Original subtitles

THE JAPANESE SHUNGA PAINTING

- Thanks. - Teambuilding.

Did you bring your bathing ring?

Gunvald... You get to keep it.

- Great. - Let's go and change.

Lot number 210 is an oil painting ascribed to Karl-Fredrik Hill.

110, 120,000... 130,000.

140,000. By phone, 150,000...

Is that seat taken?

180,000, 190... 200,000.

They do have a checkroom.

Breathe in.

And out.

Next.

Breathe in... and out.

550,000.

560,000, 570,000.

580,000, 590,000. And 600,000, 610,000.

620,000, 630,000, 640,000.

650,000, going once, 650,000, going twice, gone!

Buyer number 41. Thank you very much.

- Where were you during Qi Gong? - Guess.

Slow movements in groups isn't your thing, huh?

It's great, though. Right? Bonding.

We should go away for real sometime. Three or four days.

I took part in a teambuilding course with eight other criminal officers.

It was part survival course and part role play. I was a serial killer.

We could go white water rafting, camping or do a pentathlon.

A pentathlon won't work. There are six of us.

Lot no. 214 is a Japanese shunga painting signed Shigemasa, 1873.

25,000, anyone? 30,000.

35,000. And 40,000.

45,000 kroner. Anyone higher?

50,000 kroner. 55,000.

Going once, going twice, -

- sold for 55,000 to buyer number 199. Thank you.

How much did it go for?

I must congratulate you then. You've done very well.

- Shigemasa! - Mommy says hello.

Is that seat taken?

Hi there, Martin. When are they going to fix the damn lift?

- Why have you grown a beard? - I'm a man. Men have beards.

- That's what sets them apart. - From what?

From all the sissies.

It's men with beards and moustaches that change the world.

Take an old Socialist like Branting.

There's Castro, there's Marx and there's me.

We run things. What have you got there?

- A kimono. - Akimono...

That's a full-length small collared robe that wraps around diagonally.

That is a yukata. Athin dressing gown.

How the hell do you know?

I knew a geisha when I was in the army.

Maiko, 19 years old.

Apricot skin, eyes slanted like a Saturday binge.

Talking about rice, I think I have a drop of sake left.

- S�ke? - What do you mean, s�ke?

- It's pronounced s�ke, not sak�. - Screw that! Some moonshine then?

No, I wasn't certain, but what could I do? She went crazy.

She was going to... Okay, I'll call him.

- I want to check out. - Is anything wrong?

No, I just want you to register me as having checked out.

Beck.

Hello, there! It's been a long time.

Where are you?

Sure. Yes.

- Martin. - Hello.

- When did you arrive? - This morning. I went to an auction.

- On police business? What's up? - Come along.

Are you staying here? The pay is better in Germany, I see.

Or maybe I'm thriftier than you.

- And the door was open? - Yes, a few inches.

- Did you enter? - No, of course not.

- Then how do you know... - I don 't, but my nose itches.

You 're just like me.

- When was that? - Around 7. 15.

- And the room was empty then? - Yes. Otherwise I hadn't gone in.

- Who sent the flowers? - A delivery boy dropped them off.

- From which company? - I have no idea.

- "The Woman and the Roses?" - It's a painting by Marc Chagall.

A woman lying on a bed of roses, just like that woman.

- Strange. - Why?

She told me she was going to sell two lithos by Chagall today.

- Do you know to whom? - No.

But I did see a man at the auction. I think they knew each other.

And that man rushed out of the hotel just before eight this evening.

- I reckoned he was the buyer. - And maybe the murderer as well?

Maybe. Only he wasn't carrying the lithos, as far as I could see.

Strange.

We should've found the lithos in her room, and a shunga etching.

A shunga etching is a Japanese etching.

She snatched it away under my very nose at the auction for 55,000.

- How much did you bid? - 50.

This man you saw at the auction, did he bid for the Japanese etching?

Yes.

FRAME SHOP

Hello.

Who?

- No, she didn't deposit anything. - Did anyone leave carrying pictures?

- No. - And you've been here all night?

- Yes. - Okay. Thank you very much.

- What happens now? - Obviously the murderer took the...

No, with me.

