Dead in the Water

and dressed, got to the Shipwright’s Arms a little before Allison. He walked over to the table where the woman was drinking coffee. “Good morning,” he said, “I’m Stone Barrington, Allison Manning’s attorney.” He stuck out his hand.
    “Hilary Kramer,” she replied, shaking his hand. “Your name is familiar.”
    Stone shrugged. “I’m a New York lawyer; I was down here on a sailing charter when Allison sailed into the harbor. I helped her at the coroner’s inquest and…well, ever since.” He sat down. “How did you hear about all this?”
    “I was vacationing on Antigua, right next door; the story moved last night on the AP wire and the paper called me late; I got a little plane over here this morning.”
    “Sorry to interrupt your vacation,” Stone said.
    “You won’t interrupt it for long, believe me. I’ll file something before noon, then I’ll be back on my beach.”
    Stone looked up. “Here comes Allison,” he said.
    “She’s cute,” Kramer said. “How did you know I was here?”
    “My boat is moored next to Allison’s; I heard talking.” He stood up. “Good morning, Allison; I think you’ve already met Hilary Kramer from the Times. ”
    “I did,” Allison said, sitting down. She waved at Thomas, who had appeared at the bar. “Can I have some coffee? You, too, Stone?”
    “I’ve already had some,” he lied, “but a second cup wouldn’t hurt.”
    “Make it for two,” Allison called.
    Before the coffee arrived, Hilary Kramer was deep into her interview. She covered all the ground, most of it better than had been done at the coroner’s inquest. “So what’s your legal position now?” she asked finally.
    “Stone can explain it better than I,” Allison said, “but as I understand it, they could hang me as early as next week.”
    Kramer turned to Stone. “They want to hang her?”
    Stone nodded gravely.
    “And what do you think are their chances of doing that?”
    “Off the record, I think that will depend greatly on what the press has to say about this. If enough pressure can be brought to bear in the media, her chances will improve a lot.”
    “Why is the government doing this, with so little incriminating evidence?” Kramer demanded.
    “Still off the record, there is a body of opinion that holds that Sir Winston Sutherland, the Minister of Justice, has an ax to grind.”
    “What sort of ax?”
    “You’ve got me. Why don’t you ask Sir Winston?”
    Thomas, who had returned with a fresh pot of coffee, piped up, “Be glad to lend you my car,” he said.
    “Thank you very much,” she replied. “Is there a phone here? I’d like to call Sir Winston’s office for an appointment.”
    “I think you’d have a much better chance of seeing him if you’d just show up at Government House,” Thomas said.
    “You might get more if he’s a little off-balance,” Stone chipped in.
    Kramer looked around the table at all of them. “Look, this is not some sort of elaborate practical joke, is it?”
    “I wish it were,” Stone said. “And before you go, I think I should enlighten you a little about the system of justice as it exists on St. Marks—all off the record, of course. If you should quote me, it might react to Allison’s detriment.”
    “Sure, off the record. Shoot.”
    When he had finished, her mouth was hanging open. “Is there someplace I can get a room for the night?” she asked, finally.
    Thomas spoke up. “I have some rooms upstairs,” he said. “We had some cancellations because of the snowstorm in New York.”
    “Great,” she said. “Can I borrow that car now?”
    “Sure.”
    “And where can I pick up a toothbrush?”
    “There are shops all around Government House.”
    “I’d like to call my office, too.”
    “There’s a phone on the bar, or in your room,” Thomas replied.
    Kramer produced a camera from her bag. “I’d like to get some pictures of both of you,” she said, beginning to snap them. “Does Federal Express know about this island?”
    “They do,” Thomas said. “They’ll pick up from here; delivery will likely take two days, though.”
    “Shit,” she said. “Allison, are there any pictures of you floating around New York?”
    “Paul’s agent has one of the two of us together,” Allison replied. “Her name is Anne Sibbald; she’s at Janklow and Nesbit.”
    “Know them well,” Kramer said, continuing to photograph. “I’ll call them right now. Thomas, will you lead the way to my