The Secret of the Abbey (2017) - full transcript
Who would kill a Carthusian monk and why? As the investigators will find out, the key to the mystery lies in the ultra-secret formula of the Chartreuse plant liqueur.
THE SECRET OF THE ABBEY
Is he coming?
He's not sleeping much.
I sent another message.
That's the Captain for you.
How did he ever get promoted?
- He was better, before.
- Before what?
Well... before.
Ah!
- Well...
- You see?
Hello, Captain.
Didn't your alarm go off?
I wasn't asleep, to start.
Hello.
And I wasn't on call - but whatever.
Ah, I see.
So?
He's got no ID.
We've got nothing on him, Captain.
And it was pissing down.
Yes.
Ah, Lanchon.
Hi, Alex.
There's no sign of violence.
Nothing much
to report,
other than
we'd all rather be elsewhere.
- Can I bring him down?
- Not yet.
- Captain Tirard is coming.
- Tirard?
From?
- Special department.
- OK.
So where is Superman?
Superwoman, if you don't mind.
Hello, Captain.
I'm Alicia.
Who are you?
Alex.
I've got something to show you.
Let's get to work.
He was thrown
over the wall,
hence the mud on his left side.
He was already dead,
before he was put up there.
Then the killer carried him.
Look, those are deeper.
He's a size 44 or 45.
So it was probably a man.
It stops there.
No tyre tracks.
Nothing.
Ah! The body was left after 2 a.m.
Why after 2 a.m.?
The rain created all this mud -
hence the prints.
It started raining at 2 a.m.
I was awake.
So, what do you think?
The staging meant
something to the killer.
So, a serial killer?
Think factually.
Serial killers
aren't common round here.
I think it was a message.
Captain Tirard.
Captain Lazzari,
I look forward
to hearing from you soon.
But...
OK, I'm not Sherlock Holmes,
I just run a crappy squad,
but could we talk, all the same?
Superman, Sherlock Holmes -
you need to get out more.
But we'll make the best of this.
Or the least bad.
What's the problem?
Is it me?
Normally, a woman needs
six months to dislike me.
What have I done?
Raphael Tirard.
Does that ring a bell?
Tirard? The kid?
I'm his mother.
Oh, shit!
The Gerbier burglary.
He's your...
Ah, the penny's dropped.
I knew
one of his parents was on the force.
He was a lookout,
but he took the rap.
What, should lookouts
get special treatment?
No more than cop's sons.
But if you'd done your job,
the burglars would be in jail
and my son wouldn't be paying.
I'm a cop, not a judge.
I don't decide!
Forget it!
I'll do my best to see you
as more than a dozy cop,
but don't get
your hopes up.
See you at the lab.
She's harsh.
But pretty.
No?
You know,
my aunt was buried here last month.
I'll check her chrysanthemums.
So, how's it going with Superwoman?
I like women like that,
who muscle in
on you brutes.
This is a nice little case!
A change from the routine.
The victim is between 50 and 55.
And you're right:
he wasn't killed on site.
Death occurred between 9pm and 11pm -
I'll know more later -
due to non-mechanical asphyxiation.
The nervous system was affected
by a blockage in the activity
of the neurone cells'
membrane protein.
Probably a neurotoxin.
- In French, please.
- Poisoned.
Ah!
- Are you a doctor, too?
- I'm a good cop.
What poison?
I couldn't tell you, yet.
We'll check the internal organs.
But his muscle mass is very low,
compared to his body size,
and his skin
suggests a vitamin D deficiency.
He wasn't getting much sun
or much exercise.
Alex, give me a hand.
Those are the marks.
It looks like a whip did that.
Studded, maybe.
Was he tortured?
His wrists aren't marked.
Maybe it was consensual.
A sex game?
Ah, maybe.
The ankle marks are recent,
from being hung on the cross.
The back injuries are old -
very old, in some cases.
One last thing:
he's got unusual calluses
on his knees.
There's no trace on the poor guy.
No one saw him.
He had no ID, no credit card.
We've got nothing.
He wasn't missing.
It's like he didn't exist.
He must have been held for a while,
which would explain his weakness
and the lack of sunlight.
But not the calluses.
Unless he wasn't able to stand up.
We're dealing with a madman.
Maybe.
He could just be vicious.
Pull up all the missing people,
S&M games,
ritual crimes and Satanism.
That'll take all night.
Ah, good.
I hear you don't sleep much.
Shall I pick you up tomorrow?
I'll be fine with this.
I've got no luck with women
at the moment.
I don't get you.
What?
Why don't you
sign the divorce papers?
You separated a year ago.
We live separately.
Can you tell me
the difference?
No.
I think
you should play the field a bit.
It'd relax you.
- Her?
- Yes.
Even if I wanted to,
it'd be dead in the water.
Why?
She's not with anyone.
She had her son when she was 17,
with a boyfriend
who denied it.
She's pretty.
She is!
She does paragliding and boxing
and goes on holidays
for single people.
Did you look into it?
I called around,
to see who we're working with.
It was purely professional -
you know me.
I think we have
some recruiting problems.
Get real.
She come out top
in her year.
That's right.
Looks can be deceiving.
Don't bother leaving a message,
I'm in jail.
See you next year,
if you're still alive.
I miss you...
Still no sleep?
No.
I was thinking about things.
- And?
- And...
Nothing, really.
What about this crucifixion?
St Peter was crucified upside down.
He felt unworthy
to die in the same way as Jesus.
Any other relevant religious info?
Yes.
Calluses on the knees are common
to people who spend a lot of time
praying.
Do we call a priest?
An imam, a rabbi,
a hardcore Catholic - whatever.
On my desk.
- Come on.
- Where to?
People spend 6 hours a day
on their knees there.
It's near the cemetery.
Fresange's abbey,
founded in 1137, by Cistercians.
There are 20 monks there,
and an abbot,
called Francis.
What?
Nothing.
Even if they are monks,
act properly, out of respect.
- Yes.
Brother Yves, my God!
What happened?
We don't know yet.
His head.
Was he...
No, no.
What could this mean?
Brother Yves was good
and generous.
A bit secretive,
but that's not unusual, here.
- I need to tell the brothers.
- Dom Francis,
we have to ask some questions.
Of course.
Can we walk?
And we need to see his room.
It is the Cistercian's habit and duty
never to spend time in idleness
or simple contemplation,
even of our own suffering.
Did you see any changes recently
in his habits or behaviour?
No, not really.
Two days ago,
he said he wasn't feeling well,
that he needed to rest
and wouldn't attend the service.
I didn't see him
yesterday.
I assumed he was in town.
Did he go out often?
Sometimes,
but only to go to the distillery.
Until 2006,
we made a liqueur, with herbs,
which was
an important source of income.
It became harder,
with increasing regulations
and production costs,
and there weren't enough of us.
We had to hand on
to the Delarive distillery.
Why did he go to the distillery?
To meet Franck Delarive, I suppose.
Brother Yves was our distiller.
When we sold up
and handed the torch on,
he worked closely with Delarive.
Brother Yves
was very attached to the liqueur.
It was his whole life.
Stay back, please.
A drill.
Did he like DIY?
Alchemy, esotericism, chemistry.
May I?
That's not from our library -
God forbid.
A monk's cell, a jail cell -
same fight.
Do you allow phones?
We don't forbid them.
They're incompatible with meditation
and our withdrawal from the world.
It's pay-as-you-go.
We need back-up.
You had no sense
of anything between the monks -
a disagreement, jealousy -
some cause for animosity?
There's nothing of that kind here.
I hope you find answers,
but you won't find them here.
This is delicate,
but do your monks scourge themselves?
John Paul II scourged himself.
There's no shame in it.
To answer your question,
there's no obligation to.
Our brothers know within their souls
if they desire it.
And Brother Yves?
That's a matter between God and him.
Did he?
I hope so, for his sake.
Here's his file.
Thanks.
His name was Terruel?
As in the pharmaceutical lab?
He was the son of Joseph Terruel,
who founded the lab,
and the brother of Simon,
who runs it now
and is among our donors.
Captain.
Do you recognize this?
It's old French.
"3 pinches, heated together,
"buds..."
Where did you find this?
It was written in faded blood,
on his cell wall.
- Blood?
- Good Lord.
- What does it mean?
The Oblitus Periit
is an old story - or legend.
In 1239,
a monk called Benedictus de Nure
wrote a complex recipe
for an elixir of life.
They said that anyone that made it
would have a potion for immortality.
Obviously, no one ever managed it.
We just got
an excellent liqueur,
which the distillery now makes -
Benedictus de Nure.
Brother Yves occupied
that monk's cell,
as did 18 other brothers,
over the succeeding nine centuries.
Chemical formulae,
self-flagellation,
dreams of immortality.
And a magic formula, in blood.
Sounds like a ritualistic crime.
They killed him here?
And wrote on the wall in his blood?
There'd have been blood
all over the cell.
Captain.
No crime scene, so far.
The monks were all in church
or at supper
on the night of the murder.
We need to interview them,
separately.
20 suspects isn't bad!
- You suspect a monk?
- I suspect everyone.
But I don't just arrest people.
I wondered how long it'd take.
