All language subtitles for The.Doctor.Blake.Mysteries.S02E03.A.Foreign.Field.1080p.WEB-DL.DDP2.0.H.264-squalor

DISTANT CONVERSATION

THEY SPEAK IN ITALIAN

HE EXCLAIMS IN ITALIAN

It's all right, I s'pose.
She's so pretty.

What about him?
Oh, Cary Grant's gorgeous.

Isn't he?
I couldn't take my eyes off him.

RUSTLING, TWIGS SNAPPING

What was that?

Anyway...

RUSTLING CONTINUES
Hello?

Hello?

Wonder how long
he'd been following us.

What?

That man.
What about him?

He was here yesterday.
So?

He hasn't moved at all.

Good morning.

Martha...
Excuse me?

Oh, my God.

Morning.

What have we got?

We don't know.

You checked his pockets?

No, must have slipped our minds.

Packet of cigarettes.

Used train ticket from Bendigo
via Castlemaine

the day before yesterday.

A numbered key tag.

Don't know where from.

A money clip with 30 quid but no ID.

Right.

Well done, thank you.

His clothes are damp.

Dew, probably.
Judging by rigor mortis,

I'd say the poor chap's been here
for at least 12 hours.

The woman who called it in said

she saw him here about 3 o'clock
yesterday.

She didn't realise he was dead.
Right.

Well, no obvious signs of foul play.

Initial impression, natural causes.

However...he looks fit, doesn't he?

Finished?

Yes. Well, until the autopsy.

Everything ready, Sister?

It's "Doctor", actually.

Alice Harvey,
the new pathology registrar.

Oh, I do apologise.
No need, it happens all the time.

Well, it shouldn't.
Doctor Lucien Blake.

I thought you'd be younger.
I used to be.

Oh. No-one told me
you had a sense of humour.

Before we start,

your dead man has removed
all the labels from his clothing.

I assume there's a reason.

Yes, I'm sure there probably is.

Skin irritation,
or perhaps simply aesthetics.

Any suggestions?

Not yet.

Well, then, Doctor, shall we?

Adult male,
approximately 40 to 45 years of age.

Six foot tall, blue eyes, brown hair.

I think you'll find
the hair is grey.

It's been dyed.

You see here,
there's a hint of regrowth.

Why would a man do that?
That's a very good question.

Vanity, perhaps?

Anyhow, no distinguishing scars
or tattoos.

No puncture marks.

His nails are very well manicured.
No calluses.

But this is interesting.
Bruising on the knuckles.

Was he trying to disguise himself?

Dyeing his hair.
Was he disguising himself?

Well, I suppose it's possible,

but what do you make
of the knuckles?

A fight?

Rigor mortis in the major
and minor muscle groups.

Liver mortis is fixed.

It fits with him dying yesterday.

I concur.
I'm glad.

You're not going to use that,
are you?

Well, unfortunately,
the body didn't come with a zipper.

We have disposable scalpels now.

The American Journal of Pathology

recommends their use
over conventional blades.

Is that right?
It pays to keep up.

I'll keep that in mind.

Perhaps you'd like to step out
and get yourself some fresh air?

I'm fine.

But I wouldn't mind
a cigarette...Doctor.

DOOR CLOSES

American Journal of Pathology.

How about that?

It was such a shock.
It was.

And to see all those ants...

Oh...I'm sorry.

You're fine, ma'am.

You mentioned you saw him yesterday?

Yes, I was going to the pictures.
What time was that?

Right on 3 o'clock.
I was running late for a matinee.

Uh-huh. And on the way back?

No, I went home through the town.

And when you saw him this morning,

the man was in exactly
the same position.

Yes.
Is that right?

That's how I knew something
was wrong.

He must have been dead
the whole time.

And what about you, Miss Harris?
Were you in the gardens on Sunday?

I spent Sunday visiting a sick aunt.

She's had diphtheria.

Was there anything else
you can tell me?

No, I don't think...
Actually, yes.

This morning, in the bushes.
I forgot, yes.

We were followed by a man.
Did you see him?

He stayed in the bushes and when
we were near the body, he ran away.

We only saw him from behind.

Uh...short dark hair,
a bit taller than me?

