Original subtitles

( music playing )

♪ You and me ♪

♪ Me and you ♪

♪ Somehow we made it through ♪

♪ I may be gone ♪

♪ I may be far away ♪

♪ But I walk beside you ♪

♪ Every step of the way ♪

♪ When you're used, bruised ♪

♪ Black and blue ♪

♪ Don't think about it ♪

♪ Never doubt it ♪

♪ I walk beside you. ♪

Fancourt on TV: Love is a, um...

It's a mirage. It's...

It's a delusion.

Interviewer: For all your protests, Andrew,

I thought your depiction of this relationship

was full of love, and brave, too,

given your proximity to the subject matter.

You're referring to the suicide of my first wife?

Yes.

Andrew: So let me say this.

When Effigy died...

I mean, when Ellie died, look...

( continues indistinctly )

( phone ringing )

Robin: It's me. Are you awake?

I take it you caught the train?

Yeah, and thanks for letting me stay longer.

Matt needs me.

But, listen, I've just seen a program with Andrew Fancourt.

When he's asked about his first wife, I swear he calls her Effigy.

- ( typewriter clacking ) - Effigy...

read your words aloud.

"Her love for him was like that of a pertinacious gudgeon."

No, no, the words are no good!

We must give her new words!

- ( skin sizzling ) - ( screams )

( reporters shouting )

Man: Did the wife do it?

Man #2: Any comment, Mr. Strike?

I think Leonora Quine is innocent.

I'd bet my remaining leg on it.

That's all I got.

( reporters shouting )

( gate buzzes )

( distant chatter )

( distant door opens )

( distant door closes )

( keys jingling )

- ( lock clicks ) - ( door opens )

Hello, Leonora.

This is Ilsa Herbert.

- She'll represent you. - ( sobs )

We have limited time, so provided you'll feel able...

When can I go home?

We do need to get through some questions.

Did anyone have keys for the house on Talgarth Road?

Andrew Fancourt.

We had spares cut when there was repairs on the roof,

but I can't find them.

Did anyone else ever handle the keys, even just for a day?

It got rented out sometimes,

so I suppose there's people who've been through there.

That house has been a nightmare.

We can't sell it,

and Andrew makes sure nobody can make money off it,

just 'cause of him not liking Owen.

In the end, Owen said better to forget about it.

Can we talk about the credit card?

I told them I don't know anything about any of that.

A burqa, ropes, and overalls, all bought six months ago

on your family credit card,

and delivered to the house on Talgarth Road.

Is there a scenario where your husband

might have bought these things for himself?

I don't know.

The ropes, maybe.

He liked being tied up.

He just told me what to pay off, and I did.

I never went over things with him.

Did Owen ever discuss "Bombyx Mori" with you?

He said it was gonna be a book about how a silkworm

gets boiled alive like he has been by the critics.

- That's it. - Mm.

The prosecution will use that as evidence

that you were aware of elements in the manuscript.

How is this helping?

Ilsa's just doing her job.

I answered all these questions already, though.

Ilsa: The police have a different agenda.

I'm asking you these questions

to try to keep you out of prison.

Well, I didn't do anything. That's enough, isn't it?

The ugly truth is it might not be.

What's she mean, "It might not be"?

- What's that about? - Look, we need to--

You shut up! I know him! I don't know you!

You were supposed to keep me out of here.

You promised.

Ilsa's a friend. She's good at her job.

I trust her.

You need to trust her, too.

I know you're frustrated. I know you're scared.

But we're on your side.

I just want my Dodo.

( phone ringing )

Robin's phone. Matt speaking. Can I take a message?

Sorry, did you say mud?

( panting )

You okay?

You got a call about extra cleaning for a car you hired?

- Oh... - What's that about?

I had to drive a hire car last week.

Where?

Down to Devon.

We had to interview a suspect,

and Cormoran can't drive, so...

So that's why you couldn't help arrange my mom's funeral.

You were being his taxi.

No...

( door slams )

It looks bad.

- Access, motive, this credit card thing. - ( phone chimes )

The way she talks to the police, she's her own worst enemy.

