I Opened My Field Book In Front Of The Judge

Lena's lawyer, June Mercer, met me outside the Bonner County courthouse with a paper cup of tea.

She had agreed to represent me on Vance's civil claim. Lena paid her own legal bills. I signed a separate agreement for mine, with a payment plan.

"His number is meant to scare you," June said.

"It's doing its job."

"Our job is to answer it."

Monday's hearing concerned the hold on the logs. Vance wanted it lifted. His demand against me had arrived in the same stack of filings, but June explained that the judge would not decide every claim that morning.

I liked knowing what a room could actually do.

Vance sat with his lawyer near the front. Cal Rusk sat behind him, turning a pen between his hands.

Gideon sat in the public seats. Ruth handled the investigation now. He had come on his own time, and he did not carry my folders.

When I passed, he said, "Both feet on the floor."

It was something I had told him at coffee when he asked how I kept steady on a high branch.

I put both feet down.

On a bench behind us, Lena sorted the tabs on her folder. She had used plain blue dividers, the same shade as the reserve circles on my survey. Her thumb stopped at the page with her mother's signature.

"You don't have to look at that one all morning," I whispered.

"I want to remember what she actually signed."

She moved the key receipt to the front. The amount written beside the returned keys was zero dollars. I looked at that small zero until the clerk called our case.

Lena spoke first. She showed the company records giving her authority after Nora's death. The forest plan and reserve map became exhibits. So did the agreement Vance said Nora had signed.

His lawyer repeated the claim about a wrong date.

The judge made a note.

Then June called me.

"What did Mr. Brogan ask you to destroy?"

"His paper survey. He said all copies."

"Did your contract require that?"

"No. Section eight required me to retain the source records for seven years."

She handed me the signed contract. I read the clause aloud.

Vance stared at the table.

He had looked at my scar and seen a woman who had already lost her home, her tools, and her old life. He thought hauling away the trunks had left me with nothing to defend.

I held the forest's record before his first truck ever arrived.

June asked about the field book. I explained its dates, map marks, tree numbers, and sample list. The off-site backup service had supplied records showing my files existed in June. Ruth's evidence receipts showed what investigators collected in October.

The lab examiner then explained the six supported matches. She described the weak samples, too.

Vance's lawyer stood.

"Trees in the same forest share weather. Their rings can resemble one another. Correct?"

"Correct," she said. "That's why my opinion also considers injuries, measurements, physical marks, and the collection records."

He asked whether six matches proved where every log in the yard came from.

"No. Load records and other evidence must address the rest."

She did not lean past what she knew. Watching her, I felt my shoulders drop.

When I returned to the witness chair for further questions, Vance's lawyer held up my bird notebook.

"You recorded a bird during a theft investigation?"

"Yes."

"Were you distracted?"

"I wrote the call at the gate, before entering the site. That time is on the page."

"You also wrote that Mr. Brogan threatened your work. That's your interpretation."

"The next line is his exact wording."

June asked permission for me to read it. The judge allowed it.

Don't go making yourself hard to hire.

It sounded smaller in the courtroom than it had in his office. It also sounded uglier.

The judge kept the hold in place. She required a full inventory of the disputed wood and ordered preservation of the related business records. She made clear that this hearing did not decide criminal guilt.

Outside, Lena gripped my arm.

"They're still there," she said. "The logs."

For her, it was the closest thing to getting the trees back.

Vance caught up near the steps, his lawyer beside him.

"You could have taken six hundred dollars and gone home," he said.

June stepped between us. "Future contact goes through counsel."

I did not give him a speech. I put the field book in my bag and closed the clasp.

Across the street, Gideon waited by a bare maple.

"Tea?" he asked.

"Something stronger."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Coffee. Two shots."

"A reckless afternoon."

Before we reached the corner, Ruth called.

The document examiner had found the same tiny paper flaw inside both images of Nora's signature.

And Cal had just asked to speak with the prosecutor.