All language subtitles for This.Is.Not.A.Murder.Mystery.S01E01.540p.X265.AAC.[9jaRocks.Com]

Yes, thank you.

George, is that you?

My heart, are you okay? Did your trip go
well?

A problem?

Well, tell me everything, my love.

We're going to resume from the start,
okay?

How is the place?

And the other

guests?

How are they?

Of course, you know the dolly. Do not

look

me in the eye.

Fetch my suitcases and bring them up to
my suite on the double.

Darling, what a silly mistake.

This is not some little footman.

This is the future of surrealist
painting.

After me, of course.

Gala?

Wow. Where is your darling wife? Do you
know her?

My

lord

and I would like to welcome you all, the
most promising artists of today.

And what is your lot, by the way?
Delayed in London, preparing for the

exhibition of the century, sir, this
coming Friday here at West Dean, which

establish you as the world's foremost
artist, not to mention rich, beyond your

wildest dreams.

You'll have five days to display your
art in our exhibition space.

And where would that be?

Moncton House, Mr Ray, within walking
distance of the manor, amid the estate's

beautiful forests.

Meanwhile, don't forget to live it up
like lords and ladies.

Once you all hit the deadline on Friday,
of course, 4 p .m. sharp, if I could

ask you to raise the glass.

Mr. Daly, Miss Miller, Mrs. Daly, Mr.
Ray, Mr. McGreece, Mr. Earth,

Nash Sir, and Miss Lake.

Here's to unlimited success.

Rene?

Is it over?

Vapor.

What did you do here?

I'm sorry, sir.

Sheila. I swore I would never see that
vile child again.

Mr. Daly. Miss Lakerslaw James's niece.

And where is she at our table?

She's not even an artist.

Miss Lake is one of our most esteemed
performance artists.

René Magritte?

Comment allez -vous?

René?

Don't touch anything.

Is she?

Oh, good God.

You can't talk to me like that. At once,
come on.

Calm yourself.

Come on, Sue.

Come on.

What the hell happened?

Honey? Let's get you out of here.

Good man.

Don't say anything to anybody, please.

Why not?

Maybe someone remembers something. That
might be so. We can't create a panic.

Let me call the police first.

I have questions too, okay?

I don't mean to upset you, sir, but you
just woke up next to a dead woman.

C 'est rien, mon amour.

The lunch is ready. I have to go.

René?

You care more if you're a damn dead
crustacean than you do me.

Hey, McGree.

Hi.

My condolences on the death of your
lobster, ma 'am. Oh, this is one lobster

won't be met.

Da Vinci bit me on the way over, twice.

A lobster doesn't bite. It pinches, and
it's a sign of affection.

A bit like you, then.

I'm glad you're in lobster heaven,
buddy.

I have a lot better than being stuck
down here.

You're as pale as a corpse, McGree.

Sheila didn't wear you out too much last
night, did she?

Wear me out? We saw you two go up
together just after midnight.

Fast work, mon ami.

Um, will you excuse me?

I could get used to this.

I couldn't live here, sir.

The air.

Was it the plants, the animals?

The people.

Just don't show them that you're
impressed by their wealth or their

game.

Right, sir.

You? An honour to meet you, my lord,
Detective Chief Inspector

Detective Quant, at your service. I must
say that your estate deserves to be

seen among the collection of any
gentleman's seats in the kingdom.

Please say you are mistaken. I am merely
Lord James's servant.

I see.

Name?

Duke, sir.

Archibald, sir.

Please, could you show us the body?

Of course.

Follow me.

We'll take it from here. Thank you.

Thank you.

You do the honors now, Detective
Constable.

On the left -hand side of the bed,
female.

Evening clothes.

A head covered with white scarf tied
loosely at the neck.

Bloodstained nose.

Broken glass.

Another stain on the sheets. Blood or
wine.

Right side of the bed, an impression of
a body.

Heavier, larger, perhaps male.

I'd say so. Not bad, detective.

Not bad at all.

Black shoes.

Recently shined. Mm -hmm.

Men's cologne.

Bitter and sweet.

Opiates.

And if so, it's a large dose.

This might be the poor woman lying in
bed, Quant.

Let's meet our victim.

Couple of hours ago?

Lega Sheila, English, single, 25 years
old.

Occupation, performance artist.

Occupation, murder victim.

No doubt about it.

Who would be the killer in the mix,
Quant?

