The Abduction

  “Theo, go to school.”

  The bailiff stepped toward Theo and gently waved an arm toward the door. Theo grabbed his backpack and said, “Thanks, Mom.” He whispered to April, “See you at school,” and then took off.

  However, he had no plans to go to school. He left his backpack on a bench outside the courtroom, ran downstairs to the snack bar, bought a large root beer in a paper cup, ran back up the stairs, and, when no one was looking, dropped the drink onto the shiny marble floor. Ice and root beer splashed and ran into a wide circle. Theo did not slow down. He jogged down the hall, past Family Court, around a corner to a small room that served as a utility closet, storage area, and napping place of Mr. Speedy Cobb, the oldest and slowest janitor in the history of Stratten County. As expected, Speedy was resting, catching a quick nap before the rigors of the day kicked in.

  “Speedy, I dropped a drink down the hall. It’s a mess!” Theo said urgently.

  “Hello, Theo. What are you doing here?” The same question every time he saw Theo. Speedy was getting to his feet, grabbing a mop.

  “Just hanging out. I’m really sorry about this,” Theo said.

  With a mop and a bucket, Speedy eventually made it down the hall. He scratched his chin and inspected the spill as if the operation would take hours and require great skill. Theo watched him for a few seconds, and then retreated to Speedy’s little room. The cramped and dirty place where Speedy napped was next to a slightly larger room where supplies were stored. Quickly, Theo climbed up the shelves, passing rows of paper towels, toilet paper, and sanitizer. Above the top shelf was a crawl space, dark and narrow with an air vent to one side. Below the air vent, some fifteen feet away, was the desk of St. Nick himself. From his secret cubbyhole, known only to himself, Theo could see nothing.

  But he could hear every word.

  Chapter 24

  St. Nick was saying, “The issue before this Court is the temporary placement of April Finnemore. Not legal custody, but placement. I have a preliminary report from Social Services that recommends that April be placed in foster care until other matters can be resolved. Those other matters might, and I repeat the word might, include divorce proceedings, criminal charges against the father, psychiatric evaluations of both parents, and so on. We cannot anticipate all of the legal battles that lie ahead. My job today is to decide where to place April while her parents attempt to bring some order to their lives. This preliminary report concludes with the belief that she is not safe at home. Mrs. Boone, have you had time to read the report?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Do you agree with it?”

  “Yes and no, Your Honor. Last night, April was at home, with both parents in the house, and she felt safe. The night before, she was at home with her mother, and she felt safe. But last week, on Monday night and Tuesday night, she was at home alone and had no idea where either parent was. Around midnight Tuesday, her father showed up, and because she was terrified, she left with him. Now, we all know the rest of the story. April wants to be at home with her parents, but I’m not sure her parents want to be home with her. Perhaps, Your Honor, we should hear from her parents.”

  “Precisely. Mr. Finnemore, what are your plans for the near future? Do you plan to stay at home, or leave? Tour again with your rock band, or finally give it up? Get a job, or continue to drift here and there? File for divorce, or get some professional help? A clue here, Mr. Finnemore. Give us some idea of what we can expect from you.”

  Tom Finnemore hunkered down under the barrage of loaded questions suddenly aimed at him. For a long time, he said nothing. Everyone waited and waited and after a while it appeared as though he had no response. But when he spoke, his voice was scratchy, almost cracking. “I don’t know, Judge. I just don’t know. I took April last week because she was scared to death and we had no idea where May was. After we left, I called several times, never got an answer, and as time passed I guess I quit calling. It never occurred to me that the whole town would think she had been kidnapped and murdered. It was a big mistake on my part. I’m really sorry.”

  He wiped his eyes, cleared his throat, and continued: “I think the rock tours are over, kind of a dead-end road, you know. To answer your question, Judge, I plan to be at home a lot more. I’d like to spend more time with April, but I’m not sure about spending time with her mother.”

  “Have the two of you discussed a divorce?”

  “Judge, we’ve been married for twenty-four years, and we separated the first time after two months of marriage. Divorce has always been a hot topic.”

  “What’s your response to the report’s conclusion that April be removed from your home and placed somewhere safe?”

  “Please don’t do that, sir. I’ll stay home, I promise. I’m not sure what May will do, but I can promise this Court that one of us will be at home for April.”

  “That sounds good, Mr. Finnemore, but, frankly, you don’t have a lot of credibility with me right now.”

