Free Theodore Boone: The Accused by John Grisham Page B

Judge seemed a bit jumpy. The first return visit to the scene of the crime brings back bad memories, and Theo found it impossible to do his homework. He finally locked the door, took a peek through the new window, saw no one, and left the building on his bike, with Judge in hot pursuit.

Chapter 10
    The photo was sent from an anonymous GashMail account, and initially sent to the in-boxes of a dozen or so students at Strattenburg Middle School. From there it rapidly picked up steam, and by 7:30 Wednesday evening hundreds, if not thousands, of people in town had seen it and knew what it was all about.
    It was taken by a person who was determined to remain nameless and faceless, and, evidently, he or she was hiding somewhere across the street when Theo, his parents, and Ike left the police station. The photo clearly showed all four, frowning and worried, and just behind and above them, on the front of the building, in bold letters were the words: S tr a ttenburg P olice S t a tion .
    With the photo was a description: “Theo Boone, age thirteen, of 886 Mallard Lane, leaves the Strattenburg Police Station with his parents after being arrested for the Tuesday night break-in and burglary of the well-known downtown computer store, Big Mac’s Systems. Sources say the police found stolen merchandise Wednesday morning in Boone’s locker at the middle school. He is expected to appear in Juvenile Court next week.”
    As always on Wednesday evenings, the Boones were having Chinese takeout. They were in the den, dining on folding TV trays while watching television. Judge, who considered himself at least half human, was sitting next to Theo, getting an occasional bite of sweet-and-sour shrimp, his favorite. There was almost no conversation over dinner. Theo was burdened by recent events, which seemed to be snowballing. His parents were preoccupied with thoughts of protecting their son. Mrs. Boone hardly nibbled at her chicken chow mein. Mr. Boone chewed with a vengeance, as if he were off in court somewhere slugging it out with the bad guys and proving that Theo had done nothing wrong.
    Theo’s cell phone vibrated—a text message was arriving. He glanced at it. April Finnemore, his close friend, said: TB, check email now. Urgent.
    Interrupting dinner was frowned on by his parents, so Theo, between bites, texted back: What is it?
    April replied: Terrible. Urgent! Go now.
    Theo replied: OK.
    He took a few more bites, chewed, and swallowed quickly, then announced, “I’m stuffed.” He stood with his plate and glass and headed for the kitchen.
    “That was fast,” his mother said. His father was in another world.
    Theo rinsed his plate and went straight for his backpack on the kitchen counter. A few seconds later he was online, then he opened his mailbox. He clicked on “Urgent Message from GashMail,” and saw the photo. Bright, clear, no doubt about who was leaving the police station. His first reaction when reading the description was disbelief. His jaw dropped, his mouth fell open wide, and for several seconds he stared at the image of himself leaving the police station. The shock was quickly replaced by anger. Anger at the lies, the fiction. He had not been arrested. He was not due in court. Then the questions—Who took the photo? Where had they been hiding? Why would anyone tell such outright lies? How many people have seen this? “Guys!” Theo yelled.
    His parents crowded behind him and gawked at the monitor sitting on the kitchen counter. A photo taken secretly by some punk and then broadcast to the world with a bunch of lies to describe it. As lawyers, their first reaction was—what could be done legally to stop it, to fix it, to bring the guilty party to justice?
    “I’m assuming this is everywhere,” Mrs. Boone said.
    “Probably so.” Theo replied.
    “What is GashMail?” Mr. Boone asked.
    “It’s kind of a shady server you use when you don’t want to get caught. A lot of unknown e-mails start there, and it’s