All language subtitles for The.Chelsea.Detective.S02E01.The.Blue.Room.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-NTb_Track03

I could collapse
on the pavement,

then Roy could explain that I've
had an episode, rush me home...

Benny. Please.
You promised.

I know, I know.

Biggest smile.

Best behavior.

"Im Blauen Zimmer"
by Friedrich Gustav.

His most famous piece.

Painted in 1942,

it was intended
as the first in a series...

but he died
before he completed it.

Do you mind, mate?
'Cause I'm just tryna...

Excuse me.

I'll tell you later.

Your attempts at mingling
going well?

Ha, quite the opposite.

My fault for inviting
such a shallow pool.

See that lady in the red hat?

We had
a scintillating conversation

about earthquakes in Chelsea.

Now, I did suggest
it had something to do

with her townhouse being on top
of the District line, but...

Still, free champagne.

I think we can
survive the night.

Oh, stand to attention, knave--

the Queen Of Chelsea
has arrived.

- Ah!
- Darling, sensational!

Oh! Thank you.

- Hi!
- So proud of you.

Congratulations.

Cassie! Save me.

Oh, thought these were
your people.

Have you seen
Gulliver's latest?

I know that we're getting older,
but is it my imagination

or are the hyenas
getting younger?

Hmm, while asking
their jackal husbands

for a second opinion on
the rumors about your boob-job.

Oh?
What's the consensus?

Relax.

Genetics-- by a landslide.

Now, Cassandra...

If you're about to suggest
I find myself

a horny rich jackal...

Actually, I was gonna say

some of those trays
need replenishing.

But I can see
you're way ahead of me.

I shall return to my people.

- Morning.
- Morning.

The deceased, an IC1 male,
is in the main gallery.

Another IC1 male
was apprehended

leaving the scene
when uniform arrived.

Witness or suspect?

Husband of the owner.

- Benoît Chaban?
- Mm-hmm.

How was your weekend
with Priya and Nitin?

Yeah, she oversold us
on that sea view.

Oh, yeah?

If I stood on tip-toe
in the nursery,

I could just about make out
a thin slither of sea.

Obviously, Brighton Central
aren't as exciting as us lot.

Mainly seagull-related thefts.

Morning, Ashley.

Morning.

Have you seen my new D.S.,
Layla Walsh?

Yeah.
She finger-spelled her name.

Nearly got it right, too.

Does he have a name?

Mm-hmm.

"Christopher Milton-Elvis."

Are you saying "Elvis"?

It's "El-wes."

Gallery manager, 32,
lives on Marcovis Street.

What's the dried blood
on his fingers?

Yeah, it's likely
from the facial laceration.

Looks like a clean, flat blade.

But cause of death,
at this stage, 90% certainty--

manual strangulation.

Found this
in his jacket pocket.

Tickets for the Eurostar,

departing at 12:15 today.

He's gonna miss his train.

Hi, Max.

Morning, Layla.

So, a botched heist
in a high-end art gallery.

Yep.
Welcome to Chelsea.

What is it?
What have you found?

This used to be a restaurant.

Mr. and Mrs... Zintilis,

a Greek family.

But I can't for the life of me
remember what it was called.

No.

Right.

Shall we crack on
with the case?

Yeah.

Uniform arrived at 23:18,

in response
to the gallery's silent alarm.

Point of entry
is this rear door.

Looks like it's been jimmied.

Multiple paintings
believed stolen.

I'm thinking the deceased
was in the wrong place

at the wrong time.

Ashley found two tickets
for the Eurostar in his pocket,

for later today.

Oh, so what are we thinking?

The victim is robbing the place

and the owner's husband
catches him in the act?

Could work.

There's a camera at the back
of the gallery,

but it's broken.

Presumably, as gallery manager,
that was his responsibility.

Could he and Benoît Chaban
be in on it together?

What did Mr. Chaban say?

Oh, claimed he got here mere
minutes before our officers.

Says he found the body,
nothing more.

- Ah, always nothing more.
- Mm.

Okay.

What have we got
on Chris Milton-Elwes?

Nothing on
the victim's phone so far,

but I found
a Chris Elwes on PNC.

Checking to see
if it's the same one.

He has a file?

Marked NFA.

Shoplifting when he was 12.

Once a thief...

12, though.

Well...

Can you check the guest list

and cross-reference it
with our files?

Ooh, searching for crooks
among the Chelsea elite.

Might be a long list.

Do we know what was taken?

Four paintings in total.

Not the slickest heist.

The canvases were cut
from their frames.

There's spotting on here.

Expecting it to be
the victim's,

if the same blade that cut him
was used to cut the canvases.

You said there were
four pictures?

But there's only three frames.

The fourth painting
was only so big.

Small enough to take intact.

Do we know the value?

In total, just over
£2 million.

Here is the big ticket.

Purchased by Rebekah Chaban
at Sotheby's last year,

for one-point-three.

The artist is Friedrich Gustav.

"Im Blauen Zimmer."

My ex is a big fan.

And the other three?

