Original subtitles

He's not breathing! Hurry, please!

-Hurry up! -OK, stay calm.

-We'll send a team. -Be quick!

Pigeon? Where are you?

Morgane? What are you doing?

Looking for my pigeon, I haven't seen it for a week.

I think Mommy is overwhelmed by the baby that's coming.

But it's all right, Daddy is here.

We'll do what the midwife told us to do.

Breathe...

-Breathe, sit down... -No, it's fine.

-Sit down. -You're a pain!

We take it easy and look at the check list.

No, not the check list!

Toilet bag... got it.

Suitcase too.

We check routes...

A, B and C to the maternity unit.

See? All ready.

I have to visit an apartment

but I'll be back in 30 minutes max.

Think about names.

-We'll compare lists when I get back. -OK.

-See you shortly. -See you shortly.

Daddy will be back soon.

Why are you sulking?

Didn't I open the paternity test?

So?

-Hello? -Daphne, it's Morgane.

It's my pigeon, I'm stressed out, I haven't seen it for a week.

Not now, I'm talking to the chief. He's on a crime scene.

-We'll talk later. -What crime scene?

Why wasn't I told? Hello?

Darn it!

I'm sorry about your partner. Were you close?

Raphaël and me... we first met...

during our ophthalmology internship.

Then, we set up this clinic together.

His wife doesn't know yet. I don't know how to tell her.

-We'll handle that, don't worry. -Thanks.

When did you last see Dr. Raphaël Guillot?

Last night, around 8 p.m. We finished surgery late,

then, I had to dash off to deal with an urgent problem.

What kind of problem?

Some mistakes in our article for the French Ophthalmology Review.

One of their staff dropped it off last night for proofreading.

Some of the captions were wrong.

It was being printed today.

I had to oversee the corrections.

I left Raphaël to write our surgery report.

So, you were with the editorial staff all evening?

That's right, until around midnight.

I can give you their details.

My colleague will take them. Vincent?

I'll leave you with him. Thanks.

Well, Doctor?

Chief, the victim was strangled with an electric cable.

Sir?

Fill in these forms, please.

Death occurred last night before 2 a.m.

After 8.02 p.m., then.

Which is when the victim posted this.

The article his partner mentioned. He went off right after

to oversee corrections.

Maybe the killer came just then.

You sound like a two-year-old!

-Morgan, what are you doing here? -I'm here to work!

Now you're blacklisting me from crime scenes?!

-Not at all. -OK, Karadec,

I know you want to be godfather to my baby.

I'd love you to be as well.

But as I keep telling you, there are several candidates!

So I'm sorry if I've upset you yet again

but barring me from crime scenes

is petty and mean! OK?

Morgane, you're on maternity leave.

Shit.

OK, well...

It's the 12th, your prenatal leave starts today.

Yes, yes, that's right.

My mistake.

I wouldn't have minded being godfather,

but don't worry, I'll get over it.

-OK. -Well, take care of yourself, Morgane.

See you in four months.

-OK. -OK.

Yes, well...

Right, I'd better go home, then!

That's what I'll do. Good luck!

-See you. -Bye, Morgane.

She asked you to be godfather too?

That's so annoying!

Is they're meant to be a camera in the aquarium?

-No. -That explains it.

The fish... look.

They're all at the surface with their gills working overtime.

Typical of a nitrate overdose.

-A what? -Nitrates. Honestly, Gilles!

Like soil pollution in Brittany.

In short...

Dory, Nemo and their friends crap in their bowl all day.

Their poop turns into nitrate,

which is really toxic stuff.

To prevent them poisoning themselves,

bacteria in the filter clean the water.

Only these bacteria don't like chlorine.

So if you put any in the aquarium,

say, by refilling it with tap water

after sticking a suction disc in -

they start to die as the poop builds up and nitrate levels rise.

It knocks the fish out.

Nitrite.

Sorry, you keep saying nitrate

but the chemicals you're talking about are nitrites.

Well, well... I didn't realize we had a Nobel Prize-winning chemist

in our midst.

