Original subtitles

His wife lived for 90 days in a women's refuge.

-Do you come here a lot then? -Yeah, I find it calming.

The cemetery?

Have you been listening to what I've said?

Someone inside the Crown Office told Graham Finch about your witness,

and he's had her killed.

Almost killed.

I'm listening.

Looks more like you're eating your lunch.

-I'm eating my lunch so no one kills you. -Excuse me?

If what you're saying's true,

then you're talking about pissing off some powerful people.

Since you're clearly an amateur at this,

setting a meet in a place you frequent,

I'd imagine they have an idea of what you're up to

and are, in all likelihood, watching you.

I'm not the one investigating mobsters and murderers.

I've worked really hard to have zero profile

on the worldwide fucking shite bucket

that now feeds every wannabe Trotskyite under 30

a steady diet of absolute certainty.

Has it ever occurred to you that staying off the internet

can make someone just as paranoid as being on it?

Not off it entirely.

Just the parts where you post pictures of your glittered balls

alongside the odd Negroni or…

epic slice of carrot cake.

But, hey,

what's the, uh… the saying?

"Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean folks aren't after me."

I think maybe we've digressed.

Been getting any nasty emails?

Maybe some threatening texts?

Well, after you're gone,

car accident,

stumble in front of a moving tram,

there'll be a report of some nameless, faceless psycho that was stalking you,

as opposed to a pro in a suit that's working for your betters.

Here.

Throw me a dirty look.

-What? -Do it.

Then pick up the rubbish, put it in the bin, and walk away.

Is there a secret message stuffed inside your bacon butty?

Walk away quickly, like I've pissed you off.

No problem.

And, Merritt,

next time, pick a better spot.

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

La, la, la

La, la, la

La, la, la

So this has all become a giant fucking melodrama.

You need to come home, Jasper. I want you to come home.

I propose that we meet up and have a proper talk.

What's that place that we'd get ice cream

back when we were normal human beings, near your school?

I'll meet you there tomorrow at four o'clock, and we can have it out.

In public so that we don't hurt each other.

That last part was a joke.

Okay, bye.

Did you walk down the middle like I told you?

Yes, right down the middle.

Good.

In my experience, it's usually better

for the surveilled not to know they're being surveilled.

Yeah, sometimes it's better to give the cage a good rattle

to see how the tiger responds when it wakes up.

This is how many animal trainers have lost their arm.

Morck.

I'm in the middle of something. Why can't you tell me now?

Fergus.

My doctor once told me I've got a tortured liver.

Yeah, you'd think they would have invented a safer pint by now.

It's so far gone, I don't even get drunk anymore.

Got that from my da.

Fergus, your message said something happened.

You know, if you'd told me three years ago that up until yesterday I'd stay sober,

I'd have spat in your face.

What happened yesterday?

Jesus.

Who'd you bump into?

I was hoping you'd tell me.

Me? How do I know?

You were mentioned.

One of them says, "Next time Morck comes to see you, tell him to fuck off."

-"Give him nothing." -One of them?

Cozy wee threesome.

All tooled up under their suits.

-Sounds like they came worried. -Too fucking right.

That was the sucker punch by the way.

I think they thought I'd stay lying there in the car park.

-But? -I got up.

-And? -I left them lying in the car park.

All three?

Yeah, that sounds like the Fergus Dunbar I remember.

Brawn over brain always. Well played.

So are you gonna tell me what jackpot you've got me in the middle of?

I fucking wish I knew.

Outside the bulges in their suits, what was the vibe?

Ex-law? Military, maybe?

Who the fuck are you?

I am Akram.

My bodyguard.

You'll need him. Vibes? They were bad ones.

The kind of guys that when they came into a pub,

you either got up and left or called for backup.

So you've no idea who sent them, but they know

you and I have spoken about Merritt.

Yeah, they probably know we're talking now.

I've been getting followed since you came to see me.

-Are you sure? -I do have some instinct left.

Don't doubt it, but if you're right,

somebody inside tipped off somebody outside.

Maybe it's your fucking bodyguard.

Whoever it is, they assume you know something.

If it was somebody on the inside,

they would've known I'd been working on the case for eight months

and didn't get anywhere.

