All language subtitles for The.Truth.About.The.Harry.Quebert.Affair.S01E02

Previously, on The Truth About
the Harry Quebert Affair...

In America,
ladies and gentlemen,

we are obsessed
with sex and morality.

Excuse me, why, uh...

why are blowjobs bad?

I'm just, personally,
I'm a big fan, I don't know...

You're the reason
I'm here, Professor.

You're what I aspire to be, sir.

Well, Mr. Goldman,
I have no doubt

that you're going to be
a huge success.

I'm totally blocked, Harry.

It's been over a year,

and I got nothing.

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

You made it!

- How are you, man?
- Ah, good to see you!

What, are you
spying on me, Marcus?

This needs to stay between us.

Author Harry Quebert
was arrested today

after police
discovered the body

of 15-year-old Nola Kellergan,

who disappeared from her house
in August of 1975.

How's it looking for him?

Not good.

They found a manuscript
of his "Origin of Evil"

buried with
the dead girl.

Talk to
the nice townsfolk.

Those hicks are
potential witnesses.

Hey, we're gonna get
you out of here, okay?

Is there anything
you haven't told me?

I was supposed
to meet Nola at 8:00.

That was the night
she disappeared.

It's a fucking
disaster!

If the prosecution
gets hold of this,

Harry is screwed.

"On my desk,
there's a porcelain pot.

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

Everything is in there..."

It's "The Origin of Evil."

It's Harry's
original manuscript.

"...Burn it all.

I'm in danger."

Subtitles by explosiveskull

Thank you.

Hey.

Hey.

Did you burn everything?

And the manuscript?

Yes, I did exactly
what you told me.

Thank you.

Why was that box
in your gym locker?

I was afraid someone
else might find it,

so I just... panicked.

I thought it would be
safe somewhere else.

You thought it would be safe?

Mm, just makes you
look guilty, that's all.

Do you think
I'm guilty, Marcus?

No, Harry.
I don't.

I loved her, Marcus,
but it was innocent.

I never
crossed that line.

And I did not kill her.

The, um...

the manuscript
was "The Origin of Evil."

The very first draft.

How come
there was no title

on the cover page?

The title came afterwards.

After... after Nola's
disappearance, you mean?

Yeah, but I don't want

to talk about
the manuscript.

It's brought nothing
but suffering into my life.

Okay.

Oh, for Christ's sake.

You still have that?

Yeah, it's
a good luck charm.

Huh.

It was a gift from
the great Harry Quebert

back when I was
a fledgling non-writer.

Marcus, please
put it away.

I want you to tell me
about Nola.

Who she was.

I need to know
everything, Harry,

if we're gonna get
you out of here.

Ahh...

I don't wanna
go back there, Marcus.

I know you don't,
but you need to.

Well, where shall I begin?

From the beginning.

It was an afternoon
in June, 1975.

I'd been struggling
up to that point

to get started on the book,

and I looked up,

right when the rain
started, and...

there she was,

just dancing,
enjoying the rain.

I was just lost watching her.

That was
the first time I met her.

She had a magical quality
about her,

something...

I'd never seen before.

I remember asking her
what her name was,

and it wasn't until...

maybe a week later

that I...
I ran into her in town.

I was in the middle
of my morning run,

and she appeared once again.

Harry!

Oh, hey! Hello!

Hi!

Guess what?

Hey, Nola!

Hey, hi!

Guess what?

What?

I checked out
your book yesterday

out of the library.

Uh-huh?

"The Mirror of Life"?

You're the only "Q"
in Fiction,

right between
Boris Pasternak

and Ayn Rand.

What, no, uh...

Pope, no Poe,
no Proust?

Well, the collection
at the Sommerdale Library

isn't exactly
extensive.

Ah...

Isn't it exciting?

Yes,
uh, very exciting.

It must be wonderful

to be taken seriously
as a writer,

to be told your words
are worth publishing.

Like you weren't
crazy to dream.

Uh, yeah, well, um...

success and fame
can be gratifying,

I'll admit that, but...

