Original subtitles

- Go straight down.

- Little security device.

Alarming for genuine guests, I know, but effective.

Oh, and CCTV, but we don't need that, do we?

We're not going to be disturbed.

Self-locking.

You look nervous.

You're probably wondering

why I'm sitting here all alone in the dark.

My wife's convinced I'm a vampire.

But it's not blood, my tipple,

it's Bloody Mary.

Sit

down.

You look like you could do with a drink.

Vodka, but not with tomato juice, I think.

I know the proletariat have a horror

of anything that might have originated in a field.

So I always keep a supply of chemically polluted fizzy water

for a certain type of guest.

Not surprising you find the look of that oven

a little sinister.

The design was developed by a German company, Topf,

during a little dispute in your grandfather's time,

sometimes referred to as the Second World War.

Topf claimed that they could reduce a human body to ash

in under 20 minutes.

I never put it to the test.

I suppose it would depend

on the stature of the person being burned.

Not the only company to profit from genocide,

oh no, AEG.

They supplied the ventilation system

that delivered the Zyklon B to the gas chamber.

Also make very good fridges.

A few of the seven deadly sins.

Just a weekend hobby.

The sculpting, that is, not the sinning.

I won't ask you to try and identify which is which.

I don't suppose religious education

played a great part in your upbringing.

All based on people who really do deserve to be punished

for their vices.

Currently working on gluttony.

Very unpleasant journalist who waged a campaign against me

in her Sunday column.

Spends half her time attacking privilege

and the other half stuffing her face in the Ivy.

She can sniff out truffles like a pig.

I understand some lunatic's planning to marry her.

Hope to God they never have children,

she'd lactate balsamic vinegar.

I think...

Yes,

I think perhaps I'll put a spike through her tongue.

Thirsty, boy?

In the days of the Raj,

if a local was hauled in for interrogation,

before the questioning began,

they'd give him an arrowroot biscuit.

Then, if he couldn't muster enough spit to speak, well.

But you've got nothing to feel guilty about, have you?

Top up?

Don't worry, she's the only thing in here that'll be spiked.

Poisoners used to be boiled alive.

Although, with the Tudors,

you could always escape the death penalty

by pleading benefit of clergy.

And all you had to do to prove that you were clergy

was demonstrate that you could read.

Not much use to you, I know,

but then you would be branded on the forehead.

With a big T for thief

or M for murderer and so on.

You do have a very interesting head,

something Celtic about it.

Something of the Emerald Isle, so it has.

And oddly familiar.

Perhaps your mother once told me some lucky Heather.

I sometimes think that if we provided

less dental care for the masses,

the masses would spend less time

trying to destroy their own teeth.

I was once walking down a back street in Marrakesh,

and I heard the most godawful screaming.

I asked my guide what was going on

and he pointed to a sign in Arabic,

which he translated as dentist son diplome.

That's French.

That's what they speak in Morocco.

- They can do that, can they?

- Do what?

- Operate without a diploma.

That's wogs for you.

- Educated

and racist.

Well, well.

- I was being ironic.

- We've got a satirist.

- Thanks for the chemically polluted fizzy water.

- Oh, that door is locked, don't forget.

You have to exit through the house.

And we have unfinished business.

Have I upset you?

- I suppose you blame the adversarial system of government

for encouraging your bad manners.

Don't members of the Shadow cabinet

usually get recognised by the proletariat?

- I like you.

- So long as we understand each other.

- Oh, that's a tall order.

Nobody understands me.

- Not even your wife?

- Especially not my...

you being ironic again.

It's very disturbing meeting

someone more sarcastic than I am.

It's like having a conversation in double negatives.

I won't ask if they cover double negatives

in your English lessons at school.

- Not if you don't want a fat lip.

- That's more like it.

The direct threat is something I can comprehend.

- Even if you ignore it.

- Cowards die many times before their deaths.

- The valiant never taste of death but once.

- School production of Hamlet?

- Julius Caesar.

You should read it,

you might learn something about politics.

- My colleagues say my manner is already a little too theatrical.

What do you think?

- You're one of those MPs they call colourful, aren't you?

- Oh no, no, no.

Colourful means you support blood sports

and the death penalty,

but you wear a bow tie.

I'm a maverick.

- Someone who can afford to take risks

because he doesn't need a minister's salary.

Rises like this don't come cheap.

What? You got a rich wife?

- She's probably my biggest expense.

- Where's it from, then?

- Hard work.

Don't be deceived by the medieval splendour.

The rest of this house fell down long ago,

and the Victorians replaced it with a very ugly vicarage,

so I got it at a knock-down price.

But this undercroft suits my purposes.

Although being grade one listed, I can't hang anything.

- You're telling me your family didn't have money?

- My father died in a ditch.

No more than he deserved.

He treated my mother abominably.

- You obviously believe in an eye for an eye.

- We all commit murder in our dreams.

All it takes is a little push.

But I divert such impulses to these little darlings.

You see, I'm temperamentally incapable of real violence.

- Here I was hoping you'd say the opposite.

- I hate to disappoint you, but I'm not into anything kinky.

- This isn't kinky.

Just

imagine I'm one of these statues.

Pretend I'm Miss Vinegar Tits.

- If I did that, I might get carried away and finish the job.

- If you do get carried away, maybe I'll finish the job.

You want some GHB?

- No, and I'd rather you didn't.

- That's cool, I only ever keep it for clients.

Your mate who brought me here, he's not gonna interrupt us.

- He's waiting upstairs to drive you home when we're done.

- And your wife?

- Very absent.

- Shame.

- You know, you really do have a very interesting head.

I wish I could work out why it's so familiar.

- Hmm, maybe you've met my brother.

- Does he look like you?

- We're twins.

Be nice to me and I'll introduce you.

- Hmm, buy one, get one free.

- Ah.

Pull on it.

- I'm really not into this sort of thing.

- Oh, come on, pull on it.

I'm only here for a couple of hours.

Don't waste it.

It's what I like.

- Shit! I told you I didn't want anything kinky.

Fuck!

Mark?

You all right, Robert?

I can't find the light switch.

- What happened?

- Oh, he had some kind of fit.

No, no, no, no, he can't be.

It was just a few seconds.

Trust me, Robert, I think I know.

He's broke his neck.

- No, no, no, he really can't be.

- Robert, look at me, this is very important, this.

He's dead.

There's nothing you can do.

You've just got to trust me here.

Do you trust me?

Now tell me exactly what happened.

- I, uh,

I made him a drink.

- Uh, where's the glass?

- Uh.

He put the belt around his own neck.

I didn't do anything, Mark.

I swear I did not do a thing.

- I believe ya.

I believe ya.

- Think very carefully here.

The only people who knew this boy was coming here tonight,

were me, you and him, yeah?

- You set it up the same as usual?

- Yeah.

Booked him in as if I was the client,

so no one knows who brought him here.

