Stuart Woods - Dead In The Water

"Chester called a while ago; he's making special runs starting this afternoon-lots of requests for seats on that little plane of his."

"Sounds as though the press is heeding our call."

"Sounds like it."

"You know, Thomas, I think we might need a little security down at the marina when these people start arriving. I wouldn't like to let them too near Allison's yacht; she's going to need some privacy."

"Uh-huh," Thomas replied. "I've got two brothers on the police; they could help out and round up enough guys to stake it out around the clock, I imagine. How many you want?"

"Say two at a time, around the clock?"

"Shouldn't be a problem."

"How many brothers and sisters have you got, Thomas?"

"Six brothers and four sisters, and a whole bunch of nieces and nephews; I lose count. In those days there was less opportunity in St.Marks; it was before tourism took hold down here. Two more of my brothers left, then came back; the two on the police stayed and did all right. They're both sergeants."

"What did the sisters do?"

"They got married and had babies. Everybody's prosperous, for St.Marks."

"And you most of all, huh?"

Thomas grinned. "You could say that." The fax machine rang, and he turned to receive whatever was coming. "Hang on, this is more likely for you than for me." The machine spat out a single sheet; Thomas glanced at it and landed it to Stone.

It was typed sloppily on his own letterhead. "Dear Stone," she said, "I wanted to let you know that I'm not going to be here when you get back. Vance has to go back to L.A." and we're not nearly finished with the piece, so I'm going with him. I've no idea how long I'll be out there, but it's going to be at least a couple of weeks. I'll call you when you're back in New York. Best, Arrington."

Best. Not love,best. He didn't like the sound of that in the least, and he was suddenly very glad he'd fucked Allison Manning. He would do it again, every chance he had, for as long as he could.

He tore up the fax, threw it into the wastebasket behind the bar, and trudged up the stairs to start working again on Allison's case.

Stone worked on his notes for the trial and tried to come up with new ideas for Allison's testimony, but he was depressed, and depression always made him sleepy. Soon he was stretched out on the bed and dead to the world.

Thomas was shaking him. "Stone, wake up."

"Huh?" He was groggy, and he felt hung over.

"You got two press people downstairs: one from 60 Minutes and one from The New Yorker."

"Jesus, we landed the big ones first, huh?"

"Looks like it."

"I'd better splash some water on my face; tell them I'll be down in a minute."

"Okay."

Stone shook himself awake, washed his face and toweled it briskly to bring back some color, then went downstairs. Two men came toward him, a tall, slim, tanned one in Bermuda shorts and a short, stocky, pasty man in a khaki bush jacket.

"I'm Jim Forrester from The New Yorker," the tall one said, shaking hands.

"I'm Jake Burrows, I'm a producer on 60 Minutes," the bush jacket said, "and I was here first. I want to talk to you before he does." He nodded at his competitor.

"All right, all right," Stone said. "Let's all sit down and discuss this; I mean, you two guys are not exactly competitors."

"That's right," Forrester said.

"Everybody is a competitor," Burrows said.

"Come on, sit down, and let's talk." Stone herded them toward a table. "Thomas, how about some lunch menus?"

"Sure thing," Thomas said.

"I want the first interview," Burrows said; "I was here first."

"Wait a minute," Stone said. "Just listen to me, both of you. Jim, you're not exactly on deadline here, are you?"

"No, I'm not," the writer said. "I'm here to get the whole story; the soonest we could run would be a couple of weeks after the trial."

"Feel better, Jake?" Stone asked.

"A little," Burrows said grudgingly. "I've got a reporter arriving here tonight, and either I get an exclusive interview, or I'm getting out of here right now."

Stone turned to him. "Either it runs Sunday night, or there's no interview."

"I can't promise you that," Burrows said.

"Then you might as well go home, because before the Sunday after that rolls around, my client could very well have been executed, and I'm not much interested in a postmortem feature."

"This week's show is already set," Burrows said. "There's nothing I can do about it."

"I'm sorry, Jake, there's nothing I can do for you," Stone said.

Burrows looked at him incredulously. "Listen to me, Stone, this is 60 Minutes; do you know what that means?"

"Sure I do," Stone replied. "It means you'd be airing an interview with a dead woman. I thought your show liked saving innocent people from death row, not reporting on the execution later."

Jake Burrows looked at him intently for a moment without speaking. "I've got to make a phone call," he said finally, pushing his chair back.

"Tell them I want it in writing," Stone said.

"If I do this, will you guarantee me an exclusive?"

"I'll guarantee you an exclusive on in-depth TV, but she's going to hold a press conference, where I'll answer most of the questions, and an awful lot of photographs of her are going to be taken. The only way I can save her life is to carpet American TV wall to wall with her face, and that's what I intend to do. Anyway, all that will be great promotion for your interview."

Burrows nodded and went off to find a phone.

"You're going to have your hands full pretty soon," Jim Forrester said.

"I've already got my hands full, just with the two of you. Are you on staff at the magazine?"

Forrester shook his head. "This will be my first piece for them. I was in San Juan doing a travel piece when they called."

"Who's your editor there?" Stone asked.

"Charles McGrath."

"He's number two there, isn't he?"

"That's right."

"What are you going to want?"

"Well, obviously, I want to see Allison again as soon as possible, then I want to cover everything that happens, including the 60 Minutes interview and the trial. There's nothing I can do to save her life, but if what she says rings true, then I can reinforce her innocence if she survives. That could be important to her, because there is always going to be a question mark hanging over her, even if she's acquitted."

"You're right about that." Stone wrinkled his brow.

"What did you mean by seeing Allison again?"

"I've met her before."

"Where?"

"In the Canaries, in Las Palmas and in Puerto Rico. I was there on assignment from Conde Nast Traveler when I met Paul at the yacht club in Las Palmas."

"Jesus," Stone said, "I've got a guy on a plane for Las Palmas right now,looking for somebody just like you. We have to talk." He looked up to see Jake Burrows coming toward them.

"All right," Burrows said, "let me lay it out for you: I'll give you a letter on 60 Minutes letterhead, guaranteeing you air time this Sunday night."

"Guaranteeing me a full segment," Stone said.

"All right, all right. You give me first and exclusive access to Allison first thing tomorrow morning, and you don't hold your press conference until my reporter and I are out of here with our tape."

"Who's the reporter?"

"Chris Wheaton."

"Never heard of him. What happened to Mike Wallace and Morley Safer?"

"Chris is a she, and she's new; this will be her first story. She's already on a plane,and she's all you're going to get."

"This is a full segment, though?"

"I'll put it in writing."

"Okay, but Jim here is going to sit in." He held up a hand before Burrows could object. "He's not going to ask her any questions during your time, he's just going to observe for his New Yorker piece. Can't hurt to have your program's name in the magazine, can it? I bet Chris Wheaton will love it."