Original subtitles

It is very possible that

the murders of Trent Latham, Gavin Latham,

Rod Dixon and Sam O'Dwyer

are the actions of a female serial killer

who uses pentobarbital to sedate her victims

before she cuts out their tongues and strangles them.

Yesterday, they found Dad's body at Deadloch Lake.

Forensics found a pubic hair in Sam's mouth.

I can't sit on this information.

I need to tell Vanessa something about something!

No you fucking don't!

She's grieving! Leave her alone!

Calm down, alright?

It is a very short trip

from four victims to serial killer.

And once that gets out there,

the press will go bananas, not to mention the killer.

Detective, are these Deadloch murders the work of a serial killer?

Ugh...

♪ Never was a cornflake girl ♪

♪ Thought it was a good solution ♪

♪ Hanging with the raisin girls ♪

♪ She's gone to the other side ♪

♪ Giving us the old heave ho ♪

♪ Things are getting kind of gross ♪

♪ And I go to sleepy time ♪

♪ This is not really, this is ♪

♪ This is not really happening ♪

♪ You bet your life it is ♪

♪ You bet your life it is ♪

♪ Oh, honey, you bet your life...

Ow, fuck!

Sorry!

- This was a shit idea. - This was your idea.

I said that a simple "no comment" to the press

would be absolutely fine,

and you're the one that wanted to behave like we're fleeing Poland.

Yeah, well, why are you listening to me?

I fucking took a nose-dive on a plastic slide last night.

- I'm probably concussed! Big Eyes! - Oh, stop!

- Rack off. You're fine. - Look at my pupils. Are they big?

- Don't engage, Abby. Stop. Stop. - They're pretty big. Sorry.

- Abby? - Mm?

You really should have told us that

you knew Sam O'Dwyer was a serial adulterer.

I know. I'm sorry, ma'am.

I cannot stress enough how relevant that information is to the case.

It opens up the suspect pool significantly.

I know I should have told you, ma'am, but I thought you already knew.

But then you didn't say anything about it,

so I was like, "Oh, my God, she doesn't know."

And then I thought that Vic and Skye probably don't know, either.

Collins, did Skye know about her Dad's affairs?

No, of course not.

Exactly. so I was like,

how do I tell them that Sam was just a pig sleaze?

Alright, well this job can be life or death, Abby,

and sometimes... you just have to do the hard thing

even if it means upsetting people that you care about.

Ow! Fuck, that went right up my arse shaft.

That's torn a fucking tear right up my arse, Cath!

OK, stop!

Can we just have a moment of quiet

without talking about your bottom for one minute?

Who's got tape?

Carrot Wank cancelled. That's a real shame, isn't it, Karen?

Yeah, OK. Bye.

Oh, no, not the Carrot Wank, Gez. That was gonna be good.

- Hey Mike. - Hey.

Um, ma'ams? We're nearing the station.

Oh, yeah, how many people there?

There weren't many people at the presser last night.

What are we talking - two, three, max?

Actually, ma'ams, it's pretty busy.

Yeah, well they're probably not all there for the serial killer.

No probably not.

They're probably all just handing in one giant lost wallet.

Sexy. Sexy!

I know there was a lot going on about that.

We can debrief about that later.

But just quickly, I just wanted to... name

that I am terrified of me or you or Fern

being murdered in the middle of the night

and our bodies not being discovered for a week.

I really can't talk about this right now.

And your mum being in charge of our funerals

- and what songs she'd choose. - Right.

But I can manage my emotions.

- Alright, thanks, love... - I can steer our life.

But I just need you to find the madman

that's terrorising our town and our friends

and our whole way of life, OK?

- Yeah, I can do that. OK, thanks. - OK. Thank you.

- OK, thanks. - I love you.

Mm-hm. Alright, um...

After the dog parade, I'm gonna go to Bunnings.

I'm gonna buy a security camera

and a bunch of those motion detectors that look like owls.

- Sure, yep. - Come on, Collins.

Let's get out of here before that lot get onto us like maggots on a chop.

Yep. OK.

Ah...

Come on, hurry up!

- Fuck! - Sven! Sven!

Sven! Sven! Sven!

- Come on. - There they are!

Oh, finally!

Detectives, do you have any leads on the serial killer?

- No comment! - No comment, rat cunt! Fuck!

I was in the Hunt 'n' Gut the other day and a man tried to buy a tarp.

- You're coming with me. Come on. - Detectives!

Detectives, does the serial killer have any signature moves?

No comment!

Ray Pies, he's fucking obsessed with me!

Six missed calls already this morning.

He wants my cooch.

And now he's calling me.

- Ray? - He wants your cooch?

Jesus Christ, Jimmy.

You're not wrong.

- Excuse me, Claire. - Abby. Abby.

- Oh my gosh. - Yeah.

RIP, Toilets.

Well, the overt crucifixion imagery is significant.

Yep.

Jimmy was a perv, and so was Jesus.

- Don't, you can't... - Wasn't he?

I don't know. I haven't read the Bible, I don't know! I'm not...

- I didn't get raised religious. - Still, this feels...

I mean, it's a bunch of fucking Jesusy bullshit there.

- Well, no. No, not Jesus. - I don't know.

Specifically, Jesus was nailed to the cross,

but certainly Christian imagery.

Abby, is St. Drogo's the only church in town?

Yes, ma'am.

I think our killer is a good Christian lady.

She'll be close by.

She'll be watching this so we all need to keep an eye on that crowd.

OK, peeps, so there's definitely no vehicular access

to this section of the beach.

Yeah, no, she just lugged everything over the sand

with a Kmart beach trolley, probably.

Right, because forensics said

there was no unaccounted footprints or trolley tracks.

Yeah, nah, I'm yanking your balls.

I'm tickling your manhole.

She's got another boat on rotation.

She's used the tide to her advantage, like the others.

You'd have to be strong to get that crucifix up here,

even if you didn't have a fucking... dead Jesus on your back.

