All language subtitles for Death in Paradise - 15x07 - Episode 7 (iP.WEB-DL.720p-RAWR, iP.WEB-DL.1080p-RAWR).eng

"Dear Hortense, my
boyfriend" snores and I haven't got

- "a good night's sleep..."
- "Dear Hortense,

"I've got a problem
with my mother-in-law,

- "or should I say..."
- "Dear Hortense..."

"Dear Hortense, My neighbour..."

"Dear Hortense..."

- "Dear Hortense..."
- "Dear Hortense..."

How many times?

We're not under attack, you daft thing.

Today's letters for you, ma'am.

Merci, Kim.

"Dear Desperate Daughter-in-law,"

"May I suggest an alternative
course of action?"

"Divorce your wet husband"

"and kill two birds with one stone."

"Dear Peeping Peter,"

"I sense this neighbour
is keen for you to notice her,"

"so bake some chicken Colombo,"

"and take it over there
without delay. Bonne chance!"

Today's letters for you, ma'am.

Ah, merci, Kim.

Commissioner, thanks for coming.

Catherine.

What a picture!

Like a young Grace Kelly.

You do exaggerate, Mr Busette.

Merely appreciative of beauty
when I see it.

I've been meaning to thank you.

Without
your admirable journalism,

the community initiative wouldn't
have happened.

Excuse us.

Hortense! Our guest of honour.

Simply stunning.

- Like a young Grace Kelly.
- Oh!

It all looks wonderful, Anton.

Only what you deserve for your
dedicated service to this island.

One last favour, s'il vous plait.

I want to change my
final column to this one.

It's already gone to press, I'm afraid.

Oh, don't be afraid.

Just make it happen.

Oh, come on, Bunny.

Do 24 years of marriage
count for nothing? Mm-hm?

After 30 years
solving this island's problems,

our beloved agony aunt is retiring.

And so, please put your hands together

to show your gratitude
for this wonderful woman.

Yes.

You have to leave.

Thank you to
all of you, my esteemed readers,

for entrusting me with this
precious task for so many years.

But now I'm looking forward to spending
more time with my daughter, Esme.

Let's see if, for the first time in his
life, that imbecile was true to his word.

Ah...

Morning, Esme. How was the party?

Good, I think. Me head hurts.

That's weird.

Maman?

Maman?!

Maman?

We done?

15 more minutes.

Right.

Are we going to talk
about anything today?

Um...

No.

Thank you, but...

..no.

DS Thomas?

It's work.

Oh.

So I take it therapy's going well, then?

Um...

I mean, sitting in front of a total
stranger, talking about feelings...

It's just not for me, you know?

But you were kidnapped
by your own brother, sir.

Almost killed.

Look, I'm here now, aren't I?

The best thing for me to do
is just forget it ever happened.

Sounds healthy.

Look, I'm English, yeah?
That's what we do.

The deceased is Hortense LeRoux.

She writes an agony aunt column
for the local paper.

Agony aunts.
That's a blast from the past.

Good morning, boss. Sarge.

Paramedics say
Madame LeRoux was poisoned.

- Who found her?
- Her daughter, Esme,

who had plans to go on a walk with her
mother, and the housekeeper, Kim Woods,

who was just starting her shift.

This way.

So, the victim.

She has a few tiny
red spots on her finger.

Which leads me to believe that the
poison came from something she touched.

So... she sat down for breakfast.

Boiled egg and toast.

Read her column, where someone
writes in about a friend's betrayal.

And Dear Hortense replies with...

..avoiding revenge.

"Let sleeping dogs lie."

Sir, she was retiring.

This would be her last column.

Tragic coincidence?

Tragic? Certainly.

Coincidence? Not so much.

Does this look discoloured to you?

You think the poison is on the paper?

Possibly. Where did this come from?

- We'll check with the housekeeper.
- Mm.

Egg and soldiers.

In the breakfast hall of
fame, that's right up there.

Dipping a piece of buttered toast
into a gooey yellow egg heaven.

Your point, sir?

This egg's harder than Vinnie Jones.

Dipping a soldier into that
would be impossible.

Sir, normally,
when you spot a detail,

I think, "Hold on, man, we will
definitely come back to this."

But right now, kind of struggling
how this could possibly be relevant.

Everything's relevant, Officer Rose.

And the paper was delivered every day?

By a boy called Clayton Powell.

- Can you get a hold of him, please?
- Mm-hm.

Esme!

