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After the events at the beach house, the narrator is taken into custody. At the police station he is questioned briefly, then released. A week later the examining magistrate summons him. In a curtained room the magistrate, a tall, fine‑featured man with deep‑set blue eyes, a long gray moustache and almost white hair, conducts a formal interview, asking for basic personal data and whether the narrator has hired an attorney. The narrator declines to hire one, noting the law will appoint one for him. The magistrate’s demeanor is polite but his curiosity grows. The narrator later meets a young, short, chubby lawyer in his prison cell. The lawyer, dressed in a dark suit with a wing‑collared shirt and striped tie, introduces himself and reviews the case file, stating they can win if the narrator trusts him. He asks about the recent death of the narrator’s mother at the old‑people’s home, the narrator’s behavior at the funeral, and whether he felt sadness. The narrator offers a vague answer, says he “probably did love Maman,” and refuses to say he had held back feelings. The lawyer becomes upset, warning the narrator not to repeat those statements at the hearing and insisting on a particular narrative. The magistrate calls the narrator back for a second interrogation. His office is hot and sun‑lit; a young clerk sits behind the narrator typing. The magistrate, noting the narrator’s taciturn nature, presses him to revisit the day of the shooting, the beach, the five gunshots, and the motives. He repeatedly asks why the narrator paused between the first and second shot and why he shot a body on the ground, receiving no answer. The magistrate then brandishes a silver crucifix, launches into a fervent, religious monologue asserting that every man believes in God and must repent. He asks the narrator if he believes in God; the narrator says no. The magistrate becomes agitated, shouting that he is a Christian and demanding forgiveness for the narrator’s sins. Despite the narrator’s refusals, the magistrate declares the narrator’s soul “hardened.” The session ends with the magistrate asking if the narrator is sorry; the narrator replies he is more annoyed than sorry. Subsequent meetings involve the magistrate, the lawyer, and occasional clerks. Over time the magistrate’s tone softens, he stops bringing up religion, and the interrogations become routine, brief conversations. The investigation stretches over eleven months, during which the narrator is repeatedly escorted back to the magistrate’s office, sometimes receiving a friendly pat on the shoulder and the sign‑off “That’s all for today, Monsieur Antichrist.” By the end of the investigation the narrator feels oddly integrated into the procedural “family,” and the legal process appears to be moving toward a resolution.