Previously, on The Truth About the Harry Quebert Affair...
In America, ladies and gentlemen,
we are obsessed with sex and morality.
Excuse me, why, uh... why are blowjobs bad?
I'm just, personally, I'm a big fan, I don't know...
You're the reason I'm here, Professor.
You're what I aspire to be, sir.
Well, Mr. Goldman, I have no doubt
that you're going to be a huge success.
I'm totally blocked, Harry.
It's been over a year, and I got nothing.
You know, why don't you come to me?
You made it!
- How are you, man? - Ah, good to see you!
What, are you spying on me, Marcus?
This needs to stay between us.
Author Harry Quebert was arrested today
after police discovered the body
of 15-year-old Nola Kellergan,
who disappeared from her house in August of 1975.
How's it looking for him?
Not good.
They found a manuscript of his "Origin of Evil"
buried with the dead girl.
Talk to the nice townsfolk.
Those hicks are potential witnesses.
Hey, we're gonna get you out of here, okay?
Is there anything you haven't told me?
I was supposed to meet Nola at 8:00.
That was the night she disappeared.
It's a fucking disaster!
If the prosecution gets hold of this,
Harry is screwed.
"On my desk, there's a porcelain pot."
Inside is a key to my locker at the gym in Montburry.
"Everything is in there..."
It's "The Origin of Evil."
It's Harry's original manuscript.
"...Burn it all.
I'm in danger."
Thank you.
Hey.
Did you burn everything?
And the manuscript?
Yes, I did exactly what you told me.
Thank you.
Why was that box in your gym locker?
I was afraid someone else might find it,
so I just... panicked.
I thought it would be safe somewhere else.
You thought it would be safe?
Mm, just makes you look guilty, that's all.
Do you think I'm guilty, Marcus?
No, Harry. I don't.
I loved her, Marcus, but it was innocent.
I never crossed that line.
And I did not kill her.
The, um...
the manuscript was "The Origin of Evil."
The very first draft.
How come there was no title on the cover page?
The title came afterwards.
After... after Nola's disappearance, you mean?
Yeah, but I don't want
to talk about the manuscript.
It's brought nothing but suffering into my life.
Okay.
Oh, for Christ's sake.
You still have that?
Yeah, it's a good luck charm.
Huh.
It was a gift from the great Harry Quebert
back when I was a fledgling non-writer.
Marcus, please put it away.
I want you to tell me about Nola.
Who she was.
I need to know everything, Harry,
if we're gonna get you out of here.
Ahh...
I don't wanna go back there, Marcus.
I know you don't, but you need to.
Well, where shall I begin?
From the beginning.
It was an afternoon in June, 1975.
I'd been struggling up to that point
to get started on the book, and I looked up,
right when the rain started, and... there she was,
just dancing, enjoying the rain.
I was just lost watching her.
That was the first time I met her.
She had a magical quality about her, something...
I'd never seen before.
I remember asking her what her name was,
and it wasn't until... maybe a week later
that I... I ran into her in town.
I was in the middle of my morning run,
and she appeared once again.
Harry!
Oh, hey! Hello!
Hi!
Guess what?
Hey, Nola!
Hey, hi!
Guess what?
What?
I checked out your book yesterday
out of the library.
Uh-huh?
"The Mirror of Life"?
You're the only "Q" in Fiction,
right between Boris Pasternak and Ayn Rand.
What, no, uh... Pope, no Poe, no Proust?
Well, the collection at the Sommerdale Library
isn't exactly extensive.
Ah... Isn't it exciting?
Yes, uh, very exciting.
It must be wonderful
to be taken seriously as a writer,
to be told your words are worth publishing.
Like you weren't crazy to dream.
Uh, yeah, well, um...
success and fame can be gratifying,
I'll admit that, but...
I don't know, all the other stuff is...
like, the parties and... that stuff's overrated.
I don't believe you.
That's why I came here, you know,
to get away from it all, to find some inspiration.
Well, this is me.
I work here on Saturdays. - Okay.
You should, uh, come by.
Maybe it will inspire you.
Okay.
And I'll sneak you a free plate of fries.
- Possibly. - Okay.
See you, Nola.
And then I...
found myself thinking about her more and more,
just consuming my thoughts.
Mm-hm.
Nola?
Are you okay?
- Yes, yes, yes... - What happened?
Yes, I'm... I'm fine!
Shh... Shh!
Can you help me?
Yes, I'll help you.
Okay, I'll get the... I'll get the broom.
Yeah, I think that... Oh, my gosh.
