Original subtitles

Girls, come here.

Stay in line. Don't wander off.

Take a look. From up here, you can see the whole town,

with Brunelleschi's Dome,

Giotto's Campanile, and on the left there is Ponte Vecchio.

Mommy!

Mommy!

Mommy!

Mommy!

Mommy!

Mommy!

Virginia?

-Mommy. -What's wrong?

-Are you scared, sweetheart? -Mommy.

Mommy!

You've just listened to "Pop's a Lovely Music," from Greenbacks' Robin, Robin.

This is Radio Stella, as always, on 102 MHz FM.

Let's continue with your requests. Carlo, who is three, dedicates the following song

to his first love, Sabrina.

So here it is, "Savannah Spirit."

THE NEW WEEKLY BEING A HAPPY HOUSEWIFE

For some of you, this is the first time listening to Radio Stella, isn't it?

- I wonder when your last time will be. -Ma'am?

Ma'am?

Ma'am?

Please, answer me.

How are you? Are you still feeling sick?

Don't forget that we broadcast in stereo.

Would you get out?

Get out for a moment. Come get some air.

Good.

How are you now? Are you feeling any better?

Yes. Yes, I am. Thank you.

Do you have a cigarette?

Try to calm down.

Most of the time, extrasensory visions, hallucinations

are just the consequence of an emotional condition.

Eighteen years ago, my mother committed suicide.

I wasn't there, but I saw everything. It wasn't a hallucination.

I know, Virginia.

And yet, how many of your other paranormal perceptions

have actually been matched by reality?

Regardless of that, I analyzed all of them.

Well, that's your job. You're a parapsychologist.

Though, since I got married, I've been

under the impression that you've lost interest in them a bit.

I must admit that's true.

In that case, you can go to hell!

Cool down.

Stay calm.

The calmer you are, the fewer hallucinations you'll have.

Listen, Virginia.

That episode concerning your mother's suicide

clearly shows how extreme

your perceptions can be.

But there's nothing uncommon about that.

Many people have premonitions,

mostly in their dreams.

We all have at least one relative or friend

who once dreamed of someone getting run over,

and then read of the same accident in the next day's newspaper.

So, according to you,

I fell asleep at the wheel

and dreamed of an unknown woman being

killed and walled in by a limping man.

Oh, well, thanks for your help!

Don't get angry.

I was only trying to find a logical explanation for your vision.

If you believe that you really witnessed a homicide, go to the police.

What a great piece of advice!

Or, if you prefer, tell it to your beloved husband.

I can't, and you know it.

He wouldn't believe me.

You're the only one I can talk to.

Well, what about turning on that recorder?

Sure.

Even if the last time we used it,

you told me you had fallen in love and you would marry

Francesco Ducci.

Well, let's see how it goes for me today.

I was driving into the tunnel, when suddenly everything went dark.

I saw like a blade of red light.

A broken mirror.

A murdered woman.

This shutter needs to be oiled.

There we go.

Please, come on in, ma'am.

-You see, it has been closed a long time. -I can tell.

Nobody ever comes here.

How Is young Master Francesco doing?

He's away on business, in London.

Ah, lucky him!

Are you really his wife?

Of course, I am.

What a strange question!

Why?

He used to be a confirmed bachelor, but he finally got hooked.

This way.

And what's more, by a foreigner.

"Choose a bird from your own backyard,” as they say.

Yet, I, too, would have liked to get hooked by a woman like you.

With all due respect!

Here, on this floor, are the bedrooms and the executive rooms.

Everything is almost falling to pieces.

Please wait while I open a window, to let some light in.

This way, ma'am.

Why would you bother fixing up this place?

Nobody cares about it.

What's the point?

Well, you know, I'm an architect, so it's fun for me.

A fun project for the rich.

Well,

this is the only room in rather good shape.

Here, young Master Francesco used to have his one-night st--

I apologize.

I shouldn't have said that.

Did I offend you?

No, you didn't.

If there's anything else I can do for you, ma'am, I'm at your disposal.

That's it, thank you.

Just please come back in half an hour, to help me close up.

As you wish.

You don't mind staying alone? Aren't you scared?

Why should I be scared?

Hey, look. Please...

See if you can have the phone reconnected.

I'd really appreciate it.

Sure, ma'am. Sure.

I knew that someone had died here.

We kept on hearing strange noises.

