The Namedropper (24 page)

Harvey Jordan was a necessarily methodical, analytical man and decided to begin his search in reverse, setting out in sections upon his bed all that he'd memorized from what had been haphazardly strewn over Reid's desk, and continued moving backwards through all the court papers with which he had been formally supplied, right back to the original stultifying, stomach-wrenching opening letter from David Bartle at Brinkmeyer, Hartley and Bernstein informing him of his being cited as co- respondent in a financial damages-seeking divorce action. There was far more material than he'd anticipated and, aware that repeated reading of already familiar material could result in self-hypnotic oversights, Jordan further sub-divided his already separated divisions. He then settled unhurriedly to read. He did so, totally concentrated and without pause for an hour, at the end of which he'd failed to isolate any incongruity or anomaly.

Irritated, because he was sure the key to what he wanted had to be somewhere in there, Jordan started all over again, creating further sub-divisions until virtually all of the bed space was occupied. And still he found nothing, this time after searching for another full two hours.

Jordan allowed himself a contemplative break, moving from the uncleared bed to his laptop, scrolling through every downloaded exchange from every invaded computer. He was well into the initial correspondence between Daniel Beckwith in Manhattan and Lesley Corbin in London, insisting upon the first venereal examinations by the avaricious Dr James Preston when the long-sought answer began to formulate in Jordan's mind. He forced his cramped body up from his chair to walk stiffly to the bed display, still not able to be completely sure because all he'd been able to memorize that afternoon were the names and addresses of the Boston examiners, not their specific findings or conclusions.

But they were very definitely set out in the results of his own, second examination in New York by George Abrahams. This convinced Jordan that he was taking the right path. Just as he remembered now – and didn't have the slightest doubt whatsoever – that despite their detailed discussion about the medical findings, there had been no reference to anything Reid had done – or rather hadn't done – to get any medical or autopsy result analysis on Sharon Borowski to ascertain if she might have been a chlamydia sufferer.

Jordan only realized the time had gone midnight when he saw it on his own watch as he reached out for the telephone, halting the move to pick it up to ring Beckwith on the floor above. The fact that the following day – or this day, to be precise – was Sunday didn't preclude his hacking into the computers of the two Boston venerealogists to counteract the still hovering uncertainty. His challenge would be far more effective – unchallengable in return – if he could prove what he could only so far suspect.

Jordan guessed the following day was going to be even more fractious than the one that had just passed. And didn't give a fuck. Reid probably would, though. And Beckwith. He'd funded his five New York banks from the accounts of Appleton and Drake that morning and didn't expect there to be anything he hadn't already read to have been added over the weekend, so he decided the long postponed revisit could wait until the following day.

Nineteen

H
e was glad he did, because what Harvey Jordan found when he logged on soon after 6 a.m. on the Sunday morning he regarded as another auspcious beginning to the day. In the correspondence attached to his five accounts he found three separate loan offers, the largest – from the Bank of America – up to a maximum of $10,000. In total, the loan offers, each of which he intended accepting, came to $24,000, which, added to what he'd accumulated from his daily withdrawals from Appleton and Drake's account, came just short of $72,000. Keeping that day's transfers to each of the five below $4,000 – and sub-dividing those to avoid them appearing even as large as that – Jordan increased the pot to $83,000, realizing that he had to return as soon as possible to New York to withdraw cash for his safe deposits again to avoid him exceeding the money-reporting limit. By the time he did, he expected loan offers from the two outstanding banks.

