All language subtitles for Magpie3 Vertalen

I just don't think you
should start with a flashback.

Why not?

Well, first of all
it's disconcerting.

Time moves forward.

From 1944 to 1953.
That's what I've written.

Yes, but the bulk of your book
takes place in 1953,

and I think

that's where your readers
will feel most comfortable.

How do you know anything
about my readers?

Alan!

I'm the one who sold
200,000 books.

Yes, and I'm the one
who's helped you.

All I'm saying is,

we already know
that Atticus Pund

was in a Nazi prison camp
in 1944

because you told us so
in the first two books.

He understands evil
because he experienced it.

Yes, and I completely get that,

but showing him cold and hungry
and miserable...

It... It...
It doesn't add anything.

And all that horror, it's not
why people buy your books.

And why do people buy my books,
Susan?

Because they want to know
who did it!

Well, yes,
that's exactly my point.

Seven months of my time,
90,000 words,

just to find out
it was the butler?

Alan, there's nothing shameful
about it.

Your books are
brilliant entertainment.

And anything serious,
anything meaningful,

anything that actually relates
to the human condition,

all that is irrelevant?

Your book is about a waitress
who gets murdered

after receiving
a bunch of roses.

I don't see how a chapter
in Auschwitz helps!

Well, then maybe
you shouldn't be editing it!

He was our most successful
writer by a mile.

But he was the only one
I didn't get on with.

We are of course
devastated by his death.

But you have his new book.

Yes.
We're working on it now.

Well, as long as we have
the book and the backlist,

there's no issue
as far as our deal is concerned.

What's more pressing for us

is that we're yet to have
a decision from you, Susan.

- I understand.
- I'm not sure you do.

The press are already circling.

It's important we make
a confident statement

with no suggestion
of internal conflict.

There is no conflict.

What if I don't want to be CEO?

We'd be disappointed.

But I could stay on
in my role as senior editor.

We'd have to recruit
a Chief Executive from outside.

I'd imagine it's something you'd
have to discuss with him...

or her.

Right.

We'd like to make
an announcement imminently,

and we have every confidence
in you, Susan.

But we do need to have
a decision from you soon.

Mm.
Sure, sure.

"As long as we have the book
and the backlist."

Yes... I heard.

So, did you find anything
in Suffolk?

No, I told you.
It had all been taken.

Notebooks, early drafts,
photocopies... the lot.

Taken by...

Well, I presume
whoever killed him.

What?

They killed him
to steal his novel?

I know.
It doesn't make much sense.

That house of his,
Abbey Grange -

when was the last time
you saw it?

Oh, I haven't been in Suffolk
for five or six months.

He changed the name,
did you know that?

It used to be called, uh...
Ridgeway Hall when he bought it.

Huh.

The Adventure
of the Abbey Grange.

A Sherlock Holmes story.

Sir Eustace Brackenhall
killed during a burglary.

Except...
it was a fake burglary.

It's funny, really.

Alan was never much
of a Conan Doyle fan.

- He preferred Agatha Christie.
- He stole from her.

He borrowed.

Yeah, like Robin Hood
"borrowed" from the rich.

I'm gonna find that missing
chapter, you know.

I'm gonna work out
who killed him.

Are you really sure
he was killed, Susan?

After all, you must admit
it does seem a tad unlikely.

A murder writer... murdered.

Tell me about the dinner
you had with him

when he gave you the manuscript.

Mm, Thursday night.
You were in Frankfurt.

- Yeah. What happened?
- Well, we went to La Maison.

You know,
it's that restaurant club

where you pay
£1,000 membership fee

for the privilege
of paying to eat there.

It was his choice, not mine.

And he gave you the manuscript
in the restaurant?

That's why I paid.
It was a celebration.

Or it should have been.

Down the hatch!
Here's to you.

- Thingy...
- Right you are, sir.

Well, you look tremendous
if I may say so.

Two glasses of champagne

and then a bottle
of Gevrey-Chambertin.

That was my mistake.

He didn't like
Gevrey-Chambertin?

Oh, God no, he loved it.

