“Do you think there’s really a chance she could hang?”
“Yes, I do.”
“No kidding, really?”
“Really.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Yes.”
“It just doesn’t seem possible that this sort of thing could happen in this day and age. I mean, if she’d fetched up in the United States, she’d be walking around scot free, wouldn’t she?”
“I believe she would. I don’t think a prosecutor could get past a preliminary hearing in the United States. I’d blow him out of the water. With Paul’s medical records, his note-taking habits, your testimony, and above all, with Allison’s testimony, I don’t think any judge would buy a murder charge for a minute. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if she’d fetched up in Antigua or Guadeloupe.”
“I wonder, too.”
The two men sat silently, each contemplating the worst for Allison Manning.
Chapter
25
Stone sat talking with Jim Forrester. As they chatted he saw a taxi pull up outside and a woman get out. She seemed middle-aged, was tall and fashionably thin, and was wearing a wrinkled silk dress and a straw sun hat. The driver got two suitcases out of the trunk, took some money from her, and drove away. Thomas Hardy saw her, too, and went out to help with her bags.
“Well,” Jim Forrester said, “I’m going upstairs for a nap.” He got to his feet. “I think I might be coming down with something.” He ambled off toward the stairs.
Stone watched as Thomas set the woman’s bags down by the bar and reached for the registration book. The woman signed it, then seemed to be asking Thomas some questions. Thomas’s eyebrows suddenly went up, and he beckoned to Stone.
Stone got up and walked across the restaurant toward the bar, getting a closer look at the woman as he walked. She was, at the very least, in her early forties, he reckoned, and she had on more makeup than suited her.
“Stone,” Thomas said. “This is someone you might want to meet.”
The woman turned toward him. “Are you Stone Barrington?” she asked.
“Yes, I am,” Stone replied.
She held out her hand. “I’m Allison Manning,” she said.
“How do you do,” Stone said. Then the name sank in. “Who did you say…”
“I’m Paul Manning’s widow,” the woman said, “and I’m not very well, if the truth be told. However, I expect to be a lot better quite soon.”
Thomas went upstairs with the bags, leaving Stone alone with the woman.
“I suppose you’re with the press,” Stone said wearily.
“I’m not with anybody,” the woman replied. “I used to be with Paul Manning, but I understand he’s dead. Can you confirm that?”
“Yes, I can,” Stone replied. “Why don’t we sit down?” he indicated his table. “You seem to have been traveling; would you like a drink?”
“Oh, God, yes,” she breathed and headed toward a chair. “A very dry Gibson would be lovely.”
Thomas came back down the stairs, and Stone ordered her drink. When they were settled at a table, Stone said, “I’m afraid you have me at something of a loss, Miss…”
“Mrs.,” she said. “Mrs. Manning. And yes, I suppose you are at something of a loss. You’re representing her, aren’t you?”
“I’m representing Allison Manning,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on here?”