Dead in the Water (Stone Barrington 3)

“It’s a Spanish possession a few hundred miles out in the Atlantic, off North Africa.”

“Back up here, Stone; tell me what’s going on.”

Stone related the events of the past few days.

“That’s the craziest thing I ever heard,” Cantor said. “They want to hang her?”

“That’s right. Now look, their last landfall before St. Marks was the Canaries; they were in Las Palmas, the capital, for some work on the boat, then they stopped on the southernmost island, which is called Puerto Rico, their last night before starting the transatlantic. I want you to go to both places and ask about the yacht, which is called Expansive.”

“Got that,” Cantor said, obviously scribbling.

“Talk to anybody who saw them, talked to them, had a meal with them, saw how they interacted.”

“What exactly are you looking for?”

“Straws to grasp at; God knows I’ve got nothing else. See if you can find me a witness who can, from personal experience, characterize the relationship between Paul Manning and his wife during the last few days they were in the Canaries—ideally somebody who can say he saw a lot of them and that they obviously adored each other.”

“Anything else?”

“Anything else you can possibly think of. You understand the situation now and something of what I need. If I’m going to get this woman off I’m pretty much going to have to prove that she didn’t do it.”

“That’s impossible,” Cantor said. “There were no witnesses.”

“I’m going to have to do it anyway.”

“What airline goes to the Canaries?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea; call my secretary and tell her to book it for you, tonight if possible.”

“Right. Anything else?”

“Yes, I want you to dig up everything you can on Paul Manning for me—library, Internet, credit report, criminal record, military record, anything you possibly can before you leave for Las Palmas. FedEx it to me here.” He gave Cantor the address and phone and fax numbers. “If you can think of any other avenue to pursue, pursue it; if you need outside help, hire it; if you have any ideas for me, fax them, okay?”

“I’m on it,” Cantor said, then hung up.

Stone called his secretary. “Hi, Alma.”

“Hi, Stone. I saw Arrington this morning; why is she still here?”

“Don’t ask; she’s not coming. I’m going to be busy down here for at least another week, so scrub anything I’ve scheduled through the middle of next week—reschedule or tell them I’ll call as soon as I’m back.”

“Okay.”

“Any calls or correspondence worth bothering with?”

“Nothing that won’t wait until you’re back.”

“Oh; call one of the judges’ clerks and find out where they buy robes, then get one in my size and FedEx it to me.”

“You doing some judging down there?”

“I’ll explain later. Is Arrington upstairs?”

“She was on the way out when I saw her; a limo was waiting for her.”

“I’ll call her later, then.” He gave her his address and numbers. “You can always leave a message at the bar if I’m not here. I’m still sleeping on the boat; it’s all the use I’m getting out of it.”

“Okay; anything else?”