Original subtitles

(pensive music)

I could collapse on the pavement.

Then Roy could explain that I've had an episode,

rush me home...

Benny. Please. You promised.

I know, I know.

Biggest smile.

Best behaviour.

(pensive music rises)

-(indistinct chatter) -(jazz music playing)

Im Blauen Zimmer

by Friedrich Gustav,

his most famous piece.

Painted in 1942,

it was intended as the first in a series,

but he died before he completed it.

Do you mind, mate? Cause I'm just trying...

(scoffs)

Excuse me.

(pensive music)

I'll tell you later.

(Chris) Your attempts at mingling going well.

(scoffs)

Quite the opposite.

My fault for inviting such a shallow pool.

(Greg) Mm.

See that lady in the red hat?

We had a scintillating conversation about earthquakes in Chelsea.

Now, I did suggest it had something to do

with her townhouse being on top of the District line...

-(Greg chuckles) -Still, free champagne.

I think we can survive the night.

Oh, stand to attention, knave.

The Queen of Chelsea has arrived.

(pensive music rises)

-(indistinct chatter) -(jazz music playing)

(man 1) Oh!

Darling, sensational!

-(woman 1) Aww. -Thank you.

(woman 2) So proud of you!

(man 1) Congratulations!

(laughs)

(Rebekah whispers) Cassie.

-Save me. -Oh.

Thought these were your people.

(Rebekah scoffs)

Have you seen Gulliver's latest?

I know that we are getting older,

but is it my imagination or are the hyenas getting younger?

Hmm, while asking their jackal husbands

for a second opinion on the rumours about your boob job.

Oh? What's the consensus?

Relax. Genetics,

-by a landslide. -(snorts)

Now, Cassandra...

If you're about to suggest

I find myself a horny rich jackal...

Actually, I was gonna say some of those trays need replenishing.

But I can see, you're way ahead of me.

I shall return to my people.

(classical music)

(phone camera clicks)

(phone vibrates)

-(alarm beeps rapidly) -(tense music)

(theme music)

-(Jess) Morning. -(Max) Morning.

The deceased IC1 male is in the main gallery.

Another IC1 male was apprehended leaving the scene

when uniform arrived.

-A witness or suspect? -Husband of the owner.

-Benoit Chaban? -Mm-hmm.

How was your weekend with Priya and Nitin?

Yeah, she oversold us on that sea view.

-Oh, yeah? -If I stood on tiptoe

in the nursery, I could just about make out a thin slither of sea.

Obviously, Brighton Central aren't as exciting as us lot.

(Max) Mainly seagull-related thefts.

-(indistinct police chatter) -(Max snorts)

(camera shutter clicks)

-Morning, Ashley. -(Ashley) Morning.

Have you seen my new DS, Layla Walsh?

Yeah. She finger-spelt her name.

Nearly got it right, too.

Does he have a name?

Mm-hmm.

Christopher Milton-Elvis.

Are you saying "Elvis"? It's "El-wes".

Gallery manager, 32, lives on Marcovis Street.

(Max) What's the dried blood on his fingers?

Yeah, it's likely from the facial laceration.

Looks like a clean, flat blade.

But cause of death, at this stage, 90 percent certainty,

manual strangulation.

Found this...

in his jacket pocket.

Tickets for the Eurostar, departing at 12:15.

Today.

He's gonna miss his train.

(pensive music)

Hi, Max.

(Max) Morning, Layla.

(Layla) So...

a botched heist in a high-end art gallery.

Yeah. Welcome to Chelsea.

What is it? What have you found?

This used to be a restaurant.

Mr and Mrs...

Zintilis.

A Greek family,

but I can't, for the life of me, remember what it was called.

No.

Right.

Shall we crack on with the case?

Yeah.

Uniform arrived at 23:18,

in response to the gallery's silent alarm.

Point of entry is this rear door.

(Layla) Looks like it's been jimmied.

Multiple paintings believed stolen.

I'm thinking the deceased was in the wrong place

at the wrong time.

Ashley found two tickets for the Eurostar in his pocket,

for later today.

Oh, so what are we thinking,

the victim is robbing the place

and the owner's husband catches him in the act?

Could work.

There's a camera at the back of the gallery

but it's broken.

Presumably, as gallery manager, that was his responsibility.

Could he and Benoit Chaban be in on it together?

What did Mr Chaban say?

Claimed he got here mere minutes before our officers.

Says he found the body, nothing more.

Ah, always nothing more.

-(Jess chuckles lightly) -(Max) Okay.

What have we got on Chris Milton-Elwes?

Nothing on the victim's phone so far,

but I found a Chris Elwes on PNC.

Checking to see if it's the same one.

He has a file?

Marked NFA.

Shoplifting when he was 12.

Once a thief...

-12, though. -(Connor and Jess laugh)

Well...

Can you check the guest list and cross-reference it

with our files?

Ooh, searching for crooks among the Chelsea elite.

Might be a long list.

(Max chuckles)

Do we know what was taken?

(Layla) Four paintings in total.

Not the slickest heist.

The canvasses were cut from their frames.

-There's spotting on here. -Expecting it to be the victim's,

if the same blade that cut him was used to cut the canvasses.

You said there were four pictures?

But there's only three frames.

The fourth painting was only so big...

Small enough to take intact.

Do we know the value?

In total, just over two million pounds.

Here is the big ticket.

Purchased by Rebekah Chaban at Sotherby's last year,

for one-point-three.

Artist is Friedrich Gustav.

(Layla) Im Blauen Zimmer.

My ex is a big fan.

And the other three?

