Original subtitles

(Men speak Italian)

- It's alright, I s'pose. - She's so pretty.

- What about him? - Cary Grant's gorgeous.

Isn't he? I couldn't take my eyes off him.

(Rustling) What was that?

Anyway... (Rustling continues)

Hello?

Hello?

Wonder how long he'd been following us.

What?

- That man. - What about him?

- He was here yesterday. - So?

He hasn't moved at all.

Good morning.

- Martha... - Excuse me?

Oh, my God.

Morning.

What have we got?

We don't know.

You checked his pockets?

No, must have slipped our minds.

Packet of cigarettes.

Used train ticket from Bendigo via Castlemaine

the day before yesterday.

A numbered key tag.

Don't know where from.

A money clip with 30 quid but no ID.

Right.

Well done, thank you.

His clothes are damp.

Dew, probably. Judging by rigor mortis,

I'd say the poor chap's been here for at least 12 hours.

The woman who called it in said

she saw him here about 3 o'clock yesterday.

She didn't realise he was dead. Right.

Well, no obvious signs of foul play.

Initial impression, natural causes.

However, he looks fit, doesn't he?

Finished?

Yes. Well, until the autopsy.

Everything ready, sister?

It's doctor, actually.

Alice Harvey, the new pathology registrar.

Oh, I do apologise.

No need, it happens all the time.

Well, it shouldn't. Doctor Lucien Blake.

I thought you'd be younger. I used to be.

Oh. No one told me you had a sense of humour.

Before we start,

your dead man has removed all the labels from his clothing.

I assume there's a reason.

Yes, I'm sure there probably is.

Skin irritation, or perhaps simply aesthetics. Any suggestions?

Not yet.

Well then, doctor, shall we?

Adult male, approximately 40 to 45 years of age.

Six foot tall, blue eyes, brown hair.

I think you'll find the hair is grey.

It's been dyed.

You see here, there's a hint of regrowth.

Why would a man do that? That's a very good question.

Vanity, perhaps?

Anyhow, no distinguishing scars or tattoos.

No puncture marks.

His nails are very well manicured. No calluses.

But this is interesting. Bruising on the knuckles.

Was he trying to disguise himself?

Dyeing his hair. Was he disguising himself?

Well, I suppose it's possible, but what do you make of the knuckles?

A fight?

Rigor mortis in the major and minor muscle groups.

Liver mortis is fixed.

It fits with him dying yesterday.

I concur. I'm glad.

You're not going to use that, are you?

Well, unfortunately the body didn't come with a zipper.

We have disposable scalpels now.

'The American Journal of Pathology'

recommends their use over conventional blades.

Is that right? It pays to keep up.

I'll keep that in mind.

Perhaps you'd like to step out and get yourself some fresh air?

I'm fine.

But I wouldn't mind a cigarette. Doctor.

'American Journal of Pathology'. How about that?

It was such a shock. It was.

And to see all those ants. I'm sorry.

You're fine, ma'am.

You mentioned you saw him yesterday?

Yes, I was going to the pictures.

What time was that?

Right on 3 o'clock. I was running late for a matinee.

Uh-huh. And on the way back?

No, I went home through the town.

And when you saw him this morning,

the man was in exactly the same position.

Yes. Is that right?

That's how I knew something was wrong.

He must have been dead the whole time.

And what about you, miss Harris?

Were you in the gardens on Sunday?

I spent Sunday visiting a sick aunt.

She's had diphtheria.

Was there anything else you can tell me?

No, I don't think... Actually, yes.

This morning, in the bushes. I forgot, yes.

We were followed by a man. Did you see him?

He stayed in the bushes and when we were near the body he ran away.

We only saw him from behind.

Ah, short dark hair, a bit taller than me?

Mm, that's right. You know him?

Third report this week.

Did you actually see him with the body?

He was close by when we saw him, wasn't he?

He was.

Right. I'll let the superintendent know.

The man we found. Who was he?

We're still working that out.

Time to open up your stomach, eh?

