All language subtitles for Death.in Paradise Christmas Special 2021 Part1

(Átirat készítője: TurboScribe.ai. Frissítés Korlátlanra az üzenet eltávolításához.) We're all feeling warm and cosy and twinkly

on the inside, but if you're not, don't

worry.

Here's something that will get you in the

festive mood.

Okay, but it's been nearly a week now,

and the water tank is still leaking.

I appreciate you've got other properties to look

after, but...

It's just, my girlfriend's coming round on Christmas

Day, and she's not going to be over

the moon if it's like Niagara Falls in

here.

No, I understand you're a very busy man,

Mr. Driscoll.

I've got a pick-up from Mrs. Jenkins

at 32 Walkery Villas.

We're on a Stratham Eye Road.

Any takers?

4-1, I'm on that, Sal.

Oi!

Go, go, go!

You idiots!

4-1, I'm going to need some roadside

assistance.

Not again, Colin.

One day, Colin.

Oh, champagne, yeah, that goes right in the

fridge.

Thanks.

Found a guy in Forks Laundry in the

hallway.

Where do you want him?

Down on the beach, please.

Right.

Oh, Mary, Mary, no, no swimming, please.

The pool area's out of bounds.

Why?

Because it's all set up for the party,

and I don't want the tableware getting splooshed

with water.

It was never like this when Mum had

parties.

They were actually fun.

Philip?

You have a conference call coming up.

I never tire of it, you know.

Watching the old girls pass by.

Seeing your empire before you.

More like I'm reminded just how small my

part is in it all.

I think the shareholders in New York would

disagree.

You know, you just can't get away with

that anymore.

Excuse me a moment.

Honey, what is your ex-wife doing here?

Well, I could not invite her.

This?

What a wonderful party.

Better than anything I ever threw here.

That's kind of what I was going for.

Then you've surpassed yourself.

I'm going to see if I can get

a topper.

God, this music's awful.

Hello?

Is someone there?

Fireworks?

I...

I don't know what to say.

It's my favourite.

I'm not cheating.

By deduction, I think I can guess who

gave me this.

Inspector.

Thought I might go over budget a little.

You are the commissioner after all.

I will enjoy it very much.

Well, that just leaves me, and the process

of elimination dictates it must be you who

gave it to me, so...

Let's see.

That's nice and soft.

Maybe a fancy new top.

And it is...

Socks.

You bought me plain brown socks.

You see, I realised in all the time

I've worked with you I actually know very

little about you.

But then I remembered...

That I wear socks.

There's just something about you that makes me

think of...

socks.

Thank you, sir.

Much appreciated.

Right, time for a drink, I think.

Good idea.

Evening, Neville.

Evening, Catherine.

Four of your famous rum punches, please.

With pleasure.

So, I hung a little sprig of mistletoe

above your table.

I thought it might give you a chance

to, you know, kiss Florence.

Right, I'm not sure...

Is that really my style, do you think?

Probably not.

It would involve you actually doing something.

That's a tad unfair, Catherine.

I did try and do something, it's just

events conspired against me.

You haven't told me what happened that night.

You were all ready to tell Florence how

you felt.

What I wanted to say was...

And then nothing happened.

Need a few more rum punches inside me

before we open that can of worms, Catherine.

Thank you.

OK, thank you.

It's a divert from the station.

Party's over, I reckon.

Guy called Philip Carlton.

Looks like he shot himself.

There's going to be a fireworks display at

11 o'clock.

The man we hired to organise it came

down here a few minutes before and that's

when he found...

The victim owns the villa, you said.

It was his party?

It was actually his wife's idea.

Philip Carlton was a well-respected businessman.

He owned the Carlton Atlas shipping company.

Must have had a few quid going spare,

then.

I'd say so.

Marlon, photographs, please.

And we should bag the gun.

The villa's not that far away.

I'm surprised no-one heard the gunshot.

If I was on the terrace, I'd feel

like such a fool.

I thought it was one of the fireworks

gone off by mistake.

What time was this?

Quarter to eleven.

Sarge, look at the mobile phone.

It's locked.

Passcode is 4182.

I've been working with Philip now for nearly

40 years.

There's not much I don't know about him.

Looks like the last thing the victim did

was to record a video at 10.43.

