All language subtitles for VER Silent Hours (2021)_track4_[eng]

You ever think about
maybe doing something else?

Changing your job?

I like the independence.

Strict Anglican orphanage.

Dartmouth Naval College,
The Royal Navy,

Ravensbrook House.

Your history is
a chain of dependence.

You said you often detested
the work.

You tire of seeing
detestable people

doing detestable things
to each other.

You see no good, ever?

Some marriages
should break up.

Some wives deserve a break,
a lover.

Some husbands deserve
to get screwed, sometimes.

And some husbands deserve
to get screwed, sometimes.

They're still
detestable, though.

People's behavior.

It affects yours?

Jesus, how I resent paying
a babysitter five quid an hour

to sit watching TV.

What about you, Rachel?

Are you and John
ever going to have children?

We...

We don't... Well...

We don't want to get married.

Excuse me.

I'm late. Sorry.

The case was... climaxing.

Mmm. Lucky case.

Been spying on anyone
interesting lately, John?

You know, the usual.

Flagged many outrageously priced
two-up two-downs.

The Navy's old
family quarters down at Seaview.

But I've just taken instructions

on an entire estate
near Winchester.

Vacant tied cottages, too.

That's... great, Henry.

That was good, Rach. Thank you.

Boys food.

How boys like everything.

Hot and wet, and on a plate.

- You okay?
- You'll think I'm silly.

Henry thinks
I'm completely mad, but...

Anyway.

I found an old answer
phone machine

when I was cleaning out
stuff from under the stairs.

Must've been left by the person
who owned the house before us.

This tape was left in it.

What's on it?

Well, nothing, really.
It's just...

A feeling.

A feeling I had.

I sense that something happened.

In our house.

Would you listen to it?

- Tell me what you think.
- What sort of thing?

Well, let's see
what you think, first.

150 a day plus expenses.

Oh.

Joke.

Hello, old man.

How's the boat coming?

You'd love her, old man.

Almost sea worthy.

I'll have a look
at this.

See something
you fancy?

No.

Yes.

No.

Something I saw in a movie.

Oh... What sort of movies
have you been watching, exactly?

Home movies, what else?

My favorite kind.

What are you doing?

- I have to go.
- Now?

Got another job on.

What about me?

Job done.

Bastard.

I'm not in just now.

Leave your name and number
and a message after the tone.

And I'll call you back.
Thanks. Bye.

I'm not in just now.

Leave your name and number
and a message after the tone.

And I'll call you back.
Thanks. Bye.

Do you think
the voyeuristic nature

of what you do, what you see,

affects your own behavior?

- My sexual behavior?
- Yes.

Your sexual fantasies.

The greater part of our lives
is spent with ourselves.

Alone with what's in here.

No matter with whom
we may share or lives,

our imagination is the only
companion chained to us

for the whole of our existence.

And that constant companion

feeds on what it sees.

You follow people,
you watch them.

Watch them alone.

With others.

You wait.

Silently.

Invisibly.

Observing their indiscretion.

Capturing their...

vulnerability.

For money.

- That's one way of seeing it.
- How do you see it?

Clients pay me to see
what they don't want to see.

To prove or disprove
their suspicions.

Does what you see

ever become part
of your own sexual fantasies?

Feed your constant companion?

My skipper?

I don't believe it.

He's fished for the family
for years.

What the fuck
will my old man say?

Sling your hook?

Tanner!

Your wife.

You were right,
Mr. Bowles. She...

likes to dress up.

It's all in the tape.

Where?

A hotel?

Our home?

Your boat.

What do I owe you, Mr. Duval?

Cash or check?

Who's the picture, Mr. Bowles?

It's my son.

From my first marriage.

Cash.

John Duval.

To see Commander Calthorpe,
HMS Eminence.

Yeah.

- Thank you, sir.
- Cheers.

Come in.

- John.
- Bill.

Thanks for coming. Have a seat.

Drink?

Thanks.

Let me see,
you have a little problem?

Presumably, private. Otherwise,
you wouldn't be talking to me.

It's a...

delicate little problem?

It needs to be handed
sensitively by someone.

An ex sneaky beaky
would be good,

who understands that,
even in the Silent Service,

tongues wag.

You suspect your wife
is having an affair.

Bad enough.

Worse. You think she's having it

not with a ranking officer,
but with a rating.

You're due to sit a promotion
board to become captain.

Be on a list for a destroyer?

Carrier, perhaps? This carrier?

And this embarrassment
would scuttle your chances.

Can't even handle
a little wifey.

Oh, dear. Oh, dear.

And with a rating.

Not captain material.

You want me to gather the intel,

persuade the couple in question

that a secession
of their activities

would be everybody's
best interest,

without revealing your
involvement in the operation.

Anything else?

The fucker's name.

How did you...?

It's not uncommon, believe me.

I'll need a recent photo
of your wife.

Home address and a key.

Find an excuse to stay on board
for the next few days.

And the nights.

Why did you leave the Navy?

You never leave the Navy.

You may not be in her anymore,
but she's always in you.

That's a curious way to put it.

Sexual, controlling.

Is that why you left?

You didn't like being controlled

by a woman?

No.

Do you like being controlled
by women?

No.

But I am.

Men inevitably are.

Are they?

A river has but one direction.

Towards the sea.

You made Lieutenant Commander.

Why did you take
early retirement?

It'll be in my notes.

I resigned to my commission
because I was no longer fit

to carry out my duties.

Mr. Duval?

Detective Inspector Ambrose.

- How nice.
- Isn't it?

This is
Detective Sergeant Pinker.

Any copies?

VHS are enough
for the client.

- Mr. Bowles, Sr.?
- Yeah.

We can take this?

If you're into
that sort of thing.

Graphic, are they?

Nice.

We'll need to isolate your print
from the crime scene.

Nice place you have here, John.

Very distinct.

Unusual.

What's down below?

A boat house.

What's in it?

A boat.

Yours?

I'm rebuilding an old Nelson.

- You can see her, if you'd like.
- No, thanks.

Not very keen on boats, today.

You mind telling me
where you were

at around 3:30 this morning?

- Do I need a lawyer, Inspector?
- If you'd like.

If you're guilty.

Guilty of being asleep
in bed, alone.

A water-tight alibi.

I like that.

We haven't been able to make

a positive ID
on the victim, as yet.

Her face was...

We're checking dental records.

Mrs. Bowles has disappeared,

as has Mr. Bowles' son.

Her mouth was stuffed with
a hand towel to silence her.

She was then beaten,
tied down and raped.

Decapitation,

the severance of the carotid
artery, to be precise,

was the cause of death.

The limbs were then amputated.

And your videotapes depict
the exact same sexual position.

Albeit, physiologically
correctly orientated.

Could anyone have watched
the DVD

or saw the VHS copy
you gave Mr. Bowles

other than Mr. Bowles himself?

No, I don't think so.

And I only gave Bowles
the VHS this morning.

I see.

Do you recognize her?

If that had been done to me,

I don't think
I'd recognize myself.

Ladies and gentlemen.
for your gaming pleasure,

I give you the amazing
Balloon Buster!

Sorry.

Dark green Range Rover.

License Papa, 8, 9, 8, Moscow,
Delta, Alpha.

Thanks.

Yes?

Registered to Andrew Harrison.

Marshbank, North Shore Road,
Hayling Island.

Thanks. I owe you, mate.

