Original subtitles

(CHAOTIC VERSION OF 'THE BLUE DANUBE' BY JOHANN STRAUSS)

That's the sleeping kid over there.

OK. Give it the works. It looks like the kid was homeless.

Really? I thought he might've been vacationing here with his parents.

Boss, this is Mr Shrimpton.

Stabbed from behind.

G'day, Serge. Shrimpo. Detective Maraco. I wouldn't.

Jesus, Mother of Mary, hey? God help us all.

Are you from Catholic stock, Mr Shrimpton?

Mr Shrimpo says he saw the whole thing.

Saw it from go to whoa.

You didn't think to help?

I was standing over there. I called you lot, didn't I?

We've met before, haven't we?

I dunno. I get about.

I used to be with the drug squad.

Look, do you want my info or what?

I've got other things I could be doing, you know.

Sure. Why not?

What did you see?

Well, I seen him stab the boy.

I seen him running out of the lane.

I've seen him holding the knife

and I've seen him dump the knife in the big bin down in Macauley Street.

And who is he?

Seen him about. He calls himself 'Pica'.

Pica?

That's a typeface. Quite attractive.

Constable, take Mr Shrimpton to the station.

So, you know, do I get a finder's fee, or...

Yeah. 10 million bucks and a holiday in the Bahamas.

Charming.

A beautiful face.

That could work in the hall near the bathroom. What do you think?

I think the cheese dip is good.

I want you to choose something to put on the walls.

I want you to make my place yours.

Fine. I will paint the walls in cheese dip.

David Potter, man of the hour.

Hello, Joe. How are you?

Good. I don't believe you've met my partner, Melissa.

Joe Sandilands, our esteemed Attorney-General.

Ah, no. No, I haven't, but I'm much richer for the experience.

How do you do? Hi.

How would you feel about seeing this after you came out from the loo?

David wants to buy it.

Well, um...it depends what I'd eaten the night before, I suppose.

Now, your name keeps making an appearance

in the, uh, corridors of power.

Premier wants to meet you.

Wants to know which side of the Labor fence you sit.

Oh, I'm not sure what side she sits on.

What's it about?

Call. An interesting discourse will transpire.

How you going? Excuse me.

Melissa. We're, uh... We're sweet, OK?

Yeah. Good.

Welcome one, welcome all. May I have your attention, please?

Now, I say this not as Flick Moyers, gallery owner,

but as Flick Moyers, lifetime supporter of emerging talent.

With this exhibition tonight, with its exuberance, its live...

Good, mate. I'll save you a return trip.

May I have your attention for just a brief mo.

Oh. Flick!

Oh. Hold on.

Did I just hear Flick use the word 'mo'?

Pretty sure Flick did.

Melissa. Cleaver.

Harry - sorry, David - I never, uh...

Never pictured you as the arty type.

Always see you in a velvet cap and a red cape

chasing foxes on your father's estate.

My father worked in a bank.

Did he really? The stories you must have!

..accompanied your invitations...

There were invitations?

Yes, but it's also about helping a great cause.

50% of all commission tonight will go to rebuilding the war-ravaged Congo.

Oh, well, that'll fix it!

I'm not suggesting that, and I would ask you not to interrupt.

Well, just a cotton-pickin' mo here, Flick.

I'm poised to pull out a lazy 20 G

and purchase one of these live, textural bilious attacks on art.

I need to know how my donation

that you're now describing as YOUR donation

is gonna relieve the suffering of the good burghers of the Congo.

Cleaver, you're a terminable bore. Please leave.

Robert Benchley said that, "All art is relative,

"but all your relatives are not necessarily art."

Oh, that's what I love about a gallery opening, folks!

A better class of bouncer!

Please! Don't hurt me, bwana!

Come on, folks, really...

My apologies for that interruption.

Well, I think you handled that with great dignity.

My trick is to write it all down before.

Rehearse, rehearse, rehearse.

Go home. Go to bed.

Without you.

Without me.

You are so utterly beautiful.

It terrifies me.

Oh...sorry. Did I wake you? Nah, it's OK.

I really tried. I lasted half an hour longer than last night.

Shouldn't be this hard for you.

It's not you. I always have trouble sharing a bed after sex.

I get restless.

You want a chamomile tea?

