The Namedropper

by Brian Freemantle

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Alyce, dry-eyed now.

  ‘As far as I understand your evidence, your marriage to Alfred Appleton was already profoundly unhappy? Your living in Long Island and his living most of the time in Manhattan was virtually a separation, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But the chlamydia was the final, irreparable breaking point?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You did attempt a reconciliation, though?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did it work?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘If you hadn’t been infected, would you have filed for divorce?’

  ‘Yes, I think I would.’

  ‘Just think?’ pressed Wolfson.

  ‘Not just think. I would have filed for divorce. My marriage – our marriage – was a sham.’

  There was a line of upright exclamation marks on Beckwith’s pad, Jordan saw.

  ‘When you had that final, irreparable breaking-up fight with your husband did you know of Leanne Jefferies?’

  ‘I knew he had a mistress. I didn’t know her name.’

  ‘When did you learn her name?’

  ‘When the proceedings began … when my lawyer received the papers from my husband’s lawyer.’

  ‘Until that time, did you have any intention of claiming financial damages from Leanne Jefferies for criminal conversation, for being the cause of the collapse of your marriage?’

  Jordan turned, at the shift in the jury box, and saw Walter Harding sliding into his accustomed seat beyond the separating rail.

  ‘No,’ Alyce replied to the questioned. ‘I’ve already given evidence that I did so because of the law in this state … of the availability of the provision.’

  ‘Did Leanne Jefferies cause the end of your marriage? Wasn’t your marriage already over before you ever learned her name?’

  During the woman’s hesitation Beckwith leaned sideways and said to Jordan, ‘Good try – his only try – but it isn’t a defence.’

  Finally Alyce said, ‘Yes, it was, I suppose.’

  ‘Bruising,’ identified Harding, from the witness stand in a bland, even, bedside voice. ‘To the upper right thigh and lower ribs. Some contusions, but no actual skin break by the time I examined Mrs Appleton. I suspected there might be internal rib bruising, too.’

  ‘How did you understand Mrs Appleton received those injuries?’

  ‘She told me she had been violently punched by her husband earlier in the day, at their Long Island home, that her ribs had been particularly painful on the flight back here, to Raleigh.’

  ‘Did you not consider having Mrs Appleton X-rayed at your hospital to establish whether her ribs were actually broken? Or fractured?’

  ‘From the external bruising I did not believe either to have happened. If either had occurred there is no medical procedure – no plastering or binding support – that could have eased the healing or reduced the pain beyond the palliative medication I prescribed.’

  ‘Were the physical injuries on Mrs Appleton’s body consistent with her being violently punched to the ground?’

  ‘The specific injuries we are discussing were consistent with a fall. But on her upper left shoulder, extending maybe three or four inches down her upper chest as far as her breast, there was further bruising, marked in such a way to indicate knuckle separation. This was consistent with her having been punched. There was another, separate bruise on her right shoulder, which could have been caused by a thumb being heavily pressed in her at this point.’

  ‘Violently punched?’ pressed Reid.

  ‘It would have to have been a heavy blow, to have resulted in the bruising I am describing. And to have knocked her to the floor.’

  ‘And the pressure that caused the other mark, on her right shoulder?’

  ‘Substantial.’

  Harding agreed, under intense questioning from Bartle, that he had been in Raleigh, not Long Island, where Alyce claimed to have sustained her injuries and repeatedly agreed that he had no way to substantiate that they could have been inflicted in the way she had described to him.

  ‘So, she could have received the bruises and contusions by the simple act of tripping, falling, from her own clumsiness, not by being attacked?’ demanded the lawyer.

  ‘The bruising and contusions to her upper right thigh and side, yes,’ agreed Harding. ‘But most definitely not the bruising to her upper left shoulder and breast that was clearly imprinted with the method of its cause, a heavy punch. And it’s not possible to punch yourself to leave that severity of imprint. She was hit – hit hard – by somebody else.’

