Collection Fred Vargas (2007) - full transcript

A DUBIOUS PLACE

Eurostar No.1204,

destination London St Pancras,

will depart at 8:35 from platform 4.

So what about the cold and snow?

This will be our 4th cold spell
this winter,

and this time it will carry on
until at least Wednesday...

"I brought you a tie. Hurry.
Danglard."

Come in.

Come on,
she won't get them out on her own.

In 3 days, Lucio.



Danglard will flip
if I miss the train to London.

Get what out?

The cat under the lean-to.
She's having kittens.

I didn't know there was a cat.

One's still stuck.

Can you feel its head?

Shit.

Forget it, it's your assistant.

Look...

here it comes.

I've got it.

See to the mother.
Put a hand on her head.

Stroke her.

My hand puts people to sleep.



It works on my son.
Sometimes on suspects too.

There.

She's going to sleep.

Catch the next train.

Maybe not.
He'll be better off on his own.

Don't say he couldn't come.
He just didn't want to.

But I don't mind.

I know him.
No point trying to change him.

I really loved what you played.

Mr Radstock knows his music.
So do I.

An eagle of Scotland Yard.

Let me introduce Lord Clyde-Fox.

A figure of the London night.

When his mother died last year,

he ate every single photograph
of her.

Ten or so albums.

Really ate them?

Really.

But what's a few photos?

I heard of a man in your country

who ate a cupboard made of wood.

That's right.
In the 19th century.

It took him a few months
but the truth is, he had help.

His brothers ate a few pieces.

Actually he paved the way
for the man who ate an airplane.

But we're getting deep
into human madness.

What's the word for severing feet?

Severing a head is "decapitating".

Tearing out eyes is "enucleating".

Removing balls is "emasculating".

What do you say for feet?

"Depedestrating"?

You don't say anything.
Or didn't.

There's no word
because no one had done it.

Now someone's created it.

Well?

Hello, darling.

You can't say he doesn't look
like his father.

Or whether or not it's a good thing.

So, Highgate. The oak tree.

Yes, Retancourt.

We need you in Garches.

You sound out of sorts.

I am very much out of sorts.

Not the severed feet.

Not only the feet.
And not only severed.

I'm on my way.

- Retancourt?
- Inside. We had to use gangways.

Gangways?

Yes, you...

You can't walk anywhere.

You're here, Commissioner?

That's the body.

Everywhere and nowhere.

Crushed and spat out
all over the room.

Never seen anything like it.

Do we know who it was?

Hard to say, given the remains.

We found the same hair,
here and in the bathroom,

so it's probably the owner.

Single man, old and rich.
Name of Pierre Vaudel.

Any enemies?

What do you think?

Here in Highgate was buried,

in 1862, Elizabeth Siddal,

wife and muse

of the famous
Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

- Pre-Raphaelite painter.
- And poet.

He buried in her coffin with her
a book of his poems.

Seven years later,
he decided to open the tomb.

Why?

There are two explanations.

Some say he wanted to retrieve
his poems, to publish them.

Others believe he had fallen prey
to Bram Stoker.

- The Dracula guy?
- The very same.

Dracula was a novel
but Stoker had studied

the tradition of vampires
in central Europe.

He urged Rossetti
to exhume his wife.

Seven years later
they opened the coffin

and were horrified
to find her intact.

No sign of decomposition,
complexion fresh and rosy.

As if she'd just fallen asleep.

So they drove a stake
through her heart?

That's what Stoker advocated
but Rossetti didn't want to.

It caused a big stir in England.

For 150 years,
nutters have flocked to Highgate.

Particularly to the oak tree

beside Elizabeth Siddal's grave.

It's all gone on here:

satanic parties, exorcisms,

animals bled dry...
Lots of examples of those things.

But severed feet is a new one.

We've got 17 feet in 18 shoes.

That makes 9 people,

including a one-legged victim
or an omission.

Five men, four women, all adult.

Five men and four women,
their feet removed,

who we've never heard of?
Very strange.

It seems it all started
20-odd years ago

and has gone on until now.

So you're looking for a guy

who severs feet here and there
till he's fed up of it.

Who said he was fed up of it?

I'm just guessing.

He must stash his severed feet
somewhere. Maybe in a freezer?

Indeed!

They'd been frozen and thawed
several times.

That's it.

He takes them out now and again,

maybe just to look at them.
He gets off on it.

Then after all that hassle,

he dumps them all by the road.

Getting stuck in, Retancourt?

What do the neighbors say?

Easily summed up:

he was an old bastard.

- So they mashed him up?
- People gave him a wide berth.

Kept himself to himself:
withdrawn, misanthropic,

disdainful, self-sufficient...

No family, no kids, no friends.

Well, no friends... There's Emile.

Who's Emile?

Emile the Brawler.

Seven spells in the can
for assault and battery.

Makes me want to meet him.

There he is.

Hello, Emile.

Leave us.

Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg.

Emile Feuillant.

Another cop?

Emile the Brawler.

Yeah, 138 fights.

Not including childhood.

What can I tell you?
I hit anything that moves.

- Not Vaudel, though.
- No.

What were you doing last night?

Your pals have already asked me.

Why do cops have to hear
everything twice?

You say went to Châteaudun
to see your dog

and they ask you
where you were.

What for? Is it a wind-up?

Exactly.

It's a wind-up.

So?

I went to see my dog in Châteaudun.

I put him in kennels there.

Mr. Vaudel didn't like dogs.

Then on Saturday, I can get my van

and take him meat, bones and stuff.

Here's a photo of him.

Look. His name's Cupid.

Cute.

No one can confirm
you were with your dog.

Yes, he can confirm it.

Yeah, Cupid.

Commissioner.

Vaudel made a will
3 months ago.

- Lots of bread?
- Lots.

All left to Emile.

Hear that, Emile?

Vaudel left you everything.

You don't seem too surprised.