(Layla) Two canvasses by Christian Fessel,

and the small one

is Louisa by Konrad Mueller,

each valued between two and three hundred thousand.

You're very well-informed.

I don't like to make a thing of it but I do know a fair bit about art.

Ah, she looked it up on Wikipedia.

I looked it up on Wikipedia.

-(chuckles) -Yup.

What time did you and your wife leave the gallery?

It had all finished by ten.

But you returned later?

Yes. Around a quarter past eleven.

(Layla) Why did you return?

My wife asked me to check the alarm had been set.

I would have thought people like you have people

to do that for you.

People like me?

I don't appreciate your tone.

At 23:18, responding to the gallery's silent alarm,

police arrived to find you leaving via the rear door.

I heard a car door outside,

and I assumed it could be whoever was responsible,

so I went to look for them.

Were you going to confront this person?

I don't know, I was acting on instinct.

(Max) Pity your instinct didn't include dialling 999.

After all, there were clear signs a robbery had taken place.

Did you touch the body, check for a pulse?

-No! -(Max) Why not?

(scoffs)

Okay.

You say your wife asked you to check the alarm.

You drove there. What then?

You walked in to find Chris helping himself

to your wife's collection?

What? Ugh... No! I...

I walked in,

I saw Chris on the floor,

and before I could do anything else or even think,

-I heard a noise... -And fled the scene.

Yes! Wait, no! I... No!

(sighs deeply)

(mumbling in French)

(Connor) From July, 2006.

-(office phone rings) -"Berlin-born Rebekah Vidic,

23, married Benoit Chaban in a lavish ceremony in Monaco."

Looks like the Chaban wealth stems from the husband's side.

His family is in international fleet services.

(scoffs) Whatever that is.

(Connor whistles)

How much do you reckon Benoit Chaban is worth?

Uh, but is he happy, Connor?

I won a tenner on the lottery two weeks ago,

I was dancing round the kitchen.

Forbes estimates it at around 400 million dollars.

Bought a bottle of wine,

chocolate bar as long as my arm.

400 million can't buy that kind...

of happiness.

Gulliver Bauer.

Dealer, high-end art, eventually convicted

on tax evasion charges.

He holds the record as the richest inmate at Belmarsh.

Knocked Jeffrey Archer down to second place.

(suspenseful music)

(Max) I know the last thing you want is us asking questions.

But what time did you leave the gallery event?

Around ten.

And you came straight home?

I got back at about twenty past.

On your own?

Chris stayed behind to tidy up.

He wanted to get everything ready for today's public opening.

I was the last to leave and he was on his own.

At the opening, did you or Chris notice

anyone acting suspiciously?

(sighs deeply) No.

Anything that you think might help.

(Greg) There was one man I spoke to,

I, I don't know his name, but...

he was quite hostile toward me.

Can you describe him?

Thirties, uh,

short, dark hair like...

Tell us about Chris.

How was he last night?

Why are you asking about Chris?

We're keeping an open mind.

You don't think he was involved?

That's absurd.

This morning, when you woke up and Chris hadn't come home,

what did you think?

That he'd hit a snag

and it had turned into an all-nighter.

-Did you call him? -I was going to this morning,

but then the police arrived.

You must have been worried.

Not really.

When Chris was working on the gallery,

he would sometimes work through till morning.

This was nothing out of the norm.

I meant worried that you might miss your train.

What train?

(Layla) The Eurostar to Brussels,

leaving St Pancras at a quarter past noon today.

I... (scoffs)

Sorry, I...

Two weeks ago, Chris purchased two tickets.

We found them in his jacket pocket.

I don't know anything about that.

(Max) One of them was in your name.

Last year, on my fortieth,

I woke up to find plane tickets on the kitchen table.

We flew to Venice later that same day.

A couple of years before,

Chris sprung a surprise trip on me for our anniversary. To Rome.

Is today your birthday or anniversary?

My husband has spent the last year renovating that gallery,

planning the exhibition,

so it's not out of question that he wanted to mark the occasion.

(exhales)

-(loud thud) -(tense music intensifies)

(panting)

(pensive music)

Im Blauen Zimmer.

Proof that somebody in the former GDR

once saw an Yves Klein.

Hm.

Two Fessels have a certain depressing charm.

Eugh. (sucks teeth)

Mueller's Louisa. Terribly twee.

Reminds one of one's grandmother framing her embroidery.

(Connor) Might we interrupt?

We're here investigating the suspicious death

of Christopher Milton-Elwes.

Of course. Please.

Did you know him?

No. No. Not personally.

What about the Chabans?

Have you had any dealings with them?

(Gulliver) I have dealings with everyone.

I have brokered several sales for them, over the years.

-All above board? -Of course.

Don't suppose you've heard anything

on the Chelsea art scene grapevine about the stolen paintings?

Nothing.

Two point three million, wasn't it?

(Jess) Your tax bill.

I have learnt from my mistakes.

(Jess) Remind me how it works.

You find an artist.

The more obscure, the better.

Then you get an expert, in your case,

you,

to value one of this artist's paintings for...

a few million. Say, two point three million?

Then you hang it in a gallery and claim its value back

as a charitable donation.

Bye bye, tax bill.

(in Latin) Men do not regret.

Oh, dear.

Public-schoolboy-quoting-Latin alert.

After the gallery,

my fiancée and I stopped off at The Connaught,

we were there until midnight.

We'll check.

Good-oh.

May I suggest a good place to start?

Public toilets.

Public toilets?

The Whitworth Gallery heist, 2001, 2002.

