Past Imperfect (54 page)

Corbeix' call came through finally at just after five o’clock, suggesting a meeting for eleven-thirty the next day. Dominic remembered that at that time Marinella Calvan would be in the midst of the second session, and suggested a delay until two-thirty or three. 'By then, I could bring another transcript with me which might throw more light on the case.'

Corbeix agreed to three o'clock. No indication either way as to what he thought, reflected Dominic. It had taken him a moment to recognize Corbeix' voice. Husky, slightly breathless, it was almost a different voice to that on Friday. Corbeix had kept things short and seemed eager to get off the line.

When the transcript arrived the next day, the period between the two attacks, the
darkness
was no longer a mystery:
'...just a spare wheel. Space was very tight. I was curled up around it... I could hardly move.'
Dominic's hands were trembling by the time he finished reading. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, fighting to settle his nerves. Forcibly tried to return some calm and rationality before he left to see Corbeix.

Dominic had photo-copied the transcript. He followed down in his copy as Corbeix read his:

'...Let's move on to after when you were by the bike. You mentioned a period of darkness. Why was it dark?'

'I was in the boot of the car... the man's car.'

'The same man with you by the bike?'

'Yes.'

'Was there anything else in the boot with you - any bags or luggage? Anything that you could see or feel?'

'No... just a spare wheel. Space was very tight. I was curled up around it... I could hardly move.'

'Were you tied up?'

'Yes... my hands and my feet. And a cloth around my mouth.'

'Could you move at all?'

'Just a little... backwards with my legs. But I only tried once - when we'd stopped and I heard some voices outside. I kicked against the side of the car.'

'Do you think they heard you?'

'No. After a second I heard a car door shut and the sound of a car starting and driving away.'

'Was it a woman or a man you heard?'

'Two women.'

'And while you were stopped, did you hear anything else?'

'Only traffic passing. Some other cars pulling up and leaving... but most were more distant. No other voices.'

'Going back before - before you stopped. Could you hear anything? Could you tell which way you were heading?'

'No... not really. After a moment I could tell that we were passing some buildings - but I wasn't sure if it was Taragnon or Bauriac. I couldn't tell which way we'd headed.'

'When you stopped - how long did it seem you were there for?'

'At least half an hour... I'm not sure. I became tired. It was very hot inside there. At one point I fell asleep. I was thinking about my father as I fell asleep... I started dreaming about him.'

'What did you dream?'

'I dreamt that I was in my camp at the farm, and my father was in the courtyard at the bottom of the field. I leapt up to surprise him and started waving... but he couldn't see me.'

'Were you upset that he couldn't see you?'

'Yes, I started running towards him, waving more frantically and shouting... but still he didn't see me. And finally he just turned and walked back towards the house. I felt that he'd deserted me. I kept thinking - why doesn't my father come out and find me... why doesn't he... he...'

'Was the camp somewhere you used to play often?'

'Yes... it was one of my favourite hideaways.'

'And did you ever take your friends there?'

'Only Stephan once. But there was another place we used to go together. A camp we made in a tree hollow not far from where he lived... we would...'

Christian went off at a tangent describing his hideaway games with Stephan, which linked in turn to recall of other times Christian had hidden: the roof eaves at the farm, a stock cupboard at school. Marinella Calvan wasn't able to get him back to the car boot to discover what happened next.

The early part of the session had been general detail to settle Christian into the mood, then Calvan had tried to continue from where Christian had left off last time: sitting by his bike with Duclos touching him. Christian's responses were mostly garbled, incoherent - and two aborted attempts later Calvan changed tack abruptly to after the bike, honing in on the period of darkness. As Corbeix came to that part, Dominic noticed him flinch slightly, his mood discernibly darker and more intense.

Dominic had felt his blood run cold at the thought of Christian tied like a trussed chicken in the cramped darkness of the car boot while Duclos sat in the restaurant and sipped at a glass of chilled Chablis. Was it just for an alibi, or was Duclos calmly deciding, while he sipped at his wine, what he was going to do next with the boy? Kill him, or perhaps a bit more buggery beforehand? Perhaps he should choose his dessert first and then decide.
Bastard!

Despite conscious effort to calm himself the past two hours, Dominic knew his reaction might still be volatile if Corbeix started to propose soft options.

Corbeix rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked up. 'In your initial letter you mentioned that Duclos' main alibi was him being seen in the restaurant. How long was he there?'

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

'So in total the boy could have been in the car boot as much as an hour and a half?'

'Yes.'

As Corbeix went back to reading, for the first time Dominic glanced around the room: trophy for racquetball,
Toulon, 1988
; three more trophies with inscriptions too small for him to read. Harbourside photo with Corbeix, his wife and two young girls, presumably his daughters, smiling proudly beside a speedboat that hardly looked big enough to carry them all. Family photo with Corbeix, wife and four young girls ranging from seven or eight to early teens. Corbeix the sportsman and family man.

Late forties, Corbeix was a few inches smaller than Dominic, broad and quite lean, a squat bullish figure. 'A powerful presence in court,' according to Verfraigne. 'Relentless' if he strongly believed in a case. He had thick wavy black hair swept back and piercing dark brown eyes, his eyelids deeply hooded. Eyes that seemed to tire slightly with the reading, or perhaps simply more sullen and grave as Duclos' actions sank home.

Computer replacing the old black typewriter; air-conditioning instead of a fan; beige carpet over the tile floor. Minitel and fax. Apart from that the
Palais de Justice
offices were much as they were thirty years before.

It seemed somehow surreal that all those years had passed since he sat in a similar office with Perrimond, Poullain and Naugier. A young gendarme merely washed along on the tide of events. This time he had the chance to make his mark. But despite that, he couldn't help reflecting ironically if today might not be that different. He would still be a passenger aboard the direction Corbeix chose.

