All language subtitles for This.Is.Not.A.Murder.Mystery.S01E06.The.Survivor.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DUAL.DDP2.0.H.264-YAGAMi_Subtítulos01.ENG

We can't locate DCI Thistlethwaite.

What?
- No way.

There are police everywhere on the estate.
The main detective went missing.

Two of my friends are dead.

Actually,
I think we can use the free promo.

You know what promo is?

As far as I can tell, he's a suspect,
and a seasoned con artist.

Going through our friend's
personal things. So much for friendship.

If his teeth match his dental records,
this would be Tobias George James.

The 12th Lord Denver.

Whatever the specifics of it,
let him rest.

Where's my bracelet?
- It's just that...

the clasp broke,
so I took it to the jeweller.

Quant!

The killer...

He was planning all of it.
He wasn't even hiding it.

The man we are looking for is Man Ray.

Those nails. They're not even mine.
I'm innocent.

The case is closed, DCI Quant. Full stop.

Thank you for stopping by, Michael.

Let's go out there
and let's grab the world...

by the goddamn balls!

Sir? You might want to come see this.

What the hell?

And what do you paint?

I actually do paint the reality of today,
but my own version of it.

Elaborate.

Well, 'seeing' usually means
you open your eyes

and you look at the outside world.
But you can see another way.

You can close your eyes
and then look into your inner world.

I believe it's best to keep
one eye closed and look inside.

And the other eye:
you have it fixed on reality.

What is going on around
in this crazy world right now?

That's a rather clear message, no?
- I guess so.

Then why did you arrest Man Ray?
- Why did...

Why do you think?

We caught him
with the bloody murder weapon.

The killer is playing with us. Again.

He's probably watching us right now.

The wrong man is in prison, Quant.

I can't get Man Ray
off the hook for this, okay?

The higher-ups, they want him
to go down. So does Lord James.

He's not getting out of that cell.
- Until we find the real killer.

Where are the bodies?

Thistle...

He mentioned
the possibility of hidden passages.

Maybe. Yes. Probably.

The cooks and staff have been
in the kitchen working all evening.

They must have seen anyone
who doesn't belong there.

Definitely not anyone
carrying three dead bodies.

There's got to be two people. Surely.

A killer and an assistant.

Or two killers.

Sorry... The exhibition is about to start.

None of the guests
can know about this, sir.

He's right.

We have to keep it that way.
We can't have a panic on our hands.

I'll protect the guests, guard the dinner
and exhibition with some constables. Okay?

Thank you, miss. This is
a very important night for Lord James.

Please, tell Georgette I'll be late.
I need to dig a little deeper.

DC Quant?
- Yes.

Look...

I don't need to tell you
to be careful by now. Okay?

But please... be careful.

You too.

So what is it about reality
that inspires you?

I don't paint reality, Ms Guggenheim.

I paint dreams.
- Oh, fascinating.

Dreams, really?
- Yes.

Wet ones, I hope.
- Oh, Ms Cunard!

Where is he?

As much as good food and fine wine
has restored your minds,

I would like to relax yourselves
even further.

You may have read
the gutter press this week

and come across certain unfortunate events
that transpired at my estate.

Nobody stops death...

when it comes knocking at the door...

in whatever form or guise.

It is with the greatest regret
that I remember my dear cousin Sheila

and our joint friend Nash.

May they rest in peace.

Yes.

Respect is also due to the detective
who tried to keep us safe.

His sacrifice did lead to the ultimate
capture of our unfortunate murderer.

The killer turned out
to be one of my favourite artists.

A giant of 20th-century art.

Mr Man Ray.
- It wasn't me.

I'm afraid he has gone to the devil.
- It wasn't me.

Shut up! That's what you lot always say.

Let me out, you relentless bastards!

Release me at once!

Release me!

Release me!

Which won't diminish the importance nor
the value of his work, I can assure you.

On the contrary, My Lord. He's white hot.

For way too long,
Man Ray has been focussed

on themes of death and destruction.
His art is simply stupendous.

Frightening, profound and beautiful.

Now you will see it exhibited,

be prepared to be shocked
out of your comfort zones.

Brilliant.
- Oh, I'm loving this intrigue.

It is of my opinion
that an artist can never go too far.

Except when he,
like our Man Ray obviously did...

when he crosses...

to the other world.