No, he told me I'd be rich one day.

I thought he meant
I'd win the lottery.

Anyway...

Me and Cupid will move into
the big joint.

Well well!
You took that in your stride.

Why not digest the news first?

I don't act like other people.
Anyway it's all digested.

What's up?
I respect the old man's memory.

Respect!
Respect can come in handy.

- You knew about the will.
- Not me.

I think you killed him.
I'm sure of it.

Emile the Brawler,
you're under arrest.

Hey, Mordent, slow down.

Judge's orders.

I haven't even spoken to him.

He didn't ask for you.

What the hell is this?

Why is the law in such a hurry?

I'm just obeying orders.

Hey, are you crazy?

Retancourt!

Noël, Estalère!

Seal off the area!

So where's Estalère?

Chasing him.

- You OK?
- My ribs...

Have an X-ray.

- Are you OK?
- Fine.

What happened?

Lucky she didn't get it
in the balls.

Alright, Noël!

What's with Mordent?

He's in the shit.

So I figured.
What kind?

It's private.

If it affects the investigation,
it isn't private.

It's his kid.

She got copped in a squat
with six junkies.

And enough powder
for a dealing charge.

Plus a gun... that shot some guy
2 months ago.

- Shit.
- She's at Fresnes, on methadone.

Could get 2 to 3 years.

Mordent says she's fragile,
it'll see her off.

He keeps running off to Fresnes,

just to stare at the walls,
so he must be...

Yeah, must be.

- Yes?
- Commissioner?

I hear you've set foot in Hell.

News travels fast. But no.

We have to walk along gangways.

You should be with us.

I'm having problems with feet too.

English feet aren't our problem.

Oh, but they are.

Plus it's a case that's becoming
increasingly personal.

If it was your uncle's feet,

you'd agree, right?

Your uncle's feet?

My uncle's, yes.

My aunt's 2nd husband.

Died 17 years ago.

I liked him.

How did you recognize
your uncle's feet?

By the shoes!

The Serbian cobbler in the village

my uncle lived in.

He left his mark on his shoes.
You'll see.

Why was he in Serbia?

Because he was Serbian.

His name was Slavko Moldovan.

I have an appointment at 5 o'clock.
Let me through.

The area's been sealed off
by the police.

I demand to see
your commanding officer.

That'll be me.

Commissioner Adamsberg.

How do you do. Paul de Josselin,
Mr Vaudel's osteopath.

Mr. Vaudel can't be seen.

In fact he's dead.

Ah... a violent death,
or you wouldn't be here.

So my duties are over.

But I'd like to see the body.

The body?

We're collecting the remains
and placing them in numbered boxes.

The room is 42m²,
so that's 42 boxes.

Come.

An original modus operandi.

Certainly is. Before last night
there was no such thing.

The killer has actually invented
a way of killing.

Professionally it must be exciting.

You could say that.

What exactly is osteopathy?

It's to do with bones:

their alignment, their balance...

Relaxing the stiff zones,
opening up the inner doors.

Vaudel was an unusual case.

Medically, I was very fond of him.

You're an interesting case too.

- Did he have any enemies?
- Vaudel?

Lots!

Powerful and deadly ones.

But that's none of your business.

Excuse me.

Yes, Lucio.

I'm at work here.

Don't ask me,
suckling is meant to be natural.

No, I can't stroke her,
I'm having a tricky time.

A baby who can't suckle?

A 3-day old kitten.

Difficult birth?

Lucio, was it the one
we had to pull out?

Maybe I can help.

It's absurd.

We're at the gates of hell
and I bring you to see a cat.

So these enemies...

Nothing I could tell you would help.

The folly of a man, gaunt with age,

frozen in the folds of his being...

A job for a doctor, not a policeman.

Maybe even a potholer.

Right here.

Lucio, show him the kitten.

Now then, darling.

You clogged up the pipes?

Did the policeman
take you out wrong?

I'll sort out your TMJ.

TMJ?

Temporomandibular joint.
Caudal left, cephalic right.

The lesion prevents suction.

There, off you go.
Nothing nasty.

I'll just readjust the iliacs...

There!

She's a bold one.
Look after her.

I'd better get going.

Maybe a glass of wine first.

How did he lose his arm?

Spanish Civil War.
He was 9.

Something before that, though.

A wound, a dog bite?
Something untreated?

A spider bite he scratched.

That'll always itch.

It's here, stuck in the neurons.

Beyond reason.

So what use is reason?

It reassures mankind.
Better than nothing.

LAKESIDE KENNELS

Emile!

Don't say a word.

What happened?
Did you fight?

They shot me.

Lie down.

I'll take you to hospital.

11 more kilometres.
You OK?

Keep talking... I can't.

Stay with me, Emile.

I'll ask questions, say yes or no.
Like in the game.

It's not like that in the game.

You have to not say yes or no.

This is another game.

Do you know the guy who shot you?

No.

Anyone know you were there?

No, your pals were after me.

You bust Retancourt's rib.
She's the tall, nice one.

I hope I bust
that other fucker's balls.

The doc says they still work.

Pity!

Come on, we're here.

Listen up, Emile.

No visitors. No one.

Whoever shot you will be back.

I'll tell reception.
We'll take Cupid.

You'll be fine.

Wait...

If I peg out, Vaudel asked me
to do something if he died.

It's stupid but...

Some love thing.

He said she's old,
but it'll make her happy.

I was to post it after his death.

A letter? Where is it?

In my trousers.

Sir... his things.

Thanks.

FrauAbster, Cologne.

Horrifying Crime In Suburbs

- It's shit.
- Tons of it.

Say what you like about the Brits...

Estalère, we're not here
to talk clothes.

It's OK, I'll explain.

Estalère, the car needs cleaning.

Get the VIP service:
mud, blood, the lot.

Tricky.

No, the upholstery's plastic.

I meant the dog.

Cupid. He's a witness.