Your son's the problem.
They had EUR 15,000 in their car!
I had no choice!
OK, but it's not right
for him to carry the can.
There were 9 of them!
He could've given their names!
OK, time out!
We need to drive to Valence
and it'd be good if...
By the way,
the traffic cops are out on the D327
with a radar, so watch out.
We identified
the registration on the 4x4.
It belongs to Olivier Descotes.
I checked him out.
He's a ranger on the nature reserve.
Don't do anything stupid, OK.
Thanks.
It's open.
- What?
- Aren't you doing your makeup?
Why?
Is there a problem?
"Started by the grandfather,
Joseph Terruel, in 1927,
"with a plant-based
pain-relief cream.
"Number three on the French market
a century later."
The son's got a fortune
and he's an ex-deputy mayor
and a Free Mason.
- And he runs it alone?
Not for long.
A few people want to buy it,
they've got some nice patents.
The old guy wouldn't budge.
He wouldn't sell anything.
He wanted to keep it a local,
family-run business.
Maybe the son's different.
- How do you know all that?
- My network.
What are you doing here?
It's not what you think.
We're here for work.
Is there a problem?
It's a routine inquiry.
Captain Alicia Tirard.
Justine Lazzari - my wife.
Not for long.
So, what is it?
I need to see your boss.
Follow me.
And the divorce papers?
Couldn't we talk about it,
over a drink?
Drink doesn't bring out
the best in you.
Sign -
then we'll have a drink -
to celebrate.
Did he have any enemies
or suspicious relationships?
Suspicious?
He was a monk.
He'd been shut away there
for 20 years.
When did you last see him?
Christmas, I think.
Before that,
at our father's funeral.
I saw him once a year -
rarely more often.
How was he, the last time?
Same as usual.
I don't know.
You don't know?
He was your brother.
To be honest,
he kept away from people,
to get closer to God.
We had different values -
a different sense of time -
different priorities.
He'd become a bit of a stranger
to me.
And...
How did he die?
We're not sure, yet.
But,
whoever did it
had a grudge against him.
I think I've said all I can to help.
Obviously,
if there's anything else I can do...
He wasn't very emotional.
My wife says that's what he's like.
Ex-wife.
- Sorry, that was mean.
- Yes, it was.
Do you love her?
She doesn't love me.
So what I think doesn't really...
Too sweet for me.
The sweetness didn't bother people,
back then.
And it's the original recipe.
That really helps sales.
There's a museum there.
- Did you call, Daniel?
- Yes, Mr Delarive.
Hello.
Captains Lazzari and Tirard.
We have a few questions about Yves.
Yes, I heard.
When did you last see him?
- Tuesday afternoon, I think.
- Why?
No special reason.
He'd stop by sometimes.
I think he missed his old job.
We'd talk about work.
Never personal stuff.
Did you know about his research?
No, what was it about?
That means nothing to me.
We're very empirical here.
The recipe was handed down,
from father to son.
- Like Benedictus de Nure?
- Yes.
Sorry to disappoint -
it doesn't confer immortality!
You just lose
a couple of points on your licence!
Stop it! You embarrassed me
in front of a colleague.
She's not my superior,
but that's not the point.
I haven't had time
and divorces cost money!
Olivier Descotes can wait,
can't he?
How do I know?
I just know, OK?
Oh yeah?
Listen, I have to go.
That's right.
CCTV - you never know.
Was there any point
when they weren't bullshitting us?
- When they said "hello".
- That's right.
- I like that!
- What?
That's the first time we agreed.
If you say so.
Colchicine.
What's colchicine?
Meadow crocus in the fields
Meadow crocus in flower
Colchicine
is a powerful alkaloid
that's concentrated
in the meadow crocus's roots.
The monk had a massive dose
in his blood.
He'd swallowed about 60 mg -
that would kill an ox -
something big.
It paralyzes the respiratory system.
I sent off the notebooks
that were found in his room.
I don't understand
that Cabbalistic stuff,
but there was a method
for extracting plant concentrates.
Something complicated.
He was more of a chemist than a monk.
As was his killer.
He knew about plants.
There's loads of stuff
on pathways and in gardens,
if you want to kill someone.
The killer had green fingers!
Oh, yes,
and we found traces of saltpetre
on his clothes.
- The back and arms.
- Not the hands?
No - weird, eh?
Your monk was somewhere damp and dark
just before and after his death.
He'd rubbed up against the walls.
Help yourselves.
Just leave it.
What do you want?
The analysis of Yves' phone.
He only called 2 numbers -
pre-pay numbers.
He had something to hide.
- And, good news...
- Bingo!
Bring in Demusan.
I was about to say,
he's waiting to see you.
When I heard you had the CCTV,
I decided I'd better come in.
Was that your friendly conversation?
Just a few hours before he died.
That looks bad.
Now hold on!
We had a row, but I didn't kill him!
We need a bit more than that.
He wanted some equipment.
I don't know why.
I said OK.
He took a few things
and I gave him some products.
What, exactly?
- Plants.
- Which ones?
Lots - I can't remember.
And some equipment.
But he just kept asking for more.
So I said no.
Mr Delarive could have fired me.
I told him to stay away.
Then, on Tuesday,
he turned up, late in the day,
and threatened to report me,
so I got angry.
Where were you on Tuesday at 9 p.m.?
At home, after work.
- On your own?
- Yes, on my own.
Do you often leave last?
- If we're busy.
- When did you leave
on Tuesday?
I don't know - 7 or 8 p.m.
I don't know.
That's a problem.
They repaired the camera!
Shit!
I don't know -
I didn't check my watch.
I stayed, because...
we had a problem with some vats.
Delarive was there.
It's true - you can ask him!
What was in the boxes?
Lieutenant.
Philippe!
"Oblitus Periit".
Ask Mr Delarive.
I've said enough.
Good idea.
Come on.
Wait in here
while we take care of this.
Ready?
Mr Delarive.
You can't do this!
He'll think I turned him in.
Yes.
Did he turn me in?
Have a guess.
It'd be good if your stories matched.
So all you need to do
is tell the truth.
Brother Yves told Delarive
about Oblitus Periit.
That damn name!
It's an old liqueur,
from the Middle Ages.
It's a secret recipe -
he spent years working on it.
He wanted to make it.
- Why?
- No idea.
He was a bit unusual.
He did research.
On what?
Immortality.
- Are you being serious?
- Why not?
Oh shit.
He wanted to see you.
Did he need a still?
No, he'd have had one somewhere.
Then what?
Mostly plant extracts
that are hard to come by.
And you left him to it.
We thought he was having fun.
We tasted it
and I almost fell off my chair.
It was excellent.
I did some research.
We realized
loads of people are obsessed with it.
The monks
found an old barrel of it -
242 litres.
It sold in a flash,
at EUR 700 a bottle.
It was a Medieval recipe -
and that monk had it.
We started making it.
- Without telling him.
- He was a purist -
he didn't like money.
Or fakes.
- We wanted the money.
- It was all profit.
No billing, no VAT,
no duty.
- We hate all that stuff.
Brother Yves threatened
to report you.
That's why Demusan got angry.
Brother Yves said
we hadn't understood.
He was looking for something higher -
something spiritual.
You wanted to shut him up.
No, we just wanted to get him
off our backs.
I said we'd give 50%
to the abbey
or the Red Cross,
but he said no.
He was stubborn, so obviously...
It got out of hand.
We had a row, I roughed him up,
and then he left.
You can see on the video! He left!
Small time crooks.
They'd advertise it privately,
on temporary sites.
Anyway, the monk was poisoned,
not beaten to death.
How are you doing?
You look busy.
I'm going to check some dating sites.
You're funny.
We still don't know
what Brother Yves'
real motivation was.
Immortality.
You're really going for that.
So was he.
Ah, the lab report.
I bet it was the monk's blood
on the wall.
- It was - Brother Yves'.
- Of course.
That recipe was his grail.
It's been handed down,
from the 1200s, by its inventor -
Benedictus whatever.
Thanks to this.
A beetle?
A bombardier beetle.
They spray predators
with a liquid -
a hydrogen peroxide mix.
- The blood.
- Right.
Before luminol,
people used hydrogen peroxide
to reveal blood traces.
Really?
That's how the monks
handed on the recipe,
through the centuries.
They'd write it on the wall in blood
and then erase it.
Initiates would reveal it
with this liquid,
all the way down to Brother Yves.
18 monks distilled it -
18 beetles.
His blood was on the wall,
but he wasn't killed there.
He was planning his succession.
To do that,
he needed a laboratory -
nearby -
he had no transport -
or in the abbey.
We searched -
there was no still - nothing.
But if he'd had to keep
going out of the monastery,
his colleagues would have noticed.
- I wouldn't mind tasting this.
- It's evidence.
We've got 25 cases!
Do you want to be immortal?
Think about it.
You'd be here when the sun went out.
It'd get cold.
How's your hotel?
Still full of roaches?
Have you got any other ideas?
All the work accommodation is full,
but...
Don't panic.
The hotel's fine.
And you've got paperwork to do.
See you tomorrow.
APPLICATION FOR DIVORCE
THROUGH MUTUAL CONSENT
Look, I'll tell you one last time.
