All language subtitles for Strike.2017.The Silkworm Part 02

- Matt's mum just died.
- Take whatever time you need.

Owen Quine. He's a very famous novelist.

Who's that man?

- He's helping us find Daddy.
- I want Daddy!

The hero dies in exactly
the same way Quine did.

It must be the grimmest
part of the book,

and someone made him re-enact it.

- What do you want?
- I've fired Owen.

I am confident that Bombyx Mori
is not the work of one person.

What does Quine allege about you both?

In Andrew's case...

he implies that Andrew himself

wrote a nasty parody

of his late wife's novel.

We've got a suspect as well. The wife.

I'll be home soon, Dodo.

I promise.

"THE SILKWORM : Part 2 of 2"

Love is a... um...

it's a mirage. It's a...
it's a delusion.

For all your protests, Andrew, I thought

your depiction of this
relationship was full of love.

And brave, too, given your
proximity to the subject matter.

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

Yes.

So let me say this. Um...

When Effigy died...

I mean when Ellie died...

look...

It's me. Are you awake?

I take it you caught the train?

Yeah, and thanks for letting
me stay longer. Matt needs me.

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

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

Effigy?

Read your words aloud.

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

No! No! The words are no good!

We must give her new words!

I think Leonora Quine is innocent.

I'd bet my remaining leg on it.

That's all I've got!

Hello, Leonora.

This is Ilsa Herbert.
She'll represent you.

We have limited time so,
provided you feel able...?

When can I go home?

We do need to get
through some questions.

Did anyone have keys for the
house on Talgarth Road?

Andrew Fancourt.

We had spares cut when there
was repairs on the roof

but I can't find 'em.

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

It got rented out sometimes,

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

That house has been a nightmare.

We can't sell it and Andrew
makes sure nobody can make

money off it, just cos
of him not liking Owen.

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

Can we talk about the credit card?

I told 'em I don't know
anything about any of that!

A burqa, ropes and overalls...

all bought six months ago
on your family credit card

and delivered to the
house on Talgarth Road.

Is there a scenario where your
husband might have bought

these things for himself?

I don't know, erm...

The ropes, maybe...

He liked being tied up.

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

I never went over things with him.

Did Owen ever discuss
Bombyx Mori with you?

He said it was going to be a book

about how a silkworm gets boiled alive,

like he has been by the critics.
That's it.

The prosecution will use that
as evidence that you were

aware of elements of the manuscript.

How is this helping?

Ilsa's just doing her job.

I answered all these
questions already, though.

The police have a different agenda.

I'm asking you these questions to
try to keep you out of prison.

Well, I didn't do nothing!
That's enough, in't it?

The ugly truth is it might not be.

What's she mean, "it might not be"?
What's that about?

- Look, we need to...
- You shut up!

I know him. I don't know you!

You were supposed to keep me out of here.
You promised.

Ilsa's a friend. She's good
at her job, I trust her.

You need to trust her too.
I know you're frustrated.

I know you're scared.
But we're on your side.

I just want my Dodo!

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

Sorry... did you say mud?

You OK?

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

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

I, er, had to drive a
hire car last week.

Where?

Er... Down to Devon.

We had to interview a suspect
and Cormoran can't drive so...

So that's why you couldn't
help arrange my mum's funeral?

You were being his taxi?

No, I...

It looks bad. Access, motive,
this credit card thing...

PHONE CHIMES

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

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

Corm? Everything all right?

It's fine. Just Charlotte.

No relapsing.

Yeah, Nick was clear about that as well.

I'm fine.

I need to talk to you.

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

That wasn't very helpful.

The headline I have just read
says "Wife accused of murder

"trained as butcher."

She's being framed, Rich.

Just ask yourself... are you
saying she's clever enough to put

together this complicated murder,
leaving nothing for forensics,

no useful witnesses, no
credible leads, nothing...

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

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

and that goes a long way.

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

Andrew Fancourt had a
key to the property.

Andrew Fancourt hated Quine long
before this manuscript came out.

Why aren't you knocking on his door?

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

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

I was, but... plans changed,

and then the seats on the
earlier trains were booked.

Worst case scenario... it'd
be two hours standing up.

I used to do that all the
time coming to visit you.

I'd sit in the gangway...

because it was you.

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

I know.

I should have come sooner.

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

If he can't even let you off for
a day or two when my mum dies,

what kind of a man is he?

Matt, er...

..this wasn't Cormoran's fault.

Eh...

It was my decision to stay.

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

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

And then...

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

..but now I've got a chance.

I know you don't like it, and that...

I think that's why I lied to you.

And I am sorry.

I am so sorry,

because I should have
been here for you, but...

