Original subtitles

Thanks cutie.

Hey, not so fast.

I'll put it on your bill, Dede.

You're my only bill.

Where will you be going?

I'm still in Saint-Lazare with my clients.

No, we haven't closed the deal yet.

Saint-Lazare?

Check your Google Maps again.

It's nothing, it's just some jerk.

Anyhow, they think I'm asking much for the chairs.

And I think they'll wait in line.

Okay, love you too.

So I'm the jerk?

Honey, I'm not the one lying to my man.

Dede!

It's okay, I have to leave anyway.

Oh, don't tell me you're afraid of me.

My wallet.

Come here, sit with me,

and we'll talk about all the men who broke our hearts.

Come on, sit with me.

Get your hands off me!

You bitch!

Dede, sit down!

Miss!

Hey, Miss!

When that kid Yannick didn't show up to get them into the building,

they tried to muscle their way in.

That's when the shooting started.

You know the rest.

Yeah.

Great job.

I come to find out

that Yannick spent the night in jail on some bogus stolen motorcycle beef.

Oh, yeah?

Then I find out that he's been sprung by this Adele Gaultier.

You didn't tell me he was humping your daughter.

You didn't ask.

You set up the motorcycle beef.

Did you tell Yannick we had his buddy's rock house under surveillance?

If you knew me,

you'd know better than to ask me that.

You made your quota for the month, Jorg.

You've got nothing to complain about.

You've got a call.

Place de voge.

Send in the second unit.

Not in the F.A.E.D.

No I.D., no bag, no phone.

Good luck.

This one, make me ten copies.

So I'm seeing multiple skull fractures back there,

bruises on her left cheek,

and finger marks around her neck.

He slapped her.

Grabbed her by the neck and.

slammed her against her.

Even when she was bleeding,

he kept pounding her against the wall.

Must have happened fast.

This place gets crowded around dinnertime.

There's no witnesses,

so Mrs. Muggers got lucky.

Ah, this was no mugging.

That was rage.

Sudden, overpowering rage.

Well, whatever she did to piss him off, it worked.

I found this in her hand.

In the darkness is the light.

It's where it's to live by.

Or to die for.

Like I told the other cops, she came in here around six by herself.

She had a glass of wine,

she tapped on the laptop for about an hour, and then she left.

Oh.

She forgot these.

Did she, um, talk to anybody?

Did he.

He's a regular.

He had some kind of beef with her just before she left.

Hey, this table's taken.

Your boyfriend do that?

No.

Some bitch.

I was trying to be friendly.

Oh, dear.

Yeah, that's her.

We got off on the wrong foot.

She was on the phone to her husband,

telling him some bull about being in San Lazaro.

I sort of made a joke about it.

What was the joke?

Well, she kept on looking at her watch and the door.

It's obvious she was waiting for her love boat to come in.

Did she, um, say anything else before you chased her off?

No, and I did not chase her off.

She left because she lost her wallet.

She looked in her bag, and it was missing.

Bill.

I saw a couple of wallet specialists on the way over.

Caroline Richelieu lived over there.

Number 21.

Hey, I dropped something.

Look.

Oh.

Your ring.

You drop it here.

That's not mine.

Your ring.

You drop it here.

No, no.

You forgot something.

My money.

You take my money.

You took my wallet.

Don't move.

Police.

Get down.

Get down!

Stay down!

Let's see how you did tonight.

Shut up.

You boys are good.

Marie-Yves Lambert.

Out in Bougival.

Yes, it's Marie-Yves.

I was on the phone, calling around.

I couldn't find her.

When did you last talk to her?

About 6.30.

She was in Saint-Lazare, meeting clients.

She's an antiques dealer at the store downstairs.

That's hers.

Where did you call her from?

I was here.

Correcting exams.

I'm a teacher.

Sorry, can I sit down?

Yeah, of course.

Please.

How are things at home, Mr. Lambert?

We've been married eight years.

We're very happy.