I'm involved in a murder case and my train leaves tomorrow at eight.

- Rebook. - Why?

He's the last person seen with the victim and he found her body.

He never entered the room. He told me himself.

- And? - And he's a good friend.

And a well-reputed police lieutenant.

- Did you open the door to her room? - No, the door was ajar.

- Did you look in? Why not? - Gunvald!

- I can take a few vacation days. - Yes, please.

- I must apologize... - We have guys like that, too.

I'm grateful that you're staying. You can stay with me.

My guest room is almost the same standard as this hotel.

You don't mind harboring a murder suspect?

- You're not a suspect. - Does everyone agree on that?

- Send Klingstr�m then. - I'm the boss and I agree on that.

- Good. And now? - Bukowskis. Come on.

You had me leave the party for this?

- Yes. What was his name? - I'm not at liberty to say.

- Why not? - It's against our policy to...

I'm conducting a murder investigation so you're obliged to reveal his name.

- Right, the name. - Jan Forsgren.

Thank you.

So a group of antique dealers forms a cartel?

Yes, a ring.

And at an auction like yesterday's only one of them bids.

The advantage being that they don't push up the price.

And then? Do they draw lots for the picture?

No, they hold an internal auction.

Only for ring members. Won't that still push the price up?

Yes, but it's still worthwhile.

They have a system of payment, but I don't know the details.

It's downright fraud.

- It's beautiful. - Which one?

What kind of person takes the time to arrange the victim like that?

- A psycho. - Oljelund's report.

Shot through the back of the head with a fine-caliber weapon.

- Instantaneous death, no struggle. - Was she drugged?

No. No signs of sexual intercourse. Time of death: Between 7 and 9 p.m.

- Have you found Forsgren? - No.

Forensics say everything was wiped clean.

They barely found the victim's prints apart from some in the bathroom.

- A pro. - Or a policeman.

- Did they find her purse? - No, nor her cell.

Her clothes had been searched. The murderer only missed this.

It had fallen through a hole in her pocket into the lining.

"Sun's Frame Shop." 79 Blekingegatan.

- Check it out. - Yes. Have you questioned Sperling?

- I've taken his statement. - Can I read this statement?

Do you honestly assume it's him?

I don't assume. I carry out my job without prejudice. How about you?

- Any luck at the hotel? - Some observations may be useful.

- We're looking for a Birgitta Nyr�n. - Why?

She had the room next to Lisowska and checked out at 11, before time.

- Where is she now? - We're looking.

Hello, Oskar.

Lot no. 5, the Georg Romney, was bought by me for 650,000.

Plus the 20% commission, 780,000. Ready?

It's yours.

You had the lowest bid. 790,000, 10,000 less than me.

10,000 divided by the five of us is 2,000 each.

You bid 805,000. The difference between our bids was 5,000.

- Janne... - Wait.

5,000 divided by the four of us is 1,250 kroner each.

- Jan Forsgren? - Yes.

- Can you spare us a moment? - I'm afraid I'm busy...

I went to see Marie Lisowska to look at a couple of Chagalls.

Did she have them in her room? Were they framed?

- Did she have a shunga painting? - Yes.

- Were there any flowers? - Yes, on the table.

- What kind? - Roses.

Did you buy them? The Chagalls.

No. I thought they were fake.

- How did Lisowska react to that? - She was very upset.

She claimed she'd never dream of selling a fake.

She showed me a certificate of authenticity.

- Written by whom? - Malte Beverin. An art professor.

How well did you know Lisowska?

I've seen her at auctions through the years, that's all.

I'm mortified at her...

She was an art agent. Do you know who she worked for?

No, she was very discreet. Hence her success.

And now she's been murdered.

I was there, we argued, and then I left. That's it.

But a woman walked by in the hallway from the lift.

- She went into the next room. - The room on the right or the left?

The room on the right.

Marie followed me into the hallway, still upset, and the woman looked on.

- Can you describe this woman? - I only got a fleeting glimpse.

Mid-thirties, blonde, -

- pretty and stylish.

- Oh, her. - That's all I recall.

Marie went back in and slammed the door shut, and I took the lift.

When you left, both the lithos were in the room?

