All language subtitles for Strike - S02E02 - Episode 2 (1080p x265 EDGE2020).eng

( music playing )

♪ You and me ♪

♪ Me and you ♪

♪ Somehow
we made it through ♪

♪ I may be gone ♪

♪ I may be far away ♪

♪ But I walk
beside you ♪

♪ Every step of the way ♪

♪ When you're used,
bruised ♪

♪ Black and blue ♪

♪ Don't think about it ♪

♪ Never doubt it ♪

♪ I walk beside you. ♪

Fancourt on TV:
Love is a, um...

It's a mirage.
It's...

It's a delusion.

Interviewer:
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.

Andrew:
So let me say this.

When Effigy died...

I mean,
when Ellie died, look...

( continues indistinctly )

( phone ringing )

Robin:
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 program with Andrew Fancourt.

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

- ( typewriter clacking )
- 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!

- ( skin sizzling )
- ( screams )

( reporters shouting )

Man:
Did the wife do it?

Man #2:
Any comment, Mr. Strike?

I think Leonora Quine
is innocent.

I'd bet
my remaining leg on it.

That's all I got.

( reporters shouting )

( gate buzzes )

( distant chatter )

( distant door opens )

( distant door closes )

( keys jingling )

- ( lock clicks )
- ( door opens )

Hello, Leonora.

This is Ilsa Herbert.

- She'll represent you.
- ( sobs )

We have limited time,
so provided you'll
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 them.

Did anyone else
ever handle the keys,
even just for 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 'cause of him
not liking Owen.

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

Can we talk
about the credit card?

I told them 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.

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 gonna be
a book about how a silkworm

gets boiled alive
like he has been
by the critics.

- That's it.
- Mm.

The prosecution
will use that as evidence

that you were
aware of elements
in the manuscript.

How is this helping?

Ilsa's just doing her job.

I answered
all these questions
already, though.

Ilsa:
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 anything.
That's enough, isn'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.

( phone ringing )

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

Sorry, did you say mud?

( panting )

You okay?

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

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

I had to drive
a hire car last week.

Where?

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 mom's funeral.

You were being his taxi.

No...

( door slams )

It looks bad.

- Access, motive,
this credit card thing.
- ( phone chimes )

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.

( doorbell rings )

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've 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 gonna 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 early train
were booked.

Worst-case scenario would be
two hours standing up.

I used to do it 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 mom dies,
what kind of a man is he?

Matt, uh...

this wasn't Cormoran's fault.

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...

I think that's
why I lied to you.

And I am sorry.

I am so sorry,

'cause 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.

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 neighbor's
struggling with her.

Are social services
involved yet?

( phone buzzing )

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.

( doorknob rattling )

Do you want
to give me a leg up?

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

( grunts )

Well, he's not burying
anything in here.

( shouting )

- Shit!
- Are you all right?

Shit!

Fucker doesn't bend.

Christ.

I'm fine.

Here, lean on me.

No, no, I'm fine.

Well, you're obviously not.

Just put your weight
on my shoulder.

There's a pub
around the corner.

- Bribery?
- Motivation.
Come on.

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
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 gonna tell me
where that's from?

Nope.

I got you something.

( cellophane crinkling )

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
cow's milk."

Eating nothing
but Cornish grass

and looking at Cornwall.

This is exactly what
the whole of Cornwall
tastes like.

( chuckles )

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 that--

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

was brought in
on this one.

I mean, 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.

- Uh, just a water for me.
- Server: Certainly.

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.

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 civilized.

The Quines
barely have anything.

Ah...

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.

Oh, 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.

Oh.

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 ought least
to have read the work
and stopped it.

Roper only published it
as a sop to Andrew.

Did her no favors.

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
in 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--
- No, no, no. Rubbish.

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

but Quine has
damaged that, too.

I have--
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?
- Matt: I'm in here.

Just finishing up.

Wow.

Thanks.

You ever tried
to iron a dress?

There's no right angles.

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

( chuckles )

This is excellent work.

Yeah, 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's
our only opportunity.

Sorry. If I'd have known
you were coming back, I...

I'd have tried
to get out of it.

Can we do it tomorrow?

No problem.

We're guests
of Daniel Chard.

- Yes, sir.
- Cormoran Strike,
plus one.

Yeah.
Go ahead.

Plus one?

He's not keen on me,
is he?

They moan about
declining book sales.

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?

- ( chatter )
- ( music playing )

- When's Matthew back?
- Oh, he's back already.

- A party where I can smoke.
- ( chuckles )

( shivers )

Oh, thank you.
( clears throat )

Should have brought
a cardie.

( clinking )

( Chard clears throat )

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.

( mumbled agreement )

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.

Andrew:
Thanks, Dan.

