"You mean, then, that if Allison Manning is found guilty of any degree of homicide, she will be hanged? They would hang a woman?"

"Quite so. Only about one in ten persons hanged is a woman, but it happens."

"What about race? Would the fact that Mrs.Manning is white be a factor in a possible death sentence?"

"I should say that would increase her chances of hanging," Sir Leslie said, "especially since her jury is very likely to be all or nearly all black."

Stone swallowed hard. "I see."

"I should mention, too," Sir Leslie continued, "that in St.Marks, jury verdicts are by majority, not unanimous vote, so a white juror or two would not be able to cause a deadlock, and the judge elects the jury."

"Jesus Christ," Stone said quietly.

Sir Leslie smiled. "I'm glad to see you are taking this seriously."

"What is the appeals procedure?" Stone asked.

"There is only a single appeal," Sir Leslie replied. "All capital convictions are automatically referred to the prime minister, whose word is final. He generally responds the next day, and, should his decision be negative, the hanging takes place on the following day." He smiled. "Since our system is so efficient, we tend to think that capital punishment really is a deterrent to capital crime."

"Yes," Stone replied, "I can see how it might be."

Thomas turned to Stone."You're going to be doing a lot of telephoning tomorrow, I should think. There's a room with a phone over the bar you can use."

"Thanks, Thomas," Stone said. "Maybe I should just take the room for the duration."

"That will be fine."

"Is there somewhere I can rent a printer for my laptop?"

"My bookkeeper is on vacation; I'll move hers in there for you."

They turned back to Leslie Hewitt, who seemed to have dozed off.

"Leslie?" Thomas said.

The little man opened his eyes. "Thomas? Is that Thomas Hardy?"

"Yes, Leslie."

"How very good of you to come and see me," he said, beaming at them. He turned toward Stone. "And who might this be?"

When they returned to the restaurant, Thomas handed Stone a fax. "This came for you while we were gone."

Dear Stone,

I cannot find a way to tell you how important this assignment has become, but the fact is, I have to spend as much time as possible with Vance Calder while he is in New

York, which is for the rest of the week. I know how angry and disappointed you will be to read this, but there's simply no way I am going to be able to get to St.Marks in time to go sailing with you, no matter how hard I try, so we may as well both face it now. I ask your forgiveness, and I look forward to your return.

Love,

Arrington

Stone wadded up the paper and tossed it into a wastebasket.

"Bad news?" Thomas asked.

"Is there any other kind?" Stone replied.

CHAPTER 8

Stone sweated through a nearly sleepless night, tossing in his berth, trying in vain to think of some tactic to abort this whole process. He rose at dawn, had a swim in the harbor and showered off the salt water, then forced down some breakfast. He left his chartered yacht, walked to the berth where Expansive lay, and went aboard. BelOw, he found a makeup kit in the head, and he chose a demure dress and some shoes from a clothing cupboard. In a drawer he found fresh lingerie and, feeling odd, chose some lace bikini panties. There were no bras in the drawer. He stuffed the lot into a small duffel he found in a locker. He was about to go up the companionway stairs when he stopped and looked around.

Allison Manning was an innocent woman, he was sure of that, but if there was anything incriminating on this yacht, he wanted to know about it. He certainly wasn't going to tamper with evidence, but he needed to know what was here. He set down the duffel and went to the galley. He had no idea what sort of criminal investigation skills were available to the St.Marks police force, but he thought it wise not to leave a lot of fingerprints about. He went to the galley and found a pair of rubber kitchen gloves and put them on. Then he went to the bow of the yacht and started working his way toward the stern, looking at everything along the way. He paid particular attention to the chart table and bookcases, then moved on to the master cabin. He found nothing incriminating. Then he found himself staring at Allison Manning's briefcase.

He was torn between his lawyer's respect for his client's prixacy and the cop in him who wanted to know everything. If she was guilty, did he want to know? Probably not. Yes. Finally he made his decision; he laid the briefcase on the large bed and pressed the releases on the locks. Nothing happened. Then he saw the combination locks. Frustrated,"he tried changing the last digits one, then two notches in each direction, then he turned the combinations to zero on both sides. The case would still not unlock. "Shit!" he said. Well, it was none of his business anyway. He left the briefcase on the bed, returned the rubber gloves to the galley, picked up the duffel, and went on deck.

He trudged up to the Shipwright's Arms and climbed upstairs to the room over the bar. Nobody ever seemed to lock anything in St.Marks; he walked in, tossed Allison's duffel onto the bed, sat down at the desk, picked up the phone, and dialed Bill Eggers's home number.

"Yeah?" Eggers said grumpily.

"It's Stone, Bill. Wake up; I need you to pay attention."

There was a groan as Eggers apparently sat up in bed. "What are you doing back?" he asked, awake now.

"I'm not back; I'm still in St.Marks."

"Then you must be in jail," Eggers chuckled. "I can't think of any other reason you'd call me from there."

"Close. I have a client who's in jail, and it's very, very serious; a murder charge."

"Did she do it?"

"No, but what does that matter?"

"What do you want from me?"

"She needs an English barrister badly; nobody here will defend her, for political reasons, but it's a former English colony with an English-style court system. I don't know any English barristers; you got any ideas?"

"We deal with a firm at Gray's Inn in London. Let's see, it's…six forty-five?! Jesus, Stone; you ever hear of office hours?"

"Bill, I've got a preliminary hearing at ten o'clock. It's what, noon in London? You need to catch these people before they go to lunch."

"Yeah, yeah; what's your number there?"

Stone read it off the telephone on the desk.

"I'll call you back in a few minutes."

Thomas knocked and walked into the room. "Everything you need here?"

"Yes, it's fine, Thomas; I'm just waiting for a call back from New York about an English barrister."

"How about some breakfast?"

"I've had something, but I'd love some coffee."

They sat and drank their coffee together.

"Thomas," Stone said, "there's something I need to know."

"What's that?"

"Is Leslie Hewitt going to be able to get through this heating without…you know?"

"I wouldn't worry about it. Leslie is very sharp when his mind is fully engaged. He'll manage."

"God, I hope you're right." The phone rang, and picked it up. "Hello?"

"It's Bill; I've got you a guy, but…has this client of yours got any money?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe won't do it. This guy's fee is a retainer of two hundred thousand pounds sterling against an hourly fee of two hundred pounds an hour, and travel time counts; he wants the retainer in his bank account before he even makes an airline reservation."

"That's a fee of more than three hundred fifty thousand dollars plus more than three hundred fifty dollars an hour. He must be an absolutely fucking wonderful lawyer," Stone said.