And in your opinion they were caused by ghosts, right?

Yes, Marshal. There are ghosts. That's why the Duccis never come around here.

It's rather strange, anyway.

This house belongs to your husband,

yet you're saying you've never been here before.

We've been married for just three months.

And what brought you here today?

Well, I was thinking of restoring it.

It would be a surprise for him.

Oh, I see. So you came here alone.

Why didn't you bring, I don't know, an architect

or an interior designer with you?

Because I am an interior designer.

I see. So, today, you came in here for the first time, right?

And the first thing you do is grab a pickaxe,

smash a hole in the first wall you see,

and find a skeleton.

Now, either the walls of this house are full of skeletons--

Lieutenant, I know this all sounds ridiculous,

but I'm telling the truth.

Telepathy?

Oh, no, ma'am! Please, be honest.

According to the forensics which I've just received,

it's the skeleton of a woman about 25 years old.

257

Yes, 25. Why?

Well, according to my wife,

that woman would be in her fifties.

Yes, I talked to your wife.

We had a very interesting conversation.

Unfortunately, I don't know much about parapsychology,

and, moreover, as a magistrate, I must comply with what is

in the forensics report.

So, let's see...

Height, weight, and so on... Ah, here it is.

On the basis of carbon-22 dating,

her death didn't occur before January 1972

and no later than June of the same year.

During this period,

did you ever go into that house?

I don't remember.

Maybe I did.

Ah, but...

not after April, though.

Because in mid-April, I left to go to the United States.

So it's clear that my client cannot be a suspect

from April on.

From mid-April.

It's been a pleasure, ma'am.

-Bye, Ducci. In case of trouble, call me. -Thank you.

-Take everything up to my office. -Yes, sir. I'll take care of it.

What's the trouble?

Oh, don't be afraid.

It was inevitable that they would suspect me.

What an absurdity!

It's an abandoned house.

Anyone could have broken into it.

Why should it have been you?

Darling, in this country, it doesn't take much to become a suspect.

Being the owner of that house is enough.

That's ridiculous.

Anyway, did they find out how old she was?

Around 25.

-No, she wasn't! -Sweetheart,

you have to convince yourself she wasn't an old lady.

Today's forensic techniques are almost flawless.

Thanks to the carbon-22 dating,

the margin of error is very low.

Yet, Francesco, everything is just like in my vision, apart from a few details,

such as the mirror, which isn't broken.

Look, dear, please...

Okay, a so-called telepathic phenomenon

led you to the remains of that poor woman.

Now, the police will do their job.

Try to stop thinking about it.

Don't get obsessed with it. That won't help.

I've never seen that mirror broken.

Have you asked my sister?

No.

Well, try to ask her. Sorry, but I'm busy now.

And stop going into that farmhouse. What do you do in there?

Maybe she vanished because she wanted

to go home before the gate was closed.

You're very funny.

But I'm not joking at all.

I've really seen that woman. I recognized her.

She was exactly the same woman I saw in my vision.

Then she's alive.

No.

She's dead.

As you wish, dear. She's dead.

Would you pour me a drink?

The police can say whatever they want.

She was at least 50 years old.

Maybe older.

I'm sure of that.

In my vision, her room also fit

the taste of an old woman.

You could tell from the furniture

and the thick curtains.

-So she wasn't killed in the farmhouse. -No way.

She must have been taken there when she was already dead.

In a yellow taxi.

Your vision included that, too. Right?

Yeah, maybe.

Listen.

Why don't you forget about this ugly story?

Stop insisting!

I can't, don't you see?

You shouldn't have married a psychic.

Darling, I'd love you even if you were a witch.

Anyhow, stop tormenting yourself.

Let the police find out who she was.

Be confident that they'll succeed.

Her name was Agnese Bignardi.

We've been able to collect conclusive evidence

of her identity.

Her father filed a missing person report in August 1972,

But he hadn't heard from her for months.

He had received a postcard from her in February.

This

is the photo which her father

attached to the report.

She was an attractive girl.

Please take a look.

Do you recognize her?

Virginia?

In that room...

Yes, on the floor...

I remember there was a magazine

with a picture of that girl on its cover.

In your vision?

I saw it, I'm telling you.

This is a different picture,

but it's the same girl.

Thank you.

What about you, Mr. Ducci?

Did you know her?

Yes, I knew her.

