All language subtitles for Dept.Q.S01E01.1080p.WEB.h264-ETHEL

-What brought you?
-Routine wellness.

Your man's daughter
in Lancaster called in.

Said her dad hadn't returned her calls.
The door was open when I got here, so…

Open or unlocked?

Open.

Body's in the chair.

Okay.

Well, I'm gonna take a wild guess
and say that's the murder weapon.

Aye, stabbed in the head, I'd say.

Let's not be hasty, D.I. Hardy.

He could have fallen onto the knife
in the kitchen there

and then stumbled back
into his favorite chair.

Grabbing the blanket as he went?

-Makes perfect sense.
-At least he was comfortable.

As for that knife in his head,
it's a beauty.

-The weapon came from here.
-Don't touch that.

Put your fucking hands
behind your back, yes?

Yes, sir.

How long have you been on the job?
A month?

Three, sir.

Judging by the flowerpot outside,
the same number of times you've puked.

It's the smell, sir.

It's not rocket science.
Just open a window.

You checked them anyway, right?

Che… Checked them?

Yes, checked them.

Are they open? Closed? Locked? Broken?

Is there another door?
Does it look forced?

Fucking anything
apart from, "Ooh, it smells,"

which we kind of already know.

I was instructed to wait for the team.

Then go outside and wait.

Or you could fucking learn something
by going and checking on all of that now.

Start with the kitchen, yeah?

Don't touch anything.

Amazing mentor you are.

I know. It's a gift.

La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

La, la, la

La, la, la

La, la, la

You have one new message.

I know you're listening to these messages.

I know you're pretending
they don't bother you,

same as you pretend
you're a righteous person.

You're not a righteous person, Merritt.

You're a fucking selfish,
manipulative bitch,

and very soon, I'm gonna find you,

rip that black heart out of your chest,
and fucking feed it to you.

So enjoy your final moments.

So it was just a coincidence, then,

that on the day before she was planning
on moving into a new flat,

your wife, visibly upset,
ran out of a restaurant

in which the two of you
were previously seen arguing,

and when you got home,
she fell down the stairs

and suffered…

…two hip fractures,

a broken wrist, multiple lacerations,

as well as the severe head trauma
which killed her.

Mr. Finch,

can you not see what we all clearly see?

That this woman clearly didn't fall.

She was pushed

by you.

After you and your wife fought at dinner,

when you discovered
she was planning to leave you,

you, to quote your own family,

flew off the handle
and pushed her down the stairs.

-I didn't push her down the stairs.
-Yes, you did.

I found her!

At the bottom of those stairs.

Dead.

All twisted up.

I can't close my eyes
without seeing her like that.

I did not kill my wife,

either on purpose or by accident.

I loved her.

And if she was unhappy with me,
with our marriage, as you now imply…

I had no idea.

My wife saved my life.

She made me a better person.

Now…

I'm lost.

When the defense isn't objecting
to something they normally would,

one has to think it's a trap.

-Liam.
-But……you plowed on.

Someone with more experience
might have understood.

What are you on about?

All that about Finch being so violent
he clearly threw his wife down the stairs.

His counsel just sat there, kept quiet.

Even Finch noticed.

Maybe he didn't object
because it's relevant.

-Relevant and admissible are different.
-Depends on how one hears it.

The jury heard he loved his wife.

I was supposed to show you the ropes,
not help you hang yourself with them.

It's not your fault.

Yeah, I know.

That was all a performance.
Finch was full of shite.

The man should win a fucking BAFTA.
Nearly had me in tears.

He's not wrong.

He's still raging
that you gave me this case and not him.

Well, maybe. But still.

You go too far sometimes.
And today was a perfect example.

What was I supposed to do?

You left me hanging.
You wouldn't let me use Kirsty's evidence.

She was not going to help you.
She would have made it worse, in fact.

-Without her, there was no evidence.
-There's plenty of evidence.

You had what you yourself described
as a slam-dunk case.

And then you proceeded to tell the jury
just how convinced you were

that the man in the box was a murderer.

Once the jury gets alone in a room,
the facts of the case become the topic,

not how badly the killer might feel
or how much love he had for his victim.

No one can say what a jury will do.

-I'm just saying they know he did it.
-Do they?

Or do you just expect them
to think you're right?

I was gonna ask you
to join me for a quick drink, but…

I think I just pissed on that idea.