I don't know,
all the other stuff is...

like, the parties and...

that stuff's
overrated.

I don't believe you.

That's why I came
here, you know,

to get away
from it all,

to find some
inspiration.

Well, this is me.

- I work here on Saturdays.
- Okay.

You should, uh, come by.

Maybe it will inspire you.

Okay.

And I'll sneak you
a free plate of fries.

- Possibly.
- Okay.

See you, Nola.

And then I...

found myself thinking
about her more and more,

just consuming my thoughts.

Mm-hm.

Nola?

Are you okay?

- Yes, yes, yes...
- What happened?

Yes, I'm... I'm fine!

Shh... Shh!

Can you help me?

Yes, I'll help you.

Okay, I'll get the...
I'll get the broom.

Yeah, I think that...
Oh, my gosh.

We shouldn't
be laughing!

No, it's fine.

If she finds out,
she's gonna fire me.

She's not gonna fire you.

You're, like, the best
waitress she's got anyway.

Oh, my goodness,
look at this mess.

Well, it's a good thing
they come for the burgers

and not the service.

Hmm, although, I just wish
someone would tell me,

whenever I order
just a simple cup of coffee,

I am presented with
every, like, condiment

known to mankind.

That's because
it has been decreed

by the mistress
of the inn.

Who?

Mrs. Quinn.

Mrs. Quinn?

As you will
have noticed, ladies,

for the past week,

the famous New York writer,
Mr. Harry Quebert,

has been coming here every day,

which means

he sees in our restaurant

the standards
of quality and refinement

found in the best establishments

on the East Coast.

Now, I have written a memo

to remind you of how Mr. Quebert
should be treated.

Read it,

reread it,

and learn it by heart.

"Do not disturb Mr. Quebert

because he needs calm and...

concentration.

His previous visits to Clark's

indicate that he always orders
black coffee.

Serve him coffee
when he arrives,

and nothing else..."

Do not bother Mr. Quebert
by suggesting he order food.

However,

serve him
all the condiments we have,

so should he be
inclined to order,

he won't have to
ask for them.

You see, famous writers
should not have to ask

for what they want.

Their minds must be free
to create.

"It is possible

that what he's writing
will become a masterpiece,

and Clark's will be known
all over the country!"

Is this one of
the best restaurants?

Yes, Mrs. Quinn.

Yes, Mom.

And don't call me "Mom," okay?

It's not
a country inn.

Good.

Now, I want to see you all
acting servile.

And smile.

Ah. Beautiful.

Let's do a trial run.

I will play
the esteemed Mr. Quebert.

Come on!

In Sommerdale,
I was some sort of celebrity.

In New York, I was just
a high school teacher

who wrote a good first book
in his spare time,

but people in town
assumed I was successful

because of the way I acted
and where I lived.

Hey!

Not everyone
was fooled, though...

Hey, Ernie!

What do you do
in New York, actually?

For a living, I mean?

Well, I'm a writer.

Uh...

Well, don't take this
the wrong way, Harry,

but, uh, I contacted
the publisher,

the one
who put out your book.

The one you gave me,
"The Mirror of Life."

I-I wanted to order
extra copies for the library.

I hadn't heard of this
publisher before, but...

then I discovered
that it was actually a...

a print shop in Brooklyn.

You paid a print shop
to publish your book.

Now you know the truth.

I'm a... complete impostor.

No, not complete.

I...

I really liked the book.

That's why I wanted
to order extra copies.

And, uh...
anyway, who knows?

Maybe the book
you're writing now

will be a masterpiece.

What if
I don't write it?

Aw, you will.
I know you will.

And don't worry, I, uh,

I won't tell a soul
about my discovery.

On one condition.

Uh... I want, uh...

you to, uh, put my name
on the last page of your book,

as a "thank you,"
y-you know how writers do?

Mm-hm.

And, uh...

I want to be
the first one mentioned,

in big letters.

I think it would make
my wife proud

to see that I contributed
to the success

of a literary masterpiece.

Okay.

You have yourself a deal.

I wanted to tell Nola
the whole truth,

but vanity
got the better of me.

