Stuart Woods - Cold Paradise

“All right, darling,” she said, and put her hand on his.

“Can I be there?” Thad asked. “Liz might feel better.”

“Absolutely not,” Stone said. “You’re a very recognizable figure in Palm Beach, and I don’t want you anywhere near that courthouse.”

“Oh, all right,” Thad said. “Sit down and have some breakfast.”

Juanito appeared, and Stone ordered. “Now, Liz, tell me: How long have you been a Florida resident?”

“Since I married Winston, I guess. Three years. He was a Florida resident well before that, for tax reasons.”

“The judge will ask you that.”

“What about Paul? He’s not a Florida resident. At least, I don’t think he is.”

“His lawyer says he can show proof of residency. The judge will ask you things like how long you’ve been married, and he’s going to ask you why you want a divorce. What are you going to tell him?”

“That my husband led me into a life of crime and that, when he murdered three people, I didn’t want to live with him anymore.”

“No, no, no,” Stone said. “You want to be general, not specific.”

“You mean like, we just grew apart over the years?”

“That’s better. And if he asks Paul first, just go along with whatever he says. Don’t worry, he has a very good lawyer, and he will have been well briefed.”

“Whatever you say,” she said.

“That’s the right answer, too. Now, another thing. Your agreement with Paul requires you to wire-transfer the money into his lawyer’s trust account as soon as the divorce is final. What I’d like is for you to transfer the money to my trust account today, and I’ll take it from there.”

“The two million dollars?” she asked.

“That’s right.”

“God, but I hate to give that son of a bitch any money.”

“Liz, get a grip. You’ve already signed an agreement to that effect. Yesterday, you were delighted to get off so cheaply.”

“Liz, honey,” Thad said, “two million dollars is small change to me. Let me take care of that.”

“I couldn’t let you do that,” Liz replied.

“No, really. I’d consider it a great favor if you’d let me do that”

“Oh, Thad,” she said, putting her hand on his cheek. “You’re so sweet.”

Thad turned to Stone. “I’ll move the money this morning.”

“You’re sure that’s the way you want to do this?”

“Yes, I am.”

Stone watched, amazed, as they kissed.

Later, when they were driving to the golf course, Stone brought Dino up to date.

Dino’s mouth fell open. “He’s giving her two million bucks?”

“Like Thad says, it’s small change to him.”

“Holy mother! She’s good, isn’t she? She meets this guy, what, three weeks ago, and now he’s paying her ex-husband two million bucks to go away?”

“You’ve got it.”

“Well, Thad is either the sweetest guy in the world or the dumbest, or both,” Dino said.

“Don’t talk about my client that way,” Stone said.

“Yeah, yeah, I know; he pays his legal bills.”

“That’s very important,” Stone said.

“And you don’t even know if he’s really going to go away.”

“Oh, I know that,” Stone said. “When the FBI takes him away, he’ll be gone.”

“How do you know they can get a conviction?” Dino asked. “After all, when he gets Thad’s two million, he’s going to be able to afford a very good lawyer.”

“I thought you said they have his fingerprint on a note he handed a teller.”

“Sure they do,” Dino said. “Gee, I hope the FBI hasn’t misplaced it during the years that have passed since the robbery. They would never do that, would they?”

“They’ll have the tellers’ identification of Manning,” Stone said.

“How do you know? Maybe he dressed up like Ronald McDonald. And it’s been four years since the last robbery. I’d be willing to bet you that at least one of the four tellers is dead, and a couple more are retired and living in Costa Rica or someplace, and that the remaining one has come down with Alzheimer’s. And even if one of them is still around and can identify Manning, Ginsky is going to turn him inside out on the witness stand. ”But, sir, it’s been four years since you say you saw the robber, and you also say he was wearing a red wig, a big nose and floppy shoes. How could you possibly say that man is my client?“”

“You’re starting to annoy me, Dino.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, you’re not nearly as annoyed as you’re going to be when Manning gets off scot-free and hires somebody to put his ex-wife at the bottom of Lake Worth in a concrete bikini.”

Stone ran a red light, thinking about that.

Stone got Liz to the courthouse half an hour early. He wanted to talk to Ed Ginsky before they went into the judge’s chambers. There was too much happening this morning over which he had no control, and he didn’t like it.

They had been sitting in the empty courtroom A for ten minutes, when a balding man in his mid-thirties came in.

“Are you Stone Barrington?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Fred Williamson.”

“Hello, Fred. This is Mrs. Manning.”

“Don’t call me that,” Liz snapped.

“Everybody’s going to call you that today, Liz. Just get used to it.”

Williamson shook her hand as if he were afraid she might bite it.

“I want to speak to Ginsky before we go into chambers,” Stone said.

“Why?” Williamson asked. “I think we’ve got all our ducks in a row.” He took a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and handed them to Stone.

“I’ve taken the liberty of making a few changes so that they more closely follow the Florida form.”

Stone flipped quickly through the papers. Ten minutes to three. Where the hell was Ed Ginsky and his client? “They look fine to me, but everybody will have to sign again. We’ll need a notary.”

“The judge’s clerk can notarize them,” Williamson said. “I’ve also written the decree for his signature. Judge Coronado is leaving on vacation today, and I don’t want to have to wait for his signature.”

“Neither do I,” Stone said. He was looking forward to seeing Paul Manning’s face at last, and he wished to hell the man would arrive.

At one minute before three, Ed Ginsky and his client strolled into the courtroom. Paul Manning looked like hell. He was wearing bandages that covered his nose and much of his face, and at the edges, both his eyes seemed blackened. Surgery, Stone thought as he stood up. He and Ginsky shook hands. “I’m glad you’re here, Ed. I want to…”

At that moment a door behind the bench opened and a solidly built, handsome Hispanic man stepped into the courtroom. His hair was completely white, and he was not wearing a jacket but sporting loud braces. “Everybody here, Fred?”

“Yes, Judge. All present and accounted for.” He shepherded everyone into the chambers and made the introductions. Coronado waved them all to chairs.

“Now,” the judge said, “you have a request, Fred?”

“Yes, Judge. We’re here in the matter of a divorce between Paul C. Manning and Allison S. Manning. Mr. Manning is represented by Mr. Ginsky, and I am representing Mrs. Manning, with the consultation of Mr. Barrington, who is a member of the New York bar and Mrs. Manning’s attorney in that state.” He handed the judge a stack of documents. “The parties have agreed on a property settlement. Mrs. Manning’s petition and Mr. Manning’s waiver of response are all in order. We ask for a decree based on their mutual desire for a divorce.”

The judge glanced through the papers, then returned them to his desktop and leaned back in his chair.

“Mr. Manning, are you a legal resident of the State of Florida?”