All language subtitles for beyond_paradise_04x01_gepi

Morning, Selwyn.

There's no hot water.

Okay, come and take a look.

in here.

I think we've sprung a leak or...

Right.

I think the most important thing is not
panic.

Need to think logically.

Does the engine work?

Ancient. Brilliant.

I'm not entirely sure.

It's dripping oil.

Have we got life jackets?

Well, I didn't think we'd need them.

You know, being parked up.

Wood.

We could make a raft.

Pumpery! I need two pencils and a pair
of underpants, please.

One morning in the month of June, down
by a rolling river, there a weary

traveler chanced to stay, and he bailed
his lover.

Her cheeks were red, her eyes were
brown, her hair in ringlets hanging

had a lovely face without a frown, just
as the tide was flowing.

Get out on the ocean.

Sail out on the sea.

Get up in the mountains.

Before climbing all the trees.

Don't feel every emotion.

When you know that they don't care.

Darling, I can't hold you.

Oh, I'll go if you don't worry.

Get up and get ready.

What happened?

We're really worried. Yes, the mooring
rope snapped and the current dragged us

out to sea, Carby.

Thank heavens for the RNLI.

Yes. Oh, Anne said to phone her the
second you get back.

You all right, sir?

Yes.

Oh, it's just a bump.

Only you're needed after what's gone on
ahead.

Where? Kenneth Lindu's house.

Are you okay?

How's Martha?

We're both fine.

Thank you.

Oh, Kenneth.

You know, I only spoke to him last
night.

Oh, of course.

You went to the book signing.

Yes, here we are.

I'm still not sure this qualifies as a
date.

In my defense, I was coerced into your
Mamma Mia karaoke night.

Coerced? Well, maybe not coerced, but if
those photos ever get into the wrong

hands... Here we are.

So consider this payback.

This week...

sees the launch of the new Kenneth Linda
novel, The Final Breath.

Now, since he's moved to Shipton Abbot,
we are brazenly claiming him as one of

our own.

So, as your new local counsellor and
treasurer of the Devon Literary Group, I

would like you all to give a huge
welcome to our guest, Kenneth Linda.

His daughter, Helen, found him in the
bath.

The electric fan in the water at his
feet.

It looks like he's been here all night.

Looks like the power tripped eventually,
but not quick enough to save him.

Well, this is something of a conundrum.

Why?

Because in his latest novel, serial
killer Jeremy Cook is walking to the

electric chair, which is where the last
book left him. But it turns out he

bribed the guard to short -circuit the
prison power, therefore delaying his

execution until the next day.

But that night, he murdered the guard
that helped him and stole his uniform to

escape. Nice.

Then he found the judge that sentenced
him and, like his nine previous victims,

killed him by dropping an electrical
appliance into his bath.

Thank you, Sergeant.

We've got some outside too.

Trampled flowerbed by an open rear door.

We did a quick check, and the footprints
are probably male, judging by size and

weight, but they're not an obvious match
for any of the footwear found in the

house. We've taken moulds, but there's a
difference in indent depth, so we're

pretty sure whoever made them had a
distinct limp.

Limp? Yeah.

Much less weight put on his left leg.

The main road runs across the back of
the garden, so someone could have got

the fence and along this path.

Cameras? Nothing this side.

Doorbell camera at the front. We've got
him being dropped off last night by his

daughter, Helen, and then her coming
back this morning.

I know you, don't I?

From the book signing last night. You
were with your father?

That's right. D .I. Goodman.

Humphrey Goodman.

Huge fan. This is my wife,

Martha. Hi.

So, Humphrey, do you have a favourite
case?

Oh, yes. The first of the bathtub
trilogy, Death by Design. The bottle

MacGuffin. Genius.

Oh, thank you.

Wait.

You're not Detective Humphrey Goodman?

Yes. How do you know that?

Well, I'm something of a fan of yours,
too.

I read the newspaper report about the
case you solved.

The poor chap murdered by his partner.

Made it look like a car crash.

Brilliant.

Thank you.

Well,

a pleasure to meet you, Humphrey.

And you, Martha.

Thank you.

It must be difficult for you. Is there
family we can call?

No. It's just me and Dad.

Are you up to a few questions, Helen?

