All language subtitles for This.Is.Not.A.Murder.Mystery.S01E04.The.Phantom.Lady.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DUAL.DDP2.0.H.264-YAGAMi_Subtítulos01.ENG

I've been talking
to Sheila Legge's lawyer.

She left three million pounds? To who?
- Mr Salvador Dalí.

Does this mean we're all suspects?

Signed by Gala Dalí!

I lied about the death
of an innocent child.

Wake up!

I wanted her gold teeth. To sell.
- Aren't you paid?

There's one missing.

Man Ray is the father of Sheila's son.
- A goddamn child with another woman!

Who are you?
- Mrs Magritte.

ELT, I am Magritte's agent.

Your husband wakes up next to a corpse
after spending all night in bed with her.

Would you like Da Vinci to be eternal?
- Yeah.

Where did you get this picture?
- No, no, no. That's not for you.

That is for the snobs who are going
to make you a rich man Friday night.

Brighton, 2948.

Hello?

Hello?

Hello?

Who is this?

Shit.

Shit.

Georgette? Georgette, come.

Come.

Georgette, come.
- I'm coming.

Come. Come.

Have a look at this brochure.

Tell me which of the paintings
you have seen before.

My love?

My love?

How dare you?

Okay. Is this about Sheila?
- Of course it is, René.

Honestly.
- I didn't sleep with her, okay?

Someone drugged me
to make it look like that, but I didn't.

We were just talking.
I fell asleep. I don't know how.

She was sad and crying. She was
depressed because she lost a child.

She needed to talk...
- And you volunteered?

What a hero.

Look, I don't know what happened. Okay?

I don't know.

But I won't stop looking until I have
all the answers. And I mean all of them.

Do you think...
Do you think that I'm a murderer?

No.

But a liar or a cheater...

Listen, Georgette.

Two people are dead.

I need you.

I need your help.

Can you look at this brochure and tell me
which paintings you've seen before?

Please?

This one?

I posed for it. Don't you remember?

Who else could have seen this painting?
It's very important.

Something odd happened a few of weeks ago.

I thought he'd left the house, but
he was taking pictures in your atelier.

Who? ELT?

Yes.

Should I have said something?

I'm going to get that bastard.

Morning.
- Morning, Jukes.

Hello.

I beg your pardon, Mr Mesens.

Anything I can help you with, sir?
- Oh, yes, my friend.

You can get me
some quality face time with the boss.

You may find
that my boss is rather busy today.

Is that so?

Archibald Jukes, I believe?

It is you, right?

Or not?

Who had a show
in my friend's art gallery in Brussels

some ten, maybe fifteen years ago?

What gallery would that be, sir?

Paul Dirickx Fine Art Gallery
in Les Marolles.

Never heard of it, sorry.

I'm not of your station,
I'm only the hired help.

I wouldn't claim to be an artist, but
thank you for thinking so highly of me.

I am the personal assistant
of My Lord James, and proudly so.

A proper job with meaningful duties.

And I've worked here
a very long time, sir.

I can hear your last
two brain cells crackling, my friend.

Just teasing.

I meet so many people.
I must've got mixed up with someone else.

Yeah.
- Now...

Please, call your boss.

This is the main space in the house,
something that somebody is working on,

but please make sure
to make yourselves at home.

Sorry to interrupt, dearest guests.

May I introduce you to the new arrivals?

The lady Georgette Magritte.

And Mr uh...?

Good morning. My name is
Edouard Léon Théodore Mesens.

But please, just call me ELT.
- Hello, Edouard.

Howdy, Georgette.
- Oh, hi.

Finally, we get to hang out
with the Belgian missus.

George-something, was it?
- Georgette, Ms Miller.

Nice to meet you.

Well, I can see
why you've been hiding her.

Yeah.

She is exactly 214 times too good for me.

At least.
- Yes.

Finally. A breath of fresh air.

Why are they allowed in
when we can't go out?

Would you fancy a drink?
- Yes, thank you.

So, why is everybody so down?

Is it because of the dead bodies

or is there too much booze
and shagging going on?

I'll join you in a jiffy.

In Brussels, we say
'You get in OK, but you leave KO'.

Jesus Christ.

Hey, I love your egg.

Did I say something wrong?
- No.

Don't overdo it, okay?
- How so?

I have enough trouble fitting in as it is.

A penny for your thoughts, Quant.

Why did Sheila Legge
leave everything to Dalí?

Instead of her only living relative,
Lord James?

Especially if she's been living here
since the death of her child last summer.

It's not like Our Lordship
needs the money.

