Original subtitles

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

Owen Quine. He's a very famous novelist.

Who's that man?

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

The hero dies in exactly the same way Quine did.

It must be the grimmest part of the book,

and someone made him re-enact it.

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

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

What does Quine allege about you both?

In Andrew's case...

he implies that Andrew himself

wrote a nasty parody

of his late wife's novel.

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

I'll be home soon, Dodo.

I promise.

- sync and corrections by Mr. C - - www.addic7ed.com -

Love is a... um...

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

For all your protests, Andrew, I thought

your depiction of this relationship was full of love.

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

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

Yes.

So let me say this. Um...

When Effigy died...

I mean when Ellie died...

look...

It's me. Are you awake?

I take it you caught the train?

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

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

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

Effigy?

Read your words aloud.

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

No! No! The words are no good!

We must give her new words!

I think Leonora Quine is innocent.

I'd bet my remaining leg on it.

That's all I've got!

Hello, Leonora.

This is Ilsa Herbert. She'll represent you.

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

When can I go home?

We do need to get through some questions.

Did anyone have keys for the house on Talgarth Road?

Andrew Fancourt.

We had spares cut when there was repairs on the roof

but I can't find 'em.

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

It got rented out sometimes,

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

That house has been a nightmare.

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

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

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

Can we talk about the credit card?

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

A burqa, ropes and overalls...

all bought six months ago on your family credit card

and delivered to the house on Talgarth Road.

Is there a scenario where your husband might have bought

these things for himself?

I don't know, erm...

The ropes, maybe...

He liked being tied up.

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

I never went over things with him.

Did Owen ever discuss Bombyx Mori with you?

He said it was going to be a book

about how a silkworm gets boiled alive,

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

The prosecution will use that as evidence that you were

aware of elements of the manuscript.

How is this helping?

Ilsa's just doing her job.

I answered all these questions already, though.

The police have a different agenda.

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

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

The ugly truth is it might not be.

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

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

I know him. I don't know you!

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

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

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

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

I just want my Dodo!

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

Sorry... did you say mud?

You OK?

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

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

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

Where?

Er... Down to Devon.

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

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

You were being his taxi?

No, I...

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

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

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

Corm? Everything all right?

It's fine. Just Charlotte.

No relapsing.

Yeah, Nick was clear about that as well.

I'm fine.

I need to talk to you.

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

That wasn't very helpful.

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

"trained as butcher."

She's being framed, Rich.

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

together this complicated murder, leaving nothing for forensics,

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

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

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

and that goes a long way.

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

Andrew Fancourt had a key to the property.

Andrew Fancourt hated Quine long before this manuscript came out.

Why aren't you knocking on his door?

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

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

I was, but... plans changed,

and then the seats on the earlier trains were booked.

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

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

I'd sit in the gangway...

because it was you.

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

I know.

I should have come sooner.

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

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

what kind of a man is he?

Matt, er...

..this wasn't Cormoran's fault.

Eh...

It was my decision to stay.

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

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

And then...

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

..but now I've got a chance.

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

I think that's why I lied to you.

And I am sorry.

I am so sorry,

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

..I don't want to lose this.

Of course I want you to be happy.

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

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

When are you going back?

So, how was your case?

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

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

- Met her daughter yet? - No.

Sweet kid. Not really built for this world.

I think the neighbour is struggling with her.

Are social services involved yet?

It's Sunday.

I know.

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

don't you?

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

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

Britain's most celebrated novelist stripping out of a burqa

on a London side street?

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

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

Let's take a look in there,

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

Do you want to give me a leg-up?

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

Well, he's not burying anything in here.

Ah! Shit!

- Are you all right? - Shit.

Fucker doesn't bend.

Christ.

I'm fine.

OK, lean on me.

No, no, I'm fine.

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

There's a pub round the corner.

- Bribery? - Motivation.

I'm sorry, Robin.

We didn't need this.

Just say if you need to stop.

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

powders and creams and baths...

Happy birthday.

How did you know?

I know your passport number by heart as well.

Many happy returns, Mr Cormoran Blue Strike.

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

Nope.

I got you something.

It's billed as the Taste of Cornwall.

But you can be the judge of that.

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

Good.

Robin, this is...

I like it.

- Thank you. - You're welcome.

Made with Cornish cows' milk.

Eating nothing but Cornish grass and looking at Cornwall.

This is exactly what the whole of Cornwall tastes like.

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

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

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

They won't. They've got Leonora.

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

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

was brought in on this one.

He's certainly got the imagination for it.

Lots of the profile pieces you read on him

talk about how he writes violence.

I'd like to find Fancourt tomorrow.

Will your leg be all right for that?

Yeah, it'll be fine.

My morning's free after all.

Why?

I could tail Fancourt.

You haven't been trained.

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

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

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

Just a water.

How's Leonora?

Well, she's been arrested.

Yes.

So, as you'd expect.

Orlando's half the reason I kept Owen on.

I hope she'll be looked after.

I don't think they have any other family.

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

This is England. We're still halfway civilised.

