CHAPTER
The rest of the 60 Minutes crew arrived at dusk, and Stone had dinner with Jake Burrows and his reporter, Chris Wheaton. They met at the bar of the Shipwright's Arms, got a drink, and found a table. Stone looked over the reporter: she was small, intense, as blond as Allison, and handsome rather than pretty. He thought she would look very good on camera.
"Allison asked to be excused from dinner," Stone told her. "She says she needs a good night's sleep."
"That's okay," Wheaton said, "I don't want to meet her until we're on camera; the interview will be fresher that way. Has Jake told you how we're going to work this?"
Stone shook his head. "We made some ground rules about the air date and the segment, but that's it; you can ask her anything you want."
"Good. I expect we'll talk for at least an hour, maybe a lot longer."
This hadn't occurred to Stone, and it meant that they would be editing the tape to show the parts they liked best, and that might not work entirely to his client's benefit. It was too late to start negotiating again, though, and he'd just have to put a good face on it. "That's fine," he said, "talk as long as you like. If she gets tired or upset, we might have to take a break."
"We'll have to change tape," Wheaton replied. "She can pee or have a cry while we're doing that." She leaned forward. "Tell me, how did you become involved in this? Did she get you down here from New York when she found out she needed a lawyer?"
Stone shook his head. "I was down here for a cruise when she sailed in alone. My girlfriend didn't make it because of the snowstorm, and I went to the inquest for lack of anything else to do. It became obvious that her questioner had some ax to grind, and at the lunch break I offered to advise her."
"Who was the questioner?"
Stone told her about Sir Winston Sutherland and his attitude toward Allison.
"I don't get it," Wheaton said; "why would this Sir Winston guy want to make trouble for this poor widow?"
Stone thought she was being disingenuous, but he didn't call her on it. "I don't get it, either," he said.
"So why isn't some local lawyer defending her?" "A local lawyer is defending her; I'm second chair." "Who is he? I want to talk to him."
Stone's stomach turned over. "He's not talking to anybody but Allison and me. Maybe after the trial, we'll see."
Wheaton glanced at her producer.
"I mean that; he's got a lot of work to do between now and the trial, and I don't want him disturbed. He's an elderly man; he only has so much energy to devote to this, and I want Allison to get the benefit of all of it."
Wheaton nodded. "How much are you getting paid to defend her?"
"We haven't discussed a fee."
She smiled. "Uh-huh."
"It just hasn't come up," Stone said lamely.
"Is that how you would operate in New York?" Stone shook his head. "Of course not, but we're not in New York. She's a fellow American in trouble in a foreign place, and I'm glad to help her if I can. Anyway, I'm not necessarily a very good buy as an attorney in St. Marks, since I don't really know the ropes of the local legal system."
"What is the local legal system like?"
"Bizarre, and I hope you'll bring that out in your piece." He told her about the preliminary hearing and what he had learned about how the court operated.
She laughed out loud. "That's the most outrageous thing I've ever heard!"
"Please make that clear on television. To tell you the truth, I think there's more than one piece in this for you. If you're here for the trial, that ought to be an eye-opener, and I'd certainly be glad to have a camera waiting outside the courtroom."
"Any chance we could get a camera inside the courtroom?"
"You can try; go see the judge. I'd be happy for him to know that the American press is taking an interest." "Jake, you want to take care of that tomorrow?" "Sure," Burrows replied. It was the first time he had spoken. "Look, Stone, while I, and I'm sure Chris, have some sympathy for the lady's plight, we're not here to fight your battles for you; you have to understand that." "Sure I do, but if just doing your job happens to work to Allison's benefit, that's okay with me." "We understand that," Wheaton said. The menus arrived, and they ordered dinner. When the food arrived, Chris Wheaton took another tack. "I used to work local news in New York," she said. "I remember when you were on the force." "You mean ygu remember when I left the force, don't you?" Stone said, cracking a crab claw. "That's what I mean. Your name still pops up now and then." "Does it?" "You haven't exactly been-press-shy, have you, Stone?" Stone laughed ruefully. "I've never sought coverage, but sometimes coverage has been thrust upon me by your colleagues in the media." She found that funny. "Still, your occasional flash of fame must have brought you a lot of cases as a lawyer." "I've ducked more of that kind of case than I've taken," he replied. "Most of my work has been fairly run-of-the mill." "Didn't you get a very nice personal injury verdict a while back?" He nodded. "Got a nice one last year; we even collected."
anybody but Allison and me. Maybe after the trial, we'll see."
