You've had it, pal!
Fuck!
What are you doing?
Where you going?
Chris, you OK?
Chris?
Oh shit. You're joking! Fuck!
Superintendent Niémans?
Insp. Moreno. - Can I borrow your phone?
Thanks.
Delaunay. Leave a message.
Camille, it's me. Battery's dead, reach me here.
Can you get the autopsy report from the morgue?
See you back at the station.
And look after for my car. Bye.
Thanks.
How was your journey?
Let's go to the crime scene.
But Supt. Charlier? - He's fine.
It's not just him. - No big deal.
Niémans. Leave a message, I'll call back.
Yes, sir? - What's going on? No Niémans?
Yeah, he's here with me. - Where?
The crime scene. - What? The crime scene?
It's him. He wants to immerse himself.
Immerse himself? - His Highness seems a prick to me.
If I can say that.
Well, tell him to get on with it.
Will do, sir!
Get on with it!
How about a coffee?
Have we ID'd the vehicle type? - No.
They couldn't get tyre prints in the gravel.
But it must've been big, like an SUV.
Alright? Can we go now?
I'm not a fan of bowing and scraping.
Let them stew, bring them down a peg. Nothing personal, OK?
SEND ILLEGALS HOME
Nice place.
All the focus is on the thousand migrants.
There's record unemployment,
families on low pay and no services.
Some folk have had enough
and that's how they're showing it.
This girl's murder won't help.
FORENSICS SERVICE
I didn't expect someone new from Charlier.
I'm not new.
And he didn't send me.
Very well.
If it's your case, I warn you it's unusual.
Unusual cases are my speciality.
So, what have we got?
Young African girl, I can't yet specify her ethnicity.
Identity unknown.
Bone morphology indicates she was about 20.
She's been disembowelled, organs gone.
Heart, liver and genitalia all gone.
Before or after death? - Afterwards.
When did she die?
To be confirmed, but I'd say 30 hours max.
What happened to her?
This was not an expert at work.
A big blade, say a hunting knife,
used by someone unfamiliar with anatomy.
Look at the edges of this wound.
The result is sloppy, you might say.
And this artwork, here?
Samples are in analysis, but it's an earth/lime mix.
Like African tribal designs.
They do seem authentic. - Authentic.
What's this?
You tell me!
Your area, not mine!
It's at the end.
Yep. So?
Come in!
We'd given up waiting.
Always check the weather, then go.
It's good to see you! - You too!
Mr Prosecutor, meet Supt. Niémans
of the Central Homicides Unit. A very old friend.
I gathered. Superintendent. - Mr Prosecutor.
Right, follow me.
Did you read my file? - Yes. I sent someone to the morgue.
Initial indications are that it was a ritual killing.
The staging, forehead scarification...
we'll know more when we get the report.
The equation is simple.
An illegal's mutilated body
plus an ever-growing jungle of migrants
equals a population on the brink of exploding.
Simple sum or not, a solution is another thing entirely.
Like it or not, it's all about the jungle.
I don't care if it's a ritual crime. We need
a culprit fast, before it explodes.
If you just want a perp, why me?
Any other criminal unit would have done.
Nothing leaves the jungle.
No prosecutions, CID won't go in.
So it's a lawless zone? - Officially no, of course.
Truth is only the Serious Crime Squad ever go in
and that's for intelligence, to do with smuggling gangs.
So why investigate?
As the crime took place outside the jungle
and we can't stop rumours.
The different ethnic groups in the jungle are at odds.
The slightest incrimination of one group
and all hell breaks loose.
Who the fuck is there?
No, means nothing to me.
I'm no ritual crime expert, though.
Well, I read up a bit. The MO doesn't seem very coherent.
Moving the body? - Partly.
Plus removing the organs post mortem.
Normally the victim would be alive?
Lt. Delaunay. I work with Supt. Niémans.
Supt. Charlier.
You've met Insp. Moreno.
She leads Serious Crimes and knows the jungle.
Do we have a lead on an ID?
She may be registered in Italy or Spain.
We shared her photo there.
We must ask if migrants knew her.
Yet going in all guns blazing
won't get people to come forward.
I may have a fix.
