Original subtitles

Dear Hortense, my boyfriend snores and I haven't got a good night's sleep. Dear

Hortense, I've got a problem with my mother -in -law. Oh, should I say...

Hortense, how can I get my son to sleep?

Dear Hortense, dear Hortense. Dear Hortense, dear Hortense.

How many times? We're not under

attack, you daft thing.

Today, let it be, ma 'am.

May I speak to you?

Dear desperate daughter -in -law, may I suggest an alternative course of action?

Divorce your wet husband and kill two birds with one stone.

Dear Pippin Peter, I sense dismay.

is keen for you to notice her.

So bake some chicken Columbo and take it over there without delay.

Bonne chance.

Today's let us be, ma 'am.

Let me begin.

Commissioner, thanks for coming.

God, Trace, what a picture. Like a young, great Kelly.

You do exaggerate, Mr. Boussaint.

Merely appreciative of beauty when I see it. I've been meaning to thank you.

Without your admirable journalism, the community initiative wouldn't have

happened. Thank you.

Four -tenths, our guest of honor.

Simply stunning, like a young Grace Kelly.

It all looks wonderful, Anton.

Only what you deserve for your dedicated service to this island.

One last favor, please.

I want to change my final column to this one.

It's already gone to press, I'm afraid.

Oh, don't be afraid.

Just make it happen.

Oh, come on, Bernie.

Do 24 years of marriage count for nothing?

After

30

years solving this island's problems, our beloved agony aunt is retiring.

And so, please, put your hands together to show your gratitude.

for this wonderful woman.

Thank you to all of you, my esteemed regents, for entrusting me with this

precious task for so many years.

But now I'm looking forward to spending more time with my daughter Esme.

For the first time in his life, that embassy was true to his word.

Morning, Anthony.

How was the party? Good, I think.

Me and her.

That's weird.

Mom?

Mom?

Mom?

We're done?

Fifteen more minutes.

Right. Are we going to talk about anything today?

Um... No.

Thank you, but... No.

Dear Thomas, it's work.

Oh.

So I take it therapy's going well, then?

Um, I mean, sitting in front of a total stranger, talking about feelings,

it's just not for me, you know?

But you were kidnapped by your own brothers, or almost killed.

Look, I'm here now.

Aren't I? The best thing for me to do is just forget it ever happened.

Sounds healthy.

Look, I'm English.

Yeah? That's what we do.

The deceased is Hortense Leroux.

She writes an agony column for the local paper.

Agony arts.

That's a blast from the past.

Good morning, boss.

Sarge, her medic say Madame Leroux was poisoned.

Who found her?

Her daughter, Esme, who had plans to go on a walk with her mother, and the

housekeeper, Kim Woods, who was just starting her shift.

This way.

So, the victim, she has a few tiny red spots on her finger,

which leads me to believe that the poison came from something she touched.

So, she sat down for breakfast, boiled egg and toast,

Read her column where someone writes in about a friend's betrayal

and Bill Hortense replies with avoiding revenge.

Let sleeping dogs lie.

So if she was retiring, this would be her last column?

Tragic coincidence?

Tragic, certainly.

Coincidence, not so much.

Does this look discoloured to you?

You think the poison is on the paper?

Possibly. Where did this come from?

We'll check with the housekeeper.

Egg and soldiers.

In the Breakfast Hall of Fame.

That's right up there. Dipping a piece of buttered toast into a gooey yellow

egg. Heaven.

Your point, sir?

This egg's harder than Vinnie Jones.

Dipping a soldier into that would be impossible.

Sir, normally when you spot a detail, I think, well, man, we will definitely

come back to this.

But right now, I'm kind of struggling how this could possibly be relevant.

Everything's relevant, Officer Rose.

And the paper was delivered every day?

By a boy called Clayton Powell.

Can you get hold of him, please?

Esme.

It's terrible, terrible news.

Anton Bouzet, editor of the Sun Marine News and Hortense's ex -husband.

D .I. Wilson.

I've heard a lot about you.