..I don't want to lose this.

Of course I want you to be happy.

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

Well, let's just settle and
say it couldn't be helped.

When are you going back?

So, how was your case?

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

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

- Met her daughter yet?
- No.

Sweet kid. Not really
built for this world.

I think the neighbour
is struggling with her.

Are social services involved yet?

It's Sunday.

I know.

I think we should start taking a
closer look at Andrew Fancourt,

don't you?

Well, I haven't come in at the
weekend to pay the utility bills.

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

Britain's most celebrated
novelist stripping out of a burqa

on a London side street?

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

- then changed in a car or something.
- Yeah.

Let's take a look in there,

see if he could have buried
the guts round the back.

Do you want to give me a leg-up?

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

Well, he's not burying anything in here.

Ah! Shit!

- Are you all right?
- Shit.

Fucker doesn't bend.

Christ.

I'm fine.

OK, lean on me.

No, no, I'm fine.

Well, you're obviously not. Just
put your weight on my shoulder.

There's a pub round the corner.

- Bribery?
- Motivation.

I'm sorry, Robin.

We didn't need this.

Just say if you need to stop.

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

powders and creams and baths...

Happy birthday.

How did you know?

I know your passport
number by heart as well.

Many happy returns, Mr
Cormoran Blue Strike.

Are you going to tell
me where that's from?

Nope.

I got you something.

It's billed as the Taste of Cornwall.

But you can be the judge of that.

I grew up two miles from where
this is made. It's good.

Good.

Robin, this is...

I like it.

- Thank you.
- You're welcome.

Made with Cornish cows' milk.

Eating nothing but Cornish
grass and looking at Cornwall.

This is exactly what the whole
of Cornwall tastes like.

Fancourt lives near Hampstead Heath.
It's a cruising ground.

Easy for him to go in the wood at
night without raising suspicion.

- Could have buried the guts in there.
- Have the police checked him over?

They won't. They've got Leonora.

But Fancourt's in Bombyx Mori.
You'd have thought...

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

was brought in on this one.

He's certainly got the
imagination for it.

Lots of the profile
pieces you read on him

talk about how he writes violence.

I'd like to find Fancourt tomorrow.

Will your leg be all right for that?

Yeah, it'll be fine.

My morning's free after all.

Why?

I could tail Fancourt.

You haven't been trained.

I want to do it. I'll be careful.

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

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

Just a water.

How's Leonora?

Well, she's been arrested.

Yes.

So, as you'd expect.

Orlando's half the
reason I kept Owen on.

I hope she'll be looked after.

I don't think they
have any other family.

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

This is England. We're
still halfway civilised.

The Quines barely have anything.

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

Can we talk about Andrew Fancourt?

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

That was a long time ago.

You were all friends together
once, is that right?

I represented them both.

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

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

We were... friends.

Back then we both wrote,

but of course he became Andrew
Fancourt and I stopped.

Andrew called my efforts
"lamentably derivative".

No doubt correctly.

Why did he leave your agency?

Because Owen wrote a
parody of his wife's novel

and I refused to sack him over it.

I abhor censorship and I
dislike being threatened.

Andrew forced me to choose and so I did.

But after Fancourt's wife killed
herself over that parody,

didn't you...?

Anyone who kills herself
over a little criticism

has no business writing.

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

Mountains of dreck and billions of
wasted hours. Ellie Fancourt had...

Or Andrew at least read
the work and stopped it.

Roper only published
it as a sop to Andrew.

Did her no favours.

Andrew and I haven't had a
relationship for a very long time.

This parody of Ellie Fancourt's
novel, why did Quine write it?

You're asking the wrong person.

But if he and Fancourt were friends...

They were never really friends.

Andrew tolerated Owen.

He was an amusing dirty joke.

Did Owen dislike Andrew?

Envied him, probably.

Did you ever regret choosing to
keep Quine on instead of Fancourt?

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

I regret that Andrew
forced me to choose.

I gather you were once in love with him.

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

Is there anything you
actually want to ask me,

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

I'm sorry...

Well, what is the point
of asking me that?

I have been...

I have been disappointed many times.

By Andrew, by others.

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

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

- I'm sorry if I...
- Rubbish.

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

..but Quine has damaged that too.

I have h... I have had it...

I don't deserve this.

I'm sorry for upsetting you.

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

You ask too much of people.

You are cruel.

So this is the parody that Quine
wrote of Ellie Fancourt's novel.

It was taped to her grave.
Somebody's taunting him.

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

That's bloody good work, Robin.

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

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

Well, some training will help.

- Matt?
- I'm in here.

Just finishing up.

Wow.

