Dead in the Water (Stone Barrington 3)

“I’ve met her before.”

“Where?”

“In the Canaries, in Las Palmas and in Puerto Rico. I was there on assignment from Conde Nast Traveler when I met Paul at the yacht club in Las Palmas.”

“Jesus,” Stone said, “I’ve got a guy on a plane for Las Palmas right now, looking for somebody just like you. We have to talk.” He looked up to see Jake Burrows coming toward them.

“All right,” Burrows said, “let me lay it out for you: I’ll give you a letter on 60 Minutes letterhead, guaranteeing you air time this Sunday night.”

“Guaranteeing me a full segment,” Stone said.

“All right, all right. You give me first and exclusive access to Allison first thing tomorrow morning, and you don’t hold your press conference until my reporter and I are out of here with our tape.”

“Who’s the reporter?”

“Chris Wheaton.”

“Never heard of him. What happened to Mike Wallace and Morley Safer?”

“Chris is a she, and she’s new; this will be her first story. She’s already on a plane, and she’s all you’re going to get.”

“This is a full segment, though?”

“I’ll put it in writing.”

“Okay, but Jim here is going to sit in.” He held up a hand before Burrows could object. “He’s not going to ask her any questions during your time, he’s just going to observe for his New Yorker piece. Can’t hurt to have your program’s name in the magazine, can it? I bet Chris Wheaton will love it.”

“Okay, it’s a deal. First thing in the morning; Chris won’t be in until tonight, and I want daylight, with palms and water in the background.”

“How about in the cockpit of her boat?”

“Ideal.”

“You go write your letter; Jim and I have to talk.”

Burrows went back to the bar, opened his briefcase, extracted a sheet of stationery, and started writing.

Stone turned back to Forrester. “Tell me about your meeting the Mannings,” he said.

“We had done a shoot in the yacht club, and I was having a drink at the bar when Paul sat down next to me; I recognized him, so I introduced myself.”

“What was your impression of him?”

“Big guy,” he spread his hands; “full beard, bear-like; as tall as me, but a good fifty, sixty pounds heavier; laughed easily. He liked it that I knew his work, and he offered to show me his boat.”

“What else did you talk about while you were in the bar?”

“The outline of his cruise, where he’d been, et cetera.”

“How long were you there?”

“Long enough to finish a piña colada—twenty minutes, half an hour—then we walked down to the marina, and he introduced me to Allison.”

“What was your first impression of her?”

“A knockout; she was wearing a bikini, after all.”

“Right. I mean, what did you think of her?”