Chilling Effect (23 page)

down and walked away while she yammered to no one.

“I’m meeting Boom here, actually. He needs my help with some

top secret woodworking project.” Joe shoved his hands in his jean’s pockets and winced.

“Who has top secret woodworking projects?”

He shrugged and dug the keys out of his pocket. “Boom, I

guess. Hey, can you throw these in your purse until I get back? Th is is the world’s worst keychain. It weighs a ton and it’s so bulky.”

She tossed them into her bag. Th ey landed with a thud.

“Sure. You don’t need the car?”

“Whatever we’re doing, Boom said it’s just down the street.”

She swiveled her neck and looked both directions. Th e street

where the police station was located wasn’t exactly densely populated.

To the left, there was nothing at all. To the right, about two football fi elds away, there was a small ramshackle building that may have

been a double-wide trailer up on blocks—it wasn’t clear from that

distance. It was, however, clear that the street followed the general aesthetic rule she’d noticed on the reservation: the closer something was to the casino and resort, the more likely it was to be presentable.

Th e grounds and buildings that made up the sprawling casino

complex, for instance, were as well manicured and ostentatious as

anything she’d seen in Las Vegas; areas in the immediate vicinity of the casino were also impeccable and well cared for. But as they’d

ventured farther and farther away from the casino, it seemed almost as though the casino’s gravitational pull weakened. Th e standards

slipped little by little until, within a mile and a half of the casino’s gold-leaf etchings and indoor tropical garden, the men and women

who worked there lived in relative squalor. Beyond their creaky,

run-down homes, their neighbors who weren’t lucky enough to have

183

MELISSA F. MILLER

a guaranteed paycheck and benefi ts lived in abject poverty. Dirt

fl oors, trash bags over broken windows, cracked sidewalks sprouting weeds taller than Aroostine littered the portions of the reservation where white tourists would never wander.

It was the way of a capitalist society, no diff erent than any other resort destination that catered to those who had income to dispose

of. She remembered when she was in college and her adoptive par-

ents took a thirtieth anniversary trip to Maui. Th ey’d returned from Hawaii struck by both the expansive beauty of the island and the

harsh economic inequity. Th ey’d explained that the islanders who

worked at the oceanside resorts lining the white-sand beaches couldn’t aff ord to live in paradise, so they commuted two, three, four hours from the rainy mountains, where they lived in shacks and huts hidden from sight on the road to Hana. But the isolated poverty of the Chinook who called White Springs home struck her as starker and

crueler, somehow. Th e giant money-making machine at the heart of

their home was run by their own blood, ostensibly for their benefi t.

Lost in her musing, she didn’t notice that Boom had material-

ized on the sidewalk next to them until he spoke.

“Good morning. Did you both sleep well?”

Th e question jarred her back to everyday life.

“Fine, thanks. I hear you’re borrowing my husband this morning?”

“Yes, he’s graciously agreed to help me with a project over at

the cultural board’s offi ces.” Boom pointed toward the dilapidated house off to the right.

“Th ose are your offi ces?”

His face clouded for a moment, but the shadow passed quickly.

“For now, but not for long. Before he broke ground on construc-

tion, Lee had promised us space in the administrative wing of the

casino, but somehow he never got around to dedicating a spot for

us. I’ve already begun making arrangements to move the offi ce

184

CHILLING EFFECT

up there after the powwow. It’s a much more fi tting space, in any

event. I don’t know if you happened to see the permanent exhibit of Chinook artifacts and historical documents on display in the main

hall when you had dinner?”

“I’m afraid we missed it.”

“Well, we curate that. And we could do so much more—educa-

tional programs, tours, performances—if we were located up there.

Th is will be a good step for us.”

It sounded like a positive development, but his mention of the

powwow reminded her about their earlier conversation.

“On a tangential note, Boom, I want to make sure you under-

stood what I was saying this morning. Th ere’s really no way to try Lee Buckmount before the weekend. It’s just not doable.”

