Dead in the Water (3 page)

"I tried to give him cardiopulmonary resuscitation," she said.

"Had you been trained in this technique?"

"I took a class once, at the yacht club at home." "Did this have any effect?"

"No. I couldn't get a pulse at all, and Paul ... I couldn't get him to breathe, and his body was growing quite cold by this time."

Stone marveled at how calmly she related all this. "And then what did you do?"

"I sat and cried for a while and let the yacht take care of herself. When I finally got a grip, I started thinking about what to do next. It was dark by then, and it seemed so strange that Paul was dead. I kept expecting him to come up from below and adjust the sails or something."

"Did you move the body at all?"

"Not at first. Paul is... was a big man, and I'm quite small. I thought about moving him down below, to a berth, but then it-occurred to me that if I did, I'd just have to get him up again, sooner or later. So I left him in the cockpit that night. I was exhausted, so I got some sleep. I couldn't eat anything, though. The boat took care of me; the wind dropped, and she lay fairly quietly."

"What did you finally do with the body?"

When I woke up it was still dark, but there was about three-quarters of a moon, so the night was bright. It was clear to me that in that climate, I was going to have to bury Paul at sea. I went up into the cockpit and tried lifting the body, but I couldn't budge it. Finally I got the main halyard around him and winched him into a sort of standing position. When I let out on the line, he fell to leeward, and I was able to get him onto the side deck and undo the halyard. Then I released the lifelines and got him overboard."

"What did you do next?"

She swallowed hard, then continued calmly. "I said a prayer for Paul's soul, then I began to think about sailing the boat. Dawn came; I got the mainsail up with a winch and got us headed due west, and I repaired the headsail reefing swivel with a little steel clip. We had half a dozen spares, and we had already used half of them. Paul often talked about finding some more permanent solution to the problem, but he never did. Finally I got the headsail up again. I set the self-steering gear, as Paul had taught me, and I got a sleeping bag and slept in the cockpit through the morning. It was easy sailing, and with one or two direction changes as the wind came up, I got through the day. I slept in the cockpit that flight, and by the second day, I was getting used to sailing the boat."

"So you just kept heading due west?"

"No, there was a book on board about celestial navigation; I couldn't fred the manuals for the GPS or the high-frequency radio. I had never taken any real interest in the subject before--Paul had always done the navigating--but he had shown me how to use the sextant. From the book I learned how to find our latitude, and I just tried to keep us on the right latitude the rest of the way. We finished up a little farther south than I had tried for; our landfall was at St. Marks, instead of Antigua."

Sir Winston reached into his briefcase and brought lo out two books. He showed one to Allison Manning. "And you kept this logbook?"

"Yes, after Paul died I kept the log in a sort of abbreviated fashion. Paul was always very meticulous about recording everything, as you can see by reading the earlier entries."

Sir Winston held up the other book, a leather-bound volume. "And do you recognize this book?"

She looked at it. "Yes, he bought that in Las Palmas, and he wrote in it a lot."

"Did you ever read what he wrote in this book, Mrs. Manning?"

"No. He often made notes in such a book."

"Mrs. Manning, are you quite able to continue? Wuld you like a rest?"

"No, I'm fine; I'd like to go on."

"Good, good. Tell me, Mrs. Manning, how would you describe your relationship with Your husband?"

"We had a good marriage; we were very content and 'happy."

Sir Winston looked surprised. "Really? You didn't have fights, arguments?"

"Rarely. Oh, I suppose anyone who's married has an argument now and then, but we got along well." "No children?"

"No. Paul didn't want children."

"But you did?"

"Well, yes, but I suppose Paul was more important to me. I didn't want to ruin our marriage by having a child unless Paul wanted one, too."

"So you were deeply in love with your husband?," She hesitated. "I loved him, yes," she said finally.

"Did you treat him well?"

"Yes, I did."

"You were a good wife at all times?" .

"I tried to be," she replied. "Excuse me, sir, but what are you getting at?"

Sir Winston opened the leather-bound book and showed her a page. "Is this your husband's handwriting?"

"Yes, it is." Allison Manning was looking concerned for the first time.

