Jo (2013) s01e06 Episode Script
Le Marais
1 Thanks, cutie.
Eh, not so fast.
I'll put it on your bill today.
You're my only bill.
When will you be home? I'm still in Saint-Lazare with my clients.
No, I haven't closed the deal yet.
Saint-Lazare? Check your Google Maps again.
It's nothing.
Just some jerk.
Anyhow, they think I'm asking much for the chairs.
Oh, I think no later than 9:00.
Okay, love you too.
So I'm the jerk? Honey, I'm not the one lying to my man.
- Dédé.
- 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, sit with me.
Ow! - Get your hands off me! - You bitch! Dédé, sit down! Miss? Hey, miss? When that kid Yannick didn't show up to get them into the building, 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 Gotye.
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, Duroc.
You got nothing to complain about.
We've caught a call.
Place des Vosges.
Seven to second unit.
Not in the FAED.
No ID, 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 that.
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 those muggers got lucky.
Oh, this was no mugging.
That was rage.
A certain overpowering rage.
Well, whatever she did to piss him off, it worked.
I found this in her hand.
"In the darkness is the light.
" That's words to live by.
Or to die for.
Like I told the other cops, she came in here around 6:00 by herself.
She had a glass of wine.
She tapped on her laptop for about an hour, and then she left.
Oh, she forgot these.
Did she talk to anybody? Dédé.
He's a regular.
He had some kind of beef with her just before she left.
- Hey, this table is 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 Saint-Lazare.
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 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.
Cardinal Richelieu lived over there, number 21.
Hey, you dropped something.
Look.
Oh.
Your ring, you dropped it here.
- That's not mine.
- Your ring.
- No, no.
- You dropped it here.
No, no.
You forgot something.
My money! You took 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.
Oh, you boys are good.
Ah, Marie-Eve Lambert.
Out in Bougival.
Yes, it's Marie.
I was on the phone calling around.
I-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-I'm a teacher Sorry, can I sit down? Yeah, of course, please.
How were things at home, Mr.
Lambert? We've been married eight years.
We're very happy.
We were talking about having a baby.
Would it surprise you that your wife was in Le Marais and 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.
A client.
But why'd 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 a stroke.
He warned her it was a tough business.
Her bag was missing.
Do you know anything that she might have had in it, I mean, 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 say anything about the store being in any kind of financial trouble? 'Cause that drawer was full of late payment notices.
She was overdrawn at the bank, and this letter, she was refused a loan last month.
Marie-Eve told 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 a solution to her problems.
You know, maybe she got some sugar daddy to pay her bills.
She owed 50,000.
Shaking her ass at 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.
And this, "In the darkness is the light"? 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 Zifkin.
I waited for you outside the bar.
Call me if you want to set another meeting.
It's the guy she was waiting for.
We should have Mr.
Zifkin'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.
A reference to God.
Or a prophet or even a cop.
I mean, 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.
Hmm, 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 arrested, 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.
We French are very polite.
They say that when you die, you see a light.
What do you think that light is? Probably the devil with a flashlight.
Now, him, I know he exists.
I got to go.
Dead? My God.
I was just a few blocks away waiting for her.
This is shocking.
What time were you meeting her, Mr.
Zifkin? 6:00, but I got turned around in the metro.
I've lived here three years, and 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.
- A specific object or - No.
She just wanted to talk in general.
But why you, Mr.
Zifkin? 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.
Lambert left these gloves at the bar.
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 live 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 6:00, when the archives close.
Mrs.
Lambert has been here five times during the last three weeks.
She's been researching the genealogical records of the Deloit family.
Here we are.
The Deloit family records start there and end over here.
And how far back in the records did Mrs.
Lambert go? Back to 1925, and then she branched out into other families that married into the Deloit line.
The Panais family, the Revar family.
What's the last family she researched? Um that would be the Dussaux family.
Who in the Dussaux family? The last file she pulled belonged to a Jacqueline Dussaux, born in 1921.
Can you show us? Mrs.
Lambert requested all of Jacqueline Dussaux's records.
This woman died in 1944, age 22, during the Second World 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 this Jacqueline Dussaux.
What, so Marie-Eve was killed because of a dead French resistance fighter? No, that that's ancient history.
Some wounds never heal.
This is where Miss Dussaux was executed a few weeks before the liberation.
What was she arrested for? Harboring Jews.
Most of the women of the resistance were imprisoned here.
The youngest was 15.
