Orest Stelmach - The Boy Who Stole from the Dead

“Yes.”

“And?”

“He refused.”

Johnny shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’m going to break through to him.”

“But you haven’t broken through yet. What makes you think he’s going to start talking all of a sudden?”

“We have a lot in common. We both came from nothing. I’m establishing a rapport. Telling him stories about growing up on the docks. And then there’s the trump card.”

“What trump card?”

“Iryna. He’s worried about her. When his worry turns to fear, he’ll tell me everything that happened that night.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“He’s in love with her.”

“No. I see that. How do you know his worry is going to turn into fear?”

“It’s impossible to be in love and not be scared for the one you love.”

Nadia opened a large envelope and removed a photograph. “This is a picture of Valentine’s father. I don’t have any reason to believe Bobby ever met him in Ukraine but I’d be curious about his reaction if you showed him the photo.”

Johnny nodded. “He looks like a serious man.” In the picture, Valentine’s father wore a fancy gold ring with the number three carved from onyx. “Funny.”

“What?”

“I’ve seen that ring before.” Johnny opened his briefcase. “I got a large envelope from the district attorney this morning. Discovery. Not sure it’s everything but it’s a start. Take a look at this.”

He pulled out a stack of pictures of the victim at the crime scene. In the top photo, the gash in Valentine’s neck was so wide he was almost decapitated. Johnny leafed through the pictures until he found the one he was looking for. It was a close-up of Valentine’s right hand. It was curled into a half-fist. A band of gold and onyx shone around his ring finger.

“It’s the same ring,” Nadia said.

“Either they both had one—”

“Or the father gave it to the son on his deathbed.”

“I wonder what the number three stands for.”

Nadia shrugged. “There was Natasha, the father, and the son. Not to be confused with the Holy Trinity.”

“Who’s Natasha?”

“Valentine’s second wife.”

“Was she wearing a ring?”

“Yeah, but it was a bit different. It had a diamond. The size of a golf ball. So what’s this surprise?”

“I thought you hate surprises.”

“I do. But it’s a long flight and there aren’t going to be any fun and games when I get there. Unless my billionaire oligarch client insists on taking me to dinner.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s he like? Does he expect people to bow before him?”

“No. Actually, he does the bowing. He’s different. He seems nice, even caring. I like him. He has a presence about him. And twenty-five billion dollars doesn’t hurt.”

“Glad to hear it.” Johnny hid his disappointment. “Your surprise just got here.”

Nadia frowned.

Johnny nodded at the man standing over her shoulder. “You’re going to have company on your trip.”

“I am?”

Nadia’s brother, Marko, gave her a bear hug from behind.

“Yes, you are, Nancy Drew,” Marko said. “No way am I letting you go back there alone.”

AFTER NADIA AND Marko left for the airport, Johnny drove to Rikers Island. His meetings with Bobby reminded him of when he first became a criminal trial lawyer. The man who hired him, a gritty litigator renowned for his ability to sway a jury, made him practice his opening and closing arguments pertaining to his first case for hours. Johnny remembered delivering his arguments to an audience of one in similar confines but feeling as though he was talking to himself. His boss rarely interrupted him. But when he did, his words left a mark.

It was only a matter of time before Bobby talked, too, Johnny thought. And left his own mark.

“The preliminary hearing is in seven days,” Johnny said. “The DA will probably offer a deal. The judge will encourage it. The system’s overloaded. He’ll try to save the State of New York the cost of a trial. Problem is, they have a confession and an eyewitness.”

Johnny waited for some reaction but Bobby just sat there in his chair with his usual expression. Glum, bored, and arrogant, not giving a damn about anything Johnny had to say.

“Did you hear what I said? They have an eyewitness. Does that make sense to you? Did you see someone watching you?”

No reaction. None at all.

“You’ve got to help me, son. If you don’t, they’re going to lock you up and throw away the key. And I don’t care how much you think she loves you now, Iryna is not going to sit around waiting for you to be released in the afterlife. She may be young, and she may be in love, but she isn’t going to be stupid in love for the rest of her life.”

Johnny thought that might get a rise out of the kid. It didn’t. He kept his eyes on the floor.

“You seen her recently?” Johnny said. “How’s she doing? I wonder what she’s doing right now. I wonder if she’s safe. Or if whoever caused you to stab Valentine is more of a threat to her than you realize. If you love someone, don’t you want that person to know the risks she’s facing every day?”

Bobby shifted his gaze to the wall. As his eyes passed Johnny, he looked through him, as though he wasn’t even there. That type of detachment wasn’t easy. Johnny knew from years of experience in the courtroom cross-examining witnesses and connecting with juries. The kid was creepy, the way he could disengage, but given what he’d endured as a child of Chornobyl, that probably shouldn’t have been a surprise. People avoided him. Viewed him as a pariah. Adults and kids alike. Folks around Kyiv had an irrational fear of being contaminated with radiation poisoning, Nadia had said.

“Okay. I get it. You’re not going to talk to me. Fine. Continue to be selfish. You know what’s best. Your lawyer, the woman who brought you to America, your girlfriend—none of us matter. I still need you to do something for me, though.”

Bobby didn’t move.

“I need you to take a look at two pictures for me. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Obviously. But Nadia made me promise to have you look at them, and I don’t want to catch shit from her for not doing what she asked. You know what I’m talking about where that’s concerned, right?”

Bobby’s lip curled upward.

“Cool.” Johnny pulled out the picture of Valentine. “This is the victim after you finished stabbing him with your homemade screwdriver. Per your confession, that is.”

At first Bobby didn’t move. A few seconds later, he glanced at the photo through the corners of his eyes. No reaction.

“See how the right fist is half-closed? It looks as though he had his fingers curled against something. Like a knife. The knife you said he was carrying. But there was no knife at the crime scene. When you left Valentine, was he still holding the knife in his right hand?”

Bobby looked away. Johnny counted to ten to make sure he wasn’t about to talk.

Johnny revealed the second photo, the one of Valentine’s father. “What about this guy? He look familiar?”

Bobby glanced at the photo. A look of fear washed over his face. It came and went in a flash but it was unmistakable.

“Valentine’s father,” Johnny said. “Did you know him?”

Bobby’s complexion darkened.

“Did your paths cross in Chornobyl? In Kyiv?”

Bobby turned away from Johnny.

Johnny repeated his questions. Bobby didn’t respond.

Johnny put the photos away. He locked his briefcase and stood up to leave.