He began to tremble. What was this accusation? He had not raped or killed anyone except in dreams …
He was scared now.
He entered the castle courtyard. Again he looked towards the Pyrenees. The sun was shining and it was quite warm. He stopped along a wall, dropped his backpack, opened it, took off his jacket and stuffed it in his bag. He checked his money was in the bottom of his bag in a hidden pocket and not accessible from outside. Clandestine life is so difficult. Sometimes it was hard to understand that he had never been arrested. He took precautions but was the French police really so inefficient?
He looked back several times. Everything worried him now. How had Marika found him? Had he thrown himself into the lion's den? All this seemed very odd to him. The sun was beating down now. The cut on his neck wasn't flowing anymore. Soon it would be just a bad memory. The accusation of Marika, the abrupt way she had gripped his neck, which had first brought him the beginning of an erection, quickly disappeared, this blend of affection and aggression disturbed him.
The newspaper article vaguely addressed sex games and rape gone wrong, hard drugs, trafficking. In what way was he related to that? He hadn’t killed anyone. But why did he have his hands covered in blood when he returned to Paris on Friday 1st October 1993 in the daytime? Maybe Marika had murdered her sister because of jealousy and removed the body? But the journalist had also written about a witness who had recently informed the police after twenty years of silence.
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