The Cat, The Devil, The Last Escape Read Online Free PDF Page B

that afternoon. Had left him parked there in the woods overnight while Falon himself, disguised as Morgan, had walked into the bank, killed the guard, beaten the bank clerks, locked them in the vault and walked out with the money. Falon’s planted evidence, the scattered hundred-dollar bills and canvas bank bag in Morgan’s car, had incriminated Morgan well enough, coupled with Morgan’s inability to remember where he’d been all afternoon andnight. Though it was Natalie Hooper’s testimony that, in the end, had sealed the conviction.
    Anyone with common sense could see that the woman was lying, but the jury hadn’t seen it. Gullible and unthinking, they had bought Natalie’s story that Falon had spent the afternoon and all night with her, in her apartment. It was Natalie’s lies that the jury believed. That fact alone left Becky hating her neighbors.
    Rome was a small town, everyone knew Morgan, knew he was a good man, knew how hard he worked at the automotive shop he had built. And everyone knew Brad Falon, knew he’d been in trouble all through school, had been in Juvenile Hall and later in prison. Everyone knew that Falon meant trouble, and that Natalie wasn’t much better. What dark and twisted leverage, what illusion, had been at work in the courtroom while that slovenly woman occupied the witness stand? That slattern with her wild black hair and tight skirts and jangling jewelry who had already gone through three husbands and a dozen lovers? What magnetism had been in play among the unseeing jury of townspeople, of six men and six women, to make them believe Natalie, to allow her to successfully hoodwink them?
    Becky didn’t know how she was going to tell Sammie that her daddy wasn’t coming home. She felt drained, wanted to be with her own mother, wanted Caroline to hold and comfort her as if she herself were a child again. Wanted Caroline to reassure and strengthen her as they must now support Sammie. She wanted to be the little girl again, to be held and soothed, to be told what to do, told how to live her life, now that they were alone.
    After the verdict Becky had phoned Caroline from the glassed-in phone booth at the courthouse, trying not to cry. Later, after the sentencing, she had phoned her mother again, had stood with her back to the glass door that faced the courthouse hallway, avoiding the eyes of her neighborsas they crowded out of the courtroom glancing at her with righteous or with embarrassed stares. She had wanted only to be away from them, to remove herself even from the few awkward attempts at sympathy. She hated her neighbors, she hated the jury that was made up of her neighbors, she hated the courts, hated the judge, the police, hated the damned attorney who had lost for them.
    Sitting rigid on the edge of the chair, she thought of making herself a cup of tea. She hadn’t eaten since last night, but she didn’t care enough to get up and put the kettle on or to rummage in the refrigerator for something she thought she could keep down. She needed to pull herself together, needed to go on over to her mother’s and tell Sammie. She didn’t know how to face Sammie, didn’t known how to present the truth to her. Even if she talked about an appeal, tried to say he might be coming home, that wouldn’t be straightforward, the hope was too slim. If one attorney couldn’t win for them, how could another? She and Morgan had always been honest with Sammie. With the perceptive dreams Sammie had, one couldn’t be otherwise, couldn’t sidestep the true facts even though they were painful.
    Sammie knew as well as she did that Brad Falon had set Morgan up, that the child feared and hated Falon and with good cause. While Morgan was overseas Falon broke into their house, terrified them both, and killed Sammie’s cat: Sammie knew too well what he was. The fact that this man had destroyed her daddy made the blow all the more