Mm, that's right. You know him?

Third report this week.

Did you actually see him
with the body?

He was close by when we saw him,
wasn't he? He was.

Right. I'll let the superintendent
know.

The man we found...who was he?

We're still working that out.

Time to open up your stomach, eh?

And what's say we try one of
these newfangled scalpels?

HISSING

HE COUGHS AND GAGS

So you're ruling out a heart attack?

Cause of death was a catastrophic
failure of multiple body systems.

Death would have been very rapid
and very painful. He was poisoned.

I've sent tissue samples to the lab
for toxicology.

Funny thing, the stomach gases
had a very particular odour.

I can't quite put my finger on it.

But I inhaled a hell of a lungful
when I cut the stomach open.

What were the contents?

Well, I took some samples
to do my own tests.

His last meal, interestingly enough,
was a pasty.

It was only partly digested.

So, are we talking accidental here,
or...?

Oh, I doubt it. The poison was
very toxic and very fast acting.

Suicide?
Possibly.

And there was bruising
on his knuckles.

Looks as if he'd been in a fight
the day before he died.

Where's Charlie?

Oh, he's following up
on witness statements.

How'd you get on
with the new pathologist?

You knew about her?

I hear she takes
some getting used to.

So, unidentified victim,
unidentified poison.

What else have you got?
A terrible headache.

Join the club.

Good day, was it?

I have a raging headache.

Well, that should help it.
I am a doctor, Jean.

Well, in that case, you can prescribe
me a sherry after dinner.

Done.

Wonderful.

Amaretto. That'll do for now.

What happened?
He was poisoned.

Poisoned?
Mm.

With what?
We don't know yet.

You won't catch me
walking around there.

Not with that man creeping about.

Jean.
Well, Mattie, he is a menace.

We don't know that.
Oh, yes, we do.

He followed Lucy Cantrell home.

Is everything all right?

Cyanide.
What?

"Bitter almonds run and hide,
that's the smell of cyanide."

They taught us that
in basic training.

They thought, at some point,
we might be exposed to gas attack.

"Smell the scent of new mown hay,

"phosgene gas is on the way."

There were dozens of them.

Do you think the body in the park
was gassed?

It's possible.

And today -
forgive the gruesome details -

but today I opened up his stomach
and copped a lungful of
his stomach gas...

Oh...
..and - I'm sorry -

it gave me the most
horrendous headache.

And I couldn't identify the smell
until just now.

Amaretto. Almonds. Cyanide.

Excuse me.

How's the headache?

Oh, it'll get there.
I brought you some Bex.

Oh, thank you, Jean.
What's in there?

Well, I took a sample
of his stomach contents

and I'm going to mix it
with ferrous sulphide and acid.

Now, if the cyanide
was present in the food,

this should change colour.

But, unfortunately,
it's not changing.

So you still don't know
how he was poisoned.

No, I'm afraid I don't.

And it's rather sad, really.

You know, his clothes were soaked
with dew by the time we got to him.

Oh - he was there all night?
Yes.

Who was he?

I don't know that, either.

Well, when you do find out
who he was,

make sure someone tells his family.

Good night, Lucien.

Good night, Jean.

Apparently he caught the train
from Bendigo,

but there's no record of him there.

He's not on the missing persons
register in Melbourne.

I'll release his photo to the paper,
see if we can't get anything.

What are we looking at?

Well, cyanide isn't that difficult
to get hold of.

It's used in mining,
cleaning jewellery,

used in some pesticides.

The thing is, we still don't know
how it was administered.

Cigarettes?
No. Checked them. Nothing.

What?

We tracked it down. The key belongs
to a locker at the train station.

Go and check it out.

Well, hang on.

We still don't know what form
the poison came in.

We don't know what's in that locker.

I'm just saying,
it'd pay to be careful.

Take Simons with you -
and you might want to use a mask.

Actually, do you think the doctor
could accompany me instead?

Certainly.
Um...yes, Charlie, of course.

Great. Meet you out the front?
Yes.

Looks like you're growing on him.

OVER PA SYSTEM: Passengers,
please note all services

have been temporarily cancelled.

Area's clear.
Good.

So what are we expecting to find?