Wheaton glanced at her producer.
"I mean that; he's got a lot of work to do between now and the trial, and I don't want him disturbed. He's an elderly man; he only has so much energy to devote to this, and I want Allison to get the benefit of all of it."
Wheaton nodded. "How much are you getting paid to defend her?"
"We haven't discussed a fee."
She smiled. "Uh-huh."
"It just hasn't come up," Stone said lamely.
"Is that how you would operate in New York?" Stone shook his head. "Of course not, but we're not in New York. She's a fellow American in trouble in a foreign place, and I'm glad to help her if I can. Anyway, I'm not necessarily a very good buy as an attorney in St. Marks, since I don't really know the ropes of the local legal system."
"What is the local legal system like?"
"Bizarre, and I hope you'll bring that out in your piece." He told her about the preliminary hearing and what he had learned about how the court operated.
She laughed out loud. "That's the most outrageous thing I've ever heard!"
"Please make that clear on television. To tell you the truth, I think there's more than one piece in this for you. If you're here for the trial, that ought to be an eye-opener, and I'd certainly be glad to have a camera waiting outside the courtroom."
"Any chance we could get a camera inside the courtroom?"
"You can try; go see the judge. I'd be happy for him to know that the American press is taking an interest." "Jake, you want to take care of that tomorrow?" "Sure," Burrows replied. It was the first time he had spoken. "Look, Stone, while I, and I'm sure Chris, have some sympathy for the lady's plight, we're not here to fight your battles for you; you have to understand that." "Sure I do, but if just doing your job happens to work to Allison's benefit, that's okay with me." "We understand that," Wheaton said. The menus arrived, and they ordered dinner. When the food arrived, Chris Wheaton took another tack. "I used to work local news in New York," she said. "I remember when you were on the force." "You mean you remember when I left the force, don't you?" Stone said, cracking a crab claw. "That's what I mean. Your name still pops up now and then." "Does it?" "You-haven't exactly been press-shy, have you, Stone?" Stone laughed ruefully. "I've never sought coverage, but sometimes coverage has been thrust upon me by your colleagues in the media." She found that funny. "Still, your occasional flash of fame must have brought you a lot of cases as a lawyer." "I've ducked more of that kind of case than I've taken," he replied. "Most of my work has been fairly run-of-the mill." "Didn't you get a very nice personal injury verdict a while back?" He nodded. "Got a nice one last year; we even collected And it had made life a bit easier for him, too, he remembered. "I'm not the sort of lawyer who gets the big cases; those usually go to the big firms, and I'm pretty much an independent." "But you've done well, haven't you? I seem to remember something about a townhouse in Turtle Bay." "I inherited that from a great-aunt and did most of the renovation myself. That verdict you mentioned paid off the construction loan, though. That was a relief." I'll bet." She was looking at him the way he had once looked at perps in interrogations. "Chris, have you got something on your mind about me?" "It just seems odd that you would just happen to be here when Allison Manning came sailing in. Could that be a bit more than a coincidence?" Stone pointed toward the marina. "If you'll go down to the marina office and check their reservations log, you'll find that I booked my charter nearly three months ago, and since you're from New York, you'll know firsthand about the blizzard. If not for that I would now be south of Guadeloupe somewhere with a rum and tonic in one hand and the girl of my dreams in the other." "And who is the girl of your dreams?" "Her name is Arrington Carter; she's a magazine writer, a freelancer." "I've met her," Wheaton said. "As a matter of fact, I saw her two nights ago in the company of an actual movie star." Stone nodded. "Vance Calder. She's working on a
New Yorker profile of him that she was offered after the snowstorm hit; that's why she's not here now."
"Aren't you just a little uncomfortable knowing that your girlfriend is in New York with Vance Calder, instead of here with you?"