Nitrates and nitrites are the same thing.

-OK? -Not quite.

Nitrites have one less oxygen molecule and are more toxic.

If the Brittany coast had been polluted by nitrites,

not nitrates, as you suggested,

all the marine wildlife would be long dead.

He's right. The Internet says nitrites.

Yeah, look...

Don't worry,

lots of people mix them up.

Give it to me.

We'll check what's on it.

Yeah, we'll check.

We found a camera hidden in your husband's office.

The memory card is full so the murder wasn't captured.

I have a 15% share in this clinic.

-I can install any equipment I like. -Not legally.

Covert filming of your spouse can land you in jail for two years.

We're not interested in your camera, rather what's on it.

Your husband cheated on you with hookers.

You had suspicions?

-When they were confirmed... -Excuse me?

Kill him because of those girls?

That's Crystal. He sees her Tuesdays when I'm at yoga.

Ashley likes to scratch his back.

So he keeps his shirt on around me afterwards. And Nikki...

I introduced him to her,

back when I still agreed to threesomes.

You're well-informed.

And not jealous if that's what you mean.

I didn't film Raphaël to stop his infidelity.

I wanted to know who was swindling him.

Swindling? How so?

A month ago, he took 30,000 out of our life insurance.

I decided to keep an eye on him.

I caught him giving the money to one of his escorts.

I guess she was blackmailing him.

I suggest you interview her.

-Can you prove this? -Of course.

From the camera I hid in his car.

We don't see her face but using the tattoo on her wrist,

maybe I can identify her.

There it is!

While the nitrates in charcuterie are not toxic,

the microbiota in our mouth

turns them into nitrites. So I was right, same thing!

-Not really. -Gilles.

It's exactly the same thing!

I was just simplifying it,

trying to keep it short. I can go into detail if necessary

but if everyone's going to start quibbling...

OK.

Maybe the victim met all his escorts on the same site.

Could you check?

Sorry, but I think guys who keep making a fuss

for no good reason are pretty shady.

Morgane, why are you here?

Good question!

A very arrogant murderer is on the loose

and if we don't nail him quickly, he'll gain confidence.

So you're making her work on maternity leave?

-Not deliberately. -Morgane confused nitrates with nitrites

so she suspects a guy who was with his publisher.

-We have three witnesses. -So it wasn't him.

Morgane, go home. I'll see the rest of you in my office.

Three witnesses.

-It's fishy. -Three!

Who has three witnesses?

Here, stick this up in your neighborhood.

-What is it? -For my missing pigeon.

It's been a week.

With all the stray cats around, I'm worried.

-Isn't he there anymore? -No.

Morgane, that's great!

I'm proud of you!

-Wait... why? -He hasn't vanished,

he's completed his mission.

It means you're finally a good person.

You've come such a long way.

Wait, you mean that he's left?

Just like that?

Without so much as a goodbye? After all we've been through?

Morgane, you no longer need a guide.

You can fly with your own wings.

You're going to pay for this.

Well, I'll get flying.

Looks like I don't need these.

This isn't a trash can.

-Dr. Decker? -Yes, Beatrice?

An emergency at reception.

Thanks for seeing me.

-No problem. -Impossible to get an appointment online.

So I figured, since I know you...

Let's see.

Her name's Olivia.

The tattoo is blurred but she may well be our suspect.

I posed as a client, we're meeting tonight at the Lotus Bar.

-Boom! -Nice work, Gilles.

Thanks.

-I'll confirm with Céline. -Sure.

"Answer."

-Now concentrate! -Concentrate!

What's up?

Afida is helping me count the votes.

The who's-the-father contest.

So far, we have 14 votes for Timothée.

Minus my 20% commission, that makes...

30 per winner. Not bad!

20% commission? Awesome!

You're awesome!

Hey, you get along great.

-Why wouldn't we? -Because girls are bitchy?

-You're such a cliché. -No!

-Lunch together? -Let's do it.

-I love her! -Bigtime!

-She's amazing. -Definitely.