When Corbeix had finished reading the transcript, he spent the first fifteen minutes going back between the two transcripts and Dominic's original letter and files sent, mostly clarifying points with Dominic from the original investigation: timing of the attack, forensics, Duclos' reported movements before and after, and the prosecution path and trial procedure pursued with Machanaud. Finally returning to the current information and how it tied in.

When the file had initially arrived with Corbeix, he'd started reading the attached transcript as if it was from a new witness, before realizing it was meant to be the victim's voice gained through a past life regression on a psychiatrist's couch. He'd almost sent the file straight back with a note:
'You must be joking!'
But then he read beyond the first page of the covering letter from Fornier and started through the attached files: Calvan and Lambourne's credentials, medical and psychiatric evaluations, past authenticated PLR cases, past investigations involving evidence from psychics. Struck not so much by the credibility they strived to lend the transcript, but the strong plea he sensed behind. Fornier had gone to a lot of trouble to prove this case was prosecutable. More effort than most investigators went to from the slough of mediocre police paperwork which crossed his desk. And then he saw why: Fornier had married the victim's mother. The first hurdle to be tackled.

Not sure how to broach the subject tactfully, Corbeix went through the thought processes very much as they'd hit him. 'Someone else's name should be on the file as leading the investigation. If your name's there, it could be argued there's personal bias. Your judgement has been coloured.' Corbeix suggested a name: Gérard Malliené, an Aix based Inspector. Fornier didn't know him. Corbeix quickly salved Fornier's look of concern. 'It would still be very much your investigation. It's just a name to head the files. It's his jurisdiction and he's detached from any personal involvement. You'll be named in an advisory capacity for input from the original investigation. In reality, the investigation will run the other way around: you'll lead, Malliené will lend an impartial voice, advise where he can.'

Initially put out by the suggestion, Dominic understood Corbeix' rationale. At least it meant Corbeix had been thinking seriously about the case. 'So you think there's a chance of launching this case successfully?'

Corbeix held one hand up. 'That's not what I'm saying. There's grounds for an investigation, no more. Enough to re-open the case for a
rogatoire général
which I'll get an examining magistrate to sign off first thing tomorrow. But a case for prosecution is another matter. We don't have nearly enough yet, and I'm still waiting on some outside input.' Corbeix glanced towards the files Dominic had sent. 'One of them is the prosecutor mentioned in the petit Gregoire case you sent through. The other a legal expert at the Sorbonne, apparently strong on 'procedural structure for the unorthodox’.'

A weekend of notes and two twenty minute phone conversations earlier that day and the prospects looked dismal. Psychics were used, but their testimonies rarely featured in case preparation. In the Yorkshire Ripper case the suspect had already been interviewed and eliminated, but a psychic later described his truck and the police returned to question him. Final trial papers were prepared on other evidence uncovered and subsequently a confession. The psychic's lead didn't feature. The cases with le petit Gregoire, Stanley Holliday and Son of Sam were similar. Final prosecution relied almost exclusively on other evidence or a final confession. As Corbeix delivered his stark summary, Dominic's expression clouded.

Corbeix grimaced apologetically. 'It's almost as if investigators are afraid to mention the involvement of psychics in court. I suppose going to a psychic is a sort of admission of defeat for them: all our normal investigative skills and channels have failed, so now we're coming to you. Investigators are reluctant to admit that. Or perhaps they're advised of the difficulty of convincing a jury by a prosecutor like myself.'

'But in the case of Therese Basta...' Dominic tried to recall the name from his file notes a few days back. 'I thought there was quite a lot of psychic evidence presented in court.'

'Teresita Basa. Joseph Chua recalling details of her murder through voices in his dreams. Yes, nearly all of his evidence was presented in court - but the first hearing resulted in a hung jury. If it hadn't been for the killer's confession and a change of plea to guilty, the case probably wouldn't have been successfully prosecuted.’ Corbeix observed Dominic look down and to one side, as if searching for a thought just out of reach. 'I noticed a lot of your files were from Interpol General Reference.' Corbeix knew that only Central reference carried official police and court records. General was from outside, mostly newspapers, independent reports or extra-curricula police notes. Corbeix patted the files. 'Newspapers are often keen to report on cases involving psychics. Good copy. In cases with no other leads, the police will also admit to speaking with psychics. But preparing for the trial, the psychics invariably get forgotten.'

'What about the Manson/Bugliosi case?' Dominic asked.

'Different. More thought transference and influence than pure psychic evidence, and even then still a very difficult case to prove. A landmark case at the time. The case was built mainly on the premise of one person strongly influencing others - which is quite widely accepted. Whereas what we have here - past lives and re-incarnation - is not. There's never been a case like this before.'

'There has, apparently - two. Both in India.' Dominic relished the brief surprise on Corbeix' face. One small victory swimming against the increasing tide of defeat. ‘Marinella Calvan will get more information from her colleague Dr Donaldson and let me know tomorrow.'

'Yes... yes. I'd be interested. But I'm not sure how much it will help us.' Corbeix shrugged. 'India. In a way it underlines my last point. There, re-incarnation is accepted - here it is not.'

Initially Dominic thought Corbeix was hopeful; there was a case to answer. Now it seemed all the avenues were blocked. They were almost back to where he'd been at the outset: thinking that approaching a prosecutor was pointless.

'Many of the cases you've mentioned appear to have succeeded through the police re-questioning suspects and gaining confessions,’ Dominic commented. ‘With this new evidence we might be able confront Duclos from the perspective that we
know
how he did it, know that he sat in the restaurant with the child in the car boot between the two attacks. The position is surely now far stronger to achieve that.' Tone too venturesome, tenuous, thought Dominic. Sounded how he felt: clutching at straws.