Original subtitles

Do you mind?

What?

What do you think?

You ready?

We're ready.

Gentlemen.

I'll tell you when to lift.

And lift.

Take it easy, gentlemen.

Just turn this way.

Nice and steady.

No hurry.

Nice and easy.

Easy there.

Watch it there.

Watch it.

Who's that?

Jean, are you all right?

Yes, I'm fine.

I'm sure Edith would have been horrified.

Yes, Edith Woodley.

Wasn't she--

One of your father's patients.

Yes, yes.

I don't remember ever treating her.

No.

She found you rather alarming.

Doctor.

You go.

Well, it looks like he's been shot.

You come over a bit crook there, Doc.

No, I'm fine. Thank you, Charlie.

I'm fine.

Oh, dear oh dear.

Sid Bartel.

You knew him?

I threw crackers at his horse when I was a boy.

Doctor Harvey.

Doctor Blake.

Single gunshot wound, mid-occipital bone.

Yes.

Explains the bruising around the eyes.

...38 I'd say.

You can tell just by looking?

Experience.

Anything else?

His pockets were full of nails, nuts, and bolts.

He was a scrap merchant.

And he hadn't had a bath for some time.

I think we can do without any moral judgments.

It was an observation.

He has lice and burrs.

I see the burrs here.

As I said, no bath recently.

Well, I'll perform the examination.

Enjoy.

Facial contusions, some abrasions.

Severity?

Moderate.

He's taken a fall at some point, face

first into the grass I'd say.

No protective injuries.

Look at this.

Pre-mortem bruising to the chest and the arm.

How pre?

Two weeks prior to death.

He's been beaten quite severely.

I imagine no one's claiming the body.

Pauper's grave then?

Yes.

Perhaps you should bear that in mind

before complaining about his personal hygiene.

Did your housekeeper burn your toast this morning?

Dr. Blake, pathology results for Jane Beazley.

Oh, thank you, Sister [inaudible]...

God help us.

They let all types in here, don't they?

They let you in.

Ha.

Hello, mate.

Harold, good to see you.

Bad news?

No, no, nothing. What about you?

What are you doing here?

Rude health?

I had a bit of a turn a couple of days ago.

What sort of a turn?

- Old ticker. - Bloody hell.

What happened?

I bottled another batch of whiskey,

and I found a great place to store it.

Out of the way, you know?

Not at home obviously.

I'm too smart for that, Doc.

Anyway, I'm lifting a few boxes and I--

I blacked out.

Bloody lucky the boy was there.

Quite.

Your doctor's going to advise you

to cut back on the drinking.

You know that, don't you?

Yes.

Harold Morris.

Present.

When you're ready.

No laughing matter, is it?

Getting older.

It's obvious we've being broken into.

It's up to you to work it out.

That's right, Mr. Callow, which

is why I'm shutting this place down until we get it sorted.

What?

You can't shut us down.

We're trying to run a business.

Dad.

My father's concerned because we have another funeral booked.

The body's prepared.

Miriam Tucker will be devastated.

Well, that can go ahead, but that'll be all.

Thank you.

Follow me.

How long was Edith Woodley's body in here?

Three days.

Was there a viewing?

No.

She was Anglican.

We keep the bodies in here.

Who else has access?

No one else.

Just my daughter and I. It's obvious we've been broken into.

Now, I'm not a policeman but--

Thank you, Mr. Callow.

Do you and your daughter know Sid Bartel?

Not at all.

Lydia and I put Edith Woodley in the coffin ourselves.

That was yesterday.

Was the lid secure?

The room was locked until we took the coffin for burial.

That's the cool room.

Malcolm Tucker.

Where does this door lead?

To a side driveway.

We bring the bodies in through there.

It's the only access.

No sign of forced entry, Mr. Callow.

That'll be the front desk.

Do you mind?

May I help you?

Yes.

Doctor Lucian Blake, police surgeon.

I understand from the hospital reports

that you'll be taking care of the funeral arrangements

for Mr. Sid Bartel.

Yes.

I would very much like to pay for his funeral.

My father and I were intending to cover the costs.