We were talking about having a baby.

Will it surprise you that your wife was in Le Marais, not Saint-Lazare?

Marais?

Why? I don't understand.

She never goes there.

She was in a bar.

Witnesses say she was waiting for someone.

Of course.

Her clients.

But why would she tell me she was in Saint-Lazare?

Do you recognize these gloves?

No, I've never seen them before.

What's going on?

Do you mind if we have a look at your wife's store?

It was her father's store.

She took it over when he had his stroke.

He warned her it was a tough business.

Her bag was missing.

Do you know anything that she might have had in it, besides the usual?

I'm not really sure.

Papers?

Laptop?

The message light's flashing on her phone.

I'm sorry, I don't have a passcode.

This was on her when we found her.

Any idea what it means?

No.

It's her handwriting, but I've never seen it.

Did your wife see anything about this store being in any kind of financial trouble?

Just because that drawer was full of late payment notices.

She was overdrawn at the bank.

And this letter, she was refused a loan last month.

Mary, you have to tell me everything was good.

I don't understand.

On the one hand is a woman planning to have a baby.

And telling her family that her business is successful.

On the other is a woman in desperate financial trouble.

And possibly having an affair.

How do we reconcile these two extremes?

Well, maybe the affair was the solution to her problems.

You know, maybe she got some sugar daddy to pay her bills.

She owed 50,000.

Shaking her ass on some old coot isn't the quickest way to raise that kind of money.

What do you think she was doing?

Meeting a loan shark, maybe.

A mess in the darkness of the night.

Something she carried to inspire her.

There was only one message on her phone.

It was left at 9.37 last night.

This is David Zivkin.

I've waited for you outside the bar.

Call me if you want to settle into the meeting.

It's the guy she was waiting for.

We should have Mr. Zivkin's address in a couple of hours.

Good.

Call me when you get the address.

The gospel according to John.

The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.

Light and darkness are symbols used in almost every religion.

Allah is called the light of life.

In reference to God.

Or a prophet.

Or even a cop.

Who isn't solving crimes, bringing light into darkness.

Or you with these girls, bringing them into the light.

Except you get paid, I don't.

Poverty.

It's another of your vows I have a problem with.

How about your other problem?

You got Yannick out of trouble?

For now.

So, what about you?

When you lie in the darkness, who's your light?

Who do you talk to?

Mother? Guardian angel? God?

I don't talk. I listen.

Always.

Everyone I ever rested, ever loved, I hear them.

But him, God, I don't hear him.

I don't believe in him.

You crossed yourself at the cemetery.

Just being polite.

My friends are very polite.

They say that when you die you see a light.

What do you think that light is?

Probably the devil with the flashlight.

Not him.

I know he exists.

I gotta go.

Dead? My God. I was just a few blocks away waiting for her.

This is shocking.

What time were you meeting her, Mr. Zivkin?

Six, but I got turned around in the Metro.

I've lived here three years. I still get lost.

I was late getting to the bar.

She wasn't there.

What was your relationship with her?

None. She called me out of the blue three days ago.

She told me she was an antiques dealer.

That she occasionally came across objects that belonged to Holocaust victims.

She wanted to talk about procedures for returning them to the rightful owners.

Specific objects?

No, she just wanted to talk in general.

But why you?

Mr. Zivkin, you're an American.

And a lawyer.

When I lived in New York, I did pro bono work

representing the families of Holocaust victims.

Some of those cases brought me to Paris. That's how she heard about me.

Mrs. Lombert left these gloves at the bar that our

experts say they were manufactured in the 1930s.

Do you have any idea why she had them?

No, I'm sorry.

Maybe there's a market for antique gloves.

You said you lived here three years.

Yes, when my wife died, I closed my law

practice and moved here to be near my daughter.

She married a Parisian. Nobody's perfect.

Do you know, was she supposed to meet anybody else last night?

No, she said she'd be spending the afternoon at the National Archives.

Just up the street from the bar?

