Dark Crimes

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- Come here.

- No!

What's this?

Just an old case.

Take him out.

Got him?

Higher.

Good.

- Is this Greger?

- Yes.

Do you work at

the sex club called The Cage?

The Cage was shut down

after Sadowski was killed.

- Was he there often?

- He lived in the building.

He came for girls

and other things.

You mean drugs?

You think we worked

there for fun?

We found Rohypnol

in Sadowski's body.

- So?

- Enough to kill him.

I need you to come with me.

Sure.

No drag marks were found

on Sadowski's body.

The killer must

have been strong.

Sorry sir. I can't.

So. We know something.

Why are you still here?

Your shift's over.

You're up to something?

Are you still following Greger?

Don't forget, I fought

for you to stay.

Greger wanted you

fired last year.

"Tadek is Old Poland,"

he said.

Shifty bastard.

You find anything, I'll get

you your reputation back.

It's hot.

Thank you, Tadek.

Promise I won't die alone.

I promise.

Swear on your life.

Mama.

I swear.

My lovely boy.

The last days of The Cage.

How did you get this?

I was the landlord. I had to empty

the club after it was shut down.

They left so suddenly.

Hm.

Do you recall any

of the tenants' names?

People came and went

all the time. A lot of artists.

The owner tried

to keep the rents low.

I had to fight for money every

single month. F***ing artists.

- Mmm.

- Some of them became quite famous.

Marta Zygadlo, Viktor

Mentlewicz, Krystof Kozlov.

- The writer?

- Yes.

I like his books.

Not to my taste.

Too perverted.

Why did you keep these?

I like to look.

Take the tapes.

Some critics talk about

your clinical neutrality.

Yes.

Is that deliberate?

I don't know. I'm not

responsible for what I write.

But as the author... the female

torture scenes, are they symbolic?

Maybe. Maybe not.

I think communism

did women no favors.

We still have the sexual

sophistication of cavemen.

So, in a sense, your writing is a

counter-commentary on feminism.

I think my writing's sh*t.

But that's very bold. Er, thank

you for being with us here today.

Thank you for

wasting my time.

Are you hungry?

No no. Thank you.

Chapter One. Marek understood

there were no rules at the sex club.

If he wanted to beat a

naked girl, he could beat her.

He could hang her from the ceiling.

Really nothing was too much trouble.

As long as he didn't

kill the girls.

He could f*** them up, but corpses

didn't look so good in makeup.

Alicja. His last book.

Never published.

Just to download.

The men who came there,

by invitation only,

were currently grouped around the

naked girl in baying supplication.

- One of their number...

- Okay. Take it out.

...sodomized her.

Some of the watching men

drank bottled beer.

A couple sucked...

Back in the basement

of the sex club,

Marek observed himself ogling

five girls behind The Cage,

leashed like dogs on all fours.

It seemed to him then that all the

sex he'd had, however depraved,

was rendered bizarrely innocuous

by financial transaction.

Just look into those girls' eyes;

they weren't thinking about sex.

They were thinking about that night's

shopping or how their knees hurt.

For what drives most humans, and most

humans are unremarkably corrupt,

is not the need for self-expression,

but the need for money.

If they formulate any thoughts at all,

they are driven by the grunt of greed.

They f*** and lick and smack

without a trace of irony.

Greed has always taken

itself very seriously.

Hanna!

Hanna.

Hi!

Oi!

Can I play? Okay.

Hello.

- Hi.

- Come here.

Come on.

Alicja tried to struggle, but

even if someone had heard her screams,

rape was just another

transaction here.

A girl screaming was like

shopping mall Muzak,

the sound of

buying and selling.

Her hair was matted

with blood and semen,

her feet and wrists clotted and raw from

the metal cuffs nailing her to the bed.

Here, she had no name.

Here she was breasts...

Do we have to listen

to this over breakfast?

...anonymous as a child's doll. No

trace left of anything so human...

It's annoying, switch it off.

Why do men require their

rape victims to simulate desire?

Isn't it enough that they're

humiliated beyond words?

For the nuanced sadist,

pain is sufficient.

This Marek knew, which may have accounted

for why he murdered so pedantically,

the way his victim's

body had the markings

of someone choked to death

in a sadomasochistic accident.

The precise way the body

had been tied up

using a fisherman's

knot known as the fly,

a particularly painful knot that made

the victim look like he was skydiving.

Come in.

I want to

reopen the case.

I know who killed

Daniel Sadowski.

I thought we understood.

You don't investigate anymore. You

don't do anything, that's the point.

You type the cases

into the database,

file the papers, move on.

Keep your head down.

I never asked you before.

Tadek!

I worked hard to save your job last year.

It wasn't easy. Just tick the boxes.

I want to try.

Who investigated this before?

Greger.

He's Chief of Police now.

Be careful.

And what is your opinion

of intellectuals?

Intellectuals are a**holes,

because being intellectual

matters more to them than being

entertaining. It's bullshit.

There's only one idea

that matters. Nothing is real.

We create the fact,

we create the fiction.

Fact, fiction. Fact, fiction.

Fact, fiction. The end.

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