Don't know.

But you think it could be
booby trapped?

It's possible.

Seems our man's been trying hard
to keep his identity hidden.

The boss said you're just back
from China.

That's right.

Wow. What was it like?

Fascinating.

In what way?

Why the interest, Charlie?

"Biggles in the Gobi Desert".
Ah.

Used to read it
to my younger brothers.

Made it sound amazing.

They like it?

Not half as much as I did.

Well, perhaps I'll tell you
about it sometime.

Now,
these intimidating-looking things.

Straps go around the back
of the head.

Believe me, I've had some practice.

Well...

Ah...end's been sharpened.

Yes.

Yes, he was expecting trouble
at some point, wasn't he?

Yeah.

Shirts.

Dressing gown, shoes, socks.

All the labels removed.

What's that, Charlie?

Poetry?

Ah - The Return Of Perse-phone.

Persephon-E.
It's a new one on me, too.

Hey, doc.

"Porters Rooming House."

Thank you, Charlie.

With you in a tick.
Ah, thank you.

You know, Charlie,
China was terrifying in fact.

I was in Shanghai,
but there were stories going around.

Stories about what was happening
in the countryside.

Didn't quite make it to
the Gobi Desert, I'm afraid.

So, what were you doing there?

Oh, family matters.

I also managed to catch up
with a couple of contacts,

you know, have a chat.
People I knew.

Anyone interesting?

Oh, yes.
China's at a real crossroads...

Can I help you?

Um, Senior Constable Davis
from Ballarat Police.

This is Doctor Blake.
How do you do?

Do you, uh, recognise this bloke?

It's all right. We just want to
find out what we can about him.

For his family.

Big bloke. Brown hair.
Bit of an accent.

He stayed here two nights ago.

Had a fight with another boarder.

About what?

Oh, who knows? The other bloke
was a bit of a reffo.

Did he leave a name, an address?

"John Smith."
Funny name for a foreigner.

And no forwarding address?

That bloke your man
had a punch-up with,

he's working out
at Chandler's orchard.

Name's Carmello Benetti.

Yeah, well, thanks for scaring off
half my workforce.

Well, what do you reckon I come back
and we do a sweep of everyone's IDs?

So what's Benetti gone and done
this time, then, eh?

Oh, routine enquiries.
Is this one of your blokes?

Nah.

No, he's too white for this job.

Don't keep it very long, all right?

He's a good worker -
unlike the rest of them.

Is there anything else
we should know?

Yeah - you speak wog?

Benetti.

CHARLIE COUGHS AND SPLUTTERS

Please. Please. No English.

Mr Benetti, I'm arresting you on
charges of assaulting police

and resisting arrest.

You don't have to say anything
but anything you do say may be...

Save your breath.
He doesn't understand.

Charlie, don't touch your face
or put your hands near your mouth.

He's thrown pesticide at you.
What's the pesticide?

It's for the possums.
What's the active ingredient?

Cyanide.

What the bloody hell
do you think you were doing?

Sorry.

Is this where you're staying?

Si.
You know this man?

Si.

You know his name?

Thank you, Mr Benetti.

Two nights ago, did you and this man
have a fight?

Si.

And he did this to your eye?

Very strong. Very rude.

Mr Benetti, why fight?

Libro.

You fought over a book?

Si. I teach myself English.

I pick up his book.

He is angry. We argue.

We fight.

Sunday afternoon, where were you?

Giardini.

Botanic Gardens.

Si.

Did you kill this man?

This man, dead from poison.
Did you do it?

(No, no...)

He kills the man
over a book of poetry.

Prior to confrontation,
he has access to cyanide

and he was in the gardens on Sunday.

Poetry.

You know, there was a poem
in the man's suitcase

from the station,
torn out of a book.

Um, excuse me.

Yes, here we are. Look.
"The Return Of Persephone."

"Gliding through the still air,
he made no sound,

"Wingshod and deft,
dropped almost..."

Ahem...

Yes. Benetti must have force-fed him
the damned pesticide.

How is that possible?

Well, he is an aggressive bugger.

Lawson, imagine.

Imagine if I tried to force
this poem down your throat?

I wouldn't.
Well, you...

