Past Imperfect (66 page)

Duclos' testimony predictably stuck to his original account given in 1963: travelling through Taragnon, calling in at a restaurant, a quick stop-off at a garage, then on to Juan-le-Pins.

When Duclos had finished, Barielle asked: 'Did you at any time meet a young boy travelling through Taragnon?'

'No, I didn't.'

'Did you at any time have a young boy in your car. Either in the passenger seat or in the boot?'

'No.'

'How long did you spend in the restaurant in total?'

'An hour, an hour and a quarter...'

Barielle continued with a series of straightforward, mechanical questions, eleven in all, making short notes between each one. He would ask the same questions from a dozen more angles before the
instruction
was over. Each time sharpening the angle or confronting with conflicting testimony from witnesses. The main skill of an effective examining magistrate digging for the truth. But Corbeix could hardly imagine Barielle commenting that according to the voice on tape of a boy long since dead, a different account had been proposed:
'What do you say to that, Monsieur Duclos?'

A reminder to Corbeix, listening to Duclos' account, that his claim at the last
instruction
of PLR just providing background and texture, was in part inaccurate: the case hinged on the physical evidence of the coin, but Eyran Capel's PLR transcripts provided the complete picture of what really happened that day.

All the details Duclos was now carefully omitting.

Jean-Paul Thibault had purposely coasted through the first
instruction
hearings. First of all he liked to listen, tune himself to the mood of the proceedings: the sensitivities and nuances of the prosecutions and the examining magistrate, their strengths and vulnerabilities. Where to hit and where to avoid. When he knew where he would have most impact - then he would start striking out.

But there was another strong reason for him biding his time: research and background. Uncovering the most vulnerable areas of witnesses. The day after receiving the main file, he'd assigned two of his best researchers to get information on Roudele, Fornier and Malliené in France, Lambourne and the Capels in England, and Marinella Calvan in America.

Day by day the threads of information filtered in. Unfortunately, there was nothing on Roudele. No past convictions for theft; the coin possibly an isolated incident. He'd decide later if he would press the point.

But with Dominic Fornier, they'd struck gold. Enough threads to weave a blanket. A shroud to hopefully smother Fornier, nail him in grand style at the next
instruction
.

'How did we fare?' Dominic tapped a pencil on his desk. Papers and files, telephones ringing, interruptions. The normal morning. Dominic had hardly been able to pay any of it strong attention. He'd phoned Corbeix' office twenty minutes before to learn that he was still not back: still in
instruction
. On the second call he was put through to Corbeix.

'We're probably ahead after the second as well. Thibault tackled Roudele over the theft of the coin, but nothing serious. And Duclos gave the same lame, ridiculous account of his movements that day as when you first took his statement back in 1963.'

'I suppose we didn't expect any less.'

'Suppose not.' Corbeix was thoughtful. Voicing the ease with which they'd sailed through the first two hearings reminded him of the onslaught he feared was coming. He'd already warned Fornier about the 'confront' notice posted against him and Malliené for the next hearing. Dominic had joked:
'So either Thibault is booking his ringside ticket and will just sit it out - or we'd better warn Malliené what he's in for.'
Corbeix too had laughed, but nervously. They both knew who Thibault was gunning for.

'Can I talk? Is your line secure?'

Duclos' heart sank. It was Jaumard. Thibault was due out of court soon. He'd hoped it might be him: news of how his assault on Fornier and Corbeix had gone.

'Yes, it's fine. You can talk. No bugs.' Betina downstairs, gendarme at the front door. The phone was probably the
only
secure place. Thibault had made a big issue of it at the bail hearing. Emphasized that because his client was under house arrest, by necessity many of their conversations would be by phone. A secure line was therefore essential. Any line-tapping would breach client lawyer confidentiality, and he would immediately call for a mistrial. Barielle agreed: no line-tapping. Duclos suddenly pinched himself. Perhaps he should have said,
'No, it's not safe.'
The last person he wanted to hear from right now was Jaumard. But yet another part of him was morbidly curious. 'Still, you shouldn't be phoning me here. What do you want?'

