All language subtitles for The-Brokenwood-Mysteries-s03e02---Scarlett-(06-Nov-2016)-PDTV

My name is Brenda.
I worked with

Declan at
the Wadsworth Homestead,

and, um, he was
a really amazing gardener.

And the Wadsworths,
who are in France

for the winter,
sent this message,

'To our dear departed
Declan, you knew how

to coax a prickly stick
into a perfect rose.

'You cared for our gardens
as if they were your own.

You were and will remain
a poet and a gentleman.'

Thank you, Brenda.

In true O'Grady style,

he's insisted on having
the last word.

You know, when the cancer
found me out, I said to

myself, 'Let's not make this
a gloomy affair.'

And I didn't know
how better to do that

than to leave you
with a final poem,

The Sweet Smell of Death.

Lower the mainsail, lower the flags.
Lo and behold,

I've run aground.
I'm holed, and I'm sinking.

Pour me a Guinness.
Don't stop me drinking.

Pour me a shot,
pour me another.

Remember me. Remember me well.

Tight to the wind, out on high,

riding the horizon,
living it up

between Mrs Smith's thighs.

And please remember that
Declan's final book,

Having a Pint on
the Wild Blue Yonder,

is for sale in the foyer.

Proceeds to the Cancer
Recovery Foundation.

Let the Lord be your judge
and jury now, Declan O'Grady.

Coward!

Oh God! God!

That doesn't look good.

Do you want to tell me
how you got that?

Stab wound. I said that. Not
her, in case you were wondering.

You're not
a ventriloquist, then?

No. But a stab wound,
that'd be my guess.

Guessing gets you nowhere,

Detective Sims.
That's why I'm here.

Usually, I take the body
to the morgue, and

from there the undertaker
takes them for burial.

Today it's all
very back to front.

I'm sure she feels the same way.

I came to pay my
respects to one of our

great poets and ended up
in a crime scene.

A right busman's holiday.

Crime or negligence?

When I die, can you remind me

not to trust my
body to that bloke?

Gotta get back to HQ
for a budget meeting.

I'll, um, alert
the coroner for you.

Keep up the good work, Spleen.

It's Breen.
Mm-hm.

Please step away from the car.

When it comes to caring for
the dead, reputation is everything.

Well, I'm just
after the facts so

that we can ascertain
what's gone on.

The fact is
I delivered the deceased

to the church, and
he turned into a woman.

So you're positive
that Declan O'Grady's

body was in the coffin when
you sealed it up?

Of course.

Excuse me.

Bugle Funerals, where life and
death shake hands. This is Warren.

Detective.
I'm at a loss for words.

There may well be
a simple explanation. SIGHS

But tell me, was
the casket always closed

from the time it arrived
here at the church?

Yes. It was
a closed casket ceremony.

There's nothing unusual in that.

Except for an Irishman.
Well, perhaps,

but funerals are
a personal affair.

So you never saw the deceased?
No, I didn't.

Tina.

On behalf of
St Judas, my apologies

for this harrowing experience.

Don't take responsibility
for another's sins, Reverend.

Oh, I'm sorry.
Detective Shepherd,

do you know Tina Morehu?
Hello.

I'm Jared's auntie.
He speaks highly of you.

Oh, well, he's too kind.

He spoke highly of Declan too,

but we won't hold
that against him.

The Devil visited today.

There is,
if you'll excuse the pun,

a certain kind of
poetic justice to Declan being

turned into a woman,
and a young woman at that.

God bless, Reverend.

An exemplary
Christian, devoted to

the scripture. I sometimes
feel she puts me to shame.

So you don't
know who she is?

At this stage, no.
Maybe her name is Scarlett.

Any idea what she was stabbed with?
It will take some time

to figure out what implement
caused that wound.

But I have special techniques.

I'll know more when
I open her up.

Did you do the autopsy
on Declan O'Grady?

Sadly, no.
Do you know who did?

He died of natural causes.
I understand it wasn't necessary.

Unlike her, who died of
unnatural causes and did need one.

We have a Jane Doe.

According to Gina, dead
for approximately three days,

Which puts us at last Saturday.

No ID, nothing distinguishing,
other than being Asian,

25 to 30 years
of age and a tattoo of

the word Scarlett.
Which could be her name.

Or the name of a lover.

Or her favourite colour.

There are no reports
of a missing person

matching her description
on any police records.

Carry on with your enquiries.
We need to know who she is.

She's the only thing that
ties us to Declan's casket.

Which brings
us to the other big question -

where is the body
of Declan O'Grady?

Probably a question
best asked...

of this man.

Mr Bugle?

Mr Bugle?

You cannot sneak up
on people like that.

We did ring the bell.

Oh, I didn't hear it.
Been playing long?

Since I was 12.
It's a good way to

destress and adds value
to the services.

One-stop shop -
embalming, all arrangements,

even offer musical
accompaniments.

Mr Bugle,
we need to understand the exact

process undertaken
with Mr O'Grady

and his movements before you
took him to church this morning.

Well, I've told you what I know.

When you say
one-stop shop, you do all

the embalming yourself, right?
Yes.

So you embalmed Declan O'Grady?

Yes. I don't have an assistant.

After you'd
embalmed Mr O'Grady,

what happened then?
He went in the chiller.

Until?

Today. I brought him out
and took him to St Judas.

I have a worksheet here.

It's, um, somewhere.

Sorry. Ah!

Here. Declan Patrick O'Grady.

It's all in order.

Except it says
he wasn't to be embalmed.

What?

Oh, right.
Well, then I didn't, obviously.

When was the last funeral
you conducted

prior to today's?
Uh, the day before today.

Yesterday?
Yes, that's- that's correct.

And is it possible it was in

a casket that was
similar to Declan's?

Yeah, as a matter of fact
it was - very similar.

It's Autumn Cradle. It's a lovely
piece. Very popular.

And can we assume
it was for this woman?

No. No, I've never
seen her before.

Until today.

So who did you bury yesterday?

Andrea Broadly.

A woman?
No, Arthur. Arthur Broadly.

You seem unsure.

Is it possible you buried
the wrong person?

I think that's highly unlikely.

Mr Bugle, we'll be seeking
a court order to exhume the body...

No, no!
..from Mr Broadly's grave.

If word gets out,
this will ruin me.

It can be a discreet process.

Is it really necessary?

Whatever way we look at it,
there is a body missing,

and we need to make sure
we're looking for the right one.

Is it Declan or
this Arthur Broadly?

We appreciate
your help, Mrs Marlowe.

Oh, not at all.
See, poor old Arthur had

no living next of kin,
and I knew him well.

There was bridge, bingo and tai chi.

Oh yes, that's Arthur.
Such a big nose.

Oh, and that ridiculous toupee.

Who would want to be buried with
a thing like that?

Father bless this soul for

the disruption caused today,
and let us remember-

I knew it. You see?
There was no professional

misconduct. I think
I deserve an apology.

Warren, the fact
remains that you have still

mislaid a body -
that of Declan O'Grady -

so we will need to talk
about this down at the station.

Right. Well, in the name
of good professional

practice, I must attend
to the casket first.

Well, at least
we have one dead body

in the right casket
and the right place.

Hmm. Thanks again, Mrs Marlowe.

Oh, Jean, please.

An unpleasant task.
We're very grateful.

I'm happy to help.
I never forget a face.

Unlike Declan.
Meaning?

Well, I guess he was more

a man of words rather
than of faces.

For You is my favourite
one of yours.

CHUCKLES Mine too.
And you wrote it about...?

Oh, whoever the reader
believes it to be.

LAUGHS But, really,
who's it for?

