All language subtitles for The.Chelsea.Detective.S02E01

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I could collapse
on the pavement,

then Roy could explain that I've
had an episode, rush me home...

Benny. Please. You promised.

I know, I know.

Biggest smile.

Best behavior.

"Im Blauen Zimmer"
by Friedrich Gustav.

His most famous piece.

Painted in 1942,

it was intended as the
first in a series...

but he died before
he completed it.

Do you mind, mate?
'Cause I'm just tryna...

Excuse me.

I'll tell you later.

Your attempts at
mingling going well?

Ha, quite the opposite.

My fault for inviting
such a shallow pool.

See that lady in the red hat?

We had a scintillating
conversation

about earthquakes in Chelsea.

Now, I did suggest it
had something to do

with her townhouse being on top
of the District line, but...

Still, free champagne.

I think we can
survive the night.

Oh, stand to attention, knave...

The Queen Of
Chelsea has arrived.

- Ah!
- Darling, sensational!

Oh! Thank you.

- Hi!
- So proud of you.

Congratulations.

Cassie! Save me.

Oh, thought these
were your people.

Have you seen Gulliver's latest?

I know that we're getting
older, but is it my imagination

or are the hyenas
getting younger?

Hmm, while asking
their jackal husbands

for a second opinion on the
rumors about your boob-job.

Oh? What's the consensus?

Relax.

Genetics... by a landslide.

Now, Cassandra...

If you're about to
suggest I find myself

a horny rich jackal...

Actually, I was gonna say

some of those trays
need replenishing.

But I can see you're
way ahead of me.

I shall return to my people.

- Morning.
- Morning.

The deceased, an IC1 male,
is in the main gallery.

Another IC1 male was apprehended

leaving the scene
when uniform arrived.

Witness or suspect?

Husband of the owner.

- Benoît Chaban?
- Mm-hmm.

How was your weekend
with Priya and Nitin?

Yeah, she oversold
us on that sea view.

Oh, yeah?

If I stood on tip-toe
in the nursery,

I could just about make
out a thin slither of sea.

Obviously, Brighton Central
aren't as exciting as us lot.

Mainly
seagull-related thefts.

Morning, Ashley.

Morning.

Have you seen my new
D.S., Layla Walsh?

Yeah. She
finger-spelled her name.

Nearly got it right, too.

Does he have a name?

Mm-hmm.

"Christopher Milton-Elvis."

Are you saying "Elvis"?

It's "El-wes."

Gallery manager, 32,
lives on Marcovis Street.

What's the dried
blood on his fingers?

Yeah, it's likely from
the facial laceration.

Looks like a clean, flat blade.

But cause of death, at this
stage, 90% certainty...

Manual strangulation.

Found this in his jacket pocket.

Tickets for the Eurostar,

departing at 12:15 today.

He's gonna miss his train.

Hi, Max.

Morning, Layla.

So, a botched heist in
a high-end art gallery.

Yep. Welcome to Chelsea.

What is it? What
have you found?

This used to be a restaurant.

Mr. and Mrs... Zintilis,

a Greek family.

But I can't for the life of me
remember what it was called.

No.

Right.

Shall we crack on with the case?

Yeah.

Uniform arrived at 23:18,

in response to the
gallery's silent alarm.

Point of entry is
this rear door.

Looks like it's been jimmied.

Multiple paintings
believed stolen.

I'm thinking the deceased
was in the wrong place

at the wrong time.

Ashley found two tickets for
the Eurostar in his pocket,

for later today.

Oh, so what are we thinking?

The victim is robbing the place

and the owner's husband
catches him in the act?

Could work.

There's a camera at the
back of the gallery,

but it's broken.

Presumably, as gallery manager,
that was his responsibility.

Could he and Benoît Chaban
be in on it together?

What did Mr. Chaban say?

Oh, claimed he got here mere
minutes before our officers.

Says he found the
body, nothing more.

- Ah, always nothing more.
- Mm.

Okay.

What have we got on
Chris Milton-Elwes?

Nothing on the
victim's phone so far,

but I found a
Chris Elwes on PNC.

Checking to see if
it's the same one.

He has a file?

Marked NFA.

Shoplifting when he was 12.

Once a thief...

12, though.

Well...

Can you check the guest list

and cross-reference
it with our files?

Ooh, searching for crooks
among the Chelsea elite.

Might be a long list.

Do we know what was taken?

Four paintings in total.

Not the slickest heist.

The canvases were cut
from their frames.

There's spotting on here.

Expecting it
to be the victim's,

if the same blade that cut him
was used to cut the canvases.

You said there
were four pictures?

But there's only three frames.

The fourth painting
was only so big.

Small enough to take intact.

Do we know the value?

In total, just over £2 million.

Here is the big ticket.

Purchased by Rebekah Chaban
at Sotheby's last year,

for one-point-three.

The artist is Friedrich Gustav.

"Im Blauen Zimmer."

My ex is a big fan.

And the other three?

Two canvases by
Christian Fessel,

and the small one is
"Louisa" by Konrad Mueller.

