All language subtitles for Rake s01e04 R vs Lorton.eng

Have you seen Scarlet?
She didn't come home last night.

Move in with me.
I'll stay until you're well.

How's the new love of your life?
She's great.

She's into Shakespeare too.

Barney is the only decent man I know.

We cannot do this to him.
I'm not in love with Barney.

The idea you can give up the law
to paint,

it's laughable.

Please, I beg you.
Don't say a word to David.

I'm in trouble.
It's a long queue.

She admitted it.

Did she say who?
No.

Why on Earth would you do
a thing like that?

I think my percentage chimp DNA
is higher than others.

That's his sleeping kit over there.

OK, give it the works.

It looks like the kid was homeless.

Really? I thought he might have been
vacationing here with his parents.

Boss, this is Mr Shrimpton.

Stabbed from behind.

G'day, Sarge, Shrimpo.
Detective Maraco.

I wouldn't.

Jesus, mother of Mary, eh?
God help us all.

Are you from Catholic stock,
Mr Shrimpton?

Mr Shrimpo says he saw
the whole thing.

Saw it from go to whoa.

You didn't think to help?

I was standing over there.
I called you lot, didn't I?

We've met before, haven't we?

I don't know. I get about.

I used to be with the Drug Squad.

Look, do you want my info or what?

I've got other things
I could be doing, you know.

Sure, why not?

What did you see?

Well, I seen him stab the boy,
I seen him running out of the lane,

I've seen him holding the knife

and I've seen him dump the knife in
the big bin down on Macauley Street.

And who is he?
Seen him about. Calls himself Pica.

Pica?

It's a typeface. Quite attractive.

Constable, take Mr Shrimpton
to the station.

So, you know,
do I get a finder's fee or...?

Yeah. Ten million bucks
and a holiday in the Bahamas.

Shame.

Oh, a beautiful face.

That could work in the hall
near the bathroom.

What do you think?

I think the cheese dip is good.

I want you to choose something
to put on the walls.

I want you to make my place yours.

Fine. I will paint the walls
in cheese dip.

(Mobile phone rings)

David Potter, man of the hour?
Hello, Joe.

How are you?
Good.

I don't believe
you've met my partner, Melissa.

Joe Sandilands,
our esteemed Attorney General.

Ah, no.

No, I haven't but I'm much richer
for the experience. How do you do?

Hi. How would you feel
about seeing this

after you came out from the loo?

David wants to buy it.

Well, depends what I'd eaten
the night before, I s'pose.

(Chuckles) Now, your name
keeps making an appearance

in the corridors of power.

Premier wants to meet you.

Wants to know which side
of the Labor fence you sit.

Oh, I'm not sure what side
she sits on. What's it about?

Call. An interesting discourse
will transpire.

How you going?
Excuse me.

Melissa, we're sweet, OK?
Yeah.

WOMAN: Welcome one, welcome all.
May I have your attention, please?

Now I say this not as Flick Moyers,
gallery owner,

but as Flick Moyers, lifetime
supporter of emerging talent.

With this exhibition tonight,

with its exuberance, its lithe,
almost athletic texture...

I'll save you a return trip.
..these artists have come of age.

May your attention
for just a brief mo?

(Mic feeds back)
Oh, Flick.

Hold on.

Did I just hear Flick
use the word 'mo'?

Pretty sure Flick did.

Melissa.
Cleaver.

Harry-sorry-David, I never, ah,
never pictured you as the arty type.

Always see you in a velvet cap
and a red cape,

chasing foxes
on your father's estate.

My father worked in a bank.

Did he really?

The stories you must have...
You will have read the literature

that accompanied your invitations.
Now, tonight...

There were invitations?
Yes.

But it's also about helping
a great cause.

50% of all commission tonight

will go to rebuilding
the war-ravaged Congo.

(Clapping)
WOMAN: Ah!

Oh, well, that'll fix it.

I'm not suggesting that and
I would ask you not to interrupt.

Well, just a cotton pickin' mo here,
Flick.

I'm poised to pull out a lazy 20G

and purchase one of these lithe,
textural, bilious attacks on art.

I need to know how my donation

that you're now describing
as YOUR donation

is going to relieve the suffering
of the good burghers of the Congo.

Cleaver, you're a terminable bore.
Please leave.

Robert Benchley said that
'all art is relative

but all your relatives
are not necessarily art.'

Oh, that's what I love about
a gallery opening, folks.

A better class of bouncer.
Please, don't hurt me.