Two canvases
by Christian Fessel,

and the small one
is "Louisa" by Konrad Mueller.

Each valued between two
and three hundred thousand.

You're very well informed.

I don't like to make
a thing of it,

but I do know
a fair bit about art.

She looked it up
on Wikipedia.

I looked it up on Wikipedia.

Yeah.

What time did you and your wife
leave the gallery?

It had all finished by 10:00.

But you returned later?

Yes.
Around a quarter past 11:00.

Why did you return?

My wife asked me to check
the alarm had been set.

I would have thought people
like you have people

to do that for you.

People like me?

I don't appreciate your tone.

At 23:18, responding
to the gallery's silent alarm,

police arrived to find you
leaving via the rear door.

I heard a car door outside

and I assumed it could
be whoever was responsible,

so I went to look for them.

Were you going to confront
this person?

I don't know.
I was acting on instinct.

Pity your instinct didn't
include dialing 999.

After all, there were clear
signs a robbery had taken place.

Did you touch the body,
check for a pulse?

No.
Why not?

Okay.

You say your wife asked you
to check the alarm.

You drove there.
What then?

You walked in to find Chris
helping himself

to your wife's collection?

What? No! I...

I walked in, I saw Chris
on the floor,

and before I could do
anything else or even think,

- I heard a noise.
- And fled the scene.

Yes! N-No!

I-- No! Ohh!

Mon dieu,
c'est pas possible.

From July 2006.

"Berlin-born Rebekah Vidic,
23, married Benoît Chaban

in a lavish ceremony
in Monaco..."

Looks like the Chaban wealth
stems from the husband's side.

His family is in international
fleet services.

Whatever that is.

How much do you reckon
Benoît Chaban is worth?

Ah, but is he happy, Connor?

I won a tenner on the lottery
two weeks ago,

and I was dancing
'round the kitchen.

Forbes estimates it
at around $400 million.

Bought a bottle of wine,
chocolate bar as long as my arm.

400 million can't buy
that kind of happiness...

Gulliver Bauer.

Dealer, high-end art,

eventually convicted
on tax-evasion charges.

He holds the record as
the richest inmate at Belmarsh.

Knocked Jeffrey Archer
down to second place.

I know the last thing you want
is us asking questions.

But what time did you leave
the gallery event?

Around 10:00.

And you came straight home?

I got back
at about 20 past.

On your own?

Chris stayed behind
to tidy up.

He wanted to get
everything ready

for today's public opening.

I was the last to leave,
and he was on his own.

At the opening, did you or Chris
notice anyone

acting suspiciously?

No.

Anything that you think
might help.

There was
one man I spoke to.

I-I don't know his name, but he
was quite hostile toward me.

Can you describe him?

30s, short dark hair like...

Tell us about Chris.

How was he last night?

Why are you asking about Chris?

We're keeping an open mind.

You don't think
he was involved?

That's absurd.

This morning, when you woke up
and Chris hadn't come home,

what did you think?

That he'd hit a snag and it had
turned into an all-nighter.

Did you call him?

I was going to this morning,
but then the police arrived.

You must have been worried.

Not really.

When Chris was working
on the gallery,

he would sometimes
work through till morning.

This was nothing
out of the norm.

I meant worried that you might
miss your train.

What train?

The Eurostar to Brussels,
leaving St. Pancras

at a quarter past noon today.

I...
Sorry, I...

Two weeks ago,
Chris purchased two tickets.

We found them
in his jacket pocket.

Well, I don't know anything
about that.

One of them
was in your name.

Last year, on my fortieth,

I woke up to find plane tickets
on the kitchen table.

We flew to Venice
later that same day.

A couple of years before, Chris
sprung a surprise trip on me

for our anniversary,
to Rome.

Is today your birthday
or anniversary?

My husband has spent
the last year

renovating that gallery,
planning the exhibition,

so it's not out of question

that he wanted to mark
the occasion.

"Im Blauen Zimmer"--

proof that somebody
in the former GDR

once saw an Yves Klein.

Mm, the two Fessels have
a certain depressing charm.

Ugh.

Mueller's "Louisa."

Terribly twee.

Reminds one of one's grandmother
framing her embroidery.

Might we interrupt?

We're here investigating
the suspicious death

of Christopher Milton-Elwes.

Of course.

Please.

Did you know him?

No. No.
Not personally.

What about the Chabans?
You had dealings with them?

I have dealings
with everyone.

I have brokered several sales
for them, over the years.

- All aboveboard?
- Of course.

Don't suppose
you've heard anything

on the Chelsea
art scene grapevine

about the stolen paintings?

Nothing.

2.3 million, wasn't it?

Your tax bill.

I have learned
from my mistakes.

Remind me how it works.

You find an artist,
the more obscure the better,

then you get an expert--
in your case, you--

to value one of this artist's
paintings for a few million--

say, 2.3 million.

Then you hang it in a gallery

and claim its value back
as a charitable donation.

Bye-bye, tax bill.

Viros non paenitet.

Oh, dear.

"Public schoolboy
quoting Latin" alert.

