"I'll go get my things," she said, hopping off the barstool.
"Forget your things," Stone said. "I'm sure Sir Winston had the verdict before we did. If he wants you, the police could be here any minute."
Thomas put some car keys on the bar. "A cab could take a while to come; my car is out back." "I've got to get my passport," Allison said. "And a few other things."
"Run," Stone said. "Don't take a second longer than absolutely necessary.I'll get the car." She jogged off toward the marina.
"Thanks, Thomas," Stone said.
"You take the main road and turn right after about two miles," Thomas said. "There's a sign. Chester's airplane is white with blue stripes."
Stone ran to the rear of the restaurant, found the car, a new Toyota Camry, got it started, and drove around front. He looked toward the marina but saw nothing of Allison. "Jesus H. Christ!" he muttered, getting out of the car. He was halfway across the lawn when he saw Allison hurrying across toward him, carrying a duffel and a man's briefcase. Stone opened the door. "Let's go!"
Allison dived in and slammed the door. "I'm not accustomed to running from the law," she said.
"Don't say things like that," Stone replied, driving off. "As far as we know, the law has no interest in you. You've accomplished all the legal necessities in St.Marks, and you're leaving for home like any other tourist."
"Just in more of a hurry," Allison said. "Do you think they might come after me at home?"
"I think that if you were arrested, then ran, they probably would go for extradition, but since no charge has been made, well, there are no guarantees, but I think it's unlikely they'd come after you. If they do, my advice is to get the best lawyer you can and fight it tooth and nail. Would you like me to recommend a lawyer?"
"Yes, please."
"I'm of counsel to a firm in New York called Woodman and Weld."
"I've heard of it; very prestigious."
"Call Bill Eggers there. The firm probably has someone who specializes in this sort of thing, and if they don't, Bill can recommend the best man in town. If this happens, it's going to cost; how are you fixed for money?"
"I won't know that for sure until I've talked with Paul's lawyer and accountant, but I think I'll be all right. I can always sell the boat."
Stone turned right onto the airport road. "As soon as you get home, find a yacht broker and have him fly a ferry crew down here at the earliest possible moment to get the boat out of here."
"All right." She dug into her handbag and came up with a card. "Here's my number in Greenwich; will you call me when you get back? I'll buy you dinner."
"That might be tough to explain to the lady I live with," Stone said, "but I would like to know how things work out. I'll call you."
"So why isn't this lady with you?"
"She got snowed in. Oh, I hadn't thought of it, but the airports might still be closed up there. When you get to San Juan, check with the airlines. It might be best to spend a night there and wait for the weather in the Northeast to clear up."
"Thanks, I'll do that." She smiled at him. "Sure you don't want to come with me?"
"It's a lovely thought, but I've got a yacht charter here, and I hope Arrington will be here soon."
"My bad luck," she said.
God, Stone thought, you're supposed to be the grieving widow! He drove through the airport gates and toward a large hangar. The Cessna was parked in front of it, and the pilot who had flown him to St.Marks from Antigua was waiting. "There's Chester," Stone said.
"Thank God," she said.
Stone pulled up next to the plane, took her duffel and her briefcase, and stowed them in the baggage compartment. He walked back to the wing and held open the door for her. "You're on your way," he said.
An engine coughed to life, followed by another.
She slung an arm around his neck and gave him a much bigger and wetter kiss than he could have expected. "I'll never be able to thank you enough, but I'll try," she shouted over the roar of the engines. "Goodbye."
"Good-bye," Stone said. Then an unexpected sound reached his ears. He looked back toward the airport gate and saw a Jeep driving toward them, making some sort of strange siren noise. The vehicle skidded to a halt next to the airplane, and two starched and pressed black policemen got out. The officer gave them a casual salute with a swagger stick. "Mrs.Allison Manning, I presume?"
"Yes," she said.
"Good afternoon," he said, smiling, then handed her a document. "You are under arrest for the crime of murder. You will be charged tomorrow morning at ten o'clock at the courthouse in St. Marks City. Do you have any luggage?"
"No," Stone said quickly, "Mrs.Manning does not have any luggage." He took the document and looked at it; it appeared to be a properly drawn warrant. He turned to Allison. "You'll have to go with them. I'll get you a local lawyer and see you at the hearing tomorrow morning. I doubt if I can get anything done until then."
Allison looked stunned. "All right," she said. She put a hand on his arm. "I'm so glad you're here." She got into the Jeep and was driven away.
Chester killed the engines. Stone watched until the Jeep had driven through the airport gates, then went and got her duffel and briefcase from the luggage compartment. He didn't know what was in that briefcase, but he knew that he didn't want Sir Winston Sutherland rooting around in there. Poor Allison Manning, he thought. She's in for a rough time, and I suppose I'm going to have to help her.
CHAPTER 7
Stone drove back to Markstown, mulling over what he might do to help Allison Manning. There wasn't a whole lot, he reckoned. He could find her a local lawyer, and that was about it. Then he recalled that Sir Winston had asked him, during the fateful coroner's jury, if he were licensed to practice in Britain. Maybe, with the help of Woodman and Weld in New York, he could get hold of some high-class British barrister and have him flown in, if Allison Manning could afford it. He parked the car behind Thomas Hardy's restaurant and walked in.
Thomas was alone at the bar, writing on a steno pad. He looked up as Stone came in. "I heard," he said. "Chester called me."
"It looks bad," Stone said, taking a stool and handing Thomas the arrest warrant. "I'm going to have to find her a first-class barrister."
Thomas shoved a pad across the bar. "I thought that might be the case. Here's a list of three who might-I stress, might-take her on."
Stone read four names. "What about the fourth name?"
"First we'd better call the first three. Shall I?"
"Please."
Thomas picked up the phone and dialed a number.
Ten minutes later, after the third call, Thomas hung up the phone.
"Well?" Stone said.
"No hope," Thomas replied. "The word is out that Sir Winston really wants this one-nobody knows exactly why-and nobody is going to go up against him right at this moment in time, with an election coming up soon. The consensus seems to be that a conviction would give him a lot of favorable publicity, and nobody wants to get between Sir Winston and publicity."
"What if Sir Winston should lose the case?"
"As far as I can tell from these phone conversations, nobody in the legal community thinks he's going to."
"How about somebody else?"
"Not a chance," Thomas said. "I eliminated most of them before I made my list. Those three were the only ones who might have opposed Sir Winston."
"What about the fourth name on the list?"
"Sir Leslie Hewitt," Thomas said.
"Yes, what about him?"
"He'll represent her," Thomas said. "He hates Sir Winston's guts, as his father before him did."
"Well, then, give him a call."
Thomas shook his head. "You don't understand."
"Explain it to me."
"Leslie was once a first-rate barrister, one of the best, in fact."
"And now?"
"He's well past eighty; he hasn't tried a case in at least fifteen years; and…"