So, what's the latest?

Well, we're working on the theory that Miss LaRue was poisoned.

What? Deliberately.

How could anyone do that to her?

She was truly adored. So how did she seem recently?

Anything out of the ordinary?

Well, she had mixed feelings about retiring, naturally.

There was something at the party.

I want to change my final column to this one.

Do you know why?

No. Can we see the original letter?

They'll be in yesterday.

Okay, so talk me through her morning routine, please.

Well, she was up with the lark, made breakfast.

Boiled egg and soldiers, yeah?

Clayton would deliver the paper, then she would like to read her column over

breakfast.

And the egg, how long did she cook it for?

Oh, I'm not sure.

Do you know, love?

Try a minute, Russell.

She liked it to be perfect.

Yeah. That's all she was.

Deep breaths, darling, deep breaths.

Here you are, Esme. Look here, Inspector.

Why the focus on eggs?

Can I suggest that you concentrate on what is actually important?

Finding the person who did this.

I'm merely trying to establish the facts, Mr. Bousset.

I mean, as a journalist, it surprises me you don't appreciate that.

I'm sorry, the little man doesn't like strangers.

Sensible chap.

She really liked purple.

So what's with the egg thing?

Look, Hortense was the sort of woman who liked everything just so, right? Even

down to how she sat at her breakfast.

People are funny, aren't they?

Yes, people are.

It's still bothering me why the egg was hard -boiled.

Maybe she got distracted, overcooked it.

She had an egg timer, which she clearly used. And even if she had overcooked it,

she could have made another one.

Now you say it, it is a little odd.

You know, I used to think these letters were fake, but people actually write in

with their problems.

And according to the housekeeper, she replied to every single one. Felt like

was her duty.

Yeah. Seems she kept every single letter as well.

This is the letter she wanted to publish last minute.

Dear Hortense, I've suffered a great betrayal by a friend.

Well, that's different.

What is?

Well, all these other letters are signed anonymously. But this one is signed by

Sophie Martin.

So Sophie Martin wanted her friend to know she'd written this letter.

But why?

Send a message?

Or a warning?

Thank you.

Okay, so that's Clayton and here's the tea.

He picked up the papers from Mr Purdy's newsagent at 7am.

There are various papers in the stack, the St. Marie News only being one of

them. He then cycled straight here, delivered the newspaper to Madame Leroux

7 .15am.

And did he actually see her pick it up?

He did, just like always.

And we know she came inside and sat at the dinner table to read the paper.

Do we know how many St. Marie News were in his stack?

He said six.

and none of the other people who get the paper are ill.

But if so, assuming it was a targeted attack, how did he get the one poison

newspaper to Hortense?

Maybe they intercepted Clayton on the way knowing he'd be coming to Madame

Leroux's house first.

Clayton swears he did not meet anyone on route.

The only thing of note, his bike had a bust -up with a pothole and all his

papers fell out his bag.

But even if the killer had poisoned the first paper in the stack, they're all

jumbled up now, right? Which means they couldn't guarantee that the poisoned

paper would get to Madame Leroux.

A one in six chance.

Don't like the sound of those odds.

Yeah?

Hortense Leroux.

St. Marie's favourite agony aunt, poisoned apparently by her own column.

So, who would want to murder her?

All that meddling in people's lives would make you some enemies.

I read that she moved from Paris to St. Marie 30 years ago with her baby

daughter, Esme.

Anton Bassett, Esme's stepfather.

They met in 1996 when she started her column at the St. Marie News.

Then there's this.

Now, why would all tens be so keen to publish it?

It was posted on St. Marie, so likely the author lives here.

So, our priority, find Sophie Martin.

Copy that, sir.

There were letters at the house. Looks like she kept them all.

Might be worth checking those too.

Yes, where would you put that on the priority list?

I'm thinking maybe three or four.

We've got it, Sarge, as soon as we check through the victim's form.

Carnal feeling Sophie is key to all of this.

Making progress already?

Oh, Commissioner, well, you know, it's early days.

