Lambourne could see the mixture of doubt and elation on Eyran's face. Doubt that once again he might have ignored Jojo's emotions and feelings - battling with his elation that it might be his father. He would need to deal with the father's sighting first to get Eyran fully focused.
Jojo quickly took control. Eyran described the distant shape fading into the shadows as Jojo looked up, saying that Eyran's father had probably gone deeper into the copse. Jojo started to lead the way. Lambourne tensed as the descriptions rolled, tapping his pencil on his notes. Over a week's delay before Stuart Capel finally signed the consent slip, and only then because there'd been another bad dream. Lambourne knew that if he didn't succeed in drawing out Jojo now, there might not be another chance.
As Eyran described them in pursuit, heading across the field and through the trees towards the brook, Lambourne's nerves bristled - fearing another dream ending. But this time they headed out of the woods and into an open field the other side, and he was lulled into complacency by the setting and his pre-occupation with returning Eyran to where he first met Jojo. He was only alerted by Eyran's sudden change in breathing - suddenly more laboured, his eyelids flickering rapidly. '...Does the dream end badly there?'
'Yes... we... there was a dip… I... I' Fractured breathing, Eyran swallowing on his words.
'It's okay... It's okay! You don't need to go there again. Step back from the clearing... step back!'
Eyran looked startled for a moment. Lambourne realized then that he'd shouted. He quickly introduced a calmer, more soothing tone. 'Let's go back... back away from the clearing. Yes - that's it.... you're away from any danger now...'
Lambourne left a few seconds gap between each comment, as if waiting for Eyran to catch up with him. '...We're going back to the beginning - back to where you first met Jojo in the first field. He was sitting then in another clearing of wheat. You mentioned that he looked very sad. But we never found out why he was so sad.'
Eyran's breathing gradually eased. He looked more settled.
'... You thought perhaps that you should have asked, that he might have been upset you didn't ask. But it doesn't matter - we can ask him now.'
'I don't know... I'm not sure, I…' Doubt and uncertainty returned, swept across Eyran's face like rising storm clouds.
Lambourne could see Eyran retreating, a moment more and the chance would be gone completely. 'But you need to know more about Jojo. You never ask him anything, yet he's put in so much time helping you, trying to find your parents. Don't you think it's only fair - he'll be upset if you never ask. One night you'll be dreaming, you'll return to the copse, expecting him to be there to help you find your parents... and you'll be all alone. He won't be there!'
Lambourne saw Eyran visibly flinch. But as his expression settled back, Lambourne could see that a glimmer of acceptance had returned. It had been the right ploy: remind Eyran that there was just as much risk in not talking to Jojo. It wasn't all one way.
Lambourne spent the next minutes cajoling and reassuring, one minute enticing and luring, hoping that Eyran would make the decision, then suddenly once again storm-trooping - before Eyran finally relented and he broke through. Entered the elusive world of Jojo.
Lambourne spent the first minutes getting accustomed to Jojo's voice. The intonation was slightly different, slower and more purposeful, but apart from that it was Eyran's voice. Lambourne asked if he was Eyran's friend, where he knew Eyran from, but Jojo was vague '...from before... it was a long time back.' He got a similar answer when he asked Jojo about losing his parents. Distant memories, obscured by a haze of time. Lambourne wanted to stay for the moment with the present and the recent dreams.
'Did you lose your parents by the copse where you first met Eyran. You mentioned that you'd had the same experience as Eyran - that he wouldn't be able to find his parents unless he crossed over.'
'... I only wanted to help. I was over the far side... I couldn't help him unless he crossed over.'
'Did you see him crossing over as a sign that he trusted you. That he wanted your help?' Lambourne knew that he'd have to be more patient talking to Jojo; each response was being fed in turn through Eyran.
'... Yes.'
'But why the copse? Was it familiar - reminded you of where you lost your parents?'
'There was something about it, I couldn't be sure... but I had the feeling stronger in the wheat field. It was a long time ago, though... I couldn't remember clearly.
'The same wheat field where you were with Eyran in the last dream?'