'Isn't it obvious. I've read the papers. You're going down for this, aren't you? That's my old age pension straight out the fucking window!'

'No, no - it's all complete nonsense. The whole thing will get thrown out quickly. Maybe even at this instruction - by the next at the latest. My lawyer's in court nailing them right now.'

'I've only got your word for that. And I'm not prepared to wait just on the off chance. As soon as you know you're going down for it, you'll stop paying me.'

No point in a clumsy denial; Jaumard's claim was patently true to both of them. 'You've phoned early. Normally you phone at night.'

'Yes, well. I wanted a clear head. This involves my future. I might only have one shot at it.'

Duclos sensed what was coming, but he didn't want to ask, invite it. As with everything else, delaying the ultimate. Though part of him also clung to hope that he was wrong.

Long breath from Jaumard. 'I want to cash in my pension now. Half straight away - the rest a week before your trial. That way if you go down I've got something put away.'

'And if I don't get convicted?'

'You won't hear from me again for three years.' Jaumard paused. 'Three hundred thousand francs now. Three hundred thousand just before the trial.'

Duclos spluttered. 'That's outrageous - I can't get you that sort of money. In fact, I can't get you any money at all. All my bank accounts and assets have been frozen.'

'Don't give me that shit. People like you can always get their hands on money somewhere.'

'Not when they're on trial for murder. I've had bail bondsmen and court officials crawling over every account and asset - I can't shift a thing.' But Jaumard was right; despite everything, he
could
get his hands on some money. Though the money in Switzerland from Marchand's bio-tech people he dared not let anyone know about: $400,000 at the outset of conciliation, another $400,000 when the ruling had come through. $120,000 for each successive year without a new patents ruling, to a maximum of seven years. His escape fund if all went wrong. Jaumard was the last person he'd let in on such a secret.

'I don't care how you find the money - just find it! Because I'm not waiting. I'll call you tomorrow and give you a bank account number for the transfer.'

Duclos' stomach sank. This was a new Jaumard: tense, irrational, but for once sober. Abstaining Jaumard: high octane mix of DTs and raw tension. 'It's impossible. I told you, if I try to-'

'Find it!' Jaumard snapped. 'If by the time I call you haven't worked out how to get three hundred thousand transferred to me within twenty four hours - then the very next day I'll be on the phone to the police with my brother's little folder. Aix Palais de Justice, isn't it?'

Jaumard left a brief silence, then the line went dead.

Corbeix saw where Barielle was heading from the first few questions, saw the problem approaching like a truck aimed head on. More pre-hearing pressure from Thibault.

'And how long have you been married to the victim's mother, Chief Inspector Fornier?'

'Twenty-nine years.'

'Was this involvement made clear to Prosecutor Corbeix when you first approached him with the case?'

'Yes it was.'

Corbeix raised a hand to interrupt. Barielle broke off from asking questions and nodded.

'Much of this was entered in my initial file folder, your justice.' Corbeix half-raised. Thankfully no pains had hit at the previous
instructions
, and the last few days had been clear. But now he could feel the first onset of muscle cramps. 'We have made no secret of Chief Inspector Fornier's involvement with Monique Rosselot.'

'I appreciate that. But if you indulge me a moment more. Or, in this case, defence counsel.' Barielle gestured towards Thibault. 'Hopefully all will become clear.'

Barielle had already cleared the small hearing room for ten minutes private consultation with Thibault before resuming with the questions. All
instruction
questions had to be posed by the examining magistrate to avoid direct intimidation of witnesses.

'What initially caused your involvement in the re-opened investigation?' Barielle asked Dominic.

'The fact that I was one of the only people still traceable connected with the original investigation when Marinella Calvan first made contact.'

'And the reason for your continuing involvement?'

'Very much the same reason: knowledge of the original investigation. I was therefore in a far better position to piece things together from any new evidence uncovered.'

'At what point was the case handed over to Inspector Malliené to head?'

'After my discussing the case with Prosecutor Corbeix.'

'And what were the reasons for this?'

