The Method (2015–…): Season 1, Episode 10 - Film 10 - full transcript
FILM 10
At night, the trees ask each other
how can they live without roots?
Do you feel it?
I love you.
Your father launched an investigation
into Major Meglin’s work on October 2.
Call him by his name and rank.
We’re working here.
Fine.
I won’t bother you
with a full list of allegations
made by Senior Adviser Steklov
against Major Meglin…
but I can’t ignore one of them.
Major Meglin
repeatedly and for no valid reason
put Senior Lieutenant Steklova
at risk of psychological distress
while training under his supervision.
Any comments?
Will you fetch me some more?
SERPUKHOV
Good afternoon.
Investigator
Bukreinov Valentin Andreyevich.
Assistant Investigator--
and my son-- Andrei.
A brainy boy.
Solved two cases within a year.
Impressive. No kidding?
You bet.
The murder of a traffic cop on a highway…
and a case of illegal real estate brokers
killing an old woman downtown.
Come on, Dad!
An impressive track record.
Who killed whom?
The traffic cop killed the old lady,
or the other way round?
You feel like joking.
But once he learned you were coming,
he rushed here ahead of me… in my car.
And I had to take a trolley.
A family dynasty is good.
He’ll always have a job.
I knew Larissa for eight years. Why did she let him get so close?
She was a smart investigator.
Three weeks ago,
a case was handed over to her.
A murder in a stairwell.
A woman bought a bicycle
for her son on his birthday.
She wanted it to be a surprise.
She left it at the door and…
what a surprise.
The boy opens the door.
The mother’s not there.
He goes to the elevator and sees her…
lying on the floor.
He’s just nine years old.
He’ll remember this birthday
for the rest of his life.
Maybe it’s not that bad.
In my entire life,
I only remember one birthday--
when I turned 16.
I got my passport.
That’s a day to remember.
The same type of weapon.
A shiv or awl.
-Maybe just a coincidence?
-What kind of a coincidence?
She discovered the murderer.
He knew it and killed her.
-It’s a serial killing.
-A series is three murders or more.
Don’t get too excited.
Wait until he kills once more.
Why do women become investigators?
It depends.
Some follow in the steps of a relative,
like this dynasty.
Some want to fight evil.
Fighting evil is a good cause,
but it pays poorly.
What do you see?
Why are the bags like that?
Yes, why?
Because…
she wasn’t alone.
She was with someone she knew.
He helped her carry the bags.
He put them down.
A blow-- she fell.
May I?
Blood.
On her hands…
and on the wall.
Did she want to write something? A name.
We talked to her neighbors.
Nobody saw or heard anything,
except for an old lady from downstairs.
Right there.
She saw a man
running away from the entryway.
A tall, big man.
Why didn’t you tell me?
-I didn’t have a chance.
-Or maybe he just didn’t want to.
Dynasty, you’re letting down your father.
That’s not good.
Go on.
She saw him from the window.
She said he was tall.
Around 50 years old.
She only saw his back.
-He didn’t seem familiar.
-Didn’t seem familiar?
Yet my colleague claims
that Larissa knew the murderer.
-How do you know that?
-How do you know that?
Who would trust a stranger
to carry their bags these days?
See?
What’s this?
It’s been sealed for seven years.
The owner is in the nuthouse.
I see.
Shall we go inside? Excuse me, darling.
Come on, Larissa…
tell us how you lived your life.
She burned the old one
and bought a new one.
-How did it happen?
-She forgot to turn off the iron.
You’ve never had
any female investigators in your life.
-Any in yours?
-There were.
They drifted away.
She burned it because she drank.
She was lonely, had no children.
All the men she met were jerks.
What was left for her?
She didn’t like herself.
She thought she was plain.
Hardly any pictures of her.
-Maybe she was modest.
-Maybe.
Did she smoke?
I guess not.
Why would a woman like Larissa
become an investigator?
To find a man?
Right.
That’s exactly
what an investigator should do.
Yurochkin Sergei Viktorovich. Sharipov Ruslan Yevgenyevich…
Bukov Dmitry.
Make a list of her recent phone calls,
okay?
And check the numbers.
Got it? See you.
I made copies
of her investigation records.
Excuse me. May I ask you something?
What do you need
to become Meglin’s trainee?
I’m a really good marksman
and a swimmer and a runner.
