On the images of the JT of France 3, Sandrine Rousseau is sitting outside, in the sun.
She is peeling a nice big potato.
Beneath his smile, the blade glides carefully, slowly.
The voiceover warns,
“Beware of fake 35-year-old housewives!”
It was in 2007. She was then a lecturer in economics at the University of Lille and a publisher in the North, Ravet-Anceau, had just published her first detective novel with an evocative title,
Peelings à la lilloise
.
The publisher describes the author promoting his book,
“the story of a man found dead, part of his torso torn off.
Finally, peeled!”.
The victim
“is surrounded by women in his life and you have to know who had this absurd idea of peeling him”.
The investigation is being conducted by
“an incompetent inspector, redneck, fayot and macho (…) deprived of the most elementary charm”.
To discover
OUR FILE - Elizabeth II, a rock and a symbol for England
In fifteen years, Sandrine Rousseau's relations with men have not improved.
It is his thread, his battle, a fight transformed into a business to the point...
This article is for subscribers only.
You have 87% left to discover.
Cultivating your freedom is cultivating your curiosity.
Subscription without commitment
€0.99 THE FIRST MONTH
Already subscribed?
Login