- As well as the shunga painting. - And Marie Lisowska was alive.

- I've already answered that. - Yes.

FRAME SHOP

- We're closed. - I just came to pick up this.

- Isn't that your receipt? - Yes, but it wasn't you.

- A woman dropped it off. - And a man is picking it up.

- Was it her? - Yes.

- She's my wife. You know her? - No.

- Get a move on and fetch it. - It's not ready. It's not framed.

I'll take it as it is, then. Get a move on.

Police, get the painting, or I'll frame you to the wall.

There we go. Nice frame. All ready to go.

Thank you.

The room to the right of Marie's. That must be room no. 117.

- Who was staying there? - Birgitta Nyr�n.

The woman who's disappeared?

Hi there, Martin. Come on in.

What a great guy. And what a voice.

Wonderful. And man, can he put them away.

It's time you had a real snifter to rev you up.

- Apparently he's your neighbor. - Yes.

He rang the doorbell and offered me a "snifter".

- Here you go. - Hey, isn't that my Calvados?

Mine or yours, it's Calvados, who cares?

We're having a party, for chrissakes!

Jesus, what harmonies. Male choirs, eat your heart out.

We really should form a choir. You and me and Fritzen.

We'll be an instant hit. I'll be our tour manager.

We'll start on Saturday. It's Bulky Waste Day at the square.

I'll sing tenor. Martin, you sing alto.

Fritzen, you sing bass.

- What's this "Fritzen"? - Well, "Fritzen" means...

It's the same as "buddy".

- Okay, Fritzen. - Valdemar.

Know what we should call us? "Dry Trocaderos."

Hit it, boys.

- Is that it? - "Le Cog Rouge". Chagall.

Lisowska left it at the frame shop a week ago. Mr. Sun was a bit iffy.

He lied about the picture not being ready, he made feverish calls, -

- went into the basement, came back up smoking, stayed in the shop.

- Any back door? - Maybe. I didn't find any.

- Maybe he lives in the shop. - It's numbered and signed.

- Let's verify its authenticity. - I'll handle that.

- How? - I'll ask an expert.

- From Germany? - Come along, Oskar.

- This Sperling guy... - What about him?

- Gunvald seems to think... - Don't listen to Gunvald.

He does talk a lot.

The certificate is signed by art professor Malte Beverin.

So far, so good.

- Strange. - What?

It's a fake, but an excellent one.

It almost looks as if it was printed off Chagall's original stones.

- Stones? - Like that one.

The artist paints on it and the color is burned on to it with nitric acid.

For multi-color lithographies you use separate stones for each color.

- And then the stones are destroyed. - Or you could make endless copies?

Yes, but they're fake because they're neither signed nor numbered.

- Can't you just fake the numbers? - Yes.

But if the number checks out -

- and the signature looks real, you can't tell whether it's fake.

- Yes, an expert can. - Did the signature give it away?

No, the paper. It's a poor quality. Not from Arches, Chagall's supplier.

And they've cut the paper here to remove the telltale watermark.

- Did they use the original stones? - Yes, I think so.

I read about it in the paper. I was shocked.

- Did you know her well? - No. Enchanting woman, though.

- How did you meet her? - She contacted me.

She asked me to look at a Chagall.

"Le Coq Rouge". Through the years I've...

Well, I am an art professor.

- How did she get hold of the litho? - I'm not sure.

I think she got it as payment for a job. She's an art agent.

- And it was authentic? - Yes.

- Was it this one? - Why, look.

- And it was authentic? - Yes.

How much do you get for writing false certificates? It's a fake.

Do you know Sun? He owns the frame shop on Blekingegatan.

No.

- Birgitta Nyr�n is gone. - Maybe she's using an alias.

- Why should she? - Any connection to Forsgren?

Why would he mention her then?

I know who employed Lisowska as an agent.

Four well-known collectors in Europe, only one in Stockholm.

- Who? - Jovan Andrecz.

We talked to three of them. None of them hired her to sell the Chagall.

- Or buy a shunga painting. - They could be lying.

- Who haven't you talked to? - A guy in Switzerland.

Good. I think it was the murderer who hired her to buy the shunga.

Why?