We shouldn't be laughing!
No, it's fine.
If she finds out, she's gonna fire me.
She's not gonna fire you.
You're, like, the best waitress she's got anyway.
Oh, my goodness, look at this mess.
Well, it's a good thing they come for the burgers
and not the service.
Hmm, although, I just wish someone would tell me,
whenever I order just a simple cup of coffee,
I am presented with every, like, condiment
known to mankind.
That's because it has been decreed
by the mistress of the inn.
Who?
Mrs. Quinn.
Mrs. Quinn?
As you will have noticed, ladies,
for the past week,
the famous New York writer, Mr. Harry Quebert,
has been coming here every day, which means
he sees in our restaurant
the standards of quality and refinement
found in the best establishments on the East Coast.
Now, I have written a memo
to remind you of how Mr. Quebert should be treated.
Read it, reread it, and learn it by heart.
"Do not disturb Mr. Quebert"
because he needs calm and... concentration.
His previous visits to Clark's
indicate that he always orders black coffee.
Serve him coffee when he arrives,
"and nothing else..."
Do not bother Mr. Quebert by suggesting he order food.
However, serve him all the condiments we have,
so should he be inclined to order,
he won't have to ask for them.
You see, famous writers should not have to ask
for what they want.
Their minds must be free to create.
"It is possible"
that what he's writing will become a masterpiece,
"and Clark's will be known all over the country!"
Is this one of the best restaurants?
Yes, Mrs. Quinn.
Yes, Mom.
And don't call me "Mom," okay?
It's not a country inn.
Good.
Now, I want to see you all acting servile.
And smile.
Ah. Beautiful.
Let's do a trial run.
I will play the esteemed Mr. Quebert.
Come on!
In Sommerdale, I was some sort of celebrity.
In New York, I was just a high school teacher
who wrote a good first book in his spare time,
but people in town assumed I was successful
because of the way I acted and where I lived.
Hey!
Not everyone was fooled, though... Hey, Ernie!
What do you do in New York, actually?
For a living, I mean?
Well, I'm a writer.
Uh... Well, don't take this the wrong way, Harry,
but, uh, I contacted the publisher,
the one who put out your book.
The one you gave me, "The Mirror of Life."
I-I wanted to order extra copies for the library.
I hadn't heard of this publisher before, but...
then I discovered that it was actually a...
a print shop in Brooklyn.
You paid a print shop to publish your book.
Now you know the truth.
I'm a... complete impostor.
No, not complete.
I... I really liked the book.
That's why I wanted to order extra copies.
And, uh... anyway, who knows?
Maybe the book you're writing now
will be a masterpiece.
What if I don't write it?
Aw, you will. I know you will.
And don't worry, I, uh,
I won't tell a soul about my discovery.
On one condition.
Uh... I want, uh...
you to, uh, put my name on the last page of your book,
as a "thank you," y-you know how writers do?
Mm-hm.
And, uh... I want to be the first one mentioned,
in big letters.
I think it would make my wife proud
to see that I contributed to the success
of a literary masterpiece.
Okay.
You have yourself a deal.
I wanted to tell Nola the whole truth,
but vanity got the better of me.
Then, when "The Origin of Evil" was published,
I'd go all over the world, you know?
I'd always look for her,
hoping she'd be somewhere in the crowd.
I still... hoped, up until the day they...
they discovered her body in the yard.
In the yard... Do you know anyone
who would have any reason to hurt her?
Hands up, hands up, come on.
That's good.
Oh, buddy! Buddy!
Your footwork's getting way better, bud.
Way better, okay?
You just gotta work on your defense now, all right?
Keep the, uh, keep the paws up. Keep 'em up...
Oh, you're bleeding. That's a bleeder.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Okay, just, uh, keep your head back.
Just gotta pinch it, okay?
You got it, buddy. You're good.
You're good, big dog.
Thanks, buddy. Pinch it!
You wanna pinch it, okay?
And watch the door.
He's good, he's learning.
Mind if I work in?
No, go for it.
Thanks, bud.
Goldman, you, uh...
you teaching boxing now, huh?
Professor Quebert!
I didn't know you were into boxing.
Well, a little bit, you know.
Yeah.
Gotta stay in shape.
Right. You know, Hemingway boxed.
Yeah. Yeah, a little bit.
You wanna... you wanna go a couple rounds?
Uh, yeah.
Just a little bit, just to get some cardio.
Yeah, yeah, sure, why not?
Here, after you.
Ah, thank you, Professor.
