All language subtitles for Dept.Q.S01E07.Episode.7.1080p.NF.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.Atmos.H.264-FLUX.en

May I suggest some restraint?

Restraint? You mean
don't throw him down the stairs?

One of these days, I'll get you drunk,
and you'll tell me about your old job.

I don't drink.

Sam Haig.

He's with the Scottish Telegraph.
Attended the Finch trial.

- Every day.
- No, don't know him.

He and Merritt spent
Thursday afternoons in a hotel room.

Mm, she didn't introduce us.

Even close as you said you were?

We didn't discuss
her personal life, remember?

Well, we believe they were working
on a corruption case together.

What sort of corruption? And where?

Something that connected
Graham Finch and Kirsty Atkins.

- Kirsty Atkins?
- Potential witness.

You wouldn't allow her
to testify in the case.

And why wouldn't I?

We were hoping you'd tell us.

I have no recollection
of this... Kirsty Atkins

or what she may
or may not have to say in the case.

I suggest you ask Liam Taylor.

We did. He said to ask you.

We know that Kirsty told Merritt
that she'd testify

that she'd met Finch's wife
a year before in a woman's refuge.

The wife being there on account of Finch
beating the shit out of her.

So this will have been not particularly
helpful information... for Finch.

Then why wasn't she brought in?

Kirsty was a, uh, prolific offender
and long-term resident of Saughton Prison.

So not necessarily credible.

It's our understanding
Merritt thought differently.

Soon after their conversation,

Kirsty was jumped.

So someone thought
she was credible enough.

So again, our question would be,

why wasn't she called?

I have no recollection of this individual.
I can only comment generally.

And with an individual like that,

a jury sees someone
who wants to get out of prison.

In a few weeks, she'll be
fresh out of prison, missing an eye,

with several dozen scars from a shanking
while in protective custody.

- Does he ever speak?
- Not if I can help it.

This attack would've been around the time
you told Merritt she couldn't use Kirsty.

I have to take your word,

because once more,
I have no recollection of any of this.

But you agree, to make this happen,

Finch would've needed
friends on the inside.

Morck, you are truly, as advertised,
out of your fucking mind.

Why would I ever help out
someone like Graham Finch?

He wasn't a random husband

who threw his half-pissed wife
down the concrete stairs.

He had money. He had juice.

Finch was a long-time wrong guy
with his own long-time connections.

He had no need for any of my help.

Merritt would've come to you
if she wanted to call Kirsty.

Is there a record
of Merritt wanting to call Kirsty?

- Why are you so certain of all this?
- I believe Kirsty.

The serial drug offender
who wants out of prison.

What about the, uh... journalist
that Merritt was supposedly working with?

He's dead.

Had a bad fall
the day before Merritt disappeared,

which, if you're keeping score,

means that's one dead,
one alive, one disappeared

within a week after Merritt came to you
with a witness who could put away Finch.

Okay, Morck.

You got me.

I'm owned by Graham Finch.

I assume he pays me
in gold coins or something.

No, sir.

We think you were threatened by him,
indirectly.

Your daughter, Julia,

she was run off the road during the trial.

She, in turn, struck and seriously injured
another man. It was all very messy.

A father never stops thinking
of all the ways

that harm can touch what he cares about.

For any man, this is a weakness.

May I ask, sir, how do you know
that Kirsty Atkins is a drug offender?

Well, you said so.

No. D.C.I. Morck said
she was a prolific offender. That's all.

Well, it seems the only person
who can help us prove any of this

is dead.

Well, we are not certain
that Merritt is dead.

You'd better hope she is.

Thank you for your time.

La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

La, la, la

La, la, la

La, la, la

You're the only one I can talk to.

What about Alison? Mia, Jenna? That lot?

They're too fuckin' high and mighty.

"High and mighty."
You sound like my fuckin' mum.

Stop it.

They're the right words, all right?

Yeah, they'll talk to William,
but I'm too scary.

You are... very fucking scary.

Aye, fucking right I am.

I like talking to you though.

- I can say almost anything.
- Almost?

What can't you say? Give an example.

- I can't give you an example.
- Why not?

Because if I could say it to you,
I'd say it.

Good point.

