The Namedropper

Eleven

The lawyer skimmed the photographs across the desk and said, ‘Here’s the guy who hates your guts and wants all your money.’

If Appleton ever found out what more was going to happen to him – which he never would – he was going to hate his guts a whole lot more, thought Jordan, picking up the prints. Alfred Jerome Appleton was a fleshy, heavy-featured, prominent-nosed man who combed his receding hair straight back, giving himself a high forehead, just above the left temple of which was a deep red strawberry mark. They were portraits but showed enough of the man’s shoulders to indicate a build to match his features. Jordan was sure, even before meeting him in the flesh, that Appleton would tower over him, although only ever physically.

‘And here’s his reason,’ said Beckwith, following with the photographs of Alyce. They reminded Jordan of the sort of pictures police released of someone after they had been arrested, charged with a crime and pictured for a criminal record file. Alyce was staring expressionlessly at the camera, her hair brushed – although not very well – straight down. Jordan didn’t think she’d bothered with any make-up, either, apart maybe for a lip liner, and she had worn her dark-rimmed spectacles, which she hadn’t when they had been together except when she’d needed to read. Her eyes were partially closed behind them. She was wearing black – Jordan couldn’t decide whether it was a dress or a sweater – without any visible jewellery. He was caught by the impression that, while not as determinedly as he’d tried, Alyce had posed to make herself as different as possible from how she normally looked.

‘That is Alyce, right?’ asked Beckwith, formally.

‘Doing her bag lady act on a bad day,’ confirmed Jordan. ‘Appleton looks years older.’

The lawyer went to the papers before him. ‘Eleven years older, to be precise. Appleton’s forty-one to Alyce’s thirty-one: there’s a couple of months between the birthdays that makes it eleven months at the moment.’

‘You got all the papers now?’ demanded Jordan.

‘The first of the formal exchanges, yes.’ It was a tossed aside blazer in a heap today, the shirt less strident than before, although the bison belt was the same. ‘Alyce’s lawyer is a guy named Bob Reid: don’t remember him from when I practised down there.’

‘How’s it look, as far as I am concerned?’

‘On first reading I think there’s enough for me to apply for a pre-hearing dismissal of some if not all of the damages claims,’ said Beckwith. ‘The dates are in your favour. Alyce is citing two gals by name – a Sharon Borowski and a Leanne Jefferies – and others unnamed, all the adultery before you and Alyce met in France. And she’s claiming the same sort of criminal conversation damages against one of them, Leanne Jefferies.’

‘Why not Sharon Borowski?’ broke in Jordan.

I don’t know at this stage.’

‘Tit for tat,’ declared Jordan, suddenly. ‘I’ve been trying to remember something Alyce said, when we were together. I asked outright about her marriage, used a silly expression like “what’s the status of your marriage?”. She said there wasn’t one, that it was over. I suggested she was playing tit for tat, she said “something like that” and asked if I was offended, at being used by her. I told her I wasn’t.’

Beckwith concentrated on one of the document bundles on his desk, before leaning eagerly forward over it as he had at their first meeting. ‘Her exchange doesn’t say anything like that! But then I wouldn’t expect it to. It’s certainly something I can put to her if we ever get into a full divorce court hearing.’

‘Would it help?’

‘Like hell it would help,’ insisted Beckwith. ‘It fits with what you already told me of her coming on to you… the woman scorned syndrome.’

‘What does she say, about her and me? About what happened in France?’

‘She doesn’t contradict your account at all, that it was a holiday thing with some revenge on her part. That her marriage was over and that what happened between you was a no-strings situation, certainly – most importantly – that nothing was prearranged. The covering letter from her attorney wants a meeting, ASAP.’

‘What for?’

‘Undefined,’ said Beckwith with a shrug. ‘I’m guessing a co-operating defence.’

‘I’d like to think that, too,’ said Jordan, meaning it. ‘My more immediate thought, though, is that it doesn’t look as if this is a conspiracy between her and her husband.’

‘Mine too,’ agreed Beckwith. ‘But let’s not get to feel too comfortable too soon.’

I also don’t think Appleton’s case makes sense. If there’s chapter and verse in Alyce’s divorce application, with proof of Appleton screwing two named women as well as various others before Alyce and I even met, where the hell’s his case against me? It’s ridiculous.’

I told you already that I know David Bartle and his firm, by reputation. And that they play hardball. At the moment I don’t think it makes any more sense than you. But Bartle wouldn’t be going this route if the judge might repeat your word – ridiculous – when he comes to make his judgement on the claims.’

