The only other person in the small interview room was Moudeux, a lumbering DI who Aurillet had been handcuffed to in the back of a black Citreön on the way down to the precinct. A head taller than Aurillet, Moudeux had spent much of the journey jibing: 'You into bondage, are you? I understand you guys sometimes sample the merchandize. Do you test the boys yourself? What do you do, put these on them?' Moudeux raised the handcuffs. 'I suppose with an ugly shit like you, they'd come in useful. Stop them getting away.'
Aurillet had stayed silent throughout. The first few questions from Bennacer he met with blank denials, and now Moudeux stayed silent, just contemplated Aurillet with his slow, doleful eyes and smiled menacingly. As the tape ran, Aurillet looked nervously down at the table. Aurillet looked faintly puzzled as the Duclos segment came on; unlike the other two, children weren't mentioned. Just a name: Bernard.
'... Fine. Look forward to seeing you.'
Bennacer stopped the tape. 'So. We've got you clearly on supply of under age children and your connection with Alain Duclos. What we want to know is how far your association goes back with Duclos. All the details.'
'I don't understand. Why are you so interested in him?'
'It concerns another investigation we're running. You're not the main focus here. What we're mainly concerned about is your involvement with Duclos. The wheres and whens of you supplying him with young boys through the years.'
Aurillet shook his head. 'Young boys?' He laughed nervously. 'That Marcus is crazy. Twelve and thirteen. He knows I never take them that young - but he keeps trying his luck. Keeps phoning.'
Bennacer stared at him blandly. 'I don't have time to sit here while your credibility and my patience are stretched. We know you trade in under age boys. But as I said, you are not - I repeat not - our main interest. Duclos is.' Bennacer exhaled. 'So let's try again. Once more: Duclos and young boys. What do you know?'
Aurillet contemplated his shoes. Then the tape machine. 'It's awkward. I'm not sure where all of this will lead. I might incriminate myself. I don't think I should say anything without my lawyer present.'
Bennacer lifted his eyes to the ceiling. Strained effort to keep his voice calm: 'That's your prerogative. If that's your wish, then I'm afraid there is really nothing more for us to discuss at this juncture. I'm going to break this interview for ten minutes and leave you to decide fully. If when I return your decision is still the same, then you'll be held over until your lawyer's arrival.' Bennacer faced the mike. 'Interview suspended at three-eighteen p.m.'
Bennacer stopped the tape. Aurillet's eyes followed Bennacer to the door, darting back briefly to Moudeux: a 'surely you're not leaving me alone with him' look.
Moudeux smiled. He reached over and touched Aurillet's hand. 'Don't worry, I'll keep you company.'
Aurillet recoiled sharply, pulled his hand away. The door shut.
Bennacer stayed out of the room for sixteen minutes. When he returned, Aurillet's expression was strained, haunted. He got the impression that there had been silence between Aurillet and Moudeux for several minutes. Aurillet had reached his decision a while ago.
'Okay. I agree to help. What is it you want to know about Duclos?'
Bennacer started the tape. He didn't ask what had happened while he was out to make Aurillet change his mind. Moudeux smug smile told him that everything had gone more or less according to their earlier plan.
'Was Aurillet difficult?'
'No, not too bad. There was a sticky moment where he wanted to see his lawyer. But I left him with one of my DIs, Moudeux, for a moment to contemplate the error of his ways. Moudeux explained the relative advantages of him co-operating.'
'Official or unofficial? Was it recorded as part of the interview?' Dominic asked.
'No. When I left the room I stopped the tape. I don't think I'd like any of Moudeux' usual vernacular recorded officially. But thankfully he usually doesn't have to say much. He dwarfs most people and he's got this great smile. Makes Jack Nicholson look like Mother Teresa.'
Dominic laughed, swirled the whisky in its tumbler. Bennacer's call had come through on his mobile fifteen minutes after the session with Roudele, while he was still in Corbeix’ office going through final notes. Corbeix had taken a bottle of Southern Comfort from his deskside cabinet and poured them both a third tumbler full. Interim celebration: the successful conclusion to one stage, salut to the stage ahead.
