Past Imperfect (72 page)

'It's a set up,' Dominic said. 'I don't know how yet, but whatever you do don't let Aurillet go into the hearing. Find Corbeix straightaway and get him to arrange a half hour postponement and a private room for Aurillet. I'll be there as soon as I can.'

'You've already been told. You're not our main interest - Duclos is.'

'Well. I've only got your word for that. I'd rather wait until I can be represented by my lawyer.'

'We can do this a couple of ways. To start with, I can bounce you off every wall in this room. I'll claim that you became hysterical, started throwing yourself and furniture around - so I had to restrain you.

Silence. No response from Aurillet.

Dominic sat with Corbeix, Bennacer and Aurillet listening to the tape. It was a small flat memo tape, the type that slots neatly into a wallet. Aurillet had taped the time he was left in the questioning room with Moudeux.

'... Then we can start contacting your clients. Inform them you're under police surveillance.'

'You can't do that!'

'I don't know - public duty, I would have thought. They wouldn't want to get caught up in your mess. We've got five days of clients on tape. Then we can spread the word through our milieu contacts...'

'You bastard!'

'By the time we're finished, whether you want to talk to us or not will be immaterial - you'll be out of business.'

The few minutes remaining on the tape were in a similar vein: threats, intimidation, protests from Aurillet before reluctant agreement to co-operate. Not far different from what they'd had to employ in the first ten minutes with Aurillet now to get him to come clean, Dominic thought sourly. The fact that they already knew from Vacharet that a tape existed gave the initial vantage. Threat of prosecution for deception and perjury on one hand with virtual immunity on the other, tipped the remaining balance.

'So what was the plan?' Dominic asked. 'Getting a strike against the police for intimidation?'

'Not only that,' Aurillet said flatly. 'The voice you have on tape that you think is Duclos - it's not him. Close, but not his voice. His lawyer was going to contest that evidence too, call in a voice analyst. It wouldn't have passed the test.'

Dominic was incredulous as the full details of the plan unravelled: Duclos was desperately afraid of his background with young children emerging. Vacharet was also concerned about being implicated, so agreed to help. Aurillet had a gambling debt of 180,000 Francs which was troubling him, and in the end that was the fee agreed for his part in the plan. They knew that the police had been trying to unearth child pimp background on Duclos through milieu informants - so it wouldn't come as a surprise when an anonymous tip-off came through about Aurillet.

With that, they knew that it was likely that Aurillet's line would be tapped, though made sure by having their own sound engineer check. A decent gap of a few days, and then someone posing as Duclos phones. Aurillet is hauled in for questioning, but doesn't admit anything until unduly pressured.

'When the case comes to court,' Aurillet concluded, 'I deny everything and produce the tape. Duclos' lawyer has already been claiming that the case against his client is falsified - and all of this then ties in perfectly.'

Dominic was breathless at the audacity of the scheme. It would have appeared that the police had manufactured the tip-off
and
the taped call from Duclos, with a curtain call of intimidation of Aurillet. False tip-off, false tape, intimidation. Game, set and match. They'd only just scraped through the recent hearings with claims of bias - there would have been no possibility of surviving this last onslaught.

Last minute reprieve. Dominic let out a long breath and looked up at the ceiling.
'Jesus!'
He looked back sharply at Aurillet. 'Was Thibault in on this?'

'I don't know...'

Stupid question, thought Dominic. Certainly, Thibault had to have been aware before the hearing now. Dominic stormed out into the corridor. He looked its length: three or four people milling, Thibault beyond them at the corridor's end on a wall pay phone.

Dominic felt his anger boil over as he paced towards Thibault. They'd been in the small room with Aurillet for over twenty minutes, and now Thibault was on the phone - no doubt warning Duclos that something had gone wrong.

Seething anger at Duclos' manipulation through the years. Manipulating the evidence and his timing in the café thirty years ago, fooling Poullain and Perrimond that he was straight-laced and squeaky clean, manipulating an electorate through all the years since. And now Aurillet and Thibault. Good, upright Duclos. Champion of the people! It was the police and all around him that were manipulative,
dishonest..
.