I would like to handle things properly for Sid's sake.

Of course.

Thank you.

Doc!

Oh, Steven.

It's good to see you.

I saw your father at the hospital.

Oh, is he behaving himself?

Well, mostly.

Hmm.

How is he really?

He's not getting any younger.

He's

Yes, I'm sure they are.

If there's anything I can do, you let me know.

I was expecting you an hour ago.

Got held up.

Sorry.

Six boxes this morning.

Leave them around the back.

On time next time.

Mm-hmm.

Oh, thank you.

Have you considered your own arrangements, doctor?

I took the liberty of giving you two copies.

I'm sure you'd want to spare your family

any unnecessary heartache when your own time comes.

Yes.

I'll let you know.

I'll get a constable to come around pick

up the rest of those records.

What are you doing here?

I-- I had some arrangements to take care of.

Well?

Nothing useful from the driver.

Knew who Bartel was, but reckons he had no dealings with him.

Search that store room for prints.

We need to find out where Bartel died.

Start with his house.

Yes, Sir.

Blake.

You all right there?

Yes, of course.

Jean?

Jean.

I'm here.

What is it?

What is it?

It's-- it's a consent form.

Consent?

For what?

Well, in the event that I--

you know, when-- at some point, I'm going to need a funeral.

Would you consider-- well, would you

consent to be my next of kin?

Everything will be paid for, but you would be the one

they call if--

you know, in the event that I--

if that's all right.

Shall I be setting one less place for dinner tonight?

No, no.

It's just a formality if you want to have a read there.

You know old Sid was shot before he was put

into Edith Woodley's coffin?

Just sign there.

Oh.

Yes.

Are you all right, Lucian?

Yes, tickety boo.

How are you feeling?

Well, I'm still a little shaky.

Funerals are grim at the best of times.

Yes, they are.

Who's looking after Sid's horse now?

Sid still had a horse?

Sid's always had a horse.

Charlie.

Yeah.

Anything?

Well I just got here, but look at this.

Really?

Ah, Callow's Funeral Home.

Very interesting.

It certainly is.

Did you find anything else at the home?

Well, where they keep the bodies we

found three sets of prints--

the old man's, the daughter's, and one we

can't identify as yet.

Where do you think the horse is?

No idea.

Doctor.

Yes.

You might want to come and have a look at this.

Oh, goodness me.

How long has he been dead you reckon?

Let's have a little look, eh?

Bloody hell!

Oh.

Just back into town, all right?

How did you get on?

His name's Wallace Crane.

Bartel was letting him stay here for a while.

Right.

Anything useful?

Not really.

Drugs wiped his brain.

I see.

Did he say anything about the horse?

Said his name is Bob.

Bob.

Bob the horse.

Bob the horse?

Where have you been, mister?

Charlie, come and check the cart for me.

Good boy.

Let's say we get you unhitched, eh?

Give you a nice rub down.

What have you got going on here?

Doctor?

Yes.

What do you make of this black paint?

It's not just black paint, Charlie.

That's from a car.

Good afternoon, officers.

Can I help you?

There's been some panel work here, Mr. Poole.

What happened?

I ran into a fence rail.

I had to get the panel reworked.

It's nice work.

Where'd you have it done?

Brogan's up on the Main Street.

That's interesting.

We just went and had a little chat to Toby Brogan

before we came here, didn't we, boss?

We did.

Want to know what he told us?

He said that you got that thing from running

Sid Bartel's car off the road.

You want to explain that?

Yeah, all right.

I ran his stupid car off the road.

He was going two miles an hour whistling at his damn horse.

I had to get a body to a funeral.

We were told something else.

I had to teach that silly old bastard a lesson.

This wasn't about being stuck behind a car, was it?

It was about him stealing from your boss.

Sid Bartel had bruises on his arms and legs

from a beating he received two weeks before he died.

I don't know nothing about that.

You told everyone about it!

You said you made him beg.

No.

I don't remember that.

I--

Sid Bartel was 70 years old.

He was shot up at Fromell.

You beat him up for stealing a couple of vases.

And you got a laugh out of watching him beg for his life.

