All language subtitles for Obituary.S02E06.1080p.WEB.h264-EDITH

'Two people dead,
both with a screwdriver

and you, balls-deep in both deaths!
Come on, Elvira!

'I know who killed Maria Riedle.'

'It's the same person who killed
Agnes Dunford, and the others.'

She'll live.
That's the whole idea, isn't it?

So Vivienne
is keeping Alma alive.

This changes everything.

Ward. He killed Agnes.
'So you could replace her.'

Dad? This is the only item they
found in Ward's pocket.

MD. Michael Dunford.

Michael pushed Ward over
the ledge and into the water.

This is the feed from
the night Ruby Conroy was killed.

It's a mountain bike,
it has yellow front forks.

We believe it may still be in their
possession.

During his acceptance speech, I'll
have Patsy declare Hughie innocent.

Your father's reputation
will be tarnished.

There's an understatement.
Jesus Christ, Elvira!

You're not listening!
Ward was a killer.

Stop the presses!

So much for Albert
being my fall guy.

♪ Leave Right Now

♪ I'm here, just like I said

♪ Though it's breaking every rule
I've ever made

♪ My racing heart

♪ Is just the same

♪ Why make it strong,
to break it once again

♪ And I'd love to say I do

♪ Give evrything to you

♪ But I can never now be true

♪ So I say... I think I better leave
right now,

♪ Before I fall any deeper

Press conference starts soon.

You dressed her yourself,
you did her makeup.

I wouldn't dream of letting
Rocky touch her.

Have you seen his fingernails?

And besides,

this is my final time seeing her,
so for her restoration,

I thought she should look like
the first time I saw her.

2004...

.. Annual Mortician's Ball.

I'm not sure anyone invited her,
but there she was!

Across the dance floor
dressed like that.

Biting her thumb nail
and swaying her hips to this song.

Rose, I did not kill my wife.

I swear, I did not kill my wife.

The thing is, when people see a dead
woman, they blame the husband.

So you have to go out there
and convince them you're innocent.

Any advice?

Always tell the truth.

It's usually the easiest thing
to remember.

Are you the screwdriver killer?

I'm here today to plead

with anyone who may have
knowledge of what happened

to come forward.

"Hannah had forged a successful
career in journalism,

which was going
from strength to strength."

You know I met him a few times.
He gave me the creeps.

He's not even crying. He did it.

Just because he's not crying
doesn't mean he's guilty.

What about Ruby? What motive
would he have for killing her?

No, I don't see it. You know what your
problem is, Elvira? She doesn't know

the difference between an
apostrophe and a quotation mark?

You're too easily swayed by sob
stories, which, if you ask me,

is not exactly the best trait for
someone on a crime desk.

"Now I know that many of you here
are thinking the husband did it."

"Right?" Right...
"So let me make this clear."

"I did not kill my wife."

Prove it.

Detective Mulcahy, if you would.

"After recent break-ins
in the mortuary,

we recommended that they
install 24 hour CCTV cameras."

"On the night Hannah was killed,

Walter Eustace was working."

"What about the night
Ruby Conroy was killed?

Have you reviewed that tape?"

And the obvious connections
between both murders.

We're not ruling out the possibility
that both murders...

".. may have been committed
by the same person.

What I can confirm is,

that Walter Eustace
was also working that night."

"Double shift, in fact, which
the CCTV footage has verified."

Now, if it's alright with everyone,

I'd like to get back to work.

Right folks, back to reality.

Emerson, four days out,
how's it hanging?

Patsy is ahead 7 per cent
in the polls.

He's gonna win.
And get this,

we asked a focus group
why they're voting for him

and they said
he's the only candidate

who doesn't disagree
with their beliefs.

That's because
he doesn't have any!

Now, if anyone needs me,
I'm off to see Walter Eustace.

There's no way he'll talk to you.

There's no way he'll talk
to a crime reporter.

Someone writing his wife's
obituary...

.. I think he'll talk to them.

Did you bake this?
That depends.

Do you like it?

No.

It's too sweet for me.

Well, he's nothing if not honest.

I don't think it was
love at first sight,

for either of us.

Honestly,
the comforts of love

weren't something
I was familiar with.

Okay, maybe too honest.