She's supposed to be one
of the richest lords in the land, right?

But the estate doesn't seem
to be well-maintained.

Hang on a second.

Jay Poots. Remember? Our butter boy.
- Yeah.

His alibi was solid.
Do you know what it was?

A second job down the local pub.

Do you reckon she's not paying her staff?

Poots said he badly needed money for food.

Do you remember what you first said to me?
On our first case together?

Refresh my memory.

'Love, money or jealousy, Quant.
All crimes lead to at least one.'

Not a bad impression.

You're right.
And most of the time, it's money.

We'll look into it.

You coming?

No, you go on ahead. There's
something else I want to check first.

What's that?

Logistics.

Hello, operator.
I'd like to place a call to France.

To the Société Immobilière Côte d'Azur.

Yes, to Mr Turgenev.

The number is Cannes 5123.

What do you mean, disconnected?
No. Cannes 5123.

Try again.

Are you sure?

Hey, René.

Easy.

The brochure.
Is it for tomorrow's exhibition?

Well-spotted. Nice, isn't it?
- Magnificent.

When did you take these pictures?

And what were you doing in my atelier
when I wasn't there?

And whose telephone number is this?

Ah, all these questions.

Yes. A lot of questions.
And I'd like all the answers.

Listen.

You paint and I sell. That's our strategy.

I do what suits me when it suits me,
and you stay out of it.

Division of labour according to talent.

I thought you had already sold
these paintings to Lord James?

She'll sell them to those high rollers
at tomorrow's exhibition.

The value of your paintings
will go through the roof.

Times fifty, at least.

And we take our 25 percent.

Yes, I'm taking care of you, my friend.

We're going to make a fortune.

You can thank me later, okay?

I'm going to join her
and make sure no one screws up.

Are we good?

Yes.

I beg your pardon, Mrs Magritte.
- Georgette, please.

Was that you playing Schubert?

Yes.

Truly beautiful.

Music has that unique power, doesn't it?

I won't lie to you,
it touches me deeper than...

what your husband and his colleagues do.

Surrealism comes from the brain,
but music...

comes from the soul.

If René is using his brain,
it's only to protect his heart.

Or is he just the curious sort?

You may have noticed
he sunk his teeth into this case

like a hunting dog
into a defenceless pheasant.

He thinks it's his duty
to save every poor soul, I'm afraid.

Where does that come from? Ego?

Well...

When René was a child...

his mother jumped into the river.

She killed herself.

Oh dear.

Mummy!

Pull, pull.

His father was a tormented man.

He didn't know
how to deal with his grief, so...

He decided it was René's fault.

I asked you one thing!

René was out playing, so...

He came back too late
to lock his mother into her bedroom.

She had tried it before, you see.

It's your fault.
- And...

It's haunted him ever since.

That's your mother.

As if a little boy
should bear such responsibility.

That's wrong.

And that's why you now have a man
that wants to solve the case at all costs.

Because in his mind...

it's his fault.

He was supposed to watch
over her, you see, and he didn't.

I appreciate you sharing all this...

Georgette.
- Well...

I know
that people need a little bit of help

with the mystery named Magritte sometimes.

It's not like he's helping us much
with his detecting.

Or his paintings.

Well... Have a good day, detective, and...

be careful, please.
- I will.

I didn't see you there.

Don't worry, my young lord,
I'm also a little distracted.

By everything that has happened?

Yeah. There's that, of course.

And also... life and marriage, you know.

A quarrel with Sal?

You're too polite. I know
rumours spread quickly around here.

I may have heard something.
Is it all resolved?

It's Salva. He'll come around.

He's just acting very dramatic,
even for him.

Why?

I always handle the business side,
he's much too impulsive, but...

now, poor Sheila had to go
and leave him all her money.

She certainly didn't do
anyone any favours with that.

Right.

Oh... I'm rambling.

Is everything set for tomorrow night?

Yes, all is splendid.
Just need to attend to the final details.

Good.

Magritte?

Sir.

I've been talking with your wife.
- Then you're more successful than me.

Cause I've been trying
to talk to her all morning, but...

Listen.

I owe you an apology. For last night.

Yes?

I apologise.

And I accept it.

Listen, I get it.

Stir things up, right?

See if I break under pressure?
- Maybe. But you didn't. So well done.

Do you fancy joining me?

For what, sir?

Are you good with heights?

This is my proposal.

Use the present circumstances to
drive the price of the art up even more.

Nothing sells like scandal.
Let alone murder.

I think you should get the press involved,
make it all public.

It's not bad, My Lord. It's really good.