I'll try.

When was the last time you saw your
father before this morning?

Last night. I dropped him home after the
book signing.

Promise me you'll have an early night.

Oh, a nightcap first, I think.

One. At least.

Love you.

Love you too.

And how did he seem in himself?

Quiet?

But I know he was tired.

Can I ask, was your dad a particularly
tidy man?

Tidy.

God, no.

He was bloody -minded, intelligent,
playful, and a rather wonderful

father.

But Tidy, no.

There's something else you need to know.

He was dying.

He had end -stage amyloidosis, an
abnormal build -up of proteins.

Stopped his organs working properly.

Said he refused to die until he'd
finished his damn book.

But he'd been going downhill pretty
rapidly these past few weeks.

We knew it wouldn't be long.

But this... Do you think he took his own
life?

Do you?

I know he was in a lot of pain, but he
refused the palliative care he was

offered.

People are coming in.

You sure you're up to this, Dad?

Stop fussing.

I'm strong as an ox.

We need to take care of your dad, too.

You might be better at home.

They'll take him to the Chapel of Rest,
and I promise I'll call and let you know

when he's there.

Do you think that's it?

He did this himself?

There was a towel, neatly folded, by the
side of the bath, dressing gown and

slippers ready.

So why go to all that trouble if you
know you'll never be getting out of the

bath? Exactly.

So it has to be an accident?

Possibly.

Wait.

You're thinking it's murder?

We should consider it.

Why? Because the victim wrote murder
mystery novels?

No, Sergeant, because there are some
things that don't make sense.

Such as?

Well, it's all rather neat, don't you
think?

Too neat, perhaps, for a man not known
for his tidiness.

That's it.

It was too neat.

So what if someone put those things in
place to make it look like an accident?

And what about the fact that he died in
exactly the way described in his own

book? Can we really accept that's just a
coincidence?

No. So, if we can rule out suicide...

accident and coincidence, which we can
because there's no such thing, then what

happened to Kenneth Linda must be by
design.

Let's confirm cause of death. Let
forensics finish up. And I want an

report. Why didn't the power trip out
immediately?

Oh, and have his clothes checked too.

See if this belongs to any of them.

Please.

Okay. Thank you.

And we should talk to his agent.

Yeah.

And...

Pothole Pete was on the RNLI boat.

He said if they overslept, they could
have ended up in Guernsey.

Pothole Pete?

Oh, they call him that because people
try to avoid him.

He goes on a bit.

Shipped an abbot.

No, that's not here.

The press office is at the hub, darling.

Do you need the number?

No problem.

Bye.

OK. I've got a criminal damage and also
an assault on a shopkeeper

in town.

I'll be a couple of hours.

OK.

Ship the nabber. As his agent, you knew
he was ill?

Of course.

But it wasn't public knowledge?

The way Kenny wanted it.

He's a very... He was a very proud man.

He didn't want people fawning over him.

I saw you at the book signing last
night.

How did he seem to you?

Oh, you were wonderful, but calm,
considering this was his last roll of

dice.

Why do you say that?

His last book was a decade ago, and that
did appallingly.

Obviously, he couldn't get a publishing
deal, so started borrowing against the

house.

So that he could write this one.

He was in financial difficulty.

This book was his last chance of
avoiding bankruptcy.

He kept his money problems from Helen,
of course.

He didn't want her to worry about that
on top of everything else.

They seem very close.

They lost Helen's mum when she was
seven.

So it's only ever really been the two of
them.

Everything Kenny ever did, he did for
her.

But Mr. Linda confided in you.

About his financial difficulty.

And his agent.

Goes with the territory.

Can I ask?

Do the initials PM mean anything to you?

No, should they?

No.

There was another man at the book
signing last night.

He didn't look like a fan, but I saw you
speaking to him. That would be Kent's

publisher, Anthony Westley.

Nice to see you pushed the boat out,
Anthony.

I think your client's Oxford Street
soirees were over a long time ago.

Don't you?

He's made you a lot of money. He's made
us all a lot of money, dear heart.

But I'm slightly surprised that as a
literary agent you don't understand the

of the past tense.

Your loyalty is staggering.

Jump off your high horse, will you?

He's washed up.