What's so funny?

Lyle. What the fuck?

Mum told me to tell you
she needs you at home.

Okay, you told me. Now fuck off.

She told me to drag you out of here.

Like that's gonna fucking happen.

Smells like sex.

As if you'd know.

Your da's here.

- Fuck.
- It's okay. Just leave it.

- Hey, Harry.
- You win?

Eh, nah, not today.
We could've used you though.

I'm retired.

- You're Lyle Jennings.
- Mr. Lingard.

You're not here to burn the place down?

Da.

No, sir. I'm just here to pick up Harry.
Our ma needs him.

- She's awake, is she?
- We're just leaving.

Aye.

Lyle.

See you tomorrow.

What did I say about Harry Jennings
being in the house when I'm not?

- Ah, he's not so bad.
- I'm talking to your sister.

Me and Harry,

we like each other.

- Harry and I.
- In fact...

we love each other.

- Like Romeo and Juliet?
- Whatever.

- He's not gonna be back anytime soon.
- You missed your brother's game.

William doesn't care
if I go to his stupid games. Do you?

- Only if you want to.
- See? Doesn't care.

- That's not the point.
- What is the point then? Family?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Do you mind?

Detective Morck.

Didn't recognize you.

You're not in your shitty car
outside my office.

Be glad I'm not sitting in your office.

Yet.

How you doin', Robbie?

Do we know each other?

I've seen you on the telly enough
to feel like we do.

I suppose I could say the same.

Like all good advocates,
I assume you turn away

when your client kicks his ball
out of the rough.

Are you here
to harass Mr. Finch, Detective?

If so, can we at least have lunch first?

It's all good, Robbie.

Detective Morck's just here
to apologize for a misunderstanding.

It was an accident, was it, that your...

trained cockroach slimed
all over a 17-year-old kid?

It was. He was supposed
to slime all over you.

I'm very sorry.

I have to say
you tooled up Fritz pretty good.

I got the feeling Fritz enjoyed it.

Aye. You made his day.

You have my apology.
Was there anything else?

Well, yeah.

Do you mind, Detective?
Those are very expensive clubs.

Here's the thing.

You can't be tried again
for the murder of your wife.

So hats off there, Advocate.

But what I can get you for

is paying for the botched hit
on Kirsty Atkins.

The botched what on who?

Let's just not.

What do you say?

What do you say, Detective?
You leave Mr. Finch to have his lunch.

You have proof?

I have your other paid cockroach,
Ed Solomon,

who scraped Fritz off the fuckin' pavement
and drove him to hospital.

- Who now himself is in hospital, I'm told.
- Yeah.

Yeah, with a broken leg.

Well, it's a good job
he doesn't need his leg to talk.

Quite the conversationalist, Ed.

Turns out he's got a number
of texts and voicemails from you

that are fucking hilarious.

Hilarious if you're not you.

- Or your lawyer.
- Such as?

"Gabby says he can put you in touch
with a couple of dykes at Saughton

who can cut one of her fucking eyes out
and make her eat it."

As she was threatening
to testify against you,

that's both metaphoric and symbolic.

Detective, I think we can end
this little interview now.

Now, we assume that this Gabby

is a fellow traveler
in your world of fuckery,

but what we don't know

is who told you
about Kirsty in the first place.

Detective Morck.

Wasn't Stephen Burns by any chance?

Maybe right after Ed or Fritz ran

his daughter's car
off the fucking motorway.

If you want to talk
to Mr. Finch like this,

you can either make a formal charge
or you can go.

- This is a private golf...
- Fore!

You might wanna go and pick that up.

I beg your fucking pardon?

You can beg all you like.

On you go, Robbie.

Promise not to admit to anything
while you're away.

Kirsty gets out next month.

I'll send her a muffin basket.

You'll forget she ever existed.

Why would I do that?

Because if anything happens to her,

if she so much as stubs her fucking toe,

I'm gonna assume it was your fault
and come knocking.

Is that all?

I'm guessing it was the genetic fuckups

who visited Jasper and Kirsty
who also had a go at Fergus Dunbar,

the cop who caught
the Lingard case the first time around.

Might have been.
They do have a lot of free time.

