Past Imperfect

FORTY-ONE

Stilted three way conversation: questions from Barielle through the translator to Marinella Calvan. And in turn back again with Calvan's answers.

It reminded Marinella of the sessions with Philippe and Eyran.

'What is your preferred method for conducting sessions?' asked Barielle.

'Hypnosis.'

'I understand that your predecessor, Dr Donaldson, preferred conducting sessions while people were awake. What was the reason for this?'

'He felt that sometimes hypnosis could be suggestive. Could spark off unwarranted imaginations if used the wrong way.'

'I see. So hypnosis could be used to suggest imaginative scenarios that weren't real?'

'Yes. But as I say — only if misused.'

Corbeix looked up. The first hesitation from Calvan. The first half hour had already covered much of her background at the University of Virginia and her working relationship with Donaldson. Corbeix had spent almost an hour going over points in file notes in private chambers with Barielle the day before. He imagined that Thibault had spent a similar time. As the most unusual element in the case, it was important that Barielle gained a full grasp of the subject. But equally its unorthodox nature would target it as the main area for Thibault to try and discredit. Corbeix tried to pick up on his own questions and those influenced by Thibault. Sometimes the dividing line was vague, or they might be additional questions posed by Barielle. Except now: throwing doubt on hypnosis. Thibault's hand was on the rudder.

'… In working with children, as Donaldson did almost exclusively, I felt that many would have vivid imaginations in any case. Particularly because he so often worked with children in India and Asia, where reincarnation is an accepted part of their culture.'

'And you generally have avoided working with children from those regions?'

'Yes. My main work has been with children in America and Europe.'

'Any particular reason for this?'

Marinella thought for a moment. 'Challenge, I suppose. It was more of a challenge to delve into past lives with children from a culture where reincarnation wasn't normally accepted, rather than one where it was. And, of course, this makes hypnosis all the more essential — to drag out buried or heavily repressed memories.'

Fresh breath from Barielle. 'Can you tell me: what are the percentages of people that believe in past life regressions in Europe and America?'

'In America the figures are going up all the time. As much as thirty, thirty-five percent, I now believe. But in Europe I understand that it's slightly less — twenty, twenty-five percent. But among the rest, there's a lot of 'not sures' and 'don't knows’.’

'I see. But in general, in America and Europe, is it fair to say that most people do not fully accept or believe?'

Marinella cast her eyes down slightly; reluctant admission. 'Yes, it is.'

'In your own work, has this been significant? Something you have seen as an obstacle: that, if possible, you would like to change. Get more people to believe?'

Marinella shrugged and smiled. 'Yes, of course. It's something that everyone working with PLR and related fields is continually fighting for — wider acceptance. That's why we spend so much time building up strong case histories.' One eyebrow arched, as if to say: stupid question. Days and sometimes weeks spent compiling tapes and transcripts. Ninety pages alone from Eyran Capel's sessions, with her and Donaldson up until 2am solidly for over a week to knock it into shape for a publishable paper for the University. 'It's a constant battle against scepticism — much of it from within our own profession. From the more staid and conventional areas of psychiatry and psychology.'

'So, it would be true to say that your desire to convince a wider audience about the relevance of PLR has been a strong driving force behind your career to date?'

'Yes.' The first warning signs; Marinella felt the need to quickly redress the balance. 'It was the main reason I specialized so strongly in xenoglossy: use of a foreign language unknown to the main subject. Probably the strongest possible support for real regressions — particularly with young children who've had little or no opportunity to learn the language in question. This was the main reason why Dr Lambourne contacted me in the first place with the Eyran Capel case. My work with xenoglossy.'

'Eyran Capel has been a particularly large and important case for you?'

'Yes.' Unequivocal: she'd had nothing else even nearing it.

Barielle flicked through some notes. 'But I understand that you had some relative success with a xenoglossy case a few years back. A young boy in Cincinnati. Can you tell me what happened there?'

Marinella looked sharply at Corbeix. She hadn't told him in her briefing that morning nor, she was sure, had she mentioned anything to Fornier. Then her gaze shifted to Thibault's tell-tale half smile. He quickly averted his eyes to something indicated in a folder by his assistant. Jesus, they had been digging. 'I had a paper half published, announcements prepared for a forthcoming full paper — when the boy's father pulled him from the sessions.'

