Dead in the Water (19 page)

You are an attorney, you said?"

"Yes, I practice in New York."

"I suppose there will be an inquest."

"Yes, I should think so."

"I wonder if you would undertake to act for this firm in the matter of obtaining a death certificate and any other legalities which might arise. I'm afraid that Mrs. Peters could not afford to send me down the, re, and in any case, I

would find it physically impossible to make the trip."

"I'm leaving St. Marks to return to New York the middle of next week, but until that time I would be happy to handle any details that might come up, including the death certificate."

"It me give you my address and phone number."

Stone wrote down the information.

"You may send your bill here."

"I would be glad to render this small service as a courtesy to Mrs. Peters," Stone said.

"You are very kind, sir. Ah..." He paused as if unwilling to mention something. "Mr. Barrington, Libby spoke with me before she left, and I was under the very distinct impression that she expected to realize some financial benefit from the estate of her former husband.

Are you aware of any such benefit? Even a modest sum would mean the world to Mrs. Peters."

Stone winced. "I am aware that there was no mention of the first Mrs. Manning in Paul Manning's will,"

'::' he said, "and that the alimony required by his divorce decree had expired."

"Yes, I'm afraid that is correct," Potter said. He

: sighed deeply. "No bequest, eh?"

"I'm afraid not, but I will raise the subject with Mr. Manning's widow."

"Would you? I would be so very grateful. Mrs. Peters's health is not good, and I'm very much afraid that without her daughter's help she will be unable to afford to stay in her apartment, and I don't know where she would go."

"I'll speak to Mrs. Manning about it," Stone said, "and I'll be in touch with you on my return to New York next week."

"Good. I won't mention this to Mrs. Peters until I hear from you; I wouldn't want to get her hopes up, you know."

"I understand," Stone said.

"One other thing, could you learn the name of the insurance company representing the owners of the airplane? If it crashed because of a mechanical problem, Mrs. Peters might be eligible for a payment from the policy."

Stone was anxious to get off the phone before he was saddled with any other duties. "Yes, yes, I'll inquire about that."

"I'll look forward to hearing from you, then." "Good-bye, Mr. Potter."

Stone hung up and lay back on the bed. It was worse than he could have imagined, and he didn't know whether Allison would honor her agreement. He went back to work and tried not to think of the old lady at the piano in Palm Beach.

CHAPTER

The inquest was held in the same village hall that had been used for the inquest into the death of Paul Manning, the coroner was the same, and the jury was indistinguishable from the first one. The only difference was the absence of Sir Winston Sutherland, who, apparently, could see no political advantage in attending. Stone and Thomas gave their testimony, and then the mechanic employed by Chester's air taxi service was called and questioned by the coroner. "State your name," the coroner said. "Harvey Simpson," the mechanic replied. He was I black and appeared to be in his early forties. "Mr. Simpson, are you a fully qualified aircraft mechanic?" "Yes sir, I am. I done my training in Miami, and I

worked in Fort Lauderdale for eight years before I come home to St. Marks."

"How long had you done mechanical work on

Chester Appleton's airplane?" "For eleven years." "The same airplane?"

"No, sir; Chester bought this one six years ago." "Was the airplane in good condition?"

Harvey Simpson straightened in his seat. "Yes sir, it certainly was. I did an annual inspection on the airplane last month; I always kept it right up to snuff."

"What about the port engine?"

"That was the newest of the two. I installed it eight months ago, and it only had five hundred and ten hours on it."

"How long is an engine good for?"

"That one was rated for two thousand hours."

"So Chester had only used a quarter of its expected life?"

"That's right, sir."

"At the time of the annual inspection, did you find anything wrong with the engine?"

Harvey Simpson opened a plastic briefcase and removed a book. "I got the engine logbook right here," he sid. "There's a list of what I done to it."

"My question was, did you find anything wrong with the engine?"

Simpson consulted the logbook. "I found two exhaust brackets broken. That's a common fault; vibration weakens the metal. I replaced both brackets. The compression on all the cylinders was in the high normal range; that's a pretty good indicator of the health of the

All the airworthiness directives and service bulletins-were up to date on it." "We have heard testimony that the engine caught can you think of anything that might have caused to happen?"

"No, sir," the man said emphatically. "I did a fifty-hour engine three days before the crash--that an off change--and there wasn't nothing wrong with it."

"What, in your opinion, could cause an engine fire that airplane?"

"Leaking fuel would be about the only thing, sir, but Ichecked all the fuel connections during the fifty-hour and they was all tight."

"Nothing else could have caused the engine fire?"

"Well, a bad exhaust leak, maybe, but there wasn't no exhaust leaks, either."

"So you have no explanation for the engine fire?" "No, sir, I don't, and believe you me, I've done some considerable thinking on the subject. If I had the engine back and could inspect it, I might be able to tell you what caused the fire, but..."

"Quite," the coroner said. "Does any member of the jury have any questions for Mr. Simpson?"

A tall black man stood up. "I've got a question," he said.

"Go ahead and ask it," the coroner replied. "Harvey, Alene Sanders, who got killed in that crash, was my wife's sister-in-law. What I want to know is, who's going to pay for killing her?"