North Shore Road.

Hayling Ferry.

Clarence Pier Arcade.

Seemed the best way
to talk in private.

That's okay.

Makes a change from flabby,
pasty old women.

Lie down.

Face up.

So, according to
the Land Registry Office,

the previous owner of your house
was a Mary Woodward.

Lived there for seven years.

Council tax records show
she vacated

six months before you moved in.

I listened to that answer
machine tape you gave me.

There're no incoming messages,
just the outgoing.

Which means it's been wiped.

- Wiped?
- Analog tape.

Once you've listened to your
messages, the tape rewinds.

The next message records over.
There'd be something there.

Unless Woodward never
turned the machine on

or never received a caller
who left a message.

Unlikely. So, it's been wiped.

So...

So...

You're going tight.

- So?
- So, I don't understand.

What gave you cause for...

concern?

A feeling.

As in a feminine
intuition-type feeling?

Watch it, Duval.

I've got you in my power,
in case you hadn't noticed.

I hadn't.

But...

You have, now.

That's sexual harassment.

That's sexual harassment.

Why did we break up? I forget.

You started sleeping
with my best friend.

Oh, yeah.

And then you married mine.

Oh, yeah.

Perhaps you should stop.

Perhaps I should.

Come on.

You better turn over.

Okay, so, what sort of feeling?

Sometimes, recently, I...

see things.

Flashes of...

images.

Something releases an energy
and I feel it. See it.

It can be a person I touch,
or an object.

An answering machine.

Yeah. And something happens.

Transcendental
fucking energy. Wow.

Fuck off, John. It's true.

Okay.

So, what happened in this case?

Henry wants us to have a baby.

I'm not sure, yet.
Not ready, I guess.

We've been rowing quite a lot.

Nothing major. Just...
wanting different things.

One night, we had a huge fight.

A slump in the housing market.

He was fed up, depressed.

I was hormonal,
feeling fat and frumpy.

Hell to be around.

I didn't want to discuss
getting pregnant

or anything to do with sex.

He stormed out.

I was very upset.

I was making toast.

Comfort food.

I spilled coffee on the toaster.
Blew the trip switch.

I was under the stairs,
with a candle,

moving stuff to get
to the electricity box.

And...

I touched that
old answering machine and...

And what?

I saw a woman

lying in the bath.

White, like a ghost.

Just for a second.

Naked.

No water in the bath, but...

- she was dead.
- Dead.

Was there any blood?

Not really.

There was a red tide mark
around the bath, but...

they were lying in the bath
with her.

Her arms and legs...

They'd been cut off.

And her head.

A switch.

Did you touch anything,

other than her pulse?

Would you touch anything down
there you don't have to?

Why did you take her pulse?

To see if she was dead.

- You thought she might be alive?
- No.

But it was possible.

We'll need your clothes
for the lab boys.

Ma'am.

Clothes, keys.

Interesting, your gaffe.

You noticed that before,
Detective Inspector.

You are withholding evidence

from a police
murder investigation,

Mr. Private Peeping Tom
Detective?

Evidence?

Did you have a search warrant?

I gave you the originals.

Don't play your hard cop
bollocks with me, Jane.

Calm down, John.

Did you know
the Hayling Island victim?

I don't know.
I couldn't tell from...

I don't know.

Her hair appeared to be
light brunette.

About 5'8", mid-thirties.

I've been following a woman
of that description.

When did you last see
this woman?

Yesterday, 2:49 p.m.

2:49 p.m.

- Where?
- The Amusement Arcade.

On Clarence Pier.
She gave me the slip.

She gave you the slip?
Or you lost her?

Possible. But I think
she gave me the slip.

- What was her name?
- She got in a Range Rover,

registered on North Shore Rd.,
Hayling Island.

- What was her name?
- Rosemary Calthorpe.

Why were you following her?

Her husband asked me to.

Fucking somebody else, was she?

Maybe, but you don't even know
if it's her.

- If she's dead.
- No.

But I do know who is.

We've identified
the boat victim.

Does the name...

Rachel Garvie...

mean anything to you,

Mr. Duval?

How do you feel about her death?

Do you feel anything
at the death?

Yes!

Of course I fucking do! Jesus!

I'd prefer you not to smoke
in here.

You said you liked the smell.

It's a prop.

Something you hide behind.

You use it to burn
away the time.

But you do like it. The smell.

How do you feel about her death?

Guilty.

That should increase
circulation.

Hey! Yeah, I bet.

First decent psycho killer
I've had

since I was a young buck
on the Plymouth Herald.

When was that?

Mid-1960s.

Some sadistic bastard
got tied up

and dissected
in front of his kid.

Probably by his battered,
fucked-up wife.

Never found her.
Kid put into care.

Nice. Don't you want a pint?

Thanks, the mild.

And, what's the story?
I've not read it.

We have a brutal and sadistic

psychopathic serial killer
in town.

And my editor is jumping
for fucking joy.

Serial killer? Police
are saying they're linked?

They aren't. We are.

They aren't saying anything.

Just that there've been
two female bodies found.

And they both died
from savage attacks.

And what do you know
that they don't?

Nothing.

I just know what they suspect
and ain't saying.

Police informer.

You got it.

It's a symbiotic relationship.
You know what I mean?

You fuck them,
they get fucked by you.

Keep it.

Come on.

Do you know the identities
of the victims?

One, the marina.

We haven't printed it, yet.

Sensitivity to
the victim's family.

Responsibility to the community,
all that shit.

It'll be in tomorrow.

Rachel Garvie.

40 years old.

- Architect.
- Yeah.

How did you know that?

She was my girlfriend.

You're joking.

Fuck me! You're not.

I need a favor.

Sure, whatever.

Can you give me a list
of female missing persons

from the Portsmouth era
going back, say, ten years?

And a list of female murders.

Missing persons turned up dead

reported from the same period.

It's all computerized, now.
Yeah.

By some time
tomorrow afternoon?

- Okay.
- Thanks. I'll call you.

I'll need that sensitive,
responsible bit from you,

for the time being.

Keep me out of it, if you can.

If I come up with anything,
you get the exclusive. Deal?

Deal.

Excuse me, ma'am.

They're taking
our darling's things.

They'll return them soon.

All set.

Two days at the most,
Mrs. Garvie.

We've gone through
her place already.

Why take them at all?

They hope to find evidence
to suggest a motive.

That Rachel's death
wasn't random.

Mr. and Mrs. Garvie,

did your daughter have a pierced
tummy button? Do you know?

Uh, yes.

She wore a silver stud in it.

Was she...

wearing it when you...?

After her dinner party,
that night?

Yes.

- When you left her?
- Yes.

Right.

Well, I think we're done here,
for now.

Um, when will you be able
to return our daughter to us,

Inspector, for... burial?

Tomorrow, sir.
The coroner's findings

would've been completed
by the end of today.

I thought to have her resting
on me for eternity.

Not the other way around.

What about Duval, ma'am?

Are we going
to bring him in again?

No, I want a positive ID

on the Hayling Island
victim first.

You do realize I'm their prime
suspect, don't you, sir?

They asked about you.

About your relationship
with our daughter.

What did you say?

That it was volatile
on occasion.

The way most are.

One way or another.

Some time or another.

That you...

hurt her quite badly, once.

I see.

They're coming! Quick! Quick!

My ship was fatally hit
during the engagement.

