The Cat, The Devil, The Last Escape by Shirley Rousseau Murphy and Pat J.J. Murphy Page B

look to shut him up, then looking at Morgan. “You haven’t told us your whole story, Blake. Would it help to talk about it?”
    Blake was silent. Randall nodded encouragement. “How long is your sentence?”
    â€œI’ll be eligible for parole in twenty-three years,” Blake said reluctantly, and Lee could see that he needed to talk. “Fifteen on the life term, eight on the twenty-five-year jolt.” He had turned, was talking to Lee and Andy, glancing up at the counselor only to be polite. “For the next twenty-three years I’ll get to see my little girl grow up, from right here behind the bars. I’ll be here on visiting days to talk with her, to help with her problems, to help shape what kind of a young woman she’ll be. When I get out, she’ll be grown and married. My wife will be over fifty years old.”
    Blake seemed, once he got started, to need badly to spill it all out. He looked deeply at Lee, again that puzzled look that made Lee uneasy. “My life, their lives, are down the drain because of a crime I didn’t commit. But what do the courts care? No one in law enforcement, no one in the courts will listen.”
    â€œEven if you lose your appeal,” the counselor said, “you know you can try again.”
    â€œWhat good is a second try?” Morgan said. “The first jury didn’t believe me. If we lose an appeal, why bother with another? The witnesses who lied in court, they’ll keep on lying.” Morgan flushed deeply. “If I were guilty I’d figure I had it coming, I’d figure I had to get used to prison. But I’m not guilty and every day I’m in here is hard time, unfair time. I don’t know how to get used to it.”
    Andy stubbed out his cigarette, his broad, dark hands catching the light. His look at Morgan was gentle and patient. “The reality is, you are here. You cannot change that, not until the appeal. You can only take each day as it comes. You are fortunate, you know, to have such a loyal and loving wife working to help you, and to have your little girl to visit you, to hold her and love her, even here in the prison setting.”
    Morgan nodded. He looked companionably at Andy and was quiet.
    Randall listened to several more petty complaints from other inmates, then he tried to draw Lee out. “You were transferred down from Springfield, Fontana. That means your health has improved.”
    Lee didn’t care to discuss his weakness in front of these men. Didn’t Randall have any sense? “Springfield had a new bunch of men coming in, they needed the space,” he said. He clammed up and would answer no more questions, scowling at Randall until the counselor turned to another inmate.
    At the end of the session, as they headed for the doorAndy Trotter laid a hand on Morgan Blake’s arm. “Stay steady, man. I’d like to talk, have a cup of coffee, but I have to get to work.”
    Lee moved out behind them. The ground shook as, beyond the wall, a train thundered and screamed, passing the prison. Lee was getting used to their freedom call, to their beckoning. He’d started to turn away from the other men when Blake fell into step with him, and again that searching look. “Sorry I came on so strong back there. I know that doesn’t do any good.” Blake’s frown as he watched Lee seemed to hold some question about Lee himself.
    Warily Lee said, “Why do you care what I think?”
    Blake colored, lowered his gaze, and moved away. Lee felt relief but then, on impulse, he stepped up beside Blake again. “Come on, kid. Let’s go down to the mess hall, see if we can wrangle that coffee.”
    Even as he said it, he wondered what he was doing. A few minutes over a cup of coffee could get him uncomfortably involved, could gain him a persistent sidekick that he didn’t want hanging around. This guy needed a friend. And Lee wasn’t