Past Imperfect

THIRTY-EIGHT

The tape recorder red light flicked on as the small bleep sounded. The operator, Lassarde, glanced up. Third recording of the night, must be approaching the hundredth now over the past five days. How long did Bennacer intend to keep the line tap running? He sipped at his coffee, stared numbly at the reels turning.

'What time will you be here?'

'About nine, nine thirty on the Saturday. Pretty much as usual. You mentioned a new boy. How does he compare with my usual, Jean-Pierre? Is he as young?'

A pause, faint clearing of the throat. 'Look, let's discuss all that when you get here. Don't worry, you won't be disappointed.'

Lassarde sat up. Young boys. Aurillet, the child pimp they’d tapped, sounded nervous talking about their ages over the phone. But who was at the other end? From what he'd been briefed, he doubted it was Duclos. This sounded like a regular, someone who visited practically every weekend. Duclos was apparently more a seasonal visitor. But because Duclos called rarely, hopefully he might announce himself — even though they might wait weeks for the call. Patience.

Lassarde looked at the digital monitor as the number came up: Toulon exchange. As he thought, the caller was a local regular. Brussels, Strasbourg or Limoges were what they expected with Duclos. The call finished with a few pleasantries, nothing significant. Lassarde got Bennacer's attention from the main squad room and brought him in, replayed the short segment.

Bennacer looked up as it finished. 'How many is that now with young boys mentioned?'

'Seven or eight. The rest has been just day to day stuff: bar stock, social calls, accountant, arranging builders to lay some new tiling in his main club, Nimbus. Pretty mundane. And this is the first call where anyone has got close to talking about the age of the boys.'

Otherwise Aurillet could claim that 'boys' referred to sixteen or above, thought Bennacer. Legal age of consenting homosexuals. It would be that much harder to nail Aurillet and subsequently Duclos. Even if a call came through linking the two.

Three more days passed before another call came through which made Lassarde sit up.

'… he's a runaway, looking for a secure place. He should be ideal for you. Can't be more than twelve or thirteen.'

'I don't know… I don't know if I can get involved.'

'What's wrong? You have before.'

Lassarde smiled. A street pimp supplying to Aurillet. Aurillet's attempts to step back had put him in deeper water. The rest of the conversation was stilted, Aurillet non-committal before he signed off. 'Bring him around. But I really can't promise anything.'

Though fourteen hours later, Lassarde once again disturbed Bennacer urgently in the squad room. Reading the anxiousness in Lassarde's expression, Bennacer broke short his telephone conversation and followed Lassarde hurriedly back into the small room. The recording was halfway through.

'…probably three weeks from now. I just wanted to make sure that Bernard would be there.'

'Yes, he will. Everything will be arranged as usual. Do you know which day? Will it be the weekend, as before?'

'Yes, I think so. Probably the Saturday, late afternoon.'

Bennacer looked at the digital display: 32-2-236521. Brussels number. Then sharply at Lassarde. 'Is it him?'

Lassarde merely nodded, drew hard on his cigarette.

'… Fine. Look forward to seeing you then.'

A click. The red light went out as the tape stopped.

'Okay, let's hear it from the beginning,' said Bennacer. Rewind it…'

Dominic hit 'play'.

'It's Duclos. Is it all right to talk? Are you with anyone?'

'No, it's fine.'

'I'll be coming down soon.'

'When will that be?'

'I'm not totally sure yet, but probably three weeks from now. I just wanted to make sure that Bernard would be there.'

'Yes, he will. Everything will be arranged as…'

A car horn blared to Dominic's side as he swung around the roundabout. Somebody filtering in from the right. Coming out of the roundabout, traffic was slow, a long tail back ahead.

Dominic had already heard the cassette briefly. When Bennacer called, Dominic asked him to play it over the line so that one of his radio officers could make a cassette copy. He was heading out urgently for a meeting with Corbeix and he'd like to take it with him.