No. I'm just gonna cycle some more and then I'll come back to bed.

I've already... Yes. I've already done it.

Is there anything else?

Um...

Which is when you found exactly what, Constable?

Close to half a kilo of cocaine.

Thank you, Constable.

Uh...

Your report says you found pornography under my client's bed.

Yes.

In fact, you made a pretty comprehensive list

of his library.

Uh...'Dick Tracing', 'Under My Belly Ill',

'Clash of the Clits'.

All of this while searching for cocaine.

I was establishing it wasn't kiddie porn.

And was it? No.

Constable, how long would you say it took you

to establish that it wasn't kiddie porn?

A bit.

'A bit'. So is that a minute? More?

Your Honour...

I'll allow it.

Five minutes? 10?

About...half an hour.

Oh.

So...in that highly awkward and uncomfortable position

of being under someone else's bed -

a circumstance I can sympathise with - um...

Constable, did you masturbate while you were under my client's bed?

Your Honour!

We have a match and a name.

Denny Lorton calls himself 'Pica'.

He has form. Sexual assault 30 years ago.

God, this being a detective is easy.

The dead boy is Benjamin Rigby. 15 years old.

He's been selling himself for 18 months or so.

Had he been reported missing?

Mum's a junkie. That lane was his beat.

Is this Lorton?

Reckon they could make this room any uglier?

Probably not.

It's like they think no-one actually has to work in here.

Why do we settle for ugly like it doesn't matter?

Bit of colour there, painting there.

Some flowers. I'm wasted in this profession.

Pick this creep up, will you?

Tommy!

Strictly cash these days, Manos.

Since when?

Since I woke up in a strange hotel room

with third-degree burns on my arse and no idea how they got there.

I owe you big-time, mate.

If you change your mind, give us a tinkle.

Red!

Good morning's work.

You humiliate a young cop

and keep that clump of sink hair out of prison.

Oh, you Jews are so Old Testament. I did my job.

How are things?

Barney and I are still under the same roof, if that's what you mean.

He, uh... He does the dishes, I sort the socks and ironing.

We don't talk.

Oh, so all back to normal.

As in, you mean, are you off the hook?

No, I didn't mean that.

Just a sec. Wendy rang.

Something about a meeting with a John Bartrop

which, typically, you didn't share with me.

I don't know any John Bar... Who is John Bartrop?

You were apparently due at Fuzz's school an hour ago.

Oh, shit. That John Bartrop.

Sorry, um... Red, can I...

Can we talk later? Why?

He's a beautiful student. An absolute pleasure to teach.

You don't have to sugar-coat this for me, you know.

I mean every word of it.

The other teachers' comments have ranged from,

"Is everything alright at home?" to, "Have doctors mentioned medication?"

Well, Finnegan has issues.

His attention span isn't enormous,

but he's so engaging and clever.

Wow. Well, he does like your classes.

English is the only subject he seems to study.

He expresses himself beautifully.

So I don't have to send him down the mines quite yet?

Uh, I'm sorry. I think that might be my next appointment.

No, that is your previous one.

That's Fuzz's dad who's just successfully missed

every other parent-teacher interview.

Cleaver, this is Fiona McReady - Fuzz's English teacher.

Hi.

Sorry. Caught up in a very complex trial.

Oh, was the complex trial run over five or eight furlongs?

Finnegan mentioned you were a barrister.

Mm.

I think he wants to follow in your footsteps.

According to all the other teachers, he is.

What is an education anyway?

I spent most of 1982 learning that 52.8% of Malaysia's GDP

came from rubber.

I don't even know if they produce the stuff anymore.

He's a bright boy. He's falling behind.

Why?

Because he doesn't sit up straight in class

and say, "Miss! Miss! Ask me!"?

You know what happens to kids who do that.

Yes. They're in an office somewhere with their hand up still.

Ah. Anyway, that last teacher seemed quite impressed.

Yes, she did.

Yeah. I never had a teacher who looked like that.

I did once see Miss Treadwell in her bathers.

Her varicose veins looked like an aerial shot of the Nile Delta.

Is there a word that means "even shallower than superficial"?

You still screwing Scarlet?

I knew it was a mistake telling you.

No. It was a mistake doing it.

And poor Barney. How is he?

Doesn't, won't and can't ever know, OK, Wendy? It's over.

