Dead in the Water

by Stuart Woods

  “They’re looking 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?”

  “No.”

  “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.

  Chapter

  33

  Sir Winston stared across the table at Stone, waiting for an answer. Stone thought fast, but there was not much he could do in the way of obfuscation. Sir Winston had seen him at dinner with Libby Manning and had, no doubt, noticed the passing of documents between them. He decided to follow Mark Twain’s advice: when in doubt, tell the truth.

  “Elizabeth Manning was the first wife of Paul Manning,” Stone said.

  Sir Winston’s eyebrows went up. “Ahhhh,” he breathed. “Not a sister or a cousin, but an ex-wife?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me, Mr. Barrington, how many ex-wives did Paul Manning have?”

  “Just the one, to my knowledge.”

  “And what brought the first Mrs. Manning to our beautiful island?”

  “Your beautiful island, I expect; and, perhaps, some curiosity about the death of Paul Manning. She’d read about it in the American papers, you see, and she wondered if she could be of any assistance.”

  “Ah, yes,” Sir Winston said, an edge in his voice. “It seems a great many people read about Mr. Manning’s death in the American papers. I have heard from a number of them, including Senators Dodd and Lieberman of Connecticut.”

  “Yes, I believe Mr. Manning was a very substantial contributor to the Democratic Party,” he lied, “and a personal friend of the President and Mrs. Clinton.” The champagne was taking effect now, and he had trouble keeping a straight face.

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that the president is an avid reader of Mr. Manning’s books.” He stopped himself from adding that Paul Manning was also an investor in the Whitewater real estate venture and a financial advisor to the First Lady.

  Sir Winston cleared his throat loudly. “To return to the first Mrs. Manning, what business did you and she discuss during her visit?”

  Stone wondered if, somehow, Libby’s copy of the agreement had been found. “Sir Winston,” he said, “I am sure you understand that I am bound by the confidentiality strictures of the attorney-client relationship, but I think it would not be untoward for me to tell you that Elizabeth Manning, who was not a wealthy woman, had some notion of participating in her former husband’s estate. He had been paying alimony to her during the past ten years, a requirement of their divorce decree which had recently expired.”

  “And did she participate in Mr. Manning’s estate?”

  “Elizabeth Manning was disappointed to learn that she had not been mentioned in Mr. Manning’s will, and, the requirement for alimony having expired, she was entitled to nothing further.”

  “So why were you and Mrs. Manning exchanging documents at dinner the other evening?”

  “I can tell you only that the second Mrs. Manning, being of a kind nature, felt moved to improve the reduced circumstances of the first Mrs. Manning.”

  “Improve to what extent?”

  “I’m afraid that client confidentiality prevents me from saying more.”

  Sir Winston stared at him for a long moment, then nodded at the waiter, who disappeared and came back with two platters of lobster salad. Sir Winston ate his lobster, sipped his champagne, and stared out to sea.

  Stone ate his lunch, too, grateful for the opportunity to collect his thoughts. Clearly, Sir Winston had believed that he might turn the presence, or perhaps even the death, of Elizabeth Manning to his advantage in court. Stone was happy to disappoint him.

  Sir Winston finished his lobster and sat back in his chair. “What else do you know of Elizabeth Manning?” he asked. “There is the matter of notification of next of kin, you see, and lacking her passport or other documents, we are somewhat at a loss as to how to proceed.”

  “I know that Elizabeth Manning made her home in Palm Beach, Florida…”

  “But you said that she was not a wealthy woman,” Sir Winston interrupted. “I should think that living in Palm Beach would be a very expensive matter. I have visited that city, you see.”

  Stone shrugged. “Every American city, even the wealthiest, has neighborhoods that house those who are employed by the wealthy. I do not have Mrs. Manning’s address, but I am sure that she must have lived in such a neighborhood. She told me that she was employed by a small newspaper to write a column about Palm Beach society. It gave her a sort of entree to social events, but I imagine that her nose was very much pressed against the shop window of that society.”

  “Mmmm,” Sir Winston mused.

  “I should think her address would be on her hotel registration card,” Stone said, “and that the nearest American consulate could be of assistance in tracing her next of kin.”

  “Of course,” Sir Winston replied. “That is all being taken care of.”

  “If I can be of any further assistance in making inquiries, let me know.”

  “No, no; that won’t be necessary.”

  Coffee and petit fours appeared on the table, and both men helped themselves.

  “Tell me, Stone, if I may call you that?”

  “Please do.”

