by Stuart Woods
“Don’t you believe that for a moment,” she said. “Both you and Stone have been perfectly wonderful. I could not have been better represented. I really mean that.” She put her hand in Stone’s.
There was the sound of footsteps in the front hall. Someone, more than one person, had come into the jail. Then it was quiet again. Stone willed himself not to look at his watch, but it was growing dark in the cell. Suddenly, the single bare bulb came on, making them blink.
Then, from down the hall, came the sound of men marching in step. Stone looked up to find four policemen standing outside the cell. One of them unlocked the door. At that moment, Stone heard the telephone ring. The policeman closed the door, turned his back, and leaned on it, nodding to another officer, who strode back down the hall. He was gone for half a minute, then returned. He looked at his senior officer and shook his head.
No, Stone thought, no, this can’t be. That must have been the prime minister. He stood up. “The phone call?…”
The senior policeman opened the cell door. “Not related to these events,” he said. “Mrs. Manning, please step out into the corridor.”
Stone made to follow her, but an officer stepped between them. Behind him, another officer was tying Allison’s hands behind her back.
“Say your good-byes,” the senior officer said to her. She looked at Stone, panic in her face.
“Allison…” he began, then stopped.
“Good-bye,” she said. “You have all been very kind to me.” She was trembling, but she did not cry.
Then, simultaneously, a policeman opened the big door to the inner courtyard while another closed the cell door and locked it, with Stone, Hewitt, and the priest still inside.
“I want to go with her,” Stone said, but the officer shook his head.
“No farther,” he said.
Stone looked out the door and saw a corner of the scaffold in the gloomy light. He tried to speak, but nothing came out.
An officer stood on either side of Allison, took her arm, and marched her into the courtyard. The senior officer slammed the stout door shut behind them.
Stone turned to Leslie Hewitt. “Is there nothing we can do?”
Leslie looked at the floor and shook his head slowly. “We have done all we can.”
Stone looked at the priest, who avoided his gaze. Then, sooner than Stone had expected, he heard the sound of the trap flying open, followed by a thunk, then silence. He leaned his forehead against the bars; he felt like weeping, but he could not.
The outside door opened, the senior officer and one other stepped inside, and the door closed behind them. The cell door was unlocked and the three men were waved out and marched down the corridor to the front desk.
Allison’s duffel sat on the desk, and an officer waited, pen in hand, for Stone to sign for her belongings. Stone signed. “What about the body?” he asked the man.
“The body will be cremated and the ashes scattered at sea,” the officer said. “It’s how we do things here.”
“It is so,” Hewitt said.
Stone picked up the duffel and walked out of the jail into a lovely St. Marks evening. Hilary Kramer and Jim Forrester were sitting on a bench next to the outside door. Kramer jumped up. “What’s happening? Did you hear from the prime minister?”
Stone shook his head. “No.”
Forrester stood up, too. “For Christ’s sake, Stone, tell us what’s happening?
“Allison was hanged five minutes ago.”
Both reporters seemed struck dumb. Kramer’s mouth was working, but nothing came out. Forrester turned, leaned against the building, and vomited.
“You can quote me as saying that a monumental injustice has been done,” Stone said.
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.
Chapter
62
Stone dreamed that he and Allison were making love. Then, just as he was about to come, she vanished, and the bed was empty. He stirred and turned over, kicking off the covers. Cool fingers brushed the damp hair from his forehead. He opened his eyes.
“You were dreaming,” Allison said.
Stone blinked rap
idly. “I still am.” He closed his eyes and tried to recapture the dream.
“Stone,” she said, quietly but insistently.
Stone jerked as if he had received an electric shock. “Whaaat!” he yelled, sitting up and pushing away from her. He seemed to go from deep sleep to maximum adrenaline in a fraction of a second. His heart hammered against his rib cage, and he made himself look at her. She seemed perfectly normal.
“It’s all right, Stone,” she said. “Really it is. You’re awake; I’m here; I’m alive.”
