All language subtitles for Intrigo.Death.of.an.Author.2018.720p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-NTG_Track03

The people of the world are more or less the same.

Though we may come in different shapes and colors,

we all share
the same inheritance,

and we all have
our back stories,

and our secrets.

Like this man,
let's call him Henry,

trying to find his way on a remote Greek island.

Even though evolution might seem to mature us,

there are still parts of our brain that belong to our reptile ancestors.

Although we've convinced
ourselves that hate,

revenge and nemesis
belong to the past,

our ancient ancestors' blood still runs in our veins,

whether we like it or not.

Hello?

Hello?

Henry Maertens?

Mr. Henderson.

It's Alex.

You found the way... obviously.

Thank you very much.

Oh, uh, perhaps
you'd prefer a cold drink?

No, no, no. Tea will do nicely.Thank you very much.

A lighthouse?
It's quite something.

I like to guide people.

If they get too close,
I turn the light off.

I prefer the solitude.
I hate neighbors.

Some say I hate people
and that's...

bloody true.

Then this must bethe perfect spot.

Exactly.

And all of this is mine.

And the olive grove
behind us.

Some of the trees are
500 years old.

They were here when
Columbus discovered America.

And there's a small chapel
on the other side,
which is also mine.

That's where I'm going
to be buried...

when that day comes.

So, my publisher
forwarded your letter.

I can't remember
what you wrote,

but I assume
you wanted to know how
to become a writer.

Actually, no.

It's--

It's actually more aboutthe story.

The book I'm writing,if it's any good

or interesting enough.

There are parallels to Gilliam's Temptation in a way.

I haven't read it
since I wrote it.

Sure, sure, sure, sure.
Since you've come
all this way.

It's about this couple...

David and Eva.

About their relationship,you could say.

David is a writer,a rather successful one.

And Eva isa high school teacher,no children.

You're not gonna read
the whole book?

Just bits and pieces,so you get a feelingfor the story.

Get on with it.

They lefton the 15th of August,

traveling in the car together,just the two of them.

David felt he really loved her.

They had been married
for almost eight years.

Of course,they had their difficulties,

but he'd never felt it
so strongly before.

In the midst of this euphoric feeling, there was a dissonance.

As if one of the strings
in a chord was slightly
out of tune.

It's difficult to pinpoint more precisely where that feeling originated.

But he seemed to have discovered a streak in his wife that he'd never noticed before.

Whether the actual change was in her or in him, he couldn't tell.

-Shall I switch on the radio?-I'd rather not. Thank you.

Gabber recommendedthis gasthof just southof Burghausen,

which is supposed to be nice.

Edelweiss,
good food apparently.

After the shortcut,
we'll soon be on
the highway again.

So we should get therearound...

7:00, 7:30.

Tomorrow's leg will be shorter.

I wonder how many gasthofsare called Edelweiss,

-must be hundreds.-David, I've met someone else.

Okay.

The way things have been
this past year, I--

I-I have no choice

and I'm going to leave you.

Anyone I know?It's, um, Mauritz.

Mauritz Winkler?

Christ, why do all women
have to fall in love
with their therapist?

You know as well as I dothat it doesn't mean anything.

So why are weon this fucking trip?

Look, I wanted
to give it a try,
but it seems futile.

I'm so sorry, I've just--I've got to be honest with you.

Mr. Schwartz?

Madame H. Welcome.

Pleasant journey, I hope.

It's the most wonderful road.Isn't it?

Can I get someone to helpwith your bags?No, I'll be fine.

-Oh, you shouldn't troubleyourself.-No trouble at all.

It's good to have you here.And good to be here.

This was the last time.

You can't be serious?

Oh, I'm serious, David.

You belong to me, Eva.

I love you.

Do you need the spray?

Here.

Have a seat.

Here.

Do you want some water?

No, I'm fine. Thank you.

I'm fine. Thank you.

Don't you understand
that it will pass?

You know, you're just confused.

I'm not confused.

You know, I had other women.

Why do you bring that up?

Because I want you to know

they never meant anything.

Well, that's justthe difference.

What is?

I've only had one, David.

And he means everything.

If your life...

is dark and thena door suddenly opens, then...

you have to move on.

No, it's your responsibility.

I think you oweit to yourself.

That sounds like somethingMauritz Winkler could have said.

Do you mean your life
or whose life are
we talking about here?

Our life.

Our life together.Bullshit. Fucking rubbish.

We don't talkto each other anymore.

We don't stimulateeach other anymore.

So you talk to him instead

about our relationship?

Don't you see it, David?

It's so very obviousright now.

If we continue like this,we'll just cease to exist.

