All language subtitles for The Oxford Murders 123

Go!

Go!

What's that?

It's a man!

- What? Is he dead?
- No, sir.

He's writing!

Repeat!

He's writing, sir

he's writing in a notebook!

That man was not mad.
He was working

with shrapnel whistling round him
because he couldn't wait.

The contents of that notebook
were too important

to write it down later.

He had to do it
when his mind dictated,

he couldn't put it off
a single second.

What was so important that
he would risk his life for it?

What was he writing that
stopped him from standing up

and running, like any other man
would have done?

The "tractatus
logico-philosophicus",

the most influential philosophical
work of the twentieth century.

That soldier was called
Ludwig wittgenstein,

the man who set the limits
on our thoughts.

The enigma that
he tried to decipher

was the following:

Can we know the truth?

All the great thinkers
throughout history

have sought a single certainty,

something which
no one can refute,

like "two and two make four".

In order to find that truth,

wittgenstein used, in fact,

mathematical logic. What better
means of obtaining a certainty

than an immutable language,
free from the passions of men?

He advanced slowly,
using equation after equation,

with impeccable method,
until he reached

a terrifying conclusion.

There is no such truth

outside of mathematics.

There is no way of finding

a single absolute truth,

an irrefutable argument

which might help answer
the questions of mankind.

Philosophy, therefore, is dead.

Because "whereof we cannot speak",

"thereof we must be silent."

Don't touch that, please.

This is an enigma machine!

Just a copy. The original's in
the imperial war museum in London.

Sorry to sneak in like that...
The door was open.

Of course it was open. You surely
didn't expect me to get up

and let you in
on these legs, did you?

I'm...

Martin, our new overseas
student lodger, I presume.

- This man in the photo with you...
- Yes.

That's turing, Alan turing,

the man who deciphered
the enigma code.

Thanks to him, we won the war.

Poor man died
such a strange death...

A poisoned apple, like snow white.

And the one on the left?

My husband, Harry.

Harry eagleton. He developed the
concept of fractional dimensions...

He deserved a bloody nobel prize,
but he hated sucking up

to politicians.
Politicians or anybody.

He never had many friends.

He had one at least.
Arthur seldom.

Poor boy. He spent day

after day in the house,
tidying Harry's papers.

He'd go without lunch or dinner,
going over the equations.

Eagleton tutored his doctoral thesis
on the logical series. In 1960,

- wasn't it?
- I see you've done your homework.

I know everything there is
to know about Arthur seldom.

In fact, Mrs. eagleton,
it's because of him that I'm here.

In Oxford, I mean.

I know what you mean.
Seldom is... unique.

Every prize,
every acknowledgement

he's received over the years
has been a real joy for me.

Careful, mother, or
your secret will be discovered.

What secret?

After daddy died,
you tried to marry him.

How dare you!
That's not true.

He's always been
like a brother to me.

Only because there was no chance
of him being anything else.

Beth!

There's no doubt
professor seldom is a genius,

but there's one area
he's no different from other men.

He likes young girls.

Beth, darling, couldn't you stop
being so spiteful just for a second?

Sorry, mother.

Take no notice of us.
We're like two bitter old spinsters.

Thank you, mother, for tarring me
with the same brush.

I'm sorry,

you are?

I sent a fax a few weeks ago,
about renting a room.

Our overseas student.

Why don't you
show him to his room?

If I'd known,
I'd have rented a tux.

You look stunning.

My daughter has
a concert tonight. That's all.

A concert?

I play the cello
in the sheldonian.

- It's the local amateur orchestra.
- Yes.

We're not quite
the London symphony.

I... I love the cello.

Me too. Maybe it's because
it's all I get to cuddle

- these days.
- Beth.

Please.
You'll scare the young man.

Mother.

My daughter's suitors
tend not to be

around very long.

Difficult character, you know.

Having an old lady hovering in the
doorway doesn't exactly help either.

Are you calling me a busybody?

No, mother. You just want
to protect me, don't you?

Of course.

My mother has this theory

that unless a man lived
through the second world war

he's not to be trusted.

My daughter

thinks I've gone a bit

gaga, but she knows

I'm right.

The Nazis changed the wheels

on that damned machine
every bloody day,

that altered the code, and we
had to decipher it all over again.

There were no computers
in those days,

calculations were done by hand.

You must have been very young.

Time for me to go.

Fancy a game of scrabble?

Well, this is your study.

I trust you'll be comfortable.

It's perfect.

You should also be thinking
of a supervisor

for your thesis.

I've had one in mind
for a long time; Arthur seldom.

Your parents?

Yeah.

Very American.
Is it close to the beach?

Not at all.
It's the desert, Arizona.

It actually happens to be my home.

Really? Lovely.

Anyway...

All the studies are shared.

Your colleague is
also an overseas student.

I'm sure we'll get on fine.

By the way,

I think you'll find professor seldom
only works as a researcher now.

I know, but the college told me that
he could supervise my doctorate.

Who told you that?

I've got a fax...

Here.

I see.

I'm sorry to say Mrs. keeman

was being rather over-optimistic.
Also,

she no longer works here.

But there must be some way,
perhaps if I speak to him...

You're free to talk
to whoever you want,

of course, but I must
warn you professor seldom

is not one for
this sort of spontaneity.

If you take my advice,

I suggest you approach your studies
in a more realistic way.

I'm sure you'll find some excellent
tutors among our teaching staff

who will more than understand
the nature of your work.

- Don't take it out on the wall.
- Walls?

Don't talk to me about walls. That's
all you get in this fucking city.

Sorry, just letting off
a little steam.

Well, at least they come in
handy for doing your homework.

These? I was just trying to save
myself 16 years of practice.

See, I'm trying to calculate
where I need to run,

depending on where
the ball bounces,

and what height it makes contact

with my racquet.

Makes it easier. Here.

See? It works.

Yeah, and what would happen
if you played against a person?

There would be more variables

but it would still be possible
to work out the trajectory.

Please.

Give me time.

I have to rethink my calculations.

Okay.

Thanks for the beating.

Do you want to continue
letting off steam

on your own
or do you prefer company?

Wednesday, same time?

Yes. Bring a proper squash racquet.
Makes life much easier.

Okay.

I see you're picking up
the local customs very quickly.

I try my best.

Maybe she can help you
with your doctoral thesis,

since uncle Arthur
is out of the question.

- Can nothing be done?
- No.

And if you're suggesting my mother
have a word with him, forget it.

I wasn't suggesting anything.

Do you really expect me to believe
you chose this house by chance?

No, not by chance, no.

Nothing happens by chance.

I wanted to meet
your mother, that's true,

but I never planned to use her.

There's no need to apologize.

I like people who
go for what they want.

I wish I was more like you.

You're not missing much,
I assure you.

Really?

You come here from another country,
all on your own,

and no sooner do you get here
than you make friends with a girl.

With two, I hope.
At least that's what I thought

- until a moment ago.
- It's not just that.

You're happy,

you only have to look at
your face to see that.

I try to be.

How do you do it?

It's easy.

It's a case of going
with the flow.