Four million pounds' worth of paintings was stolen,

and while the police were busy pushing warrants under the door

of every dealer and private collector in town,

including yours truly,

a cleaner found the missing paintings

a few yards from the gallery, stashed in a public lavatory.

Complete with an apology letter. (chuckles)

(Jess) Thank you for your time.

Call us if you hear anything, Mr Bauer.

(in Latin) Dare to do.

(whimsical music)

(Connor) I didn't know you knew Latin.

(Jess) I don't.

My old man's a Spurs fan.

Written on his scarf.

(Cassie) Please, come in.

We're beside ourselves with the news...

Do you have any idea what happened?

(Layla) We're still filling in the gaps.

I did the catering last night.

Did you know Chris well?

We were friends.

We worked closely for the last few months,

organising the exhibition.

Please.

Were the Chabans happy with Chris's work?

Oh, Chris was good at managing his own PR.

If it was good news, he couldn't wait

to tell Mrs Chaban... (inhales deeply)

...but for the bad news,

he used me as his miss go-between. (chuckles sheepishly)

Last night at 11, where were you?

Home.

Well, if you need to check,

my flatmate was still up when I got in.

(door opens)

Mrs Chaban?

The police are here to see you.

It was around 10:15.

If you want to see any CCTV, ask my driver Roy.

He installed the security system.

And later, you asked your husband to return to the gallery?

Call it...

opening night paranoia.

I wanted to make sure the alarms where set.

We're running through the guest list.

And the only person we're struggling to identify is

this gentleman.

This photo is from an Instagram account

of one of your guests.

Do you recognise him?

Mr Chaban?

Toby Hansard.

My personal trainer.

Cassie, would you?

Oh, yes, I'll... find his details for you.

Miss Lawson is your housekeeper?

My executive PA. My Girl Friday.

She's a bit of a charity case, but we're old friends, so...

Are we right in thinking you insured Im Blauen Zimmer

by Friedrich Gustav for three million pounds?

You've done your homework.

Yet, the market value is one-point-two.

That's a tidy profit.

Obviously I masterminded this whole thing.

For a miserable two million. (scoffs)

I insured the painting for what I judged

to be its resale value.

Should it be stolen.

Quite.

(Max) This coffee tastes of tamarind?

There are tamarind trees on our reserve.

(Benoit) Indonesia.

Ridiculously lavish process, but worth it.

(Rebekah) And all ethical.

I'm strict about that.

It's very good.

These are two of the missing pictures.

The Christian Fessels.

Prints, obviously.

Obviously!

(Benoit) Rebekah hangs them here

so I never forget her one true love.

Art.

We'll need to see your collection,

to help with our enquiries.

I'm afraid that won't be possible.

My paintings are kept in a secure, climate-controlled vault.

(Benoit) So we would need prior notice.

Or a warrant.

-(door closes) -(Max) Dung.

-Hm? -Dung.

I know, that's what I thought you said.

Is that your opinion on Benoit Chaban or...

A pound of that coffee

is worth around a thousand pounds sterling.

Is there a point to this?

On their reserve, elephants eat the coffee beans.

The beans are then harvested from the elephant dung.

And you still drank it?

The point is,

was that a deliberate ploy to make us think

they had money to burn?

"For a miserable two million."

Roy Colin?

(chuckles)

Layla Walsh.

-Well, you're looking well. -You know me.

-Butter side up. -Well, what are you doing here?

Hobnobbing with the posh folk?

Oh, well, I'm their glorified taxi driver.

So, um, you caught this one then?

The business at the gallery.

DI Max Arnold. DI Roy Colin.

-Pleasure. -Uh, likewise. Uh, former DI.

Gave Walshy here her first leg up into Serious Crimes.

-(Roy) You made DI yet? -Working on it.

Did you drive Mr and Mrs Chaban to the gallery last night?

-Yeah. -(Layla) When did they leave?

Oh, ten or thereabouts.

And later around 11,

did you accompany Mr Chaban back to the gallery?

Nah, no, no, I was tucked up in bed by then.

Can you prove that?

Oh.

Exploring all the avenues, are we? (chuckles)

Not going to defend my character?

No change there, then!

Look, far as I know,

Mr Chaban drove himself back to the gallery.

Soon as I dropped them both back here, I clocked off.

I was home half an hour later.

Feel free to check with the missus.

Well, nice to meet you, DI Arnold.

See you again, DC Walsh.

DS.

Yeah...

'course you are.

(Layla) In Exeter, he was known as "Cookie Jar Colin".

Rumour was he was dipping into the cash

from a money laundering op.

Higher-ups started asking questions,

Roy asked his team to back him.

Everyone did, except me.

How strong was the evidence?

Well, Roy insisted it was all hot air and hearsay.

But you thought they had a case?

I don't know.

-Either you did or you didn't. -But I didn't have any proof.

(Max) Did they charge him?

He fell on his sword before they could push him onto it.

I was the new DC in a new team.

New station, new boss,

but I had to be the rebel, had to stand apart from the crowd.

The damage it did.

I should've backed him.

That's what you're supposed to do, isn't it?

Have each other's backs.

(pensive music)

(sighs sharply)

Chris was an honorary Ossi.

A nerd about East German history.

Especially its art.

(Max) Did you go to the opening?

I was busy.

And the real reason?

I pitched for the exhibition.

Oh...

Even suggested the title they ended up using.

"The Lost Pieces".

And it was all going well until Rebekah bloody Chaban

decided she wanted to do it in her own gallery.

Only she didn't have her own gallery,

so she did what they always do.

Rich Wessi bought up The Olive Branch and gutted it.

The Olive Branch, that's it!

I loved that place.

