All language subtitles for Deadloch.S01E02.1080p.WEB_.H264-GGWP

Ma'am, I think it's Trent Latham.

Trent!

- Vanessa! No! No!
- Trent!

We've recruited an interstate detective
to lead the case.

Detective Eddie Redcliffe is my name.
I am from Darwin.

Who is the psycho
with the 25-page rap sheet?

That is Gavin Latham,

Trent Latham's brother
and business partner.

What happened to
your windscreen, Gavin?

- Who's that?
- That's Trent.

Looks like our brothers
took a little trip together.

Time of death was between 3 and 4am.

No foreign DNA on the body.

What's the deal with
that forensic pathologist?

"Lingua amputo."

Five years ago,
Deadloch's mayor, Rod Dixon,

washed up dead on the same beach
as Trent Latham.

Comin' through!

Who was that woman with Dulcie?

- The detective?
- He's a woman?

Vanessa! Stop right there!

Lingua amputo.

Sexy, don't they all realise

we moved to Deadloch specifically
for work-life balance?

Well, I just don't think that the...

murderer,
or Commissioner Hastings...

care about our choir schedule, love.

Oh, I have to go.

I think I'm still upset you lied to me
about Detective Redcliffe, you know?

Yeah, and as I said,
I omitted some information

because I was worried about
how it'd make you feel.

- Where's my...
- The front door.

- Right.
- I felt triggered.

And you have communicated that
thoroughly, love,

and, again, I really apologise.

- For lying to me?
- Well, for...

Yep. Mm.

OK.

- OK.
- OK.

So let's just reset.

This whole investigation

has just got absolutely nothing
to do with our lives here,

and I will parent my emotions
and you'll do your work.

Oh, great! Great.

Your emotional work.

Yep, OK. That's... good too. I just...

I do really want to
keep talking about this, Cath...

- Me too.
- ...but I... I have to go.

- 'Course.
- OK.

Yeah, I'll chat to you in the car.

Alright. OK.

So Margaret called. She wants the bales
no more than 3m apart.

Has Amanda Palmer arrived?

- Yep.
- She has? OK.

So the murders haven't deterred her...

TAMMY: Is it just me,
or does no-one care that

two dudes are fully dead?

I know.

I saw a yoga class
on the beach this morning,

right where you tripped over
Trent's dead dick.

Ugh...

- We should go to his funeral.
- Why?

He kicked you off the footy team
the moment you turned 14

because you weren't a boy.

You hate him.

I don't hold grudges.
I go with love.

You just want to go
in case a footy recruiter rocks up.

Yeah, 'cause this town is cooked, brah.

And I'm gonna get out,
via my banana.

You're allergic to bananas.

Oh, it's a type of kick, M.

Fuck.

Autopsy of Gavin Latham
commencing now.

Time of death approximately 28 hours ago...

Oh, sorry, sorry. Senior Sergeant
Detective Collins just texted.

She said that Detective Redcliffe

told her that the autopsy
started in half an hour.

Yeah, well, boo-hoo for her.
Crack on, Smartwatch.

Very similar to the brother.

There's no foreign DNA on the body.
He's been completely cleaned.

- Wow!
- Ah, excuse me, babe.

- The hyoid was broken.
- Mm-hm?

Same sort of ligature
was used to strangle him.

- You see these bruises here?
- Mm-hm.

- Detective!
- They're full of blood.

You said the autopsy started at nine.

Oh, well, the early bird
catches the crim.

OK, let's get back to it, can we?

James, how long was Gavin's body
on the beach?

Nup. What about the Latham brothers'
tox report?

What are we talking?
Fuck-ton of drugs?

You reckon some fucking local dealer
bumped 'em off?

Well, we won't found out who killed him
until we found out how it happened.

Now, the bodies
were transported by boat.

Oh, you and your fucking boats!

OK, Collins,
in answer to your question...

the minimal amount of pooled blood

suggests the body
hadn't been lying on the beach long,

which actually suggests the killer...

Oh, just one second. One second.

Well, if we're all attending to
personal matters...

Hey, no, answer me, mate.

...at your make-up trial
tomorrow, babe,

just make sure the lady doesn't go OTT.

You've already reeled me in.

There's no need to be
impressing anyone else.

Hey. Oi! Smartwatch!

What about his fucking
toxicology report?

Yeah, it's still pending, Detective.
The liver's damaged, though.

But from what? Drugs?
Hey? Which ones?

Ah, T-B-C.

Well, T-B-have a fucking guess.

OK, what type of knife was used
to cut out his tongue, James?

How was his tongue removed?