By 7.30 a.m. Jordan had obtained the computer addresses of the two Boston clinics. The specialist who had attested that Alfred Appleton was free of any venereal infection was Mark Chapman, whose clinic was on Boylston Street. Leanne Jefferies' consultant, Jane Lewell, practised on Haymarket Square, on the opposite side of the common. Both had personally dedicated laptops. Jordan set out to embed his Trojan Horses again through his undetected Australian cut-out, ensuring any recorded trace of his entry would be wiped out by leaving an erasing virus activated the moment the main frames of both clinics were booted up on the Monday morning. It took Jordan almost three full hours to hack past the protective firewalls – a second immediately confronted him after he picked his way through the first – into Chapman's personal and dedicated desk top. Jordan presumed the double barrier was to ensure patient confidentiality, which he was determined it wouldn't, but it still surprised – and mildly irritated – him that it was more difficult to get into the doctors' records than it had been to penetrate the other systems.

Jordan's patience was rewarded just after ten with the opening up on his screen of the detailed procedures and examinations Appleton had undergone for the preparation of Chapman's report. It coincided to the minute by the jarring ring of Jordan's phone. Jordan hesitated, momentarily tempted to ignore it, before picking it up.

‘I had dinner with Bob last night,' announced Beckwith.

‘And?' prompted Jordan.

‘I wish it had been more productive,' Beckwith allowed.

‘I think he's ineffective and inefficient,' judged Jordan.

‘I told you the medical stuff knocked his case from under him.'

‘What's he doing about it?'

‘Seeing Alyce …' The lawyer paused ‘Just about now, in fact.'

‘Not with you?'

‘She's his client, not mine. We're co-operating, that's all.'

‘You must be thrilled with all the stuff you're getting from him,' mocked Jordan.

‘We might be meeting later, brunch maybe, depending on what he gets from her.'

‘“We” meaning you and I or “we” meaning you and Reid?'

‘Bob and me. He's still pretty sore about the way you spoke to him.'

‘I would have thought he'd be used to being spoken to like that by now,' dismissed Jordan. ‘I might need to speak to you later.'

‘What about?'

‘I'm still sorting through stuff,' avoided Jordan. ‘Did you actually see – read – those medical reports on Appleton and the woman?'

‘Yes. Why?

‘I'm curious about something.'

‘You off playing amateur lawyer again?' demanded Beckwith, although without any irritation.

‘Just curious,' repeated Jordan. Hurrying on to avoid any further questioning he said, ‘And I'm changing rooms. This one is too small. I'll leave a message with the new number when I get it, if you're not around.'

‘And I'll call you, when I get back from seeing Bob.
If
I see Bob. If I don't maybe we could lunch?'

‘Let's keep in touch,' agreed Jordan. Now he was actually in to Appleton's records he could well be through by lunchtime.

Jordan used his own written report from George Abrahams as a rough template to check against the findings from Appleton's consultation, his disappointment growing as the two appeared – according to his layman's understanding – to match, with the exception of their haematology groupings, Jordan's being O, Appleton's A. Patiently Jordan went through Chapman's examination a second time, alert for anything he might have missed on his first reading, and again finished with the same understanding. It did not take Jordan as long to break into Dr Lewell's computer at her Haymarket Square clinic. At first reading her examination of Leanne Jefferies appeared the same as Appleton's, with the exception of her blood group being AB. Jordan went through it a second time, once more using Abraham's report for a comparison and once more achieved what appeared to be a match. As an afterthought he went through both comparing them to what Dr Preston had supplied in England, with the same result.

There
was
a disparity. Jordan was sure of it: sure that he just wasn't seeing it. But what? He'd only been able to get the briefest look at both reports on Reid's desk, too fleeting – and too distant – to absorb beyond the more prominently printed names and addresses of the two venerealogists. But with Abrahams' document spread out directly in front of him Jordan's impression was that his own report was actually longer than those of either Dr Chapman or Dr Lewell.

There was an obvious reason for the apparent differences, Jordan realized. His own completed and signed findings weren't comparable precisely
because
those for Appleton and Jefferies weren't completed and signed: what he'd read on his phishing visit into the computers of Appleton and Leanne's doctors were still in note form, not assembled into dictated documents. He'd wasted his time, Jordan acknowledged. All three sets of information seemed factually comparable but he needed the presentations of the opposing venerealogists to decide the diagnoses reached from them, not just the results of various tests.