Oh, me too.

(sighs)

(Max) Do you think Chris had anything to do with this?

No. If he was, the paintings and the frames would be pristine.

He wouldn't want to damage them.

What about the gallery owner?

Chris always spoke highly about Rebekah Chaban.

And Im Blauen Zimmer,

how would all of this affect its black market value?

Through the roof.

Collectors love notoriety.

I bet they do. (scoffs)

(sighs)

What you should be asking...

(inhales deeply)

I should, I shouldn't be saying it.

Why did Rebekah Chaban have it on show in the first place?

With minimal security, too.

You might as well wave a red rag at a bull.

-By bull, you mean? -(Astrid) Collectors.

Unscrupulous collectors.

The Chelsea art scene is full of them.

So Chris was collateral damage?

And if Rebekah Chaban had a conscience,

his death is on it.

-(somber music) -Poor Chris...

Are you okay?

I'm fine. (sniffles)

-Asti... -Max, I'm okay.

Chris loved my tales about growing up in East Germany.

I'll miss him.

Did you text me last night so you could rant?

Of course.

Did you think I was asking you to be my plus one?

No.

You know how much I love your lectures on East German art.

Is there anything else you need from me?

Uh, no.

Thank you.

I'll see you.

Bye, then.

(plane engine roaring)

(suspenseful music)

(door beeps, hisses)

(door clacks, hisses)

(soft chuckle)

(soft piano music playing)

(pensive music)

(alarm beeps)

(alarm stops)

(thrilling music)

(sighs)

(scraping)

(suspenseful music intensifies)

(Greg) Hello?

(scoffs)

(faint clack)

(footsteps in distance)

(Greg breathes heavily)

-(keys rattle) -(door knob clicks)

Gregory Milton-Elwes, the husband of the victim,

said you spoke to him at the gallery opening?

Oh, that's what this is about?

Look, there's no way of saying this without sounding like

a terrible homophobe,

but I thought he was coming on me,

and I reacted badly.

I asked him to leave me alone.

Where were you at 11pm on the night in question?

Here.

Hold on. Uh...

The gym has CCTV.

Did you know the deceased, Chris Milton-Elwes?

No.

(Jess) So why were you at the gallery?

Well, I'm a massive fan of obscure East German art.

(stammers)

I'm kidding. I hustled for an invite.

I thought it could drum up some new clients for this place.

Look, here I am.

10:45, I did some paperwork,

worked out for an hour or so.

We'll need a copy of that.

Yeah, 'course.

Uh, apparently, you're Rebekah Chaban's personal trainer.

That's right. She got me the invitation.

But everybody I spoke to either owned their own gym

or, in some cases, owned their own chain of gyms.

Hold on...

I couldn't ask you to leave some of these

around your station, could I?

First month's trial is free.

Here.

(Ashley) Flecks of blue paint.

Found them on the victim's clothing.

From the picture frames?

What kind of paint is it, Ashley?

Chemical analysis matches normal household emulsion.

Except, all white walls in the gallery.

Cause of death,

manual asphyxiation.

Non-fatal peri-mortem injuries,

bruising here, cuts here,

suggesting he was struck around the face.

Laceration on the left cheek.

Broad, fast action. Left to right.

Attacker, likely right handed, similar height,

stood facing him.

Watched the life drain out of him.

CAT scan results.

Fracture of the hyoid bone.

Here.

And this patch.

I thought, at first, it was a haemorrhage

caused by the asphyxiation, but...

(inhales deeply) ...it's not.

It's a tumour.

Temporal lobe.

He had a brain tumour?

How advanced was it?

I consulted with oncology.

Even with treatment, they wouldn't go beyond a year.

Hm...

I don't understand... (scoffs)

There must be some mistake.

I'm sorry.

Did Chris demonstrate any symptoms?

Mood changes, memory loss, headaches...

No.

How about his behaviour?

Drinking more than usual?

-Using drugs, painkillers... -No. No. None of those.

Does this change things?

In what way?

If Chris was dying anyway.

Not for us.

But if Chris had the slightest suspicion

that something was wrong.

If he knew he had nothing to lose.

He didn't know.

I promise you that.

I knew Chris better than anyone

and he was the biggest blabber-mouth.

He'd tell his life story to a stranger at a party.

(scoffs)

Ask any of our friends.

If you want everyone to know your deepest darkest secret,

you tell it to Chris.

It's why we all loved him.

(sighs)

(Rebekah) Oh, are you heading off early?

Risotto for supper,

and it's on the kitchen table.

Thanks.

Is everything okay?

"A charity case".

Oh, God, Cassie, I... (stutters)

I was babbling. I was nervous.

You know I didn't mean anything by it.

There but for the grace of God go I.

The flipping of coins.

That's all this is,

why you're on that side and I'm where I am.

It was you who told me that.

-Cassie... -Do you know why I do all this?

Why I run things for you, cook, tidy up,

tell you what appointments you have.

(laughs) It's not for pride,

it's not for the money.

It's because you're my friend.

(sighs sharply)

That's why it hurt so much.

Please, will you stay? We can eat together.

-We can talk... -My resignation's in the kitchen.

Cassie, no...

(voice breaks) Enjoy your supper, Mrs Chaban.

(door slams)

(sighs deeply)

(sombre music)

-(beeps) -(door hisses)

(vinyl crackling)

("The Killing Moon" by Echo and the Bunnymen plays)

(faint thud)

-Benny? -(hissing)

-Is that you? -(lockpad beeping)

(door clanks)

(ominous music)

Benny?!

# Beg you or cancel it #

# Though I know it must be #

# The killing time #

Benny!

