John Matthews - Past Imperfect

'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 Archimede, 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.