Come on, folks, really.

If you honestly wanted to help...
My apologies for that interruption.

Well, I think you handled that
with great dignity.

My trick is to write it all down
before.

Rehearse, rehearse, rehearse.

Go home. Go to bed.

Without you?

Without me.

You are so utterly beautiful,
it terrifies me.

Ahem!

Oh...

Sorry, did I wake you?
No, it's OK.

I really tried. I lasted
half an longer than last night.

Shouldn't be this hard for you.

It's not you.

I always have trouble sharing a bed
after sex. I get restless.

You want a camomile tea?

No. I'm just going to cycle some
more, then I'll come back to bed.

So you can put that back...

Which is when you found
exactly what, Constable?

Close to half a kilo of cocaine.

Thank you, Constable.

Um, your report says
you found pornography

under my client's bed.

Yes.

In fact, you made
a pretty comprehensive list

of his library -

uh, Dick Tracing,

Under My Belly 3,

Clash Of The Clits.

All of this while searching
for cocaine.

I was establishing it wasn't
kiddie porn.

And was it?
No.

Constable, how long would you say
it took you

to establish that
it wasn't kiddie porn?

A bit.
A bit.

So, is that a minute? More?

Your Honour.
I'll allow it.

Five minutes? Ten?

About half an hour.

Oh.

So, in that highly awkward
and uncomfortable position

of being under someone else's bed,

a circumstance
I can sympathise with...

Constable, did you masturbate
while you were under my client's bed?

Your Honour!

We have a match and a name -
Denny Lorton. Calls himself Pica.

He has form.
Sexual assault 30 years ago.

God, this being a detective is easy.

The dead boy is Benjamin Rigby.

15 years old. He's been selling
himself for 18 months or so.

Had he been reported missing?
Mum's a junkie.

That lane was his beat.

Is this Lorton?

Reckon they can make this room
any uglier?

Probably not.

It's like they think
no-one actually has to work in here.

Why do we settle for ugly
like it doesn't matter?

A bit of colour there,
painting there.

Some flowers.

I'm wasted in this profession.

Pick this creep up, will ya?

Tommy. (Whistles)

Hmm...

Hmm... Strictly cash these days,
Manos.

Since when?

Since I woke up
in a strange hotel room

with third degree burns on my arse
and no idea how they got there.

I owe you big-time, mate.

If you change your mind,
give us a tinkle.

(Phone rings)

Red.
Good morning's work.

You humiliate a young cop

and keep that clump of sink hair
out of prison.

Oh, you Jews are so Old Testament.
I did my job.

How are things?

Barney and I are still under the
same roof, if that's what you mean.

He does the dishes, I sort the socks
and ironing, we don't talk.

So all back to normal.

As in, you mean,
are you off the hook?

No, I didn't mean that.
(Quiet knock on door)

Just a sec.

Wendy rang. Something about
a meeting with John Bartrop,

which typically
you didn't share with me.

I don't know any John Bartrop.
Who is John Bartrop?

You were apparently
due at Fuzz's school an hour ago.

Oh, shit. That John Bartrop. Sorry.

Um, Red, can we talk later?

Why?

He is a beautiful student,
an absolute pleasure to teach.

You don't have to sugar coat this
for me, you know.

I mean every word of it.

The other teachers' comments
have ranged from,

'Is everything alright at home' to
'Have doctors mentioned medication?'

(Laughs) Well, Finnegan has issues.

His attention span isn't enormous
but he's so engaging and clever.

Wow.
Well, he does like your classes.

English is the only subject
he seems to study.

He expresses himself beautifully.

So I don't have to send him
down the mines quite yet?

Um, I'm sorry, I think that might be
my next appointment.

No, that is your previous one.

That's Fuzz's dad
who's just successfully missed

every other
parent-teacher interview.

Cleaver, this is Fiona McCready,
Fuzz's English teacher.

Hi.
Sorry.

Caught up in a very complex trial.

Oh, was the complex trial
run over five or eight furlongs?

Finnegan mentioned
you were a barrister.

I think he wants to follow
in your footsteps.

According to all the other teachers,
he is.

What is an education, anyway?

I spent most of 1982 learning 52.8%
of Malaysia's GDP came from rubber.

I don't even know
if they produce the stuff anymore.

He's a bright boy,
he's falling behind.

Why? Because he doesn't sit up
straight in class and say,

'Miss, Miss, ask me!'

You know what happens to kids
who do that.

Yes, they're in an office somewhere
with their hand up still.