Thibault didn't see him approach until the last minute. All Dominic overheard was: '...Good question, but I really don't know. It could be that...' Thibault glanced around, saw Dominic, muttered, 'I've got to go now,' and went to put the phone down.

Dominic grabbed it before it hit the cradle. 'Who were you speaking to... Was it Duclos?' Thibault shuffled nervously, looked down, didn't answer. Dominic spoke into the mouthpiece. 'Duclos?
Duclos
... is that you?

Faint sound of breathing. Some background noises. Then the line went dead.

Dominic slammed down the receiver and pushed Thibault back against the wall. 'You were in on this seedy little scheme, weren't you?' Dominic grabbed Thibault's jacket by the shoulder, balled it tight so that it pulled against his neck. 'And now you were on the phone to Duclos, warning him it might have all gone wrong!'

'Haven't you heard of client-lawyer privilege,' Thibault spluttered. Mixture of fear and outrage.

Pathetic. Just like Duclos: clinging to moral high ground to the last. Dominic thought of Thibault's assault on Calvan, the attack on both his own and Corbeix' credibility. And it was suddenly tempting to bury his fist in Thibault's face, wipe away his self-satisfied smile once and for all. But in the end he just gave Thibault a last push against the wall and let him go. He wasn't worth it.

Bennacer had followed out only seconds later, was now behind him, looking concerned. Corbeix had stayed in the room with Aurillet.

Dominic's main worry was that Thibault
had
managed to warn Duclos. They had Aurillet, but now they also knew that Vacharet was the main link to Duclos and young boys. Something Duclos would be eager to remove at all costs. If he'd been desperate enough to take out Eynard, then...

Suddenly it hit Dominic that even if Duclos hadn't already been warned by Thibault's call - he'd have guessed something was wrong by him suddenly snatching the phone and calling out his name.

Dominic turned to Bennacer. 'Call your station. Get a squad car out to Vacharet's. And fast.'

'Duclos?
Duclos
... is that you?'

Duclos recognized the voice immediately. A cold shiver spread through his body. Something had gone wrong. Desperately wrong.

Duclos went over to the window and looked out. Joel was in the garden, kicking a football. The view from the front was probably much the same as it had been twenty minutes ago: gendarme by the front door and thirty metres beyond two reporters by the gate. Life
chez
Duclos. Less reporters than a few weeks back, but no doubt the rat pack would increase again closer to the full trial.

Joel's movements in the garden hardly registered beyond his thoughts. But he'd hardly noticed the boy anyway through all the years, he thought ruefully. Why should now be any different.
Especially now.

Full trial?
With everything now fallen apart, his last ace card destroyed - there would almost certainly be a full trial. And nothing to stand between him and conviction but two people. Two key people around which all else hinged.

Duclos' fists balled tight. His face was flushed, raw acid anger surging beneath. It was hardly believable that Fornier and his rag-tag bunch had got this far, would end up pushing him to these limits. Had they forgotten who he was?

He'd already half guessed something was wrong twenty minutes before Thibault's call. Vacharet had phoned, mentioned he'd just had a call from someone called Victor. 'Said that he acted as liaison between you and your lawyer. Just struck me afterwards to check he was kosher.'

Asshole
. 'The time to check is beforehand. It's a bit late now.' When pressed, Vacharet claimed that he hadn't said much, but Duclos had sensed his defensive tone, his nervousness. With Thibault's call, Duclos knew that whatever it was had been enough: the police had woven the strands together.

The problem was, Vacharet probably also now knew. He might panic and do something foolish at any minute.

Duclos picked up the phone and dialled Brossard's number.

Francois Vacharet stared at the phone for a full minute after his call to Duclos. Jesus, he
had
put his foot in it.

