Theodore Boone - The Accomplice Page 3

  Woody did as instructed. He blew a second time, then a third, and when the sergeant was finally satisfied he grabbed the tube and hit another switch.

  “How’d I do?” Woody asked, breathing heavily as his heart pounded away.

  “Great, kid. Point zero six. Not legally drunk but enough to nail you for underage drinking. Now stand up and turn around.”

  Woody got to his feet and the sergeant slapped the handcuffs onto his wrists. He was led from the room and down a hallway where the two detectives were waiting. The sergeant said, “He’s all yours. Point zero six.”

  The detectives took him down some stairs to a small windowless room where he was told to sit in a chair and say nothing. They just left him there. He had not seen Tony or Garth since they had driven away from the street. He waited and waited and had no idea of the time. He wanted to call his mother because she would be worried, and he really needed her at that awful moment.

  There was no one to help him. A thirteen-year-old kid locked away in the basement of the police station and no one to help.

  Tony was in a similar room two doors down, though neither knew where his brother was at the moment. Garth was also in the basement, just down the hall.

  Two detectives in plainclothes walked into Garth’s room, closed the door, and pulled chairs up to the narrow table. The first one said, “You’re eighteen years old so we’re treating you like an adult. You ever been arrested before?”

  Garth knew it was all a misunderstanding and his father would have it cleared up by sunrise. So, he had nothing to worry about. “Couple of times,” he said without concern. “But nothing serious. Youth Court stuff.”

  “This ain’t Youth Court, son. This is the real thing. We need to ask you some questions.”

  “Okay, but don’t you have to read me my rights, like they always do on television?”

  “Sure. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court. And you have the right to an attorney. Understand?”

  “Don’t I get a phone call? I really want to call my dad.”

  “Later. Where did you get the pistol?”

  “What pistol?”

  The second detective pulled out a clear plastic bag and laid it on the table. He said, “Looks just like a nine millimeter Ruger. Could’ve fooled me. Certainly fooled the guy at the convenience store.”

  “Where’d you get it?” the first detective asked again.

  “The kid gave it to me. It’s his. What—you think I go around shooting water pistols? It’s the kid’s.”

  “Woody’s?”

  “Sure. Not mine.”

  Garth believed that if he and Tony stuck together and blamed it all on Woody, a thirteen-year-old kid, then they could walk away free as birds and nothing much would happen to Woody. Anyway, it was just a little fun and games and his father would handle it soon enough.

  “Who planned the robbery?” the second detective asked.

  “I really want to talk to my dad. He’ll get a lawyer. If that’s okay?”

  “Whose idea was it to rob the convenience store?”

  “No one’s. You see, it really wasn’t a robbery because it was just a water pistol. It was sort of a joke, you know? This is all one big misunderstanding and my dad and his lawyer will clear up everything. You guys need to relax a little.”

  “So it was your idea?”

  “Look, you said I could remain silent, right? And that I can have a lawyer. Okay, I want to call my dad and he’ll bring in a lawyer.”

  “How much money did you take?”

  “I’m not talking anymore.”

  The detectives finally left the room. They chatted briefly in the hallway, then entered the room where young Woody was waiting, terrified by now.

  They sat down, both scowling as if they were about to interrogate a serial killer, and the first one said, “We’ve talked to your brother Tony and your pal Garth. Both of them swear that the pistol belongs to you.”

  Woody felt like he’d been hit in the head with a brick. “What?” he managed to say, in shock. His jaw dropped and his eyes watered, and he looked at the first detective in total disbelief. Why would Tony say something like that? Why would both of them lie to the police and try to pin the blame on him?

  “You heard me, kid,” the first detective said. “Your buddies are saying it’s your gun.”

  “It’s just a water pistol.”

  “The guy at the store didn’t think so. Under our law it’s armed robbery. Twenty plus years for your two buddies, off to the juvenile joint for you. But if you tell us the truth, we’ll lean on the judge to cut you some slack. Know what I mean?”

