Everything mattered during the questioning of Cédric Jubillar on Monday, October 13, before the criminal court in Albi. Everything mattered because that is what the court and jurors would take with them into their deliberations: the vagueness and the details, the "I don't knows," the "indeeds," the "I don't remembers," the contradictions, the changes, the statements and the declarations of innocence. And the striking contrast between his fairly calm voice and a body wound up like a spring, trembling, jerking, rocking back and forth, side to side, his leg twitching as if stung by a wasp, falling back, twitching again, his hands gripping, sweat, gulping down a bottle of water and, right at the very end, a smile.

The presiding judge, Hélène Ratinaud, asked him to recount his day on December 15, 2020.

"I got up around 6 am, met up with my boss who picked me up. We laid floating floors all day. I took the bus home that evening."

"December 15 was a Tuesday. It followed the weekend of the 12-13."

"Maybe."

"No, that's certain, Mr. Jubillar. Do you remember the weekend of the 12th?"

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