Most were sent to Auschwitz.
Only a few came back.
All brave women.
This woman called your information line ten days ago.
- Marie-Eve Lambert.
- Yeah, she came here.
She was very interested in Jacqueline Dussaux.
- What in particular? - Personal documents, letters.
Of course there was nothing.
She was very excited when I told her Miss Dussaux'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.
Lambert ask? She wanted to ask me about the Jews that Jacqueline had saved, and I could only remember the last ones she helped just before being arrested.
A rabbi and his wife.
Can you tell us the story? They had a little boy, and it was too dangerous to travel with him, so Jacqueline organized 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.
Lambert 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 his suitcase for safekeeping, and Jacqueline said that she hid it with her sister.
Did Mrs.
Lambert 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 off at the corner.
It's okay.
I'll take you home.
No, no, I want to get out before you start crying.
Tomorrow we'll reach out to Jacqueline Dussaux's family.
Hey.
You waited for me.
You're getting too tame for your own good.
Ah! 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.
- Oh, hell.
You kill him, I won't be your friend anymore.
My friend? Narco just busted three of my guys.
Who do you think they're gonna come after next? Your friend.
I told you to call it off.
I told him.
But you didn't listen.
Narco was sitting on that house, and you didn't tell me! 14 years we played together.
Chased girls, got drunk.
Everything I heard about your business went in one ear and out the other.
You never asked me about police business.
That was our deal.
Now what you gonna do, my friend? What you gonna do? Shoot me? I Come on, Charlie.
Forget him.
With his heart, he's a dead man anyway.
Huh? A suitcase? I don't know anything about a suitcase.
The Nazis took everything when they arrested Aunt Jacqueline.
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.
Old war stories.
They get more heroic every telling.
Right, Mr.
Deloit? What? No.
My great-aunt was a true martyr.
Anything she touched belongs in a heroes museum.
Well, it's funny you should say that because it was actually an antiques dealer that was after that suitcase, a Marie-Eve Lambert.
Did she ever try and contact you? No.
I don't think so.
And what about you, Mrs.
Deloit? - 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 'cause I didn't want to upset her.
So why didn't you tell your husband? Gentlemen, I'm sorry.
You're gonna have to go.
My mother's still recovering from the stroke.
- Agnes, show them out.
- Okay.
There's nothing on the Deloit family.
It's probably all in her laptop.
Look at this.
Hanukkah lamp.
The 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.
Lambert? 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? What do you know about the couple? The man was a rabbi in Paris, and he 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 Zifkin.
You remembered his gloves.
My parents died at Auschwitz.
The Frenchwoman 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.
Lambert tried to contact you.
We have to find it.
These lamps, how valuable are they? These are from the 19th century.
The engraving, the scrollwork 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 gonna buy a lot of nice memories of Aunt Jacqueline.
On the phone, Mrs.
Lambert 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.
Zifkin.
We will call you.
Thank you.
That was pleasant.
You've never been called a fascist before, have you? All right, who looks good for this? The Deloits? 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.
Lambert, tried to sell it privately.
Probably figured that a small-time antiques dealer would play along.
They misjudge her.
She tracked down the rabbi's son, but before she could give him the lamp, they killed her.
The Deloits must have figured what she was up to, and 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 Deloits don't know that.
I don't know anything about any lamp.
I told you, The Germans took everything.
Croix de guerre, Médaille 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? Hmm, yes.
Bright and early.
Have a good night.
The rats are cleaning the house.
Your little scam worked.
Look at him.
Bag is too light.
It is a decoy.
Here she comes.
Can I see this? Stop! It's mine! "In the darkness is the light.
" Sharon, 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.
Well, you can thank Jacqueline Dussaux and Marie-Eve Lambert.
Of course.
What happens next? The murder case will proceed against the Deloit family.
Meantime, the lamp stays in our evidence room.
Come on, David.
Let 'em get to work.
Now get 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, that maybe there was a reward, but my mother said we had to keep it secret.
I found Marie-Eve, and she agreed to find us a buyer.
- For 100,000.
- Mm-hmm.
She would keep 20,000 as her commission.
We would get 80,000.
But it was taking too long.
She kept stalling us.
Why? What was she doing? I don't know.
I told her we were gonna find another dealer, and the next day, she sent us a deposit, 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.
She was gonna return the lamp to its rightful owners; you'd get nothing.
What rightful owners? They're all dead.
The Nazis saw to it.
But surely you were worried someone was gonna 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 the Gestapo.
