“Wait a minute,” the judge said. “Aren’t you Winston Harding’s widow?”
Uh-oh, Stone thought. Here’s trouble.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Liz replied, as if it were the most natural question in the world, in the circumstances.
“I’m confused,” the judge said. “Mr. Harding died only late last year, didn’t he?”
“That’s right, Your Honor,” Liz said, still not getting it.
“And when were you married to Mr. Manning?”
Stone opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
Liz had no such problem. “Oh, Paul and I were married before Winston and I.” Then she realized what she had said and froze.
Stone still couldn’t think of anything to say, and Fred Williamson was looking at him in panic.
Then Paul Manning spoke up. “Your Honor, may I explain?”
“I wish to God somebody would,” the judge replied.
“Your Honor, Mrs. Manning and I were married eight years ago. Then, four years ago, I was accused of murder in a Caribbean country—unjustly, I might add. I was tried, convicted and sentenced to death. Then, at the last moment, the truth came out, and I was pardoned.”
Stone looked at Ed Ginsky and thanked God it was Ginsky’s client who was lying to the judge and not his own. Ginsky seemed, as well, to have lost the power of speech.
“Congratulations,” said the judge, but he still looked baffled.
“Mrs. Manning had already left the island, having done everything she could, and she was under the impression that I had been executed. By the time I was released, we had lost touch, and it was only recently that she learned that I was still alive. So, you see, she married Mr. Harding in good faith, believing that I was dead. In fact, she had been given a death certificate.”
The judge looked back and forth between Paul and Allison Manning as if they were escaped lunatics. “So this divorce is merely a matter of legal housekeeping. Is that what you’re telling me?”
None of the lawyers would speak, so Liz did. “Yes, Your Honor. I think you can see what a horrible series of events this was and how Paul and I, having parted long ago, would not like this hanging over our heads.”
“Yes, I can see that,” the judge said. “Fred, I hope you brought a decree for me to sign, because after today, I never want to hear about this again.”
Williamson set the decree on the desk, and the judge signed it. “I’d like your clerk to notarize the property settlement, please,” Williamson said.
The judge pressed an intercom button and spoke: “Amy, come in here, please.” A woman entered the room. “I want you to notarize some documents for these people.” He stood up and put on his jacket. “I’ve just signed a divorce decree, and I want you to see that nothing is published about it, do you understand?”
“No, Judge,” the woman said, baffled.
He handed her a copy of the decree. “Just give these people copies of this and file it, and forget you ever saw it. I intend to.” He turned to the group. “Fred, you can use my chambers to sign these papers, then get these people out of here. I don’t ever want to hear a word about this again. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly clear, Judge,” Williamson said.
The judge walked out of his chambers, slamming the door behind him.
Williamson whipped out a pen, and everybody started signing. Five minutes later, the group broke up.
As they were leaving, Paul Manning approached his ex-wife. “Well, nice knowing you, Allison.”
“There was nothing nice about it,” Allison said, and stalked away.
“Wait for me in the car,” Stone called out. He shook Fred Williamson’s hand. “Thanks, Fred, for all your help.”
“Can you tell me what the hell that was all about?” Williamson asked softly.
“Just forget it and send us your bill,” Stone said. “Ed, Paul, a moment, please?”