Those are just words
with no meaning.
They signify nothing.

They signify everything.

Hey!Ow.

What are you doing?

I'm sorry. But you can't
just walk off like that.

I'm pregnant.

What? But...

since when do you know?It's not your child, David.

I understand
if that makes you feel...

unhappy.

You knowI haven't felt ready.

I haven't been ableto see myself with a child.

You just didn't want
a child with me.

It's not that simple.

Go on, admit it.

This is about me. Only me.

Twenty-four hours later, Mauritz Winkler showed up.

Booked himself into a hotel in the next valley.

The following morning,
she took the car...

to see him, Mauritz Winkler.

So, he lets her leave.

Just like that? What a wimp.

She's such a bitch. I like her.

Do you want my comments now
or afterwards?

Maybe I should go on.Whatever.

He decided to go for a walkin the mountains.

He didn't feel like beingaround anyone.

He didn't want anything,
apart from Eva.

When your soul is wounded, physical activity can heal.

And while he was sitting there, he couldn't stop thinking about

the skin on the inside
of Eva's thigh.

If only the probing sensitive touch of your fingertips

could find that certain spot.

Then of course Mauritz Winkler invaded his thoughts.

His fingers,
his body against hers.

Perhaps it was there and then that he made his decision.

Afterwards,
his memory failed him.

But it must have
come to him right there
at that very moment.

Mr. Schwartz.Hello.

Do you know if my wifehas returned yet?

I'm sorry.

I haven't seen either heror the car since this morning.

Okay. Thank you.

How could he make his inner being understand that their love was over?

He remembered
when he first met her...

how he immediately knew
that this was the woman
he wanted to share

the rest of his life with.

He remembered
their first kiss...

the first time they made love.

He still loved her with every bone in his body.

And in a few months, Eva would give birth to a child that wasn't his.

Almost blinded by jealousy,

at the same time,
he was surprised
by his own rationality.

- But clearly,
he has a plan.
- Yes.

After breakfastthe next morning,

he says he's goingto take the car.

Which she accepts.So he drives off...

kills that man, Winkler,
end of story, right?

No, not quite. But...

perhaps that should be
the feeling you get
when you read it.

But that's notwhat happens.

Surprise me, Henry.

David had studied
the map carefully,
so he knew precisely

the winding road
from the village
of Graues went uphill.

There, some 500 meters below in the next valley was the Lauern reservoir.

He had read about it
in the tourist brochure.

Opaque green water.

At full capacity, it could hold a billion cubic meters

of melted snow and ice.

When he came to the top,
he had driven the car
all the way

without having to use
the brakes once.

It wasn't until he reached a sharp bend on his way down

to the next valley
that he needed them.

-Just the way he'd imagined it.-

Excuse me?Yes?

Can I get one more, please?Yes.

They ate in silence.

Their words had suddenly
become leaden,

just as on the eve of war when all negotiations have broken down

and all that remains
is naked action.

So, I'll take the car.

I filled it up yesterday.

I'll be home for supper.

She put her hand
on David's shoulder...

held it there a bit too long.

But he didn't look up.

Never met her gaze.

So...

the car is so demolished,

nobody can tell the brakes
were tampered with,

if it's ever found.

Perhaps it disappears
in that bloody lake.

The Lauern reservoir.The Lauern reservoir.

Yeah, Henry, it's, um...

elaborate.

It was a beautiful dayand he decided to gofor a walk along the river.

He walked upstream for a couple of hours before deciding to turn back.

He was hungry, hadn't had much for breakfast.

It was as if time
had ceased to exist.

The hours just disappeared, but the minutes crept by slowly.

At the same time,
he felt remarkably calm.

No, I haven't seen her.

Thank you.

It was the empty room,

the thought that she'd never again be there

to meet him when he came home.

Just a big... void.

The following morning was one of very few words.

He had been down and talked to Madame H in the reception,

filed a missing person report with the local police,

gone for a walk in Graues.

It wasn't until the next day that he had a visitor.

David Schwartz?Yeah.

Chief Inspector Mort.

So, let me get this straight.

You and your wife havebeen staying at this hotel,

and your wife went missingthe day before yesterday.

- That's correct.
- Okay.

So there must be
a reason why your wife
simply up and left.

They say here in the hotel
that you hardly spent
any time together.

We have different interests.

She wanted to gofor a drive,

I wanted to walkalong the river.

I think somethinghas happened to her.

Like what, for instance?I don't know.

You had a row, didn't you?

Why would we?

What are you implying?

"Implying"?

You're implying I had somethingto do with Eva's disappearance?

I went for a walkalong the river,

she wanted to gofor a drive.

