The Boy Who Stole From the Dead

by Orest Stelmach

  “Yes. We understand each other.”

  “All right then,” Robert Sr. said.

  He drove back to the Bayside Inn. Lauren’s feet kissed the pavement before Robert Sr. could apply the brakes. She held the door and glared inside.

  “You point a gun at me? You threaten me? And you think you’re going to get away with it? I’m going to have a camera crew down here tomorrow. I’m going to make you national news. But first I’m going to go inside, make one phone call, and have you both arrested.”

  “For what?” Robert Sr. said. “You came looking for us. You told the mayor you were looking for someone who could tell you about the Kungenooks. We took you ice fishing as a friendly gesture. Then we drove you home. You think something else happened?”

  “Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?”

  “It’s your word against ours.”

  “Exactly.”

  Robert Sr. shrugged. “All right then. Make sure you spell my name right.” He unzipped his parka to reveal an olive shirt. It boasted a pair of gold stripes on each collar and a gold Kotzebue police badge with a turquoise centerpiece. “That’s Captain Seelick,” he said. “With a C.”

  When Lauren got back to the room it was 6:35 p.m. She poured herself a Scotch from the flask in her suitcase and knocked it back with a trembling hand. She decided to keep the day’s events and her discoveries to herself. She didn’t want to get scooped by anyone at the sports station, or heaven forbid, one of the news networks. Besides, she had a lead now. Seelick had referred to Bobby’s guardian as “she.” Lauren had never told him the guardian was a woman. Seelick knew Nadia Tesla.

  It was 10:35 p.m. in New York. Too late to call. Lauren pulled up the contacts on her cell phone and dialed Nadia Tesla’s number on the landline anyway. Nadia had agreed to give Lauren an exclusive if she waited until June. It was only April. Waiting, however, was not one of Lauren’s virtues. Perhaps if she saw the 907 area code she’d answer, Lauren thought.

  The call rolled to voice mail. Lauren hung up and called her assistant. Laughter echoed and glasses clinked in the background. Her assistant sounded excited.

  “Have you heard the news?” she said.

  “What news?” Lauren said.

  “Bobby Kungenook was arrested two hours ago.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “No. Isn’t it awesome?”

  “What’s the charge?”

  The word rolled off her assistant’s lips in a husky whisper. “Murder.”

  CHAPTER 2

  NADIA TESLA KEPT her eyes glued to the elevator of New York City’s Sixth Precinct Police Station in Greenwich Village. When a man in a checkered sports jacket emerged and locked eyes with her, Nadia sprang from her seat near the front desk. His hair was the color of coffee but his moustache was gray. He held a clipboard in his hands. He introduced himself as Gregson, the detective who’d called to tell her Bobby had been arrested.

  “How’s Bobby?” Nadia said.

  “He’s fine.”

  “Is he hurt?”

  “No. He’s fine.”

  “I want to see him.”

  “You can see him in criminal court when he’s arraigned.”

  “When will that be?”

  “Probably tomorrow. Eighteen to twenty-four hours in most cases.”

  “Tomorrow? That’s unacceptable. I’m Bobby’s legal guardian. I demand to see him now.”

  “You can’t. Bobby’s in police custody.”

  “I have a right to see him.”

  “No, ma’am. Actually, you don’t.”

  “He’s seventeen, for God’s sake. He’s a minor. I must have a right to see him.”

  “If he was sixteen or under, you’d have a right to see him. But he’s not. You’ll be able to see him at arraignment.”

  “That’s unbelievable.” Nadia studied Gregson. She forced a smile. “Look, the police must have discretion in cases like this, right? Can’t you let me see him for a minute?”

  Gregson shook his head.

  “What if you were in the room with me the whole time?”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “So I can see he’s okay. So he can see that I’m here.”

  “Your boy is being charged as an adult.”

  “He’s actually going to be charged? This can’t be happening. This must some sort of misunderstanding.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “What makes you think he did this thing? What evidence do you have?”

  “I can’t discuss that with you, ma’am.”

  “He must be scared to death. You have children, Detective?”

  “Yeah, but not in police custody on a murder charge.”

  “Who did he supposedly—Who’s the victim?”

  Gregson shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  The station doors swung open. Johnny Tanner burst inside. His golden ponytail shone against his black pinstripe suit. As a man, he was too crude and too much a showman for Nadia’s tastes. As a friend, he was too thoughtful and reliable for her to live without.

  “They won’t let me see him,” Nadia said.

  “Why not?” Johnny said.

  Nadia looked at Gregson. “This is Bobby’s attorney.”

  “I want to see my client,” Johnny said. “Now.”

  “The suspect hasn’t asked to speak with an attorney.”

  “I don’t care what he did or didn’t ask for. I’m his attorney. Take me to him now, or those reporters out front—I saw the Post and the Daily News out there—they’re going to hear about how the NYPD denies minors their constitutional rights. Have you seen this kid skate on YouTube? He’s got a following, you know.”

  Gregson considered Johnny’s comment. “Can I speak to you in private?”

  Johnny put his hand on Nadia’s shoulder. Her pulse slowed.

  “Wait here,” he said. “And don’t worry. I’m here now.”

  Johnny and Gregson spoke for a moment and disappeared into the elevator. Nadia paced. A uniformed cop behind the front desk spoke quietly on the phone. Two men in plain clothes sat at their desks working. The rest of the workstations were empty.

  The depth of her fear for Bobby surprised Nadia. It shouldn’t have. He was her cousin, not her son, and she’d only known him for a year. But they’d shared a harrowing journey when she’d helped him escape from Chornobyl to New York. The experience had created a bond of such depth that here, in the police station, she wished she could swap places with him. For he was all she had, just as she was all he had.

  Johnny returned ten minutes later. Too soon, Nadia thought. He was back too soon.

  “Did you see him?” Nadia said.

  “For a minute.”

  “And?”

  “He looks okay. But he wouldn’t talk to me.”

  “What do you mean he wouldn’t talk to you?”

  “Gregson asked him if he wanted his attorney present. Bobby said no. He didn’t want me present.”

  “He said that?”

  Johnny sighed.

  “That doesn’t make any sense. He knows you. Maybe he was scared because Gregson was in the room. Why couldn’t you demand to speak with him alone?”

  “Because it’s his fifth amendment right to request counsel during police interrogation. But he waived that right with me in the room.”

  “This is insane.”

  “Have you had dinner yet?” Johnny nudged her toward the exit. “Let’s go find a diner.”

  Nadia didn’t budge. “I’m not leaving him here alone.”

  “Nadia.”

  “I’m not.”

  “They’re going to take him to Central Booking at Centre Street. He’s going to get fingerprinted and interviewed by CJA—the Criminal Justice Agency. They make recommendations to the judge on ba
il. He’ll spend the night there. He’ll be arraigned tomorrow. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

  Nadia lowered her voice. “Johnny, he’s got issues.”

  “He’s allowed three free local phone calls. He used one of them. And no, I have no idea who he called. But he has two calls left. I left my card on the table in front of him. If there’s an emergency, he can call either of us.”

  They dodged a pair of reporters and took a cab to the Manatus Diner on Bleecker. They sat in a private booth. Johnny asked for a beer. When Nadia didn’t join him he changed his order to coffee. Johnny chose the hot open turkey sandwich. Nadia tried to order the Greek salad but succumbed to the baked ziti.

  “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.”

  CHAPTER 3

  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.”

  “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.”