And what if it goes badly?

I'd rather make mistakes
than do nothing.

I'd rather mess up
than miss out completely.

It works for me.

You should try it.

Just a minute!

I thought you might
find this interesting.

Seldom is giving a lecture
on his latest book

at merton college on the 24th!

There's your big chance!

There is no way
of finding a single

absolute truth, an irrefutable
argument that might help to answer

the questions of mankind.

Philosophy, therefore, is dead.

Because "whereof we cannot speak",

"thereof we must be silent."

It seems that
someone does wish to speak.

It appears you are not
in agreement with wittgenstein.

That means either you have found
a contradiction in the arguments

of the tractatus, or you have an
absolute truth to share with us all.

I believe in the number pi.

I'm sorry,
I didn't understand you.

What was it
you said you believed in?

In the number pi, in the golden
section, the fibonacci series.

The essence of nature
is mathematical.

There is a hidden meaning
beneath reality.

Things are organized following
a model, a scheme, a logical series.

Even the tiny snowflake

includes a numerical basis
in its structure. Therefore,

if we manage to discover
the secret meaning of numbers,

we will know
the secret meaning of reality.

Impressive!

Translating his words into

the queen's English,

we find ourselves
faced with a fresh,

rousing defence of mathematics,
as if numbers

were pre-existing ideas in reality.

Anyway, this is nothing new.

Since man is incapable
of reconciling mind and matter,

he tends to confer
some sort of entity on ideas,

because he cannot bear the notion
that the purely abstract

only exists in our brain.

The beauty and Harmony
of a snowflake.

How sweet!

The butterfly

that flutters its wings

and causes a hurricane
on the other side of the world.

We've been hearing about
that damn butterfly for decades,

but who has been able
to predict a single hurricane?

Nobody!

Tell me something...

Where is the beauty
and Harmony in cancer?

What makes a cell

suddenly decide to turn itself
into a killer metastasis

and destroy the rest of
the cells in a healthy body?

Does anyone know?

No.

Because we'd rather think
of snowflakes

and butterflies than of pain,

war

or that book.

Why?

Because we need to think
that life has meaning,

that everything
is governed by logic

and not by mere chance.

If I write 2 then 4 then 6,
then we feel good, because we know

that next comes 8.

We can foresee it,

we are not in the hands

of destiny.

Unfortunately, however,

this has nothing to do with truth.

Don't you agree?

This...

Is only fear.

Sad...

But there you go.

You must

be Martin.

At last we meet.

But, I don't get it,
are you leaving?

Yes, I'm leaving. It was a mistake.
It was all a big mistake.

Things have not turned out
as you expected, I guess.

No, they haven't.
You bet they haven't.

I hope the hastiness
of your decision

has nothing to do with

professor seldom.

News travels fast in Oxford.

We are a little village of gossips.

Anyway, I think you are wrong
about the great Sage.

He was the best in his day, but...

Now he just wants to sell books.
Like those assholes.

A real seldom fan?

I have a framed photo
of him in my room.

So he refused you too?

I would rather jump out of
a window than ask him for help.

I want nothing to do
with him or his books.

I prefer the reader's digest.

Taxi!

Hello.

We've got the book you wanted!

There.

Fucking hell!

What are you doing here?

I live here.
What's your excuse?

I came to visit an old friend.

I'm sorry about before.

No, don't apologize.
I talked a lot of rubbish.

I tend to overact
when I have an audience.

The truth is I just wanted
to attract your attention.

You succeeded.

September the 24th,

1993. Inspector petersen,
Oxford police station.

Investigating the murder
of Mrs. Julia eagleton.

According to this report,
you and professor Arthur seldom

discovered the body...
At the same time.

Yes, we entered
the room together.

Are you one of
professor seldom's students?

No.

- Do you work for him?
- No.

Can you explain
why you were there together?

No.

To tell you the truth, I can't.

I was also surprised
to see him there.

So it was pure coincidence?

Everything seems to point
to that being the case.

And was this the first time
you'd seen professor seldom?

Not exactly. I was at
a conference he gave this morning.

I asked him a few questions.

What sort of questions?

Mathematical ones.

It's not by chance that I went

to Mrs. eagleton's house
this afternoon.

I went there because
the murderer told me to.

The murderer warned you?

Yes, I received a note
during the conference.

What did it say?

Just one sentence:

"The first of the series,"

written in capital letters.
Underneath,

Mrs. eagleton's address

and the time.

Can we see it?

No.

Why?

I threw it away.

You threw away
a vital piece of evidence?

Yes, well, let me explain.

After the conference,

I signed a number of copies.
When I'd finished, I set off home.

And that is when I realized
that the address on the note

was familiar

but honestly, I...

It just never occurred to me that
anything like this could happen.

Of course, when I got there,
it was too late.

We should call the police.

You're right.

Call them.

999.

Hello,

I'm calling to report a death.

3 cunliffe close.

It's an old woman.

Thank you.

What do you think happened?

I don't know.

We should wait outside.
We'd better not touch anything.

I shouldn't have
even used this phone.

Try to etch on your memory
everything you can see.

This moment is crucial.

She was playing scrabble
when it happened.

Was she playing on her own?

Yes, she has both
the letter racks on her side.

You don't think she's been killed?

I can't see any other alternative.

Whoever did this obviously
intended to smother her

with the cushion
while she was sleeping.

She wakes up, puts up a struggle,

he presses down harder,
using both hands perhaps,

breaks her nose, hence the blood.

Or it could have been a woman,

using her knee
to add extra pressure.

When the killer removes
the cushion, sees the blood,

he drops it on the carpet
and doesn't even bother

to put anything back in its place.

Scared, probably.

In the book

that I based my conference on,
I unfortunately

compare logical series
with serial murders.

And since its publication
I've received

dozens of totally absurd letters,

which is why I attached
little importance to this one.

And you're sure you destroyed it?

Well, no, I threw it away
in the street.

Where?

Well, somewhere near
the sheldonian theatre.

Scott, get on to it,
it might still be there.

The road sweepers
will have passed through by now.

It doesn't matter. We'll search
the dust carts, if necessary.

Now is there anything else? Anything
else that caught your attention?

Under the text

there was a hand-drawn circle,

a perfect circle,

also in black.

About...

This size,

approximately.

A circle?

Like a signature?

No, I'm almost convinced
it was a symbol,

the first element
of a logical series.

Well, excuse my ignorance,

I must have been off school
the day they taught

logical series.

A logical series

is a group of elements
that succeed one another,

following a particular rule.

Could be 1, 2, 3, 4...

Or even numbers, 2, 4, 6, 8...

Or of course it could be
the fibonacci series.

Fibonacci?

A 12th-century mathematician.

Each element is the sum of the two
previous ones: 1, 1, 2, 3, 6,

- 8, 13...
- Look, I still don't see

the relationship between
the murder and these series.

I'm sorry. In my book I sustain
the theory that the murder committed

for intellectual reasons
does not exist in the real world.

In general, the patterns
followed by a serial killer

are crude, monotonous
and repetitive,

cases that can be analyzed
psychologically, not logically.