Any female bodybuilders in town?

- You know, wrestlers? - No.

Chunky, like, meaty fucking...

- No, there's a lot of yoga studios... - ...strong, underground cage fighting.

...and Tammy.

Hola! Miss me?

- Hey babe. - Hi.

Just got back from doing TEDxPerth.

Shame the O'Dwyers cremated Sam.

Could have taken him on the road.

Mate, if you ever publicly speak about this investigation again,

I'm gonna shove that bike seat so far up your arse

people will ride you like a penny farthing.

Ah, sorry, but this investigation isn't just about you two.

Yeah, mate. it's about the four fucking men that are dead.

Ah, five men.

The... The five fucking men that are dead.

James, how long's he been hanging like this?

Sorry, you done insulting me now?

- No. Fuckwad! - Probably not.

- No, are you done? You done? - I want to get one more in. Fuckwad.

Oh, but you want my valuable expertise now, do you?

- Can you... - Mm, yeah, no, interesting.

Well, he hasn't been here long. Maybe 2, 2.5 hours.

Same neck ligatures.

No sign of a struggle.

Injection site for the pentobarbital.

And...

...no tongue.

I think this murder is connected.

- No shit. - I am... I just... can't.

Alright, you lot.

I'm gonna need you to forensic the fuck out of this, alright?

There's gotta be some DNA in all this shit.

Actually, Detective, there's already

a bottleneck of evidence at the lab, OK?

And this mess is ridic.

So if you think you're going to get my men

to test every little splinter of wood,

well, you have to be prepared for a very long wait.

Well, I can help you bag and tag stuff, babe.

Babe, you have more important things to do than be their dogsbody, yeah?

I don't mind...

Our celebrant just cancelled, for God's sake.

Evidence is evidence, James.

- Yeah, well I know detectives... - Robyn cancelled?

...who can get a conviction with a lot less evidence.

- Why did she cancel? - That's not a good thing, James.

I don't know. She said she wasn't feeling it, whatever that means.

So.

- James! - No. No.

I'm not taking this anymore.

Triage the evidence you have, and then email me.

Politely, yeah?

I am a leader in my field, Collins.

- I'm gonna... - I have a PhD.

Whoop! Oh... No, no!

That's Jimmy Cook!

Could you fuck off, please.

- Put it up! Put it back up. - This is not for your eyes.

That's Jimmy!

You don't know what you're saying. You're not thinking clearly.

She should cancel the Feastival, shouldn't she, Dulcie?

Uh, absolutely. Aleyna.

You absolutely have to cancel the Feastival.

Five men are dead.

You're right.

I'll do a 24-hour snap suspension

but only once we've done the Dress Your Dog Like A Hero parade.

People need this, Dulcie. Don't make me cancel the dog parade.

I'm so proud of you, sweetpea.

- Aren't we, Dulce? - Yeah, we are. We are super-proud.

Now, can you run me through what happened?

Aleyna screamed, then we ran down to the rocks

and then...

I saw Jimmy hanging there like a bathrobe on a hook.

I, um

I really enjoyed last night, in Cath's ute.

What?

Oh, that.

Yeah.

Yeah, cool. We can, ah...

We can escalate that at some point.

I've got, ah...

tits, vag, et cetera.

You got a spot you go to, let me know.

- Spot? - Yeah.

Doesn't have to be horizontal, doesn't have to be a big place.

Portaloo, whatever.

You're a meaty, meaty lad.

Reckon we could go portrait mode.

How do you spell your last name again?

Is it P-I-E-S? Ray Pies?

Oh, Pies isn't my last name.

- Why is it in my phone like that? - I don't know.

Um... I think I'm gonna throw up.

Oh.

OK, yep. That's the shock.

Let it out.

Word of advice.

Press the memory of what happened today, like, down, you know?

Like, really far down.

Because the faster you do that,

the faster you'll get him out of the corner of your eye, you know?

watching you as you put your tampon in.

OK.

See you later for a fuck.

Right.

So Mike was the last person to see Jimmy alive?

Ah, yes, he escorted Jimmy home to his residential meat locker at 11pm

when Jimmy was going inside to "relax" with a photo of Susan Sarandon.

Now, I think that's Mike's way of saying...

Ah, yes, Sven, I get that. Ta.

Abby, look, I know that you're really busy,

you just lost your celebrant, but if there's any way we can...

Um, ma'am, is it OK if we don't talk about that right now?

- Because I might cry. - Yep. No, absolutely, yep.

If you could get over to Jimmy's and locate his phone?

Mm-hm. Yes, ma'am.

And wear gloves! Wear gloves.

- Double glove. - Yes, ma'am.

Steve, it's safe to say there is a new kill room in operation.

Contact the Harbour Office,

see if they've spotted any unfamiliar vessels.

On it.

Are you? Are you, Steve? You're on it, are you?

OK.

Um, Sven, set up a public information booth, offsite.

See if we can funnel the public's hysteria

somewhere that isn't the front desk of my station.

OK, you thinking like a pop-up tent, or something a bit more structural?

You know, I empower you to make that choice yourself, Sven.

Love it, love you.

- It's Commissioner Hastings. - Bump him!

No, I'm not gonna bump the Tasmania Chief of Police.

Fucking suck job.

Commissioner Hastings.

What in the shit-stain arse of hell is going on down there?

- Ah, look, sir, I know it's bad... - Five bloody victims!

A press conference at which a member of the press announced

there was a serial killer,

the lead detective fainting on top of a slippery dip,

then this morning another body, strung up like fucking Mr Squiggle.

It's not bad, Connell. It's a code-black disaster.

The killer, sir, we are narrowing the profile...

Then there's the conversation I had with James.

The poor bloke is snowed under with your requests.

Sorry, has James contacted you directly?

- I play golf with his Dad. - Fucking wanker!

You two and your investigation are embarrassing me.

