John Matthews: Past Imperfect

His face would have been on news bulletins at least twice by now. He shook his head, tried to shake off his clawing fear. The only thing which helped was looking down upon them, clinging to the moral high ground which he felt had separated him from the masses over the years. Look at them! Non-descript rabble. He'd done so much for them, for France. And now they'd turned their backs on him. As far as he was concerned they could all rot. Perhaps he would be better off in South America.

But within minutes the trembling was back, a pounding in his head that said Go, Go… Get away! As far from the rabble as possible. As if they might be unpredictable — a Bastille mob that could suddenly turn and steal away his escape at the last second.

He hastily started the Peugeot and headed away — four minutes earlier than originally planned. He looked at the people receding in his rear view mirror and let out a long slow sigh, fighting to relax again, swallowing back the butterfly nerves and nauseousness rising in his stomach. Picking up speed on the slip-way to re-join the motorway, he didn't notice the police car he'd seen earlier, now parked on a ramp to one side — he was busy looking at the approaching traffic.

One of the gendarmes only noticed the blue Peugeot at the last minute — they too were more pre-occupied with the oncoming traffic. But he was unsure, and by the time he'd confirmed the registration with his central dispatch as the one broadcast earlier, the Peugeot was out of sight. Dispatch would radio ahead.

'What here… here near Vidauban?'

Dominic's tone was incredulous, disbelieving. The second time his mobile had rung he'd answered, and Lepoille had told him about them coming up with Duclos' car number: the newspaper photo ploy had worked and a nationwide search was already in full swing. Great . Good news. Well done.

But now with this second call from Lepoille twenty minutes later it hit him that the chase had been brought to his doorstep! 'Why? What on earth is he doing down here?'

'No idea. The sighting we have, the only one so far, was from near Brignoles.'

'Which way is he heading?'

'West — towards you. He's on the E80 motorway and should hit the junction down the road from you just past Le Luc in no more than eight or nine minutes.'

Perhaps some sort of meeting to pay off Brossard was the only explanation Dominic could think of. And then the image suddenly flickered back from his subconscious: a blue Peugeot parked up on the road side, a distant face caught for a split second in the stark glare of the spotlights — Duclos! Duclos had been waiting by the approach to his house while Brossard was inside! The fleeting image so totally out of place at the time, it hadn't registered. The last place he'd expected Duclos. But why was Duclos now heading back towards him rather than away?

'…That was why I'm calling now,' Lepoille said. 'You're the nearest car north of the junction.'

Suddenly it hit Dominic with a jolt what they wanted: to join the chase, help apprehend Duclos! At any other time, he would already be running for his car, but not now. Not while his son's life was still hanging in the balance in the next room. 'But I left a squad car at the farm at Vidauban. What about that?'

'I don't know. The closest cars that could be raised apart from you was one heading south just past Puget-Valle — which was turned straight around — and another seven kilometres into the E-80 heading east from the Le Luc junction. They've been told to stay where they are. The next turn off is almost eighteen kilometres — they wouldn't get back in time to cover the junction.'

Either one could be the cars sent earlier to Vidauban, Dominic reflected. But Lepoille obviously didn't know about the drama at the farmhouse. On Lepoille's first call he'd mentioned where he was, but not why: too personal, the conversation would have become maudlin. Dominic had been sitting next to Monique on the nearest hospital corridor bench to Emergency. But after the first few words, he stood up, started pacing away. With what she had on her mind now, insensitive for her to be bothered with police logistics. 'But the Puget-Valle car — won't they make it up to the junction in time?'

'No — they'll be about five or six kilometres short. You won't make it to the motorway junction by then either, but you should be able to make the N7 junction easily. That will effectively cut Duclos off from heading east on the N7 or north through Grasse. With the motorway and south already covered — we'll have him cornered!'

Impossible choice . Desert Monique and Gerome at such a moment, or let the man who had wreaked these horrors on his family escape? The thought of Duclos so close made his adrenalin surge with a mixture of anger and excitement: the prospect of personally hunting down Duclos felt somehow fitting. Right. But he couldn't… just couldn't. 'Isn't there another car you can send?' Dominic's voice was pleading, desperate.

'No, afraid not. We've already checked all the options.

Dominic was half turned away, and glanced back as he sensed Monique looking over more pointedly. Seeing the pain and anguish etched deep in her face made the decision for him. Long sigh. 'I'm sorry. I just can't do it.' Dominic briefly outlined the events at the farmhouse. 'Gerome's still in emergency — we're waiting on news any minute. I just can't leave now.'

'I'm sorry, Dominic. If I'd known, I wouldn't have asked.'

'It's okay, how could you know. Look, let me know how-'

'If you don't go — will he get away?' This from Monique, cutting in.

'I'm sorry, I-' For a second Dominic was confused, not sure who to address first. Then: 'Guy — I'll call you back in a second.' Monique's expression was taut. Fobbing her off with a lie seemed pointless: the N7 was one of Duclos' main escape route options. Dominic shrugged. 'Yes, I suppose so. He might.'

'And this is the same man responsible for Christian and now Gerome?'

'Yes.' Flat tone. One word denoting so much of her life's anguish.

Her jawline tightened. She contemplated the floor for a second before looking back at Dominic. 'Then I think you should go. I'm here for Gerome, and the doctors are doing their best. There's nothing you can do for him by staying.'

Dominic shook his head. 'No… no. I couldn't possibly leave you and Gerome at a moment like this. I wouldn't be able to face either of you squarely again, or myself for that matter. I can't go.'

Monique looked at him steadily, eyes piercing. 'And if Gerome should die — do you think it will be any easier to face me knowing that you've let the man responsible get away?'

Dominic felt the words like a knife. If she wanted to punish him for what had happened, that was it now: those words. But as he met her eyes, he could see that she was resolute, determined. Beyond the barb, she wanted him to go. Arguing looked futile. The same message he'd read before: get him, get him . Don't let him get away!

Dominic started to hit back with more protests, but Monique was insistent — practically screaming at him to go as she became frantic that vital seconds were being lost. With a last defeated shrug and an elicited promise from Monique that she call him the second there was any news on Gerome — he turned hastily away, already dialling out to Lepoille.

Monique closed her eyes, a tear rolling down one cheek. Gerome near death, and it had sounded as if she partly blamed Dominic. But she knew that if she hadn't taken that stance, he wouldn't have gone. She could live without seeing justice done — had already done so for so many years — but Dominic? Despite his protests, she could see that part of him desperately wanted to track down Duclos, exact justice. She'd seen it in his indecision on the phone, in the hunted, frantic look in his eyes when he discovered Duclos was so close, the plea in his voice: '…Isn't there another car you can send?' She knew that until he caught Duclos, the past would never be fully laid to rest.