‘Lesley told me in London the point of exchanging intended evidence is to prevent surprises in court?’ questioned Jordan.

‘It is,’ agreed Beckwith. ‘They’re making me work from the first gun.’

‘So you think they might be holding something back?’

‘They’ll be doing so at their peril. Dramatic, last presentation of evidence is OK for movie or television. You try it in reality and you’re likely to get it struck from the record. Which loses – defeats, in fact – the whole nonsense of trying it in the first place.’

‘You going to meet Alyce’s lawyer…?’ He stopped, not able to remember the name.

‘Reid, Bob Reid,’ supplied the other lawyer. ‘Talk, certainly. Hear what he wants to discuss. That’s where the indication might come from, of Appleton’s game.’

‘I want to know everything there is to know about Alfred Appleton himself,’ announced Jordan.

Beckwith shuffled through his papers. ‘Got the profile here,’ he said, not looking up. ‘We’ll flesh it out further through our own people, of course: try to find the things he doesn’t want us to know. Here’s what there is so far. He’s a graduate from the Harvard Business School, actually born in Boston. Old family, old money. Father was a banker. Set up his own commodity business shortly after his marriage to Alyce when they settled in Manhattan, according to what his side have supplied. Predominantly trades in metals although there’s a spread – cereals, pork belly on the Chicago market, some currency – through others in the firm. Company turnover of $75,000,000 in the last pre-tax year…’ The lawyer looked up at the same time as making a note to himself on a yellow legal pad. ‘I’ll need to get in much more detail Appleton’s personal trading history in view of the itemised claims he’s filed.’ Beckwith made another note. ‘Full medical history, as well, for the mental and physical suffering he’s alleging you caused.’ Beckwith returned to the file supplied by Appleton’s lawyer. ‘Married Alyce Bellamy – that’s another old family, old money North Carolina name – ten years ago. No children. A yachtsman, sails out of East Hampton. Manhattan address on West 94th.’ He smiled and looked back up. ‘That’s about it.’

That didn’t amount to even half of it, judged Jordan. But Beckwith had been encapsulating. ‘You think I could have my own copy of Appleton’s personal details? Alyce’s too?’

Beckwith frowned, although lightly. ‘You going to do the research or am I?’

‘I want to know everything – and more – about a man you say hates my guts. And who you describe as the reason for that hatred. I read it all, I might come up with something else, something that fits, like I did today remembering her tit for tat response.’

‘I was trying to lighten things up a tad,’ said Beckwith. ‘Of course you get your own copies. I want you to have your own copies. There are reasons.’

Now it was Jordan who frowned, not understanding. ‘What reasons?’

‘Read everything for yourself first. Take your time.’

‘What about my being there at the meeting with Alyce’s lawyer?’

Beckwith shook his head, his uncertainty genuine now. ‘I’m not sure about that: if I want it or if Bob Reid would want it. Let me speak to him first, see what he’s got in mind. Might be something I hadn’t thought of.’

‘I hope not!’ said Jordan, too quickly, although at the same time admiring the unexpected humility.

‘So do I,’ replied the lawyer with a grin, ‘but you’re still doing it, speaking before you properly think.’

Jordan ignored the rebuke. Instead, mocking, he said, ‘I also think – after full and proper consideration – I should stay on until you see Alyce’s guy, don’t you?’

‘A day or two maybe,’ allowed Beckwith.

‘Can I have my copies: something to read through while I’m waiting? And the advance I asked for?’

Suzie’s outfit today was an aquamarine tube dress with the same effect as the previous tight sweater and skirt. She said, ‘Hi!’ as before, after collecting what needed to be duplicated, but this time there wasn’t any flirtatious repartee.

Beckwith said, ‘You got over the flight now?’

‘Totally,’ assured Jordan. ‘Spent the last couple of days in Atlantic City.’ He had considered Las Vegas, which he knew well, against Atlantic City, which he didn’t, but decided upon somewhere to which he could conveniently commute from Manhattan.

‘How’d you make out?’

‘Dropped a little. Nothing disastrous but it’s why I’d like a cash infusion. Need to get the feel of the place.’ Jordan preferred European to American casinos, believing that the electronic surveillance of the individual tables in the American ones – in addition to the alertness of the croupier, dealer and pit boss – was far more likely to catch his minimal stake technique. His two long nights on the Atlantic coast had cost him close to $2,000, which he philosophically accepted was about right for the all important pieces of paper.

‘Losing’s an occupational hazard, I guess?’ suggested the lawyer.

