Looking at the two of them,
I suddenly understood the adjective "parallel"
as applied to the police.
The inspector looked like a political science graduate.
He shouted at me to beware
of those Regional Planning people.
Dick had no secrets.
He was a liar. I knew him well.
Someone killed Typhus.
It wasn't you or me.
It proves someone's after the same thing we are.
Help me.
I'll do the same.
We'll share.
- Why does the cock flatter the cuckoo? - I don't get it.
Because the cuckoo flatters the cock.
Mr. Khrushchev's speech to the Komsomol.
I'm sure you killed Dick.
Why? I don't know yet.
It doesn't hold water.
It does too hold water.
You'll see.
- Then it was you. - You're a pain.
- Not exactly. - I don't get it.
Let's just say there were several of us.
But what if I went ahead and told them
what I know and what I guess.
You wouldn't.
Right now, he thinks that you killed Typhus.
I'm the only one who knows I was with you at the time.
He doesn't look so mean for a homicide detective.
His parents fought mine at Dakar and Mers el-Kebir.
They worked for the French Gestapo.
Mine worked in London for Colonel Passy.
You know we called him,
"I tawt I taw a 'Passy' tat!"
I'm coming.
I'll take her.
Be right back.
You absolutely must...
Paris.
That's enough!
I can't tell you just how much
I hate the police.
It was her.
She killed Uncle Edgar.
- I recognize her. - He's nuts!
I said to wait outside. Take him away.
It was her.
I can't tell you just how much
I hate the police.
Unless I'm mistaken, Mr. Typhus had business dealings with you.
Not with me. You're wrong.
Am I?
That's what I'd been led to understand.
So in fact your relations with Mr. Typhus were purely friendly.
Let's just say we'd met a few times.
I see.
I can't tell you just how much...
- Yes? - I hate the police.
I'm from Atlantic-Cite Magazine.
Wasn't Mr. Typhus an ex-lieutenant of Jo Atilla's?
No comment.
Same old story.
Why do the Paris police snub the provincial press?
And you, miss - anything to say?
You knew Richard P... well.
No comment either.
25 Ben Hecht Street.
He worked there three months, from January 25 to April 25.
That all? - Yes. Wait in the Peugeot.
Secret? What secret?
Richard P... died a natural death. Suicide at worst.
Suicide by shooting himself in the back of the neck?
I'm new, but it's not the first time.
I asked her real name.
Marie Dufour.
Was she the one who called me?
Why?
I told her not to be afraid.
Because I'd tried to kill myself.
Why kill yourself?
Was it long after Richard's death?
Or because they tortured you?
With a razor blade.
Richard told you something.
They tortured you to find out what.
With a razor blade.
What did he tell you?
Afraid they'll come back if you talk to me?
Yes, I am.
LIBERTY
Excuse me, mister. I'm the sister of Richard P...
He worked here in February or March.
Did he leave a letter or package for me?
I wouldn't know.
What is it?
I just heard you mention Richard P...
I overheard you from the accounting office.
They're scared.
They doubled our pay to keep us quiet.
But Mr. P... was very nice to me.
He was the only one.
He once asked me to come to his home to check the books
in a villa outside Atlantic-Cite.
Where?
Near the military airfield.
Preminger Street.
Something like that. That's all I know.
Well, well.
Find anything?
- No more than you. - What makes you say that?
You'd either leave me in peace
or get rid of me.
I think Inspector Aldrich is smarter.
Ever think about what would happen
if he's the first to learn who killed Typhus?
He takes himself too seriously.
He gives me a pain.
But I have to find a way.
He say what he thought of me?
Why the hell should I care?
I'm in charge of the fifth region, not him. Right?
Sure you are.
Sure.
What did you tell him?
Tell who?
David Goodis.
When Aldrich questioned him the second time, he got nothing out of him.
He said there'd been a mix-up...
that you resembled someone else...
that he'd never seen you with his uncle.
What did you tell him?
Nothing.
Well, I've been thinking.
Whoever killed Typhus
is probably the same person who slugged you.