Now, you see? That's what
I'm talking about.

In plain sight,
on a Sunday afternoon,

Benetti tries to force our man
to swallow poison

and no-one sees anything?
Look.

Hey!
Exactly.

Ahem.

Sorry to interrupt.
Um, this is Mrs Lundqvist.

Yes?

Excuse me, but I saw this.

This is my husband.

That's him.
His hair's darker, though.

Full name?

Sven. Sven Lundqvist.

Nationality?

Swedish, originally.

Now, Mrs Lundqvist...
You might need to explain yourself.

Three years we were married,
and one day he just disappears.

Gone.

How long ago was this?

A year ago.

All that time I never knew.

I thought something horrible
must have happened to him.

Why something horrible?

A husband doesn't just disappear
for no reason.

I imagined all these awful things.

But he was here, all the time.

50 miles away.

Probably took up
with some other woman.

50 miles?

I live in Castlemaine.

And I'm still his wife, so anything
he left behind, it's mine.

God knows he left me with nothing.
What brought you to Ballarat?

Visiting my brother.

And what line of work is he in?

He's a jeweller.

And did you drive down
from Castlemaine?

No, I caught the train. Why?

We might continue this down
at the station, if you don't mind.

Is that necessary?

Yes, it is.

He abandons her.

She hears nothing for a year
and then quite by chance,

happens to see him
on the same train.

Is this where you tell me poisoning's
usually a woman's crime?

Isn't it?

Jealousy's a much stronger motive

than an argument
over a book of poetry.

And so is gaining financially
from death.

We've been thinking the poison
was forced on him.

What if it was something he took
without realising?

Something she offered him?

I thought you said
it wasn't in his food?

It wasn't. I'm just trying
to work things out.

What if it was in liquid form,
perhaps?

Sir?
Well...

I've been talking to witnesses
from the gardens.

A couple of them remembered
seeing our man,

and he wasn't alone.

Did they say who he was with?

It was a woman, with blonde hair.

And apparently, they were kissing.

Bring them in.
Let's see if they recognise her.

Just head through this door.

I'll definitely speak
to your parents about that.

Just step this way.

None of them recognised her.

No-one?

They all said
that the woman was blonde,

but none of them saw her face.

How long can we keep her here?

Couple more hours,
then we'll have to release her.

What do you have in mind?

Not really in the mood
for this, Lucien.

Thank you anyway, Jean.

Now...

This is where that poor man
was found.

Yes.

Um...

Would you mind turning round
to face me?

Mm.

Yes. And, um...come a little closer.

Thank you. Now what can you see?

Well, you, obviously.

No, I mean, behind me.

Trees and some bushes.

Right.

Apparently, she had her arms
around him, around his neck.

Hm.

Yes.

Now, still not entirely sure
how this is supposed to work.

Oh? What part, exactly?

Cyanide is fast acting

and there'd be convulsions
and involuntary moans.

Apparently no-one noticed
a damn thing.

Maybe that's why she
had her arms around him.

So no-one could see
what was happening.

Yes, perhaps.

(Lucien, there's someone
in the bushes.)

What? Really?

Right.

Hello?

Don't be alarmed,
I just want to talk with you.

Oh!

Jean, are you all right?
Yes, I'm fine.

Let's go home. Um...

Just bear with me.
Oh!

Lucien.

Yes, of course.

Have you any idea what's going on?

Allow me.
What's all that about?

Well, I'm...not entirely sure.
Give that one to me.

It's heavy.

Yes, the more I find out,
the less I seem to know.

You'll work it out.
Do you think he saw what happened?

Bloody hell. Come on.

Charlie, where did you find him?

Same place.

He must have gone back
after you and Mrs Beazley left.

It's all right.
We just want to speak with you.

Save your breath, doc.
Interview room.

Calm down.

His hiding place in that park
is a little way behind the tree.

If he was there Sunday,
he might have seen the woman's face.

I don't like our chances of getting
any sense out of that one.

I have an idea.

Davis, Miss O'Brien will
sit in on the interview.

It's all right, Charlie.

She's done quite a lot of work
with the impaired.

He's impaired, all right.

Just see what you can find out.