All hell will break loose
with the cat.

See?

They'll get along, they'll have to.
I haven't got time.

Feed him and wash him.
He stinks.

- I'll say!
- What a stench.

Come on now, honey pie.

Say, Commissioner.

You knew where he was
and didn't say?

And he bust my rib?

Thanks a bundle.

The dog and the kennels
occurred to me later.

Does the rib hurt?

No. Only when I breathe.

Sorry.
I don't think Emile's guilty.

Good, neither do we. Right?

Because he was shot?

Because he was shot.

Plus we found something.

Justin?

Tell the commissioner
the lab results.

Well, for the body,

we reckon it's in 460 pieces,

300 of which are in shreds.

The joints have been looked
at the most closely:

ankles, wrists, knees, elbows,

upper arms, thighs, feet,

i.e. tarsals and metatarsals.
And the spinal column...

OK, what did you find?

A kleenex.

From the night of the crime.
Full of snot.

That's to say loads of DNA.

Let me guess.

The snot isn't Vaudel's, Emile's,
or anyone else's who'd been around.

Affirmative.

A stranger's DNA.

Very probably the killer's.

You checked the database,
none too hopefully.

Amazingly, you got a hit.

You know the killer's name,

his face, his name, his address.

Well, that's great.

I get back to find
you're holding the murderer.

So how come you're all so miserable?

You can't go wrong.

Unless he knows we're onto him.

The only thing is...

he knows. Look.

Shit.

That's so stupid.

How did they know?

If there's a leak, it's from here.

It can't be from the file or lab.

Only we knew the details.

We pinpointed him at 10,

went off to grab him but he'd gone.

"Armel Louvois, 19, jeweller.

"Sexual attack 12 years ago."

"DNA positive, arrest imminent."
Imminent, my eye.

He'll be miles away.

- You've launched a search.
- Of course.

Estalère.

Issue his picture.
Might as well, now it's out.

Justin, check stations and airports.

Retancourt,
Internet and phone lines.

Mordent, watch his home.

You never know.

See you in the bar, Danglard.

Anyone here speak German?

Ich sprechen a smidgen.

Here.

Some kind of love letter that Vaudel
asked Emile to post after his death.

Love letter?
Doesn't sound like his specialty.

Now then.

"Keep our kingdom,

"always resist,

"remain out of reach."

Could be unrequited love.
Maybe she was married.

This word in capitals isn't German.

It's Russian.

Yeah? You speak Russian?

I did it at school.

I know the letters.

"Kissluv".

What does that mean?

"Kissluv."

Kisses... love...
Well, it's a love letter.

So what were you trying to tell me?

Keep Mordent away from the operation
to arrest Louvois.

I don't trust him. He's jaded.

He can still stake out a building.
Not that Louvois will be back.

But there was a leak.

Explain your suspicions.

Mordent's been with us 27 years.

He's done it all.
Not even Nice could corrupt him.

He put Emile on the run.

You're legally responsible.

And this press leak.

A murderer slipping through the net.

If someone wanted you off the case,
it's a good way to go about it.

Mordent screwing things up,
Mordent out to get me.

Why would he be?

Because you might succeed
and upset someone.

Upset Mordent?

Someone high up who doesn't
want the Garches case solved.

And wants you out of the picture.

Helped by Mordent?

Unthinkable.

Very thinkable, actually.

Considering that Mordent's daughter

is being held.

And high-up people can easily
efface murder cases.

- He's not the type.
- Irrelevant.

His kid's in danger.
You obviously have no kids.

Don't start, Danglard.

Kids you take care of, I mean.

I take care of Tom.
Take him for walks, tell him stories.

Sure you do.

Commissioner, the Vienna police
want a video conference.

Seems urgent.

Nice to meet you, Commissioner,
and to share with you.

I heard yesterday
about your Garches case

and how the suspect has fled.

Unfortunately.
Got anything on him?

On him, no. On the crime, yes.

I have the same one.

Most unusual. Take a look.

The scene.

Pressbaum, near Vienna,
4 months ago.

Another man: Conrad Plögener.

Younger than yours at 49, married

with 3 kids.

The family went off for the weekend
and he was murdered.

The same!

The body was so mashed,

nothing surfaced.

Ground down, bit by bit,

then scattered all around.

Here are some close-ups...

- No need, thanks.
- As you please.

There's a strong chance
we have the same zerquetschen.

Sorry? Zerge-what?

Crusher.

Ah, crusher.

Was Vaudel 100% French?

No traces of Austrian?
Previously "Pfaudel" or "Waudel"?

Apparently not.
The leads we have are pretty French.

But I have a Frau Abster,
a lover in Cologne.

Abster. I'll write it down.

He left a letter in German.
to be posted.

Here it is.

Sounds rather formal!

I'm convinced

the two cases
must be brought together.

Shall we check if Louvois
went to Austria 4 months ago?

Yeah, we can.

I never see people at this hour.

But I'll make an exception.
Any news?

We've reached an impasse.

I meant the cat,
not your investigation.

I haven't been home.

It's important to follow patients
for 3 days after treatment.

Will you join me in a restorative?

Did you imagine Vaudel signing off
a letter with "kiss love"?

No.

No, this calls for something better.

- You like fig purée?
- Never had it.

Not bad.

I usually dine alone.

Your visit is a special occasion.

So you've reached an impasse?

Yes, my suspect's on the run.

Seems he's crushed another man,
near Vienna.

He's a zerquetscher.

A what?

A crusher.
It's the German word.

And I've got a pile of hopefully
unrelated severed feet in London.

You wonder what your crusher
is thinking

but I'd be wondering
what Vaudel was thinking.

Vaudel and Conrad Plögener.

Who's Conrad Plögener?

The guy crushed near Vienna.

What did Vaudel see you about?

Death doesn't break
professional secrecy.

I usually find ossified zones
in people's skulls.

Fuses that blow.

