01x05 - Episode 5

[bunniefuu]

BIG GÉGÉ IS A DOORMAT

MUM

This accusation is absurd.

Inspector Jouin is a married man.
A father.

That doesn't prove anything.

Between us, most inverts are.

Can the complaint be withdrawn?

Abused or not,
the plaintiff remains a pederast.

Consequently, his word is questionable.

We also have statements
from a municipal employee

and another police officer.

Antoine Jouin is...

an aggressive loner.

Most of his colleagues hate him.

Apart from you, Superintendent,

who will testify in his favour?

I'm sorry.

What for?

You were just doing your job.

Was the committal order necessary?

Police officers can be k*lled in prison.

Yes, that would be a shame.

After all, he may be innocent.

Newspaper!

You could have brought up the post.

I know we're partners,
you're not my secretary, etc,

but good habits should be maintained.

Jeanne?

Jeanne?

Get up.

You're suspended with immediate effect,
until your disciplinary hearing.

You are forbidden from
communicating with your colleagues,

as they will be asked
to testify about you.

You're also forbidden
from contacting the plaintiff,

Monsieur Félicien Mercadier.

Any questions?

So I've been charged?

The public prosecutor's department
will decide,

at the end of Judge Boucart's inquiry.

Jouin.

I should warn you that
the vice squad went to question your wife.

Just following protocol.

They asked her some questions
about your... nocturnal habits.

I fear Madame Jouin
didn't take it very well.

But the good news is,
you already have a lawyer.

No, sir. Inspector Jouin isn't here.

I don't know when he'll be back.

I can't take any messages. Goodbye.

Was that for me?

The use of this phone
is for on-duty police officers only.

Who was it?

Quemener, who was it?

I'm not meant to speak to you.

Who was it?

Weidmann's office.

Have a wash, lad. I might be contagious.

Say what you will,

Jouin has ba*ls of steel.

Sounds like
he's shown them to half the city.

Police Prefecture,
Commissioner Lépine's office.

The commissioner,
for Marguerite Steinheil.

The commissioner is unavailable.

- Can you tell him to call me back?
- No, madame. He won't call or see you.

There's no point
you writing to him, either.

We sort through the commissioner's post.

Tell him...

Just tell him I'm okay.

He'll understand.

I don't see why that would concern him.

Monsieur Fiersi is here, madame.

Here you are!
I've been trying to reach you.

I'm not here to see you.

I'm working.

I have some bad news.

He's dead?

Paul...

You're sure it's him?

Suicide?

Poor thing.

He was so kind.

You see.

The sensitive ones are always terrorised.

You can trust me on that.

- Was he blackmailing you?
- How absurd!

I insisted on paying him.

Saucy photos?

A few. Like a little brochure.

Paul showed me.
Apparently some clients like it.

It's not for me.

No, I'm asking
if they took pictures of you.

You really are twisted.

For you,
it's all about crime and human villainy.

Beauty eludes you.

Paul loved painting.

He appreciated my work.

I told him about art, and he'd tell me...

About the woods.

That secret world right next to ours.

Good God, look around you!
It's here, right under your nose.

Despair comes from the city.

Freedom is in the woods.

Right.

Seeing as there are six people
in the house and my daughter's upstairs,

you won't be hitting me?

I won't keep you.

But do go and see my wife.
She misses you.

What did you tell him?

That's none of your business.

- Is business back up and running?
- Saturday.

How many players?

Twelve.

The upper crust.

Maillard, the MP. Baubérot, the banker.
Souvestre, the novelist.

Even my dentist is coming.

I couldn't reach you.

I took the liberty
of calling in the croupiers myself.

How much in the bank?



- What games?
- Lansquenet. Faro. Barbacole.

Basset. Dupe.
Everything apart from belote.

I've got something new.

Roulette.

Apparently it's all the rage.

What does the commissioner
have to say about all this?

We don't need him.

You don't have a protector.

Not the commissioner.

Not me.

And you're carrying on?

I have no choice.

Who'll foot the debts?

We've stopped giving credit.

In six months, you'll fold.

In a year, you'll be in jail.

What do you suggest I do?

Open a hat shop?

You poor lunatic.

I'll give you 20%.

- It's your life, not mine.
- Thirty.

