“Escape is a serious charge, gentlemen. It is not dealt with lightly by this court. However, the statement that Mr. Storm has made on your behalf, and the circumstances of the situation, must be taken into account.”
U.S. Attorney Heller approached the bench. The thin, pale man made Becky uncertain. He was not prosecuting Falon now, he was concerned with Lee and Morgan, with their escape from prison. When she looked at Morgan she could see sweat beading his forehead around the white tape.
Heller’s narrow back was rigid, where he faced the bench. “Your Honor, Mr. Fontana and Mr. Blake have confessed to breaking out of Atlanta Federal Prison. Their attorney has stated that this was for an admirable cause.” The thin, dark-haired man stood silent for a moment, then, in a reedy voice, “The United States Attorney, Your Honor, declines to press charges. We will not seek prosecution in this case.”
Becky felt limp. At the witness table Morgan and Lee were very still, watching Heller. As if they couldn’t believe his words, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the downside.
“I move, Your Honor, that in light of the present trial of Brad Falon and the jury’s verdict of guilty, Morgan Blake’s conviction for murder, robbery, and attempted murder be overturned in its entirety. That it be wiped from the books. With the perpetrator in custody and duly sentenced, Mr. Blake should be left with a clean record. I move that he be released from all charges. That, as of this hearing, Morgan Blake be divested of any criminal record.”
Morgan put his face in his hands. Lee’s arm went around Morgan’s shoulders, hugging him. Judge Crane looked down at them.
“Mr. Blake, Mr. Fontana, it has been only a matter of days since you turned yourselves in at Terminal Island. Since that time, you have been waiting, hoping for this hearing. I sentence each of you only to the time you have already been held in custody awaiting trial. As of this moment, Morgan Blake, you are a free man.” He nodded to Heller, dismissing him from the bench.
“As for you, Mr. Fontana,” Judge Crane said, “you are a riddle. I have your record. I see what you have done in the past, and I can guess there are many crimes for which you were never apprehended. But there is another side to you. You took a grave personal risk to help Morgan Blake. As far as I know, you had nothing to gain by that risk. Now you have a little time left on the term you are serving. And time will be added on for your escape from Atlanta. I rule that both be added to your parole, that you finish your sentence on the outside. With the hope, Mr. Fontana, that this time you will stay out of trouble.
“You will both be returned to the prison long enough to get whatever personal belongings you left there and attend to the paperwork to transfer you out. Mr. Blake, you will have to be released by the medical staff. And Mr. Fontana, you will be interviewed by a probation officer before you leave. Then you’re free to go, you’ll be on your own.” Judge Crane looked them over. “Mr. Blake, your wife and child are waiting for you.”
Morgan and Lee thanked Judge Crane. He smiled and nodded and shook hands with them. The look in his eyes was satisfied, a look that said justice had been done despite the bizarre and questionable manner. Lee would always wonder, even years later, what had gone on between Judge Crane, Reginald Storm, and Falon’s attorney, that Lee’s use of force on Falon had not been further pursued.
When Morgan turned away, Becky and Sammie ran through the gate, they were in his arms, Becky crying against him. Lee thanked Reginald Storm and, stepping aside with him where they could talk in private, he removed the Blythe money from his pocket, counting out the bills. Storm pushed them back at him.
“When you first came to my office, Lee, you gave me a six-hundred-dollar retainer.” He took the folded bills from his pocket. “Every year I do a couple of cases pro bono, cases that I find particularly interesting or rewarding, that move me in some way.” Storm grinned. “Looks like I’m starting early, this year. This money is yours and the Blakes’. This one’s on me, Fontana.”
Lee stared at him. “We can’t take this. You did a fine job for us, you saved Morgan’s life. You can’t—”
Storm shook his head. “I can. This is my decision. I enjoyed every minute. As to the six hundred,” he said, “I can sell you the Chevy for that, if you want it. Save you looking for transport, and save me the bother of advertising and selling it, now that I have the Buick.”
Lee didn’t know what to say. He’d need transportation, at least until he could pick up a good saddle horse and a packhorse. But more important than the car or the money, Lee truly liked this man. Reginald Storm was one of the few people who’d touched his life in a way he wouldn’t forget. “There’s no way in hell to thank you,” Lee said, handing back the six hundred. “And I sure could use the car.” He watched Storm remove a slip of paper from his pocket, lean over a table, and sign it.
“You can fill out the rest,” Storm said, handing it to Lee. Turning, he nodded to the deputy marshals. He shook Lee’s hand, stepped over to say good-bye to Morgan and to give Becky and Sammie a hug. Then he moved away out of the courtroom, not looking back.
Lee and Morgan were escorted out to a marshal’s car heading for T.I., for their final processing and release. And where Lee would spend a tedious hour with one more federal probation officer no different, no more amiable than any of the others he’d dealt with. But by five that evening they had jumped through all the hoops. They moved out the sally port of T.I. for the last time, to where Becky and Sammie waited.
Crowding into the green Chevy, they headed for their motel, where Becky had gotten a second room for Lee. Soon they sat in the small restaurant for what should be a happy, celebratory dinner. But even approaching the little café, already Lee hung back, distancing himself from the Blakes, feeling heavy and sad and not liking the feeling. Not liking that they would soon be parted. For maybe the first time in his life he didn’t relish the fact that he would soon again be alone. It was only when Sammie took his hand and pulled him along faster that he hurried to catch up with Morgan and Becky.
“Can Uncle Lee come home with us? And live with us in Georgia?”
Becky turned, laughing. “Of course you can, Lee. We were hoping that’s what you’d want. Come back to Rome, live with us, get acquainted with your family—the family you didn’t know you had.”
Lee felt a sudden sharp longing, imagining that kind of life. As they entered the café Becky tucked her hand under his arm, looking up at him. But, watching him, she saw it in his eyes. Saw that he wouldn’t come with them, that he would soon leave them. She felt hurt and disappointed, but she’d known this was how it would be. Lee had a different agenda. Something urgent guided him. Whatever pulled him in the opposite direction, it was too private for her to ask. What could be so urgent that he would abandon Sammie? Where would Lee’s life take him? She so wanted him to remain part of their family and she knew he never would. Nor could she and Morgan and Sammie follow into that other world, the one Lee longed for.
Except, she thought, Sammie might follow. In her dreams Sammie might still reach out to Lee. Becky prayed that would happen, prayed Sammie could know something of Lee as his life played out.
43
AS THEY HEADED for the Blakes’ motel room after a quiet supper, Becky handed the car keys to Lee, but he hesitated to take them. “You could drive it home to Georgia.”
“The Chevy’s yours,” Morgan said. “If we drove home we’d be forever getting across country. This time,” he said, grinning, “I’m in a hurry.”
Lee dropped the keys in his pocket, fished out the money he’d drawn from his savings account in Blythe and counted out six hundred dollars. Morgan tried to push it back.