Are you OK? You look a bit...

Just excited to see you getting along so well.

Actually, can I have my 30 now? I'm over the limit on my card.

Sure.

-Great. -Wait, you've lost.

Lost how? I put Timothée.

But Timothée is spelled T-H-E-E.

You put T-H-E.

-You're kidding me. -It invalidates the ticket.

A missing E? So he writes his name like a princess?

That's just the way it is. Never mind, I'll see you later.

See you later, yeah.

She's funny!

I think we're gonna be great friends.

Gilles? We're good.

The technicians will equip you.

Great, I'll be right with you.

She's right, an E doesn't matter.

Rules are rules, Gilles.

You should know, we're the police!

So sorry to disturb you while you're in mourning.

-I need you to keep still. -Sorry, OK!

You were partners for 25 years?

I bet you went through a lot together: joy, sadness...

Rivalry too, right?

Yes, Raphaël and I complimented one another.

Seems he was a bit of a womanizer!

From what his wife says, he shagged a few girls!

Maybe your wife too.

Unlikely, I'm not married.

Roller-coaster!

Hang on tight!

There.

Your ocular tension is quite normal.

-You may go. -Wait...

Since this morning, everything looks blurred.

I'd rather check, now that I'm here.

No problem. Sit down.

Close your left eye and read the fourth line.

Let's see... A-L-I-B-I.

ALIBI. Is that it?

Not quite.

I can't see a thing!

Speaking of alibis... tell me.

Yours is really good.

Lucky you had to correct that article

just as your partner was being murdered.

Otherwise you'd have had to answer lots of questions:

who was at the clinic when you left...

My assistant Béatrice and the magazine artwork guy.

Fourth line from the top?

So... E-X-A-T-Z-H-K...

What time did you bid your partner goodbye?

8.03 p.m. How about the line below?

E-X-A-T-Z.

What time did you come back to kill him?

Sorry, but I can find no symptoms of glaucoma.

-Phew! -Just fatigue and a lot of imagination.

Oh, I'm very imaginative.

So are you. We're kind of alike, right?

I don't know what you mean. Just to make sure...

this line?

So... Y-O-E-L-K-S-F-D-A?

Almost perfect.

The last letter is an I, as in "nitrite".

You look good in a suit.

In position?

Two access doors and one emergency exit. Do you read me?

Loud and clear.

Bourbon, no ice, please.

When the escort comes, check it's her, then we'll ask questions.

What's that noise?

My phone is causing interference.

Oh, no, it's Afida.

Afida honey? Your pal needs to calm down

and give me my money back.

Honey, I'm on a mission. It's just a misunderstanding.

One moment, I have another call.

Gilles, what are you doing?

Just a technical problem with Daphne I need to sort out.

Thank you very much.

Daphne, you had my messages?

Sorry, I didn't know she was dyslexic. She must be angry.

Great, so you can give her the 30?

Well, no, rules are rules.

Gilles, keep it short.

But I've sent her newsletters about language impairment

-so she doesn't feel isolated. -Don't do that, Daphne!

Oh, don't worry, it's my pleasure.

Did you know that 80% of dyslexics...?

Morgane, are you OK? Can I call you back?

Karadec, I knew it. It was the partner!

Partner? You mean you've been investigating?

It was him! My pigeon crapped on his car.

Your what? Pigeon?

Yes, my pigeon!

Is she dyspraxic or dyscalculic? They often go together.

I noticed she had trouble counting the votes.

I'll send her some stuff about that too.

No, don't do that, whatever you do!

Hello, Daphne?

-Hi, Gilles? -Hi.

Yes, that's me.

Olivia.

How do you do?

-May I sit down? -Please do. Excuse me for a moment.

-Do you know what she just sent? -What?

Did I come at a bad time?

Yes!

Not at all, it's just that...

Daphne always sends weird emails. I'll talk to her.

She'll give you the 30. She said she was sorry.

She did, didn't she?

I'll just powder my nose. Do you mind?

No, no.

No? So is she sorry or not?