Dominic hovered over the operator anxiously while the tape was being made, replayed it quickly once, then grabbed a portable cassette player and the tape and headed for his car. But he was worried that the extra ten minutes wait and now with traffic heavy heading out of Lyon, he would be late for Corbeix.

Three weeks? No, it wasn't worth waiting. Everything else on Duclos was practically in place. Dominic made the decision there and then. The traffic started to move ahead as he dialled Bennacer on his mobile. Brief routing through the Marseille station desk, then Bennacer's voice.

'Go for it,' said Dominic. 'We can't afford to wait. Raid Aurillet's place now and haul him in. Grill him as hard as you can on Duclos.'

'Do you think we've got enough?'

'Let's hope so. I just don't think we're going to get much more. We've got under age boys on one call, Duclos on another. Let's just try and forge the two together as best we can. Good luck.'

'… We were meant to service the car, give it a thorough check over, clean it up for display.'

'What particular duty were you given?'

'To check all the tyre treads and pressures, check the wheel balance and alignment. Which included checking the spare tyre pressure.'

Dominic walked in, nodded quickly to Corbeix. 'Sorry I'm late.' He took a seat at the end of the table on the same side as Corbeix and the notary.

Corbeix leant over the tape machine. 'Chief Inspector Fornier enters the room at three-twelve pm. Interview resumes…' Corbeix looked briefly at his notes. 'Now. In checking the tyre pressure and wheel balance — what would that involve?'

'It means taking off all the tyres and spinning them for balance and then testing with a gauge for pressure. Including the spare tyre — which in this case was located in the boot.'

Dominic realized they had obviously already covered most of the preliminiaries, including the year Roudelle worked in the garage and the type of car. Details he had already gained on tape the same night after Roudele's initial call.

Eleven days and the whole nature of the case had changed. Surprise and elation with Roudele's initial call had brought him quickly alert from his sleep. A quick call to Corbeix, and he was booked on a flight to Limoges the same night. He taped an interview with Roudele and a date was arranged for an official statement with Corbeix and a notary. Two days later, Bennacer's precinct received an anonymous tip off about Duclos and a local child pimp, Vincent Aurillet. Within twenty-four hours they had a line tap arranged with France Telecom. Now that too had paid off. Dominic was elated.

The only drawback was that Roudele's initial call had disturbed him barely an hour into his sleep. And with the renewed activity, his sleep pattern had been poor since. Three weeks on a frantic roller coaster bouncing between hope, despair and back again. His nerve ends were frayed raw. He'd never felt so tired. Only wild adrenaline drove him on.

'… And in removing the car's spare tyre, what did you find that day?'

'A coin, a silver coin.'

'Can you please describe it to us?'

'It was from Italy, dated 1928. A silver twenty lire.'

'And was it particularly rare or valuable?'

'Reasonably rare in France. It was the first time I had come across one here, at least. But they're obviously more common in Italy, because the value wasn't that high.'

'What did you do with the coin when you saw it?'

'I put it in the pocket of my overalls.'

'Did anyone else see you take it?'

'No… not that I was aware.'

The atmosphere in the room was tense. Only Corbeix and Roudele's voice and the notary silently observing. The sound of the tape whirring in the gaps between questions. Dominic noticed his hand rested on the table shaking slightly. Build up of tiredness and nerves and the traffic rush getting there.

'Having taken the coin, what did you do with it? How long did it stay in your possession?'

'I kept it with my father's coin collection until ten or eleven years ago. Then it was sold along with the rest of his collection.'

'Do you remember the name of the place where you sold it?'

'Yes. A coin shop in the centre of Limoges — Bagoudet's.'

Corbeix leant forward again. 'Let the record show that the coin shop in question was visited on the twenty sixth of April by Chief Inspector Fornier. An entry record was found for the coin in question, dated October, 18th 1984. A statement was taken from the coin shop's proprietor and entered on form…' Corbeix leafed through the papers before him, found the statement form and read out the number. The notary checked the statement form briefly, passed it back.