With difficulty, I'd say.

See these ragged marks on the throat?
They're from a serrated blade.

But these ones on the cheek,
they're more dagger-like.

- So the killer...
- Ugh.

Can we just have a modicum of
decorum in here, please...

Can you just keep going, James?
Thank you. Just keep going.

I surmise the killer used two knives
to cut out the tongue.

Which tracks: the tongue is actually
the strongest muscle in the human body.

- It's not, James.
- Yeah, yeah, just wind it up, mate.

The jaw and teeth have been chipped...

- Ooh.
- Babe!

Sorry, Sven, I can't really talk
right n...

Copy that, Sven.

They've found Gavin's ute
at the old sawmill.

Dulce, forensics
are headed to the sawmill.

They'll meet you there, OK?

Copy that, Sven.

The sawmill used to be the main
source of employment in the town.

After he died, Margaret Carruthers'
husband, Rod Dixon,

left it to local businessman,
Phil McGangus.

Margaret has bankrolled the Feastival.

She also has a popular line of gourmet
food products, Margaret's Table...

Why can't Big Eyes drive me anymore?

I'd rather hear her bang on about
that knob-jockey boyfriend.

Sorry, fiancé.

Because I'm on this case,
and I can drive us,

so here we find ourselves.

And I think it's relevant
because Rod Dixon was the mayor.

On the beach.
With the missing tongue.

Oh, you're not still going on
about that, are ya?

Yes, I am, because fur seals
don't eat human flesh.

I think it's worth reinterrogating
how the tongue was removed.

No, no, no. OK?

Enough of your fucking Miss Marble's
Midwinter Murder Theories, mate.

The Latham brothers were
up their scrotes in drugs.

Someone's making an example of them.
Who's... Who's the local drug dealer?

Joan.

OK, so this Joan, what is she?

Is she like a Judy Moran
crime matriarch?

She sells under-the-counter hash gummies

at the local farmers' market
every second Sunday of the month.

- OK, well, it's bigger than Joan.
- Mm-hm.

Town like this, probably some kingpin
running drugs with boats

and he's gone under your radar
because he is a man and you are a...

you know.

You can just stay in the car
and keep the heater going, if you like.

Yeah, I could, couldn't I?

The ground's still wet
from the storm two nights ago.

We actually had 25mm of rain
in under an hour.

Fuck, really?

Keep me posted.

Ah, look at this big-boy toy.

Any sign of the tongue?

Ignore her. What about blood?

- Any other evidence?
- Mm-mm.

Yeah, it's probably 'cause of the storm.

We actually had 25mm of rain
in under an hour.

Yeah, she's gone. She's gone.

- Well, well, well.
- I...

Good morning, Phil.

Let me know if you find anything.

Shane's got two women
working the case, has he?

Brave man.

The Commissioner and I
are good mates from our footy days.

I'll let him know
how you girls are going.

Yeah, please. Yeah, you do that.

So Gavin and Trent used to work
out here at the sawmill, didn't they?

Everyone used to
work at the sawmill

before your lot took root, hmm?

Any idea what Gavin
was doing out here the night he died?

Absolutely no idea.

Oi!

Can I help you there, sweetheart?

Yeah, what's all that shit? In there?

Well, that's my personal property.

- Oh, yeah?
- Uh.

And where were you two nights ago,
Mr... McGangus, was it?

I was with Mike Nugent at
the footy club, planning Trent's wake.

Now I've got to plan another one
because two of me mates are dead.

It's no good, is it, Phil?

And can this, ah, Mark, corrobor...

...corrlob... corroba...

Can Mike corroborate that, Phil?

Well, I wouldn't have said it
if he couldn't.

What about you, Jimmy?
Where were you two nights ago?

I was at the Doorbell till closing.

- She was there too.
- That's irrelevant.

Were the Lathams involved in drugs?

Not that I'm aware.

- Are you involved in drugs?
- Not that I'm aware.

I'd like to take a look
in that sawmill, Phil.

Would you?
You know what you need for that.

- A warrant.
- Eyes.

Mm, yeah, is that alright with you,
Inspectress?

Yeah, 'course. Is it OK with you,
Phil, if you eat my dick?

Shane's gonna love this.

Good. That was good.

So, up in Darwin, do you lot threaten
all interviewees with fellatio,

or just the ones that are grieving?

Let's go.

You want to tell me where?

Fuck! Trent's wife!

Vajazzle.

Agh!

It's Margaret's Feastival, Gez,

and her name looks like "Maggot".

Maggot Carruthers.

Oh, gosh, I feel like such a dingo.