Yes, that's why we were meeting at six when the archives closed.

Mrs. Lombert has been here five times during the last three weeks.

She's been researching the genealogical records of the Delois family.

Here we are. The Delois family records start there and end over here.

And how far back in the records did Mrs. Lombert go?

Back to 1925.

And then she branched out into other families that married into the Delois line.

The Panet family, the Rivard family.

What's the last family she researched?

Um, that would be the Dussault family.

Who in the Dussault family?

The last file she pulled belonged to a Jacqueline Dussault, born in 1921.

Can you show us?

Mrs. Lombert requested all of Jacqueline Dussault's records.

This woman died in 1944, age 22, during the Sacklemore War.

Look where she died.

Romainville, Nazi prison.

She was a member of the resistance, arrested in 1943.

The old gloves.

Maybe they have something to do with Jacqueline Dussault.

Was Zoumeriev was killed because of a dead French resistance fighter?

No, that's ancient history.

Some wounds never heal.

This is when Mr. Dussault was executed, a few weeks before the liberation.

What was she arrested for?

Arboring Jews. Most of the women of the resistance were imprisoned here.

The youngest was 15, most was sent to Auschwitz.

Only a few came back.

All brave women.

This woman called your information line ten days ago.

Marie-Eve Lombert.

Yes, she came here.

She was very interested in Jacqueline Dussault.

What in particular?

Personal documents, letters. Of course, there was nothing.

She was very excited when I told her Mr. Dussault's cellmate's still alive.

Yes, she came last week.

She... nice girl.

She wanted to know about Jacqueline.

You see, we were in a cell together for a year,

before she was executed and I was sent to Auschwitz.

Oh, no, no, no. I don't want to take your last one.

Please take it. I only smoke them at crime scenes.

The bad ones, to cover the smell.

Ah, the smell. Yes, I know all about the smell.

It permeated the camp.

You never get used to it. Isn't that right?

If it hadn't been for Jacqueline,

she saved my life.

What else did Mrs. Lombert ask?

She wanted to ask me about the Jews that Jacqueline had saved.

And I could only remember the last one she helped,

just before being arrested, a rabbi and his wife.

OK, can you tell us the story?

They had a little boy and it was too dangerous to travel with him.

So Jacqueline organised for nuns to keep the child.

The parents knew they might never see the child again.

But it was like tearing their hearts out.

Oh, dear, so much love, so much sorrow.

Is there anything else Mrs. Lombert wanted to know?

Yes, she wanted to know if the rabbi had left anything with Jacqueline.

And, as a matter of fact, he did.

He left a suitcase for safekeeping

and Jacqueline said that she hid it with her sister.

Did Mrs. Lombert ask if Jacqueline said what was in the suitcase?

No, no, she didn't.

She didn't ask because she knew what was inside.

Something that was valuable to an antiques dealer.

Or a rabbi.

I can't imagine he had anything more valuable than his son.

I mean, if I had to give up my kid, I don't know.

It's the calculus of survival.

Let me up at the corner.

It's OK, I'll take you home.

No, I want to get out before you start crying.

Tomorrow I'm going to reach out to Jacqueline Dussel's family.

Hey, you waited for me.

I did entertain for your own good.

You knew, didn't you?

You knew it was a trap, didn't you?

You knew it was a trap and you didn't tell me.

You're scaring the dog.

You kill him, I won't be your friend anymore.

My friend?

Narko just busted three of my guys.

Who do you think they're going to come after next?

Your friend?

I told you to cut it off.

I told him and he didn't listen.

Narko was sitting on that house and he didn't tell me.

14 years we played together.

Chase girls, got drunk.

Everything I heard about your business went in one ear and out the other.

He never asked me about police business.

That was our deal.

Now, what are you going to do, my friend?

What are you going to do?

Shoot me?

Come on, Charlie.

Forget him.

With his heart, he's a dead man anyway.

Ah!

Huh?

A suitcase? I don't know anything about a suitcase.

