MJ looked at Leni. “So I’m going fishing with my new grandpa, right? Then we’ll play jail more?”
“Uh-huh,” Leni said, doing her best not to cry. She had taught her son to trust her, always, and to believe her, and so he did. She reached out and pulled him into a hug, imprinting the feel of him. Of all the courage she had expended so far—coming home, telling the truth, calling for Tom Walker—it took the greatest toll on her to simply let her son go. She managed a shaky smile. “’Bye, MJ. Be good for Grandpa. Try not to break anything.”
“’Bye, Mommy.”
Mr. Walker swept MJ into the air, planted him on his shoulders. MJ’s high-pitched giggle rang out.
“Look, Mommy, look! I’m a giant!”
“She doesn’t deserve to be here,” Mr. Walker said to Chief Ward, who shrugged. “You always were a by-the-book prick.”
“Insulting me. Good plan. Tell it to the court, Tom. We’ll arraign her quickly. Three o’clock. Judge wants to be out on the river by four.”
“I’m sorry, Leni,” Mr. Walker said.
She heard the gentleness in his voice and knew that the man was ready to offer comfort. Leni didn’t dare reach out. Any kindness now could break what little control she had. “Take care of him, Tom. He’s my world.”
She stared up at her son on his grandfather’s shoulders, and she thought, Please let this be okay, and then the cell door clanged shut.
The rest of the day passed slowly, in unfamiliar sights and sounds, in a phone jangling, in doors opening and closing, in lunch orders being taken and delivered, in boots stomping across the station floor.
Leni sat on the hard concrete bench, slumped back against the cold wall. Sunlight streamed through the small cell window, heated everything. She pushed the damp hair out of her eyes. She’d spent the last two hours crying and sweating and muttering curses. Everywhere she could be damp, she was. Her mouth tasted like the inside of an old shoe. She went to the small, lidless toilet, pulled down her pants, and sat down, praying no one saw her.
How was MJ? She hoped Mr. Walker had found the stuffed orca (inexplicably named Bob) in his suitcase. MJ wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight without him. How had Leni forgotten to tell Mr. Walker that?
The station door opened. A man walked in. He had hunched shoulders and hair so tangled it looked like he’d been electrified. He wore hip waders and carried a scuffed green nylon briefcase. “Hey, Marci,” he said in a booming voice. Leni returned to her place on the bench.
“Morning, Dem,” said the female officer at the front desk.
He glanced sideways. “That her?”
The female officer nodded. “Yep. Allbright, Lenora. Arraignment at three o’clock. John’s coming in from Soldotna.”
The man headed her way, came to a stop outside the jail cell. With a sigh, he pulled a folder out of his dirty nylon briefcase and started reading. “Pretty detailed confession. Don’t you watch television?”
“Who are you?”
“Demby Cowe. Your court-appointed attorney. We’re going to zip in, enter a plea of not guilty, and zip out. The pinks are running. Okay? All you have to do is stand up when the court tells you to and say not guilty.” He closed the file. “Do you have someone who can pay bail?”
“Don’t you want to hear my side of it?”
“I’ve got your confession. We’ll talk later. Plenty, I promise. Brush your hair.”
He was gone before Leni could even really process that he’d been there.
*
THE COURTROOM LOOKED more like a small-town doctor’s office than a hallowed hall of justice. There was no shining wood, no pewlike seats, no big desk up front. Just linoleum floors, a bunch of chairs set out in rows, and desks for the prosecutor and the defense. In the front of the room, beneath a framed picture of Ronald Reagan, a long Formica desk awaited the judge; beside it, a plastic chair awaited witnesses.
Leni slid into her chair alongside her attorney, who was sitting close to the desk, studying tide charts. The prosecutor was seated at the desk across the aisle. A skinny man with a bushy beard, wearing a fishing vest and black pants.
The judge walked into the courtroom, followed by the stenographer and the bailiff. The judge wore a long black robe and Xtratuf fishing boots. He took his place behind the desk and glanced at the clock. “Let’s be quick, gentlemen.”
Leni’s lawyer stood. “May it please the court—”
The courtroom door banged open behind them. “Where is she?”
Leni could live to be one hundred and ten and still know that voice. Her heart did a little flip of joy. “Large Marge!”
Large Marge barreled forward, bracelets rattling. Her dark, aging face was speckled with tiny black moles and her hair was a tangle of fuzzy dreadlocks held back from her face by a folded bandanna headband. Her denim shirt was too small—stretched taut across her large breasts—and her pants were stained blue from berry picking and tucked into rubber boots.
She yanked Leni right out of the chair and hugged her. The woman smelled of homemade shampoo and wood smoke. Of Alaska in the summer.
“Damn it to hell,” the judge said, banging his gavel. “What’s going on here? We are arraigning this young woman on serious criminal charges—”
Large Marge extricated herself from the hug and pushed Leni back down into the chair. “Goddamn it, John, this proceeding is what’s criminal.” Marge strode up to the judge’s bench, her boots squeaking at every step. “This girl is innocent of everything and Whack Job Ward coerced a confession out of her. And for what? Rendering criminal assistance? Accessory after the fact? Good God. She didn’t kill her piece-of-shit old man, she just ran when her terrified mother told her to. She was eighteen years old with an abusive dad. Who wouldn’t run?”
The judge slammed his mallet on the desk. “Marge, you got a mouth on you like a king salmon. Now shut up. This is my courtroom. And this is just a damned arraignment, not a trial. You can present your evidence when it’s time.”
Large Marge turned to face the prosecutor. “Drop the damn charges, Adrian. Unless you want to spend the last days of the season in court. Everyone in Kaneq—and probably on the pipeline—knew Ernt Allbright was abusive. I will bring an endless stream of folks to testify on this girl’s behalf. Starting with Tom Walker.”
“Tom Walker?” the judge said.
Large Marge faced the judge again, crossed her arms in a way that communicated a settling-in, a willingness to stand here all day arguing her point. “That’s right.”
The judge glanced over at the skinny prosecutor. “Adrian?”
The prosecutor looked down at the papers spread out in front of him. He tapped a pen on the desk. “I don’t know, Your Honor…”
The courtroom door opened. The woman from the front desk at the police station walked through. She was nervously smoothing her pant leg. “Your Honor?” she said.
“What is it, Marci?” the judge boomed. “We’re busy here.”
“The governor is on the line. He wants to talk to you. Right now.”
*
ONE MINUTE, Leni was standing beside her lawyer at the desk in the courtroom, and the next thing she knew, she was leaving the police station.
Outside, she saw Large Marge standing beside a pickup truck.
“What happened?” Leni asked.
Large Marge took Leni’s suitcase and tossed it into the rusted bed of the pickup. “Alaska isn’t so different as everyplace else. It helps to have friends in high places. Tommy called the governor, who got the charges dropped.” She touched Leni’s shoulder. “It’s over, kiddo.”
“Only part of it,” Leni said. “There’s more.”
“Yeah. Tom wants you to come to the homestead. He’ll take you to see Matthew.”
Leni couldn’t let herself think about that yet. She walked around to the passenger side of the pickup and climbed up into the blanket-covered bench seat.
Large Marge stepped up into the driver’s seat, settling her bulk with a shimmying motion. When she started the engine, the radio came on.
Another little piece of my heart now, baby came growling through the speaker. Leni closed her eyes.