John Matthews - Past Imperfect

Corbeix looked at his calendar: three weeks left in April. August. Even if something came up quickly and he was able to file charges within a month, they would be lucky to be through the first four or five instruction hearings by then.

Going back through his notes and Fornier's files, the enormity of the case struck him. Leading politician. Murder. A landmark procedural case — the first of its kind in France based on such unorthodox evidence. It would make the Tapie scandal look like a parking ticket.

But it was all so tenuous, out of reach. Too many obstacles, too many contingencies — which was probably another reason why he hadn't mentioned anything to Fornier. He doubted that Fornier would even cross the first hurdle. There wouldn't be a case to prosecute. Yet a corner of his mind — where he also contemplated what he would do if he won the lottery or woke up one morning with his illness suddenly gone — realized that if Fornier defied all odds and found something, it would certainly be the biggest case of his career. A fitting curtain bow. It would be tempting to see it all the way through.

Corbeix shook his head. He would file and put it in motion, set it on the right track, then hand over to Galimbert in August, as he'd originally planned. He didn't have the energy left for glory.

Session 12.

The tape rolled silently. The sound of Marinella Calvan tapping on the computer keys and then Phillipe's voice in French. With five of them in the room looking on expectantly at the lone figure of Eyran Capel on the couch, the atmosphere was tense. Or perhaps it was because Dominic knew this was their last chance.

'Did you go into the local village with your parents often?'

'Yes, but mostly at the weekend. Hardly ever in the week when I was at school.'

'What sort of places did you go in the village with your parents?'

'Mostly the shops with my mother… sometimes we would stop at a cafe for a drink. And there was a farm provision store four kilometres beyond Bauriac where I would sometimes go with my father. At the back they…'

Dominic tuned it out. Marinella had mentioned the first moments were normally general background to settle Christian into the mood. Dominic looked back at the transcript from the last session and his own notes in the margin:

'…When you finally came out of the darkness of the car boot and your eyes adjusted to the light, what did you see?'

'The field… the wheat field and the lane by the river.'

'Anything else. Was there anyone that you could see there apart from yourself and the man who'd taken you there in his car?'

'No… there was nobody?'

'Tell me what you heard there? Could you hear anything out of place?'

'No… not really. Just the river running in the distance… the sound of the wind through the trees.'

'Think hard. Was there anything else? Even the smallest sound at any time while you were in the wheat field?'

'Some other water running… spilling on the ground…'

'Anything else?'

'…Some bells, faint, in the distance… but the light was fading. And another light… reaching out… but I couldn't feel my hand… the pain.. the…'

(Garbled and incoherent here. Words mostly unintelligible. Eyran moved on).

Dominic had scribbled in the margin: Church bells?Sound of water: how far away? He brought his attention back as he heard Marinella mention church. She'd moved deftly from other places Christian regularly visited in the village to church visits.

'…And while you were there with your parents, either before or afterwards, do you remember the sound of the church bells ringing?'

'Yes… sometimes. Usually before we went they were ringing.'

'Can you fix that sound in your mind and remember it clearly now?' Muted 'yes' from Eyran. 'And going back again now, back to when you had come out of the darkness of the car boot and into the light — you mentioned the sound of a bell ringing. Was it the same sound you remember from the church, or something else?'

'No… it was different. Not so distant… and higher pitched, a tinkling sound.'

Goats bells! Dominic remembered Machanaud in his statement leaving at that moment because a farmer was moving his goats into the adjoining field. The same farmer had probably disturbed Duclos, and Christian was obviously still conscious in those final few moments. Dominic was suddenly hit with a thought. He scribbled a hasty note and passed it to Marinella Calvan.

She was halfway through tapping out a fresh question, but realized it would be difficult to later backtrack to his. She back-deleted and typed: 'About that same time, did you hear the man's car starting up or moving?'

'No… I don't remember that… I didn't hear anything else… I…th.. there was nothing.'

So Christian had blacked out between the farmer approaching and Duclos moving his car. A minute or two at most. Dominic had noticed Lambourne look over sharply as he'd passed Marinella the note. Lambourne had appeared uncomfortable at the introduction of the notary, Fenouillet, who made periodic notes while observing the inter-play between Marinella, Philippe and Eyran Capel. Dominic had claimed a desire to file some of the transcripts along with other official papers about the murder; for that, notary authentication was necessary. It was the closest Marinella felt they could come to the truth. Fenouillet didn't speak sufficient English for Lambourne to question him directly, and thankfully Philippe had kept in the background.

'Before that, you recalled clearly the sound of water running and splashing. Not the river running, but something else. How far away was that sound? Could you tell what it was?'

'It was quite close… only a few yards. Water spilling from something onto the ground.'

'Was the sound coming from where the man with the car was standing?'

'Yes… I think so.'

Memories of Perrimond claiming Machanaud had washed down the blood from his apron front with a bucket of water from the river. But where had Duclos got water from? He hadn't left the boy long enough to go down to the river and back.

Silence. Marinella flicking a page forward in some notes before tapping out again. 'After those moments in the wheat field, do you have any recall of incidents with your parents?'

'No… can't remember… rememm.' Muted mumbling that faded away. Eyran's eyelids pulsed and he strained slightly, as if images were there but he couldn't see them clearly.

'And do you think that's why the wheat field has come to symbolize separation from your parents. Why you keep returning to it in your thoughts?'

'No, no… it's not that.. not…' The pulsing settled, images clearing. 'It's just that when I try to think beyond it, I can't… can't.'

Marinella pressed while she felt the advantage. The first gambit had perhaps been too hopeful: getting Christian to admit the influence of the wheat field on Eyran's dreams. 'And your friend. Did the field become a symbol of separation from him too?'

'No… I used to play there with Stephan that's all. It reminded me of that. That was all I thought of when I saw the wheat field. Playing… us playing there together.'

'Do you go back to the wheat field in your thoughts to play with Stephan?'

'No… no more.' Eyran swallowed slowly.

'And since? How do you feel about it now? What do you feel when you think about the wheat field?'

'I don't know… somm.' Eyran looked away slightly. Nerve muscles tensed at his temples. Christian's thoughts clawing up through three decades of darkness, fighting to surface. 'Something warm… bright… but I can't feel the warmth… can't feel…' Eyran's head started shaking slowly from side to side. 'I…thh… there was nothing after… only a faint light beyond the darkness… but I can't feel… can't feee…'