?Because Blake?s hurt,? Lee said. ?I need to talk with Storm. In person, not on the phone. Afterward, Storm will fill you in.?
Taylor sat watching him. Lee could read nothing in his expression.?How bad is he?? Lee said warily. ?He?s not .†.†. They wouldn?t tell me a damn thing.?
?He has a concussion. He?s conscious only some of the time. They?re doing their best to keep him awake, there?s an orderly with him.? He looked again at the attorney?s card. ?Tell me what?s going on, and I?ll see about calling Storm.?
?I?ll tell you after you call him. I promise you that. This could mean Morgan?s life, if he makes it, there in the infirmary. This could mean the rest of his life.?
Taylor was silent again. Lee wondered how straight the young man would be, how much he could trust him.?I can tell you this,? Lee said, ?it was Brad Falon who attacked Blake.? He was taking a chance on this. If they locked Falon down, and they sure as hell would, and if Falon had lied to him, Lee couldn?t get at him again.
On the other hand, Falon couldn?t get at Morgan, either.
Still Taylor said nothing.
?New information has come to light,? Lee said.?Evidence that could clear Morgan of all charges, that could free him .†.†. If he lives,? he said softly.
Taylor looked tired suddenly, looked knowing and weary. Lee thought he was going to refuse. But prisonerswere allowed two phone calls a week, and so far he hadn?t made any calls. He looked steadily at Taylor until, sighing, Taylor ran a hand through his crew cut hair, set Storm?s card before him and picked up the phone.
LEE ANDSTORM sat in the prison interviewing room. Two folding metal chairs and a scarred oak table, on which Storm had dropped his briefcase. A guard was stationed outside the door. Storm looked like he?d already put in a hard day. His rumpled suit coat hung crookedly over the back of his chair, his tie hung loose, his shirtsleeves were rolled up. When Lee told him Falon had spilled, had revealed where the bank money was hidden, a grin transformed Storm?s tired, rugged face.
It had taken the attorney only twenty minutes to get out to the prison from downtown. In that time, Lee had returned to the infirmary hoping to see Morgan, but he wasn?t allowed in. He did get one of the medics to talk to him. The freckled, towheaded medic told him, ?Blake?s alive. In and out of consciousness. We?re doing our best to keep him awake, he sure has a concussion.?
But no one would let Lee see him. Did they think Lee himself might have bashed Morgan? All Lee could think was, Morganhad to recover. They?d come this far, they were so close. Morgan wouldn?t give up, Lee couldn?t let him give up.
Now, across the table, Storm said,?If the money?s there, if the feds and Georgia Bureau of Investigation can find it, can identify it as the bank money, we?ll have enough for a new trial. With an honest jury, we?ll have enough to hang Falon.?
?They?ll fly Morgan back to Rome, for a new trial??
?Let?s find the money. If it?s there, if we can put together a solid case, I?d rather transfer jurisdiction out here to L.A. I think Lowe would, too.? Storm leaned back in the hard, folding chair. ?I?ve talked with Lowe. The picture I get, Rome is a small town with a mind-set dead against Morgan. That can happen, you get that kind of thinking started, it?s hard to reverse. Lowe doubted that with the lies and trumped-up evidence, they couldfind an impartial jury. And the federal court in Atlanta is booked six months ahead.
?Another thing,? Storm said, ?as violent as Falon seems to be, it would be safer to keep him locked down here than to transport him back to Georgia.? Storm glanced at his watch. ?Nearly midnight in Atlanta, but I?ll call Quaker. Once he?s contacted the FBI and GBI, I?m hoping they?ll head right on up to Turkey Mountain Ridge. Meantime,? he said, ?I?ll call the bureau here, I know a couple of the agents. See if I can get them out here tonight to meet me, to talk with Falon.
?And,? he said, ?I?d like to know the details of what Falon did to Morgan, I?d like to file a charge.?
?As soon as Morgan?s conscious long enough to talk,? Lee said. ?As soon as hecan tell us. I knew nothing until I saw him on the stretcher, headed for the infirmary. They wouldn?t let me near him.?
