All language subtitles for An.[Sweet Bean].2015.720p.BRRip.x264.titler

You like that one, don't you.

Ms Ross? Er, Kirsten Ross?

Yes?

I'm Detective Inspector
Phillip Hamilton...

My God, is Carl all right?

Is Carl okay?

Perhaps if I...

Of course. I'm sorry. Please...

Before I go on, I might ask
if there's anyone else at home?

Anyone who might, um, be able to help?

No. No. I'm waiting for...
Oh, God, is he all right?

Your husband will be home soon.

Either he opens the door
to find his wife

and baby spread all over the carpet,

or he comes home to find the baby
safely asleep in its cot,

but his wife gone.

So Kirsten...

Which is it to be?

♪ Love is like a sin, my love

♪ For the ones
that feel it the most

♪ Look at her
with her eyes like a flame

♪ She will love you like a fly

♪ will never love you again ♪

Why all the secrecy?

I want your unadulterated impressions.

Unadulterated by what?

Rumours. Just go in.

It's blood.

The victim?

Kirsten Ross. Thirty-two.
Missing, presumed abducted.

- She's got a young child?
- Leo Ross, yeah, three months old.

Is the baby all right?

Untouched. Father comes home,
sees all this, imagines the worst.

What, you think he did this? The father?

No, I'm not thinking that.

"Do not fear the abyss,
for I am the abyss

"and thou shalt weep with the
fervour and bliss of my love."

Blimey. Satanism?

Are you superstitious
about that sort of thing?

Not so much, no. Not as a rule.

But this is pretty weird.

The writing?

- Same hand. Same writer.
- What hand? What writer?

Ten years ago Grace Allen
was abducted from her home.

Her baby was asleep upstairs.
Unhurt. No sign of struggle.

Her husband comes home,
finds his hallway looking like this.

Same writing. Same words.

Three months later, the investigation
received an anonymous tip,

some bloke who claims to be
an accomplice of this man...

Lucien Burgess. Burgess is a rich kid.

But he's born with bad blood.

Aged 30, he's got his own
little black magic cult

derived on the writings
of Aleister Crowley.

Who called himself "The Great Beast".

- The blood on the walls?
- Human and fresh.

Tapped from a living source.

Human body's got six litres of it.

Tap a little bit at a time,
over a few weeks,

you've got a whole body's worth of blood
to splash around.

- But no corpse.
- And the handwriting?

Burgess favours the right.

Whoever wrote on the walls
favours the left.

They were confident they had their man,
but they had nothing on him.

So an undercover operation
was authorised.

It went wrong.
While he was supposed to be undercover

DS Richard Henley attempted
to make an arrest.

He did this...

All but killed him. Henley does
three and a half years for GBH.

Burgess gets rich
on government compensation.

Then sells his story to the tabloids,
richer still.

Publishes a memoir, richer still.

A year after all this,

Grace Allen's body turns up
right next to a railway siding.

She'd been frozen post-mortem.

When they found her,
she'd been completely exsanguinated.

Burgess had drained her blood.

Forensics confirm.

The writing on the wall tonight
was in Grace Allen's blood.

- Still fresh, ten years later.
- That must be enough to pick him up?

Well, yeah. Ordinarily.

But the last time the police
went after him,

we caused a full-blown media
and political shit-storm.

Kirsten Ross is probably still alive
and out there right now.

Finding her is our highest priority,

but not our sole priority.

It's imperative
we stay clear of Burgess.

We don't so much as cast
a glance in his direction

until we've got something bulletproof.

Let me go.
Please let me out.

I need to see my baby.

- Are you Mark North?
- Yeah?

Hi!

Oh, my God... What happened?

- They were waiting for me.
- Who?

- Whoever did this.
- What do you mean?

He sent girls.

He sent girls to do it.
That man is a genius.

- He wouldn't.
- You think?

Let me have a look.

Let me have a look.

According to the literature,
if the Left-Handed Man actually existed,

he'd be an acolyte, follower,
a submissive personality.

What? An apostle that betrays
his master to the police

and then still works with him,
ten years later?

That doesn't sound right to me.

So what... What are we saying then?

Well, Burgess wants fame, doesn't he?
He wants infamy.

He wants to humiliate the police.

We had his handwriting analysed.

Tried to make him
write with his left hand

and he couldn't do it.

Yeah, but it's still not right,
though, is it?

Grace Allen's ten-year-old blood
shows up

at Kirsten Ross's house tonight.

And the blood on the walls
at Grace Allen's house was human too.

