Chilling Effect (24 page)

wisdom and strength. She wore soft blue jeans, a short-sleeved white shirt, boots, and a thick turquoise necklace.

“I’m Carole. And you must be Aroostine Higgins.”

CHILLING EFFECT

Th e judge extended a hand. Her skin was cool, almost papery,

but her grip was strong and sure.

“I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Th e judge squinted. Her eyes were black and bird-like—they

reminded Aroostine of a crow.

“Aroostine, eh? Sparkling Water?”

Aroostine blinked. “You speak Algonquian, Your Honor?” Th e

language of the Lenape Nation was dying. As far as she knew, there

were no fully fl uent speakers still living. Her grandfather had been one of the last.

“Please, it’s Carole. And, sadly, no. Chinook is a Penutian lan-

guage. We have two very distinct linguistic lines, the Chinook and

the Lenape. But I love languages. I try to learn a little bit everywhere I go. I was a foreign-language major many moons ago at Berkeley. I

must have changed my concentration four times—ended up graduat-

ing with degrees in Portuguese and Th ai.” She smiled at the memory.

Th is lady is sharp.

Th e judge turned toward Gordon. “Mr. Lane, it’s so nice to see

you again. How is Aurelia? And your sons?”

“Everyone is well. Th e boys are off at college. Aurelia’s enjoying the quiet. But I’m hurt that I don’t rate a fi rst name, judge.”

Her laugh was raspy and deep. “Now, Gordon, you know I have

to be just a touch more formal with the white folks. But if you’ll call me Carole instead of ‘judge,’ we can be friends here.”

Finally, she turned to Buckmount, who seemed to have shrunk

into himself somehow, as if he were a turtle.

“Lee Buckmount,” she said in a heavy tone, “what would your

mama say if she could see this?”

Buckmount ducked his head and mumbled something inau-

dible.

Th e judge waved a hand at Chief Johnson. “Take those metal

bracelets off him, Atlas.”

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MELISSA F. MILLER

Chief Johnson stammered, “Um . . . I don’t know if that’s such

a good idea, Carole.”

She cut her eyes back to Buckmount. “Lee, Atlas is going to

remove your handcuff s at my request. If you do something stupid,

it’s on your soul. You hear me?”

He bobbed his head. Th e police chief gave Aroostine a sidelong

glance as if inviting her to object but did as the judge asked. He

dangled the handcuff s from one hand.

Aroostine wasn’t stupid enough to take on a judge on her home

turf, not even a judge as unconventional as Carole Orr—or maybe,

especially not one as unconventional as her.

“Th ank you, Atlas. You can go on along and get on with your

day. I’ll take this from here,” Carole dismissed the police chief.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He walked back to the building, turning to give Buckmount the

hairy eyeball one last time before he went inside and shut the door.

Buckmount rubbed his wrists. If the gesture was designed to garner

the judge’s sympathy, he miscalculated.

After a short silence, the judge shook her head. “Oh, Lee. What

are we going to do about this?”

Aroostine was drowning in awkward uncertainty. She didn’t

know where to stand or what to say. When it became clear that

Buckmount didn’t have an answer for the judge’s question, she

cleared her throat.

“Your Hon—Carole, what is today’s meeting? Is this a hearing

or a conference or . . .” She trailed off , realizing she had no idea what the Tribal Court procedures were. Th e manual she’d been promised

had never materialized. “Do the Rules of Evidence apply to this . . .

conversation?”

Carole Orr threw back her head and had a hearty laugh at that.

Even Gordon chuckled. Aroostine’s cheeks burned.

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CHILLING EFFECT

Carole took pity on her. “I shouldn’t laugh. You have it right.

We’re having a conversation—the four of us—to decide how to

proceed with Lee’s case. Th e federal rules don’t apply. Procedure, evidence, chuck it all out the metaphorical window.”

“Oh-kay?”

