Original subtitles

It looks like we're at a turning point in the triple stone homicide

that has bloodied Milan over the past days.

The killer of Fabrizio Gotti, Cesare Crisanti and Giorgio Campana

was allegedly Nadir Usama Assar

twenty years old and from the Maghreb,

with a prior record of drug possession.

The alleged killer, who was carrying a gun at the time of the arrest,

claims he is innocent

and exercised his right not to answer.

According to the investigators, what Assar did

was a true act of religious terrorism.

-The Tunisian lives in public housing. -They got him. Case solved.

We're back from vacation.

Fuck you, Carella. From the heart.

-We said to follow him, not arrest him. -You think I made that decision?

Look at his face. He's a kid. He's never shot a gun.

He had a gun identical to the two that shot Gotti and Crisanti.

Yeah, but his never fired a shot.

-Then, what's the motive? -I didn't say it was him.

He may know the killer.

-It that a lead or a hope? -It's a coincidence, and a big one too.

They all live on Via Gigante, San Siro district.

Weird, isn't it?

-How do you know? -From the plates.

We even found out Gotti and Crisanti knew each other.

Stuff from way back in the '70s.

Fellow fighters, so to speak.

Armed fighters. Crisanti and some friends were on the frontlines.

Mostly he put together little groups of five or six people on the fly.

They made up a name, did some damage, burned some cars, graffiti.

Then they'd break up. The hit and run strategy.

Then we heard there was a butcher's son in the group.

We found out because, one day, one of these little groups

robbed a weapons store dressed as traffic cops.

To stock up.

That explains why the guns were identical.

No, the gun that shot Campana hasn't got a fucking thing to do with it.

-It doesn't match up. He's too young. -It doesn't match up now.

-We need to stay calm. -"Calm" my ass.

You got a week. No more.

-What? A week? -Yes.

We're about to pull the right strings. If you stop...

Don't you get that we're in the hands of a bunch of nutcases?

They want to round up the Muslims in the San Siro projects.

You want a shitshow? I can't hold them back anymore.

Good, then he'll get away.

Exactly! So, hurry. One week max, but two days is better.

I want you down at the station with your strings.

Let's hope something is at the end.

-Hello? -Hello.

-Why didn't you answer? -I was sleeping.

Oh, you were sleeping. Lucky you.

-Did you find him or not? -We're working on it.

"Working on it"? You've been there three days!

Hey, man, listen to me.

We didn't come here to buy magnets of the Riace bronzes

to hang on our fridge.

We're risking our ass for you, you got that?

I'm paying you for that!

You said there wouldn't be trouble. They told me you were reliable!

There's no trouble, okay?

But are you sure this guy is 42 years old?

You don't think he might be, like, 38?

No! Not 38!

He was seven when... Fine, just forget about it!

I assure you he's 42, maybe give or take a year.

-See? You're shaky on his age. -Yeah, but we're talking one year max.

Okay. You're sure he was in Milan last week?

One hundred percent.

How can you be "one hundred percent" sure, you dickhead!

I know because he killed two people here in Milan, dumbass!

What, and you tell us that now? You're the one I'm gonna kill!

Let's all just calm down, all right?

-We'll call you. -What do you mean?

-Bye. -Hello?

At least we don't have to kill a guy from the 'Ndrangheta.

What fucking luck.

You know we gotta start again from zero, right?

-How many times has that happened? -Never!

We've always had a lead, a foothold.

We might have a false start, but what are we, the fucking cub scouts!

-Relax, we'll call our contact back. -Yeah, whatever.

Well, he said he had another name.

Yeah, at best he'll be in a wheelchair and won't have hands.

Check out the fucking Strait of Messina.

Magnificent. Right?

I'll put my gun straight up his ass in that shitty fucking camper of his.

That'll be magnificent!

Fucking shell-shocked imbecile.

MONTEROSSI: THE SERIES

DEAD WRONG: EPISODE FOUR

Can you at least tell my mom and sister I'm all right?

No.

Because, you know, we're trying to tell the truth, Nadir.

And the truth is you're in deep shit.

You're charged with three terrorist homicides.

What?

Terrorism? What the fuck are you talking about?

You got me mixed up with someone else.

Ask my dad. He'd hit me because I didn't pray at home.

-You're wrong. What terrorism? -[speaking in Hebrew]

Do you know this man?

-Don't know him, never fucking seen him. -[speaking Hebrew]

[speaking Hebrew]

You're lying. That's al-Baghdadi.

