All language subtitles for Maigret.2025.S01E03.WEB-DLx264-JiVE

♪ ♪

Our daughter's missing.

Call Chief Inspector Maigret.

FUMAL:
The girl you can't find.

You must be as bad a detective

as your father was
at running an estate.

MAIGRET:
He and I grew up
in the same village.

He wants to renew an old grudge.

Fumal has been receiving
death threats.

I would like you
to investigate them.

Fumal has an instinct
for people's weaknesses.

Next time, be more careful.

Where are you going?

To find out who wants
to kill a billionaire.

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

(thunder claps)

(whimpers)

(click)

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

(siren blaring in distance)

(door opens offscreen)

Mass is in 15 minutes.

(strikes match)

♪ ♪

(leaves rustling)

(breathing shakily)

♪ ♪

(insects chirping)

(laughter, chatter)

♪ ♪

WOMAN: Not out here.
MAN: Come on.

(indistinct chatter)

(sighs)

(phone rings)

CELINE (over phone):
Yes?

CELINE:
Now?

Then I'll wake Felix.

Yes, sir.

(indistinct chatter
in background)

(clattering)

(chatter, laughter)

(chatter, laughter)

Hurry up!

(drops phone)

Clean up and go.

Celine.
Mm?

To that loser Roger Gaillardin.

(sniffs)

The midnight
deadline has passed.

My offer will now go down
by five million euros

every 24 hours.

(phone vibrating)

(silverware clatters)

Sir?

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

(silverware clinking)

(paper rustling)

(giggles)

(mugs clink)

Dr. Klein confirmed tomorrow
morning.

You'll be there?

To see the heartbeat?

(muffled):
I would not miss it
for the world.

Mm.

Mm.

(phone vibrating)

Yes, Lucas.
LUCAS (over phone):
Are you near a TV, boss?

Do I have to be?

Yes, a reporter
ambushed Layla's parents,

they're talking.

REPORTER (on television):
How worried are you for Layla?

CHARLES (on television):
Worried? W-well,

she's been missing
for more than three days.

REPORTER:
Do the police have any leads?

MARIE (on television):
No, I mean,

they're working hard but
it's just another job for them.

they're working hard but
it's just another job for them.

For us, our whole world's been
ripped apart. Our baby's gone.

REPORTER: What more would
you like to see being done?

CHARLES: The police are doing
the best they can,

but Layla's brought joy
to so many people,

if anyone knows anything

or has seen anything,

please, just tell us,
or tell the police.

LUCAS (over phone):
Christ, we're going to be
swamped.

Please call Chief Inspector
Maigret

at the Police Judiciaire

or leave a message on
our "Where Is Layla?"

Facebook page that we've set up,

and we'll pass on the message
to the police.

CHARLES:
We need your help.

Thank you.

LUCAS:
Janvier is already outside.

You still don't
know what happened?

No.

Are you worried?

Yes.

♪ ♪

(door opens and shuts)

NEWSREADER (on television):
The disappearance of influencer
Layla Lyonnet

The police have no leads.

So the mystery deepens,
as do the fears of her parents

and her thousands of fans.

VICTOR:
Chief Inspector Maigret.

My boss wants to talk to you.

How did you know where I live?

If Monsieur Fumal wants someone,

he finds them.

Tell him to find his local
police station and talk to them.

What was that about?

(engine starts)

(tires screech)

(indistinct animated chatter)

JANVIER (sighs):
Layla fans.

Can I run a couple of them over?

(chuckles)
Not today.

(horn honks,
indistinct chatter continues)

(phones ringing)

ISABELLE:
It's all over her Instagram,

where she goes to write poetry--
in the Bois de Boulogne?

What idiot let them in here?

ISABELLE:
Don't just type, go there.

Yeah, just by the border.

I have your number. Thank you.

Someone saw Layla near
the Spanish border last night.

Twentieth tip this morning.
(phone rings)

Let it go to voice mail.

Lapointe, Cavre, over here--
Torrence, you too.

We've got all we need.

Come here--
he's gonna see you out.

Let's go through
what we know so far.

Relationships
outside the family?

LUCAS:
No boyfriend,

no girlfriend, no close friends.

In her latest video
she was advocating celibacy.

Oh, welcome to the club.
That's a surprise.

What about
relationships at work?

Same picture.
She doesn't have any.

"Work" is just her
and her phones.