All the credit card proves is that she's being framed.

Corm, everything all right?

It's fine.

Just Charlotte.

No relapsing.

Yeah, Nick was clear about that as well.

I'm fine.

( doorbell rings )

I need to talk to you.

Is it more headlines about me locking up the wrong person?

That wasn't very helpful.

The headline I've just read says,

"Wife accused of murder trained as butcher."

She's being framed, Rich.

Just ask yourself, are you saying she's clever enough

to put together this complicated murder,

leaving nothing for forensics,

no useful witnesses, no credible leads, nothing,

but also stupid enough to put her disguise on the credit card?

Bob, I like you as a man, and I owe you my life,

and that goes a long way.

But on this one, you're just plain wrong, mate.

Andrew Fancourt had a key to the property.

Andrew Fancourt hated Quine

long before this manuscript came out.

Why aren't you knocking on his door?

I'm gonna chalk this up to you having a bad day, Bob.

I thought you were meant to be at the British Library.

I was, but...

plans changed,

and then the seats on the early train were booked.

Worst-case scenario would be two hours standing up.

I used to do it all the time, coming to visit you.

I'd sit in the gangway...

because it was you.

Because you were in a shitty place, and I loved you.

I know.

I should have come sooner.

I don't want your boss anywhere near our wedding.

If he can't even let you off for a day or two

when my mom dies, what kind of a man is he?

Matt, uh...

this wasn't Cormoran's fault.

It was my decision to stay.

I've wanted to be an investigator for as long as I can remember.

It's the whole reason that I studied psychology in the first place.

And then...

for years, I felt like that had been taken away.

But now I've got a chance.

I know you don't like it,

and...

I think that's why I lied to you.

And I am sorry.

I am so sorry,

'cause I should have been here for you.

But...

I don't want to lose this.

Of course I want you to be happy.

I am so, so sorry I wasn't here sooner.

Let's just settle and say it couldn't be helped.

When are you going back?

So, how was your case?

I don't know. Ilsa, how's my case?

Well, if you're trying to keep her out of prison,

pretty terrible.

Met her daughter yet?

No.

Sweet kid. Not really built for this world.

I think the neighbor's struggling with her.

Are social services involved yet?

( phone buzzing )

It's Sunday.

I know.

I think we should start taking a closer look

at Andrew Fancourt, don't you?

Well, I haven't come in at the weekend

to pay the utility bills.

I've got his address. Let's go.

Britain's most-celebrated novelist

stripping out of a burqa on a London side street?

He could have just worn it to get off Talgarth Road,

then changed in a car or something.

- Yeah. - Let's take a look in there.

See if he could have buried the guts 'round the back.

( doorknob rattling )

Do you want to give me a leg up?

No, no, no, I'll be all right.

( grunts )

Well, he's not burying anything in here.

( shouting )

- Shit! - Are you all right?

Shit!

Fucker doesn't bend.

Christ.

I'm fine.

Here, lean on me.

No, no, I'm fine.

Well, you're obviously not.

Just put your weight on my shoulder.

There's a pub around the corner.

- Bribery? - Motivation. Come on.

I'm sorry, Robin. We didn't need this.

Just say if you need to stop.

The amount of stuff you're meant to do to keep it healthy.

Powders and creams and baths.

Happy birthday.

How did you know?

I know your passport number by heart as well.

Many happy returns, Mr. Cormoran Blue Strike.

Are you gonna tell me where that's from?

Nope.

I got you something.

( cellophane crinkling )

It's billed as the Taste of Cornwall.

But you can be the judge of that.

I grew up two miles from where this is made.

- It's good. - Good.

Robin, this is...

I like it.

- Thank you. - You're welcome.

"Made with Cornish cow's milk."

Eating nothing but Cornish grass

and looking at Cornwall.

This is exactly what the whole of Cornwall tastes like.

( chuckles )

Fancourt lives near Hampstead Heath.

It's a cruising ground.

Easy for him to go in the wood at night

without raising suspicion.

Could have buried the guts in there.

Have the police checked him over?

They won't. They've got Leonora.

