“These women were before Susan’s death?”
“Maybe one or two before. Then some afterwards, as well.
The same thing happened to all of them because I was followed. This is why I went more and more into hiding, and the stress and hardships made my condition so much worse. It has been a nightmare and I’ve said nothing. Who would believe me?”
“Good question,” Berger says sharply. “Because you know what? I, for one, don’t believe you, sir. You murdered Susan, didn’t you, sir?”
“No.”
“You raped her, didn’t you, sir?”
“No.”
“You beat her and bit her, didn’t you, sir?”
“No. This is why I’ve told nothing to anybody. Who would believe me? Who would believe people are trying to destroy me all because they think my father is a criminal, a godfather?”
“You never told the police or anyone that you may have been the last person to see Susan alive because you murdered her, didn’t you, sir?”
“I told no one. If I had, I would have been blamed for her death, just as you are blaming me. I returned to Paris. I wandered. I hoped they would forget me, but they haven’t. You can see they haven’t.”
“Sir, are you aware that Susan was covered with bite marks and that your saliva was found on those bite marks and the DNA testing on them and on the seminal fluid found in her vagina matches your DNA?”
He just fixes those black glasses on Berger.
“You know what DNA is, don’t you?”
“I would expect my DNA to come up.”
“Because you bit her.”
“I never bit her. But I am very oral. I…” He stops.
“You what? What did you do that might explain your saliva being on bite marks you say you didn’t inflict?”
“I’m very oral” he says again. “I suck and lick. All over the body.”
“Where specifically? Do you literally mean every inch of the body?”
“Yes. All of it. I love a woman’s body. Every inch of it. Perhaps because I don’t have… Perhaps because it is so beautiful, and beauty is something I can never have for myself, you see. So I worship them. My women. Their flesh.”
“You lick and kiss their feet, for example?”
“Yes.”
“The bottoms of their feet?”
“Everywhere.”
“Have you ever bitten a woman’s breasts?”
“No. She had very beautiful breasts.”
“But you sucked them, licked them?”
“Obsessively.”
“Are breasts important to you?”
“Oh yes. Very muchI am honest about it.”
“You seek out big-breasted women?”
“I have a type I like.”
“What exactly is your type?”
“Very full.” He cups his hands at his chest and sexual tension shines in his face as he describes the type of woman who arouses him. Maybe it is my imagination, but his eyes gleam behind the black Solar Shields. “But not fat. I don’t like fat women, no, no. Slender through the waist and hips, but very full.” He cups his hands again, as if he is gripping volleyballs, and veins rope through his arms and his muscles flex.
“And Susan was your type?” Berger is completely unflappable.
“The instant I spotted her in the restaurant, I was attracted,” he replies.
“In Lumi?”
“Yes.”
“Hairs were also found on her body,” Berger then says. “Are you aware that unusual long, baby-fine hair consistent with your unusual baby-fine hair was found on her body? How can that be if you’d shaved? Didn’t you just tell me you shaved your entire body?”
“They plant things. I’m sure of it.”
“These same people who are out to get you?”
“Yes.”
“And where would they get your hair?”
‘There was a period, in Paris some five years ago, when I started getting the sense someone was after me,” he says. “I had a feeling I was being watched, being followed. I had no idea why. But when I was younger I didn’t shave my body always. My back, you can imagine. It is very hard to reach, hard to shave my back, impossible really, so sometimes many, many months would go by, and you see, when I was younger, I was more shy with women and rarely approached them. So I didn’t think about shaving as much, would just hide beneath long pants and sleeves and only shave my hands and neck and face.” He touches his cheek. “One day I came home to the apartment where my foster parents lived…”