  “I know, Judge, and I understand. But, please don’t take her away.” He wiped his eyes again and went silent. St. Nick waited, then turned to the other side of the room and said, “And you?”

  May Finnemore had a tissue in both hands and looked as though she’d been crying for days. She mumbled and stammered before finding her voice. “It’s not a great home, Judge; I guess that much is obvious. But it’s our home; it’s April’s home. Her room is there, her clothes and books and things. Maybe her parents are not always there, but we’ll do better. You can’t take April out of her home and put her with strangers. Please don’t do that.”

  “And your plans, Mrs. Finnemore? More of the same, or are you willing to change your ways?”

  May Finnemore pulled papers out of a file and gave them to the bailiff, who in turn handed each one to the judge, Mr. Finnemore, and Mrs. Boone. “This is a letter from my therapist. He explains that I’m under his care now and that he is optimistic about my improvement.”

  Everyone read the letter. Though couched in medical terms, the bottom line was that May had emotional problems, and to deal with them she had gotten herself mixed up with various and unnamed prescription drugs. She continued, “He has enrolled me in a rehab program as an outpatient. I’m tested every morning at eight a.m.”

  “When did you start this program?” St. Nick asked.

  “Last week. I went to see the therapist after April disappeared. I’m much better already, I promise, Your Honor.”

  St. Nick put the letter down and looked at April. “I’d like to hear from you,” he said with a warm smile. “What are your thoughts, April? What do you want?”

  In a voice much stronger than either parent, April began, “Well, Judge, what I want is something that’s impossible. I want what every kid wants—a normal home and a normal family. But that is not what I have. We don’t do normal, and I’ve learned to live with that. My brother and sister learned to live with it. They left home as soon as possible, and they’re doing okay out in the world. They survived, and I’ll survive, too, if I can have a little help. I want a father who doesn’t leave for a month without saying good-bye and without calling home. I want a mother who’ll protect me. I can deal with a lot of the crazy stuff, as long as they don’t run away.” Her voice began to break, but she was determined to finish. “I’m leaving, too, as soon as I can. Until then, though, please don’t abandon me.”

  She looked at her father and saw nothing but tears. She looked at her mother and saw the same.

  St. Nick looked at the lawyer and said, “As April’s guardian, Mrs. Boone, do you have a recommendation?”

  “I have a recommendation, Your Honor, and I have a plan,” Marcella Boone said.

  “I’m not surprised. Continue.”

  “My recommendation is that April remain at home tonight and tomorrow night, and then on a nightly basis. If either parent plans to be away from home during the night, that parent must notify me in advance, and I’ll notify the Court. Further, I recommend the parents
begin marriage counseling immediately. I suggest Doctor Francine Street, who is in my opinion the best in town. I’ve taken the liberty of setting up an appointment this afternoon at five p.m. Doctor Street will keep me posted on the progress. If either parent fails to show up for counseling, then I will be notified immediately. I will contact Mrs. Finnemore’s new therapist and ask to be updated on her progress in rehab.”

  St. Nick stroked his beard and nodded at Mrs. Boone. “I like it,” he said. “What about you, Mr. Finnemore?”

  “Sounds reasonable, Your Honor.”

  “And you, Mrs. Finnemore?”

  “I’ll agree to anything, Judge. Just please don’t take her away.”

  “Then it is so ordered. Anything else, Mrs. Boone?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. I have arranged for April to have a cell phone. If something happens, if she feels threatened or in danger, or whatever, then she can call me immediately. If for some reason I’m not available, she can call my paralegal, or perhaps someone with the Court. Plus, I’m sure she can always find Theo.”

  St. Nick thought for a second and smiled, then said, “And I’m sure Theo can always find her.”

  Fifteen feet above, in the dark intestines of the Stratten County Courthouse, Theodore Boone smiled to himself.

  The hearing was over.

  Speedy was back, shuffling through his cramped room below, mumbling to himself as he put his mop away and accidentally kicked his bucket. Theo was trapped and he really wanted to get out of the building and go to school. He waited. Minutes passed, then he heard the familiar sound of Speedy snoring, fast asleep as usual. Silently, Theo climbed down the shelves and landed on the floor. Speedy was kicked back in his favorite chair, cap pulled down over his eyes, mouth open, dead to the world. Theo eased by and made his escape. He was hustling down the wide hallway, almost to the sweeping staircase when he heard someone call his name. It was Judge Henry Gantry, Theo’s favorite judge in the entire courthouse.

  “Theo,” he called loudly.

  Theo stopped, turned, and began walking to the judge.