And what's say we try one of these newfangled scalpels?

(Coughs and splutters)

So you're ruling out a heart attack?

Cause of death was a catastrophic failure of multiple body systems.

Death would have been very rapid and very painful.

He was poisoned.

I've sent tissue samples to the lab for toxicology.

Funny thing, the stomach gases had a very particular odour.

I can't quite put my finger on it.

But I inhaled a hell of a lungful when I cut the stomach open.

What were the contents?

Well, I took some samples to do my own tests.

His last meal, interestingly enough, was a pastie.

It was only partly digested.

So, are we talking accidental here, or...

Oh, I doubt it. The poison was very toxic and very fast acting.

Suicide? Possibly.

And there was bruising on his knuckles.

Looks as if he'd been in a fight the day before he died.

Where's Charlie?

Oh, he's following up on witness statements.

How'd you go with the new pathologist?

You knew about her?

I hear she takes some getting used to.

So, unidentified victim, unidentified poison.

What else have you got?

A terrible headache.

Join the club.

Good day, was it?

I have a raging headache.

Well, that should help it.

I am a doctor, Jean.

Well, in that case, you can prescribe me a sherry after dinner.

Done.

Wonderful.

Amaretto. That'll do for now.

What happened? He was poisoned.

Poisoned? Mm.

With what?

We don't know yet.

You won't catch me walking around there.

Not with that man creeping about.

Jean. Well, Mattie, he is a menace.

We don't know that. Oh, yes we do.

He followed Lucy Cantrell home.

Is everything alright?

Cyanide.

What?

'Bitter almonds run and hide, that's the smell of cyanide.'

They taught us that in basic training.

They thought at some point we might be exposed to gas attack.

'Smell the scent of new mown hay,

'phosgene gas is on the way.' There were dozens of them.

Do you think the body in the park was gassed?

It's possible.

And today - forgive the gruesome details -

but today I opened up his stomach

and copped a lungful of his stomach gas...

Oh. ..and - I'm sorry -

it gave me the most horrendous headache.

And I couldn't identify the smell until just now.

Amaretto. Almonds. Cyanide.

Excuse me.

How's the headache?

Oh, it'll get there. I brought you some Bex.

Oh, thank you, Jean.

What's in there?

Well, I took a sample of his stomach contents

and I'm going to mix it with ferrous sulphide and acid.

Now, if the cyanide was present in the food,

this should change colour.

But, unfortunately, it's not changing.

So you still don't know how he was poisoned.

No, I'm afraid I don't.

And it's rather sad, really.

You know, his clothes were soaked with dew by the time we got to him.

Oh, he was there all night?

Yes.

Who was he?

I don't know that, either.

Well, when you do find out who he was,

make sure someone tells his family.

Goodnight, Lucien.

Goodnight, Jean.

Apparently he caught the train from Bendigo,

but there's no record of him there.

He's not on the missing persons register in Melbourne.

I'll release his photo to the paper, see if we can't get anything.

What are we looking at?

Well, cyanide isn't that difficult to get hold of.

It's used in mining, cleaning jewellery, used in some pesticides.

The thing is, we still don't know how it was administered.

Cigarettes? No. Checked them. Nothing.

What?

We tracked it down. The key belongs to a locker at the train station.

Go and check it out.

Well, hang on.

We still don't know what form the poison came in.

We don't know what's in that locker.

I'm just saying, it'd pay to be careful.

Take Simmons with you, and you might want to use a mask.

Actually, do you think the doctor could accompany me instead?

Certainly. Um, yes, Charlie, of course.

Great. Meet you out the front? Yes.

Looks like you're growing on him.

PA: All services have been temporarily cancelled.

Area's clear. Good.

So what are we expecting to find?

Don't know.

But you think it could be booby trapped?

It's possible.

Seems our man's been trying hard to keep his identity hidden.

The boss said you're just back from China.

That's right.

Wow. What was it like?

Fascinating.

In what way?

Why the interest, Charlie?

'Biggles in the Gobi Desert'. Ah.