Father says he takes nobody on,
but he took you.
I sleep with him.
He asked what your method was.
-What did you say?
-That you have no method.
It’s booze at the agency’s expense
and then you finish off the killers.
Well…
as good a method as any.
Over two days, she made about 20 calls
to the same number,
and it’s not among the business cards.
Text Glukhoi.
Tell him to identify the owner.
The beard wants you
to track down this number.
Done.
Roshchina had a theory
that the murderer was a lunatic.
Because he made a doll?
Yes.
Did he bring thread with him?
He uses the victims’ clothes
to make dolls.
-She had a suspect.
-Who is it?
A certain Komarov. After the first murder,
she checked everyone in the district
who was registered with a nuthouse
and had a criminal record.
Original.
Date of interrogation--
yesterday, the day before her murder.
Where does he live?
Proviantskaya, Number 5.
The building across the street.
Come on, let’s go back.
Sure she asked me.
A murder-- they come to me.
A rape-- again to me.
Just because I killed somebody.
They think anyone who killed once
will kill again.
But I didn’t like it.
I won’t kill again. I don’t want to.
I make videos all the time.
Just a moment.
When I go shopping, I film myself.
When I go to the drugstore or for a walk
or to bed…
They always come after me. Here you are.
Where was I?
I have an alibi.
I killed her by accident.
She threw her child from the balcony
while I was taking a walk.
He was lying in the snow. I brought him
to her, and she started screaming.
I took a knife and killed Galya
to stop her screaming.
I have everything recorded and indexed.
She was my neighbor.
Where were you on Friday the 12th
at 5:00 in the afternoon?
I was here at home.
I have an alibi. I can show you.
-Yes, please.
-But I only have one camera.
If I put the tape in now…
When the president calls me in
for a secret meeting,
I will propose a law that forbids throwing
children off balconies into the snow.
They must put this in the constitution!
Fast-forward the tape.
Yes, just a moment.
Stop.
Play.
I’m working, but I’m about to-- What?
Why?
How are you not coming?
What do you mean you’re not coming?
That was settled.
It’s the third time already.
Listen, you can’t do that. I--
You know what?
If you do this again, I--
No, but--
-All right, I--
-Who’s she talking to?
I’ll call you later. I can’t. I’m working.
Take her phone and see who called her.
At 7:54 p.m.
A few too many business cards.
She was a loving young woman.
This time, and then 10 times more,
she called the same guy.
He’s your average manager.
An office rat, so to speak.
Text me his address.
Bye. That’s strange.
She doesn’t seem the type
to go for for a warehouse manager.
Even more so that she slept with him.
Loneliness is tricky.
It makes you turn a blind eye
to a lot of things.
But sleeping with a suspect…
Why? Is that different somehow?
PROSPEKT VOROSHILOVA,
NUMBER 82 - BLDG. 3, APT. 5
Listen,
I have no idea what you want from me.
But if you don’t leave now,
I’ll call the police.
We are the police-- police or militia.
We need you to answer one question.
What do you want from me?
I only dated Larissa a few times.
She was murdered today.
You didn’t even show up.
And you’ve turned off your phone.
I was sick.
I can show you an official note. I--
A doctor came to see me.
Listen.
Listen.
If I went to the hospital…
You see, I’m a married man.
They might misunderstand.
Listen,
maybe we can come to an understanding?
How much?
Well, I don’t know.
-$500.
-500 isn’t enough. What else?
What else…
-The watch.
-I don’t wear a watch.
Where’s your wife?
She’s in the hospital.
It’s serious. She has cancer.
-Have pity, if only for her.
-Why would I?
What does she have to do with it?
She’s in the hospital.
Why should I pity you?
So you were looking for a replacement,
huh?
-Prudent?
-What do you mean?
-Take off your pants.
-What?
Take off your pants.
If you say.
If you say, but…
Iron them. Quickly.
Certainly.
I see.
So first your mommy
ironed your pants for you.
Then your wife.
Then she gets cancer. Whoops.
No one to iron your pants anymore, huh?
You started looking around.
After a while, you found Larissa.
Larissa came to iron your pants, right?
Right.
You searched for single plain Janes
on purpose.
She was the one who called.
She said that she was leaving me,
that she didn’t love me.
She loved someone else,
had loved him all her life.