How about I take you down to the cells at the station

and show you exactly how that feels?

It was me boss.

The boss made me do it.

Put them in the cells.

I don't know what he's told you.

I don't care. But this is ridiculous.

Put them in the cells.

Get your hand off me.

Anything?

Yeah.

We found this in Alfred Poole's possessions.

It's a .38.

There's three live rounds still in the chamber.

It's been fired recently.

I'll see it to Melbourne,

see if they can find a match on it.

And if we don't get a match?

Well, we better just hope we find

out where Bartel was killed.

Is that yours?

Yes.

Want to help me find out who killed your master?

Hey.

Be a detective with me.

Hey.

Right.

Here we go, Bob.

Giddy up, I suppose.

Hmm?

Off we go?

Bob.

Come on, Bob.

Ah, that's the one.

Whoa, whoa.

All right, Bob.

Around there, mate.

Hey, nice car, grandpa.

We might as well drink out here.

Bit of a step down for you, isn't it, doc?

Harold, what are you up to?

branch of the RSL.

The boy's even taking time off to have a drink with us.

Good to see you following doctor's orders then.

You look like you do with a drink yourself.

You joining us?

servicemen always welcome.

Come and have a nice, cold beer.

Doc.

Thank you, Steven.

Lemonade?

I don't know about you blokes, but I'm

pretty embarrassed right now.

Yes, well, I--

I'm on call.

I wondered what he was doing with that horse and cart.

As a matter of fact, that's old Sid's gig.

I'm guessing this is one of his watering holes.

One of them.

Oh, dear oh dear.

Tell me, Harold, when did you last see him?

Last week I reckon.

Why?

He died a couple of days ago.

The police are investigating.

Jesus.

Yes.

What happened?

We don't know yet.

But if the cops are involved--

I heard he was at Fromell.

Yes, that's right.

Bloody terrible, isn't it?

He survives the war and cops it back home in Ballarat.

To all soldiers.

Hear, hear.

Steady.

Good luck.

That's it, boy.

You just took it, did you?

I had a feeling about the bloody thing.

No. That cart was material evidence.

Come on, Lawson.

At least it lead us somewhere.

You're not a copper.

It wasn't your call.

You pull your head in.

Forgive me.

Sid had a regular routine follow.

I just let the horse have its head.

What was he doing here?

Well, scrap metal helping himself I think.

This his blood?

I don't think so.

Sid had one bullet wound, and that bullet

was still in his skull.

This-- this was used on someone else.

What's that, a .38?

Looks like it, eh?

Sir, have a look.

Bullet mark.

Must have nicked the edge.

Drag marks here, and blood here and here.

Sid fell somewhere here.

They dragged the body this way.

What else have you found?

Nothing.

I just feel a little crook.

Yes?

I was going to compliment you on your lovely notice

for Sid Bartel, but I'm having second thoughts.

Jean, I'm sorry.

You all right?

Nothing a cup of tea wouldn't cure.

You know, we found traces of Sid's blood

outside an old rundown shed out past the highway.

There was also blood on the floor inside, someone else's.

Another body?

Yes.

Where is it?

We don't know.

Miriam Tucker's burying her husband this afternoon.

Just the one husband is it?

Apparently.

It is the same funeral home, but, well, that would

be ridiculous, wouldn't it?

Is she Catholic?

Why on earth would that be important?

Would there have been a viewing?

Was the coffin open? - No.

She's Anglican. - Get Lawson on the phone.

Tell him to meet me there.

Do it please, Jean.

Miss Callow.

Is Mrs. Tucker here?

No.

Right.

I need you to open this coffin.

Doctor, this is unforgivable.

Two men are dead.

We've only found one body.

Now please, I need you to open this coffin.

You have no business coming here.

But I do.

Miss Callow, we're in the middle of conducting a missing persons

investigation.

Would you be so kind as to open the lid on this coffin?

I know it's a long shot.

Satisfied?

I am sorry.

Thank you, Miss Callow.

Who the bloody hell do you think you are?

You know there are people just waiting for you to stuff up.

You pull a stunt like this--

Matthew--

Shut up.