Gordon spoke up. “Forgive me if you already know this, but

the various tribal courts are, well, all over the map as far as how they operate—
if
they ev

if

en operate. Th ere are some tribal courts that hew

closely to the American justice system. Th is isn’t one. I’ve had the privilege of working with Carole in the past, although not as often as I’d like. Most of my clients, even the ones who run into trouble on the local reservations—mainly in the casinos—aren’t Native American, so the Tribal Court has no jurisdiction.”

Carole was nodding along as he spoke.

He continued, “Th e White Springs Tribal Court, which consists

solely of Carole, focuses on more traditional justice. I’d say it’s more restorative justice.”

“Restorative justice?” Aroostine echoed.

“Th at’s right,” the judge said. “Sit, everyone, sit.” She spread her arms and gestured at the picnic bench.

Aroostine perched on the end next to Gordon. Buckmount

took a seat at the far end. Carole smiled and launched into her spiel.

“I believe in peacemaking,” she began. “In particular, the sen-

tencing circle—or, as I like to think of it, the peacemaking circle.”

She saw the question forming on Aroostine’s lips and raised a hand.

“I’ll explain. A sentencing circle is more concerned with setting

things right for the victims than with meting out punishment to

satisfy societal mores. Typically, I only accept defendants who’ve

agreed to plead guilty. Th en the victims and I will form a sentencing circle and work together with the defendant to restore the peace and heal the confl ict.”

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MELISSA F. MILLER

Aroostine willed her expression to remain neutral. But her

inability to bluff proved her undoing, and the judge leaned back

and examined her face.

“You’re skeptical.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered it anyway. “Yes. In this

instance, one of the victims is dead. Isaac Palmer can’t join the kum-baya circle or whatever you want to call it. How’s Lee Buckmount

going to make things right for Isaac’s mother? He can’t bring back

the dead. And what about the theft of the drones—that’s not an

issue you can resolve through a circle.”

“No, Lee can’t bring back the dead. And this process isn’t about

your federal laws.” Th e judge paused for a moment then continued,

“I know you’ve been living and working in the white man’s world,

Aroostine, but please leave your mind open to the possibility that

Cathy Palmer doesn’t want the white man’s justice.”

Aroostine opened her mouth to respond to that but closed it

when she realized she didn’t have anything to say to counter it. She didn’t know what was in Mrs. Palmer’s heart, although she suspected the judge did.

Carole confi rmed that suspicion with her next sentence.

“I’ve talked to Cathy. She’s willing to participate in a peacemak-

ing circle with Lee. So are Ruby and Lily.”

“Lily? She’s just a kid.”

“She’s a child who was aff ected by Lee’s actions. She’s entitled

to judge him.”

Buckmount nodded glumly.

“Th at leaves you and your husband, as far as individual victims

are concerned,” the judge fi nished.

“Actually, Carole, Lee doesn’t accept responsibility for the

attempt on Aroostine’s and Joe’s lives.”

“Oh?”

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CHILLING EFFECT

“No. Moving to the more white-collar-type crimes, he also

denies that he was embezzling money from the casino and denies

having anything to do with the stolen drones.”

“Is that so, Lee?”

“Yes. I’ll take my consequences for what I did. But I won’t be

held responsible for the actions of another.”

Th e judge addressed Aroostine. “Well what are we going to do

about this?”

“I can’t prosecute him under federal law for trying to kill me. I

think I’m probably confl icted out of representing the government in that case. But I can’t just let the embezzlement and theft of weapons go unanswered for. Can you do your circle thing tomorrow and then

preside over a more typical trial in another week or two, where I can introduce evidence and witnesses and all those goodies?”

She considered the request for what felt like a very long time.

Th e sun warmed Aroostine’s shoulders. A gray sagebrush sparrow

perched nearby sang.

Carole waited until the bird fell silent. She spoke slowly. “I’m

going to let you present your evidence of embezzlement and the

drone theft at the circle on Friday.”

Everyone—Aroostine, Gordon, and Lee—began to protest at

once, speaking at the same time in a cacophony of objections. She

held up a palm and waited until the noise ceased.