Used to read it to my younger brothers. Made it sound amazing.

They like it?

Not half as much as I did.

Well, perhaps I'll tell you about it sometime.

Now, these intimidating looking things.

Straps go around the back of the head.

Believe me, I've had some practice.

Well.

End's been sharpened. Yes.

Yes, he was expecting trouble at some point, wasn't he?

Yeah.

Shirts.

Dressing gown, shoes, socks.

All the labels removed.

What's that, Charlie?

Poetry?

Ah, 'The Return Of Persephone'.

Persephone. It's a new one on me, too.

Hey, doc.

'Porters Rooming House'.

Thank you, Charlie.

WOMAN: With you in a tick.

Ah, thank you.

You know, Charlie, China was terrifying in fact.

I was in Shanghai, but there were stories going around.

Stories about what was happening in the countryside.

Didn't quite make it to the Gobi Desert, I'm afraid.

So, what were you doing there?

Oh, family matters.

I also managed to catch up with a couple of contacts,

you know, have a chat. People I knew.

Anyone interesting?

Oh, yes. China's at a real crossroads...

Can I help you?

Ah, Senior Constable Davis from Ballarat Police.

This is Doctor Blake. How do you do?

Do you, ah, recognise this bloke?

It's alright. We just want to find out what we can about him.

For his family.

Big bloke. Brown hair. Bit of an accent.

He stayed here two nights ago.

Had a fight with another boarder.

About what?

Oh, who knows? The other bloke was a bit of a reffo.

Did he leave a name, an address?

John Smith. Funny name for a foreigner.

And no forwarding address?

That bloke your man had a punch-up with,

he's working out at Chandler's orchard.

Name's Carmello Benetti.

Yeah, well, thanks for scaring off half my workforce.

Well, what do you reckon I come back and we do a sweep of everyone's IDs?

So what's Benetti gone and done this time, then, eh?

Oh, routine enquiries. Is this one of your blokes?

Nah.

No, he's too white for this job.

Don't keep it any longer... ..alright?

He's a good worker, not like the rest of them.

Is there anything else we should know?

Yeah, you speak wog?

Benetti.

Please. Please. No English.

Mr Benetti, I'm arresting you on charges of assaulting police

and resisting arrest.

You don't have to say anything but anything you do say may be...

Save your breath. He doesn't understand. ..used in evidence against you.

Charlie, don't touch your face or put your hands near your mouth.

He's thrown pesticide at you. What's the pesticide?

It's for the possums. What's the active ingredient?

Cyanide.

What the bloody hell do you think you were doing?

Sorry.

Is this where you're staying?

Si. You know this man?

Si.

You know his name?

Arsehole.

Thank you, Mr Benetti.

Two nights ago, did you and this man have a fight?

Si.

And he did this to your eye?

Very strong. Very rude.

Mr Benetti, why fight?

Libro.

You fought over a book?

Si. I teach myself English.

I pick up his book.

He is angry. We argue.

We fight.

Sunday afternoon, where were you?

Giardini.

Botanic Gardens.

Si.

Did you kill this man?

This man dead from poison. Did you do it?

He kills the man over a book of poetry.

Prior to confrontation he has access to cyanide

and he was in the gardens on Sunday. Poetry.

You know, there was a poem in the man's suitcase

from the station that'd been torn out of a book.

Ah, excuse me.

Yes, here we are. Look. 'The Return Of Persephone'.

'Gliding through the still air, he made no sound,

'Wingshod and deft, dropped almost...'

(Clears throat)

Yes. Benetti must have force-fed him the damned pesticide.

How is that possible?

Well, he is an aggressive bugger.

Lawson, imagine.

Imagine if I tried to force this poem down your throat?

I wouldn't. Well, you...

Now, you see? That's what I'm talking about.

In plain sight, on a Sunday afternoon,

Benetti tries to force our man to swallow poison

and no one sees anything? Look.

Hey! Exactly.

Ahem. Sorry to interrupt. Um, this is Mrs Lundqvist.

Yes?

Excuse me, but I saw this.