In fact, we should thank the murderer.

No?

There is perhaps something
in what you are suggesting, ELT.

My Lord, I can assure you...

this scandal will multiply
the value of the artwork exponentially.

I get the picture.

Thank you.

Thank you, My Lord.

Thank you very much.

I don't understand how our killer could've
done all this right under our noses.

It's like we're dealing with a ghost.

A bloody invisible one, at that.

A strong one too.
A strong, invisible, murderous ghost.

Quite.

You and Sheila were already half in bed
and anyone can move a body slightly.

But Nash?

We're looking at someone with real muscle.

Are you sure you don't remember anything?
Being manhandled? Picked up?

Big hands? A smell? A wheezing breath?

No. Nothing at all.

The killer could've had help.

It's a possibility.

What does your gut tell you?

That this is such a unique kind of murder

that it has to be a maniac
who's working alone.

But then it's such a lot of work
for one person.

He has to know this estate inside out.

And how to get around here
without being spotted.

On the other hand...

There are a lot of couples here.

A lot of couples
that would lie for each other.

Well, that's what couples do.

How many couples
would kill for each other?

Would you kill for Georgette?

Right.
- Yes, but only for her.

Listen.

Thank you for all your help.

Why don't you go and make it up
with your wife now?

If you can.

She's a treasure, that one.

I will.

Back to the grindstone.

I understand that you are
the director general of Babington Bank

and that your client has confidentiality.

But, with all due respect,
this is Scotland Yard.

There's a double homicide
investigation ongoing.

No?

That's your final answer?

I will let my superior officers know.

Thank you.

Wanker.

I don't understand how our killer could've
done all this right under our noses.

A strong, invisible, murderous ghost.

I bet I can beat you up to that tree.
Who's in?

Oh, you're on, girl.

Go on, George.

I don't want to.
- No shoes.

Not you.

Don't be so shy.
- Stop it.

You'll see, she runs like a fox.

No, I'm not a fast runner.

She runs like a fox,
but she fucks like a rabbit.

Excuse me?

Just joking.

Come on, girls.
- I'm coming.

Ready?

Three. Two. One. Go!

Come on, George!

Look at our little foxie.
- I bet she does fuck like a rabbit.

Wow, it's really lovely.

Time away from it all.

This is the first time I've relaxed

since I drove through
those gates a few days ago.

While there might be an actual killer
staring at us from the bushes right now.

Will you stop?

Shall we play a game?

Hm, what kind of game?
- A sex game, I hope.

I'll jump anything
that will have me at this point.

I'll pass, Gala.

But I was thinking about the game...

Is Your Husband A Killer?

You're all fun, aren't you?

No, but seriously?

Mine's a liar. A cheater. A madman.

A small child. And a crybaby.

But not a murderer.
- No, I think so too. No.

Neither is mine.

Be careful, René. With those two...

you're going to lose her.

Ladies amongst each other...

They talk.

Nash's?

Why are you even here, Magritte?

All good with you and René?
- All good?

This idiot cheated on her
first chance he got.

No offence.
- That's rich coming from you.

I cheat, yeah. It's true.

But can we call it cheating
if Salva is aware of it?

There is no betrayal.

For me, the betrayal isn't the sex.
It's the lies.

Yes.

I just don't know what to do.

I could already feel him
slipping away from me, so...

I don't know.

Leave him.
- What? No.

Make him pay, but keep him.

He loves you, it's clear.
And you love him.

But first,
fuck anyone you like to get even.

How do you know
I haven't already evened the score?

Say again?

No.

You are one of us now, Georgina.
Welcome to the big girls club.

Don't you want to go for a walk?

Right now?
- Yes, only you and me, for a short walk.

Uhm...

Yes? Come, let's go.

Be careful, Georgette.

He might drag you in the woods.
- Be careful, starlings.

Before you know it,
you'll have a surreal baby in your belly.

Some feverish make-up sex, you reckon?
- Up against a tree.

I would even do it with a tree.

We need a drink.
- We sure do.

Oh, yes.
- Not you.

You want us to trust
each other again, don't you?

I do, my love.

You know, it's been...

We've always been together.

Since we were fifteen.

You see, I could never ever lie to you.
I could never hurt you.

Are you okay?
- Yes.

You want to sit down?

No, I'm okay.

Every time I try to be Mr Romantic,
Mr Clumsy ruins the moment.

You can never ruin anything.

Come.

I love you.

I love you too.

I've always loved you, I always will.

Kiss me?

Yes.

I want you.

What, right here?

Hm.
- Really?

You'll have to catch me first.

