All language subtitles for This.Is.Not.a.Murder.Mystery.S01E01.The.Lovers.1080p.ALL4.WEB-DL.AAC2.0.H.264-RAWR_track3_[eng]

PANTING

PHONE RINGS

Please stand by for an international
call

from England - Brighton exchange.

Thank you.

When you've finished here I'll need
you in the dining room.

And I need everything perfect. Yes, sir.

Of course, you know the Dalis, sir?

Don't 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.

Where is your darling wife?
Georgina, was it?

Georgette. Yes, right. That's the
one.

My lord and I would like to welcome
you all.

The most promising artists of today.

And where is your lord, by the way?

Delayed in London, preparing for the
exhibition of the century, sir,

this coming Friday here at West Dean,

which will establish you as the
world's foremost artists,

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?

Monkton 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.

4pm sharp.

If I could ask you to raise a glass?

Mr Dali, Ms Miller, Mrs Dali,

Mr Ray, Mr Magritte,
Mr Ernst, Nash, sir,

and Ms Legge.

Here's to unlimited success.

Unlimited success.

To all of us.

Darling...

CLOCK CHIMES

Butler?

What is she doing here?

I'm sorry, sir?

Sheila.

I swore I would never see
that vile child again.

Mr Dali, Ms Legge is
Lord James' niece.

She's been staying here
at the estate for some time.

I'm afraid you will just have
to put up with her.

And why is she at our table?
She's not even an artist.

Ms Legge is one of our most
esteemed performance artists, sir.

And she will be performing
on Friday.

If you'll excuse me.

"Performance art."

NO AUDIBLE DIALOGUE

LAUGHTER AND INDISTINCT CHATTER

The future of surrealist painting.

HE GASPS

HE BREATHES UNSTEADILY

Don't touch anything!

Is she...?

Oh, good God!

Get up, Mr Magritte.

No... At once. Come on.
Calm yourself.

Come on, sir.

Come on.

What the hell happened?

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,
but we can't create a panic.

Let me call the police first, sir.

Well, I have questions too, OK?

BREATHING HEAVILY

I don't mean to upset you, sir,

but you just woke up
next to a dead woman.

BELL RINGS

LINE BEEPS

FLIES BUZZ

LOUD MUSIC PLAYS IN BACKGROUND

MUSIC DISTORTS

HEART BEATS QUICKLY

You're gloomy,
even by your standards.

My poor little pal
didn't survive the trip.

Those damned storms.

Da Vinci is used to being
under water, not on top of it.

You care more for your damn dead
crustacean than you do me.

Hey, Magritte. Hi.

My condolences on the death
of your lobster, Man.

Oh, this is one lobster
that won't be missed.

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.

Hell of a lot better
than being stuck down here.

You're as pale as a corpse,
Magritte.

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.

Uh, will you excuse me?

I could get used to this.

I couldn't live here, sir.

SHE SNIFFS
The air...

What is it? The plants? The animals?

The people. Ha!

Just don't show them
that you're impressed

by their wealth
and their little games.

Right, sir.

SHE SNEEZES

Thank you. Sir.

An honour to meet you, My Lord.

Detective Chief Inspector
Thistlethwaite.

Detective Quant, at your service.

I must say that your estate
deserves to be seen... Sir...

...among the collection of any
gentlemen's seats in the Kingdom.

Please, sir, you are mistaken.

I am merely Lord James' servant.

I see.

Name?

Jukes, sir. Archibald, sir.

Please, could you show us the body?

Of course. Follow me.

Hmm.

HE SNIFFS

We'll take it from here, thank you.

Yes, sir.

You do the honours now,
Detective Constable.

On the left-hand side of the bed -
female, deceased, evening clothes,

her head covered with a white scarf
tied loosely at the neck,

bloodstained nose, um,
a 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-hm.

Men's cologne.

Hm.

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.

Strangled.

A couple of hours ago?

Legge, Sheila.

English. Single.

25 years old.

Occupation - performance artist.

Occupation - murder victim.

SHE EXHALES
No doubt of that.

CLINKING

LAUGHTER

Who would be the killer in the mix,
Quant?

We need a place to work.

Let's find... what's-his-name?

Jukes, I believe, sir.

DOOR CREAKS

I found it.

Apologies for the wait.

DCI THISTLETHWAITE WHISTLES

Would this space suit, detectives?