(line beeping)

# Your sky all hung with jewels #

# The killing moon #

-(thumps on door) -(Rebekah) Benny? Anyone?

(shouts) Benoit!

Benoit!

-(device beeps) -(hissing)

(alarm rings)

Anyone?

(in hoarse voice) Help me!

("The Killing Moon" by Echo and the Bunnymen plays)

(Rebekah) Help!

(Rebekah panting)

(ominous music intensifies)

(truck horn honking)

-(Max) Morning. -(Layla) Morning.

She's still locked inside.

Benoit Chaban called the fire service

and they flagged it to us.

-Can you stand by? -(officer) Of course.

(Layla) Signs indicate someone locked her in

and cut off the air supply.

-How long's she been in there? -(Layla) I don't know.

Her PA was the last to see her, that was around half five.

Wonder where the husband was last night.

Found out something interesting about him.

(Jess) Yeah, we've tried that.

Looks like the security system's up the swanny.

We were under the impression you set it up for them, Mr Colin.

Yeah, I did. Which is why I'm here to help.

Mr Chaban, where were you last night?

-I was at my office. -What time did you leave?

Around 2am.

I, I didn't want to wake Rebekah,

so I slept in one of the guest rooms.

I didn't realise what had happened until I woke up.

-Jess? -The manufacturer's

talking me through a system reset.

(Max) I take it we've tried shouting?

It's four-inch ballistic steel.

What is she protecting herself from?

(Layla) Her husband?

-(Jess) I'm here. -What did you find on him?

Multiple calls between Benoit and Gregory Milton-Elwes.

And as he's a solicitor, specialising in family law...

-(Layla) Divorce? -Mm.

Reset complete. We're in!

Uh, hold on. Door controls...

-Now! -(beeping)

(door clacks, hisses)

(hissing)

(phone line beeping)

Get the medic in.

(paramedic) Mrs Chaban.

(indistinct chatter)

Blood oxygen was dangerously low.

(Max) Mr Chaban!

Can this wait? I need to get to the hospital.

Did you lock your wife in the vault?

Wha, what?

Of course not.

What happened here was an accident.

A glitch in the security system.

Do you mind?

Tell us about your contact with Gregory Milton-Elwes.

Why you telephoned him several times in the last month.

(whispers) No comment.

(scoffs)

No comment.

Taking advice from a disgraced ex-copper.

That's not a good look.

What happened here was an accident.

A glitch in the security system.

When I check with the front desk at your office,

will they remember you leaving at 2am?

Uh, no, they won't,

because I collected Mr Chaban from the pick-up point at the back.

Thank you, Mr Chaban.

(indistinct chatter)

(officer) Yeah.

(Jess) We might need to secure the scene.

(officer) Mm-hmm.

Roy.

-Copper to copper... -Ex-copper.

Oh, there it is.

What do you want, an apology?

(sighs)

Layla, look, it's all water under the bridge.

I understand, you knew what you were doing.

-Got you on the radar, didn't it? -Excuse me?

You made DS younger than me.

Because I'm a better detective than you are.

-(chuckles) -Roy,

we have a dead man, a robbery, now a possible attempted murder.

What the hell is going on here?

(sighs)

-Look, ego's aside. -Hmm.

I drive this lot from A to B, now it's an easy job.

I'm not part of their rarefied world,

I'm a tourist.

And copper to copper...

There's a reason I advised against a hard reset of the security system

and that's because doing that wipes it clean.

Footage, logs... Complete reset.

Well, our priority was saving Mrs Chaban's life.

Well, Walshy,

I thought I taught you better than that.

Bit of an arse, your "Mr Colon".

-You think? -Hmm. Sloppy, too.

Failed to advise his boss that now the house is a crime scene.

We don't need his permission to search it.

Wouldn't you want to show these off?

Not keep them locked away behind a bulletproof door.

No sign of the stolen pieces,

but they didn't want us poking around in here.

Hmm.

Something tells me they don't have the receipts

for all of these.

I think we should call in an expert.

(dramatic music)

Would you give us a moment, please?

Of course.

(Benoit) My love...

Just checking on you. Do you need anything?

The truth.

Was this an attempt at a poetic death,

suffocate me amongst my treasures?

(chuckles)

-What are you talking about... -Oh, please.

Stop.

I, I was going to save you,

but I don't know how the controls of your precious room work.

The truth, Benoit.

Why?

I was jealous.

And before you tell me it was a one-off, I know that's not true.

Four visits in the last month.

And every time when I was away on business.

(voice breaks) Oh, Benoit.

Did you even look for an alternative explanation?

You left me in that room to die.

I'm sorry...

Let me get things right. There must be something I can do.

Leave.

I don't care where you go,

but I want all and any part of you gone.

(Astrid) I'm not familiar with this one.

Nor this one...

Ah. This, I think, um, is Luke Morbury.

-A British artist. -Is it stolen?

Mh-hmm.

Interesting composition, though.

On to the next one.

I'm here to help.

And we appreciate it. Thank you.

Yes.

On to the next one, please.

(Astrid mutters) Oh, this one.

Wow. This is beautiful.

It's Rinzler's A Portrait of Emile.

Was it stolen or do you

-just like the composition? -(sighs deeply)

1998,

from an exhibition in Madrid.

It's never been recovered.

(Layla) The highlighted items on this list

have been seized by the Art and Antiquities Unit.

They'll want to speak with you separately.

We believe those items have all been previously reported stolen.

How did they end up in your collection?

I'm certain I'm not the only collector in Chelsea

with a few controversial pieces in their hoard.