I don't know what the bloody hell is wrong with you,

but you better sort it out before you even think

about resuming your duties.

Is that clear?

Yes.

Lucien?

Just give me a moment, would you, Jean, please?

Yes?

Dinner's in quarter of an hour.

Good.

Thank you.

Dr. Mackenzie rang from the hospital.

Apparently he's concerned about my blood tests.

My liver function's down.

Well, I haven't had any blood tests lately.

Any idea what he's talking about?

No.

Jean, how well do you know Miriam Tucker?

Not that well.

Why?

We may have to send flowers.

You didn't go--

Yes, I did.

Do you think--

Yes, I think that's the least we could do.

Thank you.

Quarter of an hour.

Yes.

Yes, of course.

Thank you.

Ugh.

Come on, Mattie.

OK, what's going on?

Your guess is as good as mine.

Is he drinking?

No.

I keep an eye on the levels of his bottles,

and he's not drinking at all.

Well, what about the club?

He hasn't been to the club in weeks.

He seems to be--

Rather more impossible than usual?

Yes.

Matthew Lawson said the same thing.

In fact--

Lucian!

What did the superintendent say?

He said to keep an eye on him.

Glad to see you've taken my advice.

What's the thinking here?

Well, we're looking for a second victim.

It's reasonable to assume the body

came through the funeral home.

Maybe it didn't.

Of course, that is a possibility.

Say you're right.

Why this one here?

Look, we checked a coffin today, didn't we?

Nothing.

Now, if the body wasn't disposed of after Sid's was,

then it must have been before.

And this-- this was the only other non-Catholic funeral

in the past two weeks.

Where are you going?

I've got a shovel in the car.

Here's a hand.

Thank you, Matthew.

It's funny, isn't it?

What's that?

Sooner or later, one way or another, we all end up here.

You all right there?

I'd kill for a drink.

What if there's only one body?

We cover it up.

Yeah.

Here we go.

It's 3:00 in the morning.

And you started without me.

Who is he?

Andrew Morgan, 28, otherwise known as Handy Andy.

That's almost funny.

Some contusions to the face, arms.

What about the scratches?

Fingernails most likely.

Yes.

There's been a fight.

Fairly desperate I'd say.

Ligature marks around the wrists.

The ones we saw around the ankles

suggest he was bound pre-mortem.

Cause of death-- single shot to the back of the head.

...38.

Like Bartel?

Well, not quite.

Minimal damage to the vertebra.

Yes.

Which means full flexion of the neck at the time of death.

Sid was shot as he was running away.

This poor chap was kneeling, head bowed,

with hands and wrists bound.

The gunman would have been standing over him,

and the bullet has passed right through the scalp.

Like an execution?

His blood type matches the blood we found in the shed.

What?

Andrew Morgan, long record, general thug for hire.

Anti-union and intimidation, usually accompanied

by his brother Victor.

So?

Morgan went missing four days ago.

So did Victor.

He hasn't been found yet.

I see.

So we might be looking for one more body.

I'll leave you to it.

Good night.

Biting my head off tonight.

Would you mind terribly doing me a favor?

Could you conduct some bloods for me?

Of course.

What am I looking for?

Not for him.

Morning.

I didn't wake you, did I?

A little difficult to sleep, all things considered.

What happened?

Well, we found the body.

Now we're looking for another one.

Cup of tea?

I don't think Sid was meant to die.

Why do you say that?

Well, he was running away.

This shed's part of an old abandoned property.

He was stealing from it.

Oh, and someone finally caught him?

But if it's abandoned, it doesn't belong to anyone,

does it?

So why would someone shoot him for stealing

something that doesn't belong to anyone anymore?

What about the man with the--

The chap with the finger missing, yes.

Whoever he was, they took him to that shed to kill him.

Imagine it.

It's just awful, adrenaline flooding the system.

He would be hyperventilating by that point, fight or flight.

Of course, he could do neither.

Just-- just awful.

Of course, maybe-- maybe that's what Sid saw--

someone being murdered.

He tried to run.

Didn't get very far.

It makes sense, doesn't it?

Oh, did I tell you?

I found a new home for Sid's horse.

