Stuart Woods - Cold Paradise

“Yes, Your Honor,” Manning replied.

Ed Ginsky offered a sheet of paper. “Judge, this is a copy of Mr. Manning’s declaration of residency, filed at the Dade County courthouse two and a half years ago.”

“This seems to be in order.” The judge turned to Liz. “Mrs. Manning, are you a legal resident of the State of Florida?”

“Yes, Your Honor, for three years. I own a house in Palm Beach.”

The judge nodded. “Mrs. Manning, Mr. Manning, you’re both obviously mature adults. Mrs. Manning, is it your desire to end your marriage?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Liz replied.

“Mr. Manning?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Are you both completely satisfied with the terms of the property settlement on my desk? Mrs. Manning?”

“Yes, I am, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Manning?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“I would certainly assume that you are satisfied, since you are receiving a settlement of two million dollars. Mrs. Manning, does that sum represent a part of your net worth that you can afford to part with?”

“It does, Your Honor.”

Especially since she isn’t parting with it , Stone thought.

“Has any duress been brought upon you to part with such a sum?”

“No, Your Honor,” Liz replied.

“Very well, then, I…” The judge stopped and looked oddly at Liz. “I beg your pardon, but have we met before, Mrs. Manning?”

“No, Your Honor,” Liz replied. “I think I would remember,” she added, flatteringly.

“Wait a minute,” the judge said. “Aren’t you Winston Harding’s widow?”

Uh-oh , Stone thought. Here’s trouble .

“Yes, Your Honor,” Liz replied, as if it were the most natural question in the world, in the circumstances.

“I’m confused,” the judge said. “Mr. Harding died only late last year, didn’t he?”

“That’s right, Your Honor,” Liz said, still not getting it.

“And when were you married to Mr. Manning?”

Stone opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Liz had no such problem. “Oh, Paul and I were married before Winston and I.” Then she realized what she had said and froze.

Stone still couldn’t think of anything to say, and Fred Williamson was looking at him in panic.

Then Paul Manning spoke up. “Your Honor, may I explain?”

“I wish to God somebody would,” the judge replied.

“Your Honor, Mrs. Manning and I were married eight years ago. Then, four years ago, I was accused of murder in a Caribbean country- unjustly, I might add. I was tried, convicted and sentenced to death. Then, at the last moment, the truth came out, and I was pardoned.”

Stone looked at Ed Ginsky and thanked God it was Ginsky’s client who was lying to the judge and not his own. Ginsky seemed, as well, to have lost the power of speech.

“Congratulations,” said the judge, but he still looked baffled.

“Mrs. Manning had already left the island, having done everything she could, and she was under the impression that I had been executed. By the time I was released, we had lost touch, and it was only recently that she learned that I was still alive. So, you see, she married Mr. Harding in good faith, believing that I was dead. In fact, she had been given a death certificate.”

The judge looked back and forth between Paul and Allison Manning as if they were escaped lunatics. “So this divorce is merely a matter of legal housekeeping, is that what you’re telling me?”

None of the lawyers would speak, so Liz did. “Yes, Your Honor. I think you can see what a horrible series of events this was and how Paul and I, having parted long ago, would not like this hanging over our heads.”

“Yes, I can see that,” the judge said. “Fred, I hope you brought a decree for me to sign, because after today, I never want to hear about this again.”

Williamson set the decree on the desk, and the judge signed it. “I’d like your clerk to notarize the property settlement, please,” Williamson said.

The judge pressed an intercom button and spoke: “Amy, come in here, please.” A woman entered the room. “I want you to notarize some documents for these people.” He stood up and put on his jacket. “I’ve just signed a divorce decree, and I want you to see that nothing is published about it, do you understand?”

“No, Judge,” the woman said, baffled.

He handed her a copy of the decree. “Just give these people copies of this and file it, and forget you ever saw it. I intend to.” He turned to the group. “Fred, you can use my chambers to sign these papers, then get these people out of here. I don’t ever want to hear a word about this again. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly clear, Judge,” Williamson said.

The judge walked out of his chambers, slamming the door behind him.

Williamson whipped out a pen, and everybody started signing. Five minutes later, the group broke up.

As they were leaving, Paul Manning approached his ex-wife. “Well, nice knowing you, Allison.”

“There was nothing nice about it,” Allison said, and stalked away.

“Wait for me in the car,” Stone called out. He shook Fred Williamson’s hand. “Thanks, Fred, for all your help.”

“Can you tell me what the hell that was all about?” Williamson asked softly.

“Just forget it and send us your bill,” Stone said. “Ed, Paul, a moment, please?”

The two men stopped. Stone waited until Williamson had left the room. “I’ve got something to say to you, Paul, and I want to say it to you in front of your attorney.”

“Do I have to listen to this, Ed?” Manning asked.

“Give Stone a minute, Paul.”

“First of all, the two million dollars will be wired into your account immediately, Ed.”

“Thank you, Stone.”

Stone removed a sheet of paper from his pocket. “And this is a release from the insurance company.”

Ginsky looked at it. “Why, this is dated…”

“Yes, it is,” Stone said.

Manning snatched the paper and read it. “You mean, I was already…”

“Yes, you were, Paul, but you’re not out of the woods yet.”

“What do you mean?” Ginsky asked.

“Ed, your client participated in four transactions in Virginia and Maryland a while back that you don’t know about and don’t want to know about. But I know about them, Paul, and I’m happy to tell you that you left a fingerprint on a note you handed somebody. I’ve never expected you to adhere voluntarily to the terms of the agreement you signed, so let’s just call this insurance.”

“It sounds a lot more like blackmail,” Ginsky said.

“That’s exactly what it is, Ed. Paul, if you ever so much as speak to Allison again,” Stone said, ignoring the attorney and speaking directly to his client, “one phone call will make you a fugitive again. On the other hand, if you keep your word, you’re in no jeopardy.”

“I don’t know what he’s talking about, Ed,” Manning said.

“Sure you do, Paul, and Ed shouldn’t know. But I know, and don’t you ever forget it. Ed, thanks for handling this so well. Paul, you can go fuck yourself.”

Stone turned and walked away.

Stone drove Liz back to the yacht, feeling relieved and relaxed for the first time since he had arrived in Palm Beach. His relief lasted only until he walked up the gangplank.

A short, stocky man with iron-gray hair, wearing slacks and some kind of Cuban or Filipino shirt, stood up from a chair, where he had been sitting next to Dino. “Are you Stone Barrington?” he asked.

“That’s right,” Stone replied.

The man didn’t offer his hand. “My name is Guido. A friend of yours sent me.” As he spoke, a puff breeze blew the loose shirt against his body, revealing the outline of a pistol at his waist.