Original subtitles

He's all right, I suppose.

She's so pretty. - Oh.

But what about him? - Oh.

Cary Grant's gorgeous.

Isn't he?

I couldn't take my eyes off him.

What was that?

Anyway.

Hello?

Hello?

Wonder how long they've been following us.

What?

That man.

What about him?

He was here yesterday.

So?

He-- he hasn't moved at all.

Good morning.

Excuse me?

Oh my god.

Morning.

What we got?

We don't know.

Checked his pockets?

No.

Must have slipped our minds.

Packet of cigarettes.

Used train ticket from Bendigo via Castlemaine the day

before yesterday.

A numbered key tag.

I don't know where from.

A money clip with 30 quid, but, uh, no ID.

All right.

Well done.

Thank you.

His clothes are damp.

Dew probably.

And judging by rigor mortis I'd say the poor chap's

been here for at least 12 hours.

The woman who called it in said she saw him

here about 3 o'clock yesterday.

She didn't realize he was dead.

Right.

Well, no obvious signs of foul play.

Initial impression, natural causes.

However, he looks fit, doesn't he?

Finished?

Yes.

Well, until the autopsy.

Everything ready, Sister?

It's doctor, actually.

Alice Harvey, the new pathology registrar.

Oh.

I do apologize.

No need.

It happens all the time.

Well, it shouldn't.

Dr. Lucien Blake.

I thought you'd be younger.

I used to be.

Oh.

No one told me you had a sense of humor.

Before we start, your dead man has removed all

the labels from his clothing.

I assume there's a reason.

Yes.

I'm sure they probably is.

Skinny rotational.

Perhaps simply aesthetics.

Any suggestions?

Not yet.

Well then, doctor, shall we?

Adult male, approximately 40 to 45 years of age.

Six foot tall, blue eyes, brown hair.

I think you'll find the hair is gray.

It's been died.

You see here, there's a hint of regrowth.

Why would a man do that?

That's a very good question.

Vanity perhaps.

Anyhow, no distinguishing scars or tattoos.

No puncture marks.

His nails are very well manicured.

No calluses, but this is interesting.

Bruising on the knuckles.

Was he trying to disguise himself?

Dying his hair.

Was he disguising himself?

Well, I suppose it's possible, but what

do you make of the knuckles?

A fight.

Rigor mortis in major and minor muscle groups.

Livor mortis is fixed.

It fits with him 9:00 yesterday.

I concur.

I'm glad.

You're not going to use that, are you?

Well, unfortunately the body didn't come with a zipper.

We have disposable scalpels now.

The American Journal of Pathology

recommends their use of a conventional blades.

Is that right?

It pays to keep up.

Well, I'll keep that in mind.

Hey, perhaps you might like to step out and get

yourself some fresh air.

I'm fine, but I wouldn't mind a cigarette.

Doctor.

American Journal of Pathology.

How about that?

It was such a shock--

It was.

to see all those ants.

Oh, sorry.

You're fine, ma'am.

You mentioned you saw him yesterday.

Yes.

I-- I was going to the pictures.

What time was that?

Rush on 3 o'clock.

I was running late for a matinee.

Uh-huh.

And on the way back?

No.

I went home through the town.

And when you saw him this morning,

the man was, uh, in exactly the same position?

Is that right?

Yes.

That's how I knew something was wrong.

He must have been dead the whole time.

And-- and what about you, Ms. Harris?

Were you in the gardens on Sunday?

I spent Sunday visiting a sick aunt.

She's had diphtheria.

Was there anything else you can tell me?

Um, no, don't think--

Actually yes.

This morning in the bushes-- - Oh.

Forgot, yes.

we were followed by a man.

Did you see him?

He stayed in the bushes, and then when we were near the body

he ran away.

We only saw him from behind.

Uh, short dark hair, but taller than me?

That's right.

You know him?

Second report this week.

Did you actually see him with the body?

He was close by when we saw him, wasn't he?

He was.

I'll let the superintendent know.