So you think the murderer is
killing to prove something to you?

Yes, sadly, I believe
that to be the case.

Murderer wants to prove me wrong.

He wants to show that
he's more intelligent than I am

and that he can beat me

at my own game.
Somehow he knew of my friendship

with Mrs. eagleton,
and decided to begin there.

How about this circle?
How do you explain this?

A circle's a good way
to start a logical series.

There's no symbol
more indeterminate.

Could mean almost anything.

So you mean there's gonna be
another murder after this one?

I'm afraid so.

And if we don't
discover it in time,

could be many more.

Okay, we are going to change

some notes please in part 12.

We knew she was going
to die at any time,

but never like this.

The doctors gave her 6 months
to live, 6 years ago.

Thanks to Beth's nursing
she had an extra lease of life,

like a blessing from heaven.

Maybe that's why
the murderer chose her.

How do you mean?

If he is trying to demonstrate
something purely intellectual,

maybe the deaths in themselves
don't interest him.

Maybe his aim is to inflict
as little harm as possible.

He chose someone
that should have died.

He probably knew Mrs. eagleton
was receiving treatment...

She went every week
to st Joseph's hospital.

He could have found out about her
illness there, and that made her

the perfect victim for him.

Go on.

If he hadn't broken her nose,

it would have looked
like death by natural causes.

In that case, only you
would have known what happened.

The police would never
have been involved.

It would have been
a private challenge.

A murder that almost isn't a murder.

That makes sense.

What do you think
he would do next?

I suppose he'll try
to be more careful.

He'll commit another murder
that almost isn't a murder.

An imperceptible murder...

Excuse me.

Excuse me, officers,
but I need to speak

to miss eagleton first,
to break the bad news,

to her, if that's all right.
Thank you.

You have a c,

b flat, and c sharp.

Excuse me, please,
I can talk to him?

Yes, so

you have a c, b flat,

and c sharp.

No, no, no. You have a b,
a c sharp, and c natural...

Okay,

let's do a break, please.

The police told me that you
were the one who found the body.

Forgive me, Beth.
I'm really sorry.

They asked me to try
and remember every detail and...

It's no problem.
I understand.

It must have been difficult
for you to go through all of this.

Two hours of interrogation.

It's logical, though, bearing
in mind I'm the chief suspect.

Did they tell you that?

No. No, they didn't have to.

You don't need to be
a detective to realize

that I'm the one who
most benefits from all this.

But you looked after her
for years. Seldom told me.

Five years...

Five years of waiting
for her to drop dead.

Forgive me for being
so cruelly Sincere,

but if anyone wanted this
to end, it was me.

Do you know what it is
to wake up every morning

wondering when you're going
to have a life of your own?

I couldn't abandon her,
she was my mother.

She had cancer but it was supposed
to be a question of months.

You want this person you're supposed
to be looking after to disappear

and at the same time you know

there's something evil in you
for thinking that way.

You hate yourself

for the thoughts
that go through your head.

It's like being rotten inside.

Beth, you've no need to worry.

Seldom got a note.

Someone warned him of
what was going to happen,

- and is threatening to do it again.
- Who?

No one knows.

They made me go to the morgue
to look at the body.

Her eyes were still open.

Don't think about it.

I don't think I can sleep
upstairs tonight.

Is it okay
if I stay here with you?

I'm sorry.

Don't be... it's okay.

I don't know what you must
think of me. I'm so embarrassed.

Beth, please. Don't go.

Congratulations! Your name
in the papers and with seldom!

Knock off the old lady
to attract attention, did you?

Not so fast!

Your friend is lucky.

Always close to death,
but never touched by it.

Didn't you know?

Thirty years ago,
the four of them

- were travelling together.
- What are you talking about?

Mrs. eagleton's husband
and seldom's wife were killed.

And guess who was driving.

And now the old lady is dead.

Three down, one to go.

This is miss Scarlet

and she is in the dining room.
Now we know that the murder

took place in the dining room,

don't we? And that the victim
was killed with a cushion,

but since we don't have

a cushion, we'll use
the nasty little knife.

Now I'll stick

my neck out and say that
miss Scarlet was the murderer

in the living room,
with the knife.

What do you think?

Clue didn't figure
into my degree course.

Cleudo!

It's recommended reading
in police academies.

In the papers,

Beth appears as the chief suspect.

But the police know all the facts.

I forgot that I was talking
to the champion of universal logic.

Thank you.

You and the police think that it's
possible to demonstrate the truth.

On the basis

of certain axioms
and by using valid reasoning,

you can reach a valid conclusion,
isn't that so?

As sure as today is Wednesday.

And what if I say,
"all britons are liars"?

True, false
or impossible to prove?

All right. There are
mathematical formulations

that can neither be proved
nor refuted starting from axioms.

Indeterminable propositions.

Exactly, gцdel's
incompleteness theorem.

So, even in your world
of mathematical purity,

there are things
that can never be proven.

Yes, but that is not the case here.

There is a gap,

there is a Gulf between
what is true and what is provable.

We can never be sure

of all the facts about a phenomenon,

and to lack just one, could change
everything. Even if we know

that the murder

took place in the dining room
with the knife,

and that miss Scarlet was there
at the exact moment of the murder,

and that her fingerprints

were on the knife, we can never

affirm with absolute certainty
that she committed the crime.

Come on! It's
99% probable, for fuck's sake!

That's not absolute certainty,
that is an opinion.

We could have absolute certainty

if we trusted the word
of an eye-witness,

or we saw it with our own eyes.
I trust my own eyes.

No comment.

Things are here, under our noses.

These paving stones. They exist!

Or do you refute that
as well? You can't.

Are you sure? Heisenberg
wasn't quite as certain.

The physicist?

Yes, well, he tried to make
an atom bomb for the Nazis,

but he wasn't famous for that.

What is this? An exam? Heisenberg's
"uncertainty principle".

Bingo! Miss Scarlet
is now an electron, okay?

And you're looking at her
through a keyhole,

or a particle accelerator,
as you wish.

And every time you look at her,

miss Scarlet will have
changed her appearance or...

Her position.

Because the very fact
that you observe her

alters her atomic state.
How about that?

Don't try to confuse me with tricks.

Beth is not an electron,
and neither is Mrs. eagleton.

So, do you really think
that criminal investigation

is more reliable
than physics or mathematics?

There are evident,
irrefutable facts.

For Christ's sake,

can you turn that bloody thing
off for a minute?

Unfortunately, the police
were unable to find the note.

Consequently, we have
no material evidence whatsoever.

Not a thing!

Imagine if that bloody psychopath

gets the wind up
and decides not to kill again...

Beth will be declared guilty.

I'd love to know
who it is you hate so much.

Myself.

I read the news in the papers.
You're not to blame for anything.

The worst thing is...

This is embarrassing...

Thanks to that
poor woman's death,

I've just had lunch
with Arthur seldom.

Before, he didn't
even know I existed, but now...

I'm sorry about what

has happened but at the same time,
I swear I can't help feeling happy.

Never, in my life, have I
enjoyed myself so much.

