This is Radio Cannes, live, locked, and loaded.
Rumor has it the alleged bachelor Leo Duval
is in town for his 30th birthday bash.
But only the crème de la crme are invited.
Here is a little birthday song for Leo...
Motherfucker!
Come on.
Fucker.
Come on, baby.
What the hell?
Son of a bitch!
Camybear?
Where is Geneviève?
You have to settle for me this time.
I threatened to break her arm.
She reluctantly agreed.
Dad, why won't you see me?
How's Margaux?
I'm not here for a cozy catch-up chitchat, Dad.
And I guess Leblanc wasn't either.
You've been blackmailed to change your plea.
To protect Margaux and I? That's it?
I don't know what you're talking about--
Don't.
Isn't all this, the case, the sentence,
humiliating enough?
And I have to live with that.
No, Dad. We do.
Margaux and I.
After everything we've been through.
And now you get sent down for crimes you didn't commit!
Camille, listen to me.
I'm the only one who knows what's going on,
one of two people, actually,
who knows about you being blackmailed by Julien Boire.
Who is this other person?
Dad, stop, I'm begging you.
Tell me what's going on.
Who did you upset? Criminals?
The mob? Politicians? Who?
Okay, this isn't nothing.
Someone tried to drive me off the road.
So whatever deal you made didn't work.
They're still coming for me.
They're still coming...
for both of us.
You need to leave it alone.
Dad? You can't be serious.
Maybe your boss was right.
Maybe you need a break.
Guard!
Dad!
I won't give up.
His name is Leo Duval.
The Duval family owns the majority
of Belgian arms manufacturers and the conglomerate Gryphon.
- Arms dealers. - Aviation and aeronautic.
But still one of the biggest arms companies in Europe.
We're homicide, not babysitting.
Duval's security detail has informed us
there's been a threat on his life.
Oh, a death threat on a rich brat.
As in hired assassin.
Duvals are trying to keep this low-profile.
Then call us when the brat's keeled over.
Camille.
Ever heard of teamwork, Lieutenant?
Teamwork's overrated, if you ask me.
It requires trust.
I'm ordering you two to be there.
You're on the guest list.
You're going to do background checks on every guest,
every staff member and caterer of the hotel.
You screw this up, it'll screw up your careers.
Is that clear?
- Crystal. - Crystal.
So go.
Maybe your boss was right.
You need to leave it alone.
Hello.
Double espresso, black.
As usual?
- Yeah, thanks. - Sure.
Did you know that coffee originated in Ethiopia,
where a goatherd noticed that a particular bean
made his goats all jittery.
Curious by nature, he decided to try the bean.
Not now.
Did you see him?
They got to him. He won't budge.
Padel accident?
Someone tried to run me off the road.
Same car as the other night.
Boire?
That means he's on to you.
And that means he's more likely to a make mistake.
Also mean that he wants to kill me.
Mmm.
Thanks, honey.
Question is, who does Boire works for?
What have you discovered?
You've had copies of everything I have.
So the three gangsters that gave testimony against your father,
let's call them the Three Stooges for fun.
There must be a logical connection between them.
Maybe your father arrested them all at some point.
Already checked, nothing.
Alright, so remember our goatherd?
Well, he had a friend, the abbot at the local monastery,
who decided to distill and brew this bean into a drink
to keep him awake during evening prayers.
Coffee then disseminated throughout the whole world.
And it was the British who were responsible
for turning the Americans into coffee drinkers
when the people of Boston,
so outraged at the high taxation of their favorite beverage,
dumped the whole shipment into the harbor
at the eponymous Tea Party that you've no doubt heard of,
and the Americans chose coffee.
Is there a point to a history lesson?
There is always a connection.
We just haven't found it yet.
You two simply can't get enough of each other?
We need to get to the Majestic.
Oh, yeah. Huge party, VIPs only.
Sorry. That means you can't come.
Can you be quiet, Sherlock?
I don't trust this guy.
Don't mind him. It's okay.
We need background checks on Duval and his guests attending.
Interpol intelligence suggests
the hit man could be one known as "Nightshade."
Atropa belladonna. Deadly.
You a botanist now?
The Nightshade supposedly disappeared 15 years ago.
Hasn't been seen or heard of since.
Vanished without a trace. Poof. Gone.
- Some say dead. - So what do you think?
Would a ghost come out of retirement
for a hit on a rich douchebag bachelor?
- Le Majestic, right? - LéA: Yep.
Let's go. It's on him.
Pleasure, as always.
Guess who.
