Libby Manning was sitting at the bar, sipping a martini; he wondered if she were a drunk. If so, he’d better get moving. “Good evening,” he said to her, managing a smile.

“Good evening,” she said. “I accept your invitation to dinner.”

“I’m glad,” he replied. “Thomas, may we have a table?”

“Right this way,” Thomas said, picking up a pair of menus.

“Something quiet,” Stone whispered as he passed.

Thomas showed them to a corner table with a view of the harbor, then he brought Libby Manning another martini and Stone a rum and tonic.

She raised her glass. “Better days,” she said, smiling.

“I’ll drink to that,” Stone said, sipping his drink. “So, Libby, tell me something about yourself. Are you a Florida girl?”

“Born and bred,” she said. “Went to Dade County High and the University of Miami, majored in journalism, went to work for the Herald. How about you?”

“Born and bred in New York, NYU law school, a time with the NYPD, then retirement and the practice of law.”

“What kind of law?”

“Whatever comes along.”

“I thought most lawyers specialized these days.”

“Most do. Whatever my clients need done, I specialize in.”

“And how did the lovely Allison come to hire you?”

“Well, when she sailed in alone on that boat, I was the only game in town, I guess.”

“Were the papers right? Is she going to hang?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Can you help it?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“The trial is next week?”

“That’s right.”

“And if they hang her, it’ll be pretty quick, will it?”

“Libby, you are a pessimist.” Or maybe an optimist, he thought to himself. “Let’s order.” They chatted idly, until their food came, and ate mostly in silence. She was waiting for him to make the first move, he reckoned. Then, as they ate, another couple was shown to a table a few yards away. Stone looked up and gulped.

Libby leaned forward. “Who is that extraordinary-looking black fella?” she asked.

“His name is Sir Winston Sutherland,” Stone replied, keeping his voice down, “and he is the worst nightmare of any white woman traveling alone in this country.”

Her eyes widened. “How do you mean?”

“His greatest pleasure seems to be finding innocent American girls, charging them with capital crimes, and hanging them without much of a trial. Allison is his most recent victim.”

“He’s the one who’s prosecuting her?”

Stone nodded. “Take my advice, Libby; avoid him at all costs, and whatever you do, don’t let him find out who you are.”

Libby downed the rest of her martini and started on the wine. “Why should I be afraid of him?”

“Well, another rich American widow might be a tempting target.”

“Rich? Me?”

“Well, Paul was fairly rich, wasn’t he? Sir Winston knows all about that.”

“Jesus, Paul was only sending me ten thousand dollars a month.”