One hour with seldom is like
a lifetime with anybody else.

Well, you know,

there's nothing embarrassing
about Sincere feelings.

Are you sure about that?

Spend an hour with me?

You have something to drink?

- No.
- Great.

- Are you okay?
- Yeah, are you okay?

What's wrong?

Nothing, it's... sorry.

It's seldom.

Just strange that you should
have read this book too.

- A nurse interested in mathematics.
- Well, not really.

It was the author who interested me.
He gave it to me.

- You know seldom?
- Of course I do.

- See him almost every day.
- What?

He visits a friend
at the hospital,

a terminal patient.

One day we began to chat and...

And what?

And he gave me the book.

- That's all?
- You're jealous?

He could be your father... your
grandfather, come to think of it.

Yeah.

I just like mystery novels,

he was here for a while,
we had a laugh,

I gave him a couple of my books
and he gave me his.

- Is that a crime?
- No... of course not.

Can you get him out of your mind,

please?

I just don't understand why
you didn't tell me to begin with.

What do you want?

A list of all the people
who have passed through here?

- No.
- Good.

Everything you read
in the papers is a lie.

Did you know that?

No...
I don't pay much attention.

- Have you read the Bible?
- Not all of it.

Jesus died on the cross
and then rose on the third day.

But in body and soul,

at least so they say.

He ate fish and spoke to Peter.

That's how he spent forty days.

Forty days!

He must have been green,
and have stunk to high heaven.

Hey, wait, wait.

Jesus was a terrorist.

All his life.

A revolutionary who kicked
money changers out of the temple.

Do you know why
he came back from the dead?

- No, theoretically...
- Jesus

came back to life to avenge
himself on his murderers.

Like in a horror movie.

Of course, that's not nice.
That's not interesting.

You can go in now, your daughter

- is expecting you.
- All right.

What are you doing here?

I had the urge to see you,
that's all. Do you mind?

You're lying.

How do you know?

I didn't, I do now.

You're here to see
seldom's friend, aren't you?

You should have seen the look
on your face when I mentioned him.

And how are you going to explain
what you're doing here?

I'll tell him I came to see you.

You swine.

Who is that guy?
He's nuts.

Well, you would be too
if your daughter needed a transplant

and you couldn't find a donor.

There were two people
that could have been compatible,

but their families refused.

Now I get it.

You know, he thought
of committing suicide

in order to give her his lungs.

That's ridiculous.

Giving your life for someone
you love is ridiculous?

His name is kalman,

one of my most brilliant students.

He was quick in his conclusions,

clear in his exposition.

He designed intelligence tests.
I initiated him

into the study of logical series.

He was meticulous,
to the point of obsession.

He marked the tests himself,

one by one, and discovered

something really curious:

Some of the tests were perfect;
The majority had a few mistakes.

But there was a third group.

The answers were absurd,
incomprehensible,

illogical, random,

the sort of thing
that a lunatic would write.

Kalman interviewed

the pupils of this third category.

The answers that
he had considered absurd

were, in fact,
another possible solution

and perfectly valid

to continue the series,

only with an infinitely
more complex justification.

The intelligence of these pupils

went beyond
the conventional solution and was

much more far-reaching.

It was then that I had
to break the bad news to him.

Wittgenstein's paradox
concerning finite rules.

Kalman found in practice

what wittgenstein
discovered decades before.

The series 2, 4, 8,

could obviously be followed

by 16, but also by 10

or 7004.

It's always possible
to find a rule,

a justification which allows

a series to be continued
by any number.

It all depends on
how complicated the rule is.

Suddenly, he realized
that he couldn't even trust

the two times table.

His whole life was being
sucked into a whirlpool

of meaningless numbers.

Normal thought seems to be
guided by certain grooves

etched into our brain

which impede
our leaving that track

and jumping it like the chosen few

who are able to think
without limitations.

Kalman decided
to take a strange path.

He began to try out his tests

in psychiatric hospitals,
on lobotomized patients.

There was a remarkable similarity

between those symbols

and the results of the tests

of the highly-gifted subjects.

He was in the presence
of pure thought,

without grooves,

but he couldn't understand it.
The problem

was his own brain.

He saw everything from the outside.
To understand

those symbols, he had
to see them from the inside.

There was only one way of
achieving it: To erase the grooves.

The idea might seem grotesque,

but not to a person
who has been told

that he's suffering
from terminal cancer.

His bones were rotting like wood

infested with woodworm.

All he had to look forward to

was the amputation
of his limbs, one by one.

He was euphoric, he laughed,
nervously, like someone about

to discover something incredible
who can't contain his joy.

It was then

that I realized that my friend
had gone completely mad.

He wanted to lobotomize himself.

His only problem
was how to ensure

that the brain damage
was not excessive.

He had to perforate
the skull and reach

the brain, with something like

a small harpoon.

He asked for my help
and I refused,

although I did promise I would try
to collect the messages he wrote

from the other side.

He used a nail gun.

What does he write?

The symbols are becoming
more and more illegible.

In all this time he's never drawn
a logical symbol or a number.

So what are they, then?

Four letters that
he repeats over and over.

A woman's name.

Where were you last night?

Beth, what are you doing here?

I was waiting for you.

I'm sorry. I was out and...

I thought you felt
something for me.

More than pity,

but I was wrong.

Of course I feel something
for you. We're friends.

I want to help you, but...

"We're friends,
you want to help me".

That's worse than saying
"you disgust me".

- Beth, please.
- Don't touch me!

The kinder you try to be,

the more humiliated I feel.

Beth, I don't mean to humiliate you.

Then treat me like a woman. You all
treat me like I was a little girl.

Maybe this isn't the time for...

Now is the fucking
perfect time for this, Martin.

What's the matter?

You're embarrassed to be seen
with me? Is that it?

Don't worry.
I'm his mother.

I'm just making sure
he does his homework.

Be quiet!

Beth, wait!

Found your killer yet?

Lorna? It's me, Martin. Do you know
anything about seldom's friend?

Kalman?
What's wrong?

He's been murdered.
Today, at two fifteen.

No... wait a second.

Sorry, Sherlock, but he's alive.

Are you sure?

Yes, he's right in front of me.

If it's not him, then who?

It would have looked like
death from natural causes,

if we hadn't discovered
this little detail.

It's an intravenous injection,

and he wasn't receiving
that kind of treatment.

What sort of poison
was administered?

We don't know. We'll have to wait
for the post mortem report.

We know the time of death?

Exactly as it said on the note:

Quarter past two.
It says so

- on the wristband.
- Where did they find the body?

In the ward,
before it was brought here.

All of these people
have died in the last few hours?

Well, it's only to be expected.
This is the terminal illnesses ward.

At least a couple
of patients die every day,

according to
the senior nursing officer.

He knew my movements,
which encouraged him

to commit the crime here.

If he had meant to harm me,
he would have killed kalman.

Or he could have seen you

enter the ward and didn't know
which of the two was your friend.

A terminal patient

on the point of death.

A murder that wouldn't have been
discovered had it not been

- for the note.
- Another imperceptible crime.

And might I know what
you're talking about, gentlemen?

