6 Stone Barrington Novels (72 page)

“Don't talk about my client that way,” Stone said.

“Yeah, yeah, I know; he pays his legal bills.”

“That's very important,” Stone said.

“And you don't even know if he's really going to go away.”

“Oh, I know that,” Stone said. “When the FBI takes him away, he'll be gone.”

“How do you know they can get a conviction?” Dino asked. “After all, when he gets Thad's two million, he's going to be able to afford a
very
good lawyer.”

“I thought you said they have his fingerprint on a note he handed a teller.”

“Sure they do,” Dino said. “Gee, I hope the FBI hasn't misplaced it during the years that have passed since the robbery. They would never do that, would they?”

“They'll have the tellers' identification of Manning,” Stone said.

“How do you know? Maybe he dressed up like Ronald McDonald. And it's been four years since the last robbery. I'd be willing to bet you that at least one of the four tellers is dead, and a couple more are retired and living in Costa Rica or someplace, and that the remaining one has come down with Alzheimer's. And even if one of them is still around and can identify Manning, Ginsky is going to turn him inside out on the witness stand. ‘But, sir, it's been four years since you say you saw the robber, and you also say he was wearing a red wig, a big nose and floppy shoes. How could you possibly say that man is my client?'”

“You're starting to annoy me, Dino.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, you're not nearly as annoyed as you're going to be when Manning gets off scot-free and hires somebody to put his ex-wife at the bottom of Lake Worth in a concrete bikini.”

Stone ran a red light, thinking about that.

S
TONE GOT LIZ TO THE COURTHOUSE HALF AN HOUR early. He wanted to talk to Ed Ginsky before they went into the judge's chambers. There was too much happening this morning over which he had no control, and he didn't like it.

They had been sitting in the empty courtroom A for ten minutes, when a balding man in his mid-thirties came in.

“Are you Stone Barrington?”

“Yes.”

“I'm Fred Williamson.”

“Hello, Fred. This is Mrs. Manning.”

“Don't call me that,” Liz snapped.

“Everybody's going to call you that today, Liz. Just get used to it.”

Williamson shook her hand as if he were afraid she might bite it.

“I want to speak to Ginsky before we go into chambers,” Stone said.

“Why?” Williamson asked. “I think we've got all our ducks in a row.” He took a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and handed them to Stone. “I've taken the liberty of making a few changes so that they more closely follow the Florida form.”

Stone flipped quickly through the papers. Ten minutes to three. Where the hell was Ed Ginsky and his client? “They look fine to me, but everybody will have to sign again. We'll need a notary.”

“The judge's clerk can notarize them,” Williamson said. “I've also written the decree for his signature. Judge Coronado is leaving on vacation today, and I don't want to have to wait for his signature.”

“Neither do I,” Stone said. He was looking forward to seeing Paul Manning's face at last, and he wished to hell the man would arrive.

At one minute before three, Ed Ginsky and his client strolled into the courtroom. Paul Manning looked like hell. He was wearing bandages that covered his nose and much of his face, and at the edges, both his eyes seemed blackened. Surgery, Stone thought as he stood up. He and Ginsky shook hands. “I'm glad you're here, Ed. I want to . . .”

At that moment a door behind the bench opened and a solidly built, handsome Hispanic man stepped into the courtroom. His hair was completely white, and he was not wearing a jacket but sporting loud braces. “Everybody here, Fred?”

“Yes, Judge. All present and accounted for.” He shepherded everyone into the chambers and made the introductions. Coronado waved them all to chairs.

“Now,” the judge said, “you have a request, Fred?”

“Yes, Judge. We're here in the matter of a divorce between Paul C. Manning and Allison S. Manning. Mr. Manning is represented by Mr. Ginsky, and I am representing Mrs. Manning, with the consultation of Mr. Barrington, who is a member of the New York bar and Mrs. Manning's attorney in that state.” He handed the judge a stack of documents. “The parties have agreed on a property settlement. Mrs. Manning's petition and Mr. Manning's waiver of response are all in order. We ask for a decree based on their mutual desire for a divorce.”

The judge glanced through the papers, then returned them to his desktop and leaned back in his chair.

“Mr. Manning, are you a legal resident of the State of Florida?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Manning replied.

Ed Ginsky offered a sheet of paper. “Judge, this is a copy of Mr. Manning's declaration of residency, filed at the Dade County courthouse two and a half years ago.”

“This seems to be in order.” The judge turned to Liz. “Mrs. Manning, are you a legal resident of the State of Florida?”

“Yes, Your Honor, for three years. I own a house in Palm Beach.”

The judge nodded. “Mrs. Manning, Mr. Manning, you're both obviously mature adults. Mrs. Manning, is it your desire to end your marriage?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Liz replied.

“Mr. Manning?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Are you both completely satisfied with the terms of the property settlement on my desk? Mrs. Manning?”

“Yes, I am, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Manning?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“I would certainly assume that you are satisfied, since you are receiving a settlement of two million dollars. Mrs. Manning, does that sum represent a part of your net worth that you can afford to part with?”

“It does, Your Honor.”

Especially since she isn't parting with it,
Stone thought.

“Has any duress been brought upon you to part with such a sum?”

“No, Your Honor,” Liz replied.

“Very well, then, I . . .” The judge stopped and looked oddly at Liz. “I beg your pardon, but have we met before, Mrs. Manning?”

“No, Your Honor,” Liz replied. “I think I would remember,” she added, flatteringly.

“Wait a minute,” the judge said. “Aren't you Winston Harding's widow?”

Uh-oh,
Stone thought.
Here's trouble.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Liz replied, as if it were the most natural question in the world, in the circumstances.

“I'm confused,” the judge said. “Mr. Harding died only late last year, didn't he?”