Stone took a deep breath and tried to stop shaking. A moment ago, he had been making love to this woman, and now he was frightened and confused. “Tell me,” he said, then took another deep breath.
“I’m sorry to have put you through this,” Allison said, “but it had to be done this way. I didn’t know for sure myself when they marched me into the courtyard and I saw the gallows. I thought it hadn’t worked, that I was done for.”
“That what hadn’t worked?” Stone panted.
“Leslie’s plan.”
“What plan?”
“He insisted that I shouldn’t tell you; he wanted absolute secrecy.”
Stone was recovering from his shock now. “Allison, what the hell are you talking about?”
“We bribed the prime minister.”
“You what?”
“Leslie didn’t think you would let him do it; that’s why we didn’t tell you.”
“Well, if he had suggested that, I suppose I would have been against it. I would have thought it very risky.”
“He told me what we had to do that day out at his cottage, when he sent you for the milk.”
“The milk he didn’t need,” Stone said, half to himself.
“Yes, that milk. While you were gone, Leslie told me what he had in mind.”
“And what did he have in mind?”
“He said that the only thing that worked with these people was money and not even that would work with Sir Winston Sutherland—he was already too committed to a conviction. The prime minister, though, was another matter. He was retiring, and there was always the chance that he hadn’t stolen enough to make him happy, Leslie said.”
“And how did Leslie go about this?”
“He said nothing to Sutherland; in fact, he said nothing to anybody. When Leslie handed the appeal to the judge, there was a cashier’s check for a million dollars in the envelope, along with the appeal document.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“That’s pretty much what I said. It seemed awfully risky, until you consider that at that moment, I had already been convicted and that the prime minister had no motivation to overturn the appeal.”
“Didn’t the flood of faxes and telephone calls from the States mean anything at all?”
“Merely a nuisance to the old man. He knew he wouldn’t be around all that much longer, and that he wouldn’t have to deal with any consequences. Sir Winston is, apparently, his hand-picked boy, and he could deal with the aftermath.”
“Does Leslie know he succeeded with his bribe?”
She nodded. “When he made that last phone call to the prime minister from the jail, he was given the word, but he couldn’t tell me, because you and the priest were there.”
“What about Sir Winston?”
“What about him?”
“Does he know about the deal?”
“He knows nothing. That’s why I have to get out of here now and why you can’t say anything to anybody, either here or in the States. Does the press know about the hanging?”
Stone nodded. “Bill Eggers, in New York, had a press release sent out.”
“Good; let’s leave it that way.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. Until I let you know it’s okay.”
The rush of adrenaline was gone now, and Stone was sagging. “What happened after they took you into the courtyard?”
“They whisked me out of the building and into a car and delivered me here, to the motor yacht.”
“But I saw it leaving earlier this evening.”
“I was already aboard. I made them stop outside the harbor and bring me back in the tender. I had to see you and explain.” She looked at him oddly. “Aren’t you at all glad to see me?”
He put his arms around her and held her close. “You bet I am,” he whispered.
“I’m so sorry to have put you through all this, but there just wasn’t any other way.”
He held her back and looked at her. “You can read your obituary in the Times in a couple of days, I expect.”
She smiled. “Well, that will be fun. I’d just as soon be dead for a little while. I have a lot to do, and I can do it better without a lot of reporters and cameras around. Promise me you’ll keep my secret until you hear from me.”
“I think that comes under the heading of attorney-client confidentiality.”
“Don’t tell even Hilary Kramer and Jim Forrester. They’d spill the beans.”
“As you wish.”
She looked at her watch. “I have to get going; I’ve got a long way to travel.”
He got out of bed and walked into the saloon with her, switching on the chart table light. “Your duffel is over there,” he said, indicating the sofa.
She went and picked it up. “Thanks; a girl can’t get far without her makeup.”
He picked up the envelope on the chart table and began to open it, but she took it from him and put it back.