The love, I think, came later,

through endurance
and hard work.

You see,
in a relationship,

honesty brings you
closer together.

Hannah asked if I wanted children,
I said no.

She agreed,
all she wanted was me.

In the end,
in our own weird way,

our marriage was kind
of perfect.

Because you told each other
everything.

Otherwise you're lying
to yourself.

Without pure truth,

real love does not exist.

I've gotta say, you've given me
one hell of an opening paragraph.

What about you?
Have you a someone?

A someone like Hannah and I?

Nearly.
Well, make that nearly a yes.

You never know when one of you

might not walk
through that door again.

Off out?

Oh, we're talking now, are we?

You haven't said a word
in three days.

It's the final canvas so

I'm just making sure Patsy
doesn't go off script.

And you're sure he'll win?

Which means he'll make that
speech about Hughie and Dad.

And what Dad did.

What choice do I have?
You could stop him.

That wouldn't be right.

Are you sure?

All I'm sure about is you.

About how much I love you,

and if this must be done
then--

Where did that come from?

I've been waiting?

It's always been there.

And your Dad?

It'll break me in bits.

So just make sure you're there
to put me together again.

What'd you forget now?
My manners.

I should've knocked.

Tea, coffee?
Both, if that's doable.

I like my coffee with
a teabag in it.

I must try that sometime.

Hannah's obituary.

I'm doing my best
to do her justice.

What do you make
of the husband, Walter?

Don't tell me that press
conference was set up?

That he's your main suspect?
Quite the opposite.

We checked his home phone,
mobile records, laptop, PC,

work computer, GPS...

The man's clean,
even his bank records.

Gives more to charity
than he spends on himself.

And you came here
to tell me this?

Actually...

I didn't.

While going through
his call logs,

I took a look at yours.

Confined it to the night Ruby
was killed,

the night your car was stolen.

Remind me,
coffee first or teabag?

How about you sit down instead?

Mm.

That's a map of Kilraven.

The three red dots,
they're phone masts.

You see,
you said you were here

when you called Oisín
about your car,

meaning that call should've pinged
the nearest phone mast.

Only it didn't, the call went
through this phone mast instead,

the one nearest Ruby's house.

Now what does that tell us?

That you didn't make that call
from here.

That you made it from...

near Ruby's house.

Guilty as charged.

Guilty of what?
Exactly.

What am I guilty of? Do you
think I killed Ruby then Hannah,

is that what you're saying? What
I'm saying is that you told a lie,

and I want to know why.
Help me understand, Elvira,

then we can deal
with whatever this is.

From memory,
there are three ways

to get someone's phone records.

One, the person can consent.

Two, a judge can issue a court
order, but that can be tricky.

Or three,
a pal at the phone company

can slip them to you on the sly.

Now, I've no doubt Walter permitted
you access to his phone records,

but me? You didn't even ask.

So where does that leave us?
And bear in mind, I'm not judging,

but unless I get the judge's name
I can't say anything.

Or I'd be aiding and abetting
an illegal act,

and I wouldn't feel comfortable
with that. If you don't tell me

what happened-- You'll keep
hounding me until what?

What will make you stop
because you should,

because you're wrong.

Unless I find the killer you--
You won't leave me alone.

I just can't connect
these two murders.

And I still can't sleep.

So there's only one thing to do.

I need to find someone to kill.

Let's see who's been
misbehaving in Christine's files.

No way.

Walter Eustace.

I'd appreciate if you could
read the opening

of my article,

make sure I've
quoted you correctly.

This isn't an obituary. Oh,
I'm not here as an obituarist.

I'm here as a crime
correspondent.

These are not my words.

So you didn't call your wife...

'A gold digger, willing to take
half of everything'--

Outside of you leaving-- 'Someone
who married me for my money,

that never loved me.' I don't care
what you have to say!

'That paid for the work I did
at her mother's funeral

by spreading her legs, legs she
now spreads for everyone but me.'

Uh, this is my favourite,
'She makes me feel small,

laughs at the way I say things,

flirts with every man she meets,

traipses around the house
naked after a shower

just so the neighbours can see!'
'And I tried,

even asked her for children.

She said it would get
in the way of her career.