Then, when "The Origin of Evil"
was published,

I'd go all over
the world, you know?

I'd always look for her,

hoping she'd be
somewhere in the crowd.

I still...

hoped,

up until the day they...

they discovered her body
in the yard.

In the yard...

Do you know anyone

who would have
any reason

to hurt her?

Hands up, hands up, come on.

That's good.

Oh, buddy!
Buddy!

Your footwork's getting
way better, bud.

Way better, okay?

You just gotta work on
your defense now, all right?

Keep the, uh, keep the paws up.
Keep 'em up...

Oh, you're bleeding.
That's a bleeder.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Okay, just, uh,
keep your head back.

Just gotta
pinch it, okay?

You got it, buddy.
You're good.

You're good, big dog.

Thanks, buddy.
Pinch it!

You wanna
pinch it, okay?

And watch the door.

He's good, he's learning.

Mind if I work in?

No, go for it.

Thanks, bud.

Goldman, you, uh...

you teaching boxing now, huh?

Professor Quebert!

I didn't know you
were into boxing.

Well, a little bit,
you know.

Yeah.

Gotta stay in shape.

Right.
You know, Hemingway boxed.

Yeah. Yeah, a little bit.

You wanna... you wanna
go a couple rounds?

Uh, yeah.

Just a little bit,
just to get some cardio.

Yeah, yeah,
sure, why not?

Here, after you.

Ah, thank you,
Professor.

Okay, a couple rounds,

maybe three rounds?

This is a little bit weird.

I've never... I've never
hit a teacher before.

I mean, I've wanted to...

Come on, now's
your opportunity, come on.

I've wanted to,
but...

Yeah...

Come on.

This is fun.
I forgot how much fun this is.

All right.

Whoa!

That's good.

You okay?

Yeah?

Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Gimme a sec.

You all right?

Yeah.

Wanna get dinner?

We'll go get something to eat.

My friend here would like
two New York strip steaks,

one well done, one raw,

and make that one to go.

Oh, Reinhartz,

when you get
a chance?

Dominic Reinhartz?

I remember
your short story.

I was impressed.

You have a real
original voice.

Come by my office
tomorrow around 4:00,

let's discuss it.

Yes, of course.

Thank you, Professor.

My pleasure.

Bourbon and soda for you,
right, Goldman?

Uh, yeah. Yeah.

I, uh...

I thought we were here

to talk about
the story that I wrote.

Oh, you have talent, Goldman.

It's... it's clear
you have a gift.

It is such a relief

to hear you say that,
Professor. Thank you.

But your story
was a piece of shit.

Sloppy, superficial,

the work of
a pretentious blowhard

in love with the sound
of his own juvenile voice.

Cheers.

Um...

Do you know why
the college magazine

ran your stories in the back?

No?

Because that's
where they belong.

And Reinhartz's were up front

because that's where
they deserved to be.

So you should have
used that

as motivation
to work harder,

but it was
much easier for you

to do your little blowjob play,

which had more to do
with your marketing skills

than the quality
of your work.

But that's been
your modus operandi

your entire life, hasn't it?
Excuse me,

all due respect, Professor,
but you don't know me.

Oh, really?

"Marcus the Magnificent."

The boy, the genius,

the legend.

That's their name, okay?
Not mine.

I'm willing to bet

the only reason you came
to Burrows in the first place,

and not one of those
Ivy League schools,

is because you didn't
have the balls

to measure yourself
against real competition.

You're a phony.

A fake.

Thank you for your time,
Professor,

and your, uh,
constructive criticism.

Mm-hm.

Here you go.

What is this?

Gold Boxing Gym?

Mm-hm.

It's real fighting
every Thursday night.

It's open to the public.

If you want
to become a writer,

you gotta get knocked
on your ass

a couple times

and see
if you have the courage

to stand back up.

Thank you very much
for the beer.

Let's go, come on!

Come on, get up!
Get up, come on!

The first thing

a writer has to learn

is to fall.

The second
is how to get back up.

Congratulations.

You pass.

Harry,

if I'm going
to help you clear your name,

you have to trust me.

