Dead in the Water (2 page)

"Shit," Stone said aloud. "Okay, you can turn the volume down again."

"What you care, boss?" the bartender asked, turning down the TV. "You already here."

"Yeah, but my girl isn't. She was due to leave at four this afternoon."

"Bad luck, boss," the man said. "Where are you from?" Stone asked. "Born right here on St. Marks, boss."

"Funny, you sound Bahamian. You shining me on with that accent?"

The man grinned. "You're too good for me, pal." He stuck out his hand. "I'm Thomas Hardy, like the writer." Now the accent was more island British, with an extra, familiar layer.

Stone shook his hand. "Do I hear a little New York in there somewhere?"

"Lived in Brooklyn a long time; worked all over the city."

"I'm Stone Barrington; I'm on a charter yacht over at the marina."

"That's kind of a familiar name," Thomas said. "Don't know why; it's my first time in St. Marks." "Were you ever a cop?"

Stone blinked in surprise. "I was, mostly in the Nineteenth Precinct. Have we ever met?"

Thomas shook his head. "No, but I heard about you.

I was walking a beat in the Village when you left the force; everybody was talking about you, said you got'-a bad deal."

"I can't complain," Stone said. "I left with the full pension after fourteen years."

"Yeah, but you took some lead with you, huh?" "They got it out. What are you doing in St. Marks?" "I was born here, like I said.. My mama moved to New York when I was a kid. I joined the force, did my twenty, and brought my savings and my pension down here and put it to work."

"This your place?"

"Lock, stock, and liquor license." "How long you been at it?" "Six and a half years." "Business good?"

"Not bad; a little better every year. That blizzard in the Northeast is going to cost me, though. A lot of people will guess be in your girl's shoes." sighed.

"I so." Stone "I was looking forward to a more romantic week than this. Where can I make a phone call?"

Thomasreached under the bar, pulled out a phone, and set it on the bar. "I charge the tourists a buck a minute, but for an old cop, I'll just put what they charge me on your tab. Got a fax machine, too, if you should need one."

"Thanks." Stone called his home number. "Hello?"

"I guess you're not going to make it tonight, huh?"

"You heard? I tried to call you at the charter office, but I didn't get an answer."

"They get CNN down here."

"I'm sorry, baby. It started to come down around midday; and let me tell you, it's really somethings I'm a southern girl; I've never seen snow like this."

"CNN says the airlines will be flying again tomorrow afternoon. See what you can do."

"I'm already rebooked on tomorrow's flight, assuming it goes."

"Good. What are you up to now?"

"I'm having dinner with Vance and some friends of his. He actually found a Range Rover somewhere, and he's picking me up."

"Where are you dining?" "Wherever's open, I guess." "I miss you, babe."."

"And I miss you, my darling. I was looking forward to that first pifia co lada

"I'm drinking it for you right now. Say, let me give you this number."

Thomas shoved a card in front of him.

1'0

Stone read off both the phone and fax numbers. "Keep me posted on the flight situation, will you? The boat is moored no more than a hundred yards from this phone." "I will, baby." Stone said good-bye and hung up. "Well, Thomas, it looks like you and me." He sipped the pifia co lada It was perfect--cold, sweet, and pine apply "Let me know when you're ready for dinner," Thomas said. "I'll keep a table for you." Customers were drifting in now, and a waiter was seating them. Stone watched as a large black man dressed in a white linen suit, and in the company of a beautiful cafe-au-lait woman, entered and was shown to a prime table overlooking the harbor. "Impressive-looking fellow," he said. "That's Sir Winston Sutherland, the minister of justice," Thomas said. "A mover and shaker?" "He both moves and shakes. And if his own opinion holds, he just might be the next prime minister." Stone heard a car door slam and turned to look. The blond woman from the blue yacht, Expansive, had left a police car and, alone, was making her way across the lawn toward the marina. "Very nice, huh?" Thomas said. "Very nice indeed. She spent the afternoon with the local cops, though. I wonder why." "Word is, the lady left Europe with a husband but arrived in St. Marks without him." Stone turned and looked at the bartender. "I didn't see anybody else on board when she came into the harbor." "That's because she was all alone on that big boat."

