“I’m a New Englander,” he said. “The Boston area.”

“And what brings you to St. Marks?”

“Vacation,” the man said. “I seem to be about the only tourist around here.”

“Well, first there was the blizzard in the Northeast, then we were pretty choked up with press, and then, I guess, the bad press made St. Marks an unpopular destination.”

“Funny, the publicity somehow made it more attractive to me. I understand you’ve got a trial starting soon.”

“That’s right.”

“I wonder if I could attend? Could you arrange it for me?”

“I’m afraid not; I’m out of my own bailiwick here, you see.”

Thomas chimed in. “It’s open to the public,” he said. “I expect if you were there an hour before the trial you’d get a seat.”

“Thanks, Thomas,” Stendahl said. “Well, Stone—if I may call you that—what’s your trial strategy going to be?”

“I don’t think I can discuss that,” Stone replied, sipping his beer.

“Of course not; that was silly of me. The lady seems to be innocent, though; you going to get her off?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Well, how will…”

Stone cut him off. “I said, I can’t discuss it.”

Stendahl held his hands up before him. “Hey, my fault; didn’t mean to dig.”

“That’s all right.”

“Well, now that I’ve cooled off, I think I’ll get up to my room and change into something more tropical,” Stendahl said. The man got down off his stool and lumbered toward the stairs.

“What’s his story?” Stone asked Thomas.

Thomas shrugged. “He used a credit card with the right name on it, but…”

“But what?”

“There was a moment when I thought he might be a cop,” Thomas said, “but after I talked with him a while, I didn’t think so anymore.”

“What did he want to talk about?”

“Allison, the trial, the press, anything he could find out. He was really pumping me.”

“And you still don’t think he could be a cop.”

“A cop would have done it differently,” Thomas said. “More subtly. This guy just charged straight ahead.”

“You think he’s just an interested tourist?”

“He doesn’t feel like a tourist, either.”

“What does he feel like?”

“I think he’s got an agenda, but I’m damned if I know what it is. Besides, what would an American cop be doing down here?”

“I don’t think I ever saw a cop wear a seersucker suit,” Stone said.

“Me neither.”

“What sort of luggage did he have?”

“Hartmann leather, a suitcase and a briefcase, matching.”

“That doesn’t sound like a cop, either; too expensive. That’s a businessman’s luggage.”

“I would have thought so.”

Stone shrugged. “Well, I guess businessmen take vacations.”

“Usually with their wives; he’s alone.”

“Bachelor? Divorced?”

“I guess he could be.”