“Then he’ll tear you and the others to pieces if you begin to imply that what Sarah did was intentional. Stick to the facts; don’t make reckless charges. Have you been questioned by the police?”
“Yes, but not the girls. I told the police they were too upset to talk yet.”
“What did you tell the police?”
“I played dumb, told them I don’t sail, don’t know anything about it.”
“Which was the truth.”
“After a fashion.”
“What do the girls think happened?”
“They don’t seem to have a clue.”
“Did they question Sarah?”
“No, she’s been locked in her room, except to have meals brought in. She won’t even talk to her parents, but I think the barrister is probably talking to her by now.”
“That’s as it should be.”
“So you don’t think what Sarah did was deliberate?”
“Of course not. I know her quite well, you know, and I’ve never seen her exhibit any behavior that would cause me to think she might want to kill her fiancé. She was marrying him, after all; if she wanted to be rid of him, she’d have dumped him in a straightforward manner. She’s a very decisive girl.”
“And you don’t think that’s exactly what she did?”
“I mean she’d have broken the engagement, told him to get lost. That’s pretty much what she did with me, except that we weren’t engaged.”
“How did all this happen?” Lance asked.
“We’d been seeing each other for a while, had been mostly living together in my house. Somebody from my past turned up—a man my partner on the NYPD had sent to prison for murder some years before. He began killing people close to me, and Sarah was, naturally, very frightened. Then he planted a car bomb outside a gallery where Sarah was showing her paintings. We managed to get everybody out before it went off, but after that, she just wanted to leave the country as quickly as possible. She asked me to come with her, and initially, I agreed, but then, at the airport, I changed my mind. She got on the airplane and, as far as I know, never looked back. I didn’t hear from her again after that.”
“Cool and decisive,” Lance said.
“That doesn’t make her a murderer.”
“I guess not.” Lance stood up. “I’ll take your advice, Stone. I don’t suppose anything I could say at the inquest would make a great deal of difference.”
“Not after the barrister got through with you,” Stone said.
“He wants to talk to you; you’d better get dressed and come downstairs.” Lance left the room and closed the door behind him.
Stone sat and thought about the scene on the boat for a minute. Lance couldn’t be right, could he? Of course not. He got up and headed for a shower.
Chapter 13
STONE SHAVED, SHOWERED, DRESSED, and went downstairs; the house was very quiet. He walked into the library and found a man sitting before a fire reading a leather-bound volume. “Good morning,” he said.
The man rose; he was of Stone’s height but much slimmer, balding, with pale gray eyes. “Good morning.” He held out his hand. “I’m Bernard Pickering. I expect you’re Barrington.”
Stone shook the hand. “Yes.”
“I’ve ordered us some breakfast,” Pickering said, nodding at a small table at the end of the room that had been set for two. As if on cue, a maid entered the room bearing a silver tray. “Come,” Pickering said, leading the way.
“I understand you’re a lawyer back in the States,” Pickering said, pitching into his eggs.
“That’s right.”
“Have you done any criminal work?”
“Yes, and I was a police officer for many years before I began to practice law.”
“And you’re a partner, now, in Woodman and Weld?” the barrister asked, rasing his eyebrows.
“I’m of counsel. I work out of my own office.”
“I see,” Pickering replied, though clearly he didn’t.
“I do much of their criminal work.”
Pickering’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I see.” Now he really did. “Well, that should make our conversation easier. I’m glad you’re someone who will understand the, ah, limits of my questions.”
“You mean the limits of my answers, don’t you?”
“Quite so. A death of this sort is always a delicate matter, and, if we handle it properly, we can dispose of the entire incident at this inquest.”
“I hope so,” Stone replied.
“I’m a bit concerned about Mr. Cabot’s attitude.”
“We talked about it. I don’t think he’ll be of particular concern to you.”
“James Cutler’s body came up in a fisherman’s trawl in the middle of the Channel, late last night. It’s being examined now.”
“I expect that death will be determined to have been caused by blunt trauma to the head or drowning, or both,” Stone said.
“Very probably. Will you give me your account of the events of yesterday?”
Stone related his story quickly, without embellishment.
Pickering nodded as he spoke. He took no notes. “Tell me, Mr. Barrington,” he said, “are you an experienced yachtsman?”
“I’ve done a lot of sailing, but not recently.”
“Are you aware that the standard procedure in such an event is for the crew not to enter the water to help?”
“Yes, I’m aware of that, and I considered it before going after James.”
“And what was your thought process, may I ask?”
“If someone goes into the water after a man overboard, then there are two men to be rescued, instead of one, but in this instance I believed that the blow from the boom would have rendered James unconscious, and that he would be unable to help himself.”