Carl Morck?

Dr. Sonnenberg.

I'm Dr. Irving.

Dr. Sonnenberg broke her hip,
so I'm filling in.

Pick one.

Dr. Sonnenberg break
her hip playing tennis, did she?

An incident in the garden is
what they told me.

Go ahead, try one.

I left my racket at home.

They're therapeutic.

You squeeze them.

Calms you down.

-Does it work?
-Try it.

Mm.

Mm.

-Keep it.
-Thank you.

Aren't you supposed to ask me
some questions?

I can, or we can just keep sitting here.
It's your 50 minutes.

I was all set to dive
into my unhappy childhood.

I'm much more interested
in your unhappy adulthood.

"How'd ya feel, Carl?"

More like, how does it feel
to get shot, Carl?

I've heard it described as feeling like
being stung by 100 bees in the same place.

If the bees were on fire and flying
at your face at twice the speed of sound,

you could describe it like that, sure.

You don't look like a shrink.

You prefer I had a beard?

-It would give us something to talk about.
-We've got plenty to talk about.

I just don't understand
the necessity of all this. I really don't.

You don't want to be here?

It's okay. Neither do I.
It's a shitty job talking to you lot.

Doesn't sound like you like your job.

Would you like talking to you?

Fair point.

All right.

I'm tired of
"What it feels like to get shot."

-Ask me another question.
-You give me permission?

Let's see how it goes.

I see in your file
you're on an antidepressant.

-That's in my file?
-Among other things.

-Such as?
-I've only glanced at it.

Have you been feeling depressed, Carl?

No more than normal.

If I was shot in the face,
I might feel depressed.

-I might feel angry.
-Not me.

-All good, then?
-From my end, yeah.

No need to ask
about anxiety or sleep problems

because, of course,
you've experienced none of that.

-I don't sleep much anyway.
-Mm-hmm.

So this is just a giant waste of our time.

Those are your words, not mine.

Okay. I get your point
about talking to police officers.

Really? Just gonna eat that
in front of me?

It's normally my lunch hour,
but I wanted to fit you in.

That was before I heard
how well you were doing.

I said I got your point.

The truth is, Carl,
a computer could just as easily tell you

that after the incident in Leith Park,

you're gonna have problems
interacting with other human beings.

And at some point,
you might need some help.

I had problems with other human beings
before I was shot.

Yeah.

The phrase "superiority complex"

seems to be the overall theme
of your personnel file.

-Is that the file you barely glanced at?
-I didn't say "barely."

Are you superior, Carl, to other people?

Well, it's a low bar, isn't it?

Wow.

I will now read from a statement
written by Caroline Kerr, witness.

"On the morning of October 17th,

I was walking with my eight-month-old
through Leith Park

when I observed a man in dark clothing
go into the back door of flat number 226."

"Approximately five minutes later,
I saw the man exit the flat

and walk to a blue compact car
of a make I couldn't identify."

This was your statement 4 months ago.

I know.

But now I've had some time
to think about it,

I'm not sure it was the same flat.

You said you were positive.

I made a mistake.

Caroline, a policeman is dead.

Another policeman's paralyzed.

And I'm very sorry.

If someone's threatened you,

told you to change your statement,
we can protect you.

No one threatened me.
I thought I was sure, but I'm not.

-Caroline, you saw a man.
-No. I only thought I did.

I'm very sorry.

God, I don't think I'm ready
for you to be back so soon, Carl.

Hello, Rose.

-Your face isn't sagging.
-Excuse me?

Well, I thought one side of your face
would be all… saggy.

I didn't have a stroke. I was shot.

Hmm. Is there a scar or anything?

In there, out there.

-Nice.
-Mm.

At least you don't need a wee helmet
like my nephew.

-Is she in?
-Do I look like a PA?

Yeah, you do.

Maybe you saw her leave,
perhaps heard where she was going.

Sorry.

Who's that?

Moira's stalker.

Nah, he's just after a job.
Brings me these if I let him sit there.

They're gonna rot your teeth.

Lovely to have you back, Carl.

See ya.

-Prick.
-Heard that.

Meant you to.

Oh, for fuck's sake!
This is why I wanted her out the press.

"Mother and baby in pushchair
witness murder."

We practically led them to her door.

It's possible they saw her at the scene.

Recognized her later on.

Well, she was your only witness.
So now what?