I had a relationship with

Agnese Bignardi.

I've never told you this, Virginia,

because it happened before I met you.

Mr. Ducci,

this new piece of information deserves further investigation. You understand.

Would you come with us?

The public prosecutor will want to ask you a few more questions.

Fine.

The usual formalities, ma'am. Rest assured.

FRANCESCO DUCCI ARRESTED

Counselor, my brother has nothing to do with that.

They're talking bullshit.

How do they know she was Agnese Bignardi?

She could be any whore.

Ma'am. Same height, same age.

Even her dental prosthesis is an exact match.

But there's no evidence against Francesco!

Why did they put him in jail?

Because during a pre-trial hearing,

the prosecutor's belief is enough to hold someone in custody.

Based on what?

Based on the fact that he was Agnese Bignardi's lover.

Is this it?

Look, Counselor,

I've never killed any of my lovers,

and there have been 56 so far. I keep count of them, you know?

I'm lucky that I don't have to defend you instead of your brother.

They were lovers, and the remains

were in your husband's house. Put the two together, and--

Anyone who knew they were lovers could have taken

the body there, to make Francesco look guilty.

In that case, why conceal the body?

Someone even walled it in.

Don't bring along too many chairs, please.

If the hall is too crowded, the Maestro will take it out on me.

Everyone is taking it out on me at the Philharmonic!

You! Please, clean up over there.

Why on Earth did I agree to put on these concerts? Fuck!

At least by putting on these concerts, you can speak your mind.

I can't help thinking about Francesco.

I can't, either. You know, in my opinion, another attorney should work with Melli.

Someone more assertive, I mean.

Yes, maybe. But that wouldn't be enough.

What brand do you smoke?

It's not marijuana, darling.

Gitanes.

Are they easy to find?

These ones with the yellow paper?

Here in Italy, I don't think so. A friend got them for me.

He works at the French embassy.

Keep the pack if you like them.

They're strong enough to kill an elephant.

So, what do you want to do?

Will you go and tell the prosecutor, "Get my husband out of jail, he's innocent"?

"The killer was smoking a cigarette with yellow paper made out of corn.

On the contrary, my husband doesn't smoke.

He's never smoked and, moreover, he doesn't have a limp."

Because you saw someone with a limp, right?

You don't believe me, do you?

I hope you don't mind my saying so, dear,

but you've messed everything up with your fucking visions.

While my brother, poor devil, is just minding his own business in London,

you rush here to the farmhouse,

smash a wall,

and break my brother's balls by getting him into trouble.

Please, Gloria, be kind.

Shut up, and stop talking rubbish.

Sorry.

So that's where her body was concealed.

Nine years ago, I was thinking of creating a nook in there.

Imagine that!

If I had done it, I would have found the corpse still warm.

What are you talking about now?

Nothing.

I, too, considered doing up this place, when Francesco went to America.

But you know me. My enthusiasm quickly fades.

So I just ended up with a pile of bricks in the basement.

Ah, no! Actually, I also replaced the furnishings in this room.

Which ones, Gloria?

All of them.

All of them?

Are you sure?

Of course I am, dear. This was Francesco's bedroom once.

His bed was over there. Then there were a dresser, a wardrobe.

Everything was different.

And you replaced them after he left, right?

Two, three weeks later.

This means that she was killed while Francesco was in America!

It's evidence!

The room I saw in my vision was like this one.

Do you understand?

With these furnishings.

No, believe me. It's not just a theory.

It's a certainty.

To me, it's an absolute certainty!

Okay, maybe you're right. But the prosecutor

won't care about your certainty.

I've had enough of your visions!

Nobody is taking you seriously!

I'm sorry, darling.

Ma'am, your vision would undoubtedly provide

an alibi, if only it could be proved.

Unfortunately, it can't.

Fine.

All right. Yet maybe we can prove

that she was still alive after you left.

I mean, we need to find someone who knew her, who saw her.

Someone who saw her alive

after you had already left for America.

It won't be easy.

No, but it's possible.

We must try to find someone, Francesco.

It's the only way to prove your innocence.

And we'll prove it!

We'll succeed.

Believe me, Luca.

I'm sure some further detail of that vision can help us.

Let's listen to the recording again.

Maybe something else will come up.

Paola, please,

put the tape on.

What are you looking for? The tape recorder is here.

Yes, I know.

