Past Imperfect (30 page)

Apart from the week when her mother had visited, there had been nobody to share her grief - until she looked up and saw Clarisse at the doorway. So for the past long weeks she'd shared small stories, comforts and hugs with her daughter, fighting to come to terms with the unacceptable partly through the innocent eyes of a five year old - fill the sickening void with whatever vestiges of love and affection remained in her house.

The only thing Jean-Luc had shown any interest in was the trial, seeing justice done. While she'd been still too blind with tears and numb to react to Poullain's statement outside the church, Jean-Luc had nodded enthusiastically, asking several questions before they'd parted. For the first time since Christian's death, he appeared animated, drawing hard on each word for comfort, solace. Each week he phoned the police station and was brought up to date on the latest stages of the
instruction
. 'Next week, they're all going out to the scene of the crime to re-enact it,' he commented one morning at breakfast, but she'd hardly been listening.

Jean-Luc mentioned it again the morning of the re-enactment, and only then did she pay attention: two mentions, and again a rare show of eagerness - it must be important. Heading out, he said that he would be working in the west pasture. But half an hour later the rising wind made her think about how exposed the west field was, and when she looked to see if Jean-Luc might have moved to the more sheltered fields at the back, she noticed the car was gone.

As the wind rose, it bent the wheat at an angle. But not evenly: one swathe would be cut sharply at an angle while another remained upright, the path of the wind undulating, weaving patterns through the field like rolling golden surf. The morning air was cool, the wind gusting intermittently, and patches of brief sunshine broke through between the shifting grey clouds, bathing them momentarily in light and warmth.

Dominic looked thoughtfully at the figures ahead as the light shifted. The shadow of a large cloud floated down the bordering hillside like a giant valkyrie until it hung over them, bathing them in grey, matching the intensity of their mood. Thirteen men in a lonely windswept field, linked only by the death of a ten year old boy. With the shifting light, the wheat sheaves undulating with each pulse of the wind, it was almost as if the field was protesting, trying to evade them and keep its secrets.

The figures huddled close together to be heard. Naugier was going over information with the attending medics, forensics and Poullain, in no particular order. Servan, Levacher and Harrault were just behind closest to Dominic. A
greffier
constantly at Naugier's side made notes in shorthand.

Machanaud stood beyond handcuffed to an Aix prison warden. His turn would come next. Perrimond was to one side of Naugier, Molet the other by the
greffier
. Dominic noticed Machanaud glancing towards the riverbank, his eyes bleary and distant. Perhaps stung by the wind, or was he still in a daze with it all, hardly believing that he was back in the same spot three months later charged with murder, pleading for his life. He'd had a lot of time to contemplate his story. Naugier looked up at Machanaud sharply at intervals as he went over the forensic details.

Naugier then clarifed with Machanaud which part of the river he was at that day, and directed Servan to remain standing where the attack took place. Everyone else was then directed down to the riverside.

'Two hours? And in all of that time, did you see or meet a young boy?'

Naugier's question cut through the air crisply. The assembled group stood silent, expectant. Naugier had spent the first minutes by the river confirming that Machanaud had been fishing, what he caught, and the time he was there - ten past one to just after three - before coming to the key question.

'No,' Machanaud said, with stronger emphasis than his previous answers. Even the furthest in the group heard his denial.

Naugier looked pointedly in both directions. 'Did you see or meet
anyone
in that time?' Foliage further down the riverbank was thin, the view virtually clear; most of the foliage and trees were clustered along the bank's ridge bordering the farm track.

'No.'

Following Naugier's gaze towards the flat bridge a hundred yards downstream, Molet suddenly picked up on the significance. The small bridge connecting the neighbouring farm to Breuille's wheat field was in the police report as
'where we think the boy crossed'
, mainly because there were no sightings of him walking through the village itself. But he hadn't realized it would be so visible.

Naugier pointed. 'You are aware that is the only connecting bridge for some distance. Can you see it clearly from here?'

