Past Imperfect

by John Matthews

  Sensing that Caubert and Paveinade were still hesitant, Dominic prompted: 'Who has the handcuffs? Let's get on with it.'

  Duclos’ eyes darted between them a moment more before turning to his secretary. Slow exhalation: exasperation. No energy left to argue with proles. 'Call Jean-Paul Thibault - his number is in my database. Tell him what's happened.' Then he rounded on the two DIs and Dominic. 'One of the first things he'll be doing is speaking to your respective Commissioners in Strasbourg and Lyon. I don't think you have any idea the magnitude of error you're making here. I wouldn't hold your breath on any future promo-'

  'Save the speech, Minister,' Dominic cut in, damned if he was going to allow Duclos this last frantic scramble for moral high ground. 'I'm not one of your electorate. Nor, if I have my way, will you be soap boxing to any more electorate.' Dominic nodded to Paveinade and Caubert. 'Now take the prisoner.'

  As Paveinade raised Duclos' arms for the handcuffs, he muttered a quick, 'I'm sorry, sir.' Still observance of authority, albeit now reluctant. Dominic couldn't imagine Paveinade saying sorry to a street vagrant as he slapped on handcuffs.

  'This is outrageous,' Duclos hissed. 'You are making a tragic error.'

  Dominic leant closer. 'Yes, well. You pay for your tragic errors, and I'll pay for mine.'

  They marched Duclos away. Stares of curiosity, surprise from people passing on the corridor. Whether because they recognized Duclos or just the sight of a man in handcuffs, Dominic wasn't sure. Two people were in the elevator down from the third floor; hesitant sideways glances at the handcuffs.

  Dominic enjoyed every minute. He hadn't had so much fun since the Taragnon bank manager. Duclos was subdued, silent throughout. Eyes mostly downcast, embarrassed, not meeting those of people they passed.

  Duclos spoke only once more on their way out, as they headed down the Parliament steps towards the car. 'You know - I remember you, Fornier.' Duclos was staring at him directly; up until then, he'd been careful to avoid eye contact.

  'Yes, and I've never forgotten you.' Dominic smiled tautly. 'I'll send you flowers in prison.'

  Dominic sat in the front and stared resolutely ahead as they drove off. He wished now that he'd kept to his original plan, stayed in the background and kept quiet. His hands were clenched tight in fists on his knees. He could still feel his anger bubbling. The long years of waiting, the intensity of the past weeks of investigation - and all he could finish off with was a cheap gibe about Duclos’ sexuality. But there was a momentary flinch in Duclos’ eyes that at least gave some satisfaction; albeit slightly delayed - not a recoil reaction of shock or surprise. As if it had prompted some past, unpleasant memory, and it took Duclos a second to link the two.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Jean-Paul Thibault pushed through the throng of reporters on the courtroom steps. Cameras clicked, microphones jostled for position. At first they concentrated on Duclos, but as Duclos held one hand up and Thibault's assistant clerk Madeleine led him hurriedly to the car, they swung back towards Thibault. The lawyer touched his steel-rimmed glasses, moistened his lips. The microphones moved in closer.

  'As you can appreciate, my client doesn't wish to make any comment at this stage. I can only say that I will seek to demonstrate my client's innocence in short order: that these charges against him are totally unfounded and without merit.'

  A confused barrage of questions returned: Match... Le Monde... Provencal... when will... what do you propose... will Monsieur Duclos now... Thibault picked out one question: Why do you think these charges have arisen now, so many years later? Girl at the back: Le Figaro.

  'Good question. Why now? Monsieur Duclos provided a full unflinching statement when this case was originally heard. He has nothing to hide. A suspect I might add was found, fully tried and convicted. A re-opening now is a complete legal sham, especially on the evidence presented. I think that given what Monsieur Duclos has been involved in lately politically might provide more of a clue to why it has arisen now. Thank you.' Thibault started moving down the steps towards the car.

  The pack followed: more questions. They'd taken the bait. Again, Thibault picked out just one: 'Which particular political involvement?'