Yeah, of course it's me.
Oh, you know, keeping my head above water.
What have you heard recently about a Nightshade?
You need my botany skills.
Of course you are here.
What more do you know about the Nightshade?
The plant or the assassin?
Guess.
Well, it's a toxic, perennial, herbaceous plant
- from the same family as... - The other one, smartass.
I know. It was a joke.
No one knows who he or she is.
The Nightshade is supremely versatile,
happy to kill long range with a sniper rifle
or a bit of a poisoning
or even from close range with a silencer.
But the one constant is the memento,
which is always a skull-shaped pendant.
- A skull pendant? - I know.
- Really? - Yeah. Yeah.
Why do all killers suffer from vanity?
I'll let you know when I find him.
Or her.
It could be a "her."
Oh, surely you know, Camille,
the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
If crossed, for sure.
You have an irritating knack of popping up all over the place.
We, that is police, has it covered.
Guys, keep an eye on...
Blondie here.
Do not let him in.
- Oh, yeah, don't-- - Sorry, can't stay here.
No, I know. I'm going. Bye.
See ya.
Oh, Jesus, I need a break.
I'll head up to the swimming pool.
Leo, Leo, they need more time to get everything ready.
You know what? Bring me a bottle of Cristal.
Excuse me? - Yeah, ice-cold.
What the hell is going on with him today?
Ahh, siblings. You gotta love them.
All that anxious attachment,
a giddy blend of love and rivalry laced with a bit
- of hatred of guilt. - Why are you still here?
You see, there's one tiny detail that I forgot to mention.
The Nightshade has never failed to complete a contract.
- Ah, Serge. How are you? - Hello.
I have a reservation. Delmasse.
Sure, I'll have a look. So, Delmasse.
Listen, my friend, you see the young woman over there?
I don't suppose you can do me a favor.
Uh, yes, there's a problem.
We had to let your room to another guest.
Excuse me? I had a booking.
It would appear not. The hotel is fully booked.
I don't care. I have a reservation.
- Not to worry. - Thank you.
I'm sorry, but there are no rooms.
Get me your manager.
Hi.
Francine, you have to find her a room right now.
Okay, it would seem a room has become available
at short notice.
- It's complimentary. - Thank you, uh, Francine.
- Enjoy your stay. - Thank you.
You're welcome.
What?
After you.
The honeymoon suite?!
- We needed a room. - We?!
Tell me, how many other women
have you conned into the honeymoon suite?
- What, I-- - No, no, no, no, no.
You know what? I really don't care.
Just remember one thing. I carry a gun. Legally.
Well, uh, speaking of guns, I suppose that's where
your millionaire bachelor-cum-arms dealer
is staying.
Come on, you really think there is a threat?
You ever wondered why the arms world
is called the Shadow World?
After you.
Oh, God!
You're welcome.
You see, I was raised to value certain traditions.
What are you doing? Put me down now.
Put me down!
Ta-da!
Hey, man, if you want to get out of here, put me down now.
- Alright, suit yourself. - No, no, no!
Did your mother ever tell you how annoying you are?
Now, now, there's no need to get too personal.
Oh, please, just go.
As you wish, my lady.
Ahh! Look at that.
Takes your breath away, doesn't it?
Yeah.
View from the roof of the town library's better.
Ah, the venue for Leo Duval's party, no doubt.
How much space does the guy need?
Well, to be exact, 150 square meters.
Just enough room for a bunch of self-respecting VIPs
to cut a rug under the stars.
Although, it's a little bit too exposed
to snipers for my liking.
Léa, I'm staring at the top floor.
Duval's terrace is way too open.
I have a bad feeling about this.
We need to dig a little deeper into the Duval enterprises.
Competitors, deals being made, contracts.
Already on it.
Leo is getting the majority of company shares
when he's turning 30.
He will be the new CEO.
Their new contracts are worth billions,
according to the press.
Mm. Maybe somebody wants to interfere?
He's going to be a sitting duck out on that terrace.
We're checking every guest in the hotel--
who they are, where they're from,
how long they've been here.
Will send it over ASAP.
So, how's the Majestic?
Well, you know--
Camille?
What? A little refreshment?
- Glass of bubbles? - LéA: Camille?
Can't you see I'm working?
So am I.
Is that Harry?
Yes. No. Well, he got us a room.
Us? No, not in that way.
You know, there was a mix-up, some trouble with the booking.
- It's a long story. - Why is he still here?
Here's your champagne, darling.
- You're drinking champagne? - No, he opened it.
