Orest Stelmach - The Boy Who Stole from the Dead

Lauren shuddered. “Hopefully I’ll get some clarity in Anchorage.”

“You meeting someone there who knows the boy’s story?”

“I got a lead in Kotzebue. I’m not sure this man knows the whole story, but I think he’s met him. I think he knows something about him.”

“Good for you. Is this going to be a television story or a newspaper story?”

“Both.”

“Hot dog. I can’t wait to read it. And see it. By God you’ve got me curious. I need to know how this ends.”

They sat quietly the rest of the flight. Garner landed the helicopter at the Campbell Heliport near the Anchorage airport. A blue sedan idled by the runway.

“Is that your man?” Garner said.

Lauren handed him the headphones. “No. Those are agents of the ATF, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives. Anchorage field office.”

The creases in Garner’s face deepened.

“You’re my man, Dan. You know that.”

Garner’s lower lip twitched.

“Last May you flew a boy and a woman into OTZ. They were met at the airport by police Captain Robert Seelick. They stayed in town for a couple of days, and then you flew them out.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then let me explain. There are one hundred twenty-nine dry communities in Alaska, where it’s illegal to sell or consume alcohol. That creates opportunity for bootleggers. A bottle of liquor that costs ten dollars in Anchorage may cost a hundred fifty in a dry town like Point Hope. You, Dan, are a bootlegger. How did you put it? Oh, yeah. You supply the people with their basic needs. And since alcoholism is a huge problem among the Native Americans, obviously it’s a basic need. Am I right?”

Garner blanched.

“In fact, alcoholism is such a huge problem that in a wet village, homicide is six times more likely than in a dry one; assault is four times more likely; and sexual assault is three times more likely. The end result is that a lot of people don’t like you, Dan. A lot of people blame you for their family’s problems, hence one person’s willingness to rat you out to me. Now, you have two choices. Either you tell me everything you know about the boy and I tell those agents I have the wrong man, or they’re going to turn your life upside down. Which is it going to be, Dan? Do you want to go home, or do you want to go to jail?”

Garner regarded her with contempt. “I want to go home.”

“Good. I want you to look at this picture very carefully. And I already know the answer so don’t waste my time lying. This is just a warm-up for the important questions.” Lauren pulled a photo of Bobby Kungenook from her briefcase. “Is this the boy you flew into Kotzebue last year?”

NADIA ARRIVED AT Global Real Estate Partners in Midtown to meet with Valentine’s boss at 10:00 a.m. on Friday. She’d implied she was an aunt looking for closure in Jonathan’s death. She’d promised to be brief and thanked the man profusely for agreeing to meet with her even before he’d said yes. By the time she was done pleading, he couldn’t say no.

“Jonathan wasn’t your usual Brit,” Austin Russell said. “In fact, if it weren’t for the accent, you’d have guessed he was a good old boy himself. They would have loved him down in Texas.”

The morning sun poured through the open blinds in Russell’s modest office. When Nadia squinted, he apologized, hoisted himself to his feet, and closed them.

“What do you mean he wasn’t your usual Brit?” Nadia said.

Russell wheezed from the exertion. When he returned to his seat, his torso spilled onto his armrests. “Not the reserved, stiff upper lip type. Life of the party, that one. Not afraid to show his emotions or let people know what he thought, either. Not necessarily the best personality to have if you want to climb the ladder at Global Real Estate Partners but he will surely be missed.”

“He was the life of the party?”

“That’s an understatement. He had that larger than life attitude. Bigger, better, more. That was his motto. We have a holiday party for the New York office every January. Used to be in December but everyone’s schedule is so loaded… and the rates go down after New Year’s. Well that wasn’t enough for Jonathan Valentine. He said there had to be a true Christmas party. So he hosted his own for the other associates. Paid for the entire kit and caboodle on his own dime.”

Nadia decided to play along with the prevailing sentiment. “He was a kind soul, that Jonathan,” Nadia said.

“Even hired a band. Some hot European club act touring America.” Russell shook his head with admiration. “You know, he wasn’t the smartest analyst here. And I don’t mean that as an insult. He was plenty smart. But we recruit from Columbia and Wharton here. Still, he would have been a heck of a promoter. He would have brought us a lot of business through sheer personality.”

“What was he working on recently? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“He was part of the team working on a project in New Jersey. New outlet mall outside of Atlantic City.”

“Nothing international? In London perhaps?”

“No. We’re strictly Eastern Seaboard. We have offices in twelve foreign countries. London deals with London.”

“So Jonathan didn’t travel much.”

“Atlantic City and back. If you call that travel.”

“Did he have any vacation recently?”

Russell frowned as though it was a strange question for her to ask.

“I’m just trying to understand his last days,” Nadia said. “I don’t know why. It may be my way of dealing with the grief. Would you indulge me? Please?”

Russell stared at Nadia for a moment, then shrugged. “Just the day of his… just his last day.”

“He took that day off?”

“Personal day. And of course, there was his father’s funeral in England. He was gone for almost a week. So tragic, both of them dying within a two-week time frame.”

“Yes, it was,” Nadia said.

Valentine was in London when the call was made. Valentine had made the call to Bobby himself, Nadia thought. And he’d made it on a prepaid phone so it couldn’t be traced to him.

“I’m sorry,” Russell said. “I didn’t catch whether you were his aunt on his mother’s or father’s side.”

In fact, Nadia had never said she was Jonathan Valentine’s aunt. It was actually Bobby who called her “Auntie,” a title she manufactured during their escape from Russia. Whenever she perpetrated a ruse, Nadia liked to stick as close to a truth as possible.

“Yes,” Nadia said. “Thank you for your condolences, and thanks so much for taking the time to meet me. I know how busy you are.”

Russell appeared confused by her answer but when he saw her hand extended the gentleman within him burst into action. He pushed off against the desk and rose to his feet. He smiled sympathetically and shook her hand. As Nadia turned to leave, his eyes narrowed again.

“I don’t think you mentioned your name,” Russell said.

“Thank you, Mr. Russell,” Nadia said. “I’ll be sure to extend your condolences to the rest of the family when I see them in London.”

When she got home, Nadia called the Stern School of Business. She asked to speak with the director of the placement office. She knew that Valentine had earned his MBA at NYU. Global Real Estate Partners’s website said so. Tens of thousands of students had earned their MBAs from NYU in the last few years. There was no chance the placement office would know Valentine was dead.