?As for whatyou did toFalon,? Storm said, his gray eyes amused, ?I don?t know anything about that.?
?While they search for the money,? Lee said, ?will Falon?s transfer be postponed??
?I?d guess it would. In the morning I?ll talk with Warden Iverson.? Rising, Storm picked up his briefcase.
?And you?ll call Becky?? Lee said, pushing back his chair. ?Tell her Morgan?s hurt? You can break it to her more gently than when the prison calls. Tell her I?m .†.†.? He winced at the inadequacy of saying he was sorry. There were no words to undo what had happened. Lee had talked Morganinto this trip, into harassing Falon. He might have talked Morgan into his last trip. Sure as hell, Becky would see it that way.
Leaving the interviewing room, Lee shook Storm?s hand, mighty thankful for the day he?d flipped through the L.A. phone book and, with luck and the grace of God, had gotten through to Reginald Storm.
But, stepping out into the hall where the guard stood waiting, Lee wondered if he?d had other help as well. Wondered, as crazy as it seemed, if the yellow tomcat had guided his hand as he ran his finger down the page of that battered phone book and stopped at the name Storm.
Then he wondered if Sammie already knew about her daddy. Had she waked seeing Morgan on the stretcher, awakened from her dream crying out for him?
Returning to his cell, lying back listening to the foghorns, all he could do now was wait?wait until the bureau interrogated Falon, wait until the feds had found the money?hope to hell they?d find it. Wait until he could see Morgan. Wait, and try not to think how this would all end.
38
ASINGLE LIGHT BURNED behind the hospital bed, illuminating the white bandage that circled Morgan?s scalp. Light caught across his stubble of beard and picked out the IV tube that ran down his arm, draining through a needle into the vein of his wrist. Lee couldn?t see Morgan breathing, couldn?t see the blanket move, but each time he laid his fingers along Morgan?s free wrist he found afaint pulse. Morgan had been unconscious all night and it was now nearly noon, the high sun slanting down through the half-closed Venetian blinds of the small hospital room. Lee sat in a wooden chair beside the bed, his knees pressed against the metal rail, talking; he?d been talking most of the night.Except for a short break to eat the breakfast an orderly had brought him, and for a brief nap on the other bed. A few minutes? sleep, then he?d risen to groggily feel Morgan?s pulse and to start talking again.
He had no idea if Morgan could hear him. The constant effort wearied him, but Dr. McClure had said to keep talking; he said the sound of Lee?s voice could be a lifeline for Morgan. Said the contact between Lee?s voice and whatever within Morgan was alert enough to listen might keep him from sinking deeper into an oblivion from which he could not return.
Lee had no idea if that was so. He had no idea how much the medical profession really knew, and how much they could only guess. Dr. McClure was a strange man. You?d think a prison doc would be hardened, that after the twenty years he said he?d spent at T.I., he wouldn?t give a damn who lived and who died. But McClure?s sad, dark eyes under those bushy brows had shown Lee a whole world of caring inside that middle-aged, pudgy man. ?Talk to him, Fontana.If you?re his friend and you want to help him live, talk to him and keep talking.?
?But he can?t??
?You don?t know what he can hear. There?s a lot in this world we don?t know, maybe a lot we?ll never know. I say he can hear you and that talking to him might keep him alive. Sit here and talk, as long as you can, no matter how foolish that seems.?
So Lee talked. McClure had gotten permission for him to stay with Morgan. The orderlies and male nurses moved around Lee doing their work, silently accepting his presence. Lee told Morgan over and over that Falon had spilled, had confessed where the money was hidden. He just hoped Falon wasn?t lying. He told Morgan that FBI and GBI agents were already on their way up Turkey Mountain Ridge to look for the evidence, for the proof that could clear Morgan?that could put Falon on trial for the robbery and murder. In between telling him about Falon, Lee talked about anything he could think of just to keep going; he dredged up memories that, after several hours, turned his voice rough and straining.