There is no way back
from that side of the Styx.

But as you know,
every cloud has a silver lining.

And Man Ray's demise means that peace

and prosperity has returned to West Dean.

We are back to where we were.

Where we would like to reside.

In a perfect world,
West Dean will always be this.

No applause.

I hereby invite you
to a very private viewing

of the new and visionary names in art.

Follow me to Monkton House.

We need to get more bread in that oven.
- Can I have some pepper, please?

Be careful
how much you're putting in there.

Watch the soup there.

Have you really
been living here for years?

You sound concerned.
- I don't think I like this place.

I know, my friend.

One moment, it seduces you...

and then it grabs you by the throat.

Welcome to West Dean.

Where is Georgette?

I think she's got a headache.

I think René is making up for lost time.

René?

You are aware of the situation,
aren't you?

My bank is this close
to seizing this entire estate.

Fully aware.

Wait a few more hours,
and once I start selling these works,

you'll remember
who the boss is around here.

I'll be happily waiting for that.

In the meantime, enjoy another glass
of champagne, Babington. It's on me.

René?

Quite a place.
- Sure.

On a budget.

Exactly.

Welcome to the Surrealist Dream House,

where reality is broken,

where day is night.

And nothing is as it seems,

and vice versa.

Is this yours as well?
- Yes, it is, Peggy. Yes, it is.

This symbolises prenatal life.
The memories I have from my mother's womb.

Yes, touch it.

Can I?
- Yes, you'll feel egg-stasy.

Wow.
- You see?

It's egg-straordinary.

You're a very egg-sperimented artist.
- Thank you.

Is it egg-spensive ?
- It is. I'm afraid it is.

Egg-squisite.
- You are egg-stremely funny.

Fascinating.
- Sensational.

Will you write about this, Dr Freud?
- I'd rather dream about it

and then I write about the dreams
or perhaps the nightmares, but...

Let's have a look
at the killer's work, would you?

Killer?

I'll buy the egg.
- Is it even on sale?

By all means, if you so desire.

50,000.

A breeze to impress my friends
in my museum back in New York.

Yes, you're not the only one
with your own museum, you know.

But I have the best art.
- Not forever. I'll buy the lot.

There's always more where that came from.

You see, it takes
a particular talent to spot great talent.

You, my friend, just throw dollars at it.

But I'm the one catching those dollars.

Bloody good show.
- Cheers to that.

What does it mean?

'This is not a pipe.'
- Yes, but its true meaning?

Well, it's not a pipe.

It's a painting of a pipe,
a representation thereof.

That sounds like the mortgage business.

You think you buy a house,
but we, the bank, actually own it.

René?
- Georgette.

What are you doing here?

I was looking for you everywhere.
I was so worried.

What is this place?

There might be more than one exhibition.

What's happening?

Upstairs.

Open the gate!

Help us! Help us, please!

My friends. My friends!

My friends!

My friends.

Please.

Calm down.

I'm sorry for the drama.
- What is going on?

Please don't kill us.
- Did you just lock us up, Magritte?

No, I did not.
And nobody is getting killed tonight.

At least not for now.

I'll have you killed
before you even touch us.

There's no need.
I'm quite nervous as it is.

It's the first murder case
I've ever solved.

Are you alright, Magritte?

The question is: do you want to know?

Know what?
- Who the killer is.

The mind behind this madness.
- Manny is in jail. It's not him?

Seriously, Sal? You think
he did all this from his prison cell?

Perhaps, if he had help...

Let's have it then. Out with it!
- Okay.

Let's start with the first murder, Sheila.

As some of you may know,
I woke up next to the victim.

What many of you may not know,
is that the murder scene was choreographed

as one of my paintings, Les Amants.

Which was at that time
safely locked into my room.

The lab test has shown that
both Sheila and I were heavily drugged.

The wine we drank that night
was laced with laudanum.

The same laudanum...

the Dalís use to fall asleep every night.

Very interesting.
- What?

Is sleeping a crime now?
- No, not at all.

But as a result,
I was incapable of committing the murder,

let alone get the scenography right.

Thanks to DC Quant.
She understood this before anyone else.

So the question becomes:
who knew about a painting

not yet shown to anyone here in England?

It was me.

Ladies and gentlemen, my agent,
Edouard Léon Théodore Mesens,

who some of you may know for
his fine manners and sober personality.