Dominic signed off and filled in the details for Corbeix on Bennacer's call. 'I've asked him to fax over a copy of the statement to both our offices once it's typed up. 'Should come through in an hour or so.'
Corbeix raised his glass. 'Another piece in place.'
They sat silently drinking for a second. Dominic was exhausted. He felt somehow awkward, at a loose end. With the past weeks of hectic activity, it felt strange that now there was nothing left for him to do. Now it all rested with Corbeix. 'When would you hope to file and get a warrant?'
'Let's see.' Corbeix flicked through some papers. 'I checked MEP's timetables the other day. I don't want to serve in Brussels - administrative nightmare. The next time Duclos is in Strasbourg is in nine days. I'll need six in any case to finish up paperwork and advise an examining magistrate. So - third or fourth of May.'
'I'd like to be there when he's arrested.'
'You don't have to. Two Strasbourg Judicial police will go, serve, and transport will be arranged for Duclos back to Aix.'
'I'd still like to be there.' Dominic smiled. 'Outside of the press, it's been quite a while since I've seen Alain Duclos. I was but a young gendarme. Should be quite nostalgic.'
'I know it's been a long time for you.' Corbeix grimaced as he swallowed another shot: pain and sympathy. 'Are you sure you'll be okay accompanying?'
'I'm not going to slug Duclos on the Parliament steps, if that's what you mean. As tempting as it might be.' Dominic shrugged, his smile subsiding. Thoughtful. 'So much of this has been dealt with from a distance. Often it’s felt intangible, unreal. I need something physical to end the process. The warrant being served, the handcuffs being slapped on, the expression on Duclos' face. Then I'll know: we've got him! Right now I still have to pinch myself that it's all over.'
And I'm only just starting, Corbeix thought. But it wasn't the moment to remind Fornier of the difficulties ahead. That Duclos' heavyweight lawyers would bombard the case from so many angles, he'd hardly be given time to draw breath. Hopefully he'd shored upon all their main areas of vulnerability, but what if he'd overlooked something? One footfault and Duclos could walk after the first few instruction hearings. 'Well, at least there's nothing more for you to do now for nine days. Probably you can do with the rest. You look tired.' A grimace that this time went awry. For someone with MS, bold comment. Ironic. He looked down and away as he remembered his own plight, the fact that he probably wouldn't even have enough energy to see the case through.
'Yes. Eight days of sleep. One day of pure bliss. After thirty years on this one case, I daresay I deserve it. Salut!'
Dominic leant forward and they clinked glasses.
But beyond Corbeix' smile, Dominic could read the strong shadow of uncertainty. His own sense of suspended belief with these closing stages he'd answered with the fact that the case so far had been fraught with so many obstacles and difficulties - that now with none in the way, it was no longer familiar ground. After so long, it still felt somehow unreal that it was all finally within grasp. But now, looking at Corbeix and downing the last slug of whisky, he wondered whether it was because reality lurked just around the corner. That something else would arise, Duclos would pull another rabbit from the hat to destroy their case and escape justice.
'They're pressing ahead with the case.'
A part of Duclos had feared they might, had prompted the safeguards he'd put into action. But another had clung to doubt: they would lack both the evidence and the audacity! And it was this part that held sway, wrestled with acceptance. Duclos went cold, rigid. He was in a call box on Rue A
rchimede, two blocks from the Parliament. He watched blankly the traffic and people passing.
With the long silence, Bonoit was suddenly hesitant, awkward. 'You know, I shouldn't even be calling. Certainly it will have to be my last call.'
'Yes, yes - I understand.' Duclos snapped out of his reverie. 'What earthly basis is there? What evidence?'
'I don't have all the details - but something about a garage worker and a coin found in an old car of yours. And still some background with psychics which I mentioned earlier.'
A coin? A coin left in his old car? Impossible, surely invented? He'd searched every nook and crevice straight after the incident, had driven the car for seven months afterwards without seeing anything. 'Sounds ridiculous to me. As I said before - some misguided political witchhunt that will probably blow over before it's even started.' But Duclos could hear the nervousness, the strain in his own voice. The sudden worry that he might have overlooked something, would be facing the unknown. For the first time he was frightened. His hand shook, his palm clammy on the receiver.