Mum and dad
handle the business side.

So unfortunately mum
and dad are right:

she's been missing three days,
we don't have a single lead.

CAVRE:
No, we have dozens of leads.

By the end of the day, we're
gonna have hundreds of leads.

We don't have the manpower
to follow them all up.

She could be kidnapped,
she could be murdered...

She could be kidnapped,
she could be murdered...

LAPOINTE:
Or she could be faking it.

Layla was a mid-range influencer
with about 600,000 followers

but she was losing followers
and sponsors.

Now, however, the
"Where Is Layla?" Facebook page

her parents set up has had
over a million hits.

So this is
just a publicity stunt?

MAIGRET:
No, as far as we're concerned,

she's still a missing kid,

and we'll put everything
we have into finding her.

(footsteps approaching)

Madame prosecutor,
we've got no news as yet,

and the fact that Layla's
parents have decided

to go public...
KERNAVEL: I'm sorry,
I'm not here about Layla.

Can you come with me,
Chief Inspector?

(phone ringing)

Put all calls
through to voicemail,

go through them
at the end of the day.

Get back out there,
go to all the places where Layla

was last seen, ask questions.
We've done that.

Then we do it again!

What did she say?
What was her appearance?

What was her mood?

Lapointe, look at the parents.

Uh... wh-What do you mean?

What do you mean
"what do I mean"?

You're the one who suggested
it might be a put-up job.

Look at them.

♪ ♪

KERNAVEL:
Minister.
Chief Inspector Maigret.

Chief Inspector.

Give me two minutes.

I apologize for pulling
you away from your work.

Mathilde says
you have your hands full

with this influencer girl.

We do.

Monsieur Fumal called me.

He said he tried to
talk to you this morning.

His driver did. Who is he?

The owner of Fumal.co,
the retail billionaire.

Surely you've heard of him.

I'm not a big shopper.

Fumal has been
receiving death threats.

I would like you
to investigate them.

My unit doesn't investigate
threats, Madame Minister.

If he gets killed,

then we'll investigate.

Maigret,
this is not how you speak...

Mathilde.
It's all right.

Fumal has many friends
in the media.

If these threats turn out
to be real, or God forbid,

are acted on, a vast amount

of government and police time

will have to be spent
investigating them.

I'm asking you
to nip that in the bud.

Find out what's going on.

Fumal is a bully.

Mathilde tells me
you can't be bullied.

I'm asking you,
as a personal favor,

go and see him.
(phone chimes)

I don't need to.

He's just showed up
at my office.

Minister.

♪ ♪

(indistinct chatter,
phones ringing)

(elevator chimes)

I'll deal with it.

Even scruffier than you
used to be.

Fumal.

Ferdinand Fumal.

Correct.

Or, as you used to call me,
Fatty Fumal, oink-oink.

Hm, the butcher's son
from Saint-Fiacre,

and you,
the estate manager's son.

Well, look at me now and...

look at you.

And, uh,

the girl you can't find.

Did the minister
give you an earful?

She told me
to speak to you.

Did she tell you who I was?

Some sort of businessman.

Some sort!

I have revolutionized
food retail

in France,
I have built an empire...

Getting death threats?

Yes. Messages.

"I'm going to cut you up."

"You're going to die."

You don't know
who's sending them?
No.

Does anyone bear you a grudge

right now?
Roger Gaillardin.

I'm buying his business,
and he hates me.

What, enough to want
to kill you?

Well, he's weak.
He could be desperate.

I'll need to see the messages,

take a look around your home and
offices, interview your staff.

I have dozens of offices

and thousands of staff,

but my headquarters
is at my home

at 219 Rue de Courcelles.

I'll tell my secretary
you're coming.

Do you have family?

A wife.
Children?

No children.

Same as you.

Do you have lovers,
a mistress?

None of your business.

You came to me,
it is my business.
She isn't.

Talk to my secretary, Celine.

You'll like her.

Most men do.

See you later, Jules.

What are you, a geisha?

Rude.
(scoffs)

Boss, you can't get
involved with this jerk,

we're already swamped.
No choice.

Tell Gaillardin we want
to speak to him, don't say why.

W-where are you going?

A bar. Then Rue de Courcelles.

Thanks.

(panting in flashback)

MAIGRET (voiceover):
Fumal.

Ferdinand Fumal.