It's terrible, terrible news.

Anton Busette. Editor of the Saint Marie
News and Hortense's ex-husband.

DI Wilson.

I've heard a lot about you.

So what's the latest?

Well, we're working on the theory

that Miss LeRoux was poisoned.

- What?
- Deliberately.

How could anyone do that to her?

She was truly adored.

So, how did she seem recently?

Anything out of the ordinary?

Well, she had mixed feelings
about retiring, naturally.

There was something at the party.

I want to change
my final column to this one.

- Do you know why?
- No.

Can we see the original letter?

It'll be in her study.

OK, so, um, talk me through
her morning routine, please.

Well, she was up with
the lark, made breakfast...

Boiled egg and soldiers, yeah?

Clayton would deliver the paper.

Then she would like to read
her column over breakfast.

And the egg, how long
did she cook it for?

Oh. I'm not sure.

Do you know, love?

Three minutes or so.

She liked it to be perfect.

- Yeah.
- That's who she was.

Deep breaths, darling, deep breaths.

Here you are, Esme.

Look here, Inspector.
Why the focus on eggs?

Can I suggest that you concentrate
on what is actually important?

Finding the person who did this.

I'm merely trying to establish
the facts, Mr Busette.

I mean, as a journalist, it surprises
me you don't appreciate that.

I'm sorry. The little man
doesn't like strangers.

Sensible chap.

She really liked purple.

So what's with the egg thing?

Look, Hortense was the sort of woman
who liked everything just so. Right?

Even down to how
she set out her breakfast.

People are funny, aren't they?

Yes.

People are.

It's still bothering me
why that egg was hard boiled.

Maybe she got distracted. Overcooked it.

She had an egg timer,
which she clearly used.

And even if she had overcooked it,
she could have made another one.

Now you say it, it is a little odd.

You know, I used to think
these letters were fake,

but people actually write in
with their problems.

And according to the housekeeper,
she replied to every single one.

Felt like it was her duty.

Whoa!

Seems she kept
every single letter as well.

This is the letter she
wanted to publish last minute.

"Dear Hortense, I've suffered
a great betrayal by a friend."

Well, that's different.

What is?

Well, all these other letters
are signed anonymously,

but this one is signed
by Sophie Martin.

So Sophie Martin wanted her
friend to know she'd written this letter.

But why?

To send a message?

Or a warning.

The Inspector.

- Thank you.
- Mm-hm.

OK, so... that's Clayton, and here's
the tea. He picked up the papers

from Mr Purdy's newsagent's
at 7am.

There are various papers
in the stack,

the Saint Marie News
only being one of them.

He then cycled straight here, delivered
the newspaper to Madame LeRoux

- at 7:15am.
- Morning!

And did he actually see her pick it up?

He did, just like always.

And we know she came inside and sat
at the dinner table to read the paper.

Do we know how many Saint Marie News

- were in his stack?
- He said six.

And none of the other people
who get the paper are ill.

But if so, assuming
it was a targeted attack,

how did he get the one
poisoned newspaper to Hortense?

- Thanks a lot.
- Maybe they intercepted

Clayton on the way, knowing he'd be
coming to Madame LeRoux's house first.

Clayton swears he did not
meet anyone en route.

The only thing of note, his bike
had a bust-up with a pothole,

and all his papers fell out of his bag.

But even if the killer

had poisoned the first paper in the
stack, they're all jumbled up now, right?

Which means they couldn't guarantee

that the poisoned paper
would get to Madame LeRoux.

A one-in-six chance.

Don't like the sound
of those odds. Do you?

Hortense LeRoux.

Saint Marie's favourite agony aunt,
poisoned, apparently, by her own column.

So who would want to murder her?

All that meddling in people's lives
would make you some enemies.

I read that she moved
from Paris to Saint Marie

30 years ago
with her baby daughter, Esme.

Anton Busette, Esme's stepfather.

They met in 1996 when she started
her column at the Saint Marie News.

Then there's this.

Now, why would Hortense
be so keen to publish it?

It was posted on Saint Marie,
so, likely, the author lives here.

So our priority - find Sophie Martin.

Copy that, sir.

There were letters at the house.

Looks like she kept them all.

Might be worth checking those, too?

Uh... Yes, um...

Where would you put that
on the priority list?

I'm thinking maybe three or four?

We've got it, Sarge.

Soon as we check through
the victim's phone.

Can't help feeling
Sophie is key to all of this.

Making progress already?