When you've been married
as long as we have,

you allow each other
that kind of freedom.

Really?

I need a coffee.

And that's how it went for over an hour.

And no, they hadn't found the car, or any trace of it.

They had searched all the roads in the area.

They'd issued an alert,

and no reliable witnesses had come forth.

Eva was gone.

Three and a half years
have passed.

He remembers Graues.
He never returned.

He remembers ChiefInspector Mort's green shirt

and the sweat patches
under his armpits.

He remembers conversationswith good friendsand welfare officers.

The months at the hospitalafter his breakdown.

Okay.

So, this is
the end of your story?

You must be joking.

It's actually the beginning.

It was early March.

Spring had not yet arrived.

Gusts of wind tore through the streets and alleys.

The temperature dropped from a few degrees down to zero.

Berlin was unseasonably cold.

At the very end of Haydn's Cello Concerto No. 2,

-it happened.

Someone in the audience coughed.

To David, it felt like an electric shock.

It was her. It was Eva.

Six months earlier, she must have been sitting there

in a concert hall in Maardam.

Strange, yet, feasible to be able to distinguish

a specific person's
characteristic cough,

among millions of others.

In that moment,
he was convinced
Eva was still alive.

Wow.

Quite impressive, I must say.

Spectacular twist.

What do you say...

we pause for a spot of lunch,David?

Yeah.

I would like that very much.

Didn't have much breakfastthis morning.

-Or is it Henry?

David?

Henry?

I think I'm getting
a bit mixed up.

You're a sly old devil, David.

Disconnecting the brakeson a modern car, I'm impressed.

Not only
an accomplished author...

but a skilled mechanic.

It must have haunted you.

Those...

images of Eva crashing downthe precipice to her death,

I can only imagine...

how many nights you woke upin a cold sweat.

And there you are,three years later...

hearing a cough on the radio.

It's fucking brilliant.

The question is...

did it fill youwith angst or relief?

Mmm.

You're not going anywhere.

We haven't finished yet.

You come here,take up my time.

I could have written a fuckingnovel of my own this morning.

I intend to hear
the rest of your story.

Do I make myself clear?

And you,

drawn to Maardam,

like a moth to a flame. By what?

A cough on the radio.

Yes.

In a manner of speaking.

I tried to convince myself
that it could've been anyone

with a coughing fit
in that audience,

and I almost succeeded.

Then I received a proposal,

or should I say, an opportunity.

"I am sending you
my latest manuscript

to be translated
and published.

I forbid you to contact
my publisher in Maardam

or anyone else
for that matter."

This is the only copy.

Of course I had to doubt my own sanity,

but I couldn't get it
out of my mind

that she had somehow managed to disappear from Graues

without a trace
and start a new life.

I felt I had no choice,
I had to find out.

A translation of Germund Rein's last book

could take me to Maardam at the German publisher's expense.

It was almost like
a gift from above,

and I was convinced.

If Eva lived there,
I would find her.

- Cheers.
-Cheers.

And yes,
I'm not a writer.

I'm a translator.

I simply translate the works

of genuine writers into
the German language.

Yeah.

And my work goes
unnoticed by everyone,

except for my publisher and possibly one or two readers.

But I know my own value, and I take pride in my skills.

Skills that could bring me closer to Eva,

that is, if she still happens to be there.

Yes, I was drawn to Maardam like a moth to a flame.

I had no idea how I was going to find Eva.

But I was determined to do whatever it took to find out.

I know for certain that she'd been in that concert hall in Maardam six months ago.

The question was,
did she live in Maardam?

So, I sublet a flat from an architect who'd been posted abroad,

potted plants and cat included.

Any allergies?

No.

I'd already translated a couple of Rein's books,

The Red Sisters and Kroull's Total Silence.

And I felt I might be able to master his style of writing.

Not an easy task,
but not by any means
beyond my capabilities.

After all, I knew I would have more than enough time.

I didn't open the manuscript until I made myself comfortable in the library...

a consequence of translating according to Darke's model.

I brought you some tea.Thank you so much.

Darke's method builds on the fact that you don't know the text beforehand.

You translate sentence
by sentence,

paragraph by paragraph.

So you value the text the way it appears to you,

like a reader who doesn't know what's coming.

I had to conduct my search for Eva during my spare time.

And she was obsessed with classical music and opera,

I started to frequent
the Nieuwe Halle
and the Concert Hall.

I would try to buy front of stall seats, giving me a strategic vantage point

from which to scour
the audience.

I believe I managed
to spot Giselle
at least four times.

This was to become
a very costly routine.

So sometimes I would have to settle for simply standing outside in the street

watching the concertgoers on their way in or out.

It was like looking for
a needle in a haystack.