In San Carlos water.

She rolled.

Turned upside down.

Flooding fast.

Disorientated.

Water rising up or down,
left and right.

Abstract concepts. Just...

flooding blackness.

There was air, for a while.

You couldn't breathe it in.

The South Atlantic
sucked it from you.

Drove it from
your screaming lungs.

Screaming lungs, all around.

Blind, freezing, panic.

Titanic groaning metal.

The most stark
of human emotions...

the terror of death.

Time was...

silent.

I found myself
with Sparks and Rafter.

We fought our way
through an open bulkhead door.

A gangway.

But... which way?

Upside down, dark, water rising.

I thought to port,
they, to starboard.

They went one way,
I, the other. I survived.

They were never seen again.

I was repatriated to England.
Recovered, reassigned.

But I never wanted
to go to sea again.

Not very useful, that,
in the Navy.

The Navy moved you
into intelligence?

Or did you chose it?

I was selected.

Naval intelligence is one of
the best postings open to you

as a non-seagoing sailor.

Where you in any way
qualified for the job?

I could salute pretty well,
read and write,

know how to ask

if any of the local whores
spoke a little Russian,

if that's what you mean.

All of the qualifications
you need

to be a run-of-the-mill
sneaky beaky, believe me.

But I was a lifer.

Had to do something.

And I suppose I was good.

Then why do only eight years?

Why not go your full term?

It'll be in my notes,
the answer you're looking for.

The answers I'm looking for
can't be read.

At least, not from words
on a page.

The news and weather

coming up
at the top of the hour.

Before that,
I'll be going through

the great kids events
organized around the region

for Easter weekend.

You're listening
to Solent 106 FM.

Come in, John.

Hi.

That's the tape?

Yeah.

I need to know the message

that was on there
before it got wiped.

You think it's possible
to retrieve something?

These days seems
anything's possible.

I'll give it to one
of our teenage geeks.

It's urgent, right?

Yesterday.

David Frampton,
News Desk, please.

David? John Duval.

Did you get those lists?

Perfect. Bridge Tavern,
one o'clock?

Thanks.

Mrs. Calthorpe?

No, she's not here right now.

Can I help?

My name is John Duval.

I'm a private detective,
Mrs. Calthorpe.

Can we talk?

Come in.

But my sister is not here,
as I said.

- Your sister?
- Rosie.

Rosemary Calthorpe.

My twin sister.

- And you are...?
- Sorrel Green.

Is that your married
or your maiden name?

What is it that you do?

I'm a private detect...

I'm new to the case.

The case?

When was the last time
you saw your sister, Mrs. Green?

Sorrel. And it's miss.

Why?

I made some coffee.
Do you want some?

White, no sugar. Thanks.

Sorrel and Rosemary. Huh.

What was your dad? A chef?
Herb gardener?

A hippie.

He wanted to call us
after his favorite herbs,

tobacco and marihuana.

Mom wouldn't let him.

Sorrel and Rosemary were
her favorites.

So, what was your dad, John?

Or would that be impertinent
of me to ask?

I never knew my parents.

Lucky you.

Next question?

Have you seen your sister
since 3 o'clock in the afternoon

the day before yesterday?

- No.
- Where were you last night?

Why?

You've seen the news.

Two women are dead.

I was out.

I came back about 11:30
and I went to bed.

You drank some wine, white.

Undressed upstairs,
took a shower.

Yes. How did...?

Very cute.

Very cute, all over.

You were outside.

You watched me.

Your sister got
one of those, there.

Behind her left knee.

Then, yes. Sorry about that.

You sister wears
a silver ankle bracelet

on her right ankle, too?

Identical.

Identical.

Thanks for the coffee.

What about my sister?

I'll come back tonight.

If that's okay.

Copies of everything on file.

I put in that piece
I mentioned, too.

My first front page?

It could be a connection.

Thanks.

They identified number two?

- No. You?
- No.

See you around, mate.

Cheers.

Fish market pressing charges.

Relieved me of my position.

Do you have a boat?
Might have a day's work.

Cash, for a good sailor
with a rib.

There's one at the yard,

where I'm picking up beer money
scrapping old ship.

- Marine yard?
- Yeah.

How much does a good sailor
make for a day's work?

A hundred.

When it's on, I'll find you.

Okay.

We'll do a DNA check
against the twin sister.

Speak to the husband again.

Was she wearing
a silver ankle bracelet?

- No, why?
- According to the sister,

she wore an identical one
to her own.

Rachel's silver tummy stud
was missing.

He keeps a souvenir.

A trophy.

If you've got a motive for me,

by any chance,
Mr. Private Detective...

Not yet,

Detective Inspector.

Except...

Something to do...

with me.

By the way,
we've located Mrs. Bowles.

Shacked up with her stepson.

- One piece of the puzzle solved.
- Great!

Everything's falling
into place, then.

This missing landlady,

Mary Woodward...
Was her body ever found?

- The Gazette didn't report it?
- No.

Even I'd recall a case of murder

involving amputation
and decapitation.

Have you traced a relative,
anyone who knew her,

something with
silver body jewelry?

Tenuous link.

Other than amputation
and decapitation?

Well, the second body
was not dismembered.

He was disturbed
before he was done.

Have you had somebody
following me?

And I'd tell you if I had?

Lieutenant
Charles Carter, please.

Chuck, it's Johnny.
I need a favor.

A blurb on someone
who's serving jack, I think.

Andrew Harrison.

It's no big deal,
a divorce case.

He may have been
banging the wife.

I'd like to try and keep
the Navy out of it, if I can.

Fax it to me. Thanks.

How did you work the switch?

What the hell are you doing
here? How did you get in?

My client gave me the code.

- Rosie?
- Commander Calthorpe.

Bill?

Why is Bill a client?

I'm beginning
to wonder that myself.

Where's the dibs?

- The what?
- The money. The pesetas.

What you're talking about?

Are you always that cautious?

One twin enters
a crowded public place,

the other takes over,
the first slips back out.

Whose money was it?

- Do you want to let go of me?
- Sure.

Tell me what's going on first.

Or what?

Are you going to hurt me?

You look the type.

Or are you just the type
who likes to look...

from the shadows?

- Your sister...
- Fuck my sister.

Fuck me.

Did you rape Chief Petty Officer
Diane Waters?

Or having been reported
as having sex with you

as serving officer,
did she cry "rape"

to avoid a court-martial
and dismissal from the Navy?

That was the evidence.

The answers
you're looking can't be read.

At least,
not from words on a page.

I was investigating
a fairly lowkey case

down on the rock.
Gib, the rock of Gibraltar.

It involved
around-the-clock surveillance.

Chief Petty Officer Waters
was assigned

to assist
during the silent hours.

Silent hours?

Navy's language.

The night period on a warship

between pipe down
and call the hands.

During which time,
watch bells are not struck

and only emergency pipes
can be made.

- The ship runs silent.
- I see.

Do you mind?

Go on.

I don't remember.

Her face was pretty battered.

Bruising on her arms
and around her throat.

Around the back of her thighs
where her underwear

had been pulled down
and ripped off.

The semen
she apparently discharged

matched my blood type.

Did I rape her?

I don't remember.

The blackout.

Third night on,
we've been getting...

closer.

She was cute,
young, flirtatious.

I remember kissing her,
undoing her top.

Then feeling sick.

Spinning.

Disorientated, panic.

