Past Imperfect

'I find this all highly irregular,' Barielle commented.

'Under normal circumstances, yes,' Thibault agreed. He held out a palm to indicate Corbeix without looking across at him. 'But as I think has already been clearly demonstrated, these are not normal circumstances. This is merely an extension of the earlier points raised about bias against my client. Though, as I think you will see, equally as valid.'

Barielle looked awkwardly towards Corbeix and waved Thibault towards him. After a short spell in the clinches with Thibault pointing to a page in his folder, Barielle waved for Corbeix to sit down and shrugged apologetically: sorry this could take a while, or for what might be coming?

And suddenly it hit Corbeix: Thibault was trying to get Barielle to question him! Outrageous. What on earth did Thibault have up his sleeve? What could he hope to achieve? Bias? One chink of intense clarity struggling up through the haze.

At length, Thibault returned to his seat. Barielle looked up at Corbeix. 'I'm sorry, counsellor Corbeix. I know that this is somewhat irregular. But some questions have arisen regarding your involvement which require clarification.' Barielle scanned the typewritten sheet Thibault had left with him a moment longer. 'I understand that you are ill, counsellor Corbeix. Can you tell me, what is the nature of your illness?'

'I have multiple sclerosis.'

'And has this been diagnosed very long?'

'About three years now.' Corbeix glared at Thibault, outraged that his illness should come under attack. 'But this is no particular secret. I informed the Garde de Sceaux at the Palais as long ago as last October. My semi-retirement aiming towards full retirement has already been planned. I just don't see the relevance of all this.'

'I know. I know.' Barielle held one hand up, calming. 'I know that your semi-retirement has already been planned.' Barielle read from the sheet. 'And as part of that semi-retirement, you had planned to hand your case load over to Prosecutor Galimbert, I understand.'

'Yes, that's correct.'

'Except this case, I believe.' Barielle stared at Corbeix directly. 'This is the only case you're not handing over to him.'

Corbeix blinked heavily. Suddenly he could see where it was all heading. God, was there anything that Thibault hadn't discovered? 'Yes.'

'What is the reason for that?'

'I discussed it with Galimbert, but he just wasn't keen. I decided to continue myself.'

'Even though you had previously decided that you might be too ill to continue with full case loads in court after the summer recess?'

'Yes. The final decision was perhaps against my better judgement. But if Galimbert wasn't keen, what choice was there? Also, there were the extreme complexities of the case.'

Curt nod and tight smile from Barielle. 'What political persuasion is Prosecutor Galimbert?'

'RPR. Rassemblement Pour la Republique — why?'

Barielle rode the question. 'And what political persuasion are you?'

'Socialist.'

Suddenly it hit Corbeix in a rush: himself Socialist, Fornier Socialist, Thibault complaining about political bias against his client; and now them both clearly spotlighted as having bent the rules. Give Thibault his due, bastard as he was, he'd sewn the package together well.

Thibault raised one hand. Barielle acknowledged. Corbeix expected Thibault's summation, his coup de grace.

But Thibault was holding out a booklet. 'Some interesting facts I think are also worthy of note about this particular illness, your justice.' Thibault started reading from the booklet: 'In severe cases, during episodic attacks, this will lead in turn to eye strain, vertigo, and may effect vital functions of the brain, causing memory loss and temporary fugue states.'

Corbeix felt his blood boil. He'd accepted that in a year or so he might be in a wheelchair, accepted that increasingly he'd lack the strength to lift his youngest daughter, that he'd have to soon sell his boat because even a short day trip would be too tiring — but what he wouldn't accept was this smarmy Paris advocate preaching what his illness entailed, what he might or might not be facing.

'… And given the effects of this disease on the brain, I think severe questions must be asked about Monsieur Corbeix' mental competence.' Thibault paused for effect. 'Or indeed, in this case, if he has allowed a combination of bias and mental impairment to colour his judgement in continuing.'

But Corbeix knew that to hammer home the point effectively, he'd have to stand, and he could feel the spasms biting deeper as he raised. He stole himself against the pain, feeling it pop beads of sweat on his forehead. He was determined not to let it show — provide a physical demonstration to support Thibault's claims. Fully upright, the spasms in his legs screamed to drag him back down. 'Monsieur Thibault is not a doctor. And I resent him taking up instruction time with amateur diagnosis. Particularly when it's my health that is at issue.'

'I was just trying to bring some clarity to-'

'I know what you were trying to do,' Corbeix cut in. 'You were challenging my mental competence to continue with this case. As it so happens, my mental competence is not affected. The effects described are only in extreme cases. I am far from that stage yet — and perhaps, God willing, I might never be at that stage. Your pathetic, amateur diagnosis is about as ridiculous and assumptive as me suggesting that three generations of inbreeding has made you the idiot you are today.'

'Gentlemen, please… please!' Barielle fought to regain order.

Corbeix threw in one last point. 'And as for Counseller Thibault's suggestion about political bias, if your justice please: this is as ridiculous as me challenging Thibault's right to represent Monsieur Duclos, purely because he too is RPR.'

Corbeix sat down. A last second, scrambled flourish, but would it be enough? Certainly earlier Thibault had done enough to convince Barielle of sufficient bias to call a mistrial.

Thibault quickly summarized the 'confronts' he'd raised: personal bias through family ties, political bias. Bias at every turn. And finally a question of physical competence: had Corbeix' judgement been sound, and would it still be so in three months? Alain Duclos' rights to a fair and even-handed trial had been severely compromised. Under the circumstances, Thibault would fully expect a mistrial to be ruled. Thibault sat down.

Barielle nodded curtly and continued for a moment with some notes. Corbeix' throat was dry; he found it difficult to swallow. Finally Barielle looked up to give his deliberation.

FORTY

'…When is it that you are due to testify in France?'

'Tuesday week.'

'I understand that the trial procedure is very different there, and in effect this will be one of a series of preliminary hearings.'

'Yes, apparently so. I'll be asked to provide the background of PLR to support the link between the two boys. And later, if the case goes to full trial, I'll be called to provide pretty much the same information in front of a jury…'

Lunch time at Boehmier amp; Kemp, Washington, DC. The only quiet time of the day. Jennifer McGill decided to have a quick sandwich and use the time to catch up on the morning's paperwork. CNN flickered on a 16" screen in the background, the sound on low.

A name on the TV suddenly struck a chord, but she couldn't remember from where. She looked up abruptly from the file she was reading and turned up the sound. Larry King was on with a Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio look-alike who she hadn't seen before.