Fox is Framed Read Online Free PDF Page B

felt a hand squeeze my arm—my father’s. I glanced at him, and the nod he gave me conveyed urgent approval. He seemed to recognize that his freedom was at hand, closer than he’d ever dared dream, and his eyes brightened in hope. I hardly heard Crowder’s response.
    Judge Liu made his ruling. “The defendant’s motion to reduce bail is well taken. I find that the special circumstances in this case—including the defendant’s many years of incarceration, excellent behavioral record, and the likelihood that the state will not be able to meet its burden of proceeding—warrant a substantial reduction; however, not to the level requested by the defense. Bail is set at fifty thousand dollars cash bond.”
    ~ ~ ~
    As soon as Liu had left the bench, Dot came through the swinging gate, took my father’s face in both her hands, and kissed him on the mouth. Cameras flashed, capturing the moment. My father’s face was flushed. His hands shook with excitement.
    More reporters were waiting as we came out of the courtroom, making me remember that today was the first time Teddy had appeared at the Hall of Justice since he’d been shot. He’d once owned this place. Back then, people would have turned to look at him as he strode down the halls to a court appearance, the cops staring with open contempt, the defendants acknowledging his magic reputation as a fixer. The hearing today could have been his coming-out party, his return to the practice of law—except I hadn’t given him the chance to say a word.
    Dot had her bike, and planned to meet us at Teddy’s. She’d brought an extra helmet for my father, but Lawrence balked. “Not unless you’re going to let me drive,” he said.
    â€œAnd kill us both?” She masked her disappointment with feigned disgust.
    As we drove across the Bay Bridge, sitting three across in my pickup, Dot passed us, and my father peered out the window for a glimpse of the skyline between the decks. When we were halfway across, he said, “I guess they fixed it after it fell down.” It took me a moment to realize that he was talking about the upper deck’s collapse during the quake of ’89.
    I said, “Things must look different.” I was wary of drawing him out, afraid to know too much about what he was feeling. He would be like a skinless man, all his protective instincts turned inside out, a condition likely to put him wrong in any normal interaction. As he stared out at the landscape unscrolling outside the window, I was sensitive to how I must figure in the tumult of emotions he was experiencing.
    â€œFunny,” he said. “I was just thinking how everything looks the same. Same old world. And same old Lawrence Maxwell.” What he meant by that I didn’t ask.
    I’d called as soon as we left the courtroom, and the others were waiting at Teddy’s house: Jeanie, Tamara, Carly. The welcome home party that wasn’t. Because where was home for a man who’d spent the last twenty-one years in San Quentin? Dot was waiting outside, and the others were all out back. As we joined them, Tamara, who’d been sketching, rose, laying her pad aside.
    â€œI hear you’re a wonderful artist,” Lawrence said, taking her hand. “You’re just as lovely as Teddy described you. Or rather, lovelier.”
    I introduced everyone to Dot, whom my father seemed to ignore. She wouldn’t look me in the eyes, but hung back, seeming to take in the scene. Tamara deflected Lawrence’s compliment by introducing him to Jeanie, who seemed uncomfortable and out of place, and kept staring at Dot as if she were some exotic species. But since Teddy had asked Jeanie to come, she was here.
    â€œLet me show you the baby,” Teddy said, moving between Lawrence and Tamara. “This is Carly.”
    â€œDon’t wake her—” Tamara started, but he was already lifting the sleeping