I've learned a very big lesson.

Fuzz! How hot is your English teacher?!

Mr Bartrop made it pretty clear he's at the end of his patience with you.

No-one takes Bartrop seriously.

We do and you must.

Sorry. Work.

He is the principal of a school

that your father and I spend a fortune on.

Isn't that right, Cleave?

10 units, race four. Charlemagne's Pride.

Cleave! Yes? Yeah.

A fortune. An absolute fortune, mate.

No, 15 units!

Only to the station.

You're a really clever boy, Fuzz, darling.

If you just knuckle down. Tell him, Cleave.

To win! When have you heard me back a place...

Most important years in your life, mate.

Why don't you just buy your lunch like everyone else?

Because there was a perfectly good cold roast lamb in the fridge.

So is this how it's gonna be now?

A permanent cone of silence until one of us dies?

Who's gonna read me a story?

Just read it yourself, OK? Not now.

OK.

Well?

Tell me his name.

It doesn't matter now.

I'm back here in the loving bosom of the family.

Yes, it DOES matter.

Who did you screw?

13 to 1. Yep. Good. See ya.

PDS sent you a murder.

Hey, you know we're out of this room tomorrow?

Oh...

A street kid. Tortured and murdered.

There goes all the fun.

I don't mind adults whacking each other,

but this stuff twists you.

So, Barney will meet you in remand.

Barney's instructing?

That's good, isn't it?

Yeah.

Good. He'll meet you there.

Did you know the deceased?

Had you had an argument with him?

Had...he tried to rob you?

Provoke you?

Had you had sex with him?

I'm not into boys.

You're currently living in a shelter in Abbotsford.

Is that right, Denny?

I'm Pica now. Some days, yes. Other days, no.

The police have your DNA on the knife,

the victim's blood on your clothes.

Witnesses saw you running from the lane.

They may have, but I didn't do it.

He was alive when I found him.

I took the knife out but he died.

OK.

Alright, we'll look into it further and get back to you.

You can't possibly believe him.

We got our instructions.

He got your baggy eyes spot on.

Thanks, mate. Who is he, for Christ's sake?

He is...Pica.

What do we know about his prior?

Statutory rape. 15-year-old girl. He was 19.

Girl. Interesting.

Do you reckon it was a stitch-up?

Well, come on.

He looks like he did it, he sounds like he did it,

he's homeless, he's got a serious prior.

It's the easiest stitch-up in the world.

Jails are full of guys who are there because they look like him.

No? No.

So, you guys have sorted things out?

We haven't sorted out a bloody thing.

Hey, you know that guy we met at the exhibition? Joe Sandilands.

The Attorney-General. He didn't like the painting either.

Yeah, well, he wants me to run.

State parliament.

Oh. Dutch Patterson's old seat.

It's safe Labor.

If I get pre-selection, I'm a certainty.

And is that something you want?

Yeah. I never thought I had a chance.

I joined Young Labor when I was 16

and went to God knows how many meetings.

And here all you needed to do was get shot.

You think that's the only reason they've asked me?

I didn't say that.

No, but you're implying it.

Well, they did only notice you after the tabloids called you 'hero'.

Oh. OK, fine. I'll stay at the bar if you're gonna be negative about it.

What's it got to do with me?

Why is my opinion so significant?

Well, I care what you do.

You can do what you want.

All I'm saying is, from my experience,

politicians tend to be...

Let me guess - arrogant, self-indulgent,

trough-sniffing arseholes.

I was going to say 'sad', mostly.

How many politicians do you know?

A few. Through my dad.

Look, I spend half my life trying to get people like Cleaver Greene

to pay their tax.

How do you think that makes me feel?

This is a chance for me to do some good.

So do it. Knock 'em dead.

I have to go study.

Then let it go... and crouch...

.. and hold.

Morning, folks. Hey.

Stretch out the whole body and...

Pica hardly sleeps here. Just comes to paint and read.

Have no idea what he does with the rest of his time.

I shouldn't let him stay, really. But he's quiet. He's a gentleman.

There you go, my lad.

Come on, boys. Out of there.

Finnegan!

She is your teacher!

She's meant to be telling you about Jane Austen!

It is age-inappropriate sex! It's bloody great sex.

At your age you should be having exploratory sex

with a girl your own age and maybe...some oral.