Anyway, that last teacher
seemed quite impressed.

Yes, she did.

Yeah. Never had a teacher
who looked like that.

I did once see Miss Treadwell
in her bathers.

Her varicose veins looked like
an aerial shot of the Nile Delta.

(Laughs)

Is there a word that means
even shallower than superficial?

Are you still screwing Scarlet?

I knew it was a mistake telling you.
No, it was a mistake doing it.

And poor Barney. How is he?

Doesn't, won't and can't ever know,
OK?

Wendy, it's over, alright?

I've learned a very big lesson.

Fuzz! How hot
is your English teacher!

Mr Bartrop made it pretty clear he's
at the end of his patience with you.

No-one takes Bartrop seriously.
We do.

(Mobile phone rings)
And you must.

Sorry, work.

He is the principal of a school

that your father and I
spent a fortune on.

Isn't that right, Cleave?

No, ten units, Race Four,
Charlemagne's Pride.

Cleave!
Yes!

Yeah, a fortune.
An absolute fortune, mate.

No, 15 units.

Only to the station.

You're a really clever boy,
Fuzz darling.

If you just knuckle down...
Tell him, Cleave.

To win. When have you heard me
back a place...

Most important years in your life,
mate.

Why don't you just buy your lunch
like everyone else?

Because there is a perfectly good,
cold roast lamb in the fridge.

So is this how it's going to be now?

A permanent cone of silence
until one of us dies?

Who's gonna read me a story?

Just read it yourself, OK?
Not now.

OK.

Well?

Tell me his name.

(Sighs)

It doesn't matter now.

I'm back here in the loving bosom
of the family.

Yes, it does matter.
Who did you screw?

13-1. Yep.

Good, see ya.

The PDO's sent you a murder.

Hey, you know we're out of this room
tomorrow.

A street kid, tortured and murdered.

There goes all the fun.

I don't mind adults whacking each
other but this stuff twists you.

So Barney will meet you in remand.

Barney's instructing?
That's good, isn't it?

Yeah.

Good. He'll meet you there.

Did you know the deceased?

Had you had an argument with him?

Had he tried to rob you?

Provoke you?

Had you had sex with him?

I'm not into boys.

You're currently living in a shelter
in Abbotsford. Is that right, Denny?

I'm Pica now.

Some days yes, other days no.

(Mouthes) Pica.

The police have your DNA
on the knife,

the victim's blood on your clothes.

Witnesses saw you running
from the lane.

They may have.

But I didn't do it.

He was alive when I found him.

I took the knife out, but he died.

OK.

Alright, we'll look into it further
and get back to you.

You can't possibly believe him.

We've got our instructions.

Got your baggy eyes spot-on.

Thanks, mate.
Who is he, for Christ's sake?

He is Pica.

What do we know about his prior?

Statutory rape. 15-year-old girl.
He was 19.

Girl. Interesting.

You reckon it was a stitch-up?

Well, come on.

He looks like he did it,
he sounds like he did it,

he's homeless,
he's got a serious prior.

It's the easiest stitch-up
in the world.

Jails are full of guys who are there
because they look like him.

You know?
No.

So you guys have sorted things out?

We haven't sorted out
a bloody thing.

Hey, you know that guy
we met at the exhibition?

Joe Sandilands?

The Attorney General.
He didn't like the painting either.

(Both laugh)

Yeah, well he wants me to run.
State parliament.

Oh.

Dutch Patterson's old seat.
It's safe Labor.

If I get preselection,
I'm a certainty.

And is that something you want?

Yeah.

I never thought I had a chance.

I joined Young Labor when I was 16.
Went to God knows how many meetings.

And here all you needed to do
was get shot.

You think that's the only reason
they've asked me?

I didn't say that.

No, but you're implying it.

Well, they did only notice you
after the tabloids called you 'hero'.

OK, fine. I'll stay at the bar.

If you're going to be negative
about it.

What's it got to do with me?
Why is my opinion so significant?

Well, I care what you do.

You can do what you want.

All I'm saying is from my experience,
politicians tend to be...

Let me guess -
arrogant, self-indulgent,

trough-sniffing arseholes.

I was going to say sad, mostly.

And how many politicians
do you know?

A few. Through my dad.

Look, I spend half my life

trying to get people like
Cleaver Greene to pay their tax.

How do you think that makes me feel?

This is a chance for me to do
some good.

So do it. Knock 'em dead.

I have to go study.

TV: Then let it go, and crouch,
and hold.