We're both just hovering, waiting for
him to die so we can revive his back

catalogue.

Not the nicest man.

No, his time was over.

Metaphorically speaking, people are just
not buying his books anymore.

And yet you still publish this latest
novel. True, but on very, very different

terms. No advance, and on the condition
that he brought back the bathtub murders

trilogy.

They were his most successful books, so
I thought they will guarantee our best

chance of a return.

But with no advance, would that mean
that he was writing for free,

Yes, but he would get the lion's share
if the book sold well.

But you don't expect it to?

No.

So a much better deal for you than him,
then?

What can I say?

Business is business.

Plus, I tend to come out in a rash when
I lose money.

Do you know how Mr Linda died?

He was electrocuted in his bath.

Oh.

Exactly the same way as the first murder
in his new book.

To be honest, I haven't read it, but it
does sound a tad ironic.

You haven't read a book you've just
published?

I have people.

Do the initials PM mean anything to you?

No, I don't... No, I don't think they
do.

If it is murder, can we make him a
suspect, please?

I'm not sure that's quite how it works,
Sergeant.

Pity.

This PM thing, could it be something
else rather than initials?

Such as?

I don't know.

Afternoon? No, PM only really works as a
suffix, doesn't it?

And why have it in your hand unless
you're trying to tell us something?

The name of his killer?

Why not?

We don't believe it was an accident.

Agreed. Why take your own life if you're
dying?

Life insurance.

His daughter would benefit.

But you get that when he died anyway.

If the prognosis was right, he may have
only had weeks left, a day's bounce.

Which brings us right back to the
question.

Who could possibly benefit from the
death of a dying man on the verge of

bankruptcy?

They threw this.

But you didn't see anyone?

Nothing. Just a bang and the whole
window caved in.

Lucky no one was hurt.

And this was what time?

Nine, yeah. Just after we opened.

Financials are on your desk.

Makes for pretty grim reading.

What? And he had no life insurance.

Counseled his policy two years ago and
never renewed.

And the phone's been ringing off the
hook.

Journalists all wanting to know how
Kenneth Linda died. And if it's true, he

in the bath.

I didn't think we'd released anything
yet. No, we haven't. Well, I passed them

all on to the Hubbs press office.

Well done, Margot.

Was there anything on Kenneth Linda's
social media?

That was easy.

He's all my faithful friends.

You knew? What?

Back in the day, when he was an angry
young writer and I was a redcoat of

fans.

What? You were a redcoat? Well, only for
eight months.

I got sacked.

Why? They said I rigged the over -70
fancy dress competition just because

Grandad won.

And Kenneth Linder?

Oh, we met at a Mary Hopkin concert.

Turned into a weekend of debauchery in
Norwich.

We mostly lost touch after that.

Although people do say he based one of
his characters on me.

Which one?

Melody Alcott.

She was the waitress in the first
bathtub murders.

Yes, she was, yes.

She was the killer's ex -girlfriend. She
was the one who helped unlock the whole

case. She was the one who eventually led
Horace Bishop to Jeremy Cook at the

third book.

And that was you?

Supposedly. But I never saw it myself.

She was a bit... strange.

Can you give me a description of the man
who hit you, Mr Bevan?

He was a lot taller than me, like.

He had on a tracksuit, one of them with
a hood.

Did you see his face?

No. He had a scarf over his face.

I came out on my way to the bank.

I only took three steps.

He stood right in front of me, just like
you are now.

And he hit me with a rolled -up
newspaper.

So he just... came up to you and hit you
on the head with a rolled -up

newspaper? I'm telling you, Kelly, this
area's gone to the dogs. Yesterday, a

similar thing happened.

A man came up to me, tried to punch me
in the face.

A different man?

Yeah, dressed the same like.

He was taller than me, too.

And he tried to punch you? Yeah, but he
missed.

Then he started crying and ran off.

Crying? It's Kelly.

They're all sniffing glue and smoking
something.

Day before, one of them stole my dog
poo.

Dog poo?

Honey Butcher, my dog, got into the shop
from upstairs, left a little present,

see? So I bagged it up, went outside to
the bin, and this lunatic ran up,

snatched it and ran off.

Wait... Can you describe him?

He's a border terrier.

No, no, no. The man who stole your poo.