- The source was never identified.
- Never.

Maybe they weren't
looking in the right place.

You know, maybe they were thinking
it was as fresh as it looked.

So it could have come from another
victim, an even earlier victim?

Yeah, maybe a lot earlier.

Do me a favour. Dig around cold cases
unsolved with similar indications.

John. DCI Luther's phone, DS Ripley.

Oh, brilliant, yeah. Cheers.

- Boss. Boss.
- Yeah?

I lost you for a minute there.

- Yes, sorry I do that. What?
- Your undercover guy's here.

Oh, God. He looks like shit.

DCI John Luther, Richard Henley.

I really appreciate you coming in.

Well, they didn't give me much choice.

Why don't you, er,
use the interview room?

Yeah.

Benny... Sorry about the hour, mate.
I need a favour, can you get over here?

Oh, Alice.

So I'm returning home, I'm parking,
same place, same time as usual.

And they walk from up the street,
but it's the...

It's the stiff arm by the side,
you know,

what is that about, why do they do that?

"They"? Who exactly are "they"?

These, these hoodies, these kids.
These girls.

- Girls?
- Girls. And so, I'm surrounded.

And one of them says,
"Are you Mark North?"

I say, "Yeah". Bang, I'm on the floor
having the shit kicked out of me.

And then the same girl

says, "John says hello".

"John says hello"?

Word for word.

Please.

The truth is, Richard, we're nowhere.

All right, we've got SOCOS at the house,
bodies on the street.

He won't have left you anything.

Not at all.

And the clock is
ticking on Kirsten Ross.

- I'm not a copper any more.
- Yes, you are.

There was a...

A lot of sex stuff.

Did he use blood? In your presence?

He said all bodily fluids were powerful.

Semen, vaginal secretions, blood.
Menstrual blood was best.

I mean what did he do with it?

Well, all that stuff had to be
taken into the body. In various ways.

And you had to...

I let him do anything he wanted.

Richard,

whatever happened, whatever you

allowed to happen to you,

all right, you did something valiant.

And every copper in this shop
knows that.

It didn't help though, did it?

How did you end up beating him?

I'd been undercover for 15 months.

Thought I'd won his trust.

This one night, we're at his flat

and he gives me a glass of wine.

I drink it,

wake up tied to a chair.

It turns out, he'd known
I was police from day one.

He showed me a picture of Grace Allen.
She was alive.

And in the picture right next
to her face, that day's paper.

And he said,

"This is the closest you'll ever come."

And he set light to the picture
and burnt it right in front of me.

Then he cut me loose.

And that's when you did that?

- Yeah.
- Yeah.

That's what I did.

You are radiant.

Shh.

Are you ready?

Who's that in there?

Oh, that's, er, Richard Henley.

- Ex-copper Richard Henley?
- Yeah.

Well, Officer Lieutenant.

- Who's in there with the duchess?
- Erm...

Oh, that's Mark North.

- Right.
- Mmm.

- Busy night, eh?
- I'll say.

She was naked,

and, er,

in some kind of box,

er, rectangular, not coffin-shaped.

It was, er, shorter, deeper.

She was tied at the wrists
and ankles with a...

I don't know.
It was too dark to see properly.

Er, her eyes were

like a horse's eyes,
when it's terrified.

How could you, um,

how could you read the paper?

- Sorry?
- You said the box, it was too dark

to see details of the straps.

But you read the headline,
you could see her eyes, how?

There was a light across her face.

- A reflection of the flash or something.
- A light?

Like a crescent of light.

It was her eyes that did it.

I wanted to kill him.

I knew it would cost me.
But I didn't care.

And to this day,

the biggest regret of my life
is not killing the...

Any idea

what it's like to feel like that?

Yes, I do.

I know exactly what that feels like.

Leave me alone, leave me alone...

Three guesses why Zoe's
gentleman caller was here?

To confess he's a dick?

He's been assaulted.

- Good.
- He blames you.

Oh, come on.

You've already come close
to one suspension for assaulting him.

So I'm pretty much obliged
to take this seriously.

The man is a fantasist.

The marks on his face aren't fantasies.

Guv, all due respect, Kirsten Ross is
out there alive right now.

And you bother me with this?

Seriously?

Okay.

I'll take my time
entering the paperwork.

But I will be entering it,
first thing tomorrow.

Unless Mark North withdraws
his complaint before then.

If he does,
no-one need know this ever happened.

Thank you.

Yeah, so go! Sod off! Speak to him.

Be nice. Beg, if you have to.