CLEAVER: Morning, folks.

Stretch out the whole body and...

Pica hardly sleeps here.
Just comes to paint and read.

I've no idea what he does
with the rest of his time.

I shouldn't let him stay, really,
but he's quiet and he's a gentleman.

There you go, my lad.

Come on, boys, out of there.

Finnegan.

She is your teacher! She's meant
to be telling you about Jane Austen.

It is age inappropriate sex!
It's bloody great sex.

At your age, you should be having
exploratory sex

with a girl your own age.

And maybe some oral.
Oh, yuck.

The damage you are doing to your
psyche could be irreparable, darling.

I know. I'm trained.

Well, I'm not ending it.
It is immoral!

Hello! I thought we didn't buy into

this whole God, myth,
mortal sin bullshit.

No, but I believe there's a natural
order and a fine balance to life

and if the rhythms are violated
Oh fuck, Fuzz!

I want you to stop seeing
the wretched woman!

Do you hear me?
Most of the Eastern seaboard can!

I am going to report her
to the school

and she'll go to prison
and you can visit her on weekends.

You can't stop us.
We love each other!

Oh, now you're being a petulant
little fucking idiot.

Is this how you counsel
your suicidal patients?

(Slam!)

Oh!

Come on, Flick. 'Tonight
these artists have come of age.'

I deserve to make a living.

You earn yours
defending drug barons and pimps

and yes, I do bloody care
about the bloody Congolese.

(Mobile phone rings)
These are good, aren't they?

He's got your baggy eyes.
Yes, he's good. But you know that.

Yeah, but he's very good, isn't he?

I need to see more.

Goes by the name of Pica.

Formerly known as Denny Lorton.

These are Lorton's? How recent?

Who is he, first?
Who was he, you mean?

Prize student at Courtaulds,
several major exhibitions,

two paintings
in the National Gallery.

He was knocking on the door
big-time, then he disappeared.

I thought he was dead.

Well, he's come back to life.
What are his paintings worth?

Depends on size.
And artistic merit, presumably.

Not really, just size.
(Mobile phone rings)

He used to go for anything
up to 60 grand.

What's he done with all of it?

Get him to exhibit here,
maybe I'll forgive you.

No, I won't.

This is crap, isn't it, Flick?
Complete.

No, this time you've gone too far.

I've spoken to the lawyers, you're
never going to see your son again.

I don't know how you can
look at yourself every morning

without throwing up.

Am I going to get a look-in
on this conversation?

No, because I know exactly
what you're going to say

so you can spare me
the smart remarks.

I don't know how you could let
this happen in your own apartment,

your own son.

Oh, that's what this is about.

Wendy, he's 15 years old, alright,
almost 16. He's got a girlfriend.

Oh, you are genuinely sick
if you think this is appropriate.

All I did was save our son 50 bucks
on a room in some flea pit.

He's a kid.
He's in love with another kid.

With another kid?!
Yes.

It's a girl in his English class.
He told me all about it.

The girl from his English class

is his fucking English teacher,
you moron!

Oh...
Apologies, but I am in such a hurry.

Another one'll be along any mo.
Yes, oh. You didn't know?

No, no, I didn't.

Woollahra, thanks.

Um... What do you think
you're doing, you bastard?!

Give those back!

Have you told the school?
Shit! Don't let him in!

No, I don't want my son's head

pixelated all over
the Sunday papers.

Crown Street, thanks.

Where are your manners?
He'll tire of this woman.

Boys can't see straight
with a hard-on.

No 15-year-old boy
is going to tire of a woman

shoving perfect tits in his face.

You need to know that
you have ruined his life, OK?

And you have ruined my life.
(Slams phone down)

His English teacher.

Have you ever had sex
with any of your teachers?

No, neither did I.

You need a hand with the biros?

When I was a student backpacking,
I went to the Prado in Madrid.

Hate art.

I made a mistake of going to the
National Gallery once. Boring as.

Ah, and with one sentence, 2,000
years of civilisation is dismissed.

Bevan didn't mind it but...

Bevan?
Yes, Bevan.

Bevan, yes, yes.
Bevan, your boyfriend Bevan.

Fiance.

Just rooms and rooms full of
bleeding saints and fat cherubs.

There's this room
full of these Goya sketches,

sort of man's inhumanity stuff.

I could hardly breathe.

Felt a bit the same
when I saw Pica's stuff.

Did Goya murder kids too?
No.

And you don't judge artists
by the way they live their lives.

