Whipped: An Arthur Beauchamp Novel(83)

Ms. Blair was at one end of the table with her steno machine and backup voice recorder. Arthur and Nanisha sat down across from Farquist and Cowper, whose junior, a thin, prim, grim young man, perched at the end of the table over a thick writing pad. Hawkes remained outside, as did Margaret.

“Very well, we’re late starting,” Arthur said crisply. “Please swear Mr. Farquist.”

Blair administered an oath to tell the truth. “Yes, of course, I so swear,” Farquist said. He was in casual dress, a purple turtleneck pullover stretched over his ample front.

“Very well, please state your name.”

And so it began.

§

Arthur presumed that Farquist had spent a grim Christmas in training, being grilled by his lawyers in pseudo-cross-examination, but perhaps not in great depth, given the many distractions of the holiday and his political ambitions. Arthur also presumed that he’d been warned the lawyer for the defence was sly and tricky, and to keep his responses short, unembellished, not to argue or indulge in the sarcastic rhetoric he was prone to.

Arthur did not underestimate Farquist’s mental agility, but his Achilles heel might be his distended ego, so he played to it, running him through his academic history, achievements as an economist, his electoral successes, his fast climb up the political ranks. Farquist obligingly answered Arthur’s soft questions, but often glanced at his shiny Rolex as if to let everyone know he had better things to do.

Arthur found it hard to budge Farquist from his script, and he came off — distressingly — as modest, despite hints of self-importance. (He was “humbled” to have earned two honorary doctorates.) Arthur was cordial and respectful as he waited for Farquist to begin to loosen up, which he finally did, obviously having expected worse.

Cowper watched Arthur alertly, clearly expecting him to accelerate, to stop lobbing his pitches and throw a fastball. That must come soon, Arthur decided — he must unsettle the witness, break him out of his cocoon of safety.

He took Farquist back in time. “I understand your late father, Sandor, was also an economist of no small reputation.”

“Without question.”

“How would you sum up that reputation?”

“He had an impressive mind and was a powerful influence.”

“On you?”

“On me and many others.”

“In what way was he a powerful influence on you?”

“As an academic. A father.”

An opening. “As a father?”

“Yes.”

“A father who disappeared from your life when you were a lad of eight, correct?”

Farquist looked coldly at him for a few seconds, prompting Cowper to butt in. “Mr. Beauchamp, I don’t see that this is close to being relevant.”

“Surely, Mr. Cowper, it is vital to examine his personal history, given the nature of the alleged slander. It goes to the heart of the case.”

“My objection is on record.” And there his objection would sit until pre-trial motions, when the judge would decide whether the line of questioning was admissible.

Farquist tersely responded to a series of questions about his provenance: born 1971; sole progeny of Sandor and his youthful wife, Lee; Sandor’s affair; the separation and divorce. During this, he kept checking his watch, and could not resist a sardonic postscript: “It happens in the best of families, Mr. Beauchamp.”

“The best of families, Mr. Farquist? You’ll agree, I hope, that doesn’t include a family that broke apart upon the husband deserting an unloved wife and their only child?”

Farquist reddened. “Mr. Beauchamp, you will not bait me. There was a separation. It was on mutual terms. I resent being subjected to this kind of game, sir.”

“Is that how you see this? A game?”

“Can we avoid these exchanges, please?” said Cowper, sending his client a warning look. “We are delving into matters that are entirely irrelevant, Mr. Beauchamp.”

The tension was palpable in this confined space, Nanisha rigid beside Arthur, Farquist’s junior sitting up like a bear sniffing the air. Ms. Blair, however, seemed to be suppressing a smile as she recorded all this.

“How often did you see your father after the divorce?”

“Several times.”

“Where?”

“At his office.”

“Not in his new home with his new wife?”

“My mother preferred that I not visit there.”

In subdued tones, Arthur dealt with her suicide, the barbiturates, the shocking suddenness of it, the impact on Farquist.

“I trust this questioning will end soon, Mr. Beauchamp. I can’t describe the devastation I felt.”

“Is it fair to say that Lee remained deeply in love with Sandor until her death?”

“There’s nothing unusual in that.”

“You were living with her all that time, until you were eighteen?”

“Yes.”

“And in that time she didn’t take up with another partner?”

“She never remarried, if that’s what you mean.” His tone remained sharp, aggressive. He darted a look at his counsel.

“I am instructing my client not to answer questions along these lines.”

“In that case, I shall apply for an order that he answer. That may extend this hearing for several days.”