Vaudel's skull had much worse.

What was wrong with Vaudel's skull?

A haunted room, a dark dungeon.

- And what was in it?
- He was.

His whole family, their secret.

He locked the door
to escape being annihilated.

I'll tell you no more, Commissioner.

I'd like you to come back.

To look inside my skull?

Of course.

But for appearances' sake, we'll
find a less intimidating motive.

Backache, sinusitis,
ankylosis, chills,

bowel trouble...

Tinnitus.

That, yes.

Untreatable, I'm told.

I can rid you of tinnitus.

Why carry a burden when
you can leave it at the roadside?

Yes, Danglard.
It isn't "kiss love" is it?

No, it's Kiseljevo,
a village in Serbia.

My uncle's birthplace.

The one with the severed feet?

Slavko Moldovan, yes.

"Kissyluv".

Kiseljevo.

On the left bank of the Danube,
near the border.

A tunnel, then, between
your severed feet in London

and the cut-up bodies
in Garches and Vienna.

One that leads to Kiseljevo.

And Mordent wants to stop me
finding what's at the end of it.

It's a lot to take in.

I'll try to get some sleep.

It'll be hard, but I'll try.

Don't look for your gun, it's here.

What are you doing?

Making coffee.

You know who I am?

Sure I know. Armel Louvois,
the zerquetscher.

What?

The crusher,
avenging something or other.

Maybe the foot severer too.
You must have started young.

Or you had a master.

You're muddling me.

Had any breakfast?

Whatever.

If you're here to kill me,
I'll enjoy my last breakfast.

You're here to kill me?

To zerquetsch me to the four winds?

Or is it a courtesy visit?

You just want my life story,
asshole.

I don't give a shit.
That bothers you.

Yeah, it does.

Then fire.

Not scared?

Kind of. A bit.

You're the nastiest killer
this millennium.

So spit it out.
What do you want?

To tell your tale,
looking for absolution?

To ruin your life!

What's that?

Come quickly, the cat's wounded!

It's the cat.

You keep pets?
That's pathetic.

She just had her first litter.

One of the kittens may be stuck.
I'd better check.

Freeze, asshole!

Quit calling me an asshole,
it's tiresome.

You go then.
Someone needs to see to her.

Yeah. While you do a runner!

Lock me in.

Here.

Then nothing can go wrong.

Don't try anything funny.

Hey, zerquetsch.

Grab the cat by the neck or belly,
don't touch the head.

The crate fell in the wind.

Move it, hombre,
I've only got one arm.

What's the gun?

Police.
I work with Commissioner Adamsberg.

Careful.

It's injured. I hate blood.

I love it.

Little jerk!

You wouldn't say that if you'd seen
blood spurting from your arm.

Here, go back to your mum.

There.

The cat was stuck like an asshole.
Like you.

I'm off, zerquetschen.

Really.

You got it.

See this?

Nitrocitraminic acid.
I uncork it, you die.

Unless I fire.

Taking off the safety: 0.65 seconds.

Pulling the trigger:

0.59 seconds.

For the bullet to hit: 0.32 seconds.
That's 1.56 seconds.

This kills in 0.73 seconds.

You're dead before I'm hit.

You die too.

Let me finish.

Squad guys are immunized by
an agonizing intradermal treatment.

I uncork this,
your heart explodes.

I flush out both ends for a week,
with rashes and loss of hair.

Then I'm right as rain.

You won't kill me.

I'll avoid it.

Remember, you're the zerquetscher.

Now put your gun down.

Open the drawer,

take out two pairs of handcuffs,
for your wrists and ankles.

Await further instructions.

You're arresting me?

You don't get it. You can't.

Oh? And why is that?

I'm your son.

You heard right.

The millennium's nastiest killer
is the son

of Commissioner Adamsberg.

Painful, isn't it?

Like I said,
I'm here to ruin your life.

There it is, cop.

The abandoned son returns
to dethrone his father.

The father leaves in rags.

Find someone else.
I've got no son.

- Where were you born?
- Béarn, like you.

- Your mother?
- Gisèle Louvois.

Don't know her.

You shagged her,
near Jussène bridge.

She got pregnant
and wrote to you.

You ignored her.
Don't say you don't remember.

- This is bullshit.
- You know it isn't.

Your life's a mess.
Father of the zerquetsch.

It's your fault your son's
the zerquetsch.

You abandoned him.

- I didn't even make you.
- Look at your face.

Look at mine.

Béarn faces.

There's a way to find out.

A way to stop you dreaming.

Take DNA samples and compare.

If you like.

If you dare.

See you Tuesday, Mrs. Gravos.

Hello, doctor.

Commissioner, come in.

You smell of perfume.

Nitrocitraminic acid.

Never heard of it.

I made the name up,
it sounded good.

I'm listening to the PRM
of the SBS.

Primary respiratory movement

of the sphenobasiliary symphysis.
A routine check.

Somethings happened.

I'm sure you won't tell me
but you certainly didn't enjoy it.

Major psychoemotional shock.

It's stiffened the anterior parietal,
blocking the post-sphenoid...

and blown 3 fuses.

Not surprising you feel unwell.

Turn over.

- In the skull, you said.
- Pulled in by the sacrum.

Hang in there.

I'm Dr Lavoisier, as in Lavoisier.

Your peritoneum is inflamed.

Bad for a man in your condition.
What have you had?

Wine.

How much?

Twice that I bet.

Who gave you that?

A doctor in a white coat
with a mask.

No doctors in masks on this floor.

Your cop friend is right:
someone's out to hurt you.

The cop... if I peg out,
there's something I must tell him.

A message for Adamsberg?

Go on.

The dog.

What?

Sweet peppers.

He's allergic.

You look well.

Dr Josselin.
He's tuned me up, like a boiler.

Golden fingers.

Coffee.

You're not usually one for doctors.

Tricky morning ahead.

Châteaudun hospital called.
They had another crack at Emile.