It's just awful.

You can't get the staff these days.

You need to go to the bank.

We're out of cash.

All right. I was planning on going.

I was awaiting your instructions.

There were two of them.

Could you recognise them?

Their voices, maybe.

What did they say?

What did they say?

That if you keep mixing with wh*res,
you end up becoming one.

I'll find them.

- I promise you, I'll find them.
- They're your colleagues.

Not anymore.

I lost my job.
I'm going to need a lawyer.

Find someone else.

Do you know how many court cases
I've had in five years?

Three.

And I lost them all.

The first female lawyer in France...

What makes us think we're important,
or that we make a difference?

- Why isn't she in hospital?
- She doesn't want to be.

No hospitals,
no statements, no prosecution.

Say it. It's my fault.

This may surprise you, inspector,

the world doesn't revolve around you.

She's cracked it.

Sylvain Dantremont's father
is Henri Martel.

He's a priest.

Is he young?

He'd just left the seminary.

I think I know which one.

Notre-Dame de la Miséricorde.

It's all right.

Superintendent Cochefert
spent half the night giving his account.

He's interested.
He'll feel obliged to protect Jouin.

And if he can get Fondari
and the vice squad on top of that...

No, really.
He can't leave in this situa--

I know what you're playing at.

I will not stay in this job.

I've made up my mind.

I'm simply tidying up
before my departure.

Bring me Monsieur Fondari's pink records.

The smut almanac of 1904.

I want to read everything.

Yes, sir.

What about me?

You're a devout Catholic.

Notre-Dame de la Miséricorde.
Ring any bells?

They're purists.

Very conservative. Traditionalists.
There were against the law of 1901.

The state wanted to penalise them.
Curiously, the diocese didn't oppose it.

The seminary was dismantled,

and the priests dispersed.

Father Gardey could tell you more.
He's vicar general.

My friend Gardey.

Why don't you go and see him?

Invite him to dinner.

- What reason should I give?
- The truth, of course.

I'm depressed.

My conscience is giving me trouble.

I want to resign.

I trust...

you'll be convincing.

It's a shame.

I liked Jouin.

In the end,
you never really know a person.

The Cronier case. April 1904.
Unsolved. Do you remember it?

The solicitor in the fireplace?

- Yes.
- Yes, of course. That smell...

It was like embalming roast pork.

A name came up in the file.

Doctor Verlot.

Philippe Verlot?

He's a crook.

Can you clarify?

We went to university together.

Verlot, Bordet, and me,
all medical students.

The things we got up to!

The testicles in the dean's office,

that was...

That was inevitable.

So, Philippe Verlot.

He was young and brilliant.

We idolised him,
but he was earning a bit on the side.

Helping angels pass on.

ab*rtion.

He almost k*lled a senator's daughter.

He had to drop out in a hurry.
He never qualified.

What happened to him?

I think
he finished his studies in Austria.

He speaks highly of himself
in university journals.

He claims he's an associate
in a Viennese lab,

researching syphilis, and so on.

I find him quite nebulous.

Madame!

- Madame!
- Yes?

Where is my wife?

At the deli, I think.
Is there a problem?

Can you please explain why my daughter
is dressed like a seven-year-old?

She's taller than you.

Her mother said she--

Her mother said, her mother said...

I'm her father.

And I say that Marthe
is a splendid young woman.

- Don't you agree?
- I do.

She's fourteen.

She's old enough to find a fiancé.

Don't you agree?

Of course I do.

Put her in the spotlight,
instead of pretending she's a doll.

I'll see what I can do.

I almost forgot.

I heard that you beat my child.

I hope that's not true.

Of course it's not!

- You didn't touch her?
- No.

So she's lying?

Is my daughter lying?

I calmed her down during an outburst.
That's all.

- That's all?
- Yes, that's all.

An outburst...

What do you mean?

You see, I'm ill.

I have outbursts too.

They're always unexpected.

I want her to have a beautiful dress.

I need your help, Father.

I don't see what I can do.

Your father is strong-willed, unyielding.

He's not been himself
since my mother died.

In that case, the wisest thing may be to...

respect his decision.

He listens to you.

He trusts you.

That's no reason to manipulate him.

If he has to leave, so be it.

But I'd like him
to be at peace with himself.