It's OK, babe.
I know it's just a mistake.

Detective, what are you doing?

But, obviously, fix it, or I'm revoking
your volunteer privileges.

Dulcie!

Is this
the drug-cunt brothers' gym, is it?

Well it's Gavin
and Trent Latham's gym, yes.

Detective, in light of
the Phil McGangus debacle,

I'd like to take the lead
on the interview with Vanessa myself.

This is my town and Vanessa and I
have a relationship.

Oh, yeah,
what's that relationship like?

You and your inner-city lezzo mates

narrowly avoiding getting
hate-crimed by Vanessa's lot?

Ah, well, obviously Deadloch
isn't perfect...

It's Satan's fucking snow globe!

I think that right now, Vanessa
would appreciate a familiar face,

in a pair of actual shoes.

Dulcie!

Mate, I am the lead detective, OK?

You are a day-rate cop who's used to
solving great mysteries like

"My Hat Is Missing",
and "I Shot My Dog".

So, hipso facto, I'll be doing
the interviewing, OK?

- Dulcie?
- Yes?

What you pulled at the parade
last night cannot happen again, OK?

OK, well, I didn't kill him myself,
Aleyna.

I mean it. No more of this
dead body nonsense.

You know how hard Margaret and I
have worked at this Feastival?

It's given me IBS.

Detective! Aleyna,
I do want to, and I will...

My colon is shredded, Dulcie.
Shredded!

We found the Pro-Bro ute
this morning.

Pretty... Pretty schmick rig.

Yeah, must be worth a bit of coin.

Got me thinking, you know?

How could Trent and Gavin afford
a souped-up ute like that when...

that gym downstairs is emptier than
an arsehole after breakfast?

- Was it drugs, Vanessa?
- Detective.

Was it drugs?

You know, started with
'roids, peptides, Molly, then, bang!

Half of Deadloch are just sticking
Special K right up the dick hole.

- Is that it, Vanessa?
- I... I am...

- Is that it, huh?
- I'm deeply sorry about this.

- I don't like you.
- OK.

We know you threw the plate
at his head, didn't you, Vanessa?

No, Trent threw the plate at her!

It ricocheted off the marble accent tray
and hit him in the head.

And we know about the affair.

- Mm, we've seen the dick pics.
- Detective.

How long have you and Gav
been smashing meat?

No, Mum kept telling Uncle Gavin
to stop sending her photos,

but he just kept sending them.

See? Look at her phone for yourself.

- Oh, good one.
- I'm not even sure if they're his.

They have watermarks.

I never wanted his penises.

Ah... Who are you?

Are you her dad, are ya?

No, I'm Greg, from Grey Lady Funerals.

Ah, Vanessa, Rod Dixon was their boss
at the sawmill. Were they on good terms?

What the fuck do you think you're doing?

Just a second, Vanessa.
This question is relevant.

- My fuzzy brown arse it is.
- It absolutely is.

More relevant than anything
out of your mouth this morning.

- I'll tell you what is a relevant...
- Rod.

Yeah. Yes, Vanessa.

He was president of the mayor.

He was...

President of the football club,
and the mayor. Thank you, Vanessa.

- Lesbian.
- OK.

Everything was good until
Mr Dixon died,

then his wife shut the sawmill down.

I see.

Mum said it was part of God's plan,
because if they hadn't lost their jobs,

then the three of them would have
never opened the Beast Factory.

Three?

Yeah. Phil's a part-owner.

Really? Well, isn't that fascinating.

And what percentage of...
of that did he own?

I don't know. I'm 17.

Phil's a majority owner
of the Beast Factory.

He co-owns Pro-Bro protein powder.

He owns Vanessa and Trent's place
upstairs.

Well, that's fucking cosy, isn't it?

And, of course, the old sawmill site.

Oh, gee, Sarge,

I wonder where he's getting
all the cash for all these purchases?

If Phil was running drugs,
we would know about it.

The money's probably from
his fishing business. He owns a trawler.

Well, there's a fucking
mystery murder boat

you've been banging on about,
it's Phil the drug king's boat!

Phil's boat was not used in the murder.

The harbour surveillance footage
from the night Trent died

comes from Phil's boat, Detective.

It was parked at the harbour all night.

It's moored, ma'am. Sorry.

OK, then he's got some associate,
you know?

A dodgy fuck who's got a boat

and he carts the bodies
and the drugs around.

You are over-simplifying this.

What the fuck is Father Time
doing up here?

I told you that Rod Dixon's death

might be connected to
Trent and Gavin's.

There is no connection, OK?