Each valued between two
and three hundred thousand.

You're very well informed.

I don't like to
make a thing of it,

but I do know a
fair bit about art.

She looked it up on Wikipedia.

I looked it up on Wikipedia.

Yeah.

What time did you and your
wife leave the gallery?

It had all finished by 10:00.

But you returned later?

Yes. Around a
quarter past 11:00.

Why did you return?

My wife asked me to check
the alarm had been set.

I would have thought
people like you have people

to do that for you.

People like me?

I don't appreciate your tone.

At 23:18, responding to
the gallery's silent alarm,

police arrived to find you
leaving via the rear door.

I heard a car door outside

and I assumed it could be
whoever was responsible,

so I went to look for them.

Were you going to
confront this person?

I don't know. I was
acting on instinct.

Pity your instinct
didn't include dialing 999.

After all, there were clear
signs a robbery had taken place.

Did you touch the body,
check for a pulse?

- No.
- Why not?

Okay.

You say your wife asked
you to check the alarm.

You drove there. What then?

You walked in to find
Chris helping himself

to your wife's collection?

What? No! I...

I walked in, I saw
Chris on the floor,

and before I could do
anything else or even think,

- I heard a noise.
- And fled the scene.

Yes! N-No!

I... No! Ohh!

Mon dieu, c'est pas possible.

From July 2006.

"Berlin-born Rebekah Vidic,
23, married Benoît Chaban

in a lavish ceremony
in Monaco..."

Looks like the Chaban wealth
stems from the husband's side.

His family is in
international fleet services.

Whatever that is.

How much do you reckon
Benoît Chaban is worth?

Ah, but is he happy, Connor?

I won a tenner on the
lottery two weeks ago,

and I was dancing
'round the kitchen.

Forbes estimates it at
around $400 million.

Bought a bottle of wine,
chocolate bar as long as my arm.

400 million can't buy
that kind of happiness...

Gulliver Bauer.

Dealer, high-end art,

eventually convicted
on tax-evasion charges.

He holds the record as the
richest inmate at Belmarsh.

Knocked Jeffrey Archer
down to second place.

I know the last thing you
want is us asking questions.

But what time did you
leave the gallery event?

Around 10:00.

And you came straight home?

I got back at about 20 past.

On your own?

Chris stayed behind to tidy up.

He wanted to get
everything ready

for today's public opening.

I was the last to leave,
and he was on his own.

At the opening, did you
or Chris notice anyone

acting suspiciously?

No.

Anything that you
think might help.

There was
one man I spoke to.

I-I don't know his name, but
he was quite hostile toward me.

Can you describe him?

30s, short dark hair like...

Tell us about Chris.

How was he last night?

Why are you asking about Chris?

We're keeping an open mind.

You don't think he was involved?

That's absurd.

This morning, when you woke
up and Chris hadn't come home,

what did you think?

That he'd hit a snag and it
had turned into an all-nighter.

Did you call him?

I was going to this morning,
but then the police arrived.

You must have been worried.

Not really.

When Chris was working
on the gallery,

he would sometimes work
through till morning.

This was nothing
out of the norm.

I meant worried that you
might miss your train.

What train?

The Eurostar to Brussels,
leaving St. Pancras

at a quarter past noon today.

I... Sorry, I...

Two weeks ago, Chris
purchased two tickets.

We found them in
his jacket pocket.

Well, I don't know
anything about that.

One of them
was in your name.

Last year, on my fortieth,

I woke up to find plane
tickets on the kitchen table.

We flew to Venice
later that same day.

A couple of years before, Chris
sprung a surprise trip on me

for our anniversary, to Rome.

Is today your birthday
or anniversary?

My husband has
spent the last year

renovating that gallery,
planning the exhibition,

so it's not out of question

that he wanted to
mark the occasion.

"Im Blauen Zimmer"...

Proof that somebody
in the former GDR

once saw an Yves Klein.

Mm, the two Fessels have a
certain depressing charm.

Ugh.

Mueller's "Louisa."

Terribly twee.

Reminds one of one's grandmother
framing her embroidery.

Might we interrupt?

We're here investigating
the suspicious death

of Christopher Milton-Elwes.

Of course.

Please.

Did you know him?

No. No. Not personally.

What about the Chabans?
You had dealings with them?

I have
dealings with everyone.

I have brokered several sales
for them, over the years.

- All aboveboard?
- Of course.

Don't suppose you've
heard anything

on the Chelsea art
scene grapevine

about the stolen paintings?

Nothing.

2.3 million, wasn't it?

Your tax bill.

I have learned from my mistakes.

Remind me how it works.

You find an artist, the
more obscure the better,

then you get an expert...
In your case, you...

To value one of this artist's
paintings for a few million...

Say, 2.3 million.

Then you hang it in a gallery

and claim its value back
as a charitable donation.

Bye-bye, tax bill.

Viros non paenitet.

Oh, dear.

"Public schoolboy
quoting Latin" alert.