I don't care if he can sing, write,

paint and dance
all at the same time.

An arsehole's an arsehole.

Isn't it time you went on a diet?
No, I'm a good weight.

How long have we got this room?

How long does it take
to fix cancerous testicles?

Oh. Oh, geez, Keith must be pissed.

He never used the bloody things
when he had 'em.

Found out what our boy did
with his money. Yeah?

He paints a masterpiece,
sells it at grunge markets

for a fiftieth of what it's worth,

then wanders around the city
handing out wads of cash

to homeless people.

Jesus Christ.

We're defending Jesus Christ.

I don't need money. That was
Denny Lorton, my previous life.

Now I find it an intrusion.

So that's what you were doing
in a lane that night?

You were giving Ben Rigby money?

I'd been told about him.

I'd sold something.

I thought he could use the cash
and I could sketch him.

What had you been told?

That he was beautiful.

I wanted to see for myself.

And you found him dying?

But he was exquisite.

There's a photo in the Tate Modern.

Like this.

How we look from 900m up.
All dots, an irrelevance.

Don't go metaphysical, mate.
Juries hate that.

The Greeks were terrified of beauty
too.

They saw it as a torment,
excruciating, unreachable.

I want to capture the precise moment
when things are exquisite.

Listen, I don't normally
make a habit of asking this

but this time it matters.

Did you murder him?

No, I did not.

Some dots stand out.

Are you OK?

So why do you want to run, Dave?

I'd like to make a difference.

Oh, yeah? Example?

Well, I think we could try to make
New South Wales

the hardest State in the country
to buy a gun.

Whoa, there. Tread carefully.

We've still got a few
very marginal country seats.

We don't want to upset
the gun lobby.

(Laughs) For fuck's sake, Wal.

What's so funny?
Wal, you're living in a bubble.

Mate, those seats are gone.
They're rooted.

And I don't mean that in a nice way.
That's the status quo.

We're not married.

Every year they hold the State party
conference in a different place.

That's usually a lot of fun
for the wives.

You know, my Joe's got his eye
on your David.

Why? Is he gay?

Oh, I don't know what he is
sexually. I'm just married to him.

(Women laugh)

Wendy, Wendy, stop yelling.

Thank you.

Listen, Wendy!

Just don't speak to John Bartrop.

Do not speak to him. There's no point
in speaking to Bartrop, OK?

Leave the school out of it.

I'll talk to Fuzz.

Leave it to me.
I'll talk to him and Mrs Robinson.

Yeah.

Who's John Bartrop?

A puff of air in a mohair cardigan,

and my new name of choice
for telemarketers and Mormons.

Right. Bang!

The first cut gets him there,
and then he's down, he's dead.

And then bang, bang, bang,
three symmetrical wounds there.

And then...
Why did he stab him under there?

Well, according to Shrimpton,
Lorton stabs the kid here.

Shrimpton then heroically
runs for help.

Lorton then drags the now dead body
over to here.

Makes no sense.
It's closer to the street.

Why would you put it in a place
that's lit up like the SCG?

Now, your father was in the
diplomatic service, is that right?

David's told us all about you.

Very proud of his wife's
exotic background.

We're not married.
Where exactly was he stationed?

All over. Italy, Spain,
we ended up in Peru.

Bloody hell, no way. Peru?

That's where my brother-in-law
was stationed. Bob!

Oh, this was many years ago.

Yeah, ten years ago he was there.

Bob, you great deaf bastard.
Come here!

Oh, my phone.

Oh, excuse me.

If I was Joe Average
instead of Joe Sandilands,

I wouldn't be voting for us.

I'd be buying a gun
before Davo here bans them,

I'd be putting a fucking bullet
in my head.

I think you've had enough there,
Joe.

No, Wal, Wal, I've only just begun,
brother.

This man here is exactly
what this party needs

and we need 20 of 'em
and we need 'em bloody quickly.

(Mobile phone rings)

Oh. Ah, we're almost done,
aren't we, cock?

See you, mate.
Yeah.

You know what my first act will be
when I run this country?

Make threesomes compulsory?

OK. But my second act will be
to abolish five-day weather forecasts

and publicly execute
those who give them.

Some might say extreme.

No, Sunday night, some guy
who believes he has a personality

'cause he wears a bow tie says,

'It's galoshes day Monday, folks!'

Then this lunatic pretends to tell me
the weather for the next five days.

Folks might find this useful
in the planning of a week.