Say who else was involved
and we can speak to the judge,
or you'll be in trouble.
- Like I'm not already?
- Raph,
you'll be 18 in three months.
Compared to real prison,
this is like a holiday camp!
- Then take me out.
I'm not a judge.
All I can do is negotiate
and try to get a reduced sentence.
- Tell me!
- I'm not a rat.
You're not a thug!
I might be able to work up to it.
I've never seen as you much
as I have since I've been here.
- Don't be a dick!
- Calm down.
What's the problem?
This is like a holiday for you.
- You can screw a few guys.
- Shut up.
I'm your mother.
Yeah?
You've always been more like a cop.
At least, when you were there.
You're such a dick.
Oh! Now it's you
staring at the ceiling all night.
You've got a way with women.
I wish
I had been staring at the ceiling.
I was working. Come and see.
Having no social life
has to have some advantages.
Come on.
This building was between
the cloisters and the refectory,
in the 1300s.
This building was still there
in 1791
but there's nothing here.
OK.
They did some work.
The building was knocked down.
But look:
the grass is growing nicely here,
but not here.
There's something under there -
stone.
Did you do archaeology, too?
We need to look there.
Yes,
the old distillery was right here.
After the Revolution,
the abbey was abandoned,
pillaged
and sold as national property.
When the Cistercians moved back in,
in 1815, the abbey was run down,
and the distillery was in ruins.
The villagers had taken stone,
to build houses.
The monks knocked the building down.
It was beyond repair.
They created a new distillery.
Which is our shop now.
Did the old building have a cellar?
Yes - to age things.
Was it filled in?
I'd have to check the archives.
- I'll go ahead.
- Please do.
Those monks were brave.
In the war,
they forged papers
and hid Jews and resistance fighters
in the distillery's annexe.
In the refectory.
Look.
It must be here.
There's the old distillery door.
There's nothing behind it.
Just the garden.
Yes?
Yes, it's me.
We're at the abbey.
I need you to get Alphonse Monnet.
Let him complain,
but bring him.
Quickly, we need him here.
Ah, Alphonse.
How are you?
Like someone who's been woken up
during his siesta.
What do you want?
My God!
This brings back some memories.
We really owed those priests a lot.
After the liberation,
I even went to a couple of Masses,
by way of thanks.
That's where the Father hid us.
What was his name?
- Dom Ferracci.
- That's it! A great chap.
He was brave!
He had plenty in his pants!
Sorry, but it's true.
It's true.
My comrades and I didn't have
much time
for God -
but it didn't matter.
It didn't matter.
They took a few people in here!
Jews, commies...
Do you remember where they hid them?
I can't see so well now.
You know...
Ah, yes.
That was where Marcel broke his leg.
We had to gag him,
to stop him screaming.
- Are you joking?
- No.
- In Yves' room.
- What? The phone?
The drill.
That's our crime scene.
There was a fight.
Not necessarily.
The monk was poisoned.
He could have been writhing in pain.
Yes, but if he was killed here,
how did they get him to the cemetery?
Through the trapdoor?
Don't touch anything
and call in the experts.
- You smiled.
- That's progress.
Captain.
I swear,
I never knew about that cellar.
- What a discovery.
- Captain.
Come on.
We've found no blood so far.
He was poisoned.
Julien.
There.
It's down that way.
- Where does it lead?
- No idea, I didn't look.
- Shall I go?
- Yes.
Go on.
They knew a thing or two
about building.
I don't know what'll be left
of our station in 900 years.
Is it much further?
OK?
Do you feel all right?
I'm OK. It's just...
Are you claustrophobic?
It's nice to see
you do have some weak points.
- Feeling better?
- I'm fine.
If you'd let me finish,
rather than rushing straight in,
I could've told you
we used to come out here,
to stick it to the Bosch.
We know how and when he died,
there was colchicine
on a glass and in a flask.
We know how the body
was taken to the cemetery.
- What else?
- Lots of notebooks.
Figures, formulas.
It's all Greek to me.
It's years of scribbling.
We're working on it.
Yes, Captain Tirard.
When?
I'll be right there.
- Problem?
- This is urgent.
- What happened?
- He lost consciousness.
He was beaten up by two kids,
with iron bars.
- Why?
One of them recognized you.
They hate cops.
Do I know you?
We have a friend in common:
my wife.
OK.
- Listen...
- I should bust your head.
I know -
getting jealous after splitting up,
wanting to kill your replacement -
it doesn't look good.
No, right.
But I'm not really thinking straight.
I just want to hit you.
OK, so what do we do?
Let's try not to be stupid.
I don't know about you,
but it'll be hard for me.
Just thinking about her
whispering sweet nothings to you
drives me mad.
Tell her I'll sign the papers.
OK.
You can go in.
Sorry. My son. An accident.
I'm at hospital.
Goodnight.
Who'd believe the way we're living?
I didn't want to wake you.
The doctor said he's OK.
The scan was good.
There's no long term damage.
They gave him a sedative,
he'll be awake soon.
Thanks.
How did this happen?
Are you being polite
or do you care?
Hey, don't be so defensive!
It gets really tiring.
Well, I...
I had him by accident,
when I was young.
I didn't know
what being a mother meant.
I wanted to be a cop, not a mum.
I tried to hide in my work.
I was away a lot.
Especially nights.
Stakeouts, callouts -
you know the score.
And I couldn't stop work -
I had bills to pay.
Maybe I didn't feel up to it,
on my own.
Yes.
No - this job eats you up -
your time, your energy.
The job can get nasty.
You try to protect your family,
you cut yourself off
and end up neglecting
the people you love.
Was that your wife's problem?
Among others.
I didn't see the boat was sinking
until I was in the water.
How's the work going?
Do you really want
to talk about that now?
We found this in the monk's papers.
We're stumped.
The dates don't lead anywhere -
not with Terruel, not at the abbey.
Or the names -
they're no one he knew,
they weren't in the news -
nothing.
Mrs Tirard, your son's awake.
- Will you come with me?
- Me?
Are you sure that's a good idea?
Please.
- OK?
- What do you think?
- Does it hurt?
- No, morphine's great.
What's he doing here?
He pinched me!
- We're working together.
- You're crazy.
Let me explain.
Dream on!
I don't care. Just go.
I'll deal with it.
You got yourself into this shit.
Let's find a way out.
What is this?
Is he your new fuck?
- That's enough!
- Get him out!
Stop acting like an idiot!
If you want to keep quiet
and take the rap, that's fine.
But where are you friends?
Have you heard from them?
Let me tell you,
I couldn't care less
what happens to you.
But I want to know
who you were with.
It might make your mum a bit nicer.
Her constant worrying about you
makes her stressed,
aggressive - and very sad.
She's unbearable!
So, do me a favour.
Speak to her a bit more nicely.
And do what you have to do.
OK?
I'll wait downstairs.
I'm in no rush.
He's sick.
That was kind.
You didn't have to.
Make the most of it.
I'm being kind this week.
Is that an invite?
That makes two.
The names, initials and numbers
lead nowhere.
There's nothing,
in any police records.
They're dates.
No kidding?
But what dates?
They're a few months apart.
Babies' births and deaths?
Who'd call a baby Adolphe in 2017?
Come on.
Someone for you, Captain.
- Does he have a name?
- Descotes.
Who's that?
No one.
Excuse me.
Ah, OK.
You're not going
to make my life easy.
Why would I want to?
Justine really didn't appreciate
what you did.
I thought maybe I could
straighten things out with you.
Captain.
We don't know each other,
but it'd be better if we were...
Friends?
That would take two.
We don't need to make life hard
for each other.
You'd split up when I met Justine.
More or less.
You'd moved out.
It was just to take some time out.
Why am I telling you?
- She's changed.
- Thanks to you.
I don't know.
What's for sure
is that she's not coming back.
She needs to rebuild.
And to know that you're OK.
We could make peace.
- I'm prepared...
- What?
We'll be doing barbecues,
with your exes and my wife's,
talking about our work?
Why not?
- You must have a lot to...
- OK, I get it.
We'll all be cool - peace and love.
I'm sorry.
I hope you'll be happy,
but we can't be friends.
It'd be too much for me.
Hey.
Take good care of her, OK?
Or else...
Or else?
Problems?
My life's a heap of shit.
Otherwise, OK.
Where is she?
At the hospital.
Her son got worse.
Shit!
Where were we?
Names and dates.
Alicia and I found something.
Sandrine D, as in Dettori,
died 24 August 2016.
Here, look.
24 August 2016.
It was recorded
under her maiden name.
And the other date?
Keep looking.
How is he?
The doctor said he's OK.
This often happens,
but I was a bit scared.
Did Cass fill you in?
- Yes.
- Sandrine Dettori, died
in Montelimar Hospital.
- Did you hear?
Yes.
But we've got nothing
on the first date
or on 212.
Hello?
Was she your patient?
Yes, Mrs Dettori, room 212.
She was very nice.
She was 62. Colon cancer.
She was in remission,
but it got worse.
- She died within days.
- Why?
If we knew that...
Yes?
Do you know him?
No.
- Cass, can you repeat that?
