Theo looked at him and tried to remember him from the frenzy of the frat party last Saturday night. He was the band’s drummer and had been partially hidden by the tools of his trade. He sort of looked familiar, but then Theo had not had the time to examine Plunder. Tom Finnemore was a nice-looking man, respectable in some ways. He was wearing cowboy boots and jeans, but his sports coat was stylish.
“And you are May Finnemore?” St. Nick asked, nodding to the right.
“Yes, sir.”
“And Mrs. Boone, you are with April?”
“Yes, sir.”
St. Nick glared down at Theo for a few seconds, then said, “Theo, what are you doing here?”
“April asked me to be here.”
“Oh, she did? Are you a witness?”
“I could be.”
St. Nick managed a smile. His reading glasses were perched far down at the end of his nose, and when he smiled, which didn’t happen often, his eyes twinkled and he did in fact resemble Santa Claus. “You could also be a lawyer, a bailiff, or a clerk, couldn’t you, Theo?”
“I suppose.”
“You could also be the judge and decide this matter, couldn’t you?”
“Probably.”
“Mrs. Boone, is there any legitimate reason for your son to be in this courtroom during this hearing?”
“Not really,” Mrs. Boone said.
“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.
