The Namedropper (35 page)

‘Surely …' started Jordan, his mind on the previous day's after-court discussion. ‘I've forgotten his name …?'

‘Walter,' she provided. ‘Walter Harding.'

‘Is there a guarantee that Walter will be able to be in court every day?' persisted Jordan, not trusting Reid to be as thorough as he should be.

‘Bob says he's going to try to get me excused some of the time.'

Jordan decided against referring to the conversation with the two lawyers. Instead he said, ‘What if Pullinger refuses?'

‘Maybe then I'll have to take something.'

‘Dan seems to want me there most of the time.'

Alyce gave a half smile. That'll be something, having you there.'

‘When are you going back down to Raleigh?'

‘Sunday, I guess. It's not something I particularly want to think about.'

‘We could spend some time together here at the weekend.'

‘Maybe,' Alyce said, doubtfully.

‘Why don't I call? We could drive up into the Catskills.'

‘I don't want to pick up where we left off in France, Harvey. Not …' She stopped. ‘I just don't, OK?'

‘I'll call,' insisted Jordan.

Jordan went several times through virtually every word of their conversation, eagerly analyzing every inference and meaning, sure of his final conclusion. The most important of which was that Alyce hadn't wanted their affair to end in France, which he'd been too stupid then not to realize. But now he did realize it. And decided it wasn't too late for him to recover. She'd clearly reconciled herself to it being over, her only consideration now the impending turmoil of the coming weeks. But that's all it would be, just weeks: days and weeks when he'd be with her, doing everything he could to help and support and protect her. And when it was all over … What about when it was all over? he demanded, halting the fantasy. All it could ever be, a fantasy. How could it be anything else, doing what he did, existing every day of his life as he did?
Darling, there's something I've got to tell you. I'm not a professional gambler, any more than I was an investment financier. I'm a crook. I steal people's identities, rob them – never stripping them clean; just as much as I think they can afford to lose, apart from your ex-husband, who, by the way, is paying for everything it's going to cost me – I've already got close to $140,000 of his money – but we can have a wonderful life together if you can overlook where the money comes from
. Impossible, Jordan told himself. He lied to everyone else but never to himself, which was what he was doing – trying to do – now. It was time he woke up from the daydream: remembered who he was and what he did and accept France for what it had been, a nostalgically recalled but passing, thank-you-and-goodbye affair. Except that he didn't want it to pass, not now. For the first time since Rebecca – unthinkingly, unintentionally – he had developed a feeling, an emotion, he'd never imagined himself capable of again. Still impossible. But not totally dismissable, not quite yet. There were still the next few weeks, a period during which he had no alternative but to stay where he was, with Alyce as much and as closely as possible. Looking after her.

The outstanding loan invitation was waiting for him at West 72nd Street, along with acceptances, with the money already deposited in his account, for each of his four earlier applications. There was still time for Jordan to complete it and personally deliver it before moving along Wall Street to draw upon those already agreed, swopping the amounts between the various safe-deposit boxes to keep the value in each below the legal reporting levels.

Back at the hotel he picked his way meticulously through the trading accounts and internal email stations of Appleton and Drake, the first task always to pick up the slightest indication of suspicion or discovery, before making further transfers to the banks he had so recently visited. Again he travelled further than the already plundered currency trades, moving that late afternoon through the company's metal division, drawing predominantly from already agreed copper and aluminium futures.

Jordan was at his laptop, showered and with room-serviced coffee beside him, before eight the following day, trawling through his illegal computer emplacements roughly in his order of establishing them. He saw that Beckwith had written himself an aide memoir to bring to the attention of the jury, before whom the full divorce would now be heard, what he labelled ‘a determinedly attempted deception over the initially incomplete chlamydia findings'. On the systems of both Boston venerealogists, in email exchanges and in an already partially written defence to the Massachusetts medical licensing authority, Jordan found written confirmation that the inadequate reports had been prepared under pressure from Appleton as well as David Bartle. There was also a series of email's between Appleton and Bartle in which the lawyer complained of having to defend Mark Chapman free of charge before any disciplinary body and of the difficulty he might have getting Chapman back into court for the full divorce hearing. One note contained the phrase: ‘your stupid interference that could get the whole lot of us in serious shit, which puts a lot of strain upon our friendship'. Jordan discovered, and saw them as a potential gold mine, some incomplete but hostile emails between Bartle and Wolfson from which the most obvious conjecture was of a falling out between Appleton and Leanne Jefferies. In one message Wolfson wrote of the chlamydia dispute: ‘seriously endangering the agreement our two clients have reached and led me to question my own professional position, as perhaps you should question yours'. That had caused Bartle to write back that: ‘I think any further consideration of this particular aspect should be very strictly restricted to one-to-one, unrecorded discussions between the two of us.'

It was mid-morning before Jordan returned to the communications between his own lawyer and Reid, which were intriguing but again frustratingly incomplete. Reid wrote of his enquiry agents' investigation being ‘much better late than never' and of it being couriered to Beckwith, who'd replied, obviously after reading whatever had been uncovered, that Reid might encounter difficulty introducing it into the forthcoming hearing on grounds of ‘applicable admissibility unless you can manage it during cross-examination'. Encouraged by the notes between the two lawyers Jordan broke off from accessing his already established sites to get into his newly established Trojan Horses in the computer system of Reid's investigators. He was frustrated once more by what had passed between the two of them. There were apologies for delays and appreciation of Reid's patience but it was obvious that the findings had been provided on hard, paper copy, not transmitted over an Internet link. Knowing that the master copy had to be somewhere on a hard disk, Jordan spent almost two hours – as he had earlier trying to locate the other obviously couriered documents saved on other hard disks – but failed to find it without the necessary in-house, dedicated file name.