We just need time.

You've had four months.

And maybe some more manpower.

D.C.I. Morck's back today.

Could you not give us time to prepare?

There's no preparing for Carl.

Jesus, Carl!

You asked to see me.

An hour ago.

D.C.I. Brrrruce.

Carl. Welcome back.

Good to see ya. You look--

Like shite?

-Not quite that good.
-Mm.

I'm sorry I didn't die, Logan.

I'll get over it.

-We really are glad to have you back.
-I assume by "we," you mean no one.

We should talk about Leith Park.

I know all about it. I was there.

-I meant the investigation.
-So did I.

I'm guessing nothing from the fragments
that came out of the wall,

no prints or DNA beyond those belonging
to me, D.I. Hardy, and Anderson,

no CCTV, and no cooperating witnesses.
Is that about right?

We had one until about five minutes ago.

Wow.

Keep up the good work.

The place had been wiped ahead of time.
It seemed pre-planned, organized by a pro.

-A pro wouldn't leave Hardy or me alive.
-Backup had arrived.

-How do you know?
-I was with 'em.

-Did you see the shooter?
-No.

Well, I'm back.

So I'll take Wilson and Clark
off your hands, and we'll just start over.

Get your own f--

Lovely to see you, Carl.

Sorry.

-You can't investigate your own shooting.
-I know. I just wanted to see his face.

Do you ever stop and wonder
why people hate you?

No.

Okay, so?

It never crossed the line.

The referee gave it.

No, the linesman gave it.

Yeah, so it was a goal.

No, the linesman gave it
because he was Russian.

Why the fuck would he?

It was the Cold War.
The fucking Russians hated us.

I know, but they hated the Germans more.
We're talking 1966.

It was 20 years after the war. Also…

Also what?

Also, the Germans beat the Soviets
in the semi-final.

So the linesman had
a score to settle, didn't he?

Even if any of this Tartan Army
conspiracy bullshit was true,

which it's fucking not, it's irrelevant
because England scored again.

-We won 4-2. Bosh.
-Aye.

Because the Germans
were pressing for an equalizer,

which they shouldn't have been
because your third goal was never a goal.

-What do you think of that?
-I say get over it.

We won. Why can't you let it go?

-Good morning, sirs.
-Hang on, mate.

It's the fucking attitude we hate.
Commentators banging on about 1966.

You hate the fact that England won
and you never will because you're shit.

You can't even qualify, let alone win.

Fucking Uruguay won it twice
before your lot did.

You don't see them acting all
Billy Big Baws about it 60 years later.

D.I. Hardy, D.C.I. Morck.

Anderson, sir. Where's the rest of you?

On the way, I'd imagine.
What are we looking at?

Dead male. Sixties, best I could tell.
I… I didn't get too close.

-How do you know he's dead?
-It's kind of obvious.

-Obvious?
-The smell, sir, and, um…

-You'll know when you see him.
-What brought you?

Routine wellness.

Your man's daughter
in Lancaster called in.

Said her dad hadn't returned her calls
for a couple of days.

The door was open when I got here.

-Open or unlocked?
-Open.

-What do you think? Wait for the boys?
-So youse aren't the response unit?

We were nearby.
Thought we'd take a look. That okay?

Might as well do.

Body's in the chair.

Ch… Checked them?

Yes, checked them.

Are they open? Closed? Locked? Broken?

Is there another door?
Does it look forced?

Fucking anything
apart from, "Ooh, it smells,"

which we kind of already know.

I was instructed to wait for the team.

Either go back outside and wait
or learn something

and go and check all of that now,
starting with the kitchen.

Sir.

Don't touch anything.

Amazing mentor you are.

I know. It's a gift.

Anderson, sir.

How long you been on the job? A month?

Three, sir.

There's nothing like a bit
of a shoot-out to age the fuck out of you.

A total fucking cock-up.

First, they roll up on a scene
that's not even theirs.

Then they march
straight into a fucking ambush.

Real question is why they decided
to show up in the first place.

Morck can't fucking help himself.

Has--

Is this the car?

Simple yes or no.

Is this the car the witness said
she saw the shooter get out of?

Yes, but she's not a witness anymore.

-She recanted, but she's still a witness.
-Can't use her in court.

We're not the fucking courts, are we?

-What's this here?
-What's what where?

Where's the nearest McDonald's?

