Past Imperfect (64 page)

Perhaps he shouldn't have had the whisky. The effects of the steroids wore off in the afternoon; the drink had probably only heightened the problem. Corbeix could feel the muscle twinges rising in his right thigh. He'd planned to stay at least an hour after Fornier left and structure notes from the afternoon session, but already he could feel the warning signals. If he stayed more than another ten minutes, he might have trouble making it even to the car park. And in addition there was the twenty minute drive home.

A recurring worry was that his legs would seize up mid journey, he wouldn't even be able to operate the clutch or the accelerator. On bad days, he'd take a taxi in and back. But this morning had started off good, no twinges, then shortly after the session with Roudele, he'd felt the first. Almost as if his body was reminding him that the day had been gruelling. While the session had been in full flow, the adrenalin running, he'd hardly felt a thing.

Was that what it would be like in the
instruction
hearings ahead. Sailing through on a sea of adrenalin, and then completely demolished soon after? But today had started off well, he reminded himself: what about those days when he felt exhausted just with the effort of getting out of bed and having breakfast?

Corbeix packed his files in his brief case and headed out, locking his office door. The corridors were quiet. Most of the staff had left an hour ago.

All to do
. Fornier's road had ended, his own was just starting. And he knew now with certainty that he'd get little or no help from Galimbert. He'd sounded out Galimbert a week ago, then again when the coin lead came through: sounds tenuous. Exploratory. 'Too much ground breaking that could go wrong - especially against such a high profile figure.'

Objections, objections, with no hint of support in sight. Galimbert wasn't keen on the case. If he handed it over to him to conclude after the summer recess, Galimbert would throw in the towel at the first serious onslaught from Duclos' lawyer.

Corbeix shook his head as he started down the Palais de Justice steps. RPR. He recalled soon after their first discussion about Duclos that Galimbert was a staunch RPR supporter. They were prosecutors, functionaries of the law, politics weren't meant to come into it. Governing parties changed, but they were always there, serving, holding the mantle of justice. But he couldn't help wondering if Galimbert's lack of enthusiasm had been largely swayed by Duclos' RPR status. One of Galimbert's heroes.

Corbeix grimaced tautly. It hardly mattered now. He was on his own. Fighting one of the largest cases in French criminal history when he felt he hardly had the energy to make it to the car park.

At the bottom of the stairway, Corbeix paused to regain breath, looking up briefly at the high-ceilinged entrance vestibule of the Palais de Justice and the motto above the doorway:
Liberté, égalité, fraternité
. Then continued, his faltering step echoing starkly from the tiled floor and stone walls.

Echoing feet on marble floors. Dominic followed the two Strasbourg Judiciare DIs through the Parliament vestibule from the elevators. As they turned into the corridor leading to Duclos' office, thick pile carpet met their feet. Cushioned, silent, as if to mask their final approach from Duclos.

But a rather concerned guard at the entrance desk had spent time with badge checking, register signing and phoning through to Duclos' secretary before letting them pass. Duclos knew they were coming.

They walked into the main office: a secretary, a clerk behind. But no sign of Duclos. Dominic stayed in the background while one of the DIs, Paveinade, explained the purpose of their visit to Duclos' secretary. His sidekick, Caubert, just nodded as she looked between the two.

Halfway through, the adjoining door opened and Duclos stepped out. He was open mouthed, and stared Paveinade up and down quizzically. 'What on earth is all of this. What is the meaning of this intrusion?'

The same supercilious, condescending expression, thought Dominic. Except now there were few remnants of Duclos' previous round-faced, pretty boy look; the face was puffed and jowly, lines and bags under Duclos' eyes betraying his age.

Paveinade started again, more hesitantly this time: the warrant issued from Aix, the notification that morning in Strasbourg for them to take him into custody. 'I have the papers here. I think you'll find them all in order.' Paveinade held them out, but Duclos just stared at them contemptuously.

'What are your badge numbers?' Duclos snapped. 'And who is your commanding officer? Give all your details, along with the arrest warrant and your commanding officers name to my secretary. I'll have her call him straightaway and sort out this mess.'