  Henry Gantry was not smiling, though he seldom did. He was carrying a thick file of some sort and he was not wearing his black robe. “Why aren’t you in school?” he demanded.

  More than once, Theo had played hooky or skipped school to watch a trial, and on at least two occasions he’d been caught red-handed, in the courtroom. “I was in court with my mother,” he said, somewhat truthfully. He was looking up. Judge Gantry was looking down.

  “Would this have anything to do with the April Finnemore case?” he asked. Strattenburg was not a large city and there were few secrets, especially among the lawyers, judges, and police.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I hear you found the girl and brought her home,” Judge Gantry said with the first hint of a smile.

  “Something like that,” Theo said modestly.

  “Nice work, Theo.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Just so you’ll know, I’ve rescheduled the Duffy trial to begin in six weeks. I’m sure you’ll want front-row seats.”

  Theo could think of nothing to say. The first murder trial of Pete Duffy had been the biggest in the town’s history, and, thanks to Theo, it had ended in a mistrial. The second promised to be even more suspenseful.

  Theo finally said, “Sure, Judge.”

  “We’ll talk about it later. Get to school.”

  “Sure thing.” Theo bounded down the stairs, jumped on his bike, and raced away from the courthouse. He had a lunch date with April. They planned to meet outside the school cafeteria at noon and steal away to the old gym where no one could find them. Mrs. Boone had packed veggie sandwiches, April’s favorite and Theo’s least favorite, and peanut butter cookies.

  Theo wanted to hear every last detail of the abduction.

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  Read where it all began . . .

  Chapter 1

  Theodore Boone was an only child and for that reason usually had breakfast alone. His father, a busy lawyer, was in the habit of leaving early and meeting friends for coffee and gossip at the same downtown diner every morning at seven. Theo’s mother, herself a busy lawyer, had been trying to lose ten pounds for at least the past ten years, and because of this she’d convinced herself that breakfast should be nothing more than coffee with the newspaper. So he ate by himself at the kitchen table, cold cereal and orange juice, with an eye on the clock. The Boone home had clocks everywhere, clear evidence of organized people.

  Actually, he wasn’t completely alone. Beside his chair, his dog ate, too. Judge was a thoroughly mixed mutt whose age and breeding would always be a mystery. Theo had rescued him from near death with a last-second appearance in Animal Court two years earlier, and Judge would always be grateful. He preferred Cheerios, same as Theo, and they ate together in silence every morning.

  At 8:00 a.m., Theo rinsed their bowls in the sink, placed the milk and juice back in the fridge, walked to the den, and kissed his mother on the cheek. “Off to school,” he said.

  “Do you have lunch money?” she asked, the same question five mornings a week.

  “Always.”

  “And your homework is complete?”

  “It’s perfect, Mom.”

  “And I’ll see you when?”

  “I’ll stop by the office after school.” Theo stopped by the office every day after school, without fail, but Mrs. Boone always asked.

  “Be careful,” she said. “And remember to smile.” The braces on his teeth had now been in place for over two years and Theo wanted desperately to get rid of them. In the meantime, though, his mother continually reminded him to smile and make the world a happier place.

  “I’m smiling, Mom.”

  “Love you, Teddy.”

  “Love you back.”

  Theo, still smiling in spite of being called “Teddy,” flung his backpack across his shoulders, scratched Judge on the head and said good-bye, then left through the kitchen door. He hopped on his bike and was soon speeding down Mallard Lane, a narrow leafy street in the oldest section of town. He waved at Mr. Nunnery, who was already on his porch and settled in for another long day of watching what little traffic found its way into their neighborhood, and he whisked by Mrs. Goodloe at the curb without speaking because she’d lost her hearing and most of her mind as well. He did smile at her, though, but she did not return the smile. Her teeth were somewhere in the house.

  It was early spring and the air was crisp and cool. Theo pedaled quickly, the wind stinging his face. Homeroom was at eight forty and he had important matters before school. He cut through a side street, darted down an alley, dodged some traffic, and ran a stop sign. This was Theo’s turf, the route he traveled every day. After four blocks the houses gave way to offices and shops and stores.

  The county courthouse was the largest building in downtown Strattenburg (the post office was second, the library third). It sat majestically on the north side of Main Street, halfway between a bridge over the river and a park filled with gazebos and birdbaths and monuments to those killed in wars. Theo loved the courthouse, with its air of authority, and people hustling importantly about, and somber notices and schedules tacked to the bulletin boards. Most of all, Theo loved the courtrooms themselves. There were small ones where more private matters were handled without juries, then there was the main courtroom on the second floor where lawyers battled like gladiators and judges ruled like kings.

