At the trial of the Basilica of Nice, the poignant testimony of a survivor and friend of the Sacristain Assassiné

“That day, I shouldn’t have been there. It was 7:30 am. I was on a site. I am a carpenter-Ébéniste. I’m still starting early. We got on the phone with Vincent, I don’t know if it was he or I who called him. We chatted. I told Vincent, come, we have a little coffee. As we often do in the morning.

We redo the world for ten minutes, we laugh, we make fun of people, we tell ourselves our problems. We were very close. I was his vitamin D, he was mine. We went back to work afterwards. That day, we were at Café Malongo. A lady came to meet us. “Vincent, come quickly, there is a lady on the ground who has a bloody head in the church”. Vincent says: “Ah, it’s a pest. Probably a homeless one that fell”. I pay for coffee.

This individual shouted “Allah Akbar”

We enter the basilica together. We see a first lady on land. Vincent did not have time to realize that she was dead because he heard a woman screaming at the bottom of the church. I see him running in his direction. Me, in the distance, I see a silhouette. He made sudden gestures. His arm was moving in all directions. I didn’t understand what was going on. I was looking at the first person asking me what help to bring him.

I saw Vincent type on the silhouette. Then Vincent turned suddenly. He ran in my direction. All of a sudden, I see this individual who runs after Vincent. He went to a crazy speed … He would have caught up with it very quickly, whatever Vincent’s speed. Vincent fell. Is it because he was stabbed before, I can’t tell you. I heard Vincent Crier. And this individual shouted “Allah Akbar.” (Olivier interrupts, in sobs). There I understood what happened.

He was a brother of heart

The terrorist’s gestures were barbaric, violent. We are well high children, we are used to saying goodbye, hello, sorry. We are not used to this kind of crazy. I was terrorized. I shouted in distress. I saw that the terrorist saw me. I said to myself, Olivier, you have two solutions. Or he stabs you, or you save yourself. Vincent, it was more than a friend. He was a brother of heart. I didn’t want to leave him in the hands of this terrorist. But I said to myself: save yourself. I had trouble leaving the basilica (It cries.))

I left it like a coward. It is the cowardice of having left it in the hands of this crazy. Leaving the basilica, I was walking slowly, because I was still saying to myself, I may be doing something, throwing something in my head, maybe Vincent is not dead. I saw a bicycle policewoman, I went to see her very quickly. To alert him that there was a madman in the basilica.

Since the attack, I have been anxious, I have been afraid of everything. My business is in danger. Work in the basements for example, I can’t do it anymore. I’m afraid of black. I close all the shutters in a room. I try to save my business, because I am proud to be a craftsman. I really like this job, I have been doing it for 16 years. It’s important, wood, for me.

I worked in churches, in Sainte-Réparate, at the Notre-Dame basilica, where I made a small place for children. I made a platform. I know the churches. Fortunately, a friend helps me a lot, reassures me. Fortunately he is there. I don’t know what I would have become without him.

I can’t go up the slope

I feel guilty of being alive. I often say that I would have liked it to be me in place of Vincent. Because Vincent is a grandfather, has two grandsons. I went to their baptism. Now I can no longer go to this type of events. I contain myself on myself. I don’t go there because I don’t want to spoil the atmosphere. I punish myself. For me, I am guilty of being alive. I am a coward to have left him in the hands of this terrorist. I can’t go up the slope.

Yet I have strength. In front of people, I try to be happy. But when I go home, I am very much. My friend is very patient, because I am very susceptible to the slightest reflection. My brain is in break mode. I can no longer understand what I am told. When we talk, I am not present. I do not listen to the conversation. It upsets me enormously. I say to myself, Olivier, you are the king of morons. Go home watching TV, that’s all you’re good for doing.

I died with Vincent

Vincent I had known him since 2010. I had met him at the Jeanne d’Arc church, where he was sacristan. We immediately sympathized. He was very human with everyone. I have never seen someone so kind, helpful. There was a bond between us. For me, it was more than a friend, he was a brother of heart. I knew his anxieties, his fears. He has experienced difficult things. He confided in me a lot, and me. I know her children, his mother, his widow Geneviève. We were often going to eat together. And I miss that. I no longer have this vitamin D. This atmosphere we had in the morning. It’s over. I died with Vincent

I hang on to my job

The terrorist did not only kill three people. I no longer know who I am. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t do it. Even working a lot with my shrink. I often see her two little little ones that are adorable. But it’s not my place. Vincent should be there. He loved his children, was proud of his daughters. He said he was the happiest in the world to be a grandfather. He will never come back. I miss it. I almost left with him. I hang on to my job I love. But I can hardly do it anymore.

I no longer have the energy I had before. Everything annoys me. When a client asks me for advice, I almost want to send her for a walk. I don’t want to answer him. Because of this, I lose sites, because I was not up to a request. If I continue like this, I will file for bankruptcy. »»

Christophe Petiteau, the president of the Special Assize Court, then speaks: “Sir, you are not a coward. The procedure has established that you would not have had time to save it. When Vincent was stabbed, you were too far. You have no responsibility in his death. It is established. It is not your fault. And you are not a coward because you are there. Place in front of an assize court is not easy. Even less when you feel responsible. It’s courage. »»