Dead In The Water

CHAPTER 61

The priest shook hands with both men, then got into his car and drove away. Stone leaned against Thomas's car, which was parked next to Leslie's ancient Morris Minor. "This is completely surreal," he said.

"I know," Hewitt replied, "I feel the same way."

"Leslie, about your fee…"

"It has already been paid."

Stone looked at him, surprised. "By Allison?"

The barrister nodded. "She didn't want any loose ends." He took a thick envelope from his briefcase and handed it to Stone. "She asked me to give you this. She said you were to open it aboard her yacht."

Stone accepted the envelope; it felt as though it contained half a dozen sheets of paper. "All right," he said. "I guess I'll go back there now."

Hewitt held out his hand. "Stone, when you remember St.Marks I hope you will think of more than what has happened today. In ways that you cannot now know, you have helped to make sure that something like this will not happen again."

"How?" Stone asked, puzzled.

"You'll hear from me," Hewitt said. "I'll keep you posted on events here."

"I hope so," Stone said, then looked at the little man closely. "Leslie," he said, "there isn't a senile bone in your body, is there?"

Hewitt burst out laughing. "Let's just say that it helps if certain people believe there are a few such bones."

"You're a crafty man and a fine lawyer. It has been a privilege to work with you."

"Thank you, Stone. I can wholeheartedly say the same of you. I hope that in a little while you will not think badly of me."

"Never," Stone said, then embraced the barrister. Then they got into their cars and drove away.

Stone drove on automatic pilot, slowly, feeling numb and drained. He parked the car behind the Shipwright's Arms and left the keys at the bar, but Thomas was not there.

Stone arrived at the marina in time to see the fast motor yacht making her way out of the harbor, her lights reflecting on the water. The news must have reached her skipper, he thought. He boarded Expansive, dropping Allison's duffel on a saloon couch and switching on the light over the chart table. The rest of the saloon was in shadow, the desk light reflecting off the gleaming wood. He switched on the satellite phone and dialed Bill Eggers's home number.

"Eggers," the voice said.

"It's over," Stone said.

"Stone? What do you mean, over? Did our tactics work?"

"I'm afraid not. She was executed less than an hour ago."

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry, I know how you must feel."

"Yeah. Will you do a press release? I don't have the energy to talk to anybody."

"Sure. I'll call the PR people and get it on the wire services tonight."

"Is Allison's estate going to owe the firm any money?"

"I think we'll have a surplus to return to the executor."

"We'll talk about it when I'm back."

"When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"You know about Arrington and Vance Calder?"

"I got a fax from her."

"I'm sorry about that, Stone; she was a great girl."

"Still is, no doubt; just not mine."

"Let's have dinner later this week."

"Sure; I'll call you."

"Good night, then."

"Good night, Bill. Thanks for all your help." He hung up, thinking he had never been so tired. His body cried out for sleep; Allison's will would have to wait until tomorrow. He didn't think he could make it back to his own yacht, so he went into the after cabin, shucked off his clothes, and collapsed into the bed. Not until then did he allow himself to weep. He wept for Allison and for himself.