Oh, dressed the same like.

Tracksuit and face covered.

And was he taller than you?

What do you mean?

You said the others were... I'm just
trying to get a description.

Oh. Well, yeah.

Have you mentioned a Kelly? Kelby.

And he was wearing a tracksuit.

With his backside hanging out.

That's good for you these days, though,
isn't it?

I know you've got all these face
recognition cameras these days. You'd be

off with arse recognition.

OK. Um, well, leave it with me, Mr
Bevan. I'll talk to the other

see if anyone's seen anything, but I'll
be in touch.

Right -o, Kelly.

Hey, Kelly!

Bloody good idea!

That's what they need!

Stop calling me Kelly.

Hello, boy. Boy. See anything happen
down there at the bottom?

No.

Susan?

Thank you. No problem.

Hello?

That was the boatyard.

The lilybond might be out of the water
for months.

It needs a complete overhaul.

I can't say I'm surprised.

It had bits falling off. Oh, no, staying
on it.

Well, you know you're always welcome at
mine.

Humphrey will be mortified.

Thanks very much.

No, not about staying with you, about
the boat.

Really loves that boat, doesn't he?
Yeah, but it's only ever supposed to be

stopgap until we've found somewhere more
permanent.

So maybe it's time we did just that.

Find a house.

Good for you, Morty.

It won't be easy.

There's always loads of places up for
sale.

No, I don't mean finding a house.

I mean telling Humphrey.

So you've heard, then?

Heard what?

About Archie.

What about him?

I heard he was dating.

Good for him.

Don't you want to know who it was? No.

Who?

No idea, but very pretty by all
accounts.

They were seen coming out of Kitty J's
arm in arm.

Hi, Nick.

OK, thank you.

The button doesn't match any of the
clothes found in the wardrobe.

Right. And the RCD switch was disabled,
which meant the power didn't cut off

instantly. So, if it was murder, then it
was premeditated.

What were those initials you found?

P .M. Why?

Well, I have something.

On Kenneth Linda's page.

Someone posted a death threat.

Saying he's a fraud, that he's sold out
doing a new book, that he's ruined the

trilogy by adding a force book.

Some of the messages are pretty vile.

The last one?

Look. Be careful you don't end up like
one of your own victims.

That fits, doesn't it? A deranged fan.
Who better to copy a murder from the

book? Paul Mecca. M -E -C -A.

Paul Mecca.

Right, so what do we know about him?
Nothing. Just the name. Not much

Looks like the account's going to be in
open a few weeks.

I can put in a request for some more
information, but you know what these

media companies are like.

Yeah, I wouldn't hold your breath.

Okay. If he's a fan, then maybe he was
at the book signing last night. And if

he's not local, then he must have stayed
somewhere.

So let's check local hotels. Guess how
they're all of that.

Right.

Ship that up.

You're wanted.

What? Come up.

They'll just have to wait, okay?

I need to speak to Helen and Linda
first.

Sergeant!

I can't ever remember Dad mentioning a
poor mecca.

It seems he disapproved of the new book,
accusing your dad of selling out.

Oh, we had lots of that.

The thing is, Dad didn't necessarily
disagree with him either.

But going back to the bathtub murders
was the only way he could get published.

I think he needed the money.

Oh, he never said anything.

But he hated Anthony Wesley.

I know he'd never have gone back there
unless he had to.

Sorry, excuse me.

Goodman, I presume.

James Smith, please.

Sorry.

I was expecting Chief Superintendent
Woods.

No longer with us, I'm afraid.

Oh. Oh, not deceased. In Dartmouth.

Some might argue they're much the same
thing.

Yeah, but I digress.

Look, there's been a small restructure.

We're not trying to boil the ocean, just
a realignment.

Bringing all the remaining substations
under our control.

Our? Our administrative planning.

Which in turn reports to the local
police and crime panel. In your case,

would be Shipton Abbot, of course.

Non -invasive.

Just building a loop.

Everyone's in it and we all open our
kimono.

Kimono? Well, share what we have. Get
all our ducks in a row.

That's how we move the needle.

You follow?

Yes. No, not really.

Now, the first carriage on the train to
Efficiency Harbour is streamlining.

Trimming the fat.

Cutbacks.