Pull your bloody mooncups out

and bring me a viable suspect in the next 12 hours

or I'm ripping you both off the case and sending some blokes down there.

- Do you hear me? - Ah, yes sir.

Ah, Commissioner Hastings, this might be the wrong time...

'Ken oath it's not the time!

Yeah, but, look, the media are camped up our fucking bum holes

like anal nomads, mate.

I fucking feel 'em right up there!

- Fine. - What?

I'll put a suppression order on the press, I'll get you warrants.

I'll get you a gift-wrapped fucking sampler of court orders.

Just bring me a fucking suspect or you're done!

I've got to go.

We're getting the ferry to MONA.

I gotta get there before the cloaca does a shit.

Too-rah.

Oh, fuck.

Yeah, good, good. That's so good, to feel the heat from all sides.

That way you get cooked alive faster. Let's get to St Drogo's.

Well, I never thought I'd be shocked by this town

given the decades I've heard of their confessions.

But a serial killer, doing something like that?

I mean, that's a bit much, isn't it?

I... I'd say so, yes.

As you can see... Father,

I've got her to add the snail trail for extra realism...

Ah, the snail trail has nothing to do with the case, Father.

To-may-to, po-tah-to.

You know Ed Gien? He used to skin his victims.

- Did he? - Oh, yes, yeah.

He made a belt out of nipples once.

Ah, OK, good to know.

Oh, well, yes. No, you were right about that pose.

You see, that does not suggest Jesus on the crucifix.

Whereas... this

There we are.

That's Luke 26:39.

Gestas and Dismas. Of course.

So at the crucifixion, Jesus was crucified alongside two men.

They were both hung with ropes.

Dismas repented for his sins,

but Gestas, the impenitent thief, died a sinner

and wasn't welcomed into the Kingdom of Heaven.

- Wow. - Yeah.

Wow.

Wow, that was...

That was a real peep behind the curtain wasn't it?

No, that's not...

- That explains a lot, actually. - Sorry, Father.

Father, um...

are any of these women regulars at St Drogo's?

Oh, that's Vanessa. Vanessa and Dolph Latham.

Yeah, they were regulars.

And Trent would come occasionally.

But that was usually when he was selling Pro-Bro to pensioners.

Vanessa was at the crime scene this morning.

Yeah.

Oh, and the O'Dwyers. Oh, they were regular parishioners.

- The O'Dwyers? Really? - Yeah.

I've never heard Vic or Skye talk about religion.

They normally just argue about

how Skye's pretty face is ruined by her boy hair.

Oh, no, the O'Dwyers, they were here every week when Skye was a teenager.

- Right. - And then she went away, of course.

Yes, and we all know what happened to Sam.

He died.

- He did. Yeah. - Yeah, that's it.

Yeah.

OK, thank you Father.

You know, I should... I should tell you,

I'm actually tinkering with a screenplay

about a priest who gets to solve some sexy murders.

I'd love to pick your brain.

Ah, yeah, that... that sounds really good.

Father, could we bother you for a list of your regular parishioners?

- Oh, of course. I'll fax them over. - OK.

With my screenplay.

- Mmm. - Wonderful. That that sounds ideal.

Alright, you have a good old Jesusy day, sir.

God... Father... date... Jesus.

I don't know what to fucking say.

I think there's a very strict religious upbringing at play here.

Residual guilt, shame, repression.

It can all be a trigger for rage.

Are we talking about you or the killer, here?

What? The fucking damage is baked on, mate. Not like me.

I didn't grow up religious. Nothing much wrong with me.

- Detectives! - Oh, God!

Oh, fucking hell!

That rat cunt Megan's got predator eyes.

She's like a fucking mantis shrimp.

Is Father Terrence under suspicion?

Unlock the fucking... Hey!

What the hell?

Oh-ho! How's that for timing, hey?

Looks like our favourite resident rat cunt

just got hit with a media suppression order.

Tough titties, fuckos!

Shame you can't report on any murder cases

that might be getting into this car in front of your very fucking eyes.

Abby, how'd you go?

I found Jimmy's phone and I managed to unlock it.

His password was "phone" without the "e", "phon".

He called Vanessa, like, 30 times last night,

and the last call was at 12:23am.

Jimmy's place is very bare.

There's just a lot of photos of boats and heaps of pictures of Vanessa Latham.

Let's get over there.

Constable, we'll head to the Lathams' now.

One at a time! One... Just one at a time, please!

Please, if you have information about the murders

I can take your statement in the privacy of the Oyster Cloister.

Or, if you prefer, you can just write a note,

and put it in the anonymous tip-off koala.

- OK? Those are the rules. - Sven, Sven!

My neighbour's pouring a concrete slab in his backyard,

and my wife says she doesn't love me anymore.

- OK. - Sven! Sven!

Um...

What's going on around here? You doing a bit of a Marie Konda?

Phil's kicking us out because we can't pay rent.

Dolph, that's none of their business.

Mum, can I throw these photo scraps?

There's no space in Sharelle's caravan.

No, keep them.

They're all we have left since someone stole our photo board.

Ah, Vanessa, we've located Jimmy Cook's phone,

and it showed that he called you last night.

- No, he didn't. - Yes he did, roughly 30 times.

His phone records prove it.

And then a few hours later, he turns out dead on the beach,

the same beach that you visited this morning.

Vanessa, we know that Sharelle was around here last night,

telling Jimmy to stay away from you.

Was he giving you trouble?

I suggest you tell us what's going on, Mrs Statham.

We've got you linked to Trent, Gavin and Jimmy

and if we find out you hooked up with Rod and Sam,

- then it is beef curtains for you... - Oh, my God!

You lot don't understand heterosexuals, do you?

Well, she doesn't.

Jimmy was harassing me because he was in love with me.

Men have always been obsessed with me because of my looks.

Jimmy was just calling me

because he was trying to help me with my financial situation.

How? Jimmy was skint.