Okay, a couple rounds, maybe three rounds?
This is a little bit weird.
I've never... I've never hit a teacher before.
I mean, I've wanted to...
Come on, now's your opportunity, come on.
I've wanted to, but... Yeah... Come on.
This is fun. I forgot how much fun this is.
All right.
Whoa!
That's good.
You okay?
Yeah?
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Gimme a sec.
You all right?
Yeah.
Wanna get dinner?
We'll go get something to eat.
My friend here would like two New York strip steaks,
one well done, one raw, and make that one to go.
Oh, Reinhartz, when you get a chance?
Dominic Reinhartz?
I remember your short story.
I was impressed.
You have a real original voice.
Come by my office tomorrow around 4:00,
let's discuss it.
Yes, of course.
Thank you, Professor.
My pleasure.
Bourbon and soda for you, right, Goldman?
Uh, yeah. Yeah.
I, uh... I thought we were here
to talk about the story that I wrote.
Oh, you have talent, Goldman.
It's... it's clear you have a gift.
It is such a relief
to hear you say that, Professor. Thank you.
But your story was a piece of shit.
Sloppy, superficial,
the work of a pretentious blowhard
in love with the sound of his own juvenile voice.
Cheers.
Um... Do you know why the college magazine
ran your stories in the back?
No?
Because that's where they belong.
And Reinhartz's were up front
because that's where they deserved to be.
So you should have used that
as motivation to work harder,
but it was much easier for you
to do your little blowjob play,
which had more to do with your marketing skills
than the quality of your work.
But that's been your modus operandi
your entire life, hasn't it? Excuse me,
all due respect, Professor, but you don't know me.
Oh, really?
"Marcus the Magnificent."
The boy, the genius, the legend.
That's their name, okay? Not mine.
I'm willing to bet
the only reason you came to Burrows in the first place,
and not one of those Ivy League schools,
is because you didn't have the balls
to measure yourself against real competition.
You're a phony.
A fake.
Thank you for your time, Professor,
and your, uh, constructive criticism.
Mm-hm.
Here you go.
What is this?
Gold Boxing Gym?
Mm-hm.
It's real fighting every Thursday night.
It's open to the public.
If you want to become a writer,
you gotta get knocked on your ass a couple times
and see if you have the courage to stand back up.
Thank you very much for the beer.
Let's go, come on!
Come on, get up! Get up, come on!
The first thing a writer has to learn is to fall.
The second is how to get back up.
Congratulations.
You pass.
Harry, if I'm going to help you clear your name,
you have to trust me.
Now, your relationship with Nola...
I've told you, Marcus.
It isn't what you think.
Nothing happened.
I did love her,
but I would never do anything to hurt her.
I can't make anyone believe me, but it is the truth.
Harry, who do you trust
that might be able to help us?
Start with Ernie Pinkas, the librarian.
But Marcus, be careful.
It's a small town.
Everyone is going to know you're looking into this.
I gotta close up, but I found some more
that might be worth checking before you go.
Thanks.
Uh... Okay, according to police reports,
screaming could be heard
coming from the Kellergan house
the day the girl disappeared.
However, uh, testimony from neighbors suggests
that the noise was actually music
being played at high volume by her father,
as was his habit.
He still does it.
The Reverend always cranks up the volume
to drown out the sound of his working in the garage.
Maintains that good music is always preferable
to the sound of his hammering,
even if it is too loud.
Right.
Reverend David Kellergan confirmed
that he was home at the time,
working on his motorcycle,
and didn't notice anything amiss until later that evening
when he went into his daughter's bedroom
and found her gone.
Even if she'd called out for help,
he wouldn't have heard her.
The music was too loud.
He's, uh, always blamed himself for that.
Ready?
Mm-hm.
You should probably talk to Mrs. Quinn, too.
Mrs. Quinn?
Yeah, Jenny's mother.
The former owner of Clark's?
Just yesterday, she was ranting and raving...
I knew Harry Quebert was obsessed
with that poor girl,
and I had proof, irrefutable proof, but someone...
someone stole it.
What kind of proof? No idea.
But she is given to, uh, inflating the truth.
Have you heard from Harry?
Yeah, I'm going to see him again tomorrow, actually.
Say hello to him for me, will you?
Yeah, will do.
You know, I-I used to work at a textile factory
in Augusta.
Uh-huh.
I never went to college, but I always loved to read.
Harry let me take literature classes at Burrows
for free.
Oh, right on.
Well, yeah, you should, uh, you should go see him.