"Not really." He smiled. "As a matter of fact, Vance introduced us last fall." This was not quite a lie. "And she's not in New York, she's in L.A. They both went out there today."
"Ah," Wheaton said, sounding disappointed.
I hope I bent that needle, Stone thought, but it irritated him no end that she knew about Arrington and Vance. He hoped it didn't show.
There was a brief silence, then Wheaton turned to hr producer.
"Jake, when we're done tomorrow, you take the tape back to New York and do the editing; you can play me the track over the phone later in the week."
"And where will you be?" Burrows asked.
"I'll be here,": she said. "I'm staying for the trial, and so is the camera crew. You work it out with Don or whoever."
"Chris, don't you think you're pushing it just a bit on your first assignment?"
"I know a good story when I see one," she said. "You can explain that to them in New York. I think the network might want a feed for the evening news, too.
Check on that, will you?"
"Sure."
Stone began to feel good about this. Now all Allison had to do was charm Chris Wheaton out of her socks, and that might not be easy.
CHAPTER
After dinner Stone said good night to the 60 Minutes people and walked back toward the marina. He had no sooner set foot on the dock when he found himself grabbed from both sides by two shadowy figures. He made a point of not struggling.
"Is one of you Thomas Hardy's brother?" he asked the darkness.
"Both of us is," a deep voice replied.
"My name is Stone Barrington; I live on the smaller of the two yachts over there. I'm the one who asked Thomas to find some security." The pressure on his arms relaxed, but he was not let go.
"You got some ID, then?" the voice asked. "Right-hand rear pocket," he said. "My New York driver's license." He felt some fumbling, and a flashlight came on.
"Okay, then, Mr. Barrington, we'll know you next
"Gentlemen..." Stone began.
"Henry and Arliss," the voice said.
"Henry and Arliss, I think our purposes would be better if you stood over there under the lamp by the gate,
instead of lurking in the dark. You can do the most good by being seen to be keeping people away from Mrs. Manning."
"I see your point," Henry replied. "You expecting i anybody else? Anybody at all?"
"Not until early tomorrow morning, when some people, including a camera crew, will be coming down here. Please keep them at the gate until you've called me. Just rap on the hull; I'll be awake."
"Of which boat?" Henry asked.
Stone decided to pretend there was no meaning in the question. "The smaller one."
"Good night, then, Mr. Barrington."
"Good night, Henry, Arliss; see you in the morning."
Stone walked down-to his boat and went aboard. The lights aboard the big yacht were out. He undressed and climbed gratefully into his berth, just in time to hear a dim scrambling in the cockpit. A moment later, Allison was crawling into bed with him; she was naked.
"I take it you met Henry and Arliss," she said, snuggling up to him.
"I did, and I hope to God you didn't meet them on the way across the pontoon."
:. 4
"Nope. They're standing up by the gate now; I could see them."
"Were you naked when you left your boat, or after you arrived on mine?"
"The whole time."
Stone laughed in spite of himself. "Allison, while your craving for my body may be perfectly understand-able--even admirable--you have to remember that there is now on the island a camera crew for the most popular television news program in the United States of America, and we don't know yet how powerful their lenses are."
"I'm glad you understand my craving," she said. "On Sunday night, your interview may be preceded by a shot of you, naked in the moonlight, climbing aboard your lawyer's boat. That might not exactly get the American public behind you."
She turned over and pushed her buttocks into his increasingly active crotch. "Why don't you get behind me?" She reached between her legs, found him, and guided him in.
Stone pushed into her sweet depths. "Oh, God," he breathed. "When this is over, remind me to talk to you about your interview tomorrow morning."
"Shhh," she whispered, helping him.
Stone jerked awake. Sunlight was streaming through the port above his head. He heard voices and footsteps on the dock. "Allison," he said, shaking her, "wake up."
"What is it, baby?" she asked, snuggling her warm body closer.
There was a sharp rap on the hull, and Henry Hardy's booming voice called out, "Mr. Barrington, you up?" "60 Minutes is here," he whispered. Allison's head came off the pillow. "What?"