Was he planning on selling his fapped-on tracksuits on eBay?

I don't know, because I didn't want his help.

I didn't even answer his calls, did I?

As if I was going to move in with him.

I'm a grieving wreck!

Where were you last night

between the hours of 12:23am and 5am, Mrs Statham,

if indeed that is your name.

- I was here... - That's not her name.

...packing up our home. Wasn't I, Dolphy?

Yeah, she sorted everything into colour groups all night.

Put this with the reds.

Ugh!

So you didn't see Jimmy at all?

No, I was here. Are you not listening to me?

And don't throw that out. You put that banana back in the bowl.

That was Trent's favourite. His favourite banana.

Is it possible to be too fucking crackers

to be a serial killer?

'Cause that's what that is in there.

Detectives! It's me.

I'm in my incognito hatchback, so I don't attract media attention!

- Maybe keep the level down. - Yeah, sorry.

I've got Father Terrence's list of parishioners here.

He faxed it through with four copies of his screenplay,

one for each of us.

It's called "Inspector Father".

Great. Well, let's get a wriggle on.

We've got about five minutes to get another suspect

before Hastings boots us.

- What? - Come on.

I'll get in the back, Collins,

so you've got room for your endless fucking legs.

Ah... Ah, you go.

There's something I want to do first.

Alright. Yeah, OK, yeah. Fuck.

Sweet. Go for a stroll, mate, yeah.

Go get your bumhole candled.

- Oh, please. - I'll fucking solve the crime.

Fucking hell.

Who's on this priest list, then?

Here you go, ma'am.

What's this, "Marcel"?

"Michelangelo"? What is that?

This priest's handwriting's terrible.

It's like fucking Wingdings.

I think that says Michelle, ma'am. She's the beautician.

Ma'am, am I going to get fired, too?

Oh, yeah. You'll be the first one to go.

- Really? - Yeah, brace yourself for impact.

No, I didn't hear anything at the Lathams' last night.

We all passed out after that serial killer presser.

Oh, thanks for the heads-up about that, by the way.

Sorry I couldn't say anything, Skye, but it's protocol.

I'm just saying it would have been good to know

before I forked out 4K on Iberico ham.

Also 'cause of your Dad, I suppose.

Oh, let's just focus on the ham, Dulce.

One trauma at a time. Fuck!

- Mum. - Hey, Tom.

Can I have $30 for the sign-up fee?

Mate, you're not joining the footy team.

You'll end up roaming the streets with those footy micro-thugs.

And there's a killer on the loose, isn't there, Dulce?

There is, yep.

My tap school in London was above a mafia restaurant!

But you and whoever you were boning at the time

still made me go every Saturday.

Fuck, Mum!

Fucking excuse me? Watch your fucking language!

Oof!

I just wanted to hang out with my fucking mates.

They're not your mates!

And their moustaches look like fucking mouse pubes.

You look like a pube!

- Pfft. - Wowee.

How the fuck am I the mother of a teenage boy?

- Me! - Yeah, my godson has a potty mouth.

Skye, I just checked our account...

Oh, hello. Hi, Dulcie. How are you?

Ah, well, three men have died in a week, so I could be better.

I was actually just checking whether you or Skye

heard any disturbance coming from the Lathams' last night.

- No. - No?

And you were both home?

Yep.

We went to bed at 10pm.

OK, I'm gonna go check on Mum,

because, ah, she found a dead body today.

Your mum, not my mum. My mum doesn't talk to me.

She is a ho-mo-phobe.

OK. Um, nice to... see you.

Sorry, IVF hormones.

Ah, I actually saw Vic up at St Drogo's.

- You want a hand with that? - No.

I didn't know that your family were Catholic.

- Oh, well, Dad was. - Uh-huh.

And Mum's a bit lapsed.

Father Terrence said that you stopped going to the parish.

What happened?

Same as you, Dulce.

I got too fucking gay for it.

- You still hate oysters? - Mm.

I got 300 that I can't return.

No, very much not... my thing, thank you.

Shame.

Alright. OK, I'll let you get back to it.

Yeah, your loss.

- Say hi to Vic for me. - Yeah.

Oh, my God.

That little music theatre dickshit.

Why's Tom hanging out with them?

What do they have that we don't?

Dads. Diagnosed ADHD.

- In your case, a girlfriend. - Yeah, fuck off!

Well, we fucking liked him from the beginning.

Just you wait until he's quoting "Cats" at them.

He'll come running back with his tail between his legs.

- How's that mask feeling, hon? - It feels like lights.

Good. It's meant to feel like that.

So, Michelle, are you one of these God-bothering Jesus lickers

who hits up St Drogo's on a regular, or...

Oh, I'm at St Drogo's quite a bit,

but I wouldn't say I'm religious, or a parishioner.

I'm more just woo, you know?

I take Nola there three times a week.

Obviously, I don't go on Thursdays...

OK, Steve, so no unusual boat activity?

Ah, right, well, start looking up the coast.

Ah, no, Steve, it does not have to be a sloop.

Just any boat that is big enough to carry a massive crucifix and a body.

Do you girls know who's doing all this serial killing?

Could be anyone, hey?

I was saying this to Mikey last night,

you can never tell what's going on behind closed doors, can you?

Like, are they watching Love Island,

or have they got a severed head in the freezer?

- Oh, like Jeffrey Dahmer. - Exactly!

So who's this Nola you've been taking up to church, then?

Oh, she's the mum of my best friend Mikey.

The Nugents were like a second family to me.

My house was a bit crappy

because Dad was the Senior Sergeant,

and that messes you up more than meth, doesn't it?

Anyway, Nola's 87 now,

and I take her to church when Mikey can't.

I don't think she takes much of it in.

But she's always very happy to be there,

even after Jimmy got his thingy out in front of her.

Jimmy did whatty?

He wanked in front of her, at church.

She was asleep at the time, so I don't think she noticed.

