Theodore Boone: Kid Lawyer by John Grisham Read Free Book Online Page A

entire scene—the interior of the house, the front door, the rear door, the close proximity to the golf course. He used a photo of the main entrance of Waverly Creek, with its heavy gates and guardhouse and security cameras. He explained that it was highly unlikely that an intruder, even a clever one, could breach all that security. Unless, of course, the intruder was not really an intruder because he lived there, too.
    None of the neighbors saw a strange vehicle leave the Duffy home. No one saw a stranger walking the streets, or running from the house. Nothing unusual was reported. In the past six years, there had been only two home burglaries at Waverly Creek. Crime was virtually unheard of in this quiet community.
    On the day of the murder, Mr. Duffy played golf, something he did almost every Thursday. He teed off at 11:10 a.m., according to the computer log in the golf shop. He was alone, which was not unusual, and, as always, he used his own electric golf cart. He told the course starter that he planned to play eighteen holes, the North Nine and the South Nine, the two most popular courses. The Duffy home bordered the sixth fairway of the Creek Course, a smaller course preferred by the ladies.
    Mr. Duffy was a serious golfer who always kept score and didn’t cheat. Playing eighteen holes alone usually took about three hours. The day was overcast, cool, and windy—weather that would discourage most people from playing golf. Other than a foursome that had teed off at ten twenty, there was no one else on any of the three courses at eleven ten. Another foursome teed off at one forty.
    Mrs. Duffy’s sister found her and immediately called 911. The call was recorded at 2:14 p.m. The autopsy placed her time of death at around eleven forty-five.
    With the help of an assistant, Mr. Hogan set up a large diagram of the Waverly Creek community. He identified the three golf courses, the golf shop, driving range, tennis courts, and other points of interest, then he showed the jury the location of the Duffy home on the Creek Course. According to tests the State had performed, Mr. Duffy was either on the fourth or fifth hole of the North Nine at the time of his wife’s murder. Riding in a golf cart identical to the one owned by Mr. Duffy, a person could travel from that part of the course to the Duffy home on the sixth fairway in about eight minutes.
    Peter Duffy looked at the diagram and slowly shook his head as if Mr. Hogan was full of nonsense. He was forty-nine years old with a dark, scowling face topped by thick, graying hair. He wore horn-rimmed glasses, a brown suit, and could easily have been mistaken for one of the lawyers.
    Jack Hogan drove home the point that Mr. Duffy knew his wife was home, obviously had access to his own house, was in a golf cart only minutes away at the time of the murder, and was playing golf at a time when the course was practically deserted. His chances of being seen were slim.
    “He planned it very well,” Mr. Hogan said, over and over.
    The mere fact that a good lawyer kept saying that Mr. Duffy killed his wife made his theory sound believable. Repeat something enough and folks will start to believe it. Mr. Mount had always taken the position that the presumption of innocence is a joke nowadays. The presumption is one of guilt. And, Theo had to admit, it was difficult to think of Mr. Duffy in terms of innocence, at least in the opening minutes of the trial.
    Why would Mr. Duffy kill his wife? Mr. Hogan posed this question to the jury in such a way that it was obvious he had the answer.
    “Money, ladies and gentlemen.” With great drama, he snatched a document from his table and announced, “This is a life insurance policy for one million dollars purchased by Mr. Peter Duffy two years ago insuring the life of his late wife, Myra Duffy.”
    Dead silence. The guilt seemed to grow heavier.
    Mr. Hogan flipped through the policy as he discussed it, and seemed to lose some steam. When he was