'Yes. But Eyran was running through the wheat field in the first dream... it was that which made me look up and see him from the copse.'
Eyran too had mentioned that when he first moved in the house the wheat field had seemed familiar... 'as if I'd been there before.' 'You could see him between the trees - running towards you?'
'Yes, and I... I... felt his concern, his worry as he was running through. I knew that something was wrong.'
'The same concern that you felt when you lost your parents?'
'Yes - I'd felt the same.'
'And that was what first made you feel close to Eyran, made you feel you could help find his parents?' A small nod and a mumble of 'yes' from Jojo. 'Was that the first time you saw Eyran?'
'Yes - then. But I knew him from before...'
The past again. 'When was that?'
'I don't know - it was a while... a while ago. It's not clear.'
How far back? Lambourne wondered. How many years did it take for events to fade from an eleven year old's memory? Five, six? Even in the unlikely event they had met as children and the memory had now gone - Jojo's memory of losing his parents wouldn't so easily fade. In inventing Jojo, Eyran had simply buried the details in the past - hopefully out of reach.
Lambourne picked his way through some other dreams for Jojo's interpretation, matching symbolism to a list he'd made earlier: The brook and the wheat field: familiarity, home. Loss of parents: shared experience. Crossing the pond and entering the woodland shed: trust. Now he added: wheat clearing. Mirror images, Jojo filling the gaps that Eyran didn't want to face. But trust had quickly given way to dominance: Jojo always led, Eyran followed.
Lambourne tried to draw Jojo out on the failure of the dreams, but Jojo seemed as surprised and disappointed as Eyran. Even as Jojo submitted to the reality he knew Eyran would have to face, relinquished control, his sense of failure mirrored Eyran's disappointment. 'Do the failures in the dreams make you despair - wonder if each time you might face the same disappointment?'
'Yes, sometimes... but when I see Eyran, I feel hopeful again. And I feel I can't let him down.'
'You feel that he expects it of you - expects you to be able to find his parents?'
'...Yes.'
'But how do you feel. Do you feel you can really find his parents?'
Eyran's head lolled slightly, then turned slowly back until he was again facing the ceiling. 'I don't know... but Eyran feels sure I can find them. And he needs a friend to help him. I couldn't leave him on his own.'
Lambourne wondered if that was going to be the pattern: Jojo side-stepping, passing the main responsibilities back to Eyran. 'And you think that your own experience with losing your parents will help?'
'Yes... at least I know how he feels. It seems so... so unfair that it has happened twice.'
Twice? 'You mean - with you and now Eyran. You both experiencing losing your parents?'
'Yes.'
'But you remember so little about your own loss - you said that it was too long ago for you to recall. So how will you be able to help Eyran?' Create doubt, start chipping away at Jojo's dominance, thought Lambourne. He watched intently as Eyran grappled with the thought. Eyran's expression was taut; a muscle pulsed momentarily by his left eye.
'If I went back... perhaps I would remember clearer. Maybe I hope I'll find my parents at the same time... that's why I've returned. Why I want to help Eyran.'
'So you were unable to fin
d your parents when you were there before?'
'No... I never found them.'
The first small admittance of defeat. If he could build on that, get Jojo to admit that he might fail again, then he would be halfway to breaking his hold. 'Do you fear that you might fail with Eyran as well. That you won't be able to find them?'
'Yes... sometimes. But I can't just leave him on his own - give up.'
Lambourne sensed a chink of uncertainty. 'But what if you can't help Eyran find them, in the same way that you have never been able to find your own parents. Eyran believes they're alive - but do you?'
Eyran shook his head, struggling with images he didn't want to accept. 'I don't know... he needs a friend. He's all alone when he's looking for them. I was alone before - I know how he feels. I must be there to help him.'
Lambourne retreated; a direct assault wasn't going to work. Eyran was still clinging, resisting. Jojo continuing to hide behind Eyran's desire to find his parents and take the passive role as just a helping friend. 'What was it that felt familiar about the wheat field? Eyran said that when he saw you in the field in the last dream, you looked sad. Can you remember why?'
