The senior policeman opened the cell door. “Not related to these events,” he said. “Mrs. Manning, please step out into the corridor.”

Stone made to follow her, but an officer stepped between them. Behind him, another officer was tying Allison’s hands behind her back.

“Say your good-byes,” the senior officer said to her. She looked at Stone, panic in her face.

“Allison…” he began, then stopped.

“Good-bye,” she said. “You have all been very kind to me.” She was trembling, but she did not cry.

Then, simultaneously, a policeman opened the big door to the inner courtyard while another closed the cell door and locked it, with Stone, Hewitt, and the priest still inside.

“I want to go with her,” Stone said, but the officer shook his head.

“No farther,” he said.

Stone looked out the door and saw a corner of the scaffold in the gloomy light. He tried to speak, but nothing came out.

An officer stood on either side of Allison, took her arm, and marched her into the courtyard. The senior officer slammed the stout door shut behind them.

Stone turned to Leslie Hewitt. “Is there nothing we can do?”

Leslie looked at the floor and shook his head slowly. “We have done all we can.”

Stone looked at the priest, who avoided his gaze. Then, sooner than Stone had expected, he heard the sound of the trap flying open, followed by a thunk, then silence. He leaned his forehead against the bars; he felt like weeping, but he could not.

The outside door opened, the senior officer and one other stepped inside, and the door closed behind them. The cell door was unlocked and the three men were waved out and marched down the corridor to the front desk.

Allison’s duffel sat on the desk, and an officer waited, pen in hand, for Stone to sign for her belongings. Stone signed. “What about the body?” he asked the man.

“The body will be cremated and the ashes scattered at sea,” the officer said. “It’s how we do things here.”

“It is so,” Hewitt said.

Stone picked up the duffel and walked out of the jail into a lovely St. Marks evening. Hilary Kramer and Jim Forrester were sitting on a bench next to the outside door. Kramer jumped up. “What’s happening? Did you hear from the prime minister?”

Stone shook his head. “No.”

Forrester stood up, too. “For Christ’s sake, Stone, tell us what’s happening?

“Allison was hanged five minutes ago.”

Both reporters seemed struck dumb. Kramer’s mouth was working, but nothing came out. Forrester turned, leaned against the building, and vomited.

“You can quote me as saying that a monumental injustice has been done,” Stone said.

Chapter
61

The priest shook hands with both men, then got into his car and drove away. Stone leaned against Thomas’s car, which was parked next to Leslie’s ancient Morris Minor. “This is completely surreal,” he said.