After the gallery, my fiancée
and I stopped off

at The Connaught.

We were there until midnight.

We'll check.

Good-oh.

May I suggest a good place
to start?

Public toilets.

Public toilets?

The Whitworth Gallery heist--
2001, 2002?

Four million pounds' worth
of paintings was stolen,

and while the police were busy
pushing warrants

under the door of every dealer
and private collector in town--

including yours truly--

a cleaner found
the missing paintings

a few yards from the gallery,
stashed in a public lavatory,

complete with an apology letter.

Thank you for your time.

Call us if you hear anything,
Mr. Bauer.

Audere est facere.

- I didn't know you knew Latin.
- I don't.

My old man's a Spurs fan--
written on his scarf.

Please, come in.

We're beside ourselves
with the news.

Do you have any idea
what happened?

We're still
filling in the gaps.

I did the catering
last night.

Did you know Chris well?

We were friends.

We worked closely
for the last few months,

organizing the exhibition.

Please.

Were the Chabans happy
with Chris' work?

Oh, well, Chris was good
at managing his own PR.

If it was good news, he couldn't
wait to tell Mrs. Chaban.

But for the bad news, he used me
as his Miss Go-Between.

Last night at 11:00,
where were you?

Home.

Well, if you need to check,
my flatmate was still up

when I got in.

Mrs. Chaban?

The police are here to see you.

It was around 10:15.

If you want to see any CCTV,
ask my driver, Roy.

He installed
the security system.

And later,
you asked your husband

to return to the gallery?

Call it opening-night paranoia.

I wanted to make sure
the alarms were set.

We're running through
the guest list,

and the only person
we're struggling to identify

is this gentleman.

This photo is from an Instagram
account of one of your guests.

Do you recognize him?

Mr. Chaban?

Toby Hansard.

My personal trainer.

Cassie, would you...?

Oh, yes.
I'll find his details for you.

Ms. Lawson is
your housekeeper?

My executive PA.

My Girl Friday.

She's a bit of a charity case,
but we're old friends, so...

Are we right in thinking
you insured "Im Blauen Zimmer"

by Friedrich Gustav
for £3 million?

You've done your homework.

Yet, the market value
is one-point-two.

That's a tidy profit.

Obviously, I masterminded
this whole thing.

For a miserable two million.

I insured the painting for what
I judged to be its resale value.

- Should it be stolen.
- Quite.

This coffee
tastes of tamarind.

There are tamarind trees
on our reserve.

Indonesia.

Ridiculously lavish process,
but worth it.

And all ethical--
I'm strict about that.

It's very good.

These are two of
the missing pictures.

The Christian Fessels.

Prints, obviously.

Obviously.

Rebekah hangs them here
so I never forget

her one true love-- art.

We'll need to see
your collection,

to help with our inquiries.

I'm afraid
that won't be possible.

My paintings are kept
in a secure,

climate-controlled vault.

So we would need
prior notice.

Or a-- a warrant.

Dung.

- Hm?
- Dung.

I know, that's what
I thought you said.

Is that your opinion
on Benoît Chaban or...?

A pound of that coffee

is worth around
a thousand pounds sterling.

Is there a point to this?

On their reserve, elephants
eat the coffee beans.

The beans are then harvested
from the elephant dung.

And you still drank it?

The point is,
was that a deliberate ploy

to make us think
they had money to burn?

"For a miserable two million"...

Roy Colin?

Layla Walsh.

Well, you're looking well.

Oh, you know me.
Butter side up.

Well, what are you doing here?
Hobnobbing with the posh folk?

Oh, well...
I'm their glorified taxi driver.

So, erm, you caught
this one, then?

The business up at the gallery?

D.I. Max Arnold,
D.I. Roy Colin.

- Pleasure.
- Like wise.

Er, former D.I.

Gave Walshy here her first
leg up into Serious Crimes.

- You made D.I. yet?
- Working on it.

Did you drive
Mr. and Mrs. Chaban

to the gallery last night?

Yeah.
When did they leave?

Oh, 10:00 or thereabouts.

And later, around 11:00,
did you accompany

Mr. Chaban
back to the gallery?

No, no, no, I was tucked up
in bed by then.

Can you prove that?

Ah, exploring
all the avenues, are we?

Not going to defend
my character?

No change there, then.

Look, far as I know,

Mr. Chaban drove himself
back to the gallery.

Soon as I dropped them
both back here, I clocked off.

I was home half an hour later.

Feel free to check
with the missus.

Well, nice to meet you,
D.I. Arnold.

Good to see you again,
D.C. Walsh.

D.S.

Yeah, 'course you are.

In Exeter, he was known
as "Cookie Jar Colin."

Rumor was he was dipping
into the cash

from a money-laundering op.

The higher-ups started
asking questions,

Roy asked his team
to back him.

Everyone did, except me.

How strong was the evidence?

Well, Roy insisted it was
all hot air and hearsay.

But you thought they had a case?

I don't know.

Either you did
or you didn't.

Well, I didn't have any proof.

Did they charge him?