I was a mistake. She didn’t even like me.
No need to lie to me.
People saw you running away
from her entryway.
Well… Yes, I--
I was there.
I wanted to talk.
I thought I still had a chance.
But when I went upstairs, I saw him.
He was kneeling over her doing something.
She was dead already.
I-- I couldn’t help her.
What, should I have been killed too?
Why are you looking at me like that?
What did he look like?
I don’t know. He… He had his back to me.
Get well.
Let’s go.
Do you think he’s telling the truth?
He never tells the truth,
not even to himself.
-But he’s not the murderer.
-Why not?
Did you see his hands? Soft like dough.
They’re good for nothing.
Do you think he’s capable
of creating such beauty?
Play-dough.
Open it.
Actually,
they didn’t want to issue a warrant.
Our prosecutor is headstrong.
But I used my personal connections,
so it’s okay now.
Well done.
I’d had some…
hanky-panky with his secretary.
What about the prosecutor?
Enough panting. Let me. There you go.
Dismissed. Well…
Come in.
And you, go see your secretary.
Asshole.
I looked through the lists of residents--
Tolmachev Pavel, 22 years old.
Twenty-two? A diligent lad.
-His name is Pavlik?
-Yes.
He’s the murderer. Whoa.
Steel.
Handy thing.
There must be two of them.
Into the heart with some to spare.
Twenty-two years old.
The award is dated 1979. It’s not his.
Evgeny Tolmachev.
His father? A dynasty?
It turns out…
the murderer she was looking for
was her neighbor.
It was his name that she wanted to write.
It was a good idea.
I wish she had succeeded.
Yes.
He had been treated since he was 15--
genetic schizophrenia.
No friends or acquaintances.
He hasn’t been home for seven years. He has nowhere to go,
meaning we don’t know where to look.
-There’s always a place to go.
-Where did he go?
I have a rough guess. We’d better check.
PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL No. 13
Schizophrenia.
Dual personality.
A craving for violence.
I examined him 12 years ago.
Then he was transferred
to a children’s hospital.
I haven’t seen him since.
His mother worked here.
-What did she do?
-She was a psychiatrist.
More details, please.
-What are you interested in?
-Everything interests us.
Fine.
Diploma from the First Medical University,
with honors.
Good-looking, smart.
A doctor with an attitude.
-What do you mean?
-No compassion. Removed in her childhood
together with her glands.
Not compassion-- pity.
Pity does no good.
Then she got married.
-He was gifted.
-Calm down!
But a schizophrenic.
Not unusual for gifted people.
They don’t have to drive a trolley.
She considered him a genius.
But genius isn’t compatible with villainy.
But it goes hand in hand with madness.
Then he started to leave us.
Where to?
Away from us.
He had increasingly frequent headaches,
tension, anxiety.
I told her to bring him to me.
I talked to him
and diagnosed schizophrenia.
He needed to be treated here,
in the intensive care unit.
But she didn’t want to.
Get him out of here.
He didn’t want to.
She feared
the hospital would traumatize him.
A genius.
She decided to treat him at home.
Both doctor and wife. Who if not she?
Their son was born during that time.
-Pavel.
-Yes.
The craving for violence is a disease.
It’s passed on…
from father to son.
From mother to daughter.
She had a hard time of it.
But she was proud of herself.
Her husband seemed to get better.
A big exhibit was organized in Moscow.
She invited me.
I took a look.
It was a sensation.
Everybody was shouting,
“Genius, genius, genius!”
I looked at those outfits, went to her
and told her that she was wrong.
He got worse.
What did you see?
Cuts on the dresses.
They looked like wounds.
She thought she had conquered the disease.
But it only got worse.
He had this craving for pain.
A craving for… violence.
One day, he tried…
to cut off his fingers with scissors.
She started locking him in the apartment.
To keep him away any stimulus.
One day, she came home and saw him
flailing around like a blind man.
He’d sewn his eyelids shut.
What happened next?
He died half a year later. Here.
Irina stopped working.
She dedicated herself to her son.
She feared he had the same condition.
Seven years later, she committed suicide.
-She gassed herself.
-It wasn’t gas that killed her.
The mania of saving people.
Well, once you’re here…
What are you complaining about?
Come on, come on. Move.
What’s so funny? Calm down!
Do you know that joke?
