The Truth About the Harry Quebert Affair (2018–…): Season 1, Episode 1 - How Does Your Garden Grow? - full transcript

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[♪♪♪♪♪]

[gulls cry overhead]

[wind gusting]

[rain pouring]

[thunder rumbles]

[♪♪♪♪♪]

Sorry, I didn't even
notice you there!

No, no, no, no,
don't apologize!

Don't apologize!

Continue!

Keep dancing.



[laughs]

I must look crazy.

It's just great
to see somebody

loving the rain
so much.

Well, don't you
just love it?

No.

What?

No!

You hate the rain?

Yes!

[laughs]

How could anyone
hate the rain?

Well, I'm afraid
I might shrink.

[laughs]



No, you have to
become one with it.

Just melt into it.

Don't resist.

Oh!

Ah!

Ah, it's cold!

[laughing]

Phew!

Ah...

Can I have one?

Uh... yeah.

[giggles]

Got a lighter too?

Yeah, I do.

Oh, be careful.

Don't burn yourself.

Got it lit?

So you're that writer,
aren't you?

Yes.

From New York, right?

Yes.

Can I ask you
a question?

[chuckling] Yes.

Why would you leave New York
to come to this hole?

I needed a change
of scenery.

But New York...

I mean, I would do anything
to visit New York!

To... soak in
the architecture,

the people...

see the shows
on Broadway.

Ha-have...
Do we...

do we know
each other?

No.

No, but everyone knows
who you are.

You're the famous author
living in Goose Cove.

Yeah.

I gotta go.

Don't tell anyone
I smoke, okay?

Okay.

Goodbye, Mr. Author.

I hope I'll see you
again sometime.

Me too.

What's your name?

Nola.

[♪♪♪♪♪]

[distant scream]

[screaming]

[distant scream]

[rotary phone dialing]

[woman panting]

[call ringing]

[officer]: Sommerdale Police,
how can I help you?

It's Deborah Cooper
in Side Creek Lane.

Uh... I...

Come quick! Right now!

[officer]: You heard prowlers
again, Mrs. Cooper?

No, no, it's a girl!

She's being chased
in the woods by a man!

I-I was making an apple pie,

heard a scream,
and looked out the screen door.

She was wearing a red dress.

She's...

she's running
through the forest,

and he's chasing her.

[officer]: I'm sending
a patrol car over

right away, Mrs. Cooper.

Please stay where you are.

[panting in terror]

Hurry!

[shot blasts]

[screams]

[♪♪♪♪♪]

[♪♪♪♪♪]

[wind whistling]

[♪♪♪♪♪]

[Marcus]: Anyone who says
success is overrated

isn't doing it right.

This is me, Marcus Goldman.

At the age of 26,
I had written my first novel,

which sold
over a million copies,

propelling me onto
everyone's must-read list.

I was suddenly a celebrity.

My book, "G is for Goldstein,"

was heralded far and wide

as the work of an original
and rare talent,

even by the toughest
of New York critics.

Suddenly, everything I said

was of interest and hilarious.

No more dining on ramen.

It's now Peking duck
at Mr. Chow,

prepared by the chef himself.

No more squinting
to watch the big game,

but enjoying it
on a 110-inch plasma screen

with Douglas Claren,

my agent.

I even hired a secretary
named Denise,

who I think might have had
a little crush on me.

For the first six months

after the publication
of my book,

life was a writer's wet dream.

There were book signings

and a contract
for my next two novels,

with a little advance
thrown in there

for good measure.

Wow. Thank you!

Success does have
its drawbacks,

like what to say
when someone asks you...

So what's
your next book about?

It had been over a year

since the publication
of my first book,

and I still had not written
a single word

of the next one.

Not that I didn't try.

Inspiration had abandoned me,

and I was scared shitless,

because where I come from,
failure is not an option.

Even in high school,

Marcus Goldman always found
some way to come out a winner.

I figured out pretty early

the best way
to stand out in a crowd

was to pick the right crowd
to stand out in.

[crowd cheering]

My strategy was so successful,

I soon became known as
"Marcus the Magnificent."

See, the trouble is,
the more you win,

the more terrifying it is
to lose,

and I was on the verge
of losing everything.

I tried everything
to get unblocked.