“Oh but it is doable, as you say. I spoke today to the chief judge, Carole Orr. She said she will hear your case on Friday.”

“On
Friday?

F

As in tomorr

riday?

F

ow? Th at Friday; I mean
this
Friday?”

Aroostine was sure she looked like a fi sh gasping for air.

Boom smiled. “Of course.”

“Where is this Judge Orr? I need to talk to her.”

Another implacable smile. “Indeed. She’s inside. Gordon Lane

is on his way. She’ll see you both when he arrives. Come with me,

Joe.” Boom beckoned for Joe to follow him and began walking

toward the cultural board’s offi ce.

Joe stopped long enough to shoot her a sympathetic, if bewil-

dered, look. “You’re a rockstar, Roo, you can handle this,” he assured.

He kissed the top of her head and traipsed after Boom.

She stood and watched them walk away, gasping as though

someone had punched her in the gut. After several deep inhalations, she exhaled slowly, satisfi ed that she wasn’t actually going to vomit.

Th en she mounted the rickety stairs to the police station and tried to ignore the sound of her blood pounding in her ears.

185

MELISSA F. MILLER

It was simply unreasonable to expect her to put together a case

in one day. No, not unreasonable—impossible. Th is Judge Orr,

whoever she was, couldn’t be serious. Could she?

“Aroostine,” a voice called from behind her.

She turned. Gordon Lane was trotting toward her. He aimed

his key fob at his sedan without turning back and locked the doors.

She stopped and waited for him.

Gordon would understand.
Her breathing regulated. Of course.

She

Sh
w

e

Sh
asn’t going to have to convince Judge Orr of anything. Gordon would do it. He had the better argument—his client’s constitutional right to a fair trial would be grossly impaired if he only had a single day to mount his defense.

“Good morning, Gordon. Does the practice of law look sunnier

to you this morning?” she asked, remembering his morose words

the night before.

He craned his neck and turned his face upward as though he

were just noticing the sun for the fi rst time. Th en he met her eyes.

“Not really. Shall we?” He pulled open the streaked glass door and

ushered her inside ahead of him.

She waved a hello to the offi cer on desk duty.

“How’d your guest sleep last night?”

Th e young man rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

“Mr. Buckmount was cold during the night. And he needed

to use the facilities. He found the chair to be uncomfortable, so

he moved to the fl oor. But the carpet was scratchy. He woke up

crankier than my three-year-old and called my coff ee ‘swill.’”

“Sounds delightful.”

“Ms. Higgins, whatever you do, please get him out of here

before bedtime. I’m doing another split shift, and I don’t think I can make it through another overnight with that prisoner.”

She turned to Gordon. “Th e off er still stands. Do you think you

can sell him on house arrest now?”

186

CHILLING EFFECT

“Sounds like if I can’t, I might want to give up this whole oral

advocacy gig.” He straightened his muted silk tie and squared his

shoulders. “Let’s go see him.”

Th ey followed the offi cer along the hallway. He unlocked the

door to the conference room that had served as Buckmount’s sleep-

ing acommodation, and then scurried back to the front desk before

his ill-tempered prisoner could accost him. She followed Gordon

into the room.

Buckmount looked like a man who’d started the night sleeping

in a chair and ended it sleeping on the fl oor. His hair was wild, his eyes were bloodshot, and his clothes were rumpled. He was a far cry from the polished, gun-toting businessman who’d been dragging

Ruby around at the side of the highway.

“Lee,” his lawyer said, imbuing the single syllable with empathy,

concern, and just a hint of parental disapproval.

Buckmount glared up at him and then focused on Aroostine,

who was hanging back to let Gordon take the lead with his client.

“I’ll take it—house arrest. Get me out of this hellhole.”

“All the conditions I outlined yesterday are still in play, Mr.

Buckmount. An offi cer posted on your dime, surrendering your

passport, the—”

“I remember the conditions. Just make it happen.”