-Someone thinks you got somewhere. -They were wrong.

Moira was right to take me off the case when she did.

How about we give you a lift home?

I'm all right.

It'd be a shame to throw away three years,

abandon these nice kids who seem to think you're really cool.

Carl, don't act all human.

Doesn't suit you.

Makes you look like a bigger arsehole.

If that's possible.

Thanks for the heads-up.

What?

I think if you were allowed to continue, you would've solved the case.

-What makes you think that? -I've read your file.

And everywhere we go, you have already been.

We're following in the footsteps of your investigation.

Great minds, eh?

I think you did such a good job back then that someone was very afraid of you.

And that they are still afraid.

Good night, sir.

All right?

What?

-We've arrested someone for the shooting. -My shooting?

I'm not sure you can claim exclusive rights,

but yeah.

-Who is it? -No one you know or know of.

-What's his name? -We can't tell you.

Uh, not until you've identified the shooter.

We need you to come in for a lineup.

-Me? -Well, Jim can hardly do it, can he?

Neither of us can, given the fucker was wearing a mask.

You saw his eyes.

You said so in the report.

Okay.

When would you like me to come and look in some bloke's eyes?

The sooner, the better. Today, if you could.

-Can't. Fully booked. -Okay. When?

I'll consult my calendar.

-Right. -Right.

You looking at Graham Finch?

Looking at everybody.

Don't touch anything.

Amazing mentor you are.

I know. It's a gift.

D.C.I. Morck?

What are you doing here?

Walking it all through once more.

You want me to ID someone in a lineup.

I need to remember their face.

What are you doing here?

D.C.I. Bruce asked us to… watch the place, see who showed up.

What, he's got you sitting outside all day

in the vain hope of bumping into someone useful four months later?

Either he has zero faith in either of you, which is possible, or…

you're not telling me the truth.

We thought we'd come and see if we missed something.

See if something new didn't occur to us this time.

Did anything new occur to you this time?

We think you are right.

That whoever stabbed Mr. Allen left the flat, but not the scene.

That maybe the stabbing wasn't the actual crime.

Stabbing a bloke in the head isn't an actual crime?

-He meant not the actual objective. -Yes, that's what I meant.

What was the actual objective, do you think?

-To kill a cop. -Just any cop who showed up?

Maybe someone with a grudge against the police.

That's pretty much everyone around here.

What makes you absolutely sure

that Archie Allen wasn't the actual target?

He was a petty criminal of no real weight or consequence.

The morgues are full of petty criminals of no real weight or consequence.

I seem to remember there was a journalist at the press conference

who mentioned something about him being an informant.

Dennis Piper, Scottish Telegraph.

Can you tell us if it's true

that you and D.I. Hardy knew the victim, Archie Allen,

and if he was a paid confidential informer?

He hadn't been registered.

Victim's full name was Archie Arran Allen, the man from Arran.

You know how I know this? It was in the file.

I didn't know it until I read it, which for me is very strange

'cause I love names.

Love 'em. Names are like dogs. Often resemble their owners.

I don't forget names,

but I had to read Archie Allen's name in a file.

P.C. Anderson never said the victim's name.

All he said was he was here on…

Routine wellness. Your man's daughter in Lancaster called in.

Said her dad hadn't returned her calls.

And what he never said was…

was big fucker in the chair, bayonet in his head,

that's fucking Archie Arran Allen.

Maybe he didn't know that.

-Oh, the daughter would've told him. -He forgot to mention it?

He was nervous, so maybe,

but let's say you're right that Archie was bait for a bigger fish.

It's only a matter of calling in something as innocuous as,

oh, I don't know, a routine wellness check.

Then this way, boom,

someone finds the body,

the cavalry don't appear right away…

…gives you time to do what you need to do.

The shooter was here for you or D.I. Hardy?

No, no, no, not at all, no.

We had zero connection with the man. We were here by chance.

Conversely, young Officer Anderson was probably around here quite a bit.

This was his section.

I bet he'd been inside this fucking house a few times.

You think he knew Archie Allen?

I think it's entirely possible that if you look,

P.C. Anderson and Archie Allen had an overlap.