Madame Larue was highly regarded.

Only last night Catherine and I attended her retirement party. As such, the

island will be watching our investigation keenly.

Ah, excellent.

I'm assuming you've met.

Anton Bousset.

We've had the pleasure. He won't miss an opportunity to put pressure on us. Or

rather, me.

Let me know when you're ready to talk.

So let's keep things as professional as we can.

Of course.

The I. Wilson Award.

How are the counselling sessions going?

Oh, um, extremely useful.

Yeah, we're really getting to the heart of the matter.

Is that so?

Hmm. What I've heard is directly to the contrary.

You haven't said a word.

I thought that was confidential.

Inspector, take it seriously.

Look, I'm just not into the whole going over the past stuff.

The effects of trauma don't just magically go away.

You've got to work through it.

I know, because I did.

You had therapy.

And like you, I had dogs.

Men of my age, we tend to crack on with things, too.

Give in to it, Inspector.

You may be surprised.

Okay.

But I assure you, I am completely, totally, 100 %

fine.

I've got a situation.

What?

Working overtime, mate.

Any leads?

Morning, campers.

Gather round.

I have a breakthrough.

Right. So, this stamp was conveniently hidden beneath this St. Marie stamp.

The original stamp is from France.

Hmm. So what does that mean?

That it was posted from somewhere else, sir?

Maybe Sophie meant to post it from somewhere else, but didn't for some

Then brought it to St. Marie to post.

Why? Who knows? My stamp man in Kentistan is on the case.

And three.

You all right, sir?

Yeah, why?

You seem a little energetic.

Oh, that's the coffee.

I've had three already.

That's my fourth.

Bad night?

No, I was just up looking into this.

Any update on Sophie's whereabouts?

None on the island and no mention in the victim's contacts either.

Post -mortem's in.

Hortense was poisoned, as we thought. Contact poison.

Cone snail venom, in fact.

Cone snail?

That's new.

Yeah, I mean, they live in the shallow waters around here.

I mean, you warned about them as a kid.

If it's in a cone, leave it alone.

The toxin paralyzes the victim first, then they die a painful death.

Nice.

So whoever did this wanted Hortense to suffer.

It says here that the poison was only on page 35 of the newspaper, which means

we're looking at one hell of a gambler.

Somehow poison one page in one paper of a pack of six. Then pray to the gods of

vengeance that that paper is delivered to its victim.

Risky as anything.

It's more than risky. It's almost impossible.

Did Hortense touch anything else?

Love's still testing. They'll get back to us tomorrow.

In the meantime, Officer Rose and I have been working on something.

Yes, the data.

Esme, I mean, totally bankrupt by mommy. She's never had a job. She just gets a

big juicy allowance every month and, I mean, she's living her life.

Well, it seems Esme might have disagreed. She'd applied for a job at

publishers in Barbados. Then, plot twist, we find emails from her

tent to the managing director saying Esme was not fit to work and that she

sue them if her daughter had a breakdown.

They took back the job offer pretty quickly after that.

So Mummy blew her chances of a promising career.

Must have been a blow.

She was right. I wouldn't have caught.

Real life and me somehow never work, so... What made you apply for the job

Anton encouraged me. He helps me with all sorts of things.

Can't help noticing you're wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

Late night, was it?

My mum just died.

I'm allowed to grieve.

Of course you are.

Look, what do you want from me?

You're 31.

Never been anywhere. Everything you own, all paid for by your mother. It's

unusual. Some might say a little controlling.

She wasn't. She loved me.

People get away with a lot under that label.

Papillon. Papillon.

Come away from there.

Needs to be careful of those cone snails.

I hear they're deadly.

My mum was always paranoid he'd get stoned.

Like to keep him close.

Bit like you, then.

Please, stop this. A bright new future.

Suddenly snatched. No, stolen away by your meddling mother.

That'd have made me angry. Would that have made you angry, dearest Thomas?

Definitely. Maybe the anger got too much. Maybe one day you just snapped.

No.

That's not true.