I'm not asking you to change his mind,
just to be there.

Very well.

- I'll come.
- Thank you, Father.

Tonight at seven?

Antoine, you won't be surprised
to find the flat empty...

Are you presentable?

- Not really.
- I hope you are.

You have a visitor.

Maître.

I told the commissioner
you were representing Rosalie Dantremont.

That's right.

I also told him that you'd found out
certain things about her.

- And it seems a few details--
- Are of interest.

The clerical aspect, in particular.

I've closed the office.

Make yourselves at home.

As for me, I have a train to catch.

I'm going to see a church,
in Saint-Cyr-au-Mont-d’Or.

It goes without saying
that this is an unofficial visit.

Naturally.

The Paris police commissioner
has no business being

in the office of an abolitionist lawyer
who takes on hopeless cases.

Therefore, I'm not here.

And you weren't attacked.

I'm sorry.

Can I get you a drink?

Thank you.

Maître Weidmann only has cognac.

That's perfect.

- You know Inspector Jouin, I believe?
- That's right.

A bit.

Haven't you heard?

Apparently he's a pederast.

That would surprise me.

That's what I thought.

Has your wife left?

She's at her father's, with Angèle.
I'm not welcome.

- Have you called her?
- No. What for?

Tell her I'm innocent, I've been framed,
and to take me at my word?

She'll come round.

How?

Get her a hat.

I can go and see Félicien.

It's not too hard
to make a nancy change his mind.

We've twisted the poor guy's arm enough,
don't you think?

It's him or you.

Then it's me.

Don't you have anything to say?

Paul Cétinet. You knew his name.
You said you'd look into it.

I suppose you have,
but you're not telling me anything.

Are you protecting someone?

Come on, spit it out!

- Daddy!
- Not now.

- Daddy's working.
- But you said...

If I were you, I'd be a bit friendlier.

Well, you have more friends than me.

Let's say I know a painter
who likes male models.

Steinheil.

Let's also say that he satisfied his needs
in the Bois de Boulogne,

with Paul Cétinet.

But respectable people
don't head into the bushes.

They have a sofa.

The Château de Bagatelle.

I passed by it the other night.
I saw Guichard, from the vice squad.

No one,

and I mean no one,
can run a sofa without the vice squad.

Fondari must be
getting something out of it.

It's as old as the police.

I've done plenty of it in my time.

The crooks work for you.
They pay and give you information.

The longer it lasts, the better.
And if trouble starts...

Arrest them all and get a promotion.

Fondari wouldn't get his hands dirty.

There's someone beneath him,
to carry the bags and hide the bodies.

That's who we want.

Guichard.

I'd like to see Doctor Verlot.

I don't have an appointment.
It's quite urgent.

- You have an itch?
- Yes.

Whereabouts on your body?

All over, really.

Have you had it long?

Since I was born. It runs in the family.

The Cocheferts are real scratchers.

Are you here for medical reasons,
superintendent, or something else?

Ernest Cronier.

A solicitor.
Was he one of your patients?

- I can't tell you that.
- I'm not asking to see his file.

Just a yes or a no.

I can't tell you. It would be unethical.

The Paris police
requests your assistance,

sir, in a criminal investigation.

Medical confidentiality is one thing,

obstruction is quite another.

Yes, or no.

Was Ernest Cronier your patient?

Yes. But I won't tell you
what I was treating him for.

How long did you treat him for?

Your last appointment with him
was on 2 April 1904,

the day before his death.

You know he was k*lled on 3 April 1904?

Yes, I think I remember.
The newspapers covered it.

Why? Do I need an alibi?

Oh no, no...

Not yet.

I was at a conference that day.

I heard about it on my return.

Have you, or have you ever had,
a patient named Paul Cétinet?

No, I don't know him. Who is he?

Do you have a carriage?

Yes, of course.

Ah. I walk, myself.

Do you know a coachman by the name

of Robert Margerit?

Yes, Robert is my coachman.

But I don't know him that well.

I don't know
what he does in his free time.

That means you and Paul Cétinet
have a mutual friend.

Which doesn't make him your patient,
of course.

If you don't mind,
I think I'm going to speak to my lawyer.

Be my guest.

We'll wait for him together.

Joséphine.