The Quines barely have anything.

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

Can we talk about Andrew Fancourt?

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

That was a long time ago.

You were all friends together once, is that right?

I represented them both.

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

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

We were... friends.

Back then we both wrote,

but of course he became Andrew Fancourt and I stopped.

Andrew called my efforts "lamentably derivative".

No doubt correctly.

Why did he leave your agency?

Because Owen wrote a parody of his wife's novel

and I refused to sack him over it.

I abhor censorship and I dislike being threatened.

Andrew forced me to choose and so I did.

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

didn't you...?

Anyone who kills herself over a little criticism

has no business writing.

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

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

Or Andrew at least read the work and stopped it.

Roper only published it as a sop to Andrew.

Did her no favours.

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

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

You're asking the wrong person.

But if he and Fancourt were friends...

They were never really friends.

Andrew tolerated Owen.

He was an amusing dirty joke.

Did Owen dislike Andrew?

Envied him, probably.

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

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

I regret that Andrew forced me to choose.

I gather you were once in love with him.

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

Is there anything you actually want to ask me,

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

I'm sorry...

Well, what is the point of asking me that?

I have been...

I have been disappointed many times.

By Andrew, by others.

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

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

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

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

..but Quine has damaged that too.

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

I don't deserve this.

I'm sorry for upsetting you.

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

You ask too much of people.

You are cruel.

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

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

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

That's bloody good work, Robin.

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

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

Well, some training will help.

- Matt? - I'm in here.

Just finishing up.

Wow.

Thanks.

Have you ever tried to iron a dress?

There's no right angles.

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

This is excellent work.

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

Do you want to do a box-set later?

Actually, I've got to work.

There's someone we need to speak to.

Tonight is our only opportunity.

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

I'd have tried to get out of it.

Can we do it tomorrow?

No problem.

We're guests of Daniel Chard.

Cormoran Strike plus one.

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

They moan about declining book sales,

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

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

It's not a bad life, is it?

When's Matthew back?

He's back already.

A party where I can smoke...

Oh, thank you.

I should have brought a cardie.

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

..one fact remains...

indisputably true.

Work with great writers, and your readers WILL come.

- That's right. - Yeah.

In that vein, tonight,

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

in England is returning to Roper Chard after 20 years.

Ladies and gentlemen, Andrew Fancourt!

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

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

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

They were good days.

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

I look forward to raging for you.

- Shall we mingle? - Yeah.

I see you're struggling to choose a drink.

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

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

Champagne, twice.

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

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

Read anything good lately?

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

was Bombyx Mori.

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

What did you think of MY depiction?

Have you read it?

I've been told about it.

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

This conversation would have pleased him...

enormously.

Can I introduce you to someone?

Sure.

Cormoran Strike, this is Andrew Fancourt.

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

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

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

Well. Here we are.

And may I commend you on your choice of bait.

Consider me utterly reeled in.

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

I haven't been there in ten years.

You inherited it from your friend, Joe North.

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

I didn't lose my wife.

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

Did you ever confront Quine about the parody he wrote?

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

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

Do you have a spare one of those?

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

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

It's high praise.

Tell me, are you attracted to troubled women,

or do they become troubled because of you?

Perhaps I should ask you.

Oh, we just work together.

Why would Quine use Bombyx to deny he wrote

the parody of your wife's work?

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

Ellie thought that if she married a writer,

it would change the way the world saw her.

When that failed, she tried being a writer herself.

Now, Quine saw himself reflected in her.

Most writers aren't very imaginative, Mr Strike.

They end up writing about themselves.

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

some status through writing, but perennially in my shadow.

Take care, Mr Strike.

Miss Bait.

- Hi. - Hi.

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

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

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

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

Ha! Bastard!

I tried to catch you at the Roper Chard party,

but you disappeared after Fancourt's speech.

Yes.

What do you think of Andrew Fancourt?

- Oh, me personally? - Yes.

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

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

But you've spoken to people about it?

You know what it all means, and so on?

I didn't recognise you in it.

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

Ah.

But for my cameo, Quine dusted down the old rumour

that Fancourt had fathered my daughter.

Cheers, Owen! Rest in peace, old boy.

It must have hurt, what he said about you.

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

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

No loyalty.

No, of course it hurt me.

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

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

What's under consideration?

Oh, I think a Barolo.

Sounds great.

Good man!

Bit early, isn't it?

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

- And I like Barolo. - Right.

I was talking to Liz Tassel yesterday.

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

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

Liz made a pass at Andrew after Ellie died.

And Andrew told me at the time that he saw it

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

Prick!

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

No, I don't imagine she did!

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

Do you think Fancourt had a motive to kill Quine?

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

the parody of his wife himself...

Could that be true?

Could Fancourt kill a man?

Well, he's very good at writing hate.

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

even if it's disguised.

You see, a writer gives himself away like that.

Invariably puts himself into the text more than he knows.

Daniel Chard had an interesting theory about that with Bombyx.

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

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

Well, that's rather an interesting thought.