He fell on his sword before
they could push him onto it.

I was a new D.C. in a new team,
new station, new boss,

but I had to be the rebel, had
to stand apart from the crowd.

The damage it did.

I should've backed him.

That's what you're supposed
to do, isn't it?

Have each other's backs.

Chris was an honorary Ossi--

a nerd
about East German history.

Especially its art.

Did you go to the opening?

I was busy.

And the real reason?

I pitched for the exhibition.

Ohh.

Even suggested the title
they ended up using--

"The Lost Pieces."

And it was all going well,
until Rebekah bloody Chaban

decided she wanted to do it
in her own gallery.

Only she didn't have
her own gallery,

so she did
what they always do.

Rich Wessi bought up
The Olive Branch and gutted it.

The Olive Branch--
that's it!

I loved that place.

Oh, me too!

Do you think Chris had
anything to do with this?

No.
If he was, the paintings

and the frames
would be pristine.

He wouldn't want to damage them.

What about the gallery owner?

Chris always spoke highly
about Rebekah Chaban.

And "Im Blauen Zimmer"--

how would all of this affect
it's black-market value?

Through the roof.
Collectors love notoriety.

I bet they do.

What you should be asking...

I should-- I shouldn't
be saying it.

Why did Rebekah Chaban have it
on show in the first place?

With minimal security, too.

You might as well
wave a red rag at a bull.

- By bull, you mean...?
- Collectors.

Unscrupulous collectors.

The Chelsea art scene
is full of them.

So, Chris was
collateral damage?

And if Rebekah Chaban
had a conscience,

his death is on it.

Poor Chris...

Are you okay?

I'm fine.

- Asti...
- Max, I'm okay.

Chris loved my tales about
growing up in East Germany.

I'll miss him.

Did you text me last night
so you could rant?

Of course.

Did you think I was asking you
to be my plus-one?

No.

You know how much I love your
lectures on East German art.

Is there anything else
you need from me?

Er, no.

Thank you.

I'll see you.

Bye, then.

Hello?

Gregory Milton-Elwes,
the husband of the victim,

said you spoke with him
at the gallery opening?

Oh, that's what this is about?

Well, there's no way of saying
this without sounding

like a terrible homophobe,

but I thought
he was coming onto me

and I reacted badly.

I asked him to leave me alone.

Where were you at 11 p.m.
on the night in question?

Here.

Hold on. Er...

The gym has CCTV.

Did you know the deceased?
Chris Milton-Elwes.

No.

So, why were you
at the gallery?

Well, I'm a massive fan
of obscure East German art.

I-I'm kidding.

I hustled for an invite.

I thought I could drum up
some new clients for this place.

Look, here I am.
10:45.

I did some paperwork,
worked out for an hour or so.

We'll need a copy of that.

Yeah, 'course.

Apparently, you're Rebekah
Chaban's personal trainer.

That's right.
She got me the invitation.

But everybody I spoke to
either owned their own gym

or, in some cases,
owned their own chain of gyms.

Hold on.

I couldn't ask you
to leave some of these

around your station, could I?

First month's trial is free.

Here.

Flecks of blue paint.

Found them
on the victim's clothing.

From the picture frames?

What kind of paint is it,
Ashley?

Chemical analysis matches
normal household emulsion.

Except, all white walls
in the gallery.

Cause of death--
manual asphyxiation.

Nonfatal perimortem injuries--
bruising here, cuts here--

suggesting he was struck
around the face.

Laceration on the left cheek.

Broad, fast action.
Left to right.

Attacker likely right-handed,
similar height,

stood facing him.

Watched the life
drain out of him.

CAT scan results.

Fracture of the hyoid bone.

Here.

And this patch.

I thought at first
it was a hemorrhage

caused by the asphyxiation,
but it's not.

It's a tumor, temporal lobe.

He had a brain tumor?

How advanced was it?

I consulted with oncology.

Even with treatment,
they wouldn't go beyond a year.

I don't understand.

There must be some mistake.

I'm sorry.

Did Chris demonstrate
any symptoms?

Mood changes, memory loss, headaches...

No.

How about his behavior?

Drinking more than usual?
Using drugs, painkillers?

No. No.
None of those.

Does this change things?

In what way?

If Chris was dying anyway.

Not for us.

But if Chris had
the slightest suspicion

that something was wrong...

If he knew he had
nothing to lose...

He didn't know.

I promise you that.

I knew Chris
better than anyone,

and he was the biggest
blabber-mouth.

He'd tell his life story
to a stranger at a party.

Ask any of our friends--
if you want everyone to know

your deepest darkest secrets,
you tell it to Chris.

It's why we all loved him.

Oh.

Are you heading off early?

Risotto for supper, and it's
on the kitchen table.

Thanks.

Is everything okay?

"A charity case."

Oh, God, Cassie. I...

I was babbling.
I was nervous.

You know I didn't mean
anything by it.

There but for the grace of God
go I.

The flipping of coins.

That's all this is, why you're
on that side and I'm where I am.

- It was you who told me that.
- Cassie.