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.
A wire transfer of 40,000 into their bank account a few days before Marie-Eve was killed.
That doesn't make any sense.
Why would she pay them if she was gonna give the lamp back to David Zifkin? 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? 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, Duroc, came into my office.
He arrested three of Charlie Lapier's guys two weeks ago.
Now he's got Lapier 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.
Haven't done anything with this list yet.
Okay.
Come here.
What are you doing? Yannick doesn't know anything.
You can make your case without him.
You're out of line.
This isn't any of your business.
You're trying to pin a target on someone in my family.
Maybe I should have them subpoena you.
I hear you're pretty tight with Charlie Lapier.
Stay away from my case.
- Jo.
- What? Normand traced the wire transfer.
I have 7,500 thousand.
Do I hear 8,000? Yes, I wired the 40,000 as a personal favor to Marie-Eve.
- So what? - Did she say why 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.
10,000, sir.
I have 10,000.
Do I hear You come out now, or I'll tell everyone here you've been trading goods looted on Holocaust victims.
You have five seconds.
Monsieur Leduc, would you like to bid? Monsieur Leduc is having an existential crisis.
- I'll pass.
- I have 14,500.
15,000 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 and she needed to put up 40,000.
She promised to double my money if I lent it to her, but I told her that because of its difficult provenance, the most she could expect from a discreet sale was 200,000.
Marie-Eve thought she could do better than that, so I lent 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.
800,000.
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 till he was 25.
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.
Lambert, 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 Zifkin called Marie-Eve's shop and left a message.
If he hadn't done that, we 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, 800,000.
For something that, by all rights, belonged to him? Must have made him nuts.
It might have had the same effect on the Deloits if they'd found out.
They didn't.
They were happy with the deposit.
Can we trace Zifkin through his GPS that night? Not close enough to put him at the crime scene, but two days later, we have him within 25 yards of the Deloits' place.
So he found out where they lived.
On the hunt for the lamp? No, there's no way he knew where they lived.
Marie-Eve wouldn't have told him.
Her laptop.
That's where he got the address.
Well, assuming he knew her password.
I can't see this guy hacking 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 asked 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? 'Cause that's 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 Gare de l'Est where they jailbreak cell phones.
This Indian guy there, Anish, he can crack any password.
800,000? 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.
Lambert that night.
This is why you're here? To accuse me of murder? Well, there's a few things you need to explain, like, firstly, why, two days after the murder, you were tracked to the Rue Rébeval, which is where the Deloit family live.
They do? I wouldn't know.
I was on my way to Buttes-Chaumont Parc.
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 Deloits.
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 theft.
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 gonna check out the pastry cart.
When you were with those guys, did you ever meet their boss, Charlie? No.
They ever talk about him or his business? "Charlie did this.
Charlie said to do that"? No, why? Ah, nothing.
It's okay.
Just be careful.
You're on your own.
These are all for me.
She just moved.
Yannick.
Daddy, feel.
Oh! - Just now.
- Yeah.
It's so weird.
Thought you'd get in some overtime? No.
You know, idle hands.
Well, even when your hands were busy, you still managed to get jammed up.
Nothing but strong coffee.
Want to pat me down for drugs? - I'll take your word for it.
- Forget the drugs, then.
I'll just take the pat-down.
That's it.
30 minutes is up.
For the next 12 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 100 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 Zifkin'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.
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.
Just ten minutes from here.
Come on.
We'll take you there.
I don't need to.
What are you afraid of? Let's go.
This way.
I can't.
I don't want to go in.
Please.
- You don't want to know? - I know who I am.
I don't need to see.
Let's go.
- Leave me alone.
- Suit yourself.
We went inside this morning.
This is what happened to Rabbi Zifkin's family.
This is the truth.
Read it.
No.
No.
I want to leave.
Walter Zifkin, age 34.
Died in Birkenau, 1943.
Ursula Zifkin, age 31.
Died in Auschwitz, 1943.
David Zifkin, age two.
Died of an acute asthma attack in 1943 in the Maison de Sèvres orphanage.
You're not the rabbi's son.
That lamp 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 Zifkin, a rabbi in Paris.
Now I'm nothing.
St-Clare.
Yannick! No! No! - Adele, no.
- Yannick! - No.
- No! No, please save him! - You can't stay.
Come.
Come.
- Save him! Oh! No! You can't stay.
Come.
- No! No! - Come.
Come.
Come.