So you knew they were stolen.

I am protecting these pieces from entering the black market

and never being seen again.

Very noble.

My father made his fortune

buying and selling paintings from East Germany.

I'm trying to right a wrong.

-(phone vibrates) -Excuse me.

Jess?

-(doorbell buzzes) -Gulliver Bauer received

a call from Benoit Chaban.

Benoit got an anonymous text

offering him the return of the stolen paintings

in exchange for a hundred thousand in cash.

Benoit assumed the message came from Gulliver,

but it didn't.

(Max) Someone's scamming him.

Well, that's what I thought, but looks like

he's going along with it.

-At ten o'clock tonight. -Thanks, Jess.

(Rebekah) Let me get this right.

You think I facilitated the whole thing

in order to boost the value of Im Blauen Zimmer?

(scoffs) Why would I do that?

To raise funds.

-Why would I need funds? -(Layla) For a solicitor.

What are you talking about?

In order to leave your husband.

(stammers)

Did Benoit lock you in your vault last night?

(scoffs)

No.

(Layla) Was he trying to punish you?

No.

Did you know your husband had engaged a solicitor,

Gregory Milton-Elwes?

No marriage is a sunlit utopia.

(sighs) Presumably,

if he has asked for a divorce,

you would need money.

Oh... Hm.

"Former teacher marries billionaire".

I remember that headline.

(Rebekah) Hm.

I was 19,

I did one year of teacher training.

Then my father died... (inhales deeply)

...and left me five percent of his estate.

At the time, I was sleeping with a wonderfully handsome,

messed up man,

who wanted to start a software company,

I wanted him to stay interested,

so I gave him my cash.

By the time that chapter ended,

I was 22,

and my stake in his company was worth 400 million pounds.

When Benoit and I met,

he was broke,

working hard to try and keep his failing family business afloat.

Business I now own.

But still...

"Former teacher marries billionaire".

(tuts)

(tense music)

Jess just spoke to Gulliver Bauer,

Benoit's set up an exchange for tonight. 10pm.

(Layla exclaims)

Do you think she knows her husband's trying

to buy the paintings back?

I doubt it.

Okay. We'll get some eyes on him.

Unless...

-No. -What? You have plans?

Yes, I have plans.

Of course, I have plans.

(clanking in distance)

(suspenseful music)

(car door closes)

(Layla whispers) What's he doing?

(whispers) He's pacing.

Pacing and waiting.

(phone chimes)

(phone chimes)

From Connor.

Text sent to the target from an unknown number.

"Leave money, paintings will be delivered to you tomorrow."

(Max) Think he's going for it.

(car door opens)

(car door closes)

(yawns)

(groans) I need sugar.

Luckily...

(bag rustles)

...I've brought snacks.

(crunching)

They're carrots?

Yeah, carrots.

That's not a stakeout snack.

(bag rattles)

That...

is a stakeout snack.

If you're five.

Have you got flying saucers?

(in mouth-filled voice) I have a wide selection.

Thanks.

This is bad sugar, though.

That's a myth.

(chuckles lightly)

(suspenseful music)

(car door closes in distance)

(engine starts)

He didn't take it?

(in shushing voice) Layla!

(inaudible)

Police! Stop!

(thrilling music)

(engine revving)

(tyres screeching)

(tyres screeching)

(Max) Hold on.

I am holding on!

-Max... -(Layla grunts)

(tyres screeching)

(thrilling music continues)

-(tyres screeching) -Stop!

(music fades)

(Layla panting)

(thrilling music)

(motorbike engine ignites)

(motorbike engine roars)

(Layla exclaims)

(Max groans, exhales sharply)

(panting)

That was a rush.

Car keys.

Are you all right?

Bad sugar.

Next time, we're having carrots.

(Max wheezing, panting)

Who sent you the text?

(Benoit) I have no idea.

(Layla) Do you know who collected the bag?

(sighs)

My sole hope was to recover the paintings

as a surprise for my wife.

Trying to make things up with her, after you nearly killed her?

Mrs Chaban has already stated that

there was a fault with the security system.

Wha... We know your client has been making enquiries

about divorcing his wife!

That was a misunderstanding.

A misunderstanding over what?

I believed...

that my wife was having an affair.

(Max) That's Toby Hansard.

Her personal trainer.

-(Benoit) Yes. -(lawyer) Mr Chaban, please.

My client is the victim here.

He has been cruelly hoodwinked.

-"Cruelly"? -"Hoodwinked"?

Into handing over a substantial amount of his money.

Kindly tell your client not to leave the country.

(gym equipment clanking)

(Toby exhales)

-Shit. -Yeah. "Shit".

(Toby scoffs)

Jealous husbands,

what can you do?

So Mr Chaban was right.

You are having an affair with Rebekah Chaban?

She just let me in...

Cassie.

I'm in a relationship with Cassie Lawson.

Her PA?

Then why all the sneaking around?

And why not tell us?

Because I have a girlfriend.

Sarah.

And Sarah happens to be Cassie's flat mate.

Very chivalrous.

-(phone ringing) -(indistinct chatter)

(Max) Benoit's divorce would have left him penniless...

So why would he work with Chris to steal the paintings?

(Layla) What if it's more personal for Benoit?

If he staged the robbery to teach Rebekah a lesson.

Hmm.

Then there's the Eurostar tickets?

Yeah... Ugh. And...

She doesn't match anyone from the gallery opening.

Let alone the art world.

-But... -(doorbell buzzes)

...say she is from the Chelsea art scene,

might your ex, Astrid, isn't it? Might she recognise her?

That's a good idea.