After the gallery, my
fiancée and I stopped off

at The Connaught.

We were there until midnight.

We'll check.

Good-oh.

May I suggest a
good place to start?

Public toilets.

Public toilets?

The Whitworth Gallery
heist... 2001, 2002?

Four million pounds' worth
of paintings was stolen,

and while the police were
busy pushing warrants

under the door of every dealer
and private collector in town...

Including yours truly...

A cleaner found the
missing paintings

a few yards from the gallery,
stashed in a public lavatory,

complete with an apology
letter.

Thank you for your time.

Call us if you hear
anything, Mr. Bauer.

Audere est facere.

- I didn't know you knew Latin.
- I don't.

My old man's a Spurs fan...
Written on his scarf.

Please, come in.

We're beside ourselves
with the news.

Do you have any
idea what happened?

We're still
filling in the gaps.

I did the catering last night.

Did you know Chris well?

We were friends.

We worked closely for
the last few months,

organizing the exhibition.

Please.

Were the Chabans happy
with Chris' work?

Oh, well, Chris was good
at managing his own PR.

If it was good news, he couldn't
wait to tell Mrs. Chaban.

But for the bad news, he used
me as his Miss Go-Between.

Last night at 11:00,
where were you?

Home.

Well, if you need to check,
my flatmate was still up

when I got in.

Mrs. Chaban?

The police are here to see you.

It was around 10:15.

If you want to see any
CCTV, ask my driver, Roy.

He installed the
security system.

And later, you
asked your husband

to return to the gallery?

Call it opening-night paranoia.

I wanted to make sure
the alarms were set.

We're running through
the guest list,

and the only person we're
struggling to identify

is this gentleman.

This photo is from an Instagram
account of one of your guests.

Do you recognize him?

Mr. Chaban?

Toby Hansard.

My personal trainer.

Cassie, would you...?

Oh, yes. I'll find
his details for you.

Ms. Lawson is
your housekeeper?

My executive PA.

My Girl Friday.

She's a bit of a charity case,
but we're old friends, so...

Are we right in thinking you
insured "Im Blauen Zimmer"

by Friedrich Gustav
for £3 million?

You've done your homework.

Yet, the market value
is one-point-two.

That's a tidy profit.

Obviously, I masterminded
this whole thing.

For a miserable two
million.

I insured the painting for what
I judged to be its resale value.

- Should it be stolen.
- Quite.

This coffee
tastes of tamarind.

There are tamarind
trees on our reserve.

Indonesia.

Ridiculously lavish
process, but worth it.

And all ethical...
I'm strict about that.

It's very good.

These are two of the
missing pictures.

The Christian Fessels.

Prints, obviously.

Obviously.

Rebekah hangs them
here so I never forget

her one true love... art.

We'll need to see
your collection,

to help with our inquiries.

I'm afraid that
won't be possible.

My paintings are
kept in a secure,

climate-controlled vault.

So we would
need prior notice.

Or a... a warrant.

Dung.

- Hm?
- Dung.

I know, that's what
I thought you said.

Is that your opinion
on Benoît Chaban or...?

A pound of that coffee

is worth around a
thousand pounds sterling.

Is there a point to this?

On their reserve, elephants
eat the coffee beans.

The beans are then harvested
from the elephant dung.

And you still drank it?

The point is, was
that a deliberate ploy

to make us think they
had money to burn?

"For a miserable two million"...

Roy Colin?

Layla Walsh.

Well, you're looking well.

Oh, you know me.
Butter side up.

Well, what are you doing here?
Hobnobbing with the posh folk?

Oh, well... I'm their
glorified taxi driver.

So, erm, you caught
this one, then?

The business up at the gallery?

D.I. Max Arnold,
D.I. Roy Colin.

- Pleasure.
- Like wise.

Er, former D.I.

Gave Walshy here her first
leg up into Serious Crimes.

- You made D.I. yet?
- Working on it.

Did you drive
Mr. and Mrs. Chaban

to the gallery last night?

- Yeah.
- When did they leave?

Oh, 10:00 or thereabouts.

And later, around
11:00, did you accompany

Mr. Chaban back
to the gallery?

No, no, no, I was tucked
up in bed by then.

Can you prove that?

Ah, exploring all
the avenues, are we?

Not going to defend
my character?

No change there, then.

Look, far as I know,

Mr. Chaban drove himself
back to the gallery.

Soon as I dropped them both
back here, I clocked off.

I was home half an hour later.

Feel free to check
with the missus.

Well, nice to meet
you, D.I. Arnold.

Good to see you
again, D.C. Walsh.

D.S.

Yeah, 'course you are.

In Exeter, he was
known as "Cookie Jar Colin."

Rumor was he was
dipping into the cash

from a money-laundering op.

The higher-ups started
asking questions,

Roy asked his team to back him.

Everyone did, except me.

How strong was the evidence?

Well, Roy insisted it was
all hot air and hearsay.

But you thought they had a case?

I don't know.

Either you did or you didn't.

Well, I didn't have any proof.

Did they charge him?