- Two hundred quid a bottle.
- Woah, sorry.

So, what was the mistake?

I let him get drunk.
You think you had it bad,

but he could be
just as nasty with me.

I remember... ah!

We talked about
the title of the book.

At that stage it was all I knew.

I have to say, I liked it
from the moment we announced it.

"The Magpie Murders".
Very strong! You know, I...

I think I can see that
on the bestseller list.

"Magpie Murders".

Mm, no, I'm sorry?

Not "The Magpie Murders"!
"Magpie Murders".

That's the bloody title!

There's absolutely no need
to take umbrage.

There's no 'the'.
I know that.

"Magpie Murders" it is.

Well, you know how volatile he
could be after a drink or two.

Things could've turned
quite nasty,

except that just then something
rather strange happened.

It's not something
you'd expect to see

in a restaurant like that.

It sounded
like a bomb had gone off.

Idiot.

Anyway, I managed
to change the subject.

And from then on,
things went very much OK,

and then Alan went home
in a taxi to his London flat.

And the next day, Friday,
he wrote you a letter...

...apologising
for his behaviour,

and on Saturday he went back
on the train to Suffolk.

So as far as Alan was concerned,

he'd given you
a complete manuscript.

He certainly
didn't say otherwise.

I'm going to have
to go back to Suffolk.

Well! Uh, you can come up
with me, if you like.

When we go up for the funeral.

Bastard.

Didn't even invite me to that.

Excuse me.

Uh, who's being buried here?

Sir Magnus Pye.
Tomorrow, I think.

And, uh, I suppose Mary
Blakiston is buried here, too?

That's her over there.

- Did you know her?
- Everyone knew her.

And she knew everyone.

A right busybody she was.

Just a body now.

Hmm.

Death, the great leveller.
Eh, Pund?

Yes.
That is most certainly true.

He was the lord of the manor,
the land owner, the developer.

She was just the housekeeper.

You do have to wonder about
the connection between them.

That connection, I think,
is straightforward.

It is the connection
between their deaths

that is of interest to me.

Ugh! I hate graveyards.

Glad to be getting out of here.

Not everyone has that choice.

- How can I help you?
- You are Robert Blakiston?

- Why do you want to know?
- My name is Atticus Pund.

Oh, Pund?
The famous detective?

I thought you said you weren't
interested in Saxby-on-Avon.

That was before the murder
of Sir Magnus Pye.

I suppose you think
I did that, too, ey?

Mr Pund!
What are you doing here?

He's here about
the murder of Sir Magnus.

Have you invited him in?

I'm working.

Harry can look after the pumps.

"Come in, Mr Pund.

"Harry returned to the pumps,

"while Robert led Pund
into the flat he occupied

"above the garage."

Sorry, I didn't hear you
come in.

No, don't apologise!
You should carry on reading.

Maybe you can tell me
who did it.

I guessed the last one.

- "Atticus Pund Abroad"?
- It was the nun.

Yes!

With a candlestick
in the cloisters. Huh!

Any thoughts so far?

Well, I'm only on page 50,

but right now I'd say...

Joy Sanderling
is my number one suspect.

Oh.
Any reason?

She's the least likely.

Isn't that how it always works?

Mm.

I don't see
why we should talk to you.

We came to you for help,
and you ignored us.

Your anger is quite
understandable, Robert.

To be unfairly accused of
the death of your own mother

must have been
unpleasant for you.

"Unpleasant"?
That's one way of describing it.

So why wouldn't you help me?

Because, as I explained,

I did not believe
there was anything I could do.

Rumour, village gossip,
they are like the tide.

They cannot be turned back.

But now that Sir Magnus
has been killed...

Exactly! Exactly!
It gives me a reason to be here.

And first, I have some questions
for you, Robert.

- Will you answer them?
- About Sir Magnus?

About your mother and Sir Magnus

and the relationship
between them.

Robert?

I'll tell you
anything you want to know.

- I've got nothing to hide.
- Thank you.

To begin...

your mother and Sir Magnus
were close, hmm?