That's two minutes before the shot was fired.

I don't think it was to come as

any surprise to you.

I'm sure you'll understand, this has to happen.

Right now.

Right here.

So, Mr Carlton recorded these final few words

and then took his own life.

Philip had always suffered from down days, as

you call them.

And you're his wife, Mrs Carlton?

Ex-wife.

But I kept the surname.

After 40 years, I've grown rather fond of

it.

I'm the latest incumbent inspector.

Bliss Monroe.

Oh, so you didn't take your husband's surname?

No, I don't believe in that kind of

thing.

It's regressive and archaic.

Okay, sure.

What Natasha's saying is Philip was prone to

the odd bout of depression.

And had Mr Carlton been particularly downcast of

late?

A little, I'd say, yes.

Dad always found this kind of air harder

for me.

Yes, Philip lost his father at Christmas.

I mean, it was years ago, but they

had a very difficult relationship.

Strained, at best.

It haunted Philip that he never made peace

with his father.

I tried to get him to speak to

my therapist.

I told him he had to deal with

these issues, not bottle them up.

But he could be so stubborn.

And you think this is what Mr Carlton

was referring to in the message he left?

It has to be.

This afternoon he looked so lost.

I should have said something, but I thought...

He always picks himself up, dusts himself down.

Always.

Ava, finish processing the seed.

I'll get the paperwork written up.

And I'll speak to the coiner.

Poor family.

Some Christmas.

What are you doing at your parents' house?

You're meant to be spending Christmas here with

me.

No, right, of course.

I can appreciate why you'd want to be

somewhere else.

So, maybe I should come up and be

with you all?

No, no, I understand.

Yeah, silly idea.

Proper talk.

I see.

Yeah, well, we can do that when you

get back.

Okay.

Bye, love.

Let's go, see if we can't spread a

little Christmas joy.

What do you say, Officer Brandt?

I'll try my best, Commissioner.

But I'm finding it very hard to raise

a smile myself, dressed like this.

Stop complaining and put your hat on.

Now, where's my sack?

Hello, Officer Bryant speaking.

Yes, he's right here.

Commissioner, it's your secretary.

She's got someone called Interpol on a live

view.

The hotel has a spa and a pool.

And on Christmas Day, we go down the

beach to swim and eat barbecued fish.

It's just...

I mean...

It's just...

Perfect.

Well, I'm a bit of a traditionalist at

heart, Florence.

When it comes to Christmases, I like them

cold and drizzly and grey.

Which I don't get at all.

Well, while it's cold and drizzly and grey

outside, inside the fire's on and it's warm

and cosy.

The smell of roast turkeys wafting in from

the kitchen.

I'm all snuggled up on the sofa.

My nan's nattering away while she sips her

sherry.

Now, for me, that's...

C'est juste parfait.

That's my family.

I'd better go.

Yeah.

Merry Christmas, Florence.

Thank you, you two.

Enjoy your trip home to Manchester.

Thank you.

You've earned it.

There's been a development in the Philip Count

and case.

Oh?

Interpol received a phone call last night.

A man based in London.

He'd been sent a Christmas card claiming that

Mr Carlton was murdered.

He's waiting to speak with us now.

OK.

Sorry, I have to ask, why are you

both stressed like that?

I've been asking myself the same question.

I thought it was a joke at first,

but then I looked up the name and

I saw this news article about this rich

guy, Philip Carlton, who'd killed himself on your

island, which is where this came from.

Postmarked smudge, but you can still make it

out St Marie, and that's when I thought

to myself, this is not a joke, Colin,

this is serious.

Is that an elf?

Not a real one.

Mr Babcock, is there any reason you can

think of why someone might have sent this

to you?

No.

So you have no connection to Philip Carlton?

Never met him?

Or someone in his family?

I'd never even heard of the guy until

I got this Christmas card.

Well, we're going to need you to bag

up the card in the envelope and send

it over to us, OK?

Sure.

Just email me the address.

Thank you for your assistance.

We'll be in touch if we need to

speak to you again.

Right.

Erm...

Bye, then.

There's a chance this Christmas card was sent

as a joke.

Not a very funny one, but...

Even if it was, I don't understand this.

Why him?

Why send it to some random minicab driver

in the UK?

Sir, that was a pathologist.