But I transcribed the recording so that it would be easier to analyze it.

Sometimes you surprise me.

Oh, I'm sure about that.

You think I'm stupid.

Why switch on your brain with him?

Why did you underline "taxi"?

Virginia said it was yellow.

But all taxis are yellow, aren't they?

Yes, they are nowadays. But they decided to make them yellow in 1972.

At that time, there were only 16 of them.

How do you know this?

I've done some research. The list is in my bag.

I've also written down the home address of every driver.

Wow, you're great!

That's fantastic!

We need to reach them. Maybe...

Maybe one of them remembers driving that girl somewhere.

I've already shown her picture to seven of them. No one remembers her.

There are nine more to call, though.

This is the Ducci residence.

We're not home at the moment.

You have 30 seconds to leave a message.

Please talk after the beep.

You don't know me, Virginia.

We've never met,

but I have great sympathy for both you and your husband.

I perfectly understand what you're going through in this moment,

and I share your pain in a way that you can't even imagine.

I feel so sorry for what's happening to Francesco.

When you're in the clutches of justice, you'd better expect the worst.

I can do a lot for him.

I hold a crucial card.

I'm waiting for you, dear.

How nice!

Who fucking cares about her "crucial card"?

She didn't leave an address.

She left it,

but it wasn't recorded.

She spoke for more than 30 seconds.

Yeah, I guess you're right.

I didn't think of that. Maybe she didn't realize it.

Of course she didn't. Otherwise, she'd have called back.

If Francesco heard her voice, maybe he could identify her.

Yeah. Her voice is odd, trained.

I might have heard it before. Who knows where?

Possibly at the Philharmonic.

It sounds like the voice of an actress,

or an opera singer.

An opera singer!

Hello?

Paola?

Ah, yes. Thank you.

Here I am.

Keep him there.

Sure, Luca. Don't worry.

I've promised him a big tip. Rest assured, he won't leave.

Will you?

Paola's just found the taxi driver.

Yes,

I heard my colleagues talking about it.

But the taxi which I was driving in 1972 wasn't yellow.

I painted it yellow later, when it became mandatory.

Anyway, I dropped off that girl.

When I saw her picture in the newspaper,

I immediately recognized her.

Even after four years?

Well, there's a reason for that.

But it's kind of delicate, ma'am.

I told the young lady over there.

Oh, yeah. She didn't wear panties.

Yeah.

Miniskirts were all the rage at that time.

Hard to avoid seeing everything.

Let me ask you something. Was it summertime?

Maybe. It was hot, anyway.

Was she alone?

No.

She was with a strict-looking man.

He had a beard.

Ah, wait. He was limping.

Are you sure?

Yes. He was limping.

All right. Go ahead. Anything else?

What else could I say?

Now that I think of it, he could have been a professor,

because I drove them to a museum.

Which museum?

I don't know its name, but it's just past the square.

That's not a museum. It's an art gallery.

No, no, no.

This isn't the place that I've seen.

Maybe...

Maybe it wasn't a museum.

Here, the paintings are large, side by side.

No. What I remember distinctly

is a sacred image.

Maybe it wasn't a painting.

Who knows?

Maybe it was a fresco or a mosaic.

I also remember a black and white painting

with writing on it.

Yet it wasn't in that strange place.

I don't know.

It's like it wasn't

in any place. Maybe it was an image, an i--

VERMEER - "THE LOVE LETTER" CANVAS STOLEN ON 3-3-1972

PAINTING GALLERY ALDOBRANDI

I remember that theft.

A man ended up dead.

A custodian of the museum, poor fellow.

Vermeer's painting was the centerpiece of the collection.

It was worth one billion liras at the time.

You can read it for yourselves.

Here you go.

March 7, 1972.

Here you'll find a detailed article about that theft.

Who is he?

He's the gallery director, Mr. Rospini.

He has a beard.

Maybe he also has a limp.

If so, he could be the man described by the taxi driver.

Is he the same man you saw in your vision?

Sure, he looks like him!

Except for the beard.

No, maybe he doesn't look like him.

I don't know what to say. Everything's fuzzy at this point.

Your wife was right, Mr. Rospini.

Judge for yourself!

You look at least 10 years younger!

So you discovered my husband's double life: art expert and horseman.

However, he stopped riding a few years ago. Thank goodness!

