“Did the Mannings have a fight when you were there?”
“No, not exactly; they did disagree about something, though.”
“What was that?”
“It was kind of crazy, when you consider that Allison apparently didn’t usually take much interest in the sailing of the boat. We were looking at their route on the chart, and she wanted to sail a direct course from Puerto Rico to Antigua. Paul pointed out to her that the trade winds blow some distance south of the Canaries, and if they wanted to take advantage of the trades, which everybody does who’s crossing in those latitudes, they’d be better off sailing south or southeast from Puerto Rico until they picked up the trades, then turning west with a good breeze at their backs. She couldn’t seem to grasp that, for some reason. We’d all had a good deal to drink, of course; maybe she was just spoiling for a fight. You know how married couples can be. Anyway, I was a little uncomfortable, so I said my good-byes and left. They were still arguing about it when I stepped ashore.”
“Do you recall anything about Paul having a rubber dinghy flown in from Barcelona?”
“Yeah, I do; somebody had stolen his dinghy, and he wanted a new one, something special. It wasn’t available in Las Palmas, so he called somebody in Barcelona and had one sent.”
“A Parker Sportster?”
“Beats me.”
“Did he give any reason for wanting that particular dinghy?”
“Not that I can recall. He seemed obsessive about having just the right gear on his boat, I remember that well enough; every item on it seemed to have been chosen with great care.”
“Was the one that was stolen a Parker Sportster?”
“I don’t know, I guess so.”
“Thanks, Jim. Thomas, put Jim’s drink on my tab.”
Forrester grinned. “You think a New Yorker reporter would accept favors from a lawyer in a case he was writing about?”
“You bet I do.”
“You’re right,” Forrester said, raising his glass to Stone, then taking a big swig. He wandered off to find a lunch table.
Stone dialed his office number in New York, and his secretary answered. “Hi, it’s Stone,” he said. “What’s happening?”
“Not a hell of a lot,” she replied. “Arrington went to L.A., but she said she faxed you about that.”
“Yeah, she did.”
“There’s a lot of mail, mostly junk and bills; nothing that can’t wait until you’re back.”
“Listen, I want you to do something for me.”
“Shoot.”
“I want you to call a couple of marine supply houses and see if you can get me some information on a rubber dinghy called Parker Sportster—a brochure or something. Apparently it’s a high-end piece of equipment.”
“Okay; you want it sent to you?”
“Yeah, FedEx it, priority.”
“Anything else?”
“Not right now. Bob Cantor is coming home tomorrow; you can go ahead and reimburse his expenses and pay him for his time; he’s always short of money.”
“Okay.”
Stone hung up and returned to his table. Allison had arrived and was deep in conversation with Hilary Kramer, who was taking copious notes. He sat down and listened to the interview, which included most of the questions Wheaton had already asked her, but in more of a chronological order.
When they had finished talking, Allison returned to the yacht with Jim Forrester, whose turn it was for an interview.