Unless you'd rather kiss the lawn?

My love?

George?

My love?

Georgette, where are you?

René!

René?

Georgette? What's wrong?

What's wrong?
- I saw him.

Who did you see?

He was right there.
- Who did you see? Where?

I thought I was going to die, René.
- No, no, no.

You won't die. I'm right here.

Come, come.

Let's go. Let's get out of here.

So... Like a mask, but made of roses?

Yes, about 500 of them.

It's very elaborate.

Did you get a sense of the face?

No, I couldn't really see it.

Like... Imagine a sphere,
but covered with roses.

Like a football, but on top of
a human body, if that makes sense?

What's this?

A performance in London by
our first victim. Only a few months ago.

The Phantom Lady, she called it.
- Can I see it?

Are you saying
that you saw the ghost of Sheila Legge?

What time exactly did this take place?

Half an hour ago.

Alright.
- Sir. It's a morbid prank, surely?

No, I believe
that Mrs Magritte came face to face

with our clearly deranged murderer.

I'm glad you live to tell the tale.

Would you be able to show me the spot
where you saw this odd figure?

Yes.
- Of course.

Yes, I think it was here.

Okay, I will have the constables
conduct a search.

Detective Quant? That won't be necessary.

Sir?
- Yes, I mean, it's...

Well... It's getting dark now.

It's no use
to send the troops in at this hour.

We'll continue this tomorrow morning.

If you say so, sir.

I don't want to keep Mr Magritte
from his work.

Thank you both for your help.

That's so not true, Manny.

Look who's here.

The millionairess.

Go on, hit me.

Here too.

Stop it now, Sal.
- It's okay, Manny.

Hit me. Hard and merciless. Like you are.

You've gone completely nuts, finally.
- No...

I'm perfectly sane, woman.

Will you hit me in the mouth?

Just like you did by accepting
Sheila's inheritance behind my back.

Signing the bloody will.
Touching that blood money.

Still then... I'll present my other cheek.

Go on.

Hit me.

Till it bleeds.

Stop it now.
- No, you stop it.

You're a child.

You're dead to me, Gala!
- Here comes the Spanish drama.

What about you? What about you?

You promiscuous racist bourgeois!

Money-minded snake!
You're a money-minded snake!

Any more insults for me?
- Yes.

Plenty. I have plenty!

Not worth my breath.
Be gone. Okay? Be gone.

Stay out of my life.

Stay out of my life!
- Right.

See you in the room later?

Don't tell anyone.

And if you do, make it a good story.

There you are. Whiskey sour for Ms Miller?

Everything A-okay?
- Never been better.

And that's the logistics of it.
What do you think?

So, the killer caught Nash
in a poppy field,

used the delivery van

and got him all the way on the roof
via the servants' entrance.

Yes. And you believe
he or she has appeared in the clearing?

How would one get there
without being seen?

Good question.
I'm not quite sure about that yet.

But I might have a suspicion.

Still... Impressive work, sir.

Thank you, Quant.
What about your money trail?

Almost there.
Just have a few more checks to do.

Keep it up. Take no prisoners now.

I shall retire to the local hostelry,

where I will consume
exactly five pints of foaming ale

and think this all through.

We're close, Quant.

Downstairs tomorrow morning
for breakfast, 8:30 sharp.

Good night, and thank you.
- Thank you too.

Good night, sir.

Yes.

It looks wonderful.

Shame there's still one
in the murder room, sir.

Brighton. 2948.

Isn't it a wonderful tribute
to my Da Vinci?

You know,
I'm no sentimentalist, Magritte, but...

This melts the ice chip in my heart.

Sal did us right.

Goodnight, Magritte.

My dear?

Are you alright?
- Of course not.

Max, you are my oldest friend
in this nest of vipers.

You've got to help me.

Of course.

I'd do anything for you, you know that.

Tell me...

Have I fucked up?

Well, I hate to say it, but...

Yes, you have.

He's my life, Maxie.
- I know...

how close he is to your heart.

You two are not like any ordinary couple.

You're bulletproof.

You and Salva will survive this.
Because you have to.

I wish you were right.
- I most certainly am. Before you know it.

Thank you, Max.

Max?

Did you notice something strange with him?

My dearest Gala,
he's the definition of strange.

I know that. I mean...

What?

Never mind.

Are you saying that you saw
the ghost of Sheila Legge?

A strong, invisible, murderous ghost.

So you understand, this is crucial.
Nothing else can go wrong.

As you wish, My Lord.

Is everything in place for tomorrow?

Shall we go over the guest list
one more time?