Obediently, Paveinade took out his badge and showed it to the secretary. Flustered, slightly red faced, Caubert started to follow suit.

Dominic glared at Duclos. He'd agreed with Corbeix just to stay in the background and observe. He might too easily lose his temper. He'd hoped to catch up on sleep in the nine days wait. But with the build up and expectancy towards the final issuing of the warrant - it had still been fitful. Four, five hours a night at most. His nerves were still frayed, and now Duclos was trying to steal the thunder from his moment of glory. Suddenly it was as if
they
were under suspicion and arrest! An inch more rope, and Duclos would reduce their visit to complete circus. Dominic saw red. Duclos' arrogance in trying to reverse the tables and take control reminded him just why Duclos had escaped justice for so long.

Dominic put his hand over Caubert's badge as it was laid on the secretary's desk. 'That won't be necessary. The arrest warrant is in order, duly signed off by Inspector Malliené of Aix en Provence and an examining magistrate. And as the most senior officer present, it falls upon me to observe and ensure that these officers are allowed to do their duty and execute the warrant without impediment.' Dominic stared at Caubert, his tone sharp. 'Now put away your badge, and get on with what you came here for. Read the prisoner his rights, and handcuff him so that he may be escorted to the car.'

Duclos looked between Dominic, Caubert and Paveinade. A battle of wills - though Duclos looked suddenly uncertain which next action would have the strongest effect. 'This is ridiculous, absurd!'

Sensing that Caubert and Paveinade were still hesitant, Dominic prompted: 'Who has the handcuffs? Let's get on with it.'

Duclos’ eyes darted between them a moment more before turning to his secretary. Slow exhalation: exasperation. No energy left to argue with proles. 'Call Jean-Paul Thibault - his number is in my database. Tell him what's happened.' Then he rounded on the two DIs and Dominic. 'One of the first things he'll be doing is speaking to your respective Commissioners in Strasbourg and Lyon. I don't think you have any idea the magnitude of error you're making here. I wouldn't hold your breath on any future promo-'

'Save the speech, Minister,' Dominic cut in, damned if he was going to allow Duclos this last frantic scramble for moral high ground. 'I'm not one of your electorate. Nor, if I have my way, will you be soap boxing to any more electorate.' Dominic nodded to Paveinade and Caubert. 'Now take the prisoner.'

As Paveinade raised Duclos' arms for the handcuffs, he muttered a quick, 'I'm sorry, sir.' Still observance of authority, albeit now reluctant. Dominic couldn't imagine Paveinade saying sorry to a street vagrant as he slapped on handcuffs.

'This is outrageous,' Duclos hissed. 'You are making a tragic error.'

Dominic leant closer. 'Yes, well. You pay for your tragic errors, and I'll pay for mine.'

They marched Duclos away. Stares of curiosity, surprise from people passing on the corridor. Whether because they recognized Duclos or just the sight of a man in handcuffs, Dominic wasn't sure. Two people were in the elevator down from the third floor; hesitant sideways glances at the handcuffs.

Dominic enjoyed every minute. He hadn't had so much fun since the Taragnon bank manager. Duclos was subdued, silent throughout. Eyes mostly downcast, embarrassed, not meeting those of people they passed.

Duclos spoke only once more on their way out, as they headed down the Parliament steps towards the car. 'You know - I remember you, Fornier.' Duclos was staring at him directly; up until then, he'd been careful to avoid eye contact.

'Yes, and I've never forgotten you.' Dominic smiled tautly. 'I'll send you flowers in prison.'

Dominic sat in the front and stared resolutely ahead as they drove off. He wished now that he'd kept to his original plan, stayed in the background and kept quiet. His hands were clenched tight in fists on his knees. He could still feel his anger bubbling. The long years of waiting, the intensity of the past weeks of investigation - and all he could finish off with was a cheap gibe about Duclos’ sexuality. But there was a momentary flinch in Duclos’ eyes that at least gave some satisfaction; albeit slightly delayed - not a recoil reaction of shock or surprise. As if it had prompted some past, unpleasant memory, and it took Duclos a second to link the two.

