Authors: Unknown
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?”
194
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.”
196
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