After seeing Roudele, Dominic had stayed overnight in Limoges to visit the coin shop. Corbeix felt it was essential to back up Roudele's statement in case Duclos' defence tried to rip holes in it, suggest that he was fabricating purely to collect the reward offered. The coin shop provided that last vital link.

The coin brought originally from Italy by Jean-Luc's father, passed to Christian, then Duclos' car and the garage worker… the trail finally ended in a musty basement in Limoges with an aged coin shop proprietor leafing through dusty files. Somehow appropriate.

And then suddenly everything was in rapid motion: line taps, statements and notaries, a frantic flurry of paperwork crossing Corbeix’ desk, the strands spun wide weeks ago now fast pulling in. Everything converging. Dominic drew a slow breath, trying to ease his jaded nerves. Aware that even now as he sat with Corbeix and Roudele, over a hundred miles away in Marseille, Bennacer and his men would be bursting into Aurillet's office…

'I really can't help you. I'm sorry, I wish I could.'

'Oh, but I think you can.' Bennacer had arranged the three most incriminating conversations in a loop so that they ran in succession. He pressed play and sat closely observing Aurillet's expression.

The only other person in the small interview room was Moudeux, a lumbering DI who Aurillet had been handcuffed to in the back of a black Citreon on the way down to the precinct. A head taller than Aurillet, Moudeux had spent much of the journey jibing: 'You into bondage, are you? I understand you guys sometimes sample the merchandize. Do you test the boys yourself? What do you do, put these on them?' Moudeux raised the handcuffs. 'I suppose with an ugly shit like you, they'd come in useful. Stop them getting away.'

Aurillet had stayed silent throughout. The first few questions from Bennacer he met with blank denials, and now Moudeux stayed silent, just contemplated Aurillet with his slow, doleful eyes and smiled menacingly. As the tape ran, Aurillet looked nervously down at the table. Aurillet looked faintly puzzled as the Duclos segment came on; unlike the other two, children weren't mentioned. Just a name: Bernard.

'… Fine. Look forward to seeing you.'

Bennacer stopped the tape. 'So. We've got you clearly on supply of under age children and your connection with Alain Duclos. What we want to know is how far your association goes back with Duclos. All the details.'

'I don't understand. Why are you so interested in him?'

'It concerns another investigation we're running. You're not the main focus here. What we're mainly concerned about is your involvement with Duclos. The wheres and whens of you supplying him with young boys through the years.'

Aurillet shook his head. 'Young boys?' He laughed nervously. 'That Marcus is crazy. Twelve and thirteen. He knows I never take them that young — but he keeps trying his luck. Keeps phoning.'

Bennacer stared at him blandly. 'I don't have time to sit here while your credibility and my patience are stretched. We know you trade in under age boys. But as I said, you are not — I repeat not — our main interest. Duclos is.' Bennacer exhaled. 'So let's try again. Once more: Duclos and young boys. What do you know?'

Aurillet contemplated his shoes. Then the tape machine. 'It's awkward. I'm not sure where all of this will lead. I might incriminate myself. I don't think I should say anything without my lawyer present.'

Bennacer lifted his eyes to the ceiling. Strained effort to keep his voice calm: 'That's your prerogative. If that's your wish, then I'm afraid there is really nothing more for us to discuss at this juncture. I'm going to break this interview for ten minutes and leave you to decide fully. If when I return your decision is still the same, then you'll be held over until your lawyer's arrival.' Bennacer faced the mike. 'Interview suspended at three-eighteen p.m.'

Bennacer stopped the tape. Aurillet's eyes followed Bennacer to the door, darting back briefly to Moudeux: a 'surely you're not leaving me alone with him' look.

Moudeux smiled. He reached over and touched Aurillet's hand. 'Don't worry, I'll keep you company.'

Aurillet recoiled sharply, pulled his hand away. The door shut.

Bennacer stayed out of the room for sixteen minutes. When he returned, Aurillet's expression was strained, haunted. He got the impression that there had been silence between Aurillet and Moudeux for several minutes. Aurillet had reached his decision a while ago.