I escaped to the desert
for solitude,

to reconnect
with my inner voice.

I even returned
to my old room in New Jersey

hoping for inspiration...

Shh!
He's writing!

The trouble with
being hailed as a genius

is that now
everything you write

is expected to be
a literary gem,

some timeless insight
into the human condition.

The pressure
to live up to the hype

froze me.

There was only one person
I knew

who could help me
cut through the bullshit

and bring me back to reality,

Harry Quebert,

best-selling author,
my former college professor,

and one of the greatest writers
of the 20th century.

[cell phone rings]

Oh, Marcus!

Is this really you?

[Marcus]: Yeah, yeah.

-It is?
- Yeah.

-Incredible.
- Yeah.

I know, I'm, uh...

sorry, Harry.

I've been completely
off the grid.

[Harry]:
I haven't heard from you

since you became a star.

I tried to call you
about a month ago.

Your assistant said

you weren't taking calls
from anybody.

[Marcus]: I'm, uh...

totally blocked, Harry.

It's been over a year,
and I got nothing...

except a deadline
I'm not gonna meet.

[Harry]: Yeah.

That second one
is always the toughest.

Yeah.

A lot of expectation
out there...

and creativity
just does not thrive

when there is a deadline.

It's like sex,

but there's no
little blue pill for a writer.

You know, why don't you
come to me?

Just get out of New York.

Have a change
of scenery, you know?

Really?

Go for a run on the beach,

get your creative juices
going.

You know?

Let inspiration come to you.

Okay.

[Harry]: Yeah.

It's a deal. I'll, uh...
I'll see you this weekend.

[Harry]: All right.

[♪♪♪♪♪]

[Marcus]:
I loved driving to Maine.

I knew Sommerdale well,

having visited Harry there
several times as a student.

I loved this little town
forgotten by time,

its churches,

peaceful neighborhoods
of painted wooden houses,

the shops,

and Clark's,
the town's historic diner

where Harry and I would eat

and spend hours
talking about life,

and books, and...

and what it meant
to be a writer.

Harry was living
a few miles away,

isolated amongst
the tranquil wilderness

of the coastal forest

in a beautiful stone
and solid pine house

with an ocean view

and a deck overlooking
an endless beach.

[doorbell chimes]

[chuckling in delight]

Marcus the Magnificent!

Hey, Harry.

[laughs] You made it!

-How are you, man?
-It's good to see you!

It's good
to see you too!

Welcome back.

It's good
to see you, man.

This is new.

This is new,
it looks good.

I painted it.

Welcome.

Please.
Thanks, man.

[sighing] Oh, God,
it's good to be back.

[sighing]

First, get good
at being patient.

The more patient you are,
the more likely it is

your muse will
pay you a visit.

But you know me, Harry.

Patience has never
been my strong suit.

Especially now.

And stop trying to write
the Great American Novel.

That will only paralyze you.

You can't write from fear.

Then what do I
write from?

'Cause right now, fear's
the only thing I got.

That and terror.

You have to write
what matters to you.

Screw all the voices
in your head,

the ones judging you,

telling you what you should
or should not write about.

Go with your gut,
the idea that excites you.

And what if
I change my mind

halfway through?

You can always
change your mind,

go in a different direction.

The point is to write,

pen to paper.

The words are immaterial,
it's all about the idea.

Is that helping?

It's pretty
simple, yeah...

No, it's not helping.

He needs
some inspiration.

What can you
say to him?

Oh, well,

it helps if you sit
where he's sitting.

Just for good luck.

Thanks, Jenny.

[Harry]:
Thank you, Jenny.

[sighing] Ah, yes...

[Harry]:
Okay, I'm off.

My last class
is around 5:00,

so let's have cocktails
on the deck

at 6:00 sharp, okay?

Okay, great.

Yeah, listen, if I'm not here,

my body will probably
wash up on shore

in a few days' time.

Not going well?

No.

No, are you kidding?
It's extraordinary.

It's, uh, yeah,
completely unpredictable.

Can't wait to find out
what happens next.

You haven't written
anything at all.

Not... not
entirely true.

I, uh... texted Sofia.

Well, sexted her.
-Hmm.

That's probably the appropriate
nomenclature, but, uh...

it's actually the best writing

I've done all year.

All right.