For God's sake, Mark the police.

- We've got to call the police. - Robert, the police!

- We can't really leave...

- Would anyone apart from me believe your story?

Will Isabel believe your story?

- What do you suggest?

- Will Isabel be away until Sunday?

- Same as always.

- And are you expecting any visitors tomorrow?

- Constituency chairman, 10 a.m..

- We need to get rid of this twat tonight,

fast.

- Mark, why are you doing this?

You're not implicated.

Nobody needs to know you arranged for him to come here.

- You're not just my boss, Robert, you're my friend.

Look, I don't get all this gay stuff,

but you've been good to me.

You even campaigned for me when I was inside.

You're the only one.

Been like a father to me.

- Older brother, I think.

- Yeah, elder brother.

- I just don't want you getting into trouble again.

Not on my account.

- Trust me I won't, and neither will you.

How long does it take to fire up the oven?

- You're not serious?

Why not? You're always making jokes about it.

- Jokes, Mark, jokes.

- How long?

15 minutes, but then it'll be too hot to open.

- Let's get it going.

The faster we deal with this, the better.

- This is ridiculous, Mark.

There must be another way.

The lock-up.

You always said it would be useful to have somewhere

nobody knew about.

Well, we've never used it.

We can put him in there.

Nobody will ever find him.

I've got the only key.

- Robert, that lock-up was taken out in my name.

I'm not taking responsibility for what happens

when the neighbours start to complain about the stink.

We have to be very careful here.

There's a lot of water in the human body.

- Oh, God, yes.

Once it reaches a certain temperature, it'll just...

- Explode.

He needs to be...

wrapped up in something.

- Yeah.

Let's get him in the rug, it should be big enough.

What's the problem?

- Well, it's a very nice rug.

Seems a crime to destroy it.

- Strangling a teenage boy is a crime.

What I'm asking you to do here is burn a souvenir

of one of your cock weekends in Tangiers.

- You know, Mark, for an employee,

sometimes you can be very familiar.

- Just get him in the fucking rug.

- It's also a very nice belt.

- Have you got some strong cord?

- Yeah. Here.

- Robert, that glass,

it'll have fingerprints and DNA all over it.

Take it upstairs to the kitchen.

Pour boiling water and bleach all over it

and throw it in the bin.

While you're upstairs, make a phone call.

- Who to?

- I don't know, anyone.

You need to behave as normal as possible.

People don't call their friends for a chat

when they've just strangled someone, do they?

- Hmm.

- Call your constituency man.

What's he called?

- Uh, George.

- Call George.

- You're so clinical about it all.

- It's the army training, Robert.

You need someone with a clear head to get you out of this one.

You can't even program your own thermostat.

- I can.

I just can't be bothered to read that section in the manual

on advanced operations.

- Turning the clock back an hour every autumn

is hardly an advanced operation, is it?

- I was taught never to turn a clock backwards.

I don't see why I can't turn it forwards 23 hours.

- Tell you what, can we just get on with this?

- Mark.

I've never asked you this before,

but when you were in Afghanistan,

did you ever kill anyone?

- Not as far as I know.

I mean,

not close, up for sure.

Now, you tell me something.

What does it feel like?

- I don't know.

Strange.

I suspect it will get slowly worse.

I envy your faith, Mark.

Not all the incense swinging and rosary beads, no, no, no.

The, uh,

I suppose you'd call it philosophical concept,

that if you can own a crime,

you can in some way be free of it.

When I was on trial,

you remember what my defence was?

- You didn't have a defence.

You pleaded guilty.

You never gave evidence.

- Me mates in the unit wanted me to kill that prisoner.

I couldn't do it.

Sounds ridiculous now I know, but...

I tortured him just to avoid killing him.

You see,

all that incense swinging did have an effect on me as a kid.

- Why didn't you say any of this at your trial?

- And incriminate me mates?

I didn't blame them.

You know, we train people to be killers,

and then we're surprised when they don't know when to stop.

Loyalty, Robert.

Loyalty is everything.

Which is why I'm doing this now

for you.

Don't make George suspicious.

Chat for a few minutes,

be relaxed, yeah?

Let's get to work.

- It's locked.

The key?

- It's in there.

- It's very dangerous

to interrupt a soprano mid-arpeggio.

She might rupture something.

- I have been shouting down the stairs for five minutes.

- Oh well, I pay that gym

£1,200 a year for you to use a machine

that simulates walking up and down the stairs.

Now you've graduated to the real thing

I could save a fortune.

- What a shame you don't have someone in attendance

24 hours a day,

so they can jot down your witticisms for posterity.

- What a good idea.

I'll give Mark a notepad and tell him to get cracking.

- As if you don't work him hard enough already.

Why he's stayed with you so long is a mystery.

Is he a shirt lifter?

- What a quaint expression.

I don't think shirts have had tails for some time now,

so lifting them would be superfluous.

And in answer to your question,

uh, no, uh, Mark stays with me because he's loyal.

It's a male thing, not a queer thing.

In fact, most of the queers I know are treacherous bastards.

- Oh, dear.

Have you had a bad experience with one of your bits of rough?

Did last night's boy walk off with your wallet?

- Last night's boy didn't walk off with anything.

- He's not still here, is he?

That's why I didn't want to come down the stairs.

The thought of seeing you and your catamite

rutting on the kilim.

Where is it?

- What?

- Your precious rug.

It's usually right there.

- I had an accident with some paints,

threw it in the oven last night.

- Well, that explains the smell.

It's right through the house.

I don't know what those Moroccans use

to dye those things,

but it smells like a meat processing factory.

- How would you know?

The nearest you've ever come to a meat processing factory

is Harrod's charcuterie.

Anyway, what are you doing here?

You're supposed to be in London.

You didn't forget your keys again, did you?

You don't look as if you've spent the night

in Saint James's Park.

- That's more your scene, I think.

- Oh.

- No, I forgot my mobile.

Have you seen it?

- Can't you live without it for 48 hours?

- Believe it or not, I have friends who might miss me.

- Oh, the Chelsea coven.

We don't want to upset them, do we?

I'll call it.

Jesus.

Hello? Is that Isabel Marlowe?

No, this is her husband speaking.

Isabel can't be asked to come to the phone,

but I'll hand you over.

Hall table.

- Thank you.

And it's about time you took off

that ridiculous ringtone for me.

- I wouldn't know how to change it any more than you do.

- Technical incompetence.

After 21 years, we finally discover

we have something in common.

How romantic.

I'll see you Sunday evening.

- I'll put out the bunting.

- Oh, and Robert, do open a window.

If I didn't know better,

I'd think you'd burnt half a sheep down here.

- Bloody woman.

Use your bloody keys, woman.

- You look surprised.

Oh. Come on.

Yeah, my hair's a bit different,

I'm a couple of pounds heavier,

but it shouldn't be that hard to work out.

I'll be having that.

