Dead in the Water

it. “Yes, of course. Paul and I went diving whenever we were near a good reef.”
    “Have you ever struck anything with a harpoon fired from a gun?”
    She smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid not. Paul was a good shot, but I would always miss.”
    “Good, get a laugh out of them. How far were you standing from Paul when you fired the spear gun at him?”
    Her face collapsed into disbelief. “What?”
    “Where did the spear strike him?”
    “Are you crazy?”
    “In the chest? In the neck? Did he fall overboard immediately, or did you have to help him?”
    “Stone, goddammit!”
    “Did he bleed a lot? Did sharks come when they smelled the blood?”
    “Stop this!”
    “Answer the questions!!!”
    “I never fired a spear gun at my husband, never!” she cried, furious now. “I would never have done anything to harm him!”
    “Now that’s better,” Stone said. “That’s a good time to get angry, when he does that to you.”
    “You said not to get angry.”
    “I misled you.”
    “You son of a bitch.”
    “No, I’m the sweetest guy in the world; Sir Winston Sutherland is the son of a bitch, and he’ll do anything he possibly can to get you to come apart on the stand. He already knows about the spear gun.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “Because the police searched the yacht, remember? You think they wouldn’t notice a lethal weapon hanging on a bulkhead in plain sight?”
    “Oh,” she said.
    “What about the other weapons?”
    “What other weapons?”
    “What did they take from the boat? A pistol? A shotgun?”
    “We didn’t have any weapons on board; Paul was very anti-gun.”
    “What about the spear gun? That was a weapon.”
    “It was a tool; it was used for fishing,” she said calmly.
    “What didn’t they find? A nine-millimeter automatic? A riot gun? What?”
    “There were no weapons aboard!” she cried. “None!”
    “How many knives were aboard the yacht?”
    “I don’t know how many…”
    “Think! Count them in your head!”
    She thought for a moment. “Maybe eight or ten, maybe a dozen.”
    “Enumerate them.”
    “Let’s see, in the galley, there was a chef’s knife, a bread knife, a boning knife, and two paring knives.”
    “How long was the chef’s knife?”
    “About eight inches. I could never handle the big ones.”
    “Is that what you used on your husband? An eight-inch chef’s knife? That would do the job.”
    “I never harmed my husband,” she said quietly.
    “What other knives were aboard?”
    “There were a couple of rigging knives; we kept one by the main hatch and one strapped to the mast, for deck work. Paul wore another one in a scabbard, along with a marlin spike.”
    “Did you take the knife from his belt and stab him with it?”
    “No! I never harmed him.”
    “So you just gave him a shove when he was pissing overboard, huh?”
    “I did not!”
    “Was he wearing the scabbard with the knife and marlin spike when you rolled his body overboard?”
    “No, I removed the belt first.”
    “So, you did roll him overboard!”
    “Yes, I did; some hours after his death.”
    “Did you search his pockets, Mrs. Manning, for money or spare change? Was there anything you wouldn’t take from him?”
    She locked her eyes onto Stone’s, and when she spoke she was begging him to believe her. “Please, I never, ever harmed Paul. He was dead when I buried his body at sea.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.
    Stone went and took her in his arms. “All right,” he said. “That’s my girl; that’s my star witness; that’s my innocent victim of perverted justice.”
    She looked up at him and laughed. “Gotcha, didn’t I?”
    Stone buried his face in his hands.

Chapter
46
    S tone strode across the lawn toward the Shipwright’s Arms, thinking hard about Arrington. He thought of writing to her, maybe even calling her; then he remembered that she was at Vance Calder’s Palm Springs house. He didn’t have any of Calder’s addresses or numbers, so there was no way to get in touch with her until she got in touch with him.
    He was almost to the bar when he stopped in his tracks. A man in a seersucker suit was sitting at the bar, drinking something and talking to Thomas. He was big, over six feet, and better than two hundred fifty pounds; that was obvious even when he was seated. Stone had seen only one photograph of Paul Manning, but the man seemed to look very like him, except for the absence of a beard, and he had no idea what Manning would look like