The Accomplice (Theodore Boone 7)

“Well, it looks as though you assumed too much.” Judge Pendergrast seemed irritated at the situation.

The door opened and Major Ludwig walked in. He leaned against the rear wall and nodded at the judge, who noticed him but continued. “Well, I have no choice but to revoke your bond and discuss setting bail.”

The Major stepped forward and said, “Your Honor, may it please the court, I have something to say.”

“Go ahead, Major Ludwig.”

“Woody is one of my Scouts and I’m volunteering as his Youth Court counselor. I take full responsibility for the camping trip and for his leaving the county. It never crossed my mind that he was violating the terms of his bail. It’s my fault, Judge, and I can promise you that he will be right here any time you want.”

The Major moved and spoke like a seasoned lawyer, and it was obvious he had the judge’s respect. He continued.“There is absolutely nothing to be gained by setting bail again. It’s my understanding that the family sacrificed everything to get him out the first time. Release him to my supervision and there will be no more problems. I’ve discussed these charges with Woody, did so last weekend during the campout, and I firmly believe that he is innocent of any serious crime. He has promised me that he will tighten up his study habits, attend school every day, and stay away from the wrong crowd. I’m asking the court to trust me with this matter.”

His words were solemn, and when he said “trust” everyone in the courtroom believed him.

Judge Pendergrast scribbled some notes as he pondered the situation. He looked at Woody and said, “Okay, young man, I believe in second chances. I believe this was an honest oversight on your part. I want you and Major Ludwig to report to me at four o’clock every Monday afternoon and we’ll discuss your class attendance and your grades. In the meantime, your attorney will get to work on the charges filed against you. You are released on personal identification, no bail.”

Woody looked him squarely in the eye and said, “Thank you, Your Honor.”

For the next two weeks, Woody managed to avoid another arrest. He didn’t miss a day of school, often arrived early and stayed late for extra study hall and tutoring. Tony, too, was back in school and putting more effort into his classwork.

Jail was a place they preferred to avoid.

Clifford Nance had the finest law office in Strattenburg. It occupied the top floors of an old building that was once the only bank in town, and from his large windows he looked down on the courthouse directly across the street. The Yancey River could be seen in the distance. Mr. Nance had bought the building years earlier and spent a lot of money renovating it. His firm had seven lawyers, it was the biggest in town. An elevator ran from the lobby straight to Mr. Nance’s suite.

Rodney Wall had never been near the office, though, like most lawyers in town, he had heard descriptions of it. As a young, lowly paid assistant public defender, he dreamed of one day achieving the success of a big-time lawyer like Clifford Nance. He wanted a fancy office, big firm, fine home, foreign cars, the works. And he secretly dreamed of working for the Nance firm. His plan was to gut it out in the trenches of public defender warfare, gain some experience, perhaps start building a reputation, and then apply for an associate’s position with the firm. But then a lot of young lawyers in Strattenburg had the same dream.

At the appointed hour, the hour suggested by Mr. Nance, Rodney rode the elevator to the top floor and was greeted by a pretty secretary who offered him coffee. Mr. Nance was on the phone and would be tied up for a moment. Rodney eased into a thick leather chair and admired the Persian rugs and modern art on the walls. He sipped his coffee and stared at his phone, as if he had matters that were far more important than the Lambert case. The secretary typed away. The phones rang occasionally. Finally, a large door opened and Mr. Nance himself stepped out. He waved Rodney into his massive office and pointed to a plush sofa. “Let’s sit over here,” he said, “and keep things casual.”

“Sure,” Rodney said as he glanced around. Nance’s monument of a work desk was long and wide and appeared to be mahogany, though Rodney wasn’t sure. A few files were stacked neatly but for the most part the desk was bare, as if the great man lived an uncluttered life and was concentrating only on the case before him. A conference table with chairs occupied one corner. The walls were covered with paintings and portraits. Everything was neat and perfectly organized, which came as no surprise. Mr. Nance’s reputation was that of a trial lawyer who was always thoroughly prepared and organized.

“Nice place you got here,” Rodney said as he sank into the sofa.

“Oh, it’ll do,” Mr. Nance said. He wore a navy suit, crisp white shirt, perfectly knotted tie, expensive shoes, gold watch. Rodney thought to himself: He probably spends more on clothes in one year than I earn in salary.