You know, I feel responsible for my brother, you know?

So...

I always make sure he gives me the addresses of his punters

just in case of trouble.

There's a lot of weirdos,

he used to say.

Well, one of these days I'll end up in some cellar

and some dirty old queer will cut me up

and feed me to his poodle.

And he was used to shifty bastards

who'd get someone else to act as a middleman,

so he'd always send a text when he arrived.

I got one last night

from this address.

Do you know what it's like being a twin?

You get this

weird psychic thing.

You know when your brother's in trouble.

Only I've not heard from Brett in nearly 24 hours.

I don't feel anything at all.

Why might that be?

- I have no idea what you're talking about.

- No idea.

I'll give you a fucking idea.

Do I have to cut you to find out?

Do I?

- No, no, no, no, please, no violence.

He came here.

- I know he came here.

What happened then?

- He... he put a belt round his neck.

- What do you mean he put a belt around his neck?

- He wanted me to choke him.

- What?

- He wanted me to choke him.

Some people get turned on by that sort of thing.

Brett wasn't into that.

He used to say...

He used to say it made him feel sick

some of the stuff the punters wanted him to do.

- I swear it, I swear it, it was an accident.

He stumbled.

He fell, he knocked over the lamp.

I couldn't see a thing in the dark.

By the time I got to the light switch,

he was on the floor.

Dead.

- You lying, fucking...

Where is he?

What have you done with him?

What, in there?

You put him in there?

Is that what the smell is round here?

Is that what it is?

The smell of my fucking brother?

Burning in your fucking oven.

- I had to do something.

- Turn it on.

Turn it on!

You bastard!

You sick bastard scum!

You killed my brother and you put him in your fucking oven!

- But he was dead, he didn't feel anything.

- Well, you're gonna feel something

because you've got to suffer for killing my brother.

Slowly.

Open it.

- No, no, please.

There's a Special Branch officer in the garden.

- You're not important enough.

- Look, look, look.

You can see the size of this house.

You saw the car on the drive?

I, uh, I'm not poor.

I can give you money.

- Money?

For my brother's life.

How much?

- I don't know, 10,000.

Uh, uh, 100,000.

- I want a million.

- I can't get that amount.

200,000.

I can get maybe 100 on Monday

and the rest by the end of the week.

- I want it on Monday.

And no tricks.

I've left this address with a friend.

- No tricks.

I promise.

Your middleman.

You hoping he might burst in soon?

- There's no need to involve him in this.

He was just doing his job.

- What's that?

Pimp?

- He's my personal assistant and chauffeur.

The only reason that he had to...

- Yeah, yeah.

You don't want any of this getting into the papers.

I know who you are.

You lot are all such fucking hypocrites

going on about your immigrants and your single mothers.

Meanwhile, having your sluts and rent boys on the side.

- No, no, no, not me.

You don't hear me going on about sexual morality.

I've got into trouble criticising those who do.

- Then if any of them found out about your private life,

that'd be the end of your career.

500,

or I go to the police.

Or, better yet, the papers.

Well, they fucking love it.

And I know you've got it.

Let's drink to it, huh?

Cheers.

Oh.

- You little shit.

Do you take me for a complete idiot?

Do you think I'm what teachers used to refer to as ESN?

Educationally subnormal?

- I have no idea what you're talking about.

- I'm talking about you coming to this house

with a ludicrous scheme to extort money.

Identical twins?

Please.

- I'm Tommy, Brett was my brother.

- And how could anyone text this address?

The sign at the end of the lane is overgrown with hydrangeas.

And because of who I am,

this house has no markings at all.

Even the postmen struggle.

The nearby hedgerows

are littered with abandoned Amazon deliveries.

You also make a remarkable guess at what I mix with my vodka.

If ever there was an argument

against state funding of further education,

it's that preposterous accent.

Whoever taught dialect at your drama school ought to be shot.

I happen to come from that neck of the woods.

And the last time I heard a Cockney accent as bad as that,

there were chimney sweeps dancing around the man,

singing Chim chim Cheree.

- This is the real one.

- What?

- This is the real one, the other one was a fake.

It was your fault for saying I looked Irish.

- Pardon my stupidity,

but why would identical twins speak with different accents?

- I don't know. Separated at birth.

- Separated..?

- Yeah, raised by foster parents.

- God help us.

- How'd you know I'm an actor?

- Because much as I hate to admit it,

last night you had me fooled.

- Your mate wrote a sort of script.

It was his idea to hit you up.

I'm not keen on violence.

I'm not used to it.

- And didn't your drama school teach you how to hit people

without hurting them?

- Oh, yeah, no, I...

I didn't mean to hurt you.

Just, uh, fighting you enough to think I was for real.

You know?

I didn't expect you to hit me back, to be honest.

He said you was temperamentally incapable.

- Oh, that wasn't temperament.

Just a display of good old-fashioned

corporal punishment.

And the spit in the glass?

- Yeah. Sorry, that was, uh.

That was me.

Spur of the moment thing, really.

Like the Irish, probably a bit much.

- Oh, and how much do you expect to earn

out of this half-baked attempt to fleece me?

- What I've said too much?

I should go.

I'm, I'm, I'm gonna go.

Um. I'm sorry for the smack in the jaw.

I really didn't mean to hurt you.

I promise I'm genuinely not a violent person.

I'm just gonna leave now, you'll...

- No, no, no, no, no, not as simple as that.

No, no, no, no, no.

Leave and I'll call the police.

- You wouldn't dare.

- Why is that?

I didn't kill anybody.

The only crime here is yours.

- You're bluffing.

You wouldn't want anyone to know about any of this.

- Oh.

Try me.

When it comes to the police,

a certain type of handshake still works wonders.

CCTV?

How do you think I knew you hadn't gone in the oven?

- Last night, you, you turned it off.

I saw you.

- Correct.

But Mark made the mistake of going out

and coming back in again, triggering the switch.

I think we'll let the police ask the questions.

- No, please, I'll do whatever you want.

- Oh, my God, it's turning into a bad porn movie.

- No, uh,

I meant I'll help you get your own back on your mate.

- On my mate?

My mate, Mark,

to whom I gave a job when he was unemployable

due to his notoriety.

Mark,

with whom I have shared every secret of my personal life.

- Why is he notorious?

- Oh,

when he was about your age, serving with the Paras,

he was convicted of torturing an Afghan prisoner.

Cigarette burns.

Very nasty.

- What happened to him?

- Five years, out after three.

I found out the Afghan had just shot

a local interpreter in front of his wife and children.

So, although I didn't approve,

Mark was administering a little instant justice.

When I gave him this job as my PA,

my colleague said it was professional suicide.

But I took that risk

as a matter of principle,

everyone deserves a second chance.

Including you, young man.

Especially as you're going to help me administer some justice

in this case.

So,

anyone else involved?

- I'm not saying anything until I've seen a lawyer.