Thanks.

Have you ever tried to iron a dress?

There's no right angles.

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

This is excellent work.

I'd forgotten it's sort of...
sort of calming.

Do you want to do a box-set later?

Actually, I've got to work.

There's someone we need to speak to.

Tonight is our only opportunity.

Sorry... if I had known
you were coming back

I'd have tried to get out of it.

Can we do it tomorrow?

No problem.

We're guests of Daniel Chard.

Cormoran Strike plus one.

Plus one? He's not keen on me, is he?!

They moan about declining book sales,

but everyone I've met so far
in publishing either has

a drink in their hand or
will only meet for lunch.

It's not a bad life, is it?

When's Matthew back?

He's back already.

A party where I can smoke...

Oh, thank you.

I should have brought a cardie.

During a period of rapid change
in the world of publishing...

..one fact remains...

indisputably true.

Work with great writers, and
your readers WILL come.

- That's right.
- Yeah.

In that vein, tonight,

I am delighted to announce that
perhaps the most-garlanded novelist

in England is returning to
Roper Chard after 20 years.

Ladies and gentlemen, Andrew Fancourt!

APPLAUSE

- The man himself.
- Thanks, for that. Thanks, everyone.

Er, it's good to be back,
it feels like a homecoming.

Um, I wrote for Chard, and
then I wrote for Roper...

They were good days.

I was an angry young man.
Now I'm an angry old man.

I look forward to raging for you.

- Shall we mingle?
- Yeah.

I see you're struggling
to choose a drink.

I can tell you the champagne won't
kill you... I picked it out.

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

Champagne, twice.

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

you can be asked at one
of these things...

Read anything good lately?

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

was Bombyx Mori.

Owen Quine returns to his true metier...
the poison pen letter.

What did you think of MY depiction?

Have you read it?

I've been told about it.

Owen was a very minor writer
with a very large ego.

This conversation would
have pleased him...

enormously.

Can I introduce you to someone?

Sure.

Cormoran Strike, this
is Andrew Fancourt.

The one-legged detective. I've
read about you, Mr Strike.

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

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

Well. Here we are.

And may I commend you
on your choice of bait.

Consider me utterly reeled in.

Being a co-owner, you must have
run into Quine at Talgarth Road?

I haven't been there in ten years.

You inherited it from
your friend, Joe North.

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

I didn't lose my wife.

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

Did you ever confront Quine
about the parody he wrote?

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

- I am, yes.
- Could anyone corroborate that?

Do you have a spare one of those?

I gather your ex-fiancee
is about to get married?

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

It's high praise.

Tell me, are you attracted
to troubled women,

or do they become
troubled because of you?

Perhaps I should ask you.

Oh, we just work together.

Why would Quine use
Bombyx to deny he wrote

the parody of your wife's work?

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

Ellie thought that if
she married a writer,

it would change the way
the world saw her.

When that failed, she tried
being a writer herself.

Now, Quine saw himself reflected in her.

Most writers aren't very
imaginative, Mr Strike.

They end up writing about themselves.

Quine, like Ellie, was a failed
writer, struggling to gain

some status through writing,
but perennially in my shadow.

Take care, Mr Strike.

Miss Bait.

- Hi.
- Hi.

- Robin.
- Hi, come in. Through you go.

So, yes, do, er, have a seat.

- Er, do you want a coffee?
- I'm all right, thanks.

- Thank you for seeing us.
- Oh, yes, anything for Owen.

Ha! Bastard!

I tried to catch you at
the Roper Chard party,

but you disappeared after
Fancourt's speech.

Yes.

What do you think of Andrew Fancourt?

- Oh, me personally?
- Yes.

Oh, terrific writer, absolute
shit of a human being.

- Have you read Bombyx?
- Yeah, we both have.

But you've spoken to people about it?

You know what it all means, and so on?

I didn't recognise you in it.

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

Ah.

But for my cameo, Quine
dusted down the old rumour

that Fancourt had fathered my daughter.

Cheers, Owen! Rest in peace, old boy.

It must have hurt, what
he said about you.

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

If you want peers who'll glory in
your failure, work with novelists.

No loyalty.

No, of course it hurt me.

Well, anyway, I'm going to have a drink.

Um, precious little to be sober for
this afternoon. You'll join me?

What's under consideration?

Oh, I think a Barolo.

Sounds great.

Good man!

Bit early, isn't it?

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

- And I like Barolo.
- Right.

I was talking to Liz Tassel yesterday.

I hope you met her on a good day.
She can be an utter bitch.

Ah, here's to new-found... candour!

Liz made a pass at
Andrew after Ellie died.