For you, Mrs Marlowe.

Oh, Jean, please.

Thank you.

Can you sign it for Melody?

Do you remember me?

No, sorry, I don't.

Result of the cancer,
you see, chipping away at his memory.

Oh, such a tragedy
for a man of words.

Well, I must take
a wander and check up

on some old friends of mine.
Cheerio.

Safely stowed.

Thank you, Reverend.
Of course.

Our Father, which

art in heaven,
hallowed be thy name.

Give us this day our daily bread
and forgive us our sins.

Take a seat, thanks, Warren.

We'll be right back.

We've checked all backpackers',

motels, the visitors' centre,
pubs, cafes.

No one recalls seeing Jane Doe.

It's as if she came
from nowhere and has been

invisible until
the coffin burst open.

Keep on it. She came from somewhere.

I was called to the Wadsworth Estate

at around 11am on Sunday morning.

By?
A woman.

Called?
White. Barry White.

She was called Barry?
Oh, Brenda!

Sorry. Names -
they can be so tricky.

Brenda. Yeah,
she's the housekeeper there.

She was waiting outside.

Has a doctor been in attendance?

Yes, the doctor
was here, but I can't go

in there. His eyes
are still open.

Well, allow me.

Miss White?
Safe and sound.

Um, he left instructions.

But I knew that already.
Because?

Mr O'Grady had visited my parlour.

Something simple,
austere, earthy.

Yet comfortable?
Does that really matter?

So you would say he was at peace
with his impending death?

No, I wouldn't.

Apologies. SIGHS
I'm sure you're world weary

about death, but I'm still
coming to terms with it.

It's like a place where
life and death shake hands.

I like that.

Hence the new logo,
but that'll have to

change now.
Everyone saw it at the church.

I'll have to rebrand. Again.

Mr Bugle, I'm not
sure you appreciate there is

a body under your care
that is unaccounted for.

But nobody died.
Pardon?

Well, I mean they were
dead already, so it's not

a complete catastrophe.
What were the instructions?

Sorry?

You said that
Declan left instructions.

Oh, yes. Uh, natural burial,
closed casket, quick interment.

Super.

And how long did he
lie in the parlour?

Well, after I straightened
the body, I labelled the coffin

and put him in the chiller.

At which point
the coffin was sealed?

Absolutely. When a client
is to be buried

au naturale - that's without
preservation -

it is imperative
that the casket is

airtight to slow down
the decomposition process.

Otherwise things
can get a bit... whiffy.

Then yesterday,
Tuesday morning, I placed him

in the hearse and
took him to the church.

That was the last direct
contact I had with the coffin.

Thank you, Warren.

Until after the service when...

Mm. Thank you,
Mr Bugle, for your time.

Your death is my business.
Excuse me?

That's catchy.

We may have more questions later.

I've sent out copies
to all registered

tattooists hoping someone
remembers doing it.

Well, assuming it was done in NZ.
Yeah. I recognise the font

as Lucida Italic,
which should narrow it down.

Certain tattooists
specialise in certain fonts.

You have
an encyclopaedic knowledge

of tattoo fonts?
It's a common one.

And you know this
because underneath that

suit you are fully inked?

Roxy has one.

Oh really? Where?
Actually, don't answer that.

Someone needed to dispose of

Jane Doe and switched
Declan's body...

out to where?

And why Declan?

Because they knew
he was entrusted to the

most hapless funeral
director on the planet?

Yeah, but the reason
must also lie with

why Jane Doe needed
to be disposed of.

Where are we at with
the search for Declan's body?

OC Search have a team,
and enquiries are underway.

I can't get an answer
from Wadsworths'.

I'll take a drive
over on my way home.

He's missing, and
she appears out of nowhere.

But they're connected.

All ideas welcome.

Simon.
Lost poets, exhumations -

it's all getting quite
gothic up there.

Thanks for calling me back.
Developments?

A missing body
and an unidentified

Jane Doe linked by
circumstance only.

Those Irish poets, eh?
Even when they're dead,

they like to be the
centre of attention.

Could you chase up the coroner
again for cause of death?

Well, aside from too much
Guinness and a brain tumour?

Sure. I'll put a call through
in the morning.

Gotta get to hot yoga.

Hot yoga? God.

Hey!

Excuse me!

Merlot?
Uh, sure, yeah.

Freaky day, eh?

You're referring to the funeral?

Yeah, well, Declan was
a good dude. I feel bad

for him being disrespected
when he's dead.

So much for rest in peace.

You, uh, knew him well?

I only got to know him properly
recently when I got shoulder-tapped

to take over his
gardening role in Wadsworth.

He knew he was
on the way out with his cancer

and wanted to
pass on his wisdom.

Why you?
Cos I'm good.

Of course.

Nah, my Auntie Tina hooked me up.

She knew Declan was
looking to hand over the reins

and wanted someone
with greenfingers.

I worked there for
two weeks while he went

to Thailand for some
experimental operation.

Didn't work, apparently,
so he came home to die.

'For you are the stars,
the wind and rain.

'For me, shelter
from the storm of pain.

'For you, I am yours.
And we are one again.'

For You - you know it.
It's my favourite.

As was she.

I wrote it about an incredibly
special woman,

but she's moved on now,
as I will soon too.

He certainly has, but where
to exactly is a little unclear.

You're sure it
was Lucas Greene?

Yet when I rang the doorbell,
no one answered.

And he came from inside the house?

I didn't see, but he must have,
as did someone else driving a Jaguar.

Number plate?

It was too dark.
But, you know, a reverend plus

a bicycle at night-time
has to equal dodgy.

Well, curious at least.

Shepherd.
Seen last night's paper?

'Boo.
Who is Declan's mystery woman?'

That has to border
on unethical.

At least it creates
awareness in the community.

It might
help identify Jane Doe.

No, it's insensitive.

That was Gina. We need to take
a detour on the way to St Judas.

Cushla. Speak of the devil.

Any developments
you wanna share?

You don't deserve a lead after this.
Excuse me?

Parading an unknown dead woman on
the front page is offensive.

It's news.

And what if her family
don't know she's dead yet?

That'd be a hell of a way
to find out, wouldn't it?

They'd find out eventually.

Yeah, through proper channels.

So pull your head in and work
with us, not against us.

I have been working hard, Mike,
to isolate the murder weapon.

Given the shape,
depth and circumference of

the wound, I have narrowed
it down to these.

All possibilities.

They're all long, narrow and tapered.

Yes. They all match
the wound and the piercing

of the heart.
What about a knife?

No, not a knife. Too thin.

To make a wound of that dimension?

Correct.

Apologies.
Please be careful.

You have a shoulder of pork
on your table.

It's not for eating.

Glad to hear it.
It's the closest thing

to the density of human flesh.

You stab this?

It's work, not just fun and games.

I'll take your word for it.

You want to try it?
It's good for anger.

I'm not angry.
Everyone is angry deep down.

It's good to let it out.

Right. Excellent. Thanks, Gina.

Detectives.
Rev Greene.

A couple of questions.

Of course.
Did I see you leaving

the Wadsworths' last
night around 8pm?

Ah, yes. Yes, that
would have been right.

Do you go there often?

I was ministering
to Brenda White.

Oh, so she was there?

Yeah, she's been fragile
since Declan's death.

She's been asking
the big questions -

the meaning of life,
life after death, etc.

I rang the bell,
but no one answered.

Yes, well, it's a very big house.

One can so easily get lost in it.
Uh, she drives a Jaguar?

Oh, you're asking the wrong person.
I've never been a car person.

Two wheels good,
four wheels bad.