- Thanks.
Armand Realon and Adolphe Bouvier,
died in two different hospitals,
in Valence and Aix, from cancer.
The dates correspond,
so do the room numbers - thanks.
This is getting complicated.
The first date on this page,
not the date of admission,
they were all hospitalized before.
There's no link between them -
not the town or their age.
There must be a link.
We need it.
We're stuck.
What have you got for us?
Stem cells.
Does that mean anything to you?
I'll keep it simple.
They're cells that can replace
defective cells in our organism.
There are lots in an embryo
and then they disappear as we age.
That's why we get old.
If we could keep them,
we'd be immortal.
OK so far?
- Yes.
- OK,
we'll go up a level.
We've analysed everything
in labs -
mixes of different plants,
with different dosages.
Down to the microgram.
It was like an obsession.
And then
we found this.
A distillation residue.
This is the equivalent
to what's used
to artificially enrich stem cells.
But on paper
what that monk cooked up
Are you saying Brother Yves
found the formula for immortality?
No, but his discovery
could be worth billions.
For who?
A pharmaceutical lab.
Human guinea-pigs?
3 different hospitals,
3 different patients,
always with the same result:
remission, sudden relapse, death.
Those hospitals
were supplied by the Terruel lab -
owned by our dead monk's brother.
What are you thinking?
They wanted the patent?
Or to shut him up,
after a botched experiment.
Got any proof?
Not yet -
all we've got for now is plants.
- Plants?
- He used plants
to make what the labs wanted to make.
The potential profit was huge.
- Potential?
- If it worked.
If you go to see Simon Terruel
for anything
other than a friendly visit,
you better have
a bit more than supposition,
or you'll get transferred
and I'll get sued.
With your permission,
Deputy Prosecutor,
I may have a better idea.
Are you kidding?
You spy on me.
You threaten Olivier.
He told me everything.
And now you want me
to spy on my boss?
I signed the divorce papers.
That's nice. Do I owe you?
Can't we set our private life aside
for a second?
I need you.
I have professional responsibilities.
Just get me the names of the doctors
who did the tests for the lab.
- It isn't...
- Hello.
Hello.
- OK, darling?
- We're talking.
I'll leave you to it.
This just doesn't stack up.
I know Terruel's morals are...
you know.
But he'd never...
No.
Help me prove it.
I know there's money going out,
in cash.
They're supposed to be sweeteners,
for doctors who use our products,
or for hospital procurement.
He works the numbers out.
I'll see what I can do.
No promises.
ALICIA:
Are you asleep?
No.
I'm at the office.
???
The code for the door.
The hotel's horrible.
I know.
When my wife kicked me out,
I lived there for two months.
- Shall we carry on like this...
- Or?
Act like two consenting adults?
- Aren't they here?
- Not yet.
What's he doing there?
- Who?
- Her guy.
He's with her.
It happens.
He's just trying to annoy me.
You can't put him in jail.
Stay focused please.
I might get jealous.
JUSTINE:
Dr Francoise Hugon
Dr Francoise Hugon.
Yves would have liked us to partake
in the liqueur
that was so important to him,
in memory of his value
to our community
and his loved ones.
That's quite an imagination!
We call it
a body of coherent evidence.
Yes, Yves came to see me
with his magic formula.
Why didn't you say?
Do you really think
I'd take his snake oil seriously?
Plants are at the root
of your lab, Mr Terruel.
And you're a generous donor
to the Fresange community.
There's no law against it.
No - but you don't often go to Mass.
No, I don't.
God interests me less
than tax deductions.
Dr Francoise Hugon
treated three cancer patients
in 3 different hospitals.
And?
Experiments.
We're a pharmaceutical lab, Captain.
In that capacity,
we conduct research,
with hospitals,
so, yes...
Dr Hugon oversaw them.
They weren't clinical trials.
We were just monitoring the data,
to improve our treatments.
The patients had a funny habit
of dying shortly after.
Cancer patients are more likely
to die than other patients.
Didn't you know?
No?
Are you insinuating
that I'd endanger my company
with illegal procedures?
Can I give you some advice?
Don't come back to see me
without a warrant.
He'll be hard to get.
Shit!
From the symptoms,
I'd say it's colchicine again.
We need to check.
- Was the killer here?
- He could
have poisoned Terruel
any time in the last ten days.
Ten days?
40 mg of colchicine is fatal.
The monk had double that.
That guarantees immediate death.
The effects of a lower dose
come on gradually
and can be deferred
by other treatments,
like ciclosporin.
That's used after transplants.
So?
Terruel had a kidney transplant
three months ago.
What?
Terruel could have been hit first,
but it took him a while to die.
The killer didn't understand why,
so he changed
the dose.
- Terruel's glass.
This'll tell us more.
- Hugon's waiting.
- See you later.
- What state is she in?
- She's ready to talk.
It looked good, on paper.
We did some trials,
but Mr Terrueil was ready
to sell -
that patent
could double his price.
He needed the product fast,
so we used...
Human guinea-pigs.
Volunteers?
The first was.
We got good results.
Very good.
Then the results were reversed
and he quickly died.
We had three other patients.
Volunteers.
I was against it.
Mr Terruel insisted.
It was hard to say no.
Did they die?
Within three months.
Were these the start dates?
Yes.
You mentioned three treatments,
apart from Sandrine Dettori's.
Armand Realon,
Adolphe Bouvier and...
Fabienne Meursault.
Why isn't she on the list?
She's the link to the killer.
That's it.
He removed that link from the list.
And he left the others,
to lead us to the lab.
Write his name down.
I realized the product wasn't ready.
After Fabienne Meursault died,
everything stopped.
Mr Terruel was furious.
We just couldn't do it.
Who supplied the product?
I don't know.
I never met him.
We were all kept separate.
I don't think the chemist knew
about the tests.
Fabienne Meursault,
died 16 December 2016, in Montelimar.
- Burial site?
- Burial site?
OK. Thanks.
That's the missing link.
He started with Simon Terruel,
the main player.
He thought the dose
hadn't been high enough.
Then he poisoned the monk.
He thought they were partners.
It worked on him.
How did he link up the monk
and the lab?
No idea -
but it was a revenge killing -
hence the cross, opposite the tomb.
He wanted him to see her,
so she'd know he'd paid.
We'd need to question her, now.
Shall we go in?
Without a warrant?
Sometimes you have
to bust a door down.
You can get a nice surprise,
sometimes.
Any regrets?
You have to play hard to get.
You don't do compliments.
What are you doing?
I'll call the police!
Don't bother - we're here.
She was generous,
positive and discreet.
Any family? Children?
No, just her partner.
Her family died in the camps.
There she is with Jean.
- Is that her son?
- Vievie was her partner's.
He went, too.
Meaning?
When her partner died.
It was in 1980.
It was 3 July - my birthday.
The child was taken into care.
They weren't married.
People never think of it,
but the day you die...
She fought to keep him.
She loved that kid.
Alcohol was the problem.
She had a bit of a problem.
It was a shame.
She went to see him
3 times a week.
She stopped drinking
and tried again.
But no.
He came back here for a while,
when he was 18.
He looked after her, to the end.
Vievie.
Do you remember his real name?
I always called him Vievie
His father's surname was...
I don't remember.
Have a cake.
Who are we looking for?
A guy called Jean,
who died in Montjoyer on 3 July 1980.
That's going back a bit.
Fuck!
What?
Jean Descotes was the father
of the boy.
It's Olivier Descotes,
my wife's boyfriend!
- Get everyone round to Justine's!
- OK.
Justine, leave a message.
Listen, it's me.
Lock yourself in.
Don't open to anyone.
That's his car.
He's here.
This way.
Justine!
2 right, 2 left.
I said stop!
Stop it, now!
Wait for me.
Come on.
It's OK. Come on.
Police!
Drop your weapon!
Drop your weapon!
I'd have never hurt Justine.
I needed her for Terruel
and the investigation.
She'll be OK.
I met him at New Year's,
in a restaurant.
He came over to talk.
A month
after Fabienne Meursault died.
He seemed nice.
He was so cheerful.
I started telling him about myself.
He seemed so interested.
He asked about me
and about my work.
He was interested in what I did.
He said he'd always wanted
to be a doctor.
You never asked anything.
But he...
He knew what he wanted
and where you worked.
- I told him
about Mr Terruel's gifts
to the abbey.
I thought he loved me.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
If divine providence
brings someone to us,
that person is always welcome.
St Benedict's maintains the tradition
of taking in the poor,
just as Jesus did.
- Great.
In silence and meditation.
Fantastic.
We take convicts
during their probationary period.
We're happy that the judge
has that trust in us.
Prove you deserve that trust,
Raphael.
Go on.
You'll be fine here.
We'll see you for supper at 6 p.m.
6 p.m.?
You don't have to eat.
It's your choice.
Fuck.
10 days -
to move on from this.
Thanks.
- Don't do anything stupid.
- What?
I won't let you become a monk.
OK.
So?
- I should thank you.
- Me?
- I didn't do anything.
- Isn't the judge
the guy you play cards with
on Saturdays?
Is he a judge?
It's a small world.
So what now?
I don't know.