And Andrew told me at
the time that he saw it

as a badge of honour that he
couldn't get it up for her!

Prick!

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

No, I don't imagine she did!

Anyway, injured pride is absolutely
why she went with Quine over Andrew.

Do you think Fancourt had
a motive to kill Quine?

Well... Obviously there's... the
book's claim that Fancourt wrote

the parody of his wife himself...

Could that be true?

Could Fancourt kill a man?

Well, he's very good at writing hate.

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

even if it's disguised.

You see, a writer gives
himself away like that.

Invariably puts himself into
the text more than he knows.

Daniel Chard had an interesting
theory about that with Bombyx.

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

He thinks the manuscript could have
had more than one contributor.

Well, that's rather an
interesting thought.

Now, here we are.

There are lots of parts that
feel like classic Quine...

all shock-horror stuff, but
there are other parts where...

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

and I never once saw
him use a semi-colon.

And in that manuscript,
there are several.

Now, that is not the kind of thing a
writer embraces late in his career.

Thank you. You've been very helpful.

Thank you.

Right, I'm off to Fulham.

I'm sorry about before.

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

That's OK.

I remember you said something about...

he'd told you he was going
to put you in his next book?

It seemed to me like you
were expecting to read

a very different manuscript?

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

And then... and I'm a writer as well,

so this was a big deal for me...
he told me he was writing a book

with me in it, and then I read
it, and he calls me "Harpy".

Makes jokes about my sister's cancer.

Just staggeringly, staggeringly painful.

- You hadn't argued?
- He always said he loved me.

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

I burned it.

Never trust a novelist. I should
have that tattooed on my arm.

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

Look, it fits.

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

it might be the only
thing that explains it.

First of all, the title.

Leonora says Quine told
her silkworms are boiled.

The silkworm in Bombyx is cut open.

But then there's the fact that the
book features its hero burned by

a liquid, and the site just happens
to be filled with hydrochloric acid.

That's a neat coincidence.

Kathryn Kent was expecting
a very different book.

Jerry Waldegrave and Daniel Chard
both detect a foreign influence in

the text. We keep hearing different
versions of the same thing.

Something is not quite right
with Bombyx Mori. So we need

a literary analyst... someone
who can compare writing styles.

Yeah, I can get on that.

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

Erm, what are you doing?

There's only one instance we know of
where Quine discussed the manuscript

with somebody. The lunch with Liz
Tassel, where she fired him.

Are you going out for lunch again?

Needs must.

Good of you to do this, Al.

I get to hang out with my brother

in my favourite restaurant...
what's not to like?

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

How are you?

Ah... Media bollocks, sexy girlfriend.
Can't complain.

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

Yeah, I come here a lot.

I need to talk to anyone who might
have seen an argument in here.

Ah, well, Frankie's on.
She knows everyone.

Mate, can you ask Frankie to
come over and have a word?

Thank you.

How are the rest of the siblings?

Oh, the Rokeby diaspora?
You know, they're good.

Dad got inducted into the
Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame.

- Did you see that?
- No, passed me by.

Yeah, you look around and, er,

all these guys are
getting really old now.

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

Hi, I work with Cormoran Strike.

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

I could use a break, if I'm honest.
Orlando's upstairs.

- I'll go and fetch her.
- Thanks. I'm Robin.

- Hi.
- Nice to meet you.

Hey, Al.

Oh, Frankie, this is
my brother, Cormoran.

Hi.

- Can you spare five minutes?
- It'll have to be a very quick five.

Apparently these two had a row
in here over a fortnight ago.

Ah, yeah, the police asked
us about this already.

- Last-known sighting, wasn't it?
- Were you working?

Oh, my God, they were ridiculous.

At one point, he stood up, literally
pointed his finger at her

and shouted, "The world shall know
you made Fancourt's dick limp."

I can see you wouldn't forget that!

Did it seem like they
were putting it on?

Oh, he was hamming it up,
enjoying being a massive prick.

She looked properly angry, though,
telling him to sit down and shut up.

He walked out on her.

So he was acting?

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

We will tip heavily.

Thanks, sweetie.

I never get called
sweetie by waitresses.

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

Do you have a dog?

Yes. Well, well, my family does.

His name's Rowntree.

I want a dog.

What kind of dog?

I just want a dog!

What's your name?

Robin.

I'm Dodo. I'm a bird.

- Robins are birds.
- Yeah!

Can I draw you one?

Right.

There you go.

What else is in there?

I can't show you the inside.

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

Oh.

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

could I have a look inside then?

Oh.

Ha! You've got expensive taste.

OK.

Here you go.

Wow!

Are you stealing it?

- Would you mind?
- No. You can steal it.