Did you have anything to do
with Merritt's disappearance?

- Found that funny?
- Hilarious.

Why would I go after a prosecutor
after I was acquitted?

You were acquitted of murder.
She was looking into corruption.

With a reporter, Sam Haig,
who happened to die

the day before she disappeared.

She could've gotten you another way.

Now, that is very suspicious.

You wouldn't happen to know
anything about that?

No. Then, I'm not
in the habit of killing reporters.

Just your wife?

Fritz did say
you appeared to be a lunatic.

Oh, coming from Fritz,
that's high praise indeed. Look.

- Haig was at your trial.
- If you say so.

Aye, he was.

He was also the one
who told me about Kirsty Atkins.

When?

One day at trial.

He came up to me during a break
and told me she was going to testify

and that it would be quite damning.

- He just offered it up?
- He did.

Which made the information suspect.

I informed Graham that were it true,

I would file
an immediate motion against it.

It was my feeling that,
given the woman's history,

the ruling was likely to be in our favor.

In the end... I did nothing.

I didn't have to.

And Graham was fine
with waiting to file a motion?

I was not party
to any further conversation in the matter.

And if Graham had wanted to pursue
a more aggressive approach,

I would, of course, have reminded him

that we had a very strong case
without resorting to... intimidation.

Any idea why Haig gave you
such a gift in the first place?

- No.
- No quid pro quo?

None.

I assume that neither of you have
the slightest inkling

of what happened to Haig
after he delivered

his fortuitous piece of intelligence, hmm?

In my experience, Detective,

if you wanna stop a reporter
from looking at you,

the absolute worst thing you could do
would be to harm that reporter.

Same goes for the cops.

Once you go after one of theirs,

they will never leave you alone.

It's not worth it.

A lot of gray area there, Mr. Finch.

The thing with the golf club
was very amusing.

Thank you.

Though I have to say I was most relieved
when you didn't hit him with it.

Ugh, Jesus.
All this talk about me losing control.

You're the one who's crushing windpipes
and chucking people down the stairs.

Yes, except when I do these things,

I'm never out of control.

I'm very much in control.

What the fuck did you do
back in Syria? Come on.

Are you going to answer that?

Morck.

- Someone's fucking with you.
- Who is this?

Your favorite reporter, Dennis Piper.

Don't hang up. I'm about to help you.

That's very generous,
but I think you're a fucking rodent.

I'm texting you something.
Take a look at it.

If you wanna talk after,
I'll be at the Golden Rule for an hour.

What the fuck are you talking about?

Shall we watch?

Fuck!

Hey.

My tooth is infected.

I need antibiotics.

Better yet, a fucking dentist.

Look.

Oh, okay, fine.
I'll just die from fucking sepsis.

Rob you of the pleasure of doing it.

Seems a bit anticlimactic
after all this time.

He was never gonna leave me alone.

Every time I'd turn around,
there he'd be, staring at me.

- Staring at you?
- Yeah.

I'd be eating
or working out in the weight room.

I'd be reading in the library,
and he'd come and sit across from me.

I even caught him
watching me sleep one time.

I couldn't take that anymore.

You messed him up pretty good.
He may lose that eye.

Sam, did you hear what I said?

He might lose his eye.

Do you feel anything when I tell you that?

- Yeah, I feel good.
- You feel good?

He wasn't ever gonna leave me alone.

Sam?

I'm not his fucking brother.
Had to get that into his head somehow.

Pound it into his head, you mean?

Are you sure
there wasn't something more to it?

Like more what?

Like more complicated?

Nah. Nah, I'm done talking.

Sam.

I said, I'm done talking.

This concludes the post-offence
interview with Samuel Haig, age 17.

10th March, 2013,

at 11:09 a.m.

With myself, Terry Dundee,

corrections counselor at Godhaven HMYOI.

I knew Haig, better than most,
which isn't saying much.

Haig was fucking precious
about everything.

He wouldn't share sources.

Wouldn't talk to anyone at the office,
when he bothered to show up.

But, still, everyone thought
he was so clever.

- But not you.
- I fucking knew the guy.

I knew the reason he got on so well
with people who crossed the line.

He was one of them.

- How'd you get the video?
- It was on his computer.

