Cold Paradise (24 page)

51

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.

52

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.

“Lots.”

“Anything else you can tell me?”

“She may be driving a silver Volvo sedan, but I can’t swear to that.”

“That ain’t much,” Guido said.

“I know, but it’s all I’ve got. Do you have any help?”

“I got a couple guys and a Lear waiting at the airport with a doctor and a nurse.”

“Good. Want some advice?”

“Why not?”

“She seems to have been following me. I suggest you follow me, too, but from a distance.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Do you know her?”

“Since she was in diapers; I used to change them.”

“She knows you, then?”

“Oh, yeah; since she’s old enough to talk she’s called me Uncle Guido.”

“Well, Guido, if she’s that fond of you, she might not be so inclined to take a shot at you.”

Guido nodded solemnly. “And she’s a hell of a shot,” he said. “I know. I taught her in her papa’s basement, when she was fourteen.”

“I noticed you’re carrying,” Stone said.

Guido threw up his hands. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to off her. Those are not my instructions.”

Stone didn’t doubt that if those were his instructions, Guido would carry them out with alacrity. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Suppose you see her? How are you going to handle this?”

“Decisively,” Guido said. “I’m not here to fuck around.”

“Are the people with you good?”

“The best. They’d do anything for the old man.”

“I suggest you lose the hardware. If I can spot it, anybody can spot it, and the local cops aren’t going to take kindly to out-of-towners packing iron on their streets.”

“What are the local cops like?” Guido asked.

“Professional. They’ve got a smart chief, and you don’t want to mess with him or any of his men.”

“We’ll play it cool, then,” Guido said.

“Guido, please don’t take this the wrong way, but on the streets of Palm Beach, you’re going to stand out.”

“Don’t worry. I tan fast.”

Stone sighed. “I’m not talking about your lack of a tan. People around here can spot an outsider in a split second, and any cop in town would make you as a foreigner from a block away.”

“I ain’t a foreigner,” Guido said hotly. “I was born in Brooklyn.”

“My point is, Guido, nobody else in Palm Beach was born in Brooklyn. And if they were, they’d have learned long ago to look like they were born on Park Avenue. I hope you’re getting my drift.”

“Yeah, I get your drift,” Guido said, “and if you were anybody but a friend of my friend I wouldn’t take it too good.”

“I’m trying to help you, Guido. Your friend would not like it if I had to bail you and your pals out of the local can, would he?”

“I guess not,” Guido admitted. “How can we fit in better here?”

Stone thought about an honest answer to that question, but thought better of giving it. “Go down to Worth Avenue, to the Polo store or Armani and buy some nice quiet sports clothes. Jackets, too, like blue blazers with brass buttons?”

Guido nodded, but he was watching Stone closely to see if he was being had. “You think that’ll do it, huh?”

Stone bit his tongue. “It can’t hurt.”

“Okay. How can I get in touch with you?”

Stone gave Guido his cell phone number. “And you? Where are you staying?”

“I don’t expect to be here that long,” Guido said, and gave Stone his own cell phone number. “Listen,” he said, looking around as if he might be overheard. “My people are not going to feel good about shedding their hardware, you know?”

“Guido, nobody in Palm Beach is going to give you a hard time, let alone shoot at you—with the possible exception of the young lady. And if that were to happen, I think you’d be better off taking a round or two than shooting her. Her father would not think well of that.”

Guido nodded. “You got a point,” he said.

“One other thing,” Stone said. “What kind of cars are you driving?”

“Cadillacs,” Guido replied.

“You might rent something more anonymous.”

“Why? Don’t nobody drive Cadillacs in Palm Beach? I thought we’d fit right in.”

“I’m not thinking about the general public, I’m thinking about the young lady. I think it will be to your advantage if you see her before she sees you.”

Guido nodded slowly. “I get you,” he said.

“Another thing,” Stone said. “There’s going to be a wedding here on Sunday evening, starting at six o’clock. There’ll probably be a couple hundred people. If you haven’t found her by then, you should probably have your people here.”

“Yeah, okay, we can do that.”

“It’s going to mean renting or buying some evening clothes.”

“You mean, like, suits?”

“I mean, like, tuxedos. It’s going to be that kind of wedding.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll look into that.”

“And tell your guys no pastel tuxedos or ruffled shirts. Keep it discreet.”

Guido looked at Stone closely. “You think we don’t know how to dress?”

“I thought we already covered that point, Guido. This is Palm Beach; it’s different.”

He nodded. “Different from Brooklyn.”

“Different from anywhere you’ve ever been before. Give me the names of your people, and I’ll get them on the guest list.”

Guido took a notebook from one of his many shirt pockets and jotted down some names, then ripped off the sheet and gave it to Stone.

Stone read them aloud: “Mr. Smith, Mr. Jones, Mr. Williams and Mr. Edwards?”

“I’m Mr. Edwards,” Guido said.

“Got it.” Stone put the piece of paper into his pocket and stood up. “Thanks for checking in, Guido. I appreciate your help with this.”

“I ain’t doing it for you,” Guido said, then walked away.

Stone watched him go, then walked back to the yacht and found Callie. “Please add these names to the guest list for Sunday,” he said, handing her the paper.

Callie looked at it. “Do these people have first names?”

“No,” Stone said.