He fell on his sword before
they could push him onto it.

I was a new D.C. in a new
team, new station, new boss,

but I had to be the rebel, had
to stand apart from the crowd.

The damage it did.

I should've backed him.

That's what you're
supposed to do, isn't it?

Have each other's backs.

Chris was an honorary Ossi...

A nerd about East
German history.

Especially its art.

Did you go to the opening?

I was busy.

And the real reason?

I pitched for the exhibition.

Ohh.

Even suggested the title
they ended up using...

"The Lost Pieces."

And it was all going well,
until Rebekah bloody Chaban

decided she wanted to do
it in her own gallery.

Only she didn't have
her own gallery,

so she did what they always do.

Rich Wessi bought up The
Olive Branch and gutted it.

The Olive Branch... that's it!

I loved that place.

Oh, me too!

Do you think Chris had
anything to do with this?

No. If he was, the paintings

and the frames
would be pristine.

He wouldn't want to damage them.

What about the gallery owner?

Chris always spoke highly
about Rebekah Chaban.

And "Im Blauen Zimmer"...

How would all of this affect
it's black-market value?

Through the roof.
Collectors love notoriety.

I bet they do.

What you should be asking...

I should... I
shouldn't be saying it.

Why did Rebekah Chaban have
it on show in the first place?

With minimal security, too.

You might as well wave
a red rag at a bull.

- By bull, you mean...?
- Collectors.

Unscrupulous collectors.

The Chelsea art scene
is full of them.

So, Chris was collateral damage?

And if Rebekah Chaban
had a conscience,

his death is on it.

Poor Chris...

Are you okay?

I'm fine.

- Asti...
- Max, I'm okay.

Chris loved my tales about
growing up in East Germany.

I'll miss him.

Did you text me last
night so you could rant?

Of course.

Did you think I was asking
you to be my plus-one?

No.

You know how much I love your
lectures on East German art.

Is there anything
else you need from me?

Er, no.

Thank you.

I'll see you.

Bye, then.

Hello?

Gregory Milton-Elwes, the
husband of the victim,

said you spoke with him
at the gallery opening?

Oh, that's what this is about?

Well, there's no way of
saying this without sounding

like a terrible homophobe,

but I thought he
was coming onto me

and I reacted badly.

I asked him to leave me alone.

Where were you at 11 p.m.
on the night in question?

Here.

Hold on. Er...

The gym has CCTV.

Did you know the deceased?
Chris Milton-Elwes.

No.

So, why were
you at the gallery?

Well, I'm a massive fan of
obscure East German art.

I-I'm kidding.

I hustled for an invite.

I thought I could drum up some
new clients for this place.

Look, here I am. 10:45.

I did some paperwork, worked
out for an hour or so.

We'll need a copy of that.

Yeah, 'course.

Apparently, you're Rebekah
Chaban's personal trainer.

That's right. She got
me the invitation.

But everybody I spoke to
either owned their own gym

or, in some cases, owned
their own chain of gyms.

Hold on.

I couldn't ask you to
leave some of these

around your station, could I?

First month's trial is free.

Here.

Flecks of blue paint.

Found them on the
victim's clothing.

From the picture frames?

What kind of paint
is it, Ashley?

Chemical analysis matches
normal household emulsion.

Except, all white
walls in the gallery.

Cause of death...
Manual asphyxiation.

Nonfatal perimortem injuries...
Bruising here, cuts here...

Suggesting he was
struck around the face.

Laceration on the left cheek.

Broad, fast action.
Left to right.

Attacker likely
right-handed, similar height,

stood facing him.

Watched the life
drain out of him.

CAT scan results.

Fracture of the hyoid bone.

Here.

And this patch.

I thought at first
it was a hemorrhage

caused by the
asphyxiation, but it's not.

It's a tumor, temporal lobe.

He had a brain tumor?

How advanced was it?

I consulted with oncology.

Even with treatment, they
wouldn't go beyond a year.

I don't understand.

There must be some mistake.

I'm sorry.

Did Chris demonstrate
any symptoms?

Mood changes, memory
loss, headaches...

No.

How about his behavior?

Drinking more than usual?
Using drugs, painkillers?

No. No. None of those.

Does this change things?

In what way?

If Chris was dying anyway.

Not for us.

But if Chris had the
slightest suspicion

that something was wrong...

If he knew he had
nothing to lose...

He didn't know.

I promise you that.

I knew Chris better than anyone,

and he was the
biggest blabber-mouth.

He'd tell his life story
to a stranger at a party.

Ask any of our friends...
If you want everyone to know

your deepest darkest secrets,
you tell it to Chris.

It's why we all loved him.

Oh.

Are you heading off early?

Risotto for supper, and
it's on the kitchen table.

Thanks.

Is everything okay?

"A charity case."

Oh, God, Cassie. I...

I was babbling. I was nervous.

You know I didn't
mean anything by it.

There but for the
grace of God go I.

The flipping of coins.

That's all this is, why you're
on that side and I'm where I am.

