Dead in the Water

by Stuart Woods

  “Libby told him where she was going, and why; also, he watches television, I guess.”

  “What did he have to say?”

  “He was looking for Libby; her mother hadn’t heard from her. He didn’t know about the crash.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “Of course. Sir Winston hadn’t been able to find a next of kin. It was the proper thing to do.”

  “What’s this about a mother?”

  He sighed. “It’s bad. She’s in her seventies, and she’s had multiple sclerosis for years. She lives on Social Security and what little she makes playing the piano in a Palm Beach hotel, for tips.”

  She remained expressionless. “Go on.”

  “She relies on Libby for support. They share an apartment, and the lawyer thinks the old lady will have to move, and he doesn’t know where she’ll go.” He waited for a response.

  There wasn’t one. Allison continued to stare at him.

  “I told you something like this might come up. Her mother is entitled to her estate.”

  “She has an estate?”

  Oh, God, he thought; this was going to be hard. “The lawyer asked me some questions about any financial arrangements Libby might have with Paul’s estate.” This was true.

  “So you think she might have sent him a copy of the agreement?”

  “It’s possible.” Just. “She could have sent him the original.”

  “You said she didn’t make any phone calls or mail anything.”

  “I said I didn’t know that she did.”

  “So the lawyer might come after me for the money?”

  “That’s a possibility; a certainty, if he has the agreement.”

  “It would cost a lot of money to sue me for it, wouldn’t it?”

  “Maybe not; you wouldn’t have much of a defense; it would be cut and dried.” This was not entirely truthful, he thought, but that interpretation might legitimately be placed on the situation.

  She put a hand on his knee. “Stone, I know you’re worried about this, but I don’t want you to be. I’ll deal with this after the trial, all right? Don’t worry, I’ll do the right thing.”

  “Allison, I’m glad you feel that way, but…”

  “But what if the trial goes wrong?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, then, her lawyer can make a claim on my estate, can’t he?”

  “Yes, I suppose so. It would just be simpler to…”

  “Not now,” she said, and she said it emphatically.

  Stone nodded. “By the way, do you have a will?”

  “Yes, it’s with the lawyer in Greenwich.”

  “Do you want to make any changes to it? I could draft something for you.”

  She thought for a minute. “No, I don’t think so; it still reflects my wishes. I gave it a lot of thought at the time.”

  “All right.” He stood up. “I’d better get up to my room at the Shipwright’s Arms; I’ve got some work to do.” There was a folder lying on the dressing table, the folder he had given Allison containing her copy of the agreement with Libby. He took a step toward it.

  “Excuse me,” she said. She stepped past him, picked up the folder, and stuffed it into a duffel. “See you later.”

  He left the boat and started up the dock. As he did, a very modern, fast-looking motor yacht entered the harbor and made for the marina. He stood and watched her. She must have been on the order of eighty feet, and she looked as if she’d do a good fifty knots in the open sea. As he watched she moved into a berth a few yards down, and two smartly dressed crewmen hopped onto the pontoon to make her fast. She was flying a yellow customs flag, and the officer on duty stirred himself from his shack and ambled down to the marina.

  Stone continued toward the Shipwright’s Arms, and when he was nearly there, he stopped and looked back. The skipper of the yacht, which was called Race, was sitting in the cockpit, going over documents with the customs officer. A thought occurred to him; a bad thought. No, he said to himself, Allison wouldn’t do that.

  He picked up some Federal Express materials at the bar, stuffed the death certificate into the envelope, addressed it, and left it on the bar, then went up to his room and dialed the law offices of Potter & Potter. An elderly-sounding secretary put him through.

  “This is Harley Potter.”

  “It’s Stone Barrington, Mr. Potter.”

  “Ah, yes, Mr. Barrington; do you have some news for me?”

  “Nothing very earthshaking, I’m afraid. The inquest was held this afternoon, and a verdict of death by misadventure was reached.”

  “I see.”

  “I obtained a death certificate from the coroner, and it will go out to you by Federal Express.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Potter said.

  “An employee of the man who owned the airplane gave testimony that the airplane and a house were the man’s only possessions, and that he had let his insurance lapse last year. I’m afraid there won’t be anything to go after.”

  “I see. You’re certain about this?”

  “As certain as I can be without conducting a thorough investigation, and I’m afraid I don’t have time to do that.”

  “That will be very bad news for Mrs. Peters,” he said.

  “I know it will; I’m sorry.”

  “Have you had an opportunity to speak with the second Mrs. Manning about…” He let the sentence die.

  “Briefly. She won’t be giving the matter any thought until her return to Greenwich next week. I expect she will want to consult her attorney there. Perhaps you’ll hear something then; I’ll give her your number.”

  “Won’t you be representing her?”

  “No, my work will be finished when I leave here next week.”

  “I see.”

  “I will be in touch if any further information comes my way.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Barrington, for your kindness,” Potter said. “Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye, Mr. Potter,” Stone replied, then hung up.