Now,
your relationship with Nola...

I've told you, Marcus.

It isn't what you think.

Nothing happened.

I did love her,

but I would never
do anything to hurt her.

I can't make anyone believe me,
but it is the truth.

Harry,
who do you trust

that might be able to help us?

Start with
Ernie Pinkas, the librarian.

But Marcus, be careful.

It's a small town.

Everyone is going to know
you're looking into this.

I gotta close up,

but I found some more

that might
be worth checking

before you go.

Thanks.

Uh...

Okay, according to
police reports,

screaming could be heard

coming from
the Kellergan house

the day
the girl disappeared.

However, uh, testimony
from neighbors suggests

that the noise
was actually music

being played at high volume
by her father,

as was his habit.

He still does it.

The Reverend always
cranks up the volume

to drown out the sound

of his working
in the garage.

Maintains that good music
is always preferable

to the sound
of his hammering,

even if it is too loud.

Right.

Reverend David Kellergan
confirmed

that he was home at the time,

working on his motorcycle,

and didn't notice anything amiss
until later that evening

when he went into
his daughter's bedroom

and found her gone.

Even if
she'd called out for help,

he wouldn't have heard her.

The music was too loud.

He's, uh, always blamed
himself for that.

Ready?

Mm-hm.

You should probably talk
to Mrs. Quinn, too.

Mrs. Quinn?

Yeah, Jenny's mother.

The former owner of Clark's?

Just yesterday,
she was ranting and raving...

I knew Harry Quebert
was obsessed

with that poor girl,

and I had proof,
irrefutable proof,

but someone...

someone stole it.

What kind of proof?
No idea.

But she is given to, uh,
inflating the truth.

Have you heard from Harry?

Yeah, I'm going to see him
again tomorrow, actually.

Say hello to him
for me, will you?

Yeah, will do.

You know, I-I used to work
at a textile factory

in Augusta.

Uh-huh.

I never went to college,
but I always loved to read.

Harry let me take
literature classes at Burrows

for free.

Oh, right on.

Well, yeah,
you should, uh,

you should go see him.

He'd like that.

Thanks for everything.

She was 15 years old,
Marcus.

Just a kid.

He didn't kill her, Ernie.

Even so,

the stuff he wrote
in that book...

It was
a work of art.

You know, that book
is a masterpiece.

Maybe.

Or maybe it was
the devil's work.

Either way,
it's no longer in this library.

Guess who just saved your ass?

I got Barnaski to back off.

He's agreed
to tear up your contract.

Yeah?
In exchange for what?

All you have to do

is write a book
about the Harry Quebert affair.

Bye, Doug.

No, no, Barnaski thinks
it'll be huge, okay?

Harry's arrest is all
anyone's talking about.

Yeah, I'm not going
to exploit Harry's troubles

for my own
personal gain, okay?

Or yours.

Marcus, if you don't say yes,

he's gonna
clean you out, okay?

Your contract expires
in 13 days...

Hang on,
hang on, hang on.

Promise me that
you'll at least think about it.

Okay, wait a second,
wait a second.

Yeah, I thought about it.
Bye, Doug.

Marcus...

So, this is where
they found Nola's body.

Um, it's very easy access
from the house,

but it's well hidden
behind these trees and bushes.

It's also right
in front of the ocean,

with no fence
protecting the property,

so anyone could've just
come up from the beach...

Oh, shit!

What the hell
are you doing here?

Hi, hi. I'm just, um...

I'm, uh, I'm staying
in the property, okay?

I'm a friend of the owner's.

I'm a... I'm a writer.

My name is Marcus Goldman.

Well, if you're a writer,
you should be writing, right?

You're a cop?

Sergeant Perry Gahalowood,

Maine State Police
Investigative Services Bureau.

You scared
the shit out of me.

This is
a crime scene, sir.

You need to leave.

Sorry, man, I thought
you were, like, a...

like a... a criminal,

a bad guy, sorry.

Why, 'cause I'm black?

No, because you're trespassing.

Uh-huh.

The, uh, Maine State Police
issue that tie?