FUMAL (voiceover):
Or as you used to call me,
Fatty Fumal.

FUMAL (voiceover):
Or as you used to call me,
Fatty Fumal.

(children laughing,
Fumal panting)

BOYS: Oink, oink!
(making snorting sounds)

Oink, oink, oink.

Come on, guys, let's leave him!

BOY:
He'll come
down when he's hungry.

(boys snorting, laughing)

(boys taunting)
Bye-bye!

(rope snaps,
young Fumal screams)

(groans)

(grunts)

JANVIER (voiceover):
Boss?

Look, sorry
to interrupt your busy day,

but we might
have something on Layla.

Her spinning class
was cancelled

three days ago,
because the instructor,

Marcus Desailly,
stopped turning up.

That's Marcus.

A couple of people in
the class said that he used

to pay a lot of
attention to Layla--

flirting, touching,
borderline inappropriate.

They also say
that his cellphone number

went dead three days ago,

the same day Layla disappeared.

(phone vibrates)

(exhales)

Lapointe.
Found where Marcus lives.

What on earth are you doing?

Concierge
wouldn't give me the key,

didn't believe I was a cop,

even said my ID was fake, so...

Initiative. I like it.
Clever little Lapointe.

He's a musician.
Paris Conservatoire.

Toothbrush and shaving stuff
have gone.

Bed hasn't been slept in.

Anything that might belong
to Layla?

LAPOINTE:
What, like a fetish?

No, like she was here.

Actually, I could be
right about the fetish.

Marcus's screensaver was Layla

and his password
is her date of birth.

And this is his photo album...

(clicking)

He was stalking her.

MAIGRET:
Posted yesterday, arrived today.

Opened.

So he was here today.
Or someone was.

(phone camera clicks)

We should get out,
put a watch on the place.

(keys jangling)

Boss? Shall we do that?

Yes.

Good idea.

Where are you going?

To find out who wants
to kill a billionaire.

(door opens)

♪ ♪

(doorbell ringing)

(keys jangling)

I know who you are.

This way.

(shuts and locks gate)

♪ ♪

I am Celine Bourges,

personal secretary
to Monsieur Fumal.

Death threats:
"You're going to die"

"I'm going to cut you up."

Oh, I left out "bastard,"
"fat ass."

We checked with
our service provider.

The messages came
from pre-paid burner phones.

You can't identify the sender.

Nonetheless,
I would like the numbers.

You have them.

How many staff live here?

Ah... myself, Victor--
who's Fumal's driver,

Joseph Goldman,
his business manager,

Noemi-- Madame Fumal's maid--
Felix, the chef.

Do you always wear that coat?

In this heat?

How many years have
you worked for Fumal?

Five years.

Is he a good boss?

He's an appalling boss.

How is he appalling?
The usual ways,

plus a few of his own.

Has he abused you?

He once made me strip
in front of him.

Why?

He accused me of stealing money

from his safe in his office.

I denied it;
he made me strip to prove it.

You could have refused.

Could have quit.

(scoffs)
What, and lose my nice job,

my nice apartment, my...

You don't like Fumal.

(sardonic chuckle)
Nobody likes him.

Except perhaps his mistress.

Who's his mistress?
I was told

not to say,

so I won't.

Otherwise, you'll lose your nice
job, your nice apartment,

and your boyfriend,
Felix the chef?

Oh, you're good.

I, um, blush
when I'm caught out.

Also when I lie,

which is kind of annoying.

(pouring water)

Does Fumal
know about you and Felix?

(sighs)
Probably.

He collects secrets.

Who do you think
is threatening him?

(scoffs)

Anyone he's ever done
business with.

For Monsieur Fumal,
a deal is only a success

when the other side is
left weeping in the gutter.

Does that include
Roger Gaillardin?

I don't know.

You're the detective.

Look, is there anything else?

I mean, this is fun,
but I do have work to do.

I would like
to talk to Madame Fumal.

I would like
to talk to Madame Fumal.

Well, it's a bit early.

(sighs)

Follow me.

(door closes)

Noemi, uh, this is

Chief Inspector Maigret.

He'd like to speak
with Madame Fumal.

She has only just had breakfast.

Is she dressed?

Breakfast of champions.

(laughs softly)

(knocks on door)

(door opens)

What is it now, Noemi?

My name is Maigret.

Chief Inspector.
Brigade Criminelle.