The second sign gives the clue as to
how the sequence should be read.

It could be
figurative representations,

or could be semantic or syntactic,
like geometric figures.

Can you translate that?

The professor means the signs

could represent things
in the real world

or not represent anything,
be abstract, like geometric shapes.

The second symbol
is again astute, because,

being so schematic,
it allows both readings.

It could be a game of symmetry,
or it could simply be a fish.

Soup,

fish,

dessert.

Martin, show some respect

for the inspector, please.

No possibility deserves
to be overlooked.

Let me propose a puzzle.

What is the fourth

symbol...

In this other series?

No idea.

Did you miss class that day, too?

You just have to know how to look.
The solution

is very simple, I assure you.

It's called the idiot series.

Anyone who can't work it out...

Thank you, professor.
I get the message.

However, I incline to the idea that
the symbols relate to mathematics,

rather than gastronomy.

So, you think
a mathematician's involved?

It's possible, someone who seeks
recognition of some sort,

or someone who's not
a mathematician but wants to be.

A student?

That's unlikely.

Could you take

the second lieutenant out, Martin?

No, I haven't taught
for a long time.

Well, can you tell us

what the third symbol

will be?

No.

Far too many options.

He's putting us to the test,
and I wouldn't like to slip up.

Okay, let's see
if I've got this right.

We are going to wait
until he kills another person

because we can't decipher
this bloody puzzle?

Tricky situation, isn't it?

- Could I get those there?
- 2.60 please, sir.

Good evening.

Seldom!

Martin?

Why are you following me?

I'm not following anybody,
for god's sake, least of all you!

So what are you doing here?

I'm going to that restaurant.

Do you find it so odd that
I should be going out for dinner?

That's where I'm going, too.

Why, that's absurd.

I'm sorry.

I should have told you
Arthur was coming as well.

Excuse me, lorna,
but I'm the one who's annoyed

by the presence at our table
of this good-for-nothing.

Good-for-nothing?

You couldn't see a joke if it stood
up and bit you in the arse, Martin.

You're far too serious

- for your age.
- He called me at the hospital and I

just thought it would be best to
bring you up to date together, so...

Forget it, I'm not bothered by it.
I just hope I didn't hurt you.

Even if you had,
I wouldn't admit it.

You're like two kids
fighting over a ball.

- And you're the ball?
- No, I'm the nurse who's gonna spank

your bottoms
if you don't shut up.

Please.

I talked with the forensic expert.

And?

Nothing.

Not a trace of
any toxic substance.

Whatever he was injected with
is totally unknown.

Air, maybe?

No!

Let her speak, please.

He's right, it's unlikely.
If he'd been injected with air,

they would have spotted it
in the post mortem.

However there is another
possibility. A substance

they extract from
a poisonous mushroom: Amanita

muscaria. But there are
no reagents that detect it.

So it's a sort of secret among

- forensic pathologists.
- How did you find out?

Lorna has a knack
of finding out what she wants.

Her house is littered
with murder mysteries,

but I imagine
you know that by now.

Yes, I do.

What surprises me
is that you haven't managed

to worm all the information
out of Martin.

Martin is a good guy.
He knows he can't tell anyone

what you or the police
have told him in confidence.

Well, he does right
not to tell you anything.

After all, you're still
on the list of suspects.

Me?

Well, don't look so surprised.

Both murders are closely linked
with the hospital.

You could have gone
into the room and injected

that substance which, curiously,

only you and the forensic
pathologists know about.

That's ridiculous.
She has no motive.

Of all the vast mountains of
knowledge you have not yet scaled,

Martin, this slope is one
of the most slippery. Be careful.

Don't even go there, Arthur.

Let it suffice to say

that our relationship
transcended the purely intellectual,

and when it ended,

she took it anything but sportingly.

If you don't shut up
I'll kill you, I promise.

There, you see?

Has she or has she not got a motive?

You are so obnoxious.

You enjoy playing with people.

Now do you understand?

Any formulation
is valid in the series,

because we can always find
a rule that justifies it.

Heart on a line,
now you've got the eight...

Now you give me the fourth.

Well, well, young man.
You are certainly not a total idiot.

One, two, three, four.

- This was easy.
- The murderer's series

is infinitely more complex.

Tell me what the third symbol is.

Circle, fish...

What's the third?

I'm sorry, I can't say.

- Why not? Don't you trust me?
- I trust you

implicitly but
that's not the point.

If I tell you,
then you'll stop thinking.

You might come up
with a better idea

than mine.

No, there's something else. You
could have easily told the police.

For them, anything
is better than nothing.

You're right.

But there's a good reason
why I didn't.

I'm scared.

Scared?

This whole business terrifies me.

We're playing
with symbols and puzzles,

but behind it all
is the real world,

do you understand?
It's about people's lives.

If we make a mistake in an equation,
we rub it out, no problem.

But where life is concerned,

there's no turning back.

In the real world any decision,

however insignificant,
has irreversible consequences.

At least, that's
what life has taught me.

You're very young.

I've already paid
a high price for my mistakes.

Keep this.

What is it?

It's the third symbol of the series.

You can do one of two things: You
can open it now and have your answer

or you can work out
the solution yourself,

and prove you're not an idiot.

Thank you very much.

We're finished.

Thanks.

I'm glad to see you.

That was spectacular.

You should see it
with the fireworks

- and everything...
- What, here?

No. It's just a rehearsal
for the guy Fawkes' day concert.

Guy Fawkes?

Remember, remember
the fifth of November?

No, sorry, I don't remember.

And...

It'll be my last concert.

I'm taking your advice
and getting out.

This "marvellous" city
can be stifling.

It's too dismal.

I want to go somewhere
with more light.

Spain or...
Maybe south America.

Beth, I want to apologize
for what happened.

It was my fault.
I needed help,

a little affection, you gave it
to me and I spoiled it all.

You were going through
a difficult time, I understand.

You're very sweet.
So, you coming to the concert?

I'll be there.

Martin!

There's something else
I need to tell you.

I spoke with petersen and maybe
I said more than I should have.

Why?

He began to ask me
some questions about you.

Me?

He wanted to know

why you chose
my house in particular.

What did you tell him?

The truth.

That you're obsessed with everything
there is to do with seldom.

You told him what?

I didn't think it was important.

I'm sure you're not going to deny
that you're obsessed with him.

What are you talking about?

He also asked me...

If... there was any relationship
between the two of us.

- And you said...
- I told him what happened.

What happened?
Nothing!

Exactly, that's what
I told him, nothing happened.

Okay, okay... you'd have been better
off not saying anything at all.

I know, and...

As soon as I said it
I regretted it but...

I was angry with you and it was

the first thing
that came into my mind.

What else did you tell him, Beth?

I told him that I...

I had a feeling that
you weren't interested in me

and that you preferred
being with seldom.

Bloody hell!

I'm sorry.

You don't think they'll take
something so stupid seriously?

They take everything
seriously, Beth.

Well, I don't think it's going
to put you on the spot.

It's absurd that the police should
think that you're the murderer.

Does the perfect crime exist?