Reverend, were you ever
alone with Declan's coffin

once it arrived here on
the morning of the funeral?

No. No, I think not.
It was only a matter of an hour

before the service that
Mr Bugle delivered Declan,

and I had my helpers with me.
They being?

Mrs Marlowe, our organist,

and Janelle, who
does the flowers.

Declan, you poor man.

He truly was a great poet.
For You is my favourite.

It is a particularly
passionate poem.

They say it's about
Denise Snodgrass.

Oh, really? I thought
it was about someone else.

As I remember,
it wasn't long after that

that the first of
the mourners arrived.

Any idea who that
might've been?

Tina Morehu.
Uh, no, who the poem was about?

Oh, to be honest, no.

Please don't get cold.

It's no secret Declan was
a lover of more than just life.

It could have been any
number of acquaintances.

I see.

The, um- the woman in the coffin.
I didn't actually see her,

but I've heard
said she was Asian.

That's all we know
at this point.

Excuse me.

Simon.
I spoke with the coroner, Jim Manson.

He wasn't notified of Declan's death,
as it was natural causes.

Do we know what exactly?
The cause of death

certificate was forwarded
to Internal Affairs.

By?
Uh, the undertaker, Warren Bugle.

It cites heart attack,
a result of invasive brain cancer.

And who signed off on that?
A Dr Plummer.

Dr Plummer. Got it.

Yeah, I've sent a copy
through to the station.

Thanks.

You said Tina Morehu was
in the church at that time?

Yes. She comes often.

Nothing unusual in that.
OK. That's all for now.

Only too happy to help.

Warren Bugle got
a cause of death certificate

from a Dr Plummer.
He forgot to mention that.

Well, he has been very busy
trying to think up a new slogan.

It's Lucas. Storming out
last night was no solution.

Roger, questions
are being asked.

It was her.

Mike?
Jared. I have a couple

of questions
for your Auntie Tina.

Do you have an address?
Well, just so it happens

I'm at Auntie's now.
15 Powers Lane.

OK, see you soon.

For you,
the devil departed.

For me, the red sea parted.

For you,
I rise to the occasion,

riding you with
self-flagellation.

Swallow me whole,
I'm wholly yours.

Way too many mixed metaphors.

I always liked poetry.

You know country music
doesn't count, right?

Oh, come on. Three chords and
the truth - that's gotta be poetry.

No.
Yes.

Yo.
Hey, Jared.

You said you were gardening
with Declan.

Yeah.
After he got back from Thailand?

Yeah.

After his brain surgery?
Oh, he was pretty banged up.

They'd only given him
a few weeks to live.

Obviously loved his work.

Well, I guess
he was determined to make

the most of the time
he had left.

Detective.
Oh, Mrs Morehu.

Miss.
Miss. Uh, this is Detective Sims.

Hello.

We're just clarifying
a few timelines around

Declan's coffin.
What has that got to do with me?

You were one of
the first mourners to arrive.

I like to get a good seat.

You, Mrs Marlowe, Janelle the
florist and Lucas Greene.

Yes.

And were you ever
alone at any point

with the coffin?
I don't believe so.

You said it was poetic justice

that Declan turned
into a young woman.

I'm curious - what did you
mean by that?

What are you insinuating?
Nothing, I just -

This had got nothing to do with me.
How dare you.

What?

'Cast them into
the furnace of fire.

'There shall be wailing
and gnashing of teeth.'

Steady on, Auntie.

Do you wanna know where
Declan's body is?

Well, yes.

It is burning in
the fires of eternal

damnation, Mr Shepherd.
Try looking there.

No one was left alone
with Declan's casket

once it was placed in the church.
Therefore, the swap must

have occurred at the funeral home.

Or en route between Wadsworths'
and the funeral home?

Well, Warren Bugle
said he checked him over

before putting
him in the chiller.

OK, Dr Plummer is based in

Riverstone and is yet
to return my calls,

but Brenda White
is at the homestead.

Let's get to Wadsworths'.

Uh, developments on Jane Doe?

We've checked out all
Asian-based restaurants. Nothing.

I thought maybe
she was a singer,

perhaps in town for
the karaoke festival,

but that's next
month and the organisers

don't recognise her from
their line-up.

Borders?
We've got airport police

covering that off
with Immigration.

Keep it up. She came from somewhere.
I know.

They don't make them
like this any more.

Probably because
people got sick

of cleaning all the bathrooms.

There you go, English Breakfast.

I hope that's OK.
Perfect. Thanks.

That's quite a complex pattern.

Yes, well, I've always
liked knitting,

and now I have
the perfect excuse.

Oh, are you expecting?

They're for my sister.
She's expecting twins.

And when the Wadsworths
are away, things are

quieter here, so I steal
a bit of time. Milk?

Oh, I can do it.
No, please allow me. It's what I do.

And if the Wadsworths
knew that we had special guests

and I didn't give
proper service, well...

Brenda, were you present
when Declan passed?

Yes.
First on the scene?

No, Janelle was.
Where were you?

Here in the kitchen cleaning,

and, uh, she was in
the garden with Declan.

Declan had been
struggling for weeks

and ever since returning
from Thailand,

we'd said that he needed
to slow down, you know,

because we had Jared Morehu
on board, but...

Help! Someone, please!

It's almost as if he was

determined to die
with his boots on.

For God's sake, where's the doctor!

Where is he?
Uh, by the camellias!

What time was this?
Just after 10, I think.

And you called the ambulance?
I did, but...

He's collapsed. Uh, the Wadsworths'
homestead, yes, yes.

It's too late.
Brenda, he's gone.

Let the Reverend know
and then call Mr Bugle.

When I came back out,
Declan had been moved

to the cottage to wait
for the undertaker.

And Dr Plummer waited too?
No. He'd left.

Well, then what happened?

Well, I didn't know what to do.
I was in shock.

Don't go in there.
God, his eyes are still wide open.

But you didn't go in?

No, I couldn't go in there.

And then Mr Bugle arrived
to take Declan away.

Has the doctor been in attendance?

Yes, the doctor
was here, but I can't go

in there.
His eyes are still open.

Oh, allow me.

Did you go with Declan
to the funeral home?

No. I called the reverend and
then phoned the Wadsworths in France.

Well, thanks for
your time, Brenda,

and most excellent tea.
You're welcome.

What were you cleaning?

Oh, uh, wine glasses.

How many?
Uh, six, I believe.

Uh, had there been a party?

I clean, Mr Shepherd.
That's what I do.

As you can see, the Wadsworths
expect the highest standards.

Yet when you went
to call for an ambulance,

Dr Plummer came from
within the house.

Well, he stayed over.
So he doesn't live here?

No, no. He's a personal friend
of the Wadsworths,

and when he has to work
late in Brokenwood,

he stays here so he doesn't
have to drive all the way

back to Riverstone.
There's plenty of rooms.

And Janelle - what was she
doing here on a Sunday morning?

Well, she's a florist
and Declan let her pick

the more exotic blooms when
the Wadsworths were away.

So when the blooms are out,
she came running.

Well, we'll let you get back
to your knitting.

Kristin Sims.

Dr Plummer, thanks
for getting back to me.

Right, I see. I'll meet you then.

Thankyou.

He's teaching at
the university in the city.

Won't be able to meet me
until this afternoon.

What sort of a doctor teaches?

Either a very good one
or a bad one.

It's me again.
I'm just wondering where you are.

Oh, hello.

Courier?
What?

Well, you sound like
you're chasing a courier.

Oh, exactly.
I mean,

how hard is it
to pick up some flowers?

It's not like I'm asking
them to pick up some bizarre

rancid cheese. I'm sorry.
How can I help you?