A doctor asks his patient,
“Do you have any complaints?”
The patient says,
“Doctor, I don’t complain. I suffer.”
That’s all.
In not too long… I’ll be dangerous.
To myself and to others.
And then it’s a direct path…
to catalepsy.
They’ll tie me up like a goat
and stick needles in me… like a cactus.
That’s why the syringe is always close by?
It would be more appropriate
for an officer to shoot himself.
But maniacs aren’t trusted with guns.
But morphine is…
just what the doctor ordered.
Literally.
I’ll simply hide, Esenya.
I’ve earned it.
Only one thing stops me.
I’ll hide, but what will happen to them--
to our kind?
Tell me the truth.
You took me on so you could
hand over the post when the time comes?
At first, yes.
Then I got used to you.
So…
go for a walk?
Do you find the autumn here
to your liking?
I’m off. I have things to do.
You stay here.
Vadim Mikhalich will show you around.
Show me what?
He’ll definitely come here.
Stay here for a couple of days, observe.
Take walks. See how beautiful it is?
Pavlik. Pavlik.
What have you done, Pavlik?
Berestova.
Your father was the lead investigator
in the Olga Berestova case.
A very beautiful woman.
Uh-huh.
Menshikov.
Ivanova.
Egorova.
Esenya.
How did you know?
I met with Rodion.
How do you like it here? Not scary?
Is this how you imagined your training?
-I don’t know what you’re getting at.
-I’m tired of explaining.
There’s an old saying: “You can’t
do any good without using your fists.”
Or a knife, if you’re Meglin.
I not begging you anymore.
I initiated an internal investigation
into his actions.
He’s not right in the head,
and you know it.
What’s going on with you?
Can you tell me?
This is on purpose?
Go away.
Hey, come here! Have you seen everything?
Yes.
You’re all set.
A syringe, morphine.
You hide out, and voilà--
you’re home free.
But you’ve overlooked one thing.
I won’t let you die.
Shall we talk business?
Let’s talk.
-He hasn’t showed up.
-Of course not.
He knows that if he comes in here,
with his clinical history,
he’s unlikely to ever get out.
I talked to his neighbors.
They say Pavlik and Larissa were friends.
He called on her sometimes,
met her at the entryway…
helped her carry her bags.
A paradox, right?
She tried to catch him at work.
He had tea with her at night.
I can’t help thinking,
what if someone
made the poor guy some tea,
asked him how he was getting along,
perhaps he wouldn’t have killed anybody.
Maybe I’m wrong.
They say that an investigator shouldn’t
pity murderers, but seek them out.
I don’t know. Maybe I should change jobs?
Pavlik.
Was that… you?
What have you done?
What have you done, Pavlik?
Who’d expect that from a neighbor?
-Killing women similar to his mother.
-Similar how?
The look, Pavlik.
How your victims looked at you is the key.
Finished? Let’s go.
That look makes you feel guilty.
It’s a disturbing feeling.
That’s why the portraits.
What? All us psychopaths are suspicious.
He’ll be declared insane,
and he’ll stay here
until he’s completely healthy.
Which means until the end of his days.
Why not? Breakfast, lunch, dinner.
Walks, activities.
There’s a park, benches.
The same routine--
winter, spring, summer, autumn.
For life.
Though that is no life.
It’s a death. Slow…
with eyes open.
Huh, Pavlik?
Take him in.
Do you despise me?
No.
You left me at the hospital
not just so I’d learn
why you keep the morphine with you.
You knew I’d see Berestova.
I recognized her.
But Dad didn’t.
Why not?
He worked on her case. They must remember each other.
The past is better forgotten.
The future… is better unknown.
Can’t sleep?
You know, I was thinking,
what if you want to tell me something,
but you’re afraid I won’t understand?
-Well, I will.
-You won’t.
I made keys for you…
so that you’ll always have a place to go.
This is our home now.
Keep it safe, all right?
You say he put me at risk.
Yes, that’s true.
But how else can you learn to survive?
He didn’t spare me because he wanted me
to learn my own lessons.
How?
He taught me
to find a way in the darkness.
ZASLAVSK / SCHOOL No. 23
The self-induced EMF
produced in the coil itself
by changing the current flowing through it
is called self inductance.
Induced EMF in this case
is self-induced EMF.
Let’s do an experiment.