No, my daughter
gave me this tie.

Hmm.

You know what?
Get out of here.

Off the property...

No, no, no,
I'm sorry...

Now.

Excuse me, I'm a friend
of Mr. Quebert's,

and he asked me to look after
the house for him, okay?

Listen...

Mr. Quebert is accused
of a double homicide,

all right?

His house has been searched
and sealed.

You're being evicted, sir...

No, excuse me, there are
no seals on the house, okay?

And no seals means
access is not prohibited.

I'm sorry,

I have permission
from the owner to be here...

and according to
Maine State statutes,

you're required to give him
30 days' notice

before you can evict, okay?

You know,

I would have never thought
some hack writer

afraid to get mud
on his fancy shoes

would want to
come here and squat.

Uh-huh.

Well, uh, maybe you should
think a little bit more,

even if that is difficult
for a policeman.

And, um... you know,
these are Tod's loafers.

Oh, Tod's loafers?

Yeah, and if you knew
how much they cost,

sir,

you wouldn't want
to get mud on them either.

'Kay?

Well, how about this,

if you cross
any more police tape

and infiltrate
a crime scene again,

you'll be sitting
in a cell.

Right.

Just you and your fancy
fuckin' Tod's.

Well, um, see, the
thing is, Sergeant,

I'm actually, uh,

conducting my own
investigation, so...

Oh, your own
investigation?

Well, the good citizens
of Sommerdale

can sleep in peace now, huh?

Now that you're on the job.

Oh, and by the way,

you owe me $15
for that book of yours.

Holy shit,
that was terrible.

Just like 300 pages of turd.

Just fuck off,
Sergeant, okay?

Oh, shit!

Oh!

Oh...

Now, that's some
good investigating, man.

Very thorough.

Hey, let us know if we missed
anything, all right?

Hey! You...

Wait!

Excuse... Sergeant!

Wait! Hey!

Just because he wrote
a book about Nola,

it doesn't mean
he killed her, okay?

We found the girl's corpse
in his yard

buried with
the manuscript of his book.

Hey, add that to
the black Monte Carlo,

and, uh... well,
you do the math, Inspector.

Black Monte Carlo?

Yeah, the one they saw
leaving the crime scene.

What about it?

It's the same make and model
your friend drove.

Harry didn't kill
that girl, Travis, I know it.

Because
he's your friend?

Because there's
someone out there

who doesn't want me
to figure out who did.

I, um...

I found that
in Harry's front door.

This is serious, Marcus.

You should've handed this
over to Gahalowood.

Okay, I'm gonna register
a complaint

in order to open a file,

but I want you to call me
if you see anything suspicious.

It doesn't matter
how small or trivial.

Okay, I will. Thanks.

Okay, uh, thank you.

Listen, I know
you're busy,

but... do you think

you could show me
the crime scene?

Look, if you want,

I can take you to the spot
where it happened, yeah,

just to see.

Yeah.

Yeah, I'd like that.

Not only did Travis agree

to take me to the crime scene,

he took me back 33 years,

to when he was just
a young cop in Sommerdale.

A few miles past Goose Cove,

we arrived at Deborah Cooper's,

at the edge
of Side Creek Forest,

the spot Nola was last seen.

Hasn't changed
all that much.

When I got here,

Deborah Cooper was standing
in front of that door.

Hmm.

I told her to calm down,

go back inside, not to worry.

Who lives here now?

A couple from Boston,
they come for the summer.

Follow you
through here?

Yeah, yeah,
back through here.

It was, uh, it was getting dark

by the time Chief Pratt
and I got here.

And whatever happened
to Chief Pratt?

Oh, he retired.

He still lives
in Sommerdale,

up on Mountain Drive,
you know.

It was here.

I was only a year
into the job back then.

It was along the path
that led to the beach.

This is where we found the...
the blood and hair

and pieces of fabric
from what she was wearing...

and we figured

that Nola must have escaped
her attacker,

and ran back
to Mrs. Cooper's house

for help.

But it was too late.

Deborah Cooper was shot
and killed right here.