Oh, Commissioner. Uh,
well, you know, it's early days.

Madame LeRoux was highly regarded.

Only last night, Catherine and
I attended her retirement party.

As such, the island will be
watching our investigation keenly.

Ah. Excellent.

I'm assuming you've met Anton Busette.

We've had the pleasure.

He won't miss an opportunity
to put pressure on us.

Or rather... me.

Let me know when you're ready to talk.

So let's keep things
as professional as we can.

- Mm. Of course.
- DI Wilson, a word.

How are the counselling sessions going?

Oh, um...

Extremely useful.

Yeah, we really get into the...

..the heart of the matter.

- Is that so?
- Mm.

What I've heard is
directly to the contrary.

- You haven't said a word.
- I thought that was confidential!

Inspector...

..take it seriously.

Look, I'm just not into...
the whole...

..going-over-the-past stuff.

The effects of trauma
don't just magically go away.

You've got to work through it.
I know, because I did.

- You had therapy?
- And like you, I had doubts.

Men of my age, we tend
to crack on with things, too.

Give in to it, Inspector.
You may be surprised.

OK.

But I assure you, I am completely,
totally, 100% fine.

- Inspector?
- We've got a situation.

Inspector!

Solomon.

Working overtime, mate?

Any leads?

Hmm.

Morning, campers!

Gather round. I have a breakthrough.

Right. So, this stamp

was conveniently hidden
beneath this Saint Marie stamp.

The original stamp is from France.

Hmm. So what does that mean?

That it was posted
from somewhere else first?

Maybe Sophie meant to post it
from somewhere else,

but didn't, for some reason, then
brought it to Saint Marie to post.

Why? Who knows?

My stamp man in Kentish Town
is on the case.

And... breathe.

You all right, sir?

- Yeah. Why?
- You seem a little...

..energetic.

Oh! That's the coffee.

I've had three already.

- That's my fourth.
- Uh-uh...

Bad night?

Uh, no, I was just, uh,
up looking into this.

Any update on Sophie's whereabouts?

None on the island. And no mention
in the victim's contacts, either.

Postmortem's in.

Hortense was poisoned, as we thought.

Contact poison.

Cone snail venom, in fact.

Cone snail. That's new.

Yeah, I mean, they live in
the shallow waters around here.

I mean, you're warned
about them as a kid.

If it's in a cone,
leave it alone.

The toxin paralyses the victim
first, then they die a painful death.

Nice.

So whoever did this
wanted Hortense to suffer.

It says here that the poison was
only on page 35 of the newspaper,

which means we're looking
at one hell of a gambler!

Somehow poison one page
in one paper of a pack of six,

then pray to the gods of vengeance that
that paper is delivered to its victim.

Risky as anything.

It's more than risky,
it's almost impossible.

Did Hortense touch anything else?

Uh, lab's still testing.

They'll get back to us tomorrow.

In the meantime, Officer Rose and
I have been working on something.

Yes. Uh, the daughter, Esme.

I mean, totally bankrolled by Mummy.

She's never had a job.

She just gets a big,
juicy allowance every month.

And... I mean, she's living the life.

Well, it seems Esme might have disagreed.

She'd applied for a job
at a publisher's in Barbados.

Then - plot twist - we find emails

from Hortense to the managing director

saying Esme was not fit to
work and that she would sue them

if her daughter had a breakdown.

They took back the job offer
pretty quickly after that.

So Mummy blew her
chances of a promising career?

Uh-uh-uh.

Must have been a blow.

She was right.
I... I wouldn't have coped.

Real life and me
somehow never worked, so...

What made you apply for the job, then?

Anton encouraged me.

He helps me with all sorts of things.

Can't help noticing

you're wearing the same clothes
as yesterday.

Late night, was it?

My mum just died.

I'm allowed to grieve.

Of course you are.

Look, what do you want from me?

You're 31. Never been anywhere.

Everything you own,
all paid for by your mother.

It's... unusual.

Some might say a little... controlling.

She wasn't. She loved me.

People get away with a lot
under that label.

Papillon. Papillon, come away from there.

Needs to be careful
of those cone snails.

I hear they're deadly.

Maman was always paranoid he'd get stung.

Liked to keep him close.

- A bit like you, then.
- Please stop this.

A bright new future suddenly snatched...

..no, stolen away
by your meddling mother.

That'd have made me angry. Would
that have made you angry, DS Thomas?

- Definitely.
- Maybe the anger got too much.