- Oh, don't be ridiculous.

Do you think I'm going to hand this over to the courts?

No.

You are going to help me.

And if I'm satisfied,

you won't go away empty-handed.

And no agent's commission to worry about.

- Your wife.

He's shagging your wife.

Oh, you don't believe me?

- Oh, I believe you.

I'm just amazed at how badly Mark has organised everything.

You see, the more information you had,

the more you could pass on to me.

- You don't seem that bothered about your wife.

Young man, I have an arrangement with my wife.

She allows me my private life and I allow her hers.

- She doesn't mind your bits of rough trade.

Isabel enjoys an extremely comfortable lifestyle

and free rein with her paramours,

of whom Mark is not the first.

The body in the oven.

Who did Mark need dead?

- What? Oh, no one.

It was...

It was a bundle of rags.

We, uh, we wrapped it up in the rug so you couldn't tell.

- My Moroccan kilim.

I knew there was an aggravating factor.

Sit down.

You're not going anywhere.

And give me that silly prop knife.

It's about as convincing as your genius idea

of identical twins with different accents.

Vodka with coke?

Or was that just a little character trait,

intended to lend artistic verisimilitude

to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative?

- What?

- The Mikado.

Oh, the young man knows his Shakespeare,

but not his Gilbert and Sullivan.

- Because Gilbert and Sullivan's shit.

- Each to his own.

Cheers.

- Why so cheerful?

- Because you, young man,

are going to help me deliver a punishment to fit the crime.

- Well, what can I do?

- You can start by telling me

how you were recruited to this ludicrous scheme.

- Um, well, I was doing a play at the Old Brown Cow.

It's a pub theatre in Camden.

Your mate just shows up one night,

asks if I want to earn some money.

- He liked your acting?

- He said I was perfect for what he needed.

- What were you appearing in, Oliver?

- It was Lady Windermere's Fan.

- I shan't try to imagine it.

- I was very good.

- I'm sure you were.

The profile on the escort website.

Mark showed me a screenshot.

- Oh yeah, um, mocked up, I guess,

he's good with computers, probably.

- But you are 18.

- Oh, it's just my playing age.

I play younger parts

because I look younger on stage with lighting.

I'm actually 19.

- So what was your agreement?

- To do exactly what happened last night

and come here tonight, spook you and demand the money.

- Which would be shared three ways?

- I was going to get 20%.

more of an incentive to push for the half mil, I suppose.

- Did you ever get to meet my darling wife?

- No. What's she like?

- Oh, very beautiful and very entertaining,

when she chooses.

Fact is, I'm rather fond of her.

- But, no sex.

- Christ, no.

- Oh,

you must have fancied her once.

- No.

Funnily enough, she did fancy me.

Thought she might convert me.

Sad.

- So you never...

- Made the beast with two backs?

On the wedding night,

I got very drunk and consummated the union

just for the hell of it.

21 years ago,

still gives me the shudders.

- I bet she was surprised.

- I thought she'd be pleased,

but she knew it was purely mechanical.

Said it made her feel dirty,

so I was spared the horror

of ever having to repeat the experience.

That was the first and only time.

- So you are a bisexual, then?

- How'd you make that out?

- You've slept with a woman?

I've been up the Eiffel Tower,

it doesn't make me a Frenchman,

it makes me a tourist.

Tourism, by the way, is her line of work.

She's a travel journalist.

Takes her out of the country for a few months every year,

which suits us both perfectly.

She's never been a real constituency wife.

More of a long-term alibi.

- So why stay married?

I mean, no one cares about your lot being politicians nowadays.

- No, but they expect you to be either chaste

or in some ghastly male marriage,

sexless or fully domesticated

like a neutered Jack Russell.

Weekly liaison with representatives

of the angels with dirty faces agency

is hardly a vote winner.

- What happens if you fall for one of them?

Want him to move in?

- Emotional intimacy with an escort?

Unlikely.

No, as you observed last night,

for me, it's really just a mildly erotic game of chess.

- Where the Queen has all the advantages.

- Very good.

No, I think the closest I've ever been to emotional intimacy

was probably last night,

when I believed Mark was risking everything

to save my skin.

What a cunt.

So how does the timing of all this work?

He told me he was driving

straight down to the coast last night.

- Oh, yeah, that was just so he'd have a bullshit excuse

for taking so long to show up,

in case you found a way to call him while I was here.

He won't show up until I text him

saying everything's gone to plan.

And what's your plan?

I mean, I ain't got your money,

why don't you just sack him and ditch the wife.

- And rob myself of the chance to make them both suffer?

Oh, no.

And divorce means alimony.

And I think we can come up with something

a little more imaginative

than servicing her Harvey Nichols account

for the next 20 years.

- Well, now what?

- I don't know,

but it needs to be something special.

Something spectacular.

Like the Bishop of Arethusa smothered in honey.

- Don't sound too bad.

- And then hung in a basket in the noonday sun

to be stung to death by wasps.

- And your wife?

- Leave her to heaven.

- And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge.

- You've not taken into account

that thorns can be very dangerous

if placed too close to silicone implants.

Funnily enough, the Greeks had a punishment for adultery

that would have been rather appropriate.

Rolled down a hill in a barrel full of spikes.

- Seems a bit excessive.

- Yes, it does, I suppose, on the face of it.

But then I think of that rather sad case in the 18th century,

when a poor chap was sentenced to hang for theft,

and he said,

"Oh, you think it a terrible thing, my lord,

to hang for the stealing of a horse?"

To which the judge replied,

"Young man, you are not to hang for the stealing of a horse.

You are to hang so that horses may not be stolen."

- I thought you didn't agree with capital punishment.

- I don't,

but that's because I don't trust juries

to get it right in every instance.

However

in this case,

I think we can be sure of the facts.

Can't we?

- What do you mean?

- Well, I've only got your word for a lot of this.

- Oh, you said you saw it on CCTV last night.

- Yes, but there could be various explanations.

Blackmail isn't the only one.

- Why else would we do it?

- The body.

How do I know it was just a bundle of rags?

I mean, look pretty convincing.

- Yeah, I mean, if it didn't, there'd be no point.

I made it myself.

It was a bundle of rags.

- A very heavy bundle of rags.

- Yeah, I stuffed it with,

I don't know, bits of wood and old bones.

We thought it would look good if something survived the oven.

- And you assumed I wouldn't know the difference

between a human femur and a KFC family bucket.

What if it wasn't a bundle of rags?

- But it was, I've just told you.

- I believe you.

But what if it wasn't?

- I don't follow.

- What if you simply told Mark that it was a bundle of rags,

but it was, in fact, a real body.

- Why would I bring a real corpse here in Mark's boot?

- Because you've murdered someone,

And Mark has given you the perfect way

to dispose of the body.

- Oh, yeah, but I haven't killed anyone.

I haven't done anything.

- I know, I know.