'Okay. I agree to help. What is it you want to know about Duclos?'

Bennacer started the tape. He didn't ask what had happened while he was out to make Aurillet change his mind. Moudeux smug smile told him that everything had gone more or less according to their earlier plan.

'Was Aurillet difficult?'

'No, not too bad. There was a sticky moment where he wanted to see his lawyer. But I left him with one of my DIs, Moudeux, for a moment to contemplate the error of his ways. Moudeux explained the relative advantages of him co-operating.'

'Official or unofficial? Was it recorded as part of the interview?' Dominic asked.

'No. When I left the room I stopped the tape. I don't think I'd like any of Moudeux' usual vernacular recorded officially. But thankfully he usually doesn't have to say much. He dwarfs most people and he's got this great smile. Makes Jack Nicholson look like Mother Teresa.'

Dominic laughed, swirled the whisky in its tumbler. Bennacer's call had come through on his mobile fifteen minutes after the session with Roudele, while he was still in Corbeix’ office going through final notes. Corbeix had taken a bottle of Southern Comfort from his deskside cabinet and poured them both a third tumbler full. Interim celebration: the successful conclusion to one stage, salut to the stage ahead.

Dominic signed off and filled in the details for Corbeix on Bennacer's call. 'I've asked him to fax over a copy of the statement to both our offices once it's typed up. 'Should come through in an hour or so.'

Corbeix raised his glass. 'Another piece in place.'

They sat silently drinking for a second. Dominic was exhausted. He felt somehow awkward, at a loose end. With the past weeks of hectic activity, it felt strange that now there was nothing left for him to do. Now it all rested with Corbeix. 'When would you hope to file and get a warrant?'

'Let's see.' Corbeix flicked through some papers. 'I checked MEP's timetables the other day. I don't want to serve in Brussels — administrative nightmare. The next time Duclos is in Strasbourg is in nine days. I'll need six in any case to finish up paperwork and advise an examining magistrate. So — third or fourth of May.'

'I'd like to be there when he's arrested.'

'You don't have to. Two Strasbourg Judicial police will go, serve, and transport will be arranged for Duclos back to Aix.'

'I'd still like to be there.' Dominic smiled. 'Outside of the press, it's been quite a while since I've seen Alain Duclos. I was but a young gendarme. Should be quite nostalgic.'

'I know it's been a long time for you.' Corbeix grimaced as he swallowed another shot: pain and sympathy. 'Are you sure you'll be okay accompanying?'

'I'm not going to slug Duclos on the Parliament steps, if that's what you mean. As tempting as it might be.' Dominic shrugged, his smile subsiding. Thoughtful. 'So much of this has been dealt with from a distance. Often it’s felt intangible, unreal. I need something physical to end the process. The warrant being served, the handcuffs being slapped on, the expression on Duclos' face. Then I'll know: we've got him! Right now I still have to pinch myself that it's all over.'

And I'm only just starting, Corbeix thought. But it wasn't the moment to remind Fornier of the difficulties ahead. That Duclos' heavyweight lawyers would bombard the case from so many angles, he'd hardly be given time to draw breath. Hopefully he'd shored upon all their main areas of vulnerability, but what if he'd overlooked something? One footfault and Duclos could walk after the first few instruction hearings. 'Well, at least there's nothing more for you to do now for nine days. Probably you can do with the rest. You look tired.' A grimace that this time went awry. For someone with MS, bold comment. Ironic. He looked down and away as he remembered his own plight, the fact that he probably wouldn't even have enough energy to see the case through.

'Yes. Eight days of sleep. One day of pure bliss. After thirty years on this one case, I daresay I deserve it. Salut!'

Dominic leant forward and they clinked glasses.

But beyond Corbeix' smile, Dominic could read the strong shadow of uncertainty. His own sense of suspended belief with these closing stages he'd answered with the fact that the case so far had been fraught with so many obstacles and difficulties — that now with none in the way, it was no longer familiar ground. After so long, it still felt somehow unreal that it was all finally within grasp. But now, looking at Corbeix and downing the last slug of whisky, he wondered whether it was because reality lurked just around the corner. That something else would arise, Duclos would pull another rabbit from the hat to destroy their case and escape justice.

