the den watching an early morning television show. At exactly seven thirty, Theo closed the door to his bathroom, opened his cell phone, and called Uncle Ike.
Ike was not an early riser. His sad little career of a small-time tax man wasn’t very demanding, and he didn’t start the day with a rush of enthusiasm. His work was dreary, something he had mentioned to Theo on many occasions. And there was another problem. Ike drank too much, and this unfortunate habit made for slow mornings. Over the years, Theo had heard the adults whispering about Ike’s drinking. Elsa had once asked Vince a question dealing with Ike, and Vince replied with a curt, “Maybe if he’s sober.” Theo wasn’t supposed to hear that, but Theo heard a lot more around the office than the others knew.
The call was finally answered with a scratchy and rude, “Is this Theo?”
“Yes, Ike, good morning. Sorry to bother you so early.” Theo was speaking as softly as possible into the phone.
“No problem, Theo. I assume you have something on your mind.”
“Yes, can we talk this morning, early? At your office? Something real important has come up and I’m not sure I can discuss it with my parents.”
“Well, sure, Theo. What time?”
“Maybe a few minutes after eight. School starts at eight thirty. If I leave too early Mom will get suspicious.”
“Sure. I’d love to.”
“Thanks, Ike.”
Theo hurried through breakfast, kissed his mom good-bye, spoke to Judge, and was on his bike racing down Mallard Lane at straight-up eight o’clock.
Ike was at his desk with a tall paper cup of steaming coffee and a huge cinnamon swirl coated with at least an inch of frosting. It looked delicious, but Theo had just finished his cereal. Plus, he had no appetite.
“Are you okay?” Ike said as Theo sat down, on the very edge of his chair.
“I guess. I need to talk to someone in confidence, someone I can trust, someone who knows something about the law.”
“Have you murdered someone? Robbed a bank?”
“No.”
“You seem awfully uptight,” Ike said as he pulled off a huge bite of the cinnamon swirl and stuffed it in his mouth.
“It’s the Duffy case, Ike. I might know something about whether Mr. Duffy is guilty or not.”
Ike kept chewing as he leaned forward on his elbows. The wrinkles around his eyes squeezed together as he glared at Theo. “Go on.”
“There is a witness out there, a guy nobody knows about, who saw something at the time of the murder.”
“And you know who it is?”
“Yes, and I promised not to tell.”
“How in the world did you come across this guy?”
“Through a kid at school. I can’t tell you anything else, Ike. I promised I wouldn’t.”
Ike swallowed hard, then grabbed the cup and took a long sip of the coffee. His eyes never left Theo. He really wasn’t that surprised. His nephew knew more lawyers, court clerks, judges, and policemen than anyone else in town.
“And whatever this unknown witness saw out there would have a big impact on the trial, is that right?” Ike asked.
“Yes.”
“Has this witness talked to the police or lawyers or anyone involved with the case?”
“No.”
“And this witness is unwilling to come forward at this time?”
“Yes.”
“This witness is afraid of something?”
“Yes.”
“Would the testimony of this witness help convict Mr. Duffy, or would it help acquit him?”
“Convict, no doubt.”
“Have you talked to this witness?”
“Yes.”
“And you believe him?”
“Yes. He’s telling the truth.”
Another long drink of coffee. A smacking of the lips. Ike’s eyes were drilling holes in Theo’s.
Ike continued. “Today is Thursday, the third full day of trial. From what I hear, Judge Gantry is determined to finish this week, even if that means holding court on Saturday. So the trial is probably half finished.”
Theo nodded. His uncle stuffed another large bite into his mouth and chewed slowly. A minute passed.
Ike finally swallowed and said, “So the question is, obviously, what, if anything, could or should be done about this witness at this point in the trial?”
“That’s it,” Theo said.
“Yes, and from what I gather Mr. Jack Hogan needs a few surprises. The prosecution started with a weak case and it’s only grown weaker.”
“I thought you weren’t following the trial.”
“I have friends, Theo. Sources.”
Ike jumped to his feet and walked to the far end of the room where some old shelves were filled with law books. He ran a finger along the spines of several, then snatched one off a shelf and began thumbing through the pages. He returned to his desk, sat down, placed the book in front of him, and searched for whatever was on his mind. Finally, after a long silence, he said, “Here it is. Under our rules of procedure, a judge in a criminal trial has the authority to declare a mistrial if the judge thinks that something improper has occurred. It gives a few examples: a juror gets contacted by someone with an interest in the outcome; an important witness gets sick or can’t testify for some reason; key evidence disappears. Stuff like that.”
Theo knew this. “Does it cover surprise witnesses?” he asked.
“Not specifically, but it’s a pretty broad rule that allows the judge to do whatever he thinks is right. The argument could be made that the absence of an important witness is grounds for a mistrial.”
“What happens after a mistrial?”
“The charges are not dismissed. Another trial is rescheduled.”
“When?”
“It’s up to the judge, but in this case I suspect Gantry wouldn’t wait too long. A couple of months. Enough time for this secret witness to get his act together.”
Theo’s mind was racing so fast he couldn’t decide what to say next.
Ike said, “So, Theo, the question is, How do you convince Judge Gantry to declare a mistrial before the case goes to the jury? Before the jury finds Mr. Duffy not guilty, when in fact he is guilty?”
“I don’t know. That’s where you come in, Ike. I need your help.”
Ike shoved the book aside and peeled off another piece of the cinnamon swirl. He chewed it while he pondered the situation. “Here’s what we do,” he said, still chewing. “You go to school. I’ll go over to the courtroom and have a look. I’ll do some more research, maybe talk to a friend or two. I won’t use your name. Believe me, Theo, I’ll always protect you. Can you call me during lunch?”
“Sure.”
“Take off.”
When Theo was at the door, Ike said, “Why haven’t you told your parents?”
“You think I should?”
“Not yet. Maybe later.”
“They’re very ethical, Ike. You know that. They are officers of the court and they might force me to reveal what I know. It’s complicated.”
“Theo, it’s too complicated for a thirteen-year-old.”
“I think I agree.”
“Call me during lunch.”
“Will do, Ike. Thanks.”
During recess, as Theo was hustling away to find April, someone called his name from down the hall. It was Sandy Coe, racing to catch up.
“Theo,” he said. “Got a minute?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Look, I just wanted to tell you that my parents went to see that bankruptcy lawyer, that Mozingo guy, and he promised them that we are not going to lose our house.”
“That’s great, Sandy.”
“He said they would have to go through a bankruptcy—all that stuff you explained to me—but in the end we get to keep the house.” Sandy reached into his backpack, pulled out a small envelope, and handed it to Theo. “This is from my mom. I told her about you, and I think this is a thank-you note.”
; Theo reluctantly took it. “She didn’t have to, Sandy. It was nothing.”
“Nothing? Theo, we get to keep our house.”