  The practice was for Jordan to wait in the corridor outside the court to be collected by his lawyer and Reid to go on to their after-hearing conference and assessment but that night Beckwith emerged alone to announce there wasn’t going to be one.

  ‘Why not?’ demanded Jordan.

  ‘Wolfson wants a meeting with Bob.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Bargaining’s my guess,’ said Beckwith. ‘That’s the usual reason for opposing lawyers to get together during a hearing.’

  ‘To whose benefit?’

  ‘It’s got to be Alyce’s. It’s Wolfson who’s come to Bob.’

  ‘You think the case is collapsing?’

  ‘Something’s shaking, at least.’

  ‘Did you notice Alyce was wearing her wedding and engagement rings?’

  ‘And kept them visible all the time,’ expanded Beckwith. ‘Oldest trick in the world in a divorce hearing. A constant reminder to the jury of what they’re there for and the punishment the wronged wife has suffered. And don’t tell me it’s cynical. I know it is. But if I’d been representing Alyce that’s exactly what I would have told her to do. Don’t forget …’

  ‘… The theatre,’ accepted Jordan. ‘Why the different, sometimes angled, symbols today?’

  ‘Yesterday Bob was brilliant. I wasn’t completely sure of the questioning tactics today, although unless there’s any reexamination I think Bob got away with it.’

  ‘Got away with what?’

  ‘Didn’t it strike you as curious how well Alyce stood up to everything, only showing the slightest weakness, a few tears, at the very end?’

  ‘Harding had given her something. She said so from the stand.’

  ‘She didn’t seem much under the influence of anything to me,’ said Beckwith.

  ‘She did her best in front of the jury for you.’

  ‘You think from the way it’s going it could all be over quicker than you imagined?’

  ‘Very little has come out the way I imagined, apart from our part. And that’s come out better than I imagined.’

  Which was what Jordan thought until he turned on his computer.

  Thirty

  There were two more challenges, both from Manhattan brokers this time, both highlighting shortfalls, one on a $200,000 copper disposal, the other on an aluminium trade that should have resulted in a $130,000 profit. The combined deficit for which Jordan was responsible – both one of his early hits – was $3,400. As with the Chicago query, the approaches from both brokers imagined a miscalculation and the Appleton dealers’ replies promised immediate enquiries.

  It was the internal email correspondence upon which Jordan concentrated.

  In sequence they began between the two metal dealers but within the space of three messages grew to include John Popple, the dealer to whom the Chicago complaint had been made. Popple’s pick-up to his two colleagues was that the initial back office investigation had failed to discover the disparity in his sale, to which the copper broker, George Sutcliffe, replied suggesting the three of them immediately report the situation to their financial control division. The third man, Colin Nutbeam, warned against an overreaction before making their own essential enquiries. ‘We’ll look fools if there’s a simple explanation like a misplaced digit or a dropped decimal point, with no cause for panic.’

  Popple countered that he was going to bring it before
his section leader. ‘I’ve been trying to track it down for days and can’t. It’s time I made it official.’ Both the other traders asked Popple not to mention their problems until they’d had the chance to make their own checks. Popple wished them luck.

  Still no cause for him to panic, Jordan judged. There was no way, short of a professional electronic sweep, of discovering his illegal presence within the Appleton and Drake computers. And when that eventually happened, weeks away from now, the embezzler’s name uncovered would be that of Alfred Appleton, not Harvey Jordan. But before that there would have to be a full scale and individual trader audit to establish the embezzlement in the first place and after that a criminal investigation mounted to trace its source to Appleton.

  It was still moving faster than Jordan had expected. But then, although he knew his way through the labyrinth of computer hacking, he hadn’t actually worked such a complicated scam as this before. So he didn’t precisely know what to expect. Except, of course, to win. Which he would because he always did.

  Jordan phished Appleton and Drake’s trades with the delicacy of an angler dancing a fly on a trout stream, taking his time, undecided between gold or silver, eventually choosing to split between the two. He raided three gold holdings and two silver, switching a total of $18,500 in bank transfers. The tranche brought him close to his self-imposed banked limit, making essential withdrawals from all the accounts into the unrecorded safe deposits. In which, including the $18,500, his profit currently stood at $195,000.