Mr. Nance said, “You know, Rodney, I started in the PD’s office thirty years ago. Back then we were in court every day, trying cases. The experience was incredible. How long you been there?”

“A year.”

“Monk’s a good man. You’ll learn a lot from him.”

“So far so good.”

Enough of the small talk. Mr. Nance cleared his throat as if it were time to move on. He was quite busy. “So, let’s talk about this case. The facts are straightforward. Three stupid kids riding around, drinking beer, nothing good was going to happen, right? But nobody got hurt. I mean, you know, it was only a water pistol, a toy. Garth, my client, still maintains that it belonged to the youngest boy—”

“Woody. Woody Lambert. Age thirteen.”

“Right. Woody and Tony, but I’m not sure that’s true.”

“It’s not,” Rodney said, exerting himself. “It’s not true at all. Neither Tony nor Woody had ever seen the pistol before.”

“Well, that’s what they say, and they are brothers, aren’t they?”

“They are, but they seem to be telling the truth.”

“No doubt. Look, Rodney, if we fight among ourselves, we all get hurt. I have a plan to get this case dismissed before the grand jury hands down an indictment against my client. Your clients, of course, are not facing indictment because they are minors. I believe I can convince Jack Hogan to cut us a deal and avoid serious charges for these boys. Of course, I’m deeply concerned about my client, Garth, because he is eighteen years old and is being treated like an adult. He’s not a bad kid, I assure you of that. Maybe a little immature, but he can outgrow that if he gets the right help. His parents are worried about his drinking and drugs, and he has agreed to submit himself to a treatment facility. This will be very important to Jack Hogan and Judge Gantry. The Tuckers are good people. Garth still plans to go to college. Can you imagine how a felony conviction will haunt him forever? No college. No job. No future.”

“How do you avoid a felony?” Rodney asked.

“Start with the gun. I don’t need to remind you how much Judge Gantry hates guns and violence. If we allow Woody, the thirteen-year-old, to claim ownership, then the gun loses some of its damage in circuit court. Sure Garth used it for the robbery. Sure that was a really dumb thing to do. But I’ll argue that he was not only drinking but already drunk, and thus wasn’t sure what he was doing. Woody produced the gun. All three boys were in on the robbery, all three need to be punished. But it’s imperative that we avoid a felony, here, Rodney. Are you with me?”

“I get that, but how do you convince Jack Hogan to reduce the armed robbery?”

“By begging. I’ll make a strong case that Garth is a good kid who was drunk, and that he was also misguided into believing you can’t pull a real robbery with a water pistol, and that nobody got hurt, and that he’s real sorry for his mistake, and he’ll agree to a few days in jail, two years of probation, a big fine, full restitution to the store, and a hundred hours of volunteer service. Anything to avoid the felony.”

“And what about my clients?”

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“Come on, Rodney, they’re juveniles. Different laws down there in that court. Your boys will get off with a slap on the wrist, a little probation, but nothing serious. Plus they will not have a criminal record.”

“But they’re innocent, Mr. Nance.”

“Just call me Clifford. And they’re not completely innocent. They were riding around drinking beer and looking for trouble and they found it. As I understand things, the Lambert boys come from a rough home and they’re having trouble at school. This true?”

“That’s fair to say.”

“Okay, so we take all three boys and we spread around the blame a little. Woody says he owned the gun. He and his brother say they were in on the decision to snatch some beer. Everybody’s real sorry and all and they’ve learned a valuable lesson.”

“I’m not sure Woody and Tony will admit to anything except the beer. They have been pretty vocal in that they knew nothing about the robbery.”

“That’s where you come in, Rodney. That’s what defense lawyers are for. You’ve got to convince them that all three must stick together and stick to one story. Trust me on this. I’ve been doing this for over thirty years and I’m very good at what I do. I know the judges and the prosecutors and they know me.”

“Indeed they do.”

“There’s a way out of this for all three boys, Rodney. We just need to use a bit of creative storytelling, let each boy take a bite of the blame, and everybody gets out in one piece.”

Rodney took a sip of coffee and a deep breath. Clifford Nance was very persuasive but Rodney really didn’t appreciate being pressured by another lawyer. Not like this.

Rodney asked, “What makes you so sure you can convince Jack Hogan to reduce the armed robbery to a misdemeanor?”