Past Imperfect

session; he'd thought then they'd previously had words. At least she was telling the truth about that. 'Since you seem to know already what Lambourne's objections are, why don't you tell me?'

'It's simple. He thinks the solution is with Eyran in the present, I think it's with Christian in the past. Difference is, I have a stronger case to back up my argument. David's direction was floundering when I arrived, and all we've discovered since is that the imaginary character is a real life. Nothing more. Where's David going to head from here? He doesn't even have the secondary character to explore any more — conventional Freud is out of the window, and his expertise with PLT is limited. He's at a dead end.'

'What if you're wrong?'

'There's always that possibility. But what is there to lose? Four sessions over two weeks and then I'm gone. David Lambourne has Eyran back to pursue whatever he wants to pursue. But if I'm right, it could be the breakthrough we've been looking for.' Hearing her own voice, its enthusiasm, she felt a sudden twinge of shame.

Two weeks? Stuart reflected. Eyran had already been in therapy five weeks and they were virtually back to square one. It didn't seem a lot to ask, and Calvan's arguments were convincing. But still he held strong reservations — partly his reluctance to accept this past character, partly the problems that might be caused with Lambourne — when another thought suddenly hit him: Amanda. If she learned he'd said no, she would probably seen it as just another prime example of him being obstructive, trying to be an armchair psychiatrist and map out what was best for Eyran despite expert advice to the contrary. 'Okay — I'll agree to the sessions. But just the four. That's it. And you'll have to phone Lambourne yourself and smooth the way with him. If he phones me afterwards, I'll confirm what we've agreed — but I don't want to get in the middle of any conflict between you.'

Stuart could tell by the brief pause at the other end that Marinella Calvan had been caught off guard by the sudden turn around.

'Yes… yes. Certainly. I'll call him.' One more obstacle to go. But Marinella was sure that Lambourne wouldn't roll over nearly so easily.

12.14pm in Lyon. The session in London would already have started.

When the call had finally come through on Tuesday, Dominic had practically given up on hearing from Marinella Calvan. He'd phoned Lambourne's office on Monday only to get an answerphone. He didn't leave a message.

Marinella had started by apologizing for the delay. She'd wanted to work out what she was going to say, develop a particular theory in her mind before approaching Lambourne or Stuart Capel. She explained the theory and the agreement that had resulted to Dominic.

Surprise suddenly tempered his enthusiasm. 'They don't know it's to aid a murder investigation?'

'No. They'd have never agreed. But I'd already been partly exploring this theory for the benefit of Eyran's therapy anyway. It was something I'd voiced previously to Dr Lambourne, and later discussed with my colleague Dr Donaldson. He agreed with my prognosis: the main key lies with Christian in the past, not with Eyran. As much I was keen to help you at the outset, I'm sure you can appreciate that ethically it would have been wrong to put your case before Eyran Capel's mental stability and health. It's just fortunate that in the end those aims coincide.'

Calvan went on to explain that if it got out that it was to aid a murder investigation, it would cause problems. Dr Lambourne, in particular, had been difficult to persuade; he would no doubt quickly claim the investigation had been the prime aim all along, and try and halt the sessions. Later, particularly if anything worthwhile was uncovered from the sessions, details of the murder investigation would obviously come out — though by then hopefully the sessions would either be over or far progressed. 'Even then it should be admitted to only as a by-product of these extra sessions rather than the main feast. That you only saw the possibility of a renewed investigation when you saw the first transcripts. That is, if anything is uncovered.'

If. If. If. Dominic stared at the fax machine in the corner. The arrangement was that she'd fax through the transcript straight after the session. Thirty years of waiting to know and now only an hour remained. While he understood the reasoning, the duplicity of his little agreement with Calvan somehow added to his nerves. Only the two of them knew. It was almost incestuous. In the same way that he was keeping the secret from his wife, she in turn was duping Lambourne and Capel. So many secrets. Something was bound to go wrong.

Like two conspirational children playing hide and seek, hunting cloak and dagger style through the shadows of memories from thirty years ago. Excited by their little secret as much as the adventure. Unable to tell the adults who would say that they knew better and stop their little game.

The night before he'd had a clear opportunity to tell Monique — but still he put it off. If nothing was uncovered by Calvan or if it merely supported Machanaud's guilt, there was no point. If. If. If.

To support the theory Calvan had sold, he should be absent from the first sessions. Perhaps he could turn up at the third or fourth. They'd discuss it later. Meanwhile she'd fax transcripts through and would readily admit to doing so to Lambourne and Stuart Capel on the pretext of authentication and gaining 'advice on questions for future sessions.' How to guide Christian in the right direction. If Dominic then showed up for later sessions it wouldn't seem strange; would follow more naturally that he had by then 'stumbled' on information which might help the investigation.

But the forced detachment, his purposely being kept away from the activities in London, only made him more anxious. His nerve ends bristling because something was happening in a small room four hundred miles away over which he had no control. Christian's frail voice at that moment telling them the secrets of over thirty years ago and he wouldn't know for an hour. Or they would be close to finding out when Christian suddenly headed off at a tangent, and if he was there he could whisper sharply in Calvan's ear. 'No, no… take him back! Ask him this!'

The squad room was hectic: phones ringing, people calling across the room, typewriters clattering. Dominic had shut his door to concentrate on the normal morning's mountain of papers that required his quick attention: final approval of files to go to the procureur's office, an enquiry from St Etienne over a pattern of regional car thefts, medical report on a rape case. The noise of the squad room was muffled beyond his door, but still Dominic couldn't concentrate. The most he'd manage was a half page before his thoughts once again drifted, wondering what was happening at that moment in London. And he would glance back at the fax machine: frustration because it symbolized his detachment and impotence at that moment, yet also hope. It was his only link with what was happening.

In the two days since Marinella Calvan's call, he'd received even more papers from Lepoille on cases involving psychics to add to Monday's package. He'd hardly looked at them. The last days he'd been through a ridiculous see-saw of hope and disappointment without putting himself through it again to no avail. Verfraigne from the Lyon procureur's office had called and given him the prosecution pecking order in Aix en Provence together with some names. He'd written them down, but hadn't called anyone. The list was tucked into the front of Lepoille's top file at the edge of his desk.

A stack of papers and thirty years of doubt waiting on one fax.

Session 9.

'Did you play much by the river with Stephan?'

'Yes, quite a bit.'

'What sort of games did you play — did you ever swim in it?'

'No. It was too cold. But we used to play on the river bank.'

River bank. Where the police thought the boy was probably held between the sexual assaults. The memories from before open, carefree, not yet linked in Christian's mind. Only minutes before he'd mentioned the field close by. Marinella knew from her last session that Stephan was one of his closest friends. It seemed as good a place to start as any.

The first ten minutes of the session had been with Lambourne taking Eyran back before she took over. Perhaps it was her imagination, but Lambourne seemed to be taking longer than normal. Showing his resentment in the only way left to him.

She'd started with other times he'd played with Stephan, their favourite places and games, introducing a general, relaxed mood. Christian was free to ramble, no constraints. But ever so slowly she circled in like a cat stalking its prey. The trick was that hopefully Christian was never aware of it. Already she'd struck out once and