“We didn’t have any weapons on board; Paul was very anti-gun.”
“What about the spear gun? That was a weapon.”
“It was a tool; it was used for fishing,” she said calmly.
“What didn’t they find? A nine-millimeter automatic? A riot gun? What?”
“There were no weapons aboard!” she cried. “None!”
“How many knives were aboard the yacht?”
“I don’t know how many…”
“Think! Count them in your head!”
She thought for a moment. “Maybe eight or ten, maybe a dozen.”
“Enumerate them.”
“Let’s see, in the galley, there was a chef’s knife, a bread knife, a boning knife, and two paring knives.”
“How long was the chef’s knife?”
“About eight inches. I could never handle the big ones.”
“Is that what you used on your husband? An eight-inch chef’s knife? That would do the job.”
“I never harmed my husband,” she said quietly.
“What other knives were aboard?”
“There were a couple of rigging knives; we kept one by the main hatch and one strapped to the mast, for deck work. Paul wore another one in a scabbard, along with a marlin spike.”
“Did you take the knife from his belt and stab him with it?”
“No! I never harmed him.”
“So you just gave him a shove when he was pissing overboard, huh?”
“I did not!”
“Was he wearing the scabbard with the knife and marlin spike when you rolled his body overboard?”
“No, I removed the belt first.”
“So, you did roll him overboard!”
“Yes, I did; some hours after his death.”
“Did you search his pockets, Mrs. Manning, for money or spare change? Was there anything you wouldn’t take from him?”
She locked her eyes onto Stone’s, and when she spoke she was begging him to believe her. “Please, I never, ever harmed Paul. He was dead when I buried his body at sea.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Stone went and took her in his arms. “All right,” he said. “That’s my girl; that’s my star witness; that’s my innocent victim of perverted justice.”
She looked up at him and laughed. “Gotcha, didn’t I?”
Stone buried his face in his hands.