- Maybe one day you just snapped.
- No. That's not true.

We'll be in touch.

Never underestimate
the quiet ones.

All right, mate? What you got?

For real?

Curiouser and curiouser, as they say.

Le Clocher de Saint Azur,
pardon my accent,

was printed in Paris 30 years ago.

Does that mean that this letter

- is also 30 years old?
- We can only assume so.

But if that's the case, why would
Sophie Martin wait to send this now?

Maybe she knew Hortense was
retiring, and this was her last chance?

We'll look for any Sophie Martins
who lived in Paris 30 years ago.

Yeah, keep me posted.

Oh, any news from the lab?

No poison found on anything
else she could have touched.

So this newspaper was
definitely the murder weapon?

It looks like it.

Something interesting, though.

No fingerprints
found on Hortense's glasses.

Wiped clean.

Hmm. Why would that be?

Right. Until we know
who Sophie Martin is,

let's look for anyone
with a motive, yeah?

I found something on the
victim's phone, in the trash.

And, like my uncle,
Uncle Terence, always says,

- one man's trash is...
- Is another man's treasure.

Yes, we know.
Get on with it, Officer Rose.

- Sir!
- Sorry!

Go on.

Some anonymous texts
going back three weeks ago.

"You'll get
what's coming to you."

"You don't deserve to live."

And then, just before
her retirement party,

"Wear the amethyst earrings.
They bring out your eyes."

Someone was out
for blood. But who?

A reader with a grudge, maybe?

Maybe. Clearly, whoever it is was
watching the house the other night

while Hortense was getting
ready for her big bash.

First thing tomorrow,
talk to the neighbours.

Maybe they saw someone hanging around.

You wanna give up, don't you?

I'm here when you're ready.

Look, why don't you just...
ask me something?

Just...

..ask me a question.

Please.

What are your feelings
about your brother?

OK. Um...

Something akin to anger...

..I'd say.

You know, every time I'm near that
guy, something happens that shouldn't.

And... and sadness.

Yeah, in fact, I'd say mainly sadness.

I wanted it to work.

Yeah? Believe me, I wanted us to work.

But you know what?

We just don't.

I do not trust that guy.

And if you can't trust family, then...

..who can you trust?

Would it be more helpful to talk to him
about what happened?

I don't know where I'd even start.

Sometimes, if talking's difficult,
writing it down can help.

SCOFFS Write him a letter?

Yeah... writing him a letter, yeah.

Could work.

A letter! It'd be a waste of time.

Why don't you tell him what
kind of brother you wanted?

Because it's a fantasy.

He can't be that brother.

So I need to just...

..accept it and... move on.

And, sir, how will you do that
unless you're honest with him?

And even more so... with yourself.

Catherine, you were at Hortense's party?

- Yeah.
- Did you know her well?

Not really.

And the family?

Esme. Anton Busette.

Oh. Anton. Hmm!

Men like him...

Hungry lions

looking at you like you're
a tasty steak at a buffet.

Oh, have you two got history?

He'd like that.

Do you want another drink?

Oh, no, thank you.

I think I'll have an early night.

Perhaps you should, too, sir.

Why's that?

Seeing that you're having
trouble sleeping.

Another cold one for me,
please, Catherine.

I speak to him, and you
take the house over there.

Then we'll get to
those letters. Sound good?

Cool. See you later, alligator.

Oh, come on, come on, come on!

What are you doing?

Huh? N-Nothing.

What's behind your back?

- A cupboard.
- Don't lie to me.

There's a mirror right behind you.

Just promise you won't laugh, all right?

I promise.

"Dear Hortense,
There's this girl I like."

"If she were a chicken wing,
she'd be extra hot."

"All summer we've chilled.
But now she's gone quiet."

"I'm confused."

"She keeps watching my stories."

"Once, she commented
with a tomato emoji."

"What does that mean?"

"I just want to know where I stand."

"Yours, Sebastian Rose."

You know this is supposed
to be anonymous?

I know that now.

Well, did Hortense write back?

She did. She said something about...

..allowing space for
roots to grow, or something.

- And have they?
- No.

Cos she might be waiting
for you, you know.

That tomato emoji could mean
this girl's interested.

You can't sit back. You got to lean in.

Yeah. You know, maybe you're right.

The neighbour did tell me
something pretty darn spicy.

- Yeah?
- Mm!

What are you doing?

A game of probability.