The Nazis took everything when they arrested and checked me.

We're actually more interested in what was inside the suitcase.

Especially anything of value, an artifact maybe, or...

The only thing of value we have is the memory of my aunt's bravery.

I was raised on the stories my parents told me about her.

She was heroic.

All war stories, they get more heroic every telling.

Right, Mr. Deloitte?

What?

No.

My great-aunt was a true martyr.

Anything she touched belongs in a hero's museum.

Well, it's funny you should say that because it was

actually an antiques dealer that was after that suitcase.

Mary Eve Lombert, did she ever try and contact you?

No.

I don't think so.

What about you, Mrs. Deloitte?

Never heard of her.

Apparently, she heard of you.

She called here a few times.

I spoke to her.

She called when I was home alone.

She said Jacqueline was a thief.

It didn't make sense. I hung up.

She kept calling.

I didn't tell my mother-in-law because I didn't want to upset her.

So why didn't you tell your husband?

Gentlemen, I'm sorry. You're going to have to go.

My mother is still recovering from a stroke.

Agnes, show them out.

There's nothing on the Deloitte family.

It's probably all on her laptop.

Look at this.

Hanukkah lamp.

A festival of lights.

Well, I'm guessing this says, in the darkness is the light.

We need an expert.

That's exactly what it says.

In the darkness is the light.

This engraving was commonly put on Hanukkah lamps.

What does it have to do with Mrs. Lombair?

She was tracking down an object that belonged to

a Jewish couple who died during the Holocaust.

And we think this engraving's from that object.

A Hanukkah lamp. Did she find it?

No. We think it's with the family of the woman who tried to save the couple.

A woman? What year?

1943.

What do you know about the couple?

The man was a rabbi in Paris.

And they had a young son, which they had to give up.

You know these people.

You're talking about my parents.

My father was a rabbi here. Walter Zivkin.

You remembered his clothes.

My parents died at Auschwitz.

The French woman who tried to help them put me in the care of nuns.

Eventually I was adopted by an American couple.

This lamp, it belonged to my parents.

That's probably why Mrs. Lombair tried to contact you.

We have to find it.

These lamps, how valuable are they?

These are from the 19th century.

The engraving, the scroll work here is from much earlier.

Let me show you.

Here.

It's almost identical.

This one is from 1719.

It sold at auction last year for 900,000.

That's going to buy a lot of nice memories of Aunt Jacqueline.

On the phone, Mrs. Lombair told me it was her moral duty as a French citizen

to help restore to Holocaust families what was lost during the war.

I hope you share her sense of obligation.

Yes, but our first obligation is to her family, to find her killer.

All due respect, but I've seen the French police at work.

collaborating with the Nazis to deport my parents.

You may think this is about money,

but it's a matter of my personal devotion to the memory of my parents.

I want to show my grandson that they were more than just carrion for the Nazis.

All right, Mr. Sifkin, we will call you.

That was pleasant.

You've never been called a fascist before, have you?

All right, who looks good for this? The Deloitte?

Well, they got the lamp from their Aunt Jacqueline,

but they knew by rights it belonged to the rabbi's family,

so they couldn't sell it on the open market without attracting attention.

They contacted Mrs. Lombair, tried to sell it privately,

probably figured that a small-time antiques dealer would play along.

They misjudged her.

She tracked down the rabbi's son,

but before she could give him the lamp, they killed her.

The Deloittes must have figured what she was up to.

They had 900,000 reasons to try and stop her.

Bring me one reason to arrest them.

Well, if we found the lamp in their possession, that would clinch it.

There's no probable cause to search their home.

The Deloittes don't know that.

I don't know anything about any lamp.

I told her the Germans took everything.

Croix de Guerre,

Medaille de la Résistance.

Your aunt's the pride of the family.

She did the right thing at the time.

Most people didn't.

I know you'll do the right thing.

I am doing the right thing.

What is that, protecting your son?

Fine.