This will help you blend in.
Crowd control patrol the entrance, but can't go in.
So if things go south, get to them fast.
Don't worry. - It's a jungle, not a war zone.
OK, off you go.
Bye. - Bye.
Hello, gentlemen. - Hello.
This is the jungle. Ten hectares of industrial wasteland.
The multinationals offshore, and we reap the chaos.
It's the great circus of globalisation.
Hey Mapi! Salaam alaykum!
Alaykum salaam.
Mapi? - It's short for Marie-Pierre.
They call me that here.
Official figures say just under 600 migrants,
but the agencies say double that. It fluctuates.
As you can see, they form ethnic groups: Kurds,
Malians, Eritreans.
I don't see any women.
Most stay indoors, for safety mainly.
Lots of assaults? - It happens.
The main worry is prostitution.
No cops come here, so we created a women's centre.
This building here. - Good.
It's for isolated women and children. It's a start,
but lacks the means to help all.
Some women prefer to stay with their husbands and children.
You coming? - Yeah.
THE BORDER KILLS
Camille? It's this way.
Hi Mapi! - Hi!
This is the sorting centre.
I need to see the admission papers of everyone here.
There's no such thing!
You don't register the migrants?
That's where a camp and a jungle differ.
Everyone is illegal here. Under Dublin, asylum must be
applied for in the state of registration.
So, those aiming for England
refuse to be registered. - Good start.
Don't worry. I know a man worth more than papers.
So you were there, but didn't see the body?
We told the other cops 3 times.
Told who?
The other officers.
It works better that way.
I'd like you to start from the beginning. Tell me.
We entered through a side service entrance.
We never use the main entrance.
You get to the third floor faster.
That's why we didn't see your body at first.
Do you go there a lot?
Well, it's a great training spot.
All the pilots in the area know it.
OK.
You're training, do you compete?
Yes, we do.
So we're there every day. - Every day?
Every day. - Do you often film there?
Every day?
Yes. We post the best-of on our wall. - OK.
And where are these videos?
On the SD card the other officers nabbed.
You mean confiscated. This is serious, it's a murder investigation.
OK, well, we'd like to get our SD card back.
We'll see.
Ngitouka, look.
Your mummy will cry if you don't eat.
Do you want her to cry, or be happy?
Better not be sad then, eh?
Here's... Your mummy is there!
I can feel her spirit.
It's around us now.
She's watching us.
Talk to her.
She can hear you.
Say you love her.
Oh, it's gone dead.
It doesn't matter.
Hello, princess!
My name is Camille.
What's your name?
It's going to be OK.
It will be alright.
OK, Ngitouka, time to eat.
Come on.
Ngitouka, time to eat.
Come on. - Go ahead, gorgeous.
Time to eat. - Go on, lovely.
I put the kids' outdoor footage together,
newest to the oldest.
There's the 4x4.
Then again, 3 hours later. It parks for a few minutes then leaves.
It's an abandoned site.
It's recon. Can you zoom in on the driver?
No. They're racing drones, always moving.
So a 4x4 owner often visits an old car park. What does it prove?
Maybe it's just a quiet spot to call his mistress from.
Look at the time stamp: the body was found next day.
It fits with the coroner's time of death. It stacks up.
And we can't read the number plate?
No. It all needs a lab if we want something useful.
That smells good.
Aren't you going to eat?
You know it very well.
Are you doing this on purpose?
I'll let you get on.
See you, Ngitouka.
But I was clear, do not intervene when I have a patient.
It's not her fault. It's on me.
Not true. You didn't know.
She was about to cry, what was I to do?
If you can't handle crying, this isn't for you.
Alright? That's that.
So, what did I actually do wrong?
Ngitouka lost her mum in the Med and now she won't speak or eat.
So she doesn't waste away,
I contact her mother's spirit.
It's superstition to you, but it's her culture.
Camille, meet Moussa, a.k.a. the Professor, our cultural guide.
When a migrant says he has issues with a jinn or a witch doctor,
it's the Professor we call.
You're a doctor?
In another life, yes. In Africa.
How do you manage the dozens of cultures here?
I know Africans best, but I get by with them all.
And you, what do you do?
