‘No.’
‘According to what has been indicated here today, it was Peter Wolfson, her attorney, who made the appointment, with its very specific remit, for Leanne Jefferies to be examined by you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Until this occasion, has Peter Wolfson had clients examined by you?’
‘No.’
‘Did you not think it strange that a woman domiciled in Manhattan should be asked to travel all the way to Boston for an examination for which there are…’ Reverting to theatrics, Beckwith consulted papers on the table in front of him. ‘There are to my rough calculation twenty consultants with qualifications matching yours within thirty minutes, even allowing for the worst traffic?’
For the first time the woman lapsed into the previously familiar hesitations. Finally she said, ‘Yes.’
‘Did you ask her?’
‘Your time is rapidly running out, Mr Beckwith,’ warned the judge.
‘Dr Lewell?’ hurried Beckwith.
‘No, I did not ask her.’
‘How friendly, professionally or otherwise, are you with Dr Chapman?’
‘You will answer that question and that will be the end of your examination,’ ordered Pullinger.
‘We are friends, professionally and socially,’ said the woman.
Twenty-Three
The chambers of Judge Hubert Pullinger were as frigidly austere as the man himself, wallpapered practically from floor to ceiling with legal books, each precisely in its regulated, indexed place, scribbled notes in the centre of an otherwise unmarked blotter, pens in a regimented holder beside a telephone console. The chesterfield, with matching chairs, was in red oxhide and unoccupied because Pullinger kept the four lawyers standing before him, his attention totally concentrated upon David Bartle and Peter Wolfson. The only physical indication of Pullinger’s fury was the involuntary tap of an index finger, as if he were keeping occasional time with the sticky tick of the mahogany-cased grandfather clock creating the sole sound in the room, apart from the asthmatic rasp of Reid’s breathing.
The judge still wore his robes and when he finally spoke, eyes now lowered over his prepared notes, the tightly controlled voice was so quiet that at first, until they adjusted, both Bartle and Reid strained forward to hear properly.
‘Throughout the course of this outrageous day I have almost lost count of the offences that you, Mr Bartle, and you, Mr Wolfson, have caused and inflicted upon my court. The most obvious is contempt, the worst to which I believe I have ever been subjected in twenty-five years upon this bench. There is no mitigation or explanation that I will accept from either of you. I have been minded to abandon the full case before it officially opens – which is why I have interrupted the current application before its completion – to report you both to your respective state regulatory and licensing authorities, with the recommendation that you both be subject to official enquiry into your total lack of professionalism. That is still a course open to me and one I might choose to pursue. In deciding to postpone that decision I am mindful of the inconvenience and costs that would be caused your clients, as well as those of Mr Beckwith and Mr Reid. I find no reason why any of them should suffer because of your conduct. When the court resumes, however, I intend advising both doctors who appeared as your expert witnesses that I shall complain to their licensing authorities, dissatisfied as I am with the explanations both have offered. It is I who decide the interpretation and application of the law, not either of you with the sleight of hand of snake-oil salesmen…’
Pullinger paused, clearing his throat after such an uninterrupted diatribe. ‘As both of you would appear to need guidance in law, I will remind you that the course I have chosen today, to address you as I am now doing, is highly unusual and might even be construed as undue and premature bias, although I give you my absolute assurance that this is not nor ever will be the case. It does, however, open the way for both or either of you to object to my continuing to hear any more of this current application or the divorce itself and apply for a new judge. That would, of course, require me to justify this meeting, which I am fully prepared to do. I will continue this recess to enable you both to consider your course of action and discuss it with whomever you choose – and to advise Drs Chapman and Lewell of what I have told you – but warn you that if you decide to continue I will not tolerate any more of the behaviour to which I and my court have been subjected. This meeting is concluded.’
‘Your honour-’ tried Wolfson, immediately to be faced by Pullinger’s halting hand.
‘I have already told you, Mr Wolfson, that I will not accept any mitigation or explanation attempts,’ rejected Pullinger. ‘Leave my chambers and comply with every request I have made of you. Yours are now the decisions to be made.’
Once more neither Alyce, her lawyer nor her accompanying doctor were in the court cafeteria, but it was mid-afternoon, not a recognized break time and Beckwith, without pause, had swept Jordan up on his way from the chambers confrontation, ahead of everyone else who endured it.
With difficulty Jordan held himself back until they’d collected their unwanted coffee and chosen a table beyond the hearing of any surrounding table. And then he demanded, ‘Is it all over: am I out of it?’
‘That wasn’t why we were summoned to chambers,’ calmed Beckwith. ‘I haven’t even made my dismissal submission yet; you know I haven’t.’
‘Then what was it for?’
Jordan sat without movement or question throughout his lawyer’s recounting of the in-chambers meeting. At its end Jordan declared, ‘We’re there, surely!’
‘We’re nowhere,’ dashed the lawyer. ‘If they go for a new judge, we’ve lost everything we thought we’d achieved. No new judge could be told how we’d exposed the shit they tried to dump on us!’
‘You can’t be serious!’
‘Pullinger’s hog-tied them, whichever way they try to run. Which I guess he had to do, being the judge he is. Better than any other judge would have worked out how to do it, in the circumstances.’
‘What would you do, in their position?’
‘Suicide is the first thing that comes to mind.’
‘I’m being serious, for fuck’s sake!’
‘I was, to an extent. Seriously I think I’d go for a rehearing.’
‘What sort of delay would that involve?’
‘Fuck knows! Months, I guess. Appleton and Leanne would have to start over again, from scratch. I don’t know of any case – any set of circumstances – like this on record.’
‘So it would attract more attention than it already has?’ queried Jordan, posing the most prominent of his several concerns.
‘Inevitably.’
A lot of his carefully stabled Trojan Horses would be useless too, Jordan accepted. He’d virtually have to start over to put himself as far ahead as he had this first time. ‘Can Pullinger stop like this, right in the middle of your application? Couldn’t he carry on and decide on my dismissal?’
‘I just told you, I don’t know of any other legal situation like this that’s ever arisen in North Carolina or anywhere else in North America with the criminal conversation statute still in existence. We might have a way out. If today collapses, I’m going to have a lot of time to go through the records, to see if there is a precedent we can use.’
‘What about the cost of the sort of delay you’re talking about?’
‘I’ll certainly apply for costs of everything so far. I don’t see how Pullinger could refuse or Appleton’s side resist…’ Beckwith broke off at the sight of the court usher entering the cafeteria and rose in anticipation, saying, ‘Decision time,’ as he did so.
They were the last to return to court, although Reid was settling Alyce in her seat ahead of them. She sat docilely and Jordan’s impression as he followed to the adjoining table was that Alyce appeared practically catatonic. It was very different on the other side of the court. Everyone was flushed, the two doctors shifting constantly in
