Theodore Boone The Accused

Chapter 6


It was proving to be an eventful afternoon. Because Mrs. Boone handled a lot of divorces, and always on the side of the wife, the office was occasionally the scene of some bad family drama. Just as the dust had settled in Theo’s office, and as Mr. Boone was heading toward the conference room to call the police, there were loud voices near the front door. An angry man and a shrieking woman were having a spat, and it quickly led to a confrontation. The woman was Mrs. Treen, a new Boone & Boone divorce client, and the man was her husband, Mr. Treen. They had a house full of kids and a world of problems, and Mrs. Boone had been trying to convince them to undergo marriage counseling instead of going the divorce route. According to Mrs. Treen, her husband had become violent and abusive and impossible to be around.

He certainly appeared to be violent as he stood by Elsa’s desk and growled at his wife. “You are not filing for divorce! Over my dead body.” He was a thick, stout man with a beard and eyes that flashed when he spoke. Mrs. Boone, Elsa, and Theo entered the reception area and stopped to watch.

Mr. Boone took a step forward and said, “Let’s take a deep breath here and try to be civilized.” Mrs. Treen eased away and stood close to Mrs. Boone. Elsa and Theo stayed in the background, all eyes and ears.

“I can’t live with you,” Mrs. Treen said. “I’m tired of getting punched and slapped around. I’m taking the kids and leaving, Roger, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I’ve never hit you,” he replied, though no one believed this. Mr. Treen had the look of a brawler who might slap just about anyone.

“Stop the lying, Roger,” she said.

“Perhaps we should step into my office,” Mrs. Boone said calmly.

“He’s got a gun,” Mrs. Treen said, and all spines stiffened. “It’s in his pocket.” All eyes went straight to the pockets of Mr. Treen’s pants, and, sure enough, there appeared to be something dangerous there.

“Get in the car, Karen,” Mr. Treen said with eyes glowing and jaw muscles clenching. No one with any sense would get in the car with this guy.

“No,” she replied. “I’m not taking orders from you anymore.”

“I’ll ask you to leave,” Mr. Boone said firmly.

Mr. Treen smiled, touched his right pocket, and said, “Maybe I don’t want to leave.”

“Then I’ll call the police,” Mr. Boone said.

There was a long pause. No one moved. Finally, Mrs. Boone said, “I have an idea. Let’s step into the conference room, just the four of us, get some coffee, and have a conversation.” Because she negotiated divorce settlements and spent a lot of time in the courtroom, Mrs. Boone understood the need for compromise. Her soft voice and even temper drained some of the tension.

It was a standoff. Mr. Treen was not leaving. Mrs. Treen was not leaving with him. And no one wanted to provoke the guy with the gun. Mr. Treen blinked first, and in doing so kept the situation from getting worse. He said, “Okay, let’s talk.”

Elsa quickly added, “I’ll get the coffee.”

The Treens and the Boones stepped into the conference room and closed the doors. At first Theo and Elsa were not sure if they should call the police or wait on Mr. Boone. Theo was worried about his parents being in there with a somewhat agitated and emotional man who was unstable enough to carry a pistol in his pocket. What if things took a turn for the worse? What if they suddenly heard gunfire popping in the conference room? Theo wanted to call the police immediately.

Elsa, though, had a different approach. Mr. Treen had agreed to talk peacefully about their problems. If the police showed up and arrested him on some weapons charge, then he might crack, go off the deep end, and do something crazier the next time. Elsa was confident her bosses could defuse the situation and perhaps make progress in settling some of the Treens’ issues.

Elsa called a glass repairman who advertised 24-hour service.

Minutes passed with no gunfire from the conference room. Nor were there loud, angry voices. Theo settled down somewhat, though given the events of the day, he was still unnerved. He and Elsa decided to take photos of the office and show the police later. They swept up the glass and saved the rock for evidence. The repairman arrived after dark and began replacing the broken panes.

Usually, on Tuesday nights, the Boones left their offices and walked a few blocks to the Highland Street Shelter where they served food to the homeless and helped in other ways. Mrs. Boone, along with three other female attorneys in Strattenburg, had started a small, free legal clinic for abused women, several of whom were homeless and stayed at the shelter. Mr. Boone saw clients there, too, typically folks who had been wrongfully evicted from their homes and apartments, and people who had been denied benefits. Theo’s job was to help the homeless children with their studies.

The meeting with the Treens gave every indication of lasting forever, so Theo decided to go to the shelter alone. His parents would catch up later, if for no other reason than to have dinner. After they served the homeless, they always had a quick bowl of soup or a sandwich before dispensing legal advice. Theo was starving and tired of the office. He said good-bye to Elsa and rode his bike to the shelter. He was too late for dinner but found leftovers in the kitchen.

