Two of the cops escorted him out of the apartment, forced him down the stairs and out the back door to a squad car, hustling him along, making no effort to allow for the pain he was experiencing. A third officer went to try Falon?s keys in the cars that were parked behind the building. Falon?s Ford coupe wasn?t among them; he and Natalie had ditched it outside town behind an empty barn, returning in her car.
Falon was housed in the Rome city jail in a private cell to increase security while Rome police waited for the U.S. marshals to pick him up. His shoulder began bleeding again, soaking through the bandage and through his shirt. He was treated by the doctor who tended the prisoners, his wound was rebandaged, and he was given a shot for the infection. His rage at being arrested was directed equally at Becky Blake, at every bastard cop on the Rome force, and at Natalie for not alerting him soon enough to get him out of the apartment?but most of all at Becky. Somewhere down the line she?d pay for this and for all the snubs and injustices she?d forced on him over the years.
IT WAS FIVE A.M. the next morning that the ringing phone jerked Becky from a heavy sleep. She rolled over, fighting the covers, grabbing for the receiver?afraid it was the prison, that Morgan was hurt.
?It?s Quaker. I?m sorry to wake you.?
She sat up in bed, glancing over at Sammie, who had come wide awake and lay watching her.?Quaker? What is it? What?s happened?? His last call hadn?t been good news. What had happened now?
But there was a smile in Quaker?s voice. ?Becky? The Rome police have picked up Falon. He?s locked down tight. They hauled him out of Natalie?s at two-thirty this morning. He was hurting real bad from your gunshot wounds,? he said cheerfully.
?Can they keep him locked up, now that they have the warrants??
?They can. Do you want me to tell Morgan? I have an early appointment down that way.?
?Oh yes, please. That?s the best news he could have. It?s a pain to try to call. I tried twice in the last weeks; they said I could talk to him on visiting day. But, Quaker, you won?t tell him that Falon attacked us? I?ve told him none of that, I couldn?t bear to worry him, he has enough to deal with.?
?Not a word,? Lowe said. ?Becky, the bureau will be all over Falon. With the crimes out on the coast, and after the bridge incident and the breakin there at your aunt?s, I think we?ll see some action.?
When Lowe had hung up, Becky climbed into bed with Sammie, hugging her and laughing.?He?s in jail, Falon?s in jail, he can?t touch us.? And as Sammie chimed in, ?He?s in jail, he?s in jail,? Misto was suddenly there snuggling close and warm against them, big and golden and ragged-eared, his whole body rumbling with purrs.
26
MORGAN PARTED FROM Quaker Lowe outside the prison office that was used by attorneys and their clients. Shaking hands with Lowe, he wanted to hug the man; they were both smiling as Lowe turned away toward the sally port. Morgan, double-timing to the mess hall, shouldered in among the stragglers looking for Lee. The kitchen staff was cleaning up the last of breakfast, the clanging of metal and crockery, the smell of overcooked food and soapy water. Lee sat at a table across the room where he?d pushed aside his empty plate. Morgan grabbed a plate, served himself from what was left in a few big pans, the eggs and pancakes limp and cold. Heading across among the empty tables, setting down his tray, he gave Lee a thumbs-up, ?Falon?s in jail. Locked up tight.?
Lee let out a whoop that made the men in the kitchen turn and stare.?Hot damn!That?s what Lowe came out here for. To give you the news in person. Becky knows??
?He called her at five this morning, said she laughed like a kid. Rome cops picked him up on the federal warrant. Lowe agrees with them, if Falon?s convicted in L.A., they?ll keep him out there, maybe at Terminal Island.?
Lee smiled. Morgan grinned back at Lee?s pleasure, which seemed to wipe away the years. But Lee?s eyes were bright with challenge, too. And that turned Morgan uneasy.
?He went over parts of the trial transcript again,? Morgan said, watching Lee. ?Wanted to know if there was anything I?d forgotten, that might have seemed unimportant at the time. I couldn?t think of one detail.? Morgan made a face at the cold eggs but shoveled them in. ?This has set him up,Lee. The guy really wants to burn Falon. I like him, he doesn?t act superior like the lawyers I?ve known. They come in the shop to get their car fixed, they want it yesterday and they know exactly what?s wrong with it, they want it done exactly the way they tell me, even when they?redead wrong.?
?You couldn?t think of any new leads.? Lee said. ?Anything he can move on.?
?Nothing.? Morgan stirred sugar into his coffee; at least the coffee was hot. ?It?s the money that would fry him. If we knew where he hid the money.?
Lee was quiet, watching Morgan.
?He was good at hiding things,? Morgan said. ?When we were kids, he knew places to stash car radios and batteries that I never thought of. He?d dig stuff out of the big flour bin in his mother?s kitchen or an old water heater lying in the lot next door, dig out all the stash we?d liftedso we could take it to the fence.?
Still, Lee said nothing. Morgan finished his breakfast; they returned their trays to the counter and moved out into the exercise yard. The morning?s rain had stopped. As they moved down the concrete walk, puddles splashed their shoes. ?The bank money,? Morgan said, ?he wouldn?t trust that to some water heater?or to Natalie, either. She lied for him, but that doesn?t mean he?d trust her with money. Falon?s opinion of women is on a level with hogs in a mud hole.?
?I wonder,? Lee said, ?if he?s already retrieved the stash. He?s had plenty of time to split it up, hide it in half a dozen places or maybe in banks. Maybe the bureau didn?t find all the accounts. Maybe some small deposits, say, over in Kentucky and Alabama, accounts he might have already setup.?
?Lowe?s checking the banks in several states. That takes a while, when they?d be under false names. Harder still if he opened them some time ago, so they wouldn?t show up under new accounts.? Two joggers passed them moving swiftly, glancing at them without interest.
?If the feds haul him out to California,? Morgan said, ?he won?t get his hands on the cash for some long time.? He looked up at the sky, the clouds dark and low above them. ?Or maybe he buried it, maybe thought that was safer than banks. He knows the land around Rome real well.?
?And so do you,? Lee said.
?So? You think I can look for it, locked in this damn prison??
?There might be a way,? Lee said. Over the last days, working in the steamy kitchen, he?d laid out a plan. Even now, with this new turn in Falon?s fate, Lowe?s try for an appeal could fail. If that happened, what Lee had in mind might be Morgan?s only shot at a new trial, his only chance at freedom.
Lee didn?t tell Morgan what he had in mind, he wanted Blake to think of it himself. He?d been working on Blake, planting the notion of escape, describing prison breaks he?d heard about, but then moving on to a colorful crime or a well-known inmate. Whether or not Blake knew what he was doing, the idea of escape was planted. Now, watching Morgan, Lee said, ?What if we could find the money??
?That?s all the proof Lowe would need, he could get him back in court.? Morgan looked hard at Lee. ?If somehow I could get my hands on Falon before they ship him off .†.†. Get him alone and make him spill where he hid it .†.†.?
?How would you do that? Even if you broke out, he?s locked up.? Lee kicked at a pebble. ?And by tomorrow or the next day, he?ll be gone. On his way to the West Coast.? He visualized Falon belly-chained in a DC-3 between a couple of deputy marshals. He hoped they were hard-nosed bastards; he wished Falon a miserable flight.
?If he?s acquitted of the land scam,? Morgan said, ?he?ll come back for the money. If Icould get out of here, I could watch him and follow him.?