“Only birds chatter over one another. Now, I’ve made my deci-

sion. Lee, it doesn’t take a master sleuth to determine that if you admit to killing Isaac and threatening Ruby, the logical motive is

to cover up your alleged embezzlement. And if Aroostine believes

the embezzlement is tied to the drones, well, then we’ll let her try to prove it.” Carole’s face darkened at the mention of the drones.

“Both of those crimes may lack single identifi able victims, but they victimize the entire tribe. Everyone who is a member of the tribe

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MELISSA F. MILLER

is aff ected. So we will invite the entire reservation to the judgment circle.”

Gordon’s eyebrows hit his hairline.

“Th e entire reservation?” he repeated.

“Correct.”

“And this is still happening on Friday—tomorrow?” Aroostine

asked.

“Two for two, you fi ne litigators.”

“How? How am I supposed to get a case together and share any

documents with Gordon before tomorrow?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, dear. But do try to get any materials you

plan to use into his hands by this evening, yes?”

“Yes, sure,” Aroostine agreed numbly.

Th e only saving grace was that Gordon looked as shell-shocked

as she felt. He fumbled through his wallet and pulled out a busi-

ness card.

“My e-mail address is on there. Just send me what you have by

the end of the day and I’ll do the same, okay?”

She dug through her purse and found a card of her own. “Here’s

mine. And that’s fi ne, but consider yourself forewarned: my day will probably be ending around midnight, so expect the documents to

come over on the late side.”

He met her gaze with a mournful smile. “Mine, too.”

“One problem after another and then it gets dark, eh?”

“Always.”

Th e judge watched the two of them commiserate. “I’m not

heartless, you know. We won’t start until late afternoon. Say, around four. Th en we’ll have a community dinner afterwards. A potluck. It will be very healing.”

Aroostine narrowed her eyes. “A potluck? Don’t tell me I’m also

supposed to fi nd time to make a casserole.”

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CHILLING EFFECT

Th e judge laughed, a genuine full-throated laugh. “No, you and

Gordon will be our guests. No need to contribute a dish. You just

prepare your case and then go home and get some sleep.”

Th at reminded her of her other task. “Carole, I was planning

to draft an agreement with Mr. Buckmount, but perhaps the Court

could issue an order from the . . . um, picnic bench.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Aroostine started rattling off the conditions for Buckmount’s

house arrest. Carole waved her hand until she stopped talking.

“Did you hear all that, Lee? We’re going to let you go home and

sleep in your own bed. Don’t do anything stupid. Make sure I have

your passport and a check made out to the police force later today.

Now, fl y away, birdies.” She winked at Aroostine. “Th at means ‘court dismissed’ in case it didn’t translate.”

Aroostine walked toward the police station slowly. Her head

spun as if she’d been on an amusement park ride—something ter-

rible that went in circles, like a Tilt-A-Whirl.

197

Aroostine’s entire body was numb. Trial tomorrow. Th ere was noth-

ing to do but get started. She trudged out to the reception desk. An offi cer she’d never seen before was talking to Offi cer Hunt. Th ey were arguing over the better way to prepare salmon—smoking or grilling.

“Excuse me.”

Th ey both turned their cop eyes on her, twin expressions of

reserve. Like they were sizing her up. But neither said anything, so she plowed ahead.

“Is it okay if I use that conference room where Lee Buckmount

slept last night?”

“You want to sleep there?” Hunt asked, puzzled.

“What? No. I want to use it as an offi ce. Judge Orr set the

trial—or judgment circle—or whatever it is for tomorrow.”

Th at got a knowing laugh out of the other offi cer. Hunt rolled

his eyes.

“Go ahead, use the room.”

CHILLING EFFECT

“Th anks. What’s so funny about Judge Orr?”

Hunt answered, “She’s a real do-gooder. Always trying to get

victims and doers to reconcile. Big on tradition, restitution, and

ritual. Not so big on, like, the law. Sometimes it seems like she’s making it up as she goes along.”

“Oh.” It sounded like a judge’s dream—no pesky procedural

rules to follow or precedent to apply—and a lawyer’s nightmare.

Hunt nodded at her. “Good luck. You’re gonna nail Lee to the

wall, right?”

It was funny how the tribal police had been uninterested in