Simpson shook his head. "I don't know, Marvin. Chester didn't have nothing but that airplane and his house."

STUART WCXX)S

"What about insurance?" the man demanded. Simpson shook his head again. "Chester stopped paying the insurance last year. Said it was too much, it was going to break him."

The man shook his head and sat down. Stone shook his head, too. That answered Harley Potter's question.

"All right, then," said the coroner, "the jury can retire to consider their verdict. I wont recess for another fifteen minutes, because I don't think it's going to take long."

The jury retired, and everyone stood up to stretch. Stone turned to find Hilary Kramer of the Times and Jim Forrester of The New Yorker in the row behind him.

"What brings you two here?" Stone asked. "Nothing else to do," Kramer replied. "Not until your case begins. I'll file a short piece on the crash. You happen to know anything about the Manning woman, Stone?"

"As a matter of fact, I had a call from a lawyer in Palm Beach. She left an elderly mother--no other family."

"No insurance for the mother, either," Kramer said,

jotting down some notes. "Got the mother's name?" "Maria Peters; a widow and retired actress." "Address?" "No idea." "The lawyer?"

"Harley Potter of Potter and Potter." He looked at Forrester. "I don't see you taking any notes, Jim."

Forrester grinned. "I'll clip Hilary's piece; it'll all be in there. It'll be no more than a marginal reference in my piece."

"I guess not," Stone agreed.

"What was Elizabeth Manning doing down here?"

i "She wanted to know if she was mentioned in

's will. She wasn't."

"I heard you and she were looking over some documents in the Shipwright's Arms," she said. "What were

"Paul Manning's will; she wanted to see it." "When were they divorced?" "Something like ten years ago, I think." "When were they married?" "I don't really know."

a font of information, aren't you?" Kramer

"Is there something you don't want me

} know?"

"Hilary," Stone said, "why would I keep in forma-from you?"

She was about to reply, but the jury was returning. The coroner waited for everyone to be seated, then spoke. "Have you gentlemen reached a verdict? If so, read it."

A man stood up. "We find that Chester Appleton, Alene Sanders, and Elizabeth Allison Manning met their deaths by misadventure," he said, then sat down.

The coroner rapped sharply on his table. "A verdict of death by misadventure having been found, these proceedings are closed."

Stone made his way forward and introduced himself to the coroner.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Barrington, I remember you from an earlier inquest."

"That's right. A law firm representing the next of kin of Mrs. Elizabeth Manning has asked me to act for them in St. Marks. They have requested a copy of the death certificate, so that Mrs. Manning's estate may be probated." "Of course," the coroner said. I'll give you an original." He sat down, took a pad of blank certificates from his briefcase, wrote one out, signed it, and handed it to Stone. "There you are," he said. "Nice that this inquest is so much simpler than the last, isn't it?" "Yes, it is." He smiled a little. "Not as interesting, though." Stone smiled with him. "No, I guess it isn't." He shook the man's hand and left the hall. To his relief, the two journalists had disappeared. Back at the Shipwright's Arms, a fax was waiting for him.

Dear Stone,

Just a quick note to let you know I'm not dead. My research is going well. I've been spending all my time with Vance, who has been a dear. I've been staying at his house, which is very beautiful, and I've met many friends of his. The life out here is really wonderful. Oh, Chip McGrath at the New York Times Book Review has asked me to review a big new book on the history of Hollywood and the studios-front page of the review, if you can believe it. It's a nice showcase for me. I might stay out here for a week or two

when I finish the piece. This California living gets under your skin.

Got to run. We're off to dinner.

i, Love,

Arrington

Stone was hurt. After all he'd said to her in his letter, she hadn't even referred to it. Then it hit him: his letter had gone down with Chester's airplane, in Libby Manning's purse. She had never received it. He swore at himself for not remembering that before now. I'll write her tomorrow, he thought. First thing.

CHAPTER

Stone returned to Expansive with some trepidation. He was not looking forward to talking with Allison about this, partly because she did not need additional problems while facing a trial for murder, and partly because he did not relish a scene with her, and he had come to know that she was adept at scenes.

To his surprise, he found her packing.

"Oh, hi," she said, stuffing things into a duffel. There were two others, already full, on the aft cabin bed.

"Ging somewhere?" he asked. He really wanted to know.

"Sure," she said, "next week. I didn't have anything to do, so I thought I would get some things together, and then when the trial is over I can get out of here pronto!"

"I don't blame you for wanting to get out of said. "What will you do about the boat?" "Oh, I don't know; probably take your advice and it in Fort Lauderdale. I don't want to think about I'm sick of it, and once I'm out of here I never to see it again." He could understand that, too. "We have to talk for minute," he said. "What about?" She kept packing. "Could you stop that for a minute? I need your full attention." She stopped packing and sat down on the bed. "Okay, shoot." He sat down beside her. "I had a call from a lawyer in Palm Beach who represents Libby's mother." Her eyes widened. "How the hell did he know to call you?" "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 tip

Palm Beach hotel, for s."

She remained expressionless. "Go on."

"She relies on Libby for support. They share an

TOAirr WOOl 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 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.