It's too early to go to sleep.
We could give it a go.
I'd be surprise if it worked.
Subtitles: ECLAIR
Is he coming?
He's not sleeping much.
I sent another message.
That's the Captain for you.
How did he ever get promoted?
- He was better, before.
- Before what?
Well... before.
Ah!
- Well...
- You see?
Hello, Captain.
Didn't your alarm go off?
I wasn't asleep, to start.
Hello.
And I wasn't on call - but whatever.
Ah, I see.
So?
He's got no ID.
We've got nothing on him, Captain.
And it was pissing down.
Yes.
Ah, Lanchon.
Hi, Alex.
There's no sign of violence.
Nothing much
to report,
other than
we'd all rather be elsewhere.
- Can I bring him down?
- Not yet.
- Captain Tirard is coming.
- Tirard?
From?
- Special department.
- OK.
So where is Superman?
Superwoman, if you don't mind.
Hello, Captain.
I'm Alicia.
Who are you?
Alex.
I've got something to show you.
Let's get to work.
He was thrown
over the wall,
hence the mud on his left side.
He was already dead,
before he was put up there.
Then the killer carried him.
Look, those are deeper.
He's a size 44 or 45.
So it was probably a man.
It stops there.
No tyre tracks.
Nothing.
Ah! The body was left after 2 a.m.
Why after 2 a.m.?
The rain created all this mud -
hence the prints.
It started raining at 2 a.m.
I was awake.
So, what do you think?
The staging meant
something to the killer.
So, a serial killer?
Think factually.
Serial killers
aren't common round here.
I think it was a message.
Captain Tirard.
Captain Lazzari,
I look forward
to hearing from you soon.
But...
OK, I'm not Sherlock Holmes,
I just run a crappy squad,
but could we talk, all the same?
Superman, Sherlock Holmes -
you need to get out more.
But we'll make the best of this.
Or the least bad.
What's the problem?
Is it me?
Normally, a woman needs
six months to dislike me.
What have I done?
Raphael Tirard.
Does that ring a bell?
Tirard? The kid?
I'm his mother.
Oh, shit!
The Gerbier burglary.
He's your...
Ah, the penny's dropped.
I knew
one of his parents was on the force.
He was a lookout,
but he took the rap.
What, should lookouts
get special treatment?
No more than cop's sons.
But if you'd done your job,
the burglars would be in jail
and my son wouldn't be paying.
I'm a cop, not a judge.
I don't decide!
Forget it!
I'll do my best to see you
as more than a dozy cop,
but don't get
your hopes up.
See you at the lab.
She's harsh.
But pretty.
No?
You know,
my aunt was buried here last month.
I'll check her chrysanthemums.
So, how's it going with Superwoman?
I like women like that,
who muscle in
on you brutes.
This is a nice little case!
A change from the routine.
The victim is between 50 and 55.
And you're right:
he wasn't killed on site.
Death occurred between 9pm and 11pm -
I'll know more later -
due to non-mechanical asphyxiation.
The nervous system was affected
by a blockage in the activity
of the neurone cells'
membrane protein.
Probably a neurotoxin.
- In French, please.
- Poisoned.
Ah!
- Are you a doctor, too?
- I'm a good cop.
What poison?
I couldn't tell you, yet.
We'll check the internal organs.
But his muscle mass is very low,
compared to his body size,
and his skin
suggests a vitamin D deficiency.
He wasn't getting much sun
or much exercise.
Alex, give me a hand.
Those are the marks.
It looks like a whip did that.
Studded, maybe.
Was he tortured?
His wrists aren't marked.
Maybe it was consensual.
A sex game?
Ah, maybe.
The ankle marks are recent,
from being hung on the cross.
The back injuries are old -
very old, in some cases.
One last thing:
he's got unusual calluses
on his knees.
There's no trace on the poor guy.
No one saw him.
He had no ID, no credit card.
We've got nothing.
He wasn't missing.
It's like he didn't exist.
He must have been held for a while,
which would explain his weakness
and the lack of sunlight.
But not the calluses.
Unless he wasn't able to stand up.
We're dealing with a madman.
Maybe.
He could just be vicious.
Pull up all the missing people,
S&M games,
ritual crimes and Satanism.
That'll take all night.
Ah, good.
I hear you don't sleep much.
Shall I pick you up tomorrow?
I'll be fine with this.
I've got no luck with women
at the moment.
I don't get you.
What?
Why don't you
sign the divorce papers?
You separated a year ago.
We live separately.
Can you tell me
the difference?
No.
I think
you should play the field a bit.
It'd relax you.
- Her?
- Yes.
Even if I wanted to,
it'd be dead in the water.
Why?
She's not with anyone.
She had her son when she was 17,
with a boyfriend
who denied it.
She's pretty.
She is!
She does paragliding and boxing
and goes on holidays
for single people.
Did you look into it?
I called around,
to see who we're working with.
It was purely professional -
you know me.
I think we have
some recruiting problems.
Get real.
She come out top
in her year.
That's right.
Looks can be deceiving.
Don't bother leaving a message,
I'm in jail.
See you next year,
if you're still alive.
I miss you...
Still no sleep?
No.
I was thinking about things.
- And?
- And...
Nothing, really.
What about this crucifixion?
St Peter was crucified upside down.
He felt unworthy
to die in the same way as Jesus.
Any other relevant religious info?
Yes.
Calluses on the knees are common
to people who spend a lot of time
praying.
Do we call a priest?
An imam, a rabbi,
a hardcore Catholic - whatever.
On my desk.
- Come on.
- Where to?
People spend 6 hours a day
on their knees there.
It's near the cemetery.
Fresange's abbey,
founded in 1137, by Cistercians.
There are 20 monks there,
and an abbot,
called Francis.
What?
Nothing.
Even if they are monks,
act properly, out of respect.
- Yes.
Brother Yves, my God!
What happened?
We don't know yet.
His head.
Was he...
No, no.
What could this mean?
Brother Yves was good
and generous.
A bit secretive,
but that's not unusual, here.
- I need to tell the brothers.
- Dom Francis,
we have to ask some questions.
Of course.
Can we walk?
And we need to see his room.
It is the Cistercian's habit and duty
never to spend time in idleness
or simple contemplation,
even of our own suffering.
Did you see any changes recently
in his habits or behaviour?
No, not really.
Two days ago,
he said he wasn't feeling well,
that he needed to rest
and wouldn't attend the service.
I didn't see him
yesterday.
I assumed he was in town.
Did he go out often?
Sometimes,
but only to go to the distillery.
Until 2006,
we made a liqueur, with herbs,
which was
an important source of income.
It became harder,
with increasing regulations
and production costs,
and there weren't enough of us.
We had to hand on
to the Delarive distillery.
Why did he go to the distillery?
To meet Franck Delarive, I suppose.
Brother Yves was our distiller.
When we sold up
and handed the torch on,
he worked closely with Delarive.
Brother Yves
was very attached to the liqueur.
It was his whole life.
Stay back, please.
A drill.
Did he like DIY?
Alchemy, esotericism, chemistry.
May I?
That's not from our library -
God forbid.
A monk's cell, a jail cell -
same fight.
Do you allow phones?
We don't forbid them.
They're incompatible with meditation
and our withdrawal from the world.
It's pay-as-you-go.
We need back-up.
You had no sense
of anything between the monks -
a disagreement, jealousy -
some cause for animosity?
There's nothing of that kind here.
I hope you find answers,
but you won't find them here.
This is delicate,
but do your monks scourge themselves?
John Paul II scourged himself.
There's no shame in it.
To answer your question,
there's no obligation to.
Our brothers know within their souls
if they desire it.
And Brother Yves?
That's a matter between God and him.
Did he?
I hope so, for his sake.
Here's his file.
Thanks.
His name was Terruel?
As in the pharmaceutical lab?
He was the son of Joseph Terruel,
who founded the lab,
and the brother of Simon,
who runs it now
and is among our donors.
Captain.
Do you recognize this?
It's old French.
"3 pinches, heated together,
"buds..."
Where did you find this?
It was written in faded blood,
on his cell wall.
- Blood?
- Good Lord.
- What does it mean?
The Oblitus Periit
is an old story - or legend.
In 1239,
a monk called Benedictus de Nure
wrote a complex recipe
for an elixir of life.
They said that anyone that made it
would have a potion for immortality.
Obviously, no one ever managed it.
We just got
an excellent liqueur,
which the distillery now makes -
Benedictus de Nure.
Brother Yves occupied
that monk's cell,
as did 18 other brothers,
over the succeeding nine centuries.
Chemical formulae,
self-flagellation,
dreams of immortality.
And a magic formula, in blood.
Sounds like a ritualistic crime.
They killed him here?
And wrote on the wall in his blood?
There'd have been blood
all over the cell.
Captain.
No crime scene, so far.
The monks were all in church
or at supper
on the night of the murder.
We need to interview them,
separately.
20 suspects isn't bad!
- You suspect a monk?
- I suspect everyone.
But I don't just arrest people.
I wondered how long it'd take.
Your son's the problem.
They had EUR 15,000 in their car!
I had no choice!
OK, but it's not right
for him to carry the can.