I'm Camille. I'm no aid worker, I'm a cop.
Moussa, please, listen. - No.
I won't deal with the police.
Leave me be, madam.
I need your help to understand this.
This mean anything to you?
An unidentified body found in the south of the jungle.
We think it's a ritual crime.
Do what you need to do.
But from now on, do not talk to me.
Thank you.
The scarification means something.
The Prof freaked out when he saw it.
There's something I don't get.
An illegal removes a corpse in a 4x4
to leave it on show in a geek haunt
a few km from here. It makes no sense.
If the 4x4 lead is a good one.
It cannot be a coincidence.
It's showing the middle finger to the Africans in the camp
by passing the crime off as a ritual thing.
Given all the slogans on the walls,
I wouldn't be surprised.
So as to rile people here.
Hmm,
is there something else? I know you.
I've messed up! I hugged a camp girl
who lost her mum in the Med.
And that wasn't right?
The Prof says it could unsettle her.
You hugged her. Where's the harm? - I agree.
She threw herself into my arms.
It struck me Léo never did that. OK, I'm conflating things.
Camille, listen...
Your past is part of you, OK?
It's what makes you you.
I have no news, no location even.
Not very professional!
Alright, new subject now.
Look, cops, real cops,
don't sideline their past, alright?
They use it to help others, to understand them.
No one does that better than you.
So this Professor, he may not like cops,
but he knows about being haunted by your past.
You're the only one he'll talk to.
Think he'll confide in an old dog like me, who's always barking?
Is that what you want to be, to end up like me?
OK, sweetheart?
I'm proud of you. Alright?
Professor!
Look, I'm so sorry to have hit you with all that.
I need your help to get what happened here,
to stop it happening again.
Follow me.
An old legend tells of Kenbaltyu,
a Fulani demon a bit like your bogeyman.
The symbol on the victim's forehead is his mark.
He hadn't been mentioned for a long time.
Until last year,
one by one, two kids mentioned Kenbaltyu.
When they had nightmares, I said,
draw a picture.
This was the result.
They think Kenbaltyu killed their parents?
Maybe.
Militias can use Kenbaltyu to scare rivals.
Can I speak to these kids? - No.
They joined family in the UK.
This symbol,
it was marked on our victim post mortem.
Does that fit in with a ritual killing? - No.
Traditionally,
sorcerers keep victims conscious
as long as possible during a sacrifice ceremony.
Are there many believers in the camp?
Yes.
The primary function of Kenbaltyu is to cause fear.
Since many still remember their suffering in Africa,
for them Kenbaltyu is absolute evil.
If those who believe in Kenbaltyu
discover that this exists,
it will awaken ancestral terrors.
Then it won't be a cultural guide you need,
but the Almighty Lord himself.
So, I've done some research.
Kenbaltyu is an evil spirit in many African cultures.
A sorcerer summons it to possess a soul.
This gives it a supernatural status
ideal for managing devotees.
So anyone in the camp could have killed her
and just say they were possessed?
No, you must know the rituals.
Sacrifices have a whole pharmacopoeia.
What are you saying? They use drugs?
Plant-based matter that subdues the nervous system.
The sorcerer can thus
keep the victim alive as long as possible during sacrifice.
This is what to look for.
OK. - Bye.
Well, that's the rules!
If you see a crazy clothes donation, wear it!
But do people really donate tutus?
Or worse. One girl had to parade in an S&M outfit.
There you go, madam is served.
Wow, that smells amazing!
It is! Hakim's cambuulo.
Bon appetit! - Thanks.
Ah, princess! Here!
Eat here. If you want more, tell me.
There you go. Bon appetit!
What's going on? - I haven't seen that before.
Nothing from Spain.
Let's hope she was registered in Italy. No news yet.
Bad news: an inflammatory Instagram post.
It's going round on social media, #voodoo, #blackmagic.
I thought we recovered the SD card?
He backed it up. This is revenge for us keeping it.
We have to go: it will kick off if this gets there.
I'll come with you.
Keep still!
We can't stay here. Meet at the Women's Centre.
Come with me. Come on, move!
I need to borrow this! - Hey!
What's that?