Looking back now, the first
time I saw her

was the happiest moment
of my life, after that,

it's been all downhill.'
And you're printing that?

Side by side with what you told
me at our first meeting.

See, it's never the crime
that trips up people like you,

it's the lies because lies,
I'm afraid, have no alibi.

Is that even legal? I have
a very understanding editor.

You got those quotes from
my file.

I only told them to one person,
Christine Churchyard,

my therapist. You stole my file.
Funny isn't it?

With what she knows
and she'd never go to the Guards.

Ask me, the woman's a sociopath.
Takes one to know one.

Now, I'm obliged to give you
a chance to defend yourself.

I need a quote.
And I can't publish without one.

Look, I did not kill my wife.

Perfect.

So no more questions?

Like you'd answer them.
You never know.

Try me.

Like I said,
I did not kill my wife.

But tell me what you think
happened.

In a word, a smokescreen.

Due to your airtight alibi,

let's assume you hired someone
to help kill your wife.

You knew that even
with an alibi

they'd never stop
looking into you.

So you, along
with the person you hired,

made it a multiple murder,

created a motive,

not just the death of your wife,
but the deaths of two women,

both of whom worked
in the media.

Interesting concept.

It was about diverting suspicion,

which involved first
murdering Ruby,

which of course would never
lead back to you.

Then, when your wife was killed,
everyone would wonder

why you'd kill Ruby,
it makes no sense.

So now they're not looking
for your wife's murderer,

but a serial killer with a fetish
for journalists.

Will we take your car or mine?

Mm?

To the Garda station.

I presume you'll want to tell them
everything you told me!

Maybe stick around to watch them
slap the cuffs on,

snap a photo of Rose
making her big bust.

I can't, I have to write the story.

My deadline is before the election
results drop tomorrow,

I'll need every second I've got.

So what are you saying then?

I'm saying nothing.
No, you're saying,

that you're not going to
the Guards that--

There's a window here.

Time for me to get in my car,
board a plane and disappear.

Of course, the Guards
are probably watching me.

Actually, I have it
on good authority

they're watching someone
else.

Why are you doing this,

letting me go?
You think I'm a killer.

It's my job to report the news.

Bullshit.

Fine.

There's a position up for
grabs at work,

so it's imperative I'm first
with this story,

that I beat the Guards to it.

If that results with you
going on the lam, then...

I'll deal with the fallout later.

I've heard journalism is dog eat
dog, but this takes the biscuit.

Look, my article goes online at
midday tomorrow,

what you do with your time
until then,

that's your business.

I can see it in your face,
you're sure I'll run.

Why?

Because it's what I would do.

Though Kilraven has been shaken
to its core by a spasm of murders,

nothing can prepare us
for the truth about to emerge.

that our killer is not
some distant monster,

but someone we all trusted.
Trusted with what, you may ask.

Well...

.. with our dead.

This paper alleges that
Walter Eustace,

Hannah's husband and our
town mortician

ordered the killing of
both Ruby and Hannah.

Driven by his desperate
need for control,

Walter believed his carefully
constructed smokescreen

would keep his dark secrets
hidden.

And so, two women who had
never crossed paths

were forever intertwined
in our history.

Mr Eustace denied any
involvement, saying,

'I did not kill my wife'.

Yeah, something's missing.

The story's about to go live.

"A story that's your word
against mine."

"No, what it needs
is a full confession."

"I'm willing to tell all in person."

You were supposed to leave town.

"Change of plans."

I don't have much time.

After our first meeting,

I confessed my undying love
to my boyfriend.

Because of the lies you fed me
about your marriage.

So no more lies, yeah?

The individual I hired,

I've never met him--
Did you not hear what I said?

All I got was a phone in the post
with his number on it.

After that, everything unfolded
as you said.

I gotta ask,

why a screwdriver
and, please,

don't let it be
the answer I'm expecting.

Because my wife was screwing
around. There it is.

My first concern
was how I'd pay him

without arousing suspicion.

He set up fake accounts abroad
that looked like major charities.

Apart from a minor
decimal point discrepancy,

they're indistinguishable from
legitimate ones. All I had to do

was pay him in dribs and drabs.
What about the phone?

No way.

The scalpel please.

What scalpel?