- Oh, you hacked Haig's computer?
- After he died.

Like it doesn't make a difference.
How did Haig get the video?

Someone at Godhaven
must have gave it to him.

He'd been going back to the place
in the last few months before he died.

- Why?
- He was working on a story.

- Can we read it?
- I've still got some standards.

Fuck off. You're a journalist.
You'd do your own mother from behind.

How does this help in our investigation?

It helps in your investigation
into who killed Sam Haig.

We're not investigating Haig's death.

Well, maybe you should be.

Sam found this kid.
The one he was talking about in the video.

The one he practically skelped to death.

What is this kid's name?

He called him "X" to protect his identity.

And how does Mr. X relate
to Merritt Lingard?

Oh, wait. It doesn't.

Unless Haig got her screwed
into whatever was happening

with this kid from his past.

Sounds like something a crackerjack journo
like you should look into.

Talk to Terry Dundee,

the other voice on the tape,
the one talking to Sam.

He's still at Godhaven.

I've reached out,
but he gave me the big fuck off

about how records are sealed.

This has been fascinating.

Well, if you find anything, Morck,
you be sure to remember me.

- Hey.
- All right?

- What are you watching?
- Oh, just some shite.

Perfect.

You had this look on your face.

I've never seen it,
even when you're super pissed off at me.

When you went after that guy,
you were like...

this guy I didn't even know.

Yeah.

Okay.

I'm two people.

Yeah? I have to be.

I see things most days
no one person can see,

that no one person... can handle,
or should ever have to see, to be honest.

Like what?
What's the worst thing you've seen?

I'm not gonna do that to you.

Not gonna put
what's in my head into yours.

I didn't to your mum.
I'm not gonna to you.

- Why not?
- You live in a different world.

Yeah? There's no need for you to know
the specifics of the other world

beyond that it exists
and once in a blue moon,

something from over there
crosses into here.

So the guy in the ice cream shop,
he knows that.

He wants to scare you
by showing you the other world.

He wants to... make you so afraid
that he fucking owns you.

You can't go through what you did
without it... stirring things up.

What, like...

do you mean I'm gonna have...
have nightmares and shit?

Who knows what it'll be,

but if you think you're gonna die
or you're around death,

all of a sudden there's this...
menu of various and sundry shit

that's just waiting to sneak up on you.

- Are you trying to scare me?
- You're already scared.

That's the whole point.

You now know that things can change...

in an instant.

- We're members of the same club.
- Well, I don't wanna be in that club.

Well, no one joins voluntarily, fella.

People spend their whole lives
trying to avoid that kind of... calamity.

But you have to go to the meetings,
speak to the other members of the club

so you know you're not the only one
who's thinking and feeling the...

shit

that you're thinking and feeling.

What, so like...

you and Hardy?

Yeah.

Like me and Hardy.

And now me and you.

Wait, you...

you wanna talk about it?

Yeah.

When you need to, sure.

About... what... what happened?

About what's happening.

Maybe we should start
with how thoroughly pissed off you are

at me ruining things with your mum.

And then abandoning you when I was shot.

I mean, that's... that's not your fault.
You... You couldn't help it.

No.

But you can still be mad.

That's okay.
You're allowed to be fucking mad.

Maybe let's have
our first meeting about that.

I am here.

I'm listening.

Promise.

Morning.

Not much of a file, is it?

Police took one look at that cliff
and made the call right there.

I'd likely have done the same myself.

Injuries consistent
with traumatic fall from a great height.

As if there's a fall from a great height
that's not traumatic.

Okay, so what's your problem?

Outside of the timeline and cause of death
being very fucking dodgy.

- Mm, the guy who found Haig, Paul Evans.
- Yeah, yeah, the climbing instructor.

Yeah.

He says he was
with his wife the night before

and found Haig's body in the morning
when he went to take pictures.

But the day he found Haig's body,
it was pouring rain.

It's Scotland.

Could've been rain when he woke up,

sun when he got there,
a fuckin' blizzard when he went home.

He also sent about a dozen messages
to Haig's burner phone that night.

- A few examples.
- Go on.

"No more secrets."

"I think you need to get
everything out in the open."