  He hadn’t confirmed the possibility of their meeting that night but decided there was a need, suggesting by telephone to Beckwith that they go again to the out-of-town restaurant to get away from the incarceration of the hotel. Both stopped, momentarily startled, at the sight, already at a table although not yet eating, of Appleton and Bartle. Both, briefly, seemed equally surprised.

  It was the bejeaned Beckwith who recovered first. He gave a stilted half wave, to which Bartle awkwardly responded, told the bell captain they needed their reserved table to be at the opposite side of the room and as they walked towards it said to Jordan, ‘It’s a free country and there ain’t any law against it.’

  They ordered martinis in preference to the heavier Jack Daniels and a recovered Jordan said, ‘You know what baffles me? How someone as –’ he had to pause, for the word – ‘as delicate as Alyce could have shared the same bed with someone like him. I’ve never actually seen one, but with that funny hump of his he reminds me of that bison on your belt buckle.’

  ‘You’ve got the inside track to make that sort of comparison, which I guess makes you biased,’ said the lawyer and smiled. ‘But he sure as hell doesn’t give Tom Cruise any competition, does he? It make you uncomfortable, being in the same room?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Jordan, meaning it. At that moment, he reflected, he knew more of the inside workings of Appleton’s business than Appleton himself.

  ‘Miserable looking son of a bitch as well,’ said Beckwith. ‘But then at the current state of play he’s got every reason to be. I’d still like to hear what they’re talking about.’

  ‘What Leanne’s going to say would be a good guess,’ suggested Jordan. Coming to the first reason for his invitation, he went on: ‘You heard from Bob, about what he and Wolfson talked about?’

  Beckwith shook his head. ‘Didn’t expect to. We’re hugger-mugger about everything involving you and Alyce because of the obvious mutual interest. Anything concerning him and Wolfson – and Leanne, I guess – is outside the loop.’

  ‘What bargain has Wolfson got to offer Bob?’

  Beckwith shrugged again. ‘Beats me. The only purpose of bargaining meetings is mutual co-operation and I can’t imagine what there is to co-operate about between Alyce and Leanne.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it also be …’ Jordan has to pause again, for the word. ‘Illegal, un-professional maybe, for them to talk like this?’

  ‘It’s coming pretty close to the fence,’ allowed the lawyer. ‘But it’s not forbidden. And if you can’t stop the express train coming at your client at 100 miles an hour – which Wolfson can’t – it doesn’t hurt to negotiate.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘I just told you,’ said Beckwith, with a flare of impatience. ‘I don’t know! And can’t think of a reason.’ He looked across at the other table. ‘They’re really not very happy to see us.’

  Jordan followed his lawyer’s concentration across to the other table, from which both Bartle and Appleton were looking at them and talking at the same time. Bartle took a cell phone from his pocket, dialled and abruptly slammed the lid shut. Appleton half rose but sat when Bartle held out a restraining hand.

  Jordan said, ‘Looks like an argument. As well as a telephone call that didn’t connect.’

  ‘I’d say so,’ agreed Beckwith.

  Jordan turned away at the arrival of the wine waiter. As the host he tasted and agreed to the Napa Valley burgundy, although he would have preferred a French wine. Coming to the second point he wanted to establish, he said, ‘Let’s talk about something you might be able to speculate on. The way it’s going I don’t think it’ll get anywhere near your estimate.’

  ‘No way,’ agreed Beckwith, at once. ‘We’ve got Leanne tomorrow. Maybe some recalls, although I’m not going to apply for any at the moment. I don’t think Bob has got anyone else, now that his enquiry people have been cut off by Pullinger. I don’t think he needs anyone else.’

  ‘So what’s your new estimate?’

  ‘Middle of next week, tops.’

  Everything was definitely moving faster – coming up to the speed of light – than he’d expected, acknowledged Jordan, ‘I know it will only be a ballpark figure. That’s all I’m asking for. Keeping everything else out of the equation, how much am I into for costs?’