  He felt sick to his stomach, but there was nothing else he could do in the circumstances. But yes, there was something he could do, he reflected. He telephoned his bank in New York, spoke to an officer he knew.

  “I’ve got a CD maturing about now, haven’t I?”

  “Yes, Stone, it matured earlier this week. I sent you a notice, and your secretary called to say you were out of town. You want me to roll it over?”

  “No, cash it and deposit it in my trust account.”

  “I’ll take care of it right away.”

  Stone thanked the man, then hung up and called his secretary at home.

  “Hi.”

  “Hello there.”

  “Anything happening?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Something I’d like you to do.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Tomorrow, I want you to write a check for twenty-five thousand dollars on my trust account, made payable to the estate of Elizabeth Allison Manning, and send it to a law firm in Palm Beach.” He gave her the address. “Cover it with a letter saying that the money was sent at the direction of Mrs. Allison Manning.”

  “Pursuant to what?”

  Stone thought for a minute. “Just say what I told you; nothing else.”

  “Okay, but we don’t have a lot more than that in the trust account.”

  “I made a twenty-five-thousand-dollar deposit.”

  “That CD of yours that came due this week?”

  “Right.”

  “We’re going to need to pay some bills the first of the month.”

  “Woodman and Weld owes us some money; call Bill Eggers and rattle his cage. Tell him we need it right away.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Take care, then.”

  “When you coming home?”

  “Next week; I’ll let you know when.”

  “You going to get that lady off?”

  “Jesus, I hope so. If I don’t we can kiss that twenty-
five grand good-bye.”

  He hung up feeling both better and worse.

  Chapter

  38

  Stone finished up his work feeling thirsty, and he headed down to the bar for something cold. A young man in whites and shoulder boards was having a drink, looking bored. Stone sat down a stool away and ordered a rum and tonic, then he turned to the young man.

  “You the skipper of the yacht that just came in?”

  “Yep,” he replied, “she’s called Race.”

  “There must be a reason,” Stone said. “What sort of speeds will she do?”

  “Sixty knots in reasonable seas; seventy in a raging calm.”

  “Whew! Who builds them?”

  “She’s a one-off, designed by a guy out of Miami who does racing boats and built at the Huisman yard in Holland.”

  “What brings you into St. Marks?”

  “Picking up a charterer.”

  “Anybody I know?”

  “Beats me; name of Mr. and Mrs. Chapman; they haven’t shown up yet. We’re supposed to be out of here by midnight. She’s being refueled now.”

  “Where you bound for?”

  “Way up the chain of islands; St. Thomas is our first call after we leave here.”

  “The first U.S. port, huh? That’s a long passage. Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Thanks, yes.”

  “Thomas, bring another round to…”

  “Sam’s my name,” the young man said, sticking out a hand.

  “I’m Stone.”

  “First name, or last?”

  “First.” Stone clinked glasses with the skipper, and they both drank. “Where’s this charterer coming from?”

  “Beats me. They’re supposed to fly in this evening, and we leave as soon as they get here.”

  “A night passage, huh? They must be in a hurry.”

  “That’s why we’re refueling; the boat eats up gas at any kind of speed.”

  “Can you make it to St. Thomas at speed without refueling?”

  “It’s at the outer limits of our range, but we can do it with no headwind, and down here the trades will be on our beam. We’ll be in the lee of the island chain, so it will only be rough once in a while.”

  “Where is the boat based?”

  “Fort Lauderdale.”

  “I’ve got a client wants to sell a yacht up there pretty soon; can you recommend a good broker?”

  “Sure,” Sam said, taking a card from his shirt pocket. “Crockett and Smith; they handle all our charter work. They’re good people.”

  “So if I wanted to charter Race, I’d get in touch with them, not you?”

  “That’s right; we’re in constant touch. You really in the market?”

  “Maybe next winter,” Stone said. “How much red tape is there in that sort of charter?”

  “Not much. You’d put down a fifty percent deposit, and pay the rest thirty days in advance.”

  “That what this guy Chapman did?”

  Sam shook his head. “This one was on short notice, so he’d have to wire-transfer the money right away. The deal only got made a couple of days ago. We had just dropped off a party in Guadeloupe, so we were nearby. This charter works out really well for us, too, since it will take us back to U.S. waters. My next charter is out of San Juan, so it’s perfect; we don’t have to deadhead all the way and burn up a lot of the owner’s fuel.”

  “What does she cost, by the week?”

  “Fifty-five grand, dry, sixty-five all in, booze and everything.”

  Stone laughed. “Forget my interest in chartering; that’s out of my range.”

  “Don’t feel bad; it’s out of just about everybody’s range.”

  “Think I could get a look at her interior while you’re here? I have a client or two who might be interested in chartering.”

  “Sure thing,” Sam replied, tossing down the rest of his drink. “How about right now?”

  “Great; let’s go.”

  The two men walked out of the Shipwright’s Arms and across the lawn toward the marina.

  “What’s her length?” Stone asked.