Come.
- Daddy! - Don't look at him.
Eh, not so fast.
I'll put it on your bill today.
You're my only bill.
When will you be home? I'm still in Saint-Lazare with my clients.
No, I haven't closed the deal yet.
Saint-Lazare? Check your Google Maps again.
It's nothing.
Just some jerk.
Anyhow, they think I'm asking much for the chairs.
Oh, I think no later than 9:00.
Okay, love you too.
So I'm the jerk? Honey, I'm not the one lying to my man.
- Dédé.
- 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, sit with me.
Ow! - Get your hands off me! - You bitch! Dédé, sit down! Miss? Hey, miss? When that kid Yannick didn't show up to get them into the building, 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 Gotye.
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, Duroc.
You got nothing to complain about.
We've caught a call.
Place des Vosges.
Seven to second unit.
Not in the FAED.
No ID, 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 that.
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 those muggers got lucky.
Oh, this was no mugging.
That was rage.
A certain overpowering rage.
Well, whatever she did to piss him off, it worked.
I found this in her hand.
"In the darkness is the light.
" That's words to live by.
Or to die for.
Like I told the other cops, she came in here around 6:00 by herself.
She had a glass of wine.
She tapped on her laptop for about an hour, and then she left.
Oh, she forgot these.
Did she talk to anybody? Dédé.
He's a regular.
He had some kind of beef with her just before she left.
- Hey, this table is 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 Saint-Lazare.
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 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.
Cardinal Richelieu lived over there, number 21.
Hey, you dropped something.
Look.
Oh.
Your ring, you dropped it here.
- That's not mine.
- Your ring.
- No, no.
- You dropped it here.
No, no.
You forgot something.
My money! You took 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.
Oh, you boys are good.
Ah, Marie-Eve Lambert.
Out in Bougival.
Yes, it's Marie.
I was on the phone calling around.
I-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-I'm a teacher Sorry, can I sit down? Yeah, of course, please.
How were things at home, Mr.
Lambert? We've been married eight years.
We're very happy.
We were talking about having a baby.
Would it surprise you that your wife was in Le Marais and 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.
A client.
But why'd 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 a stroke.
He warned her it was a tough business.
Her bag was missing.
Do you know anything that she might have had in it, I mean, 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 say anything about the store being in any kind of financial trouble? 'Cause that drawer was full of late payment notices.
She was overdrawn at the bank, and this letter, she was refused a loan last month.
Marie-Eve told 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 a solution to her problems.
You know, maybe she got some sugar daddy to pay her bills.
She owed 50,000.
Shaking her ass at 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.
And this, "In the darkness is the light"? 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 Zifkin.
I waited for you outside the bar.
Call me if you want to set another meeting.
It's the guy she was waiting for.
We should have Mr.
Zifkin'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.
A reference to God.
Or a prophet or even a cop.
I mean, 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.
Hmm, 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 arrested, 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.
We French are very polite.
They say that when you die, you see a light.
What do you think that light is? Probably the devil with a flashlight.
Now, him, I know he exists.
I got to go.
Dead? My God.
I was just a few blocks away waiting for her.
This is shocking.
What time were you meeting her, Mr.
Zifkin? 6:00, but I got turned around in the metro.
I've lived here three years, and 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.
- A specific object or - No.
She just wanted to talk in general.
But why you, Mr.
Zifkin? 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.
Lambert left these gloves at the bar.
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 live 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 6:00, when the archives close.
Mrs.
Lambert has been here five times during the last three weeks.
She's been researching the genealogical records of the Deloit family.
Here we are.
The Deloit family records start there and end over here.
And how far back in the records did Mrs.
Lambert go? Back to 1925, and then she branched out into other families that married into the Deloit line.
The Panais family, the Revar family.
What's the last family she researched? Um that would be the Dussaux family.
Who in the Dussaux family? The last file she pulled belonged to a Jacqueline Dussaux, born in 1921.
Can you show us? Mrs.
Lambert requested all of Jacqueline Dussaux's records.
This woman died in 1944, age 22, during the Second World 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 this Jacqueline Dussaux.
What, so Marie-Eve was killed because of a dead French resistance fighter? No, that that's ancient history.
Some wounds never heal.
This is where Miss Dussaux was executed a few weeks before the liberation.
What was she arrested for? Harboring Jews.
Most of the women of the resistance were imprisoned here.
The youngest was 15.
Most were sent to Auschwitz.
Only a few came back.
