Theodore Boone - The Accomplice Page 11

  Judge Gantry was on the bench, shuffling papers and working his way through a crowded docket. He said, “Good morning. The first matter of business is the preliminary hearing for Mr. Garth Tucker. Let the record reflect that the accused is present along with his attorney, Mr. Clifford Nance. Is the State ready to proceed?”

  Jack Hogan, the veteran prosecutor, stood and said, “Yes, Your Honor. I believe you have the police report and the summary of the charges.”

  “I do. And I’d like to remind everyone that this is only a preliminary hearing, not a trial, so let’s be brief.”

  “Indeed. The State calls Mr. Clem Hamm to the stand.”

  Mr. Hamm was waiting by the jury box and stepped forward to be sworn. Once situated in the witness chair, he smiled at His Honor and tried not to appear nervous. Jack Hogan asked some basic questions to establish that he was a part owner of Kall’s Grocery, an all-night convenience store on Highway 22 north of town. On the evening of October 18, around eleven p.m., he was behind the counter going about his business, which was slow that night. No one else was in the store. A young man walked in, went to the beer cooler, grabbed a case of beer, brought it to the counter, said he was out of money, reached into a pocket and whipped out a pistol. He aimed it squarely at Clem’s face and told him to open the cash register, which he did. Clem took a step back, held up his hands, and said please don’t shoot.

  “Do you see the man with the gun in this courtroom?” Hogan asked.

  “Right there,” Clem said, pointing at Garth.

  “What happened next?”

  “He grabbed the cash, stuffed it in a pocket, picked up the beer, and as he was leaving he pointed the gun at my nose and pulled the trigger. I almost fainted. Warm water hit me in the eyes. He laughed and said, “Bang, bang. Don’t call the cops or I’ll blast you again.”

  “And what did you do then?”

  “Well, for a second or two, I was too scared to move, so I just stood there. Then I heard his car door slam, so I stepped to the window and watched him drive away, spinning tires and slinging gravel. Once he was gone, I ran over, locked the front door, and called the police.”

  “What kind of car was he driving?”

  “A green Mustang, one of those souped-up muscle cars.”

  “How much money did he take from the cash register?”

  “Two hundred and fourteen dollars.”

  “Now, Mr. Hamm, when he aimed the pistol at you, did you realize it was only a toy?”

  “No, sir, not at all. The thing looked real and I was scared to death. I thought I was a dead man. I mean, my heart froze and I couldn’t breathe for a moment or two.”

  Hogan stepped to a table below the bench and picked up a pistol in a plastic bag. He slowly removed it and handed it to Clem. “This look familiar?”

  Clem took it, examined it, and said, “This looks just like the one he aimed at me.”

  “Thank you.” Hogan took the pistol and placed it back on the table. “Now, Mr. Hamm, does your store use surveillance cameras?”

  “Yes, sir, got ’em all over the place.”

  The lights were dimmed as Jack Hogan rolled over a large screen. Four of the cameras recorded Garth’s quick visit to Kall’s. The first camera was outside and looked down at the gas pumps. In one corner it showed the Mustang arrive and Garth hopping out. Seconds later it showed him returning to his car with the case of beer. The second camera was mounted inside and caught customers coming and going. There was Garth, crystal clear, as he entered the store and looked around. Not long afterward it recorded him leaving with the beer. The third camera was mounted high in the rear of the store and faced the large coolers filled with beer, bottled water, and soft drinks. Garth yanked open a door, grabbed the beer, and disappeared. The fourth camera was hidden above the cash register and, in vivid detail, showed him put the beer on the counter, pull out the pistol, say something to Clem, grab the cash, then aim and pull the trigger.

  What kind of idiot robs a store with such heavy surveillance?

  In the front row of the courtroom, Woody and Tony sat next to their lawyer, Rodney Wall. They would not participate in the preliminary hearing, but Mr. Wall wanted them there anyway. It was important to see the evidence the State had at its disposal. As Clem described each video, Rodney Wall leaned over to Tony and whispered, “This guy is a moron.”