We need a place to work.

Let's find... What's his name?

Dukes, I believe, sir.

I found it.

Apologies for the wait.

Would this be a suit, detectives?

Yes, this will do nicely for a murder
room.

What information do we have on the
guests, Quant?

It looks like they're a bunch of
struggling artists.

One of them's in England for the first
time.

Look.

Rene Francois Ghislaine Magritte.

born 1898, Lausanne, Belgium, painter.

I'm agreed. I've got to... Sir, I've got
to deliver the bad news to the group.

Come along.

And try to look surprised, sir.

It is my sad duty to inform you all that
Miss Lake has passed away in the night.

What?

It was a dreadful accident, of course.

Scotland Yard had been ordered to
investigate, just to be on the safe

And they are looking into every
possibility.

You mean murder?

I know that Miss Legg was a beloved
friend, companion, and colleague of you

My lord and I are deeply sorry for your
loss.

If there is anything you need at this
time, please don't hesitate to ask. Oh,

dear God, the poor girl.

Are you happy now?

Need more coke, pal?

Stop it.

We are all in shock.

Let's not make it worse.

You are awfully quiet.

Pardon? Surely you were the last one to
see her when you took her upstairs.

No, je sais pas.

Suddenly you can't speak English
anymore, mon ami.

Our friend dies and you've got nothing
to say?

Explain yourself, man. Oh, come on.
Nobody wanted this.

Are you sure about that, Sal?

Calla.

Good morning.

DC Quant, Scotland Yard.

We request that you all be available for
interview.

Oh, and please accept our condolences
for the loss of your friend.

Dukes.

Wait, does this mean we're all suspects?

How long has the guest been here?

They all arrived last night.

When Miss Legg was still alive?

Yeah. So this lot are all famous,
apparently, in the art world, I presume,

because I've not heard of a single one
of them before now.

Well, that's the point, sir.

Lord James finds the greatest artists of
tomorrow just as they lie on the cross

buffet. By next week, this lot will be
front page news.

How come?

The most important art show of the
decade is due to be all day this coming

Friday. All the artists will showcase
their work.

It will be astounding, I can assure you.

Surrealism is the next big thing. On
Lord James's say -so.

Sound investment.

Get the artworks on the cheap, create
the hype, grab all the cash.

Smart move.

I take it you're not much of an art
lover then, sir.

What time did you go to bed last night,
Jukes?

On the stroke of eleven.

Never, are you?

We would appreciate it if you told us
everything we needed to know.

I don't know if this is important.

You don't know if it isn't.

This morning, when I was doing my rounds
with the special breakfast requests, I

found one of our guests in bed with Miss
Lake.

Bedding over.

Who?

Well...

It were Mr. McGree, but I know he had
absolutely nothing to do with this.

Don't ever play games with me, Dukes.

All right?

No. Never, sir.

McGree!

McGree!

Yes? DCI Thistlethwaite.

What's the matter, Detective?

Oh, you're the matter, Magritte.

Final person to be seen with the victim
last night and first thing this morning.

You found him begged with the poor
woman.

Why don't you do us a favour and
confess, Magritte? We can all be back in

London. No, sir. No.

No.

Sure?

Mm -hm.

All right, let's concentrate on last
night.

Your movements from midnight onwards.

We know you slipped away with Miss
Legger, correct?

We went upstairs, yeah.

Was there a scarf wound around your neck
like with Miss Legger?

Yeah, yeah. I woke up because I was
struggling to breathe.

Jutes told me you're all here to
exhibit.

Perhaps become famous and wealthy beyond
your surrealist dreams.

Not all of you, of course. Must create a
few little rivalries, no?

No. Are you a jealous man, Magritte?

No. Just a curious man.

Oh.

Well, that makes two of us.

Good. Sir!

Yes, I have something I want to show
you.

And that, of course, your colleague has
already found it.

Sir!

You have to see this.

Hell. I found it in his box, in that
wardrobe there. It was nailed shut.

I had to break it open.

Sorry.

This is your painting?

Yeah. I brought it back from Brussels
for the big show on Friday.

But this box has never been opened on
English soil.

Well, I just opened it. I mean, up until
now.

It looks just like the murder scene.

Tell me about it.

Les amants.

The lovers.

You see, my lovers, they kiss.

And at the same time, they don't kiss.

Their lips are sealed with a scarf.

They cannot get fully closed.

