The Boy Who Stole from the Dead

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.”

The sheriff whisked Bobby out of the courtroom.

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