  He smiled broadly. “And you may call me Winston, of course. Tell me, just what is in all this for you?”

  “In all what?”

  “The trial, your, ah, services to the second Mrs. Manning.”

  “We have not discussed a fee, Winston,” Stone replied. He had no doubt of what Sir Winston meant by “services.”

  Sir Winston allowed himself a small smile. “But, I take it, you have accepted a retainer of sorts?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” said Stone, putting on his best poker face.

  “I’m reliably informed that the second Mrs. Manning has taken you into her…confidence.”

  “I am her attorney; she would be foolish not to take m
e into her confidence.”

  Sir Winston smiled again. “While I do not wish to be indelicate, reports have reached me that you have been seen entering and leaving Mrs. Manning’s very beautiful yacht at, shall we say, odd hours.”

  Stone tried to appear confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what this has to do with my representing Mrs. Manning.”

  “Then I will be blunt,” Sir Winston said, clearly out of patience, “I believe that you have been providing services to Mrs. Manning which are above and beyond those which might be construed as legal.”

  Stone, cornered, decided to tack. “Winston, where did you attend law school, if I might ask?”

  Sir Winston pulled himself up to his considerable full height. “I read law at Oxford,” he said.

  “At Oxford University, in the town of the same name, in England?” Stone asked, sounding surprised.

  “The very same.”

  “Then, with such an illustrious legal background, perhaps you could provide me with some precedent for a prosecutor—let alone a minister of justice—indulging in such conjecture with a defense attorney.”

  “Sir,” Sir Winston said, leaning forward, “you are fucking the lady, aren’t you?”

  “Is that why I was brought here?” Stone demanded. “To indulge your prurient curiosity?” He stood up. “Sir,” he said, “neither my sex life nor hers is your proper concern. Rather, you should be concerned with this extremely strange prosecution of an innocent and bereaved woman for a crime which she could never have committed.” He threw down his napkin and left, in the highest dudgeon he could manage.

  “You listen to me, Barrington!” Sir Winston called after him, following him through the large office and the reception room into the hallway. “When this trial is over—and maybe even before—you are going to come to a reckoning with me!” His voice echoed down the long hallway.

  Stone kept his eyes straight ahead, down the hall and the stairs into the street, expecting to be arrested at any moment. He flagged a cab and dove into it. Not until he was a block away did he allow himself to look back to see if he was being pursued.

  Chapter

  34

  Stone directed the taxi out to the coast road and Sir Leslie Hewitt’s house, then asked the driver to wait for him, hoping that Hewitt might have some explanation for the meeting he had just attended. He knocked at the open door and called out, but no one answered. He walked through the little house to the rear garden and there found Leslie Hewitt at lunch with Allison Manning. He stopped and stared at both of them; this seemed even weirder than his own lunch with Sir Winston.

  “Ah, Stone,” Hewitt called out, waving him over. “Come and join us, have some lunch.”

  Stone sat down. “Thank you, Leslie, but I’ve already had lunch. What’s going on?” he asked Allison as much as Hewitt.

  “I thought I might discuss some of the finer points of the case with my…excuse me, our client.”

  “It’s very kind of you to include me in the possessive pronoun, Leslie, but may I remind you…” He stopped himself. “Allison, do you think I could have a few minutes alone with Leslie?”

  “Of course,” she said, standing up. “I was just going to the little girls’ room, anyway.”

  “How did you get here?” he asked.

  “I took a taxi.”

  “I’ve got one waiting; we’ll be leaving in just a minute.”

  “I’m not sure I’m ready to leave,” she said.

  “I said, we’re leaving,” he said, trying to hold his temper.

  She turned and, without another word, walked into the house.

  “Leslie,” Stone said, “what is Allison doing here?”

  “I invited her to lunch,” Hewitt said. “Is there something wrong with that?”

  “Leslie, may I remind you that I am Allison’s attorney, and you are a consultant on the case, hired to help me with the local judiciary at the trial. You are not the lead attorney, and I must ask you not to have meetings with my client from which I am excluded.”

  “Of course I’m the lead attorney,” Hewitt said. “You vouched that to the court yourself.”

  “Only because local law requires a local attorney,” Stone said. “I am still making the decisions in this case.”

  Hewitt shrugged. “As you wish,” he said blandly.

  “Thank you. By the way, I have just come from a command lunch with Sir Winston Sutherland.”

  “Oh, you must have lunched very well indeed,” Hewitt said. “Winston always lays on a good spread with the taxpayers’ money.” He looked at Stone. “What did he want?”