Otherwise you'd think that the rightful owner, -

- who paid 55,000 for it, had gotten in touch with us.

Maybe he doesn't know it's gone. Maybe it's the guy in Switzerland.

True.

Let's focus on why a well-reputed art agent like Lisowska -

- tried to sell two questionable Chagalls.

Can I have a few words with you?

- What about? - Sperling.

So Gunvald's been shooting off his mouth again.

Is he right? His arguments are very professional.

Maybe so. But we're talking about a man -

- who, one, helped us with the girl in the cellar. Remember?

Two, he's one of Germany's most esteemed police lieutenants, -

- and three, he'd hardly come here, shoot a woman, and then call me.

- Does Germany know he's involved? - He's not involved!

He's here, he's competent, and he's very well versed in art.

Mallis is great! Cocktails are next. Go catch a murderer. Hugs, Inger.

Are you out of your mind?

So Beverin knows Sun? Why did he deny it?

I don't know. Shall we bring him in or start with the little Asian?

Yes...

Hello, darling. How are you doing?

Hello... Dammit.

- Inger? - She's in Mallorca with Vilhelm.

Yes, l... I see.

- Shall we? - Sure.

There. That might be the entrance to the frame shop.

- Where are you going? - To find someone with a key.

I see.

- Did you find anyone? - Yes. The room belongs to Sun.

He might be moving. A van drove off with a lot of stuff last night.

- Let's go in. - We have no evidence against him.

- No? Yes. - What makes you think that?

I'm psychic. I see three naked bodies lying in there.

- Goddammit, Gunvald! - Martin.

Margareta, it's Martin.

Gunvald and I are going to break into the basement at the frame shop.

- Has a crime been committed? - We think there are three bodies.

- Why do you think that? - I peeped through a window.

Gunvald peeped through a window. Bye.

- Shot through the back of the head. - Like Marie Lisowska.

Executed and arranged in a damned strange way.

- Sperling is on his way. - Why?

Maybe he can explain this damned strange arrangement.

- What's up? - Just like the shunga etching.

- The one Marie bought? - Exactly.

According to Oljelund, two of the men have printing ink on their fingers.

Forensics have found traces of printing activities.

Scraps of printing paper -

- and acids used in stone-based lithography printing.

The expert was convinced the Chagall was printed off real stones.

- Maybe even the originals. - Interesting pictures.

- Nasty. - Very. And interesting.

- So you say. - Know why they're interesting?

Because there isn't any window at the scene of the crime.

No. Why is that interesting?

Through which window did Gunvald see the bodies -

- that warranted the break-in?

- Which window was that, Gunvald? - My inner one.

Not many people have a sixth sense.

- Nor an inner window. Congrats. - Thanks. You going to buy a cake?

- Who wants to interrogate Beverin? - Gunvald.

- Are you nervous? - Got anything to be nervous about?

- No. - Sure you do.

Yesterday you said you didn't know the frame shop on Blekingegatan.

What the hell are you lying for?

Well? Sun was found shot in the head last night.

He was found naked, entangled with two other murdered naked men -

- behind the shop you visited last night. Did you shoot them?

Where were you on the night of Marie Lisowska's murder?

I was... why do you ask? I presume I was at home.

- Anyone else home? - No, my wife is away. You don't...

- Do you have access to weapons? - Why did you write the certificate?

- Stop it. - Do you need a break?

Fine, let's take a break. Look at these in the meantime.

Would you like a glass of water?

Look, we don't think you murdered them or Marie Lisowska.

We just want you to start talking.

Don't lie to us, because then you'll be here all day.

Sun is dead. Marie Lisowska is dead. Are you protecting someone?

Well, then start talking so we can let you out of here.

Sun printed fake Chagalls and I verified their authenticity.

That's all I've been a part of.

Did he use the original stones? How did he get hold of them?

He got them from his father -

- who claimed he got them from one of Chagall's mistresses.

- Where are the stones now? - In the basement.

Did Lisowska sell any Chagalls?

- She was hired to sell two when... - She was shot through the head.

- On whose behalf did she sell them? - Sun's.

- Had she sold fakes before? - Once before, I think.

- Did she know they were fake? - No.