Just tell me
how you did it, man.

Oh, you sat in a diner
day after day?

You wrote a masterpiece
in one summer?

Okay.

Write what interests you.

Or yet, better yet, you know,
just don't write at all.

Live.

Don't make...

life about your work.

Or you'll end up
like me.

6:00, drinks.

Yeah.

[♪♪♪♪♪]

So, what's the next

Marcus Goldman
masterpiece about?

[chuckling ruefully]

Give us a little hint.

Well, you know,
the writing process

is a very fragile thing,

you know, much,
much like an unborn child.

It needs to incubate
until it's fully formed,

and then,
much like childbirth itself,

it can be a painful process
to see through...

[groans]

You're so full of shit.

[Marcus]:
How the hell did he do it?

[opera music plays]

[♪♪♪♪♪]

[needle scratches on record]

Hey.

What the hell
do you think you're doing?

Oh, um...

[chuckles awkwardly]

Just...

What, are you
spying on me, Marcus?

No, no, no,
Harry, I just, um...

Um...

You go through
my personal things?

I'm s... I'm sorry.

I'm sorry,
I shouldn't have opened it.

She was someone I once knew.

It's complicated.

This needs to stay...

between us.

Do you understand me?

Yeah.

Yeah, you have
my word.

Don't be a stranger.

Yeah.

Yeah, you too.

Thanks again, Harry.

Mm-hmm.

[starts engine]

[sighs]

[man]: You listening?

Mm-hmm.

Well, how are
things looking?

So, we got Joe Fryman,
the top litigator in the city,

to review your contract
with Schmid and Hanson.

And?

You're totally screwed.

Either you deliver up
a new draft

by the agreed-upon date,

or they take
everything you own.

Okay, what if I sign everything
over to my parents?

Like, including the condo.

[man]: The repo men
will just go after them.

Probably lock them up
for collusion.

For how long?

[man]: What?

Uh, nothing.

Nothing, never mind.

[incoming call beeps]
Hey, listen...

I got another call
coming in, okay?

Just talk to me when
you've got some good news.

[dismisses call]
Prick.

Hello?

[Harry]: She's...

she's dead.

She's dead, Marcus.

Uh... who?
Uh, who's dead?

[Harry]: Nola.

Nola's dead.

It's all my fault.

What did I do?

What did I do, for God's sake?

H-Harry? Harry, what
are you talking about?

I don't--
[call disconnects]

Harry!

God dammit.

[dialing]
Uh...

[call ringing]

This is Harry.
Leave a message.

Shit.

Okay, um...

I have to get my shit together.

[cell phone ringing]

Hey, what do you mean,
it's all your fault?

I don't--

[Doug]:
Hey, are you watching this?

Doug? Doug!
Uh, sorry, man.

I thought you were, um...

[Doug]: Turn on the TV.

[Marcus]: What channel?

[Doug]: Take your pick.

[news report]:
...Sommerdale, Maine,

that author Harry Quebert
was arrested today

after police discovered
human remains on his property.

The discovery was made
early this morning,

when a landscaping crew

hired by Mr. Quebert

to plant a flower bed
of hydrangeas

uncovered the remains

buried less than 100 feet
from his house...

It's insane.

According to police,

this may be the body of
15-year-old Nola Kellergan,

a local girl who disappeared
from her house

in August of 1975.

[Doug, on phone]:
You still there?

...the evidence
found with the body

seems to implicate
Mr. Quebert,

one of the most respected
American writers,

whose book,
"The Origin of Evil,"

fascinated millions,

in the murder
of the young girl,

as well as in the death
of Deborah Cooper,

a witness who was shot
and killed in her residence

at the edge of the forest--

[Doug]: Marcus, you okay?

No, no, no, no, no, no,
this doesn't...

This doesn't make...

Why? What, he's gonna
bring someone in

to dig up a place where
he supposedly buried a body?

This makes no sense.

This is...
this is a mistake, man.

[Doug]:
Look, there was a corpse

buried in his yard,

however you look at it.

[Marcus]: Hi, Mom?

Oh, sweetie,

please tell me
you're not on your way

to visit that horrible,
terrible man.

No, Mom,
I'm not stupid enough

to get myself
in the middle of all that.

[Jessica]: I always had this
"Uh-oh!" feeling about him.