Of course, I also pursued every other available avenue

in order to find out if Eva or Mauritz Winkler, for that matter,

even lived in the city,
but all in vain.

Sorry.

When the library opened at 2:00,

I'd sit there until they closed,

and then continue
my fruitless search,

keeping my tasks apart
like oil and water.

-I'm sorry.
- Turning day into night.

What do we actuallyknow about our next of kinand their deepest motives?

The bill, please.Yeah. Coming.

I started to wonder about all this secrecy.

Why had he sent the manuscript to Kerr and Amundsen, his German publisher,

instead of his regular publisher Otto Gerlach in Maardam?

It certainly seemed strange.

And could it really be true, that this was the only copy?

All I knew was
what Judit Kerr told me,

and she seemed too excited by the prospect of the actual deal

to question anything about the background situation.

The woman...

-surveillance or missing?
-Missing.

That's good.
I prefer missing persons.

And when did you see her
the last time?

Three years ago,or perhaps a bit more.

Have you googled her?She doesn't exist.

Her maiden name?Leuwe.

All the information's written

on the back of the photo.

Are you sure you want
to find her?

You know, three years,

most people would have
moved on by now.

But not you.

No, not me.

I thought private dicks were extinct.

Obviously not.

Ooh, gonna have to get
some more wine...

if I'm gonna be able to listento any more of this.

Get to it. I'm listening.

Hmm?

Move on.

I don't wanna spend the restof my life listeningto your screwed up story.

Well, it's not that easy.Try, for Christ's sake.

I had madesome progress with Rein's novel.

It had two sides to it.One was...

dreamlike and introverted...

the other cynical and realistic.

I've read it.

Still I felt a great discomfort.

Too many similaritiesto my own story.At the same time as--

I think "frustrated" isa better word.

But it wasn't the novel itself,even if it did influence me.

This is getting better
and better.

I'd started to believethat the book was aboutGermund Rein himself...

and about Mariam, his wife.

And the most bizarre aspect of it all was, of course,

the parallel with my own life, my situation with Eva.

I was frustrated by the fact that my search for her remained without success.

I can't really explain why I reached out to Germund Rein's wife, Mariam Kadhar.

Maybe it was because
I couldn't find Eva

that I decided
to find Mariam instead.

There's no logic in it, I know.

Maybe the content
of the book was merging
with my subconscious.

I don't know.

But her husband had disappeared without a trace,

and so had Eva.

Alex Henderson,one of the few colleaguesmy husband really valued.

Yes, he's well
worth reading.

Please take a seat.Thank you.

So you've translated
my husband's books?

Only the two latest, The Red Sistersand Kroull's Total Silence.

Do you know if they sold wellin your language?

Um, not big editions.

But he's regardedby most well-informed people

as one ofthe great modern authors.

Always upfor the Nobel prize.

Hmm.

I was just passing by and wantedto present my condolences.

It must be a heavy burden.

I haven't got used
to it yet...

even though several months
have passed.

But on the other hand,

I don't know why
one should get used to it.

Hmm.

Excuse me for asking this,

do you know if he was writinganything before he died?

Yes, he was writing.
He always did.

But we don't know what
became of it."Became of it"?

He was busy with something.

I don't know what it was.
He didn't tell me anything.

But that's the way he was.

I think he was pleased...

with what he wrote.

I could see it in him.

But there's nothing left.

Like I said...

perhaps he burned it,
perhaps he...

took it with him.

I really don't know.

Mariam Kadhar...

I felt pity for her, even though I clearly understood

that I couldn't
do anything to help her.

But, most importantly,
I now understood that
apart from Judit Kerr,

I was probably
the only living person

to have held Germund Rein's final book in my hands.

Why me?

Mariam Kadhar didn't even know

of its existence,
as far as I knew.

I became so preoccupied
by my thoughts

that I didn't notice that someone was following me.

I don't know if you've ever been shadowed,

but somehow you can feel it in your bones.

It's not a pleasant feeling.

My first thought, of course, was that it had something to do

with my visit to Mariam
or, more specifically,

with Germund Rein's manuscript.

But on second thought, that didn't feel credible.

Why would anyone go
to such lengths?

Honestly, the whole setup was pretty amateurish.

For a while, I pondered giving in to Kerr's suggestion,

to abandon Darke's model and simply read Rein's manuscript to the end.

And, of course, there were things in the manuscript which got me thinking.

As if the book's real story was concealed between the lines, as I said.

But Darke maintained that it was just that kind of thing,

the hidden meaning
and deeper dimensions,

that risked getting lost
if you gave in to it.

I worked on the text
and I became more
and more fascinated.

