Dead In The Water

CHAPTER 8

Stone sweated through a nearly sleepless night, tossing in his berth, trying in vain to think of some tactic to abort this whole process. He rose at dawn, had a swim in the harbor and showered off the salt water, then forced down some breakfast. He left his chartered yacht, walked to the berth where Expansive lay, and went aboard. BelOw, he found a makeup kit in the head, and he chose a demure dress and some shoes from a clothing cupboard. In a drawer he found fresh lingerie and, feeling odd, chose some lace bikini panties. There were no bras in the drawer. He stuffed the lot into a small duffel he found in a locker. He was about to go up the companionway stairs when he stopped and looked around.

Allison Manning was an innocent woman, he was sure of that, but if there was anything incriminating on this yacht, he wanted to know about it. He certainly wasn't going to tamper with evidence, but he needed to know what was here. He set down the duffel and went to the galley. He had no idea what sort of criminal investigation skills were available to the St.Marks police force, but he thought it wise not to leave a lot of fingerprints about. He went to the galley and found a pair of rubber kitchen gloves and put them on. Then he went to the bow of the yacht and started working his way toward the stern, looking at everything along the way. He paid particular attention to the chart table and bookcases, then moved on to the master cabin. He found nothing incriminating. Then he found himself staring at Allison Manning's briefcase.

He was torn between his lawyer's respect for his client's prixacy and the cop in him who wanted to know everything. If she was guilty, did he want to know? Probably not. Yes. Finally he made his decision; he laid the briefcase on the large bed and pressed the releases on the locks. Nothing happened. Then he saw the combination locks. Frustrated,"he tried changing the last digits one, then two notches in each direction, then he turned the combinations to zero on both sides. The case would still not unlock. "Shit!" he said. Well, it was none of his business anyway. He left the briefcase on the bed, returned the rubber gloves to the galley, picked up the duffel, and went on deck.

He trudged up to the Shipwright's Arms and climbed upstairs to the room over the bar. Nobody ever seemed to lock anything in St.Marks; he walked in, tossed Allison's duffel onto the bed, sat down at the desk, picked up the phone, and dialed Bill Eggers's home number.

"Yeah?" Eggers said grumpily.

"It's Stone, Bill. Wake up; I need you to pay attention."

There was a groan as Eggers apparently sat up in bed. "What are you doing back?" he asked, awake now.

"I'm not back; I'm still in St.Marks."

"Then you must be in jail," Eggers chuckled. "I can't think of any other reason you'd call me from there."

"Close. I have a client who's in jail, and it's very, very serious; a murder charge."

"Did she do it?"

"No, but what does that matter?"

"What do you want from me?"

"She needs an English barrister badly; nobody here will defend her, for political reasons, but it's a former English colony with an English-style court system. I don't know any English barristers; you got any ideas?"

"We deal with a firm at Gray's Inn in London. Let's see, it's…six forty-five?! Jesus, Stone; you ever hear of office hours?"

"Bill, I've got a preliminary hearing at ten o'clock. It's what, noon in London? You need to catch these people before they go to lunch."

"Yeah, yeah; what's your number there?"

Stone read it off the telephone on the desk.

"I'll call you back in a few minutes."

Thomas knocked and walked into the room. "Everything you need here?"

"Yes, it's fine, Thomas; I'm just waiting for a call back from New York about an English barrister."

"How about some breakfast?"

"I've had something, but I'd love some coffee."

They sat and drank their coffee together.

"Thomas," Stone said, "there's something I need to know."

"What's that?"

"Is Leslie Hewitt going to be able to get through this heating without…you know?"

"I wouldn't worry about it. Leslie is very sharp when his mind is fully engaged. He'll manage."

"God, I hope you're right." The phone rang, and picked it up. "Hello?"

"It's Bill; I've got you a guy, but…has this client of yours got any money?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe won't do it. This guy's fee is a retainer of two hundred thousand pounds sterling against an hourly fee of two hundred pounds an hour, and travel time counts; he wants the retainer in his bank account before he even makes an airline reservation."

"That's a fee of more than three hundred fifty thousand dollars plus more than three hundred fifty dollars an hour. He must be an absolutely fucking wonderful lawyer," Stone said.

"That's what he tells me; what do you want me to tell him?"

"If I had my druthers I'd tell him to go fuck himself, but I guess I'd better ask my client first."