MANIFESTO
Read my manifesto and do as I do!
At night, the trees ask each other
how can they live without roots?
Do you feel it?
I love you.
Your father launched an investigation
into Major Meglin’s work on October 2.
Call him by his name and rank.
We’re working here.
Fine.
I won’t bother you
with a full list of allegations
made by Senior Adviser Steklov
against Major Meglin…
but I can’t ignore one of them.
Major Meglin
repeatedly and for no valid reason
put Senior Lieutenant Steklova
at risk of psychological distress
while training under his supervision.
Any comments?
Will you fetch me some more?
SERPUKHOV
Good afternoon.
Investigator
Bukreinov Valentin Andreyevich.
Assistant Investigator--
and my son-- Andrei.
A brainy boy.
Solved two cases within a year.
Impressive. No kidding?
You bet.
The murder of a traffic cop on a highway…
and a case of illegal real estate brokers
killing an old woman downtown.
Come on, Dad!
An impressive track record.
Who killed whom?
The traffic cop killed the old lady,
or the other way round?
You feel like joking.
But once he learned you were coming,
he rushed here ahead of me… in my car.
And I had to take a trolley.
A family dynasty is good.
He’ll always have a job.
I knew Larissa for eight years. Why did she let him get so close?
She was a smart investigator.
Three weeks ago,
a case was handed over to her.
A murder in a stairwell.
A woman bought a bicycle
for her son on his birthday.
She wanted it to be a surprise.
She left it at the door and…
what a surprise.
The boy opens the door.
The mother’s not there.
He goes to the elevator and sees her…
lying on the floor.
He’s just nine years old.
He’ll remember this birthday
for the rest of his life.
Maybe it’s not that bad.
In my entire life,
I only remember one birthday--
when I turned 16.
I got my passport.
That’s a day to remember.
The same type of weapon.
A shiv or awl.
-Maybe just a coincidence?
-What kind of a coincidence?
She discovered the murderer.
He knew it and killed her.
-It’s a serial killing.
-A series is three murders or more.
Don’t get too excited.
Wait until he kills once more.
Why do women become investigators?
It depends.
Some follow in the steps of a relative,
like this dynasty.
Some want to fight evil.
Fighting evil is a good cause,
but it pays poorly.
What do you see?
Why are the bags like that?
Yes, why?
Because…
she wasn’t alone.
She was with someone she knew.
He helped her carry the bags.
He put them down.
A blow-- she fell.
May I?
Blood.
On her hands…
and on the wall.
Did she want to write something? A name.
We talked to her neighbors.
Nobody saw or heard anything,
except for an old lady from downstairs.
Right there.
She saw a man
running away from the entryway.
A tall, big man.
Why didn’t you tell me?
-I didn’t have a chance.
-Or maybe he just didn’t want to.
Dynasty, you’re letting down your father.
That’s not good.
Go on.
She saw him from the window.
She said he was tall.
Around 50 years old.
She only saw his back.
-He didn’t seem familiar.
-Didn’t seem familiar?
Yet my colleague claims
that Larissa knew the murderer.
-How do you know that?
-How do you know that?
Who would trust a stranger
to carry their bags these days?
See?
What’s this?
It’s been sealed for seven years.
The owner is in the nuthouse.
I see.
Shall we go inside? Excuse me, darling.
Come on, Larissa…
tell us how you lived your life.
She burned the old one
and bought a new one.
-How did it happen?
-She forgot to turn off the iron.
You’ve never had
any female investigators in your life.
-Any in yours?
-There were.
They drifted away.
She burned it because she drank.
She was lonely, had no children.
All the men she met were jerks.
What was left for her?
She didn’t like herself.
She thought she was plain.
Hardly any pictures of her.
-Maybe she was modest.
-Maybe.
Did she smoke?
I guess not.
Why would a woman like Larissa
become an investigator?
To find a man?
Right.
That’s exactly
what an investigator should do.
Yurochkin Sergei Viktorovich. Sharipov Ruslan Yevgenyevich…
Bukov Dmitry.
Make a list of her recent phone calls,
okay?
And check the numbers.
Got it? See you.
I made copies
of her investigation records.
Excuse me. May I ask you something?
What do you need
to become Meglin’s trainee?
I’m a really good marksman
and a swimmer and a runner.
Father says he takes nobody on,
but he took you.