I'm not-- I'm not--
Look, focus. Okay?
Bring me that list, and I'll call you later.
Yes, Lieutenant. And--
Nothing. I'll check in later.
What? We're honeymooning.
Okay, albeit undercover, but I think we should at least
play our parts, don't you, darling?
Hm. You know, people talk real funny without their teeth.
I've got something that might cheer you up.
It's about your father's case.
Come over here.
You remember those three stooges I was talking about?
Well, I checked into their financials
to see if there was any crossover.
I've already done it. There isn't.
Correct... ish.
Fact is that the very day that they all testified,
the exact same payment was made into three numbered accounts.
Now, these accounts aren't identical,
but they are sequential.
Numbers 80549906, 07, 08.
Now, that's the thing about numbered accounts.
If an individual opens three accounts
on behalf of three other individuals,
they're more than likely to be sequential,
accounts one, two, and three.
Bet you didn't spot that, now, did you?
No, I'm not massively familiar
with offshore accounts, you know.
Okay, so let me educate you.
The correct name is actually numbered accounts.
Offshore accounts just means they're offshore.
Numbered accounts means you can't be tr--
It doesn't matter.
Point is, my educated guess
is that these three accounts were opened by the same person,
the same person who's paying Julien Boire.
Hm.
Sorry?
I'll ask Léa to check.
Do.
Now back to our friend Leo Duval.
Who had it in for Leo?
Hm.
And who would gain if Leo's not the new CEO?
Sibling rivalry?
The sister's not exactly his biggest fan.
Or a business competitor?
Or a nation state terrified that its enemy
might purchase Leo's firecrackers
and find them directly aimed down their throats.
In that case, it's something for the DGSE, not us.
You mean the local babysitters? Come on.
I'm going to talk to him.
Need a translator who's fluent in rich douchebag?
Oh, no. Enjoy your bubbly, darling.
I will, darling.
Lieutenant Delmasse, Cannes PD.
I'm here to see Mr. Duval.
I'll be needing that back.
Follow me?
Fuck's sake, you do as I say, or you're fired, okay?
Call you back.
Leo Duval, right?
I'm Lieutenant Delmasse.
If it's any consolation, I hated my 30th, too.
What can I do for you, Lieutenant Delmasse?
I have to be honest,
have you any idea of anyone who would want to--
To what? Kill me?
Oh, let's see.
Um, yeah, there's my first nanny,
my cousin Charles, my beloved sister.
Oh, and let's not forget my dear mama and papa.
- I'm serious. - So am I.
All of this is just for show.
Just an illusion to make us believe I'm safe.
Something to ease my parents' conscience.
You don't seem very concerned.
Well, I guess I'm tired of being scared.
Would you follow me?
Tomorrow you will be the major shareholder
of a billion-dollar corporation.
Yeah, peddling guns all over the world?
I didn't say that.
No, you didn't.
But everybody thinks it.
Well, I wouldn't recommend
holding your party out in the open, hmm?
Lieutenant, listen, it's just a small dinner party
with a couple of close friends.
We're holding it inside.
Feel free to join us.
We'll all feel much safer with you here.
Hm. What happened to your leg?
I ran off the road on a motorcycle when I was young.
Young and stupid.
I'm sorry. I have to take this.
Sure.
Promise me you'll keep your head down.
Roger that, Lieutenant.
Yes, Léa.
Listen up, top floor,
two doors down from Duval.
Okay.
LéA: There is one suspicious guest.
He checked in as Hillary St. John.
Only problem, there's no such person.
He's in his 60s.
Age fits. Could he be the Nightshade?
- LéA: Might be. - Thank you.
LéA: There's only one way to find out.
Okay. I'll go and have a word with him.
LéA: Keep on going. Talk to you later.
Léa, thought any more about the promotion?
I have, yes.
And?
And...
I'd like to accept.
But I can't.
So...
my answer is no.
Let's hope you don't regret that.
Some offers only come once.
Don't let your girl-crush get in the way of a good career.
Ah, there you are, darling.
You've been gone an awfully long time.
Should I be worried?
I've been working.
Oh, look, even the soup's a threat.
That's paranoia for you.
So, what did Duval say?
What's that?
What? Leo's dead?
- Oh, no, not yet. - Oh, God.
But now we know he's here.
Or she. Could be a she.
Hillary St. John?
I'm sorry. I think you'll have to take the next one.
Wait, wait!
Oh, no. Wait. Wait.
Aah!
You mean the Nightshade?
A guest who checked in under a false name.
He stopped at the fourth floor.