I ran the blood
from the Grace Allen cold case

through every available database.

We got a match.
Precious Akingbade was found

on the banks of a canal in Birmingham.

Exsanguinated and genitally mutilated.

I remember this. This was years ago.

Yeah, 20 years ago. 1990.

Two different murders,
completely different MOs.

Separated by a decade
and half a country.

You know, Burgess must've been

20 years old when he done this?

Benny, I appreciate you coming in.

That's okay.
I was just immersed in the world of, er,

King Crimson and the World of Warcraft.

Er, as much as I love you,
I can't pretend to know what that is.

What I'm trying to say is,

do I smell like someone
who's been smoking marijuana?

A little bit.

D'you think anybody's going to notice?

See if you can ID these girls.

Quietly as you can.

You okay?

I will be,
once you tell me who they are.

Give me an hour or two. Or three.

Boss?

Burgess runs a little occult bookshop.
They sell on-line.

Do you think Burgess
will be at work today?

He's got to make it
look like a normal day.

Pay him a little visit.

John. You come here today? Seriously?

Mark?

Mark.

Oh, dear.

Mark, I had nothing to do with this.

What you did, John,
I understand it, all right?

It so, in a brutal way,
just kind of sums you up, I suppose.

- But look at my face. Lo0k.
- All r1ght...

If you do this, all right,

there's an innocent woman
out there is gonna get hurt.

It's got nothing to do with this,
you, me, or the rest of it.

John, you cannot keep
saying to Zoe that you love her,

and then putting her through this.

You have to stop.
Stop for her, stop for you. Stop.

Listen to me, Mark.
I'm asking you as nicely as I can.

Don't do this to me.

And what exactly are you saying?
If you're going to threaten me,

why don't you make a proper job of it?

Say it out loud,
so we all know where we stand.

Zoe.

There were lots of things
I wish I had told you,

things that I did that I was ashamed of,

afraid of.

I didn't talk to you,
but at least I didn't lie.

Okay? Like I am not lying now.
Mark, I didn't do this to you.

I really need you to trust me on this.

Alice, what are you playing at?

I thought you wanted Zoe back.

And you do it by getting
me blamed for beating up Mark North?

Getting me fired?
I'm in serious trouble,

more trouble than you think!

You won't lose your job.

- Or your wife.
- Alice, do me a favour.

Stop interfering!

All right, please, no more helping.
Can you do that?

John?

Yeah. How'd you know that?

We do most of our trade on-line

or by appointment.

So...

I'm all yours.

What's your pleasure?

Five hundred quid

for a poem hand illustrated
by the Yorkshire Ripper.

Seven hundred and fifty quid
for a letter

from the Ripper to
a female correspondent. Wow.

Well, that includes
a small self-portrait.

Sutcliffe snuggling up to a woman.

Large breasted.

Hmm.

But you know there's
nothing new under the sun.

There used to be quite a trade

in handkerchiefs dipped
in the blood of hanged men.

Hair clippings, snuff boxes,
garters, cravat pins.

Who would buy them?

Young women, mostly.

Wow, young women?

Even stuff like this?

Peter Kurten,

the Vampire of Dusseldorf.

Richard Trenton Chase, the Vampire of
Sacramento. Women buy this stuff?

It's a kink. A sex thing.

Many, many women fantasise
about being tied up, strangled,

raped, eaten.

You think so?

Oh, yeah.

The more depraved the killer,
the more women fawn on him.

It's called hybristophilia.

Sexual arousal
from thoughts of violence.

It's his willingness to murder
that attracts her.

His murder becomes hers.

Hmm.

- Well, I have a confession.
- Really?

Yeah.

- My autobiography. You're a fan?
- You got me.

Course you know, if I sign this,
its resale value increases hugely.

I'll be putting money in your pocket.

- I know.
- You're a dealer?

Collector. And I'm paying.

Well, it's two hundred and fifty.

- You serious?
- Oh, yes.

I've quite the following.

Well, you've got yourself a deal.

There you go.

Good catch.

There you are.

- Sacrificial Lamb.
- Yeah.

Yeah, well...

I learnt with terrible horror
this morning

of the disappearance of Kirsten Ross.

My heart goes out to her
and to her family,

especially her husband
and her little daughter.

Having already received a visit
this morning from a man who I believe

to have been a police officer,

I've called this press conference
in anticipation of my arrest.

I want to say publicly,

while I'm still able, that I had
nothing to do with this crime,

nor the crime...

Nor the crime against poor Grace Allen.