That journalist was off by a little bit but not by much, and fucking Anderson…

How long you been on the job? A month?

Three, sir.

Anderson was top of his class at the academy.

I looked it up.

So he wasn't dumb. But he made a big play of acting like it.

-Think the weapon came from here. -Don't…

Touching all the furniture,

so his prints would be written off as a rookie move.

Hardy and I surprised him. He didn't know his own story yet.

He'd seen the body, but he was thinking about how to distance himself from it.

I mean, do we even know

if Archie Arran Allen has a daughter?

That would be good for you to find out.

Got the feeling when I picked up the keys that, uh, they knew you here.

I come here sometimes.

Oh?

Mm. When I need some space.

Mm. It suits you.

What is it, exactly,

that you want to know about my department?

I couldn't tell you exactly.

Something must've made you get in touch.

As I'm not very high up, I'm…

…guessing it's something specific.

I'm a reporter, not a cop.

But in my job, planting ideas often backfires.

Someone knows something or they don't.

When we first met, I thought you looked familiar.

Oh?

Actually, I knew.

-Really? -Mm.

You were at the Finch trial.

Almost every day.

The reason I know that is you were sitting right behind my boss,

the lord advocate, Stephen Burns.

Good memory.

So my question is,

is this to do with Graham Finch?

Or maybe Stephen Burns?

Or maybe both.

You understand I can't trust you.

Well…

…trust works both ways, doesn't it?

Your proximity to Stephen makes me nervous.

As I recall seeing you two chatting.

Mm. Chatting about the weather.

-You could be setting me up. -For what?

I didn't know Stephen Burns then, and I don't know him now.

-I am hoping you can help me with that. -So it's Stephen you're looking at?

I would think you two would be on the same side.

Aye.

You'd think so.

Well, back to my first question.

How can we trust each other?

You wanna pat me down? Make sure I'm not wearing a wire?

There's lots of places you could be hiding a wire.

So how can I be sure?

For example, you could be hiding your own wire. Somewhere.

Why would I do that?

Same reason you're wary of me.

-Sure Stephen Burns would love-- -Don't say his name.

Kills the moment.

There's a moment, is there?

Make me trust you.

Well, go on, then. You too.

Your eyes are two different colors.

Mm.

Does that make me more or less trustworthy?

I'll let you know.

At it again, eh, Merritt?

Ugh, no.

Now I'm gonna have to wash ya' joggies.

There was a witness Merritt wanted to call to the Graham Finch case.

Which witness?

It's your job to decide on witness statements, isn't it?

Yes. Which witness?

She would've came to you and asked for her to be admitted.

Yes, which witness?

Prior to witnesses being declared to the defense,

who else would know their names?

-Just us. -"Us" meaning you and Merritt?

Aye. What is this? What witness?

Apparently someone could've swayed the verdict the other way.

Who? And how?

Kirsty Atkins.

She met Andrea Finch in a domestic violence shelter.

I've never heard of her.

Sure? Shouldn't you check the file? It was four years ago.

I worked on the case for months before Merritt was appointed.

-I'd remember. -Hmm.

Merritt was appointed lead counsel over you, right?

-She was considered the best fit. -And you were okay with that?

We work as a team. Doesn't matter who leads.

But we found that in cases like Finch, a jury's more affected by a woman's voice.

Mm.

Merritt's voice could be quite affecting.

Excuse me?

Your relationship with Merritt went beyond the boundaries of professionalism.

-It's relevant to the investigation. -Not to me, it isn't.

We've discussed all there is to discuss on that front.

How well did you know Finch's advocate, Robert McDonald?

-Well enough. -Well enough to feed him information?

-Why would I do that? -To give them an advantage.

Is she having a laugh?

We're having difficulty believing

Merritt never mentioned Kirsty Atkins to you, her trial partner.

-What makes you so sure she wanted to? -What makes you so sure she didn't?

Again, asked and answered. I'm very sure.

At the time, Kirsty was in Saughton Prison.

Merritt visited her in week one of the trial. This we know.

Why would I sabotage my own case?

Because, as you said, this wasn't just your case.

Ah, okay.

