Free The Fugitive by John Grisham

never left his porch, and he called “Hello” to Mrs. Goodloe, another neighbor but one who couldn’t hear.
    Once again, Theo was thankful that he lived in a town where kids could ride their bikes anywhere they wanted, with no worries about heavy traffic and a million people on the sidewalks. He could never live in a place like Washington. It was a cool city, a nice place to visit, but Theo needed space. With Judge galloping beside him like the happiest dog in the world, he zigzagged here and there, avoiding downtown where a bored policeman might yell at him for running stop signs. Theo knew many of the policemen in town and they were generally nice guys, but there were a few who felt as though kids on bikes should follow all the rules of the road. One of his favorite places was the campus of Stratten College, where students were always tossing Frisbees and killing time on the wide, green lawns. He liked the college but wasn’t sure he would go there. It was very close to home and, at the age of thirteen, he was already thinking about getting away.
    The Delmont neighborhood was near the school and a lot of students lived there, in older duplexes and apartment buildings and run-down houses. There were coffee shops, bars, used bookstores—a more rustic version of downtown. He found the street he was looking for, then the small house where Julio Pena and his family had been living for a few months.
    The Penas had once lived in the homeless shelter on Highland Street. Theo had met Julio there and had helped him with his homework. He was a seventh grader at Strattenburg Middle School, and Theo saw him occasionally on the playground. His cousin, Bobby Escobar, was the prosecution’s star witness against Pete Duffy.
    On the day Myra Duffy was murdered, Bobby was working at the Waverly Creek golf course. He had been there for about three months. He had been in the country for about a year, after he entered illegally from El Salvador. Some would call him an “illegal immigrant.” Others, an “undocumented worker.”
    Theo had read in the newspaper that there were about eleven million people like Bobby working and hiding in the country.
    At any rate, Bobby was having a quiet lunch under some trees when he saw Pete Duffy suddenly appear in his golf cart, hustle into his home, stay about ten minutes, then hop back into his golf cart and speed away. It was eleven forty-five a.m., the approximate time Myra Duffy was strangled to death. Bobby was afraid to come forward for the obvious reason—he did not want to be deported—but Theo had convinced him to talk to Judge Gantry. This was after the trial had started, and it was the reason the judge declared a mistrial. Since then, the police had promised to protect Bobby and make sure he didn’t get into any immigration problems. Mr. and Mrs. Boone were attempting to sponsor him and help him get his citizenship, but that process was moving slowly.
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    Theo knocked on the door but no one answered. He peeked into the backyard, then hopped on his bike and continued down the street. Some boys were playing a pickup game of soccer in a small park and a lot of people were watching and milling about. Almost all appeared to be Hispanic. Julio was with a group of kids, including his twin siblings, Hector and Rita, behind a goal, kicking a soccer ball and killing time. Theo inched closer until Julio saw him. He smiled, walked over, and said, “Theo, what are you doing here?”
    â€œNothing really, just out riding my bike.”
    When the Pena family lived at the shelter, Theo had taught English to Hector and Rita, and when the two kids saw him talking to their brother they ran over to say hello. Judge soon got their attention, and they took the leash and went for a walk. A lot of kids noticed Judge and wanted to pat him on the head and say things to him. It was a proud moment for the dog.
    Theo and Julio chatted about this