"The fee is not out of line, Stone. After all, you're asking a top-flight barrister to fly halfway across the world on short notice and to stay indefinitely. A top New York man would cost at least that. Oh, by the way, he'll want to bring a clerk with him; that's seventy-five pounds an hour."

"And he'll want to fly first class, too, I suppose."

"Of course."

"Tell him you'll get back to him after I've talked to my client."

"Okay. When will you want him?"

"We'll probably get a trial date set today, and it could be soon; things move quickly here."

"I'll tell him. See you." Eggers hung up.

Stone turned to Thomas. "Well, I hope her husband turns out to have had a hell of a lot of money."

Thomas Hardy pulled into the Government House parking lot simultaneously with Sir Leslie Hewitt, who was driving an ancient Morris Minor station wagon festooned with rotting wood paneling.

"Good morning, Leslie," Stone said, getting out of Thomas's car.

"Good morning, Stone, Thomas," Sir Leslie called back. He reached into the rear of the little car and removed a long plastic garment bag and a small suitcase, then led the way into the building.

They signed in to the jail, were searched for weapons, then were led to a small cell that held a table and four chairs.

A moment later Allison Manning was led into the cell by a black matron. She was pale and rumpled and seemed to have had little sleep. She went to Stone and put her head on his shoulder. "I am so glad to see you," she whimpered.

Stone patted her back awkwardly, then introduced Sir Leslie, "Sir Leslie is going to represent you at ithe hearing and apply for bail," he said.

She shook the banister's hand. "Thank you so much for being here, Sir Leslie," she said.

"I am happy to represent you," the little man replied. "Please sit down, and I'll tell you what is going to happen this morning." Everyone sat down, and Sir Leslie continued. "This will be a short meeting of the court at which the presiding judge will ask the prosecutor if he has sufficient evidence to bring a charge of murder to trial. Then we will ask for bail, and I'm told you have a yacht which might serve as your security."

"Wait a minute," Stone said. "Won't the prosecution have to present evidence of the crime? I was hoping we might get a dismissal."

"Oh, no," Sir Leslie replied. "The judge will simply take Sir Winston's affidavit that he has enough evidence for trial; it's all very gentlemanly."

"It's all very unheard of," Stone said.

"Stone, you must understand that although our court system is based on English law, over the years, in the interest of efficiency, certain procedures that the court thinks superfluous have been pared away from the process."

"Superfluous? This court thinks that the presenting of evidence in a preliminary hearing is superfluous?"

"I'm afraid so," Sir Leslie said. "I assure you that if Sir Winston wants this to go to trial, it will go to trial, no matter what evidence might be presented, and no matter how we might challenge that evidence."

"Leslie," Stone said, "this crime-I mean the alleged crime-occurred on the high seas, in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Can't we ask for a dismissal on jurisdictional grounds?"

"Oh, no," Sir Leslie said. "You see, many of the cases tried in our courts over the past two hundred years were based on crimes that occurred at sea. The local rule is that the defendant will be tried in the jurisdiction of the first port he puts into after the act."

Stone nodded dumbly.

"Now, Mrs.Manning," Sir Leslie continued, "I understand you have a yacht which might be used to secure your bail, is that correct?"

"Yes," she replied.

"What is the value of the yacht?"

"I don't really know," she said. "I'm sure it's expensive."

Stone spoke up. "A minimum of a million and a half dollars American."

"Oh, that should be quite sufficient. And where does the yacht lie?"

"In English Harbour."

"Good, good."

"Leslie," Stone said, "Mrs.Manning will need to live aboard the yacht until this matter is disposed of."

"I'm sure His Lordship would agree to that."

"Who?"

"The judge, Lord Cornwall."

"Oh."

"Stone, did you ever see the film Witness for the Prosecution?"

"Yes."

"Well, that is a pretty good model for how court is I expect you've seen other such films as well."

"Yes, I suppose so. Oh, Allison, I brought you some things." He shoved the duffel across the table. I couldn't find a…I hope these are all right.

Allison held up the dress and looked at it. "Well, at least you didn't bring the sequined cocktail dress."

Sir Leslie opened his garment bag and removed two black robes, handing one to Stone. "You'd better get into this."

Stone stood up and put on the robe; it was ridiculously small on him.

"And this," Sir Leslie said, opening his small case. He handed Stone a wig.

"You can't be serious," Stone said, regarding the thing at arm's length.

"Oh, yes, quite serious," Sir Leslie said. "On second thought, just carry it; don't put it on."

"Good," Stone said. "I'll carry it."

Thomas put a hand over his face and laughed quietly.