And if you mention
the seal tongue again,

I swear to God I'm gonna
cunt-punch you so hard

you're gonna double as a hand puppet.

Dulce, I've got Cath
on the phone. She says it's important.

Well, did she try my mobile?

Yes, but your coverage is terrible.

Right.

Bullshit.

Hi, love.

Sexy, you've got to get a new mobile
carrier. Your coverage is terrible.

I'm picking up tickets
to Helena Papatonis...

Oh, love, I really can't
see a show right now.

No, I know.
I gave your tickets to Nadiyah.

Textbook Skye,
making her new girlfriend

move to a town
where the poor thing knows no-one.

- So depressing.
- Right, yeah.

Fucking knew it!

Amphetamines, uppers, downers,
tranqs, steroids, peptides, shrooms.

The Latham brother's tox report

reads like a fucking
dark web shopping cart.

And I bet my right tit
McGangus and those Latham boys

are storing drugs
at that fucking sawmill

in that banana-guava flavoured
Pro-Bro shit.

Maybe that's why Gavin was out there
the night he died, ma'am?

Yeah, he was moving the product.

The Latham boys did the dirty on him
and that's why Phil killed them.

I need to search that sawmill.

You! How are you getting on with
that warrant?

Warrant? I didn't know
that was in my column.

Oh, fucking small town fucking...

Nadiyah just told me

the detective has to move out of
the Bush Wolf tomorrow.

Her room's been put up
for the Feastival.

OK. Alright.

The earlier she can check out,
the better,

just so Nads has got time
to give it a clean.

It looks like a Tracey Emin
installation, apparently.

Big Eyes, grab your keys.

Oh, um, I've actually got
my wedding make-up trial today.

- Cancel it.
- OK.

Don't stress about it,
I'll find the detective somewhere to stay.

I'll take it off your plate
and I'll put it on my plate.

Oh, thank you.
Thanks, love, that's great.

Speaking of plates, I really want to
go down on you tonight.

Oh, OK.

'Cause, you know, when we
work through conflict, I get horny.

Shouldn't we wait for
Senior Sergeant Collins, ma'am?

Nup.

You, get her onto Phil McNugget's alibi.

- Yep.
- We're going bush.

- Oh, actually that's Dulcie's jacket.
- Who?

- I do have to go right now, love.
- OK.

OK, sexy, I love you. Bye!

Hi, Virginia.
Now, I need to organise a warrant.

So, what's the go there?

Is there a county sheriff that I call,
or is it a PDF...

Where'd she go?

Ah, she didn't say, but she wants you
to verify Phil's alibi, please.

- Oh, she does, does she?
- Mm-hm.

Where's my jacket?

Come on Phil, you puffed-up
fuck-hole. Show yourself.

I can't believe I'm on a stakeout!

It's so aggressively policey.

So did you always want to be
a female detective?

It's pretty cool. There aren't many
women in forensic science, either.

That's what I originally studied.
James was my lecturer, actually...

- Too much talking.
- Yep!

That might be Senior Sergeant Collins.

Should we tell her what we're doing?

Nah, I'll text her.

Yeah, nah, it's Eddie. Ah, yeah, nah,
leave us a message.

Phil McGangus said that

you were with him the night that
Gavin died.

Is that correct, Mike?

Yeah. We were organising
the music for Trent's wake.

- Mm-hm.
- A lot of Tool.

It's what he would have wanted.

Excuse me, I'm looking for
Helena Papatonis. Is that you?

Ah, no, I'm a cop.

Yeah, the performance
is over the road.

Oh.

Can't believe the Latham boys
are both dead.

25 blokes graduated my year
at Deadloch High.

Now there's only a few left.

Really? Why?

Suicide. Drugs.

Oh, there was one drink-driving accident
wiped about seven of them.

They were in a boat.

On the roof.

Was that all you wanted to ask me?

Yeah. that was my only job
for the whole day. Thank you, Mike.

Actually, no, Mike,
there is something else.

You were still on the force

when Rod Dixon's body
was found, weren't you?

Yeah, that was my last day.

Put a bit of a dampener
on my farewell drinks.

Why aren't there any photos
in the case file?

- Sven, it's me.
- Hey.

I need you to have a hunt around
for any old station cameras lying about.

I'm looking for some photos of
Rod Dixon's body.

Apparently the old station sergeant

used to let them take the camera home
on the weekends.

OK.

And any instructions from the detective
as to my next steps?

- Ah, nope. Nothing yet.
- Nothing!

- OK, perfect.
- OK. Cheers, Dulce. Bye.

Cath. Cath, when does this finish?

It's Endur