Has, uh, someone killed him?

No.

Someone has sent messages
threatening to kill him.

(uncaps liquor bottle)

You don't share
a bedroom with your husband?

I don't share anything
with my husband.

Why did you marry him?

Because I was
in love with him.

♪ ♪

You don't want to hear this.

I do.

If you're willing to tell me.

My father owned
a chain of butcher shops

in Brittany that Fumal wanted.

He was... courting me
at the same time.

Yeah, he was rich.

(exhales)
And charming.

I was young and pretty.

I thought he loved me.

But he was buying me.

Like I was another shop.

(ice rattling)

My father encouraged the match.

Uh-huh.

He said it would keep us
together.

But in less than a year,
Fumal had sold the shops,

fired the staff, and, uh,
put the whole business online.

My father came here to protest.

I heard them arguing
in the office.

Fumal said that my
father was a weakling,

that... he had

taken his business and his
daughter at a knock-down price,

and he had never even
put up a fight.

Then he got his thug
Victor to throw him out.

Two weeks later,
my father had a heart attack.

I'm sorry.

Why did you stay?

He threatened to cut me
off without a penny,

and, uh,
stop paying for the care

that my father now needs.

You know, I am like
everybody else in this house.

I'm trapped by his money.

And by fear.

VICTOR:
(clears throat)

Monsieur Fumal

has got another message.

♪ ♪

(keyboard clacking)

Look.

Look!

"Your cops won't save you,
fat man."

FUMAL:
They know about you,
so they must be watching.

Do you know who it is yet?

Maigret! I'm talking to you!

Were the messages
sent from the same number?

GOLDMAN:
No.

It was another
pre-paid burner phone.

Joseph Goldman, Monsieur Fumal's
business manager.

MAIGRET:
Can I have the number?

(sighs)

Okay, Goldilocks, get out.

You too, creeping Jesus.

I want to have a heart-to-heart
with my childhood friend.

What are you doing?

Sending the number
to our crime lab.

(scoffs)

It's gotta be someone here.

I know they hate me.

They lie to my face
and they steal behind my back.

Do you know that,
Ferdinand?

For a fact?

I know they look down
their nose at me,

because I came from nothing
and now I have everything.

Do I know they steal?

Well, Goldman insider trades

on the back of every one
of my deals.

Celine has been nicking
petty cash for years.

She has 5,000 euros
rolled up in the left toe

of her Bottega Veneta boots
in her closet--

saving up so her
and her boyfriend Felix

can buy a bar in Gien.

Felix over-orders
for the kitchen,

then flogs the surplus
to local restaurants.

My lovely wife
is drunk all day

and entertains her
gentleman friend all night.

You didn't find any of this out?

You must be
as bad a detective

as your father was
at running an estate.

He was good at his job.

He was terrible.

He was about to be fired

when he had his stroke.

Saved everyone
a lot of embarrassment.

Strange,

how our childhood idols fail us
when we learn the truth.

The Countess de Saint-Fiacre,
for example.

Or Sophie,
as she insists I call her.

Yeah, we're friends.

But the stories
I've heard about her.

(whistles)

Dear, oh dear.

You had a crush on her,
didn't you?

(laughs)

I remember how
she used to call--

"Jules!

Jules!"
And you'd come running.

"Jules!

Jules..."

I don't need you,
you creep, get out.

I'm not scared of
this great lunk.

(small chuckle)

What are you doing?

Making a call.

Lucas.

Get Inspector Cavre
to Fumal's.

He's to stay here
until I say otherwise.

What about Roger Gaillardin?

Have you
checked him out yet?

Okay.

Meet me there.

Gaillardin's a criminal.

Should've been
locked up years ago,

and I can prove it.

One of my detectives
will be here soon.

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

Any news on Layla's
spinning instructor, Marcus?

No.
Parents know nothing,

No.
Parents know nothing,

Friends know nothing.

He's vanished into
the same black hole she has.

We are looking.

(voiceover):
Monsieur Gaillardin--

have you been sending
death threats

to Ferdinand Fumal, sir?

I'm sorry,
I beg your pardon?

Death threats.
Texts.

"You're going to die."

"I'm going to cut you up."

(scoffs)
No, I haven't.

Do you dislike Monsieur Fumal?

Yes, he's a vile human being.

He said you were a criminal.

Of course he did.