  Thibault turned just as he opened the car door. Reluctant admission, as if the press were dragging it out of him. Thibault sighed. 'As you probably know, Monsieur Duclos has recently been rapporteur in a patents dispute which has gone the wrong way for the EU bio-tech industry. If he's discredited, the case could be re-opened. Also, I'd like to remind you that all of this comes rather soon after a scandal involving a certain Socialist politician from Marseille. Rather convenient, one might say.' Thibault smiled. 'If I were you, I would look no further than Monsieur Duclos' political enemies for those behind this ridiculous fiasco.'

  Thibault held a hand up behind him as he stepped into the car, ignoring the continuing barrage of questions. It had ended on the note he wanted. Madeleine drove off.

  He smiled across at Duclos. 'A good day's work, I think. Should be interesting press tomorrow.'

  'Yes, I think so. Well done.' Though Duclos' smile in return was more hesitant. He had half an eye on the black police Citreön following. His shadow for the next few months.

  Two days after the bail hearing came the first official RPR statement: from the party Secretary General and acting Prime Minister. 'We have spoken at some length with Minister Duclos, who completely repudiates these charges as false and unfounded. He will fight them vigorously, and the party will offer its moral support. However, it is Minister Duclos' personal opinion that it would be improper for him to continue his duties representing the party as a regional constituent or in Brussels, while this case remains unresolved. His resignation of today has been accepted with due regret by the party President.'

  The statement was as expected. 'Moral' support meant that the party could offer no tangible support, but their thoughts were with him. Good luck and bon voyage.

  Eight days. All that Duclos had spent behind bars before being bailed. Quite a contrast to Machanaud, Dominic thought sourly. The system at work. Egalité its middle name.

  But it wasn't full bail, Corbeix was eager to point out. More house arrest, with a gendarme permanently in Duclos' shadow. Posted by his front door in Limoges or his hotel room in Aix when Duclos travelled down for instruction hearings. His passport surrendered, his bank accounts frozen, and practically all his assets tied up in bail funding. 'It was the best we could hope for in the circumstances.'

  Two days since the bail hearing. A more sober meeting this time with Corbeix. No whisky. Not much to celebrate. Corbeix' desk was strewn with the main newspapers: most carried the story on the front page.

  The bail decision hadn't been entirely a surprise. As soon as Corbeix heard about Duclos' appointed lawyer, Jean-Paul Thibault, Corbeix was at least forewarned what to expect: arrogance, brashness, cries of 'outrage' at every opportunity. Thibault's firm was a leading Paris cabinet, with associate offices in Brussels and Washington. Heavy on corporate law, their criminal law division was smaller, but nevertheless competent and aggressive. Thibault was one of their youngest partners and had risen to prominence in the eighties representing a leading Paris haute couture director's wife charged with murder. A number of similar high profile cases followed, making Thibault's mark as a good 'celebrity lawyer’,

  Thibault's steel-rimmed glasses, gelled back hair and double breasted suits had cut a good clean, up-and-coming yuppie lawyer image a decade ago. But his image hadn't changed with the years, and now, in his late forties, it made him look shady and sharp.

  Dominic was thoughtful as Corbeix covered Thibault's background. 'Doesn't sound too far removed from a younger Duclos.'

  'Perhaps that's what endeared Duclos to Thibault. Sees a bit of himself in him.'

  Predictably, Thibault had come in all guns blazing for his client at the bail hearing: Duclos' status, his long years as a publicly elected official, his strong commitment to France. Corbeix had answered with the seriousne
ss of the charges and the fact that Duclos had money; he had the means to escape.

  They argued the toss for almost an hour before the examining magistrate, Claude Barielle, ruled: bank accounts and assets frozen. Passport held. House arrest. Counsels to be advised of the order of play for instruction hearings within ten days.

  Corbeix had initially been enthused with Claude Barielle's appointment. Only thirty-two and with a sharply inquisitive mind, Corbeix felt that Barielle would be more open-minded to the background of PLR than some of the older examining magistrates. But during the bail hearing, he began to worry that Barielle might turn out too much of a lightweight faced with someone like Thibault. A master manipulator, Thibault was used to ruling the roost in the main courtrooms of Paris. In a provincial Aix courtroom with a young examining magistrate, Thibault could have Barielle carrying his luggage in no time.

  In most instruction hearings, defence lawyers were mainly passengers aboard an examining magistrate's inquisitorial flagship. Present only when his client was called, defence could only demand presence when witnesses were called by posting a 'request to confront' notice. Prosecutors too could, if they wish, coast along during instruction, merely make notes and suggestions, appear at only half the hearings, generally let the examining magistrate do the running.