Do you know why
I do all this?

Why I run things for you,
cook, tidy up,

tell you
what appointments you have.

It's not for pride,
it's not for the money.

It's because you're my friend.

That's why it hurt so much. Please.

Will you stay? We can
eat together, we can talk--

My resignation's in the kitchen.

Cassie, no.

Enjoy your supper,
Mrs. Chaban.

Benny? Is that you?

Benny?!

♪ Though I know it must be
the killing time ♪

Benny!

♪ Your sky,
all hung with jewels ♪

♪ The killing moon

Benny!

Anyone?!

Benoît!

Benoît!

Anyone?!

Help me!

Aah!

Morning.
Morning.

She's still locked inside.

Benoît Chaban called
the fire service,

and they flagged it to us.

- Can you stand by?
- Of course.

Signs indicate
someone locked her in

and cut off the air supply.

- How long's she been in there?
- I don't know.

Her PA was the last to see her.
That was around half-five.

Wonder where the husband
was last night.

Found out something
interesting about him.

Looks like the security system's
up the swanny.

We were under the impression
you set it up for them,

- Mr. Colin.
- Yeah, I did.

Which is why I'm here to help.

Mr. Chaban,
where were you last night?

- I was at my office.
- What time did you leave?

Around 2 a.m.

I-I didn't want
to wake Rebekah,

so I slept in one
of the guest rooms.

I didn't realize what had
happened until I woke up.

Jess?
- The manufacturer's talking me

through a system reset.

I take it
we've tried shouting?

It's four-inch ballistic steel.

What is she protecting
herself from?

Her husband?
What did you find on him?

Multiple calls between Benoît
and Gregory Milton-Elwes.

And as he's a solicitor
specializing in family law...

- Divorce?
- Mm.

Reset complete.
We're in!

Er, hold on.

Door controls...

Now!

Get the medic in.

Mrs. Chaban.

Blood oxygen was
dangerously low.

Mr. Chaban!

Can this wait?
I need to get to the hospital.

Did you lock your wife
in the vault?

W-What?

Of course not.

What happened here
was an accident.

A glitch in the security system.

Do you mind?

Tell us about your contact
with Gregory Milton-Elwes.

Why you telephoned him
several times in the last month.

No comment.

No comment.

Taking advice
from a disgraced ex-copper.

That's not a good look.

What happened here
was an accident.

A glitch in the security system.

When I check with
the front desk at your office,

will they remember
you leaving at 2 a.m.?

No, they won't,
'cause I collected Mr. Chaban

from the pickup point
at the back.

Thank you, Mr. Chaban.

Roy...

Copper to copper...

- Ex-copper.
- Oh, there it is.

What do you want, an apology?

Layla, look,
it's all water under the bridge.

I understand.
You knew what you were doing.

Got you on the radar, didn't it?

Excuse me?

You made D.S.
younger than me.

Because I'm a better detective
than you are.

Roy, we have a dead man,
a robbery,

now a possible
attempted murder.

What the hell
is going on here?

Look, egos aside...

I drive this lot from A to B.

Now, it's an easy job.

I'm not part of their
rarefied world.

I'm a tourist.

And, copper to copper...

There's a reason I advised
against a hard reset

of the security system,

and that's because
doing that wipes it clean.

Footage, logs--
complete reset.

Well, our priority was
saving Mrs. Chaban's life.

Well, Walshy, I thought
I taught you better than that.

Bit of an arse,
your Mr. Colin.

- You think?
- Hmm. Sloppy, too.

Failed to advise his boss

that now the house
is a crime scene...

We don't need his permission
to search it.

Wouldn't you want
to show these off?

Not keep them locked away
behind a bulletproof door.

No sign of the stolen pieces,

but they didn't want us
poking around in here.

Hmm.

Something tells me
they don't have the receipts

for all of these.

I think we should
call in an expert.

Would you give us a moment, please?

Of course.

My love...

Just checking on you.
Do you need anything?

The truth.

Was this an attempt
at a poetic death?

Suffocate me
amongst my treasures?

What are you talking about?

Oh, please. Stop.

I-I was going to save you,
but I don't know

how the controls
of your precious room work.

The truth, Benoît.

Why?

I was jealous.

And before you tell me
it was a one-off,

I know that's not true.

Four visits in the last month.

And every time,
when I was away on business.

Oh, Benoît.

Did you even look
for an alternative explanation?

You left me in that room
to die.

I'm sorry.

Let me get things right.

There must be something
I can do.

Leave.

I don't care where you go,

but I want all
and any part of you gone.

I'm not familiar
with this one.

Nor this one...

Ah.

This, I think, erm,
is Luke Morbury.

A British artist.

Is it stolen?

Mnh-mnh.

Interesting composition, though.

On to the next one.

I'm here to help.

And we appreciate it.
Thank you.

Yes.

On to the next one, please.

Oh, it's wonderful.

Oh, this is beautiful.

It's Rinzler.
"A Portrait of Emile."

Was it stolen or do you
just like the composition?

1998,
from an exhibition in Madrid.