'What were the reasons he gave?'

'That he didn't feel his son would benefit from continuing regressionary sessions. Was worried even that they might harm him.'

'As a result, I daresay that this was something that you would not like to have happen again: a subject being pulled away from sessions prematurely.'

'No, I suppose not.' Faint annoyance at the obviousness. 'I don't think anyone would.'

Barielle's blue eyes glared across purposefully. 'So tell me: what was the reaction of Dr Lambourne or Eyran Capel's uncle and guardian, Stuart, when you told them that the final sessions would be used to track down clues on Christian Rosselot's murder?'

Marinella's mouth suddenly went dry. She felt as if a trap door had suddenly opened. She flustered: 'Well — we just didn't know straightaway that was what we were looking for. That didn't come out till later.'

'But I understand that Chief Inspector Fornier was present at some of those final sessions?'

'Yes, but only the last one.' Suddenly the fire exit was there and she bolted for it. 'That was when he first saw the possibility of vital details coming out about the murder and decided to attend.'

'And for the other sessions?'

'I sent him transcripts and tapes.'

'So he nurtured and maintained an interest in the case throughout — but didn't reveal the purpose of that interest until the last moment?'

'Yes.' Marinella shrugged. 'I don't think he was even sure himself until the last moment.'

'I see.' Barielle was brooding, thoughtful. He didn't look satisfied. He flicked through some notes, then looked across at Corbeix. 'What do you have in your file for the date the notary Fenouillet was first contacted about travelling to London?' You might be able to find it easier than me.'

Corbeix was slightly flustered at the proceedings swinging suddenly to him. He leafed quickly through his own notes. 'Here it is. April third.'

Barielle asked the session dates in London and Corbeix flicked through more pages. Finally: 'March thirtieth, April fourth, April sixth and April the eleventh.'

'So… just before the second session. It would appear therefore that Fornier was certainly aware of the possibility after even the first of those final sessions.' Barielle turned again to Marinella Calvan. 'And Chief Inspector Fornier mentioned nothing to you at that stage about using the information to possibly further his investigation?'

Marinella changed tack, realizing that if she stuck to her guns it would reflect badly on Fornier. 'Well, nothing directly. But he certainly intimated it.'

'Intimated? Could you possibly elaborate on exactly what was and wasn't said…'

Corbeix cringed as Barielle and Calvan argued over semantics of language: was she aware that those final sessions were aiding an investigation or not? After a few moments, the most he was able to get from her was that she was made 'vaguely aware.' But certainly she didn't know for sure until the sessions were drawing to a close.

'And this 'vague awareness'. Was this at any time passed on to Dr Lambourne or Stuart Capel?'

'I might have hinted at something,' Marinella fumbled. 'I don't remember exactly. We had quite a few conversations, some elements of the case were extremely complicated, as you appreciate.'

Barielle stared impatiently at Calvan. 'It's a straightforward question, Ms Calvan. Did Lambourne or Stuart Capel know that these final sessions might aid a murder investigation?'

'Not directly.' Marinella bit back. 'How could they if at that stage I didn't even know for sure myself. As I mentioned, even Chief Inspector Fornier I don't think was totally sure until the final session.'

Barielle sighed. Calvan's ambiguity was wearing him down. The three way nature of the questioning made it all the more tedious. 'Well, thankfully we'll soon be able to ask Dr Lambourne and Stuart Capel directly if they knew. But to dispense with you for the time being, Ms Calvan: your final word is that you did not know for sure the sessions were being used to aid a murder investigation until the final session?'

'No, that's correct.'

'And for a moment presuming that you had known and had informed Dr Lambourne and Stuart Capel — what do you think would have been their reaction?'

'I'm not sure. I don't know.' But she was trembling inside: she did know, she was sure.

'Then let me suggest something: given your past experience with the Cincinnati boy, isn't it likely that your first assumption would have been that they would have pulled Eyran from the sessions prematurely — they wouldn't have agreed to continue?'