  Beckwith waited for their meal to be served, cut into his inevitable steak but held it on the fork before him, as if examining it. ‘We got a problem here, Harvey?’

  ‘Absolutely not, apart from moving necessary funds across from England,’ assured Jordan. ‘Which is why I’m asking the question. I may need to go back to withdraw some more … make plane reservations, stuff like that.’

  ‘Ballpark?’ heavily qualified Beckwith.

  ‘Ballpark,’ confirmed Jordan.

  ‘Two hundred and fifty thousand,’ estimated Beckwith. ‘And don’t even think of anything extra for an appeal.’

  From his conversations in London with Lesley Corbin, Jordan had imagined it would be much higher. ‘Maybe I won’t need to go back to England.’ Just hit Appleton far harder, after making room in the open-mouthed accounts, he thought.

  With a better view of Bartle’s table from where he was sitting, Beckwith said, ‘And baby makes three!’

  Jordan turned again to see Peter Wolfson approaching Bartle’s table. At something that Bartle said the other lawyer looked across towards them before he sat. Beckwith gave another hand gesture, which Wolfson did not acknowledge.

  Beckwith said, ‘Like the wise man said, shit happens! They go to all the trouble of finding a little, out-of-town hideaway for their council of war and we walk in. No wonder they look so pissed off.’

  ‘You think Wolfson’s come straight from seeing Bob?’

  ‘Hardly need the help of Sherlock Holmes, do we?’ said Beckwith. ‘I can hardly wait for tomorrow.’

  But they had to, longer than they’d expected. After rigidly sticking to his early morning routine, which produced nothing beyond what he’d already read on Appleton and Drake’s computers, Jorden went down for breakfast to be told that by the time Beckwith called him, Reid had already left to collect Alyce from the Bellamy estate.

  ‘Earlier than usual?’ queried Jordan.

  ‘Two hours earlier than usual,’ agreed Beckwith. ‘They obviously had things to talk about.’

  And they were still talking, already at their table, when Jordan and his lawyer arrived at court. There was only the briefest moment, before the judge’s en
try, for any conversation between Alyce’s lawyer and Beckwith, before Peter Wolfson called Leanne Jefferies to the stand. Jordan managed eye contact with Alyce as the other woman was being sworn. Alyce looked back at him blankly. On his pad Jordan wrote, ‘What?’

  Beckwith scribbled back: ‘Leanne’s ours!’

  Led by Wolfson, with Appleton and Bartle both intently forward over their separate table, Leanne confirmed her age to be thirty and described herself as a senior partner in the Wall Street commodity firm of Sears Rutlidge. Not once looking at him, Leanne testified she had known Alfred Appleton by reputation over a period of five years as the senior partner of Appleton and Drake, a rival firm of commodity dealers. Thirteen months earlier she and Appleton had begun a brief relationship, which she estimated to have lasted no longer than two months. At that time she had understood Appleton to be coming to the end of an unopposed divorce. Her relationship with Appleton had ended when she contracted a sexually transmitted disease, which Appleton told her he had, in turn, caught from his wife during a failed reconciliation before their relationship began. She would not have engaged in such a relationship if she had known that divorce proceedings had not, at that time, even been initiated. She had not regarded their affair as a serious commitment on either side and now deeply regretted it.

  ‘How many commodity firms are there in Wall Street?’ demanded Reid, as he rose to cross-examine. As always, when he was on his feet in court, there was no trace of asthma in his voice.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ There was a discernible uncertainty from how she had responded to this questioning.

  ‘Ten? Twenty? Thirty?’ suggested Reid.

  ‘I really am not sure,’ Leanne insisted.

  ‘Would you say it was a comparatively limited community, most dealers knowing other dealers?’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘But you knew Alfred Appleton for what, almost four years, before your affair began?’

  ‘Yes.’ When she wasn’t talking Leanne had her lips drawn in tightly between her teeth.