  “I was hoping you, with your knowledge of the locals, could tell me. We ended up shouting at each other.”

  “Stone, I must tell you that in St. Marks, we place the highest possible value on civility among members of the bar. You should not have shouted at Winston.”

  “I’m sorry, but he shouted first…sort of.”

  “Winston is not a man to be dallied with,” Hewitt said.

  “I didn’t dally with him.”

  “He could be a very dangerous man to insult. I hope you did not insult him.”

  “I tried not to, but he really began to get up my nose.”

  “I sincerely hope he does not decide to retaliate,” Hewitt said sadly. “It could be the end of Allison.”

  “Oh, Jesus, Leslie, don’t tell me that,” Stone moaned.

  “Tell you what?” Hewitt said.

  “Tell me…” He looked closely at the old man. His eyes had taken on that glazed look again. “Oh, never mind.”

  Allison came out the back door and came to the table.

  “I’m afraid that was as long as I could take in the powder room,” she said. “I did everything I could think of.”

  Stone stood up. “We have to be going,” he said.

  “Oh, don’t go,” Hewitt cried. “Please introduce me to this beautiful young woman.”

  Allison turned and looked closely at Hewitt. “What?”

  “Leslie,” Stone said, “thank you for your hospitality, but we have to go now. We’ll see you soon.” He took the protesting Allison by the arm and steered her through the house. In the cab he leaned back and wiped his face with his handkerchief.

  “What was that all about?” Allison demanded. “What did he mean, introduce me? Doesn’t he know who I am anymore?”

  “Allison, please be quiet until we get to the yacht,” Stone said through clenched teeth, pointing at the driver. They made the rest of the trip in silence.

  Back aboard Expansive, Allison practically stamped her foot. “Now tell me, what was that all about?”

  “You first,” Stone said, getting himself a beer from the fridge. “What were you doing at Leslie’s house?”

  “He invited me to lunch,” she said, “and sent a taxi for me.”

  “Allison, I don’t want you ever to meet alone with Leslie again.”

  “And why not? Isn’t he representing me?”

  “He is a consultant; I am representing you. Leslie is not…the man he once was.”

  “Is that why he didn’t seem to recognize me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean he’s…gaga?”

  “At times.”

  “I’m being represented by a lawyer who’s gaga?”

  “You’re being represented by me. Leslie is simply advising me on the local judicial system.”

  “Well, he was talking to me as if he were my only lawyer in the world,” she said. “He made me go through the whole story again, and in the greatest possible detail.”

  “I’m sorry that happened, but you should not have gone to see him without me.”

  “And speaking of you, where the hell were you?”

  “Two policemen showed up this morning and dragged me to Sir Winston Sutherland’s office.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure; I think he was fishing for something he could use. He asked a lot of questions about Libby.”

  “And wh
at did you tell him about her?”

  “The truth, but without the financial details.”

  “God, how could you do that?”

  “Why shouldn’t I answer his questions? We’ve nothing to lose by telling him the truth about her. Believe me, this is no time to start lying to the local authorities.”

  “What did he want to know?”

  “Mostly, he wanted to know about next of kin. I think he’s having trouble notifying someone about her death.”

  “Well, that’s not our responsibility, is it?”

  “I told him where she was from and suggested he get in touch with the nearest American consulate.”

  “He couldn’t figure that out by himself?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “What if he starts talking to her relatives?” she asked.

  “What if he does? That doesn’t matter to us, does it?”

  She didn’t reply.

  “Does it? Allison, is there something you haven’t told me about Libby?”

  “No, certainly not,” she said.

  “Because this is no time to start withholding information from your lawyer. I need to know everything there is to know.”

  “You do. I mean, I’ve told you everything I know about her.”

  “I certainly hope so, because I don’t want to get into that courtroom tomorrow and have Sir Winston raise something I’ve never heard about. You do understand the necessity of my being fully prepared, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do,” she cried. Now she was really getting upset; there were tears in her eyes.

  “All right, all right, don’t cry,” he said. He hated it when women cried; he didn’t know what to do. “Everything will be all right, as long as I know everything I need to know.” He put his arms around her.

  “I wouldn’t lie to you,” she sobbed. “Why don’t you believe me?”

  “I do believe you, really I do,” he whispered. “It’s going to be all right, don’t worry.” He hoped that was the truth, because he was very, very worried himself.

  Chapter

  35

  Having placated Allison, Stone returned to the Shipwright’s Arms to continue working on his opening statement for the trial. As he entered, Thomas beckoned.