Chilling Effect (An Aroostine Higgins Novel Book 2)

by Melissa F. Miller

  “Fine.”

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

  “Great. I’ll find a place to plug in my laptop and get an agreement 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. They 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 everyone in this town insane? 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 considered the request, shifting his head from side to side as he thought.

  “Who’s the judge?”

  “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 expression. As a little girl, she’d loved Alice in Wonderland, and now she finally 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.”

  “Definitely,” Aroostine agreed.

  She was about to excuse herself when a firm rap sounded on the door. It swung inward and Chief Johnson appeared in the doorway. 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.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Chief Johnson led Aroostine, Gordon, and Buckmount through the building and out the back door to a small yard that was overrun with tall wildflowers. Bees hovered in the clover, and butterflies flitted through the long grass. In the corner, under a tree, sat a rough-hewn round table with two semi-circular benches.

  Aroostine figured it was a popular lunch spot for the police and their office staff. At the moment, though, it was occupied. The 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 flowed in waves down her back. Her face was a map of lines that hinted at hard-earned 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.”

  The 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.”

  The 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?” The language of the Lenape Nation was dying. As far as she knew, there were no fully fluent speakers still living. Her grandfather had been one of the last.

  “Please, it’s Carole. And, sadly, no. Chinook is a Penutian language. 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 graduating with degrees in Portuguese and Thai.” She smiled at the memory.

  This lady is sharp.

  The judge turned toward Gordon. “Mr. Lane, it’s so nice to see you again. How is Aurelia? And your sons?”

  “Everyone is well. The boys are off at college. Aurelia’s enjoying the quiet. But I’m hurt that I don’t rate a first 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 inaudible.

  The judge waved a hand at Chief Johnson. “Take those metal bracelets off him, Atlas.”

  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 handcuffs at my request. If you do something stupid, it’s on your soul. You hear me?”

  He bobbed his head. The police chief gave Aroostine a sidelong glance as if inviting her to object but did as the judge asked. He dangled the handcuffs 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.

  “Thank 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. The 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.

  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. The 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 even operate. There are some tribal courts that hew closely to the American justice system. This 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, “The 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.

  “That’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 sentencing 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. Then the victims and I will form a sentencing circle and work together with the defendant to restore the peace and heal the conflict.”

  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 kumbaya 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.” The 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 confirmed that suspicion with her next sentence.

  “I’ve talked to Cathy. She’s willing to participate in a peacemaking circle with Lee. So are Ruby and Lily.”

  “Lily? She’s just a kid.”

  “She’s a child who was affected by Lee’s actions. She’s entitled to judge him.”

  Buckmount nodded glumly.

  “That leaves you and your husband, as far as individual victims are concerned,” the judge finished.

  “Actually, Carole, Lee doesn’t accept responsibility for the attempt on Aroostine’s and Joe’s lives.”

  “Oh?”

  “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.”

  The 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 conflicted 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. The 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 decision. 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 identifiable victims, but they victimize the entire tribe. Everyone who is a member of the tribe is affected. So we will invite the entire reservation to the judgment circle.”

  Gordon’s eyebrows hit his hairline.

  “The entire reservation?” he repeated.

  “Correct.”

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

  “Two for two, you fine 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.

  The only saving grace was that Gordon looked as shell-shocked as she felt. He fumbled through his wallet and pulled out a business 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 fine, 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.”

  The judge watched the two of them commiserate. “I’m not heartless, you know. We won’t start until late afternoon. Say, around four. Then 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 find time to make a casserole.”

  The 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.”

  That 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, fly away, birdies.” She winked at Aroostine. “That 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 terrible that went in circles, like a Tilt-A-Whirl.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Aroostine’s entire body was numb. Trial tomorrow. There was nothing to do but get started. She trudged out to the reception desk. An officer she’d never seen before was talking to Officer Hunt. They were arguing over the better way to prepare salmon—smoking or grilling.

  “Excuse me.”

  They 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 office. Judge Orr set the trial—or judgment circle—or whatever it is for tomorrow.”

  That got a knowing laugh out of the other officer. Hunt rolled his eyes.

  “Go ahead, use the room.”

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

  Hunt answered, “She’s a real do-gooder. Always trying t
o 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 actually investigating Isaac’s murder or apprehending the murderer, but now that she’d done their work for them, they sure were looking for a conviction.

  “Hey, let me ask you something. If he’s convicted, what happens to the casino? Who runs that?”

  “Well, that’s not just Lee. He’s just the CFO. There’s a whole board, so nothing much changes there. I imagine that some day-to-day changes will happen. Maybe Buckmount Security gets the boot, and we get to actually handle the biggest calls in our jurisdiction.”

  “I bet you’d also take over the security at the testing facility.”

  “Heck, yeah,” the other officer piped up. “That’s good money, too.”

  She thanked them for their time. They resumed their salmon debate before she even walked away.

  Inside the conference room, she set up her laptop and pulled out her cell phone. Sid answered himself.

  “Tell me you haven’t blown up any more cars, Higgins.”

  She pulled a face at the greeting. Last she checked, she hadn’t blown up any cars, ever.

  “My vacation’s going swell, Sid, thanks for asking.”

  He chuckled at that. “What’s going on?”

  “Well, this lunatic tribal court judge set the . . . uh . . . event for this Friday.”

  “Carole Orr is one of a kind, Aroostine. But she’s smart and she’s fair. And I think you’re going to like her. She did a presentation on tribal issues for the department a few years back; she made quite an impression.”