‘Before you specialized in microbiology, and more specifically in the study and treatment of sexually transmitted diseases, did you practice as a general medical physician?’
Chapman’s uncertainty was even more obvious when he said, ‘I served a period of hospital internship. I never practised generally.’
‘That period of internship was at the Massachusetts General Hospital, situated on Fruit Street, Boston, was it not?’
‘Yes.’
‘During that period of internship you were a fully qualified hospital physician, able to reach diagnoses and, if necessary, to authorize admissions and prescribe treatment?’
Chapman did not reply. Jordan saw that Appleton was sitting statued at his table, both hands extended upon it as if to prevent himself falling forward.
‘Dr Chapman?’ again prompted Reid.
There was still no reply.
Pullinger said, ‘Dr Chapman, you will answer the question.’
Finally Chapman said, ‘Yes, I was.’
‘In November, 1991, were you attached to the accident and emergency department of the Massachusetts General Hospital on Fruit Street, Boston?’
‘I was working at the hospital in 1991.’
‘In November of that year, in the accident and emergency department?’
‘I worked in a variety of departments.’
‘Including accident and emergency?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you recall an admission that you authorized into the emergency department of Massachusettes General Hospital on November third, 1991? And the diagnosis you reached upon that emergency admission?’
‘Your honour!’ protested Bartle. ‘I again ask the relevance to this case of something that occurred so long ago. How can Dr Chapman be asked to remember such a specific event?’
‘The point you are seeking to establish, Mr Reid?’ enquired the judge.
‘Points,’ enlarged Reid. ‘Those of honesty, credibility and possible collusion to pervert the course of justice.’
‘You will answer the question, Dr Chapman,’ insisted Pullinger.
‘No, I do not remember,’ said the man.
Reid let the pause build, finally inhaling deeply for the breath he needed. ‘You do not remember admitting Alfred Jerome Appleton – your old college friend with whom you so often sailed and whose integrity you so much admire – to Massachusetts General Hospital on November third, 1991, after a traffic accident in which a car plunged into a lake, a car from which Anthea Elizabeth Bell, a girl of twenty-three, could not free herself from her seat belt and therefore drowned, resulting in the death not only of herself but of an unborn child!’
‘No, I do not remember,’ repeated Chapman, the reply only just audible in the sudden noise.
Twenty-Nine
The Jack Daniels bottle was on the table again, although this celebration was more muted than its first appearance. The judge had upheld David Bartle’s protest at the inadmissibility of the fatal accident, refused any further reference to it and rejected Reid’s application to call DDK investigator Jack Doyle to give supporting evidence, at the same time as instructing the jury to disregard any inference when considering their final verdict.
‘They won’t be able to disregard it,’ Beckwith told the other lawyer. ‘It’s in their minds and you put it there. Where it will stay when they get around to reaching a decision.’
‘I could have done so much more,’ complained Reid. ‘We even had proof of the $500,000 payoff Appleton’s family gave Anthea’s parents to avoid charges being pressed; the mom and dad broke up because of the accident and mom changed her mind about it being hushed up. She actually wanted to be called to give evidence that Appleton made her daughter pregnant and that he’d started out only offering $100,000.’
‘How did the kid die?’ asked Jordan.
‘He was drunk, after some yachting event,’ said Reid. ‘Missed a turning and drove instead into a lake. Managed to get himself out and swim ashore. The driver of a following car called emergency and got Appleton to hospital. Appleton didn’t say anything about the kid in the car until the following day. By then it was obviously too late but a medical examiner said if she’d been gotten out she and the baby would have survived. Chapman swore Appleton was too concussed to have remembered anything – that he couldn’t even remember the accident – so no prosecution was brought.
‘And there was Chapman again with all the necessary qualifications willing to help out with venereal disease and pressure another specialist to go along with it,’ completed Beckwith. ‘How the hell did Appleton think he was going to get away with it!’
‘Arrogance of the rich and spoiled, I guess,’ said Reid. ‘It worked once, with the same guy. And let’s be honest, Appleton was within a whisker of getting away with it again now.’ The lawyer raised his whisky glass in silent acknowledgement to Jordan’s contribution.
‘Alyce didn’t do so well today,’ said Jordan. After Chapman’s release from the witness stand Reid had cleverly ignored the attentive Dr Harding but called Alyce’s gynaecologist, Brenda Stirling, to testify to what Jordan had already read in the intercepted email correspondence, that Alyce now only had a ten percent possibility (‘and that’s being extremely optimistic’) of conceiving a full term birth because of the fallopian tube scarring caused by the chlamydia infection. Alyce had wept openly throughout the testimony and Reid hadn’t bothered to invite her to that evening’s conference.
‘I’ve got to call her to give evidence tomorrow,’ said Reid, unapologetically. ‘And Leanne, directly after, for the jury to compare the two of them literally side by side. And Alyce can cry as much as she wants.’
‘That’s cynical,’ protested Jordan.
‘That’s practical,’ dismissed Reid. ‘Don’t worry about Alyce. Worry about yourself and the hook you’re still on.’
‘It’s because I’m still worried about myself that I’m worried about Alyce and wondering how she’ll stand up to a full examination and cross-examination. Bartle’s got to destroy her to give Appleton any sort of a chance, hasn’t he?’
‘I don’t see how he can damage her,’ said Beckwith. ‘I actually don’t see how Appleton and Bartle could have believed they had any chance of pursuing the case they’re attempting.’
‘Arrogance of the rich and spoiled,’ echoed Jordan.
Beckwith shook his head. ‘There’s got to be more than that. So far Appleton doesn’t have a damned defence. ‘
‘On the subject of defence, let’s not forget Pullinger’s lecture about rebuttal of criminal conversation, as far as you two are concerned,’ warned Reid. ‘The law, the way Pullinger interpreted it, comes down pretty heavily against any logical defence.’
‘You can’t be serious!’ argued Beckwith.
‘Logically you looked to be home free at the dismissal hearing. But Pullinger didn’t find for you,’ reminded Reid.
‘We discussed it,’ reminded Beckwith, in turn. ‘Pullinger’s an ornery old bastard. Look how far everything has turned in our favour since then. Harvey can’t possibly be found guilty.’
‘No one ever said the law was fair, any more than life.’
‘Can we take pause here!’ urged Jordan. ‘The jury can’t find against me, not on what they’ve heard.’
‘I don’t think they should, nor am I saying that they will,’ insisted Reid. ‘But Pullinger is an ornery old bastard and he’s still got to sum up and guide the jury. I wouldn’t like to place bets, not yet.’
‘He finds against us I’ll appeal,’ insisted Beckwith.
‘How many more months – and how much more money – could that cost?’ demanded Jordan, genuinely