But what if you had?

Don't you see?

You haven't already killed someone,

but when you knew that you could send the evidence

up someone else's chimney,

you couldn't resist.

It's like I said last night,

all it takes is a little push.

- Right, so you want to make Mark believe

that he helped you get rid of a murder victim, for real?

- Exactly.

And that you have somehow implicated him in the murder.

Got him to...

handle the murder weapon, perhaps.

Yes, it's brilliant.

It's brilliant.

Oh, my God, they should make...

- Yeah, hang on, slow down a second.

I'm not following you.

- Look, it's quite simple.

We make Mark believe that he has been an accomplice

in a real killing.

But...

you've planted evidence to frame him for the murder.

If there's one thing that terrifies Mark,

it's the thought of going back to prison.

He'd sooner die.

He gets claustrophobic if he spends ten minutes in this room.

Let's give him a taste of his own medicine.

Make the bastard sweat.

- So I want to kill someone, and these two idiots come along

and accidentally give me the perfect way

to get rid of a body?

I mean, it's not likely, is it?

- It's a damn sight more likely than identical twins

with different accents and remarkably similar footwear.

- Oh, shit!

- You thought I'd be so mesmerised by your pretty face,

I wouldn't notice.

- Yeah, but I've only got the other pair,

and they don't work with this outfit.

A blackmailer with an acute fashion sense.

- What if he comes after me?

And if he's the sort of nutter

who tortures people with cigarette burns,

he's not going to be happy

if he thinks I've run off with his money

and fingered him for a murder.

- Let me explain something.

Mark is as incapable of murder as I am.

Torture may be, but not murder.

You see, he believes in hell.

- Oh, well, that's just fantastic, isn't it?

He's not going to kill me, just torture me.

I'm not risking it.

- Look.

I'll make a deal.

I'll keep him in the dark for six months.

During which time he and Isabel

will suffer every minute of their waking lives,

just like I did.

Convinced that at any moment, either I or the police

will discover everything they've done,

and more besides.

At the end of six months, I'll tell them everything

and they'll have been adequately punished.

I'll divorce Isabel,

but she won't dare come after me for any money.

Meanwhile,

you could have been on a nice long holiday somewhere.

One of those places young men your age go to

drink large quantities of Rioja and vomit in the streets.

- Okay.

Okay, so...

So how do we make him think I've killed someone

when I haven't?

Who have I murdered?

- Whom?

Indeed.

Whom have you murdered?

- Oh.

Ooh.

Oh, that's good.

Oh, that's brilliant!

Staring us right in the face.

I've murdered myself.

- This is becoming a little too existential.

- No, no, no, think about it.

I wanted to start a new life somewhere,

fake my own death.

- Why?

- I don't know, maybe I've got people chasing me for money.

It doesn't matter.

The point is, these two idiots come along

and give me the chance to do it.

Leave a trail of evidence enough to convince the police.

- What sort of evidence?

- Evidence to point to them.

I've already got loads of stuff on my phone.

Mark's phone number, his address.

His name, not yours.

There's no evidence I've ever been here

or that we've met at any time, is there?

- The security footage.

So no one needs to know about it.

Delete it.

- I think I follow.

Mark employed you to play the role of a murder victim,

but we concoct evidence to make the police believe

it really happened.

And that Mark did it.

- No, no, no, Mark killed me.

You've got nothing to do with it.

We've never met.

The police will arrest him for my murder,

and his only defence will be to confess to the blackmail

and incriminate your wife,

and I'm guessing she's not going to back him up.

Either way he's fucked.

- One moment.

You're suggesting I actually let Mark spend time in prison

for a murder that never happened?

- Well, why not?

You gave a second chance to a convicted thug,

he betrayed your trust.

- He did.

- I can come back to life

whenever you think they've suffered enough.

Turn up some evidence to show I'm not really dead

or just waltz in and wonder what all the fuss is about,

but you decide when.

The public will be on your side.

If your missus decides to stick up for her paramour

and admit to everything,

the tabloids will brand her with a big B for bitch

and you'll be a national hero.

Plus, she'll do time for the blackmail.

- Which is why she won't say anything.

Two years in pokey, not an attractive proposition.

They can smuggle in heroin, but not Botox.

- Think about it.

I'm reported missing.

The police go through my flat,

find my phone with my conversation with Mark on it.

My photos on his laptop,

and you and I have never met

or been seen in each other's company.

And Mark spends up to a year on remand

for a murder he never committed.

- You evil little bastard.

- Meanwhile, I've just

innocently gone abroad without telling anyone.

Yeah, I could come back before it goes to trial, but...

You'll have spent months in hell.

- I've always fancied spending some time in Australia,

but I'll need proper money if we do it this way.

I'd have to give up acting for the duration.

- They'll be weeping in the streets.

And we need a motive.

Why has he killed you?

There can't be a murder without a motive.

- Well, it's simple.

I've run off with a bunch of his money.

But it's not blackmail, it's burglary.

He gave me your keys.

Combination to your safe.

- Mark doesn't have it,

and I don't keep that much cash in it anyway.

- Yeah, but no one needs to know that.

- And then you write to me,

naming him as the man who planned it all.

- Why would I do that?

- Oh, a criminal with a conscience.

You don't want to forgo the money.

But you didn't think I deserved to be duped

by a man that I thought to be my best friend.

I think it best if it goes to my office

at the House of Commons.

That way Isabel can't intercept it.

That's House of Commons,

London, SW1A 0AA.

And now the letter.

Dated.

Dear Mr. Marlowe.

- All a bit formal, isn't it?

- A bit formal?

This letter isn't being composed by your pikey twin.

- How about, Dear Robert,

I feel as though I have a personal relationship with you,

having just relieved you of a lot of cash.

- Articulate but impertinent,

Good.

Um, I think, I think robbed rather than relieved.

It's less ambiguous.

- All right. Give me a minute.

- It's a shame you have to go away.

I think you'd make a better PA than Mark.

Have you got anything with your address on it

that I can plant in Mark's flat?

- Uh, yeah.

I've got my driving licence.

- Perfect.

And what you said about your phone diary,

was that true?

You did log Mark's initial contact with you

in the meeting with him last night?

- Yep.

- And there's no mention of me?

- Nope.

- Or this house?

- No.

- No mention of me, this house or any meeting?

- If you don't believe me, have a look at it yourself.

- Uh-uh.

Fingerprints.

Perfect.

Need you to bring my money.

Console yourself with the thought

they haven't seen a penny of it.

Very good.

I tell you what, just add,

I can see why he likes your wife.

She's very good in bed.

- Divide and rule, huh?

- Actually, my motto has always been divide and divide again.

Sign it,

and put it in the envelope.

Young man, I couldn't have done it better myself.

Right!

Blankets for a body and cord to tie it up.

- Hang on a second.

You're clearly not understanding the plan.