Pardon me, what's the name of the newspaper you write for?

I write for The New York Times, ma'am.

The New York Times?

I'm writing a series of articles about the most famous equestrians.

Emilio's never been famous.

He's just managed to waste a lot of money. My money.

I've never wanted to watch any equestrian competition.

You see, it was my form of protest,

as they like to say nowadays.

So I'm afraid I can be of little help to you. I'm sorry.

And what about his fall?

Oh, yes. The fall. Sure.

He risked permanent injury.

He had a kneecap fracture,

so he dragged his left leg for more than one year.

But how did you know about his fall?

Sorry?

Oh, well, I heard about it while doing another interview.

I'd have preferred that you had heard

about who Emilio Rospini really is.

He is an authority in the field of figurative arts.

There he is.

He'll be very glad to talk with you about his glory days

as an equestrian.

Emilio?

Oh! What have you done?

Not again, dear! You keep on growing and shaving your beard--

Please, Giovanna, leave us alone.

But...

Please.

What do you want from me?

An answer.

To what question?

Did you know Agnese Bignardi?

Get out. Right now, please.

You were lovers.

Don't you dare. Go away!

-So you admit it! -Get out!

He shaved his beard.

But was Rospini limping in your vision?

No.

Then it could be someone else.

No way! I recognized him.

You should have seen the look on his face when I mentioned that girl's name.

No. It's him, I tell you.

If you think you can run your own game, you're wrong.

No, no. Don't kid yourself.

You're in over your head.

I'm not losing my mind!

I'm just trying to defend myself.

I warn you, anyway.

Mind what you do.

Don't forget it!

I feel so sorry for what's happening to Francesco.

When you're in the clutches of justice,

you'd better expect the worst.

I can do a lot for him.

I hold a crucial card.

I'm waiting for you, dear.

This is the message she left. The prosecutor

allowed me to let you listen to it.

So, do you recognize who's speaking?

No.

Don't waste your time. Either she's a mythomaniac

or she hopes to get some money out of us.

Yes, I think so, too. But it seemed worth the attempt.

Tell Virginia to stay away from such people.

Should that woman call again,

tell my wife to tell her to go to hell.

This is it, I tell you. I'm absolutely sure.

Same cover picture, same magazine.

The New Weekly.

It's a name you've never mentioned before.

I didn't remember it until I saw it again.

There's only one explanation.

They ran out of material, so they reprinted a picture taken four years ago.

Let me take a look.

Newspapers and magazines always retain whatever material they print.

You've probably missed a detail.

It may be important.

This looks like a horse head.

Furthermore, Agnese Bignardi has never worked as a cover girl.

I bet that's a snapshot they've bought from someone.

So?

Yes, it was I who sold it to the magazine.

I found it in the archives of the equestrian competition.

Do you recognize that girl?

No, but...

I do recognize the horses.

This is Fiorello.

And this is Nicolenda, Professor Rospini's horse.

Rospini?

Yes. Do you know him?

And have you ever seen the professor together with that girl?

No. I wasn't here in that period.

I couldn't watch the 1973 competition. I was working at Le Cascine.

Do you mean that the photo was taken in 1973?

Yes, it was taken at the tenth equestrian competition.

It's written on the banner.

And the tenth one was held in 1973.

Thank you. Thanks a lot.

This picture proves

that my husband is innocent.

The tenth competition was held

on June 12, 1973.

On that date, my client had already been out of Italy for several months.

The departure stamp on his passport can prove it.

It'll also be easy to prove that the horse belonged to Professor Rospini,

as Canovari, the groom, told us.

He sold the picture to the magazine.

So, in your opinion, Agnese Bignardi

had an affair with the professor, too.

It's possible.

But it's of little interest to me. I'll leave it to you to check it out.

I'm only interested in proving the innocence of Francesco Ducci.

And that picture, as I said, leaves no room for doubt.

All right, Counselor.

Yes, we'll examine this evidence,

even if it conflicts with the carbon-22 dating.

Then we'll let you know.

When?

As soon as possible.

Justice cannot be rushed, ma'am.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Hello?

I need to speak with Commissioner D'Elia, please.

Yes.

Professor Rospini was suspected,

but no sound evidence. Anonymous letters, yes.

The stolen painting is worth billions, and equitation is expensive,

but let's not forget

that the professor's wife is very rich.

What? He was a friend of Bignardi?