So you found droppings on Dr. Decker's car?

You don't understand. He's my karmic messenger!

He didn't vanish, he just changed client!

If my pigeon did that, his karma must be worse than mine!

Stop it! I know you think no one else can solve this case

but we have very good people working on it, OK?

So please, just let us get on with it.

I hope she doesn't use her bike tonight.

She may have tire problems if she keeps disrespecting me.

Wait, you can't sabotage her bike; that's dangerous.

Afida?

Gilles? Where's the escort?

She went to powder her nose.

The bed seems good. What about the mobile?

I've looked at it every which way but it just doesn't hold up.

True, the attachments don't look safe.

Did you pick out a soft toy? My cousins have given us

a koala, a whale, a wallaby...

As for the alibi...

The guy spent the evening

with three witnesses, so when did he murder his partner?

What are you talking about?

The same thing as you:

beds, mobiles, wallabies...

Look, I know you're stressed out about giving birth.

It's only natural,

given the risk of preeclampsia in advanced maternal age.

You're deflecting your anxieties onto this case.

Did you draw up a list of names?

No, I admit, I haven't had time.

Well... I can read you mine if you like.

-To get you started. -Great!

This is just a first stab.

I wrote down...

Arthus...

Eloi... Grichka, like my great uncle...

The Bodganovs? I thought of that too.

If he had a twin, it would be a matter of record.

So no.

Sorry. Carry on.

Among more traditional names, I like...

Grégoire... Amaury... Léon...

Wait... Léon?

You like that one?

Yeah, big time!

A hitman. That's it!

Morgane, you're not on this case.

I'm just lending a hand.

Believe me, given your fixation with the "escort" lead,

you need it!

What we're looking for is a hitman.

What hitman?

The guy who was parked outside the day of the murder.

Because when I went back there yesterday,

I spotted 18 cigarette butts of the same brand

right beside a parking spot.

Given that it takes around six minutes to smoke a cigarette...

it means...

someone spent more than two hours

parked outside the clinic.

OK, let's say they did. How do we identify them?

Through the registration!

In the area around the clinic,

you pay for parking by entering your registration.

So I called the local authorities and said I was police.

They gave me the address of the hitman

hired by Dr. Whatsit Know-it-all.

Someone named...

Sacha Bartoli, who lives at 19 Rue de Saule.

You just rang the hitman's doorbell?

Without warning me?!

Get your gun out, he might be dangerous.

Hi, kid. Are your parents home?

Zach! What did I tell you...

-Hello? -Hi.

Sacha Bartoli?

Lille police. I'm glad we found you.

-Fixation? -Never mind, let's go in.

-May we? -Sure, we can.

Was it you who tried to trap me at the Lotus Bar?

Yes, and giving us the slip didn't help your cause.

I've done nothing wrong.

I didn't know your colleague was a cop.

I saw he had a gun

so I was obviously scared for my life.

I see... So nothing to do with the murder of Dr. Raphaël Guillot?

I don't know this man.

That's surprising, we have a video of you threatening him in his car.

Go ahead, keep lying. Make things worse.

Say, does your mother smoke?

Do you know any hitmen?

No?

Did you do these?

Yes. Crikey!

-They're great. -This is you?

You're talented.

In this video, the victim is giving you 30,000 euros.

I imagine he wasn't any old client.

Wicked!

How do you know him? What's the money for?

Zach, go play in your room for five minutes, please.

Go on, honey.

Is your son the link?

The money is for him?

Is it his son?

No, not his son.

His patient.

Zach was operated on by Dr. Skirt-chaser.

Am I right? Well, operated...

Carved up more like. He messed up his eyes, right?

Tell him, it'll save time.

OK, allow me.

See these sunflowers?

They're well done, right?

The proportions...

Frankly, your son draws really well.

Except there's a snag.

Those blue halos... They look wrong, don't they?

There's no blue in a sunflower.

Except there is.

Only we're not meant to see it.

OK, as you know,

there are lots of colors in nature that our eyes can't see.

We call them infrared or ultraviolet.