- It was you who told me that.
- Cassie.

Do you know why I do all this?

Why I run things for
you, cook, tidy up,

tell you what
appointments you have.

It's not for pride,
it's not for the money.

It's because you're my friend.

- That's why it hurt so much.
- Please.

Will you stay? We can eat
together, we can talk...

My resignation's in the kitchen.

Cassie, no.

Enjoy your supper,
Mrs. Chaban.

Benny? Is that you?

Benny?!

Benny!

Benny!

Anyone?!

Benoît!

Benoît!

Anyone?!

Help me!

Aah!

- Morning.
- Morning.

She's still locked inside.

Benoît Chaban called
the fire service,

and they flagged it to us.

- Can you stand by?
- Of course.

Signs indicate
someone locked her in

and cut off the air supply.

- How long's she been in there?
- I don't know.

Her PA was the last to see
her. That was around half-five.

Wonder where the
husband was last night.

Found out something
interesting about him.

Looks like the security
system's up the swanny.

We were under the impression
you set it up for them,

- Mr. Colin.
- Yeah, I did.

Which is why I'm here to help.

Mr. Chaban, where
were you last night?

- I was at my office.
- What time did you leave?

Around 2 a.m.

I-I didn't want to wake Rebekah,

so I slept in one
of the guest rooms.

I didn't realize what had
happened until I woke up.

- Jess?
- The manufacturer's talking me

through a system reset.

I take it we've
tried shouting?

It's four-inch ballistic steel.

What is she protecting
herself from?

Her husband? What
did you find on him?

Multiple calls between Benoît
and Gregory Milton-Elwes.

And as he's a solicitor
specializing in family law...

- Divorce?
- Mm.

Reset complete. We're in!

Er, hold on.

Door controls...

Now!

Get the medic in.

Mrs. Chaban.

Blood oxygen was
dangerously low.

Mr. Chaban!

Can this wait? I need
to get to the hospital.

Did you lock your
wife in the vault?

W-What?

Of course not.

What happened here
was an accident.

A glitch in the security system.

Do you mind?

Tell us about your contact
with Gregory Milton-Elwes.

Why you telephoned him several
times in the last month.

No comment.

No comment.

Taking advice from a
disgraced ex-copper.

That's not a good look.

What happened here
was an accident.

A glitch in the security system.

When I check with the
front desk at your office,

will they remember
you leaving at 2 a.m.?

No, they won't, 'cause
I collected Mr. Chaban

from the pickup
point at the back.

Thank you, Mr. Chaban.

Roy...

Copper to copper...

- Ex-copper.
- Oh, there it is.

What do you want, an apology?

Layla, look, it's all
water under the bridge.

I understand. You knew
what you were doing.

Got you on the radar, didn't it?

Excuse me?

You made D.S. younger than me.

Because I'm a better
detective than you are.

Roy, we have a dead
man, a robbery,

now a possible attempted murder.

What the hell is going on here?

Look, egos aside...

I drive this lot from A to B.

Now, it's an easy job.

I'm not part of
their rarefied world.

I'm a tourist.

And, copper to copper...

There's a reason I advised
against a hard reset

of the security system,

and that's because doing
that wipes it clean.

Footage, logs... complete reset.

Well, our priority was
saving Mrs. Chaban's life.

Well, Walshy, I thought I
taught you better than that.

Bit of an arse,
your Mr. Colin.

- You think?
- Hmm. Sloppy, too.

Failed to advise his boss

that now the house
is a crime scene...

We don't need his
permission to search it.

Wouldn't you want
to show these off?

Not keep them locked away
behind a bulletproof door.

No sign of the stolen pieces,

but they didn't want us
poking around in here.

Hmm.

Something tells me they
don't have the receipts

for all of these.

I think we should
call in an expert.

Would you give us
a moment, please?

Of course.

My love...

Just checking on you.
Do you need anything?

The truth.

Was this an attempt
at a poetic death?

Suffocate me amongst
my treasures?

What are
you talking about?

Oh, please. Stop.

I-I was going to save
you, but I don't know

how the controls of
your precious room work.

The truth, Benoît.

Why?

I was jealous.

And before you tell
me it was a one-off,

I know that's not true.

Four visits in the last month.

And every time, when I
was away on business.

Oh, Benoît.

Did you even look for an
alternative explanation?

You left me in that room to die.

I'm sorry.

Let me get things right.

There must be
something I can do.

Leave.

I don't care where you go,

but I want all and
any part of you gone.

I'm not
familiar with this one.

Nor this one...

Ah.

This, I think, erm,
is Luke Morbury.

A British artist.

Is it stolen?

Mnh-mnh.

Interesting composition, though.

On to the next one.

I'm here to help.

And we appreciate
it. Thank you.

Yes.

On to the next one, please.

Oh, it's wonderful.

Oh, this is beautiful.

It's Rinzler. "A
Portrait of Emile."

Was it stolen or do you
just like the composition?

1998, from an
exhibition in Madrid.

It's never being recovered.

