How can one shake off, at the start of the trial of Cédric Jubillar in the southern French city of Albi on Monday, September 22, the overwhelming sense of déjà vu, of having already read, seen and heard too much? Four and a half years of an investigation conducted in the public eye have left their mark. The main points of the 27 volumes of case files stacked behind the court are already known. Above all, it is clear what they do not contain: There is neither a crime scene nor a body.

So, while waiting for the trial to really begin, observers picked up on every small detail of this first day. Jubillar allowed, for very long minutes, a swarm of cameras and lenses to capture his image in the defendant's box, his head shaved, his skin waxy. Cameras zoomed in again and again on his left hand. That ring on his ring finger – was it his wedding band? Attention lingered on the side of his neck. Did those tattooed letters spell his son's name? Then the focus widened to the plaintiffs' benches, overfilled. The brothers and sister of the defendant's wife, Delphine Jubillar, who disappeared in December 2020, sat in the front row. Her sister is now raising their two children, ages 6 and 11. They no longer have a mother, and their father is accused of killing her. Delphine Jubillar's uncles, aunts and cousins were all present. So were her close friends. Sitting among them was Cédric Jubillar's mother.

You have 76.31% of this article left to read. The rest is for subscribers only.