We'll be back tomorrow morning to search this place.

Ten cops, top to bottom.

Tomorrow morning?

Yes, bright and early.

Have a good night.

The rats are cleaning the house. Your little scam worked.

Forget him. Baggy's too light. He's a decoy.

Here she comes.

Can I see this?

No, stop! It's mine! Stop!

In the darkness is the light.

Jeanne, my father.

Your grandfather lit this lamp every Hanukkah.

Like his father before him.

And his grandfather.

It's witnessed so many joys, so many sorrows in our family.

Thank you.

You have no idea what this means to us.

You can thank Jacqueline Dussault and Marie-Eve Lambert.

Of course.

What happens next?

The murder case will proceed against the Deloitte family.

In the meantime, the lamp stays in our evidence room.

Come on, David. Let him get to work.

Now give me a confession.

But we...

We had no reason to kill Marie-Eve.

People kill for less than a million.

What million? Marie-Eve said it was worth 100,000.

That's all we needed.

Since my mother moved in with us,

with her stroke, we have expenses.

Whose idea was it to sell the lamp?

My mother's.

My wife said we should contact a Jewish organization

and maybe there was a reward.

But my mother said we had to keep it secret.

I found Marie-Eve and she agreed to find a supplier.

For 100,000?

She would keep 20 as her commission, we would get 80.

But it was taking too long.

She kept stalling us.

Why? What was she doing?

I don't know.

I told her we were going to find another dealer.

And the next day,

she sent us a deposit of 40,000 right into our account.

We were happy.

I told you we had no reason to kill her.

My son's telling the truth.

We had no problem with Marie-Eve.

If she was going to return the lamp to its rightful owner, she'd get nothing.

What rightful owners? They're all dead.

And that's a sort of it.

But surely you were worried someone was going to make a claim for it.

Isn't that why you tried to sell it in secret?

Then why?

Something to do with your aunt,

Jacqueline?

It's so shameful.

What my father did.

My mother told me.

He knew the rabbi had given my aunt a suitcase to keep.

He knew there was something valuable in it.

He never liked my aunt anyway.

He betrayed her to do his stockpile.

Yes.

My mother found out.

She hid the suitcase where he'd never find it.

I was afraid if people knew we had the lamp,

they'd find out the terrible thing my father did.

I just wanted it out of the house.

Once and for all.

They didn't lie about the money.

Why transfer a 40,000 into their bank account three days before Marie-Eve was killed?

That doesn't make any sense.

Why would she pay them if she was going to give the lamp back to David Zipkin?

Pay them with the money she didn't have.

Where did the money come from?

I didn't trace that yet, but it didn't come from her bank account.

Find out.

I think Marie-Eve is about to lose her halo.

You lost something?

Coffee machine at the prosecutor's office broke.

I thought I'd stop by for some of your paint thinner here.

I came by to give you a heads up.

This narcotics cop Durat came into my office.

He arrested three of Charlie Lapeer's guys two weeks ago.

Now he's got Lapeer in his sights.

He gave me a list of material witnesses he wants me to subpoena.

And this kid, Yannick Morin, is on the list.

I'm told he's your daughter's boyfriend.

I haven't done anything with this list yet.

Okay.

Come here.

What are you doing?

Yannick doesn't know anything.

You can't make your case without him.

You're out of line.

This isn't any of your business.

You're trying to subpoena a target on someone in my family.

Maybe I should have him subpoena you.

I hear you're pretty tight with Charlie Lapeer.

Stay away from my case.

Joe.

What?

No more trace of wire transfer.

I have seven and a half thousand.

Do I hear eight less?

Yes.

And one of the forty thousand is a personal favor to Marie-Eve.

So what?

Did she say where she needed it?

I didn't ask.

I didn't care.

I used to do business with her father.

Now if you'll excuse me, I want to bid on this lot.

Ten thousand, sir.

I have ten thousand.

You come out now or I'll tell everyone here you've

been trading goods looted on Holocaust victims.