We'll be in touch.

Never underestimate the quiet ones.

All right, mate.

What have you got?

For real?

Curious and curious, as they say.

Le Clocher de Saint -Exupéry, pardon my accent, was printed in Paris 30 years

ago. Does that mean that this letter is also 30 years old?

We can only assume so.

But if that's the case, why would Sophie Martin wait to send this now?

Maybe she knew Hortense was retiring and this was her last chance.

We'll look for any Sophie Martins who lived in Paris 30 years ago.

Yeah, keep me posted.

Any news from the lad?

No poison found on anything else she could have touched.

So this newspaper was definitely the murder weapon.

It looks like it.

Something interesting, though.

No fingerprints found on her attention's glasses.

Wiped clean.

Hmm. What would that be?

Right, until we know who Sophie Martin is, let's look for anyone with a motive,

yeah? I found something on the victim's phone.

In the trash.

I like my uncle. Look what Terrence always says.

One man's trash is... Is another man's treasure. Yes, we know. Get on with it,

Officer Rose.

Sir. Sorry.

Go on.

Some anonymous text going back three weeks ago.

You'll get what's coming to you. You don't deserve to live.

And then just before a retirement party, wear the amethyst earring. They bring

out your eyes.

Someone was out for blood.

But who?

A reader with a grudge, maybe?

Maybe. Clearly, whoever it is... Was watching the house the other night while

Hortense was getting ready for her big bash.

First thing tomorrow, talk to the neighbours.

Maybe they saw someone hanging around.

You want to give up, don't you?

I'm here when you're ready.

Look, why don't you just ask me something?

Just ask me a question.

Please.

What are your feelings about your brother?

Okay, um... Something akin to anger,

I'd say.

You know, every time I'm near that guy... Something happens that shouldn't.

And sadness.

In fact, I'd say mainly sadness.

I wanted it to work, yeah? Believe me, I wanted us to work.

But you know what?

We just don't.

I do not trust that guy.

And if you can't trust family, then who can you trust?

Would it be more helpful to talk to him about what happened?

I don't know where I'd even start.

Sometimes, if talking's difficult, writing it down can help.

Write him a letter.

Yeah, write him a letter. Yeah, could work.

A letter.

It'd be a waste of time. Why don't you tell him what kind of brother you

Because it's a fantasy.

He can't be that brother.

So I need to just accept it and move on.

And, sir, how will you do that unless you're honest with him? And even more so

with yourself.

Catherine, you were at Hortense's party.

Yeah. Did you know her well?

Not really.

And the family, Esme and Tom Bocet?

Oh, Anton.

Men like him.

Hungry lions.

Looking at you like you're a tasty steak at a buffet.

Oh, have you two got history?

He'd like that.

Do you want another drink?

Oh, no thank you. Think I'll have an early night.

Perhaps you should too, sir.

Why's that?

Seeing that you're having trouble sleeping. Another cold one for me,

Catherine.

And you take the house over there. Then we'll get to those letters. Sound good?

Cool. See you later. I'll get it.

Come

on,

come on, come on.

What are you doing? Nothing.

What's behind your back?

Hi, cupboard.

Don't lie to me. There's a mirror right behind you.

I just promise you won't laugh, all right?

I promise.

Dear Hortense, there's this girl I like. If she were a chicken wing, she'd be

extra hot.

All summer we've chilled, but now she's gone quiet. I'm confused.

She keeps watching my stories. Once she commented with a tomato emoji, what does

that mean?

I just want to know where I stand.

You're Sebastian Rose.

You know this is supposed to be anonymous. I know that, no.

Well, did her attend right back?

She did.

She said something about allowing space for roots to grow or something.

And have they?

No. Because she might be waiting for you, you know.

That's a mental emoji, couldn't mean this girl's interested. You can't sit

you've got to lean in.

Yeah, you know, maybe you're right.

The neighbor did tell me something pretty darn spicy.

Yeah?

What are you doing?

A game of probability.