"You mean she sailed it all the way across the Atlantic?"

"Well, not all the way," Thomas said. "Her husband was along for part of the time."

"Is foul play suspected?"

"On this island, foul play is always suspected," Thomas replied. "That lady is going to have to convince a number of people"--he pointed at Sir Winston Sutherland--"that man first among them, that she is as innocent as a newborn lamb."

"And how' difficult is that likely to be?" Stone asked. "It could be very difficult indeed," Thomas said. "There's going to be a coroner's jury over at the town meeting house tomorrow morning. Word is, Sir Winston is asking the questions."

"Is that unusual?"

"Usually the coroner does it."

Stone looked over at Sir Winston Sutherland, who was digging into a bowl of something. "What's he eating?" he asked.

"Conch chowder."

"Well, I suppose you have to be careful of any man with enough daring to eat conch chowder in a white linen suit."

"Oh," Thomas said, "there's more reason than that to be careful of Sir Winston."

When Stone got back to his boat, late, there were lights on in the big blue yacht. He was tempted to call on the lady to offer his condolences, but he was a little drunker than he liked to be when he introduced himself to a beautiful woman.

CHAPTER

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tone, a little worse for the wear, entered the Markstown.Meeting Hall at ten o'clock the following morning, just as the coroner, a wizened little black man with snow white hair, was about to call the proceedings to order. A jury of five black men and one white sat on folding chairs along one side of the hall; the coroner sat on a folding chair at a card table at the front of the room, and the woman from the blue yacht sat in the front row of chairs, dressed in a trim black dress that set off her tan. The dress was not quite demure enough for mourning, but it bespoke a certain dignity. Stone took a seat in the front row, across the aisle from her, just as Sir Winston Sutherland made his entrance, carrying a large satchel briefcase and dressed in a double-breasted blue suit with chalk stripes. He looked very official.

"These proceedings will come to order," said the coroner. "We meet to hear testimony on the death of Paul Phillips Manning; we are pleased to have Sir Winston with us to conduct questioning." Stone glanced at the woman, who sat, looking tired but somehow radiant, staring serenely at the coroner. She glanced briefly at Sir Winston. Stone wondered if she knew who he was and what was about to happen. The coroner spoke again. "Call Mrs. Allison Manning." The woman rose and walked toward a folding chair set next to the coroner's card table, between him and the jury. The scene resembled a rehearsal of a high school play set in a courtroom. "Hold the book," the coroner said to her, extending a Bible. "Do you swear by Almighty God that the evidence you are about to give will be the truth?" "I do," Allison Manning replied. "State your full name and age for the record." "Allison Ames Manning; I am twenty-nine years old." Stone now noticed a stenographer seated near the jury, taking down the proceedings in shorthand. Allison Manning gazed evenly at Sir Winston as he rose from his seat to his full height, which was a good six-three, and approached her. "Mrs. Manning," Sir Winston said gently, "may I begin by expressing my condolences on the loss of your husband?" "Thank you," she replied. "Mrs. Manning, how long were you married to Paul Phillips Manning?" "It would have been four years next month."

"And how old was your husband at his death?" "Forty-two."

"And where did the two of you reside?"

"In Greenwich, Connecticut."

"Would you be kind enough to tell us of your last months with your husband?"

Allison Manning took a deep breath and spoke in a clear, well-modulated voice. "My husband and I left Newport, Rhode Island, last May and crossed the Atlantic to Plymouth, in England, just the two of us. Paul had had the yacht built in Finland and fitted out with some extra equipment after it was delivered to Newport. From Plymouth, we cruised up the English Channel to Cowes, on the Isle of Wight, then crossed the Channel and cruised the coast of Brittany, in France. We made a long passage to Bilbao, in northern Spain, then went on to Lisbon and Gibraltar. In the Mediterranean, we cruised the Greek islands and the Balearics and then sailed out to Madeira and the Canary Islands. We called at Las Palmas and did some refitting there, then at Puerto Rico, a port on the southernmost island of the Canaries, and our last port of call before starting across the Atlantic, bound for Antigua." She took a sip of water from a glass poured by the coroner.

"Please go on," Sir Winston said.