Uh, we're still trying
to locate the body

of Declan O'Grady.
A ghastly business.

I mean, how macabre
to desecrate a man's

memory by stealing
his body and to do what?

There are some sick
people in this world.

Uh, Janelle,
you were with Declan when

he died?
I was. He died in my arms.

Oh, for God's sake, get the doctor!

There was nothing he could do.
The attack was massive,

apparently. He was dead
before he hit the ground.

Let the reverend know
and then call Mr Bugle.

And the ambulance came?
It did.

When Brenda returned
to the garden,

she said that Declan had been
moved into the cottage.

To give him some dignity
from the cold, hard ground.

The ambulance
drivers helped you with that?

Well, I couldn't have done it.

Despite Declan's illness,
he was a strong man,

full of life even in death.

And Dr Plummer was...?
Oh, he'd gone by that stage.

He had an appointment
in town, I believe.

Moutarde, sit.

Moutarde?
That's an interesting name.

It's French. Isn't he lovely?

Cheers.

Yes! A photo match of Jane Doe

coming through
international arrivals.

Immigration records have
her as Scarlett Ming.

Chinese heritage but hailing
from San Francisco,

where she runs a clothing
boutique called Missy Scarlett.

She flew in on the 6am Saturday

morning, the day before
Declan died.

On her immigration card,
she wrote

135 Dunvilles Lane.
Wadsworths'.

Interpol are tracking
down her next of kin.

They'll need to fly out
to formally identify her.

She came from somewhere.
Nice work.

The question is what
brings a San Francisco

clothes designer to Brokenwood?

Maybe Mrs Wadsworth had
a special fitting.

They're loaded enough, right?

Well, except
she's in France.

Brenda White is the Wadsworths'
housekeeper right?

Yes.
And the florist

is called Janelle Peacocke.

Yes.

Brenda White,
Janelle Peacocke,

a woman trading
as Missy Scarlett?

And what sort
of a doctor teaches?

A professor.
Professor Plum-mer.

Surely, this has to be
more than a coincidence, right?

All we need now is a colonel.
Moutarde.

It's French for mustard.
Are we suddenly in a board game?

Senior, there's a Reverend Greene
here to see you.

It started some years ago when
Brenda White, Janelle Peacocke,

Professor Plummer
and I realised we all

shared our rather unique
surnames with a timeless,

classic and most rewarding
board game.

And then with the Wadsworths having
a large manor

we could use
while they were away,

we thought wouldn't it be
jolly good fun to adapt it

into real life.
A role-playing club was formed.

Something of a whodunnit evening,
you see?

And, uh, how exactly
does it play out?

Ah, yes. Well, the
evening begins in the dining room.

Firstly, the six weapons
are made available.

We each take one and secrete it
in a random room of our choice.

When everyone
returns we each draw

three cards that
decide the weapon,

the room in which the murder
is to take place and the victim.

We draw a fourth card,
five of which are blank,

the sixth reads murderer -
the short straw, if you will.

The aim of the
evening is for the

designated murderer -
let's say it was me -

to move the required
weapon into the required room...

What are we drinking here?

...and negotiate
the victim there as well.

At which point the victim
assumes the position.

The villain slips out and
assumes an innocent demeanour

so as not to be sprung by
the other participants.

We all meet back
in the dining room

at midnight,
where the accusations begin.

Dr Plummer in the
billiard room with the rope.

No.
Brenda White in the kitchen

with the cleaver.
No!

If you're the villain
and no one guesses...

...you get away with murder.

It really is
totally harmless, good

old-fashioned fun.
A jolly good evening.

And the last time you played
was last Saturday night? Yes.

That was the night
before Declan passed away.

And Declan took part?

He always played the colonel.

Even though
his name's not Mustard?

No one's is.
Except for Janelle's dog.

Quite. But the chance
of everyone having

the same name would be
a coincidence too great.

However, Declan always
called himself Colonel Moutarde.

I think it tickled Janelle's fancy.

He was well enough to play?

Oh, he knew it would be
his last hurrah.

And the other woman?

Denise Snodgrass.
A fine player, but she left town.

Why?

Let's just say her
feelings towards Colonel Moutarde

weren't exactly murderous,
more amorous.

Unrequited, sadly,
so she left to get on

with her life.
So you needed a Miss Scarlet.

Yes.
Enter Scarlett Ming.

Her name really was Scarlett,
you know?

How did you find her?
Oh, she found us.

The internet. Somehow she'd
heard about our private soirees.

That game is
my favourite of all time.

I'll book my tickets.

She really was a lovely,
bubbly sort.

And when she arrived, she was very
polite and courteous,

wearing a dress that
she'd made for the occasion.

We all took a shine to her.

We couldn't have hoped
for a better participant.

Do you need a cup of tea?
Uh, sorry.

No, no, no. I'm fine.

Before each soiree we'd take
a photo, a memento of the evening.

Oh, that one was taken
about six months ago,

Denise's last game.
And so the evening took shape.

We all went about our business.

Some were more active than others.

China girl,
what joy you bring with

your scarlet heart
and your name of Ming.

That's very good.

No, no one more, one more.

Um, there was a young girl
from Shanghai...

But the rules are clear.
You have to go

to each room at least once
during the evening,

and there is strategy.
We move the weapons

around to flush
out the villain.

Eventually,
we all met back in the dining room

on the stroke of midnight.

Initially, of course,
we all thought

Scarlett was the victim.
And she wasn't?

You see, no one
had the murderer card.

I don't have it.

She's not in the study.
Or the library.

Nor the kitchen.
We know the billiard room is clear.

Yes, and the ballroom,
but I found this.

I have it here.

Sorry. Too tired.
Jet lag.

Hope the game goes well.
XX, Scarlett.

We took it that
she'd drawn the murderer card

but then got cold feet
and slipped away.

It was a most
disappointing night.

And that was the last
time you saw Scarlett Ming?

It was. We assumed she'd got on
a plane back to San Francisco.

Until you
saw Declan's coffin?

Now, to be fair
I didn't see her then.

And the others, well,
they'd only met her

briefly and she was
wearing a scarlet dress.

In the coffin, apparently it was

hard to tell.
It only made sense later.

Mm. After you conferred with

the others at
Wadsworths' last night?

I wanted to be sure
we all thought the same thing.

It's her, I tell you. We can't
be sure. I can't tell from that.

Oh my God.
What will the Wadsworths say?

This could all go horribly wrong.

The others were adamant
that her demise had nothing

to do with us. Regardless,
I felt very conflicted.

Hence I'm here today.
And you believe

your fellow role-players
are telling the truth?

My goodness, yes.

No, please, they're
all good Christian souls.

And it would have
been most unfair to

drag Scarlett into
something distasteful

if she were simply back
in San Francisco.

Oh my God.
He converted you?

Something
even more weird.

Something that was going
on up at Wadsworths'.

People playing murder.

What, like role-playing?

Uh, the Reverend Greene
with the pistol

in the conservatory -
that sort of thing.

Don't they have anything better
to do on their Saturday night?

Well, what were you doing
on Saturday night?

Well, it was a quiet one.

A bottle of Sav
and I'm bingeing my way

through the box set of Downton Abbey.

Well, maybe they were
having more fun at Wadsworths'.

Hey, at least I wasn't
murdering anyone.

Well, neither were they if
Lucas Greene is to be believed.

But that was the last place
she was seen alive, right?

Yep. So whoever murdered
her used Declan's death as

the perfect way to hide her body.
They got lucky.

Very lucky.

Until Warren Bugle dumped
her body on the tar-seal.