The man we found, who was he?

We're still working that out.

Time to open up your stomach, eh?

And let's say we try one of these newfangled scalpels.

You're ruling out a heart attack.

Cause of death was a catastrophic failure

of multiple body systems.

Death would have been very rapid and very painful.

He was poisoned.

I've sent tissue samples to the lab for toxicology.

Funny thing, the stomach gases had a very particular odor.

I can't quite put my finger on it.

But I inhaled a hell of a lung full

when I cut the stomach open.

What were the contents?

Well, I took some samples to do my own tests.

His last meal interestingly enough was a pasty.

It was only partly digested.

So we talking accidental here, or--

No.

I doubt it.

The poison was very toxic and very fast acting.

Suicide?

Possibly.

And there was bruising on his knuckles.

Looks as if he'd been in a fight the day before he died.

Where's Charlie?

Ah.

He's following up on witness statements.

How'd you go with the new pathologist?

You knew about her.

I hear she takes some getting used to.

So unidentified victim, unidentified poison.

What else have you got?

A terrible headache.

Join the club.

Good day, was it?

I have a raging headache.

Well, that should help it.

I am a doctor, Jane.

Well, in that case, you can prescribe

me a Sherry after dinner.

Done.

Wonderful.

Amaretto.

That'll do for now.

What happened?

He was poisoned.

Poisoned?

with what?

We don't know yet.

Well, you won't catch me walking around there.

Not with that man creeping about.

Jean.

Well Mattie, he is a menace.

We don't know that.

Oh yes we do.

You know he followed Lucy Cantrell home.

Is everything all right?

Cyanide.

What?

Bitter almonds run and hide,

that's the smell of cyanide.

They taught us that in basic training.

They thought at some point that we

might be exposed to gas attack.

Uh, smell the scent of new mown hay.

Frost and gas is on the way.

There were dozens of them.

What?

You think the body in the pub was gas?

Well, it's possible.

And today-- forgive the gruesome details,

but today I opened up his stomach

and copped a lung full of his stomach gas.

And I'm sorry, but it gave me the most horrendous headache

and I couldn't identify the smell until just now.

Amaretto, almonds, cyanide.

Excuse me.

How's the headache?

Oh.

It'll get there.

I brought you some Bex.

Ah.

Thank you, Jane.

What's in there?

Well, I took a sample of his stomach contents

and I am going to mix it with ferrous sulfide and acid.

Now, if the cyanide was present in the food,

this should change color.

But unfortunately, it's not changing.

So you still don't know how he was poisoned?

No.

I'm afraid I don't.

And it's rather sad, really.

You know, his clothes were soaked with dew

by the time we got to him.

Oh.

He was there all night.

Yes.

Who was he?

I don't know that either.

Well, when you do find out who he was,

make sure someone tells his family.

Goodnight, Lucien.

Goodnight, Jean.

Apparently he pulled the train from Bendigo,

but there's no record of him there.

He's not on the missing persons register in Melbourne.

I'll release his photo to the paper to see

if we can't get anything.

What are we looking at?

Well, cyanide isn't that difficult to get a hold of.

It's used in mining, cleaning jewelry,

used in some pesticides.

The thing is, we still don't know how it was administered.

- Cigarettes? - No.

Checked them, nothing.

What?

Well, we tracked it down.

The key belongs to a locker at the train station.

Go and check it out.

Well, hang on.

We still don't know what form the poison came in.

We don't know what's in that locker.

I'm just saying, it'll pay to be careful.

Take [inaudible] with you, and you might want to use a mask.

Actually, do you think the doctor

could accompany me instead?

Certainly.

Um, yes, Charlie, of course.

Great.

Meet you out front.

Yes.

Looks like you're growing on him.

Area's clear.

Good.

So what are we expecting to find?

Don't know

But you think it could be booby trapped?

It's possible.

Seems our man's been trying hard to keep his identity hidden.

Yeah.

The boss said you're just back from China.

That's right.

Wow.

What was it like?

