All language subtitles for This.Is.Not.a.Murder.Mystery.S01E02.The.Glass.Gun.1080p.ALL4.WEB-DL.AAC2.0.H.264-RAWR_track3_[eng]

My Lord and I would like
to welcome you all -

the most promising artists of today.

LOUD SIGH
Do not look me in the eye.

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

Here's to unlimited success.

A perfectly normal bunch of people,
these surrealists.

GUNSHOT

You're found in bed
with the poor woman!

It is my sad duty to inform
you all that Ms Legge

has passed away in the night.

I'm placing the estate in lockdown.
What? No way!

Goddamn little fascists!

So long, my love.
Our secret is safe with me.

You seriously think that one of us
was capable of killing Sheila?

We don't think so, sir.

We know.

Does this mean we're all suspects?

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

My wife, but she's in Brussels.

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.

Oh, you were drugged,
just like Ms Legge.

Opium in the wine.

A glass revolver.

It's gone.

"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...

Lord James.

Easy, lads.

That's it.

Keep it steady!

Steady.

Guys, easy now.

This is horrible.

There you go.

Almost... OK. Slowing it down.

A couple of feet to go.

Keep an eye on each other.
Release at the same time.

MURMURING

Stay back, all of you.

Please, everyone, if you could
stand to the side now.

DCI THISTLETHWAITE
CLEARS HIS THROAT

Horrible scene. It is.

I am terribly sorry.
It must be an awful shock for you.

On Friday, the biggest society event
of the year

takes places at this very estate.

That means you have three days to
sort out this mess, no ifs or buts.

Am I making myself clear, detective?

Like crystal, Your Lordship.

Until then, you have carte blanche
on my estate. Whatever it takes.

And no more deaths, right?

HE SIGHS
You may go.

Take the guests out for a late one
at the cocktail bar

and drown them in alcohol if needs
be. I've got bigger fish to fry.

Of course, My Lord.

My sincere apologies.
I think we could all use a drink.

Follow me.

DCI THISTLETHWAITE SIGHS

Who do you think will be next?

Lee, please, let's stay calm.

I can't stay calm, Manny.

Hmm, not bad.

Nothing like a bit of posh misery,
is there?

I want to leave this place.

Leave and grieve -
they have a lot in common.

Plus, we're in lockdown.
They won't let us leave.

We all want to leave.

We've lost so much love
in such a short time.

What is left of us?
RECORD PLAYER CRACKLES

What is the sense of it all?
Is art not your sense?

MUSIC PLAYS
What is art, if not love?

I don't know. It seems to be very
much about killing at the moment.

Hey, Lee, please.

What do you mean exactly?

This killer is an artist.
He creates images, visual concepts.

I mean, the mise en scene of those
murders is, well... Beautiful?

So, what are we dealing with, then?

A killer with an artistic flair?

Or an artist with a flair
for killing?

Look at it this way, some of the
most exciting artists on the planet

are sleeping under one roof.

Lots of talent and creativity.

Add some rivalry, and it's easy
to see it's one of us, right?

Or someone who wants it
to look like it's one of us.

An outsider, you mean?

Why are you even here?

To comfort Sheila?

Let's put this in perspective, OK?

Homo sapiens are the most
vicious creatures

that ever roamed the Earth.

Let's take a lion, for instance.

King of the jungle,
as well as the plains.

Sure, of course the lion kills.

He's good at it.

But he never murders for fun.

Big difference.

OK, I'm going to go. Got any plans
you want to share with us?

Operator.

Magritte. Belgium, Jette, 9423.

RINGING

TELEPHONE RINGS

CLOCK TICKS

HE SIGHS

'It's easy to see
it's one of us, right?'

'Why are you even here?'

DC QUANT GASPS

You'd think you'd get used
to the bodies...

...the smells...

...but, no.

Trust me.

HE SNIFFS LOUDLY

HE EXHALES

You suppose there's some kind of

sadomasochistic aspect
to all of this?

Hmm, I'm not convinced
there's anything sexual to it.

These are works of art, or so
the killer wants us to belie...

SHE SNEEZES
Bless you.

Well, let's get the expert opinion
before we get carried away

with ourselves. Telephone Head
Office and ask for Doctor Fine.

And whilst you're there,
see if we can get legal access

to Ms Legge's will.

Find out who will inherit
her wealth.

Ah!

Huh. "Sheila."

So she did love him.

I'll figure you two out, yet.

DC QUANT SNEEZES

Imagine being so rich
that you can employ someone

just to make butter for you.

I cannot, sir.

I'll say this, though.
That man knows what he's doing.