"This isn't about my wife."
"I want you to know that I see you."

"Are you back at the hotel?"

"Is she still there?"

- Hold on. Who's "she"?
- It's gotta be Merritt.

And there was no response
until the last message, which said,

"I'm going for a climb, S."

And no one followed up on any of it.

It was irrelevant to Haig's death
once it was deemed accidental.

It's not irrelevant to Merritt.

Haig and Merritt had been meeting up
at the Prince's Garden Hotel,

and Haig's editor said
he had a burner phone for security.

So Evans was talking to Haig
about all that stuff, secrets,

and "I see you" and all that.

- You and Carl don't talk like that?
- I don't talk to my wife like that.

Maybe you should.

- Hello, Rose.
- Hiya, Donna.

- You want breakfast, Mr. Grumpy Arse?
- I'm not hungry.

Wanna face the wee angel of darkness
on an empty stomach?

- I'm not hungry.
- Suit yourself.

Fuck sake.

Rose, you want anything? Cup of tea?

Uh, no, thanks.
I've had too many cups already.

- Did you tell Ritesh to mow the lawn?
- Yeah, why?

He's your carer, not your gardener.

The garden needs more care than I do.
Looks like shite.

He's better off out there
than fucking hovering around all the time.

Angel of darkness?

Physiologist who's either gonna get me
walking again or locked up for murder.

Okay, so...

tell me.

If Carl already shook
the tree of Paul Evans,

then why are we having this conversation?

- Evans's story's full of holes.
- It's leaky as fuck.

Probably doesn't want anyone to know
about his special friendship with Haig.

Or he knows more than he's saying.
About Merritt.

If you think that, then go back
and pester him again. Ask him.

- Ask him...?
- What he's hiding.

Just come right out and ask him?

Why not? That's what you wanna know.

Paul Evans is not gonna tell me
if he's hiding something.

There's ways to ask and ways not to ask,
if you know what I mean.

Depends on how big your balls are.

I don't even have...

- Well, they're not that big.
- Wrong answer.

I'm serious, Rose. If that's true,
what the fuck are you doing here?

Try again.

I have very big balls.

There you go. That was easy.

Let's me and you figure out
how you're gonna fuck with Paul Evans.

God, that effing, fucking safety hatch.

Argh!

Hurry up!

I told that bastarding boy
he needs to fix that.

Fucking arsehole.

I'm here for my appointment.

Oh, could you not?

Thank you.

I take it you found my address
by inappropriate means?

Which is fair enough,
given your abandonment of me.

Gotta say, it's a nice place.
I mean, a bit weird.

But cute.

Cute?

Mm, like 20-year-old you lived here
with your student mates.

20-year-old me did live here
with my student mates.

- What's your place like?
- Like my ex-wife.

So we both live
steeped in our own sad histories.

I'll bet you had a lot more fun here.

Not really. I was severely underweight
and deeply depressed.

My twenties were spent
weighing carrots and doing star jumps.

Sounds better than my marriage.

I'd rather have gotten
my suffering out in my twenties.

- You know suffering, do you?
- Fifteen years on the murder squad.

I meant your own.

So this is where
you accuse me of self-pity. Great.

I don't accuse.

I just... observe.

- Have you met Dr. Sonnenberg?
- I have.

And what did you think?

She reminds me of my aunt Enid.

The kind that likes to potter
round the garden,

making sure all the pansies are healthy

on top of all the bodies
buried underneath.

Anyway, I'm giving up on therapy.

You can hardly give up
on something you haven't tried.

Martin, my lodger, says
I should pay more attention to my dreams.

Honestly can't remember
the last one I had.

You're supposed to write them down
as soon as you wake up before you forget.

No, I meant I don't have them.

You don't dream?

I don't sleep.

And you don't need therapy?

- I need sleep.
- Well, they have pills and things now.

Mm. They scare me.

You read about people all the time,
waking up after a sleeping pill

and they've eaten
everything in the fridge,

or the front door's open
and the dog's got its lead on,

or you wake up naked
next to their ex in the bathroom.

Why are you here, Carl?

I don't know.

I thought I did.

But now I don't.

When you figure it out,
you can come back and tell me.

I think that's us for today.

Fuck's sake.