Molet prayed for Machanaud to suddenly plead short-sightedness, but his 'Yes' came crisply.

'And you saw nobody crossing that bridge throughout your time here that afternoon?'

'No.'

Naugier looked thoughtfully in the other direction, upstream; then he slowly scanned up the river bank towards the path, as if he was following an imaginary line towards where the attack had taken place. 'Monsieur Machanaud. Can you see the gendarme we left standing on the path?'

'No. I can't see him.'

'And the afternoon you were fishing - did you see or hear anything from the position where the gendarme is now standing?'

'No.'

Naugier nodded. This made sense. The river bank dipped down sharply. The only part of the lane visible was lower down as it sloped towards the road. 'Now let us return to your sighting of vehicles passing that afternoon, starting with the first vehicle. What time would that have been?'

'Maybe forty minutes after I arrived.'

'What sort of car was that?'

'I didn't see. I only heard the noise and the direction it was travelling - up towards Caurin's farm.'

Caurin? Naugier flicked back a few pages in his file for the reference. Marius Caurin owned the farm behind and was the first to discover the boy. He'd been quickly eliminated: his tractor had been seen by at least three people going through Taragnon at the time of the assault, and Machanaud too had mentioned his tractor leaving in his first statement. 'The same Caurin whose tractor you saw heading down the track. What time would that have been?'

'Perhaps forty or fifty minutes before I left.'

Naugier ran through with Machanaud the remaining car sightings and timings, then flicked forward to some blank pages in his file and started writing:
First car: up at 1.45-50. Second car: down at 2.15 (not heard by Machanaud). Third car: Caurin's tractor, down at 2.25. Fourth car: up at 2.45-50 (heard by Machanaud). Fifth car: down at 3.00, just minutes before Machanaud leaves himself (heard and seen by Machanaud). 3.03-05: Machanaud leaves on his solex, is sighted by...
Naugier looked up towards Poullain. 'What is the name of the woman who saw Machanaud leaving?'

'Madame Véillan.'

Naugier wrote in the name, and added:
3.16-18: Caurin returns to his farm and discovers boy.
Estimated duration of attack:
40-60 minutes. Time of attack: 1.30-3.00.
So certainly Caurin's tractor had passed while the attack was in progress, but possibly the first and second cars as well. He took out and lit a
Gitane
and blew out the first fumes hesitantly. With the various cars passing, if indeed there was someone else there that afternoon, they couldn't possibly have stayed on the lane. The final attack must have been a few minutes at most; any longer exposure in that position would have been too risky. For the rest of the time, they must have...

Machanaud's voice cut in. 'But it wasn't till later that I remembered that final car clearly. It was an Alfa Romeo.'

It took a second for Naugier to detach from his previous thoughts. He noticed Molet glaring at Machanaud; probably he had pre-warned his client about making uninvited comments during
instruction
. 'From your statement, I thought that it was a Citröen you saw?'

Molet stepped in before Machanaud put his foot completely in his mouth. 'It
was
- on my clients original statement. But later he went into the police station and advised of the change, which from checking I believe has never been recorded. He also later mentioned the same revised sighting to a gendarme in a local Taragnon bar. We expected this to be covered at a later
instruction
, at which stage my questions would have been put forward for you to pose to the gendarmes in question.'

'A bit late for that, isn't it,' Naugier barked. 'Your client seems to have brought the subject up himself.'

Molet duly nodded and looked down. One of the great inadequacies of the
instruction
process was that the examining magistrate could freely divert, while the lawyers were restricted by the schedule provided two days in advance of each hearing. Diversions were unchartered territory, to be avoided at all costs. The only consolation was that it also worked against the prosecution: Perrimond looked equally as uncomfortable.

Dominic's heart was in his mouth at the sudden change in questioning. He'd resigned himself to prepare for the later
instruction
and tie his answers in with Poullain's. But now with rising panic he realized that Naugier could turn on him at any second and he wouldn't know what to say.