[Marcus]: Yeah, well,

you shouldn't believe everything
you hear on the news, okay?

[Jessica]:
He's a classic borderline.

The man is an animal.

With boundary issues.

He's not an animal, Ma,
he's my friend.

How... close
a friend, sweetie?

Look, Mom, I gotta go, okay?

I'm, uh, I'm meeting
someone for coffee.

[Jessica]: A girl? Or a boy?

Uh-huh,
I love you too, Mom. Bye.

[♪♪♪♪♪]

[news report]:
We are here at Goose Cove

at the gate

of author Harry Quebert's
seafront property,

where the famous writer
was arrested yesterday.

Shit...

...The rumor spreading
among journal...

Here he comes!
Here!

Marcus!

Hey, it's Marcus Goldman!

Did you ever
suspect that--

[horn blares]

Why are you at
Mr. Quebert's house?

Hey, Roth,
get in!

[reporters shouting]

Thank you.

Keep... keep driving.

Step on it. You're late!

I told you to meet me here
half an hour ago.

Time is money.

Mr. Goldman!

How's Harry?

[sighing] He, uh...

He wanted me to, uh--

[blaring horn]
Come on, get outta here!

He wants you to go home

and focus
on your goddamn book.

Oh, and he wanted me to tell you
that he's innocent.

Okay, how's it looking for him?

Not good.

They found a manuscript
of his "Origin of Evil"

buried with the dead girl.

That's insane, man!

And that cannot get out,
under any circumstances.

Well, can you get him
released on bail?

Are you fuckin' nuts?

We're talking about
double homicide!

That's 25 to Life
on each count.

[sighs]
Where are you staying?

'Cause, you know, Harry said
that if you refuse to leave,

which he predicted
you would, because you're--

...a stubborn
son of a bitch, yeah.

...that you could stay here.

But like I told him, I mean,
this is a crime scene now.

Aw, look, they've spawned!

[reporters shout and clamor]

Oh, great,
more jackals!

Holy shit!

[blaring horn]

Come on!

[reporters shouting]

Come on, come on, come on.

Hey, you know this is
private property, right?

Private property!
Do you hear that?

No comment.

Leave him alone!
Leave him alone!

The local boys
really fucked up

by not sealing off
the house,

because now, if they
find anything inside,

we can claim
that they planted it.

Okay, so technically,
I can stay in the house, yes?

Thank you, everybody.
Thank you.

Back off.

Whoa, whoa, whoa!

I'm, uh, supposed to remind you
to feed the seagulls.

Bunch of flying water rats,
if you ask me.

Mr. Roth, can we get
a statement?

Just go home, guys.
Go home.

No comment.
Thank you.

[reporters
shouting and clamoring]

[sighing]

[♪♪♪♪♪]

[♪♪♪♪♪]

I know we're all very excited

about what's been going on
in Washington at the moment.

In the entire history

of the United States
of America,

there has been two reasons

for terminating
a presidential term of office:

criminal wrongdoing,

à la Richard Nixon,

and dying,

but now, a third one
may be added to the list.

Mr. Clinton revived
a failing economy,

governed expertly

with a Republican majority
in the senate,

made Rabin and Arafat
shake hands,

and all anyone will remember

is the Lewinsky affair,

because America,
ladies and gentlemen,

is obsessed with sex
and morality.

Scandal sells.

We pretend to be shocked,
but we love it!

We love it

when someone gets caught
doing something bad, don't we?

Excuse me.

Uh, sorry,

why... why are
blowjobs bad?

[class laughs]

I just, I'm just
personally,

I'm a big fan.
I don't know.

[laughter]

Really, is that so?

Well, my brave young man,
please stand up.

Identify yourself.

[clearing throat] Okay.

Afternoon, um...

My name is Marcus Goldman,

and I stand with the president.

Um... that said,

I do believe
in gender equality,

so I think it's important
to give as well as receive.

I'd like that on the record.

[laughter]

Now, you see?

This poor boy will never
be seen the same way

ever again.

Now every time
we look at this man,

we will see
and think of him

as Mr. Blowjob.

[laughter]

Or would you prefer
Mr. Fellatio?

[laughter]

It's a little
more refined...

Oh, thank you.

Yeah, no, thank you.

