Past Imperfect

'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.

'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