Thanks, everyone.

It's good to be back.
It feels like a homecoming.

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.

( laughter )

I look forward
to raging for you.

( applause )

Shall we mingle?

Mmm.

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.

Now 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."

- There you go.
- Thanks.

Owen Quine returns
to his true métier,

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.

Robin:
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?

You have a spare
one of those?

I gather your ex-fiancée
is about to get married.

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

That'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.
Come in.

Through here.

So, yes, do...

have a seat.

Do you want a coffee?

- I'm all right, thanks.
- All right.

Thank you for seeing us.

Oh, anything for Owen.

Ha! Bastard.

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--
me, personally?
- Yes.

Oh, terrific writer,

absolute shit
of a human being.

( Strike chuckles )

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
recognize you in it.

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

- Ah.
- And for my cameo,

Quine dusted down
the old rumor

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.

Of course it hurt me.

Well, anyway,
I'm gonna have a drink.

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.

A bit early, isn't it?

It will 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.

( laughing )

Here's to newfound candor.

Liz made a pass at Andrew
after Ellie died.

And Andrew told me
at the time

that he saw it
as a badge of honor

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.

Strike:
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.

See, a writer gives
himself away like that.

He invariably puts himself
into the text more
than he knows.

Daniel Chard had
an interesting theory
about that with "Bombyx."

Well, 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 semicolon.

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.

Kathryn:
Sorry about before.

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

That's okay.

I remember you said
something about

he'd told you he was gonna
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...
( sighs )

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.

( sighs )
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 are
so many other pieces
that 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.

Um... 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
for lunch again?

Needs must.

( chatter )

Good of you
to do this, Al.

Al:
I get to hang out
with my brother

in my favorite restaurant.

What's not to like?

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

How are you?

Eh, 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.

Uh...

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?

Ah, the Rokeby diaspora?

Yeah, no, they're good.

Dad got inducted
into the Rock and Roll
Hall of Fame.

Did you see that?

No. Passed me by.

Yeah, you look around,

and 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.

( laughing )

Hey, Al.

Frankie, this is
my brother, Cormoran.

Hi.

Al:
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.

Oh, yeah.
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."

( Al laughing )

I can see why
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 with her.

So he was acting?

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

We will tip heavily.

( chuckles )
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, 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?

Can't show you
the insides.

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.

Okay.

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. Promise.

Stay!

( sobbing )

Are you gonna be okay?

She's just missing
her mom.

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,

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

How's it looking?

Yes, you see here
in the short stories

and here in this parody,

the same
unusual formulation
of phrase.

And here again
in this piece.

The semicolon used
more frequently than usual.

Ah, yes.
Look here.

Fancourt favors
an Oxford comma,

and it's across
all three pieces.

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.

But these things,
together,

I would bet that whoever
wrote this parody piece

also wrote
your "Bombyx Mori."

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.

Mm. 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.

Strike:
Anstis, last favor.

You need to trust me
on this.

You're gonna need
to get a search warrant.

- Are you sure about this?
- Absolutely.

( door buzzes )

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.

Andrew:
How does it hold up?

What struck me
was how spiteful it was.

But what about "Bombyx"?

Strike:
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 apologize
to you both.

Strike:
Good 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.

Strike:
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.

- ( typewriter clacking )
- ( whimpering )

( screaming )

Strike:
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.

Strike:
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.

It's rubbish.

Strike:
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.

( wheezing and coughing )

Strike:
They'll be here imminently.

( groans )

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

Robin!
( groans )

Don't!

- ( brakes screech )
- ( horn honks )

Robin!

( both grunting )

( Robin screams )

- ( Liz groaning )
- ( Robin panting )

You all right?

- ( siren approaching )
- Yeah, I'm fine.

I'm fine.

Strike:
Yes, I'll hold.

Robin?

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

Leonora:
Where is she?

Strike:
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.

- Mommy! Mommy!
- My Dodo!

( laughing )
Oh...

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.

I told him
I'd seen worse on him
after rugby matches

and claimed
gender equality.

I'm gonna get the tube.

Oh, I-- I...

Your ex sent in
some photos, by the way,

and I opened them
by accident.

She's not my problem
anymore.

Right.

Well, I'll see you
tomorrow.

- Robin?
- Hmm?

Got something for you.

What is it?

Open it.

"Surveillance course.

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

Really?

So, partners, yeah?

( kisses )

♪ Oh, yesterdays to come ♪

♪ Godspeed
your distant sun ♪

♪ Oh, yesterdays 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 final meant
for yesterdays to come ♪

♪ All of tomorrow's
shapeless and undefined ♪

♪ We'll merge into one ♪

♪ In a final meant
for yesterdays to come. ♪