Oh, yuck.

The damage you are doing to your psyche

could be irreparable, darling.

I know! I'm trained!

Well, I'm not ending it. It is immoral!

Hello!

I thought we didn't buy into this whole

'God', 'myth', 'mortal sin' bullshit.

No, but I believe there's a natural order and a fine balance to life,

and if the rhythms are...

Fuck! Fuzz! I want you to stop seeing the wretched woman!

Do you hear me? Most of the eastern seaboard can!

I'm gonna report her to the school

and she will go to prison and you can visit her on weekends!

You can't stop us! We love each other!

Oh, now you're being a petulant little fucking idiot!

Is this how you counsel your suicidal patients?

Oh!

Come on, Flick.

"Tonight these artists have come of age."

I deserve to make a living.

You earn yours defending drug barons and pimps.

And, yes, I do bloody care about the bloody Congolese.

These are good, aren't they?

He's got your baggy eyes. Yes, he's good. But you know that.

Yeah, but he's VERY good, isn't he?

Need to see more.

Goes by the name of 'Pica'. Formally known as Denny Lorton.

These are Lorton's? How recent?

Who is he, first? "Who WAS he?", you mean.

Prize student at Courtaulds, several major exhibitions,

two paintings in the National Gallery.

He was knocking on the door big-time and then he disappeared.

I thought he was dead.

Well, he's come back to life. What are his paintings worth?

Depends on the size.

And artistic merit, presumably.

Not really. Just size.

He used to go for anything up to 60 grand.

What's he done with all of it?

Get him to exhibit here, maybe I'll forgive you.

No, I won't.

This is crap, isn't it, Flick?

Complete.

No, Cleaver, this time you've gone too far.

I've spoken to the lawyers and you're never gonna see your son again.

I don't know how you can look at yourself

every morning without throwing up.

Oh, am I gonna get a look-in on this conversation?

No, because I know exactly what you'll say,

so you can spare me the smart remarks.

I don't know how you could let this happen in your own apartment.

Your own son! Oh, that's what this is about.

Wendy, he's 15 years old, alright? Almost 16.

He's got a girlfriend.

Oh, you are genuinely sick if you think this is appropriate.

All I did was save our son 50 bucks on a room in some flea pit.

He's a kid. He's in love with another kid.

With another kid?!

Yes, it's a girl in his English class.

He told me all about it.

The girl from his English class is his fucking English teacher, you moron!

Apologies, but I'm in such a hurry. Oh.

Yes! 'Oh!' What, you didn't know?

No.

15 Bray Street, Woollahra, thanks. No, I didn't, as...

What do you think you're doing, you bastard? Give those back!

Alright. Have you told the school? Don't let him in!

No, I don't want my son's head pixilated all over the Sunday papers.

Crown Street, thanks.

Where are your manners? He'll tire of this woman.

Boys can't see straight with a hard-on.

No 15-year-old boy is gonna tire of a woman

shoving perfect tits in his face.

You need to know that you have ruined his life, OK?

And you have ruined my life.

His English teacher.

You ever have sex with any of your teachers?

No. Neither did I.

You need a hand with the biros?

When I was a student backpacking, I went to the Prado in Madrid.

I hate art.

I made the mistake of going to the National Gallery once.

Boring as.

Ah, and with one sentence,

2,000 years of civilisation is dismissed.

Bevan didn't mind it, but... Bevan?

Yes. Bevan.

Bevan. Yes. Yes, Bevan. Your boyfriend Bevan.

Fiance.

Just rooms and rooms full of bleeding saints and fat cherubs.

There's this room full of these Goya sketches.

Sort of 'man's inhumanity' stuff.

I could hardly breathe.

Felt a bit the same when I saw Pica's stuff.

Did Goya murder kids too?

No, and you don't judge artists by the way they live their lives.

I don't care if he can sing, write, paint and dance

all at the same time - an arsehole's an arsehole.

Isn't it time you went on a diet?

No. I'm a good weight.

How long have we got this room?

How long does it take to fix cancerous testicles?

Oh. Oh, jeez, Keith must be pissed.

He never used the bloody things when he had 'em.

Found out what our boy did with his money.

Yeah?

He paints a masterpiece,

sells it at grunge markets for a 50th of what it's worth,

then wanders around the city

handing out wads of cash to homeless people.