Anyway, I'm off to
Riverstone to meet with

Dr Plummer, or should
I say Professor Plum?

Watch he's not hiding
a candlestick in his study.

Uh, Senior, there's people
here to see you.

Jared. Tina.

Yeah, um, so, Auntie
here has some news.

I do not need to be airing
this issue with the police.

She reckons she knows who
the poem For You was about.

Uh, sorry about the decor.
My office would be cosier.

Nah, I wanna keep this low-key.
Here's good.

This should remain as a matter
between us and the Lord.

No. The cops have the right
to know anything that

might help them locate
the body of my father.

Sorry?

Declan is your father?

According to Auntie.
The first I heard was today.

Can I help it if Declan was

a man who shirked
from responsibility?

So you've never known
who your father was?

But I had
well-founded suspicions.

When I heard he was dying,
I confronted him.

Surely he owed
Jared the courtesy

of acknowledging him as his son?

Oh, Tina, you've got
to let it go.

What, are you denying it?

But what we had was what it was.
We were young.

Don't- Don't you change
the subject.

This is the subject.
You've never gotten over it.

Running off with my sister?
No, it was a little hard to take.

Miriana came on to me.

Just confess to Jared.

He's not my son. If he was,
I'd be proud to admit it.

Ow!

'His sins are more numerous
than the hairs upon his head.'

Get out of here!
Enough of your crazy talk.

The truth will come out soon,

Declan, and you -
you will rot in hell.

I'm not going to hell.

So you and Declan were...?

Not something I'm proud of.
He was new in town.

I was 19. But in the end
he favoured my younger sister.

And nine months later,
Miriana gave birth to a son.

Maths is pretty obvious,
don't you think?

Well, surely
Miriana can verify?

I never knew my mum.
She died in childbirth.

Oh hell. Sorry.

The truth will come out.
I took samples

of them both and
sent away for a DNA test.

Ow! Is that what you were doing?

Results are due any day now,

and then Jared will
know the truth.

So the poem For You, you think
it could've been about Miriana?

I wrote it about an incredibly

special woman,
but she's moved on now.

Well, it certainly wasn't
about Denise Snodgrass or

any of the other women,
though they all think it is.

Detective Sims?
Please come through.

The cancer apparently
affected the hippocampus,

but the human brain
is remarkable.

It can sustain
significant parts being

removed without losing
fundamental functions.

Hence the popularity
of the lobotomy for a while,

until they realised it was
robbing people of their humanity.

Well, is a physical
existence worthwhile

without an ability to
experience emotion?

Exactly.

In Thailand they were
apparently able to remove

a large part of the cancer,
but apparently not enough.

Apparently?
Excuse me?

Well, you keep using that word.

Surely, as his doctor you'd
know exactly what went on?

Uh, the cancer wasn't my domain.

I don't understand.

I wasn't Declan's doctor.

What?

Uh, there seems to have been
some misunderstanding.

I counselled Declan as
he faced the notion of death.

Uh, I'm not a GP.
I'm a doctor of psychiatry.

But you signed the cause
of death certificate.

How could I have?
The last time I saw Declan,

he was alive and well
and tending the garden.

The poet.
Yes, I know who Declan O'Grady was.

And he was a patient here?

Well, not that I recall.
And even if he was,

there is the matter of
patient confidentiality.

All I need to know
is when and for how long

he was in the District
Health Board records.

And the next time
I see you down at the

Frog and Cheetah, your first
margarita's on me.

And what will Roxy think of that?

She'll be with me and probably
already on to her third.

It can't
matter too much since he's dead.

Appreciate it.
Yeah, yeah.

Dr Plummer,
thanks for coming in.

DSS Shepherd.
Dr Roger Plummer.

You're also
a professor, I hear.

That is correct.

Dr Plummer, as I mentioned,
we were under the impression

that you signed Declan's
cause of death certificate.

And as I said, I did no such thing.

Well, this was forwarded to

Births, Deaths and Marriages.
Is that your signature?

Well, yes.

Which would suggest
that you filled it out.

I certainly did not.
But you were there at Wadsworths'

on the Sunday
morning when he died?

Well, I may have been,
but, as I said,

the last time I saw
Declan he was alive

tending the flowers
with Janelle Peacocke.

Where is he?
Uh, out by the camellias.

I'm off. Take care, Declan.
You too, Roger.

And with that, I left.

Then you're suggesting that

the signature on
the certificate is a forgery.

It must be.

Brenda White was at the sink.

What was she doing?
The dishes.

Glasses?
Um, cutlery, I think.

It's Breen.

Sam.
Excuse us.

Declan O'Grady never
set foot in the hospital,

nor does he appear anywhere in
the District Health Board records.

For a cancer patient,
he somehow managed his

treatment completely independently.
And get this...

Right, thanks.

It seems Declan didn't have a GP.

I've already said
I'm not an oncologist,

and I don't like what
you're implying.

But you have said that you were
Declan's confidante and psychiatrist.

Therefore, surely you
would know that he wasn't

receiving treatment.
Well, it was none of my business.

So he just never mentioned it?

You're being very hostile.
No, I'm just-

...curious. We're curious as
to your relationship with Declan.

Oh. I treated him as a friend
and, to be honest, a fan.

He was a great poet,
and I was happy to help.

Poets aren't wealthy.

They certainly can't afford
psychiatry fees.

Would you say that Declan's

psychological issues
were significant?

Now, that is not something
that I'm at liberty to discuss.

On the evening
before Declan's death,

you were at Wadsworths'?
Mm, yeah.

Doing what exactly?

That is a private matter.
It's no longer a private matter

when a murder investigation
is involved.

We know about the role-playing.

Reverend Greene was
very forthcoming.

I see. What did
he say exactly?

Why don't you tell
us what you can remember?

Well, I can barely remember and

I wasn't really
in the mood, but...

the sweet girl had made
such an effort to be there

and I knew it was most likely

Declan's last time,
so I played my part.

I spent most of
the evening in the study,

catching up
on patient notes.

I moved a weapon
or two to see if

I could, um, twig to who
the perpetrator was.

I moved the pistol from the study
to the library at one point

when I had suspicions
Lucas may have been

the perpetrator, but
it was merely a red herring.

And I wanted
some light reading,

so I returned to the study.
Why was that?

That's none of your business.
You never know.

I feel I've said enough.
Anything else

I say will be in consultation
with my lawyer.

Brilliant, thanks.

Declan O'Grady
never went to Thailand.

According to Immigration,
he never

left the country,
because he has no passport.

Which means he never
had an operation.

Better than that.
The ambulance that was

called to Wadsworths'
was intercepted at the gate

and told that a doctor
had already been and gone.

What? So they never
actually saw the body?

ALL: Declan's not dead.

Was the ambulance met
by Janelle or Brenda?

Neither.
Thank you, but the undertaker

has been called.

Lucas Greene?
OK, so he was there too?

Why did he omit that?
Must've been in on it.

Or he has something to hide.

OK, so Declan fakes
his own death.

Why? What motivates
someone to do that?

Well, we have a psychiatrist
in the next room.

Perhaps he could shed some light.

Well, unless he was part of it.
I mean, Declan had help.

How else do you get out
of a sealed coffin?

Warren Bugle?
Possible.

But wherever he is now, he may be
depending on that help still.

The last one, the farewell poem,
read the last lines.

'Tight to the wind, out on high,

'riding the horizon,
living it up

between Mrs Smith's thighs.'
Who's Mrs Smith?

A lucky lady.
Or not, depending on

your view of Declan's
literary genius.

We find Mrs Smith,
we find Declan.

And since you did so well
finding Scarlett Ming...