Then,

he dragged Nola to his car...

and that's where

the trail of blood
stopped.

And the car?

Well, there was
a chase.

We set up roadblocks
all over the area, but...

...he lost us.

He must've known
the back roads,

been familiar
with the area.

Not a day goes by
without me thinking

how things
might have been different

if we'd just caught
that goddamn Monte Carlo.

Maybe we could've
saved the girl.

You're convinced it was Harry
who was driving that car?

Well, yeah, now.

Back then, his alibi
checked out, but...

given recent events,

I don't see who else
it could've been.

Sorry, Marcus.

Yeah.

Chief Pratt
will be right out.

You're in for a treat.

This is my grandmother's recipe.

The secret's the maple syrup.

Oh, go easy
on that stuff.

That's what gave me diabetes.

Huh?

Now...

what can I do for you,
Mr. Goldman?

He's that nice
young man

that wrote that
naughty bestseller,

Harry Quebert's protégé.

Oh...

You're awfully young

to know so much
about the female anatomy.

Oh, thank you, um...

Pot your flowers.

Maggie, pot.

I was, um...

I was wondering,

did you have any other
reason at the time

for suspecting Harry,

other than his owning
a black Monte Carlo?

Not enough to arrest him...

But the day after
Nola disappeared,

when I saw him
at the roadblock,

he was acting awfully strange.

Good morning, Chief.

Hey, Harry.

I just heard the news
on the radio.

What's going on?

Ah, we don't know
anything yet.

She was last seen
near Side Creek Lane

last night.

Since then,
no trace of her.

I mean, we've...

we've secured
the whole area.

We're gonna search
the forest, but...

whatever happened,
it isn't good.

Yeah.

Where are you
coming from, Harry?

Um, Boston...

uh, for my book.

Boston's, uh,

in the opposite
direction.

Yeah, I know.

I had to go to Augusta after.

Mind if we take a look
in your trunk?

No.

Um... here,
it's, uh, this round key...

I got it.

All right, Harry.

Hey, uh, you know,
you hear anything,

you see anything,
think of anything,

you let me know, okay?

Yes. I will.

All right. Hey, good
luck with the book.

Yeah, thank you.

We spent months
just chasing our own tails,

following leads
that went nowhere,

when the proof was right here
under our noses.

What about you,
Mr. Goldman?

Anything Quebert might have
said or done in the past

that now seems suspect?

Room 8 at 8:00,
then away forever.

"Burn it all.

I'm in danger."

Uh, no.

No, nothing comes to mind.

You sure you wanna
stay here?

Uh, no.
No, actually...

this might sound
a little strange,

but I'd like to know
if someone slept here in room 8

on August 30th, 1975?

Let me guess,

your mom had an affair
around the time you were born,

and you wanna know
who your real dad is?

Uh, no.

No, I was unmistakably planned.

I'm just checking out a story.

Oh, sorry, man.

We can only
go back two years.

Theoretically, of course.

I couldn't reveal
that type of information

without a warrant,

or, uh...

Gotcha.

Thanks anyway.

Hey, man,
why do you call this place

the "By the Sea" motel?

I mean, there isn't even a view.

No, but the path
through the forest

goes to the beach.

Roy, can I call you back?

I'm right in the middle
of something.

Well, drop
whatever it is you're doing

and gather ye rosebuds,

which I am flinging
at your feet.

Look, talk quick, Roy, okay?

You're draining my battery.

All right,
all right, listen.

We're gonna put
your book out in the fall.

That means you have
one and a half months

to finish it.

I'm sorry, a month and a half?

That's... that's...
that's insane, Roy.

It took me... it took me years
to write my first book.

I don't...

I don't even know
what I'd write.

Well, which is why

I have gone to the trouble

of supplying you with five
adorable ghostwriters

who I'm sure are going
to capture your voice

beautifully.

Hey, no, Roy.

Marcus, come on.

We're trying to write
a bestseller, right? Okay?

All I need is some facts
and some suspense,

and some titillating details

about the old man
and the little girl.

Look, hey,

it wasn't like that, okay?