Jesus Christ.

We're defending Jesus Christ!

Ooh.

I don't need money. That was Denny Lorton.

My previous life.

Now I find it an intrusion.

So that's what you were doing in the lane that night.

You were giving Ben Rigby money?

I'd been told about him.

I'd sold something.

I thought he could use the cash and I could sketch him.

What had you been told?

That he was beautiful. I wanted to see for myself.

And you found him dying?

But he was exquisite.

There's a photo in the Tate Modern.

Like this.

How we look from 900m up. All dots.

An irrelevance.

Don't go metaphysical, mate. Juries hate that.

The Greeks were terrified of beauty too.

They saw it as a torment.

Excruciating. Unreachable.

I want to capture the precise moment when things are exquisite.

Listen, I don't normally make a habit of asking this,

but this time it matters.

Did you murder him?

No. I did not.

Some dots stand out.

You OK?

So, why do you want to run, Dave?

I'd like to make a difference. Oh, yeah? Example?

Well, I think we could try to make New South Wales

the hardest State in the country to buy a gun.

Whoa, there. Tread carefully.

Still got a few very marginal country seats.

Don't want to upset the gun lobby.

Fuck's sake, Wal.

What's so funny?

Wal! You're living in a bubble!

Mate, those seats are gone.

They're rooted, and I don't mean that in a nice way.

That's the status quo and that's...

We're not married.

Every year they hold the State party conference in a different place.

It's usually a lot of fun for the wives.

You know, my Joe's got his eye on your David.

Why? Is he gay?

Oh! I don't know what he is sexually.

I'm just married to him.

Wendy... Wendy... Stop yelling.

Thank you. Listen.

Wendy! Just don't speak to John Bartrop.

Do not speak to him! There's no point in speaking to Bartrop, OK?

Leave the school out of it.

I'll talk to Fuzz. Leave it to me.

I'll talk to him and Mrs Robinson.

Yes...

Who's John Bartrop?

A puff of air in a mohair cardigan

and my new name of choice for telemarketers and Mormons.

Right.

Bang! The first cut gets him there and then he's down, he's dead.

And then bang, bang, bang - three symmetrical wounds there.

And then... Why do you stab him under there?

According to Shrimpton, Lorton stabs the kid here,

Shrimpton then heroically runs for help,

Lorton then drags the now-dead body over here.

Makes no sense. It's closer to the street.

Why would you put it in a place that's lit up like the SCG?

Now, your father was in the diplomatic service, is that right?

David's told us all about you.

Very proud of his wife's exotic background.

We're not married. Where exactly was he stationed?

All over. Italy, Spain. We ended up in Peru.

Bloody hell. No way! Peru?

That's where my brother-in-law was stationed. Bob!

Uh, this was many years ago.

Yeah, 10 years ago he was there.

Bob, you great deaf bastard! Come here!

My phone. Excuse me.

If I was Joe Average, instead of Joe Sandilands,

I wouldn't be voting for us.

I'd be buying a gun before Davo here bans them.

I'd be putting a fucking bullet in my head.

I think you've had enough there, Joe.

No, Wal. Wal, I've only just begun, brother.

This man here is exactly what this party needs.

We need 20 of 'em and we need 'em bloody quick.

Ooh! Uh, we're almost done, aren't we, cock?

See you, mate. Yeah.

You know what my first act will be when I run this country?

Make threesomes compulsory?

OK, but my second act will be to abolish five-day weather forecasts

and publicly execute those who give them.

Some might say 'extreme'.

Sunday night, some guy who believes

he has a personality 'cause he wears a bow tie

says, "It's galoshes day Monday, folks."

Then this lunatic pretends to tell me the weather for the next five days.

Folks might find this useful in the planning of a week.

Well, folks would be deceived, because by Tuesday night,

Bow Tie has changed his forecast for two of the five nights

but won't admit it.

Your point being, if it's a five-day weather forecast,

how come he changes his mind every night?

Clearly he can't, hey?

Kill him. Compassionately, but yes.

I'm sorry. Um... What have you come as, hey?

What's the emergency? Where's hero - sorry - tax boy?

I just abandoned him at Parliament House.

It was unbearable. They want him to run.

Oh, God strike at my vitals.