"Let me read you some of what your husband wrote in this book," Sir Winston said, opening the book at a marked page. "I quote: "They had been on the boat together for months now, and she had been the perfect bitch."" Sir Winston paused, looked at the jury, then continued. ""She had always had a temper, but now she frightened him with the intensity of her anger."" He looked at Allison Manning as if to elicit a response, but she said nothing; she looked stunned.

Sir Winston turned to another marked passage. ""They argued one day as she was making lunch. She had a chef's knife in her hand, and for a moment, he thought she might use it on him. He slept badly that night, waking often, expecting to feel the blade in his back.""

Allison Manning was suddenly on her feet; her face was red and contorted with anger. "That's not about us, dammit! It's written in the third person, don't you see? What are you trying to do, you bastard?"

Sir Winston feigned shock at her outburst, but before he could speak, the coroner broke in. "Please compose yourself, Mrs. Manning; Sir Winston is only doing his duty." He looked at his watch. "I think we will stop now for lunch. We Will resume in one hour. Gentlemen of the jury, please do not discuss these proceedings among yourselves during lunch." He stood, and the jurors stood with him.

Sir Winston collected the books and his briefcase and strode quickly from the room, leaving Allison Manning standing, staring after him. Finally she collected her purse and walked slowly toward the door.

Stone, nearly as shocked as she at the turn in Sir Winston's questioning, followed her from the building. "Mrs. Manning?" he called.

She stopped and turned. "Yes?"

"My name is Stone Barrington; I'm an American, -too My chartered boat is moored near yours."

"Oh, yes," she said absently. She turned to go.

"I wonder if I could speak with you for a moment?" "What about?" she asked, looking puzzled.

"I was present at the inquest this morning, and I heard what took place. I think 'you may be in over your head."

"How do you mean?"

"Do you know who this Sir Winston is?"

"No."

"Nobody mentioned that, huh?"

"No. Just what is your interest in this, Mr. Barfington?"

"Back in New York, I'm a lawyer, and right now, I think you need a lawyer very much. Can I buy you lunch?"

CHAPTER

hey walked quickly across the lawn to her boat and went down below. "Would you like some lunch?" Allison Manning asked. "I'm going to make a sandwich."

"Thank you, yes," Stone replied.

She went to the galley and began putting together some sandwiches. "Please tell me your name again," she said. "It always takes me a couple of times."

"Stone Barrington. If you'll forgive me, we only have an hour before the inquest resumes, and we should talk quickly."

"All right."

"First of all, let me explain the proceedings. A coroner's inquest is..."

"To make an official determination of the cause of death," she said.

"The cause and the circumstances. In this case, the jury could probably return one of three verdicts: death from natural causes, death by homicide, or an open verdict, which means the jury doesn't feel it has enough evidence to decide how your husband died."

"I understand," she said, handing him a sandwich. "Something to drink?"

"Anything diet," Stone said and accepted a soda. "What are the consequences of these three possible verdicts?" she asked, then took a big bite of her sandwich.

"If the determination is natural causes, the coroner will give you a death certificate, and you can get on with your life. If it's an open verdict, maybe, but not certainly, the same. But if the verdict is death by homicide, then Sir Winston is going to be very nearly obliged to bring a charge of murder against you."

She gulped down the bite of sandwich. "Murder? I didn't murder Paul!"

"I don't believe you did," Stone said, "but Sir Winston' may have a very different opinion. If you should be charged with murder, your alternatives would be to stand trial or to plead to a lesser charge for a reduced sentence or a suspended sentence, if the circumstances warranted."

"I have no intention of pleading to any charge," she said.

