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.