All brave women.
This woman called your information line ten days ago.
- Marie-Eve Lambert.
- Yeah, she came here.
She was very interested in Jacqueline Dussaux.
- What in particular? - Personal documents, letters.
Of course there was nothing.
She was very excited when I told her Miss Dussaux'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.
Lambert ask? She wanted to ask me about the Jews that Jacqueline had saved, and I could only remember the last ones she helped just before being arrested.
A rabbi and his wife.
Can you tell us the story? They had a little boy, and it was too dangerous to travel with him, so Jacqueline organized 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.
Lambert 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 his suitcase for safekeeping, and Jacqueline said that she hid it with her sister.
Did Mrs.
Lambert 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 off at the corner.
It's okay.
I'll take you home.
No, no, I want to get out before you start crying.
Tomorrow we'll reach out to Jacqueline Dussaux's family.
Hey.
You waited for me.
You're getting too tame for your own good.
Ah! 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.
- Oh, hell.
You kill him, I won't be your friend anymore.
My friend? Narco just busted three of my guys.
Who do you think they're gonna come after next? Your friend.
I told you to call it off.
I told him.
But you didn't listen.
Narco was sitting on that house, and you didn't tell me! 14 years we played together.
Chased girls, got drunk.
Everything I heard about your business went in one ear and out the other.
You never asked me about police business.
That was our deal.
Now what you gonna do, my friend? What you gonna do? Shoot me? I Come on, Charlie.
Forget him.
With his heart, he's a dead man anyway.
Huh? A suitcase? I don't know anything about a suitcase.
The Nazis took everything when they arrested Aunt Jacqueline.
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.
Old war stories.
They get more heroic every telling.
Right, Mr.
Deloit? What? No.
My great-aunt was a true martyr.
Anything she touched belongs in a heroes museum.
Well, it's funny you should say that because it was actually an antiques dealer that was after that suitcase, a Marie-Eve Lambert.
Did she ever try and contact you? No.
I don't think so.
And what about you, Mrs.
Deloit? - 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 'cause I didn't want to upset her.
So why didn't you tell your husband? Gentlemen, I'm sorry.
You're gonna have to go.
My mother's still recovering from the stroke.
- Agnes, show them out.
- Okay.
There's nothing on the Deloit family.
It's probably all in her laptop.
Look at this.
Hanukkah lamp.
The 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.
Lambert? 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? What do you know about the couple? The man was a rabbi in Paris, and he 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 Zifkin.
You remembered his gloves.
My parents died at Auschwitz.
The Frenchwoman 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.
Lambert tried to contact you.
We have to find it.
These lamps, how valuable are they? These are from the 19th century.
The engraving, the scrollwork 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 gonna buy a lot of nice memories of Aunt Jacqueline.
On the phone, Mrs.
Lambert 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.
Zifkin.
We will call you.
Thank you.
That was pleasant.
You've never been called a fascist before, have you? All right, who looks good for this? The Deloits? 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.
Lambert, tried to sell it privately.
Probably figured that a small-time antiques dealer would play along.
They misjudge her.
She tracked down the rabbi's son, but before she could give him the lamp, they killed her.
The Deloits must have figured what she was up to, and 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 Deloits don't know that.
I don't know anything about any lamp.
I told you, The Germans took everything.
Croix de guerre, Médaille 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? Hmm, yes.
Bright and early.
Have a good night.
The rats are cleaning the house.
Your little scam worked.
Look at him.
Bag is too light.
It is a decoy.
Here she comes.
Can I see this? Stop! It's mine! "In the darkness is the light.
" Sharon, 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.
Well, you can thank Jacqueline Dussaux and Marie-Eve Lambert.
Of course.
What happens next? The murder case will proceed against the Deloit family.
Meantime, the lamp stays in our evidence room.
Come on, David.
Let 'em get to work.
Now get 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, that maybe there was a reward, but my mother said we had to keep it secret.
I found Marie-Eve, and she agreed to find us a buyer.
- For 100,000.
- Mm-hmm.
She would keep 20,000 as her commission.
We would get 80,000.
But it was taking too long.
She kept stalling us.
Why? What was she doing? I don't know.
I told her we were gonna find another dealer, and the next day, she sent us a deposit, 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.
She was gonna return the lamp to its rightful owners; you'd get nothing.
What rightful owners? They're all dead.
The Nazis saw to it.
But surely you were worried someone was gonna 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 the Gestapo.
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.