Suddenly I discovered
something really odd.

Why had he underlined
these words?

West, sea, sun, bear, dial.

And why hadn't I noticed
this before?

Not good. Not good at all.

No matter how I tried, I couldn't make anything comprehensible out of them.

Why on earth had he underlined those words in red?

Excuse me?

Hey!

Wait.

Wait!

Mr. Schwartz.

I didn't know what to think.

It was him. The same man again. No doubt about it.

Who he was and why
he was following me,
I had no idea.

-Please, Mr. Schwartz.
-I'm so sorry.

I'm sorry.

Listen. Excuse me.

Do you know who that was,
the man who just ran out?
Do you know him?

Sorry.

And where exactly wasshe spotted and by whom?

One of the suburbs,
Wassingen, block 184.

Are you sayingyou've seen her there?Not personally.

It was one of
my collaborators.

And when was that?Yesterday.

He caught sight of her
in the underground,
followed her.

She got out at Wassingen,
and went into one of
these high-rise buildings.

He didn't have time to see
what floor she went to.

Is he sure it was her?Not at all...

but the birthmark was there,

along with the rest
of your description,

so it's not completely
out of the question.

So...

Eva was still
in the land of the living,

risen out of the reservoir
like Venus.

Yes.

That's what it looked like.

Rather ambiguous feelings,to be honest.

You may suffer ambiguity...

but the law never does.

Murder
or attempted murder.

Excuse me?

Same intent,
same punishment.

Yeah, I don't know.
Whatever you say.

Wassingen.

If hell had been conceived in our times...

In my obsessed mind, I had gone through this moment a thousand times,

but what would actually happen if I saw Eva there?

What would I do?

Having now seen this place, I couldn't imagine

what might have possessed her to settle here

in this concrete desert

rather than live
a good life with me.

I counted 142 names,

but no Schwartz, no Leuwe, and no Winkler.

I felt a growing sense
of despair.

I began to imagine
I saw her everywhere.

Give me allof these please.

This?Yeah.

Okay. Five.

One, two, three, four,five copies of the same issue?

Yeah, I want to give themto people in need.

Did you know that Jesusis coming and he would liketo meet you?

Good for you,
but I'm not interested.

I'm not... Here, just...I'm not interested. Thank you.

They're for free.Thank you. No.

Did you know Jesus is comingand he would like to meet you?

-Cool.- By the end of the day,

I had managed to sell two copies

of the magazine Enlightenment.

I had rung all 142 doorbells,

but not even a glimpse of Eva

or Mauritz Winkler
for that matter.

Someone had opened the door to 93 of the flats, that left 49.

I spent the rest ofthe next week phoning around

and asking for Eva.

-Not even a cough, I presume?-Not a trace.

Not a single sign
that she was living

in that depressing buildingin Wassingen...

or that she had any connectionto it whatsoever.

Of course,I understood there wasa gigantic margin of error here.

So you simply gave up?

Almost.

I have to also admit
I was lonely,

and the architect's flat reminded me of my loneliness.

I spent as little time as I could in my so-called home.

-Thank you.
- I had, as I said...

-Enjoy. -...turned day into night.

-Thanks. -And clearly drunk too much.

I couldn't sleep
without my pills.

It had become a vicious circle, pills and liquor.

And my search for Eva had become an obsessive routine,

constantly compelled to return to the same places

over and over again,
waiting outside.

For what?

When I saw Germund Rein's widow at the Nieuwe Halle all alone,

I suddenly felt the urge
to rescue her.

Was she as lonely as I was...

or maybe she was the one
who would rescue me?

I came to Maardam because of my stupidity.

I thought that...

I was going to find Eva.

Eva?I'm sorry. My wife.

It's like findinga needle in a haystack.

Has she disappeared?Disappeared. Perhaps dead.

I really don't know.

So how long has
she been missing?

It's been morethan three years.

Hmm.

I was on my way home,but then I caught sight of yououtside the concert hall.

Perhaps it was a sign.

You're so beautiful.

Sorry. I'm late.No. That's okay.

This is David Schwartz.Otto Gerlach.

Pleased to meet you.

I'll, uh,
fetch your coat.

Mh-hmm.
Thank you.

I want to see you again.

Sorry.

I am not interested.

I don't know
what I was expecting.

As I said, I'd been drinking way too much the last few weeks.

That had to change now.

I also needed to concentrate on Rein's manuscript.

It was necessary.

I was behind with my work. I'd been neglecting it lately.

In spite of the circumstances, I became more and more caught up in my work.

In less than three days, I had finalized the translation of Rein's book.

But I just couldn't let go of those underlined words.

The words appeared
one after the other

at first sight
in no particular order.