Hello. I'm Mattie O'Brien.

Hey, settle down, all right?

It's all right, Davis.

You're Aaron, aren't you?

Can you take those handcuffs
off him, please?

Why on earth would I do that?

Because I think it'll help him
calm down.

Please?

All right.

Hey, I'm going to take the cuffs
off you, all right?

Do not move from that seat,
do you hear me?

AARON GRUNTS
Oh!

Is that better?

You like the gardens, don't you?

You like the trees?

What do you do there?

Two days ago, did you see a man
and a woman under a tree?

A man and a woman.

From your special place.
Did you see them?

And what were they doing?

Did he see her face?
We're not sure.

We think he did, but it might not
have registered with him.

Well, what did register with him?

He noticed she had a full figure.

He told you that?

Not in so many words.

Oh, tell me this hasn't come down
to the size of a suspect's...

Excuse me, how much longer
am I expected to sit here?

Not much longer, ma'am.
We're just...

Do you mind?

I'll let the superintendent know.
Sorry.

Just stand there.

So was that her?

I've got no idea.

Um...was that the woman in the park?

Mate, just focus...
Charlie!

Was that her?

Ah, she was curvier than that?

OK.

Mrs Lundqvist.

I came forward because I thought
I was doing the right thing.

I've been insulted
and made to wait.

I've been stared at.

You have no idea what it's like,
no idea.

I am so sorry.

All this time, not knowing
what had happened to him,

only to find out
he'd simply walked away.

You have every right to be angry.

I thought he loved me.

Please.

They think I poisoned him.

And I hate to ask, but...did you?

No, of course not.

Can you think of a reason
why anyone would want to?

No.

Then tell me about him.

He had a way of listening to you
when he talked.

He actually listened,
not like Australian men.

He was always very popular
with the women. Was he?

It wasn't that he was
terribly good-looking, even.

It was just that he listened to you?
Yeah.

What else can you tell me?

He loved music.

At night, he'd put on his records,
and we'd talk.

What about?

The future, mostly.

He never liked to talk
about the past.

Tell me...

Do you think Lundqvist
was in fact his real name?

Of course, it's his real name.

It's my name now.
Why would you ask that?

Well, no reason, really.

I'm dreadfully sorry.
Forgive me for asking.

At least now I know
what happened to him.

Excuse me.
Hmm?

I'm looking for a poem.
I'm not entirely sure who wrote it.

What's the poem?
"The Return Of Persephone".

AD Hope. Wonderful writer.

You're the second person
that's asked for him this week.

Just over here.

Oh!

Must be out on loan.
I don't remember checking it out.

Who else was asking after it?

A Dutch fellow.

Frankly, I was surprised he knew
anything about Australian poetry.

Quite.
Mm. Mm.

How did you know he was Dutch?

Oh, he told me.
It's a wonderful poem, isn't it?

Quite sad, but rather physical,
if you get my meaning.

Yes, yes, of course.

Sir?

Would you like me to reserve
the book for you?

When the gentleman returns it?

That's quite all right.
But thank you anyway.

Can I help you?

Yes, Doctor Lucien Blake.
Police surgeon.

Miss Patrick, is it?
Yes.

He's with the police, Else.
Thanks, Martha.

Yes? Hello.

Just a few extra questions,
if I may, Miss Patrick.

Did you enjoy the movie
you saw on Sunday?

Um, goodness, what was it?
Bridge On the River Kwai.

No - Indiscreet.
Ah, Indiscreet, yeah.

The body you discovered.
That poor, poor chap.

He was Dutch, wasn't he?

We don't seem to have it
on our records,

but you spoke with him, didn't you?

No, I...

What are you implying?

Is everything all right?

I'd like you to leave.

Of course.

You don't happen to have
a book of poetry by AD Hope?

Please, leave. Now.

Thank you both for your time.

Good evening.
Good evening.

I was here earlier about...

You're with the police.
What do you want?

The gentleman we were asking after.

Did he happen to leave anything
in his room?

No.

Mind if I take a look?
There's another bloke in there now.

But I cleaned the room
before he went in.

There was nothing there. Right.

Did he have any visitors? No.

Any female callers?

No. He was a very nice man,
very decent.