Would you like to just
express to the group

why you decided to...
state this?

Uh, because, Professor Quebert,

now that I have
everyone's attention,

I have the pleasure
of informing you all

that I write
very good short stories

that appear
in the literary magazine,

issues of which will be
on sale for only $5.00

after class.

Sorry, we're sold out.

How'd it go?

We almost sold out.

Congratulations.

Thank you.
As they say,

any publicity is
good publicity, right?

And, like, 10 girls

gave me their
phone numbers.

It pays to advertise.

Here, I saved the
last copy for you.

Well, I look forward
to reading it.

Thanks.

I really hope you like
my short story.

You're, um...

Yeah, you're the reason
I'm here, Professor.

You're what
I aspire to be, sir.

Okay.

Uh, it's
gonna be $5.00.

I'm sorry?

For the magazine.

A-ha! [laughs]

Oh, Mr. Goldman,

I have no doubt

that you're going to be
a huge success.

Why, thank you.

[♪♪♪♪♪]

Whatever
happened to

innocent until
proven guilty?

I can't just
leave it there.

The whole thing
makes me wanna puke.

Oh, shit.

Go back
to New York, Marcus.

Stay far away
from all this.

Does that mean
you won't serve me

your famous
pancakes and sausage?

You better leave
one hell of a tip.

Yeah.

I, uh... saw you
on TV last night.

Oh yeah?

Are you, uh...

you moving here?

Yeah.

Yeah, maybe.

How come?

I can't believe he did that.

It's unthinkable.

Well, you don't think
he actually killed her, do you?

She was...

She...

She used to come
into the library after school.

Such a sweet girl.

I can't believe how many times
I sat on the deck

having a scotch with Harry,

and all the time,
the body of that poor girl...

Marcus!

Good to see you.

Hi, Travis.

Uh, may I?

Please, yeah.

[Jenny]:
Here you go.

[Travis]:
I'm, uh...

I'm sorry, son.

I know you're
very close to Harry.

This can't be easy for you.

How come I never heard
of Nola Kellergan before,

all the time
I've been coming here?

Until we found
her corpse,

it was all
ancient history,

the kind that people
don't like to remember.

Well, you were
on the force then, right?

Yeah...

and, uh, Mrs. Cooper
used to call us a lot back then

about something or other
prowling around her place.

She'd get spooked

living in such an
isolated part of town.

Now, I'd only been on the job
for less than a year

the night she called.

You know, a real rookie.

I was the only officer
on patrol in Sommerdale

at the time,

so I went to her house
immediately.

I'm glad
you're here.

What's going on?

[Travis]: Now, she said
that she'd seen a young girl

wearing a red dress

being chased by a man
into the forest,

so, you know,

I searched the area
where she'd seen the girl,

and I found a torn scrap
of red fabric.

So I called Chief Pratt,

who was Sommerdale's
Chief of Police at the time.

He'd just gone off duty,
but he came right away.

Come with me.

I saw blood,
blonde hair...

It was getting dark.

We found strands
of blonde hair,

another piece of the red dress,

and traces of blood.

[gunshot]

Then, suddenly,
we hear a gunshot

coming from
Mrs. Cooper's house.

Afterwards, we found out

that Mrs. Cooper had
called the station again

while we were in the forest

to say that the girl
she'd seen earlier

had come to her house
to take refuge.

She was covered in blood
and needed help,

so all available units
from the area were called in

to assist in the search.

We'd have dug up
the whole countryside

if we could've,
but, you know,

we hit one dead end
after another.

After a while, the bigwigs
in the state police said

it was all costing too much,

and felt that continuing
the search was pointless, so...

This is insane.

But you guys,
you guys know Harry.

He couldn't have done
something like this.

If I've learned
one thing as a cop,

it's that you never know
what people are capable of.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can't
answer that at this time.

Let's see how
the investigation unfolds.

Why would I tell you
my strategy?

Quebert's manuscript was
found with the body...

The manuscript
doesn't prove a thing!

Writing isn't killing!
Write that down.

Even your writing.

Excuse me, guys.
Sorry.

[reporters clamor and shout]

-I... I...
-No comment! No comment!

He's got no comment!

Thank you,
ladies and gentlemen!

Thank you!

Now, listen to me!

I got two words for you:
"Shut the fuck up!"