Well, folks would be deceived,

because by Tuesday night,
bow tie has changed his forecast

for two of the five nights
but won't admit it.

Your point being
if it's a five-day weather forecast,

how come he changes his mind
every night?

Clearly, he can't, you know.
Kill him.

Compassionately, but yes.

I'm sorry but um...

What have you come as, eh?

What's the emergency?

Where's hero-sorry-tax boy?

I just abandoned him
at Parliament House.

It was unbearable.
They want him to run.

Oh, God, strike at my vitals.

What am I doing?
This is mad. I should go.

Come on, I just hauled my arse
halfway across town.

I'm sorry.

Look, there's a hotel
across the road there.

We could grab a room,
really thrash this thing out.

(Laughs) It's not gonna happen.
No?

Come on, well, why do you call?

Why do you...
Why do you keep dropping in?

Fine, I won't.
No, I'm not saying that.

I'm just saying why? Why?

I don't know.

And I can't stay.

Oh, well, this has been
a cracker day for me.

I'm only trying to get
an innocent man off murder charges.

I'm happy for the distraction, yeah.

I thought everyone you defended
was guilty.

Do you remember that long weekend
we spent together?

Yeah, yes.

Son Of Astor paid for it.
Came in ten to one.

I had you for four beautiful days,
all to myself.

In the Margaret River.
And I really slept there, didn't I?

Yes, you did.

Yeah, it was pretty much all you did,
actually.

Snuggled up and snoozed.

I didn't mind.
They had in-house porn.

Call me anytime.

It's looking a bit messy.

Ah, Sal. David, my wife Sally.

David, hi.
Pleasure.

Pleased to meet you.
Shall we get you home?

(Door opens)

Just passing.
Mm-hm.

Am I correct in remembering
you handled a drug case two years ago

with a key witness
who's a guy called Shrimpton?

Stanley Shrimpton?

You got a conviction
on the basis of his testimony.

That's what you've come here
to talk about?

Yeah, I think I might be defending
a genuinely innocent guy.

I mean, an actually innocent guy.

Why did you go to bed with me
if you didn't want me?

Hmm? Was it just about landing me?

Once I'm flapping about on the deck,
I'm just a dead fish.

What are you talking about
landing you, Red?

We'd already done it before.

So you tell me, then.
Why did you want me?

Because at that precise moment,

there was no-one more beautiful
on Earth and I had to have you.

No, no, no, you're so full of shit!

OK.

Because I was drowning,
and because you were a lifebuoy

and you were in the same wet place.

Stanley Shrimpton.

A piece of vermin
who got off child abuse charges

by becoming a police informant.

Now, go, will you?

Thanks, Red.

OK, I'm sorry.

I was bored stupid.

What happened?
Nothing.

I got trapped between one woman who
was advocating tougher tort reform

and one who wanted to style herself
after Michelle Obama.

You were gone almost an hour.

I felt like an idiot. I had to tell
everyone you'd gone home sick.

I'm sorry, darling.
No, stuff sorry. What happened?

One of your new playmates
has a brother-in-law

who may have known my father
when we were in Peru.

So?

There was a woman at the embassy.

She was a translator
and my father had an affair with her.

Turns out this woman was,
I don't know, some sort of spy.

But it ruined my father's career

and it drove my mother
to the brink of suicide.

And I suppose that's where
cousin Angus comes in.

Yes.

Everything turned to shit.

My father ended his career
in disgrace

and frankly, I didn't want to talk
about it in front of those buffoons.

I don't think it would have helped
your career much.

Now I feel like a shit.

I won't put you through that again.

How is that possible?

Do you want me to drop this thing?

No. You have to do
what you have to do.

I mean, I'm not proud of what Dad did

but there isn't a day that goes by
I don't miss him.

We have the murder weapon,
DNA evidence,

the deceased's blood
was found on the accused,

and most importantly,
we have an eye witness.

This is a particularly heinous
crime.

The death of a lad who knew nothing
but grief and hardship.

Such crimes make us question
our very humanity.

Lorton's prints
were on the murder weapon.

The victim's blood was found
on his shirt, under his fingernails

and on his shoes
when we arrested him.

I must warn members of the jury
that they are very disturbing.

Detective, can you describe
the nature of these wounds?

The knife into the back of the head
severed his spinal cord.

This was followed by
three stab wounds down his torso,

one in his armpit.

According to the coroner,

the coagulation of the blood
suggests that all of these were done

after Benjamin had died.

As in a sort of ritual killing?

Objection.

