The rest of the 60 Minutes crew arrived at dusk, and Stone had dinner with Jake Burrows and his reporter, Chris Wheaton. They met at the bar of the Shipwright’s Arms, got a drink, and found a table. Stone looked over the reporter: she was small, intense, as blond as Allison, and handsome rather than pretty. He thought she would look very good on camera.

“Allison asked to be excused from dinner,” Stone told her. “She says she needs a good night’s sleep.”

“That’s okay,” Wheaton said, “I don’t want to meet her until we’re on camera; the interview will be fresher that way. Has Jake told you how we’re going to work this?”

Stone shook his head. “We made some ground rules about the air date and the segment, but that’s it; you can ask her anything you want.”

“Good. I expect we’ll talk for at least an hour, maybe a lot longer.”

This hadn’t occurred to Stone, and it meant that they would be editing the tape to show the parts they liked best, and that might not work entirely to his client’s benefit. It was too late to start negotiating again, though, and he’d just have to put a good face on it. “That’s fine,” he said, “talk as long as you like. If she gets tired or upset, we might have to take a break.”

“We’ll have to change tape,” Wheaton replied. “She can pee or have a cry while we’re doing that.” She leaned forward. “Tell me, how did you become involved in this? Did she get you down here from New York when she found out she needed a lawyer?”

Stone shook his head. “I was down here for a cruise when she sailed in alone. My girlfriend didn’t make it because of the snowstorm, and I went to the inquest for lack of anything else to do. It became obvious that her questioner had some ax to grind, and at the lunch break I offered to advise her.”

“Who was the questioner?”

Stone told her about Sir Winston Sutherland and his attitude toward Allison.

“I don’t get it,” Wheaton said; “why would this Sir Winston guy want to make trouble for this poor widow?”

Stone thought she was being disingenuous, but he didn’t call her on it. “I don’t get it, either,” he said.

“So why isn’t some local lawyer defending her?”

“A local lawyer is defending her; I’m second chair.”

“Who is he? I want to talk to him.”

Stone’s stomach turned over. “He’s not talking to anybody but Allison and me. Maybe after the trial, we’ll see.”

Wheaton glanced at her producer.