Flooding...

blackness.

Time was silent?

Yeah, we're on our way.
Okay, bye.

Ma'am, looks like we got
another one.

Cleaning discovered
the body when she went to get

the laundry basket
from the top floor bathroom.

Where in Old Portsmouth?

Bath Square.
The old harbormaster's house.

What?
I cannot fucking believe it!

That's where
we're headed anyway.

Ma'am.

John Duval's machine,

please leave me a message

and I'll get back to you.

Thanks.

Tanner!

Didn't flush away.

Still got sperm inside
and a similar bruising pattern

on her buttocks and hips
to Rachel Garvie.

- Time of death?
- So much blood loss,

lying in the water, hard to say.

Somewhere
between midnight and four.

- So the same as the others.
- Yeah.

Why go through all the trouble
of slicing them up like that?

And then playing
Mr. Slice and Dice

with the offcuts.

Well, thank you for that,
Detective.

Satanic ritual or...

some deranged religious nut?

And why...
Why kill her in the bath

and then fill it up with water?

Cleanses away any forensics.

- Or less mess for everybody.
- Mm.

How very fucking thoughtful.

The rib's fully fueled.

What time do you want it out?

Tonight.
High tide's around midnight.

You get the other 50
when we get back.

Meet me here at midnight.

Henry?

Hello, old man.

What the hell
are you doing here?

I thought that was
your Jeep I saw.

I came just say farewell
to an old mistress.

I went to the Gulf on Dorset
in '91. My last posting.

Are you going to the funeral
this afternoon?

I won't be able to stay
for the bash afterwards, sorry.

Oh, sure.

I have to go. Are you coming?

I'll... I'll stay for a bit.
See you later.

John?

You have one message.

John,
it's Harriet Blakeney.

The geeks retrieved
bits of a message.

Some bloke asking
if there are any vacant rooms.

Do you want me
to hang on to the tape

to pick up
or send it back to you?

Give us a call at Solent.
See you.

End of messages.

- Solent?
- FM. The radio station.

- Check it.
- Okay.

Ma'am?

That message was
from a radio producer

with Solent FM.

Well, what are you waiting for?
Go get the tape.

I hope
that's all fish bait.

Get it to the lab boys.
Poor bastards.

I have three bodies.

Three brutal murders
in four days.

And I have you, Mr. Duval.

I have your fingerprints
all over Mr. Bowles' boat cabin,

deck hatch, deck rails.

Traces of semen, your DNA match

in the first victim,
Rachel Garvie.

Finger mark bruising
on her buttocks and hips

consistent with your hand size.

A similar bruising pattern
in the same places

on the third victim,
Sorrel Green.

I have a used condom
in her bathroom.

I have traces of blood
on the jeans

and the boxer shorts
you wore last night.

And this morning,
I have traces of blood

under your fingernails.
I have your fingerprints

at the scene on Hayling Island.

And the second victim,
Rosemary Calthorpe's blood

on your clothing.

And I have you
conveniently at the crime scene

when the body's discovered
to account for this.

You begin to see the problem,
don't you?

I had sex with Rachel earlier
on the night she was killed.

I was rough with her,
she enjoyed that sometimes.

- Did you?
- Yes, sometimes.

- That night?
- Yes.

Is that what happened
when you put her in hospital?

For the record,
the witness has nodded

as confirmation
to my last question.

What happened on that occasion?

Rachel had been told
by her gynecologist she was...

That she couldn't have children.
She wanted children desperately.

She was...

violently upset, screaming,

thrashing at me
in a violent frenzy.

So you had violent sex.

Emotions ran high,
passions ran higher.

- More violent than usual.
- Wasn't usual, but yes.

I have here a copy
of a medical report

from Queen Alexandra
Hospital Portsmouth

sent to Rachel Garvie's GP
in May, 2000.

On that occasion,
did you tie her hands and feet

to the bed posts
with her stockings,

pulling their strings so tight
as to cause

bruising and silk burns
to her wrists and ankles?

Did you put your hands
around her throat

to restrict
her ability to breathe

to simulate strangulation?

Penetrate her so forcefully
as to cause

severe bruising and blood loss?

Well, Mr. Duval?

Sorry, could you
speak up, for the record?

Yes, but it wasn't
like that.

- We're still together, right?
- Are you?

Did you rape her?

- No.
- No?

She wanted it that way,
needed it,

wanted me to hurt her.

Really hurt her.
I don't fucking know.

You think I understood?
It scared me.

Did you rape her that night?

- No!
- Then how, later that night,

did she come to find herself
sexually abused

and violently dead in a boat

in a marina,
with your fingerprints all over

and your semen
in her bruised vagina?

I told you already, I was

on a surveillance operation
where her body was found.

For the owner, he thought
his wife saw someone else.

How Rachel's body got there
and why, I don't know.

- And Rosemary Calthorpe?
- I checked her pulse

on the off chance
that she wasn't dead!

I didn't know
the body, that it was

Mrs. Calthorpe,
a woman who connected

with another case of mine.

I was tailing Mrs. Calthorpe
the day before. I lost her.

I was looking for her when...

I found her.

I went to the old harbor
master's house that night,

looking for evidence to support
her husband's suspicion

that she was having an affair.

And if so, if that affair
might explain her death.

I saw Mrs. Calthorpe's
twin sister at the house

and believed her
to be Mrs. Calthorpe.

I went back there
to see Mrs. Calthorpe yesterday.

I saw Sorrel, and realized
the woman I'd seen

the night before was her
and not Rosemary.

From information Sorrel gave me
about Rosemary

I presumed the worst
and went with you to the morgue.

My suspicions were confirmed.

The body was that
of Rosemary Calthorpe,

the wife of my client,
Commander Calthorpe.

I went back to the old
harbor master's house

to see her sister.

Did you have sex
with Sorrel Green last night?

Yes! I used a condom,
which she supplied.

I was a little rough,
she wanted that.

I see.

Did you tell Sorrel
about her twin sister being dead

before or after
you had sex with her?

Before.

She took it well, then.

Not too upset
to have sex with you,

a comparative stranger.

On the contrary, she needed...

She was very upset. Devastated.

She wanted to suffer,
she wanted to hurt.

Wow. You're a handy man
to have around

at times of emotional crises.

Did you cause her to bleed
when you were a little rough?

- No.
- Then how do you account

for her blood
under your fingernails

- and on your clothing?
- She was menstruating.

What about the rope?

- The rope?
- The rope used to tie

the wrists and ankles of Rachel
Garvie and Sorrel Green

was cut from a spinnaker sheet.

The coils from which
those lengths were cut

we found in a locker

in the Nelson in your boatshed.

Do you still want to waive
your right

to a solicitor
being present, John?

Why would I keep
a spinnaker sheet

on a motorboat,
then leave it for you to find?

I'm being set up.

Why?

Was Sorrel wearing
a silver bracelet chain

on her right ankle
when you found her body?

No.

Interview suspended, 12:10.

Check with the pathologist

whether Sorrel Green
was on the rag.

The heads on those old machines
will crack.

They only really erase
the high frequency waves,

leaves a sort of sound shadow.

You'd need to record over
to fully lose what was there.

Thanks.

You have one message.

John,
it's Harriet Blakely.

The geeks retrieved
bits of a message,

Some bloke asking if there are
any vacant rooms.

Do you want me
to hang on to the tape

to pick up
or send it back to you?