- Shit.
- He's had his stomach pumped.

He left a message for you.

Go on.

"No peppers for the dog.

"He's allergic."

Ever seen a dog fed peppers?

I'm just passing on the message.

Brézillon sent 2 henchmen over.

They're interviewing everyone.

It looks like your investigation
is being investigated.

You think someone's after me.

More than ever.

Someone who doesn't want
the Garches killer found,

someone whose life would be ruined,
someone of influence.

I give it three days
before you're taken off the case.

Four at the most.

I was thinking...

If someone wants Emile dead,
Emile must know something.

I bet it's to do with Vaudel's card
to Frau Abster,

and this place Kiseljevo,

your uncle's village.

Three days you say?
Then I'll go there.

You want to flee.
I'll come with you.

No. Best stay away from me.

You're right.
But you'll need an interpreter.

- When will you leave?
- Tonight.

There's a nest of tits, up there.

In the lime tree.

On the left, just after the rockery.

Don't bother, you'll never spot it.

It takes a practiced eye.

You practice a lot?

I've been at this window
for 8 months. With Reyer.

Morning till night.
I describe everything,

as precisely as possible.

We've covered 3/4 of the garden.

Each knot of wood,
each vein of leaf.

The annoying thing, though,

is that the details in each part
are constantly changing.

It's what's known as life.

I need you, Mathilde.

Adamsberg is in danger.

Six...

Good evening.

Adamsberg.
You're Slavko's grandson?

Vladislav Moldovan.

Glad to know you.
They call me Vlad.

Uncle Adrian us is in awe of you
and exasperated by you.

So why are you going to Kiseljevo?
No one goes there.

Looking for the roots of a story.

You heard about
the Garches murder?

By a guy who looks like you?

Oh? Does he really?

The dead old man
left behind a letter

containing the word Kisilova,
written in Cyrillic.

Where does my dedo come in?

Your "dedo"?

My grandpa. Uncle Adrianus
said it was about my dedo.

It's delicate, Vlad.

Seems a zerquetscher
severed your dedo's legs.

Plogoff sole?

Thanks.

Plogerstein... Plögener...

Tell me, Vlad.

Did your dedo's parents' name
begin with "Plog"?

Not "Plog", no.

There was a Mihai Plogodrescu,

a Romanian cousin who lived
in Belgrade, then Kiseljevo.

My dedo's best friend.

Like his brother.
They were inseparable.

Problem?

Sorry but I urgently need you
to find me

the names of Vaudel's ancestors.

On both sides.

Go back till you find me a "Plog".

"Plog"?

A name that starts with "Plog".

Plogener, Plogenstein,

Plogoff, Plogodrescu...

Plogerstein was the maiden name of
Vaudel's correspondent Frau Abster.

Plögener was the guy
carved up in Austria.

Plogerdescu was your uncle's
Romanian cousin.

Feet severed,
you'll be glad to hear.

To a point. And the Plogoffs?

Plogoffs?

Oh, that's the sole
your nephew and I are eating.

It's what set me thinking.

You think there's a global vendetta
against the Plogs?

Why don't they all have
the same name?

They probably felt it best
to hide it.

Anyway, find out, quick.

Hurry, kids,
you'll be late for school!

Commissioner? Vaudel's maternal
grandfather was Hungarian.

His name was Andreas Plog.

Welcome to Kiseljevo.

Haven't been here since I was 12,
with my dedo.

I'll go see his grave,
tell him stories.

First we'll find the krtchma.

- What's that?
- The inn.

Oh, I see.

Go easy with the "Plogs"
and severed feet.

People don't like cops
and investigators.

Find another way.

And they don't like historians,
video makers, sociologists...

photographers, novelists...

That's a lot of people.

They're wary because of the war?

Don't mention the war.
Forget about it.

Tell me how to say,
"hello", "thanks", and "French".

Dobro vece...

Hvala...

Francuz.

I'll manage with that.

I'm very happy.

Vladislas.

I'll take a look around.

Stay away from the river.

She says to walk in the woods,
not near the river.

"Plog".

What does it say on the stone?

"He who comes across this grave

"pick no flowers in its vicinity.

"Here lies the accursed soul
of Petar Plogojovic, died 1725,

"aged 62 years.

"May his accursed soul
give way to peace."

What did this Plog do
to damn his soul?

Three days after his burial,
he went to see his wife.

In the night.

He asked for his shoes,
so he could travel.

His shoes...

That rings a bell.

Afterwards, the village suffered
some terrible deaths.

People lost their blood,
became anemic...

The tomb was opened.

He wasn't decomposed.

He'd eaten his shroud

and he had an erection.

A stake was driven
through his heart?

No stake through the heart.

That's Romanian:
Vlad Drakul - Dracula.

Here, we cut them up
into little pieces.

As small as possible,
so they can't be reassembled.

That rings a bell too.

They believe here that a few big
pieces of Plogojovic remain.

You can hear him chewing
beneath the ground.

Didn't you hear him?

Or rattle his teeth?

Why are the nearby trees cut down?

The roots grow into the tomb.

You mustn't pick flowers.
Plogojovic is in the stems.

Aranjdel cuts everything.

Aranjdel?

A village elder.
Friend of my dedo.

He knows all about vampires,
vurdalaks, brucolaks, nosferat...

He knows everything.

Like Adrianus with Serbia.

A Serbian Danglard?
That's quite a prospect.

She asked if everything is OK.

Hvala, Danica.

What brings you, Retancourt?

This place is like a library!

New info for the series
"the net closes in on Adamsberg."

Guess what.
I poked around Mordent's office.

I found a mobile number
on a post-it.

- A direct line upstairs?
- Apparently.

Emma Carnot. Heard of her?

The Appeal Court judge?

Yes, dear.

And potential Minister of Justice.

A real heavyweight.

A drink?

Mordent's such a jerk.