That's for sure.

Pushing your work is my job, Magritte.

True, but the fact is,
ELT photographed this painting

when it was still
in my studio in Brussels.

He then sent those pictures
by post to this address.

He later rang a number at West Dean
to talk to Lord James about my work.

I don't remember that.

All of this to try and convince Lord James

to invite a lowly painter as myself
to this exclusive event.

Someone in this house picked up
ELT's pictures of the painting.

It could have been any one
of the artists present that night.

It could have been both the Dalís.

Manny. Lee. Max.

What?
- Even Nash.

It could have been anybody.
Great detecting.

No, he's starting to make sense.
Let him talk.

Continue.

Let's move forward
to the second murder, shall we?

Nash.

We first thought Nash overdosed on opium.

But no, Nash was shot
with a glass gun using salt bullets.

That's quite a genius method.

Looks like a small bullet hole.

There's no bullet in the brain.

No exit wound in the skull.

Owner of this gun?

Lee Miller.

Again with the toy gun. Really?

I know you didn't kill Nash, dear Lee.
You had no motive whatsoever.

Except that your Man Ray
had a little affair with Sheila.

And got her pregnant.

He told you that?
- Yes.

We are friends. What do you think? That
men don't share our dirty little secrets?

Ooh, I'm loving this show.

Well... His dirty secret was a dirty lie.

Nash was the boy's real father.
- What?

It's true. He found out a couple
of days ago when he arrived at the estate.

Such a sad life the little boy had.

And to die like that...

What do you know
about that child's death, Mr Dalí?

More than most of us.

Dalí was the man
who tried to save this child.

And you're a hero for doing so.

How do you know all of that?

The money.

But if that's okay,
I'm going to come back to that later.

Let's finish this murder first.

Because if neither Lee
nor Man Ray killed Nash,

then who did?

Nash was shot through the nose using
salt bullets. What does this tell us?

The same as the murder of Sheila.

This is not about efficient killing.
This is about making a statement.

Murder...

as a work of art.

It is hard work to kill,
even when it's done.

How to deal with the bodies
has always fascinated me.

Carrying them around. Disposing of them.

So there has to be
a practical side to the killings.

We are all walking here freely.

How could the killer do his job
without being seen?

I think our third victim
came to the same conclusion.

DCI Thistlethwaite.

The man who almost ruined
our killer's plan.

He understood
there had to be a practical aspect

to the logistics of these killings.

He went on a search, came too close...

and had to be killed on the spot.
But this was a necessity.

This wasn't part
of the killer's overall artistic view, no.

So the killer used
a secondary murder weapon.

A fake version of Man Ray's
gruesome art piece Le Cadeau.

Isn't that right, DC Quant?

A disturbing work of art
combined with snake venom...

In the eyes of the killer:
an improvised masterplan.

But he made a mistake.

The original version of Man Ray's Le
Cadeau has 14 nails sticking out of it.

The killer only used 11.
- What?

The officers arresting
Man Ray missed this detail

and took home the fake version
placed there by the killer.

No, no, no.
Those nails, they're not even mine.

Put your tool down
and get your hands behind your back.

I knew Man could never have done
all those things.

And yet he complied with the three things
a detective always looks for.

Means, motive and opportunity.

Jealousy? A very strong motive.

Being lied to? Very painful.

It was a big surprise
when Sheila's fortune didn't go to Nash,

her lover, father of her child.

Also, Sheila's inheritance didn't go
to her only cousin and closest relative...

Lord James.

I'll have to admit,
I had a fit of pique when I'd heard.

But it couldn't have gone
to a better person.

It went to... Dalí.

Oh, he didn't know.

As he didn't know until yesterday,
he had no motive whatsoever.

But why?

Salva helped his friends
that day in Spain. Didn't he?

He lied to the police about the situation

in which he found
little Seb and his parents.

So there would be no investigation.

Wake up!

He later visited Sheila's estate,
but refused her money...

that you considered blood money
to ease your conscience.

He's not responding. It's because of you.

I saw it coming.

I never wanted this.
- I know.

Don't touch him! No!

Give him to me!

Stop it.

A truly horrific scene,

yet you still acted fast
and got rid of all the evidence.

But Sheila had you already included
in her will as sole heir.

And you inherited three million
thanks to Gala's signature.

