Orest Stelmach - The Boy Who Stole from the Dead

“Where was Bobby supposed to be tonight?” Johnny said.

“After he finished his homework he was going over to his friend’s apartment on the Upper East Side.”

“What’s his name?”

“Derek Mace. He goes to Fordham Prep. He’s a defenseman, too. He’s Bobby’s personal bodyguard on the ice.”

“Well, according to the cops he ended up in the Meatpacking District in an alley on Washington between thirteenth and fourteenth instead, where he supposedly stabbed a British businessman to death. Then he walked to the precinct house and turned himself in.”

“You mean he actually admitted he killed the guy?”

“That’s what it looks like. We’ll get more details tomorrow.”

“That’s so preposterous, I don’t even know how to respond. Bobby doesn’t know any kids from England, and he certainly doesn’t know any British businessman. And what would he be doing in the Meatpacking District?”

“He was carrying the murder weapon when he turned himself in.”

“Bobby doesn’t even own a knife.”

“It wasn’t a knife. The victim was stabbed in the throat multiple times with a screwdriver.”

Nadia felt herself blanch.

“What?” Johnny said.

“A screwdriver?”

Johnny nodded.

“What color?”

Johnny frowned. “What color?”

“Yeah. What color was the handle?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Bobby carries a screwdriver and a flashlight on him at all times. The screwdriver has a translucent yellow handle. The penlight is black.”

Johnny stared at Nadia. “Why does he carry a screwdriver and a flashlight?”

“I don’t know. It’s worse than that. He can only sleep if they’re under his pillow.”

“You never told me that.”

“I didn’t know myself until I found them there one Saturday morning. He was eating breakfast. I was stripping the bed. I never noticed them when I met him in Ukraine last year. But then, we were on the run from some determined people who thought we had something very valuable. I was more concerned about our lives than his possessions.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

“Of course. He said he doesn’t want to talk about it, but then, he doesn’t like to talk much about anything. That’s why I’m so worried about him. I know it sounds nuts, but I’m concerned how he’ll get through the night without the screwdriver and flashlight.”

“He’s a tough kid. He’s been through worse and then some, right?”

“That’s for sure.”

“There’s something else.”

“What?”

“He was wearing only one shoe when he turned himself in.”

“That’s strange. He wears high top basketball shoes. Laced tight. He’s obsessed with protecting his ankles. For hockey. How could you lose a high top that’s laced to the top?”

“You couldn’t. You’d have to unlace it and take it off on purpose.”

“Why would he have done that?”

“Who knows? He must have had a reason. Has he been acting different lately?”

“In what way?”

“In any way. He seem preoccupied? Like something’s worrying him?”

Nadia thought about the question. “No. Not that I could see. But the truth is I only spend time with him on the weekends, mostly Sunday. Between my work, his schoolwork, his commute, and hockey—that reminds me. Robert Seelick called. He saw Lauren Ross today. She’s in Kotzebue. And someone called me on my cell from a hotel in Kotzebue but didn’t leave a message. Had to be her.”

Johnny’s eyes widened.

“It’s okay. She was just fishing. She doesn’t know anything. He said she’s going home tomorrow. I liked her when we met at one of Bobby’s hockey games last year. I told her I’d give her an exclusive in June. It’s only April. She couldn’t wait. Had to start nosing around at what turns out to be the worst possible time. When Bobby’s been arrested. I wish she’d stuck to her word.” Nadia looked around to make sure no one could hear them. “Will Bobby’s story hold up through this?”

“He’s got a valid birth certificate, and now a driver’s license, too, right?”

“Right.”

“The district attorney’s worried about the crime. He’s not going to go digging that deep into a suspect’s past for no reason. He’s too busy. The criminal justice system is overloaded. I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“No?”

“No. Trust me. Whatever else happens, no one is going to find out who this kid really is.”

BOBBY ENTERED THE courtroom from a side door. His arms dangled in front of him, wrists cuffed. He wore a red t-shirt and jeans. Long black hair covered his ears.

A sheriff guided him toward a table facing the judge. Nadia stood up. Bobby’s eyes fell on hers. Nadia smiled. She’d prepared for this moment since waking up. She nodded and channeled all the positive energy she could muster. Bobby’s expression remained blank. He gave her nothing. No hint of recognition. No acknowledgement of her presence. Instead, he continued scanning the courtroom as though hers was another face in the crowd. He took his place beside Johnny and turned toward the judge.

Nadia sat down. Someone was speaking. She knew she should be listening but she couldn’t shake Adam’s blank stare. An eerie sensation gripped her. She’d lost her connection to him. And now, in this courtroom with this murder charge, Nadia wondered if she’d ever really known Adam. No, no, she reminded herself. He was no longer Adam. She’d forbidden herself to use his real name. That’s how mistakes happened. That’s how the wrong name got blurted out to the wrong person. He was Bobby. Now and forever, no matter what else happened, he had to remain Bobby.

“Docket number 12728. People vs. Aagayuk Kungenook.”

Inupiaq choose an Anglo name based on someone they admire. Adam had chosen his Anglo name after meeting his uncle in Kotzebue. His uncle Robert had provided him with his false identity, and Adam had adopted his Anglo name. Since then, everyone had called him Bobby.

“Mr. Tanner, nice to see you,” said the judge, an elegant amazon with fair skin and a firm jaw.

“And you, Your Honor,” Johnny said.

“What brings you here today?” She glanced over the bridge of her cat eye glasses.

Johnny pointed to Bobby with an open palm.

The judge glanced at Bobby and then studied the papers in front of her. “Waive the reading?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Johnny said.

The judge turned to the assistant district attorney at the desk opposite Johnny. He looked too young to be enforcing laws.

“Notices?” the judge said.

“Yes, Your Honor,” the prosecutor said. “7-10-31-A.”

Johnny’s neck snapped in his direction. The judge extended her hand. The prosecutor gave the judge and Johnny copies of his report.

The prosecutor read from the second page. “ ‘We bumped into each other accidentally on the street. We got into an argument over whose fault it was. He came at me with a knife. Luckily I managed to catch his wrist with my left hand and grab my screwdriver with my right. I couldn’t bring myself to stab him in the eye so I stabbed him in the neck instead.’ ”

“I don’t understand, Your Honor,” Johnny said. “Doesn’t sound like a confession to murder. Sounds more like a textbook application for self defense protection under Article 35.”

“Except there was no knife at the crime scene,” the assistant district attorney said. “And the state has an eyewitness who will testify the victim had no weapon. That the defendant attacked him. The eyewitness is a former police officer.”