'They're pressing ahead with the case.'

A part of Duclos had feared they might, had prompted the safeguards he'd put into action. But another had clung to doubt: they would lack both the evidence and the audacity! And it was this part that held sway, wrestled with acceptance. Duclos went cold, rigid. He was in a call box on Rue Archimede, two blocks from the Parliament. He watched blankly the traffic and people passing.

With the long silence, Bonoit was suddenly hesitant, awkward. 'You know, I shouldn't even be calling. Certainly it will have to be my last call.'

'Yes, yes — I understand.' Duclos snapped out of his reverie. 'What earthly basis is there? What evidence?'

'I don't have all the details — but something about a garage worker and a coin found in an old car of yours. And still some background with psychics which I mentioned earlier.'

A coin? A coin left in his old car? Impossible, surely invented? He'd searched every nook and crevice straight after the incident, had driven the car for seven months afterwards without seeing anything. 'Sounds ridiculous to me. As I said before — some misguided political witchhunt that will probably blow over before it's even started.' But Duclos could hear the nervousness, the strain in his own voice. The sudden worry that he might have overlooked something, would be facing the unknown. For the first time he was frightened. His hand shook, his palm clammy on the receiver.

Or was it sheer outrage, anger? Thirty years of serving his country, of fighting for bills and statutes for the benefit of all, and they had the cheek to drag this up now. That upstart Fornier and a rag-tag bunch of Provence police and prosecutors. Outrageous! Two days of searching his memory after Bonoit's initial call, and he finally recalled Fornier: the young gendarme assisting! Dour faced and doubting in the background when Poullain had visited him at the Vallons. How on earth did someone like that rise to become Chief Inspector?

'There's something else,' Bonoit commented. 'Fornier was apparently involved in the initial investigation…'

'I see.' Duclos feigned surprise.

'… His involvement now is meant to be purely because of that. Only someone involved then would know the gaps to fill in now. But it goes deeper.' Bonoit paused heavily. 'A couple of years after the murder, Fornier married the victim's mother — Monique Rosselot. They're husband and wife.'

Duclos was numbed, a tingling hollowness. A void struggling with the ludicrousness of what he'd just heard. He wanted to shout: 'But she was already married: Jean-Luc Rosselot. I read it in the papers at the time! But realized that might raise the question of why he had shown such strong interest in the case. He sensed the need to say something beyond just another 'I see'. Then it struck him: personal involvement? 'Given that background, should Fornier really be involved now?'

'Debatable point. Apparently, that is why Malliene is down as leading the investigation. Fornier's meant to be just assisting and for background — continuity between the old and new case. But word has it that Fornier's doing most of the legwork. Malliene is merely checking and signing off — possibly to avoid any claims of bias through personal involvement.'

The smile came slowly to Duclos' face, his concern dissipating. Something else that could probably be turned to advantage! 'Interesting.' He thanked Bonoit. 'I appreciate how you've stuck out your neck to try and help me.'

Bonoit said it was nothing, 'For old friendship.' A quick 'bon chance' before he rang off.

In the immediate silence following, it struck Duclos that he probably wouldn't hear from Bonoit again. When the arrest warrant came, there would be a lot more old friends and colleagues who would suddenly want distance, he thought ruefully.

Coin? The one thing that nagged disturbingly at the back of his mind. Everything else — garage workers, psychics — sounded like the sort of nonsense Thibault, his lawyer, would destroy in short order. He would phone him tomorrow. Start shoring up his defence before the wolf pack arrived.

Duclos could almost imagine Fornier rubbing his hands together. The incompetent hoping for final glory. But with everything with Aurillet already in place, and now with this new information — Duclos still felt confident of winning through. At the same time hopefully teaching Dominic Fornier a lesson he wouldn't quickly forget.

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: Liberte, egalite, fraternite. 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 Malliene 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.