Dead in the Water by Stuart Woods Page A

Barrington,” the judge said.
    “Your Lordship, Mr. Barrington is an American barrister, a prominent member of the New York bar. I request that he be admitted to the St. Marks bar for the duration of this action, so that I might have his advice.”
    “Will he question witnesses?” the judge asked.
    Stone spoke up before Sir Leslie could. “Yes, Your Lordship.”
    “Mr. Barrington, have you had the experience of defending in a murder trial?”
    “I have, Your Lordship, on four occasions.”
    “And how did you do?” the judge asked impishly.
    “They were all innocent, Your Lordship,” Stone replied with mock seriousness, “but only three were acquitted.”
    The judge smiled. “Three out of four acquitted, eh? But then, you have such a lenient judicial system, don’t you?”
    “On the contrary, Your Lordship, in a lenient system all four would have been acquitted.”
    The judge laughed. “Very well, Mr. Barrington, you are admitted to the St. Marks bar for the duration of this trial.” He turned to the reporter. “Write down that the defense will be represented by Sir Leslie Hewitt and Mr. Stone Barrington.”
    Sir Leslie leaned over and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “Put on the wig.”
    “What?” Stone whispered back.
    “Put on the bloody wig!”
    Stone put the wig on and stood there, feeling extremely foolish.
    The judge smiled broadly. “Very becoming, Mr. Barrington. I’m sure you will do the St. Marks bar proud. You may be seated.”
    Stone sat down, but Sir Leslie remained standing. “Your Lordship,” he said, “the defense requests bail for the defendant to extend through the trial.”
    “Well,” the judge replied, “in a capital case, the bailwould have to be substantial. Is the defendant possessed of a substantial sum of cash?”
    “Your Lordship, the defendant owns a large yacht moored in English Harbour, which I am assured is valued at in excess of one and one-half million dollars in U.S. currency. I request that the yacht secure her bail, and that she be allowed to live aboard the vessel until these proceedings are concluded.”
    The judge turned to the prosecution. “Sir Winston?”
    “I have no objection, Your Lordship, as long as the defendant has a clear understanding of the terms of her bail.”
    “Quite right, Sir Winston,” the judge replied. He turned to Allison, sitting in the dock. “Mrs. Manning, in St. Marks, bail is more than security, it is a sacred obligation. In order for me to grant bail, you must agree not to leave this island, and you should know that if you should do so, you would not only forfeit bail—in this case, your yacht—but under St. Marks law your departure would be tantamount to a plea of guilty to the charge, and you would stand convicted of murder.”
    Holy shit, Stone thought.
    “Do you understand the terms of your bail?”
    Allison stood. “I do, Your Lordship.”
    “Very well, bail is granted, and the yacht will be secured to the dock.” He looked down at his calendar. “Trial is set for Monday next, at 10:00 A.M. ”
    Stone’s jaw dropped. “Your Lordship,” he managed to say, “that gives us only six days to prepare for trial.”
    “Quite right, Mr. Barrington,” the judge replied. “Any problem with that?”
    Sir Leslie spoke up. “The defense is satisfied with the trial date, Your Lordship,” he said.
    “But we have to get a barrister in here from London to conduct the defense,” Stone said. “If it pleases the court.”
    “Mr. Barrington,” the judge said, as if speaking to a backward child, “it is already in the record that the defense will be conducted by Sir Leslie, with your assistance. The record cannot be changed.” He stood.
    “All rise,” the bailiff called out.
    The judge turned and left the courtroom.
    Stone turned to Sir Leslie. “Leslie, what the hell is he talking about?”
    “What?” Sir Leslie replied, packing his wig into his case and removing Stone’s.
    “I thought you understood