A killer.

somehow gets a poisoned copy of the St. Marie News into Clayton's stack of

newspapers, in which there happens to be five other copies of the St. Marie

News, and from which he pulls one copy of the St. Marie News at random and

delivers it to Hortense.

One in six charts.

Our only clue is the egg.

Why was it hard -boiled when Hortense likes it to be perfectly dippable?

Sophie Martin.

It's a very popular name. There were about a hundred Sophie Martins in Paris

around that time.

Look, for any connections with St. Marie, yeah, we have to find this woman.

Will do.

Sorry, it's not you. It's me.

So the beard didn't help then?

Surprisingly, no.

And... a little?

No, it's not a good idea.

And that's an end of it.

Okay?

Sergeant Fletcher?

We know who's been sending those messages.

The neighbor was taking out the bins on the day of the party when he overheard

an argument between Kim and Hortense.

Did he hear what was said?

Certainly did.

If you really did, you have been sending these foul messages. Who else would

know those things?

And guess what?

Hortense said she'd report her to the police the next day.

I would never do anything so stupid.

So why would Hortense think it was you?

No clue. Those texts contain personal details that only someone close to her

would know.

So how long have you worked with Miss LaRue?

Oh, about six months or so.

Was she a good boss?

Madame was a diamond. It's a tragedy that she's gone. From what we've heard,

was more dragon than diamond.

She certainly gave her daughter a hard time, didn't she?

Well, she was a might overprotective, but she cared, which is more than most.

If she was like that with her own flesh and blood, it's not a stretch to imagine

she'd do the same to you.

Perhaps you decided to get your own back, frighten her.

But then she found you out, didn't she?

You'd have faced criminal charges, you'd have lost everything.

So I killed her.

You've got this all wrong, officers.

I've been around the block more times than I care for. Life's good here,

than I hoped. Why would I risk losing that?

You know what I said to her? Go ahead, report me.

Any decent investigation team would discover that I didn't send those texts.

Convenient.

What is?

Well, she never got the chance, did she?

And now here you are, free as a bird.

She does have a point.

I don't see what she gains from scaring Hortense.

Well, who else?

Well, I'm not overly thrilled about talking to Anton Bousset, but if it was

angry reader who sent those texts, then we're going to have to.

Sir, are you sure you can keep cool?

As a cucumber.

or Chancellor Roux didn't mention anything to you about these text

Ever since the divorce, we didn't have the same intimacy, you understand.

Please, sit down.

No, I'm all right standing, thank you.

Any hate mail sent to the office?

Complaints? People calling in to talk to her?

You don't give up, do you? Oh, this is deceptively heavy. Is this real gold?

Can you put that down?

I've already said I don't know who was sending these messages.

And whoever she is won't be easily found.

She? But you just said whoever she is.

I misspoke.

They. Unusual for a man in your line of work to misspeak.

Unusual for a man in your line of work to behave like an amateur.

Excuse me? Let me be crystal clear. Stop wasting time asking obtuse questions

and go about doing your actual job.

Let me be crystal clear.

These obtuse questions are to find out who murdered your ex -wife.

Sir? But the fact that you can't see that is because your head is so far up

own... Well, that escalated.

Look, I guess it's... Sir, what you went through was something no one should

ever have to.

But you can't keep pretending like... Pretending? Yeah, pretending like you're

okay. Your judgment is clearly off because you're not... Sleeping. And

not sleeping because you have this thing with Solomon hanging over your head.

What do you suggest? I don't know.

Write the letter. Whatever.

Get it off your chest. We have a murder to solve. All right.

Fine.

I'll do it.

Thank you.

So what are we going to do about Mr. Bassett?

He obviously suspects who's sending those texts.

Well... We need a tactical rethink.

I have an idea.

Who knew St. Marie was so high -tech?

Found it in the back of the evidence store.

Don't think it's been used for a while. You surprised me.

It's from 1986.

Can't beat quality.

Thanks for doing this for me all day.

A pleasure.

I feel like one of Charlie's angels.