HE CLEARS THROAT

Yes, this will
do nicely for a murder room.

What information do
we have on the guests, Quant?

It looks like they are a bunch
of struggling artists.

One of them is in England
for the first time.

Look.

Rene Francois Ghislain Magritte.

Born 1898 - Lessines, Belgium.

Painter.

LAUGHTER AND CHATTERING

Ah, Magritte? I've got to uh...

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, um,

Ms Legge has passed away
in the night.

What?

It was a dreadful accident,
of course, but...

...Scotland Yard have
been ordered to investigate,

just to be on the safe side.

And they are looking into...

...every possibility.

You mean murder?

I know that Ms Legge was
a beloved friend,

companion and colleague of you all.

My Lord and I
are deeply sorry for your loss.

If there's anything you need
at this time, please...

...don't hesitate to ask.

Oh my dear God, the poor girl.

Are you happy now?

You need more coke, pal?

Stop it! We are all in shock.

Let's not make it worse.

You are awfully quiet.

Surely you were the last one
to see her.

When you took her upstairs.

GALA GASPS

Suddenly you can't speak English
any more, mon ami.

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

Explain yourself, man.

Gala, come on.
Nobody wanted this.

Are you sure about that, Sal?

DC QUANT SNIFFS

Good morning.

DC Quant, Scotland Yard.

We request that you all be
available for interview.

Um... Oh, and...

...please accept our condolences
for the loss of your friend.

Jukes?

CAMERA CLICKS

Wait...

Does this mean we're all suspects?

CAMERA SHUTTER CLICKS

How long have the guests been here?

They all arrived last night.

When Ms Legge was still alive?

Yeah.

So, this lot are all famous, apparently.

In the art world, I presume,

cos 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 cusp of fame.

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

How come?

The most important art show
of the decade is due to be held here

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' 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 11.

HE GULPS

Nervous, 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 Ms Legge.

Uh...

Bending over her.

Who?

Well...

It were Mr Magritte,

but I know he had absolutely
nothing to do with this.

He was very shaken...

Don't ever play games with me,
Jukes.

Alright?

No.

Never, sir.

Magritte!

Magritte!

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're found in bed
with the poor woman.

So why don't you do us a favour
and confess, Magritte?

We can all be
back in London for supper.

No. No.

No.

Sure?

Mm-hm.

Alright,
let's concentrate on last night.

Your movements
from midnight onwards.

We know you slipped away
with Ms Legge.

Correct?

We went upstairs, yes.

Was there a scarf wound around
your neck like with Ms Legge?

Yeah, I woke up
cos I was struggling to breathe.

Jukes 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?

Cos I have something
I want to show you.

Unless, of course,
your colleague has already found it.

Sir? You have to see this.

What the bloody 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?

Yes. 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.

The Lovers.

You see, my lovers, they kiss.

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

As their lips are sealed
with a scarf,

they cannot get fully close.

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 brush 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 Ms Legge.

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 last night?

LIVELY MUSIC PLAYS

Well...

Thank you.

SHE SCOFFS

Don't worry, darling.

I don't play with little girls.

Aw. Should I 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.

Aim low, Lee.

And five...

...four,

three, two, one...

But it was just for fun.

Don't worry.

Is there anything else
you'd like to reveal?

No, I'm good.

Alright, you can go.

For now.

A suspect, do you think?

Not when the lab confirms
he was drugged.

Don't be charmed by this
Magritte, Quant.

I need you to stay focussed.

I don't find him charming, sir.

I just pay attention.
SHE SIGHS

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 Ms Legge'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.

Who could that be?

L for Legge, perhaps? A relation?
Or... Hmm.

FLOORBOARDS CREAK

Hmm.

Constables!

I want you to search
all the guest rooms.

We're looking for the following
items - a glass revolver,

any narcotics
and relevant prescriptions,

any reference to a Charlie L.

Plus anything you gentlemen
regard as suspicious.

Go on, hop to it. Double quick.

Jukes?

Ah!

We need a lockable place
on the estate, preferably indoors.

As cold as can be.

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

This way, please.

SHE GASPS.

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?

WATER RUSHES

You do realise
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,
Magritte, 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.

OK.

Because this assassin does.

What makes you so sure?

Are you familiar with a painting
technique called repoussoir?

No. OK.

It's when you paint
the foreground in darker tones,

but you brighten up details
in the background.