Fascinating.

In what way?

Why the interest, Charlie?

"Biggles in the Gobi" desert.

Ah.

Used to read it to my younger brothers.

Man, it sounded amazing.

They like it?

Not half as much as I did.

Well, perhaps I'll tell you about it sometime.

Now these intimidating looking things,

straps go around the back of the head.

Believe me, I've had some practice.

Well, end's been sharpened.

Yes.

Yes.

He was expecting trouble at some point, wasn't he?

Yeah.

Shirts, dressing gown, shoes, socks.

All the labels removed.

What's that, Charlie?

Poetry.

Uh, The Return of Persephone.

Persephone.

It's a-- it's a new on me too.

Hey, doc?

Porter's Rooming House.

Thank you, Charlie.

With you in a tick.

Ah.

Thank you.

You know Charlie, China was terrifying in fact.

I was in Shanghai, but there were stories going around.

Stories about what was happening in the countryside.

Didn't quite make it to the Gobi Desert I'm afraid.

So what were you doing there?

Oh.

Family matters.

I also managed to catch up with a couple of contacts.

You know, have, a chat, people I knew.

Anyone interesting?

Oh yes.

The China's at a prosper--

Can I help you?

Um, Senior Constable Davis from Ballarat Police.

This is Dr. Blake.

How do you you?

Do you, uh, recognize this bloke?

It's all right.

We just want to find out what we can about him, for his family.

Big bloke.

Brown hair.

Bit of an accent.

He stayed here two nights ago.

Had a fight with another border.

That one?

Who knows.

Yeah.

The bloke was a bit of a refo.

Did he leave a name?

An address?

John Smith.

Funny name for a foreigner.

And no forwarding address.

Uh, that bloke your man had a punch up with, he's working

at a Chandler's orchard.

Name's Carmello Benetti.

Yeah.

Well thanks for scaring off half my workforce.

Well, what do you reckon I come back

and we do a sweep of everyone's IDs?

So what's Benetti going down this time?

You know?

Routine inquiries.

Is this one of your blokes?

No.

He's too white for this job.

Don't keep it any longer, all right?

Should be working, unlike the rest of them.

Is there anything else we should know?

Yeah.

You speak Wong?

Benetti?

Please. Please.

No English.

Mr. Benetti, I'm arresting you on charges of assaulting police

and resisting arrest.

You have to say anything, but anything you do say--

Save your breath.

He doesn't understand.

against you.

Charlie, Charlie, don't touch your face.

Don't put your hands anywhere near your mouth.

He's thrown pesticide at you.

What's the pesticide?

It's for the possums.

What's the active ingredient?

Cyanide.

What the bloody hell do you think you were doing?

Sorry.

Is this where you're staying?

Si.

Do you know this man?

Si.

Know his name?

Arsal.

Thank you, Mr. Benetti.

Two nights ago, did you and this man have a fight?

Si.

And he did this to your eye?

Very strong.

A

Mr. Benetti, why fight?

Libro.

You fought over a book?

Si.

I teach myself English.

I pick up his book.

He's angry.

We argue.

We fight.

Sunday afternoon, where were you?

Jardine.

Lieutenant, gardens.

Si.

Did you kill this man?

This man dead from poison.

Did you do it?

He kills the man over a book of poetry.

Prior to confrontation, he has access to cyanide

and he was in the gardens on Sunday.

Poetry.

You know there was a poem in the man's suitcase

from the station that were torn out of the book.

Um, excuse me.

Yes.

Here we are.

Look.

The Return of Persephone gliding through the still.

He made no sound, ring shot, and then

death dropped almost infinite--

yes.

But then he must've force fed him the damn pesticide.

How is that possible?

Well, he is an aggressive beggar.

Lawson, imagine.

Imagine if I tried to force this poem down your throat.

I wouldn't.

Well, now you see, that's what I'm talking about.

In plain sight on a Sunday afternoon,

but then he tries to force our man to swallow poison

and no one sees anything?

Look-- - Hey.