-You've seen him a hundred times on TV. -What is this, a fucking quiz?

I don't watch TV. I don't watch your news.

-Okay, let's start over with the basics. -Yeah.

Who gave you this?

-Nobody gave it to me. -No?

So, it fell out of the sky.

And this isn't just any gun. It's old.

How should I know? I've never held one.

So, who took it then?

If you give us this name, and it's the name of the shooter,

we'll send you home. Not immediately, but tomorrow or the next day, yes. Clear?

I found it in a dumpster.

Just like that? By accident?

Yeah. People throw all kinds of stuff away.

[speaking Hebrew]

-Where is this dumpster? -Excuse me.

Explain to the profiler that the kid's fucking with us.

-You're fucking with us and that's worse! -"Worse" doesn't cut it.

We're talking about terrorism here, Nadir.

If you just get aiding and abetting, you'll still get ten years in prison.

Sempione Park.

-Yeah, right. Take him to isolation. -I swear.

-Right, maybe there you'll think clearer. -I swear!

-Bastards! -Yeah, yeah.

You just need me so you can say you caught someone! Assholes!

They searched our house.

-They treated us like terrorists! -It's my fault?

Of course it is. Ever since he met people like you!

-Calm down, this is not okay. -He came to us because he was in trouble.

Instead of coming to his parents!

Sorry we're not messiahs or saints, whatever you call 'em.

-I thought you were friends. -You treat friends this way?

You kicked him out. He about bled to death!

-Great father! -Calm down.

Sorry, Ahmed, it's true. It's my fault too.

-When did they search your home? -Just now! They left ten minutes ago!

Did they leave or are they still searching?

What kind of question is that?

You don't want them to know the mess you're in!

I'm trying to see if I can help him.

You don't want to help him!

You want to cover your ass!

-Hey! What the fuck are you doing? -Jesus fucking Christ.

Asshole!

No, he's right.

-He's right. I know. -Know what?

-Nadir has nothing to do with it. -Obviously.

-But if I went to the police... -To say what?

"He's a good kid. I'll vouch for him. Francesco of stairway C?"

-What the fuck are you saying? -Fuck you!

-Where are you going? -To the bathroom. Fuck you. Fuck me!

Come on, come here. Hey!

-Francesco? -Leave me alone!

-Don't make me worry. -I'm fine. Leave me the fuck alone.

I think we've clearly come to a point of no return.

-I think society has become too bitter. -What society?

Ours or theirs?

Do we have to blame ourselves for everything?

I don't know who you hang around with,

but my readers don't go around killing people for fun.

That's enough.

Better, right?

Definitely.

Then if you would tell me where we're going, it'd be even better.

On a trip to the lake.

I gotta check something.

That has to do with our friend Isabella, I bet.

I want a lawyer.

A driver's not enough for you, huh?

I saw the way you were looking at her yesterday.

I was looking at her like you were.

She's a beautiful woman.

She is.

And when you started talking about the stones,

her ears perked up like a cat's. Did you see it?

What do you want me to say to you, Carlo?

I don't know. Even...

"Don't worry, I'm not going to get you in trouble," would be fine.

Carlo, don't worry, I'm not going to get you in trouble.

At least not now.

Go to hell.

Instead, look over there.

Nice, huh?

What, the river?

You're so ignorant.

It's the Villoresi Canal.

It's one of the most beautiful things in Lombardy.

Isn't that...

the one where they threw the gun that killed Campana?

Yep.

I bet they found it on this side of the canal.

Coffee.

Should I wake him up?

Leave him alone, for God's sake. He hasn't slept for a week.

-Poor guy. -Poor us.

The less he sleeps, the more pissed he gets.

Let him rest, then.

That must be Sannucci.

-I found it, Sarge. -What, the report?

No, the article.

We couldn't find the report because it happened in Brianza, not Milan.

-What? -A month after the weapons store robbery,

a group of terrorists claimed they killed a supervisor at TecnoSint.

A guy from Calabria.

Giuseppe Laganà.

Same traffic cop uniforms, same shell casings.

-Shit, we got it! -Wait, wait, wait.

Repeat everything you said.

-'Morning. -'Morning.

We're looking for a guy named Nicola Laganà.

They said he works here at the docks.

It's a big place.

You're the only café.

Exactly.

Imagine the folks that come in. Who knows who they are?

-You can keep the change. -Change annoys us.