All right, what have we got, Quant?
Well...

...to absolutely nobody's surprise,

they found large quantities
of cocaine in Nash's bloodstream.

Anything else? Same amount of opium.

A snowball?

Nash did overdose,
but, considering his daily habit,

it might not be the cause of death.
Inconclusive as of yet.

But the coroner is on his way.

What's next on your list?

Well, I thought it would be useful
to view the other artists' work.

If Ms Legge's death scene looked
like Magritte's Les Amants,

there might be other paintings
that resemble the second murder.

Where do they keep their work?

Well, Jukes said that the exhibition
on Friday is going to be

in one of the outbuildings
at Monkton House.

It's all there, ready to be hung up.

Jukes is helping the artists
with the hanging

as they're understandably
quite upset at present.

So they are human after all. Mm.

Yeah, maybe.

Except for one.
DCI THISTLETHWAITE CHUCKLES

Right, come on.

Come on. More plaster, please.

Does it dry?

Not yet.

Thank you, sweetie.

Nice work, maestro.

Oh, merci,
but I can't take the credit.

I found it when I got here
two years ago.

No name, no title, like a lost dog
or a motherless child,

so I christened it
The Doors of Perception.

This is for Sheila and Nash? Yes.

I'm planning a little send-off
moment at midnight. Just us.

I mean, you should come, actually.

But don't tell the powers that be, though.

We don't want them
to ruin everything

with tradition and snobbery.
I got it. And, erm...

I'm sorry. I wasn't very nice
to you yesterday.

Of course, I do remember your
show in Brussels last summer.

The one at ELT's gallery.

Well, superb concepts,
yours, Magritte.

And you've got one hell of a strong
visual style, too. Merci.

Mr Ernst, coming from you,
this means the world.

Mr Ernst?
HE CHUCKLES

Max, or Maxie, or nothing at all.

This calls for drinks, no?

CAR HORN

Raymond, how are you, my friend?

All the better for seeing you,
My Lord.

Everything hunky-dory?

Not exactly. We're all in mourning.

I understand, My Lord.

Rather regrettable business, this.

Will you have a spot of lunch?

Work first, pleasure after.

Please do keep me informed.
Of course, My Lord.

Raymond Fine,
are you a sight for sore eyes.

Thistle, my friend.

Follow me down.

It's always down.

You and Nash seemed really
close. How did you two meet?

At Picasso's little summer retreat.

I've heard the wildest stories
about that time. Believe me,

the stories are all true
and then some.

One hell of a party, it was.

Insane!

But in a good way, you know?

Well...

...until tragedy struck.

CRACK OF THUNDER

What? What happened?

Nash and Sheila is what happened.

A marriage made in hell, those two.
They were a couple?

My dear, Rene,
you're such a sweet innocent.

Yes, they were something, for sure.

Sheila...

...was strung out on coke
when Nash and her became an item.

And she turned Nash
onto the Charlie big time.

He was just a little boy lost,

disappeared into
a snow blizzard of coke.

Hasn't stopped since.

Well, now he has stopped.

I'm sorry, Rene.

I can't talk about it.

Or rather...

...I won't let myself.

MAX AND SHEILA LAUGH

I'm sorry, Magritte.

There's actually a really
interesting poppy field

on the estate.

Too much death will kill you,
you know?

I know.

KNOCK ON DOOR

My apologies, doctor.
The cook sent me.

I call it The Gift, or Le Cadeau.

Hmm? What do you think?

Lee?

What...? What are you doing?

Don't... Don't!

If you don't see how problematic
these pictures are, baby,

the detectives will.

But this is art, Lee.

This is your work. It's, erm...

I told you to get rid of those.
Now you're going to be arrested.

Don't you worry, Gala.
Those are nothing.

They're nothing, are they?

Well, everyone knows
about those babies.

I can guarantee it, detective.

He's been doing those for years.

Kind of getting old
before their time, Salva.

Just like you, Max. Just like you.

Are those your fabled
metaphysical Jesus series?

Yes, some test cases and try-outs
and some shit.

Don't look at it too much, Rene.
Strong material, nevertheless.

Thank you. You're very kind.

He always tells us about his
half-baked ideas over breakfast.

Well, you need to chew
the concepts over.

Detective, not everybody
understands,

but world-shattering art
doesn't happen overnight.

And for your interest, detective,

everyone is welcome
to view our studio,

so anyone could have seen
these works.

Off the hook, you'd say?

Until we catch the killer,
no-one is off the hook.

I'm getting very tired
of this hook.

Just so everyone knows,
anyone stealing my ideas

gets guillotined at dawn!

Did you hear me?!