Detective Maraco,
please confine your remarks

to matters pertaining
to your investigation.

You are not a medical expert.

And, Mr Dalton,
you should know better.

My apologies, Your Honour.

Detective, you've conducted

a pretty thorough investigation here,
haven't you? No stone unturned?

I'd say, yeah, it was
a thorough investigation, yes.

What was the boy doing in that lane,
Detective?

Soliciting.

So he was a lawyer?
(Some giggling)

He was performing oral sex.

So he was a male prostitute?

Who were his clients, Detective?

Uh, beautiful fashion models?

Romanian princesses?
Men.

Plump, wheezing, sweaty middle-aged
men with 50 bucks to spare.

I wouldn't know.

How many men (clears throat)

had he transacted that evening,
Detective?

We don't know. Several.

Several. So is that six, seven?
Could be.

So he could have serviced
a whole league team.

Detective, presumably you've had
semen tests performed, yes?

Yes, we did.
Ah, most of it was ingested.

In his stomach?
Yes.

So my client's sperm was in there?

Ah, no, it doesn't appear so.

So, I'm sorry,
but a veritable bevy of unknown men

abuse this boy and then disappear

back to the bosom
of their loving families,

and yet the only man
the police investigate is my client,

who's the only man we know for sure
didn't have sex with Ben Rigby.

The boy was seen alive just before
Mr Lorton went into the lane.

What if my client had stumbled onto
the boy already dying,

killed not by him,

but by any one
of these anonymous gentle folk

that he'd recently serviced?

We have a witness who says
he saw Mr Lorton murder the boy.

Or could he have, at that distance,

seen my client
in fact remove the knife?

And if so, would he not be awash
in Ben Rigby's blood?

Could that not explain
the blood on my client, Detective?

Possibly.

Is 'possibly'
another word for 'yes'?

Yes. Possibly.

No further questions, Your Honour.

That was it, eh?

I seen him go into the lane,
pull out the knife,

stab the poor little bastard.

Pica was off his nut.

Thank you, Mr Shrimpton.

Is this the first time

you've given evidence
in a criminal trial, Mr Shrimpton?

No.

Murder cases?
No, drug cases.

Cases? I see.

Isn't it true
that on three occasions,

you've been granted immunity
from prosecution

if you testified against the accused
in these drug cases?

Objection!

Your Honour, my client's future
rests on the testimony of this man

and this man only.

I'll allow it.

But no fishing expeditions,
Mr Greene.

Your Honour.

Mr Shrimpton,
you said you know my client.

I've seen him around.

Did he ever give you money?
Yeah. Yeah, once he did.

He helped a lot of homeless people,
didn't he?

He used to come around, paint us,
give out cash.

In fact, he gave away
thousands of dollars, didn't he?

Fair bit.

It was you who led my client
to the lane that night, wasn't it?

He said he wanted to paint him.

Because you told Denny, and I quote,

'Benny's an effing little Adonis.'

Yeah, I don't remember
me exact words.

Had you had oral sex yourself
with Ben Rigby that evening?

Come on, Mr Shrimpton.

Maybe a brief but therapeutic tryst
up a back lane?

Yeah, but, you know,
just a quick one.

Take comfort. Premature
ejaculation's not on trial here.

Listen, pal,
I seen that sick bastard there

whack that poor little kiddie.

And yet you did nothing to stop him.

Went and got help, didn't I?
Maybe you went and got an alibi.

See, I'm at a bit of a loss,
Mr Shrimpton.

You say my client kills the boy
he's gone to give money to

and then instead of bolting,
he drags his body 30m down a lane,

and then hangs around for 15 minutes.

Why would he do that?
Ask him.

More incredible, he now places
the body under a street light.

Would you do that, Mr Shrimpton?

If, in the terribly unlikely event
you were to have killed somebody,

would you do a runner,

or would you take 15 precious minutes
to drag the body

so that you could place it
under a street lamp

in full view of the street?

Hey, listen,
I haven't killed no-one.

You've just confessed to the court,
Mr Shrimpton,

of a Clintonesque interlude
with a minor.

Have you been charged
with this offence, Mr Shrimpton?

No.

Really?

Have you done another grubby deal
with the police, Mr Shrimpton?

Objection!
I withdraw it.

Thank you, Your Honour.

That was better than sex.

Then you're not trying hard enough,
cock.

I've gotta make way
for another couple of beers.

Congratulations,
your name in the papers yet again.

WOMAN: Good result.