You have five seconds.

Monsieur Le Duc, would you like to bid?

Monsieur Le Duc is having an existential crisis.

I'll pass.

I have fourteen and a half thousand.

Fifteen thousand here in the front.

You have to understand.

I only did it to help Marie-Eve save her business.

She came to me last week.

She showed me a photograph of a religious object.

Yes, that's the one.

She explained its origins, that it was a problem,

and that she was arranging a discreet sale.

But she needed to put up forty thousand.

She promised to double my money if I lend it to her.

But I told her that because of its difficult provenance, the most

she could expect from a discreet sale was two hundred thousand.

Marie-Eve thought she could do better than that.

So I lend her the money.

That's it?

No.

Marie-Eve called me two days later and said that she'd

found a motivated buyer who'd pay four times my estimate.

Eight hundred thousand.

Did she tell you the buyer's name?

No.

I was very happy for her.

Now can I get back to work?

A motivated buyer.

Motivated by personal devotion.

Dad's been on this quest for years, looking for anything that belonged to his parents.

He said it was for the sake of his grandson.

Thank you.

Well, those two are very close.

But it was really for himself.

Dad didn't find out who his real parents were until he was twenty-five.

He said learning that he was a Rabbi's son grounded him.

He even changed his name.

The night he was supposed to see Mrs. Lombera, did you talk to him?

Uh, yeah.

He called late.

He said he wanted to talk to Danny, my son, about some movie they wanted to see.

They both love those dumb comic book movies.

I like them too.

The hero always beats the bad boy.

But Zivkin called Mary's shop and left a message.

If he hadn't done that, you might never have known about him.

But he couldn't be sure that she didn't tell anyone else that she was meeting him.

He was establishing an alibi.

The guy is a lawyer.

Yeah, and it's probably at this meeting that

she named her price, eight hundred thousand.

For something that by all rights belonged to him.

Must have made him nuts.

It might have had the same effect on the Deloittes if they found out.

They didn't.

They were happy with the deposit.

Can we trace Zivkin through his GPS that night?

Not close enough to put him at the crime scene.

But, two days later, we have him within twenty-five yards of the Deloittes' place.

So he found out where they lived.

On the hunt for the lamp?

No, there's no way he knew where they lived.

Mary wouldn't have told him.

Her laptop.

That's why he got the address.

Well, assuming he knew her password, I can't see this guy hack him into anything.

Except a handkerchief.

I don't know.

We just talked about stuff like, you know, movies.

I told you.

It's nothing sinister.

What movie? What was it called?

Be careful, Danny.

We ask your grandfather the same questions.

I forget.

You spend a lot of time with your computer.

You do any hacking?

No, I don't do that.

You get in trouble.

But you know people who hack, right?

Is that what you and your grandfather talked about?

Hacking into a computer?

Answer him, Danny.

And tell them the truth, all right?

Granddad said he forgot his password for his computer.

I told him there's this store near the Gardel Est where they jailbreak cell phones.

This Indian guy there, Anish.

He can crack any password.

Eight hundred thousand?

Ridiculous. Who would pay so much for a stolen artifact?

Well, you, for example.

I wouldn't pay a red cent for something that belongs to my family.

That's exactly what we think you told Mrs. Snowbell that night.

This is why you're here.

To accuse me of murder?

Well, there's a few things you need to explain.

Firstly, why two days after the murder you were tracked to the Rue Rebeval,

which is where the Lloyd family live.

They do? I wouldn't know.

I was on my way to Butte-Chaumont Park.

I discovered it last month.

It's a great place to exercise these old legs.

You're right about the park.

But you're wrong about the Deloitte's.

You found their address on Mrs. Lambert's computer.

The day after the murder you took a computer to a phone store

where you paid a man named Anish to decipher the password and access the files.

My computer?

I was trying to change the password and I accidentally locked myself out.

Anish described a computer that matched Mrs. Lambert's.

This is your star witness?

A computer hacker.