Exactly.

Sorry to interrupt.

Um, this is Mrs. Lundqvist.

Yes?

Excuse me, but I saw this.

This is my husband.

It's him.

His hair is darker, though.

Full name.

Sven.

Sven Lundqvist.

Nationality?

Swedish, originally.

You bastard.

Yeah.

Mrs. Lundqvist, you might need to explain yourself.

Three years we were married and one day he just disappears.

Gone.

How long ago was this?

A year ago.

All that time I never knew.

I thought something horrible must have happened to him.

Why something horrible?

Husband doesn't just disappear for no reason.

I imagined all these awful things,

but he was here all the time 50 miles away.

Probably took up with some other woman.

50 miles?

I live in Castlemaine.

And I'm still his wife, so anything he left behind,

it's mine.

God knows he left me with nothing.

What brought you to Ballarat?

Visiting my brother.

And what line of work is he in?

He's a jeweler.

And did you drive down from Castlemaine?

No.

I caught the train.

Why?

We might continue this down at the station if you don't mind.

Is that necessary?

Yes, it is.

He abandons her.

She hears nothing for a year and then quite by chance

happens to see him on the same train.

Is this where you tell me that poisoning

is usually a woman's crime?

Isn't it?

Jealousy is a much stronger motive than an argument

over a book of poetry.

And so is gaining financially from death.

Now, we've been thinking the poison was forced on him.

What if it was something he took without realizing?

Something she offered him?

I thought you said it wasn't in his food.

Well, it wasn't.

I'm just trying to work things out.

Well, what if it was in liquid form perhaps?

Sir?

Well, it--

I've been talking to witnesses from the gardens.

A couple of them remembered seeing your man,

and he wasn't alone.

Did they say who he is with?

It was a woman, with blonde hair,

and apparently they were kissing.

Bring them in.

Let's see if they recognize her.

If we'll just head through this door.

I'll, um-- I'll definitely speak to your parents about that.

Just step this way.

None of them recognized her.

No one?

Well, they all said that the woman was blonde,

but none of them saw her face.

How long can we keep her here?

Couple more hours and we'll have to release her.

What do you have in mind?

Not really in the mood for this, Lucien.

Thank you anyway, Jean.

Now--

This is where that poor man was found.

Yes.

Um, would you mind turning around to face me?

Hmm.

Yes, and, um, come a little closer.

Thank you.

Now, what can you see?

Well, you obviously.

No.

I mean behind me.

Trees.

Some bushes.

Right.

Apparently she had her arms around him, around his--

around his neck.

Yes.

Now, still not entirely sure how this is supposed to work.

Oh.

What part exactly?

Well, cyanide is fast acting, and there'd be convulsions

and involuntary moans.

Apparently no one noticed a damn thing.

Well, maybe that's why she had her arms around him,

so no one could see what was happening.

Yes, perhaps.

Lucien, there's someone in the bushes.

What?

Really?

Right.

Hello?

Now don't be alarmed.

I just want to talk with you.

Bloody hell.

Jean, are you all right?

Yes, I'm fine.

Let's go home.

Um, just bear with me.

Lucien?

Yes, of course.

Have you any idea what's going on?

Allow me.

What was all that about?

Well, I--

I'm not entirely sure.

Give that one to me.

It's heavy, though.

Yes.

The more I find out, the less I seem to know.

Oh.

You'll work it out.

You think he saw what happened?

Bloody hell.

Come on.

Charlie, where did you find him?

Same place.

He must have gone back there after you

and Mrs. Beazley left.

It's all right. It's all right.

We just want to speak with you.

Save your breath, doc.

Interview room.

Calm down.

His hiding place in that park is

a little way behind the tree.

If he was there Sunday, he might have seen the woman's face.

Yeah.

Well, I don't know what kind of chances of getting

any sense out of that one.

I have an idea.

Davis, Ms. O'Brien will sit it on the interview.

It's all right Charlie.

She's done quite a lot of work with the impaired.

He's impaired all right.