He glanced out the port and saw legs standing next the boat. "I'll try to get rid of them," he said. He got of bed, tried to rub some color into his face, and his hair back with his hands. He got into his swim trunks, which were lying on a seat next to the berth, went into the main cabin, climbed the ladder, and emerged, waist high, from the hatch. Jake Burrows and i Chris Wheaton were standing on the dock next to the bow of his boat. "What time is it?" he asked. "Aren't you a little early?"
"It's seven-fifteen," Burrows said. "We have to set up for our eight o'clock interview."
Stone shook his head. "I haven't finished breakfast yet, and I don't know if Allison is even up." Suddenly he felt a worked body slither between his legs and up the ladder behind him. "Why don't you go back to the Shipwright's Arms, have some breakfast, and come back at eight?" He heard Allison sneaking across the cockpit behind him, then the rattle of his boarding ladder, followed by a tiny splash. He stepped off his boat, crossed the pontoon, hopped into the cockpit of the larger yacht, and yelled down the hatch. "Allison, you up yet?" He pretended to listen for a moment, then looked up at the television crew. "She's up, but nowhere near ready," he said. "Come back at eight."
The disappointed crew turned and began walking back toward the pub. As Stone stood in the cockpit, Allison climbed up the stern ladder into the cockpit and, soaking wet, slipped past him and down the companionway ladder.
"I don't know if I can be ready by eight," she said, laughing.
"You'd bloody well better be," he muttered, refusing to look at her. "If we hurry, we could get in a quickie before they come back," she said, pulling the hair on his legs. "Ouch! I'm getting back to my boat right now. You get yourself together." He fled the yacht and went back to his own. At eight o'clock sharp he emerged, dressed, to find the crew standing on the dock, waiting. "Just a minute," he said, I'll see if she's ready. As he spoke, Allison climbed into her own cockpit, wearing a sleeveless cotton dress that showed off her tan, yet made her look like a high school senior. "Good morning!" she cried, delivering a dazzling smile. "I'm Allison; come aboard, all of you." As the crew climbed aboard, Stone took deep breaths and tried to get his pulse rate back down to normal.
CHAPTER
must be crazy, Stone thought as the interview began. I've let this girl go on TV, before an audience of millions and at the mercy of a reporter on her first assignment who would kill for a success, which she might not define as I would, and with no preparation whatever. He watched from the pontoon as Chris Wheaton tossed Allison a few softball questions to relax her, then tensed as the real questioning began. Jim Forrester from The New Yorker had shown up and was sitting quietly beyond camera range, listening and taking notes.
"Allison," Chris Wheaton said, sounding really interested, "when you and Paul left the Canary Islands and set sail for home, how much sailing experience had you, personally, had?"
Well, I had sailed across the Atlantic and around Europe with Paul, but he had always done the sailing.
The boat was rigged for single handing so he took care of that, and I just kept house--or boat, I guess."
"So how was it, after Paul's death, that you managed to sail this very large yacht all the way across the Atlantic all by yourself?"
Allison launched into an explanation of how she had learned enough celestial navigation to find her latitude and how she had managed the sails by using only the main most of the time.
Wheaton seemed fascinated by her reply and satisfied with her answer. Forrester seemed almost to be taking a transcript of the proceedings. Wheaton continued with questions about the sailing of the boat, and Allison grew visibly more relaxed. Then Wheaton changed tack, and Stone knew that the questions were not coming in the order in which they would appear in the edited version of the interview. Wheaton probed the depths of Allison's marriage to Paul Manning, taking her over and over the same ground, looking for what might appear to be a motive for murder. To Stone's surprise, Allison stood up to it beautifully, genuinely seeming to try to answer every question put to her, holding nothing back.
When a halt was called for the first change of tape, Wheaton turned to Stone. "You want a break?"
Stone looked at Allison and she shook her head imperceptibly. "No," Stone replied. "Go ahead."
Wheaton got the signal from her producer; she turned back to Allison. "Allison, how much life insurance did your husband have?"