What am I doing? This is mad. I should go.

Come on. I just hauled my arse halfway across town.

I'm sorry.

Look, there's a hotel across the road there.

We could grab a room and really thrash this thing out.

It's not gonna happen. No?

Come on. Well, why'd you call? Why do you keep dropping in?

Fine. I won't. No, I'm not saying that.

I'm just saying, "Why? Why?"

I don't know and...I can't stay.

Oh, well, this has been a cracker day for me.

I'm only trying to get an innocent man off murder charges.

I'm happy for the distraction, yeah?

I thought everyone you defended was guilty.

Do you remember that long weekend we spent together?

Yeah. Yes.

Son of Astor paid for it. Came in 10 to 1.

I had you for four beautiful days all to myself.

In the Margaret River. And I really slept there, didn't I?

Yes, you did. Yeah.

And it's pretty much all you did, actually.

You snuggled up and...snoozed.

I didn't mind. I had in-house porn.

Call me any time!

It's gonna be a bit messy.

Oh, Sal!

Um, David... My wife, uh, Sally.

David. Oh, nice to meet you. Pleasure.

Shall we get you home?

I was passing. Mm-hm.

Am I correct in remembering you handled a drug case two years ago

where the key witness was a guy called Shrimpton?

Stanley Shrimpton.

You got a conviction on the basis of his testimony.

That's what you've come here to talk about?

Yeah, I think I might be defending a genuinely innocent guy.

I mean, an actually innocent guy.

Why did you go to bed with me if you didn't want me?

Hm? Was it just about landing me?

Once I'm flapping about on the deck I'm just a dead fish.

What are you talking about, 'landing' you, Red?

We'd already done it before.

So you tell me, then. Why did you want me?

Because at that precise moment

there was no-one more beautiful on earth and I had to have you.

No, no, no. You're so full of shit.

OK.

Because I was drowning and because...

..you were a life buoy and... you were in the same wet place.

Stanley Shrimpton.

A piece of vermin who got off child abuse charges

by becoming a police informant.

Now...go, will you?

Thanks, Red.

OK. I'm sorry. I was bored stupid.

What happened? Nothing.

I got trapped between one woman

who was advocating tougher tort reform

and one who wanted to style herself after Michelle Obama.

You were gone almost an hour. I felt like an idiot.

I had to tell everyone you'd gone home sick.

I'm sorry, darling. No. Stuff 'sorry'. What happened?

One of your new playmates has a brother-in-law

who may have known my father when we were in Peru.

So?

There was a woman at the embassy. She was a translator.

My father had an affair with her.

Turns out this woman was, I don't know, some sort of spy.

But it ruined my father's career

and it drove my mother to the brink of suicide.

And I suppose that's where cousin Angus comes in.

Yes!

Everything turned to shit.

My father ended his career in disgrace

and, frankly, I didn't want to talk about it in front of those buffoons.

Don't think it would've helped your career much.

Now I feel like a shit.

I won't put you through that again.

How is that possible?

You want me to drop this thing?

No. You have to do what you have to do.

I mean, I'm not proud of what Dad did,

but there isn't a day that goes by I don't miss him.

♪ I walked for miles on shifting sands

♪ A cold, cold wind did blow

♪ I look in the night sky and all I can see

♪ Are buckets of tears raining down on me

♪ And I lay my head down low

♪ Lay my head down low

♪ Oh, oh, oh, oh. ♪

We have the murder weapon,

DNA evidence, the deceased's blood was found on the accused

and, most importantly, we have an eye witness.

This is a particularly heinous crime.

The death of a lad who knew nothing but grief and hardship.

Such crimes make us question our very humanity.

Lorton's prints were on the murder weapon.

Uh, the victim's blood was found on his shirt,

under his fingernails and on his shoes when we arrested him.

I must warn members of the jury that they are very disturbing.

Detective, can you describe the nature of these wounds?

The knife into the back of the head severed his spinal cord.

This was followed by three stab wounds down his torso,

one in his armpit.

According to the coroner, the coagulation of the blood

suggests that all of these were done after Benjamin had died.

As in a sort of ritual killing?

Objection.

Detective Maraco, please confine your remarks

to matters pertaining to your investigation.

You're not a medical expert.

And, Mr Dalton, you should know better.