Now, remember, you're there to find out who Anton thinks is behind the text

messages, but don't go straight in for the kill. Act natural.

Re -incheck is your code word if anything goes wrong.

It won't.

Trust me.

The golden goose has landed.

Anton, how lovely to see you.

Likewise. I was surprised when you called me.

Pleasantly surprised, of course.

Thought a drink would help take your mind off things.

Much appreciated.

That clown inspector was at the office today.

Like a dog without a bone.

Wait.

I know what she's doing.

Did the police have a theory today?

They were bothered about what these nasty messages Hortense was receiving.

Thank you.

You seem like a woman of good sense and judgment.

I like to think so.

This stays between us.

A few years ago, Hortense told me something.

Esme isn't her child.

She took her from Paris when she was a baby. This is big.

Sadly, the mother wasn't able to take care of her. A drug addict. I'm assuming

she agreed to this. The way her tents told it sounded like she was too out of

to notice.

Her tents couldn't have children.

But the authorities, did they not realize?

She came here, forged her papers.

She was Esme's mother in all but flesh and blood.

And Esme has no idea?

No. And I want it to stay that way.

This would break her.

So, you suspect it's Esme's birth mother sending those messages.

Well... Enough doom and gloom. Would you do me

the honor of a dance?

Oh, well, um...

If I rain check.

No way, then.

I doubt that very much. Come on.

Sorry, Anton.

I must rain check.

We've lost her.

Sergeant Fletcher.

Why do you keep saying rain?

We can now assume that the friend's betrayal written about in Sophie

letter is referring to Hortense stealing Sophie's baby 13 years ago. Which

means... Sophie is Esme's real mother and finally explains why Hortense was so

desperate to publish the letter.

She knew it was Sophie coming for her. Her response?

Back off, Esme's mine.

But why wait 30 years to send it?

Don't know yet, but we will.

And if Miss Martin is also behind the text messages, as Anton suspects...

get what's coming to you. You don't deserve to live.

She's here on this island with one hell of a motive.

But where?

I hope you don't mind, Angel.

Oh, no, not at all.

Such a great loss.

If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here.

You're kind.

Solomon, I've been thinking about what to say for a while, but I haven't

to find the right words.

Yes,

people cook.

Morning. Morning, sir.

That was the Paris police.

My thinking was addicts are more likely to have criminal charges.

And there are three Sophie Martins on file. Two for possession, one for

aggravated robbery.

I've asked them to send over the record.

Good work.

What's that, sir?

Oh, um, this is it.

My letter to Solomon.

I've got it off my chest.

Did it help?

Uh...

Yeah, he did, actually.

You know what I realised?

I want... No.

I need my space from him.

I'm so sorry, sir.

No, no, no, it's all good. It's for the best.

I just needed a little time to accept it, that's all.

Where is everyone?

Following a lead.

If Sophie Martin was outside Madame Rue's house that night...

It's possible she followed her to the party.

So we went through the photos online, and look at this one.

Yes, she does look about the right age that Sophie would be.

An uninvited guest.

The waiter said she got into a green VW camper van, and luckily, Matthew knows

the one garage that fixed them.

Yeah. Talk with the devil?

We think we found Sophie.

So someone matching her description came into the garage last week. Goes by the

name of Calypso.

Says she normally parks up by Coral Beach.

We need to get there pronto.

You ready here, sir?

We got an eyeball.

I hearing you good?

You think that I'm that shy girl's mother?

You're mad. I don't even know this woman you're talking about.

Then why did you sneak into the party that night?

Just passing.

Well, see, not a crime.

No, a stalkiness.

See, our theory is you are Sophie Martin.

You assumed a new identity to come to St. Marie and enact revenge on Hortense

Leroux, starting with those threatening text messages.

Uh -uh.

I just like to stay off -grid, that's all.

We should be free to roam as the birds do.

You know we can trace this thing to the shop you brought it in. Check their

CCTV.

OK, here's the truth.

That woman you're talking about, Sophie Matan, that ain't me.

But those texts?

I sent them.