Is there something he thinks you should know?

Post-mortem lividity shows that the victim's body

was moved after he died.

Possibly lifted and then dragged.

If the body was moved, that means that

someone placed the gun in Philip Carlton's hand

to make it look like a suicide.

And in so doing, covering up a possible

murder.

Which might explain why this was sent.

If we have a murder case to investigate,

then I suggest we put on more suitable

attire.

Sir, I'm not going home, am I?

For Christmas.

You're going to want me to stay here.

Sorry, Inspector.

I'll call my mum and let her know.

I don't think this will come as any

surprise to you.

But I'm sure you'll understand that this has

to happen.

Right now.

Right here.

If Philip Carlton was murdered, it begs the

question...

Why did he leave what appears to be

a suicide note?

Yeah.

I mean, he doesn't specifically refer to taking

his own life.

He says, er...

I don't think it will come as a

surprise to you.

You need to understand this has to happen.

Could he be referring to something else that

had to happen?

Or what?

We need to get in touch with his

family and let them know this case is

being treated as suspicious.

And we should contact the head office in

New York.

Search the house and grounds.

We'll have to go through his phone and

email records.

There's a lot to do, sir.

And we're a woman down.

I suppose there is someone I can think

of we could ask to assist us.

A retired officer.

He's been away from the island the last

few years, travelling.

But I hear he's coming home for Christmas.

It's good to be back.

Yes, sir.

Wayne, you're back?

Yes, sir.

And there's going to be a lot of

partying on the island tonight.

Yes, sir.

Well, this I can't believe.

The commissioner himself coming to welcome me back

to St. Marie.

I'm honoured.

Truly.

That's not why I'm here.

Oh?

I'm not in any trouble, am I, Commissioner?

OK, I might have been a bit loosey

-goosey with the duty-free allowance on the

way back, but...

I wondered if you could help us out

with our murder case.

We are a depleted team.

And it all hands to the pumps.

The I, Neville Parker.

Dwayne Myers.

Nice to meet you, Dwayne.

Oh.

So you're the new detective, huh?

You're even more pale and pasty than they

said you were.

Who told you that?

I have my sources.

And this is our newest recruit, training officer

Marlon Price.

Wait, didn't I arrest you once back in

the day?

It's certainly more than possible, yeah.

Well, this is a rag-tag bunch.

So, what do you say?

Will you do it?

The thing is, if you've got me working

Christmas, we on overtime rates?

I suppose.

And could there be a little seasonal drink

he's throwing in in the light of the

sacrifice?

I'm sure something can be arranged.

Right.

He's more of a player than I am.

Is that a yes, then?

I've got a hard road to travel But

I can't turn back My heart is fixed

My mind's made up I'll never stop, my

friend We'll see...

I'm sorry.

Murder?

Why on earth would you say that?

The postmortem suggests that Philip Carlton's body was

moved after he died.

Which is suspicious.

Also, there is a man in the UK

who received a Christmas card sent from this

island.

Inside it was written, Philip Carlton was murdered.

What man?

He's a minicab driver who lives in South

London.

His name is Colin Babcock.

Colin Babcock?

Mm-hmm.

Does that ring any bells for any of

you?

No.

This who you're talking about?

Yeah, that's him.

This has got to be a joke, right?

Look at him.

No disrespect to this Colin Babcock guy, but...

he's kind of a nobody.

Well, nevertheless, until we can prove otherwise, we

can't ignore the allegation.

But who would want to kill Philip?

That's what we were going to ask you

all.

Is there anyone you can think of who

may have had a motive?

Well, we'll need to take statements from each

of you and your staff.

And if we can get a list of

all the guests who attended the party?

We'll also need to search the house and

the grounds.

You're not joking about this, are you?

What's he like?

The new inspector.

Oh, uh, smart.

Knows his stuff.

But, um, he can be a bit strange,

you know.

Marlon, the English, they're all strange.

Now, let's get down to business.

I'll search inside the house.

You go outside and do the grounds, all

right?

Sure thing.

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

What?

So, while I'm out there getting all hot

and sweaty, you're inside while the air-conditioner's

on full blast?

I don't know what you mean.

We'll toss for it.

Heads or tails?

Heads!

Tails.

You lose.

I'm inside.

So you got moves, huh?

All right.