Maybe there was a hidden message after all.

"Thirty centimeters west of...

the sundial in...
bear... sea..."

Behrensee.

The sudden realization
terrified me.

At that point, I could easily have taken the first flight home,

but my search for Eva had now turned into something new and very different.

I didn't dare e-mail
the translated script,

instead I found a printer in the architect's flat,

made a hard copy, and sent it by courier to Judit Kerr, the publisher.

You take that road there,
and then you turn.

I knew that Rein and Mariam had a summer house by the sea

just outside a small village called Behrensee.

The name of the house
was Cherry Garden,

and was reputed to be something quite outstanding.

A secluded haven where
Germund Rein produced
most of his works,

according to rumors.

A remote location which,

exactly as I had been led to understand,

would take some finding.

But I found it.

And I also found the sundial.

My inner voice urged me to forget about the whole thing and return to the city.

But for some reason,
I couldn't let it go.

I had to find out.

So I waited for nightfall.

And once again sneaked
into the garden.

"Thirty centimeters west of the sundial in Behrensee."

I found what Germund Rein had buried.

The next day I went
to the police.

I no longer had any choice.

So, Mr. Schwartz,

you translated Germund Rein'slast book?

Yeah.

The book that isthe reason

we are all gatheredin this courtroom today?

I guess so, yeah.

Why do you suppose Germund Rein

only wanted the book to bepublished as a translation?

I thought that was clear.

Otto Gerlach was his publisher.

Can you clarify what you mean?

I assume Rein was afraidthe book,

the manuscript would disappear,never be published.

And why would it disappear?

Because of its content...

-compromising information.
-Compromising for whom?

I really don't have anything
to do with this.

I put it to you that this wascompromising information

for the accused...

Mariam Kadhar and Otto Gerlach.

I assume.Your Honor,

my client's name isn't
even mentioned in the book
in question.

It's...

Let the witness
elaborate his assertion.

In the beginning,it was just subtle hints.

But the more I read,the more obvious it became.

You meanthere are passagesin the book that underline

the theory of the accusation?

I guess you could say so.

Can you give the court
an example of this?

If I may borrow the book.

I'm quoting from page 37.

"One morning she goesto the square to buy vegetables.

Always these vegetables
that must never be less
than a day old,

her memento mori.

He goes through her belongings.

She knows
he would never do this,

so she has never bothered
to hide anything.

He finds letters, four letters,three are clear enough,

the fourth is about
a conspiracy.

They obviously want
to see him dead.

He puts the letters in a folder,drives into town to copy them.

He thinks
he's got plenty of time.
She's probably fucking G,

reaping his vicious semenbetween her wide open legs.

Puts the originals back
among her knickers
in the chest of drawers

and puts the copies
in a plastic bag.

Goes to the shed,
fetches a spade,

finds a place with soft soil,

and buries his treasure."

Can you tell me what you didafter you read this?

I went to check it out.

According to the hidden codeI told you about.

So you found the letters

where the hidden code
in the manuscript said
it would be?

Mh-hmm.

The letters Mariam Kadharand Otto Gerlach had exchanged?

-Yes.-Did you study the content?

Eventually.

And I came to the conclusionthat the informationin the book was true.

And what exactly, Mr. Schwartz,

does it say
in Germund Rein's book?

It says that M and Oplanned to kill Germund Rein.

-Thank you.

No further questions.

Mr. Neumann-Hansen.

You found these...

handwritten notes
and letters

buried just west of
the sundial at Behrensee?

-Yeah.
-Didn't that seem
strange to you?

In what sense?

Well, during the inquiry,

the police went through
all e-mails

between Otto Gerlach
and my client.

And, yes,
there's correspondence.
Plenty of it.

But it's
all professional.

Nothing like what you found
in your letters.

Strange, wouldn't you say?I mean,

it's so much easierto send an e-mail these days.

Excuse me. But I would liketo remind you all thatI've only done my civic duty.

I went to the police
with the material
I happened to have.

The same thing any of you
would have done.

No more questions.

Thank you.

There is still time, David.

It's not too late.

You know it's not too late.

Rein...

- You're Rein, aren't you?-
No, no!

We've got time.

Now it's my turn...

to kill you.

-Hello.

Good morning.

Sorry, but you have
to leave now.

Please leave.

Is it correct that you arethe, um, sole inheritor

of your husband's propertyand literary estate?

Yes.

Did you love your husband,Mrs. Kadhar?

Yes. Do you...

have intimate relationshipswith other men?

- I object.
-Do rephrase the question,
please.

Did you have
a sexual relationship

with your husband's publisher,Otto Gerlach?

