Morgan nodded. He looked companionably at Andy and was quiet.
Randall listened to several more petty complaints from other inmates, then he tried to draw Lee out.?You were transferred down from Springfield, Fontana. That means your health has improved.?
Lee didn?t care to discuss his weakness in front of these men. Didn?t Randall have any sense? ?Springfield had a new bunch of men coming in, they needed the space,? he said. He clammed up and would answer no more questions, scowling at Randall until the counselor turned to another inmate.
At the end of the session, as they headed for the door Andy Trotter laid a hand on Morgan Blake?s arm. ?Stay steady, man. I?d like to talk, have a cup of coffee, but I have to get to work.?
Lee moved out behind them. The ground shook as, beyond the wall, a train thundered and screamed, passing the prison. Lee was getting used to their freedom call, to their beckoning. He?d started to turn away from the other men when Blake fell into step with him, and again that searching look. ?Sorry I came on so strong back there. I know that doesn?t do any good.? Blake?s frown as he watched Lee seemed to hold some question about Lee himself.
Warily Lee said,?Why do you care what I think??
Blake colored, lowered his gaze, and moved away. Lee felt relief but then, on impulse, he stepped up beside Blake again.?Come on, kid. Let?s go down to the mess hall, see if we can wrangle that coffee.?
Even as he said it, he wondered what he was doing. A few minutes over a cup of coffee could get him uncomfortably involved, could gain him a persistent sidekick that he didn?t want hanging around. This guy needed a friend. And Lee wasn?t interested. He knew nothing about Blake or about Blake?s crime. He didn?t know whether Blake?s trial had been fair or rigged. He didn?t want to know. He knew only that any friendship, in prison, could end up the kiss of death.
11
BRADFALONWASN?T finished with the Blake family. Having skillfully finessed Morgan into the federal pen, his full attention turned to Becky and the child. They had been staying with Caroline Tanner but it looked now as if they?d moved back home again just as he?d hoped they?d do. Last night he had cruised bymeaning, if he saw no one about, to jimmy the back door and slip inside.
But the Tanner woman?s white van was parked in the drive beside Becky?s car, there was another car behind it that he didn?t recognize, and the living room and kitchen lights burned bright behind the drawn drapes. Easing his car along past the house beneath the overhanging oaks he had parked for a few minutes, looking back, watching the house, wondering what was going on, wondering what Becky might be up to.
But now, this late morning, there was no car at all in the drive. There was no room for a car in the small garage, he knew it was stacked with boxes of automotive parts and new tires for Morgan?s shop. He remained parked for a few moments, scanning the neighborhood. He saw no one in any of the yards, no one looking out a window. Parking half a block down, he walked back beneath the tree shadows to Becky?s front porch.
Having studied the lock on earlier visits, he quickly inserted a thin screwdriver, tripped the simple device, and let himself in. Locking the door behind him he made a leisurely tour of the rooms to be certain the place was empty. In the kitchen he opened the refrigerator, drank some milk from the bottle, took out a bowl of cold spaghetti, found a spoon in one of the drawers. He ate half of it, then put the bowl back. The kitchen was too neat, the counters scrubbed, everything put away behind cupboard doors. None of the easy clutter his mother kept on the counter, the cookie jars filled with flour and packages of staples where she could reach them, the pots of miniature cacti, the pictures and lists she kept stuck to the refrigerator and to the walls between hooks bearing limp dish towels and greasy potholders. His mother still lived alone, the house too big for her. The rest of his clothes were there, but he didn?t stop by often, they had their differences. She seemed sometimes almost afraid of him, he thought, smiling.
Moving down the hall to the front bedroom he opened the closet, stroked Becky?s neatly arranged dresses and fondled them. Morgan?s clothes still hung beside hers?as if they thought he was coming home again. He chose a pale blue cotton dress Becky had worn during the trial. Stretching it tight on the hanger he slashed it with his pocketknife, ripped it nearly in half and dropped the pieces on the floor. He?d reached for a second dress when a chill ran through him, a sense that he was watched.
He stared into the shadowed end of the closet where Morgan?s clothes hung but saw nothing to threaten him. He looked foolishly up at the shadowed shelf as if someone could hide among the half-dozen shoe boxes and the battered suitcase. Nothing there of course, and no one behind him in the small bedroom. He checked the hall, went through the rest of the house, then returned. On the dresser stood a cluster of framed photographs, one of Becky and Morgan standing before the house, their hands clasped, and several pictures of the child, from baby to little girl. One by one he smashed the glass, pulled the pictures out and broke the frames. But even as he tore the pictures into small pieces and dropped them on the floor he felt watched again, felt that he was not alone. Nervously he began to open dresser drawers. He removed Becky?s panties and bras one at a time, dropped his pants, and rubbed them over himself. She wore only cotton, not silk, but the garments felt smooth and cool. From the next drawer he lifted out nighties and some stockings and did the same with these, leaving the drawers in a tangle ripe with his male scent.
He left Morgan?s side of the dresser alone except for the top drawer, which was locked. That interested him, and he was examining the lock when he heard a car door slam. As he stepped to the closed window a faint breeze touched the back of his neck, making him shiver. But when he turned, nothing was there. Outside, a car had parked at the curb. A strange man was heading for the house as Becky?s car pulled into the drive, a big man, broad of shoulder, his tie loosened over a white shirt, his gray suit wrinkled. Quickly Falon headed for the kitchen, eased open the bolt on the back door and left, shuttingthe door softly behind him.
BECKY CAME INTO the house ahead of Quaker Lowe. She made him comfortable in the living room, then went to make some coffee. They had met outside the courthouse where Lowe had spent the morning going over the transcripts of the trial. They hadn?t talked there, Lowe had followed her directly home. She was comfortable with Lowe, he seemed to understand clearly her lone battle and her helpless frustration.
He had driven up from Atlanta two days before to talk with the bank employees who had witnessed the guard?s murder and then been beaten and locked in the vault. He was staying at the nicest of Rome?s three motels. So far he had seemed content with the five-hundred-dollar retainer she?d given him, which was all the money she had in their savings account. She had seen him for only a few minutes the day he arrived and then again last night when they?d had a simple dinner here at the house, when Caroline had joined them bringing a hot casserole. Now, as she carried the tray of cookies and coffee into the living room, Lowe was reading his copies of the police reports.
?I read the transcripts,? he said, smiling up at her, ?and talked the court steno out of a set of her carbons.? He spooned sugar into his coffee. ?Last night after I left you I tried again to see Natalie Hooper. There was a light in the living room, but she didn?t answer the door. I tried again this morning. She didn?t respond and she isn?t answering her phone.?
He added cream to the brew and slid three cookies onto his saucer.?It wasn?t much good sitting in the car watching the front entrance to the lobby when she could slip out the back. I parked around the corner, borrowed a chair from the building manager, and sat in the hall. When she did come down, she wasn?t happy to see me,? Lowe said, smiling.