'I don't know,' Marinella flustered. 'That's purely speculative. The thought never even really…'

Barielle steamrollered over her protests, didn't even wait for the translation. '… Or certainly, even if that wouldn't have happened, that's what you would have feared. Which is why you ensured that nothing was mentioned to either Dr Lambourne or Stuart Capel. You were afraid of losing one of the largest cases of your career.'

Corbeix cradled his head in one hand as Barielle continued, now emphasizing just how big a case this was for her: speeches, book contracts, chat shows, a spot on Larry King just the other week which Barielle had viewed on videotape. Thibault's people had been busy. Very busy. Thibault had fed Barielle a particularly juicy rabbit this time, and Barielle obviously wasn't going to be satisfied until he'd stripped the last inch of flesh.

'… It has been suggested by defence counsel that the enormity of this case and your pursuit of the possible fame and fortune derived from it, has severely tainted your judgement. That if Dr Lambourne and Stuart Capel had been informed of the purpose of those final sessions, they would have never agreed to them. And by not providing such information, in effect, the final sessions with Eyran Capel were gained under false pretences. And resultantly, none of the evidence gained therein should be accepted.'

Corbeix noticed Barielle glancing at his folder. Perhaps referring to the exact text provided by Thibault. No doubt another mistrial demand.

'… And on the evidence so far before me, I'm inclined to agree. But before I conclude my decision, as I say, I will hear first from Dr Lambourne and Stuart Capel.' Barielle flicked forward a page in his folder. 'Finally, Ms Calvan — when was it that the possible potential of this case struck you? When did you start arranging lecture tours and chat shows?'

An easy question at last, thought Calvan. 'Well obviously, not until after the last session.'

'So, mid April sometime?'

'Yes, about then.'

'Then I would like you to listen to this.' Barielle produced a tape recorder from beneath his desk top. 'I will ask your comments afterwards.' A small cassette recorder, Barielle ceremoniously pressed play. The sound was faint and tinny, and Barielle turned up the sound to ensure it carried across the room.

'… it's a story we're preparing for next week's edition.'

'What paper did you say?'

'Miami Herald.'

Marinella recognized the voice straightaway: her agent, Stephanie Bruckmann. Stephanie had mentioned the Miami Herald calling.

'… we were hoping to combine a short bio on Marinella Calvan with a human interest piece on this case in France. I saw King's interview a few days back. Sounds a fascinating case…'

A man's voice. Whoever it was, they were good; the mood settled with general questions to start before honing in on finer detail. Answers were teased thick and fast out of Bruckmann, the two voices singing tinnily across the room.

Marinella felt as if she had been raped. She'd come fully prepared for PLR to be put on trial: its credibility questioned and pummelled from every angle. But in the end they'd attacked mainly her own credibility. And now this was the final assault. One of Thibault's Stateside goons posing as a reporter. She felt as if he'd broken into her home and rifled through her bedside drawer, had picked out her private diary and was now reading it aloud to the courtroom. Underhand shit.

'… And when was it she first contacted you to start setting up possible speeches and interviews?'

'Sometime in April, I believe.'

'Do you remember the exact day? It's important, you see — to get the biography accurate.'

Pause. Faint flicking of paper. 'Yes, here we are. I started setting things in motion on the… the twenty-fourth of April. But she initially made contact, what — about three weeks before. She phoned me from London, told me what was in the pipeline with PLR and the murder case. Then we talked a couple more times in between as the sessions progressed.'

If Marinella hadn't already guessed what was the crucial point on the tape — she would have known from the way Barielle that second stared up at her. Searing blue eyes. She read it all in Barielle's face: Three weeks before the twenty-fourth. Third of April! Only days after the first session. Crucifixion.

She wanted to scream: it's not fair; it wasn't just for myself, but for the acceptance of PLR at large. Scream at the injustice and the tactics used to gain the tape. At Thibault and his goons and the slimy murderer of a politician who had hired them. But the image that overrode was of Dominic Fornier walking away from her that day in Covent Garden, shoulders slumped. A lifetime of tracking down Duclos, and now her stupidity had let him down. Destroyed the case.