- Yes.
- How long did
that go on for?

Five years.

Why were you unfaithful
to your husband
if you loved him?

I don't want to answer
that question.

You're accused of murder,
Mrs. Kadhar.

Did you kill your husband?

I did not kill my husband.

Although she terrified me, I found myself increasingly

and irresistibly fascinated.

I couldn't fight it.

I couldn't come to terms
with the thought

that she could have done
something so--

I don't know. I just wantedto take her in my arms...

even though she rejected meso very clearly.

So, what makes you believe
a woman like Mariam Kadhar

could be interested in
a man like you?

Interesting parallelwith the wife, by the way.

You keep yourself
quite occupied,

avenging yourself
on women who dump you.

First Eva,
then Mariam.

Well, I see a pattern emerging.

Don't you?

Anyway, in view of all
the media attention
you were getting,

if the wife, Eva,

if she were alive and kickingand living in Maardam,

surely she would've
become aware

of your poster boy status
by now?

Possibly.

But by that point,I'd given up all thought of her.

Thank you.

My thoughts were somewherecompletely different.

David Schwartz,
what do you think about
the possible sentence?

Mariam Kadhar
and Otto Gerlach.I've got nothing to--

After all,
it's because of you

they might end up
behind bars.

How do you feel about that?

The court finds the accusedguilty of first degree murder.

The defendants Otto Gerlachand Mariam Kadhar

are each sentenced to 12 years.

David.

David Schwartz?Twelve years behind bars.

How does it feel to be
the hero of the day, David?No comment.

Both defense lawyers havealready lodged appeals.Any comments?

There you have it.

I just wanted to get awayfrom the place

and Mariam's accusing eyesburned into my very core.

It felt likeI was going to pieces.

So, you really believe
you were the chosen one?

You don't realize that...

anybody could've dug up
those letters sooner
or later?

What?Well, you're a nobody,
David.

I understand thatthis isn't about me.

I'm completely awareof that.

I mean, the fact that
you fell for Mariam Kadhar,

it just shows what
a pushover you really are.

I mean,
you held all the cards.

Why didn't you just torch
the letters?

Yes.

Maybe I should have.

Or maybe you're just
not that bright.

I mean, one moment
you're a shrewd calculator,

the next you're
a fucking wimp.

I'm too old
for this kind of crap.

So, uh, you're hot stuffright now.

Thank you.
Thank you, Doris.

That man. He's following me,on several occasions.

I'm certain of it.
He walks with a limp.

You can't mistake that.

Have you any idea why?

I wouldn't cometo you if I had.

Can you help me
with this?

Do you know who he is?

You're a public figure now.

You never told mewhat profession you were in.

'Cause it's got nothing
to do with Eva.

Do you know who he is?

Let's do it this way.

I'll see what I can do.

But it will cost you.

And I can't promise
any results.

I'll call you?

One lasagna to go, please.

The limping man.

Interesting title
for your little novel.

- No, seriously, who was he?-
We'll come to that.

-Something else came in between.- So, she was given a pen and paper?

- Just a small pencil. -And then what happened?

When the door was unlocked, she was found lying facedown on the floor.

When she was turned over,

there were small spots
of blood on the floor,

coming from her eye.

She had stuck the pencil
into her eye.

- The whole pencil?
-Yes.

Should be quite impossible,
but in this case...

Thank you. We repeat that Mariam Kadhar,

the wife of the late author, Germund Rein,

recently sentenced to 12 years,

took her own life in the Burgislaan remand prison.

Mariam Kadhar was 39 years old.

Three years earlier, I had fallen...

and it was a hard fall.

Days and nights at the hospital

and my self-disgust tore me to shreds.

A secret that I had to keep hidden deep inside.

Never able to confess the truth of what I had done to Eva.

Never able to tell a soul.

You're actually the first one to hear my story.

Never-ending nightmares.
Managing the medication.

Downers to send me to sleep, uppers to wake me up.

The slow recovery.

Now, I was edging closer
to the precipice again.

In my defense, I would like to say I was rational during the time that followed.

Methodical, unhurried.

I allowed alcohol to rule my existence without any other purpose

than to achieve
a sustainable level
of unconsciousness...

without ever going over the top.

I've been there before and I know what it's all about.

A strictly clinical
drinking bout

where I kept the process under control at all times.

-Hello?-Well, well, David Schwartz.

I first thought, of course,
that it had something to do
with your job.

That publisher doesn't seemto look upon you very kindly.

But it wasn't?So who was he then?

Why is he following me?One thing at a time.

I recognized the man
in the photo.

He's a former police
commissioner.

Now retired
and actually freelancing
in my line of business,

so I contacted him.