Like I said,

a place they'd never check.

So that's it, the whole story?

Or so I thought.

You see, Ruby wasn't
our first target.

We needed a journalist,
sure and, well,

your name came up.
What?

It was meant to be you until
he called out of the blue

and said he'd locked onto
a new target. Ruby.

I dismissed it at the time,

chalked it up
to his better judgement.

But after meeting you
and all that entails,

I grew curious.

So while fleeing town,

I called him.

You suffer from insomnia,
yes?

He followed you, closely,

until you led him
to Ruby's house!

He said you were,
I dunno, stalking her.

He said he found you intriguing.

He wanted to see what you'd do.
That's when he got the idea.

He'd murder Ruby instead
with you watching,

and you did nothing.

He did tell me one more thing.

Something valuable.

While watching you, you stole
something from that farmer,

Tom Quigley.

And what about
Jodie Freeman?

Any ideas about him?

That singed hair
under his armpit,

I figured it was from a taser
but your boyfriend, Emerson,

smart cookie, when he came to me
about that James Doe,

he said it was more likely from...
a cattle prod.

What do you want?
For you to know

that if I'm going down...

.. you're coming with me.

How's your deadline looking?

I'm pretty sure I've blown it.

See that that phone disappears.

Okay, we've got a few thank yous,
a bit of policy talk

and then straight into
your stuff okay, Hughie? Yeah.

I'm so sorry, Dad.

'Mighty man Patsy.'
'Sound Man Patsy.'

Good afternoon, Kilraven.

It's lovely to see so many
of you here

celebrating this unusual victory.

Our pleasure, Patsy.''

I have to say,
it's an honour to be elected.

I also have to say it's a bit of
a surprise to be elected

considering, you know, it's me.

Yeah.

First time voting,

I couldn't even vote for me self.

I looked down the list
and I thought,

what does it say about me
if I support this lad?

Instead of ticking a box,
I drew a picture of a rabbit

dressed as Santa.

'Boo!'

Exactly. Boo.

You're angry.
Talk like you did before!

Talk like what? I never talked!

And when I did, someone else
told me what to say.

We figured out
what you wanted to hear

and we served you up
a feast.

I ran on drivel that
looked good on a poster.

Honestly, half the time I was
pished,

and the other half I didn't care.

'Then you should resign!'
Resign?

It's a bit late for that.
I kind of need the gig now!

I'm after getting a massive, fuck
off loan from the credit union,

those posters don't pay
for themselves.

Oh my God.

But what I'm saying to ye is...

In five years' time

when we vote again

let's demand better, yeah?

Easy, easy. Good. It's okay.

Right, now,
finally some substance.

Ladies and gentlemen,

at the back of this hall is a man
who's been through the wringer.

And that man--
'Let's get him!'

Get him back on track!

Jesus!

Get him out of here you mean?
Listen to me,

will you calm down and listen!

Will ye listen to me
for a minute?

There'll be other speeches,
Hughie.

It'll happen.

Or maybe not.

Jesus. Balls to this.

Anarchy! Woo.

'Come on, drinks are on Pat,
so...!'

I'm not going to let
my Dad's name be sullied.

I'm so sorry. It wasn't pricey.

You okay? Yeah, um,
I'm gonna clean myself up.

I won't be long. Sure.

Hello?

Ah.

Guess what?

I changed my mind about Dad.

I don't think we should
speak ill of the dead.

I'm, I'm a good person.

I, I don't deserve this.

I don't deserve this.

Maybe.

Ah!

But I'm making an exception
this time.

Hey, hey, I've been looking
for you, where are you?

Toilets, the alarm went when
I had my top off.

"I couldn't run out."
Okay! 'Go on back in now.'

Hey, they're calling us back in.
Okay.

False alarm.

Mm, someone's thirsty.

You have no idea.

Heard you're back on obituaries.

The place for me, really.

So is this it?

We keep playing this game
on and on?

The night Hughie was murdered
I was at The Arms Hotel.

I have 50 plus witnesses
who can verify-- I know.

I know.
Then what?

The phone mast nearest your
house. What about it?

Hasn't worked
in nearly five years.

It was a test. Your phone
pinged the right mast.

So you lied to me.

Yeah.