Me too.

Hands up! Fast!

I said fast. Fuck!

You!

Empty the register!

Not that one, the one under the counter!

I know where it is. Fast! Fuck!

It's even real.

-And we don't like that. -Nope.

And we also don't like you robbing this poor guy.

Sorry.

If you gotta pull shit like this, go to the bank.

And even there... a fake pistol.

So you don't risk hurting yourself and others.

Trust me, because my friend went to school.

According to article 628 of the criminal code,

"Whoever," comma, "to obtain undue profit for himself or others,

by using violence..."

Come on, not a criminal law lesson.

Let me go. I'm sorry. Really.

-Good boy. We like that. -A lot.

-What are you gonna do now? -Go home.

Good boy.

Open that book you left there and put some effort into it.

Hit those books. At least finish fucking middle school.

You can decide which high school to go to later.

Knowledge... is the most powerful weapon of all.

Laganà works on dock 12.

You asked about Nicola Laganà, right?

He's a good man.

But he's had a shitty life.

-Don't make it worse. -We'll try not to, don't worry.

Thanks for the information.

You saved us a lot of time.

Goodbye.

Let me do the talking.

-Good morning. -Good morning.

Cristina, if it's not too much trouble,

we need to talk to the head of security.

Sure, may I ask why?

I'm sorry, that's confidential.

My name's Oscar Falcone,

and I'm here on behalf of Isabella Nardi Contini.

And he's Ms. Nardi Contini's lawyer, Mr. Monterossi.

-How do you do. -How do you do.

Yes, there are two people here for you.

On behalf of Ms. Nardi Contini.

Good. I'll send them right over. Thanks.

How is she, if you don't mind my asking?

Exhausted.

What a terrible thing to happen. A tragedy.

Send her my condolences.

She'll be happy to hear it. Ms. Nardi Contini is fond of you all.

And we're fond of her.

How can I help you?

Ms. Nardi Contini lost a necklace.

A rather valuable one.

She vaguely remembers leaving it in the car on the night...

the night before the murder.

And she asked us to take a look.

Is she afraid someone opened her vehicle here, in our garage?

No, she remembers leaving it in the car, but she's not sure.

With all that happened...

-Am I right? -Of course.

We're here to find the necklace, not make accusations.

-That's all. -I understand.

Let's see.

A detector in our garage records arrivals and departures.

If we can identify the span of time her car was here,

we should resolve this quickly.

The night before the tragedy, right?

Exactly. Last Thursday.

Here we are.

Ms. Contini left in her car at 17:41 and came back that evening on foot.

Are you saying Thursday night her car wasn't here?

One moment.

Can you send Saverio, please?

I just remembered on the day of the tragedy,

we brought her car back to Milan for her.

Come here, Saverio.

Did you take Ms. Nardi Contini's car back on Friday?

Yes, she had to hurry to Milan with the director.

In the afternoon, her friend called to ask

if we'd pick up her bags and bring them back to her with the car.

And where was the car?

In town, in a parking lot. She left it there.

Sometimes that happens.

And we have to go get the car and park it in the garage.

If she didn't want to bring it back...

Or maybe she went for one of her walks.

But she was here the night before the homicide.

Yes, of course.

We had a concert with a German pianist,

and she translated a bit for us. That's all.

Did you happen to see a necklace in the car?

-On the seat or the floor mats? -No.

Before taking her car to Milan, I got it washed.

Inside and out. I was there.

I apologize, gentlemen.

If you want to look at her suite,

Ms. Contini has it till the end of the month,

although it's obviously been cleaned.

Well, at this point, just to be thorough...

-If it's no trouble, obviously. -No trouble at all.

I'll take you there.

Hello.

Where are you going?

-Pandolce. -It's that one. But walk here.

Excuse me.

-Yes? -Hello.

-Is your husband home? -No, he's working.

-Oh, when can I find him? -Excuse me, who are you?

I'm Nadia Federici.

I work for Crazy Love, the TV show. Do you know it?

We're looking for people who knew Giorgio Campana,

-who died tragically... -Who gave you my husband's number?

We asked around.

-He was his plumber, right? -That's right.

-Would you mind if I came... -No, goodbye.

We can talk at your leisure. Ma'am...

Excuse me, do you really work for De Pisis?

Yes.

It's my favorite show.

I like Criminal Love too, but Crazy Love...

I'd give anything just to sit in the audience one time.