It's Rossi, Commissioner.

I'm at Rospini's house to verify that piece of information, but he isn't here.

Try the gallery.

He isn't there, either. His wife says he hasn't been home since yesterday.

It looks like he cut and ran.

Okay. Place someone on watch, in case he comes back home.

Then come back here and move on to the next step.

Yes, an alert to every police station.

He probably

had more reasons than Ducci to kill her.

We can't rule out

that Agnese Bignardi was blackmailing him.

But why wall her in at Ducci's farmhouse?

Well, it was the perfect place to do it.

An uninhabited place in the countryside, with no electric light, no phone line--

-What a bunch of assholes we've--- -Hey!

I'm sorry.

I thought you cared about your husband, Virginia.

For your sake, come see me.

Here's my address again.

Via del Lombrone, 6.

Where is it located?

Look, why do you care?

Francesco will soon be out. It's a matter of hours.

I thought you cared about your husband, Virginia.

For your sake, come see me.

Here's my address again.

Via del Lombrone, 6.

Virginia, come over here.

I'm coming.

Do you like it?

Yes, a lot.

All right, it's yours.

Why?

A friend in Rome gave it to me.

The one from the French embassy?

No, this one works at the Holy See, my dear.

Wow.

The centerpiece of this watch is its alarm.

Isn't it lovely?

It's the same tune I heard in the tunnel.

The very same.

You'll think I'm crazy.

No, you aren't crazy at all.

Look again at the magazine instead.

There's a detail we didn't notice.

Look.

Year one, number 18.

What does it mean? I don't get it.

It means this magazine couldn't have been in that room

five years ago.

But I saw it. Believe me.

Yes, Virginia, you saw it.

But it wasn't there at the time.

It hadn't been printed yet.

How can that be?

I started to have my doubts

when you saw that woman at the farmhouse.

You thought she was a ghost.

It seemed like the only logical explanation,

as you had already seen her dead.

But I can assure you that--

No, wait.

In 1972,

Rospini had a beard and dragged one leg.

Yet in your vision, he wasn't limping

and he didn't have a beard.

This is a confirmation.

A confirmation of what?

Of what I'm thinking.

And what are you thinking?

You didn't see

Agnese Bignardi being walled in.

You saw another woman.

But we don't know who she was.

Maybe the other one, the old lady.

It could be.

Maybe she was going to die that way.

As in your vision, Virginia.

Because what you saw hasn't happened yet.

You had a precognition.

Or, if you prefer,

you looked into the future.

And in the future,

there will be a carillon,

a magazine,

and a yellow taxi.

Via dell' Ombrone, please.

All taxis are yellow.

Pardon, ma'am?

Oh, nothing.

Excuse me, were there taxis with radios on board

in 1972?

What? In 1972? No.

No, ma'am.

They came up later.

Excuse me, ma'am.

Is it Via dell' Ombrone

or Via del Lombrone?

What?

"L'Ombrone" with an apostrophe

or "Lombrone" as one word?

Oh, I don't know.

But wait. Wait.

Here it's written as "Lombrone 6."

Too bad! Via dell' Ombrone isn't far from here.

The one without the apostrophe is almost in the countryside.

Before they released me, I asked a guard to phone you.

Apparently, he didn't bother to call.

But where is Virginia now?

I don't know.

She said first she would stop to see Luca,

that friend of hers who deals with parapsychology.

Then she would go to Via del Lombrone.

-To Via del Lombrone? -Yeah.

She wanted to meet the woman who had phoned here.

It's 2,200 liras.

Isn't Montesilvano close to here?

Yes, the hamlet they've been talking about in the news.

The house with the skeleton in the wall is nearby.

-Hello? -Francesco!

Virginia! Where have you gone?

Dear, they let you out! When did you get back home?

A few hours ago. I've been looking for you everywhere.

Look, I went to that woman's house and I found her dead,

just... just like in my vision.

I know she's dead. I saw her, too.

I went to Via del Lombrone looking for you. I called the police.

But where are you now?

I'm at the farmhouse. I've found shelter here.

-That man's chasing me. He's outside. -Who is he?

Rospini!

It's he who killed that woman. Now he wants me dead, too. I'm scared!

I'll be right over! Lock yourself in and don't open the door for anyone.

-Okay. -Don't answer the phone. Stay calm.

All right.