“That's right, Your Honor,” Liz said, still not getting it.

“And when were you married to Mr. Manning?”

Stone opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Liz had no such problem. “Oh, Paul and I were married before Winston and I.” Then she realized what she had said and froze.

Stone still couldn't think of anything to say, and Fred Williamson was looking at him in panic.

Then Paul Manning spoke up. “Your Honor, may I explain?”

“I wish to God somebody would,” the judge replied.

“Your Honor, Mrs. Manning and I were married eight years ago. Then, four years ago, I was accused of murder in a Caribbean country—unjustly, I might add. I was tried, convicted and sentenced to death. Then, at the last moment, the truth came out, and I was pardoned.”

Stone looked at Ed Ginsky and thanked God it was Ginsky's client who was lying to the judge and not his own. Ginsky seemed, as well, to have lost the power of speech.

“Congratulations,” said the judge, but he still looked baffled.

“Mrs. Manning had already left the island, having done everything she could, and she was under the impression that I had been executed. By the time I was released, we had lost touch, and it was only recently that she learned that I was still alive. So, you see, she married Mr. Harding in good faith, believing that I was dead. In fact, she had been given a death certificate.”

The judge looked back and forth between Paul and Allison Manning as if they were escaped lunatics. “So this divorce is merely a matter of legal housekeeping. Is that what you're telling me?”

None of the lawyers would speak, so Liz did. “Yes, Your Honor. I think you can see what a horrible series of events this was and how Paul and I, having parted long ago, would not like this hanging over our heads.”

“Yes, I can see that,” the judge said. “Fred, I hope you brought a decree for me to sign, because after today, I never want to hear about this again.”

Williamson set the decree on the desk, and the judge signed it. “I'd like your clerk to notarize the property settlement, please,” Williamson said.

The judge pressed an intercom button and spoke: “Amy, come in here, please.” A woman entered the room. “I want you to notarize some documents for these people.” He stood up and put on his jacket. “I've just signed a divorce decree, and I want you to see that nothing is published about it, do you understand?”

“No, Judge,” the woman said, baffled.

He handed her a copy of the decree. “Just give these people copies of this and file it, and forget you ever saw it. I intend to.” He turned to the group. “Fred, you can use my chambers to sign these papers, then get these people out of here. I don't ever want to hear a word about this again. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly clear, Judge,” Williamson said.

The judge walked out of his chambers, slamming the door behind him.

Williamson whipped out a pen, and everybody started signing. Five minutes later, the group broke up.

As they were leaving, Paul Manning approached his ex-wife. “Well, nice knowing you, Allison.”

“There was nothing nice about it,” Allison said, and stalked away.

“Wait for me in the car,” Stone called out. He shook Fred Williamson's hand. “Thanks, Fred, for all your help.”

“Can you tell me what the hell that was all about?” Williamson asked softly.

“Just forget it and send us your bill,” Stone said. “Ed, Paul, a moment, please?”

The two men stopped. Stone waited until Williamson had left the room. “I've got something to say to you, Paul, and I want to say it to you in front of your attorney.”

“Do I have to listen to this, Ed?” Manning asked.

“Give Stone a minute, Paul.”

“First of all, the two million dollars will be wired into your trust account immediately, Ed.”

“Thank you, Stone.”

Stone removed a sheet of paper from his pocket. “And this is a release from the insurance company.”

Ginsky looked at it. “Why, this is dated . . .”

“Yes, it is,” Stone said.

Manning snatched the paper and read it. “You mean, I was already . . .”

“Yes, you were, Paul, but you're not out of the woods yet.”

“What do you mean?” Ginsky asked.

“Ed, your client participated in four transactions in Virginia and Maryland a while back that you don't know about and don't want to know about. But I know about them, Paul, and I'm happy to tell you that you left a fingerprint on a note you handed somebody. I've never expected you to adhere voluntarily to the terms of the agreement you signed, so let's just call this insurance.”

“It sounds a lot more like blackmail,” Ginsky said.

“That's exactly what it is, Ed. Paul, if you ever so much as speak to Allison again,” Stone said, ignoring the attorney and speaking directly to his client, “one phone call will make you a fugitive again. On the other hand, if you keep your word, you're in no jeopardy.”

“I don't know what he's talking about, Ed,” Manning said.

“Sure you do, Paul, and Ed shouldn't know. But I know, and don't you ever forget it. Ed, thanks for handling this so well. Paul, you can go fuck yourself.”

Stone turned and walked away.

S
TONE DROVE LIZ BACK TO THE YACHT, FEELING RELIEVED and relaxed for the first time since he had arrived in Palm Beach. His relief lasted only until he walked up the gangplank.

A short, stocky man with iron-gray hair, wearing slacks and some kind of Cuban or Filipino shirt, stood up from a chair, where he had been sitting next to Dino. “Are you Stone Barrington?” he asked.

“That's right,” Stone replied.

The man didn't offer his hand. “My name is Guido. A friend of yours sent me.” As he spoke, a puff breeze blew the loose shirt against his body, revealing the outline of a pistol at his waist.

It took Stone a second to register what the man had said and to interpret it. He looked at Dino questioningly.

“Yeah, that friend,” Dino said.

“Oh, sorry. What can I do for you, Guido?”

Guido looked around at the other people. “Can we talk?”

“Let's go into the garden,” Stone said, leading the way off the yacht and to a bench among some flowers. “Okay,” he said, “tell me.”

“I'm here to bring the lady in question home.”

“All right,” Stone said.

“Where is she?”

“Did you talk to Dino about this?”

“He didn't seem too interested in talking to me.”

“She's moving from hotel to hotel, every day,” Stone said. “We know she's already been to the Breakers and the Brazilian Court.”

“How many hotels in this burg?” Guido asked.