This is my husband.

That's him. His hair's darker, though.

Full name?

Sven. Sven Lundqvist.

Nationality?

Swedish, originally.

You bastard!

Now, Mrs Lundqvist...

You might need to explain yourself.

Three years we were married, and one day he just disappears.

Gone.

How long ago was this?

A year ago.

All that time I never knew.

I thought something horrible must have happened to him.

Why something horrible?

A husband doesn't just disappear for no reason.

I imagined all these awful things.

But he was here, all the time.

50 miles away.

Probably took up with some other woman.

50 miles?

I live in Castlemaine.

And I'm still his wife, so anything he left behind, it's mine.

God knows he left me with nothing. What brought you to Ballarat?

Visiting my brother.

And what line of work is he in?

He's a jeweller.

And did you drive down from Castlemaine?

No, I caught the train. Why?

We might continue this down at the station, if you don't mind.

Is that necessary?

Yes, it is.

He abandons her.

She hears nothing for a year and then quite by chance,

happens to see him on the same train.

Is this where you tell me poisoning's usually a woman's crime?

Isn't it?

Jealousy's a much stronger motive

than an argument over a book of poetry.

And so is gaining financially from death.

We've been thinking the poison was forced on him.

What if it was something he took without realising?

Something she offered him?

I thought you said it wasn't in his food?

It wasn't. I'm just trying to work things out.

What if it was in liquid form, perhaps?

Sir? What?

I've been talking to witnesses from the gardens.

A couple of them remembered seeing our man,

and he wasn't alone.

Did they say who he was with?

It was a woman, with blonde hair.

And apparently they were kissing.

Bring them in. Let's see if they recognise her.

Just head through this door.

I'll definitely speak to your parents about that.

Just step this way.

None of them recognised her.

No one?

They all said that the woman was blonde,

but none of them saw her face.

How long can we keep her here?

Couple more hours, then we'll have to release her.

What do you have in mind?

Not really in the mood for this, Lucien.

Thank you anyway, Jean.

Now...

This is where that poor man was found.

Yes.

Would you mind turning round to face me?

Mm.

Yes. And, um, come a little closer.

Thank you. Now what can you see?

Well, you, obviously.

No, I mean, behind me.

Trees and some bushes.

Right.

Apparently she had her arms around him, around his neck.

Mm.

Yes.

Now, still not entirely sure how this is supposed to work.

Oh? What part, exactly?

Cyanide is fast acting

and there'd be convulsions and involuntary moans.

Apparently no one noticed a damn thing.

Maybe that's why she had her arms around him.

So no one could see what was happening.

Yes, perhaps.

Lucien, there's someone in the bushes.

What? Really?

Right.

Hello?

Don't be alarmed, I just want to talk with you.

Bloody hell!

Jean, are you alright? Yes, I'm fine.

Let's go home.

Um, just bear with me. Oh!

Lucien.

Yes, of course.

Have you any idea what's going on?

Allow me. What's all that about?

Well, I'm not entirely sure. Give that one to me.

It's heavy.

Yes, the more I find out the less I seem to know.

You'll work it out. Do you think he saw what happened?

Bloody hell. Come on.

Charlie, where did you find him?

Same place.

He must have gone back after you and Mrs Beazley left.

It's alright. I just want to speak with you.

Save your breath, doc. Interview room.

Calm down.

His hiding place in that park is a little way behind the tree.

If he was there Sunday, he might have seen the woman's face.

I don't like our chances of getting any sense out of that one.

I have an idea.

Davis, Miss O'Brien will sit in on the interview.

It's alright, Charlie.

She's done quite a lot of work with the impaired.

He's impaired, alright.

Just see what you can find out.

Hello. I'm Mattie O'Brien.

(Man grunts)

Hey, settle down, alright?

It's alright, Davis.

You're Aaron, aren't you?

Can you take those handcuffs off him, please?

Why on earth would I do that?

Because I think it'll help him calm down.

Please?

Alright.

Hey, I'm gonna take the cuffs off you, alright?