Naugier turned towards Poullain. ‘I understand, Captain Poullain, you were the officer who took the original statement regarding the Citreön. To your knowledge was this at any later stage changed?'

Poullain fleetingly caught Perrimond's and Dominic's eye, but hid his concern quickly. 'Yes... I believe so.' He nodded back in the direction of Briant. 'A few days after his initial statement, Machanaud came into the station and saw one of my officers, Sergeant Briant, and he-'

Perrimond interrupted. 'Sir, I along with the defence council would like to protest. This was something scheduled to go into in more depth at a later meeting. We are therefore - as with Monsieur Molet - totally unprepared with any questions that could add valuable light. I see neither the prosecution or defence case benefiting.'

'That isn't quite how I feel,' Molet countered. 'I see my client benefiting from pursuit of this line of questioning. It's just that I feel he would benefit
more
with prepared questions, as is his right.'

Naugier held up one hand sharply. '
Gentlemen
- in case you both need reminding. I, and I alone, will decide the benefit of any line of questioning at this or any future
instruction
hearing at which you are both present. You may still prepare your questions regarding this subject and propose them at a later date, as originally planned. But this now is for my curiosity.' Naugier pulled hard on his
Gitane
. 'Captain Poullain - I suggest you finish your answer.'

'Monsieur Molet was correct to mention inconsistencies, because that is exactly why no record was made of the change in statement.' Poullain was more confident, firm. The few seconds interruption had allowed him to gather his composure. 'Machanaud came into the gendarmerie a few days after his initial statement. It was late in the evening and he was very drunk. He advised that he now remembered more clearly the car that passed - it was an Alfa Romeo sports. An open top sports. In checking, there were no other sightings of such a car, but in any case we were about to ask Machanaud in to make his statement official when a day or so later he met one of my other men in a local bar. This time he said that it was an Alfa Romeo
coupé
that he saw.'

Molet exhaled audibly. He could see already where it was heading; his worst fears at the issue being tackled early were being realized.

Naugier gave him a sharp look, warning off any possible interruption, and turned back to Poullain. 'Well, surely one or the other should have been entered.'

'Possibly. But with Machanaud changing his description to an Alfa coupé, we started to have doubts. We had already fully investigated the driver of such a car and eliminated him from our enquiry. He was in a local restaurant at the time of the attack - at least three waiters saw him.' Poullain waved one arm. 'With us asking about the Alfa coupé in the village, there was a lot of local talk. It looked as if Machanaud had simply changed his description to suit. And because the car in question had been eliminated, we thought such a change in statement could only further incriminate Machanaud. He'd been drinking on both occasions - so we decided as much for his benefit to stick with the original statement. That was the one we trusted most, free from corruption by village gossip.'

Molet shook his head, lifting his eyes skyward as if for divine help. 'So now we are supposed to believe that all of this was done for my client's benefit. Ridiculous! My client's later description of the car was consistent on both occasions. I went over this with him several times.'

'Nice to know
you
are so certain, monsieur Molet.' Naugier raised a sharp eyebrow. 'Especially when it appears your client was probably drunk.' He turned to Machanaud. 'How much had you drunk the night you went into the gendarmerie to change your statement?'

'I don't know exactly... perhaps a few eau de vies, some beers.'

'A few...
some?
Try to be more precise,' Naugier pressed. 'Did you have more than normal?'

'Yes... yes, probably. I met with a friend I hadn't seen since we worked together in the Spring.'

Naugier looked between Poullain and Molet, as if pressing home a final seal of understanding. Machanaud was a known drunkard and bar slouch. A 'few more than normal' meant that he was ratted. 'Hopefully this has cleared up this misunderstanding. You may, as I mentioned earlier, Monsieur Molet, pursue this line of questioning at a later
instruction
when we go back over previous statements. And Captain Poullain, I would suggest that in future you put
everything
in files you present to me - and let me decide whether or not they should be disregarded.'