I know it sounds crazy,
but it proves he didn't find anything either.
- And Dr. Ludwig? - What?
Maybe it was him.
I don't get it.
Why wouldn't he be involved?
Sure. Like you, he's a priceless hostage for me.
You really think so?
You still don't think Richard was just a dreamer?
Have you ever seen a Communist dreamer?
He was expelled from the party when Picasso died.
A charade, a charade.
What?
You fell for it,
like everyone else.
The MP who'd lent him his Citroen
had taken it back for the weekend,
so Widmark drove me back in his killers' Chrysler to the hotel,
threatening to kill me if I went out,
since I refused to tell him where the villa was.
THE ROOM ON THE FIRST FLOOR...
WHICH FOR US WILL BE...
GARDENS OF ARMIDA...
EIFFEL TOWER...
DID YOU...
Next: As the police still suspected me,
which is how Widmark could hold me,
I called him back and gave him the name of a guy
who, in my opinion and in his, could very well have killed Typhus.
Paragraph 19.
Yes, comrades, times have changed.
But I say that the lies remain,
among those whom you know well,
those who feel a threat to their social influence...
... patriotism.
The current government uses patriotic speeches
and glorification of the nuclear adventure
as a diversion from the rise
of worker and social issues.
Paragraph 47.
Dumouriez had denounced this penchant for sublime parry
being used by the Right today,
which gives the masses the facile emotion of courage without risk
and pride without sacrifice.
Politics.
Money.
How can I not feel like puking
after being mixed up in all that for so long?
Oh, Richard.
Paragraph 48.
How is it, I will be asked with eloquent outrage,
that French policy aims to relieve us of this enormous power,
and yet a fraction -
a faction of our power will have contributed to such crimes?
My answer to that, comrades,
to Louis and Benoit:
It's not the first time power has been divided,
that a court could be Catholic and Protestant.
And Danton? Dumouriez?
Would it be the first time policy swung Left and Right,
torn between the demands of a Grand Old Man -
Would it be the first time policy swung Left and Right,
torn between the sublime demands of a Grand Old Man
capable of imposing them on his nation at the expense of food
and the interests of his heirs,
who know they can only control the people by fattening them up?
Paragraph 89.
The main reason for these errors
is that men claiming to be of the Left continue to accept Communist votes
even as they form alliances with reactionary forces.
I ask you, comrades:
What progress can there be with Lecanuet, Pinay, Pleven,
who claim that without an anti-American stance,
nothing would separate our policies from theirs?
How can we seek the defeat of the current government
when it could only lead to the following results:
Either the survival of Gaullism,
even if the UNR loses its majority in the next National Assembly,
or a lasting discredit to the democratic regime
if power returns to a majority that includes part of the non-Communist Left
and those so-called progressive republicans.
It's to bar the way -
It's to bar the way, comrades -
It's to bar the way, comrades, to such an alternative
that the French Communist Party will pursue its efforts
for the true victory of the Left.
This is probably the fear of the anti-Communist factions.
They don't want the victory of the Left.
This is probably -
Just as I thought.
To get back at his boss, who didn't want him anymore,
young Donald brought me photos of Richard's death.
Yes, we were in a political movie,
meaning Walt Disney with blood.
He also told me he'd childishly killed Typhus and his niece.
They'd caught him searching my room.
He was looking for a treasure, but now he was scared.
He didn't believe in any secret file
or political mystery -
just money.
He confirmed that there was a villa
and offered to take me there for two million old francs.
He wanted it to flee to South America,
where, in his own idealistic way,
he'd help finance a mercenary army
to eliminate Jews,
blacks, Chinese and Indians.
If you had to die...
would you rather be warned
or die suddenly?
Die suddenly!
Mama!
This is probably the fear of the anti-Communist factions.
Finding out why Richard died
was to find out why I should stay alive.
"He remembers...
a lock of brown hair."
Not helping me anymore?
Sure I am.
"He remembers to the point of disbelief..."
And then?
- Scram! The police! - Help me, ma'am.