Lisowska got lithos printed by Sun and verified by you, -

- and she thought they were authentic.

Nice.

How much is a litho like that worth on today's market?

- About 50,000. - How many are in circulation?

Ten or so.

- Did you let him go? - Yes. He can't leave the country.

- He'll be charged with art fraud. - Now we know what Sun was up to.

- But not who did it. - We don't know the motive either.

- It must be connected to the fraud. - Presumably.

Let's say Lisowska didn't know the lithos were fakes, -

- as both Forsgren and Beverin claim.

She is shocked by Forsgren's allegations -

- and decides to look into it.

That gives Sun and Beverin a motive to silence her to protect their scam.

But who murdered Sun? Who stole the Chagall stones?

- Beverin. - Why? Sun was a gold mine for him.

Besides, he doesn't have the nerve to shoot people and turn them into art.

Obviously there's a another person involved, and we don't know who.

How do we find out, with Beverin lying and Sun dead?

- The paper. - What paper?

The paper for lithos is special paper for use with these stones only.

Sun must have bought it somewhere. Oskar.

Well done.

I've checked our records.

Sun ordered five batches over the past five years.

Paper for stone lithography? How many sheets are there in a batch?

80 sheets.

80 times 50,000. Four million a year.

- Times five years. 20 million. - For 400 fake lithos.

- Beverin conned us. Haul him in. - We're looking. He's not home.

I've found her. The woman next door, Birgitta Nyr�n.

- How? - I checked with vice. They knew her.

She goes under the name Nettan and works as a callgirl.

- Nettan Nyr�n. - Good-looking.

She matches Forsgren's description.

- We know who ordered the roses. - Beverin?

No, one of her employers. Jovan Andrecz.

We talked to you earlier about the murder of Marie Lisowska.

- She worked as an agent for you. - She bought pictures.

Did you send roses to her hotel room on the night of the murder?

Madame Lisowska was once married to a distant relative of mine.

She was very able. She knew her way around.

We sent flowers to congratulate her on acquiring the Shigemasa etching.

Roses.

- Were you interested in the shunga? - Yes.

- She didn't buy it on your behalf? - Unfortunately not.

- Do you know on whose? - No.

But you would've liked to have it, huh?

Where were you on the night of Marie's murder?

He was taking care of me. He always takes care of me.

So you were here? With your mother?

Yes.

- Do you recognize her? - I don't know...

She was staying in room 117 when Lisowska was murdered in 119.

Is she the one you were looking for?

She works for an escort agency. Do you know anything about that?

Absolutely not. It's against hotel policy to allow that here.

Thanks.

Hello. Something smells good.

Knuckle of pork with sauerkraut and knodel.

Come on in.

- Sit down. - Wonderful.

- Yes, you need a wife. - Why?

- How often do you cook? - Often.

What do you cook?

All kinds of good dishes.

I heat up a head of lamb in the micro wave. That kind of stuff.

Sounds interesting. What do you think of the wine?

I think it tastes expensive and damned good.

I hope so. Cheers.

There's really not much to it.

What did you say on the phone? It adds up to 400 lithos?

- More or less. Over five years. - That changes the whole scenario.

How?

An art scam of this magnitude demands an international network -

- of galleries and art dealers.

One particular region can only take so many fake Miros and Chagalls.

You have to go global for it to work.

Sun and Beverin weren't in that league.

But who can have made a couple of million off this scam?

- It sounds like Beverin knows more. - I agree.

- But he kept it to himself. - And so what?

Four brutal murders were committed.

Do you think he was scared?

Maybe he knows he's next in line to be silenced.

It was a big mistake to let him go.

Damn it!

And we still don't know on whose behalf Marie bought the shunga.

Jovan Andrecz's.

Maybe. He definitely doesn't have an alibi for the time of the murder.

His elderly mother claimed he was at home.

She's hardly one to be trusted. We're checking the phone records.

- I have a favor to ask of you. - What?

- I want to make a trip. - Where to?

- Lyttinge. - Lyttinge?

I want to see an art dealer. Ernst Levendahl. Heard of him?

No.

An art dealer in Cologne referred me to him.

He has a beautiful collection of erotic art, including some shungas.

