Dead in the Water (Stone Barrington 3)

“Now, Mrs. Manning,” Sir Leslie continued, “I understand you have a yacht which might be used to secure your bail, is that correct?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“What is the value of the yacht?”

“I don’t really know,” she said. “I’m sure it’s expensive.”

Stone spoke up. “A minimum of a million and a half dollars American.”

“Oh, that should be quite sufficient. And where does the yacht lie?”

“In English Harbour.”

“Good, good.”

“Leslie,” Stone said, “Mrs. Manning will need to live aboard the yacht until this matter is disposed of.”

“I’m sure His Lordship would agree to that.”

“Who?”

“The judge, Lord Cornwall.”

“Oh.”

“Stone, did you ever see the film Witness for the Prosecution?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that is a pretty good model for how court is conducted. I expect you’ve seen other such films as well.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Oh, Allison, I brought you some things.” He shoved the duffel across the table. “I couldn’t find a…I hope these are all right.”

Allison held up the dress and looked at it. “Well, at least you didn’t bring the sequined cocktail dress.”

Sir Leslie opened his garment bag and removed two black robes, handing one to Stone. “You’d better get into this.”

Stone stood up and put on the robe; it was ridiculously small on him.

“And this,” Sir Leslie said, opening his small case. He handed Stone a wig.

“You can’t be serious,” Stone said, regarding the thing at arm’s length.

“Oh, yes, quite serious,” Sir Leslie said. “On second thought, just carry it; don’t put it on.”

“Good,” Stone said. “I’ll carry it.”

Thomas put a hand over his face and laughed quietly.

Chapter

9

Allison was taken away by the matron, and Stone, Sir Leslie, and Thomas left the jail, walked upstairs, and found the courtroom. Thomas took a front row seat, and Sir Leslie led Stone to the defense table. Sir Winston and another man, probably his supporting attorney, were already seated at the prosecution table. Various people milled around the room until the bailiff stood and shouted for all to stand. A moment later a red-gowned, bewigged black man entered from a side door and took the bench. He was middle-aged, tall and thin, with short, graying hair under his gray wig.

“Be seated,” the judge said. “Bring up the prisoner.”

Stone turned and watched as Allison came up from a hidden stairway and entered the dock. She had pulled back her hair, and in her fresh dress looked quite normal.