"...our two strange destinies." At the villa in an hour!
You can leave Atlantic-Cite.
Really? Thanks.
I'm off the Typhus case.
Really?
Same old story.
I just had orders from Paris to suspend the investigation.
That shouldn't surprise you.
I don't care.
Was the wrong man your idea?
What wrong man?
According to Widmark,
it was a certain...
Mark Dixon, a private detective, who killed Typhus.
It's plausible.
A feud between two Moroccan War veterans.
Did you arrest this Mr. Mark Dixon?
Not yet. I'll try. I doubt I can.
- Why not? - He's already dead. A fire near Agadir.
Then how will you arrest him? I don't get it.
He'll be sentenced in absentia.
Officially no one knows he's dead, except for two people.
I'm one, but only by chance. I was engaged to his sister.
And one other person -
Mr. Widmark?
Not Widmark.
A young woman in a pretty dress.
Just like yours, in fact.
What color is it? Orange or yellow?
None of your business, since the case is closed.
I know.
You suspected me?
It would be an exaggeration to say I did,
but it was a possibility.
He was killed in your room, so you let him in.
No, he may have been after something,
something to steal.
Were you in the same hotel by chance?
Were you supposed to meet him?
I didn't expect to run into Typhus.
I'd read in Ouest-France that my friend, Richard P..., was dead.
So I came here. So did he, I think.
Who'd you vote for two years ago?
None of your business.
I can easily find out.
You were working for L 'Express a bit earlier, in '66.
Yes. What if I was?
No, nothing.
This Richard P... was the same one who wrote the editorials?
Yes. He stayed on.
I quit when... the Havas Agency.
Why?
I think advertising is a form of fascism.
I got wary when Goodis went back on his declarations.
I'm not as stupid as you think.
You're probably mixed up in something political
that also involves personal feelings:
Revenge, jealousy, friendship.
I'd go back to Paris if I were you.
Things are going to get ugly here.
I'm telling you for your own sake.
You know, we live in a part of the universe that's already old,
where nothing much happens,
whereas elsewhere, explosions are forging new galaxies.
So long.
KISS TOMORROW GOODBYE
Silence!
You'll get everyone in trouble.
I don't buy it.
Tell Ludwig I'll call him tonight.
Okay, but this is the last time.
- What's your name? - Robert McNamara.
- Aren't you tired of all this killing? - It's my job. It makes me happy.
And you?
I'm Richard Nixon. I feel the same way.
Let's go see your boss, since you're watching me.
- I don't know where he is. - I know.
Take off!
I still have my yellow-and-red dress,
but my voice has changed.
I tell him it was barbaric to torture the poor girl
to get the villa's address.
I answer, it's not the first time
that I have blood on my hands.
Agadir...
the Charonne metro station...
Mehdi Ben Barka.
Besides, we gave that fat woman 100,000 francs
to make up a story to explain her burns.
It's always blood, fear,
politics, money.
How can I not feel like puking
after being mixed up in all that for so long?
Oh, Richard.
It's to bar the way, comrades, to such an alternative
that the French Communist Party will pursue its efforts
for the true victory of the Left.
I dismissed the others.
He says Richard killed Lacroix.
- In case I kill Paula. - The fire was a cover-up.
- The villa is where the party met, - The party framed the Socialists.
Without telling its own militants.
Two years ago, in '67, they decided to sabotage
- the alliance with the Left. - Richard was killed
for playing too personal a game.
- That's what I think. - It all started there.
- The ex-mayor Lacroix, Richard P... - I won't get out of this alive.
I shouldn't have listened to Donald.
They had to be silenced.
Now, because of her, we must keep on fighting and killing...
I have to see this through.
Our opponents...
- I have to play-act - instead of quietly exercising power...
- and not go lie on a beach. - Inaugurating dams...
and stabilizing the currency.
We don't trust each other.
There's too much at stake. It's really a pity.
But if we keep watching each other,
we'll never get anywhere.
Remember who killed Typhus.
You may be right.
We should trust each other.
That's what I just said.
I'll be frank, Paula.