And that's what I call love.

Right, well, enough of the art lessons.

Let me smell your breath. Excuse me. No,
come on, open up.

Oh, good God. Yeah, well, I didn't press
my teeth this morning.

Yes. Maybe just as well.

Because you could have saved yourself a
night in a little horrible cell.

Oh, you were drugged just like Miss
Legger.

Look at that sediment.

And no one else has seen this painting,
you're sure?

My wife, but she's in Brussels, so no.
Did you notice anything else strange

night?

Well...

Thank you.

Oh, poor darling.

I don't play with little girls.

Oh, but let you know when I'm finally
old enough to play with you.

Perhaps in half a century.

Wrap it up, you two.

Let's not have the boys drink all the
best stuff.

There was rather extraordinary
entertainment.

But

it

was just for fun.

Don't worry.

Is there anything else you'd like to
reveal?

No. I'm good. Right, you can go.

For now.

Suspect, do you think?

Not when the lab confirms he was
drugged. Oh, don't be charmed by this

quant. I need you to stay focused.

I don't find him charming, sir.

I just... Pay attention.

There was something else I found at the
crime scene earlier.

What do you make of this?

It's a bank book I found in Miss
Legger's bedside table.

Starting last summer, she makes monthly
payments to a certain Charlie L.

This goes on for a year, until suddenly,
yesterday, an extra thousand

pounds is paid to this Charlie L.

How could that be?

L for Legger, perhaps?

A relation.

Constables!

I want you to search all the guest
rooms. We're looking for the following

A glass revolver. Any narcotics and
relevant prescription.

Any reference to a Charlie L.

Plus anything you gentlemen regard as
suspicious.

Go on, hop to it. The book work.

Jews!

We need a lockable place on the estate,
preferably indoors, as cold as can be.

Yes, I believe I have somewhere in mind,
sir.

This way, please.

Don't ever do that again. My sincerest
apologies.

I would like to help you with your
investigation.

I want to catch this killer as much as
you do, probably even more.

Why?

Mama!

You do realize you're still a suspect.

I know. If I can find one thing in that
murder scene that you missed, would you

perhaps allow me to assist you? This is
a murder investigation, McGree. Not a

bloody game. I'm serious.

I'm deadly serious.

This is really important to me.

If you can show me one decent clue, then
I might look the other way whilst you

play detective.

Follow me.

Do you know anything about painting?

Not really.

Okay. Because this assassin does.

What makes you so sure?

Are you familiar with a painting
technique called repoussoir? No.

Okay. It's when you paint the foreground
in darker tones, but you brighten up

details in the background.

So it creates the depth of field and
leads the viewer's eyes to details

otherwise overlooked. I use it all the
time.

You detectives, you focus on the logical
things. The body, the bed, the bottle.

An error on our part.

No. But you focus on the foreground.

Your view is incomplete.

So let's focus on the background.

The killer likes oysters.

Symbolism. An oyster near a woman means
that she's of a loose

morale. I get it. Thank you.

Your killer is an artist.

In a house full of artists.

The cross stays put whilst the world
turns around.

That is fascinating. Great. Thank you.
Let's go.

Hey, listen.

Artists, they have a very specific
language. Use me as an interpreter. I

help. I'll be fine with English. Thank
you.

If we can have your attention, ladies,
gentlemen.

Constables are currently searching all
of your rooms. Do not disturb them in

direction of their duties.

Search all you like. I'm getting the
hell out of here.

Nobody's leaving the premises.

We're keeping your passports until we
clear this case. What? No way. Goddamn

little fashion.

Is it really necessary?

This is Gala Dali, is it?

Who wants to know?

The woman who's going to be questioning
you.

You must all stay put right here.

We have questions for each and every one
of you.

We found your conscience well.

Thought we were friends.

I thought we were safe.

So long, my love.

Our secret's safe with me.

Mine's just that, boys. It's just the
way I...

I'll have to start to get rid of all
this, obviously.

One hell of a mortuary.

Me, Minna, the war reporter.

That's me, all right.

Listen, I didn't know Sheila all that
well.

Not like the others, but I knew it would
end in tears.

It's the rule of three Ds.

Drugs and depression equals death.

What was your exact relationship with
Sheila Legg, Mr. Ray?

She, uh, inspired me. As a model?

Muse, more so.

I'm bored.

Locked up in this golden cage.