But insects, for example,

see ultraviolet really well.

It's how flowers attract them.

They have it all over their petals.

So where we see a limp daisy

or a moldy sunflower,

Maya the Honey Bee sees...

this!

Karadec, like the night we took LSD... right?

Anyway, those blue halos are ultraviolet.

Because, unlike the rest of humanity, your son can see it.

He can see ultraviolet?

-How is that possible? -Bad surgery.

There's a thing in the human eye

that filters out ultraviolet, called...

Crystalline.

People whose crystalline has been damaged

can see ultraviolet.

Like Monet.

Hello! Claude Monet

had a cataract operation in 1923 that went wrong

and messed up his crystalline.

His later paintings had funny-looking blue water lilies

because he could see ultraviolet.

The same thing happened to your son.

So at some stage, he's going to be blind.

Do you have a child minder?

We'll carry on this conversation at the station.

Go ahead.

An escort colleague introduced me to Dr. Guillot.

I'd noticed that Zach had developed a squint.

She said her client was a surgeon who'd do me a good price.

You asked Guillot to operate on your son?

That's right.

Then what?

Then nothing. He said it had gone well.

But a few weeks later, Zach's teacher said

he couldn't see the blackboard,

so I saw another specialist

who told me his eye was damaged and he might go blind.

So Dr. Guillot messed up the operation.

Yes, he messed it up.

Is that why he gave you money?

-As compensation? -Compensation?

He was covering his back.

He figured he could buy anything, even my son's health.

I threw the money back in his face.

Then, the bastard changed tack,

he took screen captures of my escort profile.

He said if I reported him, he'd send them to my son's school.

So I took the money and left.

I never saw him again.

You seem to struggle with the truth.

A parking ticket.

Your car was outside the clinic the night of the murder.

How do you explain that if you never saw him again?

I just don't get it.

At 7.45 p.m.,

the two surgeons finish the operation on their patient.

At 7.48 p.m.,

the assistant sees Dr. Skirt-chaser return to his office.

Then, at 7.50 p.m., the guy from the magazine

turns up with his article.

Then, our suspect takes him into Dr. Skirt-chaser's office

and they take a photo.

At 8.03 p.m.

Dr. Whatsit Know-it-all goes off with the magazine guy

till midnight.

So when did he bump him off?

I'm missing something.

Any ideas, Léon?

Léon?

-Morgane, what have you done? -We're just playing together.

Wait, that's a dead body!

You took the N?

We need to choose a color for the skirting boards.

Look. This pastel blue is nice.

I like the pine green too.

Henri's here, stealing stuff. Is that OK?

Not now, Théa, we're busy...

Stealing things? He can't do that!

Léo, not Léon? Cool, cause Léon sucked.

It's my great grandfather's name!

He died in the trenches!

-Ah, Henri! -Morgane, hello.

I was just going to call you

about the rent for March.

And April, actually.

-We'll see about that later. -OK.

Don't mind me, I just need a couple of things.

This... and this.

Are you going traveling, Henri?

I'm going to a crawfish fishing contest.

In Rotterdam.

-This is Mom. -Rotterdam?

With a portrait of your mother?

Right, well, kids... I'll say goodbye.

Look after your mother.

My dear friend, take good care of yourself.

Dodgy.

Very dodgy.

Mega-dodgy!

So, these skirting boards. Blue or green?

It's young Zach's mother.

We think her car was parked at the clinic the night of the murder.

Did you notice it when you left?

-Doctor, one last question. -Mrs. Alvaro, what is it this time?

Glaucoma in the other eye, perhaps? The magenta.

-Morgane... -It was you.

That's enough, please leave him alone.

Let me show you something. You'll love this. Excuse me.

Perfect. This is the clinic's timetable.

Each doctor and nurse has their own color:

you're blue,

our corpse was red, Béa is green...

If I go back

to the date of Zach's operation...

look what comes up. Magenta!

So who's magenta?

Nobody, it must be a mistake.

"Nobody, it must be a mistake"!

