Bobby is now hiding in a motel in an unnamed town, cops all around. Can’t touch him, but he now has a cell phone and we got the number.”

  “Beautiful.”

  “How’s your Spanish?”

  “What do you mean? It’s my native tongue, remember?”

  • • •

  At Robilio’s, the Boones settled around their favorite table and exchanged pleasantries with Mr. Robilio, the owner, who waited on them every Monday night. He bragged about the stuffed ravioli, the evening’s special, said it was perhaps the best ever. But then he said that every week about every special. After he left, Mrs. Boone immediately said, “Okay, Theo, tell us about the trial. I want to hear everything.”

  Theo was sick of the trial and didn’t want to talk about anything. However, his parents had been kind enough to allow him to skip school, so he figured he