Past Imperfect

'And how is young Monsieur Fornier this evening?'

'Fine. I was just leaving. But can I get you one before I go?' He held out a 5F note to get Henri's attention.

In the same hand as a Gauloise, Machanaud held up a small tumbler with half an inch of pale amber spirit in the bottom. He passed the tumbler across the bar. 'I'll have another eau de vie, if that's okay.'

Dominic ordered and paid, and Henri poured in his normal elaborate style of pulling the bottle gradually further from the glass.

After taking the first swig, Machanaud commented, 'I suppose you'll all be over the moon with this new information.'

Dominic squinted quizzically at Machanaud. Surely the gossip network didn't work that quickly for him to already know about his ex-girlfriend's statement. And was he drunk enough to be sarcastic about his own downfall? 'I don't understand. What information?'

'The car. The car. I suddenly remembered what that car passing looked like. I came into the station two days ago and told your desk sergeant.'

'Who was that?'

'Didn't catch his name. Young chap, brown hair, slightly wavy.'

Briant or Levacher, thought Dominic. Why hadn't Poullain mentioned it?

'Can't be many Alfa Romeos like that, at least not in this area. You've probably tracked it down already, but don't want to say much. Salut.' Machanaud took a quick slug, knocked back half his eau de vie. Then he was suddenly thoughtful. 'Isn't that why you've asked me in tomorrow? Make the statement on the car official?'

Dominic's mind was still reeling. Duclos car! 'Yes, yes,' he answered hastily. Perhaps in all the confusion Poullain had overlooked mentioning it. The past days had been a nightmare of notes, typing statements, reports and filing for the arrest warrant. Or perhaps Poullain intended to mention it only once he had the full statement from Machanaud. Perhaps. It had been Dominic's suggestion to serve the warrant on Machanaud by asking him in to make another statement, rather than trying to serve it outside and risk a scene, fighting to subdue a handcuffed Machanaud all the way back in the car. Now he knew why Poullain had been so keen on the suggestion: Machanaud had expected to be asked in to make his car statement official.

Machanaud noticed Dominic's consternation and leaned over, whispering conspirationally, 'It's okay, if it's awkard to talk about it, I understand.'

Machanaud cut a pathetic image, smiling, probably thinking that half the local gendarmerie were busily tracking down the car that would solve their largest case in years, and he'd provided the vital clue. Totally unaware of the sword of Damocles hovering over his own head. Dominic felt a pang of guilt aiding Poullain's false pretence with the statement. Or was he missing something with Machanaud that Poullain and others saw?

Machanaud with one reassuring hand on Dominic's shoulder, smiling, the harmless poacher. Dominic smiled in return. Tinker, tailor, poacher, murderer. Machanaud leering, one hand raised with the rock to smash down on the boy's skull. Which was the right image? From the end of the room came renewed shouting and cheering. Two new contestants had stepped up to the table football machine. Beyond a plume of gauloise smoke, Dominic could smell the eau de vie on Machanaud's breath. Eau de mort. Water of death. Machanaud swilling down the boy's bloodstains from his clothing. Dominic shook the images away. The atmosphere in the bar was suddenly claustrophobic, suffocating. He stood up.

'Are you all right?' asked Machanaud.

'Yes, yes. Fine. It's just someone I should have seen, and I suddenly realized I might now be too late.' He looked at his watch: 12.06am. Officially, Poullain finished today's shift at midnight, but often he was still there up to half an hour afterwards.

Chapeau backed into a side farm track a hundred yards along from the main gates of the chateau on the opposite side of the road. Some trees and foliage mostly concealed his car, though he had a clear view of its main gates through a small gap. Two days before, when he'd first made the drive, he'd kept a discreet distance from the Alfa Romeo all the way from Marseille, especially on the quieter country road. On that first occasion he waited across from the chateau fifteen minutes.

Then spent the next day checking with the land registry and vehicle registration in Paris: the chateau was owned by one Marcel Vallon, one of the area's largest vineyard owners and wine producers. But the car was registered to Alain Duclos with a Limoges address. So this wasn't Duclos' family house, he was probably a family friend or business associate visiting.

Chapeau decided to return, see if Duclos was staying with the Vallons or whether two days ago had been just a one time visit. After half an hour he saw a Bentley leave, then a delivery van arrive fifteen minutes later. Then nothing for over twenty minutes. Chapeau was getting impatient, it was late morning and the heat was building up, he longed to get moving and get some air rush through the car's interior — when finally the green Alfa Romeo appeared. It was heading towards him!

He quickly ducked down out of sight, heard the engine drone pass, and raised up again. He counted three seconds, fired up the engine, waited for a Renault Dauphine to pass heading in the same direction, and pulled out.

Harrault was on desk duty and confirmed that Poullain was still in his office, getting ready to leave. Dominic decided to look through the desk register first, then talk to Poullain. Harrault flicked back the page, then stood to one side as Dominic ran one finger down the entries. Nothing. He was halfway through checking back through the entries when Poullain came out of his office.

He looked between Harrault and Dominic. 'I thought you'd finished a few hours back, Fornier. Looking for anything interesting?'

'Yes. I just bumped into Machanaud. He asked how our enquiries were going after his statement about the car.'

Poullain met his stare for a moment, then nodded towards his office. It was obviously going to be awkward discussing this openly in front of Harrault. As soon as the door was shut behind him, he questioned, 'So. What is the problem?'

'I don't see anything entered in the register.'

'And you won't. Not until I've discussed the development fully with Perrimond.'

'But Machanaud came in two days ago.'

'If he'd come in five or six days ago, or mentioned it on one of our first interviews, it might have been different.' Poullain walked around his desk, stood to one side of his seat. 'Think about it, Fornier. We've been asking about sightings of his car at bars and shops throughout Taragnon. Half the village has probably heard about it. And suddenly, miraculously, Machanaud remembers what it looked like. Don't be so naive! Machanaud has picked up on the description from village gossip.'

'Is that what Perrimond thinks?'

'No, it's what we have both discussed at length as a distinct possibility. He'll no doubt tell me what he thinks tomorrow.'

Dominic shook his head. 'Regardless of what we think, it should be taken as a full statement and entered in the register. We can interpret it any way we wish after that.'

Poullain was keen to keep some distance in the argument, a pending decision from Perrimond gave him someone detached to blame. 'I have to take Perrimond's guidance as prosecutor. If the statement is so obviously false, is not heading anywhere concrete, there's no point. I can't force him to pursue it. Also, we would probably then have to question Duclos again — an additional waste of investigative time we can ill afford.'

'Perhaps it wouldn't be such a waste of time. If we mention his car has been sighted, put him on the spot, his story might change. Something new might come to light.'

Poullain stared dully at Fornier. So they were back again to Fornier's groundless suspicion of Duclos. When he thought about Perrimond's concern about the mayor's call, the whole messy background he was stealthily