Except magenta isn't your average color.

It's non-spectral.

It doesn't exist!

Our temporal lobes produce it

when we see red and blue at the same time.

There's no way our two ophthalmologists didn't know that.

-Are you OK? -I'm fine.

Now where was I?

Ah, yes, magenta, the color that lies.

That's why you chose it as a code

when you and your partner secretly switched operations.

Guillot didn't mess up Zach's eyes. You did!

And that's his motive.

Oh, yes!

-Is that true? -Not quite.

Technically, the occipital lobe,

not the temporal, handles vision in the brain.

The rest is correct.

Is he for real?

Raphaël was a pathological womanizer. His wife always knew.

You should go to the clinic.

He tried to keep up appearances.

Out of respect for his marriage, I guess.

So you performed some of his operations to cover his infidelities?

We sometimes switched jobs.

It never caused any problems.

But on this occasion, tiredness led to imprecision.

Tiredness?

Yes.

We found this in your home:

Dyskinedopa, a treatment for Parkinson's disease.

You've been taking it in secret since 2022.

You're sick, Doctor.

You hide it so you can continue to practice.

I'm serious, you're at full term. Uterine pain shouldn't be ignored.

Gilles, unlike you, I've already had three babies.

I can tell a contraction from a tummy ache.

This is my lunchtime kebab!

It's early-stage.

At this point, the meds stop 99% of shaking.

That day, my hand began to shake during surgery.

I wanted to believe I'd avoided the worst.

But when Raphaël told me what the kid's mother's said, I knew.

Then, you told your partner about your condition?

-Yes. -And Raphaël

said he'd report you to the Order of Physicians.

So you decided to get rid of him.

You're on the wrong track.

The lapse on Zach gave me a jolt.

I decided to come clean with the Order of Physicians.

The night Raphaël died,

I was with the editors of the Ophthalmology Review.

How could I have killed him?

It seems impossible... unless a third party was involved.

These are your phone records.

You called this number:

a phone that later pinged

close to the clinic at the time of the murder.

It turns out the number belongs to a man

with a criminal record for violence and extortion.

Do you know what I think?

You hired this guy to do the dirty work.

Then, while you manufactured the perfect alibi,

he eliminated your partner.

Fucked, fucked!

I did call that guy, it's true.

But he isn't a hitman.

He's the boy's father.

-Zach's father? -Yes.

He was with him on the day of the operation.

When I realized what I'd done, I wanted to apologize

but he became so angry over the phone

I didn't dare tell him it was me, not Raphaël,

who had mutilated his child.

You think he killed him because of me?

The suspect's name is Yohann Marouani.

He's never officially recognized Zach

but he is the father.

We know he often uses Zach's mother's car.

Hats off to that doctor.

I hear you released Dr. Decker?

No, Morgane! Are you still here?

She's not here to work, we're doing a baby shower.

Happy baby shower, Morgane!

She's having 40-second contractions every four minutes.

Gilles, stop it, I told you, it's the lunchtime kebab!

That's besides the point. Concentrate.

Our doctor has framed an innocent man.

That's enough, Morgane, all right?

Your suspect has an alibi,

even if he does know more than you about sulfates and sulfites.

Now go home before your waters break!

Anyway what's one more wrongful conviction?

Police everywhere, justice nowhere!

Yeah, sure.

Here's our new suspect.

We can't pin him down just yet

but his movements the night of the murder are fishy.

If it's fishy, something's iffy.

Put an ABP out on him.

Is he on file?

-Yes, for extortion and violence. -Nice!

Morgane, stay away till your maternity leave is over!

Well, that's good.

Let's press on.

Sorry to bother you, Doctor,

I just had one last question to ask you.

Good evening, Mrs. Alvaro.

He's very sharp. Unlike you.

I'm guessing this is a new attempt

to demonstrate my guilt?

Exactly!

Crikey, it's hot.

From the beginning of this investigation,

we've assumed that your partner's death

occurred after 8 p.m. on the basis of this photo,

posted by you at 8.02 p.m., but...