Someone else in this house...

is desperately in need of money.

Am I right...

Lord James?
- James?

Would you elaborate, DC Quant?

It struck us that the financial situation
of the estate is pitiful.

An investigation into Lord James'
finances led to the discovery

that several poor investments
were made into a failed project.

Today, a heavy mortgage
weighs on all her assets.

I mean,
the interest alone can barely be paid.

It is my belief that Lord James
needs the profits of this very party

to pay back her creditors.

Oh, please.

What's money?

To you, it means everything.
But to me, it's just sad.

And yes, we've recently
had some lean years,

but this family is
about centuries, not years.

We've survived wars, disease and crisis,
and we will survive this too.

I am Lord James, seventh generation.

And anyone that thinks
that I would kill for some money,

is not making a fool of me,
but of themselves.

I believe you, My Lord.

I mean, who am I to doubt you?
I know you love us all.

But you love Max Ernst
just a little bit more, don't you?

He's been staying on this estate
for years, paying absolutely nothing.

So what?

During all these years,
he had more than enough time

to visit every little corner
of this estate.

Inside... Excuse me.

And outside.

Just like this trompe l'oeil technique
in his own studio.

That's... That's not my work, obviously.

But I kind of like it. The light
on the side of the tree is well captured.

That's not an easy trick to learn.

Anonymous was not bad at his craft, so...

I just kept it and gave it a silly name.

'Doors of Perception.'

Oh my God.

What?

I didn't know that.
- I believe you.

The answers to all of your questions...

or better: the only question...

lies down there.

So, if you would like to follow me?

Welcome to the true exhibition
of the evening.

The first installation on your right
is my first murder.

Nobody touches anything!

The beautiful but deceitful
Ms Sheila Legge.

Oh, how she lied.

You didn't think
this was worth showing me before?

I only just discovered it.

We need everyone out
and this place locked down.

There's evidence everywhere.

Nash, so hopped up on cocaine
that he never felt a thing.

This is now a Scotland Yard crime scene.

The third unfortunate murder is...

of course DCI Thistlethwaite.

Revolting and yet...

beautiful.

One of the most haunting installations
that I've ever seen.

I invite you
to witness my final installation.

Who is this artist?

Who is this monster?
- And where is it?

Right there.

When I overheard my manager ELT
talk to someone in the hallway recently,

I discovered that someone amongst us
was more than we thought.

A failed artist. A flop.

But in his own eyes,
a misunderstood genius,

forced to witness the so-called greats
put on a big show here.

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

So this man wanted to show us
who the greatest truly was.

My friends.

My dearest friends.

May I present to you...

the killer of West Dean.

Archibald Jukes.
- My God.

Open it. Get it open now.

He's suffocating. Quickly!

Get back everyone, now!
- Over here.

Try the other side.

He's dying in there.
- It won't open.

He can't get any air.

Open it!

He's dying.

Oh God.

This is horrible, René.

By the time you hear this, I shall
have already departed this world.

Get back, everyone.

Consider this my final gift.

Get back now! This is a crime scene.
- Where art and oblivion...

dance together...

in a mortal harmony.

Farewell.

It's not as simple as it seems.

In surrealist art, we constantly
want to play with the question:

is it a dream, or real?

A joke or a tragedy?

Well, fuck me. What was that?

A terrible, awful thing.
- No...

Well... yes, of course it was,
but what a thrilling ride.

Can you feel your heart beating, Peggy?
Isn't that what we want? To live?

We eat, drink, fuck. Fine. But...

Getting so close to death
that you can taste it. Lick it.

That's how it feels to be truly alive.
- I'm glad you had a good time.

Quiet now. No one must know
how depraved I am.

Is that you?
- Lee?

Man?

It's me.
- I'm released.

Apologies, sir. A cup of coffee? Brandy?
- Who did it? They got the bastard?

It was the butler, Jukes.

He killed himself in front of everyone.

Some kind of obsession with being
a mad artist. Or some other bullshit.

Oh God, we got locked in
with a murderous amateur.

He makes the rest of us look normal.

I am so happy you're not hurt.

I can survive on my own.

Hey, look. I'm sorry for everything.

I love you. I truly do.

Stay put. Comb your hair.

Brush your teeth.

I'm coming to get you out of there.
- I am counting down the seconds.

Big night.

What for?
- Art.