‘It happens,’ agreed Jordan, reluctantly. But was soon to stop, he thought, as Suzie re-entered the room.

Jordan objectively acknowledged that there’d already been false starts and dents to his confidence, but for the first time he decided that with the statements of Alfred and Alyce Appleton tightly in his possession this really was the beginning of him regaining his lost control; of actually setting his own agenda, not conforming to that of others. Just as objectively he recognized that he would have to be more careful than he’d ever been in, or with, anything he’d ever tried to plan before.

If Alfred Appleton’s lawyers got the faintest hint of what he had in mind – Reid or Beckwith as well, Jordan supposed – the sky would come crashing down upon him. But he’d lived as an identity thief without once being caught out for the last fifteen years by his own hidden and extremely profitable agendas. And could – most definitely would – do it again now, just as successfully undetected as he’d always been. Being ensnared as he had in France didn’t come into any equation or conflict: everything about France was totally different. Just as this new agenda would be completely different.

Jordan accepted that he had far more to do – and very differently – than was usual in one of his identity frauds. But then he was starting with a lot more, he consoled himself, gazing down at the copied divorce application statements of Alfred and Alyce Appleton set out on the bureau of his locked Carlyle suite, the Do Not Disturb sign displayed on the outside of his door, the hotel telephone exchange under orders not to put through any calls, no matter how persistent or convincingly argumentative the caller.

Opening the thicker of the two files before him Jordan decided that Daniel Beckwith had most definitely encapsulated the information, although not in any obstructive way; the personal material in the Alfred Jerome Appleton dossier would not have appeared relevant to the lawyer. To Jordan it was an Aladdin’s cave of treasure that would normally have taken him weeks to compile. And still would not have been as comprehensive. There was Alfred Jerome Appleton’s copied birth certificate from which Jordan learned that the maiden name of the man’s mother had been Channing. There were the reproduced, personally identifying pages from the man’s passport, still with three years to go before renewal. The actual apartment number – 593 – at West 94th Street was accompanied by the unlisted, personal telephone number. The East Hampton address was on Atlantic Avenue. The man’s Internet address was also given. The most unexpected bonus of all was the man’s New York commodities trading licence. Appleton’s private bank details not only provided the account number but also the man’s Social Security and private health care insurance numbers. Also listed were the clubs and organizations to which Appleton belonged, the most predictable of which was the Commodity Floor Brokers and Traders’ Association. He belonged, predictable again, to two Long Island yacht clubs. And there were photographs, not the posed formal ones that Beckwith had produced in his office, but a selection of amateur pictures: several of Appleton at the helm of a spinaker-bloomed twelve-metre racing yacht, its name obscured; and others of the man receiving awards, twice in sailing clothes at open-air ceremonies, yachts in the background, three at dinner-jacketed banquets. Alyce, smiling in admiration, was close at hand in three of them. In each the bull-shouldered, thick-bodied man dwarfed her, as Jordan had already decided Appleton would physically dominate him.

Jordan eased back in his chair for what was to become the first of several reflections, intentionally allowing the pages – and his initial savouring of them – to mist before his eyes. So much detail, he mused. With more to follow, once he read on, because there would doubtless be spelled out, perhaps literally, the allegedly damaged marriage, social, health and financial loss to support the individual claims. All to establish the severity of each and every loss. He wasn’t scared, Jordan recognized, pleased with the awareness. Apprehensive perhaps, because there was still so much more that he had to learn and there was still the hovering risk of public exposure which had to be prevented. But not as scared as he had been, those few short days ago. Nor when he realized he had been robbed of everything. Now he was thinking for himself, letting the ideas germinate in his mind, sufficiently independent of others, necessary though legal representation was.

Appleton’s personal statement was preceded by a legally phrased caveat that it was preliminary and therefore subject to revision or amendment. There was an immediate reference annotation to the formal beginning, which recorded the marriage having taken place on April 12th, 1996, at the Sacred Heart cathedral at Raleigh, North Carolina. Jordan at once turned to it, to find a copy of a full, two-page cutting from the Raleigh News and Observer describing the marriage as the bringing together of two historically established families: there was a Jeremiah Bellamy among the early settlers colonizing the east coast and a Jeremiah Appleton was one of the Boston rebels against the taxation demands of Georgian England. The wedding photographs showed a little changed Alyce but a much slimmer Appleton.