Darn it!

Except if we look more closely,

we see that you are blurred

while he... is totally sharp.

Which started me thinking

about something pretty wacky: 19th-century death portraits.

-See what I mean? -Not really.

While I love your hit-and-miss general knowledge lessons...

Fucking kebab!

...you're suffering. Should I call an ambulance...

No, I'm OK!

As I was saying, in the 19th century,

people liked to take photos of themselves

with the corpse before burial as a keepsake.

Weird, but each to his own. And...

Shit! To make it look less creepy,

the idea was to make the dead person look alive

on the photos. They propped them up,

opened their eyes, added makeup to make them look alive,

and the illusion was almost perfect... Mother of God!

I'll sit down for a moment.

I say almost. Why?

Because in the cameras of the day,

exposure times were super long.

So with their tiny movements,

the living were always blurred,

while the dead didn't move so they were sharp.

Yes!

Wait, give me a hand.

Which is exactly the case with your partner.

He's sharp while you're blurred.

Because he was already dead when you took the photo. Yes!

Wow... wait...

I'll just lie down for a moment. So I figure that your partner

was going to denounce you.

You remained calm,

performed a last operation with him,

then, once the surgery was done, you strangled him!

You put on his distinctive cap

and a mask, making sure Béatrice saw you

and mistook you for him.

Then, you returned to the operating room

and dragged his body to his office,

using the other door, of course.

Then, the magazine guy turned up.

You did your selfie with the corpse,

making sure a mask hid his messed-up neck.

Then, on the pretext of having to correct the article,

you left the clinic.

And you knew,

having called him that morning,

that Zach's father would be in the area...

So...

Darn it!

Give me another hand.

You bumped off your partner and got yourself a solid alibi.

The perfect crime!

-Oh, no! -Sure you're OK?

No, that definitely isn't a kebab.

Er... call me an ambulance.

Go on!

Yohann Marouani, yes.

Wanted for homicide and potentially dangerous.

OK, keep me posted.

Thanks.

The judge is issuing a search warrant.

-Any news? -Not yet.

-Are you OK? -Yes, why?

No reason.

Yes, Timothée?

No, she isn't here.

-You haven't seen Morgane, I hope? -No.

No, he doesn't know either. But why?

Isn't she back yet?

Hi, I'd like a ticket to Rio.

Leaving as soon as possible.

-That's not an ambulance! -I'm sorry.

I have to sneak away.

Yes, Xavier Decker. D-E-C-K-E-R.

I'm a Sky Platinum member.

6 p.m.? Perfect.

Thank you. Good day to you.

I'm in labor, send somebody!

I'm at the clinic...

I admit it, you're good.

If not for this regrettable hitch, you'd have arrested me.

I need an epidural, I've never had a baby without one!

Here, some paracetamol will help.

-That's not funny. -I need to get going.

Good luck!

I hope we never meet again.

What's going on?

He's our killer

and I'm in labor! Help me!

I'll call an ambulance.

It's too late, Karadec, it's coming!

You're a doctor, help her.

I'm an ophthalmologist, not an obstetrician!

-Help her, now! -Very well.

-What are you doing? -Fetching some things.

-Are you all right? -No!

Cover her.

What's that?

Morphine.

You'll poison her. Put it away, now!

-Give it here! -Morgane!

Are you OK, Morgane?

Ah, that's better.

May I?

Get this baby out. The head is engaged.

Push hard.

OK, here we go.

That's good, go on, push...

Push, push.

Push, Morgane!

-Go on, push. -Almost there, go on!

My perineum's going to split!

No, that'll be your pelvic floor.

-Shut up! -Anyway...

Remember...

Good, keep pushing.

Keep pushing... come on, almost there...

Here, take him.

Take him. Go ahead.

Cut the cord.

Ah, my baby!

Go on, cut it. One snip.

That's good.

Give him to me, Karadec.

Oh, my beautiful baby.

We did it, Karadec. We did it!

I'll call the medics...

and tell Timothée everything is OK.

Now who's this? It's Léo!

