The Boy Who Stole from the Dead

CHAPTER 49

LAUREN DEBATED WHETHER to approach Johnny Tanner or Iryna first.

She considered Johnny. Her odds of coaxing the truth about Bobby’s background from his lawyer were zero. The probability she’d get him to slip up about Nadia Tesla’s current location was no better. The man was a defense attorney. Confidentiality defined his livelihood. He woke up suspicious. He distrusted authority and people who asked questions. Attempts to trick him would be a waste of time or worse. They could jeopardize her life. She didn’t know who Victor Bodnar was but her gut told her he and his twin protégés were dangerous men. Johnny Tanner had spoken to him as though he knew him. The risks of approaching him outweighed the benefits.

Lauren imagined paying a visit to Bobby’s girlfriend, Iryna, at the bakery in Brighton Beach where she worked. She’d studied the girl’s Facebook page. A classic beauty. Not too Slavic the way some Russian girls looked, with sunken faces and narrow eyes. She looked like the innocent type who loved to bake cupcakes and watch hockey. Pictures lied, though. And girls lied. Lauren wondered about her real personality, her true motives. She had a genuine hankering to find out, except her gut told her that was a waste of time, too. At the first mention of Bobby or Nadia, Iryna would clam up right away. To earn the girl’s trust, Lauren would have to pose as a person of authority. Like a cop. And she was still rational enough to realize that was more likely to land her in jail than glean any information.

She was also concerned that Victor Bodnar had dropped the girl’s name. It was as though he was encouraging Lauren to go see her, which told Lauren she should do otherwise. It didn’t smell right. She had an eerie sense he was trying to manipulate her.

The answer was neither. She shouldn’t approach the lawyer or the girlfriend. Both visits were losing propositions. There simply had to be a better plan of action. There had to be a more promising source of information.

A mother, Lauren thought. A mother was the best source of information about anyone.

Lauren found the address in the White Pages. She drove 120 miles to a small town in central Connecticut called Rocky Hill. She pulled into an old condominium complex in the late afternoon. Parked in a small lot across the street from a corner unit.

She rang the doorbell. The curtain over the front door window parted. Lauren felt a person’s eyes upon her. The front door cracked open. A chain prevented it from swinging wider.

An elegant woman with short gray hair opened the door. Lauren recognized the family resemblance.

“Mrs. Tesla?” Lauren said.

“Yes?”

“Nadia’s mother?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Lauren Ross. Nadia’s friend from New York. I’m sure she’s mentioned me to you.”

“How could she mention you to me when she never calls me? You’d think a daughter would call her mother at least once a week.”

“Well, she’s been busy. What with the trial and all.” Lauren lowered her voice. “I know the boy’s story. I know he’s from Ukraine and he got into the country through Alaska. I know about Bobby.”

“You know about Adam?”

Lauren hesitated. “Yes. I know all about Adam.”

Nadia’s mother frowned. Gave Lauren a once-over. By the time she was done she was glaring. She’d blown it, Lauren thought. The hesitation had cost her.

“I don’t know who or what you’re talking about,” Nadia’s mother said. “Good night.” She swung the door shut. A bolt slid into place. A door chain rattled home.

Lauren returned to her car.

Adam, she thought. Bobby Kungenook was the boy’s alias. His real name was Adam. Forty minutes and thirty-two miles later a question occurred to Lauren at a rest stop on the Merritt Parkway.

What were the odds his last name was Tesla?