You don't write down
numbers like that.

You memorize them.

Elementary, my dear Danglard.

One thing's for sure:

in France, only one person
can influence the verdict

in Mordent's daughter's case.

And that's Emma Carnot.

Another thing's for sure:

Mordent is doing
everything she asks.

And she doesn't want Adamsberg
arresting the Garches killer.

The question is, varum?

Maybe we should ask her.

Just imagine.

"Hi! As a future Minister, are you
connected to the Garches killer?"

We'll ask her about
severed feet.

Severed feet, yes...

You got up late.

Adrianus said you were up
at cockcrow, like a peasant.

I am a peasant.
But I didn't hear the cock.

I think you heard it.

I think you slept with Danica.

Don't waste your time at Aranjdel's.
You'll get stuffed cabbage

and lots of erudition
but nothing for your report.

I'm not writing a report.

You're interested in Plogojovic.

Then fire way.

But don't go back
to the dubious place.

Dubious place?

The clearing he rests in.

He's a man who is... alive and well.

And very dangerous.

Eat.

There have been two awful murders,
in France

and in Austria.

I think the victims
are descendants of Plogojovic.

They weren't just killed
but cut up into tiny pieces.

That's the surest way to do it.

If you don't have the time
or the strength,

you can always...

sever the feet.

That's an urgent measure
to stop the dead man walking.

You don't like my cabbage?

Aranjdel...

is it possible that someone
believes in this enough

to hack up Plogojovic's
descendants?

Everyone believes in it.

Everyone is afraid

that a tomb will open

and they will feel an icy blast
on their neck.

No one thinks of the dead
as companions.

Belief in vampires.

That's it.

I don't mean the old fears
we all feel.

Something more specific.

Maybe a family that fell victim
to the Plogojovices.

We always seek a cause
for suffering.

But the suffering of the one
you're talking about is immense.

You know the one I'm talking about?

Do not be in such a hurry,
young man.

This way.

Commander Danglard?

Your Honor.

As you can imagine,

under normal circumstances
I wouldn't receive a subaltern

two hours after he called me
on my mobile. Sit down.

Thank you.

What do you know?

That you're manipulating
Captain Mordent,

that you're protecting
the Garches killer

and, if it's the same person,

the Highgate foot severer.

I spent this morning

on genealogical websites to find

a family link between you

and Armel Louvois,
the suspected killer.

- Who you haven't found.
- Indeed.

But one thing struck me.

You're single, your Honor.

But you were married 29 years ago,

although there's not a trace
of your husband.

Not anywhere.

I need to walk a little.

See you at the inn.

You're not going
to the dubious place?

Promise?

Danglard?

I'm busy. Is it urgent?

I'll keep it short. We're after
a descendant of Arnold Paole.

I need it to be a bit less short.

Your Serbian counterpart,
Aranjdel, let the name slip.

It dates back to 1725.

Paole was a doctor obsessed
with hunting down vampires.

Crushed any Plog he could find,

so Big Plog made vampires
of his whole family.

There.

You found me some Plogs,

now find me a Paole.

Where's your chief?

I can't say, your Honor.

But he's looking for someone
named Paole.

Probably the murderer.

Any Paoles in your family?

I can make trouble for you.

Troubles you can't imagine.

Think about it.

I won't keep you.

Your Honor.

This is Tom, Camille isn't here.

Camille...

You know where you are, asshole?
Why didn't you leave me in peace?

I know you now,
you won't get me again.

I've been careful.
I'm outside, you're in.

I rigged up a transmitter
so I can talk to you while you die.

You're going to die.

Go on, yell.
Even if you get the tape off

no one will hear you,
no one ever comes here.

You know why no one ever comes?

Think about it, asshole.
It'll keep you busy.

Paole!

Bye, asshole!

I want to be a vampire too!

We can't all be.

You're the scholar
who hunts vampires.

Look, you have a crucifix, garlic,
and you can say stuff in Latin.

I don't like Latin.
I want to be a vampire!

Dracula!

What's going on here?

I'm Dracula!

Dracula!

Dad, they won't let me be a vampire.

They want me to be the professor
who says stuff in Latin!

Saying stuff in Latin is good.

Daddy says stuff in Latin.

A crucifix! A crucifix!

Pater omnipotentem!

Paole!

Still alive, asshole?

You know where you are?

You're in a vault, asshole.

The most impenetrable vault
in Kiseljevo.

Even more than the dubious place.

You can't see much
so I'll describe it to you.

Four coffins on your right,

five on your left.

Open them up and you might
not find skeletons.

They've been dead since 1725

but they're all pink and fresh!

Gorged with blood,
my Paole forefathers.

But let me tell you something.

I went back to your place.

I squashed that female kitten.
Blood spurted everywhere.

It annoyed me
that you made me save her.

Bye, Dad!

This is Cupid.

Stroke him, he's nice.

"Adamsberg vanished. Vlad."

Come on, let's go home.

Typical!

Mom!

This is Tom. Camille isn't here.

Camille...

I'll tell her you uttered her name
in your death throes.

She'll be happy.

Don't try to speak.

Pain is good, it makes you feel.

Easy, easy...

Stand, or you won't feel your feet.

They're not feet, they're hooves.

How many dead here?

Nine.

Vampires, apparently.

Vampires?

The family of Arnold Paole.

Turn that damn light off!

Danglard, what's going on?

Sorry, Retancourt.

No news from him
since yesterday afternoon.

His mobile's off.

He's nowhere to be found.

He's probably already dead.

He's failed to check in before.

The zerquetscher
must have liquidated him

in Kiseljevo.

I've seen nothing.

So, these hooves. Will you become
a centaur or remain human?

Human, I think.

They're starting to tingle.

Camille would like that better.

Does she know you're here?

Of course not.

What brings you to Kiseljevo,
Mathilde?

Danglard asked me
to keep an eye on you.

I don't like being watched.

Adamsberg...