I pray that this time, the Police
Service can see past its own prejudice

and its own desire to seek
a sacrificial lamb.

- Thank you.
- Mr Burgess will now take questions.

Burgess has taken absolute control
of this investigation.

We can't go near him.

He can't let Kirsten Ross live now.

Well, not for too long,
I mean, he can't afford to.

Now that he knows we're
on his back like this.

The order was stay away from him!

Boss, he prepared the whole thing,

the abduction,
the press conference, everything.

So Kirsten Ross dies a lonely death

while the media ensure
we can't go near our only suspect?

Right, I submitted
Mark North's statement this morning.

Oh, God. Don't take me off this.

Not because of him.
I can find Kirsten. I can find her!

I fought your corner and I fought it
hard, nobody wants you off this.

- All right. But what?
- But...

There are caveats.

What caveats?

Mr Schenk.

Martin Schenk.

Complaints.

I know this isn't a good day,
so all I ask is five minutes.

You and I sit down,
have a chat, put this silliness to bed.

Absolutely. It's just that
I have an abduction on at the moment

and time's running out for my victim.

Do you mind if I just brief
Sergeant Ripley about something?

Absolutely.

Keep the train moving.

That man is about to suspend me.

He can't do that, can he?

Can, has to and will.
So we got to work real quick.

Still nothing solid. No forensics,
eyewitnesses, CCTV. Nothing.

So revisit the cold cases.
What did Burgess leave behind?

- Nothing. The man's a ghost.
- We know that about him.

All we're looking for is where
he kept Precious and Grace

between abduction
and dumping the bodies.

Hmm.

Precious Akingbade lived
and died in Birmingham.

I can't see anything that
links Burgess to the Midlands.

No, forget the distance between them.

What do the dumpsites have in common?

Precious Akingbade was
dumped by the side of a canal.

Yeah, and Grace Allen was dumped here.
Easy access to the roadway.

But less than a hundred metres
from a waterway.

Henley said there was
a crescent of light

across the Grace Allen picture.

Bright enough to read the headlines.
A reflection, a flash.

So that's what he said it looked like.
What if it wasn't that?

What if it was daylight
coming in through a round window?

He's got a boat.

I've got to get out of here. Cover me.

I was waiting for DCI Luther.

Um, last time I saw him, sir,
he was headed that way.

Which way?

- That way?
- Er, absolutely, yeah.

So what do you want?

I need you to help me catch someone.

I was under the impression
you wanted me to stop helping.

Don't push it.

How do I know you're not
playing a double game?

One stone, multiple birds.

Trying to make me speak carelessly
in order to entrap me.

That would be illegal.
Plus I really need to catch this man.

More than you want to catch me?

At the moment, yeah.

I'm running out of time.

Because if I thought you were
about to lose interest in me...

I'd be inconsolable.

I just need a way in,

to know what it's like to be him.

To not feel anything.

I feel things.

- Not mercy.
- Not sentiment.

I can't empathise
with this man's state of being

any more than you can.

Because,
disregarding a single, alleged act,

carried out for different
alleged reasons,

he and I might just as well be
from different species.

See, I disagree.

- Murder's murder.
- But it isn't, is it?

Not even to you.

This man Burgess,

he's just a naughty child showing off.

You already know his flaw,

his compulsion to dominate,
to be in control.

And you already know

how to exploit that.

- How?
- Oh, come on.

Change the state of play.

Yeah, well, I tried that with you...

...and it failed.

Only just.

Ripley.

Um, will do. Okay. Yeah. Right away.

Um, DCI Luther's waiting for me outside.

I'm very much obliged to you,
Detective Sergeant Ripley.

No problem, sir.

- Go on.
- So I went through

every record of stolen boats
from 1988 to 1991.

- And?
- First, there's way many.

Turns out boats get stolen a lot.

So I'm thinking,
he needs a vessel that can

navigate canals in Birmingham.
That cuts the list.

All these were reported stolen in '89,
just before the last recession,

when there were lots of bogus insurance
claims. Six stolen boats, six owners.

I cross-referenced the names
against Burgess's known history.

What'd you find?

Louis Gallant. Claimed for a stolen
narrowboat, the Julia, in July 1989.

Suspected fraudulent claim,
never proven.

- Connection to Burgess?
- Friends at Cambridge.

Burgess and Gallant
were arrested together

on a charge of possession
with intent to supply crack cocaine.

That's a pretty big charge
for two middle-class white boys in '89.

Burgess takes the rap for it,
does a bit of time, Gallant walks.