Now, if you don't mind...
Yes, he was.

He was a very decent man.

You see, the thing is,
he died the day after he stayed here

and that's why I'm here.

And I'm looking for a book
of poetry.

He gave it to you, didn't he?

He said he didn't need it anymore.

May I see it, please?

What do you need it for?

I'm really not sure.

Do you mind if I...

..if I hang on to it for a bit?

I promise I'll get it back to you.

I'm so sorry he died.

He was...different.

Yes, he was.

Thank you.

LAWSON: What kind of code?

Well, I'm guessing it's some type of
one-time pad encryption algorithm.

In English?

Well, it uses a series of letters
and numbers.

The letters correspond
to the numbers,

and there's a key, a certain page
the algorithm refers to.

Now, you combine the two,
you have a simple code.

Almost unbreakable,
unless you've got the right key.

How the hell do you know all this?

Well, I may have come across
something similar after the war,

but my point is this.

I think our man in the morgue

was involved in some kind
of intelligence work.

Hmm.

And you don't seem at all surprised.

Well, we've been getting
some phone calls.

People recognised his photo
in the paper.

A woman in Stawell had an affair
with him five years ago.

According to her, he was a Norwegian
by the name of Tor Olsen.

Walked out on her as well.

An affair in Shepparton,
and he was Dutch.

Niels van der Berg.

Ran all this past Immigration.

The names belong to children
of deceased immigrants.

Bloody hell.

Somehow, he got hold of the records.

So, he cuts all the labels
off his clothing.

He dyed his hair.

Throw this code business
into the mix...

You think you can crack this?
I can try.

Well, we've got a day. We've got
to get that body out of the morgue.

We don't even have a name for him.

We better get a move on, then.

I've, uh...been fielding calls
about you as well.

Who from?

Federal police. The army.

Wanting to know about
your recent travels.

Charlie's showing interest, too.

What exactly did you do
after the war, Blake?

Well...I could tell you,
but then I'd have to kill you.

This is no joke.

I know.

CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYS

Right.

Corresponding numbers -

2, 32. 23.

Off to a flying start, Lucien.

HE MUTTERS

KNOCKING

Lucien, I'm heading to bed.
Is there anything you need? Um...

MUSIC STOPS

No, I don't think so, Jean.
Thank you.

Is that your key?

Hopefully.

Do you really think there are spies
in Ballarat?

Oh, not spies as such.

Just people who work
for other governments.

They're everywhere.

Is that what you used to do?

Yes.

For a time, it was.

Maybe this man was a Soviet.

Well, perhaps.

You know, there's a story going
around about Soviet agents,

how they'd carry cyanide pills
with them

in case they were captured.

So maybe this man
ended his own life.

Oh, mind you, it was so very public.

And there was that woman friend.

One thing I do know,
Lawson needs him out of the morgue

so we're going to have
to bury him soon.

Did you find out his name?
We thought we had.

We never had a funeral
for Christopher.

Oh, Jean, I didn't know.

Well...he died along with the rest
of his section, but...

..it was six months
before they told me.

He was long buried.

You know,
it's just the thought of him

being buried alone there,

with no-one to say goodbye.

Well, I'll leave you to it.

Good night, Jean.

CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYS

Blonde hair.

Sven Lundqvist, Tor Olsen,
Niels van der Berg.

"...ravenous eyes.

"To see her shake,
the midnight drifting

"from her loosened hair,

"the girl once more in all her
actions wake

"the blush of colour
in her cheeks appear,

"lost with her flowers
that day beside the lake."

Blonde hair.

Cheers to blonde hair.

Ahem.

Well, that turned out to be rather
more complex than I thought.

Well, at least you gave it a try.

HE GROANS

Oh, I don't know Jean.

Perhaps I'm using the wrong key.

It seems to me there are
too few symbols or something.

But please, help yourself.

I've spent the entire evening
staring at the damned thing.

Perhaps fresh eyes would be good.

What's this, then?
Part of the cipher.

You see, the technique is you
connect the key and the message

using modular addition.

It looks like a Ballarat phone number
to me.

LAUGHING: No.

No, no, no,
just a fraction of the text.

Right. Well, I'd best tidy
all this away.