  “Sixty-seven feet overall; draws six feet, so we can cruise the Bahamas.”

  “How many cabins?”

  “Four; one big one for the owner, and three pretty good-sized ones. She has a little less volume than most boats her length; that’s because of the speed designed into her.”

  They walked down the pontoon and went up the boarding ladder. Sam led the way, showing off the bridge and the navigational gear, then the saloon, complete with bar and entertainment center, featuring a bigscreen television and video library. The owner’s cabin was, indeed, luxurious, and the other cabins, although smaller, were equally plush.

  “I’m impressed,” Stone said as he descended to the pontoon again. He stuck out his hand. “Thanks for the tour, and good luck.” He walked back up to the Shipwright’s Arms and found Thomas.

  “Thomas, I’ve never seen many airplanes out at the airport besides Chester’s; do you get many outside aircraft in here?”

  “Not many,” Thomas replied. “Chester had the only license to land here any time he liked. Charter services from the other islands have to phone the airport office and get permission to land, usually twenty-four hours in advance. It’s nothing but red tape, really.”

  “Do you think you could find out if any aircraft are expected in today or tonight?”

  “I can call the guy who runs the airport,” Thomas said.

  “Thanks.”

  Thomas used the phone and came back. “Nobody coming in today or tonight,” he said.

  “What would happen if an airplane landed without prior permission?”

  “Big fine, for sure, and they might even confiscate the airplane if they got mad enough, but no airplane from the islands would try that. All the charter services know the score. What’s up, anyway?”

  “The skipper of the big motor yacht that came in this afternoon says he’s meeting a charter client who’s flying in today.”

  “Well, that’s going to come as a big surprise to the folks out at the airport.”

  “Yeah,” Stone said. “See you later.” He walked back down to the marina and boarded Expansive. “Hello, below,” he called out.

  “Stone, is that you?” Allison’s voice called back.

  “Sure is.” He started down the companionway.

  “I’m not feeling very well,” she called out. “Would you mind coming back later this evening?”

  Stone stopped halfway down the steps.

  “Stone?”

  “I have to talk to you right now,” he said and started down again.

  “Please don’t!” she cried, but he was already in the saloon. There were half a dozen packed duffels piled near the steps, and Allison had a safe open behind the navigation station. “Dammit,” she said, “are you deaf?”

  “What time are you planning to leave?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, closing the safe and putting some papers into her late husband’s briefcase.

  “What time?” he asked again.

  She began going through the drawers next to the chart table, apparently looking for something.

  Stone walked into the aft cabin and looked around. He opened a closet door and found only a few things hanging there, along with a lot of empty hangers. He walked back into the saloon. “What time are you leaving?” he asked a third time.

  She looked at him for a long time without expression. “Sometime after midnight,” she said finally.

  Chapter

  39

  Stone sat down on the sofa opposite the chart table. “You can’t do it,” he said. “You know the penalty if you’re caught running. You’ll be judged guilty without even the formality of a trial, and they’ll hang you.”

  “They’re going to hang me anyway,” she said.

  “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  “Stone,” she said. “Can�
��t you see the way this is headed? They’ve stacked the deck against me in every possible way. The jury will probably be stacked against me, too. Sutherland wants my hide on his wall, and he’s going to get his way.”

  “Allison, listen to me. We’ve got a shot at an acquittal, really we have.”

  “And if I’m not acquitted?”

  “Then we turn on the pressure on the prime minister. Sutherland has already heard from both Connecticut senators and God knows who else. If they try to hang an American citizen under these circumstances, the world will fall on them. The pressure on the prime minister will be unbearable; he’ll have to cave in.”

  “These people can do whatever the hell they want,” she said. “They’re in this insular little world of theirs, and nobody has ever cared about what went on here.”

  “Until now. Do you know that you’re already very nearly world famous? Every television station on the planet has run a story about you. On American television you’re right up there with Princess Di for air time.”

  “I’m the flavor of the week, that’s all,” she sighed. “And probably half the people who heard about it think I’m guilty. Anyway, there would only be forty-eight hours between a conviction and an execution. That’s not enough time to build outrage and get some sort of intervention. Don’t you think I’ve thought about this? I’ve hardly thought of anything else.”

  “But if you run and are caught, you’ll appear guilty and you’ll lose all that support. People will say, ‘Well, she killed her husband and she got what she deserved.’ Is that what you want?”

  “I’m not going to get caught. That boat over there is the fastest thing afloat between here and Miami. We’ll be in international waters fifteen minutes after we leave the harbor. They don’t have anything that can stop us.”

  “Sutherland will go after you and extradite you.”

  “I can fight that in the American courts.”

  “And by the time the lawyers are finished with you, all the money will be gone. All of it, Allison, the house, the yacht, and the twelve million in insurance money will have gone right down the legal drain. Then, even if you win, you can never travel abroad. The minute you arrive in another country, Sutherland can start extradition proceedings all over again. You’d be hounded for the rest of your life.”