Maybe he knows who bought the shunga at Bukowskis.

I won't tell him I'm from the police.

- How do you intend to get there? - Well...

We've been driving for an hour and you haven't said a word.

- You could at least ask me. - What?

Well, how an obese man like me manages to be a policeman.

- And? - It's no good.

My knees are finished, I'm short of breath.

My heart beats twice as fast as it should.

I don't catch a lot of thieves. But that's not what it's about.

It's not about speed or obesity, but blotting paper.

Yes. Your ability to absorb the motive of the perpetrator.

To understand how his mind works.

Once you know that, you can let loose all the fast dogs.

The hunt itself is of no interest. Are you a hunter?

- Yeah. - What do you hunt?

- Murderers. - Maybe we're in luck tonight.

- Hans Sperling? - Ernst Levendahl?

Fucking art clowns.

Get dressed.

- Yes, that's him. - Go on.

I came from the lift and he came out followed by a screaming woman.

- Is that her? - She looked something like that.

- Then what happened? - They saw me and calmed down.

He took the lift and she went back in, slamming the door.

- I went to my room. - Were you alone in the room?

Yes. They were supposed to come later, around midnight.

- They? Who? - You know...

- Anyway, you didn't wait for them? - Yes.

No, you checked out at 10.30. Why?

- Because stuff happened. - What stuff?

You know very well what happened next door.

You must have read about it.

We've been looking for you. Why haven't you come forward?

Were you involved in what happened in room 11 9?

- Is that what you think? - What do you want us to think?

You were alone, right?

I heard a muffled shot in the next room.

At what time?

I don't know. An hour or a half after their argument.

Then what did you do?

I was scared shitless. I just sat there for some time.

Then it was quiet next door and I looked out the door.

I saw some guy leaving.

- This guy, maybe? - Maybe.

I didn't see his face.

He was carrying something and walked funny.

- How do you mean, funny? - He limped. He walked with a cane.

- Martin isn't answering his cell. - They're questioning Birgitta Nyr�n.

This Levendahl says the shunga was bought by Joven Andrecz.

I just found out Andrecz called Lisowska one hour before she died.

- What are they doing with Nyr�n? - They'll be done soon.

How's it going at your end?

Gunvald called. Their guy says Jovan Andrecz bought the shunga.

- We'd better bring him in. - Gunvald was bored stiff.

He said this Levendahl was a fucking old art clown... You know.

- He limped around in his castle... - Limped?

- Apparently he's got a limp. - Levendahl?

- What about it? - I have to call them.

You can't. They're not allowed to bring their cells inside.

Jesus! Check out this Levendahl and bring in Joven.

- Been a driver for long? - For ages.

When I got my driver's license in the army, I was hooked.

- The wheel is my life. - Food is my life.

Where can I take a piss without squirting on a Rembrandt?

Round the corner.

He's here now?

- What the..? - What?

Ernst Levendahl was sentenced to psychiatric care in 1974.

- He was released eight years later. - What had he done?

Murdered a man and a woman by...

- By... - By what?

What the hell are you up to?

- You were never to contact me. - I've been questioned by the police.

I told them about the Chagalls. I'm being charged with fraud.

- My life is ruined, so help me! - You told them about the Chagalls?

I never mentioned your name. I blamed Sun. He was already dead.

- I'm very upset about these murders. - Me too.

I worshiped Marie, and Sun was like a brother to me.

What if we're next in line? To be murdered.

Why?

Obviously, some psycho is killing off everyone connected to the Chagalls!

- You think so? - Yes.

- That it's some psycho? - Who else could it be?

A Chagall lover.

You're quite fond of Francisco Goya...

Aren't you?

- The stones! - The road team will get them.

Martin!

- What's that? - Evidence.

It's part of the investigation.

I thought you might keep it. You're part of the investigation, too.

It may not be needed for the trial.

Thank you.

Jesus, what a position.

Reminds me of the time my brother hooked up with a broad from Riga.

He was going to do her with an old hand mixer -

- but his balls got stuck and he had to have his foreskin sown back on.

Anyway, boys. We're a choir. "Dry Trocaderos".

Come on.

Subtitles: Helle Schou Kristiansen SDI Media