You know, if I had gone to see Mrs. Lambert that night,

if she had asked me for money for the lamp, I would have said no problem.

Then I would have gone to the police and had her arrested for extortion and left.

You might have done that, but you couldn't help yourself.

You lost control.

I may not be conversant in French criminal procedures,

but I know enough to suspect that if you had actual evidence,

you'd be taking me away in handcuffs.

Now get out of my office!

Tough old son of a bitch.

Can I interest you in dessert?

I'm still hungry. I'm going to check out the pastry cut.

When you were with those guys, did you ever meet their boss, Charlie?

No.

They ever talked about him or his business?

Charlie did this, Charlie said to do that.

No, why?

No, nothing.

It's okay.

Just be careful.

You're on your own. These are all for me.

She just moved.

Hey, Nick.

Daddy's here.

Oh.

Just now.

About to get some overtime?

No, you know, idle hands.

Even when your hands were busy, you still managed to get jammed up.

Nothing but strong coffee.

You want to put me down for drugs?

I'll take your word for it.

Forget the drugs then.

I'll just take the pad down.

That's it. Thirty minutes is up.

For the next twelve hours, it's just you, my partner and myself.

By the time we're done, you'll be very familiar with our procedures.

I'm not worried.

I haven't done anything.

I have a son of my own.

I can only imagine how he'd feel if we had to abandon him to strangers.

It's not something I'd wish on anyone.

Being tossed around from hiding place to hiding place.

And then, with your asthma.

I never had asthma.

You sure? Not even as a baby?

No, I was a strong boy.

Maybe somebody else in your family then.

They were all healthy.

I don't doubt my parents would have lived

to be a hundred if it weren't for the Nazis.

Then we have a problem.

This is belladonna powder.

It was found in your father's suitcase. It was used to treat asthma.

And this inhaler would have been used by a small child.

The rabbi's boy had asthma.

You're lying.

It's a trick.

You put that in the suitcase.

Everything that was in the suitcase was documented.

DNA tests show that the DNA on the inhaler was from

the same family as the DNA in your father's gloves.

I'm sorry, but you're not Rabbi Zivkin's son.

No.

I have proof.

There.

In my wallet.

After everything this country did to my

parents, that you would persecute me like this.

I've had this picture since I was a child.

It came with me from France.

The country was in chaos.

They just gave you the wrong photo.

No.

In 1966, UJA in New York got records from the

Paris prefecture that proved who my parents were.

1966. Those files were full of mistakes. Right, Bayard?

Wrong names.

Incorrect birthplaces.

Because they had to pass a law in 1985 to

correct the mistakes and computerize the files.

And now they have it all neat and tidy at the Shoah Memorial.

Have you been?

No.

I know what I know.

It's just ten minutes from here.

Come on. We'll take you there.

I don't need to.

What are you afraid of?

I don't want to go in. Please.

You don't want to know?

I know who I am. You don't need to see.

Let's go.

Leave me alone.

Search yourself.

We went inside this morning.

This is what happened to Rabbi Zivkin's family.

This is the truth.

Read it.

No. No.

I want to leave.

Walter Zivkin, age 34.

Died in Birkenau, 1943.

Ursula Zivkin, age 31.

Died in Auschwitz, 1943.

David Zivkin, age 2.

Died of an acute asthma attack.

In 1943.

In the Maison de Sèvres orphanage.

You're not the Rabbi's son.

That clamp doesn't belong to you.

You killed her for nothing.

Oh God.

What have I done?

For nothing.

She wanted money.

Or she wouldn't tell me where it was.

All these years of finding nothing and then this woman.

Standing between me and...

Them.

I smashed her against the wall.

Over and over.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

What's going to happen to me?

I was the son of Walter Zivkin.

A Rabbi in Paris.

Now I'm nothing.

C'est Clair.

Yannick!

No!

Yannick!

No, please save him!

Save him!

No!

You can't stay.

No!

Daddy!

Don't touch him!