Or was it sheer outrage, anger? Thirty years of serving his country, of fighting for bills and statutes for the benefit of all, and they had the cheek to drag this up now. That upstart Fornier and a rag-tag bunch of Provence police and prosecutors. Outrageous! Two days of searching his memory after Bonoit's initial call, and he finally recalled Fornier: the young gendarme assisting! Dour faced and doubting in the background when Poullain had visited him at the Vallons. How on earth did someone like that rise to become Chief Inspector?
'There's something else,' Bonoit commented. 'Fornier was apparently involved in the initial investigation...'
'I see.' Duclos feigned surprise.
'... His involvement now is meant to be purely because of that. Only someone involved then would know the gaps to fill in now. But it goes deeper.' Bonoit paused heavily. 'A couple of years after the murder, Fornier married the victim's mother - Monique Rosselot. They're husband and wife.'
Duclos was numbed, a tingling hollowness. A void struggling with the ludicrousness of what he'd just heard. He wanted to shout: 'But she was already married: Jean-Luc Rosselot. I read it in the papers at the time! But realized that might raise the question of why he had shown such strong interest in the case. He sensed the need to say something beyond just another 'I see'. Then it struck him: personal involvement? 'Given that background, should Fornier really be involved now?'
'Debatable point. Apparently, that is why Malliené is down as leading the investigation. Fornier's meant to be just assisting and for background - continuity between the old and new case. But word has it that Fornier's doing most of the legwork. Malliené is merely checking and signing off - possibly to avoid any claims of bias through personal involvement.'
The smile came slowly to Duclos' face, his concern dissipating. Something else that could probably be turned to advantage! 'Interesting.' He thanked Bonoit. 'I appreciate how you've stuck out your neck to try and help me.'
Bonoit said it was nothing, 'For old friendship.' A quick 'bon chance' before he rang off.
In the immediate silence following, it struck Duclos that he probably wouldn't hear from Bonoit again. When the arrest warrant came, there would be a lot more old friends and colleagues who would suddenly want distance, he thought ruefully.
Coin? The one thing that nagged disturbingly at the back of his mind. Everything else - garage workers, psychics - sounded like the sort of nonsense Thibault, his lawyer, would destroy in short order. He would phone him tomorrow. Start shoring up his defence before the wolf pack arrived.
Duclos could almost imagine Fornier rubbing his hands together. The incompetent hoping for final glory. But with everything with Aurillet already in place, and now with this new information - Duclos still felt confident of winning through. At the same time hopefully teaching Dominic Fornier a lesson he wouldn't quickly forget.
Perhaps he shouldn't have had the whisky. The effects of the steroids wore off in the afternoon; the drink had probably only heightened the problem. Corbeix could feel the muscle twinges rising in his right thigh. He'd planned to stay at least an hour after Fornier left and structure notes from the afternoon session, but already he could feel the warning signals. If he stayed more than another ten minutes, he might have trouble making it even to the car park. And in addition there was the twenty minute drive home.
A recurring worry was that his legs would seize up mid journey, he wouldn't even be able to operate the clutch or the accelerator. On bad days, he'd take a taxi in and back. But this morning had started off good, no twinges, then shortly after the session with Roudele, he'd felt the first. Almost as if his body was reminding him that the day had been gruelling. While the session had been in full flow, the adrenalin running, he'd hardly felt a thing.
Was that what it would be like in the instruction hearings ahead. Sailing through on a sea of adrenalin, and then completely demolished soon after? But today had started off well, he reminded himself: what about those days when he felt exhausted just with the effort of getting out of bed and having breakfast?
Corbeix packed his files in his brief case and headed out, locking his office door. The corridors were quiet. Most of the staff had left an hour ago.
All to do. Fornier's road had ended, his own was just starting. And he knew now with certainty that he'd get little or no help from Galimbert. He'd sounded out Galimbert a week ago, then again when the coin lead came through: sounds tenuous. Exploratory. 'Too much ground breaking that could go wrong - especially against such a high profile figure.'