You do realise
there are a lot more Mrs Smiths

in the world
than Scarlett Mings?

Have a little faith.

Meanwhile, we have zero facts
surrounding Scarlett's death

other than she was last seen
inside Wadsworth Manor.

Everyone believes she ran off
after leaving the message.

Well, given that she was
last seen playing out

a fantasy and then ended up
in a dead gardener's coffin,

it seems unlikely.

Meaning someone else wrote the note?

And why did she write,
'Hope the game goes well,'

when she had the murderer's card,
knowing that the game

would fall apart without her?

And as cover-ups go,
any one of them could've done it.

Or all of them.

The shrink's lawyer's here.
Miranda Temple.

Ms Temple? Detective Sims.
Hello. I'd like to see my client.

Of course. I'll
show you through.

Uh, shall we commence in,
say, five minutes?

Please. Need
I remind you that the time alone

with my client will
be at my discretion?

I'll let you know when I'm ready.

What's to say he even
is a professor?

He might just be role-playing.

At least we know
that Temple's a lawyer,

and she's a good one.
Can you take this?

Sure. What's your next move?

I'm gonna take
these and apply

a fine-tooth comb with
a glass of Merlot.

And then tomorrow
I'm gonna start again

with Brenda White.
Good luck with Temple.

Wait. Where'd she go?

I'm ready. Are you?

So, after the role-playing had

finished around midnight,
you went to bed?

Yes.
And it was just you and

Brenda White on the premises?

Really? I don't understand-

Your point is, Detective?

Scarlett Ming disappeared
somewhere just prior to midnight.

She was next seen on Tuesday
morning in Declan's coffin,

but we know she died
late Saturday or thereabouts.

So I just need to make
sure that Dr Plummer didn't

see her in the manor after
the game had finished.

I did not.

Then you woke on Sunday
morning around what time?

I slept late -
perhaps 9 - showered

and left Wadsworths'
around 9.45am.

I'm off. Take care, Declan.
You too, Roger.

9.45?
That's what he said.

Because both Brenda White and

Janelle Peacocke recall
you leaving later,

after Declan collapsed,
which was just after 10am.

Well, they're lying.
Both of them?

Clearly, both of them, because
I had to make an appointment

in town at 10am,
and I'm a punctual person.

Detective, if my
client had any part in

this elaborate ruse
that you're suggesting,

then why would he not
have used another name?

Why risk his
practicing certificate

to help Declan O'Grady
play hide-and-seek?

We will need to corroborate
your appointment in town.

Consider it corroborated.

I'll need a witness.
That would be me.

Dr Plummer was meeting
with me in my chambers.

My PA, Cindy, was
there to take notes.

On a Sunday morning?
On a Sunday morning.

At 10am?
Sometimes it's the only time

when parties can get together.

Call Cindy to verify.
And since the certificate

cites 10.35am
as the time of death,

then it can't have
been Dr Plummer who

filled it out, as he was
with me in my chambers.

You look sceptical, Ms Sims.

What was the meeting about?
A private matter.

His wife has issued divorce
proceedings.

It's been a very stressful time.

Now, it really
is late, and I believe

enough of my client's privacy
has been invaded.

Roger, let's go.

There's something you
haven't been forthcoming about.

I'm sorry?

The reason Dr Plummer
stayed over on Saturday night.

Well, that's none of my business.

But you were part of it.

What?
The role-playing.

Oh, yes, that. Well, you
need to talk to the others.

I have. What I want now
is your version of events.

This is where we start
the game and finish.

At midnight?
Yes.

Where were you just before midnight?

Uh, I was in the kitchen
for a while - that's

where I saw Reverend Greene
getting more wine -

and then the study
with Dr Plummer.

And then I stopped for
a while in the ballroom,

um, did some knitting, but
no one came, so I just moved on.

What about Janelle?
Did you paths cross much?

I saw her several times.
Once in the library

and in the hall.
I think she had the rope.

There was something up her sleeve.

The weapons for
the game get placed

in different rooms
before the game starts?

Yes.

Which one did you place?

Uh, I placed the candlestick
into the conservatory.

Then depending on who
draws the murderer's card,

they need to
locate the weapon and

get it to the appropriate room?
Yes.

Which cards did you get?

Uh, I got the dining room,
the cleaver and Rev Greene.

I've had him before.
He can be pretty tricky.

But you didn't get the murderer card?
No. No, I didn't.

Was this room used?
No. It's mine.

You planning a trip?
Oh, no.

That's, um, for
my sister's birthday.

She's the one with
the travel bug.

Sorry, my room's a mess.

This one?
Uh, that's just the spare bedroom.

Where Dr Plummer stayed?
Mm-hm.

Can I see the ballroom?
Of course.

This is where the team photo

is taken before every match?
Yes.

At the end of
the evening when you

realised Scarlett Ming had...
disappeared,

you all searched the rooms?

Yes.
Which ones did you search?

Uh, the ballroom.
That's where I found her note.

And she was nowhere to be seen?

We just assumed
that she'd run off,

that the game wasn't her
cup of tea after all.

One more thing.
You said that when Declan died,

Janelle told you to
let the Reverend know.

Yes.
But you didn't need to phone him.

No. But I did call him.

Reverend! Reverend! Reverend...

So he was in Dr Plummer's room?

What is it?
Oh God, I've slept in.

You never mentioned
he'd stayed over.

Well, I didn't think
it was important.

Thanks.

A rose by any other name.

Oh, pretty much anything
but a rose.

Uh, camellias, Mike.
Ah. Oh well, a nice day for it.

An auspicious day no less.
How's that?

Well, this came in
the mail this morning

from the DNA place.
Not sure I wanna open it.

Jared, without giving too much away,

we're now of the belief
that Declan isn't dead,

just disappeared,
if that makes any difference.

I'm not sure if that helps.

Kristen.

The phone rang.
Yeah, I know and I answered it.

No.
When we spoke to Warren Bugle.

He described putting Declan in

the chiller,
and then the phone rang.

So if he did get
a call-out, that could have

provided opportunity
for the switch to happen.

Good. Follow it up.
All over it.

Mr Bugle?

Can I help you?
Oh.

Warren, hi. The place is unlocked.

Well, I got called out.

I have a new corpse to process.
She's in the car.

Warren, when you
put Declan O'Grady

in the chiller on Sunday,
your phone rang.

Did it?

Bugle Funerals, where life and
death shake hands. This is Warren.

Who was it?
It was a woman, uh,

wanting me to pick up
her dead husband,

and I wrote down the address,
but I noted it wrongly,

obviously, because it
didn't seem to exist.

So what did you do?

I drove round for an hour
trying to find that phantom corpse.

No doubt one of my competitors
beat me to it.

But now with my new GPS,
there will be no repeat.

You know, this has
12 separate functions for...

Finding dead people.

Not exactly, but...
What time was this?

Around noon Sunday.
It was shaping up

to be a busy day
after Mr O'Grady.

And it was a woman?
Yes.

But she didn't mention her name?
No.

Do you recall
a Dr Roger Plummer visiting?

Dr Plummer signed Declan's
cause of death certificate.

Oh, right. That rings a bell.
And you forwarded

that on to Births, Deaths
and Marriages?

It's all part of the service.

OK, so who gave it to you?

This was over a week ago.

Jerome Peacocke.

Not Janelle?
Janelle! That's it.

She came to do the flowers and

passed it on to save
the doctor a trip.

Thanks, Warren.

Oh, and, some, you know,
friendly advice -

you should get into the habit of

locking your place up
when you leave.

Detective Shepherd.

A quick question, Reverend?
Of course.