Yes.

You know, I tried rock climbing once.

I do Zumba now.
Prefer to keep my feet on the ground.

Right. What is it
that brings you here then?

Oh.

D.C. Dixon. I'm looking for Chloe Evans?

- Chloe?
- That's right.

You just missed her.

- Are you sure? We had an appointment.
- I'm very sure. I'm her husband.

She's gone to see her midwife.

Ah.

So you're Paul?

Okay.

Um...

Is there something I can help with?

No, no, I don't think so,

as this is a follow-up appointment

to a conversation
I had with Chloe the other day, so...

What conversation?

Sorry, I can't share any information
brought to our attention.

But I'm her husband.

Again, I'm sorry.

If you let her know I was here
and have her give me a call on this number

as soon as she can.

Lovely to meet you, Paul.

She told you, didn't she?

Who told me what, Paul?

Ah. You're good right there.

Is that Mace?

Pepper spray.

I've also got a pair of brass knuckles
and a wee Taser.

You think I wanna hurt you?

I know you don't want to get sprayed.

Are you even a real cop?

I often ask myself the same question.

But can I ask you about Sam Haig?

Right, so Chloe did tell you about us?

No, but you just did.

The word "us" that did it.
And it's totally fine, by the way.

For fuck's sake, I'm not even gay.

No. Course you're not.
Maybe you just wanted to experiment.

I wasn't involved with Sam
in any kind of sexual way.

How were you involved with Sam?

When you climb, you become close.

Trust is everything.

I was the one person
Sam felt he could say anything to.

- Such as?
- You name it.

We'd get up on a cliff or a crag, and...

...we'd just talk.

So climbing was like therapy.

Sam trusted you with the rope
and his deep, dark secrets.

Yeah, that's about it.

You were lying then
when you told the other detectives

you didn't know
about Sam and Merritt Lingard?

- Of course he would've told you.
- I wasn't lying. Sam never mentioned her.

Come on.

With all that sharing going on,
she'd have came up.

She didn't. I didn't think
Sam was involved with anyone back then.

What about the dozen or so texts
you sent two days before?

The ones with the bits like,
"We can't leave it like this."

"I see you." Blah, blah, blah.

We'd all been drinking that night,

and Sam was going on
about his latest piece,

saying he thought
it was gonna change his life.

Of course, Chloe, who never liked Sam,
she was always annoyed with his secrecy,

she said something
along the lines of, well, that's good

because he needed to make
some big fucking changes in his life

or he was definitely gonna die
and take me with him.

- They had a big row and Sam left.
- He went to the hotel?

The one you mentioned in your texts.

"Are you at the hotel?
Is she still there?"

I'm assuming that the "she"
you were referring to was Merritt.

Why assume that?

Sam and Merritt
had been meeting up at a hotel.

Like I've told you several times now,
he never mentioned her.

Don't suppose you know the hotel?

Course I do.
It's up the road from us. The Spivey Inn.

- The Spivey Inn?
- Aye.

Really? And you're sure
that's where he was?

Yeah, very sure.

And he wasn't with a woman?

I didn't say that.

"It's not about Chloe.
Is she still there?"

Oh, fuck me.

I sent her back to apologize.

Chloe went to see Sam?

- Aye.
- Alone?

Well, I was too pissed to go anywhere.

And did she? Apologize?

In a manner of speaking.

What manner would that be?

Like I said, we'd all been drinking.

Oh.

But... I thought you said
that she didn't even like him?

Sometimes it makes it better.

Why didn't you tell the police back then?

- It was a one-time thing.
- Are you sure?

- I didn't kill Sam Haig.
- No one said you did, but...

- Come on, did you kill Sam Haig?
- Course not.

- He shagged your wife.
- Yeah, thank you.

I didn't know about that. I was worried
because he wasn't responding to my texts.

At least not until the last one he sent.
The one saying he was going for a climb.

If you wanna speak to me or my wife again,

call our lawyer.

Thank you.

Good morning, Merritt.

It's rubbish day.

My favorite day of the month.

There you go.

Ah, just take your own sweet time.

You wanna live in your own shit
for another month, that's fine by me,

ya' manky bitch.

Emergency. Which service?