I want to be extra clear, just
in case the killer is amongst us.

First Magritte, then Dali.

Who will the killer
pay tribute to next?

SHE SIGHS

That was crazy.

Yeah, which part? Have you seen
those drawings by Salva?

Yeah. Disgusting!

No, honestly, that's pretty genius.
He's going to be famous.

Yeah, in the circus, maybe.

No, the clue lies in the paper
he uses for sketching.

It comes from Cowling & Oysters,
Canterbury.

And you smelled that?

No, I can see it by the watermark.

Sure.

Interesting.

It's just that we artists are
freaks about that stuff, like.

We can get crazy about paper,
painting, texture, lighting.

Anyway, Canterbury.
Doesn't that mean anything to you?

Sheila Legge?

Duchess of Canterbury.
She lived there all her life.

Until she fell into a depression

and moved in with her cousin
Lord James. Oui.

Do you think Dali visited her?

Oh, he had to.
They have been friends for years.

A friendly visit, or more?

Who knows? But a connection
nevertheless, right?

Yeah.

You're not bad at this, Magritte.

The bloody watermark.

I'm off.

Thanks.

Wait!

So that's it? What do you mean?

I need to...

I want to do more.

If you uncover anything, I'm here.

Abendsegen
from Hansel and Gretel

♪ Zwei zu meiner Rechten

♪ Zwei zu meiner Linken... ♪

'What are we dealing with, then?

A killer with an artistic flair?

'Or an artist with a flair
for killing?'

♪ Zwei die mich weisen... ♪

Did you go every summer
to Picasso's house?

Not every summer. Sometimes.

But you did last year?

Yes, I did.

Impossible to forget.

Sheila's son, little Sebastian,

I heard he died there
in mysterious circumstances.

Who told you?

Sheila, the night she died.

Nothing mysterious about it.

So what do you remember?
Nothing, OK?

You saw the child, right?

To see a child...

...suffering like that...

RUMBLE OF THUNDER

...barely breathing...

Anyway, that was the end
of the Sheila we all knew.

That summer, a part of us died
alongside with little Seb.

Do you know who the father is?
Telephone for Mr Dali, sir.

Excuse me.

HE SIGHS

So, congratulations, and you are
kindly invited to the office

at your earliest convenience
to sort out the paperwork.

Hello?

Mr Dali...?

Sal?

Salva?

Are you OK?

Yes.

I am good.

Salva? Actually...
SALVADOR BREATHES HEAVILY

...I'm not.

Man... Man!

I can't accept it. Man! I can't.

He's not good.

Picasso has confirmed for Friday

but only wants to drink
sparkling water.

And Sigmund would also
like to attend, if he can.

No shortage of fools then.

I'd rather avoid Freud at dinner.
He never shuts up.

What about the two
that really matter?

Nancy Cunard and Peggy Guggenheim,
My Lord?

I am still waiting for confirmation,
but they do like to keep us hanging

until the last minute.
Those two. Mm.

With permission, My Lord,

they are far too curious
not to attend.

And if there are corpses
in the cellar.

Oh, especially if there
are corpses in the cellar.

Let's hope so.

If you don't mind my asking...
Oh, please ask away.

Are you charging our precious buyers
the usual fee?

Of course. 75% on all sales.

JUKES SCOFFS
What?

They're lucky to be allowed
in here at all.

I'm giving them
what money can't buy.

Happiness?
SHE SCOFFS

Class.

Of course, My Lord.

Don't worry, it's just a sex thing.
OK.

Let's go, let's go.

Sh, sh, sh.

Later.

Salva received a phone call
before his attack.

Do you know anything about it?

I don't have the slightest idea.

Could I have prevented this,
Magritte?

I should have seen this is
a bit much for his kind heart.

Hey, Gala,
you're innocent of this, OK?

Take example of your husband
and just have a little sleep.

Thank you, Magritte.

Sorry about before.

I wasn't sure about you, but now...

..I can see that your
kindness is as great as your...

...talent.

OK, yeah.

OK, lie down.

It's OK.

Mm...

The Dalis,
they drug themselves to sleep.

Right.

I was under the impression that
everyone here liked their drugs.

Yeah, that's true,
but read the label.

"Laudanum."

Opium derivative.

The same drug that was in the wine.

I'm going to take this for evidence.

Thank you, Magritte. Keep searching.

Sure, boss.

Constable!

Go and fetch DCI Thistlethwaite.
Yes, doctor.

The Dalis drug themselves
to sleep with laudanum?

Looks like it.

All right, I'll talk to them.
Good work.

The glass gun still bothers me.

Still not found?