  Tony nodded his agreement and whispered, “He claims he was drunk and didn’t know what he was doing.”

  Mr. Wall just shook his head. None of the videos revealed any trace of the Lambert boys in the car.

  The lights were turned on and Clem Hamm stepped down. The next witness was a detective in a dark suit. Jack Hogan handed him the pistol and asked him to identify it. He said, “We found this in the left front pocket of Mr. Garth Tucker. It’s a plastic water pistol that is designed to look exactly like a compact Ruger nine millimeter. And, I must say, it is a very good fake. The detail is impressive. From a distance of ten feet, I could not tell the difference between this and the real thing.”

  “Who makes these?”

  “I don’t know where it came from, but we found a toy company in Taiwan that makes water guns of all varieties. Evidently, there are several manufacturers.”

  Woody agreed. He still remembered the horror of staring at the pistol as Garth pulled the trigger. For that split second, he was too stunned to realize what was happening.

  “Nothing further, Your Honor,” Jack Hogan said. “The State requests that this case be sent to the grand jury for further action.”

  Judge Gantry said, “Mr. Nance?”

  Clifford Nance half-stood and said, “Nothing at this time, Your Honor.” It was neither the time nor the place to argue on behalf of his client. Like most good criminal defense lawyers, Mr. Nance was using the occasion to see the evidence and to measure the witnesses to be used against Garth.

  And he had seen enough. The case would never go to trial, never get near a jury. Nance was already working on a scheme to keep Garth out of jail, and it involved the two juveniles who had been riding with him.

  At four p.m. on Friday afternoon, Major Ludwig gave the command and thirty-nine Boy Scouts hopped aboard the troop’s old green school bus and set off for Lake Marlo, two hours away. Their tents and gear were packed neatly in the rear of the bus. Up front, the Major relaxed with three older guys who made up the Old Goats Patrol. The three were fathers of Scouts and had been invited for the weekend.

  Theo’s dad had accompanied the troop on two occasions, but he was not much of an outdoors type. Theo, though, lived for the monthly camping trips. As the leader of the Falcon Patrol, he had seven Scouts under his command, and he was in charge of planning the meals, organizing work details, and setting up camp. The Major handled any disciplinary problems, of which there were few. The boys were excellent Scouts and the Major, a retired Marine pilot, pushed them hard to improve their outdoors skills and knowledge. They genuinely respected him and never wanted to disappoint.

  Theo was sitting next to Woody, the assistant patrol leader. A week earlier he had been sitting in jail as Theo and his friends scrambled desperately to get him out. Once freed, he was reluctant to go camping. The cost was about fifty dollars per Scout, for food and supplies, and Woody was not about to ask his mother for the money. Theo and the others knew better than to mention a loan because Woody was too proud. At the last minute, Tony stepped up with the money and insisted that his little brother take the trip. The Major was also involved. He called Daisy Lambert and urged her to encourage Woody to go.

  Neither Tony nor Woody had missed school since their release. Both seemed to have found a new enthusiasm for class and homework. Though they worried about their legal problems, they believed in their innocence and were confident things would work out. Woody certainly seemed happier and was excited about the campout.

  Lake Marlo was the troop’s favorite destination. It was a large man-made lake inside a state park with dozens of campsites and trails and streams for
fishing. No development had been allowed, so there were no beach houses or condos or cabins cluttering the landscape. The lake was an endless wilderness, the perfect place for a Scout troop to retreat to for a long weekend away from civilization. The bus entered the park at dusk and the road went from asphalt to gravel. The Major preferred the remote camping areas, away from the nicer campsites with indoor plumbing and RV hookups. As the road turned to dirt, the bus seemed to disappear into a dense jungle. When the road finally stopped, on a small rise at the edge of the lake, the Scouts hustled off the bus and unloaded their gear.