He insults me,

he bribes,
blackmails my board,

bullies my suppliers,
and feeds gossip to the media.

My share price has halved
in less than six months.

So why did he say
you were a criminal?

I don't need to explain
his disgusting slanders,

not to you or anyone.

I didn't threaten him.

If I'd wanted him dead,
I wouldn't send messages,

I'd just walk up to him
and shoot him in the face.

♪ ♪

Thank you for talking to us.

♪ ♪

(door opens)

(door closes)

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

(muffled chatter)

LAYLA:
...solidify and might
block your drains.

So, either use a tissue
or a kitchen towel

and put it in the bin.
This is my favorite brand.

(clicks)

I'm doing detective work
for you.

Layla.
This is when
she broke through,

age seven...

...lip-synching to some of her
favorite artists.

(vocalist on computer):
♪ ...getting down tonight ♪

♪ Call my girls,
all my sisters get right ♪

So full of joy.
♪ Get your high heels on ♪

♪ And your
little black dress... ♪
No wonder people loved her.

♪ 'Cause you're gonna
impress tonight ♪

♪ We only drink champagne,
that's right... ♪

(clicks)
Then, the brands moved in.

Still lovely,
still innocent.

Next comes sex.

More pout, less smile,

but she's still in control,
still enjoying herself.

But then there's this.

(clicks)

On the fan sites,
they call it the dark post.

It was made two months ago,

and it was deleted less than
a minute after it was recorded,

but a couple of people
managed to save it.

(clicks)
Hey, guys.

(clicks)
Hey, guys.

I just wanted to say

that only you can judge you.

Don't be afraid to stand up,

don't be afraid to be alone.

Love will find you.

Love is waiting.

(clicks)

Life really wasn't fun anymore.

Like she was trapped

being watched all the time,

and judged.

Well, she was being watched.

By her spinning instructor.

Marcus.

Looks like he was stalking her.

Are there more
photographs like this?

Lots.

Actually like this?
Oh, yes. Why?

Seems kind of innocent.

(phone rings)

(ringing stops)

Moers.

He what?

Are you sure?

Okay, okay.

I'm on my way.

♪ ♪

(knocking)
Show me.

Hello to you, too.

(beeping)

I analyzed the cell data

from the two numbers used
to send the messages.

I also got the...

...locations
they were sent from.

I suspect that,
as I will soon demonstrate,

the user did not know
that even burner phones

can now have GPS,
which reveals their location.

The first threat
was sent four days ago.

The second, the next day.

But, in the same time span...
(clicks)

three longer messages:

To a journalist's Twitter feed,

a online gossip column,

a restaurant critic.

All anonymous,

either attacking
Roger Gaillardin

or praising Ferdinand Fumal.

"Gaillardin has been
a total disaster as C.E.O.

The board should welcome
Fumal with open arms."

That pattern continues.

Anonymous threats
against Fumal,

anonymous texts
praising Fumal,

attacking Gaillardin.

(clicking)

It's weird, but
it doesn't necessarily...

Then you add the third factor.

I used Fumal's own phone

to track where he's been
for the last four days.

All the same places.

♪ ♪

What, he sent himself
the death threats?

Thank you, Moers.

♪ ♪

(birds chirping)

GOLDMAN:
Your former colleagues
supply the manpower,

former clients and contacts
the threat intelligence...

FUMAL:
And you have the makings

of a highly profitable
private security company.

And you'd provide
the funding for this?

Oh, yes.
Seriously?

(sighs)

Well, well,

the great detective.

A glass of wine,
Chief Inspector?

No.
You sure?

Cavre says you've usually
had a couple by now.

I have some information.

I'd rather tell you privately.

(scoffs)
Why?

Is Goldman trying to kill me?

(laughs)
He hasn't got the balls.

Well, come on then.

Spit it out.

Our technicians have
analyzed the phone numbers

used to send the threats.

They have
99% degree of certainty

that you sent them yourself.

That's rubbish.

Read the analysis.

In my opinion,

there is no threat to you
at this time,

and I am withdrawing
my team from your case.

Go on then, piss off.

You too,
you little sponger.

Hey, he begged us to set him up

with a private security company.
He suggested it.

Come on, Cavre.

Hey, before you
scuttle off,

do you know what
I'm gonna do next?

I'm buying Saint-Fiacre.

The chateau.
I made the countess an offer.

She didn't like it,
but she'll take it.