Give us a call at Solent.
See you.

End of message.

To return the call, press 3.

Harriet, it's John.

I got your message.
Do you still got the tape?

No, you did right. Thanks.

Okay, bye.

We have
but a short time to live.

Like a flower, we blossom
and then wither,

like a shadow we flee
and never stay.

In the midst of life
we are in death.

To whom can we turn for help
but to you, Lord?

You are justly angered
by our sins.

Yes, Lord God, most holy,
Lord most mighty.

Oh, holy
and most merciful savior,

deliver us from the bitter pain
of eternal death.

Lord, you know
the secrets of our hearts.

Hear our prayer,
oh God most mighty.

Spare us,
most worthy Judge eternal,

at our last hour
let us not fall from you.

And so, we have entrusted
our sister Rachel

to God's mercy.

And now, we commit her body
to the ground.

Earth to earth,
ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Ensure a certain hope
with a resurrection

to eternal life
through Our Lord Jesus Christ,

who will transform
our frail bodies

that they may be conformed
to His glorious body,

who died, was buried
and rose again for us.

To Him be glory,
for ever and ever. Amen.

Would you excuse me?

Excuse me.

Where's Henry rushed off to?

Near Winchester.
Measuring up an entire estate.

He's just taking instructions.

That'll take him
the best part of a week.

- He's staying down there?
- He'll stay.

Gets him out of my hair.

You'll not be
pregnant yet, then?

Yeah, right.

- Beer?
- Who do you think?

You okay?

Uh, yeah. A little cold.

- I'm fine.
- Thanks for coming back.

- I needed company.
- Can I use your shower?

- It's been a long day.
- Sure.

- Can I watch you undress?
- Sure. Why not?

You've been staring
at my tits all afternoon.

- Isn't that what you wanted?
- What do you think?

Did I hurt you?

It's okay.

The police spoke to you
and Henry about Rachel?

They came to the house,
asked all sorts of questions.

Such as?

Such as what happened
at dinner that night,

what your relationship
with Rachel was like.

Did she have any stalkers?

Any unwanted attention
from anyone?

That sort of thing.

Had she any other lovers
who in any way

were violent towards her?

And had she?

Not that I know of.

Did you tell them about us?

They already knew
from Rachel's parents

that we used to go out.

Until you started seeing Rachel.

Asked if I was jealous
of Rachel.

Was I still holding
a torch for you?

And what did you say?

No! Jesus. In front of Henry?

He's already convinced
that I am.

That I still want you back,
that I'm seeing you on the side.

But you are.

But Henry doesn't know
I'm here, does he?

I don't know. Does he?

No! Please, John.

- What did they ask Henry?
- Shit!

How long you've known
each other?

Been mates? About...

his time in the Navy,
why did Henry leave?

Why did you leave?
Was Henry jealous of you?

Fuck! You know?

Please, babe, I need you now.

You always were the best sex.

Dangerous.

You found peace.

Isn't that what you wanted?

Was it?

I could have killed Rachel
for taking you from me.

Peace is only peace when there's

a little violence, now and then.

I could surprise you some night.
I still have a key, somewhere.

You could wake up
to find me kissing you,

sucking you.

You would like that,
wouldn't you?

Go on, get out of here.

Sorry about busting you
to Johnson.

Not the same as he was, anyway.

Back in the old days,
we used to wear it

for days at a time.

It was fish then, had to ice them
in the boat to keep them fresh.

Nice and easy
till we clear the point.

Don't want to be stopped
by the harbor police.

Come up 30 degrees.
The abandoned Fort.

- Who actually owns that one?
- Ministry of Defense.

Use channel 1.

If any boats come
near, click once.

Wait until you hear two back.

Don't show any lights
once I'm inside.

Boat coming.
A rib coming out.

- Has the tide turned yet?
- Yes.

Slip your lines,
drift out to see, lie low.

I'll contact you
to pick me up. Out.

Harrison!

Psychopaths... tell me
what you know about them.

Not the common old garden.
The killer variety.

As in the Portsmouth ripper?
Mr. Slice and Dice?

Jesus! Is that
what they're calling him?

Sensational shorthand
sells news.

A psychopath is someone

suffering from
a severe mental disorder

which typically manifests

in aggressive
antisocial behavior.

I can read that in a dictionary.

I mean, where does
the mental disorder come from?

Why are they like that?
Who are they?

What do they want?
Why do they become murderers?

The murderer is different
from other human beings

in degree, not in kind.

They want what you and I want.

- And what's that?
- Someone to love.

Something to do.
Something to look forward to.

To feel fulfilment.

And they get that by killing?

They are you and me.

Except, somewhere
along the line,

usually very early,
in childhood, they get isolated.

Victimized. Perhaps bullied.

Sexually abused.

A violent home,
an alcoholic parent

who beats them.

Some trauma.

A catalyst which pushes them
into isolation.

Their isolation leads them
to feel inadequate.

Rejected.

They mature
into rejected adults,

separated from normal society.

Loners.

They have desires.

Sexual desires.

Frustration.
Sexual frustrations.

They have no one to confide in.

They're ashamed
of their perceived inadequacy.

Isolated in their frustration,

their desires become
confused obsessions.

Their constant companion
gets to work.

Starts to feed
on their obsessions. Coveting.

Coveting what it can't get

through normal
social interaction.

Struggling to straighten
the confusion.

Eventually, the chain snaps.

The constant companion
takes control, takes power.

And power over others,
over the chosen victims,

the object of their obsession,

supplies
the ultimate fulfilment.

The power over life and death.

Order out of chaos.

Fancy dinner one night?

Order after chaos.

I don't get involved
with my patients.

How do you help
if you don't get involved?

I mean,
I don't get involved personally.

That would be breaking my rules.

You've already
broken one, why not another?

- Such as?
- You're not smoking

during your sessions.

Isn't that one
of your personal rules?

The car park in Suffolk
on the top of Portsdown Hill?

Thanks, Chuck.

The Ministry of Defense
have it up for sale.

Are you going to tell me
what the fuck is going on?

A frigate, a destroyer,
a carrier, whatever.

On exercises, patrol in the Med

or the Indian Ocean,
the Pacific.

Everywhere in the world
through sewers comes into Gib.

Fills to the gunnels
with cheap fuel,

takes on provisions,
literally tons of meat,

tons of potatoes, vegetables,
fresh food, canned, frozen,

booze, water, confectionery,
tobacco, the lot.

And that for hundreds
of men and women

for up to a month or more.
Now that is a fucking big order.

Local Spanish supplier
is keen for the business.

Someone at the base takes a big
kickback from the supplier.

He always goes with,
in cash, pesetas.

Splits it with the XO, say,
for organizing things on board

in such a way to make
birthing in Gibraltar necessary.

Three or four patrols a year,
six to eight stops at Gib,

and your officer is making

maybe the equivalent
of 250 grand a year.

Jesus Christ.

He stashes it
in his private safe.

On return to Portsmouth,
if customs come aboard,

no problem, safe's untouchable.
Top secret material.

Operational codes,
strategic NATO orders.

He slips the cash ashore.

Is this somehow linked

to Leading Seaman Harrison's
disappearance?

- He's still a no-show, then?
- Yeah.

Twelve years ago,
I was investigating

this loophole
in the Navy's procedures.

I never completed
my investigation.

Chief Petty Officer
Diane Waters.