There were 9 of them!
He could've given their names!
OK, time out!
We need to drive to Valence
and it'd be good if...
By the way,
the traffic cops are out on the D327
with a radar, so watch out.
We identified
the registration on the 4x4.
It belongs to Olivier Descotes.
I checked him out.
He's a ranger on the nature reserve.
Don't do anything stupid, OK.
Thanks.
It's open.
- What?
- Aren't you doing your makeup?
Why?
Is there a problem?
"Started by the grandfather,
Joseph Terruel, in 1927,
"with a plant-based
pain-relief cream.
"Number three on the French market
a century later."
The son's got a fortune
and he's an ex-deputy mayor
and a Free Mason.
- And he runs it alone?
Not for long.
A few people want to buy it,
they've got some nice patents.
The old guy wouldn't budge.
He wouldn't sell anything.
He wanted to keep it a local,
family-run business.
Maybe the son's different.
- How do you know all that?
- My network.
What are you doing here?
It's not what you think.
We're here for work.
Is there a problem?
It's a routine inquiry.
Captain Alicia Tirard.
Justine Lazzari - my wife.
Not for long.
So, what is it?
I need to see your boss.
Follow me.
And the divorce papers?
Couldn't we talk about it,
over a drink?
Drink doesn't bring out
the best in you.
Sign -
then we'll have a drink -
to celebrate.
Did he have any enemies
or suspicious relationships?
Suspicious?
He was a monk.
He'd been shut away there
for 20 years.
When did you last see him?
Christmas, I think.
Before that,
at our father's funeral.
I saw him once a year -
rarely more often.
How was he, the last time?
Same as usual.
I don't know.
You don't know?
He was your brother.
To be honest,
he kept away from people,
to get closer to God.
We had different values -
a different sense of time -
different priorities.
He'd become a bit of a stranger
to me.
And...
How did he die?
We're not sure, yet.
But,
whoever did it
had a grudge against him.
I think I've said all I can to help.
Obviously,
if there's anything else I can do...
He wasn't very emotional.
My wife says that's what he's like.
Ex-wife.
- Sorry, that was mean.
- Yes, it was.
Do you love her?
She doesn't love me.
So what I think doesn't really...
Too sweet for me.
The sweetness didn't bother people,
back then.
And it's the original recipe.
That really helps sales.
There's a museum there.
- Did you call, Daniel?
- Yes, Mr Delarive.
Hello.
Captains Lazzari and Tirard.
We have a few questions about Yves.
Yes, I heard.
When did you last see him?
- Tuesday afternoon, I think.
- Why?
No special reason.
He'd stop by sometimes.
I think he missed his old job.
We'd talk about work.
Never personal stuff.
Did you know about his research?
No, what was it about?
That means nothing to me.
We're very empirical here.
The recipe was handed down,
from father to son.
- Like Benedictus de Nure?
- Yes.
Sorry to disappoint -
it doesn't confer immortality!
You just lose
a couple of points on your licence!
Stop it! You embarrassed me
in front of a colleague.
She's not my superior,
but that's not the point.
I haven't had time
and divorces cost money!
Olivier Descotes can wait,
can't he?
How do I know?
I just know, OK?
Oh yeah?
Listen, I have to go.
That's right.
CCTV - you never know.
Was there any point
when they weren't bullshitting us?
- When they said "hello".
- That's right.
- I like that!
- What?
That's the first time we agreed.
If you say so.
Colchicine.
What's colchicine?
Meadow crocus in the fields
Meadow crocus in flower
Colchicine
is a powerful alkaloid
that's concentrated
in the meadow crocus's roots.
The monk had a massive dose
in his blood.
He'd swallowed about 60 mg -
that would kill an ox -
something big.
It paralyzes the respiratory system.
I sent off the notebooks
that were found in his room.
I don't understand
that Cabbalistic stuff,
but there was a method
for extracting plant concentrates.
Something complicated.
He was more of a chemist than a monk.
As was his killer.
He knew about plants.
There's loads of stuff
on pathways and in gardens,
if you want to kill someone.
The killer had green fingers!
Oh, yes,
and we found traces of saltpetre
on his clothes.
- The back and arms.
- Not the hands?
No - weird, eh?
Your monk was somewhere damp and dark
just before and after his death.
He'd rubbed up against the walls.
Help yourselves.
Just leave it.
What do you want?
The analysis of Yves' phone.
He only called 2 numbers -
pre-pay numbers.
He had something to hide.
- And, good news...
- Bingo!
Bring in Demusan.
I was about to say,
he's waiting to see you.
When I heard you had the CCTV,
I decided I'd better come in.
Was that your friendly conversation?
Just a few hours before he died.
That looks bad.
Now hold on!
We had a row, but I didn't kill him!
We need a bit more than that.
He wanted some equipment.
I don't know why.
I said OK.
He took a few things
and I gave him some products.
What, exactly?
- Plants.
- Which ones?
Lots - I can't remember.
And some equipment.
But he just kept asking for more.
So I said no.
Mr Delarive could have fired me.
I told him to stay away.
Then, on Tuesday,
he turned up, late in the day,
and threatened to report me,
so I got angry.
Where were you on Tuesday at 9 p.m.?
At home, after work.
- On your own?
- Yes, on my own.
Do you often leave last?
- If we're busy.
- When did you leave
on Tuesday?
I don't know - 7 or 8 p.m.
I don't know.
That's a problem.
They repaired the camera!
Shit!
I don't know -
I didn't check my watch.
I stayed, because...
we had a problem with some vats.
Delarive was there.
It's true - you can ask him!
What was in the boxes?
Lieutenant.
Philippe!
"Oblitus Periit".
Ask Mr Delarive.
I've said enough.
Good idea.
Come on.
Wait in here
while we take care of this.
Ready?
Mr Delarive.
You can't do this!
He'll think I turned him in.
Yes.
Did he turn me in?
Have a guess.
It'd be good if your stories matched.
So all you need to do
is tell the truth.
Brother Yves told Delarive
about Oblitus Periit.
That damn name!
It's an old liqueur,
from the Middle Ages.
It's a secret recipe -
he spent years working on it.
He wanted to make it.
- Why?
- No idea.
He was a bit unusual.
He did research.
On what?
Immortality.
- Are you being serious?
- Why not?
Oh shit.
He wanted to see you.
Did he need a still?
No, he'd have had one somewhere.
Then what?
Mostly plant extracts
that are hard to come by.
And you left him to it.
We thought he was having fun.
We tasted it
and I almost fell off my chair.
It was excellent.
I did some research.
We realized
loads of people are obsessed with it.
The monks
found an old barrel of it -
242 litres.
It sold in a flash,
at EUR 700 a bottle.
It was a Medieval recipe -
and that monk had it.
We started making it.
- Without telling him.
- He was a purist -
he didn't like money.
Or fakes.
- We wanted the money.
- It was all profit.
No billing, no VAT,
no duty.
- We hate all that stuff.
Brother Yves threatened
to report you.
That's why Demusan got angry.
Brother Yves said
we hadn't understood.
He was looking for something higher -
something spiritual.
You wanted to shut him up.
No, we just wanted to get him
off our backs.
I said we'd give 50%
to the abbey
or the Red Cross,
but he said no.
He was stubborn, so obviously...
It got out of hand.
We had a row, I roughed him up,
and then he left.
You can see on the video! He left!
Small time crooks.
They'd advertise it privately,
on temporary sites.
Anyway, the monk was poisoned,
not beaten to death.
How are you doing?
You look busy.
I'm going to check some dating sites.
You're funny.
We still don't know
what Brother Yves'
real motivation was.
Immortality.
You're really going for that.
So was he.
Ah, the lab report.
I bet it was the monk's blood
on the wall.
- It was - Brother Yves'.
- Of course.
That recipe was his grail.
It's been handed down,
from the 1200s, by its inventor -
Benedictus whatever.
Thanks to this.
A beetle?
A bombardier beetle.
They spray predators
with a liquid -
a hydrogen peroxide mix.
- The blood.
- Right.
Before luminol,
people used hydrogen peroxide
to reveal blood traces.
Really?
That's how the monks
handed on the recipe,
through the centuries.
They'd write it on the wall in blood
and then erase it.
Initiates would reveal it
with this liquid,
all the way down to Brother Yves.
18 monks distilled it -
18 beetles.
His blood was on the wall,
but he wasn't killed there.
He was planning his succession.
To do that,
he needed a laboratory -
nearby -
he had no transport -
or in the abbey.
We searched -
there was no still - nothing.
But if he'd had to keep
going out of the monastery,
his colleagues would have noticed.
- I wouldn't mind tasting this.
- It's evidence.
We've got 25 cases!
Do you want to be immortal?
Think about it.
You'd be here when the sun went out.
It'd get cold.
How's your hotel?
Still full of roaches?
Have you got any other ideas?
All the work accommodation is full,
but...
Don't panic.
The hotel's fine.
And you've got paperwork to do.
See you tomorrow.
APPLICATION FOR DIVORCE
THROUGH MUTUAL CONSENT
Look, I'll tell you one last time.
Say who else was involved
and we can speak to the judge,
or you'll be in trouble.