Mikey was furious when I told him.

- I bet he was! - Yeah! No, he wanted to kill him.

But, to his credit, he channelled it into some quiet journaling.

Mikey's done a lot of work on emotional regulation.

Who the fuck's Mikey?

- Mike Nuggets. - It's Nugent.

That's right. His mum, Nola, is St Drogo's number-one parishioner.

And Jimmy Cook fiddled with his diddle in front of her.

OK.

No, that's more than OK, it's a fucking lead.

- What do we know about him? - He's former Deadloch Police.

He... He's fucking what?

He left the force five years ago.

Oh, what's the Venn diagram of fucking police and serial killers?

Surely it's a full fucking circle!

Ooh, the Golden State Killer was a cop!

Ha! Queensland's own, Collins.

And, ma'am, remember Mike called you

about Detective Redcliffe getting intoxicated at the pub?

I think he's trying to insert himself into the narrative.

- Was he working Rod Dixon's crime scene? - Yes, but...

Was it him that said that Dixon was eaten by a seal?

- I don't know, I... - Well what else do we know?

We know that he was the last person to see Jimmy alive.

Mm-hm. Mm-hm.

He also works at the football club.

Doing what?

- He's the caretaker. - Oh, Christ on a fucking corn thin!

Next thing you'll be saying he's a fucking bachelor

who lives at home with his mum!

He is a bachelor that lives at home with his mum.

When were you lot gonna fucking tell me about this?

Come on, Collins. This is a suspect with a motive.

We cannot afford to luxuriate in this

like it's a fucking Sunday morning wank!

I know that Mike is looking incredibly viable,

but our profile is for a woman.

Well, fuck our profile, OK? Let's go get Nuggets.

Unless you have another suspect.

Do ya?

Hiya! I got a delivery for you.

Sorry, excuse me. Who are you? Are you Forensics?

Oh... No, darl, we're Airtaskers.

Airbus?

- My son Nick. Say hi, Nick. - Hi.

This big cross is for a Detective Sergeant Dulcie Collins.

Is that you?

- Ah, yes. But... - Why did you order a cross?

I didn't order that cross!

Jimboybikebike booked us to deliver it to you.

Apparently he couldn't fit it into his own place.

Jimboybikebike, that's James's profile name, ma'am.

- Oh, my God. - Oh, fucking shitwank.

Put it down like that. That's lovely. That's nice.

No, that's not it. That is not nice, Nick. No thanks.

OK, come on, Collins. Hastings wants a suspect.

Let's go. Let's go get Nuggets, now!

Oh, chicken nuggets are so processed.

If you're hungry, I've got pistachios.

There was a whole stall on the side on the road of the Settler Highway.

Ah, no. No, thank you. No nuts.

- No? - Detective!

Detective!

Jeez it's busy around here, isn't it?

Yes, because there's a murder investigation going on.

- Oh... - So I'm just gonna move this.

Do you guys smell that?

The wood smells like garlic, but chemical.

No. Maybe you're pregnant.

You know, when I was pregnant with Nick,

I could smell everything, like a bear.

- No! - No, I could.

OK, I've marked that job off as completed. We're done.

OK, well, congrats on the baby, darl.

- And be careful of the rotten ones. - The rotten ones?

Pistachios. The rotten ones contain arsenic.

Poisoning is the purview of female killers.

I think it's really unwise to dump our profile and pursue a man.

Mate, men didn't use moisturiser or know their kids' names

when that profile was written.

You need to update your thinking.

It's like Sven always says,

"Everyone deserves to be liberated from the gender binary."

I don't think Sven was talking specifically about serial killers

at that point, Detective.

Oi, lezzos!

Just fuck off, Tammy. This is our ground.

Is it? Is it really your ground, you First Fleet dog?

No-one fucking wants to see you

getting your box out kicking a fucking footy, Tammy. Give up!

Oh, shit!

You fucking hit me with the fucking ball!

Yeah, mate, it's called hitting a target.

Maybe if you could do that, the recruiter would come see you too.

Mike is connected to all the men, working in this shit dude factory.

Probably knows more about the victims' sins than anyone.

...dropped from that team because he was fucking shit.

- He fucking tore his ACL, or some shit, bitch! - What's going on over there?

Oh, yeah, I'm ready. I'm fucking ready.

Hey! Cut it out!

Hey, Mike! Mike!

Cut it out, you two!

You leave those girls alone, alright?

Hey, Mike, step away from the teenagers!

- Where are you gonna do? - Teenagers, you step away from each other

and you go somewhere and you... you do some homework, please.

It's winter holidays, Miss.

Yes, it is, Miranda.

And regardless, the library's open, so...

- Go have a wank, kids. Go! - So teenagers, disperse!

- Thank you. - Fucking homo!

- You watch your mouth. - Fuck you!

You mind your manners, son.

- Let's go, C-Dog. - Can you not call me that?

Don't worry about her.

Well that was a bonus

"unhinged meltdown by a psychopath" freebie, hey.

John George Haigh dissolved the bodies of his victims in acid baths.

- Good God. - Fucking hell, Adele.

Sven.

Sorry, you are stuck where?

I came in to wee an hour ago, at least.

Lucky I had Father Terrence's screenplay with me.

It's borderline pornographic.

- Nuh, I'm gonna have to ram it. - Yep, yep.

Oh!

You don't close that toilet door, mate.

If you were a regular at The Doorbell, you'd know that.

Yeah, I'm not a regular, Ted,

because every time I step in this place I feel like I'm gonna get hate-crimed.

That's your stuff, mate. My brother Pete's gay.

Oh, are you Pete Hopkin's brother?

- Yeah. - Oh, my God! Send him my love.

Yeah, nah, I will, eh.

OK, alright, thank you Ted. Off you pop, thanks.

Unless, of course, you want to help in any way.

Yeah. Nah.

Great. Super-duper.

I'm gonna have to get my legs involved.