“Not now,” she said. “You can do that when I’m gone. Right now, you have to kiss me good-bye.” She put her arms around his waist, pressed her body against his, and kissed him for a long time.
“You sure you have to rush off?” he breathed in her ear.
“I wish I didn’t, but I do. I’ll make it up to you later.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“Stone,” she said, an uncertainty creeping into her voice, “that envelope contains my last wishes; I want you to promise me that you’ll honor them in every respect, as if I really were dead.”
“All right, I promise.”
She kissed him again. “The days and nights I spent with you on this boat were among the happiest of my life. Remember that, too.”
“How could I forget it?”
She kissed him again, grabbed the duffel, and ran up the companionway stairs.
He followed her on deck and watched her get back into the Boston Whaler, which putted slowly away from the yacht. He didn’t hear the engine rev up until it was out of sight around a corner of the harbor.
Stone went back below, went to the bar, and poured himself a brandy. His heart was still beating very fast, and he was going to have to wind down a bit if he expected to get any sleep that night. He sat down at the chart table and picked up Allison’s envelope, ripping it open. Inside were a letter, some papers, and a U.S. Coast Guard yacht document. He picked up the letter.
Dear Stone,
With any luck, there should be a happy ending to all this. Don’t be mad at Leslie; I swore him to silence. I’ve paid his fee, and yours is in the envelope with this letter.
I will be very angry if you feel I’m being foolish, and I don’t want to hear a word about it from you. This all feels very right to me.
The yacht, Expansive, is yours now, to do with what you will. Unfortunately, Libby’s dear old mother is yours, too, and you can handle that situation as you see fit.
Whatever happens, wherever I go, I will always be grateful to you for the time we spent together and for all your hard work. I hope next year you can have a better sailing vacation.
With great affection,
Allison
Stone put down the letter and went through the other documents. There was one conveying the yacht to him as his fee for legal services, and the Coast Guard, U.S. Customs, and State of Connecticut documents were all signed, notarized, and in perfect order.
Stone took a stiff gulp of brandy. Now he would never get any sleep on this night.
Chapter
63
Stone managed a couple of hours’ sleep, but he was up at dawn, looking over his new yacht. He went through all the cockpit lockers, making a mental inventory of the gear aboard, then he walked fore and aft, checking the way the lines led and what each was for. He thought that for such a large yacht, she would really be very simple to sail. The mainsail had been repaired, and he hauled it back to the cockpit. It took him the better part of an hour to get it bent on. Then he hauled on the line that rolled the mainsail up into the mast like a giant window shade.
Finally, he unreefed the roller-reefing genoa and hauled it down. Paul and Allison had had problems with the top swivel separating into two pieces, and he wanted to think about repairing it. To his surprise, he found that it had already been repaired, and very elegantly. Someone, in an impressive display of seamanship, had seized it together with fine whipping wire. It looked as though it was better than new. He hauled the sail up, then reefed it around the forestay. Expansive seemed pretty shipshape, he thought.
“Stone!” The cry came from the lawn, and Stone looked up to see Thomas Hardy running toward him. Behind Thomas, traveling more slowly, came Leslie Hewitt, back in his accustomed shorts and T-shirt. Thomas jumped aboard and turned to give Leslie a hand up.
“What’s up?” Stone asked. “You both look very excited.”
“You tell him, Leslie,” Thomas said.
“I’ve had a call from a friend at Government House. When Allison…when her case was resolved, the yacht, as her bail bond, reverted to her…estate. But my friend says that Sir Winston Sutherland has filed a petition with the Admiralty, which administers maritime affairs, claiming the yacht for the Ministry of Justice, supposedly to defray the costs of Allison’s trial. It’s just a naked grab of someone else’s property, but he can probably bring it off.”
Thomas grinned. “I hear you are a boat owner now.”
“Well, for a few hours, anyway,” Stone said. “Leslie, how much time have I got?”
Leslie looked at his watch. “It’s just past ten. Lord, I don’t know; Winston could be here with an order any minute.”