-Really? -Yeah.

Well, then leave me your name.

I'll see what I can do.

-Thanks. Anna Ronchi. -"Anna Ronchi."

Want to know why she won't open?

-Because you know? -Everybody in the building knows.

-Will you put in a good word for me? -Sure, don't worry.

"The things we do for love!"

Hello, Katia?

Did you clean the Rhododendron Suite?

Did you happen to see if the lady left something, like a necklace?

At some point, you'll at least explain what we're doing here, right?

Or do I have to find out the hard way?

You'll figure it out on your own soon enough.

I'm sorry.

I just checked under the bed and spoke to the maid who cleaned the room,

but she didn't find anything.

Check the bathroom if you like.

Let's check the bathroom.

-I apologize. -We're sorry for disturbing you.

Like I said, we just wanted to try.

No problem. We're always here for Ms. Nardi Contini.

-Then, after such a harsh blow... -Right.

-Who was it that called her to tell her? -The director.

Soon as they contacted us from Milan, we called,

but she'd left her phone in her room.

She was returning from one of her walks.

Excuse me.

Hey, Nadia, what's up?

Remember the 60,000-euro bank transfers I told you about?

Yes.

-The ones Campana made? -Right.

They weren't to redo his bathroom.

They were to shut him up.

-Who? -The plumber. Pandolce.

He has a 14-year-old daughter.

First, he lured her in, then he did what he wanted to her.

-Are you kidding? -Unfortunately, no.

He even hit her.

Her father wanted to report him, maybe even hurt him.

I would've. But he opened up his wallet and poof!

Like magic, his daughter suddenly fell down the stairs.

I can't talk right now. I'll call you back. Bye.

Convenient that the bathroom has a back way out of the hotel.

So, you can leave the hotel from here if you want?

Yes, if you want, you can.

-May I? -Of course, Franco, come in.

I left the door open.

Hi, Antonia, is it late?

Late? I stay up till midnight at least.

I spend way too much time in that bed.

-I brought you some coffee. -Thanks.

-How much do I owe you? -Forget about it, it's on me.

-Can I have a glass of water? -It's over there.

Did you hear, they caught the stone killer.

-A Tunisian kid. -Nadir. Of course.

He lives here.

I read about it. Incredible. Did you know him?

He was Francesco's friend.

He brought him over every now and then. They used my closet.

What for?

For storage.

Those houses are all small, you know. Nothing ever fits inside them.

But I'm alone.

Hey, he wasn't the one who did it.

-He wasn't? -No way.

He was a kind boy, polite.

They had to kind of live by their wits.

Stealing things every now and then.

A little wealth redistribution, right?

I guess you could call it that.

Instead, Francesco...

Did he leave any of his stuff in there?

There's a shoe box in the closet.

I've never opened it.

I thought it was stuff he didn't want Chiara to see.

You mind if I take a look?

If you want.

Excuse me.

Everything all right, Franco?

Yeah.

Just one look and I'm done.

Coming.

How's the wheelchair?

I'm a pro now.

Don't forget your pills. Here they are.

So...

Morning...

and evening.

Okay?

Take care.

Bye.

Franco?

Don't hurt him.

He's a good kid.

That's why no one was crying over Campana.

Because word had it he raped young girls.

Which turned out to be true.

There are some bad fucking people out there.

Hey, what in the hell are you doing?

-A scientific experiment. -What experiment? I'll get a ticket!

I say you won't. Want to bet?

Why do we have to do experiments with my money?

Carlo, don't be a miser. It's not your style.

Hey, Fra.

-What's up? You gonna tell me or not? -I'm sorry, Chiara.

-Sorry for what? -Trust me, sorry.

What for?

I'm going to the police.

To the police? To tell them what?

Nadir's got nothing to do with it.

-Right. Why should they believe you? -I killed them, Chiara.

What are you talking about?

My father rot in prison because of those assholes.

-You don't have a father. -Yes, I do.

Before she died, my mom gave me...

a diary, a sort of letter my dad wrote me in prison.

She found out she was pregnant after they arrested him...

so she didn't tell me. Thought it was better that way.

But he never forgot me, Chiara.

Dear Francesco, I don't know why I'm writing you now after so many years.

Maybe because now I'm sure I'll never get to know you.

There's no escaping this illness.

I'll leave this diary with your mom.

I don't know if she'll give it to you. She'll decide.

Which is right.

