Shoot Him If He Runs

44

Stone sat, still handcuffed, on a very uncomfortable chair before a desk in an otherwise bare room, more angry than frightened. It was clear that the chair he sat in had been constructed with the idea of discomfort in mind, and he was sure that he was about to be interrogated. He ran over the details of Holly’s cover in his mind, just to have everything straight. He stood up, walked to a wall and leaned against it.

A door opened and duBois entered. “Sit down,” he said.

“Thank you, no. What is the meaning of this?”

DuBois walked over and backhanded him. “Sit down and shut up, except to answer my questions.”

Stone felt a trickle of blood running down his cheek. DuBois had been wearing a ring of some sort. Stone sat down.

DuBois sat at the desk and removed a legal pad from a drawer. He took out a pen and held it poised over the pad. “What is your name?”

“Stone Barrington.” He spelled it.

“Occupation?”

“Attorney at law.”

“Show me identification.”

It was awkward with his hands cuffed, but Stone managed to retrieve his passport from his inside jacket pocket and toss it on the desk.

DuBois looked at the photo inside, compared it to Stone and noted the passport number. “Why did you kill Colonel Croft?”

Stone blinked. “I had nothing whatever to do with the death of Colonel Croft.”

“Where were you when he was killed?”

“When was he killed?”

“If you continue to be obstructive I will use unpleasant means to extract this information.”

Stone shrugged. “If you do that I will, of course, confess to anything you like, then repudiate the confession at the first opportunity. I want to see someone from the American Embassy immediately, and I want to see my attorney, Sir Leslie Hewitt. Until I do I will have nothing more to say, unless, of course, you torture it from me. I also wish to speak to Sir Winston Sutherland at once. He and I are personally acquainted.”

It was duBois’s turn to blink. He got up and left the room without a word.

Holly, though she did not know it, sat in a room identical to the one Stone occupied. She didn’t like being handcuffed. She got out of the uncomfortable chair, walked around the desk and rummaged in the drawers until she found where they had put her handbag. She unzipped an inside pocket, removed a handcuff key, opened the cuffs, then tucked the key into her bra and put her handbag back into the drawer. She tossed the cuffs onto the desk and sat down again.

DuBois entered the room and sat down at the desk.

“Why have I been arrested?” Holly asked.

DuBois raised his eyes from the legal pad before him; then he saw the handcuffs. “How did you get out of those?”

“One of your people removed them,” she replied. “Why have I been arrested?”

“What is your name?”

“Virginia Heller.”

“Occupation?”

“Flying instructor; I own a flying school in Florida. Why have I been arrested?”

“Give me your passport.”

“It’s in my handbag, which was taken from me and placed in one of your desk drawers.”

DuBois opened drawers until he found the handbag; he turned it upside down and emptied the contents onto the desk, then he picked up the satphone. “Why do you have this?”

“It belongs to my gentleman friend; he loaned it to me so that I can keep in touch with him while I’m out of the country.”

DuBois put down the phone, opened her passport, compared the photo to her and noted the number. “Your friend, Mr. Barrington, is being charged with the murder of Colonel Croft; you will be charged as his accessory, which carries the same penalty as murder, that of hanging.”

“That’s preposterous,” Holly said. “We came here on vacation and for no other reason. We met Colonel Croft only once, at the English Harbour Inn. Why would we want to kill him?”

“Perhaps you were hired. Who hired you to kill him?”

“My friend is a prominent lawyer in New York; I have already told you what I do. We are not hired killers. Check out our backgrounds; that should be easy enough. Mr. Barrington is a retired New York City police officer, and I have a website that you may visit. I want to see Mr. Barrington.”

“Mr. Barrington is indisposed.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Holly demanded.

“Miss Heller, I caution you to be careful how you speak to me.”

“Very well, I will not speak to you again, until I have seen and spoken to Mr. Barrington.” She folded her arms and stared at a spot on the wall across the room.

DuBois got up so quickly that he knocked over his chair. He strode around the desk and came at Holly.

Holly stood up and faced him. He was about five-ten and slim; she was nearly as big.

DuBois drew back his right hand and swung it at her face.

Holly stepped inside the blow, grabbed his wrist, twisted his arm behind his back and, in the same motion, used a leg to sweep his feet from under him and slam him hard onto the floor. “You have no manners,” she said. She took the handcuffs from the desk and cuffed his hands behind his back. She heard a door open behind her.

“What is the meaning of this?” a deep voice said.

Holly turned and saw the imposing figure of Sir Winston Sutherland filling the doorway.

“Uh, good afternoon, Prime Minister,” she said, rising to her full height and leaving duBois on the floor.

“What is this, Marcel?” Sutherland demanded, “some kind of sex game?”

“Colonel duBois lacks charm,” Holly said. “Apparently he enjoys beating up women.”

Sutherland stepped into the room and was followed by Stone and another man.

“Ginny,” Stone said, “this is Mr. James Tiptree of the American Embassy.”

“How do you do?” Tiptree said, looking baffled.

DuBois attempted to get up, but Holly put her foot on his neck. “Be still,” she said.

Sir Winston Sutherland smiled, then began to laugh. Stone laughed, too. Tiptree just shook his head.