‘He told you he would fix everything,’ picked up Beckwith. ‘Is Alfred Appleton a dominant man, Ms Jefferies?’
‘Very much so.’
‘Who dislikes opinions contrary to his own?’ finished Beckwith.
‘Who refuses opinions contrary to his own,’ said the woman. She was sitting forward in her chair now, looking directly at Appleton.
‘When was the first time you heard of a person named Sharon Borowski?’
There was a falter from Leanne Jefferies. ‘When I was served with the court papers, ordering me to appear here.’
‘You hadn’t expected them? Been warned to expect them?’
‘Of course not!’ replied Leanne, indignantly.
‘Because you believed the divorce was already resolved: over?’
‘Exactly!’
‘What did you do?’
‘Called Alfred. Asked him what was happening.’
‘What did he say?’
‘That there had been a mix-up: a mistake. That he’d fix it.’
‘That he’d fix it,’ repeated Beckwith, for the second time. ‘How did he say he was going to fix it?’
‘He made me go to his lawyers in Boston who said-’
‘Stop!’ sharply ordered Pullinger, from the bench. ‘Do you intend pursuing this, Mr Beckwith?’
‘In view of the suit that has been brought against my client I believe it is incumbent upon me to pursue it, your honour,’ said Beckwith.
‘Mr Bartle?’ asked the judge.
‘I would respectfully submit that this is far beyond any grounds of admissibility,’ said Appleton’s lawyer.
‘Mr Wolfson?’ repeated Pullinger.
‘With equal respect, your honour, I would make the same submission,’ said Leanne’s lawyer. ‘And would further seek to approach your honour either at the bench or in chambers if your honour feels there is benefit to your court or to yourself from such discussion.’
Pullinger slumped reflectively into his high-backed chair, leaving three of the four attorneys on their feet. Leanne looked around her, confused. Alyce stared directly ahead, unmoving. Appleton’s bison’s head was forward, over his table. There were the sounds of shifting from the jury box.
Pullinger came slowly forward, further than he normally sat, immediately bringing to Jordan’s mind the imagery of a watchful predatory vulture. ‘To permit the continuation of this examination, while permissible within the bounds of law, would seriously invite the possibility of my having to dismiss this jury and declare a mistrial upon the grounds of undue and prejudicial bias. To deny its continuation provides Mr Beckwith with the opportunity to seek an appeal on behalf of his client, as indeed it does Mr Bartle and Mr Wolfson on behalf of theirs. So be it. This has been the most contentious and most unsatisfactory hearing I believe I have ever been called upon to adjudicate. I further believe, however, that at this stage it is still possible for me to direct the jury, subject to consultation with the respective attorneys about further potential witnesses, to a fitting and legally satisfactory conclusion. Which it is my intention to do. It is also my intention to release the jury from their responsibilities for the rest of this day, be available in chambers for individual or combined discussion with counsel about witnesses to whom I have already referred and subject to those representations, address the jury at the opening of the court tomorrow.’
‘We’ve won!’ declared Beckwith.
‘There can’t be any doubt,’ agreed Reid.
They’d gone together to see Pullinger in chambers, to announce neither had any remaining witnesses nor objection to the hearing being closed and waited back at their tables to be recalled by the judge if the separately attending Bartle and Wolfson had raised a question needing a fuller discussion, which seemingly they hadn’t. Reid telephoned his office from the courtroom corridor, before helping Alyce into his car, and the ordered champagne – French, not American – was waiting when the four of them arrived.
Alyce hesitated at the toast and said, ‘You heard what Leanne said, about his always needing to dominate. Which I’d already told you he does. Alfred will appeal. The judge actually invited him to!’
‘Not even a control freak like your soon-to-be ex-husband could risk having paraded in open court, to be reported every day, what’s come out here,’ insisted Reid. ‘And it would come out, if you retained me to appear on your behalf at an appeal. I’d object to any closed hearing and make that clear to whatever attorney he engaged. And it wouldn’t be David Bartle. I don’t think he would take the case even if he were offered it. Which I don’t think he would be able anyway because I think Pullinger is going to report both him and Wolfson to their bar council for professional misconduct. Which in my opinion Wolfson’s move last night definitely was.’
‘I’m still waiting to hear what that was!’ protested Jordan.
‘He offered a deal, an out-of-court damages settlement of $500,000 to Alyce from Leanne if we agreed not to call her. She’d told Wolfson, who’d told Bartle, that she’d be a hostile witness because of the crap Appleton dumped on her.’
‘But I said no,’ added Alyce. ‘I didn’t – don’t – want her money. I want Alfred just once to be shown he’s not God.’
Which she would, although not immediately, thought Jordan. ‘Where was Leanne going to get $500,000?’
‘Appleton, I guess,’ said Reid. ‘Wolfson insisted the money was there, if we agreed.’
‘She wouldn’t have done,’ said Alyce. ‘The bastard would have cheated her, like he cheats everybody.’
‘Are we going to get around to drinking to victory?’ complained Beckwith.
They finally drank, Alyce hesitantly. She said, ‘Thank you. Thank all of you. I can’t believe it’s virtually all over. And it is, isn’t it? Virtually all over? We can behave like normal people again?’
‘All over but for the formalities,’ promised Reid, bringing out the Jack Daniels from his desk drawer in preference to the champagne.
Alyce shook her head against her glass being refilled, as Jordan did, moving with her away from Reid’s desk.
‘What are you doing this afternoon?’ asked Alyce.
‘I haven’t thought about it,’ lied Jordan. He’d already calculated that at only just past one he had more than sufficient time to get to Manhattan to empty the overflowing bank accounts to make room for more transfers and be back in Raleigh long before tomorrow’s court opening.
‘Why not spend it back at the house?’ invited Alyce.
‘I’d like that very much,’ accepted Jordan. The bank accounts could wait, overflowing or not.
Thirty-One
Jordan and Beckwith had alternated between cars to move between the hotel and the court building and that day they had used Jordan’s hired Ford. Beckwith accepted with a frown, although nothing more, at being told he’d need a taxi for his hotel return and within fifteen minutes Jordan and Alyce were driving in the opposite direction to the Bellamy estate. Jordan followed Alyce’s route directions from the civic centre court avoiding any possible media interference, isolating none, but Jordan quickly recognized the surroundings, and as they passed it nodded towards the previous night’s restaurant. ‘That’s where we saw them, after Wolfson made his pitch to Bob.’
‘Bob told me,’ said Alyce. ‘They must have thought you were having them watched, knowing where they were, when you walked in.’
‘They certainly reacted as if they had been caught doing something wrong,’ laughed Jordan. It wasn’t difficult for him to laugh – to be very happy – alone with Alyce driving through the low, undulating North Carolina countryside.
‘I can’t believe they thought I’d go for the offer, legal or otherwise. Bob doesn’t think they ever expected you to fight the case in the first place; that you’d be too frightened of losing and simply stay away.’
‘I still might wish I had stayed, after tomorrow.’