Despite it being well past noon and therefore obvious that Beckwith and Reid had met, Jordan still called his lawyer's room, but got no reply. He was given the choice of three suites and chose the largest, transferring everything and resetting his entry traps. He left a message with the suite number, as well as the fact that he was lunching in the hotel coffee shop, which turned out to be unnecessary because the table he was allocated had a perfect view of the entrance through which a returning Daniel Beckwith would come.

The scrod, with a side salad, was hugely better than his previous night's dinner, which proved the undeniable hotel lore that a hotel restaurant was always better than room service. He still had something far more important to prove and hoped Beckwith wouldn't be too long getting back.

Something else he couldn't understand had just occurred to him.

‘The bitch wouldn't budge,' declared Reid. ‘I had her read both medical reports and explained every which way that it made her denials of any other affairs completely untenable, but she wouldn't change her story by as much as this!' He held up his hand with his forefinger and thumb too close together to show any intervening daylight. The Bloody Mary he had in his other hand was his first, and still only half-drunk, and Beckwith was glad.

‘Did you tell her I'd cross-examine her as hard as I could?'

‘Of course I did.'

‘Didn't that worry her?'

Reid shook his head. ‘She said she didn't care how tough you were. That she was telling the truth and that was that. And that the judge and jury could make up their minds whether to believe her or not.'

‘Which they won't.'

‘Of course they won't! They'll decide she's promiscuous and that Harvey was one of many—'

‘Which I might capitalize on,' broke in Beckwith, as the opportunity opened up to him. ‘If Alyce is a serial adulteress Harvey was just that, one of many who shouldn't be made to pay for all the others.' He sipped his own Bloody Mary, enjoying the drink and the abruptly occurring possibility.

‘It's a dangerous argument,' warned the other lawyer. ‘It'll still cost him.'

‘But not as much as it might fighting every damned claim head on. This way I get to show that Harvey didn't alienate any affection: that a lot of other unknowns did before him. OK, Harvey screwed her but he isn't the marriage wrecker.'

‘If Pullinger finds in your favour that takes Leanne off the financial hook. And gives Appleton the petition, too.'

‘What are you going to do?' asked Beckwith.

‘What little I can, which is very little indeed,' said Reid. ‘Argue mitigation, in view of Appleton's admitted adultery. That's all I've got.'

‘What about Wolfson's submission for Leanne's dismissal?'

‘You're right that I should seek a postponement,' conceded Reid. ‘It'll be too close behind yours and there's no way of anticipating how much blood there's going to be on the carpet when you're through. I'll enter the postponement application tomorrow.'

‘On what grounds?'

‘More time for preparation, in view of the lateness of their medical production.'

‘What if Pullinger demands details?

‘The medical stuff
was
late.'

‘And left you with nothing.'

‘And left me with practically nothing,' agreed Reid. ‘You ever regret becoming a lawyer?'

‘Every time I lose,' said Beckwith. ‘It doesn't last.'

‘This time it will,' said Reid. ‘This was my big one.'

‘It still will be.'

‘But for all the wrong reasons.'

‘You want another drink?' invited Beckwith, his own glass empty.

‘It didn't help yesterday and it won't help today,' refused Reid. ‘I already feel like shit without any outside help.'

‘She's sticking to her story,' Beckwith told Jordan. ‘It loses the case for her but gives us a hell of a good mitigation argument that'll reduce any damages if Pullinger won't dismiss you from the case altogether.'

It was 4 p.m., Jordan saw, glad of the extra time he'd had to prepare his explanation to his lawyer without disclosing his computer hacking. ‘Is Bob still with you?'

There was a momentary silence from the other end of the line. ‘No. Why? Didn't you hear what I just said?'

‘I heard what you just said,' assured Jordan, impatiently. ‘Did you actually
read
the results of Appleton and Leanne's chlamydia consultations? Remember enough for a word for word comparison with what Abrahams supplied about me?'