Unclogging the pipes.

There's only four of us. Which is rather
the point.

In what way?

There should only be three.

Your staff -to -square footage ratio
is... off -message.

Oh, but it's not all bad news.

No, the decision about who to lose...
all yours.

Hey, Sam, it's Martha Goodman.

There's one of your properties I'd like
to see if it's still available.

On Polkett Hill?

Cheer up. It might never happen.

That's the point.

What? Everyone seems to have things
going on.

Martha's looking to buy a new house.

Anne's been made a new counsellor, going
off on fancy lunches all the time.

Or she's dating again.

And here's me, exactly the same as I
was.

Last week, last month, pretty much the
whole of last year.

Literally, nothing is happening in my
life right now.

One morning, I'm just going to wake up
and find out I'm old, still on my own,

and still living in Tipton Abbot.

Can't think of anything worse.

I know, right?

So who's I actually dating, then? Not
that I'm bothered, just interested.

No idea.

Supposed to be really pretty, though.

No one seems to have seen anything.

If it's the town centre, the CCTV should
have picked them up.

Hi there.

So, the name Mecca, I ran a quick trace.

We have 34 families with that last name
in Devon and Cornwall, but with nothing

to cross -check it with, it's tough to
narrow down.

Right. So what do we know about him?

He's a Kenneth Linder fan. He's got a
limp.

And he's got a button missing.

Not much.

All right.

See if there's a Kenneth Linder fan club
or a book reading group.

They'll have a list of members.

Why don't I think of that?

Yes, and maybe we could take a punt on
the limp, too.

Check for local hospital admissions in
the last six months.

Injuries to his left... Left leg. I'm on
it.

Yes.

So, the hub.

Anything to report?

Yes. Yes, seems we're under new
management, everyone.

The chief super's moved on. We're now
being overseen by the planning team and

the local police and crime panel.

So where's Charlie Woods gone?

Dartmouth, I think he said.

Oh, no.

She was lovely. I really liked her.
Yeah, she was definitely one of the

ones. Is that it, though? Now Charlie's
gone? No new directives or anything?

Er, er, no.

Lab have confirmed Kenneth Linder as
death by electrocution.

Although they have listed his
amyloidosis as a secondary cause.

His body was so weak he was unlikely to
survive the initial shock.

This is madness.

What's that, Kelby? The local bookmaker,
David Bevan, assaulted three times in

three days. Got the town centre CCTV
footage, but not one of them makes any

sense.

Look, here.

This is the first one.

His dog makes a mess in his shop. He
bagged it up and was taking it to an

outside bin. Then someone snatches it
off him. That's weird.

Then the next one, same time, next day,
near enough, a different bloke

runs up and tries to punch him, misses,
and then Mr Bevan said that he started

crying and then ran off.

Right. And then this morning, a third
bloke... came out of nowhere, whacks him

on the head with a rolled -up newspaper
for no reason, and then just runs off as

well. It's all very odd.

Just kids messing about.

I think I found your poor Mecca.

Yes, he arrived two nights ago.

I said he was here on business.

Kept himself to himself.

Thank you.

Would you know him if you saw him again?

Undoubtedly. Don't pay much attention to
overnighters.

Can I ask how he pays?

Cash.

Cash.

Is anyone else dead in this room?

No.

A cleaner's supposed to check for things
like this.

Did he give any personal details when he
checked in? Address? Phone number? He

filled a registration card out.

Can we see it? It's downstairs, in the
office.

Do you have any security

cameras? We have a doorbell camera.

Excellent.

Can't see him arriving.

Oh, but he might have come in through
the side door.

Let's look at when he left.

OK. Thanks, Margot.

Address and phone number are false.

There he is.

He's got a limp.

That's him.

Come on.

You should have gone an hour ago.

Nearly done.

Boy, your age. You'd be rushing home,
getting ready to go out.

Haven't you got a date or anything?

Nah, I've given up on all them dating
apps.

Last one I met up with must have used a
photo that was older than me.

She keeps sending me photos of her
lasagna.

Well, don't be long.

I won't.

Bad day.

Not as bad as Selwyn.

Lucky he's homeless.

Oh, your author's been all over the
news.

I think it was murder.

I think so, yeah.