But Fancourt's in "Bombyx Mori."

You'd have thought that--

I'm not sure the Met's literary criticism unit

was brought in on this one.

I mean, he's certainly got the imagination for it.

Lots of the profile pieces you read on him

talk about how he writes violence.

I'd like to find Fancourt tomorrow.

Will your leg be all right for that?

Yeah, it'll be fine.

- My morning's free after all. - Why?

I could tail Fancourt.

You haven't been trained.

I want to do it.

I'll be careful.

And Liz Tassel has agreed to talk to you about Fancourt.

It'll be a lunch, so you'll be sitting down.

- Uh, just a water for me. - Server: Certainly.

How's Leonora?

Well, she's been arrested.

Yes.

So, as you'd expect.

Orlando's half the reason I kept Owen on.

I hope she'll be looked after.

Don't think they have any other family.

Yes, well, she won't be left to starve, will she?

This is England. We're still halfway civilized.

The Quines barely have anything.

Ah...

I've had to give them a lot of help over the years.

Can we talk about Andrew Fancourt?

- Why? - I gather he and Quine fell out.

Oh, that was a long time ago.

You were all friends together once, is that right?

I represented them both.

Must have been quite a coup to have Andrew Fancourt as a client.

Well, he hadn't won any major prizes when I took him on.

We were friends.

Back then, we both wrote,

but, of course, he became Andrew Fancourt

and I stopped.

Andrew called my efforts "lamentably derivative."

No doubt correctly.

Why did he leave your agency?

Because Owen wrote a parody of his wife's novel,

and I refused to sack him over it.

I abhor censorship, and I dislike being threatened.

Andrew forced me to choose, and so I did.

Oh.

But after Fancourt's wife killed herself

over that parody, didn't you--

Anyone who kills herself over a little criticism

has no business writing.

Do you know-- do you know how many people think they can write?

Mountains of dreck

and billions of wasted hours.

Ellie Fancourt had...

Or Andrew ought least to have read the work and stopped it.

Roper only published it as a sop to Andrew.

Did her no favors.

Andrew and I

haven't had a relationship for a very long time.

This parody of Ellie Fancourt's novel,

why did Quine write it?

You're asking the wrong person.

But if he and Fancourt were friends...

They were never really friends.

Andrew tolerated Owen.

He was an amusing dirty joke.

Did Owen dislike Andrew?

Envied him, probably.

Did you ever regret

choosing to keep Quine on instead of Fancourt?

- Given that Fancourt-- - I never regretted it.

I regret that Andrew forced me to choose.

I gather you were once in love with him.

You seem to have very thoroughly raked over all our lives.

Is there anything you actually want to ask me?

Or have you asked me here to watch me suffer over old memories?

I'm sorry.

Well, what is the point in asking me that?

I have been...

I have been disappointed many times.

By Andrew, by others.

I live alone with a dog who is on his last legs.

What are you actually gaining by pointing out these failings of mine?

- I'm sorry if I-- - No, no, no. Rubbish.

I had at least taken comfort in building a business...

but Quine has damaged that, too.

I have-- I have had it.

I don't deserve this.

I'm sorry for upsetting you.

I promise you I'm only trying to help Leonora.

You ask too much of people.

You are cruel.

So this is the parody that Quine wrote

of Ellie Fancourt's novel.

It was taped to her grave.

Somebody's taunting him.

Or blackmailing him if they've got proof Fancourt killed Quine.

That's bloody good work, Robin.

Oh, it wasn't really. I messed up loads.

I lost track of him, and then he walked right past me.

Well, some training will help.

- Matt? - Matt: I'm in here.

Just finishing up.

Wow.

Thanks.

You ever tried to iron a dress?

There's no right angles.

Well, that's the problem with breasts for you.

( chuckles )

This is excellent work.

Yeah, I'd forgotten it's sort of--

sort of calming.

Do you want to do a box-set later?

Actually, I've got to work.

There's someone we need to speak to.

Tonight's our only opportunity.

Sorry. If I'd have known you were coming back, I...

I'd have tried to get out of it.