You win today.

The estate is divided equally between Natasha, Bliss

and Marigold.

He had two phones.

One for our work and that one for

personal.

It's 6243.

Seems to be a lot of recent calls

from the ex-wife, Mrs Galton.

Natasha struggled with the separation.

I don't think she ever quite accepted it.

And the calls?

Most days, after a glass of wine or

four, she'd call and just let rip.

Philip stopped answering out for a while.

Let his voicemail bear the brunt.

You have one new message.

Received Friday, 12.33pm. That's the day of

the party.

Why have you done this?

I don't understand.

Everything was just for her.

That silly little witch.

What we had was...

Oh, and you went and crushed it, Philip.

I hate you for what you've done.

I hate you for what you've done.

I was feeling rather sorry for myself.

Overdid the vino at lunch.

Look, I'm not the first person to drunk

dial an ex.

No, but you'd been making rather a habit

of it, from what we've heard.

Oh, Bruce has been yapping to you, has

he?

Good old yappy Bruce.

Mrs Galton, you're obviously still bitter about the

divorce.

I am, yes.

But if I was going to murder someone,

it would be that vacuous yank he's shagged

up with.

Look, what reason would I have to kill

Philip?

I still love the man, for God's sake.

If you still loved him, and you couldn't

have him.

That does give you motive.

No, it doesn't.

Not if...

In my heart, it was never going to

last, him and her.

It just wasn't.

You thought he'd come back to you.

I was sure of it, yes.

All I had to do was bide my

time and wait.

And everything would...

correct itself.

Except that now that's never going to happen,

is it?

Because he's...

gone.

He's gone from my life for good.

Ah!

Commissioner?

Inspector?

So, how did it go with the crazy

ex-wife?

Probably best if we don't call her that.

While Natasha Carlton does have motive, she also

seems genuinely grief-stricken by Mr Carlton's death.

What about you, gents?

Any news?

So, we searched the house in the grounds,

took with the statements, and spoke to all

the staff.

And nobody knew of any monkey business going

on in the victim's private life.

Although we did get something from the guy

who organised the parking the night of the

murder.

His name's Emmanuel.

He said he noticed a car up on

the hill, close to the villa, around the

time of the murder.

And when he approached the car, it sped

off.

Did he get a registration number?

We got better than that.

He said the car was a busted orange

Triumph.

There's only one person who drives a car

like that on this island.

Zelda Moncrief.

I can't believe she still owns that old

orange rust bucket.

Who's Zelda Moncrief?

Calls herself an investigator.

But don't let the title fool you.

Zelda has her fingers in a number of

pies.

Most of them, you'll see.

Yeah, she's got quite the greatest hits list.

Dwayne and me thought you'd pay her a

visit first thing.

Right, Dwayne?

It's like I've never been away.

Well, I get the feeling that this is

as good a time as any to wrap

things up for this evening.

Sir, in the morning, I suggest we do

some digging into the victim's background and those

closest to it.

Because, while we may be looking for a

potential killer, we also need to find whoever

it was who wrote and posted this Christmas

card.

And the question is, just why did they

send it to this man, Colin Babcock?

Evening, Catherine.

Busy tonight?

The Wanderer has returned.

So, Neville.

It's just us.

No one will hear.

Please tell me, what happened between you and

Florence?

Do I have to, Catherine?

Yes.

Or, I'll never serve you chicken and chips

again.

Okay, well.

So, I went and knocked on Florence's door.

The thing is, I had something I wanted

to tell you.

And I was about to do it.

I was about to tell her.

What I wanted to say was...

And?

Well, then Florence noticed something.

What is it?

A mosquito landed and perched right on my

forehead.

I know.

Well, Florence told me not to move and

she was going to bat it away.

But then, at the last second, I sort

of panicked and...

Oh, no!

I don't know if I've ever mentioned, but

I'm extremely susceptible to nosebleeds.

And when my nose bleeds, boy, does it

gush.

I know.

So she insisted on cancelling her date and

taking me to A&E.

While we were sitting there, waiting to be

seen, I...

Sir, I just remembered.

What was it you wanted to tell me?

I kind of felt like I'd missed my

moment, you know?

So, what now?

Will you try again?

Well, when I watched her get in on

the boat this morning, all that was going

through my head was...