The mosque, appealing for calm. Get to the Women's Centre!
Let's go.
Wait!
No wait, wait!
Over there. We'll hide there.
We going to go this way, OK? 1, 2, 3... go!
Keep going, keep going!
OK, stop here.
We're nearly there. OK?
Let's go!
Shit! Hang on!
Let's go!
Come on!
Out the way!
Out the way! Let me in!
Let me in, come on!
Let me in! - Disperse!
Disperse! Break up! Break up!
Leave! Disperse!
Disperse! What's your problem?
Where are you going?
Go! Go!
Get him, and leave!
Disperse! Disperse! Disperse!
Hey! Lower your arms! Lower them!
You've fled war, don't bring it here!
Eh?
Return to camp.
By the grace of Allah...
this crime will not go unpunished.
Salaam alaykum, Superintendent.
Zakaria Sissoko. Runs people-smuggling into England.
Near unavoidable in the market.
Yep, he makes it rain or shine.
A religious authority. Close to Boko Haram.
A choir boy. - The authorities shelter him.
They shelter him? - He keeps the camp calm.
His crew keeps order. Islamist order, yes, but not chaos.
A blind eye is turned to everything else.
Right. Thank you.
Woah! I never knew you could smile like that!
Who are you hugging, there?
Sorry?
Put her down.
Come closer.
Don't lose it,
your soul's survival depends on it.
Ngitouka!
I've been looking for you.
It's unsafe to leave the camp.
I can see to her. - Not your job.
OK, come on. Come, come, come!
I looked everywhere!
You scared me!
Mister!
The girl who was killed,
I know who she is.
My name is Dîwan Zend.
My papers say I'm Syrian, but in fact I'm a Kurd.
I fought Islamic State with the Peshmerga in Kobane.
And why are you in France?
Why are you in the jungle?
I was wounded in the siege of the city.
I couldn't fight any more.
I became a burden for my country.
So I left, to join my sister in Manchester.
Do you know the victim's name?
Only her first name:
Simone.
Where did you meet her?
We journeyed from Libya together.
And we were due to leave for England two days ago,
but she didn't turn up.
Who was taking you? - I don't know.
Simone organised everything.
Who was she meeting over there?
Her boyfriend was going to come with us
and take care of her once there.
Her boyfriend?
When was the last time you saw her?
Tuesday evening.
We drank tea with the Somalis at Hakim's.
Zakaria came to find her.
What did he want? - I don't know.
Why come to join her in person?
Were they close?
I don't know when they got acquainted,
but in camp she was pretty close to that dog Zakaria, yes.
What's the idea with these?
Want me to say I found them? - Maybe not.
Some people are disgusting.
Oh no, you can't be here. If the Prof saw you, he'd be angry.
I won't take photos with you.
Did you take this?
Might the Professor and Zakaria be in business?
I'd be shocked. - So what about this?
Thought those two couldn't stand each other?
They seem just fine!
Maybe he has no choice, and must deal with him
to get some people across.
Yet he's a cultural guide, a doctor, not a people-smuggler.
What if he's both? - Go on.
He's in touch with the migrants, like them.
He shares their culture, mentality, psychology.
Yet he also knows the West well.
That means he understands us.
The ideal position to screw everyone.
And he knows I'm a cop. Will he try and manipulate me?
What I think is they want to shaft us.
Zakaria Sissoko, the preacher,
was the last man to see her alive.
He's untouchable. The Prosecutor, the Ministry,
nobody wants to go get their hands dirty. So we drop it.
Christ, explain how it is!
How it stirs ancestral fears and the ethnic groups.
A prosecutor's nightmare.
So I say the killer made a pact with a Fulani demon?
I don't want to be ignored, or laughed out of there.
So, we find another way. - There is no way, Jesus!
We just need the connection between them!
Come in! - Sir.
Just got the number plate results.
We have the details for the 4x4 owner.
One Roland Parel. - Let me see.
Roland Parel.
So there is a way, smartarse!
Lucky for you!
Mr Parel?
It's the police!
There's no one here.
I'll check the outhouses.
You do the rest in here? - OK.
I'm looking for Prof Moussa.
Thanks.
Professor?