She's up to her ears in debt.

The butcher's boy,
owner of Saint-Fiacre.

Maybe they'll
even make me a count.

Why did you
ask for me, Fumal?

I saw you on TV,

because of the girl
you can't find,

so I wanted to see

if you were
as good as they say--

or if, as your loyal

subordinate says,

you've been promoted
too far, too fast.

That's not
the real reason, is it?

No.
No, it's not.

I wanted to see
if you were still

the smug little hypocrite
you were back then.

Hypocrite?

Pretending to be my friend

and laughing at me
up your sleeve.

You were even worse
than the others.

I despised you then,

I despise you now.

Get out!

Go on.

♪ ♪

Fumal has an instinct
for people's weaknesses.

(sighs)

You let him find yours
and use it.

Next time, be more careful.

Er...

I'm sorry.

(phone vibrating)

Yes, Janvier.

JANVIER (on phone):
Boss, two of Layla's fans

just broke into
Marcus's apartment.

Layla's amateur sleuths.

Managed to grab
the little bastards.

How did they get in?

How did they get in?

Same way we did.

Asked questions at
Layla's exercise class.

MAIGRET:
I thought the plan was
you and Lapointe

would keep watch.
We were.

Apartment across there.

They were too quick--

pulled up in an Uber
and ran in,

bust down the door
before we could stop them.

Trashed the place.

MAIGRET:
Hope we're not
interrupting you, Lapointe.

LAPOINTE:
I'm just checking the
"Where Is Layla?" Facebook page.

Yep.

Marcus is on it,
and his apartment.

Plus, there's a thread:

"Why didn't the cops come clean

about Marcus Desailly?'

This is
out of control, boss.

What if one of these
hormonal wackos

gets to Marcus before we do?

(phone vibrating)

Madame prosecutor.

I did.

I will.

Right, seal this place.
Priority is Marcus.

We have to find him
before someone else does.

(quietly):
Okay.

♪ ♪

It's fine.

It's not a problem,
he's with me.

(indistinct chatter,
classical music playing)

Fumal.

What do you have to say?

What did he tell you?

Many things.

Mainly that you were rude,
incompetent,

and out of your depth.

And you didn't even find out
who was threatening him.

Oh, so that's one thing
he didn't tell you.

What?

He sent himself
the death threats.

Why, for God's sake?

Because he thinks
everyone is out to get him

and he wanted
police protection.

You mean this was
just paranoia?

Partly paranoia.
There is another reason.

He and I grew up
in the same village.

He wanted to renew
an old grudge.

Didn't you think it odd that of
all the detectives at La Crim

he asked for me?

And there's a third reason.

He wanted to show
he had power over you.

What that is and why,
I don't know and I don't care,

but I know
he collects secrets.

That's how
he does business.

Now, Layla Lyonnet
has been missing

nearly four days.

I don't want to waste
another minute on Fumal.

Wait.
Is Fumal in danger?

Only in his imagination.

KERNAVEL:
You can trust him,

Minister.

All right.

Thank you,
Maigret.

I need your help
with the Layla case.

♪ ♪

(overlapping):
It's the police!

Have you found her?

Inspector,
have you found her yet?

Inspector!
Do you have any leads?

Have you found Layla?

(clamoring, crosstalk)

Madame Lyonnet,
Prosecutor Kernavel.

Come in, please.

Monsieur Lyonnet.

Have a seat.

Have you got any news for us?

I hoped I would have news,

but due to the behavior
of some of Layla's fans,

police surveillance of a suspect
was disrupted, and...

police surveillance of a suspect
was disrupted, and...

Then Marcus Desailly
is a suspect?

We're keen to talk to him,

to find out what he knows
about Layla.

What do you mean,
what he knows?

He knows everything.
He was stalking her.

Possibly.

But because of the fans,
his name and face

were all over social media,
including your Facebook page.

So finding him will be
infinitely harder.

I'm sorry about that,
but her fans are upset.

We're upset.

Our daugh...

our daughter's missing,

and the police
are doing nothing.

KERNAVEL:
They identified Marcus,
didn't they?

CHARLES:
Yeah, okay.

Is that all you've come for,

to complain
about Layla's fans?

No, I would like you
to call them off.

What, like they're dogs?

They're people.

They care about her.

And if we don't "call them off,"
what are you going to do?