Come Monday morning, I'm off to Munich,
interviewing Hitler for the Washington

Post. Any questions?

For you or for Hitler?

Both.

Any theory that he might have done that?

If I did, I... I would kill them right
now.

You think it was a man.

You don't.

What's wrong with your arm?

Uh... Lee was playing with her toy gun
during her damn William

Teller party trick, and then the
ricochet got me.

The infamous glass gun.

Yeah, uh... It's nothing less than a
lady's note. She's a gun nut.

Where's the gun now?

Uh... It lives in her purse.

That's... silly thing you don't think
that's a lethal weapon do you

put it right in my bag after the game
last night where

it's gone

duly noted and you have no idea who
could have taken it

i haven't the damn

Sorry. The DC has trouble adapting to
this environment.

Bless you, detective.

I'm sure Cam relate to that.

Tell us about this game last night.

Come on, Lee, shoot.

Sheila had to pose for me as the victim.
Don't be afraid. Man loves danger.

Dolly is scared of loud noises.

Somebody's going to get caught. They
don't like this game. It's a silly game.

It's a silly game. Come on, Salva. They
don't like this.

It's a silly game. It's a toy.

Gala loved it, of course. Told me to aim
lower.

For a joke, mind you.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Are you okay?

Did you see?

It was just a little game.

No one got hurt, except for Miss Black's
Coke bottle.

Perfume, I should say.

And a scratch on man's arm.

Nothing serious.

All right.

Thanks for now, Miss Miller. Thank you.

Shoot, I should never have died.

Just like my birds.

She was way too good for this world.

She's an angel now.

Watching over me.

Oh, my sweet guardian angel, I...

I can't stand this. I'll kill myself.

Sorry.

Who did you last see with the victim?

Don't call it like that.

Um... The Belgian lad.

He seemed so nice.

He's a bit shy.

Just like me.

I thought I'm going upstairs together.

My brave Sheila looked free again.

How was Miss Leggett's mood last night?

Oh, um... Up and down.

Mostly down.

Ever since the death of her son.

When did this happen?

Last summer, he died, um, an accident. I
think we stayed at his house.

Who's the father?

Nobody knows.

Could be anyone, sir.

Thank you.

You can go.

Thank you so much. For now.

Why don't you arrest the Belgian?

He's done it, I'm sure.

Perhaps the sleazy sex game gone wrong.

He gives me the creeps, that fellow.
Excuse me, Mrs.

Daly, we'd wanted to speak to you.

Mr. and Mrs. Daly. Call me Gala or
nothing at all. It is my cosmic name.

I think we might need an interpreter.

Last night, we believe you had a fight
with Miss Legger.

Fight?

Just two women having a good time.

We all loved her.

Who do you think did it, Mr. Daly? You
think it's us, don't you?

Well, we've got an alibi.

Ironclad. But in your own mind, Mr.

Daly, who do you think may have killed
Miss Legger?

Do you think birds have a conscience,
detective?

I'm sorry, do you think birds have a
conscience? Is that what you said?

They look like they do, don't they?

We only want to know if you think anyone
has motive, sir.

Sheila owned millions.

Who would inherit it?

Isn't that your million -dollar
question?

We will look into it.

Anything else of note from last night?
Man Ray was very drunk.

He looked like one of my early
paintings. He had a scuffle with our boy

about 2 or 4 a .m.

And I knew it because I happened to be
watching the clock at that time. So we

took Nash upstairs to avoid cold
-blooded murder.

And the three of us slept together in
the same bed, like babies, till this

morning.

Elabai, as my wife said.

I hardly remember anything else.

I'll say it's Elba, babe.

Thank you, Carlos.

Right. Well, we'll be in touch when we
have more questions.

Thank you.

Perfectly normal bunch of people.
They're surrealists, don't you think,

Detective Quant?

Sir?

What did Magritte say to you earlier in
the upstairs corridor?

He wanted to see the crime scene.

And you let him?

Well, I thought that it might be useful
to hear what he had to say.

Any particular insights on his part?

No.

Please don't keep such things from me
again.

Come on.

Ness?

Ness?

Hello, Ness.

It's Nash.

The A.

Like my great Nash.

At least you remember my name.

I'm sorry.

Don't worry about it.

Good that you're here.

I thought I may be able to help you.

I won't.

I know who might have killed Sheila.

Who?

There's two of them.

Possibly, I'm just figuring it out.

