“Sounds like a job for Omar.”

“Not yet. But remind me to remind him that threatening a witness for the prosecution is a serious crime.”

“Omar knows that.”

Breeland’s cell phone vibrated. He glanced at it and said, “Well, speaking of the devil. Omar is downstairs and wants to talk.”

“Send him up.”

Omar entered the office and took a seat next to Breeland. Nance said rudely, “I have a meeting in ten minutes, so talk fast.”

“Okay,” Omar said. “I was just at the jail talking to Duffy. That little Boone kid was in the courtroom this afternoon — don’t know how he manages to skip so much school — but he was there with his crazy uncle. I saw them. Pete saw them, and Pete swears he saw them last Saturday at the airport in DC when the Feds snatched him. He can’t figure that one out. But if you’ll remember, the night before Judge Gantry declared a mistrial, we saw him walk to the Boone & Boone law firm and meet with the family, including the kid and the crazy uncle. Next day — Bam! A mistrial. Something strange is going on here.”

“But the Boones are not criminal lawyers,” Mr. Nance said. “I know them pretty well.”

“Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s just the kid,” Omar said. “The kid has his nose stuck in the middle of Pete’s case, and his parents are just trying to protect him.”

“You can’t follow a kid around town, Omar,” Breeland said.

“The kid knows who the mysterious witness is,” Omar said. “I’ll bet good money on it.”

Nance and Breeland studied each other for a moment.

Omar continued, “And, I’ll bet the kid had something to do with the Feds finding Pete. They were in DC the week before he got nailed.”

“Who?” Nance asked.

“The entire eighth grade at Strattenburg Middle School. Their annual field trip. A mob of kids roaming around DC. Maybe somebody saw something.”

“Which brings up the obvious question,” Breeland said. “Why was Pete Duffy in DC?”

“Too late to worry about that,” Mr. Nance said. “Don’t follow this kid and don’t approach him. But keep an eye on him.”

Theo was leaving school on a Wednesday afternoon when his pal Woody stopped him at the bike rack. Woody was obviously worried about something. He said, “Say, Theo, you know the judge in Animal Court, don’t you?”

It was a loaded question, and Theo immediately wondered what mischief Woody had been up to. He was a good kid and Theo liked and trusted him, but his family was a bit on the rough side and Woody was always either in trouble or close to it. “Sure. What’s up?”

“Well,” Woody said, glancing around as if the police might be listening, “I have to be in court tomorrow afternoon. My brother Evan and I are being accused of something.”

Theo slowly got off his bike, hit the kickstand, and said, “Okay, what are you accused of?”

“My mom and stepdad don’t know about this, Theo, and I’d like to keep it quiet.” Woody’s home life was unsettled. His mother had been married at least twice and her current husband traveled a lot. Woody’s father was a stonemason who lived in town with another wife and some small children. An older brother had been in trouble with the law. He asked, “If you go to Animal Court, do you have to tell your parents?”

“Not always,” Theo said. He almost added that it’s always best to tell your parents, but then he often kept secrets from his. “What’s happened?”

“Have you ever heard of fainting goats?”

“Fainting goats?”

“Yes. Fainting goats.”

“No. I’ve never heard of fainting goats.”

“Well, it’s a long story.”

The following afternoon, Theo was sitting next to Woody and Evan in a small, cramped room in the basement of the Strattenburg County Courthouse, waiting for Judge Sergio Yeck to assume the bench and call things to order. They were in folding chairs behind a folding table, and behind them were several other people, including Chase, Aaron, and Brandon, all there out of curiosity. Across the aisle sat an angry man named Marvin Tweel. He was a farmer dressed in his work clothes — faded denim overalls, plaid shirt, and steel-toed boots with mud caked permanently on the soles and heels. Behind him were several people, part of the usual Animal Court crowd of folks trying to rescue unleashed dogs that had been picked up by the town’s rather aggressive dogcatcher.

At four p.m., Judge Yeck walked through a rear door and took his seat at the bench. As always, he was wearing jeans, cowboy boots, and an old sports coat. As usual, he seemed bored with what he was doing. He was the lowest-ranking judge in town; in fact, he was the only lawyer who would handle the part-time job. Animal Court got little respect. Theo, though, loved it because there were few rules and no lawyers were required. Anyone, including a thirteen-year-old who thought he was a lawyer, could appear on behalf of a client.

“Hello, Theo,” Judge Yeck said. “How are your folks?”

“They’re doing fine, thanks, Judge.”

Yeck looked at a sheet of paper and said, “All right, our first case is Mr. Marvin Tweel versus Woody and Evan Lambert.” He looked at the farmer and said, “Are you Mr. Tweel?”

Mr. Tweel stood and said, “Yes, sir.”

“Welcome to Animal Court, sir. You may keep your seat. Things are real informal in here.” Mr. Tweel nodded awkwardly and sat down. He was obviously nervous and out of place. Judge Yeck looked at Theo and said, “I take it you represent the Lambert brothers.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. Mr. Tweel, you are the complaining party, so you go first.”

Mr. Tweel said, “Well, uh, Your Honor, do I need a lawyer? If they got one, do I need one?”

“No, sir, not in this court. And Mr. Boone here is not a real lawyer, not yet anyway. He’s more like a legal adviser.”

“Do I need a legal adviser like him?”

“No, sir, you certainly do not. Proceed with your story.”

Satisfied and more at ease, Mr. Tweel began: “Well, Judge, you see I have a small farm just south of town, and I raise and sell a certain breed of goats that some people enjoy as pets. Others raise them for meat and cashmere. They’re not your typical goats. They’re much smaller and easier to care for. They’re called myotonic goats, on account of a muscle condition known as myotonia congenita. Now that’s about all I know when it comes to the science, but one aspect of this condition is that their muscles freeze when they panic and they get all stiff and frozen, then they fall over with their legs straight out. That’s why they are better known as fainting goats. They don’t really faint, they remain conscious, but they’re out of it for about ten seconds. Then they get up and everything’s okay. It’s just a muscle condition, nothing to do with the brain or anything.”

“Fainting goats?” Judge Yeck said.

“Yes, sir. They’re pretty well known in the goat world.”

“Well, excuse me. So what’s your complaint about?”

Mr. Tweel glared at Woody and Evan and continued: “Well, late Monday afternoon, I was in the house reading the newspaper when my wife sticks her head in the den and says there’s a commotion down at the goat shed. It’s about a hundred yards behind the house, so I head down there. As I get close, I hear somebody laughing. Somebody’s on my property, so I step into my toolshed and grab my twelve gauge. When I get closer to the goat shed, I see these two boys here messing with my goats. I watch ’em for a few minutes. One is on one end of the goat pen, and the other is leaning on a fence taking a video. One — and I can’t tell them apart — jumps out from behind a water trough, claps his hands real loud, yells at my goats as he lunges at them, then cracks up laughing when they faint. When the goats get up, they run away, and he chases them, yelling like an idiot until he corners a couple, lunges at them again, and howls when they go down.”