Wait. Hold up.
Are you going to run all the way down to the lobby?
I missed cardio today.
No, I think you're in great shape.
Wait!
I don't think you need any more cardio.
Merde! He's going down again.
Of course he is.
Either he got out or someone got in.
And you really think he's your assassin?
Age fits.
Okay.
You know, he could just be a guest traveling incognito.
Maybe he's a friend of yours?
Good Lord!
What is going on?
Monsieur Travert, I'm with the police.
Do you know this man?
Okay.
Better get the guests out of here.
Okay.
Camille, wait. Wait!
Security! Security!
Fourth floor, he's gotta be here somewhere.
Or she. Could be a she.
And what if he wasn't the intended target?
Maybe-- Maybe it was Duval
and he was delayed by your line of questioning?
You told me the Nightshade never makes mistakes.
Since when have you ever listened to what I said?
But honestly, there's-- there's hope for you yet.
- Aah! God Almighty! - Whoa.
Put the gun down, darling.
Damn it, we lost him.
It's Francine, isn't it?
Please, you'll have to excuse my friend.
She's a little on edge.
She didn't get her cardio this morning.
Are you okay?
You sure? Okay.
Terribly sorry, so sorry.
Léa, you have to come down here.
Bring Ramz.
We have a dead body.
What can you tell us, Ramz?
Single bullet to the middle of the forehead, close range.
Elevator stopped, killer got in.
Although no trace of anyone on the CCTV,
- according to hotel security. - Okay.
The Nightshade's signature card.
Better check it for prints and DNA.
The Nightshade?
I mean, that's-- that's legendary.
Why kill this St. John, a guest hiding behind a fake name?
He wasn't on the guest list. I checked.
Anything on the gun?
Probably Ruger Mark II pistol, complete with silencer,
the Nightshade trademark, used in "Assassins," 1995.
Stallone and Banderas are young hit men
out to kill an old retired hit man.
Story by the Wachowskis, you know,
before the red pill and the blue pill.
So basically about two hit men out to kill each other?
Sometimes I think taking the blue pill would've been better.
Agreed. Ignorance is bliss.
I'll send the bullet over to ballistics.
Yeah. Do that.
Okay.
LéA: Camille!
Cam!
You have to talk to me. What's going on?
Not now, Léa.
I'll tell you everything, but just not now.
Fine.
I'll check Hillary St. John's dental records.
Okay.
Thank you.
No! No!
I love you!
No!
Good afternoon, sir.
Hi. I'm alright.
Actually, no, Black Rose, easy on the bitters,
heavy on the cognac, yeah?
Of course, sir.
Here's your drink, sir.
Put it on my room.
The honeymoon suite.
Ah!
How goes the wandering detective?
I would buy you a drink,
but I know how seriously you take your work.
So, um... cheers!
Cheers.
Why would somebody kill the old man in the elevator?
Well, at least we know he wasn't Nightshade.
And that means the Nightshade might still be here.
Yeah, that is a sobering thought.
More bad news?
From my sister.
A complete mess.
I can't deal with it right now.
Oh, as an only child, I can only imagine.
She is something else, your sister.
She-- She is-- She is so different from you.
So much more--
Um, how-- how-- how do I even put it?
More-- More-- More--
More Cannes.
You done?
Don't you ever speak to me about me, my sister, or Cannes.
You know nothing about any of them.
You're just like the rest, a tourist!
Outsiders, visitors, parasites.
None of you belong.
None of you are my people.
None of you are from here.
I was born here.
I went to school here.
I had my first kiss here.
My first heartbreak.
- And I'll die here. - I'm sorry if I--
- No, shut it. - Okay.
These streets, these people, this city made me.
Is me.
I'm not a criminal, a fashionista,
a movie star, or anything else.
Cut me and I bleed Cannes.
We lend the likes of you our city, our heritage.
You don't deserve it.
And when you and the rest of them have long gone,
I'll still be here.
We'll still be here.
And we'll be just fine.
So, where did you say you were from again?
Oh, come on.
Finally, there you are.
Not a word.
Well...
We have a positive ID on St. John.
Dental records identified him as Roger Thompson, former MI6.
What? Why was he here?
Well, maybe he was hired as part of Duval's security team.
My thought exactly, but no.
I looked him up. He's a writer.
Old criminal cases. Guess about what.
The Nightshade.
You got to be kidding me.
Ramzy, talk to me.
So the DNA report came back.
No match in any files, but it's a woman's DNA.
A woman assassin?
- Yeah. - Okay. Thank you.