He'd like that.
Thanks for everything.
She was 15 years old, Marcus.
Just a kid.
He didn't kill her, Ernie.
Even so, the stuff he wrote in that book...
It was a work of art.
You know, that book is a masterpiece.
Maybe.
Or maybe it was the devil's work.
Either way, it's no longer in this library.
Guess who just saved your ass?
I got Barnaski to back off.
He's agreed to tear up your contract.
Yeah? In exchange for what?
All you have to do
is write a book about the Harry Quebert affair.
Bye, Doug.
No, no, Barnaski thinks it'll be huge, okay?
Harry's arrest is all anyone's talking about.
Yeah, I'm not going to exploit Harry's troubles
for my own personal gain, okay?
Or yours.
Marcus, if you don't say yes,
he's gonna clean you out, okay?
Your contract expires in 13 days...
Hang on, hang on, hang on.
Promise me that you'll at least think about it.
Okay, wait a second, wait a second.
Yeah, I thought about it. Bye, Doug.
Marcus...
So, this is where they found Nola's body.
Um, it's very easy access from the house,
but it's well hidden behind these trees and bushes.
It's also right in front of the ocean,
with no fence protecting the property,
so anyone could've just come up from the beach...
Oh, shit!
What the hell are you doing here?
Hi, hi. I'm just, um...
I'm, uh, I'm staying in the property, okay?
I'm a friend of the owner's.
I'm a... I'm a writer.
My name is Marcus Goldman.
Well, if you're a writer, you should be writing, right?
You're a cop?
Sergeant Perry Gahalowood,
Maine State Police Investigative Services Bureau.
You scared the shit out of me.
This is a crime scene, sir. You need to leave.
Sorry, man, I thought you were, like, a...
like a... a criminal, a bad guy, sorry.
Why, 'cause I'm black?
No, because you're trespassing.
Uh-huh.
The, uh, Maine State Police issue that tie?
No, my daughter gave me this tie.
Hmm.
You know what? Get out of here.
Off the property... No, no, no, I'm sorry... Now.
Excuse me, I'm a friend of Mr. Quebert's,
and he asked me to look after the house for him, okay?
Listen...
Mr. Quebert is accused of a double homicide,
all right?
His house has been searched and sealed.
You're being evicted, sir...
No, excuse me, there are no seals on the house, okay?
And no seals means access is not prohibited.
I'm sorry,
I have permission from the owner to be here...
And according to Maine State statutes,
you're required to give him 30 days' notice
before you can evict, okay?
You know,
I would have never thought some hack writer
afraid to get mud on his fancy shoes
would want to come here and squat.
Uh-huh.
Well, uh, maybe you should think a little bit more,
even if that is difficult for a policeman.
And, um... you know, these are Tod's loafers.
Oh, Tod's loafers?
Yeah, and if you knew how much they cost, sir,
you wouldn't want to get mud on them either.
'Kay?
Well, how about this,
if you cross any more police tape
and infiltrate a crime scene again,
you'll be sitting in a cell.
Right.
Just you and your fancy fuckin' Tod's.
Well, um, see, the thing is, Sergeant,
I'm actually, uh,
conducting my own investigation, so...
Oh, your own investigation?
Well, the good citizens of Sommerdale
can sleep in peace now, huh?
Now that you're on the job.
Oh, and by the way,
you owe me $15 for that book of yours.
Holy shit, that was terrible.
Just like 300 pages of turd.
Just fuck off, Sergeant, okay?
Oh, shit!
Oh!
Oh...
Now, that's some good investigating, man.
Very thorough.
Hey, let us know if we missed anything, all right?
Hey! You... Wait!
Excuse... Sergeant!
Wait! Hey!
Just because he wrote a book about Nola,
it doesn't mean he killed her, okay?
We found the girl's corpse in his yard
buried with the manuscript of his book.
Hey, add that to the black Monte Carlo,
and, uh... well, you do the math, Inspector.
Black Monte Carlo?
Yeah, the one they saw leaving the crime scene.
What about it?
It's the same make and model your friend drove.
Harry didn't kill that girl, Travis, I know it.
Because he's your friend?
Because there's someone out there
who doesn't want me to figure out who did.
I, um... I found that in Harry's front door.
This is serious, Marcus.
You should've handed this over to Gahalowood.
Okay, I'm gonna register a complaint
in order to open a file,
but I want you to call me if you see anything suspicious.
It doesn't matter how small or trivial.
Okay, I will. Thanks.
Okay, uh, thank you.