There's one by the station.

Not here.

Near fucking Leith Park.

There's one on Market Road.

Did you check the CCTV?

Okay. Come here.

What does this look like?

-That could be anyone's.
-Could be.

It wasn't listed by forensics.

Well, that's two fuckups, then.

What else do you see? What about you?

Uh, bag and the cup. They weren't there
before the car got there.

It'd be good to see
if the CCTV at the McDonald's caught

a guy in black buying a milkshake, no?

Why would the shooter leave the scene
then come back?

Wrong question. Why did he stay?

The shooter was watching
to see who showed up.

How do you know that?

What other explanation is there?

Our theory is
that these are two separate crimes.

One shooting, one stabbing.

-Yeah, I'm not sure.
-Why not?

That means that's two separate crimes
you've gotten fucking nowhere with.

Focus on the shooter. Focus on
what the fuck he actually did that day.

You've got it all up here.

And check the CCTV at the McDonald's.

Please.

Homicide rates are up.

Holyrood is accusing us
of letting too much slip through the net.

I suppose we should work a little harder
at solving crimes. I'll get right on that.

-Anything else?
-Moira--

Seriously, Jonathan? Et tu?

No one's accusing you of anything.
We're just having a conversation.

One that began with, "So, Moira, tell us,
what's up with your miserable solve rate?"

You disagree with the numbers?

Not at all, but we have MITs
working without crime scene officers.

Two forensic experts
across a whole department.

I'm aware of the financial issues.

But there's some concern
about public perception.

Perception is neither my problem
nor my department.

Figuring out how to spend
what money I don't have

on actual investigations is.

I'm assuming you know about
the Windley case up in Aberdeen.

All I know is what I've read.

Some police officer,
retired now, who never let it go.

Sixteen years without a solve

until they get a DNA hit
from a trace off her clothes.

Can't wait for the podcast.

Exactly. That was good optics.

Killer's been put away years after
they thought they'd gotten away.

Personally, I think it's better
we put them away sooner.

The cabinet secretary is proposing
we establish a new department.

One that's focused
on examining similar cases

which might serve the public's interest.

Doesn't the solving of every case
serve the public interest?

You're a good officer, Moira,

but sometimes you forget
the wider picture.

I need to be solving
the cases on my desk yesterday,

not ones from before I was born.

I've barely got enough detectives
to cover the ground as it is,

let alone a new department.

I should mention
the department will have its own budget.

What sort of budget?

A substantial one.

Depending on the cases you choose.
Bigger profile the better.

The Crown Office has put together
a list of cases to consider.

And, of course,
you'd have an advocate at your disposal.

I'll have full discretion over all of it,
cases and budget?

It's your department.

Mm. I suppose I could make that work.

Good.

Now, who do you have in mind for the job?

Only me.

That could be
a massive moment in this game.

It could indeed or could indeed now.

John Harrow breaks at pace.
Here comes McCabe, striding…

Off the bar.

You could hear the woodwork.

That was nearly
a goal of the season contender.

Harrow still presses.
Ball comes back to McCabe on the left.

Yeah, it is Scott Castle makes
no mistake this time. That was a…

I went back today.

Nothing's changed. All fucking morons.

I think I'm gonna put my time in
and be done with it.

And then, who knows?
Maybe I'll just hang out with you.

Argue about football.

Smells good.

It's nearly done.

It's been a long day, I'm sure.

I'll take it from here.

I firmly believe
that those who commit violent crime

don't ever truly get away with it.

Um, the court might set them free,

but be it conscience,
karma, or the universe,

they are, ultimately, one way or another,
punished for what they've done.

That was Merritt Lingard,

the lead prosecutor
in the Graham Finch trial,

which reaches its conclusion…

You're not gonna make me
watch that nonsense?

Oh, I see.

Your choice.

As long as it's got nothing
to do with criminals or courts.

Oh, blow ye winds over the ocean

Oh, blow ye winds over the sea

Oh, blow ye winds over the ocean

And bring back my Bonnie to me

You're still here.

Oh, it was no trouble. He's all set now.

That's very nice of you.

-I'll just get my coat.
-My brother is a grown man.

He's not a child.

Of course.

I'm saying that he's not your baby boy.

-I know.
-What?

I know he's not my baby boy.

Then treat him as such.

Yeah.