If all the evidence points to Mark and I vanish,

there's no need for a fake body.

And if I've written to you confessing a burglary,

I can't exactly walk back in in six months and act all innocent.

- You're absolutely right.

Sorry!

I tried to make this as painless as possible,

but bear in mind.

I've not done it before.

- Ah!

- I really do feel bad about this.

Would a cigarette help?

Ah!

I won't be a minute.

Try not to move.

It only makes things worse.

It's hard, I know.

And it must seem unfair.

But it's necessary.

- Why?

Sobered horses may not be stolen.

- Are you sure he's dead?

- He'd said he knew what had happened to his brother.

He hit me quite hard.

He dragged me over here and tried to shove me in the oven.

Scissors were lying about, I just grabbed them.

- You killed the boy with the pair of scissors?

- Mark, what is wrong with you?

Last night you knew exactly what to do

and now you're behaving as if

you've never seen a dead body before.

- I just need to know exactly what happened, that's all.

- He tried to kill me, I stabbed him, it was horrible.

- How did he react?

- Well, he didn't seem too pleased.

Oh, I see what you mean.

Um, he did mumble something.

He...

He told me you wouldn't hurt me.

- Was that all?

- Mark, why are you asking all these questions?

A boy is dead.

We've got to shift him.

- Do you know what a mortal sin is, Robert?

- Yes.

One that guarantees a one-way ticket to hell.

- A boy is dead.

- This is irrelevant.

If there's a sin, it's mine.

So why don't you just say an extra Hail Mary for me?

I mean, it's not as if you're

in any way responsible for his death.

Well. Are you?

- No.

Well,

it's no different to last night, then, is it?

Only this time there is blood.

Perhaps that's it.

Yes?

- Yeah. You're right.

It's probably the blood.

- So just close your eyes and get on with it.

- Oh, don't you think you should answer that?

Behave as normal.

- It's not mine.

- Let it ring out.

We should check to see if there's a message.

He might have told someone he was coming here.

- What is it?

- We understand you've recently been involved in an accident.

Sorry.

Come on, Mark.

- Robert, this has to be the last time.

- What?

- This has to be the last time.

- The last time?

What are you talking about?

You're not suggesting there might be triplets.

- I'm saying it has to end somewhere,

and it ends tonight after we burn this body.

- I am not intending to troll the streets

looking for more victims, like Jack the Ripper.

What are you staring at?

- He just moved.

- He's been dead for two hours.

He's lost more than five pints of blood.

The duvet is the only thing

that's holding his guts in place.

Get him in the bloody oven.

Pick that up.

Can't afford to leave any evidence.

- Couldn't even afford a decent pair of socks.

- Do you want to give him the last rites?

Come on!

- Oh my God!

He's alive!

For Christ's sake, Robert, he's alive!

Call an ambulance!

- Call an ambulance?

Are you mad?

He's not going to survive.

And if he did, what then?

Apart from attempted murder,

there's the actual murder of his brother last night.

And your concealment of a body.

Do you want to go back to prison?

Do you?

He can't be allowed to talk, Mark.

He can't be allowed to talk.

Drink it.

- You know I don't drink.

- If it's any consolation, the shock wears off eventually.

I've been through all this twice, don't forget.

Last night and again with this one.

- You didn't kill him.

- What?

- The second time, the second boy wasn't dead.

I've just killed him,

just now.

- No, but I...

I thought I'd killed him, that's the point.

I believed I had.

- You didn't seem too upset about it.

- Perhaps because killing that boy last night

changed something in me.

Once you've killed,

the ease with which you can contemplate

the most depraved acts

is frightening.

Why did you come back?

- What?

- Why did you come back?

You said you were going to spend the weekend

down on the coast.

- I know, I was just worried about you

after what happened last night.

Why didn't you just call me when he threatened you?

- Oh, he threw my phone somewhere.

I thought he'd cut the landline,

but in fact, he'd just taken the phone off the receiver

in the hall on the way down.

And this time it is yours, I think.

Why did you do that?

- It's not important.

- That was Isabel's number.

Why is she calling you?

- No idea.

- But you said it wasn't important.

Hello? Just talking about you,

Mark.

It's been here ten minutes.

Oh, no, I must have turned it off.

Yes, yes, I did it this morning.

All right, all right.

See you tomorrow.

Bye.

Just ringing to check

that I'd taken her suit to the dry cleaners.

When she couldn't reach me on my mobile,

she tried yours so you could pass on the message.

So, mystery solved.

Good idea.

I'll have one, too.

Nice to see you drinking again.

- Nearly a year have been on the wagon.

What's the point?

Cheers.

- Cheers.

As you know, I've never trusted men who don't drink.

But then you did drink when we first met.

- Like a fish.

- Hmm.

I wonder if fish do drink.

Not sure that expression makes much sense.

I mean, drunk as a lord, yes.]

Uh, sober as a judge, presumably ironic.

Oh,

on the wagon.

Do you know the origin of that one?

- No, but I've got a feeling you're about to tell me.

- Oh, in the good old days of public executions,

when a man was taken to Tyburn to be hanged,

the cart would always stop first at Saint Giles Church,

where the poor wretch was taken off the cart

and given a pint of ale.

That was his last drink,

after which he was put back on the wagon.

So...

So why did you say Isabel's call wasn't important?

I don't know, I just...

I didn't want to speak to anyone.

I didn't even see her number come up, to be honest,

I just rejected it without looking at it.

- Perhaps we should delete something else.

- What?

- First boy, Brett.

- What about him?

- The computer record.

- Of what?

- For God's sake, Mark,

of you visiting the escort website and booking him.

- I didn't do it directly through the site, did I,

he called me.

Some boy gave him your number,

one of the lads you saw ages ago.

When he called I looked up his profile on the site

and took a screenshot for you.

Well, he wanted to avoid paying any agency fees.

But that's worse.

Don't you see?

Whoever gave him your number must know about me.

Who was it?

- He didn't say.

- There's something else bothering me

about that first boy,

I can't quite put my finger on it.

I mean, was he even a real escort?

Should we check on the website?

- Are you mad?

I don't want to log onto that site

from a computer in this house.

I'll check for you later.

- What about this?

There should be a number stored on that boy's phone

from whoever tried to call him earlier.

It could be whoever put him in touch with you.

- What is it?

- It's Isabel.

- Oh, what are you talking about?

- It's Isabel's number.

- Don't be silly.

Why would Isabel be calling him?

She didn't know him.

- Well, clearly she did.

Why would she be calling him Mark?

Why would she be calling someone

who came here today to kill me?

Unless...

she's in some way involved.

- Hang on.

Isabel involved in what?

An attempt to murder you?

Don't be ridiculous.

- No, no, no, listen.

Maybe he wasn't intending to kill me,

What was it he said?

He told me

you wouldn't hurt me.

What if it wasn't just Isabel?

What if there's someone else involved?

- Who?