  The Major huddled with the patrol leaders and they agreed on the layout. Each patrol would pitch tents around a common area where a fire pit would be established. Darkness was approaching and there wasn’t much time to cook, which was typical on Friday nights. Dinner was usually sandwiches and chips, with more elaborate meals planned for the weekend. Most of the Scouts were working on their Cooking merit badge and its requirements called for such delicacies as homemade biscuits and bread, pot roast, omelets, and grilled fish, assuming they were caught from nearby streams.

  Theo had already added Cooking to his sash, along with twenty-four other merit badges. If things went as planned, he would achieve the coveted rank of Eagle in about a year. His father and the Major were encouraging him to speed up because his life would change dramatically after the eighth grade. When he entered high school, there would be distractions.

  Once the tents were pitched in a neat half circle around the fire pit, the Scouts cut wood, dug a latrine, lashed together tables, secured the food, and finally ate dinner. They were excited and there was all manner of joking, laughter, horseplay, and friendly trash-talking. With no other campers within miles, the Major was content to let the boys have their fun.

  After cleanup, when the sky was dark, they gathered by patrol and listened to their instructions. The “Midnight Hike” was one of their favorites and the Major laid down the rules. He would lead with the Falcon Patrol behind him, then, a few yards back, Ranger, Warthog, Rattlesnake, and Panther. The Old Goats Patrol would bring up the rear and hopefully collect any Scouts who fell behind. The trails were narrow and the hikers would move slowly in single file. Each patrol leader would use a flashlight. They would climb steadily to a ridge with a view of the lake, at least an hour away, then retreat back down the trail.

  For added drama, the Major cautioned them to look out for snakes, bears, even coyotes. This only added to their excitement. Like a real soldier, he growled “Forward March,” and away they went. Thirty-nine Scouts and four adults.

  It was almost ten when they returned to the campsite, exhausted. Wood was added to the fire pit and the troop gathered around it. The temperature had dropped considerably and the night had turned chilly.

  The principal job of the Old Goats Patrol, other than a little supervision and bonding with the kids, was to tell ghost stories around the campfire. The Major encouraged the dads to work on their stories and perfect frightening tales that would terrify the boys and have them jumping out of their skins. A few months earlier, Justin’s father had told the story of a legendary coyote that stalked campers in the area, and Mr. Closkey somehow rigged up a hidden boom box that erupted in the bloodcurdling scream of a deranged wolf. With perfect timing the animal roared in the darkness. The Scouts shrieked in terror and grabbed one another. When the mad dog finally stopped, the boys managed to relax a little when they realized the geezers were on the ground laughing. The Major could not have been prouder.

  The first story was about the ghost of a man who had drowned in the lake. For years campers had reported seeing an eerie light out on the water in the middle of the night. Then one night it began moving toward the shore and a voice could be heard. A family of four was camping near the water, and they watched in horror as the light grew brighter and brighter. Their bodies were found a week later, floating on the water, far away from their campsite.

  It was a nice story, frightening enough, and it held the boys’ attention. The second story was about a mysterious creature that was eerily similar to Bigfoot. His legend was that for decades he had roamed around Lake Marlo stealing food from campers and in general terrorizing the place.

  After three ghost tales, the boys were sufficiently spooked and the Major ordered lights out. They hustled to their tents, zipped up the doors tight, turned off their flashlights, and nestled snugly into their sleeping bags. As the night became quiet, they waited nervously for ghosts and savage animals to attack. The Major walked around quietly, smiling at the sounds of the whispered conversations as they trailed off and his tired men fell asleep.

  The night passed without incident. At sunrise, the Major and the dads staggered from their tents, stretched and shook off the stiffness of a night on the ground, and began making coffee as loudly as possible. Slowly, the Scouts appeared, most of them still in the uniforms they’d slept in. Cooking fires were built and breakfast was soon under way.

  The Major asked Woody to help him gather firewood, and they hiked to a secluded area not far from the campsite. The Major pointed to a spot on a boulder and they sat down. He said, “Look, Woody, I’m not sure you know it, but I do a lot of volunteer work in Youth Court, and I’m aware of your case. Do you mind talking about it?”

