THEN
The trial of Shane Nelson for the murder of Courtney Carey began on August 5, 1997. DJ had begged to be allowed to attend, and, eventually, he had worn his parents down. It was school holidays, so he didn’t have to miss any classes. And he would be thirteen soon. He was old enough to look into the face of his sister’s killer.
Shane Nelson sat in the prisoner’s box, appearing strangely complacent, almost amused, as a parade of witnesses testified against him. For weeks, his friends and colleagues had affirmed that he was violent, a sexual deviant, that they had seen him do cruel and inhuman things. The prosecution called the hiker who had found Courtney’s broken and battered body, the coroner who had performed the autopsy, a psychiatrist, and a string of detectives and inspectors who had found Courtney’s hair in Nelson’s car, his DNA under her fingernails. (DJ learned that his sister had been douched with a bleach solution. No semen was found.) Through it all, Nelson remained unperturbed. Why wasn’t he worried? Why wasn’t he afraid?
It wasn’t until Neil Givens called Amber Kunik to the stand that DJ saw Nelson’s composure falter. The defendant’s face darkened with repressed rage. Or maybe it was fear? As Amber entered the courtroom, Nelson turned toward her, revealing his profile. DJ watched the prisoner, analyzing his expression. It was pure, unadulterated hatred.
The courtroom was packed that day, everyone desperate to get a glimpse of the prosecution’s star witness. Spectators had lined up for hours to obtain one of the 119 seats in the gallery. At least a hundred people had been turned away. The media had latched onto Amber Kunik ever since her identity had been revealed, and they had created a narrative: a pretty but damaged girl fallen under the spell of a sadistic Svengali.
She was calm and composed as she made her way to the witness box, demure in a skirt and blouse, her shiny dark hair pulled back from her face. When she was sworn in, her voice was soft, girlish, innocent. . . . As Amber Kunik took her seat, a hush fell over the proceedings. DJ had glimpsed her on TV, seen photos in the newspaper, but they hadn’t prepared him to see her in the flesh. In this drab setting, surrounded by these grim, middle-aged faces, she looked delicate and beautiful.
Before Prosecutor Givens could present his case, the judge addressed the four women and eight men who comprised the jury. He was an older man with a long, rectangular face that made DJ think of Frankenstein’s monster.
“This witness has entered into a plea bargain with the prosecution in exchange for her testimony against Mr. Nelson,” Justice Calder said, in a sonorous voice appropriate to his visage. “Under circumstances like these, witnesses often minimize their own role in the execution of the crimes.”
The jury nodded that they understood, but they couldn’t keep their eyes off Amber Kunik. No one could, not for long anyway.
Neil Givens began by establishing the witness’s relationship to the man on trial. Shane and Amber had dated for almost two years, had lived together for fourteen months. The lawyer’s tone was gentle, coaxing. Amber seemed so young, so fragile, like she might shatter under any kind of overt pressure. The prosecutor nudged Amber to tell her story.
“Shane wanted a girl,” Amber said, in her childlike voice. “I had to help him find one.”
“Did Shane tell you why he wanted a girl?”
“He wanted to have sex with her,” Amber said. “And he wanted me to have sex with her while he watched.”
A low murmur emanated from the spectators. The judge silenced them with a look.
“And where did you find Courtney Carey?” the prosecutor continued.
“She was at the Dairy Queen. She was alone, and she seemed kind of upset.”
DJ felt his father tense, on his left. On his right, his mother vibrated with repressed emotion.
“I think she was having a Blizzard,” Amber said. “That’s how I started talking to her. She was having an Oreo Blizzard and that’s my favorite kind, too.”
“And mine,” the prosecutor said. The gallery chuckled and Amber smiled. DJ wanted to punch Neil Givens for joking with this girl, to scream at the audience for laughing. His sister’s murder was not fucking funny.
“I invited her to come smoke a joint with Shane and me,” Amber recounted. “She seemed really excited to get stoned. And she liked me, I could tell. She trusted me.”
His mom covered her mouth to muffle her sobs. DJ rubbed her back ineffectually. His dad remained still, but a muscle in his jaw twitched.
“How did you and Mr. Nelson get Courtney back to your house?” Neil Givens asked.
“Well, we all smoked up together in Shane’s truck, and then Shane said we should have some drinks. Courtney said she liked wine coolers, and that’s also what I like to drink. We had that in common . . . like the Oreo Blizzards.”
She sounded like a kid, even though she was twenty.
“So, we bought some peach-flavored coolers, and a bottle of Jack for Shane, and then he drove us back to our house.”
“And what happened when you got there?”
Amber’s eyes flitted toward DJ and his family. They may have connected, briefly, with his mother’s, but they promptly returned to the prosecutor. “Shane gave me some pills. I think they were Valium. I crushed them up and put them in Courtney’s drink.”
“And then?”
“Courtney got really tired and she puked a bit. I told her she could lie down on the sofa. I put a blanket on her and she fell asleep.”
“And what did you and Shane do while she slept?”
“I performed oral sex on her while Shane watched.”
DJ and his parents were too stunned to react, but the gallery erupted in a chorus of gasps and whispers. It was less the content than the blasé tone of voice that had set them off. Amber didn’t sound like a kid anymore, she sounded clinical and detached. She sounded heartless. Judge Calder banged his gavel, trying to quell the whispers of outrage, the murmurs of disgust.
“Order!” he boomed. “Any spectators who can’t remain quiet will be removed!”
This got the crowd to settle. No one wanted to miss what came next. When calm had been restored, Neil Givens continued his questioning.
“Why did you perform that sex act on Courtney Carey?”
“I had to. Shane would beat me if I didn’t do what he wanted.”
“Did Mr. Nelson abuse you in other ways?”
Amber Kunik’s eyes filled with tears and her voice trembled. She had become that vulnerable little girl again. “He would yell at me and call me horrible names. He said I was worthless, that I came from trash. He enjoyed hurting me. He enjoyed humiliating me. I was living in hell.”
DJ watched Shane Nelson scribble a note and slide it along the table to his lawyer. The defense counsel, Martin Bannerman, was thick and beefy, with the flat-faced look of a former boxer. Bannerman’s expression was aggressive, his posture tense, like at any moment he was going to spring out of his chair and object. But he didn’t. He remained seated, mute, glancing at the scribbles his client presented to him, listening to Nelson’s murmured comments.
The prosecutor continued, in the same gentle, coaxing manner. “And what did you witness Mr. Nelson doing to Miss Carey?”
That matter-of-factness returned to Amber’s tone as she described Nelson’s vile and repugnant actions. DJ could feel his mother trembling beside him; his dad reached across him to squeeze her hand. DJ wanted to take his mom’s free hand and drag her out of the courtroom. He wanted to stand up and yell at this pretty girl to stop saying these violent, obscene things in her nonchalant, almost bored voice. But if he disrupted the courtroom, he wouldn’t be allowed back in. And he had to be there.
“And then, I guess Shane got bored of her.” Amber looked down, and her voice softened. “He said we had to get rid of her.”
“Bullshit!” Nelson blurted.
The gallery dared to whisper after this outburst. A strangled noise escaped from DJ’s father’s throat, while his mother shivered in silence.
Judge Calder looked down on the witness. “Would you like to take a break?”
“I’m fine,” the girl said, bestowing on him a grateful smile. And she was fine. Amber Kunik was completely comfortable relaying the horrifying details of DJ’s sister’s torture, rape, and murder. She only sounded small and broken when she talked about her own abuse.
But the judge looked at DJ, at his mother and father. They were not fine. They were not fine at all. He banged his gavel.
“We’ll recess for today.”