Call Delambre.
Tell him to come over. It's urgent.

Vienna. The waltz.

The Blue Danube.

Splendid.

You're a specialist, I believe?
Dermatology.

Now there's a euphemism.

There are countless skin diseases.
Your opinions are your own business.

But...

Don't you have any French qualifications?

My qualifications are right there.

But you did start studying medicine
in Paris, didn't you?

Why stop?

A personal choice.

Just like that.

All of a sudden,
you drop out of university,

but you also leave France.

What curious wanderlust.

Quite rare
in the fourth year of medical studies.

But not ill*gal.

When it comes to medicine,
France is no match for its neighbours.

It's paralysed by narrow-mindedness
and conservatism.

I find that truly regrettable.

The University of Vienna
is quite renowned.

Yes, yes. But why not work in Austria?

I'm French. I came home.

I opened this surgery in 1897.

With some success, too.
Anyone will tell you that.

I'm a well-known practitioner.
Highly sought-after, even.

I'm fully qualified.

And you'll prove that in court.

In the meantime,

you'll have to follow me.

Don't worry,
your lawyer will know where to find us.

Excuse me.

These gentlemen are not patients,

but police inspectors

from the criminal branch
of the research brigade.

They're here to carry out a search.

Doctor Verlot has been called as a witness
in a premeditated m*rder case,

and he's suspected
of practising medicine illegally.

A crime punishable
by two years in prison.

I almost forgot.

Doctor Socquet sends his regards.

Do you want us to call a doctor?

No, thank you.

Chandrot, the files.

Start with the letter C. Cronier, Cétinet...

Berthier, the coachman.

I want a bench warrant
for Robert Margerit, wanted for m*rder.

Where is the carriage?

It'll only get here tonight, sir.

Sir! He--

What have you taken?

What have you taken?

Ambulance, now.

There's no point.

How long?

I don't know.

Three minutes?

Maybe... Maybe less.

Socquet.

He'll be seeing me soon.

I gave you an order, inspector!

Two minutes.

For the itching...

I could have prescribed you

an ointment containing arsenic.

But I don't have time now.

You'll just have to...

keep scratching.

You're fourteen,
old enough to find a fiancé.

- We can't dress you like a little girl.
- Are we buying a dress?

I don't know about that,
but these are not for you anymore.

Marthe?

I've got something to show you.

- When did you do these?
- In my free time.

You know, sketches don't take long.

Do you like them?

I've been told they're my best yet.

They're wonderful.

He's a handsome young man. Who is he?

Someone I met. A model.

Will you introduce us?

I don't know if I'll be able to.

You should do more of them.

Yes.

I'll try.

Michelangelo used poses...

Careful, Bournazel,
you're stepping in the blood.

The phonebook, sir. The names in here...

That phonebook isn't evidence yet.
You didn't find it.

Do I make myself clear, inspector?

- Medical files?
- Empty.

The nurse says
he took them home every night.

- His home?
- We've got three men there.

- The coachman?
- There's a crowd out there.

All we need now is a brass band...

Call the Commissioner's office. Now.

Ah, Your Honour.

Well?

This time,
I think suicide is undeniable.

Wouldn't you say so, professor?

- We have to talk about his files.
- Why? Is the phone ringing already?

- Worried patients, I imagine.
- I don't know what you mean.

I am in charge
of the deceased's surgery and home.

The search is ongoing.
I have nothing more to say.

The commissioner is out, sir.

I need those files.

It makes no sense.
He'd have kept them close.

You said it was over.
You told your kids that yesterday.

Was that all a lie?

Tell me,
instead of taking me for a fool!

What lies have you got for me this time?

That you're going out

to buy sugared almonds
for the christening?

Do you remember everything?

Eight o'clock, no earlier.
Say your lines and hang up.

Women...

You showed those awful things to Marthe?

Of course.

It's my work.

You're the only one
who doesn't like them.

I know what they portray.

You'll put them all on the fire.

This minute.

Absolutely not.

- Then I will.
- Don't touch them!

- You have no shame!
- There...

Shame.

Inverts, blackmail...

So many clichés.

Paul used to tell me...

Blackmail is like a subscription.

Mine's cancelled now.

Seeing as he's dead.

I'm free.

