Original subtitles

Sergeant Claude,

someone killed my father.

Just watch.

Hello, Fiona.

Glad you cracked the code...

That it?

Well, there was more...

...but the techie at the phone shop

said that the file was corrupted.

Corrupted?

It got wet.

Got wet.

I dropped it the toilet.

You dropped it?

In the toilet?

The point is...

...there was more to the video.

And Declan said that if anything happened to him,

it was not an accident.

How could he known

he'd be murdered if he was still alive when he recorded it?

Riddle me that.

After he recorded it

he fell off a cliff.

You don't find that a little suspicious?

We investigated this.

Thoroughly.

His friends and family said

that your father had been pure squirrelly of late.

Now,

I'm sorry for your loss.

But whether by accident or intent,

Declan Murphy authored his own demise.

Appropriately named.

Our Sergeant Claude.

Clod.

As in dumb as a chunk of mud.

You took my statement at the hotel.

Garda Róisín Doherty.

Listen, I know what it's like

to have someone treat you like you're a moron.

Well, I don't think that he was treating me like a moron--

Oh, no. That was absolutely his

"feck off ya moron" look.

I believe ya.

Then help me.

I was hoping you'd ask.

♪ Here I am, Cryin' my eyes out ♪

♪ Wondering when things will change ♪

Spool of calculator tape.

One airplane boarding pass dated 2022...

A box of cigarillos.

A... horseshoe.

One sports glove and...

...what looks to be...

...a diary.

Dear Fiona,

it's your sweet 16th.

My little Fifi,

I bet you're lovelier than--

Give me that.

I glanced through it.

It's just a bunch of sappy bullshit he wrote to me

over the years.

And what's all...

this alleged to be evidence of?

Well, Declan claimed to be investigating

some kind of criminal activity in Wicklow.

Yeah, it sounds far fetched, I know.

If you didn't trust him,

why did you come the whole way to Ireland?

I came here to give him a peace of my mind.

Okay.

And then I got here and surprise!

He's dead, so now I've got this.

Whatever this is to deal with.

Then let's deal with it.

I live for solving mysteries

and Old Claude won't let me

within a country mile of one.

So where do you wanna start?

Well, you could check police records

to see if there's anything on Declan.

And... put this somewhere safe.

- Done. - Okay.

So...

...what you up to later?

Of course, yeah.

Moron.

Sorry.

playing in background

Fiona.

Thought you'd be back in LA by now.

I made it as far as the airport.

But I couldn't get on that plane.

continues playing

A poem...

...in honor of our...

...dearly departed Declan.

Let thy joys alone

be remembered now.

Let thy sorrows go sleep awhile.

Or if thought's dark cloud

come over thy brow,

let love light it up with his smile.

Unwritten rule numero uno.

Read the other players.

But I have a great hand. See?

She protects us.

Including closet monsters?

Against everything.

Oh, joy alone should be thought of now.

Let our sorrows go sleep awhile.

Or, should--

- Sorry! - How rude.

I'm sorry, sorry...

So sorry!

Sorry!

Oh, my god.

Hey, what's up?

Hello? Róisín?

You heard me.

Can I get ten boxes of your finest

jumbo, magneto tampons?

You know the ones with the deluxe,

platinum applicators?

If I could get that urgently delivered

to Garda Róisín Doherty.

Róisín, did you call the right number?

Never mind, moving on.

I checked our files.

Your dad has no criminal record,

but he did go a bit batshit

at the race course about a week ago.

Define batshit.

He stole a horse and assaulted a jockey named Oscar Rafferty.

They got the horse back

and Rafferty declined to press charges.

- Ms. Fox? - Oh.

Okay, got it. I'll call you later.

No shame in being a woman, Claude.

I was your father's assistant.

Minerva Quilligan.

I spoke with you on the phone.

I have so many questions.

Well, now is not the time.

We're heading over for the reading of Declan's will.

You should come.

I don't think I can sit in a room with a family

that doesn't know I exist

and listen to my dad's last will and testament being read.

He wanted you to be there.

He was...

an unconventional man.

Come or don't come. It's your choice.

To my brother, Finn,

I leave my 1999 Cork Rebels

All Ireland Hurling Championship jersey,

a garment he shamelessly coveted with unabashed longing.

