Dead in the Water

murder?”
    “Well, no.”
    “No blood on the spear or any of the knives?”
    “No.”
    “No blood on the decks?”
    “Well, blood could have been washed off.”
    “Did you find any evidence that blood had been washed off anything?”
    “No.”
    “Then what made you conclude that a murder had taken place at all?”
    “Oh, the diary,” the captain replied. “I found the diary very incriminating.”
    “Have you read the diaries of any other men besides Paul Manning?”
    “One or two.”
    “Were they written in the third person?”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “Mr. Manning’s diary was written to say, ‘He did or she did,’ not ‘I did,’ is that not so?”
    “That is so.”
    “So it was written in the third person?”
    “Ah, yes, I see. Yes, the third person.”
    “Were any of the other diaries you read written in the third person? Or were they written in the first person, where the diarist describes himself as ‘I’?”
    “They were written in the first person.”
    “In your experience as a police officer, would you say that diaries are generally written in the first person?”
    “Generally, I suppose.”
    “Are you aware of how Mr. Manning earned his living?”
    “Yes, he was a writer.”
    “Do you know what his specialty was as a writer?”
    “No.”
    “We have heard evidence that he was a writer of thrillers and mystery stories. Did you know that?”
    “No, I didn’t.”
    “Have you ever before seen the notes a writer makes before he begins writing a book?”
    “No.”
    “Can you understand how a writer might write notes and scenes that he might later incorporate into a book?”
    “Yes, I suppose.”
    “Has it occurred to you that this so-called diary might not be a diary at all, but a collection of notes for Mr. Manning’s next book?”
    “Ah, no.”
    “Now that you have been enlightened as to a writer’s working habits, don’t you think it possible that the book might be Mr. Manning’s preliminary notes?”
    “I suppose it could be,” the captain admitted.
    “Is it not likely that the book is his notes?”
    Sir Winston was up. “Objection; calls for a conclusion.”
    “Your Lordship,” Stone said, “the captain has already reached a quite different conclusion, with the help of Sir Winston, based on no real evidence at all; why can he now not change his mind and possibly reach another conclusion?”
    “Overruled,” the judge said. “Answer the question, Captain.”
    The officer looked very uncomfortable. “I suppose it might be likely that the book is Mr. Manning’s notes.”
    “Thank you, Captain,” Stone said. “No further questions.”
    Sir Winston stood up. “Captain Beane, how long have you been a police officer?”
    “For twenty-one years,” the officer said, looking grateful to be back on familiar ground.
    “Is it, after thorough investigation, your professional opinion that the spear gun might have been used as a murder weapon?”
    “Yes, it is,” the captain said, smiling broadly.
    “No further questions,” Sir Winston said, sitting down. “The prosecution rests.”
    Stone was flooded with elation. He turned to Sir Leslie Hewitt and whispered, “Is that it?”
    “It appears to be,” Hewitt whispered back.
    “Good,” Stone said, feeling relieved.
    The judge produced a gold pocket watch from a fold of his robe. “We will break for lunch now,” he said. “Court will reconvene in one hour.”

Chapter
53
    S tone stood up and waved at Allison. “Want some lunch?” But a police officer was already escorting her from the dock. “Can’t she have lunch with us?” he asked Leslie Hewitt.
    “I’m afraid not,” Hewitt replied. “Her bail was automatically revoked when the trial began. Don’t worry, they’ll feed her.”
    They walked out of the courthouse, and Hewitt led Stone to a small restaurant across the street. “Everyone from Government House has lunch here,” he said.
    Stone took a seat with the barrister at a small table, then remembered that he was still clad in robe and wig. He removed the wig and placed it on the table next to him.
    “Put it back on,” Hewitt said. “Bad form to remove it as long as you are robed.”
    Stone put the thing back on, and as he did he sawSir Winston and his assistant at the other end of the narrow room, both still robed and wigged.
    “What would you like?” Hewitt asked.
    Stone didn’t see a menu. “Whatever you’re having.”
    “They make a very nice seafood stew here; it’s the