Last Sunday morning, did you

give a sermon at
the 8am service?

Uh, no. No, um, my associate
Delia did that service.

I took the 11.30am worship
and the 7.30pm session.

That makes sense
given that you were talking

to the ambulance
officers at Wadsworths'.

Would you care to come inside?

You have to understand, it's love,

and.... you don't want it
to be a secret.

But although
the church is supposedly

more open these days,
it's still...

And...
for Roger, you see,

well, it's even more
difficult for him.

Being married?
Indeed.

Who asked you to talk to
the ambulance?

It was Janelle.

Oh, Janelle, I'm so sorry.

The ambulance is coming,
but it's too late.

I can't face them, and Mr Bugle
is on his way. Could you go and...?

Of course. Of course I will.
I'll, um- I'll say

a prayer in worship.
Oh, thank you.

I shall so miss this place.

You'd think a man
of the cloth and

a psychiatrist could put
a pretty compelling case

to the Lord for some gay rights.

Warren Bugle
is a liability to the dead.

Why, what's he done now?

Mm, it's more
a case of what he didn't do.

I mean, he doesn't
lock his doors.

Whoever did the switch,
he made it easy for them.

And it was Janelle Peacocke
who passed on the cause of death.

Well, while
you've been hanging out

with cadavers, I've been
tracing Mrs Smiths.

There are 94 in the hinterland
of Brokenwood,

so busy day tomorrow.
Ah, putting your feet up, I see.

Simon!
Take it easy, Neeme.

Breen.

I was passing
through on my way to the ranges

for a pig hunt
with a few lads from HQ.

Thought you'd appreciate this.

Is that Declan?

Or as he was known then,
Tom Romanski.

He's no more bloody Irish
than Vladimir Putin.

30 years ago in Southland he was

charged with unlawful sex
with a minor.

He was released on bail
but disappeared. Completely vanished.

So he headed north
and reinvented himself.

And lived happily ever after.

Up until he decided to fake
his own death.

He must've got spooked.

Was the plaintiff a woman
by the name of Melody,

by any chance?

Mm. A Melody.
There - Melody Farmer.

Can you sign it for Melody?

Do you remember me?

No, sorry. I don't.

Coincidentally, around the same
time the brain cancer kicked in.

Which answers the big question -
why go to all that trouble?

To preserve his alter ego.
For the revered poet

Declan O'Grady to
die an innocent man.

That is a complicated
way to live your life.

Well, when you find him,
tell him to try pig hunting.

That keeps it real.
After he's done his stretch.

Neighbour.

Jared. Pour yourself a glass.

Sure.

You're up late.

So are you.

Burning the midnight to find Declan?

Yeah. But it's not helping.

You know, up until now
I had no mother

or father, just a great
bunch of whanau.

Now I've got this mystery envelope.

Don't you want to find out
one way or the other?

Well, if I open it and
it's positive and Declan

is my dad, then, yay,
I got a criminal for a father.

And if it's negative, then

nothing changes,
so what's the point?

Tight to the wind,
way out on high, riding

the horizon, living it up
between Mrs Smith's thighs.

I wonder if he had kids
to her too.

Did he ever mention a Mrs Smith?

Not that I recall.

I mean, I can't see
the resemblance, can you?

And I've never felt very Irish.

Might not be any
resemblance to see.

And he's not Irish.
Turns out he's Polish.

What?

Oh shit!

Uh, don't worry. Don't worry.
It's old. It's old.

It's a boat.
What?

Mrs Smith. It's a 40ft ketch
moored down at the inlet.

Maybe the 'thighs'
are a poetic sailing term

for the deck either side
of the companionway,

if you catch my drift.

Looks like it hasn't seen
any action in a while.

A perfect hiding place.

Well, jump in my dinghy and
we'll check it out, eh?

I don't do boats.

Lovely morning for it.

Oh, morning, Detective.
You come here often?

Yes, this is Moutarde's
favourite spot.

Okey-dokey, into the car.

Good boy. Good boy.

Janelle, I've been
meaning to ask -

you said that after
Declan died in the garden,

the ambulance paramedics helped
you move his body to his cottage.

Yes.

Yet the ambulance
was turned away at the gate,

so they wouldn't
have been able to assist.

Right. Well, I wouldn't know,

because I wasn't there.
Oh. You were...?

I fainted.
Fainted?

Mm. The last thing I remember
is saying to Brenda...

It's too late. Brenda, he's gone.

The shock coupled
with hyperventilation

from giving him CPR. I was
extremely overwhelmed.

Who do you think moved Declan?

Well, it must have
been Reverend Greene.

I believe Reverend Greene

was dealing with
the ambulance at the gate.

Yes.

After which he rode
straight to the church.

Well, it must've been Brenda, then.

Maybe.
Please excuse me. I have to go

and open the shop.

Jared.

Yeah, no sign of life.
Maybe the Mrs Smith

in the poem is actually
a hot lady after all.

Well, it was worth a try.
Hey, I need to see a man about a rug.

You want me to stake it out?

I can't ask you
to do that, Jared.

Is that official?
That's official.

Not a problem, sir.
We have special ways to deal

with this. Then again,
maybe I should upgrade.

How much is this one?

You have exquisite taste.
That is a premium rug.

Highest price but
also highest of quality.

You sell many?
Hardly ever, which makes it

all the more unique.
Special just for you.

When did you sell the last one?
Admittedly, it was last Sunday,

but before that
not for several years.

Today I can do a special
price just for you.

I should check
the measurements first.

Of course.

All the proceeds
from Declan's last book

go to the Cancer Recovery
Foundation, right?

I believe so.
It's actually a limited

liability company
registered in Vanuatu.

A tax haven. He's all class.

Why?

These were all taken
before Saturday night.

I took this yesterday.

The rug is different.

Why did it get changed?

To hide the damage.
Nice.

What about the who?

Well, it was someone who
knew about the empty coffin

that Declan would vacate,
the person who was in on it.

Janelle knew.
Circumstantial?

Not when you consider this.

Watch carefully.

Living it up between Mrs Smith's...

The camera is switched
off without Declan

leaning forward or leaving frame.
He had help.

And see that?

Peacocke's pendant.

OK. Let's go over everything
from start to finish.

I'll make the coffee.

Allow me.

That has to be it.

It's the only thing that makes sense.

I'm liking it.
Are you OK with this?

I'd say it's time
to round up our suspects

and have a little chat.
A soiree, even.

Thank you all for coming.

It's not as if we had
a choice, did we?

While we appreciate
that all of you had

the opportunity to kill
Scarlett Ming, only-

Excuse me, that is slanderous.
..only one

of you had the motive.
Which counts me out.

Roger, please.

Well, Dr Plummer,
let's start with you.

You only gave the evening
a cursory effort.

What, with news of your divorce,
you were distracted;

you weren't really in the mood.

You spent most of
your time in the study,

moving to the conservatory
and then to the library

to place the pistol and
to get a reference book.

So I find solace in Jung when

I'm stressed.
That's hardly a crime.

Reverend Greene, on
the other hand, well, you were

always keen to play.
You moved through all the rooms,

moving the weapons randomly
so as to unsettle the murderer

in the hopes that they might
give themselves away.

It usually works.
You visited the library

on two occasions,
once having followed Dr Plummer

and again following Declan,
but he was

distracted by Scarlett
entering the billiard room.

Very good. I'm sorry,
but would it be wrong

for me to say I'm actually
rather enjoying this?

Brenda White moved through
the rooms with deft ability.

After all, she knows the place
better than anyone.

She spent time in the ballroom,

where she sat
for a while knitting.

