All language subtitles for Intrigo.Death.Of.An.Author.2018ENG

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.

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 be
the 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 about
the 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 is a high school
teacher, no children.

You're not gonna read
the whole book?

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

Get on with it.

They left on 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 recommended this gasthof
just south of 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 there around...

7:00, 7:30.

Tomorrow's leg will be shorter.

I wonder how many gasthofs
are 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 do
that it doesn't mean anything.

So why are we
on 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 help with your bags?
No, I'll be fine.

- You shouldn't trouble yourself.
- 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?

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 just
the difference.

What is?

I've only had one, David.

And he means everything.

If your life...

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

you have to move on.

No, it's your responsibility.

I think you owe it to yourself.

That sounds like something
Mauritz 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 talk
to each other anymore.

We don't stimulate
each other anymore.

So you talk to him instead

about our relationship?

Don't you see it, David?

It's so very obvious right 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!

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 know I haven't felt ready.

I haven't been able
to 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 after-wards?

Maybe I should go on. Whatever.

He decided to go for a walk
in the mountains.

He didn't feel like being
around 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 wife
has returned yet?

I'm sorry.

I haven't seen either her
or 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 breakfast
the next morning,

he says he's going
to 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 not what 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 day and he decided
to go for 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 have
been staying at this hotel,

and your wife went missing
the 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 go for a drive,

I wanted to walk
along the river.

I think something
has 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 something
to do with Eva's disappearance?

I went for a walk
along the river,

she wanted to go for 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 Chief
Inspector Mort's green shirt

and the sweat patches
under his armpits.

He remembers conversations with
good friends and welfare officers.

The months at the hospital
after 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 breakfast
this 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 brakes
on 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 down
the precipice to her death,

I can only imagine...

how many nights you woke up
in 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 you
with angst or relief?

You're not going anywhere.

We haven't finished yet.

You come here, take up my time.

I could have written a fucking
novel 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 actually know about our
next of kin and 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.

gonna have to get some more wine...

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

Get to it. I'm listening.

Move on.

I don't wanna spend the rest of my life
listening to your screwed up story.

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

I had made
some 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 similarities to my own story.
At the same time as...

I think "frustrated" is
a 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 believe that the book
was about Germund 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
colleagues my 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
Sisters and Kroull's Total Silence.

Do you know if they sold well
in your language?

Um, not big editions.

But he's regarded
by most well-informed people

as one of
the great modern authors.

Always up for the Nobel prize.

I was just passing by and wanted
to 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.

Excuse me for asking this,

do you know if he was writing
anything 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 was
she spotted and by whom?

One of the suburbs,
Wassingen, block 184.

Are you saying you'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 all of these please.

This? Yeah.

Okay. Five.

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

Yeah, I want to give them
to people in need.

Did you know that Jesus is coming
and he would like to 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 coming
and 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 of
the 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 building
in Wassingen...

or that she had any connection
to it whatsoever.

Of course, I understood there was
a 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 finding
a 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 more than three years.

I was on my way home,
but then I caught

sight of you outside 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.

-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's
last book?

Yeah.

The book that is the reason

we are all gathered
in this courtroom today?

I guess so, yeah.

Why do you suppose Germund Rein

only wanted the book to be
published as a translation?

I thought that was clear.

Otto Gerlach was his publisher.

Can you clarify what you mean?

I assume Rein was afraid
the 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 was
compromising 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 mean there are passages
in 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 goes
to 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 semen
between 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 did
after you read this?

I went to check it out.

According to the hidden code
I told you about.

So you found the letters

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

The letters Mariam Kadhar
and Otto Gerlach had exchanged?

- Yes.
- Did you study the content?

Eventually.

And I came to the conclusion that
the information in the book was true.

And what exactly, Mr. Schwartz,

does it say
in Germund Rein's book?

It says that M and O
planned 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 easier
to send an e-mail these days.

Excuse me. But I would
like to remind you

all that I'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 are
the, um, sole inheritor

of your husband's property
and literary estate?

Yes.

Did you love your husband,
Mrs. Kadhar?

- Yes.
- Do you...

have intimate relationships
with 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 wanted
to take her in my arms...

even though she rejected me
so very clearly.

So, what makes you believe
a woman like Mariam Kadhar

could be interested in
a man like you?

Interesting parallel
with 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 kicking
and 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 somewhere
completely 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 accused
guilty of first degree murder.

The defendants Otto Gerlach
and 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 have already
lodged appeals. Any comments?

There you have it.

I just wanted to get away
from the place

and Mariam's accusing eyes
burned into my very core.

It felt like
I 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 that
this isn't about me.

I'm completely aware of 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, you're hot stuff
right 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 come to 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 me
what 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 lasagne 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 face down 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 seem
to 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 you
wanted to find each other.

Who?

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 times
I've thought about this, David?

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

Even if it's the last thing
I 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

out into the sand like fucking piss.

You just left them there

without a clue as
to what really happened.

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.

How did you figure me out?

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

a simple translator.

But I've read
and translated your words.

I spent months, years, getting to
know your style and your wording,

it's out there...

whether you like it or
not, whether you call

yourself Germund Rein
or Alex Henderson.

Was this complicated intrigue
really 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 you
to judge me?

You actually tried to kill
your 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 thought
your story would end...

is it?

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 been in existence
for many years by that time.

Even you should've realized
that 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.

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 puppeteer
thank 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 realize there's
little point in 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.