Oh, they were more than close.

She worshipped him.

The way she saw it,
he wasn't just her boss.

He was an aristocrat.

Lord of the manor.

See, we used to live on a farm,
but when my dad left,

we moved into the Lodge House
at Pye Hall, so...

it was almost like he owned us.

- "We..."?
- My mum and me and...

my little brother, Sam.

Oh, yes.
There were three of you. Hmm.

Bella.

Here girl.

Bella, you're too fast.
Slow down.

Sam, Sam!

Keep up, Bella!

Sam died.

In an accident.

Oh, I'm sorry.

I prefer not to talk about it,
if you don't mind.

It happened when I was a child,

and it's got nothing to do
with any of this.

As you wish.

Hello?

- 'It's me.'
- Oh!

What happened to your key?

- Hands full.
- Use your teeth.

Mwah!
I hope you haven't eaten.

- A packet of Jaffa cakes.
- For tea?

- For lunch.
- Irresponsible.

So, how was Suffolk?

Flat.

The landscape?

The experience.

No sign of the missing chapter,
everybody hated Alan,

and seeing that house
just made me jealous.

Did you see his solicitor?

Yeah.
Why do you ask?

I was just thinking that
if you wanted to hide papers,

you might leave them
with your solicitor.

Yeah, I had the same thought,
but they weren't there.

You still think
they were stolen?

Oh, I'm sure they were.

His notebook had gone as well,
and his computer was wiped.

Mm.
The sauce thickens.

Any suspects?

Oh!
They're all suspects.

He divorced his wife,
he rowed with the neighbour,

he was about to disinherit
his boyfriend,

and then there's his sister,
Claire...

Yes?

I wonder if I might have a word.

Did you know that he based
a character on you?

No. What character
would that be?

- Miss Pye?
- Yes?

I wonder if we might have
a word.

I could tell that she'd read
the manuscript.

She was just lying to me.

Kill her brother
and steal the book,

so that it never appears
in print?

Seems a bit extreme.

Yeah, I agree.

Oh!
This is good.

This is Kotsifali.

From Crete.

So what was Alan like
at Woodbridge,

when you were both teachers?

I told you.

He wasn't very pleasant,
but I hardly knew him.

You went to his wedding.

That's because Melissa
invited me, not him.

It's funny to think about you
and Alan and Melissa and Katie

all being together
way before I came along.

You didn't do too badly
out of it.

You got eight bestsellers.

And you!

Sir Magnus was almost
like a father to me.

You know,
he looked after my schooling,

and he helped me get a job
here at the garage.

He got you this flat, too.

It came with the job.

So you were close to Sir Magnus,
but not your mother?

Well, she'd never
leave me alone.

See, that was the trouble.
She was always on at me.

She never seemed to understand
that I had a life of my own.

- Why did you threaten her?
- I didn't.

- But you argued.
- It was nothing.

We were at the pub,
and I'd just finished work,

and there she was,
going on at me again.

You should be ashamed
of yourself.

I'm having a drink, Mum,
all right?

Every minute of every bloody day
you never leave me alone.

Don't use that language with me!

- Well, I'm not a child anymore.
- No?

I'll tell you what you are.

You're the biggest
disappointment of my life.

Well, then get someone else
to do it! All right?

If you can't find anyone,

then just drop dead
and give me a bit of peace!

Mary Blakiston
was a horrible woman.

There!
I've said it.

I'm sorry, Robert,
but it's true.

She was horrible to you?

Yes.

When you came to my office
in London,

you told me
that she'd been opposed

to your marriage to her son,
but you would not tell me why.

It's very personal, Mr Pund.

Nothing's more personal
than murder, Miss Sanderling.

Well, it was the obvious reason.

The colour of my skin.

Ugh!

- I'm sorry.
- Don't be.

Living in a place
like Saxby-on-Avon,

people have different attitudes.

You get used to it.

Yeah, why should you have
to get used to it?

I mean why do people
have to be so bloody stupid?

If it will not offend you,
Miss Sanderling,

please tell me in what way
did it manifest itself,

this prejudice?