I've been in here 26 years,

and not a day's gone by that I haven't wondered how you were,

what you were doing.

He was a factory worker.

An activist in what was left of the movement.

He was only 20 when he met Bellini, Gotti and Crisanti in a meeting.

They'd decided to form a group.

Take their struggle to the next level.

That's what we called it at the time.

Our first, real hit was a weapons shop.

Bellini knew a girl who worked in the theater,

and she got us three traffic cop uniforms.

I stayed in the car while they went inside.

They asked to see some pistols.

They loaded them, then pointed them at the cashier.

Easy-peasy.

The adrenaline rush from it all made us feel like heroes.

Revolutionaries.

At that age, what little mental clarity you had went down the toilet.

The limits we should've given ourselves vanished.

I thought about it. Maybe we should've stopped

with the stones at the opera house premieres,

the violent processions.

Yeah, maybe with the stones.

After that, it was definitely all a mistake.

They chose the guy to shoot in the legs

after an inter-factory meeting of extreme groups.

His comrades in TecnoSint said he was an arrogant little foreman.

A guy from Calabria...

who was a bigger dick to the Calabrians. His name was...

Giuseppe Laganà.

Excuse us.

-Are you Mr. Laganà? -Huh?

Are you Mr. Nicola Laganà?

Yeah, why?

Nothing, we just wanted to chat with you.

Are you two from Milan?

Yeah. Why, you been there recently?

Six months ago for my dad's commemoration.

But I'm telling you, I'll never go up there again.

Crisanti said they should teach him a lesson.

My father didn't argue with their decision.

His feelings as a fellow worker won.

Sure, Crisanti was a bourgeoise prick.

But weren't Lenin and Che Guevara bourgeoise pricks too?

Anyway, we had weapons,

and the traffic cop uniforms too.

It was a method that worked.

We knew Laganà had to go to the dentist one Wednesday afternoon.

As usual, I had to drive the car,

stop outside and wait for them to return after shooting him in the legs.

From what they told me, they immediately recognized him.

Bellini was supposed to do the shooting.

They didn't expect me to be there. I was seven years old.

I grabbed him on reflex.

The one who was supposed to shoot froze.

My dad jumped up, but...

I just stood there, his blood on my face,

as we heard screaming coming from the stairs.

They escaped through the window.

As I was waiting, I heard the shots.

Something had gone wrong.

But I couldn't just leave them there.

Gotti, Crisanti and Bellini never came back, though.

Instead, the police showed up.

They arrested me out front.

The last place I saw outside prison.

I stayed there until my mom arrived.

The next day we returned here to Calabria.

And I didn't go back to Milan till I was an adult

for the commemoration services.

Obviously, he never gave the others' names.

But if you read it, you can see...

that when he started writing, he'd gotten over his anger

at the three guys who made him rot in prison.

Or maybe he was never angry.

But in his diary, there were leaflets,

yellowed newspaper clippings.

The articles talked about Crisanti's career.

One had a photo of him smiling at a regatta.

Another had Gotti's kids

holding their father's hands.

Instead, he was in prison,

with a son he never met outside.

That must've been a stab.

There was even a letter from Bellini.

I don't know how he had the guts to write.

Obviously, it wasn't incriminating.

He just asked if he needed anything.

Only an asshole would ask that.

He was already sick, anyway.

The last part of the diary is just about that.

And about me.

8th November 2006. Bad day.

6th December 2006.

Really bad day.

I shit blood.

Caterina, I haven't got much time.

I was a dick for 22 years,

maybe a little bit better for 26 years.

Although nobody notices that in here.

I'll ask a guy getting out to give this diary to you.

Let Francesco read it,

so he doesn't do the bullshit I did.

And so he knows why I did it.

Shit, Fra.

You did what he told you not to do.

-I know. -I know you know, but why?

Because when I read it, I got mad.

I wanted to get even for everybody. For...

my dad, my mom, me.

I never had a dad because of those pieces of shit.

I exploded.

I totally fucked up.

Now, I'm going to lose you.

I'm going to lose this, lose everything.

You tell me he's a good kid.

And a good kid needs to know things.

Not feel ashamed.

Now I have to go.

Bye, Fulvio.

-What is it, Ghezzi? -I know everything.

I found a diary.

Come over early. You and me will get him.

-He isn't armed. He's a good kid. -"Good kid" my ass, Ghezzi.

-He killed three people -Two.

The diary doesn't mention Campana.

Shooting one guy dead is enough not to make him a good kid.