Our killer somehow gets a
poisoned copy of the Saint Marie News

into Clayton's stack of newspapers
in which there happens to be

five other copies of the Saint Marie
News and from which he pulls one copy

of the Saint Marie News at random
and delivers it to Hortense.

- A one-in-six chance.
- Morning!

Morning!

Our only clue... is the egg.

Why was it hard boiled when Hortense
likes it to be perfectly dippable?

Sophie Martin is a very popular name.

There were about 100 Sophie
Martins in Paris around that time.

Look for any connections
with Saint Marie, yeah?

- We have to find this woman.
- Will do.

Sorry, it's not you. It's me.

So the beers didn't help, then?

Surprisingly, no.

And...

..the letter?

No, it's not a good idea.
And that's an end of it.

OK?

Sergeant Fletcher?

We know who's been sending
those messages.

The neighbour was taking out
the bins on the day of the party

when he overheard an argument
between Kim and Hortense.

- Did he hear what was said?
- Certainly did.

It's you, isn't it?!

You have been sending
these foul messages.

Who else would know those things?

And guess what?

Hortense said she'd report
her to the police the next day.

I would never do anything so stupid.

So why would Hortense think it was you?

No clue. Those texts
contain personal details

that only someone close to her
would know.

So how long have you
worked with Miss LeRoux?

Oh, about six months or so.

Was she a good boss?

Madame was a diamond.
It's a tragedy that she's gone.

From what we've heard, she was
more dragon than diamond.

She certainly gave her daughter
a hard time, didn't she?

Well, she was a mite overprotective,
but she cared. Which is more than most.

But if she was like that
with her own flesh and blood,

it's not a stretch to imagine
she'd do the same to you.

Perhaps you decided to get
your own back, frighten her.

But then she found you out, didn't she?

You'd have faced criminal charges.

You'd have lost everything.

So... I killed her?

You've got this all wrong, Officers.

I've been around the block
more times than I care for.

Life's good here. Better than I hoped.

Why would I risk losing that?

You know what? I said to her,
"Go ahead. Report me."

"Any decent investigation team"

"would discover that
I didn't send those texts."

- Convenient.
- What is?

Well, she never got the chance, did she?

And now here you are, free as a bird.

She does have a point.

I don't see what she gains
from scaring Hortense.

Well, who else?

Well, I'm not overly thrilled
about talking to Anton Busette,

but if it was an angry reader
who sent those texts, then...

..we're gonna have to. Huh?

Sir, are you sure you can...

..keep cool?

As a cucumber.

So, Hortense LeRoux

didn't mention anything to you
about these text messages?

Ever since the divorce, we didn't have
the same intimacy, you understand?

Please sit down.

No, I'm all right standing, thank you.

Any hate mail sent to the office?

Complaints, people
calling in to talk to her?

You don't give up, do you?

Wow, this is deceptively heavy.

- Is this real gold?
- Can you put that down?

I've already said, I don't know
who was sending these messages,

and whoever she is won't be easily found.

- "She"?
- What?

You just said, "Whoever she is."

I misspoke.

They.

Unusual for a man in your
line of work to misspeak.

Unusual for a man in your line of work
to behave like an amateur.

- Excuse me?
- Let me be crystal clear.

Stop wasting time
asking obtuse questions,

and go about doing your actual job.

Let me be crystal clear.

These obtuse questions are to find out

- who murdered your ex-wife!
- Sir...

But the fact that you can't see that

is because your head
is so far up your own b...

Well, that escalated.

Look... I get it.

Sir, what you went through

was something no-one should ever have
to, but you can't keep pretending like...

- Pretending?
- Yes, pretending

- like you're OK!
- I am OK.

Your judgment is clearly off because...

- My judg...
- ..you're not sleeping.

And you're not sleeping because you have

this thing with Solomon
hanging over your head.

- What do you suggest?
- I don't know!

Write the letter! Whatever.
Get it off your chest.

We have a murder to solve.

Well, all right.

Fine.

- I'll do it.
- Thank you.

So what are we going to do
about Mr Busette?

He obviously suspects
who's sending those texts.

Well...

..we need a tactical rethink.

Mm.

I have an idea.

Who knew Saint Marie was so high-tech?

Hmm!

Found it in the back
of the evidence store.

Don't think it's been used for a while.

You surprise me.

It's from 1986.

Can't beat quality.

Thanks for doing this, Miss Bordey.

A pleasure.

I feel like one of Charlie's Angels.