Just see what you can find out.

Hello.

I'm Mattie O'Brien.

Hey, settle down, all right?

It's all right, Davis.

You're Aaron, aren't you?

Can you take those handcuffs off him, please?

Why on earth would I do that?

Because I think it'll help him calm down.

Please.

All right.

Hey, I'm gonna take the cuffs off you, all right?

Hey, do not move from that seat.

Do you hear me?

Is that better?

You like the gardens, don't you?

Do you like the trees?

What do you do there?

Two days ago, did you see a man and a woman under a tree?

A man and a woman from your special place.

Did you see them?

And what were they doing?

Did he see her face?

We're not sure.

We think he did, but it might not have registered with him.

Well, what did register with him?

He noticed she had a full figure.

Would have told you that.

Not in so many words.

Oh.

Tell me this hasn't come down to the size of a suspects--

Excuse me?

How much longer am I expected to sit here?

Not much longer, ma'am.

We just--

Do you mind?

I'll let the superintendent know.

Sorry.

Just stand there.

So is that her?

Yeah.

I've got no idea.

Um, was that the woman in the park?

Mate, just focus.

Charlie.

Was that her?

Uh, she was curvier than that?

OK.

Mrs. Lundqvist?

I came forward because I thought

I was doing the right thing.

I've been insulted.

I've been made to wait.

I've been stared at.

You have no idea what it's like.

No idea.

I am so sorry.

All this time not knowing what had happened to him,

only to find out he'd--

he'd simply walked away.

You have every right to be angry.

I thought he loved me.

Please.

They think I poisoned him.

And I hate to ask, but did you?

No, of course not.

Can you think of a reason why anyone would want to?

No.

Then tell me about him.

He had a way of listening to you when he talked.

He actually listened, not like Australian men.

He was always very popular with the women.

Was he?

Wasn't that he was terribly good looking even.

It was just that he listened to you.

Yeah.

What else can you tell me?

He loved music.

At night he put on his records and we'd talk.

What about?

Future mostly.

He never liked to talk about the past.

Tell me, do you think Lundqvist

was in fact his real name?

Of course it's his real name.

It's my name now.

Why would you ask that?

Well, no reason, really.

I-- I'm dreadfully sorry.

Forgive me for asking.

At least now I know what happened to him.

Excuse me?

Um, I'm looking for a poem.

I'm not entirely sure who wrote it.

Uh, what's the poem?

The Return of Persephone.

A.D. Hope, wonderful writer.

You're the second person that's asked for him this week.

- Ah. - Just over here.

Huh?

Must be out on loan.

I don't remember checking it out.

Who else was asking after it?

A Dutch fellow.

Frankly I was surprised you knew anything

about Australian poetry.

Quite.

How did you know he was Dutch?

Oh.

He told me.

It's a wonderful poem, isn't it?

Quite sad, but rather--

rather physical if you get my meaning.

Yes.

Yes, of course.

Sir?

Would you like me to reserve the book for you

when the gentleman returns it?

That's-- that's quite all right, but thank you anyway.

Can I help you?

Yes.

Dr. Lucien Blake, police surgeon.

Ms. Patrick, is it?

Yes.

He's with the police.

Thanks.

Yes?

Hello.

Um, just a few extra questions if I may.

Ms. Patrick, did you enjoy the movie you saw on Sunday?

Um, goodness, what--

"Bridge on the River Kwai?"

No.

"Indiscreet."

"Indiscreet," yeah.

The body you discovered, that poor, poor chap, he was Dutch,

wasn't he?

We don't seem to have it on our records.

But you spoke with him, didn't you?

No.

What are you implying?

Is everything all right?

I'd like you to leave.

Of course.

You don't happen to have a book of poetry by A.D. Hope?

Please leave, now.

Thank you both for your time.

Good evening.

Good evening.

Um, I was here earlier about the--

You're with the police.

What do you want?

The gentlemen we were asking after,

did he happen to leave anything in his room?

No.

Mind if I take a look?