Can we do it tomorrow?

No problem.

We're guests of Daniel Chard.

- Yes, sir. - Cormoran Strike, plus one.

Yeah. Go ahead.

Plus one?

He's not keen on me, is he?

They moan about declining book sales.

Everyone I've met so far in publishing

either has a drink in their hand

or will only meet for lunch.

It's not a bad life, is it?

- ( chatter ) - ( music playing )

- When's Matthew back? - Oh, he's back already.

- A party where I can smoke. - ( chuckles )

( shivers )

Oh, thank you. ( clears throat )

Should have brought a cardie.

( clinking )

( Chard clears throat )

During a period of rapid change

in the world of publishing,

one fact remains indisputably true--

work with great writers,

and your readers will come.

( mumbled agreement )

In that vein,

tonight, I am delighted to announce

that perhaps the most garlanded novelist in England

is returning to Roper Chard after 20 years.

Ladies and gentlemen, Andrew Fancourt!

( applause )

The man himself.

Andrew: Thanks, Dan.

Thanks, everyone.

It's good to be back. It feels like a homecoming.

I wrote for Chard,

and then I wrote for Roper.

They were good days.

I was an angry young man.

Now I'm an angry old man.

( laughter )

I look forward to raging for you.

( applause )

Shall we mingle?

Mmm.

I see you're struggling to choose a drink?

I can tell you the champagne won't kill you.

I picked it out.

Well, that's what I'll have, then.

Champagne, twice.

Now I'm going to ask you perhaps the most provocative question

you can be asked at one of these things.

Read anything good lately?

Well, actually, the last thing I read, if I'm honest...

was "Bombyx Mori."

- There you go. - Thanks.

Owen Quine returns to his true métier,

the poison pen letter.

What did you think of my depiction?

Have you read it?

I've been told about it.

Owen was a very minor writer

with a very large ego.

This conversation would have pleased him...

enormously.

Can I introduce you to someone?

Sure.

Cormoran Strike, this is Andrew Fancourt.

The one-legged detective.

I've read about you, Mr. Strike.

I've been looking into Owen Quine's death.

I was hoping we'd have a chance to talk.

Well... here we are.

And may I commend you on your choice of bait.

Consider me utterly reeled in.

Being a co-owner,

you must have run into Quine at Talgarth Road.

I haven't been there in ten years.

Robin: You inherited it

from your friend Joe North.

Losing a friend and your wife in the same year, that must have hurt.

I didn't lose my wife.

I tripped over her body in the dark of our kitchen.

Did you ever confront Quine about the parody he wrote?

- No. - But you're sure he wrote it?

I am, yes.

Could anyone corroborate that?

You have a spare one of those?

I gather your ex-fiancée is about to get married.

You prop her up as a footnote in articles about her.

That's high praise.

Tell me,

are you attracted to troubled women?

Or do they become troubled because of you?

Perhaps I should ask you.

Oh, we just work together.

Why would Quine use "Bombyx" to deny

he wrote the parody of your wife's work?

It was 30 years ago. Surely the damage is done.

Ellie thought that if she married a writer,

it would change the way the world saw her.

When that failed, she tried being a writer herself.

Now, Quine saw himself reflected in her.

Most writers aren't very imaginative, Mr. Strike.

They end up writing about themselves.

Quine, like Ellie, was a failed writer,

struggling to gain some status through writing,

but perennially in my shadow.

Take care, Mr. Strike.

Miss Bait.

- Hi. - Hi.

- Robin. - Hi. Come in. Come in.

Through here.

So, yes, do...

have a seat.

Do you want a coffee?

- I'm all right, thanks. - All right.

Thank you for seeing us.

Oh, anything for Owen.

Ha! Bastard.

Tried to catch you at the Roper Chard party,

but you disappeared after Fancourt's speech.

Yes.

What do you think of Andrew Fancourt?

- Oh, me-- me, personally? - Yes.

Oh, terrific writer,

absolute shit of a human being.

( Strike chuckles )

Have you read "Bombyx"?

Yeah, we both have.

But you've spoken to people about it.

