Past Imperfect

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.

'… Even the pre-trial run up is apparently turning into something of a media circus in France. Claims of political bias have been made, and of course then we have Alain Duclos' central involvement with a landmark bio-technology case. Given this intense spotlight, no doubt you will face quite hostile challenges regarding the tenuous nature of PLR in evidence: how will you answer these?'

'By keeping firmly to the evidence and the facts in hand. The sessions I was involved with alone produced almost ninety pages of transcript, and over sixty pages of notes and transcripts were prepared by an associate psychiatrist even before my arrival…'

And then the name hit: Calvan. It wasn't one of her cases, it was being handled by Gerry Sterner. But she remembered a researcher from Paris being on to Gerry just a few days back.

She picked up the phone and buzzed switchboard. 'Susan? Is Gerry still there?'

'I think he's in the library. I'll ring through.'

Seconds later Sterner's voice came on the line. 'Yeah.'

'Gerry. Jennifer here. Get to the nearest TV — fast! Your Calvan woman's on with Larry King.'

Garbled thanks as Sterner darted two doors along to the coffee room. Two secretaries were watching Pacific Drive.

He grabbed the remote. 'Sorry. Sorry. Emergency!'

Larry King's image flicked on in profile. Trademark red braces. '… to your knowledge have there been any previous incidences where PLR evidence has been presented in a murder case?'

'Two in India — though only one made it to full trial. But this is the first case of its type in a society which inherently rejects the concept of reincarnation and PLR. And so in that respect…'

Sterner rushed from the room, grabbed the first telephone in the adjoining office. His secretary was out to lunch, so he raised reception. 'Susan, can you get me Jean-Paul Thibault at Guirannet amp; Fachaud in France. They'll be winding down for the day there, so you'll have to be quick.'

Could it be… could it really be?

Monique had decided even after the second tape, yes, purely because she couldn't think of any other rational explanation. Nobody else but Christian could possibly have known such depth of detail. Though still that initial wall of resistance; berating Dominic that she might accept some vague psychic link, but not that it was Christian re-born.

But with the continuing sessions and tapes and then the trial, though never mentioning anything to Dominic, her view had slowly changed. At first just through attaching Christian's voice to the descriptions on tape… the many poignant memories flooding back. But then she'd become curious about Eyran Capel.

Initially only casual questions when Dominic talked about the progress of the sessions and the case: What does the boy look like? Is there a resemblance to Christian? Does he remember anything while awake? No on every count, no image or magic picture in her mind to cling to, nothing except the voice on tape. Playing them repeatedly, asking for each additional tape equally as casually, trying not to give away the mounting intensity of her curiosity.

She'd have asked to sit in on some sessions, but that too might hint of growing obsession — and Dominic had complained about the difficulties of personally attending, the secret game between him and Marinella Calvan. He'd only been able to swing one final session with himself and a notary.

Then only a few days ago, Dominic had mentioned Stuart and Eyran Capel travelling down for the next hearing — they'd agreed to meet up beforehand. She was sure in that moment she'd have said, 'I'd like to come,' if it wasn't for where they were meeting: the wheat field! The wheat field at Taragnon. Suddenly her curiosity and everything she'd pushed away for so long were in conflict. She couldn't go back there, she could never go back there.

And so she told herself it wasn't important, clung to Dominic's earlier words that he was just a fresh faced English boy, light brown hair, a few freckles across his nose, no resemblance to Christian, remembers nothing while awake…

What would she do? Stand next to this boy she didn't know and ask questions he couldn't answer… her heart and soul ripped apart again by the memories. Perhaps she was never meant to meet this boy. It was meant to stay a private thing. Just her alone with the tapes… alone with Christian's voice…

She focused sharply back over the top of her wine glass at Dominic. Dinner had been cleared away. He looked equally as thoughtful for a moment.

'Problems?' she asked.

'I don't know. Possibly. It didn't go well today. But we won't know the outcome for a few days yet.' When the doors to the hearing room finally swung open, Corbeix' expression had been thunderous. He explained to Dominic the grilling he'd been subjected to and what Thibault was demanding, breaking off briefly as they both watched Thibault pass. Barielle wanted to consult the greffier notes before ruling: counsels to be advised in four days.

'What might happen?'

Dominic sighed. 'It's bad. A mis-trial could be called — the whole case thrown out.'

Monique's eyes softened. She grimaced tautly and reached out and touched the back of his hand. 'I'm sorry, Dominic. You've put so much into this case. Fought so hard for it.' But beneath his hesitant smile in return, she could read the pain and anguish. It was little comfort. She gripped his hand tighter. 'Look — Dominic. If the case fails, you shouldn't feel bad about it because of me. We've had a great life together. You've given me two beautiful sons. You've made me very happy. Nobody could ask for more. I don't expect it of you to set the record straight on