I know, I know.

Anyway, I know where he is.

We'll meet there where we met The Moustache.

At 6:30.

-Should I call Gregori? -No, call Sannucci.

We'll tell Gregori after it's done.

-Get some sleep. I'm going to try. -Not me.

There, it's better with the lights like that. Much better.

Remember, guys, I want an episode with a 40 percent share.

We have a fresh stiff and a guilty man in prison.

What is this?

Marzia!

Come here.

What's this rotten piece of spaghetti falling off my head?

-I was waiting to do the final touches... -Don't wait.

I get hysterical if I see it.

There's no reason to, Flora. You're perfect.

I did a bee venom treatment.

Fan-tas-tic.

Though tonight's lineup is a little less fantastic.

Campana's wife won't be here.

Not a fucking soul came to take the side of the young terrorist.

Yeah, but people don't care who comes anymore.

You've built a diabolical machine.

Now it's enough if people talk about it.

Who said that? It sounds like it's straight from Oscar Wilde.

Carlo.

Speaking of, where is that asshole?

You know he likes watching it alone at home.

What a fucking opportunist.

People...

My people...

How wonderful it is to see you all here together.

With me.

I love you. Love me.

Let's get started!

I'm going to pack a bathing suit.

If we'll be in Marseille for a month, we'll go swimming.

"Swimming"? What?

Did you tell them we're coming? Do they know?

-We won't get them in trouble? -Look,

there's the social center if they don't want us in the squats.

-Two summers ago it wasn't a problem. -And if they find me?

They clear those places out.

-I'm going to get you in trouble too. -Me?

Why? What did you tell me?

"Lieutenant, he suggested we take a vacation in France,

then maybe Morocco."

"Sure, it was a little odd, a little rushed."

"But he's like that. He gets an idea and you can't stop him."

"That's what's nice about him."

How can I leave, Chiara?

-Which one? -Nadir is in prison instead of me.

-Okay, he's innocent. Even they know it. -How many innocent people are in prison?

Okay, he'll spend a couple of months inside, which will do him good.

Then they'll see his phone location when they died

and find out there's no way he could've been there.

Come on. There's no proof.

This is what we're wondering.

Is there any proof?

What are they waiting for to tell us that the case is solved?

Anyway, they arrested this...

Nadir Usama Assar.

So?

Is he the guilty one?

Or maybe there are some accomplices running around free,

who could still shoot someone.

-Hello. -Monterossi.

Don't let it go to your head, but I'm watching your show.

Me too, unfortunately.

I heard you and Oscar went to the hotel on the lake to ask some questions.

Without saying anything to me.

Doesn't that seem a bit vulgar?

No. Frankly...

Now, let's invite...

Sorry if I'm taking advantage of our friendship,

but I think it's much more vulgar that your husband raped young girls.

Don't you think?

The Russian-novel scoundrel turned out to be just an ordinary beast.

Like the difference between an obscene Schiele painting

and porn.

What disappointment, Carlo.

What rage.

Those girls.

I decided that finally there'd be something intense between me and him.

Pure hate.

Crystal clear.

You could've left him,

and for good reason.

It would've been a downhill divorce. It would've hurt him.

Yeah, you're right.

I thought about that.

There...

There we are, dear friends at home.

Come on, let's go to the station.

-What for? -I don't know. I'm anxious.

What if they come looking for you?

It's 23:00. You said the train's at 9:40.

What'll we do at the station for ten hours?

-They're more likely to find us there. -Then let's go to a hotel.

Don't you think it's right?

Shouldn't I pay for what I did?

The Greeks sent people who committed certain crimes in exile.

Yeah, for two murders.

For taking Crisanti's daughter's father?

Where in the hell did I get the idea?

Jesus fucking Christ, Fra.

We all are.

And now, after the commercial,

our guest will be...

the wife of the second victim in this long streak of blood

that has tarnished our beautiful city

and our fantastic,

fantastic country.

There you are, Carlo.

-I was waiting for you. -She knows everything.

She knows we went to the lake, about the girls. Everything.

Hey, are you there? Did you get what I said?

Yeah, Carlo, I got it.

Go to your computer. I'm sending you an email.

Look at the attachment.

What for?

Because you already know who killed Campana.

But I found the proof.

It's destiny, friends.

It's the hand of the killer.

It's the grim, evil nature of the world.

First wife, second wife. Who cares?

You know what men say, right?