Even if you swore on Lenin's complete works
that the sun was out,
I wouldn't believe it
without first confirming it myself.
No, I can't trust you.
It's totally impossible.
- There is a way. - What way?
I'll give you a weapon
that will automatically turn on me if I betray you.
I don't see what you mean.
I write a letter
saying I killed Edgar Typhus.
I sign it...
and I give it to you.
Sure, that could work.
Not a bad idea.
That way I could trust you.
But you too.
What me too?
You write a letter too.
Saying what? That I killed Typhus?
You stupid or what?
No, that you killed Richard P...
Why and how could I remain alive,
when sooner or later
I'd end up like the 17 witnesses
to Kennedy's death, who were also murdered,
according to the October 10 issue of Le Monde.
"I killed Richard P..."
"I killed Edgar Typhus."
"He tried to extort money from me."
"He came to see me in my room."
"And his death was an accident."
"We had an argument."
"Dr. Ludwig was aware of everything."
I knocked him out with an ashtray.
He helped hush up the affair
thanks to his many political connections."
"September 17, 1968."
"Paul Widmark, September 17, 1968."
"Paula Nelson."
Will that do?
Hands in the air!
- What is this? - Don't move.
Now I know you figured it out.
Otherwise you wouldn't have had the idea for the letter.
I didn't figure out anything.
There's no secret, no mystery.
You're lying.
I have no reason to lie anymore.
Not now.
Since you know you're going to die.
Thanks, David.
"Far from time and space...
Man has gone astray...
slender as a hair...
vast as the dawn...
his ears foaming...
his two eyes rolling...
and his hands outstretched...
to feel his way...
which is nonexistent."
Thanks, ma'am. Now I can finish my novel.
Prepare to die.
No one must know the truth.
If you finish your novel, everyone will know,
since poetry is truth.
Why do you always speak in metaphors?
If I speak of time...
it's not yet come to pass.
If I speak of place...
it's vanished into space.
If I speak of time...
it's gone without a trace.
If I speak of a man...
he's soon to breathe his last.
Oh, Paula...
you robbed me of my youth.
Oh, David...
...sadness.
Where am I?
Is this me talking?
Can I say I am this language I speak,
and where my thoughts slip?
Can I say I am these murders that I've committed with my hands
and that elude me like a task not only when I'm done,
but even before I begin it?
Can I say I am this life I feel inside me?
It envelops me in wonderful times -
Night...
as long as day in this endless equinox.
It falls.
I go on.
I'll set off before dawn.
... of birth...
of death...
of the life of things around me,
the life of my own body,
this body that Richard kissed.
This knowledge is by nature
incomplete and misleading,
as it only comes through changes in my body and thoughts.
The tragedy of my conscience...
lies in, once having lost the world, trying to find myself...
and getting lost in that very motion.
Hey, Philippe!
- What are you doing here? - And you?
I just did a report on Chateauroux.
How about you?
- I've just come off a murky case. - Really?
- I killed two people. - I don't believe it.
- Give me a lift? - Sure.
LEFT, YEAR ZERO
You shouldn't be scared.
Fascism won't come to pass.
On the contrary.
Fascism must pass, and pass it will...
like sailboats, miniskirts and rock 'n' roll.
We have years of struggle ahead...
and often within ourselves.
That's why I'm scared:
Scared of being weary in advance,
scared of giving up the struggle.
Got a cigarette?
Check the glove box.
Want one?
About Richard...
I think it had to do with revenge.
But this whole business of yours is not very clear.
The Ben Barka affair was clear?
That's ancient history now.
Okay, but I have principles.
You still work for Radar?
Good.
You can do an article, maybe even a book,
like the one you wanted to do on Oswald.
Sure.
Then don't say you have principles.
There's no changing her!
What?
Remember Elisabeth in Les enfants terribles?
Left and Right are the same.
There's no changing them!
The Right...
because it's so cruel it's brainless.
The Left because it's sentimental.
Besides...
Left and Right are completely obsolete notions.
We shouldn't phrase things in those terms.
How then?