The deputies quickly unshackled him. He rubbed his wrists as they led him to a chair at the defendant’s table. Clifford Nance leaned down and said something to him. Duffy looked wildly around the courtroom, startled at the number of people there to observe him. He looked frightened and disoriented, like he couldn’t believe he was back.

In the front row behind the bar, where the spectators sat, Theo caught a glimpse of Omar Cheepe, one of Duffy’s men.

A bailiff called court to order, everyone stood, and Judge Henry Gantry appeared from a door in the rear. He tapped his gavel and asked everyone to have a seat. Not wasting time, he looked at the defendant and said, “Would you approach the bench?”

Duffy stood and took a few steps to a spot in front of the bench. He looked up. Judge Gantry looked down. Clifford Nance slowly made his way over to stand beside his client.

“You are Pete Duffy?” the judge asked.

“I am.”

“Welcome home.”

“Thank you.”

“Is Mr. Clifford Nance here still your lawyer?”

“He is.”

“You are still charged with the capital murder of your wife, Ms. Myra Duffy. Do you understand this?”

“I do.”

“Do you wish to plead guilty or not guilty?”

“Not guilty, Your Honor.”

“And you are also charged with escape. Have you discussed this charge with your attorney?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“And how do you wish to plead?”

“Not guilty.”

“Thank you. You may be seated.”

Duffy and Nance sat down. Judge Gantry said he wanted the case to proceed as rapidly as possible, would not tolerate delays by either side, and was quite eager to set a trial date. Clifford Nance mentioned the possibility of a hearing on the issue of bail, and Judge Gantry cut him off. No, Mr. Duffy would be spending his days and nights in jail as he awaited trial. Bail was not a possibility. Nance seemed to know this was coming. Everyone else did too. The lawyers went back and forth arguing about how much time they needed to prepare.

Theo whispered to Ike, “I thought you said Duffy wouldn’t be able to afford Nance this time around.”

Ike whispered, “Anything is possible. Everyone thinks Duffy is broke. Maybe he’s got some loot stashed away. Maybe Nance will work cheaper just so he can stay involved. Who knows?”

Ike often spouted off screwball theories with nothing to back them up. Theo suspected he spent too much time gossiping with his old retired buddies, all of whom were over the hill and prone to speculate about things without having any facts.

Theo was being careful. He was sitting low and ducking behind the person in front of him. He did not want to make eye contact with Pete Duffy. Sure the guy was in jail and should probably be considered harmless, but Theo wanted to keep his distance. They had looked each other in the eyes last Saturday at the airport in DC, and Duffy might remember. Of course, Theo was partially disguised then. He had discussed this with Ike, but Ike didn’t frighten too easily.

Then there was Omar Cheepe, a shady-looking character known to hang around Clifford Nance’s office and do his dirty work. He had a sidekick named Paco; just a couple of thugs.

When the hearing was over, Theo had two choices. He could hop on his bike and hustle back to school, or he could suggest having a frozen yogurt with Ike at Guff’s just down the street. He knew Ike would never say no, and that his uncle would happily buy the treat.

Theo ordered the usual — chocolate drenched with crushed Oreos. Ike had a small serving of mango with black coffee. “I have a question for you, Ike,” Theo said, then shoveled in an impressive spoonful of frozen yogurt.

“I’m sure you do,” Ike said. “You always have questions.”

“As I understand the way things work, before the trial, both sides will be required to give the other a list of their witnesses. Right?”

“Right. It’s called discovery. Not only the names of the witnesses, but brief summaries of what their testimony will be.”

“So the identity of Bobby Escobar will be known to Duffy and his lawyers. They will find out that the prosecution has a witness who’ll say he saw Duffy dash into his home at the same time his wife was strangled. Right?”

“Normally, yes.”

“Normally? Is there an exception to the rule?”

“I think so. As I recall from my days in the trenches, the prosecution can ask the judge to allow it to withhold the name of a witness if that witness needs to be protected. It’s the result of some of the old Mob cases where the star witness against a Mafia leader was a snitch from within the organization. If his identity had been revealed, they would have found the guy at the bottom of a lake wearing concrete boots.”

“That makes sense.”

“I’m glad you approve. In this case, I’ll bet Jack Hogan and the police will try their best to keep Bobby’s identity a secret until the last possible moment.”

“I sure hope so. I saw that creep Omar Cheepe in the courtroom. I’m sure Paco is lurking somewhere in the shadows. If they find out about Bobby, it could be dangerous.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much, Theo. Hogan knows he doesn’t have much of a case without Bobby. You remember the first trial. It was going badly for the prosecution and Duffy was about to walk free. Hogan and the police will protect the boy.”

“You think I should warn him?”

“No, I think you’ve done enough. It’s a dangerous situation and you need to keep your nose out of it. Okay?”

“I guess.”

Ike reached over and grabbed a wrist. With a hard frown, he said, “Listen to me, Theo. Butt out, okay? It’s none of your business.”

“Well, it sort of is. Bobby Escobar wouldn’t be involved if I hadn’t convinced his cousin Julio that he should come forward. And, we wouldn’t be having this conversation if I hadn’t spotted Duffy on the subway.”

“True. Nice work. Now leave it alone. You can write your research paper. We’ll watch the trial and hope justice prevails. Just stay on the sidelines, okay?” Ike released his wrist.

“Okay,” Theo said reluctantly.

“Now, you need to get back to school.”

“I don’t think so, Ike. It’s Friday afternoon and I’ve had a tough week.”

“A tough week. You sound like a workingman who puts in forty hard hours in a factory.”

“Look, Ike, even kid lawyers have tough weeks.”

Across Main Street and four blocks east of Guff’s Frozen Yogurt, another meeting was underway and the topic was also the Duffy trial. Clifford Nance had a splendid office on the second floor of what had once been the finest hotel in town; in fact, Mr. Nance owned the entire building and used most of it to house his busy law firm. From his high, arching windows he had great view of the streets below, the courthouse, even the river in the distance. Not that he had much time to enjoy the view; he did not. He was an important lawyer and one of the most prosperous in town.

He was at his desk sipping coffee and chatting with a young lawyer named Breeland, one of the many associates who took orders from him. Nance was saying, “When Judge Gantry stopped the first trial and sent everybody home, he explained to me and Jack Hogan the following morning that a surprise witness had come forward and had information that was crucial to finding the truth. He would not tell us the name of this witness, nor would he tell us what the witness might say. He left us completely in the dark. We were preparing for the retrial, and at some point Jack Hogan would have been required to disclose the names of all of his witnesses. Before this happened, of course, our dear client skipped town.”

“So we still have no clue about this witness?” Breeland asked.

“None whatsoever. Now, though, I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

“And what do we do?”

“Depends on who he is and what he’ll say.”