She arched a brow at Gordon as if to say, “rein in your client.”

“Lee, Ms. Higgins is going to want to get this agreement papered.

You can’t just waltz out of here on a handshake. I understand you’re in need of a decent cup of coff ee. If you can just hang in there for another hour or two, I’ll get you home and have my assistant meet

us with Peet’s.”

She turned away. Gordon was doing what any good lawyer

would do—making his client receptive to his advice, but the way

he was coddling and indulging a killer turned her stomach. If she

thought too long about Buckmount sipping a dark roast in the

187

MELISSA F. MILLER

comfort of his home while Cathy Palmer was mourning the loss of

her only child, her anger would bubble over.

“Fine.”

Gordon turned to Aroostine with a triumphant grin. “We’ve

got a deal.”

“Great. I’ll fi nd a place to plug in my laptop and get an agree-

ment drafted. I’ll leave you gentlemen to talk, but before I do, may I have a word with you, Gordon?”

He patted Buckmount on the forearm and joined Aroostine near

the door. Th ey stood with their backs to Buckmount, and she spoke

in a low voice.

“In case Judge Orr gets here while I am busy with the agreement,

I wanted to give you a head’s up on something,” she said.

“Oh? She’s coming here today?”

“Yes. Somehow, she seems to have gotten the notion that we can

schedule a trial for tomorrow.” She laughed. “I assure you, the idea didn’t come from me. I wouldn’t hamstring my opponent in that

way. I’ll be amenable to any postponement you suggest—within

reason, of course.”

She expected Gordon to join in her laughter. Instead, he

scratched his chin, and his eyes turned contemplative, as if he were lost in thought, already planning his opening statement.

“Tomorrow, you say?”

Her earlier panic returned.
Is ev

I

er

s ev yone in this to

y

wn insane?

one in this to

she

screamed silently.

“Surely you can’t be ready by then?” She managed to get the

sentence out with only the barest tremor in her voice.

“Well, let’s see now. Lee,” he called across the room to his client,

“do you want to go to trial tomorrow and put this mess behind you?”

Buckmount folded his upper lip under his lower lip and consid-

ered the request, shifting his head from side to side as he thought.

“Who’s the judge?”

188

CHILLING EFFECT

“Judge Orr.”

“Sure. Why not? Better to get it over with, don’t you think?”

Buckmount said.

His lawyer nodded. “I do think so.”

Aroostine felt her brow furrowing and smoothed her expres-

sion. As a little girl, she’d loved
Alice

A

in Wonder

in W

land

onder

, and no

land

w she

fi nally knew what it felt like to go through the looking glass. She cleared her throat.

“Well, then, that’s great news,” she lied.

Gordon regarded her with faint amusement.

“I’m sure. I’ll bet you’ll be glad to get back East sooner rather

than later.”

“Defi nitely,” Aroostine agreed.

She was about to excuse herself when a fi rm rap sounded on

the door. It swung inward and Chief Johnson appeared in the door-

way. He nodded in greeting to Aroostine and Gordon and ignored

Buckmount.

“Excuse me, folks. Don’t mean to interrupt, but Judge Orr’s

here. She’d like a word.”

189

Chief Johnson led Aroostine, Gordon, and Buckmount through

the building and out the back door to a small yard that was overrun with tall wildfl owers. Bees hovered in the clover, and butterfl ies fl itted through the long grass. In the corner, under a tree, sat a rough-hewn round table with two semi-circular benches.

Aroostine fi gured it was a popular lunch spot for the police

and their offi ce staff . At the moment, though, it was occupied. Th e woman seated at the table stood when they approached. Aroostine

would have pegged her as a judge if she’d have met her on the street.

She was very tall and slim—taller even than Aroostine—and had the

most regal, erect bearing imaginable. Her shoulders were back, and

her chin jutted forward. Her long silver hair fl owed in waves down her back. Her face was a map of lines that hinted at hard-earned