Though hopefully he hadn't given away to Duclos just how badly. His mind grappled for other possible options: perhaps it hadn't been the police, just some obscure clerk in Thibault's office Duclos wasn't aware of.
Victor?
But as Duclos had protested, Thibault knew that his home line was secure, they'd spoken several times on it. And for anything as sensitive as that, Thibault would have phoned directly.

No, it had been the police or someone in the prosecutor's office. There remained little doubt. Once they'd uncovered the full extent of his little ruse with Aurillet, they'd be at his door in no time. And once Duclos knew...

Vacharet shuddered. He recalled one of his last conversations with Duclos when he'd discovered through the
milieu
grapevine about the hit on Eynard. He'd protested that if he'd known about the hit, he'd never have offered to help with Aurillet.

'What is this - paedophile pimps solidarity week,' Duclos teased. Duclos went on to assure how he saw Vacharet in a totally different light: reliable and trusted, whereas Eyrnard had been a rat ready to tell all at the drop of the first wad of notes.

'Very comforting. But no more killings.'

Duclos had assured that there would have only been one more planned in any case, and only then as a last ditch fail-safe. 'Now with this little scheme in place, that won't be necessary.'

Vacharet cradled his head in his hands. He wished now he hadn't asked that one last question, asked out of morbid curiosity who that intended person had been. But Duclos almost seemed to relish telling him, remarked that in a way it was only fair he should know. 'After all, you recommended me to the hit man yourself all those years back. Eugene Brossard.'

Butterfly nerves danced in Vacharet's stomach. With the scheme fallen apart, that target would no doubt be back on Brossard's hit list. With his own name now probably alongside.

Vacharet jumped up and hurriedly packed a briefcase. He wasn't going to hang around to see who got there first: the police or Brossard!

He mumbled to his barman on the way out: 'Any calls, I've gone fishing. You don't know where I am. I'll phone you later.'

A quick stop off at home to pick up a suitcase, then he would head straight for the airport. As he came to the junction with Rue de la Republique, a police car with Moudeux and a sergeant passed, heading towards the
Panier
.

Brossard called back within forty minutes. As before, Duclos had left a message at a bar for Brossard. Duclos picked it up on the first ring.

'Those two names we discussed. I want you to move on them now,' Duclos said. 'There's no time to lose.'

'Which one should I aim for first?' asked Brossard.

'I'm not sure, let me think for a second.' Vacharet was probably more urgent, but he wondered if there was something he'd overlooked. Brossard had phoned him back the day after his first call; already he knew the movements of both targets the next few days. As ever, efficient.

Brossard chuckled at his hesitance. 'Decisions. Decisions. Not like shopping, is it? Deciding which shirt to choose. Not quite the same when you're deciding on someone's life.'

Memories of Chapeau and Jaumard. The many jibes through the years. Hit man's revenge: how often did they get the chance to rib establishment figures? Duclos ignored it. 'Vacharet's more urgent. But you should try and take out both within hours of each other, if possible. Because once one has been hit, the police will tighten everything on the other.'

'Fine. I'll aim to do both tonight.'

They made money transfer arrangements, and Brossard rang off. But Duclos thought he heard a faint echo on the line, and then a second click. As if someone else had been listening in. Duclos' heart froze. He thought that Thibault had assured the line wouldn't be tapped!

'...Vacharet's more urgent. But you should try and take out both within hours of each other, if possible. Because once one has been hit, the police will tighten everything up on the other.'

'Fine. I'll aim to do both tonight.'

Betina had picked up the phone not long after it rang. She thought that it was strange that it had only rung once, then stopped. Wondered if there might be a fault on the line. But picking it up, she heard Alain's voice. She was in the downstairs drawing room; he'd obviously answered it upstairs. She was about to put it straight back down, when part of the conversation grabbed her:
not quite the same when you're deciding on someone's life...

An icy hand gripped her stomach as she listened to the rest of the conversation. At its end, she stood stock still, numbed, frozen. Too shocked to admit the reality of what she'd just heard, but the futility of grasping for other explanations also dawning: her mind trapped between the two. She shook her head. Too many years already spent fooling herself.