I might be ahead of you

You should be the better you

You should be ahead of you

Stop listening

I'ma run 'em down
Down, down, down, down

You still hang around
'Cause you see me in a crown

I'm running out, out, out, out

Ain't got time for another rebound

I'ma run 'em down…

Martin!

-I don't know what you expect from me.
-Could you turn it down?

I could, yes.
You need to talk to him first.

I don't pay £500 a month
to have my ears bled out.

-It's bad enough he eats all my food.
-I can't hear you.

I'm serious. I get that he hates you.
Has he really gotta take it out on me?

I'm trying to work.

Work? Oh, you got a job, then?

Can't hear you.

I'ma run 'em down, down, down…

You still hang around
'Cause you see me in a crown…

-What the fuck?
-The house is on fire.

-Fuck off. I'd smell the smoke.
-This room is disgusting.

So what? This whole place,
it's just a dump.

You could get off your arse and clean it

because Martin is not
a parlor maid, you know?

Yeah, well, I've got homework, so…

Biology?

Turn it down,

or I will throw everything in this room
out of the fucking window.

You're a prick.

So I keep hearing.

-Good morning, madam.
-Who are you?

Uh, I'm Akram Salim.
I've been waiting to see you.

And the wait continues. I'm very busy.

Yes, I work part-time in admin, mostly IT,

but I was hoping
I might move into your department.

-Uh, I have experience back home in Syria.
-Speak to recruitment.

Yes. They say nothing is available,
but if you just give me a moment--

I'm afraid there's no path
for you here, then.

How did he get in here?

-Um…
-Is that a pass I see?

No, he just, um…

He works in IT. He's not allowed
in this part of the building.

If you try these, you'll understand.

Get rid of him.

You're a cop.

Who says?

That thing round your neck.
Have you shot anyone?

Not today.

Have you seen dead bodies?

A few.

-I saw my granda dead.
-Yeah?

He pished himself.

You didn't kill him, did you?

Nah. My mum said it was
all the Tennent's and crisps that got him.

That's not a bad way to go.

Whoa. My own department?

Congratulations.

Are you joking?

It's been commissioned
by the cabinet secretary himself.

-Really?
-Yeah.

You'll be reviewing cold cases
from all over the country.

There's a list here from the Crown Office.

You can pick whichever ones you want.

And you'd have your own contact there.

Contact? What, some… lawyer?

If you'd like.

Who exactly will I be in charge of?

Just you.

A department of just me?

Oh, you'll have an office,
whatever resources you need.

I'll need a car.

No, we can't just give you a car.
This isn't The Price is Right.

I'd be reviewing cases
all over the country.

What if I get one in Inverness?
Do you expect me to take a bus?

I'll see what I can do.

So can I tell the deputy chief constable
that you're on board?

Where's this office?

Q? Where the hell's that?

Downstairs.

The offices are numbered
downstairs, Moira.

I meant, downstairs downstairs.

Fucking hell.

Jesus.

Yeah.

This'll do.

I can't let you in here anymore.
Boss's orders.

Turns out she doesn't have a sweet tooth.

Those were amazing.

My wife's special recipe.

She would be pleased you like them.

And thank you for your hospitality.

Oh, um, I'm gonna need that, um…

-Oh, right.
-…pass.

Thanks.

Good luck.

Fuck, Rose!

Chief wanted me to tell you

she looks forward to hearing
which one you pick first.

Oh, great.

What you working on?

I was working on taking a fucking nap.

You're probably gonna need help
getting through all these.

-You're absolutely right.
-Mm.

Uh, that's not what I…

Fuck.

I want one new computer
and one new telephone on every desk.

And put your old telephones
into this wee bin here.

All right?

Uh, Moira?

Hi! Oh.

-Fuck's sake.
-Hi.

You can't expect me
to go through those files.

You only have to choose one.

There's decades' worth
of evidence down there. I'd need a team.

I thought you understood it was just you.
You're more than capable.

Uh, that big telly, into my office,
and the chair behind my desk.

We're just, uh, moving things around.

You said the cabinet secretary himself
requested this department.

That the reputation of the force
was on the line.

Well, I think that's overstating.

Well, let's invite him down
to my office, shall we?

We can sit on the urinals and talk it out.

Fine. I'll find you an assistant
to lighten the load, okay?

Mm. Oh, by the way,
it was never meant to be an office,

so anything you could do
on the refurbishment budget.

