“Attorney at law.”
“Show me identification.”
It was awkward with his hands cuffed, but Stone managed to retrieve his passport from his inside jacket pocket and toss it on the desk.
DuBois looked at the photo inside, compared it to Stone and noted the passport number. “Why did you kill Colonel Croft?”
Stone blinked. “I had nothing whatever to do with the death of Colonel Croft.”
“Where were you when he was killed?”
“When was he killed?”
“If you continue to be obstructive I will use unpleasant means to extract this information.”
Stone shrugged. “If you do that I will, of course, confess to anything you like, then repudiate the confession at the first opportunity. I want to see someone from the American Embassy immediately, and I want to see my attorney, Sir Leslie Hewitt. Until I do I will have nothing more to say, unless, of course, you torture it from me. I also wish to speak to Sir Winston Sutherland at once. He and I are personally acquainted.”
It was duBois’s turn to blink. He got up and left the room without a word.
Holly, though she did not know it, sat in a room identical to the one Stone occupied. She didn’t like being handcuffed. She got out of the uncomfortable chair, walked around the desk and rummaged in the drawers until she found where they had put her handbag. She unzipped an inside pocket, removed a handcuff key, opened the cuffs, then tucked the key into her bra and put her handbag back into the drawer. She tossed the cuffs onto the desk and sat down again.
DuBois entered the room and sat down at the desk.
“Why have I been arrested?” Holly asked.
DuBois raised his eyes from the legal pad before him; then he saw the handcuffs. “How did you get out of those?”
“One of your people removed them,” she replied. “Why have I been arrested?”
“What is your name?”
“Virginia Heller.”
“Occupation?”
“Flying instructor; I own a flying school in Florida. Why have I been arrested?”
“Give me your passport.”
“It’s in my handbag, which was taken from me and placed in one of your desk drawers.”
DuBois opened drawers until he found the handbag; he turned it upside down and emptied the contents onto the desk, then he picked up the satphone. “Why do you have
this?”
“It belongs to my gentleman friend; he loaned it to me so that I can keep in touch with him while I’m out of the country.”
DuBois put down the phone, opened her passport, compared the photo to her and noted the number. “Your friend, Mr. Barrington, is being charged with the murder of Colonel Croft; you will be charged as his accessory, which carries the same penalty as murder, that of hanging.”
“That’s preposterous,” Holly said. “We came here on vacation and for no other reason. We met Colonel Croft only once, at the English Harbour Inn. Why would we want to kill him?”
“Perhaps you were hired. Who hired you to kill him?”
“My friend is a prominent lawyer in New York; I have already told you what I do. We are not hired killers. Check out our backgrounds; that should be easy enough. Mr. Barrington is a retired New York City police officer, and I have a website that you may visit. I want to see Mr. Barrington.”
“Mr. Barrington is indisposed.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Holly demanded.