I think he's done a runner.

Oh, no! Shit.

He's done a runner, hasn't he?

Yes, he has!

The traffic patrol called, Dr. Decker has been arrested.

He's at Lezennes emergency room with a broken ankle.

All right.

Morgane and the baby are OK?

Yes, she's fine.

She's in her room with her kids and Timothée.

Do you want to take him?

Give Mommy her hair back!

He's cute.

You need to get your tubes tied.

-Very funny! -Another blond,

no change there.

Give him here.

Wait, put your hand under his head to support his neck.

Eliott is more used to babies than you are.

Yeah, I've got this.

Let me take him.

He's not comfortable.

Can we come in? We need to give Léon a wash.

No, not Léon... Léo!

-Sorry! -Léo? We said Léon.

But Théa doesn't like it. Neither do you, don't you?

-See? -What are you on about?

We'll leave you to it.

Come on, Eliott.

Put Léon, it's what we agreed.

Wait, we agreed no such thing.

He doesn't like Léon.

Look, it makes him cry!

Well, I'm not the registrar, so...

I'll decide, you're in no fit state.

Léon, L-É-O-N.

No, it's Léo! See, that doesn't make him cry.

Now listen up. When you squeeze out an eight-pound roast

through a mouse hole without an epidural,

you can pick a name.

Until then, it's my call.

Have I chosen anything yet?

The clinic? The doctor?

The color of the skirting boards? No!

Nor did I choose to have a kid with you!

IT'S A BOY

Did you get what I asked for?

Thank you.

You've had it now, babe.

This is Morgane's prenatal DNA test. Sample TG:

Probability of paternity 99.999%

-So? -So your rules say

you'll pay out when the father's identity

"is certain" but 99.999% isn't certain.

-All bets are off, pay me back. -Actually, 99.999%...

means 100%, right, Gilles?

Yeah, ask her why it doesn't say TG: 100%.

While the margin of error is minuscule,

the rules do say "certain" so...

That said, thinking about it, the notion of absolute certainty

is kind of relative.

So TG: 99.999%...

OK, so you're a coward. It says, "Timothée Guichard:

99.999%." Which means 100%.

Which means, statistically, he's the father!

Actually, TG isn't Timothée Guichard.

What do you mean?

TG just means it's a genetic test.

So as not to mix up the samples,

I called them TG, TG2 and TG3,

-meaning tests 1, 2, and 3. -Are you stupid?!

Why not just use initials?

So who's the first test?

Well, the first sample was...

Coffee?

A FEW DAYS LATER...

Oh, no, the street's completely blocked.

Put the siren on to clear the way!

No, it'll make him cry.

What time can I pick him up next week? Six o'clock?

Sure.

You'll be handling bath time. Can you manage?

Yes, of course.

OK.

So we begin shared custody next Friday,

I'll bring him back Friday at six.

Well, we can improvise, we don't need to...

It's better to have a framework.

Children develop better with structure.

Of course.

Right, Léo? A framework is good!

Daddy's right. Oh, yes!

It's true, Léo suits him.

I can't bear this, I'll get out here.

I'll help you.

Hey, what's going on?

-I'm talking to you! -No way, you're not taking the chair.

Are you crazy? Put that back right now!

Hey, I'm talking to you!

-What's going on? -Henri hasn't paid his taxes since 1950

and he's vanished.

Evicting tenants? This is France, the land of human rights!

Plus I've just had a baby, so button it.

Do you have a leasing contract?

You can shower in the mornings.

No, no!

Take Chloé, put her on your knee and use the seat belt.

You can't have the room and the shower.

What are you doing?

Right, you sit here.

You're hurrying me up?

LOL!

The bags won't go in.

Morgane, what's going on?

There isn't room. We've had a change of plan.

We'll start the shared custody at your place.

You weren't very present

during the pregnancy.

This way, you can make up for it.

Wait, wait... you forgot this.

Here, stuff it in.

You'll wake the baby up.

Come on, Kara, stick the siren on!

Translated by Kevin Smith