- I don't know,

but maybe they just used him as a frontman.

- Who?

- Isabel and her fancy man.

- Are you saying Isabel's having an affair with someone?

- Don't look so shocked, Mark.

I don't expect Isabel to be celibate.

- You mean she's had other lovers?

- Isabel has had more members between her thighs

than my party currently has in Parliament.

She and her lover employ some gullible lout

to come here today and threaten me

as a prelude to blackmail.

- That doesn't make any sense.

I mean, how would they find

someone who looked just like the first boy?

- They didn't.

There's only one boy.

- What do you mean, only one boy?

We killed the first one,

we burned his body last night.

- But what if we didn't?

What if we burned someone else

or something else.

- Like what?

- Like...

a bundle of rags stuffed with bits of wood and old bones

to add corroborative detail to an otherwise

bald and unconvincing narrative.

I've, I have just noticed the irony of that quotation.

Do you know the Mikado, Mark?

A timid man is appointed public executioner,

but he can't bring himself to do the job,

so his friends all swear affidavits

that he has executed a young criminal.

But it's a fiction.

- When did you know?

- When I woke up this morning,

I realised there'd be CCTV of Brett,

so I checked the footage.

You were on it.

You'd made the mistake of going out through that door

and coming back in again.

At first, I couldn't quite work it out.

But then we had the farce of that poor young actor

coming here and pretending to be identical twins.

He made the mistake of wearing the same shoes,

and knowing exactly how I mix my vodka.

- So you knew everything by the time I arrived?

- I wondered how long it would be before your nerve cracked

and you showed up.

I imagined you sitting in a lay-by and sweating.

- And then you put me through this?

This charade?

For fuck's sake, Robert,

what kind of fucking nutcase are you?

- You had to be punished, Mark.

You made me believe I'd taken a human life.

Now you know what that feels like.

And you plan to extort money and run off with my wife.

- You don't love her.

- Oh, her adultery is neither here nor there.

It was the fact she chose you.

- She didn't choose me, I chose her.

- I suppose you expect me to believe

you came up with the plot.

Sorry, I took her to see that thriller in the West End

20 years ago.

Only then there wasn't such a lot of grotesque play-acting.

- Play-acting?

That's a good one.

You spent the last 15 minutes convincing me

that the boy had been stabbed and I was burning him alive.

Getting him to wriggle a bit was a nice touch.

Oh, yeah.

That way I couldn't think he was just another bundle of rags.

You are one fucking sick bastard, you, Robert,

do you know that?

How did you fake the oven, Robert?

Pull the fuses out so when I turned it on,

the gas wouldn't ignite?

Set up a tape recorder with the sound of flames?

Am I right?

You killed him.

You fucking killed him for real.

- No, Mark, you did it.

- You're insane.

You burned them alive.

- Mark,

you really must learn to take responsibility

for your own actions.

- What have they done to deserve this?

- Nothing.

It was you who had no qualms

about corrupting a relatively innocent young man.

The punishment is for you.

You...

You start by betraying your friend

and end up committing your ultimate sin

and now must face the consequences.

- And what have you got planned for Isabel, hey?

Some stupid punishment for adultery from Ancient Greece,

sewn into a sack with a wild animal and thrown into the sea.

- Very good, Mark.

Funnily enough,

the Greeks believed that the greatest of crimes

such as the murder of a mistress

was, paradoxically, its own punishment.

It's all there in those ghastly plays.

The...

murderer usually goes doolally

and, hounded by the Furies, does himself in.

- No, no, no, no, no.

That was the boy I saw.

- What did you see, Mark?

- The shoes, the trainers, it was him.

Stop playing these games, Robert,

You've had your fun,

this is getting fucking twisted now.

It can't be, Isabel.

It can't be her.

You've just spoke to her a minute ago.

I had a missed call from her.

She even fucking phoned him,

Do you want me to call her now and tell her what you've done?

Fine.

- Hello.

Do keep up, Mark.

I made both those calls.

The one to Brett and the one to you,

from Isabel's phone.

Easy to do with stored numbers.

Just reach into the pocket and press the right button.

Oh, and the one to the landline.

I think that was a particularly good bit of acting.

- This is some trick.

- You know the number at Dolphin Square.

Why don't you give her a call?

You've reached the voicemail of Dolphin Square.

- Voicemail?

Surely, you're supposed to be meeting her there this evening.

- You wouldn't kill her.

- You keep saying that, Mark.

But I watched as you pushed her struggling body into the oven.

- You stabbed her?

- Actually, no.

- Well there was blood everywhere.

- Vegetable dye.

Forensics wouldn't find anything.

She had to die.

But you had to perform the coup de grâce.

Brett texted Isabel,

or rather I did, from Brett's phone.

She was very obedient.

When the poor dear arrived,

she could barely conceal her confusion.

I made her a drink.

Apparently, GHB tastes like rat poison,

so it's very difficult to disguise the taste.

Isabel's craving for Angostura bitters

proved rather convenient.

Before she passed out, I told her everything.

I thought it only fair.

It was easy to slip her little feet

into Brett's socks and shoes.

Her waking up at the last minute was an unexpected bonus.

Guaranteed, you would know for sure

it wasn't just another bundle of rags.

- Tell me you haven't done this, Robert,

tell me this is just some fucking trick or something.

Why didn't you find a way to kill me?

Why is it, man?

- Because I've got something much better for you.

Or worse, depending on your perspective.

- I've just killed the woman I love.

What can be worse than that?

- You haven't shown much interest in your young protégé,

Brett.

Brother of Tommy.

- Well, I assume you just let him off scot-free.

I mean, you always were a sucker for a pretty face.

- True, but there are limits,

and I didn't think you'd been adequately punished.

- So?

- That's a new belt you're wearing, Mark.

- Not new, just not the one I usually wear.

- Why is that?

- I don't know, why are you asking me this.

- Did you lose it, perhaps?

- Mislaid it, maybe, I don't know.

- You lost it.

You left it behind

several weeks ago in my bedroom,

after one of your sessions with my wife.

- You've known for weeks?

- No.

I never dreamed it was you.

I only found out today.

You betrayed me with my wife in my bed.

- You haven't shared a bed since your wedding night.

- 21 years ago.

Which makes it all the more sickening

that you felt it necessary to use my bedroom and not hers.

Did she get more excited at the thought of humiliating me?

Did you?

- You didn't love her.

You can't feel normal human emotions, Robert,

everyone knows that.

- Do you think I could be doing this

if my emotions weren't driving me?

- You are driven by an obsessive need to control Robert.

That's all that matters to you.

People have their own lives.

I have my own life.

- I think that's where you'll find you're wrong.

Are you...

you still haven't asked about our young actor friend.

- For fuck's sake.

I'm sick of these fucking games.

Just tell me, where is he?

- He's in the Mercedes,

in the lock-up.

Your lock-up.

You always said it would come in useful one day.

