John Matthews - Past Imperfect

Betina's expression was contemplative, concerned. 'I know that all of this isn't easy for you. But you should try and relax for just a moment. You're at home now, with your family. Among people who care about you.'

He let out a long, slow breath. 'Yes, yes, you're right.' Tried to let the tension ease away, slowly unclenching his hands. Three more days to know if the case had been thrown out. If not, then their next chance was with Marinella Calvan. Thibault had phoned just the day before to tell him of some juicy new leads he was tracking on Calvan; was confident that he'd be able to crush her in grand style. Perhaps he shouldn't worry. If it wasn't all over with good news from Barielle in three days, then it certainly would be by the next hearing.

But that wasn't the only worry, he reminded himself: later that afternoon no doubt Jaumard would call again, and he'd have to spend time on the phone to Geneva to arrange a transfer. The court case; Jaumard; his name in every newspaper; a gendarme at his door; a clutch of newspaper reporters beyond, clicking and jostling at the first appearance. At times it felt like everything was closing in.

With the first headlines, he'd assured Betina that it was all ludicrously fabricated. None of it true. 'My lawyer will have the case thrown out in no time at all.' She hadn't asked, but he'd wanted to answer before any questions possibly came. Betina had accepted his answer without visible reservation, but he couldn't help wondering if a part of her suspected: the business trips, the long weekends away, his rarely sharing her bed. Just the pattern that would fit in with such a secret life.

Betina was lighting the candles and smiling. And Joel was smiling too, bright eyes above the gleam of the candles.

Eyes that knew . Duclos shook the thought away. As Betina had suggested: relax. He was among family. People who cared.

But through the years, how much had he cared? A son who felt at times like a stranger. A wife who he hardly slept with. Eyes that sparkled with warmth and understanding — and all he'd done was spend the long years trying to avoid them.

And now he had been welcomed back. Family . The tight family circle of Betina and Joel which he'd stood outside for so long. Self exclusion. He let the new feeling of welcome wash through him, bathed in its warmth as he watched Betina light the last candles. Betina smiling; Joel smiling. Family closeness and warmth he could hardly remember experiencing before. But slowly beyond, he began to see something else: all the other smiles through his weeks at home. Tight smiles, anxious smiles — tension so acute that at times it could be cut with a knife. Moments when it had flashed through his mind uncharitably that he'd be better off in prison than stuck at home with the two of them.

And the falseness beneath their smiles suddenly struck him, the thought resurged: they knew . They both knew. And here he was firmly embraced within their syrupy little family circle, surrounded by candles and sweet smiles. Trapped.

Sweet icing smiles, blue piping: Ten? Oh God , the same age Christian Rosselot had been when he'd died.

The candles glimmered. Joel's smiling face was above them, eyes wide as he pouted…

But all Duclos could see was the single candle burning in the hospital with Monique Rosselot's face in profile, Christian Rosselot's eyes pleading up at him, don't kill me… don't kill me!

And as his son blew out the candles, the rock came down… he saw himself smashing the life from Christian Rosselot, extinguishing the light. Feeling the small skull crush as the rock connected… spurts of blood warm on his chest . And then he was in the car with Betina, turning the wheel sharply… her piercing scream just before they hit the truck…

Duclos bit at his lip sharply and rushed from the room. He headed for the bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him.

After a moment, Betina came in. She sat beside him on the bed, one arm across his shoulder in comfort.

Duclos looked down at the floor, found it hard to meet her eyes. 'If things go badly, it just hit me: this could be the last of Joel's birthdays I'll be here for, for a while,' he lied. Tears would have been fitting, but none came: dry well of emotions.

'I know. I know.' Betina soothed.

But he wondered at heart what she did know or suspect. Perhaps they were both lying.

Corbeix phoned Dominic's office within minutes of the ruling coming through from Barielle's office. 'We've got it. But by the skin of our teeth. Barielle has made a strong reprimand which will be entered into notes for full trial — may still be used by Thibault to rap us over the head then. But for the moment, we're still alive. Just. Though I'm sure if anything else comes up that even remotely smacks of the same, Barielle will throw the case out.'

'Well, hopeful news at least. Thanks.' Putting down the phone, Dominic wondered: Marinella Calvan? Thibault would no doubt give her a battering over PLR, but at least there should be no claims of bias. Calvan probably had little or no knowledge of French politics, nor cared.

Duclos picked up the phone after the first ring. He'd put down the phone from Thibault only minutes before: news of Barielle's ruling, strategy for Marinella Calvan at the next hearing. He thought Thibault might have forgotten something, was phoning back. But it was Georges Marchand from Switzerland.

After the preliminaries of ‘can we talk freely’ and ‘how are you coping’ — Marchand got to the purpose of his call.

'I had a call a few days back from my people. They're not happy about all the talk in the papers bringing up the bio-technology ruling. They're extremely uncomfortable about the linking of your case to that — and with obvious reason.'

'It's just a ruse by my lawyer. They shouldn't worry.'

'What's his aim?'

'The bio-technology ruling provides good background for his claim of political bias against me. Strong incentive for political enemies to start coming out of the woodwork. We almost got the case thrown out at the last hearing — but almost certainly it will be by the next. Then the whole thing will blow over quickly. Some new scandal will hit the headlines.'

Brief silence from the other end. 'A few days ago they were merely worried. But when news from today's Le Figaro reaches them, they're going to panic. Remember Lenatisse?'

'Yes.' Lenatisse was a French Socialist MP strongly outspoken about the bio-tech ruling, making caustic remarks about Duclos' handling favouring the Greens.

'… One journalist seems to be linking your lawyer's comments with those of Lenatisse. Have you seen it yet?'

'No, no. I haven't.' He didn't get the papers early, hardly ventured out with the gendarme and the press at the door. He waited till later in the day for Betina to bring the papers in with the shopping.

'I'll read it for you: "… Bold claims indeed from Counsellor Thibault of a political witchhunt against his client stemming from the bio-technology dispute. But this raises other more intriguing issues: in particular Minister Lenatisse's earlier comment, however flippantly made, that Alain Duclos might be in the pocket of the Greens. Because certainly, if Alain Duclos is finally found guilty of murder — then it doesn't take too extreme a stretch of the imagination to believe that he might also be a corrupt politician. Perhaps Minister Lenatisse's comments might have some substance after all."

'I see.' Duclos went cold. Yet another dimension to his problems. 'I can see why they're worried. At least it still only points to the Greens — your people would be the last to come under suspicion.' Then realized it had sounded offhand. 'But point taken. I'll mention to Thibault to layoff. No more mention of the bio-technology dispute. And, as I say — the whole thing should be quashed soon anyway.'