There's another bloke in there now.

But I cleaned the room before he went in.

There was nothing there.

Right.

Did he have any visitors?

No.

Any female callers?

No.

He was a very nice man.

Very decent.

Now if you don't mind--

Yes, he was.

He was a very decent man.

You see, the thing is, he died the day after he stayed here.

And that's why I'm here, and I'm looking for a book of poetry.

He gave it to you, didn't he?

He said he didn't need it anymore.

May I say it?

Please?

What do you need it for?

I'm really not sure.

Do you mind if I--

if I hang onto it for a bit?

I-- I promise I'll get it back to you.

I'm so sorry he died.

He was different.

Yes, he was.

Thank you.

What kind of code?

Well, I'm guessing it's some type of one

time pad encryption algorithm.

In English.

Well, it uses a series of letters and numbers.

The letters correspond to the numbers,

and there's a key, a certain page the algorithm refers to.

Now you combine the two, you have a simple code.

Almost unbreakable unless you've got the right key.

How the hell do you know all this?

Well, I may have come across something

similar after the war.

But my point is this.

I think our man in the morgue was involved in some kind

of intelligence work.

And you don't seem at all surprised.

Well, we've been getting some phone

calls people, recognizing the photo in the paper.

Woman in Stawell had an affair with him five years ago.

According to her he was a Norwegian

by the name of Tor Olsen.

He walked out on her as well.

Uh, an affair in Shepparton when he

was Dutch and Niels Vanderberg.

Rail was past immigration.

Names belong to children of deceased immigrants.

Bloody hell.

Somehow he got hold of all the records.

So he cuts all the labels off his clothing.

He dyed his hair.

Throw this code business into the mix.

You think you can crack this?

I can try.

Well, we've got a day.

We've gotta get that body out of the morgue.

We don't even have a name for him yet.

Well, we better get a move on then.

I've, uh, been fielding calls about you as well.

Who from?

Federal police.

The army.

Wanting to know about your recent travels.

Charlie showing interest too.

What exactly did you do after war, Blake?

Well, I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.

This is no joke.

I know.

All right.

Corresponding numbers 2, 32, 33.

Off to a flying start, Lucien.

Lucien, I'm heading to bed.

Is there anything you need?

Um, no.

I don't think so, Jean.

Thank you.

Is that your key?

Hopefully.

Do you really think there is spies in Ballarat?

Oh.

Not spies as such.

Just people who work for other governments.

They're everywhere.

Is that what you used to do?

Yes.

For a time it was.

Maybe this man was a Soviet.

Well, perhaps.

You know, there's a story going around about Soviet agents,

how they'd carry cyanide pills with them

in case they were captured.

So maybe this man ended his own life.

Oh.

Mind you, it was so very public, and there

was that woman with him.

One thing I do know, Lawson needs him out of the morgue,

so we're gonna have to bury him soon.

Did you find out his name?

We thought we had.

We never had a funeral for Christopher.

Oh Jean, I didn't know.

He died alone with the rest of his section,

but, um, it was six months before they told me.

He was long buried.

You know, it's just the thought of him being buried alone

there, no one to say goodbye.

Well, I'll leave you to it.

Goodnight, Jean.

Sven Lundqvist, Tor Olsen, Niels Vanderberg.

the midnight

from the [inaudible] hair.

color in cheeks Blonde hair.

Cheers to blonde hair.

Well, that turned out to be rather

more complex than I thought.

Well, at least you gave it a try.

I don't know, Jean.

Perhaps I'm using the wrong key.

It seems to me there are too few symbols or something.

But please, help yourself.

I've spent the entire evening staring at the damn thing.

Perhaps fresh eyes would be a good thing.

What's this then?

Part of the cipher.

You see, the technique is you connect the key and the message

using modular addition.

It looks like a Ballarat phone number to me.

No. No.

No.

It's just a fraction of the text.

What?

Well, I must tidy all this away.

Very good.

Gliding through this still there.

Gliding through hell.