Cheers, Decker.

The household furnishings can be divided

amongst my family members as they see fit.

I claim the credenza.

I'm not having that monstrosity in my house, Mom.

Except for the credenza,

which I leave to my dear sister, Una.

- Ah, Jesus... - I win.

Shh, please.

Now...

my cottage on Lough Dan--

Deck had a cottage on Lough Dan?

Yes...

I leave to...

...Ms. Fiona Fox.

Why would he give a cottage to an overseas client?

He must have been...

giving her the ride.

What?

Slipping her the lad.

Burying the bishop.

Bumping uglies? - Oh!

Finn, stop.

No!

None of that.

Declan was...

Declan was my father.

What?

Oh, no. Declan didn't have a daughter!

He did.

He swore me to secrecy.

Bollocks!

If... if I had a grandchild,

my son would've told me.

You do have a grandchild.

Declan raised me til the day I turned 10.

I took my mom's name,

but I was born Fiona Murphy.

Her brother's child.

Never thought I'd see the day.

Oh, my god.

It's like a piece of him is still with us!

Don't you think, Mum?

Where are you staying?

Uh, Foxglove Abbey.

Just outside of town.

No, no, no, we can't have that.

You'll move in with us.

That's so kind of you. Thank you.

But I'm comfortable where I am.

Thank you.

What the...

Hey, beautiful...

I remember you.

And you are...

...Lightspeeder.

You know Chicklets shouldn't race tomorrow.

He's in no shape.

Oscar, he's mine to race as I please.

You're racing him into the ground.

I'm gonna sell him anyway.

And who's gonna buy him in this condition?

I'm Patsy-Fecking-Burgess.

I could sell pimples to a prom queen, lad.

Oscar Rafferty?

This isn't over.

Pick up the trough!

Trouble?

Difference of opinion.

How may I help ya?

Well, you might have known my father,

Declan Murphy.

Know that name.

Knew the face.

Don't know what the hell inspired him

to box my pan in last week.

Regardless, I'm sorry for your loss.

Thank you.

I'm just trying to understand his state of mind.

Well, let me first say, I love horses.

Which is why I was baffled when he accused me,

of all people, of being a horse murderer.

He said that?

He rides off with Chicklets here,

and he bellows out, "You bloody horse murderer!"

Well, thank you for your time.

Mm-hmm.

Hi, Una.

Yeah, I'm fine. You?

You did what?

Brian at Foxglove's a dear friend.

When I heard you were attacked in your room,

I went straight away and gathered your luggage.

This home is a refuge for Murphy women.

Stay as long as you like.

I really don't want to impose.

You'd rather waste a ton of money on a posh hotel

than stay for free with us strangers?

Mother.

You're no stranger, you're a Murphy.

Um...

Let me help?

I really appreciate the hospitality. It's--

My daughter offered the hospitality, not me.

I clearly have no say in the matter.

That's not a teacup.

It doesn't belong there.

Well, um, where does it belong?

Clearly not with the fecking... tea cupboard.

Just sit down and stop mucking with the order of things.

Mother!

She's not just

grieving the loss of her son.

She's furious he never told her she'd a grandchild.

He deprived her of the chance to watch you grow up.

She blames me for that?

Please be patient with her.

Her life hasn't been easy.

But she cherishes her children.

At 15, she raised Declan by herself.

They wanted to ship her baby off to America.

But instead, she raised him on her own.

She married my dad years later and had Finn and I, but...

...Declan.

She fought hard to keep that baby.

And now he's gone, she's...

And now you're here.

And I know we're a lot,

but I'm so glad you're here, Fiona.

She'll come around.

Please stay.

It is overwhelming meeting all of you and...

...finding out that my dad

may have been murdered.

Murdered? No, darling.

That's no road to go down.

That only leads to darkness.

You believe that he fell?

Mental illness is not a term I use lightly.

But Declan fought some demons.

Mainly depression.

You think he killed himself.

Mother won't agree.

She's agonized over the possibility of foul play

having something to do with Declan's death, but...

...suicide's a far more likely scenario.

I met Rafferty. The jockey.

Declan accused him of being a horse murderer.

Did a bit of digging myself,

there was an incident in the 90s.