My daughter has funny tastes
but she loves you.

So your fate concerns me.

I don't know about these vampires
but I know Danglard.

If he says you're in danger,
I believe him.

- Did you see him?
- Who?

Danglard? The vampire?

No, the crusher.

The zerquetscher.

I don't know.

But I saw the guy who attacked you.

I followed him.
I saw him shut you in the vault.

He returned 3 times to talk to you
through the door.

I waited hours for him to leave.

It was cold.

I was afraid.

It's a weird holiday with you.

A young guy, who looks like me?

Not at all.

An elderly guy.

Impossible.
He kept calling me an asshole.

He said he squashed the female cat
at my place.

It must be Louvois.

I don't know this Louvois.

But I reiterate:

the man who attacked you

looks nothing like you.

You know, Adamsberg,

I've watched a lot of human beings
in my life.

I have a good eye.

That's him!

Where were you?

In a vault, with 9 dead people.

Maybe 9 vampires.
Trussed up tight with tape.

I'm fine.

The zerquetscher?

Or not the zerquetscher.
That is the question.

You found Paole?

Louvois is son of an unknown father.

I drew a blank on
Emma Carnot's husband.

Who's Emma Carnot?

I'll tell you.

Someone who wants your neck.

Is Mathilde with you?

Yes. And I should tell you off
for having me watched like a kid.

But I'm alive thanks to her.
And thus you.

Thanks, Danglard.

Give her my regards.

Sure.

Danglard sends his regards.

So let's hear it.

It's hard to say.

It's all over the place.

It's awful, and worst of all,

I can't tell anyone,
especially not you.

So, tell me.

It could be that the millennium's
nastiest killer is my son.

Yours on... I know your son.

He's my grandson and he's 2 1/2

A son whose existence
I only learnt of 3 days ago.

The one who looks like you?

That's him.

A Béarn face.

I slept with his mother
29 years ago.

She wrote me a hysterical letter.
I was too cowardly to reply.

29 years later, he turns up to say,

"Look, Adamsberg.

"Look. The son you disowned

"is now an abominable killer.

"You can scream and shout
but it's too late."

You think he locked you
in the vault?

It has to be him.

It can't be.

If all your certainties
are like that,

he can't be the killer either.

Mathilde,
he came to boast of his crimes.

To annoy you.

To provoke and to brag.

He left his DNA in Garches.

A murder leaving his DNA
at the scene?

Too convenient. Suspicious.

He killed Lucio's cat.

And called you an asshole.
That's what you can't abide.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Thank you.

Hey, girls. Drinks!

I thought you'd given up.

I must have misheard.

We're all glad to have you back,
Commissioner.

But something bothers me.

- Where have you been?
- With the dog.

I'll come to the point.

You say it's a war
that began 100 years ago

between vampires

and vampire hunters.

Sorry to be a pain but...

do you believe in vampires?

You think black cats
bring bad luck?

- No.
- Neither do I.

Might a guy kill black cats
because he thinks they do?

- Does that offend your rationalism?
- No.

This is the same, only bigger.

There's a Paole on the loose,
a descendant of Paole,

slaughtering Plogojovic descendants,
convinced they're vampires.

Supposing there is.

Why shoot at Emile?

Emile is no relation to Dracula.

Is he?

No.

But he was the only one
Vaudel spoke to.

The killer thought he knew too much.

Vaudel was dying of fear.
Understandably.

He felt death drawing near.

He tried to warn Frau Abster,
a distant relative in Cologne.

We must ask the German police
to protect her.

Too late.

Like the others?

Vienna called.
The zerquetscher liquidated her.

Shit.

When you talk about
the zerquetscher,

you think of Louvois?

Yes, why? Who else?

I don't know, from what you say,

there's no Paole in his family.

No, only your lot. Béarn folk.

Father unknown.

Maybe that was the trigger.

You're right.

- You look like you've seen a ghost.
- I have.

And since seeing it,

you don't think Louvois
is the murderer.

Or you refuse to believe it.

Shut it, Danglard!

Is Louvois called Paole now?

Estalère, it's the same guy.

Ah!

Or maybe not.

Ah.

I sent someone to Auxerre

to check out the registration

of Emma Carnot's marriage.

The page had been ripped out.

It's impossible to find
her husband's name.

Better still,

in the Auxerre police records

there's an entry.

It says a severed human foot
was found

near Emma Carnot's country house.

Remember 17 severed feet
were found at High gate.

You think you've found the 18th?

Precisely.

Severed by Carnot's husband.

Exactly. I think she left him
when she discovered his hobby

to pursue her glittering career,
hoping she'd heard the last of him.

Understandably. A foot-cutter
in public office is ugly.

When she heard about the 17 feet
at Highgate

she realized the past
had caught up with her.

I don't know how she connected it
with the Garches murder

but she did.

Then she used all her clout,

sabotaged the investigation,

asked Mordent to help Emile escape

and have him shot.

And all to get rid of you,

to mask the real culprit.

So the real culprit is
her ex-husband, not Louvois.

You've been on a long journey.

I'm not back yet.

So how's the kitten?

Very well, since your pal
the doctor fixed her up.

What's wrong?

No, I...

I was worried about her,
I had a bad dream.

I squashed the female kitten.
Blood spurted everywhere.

"QOS..."

"POS... QOS..."

- Commissioner?
- Retancourt?

I've had two weird SMS messages.

How long to pinpoint
the owner of a mobile?

An unknown number?
Maybe 15 minutes.

Plus 30 minutes to get to base,
I'm busy right now.

OK, see you there.

06 12 65 38 59.

Here we go.

My, my, guess who.
Armel Louvois.

But how?

He switched it off when he vanished.
Why use it now?

He called you?

- Sent mystifying SMSs.
- No S on the plural.

OK, leave the pedantry to Danglard.

Find me the mobile.

If it's not switched off.

I think I've got it.