It's never being recovered.

The highlighted items
on this list

have been seized by
the Art and Antiquities Unit.

They'll want to speak
with you separately.

We believe those items have all
been previously reported stolen.

How did they end up
in your collection?

I'm certain I'm not the only
collector in Chelsea

with a few controversial pieces
in her hoard.

So you knew they were stolen.

I am protecting these pieces

from entering the black market
and never being seen again.

Very noble.

My father made his fortune

buying and selling paintings
from East Germany.

I'm trying to right a wrong.

Excuse me.

Jess?

Gulliver Bauer received a call
from Benoît Chaban.

Benoît got an anonymous text

offering him the return
of the stolen paintings

in exchange for
100,000 in cash.

Benoît assumed the message
came from Gulliver,

but it didn't.

Someone's scamming him.
- Well, that's what I thought.

But looks like
he's going along with it,

at ten o'clock tonight.

Thanks, Jess.

Let me get this right.

You think I facilitated
the whole thing

in order to boost the value
of "Im Blauen Zimmer"?

Why would I do that?

To raise funds.

Why would I need funds?

For a solicitor.

What are you talking about?

In order to leave your husband.

Er...

Did Benoît lock you
in your vault last night?

No.

Was he trying
to punish you?

No.

Did you know your husband
had engaged a solicitor?

Gregory Milton-Elwes?

No marriage is a sunlit utopia.

Presumably, if he has asked
for a divorce,

you would need money.

Ohh. Hmm.

"Former teacher marries
billionaire".

I remember that headline. Hmm.

I was 19.

I did one year
of teacher training.

Then my father died and left me
5% of his estate.

At the time, I was sleeping
with a wonderfully handsome,

messed-up man who wanted
to start a software company.

I wanted him to stay interested,
so I gave him my cash.

By the time
that chapter ended,

I was 22,
and my stake in his company

was worth £400 million.

When Benoît and I met,
he was broke,

working hard to try and keep his
failing family business afloat.

A business I now own.

But still-- "former teacher
marries billionaire."

Jess just spoke
to Gulliver Bauer.

Benoît's set up an exchange
for tonight-- 10 p.m.

Do you think she knows
her husband's trying

to buy
the paintings back?

- I doubt it.
- Okay.

We'll get some eyes on him.

Unless...

- No.
- What? You have plans?

Yes.
I have plans.

Of course I have plans.

What's he doing?

He's pacing.

Pacing and waiting.

From Connor.

Text sent to the target
from unknown number.

"Leave money, paintings will be
delivered to you tomorrow."

I think he's going for it.

Oh, I need sugar.

Luckily...

...I've brought snacks.

Ooh.

They're carrots.

Yeah, carrots.

That's not a stakeout snack.

That is a stakeout snack.

If you're five.

Have you got
flying saucers?

I have a wide selection.

Thanks.

This is bad sugar, though.

That's a myth.

He didn't take it?

Layla!

Police! Stop!

Hold on!

I am holding on!

Max! Ugh!

Stop!

Ahh. Ah!

Wow.

That was a rush.

Car keys.

You alright?

Bad sugar.
Next time, we're having carrots.

Ah.

- Who sent you the text?
- I have no idea.

Do you know
who collected the bag?

My sole hope was to recover
the paintings

as a surprise for my wife.

Trying to
make things up with her,

after you nearly killed her?

Mrs. Chaban has already stated

that there was a fault
with the security system.

What, we know your client
has been making inquiries

about divorcing his wife.

That was a misunderstanding.

A misunderstanding over what?

I believed that my wife
was having an affair.

That's Toby Hansard.

Her personal trainer. Yes.

Mr. Chaban, please.

My client is the victim here.

He has been
cruelly hoodwinked.

-"Cruelly"?
-"Hoodwinked"?

Into handing over a substantial
amount of his money.

Kindly tell your client
not to leave the country.

- Shit.
- Yeah. "Shit."

Jealous husbands,
what can you do.

So, Mr. Chaban was right--

you are having an affair
with Rebekah Chaban?

She just let me in.

Cassie.

I'm in a relationship
with Cassie Lawson.

Her PA.

Then why
all the sneaking around?

And why not tell us?

Because I have a girlfriend.

Sarah.

And Sarah happens to be
Cassie's flatmate.

Very chivalrous.

Benoît's divorce would have
left him penniless.

So why would he work with Chris
to steal the paintings?

What if it's
more personal for Benoît?

If he staged the robbery
to teach Rebekah a lesson.

Mm.

Then there's
the Eurostar tickets.

Yeah. Ugh.

And...

She doesn't match anyone
from the gallery opening,

let alone the art world.

But, say she is from
the Chelsea art scene.

Might your ex--
Astrid, isn't it?

Might she recognize her?

That's a good idea.

This came for you.

Thanks.

- What the...
- I know, I know.

No personal stuff
delivered to work.

But the last one got nicked
off my doorstep, so...

Are you preparing for
a zombie apocalypse?

Off hiking.

Are you camping
or staying in a hostel?