Not for the reason you think, though. Why, then?

Two months ago, I sent Dale Hortense a letter.

Hortense. Told me to cut my mother out of my life.

Toxic mothers shouldn't be allowed to act that way, she said.

A hypocritical coming from her?

I did what she said.

Know what?

My mother died alone in her bed.

If I hadn't listened to that loudmouthed woman, I would have been there.

That must have made you angry.

Not enough to kill her.

I wanted to scare her.

Make her suffer.

Same way I've been suffering.

Walking about this earth with a perfect life.

Little care for the people whose lives she ruined.

Miss Jones, no disrespect, but it kind of seems like you're more angry

at yourself.

Look, I'm no expert, but it doesn't help to...

Hold on to things.

So we're still having a scooby how the killer pulled off this murder. A stack

six papers and they managed to poison one and have it delivered practically

straight into Hortense Leroux's hands.

And let's not forget about the egg.

What happened that morning to make her ruin a perfectly good breakfast?

Sir... Hold that thought.

I'm late.

I'll be back.

How do you feel?

Better.

Definitely better.

I mean, everything here is just...

You know, gone.

All I need to do now is post it.

Well done.

Thank you.

Now, can we talk a little more about your life here?

How long have you got?

About half an hour.

No, I meant...

She

timed it?

Why didn't she take it out?

And the egg, how long did she cook it for?

Can I have a minute, Doctor?

He then cycled straight here, delivered the newspaper to Madame Leroux at 7 .15

a .m.

Sorry, the little man doesn't like strangers.

There were no fingerprints found on her intensive glasses.

I wanted to scare her. I wanted her to suffer the same way I've been suffering.

Of course.

That's the reason why.

Why what? The egg was hard -boiled.

I can see everything clearly now.

I know who the killer is. I know how they did it.

Those photos from the Paris police, have they come through?

Just then.

Right, we need a search warrant.

And then we can have a little family reunion.

Agony Art.

A known for giving advice to help solve difficult problems.

However, I doubt they've ever been asked to advise on a problem as difficult as

this one.

Hortense Leroux was... Poisoned.

Effectively by her own column.

But we had no idea how the killer managed to poison the newspaper and get

delivered straight to her.

When the paper boy took one at random from his stack.

But, with the help of a hard -boiled egg... Not this again.

We finally cracked it.

You, Kim. It was you who murdered Hortense.

Me?

No, I told you I was telling the truth.

As Miss LaRue's housekeeper, you knew her morning routine, that she liked to

read her column whilst having her breakfast.

You also knew that Clayton drops the paper on the porch at 7 .15am and

barks to alert Hortense, as he always does when someone's at the door.

So earlier that morning, you went to another newsagent and bought a copy of

St. Marie News.

Let's call this paper A. You then laced the problem page with cone snail poison,

something you knew about from Hortense's fear of her dog getting stung by one.

My mum was always paranoid he'd get stung.

Then you dropped paper A onto the porch sometime before Clayton usually arrived.

Hortense must have been in the middle of preparing her breakfast.

Papillon barked as normal, so she went outside to collect the newspaper.

she thought had just been delivered.

She went back into the kitchen, eager to see if her request to change her final

column had been carried out.

In doing so, she came into contact with the poison and subsequently died.

A painful death, by all accounts.

You then came into the house, through the back.

And put on Hortense's purple gown, a wig matching her hair with a purple

headband. And finally, the item that was unmistakably Hortense, her

statement, purple glasses.

As usual, at 7 .15, Clayton delivered the newspaper, paper B, and Papillon

barked. Kim, now dressed as Hortense, opened the door and waved to him.

As Clayton cycled away, he wouldn't have known that it was in fact you waving at

him and not Hortense.

You then came back into the kitchen and returned Miss LaRue's glasses, wiping

away any prints first.

Now we come to the egg and your ultimate downfall.

You see, in your haste to stage the scene before Esme arrived, you almost

Miss LaRue's egg was still boiling away on the stove.

You needed everything.

To look exactly as it should.