What did I say about the female of the species?
So, honeymoon?
Yeah, we are still waiting for the hors d'oeuvre.
Can you please hurry up? Everyone is already here.
Okay? Yeah, bye, sure.
Leo, your guests are waiting for you.
Hey, Tessy. Uh-huh?
I'm sorry for being such a pain.
It's just that--
What? What's wrong?
Nothing's wrong.
It's just that I don't think I can
or want to handle all of this by myself.
Most importantly, I really feel like this business
could use a feminine touch.
What are you saying?
I think I'm saying I want you to be my co-CEO.
Hey, you don't have to give me an answer right now.
Come, let's meet our guests.
Please.
My dear friends!
What a sight for sore eyes.
Triple-checking everything!
And Nina is fuming. I can't just sit here.
The assassin might already be at the dinner party.
Either as a guest or staff.
She's using different MOs, just like you said.
Come on, let's go.
It's a party, Detective. There's a certain dress code.
I find life's a lot more fun
when you pay attention to the little details.
Serge provided me with this.
I believe it's your size.
No glass slippers, I'm afraid.
What?
Where's your friend?
Ah, here he is.
Shall we?
Yeah.
Okay, speech time.
My dear friends.
My father told me,
"Leo, my boy, don't worry about turning 30.
You'll get used to it.
Well, of course, you'll be 40 by then."
Sorry. Sorry. It was funny.
30, yeah? Time to grow up.
Stop fooling around.
To you all, my friends.
Happy birthday!
Never grow up, never grow up.
Cheers.
So, are we gonna have to pat down
every single one of these women and search them for guns?
Because I think Leo would have been your man, actually.
They've already been scanned.
Oh, right. Shame.
Ramz?
Yes, just got the prints.
LéA: Good job.
I'll brief Camille.
Cam, Cam.
Yes.
LéA: Yes, Cam, we have a new suspect.
- Who? - No prints on the pendant,
but Ramz found a print on St. John's wallet,
meaning the killer was careless.
Belonging to?
LéA: Cléo Faucher, ex-military.
AKA Francine Bernard.
The snotty receptionist?
What? Francine?
The Nightshade? No. No.
She's a stagiaire.
What's happened? No problem.
What the fuck?
See what's going on.
Ladies and gentleman, please, stay calm.
That's no accident.
No problem.
Léa, she's close, I can feel it.
Go find her and get her.
Okay.
Seal off all hotel exits! Nobody in or out!
- We have to get you out of here. - No, I'm not going anywhere.
Look, I don't have time to argue, okay?
Lieutenant.
I don't want to be rude, but right now
you're ruining the party.
Camille, protect Duval! I'll find Faucher.
Copy that.
Listen to me. It's dangerous. Stand up.
Fuck!
Everything is under control, okay?
It's ridiculous. I'm not gonna leave my guests.
It doesn't make any sense.
Waitress.
Excuse me, young lady. I can't possibly eat this.
Piss off!
Camille, wait!
There's no need to run, Cléo.
Don't move!
Fuck! Fuck!
Aah! Aah!
Fuck!
I'd say we make a pretty wonderful team.
Shut it.
The thing that bugged us was the killing of Roger Thompson...
...a former MI6 operative.
Turned writer.
Writing about cold cases, unsolved cases, the Nightshade.
Thompson's obsession, really.
We found it in his room.
He believed he had figured it all out,
the identity behind the infamous assassin.
Who hired you?
Nobody. It wasn't a contract.
It was personal, hmm?
I mean, you must have been like 15 years old
when the Nightshade disappeared.
I believe the answer is right here.
"When the Nightshade disappeared
after failing his last assignment,
he left two young daughters behind,
girls who lost their father to a ruthless profession."
Ruthless.
And if you read further,
the last assignment was the head of an arms corporation--
Hugo Duval, Leo's father.
But he is very much alive.
Because your father was betrayed and killed
when he tried to escape.
Why Leo? He didn't shoot your dad.
Me and my sister thought we'd pay our respects
the day Leo inherited the empire.
Take everything from him.
Just like his father did to us.
Motive's clear.
"Unidentified man found brutally executed.
Social services took the daughters."
An eye for an eye.
Very biblical.
Suis-Yola?
LéA: You need some help?
I don't miss the dress.
I felt crammed in, like a sausage.
Speaking of sausages, where's Harry?
Hm? I don't know.
I'm in love with this city.
But now you're leaving it.
I turned it down.
The promotion?
I'm staying.
You know I love this city, too.
See you tomorrow.