Dead in the Water by Stuart Woods Read Free Book Online

Sir Leslie said, shaking his head. "Certainly not in jest."
    "St. Marks has capital punishment, then?"
    "Oh, yes; it's quite easy to get hanged in St. Marks. You see, Mr. Barrington, there's no prison system to speak of on our lovely island. Crimes tend to get divided into three classes: first, there's anything from petty theft through assault and battery up to, say, multiple burglaries. These crimes are dealt with by fines and short sentences, up to about three months, in our local
    jail. If there's no room in the jail, then the fine is increased, and the Ministry of Justice is very scrupulous about collecting the fines. Then we have a second category of offenses, starting with armed robbery and running up through assault with intent to kill--virtually any crime involving violence but not death. These are dealt with by exile, permanent exile from our island. For natives of St. Marks, who love their island, this is a crueler punishment than you might imagine. Then, lastly, we have crimes involving death: voluntary manslaughter, any degree of murder, conspiracy to murder--these crimes are capital offenses, and death is by hanging. We have one or two hangings a year."
    "You mean, then, that if Allison Manning is found guilty of any degree of homicide, she will be hanged? They would hang a woman?"
    "Quite so. Only about one in ten persons hanged is a woman, but it happens."
    "What about race? Would the fact that Mrs. Manning is white be a factor in a possible death sentence?"
    "I should say that would increase her chances of hanging," Sir Leslie said, "especially since her jury is very likely to be all or nearly all black."
    Stone swallowed hard. "I see."
    "I should mention, too," Sir Leslie continued, "that in St. Marks, jury verdicts are by majority, not unanimous vote, so a white juror or two would not be able to cause a deadlock, and the judge elects the jury." "Jesus Christ," Stone said quietly.
    Sir Leslie smiled. "I'm glad to see you are taking this seriously."
    "What is the appeals procedure?" Stone asked. "There is only a single appeal," Sir Leslie replied. "All capital convictions are automatically referred to the prime minister, whose word is final. He generally responds the next day, and, should his decision be negative, the hanging takes place on the following day." He smiled. "Since our system is so efficient, we tend to think that capital punishment really is a deterrent to capital crime."
    "Yes," Stone replied, "I can see how it might be." Thomas turned to Stone. "You're going to be doing a lot of telephoning tomorrow, I should think. There's a room with a phone over the bar you can use."
    "Thanks, Thomas," Stone said. "Maybe I should just take the room for the duration."
    "That will be fine."
    "Is there somewhere I can rent a printer for my laptop?"
    "My bookkeeper is on vacation; I'll move hers in there for you."
    They turned back to Leslie Hewitt, who seemed to have dozed off.
    "Leslie?" Thomas said.
    The little man opened his eyes. "Thomas? Is that Thomas Hardy?"
    "Yes, Leslie."
    "How very good of you to come and see me," he said, beaming at them. He turned toward Stone. "And who might this be?"
    When they returned to the restaurant, Thomas handed Stone a fax. "This came for you while we were gone."
    Dear Stone,
    I cannot find a way to tell you how important this assignment has become, but the fact is, I have to spend as much time as possible with Vance Calder while he is in New York, which is for the rest of the week. I know how angry and disappointed you will be to read this, but there's simply no way I am going to be able to get to St. Marks in time to go sailing with you, no matter how hard I try, so we may as well both face it now. I ask your forgiveness, and I look forward to your return.
    Arrington
    Stone wadded up the paper and tossed it into a wastebasket. "Bad news?" Thomas 'asked. "Is there any other kind?" Stone replied.
    CHAPTER
    Stone sweated through a nearly sleepless night, tossing in his