THIRTY-NINE

Jean-Paul Thibault pushed through the throng of reporters on the courtroom steps. Cameras clicked, microphones jostled for position. At first they concentrated on Duclos, but as Duclos held one hand up and Thibault's assistant clerk Madeleine led him hurriedly to the car, they swung back towards Thibault. The lawyer touched his steel-rimmed glasses, moistened his lips. The microphones moved in closer.

'As you can appreciate, my client doesn't wish to make any comment at this stage. I can only say that I will seek to demonstrate my client's innocence in short order: that these charges against him are totally unfounded and without merit.'

A confused barrage of questions returned:
Match... Le Monde... Provencal... when will... what do you propose... will Monsieur Duclos now...
Thibault picked out one question:
Why do you think these charges have arisen now, so many years later?
Girl at the back:
Le Figaro
.

'Good question. Why now? Monsieur Duclos provided a full unflinching statement when this case was originally heard. He has nothing to hide. A suspect I might add was found, fully tried and convicted. A re-opening now is a complete legal sham, especially on the evidence presented. I think that given what Monsieur Duclos has been involved in lately politically might provide more of a clue to why it has arisen now. Thank you.' Thibault started moving down the steps towards the car.

The pack followed: more questions. They'd taken the bait. Again, Thibault picked out just one:
'Which particular political involvement?'

Thibault turned just as he opened the car door. Reluctant admission, as if the press were dragging it out of him. Thibault sighed. 'As you probably know, Monsieur Duclos has recently been
rapporteur
in a patents dispute which has gone the wrong way for the EU bio-tech industry. If he's discredited, the case could be re-opened. Also, I'd like to remind you that all of this comes rather soon after a scandal involving a certain Socialist politician from Marseille. Rather convenient, one might say.' Thibault smiled. 'If I were you, I would look no further than Monsieur Duclos' political enemies for those behind this ridiculous fiasco.'

Thibault held a hand up behind him as he stepped into the car, ignoring the continuing barrage of questions. It had ended on the note he wanted. Madeleine drove off.

He smiled across at Duclos. 'A good day's work, I think. Should be interesting press tomorrow.'

'Yes, I think so. Well done.' Though Duclos' smile in return was more hesitant. He had half an eye on the black police Citreön following. His shadow for the next few months.

Two days after the bail hearing came the first official RPR statement: from the party Secretary General and acting Prime Minister. 'We have spoken at some length with Minister Duclos, who completely repudiates these charges as false and unfounded. He will fight them vigorously, and the party will offer its moral support. However, it is Minister Duclos' personal opinion that it would be improper for him to continue his duties representing the party as a regional constituent or in Brussels, while this case remains unresolved. His resignation of today has been accepted with due regret by the party President.'

The statement was as expected. 'Moral' support meant that the party could offer no tangible support, but their thoughts were with him. Good luck and bon voyage.

Eight days. All that Duclos had spent behind bars before being bailed. Quite a contrast to Machanaud, Dominic thought sourly. The system at work.
Egalité
its middle name.

But it wasn't full bail, Corbeix was eager to point out. More house arrest, with a gendarme permanently in Duclos' shadow. Posted by his front door in Limoges or his hotel room in Aix when Duclos travelled down for
instruction
hearings. His passport surrendered, his bank accounts frozen, and practically all his assets tied up in bail funding. 'It was the best we could hope for in the circumstances.'

Two days since the bail hearing. A more sober meeting this time with Corbeix. No whisky. Not much to celebrate. Corbeix' desk was strewn with the main newspapers: most carried the story on the front page.

The bail decision hadn't been entirely a surprise. As soon as Corbeix heard about Duclos' appointed lawyer, Jean-Paul Thibault, Corbeix was at least forewarned what to expect: arrogance, brashness, cries of 'outrage' at every opportunity. Thibault's firm was a leading Paris
cabinet
, with associate offices in Brussels and Washington. Heavy on corporate law, their criminal law division was smaller, but nevertheless competent and aggressive. Thibault was one of their youngest partners and had risen to prominence in the eighties representing a leading Paris haute couture director's wife charged with murder. A number of similar high profile cases followed, making Thibault's mark as a good 'celebrity lawyer’,