Local family with children, which is ironic really.

Why ironic?

Well, when I was a child I threw crackers at Sid's horse.

A different animal back then of course,

but oh, I thought Sid was going to give me such a thrashing.

And?

He sat me down and he carved a little wooden horse,

and he gave it to me.

Oh, I've never felt so ashamed.

Anyhow, I'm going to see if I can get some sleep.

Good night, you two.

Hey, Lyd.

Can't you see we're busy?

I've got deliveries.

Not now, for God's sake.

Half an hour.

Morning.

Lawson, I was wondering, how do the Callows

fit in with the Morgans?

Well, Martin and Lydia Callow never met the Morgans.

Never heard of them.

I don't know how this could possibly have happened.

And you believe them?

Well, it remains to be seen.

All right.

Only two sets of keys, father and daughter, and no sign

of forced entry.

I see.

Well, anything else you need?

No.

We're all right.

Very good.

Sir.

You know Melbourne sent me up here to keep an eye on things.

I did know that.

Well, they're reining in most of the larger country stations,

but they've got their eye on Ballarat in particular.

And they've heard the doctor's out of control.

Wonder who they heard that from.

So what do you reckon?

Well, I reckon he's a liability.

I reckon you think so too.

Would you have dug up a grave in the middle of the night?

No.

Me neither.

Most of the time he's helping me do my job.

So it's just a question of managing him.

Same as you.

Got everything?

I think so.

Let's go.

These premises will remain locked until further notice,

and you will report daily down at the station

while the investigation is ongoing.

Is that understood?

Doc.

Steven.

You after a lift?

No, no, no, no.

I'm fine.

But I would like to know how long you've

had a key to the store room.

I don't.

Really?

Yes.

Then you won't mind if I take a look at those keys of yours.

It's a busy day, doc.

I should head off.

Steven, please show me your keys.

I don't know what you're talking about.

You killed those men, and you used your truck

to bring the bodies here.

Just leave it alone.

And then you put them in the coffins.

So just show me-- - I said to leave it alone!

Steven!

Steven!

Charlie, where's Lawson?

Town hall.

They're asking questions about you.

I need to talk with him.

You are not going up there.

Charlie.

Doc, Doc, you really don't want

to go around making a nuisance of yourself right now.

Lydia Callow is having a fling with Steven Morris.

Who?

The delivery driver.

He has a key to the storeroom where the bodies are kept.

He may well be that unidentified set of prints you found.

There's only supposed to be two sets of keys.

That's right.

He was very violent with me when I confronted him.

You what?

I confronted him.

He threatened me, and then he drove away.

Brilliant.

What?

Well, you've given him a chance

to destroy all the evidence.

Well, no one else was asking him anything, Charlie.

I'll get the boss, tell him what happened.

You sit in that chair.

No.

You leave this room and I'm charging you with interfering

with a police investigation.

Is that clear?

It'll never stick, Charlie.

I'm not doing this for your benefit.

Victor.

Victor Morgan, can you hear me?

Don't be alarmed. I'm a doctor.

Let's get you out of here.

What have they done to you?

Throw an arm over.

All right.

Harold Morris.

And I'm guessing that's your ex-service .38.

You don't sound surprised, doc.

Well, the bottles of home-distilled whiskey

down there gave it away.

So what do you reckon?

Could do with a little more aging.

Funny bloke.

I've always liked that about you.

Ah, stay there.

Oh, come on, Harold.

You don't want to do this.

Do you have a better idea?

Look, I figure you've had it in for the Morgan brothers

for quite some time.

No.

I've never met them before.

I had some dealings with their old man,

though, when I was working for the union.

He ended up with his legs broken.

My guess is the boys got old enough and decided

to square things up.

That right, son?

They came looking for me, but I got the drop on them.

I see.

That brought on the heart trouble?

Never used to worry me before.

Right-O. Time's up.

No hard feelings, doc.

Oh!

Now, this is interesting.

You look like you've used one of those before.

Once or twice.

On the floor, Harold.

Hands on your head.

I can't do that, doc.