- OK. - As a battering ram. Hoist me up.

- What? What? What? - On the count of three, run towards the door!

- OK, right! - Ready, stand back, Sven!

Oh, God! You saved me!

- Oh, wow, that kicked back, that did. - Did it?

What'd I get, your mons pubis?

- Ah... - Your cooch?

- No, I'm OK. I'm alright. - You alright? You need a massage?

There's a character in here called Samantha, right? She runs the local inn.

And like she keeps confessing to all the naughty stuff she's done.

And then she tries to fellate the Father Inspector.

Honestly, I just can't put it down.

Jesus Christ, Collins. Get a load of this.

It's like Gavin and Trent Latham's teenage diary in here.

"Nugent."

That's Nuggets.

"Sucks cock."

"Mike Nugent is a gay homo!!"

"Mike is a cock muncher."

Did you know he was one of yours?

What were you saying about repression? Triggers rage, yeah?

- "Mike Nugent is an arse-puncher." - Well...

- OK well... - "Mike is a fag."

- Yes, yes, I hear you. - All slurs.

But toilet graffiti isn't exactly expert testimony.

And, I mean, even if it's true, to get very, very dark,

the queer community don't murder, we get murdered.

Yeah, and who lets that happen? The cops.

- Sven, you're a cop. - Yeah, I know.

Never make big life decisions when you are going through a break up.

Hot tip.

If we are considering Mike as a suspect,

why didn't his DNA match the blood from the Loch Nessie?

Didn't we test every man in town?

Yeah, well, fucking dick-chin at forensics

probably fucked it up, didn't he?

Oh, Mike didn't get DNA tested.

He had to take Nola to the hospital.

I was gonna follow it up with him,

but then you said that the suspect was a lady, and so I... didn't.

- Good, good, good, good. Great. - Fuck.

Sorry.

That's a good-looking boat.

- Oi, Collins, what are you looking at? - Nothing, nothing.

Ah, Hastings, yeah, it's Redcliffe.

Yeah, we've got a red-hot suspect here, mate.

Yeah, we're gonna need a warrant to search his property, stat.

Yes! I got my period!

As I told the detectives, I am at capacity, yeah?

And I certainly don't have time to do additional tests for you.

The wood smells like garlic.

It's probably just a souvlaki.

I don't think it's a souvlaki, James,

- I think it's arsine. - Well, it is.

Please, all I'm asking you to do are a few quick chem tests

so I can confirm this.

Please, they're really quick and simple.

Oh, yes, I'm aware that they're simple, Abby.

Look, I know that you decided to quit forensic science

after what, one semester?

I quit so our relationship didn't jeopardise your teaching position.

Babe, come on.

That final exam was a hot mess.

I know it was because I marked it.

Point is, I know you don’t really get what it is that I do here

but, trust me, your little chem tests are high school stuff.

High school stuff?

Oh hey, hey, hey, hey, hey. Don't worry, I'm not insulted.

This just isn't your world babe, alright?

Let's crack open the Riesling

and get this barefoot date night started.

Now, your charity spending.

You've got two sponsor kids. Can we get rid of one?

I have to go back to work. The detectives need me.

Fine. Wow, fine.

I'll just fertilise our financial future alone, then!

I can't believe Tom's ditched us.

I made him an honorary member of the Pademelons.

You said he could hold your water bottle.

Yeah, pretty fucking prestigious, if you ask me.

What do you think?

- Oh, fuck! - What?

Yeah, shit-brown's a good colour on you, sis.

Oh, fuck off.

Tammy, I just found your sports drink graveyard

behind Aunty Joy's knitting basket, look.

- Oh, wow. - What do you think, Aunty?

It's very brown.

Look at how much this cost!

You could buy uniforms for a whole footy team with that!

I should ask Margaret to sponsor the Pademelons, eh!

What? What are you laughing at?

Remember when we had that sit-down with Margaret and her brother,

asking to gain access to the island?

- What? What island? - Island? What island?

- I don't know anything about an island. - Do you know anything about an island?

Mm, smartarses.

Yeah, so, Aunty Joy and I wanted to go collect ochre,

and they were all like...

"Yes darling. Of course you can, darling.

"It's a darling idea, darling."

And then a week later, they pulled the pin.

Well, if you used that voice, it's no wonder, Mum.

No, they pulled the pin because that brother, William,

got cold feet and then took off overseas.

But couldn't Margaret just grant access?

She said her hands were tied, apparently,

without her brother's permission.

Point is,

if there's nothing in it for that family, they won't help,

- because they're a bunch of snakes. - Snakes.

Yeah, but this is different.

Like, no offence, Mum, but I'm heaps more charming than you.

Has Hastings sent the warrant yet?

Can you... Why are you... Can you not be so close?

- Just give me a bit of space, please! - Fine, fine.

I feel sick about this.

Mike's a nice person.

I don't care if he's your bloody best mate, mate, OK?

He strung Jimmy up on that cross like a fucking salami.

Answer it. Is it Hastings?

Cath, love, you OK?

No, I'm freaking out.

There's eight plastic owls staring at me from the balcony

and I can't stop thinking about Jimmy.

I just saw him two days ago, when he was masturbating in front of me...

Oh, love, I'm really... I'm sorry I'm not there with you.

OK, I'm going to go see Skye and Nadiyah.

I'm gonna eat 300 oysters.

Do you want some? Ask Eddie.

- No... - Ah, no fucking way, Cath.

They are the cum of the sea, mate.

Hey, Eddie, I bought you an owl.

Now sexy, I spoke to Elaine and Rachel.

Told them that the wheels are in motion to make an offer on the hobby farm.

Ah, ah, no. Cath, can we...

Shit! Hastings!

Can we... OK, alright.

- Can we just... - The warrant's in!

...put everything on pause until I'm properly back on board?

Dulce, it's next to Mount Mountain National Park.

There's a glow-worm trail.