I don't think you did, dear.

Why not me?

Because you care to spring your heart.

And you don't know about the darkness.

Who was blackmailing Sheila?

Look at that cute puddle over here.

Are you two related?

You need to get a bit of moustache. Stop
with the jokes.

Sheila is dead.

After Sebastian died, Sheila was never
really the same.

The tree was broken.

Did you hear something back there?

No. Are you sure?

What about the father? I don't know
about the father. Someone does.

Someone... I don't know him.

Charlie L? I don't know who that is.
Yes, I think you do.

Stop it, okay? I don't know who that is.
Nash. Yes.

How are you doing?

I am so sorry for your loss.

We all are.

But you two were so close.

My deepest condolences.

And you are again?

We met last night?

Right, the man from Brussels.

I've seen your work.

Oh, Mr. Ernst can't remember any of it.

Nice love. You need to find some peace.

Go for a walk in the forest.

I'm sorry, Magritte.

There's actually a really interesting
puppy field out here.

Detective Chief Inspector... Yes,
Superintendent Coney, sir.

Yes.

Yes, will do.

And thank...

Well,

it seems that Lord James has a lot of
clout. That was the big chief quant.

Worried like hell that we're going to
drop the ball.

Take note.

The elite are keeping tabs on us.

Tread carefully.

Right.

Summarize the case for me, D .C. Quant,
if you please.

Okay. So, crime scene, very theatrical.

Opium in the wine.

Magritte and the victim dressed up as
the lovers. A painting that nobody has

seen except for Magritte, who we don't
think has done it.

Also, a group of touchy, oddball artists
intent on becoming famous.

That and mysterious payment.

Potential for blackmail.

A Charlie L. Who is he? She... Now

she's room.

Thank you.

And, finally, a vast quantity of
cocaine.

Worth a fortune. A fortune not only an
heiress could afford.

Go and get Nash, will you? Sir.

We've all seen pictures of Nash. He
keeps searching.

He has to be outside.

Sorry.

So, Charlie L is Nash.

Charlie, for cocaine.

L is short for his surname.

Leslie Nash is the blackmailer.

That's cute, but we need proof.

To my wireless mate, Charlie L, Pulse of
Love, S .L. I found it in Nash's room.

We need to find him. Well, I thought
I'm...

Step.

What do you mean, Nash can't be found?

Look bloody well, harder!

We have, sir.

It's just a very large estate. Ten
square miles.

He's not in the house, nor the vicinity,
nor the outhouses.

Nobody has seen him on the estate, and
nobody saw him leave.

Lock down the estate.

Every exit.

Main, tradesmen's, hunting paths.

Patrol the perimeter.

We need this man in our custody. Now, at
the double, gentlemen.

No stone unturned.

Right.

Time for a motivational speech.

Shall I line up the guests?

Everyone!

You lot show up on this estate last
night and all hell break loose.

Is that a coincidence?

I think not.

This is what we call cause and effect.

I'm far from satisfied with the answers
you've all given regarding the death of

Miss Legg. So from this moment, I'm
placing the estate in lockdown.

What? Anyone who steps outside its
perimeters will be in trouble.

Who do they think we are? A bunch of
powerless artists, Al. Who do you think

are? As soon as this is solved, you can
all go back to doing whatever it is that

you do.

Detective, you seriously think that one
of us was capable of killing Sheila?

We don't think so, sir.

We know.

I came here to create that. Really?

One of us?

This is ridiculous.

Lord James.

Hi, Laurie.

Welcome to West Dean, my dearest guest.

Max, how are you?

All the better for seeing you, my
lordship.

Lord James, if you'll excuse me. Who are
you to stand on my stairs and call the

shots, old man?

Scotland Yard, your lordship.

Detective Chief Inspector John
Thistleston.

Damp up.

You decided to lock up my estate, treat
my guests like dogs.

How dare you?

We're investigating a murder.

The only thing getting murdered in my
estate is poor taste, detective.

The murder of your cousin, Miss Sheila
Lake, your lordship.

I wanted to tell you in the law, but I
couldn't reach you. I am so sorry. Where

is she?

Where is my cousin?

My condolences, Lord James.

We're interviewing everyone at present.

If we may continue. You may not.

The greatest artists of the 20th century
are gathered here.

Lovers they are, fighters yes.

But murderers theory

Everybody stay outside!

Stay outside!