Listen, I know you're busy, but... do you think
you could show me the crime scene?
Look, if you want,
I can take you to the spot where it happened, yeah,
just to see.
Yeah.
Yeah, I'd like that.
Not only did Travis agree
to take me to the crime scene,
he took me back 33 years,
to when he was just a young cop in Sommerdale.
A few miles past Goose Cove,
we arrived at Deborah Cooper's,
at the edge of Side Creek Forest,
the spot Nola was last seen.
Hasn't changed all that much.
When I got here,
Deborah Cooper was standing in front of that door.
Hmm.
I told her to calm down,
go back inside, not to worry.
Who lives here now?
A couple from Boston, they come for the summer.
Follow you through here?
Yeah, yeah, back through here.
It was, uh, it was getting dark
by the time Chief Pratt and I got here.
And whatever happened to Chief Pratt?
Oh, he retired.
He still lives in Sommerdale,
up on Mountain Drive, you know.
It was here.
I was only a year into the job back then.
It was along the path that led to the beach.
This is where we found the... The blood and hair
and pieces of fabric from what she was wearing...
and we figured
that Nola must have escaped her attacker,
and ran back to Mrs. Cooper's house for help.
But it was too late.
Deborah Cooper was shot and killed right here.
Then, he dragged Nola to his car...
and that's where the trail of blood stopped.
And the car?
Well, there was a chase.
We set up roadblocks all over the area, but...
...he lost us.
He must've known the back roads,
been familiar with the area.
Not a day goes by without me thinking
how things might have been different
if we'd just caught that goddamn Monte Carlo.
Maybe we could've saved the girl.
You're convinced it was Harry who was driving that car?
Well, yeah, now.
Back then, his alibi checked out, but...
given recent events,
I don't see who else it could've been.
Sorry, Marcus.
Yeah.
Chief Pratt will be right out.
You're in for a treat.
This is my grandmother's recipe.
The secret's the maple syrup.
Oh, go easy on that stuff.
That's what gave me diabetes.
Huh?
Now... what can I do for you, Mr. Goldman?
He's that nice young man
that wrote that naughty bestseller,
Harry Quebert's protÃ©gÃ©.
Oh... You're awfully young
to know so much about the female anatomy.
Oh, thank you, um... Pot your flowers.
Maggie, pot.
I was, um... I was wondering,
did you have any other reason at the time
for suspecting Harry,
other than his owning a black Monte Carlo?
Not enough to arrest him...
But the day after Nola disappeared,
when I saw him at the roadblock,
he was acting awfully strange.
Good morning, Chief.
Hey, Harry.
I just heard the news on the radio.
What's going on?
Ah, we don't know anything yet.
She was last seen near Side Creek Lane last night.
Since then, no trace of her.
I mean, we've... we've secured the whole area.
We're gonna search the forest, but...
whatever happened, it isn't good.
Yeah.
Where are you coming from, Harry?
Um, Boston... uh, for my book.
Boston's, uh, in the opposite direction.
Yeah, I know.
I had to go to Augusta after.
Mind if we take a look in your trunk?
No.
Um... here, it's, uh, this round key... I got it.
All right, Harry.
Hey, uh, you know, you hear anything,
you see anything, think of anything,
you let me know, okay?
Yes. I will.
All right. Hey, good luck with the book.
Yeah, thank you.
We spent months just chasing our own tails,
following leads that went nowhere,
when the proof was right here under our noses.
What about you, Mr. Goldman?
Anything Quebert might have said or done in the past
that now seems suspect?
Room 8 at 8:00, then away forever.
"Burn it all.
I'm in danger."
Uh, no.
No, nothing comes to mind.
You sure you wanna stay here?
Uh, no. No, actually...
this might sound a little strange,
but I'd like to know if someone slept here in room 8
on August 30th, 1975?
Let me guess,
your mom had an affair around the time you were born,
and you wanna know who your real dad is?
Uh, no.
No, I was unmistakably planned.
I'm just checking out a story.
Oh, sorry, man.
We can only go back two years.
Theoretically, of course.
I couldn't reveal that type of information
without a warrant, or, uh...
Gotcha.
Thanks anyway.
Hey, man, why do you call this place
the "By the Sea" motel?
I mean, there isn't even a view.
No, but the path through the forest
goes to the beach.
Roy, can I call you back?
I'm right in the middle of something.
Well, drop whatever it is you're doing
and gather ye rosebuds,
which I am flinging at your feet.
Look, talk quick, Roy, okay?