One of Rafferty's horses died.

A broken leg or something?

No. It's, um...

1998.

Beannacht Ben went missing from his pen.

A ransom request was made. The owner paid it.

But two weeks later,

Beannacht Ben showed up dead

in Knockananna Bog.

Oh. Will you send me that?

Sure.

There's an entire showcase dedicated to him at

Inver Race Course.

That's a horrible story.

Mm-hmm, horse racing is cut-throat.

Those dodgy types do love to jab their finger in the pie.

You know a lot about horse racing?

Know a lot about dodgy types.

I grew up in the factory district surrounded by...

...colorful characters.

Which is just a nice way of saying

that I grew up in the slums,

surrounded by dirtbags.

So you know something about criminal minds?

Hell yeah!

Mandy Patinkin?

As Special Agent Jason Gideon?

To catch a criminal, you have to think like one.

So... Beannacht Ben...

...was stolen and killed.

And Declan left me this.

Good luck charm?

Perhaps not

for the horse that wore it.

Why did I buy a manor with six bedrooms

just to have them sit empty?

She's your own blood and she belongs here with us.

Every time I see that woman, I think of my dead son...

And I wonder why

he never told me I had a grandchild.

And my heart cracks open.

Do you think it's true that he killed himself?

Or was he murdered?

Mum, we all know the state he was in.

He was despondent, delusional--

Oh, no. Someone did this to him.

I know. I feel it in my bones!

What was he involved in that made someone want to kill him?

Mum. You have to let this go.

The Gardaí found no evidence of wrongdoing.

You mean Sergeant Claude?

That gobshite couldn't find evidence

if it strolled over him and pissed in his pint.

Eavesdropping are ye?

No, I just got home...

Isadora, I did overhear and I'm with you.

I don't think he killed himself.

Did I ask your opinion on the matter?

You didn't know my son.

And whose fault was that?

He abandoned me when I was 10.

Dear Fiona, I've squandered many lonely hours,

reminiscing over adventures we had.

I wonder if you recall those days as fondly as I do.

I don't think this is what they mean

by take your daughter to work day.

Ah, come on, Fi.

If work's a way of making money,

this... this qualifies, you know?

Do horses like horse racing?

- Dad? - Come on!

Dad? Do they like racing?

Ask me after the race, Fi.

Come on! Run!

Dear Fiona, this was a tragic day.

A glorious creature was done dirty.

I watched as his once magnificent form

was dredged from the muck.

All the while cursing the fiend who dealt him this cruel fate.

Man is easily the most beastly of God's creations.

You were there.

That's one craic inheritance.

What do you think?

Um...

Wow.

Oh, my god.

This is paradise.

I don't understand him.

I spent all these years

thinking he'd forgotten about me and then he leaves me this.

He loved you.

And he wanted you to know that.

A phone call would have sufficed.

Aw...

Don't you wanna go inside?

I don't get the keys till probate's done.

Alright, well, we'll save it up for another day.

Do I strike you as a particularly patient woman?

Gimme a boost.

Okay.

You alright in there?

Hello?

Fiona, hello?

Did you forget about me?

Never.

Always hurting for money.

Must've saved up for years.

Gorgeous.

Can't believe he hid this from me. From everybody.

But I guess he hid a lot of things.

Which horse did you pick this time?

Púcalicious?

What's a Púca?

It's a magical pony from Irish folklore.

Why do you think he'll win?

I don't.

The thing about luck is,

it comes when you don't expect it.

Can you drop me off at the racetrack?

Yeah, of course.

You've been so kind to me, I really appreciate it...

My heart still aches after all these years.

Beannacht Ben was a gift

from my parents after my brother, Benji, died.

Siobhan Donovan. - Oh.

It's wonderful to meet you, Fiona.

You know my name?

Word travels fast in Wicklow.

I heard about your father.

My condolences.

Thank you.

And I'm sorry about your brother and your horse.

Tragedy seems to target my family.

But we're blessed in many ways.

I'm not a race person myself.

I'm just here to support the charge.

I do like a car rally. Cars don't die.

They just rust away.

Was that the last photo taken of him?

It was.

But that race was a shitshow.

False starts and collisions. Créatúr Bocht caused a pileup.