My apologies, Your Honour.

Uh, Detective, you've conducted

a pretty thorough investigation here, haven't you?

No stone unturned.

It was a... Yeah, it was a thorough investigation, yes.

What was the boy doing in that lane, Detective?

Soliciting.

So he was a lawyer?

He was performing oral sex.

So he was a male prostitute.

Who were his clients, Detective?

Uh, beautiful fashion models?

Romanian princesses?

Men.

Plump, wheezing, sweaty, middle-aged men

with 50 bucks to spend.

I wouldn't know.

How many men...

..had he transacted that evening, Detective?

We don't know. Several.

Several. So is that, uh, six, seven?

Could be.

Oh, so he could've serviced a whole league team.

Detective, presumably you've had semen tests performed, yes?

Yes, we did. Uh, most of it was ingested.

In his stomach?

Yes.

Alright, so my client's sperm was in there?

Uh, no, it doesn't appear so.

So, I'm sorry, but a veritable bevy of unknown men

abuse this boy and then disappear

back to the bosom of their loving families,

and yet the only man the police investigate is my client,

who's the only man we know for sure didn't have sex with Ben Rigby.

Mm...the boy was seen alive

just before Mr Lorton went into the lane.

What if my client had stumbled onto the boy already dying?

Killed not by him, but by any one of these anonymous gentlefolk

that he'd recently serviced?

We have a witness who says he saw Mr Lorton murder the boy.

Or could he have, at that distance,

seen my client, in fact, REMOVE the knife?

And if so, would he not be awash in Ben Rigby's blood?

Could that not explain the blood on my client, Detective?

Possibly.

Is 'possibly' another word for 'yes'?

Yes. Possibly.

No further questions, Your Honour.

That was it, hey?

Seen him go into the lane, pull out the knife,

stab the poor little bastard.

Pica was off his nut.

Thank you, Mr Shrimpton.

Is this the first time you've given evidence

in a criminal trial, Mr Shrimpton?

No.

Murder cases?

No, uh, drug cases.

'CASES'. I see.

Isn't it true that on three occasions

you've been granted immunity from prosecution

if you testified against the accused in these drug cases?

Objection.

Your Honour, my client's future rests on the testimony of this man

and this man only.

I'll allow it, but no fishing expeditions, Mr Greene.

Your Honour.

Mr Shrimpton, you said you know my client.

Seen him around.

Did he ever give you money?

Yeah. Yeah. Once he did.

He helped a lot of homeless people, didn't he?

He used to come round. Paint us. Give out cash.

In fact, he gave away thousands of dollars, didn't he?

Fair bit.

It was you who led my client to the lane that night, wasn't it?

He said he wanted to paint him.

Because you told Denny, and I quote,

"Benny's an effing little Adonis."

Yeah, I don't remember me exact words.

Uh, had you had oral sex yourself

with Ben Rigby that evening?

Come on, Mr Shrimpton.

Maybe a brief but therapeutic tryst up a back lane.

Yeah, but, you know, just a quick one.

Take comfort.

Premature ejaculation's not on trial here.

Listen, pal, I seen that sick bastard there

whack that poor little kiddie.

And yet you did nothing to stop him.

Went and got help, didn't I? Maybe you went and got an alibi.

See, I'm at a bit of a loss, Mr Shrimpton.

You say my client kills the boy

he's gone to give money to

and then instead of bolting,

he drags his body 30m down a lane

and then hangs around for 15 minutes.

Why would he do that?

Ask him.

More incredible, he now places the body under a streetlight.

Would you do that, Mr Shrimpton?

If, in the terribly unlikely event you were to have killed somebody,

would you do a runner or would you take 15 precious minutes

to drag the body so that you could place it under a street lamp

in full view of the street?

Hey, listen, I haven't killed no-one.

You've just confessed to the court, Mr Shrimpton,

of a Clintonesque interlude with a minor.

Have you been charged with this offence, Mr Shrimpton?

No.

Really?

Have you done another grubby deal with the police, Mr Shrimpton?

Ob... Objection!

I withdraw it.

Thank you, Your Honour.

That was better than sex.

Then you're not trying hard enough, cock.

I've gotta make way for another couple of beers.

Congratulations. Name in the papers, yet again.

Mwah. Good result.

Lorton did do it, you know.

