Past Imperfect (70 page)

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 café 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.

FORTY-TWO

‘Un Coca-Cola et une bière.’

The waiter put down their drinks. Stuart Capel nodded and he walked away. Eyran sipped at his coke and looked towards the beach.

‘Are you okay now?’ Stuart asked.

‘Yes, fine.’

Stuart had promised Eyran a visit to the beach after the ordeal of testifying, and Le Lavandou was one of the first they came to on their way back from Aix.

Eyran had been fine at first. Swimming, floating on his back, feeling all the tension drift from his body. But as he’d come to sit next to Stuart on the beach, the outline of the harbour and headland somehow seemed familiar. A sense of déjà vu.

‘Have we been here before?’ he’d asked.

‘No. Only to the beach at Cannes. But you came with your mum and dad to the South of France a couple of years before you went to America. You’d have been, what, five or six.’

‘Maybe that’s it.’ But Eyran knew in that instant it wasn’t. He remembered other things from that holiday, but not this beach. The voices around, people talking and calling out, the excitable screeches of children playing and splashing in the shallows, echoed and rattled inside his head. And then the other familiar images suddenly flashed through: the wheat field, the nearby village square, some men playing boules they’d passed. It was almost as if his nervousness with the trial had blocked everything; then as soon as he relaxed, the gap in his mind opened.