Appleton’s statement recorded their setting up home on West 94th Street after a honeymoon in Hawaii. He described his marriage to Alyce as happy for the first four years, with both he and Alyce dismayed by a series of miscarriages. That dismay increased with Alyce’s failure to become pregnant despite a year’s IVF treatment. Neither considered adoption an acceptable alternative option. The marriage came under increasing strain because of the amount of time and commitment Appleton had to devote to his business in the early years of its establishment. There were frequent, sometimes violent disagreements between them. Appleton did not consider Alyce sufficiently supportive. She preferred East Hampton, where there was an inherited Appleton family house, and a pattern developed for Alyce to spend the majority of her time there, with his living most of the week alone in Manhattan, returning to Long Island at weekends.

In 1999, for the first time, they discussed divorce, which he neither wanted nor sought. In an effort to avoid it, Appleton, for varying periods of time, commuted daily by seaplane service from Sag Harbour to the 23rd St facility on Manhattan’s East river, despite the strain involved – he was a nervous, reluctant flyer – and it meant his not being able to devote as much time as he considered necessary to his business. Here there was another indexed reference, in which, when he turned to it, Jordan found a selection of financial statements starred to illustrate trading losses. Jordan made a quick mental calculation and estimated the across-the-board deficit from the submitted statements totalled close to two million. Appleton claimed that to stem those losses and get his personal trading back to the profit level he’d achieved when he worked the necessary weekly hours in Manhattan, he would have to reduce his Long Island commuting to three days a week.

In January, 2005, Appleton claimed Appleton and Drake had suffered its largest three-monthly trading loss of $950,000. He and Alyce mutually agreed in that month to a trial separation, Appleton living in the Manhattan apartment, Alyce remaining in East Hampton. During that period of separation he became involved in two brief affairs, one of three weeks with Sharon Borowski and one of a month with Leanne Jefferies. He terminated both and sought a reconciliation with Alyce, to which she agreed. There was a short conjugal reunion of less than two months, Appleton once again commuting by seaplane. In September Alyce insisted on their sleeping separately and he began to suspect she was having an affair. She denied it when he confronted her. She initiated divorce proceedings, citing the two women with whom he insisted he had ceased any contact with before returning to live as much as possible in East Hampton. It was during that reunion that he’d admitted the affairs to her “to wipe the slate clean”. He asked her to consult a marriage guidance counsellor with him, to which she agreed but refused to continue after three joint sessions. When she announced her intention of spending the summer in Europe, he became even more convinced that Alyce was involved with another man and engaged the private detective agency that discovered her relationship with Harvey William Jordan. The index reference here contained what was described as sample proof of a premeditated liaison, further evidence of which would be produced at the divorce hearing. From the samples Jordan recognized three photographs, one of them aboard the catamaran, the second of their lunching together on the sea-fronting terrace at the Residence de la Pinade and the third at the Cagnes hotel. There were copies of Mr and Mrs Jordan’s room registrations from the St Tropez and Cagnes hotels.

Appleton claimed to have become depressed from the moment of Alyce’s refusal to share the same bedroom. The combination of psychiatric consultations, loss of confidence, mental distraction, prescribed tranquillisers and medication to treat the mental and physical effects of his wife’s behaviour had made it virtually impossible for him to run or control his business for the past several months: there had been long periods when he had been unable to work at all. He was still undergoing psychiatric and medical treatment. There was no prognosis to indicate how long it would be necessary for him to continue either. Because the costs were therefore ongoing, invoices up to the date of the hearing would be presented at the time of that hearing, together with an estimate of likely expenditure in the future.

While openly admitting his now deeply regretted adultery, Appleton insisted he had done everything in his power to sustain and preserve his marriage to Alyce. His wife had never been subjected to physical violence. She had enjoyed a personal allowance of $10,000 a month – unaffected by the financial upheavals of his business, for which he considered her a contributory cause – with Appleton paying all the household bills and expenditures. He provided Alyce with a new, personal Mercedes every two years. He also contributed towards the upkeep and staff costs of the Bellamy family mansion at Raleigh, North Carolina, in which Alyce’s widowed mother still lived.

Appleton further insisted he was devastated by the collapse of his marriage and even as late as her return from France had been prepared to re-engage in a marriage guidance programme and attempt a further reconciliation. Alyce had refused to discuss either with him, having formally instigated the proceedings from France, where she had been adulterously involved with Harvey Jordan. From whom, the statement concluded, Appleton sought exemplary and punitive recompense for each and every claimed damage.