Now, here we are.

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

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

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

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

And in that manuscript, there are several.

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

Thank you. You've been very helpful.

Thank you.

Right, I'm off to Fulham.

I'm sorry about before.

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

That's OK.

I remember you said something about...

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

It seemed to me like you were expecting to read

a very different manuscript?

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

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

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

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

Makes jokes about my sister's cancer.

Just staggeringly, staggeringly painful.

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

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

I burned it.

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

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

Look, it fits.

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

it might be the only thing that explains it.

First of all, the title.

Leonora says Quine told her silkworms are boiled.

The silkworm in Bombyx is cut open.

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

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

That's a neat coincidence.

Kathryn Kent was expecting a very different book.

Jerry Waldegrave and Daniel Chard both detect a foreign influence in

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

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

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

Yeah, I can get on that.

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

Erm, what are you doing?

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

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

Are you going out for lunch again?

Needs must.

Good of you to do this, Al.

I get to hang out with my brother

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

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

How are you?

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

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

Yeah, I come here a lot.

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

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

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

Thank you.

How are the rest of the siblings?

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

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

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

Yeah, you look around and, er,

all these guys are getting really old now.

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

Hi, I work with Cormoran Strike.

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

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

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

- Hi. - Nice to meet you.

Hey, Al.

Oh, Frankie, this is my brother, Cormoran.

Hi.

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

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

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

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

Oh, my God, they were ridiculous.

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

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

I can see you wouldn't forget that!

Did it seem like they were putting it on?

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

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

He walked out on her.

So he was acting?

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

We will tip heavily.

Thanks, sweetie.

I never get called sweetie by waitresses.

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

Do you have a dog?

Yes. Well, well, my family does.

His name's Rowntree.

I want a dog.

What kind of dog?

I just want a dog!

What's your name?

Robin.

I'm Dodo. I'm a bird.

- Robins are birds. - Yeah!

Can I draw you one?

Right.

There you go.

What else is in there?

I can't show you the inside.

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

Oh.

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

could I have a look inside then?

Oh.

Ha! You've got expensive taste.

OK.

Here you go.

Wow!

Are you stealing it?

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

Thanks, Orlando.

Do you think we should go outside now?

No, you stay with me.

Stay! Stay! Stay!

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

Stay!

Are you going to be OK?

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

Come on, my darling, there we go.

Regular names. Eddie Boy and Kate.

There's no baroque archetypes here.

You did well to get this.

Apparently a lot of people ask Oxford for it

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

How's it looking?

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

and here in this parody,

the same unusual formulation of phrase.

And here again, in this piece,

the semi-colon used more frequently than usual.

Ah, yes. Look here.

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

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

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

Is it proof?

No.

Um, but these things together,

I would bet that whoever wrote this parody piece

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

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

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

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

A story that leaves Quine's lover, his wife

AND his colleagues all hating him.

It's a very comprehensive kind of revenge.

But too complicated.

That's what unpicked them in the end.

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

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

- Are you sure about this? - Absolutely.

It's like a Bombyx Mori reunion.

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

It concerns Bombyx Mori.

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

How does it hold up?

What struck me was how spiteful it was.

But what about Bombyx?

The two pieces were written by the same person.

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

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

and not apologise...

..to you both.

Evening, Miss Tassel.

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

At least not the version they've read.

He did write a book called Bombyx Mori,

and he intended to settle some scores with it,

embarrass a few old sparring partners. But his anecdote about

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

What are you talking about?

You wrote the parody of Ellie Fancourt's novel.

The one she killed herself over.

Owen Quine knew you wrote it.

That is a disgusting slur.

You wrote a short story for an Oxford anthology.

Its style is a good match with both Bombyx Mori

and the parody of Ellie Fancourt's book.

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

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

Your hurt when Andrew rejected your writing,

and again when he rejected your love.

Owen Quine had a price for keeping your secret.

You didn't support that family out of pity.

He blackmailed you for nearly 30 years.

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

Poor Mr Strike.

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

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

and shout at you, storm out.

And later he'd hole up in Talgarth Road,

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

It had worked for him in the past.

Rubbish.

Afterwards, you visited Leonora's house to reassure her

when Quine went missing.

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

that contained scraps of the real Bombyx Mori.

But you didn't manage to destroy every trace.

I found some pages from the real manuscript

and an original typewriter ribbon.

The police have just pulled

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

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

They'll be here imminently.

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

Robin!

Don't!

Robin?!

You all right?

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

Yes, I'll hold.

Robin?

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

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

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

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

This one might even sell a few copies.

- Mummy! Mummy! - My Dodo!

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

And, anyway, like most coppers,

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

They checked her freezer, by the way.

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

That's disgusting.

Does Matthew mind about all that?

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

and claimed gender equality.

Erm, I'm going to get the Tube.

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

and I opened them by accident.

She's not my problem any more.

Right, well, I'll see you tomorrow.

- Robin. - Mm?

I got something for you.

- What is it? - Open it.

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

Really?

So... partners, yeah?