“What about race? Would the fact that Mrs. Manning is white be a factor in a possible death sentence?”
“I should say that would increase her chances of hanging,” Sir Leslie said, “especially since her jury is very likely to be all or nearly all black.”
Stone swallowed hard. “I see.”
“I should mention, too,” Sir Leslie continued, “that in St. Marks, jury verdicts are by majority, not unanimous vote, so a white juror or two would not be able to cause a deadlock, and the judge elects the jury.”
“Jesus Christ,” Stone said quietly.
Sir Leslie smiled. “I’m glad to see you are taking this seriously.”
“What is the appeals procedure?” Stone asked.
“There is only a single appeal,” Sir Leslie replied. “All capital convictions are automatically referred to the prime minister, whose word is final. He generally responds the next day, and, should his decision be negative, the hanging takes place on the following day.” He smiled. “Since our system is so efficient, we tend to think that capital punishment really is a deterrent to capital crime.”
“Yes,” Stone replied, “I can see how it might be.”
Thomas turned to Stone. “You’re going to be doing a lot of telephoning tomorrow, I should think. There’s a room with a phone over the bar you can use.”
“Thanks, Thomas,” Stone said. “Maybe I should just take the room for the duration.”
“That will be fine.”
“Is there somewhere I can rent a printer for my laptop?”
“My bookkeeper is on vacation; I’ll move hers in there for you.”
They turned back to Leslie Hewitt, who seemed to have dozed off.
“Leslie?” Thomas said.
The little man opened his eyes. “Thomas? Is that Thomas Hardy?”
“Yes, Leslie.”
“How very good of you to come and see me,” he said, beaming at them. He turned toward Stone. “And who might this be?”
When they returned to the restaurant, Thomas handed Stone a fax. “This came for you while we were gone.”
Dear Stone,
I cannot find a way to tell you how important this assignment has become, but the fact is, I have to spend as much time as possible with Vance Calder while he is in New York, which is for the rest of the week. I know how angry and disappointed you will be to read this, but there’s simply no way I am going to be able to get to St. Marks in time to go sailing with you, no matter how hard I try, so we may as well both face it now. I ask your forgiveness, and I look forward to your return.
Love,
Arrington
Stone wadded up the paper and tossed it into a wastebasket.
“Bad news?” Thomas asked.
“Is there any other kind?” Stone replied.
Chapter
8
Stone sweated through a nearly sleepless night, tossing in his berth, trying in vain to think of some tactic to abort this whole process. He rose at dawn, had a swim in the harbor and showered off the salt water, then forced down some breakfast. He left his chartered yacht, walked to the berth where Expansive lay, and went aboard. Below, he found a makeup kit in the head, and he chose a demure dress and some shoes from a clothing cupboard. In a drawer he found fresh lingerie and, feeling odd, chose some lace bikini panties. There were no bras in the drawer. He stuffed the lot into a small duffel he found in a locker. He was about to go up the companionway stairs when he stopped and looked around.