-(phone rings) -This came for you.

(Layla) Oh, thanks.

What the...

I know, I know.

No personal stuff delivered to work.

But the last one got nicked off my doorstep, so...

(Max) Are you preparing for a zombie apocalypse?

Off hiking.

(tools clattering)

Are you camping?

Or staying in a hostel?

I have a tent.

Peaceful, hiking,

living off the land.

Well, hardly Bear Grylls.

I take tins and a Calor gas stove.

Have you called her yet?

Some sort of training, are you training for something?

Yeah, right now, I feel like I'm in interrogation training.

If you must know,

my other half snores and heading off to the wilds

with a tent is the only way I can guarantee a night's sleep.

-That's not the real reason. -Nope.

Your other half lives in Devon.

Well-remembered.

What's her number? I'll call her.

Yeah, all right.

I'll do it. I'll do it.

Shame you don't have subtitles.

-(thud) -(tools clatter)

(sighs)

(pensive music)

Oh, Max.

You're brilliant.

(door closes)

(Layla) Ashley, hey.

Beastie Boys?

-What do you want? -Love The Beastie Boys.

Uh, a favour. Tiny, tiny favour.

I have a surveillance video

I was wondering you read lips, right?

You want me to lip-read something?

Is that okay?

So this gives me superhuman powers of observation?

Oh, uh...

No, I...

Oh, shit!

Shit! Sorry!

(chuckles) All right, calm down.

Deep breaths.

(inhales deeply) I was joking.

(exhales sharply)

I thought you were serious.

I thought you were going to pass out.

Bloody chuffed you asked.

(Ashley) "No."

Looks like "no", something, something...

"My boyfriend's"...

A number, and address?

First bit's fifty...

Fifty...

Fifty two... App...

Ample?

Amber or Amble Road?

(mouthing)

Hamble Road?

Hmm, could be.

That's amazing. Thank you.

-Superhuman powers, mate. -(chuckles)

What's this about?

You've given us quite the run around.

-Me? -You.

(Max) This is from last night.

You were seen collecting a bag of money.

You were also talking to someone on the phone.

-Who was it? -I was home all night.

Oh, well, that clears that up.

Can anyone confirm that?

Boyfriend.

Does "boyfriend" have a name?

(sighs)

Great.

If you'd prefer,

we can get a warrant and search 52 Hamble Road,

but it's so much less paperwork if you cooperate.

And DI Arnold here, he hates paperwork.

I really do.

It's in my bedroom. On top of the wardrobe.

He didn't tell me what was in it. I didn't dare look.

-Who? -"Pick it up

and look after it for a few days," he said.

(in stern voice) Who?

My dad.

(doorbell buzzes)

Thank you for coming in.

(exhales sharply) I appreciate you calling me.

So is she okay? Can I see her?

After you explain why you asked her to collect

a bag of money for you.

What? Is that what she says?

Money you were embezzling from your employers.

Well, I'm so sorry about this.

-Let me speak to her. -(Layla) Roy.

-Please. -I've questioned Kitty.

She didn't even look inside the bag.

She didn't want to know.

But you know there's enough to charge her.

Okay...

Okay.

Yes, she didn't know anything about it.

She was doing her old man a favour.

(Layla) Are you in possession of the stolen paintings?

(scoffs) No.

Because you sent a text to Benoit Chaban claiming you are.

Am I under caution?

We're just talking.

I was gonna give the money back.

(stammers) I, I was testing Chaban.

You weren't testing him.

No, I really think that he's involved in all this.

You're carrying out your own investigation.

Separate to ours.

What am I gonna say?

Once a copper...

You have any evidence you care to share?

(scoffs lightly)

Were you in any way involved

in the death of Christopher Milton-Elwes?

Oh, come on, Walshy...

DS Walsh.

What are you doing?

No.

Do you know who was responsible for that?

No, of course not.

Listen.

All this business with the money.

It was a big error of judgment.

I messed up, I admit that.

That's all this is.

(doorbell buzzes)

Okay, I think I'm leaving.

Sit down, please.

You said we were talking.

Mr Colin, as defined by Section 21 of the Theft Act 1968,

I hereby place you under arrest for blackmail.

I'm trying to explain everything...

-You do not have to say anything... -There's no need for this!

...but it may harm your defence if you do not mention,

when questioned, something which you later rely on in court.

-(shouts) Come on! -Anything you do say

may be given in evidence.

Layla...

We're mates.

Do you understand these rights?

One of the first things you ever taught me in this job was

the importance of patience.

Whatever's in front of you, that's only part of the story.

Sometimes it takes a long while for the rest to fall into place.

(sighs)

Look at you.

Look at me.

"Cookie Jar Colin".

Hm. I wish I knew who'd come up with that.

Because that stuck.

Do you know what the final straw was?

And why I resigned?

You.

I had the whole nick in my corner.

And all it took was one person...

to ask the right questions.

One person who saw what nobody else could see.

Or maybe what everybody else could see, but chose not to.

Anyway...

I didn't teach you that.

Tim,

would you take Mr Colin down to the custody desk, please?

(doorbell buzzes)

(dramatic music)

(dramatic music fades)

(suspenseful music)

Oh, bloody hell.

(indistinct PA announcement)

(Layla) Why are we at St Pancras?

Five minutes before Benoit Chaban

claims to have arrived at the gallery,

Astrid took a photo on the same road.

So, I scoured the passing cars,

hoping for a glimpse of the Chaban Rolls.

I'd catch Benoit and Roy Colin out.

(Layla) Okay, so are we meeting someone here or...

But I didn't see the Chaban Rolls.