None of that... none of that
means shit to me, okay?

This is what I told your agent.

You do this for me, right,

I will rip up your old contract.

I will give you
an advance of $1,000,000.

It's not gonna happen, Roy.

Okay? No.
No ghostwriters.

No sleaze. No sex.

Hi.

No made-up scenes
about sleaze and sex.

No book, okay?

In that case,
the old contract stands,

and I expect a manuscript
from you in 11 days.

Oh, my God...

When they called me,

they said, "Perry,
you better come downstairs,

there's a guy here

who's been waiting for you
for an hour."

Yeah...

So I interrupt
my meal,

rush down here to see
what the damn emergency is,

and who do I find?

Sherlock... Shithead.

Whoa, whoa, okay, okay,
look, you know what,

I think maybe that we, uh,

we got off on the wrong foot,
but, uh...

Your face on the back cover
of that damn book of yours

has been smiling out
from my wife's nightstand

for weeks.

You've slept with us,
had dinner with us,

been on vacation with us.

You have fucking ruined my life.

Well, frankly,
Sergeant,

I'm shocked you
actually found a woman

willing to spend
her life with you,

so congrat...

Asshole...

I didn't say
you could come in.

What in God's name
do you want?

Information,
Sergeant.

I have a pathological need
to know everything.

I inherited it from my mother...

Don't touch that.

I wanna know if Nola Kellergan
was abducted and killed

at the same time.

Yes.

The bone scan confirmed it.

What about the autopsy?

Can you give me
any more details?

You want details?

Here's what I can tell you.

Her skull was smashed.

Crushed.

Flattened.

I mean, feel free to pick
the appropriate term.

With what?

Inconclusive.

By a man or a woman?

Deborah Cooper
identified the suspect

as being a man.

This conversation
is now officially over.

Goodbye, writer.

Sergeant?

This case, does it, uh,
does it mean anything to you?

You know...

I've seen a lot
of crazy shit as a cop.

People up in this
corner of the country

do a lot of...

disgusting stuff

with wood chippers, and axes,

and snow blowers.

Stuff I couldn't even...

make up.

But I have two daughters,

and I can't imagine
going through

what Mr. Kellergan
has gone through.

Yes?

My... my name
is Marcus Goldman.

I'm a writer.

Yes?

I was wondering
if you had a few minutes?

Okay, Mr. Goldman...

what brings you here?

A book?

I'm not entirely sure, Reverend.

Uh...

uh, would you be
opposed to the idea

of a book about your daughter?

Mmm...

Depends on...
what you're writing it for.

If it's to help other parents

avoid the same mistakes I made,

I suppose it could be
some sort of...

some sort of penance.

You see, Mr. Goldman,

I didn't watch out
for my daughter properly,

and that's the...

I always
held out hope...

even after all this time,

that... someday
she'd come home to me.

I even kept her room

the exact same way
as the day she went missing.

Nobody comes in here anymore,

just the maid
doing a little dusting

every now and then.

I read you were in the garage

the evening she disappeared?

Working on that damn Harley.

I will be forever.

Trying to repair
the unrepairable.

I'm so sorry
for your loss, Reverend.

God... gives us trials

and tests our faith in Him
every single day, Mr. Goldman.

Sometimes we pass 'em...

Sometimes we fail.

The bag
that she was buried with,

is that all that was missing?

No clothes,

nothing else?

Not even her tip money.

There's still $120 here.

Well, that doesn't make
much sense, does it,

if she was
running away?

Why would she be running away?

How well did you know
Harry Quebert?

Hardly at all.

I met him a few times.

Really?

Even though you've
lived in the same town

for more than
30 years,

you never...?

I've kept to myself,
Mr. Goldman,

since my wife passed
many years ago.

So you weren't aware

of their
relationship at all?

She was 15 years old...

Mr. Goldman.

There's a special place in Hell

for that demon Son of Lucifer

preying...

on my little girl.

Oh, God...

Get out!

Please,
just go now.

Okay.

What the fuck?

Hey! Hey!

Wait!

Hey! Hey!

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