But please hurry up!

Come here as fast as you can.

The bureau looks shorter.

But the nook looks exactly like it did in my dreams.

As in your vision, Virginia.

Because what you saw hasn't happened yet.

You had a precognition.

Or, if you prefer,

you looked into the future.

Ducci residence. We are not home at the moment.

You have 30 seconds to leave a message.

Please talk after the beep.

I hold a crucial card.

I'm waiting for you, dear.

Francesco!

Francesco!

Darling, it's over now.

I'm here!

What...what's wrong with your leg?

Oh, nothing. I've twisted my ankle.

You're trembling.

Come on, let's go inside for a moment.

You've been great!

If it weren't for you, heaven knows how long I would have stayed in jail.

You know, dear,

we should subscribe to this magazine.

As a sign of gratitude, I mean.

Think of how much we owe this picture.

Take it easy on him.

Now, Professor Rospini.

I didn't kill her.

When...

When I arrived at the villa,

she was already dead.

Who was already dead?

Mrs. Casazza, Via del Lombrone--

But why did you go to Via del Lombrone?

I wanted that letter.

-Virginia? -Hello?

-This is Canovari. -Yes, Canovari.

Look, there was something strange in that picture. Now I know what it was.

It can't have been taken at the tenth equestrian competition.

How do you know it wasn't that competition?

That's easy.

That picture has Professor Rospini's horse, Nicolenda, in it,

but I had to put her down at the end of 1972.

She had a broken leg.

So she couldn't be at the tenth competition, which took place in 1973.

That picture has to date back to the previous year,

1972. It can't be otherwise.

Even if I can't explain it--

Hello? Mr. Fattori?

This means the year Agnese Bignardi was murdered and walled in was 1972.

And something is still to happen in that farmhouse.

Francesco,

let's go away.

Are you in a hurry?

No, no.

But I feel very tired.

Virginia,

You keep on smoking too much.

Virginia, dear, what's scaring you?

Nothing. I'm not scared.

But I want to go home.

You're already home.

Why are you afraid?

Did you read it?

No, Francesco.

No!

I wish I could believe you.

But what if you're lying?

Casazza

met a buyer for the painting.

I was waiting outside the museum together with Agnese.

Francesco broke in and killed the custodian.

Agnese wrote it down in that letter.

Then Agnese, who was to make the delivery,

vanished with the painting.

Hence, we thought she had tricked us.

When that skeleton

was discovered,

we realized that it was

Ducci who had walled her in and tricked us.

Casazza

was already dead when I arrived.

And Francesco

was looking for that letter.

His deposition is nonsense.

He'd rather save his dignity, even If he's dying.

When he saw me,

he jumped out of the window

and he twisted an ankle.

This damned letter.

Do you believe that Rospini will be charged for my death?

Yes, if this letter gets lost.

He's cruel...

Ruthless.

As in your vision, Virginia.

Because what you saw hasn't happened yet.

You had a precognition.

You looked into the future.

As in your vision, Virginia.

Because what you saw hasn't happened yet.

You had a precognition.

You looked into the future.

You didn't see

Agnese Bignardi being walled in. You saw another woman.

But we don't know who she was.

You're driving too fast.

It's because I'm in a rush.

Your license and registration.

Very well, then. Fuck off.

-You insulted me. -I did it because I need your help.

-Come with us. -No, you come with me.

We must get inside this house.

Stop it, and come with us.

Someone is in danger!

Stop lying to us!

-Can't you see there's no one inside? -Come on!

-Who is it? -It's Luca Fattori!

What's happened?

Do you know where Virginia is?

No.

Believe me, I don't know what to do anymore.

I don't know where she's gone.

I've been looking everywhere.

Do you mind if we come in?

Not at all.

I came here looking for her. This place was my last hope.

I'm going through hell.

At this point, I don't know what to think.

She went out in the afternoon.

She didn't tell anyone where she was going.

She didn't even leave a note.

I don't really know what to think.

I hoped that you had met her somewhere.

As far as I know, she came to see you often.

Yes, she did.

But I didn't see her, so I was looking for her, too.

Here?

Yes.

Why?

It's no use.

We're just wasting our time.

She's definitely not here.

Hey, wait a minute.

Is this the room where Agnese Bignardi was walled in?

Yes.

That's the wall.

I don't know who had it repaired, either Virginia or my sister.