-However? -However,

what I did see...

was this car passing in the background.

Okay, wow. Good spot.

According to his bank statement,

he's been renting a locker here

from the day before Chris's murder.

Ah, that's why.

At least you're not here to stick me on a train back to Exeter.

-Wrong station. -Well, I know that.

I was just checking if you knew that.

Wow.

(Max) This is Louisa by Konrad Mueller.

This morning, as part of our enquires,

we gained access to a locker registered in your name

at the Eurostar terminal in St Pancras.

It was inside.

Here's a picture that was taken the night Chris died,

three minutes after the gallery's alarm had been tripped.

That's your car passing.

You lied to us.

You told us you were home at that time.

Chris knew he was dying.

We both did.

He was so scared.

So...

Stealing Louisa was what?

Chris's dying wish?

To take it out of the hands of collectors.

Return it to his family in Germany.

Konrad Mueller was his great grandfather.

(exclaims)

(Layla scoffs, laughs)

Uh, okay.

(sucks teeth)

Okay, run us through the plan.

Chris would stage a robbery.

My part was simple.

Meet him at the back of the gallery,

take the painting.

Drive it to St Pancras in case the police searched this place.

The next morning, we'd pick it up on our way to Potsdam,

to Chris's family.

So what did he do with the other paintings?

He was gonna hide them. But I don't know where.

Once the dust had settled,

he'd make an anonymous call,

make sure they were returned safely.

We only took this one.

How did you know about the locker?

-Did you find Chris's bag? -What bag?

(Greg) He had it with him,

with a duplicate locker key in it.

It was never returned with his things from the gallery.

I went back to look for it but I never found it.

You said...

Chris refurbished this place?

He oversaw the whole thing.

When this was a restaurant,

there was a serving counter,

where the store room is now.

And at the far end,

there was a door leading down to a kitchen.

There.

(suspenseful music)

(distant sirens)

(Max) Help me shift this.

Hang on...

Blue paint flecks.

Like the ones Ashley found on Chris's clothes.

(door clacks)

(door clatters loudly)

-(Max) Careful. -(Layla) Uh-huh.

(switch clicks)

Running water.

Someone could hide down here for a couple of days.

(Max chuckles)

The Fessels.

Im Blauen Zimmer.

(Layla) Oh, there's a bag here.

Locker key.

(Layla) That looks like blood on the collar, doesn't it?

Well,

there was only one person we know at the gallery

wearing a grey jacket like this.

(gym equipment clanking)

So what's all this about then?

In the basement of the Chaban Gallery,

we found a bag belonging to Chris Milton-Elwes,

containing a suit jacket which we believe...

belongs to you.

Right.

There was blood on it.

But I was here,

you know that...

Mr Hansard, could we see the security footage

from that night again, please?

Yeah, of course.

(Toby) It's not very interesting.

Just a couple of hours of me working out.

(smacks thigh)

Could you stand back, please?

(pensive music)

(Max) This video has a time stamp here.

Whereas on there, it's at the bottom of screen.

I guess that's just how it exports.

(tense music)

(Layla) Isn't that Chris Milton-Elwes?

(intense music)

(sirens blaring)

(music fades)

So you and Chris did know each other.

(sighs)

When Chris was 12,

he got into a bit of trouble with the police.

Shoplifting.

File says he was with a bunch of mates, but they scarpered.

Were you one of them?

Did you plan this together?

I didn't know what Chris was up to.

He told me he was going out the back,

to make it look like the door had been jimmied.

I didn't know he was taking a painting!

When he came back, I was...

cutting the canvasses from the frames.

Which made sense.

We had to act fast. The alarm was going off.

Plus, they're just paintings.

Not to Chris, though.

No.

He went mad.

What did he do?

We had a fight.

I pushed him.

I had the box cutter in my hand...

I cut his cheek, which made things worse.

I told him he had to calm down, so we could work things out.

What does it matter?

If I've cut the paintings,

we'll take them anyway, we'll sell them on.

But he laughed at me.

Laughed at the thought

of someone like me mixing in his world.

That's how he put it.

"Someone like you".

Someone like you.

The way he looked at me.

That look in his eyes, I see that a lot around here.

Like I'm nothing.

Like I'm beneath them...

Me and him,

we're, we're from the same place.

We went to the same school, our mums were friends,

we knocked around with the same mates.

But...

"Someone like you".

Yeah.

Someone like me.

So what did you do then, Toby?

I squeezed that look right off his face.

Read him his rights.

(door closes)

(exclaims)

Cassie...

Rebekah.

I assume you haven't replaced me.

(chuckles)

No.

Good.

How are you holding up?

(stammers)

Cassie, I'm... I'm sorry.

Please, can we... we start again?

(sighs)

(phone vibrates)

Astrid.

To what do I owe the pleasure?

(Astrid) I heard you caught the man responsible for Chris's death.

We did.

(Astrid) Good.

That's good.

Is that why you were calling?

I suppose.

And I was thinking of going, uh, to Richmond.

What's in Richmond?

The Zintilis family who ran The Olive Branch.

They've opened a new place.

Oh.

Well, that's good to know.

I thought I could pay them a visit.

Well...

Enjoy.

You, you know,

I haven't eaten yet.

Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean...

No.

Yeah, of course.

(Astrid) I read...

I read the news and...

wanted to say something.

Hm, um, well done.

Well...

Uh, say hello to Mrs Zintilis.

Okay.

I mean, if you wanted, I could pick you up in 10 minutes.

Why not?

Can you make it 20?

You're impossible.

Fine. 20.

(gentle music)

(sighs)

(closing theme music)