Original subtitles

Is there any news?

Nothing yet.

But he's going to pull through.

Joe Lipsett.

He's behind this.

He's the one who has them all under his thumb.

Tell me you're going to put a stop to this.

You didn't see this boy down here on the night of the 12th?

I did surely. Why?

Hugh...

Can you hand me the big pliers? Hugh...

You've two choices.

You're looking down the barrel of a life sentence for murder.

Or...

... you give us Joe Lipsett.

And everything you know about him.

Okay.

But before we start,

can I speak to Conall?

Alone.

It's fine.

You too, ya clown.

You're going to make this all go away.

How do you figure that?

I know all your secrets.

Pyjamas...

Where is he?

Conall... let him go!

Outside... now!

Jesus Christ!

This is police brutality.

Are you alright?

I'm sorry--

Shut up and listen to me, for once. Just shut up.

I can't do this anymore. I won't do it anymore.

The secrets, the lies, I've had enough.

Put in for a transfer.

Put in for compassionate leave.

Career break. I don't care.

But you, me and this...

We're done.

Don't I get a say in this?

You've had your say.

Iarla is fighting for his life because you had your say.

That lad in there will probably get off

because you had your say.

Now, I'm going to go and clean up your mess.

And then I'm going home, back to my family.

And you can do whatever the fuck you like.

I didn't want to leave it on that note.

You've changed your mind?

God, no.

It's not me it's you, is that it?

It's definitely you. No doubt about that.

Nobody's ever broken up with me before.

I find that hard to believe.

What about Joe Lipsett?

It takes time to build a case.

Months, years even.

- You know that. - And in the meantime,

Joe Lipsett walks around without a care in the world?

For now.

I know. It's shit.

He did it. He ordered Máirtín's murder.

If Iarla is able to talk, maybe he'll talk.

Maybe then we can build a proper case.

So we're playing the long game?

Yes, it's a long game.

But we're still on the pitch.

Yeah... I suppose.

We'll keep digging.

And in the meantime,

maybe karma will catch up with him.

Are you saying what I think you're saying?

I'm not saying anything.

Look after yourself.

Are you fucking crazy?

We'll see.

We'll see, Joe.

Help... help me!

Start talking, Joe.

You're made a mistake. I have kids... I'm not a criminal.

Fine... fine. What do you want to hear?

- You killed Máirtín Ó Tuairisc? - No, I didn't.

- You ordered his killing? - All this for Máirtín Ó Tuairisc?

And Iarla Gillespie.

Iarla drove himself into that wall.

There are others, right?

Who?

You know who...

- You know who. Where is he? - Who are you talking about?

- Where is he? - Who?

My father.

- How would I know? - The CCTV.

The pyjamas.

Pyjamas? Are you alright in the head?

I know where Jeta is...

I know where Jeta is!

Where is she... where is she?

You forced me to do this.

That's it, son.

Kill him.

Where is she?

Who?

Jeta...

Is she still in the country?

Joe...

Yes...

Yes.

I hope you're right, Joe.

You've wasted your life, son.

Put on your boots.

Why?

Haven't you worked it out yet?

Worked what out?

That I am a lie.

There you are now.

Well, Barry.

How are you doing?

Been better.

They were saying you were very lucky.

I don't feel that lucky.

I cut myself after crashing the car.

I heard Joe Lipsett lost sight in one of his eyes.

An accident with some machinery in work, apparently.

I brought you a few bits.

Too soon?

Too soon.

Now you're talking.

And...

Nice one, Barry. You went all out.

And the piÁece de résistance...

It's over.

Your father is officially dead.

The hearing was last Thursday.

The judge was happy that there were no attempts

to access his money, or his phone.

Thanks, Barry.

Check this out.

That's me...

I was wondering when you'd come visit.

Want a drink?

Sure.

That's not a Picasso, is it?

We're doing well, but not that well.

'In the style of Picasso', was how they sold it to us.

He said something once,

that has always stayed with me.

That's some view you have.

Where's Joe?

In Turkey.

Trying to fix what you did.

His nose, his teeth.

You did a real number on him.

How did you do it?

Why did you do it?

Do what?

My father.

You know where the story starts,

with a father left for dead.

This was a man who had suffered

many trials and tribulations in his life.