You're draining my battery.
All right, all right, listen.
We're gonna put your book out in the fall.
That means you have one and a half months
to finish it.
I'm sorry, a month and a half?
That's... that's... that's insane, Roy.
It took me... it took me years to write my first book.
I don't... I don't even know what I'd write.
Well, which is why I have gone to the trouble
of supplying you with five adorable ghostwriters
who I'm sure are going to capture your voice
beautifully.
Hey, no, Roy.
Marcus, come on.
We're trying to write a bestseller, right? Okay?
All I need is some facts and some suspense,
and some titillating details
about the old man and the little girl.
Look, hey, it wasn't like that, okay?
None of that... none of that means shit to me, okay?
This is what I told your agent.
You do this for me, right,
I will rip up your old contract.
I will give you an advance of $1,000,000.
It's not gonna happen, Roy.
Okay? No. No ghostwriters.
No sleaze. No sex.
Hi.
No made-up scenes about sleaze and sex.
No book, okay?
In that case, the old contract stands,
and I expect a manuscript from you in 11 days.
Oh, my God...
When they called me,
they said, "Perry, you better come downstairs",
there's a guy here
"who's been waiting for you for an hour."
Yeah... So I interrupt my meal,
rush down here to see what the damn emergency is,
and who do I find?
Sherlock... Shithead.
Whoa, whoa, okay, okay, look, you know what,
I think maybe that we, uh,
we got off on the wrong foot, but, uh...
Your face on the back cover of that damn book of yours
has been smiling out from my wife's nightstand
for weeks.
You've slept with us, had dinner with us,
been on vacation with us.
You have fucking ruined my life.
Well, frankly, Sergeant,
I'm shocked you actually found a woman
willing to spend her life with you, so congrat...
Asshole...
I didn't say you could come in.
What in God's name do you want?
Information, Sergeant.
I have a pathological need to know everything.
I inherited it from my mother... Don't touch that.
I wanna know if Nola Kellergan was abducted and killed
at the same time.
Yes.
The bone scan confirmed it.
What about the autopsy?
Can you give me any more details?
You want details?
Here's what I can tell you.
Her skull was smashed.
Crushed.
Flattened.
I mean, feel free to pick the appropriate term.
With what?
Inconclusive.
By a man or a woman?
Deborah Cooper identified the suspect
as being a man.
This conversation is now officially over.
Goodbye, writer.
Sergeant?
This case, does it, uh, does it mean anything to you?
You know...
I've seen a lot of crazy shit as a cop.
People up in this corner of the country
do a lot of... disgusting stuff
with wood chippers, and axes, and snow blowers.
Stuff I couldn't even... make up.
But I have two daughters,
and I can't imagine going through
what Mr. Kellergan has gone through.
Yes?
My... my name is Marcus Goldman.
I'm a writer.
Yes?
I was wondering if you had a few minutes?
Okay, Mr. Goldman... what brings you here?
A book?
I'm not entirely sure, Reverend.
Uh... uh, would you be opposed to the idea
of a book about your daughter?
Mmm...
Depends on... what you're writing it for.
If it's to help other parents
avoid the same mistakes I made,
I suppose it could be some sort of...
some sort of penance.
You see, Mr. Goldman,
I didn't watch out for my daughter properly,
and that's the...
I always held out hope... even after all this time,
that... someday she'd come home to me.
I even kept her room
the exact same way as the day she went missing.
Nobody comes in here anymore,
just the maid doing a little dusting
every now and then.
I read you were in the garage
the evening she disappeared?
Working on that damn Harley.
I will be forever.
Trying to repair the unrepairable.
I'm so sorry for your loss, Reverend.
God... gives us trials
and tests our faith in Him every single day, Mr. Goldman.
Sometimes we pass 'em...
Sometimes we fail.
The bag that she was buried with,
is that all that was missing?
No clothes, nothing else?
Not even her tip money.
There's still $120 here.
Well, that doesn't make much sense, does it,
if she was running away?
Why would she be running away?
How well did you know Harry Quebert?
Hardly at all.
I met him a few times.
Really?
Even though you've lived in the same town
for more than 30 years, you never...?
I've kept to myself, Mr. Goldman,
since my wife passed many years ago.
So you weren't aware of their relationship at all?
She was 15 years old... Mr. Goldman.
There's a special place in Hell
for that demon Son of Lucifer preying...
on my little girl.
Oh, God... Get out!
Please, just go now.
Okay.
What the fuck?
Hey! Hey!
Wait!
Hey! Hey!