And he was in fact hired
to follow you.

And naturally,
he didn't want to reveal
the identity of his client.

But?

Everything has a price.

And I'd suppose that money
wasn't an issue in this--

I already told you that.

But it seems as if both of youwanted to find each other.

Who?

Oh, you and Eva.

Eva hired him?

Exactly.

When my collaborator
saw her in Wassingen,

she wasn't on her way home.She has an apartment,but on the other side of town.

She was simply on her way
to see my colleague.

He had an office there
at the time.

She spotted you here
in Maardam,

hired him to keep track
of your whereabouts.

Edita Sobranska?

I guess she changed her name.

Stay there.

So, you decided to come now?

Yes.

Here I am.

Hello.Hello.

You've been living here
a long time?

Three years.

-Ever since...
-Ever since then. Yes.

Come on.

We're going for a nap now.

Sleep tight, sweetheart.

And I'll leave
the door open.

I just made some teas.

So, how long
are you staying?Sorry?

In Maardam.

How long are
you gonna be staying?

Not much longer.

My job is finished.So I've heard.

Do you really believe
they killed him? Rein?

Yes.

And then
she commits suicide.

I've left all that
behind me now.

What's her name?

Paula.

She's almost three now.

I thought so.

Is everything all right?

She's the best thing
that ever happened to me.

What happened, Eva?

What happened in Graues?

I think you should
leave now.I need to know what happened.

You ask me
what happened?

You have no right
whatsoever.

No right?

Maybe that's
the worst part of it all

that you don't
even understand that.

Do you know how many timesI've thought about this, David?

What if we'd bump intoeach other one day, you and I?

Even if it's the last thingI ever wanted.

But if...

only a chance in a million
that it would happen,

but still a possibility.

In a tram, or an airport
somewhere in the world.

Suddenly you'd stand
in front of me and ask...

"What happened?"

What happened?

What should I say?

What should I do?

After a hundred
sleepless nights, David...

I've decided that
I'm not gonna tell you.

You're gonna have to live
with that uncertainty
for the rest of your life.

You can see that
as some sort of punishment
if you want.

Eva.And I want you
to leave now.

I'm not gonna tell you, David.

Never ever.

Are you out
of your fucking mind?

You come here,

accept my hospitality
and my advice,

and in exchange you offer me--

Bloody unforgivable...

to fritter away
a story like that.

A sneeze on the radio.

A cough.A cough.

What the fuck?You can't just let it run outinto the sand like fucking piss.

You just left them there

without a clue as
to what really happened.

Hmm...

Are you familiar
with my modest ideas

in the handbook of life? Yeah.

Of course.

But they're hardly yours,are they?You always have a choice.

Either you write
your own script...

or you live according
to someone else's.

How did you figure me out?

I realize you don't havea very high opinion of me,

a simple translator.

But I've readand translated your words.

I spent months, years,getting to know your styleand your wording,

it's out there...

whether you like it or not,whether you call yourselfGermund Rein or Alex Henderson.

Was this complicated intriguereally necessary?

Mm-mm.
Isn't that obvious?

What the hell
do you think?

Suspicion has
to grow slowly.

Do you think any of this
would have worked

if they found themselves
in the limelight too soon?

They never planned to kill you,did they?You know as well as I do.

This is how
it had to end.

The end speaks
for itself, right?

What about Mariam's death?

Well, that's got nothing
to do with it.

She wrote that chapter.

It wasn't in my script.

Who the hell are youto judge me?

You actually tried to killyour own wife for fuck's sake.

And here she is in the pink,

living in domestic bliss
with Morris Wanker--

Winkler,whatever his fucking name is.

This isn't how you thoughtyour story would end...

is it? Hmm?

David? Never even knowing
what really happened?

I need a proper drink.

So, how did it happen?What?

The flight?

There wasn't any flight.

Alex Henderson had beenin existence for many yearsby that time.

Even you should've realizedthat by now.

He took a plane to Athens.That's all.

You weren't drunk that night
in Behrensee, were you?

Tipsy, at most.

Then you were
bloody lucky.

Mmm, mmm, mmm.

Bullshit.

Feels like you owe me
a debt of gratitude,
don't you think?

I was the one who did
your dirty work.Me? Thank you?

Should the puppeteerthank the puppet for her dance?

I think it's time I left.

I must find my way
back to the road
before it gets too dark.

You realizethere's little pointin squealing.

My identity is watertight,has been for a long time.

So I've understood.

Good.

Being a bad loser
can be so unbecoming.

It's just that...

I've found it really hard
to accept Mariam's fate.

You didn't kill her,
neither did I.

What about Germund Rein?

He's dead.