- Like I'm not already?
- Raph,
you'll be 18 in three months.
Compared to real prison,
this is like a holiday camp!
- Then take me out.
I'm not a judge.
All I can do is negotiate
and try to get a reduced sentence.
- Tell me!
- I'm not a rat.
You're not a thug!
I might be able to work up to it.
I've never seen as you much
as I have since I've been here.
- Don't be a dick!
- Calm down.
What's the problem?
This is like a holiday for you.
- You can screw a few guys.
- Shut up.
I'm your mother.
Yeah?
You've always been more like a cop.
At least, when you were there.
You're such a dick.
Oh! Now it's you
staring at the ceiling all night.
You've got a way with women.
I wish
I had been staring at the ceiling.
I was working. Come and see.
Having no social life
has to have some advantages.
Come on.
This building was between
the cloisters and the refectory,
in the 1300s.
This building was still there
in 1791
but there's nothing here.
OK.
They did some work.
The building was knocked down.
But look:
the grass is growing nicely here,
but not here.
There's something under there -
stone.
Did you do archaeology, too?
We need to look there.
Yes,
the old distillery was right here.
After the Revolution,
the abbey was abandoned,
pillaged
and sold as national property.
When the Cistercians moved back in,
in 1815, the abbey was run down,
and the distillery was in ruins.
The villagers had taken stone,
to build houses.
The monks knocked the building down.
It was beyond repair.
They created a new distillery.
Which is our shop now.
Did the old building have a cellar?
Yes - to age things.
Was it filled in?
I'd have to check the archives.
- I'll go ahead.
- Please do.
Those monks were brave.
In the war,
they forged papers
and hid Jews and resistance fighters
in the distillery's annexe.
In the refectory.
Look.
It must be here.
There's the old distillery door.
There's nothing behind it.
Just the garden.
Yes?
Yes, it's me.
We're at the abbey.
I need you to get Alphonse Monnet.
Let him complain,
but bring him.
Quickly, we need him here.
Ah, Alphonse.
How are you?
Like someone who's been woken up
during his siesta.
What do you want?
My God!
This brings back some memories.
We really owed those priests a lot.
After the liberation,
I even went to a couple of Masses,
by way of thanks.
That's where the Father hid us.
What was his name?
- Dom Ferracci.
- That's it! A great chap.
He was brave!
He had plenty in his pants!
Sorry, but it's true.
It's true.
My comrades and I didn't have
much time
for God -
but it didn't matter.
It didn't matter.
They took a few people in here!
Jews, commies...
Do you remember where they hid them?
I can't see so well now.
You know...
Ah, yes.
That was where Marcel broke his leg.
We had to gag him,
to stop him screaming.
- Are you joking?
- No.
- In Yves' room.
- What? The phone?
The drill.
That's our crime scene.
There was a fight.
Not necessarily.
The monk was poisoned.
He could have been writhing in pain.
Yes, but if he was killed here,
how did they get him to the cemetery?
Through the trapdoor?
Don't touch anything
and call in the experts.
- You smiled.
- That's progress.
Captain.
I swear,
I never knew about that cellar.
- What a discovery.
- Captain.
Come on.
We've found no blood so far.
He was poisoned.
Julien.
There.
It's down that way.
- Where does it lead?
- No idea, I didn't look.
- Shall I go?
- Yes.
Go on.
They knew a thing or two
about building.
I don't know what'll be left
of our station in 900 years.
Is it much further?
OK?
Do you feel all right?
I'm OK. It's just...
Are you claustrophobic?
It's nice to see
you do have some weak points.
- Feeling better?
- I'm fine.
If you'd let me finish,
rather than rushing straight in,
I could've told you
we used to come out here,
to stick it to the Bosch.
We know how and when he died,
there was colchicine
on a glass and in a flask.
We know how the body
was taken to the cemetery.
- What else?
- Lots of notebooks.
Figures, formulas.
It's all Greek to me.
It's years of scribbling.
We're working on it.
Yes, Captain Tirard.
When?
I'll be right there.
- Problem?
- This is urgent.
- What happened?
- He lost consciousness.
He was beaten up by two kids,
with iron bars.
- Why?
One of them recognized you.
They hate cops.
Do I know you?
We have a friend in common:
my wife.
OK.
- Listen...
- I should bust your head.
I know -
getting jealous after splitting up,
wanting to kill your replacement -
it doesn't look good.
No, right.
But I'm not really thinking straight.
I just want to hit you.
OK, so what do we do?
Let's try not to be stupid.
I don't know about you,
but it'll be hard for me.
Just thinking about her
whispering sweet nothings to you
drives me mad.
Tell her I'll sign the papers.
OK.
You can go in.
Sorry. My son. An accident.
I'm at hospital.
Goodnight.
Who'd believe the way we're living?
I didn't want to wake you.
The doctor said he's OK.
The scan was good.
There's no long term damage.
They gave him a sedative,
he'll be awake soon.
Thanks.
How did this happen?
Are you being polite
or do you care?
Hey, don't be so defensive!
It gets really tiring.
Well, I...
I had him by accident,
when I was young.
I didn't know
what being a mother meant.
I wanted to be a cop, not a mum.
I tried to hide in my work.
I was away a lot.
Especially nights.
Stakeouts, callouts -
you know the score.
And I couldn't stop work -
I had bills to pay.
Maybe I didn't feel up to it,
on my own.
Yes.
No - this job eats you up -
your time, your energy.
The job can get nasty.
You try to protect your family,
you cut yourself off
and end up neglecting
the people you love.
Was that your wife's problem?
Among others.
I didn't see the boat was sinking
until I was in the water.
How's the work going?
Do you really want
to talk about that now?
We found this in the monk's papers.
We're stumped.
The dates don't lead anywhere -
not with Terruel, not at the abbey.
Or the names -
they're no one he knew,
they weren't in the news -
nothing.
Mrs Tirard, your son's awake.
- Will you come with me?
- Me?
Are you sure that's a good idea?
Please.
- OK?
- What do you think?
- Does it hurt?
- No, morphine's great.
What's he doing here?
He pinched me!
- We're working together.
- You're crazy.
Let me explain.
Dream on!
I don't care. Just go.
I'll deal with it.
You got yourself into this shit.
Let's find a way out.
What is this?
Is he your new fuck?
- That's enough!
- Get him out!
Stop acting like an idiot!
If you want to keep quiet
and take the rap, that's fine.
But where are you friends?
Have you heard from them?
Let me tell you,
I couldn't care less
what happens to you.
But I want to know
who you were with.
It might make your mum a bit nicer.
Her constant worrying about you
makes her stressed,
aggressive - and very sad.
She's unbearable!
So, do me a favour.
Speak to her a bit more nicely.
And do what you have to do.
OK?
I'll wait downstairs.
I'm in no rush.
He's sick.
That was kind.
You didn't have to.
Make the most of it.
I'm being kind this week.
Is that an invite?
That makes two.
The names, initials and numbers
lead nowhere.
There's nothing,
in any police records.
They're dates.
No kidding?
But what dates?
They're a few months apart.
Babies' births and deaths?
Who'd call a baby Adolphe in 2017?
Come on.
Someone for you, Captain.
- Does he have a name?
- Descotes.
Who's that?
No one.
Excuse me.
Ah, OK.
You're not going
to make my life easy.
Why would I want to?
Justine really didn't appreciate
what you did.
I thought maybe I could
straighten things out with you.
Captain.
We don't know each other,
but it'd be better if we were...
Friends?
That would take two.
We don't need to make life hard
for each other.
You'd split up when I met Justine.
More or less.
You'd moved out.
It was just to take some time out.
Why am I telling you?
- She's changed.
- Thanks to you.
I don't know.
What's for sure
is that she's not coming back.
She needs to rebuild.
And to know that you're OK.
We could make peace.
- I'm prepared...
- What?
We'll be doing barbecues,
with your exes and my wife's,
talking about our work?
Why not?
- You must have a lot to...
- OK, I get it.
We'll all be cool - peace and love.
I'm sorry.
I hope you'll be happy,
but we can't be friends.
It'd be too much for me.
Hey.
Take good care of her, OK?
Or else...
Or else?
Problems?
My life's a heap of shit.
Otherwise, OK.
Where is she?
At the hospital.
Her son got worse.
Shit!
Where were we?
Names and dates.
Alicia and I found something.
Sandrine D, as in Dettori,
died 24 August 2016.
Here, look.
24 August 2016.
It was recorded
under her maiden name.
And the other date?
Keep looking.
How is he?
The doctor said he's OK.
This often happens,
but I was a bit scared.
Did Cass fill you in?
- Yes.
- Sandrine Dettori, died
in Montelimar Hospital.
- Did you hear?
Yes.
But we've got nothing
on the first date
or on 212.
Hello?
Was she your patient?
Yes, Mrs Dettori, room 212.
She was very nice.
She was 62. Colon cancer.
She was in remission,
but it got worse.
- She died within days.
- Why?
If we knew that...
Yes?
Do you know him?
No.
- Cass, can you repeat that?
- Thanks.
Armand Realon and Adolphe Bouvier,
died in two different hospitals,
in Valence and Aix, from cancer.