So it creates a 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.

Thus, your view is incomplete.

So let's focus on the background.

Aha!

What? The killer likes oysters?

Symbolism since Brueghel and Bosch,
an oyster near a woman

means that she is of loose morals,
how do you say that...

I get it, thank you.

Your killer is an artist.

In a house full of artists?

Yeah.

The cross stays put
whilst the world turns around.

That is fascinating, Magritte.
Thank you.

Let's go.

Hey, listen.

Artists, they have a
very specific language.

Use me as an interpreter.
I can 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 the direction of their duties.

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

Nobody is leaving the premises.

We're keeping your passports
until we clear this case.

What? No way.

You must be kidding me.
Goddamn little fascists.

Is it really necessary?

Mrs 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.

Examine your conscience well.

SCOFFS

I thought we were friends.

I thought we were safe.

NASH YELLS

NASH SOBS

WEEPING

So long, my love.

Our secret's safe with me.

PEOPLE CHATTER INDISTINCTLY

Mind your steps, boys.
It's just through here.

I'll have the staff get
rid of all of this, obviously.

Hm. One hell of a mortuary.

Lee Miller. The war reporter.

That's me alright.

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 Legge, Mr Ray?

She...

...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.

Uh, any theories as to who might
have done this?

If I did, I...

...I'd have killed him by now.

You think it was a man?

You don't?

What's wrong with your arm?

Uh...

Lee was playing with her toy gun,

doing her damned
William Tell party trick,

and the ricochet got me.

The infamous glass gun.

Yeah, a Smith & Wesson Ladysmith.
She's a gun nut.

Where's the gun now?
Uh...

It lives in her purse.

That silly thing? You don't think
that's a lethal weapon, do you?

Ah...

I put it right in my bag after
the game last night, I could swear.

It's gone.

Duly noted.

And you have no idea
who could have taken it?

I haven't the damnedest.

DC QUANT SNEEZES

Sorry.

The DC has trouble
adapting to this environment.

Bless you, Detective.
I sure can 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.

Dali is scared of loud noises.

Somebody is going to get hurt.
I don't like this game.

It's a silly game,
it's a silly game.

Oh, come on. Come on, Salva.
I 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...
Aim lower, Lee.

...one.

Whoa!

LAUGHTER

Bravo. Stupid game.

No me gusta...

Sheila? Are you OK?

But you see,
it was just a little game.

No one got hurt.

Except for Ms Legge's coke bottle.

Perfume, I should say.

And a scratch on Man's arm.

Nothing serious.

Alright. Thanks for now, Ms Miller.

Thank you.

HE SIGHS DEEPLY

CONSTABLES CHATTERING

Sheila 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.

HE GROANS

HE COUGHS

Sorry.

Who did you last see
with the victim?

Don't call her like that.

Um...

The Belgian lad.

He seems so nice.

He's a bit shy.

Just like me.

I saw them going upstairs together.

My brave Sheila looked...

...free again.

How was Ms Legge'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, the inquest stated,
so...

Who's the father?

Nobody knows.

Could be anyone, so...

Thank you.

You can go.

Thank you so much, OK.

For now.

Thank you.

SHE SIGHS

Charlie L?

Seb? Seb? Where are you?

Seb?

Why don't you arrest the Belgian?

He's done it, I'm sure.

Perhaps a sleazy sex game
gone wrong?

He gives me the creeps, that fellow.

Excuse me, Mrs Dali.
We wanted to speak to your husband.

Mr and Mrs Dali.

Call me Gala or nothing at all.

It is my cosmic name.

I think we might need
an interpreter.

Look at this.

Last night, we believe
you had a fight with Ms Legge?

A fight?
SHE SCOFFS

Just two women having a good time.

We all loved her.

Who do you think did it, Mr Dali?

You think it's us, don't you?
Well...

We've got an alibi, ironclad.

But in your own mind, Mr Dali,

who do you think
may have killed Ms Legge?

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 a 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
Nash at about 2.04 am.

I know it because I happened to be
watching the clock at that time.

So we took Nash upstairs
to avoid cold-blooded murder.

The three of us slept together
in the same bed, like babies,

till this morning.

Alibi, as my wife said.

I hardly remember anything else.

Well said, Salva, babe.

Thank you...

Right.

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

More questions?
It's OK.

Gala, they want to ask us
more questions?