Do not move from that seat, do you hear me?

Is that better?

You like the gardens, don't you?

You like the trees?

What do you do there?

Two days ago, did you see a man and a woman under a tree?

A man and a woman.

From your special place. Did you see them?

And what were they doing?

Did he see her face? We're not sure.

We think he did but it might not have registered with him.

Well, what did register with him?

He noticed she had a full figure.

He told you that?

Not in so many words.

Oh, tell me this hasn't come down to the size of a suspect's...

Excuse me, how much longer am I expected to sit here?

Not much longer, ma'am. We're just...

Do you mind?

I'll let the superintendent know. Sorry.

Just stand there.

So was that her?

I've got no idea.

Um, was that the woman in the park?

Mate, just focus... Charlie!

Was that her?

Ah, she was curvier than that? OK.

Mrs Lundqvist.

I came forward because I thought I was doing the right thing.

I've been insulted, and made to wait.

I've been stared at.

You have no idea what it's like, no idea.

I am so sorry.

All this time,

not knowing what had happened to him,

only to find out he'd simply walked away.

You have every right to be angry.

I thought he loved me.

Please.

They think I poisoned him.

And I hate to ask, but did you?

No, of course not.

Can you think of a reason why anyone would want to?

No.

Then tell me about him.

He had a way of listening to you when he talked.

He actually listened, not like Australian men.

He was always very popular with the women.

Was he?

It wasn't that he was terribly good-looking, even.

It was just that he listened to you? Yeah.

What else can you tell me?

He loved music.

At night he'd put on his records, and we'd talk.

What about?

The future, mostly.

He never liked to talk about the past.

Tell me, do you think Lundqvist was in fact his real name?

Of course it's his real name.

It's my name now. Why would you ask that?

Well, no reason, really.

I'm dreadfully sorry. Forgive me for asking.

At least now I know what happened to him.

Excuse me. Hmm?

I'm looking for a poem. I'm not entirely sure who wrote it.

What's the poem? 'The Return Of Persephone'.

AD Hope. Wonderful writer.

You're the second person that's asked for him this week.

Just over here.

Oh!

Must be out on loan. I don't remember checking it out.

Who else was asking after it?

A Dutch fellow.

Frankly, I was surprised he knew anything about Australian poetry.

Quite. Mm. Mm.

How did you know he was Dutch?

Oh, he told me. It's a wonderful poem, isn't it?

Quite sad, but rather physical, if you get my meaning.

Yes, yes, of course.

Sir?

Would you like me to reserve the book for you?

When the gentleman returns it?

That's quite alright. But thank you anyway.

Can I help you?

Yes, Doctor Lucien Blake. Police surgeon.

Miss Patrick, is it? Yes.

He's with the police, Else. Thanks, Martha.

Yes?

Hello. Just a few extra questions, if I may, miss Patrick.

Did you enjoy the movie you saw on Sunday?

Um, goodness, what was it? 'Bridge On the River Kwai'.

No, 'Indiscreet'.

Ah, 'Indiscreet', yeah.

The body you discovered.

That poor, poor chap. He was Dutch, wasn't he?

We don't seem to have it on our records,

but you spoke with him, didn't you?

No, I...what are you implying?

Is everything alright?

I'd like you to leave.

Of course.

You don't happen to have a book of poetry by AD Hope?

Please, leave. Now.

Thank you both for your time.

Good evening. Good evening.

I was here earlier about...

You're with the police. What do you want?

The gentleman we were asking after.

Did he happen to leave anything in his room?

No.

Mind if I take a look? There's another bloke in there now.

But I cleaned the room before he went in. There was nothing there.

Right. Did he have any visitors? No.

Any female callers?

No. He was a very nice man, very decent.

Now if you don't mind...

Yes, he was. He was a very decent man.

You see, the thing is, he died the day after he stayed here

and that's why I'm here.

And I'm looking for a book of poetry.

He gave it to you, didn't he?

He said he didn't need it anymore.

May I see it, please?

What do you need it for?