For years, writers
have speculated on this idea

and murderers too.

Some even managed to put
the idea into practice.

Like the case
of Howard green, in London.

Green was a humble tailor,

well-considered socially.

He kept a diary which
the police found in his own house.

In the diary, he analyzed

in great detail

fourteen ways of murdering

his wife, for whom he professed
a deep and secret

hatred. Some of

the procedures were ridiculous,

others brutal, one or two

really brilliant.

But what green understood at once

was that the main danger
for the criminal

was not the possible investigation
of facts in the past

but the problems that

might arise in the future.

Every alibi contains an element
of falsehood which with Patience

can be discovered.

His conclusion was that
the only perfect crime that exists

is not the one that remains
unsolved but the one

which is solved
with the wrong culprit.

Does he kill her in the end?

No, she kills him.

One night she found the diary.

She ended up stabbing him with

the kitchen scissors.

The jury, horrified
by the reading of the diary,

judge the murder to have been

in self-defence
and declare her innocent.

Julia green,

you have been found
not guilty, you are free to go.

I don't understand.
How is it the perfect crime?

It was discovered recently

that the handwriting in the diaries
was not Howard green's.

So, who wrote them?

His wife's lover,
a forger of works of art.

The murderer is 30/36 years old.

Born into a lower middle class
family, in a small town or a suburb

of a big city.

He's got the characteristics
of a precocious genius.

And probably

some form of physical defect.

He imagines that his talents

triumph and that he can destroy
those who humiliate him.

Then his big chance arrives:

To leave his environment and put
his former world behind him.

And it is here that something
unexpected happens: He is rejected.

For some, probably
unfair reason, he is expelled

from the place that he considers
to be his by right.

And he finds himself
faced with the prospect

of having to return to the world
that he thought he'd escaped.

Goodness, sounds like
this woman knew him personally.

That's crazy, she has no basis.

In any case, we're not talking
about a psychopath,

there are no elements of cruelty.

In fact, we could say
that he is virtually innocent.

Exactly. The psychologist
puts special emphasis on that.

The murderer is seeking

vengeance and admiration.

The murders are, in a sense,
a way of paying court to you.

There's a mixture
of the desire for vengeance

and the much stronger desire
to belong

to your world. He wants you
to accept him, seldom.

He's trying to please you,

as if he was in the first stages
of falling in love.

The psychologist

thinks the murderer is a repressed
homosexual who lives alone.

Bad cut.
You should have that seen to.

I don't know what the hell...

At least you didn't tip a pot of
boiling coffee over your trousers.

I'm an expert
at that, believe me.

If you want,
we can carry on later.

Yes, that might be an idea.

Don't you think
you're exaggerating a bit?

The police are open
to all sorts of hypotheses.

Right now any formulation
can be valid for them.

You sound like seldom.

He's right, for god's sakes.
I could be a suspect, too!

Yeah, like me.

Yes, like you, like everyone.

Don't let seldom
get into your head, baby.

Cuz once he's in there,
there's no way of getting him out.

That's what happened to you, isn't
it? You're still in love with him.

That's not funny.

Sorry.

It's as if seldom was everywhere,
it's a nightmare.

There's nothing I've done
that he hasn't done already,

and apparently much better

than me.

What do you want me to do?
To tell you

I prefer you and you fuck
better than he did?

No. I want you to lie
and tell me I'm more intelligent.

Go to hell.

You know what pissed me off?

What pissed me off was knowing

that I wasn't the only one
at the table who'd fucked you.

That was so long ago.

When you were thirteen, right?
He calls you

and you go running
like a little lapdog,

and all so he can
give you another kick.

Yeah, that's how I am.

Exactly like you.

Martin, I think
you'd better go now, really.

And until all this is over,

I really don't want to know
anything about you or seldom.

You are a shit
like the rest of us.

We are mediocre,

and all mediocre people can do is...

Get drunk and forget.

Leave me alone.

To the mediocre of this world!

To vulgarity

and stupidity!

Cambridge has kicked us
in the arse again!

What?

What are you looking at?

It's true, isn't it?

You should give up maths
and write children's stories

- instead!
- Calm down.

- Let's get out of here.
- One day

the mad hatter will come
out of his closet and assfuck

- the lot of you!
- Okay, come on.

What are you talking about?

What planet are you from,
bloody fool?

If you'd stopped
fucking everyone in sight

and paid a bit of attention,
you'd have realized.

Henry Wilkins?
Who's Henry Wilkins?

He's Kennedy's assassin,
who do you think?

He's solved bormat's last theorem?

At least that is the rumour.
He's giving

a demonstration
in the next three days,

in the theory of numbers
conference at Cambridge.

He's solved
the most fucking difficult

mathematics problem
of the last 300 years.

And you know who should be there,
giving this demonstration?

Me!
Yuri Ivanovich podorov!

You have a demonstration
of bormat's last theorem?

No, of course I don't!

But I would have it, if your friend
seldom had not stolen it from me.

So that's it...

It was me who deduced
that the bormat conjecture

could not be solved without
taniyama's formulation.

For every modular form,
there is an elliptic curve,

and for every elliptic curve
there is a modular form.

You're drunk.

Yes, I'm drunk!
But eight years ago I was not!

I went to seldom,

explained to him,
asked him to help me

get into the theory
of numbers group at Cambridge,

and, do you know what
he said about my idea?

"It's absurd."

"It's absurd"!

And now, thanks to this
little bit of absurdity,

Henry Wilkins

will go down in history.

Apparently, he's been working

on bormat in secret

- for seven years.
- Why in secret?

What do you mean why?

Because they stole it from me!
It was my idea!

But I tell you something:
They don't know how to do it.

There's a mistake in their approach.
They don't know how to do it.

But it hasn't been proved yet.

Don't contradict me.

You're on their side, aren't you?

You are all against me!
You are trying to steal my ideas!

You won't read my mind!

Help me! I'm being robbed!
Help me!

They're trying to kill me!

If you don't shut up,
I fucking will kill you!

Easy, easy.

Bastards!

Fucking English and
their damned good manners.

When they fuck you,

they really fuck you.

Welcome to the party.

I gather nobody told you
about the dress code for this do?

Good old guy Fawkes
was ahead of his time.

He tried to blow up parliament

with the king, the lords and
the whole bloody government inside.

Since then, every November 6th,
we've had this civilized celebration

where we burn his image,

although nowadays
I'd be hard pushed to tell you

whether it's to commemorate
his failure or his brilliant idea.

Talking of conspirators...

No, don't look now, be discreet.

Sitting behind me,

a few rows back, is a tall black
gentleman. Do you remember him?

Yes.

He's been following me for 3 days
now. He's one of petersen's men.

Is petersen here as well?

Sitting to our right,

just there, with his daughter.

There's something
I need to speak to you about.

It might be...

- Did you see him?
- Who?

Podorov.

He had something under his cape.

We're following a suspect
inside the palace.

I want all available men
inside here, now.

Podorov!

He's going up to the roof!

What are you doing here?
Who's with seldom?

- I only want...
- Shut up

and stay on the ground.