-If there's anything left.
-Don't push your luck.

I want the first case
for the end of the week.

Yeah, yeah.

In the High Court of Justiciary,
court number six,

Her Majesty's advocates
against Graham Finch.

Would the spokesperson of the jury
please rise?

Have you reached your verdict?

We have.

And what is your verdict
under the charge of murder?

We find the charge not proven.

Mr. Finch…

you have been acquitted by the jury
and are now discharged from the dock.

Court.

Ladies and gentlemen, if I may.

This has obviously been
a very emotive case for all concerned.

The Crown wishes
it had gone in a different direction,

and we will now consider our options
moving forward.

-Go.
-Where?

Anywhere. Just go.

Hello?

Sir?

Okay. Push, push!

Oh, sorry.

Who are you?

I have been sent from upstairs.
I'm your new assistant.

Akram Salim.

D.C. Dixon.

Why do I feel like I've got you to thank?

I take it you've met Akram.

Is this some kind of sick joke, yeah?

He's very, um… eager.

Yeah, which is code for pain in the arse.

Oh, you two should get along
wonderfully, then.

Oh, you have…

-Akram, yeah?
-Yes, sir.

It's Carl. Not "sir."
I'm very busy. There's a lot to be done.

That's why I'm here, sir. Carl.

Good. There's a mop and bucket
in the other room. This place is a mess.

Then I want you to go upstairs
and get me a…

a computer and one of those new TVs, yeah?

That's everything?

For now.

D.C.I. Morck.

Hey. It's me.

They said you fell out of bed.
Found you on the floor by the window.

Don't you know Scottish air will kill you?

-Fuck off.
-Please, mate.

Fuck's sake, please.

We'll figure it out, okay?
Like we always do together. I promise.

Is that Carl Morck?

Hey.

-Dad.
-Hey!

Hello.

Hello?

Claire?

Claire? What's…?

I've been trying to call you. You're late.

William.

Can I see?

No. It's okay. Gentle, gentle, gentle.

What's that? Dad's boat?

I don't know about you, but I am so tired.

So maybe we should get away
for a little while.

Change of scenery. What do you think?

I'm sorry I wasn't here.

Oi! What the fuck are you doing?

Oh.

I'm sorry, sir.
I wanted to understand what you do.

Those are confidential.

Upstairs they say it's a new department,
but no one told me.

Now I read them, I understand.

-You read them?
-Yes.

-What, all of them?
-Many of them.

Very interesting cases.
Murders, kidnappings, rapes, assaults.

-I think many are good mysteries.
-"Good."

Worthy.

At home in Syria,
there are a lot of cases like this.

Unsolved. People go missing.
No one knows anything about it.

I was the only one looking.

-What, you worked for the police?
-Sort of.

Sort of?

Well, it's, uh…

it's complicated.

You will solve these cases?

Who knows?

-Which will you work on?
-I don't know. I'm supposed to choose one.

There are many that can be solved.

And you know that just from what?
Just reading them, yeah?

Don't you, when you read a file?

Sometimes you're able to just know.

I haven't read 'em.

Perhaps, then, I could assist you.
Read through all of them.

It's not your job, is it?

Put 'em away.

Look.

Since you can actually read a file,

and clearly a fuck sight better
than you mop the floor,

you could sort them out for me.

Yeah? Categorize them. We'll call it…

…administrative work.

-I can do that.
-Great.

Oh, uh…

The boss said you are to park in the back,

not in the disabled space.

…and apparently, I'm to solve
some fancy cold case of my own choosing,

as long as it makes Moira look good,
which is bullshit

because she'll spend it
on her own fucking unit.

Look at us, fuck's sake.

You wanna kill yourself.
I wanna kill everyone else.

Talk about one and one
equals fucking zero.

We need to figure something out, soon.

As much as I'd love to,
I can't give up on Jasper.

I sure can't give up on you.

So outside of me putting a pillow
over your face, I don't know what we do.

You can give me one of those beers…

…and tell me more
about this new department.

N-n-n-no!

William, n-n-no.
You can't have it back. It's gone.

You can't have it back.

William! You can't have it back.

You shouldn't have done it.

We can find her.

She's gone four years now.

So?

She's dead.

I don't think so.

That what your gut tells you?

It's what the file tells me.

Nah, it's a loser.

Morning, Merritt.