Now, remember, you're there
to find out who Anton thinks

is behind the text messages,

but don't go straight in for the kill.

Act natural.

"Raincheck" is your code word.
If anything goes wrong.

It won't. Trust me!

Are we good?

The golden goose has landed.

Anton, how lovely to see you!

Likewise.

I was surprised when you called me.

Pleasantly surprised, of course.

I thought a drink would help
take your mind off things.

Much appreciated.

That clown Inspector
was at the office today,

poking his nose in where it's not wanted.

Oh, like a dog without a bone.

- Why did she have to say...?
- Sh! Wait!

She knows what she's doing.

Did the
police have a theory today?

All they were bothered about were these
nasty messages Hortense was receiving.

Thank you.

You seem like a woman
of good sense and judgment.

I like to think so.

This stays between us.

A few years ago,
Hortense told me something.

Esme isn't her child.

She took her from Paris
when she was a baby.

This is big!

Sadly, the mother wasn't able
to take care of her.

A drug addict.

I'm assuming she agreed to this?

The way Hortense told it sounded
like she was too out of it to notice.

Hortense couldn't have children.

But the authorities,
did they not realise?

She came here, forged her papers.

She was Esme's mother
in all but flesh and blood.

- And Esme has no idea?
- No.

And I want it to stay that way.

This would break her.

So, you suspect it's Esme's birth
mother sending those messages?

Who else?

Enough doom and gloom.

Would you do me the honour of a dance?

Oh, well, um...

Might be better if I raincheck.

I doubt that very much. Come on!

Sorry, Anton, I must raincheck.

- Huh?
- We've lost her.

Sergeant Fletcher.

Why do you keep saying
"rain... check"?

Sorry, Mattie, I tried.

This won't be the last you hear of me.

I'll be calling your Commissioner.

Qu'est-ce qui s'est passe?

I was saying the code word.

It was a technical hitch. I am so sorry.

We can now assume
that the friend's betrayal

written about in Sophie Martin's letter
is referring to Hortense

stealing Sophie's baby 30 years ago.

Which means Sophie is Esme's real mother,

and finally explains why Hortense
was so desperate to publish the letter.

She knew it was Sophie coming for her.

Her response? "Back off. Esme is mine."

But why wait 30 years to send this?

Don't know yet, but we will.

And if Miss Martin is also behind the
text messages, as Anton suspects...

"You'll get what's coming to you."

"You don't deserve to live."

..she's here on this island
with one hell of a motive.

But where?

I hope you don't mind, angel.

Oh, no, not at all.

It's such a great loss.

If you ever need
someone to talk to, I'm here.

You're kind.

"Solomon,"

"I've been thinking about
what to say for a while,"

"but I haven't managed
to find the right words."

Merci beaucoup.

- Morning.
- Morning, sir.

That was the Paris police.

My thinking was addicts are
more likely to have criminal charges,

and there are three
Sophie Martins on file,

two for possession,
one for aggravated robbery.

I've asked them to send over the records.

Good work.

What's that, sir?

Oh, um, this is it, my letter to Solomon.

I've got it off my chest.

Did it help?

Uh, yeah, it did, actually.

You know what I realised?

I want...

No, I NEED my space from him.

- I'm so sorry, sir.
- No, no, no, it's all good.

It's for the best.

I just needed a little time
to accept it, that's all.

- Where is everyone?
- Following a lead.

If Sophie Martin was outside
Madame LeRoux's house that night,

it's possible she followed her
to the party.

So we went through the photos
online, and look at this one.

Yeah, she does look about the
right age that Sophie would be.

An uninvited guest.

The waiter said she got into
a green VW camper van,

and luckily Mattie knows
the one garage that fixes them.

Yeah, talk of the devil.

We think we've found Sophie.

So, someone matching her description
came into the garage last week.

Goes by the name of Calypso.

Says she normally
parks up by Coral Beach.

We need to get there, pronto.

Already here, sir.

We've got an eyeball.

I hearing you good?

You think that
I'm that shy girl's mother?

You're mad.

I don't even know this woman
you're talking about.

Then why did you sneak
into the party that night?

Just passing. I felt thirsty.
It's not a crime.

No, but stalking is.

See, our theory is you are Sophie Martin.

You assumed a new identity
to come to Saint Marie

and enact revenge on Hortense LeRoux,

starting with those
threatening text messages.

Uh-uh.

I just like to stay off-grid, that's all.

We should be free to roam,
as the birds do.