And now there was probably nothing she could say that Barielle would believe; it would only make matters worse. So she just listened as the tape droned to a finish, stood red-faced, feeling powerless and cheated as the last of her credibility slipped away.

Cold marble. Dominic could feel the chill of the corridor. Unlike the individual rooms, the corridors in the Palais de Justice had hardly changed through the years. Timeless. Memories of Perrimond, of Machanaud; of every bold Prosecutor and the many poor condemned souls who had sat in the cavernous hallways the past thirty years, awaiting their fate.

Sat as Dominic was now on a wood bench, staring down at the floor. Dirt ingrained in marble tiles, the only remnants left of those who had waited on justice. Stained memories.

Marinella Calvan had come out only moments before and recounted the catalogue of disasters that had taken place inside. 'I'm sorry. It all went so terribly wrong. I just don't know how they got hold of half the information.'

Dominic could see she was distraught. She could have just rushed past him and headed straight down the Palais de Justice steps without taking the time out to say anything. He placated. 'It's okay. We gave it our best shot. If it's not meant to be, then so be it.' Monique's words. 'Even the publicity to date will have done Duclos no good.'

As Marinella had come out, David Lambourne was called in. She commented: 'I don't think he'll do us any particular favours.'

Beyond Dominic on the bench were Stuart and Eyran Capel. Stuart would appear straight after Lambourne, then Eyran to close the afternoon's proceedings. Since the boy had no direct recall of what took place under hypnosis, he would be asked only his name, date of birth, and to confirm the times and dates he attended the sessions in question.

Dominic wasn't sure how much Stuart Capel had overheard of his conversation with Marinella Calvan, but when she went over in turn to say hello to Stuart, Dominic noticed that at first Stuart looked concerned. A few words with both Stuart and Eyran, a quick ruffle of Eyran's hair, and soon afterwards she was gone. Dominic recalled that she had a boy of her own about Eyran Capel's age.

Noticing Dominic stare thoughtfully at the floor, Stuart commented: 'I suppose it must come as something of a blow?'

'I don't know if it's fully hit me yet.' Dominic sighed. So Stuart had overheard something, or Marinella had mentioned it. 'It just seems to have been such a long haul. The past few weeks have felt like thirty years. I've had to re-live my past all over again.' Pained smile. 'All my sins.'

They sat in silence for a moment. Respect for the dead trial. Stuart Capel was the first to break it.

'When is the hearing with your wife?'

'Two hearings time. Probably about a month or so.'

Stuart nodded. Lambourne had sent him copies of the transcripts two weeks after the last sessions with Calvan. When Eyran's condition started dramatically improving, Stuart was curious what had led to that turning point. A haunting, almost surreal quality to the transcripts which Stuart had found hard to relate to Eyran. Hardly any of that netherworld had broken through to Eyran's life outside of the dreams. Stuart hadn't let Eyran read the transcripts, but had recounted the main foundations of the case. Eyran's first main excitement had been that he had been helping out on a real-life murder case. Then later the deeper relevance dawned: that it was a past life, and in that life, he had been the victim. Pieces of a dark puzzle slotting finally into place. The last stages in a long healing process. Acceptance.

And as part of that final closing of the book, they'd arranged to go to the wheat field with Fornier earlier that morning. They were staying in Cannes, Fornier in Lyon: they met at a cafe by the Bauriac main square and drove out. Thirty minutes of walking through an empty field, some extra colour and shapes put to the voice on tape — but no real answers.

But part of Eyran's rising curiosity had been Monique Rosselot, and Stuart had asked about her then: 'Would she be at the later hearing? Eyran had hoped to meet her.' And Dominic had explained the sequence. Monique wouldn't appear until two hearings time to confirm the details on tape and corroborate the coin evidence: that Christian left that fateful day with it in his pocket.

They'd followed in a separate hire car to Aix, so hadn't discussed it further. But now with its mention again, Dominic commented: 'With all this happening — I doubt her hearing will even take place now. Look, leave me your number before you leave. I'll talk to Monique.'

Stuart took out his wallet and fished out a card. 'That's my work number in London.'