  Corbeix grimaced. Given his current condition, such a stance would have probably suited him. But he could see by the spread of newspapers on his desk that it wasn't going to be that type of instruction. Thibault was going to be posting a lot of 'request to confront' notices, calling foul at every turn.

  'I think we're in for a rough ride. And possibly earlier than I thought.'

  Dominic too glanced at the newspapers. One had already nicknamed Duclos the bio-tech MEP. The rest made strong reference to it somewhere in the article. The murder case and the bio-tech dispute had already been successfully fused in the public's mind. 'What do you think Thibault's tactic is?'

  'On the surface, just a convenient smoke-screen. A distraction. But beneath, it's a very clever manipulation. The bio-tech ruling is pro-life, pro rights of man. At the same time we are expected to believe that the man responsible is also a murderer. Thibault is trying to paint Duclos as a saint before it has even started. He's going all out for an early kill.'

  'Any particular reason? He has his client bailed, so why the time pressure?'

  'Think about it. Thibault has made the bold claim that this whole case is unfounded. But as the instruction drags on, not only will people begin to doubt such a claim but, win or lose, Duclos' political career will be over. Only if Thibault can get the case thrown out quickly does Duclos have any chance of bouncing back.'

  They'd discussed the daunting task ahead at the last meeting, shored up the final barricades, Dominic reflected. Now Corbeix was raising the portent of an early defeat. Was Corbeix just hardening him up against a possible let down, or did he really see losing as a strong possibility?

  Twelve days later, with the agenda for the first six instruction hearings in hand together with Thibault's 'request to confront' notices, Corbeix' fears were confirmed. It was going to be a gloves off fight at every stage. Though one confront notice surprised him. He stared at it long and hard before laying the papers aside, and wondered: bluff, or did Thibault know something they didn't?

  Marinella Calvan cradled the phone to her ear with her shoulder, turning the top page of the official notice she'd received. 'Yeah, yeah. The sixteenth. Just over three weeks from now.' Her agent, Stephanie Bruckmann, was at the other end. 'That's right, yep. The expense this time is on them. No more pleading for departmental funding.'

  'Who told you what the notice said?' Bruckmann asked. 'That cute French tutor you mentioned finding on campus.'

  'No. Inspector Fornier phoned me directly. Went through it with me. I use Tom just for the newspaper articles. There was something else just the other day.' Marinella flicked through the copy of Le Figaro to one side. 'First instruction hearing, whatever that is, next Tuesday. Bit more about this Duclos' involvement with the bio-tech case.'

  'The bio-tech stuff's good for us. The John Moore case was splashed across most of the papers here. Generated some great headlines: "Spleenless in Seattle" was one of the best.' She heard Marinella chuckle at the other end. 'So it should help build up some national exposure.'

  'Let's hope so.'

  Stephanie Bruckmann was thoughtful. She'd spent the last month setting up lecture tours, book deals and chat shows - then held back. The preliminaries done, the market primed - far stronger impact would be gained once the case hit the press. And stronger still with the confirmation of Marinella testifying at trial. She'd asked Marinella to phone her as soon as she received trial notification from France. 'Look - I think I'm going to go for Larry King straightaway. His office were on just a couple of days ago, right after the Washington Post story. Let's save Oprah and the rest till later. Right now it's a strong international-political story - but not yet a strong American story. Let's give it a couple more weeks to brew on that front. But it's great for King right now. I'll call his office first thing tomorrow.'

  Thibault behaved himself at the first two instruction hearings. Sat for the most part taking notes with his assistant Madeleine at his side, peering imperiously above his glasses at anything questionable, but generally saying little. Few objections or interruptions.

  Corbeix hadn't been sure what to expect. Because Duclos' presence was necessary at both initial hearings, Thibault didn't need to post 'confront' requests in order to be present.

  Barielle sat with a greffier tapping notes into a computer to his left. Despite his years, Barielle had strong presence. He was receding prematurely and had sharp, piercing blue eyes. Broached no nonsense. The hearing room was no more than eight metres by six.