The highlighted
items on this list

have been seized by the
Art and Antiquities Unit.

They'll want to speak
with you separately.

We believe those items have all
been previously reported stolen.

How did they end up
in your collection?

I'm certain I'm not the
only collector in Chelsea

with a few controversial
pieces in her hoard.

So you knew they were stolen.

I am protecting these pieces

from entering the black market
and never being seen again.

Very noble.

My father made his fortune

buying and selling
paintings from East Germany.

I'm trying to right a wrong.

Excuse me.

Jess?

Gulliver Bauer received a
call from Benoît Chaban.

Benoît got an anonymous text

offering him the return
of the stolen paintings

in exchange for 100,000 in cash.

Benoît assumed the message
came from Gulliver,

but it didn't.

- Someone's scamming him.
- Well, that's what I thought.

But looks like he's
going along with it,

at ten o'clock tonight.

Thanks, Jess.

Let me
get this right.

You think I facilitated
the whole thing

in order to boost the value
of "Im Blauen Zimmer"?

Why
would I do that?

To raise funds.

Why would I need funds?

For a solicitor.

What are you talking about?

In order to leave your husband.

Er...

Did Benoît lock you in
your vault last night?

No.

Was he trying
to punish you?

No.

Did you know your husband
had engaged a solicitor?

Gregory Milton-Elwes?

No marriage is a sunlit utopia.

Presumably, if he has
asked for a divorce,

you would need money.

Ohh. Hmm.

"Former teacher
marries billionaire".

I remember that headline. Hmm.

I was 19.

I did one year of
teacher training.

Then my father died and
left me 5% of his estate.

At the time, I was sleeping
with a wonderfully handsome,

messed-up man who wanted to
start a software company.

I wanted him to stay interested,
so I gave him my cash.

By the time that chapter ended,

I was 22, and my
stake in his company

was worth £400 million.

When Benoît and I
met, he was broke,

working hard to try and keep his
failing family business afloat.

A business I now own.

But still... "former teacher
marries billionaire."

Jess just spoke
to Gulliver Bauer.

Benoît's set up an exchange
for tonight... 10 p.m.

Do you think she knows
her husband's trying

to buy the paintings back?

- I doubt it.
- Okay.

We'll get some eyes on him.

Unless...

- No.
- What? You have plans?

Yes. I have plans.

Of course I have plans.

What's he doing?

He's pacing.

Pacing and waiting.

From Connor.

Text sent to the target
from unknown number.

"Leave money, paintings will
be delivered to you tomorrow."

I think he's going for it.

Oh, I need sugar.

Luckily...

I've brought snacks.

Ooh.

They're carrots.

Yeah, carrots.

That's not a stakeout snack.

That is a stakeout snack.

If you're five.

Have you got flying saucers?

I have a wide selection.

Thanks.

This is bad sugar, though.

That's a myth.

He didn't take it?

Layla!

Police! Stop!

Hold on!

I am holding on!

Max! Ugh!

Stop!

Ahh. Ah!

Wow.

That was a rush.

Car keys.

You alright?

Bad sugar. Next time,
we're having carrots.

Ah.

- Who sent you the text?
- I have no idea.

Do you know
who collected the bag?

My sole hope was to
recover the paintings

as a surprise for my wife.

Trying to make
things up with her,

after you nearly killed her?

Mrs. Chaban has already stated

that there was a fault
with the security system.

What, we know your client
has been making inquiries

about divorcing his wife.

That was a misunderstanding.

A misunderstanding over what?

I believed that my wife
was having an affair.

That's Toby Hansard.

- Her personal trainer.
- Yes.

Mr. Chaban, please.

My client is the victim here.

He has been cruelly hoodwinked.

- "Cruelly"?
- "Hoodwinked"?

Into handing over a substantial
amount of his money.

Kindly tell your client
not to leave the country.

- Shit.
- Yeah. "Shit."

Jealous husbands,
what can you do.

So, Mr. Chaban was right...

You are having an affair
with Rebekah Chaban?

She just let me in.

Cassie.

I'm in a relationship
with Cassie Lawson.

Her PA.

Then why all the
sneaking around?

And why not tell us?

Because I have a girlfriend.

Sarah.

And Sarah happens to
be Cassie's flatmate.

Very chivalrous.

Benoît's divorce would
have left him penniless.

So why would he work with
Chris to steal the paintings?

What if it's more
personal for Benoît?

If he staged the robbery
to teach Rebekah a lesson.

Mm.

Then there's the
Eurostar tickets.

Yeah. Ugh.

And...

She doesn't match anyone
from the gallery opening,

let alone the art world.

But, say she is from
the Chelsea art scene.

Might your ex...
Astrid, isn't it?

Might she recognize her?

That's a good idea.

This came for you.

Thanks.

- What the...
- I know, I know.

No personal stuff
delivered to work.

But the last one got nicked
off my doorstep, so...

Are you preparing for
a zombie apocalypse?

Off hiking.

Are you camping or
staying in a hostel?

I have a tent.

