Dead In The Water

CHAPTER 32

Stone sat in his rented room over the Shipwright's Arms, staring at the screen of his computer, trying to write an opening statement for Allison's trial, even though he knew that Leslie Hewitt intended to open himself. He felt that he had to be ready with something if Leslie should suddenly veer off into one of his lapses. He had nearly finished a draft when there was a knock on the door.

"Stone," Thomas's voice called from the hallway.

"Come in, Thomas."

Thomas opened the door. "There're two policemen downstairs wanting you; they wouldn't tell me what it was about, but they took my guest registration forms for the past week."

Stone saved his document and shut down the computer. "Let's see what they want," he said. He followed Thomas downstairs to the open-air bar where two starched and pressed black officers waited. "I'm Stone Barrington, gentlemen," he said. "What can I do for you?"

The taller of the two nodded at an elderly Jaguar in the parking lot. "You must come with us, Mr.Barrington," he said.

"Where are we going?" Stone asked.

"In the car, please."

"Am I under arrest?"

"Get in the car," the man repeated.

Thomas spoke quietly. "Do it; I'll find out where they take you."

Stone walked toward the car without another word. The shorter officer held the rear door open for him, closed it after him, and got into the driver's seat; his tall companion sat up front, too. The car pulled out of the lot and headed inland, toward the capital.

"Where are we going?" Stone asked.

"Government House," the tall officer said. "You in a lot of trouble, man."

Stone remembered that the jail was in the basement of Government House. "What kind of trouble?"

"You see pretty quick," the man said.

The remainder of the journey passed in silence. Stone wracked his brain for some notion of what they could be arresting him for, but the only motivation he could come up with was that he was representing Allison Manning. Perhaps in St.Marks that was enough.

Eventually, the car entered the little city and drove to its center, passing the front door of Government House and going to the side, to the jail door. Stone got out of the car and, with an officer on each side of him, to the door. The booking desk was dead ahead. wondered what, if anything, Thomas could do about this.

"This way," the tall officer said.

Stone turned to his left and found the officer holding led to a flight of stairs. He followed the up two stories, with the short officer bringing up the emerged into a long, broad hallway, cooled by row of ceiling fans and open to the air at each end, a to the British desire to remain cool in hot places. The building seemed deserted. They marched to the end of the hall, through a set of double doors, and into a waiting room.

"Wait here," the tall officer said, then went through another door.

Stone looked around him. It was a large room, furnished with well-worn leather furniture, and on the wall was a large portrait of the prime minister, a benevolent-looking man who, Stone guessed, had been in his mid-seventies when he had sat for the portrait. He wondered how long ago that was.

The inner door opened, and the tall officer braced just inside. "This way," he commanded.

Stone walked into a large office, and the officer stepped outside and closed the door behind him. Stone was quite alone in the room. A huge desk dominated the office; a single visitor's chair sat before the desk. In a corner were a round conference table and eight chairs, and the walls were decorated with oils and watercolors, island scenes of a high quality. From somewhere came the muffled sound of a flushing toilet, then, a moment later, a door opened and Sir Winston Sutherland emerged,rubbing his hands briskly with a towel. He was dressed in white linen trousers and a rather loud short-sleeved sport shirt. He discarded the towel and strode toward Stone.

"Ah, Mr.Barrington," he said, extending a huge hand. "How good of you to come."

Stone shook the hand. "It wasn't good of me at all," he said. "I didn't have a choice."

"Oh, I hope the two officers were not officious," Sir Winston said, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Am I under arrest?"

Sir Winston looked shocked. "Of course not, my dear fellow, of course not. This is merely a pretrial meeting between opposing counsel." He walked to a set of French doors and opened them wide, revealing a large balcony that stretched across the rear of the building. "Please come outside, and let's have some lunch."

Stone followed the big man onto the balcony and found a table set quite elegantly for two. A uniformed waiter stood at a loose parade rest to one side.

"Let me get you some refreshment," Sir Winston said, waving a hand at a bar.

"Nothing for me," Stone said.

Sir Winston snapped his fingers, bringing the waiter to stiff attention. "Mr.Barrington and I will have some champagne." He turned to Stone. "Surely I can tempt you with a glass?"

"Oh, all right," Stone said. "Just a glass."

Sir Winston indicated a chair at the table, and Stone took it. A moment later, the waiter was pouring Veuve Clicquot into two crystal flutes.

"Your health," Stone said, sipping the wine. It was perfectly chilled. He looked out at the vista, which was the better part of the town, with green hills beyond and the sea shining in the distance. "Lovely," he said.

Sir Winston sat down opposite him. "Yes, we are fortunate on our island," he said. "God has given us at beauty on all sides."

Perhaps not on the side of town harboring the slums, he thought. "Oh, yes," he said. The champagne was absolutely perfect.

"Bad crash-Chester's airplane," Stone said.

"Yes, a terrible thing," Sir Winston said, not sounding too sad. "I suppose we'll have to find someone else start a ferry service to Antigua."

"I suppose," Stone said. "Have the police found any reason for the crash?"

"They'relooking into it," Sir Winston said. "I trust you are enjoying your stay with us?"

"I would be enjoying it a great deal more if my original plan of cruising could have been implemented," Stone said.

"Ah, yes, and perhaps the company of the young lady who was to have joined you."

"Quite," Stone replied, beginning to feel slightly British, or at least colonial, in the surroundings.

"I understand she was detained in New York by the unfortunate weather," Sir Winston said sympathetically.

"That is correct," Stone replied, "and then she had to go to Los Angeles on business."

"Leaving you alone to deal with Mrs.Manning's problems."

"As it turned out."

"Tell me, did you know Mrs.Manning prior to coming here?"

"Or her late husband?"

"No. I'd heard of him, though; he was quite a well-known author."

"Did she seek you out while at sea, then?"

"She didn't seek me out at all," Stone replied, sipping more champagne. "I had scheduled my cruise some weeks before the Mannings set sail from the Canaries. And I didn't know them."

"No professional connection? No mutual friends who might have referred you to Mrs.Manning?"

"None. I was just sitting on my chartered boat when she sailed in. At that time there was still some hope of my companion joining me."

"And how did you happen to appear at the coroner's inquest?"

"I had nothing else to do," Stone said. "It was the only entertainment available."

Sir Winston smiled broadly. "Entertainment, eh? I like that: a coroner's inquest as entertainment."

"Tell me, Sir Winston, how did you happen to attend the inquest? Wasn't it perhaps overkill for the minister of justice to participate in such an event?"

"We are a small island, Mr.Barrington," Sir Winston replied smoothly. "But enough of this chat," he said, taking a slip of paper from his pocket and unfolding it. "Tell me-who, exactly, is, or perhaps I should say was, Elizabeth Allison Manning?"

Stone took a long swallow of his champagne. Oh, shit, he thought.