Any idea who it was?

Well, we've got a good suspect.

A disgruntled fan who's sending
threatening messages and we can place

the seams, so... I'm sorry.

I know you liked him.

I did, yeah.

But it's not that.

I got called into the hub.

Oh.

You've been told off again.

Not this time.

They're saying I've got to lose someone
at the station.

What? Yeah.

Apparently there should only be three of
us at the station, so I need to lose

one of either Esther, Colby or Margot.

That's awful.

What will you do?

I have no idea.

So, I've got something that might cheer
you up or make you feel ten times worse.

Right.

If it's bad timing and you don't want to
talk about it, then just say so. It's

bad timing.

But the lilybond will be out of the
water for weeks, maybe months.

And although we can stay at mum's
again...

I was thinking that maybe it was time to
move on.

And went back to our original plan when
we first moved down.

And... What house?

Are you serious?

No.

Hello, Peter. Where have you been?

Oh, Art, it's still not better, that
leg.

Oh. Hello, lovey. See you Friday.

Ha!

Oh!

You're in early.

What's up with you? Weren't you bed?

No. So, I had a brainwave.

Oh. I was sitting in the bath.

Listening to Billie Eilish.

When I realised that all those things
that happened to Mr Bevan outside the

bookmakers all happened at the same
time. Between five to nine and ten past

nine. Three days in a row.

So what if they're there again today? I
can get there first and wait for them to

show up.

So, what's Billie Eilish got to do with
it?

Oh, nothing. I just like her.

The fan club hasn't got a Paul Mecca
listed.

I'm still waiting on hospital reports.

OK.

That's sad.

What is?

It's an interview with Kenneth Linder.

They asked him where the title of his
book came from. When his wife was dying,

she made him promise to look after their
daughter, Helen.

He said to her that he would.

To his final breath.

I think he kept his promise. They were
very close.

Yes. I only wish we had more answers for
her.

Right.

Let's run through what we've got again.

Go!

The law of one. A cause for law.

You lived here as a teenager, didn't
you?

Yes, I did.

Didn't you find it weird seeing the same
people every day?

I think they're always looking the same.

Kelby?

Hello. Can I use your bathroom, please?

Neither can we roll out, huh?

Kelby?

Kelby? Mum's washing my uniform.

I was chasing one of the kids that
assaulted Mr Bevan, caught one of them

dobbed the other two in.

They're in the hub at the moment being
questioned.

Well done, Kelby. Yes, indeed.

Well done, Kelby. So, what was it all
about?

OK, so, Mr Bevan keeps the cash from the
pills and the slot machines in a safe

overnight, then banks it the same time
every morning. They obviously found out

about it and decided to rob him.

But they weren't very bright.

The first one thought Mr Bevan was on
his way to bank his taking.

But he wasn't. He was disposing a bag of
dog poo.

The next day, they had a different plan.

The second one was going to throw pepper
into Mr Bevan's face and steal the bag

of money.

But he didn't account for the window.

The

third one

had another plan.

He had put a big chisel in a rolled -up
newspaper.

Caution. We hadn't wrapped it tightly
enough.

So when he called his arm back...

That's

what happened to the barber's window.

And lucky it did. It could have killed
someone.

Oh, what have you done?

I turned my ankle when I was getting
pulled out of the mud.

Have we got the doorbell footage of Paul
Mecca?

Uh, yes.

Hang on.

Oh, they're talking about us.

The Ships and Abbott police have no
comment on the theories that the author

murdered in the same way as the victims
in his latest thriller.

The new book is flying off the shelves,
with fans saying his death is something

he could have written himself.

Yes, it could!

Oh, that's exactly what it is.

Oh, that's very clever.

Do you know what happened?

I think I do.

So was it murder?

Not exactly.

He took his own life? Strictly speaking,
both.

The button, the memo pad, the footprints
in the garden, the mysterious pool

maker. The jacket he just happened to
leave behind. All very convenient and

to find. All ultimately leading nowhere.

Why? Because they weren't clues at all.

They were simply the pen strokes of a
master storyteller.

Kenneth Linda's books were no longer
attracting the following they once did.

And facing financial ruin.

He was then, very literally, dealt a
killer blow.

He was dying.

But his thoughts were not for himself.