Well, then, you should've made a better case, mate.

Couldn't. Hands were tied.

There you go.

You know how your bloke did time for that statutory rape?

Yeah, he was 19, she was 16. It was bullshit.

Exactly.

I kept asking myself how it ever made it to court, so I checked.

It turns out your boy slashed the girl with a knife.

Both breasts.

Sex with a minor was all they could get him on.

Why was that?

She wouldn't cooperate.

Said he was a 'genius' and apparently that's what geniuses do.

I wouldn't know what geniuses do. I'm just a dumb-arse cop.

I know nothin' about art.

Sleep well, Mr Greene.

I hear you had a big win.

Oh, for God's sake, Barney. Alright.

He was a man that I met at the Adelaide conference.

He's English.

And he is now safely back in Devon with his wife

and he will never, ever come back here.

What's his name?

Does it matter now? You don't know him.

And I'm never gonna see him again.

OK!

OK.

John.

Bartrop.

John Bartrop. There.

You happy now?

'Bleeding saints'.

Recognise this? Guido Reni.

In six months the streets would've made him ugly.

He would've died in a crack haze down some lane.

I gave him that. His moment of absolute perfection.

No. You killed a kid, you insane prick!

Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!

I'm going to the cops.

With what?

A picture painted 400 years ago?

I will find a way, I swear to God.

There is no way and you know it.

Camus said... Ugh!

Fuck Camus.

Fuzzball. Come in. Come in.

Fiona, welcome. Welcome.

Where's your stuff?

Oh, I'm not staying the night.

Oh, well, you're very welcome.

The old, uh, sofa bed might be a little bit cramped

and the place has had a health warning slapped on it.

No, thank you. I...I just wanted to explain my position.

Oh, nothing to explain.

It's all done, isn't it? Told you he'd be cool.

Mum's given us so much shit. Well, you know mothers.

But what I feel for your son, it's very sincere.

Great.

So, mate, I've got your favourite here. Burgers and chips.

Is that OK with you, Fi... Oh, you're not staying.

Finnegan, would you mind grabbing my purse?

I think I left it in the car.

She's got you on the hop already, mate.

Sit down.

I, um... I know he's young.

But there's something...so special.

Beautiful.

I tried to, well, resist it, believe me.

I-I tried, but...what we have now is extremely honest and good.

You sure I can't tempt you with a burger?

Uh, no...

Come on. We've got 'matie sauce. No?

I-I wanna find a way to make this work.

I...I want to protect him emotionally

and care for his academic future.

Sorry. Did you say 'protect him'? Yes.

You're delusional.

You think I'M delusional?

From what Finnegan tells me about you, it sounds like...

Oh, listen, Fiona, I know I'm a sinner, alright?

I know, because despite the enormity

of what you are doing with my beautiful boy,

I would fuck you in a heartbeat if he wasn't coming back in a minute.

Do you really wanna turn him into me?

The best thing you can do for Fuzz right now, believe me,

is go downstairs, get in your car and get driving and KEEP driving,

preferably until you find some sort of elevated landform

and then keep driving a little bit more, OK?

Let's go, Fi.

Fuck, Dad. Fuzz...

Fuzz...

Mate...

Sorry to call late, cock. I was up.

I just needed to hear a friendly voice.

It's been...one prick of a day.

Yeah?

First Lorton...

One of the many things Scarlet hates about me

is my inability to lose my temper, so I won't even try now.

But let's have nothing more to do with each other, OK?

Barn, what the hell are you... Ask Scarlet about John Bartrop.

You were joking about him, remember?

In the alley where Ben Rigby was killed.

What did you call him?

"A puff of wind in a mohair cardigan."

You know, even when you're destroying lives,

somehow it still comes out as a bloody joke.

♪ I walked for miles

♪ On shifting sands

♪ A cold, cold wind did blow

♪ I look in the night sky

♪ And all I can see

♪ Are buckets of tears raining down on me

♪ And I lay my head down low

♪ I lay my head down low

♪ Oh, oh Oh, oh

♪ I looked in the night sky

♪ And all I could see

♪ Were buckets of tears raining down on me

♪ And I lay my head down low

♪ I lay my head down low, oh

♪ And I lay my head down low

♪ Lay my head down low

♪ Oh, oh, oh, oh. ♪