  “Not really.”

  “We know the judge, he knows us. If you tell us everything, we can put in a good word with him and you’ll get off light.”

  “What do you want to know?” Woody asked slowly. Something told him not to say too much to the police, but then he was terrified at the moment and wanted to help.

  “Whose gun is it?”

  “Garth’s. Tony and I never saw it until he came back to the car. We didn’t go into the store. Look at the security cameras. We had no idea what Garth was doing. He just wanted some more beer, and so he drove to the store, told us to wait for a minute, went inside, came back with a case of beer, and after we were driving away he pulled out the pistol and laughed about robbing the guy. That’s what happened. I swear. Tony and I knew nothing.”

  “How long had you guys been drinking beer?”

  “I don’t know. Tony and I delivered pizza, then bumped into Garth. I knew it was a mistake to go cruising with him. He had some beer and really wanted me to drink some. I can’t stand the stuff, but I was trying to, you know, be cool, like the big guys.”

  Woody’s voice cracked and his lip quivered.

  The detectives exchanged looks. The first one said, “Cool like the big guys. We see it all the time. That’ll get you some jail time.”

  Daisy Lambert turned into her driveway at 11:15, and she immediately noticed that Tony’s little blue truck was not parked where it was supposed to be. It wasn’t there. The house was completely dark, not a single light in any window. The boys always waited for her to get home from work before they went to bed.

  For a moment, she sat in her car and prayed that nothing was wrong, then got out. Inside the house, she found nothing—not a note, not a sign of either son. She had called and texted both of them driving home. Neither responded, but that was not that unusual. Often, late at night, the boys ignored their phones.

  She turned on lights, called them again, and fixed a pot of coffee. It was probably going to be a long night.

  She called her husband, who was two hours away with his work crew, woke him up, and told him the boys were not home. They were not his boys, but rather his stepsons, and there was nothing he could do at that moment. He suggested she call the police.

  The minutes passed slowly, and Daisy sat in the den with a cup of coffee and watched the front yard. She prayed that any minute the little blue truck would arrive and her boys would be safe. She wanted to see headlights. It was midnight now and there was no traffic on their narrow street at the edge of Strattenburg. The next lights would be her boys, she just knew it.

  At midnight, she called the police station but no one there had ever heard of the Lambert boys. She tried to sit in the den again but was too anxious. She poured another cup and went for a drive around town, looking for Tony’s truck, looking for red and blue lights at the scene of some terrible car wreck, looking for any sign of them, and waiting for her phone to ring. She stopped by Santo’s but it was closed.

  After roaming through the empty streets for an hour, she saw two police cars in the parking lot of a motel. Their lights were on, their engines running, the policemen sharing some late night gossip. She parked nearby and nervously approached the two cars. She asked for their help. She explained her situation, and, in tears, asked if they could do anything. The policemen said sure and
called the dispatcher on his radio. Within minutes word came back that the Lambert boys were in custody.

  And charged with armed robbery.

  When Daisy arrived at the city jail she found her way to the night desk where the dispatcher was drinking coffee while waiting on 911 calls and radio reports from the patrol cars. A night clerk sat at a nearby table and asked what she wanted. She identified herself and said that her two sons were in jail, and she was there to take them home. The night clerk frowned and asked her to have a seat across the room in a row of old plastic chairs. There was no one else around at that hour. She sat down and began chewing her nails, a nervous habit that kept her from crying, though she had cried all the way to the station.

  Armed robbery? There must be some mistake. Random thoughts raced through her mind and she couldn’t control them. None were good. Smoking pot, drinking beer, driving while drunk, fighting, maybe shoplifting or petty theft—these were the small crimes that she might have expected. Sure, they were bad enough, but a lot of kids got in trouble for them and most survived.

