John Matthews - Past Imperfect

The spare wheel took up half the boot space. As Christian had described, space would have been cramped. Even curled in almost a foetal position, part of his body or at least his arms must have been pinned above the wheel. If he'd fallen asleep and dropped the coin, it could have easily have landed on top of the wheel and through one of the oval holes. Or at first had fallen on top of the wheel, then with the vibrations and movement of the car or Christian shifting position, found its way to one of the holes.

If the coin had fallen to the side of the wheel, Duclos would have spotted it easily and pocketed it or thrown it away. But if it had fallen through one of the holes… seven months? What were the chances of Duclos not changing his wheel in that time? Whoever had been the first to change the wheel would have seen the coin.

Maurice Caugine had kept the car for over three years. The chances of him not changing the wheel in that time were remote. Either he'd seen the coin or their only chance was probably gone.

Lepoille had called back within the hour: bad news. Maurice Caugine had died eight years ago. 'But it looks like he was survived by his wife. I'm trying to track her down now.'

Since that call three hours ago, nothing. Dominic's spirits had slumped at the news. Another hurdle: now they were dependant not only on Maurice Caugine having noticed the coin, but him having mentioned it to his wife. And forcefully enough for it to have stuck in her mind to recall thirty years later.

Corbeix had been initially enthused about the coin lead. 'Sounds rare enough to argue that it couldn't have got there any other way than the boy being in Duclos' boot that day — if you can find someone who saw it there. Let me know how it develops. Meanwhile I'll send a note to Malliene about the case.' They'd already discussed the procedural details: Dominic would provide a report every week or two weeks, as the case dictated, and would pass it to Malliene to add any comment before he signed it off. Purely a safeguard so that Malliene wasn't signing off anything he disagreed with. 'I'll ask him to contact you the next day or so to tie up the details.'

Corbeix finished by mentioning he was hoping for more information the next day or so on cases involving psychics from a specialist division of the Paris Procureur's office. Dominic was encouraged that the case was increasingly demanding Corbeix attention. But still it struck him that Corbeix hadn't even contacted Malliene until he heard about the coin lead, and the examining magistrate who signed off the rogatoire general Corbeix probably wouldn't call again until he was sure the case was prosecutable. There was still some way to go.

Dominic stared again at the phone. Having built up his own and Corbeix' hopes, it could all be over with a single call. Madame Caugine could have died as well, or gone abroad and was practically untraceable, or was senile or in a mental asylum. Couldn't remember anything from the day before, let alone thirty years ago. The possibilities spun through Dominic's mind.

Pierre Lepoille was on the home straight. He tapped in Jocelyn Caugine's identity card number. Hopefully the office where she cashed her pension would come up and her current address.

Tracking Maurice Caugine had been easy. His identity card number had been on the car registration papers, and from there Lepoille traced where he last drew his pension before dying: La Rochelle, not far from St Junien. But Madame Caugine had been a different matter. He had no record of her identity card number, nor even her first name. The few papers he found for Maurice Caugine didn't feature his wife's details. Tracking was therefore more tedious. He tried all Caugines drawing pension for that year in the area: two men, one woman. The woman was a different address and her husband had died twenty years ago. So Caugine's wife had probably moved out of the area after he died, but where?

He tried several general searches and combinations before giving up. Some areas brought up far too many Caugines for him to search effectively. Stumped for an immediate answer, he went back to some other urgent work he'd pushed aside when Dominic's enquiry came in. Almost another hour had passed before the thought hit him: credit cards! Not current, but any applied for within three years after she had moved. Most credit agencies had a stipulation of the previous address being noted where the current address was less than three years.

He searched 1989, entering Caugine and Dourennes , the name of their previous street in La Rochelle as key words. Bingo! Seven choices, mostly Paris, only one in La Rochelle. Jocelyn Caugine had applied for a store card in Arcachon, south of Bordeaux. Two more key strokes and he was able to call up her full details and identity card number. He checked her current cashing address for her pension in case she'd moved, then called Dominic.

It took Dominic over two hours to finally get Jocelyn Caugine on the phone. When he first called, he was informed by another woman with the same surname, Josette Caugine, presumably her daughter, that she was out shopping, 'Shouldn't be too long.' The murder case of the decade on hold while this little old lady picked up courgettes and cat food at the local Continentale , Dominic mused. He left his name purely as Fornier, no inspector. Didn't want to frighten her off. He'd call later.

The second call Jocelyn Caugine answered directly. This time Dominic introduced himself with his full title. She sounded quite alert, attentive, showed no hesitance with recall. Yes, she remembered the car quite well. 'We often used to drive in it from St Julien to La Rochelle, particularly at the weekends.' Then her voice wavered slightly, sounding concerned. 'We're not in some sort of trouble, are we?' The 'we' as if her husband was still there to partly shoulder responsibility.

'No, no… not at all. You or your husband have done nothing wrong. But it is nevertheless a very important investigation we're conducting, and any assistance you can offer could be vital.'

'I see. Certainly… in any way I can help.'

The perkiness was back in her voice. A little old lady helping out on a Maigret-style enquiry. Probably the most excitement she'd had all year. 'I want you to remember back, Madame Caugine. Back to when your husband had the car. Do you ever remember him mentioning finding a coin in the car?'

'A coin?'

Dominic let the silence ride a second. Her tone was mostly rhetorical, self-prompting. She was thinking. 'Yes, a silver coin from Italy.'

'From Italy, you say? Not some French money left there?' She queried. A quick mumbled 'no' from Dominic. 'Was it particularly valuable?'

'No, not particularly. But as I say, it's very significant to a case we're handling now.'

'I don't know… I don't seem to recall anything.'

Dominic could almost feel her at the other end grappling through the years, straining for memories out of reach. He sensed that she wanted to help. He prompted: 'It was quite a large silver coin. Twenty lire, 1928. Do you remember your husband finding anything unusual in the car boot?'

Brief silence as Madame Caugine thought deeper, then a sigh. 'I'm sorry. No… I just can't think of anything. I haven't been much help, have I?'

Dominic felt the first twinge of alarm. It was slipping away. But how likely was it that her husband hadn't changed a wheel in three years? He was sure that the memory could be drawn out if he hit the right chord. 'Your husband would have probably only seen the coin when he changed the car wheel. Do you remember him changing the wheel at any time?'

'Yes… yes. I do.' Faint hope returning to her voice.

'When was that?'

'We were on the way to Paris to see his brother. We got a flat tyre on the way there.'