Was she always hostile to you?

No!
Not at all.

She'd always been
quite kind to me,

but that changed the moment
we told her we were engaged.

We're getting married
up at the church in July.

No.

I'm sorry?

- You're not gonna marry my son.
- Mum!

I'm thinking about
future generations.

They can't be tainted.

I won't have it.

You're not being serious.

- You can't think that.
- I won't even discuss it.

I'm warning you, Robert.

This marriage will not go ahead.

It shocked me
the way she came out with it.

But I'll tell you something,
Mr Pund.

I know that Robert
did not kill his mother.

I was will him all morning
the day she died.

But if he turned round now
and told me that he'd did it,

that he pushed her
down those stairs,

I wouldn't blame him.

I'd forgive him.

Because I know how he felt.

What a simply dreadful woman.

- Who? Mary Blakiston?
- She'd be lucky

to have a daughter-in-law
like Joy Sanderling.

Oh, God.

- I say. Are you all right?
- Oh, no, it's nothing.

It's just... a headache.
Huh.

The pub's open. Maybe we should
get you a glass of water.

No.
Fully recovered.

Thank you.

- You should've told him.
- What?

You know what.

About Sam.

- The lake.
- Why?

It's got nothing to do with it.

Three deaths at Pye Hall.

Three deaths twelve years apart.

You still should've told him.

You know
what this place is like.

He'll find out anyway.

So, tell me about this hotel.

Have you bought it?

My cousin Yannis has, yes.

I thought
he was completely broke.

He borrowed the money.

Where did he find someone
mad enough to lend it?

That's not fair.

Sorry.

So, does it have a name?

It's called Polydorus.

Polydorus
was the King of Thebes.

The son of Cadmus.

Hmm. Nice.

A ten-minute walk
from Agios Nikolaos.

It has seven rooms,

a terrace restaurant and a bar.

- It's profitable.
- So, why are they selling?

The owner is ninety-two.

I've told the school I'll be
leaving at the end of term.

You've already decided.

I told you in the car, Susan.

N-no... no.

You told me you were
thinking about it.

Yeah, well, I thought.
And I decided.

And you want me
to come with you.

Yes.

I don't think I can do that.

It's just not my world, Andreas.

I... I don't know anything
about hotels -

beds, sheets, guests -
nor do you.

- We'll learn.
- We'll go broke.

We won't know until we try.

God, you're really serious
about this, aren't you?

Susan, we've been
seeing each other,

how long is it now, six years?

I love you.

And I think you love me.

But we need to change.

I have a job I don't like.

You have a job that consumes you
and makes you angry.

I love my job!

Well, maybe that's our problem.

Whoa.

Didn't know we had a problem.

The timing's perfect.

Charles is leaving. The buy-out.
You don't want to be CEO.

- I don't know what I want.
- Yeah. Well, I do.

I want to be with you,
but properly.

I want to spend my life
with you, Susan.

But in Crete?

I'm going home.

With or without me.
Is that what you're saying?

Why does life have to be
so bloody difficult?

Never makes any sense.

You know,
that's why I like books so much.

In books, the characters
do it all for you,

and it all manages to work
itself out in the right way.

Elizabeth and Darcy.

Jane and Mr Rochester.
Oh...

Even whodunits!

I mean, especially whodunits.

The final reveal.

Everything wrapped up.

Something
so reassuring about that.

Unless, of course, you are
missing the last chapter.

Yes, that does put
a slight dent in it.

I don't suppose
you can tell me...

I've read it three times.

Start to not-quite-the-finish,
and it's hopeless.

It might help, perhaps,

to take events in the order
in which they occurred.

Yes?

The death of Mary Blakiston,
her funeral,

and then the burglary.

Ah, yes!

I had an idea about
the burglary, actually.

Oh, yes?

Well, it wasn't actually
a real burglary at all, was it?

You said as much yourself
when you found the silver.

That is true.

How did you know
it would be there?

I didn't.

But even when a crime
appears to be unfathomable,

one should try
not to overlook the obvious.

Can I help you?