Jordan stretched back from the bureau for the second time, surprised that it had grown dark outside without his noticing, trying as objectively as possible to decide where he fitted into the mosaic. And very quickly concluding that he wasn’t part of it at all. He wasn’t denying the adultery in France but there was no proof or evidence – because none existed – of there having been a premeditated assignation. Which made it impossible for him to be held responsible in any way whatsoever for the collapse of an already collapsed marriage. And if that accusation didn’t stand – which it couldn’t – he was sure he was not responsible for any damage, commercial, mental or physical, for which Appleton was demanding financial compensation.

He still had Alyce’s initial submission to read, Jordan remembered.

Her personal documentation matched that of Appleton and included two addresses, the North Carolina colonial mansion on Raleigh’s King George Street and a Manhattan apartment at 341 West 84th Street. Jordan’s immediate impression was that Alyce’s account of her marriage was going to be remarkably similar to that of her husband, until he reached the second page of her statement. In it were named a long list of trusts and charitable organizations – and a hospital and clinic in Raleigh – all financed and run by a Bellamy Foundation, of which, until a year after her marriage, Alyce had been executive director. Alyce’s marriage activated a two-million-dollar family trust in her favour. When Appleton announced his intention of setting up his own commodity trading business she loaned him $500,000 on the clear understanding that it was a loan, although no formal papers were legally drawn up or sworn. Over the following five years she loaned the company a further $500,000, again with no formal papers being signed to establish it as such or of her being named as a director. She received no repayments or dividends reflecting the total loan of one million dollars, but upon Appleton’s insistence that it minimized any tax liability she accepted Mercedes cars in lieu. Under this word-of-mouth arrangement she was given a total of four cars during the period of their marriage.

Alyce used the same word as Appleton – dismay – to describe her failure to become pregnant but attested that before entering the year long IVF treatment she underwent gynaecological examination to establish if she were capable of becoming pregnant and bearing a child. The results were positive; there were no problems. Appleton refused similar medical examination, which caused arguments between them. After the unsuccessful IVF treatment Alyce suggested adoption but Appleton was adamantly opposed, which resulted in further arguments.

Almost from the establishment of his commodity trading business Appleton insisted it was necessary for him to work late into the evening; frequently – as often as twice a week -she would be in bed before he returned. Despite the apparent dedication to work and some indications of success – there was an indexed reproduction from the Wall Street Journal describing Appleton and Drake as emerging stars in metal market dealings – Appleton repeatedly told her he was personally suffering substantial losses in his own tradings, although he never showed her books or financial statements. Because of the amount of time she remained alone in the Manhattan apartment Alyce developed a preference for East Hampton. There she worked actively for local cystic fibrosis and breast cancer charities – having by then resigned her position on the Bellamy Foundation – and enjoyed sailing, a mutual interest through which she and Appleton met.

Alyce asserted that it was she who suggested they divorce, so little time did they spend together. During that discussion she made it clear she wanted the return of her one million dollars. Appleton argued against divorce but suggested a trial separation of six months, to which she agreed. Towards the end of that six months Appleton further suggested that he return to live in East Hampton and commute during the week. She agreed but regarded it as a continuation of a trial, particularly after his confession of affairs with Sharon Borowski and Leanne Jefferies. Appleton was adamant that both had been totally unimportant and that he was making the confession to restore their marriage. His confession supported her belief that there had been many other sexual liaisons. There was renewed discussion about their having children and they resumed conjugal relations. He once more refused any fertility tests but Alyce decided to undergo a second series of fertility examinations, prior to taking gynaecological advice about further IVF.

The bombshell came when Jordan turned to page five of Alyce’s account. On the second of her resumed examinations Alyce received the results of tests taken at the first. There was incontestable evidence that she was suffering from chlamydia, a venereal infection that can render a woman sufferer infertile or result in severe eye conditions in any child she bears. Alyce declared that she had been a virgin at the time of her marriage to Alfred Appleton and had been involved with no other sexual partner during her marriage, not even during their period of separation. It was the discovery of her venereal infection that brought about her refusal to sleep with Appleton and the reason for her beginning the divorce proceedings which she finally instituted on her vacation in France, which she described as ‘getting away from the awfulness of the deceit with which I have lived for so long’.

During that vacation she had an affair with an Englishman, Harvey Jordan. It was a casual, entirely consensual relationship that was not premeditated and ended upon her return to the United States with neither of them intending any future contact or association. She deeply regretted the affair, to which she had succumbed from loneliness and self-satisfying spite at the total betrayal of which she believed herself the victim.

Jordan’s sank back into his seat as the fury churned through him, his mind dominated by only one question. How good a venerealogist was the money-grabbing Dr James Preston?