'I'm not sure. I just felt alone - deserted.'
'Who had deserted you?'
'I don't remember... it was just a feeling. The wheat field, the water running in the nearby brook... it reminded me of something.'
'Did it remind you of losing your parents? Is that why you were sad?'
'Yes... but I wasn't sure. It was somehow different. I tried to get a clear picture... but it was too far back.'
Again the convenient shield. 'If you went back, do you think you'd remember, the images would become clearer?'
'Yes... I think so.'
The answer threw Lambourne; he'd expected more hesitance and resistance. Why bury the events conveniently in the past, then invite their exposure? Surely the last thing Eyran wanted was him delving back; yet Jojo seemed to be encouraging it. One area where they were in conflict. Lambourne wanted to stay with the present a bit longer, continue exploring the dreams - but he realized the opportunity to go back might not arise again easily. He decided to take the bait, call what he was certain was a bluff. 'So let's go back Jojo... back to where the memories might be clearer.'
Lambourne started by taking Jojo back just over three years, to when Eyran was almost eight: the last months at the old house in England. Nothing. No recall, no memories. The process was slow; Eyran left long gaps as he mentally jumped time frames and surfaced again. Lambourne prompted by mentioning their play areas by the old house: the copse and the woods at the back, the wheat field at Broadhurst Farm. But nothing triggered a memory. He decided to make the invitation more open. '... Take me back to when you first met Eyran. Was it when Eyran first moved into the house there? Were you friends together then?'
'No... it was from before.'
'Then go back further... back to when you first met.'
Only Eyran's breathing and the faint whirring of the tape reel punctuated the silence. Lambourne tapped his pen softly on his pad with the passing seconds. As Jojo panned frantically back in his mind through past events and images and almost two minutes had passed with only the sound of Eyran's breathing, now slightly more laboured - Lambourne became sure that nothing would surface. Or that Jojo's recollections would only be vague; the painful memory of losing his parents selectively erased. In the same way that Eyran didn't want to accept his parents were dead - Jojo would have no recall of his.
When Eyran finally surfaced and Jojo's voice returned, it startled Lambourne. He felt numbed, his mouth suddenly dry, and he had to consciously snap himself out, quickly adjust to the new situation and break the silence by asking the next question.
He knew that he sounded inept, hesitant - hadn't fully made the leap to what he now confronted. His palms were sticky and he was stumbling as he continued with a few rudimentary questions. For the first time he was eager to end the session, and minutes later he stopped the tape recorder and counted Eyran back awake. He needed time to himself, time to think. He didn't mention anything to Eyran or the Capels as they confirmed arrangements for the next session and said their goodbyes.
Lambourne sat back and closed his eyes, easing out a slow sigh. Now looking back, the signs had been there clearly: 'It seemed unfair that it should happen twice'.... 'It was long ago - from before.'... 'If I went back - perhaps I would remember clearer.' As much as he suspected Eyran had buried events in the past and so wouldn't want them uncovered, Jojo had been enticing him to go back throughout. Intent on only one track, he'd missed the signals.
But as the implications sank home, he realized he was out of his depth; he'd need help. Even the few closing questions had made him feel awkward: fishing in areas of psycho-analysis he'd barely touched upon. He looked at his watch. Almost three hours before he could put through a call to the University of Virginia.
SEVENTEEN
The warrant holding Machanaud was an initial detention order signed off by Perrimond for four days, the maximum any suspect could be held without an official arraignment before an Examining Magistrate.
On the fourth day, Machanaud was transported from his cell in Bauriac for a ten o’clock hearing at the Palais de Justice in Aix. Frederic Naugier was presiding, though informally dressed in a dark grey suit; his red robes would appear at later hearings. Perrimond was to one side of the room, Briant as police escort behind Machanaud, and a greffier, court clerk, sat alongside Naugier.
A young duty lawyer was dragged from the floor below to brief Machanaud on what would await him in the proceedings. During a thirty-eight minute hearing, Machanaud provided his main details for the court file, Naugier read the charges against him, and decision on bail was held over to the next hearing in ten days, by which time a state lawyer would have been appointed through the Bar Council.
