John Matthews - Past Imperfect

'So what was the plan?' Dominic asked. 'Getting a strike against the police for intimidation?'

'Not only that,' Aurillet said flatly. 'The voice you have on tape that you think is Duclos — it's not him. Close, but not his voice. His lawyer was going to contest that evidence too, call in a voice analyst. It wouldn't have passed the test.'

Dominic was incredulous as the full details of the plan unravelled: Duclos was desperately afraid of his background with young children emerging. Vacharet was also concerned about being implicated, so agreed to help. Aurillet had a gambling debt of 180,000 Francs which was troubling him, and in the end that was the fee agreed for his part in the plan. They knew that the police had been trying to unearth child pimp background on Duclos through milieu informants — so it wouldn't come as a surprise when an anonymous tip-off came through about Aurillet.

With that, they knew that it was likely that Aurillet's line would be tapped, though made sure by having their own sound engineer check. A decent gap of a few days, and then someone posing as Duclos phones. Aurillet is hauled in for questioning, but doesn't admit anything until unduly pressured.

'When the case comes to court,' Aurillet concluded, 'I deny everything and produce the tape. Duclos' lawyer has already been claiming that the case against his client is falsified — and all of this then ties in perfectly.'

Dominic was breathless at the audacity of the scheme. It would have appeared that the police had manufactured the tip-off and the taped call from Duclos, with a curtain call of intimidation of Aurillet. False tip-off, false tape, intimidation. Game, set and match. They'd only just scraped through the recent hearings with claims of bias — there would have been no possibility of surviving this last onslaught.

Last minute reprieve. Dominic let out a long breath and looked up at the ceiling. 'Jesus!' He looked back sharply at Aurillet. 'Was Thibault in on this?'

'I don't know…'

Stupid question, thought Dominic. Certainly, Thibault had to have been aware before the hearing now. Dominic stormed out into the corridor. He looked its length: three or four people milling, Thibault beyond them at the corridor's end on a wall pay phone.

Dominic felt his anger boil over as he paced towards Thibault. They'd been in the small room with Aurillet for over twenty minutes, and now Thibault was on the phone — no doubt warning Duclos that something had gone wrong.

Seething anger at Duclos' manipulation through the years. Manipulating the evidence and his timing in the cafe thirty years ago, fooling Poullain and Perrimond that he was straight-laced and squeaky clean, manipulating an electorate through all the years since. And now Aurillet and Thibault. Good, upright Duclos. Champion of the people! It was the police and all around him that were manipulative, dishonest.. .

Thibault didn't see him approach until the last minute. All Dominic overheard was: '…Good question, but I really don't know. It could be that…' Thibault glanced around, saw Dominic, muttered, 'I've got to go now,' and went to put the phone down.

Dominic grabbed it before it hit the cradle. 'Who were you speaking to… Was it Duclos?' Thibault shuffled nervously, looked down, didn't answer. Dominic spoke into the mouthpiece. 'Duclos? Duclos … is that you?

Faint sound of breathing. Some background noises. Then the line went dead.

Dominic slammed down the receiver and pushed Thibault back against the wall. 'You were in on this seedy little scheme, weren't you?' Dominic grabbed Thibault's jacket by the shoulder, balled it tight so that it pulled against his neck. 'And now you were on the phone to Duclos, warning him it might have all gone wrong!'

'Haven't you heard of client-lawyer privilege,' Thibault spluttered. Mixture of fear and outrage.

Pathetic. Just like Duclos: clinging to moral high ground to the last. Dominic thought of Thibault's assault on Calvan, the attack on both his own and Corbeix' credibility. And it was suddenly tempting to bury his fist in Thibault's face, wipe away his self-satisfied smile once and for all. But in the end he just gave Thibault a last push against the wall and let him go. He wasn't worth it.

Bennacer had followed out only seconds later, was now behind him, looking concerned. Corbeix had stayed in the room with Aurillet.

Dominic's main worry was that Thibault had managed to warn Duclos. They had Aurillet, but now they also knew that Vacharet was the main link to Duclos and young boys. Something Duclos would be eager to remove at all costs. If he'd been desperate enough to take out Eynard, then…

Suddenly it hit Dominic that even if Duclos hadn't already been warned by Thibault's call — he'd have guessed something was wrong by him suddenly snatching the phone and calling out his name.

Dominic turned to Bennacer. 'Call your station. Get a squad car out to Vacharet's. And fast.'

'Duclos? Duclos … is that you?'

Duclos recognized the voice immediately. A cold shiver spread through his body. Something had gone wrong. Desperately wrong.

Duclos went over to the window and looked out. Joel was in the garden, kicking a football. The view from the front was probably much the same as it had been twenty minutes ago: gendarme by the front door and thirty metres beyond two reporters by the gate. Life chez Duclos. Less reporters than a few weeks back, but no doubt the rat pack would increase again closer to the full trial.

Joel's movements in the garden hardly registered beyond his thoughts. But he'd hardly noticed the boy anyway through all the years, he thought ruefully. Why should now be any different. Especially now.

Full trial? With everything now fallen apart, his last ace card destroyed — there would almost certainly be a full trial. And nothing to stand between him and conviction but two people. Two key people around which all else hinged.

Duclos' fists balled tight. His face was flushed, raw acid anger surging beneath. It was hardly believable that Fornier and his rag-tag bunch had got this far, would end up pushing him to these limits. Had they forgotten who he was?

He'd already half guessed something was wrong twenty minutes before Thibault's call. Vacharet had phoned, mentioned he'd just had a call from someone called Victor. 'Said that he acted as liaison between you and your lawyer. Just struck me afterwards to check he was kosher.'

Asshole . 'The time to check is beforehand. It's a bit late now.' When pressed, Vacharet claimed that he hadn't said much, but Duclos had sensed his defensive tone, his nervousness. With Thibault's call, Duclos knew that whatever it was had been enough: the police had woven the strands together.

The problem was, Vacharet probably also now knew. He might panic and do something foolish at any minute.

Duclos picked up the phone and dialled Brossard's number.

Francois Vacharet stared at the phone for a full minute after his call to Duclos. Jesus, he had put his foot in it.

Though hopefully he hadn't given away to Duclos just how badly. His mind grappled for other possible options: perhaps it hadn't been the police, just some obscure clerk in Thibault's office Duclos wasn't aware of. Victor? But as Duclos had protested, Thibault knew that his home line was secure, they'd spoken several times on it. And for anything as sensitive as that, Thibault would have phoned directly.

No, it had been the police or someone in the prosecutor's office. There remained little doubt. Once they'd uncovered the full extent of his little ruse with Aurillet, they'd be at his door in no time. And once Duclos knew…

Vacharet shuddered. He recalled one of his last conversations with Duclos when he'd discovered through the milieu grapevine about the hit on Eynard. He'd protested that if he'd known about the hit, he'd never have offered to help with Aurillet.