- Créatúr Bocht? - The horse that came in last.

Poor thing should never have raced.

Can I get you a drink?

Me? No children, no.

In lieu of a family, I have a family business.

Donovan Bread and Whiskey.

And that bouncing barley baby

keeps me up all night just the same.

You?

No.

No kids either.

Leo Travers is rich, smart, and charming.

Wicklow women throw themselves at him.

And... who are you?

Fiona Fox.

Leo Travers?

Well, you've been talking about me.

It's one of my favorite topics.

Fiona is in Ireland to attend her father's funeral, Leo.

I'm sorry for your loss.

Thank you.

But hey, if you need a little cheering up,

Siobhan's got my number.

I do not have his number.

- Another of the same? - Of course, you eejit.

Him too.

You know that guy?

Patsy Burgess.

Makes my skin crawl.

In fact, he owned Créatúr Bocht.

So, someone kidnapped your horse,

held it for ransom, got paid,

and then still killed him?

Why are you so interested in this?

Well, Declan accused this jockey--

Oscar.

He wouldn't hurt a fly.

Well, then, who killed your horse?

My family have prospered.

And with that comes people who resent you.

Siobhan Donovan mentioned

another horse named Créatúr Bocht.

Siobhan Donovan?

Oh, Donovan Bread and Whiskeys?

I'm impressed you've managed to befriend

such a fancy lady so quickly.

Why?

Because people of Wicklow

would kill to be chummy with the Donovans.

They've got the fame, the wealth, the prestige...

They're like the Kardashians, but without the drama

and butt fillers.

You know this guy?

Patsy Burgess?

If dodgy was an aftershave, you'd smell him two towns over.

I think he's got something to do with this.

I wanna know more about Créatúr Bocht.

Check the online thoroughbred registry.

It's a thing. - Hmm.

Aha.

So it looks like Créatúr Bocht

lost every race he ever entered.

And after...

the Beannacht Ben race...

What?

What, what?

He was sold to a foreign buyer for 850,000 euros.

Why would anyone shell out that large

for a horse with such a shite track record?

Pull out a picture of Beannacht Ben on your phone.

They're like twinsies.

What if the horse in the bog wasn't Beannacht Ben?

D'you know where I can get some pepper spray?

Woah there, cowboy! Y'ain't in America now.

As an officer of the law, it is my duty to inform you,

that it is in fact illegal to carry weapons in Ireland.

Thank you.

Woah, woah! Where are you going?

As an officer of the law, it's best you don't know.

You're lucky I'm on my lunch break.

What are you supposed to be? A fecking ninja?

- I was just going-- - Not my concern

where you're going, what you're doing,

who you are.

Couldn't give a rat's ass.

Not even supposed to know you exist.

Isadora,

can we call a truce?

I know you've lived through a lot

and you're one tough lady.

You take no shit.

Part of me wonders what it would be like

to have a take no shit Irish grandma.

I miss my son...

Join your granny in a glass of Red Clover.

Your dad bought it for me last Christmas.

Of course.

I'm sorry I lied to you

about Declan being my accountant.

If I had known, I would've been pure insufferable.

Crowing to everyone about

my granddaughter, the California lawyer.

Yup.

On the video, he was like:

"There are bad guys after me,

Fiona and it's your job to fucking save the world."

My granddaughter has a fecking mouth on her.

And so do you.

What's wrong?

I missed all your birthdays.

I could've been there.

I could've spoiled you rotten.

There'll be so many more.

You can spoil me rotten then.

On my 10th birthday, my dad was suddenly gone.

And my mom tried so hard

to smile while she sang Happy Birthday.

She used to dress up like a movie star every day.

But after that...

You'd love my mom.

She's so beautiful.

And ferocious.

And when my dad was good...

...he was wonderful.

And they were so in love.

You have us now.

Mm-hmm.

I'd love to meet your ma.

Right now I think a night's sleep

would do us both the power of good.

You go to sleep.

And I will put everything away.

Boop.

Night, Fiona.

Goodnight, Isadora.

Shit!

Marjorie Westmuller.

Mrs. Westmuller, Tess. Hello!

Uh oh.

Did you forget what time our meeting was?

And why are you in the dark?

Because that's where the magic happens, Margie.