Mr Whiteley?

How do you know my name?

- The name on the shop.
- Oh, yes! That's me.

Uh, are you looking
for something?

Oh, I was just passing.

I noticed the silver brooch
in the window.

Yes, nice piece.
Quite old.

- Roman, I think.
- Ah, medieval, I'd say.

Oh, may I see it?

I'm afraid you're too late.

We sold it this morning.

A customer had seen it
and telephoned in.

Ah.

Shouldn't you have taken it
out of the window, then?

Slipped my mind.

I wonder if you could tell me,
uh... how you acquired it?

I'm sorry. I'm afraid
that's confidential.

Most of my customers demand
a certain discretion, you know?

Selling the family silver.

Even so,
a man has been murdered.

Actually, it came from a market.

Oh, uh, I'm sorry?

This is my wife, Gemma.

A flea market in Campsey Ashe.

Here today, gone tomorrow.

We've no idea
who the seller was.

I'm sorry.
I'm afraid we can't help you.

No matter. Thank you.

- Who was that?
- Who'd you think it was?

- Only Atticus bloody Pund.
- Here?

They said there was
a detective in the village.

I didn't know it was him.

I told you it was too soon
to put it in the window!

- What are we gonna do?
- I don't know.

I didn't believe
a word they said.

It's a shame the wife arrived
when she did.

- They knew it was stolen.
- Yeah.

Stupid of them
to put it on display.

I will tell you this, James -

never underestimate
the stupidity of criminals.

I've devoted a whole chapter
to it in my book.

- Mm. "Criminal Stupidity".
- Exactly.

Do you think the burglary
had something to do

with the death of Sir Magnus?

The question I would ask is,

was it actually
a burglary at all?

Why are you so interested
in Brent?

He's only the gardener.

He was here at the time of
the burglary and at both deaths.

Always it is Brent.

First Mary Blakiston,

then the burglary...

then Sir Magnus.

Oh, I tell you,

it's not good for my
blood pressure working here.

Let us take them
in that order, Mr Brent.

You were here
the day Mary Blakiston died.

Yes.

I knew something was wrong

when the phone kept ringing
and nobody answered it.

In the end, I looked in
through the window,

and there she was,
lying on the floor.

I called a doctor,
but I could tell she was dead.

There was blood everywhere.

- Did the two of you get on?
- Not really.

She never talked to me.
She thought herself above me,

her and Sir Magnus
being all lovey-dovey.

Are you suggesting
they were romantically involved?

Not her.

She was an old battle-axe.

He wouldn't have had
any interest in her.

But he did have the roving eye,
and there were plenty of others.

Maids, one of the cooks...

And then Miss Darnley.

She left here with a little Pye
in the oven.

- Who was Miss Darnley?
- The governess.

Looked after Frederick.

And you could say
Sir Magnus looked after her.

Were you here
the night of the burglary?

No.

I live in the village.

I usually leave about eight,

and I didn't know
anything about it

till Sir Magnus got back
from his holiday.

He was the one who found out,
and he certainly let me know.

What do you mean by that?

He blamed me.
That's what I mean.

Even though it was
nothing to do with me.

You're meant to look
after the place when I'm away.

I can't be here all the time.

It looks like they came in
through the back.

There's a broken window.

Didn't you see anything?

No.

You're worse than useless,
Brent.

I've had enough of you.

I want you out of here.

He gave you notice?

I don't know.
He often talked like that.

I don't know what he meant.

And of course
you aren't able to find out

because that very night
Sir Magnus himself was killed.

What are you suggesting?

That I did it?

That I didn't want to be fired,
so I cut his head off?

But you were not here
the night of his death.

I told you.
I left at eight o'clock.

And Sir Magnus
was killed at nine.

Yes.

What a shame, isn't it?

If I'd hung around another hour,

I might've been able
to help you.

But I didn't see anything.

So I can't.

Miss Darnley.

Now... here's
an interesting question.

She's the governess who was made
pregnant by Sir Magnus Pye.

She never actually appears
in the book,

so why does Alan Conway
even bother to give her a name?