You know what it all means and so on.

I didn't recognize you in it.

Oh, I'm the Cutter, an editor, you see.

- Ah. - And for my cameo,

Quine dusted down the old rumor

that Fancourt had fathered my daughter.

Cheers, Owen.

Rest in peace, old boy.

It must have hurt, what he said about you.

Well, if you want lifelong camaraderie, you join the army.

If you want peers who'll glory in your failure,

work with novelists.

No loyalty.

Of course it hurt me.

Well, anyway, I'm gonna have a drink.

Precious little to be sober for this afternoon.

You'll join me?

What's under consideration?

Oh, I think a Barolo.

- Sounds great. - Good man.

A bit early, isn't it?

It will help him feel we're on his side.

And I like Barolo.

Right.

I was talking to Liz Tassel yesterday.

I hope you met her on a good day.

She can be an utter bitch.

( laughing )

Here's to newfound candor.

Liz made a pass at Andrew after Ellie died.

And Andrew told me at the time

that he saw it as a badge of honor

that he couldn't get it up for her.

Prick.

Funnily enough, she didn't tell me that story.

No, I don't imagine she did.

Anyway, injured pride

is absolutely why she went with Quine over Andrew.

Do you think Fancourt had a motive to kill Quine?

Well, obviously, there's the book's claim

that Fancourt wrote the parody of his wife himself.

Strike: Could that be true?

Could Fancourt kill a man?

Well, he's very good at writing hate.

That's a kind of viciousness that comes from somewhere,

even if it's disguised.

See, a writer gives himself away like that.

He invariably puts himself into the text more than he knows.

Daniel Chard had an interesting theory about that with "Bombyx."

Well, Daniel certainly didn't like what Quine said about him.

He thinks the manuscript

could have had more than one contributor.

Well, that's rather an interesting thought.

Now here we are.

There are lots of parts that feel like classic Quine,

all shock-horror stuff,

but there are other parts where...

Now, I've edited his stuff for 20-odd years,

and I never once saw him use a semicolon.

And in that manuscript, there are several.

Now, that is not the kind of thing

a writer embraces late in his career.

Thank you.

You've been very helpful.

Thank you.

Right, I'm off to Fulham.

Kathryn: Sorry about before.

If I'd known he was dead, I'd--

That's okay.

I remember you said something about

he'd told you he was gonna put you in his next book.

It seemed to me like you were expecting to read

a very different manuscript.

He loved me.

He told me he wanted to be with me and work with me.

And then... ( sighs )

And I'm a writer as well,

so this was a big deal for me.

He told me he was writing a book with me in it.

And then I read it...

and he calls me "Harpy."

Makes jokes about my sister's cancer.

Just staggeringly, staggeringly painful.

You hadn't argued?

He always said he loved me.

And he said by me being in his book, we'd be together.

( sighs ) I burned it.

Never trust a novelist.

I should have that tattooed on my arm.

I loved him, and he-- he's humiliated me.

Look, it fits.

Or, rather, there are so many other pieces that don't quite fit,

it might be the only thing that explains it.

First of all, the title.

Leonora says Quine told her silkworms are boiled.

The silkworm in "Bombyx" is cut open.

But then there's the fact that the book

features its hero burned by a liquid,

and the site just happens to be filled with hydrochloric acid?

That's a neat coincidence.

Kathryn Kent was expecting a very different book.

Jerry Waldegrave and Daniel Chard

both detect a foreign influence in the text.

We keep hearing different versions of the same thing.

Something is not quite right with "Bombyx Mori."

So we need a literary analyst,

someone who can compare writing styles.

Yeah, I can get on that.

And there might also be something else at Quine's.

Um... what are you doing?

There's only one instance we know of

where Quine discussed the manuscript with somebody--

the lunch with Liz Tassel where she fired him.

Are you going for lunch again?

Needs must.

( chatter )

Good of you to do this, Al.

Al: I get to hang out with my brother

in my favorite restaurant.

What's not to like?

Dad is still hoping you'll meet up with him.

How are you?

Eh, media bollocks, sexy girlfriend.