'Partly because Inspector Malliené was under the Aix jurisdiction, from where the case would be prosecuted, and partly because Monsieur Corbeix was concerned about any possible bias that I might bring because of my attachment to Monique Rosselot.'

'I see.' Barielle's tone was flat. 'And not purely as a smoke screen, a cover for any perceived bias?'

'No. Inspector Malliené had full signing-off powers. He was fully at liberty to discount or discard any portion of the investigative enquiry with which he didn't agree.'

'Inspector Malliené was controlling the investigation?'

'Yes.'

'So as the chief investigative officer, let us see: what exactly did Inspector Malliené do in this case? Then let us compare with what his normal duties as someone leading the investigation should be...'

As Barielle continued with a chain of questions tying down Malliené's and Fornier's respective investigative involvement, Corbeix looked down. He doodled absently on a pad. Concentric, diminishing squares: everything closing in. A cold tingle ran up the back of his neck. The rest of his body was too numbed, too cramped and bombarded by steroids to feel anything. Either Thibault suspected Malliené had been just a front, or he'd been tipped off internally. And now he'd convinced Barielle, who was like a fox with a rabbit now that he'd gripped hold. Corbeix' fist gripped tight on his pen.
Damn Thibault
. He'd hardly been able to give Thibault even a decent run for his money. Any minute now Thibault would cry bias, Barielle would probably agree, and Thibault would call for a mistrial. It could all be over before he'd finished doodling.

At one point, Fornier fought back: 'Because so much of the later evidence linked to earlier findings - obviously it fell upon me to do most of the legwork. To run things any other way just wouldn't have worked.'

But it did little good. The overriding image was that it had been Fornier's investigation with Malliené just a nominated figurehead. Barielle wasn't happy.

Barielle asked Fornier's political persuasion, and then dismissed him. Odd question, thought Corbeix, looking up briefly. Malliené, who had already appeared before Fornier, was recalled.

Malliené tried to beef up his own role and involvement, but as the questioning focused on what exactly he'd done at each stage, it was easy to read between the lines.

At one point, Corbeix half switched off. There was nothing he could do. He rubbed his eyes, felt them stinging as the muscle spasms gripped harder. Often the two came together: blurring of vision, sometimes extreme vertigo and dizziness. But now it was just a faint haze and a watery stinging. Through the haze, the proceedings washed around him. Barielle would finish his questioning, a quick summation and demand for a mis-trial from Thibault, and Barielle would rule. Hopefully, Fornier's small fight back and Malliené's attempts at claiming stronger involvement, however transparent, might at least cast some doubt. If not...

Corbeix looked up sharply as he heard his name called. That was quick, he thought. Malliené had been dismissed, but surely Thibault was just starting his summation? He nodded and raised up, but he could feel the pain jarring his legs, the spasms biting sharper. It took him a moment to re-focus on what was being said.

'I find this all highly irregular,' Barielle commented.

'Under normal circumstances, yes,' Thibault agreed. He held out a palm to indicate Corbeix without looking across at him. 'But as I think has already been clearly demonstrated, these are not normal circumstances. This is merely an extension of the earlier points raised about bias against my client. Though, as I think you will see, equally as valid.'

Barielle looked awkwardly towards Corbeix and waved Thibault towards him. After a short spell in the clinches with Thibault pointing to a page in his folder, Barielle waved for Corbeix to sit down and shrugged apologetically: sorry this could take a while, or for what might be coming?

And suddenly it hit Corbeix: Thibault was trying to get Barielle to question him! Outrageous. What on earth did Thibault have up his sleeve? What could he hope to achieve?
Bias?
One chink of intense clarity struggling up through the haze.

At length, Thibault returned to his seat. Barielle looked up at Corbeix. 'I'm sorry, counsellor Corbeix. I know that this is somewhat irregular. But some questions have arisen regarding your involvement which require clarification.' Barielle scanned the typewritten sheet Thibault had left with him a moment longer. 'I understand that you are ill, counsellor Corbeix. Can you tell me, what is the nature of your illness?'