So this was revenge?

I was angry with Merritt for not running away with me?

Were you?

I was fucking furious at the time, and for about a month.

And then I woke up embarrassed at myself for being such a cliché.

If there was any witness that could've changed the outcome,

any witness that could've helped put that bastard away, I would've welcomed it.

Kirsty was threatened right after Merritt visited her in prison.

She was attacked. By some miracle, they didn't kill her. She was transferred.

Now she's out in a month. My guess?

She'll be dead by some mishap a few days later.

And this is all on Graham Finch?

We can't say without knowing who it was that fed the defense.

So, if the personal stuff did feed into the trial,

we need to know now.

You think I'd risk my career for her, or let someone go free

for throwing their wife down the stairs 'cause my feelings were hurt?

-You risked your marriage. -You're young.

Get married, and we'll talk in ten years.

Okay, let's just say that Merritt brought this up with you hypothetically.

You're hypothetically asking about a hypothetical?

Indulge me.

Might you tell Merritt

that Kirsty wasn't the best witness because of her background?

Not to mention her desperation to get out of jail.

-A jury sees through that. -You'd have stonewalled her?

I would have asked to speak to the witness myself

and made my decision based on how credible I thought she was.

-So by the numbers? -By the numbers.

Okay, so what would Merritt's next move be to get Kirsty admitted as a witness?

She could go above me, but it would likely just get kicked back down to me.

No. You're wrong.

You just said she'd go above you.

It doesn't mean that she did.

You get me worried about my relationship with Merritt

just so you can play your real card, which is Stephen Burns?

Oh, excellent. Hats off.

Be careful what you learn from this man.

There's practiced,

and there's reckless.

Stephen Burns brought Merritt into the department.

He was invested in her success.

There's no way he would do anything but help her, or at least try.

Now, if you'll excuse me,

I'm late.

Thank you, Liam.

Jasper.

How you doin', buddy?

Fine.

Carl Morck's kid, right?

D-do I know you?

Not by name.

But you can feel who I am, can't you?

Or what I am.

Course you can. You're a smart kid.

-Carl's on his way… here right now, so-- -Aye.

So where is he? 'Cause frankly--

Sit.

Do not cry or whimper or make any kind of sound.

Imagine this was your young balls I'm doing this with.

'Cause if you shout or if you scream

or if you do anything outside of just sitting there quietly looking at me,

I'll ruin you.

Okay?

Okay.

There's a good lad. I mean, I'm not so bad to look at, am I?

No.

No what?

No, you're… not that bad to look at.

Thank you, Jasper.

You're very nice to look at.

I know some people who would pay good money

just to look at you.

All of you.

I know some others who would pay good money too

to put things inside you.

Things human and not.

Both wet and dry.

See, and they would get off not just on your nice face

but on all that fear and the blood that comes out of you.

And they would film it all.

So after they dropped you at the hospital, 'cause these are just men with appetites,

they're not animals,

they could relive those moments over and over again.

Just like you'd be doing

in your own mind

for the rest of your life.

So… here's what I'd like you to do for me.

I'd like you to pass on everything I've just said to you

in exactly the way I said it to Carl

when he gets here.

Speak of the devil.

Nice kid you've got there.

Oi.

Easy, tiger.

I'm not resisting.

-What did you do to the kid? -Nothing. We were talking.

I like kids.

-You fucking tell Finch that if he wants-- -Who?

Tell Graham Finch, the next time he wants to send a message,

to get his fucking arse down here himself, yeah?

Fucking cunt!

Carl!

Move.

Keep pressing down

until you feel all your weight along the floor.

-Wow. -Exactly.

What did you say this technique was called again?

It's mine. It's a Dr. Loo technique.

This isn't what it looks like.

-Too bad. -Eh, eh, eh.

And press.

Now try and lift your legs.

All right. Good boy. Let's get him into the chair.

Ready?

-Sit up. -Okay.

And three, two, one, lift.

Whee!

Lift yourself up. Come on, push.

Let's try and keep you out of bed as much as we can.

Thanks, boys.

Be nice to your father. He's worked hard today.

Oh, I'm always nice to my father.