understand," Stone replied. "Now we have to talk about what's going to happen when the inquest resumes. My assumption is that Sir Winston has other kinds of evidence to present which might cast you in a bad light. I think that to adequately present your side of this, you need more time and a good local lawyer, so the best thing to do would be to ask for a recess of the inquest until such time as you are ready to present your case." She shook her head vigorously. "I'm not going to hang around this godforsaken island for days or weeks. I want to get home, get Paul's estate settled, and get on with my life." "That's certainly understandable," Stone said. "Alternatively, you can allow the inquest to resume on time and present the best case you can in the circumstances and take a chance on the outcome." "What's your recommendation?" "I think it's always a mistake to rush the legal process unless you're in a very strong position, and I'm not at all sure you are." "If I.go back to the hearing, will you represent me?" "Yes, if the coroner will allow it. I'm not licensed to practice in St. Marks, but an inquest is less formal than a trial, and he might do it. But there's Sir Winston to consider, too." "You asked me if I knew who he was. I don't." "He's the minister of justice of this island country, and I'm told he aspires to be the next prime minister. If that's true, and if he sees some political advantage in pursuing this, he could be dangerous to your interests." "I see," she said. She leaned against a galley counter and looked down at her feet, silent. Finally she spoke again.""I want to get this over with and get out of here. I can't believe he could possibly convince a jury that Paul's death was anything other than natural. After all, there were no witnesses; they'd have to take my word, wouldn't they?" "No, they Wouldn't, not if Sir Winston can present convincing evidence to the contrary. Your husband's diary, for instance."

She waved a hand. "I can explain that; it's no problem." "I'm glad to hear it," Stone said. "Did the police remove anything else from the yacht besides the logbook and the diary?"

"Not that I'm aware of," she said.

"All right. First, let's talk about the diary, then let's see what else we can dig up that will react to your benefit." He glanced at his watch. "We have forty-five minutes to build our case."

Stone looked at his watch again. Five minutes to go, and he was in the head. "Better hurry," he called out.

"Won't be a minute," her muffled voice called back. Stone took the opportunity to look around the interior of the yacht. It was gorgeous. The maker was Nautor of Finland, and the boat was a Swan, widely held to be the best production yacht in the world, and very close to being custom-built. She had obviously been built with little regard to cost; every piece of equipment aboard was the best that money could buy--the electronics, the sails, even the galley equipment. He reckoned the boat had cost between a million and a half and two million dollars,

She popped out of the head, her makeup redone, her long, blond hair combed. "Okay, let's go," she said.

Stone picked up the docUments she had given him and followed her up the main companionway ladder.

Five minutes later, they were back in the Markstown meeting hall, and Sir Winston Sutherland was resuming his questioning of Allison Manning.

CHAPTER

Sir Winston rose to his full height and addressed Allison Manning. This time he was not bothering with charm. "Mrs. Manning," he said, "was your husband a wealthy man?"

"We're well off, I suppose," she replied, looking a bit nonplused. "Paul never really discussed money with me; he took care of that. I mean, on the boat, he tied the knots and spliced the wire and fixed the engine and navigated, and I did what I did at home--I kept house. I'm not a business executive or an entrepreneur or a stockbroker or a lady lawyer or a yachtswoman. I'm a housewife, and that was all I ever did. Paul made the money and invested it and, except for my clothes and the things in the house, he spent it; I hardly gave it a thought. We have a nice house, we drove nice cars, but the only really extravagant thing Paul ever bought was the boat, and I don't even know what it cost."

"I see," Sir Winston said, as if he didn't see at all. "You never give money a thought." "I think I see what you're getting at," she said. "You're implying that I hit my husband over the head or stabbed him with a kitchen knife and dumped him overboard so I could have his money, right? Well, do you have any idea how big Paul was? He was as big as you!" She seemed to reconsider. "Well, almost as big." The jury tittered at this. Allison Manning was becoming very assertive now, and it worried Stone a little. He had instructed her not to argue with Sir Winston, not to lose her temper again. "Well, Mrs. Manning," Sir Winston continued, seeming to regroup, "let me ask you this: what were you husband's toilet arrangements on the yacht?" She looked at him as if he were a raving lunatic. "What?" Sir Winston looked flustered for a moment. "Let me rephrase, please. When your husband was on deck, and he felt the need to relieve himself, how did he do it?" "In the usual way," she replied. The jury began laughing, but a sharp look from the coroner subdued them. "I mean, Mrs. Manning, did he go below and use the toilet, or like most men on a boat, did he just pass his water into the sea?" "He stood on the stern of the boat, held onto the backstay with one hand, unzipped his fly with the other, and peed overboard." "Ah," said Sir Winston, as if he had caught her in some monumental admission. "This large husband of yours made himself vulnerable for just a' moment when he urinated. A small shove, even by a small woman, was all it would take, eh?"