- So you've killed him as well?

- You keep saying these things that don't make any sense, Mark.

You killed Isabel.

You killed Brett.

- What are you talking about?

- Have a drink.

- Don't want to drink it.

- You don't mind if I do?

It's quite a story.

There never was a blackmail plot.

I've got nothing to be blackmailed over.

I've never met a rent boy.

And I certainly never met the one who you think

came here last night?

No, you and Isabel

planned to take money from my safe and run off together.

- You don't keep any money in your safe.

- Oh, didn't you know?

I keep a stash of banknotes and some krugerrands.

- Don't talk rubbish.

- No, listen, it all makes perfect sense.

You and Isabel employ an outsider

so that nothing can point to either of you.

But the outsider got greedy

and attempted to make off with the entire haul,

and Isabel.

His number is in her phone.

And you see it.

What are they playing at?

You fear the worst.

- No one will believe that, he was only a boy.

He was 19,

and stranger things have been known.

I mean, he was quite good-looking after all.

So, in a fit of jealous rage,

you kill Isabel and burn her body in the oven.

Brett gets a slightly different treatment.

You drive him to the lockup,

where you use the torture technique

for which you're best known.

Cigarette burns.

You stab him, but he doesn't die.

So you finish him off by strangling him with your belt.

Your prints are on it.

Very careless to leave it around his throat.

Are you following all this?

- So there's a belt.

Where's the rest of the evidence?

- There's a record in Brett's phone

of your number and address.

And best of all, I think you'll be very impressed with this,

in a few days time,

a letter will arrive at the Commons

in Brett's handwriting,

uh,

he was going to give me only 20% for doing all the work.

So I buggered off with the lot.

And I can see why he likes your wife.

She's very good in bed.

Wrote exactly what was needed with very little prompting.

I...

I tucked a few strands of hair from Isabel's brush

into his collar for good measure,

and I rubbed his sad little socks on Isabel's bedsheets,

so there should be a DNA trace.

- All this is what lawyers would just call circumstantial.

- True.

And a good barrister might persuade a jury

that the belt was planted.

- So none of this would stand up in court.

It's corroborative detail.

- You're absolutely right.

- You do know the whole thing

could easily be bounced back at you, don't you?

You need hard, physical evidence.

- Like security footage

of you coming down those steps

with a body wrapped in a rug

and only just in shot

because of the angle of the camera,

but we do see you putting the body in the oven.

I'm just out of shot.

Very fortunate.

So...

I never met the boy.

There never was a blackmail plot.

Just a burglary

and two very ugly murders.

- It's the wrong date.

- What?

- It's the wrong date,

on the security footage,

it shows me coming down those stairs yesterday.

People will have seen us about since then,

they'll know I can't be here.

Can't change the date on those things

after the film's been shot.

So it can't be a body I'm carrying.

You think you're so fucking clever, you, don't you, Robert?

Hey?

No one can pull one over you, can they

Well, you made a mistake in your calculations.

You said it yourself,

all the other evidence could have been planted.

That footage is the only thing

what would have guaranteed a conviction

and you screwed it up.

Know your limitations, Robert.

You can't deal with anything technical or mechanical.

- You're absolutely right.

I can't even set the timer on my own thermostat.

I really should replace this old security system.

I understand the new ones like we have in the rest of the house

never need adjusting, so idiots like me can't mess them up

when the clocks go back in the autumn.

Out by exactly 23 hours.

I've sorted it now.

Just needed the right incentive to read the manual.

That's for you.

Don't worry, it's not counterfeit.

That's not the point.

There's about 100,000 there.

I won't report Isabel missing for a few days.

You'll have had time to get to the airport

and fly off somewhere nice.

Maybe you haven't killed her.

Maybe you've just run off together.

- Hang on a minute.

You've set this whole scheme up

to frame me for two murders and a robbery,

And now you're giving me money to go away?

- Well, I never said I'd show Brett's letter to the police,

did I?

No reason for me to check the security footage

unless I choose to.

The body in the lockup might never be found.

- I'll just repeat everything you've told me to the police.

- But you won't.

Because either way,

you would spend rather a lot of time in prison.

Disposal of a murder victim can get you up to life.

I shall expect a message from you in a couple of months

to let me know where you are.

And I'll send you a small allowance from time to time.

- Two people have died here.

You didn't hate them.

You've killed them for the sole purpose of punishing me

and now you want me to go away and you'll send me money?

Why?

- This is your punishment, Mark.

Tailor-made, bespoke retribution.

You've killed the woman you love

and brought about the death of a relatively innocent young man.

It's that one-way ticket to hell.

And I know enough about your religion

to know that absolution comes at a price.

And part of that price would be

telling everything to the police.

You'll spend the rest of your life

looking over your shoulder, wondering who you can trust.

So rather like hell, it's an indefinite sentence.

Detained at His Majesty's pleasure.

Judas

had the option of suicide.

But I gather your lot aren't too keen.

Never mind.

You still get to keep the 30 pieces of silver.

- Do you think this money will bind me to you in some way?

- No, Mark, no.

Guilt...

guilt is the glue that binds us now.

- My affair with Isabel wasn't to spite you.

I loved her.

- I loved you, Mark.

Like the son I never had.

Stay in touch.

- Robert, the Mikado.

Remind me what happens again.

- What?

- Remind me.

- The Mikado.

The Emperor of Japan

is disappointed at the lack of executions.

So the timid executioner pretends

to have cut the head off a young criminal.

- Then what happens?

- It all goes horribly wrong.

Sound familiar?

The young man turns out to be the son of the emperor,

so the executioner has to be punished.

Something lingering, says the Mikado with boiling oil.

- What's so funny?

- You said before you hadn't shared a bed with Isabel

since your wedding night.

- Once was more than enough.

- Oh, it was Robert.

It certainly was.

- I've never said otherwise.

- It only takes the once.

The once to produce a child.

- Isabel never had a child.

- I want you to think back all those years.

About four months after you were married,

Isabel got a contract working abroad.

Don't you remember?

- You're saying she had my child in secret?

- She detested you, Robert.

She didn't want your baby,

and she didn't want you to know about it.

- She had it aborted.

- She had it adopted.

Made sure the foster parents got a reasonable allowance

and never saw the kid again.

And they were sworn never to tell him anything about his mother.

But Isabel followed him

through school and college from a distance,

and she went to see him in some awful show in a pub theatre.

I went the next night and spoke to him afterwards,

and he jumped at the chance of earning some good money.

- Nice try, Mark.

Nice try.

The dates don't add up.

Brett was 19.

Isabel wasn't an elephant.

If I had a son, he'd be aged 21.

- Honestly, Robert,

you can be very naive sometimes.

When was the last time an actor gave his real age to anyone?

You'll find a copy of the adoption papers

in Isabel's flat.

Bedroom drawer.

We never told him you were his father.

He might have liked you.