To fit the timeline of Hortense making breakfast, then reading her column.

So, you hurriedly took the now hard -boiled egg out of the pan and clumsily

it in the egg cup.

Then you left the house, threw it back the same way you came, got into your car

that was parked around the corner, and drove around the front to time perfectly

with Esme's arrival.

You later...

disposed of paper B and awake at your home.

We found these in the bin on your street.

An audacious, yet brilliant plan.

But why go to such lengths?

Kim Woods isn't your real name, is it?

You are, in fact, Sophie Martin.

30 years ago, Sophie Martin...

moved to Paris from the UK with her boyfriend who was escaping some trouble

home. She was living in a commune in Montmartre and it's there she met

an ambitious writer.

Sophie was a drug addict with a newborn

baby.

You were doing your best, no doubt, but from what we now know about Miss

LaRue...

She had a saviour complex.

Through our undercover investigation, we discovered her secret.

Hortense stole your baby in the night and went as far away as she could

to St. Marie.

That baby was you, Esme.

You're my mother.

Hortense was my friend.

And she offered to look after you.

And yes, I was struggling, but I loved you so much.

And then one morning I woke up and you was gone. And I didn't sleep the day

searching for you.

But then you found out Hortense was here, didn't you?

Through her column.

So all those years ago, you wrote this letter to dear Hortense.

The same letter.

Hortense wanted to publish at the very last minute for her final issue.

I wanted her to know I was coming for her.

Then you were arrested?

The guy I was going out with at the time, he told the police that I was

in an armed robbery and someone got really badly hurt. And it was all lies.

I had nothing to do with it. He was not a good man. And I didn't get a chance to

send the letter.

They put me away for years.

Time after time, my parole was refused.

And I lost all hope.

Until one day, I finally got myself together, got myself clean.

That day came.

And I knew what I had to do.

I had to find you.

I'm hurt or tense for what she'd done.

I came to St. Marie.

First place I went was the newsagent, and I saw the ad.

For a housekeeper, it felt like fate.

Come in.

You bided your time, working out the perfect murder plan.

And when Hortense received your letter, she must have known you were gunning for

her. You read her response.

She didn't regret it.

Nor one bit.

Esme, I don't expect you to forgive them.

I would really like you to understand that what she did destroyed me.

Killing her was the only way I could ever have a relationship with you.

Officer Rose?

Officer Martin.

I'm arresting you for the murder of Walter LaRue.

You don't need to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not

mention or question something which you later rely on in court.

I think you do see me beginning evidence.

For my whole life, men are bad.

Hortense's love for you, that was real.

Can I help you?

Mervyn, yeah?

Yeah. Didn't you hear me, Nat?

No, I was sleeping, actually.

Deeply. You're older than I imagined.

Sorry, who are you?

Just one second.

Come on.

Just give it up, man.

Finally.

Stupid boy's been holding out.

And all he's got is a pair of sixes.

And my chair.

Is that a gambling app?

I don't think you should be playing that.

Don't fret it.

It's cool.

Dad said you were a goody -goody.

But I guess that comes with the job, right? Okay, stop.

Yeah? Now you tell me right now who you are, who your dad is, and what you're

doing on my property, or I'm arresting you for trespass.

Sorry, what?

Yanis? Eloise?

Did Dad not mention me to you?

No, no one mentioned you.

Well, I'm sure he was going for it.

He's a busy guy, you know.

Lots on his plate.

So, what would you prefer I call you?

Uncle Marvin?

Uncle Mav?

Just move.

What's for breakfast?

Hey, don't touch anything.

This is the closest I've come to actually seeing it. The Lusca.

Sorry, what?

It's a sea monster.

Some people are saying that's what killed him. I would like to do my bit to

and solve this case now.

We need to work out a plan, Uncle Merv.

To find evidence that he's innocent?

I should just tell her the truth. Giles was convinced the Lusker took their son.

That's why he stayed on here. To try and prove the Lusker exists.

I can't believe we're going on a monster hunt.

The Lusker?