His current project was teaching Math to the Koback boys. Russ was eight and Ben was seven, and they had been living in the shelter with their mother for the past two months. Mrs. Boone was handling the legal matters for Mrs. Koback, and, though Theo did not know the details, he did know the little family was reeling from some type of tragedy. Mr. Koback had been killed in a faraway place, and in a manner that was not being discussed. After he died, the family lost everything and had lived in an old truck for several weeks before finding beds in the shelter.

For Theo’s Eagle Scout project, he was planning to organize a program in which teenage volunteers who were old enough to drive would adopt a homeless kid, sort of like Big Brothers–Big Sisters. He was also thinking about building another shelter, one that would house homeless people who were still living in tents and under bridges. However, his father had warned him that such a project would cost millions.

As usual, the Koback boys were subdued, even shy. Their young lives had been filled with turmoil and misery. Mrs. Boone said they were damaged and needed counseling. Theo managed to coax a few smiles as they plowed through the Math workbooks. Their mother sat nearby, watching, and, as Theo suspected, trying to learn the Math, too. Theo knew she could not read well.

Each visit to the shelter reminded Theo how fortunate he was. Only half a mile from his warm, secure environment, there were people like the Kobacks, sleeping on cots in a shelter and eating food donated by churches and charities. Theo’s future was fairly predictable. If all went according to plan, he would finish high school, go to college (he had not yet decided where), then on to law school to become a lawyer. The Koback boys, on the other hand, had no idea where they would be living in a year. Highland Street allowed its “friends” to stay for twelve months only, during which time they were expected to find a job and a more permanent place to live. So, like everyone else, the Kobacks were just passing through.

At 9:00 p.m., all volunteers checked out of the shelter. Theo said good-bye to Ben, Russ, and their mother, and left the basement. There was no sign of his parents, so he decided to bike back to the office to get his backpack and his dog, and hopefully find everyone still alive. There was almost no traffic at that hour, and Theo darted through the streets with little regard for the rules of the road. He jumped curbs, dashed along sidewalks, ran stop signs, and along the way reminded himself of how nice it was to have two fully inflated tires.

At the corner of Main and Farley, a red light had two cars waiting in front of Theo, so he swerved onto the sidewalk. As he was executing a rather risky sliding turn onto Main, he slid into another bike, one being ridden by a uniformed policeman—Officer Stu Peckinpaw, a lean, gray-haired veteran who’d been patrolling downtown Strattenburg for decades. Every kid in town knew him, and tried to avoid him.

Theo bounced up, unhurt, and brushed the dirt off his legs. “Sorry about that,” he said, half expecting to be arrested and hauled away to the police station.

Officer Peckinpaw leaned his bike against a signpost and removed his helmet. “What’s your name, kid?” he demanded, as if Theo might be a serial killer.

“Theo Boone.” The two had met several times over the years, at least in passing. This, though, was Theo’s first real run-in with Officer Stu.

“That name’s familiar,” he said, and gave Theo the opening he always wanted.

“Yes, sir. My dad is Woods Boone and my mother is Marcella Boone. The law firm of Boone & Boone.”

“Rings a bell. So, if both parents are lawyers, then you should know the law, right?”

“I guess.”

“City code prohibits bikes on sidewalks at all hours of the day and night, no exceptions. Don’t you know this?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

Peckinpaw glared at Theo as if he might whip out the old handcuffs and slap both wrists together. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then get home and stay off the sidewalks.”

“Yes, sir. Thanks.”

Officer Stu had the reputation of having a loud bark but no bite, and he rarely wrote tickets to kids on bikes. He liked to yell and threaten, but preferred to avoid the paperwork. Theo sped away, greatly relieved to be out of trouble, but also curious about what else might happen on this eventful day. His cell phone beeped and he stopped to answer it. It was his mother, telling him to head home. The meeting with the Treens was finally over, and it had been a success.

His parents were eating a frozen pizza when he walked into the kitchen. They were exhausted. They asked about the shelter, but were almost too tired to talk. Theo was curious about the Treens and what happened after he left, but the old attorney-client shield was quickly thrown up and the conversation was cut off. His parents never talked about their clients. Never. A client’s business and the conversation between lawyers and their clients were strictly off-limits. Mrs. Boone did say an agreement had been reached, and the Treens would seek counseling.

Theo had a lot of things to discuss. Two punctured tires, a vandalized school locker, now a rock through his office window. Someone was tormenting him and he needed to talk. But it would be a long conversation, and all the Boones, including Judge, were ready for bed. His father, a lawyer who usually avoided conflict, seemed especially fatigued by the three-hour ordeal with the Treens. Mrs. Boone was complaining of a headache. Theo was about to press on anyway because he needed help and advice, but just as he was about to say something, the phone rang. It was Mrs. Treen, upset again.

Theo and Judge went upstairs to bed.