Dominic took it and tucked it into his own wallet. When Dominic had mentioned the meeting at Taragnon to Monique, he'd left a long pause after. He hadn't wanted to ask directly if she wanted to go: insensitive. But she'd just bit her lip and looked away. Her curiosity obviously didn't go that far. It could have been Taragnon, or what memories the boy might stir. 'How many sessions left now?' Dominic asked. Stuart had earlier mentioned them winding down.

'Only three more, then that should be it.'

Dominic smiled at Eyran. Coy smile in return, hesitant. Stuart said that he'd improved a lot, but he was probably anxious now about testifying, thought Dominic. 'Don't worry, the magistrate's quite tame really. They feed him fresh bananas and nuts every hour.' Wider smile in response from Eyran, all reservation gone. The boy looked well. At least one good thing to have come out of the whole mess. 'Just remember that he was also eleven once, and you'll be fine.'

Stuart too smiled and nodded. Appreciative of the brief pep comment. 'There was a bit of disagreement between Lambourne and Marinella Calvan about the root cause of Eyran's problem. But in the end it appears Calvan's theory was right: Eyran's accident and period of coma linked to that previous period of coma, opened up the past.' '…Until the events that led up to that previous coma are fully confronted and exorcised, Eyran can't start getting to grips with the problems from his own life. Facing and tackling his own grief.' But the recall reminded Stuart of the calamity that had just been wrought due to Calvan. 'Shame about what just happened with her. Nice lady — I like her. I'm sure she meant well.'

'I'm sure she did.' Feisty, well-meaning Marinella Calvan. One woman with a PLR banner against a world of disbelievers. Her cause was obviously far grander and nobler than his. All he'd wanted was to find justice for a ten year old boy.

Dominic shook off his anger quickly; she wasn't to know the lengths that Thibault and his henchmen would go to. Just another in a long chain of calamities. Though they'd scraped through the last hearing, Corbeix had admitted what had caused one of the main stumbling blocks: his illness. They'd been kidding themselves all along, Dominic mused: the lost voice of a ten year old boy on tape, an ageing detective trying to prove one last big case before late retirement — a case that had haunted him through three decades — and a half-crippled Prosecutor. Up against one of the top Paris law firms and a leading politician. They'd never even had a chance.

Corbeix felt the cramps bite deeper as he saw the case slipping away. But he felt powerless as he watched Barielle question Lambourne. Nothing left to do but to sit and nurse his painful legs.

'… So, to re-cap: at no point were you informed by Ms Calvan that information from the sessions might be used for a murder investigation?'

'No, I was not.'

'We have heard earlier from Doctor Calvan that in fact this was intimated or suggested by her. Was even this perhaps done?'

'No. I don't remember any such sort of suggestion.'

Lambourne had made it patently clear that he wasn't aware, with some earlier displays of annoyance: other objectives put before his clients interests he considered a serious ethical breach. His patient's progress could have been adversely affected.

Recalling the comment, Corbeix saw a last minute chance to fight back. His leg muscles protested as he rose. A few minutes back and forth with Barielle, and the questions were posed:

'As Prosecutor Corbeix has suggested, Dr Lambourne, in regard to your comment about the possible adverse affects to your patient: is it not true that this tactic of getting Eyran Capel to face events surrounding this past life murder finally led to a breakthrough in his treatment?'

'Yes, it did.' Reluctant admission. 'Though I think this might have been more by good fortune than design.'

'You were also, I believe, clearly informed that Inspector Fornier and a notary would be present for one of the final sessions.'

'Yes, but I was told that this was purely for 'filing' of possible additional information about the murder.'

'Did it at no time occur to you that this 'filing' might have also included a re-investigation of the murder?'

'No, I'm afraid it didn't.'

But Lambourne's final tone had been lame, tentative, thought Corbeix. A couple of weak strikes back, but Corbeix doubted it would be enough. Lambourne was dismissed and Stuart Capel called.

