Dark Crimes Page #3

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victim even the fractional joy

of the cold water

meeting his skin.

Your novel.

Same victim. Same location.

Same means of death.

Only a police officer or the

killer could know those facts.

The details of the murder were never

published. So how do you know about that?

You really want me

to tell you I murdered Daniel?

- Did you?

- What do you think?

I think the book

is your confession.

Why would I confess

to something like that?

Tell me I'm wrong.

You could be right.

You know the truth.

Truth. You really

want to go there?

You kill someone,

it's a self-evident fact.

Not according

to Christ's crucifixion.

I've seen dead bodies.

You don't make them up.

You killed Daniel Sadowski

and you made it look

like a sado-masochistic

game that went wrong.

Well that's what you say.

No. That's what you say.

- That's what I write.

- Ah.

- Hello.

- I already told you everything I know.

I published his first books. We

divorced many years ago. That's it.

Has he tried

to contact you again?

I will never speak

to Krystof again.

I will never speak

about Krystof again.

Did she ever talk to her

neighbor Krystof Kozlov?

No.

- Anything?

- Mm.

Nothing here.

Please move your car.

Move your car, now.

You have no authority to be here.

You are never with us.

Work's been busy.

Work's always busy.

I'm on an important case.

Piotr wants it solved.

Piotr. Are you serious?

If I land this case,

he'll give me my old job back.

You're finished in a year.

Not like this.

I don't want to go like this.

Just don't forget who you are.

Marek thought

how fickle memory was.

You murder a man,

and the moment it's done

you're already retelling

the story to yourself,

so that the act of killing

is not your act of killing,

but belongs, instead,

to some fictional simulacrum

in just the same way the men who

murdered so prosaically in Auschwitz

made peace with what they did, transmuted

their memories like pieces of fiction,

to the point where good

and evil lost all meaning

and the only lights by which they steered

were what they tasted, saw, and touched.

- Krystof.

- Mum, it's all right.

Have a seat. Please.

Sir. I found this.

Are they yours?

They're planted.

You deny

they're yours?

I deny nothing.

Who did they belong to?

Well, you tell me,

you fascist bastard.

When you're finished...

then it's my turn.

Your boyfriend. Mr. Kozlov.

We're not together anymore.

He called you yesterday.

Might I ask why?

To talk to Hanna.

Daniel Sadowski.

Do you know this name?

No.

Did Mr. Kozlov ever give

you reason to fear him?

What do you mean?

Did he frighten you?

Threaten you?

No.

- Sexually?

- No.

He was never violent

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