  But armed robbery? To her knowledge, Tony did not own a gun. He was only seventeen! Her husband—the boys’ stepfather—was not a hunter and did not keep rifles in the house. He owned two pistols that she knew of. One he kept hidden in their closet for self-defense and the other he kept in the glove box in his truck. The boys had never touched either weapon. How would Tony get a gun? Then, why would he use it to rob someone? And why would he involve his little brother?

  The thought of Woody sitting in a jail cell broke her heart again and she began to cry, as softly as possible.

  A jolly old deputy sat down beside her. He had a mass of gray hair that scattered in all directions, and plump rosy cheeks, and if he switched uniforms he could have easily passed for Santa Claus. “Now, now, it’s not that bad,” he said. “The boys are safe.”

  Daisy wiped her nose and asked, “How do you know?”

  “I’m the jailer and I’m in charge of all inmates, including the juveniles. Randolph’s my name. And you’re Mrs. Lambert?”

  Randolph glanced at his clipboard.

  “I am. Where are they now?”

  “We keep the kids in a separate wing. They’re in a cell together, with no one else.”

  “When can I get them out?”

  “Well, not tonight. They’ll go before a judge in the morning, and he’ll set their bail. Do you understand bail?”

  “Yes, I’ve been through this before, not long ago. Tony was arrested and I had to put up some money for his bail. Fortunately, it wasn’t very much and we got him out. But I’m broke now. How much is his bail?”

  “Armed robbery is pretty serious, so I’d expect it to be high.”

  “What kind of armed robbery? Can you tell me what they did? This is insane.”

  “I don’t know the facts, ma’am. Just what’s in the report here. There were three of them, your boys and a kid named Garth Tucker. Looks like he was the driver. All I know is that they supposedly robbed a convenience store on the western edge of town.”

  “A convenience store?”

  “Yes, you know, one of those little grocery stores with gas pumps out front, stays open late at night.”

  “I know what a convenience store is. Why would they rob a convenience store?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it was convenient.” Randolph chuckled at his cleverness. Daisy glared at him as if he were an idiot. “Sorry,” he said. “Look, Mrs. Lambert, you can’t do anything right now, so it’s best to go home and get some rest.”

  “Rest? I won’t sleep a wink. Can I at least see them? Woody is only thirteen.”

  “Sorry, ma’am, but we have rules regarding visitation. Trust me, though, both boys are safe. And by the way, they’re good boys. I’ve talked to them.”

  “I guess I should say thanks but that doesn’t quite feel right. After all, they’re charged with armed robbery.”

  “And underage drinking.”

  “Of course. Anything else?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Why didn’t they call me? They both had phones.”

  “Well, I’m not sure about that. The phones were confiscated when they were arrested, standard procedure.” Randolph flipped through his paperwork. “Don’t know why they were not allowed to call home. Somebody else must’ve screwed up.”

  “Screwed up? These are my kids we’re talking about. Where are their phones now?”

  “In custody. They can’t have phones in their cells. Another rule.”

  “A lot of rules around here and none of them seem to be working. It’s pretty rotten that you don’t allow a thirteen-year-old boy to call his mother when he’s being thrown in jail.”

  “You’re right. I agree. I’ll speak to my supervisor. Sorry about that.”

  “You’re sorry that somebody else screwed up. This is insane. Why can’t I talk to them now?”

  “Because it’s almost two in the morning. Lights out at midnight back there. I’m sorry, ma’am, but at least your boys are safe.”

  “Safe? Forgive me but things don’t seem too safe right now.”

  “I understand, ma’am. Why don’t you leave and come back in a few hours? You can see them then.”

  “I’ll just sit here, okay? If I go home I’ll just walk the floors. Is it okay to stay here and read magazines until sunrise.”

  “Sure. Would you like some coffee?”

  She managed to smile and said, “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.”

  The cell had three walls of concrete and one of metal bars. Bunk beds were attached to the rear wall. Tony arrived first and claimed the bottom bunk. Woody climbed onto the top one. All lights went out at midnight when everyone was supposed to go to sleep. However, in the darkness, it seemed like everyone wanted to talk. There was laughter in the distance, some yelling. As Woody was walked down the hall, he glanced into the other cells. All appeared to be juveniles, though a couple looked as mean as any veteran criminal. In one cell, a boy of no more than ten sat by himself.