Where have we not searched?

Downstairs?

Servants' quarters?

I'll give it a go. You never know.

KNOCK ON DOOR

Excuse me. The coroner
wants you downstairs, sir.

And ma'am.

Right, let's hear what Raymond
has to say, Quant.

Ms Legge died by manual
strangulation

between the hours of 0300
and 0500 on the night.

Powerful hands.

Rather small.
Male or female - both possible.

Not easy to do, though,
but it was done rather cleanly.

Someone with experience?
Could have done it before.

Textbook stuff.
Fingerprints not found.

Also, rather large doses
of laudanum in her blood.

Consistent with being unconscious

during the hours
of her strangulation.

Ms Legge didn't feel
or know a thing.

Good way to go.

Now we come to young master Nash, here.

Look at the nose.

Look inside.

HE GRUNTS

The cartilage.

All indicative of cocaine use.

Opium didn't help.

Long-term cocaine user.

Opium was probably recreational.

Maybe he couldn't sleep.

Argh! Here we have it.
Oh, Raymond, a warning!

Look...

Erm...

Follow the...

Follow the deep hole all the way
through to the back of the brain.

Looks like a small bullet hole.

That's correct,

but impossible.

How so?
There's no bullet in the brain.

No exit wound in the skull.

Even the smallest bullet
shot through the nose

would need an exit at the back
of the skull, no doubt about that.

Hold on, you're saying that
he was shot through the nose?

I am, yes.

But, again...

...that's impossible.

Sir. Mm?

We could try an experiment.

A salt bullet.

What sort of experiment?

Pretty slick, huh?

It's a .22. I make them myself.

I chisel the bullets
out of salt blocks.

Pink sea salt from the Camargue
works best.

Really?

It's a toy.

In Poughkeepsie, I shot a wild dog
with it and it just whacked him out.

Like Sheila Legge? That's right.

These babies are a teensy bit
dangerous, but they're not deadly.

I can't help you
any further than that.

Do you own a lot of guns?

SHE SIGHS

Have you ever seen war, DC Quant?

Erm...

No.

Yeah, I own a lot of guns.

Besides, a girl like me
has to be able to fend off

all those grubby little men
with their sausage fingers

trying to squeeze my ass.

I pull my toy gun,

point it right at their balls.

Works wonders every single time.

A moment, sir? Mm.

How secretive.

You could shoot a salt bullet

through the nose, into the brain, right?

And the salt would dissolve in
the heat of the brain tissue.

Hence, no exit wound.

Fantastic thinking.

Where was that gun of yours again?

It disappeared on that first night,
never seen again.

I've ordered a new one from
Smith & Wesson back home.

But no sign of your
glass gun anywhere?

Feel free to search, but last time
I checked it wasn't there.

Mm-hm.

LEE MILLER GASPS

Oh, and also,
there's something weird

about little Sebastian's death.
Sheila's son? Yeah.

Come. Salva didn't want
to get into it,

so it must have been
a tragic accident.

But I just think it's so strange
that nobody knows who the father is.

Oh, somebody knows.
They're just not telling us... yet.

DC QUANT CHUCKLES

Oh, OK.

You're doing all right, Magritte.

Bloody drugs everywhere.

Nash's?

Why are you even here, Magritte?

Sir. Mm? Magritte found this place.

Well, did he now?

Light it up.

Light it up.

Yes, ma'am.

Requiem in D minor, K. 626
by Mozart

That's the end of their supply.

It's turning out to be a rather
expensive little week, Jukesy.

Mm.

I wonder how they found it.

You ask for the best detectives,
you get them.

I hope our guests will find
other ways to stay inspired.

Are you still there, Michael?

Off you go.

And your decision is?

What do you mean, you can't?

What sort of bank do you
represent, Babington?!

Without my father you would still
be a sad gathering of peasants!

Times haven't changed that much.
Make it happen. Get me my money.

How could she do that?

But what, amor?

Tell me everything.

HE SOBS SOFTLY

If you would let me help,

together we can handle anything, right?

I'll let you rest,

but soon I want to see you outside.

There's not a problem in the world
that we can't handle.

SALVADOR SOBS

RUMBLE OF THUNDER

So, a dissolving bullet, was it?

I'm not really supposed to
talk about this.

The police, you know, erm...

Their little rules.

Oh, come on, Raymond.

Well...

...yes.

Shot in the head
and no bullet to prove it.

They'll do some testing,
of course, but...

...never seen it before.
Quite original. Oh, my.

Well, now your work is done,
let's enjoy

one of life's little pleasures -
the proper old port.

Ah!