I sleep with him.
He asked what your method was.
-What did you say?
-That you have no method.
It’s booze at the agency’s expense
and then you finish off the killers.
Well…
as good a method as any.
Over two days, she made about 20 calls
to the same number,
and it’s not among the business cards.
Text Glukhoi.
Tell him to identify the owner.
The beard wants you
to track down this number.
Done.
Roshchina had a theory
that the murderer was a lunatic.
Because he made a doll?
Yes.
Did he bring thread with him?
He uses the victims’ clothes
to make dolls.
-She had a suspect.
-Who is it?
A certain Komarov. After the first murder,
she checked everyone in the district
who was registered with a nuthouse
and had a criminal record.
Original.
Date of interrogation--
yesterday, the day before her murder.
Where does he live?
Proviantskaya, Number 5.
The building across the street.
Come on, let’s go back.
Sure she asked me.
A murder-- they come to me.
A rape-- again to me.
Just because I killed somebody.
They think anyone who killed once
will kill again.
But I didn’t like it.
I won’t kill again. I don’t want to.
I make videos all the time.
Just a moment.
When I go shopping, I film myself.
When I go to the drugstore or for a walk
or to bed…
They always come after me. Here you are.
Where was I?
I have an alibi.
I killed her by accident.
She threw her child from the balcony
while I was taking a walk.
He was lying in the snow. I brought him
to her, and she started screaming.
I took a knife and killed Galya
to stop her screaming.
I have everything recorded and indexed.
She was my neighbor.
Where were you on Friday the 12th
at 5:00 in the afternoon?
I was here at home.
I have an alibi. I can show you.
-Yes, please.
-But I only have one camera.
If I put the tape in now…
When the president calls me in
for a secret meeting,
I will propose a law that forbids throwing
children off balconies into the snow.
They must put this in the constitution!
Fast-forward the tape.
Yes, just a moment.
Stop.
Play.
I’m working, but I’m about to-- What?
Why?
How are you not coming?
What do you mean you’re not coming?
That was settled.
It’s the third time already.
Listen, you can’t do that. I--
You know what?
If you do this again, I--
No, but--
-All right, I--
-Who’s she talking to?
I’ll call you later. I can’t. I’m working.
Take her phone and see who called her.
At 7:54 p.m.
A few too many business cards.
She was a loving young woman.
This time, and then 10 times more,
she called the same guy.
He’s your average manager.
An office rat, so to speak.
Text me his address.
Bye. That’s strange.
She doesn’t seem the type
to go for for a warehouse manager.
Even more so that she slept with him.
Loneliness is tricky.
It makes you turn a blind eye
to a lot of things.
But sleeping with a suspect…
Why? Is that different somehow?
PROSPEKT VOROSHILOVA,
NUMBER 82 - BLDG. 3, APT. 5
Listen,
I have no idea what you want from me.
But if you don’t leave now,
I’ll call the police.
We are the police-- police or militia.
We need you to answer one question.
What do you want from me?
I only dated Larissa a few times.
She was murdered today.
You didn’t even show up.
And you’ve turned off your phone.
I was sick.
I can show you an official note. I--
A doctor came to see me.
Listen.
Listen.
If I went to the hospital…
You see, I’m a married man.
They might misunderstand.
Listen,
maybe we can come to an understanding?
How much?
Well, I don’t know.
-$500.
-500 isn’t enough. What else?
What else…
-The watch.
-I don’t wear a watch.
Where’s your wife?
She’s in the hospital.
It’s serious. She has cancer.
-Have pity, if only for her.
-Why would I?
What does she have to do with it?
She’s in the hospital.
Why should I pity you?
So you were looking for a replacement,
huh?
-Prudent?
-What do you mean?
-Take off your pants.
-What?
Take off your pants.
If you say.
If you say, but…
Iron them. Quickly.
Certainly.
I see.
So first your mommy
ironed your pants for you.
Then your wife.
Then she gets cancer. Whoops.
No one to iron your pants anymore, huh?
You started looking around.
After a while, you found Larissa.
Larissa came to iron your pants, right?
Right.
You searched for single plain Janes
on purpose.
She was the one who called.
She said that she was leaving me,
that she didn’t love me.
She loved someone else,
had loved him all her life.
I was a mistake. She didn’t even like me.