What the hell's this?

Martin, you traitor.

"Bastards".

This guy's just a fucking

clown.

Scott, what the hell are you
doing here? Get back on seldom!

I'm on to it.

Let me through, please.
I'm a doctor.

You okay?

This man is dead.

Seems the cause
of death was asphyxia.

How could they have choked him,
up there, in front of everyone?

According to the doctor
who attended to him,

it was a spontaneous
respiratory arrest.

I've just spoken to Beth.

Apparently, the man's state
of health was somewhat delicate.

He was operated on a few years ago
for pulmonary emphysema.

By rights he should
have died some time ago.

With that problem,
if your breathing is obstructed,

you'd be dead
in a matter of seconds.

We have no evidence to indicate
that this was a murder.

Yes, we do.

The third symbol is a triangle!

Where did you find this?

It was found on the conductor's
music stand. The assassin

tore the words
"the third in the series"

from the program notes.

The circle, the fish,

and the triangle.
Well, it makes sense.

I've had enough of this.

I want you to tell me right now
exactly what you know.

Otherwise, I'm gonna have

to consider you
to be an accomplice, because

it's obvious that
you're withholding information.

I only have a rudimentary idea
of what his reasoning might be.

So what is it,

for Christ's sake?

Well, I think maybe this is

not the best time.

I don't believe it.

Fine, fine.
I'll get out here.

- Do you mind, Martin?
- No, don't worry about me.

I could use a walk.

Just don't walk
too far, all right?

Bastards.

In Cambridge preparations
are being made

to celebrate one of the crowning
moments in its history.

If the rumours are true, thanks to
professor Henry Wilkins, bormat's

famous last theorem could cease to
be unsolvable in the next few hours.

Hundreds of mathematicians
from all over the world

will meet today
in Cambridge to witness,

live, the public demonstration

that professor Wilkins will give

in the university's
number theory congress.

For centuries mathematicians

have tried in vain
to answer that theorem.

Will the mystery be resolved?

I'm sorry about yesterday,
but I still think that you should...

Yeah, that I should think
for myself.

Though I haven't been
too successful so far.

Tomorrow the paper will publish
an article about the murders.

In it I explain everything I know.

Everything?

The police think that
if we make it public

and we give our solution to the 4th
symbol, it'll stop the murderer.

What interests him is that

I recognize his intelligence.
That should be enough.

Do you think it will work?

It's the best
I could come up with.

So I have 12 hours
to prove I'm not an idiot.

That just about sums it up, right?

You're not an idiot,
much as you might try.

You know it, Martin,
you just have to remember.

After all, you belong to the sect.

- I know what you're thinking.
- So?

It could be the biggest mistake
of your life, believe me.

I don't believe you.

I think you're lying.

You're right.
I am lying,

but if I distract you long enough,
maybe the bus'll set off and it'll

be too late.

You know, these are a bit
hard to swallow at first,

but after a while
you get a taste for them.

My spaghetti
or my mystery novels?

No, spaghetti
is a great invention.

So are mystery novels.

You know, they make sense.

There's something to find out and
they explain it to you at the end.

In life, nobody
bothers explaining anything.

I don't want to speak
of explanations,

or conjectures, or anything else.

Outside this room nothing exists.

Only you, me

and this spaghetti.

I know what it meant
for you to get off that bus.

It was worth it.

It's only just begun.

Look what you've done.
You're mad.

Mad about you.

You've got some there.

This moment is perfect...

Unique.

"The unshaken heart
of well-rounded truth".

Come again?

It's from parmenides,
he was a Greek stand-up comedian.

He said that reality
is one big lie,

and the only thing that exists

is a single unchanging god.

You're doing it again.

What?

Talking like
the people from your sect.

- Well, I guess we can't help it.
- I guess.

Now I understand

why girls go out with musicians
and not mathematicians.

That's what he said.

Really? He knew
girls prefer musicians?

No, no, no, no.
The thing about the sect.

"You should know.
You're part of the sect."

- What?
- Fuck.

No, no, no.
It can't be, it's too easy.

What's wrong?

I have to discover it before
it comes out in the papers.

What?

My god, it's seldom.

You just have to go along
with his bloody game, don't you?

Yes, I do! It's all
I can fucking think about.

- Beth was right.
- What?

You're in love with
a bloody lunatic. That old man

- turns you on more than I do!
- Look, lorna, listen to me.

Just this once, that's all I ask.

When this nightmare's over,
we're getting out

- of here.
- Where to?

Wherever. Outside these walls,
to a place with no books,

where people don't know
their two times tables.

- Shit!
- I told you.

It's too early,
even for the bookworms.

What now?

Bookstore!

- Hey, we're closed.
- We'll just be a moment!

At least tell me
what we're looking for.

Here it is.

The sect of the pythagoreans...

The fathers of mathematics.

They were forbidden
to reveal their secrets.

They functioned like
a religious sect, numbers

were sacred to them,
gods that conformed the world.

No, it's not here.

I'm sorry but you'll have
to come back later.

There's no one on the cash register.

Don't worry.
We don't need to buy anything.

Well, I think
you'd better leave, then.

Give us a moment.
Pretty please? Please.

If you consult our catalogue,

I think you'll find everything
to meet your requirements.

Will you shut up for a minute!
I can't think!

I'm sorry,

but you give me no option
but to call security.

Fine, call security.

Just leave.

It's got to be mentioned
in one of these,

a diagram, or something.

Kind of like that?

That's it. Perfect.

One,

the beginning of all things.
Perfection, enclosed in itself.

The fish.

That's what we thought. The vesica
piscis, a Christian symbol, but

this one's much earlier.

It's simply two, the intersection
of two circles. Symbol of opposites,

duality, the war
between good and evil.

Three, the triad,

the synthesis of opposites.
Peace after war.

And the fourth symbol?

The tetraktys, the quaternary.

One plus two, plus three,
plus four: Ten.

Totality, the demiurge.

It was their divine number.

One, two, three, four.

That simple.

How could I not see it?

Any enigma is easy
once you know the answer.

What are you looking for?

The only thing I know about these
guys is that they had a unique...

Understanding of medicine.
You know, if...

Intelligence was
the supreme value,

then the mentally retarded
were the greatest sinners.

They used them as Guinea pigs

for medical experiments.

They even tried organ transplants...

Shit.

Thanks very much,
that's all I need!

- Thank you.
- Really sorry.

Come on!

Hey!

Come here!

Come back here!

You two!

Where do you think
you're going? Come here!

I know who the murderer is.

It's okay, John.
Really?

Look, I know I fucked up
in the concert,

but now you have to believe me.

This time it could be worse, he
could kill more people, probably 10.

Relax.

This time he got in touch with us
directly. We guessed the symbol.

The tetraktys...

Exactly. The message
indicates a particular place.

He told us to send ambulances there.

A road?

The a421. Just past
the black cat roundabout.

That's the road to Cambridge.

There's a flyover
on the main road.

Petersen's already on his way.

He'll try to stop the bus
before it reaches that spot.

Have you located the bus yet?

It's three miles from where

you are, sir.
You'll be meeting up

in under a minute.