"Honestly, I don't know," Allison replied. "Ashore, the division of our lives was pretty much the same as at sea. He handled the business, I handled the house. I
made an investment, bought a life insurance poi-or even wrote a check, unless it was for groceries or Paul had people who handled the business end his career, and they're sorting out the estate now, I and when they tell me where I stand, then I'll I'm told it will be some weeks before it's all fig out I do know from what Paul said in passing that although he owned an expensive house and boat, they have large mortgages on them, so I don't know yet will be left when everything is settled." "Are you going to keep the big house in Greenwich and this beautiful yacht?" Allison shrugged. "The house was always too big for even the two of us, since we didn't have any kids, and I don't know if I would want to live there alone; I just ?. haven't thought that far ahead. As far as the boat is concerned, what would I do with it? Anyway, the memories are too painful; I don't think I could ever sail on her again without Paul." She brushed away a tear. Perfect, Stone thought. There were two more changes of tape before the interview ended, but Allison kept going. Apart from an occasional sip of orange juice, she never paused. Finally, they were done, and the crew began to pack up their equipment. Allison chatted idly with Chris Wheaton and Jim
Forrester, answering questions about her yacht. "It's nice to see you again, Jim," Allison said. "Paul and I enjoyed your company in Las Palmas, and we were sorry not to know you were in Puerto Rico until we saw you as we were leaving port." "I was sorry, too, Allison," the journalist replied. "Do you think we could get together later today or early tomorrow for a few minutes? I have some more things to ask you."
"I'm sure we can," she replied. "Let me talk to Stone about my schedule, and I'll get back to you. Where are you staying?"
"At the Shipwright's Arms."
"Good. I'll call you."
Wheaton 'and Burrows thanked her for her time and, with Jim Forrester, left the boat. As they were walking up the pontoon, Chris Wheaton stopped and spoke quietly to Stone. "That was some performance," she said. "I've never seen anything like it."
"I'm glad it went well," Stone replied. "You should be able to get an awfully good segment out of that."
"You bet I will," Wheaton said, then she looked back at Allison, who was standing in the cockpit, looking out over the harbor, sipping her orange juice. "She's really something," she said. "You won't have any trouble getting her off."
"I wish I could believe that," Stone said, "but from what I've seen so far, I think the odds are heavily against her. Sir Winston Sutherland wants her neck in a noose, for whatever reason, and I don't know if I'm going to be able to stop him."
Wheaton looked at him closely. "Jesus," she said with wonder, "you really think she's innocent, don't you?"
Stone looked at her in amazement. "Of course I do; after all that questioning, don't you?"
"Not for a minute," Wheaton replied. "Listen, over the years I've interviewed a couple of hundred people who were either accused of murder or who had just convicted or acquitted; I learned to tell the guilty the innocent, and let me tell you, not more than of them were innocent." She pointed her chin at
"And she's not one of them."
"Show me one hole in her story," Stone said.
"There isn't one. But she's guilty just the same. Call a woman-to-woman thing, if you like, but I look in blue eyes and I know."
"Is that what you're going to say on 60 Minutes?" "Are you kidding? I'd be fired out of hand. No sir, going to play it straight, let her answers speak for and ninety-nine percent of the audience is to be outraged that this beautiful, innocent young woman could be charged with murder. That's what you 'wang isn't it?"
"Certainly, that's what I want."
"Well, relax, because that's what you're going to get." She paused and looked across the harbor at the boats. "Unless I can dig up something new between now and Sunday." She-turned and walked up the pontoon toward the pub. Then she stopped, turned, and walked back. "One more thing," she said. "You seem like a nice guy, Stone, so let me give you some free advice: don't fall in love with her; don't even fuck her, if you haven't already. Allison Manning is a dangerous woman."
Stone was speechless. He watched her walk away.
CHAPTER
Stone was having lunch with Hilary Kramer from the New York Times at the Shipwright's Arms when Thomas Hardy waved him to the bar, pointing at the phone. Stone excused himself, got up, and went to the bar.
"It's somebody named Cantor," Thomas said, handing Stone the telephone. "By the way, Chester called from the airport, too; says he's loaded down with media folk all afternoon."
"Right," Stone said? taking the phone. "I'd like to have a press conference here Friday morning at ten, if that's okay."