And I also want to thank you...

For telling me Mick had
a crush on me.

Err, if you hadn't,

I wouldn't be wearing this.

Congrats, Rose.

It's-- The smallest ring
in the whole wide world

but, hey,
he's hung like a horse so,

you know,
swings and roundabouts.

So I take it you love him then?

You fuckin' journalists.
What?

Always with the awkward
questions, huh?

Hey, Rose.
Yeah?

You'll catch this killer.

Hughie's obituary.

Yes, boss.

It's beautiful.

But there are a few instances

where you refer to her
instead of him.

Oh sorry. Leave it with me.

I see you've called
an emergency staff meeting.

Is Vivienne making you
fire someone?

Worse.

She wants to kill the print edition,
go digital.

Apparently she read in a magazine
that it'll save money.

But instead it will kill the paper.

I even showed her data
to prove it.

What will you do?

What she told me to do.

Argh! No please, don't!

N-none of this was my idea.
She should be dead and she's not.

You're keeping her alive
and you're using the paper

to make people think
she's up and about. Why?

Let me begin by saying that every
mother-daughter relationship

is complicated, okay?
None more so than ours.

No...!

If I don't get some semblance
of normality out of your mouth

your mother flatlines--
Okay! Okay!

When she got sick
she wrote a new will.

Cut me out completely,

decided to leave everything
to the cat. Why?

Well, I guess the queen
of mean was fond of it.

No, why cut you out?
She thought I was a fuck up.

That's not true.
Oh, but it is. That you're a fuck up?

That she called me a fuck up in her
will and cut me out completely.

Only this time, you know what,
I didn't fuck up.

Sure, I started running the paper
so that people

wouldn't question her absence.

Still, I could've run that paper
into the ground,

exactly like she'd expect me to.

Only instead you started to like it.

Which meant taking everything
I learned from her

and using it for good to turn
the paper around.

She could never motivate
the staff like I do.

Or get Patsy elected or
the guts to get Hughie out of jail.

No, I know I made
that paper better, Elvira.

I just know I did.

Circulation is up.

So this cat, what's it called?

Trouble.

Him and my dog were tearing
strips out of each other.

They're in a pound now,
living their best lives.

What's your big plan here?
Like I said,

as long as she's alive,
that dirty furball gets nothing.

That doesn't sound sustainable.
Well, you got a better idea?

I'm all ears.

Hey, are you hungry?
Can you cook?

I spent 18 months at
Cullohill Cookery School.

Is that the place that burnt down?
Why do you think my mother

thought I was a fuck up?

Mm, I think I'm perimenopausal.

So, can I cook or can I cook?

That meal was worth 10 cookery
schools burning down.

So what now? You'll ruin me?

Or is it money,
because I'm a little short.

Every penny of the stipend I get
goes straight to Bernadine.

The stipend?
Who does it come from?

Mam's solicitor,
Bernard Hausmann. I take it,

Hausmann has
the most recent will.

Describe him to me.
Penny pinching loner,

oddball, no friends, family.

I think I'd like some more wine,

if you wouldn't mind.
Get it yourself.

What was that?
On my way.

Here's what's gonna happen.

For 1 euro each, you sell
every paper your mother owns

to the staff at each
of those papers.

As well as this, you'll make
the editors the trustees,

give them the power.
And how am I gonna do that?

How bad do you want this money,
Vivienne? Real bad.

Well real bad costs.

And the solicitor?
He's gotta go.

On holiday?

Oh!

Okay! Along with this,

the person who sees to the solicitor
will make the new will vanish.

This means the previous--
Will, which is upstairs.

Will come into effect, giving all
your mother's money to you.

Will it stand up in court?

If there's another possible
beneficiary and they challenge it

then you might hit trouble.

Well, lucky for us
Trouble will be no trouble.

So who's gonna do it?

What's that?

It's just one phone call
you have to make.

Lawyers like Bernard
Hausmann don't usually apologise.

Sorry for what?

Rose?

You've got to see this.

Looks just like the bike
from the night of Ruby's murder.

Sounds like we have
our screwdriver killer.

So, what do you think?

It's a pretty cool look, right?

I'm a mortician,
not a plastic surgeon.

