John Matthews - Past Imperfect

'Yes, uncanny Dominic. Uncanny.' She was silent for a long while. She asked a few mechanical questions about the procedure and the state of play, then went to bed soon after. Her mood was sullen, thoughtful; little indication of how she felt. He was sure it still hadn't fully hit her.

But when the night following his mood was grey and he felt the case was at a dead end, she threw it all back in his face: 'So Christian's voice is guiding you, as if it's all somehow ordained. Meant to be. But now you're telling me it's impossible. I've never accepted what happened, Dominic. But at least I've been able to come to terms with the justice, such as it was. Jean-Luc was never able to do even that. And suddenly everything that happened then is meant to be wrong. You've harboured the doubts for thirty years — but you tell me just the other day. Then the very next you tell me it's all over. You've hit a dead end. "The possibility of justice I mentioned the other day — forget it." No, Dominic. It's not going to end like that.'

Dominic stressed the legal complexities of the case, mostly stock lines repeated from Corbeix: that psychic evidence presented in court was virtually non-existent in France; without tangible evidence corroborated by a third party they were lost; despite the accuracy of the tapes and transcripts and Calvan's credentials, they just wouldn't stand up in court on their own.

Monique's eyes darted frantically as he spoke: 'But there must be something, something !'

To her this new situation was just one day old, he realized: she was invigorated by its freshness. To him it was the end of a thirty year trail. She had no idea how tired he felt. He told her of the few weak options remaining.

She'd knelt in front of him, her arms on his thighs, her eyes imploring him. 'If that's all that's left, Dominic, then grasp it with both hands. Chase the next car owner, however remote the possibility. And if you fail, go for whatever remains: try and prove Duclos' background with young boys, drag him through the courts, ruin his career. Do whatever you can. You've waited thirty years — don't give up now!'

First thing Dominic called Bennacer, Deleauvre and Lepoille. Things were starting to move again.

But just before four o’clock, Lepoille called with bad news: the car owner after Caugine was dead. 'He was a bachelor when he bought the car, didn't marry till much later, and his wife's dead now too. There's a sister he shared an address with for a while — though two years before he even bought the car. I don't think she'll be much use.'

Hardly any numbness this time; with the events of the day before, he'd already half accepted that all chances of prosecuting Duclos for murder were gone.

Two days later, Deleauvre called to tell him that their initial visit to pressure Eynard hadn't gone well. 'He was very cagey, defensive, didn't want to say anything without his lawyer present. We've arranged another 'unofficial' meeting in one of his clubs with his lawyer present. But getting him to roll over for a deal might not be as easy as we first thought. Depends how his lawyer reacts.'

Dominic had visions of even this last hope with Duclos slipping through his grasp.

Dominic's spirits were still at a low ebb three hours later when the call came through. The desk sergeant announced a woman and 'something about a coin'. Dominic's first thought was Lepoille tracking down the second owner's sister.

It was Jocelyn Caugine. 'Sorry to trouble you, inspector. But I did remember something. I don't know whether it's useful or not. My husband bought the car from a garage near Limoges — they apparently did some sort of trade-in with the previous owner. Perhaps they changed the wheel and saw the coin you mentioned.'

Dominic felt his spirits soar. 'Do you remember the name of the garage?'

'Something- beau . I can't remember exactly. But it's the only garage for quite a while: about four kilometres out of Limoges on the St Julien road. Left hand side as you approach Limoges.'

'Madame Caugine — you're marvellous. Marvellous !'

'Well — I just hope it's useful.' Slightly flustered by his enthusiasm.

Useful? Dominic smiled incredulously. He wanted to hug Jocelyn Caugine until her cheeks flushed purple.

Dominic ordered the biggest food hamper he could find — cognac, champagne, select cheeses and pates, truffles and chocolates — and had it messengered to Jocelyn Caugine with a note: From your favourite Inspector. Then he phoned Lepoille.

The TGV train hurtled across the flat plain of the Sologne.

Three names left to trace. Dominic called Lepoille on his mobile. 'Anything yet?'

'Just bringing it up… here we are…' The sound of Lepoille's fingers on the keyboard. 'One more found so far. Still alive. Limoges address… and, yes, a telephone number.' Lepoille read it out, enunciating clearly so that Dominic could hear above the noise of the train. 'Nothing as yet on the other two I don't think…' Lepoille's voice drifted as he swung away, calling out across the room, some mumbled background conversation, faint echoing clatter of the computer room imposing…

…The room where Dominic had spent so much time the past two days: late evenings, endless chains of coffees in plastic cups, looking expectantly over Lepoille's shoulder while he waited for the next Internet or ASF link, instructions bouncing across the room as quick as the key strokes between Lepoille and his two team helpers, and then finally the names and telephone numbers…

Lepoille was back. '… Nothing yet. Found a relative on one, but nothing more. We'll phone as soon as we get something. What time will you get there?'

Dominic calculated: just over an hour more to Paris, then the connection to Rouen. 'About six o'clock.' He could have shaved fifty minutes by flying, but it was vital he maintain contact by phone throughout.

Dominic called the new number straight after signing off from Lepoille. It was engaged.

Madness. A boy under hypnosis mentioning a coin from over thirty years ago, an old woman remembering the name of a garage… and half of Interpol Division II's computer team had been tied up for two days.

Hundreds of computer records searched. Nine names and matching identity numbers of the workers in a Limoges garage from thirty years ago. Four traced. Three dead. Two left to find. Any casual workers not on the 1964 garage pay-roll list would be virtually impossible to track down.

Of the four so far traced two were still in Limoges, one in Narbonne and one in Rouen, not on the phone. Dominic decided to head to Rouen while Lepoille continued his search. With the train he could stay in touch, plus call directly any new traces which came in.

Dominic dialled the number again in Limoges: Serge Roudele. It answered. Dominic introduced himself and confirmed with Roudele that he worked in the Mirabeau garage in 1964.

'Yes, I did… why?

'It concerns an Alfa Romeo. An Alfa Romeo Giulietta Sprint.' The other two workers Dominic had spoken to earlier hadn't remembered the car. Among the hundreds of cars seen by a garage worker over the years, how to throw a spotlight on this one car? 'Now I know that you probably saw a lot of cars, but maybe not so many Alfa Romeos. This was the coupe version, quite a classic. Dark green.'

Brief silence, then: 'No, sorry. I don't seem to remember it.'

'Owner was a young lawyer, Alain Duclos. Went on to become your local MP, RPR party.'

'I'm afraid I was just on the works floor, I didn't deal with the owners. I hardly knew whose car was whose.'

'… Quite a distinctive car.'

'Sorry — we dealt with so many classics and sports cars. They were a strong line for the garage, so I saw a lot of them. I just can't place it.'