  “No, sir, I guess not,” Woody replied.

  “Often Judge Pendergrast will ask me to review a case and try to help the family. I have not looked at your file but I understand there are some serious charges. You want to tell me about it?”

  “Sure.” The truth was that Woody, like every other Scout, would trust the Major with anything. So Woody told the story of the “armed robbery.” And the beer drinking. The Major listened thoughtfully without passing judgment.

  When Woody finished, the Major said, “Sounds like you were hanging out with the wrong crowd.”

  “It wasn’t a crowd, and my brother Tony did nothing wrong. We had no idea what Garth was up to. It’s just so unfair.”

  “It sounds unfair. And Tony will tell the same story?”

  “It’s not a story, Major, it’s the truth.”

  “Okay. What is Garth’s version?”

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t talked to him lately, but the night we were arrested he told the police that the water pistol was mine. A total lie. He thinks that if I go along with his lie, then we’ll all get off light because I’m only thirteen. Plus, he’s got a big-time lawyer now so who knows what they’ll say.”

  “And your lawyer is Rodney Wall?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m not sure he believes us. I wish we could get another lawyer but we can’t afford one.”

  “I know Rodney Wall. We’ve worked a couple of cases together.”

  “Is he a good lawyer?”

  “He’s new on the job, been there only about a year. Got a lot to learn but he’ll be okay. I can talk to him. Would you like for me to ask the judge if I can help with your case?”

  “Sure, Major. That would be great.”

  “Judge Pendergrast is a good man who has a knack for finding the truth. Things will work out, Woody.”

  “Thanks. I need some help. Me and Tony.”

  “Now, about this drinking. I don’t like it one bit. You’re much too young and it will only lead to more trouble.”

  “It’s no big deal, really. Sometimes Tony and I will sneak a beer out of the fridge, but we really don’t have the money for it.”

  “Are you smoking pot?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Is Tony?”

  “Probably, but never around me.”

  “Your parents are divorced?”

  “Yes, sir. My dad lives in the county but we don’t see much of him. My mom is remarried to a guy who’s okay, but he does construction out of town and we don’t see much of him. She works two jobs, sometimes three.”

  “So there’s not much supervision at home.”

  “No, sir.”

  The Major slowly got to his feet and paced around, deep in thought. He sa
id, “Let’s deal with the drinking first. It’s against the law and I want it stopped. Okay?”

  “Yes, sir. No problem. I don’t even like the taste of it.”

  “Beer and alcohol can only lead to trouble, especially for a teenager. You’re promising me right now that it won’t happen again?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I’ll make sure the judge understands this. And no more missing school, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “No drinking, no skipping, and hit the books hard. I’ll check with your teachers and monitor your progress. Judge Pendergrast will want to know how you’re doing. If I’m on the case, Woody, I expect a lot of improvement. You’re too young and too smart to fall through the cracks. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll speak to your mother. Mind if I have a little chat with Tony? I suspect he’s not a positive influence these days.”

  “He’s a good guy, Major. We’ve seen the inside of the jail and we don’t want to go back there.”

  “Good. Maybe this little brush with the law will be a good thing.”

  “You ever been arrested, Major?”

  “No.”

  “It’s no fun. I can still feel the handcuffs clamping on my wrists. I can still see the cops frowning at me, still see their angry faces, still smell the nasty jail. The whole thing was scary because you have no control over anything and you don’t know what will happen next.” Woody bit his lip as his eyes watered and he began shaking.

  The Major walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Woody.”

  The troop returned to civilization late Sunday afternoon. As the bus entered Strattenburg, the boys were silent. They were exhausted but also in a somber mood. The returns were always like that. The planning, the anticipation, the sheer fun of being in the woods for the weekend—it all came crashing down as they reentered the real world and life returned to normal. Tomorrow meant school! It was hard to believe. It seemed cruel.