No need to lie to me.
People saw you running away
from her entryway.
Well… Yes, I--
I was there.
I wanted to talk.
I thought I still had a chance.
But when I went upstairs, I saw him.
He was kneeling over her doing something.
She was dead already.
I-- I couldn’t help her.
What, should I have been killed too?
Why are you looking at me like that?
What did he look like?
I don’t know. He… He had his back to me.
Get well.
Let’s go.
Do you think he’s telling the truth?
He never tells the truth,
not even to himself.
-But he’s not the murderer.
-Why not?
Did you see his hands? Soft like dough.
They’re good for nothing.
Do you think he’s capable
of creating such beauty?
Play-dough.
Open it.
Actually,
they didn’t want to issue a warrant.
Our prosecutor is headstrong.
But I used my personal connections,
so it’s okay now.
Well done.
I’d had some…
hanky-panky with his secretary.
What about the prosecutor?
Enough panting. Let me. There you go.
Dismissed. Well…
Come in.
And you, go see your secretary.
Asshole.
I looked through the lists of residents--
Tolmachev Pavel, 22 years old.
Twenty-two? A diligent lad.
-His name is Pavlik?
-Yes.
He’s the murderer. Whoa.
Steel.
Handy thing.
There must be two of them.
Into the heart with some to spare.
Twenty-two years old.
The award is dated 1979. It’s not his.
Evgeny Tolmachev.
His father? A dynasty?
It turns out…
the murderer she was looking for
was her neighbor.
It was his name that she wanted to write.
It was a good idea.
I wish she had succeeded.
Yes.
He had been treated since he was 15--
genetic schizophrenia.
No friends or acquaintances.
He hasn’t been home for seven years. He has nowhere to go,
meaning we don’t know where to look.
-There’s always a place to go.
-Where did he go?
I have a rough guess. We’d better check.
PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL No. 13
Schizophrenia.
Dual personality.
A craving for violence.
I examined him 12 years ago.
Then he was transferred
to a children’s hospital.
I haven’t seen him since.
His mother worked here.
-What did she do?
-She was a psychiatrist.
More details, please.
-What are you interested in?
-Everything interests us.
Fine.
Diploma from the First Medical University,
with honors.
Good-looking, smart.
A doctor with an attitude.
-What do you mean?
-No compassion. Removed in her childhood
together with her glands.
Not compassion-- pity.
Pity does no good.
Then she got married.
-He was gifted.
-Calm down!
But a schizophrenic.
Not unusual for gifted people.
They don’t have to drive a trolley.
She considered him a genius.
But genius isn’t compatible with villainy.
But it goes hand in hand with madness.
Then he started to leave us.
Where to?
Away from us.
He had increasingly frequent headaches,
tension, anxiety.
I told her to bring him to me.
I talked to him
and diagnosed schizophrenia.
He needed to be treated here,
in the intensive care unit.
But she didn’t want to.
Get him out of here.
He didn’t want to.
She feared
the hospital would traumatize him.
A genius.
She decided to treat him at home.
Both doctor and wife. Who if not she?
Their son was born during that time.
-Pavel.
-Yes.
The craving for violence is a disease.
It’s passed on…
from father to son.
From mother to daughter.
She had a hard time of it.
But she was proud of herself.
Her husband seemed to get better.
A big exhibit was organized in Moscow.
She invited me.
I took a look.
It was a sensation.
Everybody was shouting,
“Genius, genius, genius!”
I looked at those outfits, went to her
and told her that she was wrong.
He got worse.
What did you see?
Cuts on the dresses.
They looked like wounds.
She thought she had conquered the disease.
But it only got worse.
He had this craving for pain.
A craving for… violence.
One day, he tried…
to cut off his fingers with scissors.
She started locking him in the apartment.
To keep him away any stimulus.
One day, she came home and saw him
flailing around like a blind man.
He’d sewn his eyelids shut.
What happened next?
He died half a year later. Here.
Irina stopped working.
She dedicated herself to her son.
She feared he had the same condition.
Seven years later, she committed suicide.
-She gassed herself.
-It wasn’t gas that killed her.
The mania of saving people.
Well, once you’re here…
What are you complaining about?
Come on, come on. Move.
What’s so funny? Calm down!
Do you know that joke?
A doctor asks his patient,
“Do you have any complaints?”