A wire transfer of 40,000 into their bank account a few days before Marie-Eve was killed.
That doesn't make any sense.
Why would she pay them if she was gonna give the lamp back to David Zifkin? 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? 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, Duroc, came into my office.
He arrested three of Charlie Lapier's guys two weeks ago.
Now he's got Lapier 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.
Haven't done anything with this list yet.
Okay.
Come here.
What are you doing? Yannick doesn't know anything.
You can make your case without him.
You're out of line.
This isn't any of your business.
You're trying to pin a target on someone in my family.
Maybe I should have them subpoena you.
I hear you're pretty tight with Charlie Lapier.
Stay away from my case.
- Jo.
- What? Normand traced the wire transfer.
I have 7,500 thousand.
Do I hear 8,000? Yes, I wired the 40,000 as a personal favor to Marie-Eve.
- So what? - Did she say why 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.
10,000, sir.
I have 10,000.
Do I hear You come out now, or I'll tell everyone here you've been trading goods looted on Holocaust victims.
You have five seconds.
Monsieur Leduc, would you like to bid? Monsieur Leduc is having an existential crisis.
- I'll pass.
- I have 14,500.
15,000 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 and she needed to put up 40,000.
She promised to double my money if I lent it to her, but I told her that because of its difficult provenance, the most she could expect from a discreet sale was 200,000.
Marie-Eve thought she could do better than that, so I lent 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.
800,000.
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 till he was 25.
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.
Lambert, 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 Zifkin called Marie-Eve's shop and left a message.
If he hadn't done that, we 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, 800,000.
For something that, by all rights, belonged to him? Must have made him nuts.
It might have had the same effect on the Deloits if they'd found out.
They didn't.
They were happy with the deposit.
Can we trace Zifkin through his GPS that night? Not close enough to put him at the crime scene, but two days later, we have him within 25 yards of the Deloits' place.
So he found out where they lived.
On the hunt for the lamp? No, there's no way he knew where they lived.
Marie-Eve wouldn't have told him.
Her laptop.
That's where he got the address.
Well, assuming he knew her password.
I can't see this guy hacking 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 asked 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? 'Cause that's 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 Gare de l'Est where they jailbreak cell phones.
This Indian guy there, Anish, he can crack any password.
800,000? 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.
Lambert that night.
This is why you're here? To accuse me of murder? Well, there's a few things you need to explain, like, firstly, why, two days after the murder, you were tracked to the Rue Rébeval, which is where the Deloit family live.
They do? I wouldn't know.
I was on my way to Buttes-Chaumont Parc.
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 Deloits.
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 theft.
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 gonna check out the pastry cart.
When you were with those guys, did you ever meet their boss, Charlie? No.
They ever talk about him or his business? "Charlie did this.
Charlie said to do that"? No, why? Ah, nothing.
It's okay.
Just be careful.
You're on your own.
These are all for me.
She just moved.
Yannick.
Daddy, feel.
Oh! - Just now.
- Yeah.
It's so weird.
Thought you'd get in some overtime? No.
You know, idle hands.
Well, even when your hands were busy, you still managed to get jammed up.
Nothing but strong coffee.
Want to pat me down for drugs? - I'll take your word for it.
- Forget the drugs, then.
I'll just take the pat-down.
That's it.
30 minutes is up.
For the next 12 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 100 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 Zifkin'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.
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.
Just ten minutes from here.
Come on.
We'll take you there.
I don't need to.
What are you afraid of? Let's go.
This way.
I can't.
I don't want to go in.
Please.
- You don't want to know? - I know who I am.
I don't need to see.
Let's go.
- Leave me alone.
- Suit yourself.
We went inside this morning.
This is what happened to Rabbi Zifkin's family.
This is the truth.
Read it.
No.
No.
I want to leave.
Walter Zifkin, age 34.
Died in Birkenau, 1943.
Ursula Zifkin, age 31.
Died in Auschwitz, 1943.
David Zifkin, age two.
Died of an acute asthma attack in 1943 in the Maison de Sèvres orphanage.
You're not the rabbi's son.
That lamp 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 Zifkin, a rabbi in Paris.
Now I'm nothing.
St-Clare.
Yannick! No! No! - Adele, no.
- Yannick! - No.
- No! No, please save him! - You can't stay.
Come.
Come.
- Save him! Oh! No! You can't stay.
Come.
- No! No! - Come.
Come.
Come.
Come.
- Daddy! - Don't look at him.