Allison Manning looked a little sadder. "We sailed southwest from the Canaries down to the latitude of Antigua, then turned west. We had picked up the trade winds by then, and we were making good time. We were ten days out of Puerto Rico, over halfway to Antigua, when the incident occurred."

"Tell us about the incident, with as much detail as you can recall."

"It was on the early afternoon of the tenth day," she said. "We had been in and out of squalls, then the wind dropped, and we were very nearly becalmed. The weather had been very changeable. We had been down to short sail in the squalls, using a roller-reefing headsail, which was like a big window blind, and when Paul began to unroll the sail in the light winds, the top swivel of the roller-reefing gear separated into two parts. The sail fell down with the bottom part, and the top part of the gear remained at the top of the mast, attached to the halyard. I hope I'm making this clear."

Sir Winston turned to the jury. "Gentlemen, do you understand?"

The jury nodded as one man.

"Please go on, Mrs. Manning," Sir Winston said. "This wasn't the first time this had happened," she said, "and it meant that someone had to go up the mast and pull the top part of the swivel down to deck level so that it could be reattached to the bottom part." "And who went up the mast?" "I did."

"Was this usual? Did your husband often send you up the mast at sea?"

"No. I had done that a couple of times before, but when we were tied ap alongside in port. It was easier for Paul to hoist me up the mast with a winch than for me to hoist him. He is... was a large man. On this occasion he wanted to go himself, but he had woken up not feeling well that morning and was obviously not well. He had a thing about making good time at sea, and he didn't want to wait until he felt better, so I said I would go up the mast."

"And how did you accomplish that?"

"Paul lowered the mainsail; I got into the bosun's chair, which is a canvas sling, and Paul winched me to the top of the mast on the main halyard, then cleated the line while I hauled the genoa halyard down to deck level. There wasn't much wind, but there was a sea running from the last squall, and it was pretty uncomfortable at the top of the mast. I called to Paul to lower me to the deck, and that was when I saw him, sitting on a cockpit seat, holding his arm, near the shoulder." For the first time, her voice quavered. "His left arm."

"What happened then?"

She seemed to struggle to keep control of herself. "I called to him again, and he looked up at me. Then he seemed to be in terrible pain, and he sort of just lay down on his side on the cockpit seat." Tears appeared on her cheeks now. "I was very frightened. The wind began to get up again, and with no sail up, the boat was

:: i rolling very badly. I continued to call out to him in pamc--pamc that I was stuck at the top of the mast, and panic that he seemed to be having a heart attack, and I couldn't help him." Now she began to cry in earnest. Sutherland stood without speaking while she produced a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. Finally in control again, ahe continued. "A few minutes passed--I don't know how long--then Paul slid off the seat onto the cockpit sole. He just lay there, facedown. It was obvious that he was unconscious; he just sort of flopped about when the boat rolled."

"And then what did you do?"

"I just clung to the mast and cried."

"For how long?"

"A long time. Two hours, maybe three. I wasn't wearing a watch. Finally the sun got low in the sky; I realized that Paul wasn't going to help me, and that I

had to do something to help myself."

"And what did you do?"

She took a deep breath and let it out. "I hugged the mast as tightly as I could, then I slipped out of the bosun's chair and began sliding down the mast, except I slid a lot faster than I meant to. I went down very quickly until I came to rest on the cross trees in a sitting position. That hurt, and I was sort of stunned for a minute, so I just stopped and collected myself for a few minutes. The rolling wasn't quite as bad, since I was farther down the mast, Finally I got up enough nerve to go the rest of the way down. I still don't know why I didn't fall and hurt myself."

"Then you went to help your husband?"

"No, not immediately. I was so terrified and so exhausted from clinging to the mast that I just lay there in a heap. I think I may have even fainted for a while; I don't know how long. When I could get up again, I made my way back to the cockpit. Paul was dead."

Stone found that he had been holding his breath. He let it out in a rush, and everyone in the room--the coroner, the jury, and Sir Winston--turned and looked at him. "Excuse me," he said sheepishly. He looked up and found Allison Manning staring at him. It seemed to be the first time she had been aware of his presence.

"Please go on," Sir Winston said. "What did you do next?"