The patient says,
“Doctor, I don’t complain. I suffer.”
That’s all.
In not too long… I’ll be dangerous.
To myself and to others.
And then it’s a direct path…
to catalepsy.
They’ll tie me up like a goat
and stick needles in me… like a cactus.
That’s why the syringe is always close by?
It would be more appropriate
for an officer to shoot himself.
But maniacs aren’t trusted with guns.
But morphine is…
just what the doctor ordered.
Literally.
I’ll simply hide, Esenya.
I’ve earned it.
Only one thing stops me.
I’ll hide, but what will happen to them--
to our kind?
Tell me the truth.
You took me on so you could
hand over the post when the time comes?
At first, yes.
Then I got used to you.
So…
go for a walk?
Do you find the autumn here
to your liking?
I’m off. I have things to do.
You stay here.
Vadim Mikhalich will show you around.
Show me what?
He’ll definitely come here.
Stay here for a couple of days, observe.
Take walks. See how beautiful it is?
Pavlik. Pavlik.
What have you done, Pavlik?
Berestova.
Your father was the lead investigator
in the Olga Berestova case.
A very beautiful woman.
Uh-huh.
Menshikov.
Ivanova.
Egorova.
Esenya.
How did you know?
I met with Rodion.
How do you like it here? Not scary?
Is this how you imagined your training?
-I don’t know what you’re getting at.
-I’m tired of explaining.
There’s an old saying: “You can’t
do any good without using your fists.”
Or a knife, if you’re Meglin.
I not begging you anymore.
I initiated an internal investigation
into his actions.
He’s not right in the head,
and you know it.
What’s going on with you?
Can you tell me?
This is on purpose?
Go away.
Hey, come here! Have you seen everything?
Yes.
You’re all set.
A syringe, morphine.
You hide out, and voilà--
you’re home free.
But you’ve overlooked one thing.
I won’t let you die.
Shall we talk business?
Let’s talk.
-He hasn’t showed up.
-Of course not.
He knows that if he comes in here,
with his clinical history,
he’s unlikely to ever get out.
I talked to his neighbors.
They say Pavlik and Larissa were friends.
He called on her sometimes,
met her at the entryway…
helped her carry her bags.
A paradox, right?
She tried to catch him at work.
He had tea with her at night.
I can’t help thinking,
what if someone
made the poor guy some tea,
asked him how he was getting along,
perhaps he wouldn’t have killed anybody.
Maybe I’m wrong.
They say that an investigator shouldn’t
pity murderers, but seek them out.
I don’t know. Maybe I should change jobs?
Pavlik.
Was that… you?
What have you done?
What have you done, Pavlik?
Who’d expect that from a neighbor?
-Killing women similar to his mother.
-Similar how?
The look, Pavlik.
How your victims looked at you is the key.
Finished? Let’s go.
That look makes you feel guilty.
It’s a disturbing feeling.
That’s why the portraits.
What? All us psychopaths are suspicious.
He’ll be declared insane,
and he’ll stay here
until he’s completely healthy.
Which means until the end of his days.
Why not? Breakfast, lunch, dinner.
Walks, activities.
There’s a park, benches.
The same routine--
winter, spring, summer, autumn.
For life.
Though that is no life.
It’s a death. Slow…
with eyes open.
Huh, Pavlik?
Take him in.
Do you despise me?
No.
You left me at the hospital
not just so I’d learn
why you keep the morphine with you.
You knew I’d see Berestova.
I recognized her.
But Dad didn’t.
Why not?
He worked on her case. They must remember each other.
The past is better forgotten.
The future… is better unknown.
Can’t sleep?
You know, I was thinking,
what if you want to tell me something,
but you’re afraid I won’t understand?
-Well, I will.
-You won’t.
I made keys for you…
so that you’ll always have a place to go.
This is our home now.
Keep it safe, all right?
You say he put me at risk.
Yes, that’s true.
But how else can you learn to survive?
He didn’t spare me because he wanted me
to learn my own lessons.
How?
He taught me
to find a way in the darkness.
ZASLAVSK / SCHOOL No. 23
The self-induced EMF
produced in the coil itself
by changing the current flowing through it
is called self inductance.
Induced EMF in this case
is self-induced EMF.
Let’s do an experiment.
MANIFESTO
Read my manifesto and do as I do!