Peaceful, hiking,
living off the land.

Well, hardly Bear Grylls.

I take tins and a
Calor gas stove.

Have you called her yet?

Some sort of training... Are
you training for something?

Yeah, right now, I feel like
I'm in interrogation training.

If you must know, my
other half snores,

and heading off to
the wilds with a tent

is the only way I can
guarantee a night's sleep.

That's not the real reason.

Nope.

Your other half lives in Devon.

Well remembered.

What's her number?
I'll call her.

Yeah, alright, I'll
do it. I'll do it.

Shame you don't have subtitles.

Oh, Max.

You're brilliant.

Ashley, hey.

Beastie Boys?

- What do you want?
- Love The Beastie Boys.

Er, a favor.

Tiny, tiny favor.

I have a surveillance video.

I was wondering...
You read lips, right?

You want me to
lip-read something?

Is that okay?

So, this gives me superhuman
powers of observation?

Oh, er... no, I...

Oh, shit.

Shit. S-Sorry.

Alright, calm down.

Deep breaths. I was joking.

I thought
you were serious.

I thought you
were going to pass out.

Bloody chuffed you asked.

"No..."

Looks like "No,"
something, something...

"My boyfriend's"...

Then a number and address.

First bit's "fifty."

Fifty... Fifty-two...

App...

Ample...?

Amber or Amble Road?

Hamble Road?

Could be.

That's amazing. Thank you.

Superhuman powers, mate.

What's this about?

You've given us
quite the run-around.

Me?

You.

This is from last night.

You were seen collecting
a bag of money.

You were also talking
to someone on the phone.

- Who was it?
- I was home all night.

Oh, well, that clears that up.

Can anyone confirm that?

Boyfriend.

Does boyfriend have a name?

Great.

If you'd prefer, we
can get a warrant

and search 52 Hamble Road.

But it's so much less
paperwork if you cooperate.

And D.I. Arnold here...
He hates paperwork.

I really do.

It's in my bedroom. On
top of the wardrobe.

He didn't tell me
what was in it.

- I didn't dare look.
- Who?

"Pick it up and look after
it for a few days," he said.

Who?

My dad.

Thank you for coming in.

I appreciate you calling me.

She okay? Can I see her?

After you explain
why you asked her

to collect a bag
of money for you.

What? Is that what she says?

Money you were embezzling
from your employers.

Well... Well, I'm
so sorry about this.

- Let me speak to her.
- Roy...

- Please.
- I've questioned Kitty.

She didn't even
look inside the bag.

She didn't want to know.

But you know there's
enough to charge her.

Okay...

Okay.

Yeah, she didn't know
anything about it.

She was doing her
old man a favor.

Are you in possession
of the stolen paintings?

No.

Because you sent a text to
Benoît Chaban claiming you are.

- Am I under caution?
- We're just talking.

I was gonna give the money back.

I was testing Chaban.

You weren't testing him.

No, I really think that
he's involved in all this.

You're carrying out
your own investigation,

separate to ours?

What can I say?

Once a copper...

You have any evidence
you care to share?

Were you in any way
involved in the death

of Christopher Milton-Elwes?

Oh, come on, Walshy...

D.S. Walsh.

What are you doing?

No.

Do you know who was
responsible for that?

No, of course not.

Listen, all this
business with the money,

It was a big error of judgment.

I messed up. I admit that.

That's all this is.

Okay. I think I'm leaving.

Sit down, please.

You said we were talking.

Mr. Colin, as defined by section
21 of the Theft Act 1968,

I hereby place you under
arrest for blackmail.

I'm trying to
explain everything.

You do not have
to say anything...

There's no need for this!

But it may harm your defense
if you do not mention

when questioned something which
you later rely on in court.

Come on!

Anything you do say may
be given in evidence.

Layla.

We're mates.

Do you understand these rights?

One of the first things you
ever taught me in this job

was the importance of patience.

Whatever's in front of you,
that's only part of the story.

Sometimes it takes a long while
for the rest to fall into place.

Look at you.

Look at me.

"Cookie Jar Colin."

I wish I knew who'd come up
with that, 'cause that stuck.

Do you know what
the final straw was?

Why I resigned.

You.

I had the whole
nick in my corner,

and all it took was one person
to ask the right question...

one person who saw what
nobody else could see.

Or maybe what everybody else
could see but chose not to.

Anyway...

I didn't teach you that.

Tim, would you take Mr. Colin

down to the custody
desk, please?

Oh, bloody hell.

Why are we
at St. Pancras?

Five minutes before
Benoît Chaban claims

to have arrived at the gallery,

Astrid took a photo
on the same road.

So I scoured the passing cars,

hoping for a glimpse
of the Chaban Rolls.

I'd catch Benoît
and Roy Colin out.

Okay, so are we
meeting someone here or...

But I didn't see
the Chaban Rolls.

However?

However, what I did see...

was this car passing
in the background.

Okay, wow. Good spot.

According to his bank statement,
he's been renting a locker here

from the day before
Chris' murder.

Ah! That's why.