KERNAVEL:
I would very

reluctantly prosecute you

for obstructing
a police investigation.

(sniffles)

We...

We've lost our daughter

and you're threatening us?

You're unbelievable.

(sobbing)

CHARLES:
No, don't touch that!

(phone chimes)

You've no right to do that.

To stop you filming us
without our consent?

We absolutely do.

I'm serious,
call off the fans.

(phone beeps)

Do you know what
the worst case scenario is?

Yeah, we sue you.

The worst case scenario
is Layla has been kidnapped,

and this publicity
makes the kidnapper panic.

That's when kidnaps go wrong,

when we recover the victim
not living but dead.

Please.

Do what Prosecutor Kernavel
is asking.

Call the fans off.

(vocalist on computer):
♪ Tonight we comin' through ♪

♪ Hangin' with my crew ♪

♪ What you wanna do... ♪
(phone ringing)

♪ Sexy ladies... ♪
(stops video)
(ringing continues)

(indistinct chatter)

(phone vibrating)

Hey.

LOUISE (on phone):
Hey. Someone just called
for you--

The countess?

The countess.

You'd better call her back.
Do you want her number?

Please.

♪ ♪

Jules.

Sophie.

You've grown up.
Er, it happens.

(laughs)

(laughs)

Two Calvados, please.

We'll drink to the memory
of your father.

He and I would always have
a Calvados together

when we went through
the estate accounts.

Perhaps that's why they were
always so confused.

No...

Jules, I'm joking!

Your father was
always scrupulous.

But, seriously,

how many years is it since
we last met, 20 years?

Nearly 20 years.

It's too long.

And in all that time,

you've never been back
to Saint-Fiacre?

No.

(waiter approaching)

Thank you.

(glasses clink)

Your wife sounds nice.

Do you have children?

Not yet.

Though we've just
learned she's pregnant, so...

Well, that's wonderful news.

Now we really do have
something to drink to,

not just old times.

To your firstborn.

(clinking)

I wish my son would
settle down and get married.

You remember Maurice?

Of course.

Why are we meeting here?

And not at your apartment?

Well, you are
the detective.

We're here...

because I'm selling
the Paris apartment.

It's all packing cases
and empty spaces on the wall

where the paintings
used to hang.

Ferdinand Fumal.

He's why you wanted
to see me.

Yes.

(glass thuds)

He's trying to buy
Saint-Fiacre.

You knew?

I worked with him, briefly.

He told me.

When I say trying to buy,

it's more like
forcing me to sell,

and offering me
an insultingly low price.

He said you were in debt.

(scoffs)

The things people tell
policemen.

Did he also tell you

he's blackmailing me?

It's how
he does his deals.

He looks for weaknesses.

Well, he's found mine.

I was not a saint

after my husband died.

Some of my ex-lovers

have evidence
of my wild years.

And Fumal?

Well, he's willing to buy it.

For myself?

I don't give a damn,
but when...

I think about Maurice...

and the Saint-Fiacre name

dragged through the mud
by this bully?

(exclaims, sucks in breath)
(bracelets jangling)

Sophie?

(gasps)
Are you all right?

I'm fine now.

What I don't understand

What I don't understand

is how he gets away
with this behavior.

How he can harass
and bribe and blackmail.

What do you want me to do?

Stop him.

Are you asking me as police?

I'm asking you as a man.

♪ ♪

(clears throat)

(clears throat again)

(keypad beeping)

Come to beg, have you?

The answer's still no.

(gun clicks)

(gunshots firing)

(exhales)

(breathing shakily)

(sighs)

(dog barking in distance)

(traffic thrumming in distance)

(sighs)

What did your countess want?

My help.

Did you help?

No.

Big day tomorrow.

The heartbeat.

♪ ♪

(breathing deeply)

(panting)

(clock ticking)

♪ ♪

(breathing deeply)

♪ ♪

(phone ringing)

(phone beeps)

(whispering):
Lucas?

LUCAS (on phone):
Boss, the police were called

to Fumal's house an hour ago.

He's been shot.

♪ ♪

(click)

♪ ♪

At least three gunshots,
and none of you heard anything?

Lies.
That house is full of lies.

I trusted you.

You're doing everything
you can.

Where were you last night?

Are you serious?

MAIGRET:
You're like a jackal--

let others do the killing
and wait for the scraps.

(grunts)

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

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♪ ♪