It's not about art, ELT. Don't you get it?

Money?

History.

Goodbye, ELT. Safe travels.

There you go.

You're quiet.

Come on, Salva.
Haven't we had enough drama for a week?

You lied to me.

I didn't.

And now I think,
with a nice bit of money in the bank...

we deserve a long holiday.
- What is this?

RMS Queen Mary to New York?

We're leaving the old continent, my dear.

I don't trust this Hitler
and his Nazis one bit.

Thanks to our new friend, Nancy Cunard.

Staterooms. President's suite.

By the way, she bought all your works.

All of it?

Yes. Top dollar.

I think I might love you
more than I hate you.

Lord James! Are you relieved
now this matter is concluded?

Certainly. Though the pain remains.
Friends and family met their end

at what should have been
a celebration of art and love.

Their loss will always
be felt at West Dean.

My Lord, Manchester Guardian.

What do you have to say about persistent
rumours about your financial situation?

Some say not much remains of your fortune.

Will you be out
in the cold this winter, My Lord?

Those who move the world will always be
the subject of speculation and nonsense.

Usually coming from those
with nothing to lose and no dreams.

All that negativity stops
at the gates of this estate.

In here, we celebrate
only the beauty of human beings.

Lord James...

Nicely done. Congratulations.

It doesn't feel like a celebration
with all of this death, but...

I'll be glad to be back home,
and just paint.

I'll leave the detecting to you.
- Still, I appreciate your artistic touch.

The way you transformed
from an amateur detective

to solving this devilish puzzle,
it's impressive.

This doesn't feel
like a victory either, does it?

Why not?

Work's not quite done.
I think there's more.

Wait. What do you mean?

It's just a feeling I have.
If you're in Brussels, let me know.

Magritte, what feeling?

Why was Jukes able to have his own way?

Lord James is such a powerful person.
He's just a little worm.

Maybe she knew about it.

Or he had something on her.
I thought the exact same thing.

You have a theory?

Lord Denver disappeared.
Declared dead after some time.

Lord James becomes heiress
after his death.

Gets all this. Only...

there's not much left.
Debt. Bad investments.

And there was no corpse until our
frogman pulled that skeleton out the lake.

You think she killed her brother?

I can't prove it, but...

I think Jukes knew
the truth of Lord Denver's death.

If so, he had gold in his hands...

and he dictated the law to his boss.

I don't know.

Lord James thought Jukes was
just this strange, frustrated little man,

who was too sad and insecure
to do anything other than serve.

She never thought he would go so far,

but once he did...
- It was too late.

The guests were already arriving,
and she desperately needed those guests.

That's right.

I'll talk to her,
when she's recovered from this.

I wouldn't wait too long with that.
She must know every secret on this estate.

You want to come with me?

No, I need to go home now.

You'll figure it out.
- I understand.

Magritte?

One second.

No. No, no, no.
- Yes.

Oh, I can't.
- Thistle had no relatives or children.

I think he would have liked the idea.

Please.

You sure?
- Go on.

What do you think?

It makes sense.

Thank you.
- It's okay.

Take care.

Goodbye.

Very nice hat.
- You like it?

You know I'm...

I'm proud of you.

Why?
- For having caught the killer.

What was that?

Another murder.

In fact, the last one.

It happened sooner than I thought.
- You want to go back?

No, DC Quant will take care of it.

This is no longer our story.
- Okay.

There is a weird place in this estate.

A little isolated house.
But it seems to be inhabited.

I always thought
that the murderer used it as a hideout.

But then the police found that skull.
You remember?

So I thought...

Maybe Lord Denver didn't disappear.

Someone knew about his death all along.

And if he drowned on the estate,
I'm certain more people knew about it.

People talk. Manipulate. Seek revenge.

No matter their wealth or status,

everyone wants to matter.

With the compliments
of Archibald Jukes, My Lord.

And this one is from Lord Denver.

Good night, My Lord.

What happened?

Revenge.

Lord Denver...

took me in,

gave me a second chance
when nobody else would.

No.

Please.

Jukes used Jay Poots' respect for Lord
Denver and made sure he finished the job.

The message said
'one more murder' after all.

What is it?

Would you like to spend
Christmas in New York?

Cunard-White Star Line.

How did you get your hands on this?

Doesn't matter.
Let's see this as a new beginning.

Okay?

I love you.