So he was in debt to Burgess.

All we got to do is...

Already done it. Louis Gallant is
a family man with a serious job,

he's looking more credit crunched
by the hour and mortgaged up the wazoo.

I got everything for a promise
not to drag him through court.

- So he sold the boat to Burgess?
- No, he gave it to him.

Even helped him forge
a new registration number,

which is easily done, apparently.

So Burgess renames the boat the Isis.

I've got a copy of the agreement
for berth, housing boat certificate,

British Waterways Certificate,
Council Tax, insurance,

Boat Safety Certificate. They all show
he's moored at St Katharine's Dock.

Now the bad news.

All these documents are in the name
of this guy, Brian Summers.

Oh, bollocks!

So what are you saying? Burgess used
a proxy to get the licenses?

A friend, out of work actor, junkie,
con-artist from prison, who knows?

I tell you what,
if we want to search this boat,

we have to make it part
of the investigation.

The only way to do that is to prove
that Brian Summers didn't exist.

We could spend weeks of due diligence,
just chasing our tails around.

Insufficient evidence,
search warrant denied.

We go upstairs with that,
they'll say, "Go away,

"you haven't done enough,
do your homework".

Kirsten Ross dies, Burgess
dumps the body and walks. Again.

- All right, so what do we do?
- Forget the rule book.

Change the state of play.

All right?

Kirsten? Kirsten Ross?
If you can hear me,

I'm John Luther, I'm a police officer.

We're here to get you
back to your family.

Oi!

Don't.

Don't what?

Just don't.

What are you saying?

We weren't here.

That isn't what we said.

We said if she was here,
we'd call it in.

Claim exigent circumstances.

If she was alive!

She's not alive, is she?

Boss, this is a crime scene.

A murder scene.

You don't walk away from that,
pretend you never saw it.

Do you want to take down
the man who did this?

More than anything.

All right, well then trust me!

Okay? There'll be nothing we can use,
no forensics, nothing!

- And he'll wriggle out of this. Again!
- John.

You're a police officer.
This is a murdered woman.

Her family are waiting,
going out of their minds,

and you want to lock her
back up and walk away?

This is about the law, not retribution.

I'm not asking for your approval, son.

Just your silence.

I won't volunteer any information but,

I won't lie for you, either.

What you're doing is wrong.

- Yeah, I know.
- Why do it then?

'Cause it's right.

Ian? I need you.

Detective Sergeant Ripley.

How nice to see you.

No, no, no. No broken bones.

Yeah, we think it was the husband.

He's got some issues
he needs to work through.

I'll call you back. You off?

Just for a bit. I've got to.

Well, is it me? Did I do something?

No. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, it's just...

It's John. He makes me so angry,
I don't know what to do.

I've got to get out.
Just walk it off or something.

He's coming your way.

All right. Got it.

All right.

I wonder, does John Luther
ever discuss his private life with you?

- No.
- Not his wife?

- Her lover?
- No.

You are aware of his history
of instability.

I'm aware of it, yes, although
I'm not sure of its relevance.

Well, it may be relevant
if it ever gives you pause

to question his decisions.

Um, my dad taught me to
question all judgements, sir.

I do apologise.

Let me rephrase, for clarity.

How do you judge the quality

of John Luther's
current operational decisions?

Yeah.

Well, it could be said that the merit
of any operational decision

can only be judged on its outcome.

As long as that decision was taken
within the boundaries of the law.

It could be said, yes.

But are you saying it?

I'm just saying, it could be said.

Do you know where Luther is,
right this minute?

I do not, sir.

Guv.

- Ah. You've found him?
- Yes, sir.

Ah. Detective Chief Inspector Luther.

You pass, like night, from land to land.

I do. I really do.

There's a coffee shop not far away.

- Shall we?
- Yeah.

Let's.

- Who's this?
- So how's it going, Lucien?

I'm sorry. Who exactly is this?

Listen. They've planted
evidence at the crime scene.

They tried to frame me once before.

They couldn't do it then
and they won't be able to do it now.

All right, well, I'll be off then.

- Wait!
- Look, I can make this go away.

Two hundred thousand, in cash.
I know you've got it.

I can't get hold of that.
Not in time. Not in cash.

Well, you see, I think you can.

My mate, the big one who smacked you,

he's waiting on warrants as we speak.

The crime scene is clear
of surveillance until then.

That gives me a window of less
than an hour to make this work for you.

Now if you don't want to pay for it,
that's your call.

I'll give you 125, cash.

That'll have to do.