  The main purpose of the first hearing was for overall presentation of the case: the main prosecution foundations in support, and general aims - followed by defence rebuttal. Corbeix started with the background to the 1963 investigation and trial, though only the key points - the main details would be presented by Fornier at the third instruction. Then he came quickly onto the link between the two cases: Eyran Capel and the final PLR sessions. Corbeix was careful not to dwell, he wanted to get swiftly to the coin - the main tangible evidence - without attracting objections and interruptions from Thibault over PLR. Thibault raised his eyebrows to the ceiling at its mention, half smiled and leant over to whisper something to Madeleine - but no objection came.

  Still, Corbeix was keen to push PLR as far out of reach as possible. 'Much evidence will be presented about the authenticity of PLR work. Not just with this case with Eyran Capel and Christian Rosselot - but hundreds of authenticated cases stretching back through the years. Countless eminent psychiatrists and psychologists all bearing testament to its authenticity. Hours of tapes and reams of transcripts available. Marinella Calvan, the main psychologist who conducted the sessions, one of the world’s leading PLR experts, will also appear before us - as will the initial psychiatrist who recommended PLR sessions for Eyran Capel. And finally a French notary who witnessed one of the closing sessions.' Corbeix rested one hand firmly on his trial folder. 'But despite all of that, the prosecution case will not, I repeat not, be fought on the basis of such evidence. All of that will be purely texture and background to the main evidence: a coin discovered by a garage worker in the boot of Alain Duclos' car.'

  'PLR is therefore only a means to an end - but not the end itself. And the coin is significant because it is not just any coin: it is a relatively rare Italian silver lire given to Christian Rosselot by his grandfather, who brought it in turn from Italy. Christian Rosselot left his house that fateful day with the coin in his pocket, and it was subsequently found in the boot of Monsieur Duclos' car - albeit only coming to light all these years later.'

  Corbeix held out a hand towards Thibault. 'I'm sure, your justice, that much will be made in argument against PLR by the defence, purely because of its unusual and speculative
nature - especially in trial evidence. But I can only emphasize again that in this case it is purely for texture and background. However much the defence tries to discredit or throw doubt on PLR - it does not escape the simple, irrevocable fact that the coin was there. A physical, not a mythical discovery. And the only tangible explanation for it being there is that the boy - Christian Rosselot - was in the boot of Alain Duclos' car on the day of his murder.' Corbeix nodded abruptly to Barielle, then to Thibault, and sat down.

  Thibault spent the first ten minutes mainly with character references for his client - almost a repeat of his bail pleas. How it was unthinkable that anyone of Duclos' stature and contribution to the community at large could commit such a crime. A ludicrous travesty of justice that charges should have even been brought to bare. Thibault jumped deftly to the background of PLR and psychic evidence.

  'Nothing else demonstrates stronger just how ludicrous. Shows fully the pathetic desperation of the prosecution's case.' But to Corbeix' relief and surprise, Thibault spent little time on the subject. 'These elements are so obviously questionable, as to hardly be worth my time in trying to discredit them.' As if already half assuming that Barielle would also consider them obvious nonsense. Or perhaps saving his big guns for the hearing with Marinella Calvan, thought Corbeix.

  Thibault emphasized the sensitivity of his client's political position and the rather suspicious and convenient timing of all this now arising hot on the heels of a controversial bio-technology ruling. 'Every politician has enemies - but when industry at large has been hit to the tune of eight billion dollars - the incentive is suddenly there to crush those enemies. So why this charge has suddenly materialized against my client should be very clear. Emerging out of the blue after over thirty years. But the how is far more interesting. How a rag-tag collection of coincidences and falsehoods have been strung together by the prosecution, with a few mystics thrown in for good measure - in support of this ridiculous political witch hunt.' Thibault stared resolutely at Barielle. 'Certainly, your justice, in all my years I have not seen a more blatant case of fabrication of evidence and bias in support of a prosecution - and I will see it as my pleasure to expose this for what it is: a case totally without substance or merit.' Thibault cast his eyes down for a second, drawing a tired breath. 'Unfortunately for my client, regardless of the outcome, politics being what it is - his career will probably be over. His enemies will score their victory in any case. Which I think has been their intention all along - knowing full well that such tenuous evidence would be thrown out in short order. But let us hope at least that justice will be seen to be done on one front. Thank you.'