Bottled when Lord Nelson beat the
shit out of Old Bony at Trafalgar.

DR FINE CHUCKLES

I'd like to propose a toast...

...to the memory of your brother
and my dear, dear friend,

Lord Denver.

To Toby.

I do miss him, you know.

Gone too soon.

Like all the good ones.

Oh, I... I'm sorry. I...

I didn't mean to upset you.

What's done is done.

It is, isn't it?

Isn't that sad?

LORD DENVER AND LORD JAMES ARGUE

Stop it!

He would want us to drink to life.

You know that's true.

GUNSHOT
Oh, excuse me.

I think I'm needed downstairs.

GUNSHOT

Shot.

GUNSHOT

This is fun.

Looks it.

Bit longer still.

GUNSHOT

GUNSHOT

Sorry about that.
Scotland Yard being rather noisy.

We should be thankful for
their efforts, I suppose.

Let's hope they get the bastard.
Sooner rather than later.

Anyone fancy a drink... or two?

Or the whole bottle.

GUNSHOT

Brain splattered on the wall,
unlike Nash.

GUNSHOT
Just like Nash's brain.

Probably didn't go through.

Now, over here, detectives.

The water has reached
36 degrees Celsius,

about the temperature
of a human brain.

Now, let's see.

Result!

The salt content of Nash's brain
was abnormally high.

Well, we've got a match.

This is one for the Black Museum
back at Headquarters.

Congrats to the killer.
Ingenious little bastard.

An artist, would you say?

I leave that speculation
to you, Thistle.

Goodnight. Sleep tight.

I've got dessert waiting.

Thank you, Raymond.

So we know the cause of death,
Quant.

The question is,
who pulled the trigger?

And who strangled Ms Legge?

Possibly the same person who put
the gun back in Lee Miller's purse.

We're getting closer, step by step.

He or she knows that, too.

Let the mind games begin.

Let's see,
who was there last summer?

Picasso with his photographer lady,
Dora Maar.

A lot of first love last year.
Me and Salva, of course.

My Gradiva, who could ever forget?

Plus some hangers-on. Entourage.

Picasso's pussy posse.

Please, Man!

God, you're such a relic.

So only Sheila and Nash were there
when tragedy hit?

Nobody else responsible?

Please, can... Can we change
the subject, please?

Thank you.

Forgive my man. He was the one
who found the little boy.

So, wasn't there an inquest?

Why? Accidental death.

Due to neglect.

But what I don't get in all of this
is who never gets mentioned.

The obvious, I guess.
Sebastian's father.

Nobody knows.
Bullshit. Quite a few do.

Do they, now?

Do you know?

Me?!

No.
SHE CHUCKLES

Why would I know? Listen...

...I know you all think,
or at least are entertained,

by the idea that I did it, and,
honestly, I would think so, too.

But I didn't, OK?

I just want to know who did.

Why is Sebastian's father a secret?

And why all this mystery?

Hmm?

Then, erm... Then I don't know.

But what I do know is
that one of you here

is holding back information...
Rene. ..that might help solve

these killings, or at least prevent
more murders... Rene, my friend...

...I think it's time to...

See you all at the funeral.

Oh...

...nice little group of friends
you all are.

Hey. Hey.

Are you all right?

Yeah, I'm good.

What's on your mind?

Nothing.

I try to see good in people
to find the truth, but...

Let me guess,
nobody seems to appreciate it?

Yeah.

Well, if it's any consolation,

I think you're doing great,
Magritte.

Yeah? Mm-hm.

The father of Sebastian
could be the key.

He has the perfect motivation
to get rid of Ms Legge and Nash.

Because of the accident
with little Seb?

Blame fuels hate.

Food for thought.

So if we find who the father is...
Then we might find the killer.

DC QUANT SIGHS

So why do you do this job?

Murder victims don't get to finish
the story of their own lives

and that bothers me.

So you help them?

I don't know.
That sounds terribly arrogant.

But maybe I shine some light
in the darkness.

See? What?

You are an artist as much as I
am a detective, and vice versa.

SHE CHUCKLES

Telephone for DC Quant.

Who, is it?
Scotland Yard, Headquarters.

At this hour? I'm afraid so, miss.

We'll talk later, right?

A red flag came up?

Why did this take so long?

Someone at West Dean
got done for what?!

Attempted murder?

And you're finding this out now?

Give me the name.

Jay...

...Poots.

♪ In the pines, in the pines

♪ Where the sun doesn't shine

♪ And we shiver
the whole night through

♪ In the pines, in the pines

♪ Where the sun doesn't shine

♪ And we shiver

♪ The whole night through... ♪

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