I'm really not sure.

Do you mind if I...

..if I hang on to it for a bit?

I promise I'll get it back to you.

I'm so sorry he died.

He was different.

Yes, he was.

Thank you.

What kind of code?

Well, I'm guessing

it's some type of one-time pad encryption algorithm.

In English?

Well, it uses a series of letters and numbers.

The letters correspond to the numbers,

and there's a key, a certain page the algorithm refers to.

Now, you combine the two, you have a simple code.

Almost unbreakable, unless you've got the right key.

How the hell do you know all this?

Well, I may have come across something similar after the war,

but my point is this.

I think our man in the morgue

was involved in some kind of intelligence work.

Hmm.

And you don't seem at all surprised.

Well, we've been getting some phone calls.

People recognised his photo in the paper.

A woman in Stawell had an affair with him five years ago.

According to her he was a Norwegian by the name of Tor Olsen.

Walked out on her as well.

An affair in Shepparton, and he was Dutch. Niels van der Berg.

Ran all this past Immigration.

The names belong to children of deceased immigrants.

Bloody hell.

Somehow he got hold of the records.

So, he cuts all the labels off his clothing.

He dyed his hair. Throw this code business into the mix.

You think you can crack this? I can try.

Well, we've got a day. We've got to get that body out of the morgue.

We don't even have a name for him.

We better get a move on, then.

I've, ar, been fielding calls about you as well.

Who from?

Federal police. The army.

Wanting to know about your recent travels.

Charlie's showing interest, too.

What exactly did you do after the war, Blake?

Well, I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you.

This is no joke.

I know.

Right.

Corresponding numbers -

2, 32. 23.

Off to a flying start, Lucien.

(Door knocks)

Lucien, I'm heading to bed. Is there anything you need?

No, I don't think so, Jean. Thank you.

Is that your key?

Hopefully.

Do you really think there are spies in Ballarat?

Oh, not spies as such.

Just people who work for other governments.

They're everywhere.

Is that what you used to do?

Yes.

For a time, it was.

Maybe this man was a Soviet.

Well, perhaps.

You know, there's a story going around about Soviet agents,

how they'd carry cyanide pills with them

in case they were captured.

So maybe this man ended his own life.

Oh, mind you, it was so very public.

And there was that woman friend.

One thing I do know,

Lawson needs him out of the morgue

so we're going to have to bury him soon.

Did you find out his name? We thought we had.

We never had a funeral for Christopher.

Oh, Jean, I didn't know.

He died along with the rest of his section

but it was six months before they told me.

He was long buried.

You know, it's just the thought of him

being buried alone there,

with no one to say goodbye.

Well, I'll leave you to it.

Goodnight, Jean.

Blonde hair.

Sven Lundqvist, Tor Olsen, Niels van der Berg.

'...ravenous eyes.

'To see her shake, the midnight drifting

'from her loosened hair,

'the girl once more in all her actions wake

'the blush of colour in her cheeks appear,

'lost with her flowers that day beside the lake.'

Blonde hair. Cheers to blonde hair.

Ahem.

Well, that turned out to be rather more complex than I thought.

Well, at least you gave it a try.

Oh, I don't know Jean.

Perhaps I'm using the wrong key.

It seems to me there are too few symbols or something.

But please, help yourself.

I've spent the entire evening staring at the damned thing.

Perhaps fresh eyes would be good.

What's this, then? Part of the cipher.

You see, the technique is you connect the key and the message

using modular addition.

It looks like a Ballarat phone number to me.

No. No, no, no, just a fraction of the text.

Right. Well, I'd best tidy all this away.

Very good.

'Gliding through the still air...' Gliding through hell.

Bloody nightmare of a thing.

Just had the Ballarat Historical Society on the phone.

Now, Elsie Patrick.

Wasn't she that woman who found that dead body?

I didn't hear the phone ring.

Oh, no, no. I rang them.

That's their number.

Mattie!

You think he'll talk to us?

Well, I have a feeling he might talk to you.

Come on.

Try over there, eh?