Petersen here, to all units.

The murderer may be travelling

with them, so keep your heads
down until I give the word.

Where are they?
I can't see them.

- Right in front of you, sir.
- Got it!

Now!

Now!

Jesus!

Turn off the engine!
Put your hands on the wheel!

We made it in time.

They've stopped the bus.

Seldom and the other
mathematicians are safe.

Seldom? What have you done?
You've got the wrong bus!

Hello?

Seldom, you have to speak with
petersen, there's another bus!

What are you talking about?

It's the girl's father!

What girl?

Martin?

Martin, can you hear me?

The girl in the hospital,
she needs a transplant.

He wants to kill
the kids to save her!

Sir?

Excuse me, sir.
Sir, this way, please.

- That bus has to be stopped!
- Calm down, sir.

They're going to be killed!
I have to talk to petersen!

Sir, one of the professors
insists on speaking to you.

He's completely
lost control of himself.

What the hell?

You.
Did you know about this?

Did you fucking know about this?

You and your fucking equations!

I don't know anything.

Nothing.

Five of the victims
are possible donors.

Five organs offer a fair chance.

They're rushing them off
to st Joseph's.

That's why he sent the ambulances.

That's right.

The petrol tank
was down to a minimum.

He wanted to cause
as little harm as possible,

only this time
it wasn't exactly imperceptible.

Why all these?
Why all the symbols?

He didn't plan
to die in the accident.

His idea was to jump in time
to avoid being a suspect.

How do you know?

When the bus crashed,
the doors were already open.

And what about the other deaths?

Well, if only the children
had been killed,

he would have been
the prime suspect.

Making us believe
in a serial killer

took the spotlight off him.

Only he miscalculated
and didn't get out in time.

So, he didn't really want
to kill the other people,

- he just needed an alibi?
- Exactly.

Shame we didn't work it out sooner.

So much

for logic.

You were just a pawn in his game.

You have nothing
to feel guilty about.

You don't know what you're saying.

You don't need to get on a plane.

Sorry?

I said, you don't need to get on
a plane. You're already miles away.

I was just thinking...

Really?

Ok.
From now on,

we are just two tourists

in an airport with the heaviest
rucksack I've ever seen.

What did you pack in here anyway?

You know, just the essentials.
A double bed, a cooker,

for making spaghetti

- and a couple of other things.
- Well, I hope

you didn't pack a single
one of your mystery novels.

Of course not!

No mystery novels,
no symbols, no Oxford.

We had a deal, remember?

You gonna be able to live like this?

Yes.

Just you and me.

Come on.

Thank you.

Can I have your
boarding pass, please?

He didn't know!

Martin?

That old fucker tricked me!

He didn't know
what the third symbol was!

My god!

You've got the pictures with you?

What is this?

"Kreis".

What is that?

She spent 3 years
deciphering German codes.

Excuse me, sir,
you can't do that here.

Of course!

Kreis is German for circle.

He came up with it on the spot!

Have you been here before?

I never had a chance.

It would be a pity to leave the
country without seeing this place.

This is the largest

collection of fakes in the world.

Not even Michelangelo

can distinguish
this David from his original.

Trajan's column
we believe to be in Rome,

but we are sure
that this is a common

plaster copy.

I feel at ease here.

No one tries to deceive me.

In effect, Martin,
this is the place

that contains the most truth
in the entire planet.

We have an absolute truth:

Everything is fake.

Outside of these walls

nobody is sure of anything.

You took a big risk in giving me
a blank piece of paper.

That was important.
I had to convince you that I knew

what the sign was when, at
that moment, I wasn't at all sure.

I knew you wouldn't
let me down, Martin.

Your pride wouldn't let you open
this piece of paper

until you had
a solution of your own,

and that, if I might say,
was going to take some time.

There was no serial killer.

It was an invention,
just like petersen said.

But it wasn't
the bus driver's invention.

It was yours.

You invented a series of killings
to hide the only real crime:

The death of Mrs. eagleton.
Beth killed her,

just as the police had suspected
from the very beginning.

Beth hated her life.
She couldn't put up

with that woman any more
so she killed her.

That's when she sent you a note

asking for help.

I couldn't look her in the face.

It was my fault that her father
was killed in that accident

30 years ago.

I couldn't let her down again.

We both met at the door.

You'd come to get rid
of the evidence,

but I was there, in the way,
and that spoiled everything.

You had to come up with
a new plan, in front of me,

just moments before the police
arrived. You read the word

"circle" in German
on the scrabble rack,

and that gave you the idea.

A series with
infinite possibilities.

But you needed a second death

to convince the police
that the murderer was not Beth.

And unwittingly, I helped you.

I gave you the idea of how
to do it, without even realising.

An imperceptible murder.

A murderer who only kills

someone who is at

death's door. You only had

to wait for the occasion
and prick the body with a syringe.

That's when you sent
the second message. The fish.

You still didn't know
where all this was going to lead.

The possibilities of continuing
the series were still infinite.

You had to wait for
another occasion to arise.

And that could take weeks, months.

There was no hurry.

You probably had a different plan
for the third death,

but that triangle player suddenly
appeared like a gift from the gods,

- and you had your solution.
- At first I rejected it.

Too many people, too operatic.

Don't lie.

You couldn't waste

a chance like that.

What's more, there was a triangle.
It all took on meaning!

Beautiful... it was as if
the damned pythagoreans

were on your side.

It was perfect,
but what's more important,

it was totally inoffensive.

Until the madman appeared.

Any one of our acts can have
unexpected consequences.

That's what you most feared.

Who was to know that poor devil

was going to read
the article in the paper?

He was looking for a solution
to his daughter's problem,

while every day he drove to school
those healthy children

with perfect lungs
but damaged brains.

Why did they deserve to live
and not his daughter?

Mathematicians are not the only ones
familiar with the greeks, professor.

You gave him his solution
when you published the series.

He also wanted to hide his crime.

He only had to make
a phone call, and he did.

So...

You think I'm the killer.

No.

You haven't killed anyone,

but you're guilty of provoking the
deaths of those innocent children.

You're guilty of arrogance,

of using us all like
pieces on a board game.

Who the hell do you think you are?

I hope my failure has, at least,
served to teach you something.

Yes, one thing.

One very painful thing.

Numbers also lie.

The truth is not mathematical,
as I once believed.

It's absurd, confused, random,

disorderly, and deeply unpleasant.

I'm glad that finally we can agree
on something, Martin, my friend.

Just one thing has escaped you.

The real culprit.

The one who triggered off
this whole string of crimes.

Who?

You, Martin.

Don't make me laugh.

If you don't believe me,
then speak to Beth.

She was in love with you,

or weren't you aware of that?

She remembered
your words exactly.

"You should try it."

"You should try it,"
pounded time and again

inside her head, like a hammer.

"You should be free, like me."

That's what she understood,

and that's what she did.

Put an end to what
prevented her from being free...

Her own mother.

The butterfly

that flutters its wings
and causes a hurricane

on the other side of the world.

Sound familiar?

Are you that butterfly, Martin?