This was a man who was knocked down many's a time

but who always found the will

to pick himself back up.

Everyone underestimated your father's strength.

You. The search party.

You all reckoned he couldn't have walked more than five miles.

Wrong.

He walked eleven miles.

Eleven long, barefoot miles,

across bogs, mountains and forests.

A pilgrimage.

I imagine Art had a lot of time

to reflect on how his life had turned out.

A lot of time to think of his sins.

I like to think that he asked God for forgiveness.

And God answered.

Art?

Are you lost?

What happened?

I thought you'd be smart enough to pick up on the hint

and go back home when I sent the pyjamas to you.

I was wrong.

What did you do with him?

His son is a cop. It's too risky. What do you want me to do?

Settle down, this isn't Dublin.

Here's what we're going to do.

Here you are.

Good luck.

Is he still alive?

Art was always good to us,

when we were starting out in business.

What you did was wrong.

"My name is Art Ó Súilleabháin."

"I want you to know,

that Annemarie Gillespie murdered my wife, Sabine Uí Shúilleabháin."

"My son, Sergeant Conall Ó Súilleabháin,

covered this up...

... and left me for dead."

You can imagine what else he says.

Annemarie Gillespie?

That must have been a tough one to take.

Does Joe know about this?

Joe knows what he needs to.

What about Aodh?

Me, you, Annemarie...

And your dad.

Only we know the truth.

And you let my uncle Ray take the blame,

God rest him.

By rights you should be thanking me.

You wanted rid of your father.

I made that happen.

What you're doing...

... it'll catch up on you some day.

You sure about that?

Every time that doorbell rings,

you'll wonder is it today?

And when it does happen, and it will, it won't only be you who suffers.

Your kids will have to live with the shame.

And you'll be haunted by guilt for the rest of your days.

Yeah, I've been getting on okay,

since I was last here.

Has anything come up since our last session?

Yeah, a few things came up alright.

Aye...

I've been...

I've been off work recently,

for medical reasons.

It's given me time to think.

Whenever I try to talk about my thoughts...

... it's like they're stuck at the back of my throat.

Like there's a wall at the back of my tongue stopping the words.

Does that make any sense?

Interesting.

It gets to me, you know...

That you can't speak?

Just...

The way I am.

The anger inside me.

Should we deny our anger?

I'm not denying it.

No... quite the opposite, actually.

It's just the way I am.

It's always there.

The anger.

The turmoil.

When I was a boy, I'd be shipped off to Kerry for the summer.

Mam and Dad would be busy during the season with the hotel,

so I was sent down to my nana's house in Dún Chaoin.

I was just happy out down there,

with Nana, her sisters and my cousins.

There was music in the house every night.

Singing, story-telling.

I remember a story...

... Nana told us one night, about her own grandmother.

Her name was Íde.

Íde was brought up speaking Irish.

She had no English.

But the church sent a new priest to the parish who had no Irish.

This woman, who had spent her life

struggling through famine and wars

now, at the end of her life,

couldn't confess her sins

because confession was only heard

in the language of the oppressor.

In English.

And...

... she thought she wouldn't get into Heaven.

Íde died...

... worrying that she'd end up in purgatory.

Are you in purgatory?

I saw a dead body recently.

A guy I grew up with.

We didn't really get on.

But we were mates when we were young.

I went to school with him.

He was just lying there, on a cold, metal table.

Dead.

So fucking sad.

This lad had so much potential.

He was funny, he was clever. He got all the girls in school.

He could have done anything he wanted.

But he didn't do anything.

He stayed in Carraignanaul and rotted.

And now he's dead.

Now he's dead...

He's dead.

It just got me thinking.

If I died tomorrow...

... I don't know if anybody would care.

And I'm not looking for sympathy, that's not it.

I'm just genuinely asking, if I died tomorrow...

... would anyone care?

Who's left?

My cousins in Kerry?

My friends...?

What friends?

I've spent so much time...

... trying to save other people, not the people in my own life.

I couldn't save my mother.

I can't save my father's soul.

And nobody is coming to save me.

Only I can save me.

Only I can save me.

Maybe I can do that much.

I can save myself.

We'll leave it there.

Yeah, we'll leave it there.