  Tony denied pinning the ownership of the pistol on Woody. Indeed, Tony had not even been interviewed by the police. Nor had he seen any sign of Garth. Whispering in the darkness, the brothers agreed to stick together, and stick to the truth. Why would they not tell the truth? Garth was a moron who’d pulled a stupid stunt. He honestly thought he could stick a gun in someone’s face, demand cash and beer, make his getaway, and laugh everything off as a joke.

  As the minutes became hours, the laughter and yelling died down. Slowly, the conversations did, too. At some point during the awful night, Woody realized Tony was asleep.

  Mr. Mount called his homeroom to order when the bell rang at 8:45. Of his sixteen students, fifteen were present. Woody was not, which Theo had noticed immediately. It wasn’t that unusual. No one was missing more school these days than Woody.

  The class went through the usual morning routine of discussing the day’s activities. Science projects were due. The Debate Team had a match in one week. Band practice, soccer practice, rehearsals for the eighth-grade play. As always, the mood was light as Mr. Mount believed in starting each day on an encouraging note. He would see them again during third period for his Government class.

  When the bell rang for first period, the boys grabbed their backpacks and hustled into the hallway. Mr. Mount asked Theo to hang back for a moment. When they were alone, he said, gravely, “Look, Theo, Woody’s mother stopped by the school earlier and informed Mrs. Gladwell that Woody got arrested last night.”

  Theo’s mouth fell open. “Arrested?”

  “Yes. He’s in jail and due in court this morning. Mrs. Gladwell wants you to hurry down to Youth Court and see what’s going on. You’re excused for the morning.” He handed Theo a slip of paper.

  Theo took off. He was at once thrilled to be free from classes but also terrified by the news. He left his backpack at the office, raced out the front door, hopped on his bike, and ten minutes later wheeled to a stop i
n front of the courthouse. As he was entering the main door, Officer Stu Peckinpaw, a truant cop and the terror of all skipping students, stopped him and said, “Well, hello, Theo. Why aren’t you in school?”

  Theo handed him the slip of paper and said, “Official business.”

  Officer Peckinpaw examined the pass as if reading an important document. He handed it back and said, “Okay, but I’d better not see you on the streets after lunch.”

  “Yes, sir.” Theo ducked inside and bounded up the stairs. He knew every inch of the courthouse and knew exactly where to find Woody. Juvenile matters were handled in a small, cramped courtroom on the second floor where Judge Frank Pendergrast had presided for many years. At the door, Theo took a deep breath and stepped inside.

  Because Youth Court was private and all hearings were conducted without juries, the courtroom was small, with only two rows for spectators. Even Animal Court down in the basement had more room.

  Theo saw Daisy Lambert sitting in the front row and went straight to her. Judge Pendergrast was not on the bench. Bailiff Trench, the ancient courtroom deputy, nodded at Theo.

  “What’s going on?” Theo whispered to Mrs. Lambert.

  She smiled but her eyes were red and she looked exhausted. She was obviously glad to see Theo. “I don’t know, Theo,” she said in a soft voice. “Woody and Tony got arrested last night for armed robbery. They wouldn’t let me see them. It’s just so awful.”

  “Armed robbery?” Theo repeated. “You gotta be kidding. But what happened?”

  “I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me much.”

  They whispered for a long time as other worried parents drifted in. Bailiff Trench eased over to inform them that Judge Pendergrast was running a bit late, which was not unusual.

  At ten o’clock, a door opened behind the bench and Judge Pendergrast appeared in his black robe. He assumed his position, glanced around the room, and said, “I apologize for being late. I got almost no sleep last night because every dog on the street was barking and howling.” He noticed Theo sitting in the front row and said, “Well, hello, Theo. Good to see you as always. What brings you here?”