Shirley Murphy - The Cat, The Devil, The Last Escape

“Your Honor, Mr. Blake and Mr. Fontana did escape. For the express purpose of coming across the country to turn themselves in at Terminal Island, where they knew Brad Falon was incarcerated, where they knew he wouldn’t be able to evade them.

“Morgan Blake wanted the truth from Falon, he wanted to see Falon duly tried for the crimes that he committed, for which Morgan had been convicted.

“That has now been accomplished. Blake and Fontana committed no new crimes coming across the country. They lived on the money Mrs. Blake earned and borrowed. They had a destination and a goal. Their efforts, against all odds, have corrected a grave injustice.”

Becky’s arm was around Sammie, squeezing her close. Judge Crane asked both Morgan and Lee if they had anything further to add. Neither did. When the judge leaned forward, looking down from the bench directly at Lee, Becky couldn’t breathe.

“Mr. Fontana, can you tell me why, at Terminal Island, all of a sudden after so long a time, Brad Falon decided to reveal where the stolen money was hidden?”

Becky saw Lee swallow. “At first,” Lee said, “we tried to talk with Falon, tried to reason with him. But reasoning didn’t work very well. It made Falon so mad that he went after Morgan, he hurt Morgan bad, I didn’t know whether he’d live or die. After Morgan was taken to emergency, I found Falon,” Lee said, “and I used a little force on him.”

“How much force, Mr. Fontana?”

“Enough to scare him,” Lee said quietly.

The judge nodded. He didn’t press the question. When he glanced up at the defense attorney, Ballard was blank faced and quiet. Becky expected him to pull open Falon’s collar and reveal the red marks Lee’s cable had made. Ballard didn’t, nor did Falon attempt to exhibit the injury. Maybe they knew it wouldn’t make any difference, that this judge wouldn’t go soft over Falon’s pain.

Judge Crane looked back at Lee and Morgan, ready to sentence them. Becky couldn’t breathe. She took both Sammie’s hands in hers; they were ice-cold.

“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.