Orest Stelmach - The Boy Who Stole from the Dead

“This is the first I’m hearing of this, Your Honor,” Johnny said. “The police must have extracted this statement before I had a chance to confer with my client.”

“The defendant waived his fifth amendment rights,” the prosecutor said.

“Because he was scared and confused,” Johnny said. “He’s barely seventeen.”

“He was calm, cool, and collected when he told his story. Ask the detectives.”

“There’s an impartial bunch.”

“That’s enough, gentlemen,” the judge said. She looked at the prosecutor. “Bail?”

“Given the severity of the charges, Your Honor, the people ask for remand.”

The judge turned to Johnny.

“Your Honor, my client has no priors,” Johnny said. “He’s a student at Fordham Prep School in the Bronx. He has an excellent academic record and he’s a star hockey player. He has strong ties to the community. His legal guardian is here today.”

Johnny glanced over his shoulder.

Nadia stood up and raised her hand. All eyes turned to her. She didn’t smile, nod, or channel positive energy. Instead, she seethed. There was no way Bobby had killed a man. In fact, there was no way he’d lifted a hand to another human being unless his life had been threatened. He wasn’t temperamental or violent, and he’d worked too hard to get to America. He was living his dream. The probability he would throw it all away in a fit of rage was zero.

“Given the severity of the charges—murder in the first degree—I’m inclined to agree with the prosecution,” the judge said. “Defendant is remanded into custody.”

The sheriff whisked Bobby out of the courtroom.

This time, Bobby didn’t even bother to look at Nadia.

NADIA BOUGHT THE Wednesday papers on the way home from the arraignment to her apartment on East 82nd Street. She feared the murder might be the cover story on either the Post or Daily News . But a prostitution ring catering to wealthy financiers and politicos had been busted in Manhattan. Speculation about the names in the madam’s black book dominated the press. Also, New York City still averaged more than five hundred homicides a year. Not every one could make the cover of the papers. And the victim wasn’t anyone particularly important or sympathetic. He was a random young businessman.

The murder was reported on the Post ’s and Daily News ’s seventh and eleventh pages respectively. Johnny had warned Nadia that sometimes reporters paid cops for a copy of a mug shot. Nadia held her breath while she turned the pages but neither paper featured one. Instead, they showed two different action shots of Bobby during a hockey game. Nadia recognized them from the Fordham Prep website. Both columns reported that Bobby had been charged with the murder and mentioned his epic race against New York Ranger star Márian Gáborik in Lasker Park during Hockey Night in Harlem last year.

The victim’s name was Jonathan Phillip Valentine. He was a thirty-two-year-old associate at a real estate development firm in Manhattan, originally from England. According to his employer’s website, he’d earned his MBA from Columbia and his undergraduate degree from the University of Nottingham. The articles referred to sources close to the investigation. They said Bobby allegedly stabbed Valentine with a screwdriver near his home in the Meatpacking District under mysterious circumstances.

Nadia wanted to discuss the entire event with Bobby in person immediately but that wasn’t possible. After his arraignment, he was taken to Rikers Island. Prisoners whose last name began with letters A-L were permitted visitors on Thursday and Sunday. Nadia would have to wait another day before she could see him.

Johnny called late Wednesday afternoon.

“The assistant district attorney called me back,” Johnny said. “Our preliminary hearing is in three weeks. If the judge thinks there’s enough evidence for the prosecution to proceed—and he will—then a grand jury will be convened. Grand juries meet only with the prosecution. They almost always indict and put the burden of proof on the defense. If they indict—and they probably will—a trial date will be set.”

“When do we get to see their evidence?”

“I filed a motion for discovery this morning. But the way this generally works, we won’t see jack until after the trial date is set. We may get dribs and drabs, but the prosecution will do everything possible to protect their witness, and give us as little chance as possible to prepare.”

“So we need to find out what happened on our own.”

“Basically.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do. When you saw him at Rikers yesterday, after he was processed, he wouldn’t talk about that night at all? Not a word?”

“Nope. Not a single word. I told him about the process, like we discussed. He listened. I told him you were putting money into his Department of Correction account so he can buy food and other stuff, and that you’d be by after work tomorrow.”

“And he said…”

“He said to tell you to forget about him. That you weren’t his guardian anymore. And that you were not to try to visit him under any circumstances.”

“I don’t know what he hoped to achieve by telling you that, when he knows me well enough to know nothing is going to stop me.”

“Maybe that’s his way of making sure you do visit him.”

“That may be the first thing I’ve heard in two days that actually makes sense.”

“You’ll find out tomorrow,” Johnny said. “How’s your business doing?”

“It’s doing okay.” After a steady stream of work since she’d opened her shop as a forensic security analyst last June, she hadn’t landed a client in three months. But she was too proud to admit it to Johnny or anyone else. “Why?”

“If I found something and the judge changed his mind and granted bail…”

“How much collateral do I have?”

“Exactly.”

“Not much,” Nadia said. “All my income goes toward expenses. With the apartment and Bobby’s tuition, I’ve used up most of my savings. But I would come up with it somehow.”

“Let’s worry about getting him out first. A couple of things I found out from the ADA.”

“What’s that?”

“The screwdriver that was used as the murder weapon?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a cheap-looking thing. He said the handle’s a see-through yellow.”

“Bobby made it himself in shop class in his prior life. That’s not the kind of news that’s going to get him bail.”

“And they found a black penlight in his pocket.”

“Like the screwdriver, it never left his possession.”

“But no shoe.”

“No shoe.”

“The question is why he kept those things on him at all times.”

“No, that’s not the question, Johnny.” Nadia shivered. “The question is how he made it through a night in prison without them.”

LAUREN GLANCED OUT the window. From the air, the storage and processing plants of the Red Dog Mine resembled the American flag. Long red buildings stretched horizontally, while a cluster of smaller blue ones filled a corner. The mine itself was an open pit. It looked like an amphitheater being carved out of the ground. A dedicated fifty-five mile asphalt road connected the mine to port and barge operations on the Chukchi Sea.