“Suppose she’s not? I doubt if you could find her. After all, you must have given her lessons in how to obtain a real U.S. passport, how to establish new identities, and all that. All the research you did for your books, and for your own use.”

“All that insurance money—tax free—the money from the sale of the house and the cars; it’s all gone,” Manning said bitterly.

“And even if you could find it, you’ve no way to get at it, have you?”

“Sir Leslie Hewitt showed me the will he drew for her, leaving everything to the Girl Scouts of America!”

Stone burst out laughing. “Paul, you’ve made my day, you really have.”

“And she gave the goddamned boat to you,” Manning said through clenched teeth.

“That’s right, pal, but your heart will be warmed to know that Libby’s mother got four hundred thousand of the proceeds.”

“Shit!”

“So you killed Libby for nothing, didn’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Paul; you had the skills to screw up that airplane engine. You’d flown with Chester; you knew he never did a runup, that he’d never notice his fuel problem until he was already in the air. You killed Chester, too, and that other poor woman who was aboard.”

“You can’t prove that,” Manning said.

“You know, right up until the moment that plane crashed, this was all just a lark, a bit of insurance fraud. But when that plane went down, you became something else entirely. You became a murderer—not just three times, but four. You stood there in that jail in St. Marks and let Allison walk out to the gallows. I’ll bet she thought until she was standing over that trap door with the rope around her neck that you would step forward and save her. You could have at any time; all you had to do was to tell Sir Winston that you were Paul Manning. He couldn’t prosecute her for a murder that hadn’t taken place. But you didn’t do that, did you? You thought all that money was safe in the Caymans account, and it would all be yours. But Allison out-smarted you.”

“I can’t figure out why she did it,” Manning said, looking dejected.

“Because she knew you. At first she thought you’d save her, but finally she knew you’d never turn yourself in, even to save her. If you had turned yourself in, you’d have had all that money to buy your way out of the business in St. Marks, but you decided to go for broke, to keep it all for yourself, and now you’re just that—broke.”

“I want the money you got for my boat,” Manning said. “And I want all of it.”