OK, well, I... I mean, yes, there are glow-worms there but I...

I think we should act now.

If there's one silver lining about these murders,

it's the drop in property prices.

OK, yep. Yep. Cath, I do have to go. Can, um...

Can I...

Yes, I will pass that along.

- Cath loves you. - Yeah, got it. Let's go.

Alright, bye. Bye.

- God, I can open my own door, Detective! - I didn't expect you to talk so much.

- I can answer a phone. - Come on, guys, let's go.

Please.

Open up! We have a warrant to search the premises.

Right, we're coming in.

♪ Call Alice ♪

♪ When she was just small ♪

♪ When the men on the chessboard ♪

♪ Get up and tell you where to go ♪

♪ And you've just had some kind of mushroom ♪

♪ And your mind is moving low ♪

♪ Go ask Alice ♪

♪ I think she'll know ♪

♪ When logic and proportion ♪

♪ Have fallen sloppy dead ♪

♪ And the White Knight is talking backwards ♪

♪ And the Red Queen's off with her head ♪

♪ Remember ♪

♪ What the dormouse said...

Collins.

Where were you, the night your Under-16s footy coach Sam O'Dwyer

was killed?

June 10th, 2017.

Ah... I don't know. I'm sorry.

Why don't you know?

Because it was five years ago.

Do you know what you were doing five years ago?

Well, given it was a Saturday night,

I'm 90% sure I was getting railed up against a Land Cruiser

in the Humpty Doo pub carpark.

But this is about you, mate.

Ah, OK.

If it was a Saturday, I was probably working.

Doing highway patrol.

I always worked Saturdays,

because Sergeant Buckley was usually inebriated.

Sven, can you verify that?

Oh, yeah, that's true.

I'm still finding empty whisky bottles hidden around the office.

Th... The alibi, Sven. Verify the alibi.

Oh, OK, yep. Yep. I'll just...

How well did you know the victims, Mr Nuggets?

I grew up with them.

You know, I don't think I've fully processed that they've all gone.

They were such super-ripper blokes.

Mike...

Are you making sandwiches, mate?

Because you are adding a lot of mayo

to your relationships with those blokes.

No, no, I'm not.

The way you reacted to those teenage boys this morning...

Maybe they reminded you of how Gavin and Trent used to bully you.

They didn't bully me.

Well there's a wall of graffiti in the Doorbell bog

that suggests otherwise.

Mike, is there anything that you need to tell us?

No.

Mate, we've been to your house.

We know what you're hiding in your cupboard.

OK.

This is who I am

and doing it makes me happy.

Yeah, I'm sure it does.

- I know people don't approve. - Yeah, no, they don't get it, do they?

But I'm not hurting anyone.

Oh, well, I mean, you are.

I know what society thinks about men that wear dresses,

but it doesn't make me a murderer.

- What? - Sorry?

My dresses, at my house?

That's why I'm here, isn't it? Because you think I'm some sort of pervert?

- No! - Oh, my God!

- Is that what this is about, Detectives? - Ah, no, that's...

You are "Silence Of The Lambs"- ing Mike!

- Dulcie! - No! No, we are not!

Gender non-conformity does not equal deviancy.

- That film was a hate crime. - Harry Styles wears dresses.

- Harry Styles. - OK.

Who the fuck is Harry Styles?

- Oh, my God. - What the heck is going on?

- No, no, no... - No, Michelle, you cannot be in here.

They told me you were here.

They think I'm the serial killer, Mish! This is bullshit!

- Is this because of his dresses? - No!

Because anyone can wear dresses! It doesn't make him a perve.

- Harry Styles wears dresses. - That's what I said.

- There has been... - Harry Styles.

- Who the fuck is Harry Styles? - I will tell you later.

Those footy blokes caught him once, in flipping 1998

wearing my formal dress,

and since then, they made Mike's life hell,

because they thought he was gay, and a girl.

- How tedious! - I know, right?

- Who cares if he was? - Who cares!

And what kind of sad grump doesn't want to wear sequins?

Actually, what happened to that dress, Mish?

- My tits got too big for it. - Oh, my goodness.

My best friend has hid himself for years because of those bullies.

Alright, he has lost a lifetime of joy to it,

and now he is not going to shrink and be less magnificent than he is

because of your closed minds.

Listen, listen! OK.

Look, I don't give a shit if he wears dresses, alright?

As long as I don't have to fucking wear them.

- Good. - I don't want to see that.

- Good. - Good.

- Good. Great. - Good.

'Cause the first time I saw Mikey in a dress, he was so beautiful.

He still is. He's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Same, Mish. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Same!

I love you, Mikey. I have since we were kids.

I just thought you saw me like a sister.

- Same, except a brother. - OK, what's happening? This is...

Mish, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.

- Yeah, OK. Same! - Same.

- No, no. - OK. Alright.

This is... No, that doesn't...

- OK. Hello! - No, this is not...

- Oi! Hello! Stop! - Mike! Mike!

- Mike! Hey! - Mike! Mike! Stop!

This does not change the fact

that you had a controlled substance sitting next to your toothpaste.

- Yes, pentofarti... - Pentobarbital.

- ...b... bar... barbital. - Barbital.

That's Mum assisted dying kit, OK?

She bought that, like, 10 years ago off the internet

when she was first diagnosed. It's nothing.

- Come on, mate. - No! It is, it's true.

Check the expiry date. It's never been used.

Mum's still alive, isn't she?

Wait, isn't she?

Yeah, she's with Claire. She's fine.

- Oh, my God, Mish. - Oh, Mikey!

You're 24. You're not gonna get detention.

OK, thank you, Sharelle.

- I really appreciate you helping me. - Fuck me dead.

I'm helping the nerd, not the cop.

Ah, Mike's alibi for the night that Sam died checks out, FYI.

Here's a list of everyone he pulled over.

37 DUI's, 12 speeding fines,

and one person driving with a dead wallaby stuck to the windshield.

