John Matthews - Past Imperfect

The call put Duclos in a foul mood for hours, he was unable to get back to sleep. Jaumard off in the Philippines spending his money with a couple of tarts, while he was trapped in his own house with Betina, Joel, a gendarme and half the nation's press at the gate.

Finally, he'd managed to calm himself: it would soon all be over. He reminded himself of the strength of the ace card they were holding with Aurillet at the next hearing. This time there was a virtual guarantee.

He placated Marchand. 'Don't worry. The hearing coming up now is a completely different situation. We have almost total control over what's going to happen. But if you want to wait till after the hearing to assure your people — fine. We should know in a few hours.'

'What makes you so sure of success?'

At first, Duclos wasn't going to tell Marchand. He could have just glossed over the issue, avoided answering. But he felt the need to put Marchand's mind at ease once and for all. And he was also proud, found himself almost gloating over the ingenuity of the scheme as he explained it to Marchand. At least one touch of genius among the whole mess.

Marchand's reaction was almost as breathless as Thibault's when he'd explained the ruse four days earlier. 'What — you mean Aurillet is practically in your pocket? When in fact the prosecution think he's one of their most important assets.'

'Got it in one.'

Marchand at least seemed more settled and assured as he signed off. In contrast, Thibault had been quite agitated. The sheer audacity of the scheme, or its implications? The fact that as his lawyer — unless he wanted to drop the case — he had little choice but to ride along with it. 'I'd better post a 'confront' notice straight away.'

'Do what you have to,' Duclos had commented flatly, but thought: if Thibault had delivered what he'd promised earlier, he wouldn't have even had to play the ruse and tell Thibault, worry his delicate legal sensibilities. Thibault should have been thankful it had all been laid on a plate for him. All he had to do was sit back and watch the case explode in Corbeix' face.

Dominic's hand trembled on his mobile phone as he dialled. Please God, let me be wrong… let me be wrong!

Past thoughts flashing as he'd sped fast traffic. Snippets of conversations. The phone started ringing. Motorway lay-by. The first Dominic had come to. Large trucks passing rocked his car slightly.

Bennacer answered after two rings. Background noise of traffic. Bennacer was on his mobile, obviously en route to Aix.

I'm surprised in a way that his pimp is Aurillet . Part of a conversation from over a week ago that Dominic hadn't pursued at the time. Dominic asked Bennacer about it now: 'What led you to make that comment?'

'It was just that looking at the details of the case, the boy killed in Taragnon was dusky — mixture of French and North African. Also Eyrnard in Paris specializes in a lot of that type. But as far as I know, Aurillet mostly deals with fair-skinned boys.' Bennacer glanced back towards Aurillet handcuffed to a sergeant in the back seat. Aurillet looked uncomfortable, possibly at the conversation taking place as if he wasn't there. He turned away, glanced through the side window.

'Is there a Marseille-based pimp who specializes in dusky boys?' Dominic asked.

'A couple. But the main one that springs to mind is Francois Vacharet. Place in the Panier district, used to be run by his father Emile. You should remember the father: we investigated his murder together back when you were on our patch. Looked like a milieu hit.'

'Yes, yes. I do.' Hazy memory from twenty years ago.

'That's the other thing: Vacharet's was one of the few places also operating back in ‘63.' Bennacer turned back to Aurillet. 'Too far back for you Vince, huh? Still in nappies.' Aurillet sat tight-jawed staring through the window. Probably stung by the jibe, though Bennacer thought for a moment he saw something beyond: Aurillet looked genuinely perturbed. 'So if Duclos did have a pimp back then, it wasn't Aurillet.'

'Have you got a number for Vacharet?'

'Not on me. But if you call my assistant Moudeux, he'll pull something up from the file.'

'Thanks.' Dominic rang off, dialled straight out to the Marseille station and was put through to Moudeux. Thirty seconds of Moudeux tapping through a computer file and he had the number. Dominic dialled it straightaway.

A man's voice answered after the second ring. Dominic asked for Francois Vacharet.

'He's on the other line right now. Who may I say is calling?'

'Victor. I'm an associate of Alain Duclos. Acting as liaison between him and his lawyer, Jean-Paul Thibault.'

'One moment.'

Dominic felt his nerves racing in the wait. If anything had been done to disguise Duclos' activities, then it was a strong bet it had been arranged through his real pimp. But Dominic knew that he'd have to be assumptive, take the initiative to get to the truth.

'Francois Vacharet. Can I help you?'

Dominic announced himself again. 'I'm phoning on behalf of Alain Duclos. He doesn't like to use his line at home too freely while he's under house arrest. We're just going into the session with Aurillet — and we wondered if there's anything we need to know from your perspective?'

'I don't know. Not really.' Vacharet sounded vaguely perplexed. 'My name shouldn't even come into it.'

'We understand that.' Dominic's heart was pounding. Vacharet hadn't denied knowledge of Aurillet. He knew something . 'It's just to ensure that Aurillet has everything straight to ensure that your name is kept clear.'

'He should do. Since one of the main aims was to make the police look bad, I made things pretty clear on that front.' Flat tone, as if: stupid question. 'Besides, I understand he has a tape. That should be the main thing to swing it.'

Tape? Dominic went ice cold. 'Yes, yes. Of course.' Fought to keep his voice nonchalant. 'So, from your point of view, nothing particular that we should know.'

'No, not really.

'Thanks for your time anyway. Just thought it was safest to check.' Dominic rang off. A juggernaut went close by, its air rush buffeting the car. He shook off a faint shiver and phoned Bennacer back.

'It's a set up,' Dominic said. 'I don't know how yet, but whatever you do don't let Aurillet go into the hearing. Find Corbeix straightaway and get him to arrange a half hour postponement and a private room for Aurillet. I'll be there as soon as I can.'

'You've already been told. You're not our main interest — Duclos is.'

'Well. I've only got your word for that. I'd rather wait until I can be represented by my lawyer.'

'We can do this a couple of ways. To start with, I can bounce you off every wall in this room. I'll claim that you became hysterical, started throwing yourself and furniture around — so I had to restrain you.

Silence. No response from Aurillet.

Dominic sat with Corbeix, Bennacer and Aurillet listening to the tape. It was a small flat memo tape, the type that slots neatly into a wallet. Aurillet had taped the time he was left in the questioning room with Moudeux.

'… Then we can start contacting your clients. Inform them you're under police surveillance.'

'You can't do that!'

'I don't know — public duty, I would have thought. They wouldn't want to get caught up in your mess. We've got five days of clients on tape. Then we can spread the word through our milieu contacts…'

'You bastard!'

'By the time we're finished, whether you want to talk to us or not will be immaterial — you'll be out of business.'

The few minutes remaining on the tape were in a similar vein: threats, intimidation, protests from Aurillet before reluctant agreement to co-operate. Not far different from what they'd had to employ in the first ten minutes with Aurillet now to get him to come clean, Dominic thought sourly. The fact that they already knew from Vacharet that a tape existed gave the initial vantage. Threat of prosecution for deception and perjury on one hand with virtual immunity on the other, tipped the remaining balance.