-How's your day, Dad? -Fuck off.

Why are you haunting me? I know you're in love with me.

In love with my own dad? That's disgusting.

Fuck's wrong with you? Don't you have a life?

Now you sound like my mum.

-I don't want to go home. -Why not?

'Cause I don't like being alone. I keep seeing dead old people.

Hmm. PTSD? You thinking about that old couple you ran over?

I knew you'd comfort me.

Well, seeing as you're here, you might as well help me.

Do you need the loo? Do you want me to get you a wee bowl?

No, I don't need the loo.

So I've been reading old news.

Every wee thing that happened in Edinburgh

around the time before and after Merritt went missing.

Everything from the opening of a new pie shop up the Mile

to various pub fights

to the death of a Chinese medical student

who somehow confused formaldehyde for vodka.

-There's a new pie shop? -Four years ago, dimwit.

Right, yeah. Sorry.

Nothing all that interesting except for a story

about a gentleman named Ned Finkle.

Ned Finkle?

-Some handle, eh? -Ooft.

He was released from this very hospital two weeks after being run over

by a young lawyer named Julia Montgomery.

-Mm. -Sorry, did that trigger you?

I'm medicated.

So he's out jogging when the Fiat driven by 28-year-old Julia Montgomery

suddenly veers across the street, puts poor Mr. Finkle up in the air.

Lost both his legs.

Jesus.

What happened? Did she fall asleep?

Mrs. Montgomery claims she was forced off the road

by another vehicle that came up alongside her.

But seeing how she smacked him from behind and there were no witnesses,

it was her word against his.

What, so she… she just got away with it?

Well, only if she was lying.

How'd you mean?

Julia Montgomery was born Julia Burns.

She married an oral surgeon named Robert Montgomery two years before.

-Burns? -His daughter.

So someone sent a message to Stephen Burns?

Attagirl.

-Graham Finch. -Probably.

And you think Merritt knew?

Again, probably.

Good work, Dad.

Well done. You're all over the socials.

"Unhinged cop at it again."

Fucking cunt!

-Carl! -Will that get me laid?

Probably. But not necessarily by anyone you'd want.

Mm.

-Where's Jasper? -Uh, school.

He said to say he'll pick his stuff up from his nana's on his way home.

Okay.

Do you think violence is a good thing to be modeling for Jasper?

I wasn't modeling violence.

I was modeling how to tell a creep not to fuck with me.

Right. Well, uh, whilst I don't approve, the experience did have one benefit.

This morning, he actually made his bed.

I know.

Very significant.

So… notice it's happening dead center.

Like they knew where the camera is,

parked there so it would catch all of it.

And then,

right after…

-Land Rover wasn't even his car. -Mm-hmm.

Hang on.

BMW 7 Series. Let's have a look at the tag.

-So what you guys doi-- -Shh.

Nice.

Carl Morck?

Dr. Sonnenberg.

We meet at last.

Please.

Please take a seat.

Question.

Where's Dr. Irving?

Ah, well, lucky for you, I managed to return earlier than expected.

Turns out a torn meniscus takes less time--

Nobody told me.

Well, they should have.

It's important to end a therapeutic relationship properly.

Yes. Yes, it is. It's very important.

And I feel a sense of abandonment, anger, and resentment.

That's good. That's an excellent place for us to get started.

Let's just rearrange, shall we?

-Course, if you think that's-- -Please, don't get up.

We wouldn't want you to have any more surgery.

-It is allowed for you to drive faster. -I know.

-You seem nervous. -Do I?

Yes, is it because of your, um…

-Never mind. -Just ask if you're gonna ask.

What happened?

I hit an elderly couple in my car.

I was in pursuit of this…

Does it really fucking matter?

No. I meant what happened after. You said you had some issues.

Oh.

Yeah, it's not that big a deal.

Okay.

I tried to kill myself.

I am sorry.

Slit my wrists.

Well,

wrist.

Um… Passed out before I could get to the other one.

I can't stand the sight of blood.

D.I. Hardy found me.

I was helping him and Carl with this…

Doesn't matter. Anyway, um…

he came by my flat when I didn't show up.

He saved your life?