Random.

Total of 51 people who can verify Mike's whereabouts.

- Mike is not our killer. - Fuck! Fuck!

Fuck.

How long have we got to get another suspect for Hastings?

- Oh, about two hours. - Fuck!

Oh, and Steve called.

He said he couldn't find Sam O'Dwyer's sloop.

- I told him it didn't need to be a... - Of course he couldn't find the sloop.

It's in fucking bits in the fucking Forensic lock-up.

Fuck.

Just passing on a message.

Ah, Sven, what is all this stuff on my desk?

Oh, that was just sitting at the info booth

when I got back from my loo odyssey.

Hi, Cath.

Sexy, you have to help me. Come quick!

- You still getting married? - Yes.

I've choosed my choices, Sharelle,

and now I'm going through with the choices I've choosed.

Cool.

Smart move, sis.

OK, you literally had a child with Gavin Latham,

who once got stuck in a rabbit hutch during a break-and-enter.

Fuck up, cop. Go build your bomb.

Go vacuum a rec room.

Just drive a little bit more carefully.

- Put your belt on, Cath. - No.

Cath, put your belt on.

Stop yelling at me!

This serial killer stuff is happening to me too, Dulcie.

Skye just fed me so many oysters.

- Yeah, yeah, I can smell that. - They're banked up in me like cars.

- Ugh... - No. No, no, no!

Not in here, Cath.

Just wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

Ugh... Sorry, sexy!

Two hours until Hastings replaces us

with a couple of dick swingers,

and she's out picking up some fucking hours

as Deadloch's only Uber driver.

Sveg, why is this still out?

We're giving it back to Vanessa.

Where's Nugget's list?

- What list? - The, um...

The traffic cop list. Nugget... Nugget's list.

You threw it on the ground.

Sveg, where did Nuggets go?

Ah, he and Michelle went out for celebratory surf 'n' turf.

Shit!

Inspector Father plays the saxophone!

That's a shame.

Detective!

Oh, fuck. Not now, Ray Pies. I'm working.

We can fuck later, OK? Later.

Although, obviously, that shit you're suggesting there, that's off.

Oh, no, I'm not... Wait!

Eddie, Detective, this is Lou, my donkey. I'm just walking her.

She's 32. She's really old.

For a donkey, not for a human...

Look, stop talking, OK? I'm busy.

I'll be around later on, if you're around.

Just leave your fucking horse-themed pet at home.

OK, cool. Is that like a date?

What?

A date?

I don't have a date box, OK?

I have a fuck box.

And, currently, for a limited time only, you're in it, so...

I don't want to be in your fuck box.

Well, no, I do, but I also want to be in your other box

that includes dates, chats, things, if that suits you.

I'm going.

Dates with chats? Fucking rotten shit!

- OK, Lou, let's go. - Where's the fucking Doorbell?

You know that thing that you did the other night?

The finger thing. We have to do the finger thing...

OK, alright.

Oh, Jesus! What is that? Is that...

Surprise!

Meet our new baby.

Elaine and Rachel gave her to us.

No, Cath, no, we didn't agree to a new dog.

She has anxiety and overactive anal glands.

Oh, well, that's... that's a bonus, isn't it?

Oh, isn't she adorable?

Cath, go to bed. I have to get back to work.

Stop being so mean to me. I have had a terrible day.

You were rude to me in the car.

Fern ate her waistcoat.

And there's a killer on the loose.

Hello?

Skye was in a mood tonight. She and Nadiyah are fighting.

They're sleeping in separate rooms,

and Skye went and spent all of their IVF money, $12,000,

on something that she won't even say.

She didn't even mention Nadiyah in that tribune article.

They're gonna break up.

Come and cuddle me, sexy, I'm sad!

I'm scared!

Hey, hey, where's your Mr Nuggets?

- Loo. - OK.

Nuggets?

Nuggets! Fuck.

Shit!

Who is this, who you gave a ticket to?

- Uh, what? - Number 27 on the list.

The initials. What do they stand for? Who is it?

Uh...

Oh, fuck my arse!

Ah, fuck!

I know who it is.

Dulce. Dulce, you have to read this. It's a masterpiece.

Sven, who dropped this off?

The bag of chains?

I told you, it just appeared when I was imprisoned in the toilet.

Uh, did they leave a note, or any details at all?

No, they didn't. Ooh, look out.

Samantha O'Fryer's having another affair.

Fucking bullshit! Fucking arse-fucking fuck!

I knew it! I knew it wasn't a souvlaki.

Oh, no. Sharelle!

- You ready? - Do you have my money?

Of course.

Then you friggin bet I am, Megan.

OK, in this scene she tells the priest

that she was sprung by her husband and her teenage son, right?

The sixteen-year-old, Sly,

walked in on Samantha banging some random dude.

Their names are Samantha, Rick and Sly O'Fryer?

Yep.

Samantha O'Fryer...

Sam O'Dwyer.

Oh, my God.

She knew about the infidelities.

The women of the town hate the men, don't they?

And she hates them the most.

She always has.

She hated Trent, she hated Gavin

she hated Rod, and she hated Sam the most of all.

She's a man-hater.

Sorry, babe, who hated all these men?

You clocked that graffiti on the Doorbell bog, didn't you?

Those fuckholes weren't just bullying Mike, were they?

How long have you been sitting on this?

I... I...

Look, I didn't think that I was right, and you were onto Mike, so...

Oh, oh, you didn't think you were right or you didn't want to be right?

You said yourself, sometimes doing the hard thing

means upsetting the people you care about.

Yes, but not everything adds up, so...

Number 27 on the list.

The night Sam died.

Mike gave her a speeding ticket.

Skye friggin O'Dwyer.

She was in Deadloch the night her Dad was murdered.

She lied.

Bum.

Yeah.

Big bum.

♪ And if you go chasing rabbits ♪

♪ And you know you're going to fall ♪♪