And it was here that she accidentally
left her sewing scissors.

Oh, I wondered what
happened to them.

The only time Scarlett was
ever seen entering the ballroom,

Brenda was already
in the billiard room

with Declan, as witnessed
by Reverend Greene,

so it can't have been Brenda.

I don't remember that.
I do.

Which leaves us with Janelle.

But aren't you missing someone?

No.
Declan. He was there.

Who's to say it wasn't him?

Because Declan was intent on
his own death, not someone else's.

You were the only
one not to mention

going into the ballroom
on that evening.

Because I didn't. Not exactly

in the spirit of
the game, Janelle.

Do shut up, Lucas!

You came across
Declan and Scarlett

during the evening.
He was flirting.

With your scarlet heart
and your name of Ming.

You'd seen it too many times.

What's wrong with your head?

Uh, terminal cancer.
Oh God, I'm so sorry.

No, no, no. Don't be. Don't be.

When I meet a woman
as beautiful as you,

it just reminds me
how important

it is to fight
the disease and live on.

Make way, Declan.

Don't listen to him.
He's a poet.

You can't believe
a word he says.

Later, you would snap.
After all, you had the right cards.

Then having lured Scarlett
into the ballroom...

Oh my God! So excited.

My first time and it's me.
With the rope? So cool.

This is ridiculous.
And based on what?

This photo was taken
before the event. The pattern

on the rug has three diamonds
running across.

The rug there now also has

three diamonds but
a black border.

Someone replaced the rug
to hide the bloodstains.

As the clock struck 12,
you all reconvened in here.

Clearly, the victim is Scarlett.
I accuse you,

Lucas, with the candlestick
in the conservatory.

Ah, but the candlestick is here.
Oh. So it is.

Really, Roger, where
is your head this evening?

Well, I'm picking...

After several
other false accusations,

it became clear that
Scarlett wasn't around.

Moutarde?
No.

She's not in the study.
Or the library.

Nor the kitchen.

The billiard room is clear.

Yes, and the ballroom,
but I found this.

Sorry, too tired.
Jetlag.

Hope the game goes well.
Scarlett.

Oh, she was clearly a dud.

We recruited a failure.
Lost her nerve.

Poor thing.
Oh dear.

Port, anyone?

I admit I said that,
but it doesn't mean anything!

But you were in love with Declan.

Yes, I was.
Everyone was in love with Declan,

but that doesn't
make me a murderer!

But the killer had
to know of Declan's plan.

Riding the horizon,

living it up between
Mrs Smith's thighs.

Declan, you are so clever.

Thank you, Janelle.

So when you killed
Scarlett in a fit

of jealous rage,
you knew you had a way out.

A way to dispose of the body -
in Declan's casket.

Please, that is wrong.
It's all wrong!

All?
He was a strong man,

full of life even in death.

Yes, all right,
I helped him stage his own death.

You treacherous woman!
How dare you jeopardise my career!

I was doing it to help
our friend Declan.

Janelle.
But I didn't kill Scarlett.

So where is Mr O'Grady now?

Well, if I knew that, don't you

think I'd damn well
be with him now!

Janelle Peacocke,
you're under arrest for

forging a death certificate
in Dr Plummer's name

and for the murder
of Scarlett Ming.

No, you are wrong!
You are so wrong!

Can we go?
Yes. Thank you.

You're all free to go.

Shame on you.

Jared.
Yeah, Mike.

Unofficially speaking,
the fox has broken cover.

Mrs Smith is heading
for open water.

Thanks. It seems that Declan has
set sail without you.

Bastard.
Headed for international waters?

I feel boats coming on.

Deep sea.
Big swells.

I'll process Ms Peacocke.

Well, they really aren't
salubrious, are they?

Functional at best.

Your lawyer shouldn't
be too far away.

I didn't kill Scarlett.

But you did aide and abet
Declan O'Grady.

I was a fool. It was a fantasy -

the thought of
leaving Brokenwood

and sailing away and
starting again.

But now it has unravelled
in ways I could not imagine.

And where do you think he's headed?

He was always waxing lyrical
about the South China Seas -

Surabaya, Borneo and
then up to Sri Lanka.

With a stop in Vanuatu on the way?

Yeah.

The things we do for love,
even if it is unrequited.

I'll check on your lawyer.

Breen, try north-nor'-west.

Uh-huh.

See anything?

That's it.

Jared.
I opened it.

And how do you feel about that?

Let's talk about
it tonight over a Merlot, eh?

Yeah, sounds good.
I'd like that.

We've recovered the yacht.

It seems Mrs Smith has turned
into Mary Celeste.

And Declan isn't on board?
No. Neither is there

any dinghy or life raft.
He's lashed the tiller.

This doesn't change
anything, does it?

Far from it.

We did it.

Like the chambers of a gun...

We are the bullets
ready to fly.

Not one of your greats, Declan.

Not like For You.
How the hell did you...

So where are we off to?
Baby clothes shopping?

Prams, high chairs?
So much to get.

Far from those
booties being for your sister,

they were for you,
weren't they, Brenda?

Yes, well, I've always
liked knitting,

and now I have
the perfect excuse.

Are you planning a trip?

I mean, why else would you
be taking pregnancy supplements,

and what sister
expecting twins would

really be planning
on globe-trotting?

But Janelle...
Janelle didn't do it, as you know.

But Detective Sims...
Was playing a role.

We needed everyone to
think we'd found the killer

so that the real killer
would lead us to Declan.

And, look, here we are.

Oh, tea? It must've
been cold out there.

What do you mean the real killer?
Sorry.

While you were busy being dead,
you've missed out on so much.

You see, being pregnant to you

made Brenda understandably
vulnerable.

Don't listen to him.
He's a poet.

You can't believe
a word he says.

Fearing that you might
back out of your plan

for the more exotic
Scarlett Ming,...

There was a young girl from Shanghai
whose beauty enchanted my eye.

No, I must stop.
I have this for you.

I don't know what to say.
Oh my God.

When you finally managed to

lure Scarlett into the ballroom,
I imagine it all came as

something of a reflex response.

He's so mysterious.
Oh, and that poem For You is

totally amazing. I feel like
it was written for me.

Oh my God!
So excited. My first time

and it's me. Oh, and with the rope?
So cool.

I couldn't find the rope.

I think Janelle has it.

Is this true?
I didn't mean to.

Oh.
Then while Janelle was doing

your dirty work staging
your death...

SOBS

She's upstairs. Go!

..then sending Warren
on a wild goose chase,...

Hello. My husband's died.

Marigold Lane.

I will be there forthwith.

..then rescuing
you from the chiller,...

..Brenda was busy
covering her tracks.

Janelle described
a clatter, not smashing glass -

the sound of tin
clanking on tin.

What would that have been?

European precision.
Not cheap.

You couldn't bring yourself
to throw them away.

Look, I knew nothing of this.
I'm sure you didn't.

I mean, why would
Brenda want you to know that?

I mean, it's one
thing to run off

into the sunset
with your pregnant lover,

but knowing she's a murderer,
well, you'd wanna sleep with

one eye open.
Declan, I love you. Please...

Then, again, did Brenda
know about you, Tom?

Tom?

Brenda White, you are under arrest
for the murder of Scarlett Ming.

Tom Romanski, you are under

arrest for faking your own death,
and we need to talk about that

historic matter of sex with a minor.
What?

You two have so much
to catch up on. Excuse me.

Take these.
Sir.

Despite what all the women
of Brokenwood think,

the poem For You was written
about your mother, right?

Oh, and if it's any relief,
Jared Morehu is

not your son. It was certainly
a relief to him.