The dates correspond,
so do the room numbers - thanks.
This is getting complicated.
The first date on this page,
not the date of admission,
they were all hospitalized before.
There's no link between them -
not the town or their age.
There must be a link.
We need it.
We're stuck.
What have you got for us?
Stem cells.
Does that mean anything to you?
I'll keep it simple.
They're cells that can replace
defective cells in our organism.
There are lots in an embryo
and then they disappear as we age.
That's why we get old.
If we could keep them,
we'd be immortal.
OK so far?
- Yes.
- OK,
we'll go up a level.
We've analysed everything
in labs -
mixes of different plants,
with different dosages.
Down to the microgram.
It was like an obsession.
And then
we found this.
A distillation residue.
This is the equivalent
to what's used
to artificially enrich stem cells.
But on paper
what that monk cooked up
Are you saying Brother Yves
found the formula for immortality?
No, but his discovery
could be worth billions.
For who?
A pharmaceutical lab.
Human guinea-pigs?
3 different hospitals,
3 different patients,
always with the same result:
remission, sudden relapse, death.
Those hospitals
were supplied by the Terruel lab -
owned by our dead monk's brother.
What are you thinking?
They wanted the patent?
Or to shut him up,
after a botched experiment.
Got any proof?
Not yet -
all we've got for now is plants.
- Plants?
- He used plants
to make what the labs wanted to make.
The potential profit was huge.
- Potential?
- If it worked.
If you go to see Simon Terruel
for anything
other than a friendly visit,
you better have
a bit more than supposition,
or you'll get transferred
and I'll get sued.
With your permission,
Deputy Prosecutor,
I may have a better idea.
Are you kidding?
You spy on me.
You threaten Olivier.
He told me everything.
And now you want me
to spy on my boss?
I signed the divorce papers.
That's nice. Do I owe you?
Can't we set our private life aside
for a second?
I need you.
I have professional responsibilities.
Just get me the names of the doctors
who did the tests for the lab.
- It isn't...
- Hello.
Hello.
- OK, darling?
- We're talking.
I'll leave you to it.
This just doesn't stack up.
I know Terruel's morals are...
you know.
But he'd never...
No.
Help me prove it.
I know there's money going out,
in cash.
They're supposed to be sweeteners,
for doctors who use our products,
or for hospital procurement.
He works the numbers out.
I'll see what I can do.
No promises.
ALICIA:
Are you asleep?
No.
I'm at the office.
???
The code for the door.
The hotel's horrible.
I know.
When my wife kicked me out,
I lived there for two months.
- Shall we carry on like this...
- Or?
Act like two consenting adults?
- Aren't they here?
- Not yet.
What's he doing there?
- Who?
- Her guy.
He's with her.
It happens.
He's just trying to annoy me.
You can't put him in jail.
Stay focused please.
I might get jealous.
JUSTINE:
Dr Francoise Hugon
Dr Francoise Hugon.
Yves would have liked us to partake
in the liqueur
that was so important to him,
in memory of his value
to our community
and his loved ones.
That's quite an imagination!
We call it
a body of coherent evidence.
Yes, Yves came to see me
with his magic formula.
Why didn't you say?
Do you really think
I'd take his snake oil seriously?
Plants are at the root
of your lab, Mr Terruel.
And you're a generous donor
to the Fresange community.
There's no law against it.
No - but you don't often go to Mass.
No, I don't.
God interests me less
than tax deductions.
Dr Francoise Hugon
treated three cancer patients
in 3 different hospitals.
And?
Experiments.
We're a pharmaceutical lab, Captain.
In that capacity,
we conduct research,
with hospitals,
so, yes...
Dr Hugon oversaw them.
They weren't clinical trials.
We were just monitoring the data,
to improve our treatments.
The patients had a funny habit
of dying shortly after.
Cancer patients are more likely
to die than other patients.
Didn't you know?
No?
Are you insinuating
that I'd endanger my company
with illegal procedures?
Can I give you some advice?
Don't come back to see me
without a warrant.
He'll be hard to get.
Shit!
From the symptoms,
I'd say it's colchicine again.
We need to check.
- Was the killer here?
- He could
have poisoned Terruel
any time in the last ten days.
Ten days?
40 mg of colchicine is fatal.
The monk had double that.
That guarantees immediate death.
The effects of a lower dose
come on gradually
and can be deferred
by other treatments,
like ciclosporin.
That's used after transplants.
So?
Terruel had a kidney transplant
three months ago.
What?
Terruel could have been hit first,
but it took him a while to die.
The killer didn't understand why,
so he changed
the dose.
- Terruel's glass.
This'll tell us more.
- Hugon's waiting.
- See you later.
- What state is she in?
- She's ready to talk.
It looked good, on paper.
We did some trials,
but Mr Terrueil was ready
to sell -
that patent
could double his price.
He needed the product fast,
so we used...
Human guinea-pigs.
Volunteers?
The first was.
We got good results.
Very good.
Then the results were reversed
and he quickly died.
We had three other patients.
Volunteers.
I was against it.
Mr Terruel insisted.
It was hard to say no.
Did they die?
Within three months.
Were these the start dates?
Yes.
You mentioned three treatments,
apart from Sandrine Dettori's.
Armand Realon,
Adolphe Bouvier and...
Fabienne Meursault.
Why isn't she on the list?
She's the link to the killer.
That's it.
He removed that link from the list.
And he left the others,
to lead us to the lab.
Write his name down.
I realized the product wasn't ready.
After Fabienne Meursault died,
everything stopped.
Mr Terruel was furious.
We just couldn't do it.
Who supplied the product?
I don't know.
I never met him.
We were all kept separate.
I don't think the chemist knew
about the tests.
Fabienne Meursault,
died 16 December 2016, in Montelimar.
- Burial site?
- Burial site?
OK. Thanks.
That's the missing link.
He started with Simon Terruel,
the main player.
He thought the dose
hadn't been high enough.
Then he poisoned the monk.
He thought they were partners.
It worked on him.
How did he link up the monk
and the lab?
No idea -
but it was a revenge killing -
hence the cross, opposite the tomb.
He wanted him to see her,
so she'd know he'd paid.
We'd need to question her, now.
Shall we go in?
Without a warrant?
Sometimes you have
to bust a door down.
You can get a nice surprise,
sometimes.
Any regrets?
You have to play hard to get.
You don't do compliments.
What are you doing?
I'll call the police!
Don't bother - we're here.
She was generous,
positive and discreet.
Any family? Children?
No, just her partner.
Her family died in the camps.
There she is with Jean.
- Is that her son?
- Vievie was her partner's.
He went, too.
Meaning?
When her partner died.
It was in 1980.
It was 3 July - my birthday.
The child was taken into care.
They weren't married.
People never think of it,
but the day you die...
She fought to keep him.
She loved that kid.
Alcohol was the problem.
She had a bit of a problem.
It was a shame.
She went to see him
3 times a week.
She stopped drinking
and tried again.
But no.
He came back here for a while,
when he was 18.
He looked after her, to the end.
Vievie.
Do you remember his real name?
I always called him Vievie
His father's surname was...
I don't remember.
Have a cake.
Who are we looking for?
A guy called Jean,
who died in Montjoyer on 3 July 1980.
That's going back a bit.
Fuck!
What?
Jean Descotes was the father
of the boy.
It's Olivier Descotes,
my wife's boyfriend!
- Get everyone round to Justine's!
- OK.
Justine, leave a message.
Listen, it's me.
Lock yourself in.
Don't open to anyone.
That's his car.
He's here.
This way.
Justine!
2 right, 2 left.
I said stop!
Stop it, now!
Wait for me.
Come on.
It's OK. Come on.
Police!
Drop your weapon!
Drop your weapon!
I'd have never hurt Justine.
I needed her for Terruel
and the investigation.
She'll be OK.
I met him at New Year's,
in a restaurant.
He came over to talk.
A month
after Fabienne Meursault died.
He seemed nice.
He was so cheerful.
I started telling him about myself.
He seemed so interested.
He asked about me
and about my work.
He was interested in what I did.
He said he'd always wanted
to be a doctor.
You never asked anything.
But he...
He knew what he wanted
and where you worked.
- I told him
about Mr Terruel's gifts
to the abbey.
I thought he loved me.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
If divine providence
brings someone to us,
that person is always welcome.
St Benedict's maintains the tradition
of taking in the poor,
just as Jesus did.
- Great.
In silence and meditation.
Fantastic.
We take convicts
during their probationary period.
We're happy that the judge
has that trust in us.
Prove you deserve that trust,
Raphael.
Go on.
You'll be fine here.
We'll see you for supper at 6 p.m.
6 p.m.?
You don't have to eat.
It's your choice.
Fuck.
10 days -
to move on from this.
Thanks.
- Don't do anything stupid.
- What?
I won't let you become a monk.
OK.
So?
- I should thank you.
- Me?
- I didn't do anything.
- Isn't the judge
the guy you play cards with
on Saturdays?
Is he a judge?
It's a small world.
So what now?
I don't know.
It's too early to go to sleep.
We could give it a go.
I'd be surprise if it worked.
Subtitles: ECLAIR