Bloody nightmare the thing.

Just had the Ballarat Historical

Society on the phone.

Now, Elise Patrick, wasn't she that

woman who found that dead body?

- I didn't hear the phone ring. - Oh.

No. No.

No. I-- I rang them.

That's their number.

Mattie?

You think he'll talk to us?

Well, I have a feeling he might talk to you.

Come on.

Try over there, eh?

Will you stay here?

Give me a shout if you need me.

Hello, Aaron.

How are you?

Lucien?

Mattie?

Can you come out?

I-- I would like you to come back out, please, but calmly.

It is-- it-- it's all right.

It's all right.

This is-- this is my friend, Lucien.

Men frighten him, Lucien.

Don't come any closer.

All right.

Mattie, that's a very expensive coat he's wearing.

He didn't have that the last time I saw him.

That's a lovely coat you're wearing.

Where did you get it from?

Yes, I thought as much.

Mattie, do you think you could check to see

if there's a label at the back of the coat?

Would you hold still for me?

The labels been cut off, and blonde hair.

It's a woman's by the length of it.

May I see it?

Not a woman's as such.

In fact it's not even human.

I would say, however, that's come from a wig.

Ms. Patrick, good morning.

I've told you everything I know.

Yes.

Yes, but your colleague hasn't.

Martha?

Ms. uh--

Harris.

Ah, Ms. Harris.

How can I help you?

Does the Historical Society have

any material, any books on migrant settlement in Ballarat?

A few, actually.

Wonderful.

I'd love to see what you have.

Stay where you are.

I'm just getting my purse.

Martha?

Martha Harris, member of the Australian Communist Party

since 1943.

The Soviets were our allies, and it's not illegal.

Sacked from a government job under suspicion

of having a relationship with an attache at the Soviet Embassy

who subsequently went missing.

Is that why you moved to Ballarat?

No.

I have a sick aunt who lives here.

Suffering from?

Diphtheria.

Does she know you were wearing her wig in the park?

May I smoke?

How many identities did you manufacture for him?

Sven Lundqvist.

He died in Wendouree in 1912 at the age of three.

Niels Vanderberg died in Castlemaine in 1897

at the age of six months.

Tor Olsen--

I have no idea what you're talking about.

Do you like poetry, Ms. Harris?

For knowing all bounds of passion, of power, of art.

Mastered, but could not mask his deep despair.

Even as she turned with Hermes to depart, looking

her last on her grim ravisher.

For the first time she loved him, from their heart.

Was that what it was like for you holding him while he died?

Whatever this attachment was, you loved him.

You'd given up everything for him, everything,

and he couldn't even remain faithful.

What about his marriage?

Was that the last straw?

You should charge me if you have anything, or let me go,

but there's no reason to go on talking like this.

You're right.

Anyway, this is no longer in our jurisdiction.

There are agents on their way to talk to you, Ms. Harris.

Unless you have anything else to say, this interview is over.

Ms. Harris?

No.

I have nothing left to say.

Cyanide.

Sugarcoated to disguise it.

You did love him--

passionately.

But unlike you, he was trying to walk away.

I gave up everything for him.

I found him new places to live, new identities,

but every time he found another lover.

And the message you wrote in that book.

You were arranging to meet, weren't you?

I'd had enough.

He was a traitor.

To his country?

To me.

Charlie, there's terrible famine in parts of China

right now.

Insurgencies in Malaysia, Indonesia, and Vietnam.

And yet that woman murdered her lover

because he was unfaithful.

It's a complicated alt world.

Jean?

Jean, do you know where I put my--

thank you.

Presentable?

Yes.

You are now.

You worked out what you're gonna say?

Well, it's a pauper's funeral.

Just Lawson and I, and the good people from the funeral home,

of course.

What about the wife?

No.

She couldn't face it.

I'm going to say that even though we don't know this man's

name and even though he was born and fought under another flag,

he's resting with us now and we will look

after him as one of our own.

Is it all right if I come with you?

Yes, of course.

Right.