Page 60 of True North
He couldn’t see any way out. Adeola had pulled the police report and told him it was his word against Kirill’s, and Misha had ruined his credibility by fleeing. If Kirill told the truth now, he could be charged with making a false statement to the police. Adeola seemed to think there would be some way around that, but Misha didn’t have much hope. He and Kirill had fucked a few times, but they weren’t ever friends, really, and Kirill didn’t owe him anything. Why would he risk his own life to try to salvage Misha’s? He wouldn’t, was the answer. Misha was out of options.
He hadn’t even gotten a chance to explain himself to JT in person. JT hadn’t been given permission to visit since he wasn’t family. So that was that, probably. This handful of perfect summer weeks with JT was all he would ever have. After today, he might never see JT again.
His wandering attention was recaptured when JT rose and approached the bench. The judge, an older guy with an impressive crown of white hair, leaned forward with his hands folded. “Your name?”
“Jonathan Howlett. Your Honor, I know Mi—Mikhail has been accused of a serious crime. I’m still hoping you’ll grant his release. He didn’t arrive here in the Sault under the best of circumstances, but he’s started making a life for himself here, and I think detaining him until trial will isolate him again and do more harm than good.”
“Tell me more about his activities here in town,” the judge said.
JT nodded. “Well, he’s living at my house, for one thing, so I can keep a pretty close eye on him.” He flashed a smile that Misha found unbearably charming. “He’s got a job now washing dishes at Gianni’s, you know, out on Second Line. He’s taking English lessons with a woman who teaches Russian at St. Mary’s. And he’s been spending time with the local shifters, going to their meetings and cookouts and whatnot. Lenny—Lenny Halpert—he’s a shifter, too, he’s—”
“I’m familiar with him,” the judge said.
“Okay, well, he actually came to the police station with me the night Mikhail was arrested.”
“I see.” The judge raised his eyebrows. “And what’s to stop Mr. Kozlov from simply turning into a bear and vanishing into the woods again?”
The judge, Adeola had told Misha, was a huge hockey fan and definitely knew who JT was. The question was whether he would let that familiarity bias him in favor of JT’s request or deliberately harden himself to avoid any appearance of favoritism.
JT turned to look at Misha. Their eyes met. Misha could feel himself bubbling over with everything he felt for JT, and he hoped both that JT could read it on his face and that JT was totally oblivious.
JT cleared his throat. “I can’t say with certainty that he won’t do that. There’s always a risk that I’m wrong and he’ll betray my trust and leave. But I don’t think he will. I think he’ll do the right thing and stay here until we can get his name cleared.”
“I see.” The judge glanced down at something on his bench. “Thank you, Mr. Howlett.”
JT returned to his seat. Misha watched him for a minute, at the way the morning sunlight streaming through the windows highlighted the lines of his face. Then he redirected his gaze to the surface of the table in front of him. All of this would be over soon, and then he would know, one way or another.
People said various things. Misha couldn’t force himself to pay attention. He hadn’t been sleeping well, and the rapid English, full of legal jargon, slid across the surface of his tired brain and disappeared like a fish sinking into deeper water. When Adeola touched his elbow and whispered, “Sit up straight,” he obediently fixed his posture and did his best to look alert.
The judge was looking through paperwork, a focused frown on his face. “Ms. Oyeyemi, you make a good point about the research on the harms of remand, and it’s true that there’s no physical evidence to contradict self-defense. Between that and Mr. Howlett’s testimony, I’m willing to release Mr. Kozlov on the following conditions.”
Misha’s body went still, his breath trapped in his lungs. Release?
“One, he remains in the vicinity until his trial. No leaving Algoma. Two, he reports to the police station every Monday morning. Three, he deposits his passport.”
“I believe his passport is being held in Toronto,” Adeola said.
The judge waved his hand. “Fine. They can keep it, then. Any objections?”
“None. Thank you, Your Honor.”
He rose to his feet. “All right. Dismissed.”
Adeola maintained her expression of stony professionalism until the judge had left the room. Then she turned to Misha, beaming. “Success! You’ll sleep in your own bed tonight.”
Misha covered his eyes with his hands, pressing his fingers against his closed lids. His face was hot and his eyes stung. To his absolute mortification, but unable to stop himself, he began to weep.
* * *
Misha was waiting in the lobby of the police station when JT arrived, holding a sealed plastic bag with his phone and earbuds in it and wearing the same clothes he’d been dressed in when he was arrested. JT’s heart jumped to see him sitting there beside a bored officer, looking mostly like himself again. He couldn’t suppress a goofy smile as he said, “You ready to get out of here?”
Misha wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, fine.”
Okay. JT swallowed down his disappointment. Misha was having a shitty week, just about the worst week imaginable. He was probably feeling a lot of different things and didn’t necessarily share JT’s uncomplicated relief. He would be happier once they were home. JT would give him some space and let him settle in again.
They drove west out of town in silence. Misha slumped with his head against the window, his eyes closed. He might have been asleep, for all JT knew. He didn’t stir until JT turned onto the road that ran along the lakefront, at which point he sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“You slept a little?” JT asked.