Can't complain.

Look, you know people here, don't you?

Yeah, I come here a lot.

I need to talk to anyone

who might have seen an argument in here.

Uh...

Well, Frankie's on. She knows everyone.

Mate, can you ask Frankie

to come over and have a word?

Thank you.

How are the rest of the siblings?

Ah, the Rokeby diaspora?

Yeah, no, they're good.

Dad got inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Did you see that?

No. Passed me by.

Yeah, you look around,

and all these guys are getting really old now.

Hall of DJs won't have the same vibe, will it?

Hi. I work with Cormoran Strike.

Is it all right if I come in and have a look around?

I could use a break, if I'm honest.

Orlando's upstairs.

I'll go and fetch her.

Thanks. I'm Robin.

- Hi. - Nice to meet you.

( laughing )

Hey, Al.

Frankie, this is my brother, Cormoran.

Hi.

Al: Can you spare five minutes?

It'll have to be a very quick five.

Apparently, these two had a row in here

over a fortnight ago.

Oh, yeah. Police asked us about this already.

Last known sighting, wasn't it?

Were you working?

Oh, my God, they were ridiculous.

At one point, he stood up,

literally pointed his finger at her,

and shouted, "The world shall know

you made Fancourt's dick limp."

( Al laughing )

I can see why you wouldn't forget that.

Did it seem like they were putting it on?

Oh, he was hamming it up,

enjoying being a massive prick.

She looked properly angry, though,

telling him to sit down and shut up.

He walked out with her.

So he was acting?

Look, I've gotta get back. Is that okay?

We will tip heavily.

( chuckles ) Thanks, sweetie.

I never get called sweetie by waitresses.

Well, that's because you're not tipping heavily enough.

Do you have a dog?

Yes.

Well, my family does.

His name's Rowntree.

I want a dog.

What kind of dog?

I just want a dog.

What's your name?

Robin.

I'm Dodo.

I'm a bird.

- Robins are birds. - Yeah.

Can I draw you one?

Right.

There you go.

What else is in there?

Can't show you the insides.

That's where I put things I've stolen.

Oh.

If I was to give you something of mine to steal,

could I have a look inside then?

Oh.

Ha. You've got expensive taste.

Okay.

Here you go.

Wow!

Are you stealing it?

Would you mind?

No, you can steal it.

Thanks, Orlando.

Do you think we should go outside now?

No. You stay with me.

Stay! Stay! Stay!

I'll come and see you again. I promise. Promise.

Stay!

( sobbing )

Are you gonna be okay?

She's just missing her mom.

We'll be all right, though.

Won't we, Dodo?

Come on, my darling, there we go.

Regular names-- Eddie Boy and Kate.

There's no baroque archetypes here.

You did well to get this.

Apparently, a lot of people ask Oxford for it,

'cause it's got Fancourt's earliest published story in it.

How's it looking?

Yes, you see here in the short stories

and here in this parody,

the same unusual formulation of phrase.

And here again in this piece.

The semicolon used more frequently than usual.

Ah, yes. Look here.

Fancourt favors an Oxford comma,

and it's across all three pieces.

Here in Quine's novel, no Oxford comma.

It's the kind of thing a writer usually is in or out on.

Is it proof?

No.

But these things, together,

I would bet that whoever wrote this parody piece

also wrote your "Bombyx Mori."

And probably this short story, too.

Harder to say here.

I'd bet on it as well.

It's a sophisticated revenge, isn't it?

The story of your grudge

in the form of a secret parody of Quine himself.

Mm. A story that leaves Quine's lover,

his wife, and his colleagues all hating him.

It's a very comprehensive kind of revenge.

But too complicated.

That's what unpicked them in the end.

Strike: Anstis, last favor.

You need to trust me on this.

You're gonna need to get a search warrant.

- Are you sure about this? - Absolutely.

( door buzzes )

It's like a "Bombyx Mori" reunion.

Mr. Chard, Mr. Fancourt, if you have a moment?

It concerns "Bombyx Mori."

I read the parody of your wife's novel, Mr. Fancourt.

Andrew: How does it hold up?