I read your service record.

- Yeah, I was set up.
- I know she disappeared.

And that's why no charges
were against you

once you were sent back,
no witness.

- Did she ever turn up?
- Never seen again.

Handy.

And over the 12 years since,

our officer has made
three million quid

to add to his pension.

So what? It's not like
he's been ripping off

the Navy or the government.

Ship's got to eat.
The Spanish supplies

the one who's paying,
and glad to.

Profiteering is
a court-martial offence.

HMS Dorset?

D-93.

It was decommissioned last year
awaiting sale or scrap.

Did you really think
I wouldn't find out?

Welcome aboard, John.

Pull up a chair, have a drink.

Join me
in my compassionate leave.

My old ship and I
have been expecting you.

Why tell me the story
of you wife

having an affair with a rating?

I didn't. You told me.

All I wanted was the name
of the ship blackmailing me.

Harrison.

Maybe.

Not clever enough for a solo op.

Clerical liaison
with a NAAFI here.

Sorts out the paperwork
when required for a bung.

Just another petty scam
among many.

Then who?

Someone Rosie was fucking.

Someone who knew about Gib.

Someone who told Rosie
what I'd been up to

all these years.

Used her to get to my money.

I was doing it for her.

For us. I loved her.

But she couldn't keep a secret
from Rosie.

I had to tell her everything.

There's nothing
thicker than blood.

And that bitch.

Fucking around, being obvious,
embarrassing me.

I fell in love
with the wrong sister first.

Wait a minute,
you and the twin? Sorrel.

Man, you like it dangerous.

Why keep this money in cash
over the years?

Why not bank it?

Bank accounts can be traced.

Once I started
putting payments in the system,

that would've been a trail
back to me. Too risky.

Too many security checks.

The Euro screwed you big time.

All that cash being
tucked away for you retirement

about to become, well...

just a shitload
of Spanish bog paper.

Why not go to Spain?
Quick, spend it buying

houses, boats,
vineyards, whatever.

Before January 1st this year,
then sell. Clean money.

No. September 11th.

All leave cancelled.
Report to your ship.

Imminent sent
to the Indian Ocean...

...for a war

in bloody Afghanistan,
of all places.

Why do it
in the first place?

Your family's loaded,
why risk your career?

You're joking, aren't you?

Lloyd's wiped us out years ago.

Heatherington has been mortgaged
and remortgaged

just to keep the place going.

A Navy pension,
even an admiral's one,

wouldn't cover that.

Have a drink, old man.

I didn't know it was you,
you know?

You would've found me.

You were persistent.
Slow but sure.

Hooks a marlin ten-pound line

and plays it all day
but brings it in.

You would've got me in the end.

That why you set me up?

Mm? Pulled the string.

Got some cute
little petty officer

assigned to me, rubbing
herself up against me

on the long, hot nights.

Beads of sweat trickling down
her necklace.

Had her fuck me.
Had her shout "rape."

That was not my idea!

Who's fucking idea was it, then?

I read the report.
I saw what you did to her,

but who am I to judge?
If that's the way you like it,

not my business.

Who helped you set me up,
you fucking piece of shit?

Is that why you killed
my wife and Sorrel?

- Revenge?
- You think I did them

out of revenge?

Did you fuck Sorrel?

Did... you... fuck... Sorrel?
The police say you did.

Did you rape her?

Kill her?

Yeah, I fucked her.

What are you
going to do about it?

Shoot me?

You always were
a pathetic, dumb son of a bitch.

How you ever got to be
a Commander in the Navy,

fuck, no one knows.

John!

Well, you appear to have
a specter on your shoulder.

Death.

Suicide note.

Bloody fool.
The money was still good.

Hm. Pesetas are
no longer legal tender.

Actually, that's not
quite true, ma'am.

What do you mean?

You can still take the money
to the bank.

They give you a receipt,
send the money

to the Central Bank in Spain,
who refund it to you

- in euros.
- Three million quids' worth?

What bank would take
that amount of cash

across the county
without questions?

Ah, it's easy.
All you need is paperwork

and a bank account
in Switzerland.

That much? In cash?

They'll know it's drug money,
no even the Swiss touch that.

No, you say it's tax evasion.

Switzerland is not
part of the EU.

Tax evasion in other countries,
it's not a crime there.

You say you sold a business

undervalued on paper,
you took the balance in cash

to avoid paying the tax.

You provide the paperwork,
it checks out,

and they'll take the money.

If it checks out.

Right contacts,
well-forged papers.

It's easily done.

You're in the wrong
bloody business, sergeant.

Before he shot himself,
Inspector,

Commander Calthorpe said
there was another body.

Leading Seaman Harrison.

- Northshore Road Harrison?
- Yeah.

Right. I wondered when he was
gonna show. Did he say where?

The derelict Fort in the Solent.

Right. Sergeant,
get on to the harbor police,

see if they'll give us a ride.

Yes, ma'am.

I'll need to take
a full statement from you

- at the station.
- Today?

Ah... No.
Tomorrow afternoon will be fine.

But tomorrow's Good Friday.

Bank holiday weekend or no,
we're open for business.

Did you get it?

Ah, no.
Tomorrow afternoon will be fin.

But tomorrow's Good Friday.

Right.

I'll go and get my feet wet.
You take it

for voice comparison.

Jesus, Tobi, what the fuck?

I still have the key, remember?

I had another vision.
Thought I'd surprise you.

What vision?

This.

- Surprise.
- Jesus.

What time is it? Where's Henry?

Relax. He's still trying
to measure up in Winchester.

Nice scarf.

Perfect to tie me up with.

- What is it?
- Unusual scent.

A Christmas present.

Now, shut the fuck up
and make me your slave.

Still surprisingly
little is really known

about post-traumatic
stress disorder.

Even less during
the Falklands War

when you experienced the trauma
which led to your blackouts.

Your illness.

But this diagnosis
by the hospital

you checked yourself into
after the Navy

was not certain.

And the doctors at Ravensbrook

did not know what I know

about Chief Petty Officer
Diane Waters,

for example.

A lot more, however, is known
about my own specialized field.

Traumatic amnesia.

It's a condition that's been
recognized for decades.

You'd be surprised
how many murderers

block what they've done
from their memories.

Sometimes it's years
before they recall their crimes.

You think I did it,
that I killed them.

You spent years in a psychiatric
hospital, voluntarily.

Who were you hiding from?

I wasn't well, I had blackouts,

sometimes for hours at a time.

I was never...

sure about Diane Waters.
I was afraid.

Have you experienced blackouts
since leaving?

In all that time,
not a single person

came to visit you, not one.

No friends, no buddies
from the Navy. Nobody.

I didn't tell anyone
where I was.

Who would you have told?

After you left the hospital,

how long was it
before you experienced

your first blackout?

A day? A week? A month?

How long before
the outside world cornered you?

Before your old obsessions
surfaced?

I know I didn't do it.

You didn't do what?

Why now, John?

Why today?

Good Friday.

It's time.

You have a good look.

Try it out for size.

Twenty-nine.

The room.

How many nights
you're gonna pay?

One.

Cash.

You seem familiar.

You stayed here before?

I doubt it.

Bathroom's free.

I'll make dinner. Come down.

Is that extra?

Depends.

Bet you're starved.

Fancy a decent meal?

Not bad, am I?

For... 40.

Moonlight helps a woman of 40.

