"Hilary Kramer," she replied, shaking his hand. "Your name is familiar." Stone shrugged. "I'm a New York lawyer; I was down here on a sailing charter when Allison sailed into the harbor. I helped her at the coroner's inquest and…well, ever since." He sat down. "How did you hear about all this?"

"I was vacationing on Antigua, right next door; the story moved last night on the AP wire and the paper called me late; I got a little plane over here this morning."

"Sorry to interrupt your vacation," Stone said.

"You won't interrupt it for long, believe me. I'll file something before noon, then I'll be back on my beach."

Stone looked up. "Here comes Allison," he said.

"She's cute," Kramer said.

"How did you know I was here?"

"My boat is moored next to Allison's; I heard talking." He stood up. "Good morning, Allison; I think you've already met Hilary Kramer from the Times."

"I did," Allison said, sitting down. She waved at Thomas, who had appeared at the bar. "Can I have some coffee? You, too, Stone?"

"I've already had some," he lied, "but a second cup wouldn't hurt."

"Make it for two," Allison called.

Before the coffee arrived, Hilary Kramer was deep into her interview. She covered all the ground, most of it better than had been done at the coroner's inquest. "So what's your legal position now?" she asked finally.

"Stone can explain it better than I," Allison said, "but as I understand it, they could hang me as early as next week."

Kramer turned to Stone. "They want to hang her?"

Stone nodded gravely.

"And what do you think are their chances of doing that?"

"Off the record, I think that will depend greatly on what the press has to say about this. If enough pressure can be brought to bear in the media, her chances will improve a lot."

"Why is the government doing this, with so little incriminating evidence?" Kramer demanded.

"Still off the record, there is a body of opinion that holds that Sir Winston Sutherland, the Minister of Justice, has an ax to grind."

"What sort of ax?"

"You've got me. Why don't you ask Sir Winston?"

Thomas, who had returned with a fresh pot of coffee, piped up, "Be glad to lend you my car," he said.

"Thank you very much," she replied. "Is there a phone here? I'd like to call Sir Winston's office for an appointment."

"I think you'd have a much better chance of seeing him if you'd just show up at Government House," Thomas said.

"You might get more if he's a little off-balance," Stone chipped in.

Kramer looked around the table at all of them. "Look, this is not some sort of elaborate practical joke, is it?"

"I wish it were," Stone said."And before you go, I think I should enlighten you a little about the system of justice as it exists on St.Marks-all off the record, of course. If you should quote me, it might react to Allison's detriment."

"Sure, off the record. Shoot."

When he had finished, her mouth was hanging open. "Is there someplace I can get a room for the night?" she asked, finally.

Thomas spoke up. "I have some rooms upstairs," he said. "We had some cancellations because of the snowstorm in New York."

"Great," she said. "Can I borrow that car now?"

"Sure."

"And where can I pick up a toothbrush?"

"There are shops all around Government House."

"I'd like to call my office, too."

"There's a phone on the bar, or in your room," Thomas replied.

Kramer produced a camera from her bag. "I'd like to get some pictures of both of you," she said, beginning to snap them. "Does Federal Express know about this island?"

"They do," Thomas said. "They'll pick up from here; delivery will likely take two days, though."

"Shit," she said. "Allison, are there any pictures of you floating around New York?"

"Paul's agent has one of the two of us together," Allison replied. "Her name is Anne Sibbald; she's at Janklow and Nesbit."

"Know them well," Kramer said, continuing to photograph. "I'll call them right now. Thomas, will you lead the way to my room?"

"Right this way," Thomas replied.

When they had gone Allison turned to Stone. "Did that go well?"

"I think it could hardly have gone better."

"She's suspicious of you and me, though; woman's intuition. We'd better be very correct around her."

"We'd better be very correct everywhere, except in bed," Stone replied. "I'd suggest we give up sex for the duration, but I don't think I could stick to that."

She smiled. "Neither could I."

"Stop smiling at me that way," he said, looking around.

The smile disappeared. "I'll be very correct," she said.

Stone had just finished his breakfast when Thomas waved at him from the bar and held up the phone. "Call for you from New York; fellow named Cantor. You want to take it here or upstairs?" "I'll take it down here," Stone said, crossing to the bar and picking up the phone. "Bob?"

"Yeah, Stone."

"I thought you'd be on your way to the Canaries."

"I'm calling from Kennedy Airport; this morning was the first flight I could make and still do your legwork in the city."

"What did you find out?"

"Almost nothing about Allison Manning, but quite a bit about her husband."

"Shoot."

"First, Allison; she went to some New England women's college, then worked in advertising, then she met Paul Manning, and they got married."

"That much she's told me; anything else?"

"Not yet; I didn't have the time to track down anybody who knows her."

"What about the husband, then?"

"I got luckier there. There was an interview a couple of years ago in Publishers Weekly, the trade magazine, right after he signed his last contract, which was for four and a half million dollars for two books. Not bad, huh?"

"Not bad at all."

"He finished the second book just before they left on the sailing trip. He had done increasingly well over the years, but three books ago he had a big bestseller, and that got him the new contract."

"Pretty rich writer, huh? And I was worried about Allison financing her defense."

"He's a big spender, at least since he signed that contract. He bought the place up in Greenwich; I called a friend of mine who's in real estate in that area, and she remembered the house. Big place-six or seven bedrooms; pool, tennis court, stables, greenhouses; on about eight acres; that's a lot of real estate in Greenwich. He paid two million eight for it, and she says it's probably worth three and a half, four million now. Then he ordered this yacht; I gather you've already seen that."

"Yeah; you find out anything about his debts?"

"He's got a two-million-dollar mortgage on the house-that's about the max you could get at that level-and he owes a million two on the boat. There's some smaller stuff, but not that small; he's got sixty grand in credit card debt and a line of credit secured by the equity in the house-three hundred thousand-and half that is used up."

"Anything about insurance?"

"His credit report shows that Chubb ran a check on him a while back, and that sounds like he's buying insurance."

"I know he had insurance; I just don't know how much."

"I reckon he has a net worth of around five, six million, if you include what's still to pay on the book contract. He's sometimes late on bill payments, but nothing serious, never more than thirty days."

"In short, he lives like a prince, but he's not all that rich."

"That pretty much sums it up."

"Any criminal record?"

"None."

"Ex-wives?"

"One. He was divorced about a month before he married Allison."

"Alimony?"

"I haven't had time to dig out the court records, but the divorce happened before he hit it big, so it's probably not too bad. They were only married a year, and it was a Florida divorce, so there's no community property law."