It's OK.

Perfectly normal bunch of people,
these surrealists.

Don't you think, Quant?

HE EXHALES

Detective Quant. Sir?

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

Um, he wanted to see
the crime scene.

And you let him?

Well, I...

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

Any particular insights on his part?

No, sir.

Please don't keep such things
from me again.

Sir.

Nesh? Nesh?

Hello, Nesh. It's Nash.

With an A. Like MA-gritte.
Nash. Please remember my name.

I'm sorry.
Don't worry about it.

Good that you're here,
because I may be able to help you.

I know who might've killed Sheila.

Who?

There's two of them, possibly.

I'm just still figuring it out.

I don't think you did it, dear.

Why not me?

Because you carry
the spring in your heart.

You don't know about the darkness.

Who was blackmailing Sheila?

Look at Hercule Poirot over here.

Are you two related?
You need to get a better moustache.

Stop with the jokes, Nash.
Sheila is dead.

After Sebastian died...

...Sheila was never really the same.

SHE SOBS

She was broken.

BABY CRIES

Did you hear something back there?

No. Are you sure?

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

Someone does.
Well, I don't know.

Someone...

I don't know, named Charlie L?

I don't know who that is.
Yes, I think you do, you little...

Stop it, OK.
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.

Nash, love,
you need to find some peace.

Go for a walk in the forest.

I'm sorry, Magritte.

There's actually a really
interesting poppy field
on the estate.

PHONE RINGS

Detec...

Detective Chief Inspec...

Yes, Superintendent Coney, sir?

Yes. Will do.

And, in fact...

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...

Summarise the case for me,
DC Quant, if you please.

OK, 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 payments,
potential for blackmail.

A Charlie L.

Who is he or she?

KNOCKING ON DOOR

Nash's room?

Thank you.

And finally...

...a vast quantity of cocaine.

Worth a fortune.

A fortune that only
an heiress could afford.

Go and get Nash, will you?

Sir.

NASH SNIFFS

BABY FUSSES

HE SIGHS

HE GASPS

BABY FUSSES

BABY CRIES

Seb?

We've all seen the pictures of Nash.

Keep searching.
He has to be outside.

Sorry.

So, Charlie L is Nash.

Charlie for cocaine.

L is short for his surname, Lesley.

Nash is the blackmailer.

OK. That's cute, but we need proof.

"'To my wildest mate Charlie L.
Pots of love, SL.'

I found it in Nash's room.

We need to find him.

Well, I saw him...

Seb?

BABY CRIES

Oh...

HE BREATHES SHAKILY

HE SNIFFS

HE SPITS

What do you mean, Nash can't be
found? Look bloody well harder!

We have, sir.

It's just a very large estate.

It's 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.

Um...

Shall I line up the guests?

Everyone!

Yes.

You lot show up on this estate last
night, and all hell breaks 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 Ms Legge.

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

Lockdown?

MUTTERS IN SPANISH

Anyone who steps outside
its perimeters, will be in trouble.

Keep the dogs on the leash.

Who do they think we are?

A bunch of powerless artists, Sal.
Who did you think we were?

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.

ALL CLAMOUR

I came here to create art.

Really? One of us?
This is ridiculous.

But I have to work.
This is insane.

Lord James. Finally.

Welcome to West Dean,
my dearest guests.

Max, how are you?

All the better for seeing you,
My Lordship.

Lord James, if you will exc...

Who are you to stand on my stairs
and call the shots, old man?

Scotland Yard, Your Lordship.

Detective Chief Inspector
John Thistle... Shh.

Down, pup.

You decided to lock up my estate.

Treat my guests like dogs.

How dare you?

We are investigating a murder.

The only thing getting murdered on
my estate is poor taste, Detective.

The murder of your cousin
Ms Sheila Legge, Your Lordship.

I wanted to tell you, My Lord,
but I couldn't reach you.

I'm so sorry.

Where is she? Where is my cousin?

My condolences, Lord James.

We're interviewing everyone
at present.

If we may con...
You may not!

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

Lovers, they are. Fighters, yes.

But murderers? Are you serious?

LOUD DRIP

There's something dripping.
Is that blood?

Yeah.

Really, is it blood?

PEOPLE GASP

INTENSE INDISTINCT WHISPERS

Oh God, it's Nash.

Everybody, stay outside.

Stay outside!