  At the age of thirteen, Theo was still undecided about his future. One day he dreamed of being a famous trial lawyer, one who handled the biggest cases and never lost before juries. The next day he dreamed of being a great judge, noted for his wisdom and fairness. He went back and forth, changing his mind daily.

  The main lobby was already busy on this Monday morning, as if the lawyers and their clients wanted an early start to the week. There was a crowd waiting by the elevator, so Theo raced up two flights of stairs and down the east wing where F
amily Court was held. His mother was a noted divorce lawyer, one who always represented the wife, and Theo knew this area of the building well. Since divorce trials were decided by judges, juries were not used, and since most judges preferred not to have large groups of spectators observing such sensitive matters, the courtroom was small. By its door, several lawyers huddled importantly, obviously not agreeing on much. Theo searched the hallway, then turned a corner and saw his friend.

  She was sitting on one of the old wooden benches, alone, small and frail and nervous. When she saw him she smiled and put a hand over her mouth. Theo hustled over and sat next to her, very closely, knees touching. With any other girl he would have placed himself at least two feet away and prevented any chance of contact.

  But April Finnemore was not just any girl. They had started prekindergarten together at the age of four at a nearby church school, and they had been close friends since they could remember. It wasn’t a romance; they were too young for that. Theo did not know of a single thirteen-year-old boy in his class who admitted to having a girlfriend. Just the opposite. They wanted nothing to do with them. And the girls felt the same way. Theo had been warned that things would change, and dramatically, but that seemed unlikely.

  April was just a friend, and one in a great deal of need at the moment. Her parents were divorcing, and Theo was extremely grateful his mother was not involved with the case.

  The divorce was no surprise to anyone who knew the Finnemores. April’s father was an eccentric antiques dealer and the drummer for an old rock band that still played in nightclubs and toured for weeks at a time. Her mother raised goats and made goat cheese, which she peddled around town in a converted funeral hearse, painted bright yellow. An ancient spider monkey with gray whiskers rode shotgun and munched on the cheese, which had never sold very well. Mr. Boone had once described the family as “nontraditional,” which Theo took to mean downright weird. Both her parents had been arrested on drug charges, though neither had served time.

  “Are you okay?” Theo asked.

  “No,” she said. “I hate being here.”

  She had an older brother named August and an older sister named March, and both fled the family. August left the day after he graduated from high school. March dropped out at the age of sixteen and left town, leaving April as the only child for her parents to torment. Theo knew all of this because April told him everything. She had to. She needed someone outside of her family to confide in, and Theo was her listener.

  “I don’t want to live with either one of them,” she said. It was a terrible thing to say about one’s parents, but Theo understood completely. He despised her parents for the way they treated her. He despised them for the chaos of their lives, for their neglect of April, for their cruelty to her. Theo had a long list of grudges against Mr. and Mrs. Finnemore. He would run away before being forced to live there. He did not know of a single kid in town who’d ever set foot inside the Finnemore home.

  The divorce trial was in its third day, and April would soon be called to the witness stand to testify. The judge would ask her the fateful question, “April, which parent do you want to live with?”

  And she did not know the answer. She had discussed it for hours with Theo, and she still did not know what to say.

  The great question in Theo’s mind was, “Why did either parent want custody of April?” Each had neglected her in so many ways. He had heard many stories, but he had never repeated a single one.

  “What are you going to say?” he asked.

  “I’m telling the judge that I want to live with my aunt Peg in Denver.”

  “I thought she said no.”

  “She did.”

  “Then you can’t say that.”

  “What can I say, Theo?”

  “My mother would say that you should choose your mother. I know she’s not your first choice, but you don’t have a first choice.”

  “But the judge can do whatever he wants, right?”

  “Right. If you were fourteen, you could make a binding decision. At thirteen, the judge will only consider your wishes. According to my mother, this judge almost never awards custody to the father. Play it safe. Go with your mother.”

  April wore jeans, hiking boots, and a navy sweater. She rarely dressed like a girl, but her gender was never in doubt. She wiped a tear from her cheek, but managed to keep her composure. “Thanks, Theo,” she said.

  “I wish I could stay.”

  “And I wish I could go to school.”

  They both managed a forced laugh. “I’ll be thinking about you. Be strong.”

  “Thanks, Theo.”