You stay here.

Give me a shout if you need me.

Hello, Aaron. How are you?

Lucien? Mattie?

Can you come out?

I would like you to come back out, please, but calmly.

It's alright, it's alright. This is my friend, Lucien.

Men frighten him, Lucien. Don't come any closer.

Alright. Mattie, that's a very expensive coat he's wearing.

He didn't have that the last time I saw him.

That's a lovely coat you're wearing. Where did you get it from?

Yes, I thought as much.

Mattie, do you think you could check to see

if there's a label at the back of the coat?

Would you hold still for me?

The label's been cut off and...

..blonde hair.

It's a woman's, by the length of it.

May I see it?

Not a woman's, as such.

In fact, it's not even human.

I would say, however, that's come from a wig.

Miss Patrick, good morning. I've told you everything I know.

Yes, yes. But your colleague hasn't.

Martha?

Miss, ah... Harris.

Miss Harris.

How can I help you?

Does the Historical Society have any material, any books,

on migrant settlement in Ballarat?

A few, actually. Wonderful.

I'd love to see what you have.

OFFICER: Stay where you are.

I'm just getting my purse.

Martha?

Martha Harris.

Member of the Australian Communist Party since 1943.

The Soviets were our allies, and it's not illegal.

Sacked from a government job

under suspicion of having a relationship

with an attache at the Soviet Embassy,

who subsequently went missing.

Is that why you moved to Ballarat?

No. I have a sick aunt who lives here.

Suffering from... Diphtheria.

Does she know you were wearing her wig in the park?

May I smoke?

How many identities did you manufacture for him?

Sven Lundqvist.

He died in Wendouree in 1912 at the age of three.

Niels van der Berg died at Castlemaine in 1897

at the age of six months.

Tor Olsen...

I have no idea what you're talking about.

Do you like poetry, miss Harris?

'Foreknowing all bounds of passion, of power, of art,

'mastered but could not mask his deep despair.

'Even as she turned with Hermes to depart,

'looking her last on her grim ravisher,

'for the first time she loved him From her heart.'

Was that what it was like for you?

Holding him while he died?

Whoever this attache was, you loved him.

And you'd given up everything for him.

Everything.

And he couldn't even remain faithful.

What about his marriage?

Was that the last straw?

You should charge me, if you have anything, or let me go.

But there's no reason to go on talking like this.

You're right.

Anyway, this is no longer in our jurisdiction.

There are agents on their way to talk to you, miss Harris.

Unless you have anything else to say, this interview is over.

Miss Harris?

No.

I have nothing more to say.

Cyanide. Sugar-coated to disguise it.

You did love him.

Passionately.

But unlike you, he was trained to walk away.

I gave up everything for him.

I found him new places to live, new identities.

But every time he found another lover.

And the message you wrote in that book,

you were arranging to meet, weren't you?

I'd had enough.

He was a traitor.

To his country?

To me.

Charlie, there's terrible famine in parts of China right now.

Insurgencies in Malaysia, Indonesia and Vietnam.

And yet that woman murdered her lover because he was unfaithful.

It's a complicated old world.

Jean?

Jean, do you know where I put my...

Thank you.

Presentable? Yes, you are now.

Have you worked out what you're going to say?

Well, it's a pauper's funeral, just Lawson and I.

And the good people from the funeral home, of course.

What about the wife? No, she couldn't face it.

I'm going to say that even though we don't know this man's name,

even though he was born and fought under another flag,

he's resting with us now,

and we will look after him as one of our own.

Is it alright if I come with you?

Yes, of course.

Right.

A hit-and-run. Constable Michael Martin.

I don't think it's bruising at all. It's frostbite.

Frostbite? This is definitely the one.

Your name was printed on the truck that knocked down my officer.

The police are investigating your stepfather's death.

What's to investigate?

Perhaps he was the victim of foul play.

Someone took the Cessna up last night.

There's mud on the tyres. Noel Ashford go up with you?

I don't really know anyone.

They don't trust me and that makes it really hard.