But he taught me a lot.

I changed bank this morning.

You did what?

I changed bank
and I took all your money.

Because it's mine.

It was so easy...

You dirty little scoundrel.

But don't worry.

I opened an account for you.
You'll have enough.

Do you think I'll let you?

Yes.

When I'm done with you,
all of Paris will know what you are.

- What, divorce?
- A failure who can't paint.

- Do you have a lawyer?
- A mediocre coward.

- You'll get nothing.
- A syphilitic invert!

I have syphilis!

So you do too.

That makes you a retired wh*re,

and me an artist of interest.

Maupassant,

Flaubert, Rimbaud...

Gauguin.

Steinheil.

Find the odd one out?

In some circles,

syphilis is a curiosity.

Almost a selling point.

"He's ill."

"Can you tell from his paintings?"

"Yes, of course. Madness..."

Madness will save me.

Off to fetch the poker?

Marthe will know everything.

The sooner the better.

- Marthe!
- Yes?

Come here, darling!
Your mother has something to tell you.

Daddy sleeps with men,
and Mummy's a sl*t they call Deadly Lips.

Let's see how she takes it.

Well?

Will I have to do it?

We've agreed
that you can attend on Saturday,

but only in the early evening.

Then Grandma will take you
to the theatre.

- You know why?
- Yes.

Men come to play,
and I'm not supposed to see them.

That's right.

They're putting on Bel-Ami.

- At the Montparnasse. It's quite daring.
- That'll be fine.

You can sit down to dinner.
We're coming.

That powerless expression.

I love it.

One day, I'll put it on canvas.

I'll make you immortal.

So, what's for dinner?

Vice squad?

Inspector Guichard, please.

On behalf of Inspector Quemener.

Guichard?

Jouin is in the Bois de Boulogne.

A park warden tipped me off.
He saw him by the entrance to Bagatelle.

- Dinner's ready!
- Coming, Mum.

Madame?

Could you pass the salt, please?

Are you going to look for another job,

or retire?

I don't know.

You're still young.

I inherited some land from my wife.

An estate in the provinces.

I always found it incredibly boring there,
but these days, I miss it.

The commissioner
will surely want to write his memoirs.

That's what they all do.

And you, mademoiselle?
Will you keep your father company?

- Oh, he won't need me anymore.
- Then...

Where will you go?

Nowhere.

I'm thinking of taking holy orders.

The Sisters of Marie Joseph
do wonderful work.

They have a good life.

It's a life that has meaning.

It's hardly my place
to impede a vocation, but...

Are you sure?

That won't happen.

Why not?

Because I'm yet to have my say about it.

But you won't be here.

Excuse me.

Letter B.

Bertillon, Alphonse.

Boucart, Georges, examining magistrate.

Letter C.

Cronier, Ernest.

Solicitor. His name's crossed out.

Letter F.

Fondari, Arthur. Police superintendent.

What about G for Gardey?

Gardey...

He's not here.

But...

I have a D for diocese.

It's the nunciature's address.



Doctor Verlot had quite the client list.

Letter S. Steinheil, Adolphe.

Steinheil...

He's here.

The phonebook doesn't tell us who's ill.
It doesn't prove anything.

We need those medical records.

I'm still looking, sir.

Nothing serious?

A suicide.

Philippe Verlot.

Do you know him?

No, I, I don't think so.

Well, thank you.

I had a lovely time.

Thank you for coming.

Your moral support is invaluable.

Don't be too hard on your daughter.
She's a chip off the old block.

Goodbye.

Thank you.

Are you proud of yourself?

One day, I'll take you to Bagatelle.

What's that?

A sumptuous pleasure palace,
where a sacred river rushes by,

through caves unfathomable to man,

into the abyss of a sunless sea.

It's a château in Boulogne.

Have you ever been?

Yes, I've visited.

You haven't painted it.

Indeed I haven't.

It's a secret.

And inside?

What's in there?

It's actually quite empty.

Nobody lives there anymore.
There are drawing rooms, bedrooms...

Yes.

Yes, there should be a big mirror there.

Do you know why?

To see yourself.

In the end,

all there is at Bagatelle...

is you.

Inspector Jouin.

Get on your knees.

Is that what you say to all the men?

We have plenty of time.