Thanks, Orlando.

Do you think we should go outside now?

No, you stay with me.

Stay! Stay! Stay!

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

Stay!

Are you going to be OK?

She's just missing her mum. We'll be
all right, though, won't we, Dodo?

Come on, my darling, there we go.

Regular names. Eddie Boy and Kate.

There's no baroque archetypes here.

You did well to get this.

Apparently a lot of
people ask Oxford for it

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

How's it looking?

Yeah, so, you see here
in these short stories,

and here in this parody,

the same unusual formulation of phrase.

And here again, in this piece,

the semi-colon used more
frequently than usual.

Ah, yes. Look here.

Fancourt favours an Oxford comma
and it's across all three pieces.

Er, here, in Quine's novel...
no Oxford comma.

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

Is it proof?

No.

Um, but these things together,

I would bet that whoever
wrote this parody piece

also wrote your Bombyx Mori. Er,
and probably this short story too.

- Harder to say here.
- I'd bet on it as well.

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

The story of your grudge in the form
of a secret parody of Quine himself.

A story that leaves
Quine's lover, his wife

AND his colleagues all hating him.

It's a very comprehensive
kind of revenge.

But too complicated.

That's what unpicked them in the end.

Anstis, last favour. You
need to trust me on this.

You're going to need to
get a search warrant.

- Are you sure about this?
- Absolutely.

It's like a Bombyx Mori reunion.

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

It concerns Bombyx Mori.

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

How does it hold up?

What struck me was how spiteful it was.

But what about Bombyx?

The two pieces were written
by the same person.

- Well, we know that.
- Owen Quine was not the author.

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

and not apologise...

..to you both.

Evening, Miss Tassel.

I was just telling them that Owen
Quine didn't write Bombyx Mori.

At least not the version they've read.

He did write a book called Bombyx Mori,

and he intended to settle
some scores with it,

embarrass a few old sparring partners.
But his anecdote about

Mr Fancourt's limp dick doesn't
appear in the text we were given.

What are you talking about?

You wrote the parody of
Ellie Fancourt's novel.

The one she killed herself over.

Owen Quine knew you wrote it.

That is a disgusting slur.

You wrote a short story
for an Oxford anthology.

Its style is a good match
with both Bombyx Mori

and the parody of Ellie Fancourt's book.

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

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

Your hurt when Andrew
rejected your writing,

and again when he rejected your love.

Owen Quine had a price
for keeping your secret.

You didn't support that
family out of pity.

He blackmailed you for nearly 30 years.

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

Poor Mr Strike.

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

It was your idea for Quine to
make a scene in the restaurant,

and shout at you, storm out.

And later he'd hole up in Talgarth Road,

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

It had worked for him in the past.

Rubbish.

Afterwards, you visited
Leonora's house to reassure her

when Quine went missing.

You took the opportunity to remove
every notebook from Quine's study

that contained scraps of
the real Bombyx Mori.

But you didn't manage
to destroy every trace.

I found some pages from
the real manuscript

and an original typewriter ribbon.

The police have just pulled

an electric typewriter... the
same model as Quine's...

from the millpond at your
friend Dorcus Pengelly's house.

They'll be here imminently.

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

Robin!

Don't!

Robin?!

You all right?

Yeah. I'm fine. I'm fine.

Yes, I'll hold.

Robin?

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

- Where is she?
- In prison, on suicide watch.

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

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

This one might even sell a few copies.

- Mummy! Mummy!
- My Dodo!

- Is Anstis talking to you?
- Has to. I saved his life.

And, anyway, like most coppers,

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

They checked her freezer, by the way.

- Not the guts...
- Feeding them to her dog.

That's disgusting.

Does Matthew mind about all that?

Oh, yeah, told him I'd seen worse
on him after rugby matches,

and claimed gender equality.

Erm, I'm going to get the Tube.

Oh, I, erm, I... Your ex sent
in some photos, by the way,

and I opened them by accident.

She's not my problem any more.

Right, well, I'll see you tomorrow.

- Robin.
- Mm?

I got something for you.

- What is it?
- Open it.

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

Really?

So... partners, yeah?

♪ Oh, yesterday is to come ♪

♪ Godspeed, your distant sun ♪

♪ Oh, yesterday is to come ♪

♪ I will never, ever wish you away ♪

♪ Never, ever wish you away ♪

♪ All of tomorrow's
Shapeless and undefined ♪

♪ We'll merge into one ♪

♪ In a fine lament for
yesterdays to come ♪

♪ All of tomorrow's
Shapeless and undefined ♪

♪ We'll merge into one ♪

♪ In a fine lament for
yesterdays to come. ♪