As Corbeix watched Stuart Capel go through the preliminaries of his name, age and relationship with Eyran Capel — his earlier sense of hopelessness settled deeper. Barielle would ask Capel if he'd been aware that the final sessions were aiding a murder investigation — and Capel would say he hadn't. Corbeix would raise a few small points and objections, but would it make any difference? He doubted it. They'd been lucky to scrape through the last hearing, and Barielle had warned that if any such circumstance arose again…

'… You and your wife were given charge of your brother's son as godparents, is that correct?'

'Yes, it is.'

'And at what point did you become aware that Eyran might be mentally disturbed and need treatment?'

'About two to three weeks after I took him out of the hospital in California.' The questions brought back the memories. Vapoured breath on mist air as Jeremy was lowered into the ground. The first bad dreams. Racing upstairs as he heard Eyran screaming.

'The first indication that the boy might be disturbed I understand was because of a series of dreams. Is that correct?'

'Yes, it was.'

'And as a result of the disturbing nature of those dreams, you finally entered the boy into sessions with Dr Lambourne?'

'Yes. Dr Lambourne had been recommended by Eyran's surgeon in California. Dr Torrens.' Christmas in Oceanside, just him and Eyran. Taco dips and Turkey. Distant, hesitant looks. The first moment it struck him: this isn't the Eyran I remember!

Barielle made quick work of the reasons Calvan was finally called in, the switch over from conventional to regressionary therapy. This was ground he'd already covered in detail with Lambourne and Calvan.

But at the mention of her name, Stuart thought: She'd come up with the main theory for the breakthrough with Eyran, brought back the Eyran he remembered, and yet now…'

'… There were two stages to the sessions with Calvan, I understand,' Barielle confirmed. 'The first was just general exploratory. But in the second, coming just over a week later, Dr Calvan apparently proposed a theory that she thought might help Eyran's progress?'

'Yes, she did.' And she was right, thought Stuart. Her theory had worked. And now they wanted him to betray her… plunge home the final knife!

'And as those final sessions were approached — did Doctor Calvan at any time make you aware that they might be used to further a murder investigation?'

But all Stuart could think of was Calvan's expression as she'd come out of the courtroom. Fornier crestfallen as she told him. Betrayal. It was wrong. He fumbled hesitantly. 'I'm not sure. I believe she did.'

Thibault looked up sharply, adjusted his steel-rimmed glasses and squinted. Barielle stared at him intently. Doubt, disbelief.

'Are you sure about this, Mr Capel? This is quite a crucial point.'

Fornier looking despondently at the floor. The distant, hopeful light he'd seen in Fornier's eye earlier in the wheat field suddenly gone. Defeat. Sat now on a bench in the coolness of the corridor next to Eyran. Two survivors. The last fleeting image before he'd entered the hearing room. More confidently: 'Yes, I'm quite certain. She mentioned it at the outset of those final sessions.'

Thibault was on his feet. 'But this is preposterous! We have heard from both Dr Lambourne and even from Doctor Calvan's own mouth — that this in fact was not the case.'

'If anything is indeed preposterous, then it will be for me to suggest,' Barielle admonished. He asked Thibault to sit down and refrain from further interruptions. Then he couched the same question to Capel less confrontationally: 'Can you explain these apparent discrepancies in testimony?'

'Doctor Lambourne I'm afraid might be my fault. Perhaps I did neglect to mention it. But if Doctor Calvan claims not to have said anything, then she's selling herself short. Perhaps she truly forgot that she'd mentioned it to me. A lot of other issues at the time were far more pressing — not least of all finding a cure for Eyran. It's easy for something like that to get buried.'

Corbeix observed Thibault's silent fury, and gloated. Due deserts for his tactics. Initial disbelief from Barielle, then finally acceptance. As a functionary of the law, his first duty was to record testimony, not interpret it. Regardless of any doubts Barielle still harboured, the file would show that Marinella Calvan had pre-advised of the final sessions being used in a murder investigation. No mistrial!

Corbeix was almost sure that Stuart Capel had lied, but why? Perhaps best in the end if he didn't know; no possible later self-recriminations that he'd nailed Duclos partly through unfair advantage. All he knew was that the cramps in his legs were suddenly gone. He was steering his boat towards port, and all he could see ahead was clear flat water.