They were for his daughter, Helen.

Having kept his financial woes from her,
he knew that when he was gone, she'd be

left with nothing.

So I think, when he was told he was
dying, he concocted a plan.

First, he had to get a publishing deal.

He did so by agreeing to return to his
most successful trilogy, The Bathtub

Murders. But, more importantly, I think
he's the one who suggested he write it

without an advance, instead taking the
lion's share of profits from book sales.

But why would he do that if he was
broke?

Because he intended to make sure the
book was a runaway success.

And I think he did so.

By murdering himself.

Knowing he only had weeks, perhaps days
left to live, Kenneth Linda said goodbye

to his daughter.

But as he wasn't insured, he knew he had
to find a way to secure her future.

Promise you'll have an early night.

A night kept first, I think.

One. At least.

I love you.

Love you, too.

To fulfill the promise he made to her
mother.

All those years ago.

I doubt that any right -minded person
would consider such a thing. But once he

made his plan, his course was set.

First thing he did was plant his clues.

First, the footprint, adding a limp for
dramatic effect.

Then, the mysterious note.

And the button.

And then, with everything in place,
carried out his plan.

A few days before, he booked into
Sandals Guesthouse in the name of the

character he created, making sure that
he left the jacket with the missing

button behind and to get caught on the
doorbell camera, allowing us to see the

supposed limp he'd orchestrated in the
flowerbed to confirm.

his identity.

I also think he sent himself the death
threats.

The account used by Paul Mecker had only
been operating a few weeks.

So he did it all himself?

Yes, Carly.

I think he did.

As news spread of the fictional matter
that became real life, he ensured that

his new book became a bestseller.

Remember the words... Then he spoke to
his dying wife all those years ago when

she begged him to look after their
daughter.

That he'd look after her until his final
breath.

And that's exactly what he did.

So what gave him away?

Who's Paul Mecker?

Why, okay. Two things were his undoing.

Footprint casts from the garden show
that the weak leg was on the left. Yes.

Walking away from the guesthouse, the
limp was clearly on his right leg.

And the other thing?

What, the hubris?

It's an anagram.

Paul. Mecca, mea culpa.

Latin?

An admission of guilt.

Quite literally, it was me who did it.

Thank you

for

taking the time to stop by.

We thought you'd want to know.

Though I doubt it's much comfort.

No, none at all, to be honest.

The truth is, I'd swap every penny of
the fortune he worked so hard to leave

for one more day with him.

Piling and stuff. Here we go. Don't
think I've forgotten anything.

Oh, there you go.

Want to come in?

Want some good news?

Yes, always.

Kenneth Linda's publisher, Anthony
Wesley, just got sacked.

Why?

For signing a contract that gives most
of the money from the book sales to the

Linda estate.

Yes, the book is bigger than ever. It's
a bestseller.

Losing all that money, you must have a
nasty rash.

Well, I think we shouldn't lose sight of
the fact that a daughter lost her

father, but well done, everyone.

And well done, you, to our amazing
inspector, Martha, who saved him from a

watery grave, our brilliant Kelby, who
cracked his own case and waded through

mud to bring his prisoner in, and
Margot, who is the font of all

Esther, the voice of reason and the glue
that holds us all together.

And not forgetting our new counsellor.
Oh!

Cheers!

OK,

so the pictures I showed you are a bit
old.

And no -one's lived here for a while.

Really? Close your eyes.

I can't see anything.

This way.

There's the step.

Okay, yep.

Do we have a key?

Don't need one.

There's no one.

Up, up, up.

Sorry.

Oh, exactly.

Oh, what's that smell?

That's not us.

Right.

Okay.

Are you ready?

I'm not sure.

Open your eyes.

Okay, two questions.

One, are you sure we're in the right
house? And two, if we are, what on earth

possessed you?

I'm glad you asked.

to attempt to undo those crimes. I am
not mad.

You think someone trashed the place,
then immediately put everything back.

Smith is still pounding me for a
decision on who I'm going to let go.

Oh, my God, Mum, there's Archie in that
woman.

Pausing fostering still feels like the
right thing to do. Especially now we're

back living with your mum.

Remember, you are enough.

I've definitely had enough. Know that
much?

The kids this morning.