That doesn't mean that she can't
be buried with a bit of pizzaz.

Pizzaz?
Pizzaz.

Well folks, we now own
a newspaper.

Yay! There you go!

Alright I'm coming, I'm coming,
I'm coming. Don't worry.

Now...

You're holding space on the front
page and then pages 8 and 9.

I was gonna tell ya.
You're writing about Dad, aren't ya?

Why?

Hughie, Lord rest him, it doesn't
mean anything to him now.

It means something to me.

Because it's the truth?

What if it's not the truth?

Your job is safe,
I've got your back.

But this has to come out.

So you're standing by the story?

100 percent.

That's a lot of percent.

We've been over this, Elvira.

Okay, we will get through this.

What do you mean, what if it's
not the truth? It is the truth.

Is it?

Ward killed Maria.

Are you saying he didn't?

And Agnes Dunford too, Ward killed
her so you could take her job.

And to get you paid,

he killed Sylvester McHugh
and Veronica Sloan.

Elvira, he killed Sylvester
and Veronica, yeah?

Elvira!

What?

He, he killed them, right?

What's going on?

Open your eyes.

Are you saying that if I print that
he killed Sylvester and Veronica

I'll be wrong?

He's got to do this
on his own.

I'll see you at home.

I...

It's, err...

I don't understand!

Then sleep on it!

Well, you slept like a log,
nearly 20 hours.

I didn't want that thing
waking you.

You didn't sleep?
Nah.

I was up all night trying to figure
out what to put on the front page.

Bad news, I'm afraid.

Looks like it's gonna be
Kate's puff piece.

I think she wants to call it
'Barnyard Bling'.

Emerson...

I'm gonna say this once

and once only.

I will not be made a fool of.

I don't wanna be known
as the journalist

who shared his bed with...

Whatever you are.
A killer.

And I can't be an accomplice,

in any form or fashion.

You know, if this is a...

uh... a need that you have then

we will... regulate it!

Vaguely, Jesus, I don't have
the words for this. I-I do.

No just, just, please just let me
finish. This is a needle,

I need to thread it. Right...

I need you to protect me, okay,
nod if you understand.

And at the same time,
we've come way too far to...

To...

I love you.

And you love me.

And that makes me
the luckiest man alive.

I guess what I'm saying is...

I can...

I can, you know...

I can live with it.

Right, okay, I need you to go
outside and come back in.

What?! Please, for me, just...

Woah the dead arose, huh?
You slept like a log!

Me, I was up all night trying
to figure out...

Well, how about Kate's piece?

How bad could it be?

And remember, it's a conference,
not a two-day piss up.

Thanks Mum.

See ya.

'She's a liar, kiddo!'

'She's a professional liar!'

'Oh no, no! Please! Argh!'

From one angle I see a woman
redecorating a house

she shares with her boyfriend.

From another angle, I see
a killer covering up her mess.

Who am I kidding,
I can't be two people at once

or else I'm nobody.

And I tried being nobody.

It didn't agree with me.

"Guess who's on the slab?"

Walter Eustace.

What happened to him?
Collapsed at home.

Anything fishy about it?

"Not that I can see."

Ask me, considering
what he's been through lately,

the man died of a broken heart.

Well, cheers for the heads up.
I'll get someone on it.

If you love me,
you'll let me go.

If you let me go,
I'll never love anyone else.

Come looking for me,
you'll make me angry.

Put me in danger,

even angrier.

And when I'm angry,

everyone's in danger.

There's a girl here who says she
has an interview for the obit desk.

Send her in.

An obituarist at this paper is
a highly sought after position.

You'd be writing about celebrities,
world leaders.

Frankly, the only reason
you're here

is because of your letter of
recommendation from Miss Birch.

So before we conclude,

tell me why I should hire you
over everyone else?

What sets you apart?

Because, if I'm honest,
I haven't seen it so far.

An obituary!

Cute.

My obituary.

Have you been following me?

Oh, there are things in here
even my wife wouldn't know.

Good Lord.

I'm showing you that I can
go above and beyond.

That's what sets me apart.

And what's in your hands there,

it's just for starters.

I'm going to need you to give
a little nod of your head

so I know we're on
the same page.

Good.

Now...

.. let's talk salary.