You know we can trace the SIM to the
shop you bought it in, check their CCTV?

OK, here's the truth.

That woman you're talking
about, Sophie Martin, that ain't me!

But those texts...

..I sent them.

Not for the reason you think, though.

Why, then?

Two months ago, I sent
Dear Hortense a letter.

Hortense told me to cut
my mother out of my life.

"Toxic mothers shouldn't be
allowed to act that way," she said.

Bit hypocritical,
coming from her.

I did what she said.

Know what?

My mother died alone in her bed!

If I hadn't listened to that loudmouthed
woman, I would have been there!

That must have made you angry.

Not enough to kill her.

I wanted to scare her, make her
suffer, the same way I'd been suffering.

Walking about this Earth
with a perfect life.

Little care for the people
whose lives she ruins!

Miss Jones, look, no disrespect, but...

..it kind of seems like
you're more angry at yourself.

Look, I'm no expert, but...

..it doesn't help to hold on to things.

So we still haven't a scooby
how the killer pulled off this murder.

A stack of six papers,

and they managed to poison one
and have it delivered

practically straight into
Hortense LeRoux's hands.

And let's not forget about the egg.

What happened that morning

to make her ruin
a perfectly good breakfast?

- Sir...
- Hold that thought. I'm late.

I'll be back.

How do you feel?

Uh, better.

Definitely better.

I mean, everything here is just...

Pfff!

You know, gone.

All I need to do now is post it.

- Well done.
- Ah.

Thank you.

Now, can we talk a little more
about your life here?

Oh, how long have you got?

- About half an hour.
- No, I meant...

She timed it.
Why didn't she take it out?

And the egg, how
long did she cook it for?

Three minutes or so.

He then cycled straight here,

delivered the newspaper
to Madame LeRoux at 7:15am.

I'm sorry.
The little man doesn't like strangers.

There were no fingerprints
found on Hortense's glasses.

I wanted to scare her.

I wanted her to suffer, the
same way I'd been suffering.

Of course! That's the reason why.

- Why what?
- The egg was hard boiled.

I can see everything clearly now. Ha!

Oh, thanks for your patience.

I know who the killer is
and how they did it.

Those photos from the Paris
police, have they come through?

Just in.

Right, we need a search warrant,

and then we can have
a little family reunion.

Agony aunts are known for giving
advice to help solve difficult problems.

However, I doubt they've ever
been asked to advise

on a problem as difficult as this one.

Hortense LeRoux was poisoned,
effectively by her own column,

but we had no idea how the killer
managed to poison the newspaper

and get it delivered straight to her,

when the paper boy took
one at random from his stack.

But with the help of a hard-boiled egg...

Oh, not this again.

..we finally cracked it.

You, Kim.

It was you who murdered Hortense.

Me? No.

I told you I was telling the truth.

As Miss LeRoux's housekeeper,
you knew her morning routine,

that she liked to read her
column whilst having her breakfast.

You also knew that Clayton
drops the paper on the porch

at 7:15am, and Papillon
barks to alert Hortense,

as he always does
when someone's at the door.

So, earlier that morning,
you went to another newsagent

and bought a copy
of the Saint Marie News.

Let's call this paper A.

You then lace the problem
page with cone snail poison,

something you knew about from Hortense's
fear of her dog getting stung by one.

Maman was always paranoid he'd get stung.

Then you dropped paper A onto the porch

some time before Clayton usually arrived.

Hortense must have been in the
middle of preparing her breakfast,

Papillon barked as normal...

..so she went outside
to collect the newspaper

she thought had just been delivered.

She went back into the kitchen,

eager to see if her request to change
her final column had been carried out.

In doing so, she came into contact
with the poison and subsequently died.

A painful death, by all accounts.

You then came into the
house through the back

and put on Hortense's purple gown,

a wig matching her hair,
with a purple headband

and, finally, the item that
was unmistakeably Hortense,

her statement purple glasses.

As usual, at 7:15,

Clayton delivered the newspaper,
paper B, and Papillon barked.

Kim, now dressed as Hortense,
opened the door and waved to him.

- As Clayton cycled away...
- Morning!

..he wouldn't have known
that it was, in fact,

you waving at him and not Hortense.

You then came back into the kitchen
and returned Miss LeRoux's glasses,

wiping away any prints first.

Now we come to the egg,
and your ultimate downfall.

You see, in your haste to stage the scene

before Esme arrived, you
almost forgot Miss LeRoux's egg

was still boiling away on the stove.

