said.
The man rose; he was of Stone’s height but much slimmer, balding, with pale gray eyes. “Good morning.” He held out his hand. “I’m Bernard Pickering. I expect you’re Barrington.”
Stone shook the hand. “Yes.”
“I’ve ordered us some breakfast,” Pickering said, nodding at a small table at the end of the room that had been set for two. As if on cue, a maid entered the room bearing a silver tray. “Come,” Pickering said, leading the way.
“I understand you’re a lawyer back in the States,” Pickering said, pitching into his eggs.
“That’s right.”
“Have you done any criminal work?”
“Yes, and I was a police officer for many years before I began to practice law.”
“And you’re a partner, now, in Woodman and Weld?” the barrister asked, rasing his eyebrows.
“I’m of counsel. I work out of my own office.”
“I see,” Pickering replied, though clearly he didn’t.
“I do much of their criminal work.”
Pickering’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I see.” Now he really did. “Well, that should make our conversation easier. I’m glad you’re someone who will understand the, ah, limits of my questions.”
“You mean the limits of my answers, don’t you?”
“Quite so. A death of this sort is always a delicate matter, and, if we handle it properly, we can dispose of the entire incident at this inquest.”
“I hope so,” Stone replied.
“I’m a bit concerned about Mr. Cabot’s attitude.”
“We talked about it. I don’t think he’ll be of particular concern to you.”
“James Cutler’s body came up in a fisherman’s trawl in the middle of the Channel, late last night. It’s being examined now.”
“I expect that death will be determined to have been caused by blunt trauma to the head or drowning, or both,” Stone said.
“Very probably. Will you give me your account of the events of yesterday?”
Stone related his story quickly, without embellishment.
Pickering nodded as he spoke. He took no notes. “Tell me, Mr. Barrington,” he said, “are you an experienced yachtsman?”
“I’ve done a lot of sailing, but not recently.”
“Are you aware that the standard procedure in such an event is for the crew not to enter the water to help?”
“Yes, I’m aware of that, and I considered it before going after James.”
“And what was your thought process, may I ask?”
“If someone goes into the water after a man overboard, then there are two men to be rescued, instead of one, but in this instance I believed that the blow from the boom would have rendered James unconscious, and that he would be unable to help himself.”
“Mmmm,” Pickering muttered in an affirmative fashion. “I expect you did the right thing. Did you see or touch Cutler after you went in?”
“No, I swam to where I thought he might be and dove for him, but I never saw or touched him.”
“Are you familiar with the tides in the Solent?”
“No.”
“The tide turned while you were sailing toward Cowes, so by the time you came off the wind and sailed toward the Beaulieu River, the tide would have been ebbing, and you might have had a couple of knots under you.”
“That would have made no difference in my search, since James, the yacht, and I would have all been equally affected by the tide.”
“Good point,” Pickering said. “Did Sarah say anything to you during this incident?”
“No, she didn’t have time before I went into the water, and I was in no state to have a conversation with her after they got me aboard again.”
“Good,” Pickering said, almost to himself. “Do you recall any display of attitude or emotion on her part after you were back aboard?”
“No, I was shivering too badly to notice, then I must have fallen asleep or passed out. I don’t remember being brought from the yacht back to the house.”
“Good,” Pickering repeated. “Well, I think that’s all; we can enjoy our breakfast now.”
“Have you spoken to Sarah?”
“Yes, about an hour ago.”
“How is she?”
“Grieving, feeling guilty that she may have done something to cause James’s death. That’s preposterous, of course.”
“It’s not preposterous, but in my judgment, for what it’s worth, the whole thing was an accident.”
Pickering gazed over Stone’s shoulder and out the window. He seemed to be considering something. “Tell me, Stone,” he said finally, “if I may call you that . . .”
“Of course.”
“What do you know of Sarah’s personal circumstances?”
“Not much. I haven’t seen her for a year or so, since she left New York.”
“I understand you were, ah, close, while she was there?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“Have you had any contact with her since she left New York?”
“None at all, until we met here on Friday evening.”
“No letters or phone calls? Email?”
“No.”
“And how did you come to be here this weekend?”
“I was invited by Monica Burroughs.”
“Did you know that the house party was to be at the home of Sarah’s parents and that the occasion was the announcement of her engagement to James Cutler?”
“Not until we were driving down here from London.”
“So Sarah was surprised to see you?”
“No, I asked Monica to call her and explain that I was coming.”
“Had Monica not planned to tell her?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Why ever not?”
“I believe that Monica had intended my visit as a surprise.”
“I see.” He did not.
“I think it was probably mischievous on her part.”
“Oh, I see.” Now he did.
“But in any case, embarrassment was avoided by all because of Monica’s call to Sarah.”
“Good.”
“Do you think I could see Sarah? Is she up to it?”
“I suppose she is, but I’d rather no one who will be testifying tomorrow speak to her until after the inquest.”
“Would you tell her, then, that I asked after her and that I send my condolences?”
“Of course I will. I have one other question for you, Stone, and I would like this part of our conversation to be kept in the strictest confidence for the time being.”