At the close of the proceedings, summarily Naugier signed off a four month detention order. In that time, he had to complete the instruction process and pass the case to full trial. On murder cases, it was not uncommon for him to sign off two or three such orders. Peuch had already made it clear to Machanaud that bail was unlikely given the combination of the charge and his transient background. Whether found guilty or not at the final trial, unless dramatic new evidence came up during the instruction, Machanaud was going to spend much of the next year in prison.
Dominic had bought a TV for his mother four months previous. They were expensive, a luxury item, but it was something to keep her company, especially during his long evening shifts.
He remembered the first time he saw 'Perry Mason'. French national programming was poor, and slicker American productions predominated. The popular courtroom drama however took time to catch on in France, mainly because the proceedings depicted were alien, bore no semblance to the justice system familiar to the French.
The quick changing drama of different witnesses, surprises, change of pleas and sudden admissions would in France be spread over several months of the instruction process. Witnesses were grouped and called in different sessions, and testimony from the victim's family, the police, forensics and expert witnesses such as psychiatrists were heard in continuing separate sessions. With usually no more than two instruction hearings in any one month, the process was long and arduous, and complex cases could drag on seven to ten months before presentation to full trial.
But by that time, evidence and testimony had been boiled down to just the essential facts necessary for a jury and three judges to deliberate. Witnesses could be recalled, but their answers were now no more than distillations of their previous testimony during instruction. No rambling, no surprises, no dramatics or sudden about turn admissions. Just the core evidence the prosecution and defence wished showcased for the jury. As a result even murder trials lasted only a day or two.
Dominic had followed the early stages of Machanaud's instruction hearings. After a second hearing at which bail was refused, two weeks later Naugier summoned the Rosselots. Ap
art from confirming vital details about the last time they saw Christian, what he was wearing and who he had headed out to see that afternoon, Naugier had to formally ask them if they wished to press charges against the suspect held. Almost redundant, since if they had answered 'no', the State would have continued with the prosecution regardless - but it had to be recorded. Jean-Luc responded 'Of course' while Monique just nodded.
The next hearing almost a month later was to clarify police and forensic findings at the initial crime scene. Dominic was concerned the subject of Machanaud's car sighting might be raised, but the hearings were strictly structured: Naugier conducted all questioning directly and any questions proposed by the defence and prosecution had to be presented to Naugier two weeks in advance, with a full schedule of topics to be raised then made available to both sides two days before the hearing. Perrimond had gone rigorously through the schedule with Poullain and Dominic. There was nothing about the car sighting.
Though in two or three hearings time, Dominic knew that they would start to cover Machanaud's later hearings and statements, and the subject could come up. He was dreading it: having to face Machanaud and his council and change his story for Naugier.
Four days after the call from Houillon in Marseille, he'd decided to throw in the towel and told Pouillain that he wouldn't be proceeding with a complaint. Poullain wasted no time in sequestering him and Briant into his back office, closing ranks tightly by ensuring their stories matched. Poullain suggested that they both admit the meetings, but modify the details discussed. 'From what I understand, Machanaud was drunk on both occasions. I'd be surprised if he remembers exactly what was said.'
Dominic agreed numbly along with Briant, but part of him remained uncertain. Hopefully the subject just wouldn't come up.
From what he heard about Machanaud's lawyer over the following weeks, that hope began to fade. Only twenty-six, Léonard Molet had been in full practice just over three years and divided his time between a private firm and state aid cases. Machanaud had shown alarm at their first meeting that this would be Molet's first murder trial, without fully appreciating how much worse his representation could have been: most state aid lawyers were inexperienced stagiaires still in pupilage, with invariably little or no courtroom experience. Over the weeks, Molet showed his paces and gained Machanaud's confidence, making Perrimond and Naugier at the same time sit up and take notice. Unlike the usual state aid fodder, he gained preliminary notes on time, saw his client regularly, and rebutted with sensible defence-angled questions for Naugier to pose at instruction. The case was going to be tightly contested.
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