You know, it's one thing to shoot someone

in the middle of battle, but it's

another thing to do it cold, and to someone you know, too.

Most blokes don't have it in them.

But that's all right, you know?

You're a doctor, spend most your life fixing blokes like me.

Don't feel bad that you don't want to shoot me.

And you really don't want to shoot me, do you, doc?

Stop.

So just hand it back.

Stop.

And then you got nothing to worry about.

Come on, doc.

Well, I'll be buggered.

How'd you first meet the Morgans?

I opened the front door and those two brothers were there,

and they both had [inaudible].

They'd come for dad.

So what happened?

They walked me into the living room.

Dad must've heard something, got the first one with a golf club,

fought with the other.

Then it got nasty.

Then I dropped the bloke, and that's

when dad's heart flared up.

So you took your father to the hospital?

No.

He said that there was work to do.

I put the brothers in the truck, took them to that shed,

and dad had--

he'd just shot the first one when that old bloke appeared.

Sid Bartel.

Yes.

He must've seen everything.

So he did what he had to.

We buried Andy Morgan first, and then had to wait a couple

of days to get rid of old Sid.

And what about Victor Morgan?

There was another Anglican funeral in three days' time.

Most of the homicides I've seen,

people just dig a big hole.

Weren't you taking a risk with coffins?

Have you ever dug a grave before?

Me neither.

But I've dug some bloody big holes and it's hard work.

Anyway, I checked the ledger in the storeroom,

and that old bird was supposed to be cremated.

And we'd already gotten rid of the first one.

Your girlfriend reckons it was a bookkeeping error.

The old man's going to be pretty disappointed.

Ah, here he is.

How's the leg?

Bloody killing me.

I guess the boy's telling them everything?

He is.

You know, you surprised me back there.

I just didn't see it coming.

You were going to kill me, weren't you?

I saw a fair bit of action when I was in New Guinea,

didn't worry me, not like most blokes.

Actually discovered I was quite good at it.

Mr. Morris, is there anything else that--

No thanks, love.

All good, thank you.

I was lucky when I came back home.

The unions needed someone who didn't get squeamish,

and the work suited me, but it's not for everyone.

You ever have to kill a bloke, doc?

Then we've got more in common than I thought.

No.

You and I, we have nothing in common.

Whatever happened up in New Guinea,

you had a choice when you came back.

You didn't have to do all this.

Sermon over, doc?

Sid Bartel was in Fromelles, the worst single day in

a battle Australia's ever seen.

He had more reason than any of us to go bad, and he didn't.

And you shot him in the back.

Hey, doc.

You might as well drink the Scotch

I left down in that basement.

Don't reckon I'll be getting back to it.

You're sure?

No.

I asked the lab to send back the wrong results.

You see, this is why you should

never mix with living patients.

I thought you'd be glad.

I am.

Of course I am.

It's-- it's-- it's a relief.

It's just hepatitis.

You thought it was cirrhosis of the liver, didn't you?

Liver enzymes raised, bilirubin high,

symptoms comparable with the onset of influenza.

Irritability?

I thought I was dying.

It's fairly simple to diagnose.

What about these tremors?

Look.

Getting older.

Difficulty controlling my temper?

You're right.

They're not usual symptoms.

Have you made any major changes lately?

Diet?

Routine?

Well, I stopped drinking.

What?

That's actually quite funny, considering

you misdiagnosed yourself.

You're right.

It is rather--

Thank you, Alice.

You need to stay off alcohol until you're better.

Do you think you can do that?

Jean, time to break out the whiskey.

Oh?

What's the occasion?

Well, I've just been chatting with Doctor Harvey, and--

ah, yes.

And apparently-- apparently, according to the good doctor,

I have hepatitis.

Right.

Is that such a good idea then?

You drink it for me.

Please, Jean.

You do worry me.

Ah, ah.

You sip it.

You savor it.

That is appalling.

I have no idea how you can drink that.

Ah, ah, ah, ah.

Not quite the reaction I was hoping for.

How are you feeling?

Honestly?

Just glad to be alive.

Do you still require me as your next

of kin for your funeral?

Well, if that's still acceptable.

Yes, I suppose it is.