Jordan failed, too, to find a possible link when he went back a third time into Reid's system, but did locate further interchanges within the previous hour with his own lawyer about Alyce. The planned morning meeting with Walter Harding had been delayed, reported Reid. The hospital administrator diagnosed Alyce's problem to be psychological stress, compounded by having contracted the venereal infection from the man she was now divorcing; although the condition had been completely cured her gynaecologist had found considerable fallopian tube scarring, which made it unlikely that she would ever be able to carry a child full term. Harding had undertaken to attend the court for the majority of the hearing, certainly during the times that Alyce was on the witness stand, both when she gave evidence or faced cross-examination. Alyce's gynaecologist was prepared to appear to give evidence about the fallopian scarring, and Harding to support any application for her to be excused court attendance. He could also recommend a psychiatrist if the court demanded corroborative evidence about stress, although he knew Alyce to be reluctant to call such an expert witness – ‘because she doesn't want to sound mentally unbalanced, which she isn't' – as she was reluctant to be prescribed tranquillizers throughout the duration of the case. Beckwith had responded recommending that Reid do the best he could to get women on the jury during its selection process and to ‘do everything you can to bring out the fact that because of what Appleton did to her Alyce can't ever have kids'.

Jordan worked through lunch, not finishing his final computer invasion until gone five. A useful phishing trip, he decided, particularly discovering the disarray among the opposition. But there was far too much at the moment that was incomplete and needed expanding. He'd done well, ingratiating himself with both Beckwith and Reid. It was essential he kept it up – made the sort of practical suggestions that his hacking had already produced – to ensure he was always included in the after-court conferences. There should be enough, from what he'd come up with today.

There was no reply when he telephoned Alyce's apartment and he held back from leaving a message that would identify his voice if anyone other than Alyce accessed the machine. There was still no answer when he called again an hour later, nor at eight the following morning. On that call he said, ‘It's me. Call me back,' and waited in his suite until noon. It was just after when his phone rang, his smiled expectation seeping away when Beckwith said, ‘You all set for tomorrow's flight?'

‘All set,' confirmed Jordan.

‘How's your weekend been?'

‘Not as good as I'd hoped it would be.'

Twenty-Six

T
he first day of the full divorce hearing was largely technical, dominated by the painstaking jury selection which, to the judge's quick and obvious irritation, became protracted by Reid's determination to follow Beckwith's advice to pack the eventual adjudicating panel with as many female members as possible. The manoeuvre succeeded in a jury of seven women and five men, achieved largely by Reid's persistence in objecting to anyone who admitted prior, and therefore possible biased, awareness of either the social or historical standing of the Bellamy or Appleton dynasties.

For his part, Pullinger opened his court cleared of that jury and any of its impending participants, to rule to the briefly admitted media that the hearing was to be conducted strictly in camera as allowed by every free speech caveat available to him under the First Amendment of the Constitution of the United States of America, including, as well as written words, any current or past television or newspaper images.

It was during their exclusion that Jordan had the first, although limited, opportunity to talk to Alyce, who'd already been in the court – and scarcely acknowledged him – when he'd arrived that morning. For Pullinger's publicity-banning statement both sides were separated in different ante-rooms. Dr Harding, who had accompanied Alyce for the opening day, was also excluded, but instead of joining them in the anteroom, he hurried off to telephone his hospital. Beckwith and Reid huddled together at the larger of the two available tables, discussing various court documents set out upon it. Alyce went to a window, her back to the room.

‘You OK?' Jordan asked, coming up behind her.

She half turned, smiling wanly. ‘That's not the most intelligent question you've ever asked, is it?'

‘I called over the weekend, like I told you I would,' said Jordan. He thought the lipstick was still too heavy.

‘I know. I was there.'

‘Why didn't you pick up the phone?'

‘We talked everything out in Enrico's.'

‘I'm not sure that we did.'

‘I wanted to talk about the money. That was all. It went on beyond that.'

‘I believe I misunderstood a lot of things in France. I don't think I do now.'

‘Stop! Please stop! What's happening now – going to happen now – is all I can handle.'

‘It's going to end. You're going to win, be rid of him, and we'll be back where we were.'

‘We
weren't
ever anywhere!'

‘I told you I misunderstood. Let's talk about it again when this is all over.'

‘There's nothing to talk about! I got you entrapped and I hate myself for getting you caught up in it and I want you to change your mind and take the money, however much it might be.'

‘Stop talking about the damned money! I'm not interested in that. I'm talking about us.'

‘You two OK over there?' called Beckwith.

‘Just chatting,' Jordan called back, not realizing that he'd raised his voice.

‘I'm not,' said Alyce, lowering hers as well. ‘All I want to think about – get through – is this case. I can't think – won't think – about anything else.'

Jordan saw she was shaking, hands clenched tightly by her sides. ‘Hey! Let's calm down. That's what we'll do, get through this. Then we'll talk some more.'

‘But not now! Nothing more now! Promise me. Just promise to be here, doing what you've been doing,'

The shaking had worsened and Jordan reached out towards her. Alyce hesitated and then came into his arms, although keeping her own at her sides. He said, ‘I promise.'

‘You got a minute, Harvey?' Beckwith called again, from across the room.

When Jordan reached the lawyers, leaving Alyce at the window, Reid said, ‘What was that all about?'

‘She's wound up tighter than a spring,' said Jordan. ‘No reason why I can't talk to her now that the judge has ruled against my dismissal, locking me into the case, is there?'

‘I guess not,' allowed Beckwith. ‘But let's leave the physical support to the doctor, shall we? The huggy stuff wouldn't look good outside this room.'

‘How did your meetings go after the adjournment?' Jordan asked Reid directly, anxious for his inclusion to be automatically accepted.