The magic with which

I am going to renegotiate

your divorce settlement

with stingy, old Bernard.

My ex-husband's name is Brian.

Right.

Of course.

Anyways, have no fear.

Fiona is gonna bring you the Benjamins.

Yeah.

Are you drunk?

Maybe.

But I'm also the best divorce attorney in LA,

so let's take a stroll down memory lane, shall we?

Remember when I advised you not to sign his NDA?

Remember when you disclosed

that Brian had this creative interpretation

of corporate tax law?

I'll bet the IRS would be

stunned to find out that

um, call girls and cocaine

were business expenses.

Or... he could pay you what you want!

Relax, Mrs. Westmuller.

I'm gonna make it rain.

Tricky lock!

Is she breaking into a building?

But I'm trickier!

Sweet!

I gotta go.

Mm-hmm.

They're different sizes.

You...

...were taken from Beannacht Ben

after he won the race.

And you...

Declan took you from Créatúr Bocht...

...after they found you in the bog.

Don't sweat it.

I pulled this scam loads of times.

The champ will be shipped to your stud ranch

and the dud, Chicklets,

he'll be disposed of in his place.

It's simple. Yeah, that's right.

Barnstormer's on his way.

Okay. Goodbye.

Let's get the hell out of here!

- Okay. - Come on! Come on, hurry up!

Chicklets, they're gonna kill you!

Run!

Go Chicklets! Run! Go!

Hey, you! Step away from the horse.

I know what you're doing.

That's too bad for you, isn't it?

- Stay back! - I'm shaking.

- Yeah, well, last chance. - Ooh, scary.

Ah! Jesus!

Fuck!

You will pay for this!

Fuck!

Don't move!

It's actually pretty simple.

Patsy was going to put Chicklets in the bog,

to make it look like Barnstormer had been killed.

And then he was going to sell him to an international buyer

for a fuckload of money.

And collect insurance for both of them.

- So you're saying... - Please drink that.

...that Patsy Burgess stole his own horses

in order to enact this elaborate ruse.

Mm-hmm.

Go sleep it off, Ms. Murphy.

Declan knew that this was happening.

And he was trying to do something about it.

While you sat on your ass for decades doing nothing!

He may have died for it,

so don't patronize me for doing your job!

Sir, she overheard Burgess bragging

that he'd run this scam numerous times.

We should investigate it.

Bollocks!

You can't prove Patsy did any of this.

Actually, I can.

That would be Beannacht Ben in Saudi Arabia.

Beannacht Ben spent a few years

racing for a Saudi Arabian billionaire.

Then retired as a lucrative tax write off

on said billionaire's luxurious 500 acre ranch.

And Declan was gonna expose him?

Patsy Burgess killed him to cover up his crimes.

I mean, I don't have any evidence, but...

Patsy Burgess will get what's coming to him.

Are you gonna bring Beannacht Ben home?

Maybe I shouldn't.

He's an old fella

and it looks like he's living his best life in retirement.

But speaking of horses,

the Gardaí found Chicklets in a nearby pasture.

I'm taking him.

- Can I visit him? - Please do.

I'm sure he'd love to see the woman who saved his life.

Dysfunctional families

are hardly the exception to the rule.

Yeah.

I thought my father was awesome.

Because he was the life of the party

and he was basically my best friend.

But then he was so carefree

that he pissed off and never came back.

Well, my father believed

there was no act of childhood malfeasance

that a good smack in the arse couldn't rectify.

There are so many ways for a parent to mess up a child.

Can I give you a lift?

Oh, yeah, no, thank you. My aunt just lives up the road.

Okay. 'Til next time.

- Yes. - Bye!

- Have a good night! - Safe home!

Bye!

Evenin', love. Get in the van!

Stop struggling!

Stay still!

Hurry up! Let's go!

Come on, get in!

Welcome to the bog, Fiona.

Know what this is for?

It's for killing cows.

Works on horses too.

And nosy little lawyers.

- What do you want? - I'll tell ya what I want.

I want your family to find your bloated corpse.

Floating in the Knockananna bog.

That's what I want.

You know, Fiona?

Ya don't belong here. Ya know that.

Please don't kill me.

First and last warning.

Go back to LA.