I have a tent.

Peaceful, hiking,
living off the land.

Well, hardly Bear Grylls.

I take tins
and a Calor gas stove.

Have you called her yet?

Some sort of training...
Are you training for something?

Yeah, right now, I feel like
I'm in interrogation training.

If you must know,
my other half snores,

and heading off
to the wilds with a tent

is the only way
I can guarantee a night's sleep.

That's not the real reason.

Nope.

Your other half lives in Devon.

Well remembered.

What's her number?
I'll call her.

Yeah, alright, I'll do it.
I'll do it.

Shame you don't have subtitles.

Oh, Max.

You're brilliant.

Ashley, hey.

Beastie Boys?

- What do you want?
- Love The Beastie Boys.

Er, a favor.

Tiny, tiny favor.

I have a surveillance video.

I was wondering...
You read lips, right?

You want me to lip-read
something?

Is that okay?

So, this gives me superhuman
powers of observation?

Oh, er... no, I...

Oh, shit.

Shit. S-Sorry.

Alright, calm down.

Deep breaths.
I was joking.

I thought you were serious.

I thought
you were going to pass out.

Bloody chuffed you asked.

"No..."

Looks like "No,"
something, something...

"My boyfriend's"...

Then a number and address.

First bit's "fifty."

Fifty...
Fifty-two...

App...

Ample...?

Amber or Amble Road?

Hamble Road?

Could be.

That's amazing.
Thank you.

Superhuman powers, mate.

What's this about?

You've given us
quite the run-around.

Me?

You.

This is from last night.

You were seen collecting
a bag of money.

You were also talking to someone
on the phone.

- Who was it?
- I was home all night.

Oh, well,
that clears that up.

Can anyone confirm that?

Boyfriend.

Does boyfriend have a name?

Great.

If you'd prefer,
we can get a warrant

and search 52 Hamble Road.

But it's so much less paperwork
if you cooperate.

And D.I. Arnold here--
he hates paperwork.

I really do.

It's in my bedroom.
On top of the wardrobe.

He didn't tell me
what was in it.

- I didn't dare look.
- Who?

"Pick it up and look after it
for a few days," he said.

Who?

My dad.

Thank you for coming in.

I appreciate you calling me.

She okay?
Can I see her?

After you explain
why you asked her

to collect a bag
of money for you.

What?
Is that what she says?

Money you were embezzling
from your employers.

Well...
Well, I'm so sorry about this.

Let me speak to her. Roy...

- Please.
- I've questioned Kitty.

She didn't even look
inside the bag.

She didn't want to know.

But you know there's enough
to charge her.

Okay...

Okay.

Yeah, she didn't know
anything about it.

She was doing her old man
a favor.

Are you in possession
of the stolen paintings?

No.

Because you sent a text to
Benoît Chaban claiming you are.

- Am I under caution?
- We're just talking.

I was gonna give the money back.

I was testing Chaban.

You weren't testing him.

No, I really think that
he's involved in all this.

You're carrying out
your own investigation,

separate to ours?

What can I say?

Once a copper...

You have any evidence
you care to share?

Were you in any way involved
in the death

of Christopher Milton-Elwes?

Oh, come on, Walshy...

D.S. Walsh.

What are you doing?

No.

Do you know who was
responsible for that?

No, of course not.

Listen, all this business
with the money,

It was a big error of judgment.

I messed up.
I admit that.

That's all this is.

Okay.
I think I'm leaving.

Sit down, please.

You said we were talking.

Mr. Colin, as defined by section
21 of the Theft Act 1968,

I hereby place you
under arrest for blackmail.

I'm trying to explain everything.

You do not have
to say anything...

There's no need for this!

But it may harm your defense
if you do not mention

when questioned something which
you later rely on in court.

Come on!

Anything you do say
may be given in evidence.

Layla.

We're mates.

Do you understand these rights?

One of the first things
you ever taught me in this job

was the importance of patience.

Whatever's in front of you,
that's only part of the story.

Sometimes it takes a long while
for the rest to fall into place.

Look at you.

Look at me.

"Cookie Jar Colin."

I wish I knew who'd come up
with that, 'cause that stuck.

Do you know
what the final straw was?

Why I resigned.

You.

I had the whole nick
in my corner,

and all it took was one person
to ask the right question...

one person who saw
what nobody else could see.

Or maybe what everybody else
could see but chose not to.

Anyway...

I didn't teach you that.

Tim, would you take
Mr. Colin

down to the custody desk, please?

Oh, bloody hell.

Why are we
at St. Pancras?

Five minutes before
Benoît Chaban claims

to have arrived
at the gallery,

Astrid took a photo
on the same road.

So I scoured
the passing cars,

hoping for a glimpse
of the Chaban Rolls.

I'd catch Benoît
and Roy Colin out.

Okay, so are we meeting
someone here or...

But I didn't see
the Chaban Rolls.

However?

However, what I did see...

was this car
passing in the background.

Okay, wow.
Good spot.

According to his bank statement,
he's been renting a locker here

from the day before
Chris' murder.