He typed SOS
without seeing the screen.

He's in the dark,
or typing in his pocket.

It isn't a trap, it's a cry for help.

Rue Henri de Régnier, Garches.
Vaudel's place!

Danglard,

Louvois sent an SMS, typed blind.

He's at Garches,
probably with Carnot's ex-husband.

You know who it is?

No, but he knows Lucio's cat
is female,

which Louvois wouldn't know.

Hurry, Danglard.

Go on, go on!

I'm going flat out.

To whom?

To whom?

To whom did you send the SMS?

To whom did you send it?

Tell me, lad.

Adamsberg.

That's pitiful!

Far from wiping out the father,

the son calls him
for the slightest scratch.

Adamsberg's dead.

That's a lie.

Couldn't be deader.

Walled up in Paole's vault
in Kiseljevo.

You know who walled him up?

You, my lad.

That's a lie.

Oh, but you did.

Now it's true.

When I met you,

you were a poor guy
of no use to anyone.

Now you've done something
with your life,

something great and beautiful.

Now we'll do something
with your death.

You'll be famous.

Daddy will be proud of you.

I'll go far away.

You're staying here, lad.

Tomorrow you'll be found,
crucified in your chair,

self-mutilated.

Suicide at the scene of your crime.
Case closed.

The memory of you will be glorious.

And I shall have peace.

Commissioner.

Having fun with childish pranks?

You don't say dobro vece
at this hour.

You say laku noce.

I see.

The final duel.

Both on our feet, both armed.

Being ethical,
you'll aim for my legs.

I'll aim for the heart.

If you hit me, I'll fire anyway.

You know how sensitive
my fingers are.

You have no chance.

Your citro-whatsit acid
won't save you this time.

Let's sit down.

We'll talk awhile.

Relax, Commissioner.

Tell me what led you here.

The kitten,
the one you wanted to squash.

I'll do it, I always keep my word.

"I squashed the female kitten."

Armel rescued it from some crates.

But he wouldn't know
a week-old cat was a female.

Lucio knew, I knew.

And you did,

when you treated it.

Right.

I see the error.

Shot in the belly.

I aimed for his leg.

Call an ambulance. Ambulance!

Armel!

For God's sake!

It's OK, Retancourt.

Paole, you hear me?

Don't call me Paole,
there is no Paole.

They've been saved.

They're free, at last.

You've killed all your enemies.

Not killed. They're not human.

Annihilating non-humans
isn't killing.

I'm a doctor, Commissioner.

I've spared the world.

Cured it.

You annihilated them all.

All of them.

They reign no more.

Who reigns no more?

I refuse to utter the name.

Peter Plogojovic?

He reigns no more.

His blood has died out.

Go on.

Adamsberg.

The oak tree...

Highgate...

The cemetery?

Go and see it.

It was planted in his honor.

If it's dead,

if the accursed blood
no longer feeds its roots,

then I can die in peace.

- Will he die?
- We don't know yet.

The bullet pierced his intestine.
You're scared he'll die?

Did he shut you in a vault?

He did.

I was cold.
Thinking about it makes me cold.

He talked through the door.

He imitated you.
"Know where you are, asshole?"

- You thought it was me?
- Sure.

You said you'd ruin my life.

Where to now? Your damned HQ?

To see the ocean.

I liked Josselin.

He sorted out my head.

I was hearing noises and voices.

It was driving me mad.

He's been treating me for 4 years.

He silenced my head.

He said I had lots of detritus in me

and the detritus was you.

Unless I purged it,
it would eat away at me.

To purge yourself of me
you had to kill Vaudel?

Vaudel?

I didn't kill anyone.

A guy called me
after the murder,

saying I'd be in the papers.
Something about DNA.

I'd be accused of murder,
I had to hide

but things would calm down.
He said he knew you.

One of my men: Mordent.

Where did you hide?

Josselin's.

He told me to go see you,
so you'd know I existed.

So you'd take me for a monster.

He said I'd be fine.

I'd be cleared because
the DNA was a mistake.

Now was the time to ruin your life,
or I'd had it.

The detritus would stay in my head
for always.

Did you enjoy ruining my life?

Yeah, I did.

Would you have gassed me
with that phial?

What did it look like?

I don't know. A bottle of scent.

Yes, that's what it was.

Danglard.

Hang on, what's this in his eye?

Did you see this?

Hey, wait...

Better alert Adamsberg.

Court of Appeal judge resigns

Danglard?

Where are you?

On the beach, with my son.

We're managing to communicate.

He's only 2 1/2, so it can't be easy.

My other son, Danglard.

What son? What are you on about?

Armel.

Armel Louvois.

A mirage?

No, he's my son.

Hence the resemblance.

I'm getting to like him.

Anyway, it's none of my business.

Someone wants to talk to you.

Adamsberg.

Hello, Commissioner?

It's Emile.

Ah, Emile!

Emile the Brawler.

Just to tell you the repair's done.

Also...

your guys did a good job with Cupid.
I've never seen him so well.

We were careful
not to give him peppers.

Must be that, yes.

Anyway, he's staying with me now.

Best to keep the things you love,
as much as you can.

That's right.

I guess there's no point telling you
about Emma Carnot.

What about Mordent?

Forget it.
A damaged man is worth ten.

When will you be back?

We'll take a break for a week or so.
Family holiday.

What did he say?

He's taking a family holiday
for a week.

Don't worry, you'll be fine.

Come on... breathe...

Good... that's good.

You have another son?

Yes, he's small. Do you mind?

You're an accommodating lad.

Ask him about the oak.

The oak tree died.

Yes, Commissioner, I'll tell him.

The oak tree's dead.

"Those who'll play with cats
must expect to be scratched."

Miguel Cervantes.

You look relieved.
Is it so important the oak's dead?

Not to me. But it's important.

Come on, let's go.

Subtitles by Kevin Smith

Subtitling: CMC - Paris