Very good.

"Gliding through the still air..."
Gliding through hell.

Bloody nightmare of a thing.

Just had the Ballarat Historical
Society on the phone.

Now, Elsie Patrick.

Wasn't she that woman
who found that dead body?

I didn't hear the phone ring.

Oh, no, no. I rang them.

That's their number.

Mattie!

You think he'll talk to us?

Well, I have a feeling
he might talk to you.

Come on.

Try over there, eh? Hm.

You stay here.

Give me a shout if you need me.

SHE GASPS

Hello, Aaron. How are you?

Lucien?
Mattie?

Can you come out?

I would like you to come back out,
please, but calmly.

It's all right, it's all right.
This is my friend, Lucien.

Men frighten him, Lucien.
Don't come any closer.

All right. Mattie, that's a very
expensive coat he's wearing.

He didn't have that
the last time I saw him.

That's a lovely coat you're wearing.
Where did you get it from?

Yes, I thought as much.

Mattie, do you think
you could check to see

if there's a label at the back
of the coat?

Would you hold still for me?

The label's been cut off and...

..blonde hair.

It's a woman's, by the length of it.

May I see it?

Not a woman's, as such.

In fact, it's not even human.

I would say, however,
that's come from a wig.

Miss Patrick, good morning.

I've told you everything I know.

Yes, yes.

But your colleague hasn't.

Martha?

Miss, ah...
Harris.

Ah, Miss Harris.

How can I help you?

Does the Historical Society
have any material, any books,

on migrant settlement in Ballarat?

A few, actually.
Wonderful.

I'd love to see what you have.

Stay where you are.

I'm just getting my purse.

Martha?

Martha Harris.

Member of the Australian Communist
Party since 1943.

The Soviets were our allies
and it's not illegal.

Sacked from a government job

under suspicion of
having a relationship

with an attache
at the Soviet Embassy,

who subsequently went missing.

Is that why you moved to Ballarat?

No. I have a sick aunt
who lives here.

Suffering from...diphtheria.

Does she know you were wearing
her wig in the park?

May I smoke?

How many identities
did you manufacture for him?

Sven Lundqvist.

He died in Wendouree in 1912
at the age of three.

Niels van der Berg died
at Castlemaine in 1897

at the age of...six months.

Tor Olsen...

I have no idea
what you're talking about.

Do you like poetry, Miss Harris?

"Foreknowing all bounds of passion,
of power, of art,

"mastered but could not mask
his deep despair.

"Even as she turned
with Hermes to depart,

"looking her last
on her grim ravisher,

"for the first time, she loved him
from her heart."

Was that what it was like for you?

Holding him while he died?

Whoever this attache was,
you loved him.

You'd given up everything for him.
Everything.

And he couldn't even
remain faithful.

What about his marriage?

Was that the last straw?

You should charge me,
if you have anything, or let me go.

But there's no reason to go on
talking like this.

You're right.

Anyway, this is no longer
in our jurisdiction.

There are agents on their way
to talk to you, Miss Harris.

Unless you have anything else to say,
this interview is over.

Miss Harris?

No.

I have nothing more to say.

Cyanide.
Sugar-coated to disguise it.

You did love him.
Passionately.

But unlike you,
he was trained to walk away.

I gave up everything for him.

I found him new places to live,
new identities.

But every time,
he found another lover.

And the message
you wrote in that book,

you were arranging to meet,
weren't you?

I'd had enough.

He was a traitor.

To his country?

To me.

Charlie, there's terrible famine
in parts of China right now.

Insurgencies in Malaysia,
Indonesia and Vietnam.

And yet that woman
murdered her lover

because he was unfaithful.

It's a complicated old world.

Jean?

Jean, do you know where I put my...?

Thank you.

Presentable?
Yes, you are now.

Have you worked out
what you're going to say?

Well, it's a pauper's funeral,
just Lawson and I.

And the good people
from the funeral home, of course.

What about the wife?

No, she couldn't face it.

I'm going to say that even though
we don't know this man's name,

even though he was born
and fought under another flag,

he's resting with us now,

and we will look after him
as one of our own.

Is it all right if I come with you?

Yes, of course.

Right.