Ah!
That's why.

At least you're not here
to stick me on a train

back to Exeter.

- Wrong station.
- Well, I know that.

I was just checking
if you knew that.

Wow.

This is "Louisa"
by Konrad Mueller.

This morning,
as part of our inquiries,

we gained access to a locker
registered in your name

at the Eurostar terminal
in St. Pancras.

It was inside.

Here's a picture that was taken
the night Chris died,

three minutes after
the gallery's alarm

had been tripped.

That's your car passing.

You lied to us.

You told us you were home
at that time.

Chris knew he was dying.

We both did.

He was so scared.

So, stealing "Louisa" was what?

Chris' dying wish?

To take it out of the hands
of collectors,

return it to his family
in Germany.

Konrad Mueller was
his great-grandfather.

Oh!

Ah!

Er, okay.

Okay.
Run us through the plan.

Chris would stage a robbery.

My part was simple--

meet him at the back
of the gallery,

take the painting,
and drive it to St. Pancras,

in case the police
searched this place.

The next morning, we'd pick it
up on our way to Potsdam,

to Chris' family.

So, what did he do
with the other paintings?

He was gonna hide them.
But I don't know where.

Once the dust had settled,
he'd make an anonymous call,

make sure they were
returned safely.

We only took this one.

How did you know
about the locker?

Did you find Chris' bag?

What bag?

He had it with him, with
a duplicate locker key in it.

It was never returned with
his things from the gallery.

I went back to look for it,
but I never found it.

You said Chris refurbished
this place?

He oversaw the whole thing.

When this was a restaurant,

there was a serving counter

where a store room is now.

And at the far end,
there was a door

leading down to a kitchen.

There.

Help me shift this.

Hang on.

Blue paint flecks,

like the ones Ashley found
on Chris' clothes.

- Careful.
- Mm-hmm.

Running water.

Someone could hide down here
for a couple of days.

The Fessels.

"Im Blauen Zimmer."

Oh, there's a bag here.

Locker key.

That looks like blood
on the collar, doesn't it?

Well, there was only one person
we know at the gallery

wearing a gray jacket
like this.

So, what's all this about, then?

In the basement
of the Chaban Gallery,

we found a bag belonging
to Chris Milton-Elwes,

containing a suit jacket
which we believe belongs to you.

Right?

There was blood on it.

But I was here.
You know that.

Mr. Hansard, could we see
the security footage

from that night again, please?

Yeah, of course.

It's not very interesting.

Just a couple of hours
of me working out.

Could you stand back, please?

This video has
a time stamp here.

Whereas on there,
it's at the bottom of screen.

I guess that's just
how it exports.

Isn't that
Chris Milton-Elwes?

So, you and Chris
did know each other.

When Chris was 12,

he got into a bit of trouble
with the police.

Shoplifting.

File says he was
with a bunch of mates,

but they scarpered.

Were you one of them?

Did you plan this together?

I didn't know
what Chris was up to.

He told me he was going
out the back,

to make it look like the door
had been jimmied.

I didn't know
he was taking a painting.

When he came back, I was...

cutting the canvases
from the frames.

Which made sense--
we had to act fast.

The alarm was going off.

Plus, they're just paintings.

Not to Chris, though.

No.

He went mad.

What did he do?

We had a fight.

I pushed him.

I had the box-cutter
in my hand.

I cut his cheek,
which made things worse.

I told him he had to calm down
so we could work things out.

What does it matter
if I've cut the paintings?

We'll take 'em anyway.
We'll sell 'em on.

But he laughed at me,

laughed at the thought
of someone like me

mixing in his world.

That's how he put it.

"Someone like you."

Someone like you.

The way he looked at me...

That look in his eyes,
I see that a lot 'round here.

Like I'm nothing.

Like I'm beneath them.

Me and him, we--
we're from the same place.

We went to the same school.
Our mums were friends.

We knocked around
with the same mates.

But...

"Someone like you."

Yeah.

Someone like me.

So what did you do then,
Toby?

I squeezed that look
right off his face.

Read him his rights.

Oh!

Cassie.

Rebekah.

I assume you haven't
replaced me.

Oh.

No.

Good.

How are you holding up?

Cassie, I'm...
I'm sorry.

Please, can we--
we start again?

Astrid.

To what do I owe the pleasure?

I heard you caught the man
responsible for Chris' death.

We did.

Good.

That's good.

Is that why you were calling?

I suppose.

And I was thinking
of going, er, to Richmond.

What's in Richmond?

The Zintilis family,
who ran The Olive Branch.

They've opened a new place.

Oh.

Well, that's good to know.

I thought I could pay them
a visit.

Well, enjoy.

Y-You know,
I haven't eaten yet.

Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean...

No, yeah, of course.

I read...
I read the news and...

wanted to say something.

I don't know,
mm, "Well done"?

Well...

Er, say hello
to Mrs. Zintilis.

Okay.

I mean, if you wanted, I could
pick you up in ten minutes.

Why not.

Can you make it twenty?

You're impossible.

Fine. Twenty.