At least you're not here
to stick me on a train

back to Exeter.

- Wrong station.
- Well, I know that.

I was just checking
if you knew that.

Wow.

This is "Louisa"
by Konrad Mueller.

This morning, as part
of our inquiries,

we gained access to a locker
registered in your name

at the Eurostar
terminal in St. Pancras.

It was inside.

Here's a picture that was
taken the night Chris died,

three minutes after
the gallery's alarm

had been tripped.

That's your car passing.

You lied to us.

You told us you were
home at that time.

Chris knew he was dying.

We both did.

He was so scared.

So, stealing "Louisa" was what?

Chris' dying wish?

To take it out of the
hands of collectors,

return it to his
family in Germany.

Konrad Mueller was
his great-grandfather.

Oh!

Ah!

Er, okay.

Okay. Run us through the plan.

Chris would stage a robbery.

My part was simple...

Meet him at the
back of the gallery,

take the painting, and
drive it to St. Pancras,

in case the police
searched this place.

The next morning, we'd pick
it up on our way to Potsdam,

to Chris' family.

So, what did he do with
the other paintings?

He was gonna hide them.
But I don't know where.

Once the dust had settled,
he'd make an anonymous call,

make sure they were
returned safely.

We only took this one.

How did you know
about the locker?

Did you find Chris' bag?

What bag?

He had it with him, with a
duplicate locker key in it.

It was never returned with
his things from the gallery.

I went back to look for
it, but I never found it.

You said Chris
refurbished this place?

He oversaw the whole thing.

When this was a restaurant,

there was a serving counter

where a store room is now.

And at the far end,
there was a door

leading down to a kitchen.

There.

Help me shift this.

Hang on.

Blue paint flecks,

like the ones Ashley
found on Chris' clothes.

- Careful.
- Mm-hmm.

Running water.

Someone could hide down
here for a couple of days.

The Fessels.

"Im Blauen Zimmer."

Oh, there's a bag here.

Locker key.

That looks like blood on
the collar, doesn't it?

Well, there was only one
person we know at the gallery

wearing a gray jacket like this.

So, what's all this about, then?

In the basement of
the Chaban Gallery,

we found a bag belonging
to Chris Milton-Elwes,

containing a suit jacket which
we believe belongs to you.

Right?

There was blood on it.

But I was here. You know that.

Mr. Hansard, could we
see the security footage

from that night again, please?

Yeah, of course.

It's not very interesting.

Just a couple of hours
of me working out.

Could you stand back, please?

This video has a
time stamp here.

Whereas on there, it's
at the bottom of screen.

I guess that's just
how it exports.

Isn't that
Chris Milton-Elwes?

So, you and Chris
did know each other.

When Chris was 12,

he got into a bit of
trouble with the police.

Shoplifting.

File says he was with
a bunch of mates,

but they scarpered.

Were you one of them?

Did you plan this together?

I didn't know what
Chris was up to.

He told me he was
going out the back,

to make it look like the
door had been jimmied.

I didn't know he was
taking a painting.

When he came back, I was...

cutting the canvases
from the frames.

Which made sense...
We had to act fast.

The alarm was going off.

Plus, they're just paintings.

Not to Chris, though.

No.

He went mad.

What did he do?

We had a fight.

I pushed him.

I had the box-cutter in my hand.

I cut his cheek, which
made things worse.

I told him he had to calm down
so we could work things out.

What does it matter if
I've cut the paintings?

We'll take 'em anyway.
We'll sell 'em on.

But he laughed at me,

laughed at the thought
of someone like me

mixing in his world.

That's how he put it.

"Someone like you."

Someone like you.

The way he looked at me...

That look in his eyes, I
see that a lot 'round here.

Like I'm nothing.

Like I'm beneath them.

Me and him, we... We're
from the same place.

We went to the same school.
Our mums were friends.

We knocked around
with the same mates.

But...

"Someone like you."

Yeah.

Someone like me.

So what did you do then, Toby?

I squeezed that look
right off his face.

Read him his rights.

Oh!

Cassie.

Rebekah.

I assume you
haven't replaced me.

Oh.

No.

Good.

How are you holding up?

Cassie, I'm... I'm sorry.

Please, can we...
we start again?

Astrid.

To what do I owe the pleasure?

I heard you caught the man
responsible for Chris' death.

We did.

Good.

That's good.

Is that why you were calling?

I suppose.

And I was thinking of
going, er, to Richmond.

What's in Richmond?

The Zintilis family, who
ran The Olive Branch.

They've opened a new place.

Oh.

Well, that's good to know.

I thought I could
pay them a visit.

Well, enjoy.

Y-You know, I haven't eaten yet.

Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean...

No, yeah, of course.

I read... I
read the news and...

wanted to say something.

I don't know, mm, "Well done"?

Well...

Er, say hello to
Mrs. Zintilis.

Okay.

I mean, if you wanted, I could
pick you up in ten minutes.

Why not.

Can you make it twenty?

You're impossible.

Fine. Twenty.

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