- Where will we meet?
- Finsbury Park Station.

Platform 2, north bound, half an hour.

John Luther didn't do that to you,
I'm afraid.

I did.

Why?

Why? I couldn't help myself.

I don't believe that.

See, I don't think you, of all people,

ever do anything
unless you decide to do it.

No, it's true. I'm a bit like that.

A bit random. Slightly kooky.

- Kooky?
- Absolutely.

Okay, Mark.
I did this because I don't like you.

And because I wanted to toy with John.

Ah. It's a bit like
pulling legs off flies.

Why are you here, now?

Because I'm sorry.

- No, you're not.
- No, no, I'm not.

I was just trying to empathise.

I'm here because
this has gone just far enough

and what I need you to do
now is pick up that phone

and withdraw the complaint.

And if I refuse?

What if somebody actually
stood up to you and refused?

Mmm. Well, then. I'd have to leave.

And then one night,

I'd have to come back.

I'm not building a legal case
against you, John.

This is about moral codes.

And my standard of proof

is much lower than yours.

And if you breach that code in any way,
then we let you go.

Quietly and without fuss.

- And you'd recommend that, would you?
- Oh, it's not what I want.

My recommendation will be that you are
suspended, immediately and indefinitely.

And meanwhile,

Kirsten Ross, hmm?

Many fine officers are
working on the case.

For what it's worth, I, um,

wouldn't want it to
end like this for you.

But there's no place in the service
for dirty coppers.

No matter how well-intentioned.

Schenk.

When?

All right. Yes, I will.

Mark North put in a call

to Detective Chief
Superintendent Teller.

Apparently, Mr North
no longer seems to believe

that the street robbers knew his name,

or yours, indeed.

Witness memory,

funny old thing.

He's withdrawn the allegation.

So, uh, well, what now?

You'll return to your case.

Without prejudice.

I didn't want to come for you, John.

But they sent me to do a job.

And if they send for me again,
I will come again.

And I will take you down,

even if it means that I won't be able
to look myself in the eye afterwards.

Well, I know that feeling.

Fuck!

I've got you.

I have got you now.

Okay, that's enough of that.

Lucien Burgess.

Don't think I can watch any more.

Did you seriously think
that you could entrap me?

Not really, no.

No, that blood there was
from a nice piece of steak, sirloin,

I was going to have for my tea tonight

in celebration of meeting you here.

At the crime scene.

You came of your own free will.

You brought luminol.

To look for blood traces.

Hmm.

That's not enough.

Oh, I think that it is.

- Do you?
- Yes.

Well, DCI Luther.

First you, um,

you assault me.

You publicly assault me!

Why can't you show me some respect?

Then a police officer phones me.

He tells me you've
been trying to frame me.

He tells me where the crime scene is.

Is that your defence?

Because that call, that was my mate.

We set you up, Lucien,
you've been outplayed.

I look forward to seeing
you prove any of that.

Oh, Luther.

Shall we?

Turn around.

Good day's work?

- Goodish.
- Anyway. This is her.

Alice Morgan,
meeting up with the wee girl

who beat up your wife's boyfriend.

Don't know whether she's
giving her money, drugs.

Either way, you've got her.

- Cheers.
- You take care, now.

Beware of geeks bearing gifts.

Justin.

- Look...
- I said nothing.

And I won't say anything.

But you can't go on like this.

You just can't.

Hmm, what's this?

Blackmail now?

No.

This thing, this weird thing between us.
It has to end.

Why?

It's not right, Alice.

It started off,
because I was scared of you,

and I thought if I could be your friend,
I could control you.

And I can't control you.

I'm still scared of you.

I'm scared of you, too.

You want to send me to prison.

What you did to Mark nearly cost me.

I wouldn't have let it.

I know, I know you really think that.

And I think, in your own way,
your intentions were good.

But hurting Mark doesn't
bring Zoe back to me.

That's not how people work.
That's not how they think.

I'll see you soon.

Zoe, are you all...

What are you doing here?

- Saying sorry.
- Sorry for what?

For not believing you.

What they said you did it's...
It's not in your nature.

I should've known that of all
the people in the world...

I should've known.

And I should have said something.
Been there.

You're obsessive, you're...

Driven.

God knows you're misguided.

But what you never are is a liar.

Not to me.

Nor a coward.

Oh, he's escalating fast.

This man's on a murder spree.

He's going to kill again, very soon.

I can't see you any more.

No!

- He's awake.
- Who?

Luther.

Luther!

Stay away from me!
Stay away from my life!

Do you understand?