Lorton did do it, you know?

Well, then, you should have made
a better case, mate.

Couldn't. Hands were tied.

There you go.

You know how your bloke did time
for that statutory rape?

Yeah, he was 19, she was 16.
It was bullshit.

Exactly. I kept asking myself how it
ever made it to court, so I checked.

Turns out your boy slashed the girl
with a knife. Both breasts.

Sex with a minor
was all they could get him on.

Why was that?
She wouldn't cooperate.

Said he was a genius and
apparently that's what geniuses do.

I wouldn't know what geniuses do.
I'm just a dumb arse cop.

I know nothing about art.

Sleep well, Mr Greene.

(Door opens)

(Door closes)

I hear you had a big win.

Oh, for God's sake, Barney. Alright!

He was a man that I met
at the Adelaide conference.

He's English.

And he is now safely back in Devon
with his wife

and he will never ever
come back here.

What's his name?
Does it matter now?

You don't know him and
I'm never gonna see him again.

OK!

OK.

John.

Bartrop.

John Bartrop.

There.

You happy now?

Bleeding saints.

Recognise this? Guido Reni.

In six months the streets
would have made him ugly.

He would have died in a crack haze
down some lane.

I gave him that,
his moment of absolute perfection.

No, you killed a kid,
you insane prick!

(Groans)

I'm going to the cops.

With what?

A picture painted 400 years ago?

I will find a way, I swear to God.

There is no way and you know it.

Camus said- Ah!

Fuck Camus.
(Groans)

(Door unlocks)

Fuzzball. Come in, come in.

Fiona, welcome, welcome.
Where's your stuff?

Oh, I'm not staying the night.

Oh, you're very welcome.

The old sofa bed might be
a little bit cramped,

and the place has had
a health warning slapped on it.

No, thank you, I just wanted
to explain my position.

Oh, nothing to explain.
It's all done, isn't it?

Told you he'd be cool.
Mum's given us so much shit.

Well, you know mothers.

What I feel for your son
is very sincere.

Great.

So, mate, I've got your favourite
here - burgers and chips.

Is that OK with you, Fiona?
Oh, you're not staying?

Finnegan, would you mind
grabbing my purse?

I think I left it in the car.

She's got you on the hop already,
mate.

Sit down.

Look, I...

I know he's young.

(Bangs around in the kitchen)

But there's something so special,
beautiful.

I-I tried to resist him, believe me.

I-I tried but...

What we have now
is extremely honest and good.

You sure I can't tempt you
with a burger?

Uh, no.
Come on, we've got marty sauce. No?

I want to find a way
to make this work.

I want to protect him emotionally
and care for his academic future.

Sorry, did you say protect him?
Yes.

You're delusional.

You think I'm delusional?

From what Finnegan tells me about
you, it sounds like you...

Oh, listen Fiona,
I know I'm a sinner, alright?

I know, because despite the enormity

of what you're doing
with my beautiful boy,

I would fuck you in a heartbeat
if he wasn't coming back in a minute.

Do you really want to turn him
into me?

The best thing you can do for Fuzz
right now, believe me,

is go downstairs, get in your car,
and get driving and keep driving,

preferably until you find
some sort of elevated landform,

and then keep driving
a little bit more, OK?

Let's go, Fi.

Fuck, Dad.
Fuzz.

Fuzz.

Mate...

(Dials)

(Phone rings)

Sorry to call late, cock.
I was up.

I just needed to hear
a friendly voice.

It's been one prick of a day.

Yeah?

First, Lorton. And then-

One of the many things
Scarlet hates about me

is my inability to lose my temper,
so I won't even try now.

But let's have nothing more to do
with each other, OK?

Barn, what the hell are you-
Ask Scarlet about John Bartrop.

You were joking about him, remember?

In the alley
where Ben Rigby was killed.

What'd you call him? A puff of wind
in a mohair cardigan?

You know, even when
you're destroying lives,

somehow it still comes out
as a bloody joke.

(Phone click)

£ I walked for miles

£ I'm shifting sands

£ The cold, cold wind

£ Did blow

£ I look in the night sky

£ And all I can see

£ The buckets of tears

£ Raining down on me

£ And I'll lay my head down low

£ I'll lay my head down low

£ Oh, oh

£ I looked in the night sky

£ And all I could see

£ Were buckets of tears

£ Raining down on me

£ And I'll lay my head down low

£ I'll lay my head down low, oh

£ And I'll lay my head down low

£ Lay my head down low, oh. £

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