What struck me was how spiteful it was.

But what about "Bombyx"?

Strike: The two pieces were written by the same person.

Well, we know that.

Owen Quine was not the author.

I couldn't hear the title of that wretched book raised

and not apologize to you both.

Strike: Good evening, Miss Tassel.

I was just telling them that Owen Quine

didn't write "Bombyx Mori."

At least not the version they've read.

He did write a book called "Bombyx Mori,"

and he intended to settle some scores with it.

Embarrass a few old sparring partners.

But his anecdote about Mr. Fancourt's limp dick

doesn't appear in the text we were given.

What are you talking about?

You wrote the parody of Ellie Fancourt's novel.

The one she killed herself over.

Owen Quine knew you wrote it.

That is a disgusting slur.

You wrote a short story for an Oxford anthology.

Its style is a good match with both "Bombyx Mori"...

and the parody of Ellie Fancourt's book.

Andrew, don't listen to this. It is absolute rubbish.

Strike: It's all there in the book you wrote, Miss Tassel.

Your hurt when Andrew rejected your writing,

and again when he rejected your love.

- ( typewriter clacking ) - ( whimpering )

( screaming )

Strike: Owen Quine had a price for keeping your secret.

You didn't support that family out of pity.

He blackmailed you for nearly 30 years.

He forced you to choose him over Andrew as a client.

Poor Mr. Strike.

So buggered for money, he has to scrape the barrel.

Strike: It was your idea for Quine

to make a scene in the restaurant

and shout at you, storm out.

And later, he'd hole up in Talgarth Road,

while the press picked up on the row and his disappearance.

It had worked for him in the past.

It's rubbish.

Strike: Afterwards, you visited Leonora's house

to reassure her when Quine went missing.

You took the opportunity to remove every notebook

from Quine's study that contained scraps

of the real "Bombyx Mori."

But you didn't manage to destroy every trace.

I found some pages from the real manuscript

and an original typewriter ribbon.

The police have just pulled an electric typewriter,

the same model as Quine's, from the millpond

at your friend Dorcus Pengelly's house.

( wheezing and coughing )

Strike: They'll be here imminently.

( groans )

The acid you used really did rip your throat to shreds.

Robin! ( groans )

Don't!

- ( brakes screech ) - ( horn honks )

Robin!

( both grunting )

( Robin screams )

- ( Liz groaning ) - ( Robin panting )

You all right?

- ( siren approaching ) - Yeah, I'm fine.

I'm fine.

Strike: Yes, I'll hold.

Robin?

I think it's good news. Call us a cab?

Leonora: Where is she?

Strike: In prison, on suicide watch.

The police found your husband's real book in her house.

Daniel Chard wants to read it with a view to publishing.

This one might even sell a few copies.

- Mommy! Mommy! - My Dodo!

( laughing ) Oh...

Is Anstis talking to you?

Has to. I saved his life.

And, anyway, like most coppers,

he doesn't want to see the wrong person locked up.

They checked her freezer, by the way.

Not the guts.

Feeding them to her dog.

That's disgusting.

Does Matthew mind about all that?

Oh. Yeah.

I told him I'd seen worse on him after rugby matches

and claimed gender equality.

I'm gonna get the tube.

Oh, I-- I...

Your ex sent in some photos, by the way,

and I opened them by accident.

She's not my problem anymore.

Right.

Well, I'll see you tomorrow.

- Robin? - Hmm?

Got something for you.

What is it?

Open it.

"Surveillance course.

You find it, I'll pay for it."

Really?

So, partners, yeah?

( kisses )

♪ Oh, yesterdays to come ♪

♪ Godspeed your distant sun ♪

♪ Oh, yesterdays to come ♪

♪ I will never, ever wish you away ♪

♪ Never, ever wish you away ♪

♪ All of tomorrow's shapeless and undefined ♪

♪ We'll merge into one ♪

♪ In a final meant for yesterdays to come ♪

♪ All of tomorrow's shapeless and undefined ♪

♪ We'll merge into one ♪

♪ In a final meant for yesterdays to come. ♪