You needed everything
to look exactly as it should

to fit the timeline of Hortense making
breakfast, then reading her column.

So you hurriedly took
the now hard-boiled egg

out of the pan and
clumsily put it in the egg cup.

Then you left the house through the back,
the same way you came,

got into your car that was parked around
the corner, and drove around the front

to time perfectly
with Esme's arrival.

You later disposed of paper
B and the wig at your home.

We found these in the bin on your street.

An audacious yet brilliant plan.

But... why go to such lengths?

Kim Woods isn't your real name, is it?

You are, in fact, Sophie Martin.

30 years ago, Sophie Martin moved
to Paris from the UK with her boyfriend,

who was escaping some trouble back home.

She was living in a commune
in Montmartre,

and it's there she met
Hortense, an ambitious writer.

Sophie...

..was a drug addict
with a newborn baby.

You were doing
your best, no doubt,

but from what we now know about
Miss LeRoux, she had a saviour complex.

Through our undercover
investigation, we discovered her secret.

Hortense stole your baby in the night
and went as far away as she could...

..to Saint Marie.

That baby was you, Esme.

You're my mother?

Hortense was my friend, and
she offered to look after you.

And, yes, I was struggling,
but I loved you so much.

And then one morning,
I woke up and you was gone,

and I didn't sleep for days,
searching for you.

But then you found out
Hortense was here, didn't you?

Through her column.

So, all those years ago, you
wrote this letter to Dear Hortense,

the same letter
Hortense wanted to publish

at the very last minute
for her final issue.

I wanted her to know
I was coming for her.

Then you were arrested?

The guy who I was
going out with at the time,

he told the police that I was
involved in an armed robbery,

and someone got really
badly hurt, and it was all lies.

I had nothing to do with it.

He was not a good man.

And I didn't get a chance
to send the letter.

They put me away for years.

Time after time, my parole was refused...

..and I lost all hope.

Until one day I finally got
myself together, got myself clean.

That day came...

..and I knew what I had to do.

I had to find you and hurt
Hortense for what she'd done.

I came to Saint Marie.

The first place I went was a newsagent,
and I saw the ad for her housekeeper.

It felt like fate.

Come in.

You bided your time, working
out the perfect murder plan.

But when Hortense received your letter,

she must have known
you were gunning for her.

You read her response.

She didn't regret it.

Not one bit!

Esme, I don't expect you to forgive me,
but I would really like you to understand

that what she did destroyed me.

Killing her was the only way I could
ever have a relationship with you.

Officer Rose?

Sophie Martin, I'm arresting you
for the murder of Hortense LeRoux.

You don't need to say anything,
but it may harm your defence

if you do not mention when questioned

something which you
later rely on in court.

Anything you do say
may be given in evidence.

So me whole life has been a lie.

Hortense's love for you, that was real.

EXHALES Hey.

Can I help you?

- Mervin, yeah?
- Yeah.

- Didn't you hear me knock?
- No.

I was sleeping, actually. Deeply.

- You're older than I imagined.
- Uh, sorry, who are you?

Just one second.

Come on! Just give it up, man!

Finally!

Stupid guy's been holding out,

and all he's got is a pair of sixes.

Amateur.

Is that a gambling app?

I don't think you should be playing that.

Don't sweat it. It's cool.

Dad said you were a goody-goody,

but I guess that comes
with the job, right?

OK, stop, yeah?

Now, you tell me right now
who you are, who your dad is,

and what you're doing on my property,
or I'm arresting you for trespass.

And you being a detective!

It's me, Eloise, your niece.

- Sorry, what?
- Your niece, Eloise.

Did Dad not mention me to you?

No, he... No-one mentioned you.

Well, I'm sure he was going to.

He's a busy guy, you know.
A lot on his plate.

So...

..what would you prefer I call you?

Uncle Mervin?

Uncle Merv?

Just Merv?

What's for breakfast?

Hey, don't touch anything!

This is the closest I've come
to actually seeing it, the lusca.

- Sorry, what?
- It's a sea monster.

Some people are saying
that's what killed him.

I would like to do my bit
to try and solve this case now.

We need to work out a plan,
Uncle Merv, to find evidence

- that proves he's innocent.
- I should just tell her the truth.

Giles was convinced
the lusca took their son.

That's why he stayed on here,
to try and prove the lusca exists.

I can't believe
we're going on a monster hunt!

The lusca?

Mattie!

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