Cheeky bastard.

Another 20?

You don't mind using
a forget-me-not?

You can't take
no chances these days.

No.

You can't take no chances.

I'm not here just now.

Leave your name and number

and a message after the tone
and I'll call you back.

Thanks, bye.

I'm phoning to see
if you have any rooms

for tonight, Good Friday.

I'll call around later
on the off chance that you do.

Delete.

Erased.

You remember nothing
between having sex with her

and discovering her body?

I don't remember
having sex with her.

Was her body completely naked
in the bath?

Yes.

When you cleaned up
the bed linen,

her underwear, the negligee...

what did you do with the choker
with the silver pendant?

It wasn't there.

I would've seen it.
It wasn't there.

Thank you for coming, Mr. Duval,
to make your statement

on Commander Calthorpe's suicide
and on Good Friday.

Saved me having to pick you up.

I'm phoning to see
if you have any rooms

for tonight, Good Friday.

I'll call around later
on the off chance that you do.

Ah, no.
Tomorrow afternoon will be fin.

Tomorrow's Good Friday.

The voice
computer at the lab

and a voice
and speech specialist

both confirmed that the voices
are one and the same.

John Duval, I'm arresting you
for the murders

of Mary Woodward, Chief Petty
Officer Diane Waters,

Rachel Garvie,
Rosemary Calthorpe,

Sorrel Green and Leading Seaman
Andrew Harrison.

You don't have to say anything,
but it may harm your defense

if you don't mention
when questioned

anything later in court.

Anything you do say,
may be given in evidence.

Do you understand your rights
as I've explained them to you?

- Yes.
- You thought

you covered everything.

Always at the center
of the investigation,

always a suspect, but always
having an angle to deflect me.

Always where the bodies were,
but so methodically

being a private
fucking detective

coming up
with the right questions

to assist us in our inquiries

when you'd already said
the fucking answers.

In all my years, you are
one calculating, clever,

sick motherfucker
with no mistake.

But this time...

you crucified yourself.

The police have not
found the knife

my client allegedly used
on the victims.

The jewelry, the truth is,

as you call it,
missing from the bodies.

The supposed three million
pounds in pesetas,

nor do they have
two of the bodies

my client is accused
of murdering.

We have compelling
forensic evidence

linking him to four
of the crime scenes.

The Navy's evidence of rape
against him from Gibraltar.

That was not proven.
And the evidence of rape

- is debatable, to say the least.
- She went missing.

A lot of people go missing.

We have a statement
from a witness confirming

he ferried Duval to the Sea Fort
on the night of the 27th.

Duval was on the Fort
at the time of Harrison's death.

My client was responsible for
losing him his job for theft.

Mr. Tanner has a grudge,

therefore, he's not
a reliable witness.

Besides, in his statement,
Mr. Tanner

also confirms the arrival
of another boat

delivering someone else
at the time of the murder.

Have the police found him?

No. They believe that to have
been Commander Calthorpe.

Who later blew
his brains out. Handy.

The custody sergeant
refused conditional bail,

as will the magistrate.

My client hasn't requested bail.

No, that's correct.

Given the notoriety
of this case,

the need to reassure the public,

the CPS will be moving quickly
on this one.

The nature of the crimes

under section 2
of the Mental Health Act 1983,

dictate that your client
undergo an immediate

and extensive
psychiatric evaluation

to assess whether or not
he is legally sane

and therefore, fit to plead.

The defense stipulates
the psychiatrist selected

to act for the Crown
should have no prior association

- with Mr. Duval.
- Naturally.

A psychiatrist
will be appointed today.

Good.

Mr. Duval will be moved
under guard

to and from remand
at Kingston Prison Portsmouth

for evaluation.

That's complete. An arraignment
date will be set.

Excellent.

Why does an ex naval officer

engage this Mr. Tanner
to ferry him to the Sea Fort?

Why not go alone?
Why take a witness?

Perhaps because my client
is not guilty.

He also happens,
with good reason,

to be terrified of the sea.

Come in.

Good morning, Dr. Benson.

Mrs. Wilson, Mr. Barton.

Would you have
the restrains removed,

please, Mrs. Wilson?

Thank you. Please wait outside.

Remember, John,
that you do have the right

to remain silent.

Have a seat, please, Mr. Duval.

John.

Dr. Catherine Benson.

Do you understand
why you're here?

Because somebody out there
wants to get away with murder.

- That's not what I meant.
- Nevertheless...

your knowledge is going
to help me to understand who.

I don't permit smoking in here.

- Is it the smell?
- No.

I happen to like
the smell of a cigar.

Then what? Don't you
want me to be comfortable?

You're not here, Mr. Duval,
to be comfortable.

Then how are you going
to persuade me to give up

my right to silence, Dr. Benson,

if I'm not comfortable to talk?

Why ask to have
my restraints removed?

Nothing personal, mate.

But after six days of that shit,
my guts have rebelled.

My ship was fatally hit
during the engagement,

in San Carlos waters.

She rolled, turned upside down,
flooding fast.

Disorientated, water rising.
Up or down. Left and right.

Abstract concepts, just...

flooding blackness.

The most stark
of human emotions.

Terror of death.

Time was silent.

Clever.

Ma'am. We've just had
a missing person's report.

She's already been interviewed
in the ripper case.

Knew Duval and Rachel Garvie.

What? Where's Sergeant Pinker?

He's not back with the warrant
for the Woodward place?

Yes, ma'am.
And they're the same address.

The missing person, Tobi Wright,
and Mary Woodward.

It's the same address.

Why didn't someone
notice that before?

Who reported Tobi Wright
missing?

Her work. She's a therapist,

very reliable.
Hasn't been in for three days

since Easter weekend,
and no message from her,

no answer on her home or mobile.

Yeah, but we've had Duval
locked up for a week.

Ugh, fucking brilliant,
Sergeant.

Do you think I'm guilty?

That is what the last six days
in this room have been about.

Whether you think
I'm capable of killing all...

That's for a jury to decide.

My job is to determine
whether or not

you're legally sane
and able to enter a plea.

But what you think,
feel about me matters.

Does it? To whom?

To me.

Do you think
you can manipulate me?

"I'm an attractive man,
she's a woman first,

a psychiatrist second.
Work a trade."

I'm not for sale.

I didn't think you would be
for sale.

What was it the husband,
Henry Wright, does?

He's a estate agent.

Why doesn't he
report her missing?

Hello?

Mrs. Wright? Mr. Wright?

The place had
a for sale sign up.

It was empty for six months
before they moved.

He must have let
himself in that night

to see his cheap hooker,
not know I was there,

fucked in the next room,
killed her,

got rid of the body, then bought
the house himself cheap.

Harrison's house
in Northshore Road was for sale.

At Rachel's that night,

he said he'd sold some
of the Navy's family quarters.

He's ex-Navy, got connections.

He's selling the Sea Fort
for the MOD.

The estate near Winchester,

I bet it's Calthorpe's place,
Heatherington Hall.

He has access to any number
of vacant properties,

and can be anywhere, anytime.

He has the means to kill.

Anything?

She has a thing
for naughty underwear.

XXX

Bugger me.

Ma'am!

He was running the scam
on Gib with Calthorpe all along.

He set me up on the rape charge
to discredit me.

Hold my investigation
when I was getting too close.

Once I'm out of the way,
she conveniently disappears.