Objections, objections, with no hint of support in sight. Galimbert wasn't keen on the case. If he handed it over to him to conclude after the summer recess, Galimbert would throw in the towel at the first serious onslaught from Duclos' lawyer.
Corbeix shook his head as he started down the Palais de Justice steps. RPR. He recalled soon after their first discussion about Duclos that Galimbert was a staunch RPR supporter. They were prosecutors, functionaries of the law, politics weren't meant to come into it. Governing parties changed, but they were always there, serving, holding the mantle of justice. But he couldn't help wondering if Galimbert's lack of enthusiasm had been largely swayed by Duclos' RPR status. One of Galimbert's heroes.
Corbeix grimaced tautly. It hardly mattered now. He was on his own. Fighting one of the largest cases in French criminal history when he felt he hardly had the energy to make it to the car park.
At the bottom of the stairway, Corbeix paused to regain breath, looking up briefly at the high-ceilinged entrance vestibule of the Palais de Justice and the motto above the doorway: Liberté, égalité, fraternité. Then continued, his faltering step echoing starkly from the tiled floor and stone walls.
Echoing feet on marble floors. Dominic followed the two Strasbourg Judiciare DIs through the Parliament vestibule from the elevators. As they turned into the corridor leading to Duclos' office, thick pile carpet met their feet. Cushioned, silent, as if to mask their final approach from Duclos.
But a rather concerned guard at the entrance desk had spent time with badge checking, register signing and phoning through to Duclos' secretary before letting them pass. Duclos knew they were coming.
They walked into the main office: a secretary, a clerk behind. But no sign of Duclos. Dominic stayed in the background while one of the DIs, Paveinade, explained the purpose of their visit to Duclos' secretary. His sidekick, Caubert, just nodded as she looked between the two.
Halfway through, the adjoining door opened and Duclos stepped out. He was open mouthed, and stared Paveinade up and down quizzically. 'What on earth is all of this. What is the meaning of this intrusion?'
The same supercilious, condescending expression, thought Dominic. Except now there were few remnants of Duclos' previous round-faced, pretty boy look; the face was puffed and jowly, lines and bags under Duclos' eyes betraying his age.
Paveinade started again, more hesitantly this time: the warrant issued from Aix, the no
tification that morning in Strasbourg for them to take him into custody. 'I have the papers here. I think you'll find them all in order.' Paveinade held them out, but Duclos just stared at them contemptuously.
'What are your badge numbers?' Duclos snapped. 'And who is your commanding officer? Give all your details, along with the arrest warrant and your commanding officers name to my secretary. I'll have her call him straightaway and sort out this mess.'
Obediently, Paveinade took out his badge and showed it to the secretary. Flustered, slightly red faced, Caubert started to follow suit.
Dominic glared at Duclos. He'd agreed with Corbeix just to stay in the background and observe. He might too easily lose his temper. He'd hoped to catch up on sleep in the nine days wait. But with the build up and expectancy towards the final issuing of the warrant - it had still been fitful. Four, five hours a night at most. His nerves were still frayed, and now Duclos was trying to steal the thunder from his moment of glory. Suddenly it was as if they were under suspicion and arrest! An inch more rope, and Duclos would reduce their visit to complete circus. Dominic saw red. Duclos' arrogance in trying to reverse the tables and take control reminded him just why Duclos had escaped justice for so long.
Dominic put his hand over Caubert's badge as it was laid on the secretary's desk. 'That won't be necessary. The arrest warrant is in order, duly signed off by Inspector Malliené of Aix en Provence and an examining magistrate. And as the most senior officer present, it falls upon me to observe and ensure that these officers are allowed to do their duty and execute the warrant without impediment.' Dominic stared at Caubert, his tone sharp. 'Now put away your badge, and get on with what you came here for. Read the prisoner his rights, and handcuff him so that he may be escorted to the car.'
Duclos looked between Dominic, Caubert and Paveinade. A battle of wills - though Duclos looked suddenly uncertain which next action would have the strongest effect. 'This is ridiculous, absurd!'
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