Yet he tended to grow quite animated – blue eyes shimmering, his speech breathy and fervent, a mischievous smile spreading over his lips – when discussing his pet interests. He spoke in a small, satiny voice there was something vaguely spectral about him. Before the bookshop, he had been an assistant on the sets of a few minor pornographic movies. His frame was slight and boyish, but he had grown rather doughy by his late 30s, with a pot belly and a pallid complexion that suggested, along with his spectacles, a sedentary life in the half-light of the margins. Bourgoin ran Au Troisième Oeil – “The Third Eye” – a tiny secondhand bookshop specialising in mysteries and crime. She was fond of him, but also found him to be “a bit out of sync”, she said, “always in his own little world”. “I started asking him all sorts of questions,” she said, “and the more he spoke, the more I thought to myself: ‘We’ve got to do a film!’”īourgoin was a friend of Kehringer’s parents, and Kehringer had known him since she was a child. Kehringer was then in her 20s, starting out as a television producer. “We were utterly captivated,” Carol Kehringer, who was among Bourgoin’s guests that night, recalled recently. They listened, as millions of other French-speakers would listen in the decades to come, horrified, nauseated and rapt.īourgoin told his invitees of the FBI programme, of the traits of the typical killer, and of some of the more awful American specimens. Bourgoin’s guests were barely familiar with the concept at all. The serial killer was not yet a cultural vogue in France, much less the cliche it was already becoming elsewhere. That phrase, and the notion that such criminals were a breed apart, impelled by a special, sexualised depravity, really entered into the popular imagination only in the 1970s, and then mostly in the US, where the FBI had established a unit of so-called “profilers” to catch them. But these people had not been understood as “serial killers”. As a cultural trope, the string of mysterious homicides had of course been a fixture around the world since at least the time of Jack the Ripper, and the French more specifically had been acquainted with the idea since as early as the 15th century, when the nobleman Gilles de Rais was found to have kidnapped, tortured and ritualistically murdered nearly 150 young children. One night in the early 1990s, at a dinner party at his home in Paris, Stéphane Bourgoin, an author and bookseller then of no particular renown, began to hold forth on the matter of serial killing.
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