Her body was never found.

He knew them all.

That's why they let him in.

He married my ex-girlfriend,
was always jealous

of what we had together.

Christ, Tobi still had a key
to the boat house.

That's how he knew
the sexual position

to tie Rachel in
before killing her on the boat.

He saw the tape of Bowles' wife.
I smelled his aftershave.

It was his scarf Tobi had.

He knows
where the bloody money is.

Hold on, what money?

Three million quid
in Spanish pesetas.

He set me up
for the whole fucking lot.

Oh, shit. Tobi.
I have to use your phone.

That's against the rules, John.

Let me do it.

Get a list of vacant properties
on the estate agency's books.

Find out where they think
Henry Wright is.

What type of car
did Dr. Benson say?

A dark one, probably green.

Forget the last bit,
he just turned up.

What the hell is going on?

I didn't call Tobi
because I knew

she didn't want to talk to me.

We haven't been
getting on well, lately.

Where have you been staying
in Winchester?

Heatherington Hall Estate,
an empty tied cottage.

Why pay a hefty hotel bill?

Why, indeed.

Ma'am.

You were having an affair

with Commander Calthorpe's wife,
Rosemary, weren't you?

Using her, blackmailing him
to get to the money.

Held Harrison captive
on the Fort

and killed him later.

Knew about the sexual details

of Rachel Garvie's
hospitalization

on the hands of Duval,
that we'd find out,

killed her in a similar fashion
so that we'd suspect him.

Been following Duval.

How close was he getting to you?

The money?

Your wife?

Again.

Chief Petty Officer
Diane Waters.

Your wife's?

Yes.

Tell me where she is.

You know it's the right move.

Sarge! That message
from Dr. Benson,

Harrison's place, the Marshbank,
Northshore Road,

it's on the list.

Ma'am!

The injuries appear pretty much
the same as the others

- and the cause of death.
- Time of death?

Body's been underwater
for a while.

- Approximate.
- Uh...

- Three to four days.
- Not possible it could be seven?

Not a chance, unless
he stuck her in a freezer

- for a few days first.
- Doc.

Duval's been inside for a week.

Perfect alibi.

And Mr. Wright has
nobody to confirm

he was Heatherington during
the nights this last week.

He's been pretty clever so far.

Why not provide himself
with an alibi?

Why, indeed.

He didn't know we had
that answering machine cassette

from his own house,

that he feared
had his own voice on it.

Because he was never a suspect,
that's why.

Duval was always the mark.

Message one.

John! David Frampton.

Thanks for your contribution
to my exclusive.

I owe you.

Solent 106 FM.

The sound of the south.

The remains of a body believed

to be that of Mary Woodward,

who disappeared seven years ag,

have been found
by police forensics officers

buried in the garden

of the house
where she formally lived,

now owned
by a local estate agent

who the police are holding
in custody

and believed to be
the serial killer

known as the Portsmouth Ripper,

Mr. Slice and Dice.

You ready to break
a second rule?

I told you.

I don't get involved...

personally involved
with my patients.

I'm no longer a patient.

Never really was.

Am I your constant
companion fantasized?

Enough, doctor.

You're not messing
with my head anymore.

Why do I feel it was
the other way around?

Case closed.

For an ex-sailor
who's terrified of the sea,

why live right on it?

In an old boathouse,

a freezer full of fishing baits.

The tide floating up
beneath your feet twice a day.

And where is the money?
That's what I want to know.

Where Andrew Right knows.

By the time he gets out,
it will be worthless.

It's a curious thing, though.

That book Duval was reading
about Jack the Ripper...

I noticed that the last murder,

that of the prostitute,
Mary Kelly,

it took place in Miller's Court,
off Dorset Street.

And that street
was later renamed

"Duval Street."

It's funny, that.

What's funny about it?

HMS Dorset. John Duval.

What's that got to do
with anything?

Nothing, it's just...

It's just curious.

Fuck's sake.

You had it in
for Duval from the start,

didn't you, ma'am?

Why? What's the beef?

I hate private detectives.

A few years back,
before your time,

Duval buried some
prat local councilor,

head of the planning committee,

for taking brown envelopes
from developers.

So, what's new about that?

True, but turns out this proc
was fucking around too.

His wife suspects, hires Duval,

that's why Duval was
onto him in the first place.

Turns out she was right,
he was fucking around

with some dumb bitch
on the make.

Found this on Duval's computer
when we searched his place.

Seems brown envelope syndrome
is contagious.

I thought it best
to keep it back.

I cleared the evidence.

Well, I was wrong about you.

You are in the right
bloody business, sergeant.

You'll go far.

Specially with that
cast iron stomach of yours.

Case closed.

How's that coffee coming,
number one?

Ah, well, Skipper,
it's hot and wet.

It's how we boys
like everything.

And on a plate.

I was getting a little seasick
down there.

So... where're we heading?

I thought lunch
in the Channel Islands.

I have to pick up some paperwork
from a lawyer in Jersey, so...

- How about Jersey?
- And then where?

Couple of weeks spring skiing
in the Swiss Alps?

Swap this for a sailboat
anywhere in the world.

I thought you were afraid
of going to sea.

A river has but one direction.

And I've been seeing
this terrific shrink.

Perhaps she's helped me
overcome my fears,

brought comfort
to my silent hours.

I rigged the fuel line
while I was making coffee.

My stepfather was always
messing on boats.

That is,
when he wasn't abusing me.

Disorientated.

Turned upside-down.

Water rising up...

down...

left...

right.

Abstract concepts.

It's a flooding blackness.

The most stark of human emotions
tear it down.

Time is silent.

Extreme trauma.

Nobody understands.

Make them.

Turn their order into chaos.

You played me like a...

- Marlin on a ten-pound lie.
- Clever.

Years spent in a mental hospital
gives one a certain knowledge.

Capitalizing on Mr. Slice
and Dice. Very clever.

Often enough grounds
for a plea of insanity

if the killer wasn't caught...

if things didn't work out...

And now that they have,
what do you want?

Three million pounds?

Takes a lifetime to earn.

Two lifetimes.

To stick to your plan.

And in the meantime...

Let's see what you can do

for my silent hours.

Where's the money?

On board.

I have searched.

I rebuilt this boat, remember?

Ah!

Wait!

You're good, doctor.

But not that good.

Read it.

"Brutally murdered
Warrant Officer Thomas Kelly,

from HM Naval Base Plymouth,

whose mutilated
body was discovered

at his home on Easter Sunday

where it had lain
since Good Friday.

Wrists and ankles
tied to the bed corners,

limbs amputated,
mouth stuffed with a flannel,

head decapitated...

wedding finger sliced off

to remove
his silver wedding ring.

He's now thought
to have been a victim

of a savage revenge attack
by his young wife Mary Kelly.

Police believe the missing Mary
killed her husband,

a heavy drinker,
after being subjected by him

to regular and prolonged bouts

of violence and sexual abuse.

The horrific killing
was witnessed

by the couple's only child,
their four-year-old son

from the dark bedroom's
connecting bathroom

while he hid in the bath.

After several hours
in silent terror...

watching the bloodbath unfold."

You... your father...

My God...

You...

You killed them all.

Not quite.

Henry sliced Harrison, but...

One murder, two, seven,

sill gets life.

How? Toby Wright?

Kept her in ice and fresh
for a few days.

What happened to your... mother?

Try it out for size.