'Isn't it obvious. I've read the papers. You're going down for this, aren't you? That's my old age pension straight out the fucking window!'
'No, no — it's all complete nonsense. The whole thing will get thrown out quickly. Maybe even at this instruction — by the next at the latest. My lawyer's in court nailing them right now.'
'I've only got your word for that. And I'm not prepared to wait just on the off chance. As soon as you know you're going down for it, you'll stop paying me.'
No point in a clumsy denial; Jaumard's claim was patently true to both of them. 'You've phoned early. Normally you phone at night.'
'Yes, well. I wanted a clear head. This involves my future. I might only have one shot at it.'
Duclos sensed what was coming, but he didn't want to ask, invite it. As with everything else, delaying the ultimate. Though part of him also clung to hope that he was wrong.
Long breath from Jaumard. 'I want to cash in my pension now. Half straight away — the rest a week before your trial. That way if you go down I've got something put away.'
'And if I don't get convicted?'
'You won't hear from me again for three years.' Jaumard paused. 'Three hundred thousand francs now. Three hundred thousand just before the trial.'
Duclos spluttered. 'That's outrageous — I can't get you that sort of money. In fact, I can't get you any money at all. All my bank accounts and assets have been frozen.'
'Don't give me that shit. People like you can always get their hands on money somewhere.'
'Not when they're on trial for murder. I've had bail bondsmen and court officials crawling over every account and asset — I can't shift a thing.' But Jaumard was right; despite everything, he could get his hands on some money. Though the money in Switzerland from Marchand's bio-tech people he dared not let anyone know about: $400,000 at the outset of conciliation, another $400,000 when the ruling had come through. $120,000 for each successive year without a new patents ruling, to a maximum of seven years. His escape fund if all went wrong. Jaumard was the last person he'd let in on such a secret.
'I don't care how you find the money — just find it! Because I'm not waiting. I'll call you tomorrow and give you a bank account number for the transfer.'
Duclos' stomach sank. This was a new Jaumard: tense, irrational, but for once sober. Abstaining Jaumard: high octane mix of DTs and raw tension. 'It's impossible. I told you, if I try to-'
'Find it!' Jaumard snapped. 'If by the time I call you haven't worked out how to get three hundred thousand transferred to me within twenty four hours — then the very next day I'll be on the phone to the police with my brother's little folder. Aix Palais de Justice, isn't it?'
Jaumard left a brief silence, then the line went dead.
Corbeix saw where Barielle was heading from the first few questions, saw the problem approaching like a truck aimed head on. More pre-hearing pressure from Thibault.
'And how long have you been married to the victim's mother, Chief Inspector Fornier?'
'Twenty-nine years.'
'Was this involvement made clear to Prosecutor Corbeix when you first approached him with the case?'
'Yes it was.'
Corbeix raised a hand to interrupt. Barielle broke off from asking questions and nodded.
'Much of this was entered in my initial file folder, your justice.' Corbeix half-raised. Thankfully no pains had hit at the previous instructions, and the last few days had been clear. But now he could feel the first onset of muscle cramps. 'We have made no secret of Chief Inspector Fornier's involvement with Monique Rosselot.'
'I appreciate that. But if you indulge me a moment more. Or, in this case, defence counsel.' Barielle gestured towards Thibault. 'Hopefully all will become clear.'
Barielle had already cleared the small hearing room for ten minutes private consultation with Thibault before resuming with the questions. All instruction questions had to be posed by the examining magistrate to avoid direct intimidation of witnesses.
'What initially caused your involvement in the re-opened investigation?' Barielle asked Dominic.
'The fact that I was one of the only people still traceable connected with the original investigation when Marinella Calvan first made contact.'
'And the reason for your continuing involvement?'
'Very much the same reason: knowledge of the original investigation. I was therefore in a far better position to piece things together from any new evidence uncovered.'
'At what point was the case handed over to Inspector Malliene to head?'
'After my discussing the case with Prosecutor Corbeix.'
'And what were the reasons for this?'
'Partly because Inspector Malliene was under the Aix jurisdiction, from where the case would be prosecuted, and partly because Monsieur Corbeix was concerned about any possible bias that I might bring because of my attachment to Monique Rosselot.'
'I see.' Barielle's tone was flat. 'And not purely as a smoke screen, a cover for any perceived bias?'
'No. Inspector Malliene had full signing-off powers. He was fully at liberty to discount or discard any portion of the investigative enquiry with which he didn't agree.'
'Inspector Malliene was controlling the investigation?'
'Yes.'
'So as the chief investigative officer, let us see: what exactly did Inspector Malliene do in this case? Then let us compare with what his normal duties as someone leading the investigation should be…'
As Barielle continued with a chain of questions tying down Malliene's and Fornier's respective investigative involvement, Corbeix looked down. He doodled absently on a pad. Concentric, diminishing squares: everything closing in. A cold tingle ran up the back of his neck. The rest of his body was too numbed, too cramped and bombarded by steroids to feel anything. Either Thibault suspected Malliene had been just a front, or he'd been tipped off internally. And now he'd convinced Barielle, who was like a fox with a rabbit now that he'd gripped hold. Corbeix' fist gripped tight on his pen. Damn Thibault. He'd hardly been able to give Thibault even a decent run for his money. Any minute now Thibault would cry bias, Barielle would probably agree, and Thibault would call for a mistrial. It could all be over before he'd finished doodling.
At one point, Fornier fought back: 'Because so much of the later evidence linked to earlier findings — obviously it fell upon me to do most of the legwork. To run things any other way just wouldn't have worked.'
But it did little good. The overriding image was that it had been Fornier's investigation with Malliene just a nominated figurehead. Barielle wasn't happy.
Barielle asked Fornier's political persuasion, and then dismissed him. Odd question, thought Corbeix, looking up briefly. Malliene, who had already appeared before Fornier, was recalled.
Malliene tried to beef up his own role and involvement, but as the questioning focused on what exactly he'd done at each stage, it was easy to read between the lines.
At one point, Corbeix half switched off. There was nothing he could do. He rubbed his eyes, felt them stinging as the muscle spasms gripped harder. Often the two came together: blurring of vision, sometimes extreme vertigo and dizziness. But now it was just a faint haze and a watery stinging. Through the haze, the proceedings washed around him. Barielle would finish his questioning, a quick summation and demand for a mis-trial from Thibault, and Barielle would rule. Hopefully, Fornier's small fight back and Malliene's attempts at claiming stronger involvement, however transparent, might at least cast some doubt. If not…
Corbeix looked up sharply as he heard his name called. That was quick, he thought. Malliene had been dismissed, but surely Thibault was just starting his summation? He nodded and raised up, but he could feel the pain jarring his legs, the spasms biting sharper. It took him a moment to re-focus on what was being said.