Not really, no. Um…

The doctor said I wouldn't have died. The… The cut wasn't deep enough.

Um…

But he definitely saved it after.

-How so? -By being nice.

It's a black BMW 7 Series, registered to Edmund Solomon.

Flat 58.

-This is not the best neighborhood. -I've got your back.

Thank you.

Rose, do me a favor.

Wait here.

What? No.

Please.

Yeah?

Sir, is your car the black BMW?

What about it?

I'm sorry, sir, but your car is on fire.

-What d'you say? -Your car is on fire.

Get out my fuckin' way.

Oh.

You fuckin'--

My fuckin' leg!

Sir, would you please call an ambulance? Mr. Solomon has fallen down the stairs.

It appears he has broken his, uh…

…femur.

Fuck that cunt.

Your neighbors don't seem to like you.

Who hired you and your friends to harass D.C.I. Morck?

I'm gonna fuckin' kill you!

Okay. But in the meantime, please tell me who you work for.

If you're gonna arrest me, just do it.

Well, I'm not actually a policeman.

But you are lucky you're talking to me and not D.C.I. Morck because…

he would probably kill you.

I won't. However, I will hurt you.

Please, who hired you?

Who hired you?

Ho! Gonnae shut the fuck up?

Okay. I'm listening.

What the fuck were you thinking?

-I was thinking I wanna kill this prick-- -Wait. I love this part.

-Fucking cunt! -Carl!

'Twas only the reasoned voice of a child could finally stop the beast.

-I was set up, for fuck's sake. -Yes!

It looks like someone may have indeed set you up.

And while that's very concerning,

what is even more concerning

is the fact it's fucking possible to set you up in the first place.

You look like a bloody lunatic.

He threatened Jasper.

Be that as it may,

you have now lost hold of yourself in public twice in the same week.

That's got to be a bloody world record.

I don't even know what to fucking say.

I'm fucking speechless.

What the fuck, Carl?

Show's been going on for a while now.

-Oh, yeah. -What the fuck?

Are you fucking five or are you fucking fifty?

Fucking pathetic, that's what it is.

And normally, a banger fucking week like that

would be what I'd like to call a fucking career ender.

-Catchy. -Shut up!

And I am not firing you.

Because no doubt that's exactly what whoever got your easy-gotten goat

wanted to happen.

Ah, yes!

The other enabling members of Team Doolally.

To what do I owe this pain?

Uh… we located the driver of the vehicle who picked up the… victim.

Can we not call that piece of shit a victim?

Where is this driver?

At the moment, he's in hospital with a broken leg.

Oh?

He fell down the stairs.

Really?

He's employed as a chauffeur by Ballantyne Transfer & Security.

Which is owned by Finch Overseas Shipping.

And have you talked to Finch?

We've been…

rattling his cage.

What are you waiting for?

Merritt was spending time with a journalist called Sam Haig

who was looking into corruption in the… Crown Office.

Okay.

He died in a climbing "accident" right before she disappeared.

And you think someone inside the Crown Office was involved?

Not someone.

Stephen Burns.

What the actual fuck?

We think there was a connection between Burns and Finch.

I can't wait to hear it.

Finch threatened Burns's daughter.

Her car was driven off the road by another vehicle

the same time as Finch's trial.

Merritt didn't like losing when it was fair.

If her superior was helping Finch--

-This is all theory, not evidence. -I'd like to hear what Burns has to say.

-Formally question the lord advocate? -He won't give me anything if it's formal.

-You wanna waterboard him? -Yeah, I'd love to.

But it's frowned upon, so I'll settle for surprising him instead.

-We're all set. -What for?

The lineup.

Oh, fuck.

-Turn to the right, please. -What the fuck for?

They're wearing masks. I need to see their eyes.

Back to the front.

Ask number six to step forward.

Number six, please step forward.

Tell him to take off his mask.

Please remove the mask.

I'm sorry.

Are you sure?

It's just you and me in here.

This gentleman's guilty of something. Probably a lot of somethings.

But my shooter, he is not.

Okay.

-Looks like that hatch-- -Shut the fuck up.

That fucking hatch.

That fucking airlock. It's broken again.

I told you to fix it.