The slightest thing
you say can...

can be used against us

and ruin my defense.

What is
your defense?

Deny, deny, deny!
[door buzzes open]

The relationship,

the kidnappings, the murder.

It's all circumstantial.

We're gonna plead not guilty,

Harry's gonna get acquitted,

and I'm gonna counter-sue
for millions of dollars.

Yup?

Thanks, man.

Talk to the nice
townsfolk.

Those hicks are
potential witnesses.

Find out who's got
a drinking problem,

who beats his wife,
who owes money,

because a witness
who drinks

or beats his wife

is not
a credible witness.

Find all the dirt
you can.

[cell phone vibrating]

A bit of a despicable
approach,

don't you think?

You want your best friend
to go free?

[cell phone vibrating]

Roth. Go.

[woman]: CNN called.

Holy shit...

Oh, my God.

Hey, we're gonna
get you out of here.

Okay?

Yeah, it's just...

Don't show it to Roth.

Yeah.

It's going to be
okay, Harry, okay?

Well, I've been
watching the news.

I know what they're saying.

My career is over,
my life is over.

It's the big fall.
I am falling.

Yeah, well, you know,
a wise man once told me

that you should never
be afraid of falling.

Yeah, not so wise
after all,

but thank you for coming.

Yeah, of course,
of course.

I'm staying
at Goose Cove.

Right?
I fed the seagulls.

You should go back to New York.

Look, Roth is gonna
get you off, okay?

But until he does,

I'm gonna stay and do
whatever I can to help.

What about your novel?

Don't worry
about the novel.

Listen, what you said
on the phone when you called me?

You asked
what you had done to Nola.

You said it was
your fault.

Yeah, well, it was just
the emotion, and...

and you were the only one
who knew about Nola, so I...

All right, look, a lot of...
a lot of rage,

and innuendo,

but... no hard evidence

that directly implicates you
in the girl's murder.

Yet.

I don't like
surprises.

Is there anything
that you haven't told me

about you and Nola?

Because I need
to know everything

if I'm gonna
represent you properly.

Mm-hmm.

The police asked me
what I was doing

the evening of... August 30th.

I told them
I was out of town,

I was in Boston.

I wasn't.

I was in a motel
off of Shore Road,

the By the Sea Motel.

By 9:00,
she hadn't arrived.

That was unlike her,

because she was
always on time.

[Nola's voice]:
"Room 8 at 8:00.

Then away forever.

Love, N."

I don't know what time
I fell asleep waiting for her,

but I woke up to the radio,

and that's when I...

I found out she was missing.

She was wearing her red dress.

She wore that for me.

It was her favorite dress.

[radio announcer]:
Good morning! It's 6:30,

and the forecast is sunny
for this Sunday, August 31st.

And now, an urgent report.

[news reporter]:
Police issued a general alert

in the Sommerdale region

after the disappearance
of 15-year-old Nola Kellergan

yesterday evening
around 7:00 p.m.

Police would like to hear
from anyone

with information about
the girl's whereabouts.

At the time she disappeared,

Nola Kellergan
was wearing a red dress.

So, you were meeting.

You were meeting to...

We were gonna leave town.

Okay...

and that's why

you said it was
your fault?

Mm-hmm.

I know
how it looks,

but I didn't
kill Nola.

I loved her,

and if I hadn't
have asked her

to meet me
at that motel,

she might still
be alive today.

I don't think
you get it.

It's a fucking disaster.

If the prosecution
gets hold of this,

Harry is screwed.

Ah, shit...

[Marcus reads]: "On my desk,
there's a porcelain pot.

Inside is a key to my locker
at the gym in Montburry,

203.

Everything is in there.

Burn it all.

I'm in danger."

It's "The Origin of Evil."

It's Harry's
original manuscript.

Holy cow...

[match strikes]

[Marcus]: I knew
what I was doing was illegal,

that by burning all this
incriminating evidence,

I was suddenly an accomplice.

But I also knew Harry,

and he was my teacher,
my mentor.

He was my friend,

and I had to help him.

There was no way
he could have done

what he was accused of doing.

Then,

as I watched the flames
turn paper to ash,

a chilling thought
crept over me...

What if I was wrong?

Was I in danger myself?

[♪♪♪♪♪]