Perhaps she appears
in the last chapter.

Why can't you just tell me?

Excuse me?

Who did it! You're in the story,
you must know!

It's not the death of Sir Magnus
Pye that interests you,

it's the death of Alan Conway.

Aren't they related?

Let me give you some advice,
Miss Ryeland.

Uh, yes, all right,

but can you please stop
calling me "Miss Ryeland".

It's so bloody fifties.

It's not what Mr Conway wrote
that matters.

You need to understand
why he wrote it.

How do I do that?

At the moment that he delivered
the manuscript,

which may or may not
have been complete,

what was his state of mind?

I don't know.

He was at a restaurant
with Charles.

He was drunk.

Then that is
where you should begin.

Thank you.

Oh!

Hi. Hello.

Um, I wondered
if you could help me.

My name is Susan Ryeland,

and I'm a friend of someone
who used to be a member here.

Yes?

Well, actually, um,

I'd like to talk
to one of the waiters

who was working here
last Thursday.

Um...

He dropped some plates.

Yeah, that was me.

They were short-staffed, so
I was called in the last minute.

That's why I was late.

I came in from the kitchen.
I saw him straight away.

Alan Conway... bastard.

I didn't realise
he was a member.

I just stood there.

I was holding some plates,

didn't realise how hot they were
till they burned through.

Idiot.

Why didn't you like him?

- You say you're his editor.
- That's right.

- Clover Books.
- Yes.

Well, then you're part of it.

I'm sorry?
Part of what?

I think you know.

I honestly haven't the faintest
idea what you're talking about.

"Magpie Murders".

Yes, that's his new book.

Oh, I know. I read about it
when it was announced.

That was my title.
I gave him the idea.

So, how well did you know
Alan Conway?

I met him once.

I'm a writer.
I've written four novels.

Whodunits - a bit like his.

The only difference is,
I haven't made millions.

I haven't been published.

It's not easy.

It's not easy when someone
steals your ideas.

Where did you meet him?

I did a course,
a place in Wiltshire.

Cost me two hundred quid.

I thought it would be worth it.

It was the worst money
I ever spent.

Alan Conway was the guest tutor.

"The very countryside
ravaged by a locust cloud

"of modern politics
and ancient hatreds.

"And so the poor dog has none,
he murmurs,

"unaware that the dog is,
in fact...

"himself."

I'm not sure I get it.
What's it about?

It's about empire.

About the aristocracy.

About the collapse of civility.

To be honest,

I didn't have a clue
what he was on about.

But, anyway, I approached him
during a coffee break.

- And you told him your idea.
- Got it in one.

He seemed friendly enough.
We got chatting.

I told him my title,
"Magpie Murders".

It was going to be based
on the old nursery rhyme.

You know, "One for sorrow,
two for joy," and so on.

Set in a village where
the local squire gets killed.

- How?
- His head's chopped off.

Ah.

What did I see
when it was announced?

The ninth instalment
of the Atticus Pund Adventures.

Same title. Same plot.
Same everything.

How much did Alan read?

Only the first chapter,
but I told him all of it.

So, what did you do
when you saw the announcement?

What could I do?

Drive up to Suffolk
and have it out with him? Nah.

He was a big-shot writer.

I was nobody.

Who would've believed me?

I wrote to someone
at Clover Books,

sent them some chapters.

They didn't even reply.

You're an editor.

Would you look at it?
I could email it to you.

Uh, yeah.
Yes, of course. Um...

I'll give you my email address.

Um, can you just tell me
one thing, if you don't mind?

In your version of the book,
who did the murder?

Won't it spoil it for you
if I tell you?

Well, I always work backwards.

That way I can just focus
on the style, so...

All right, then.
It was the wife.

- Lady Frances.
- Uh, Lady Penelope.

Yeah. She'd been having
an affair with her tennis coach.

He found out about it.
He was going to throw her out.

And you told Alan that?

I told him everything.
He took loads of notes.

I thought he was interested cos
he wanted to help, the bastard!

Thank you, Lee.

I will read your book,
but I can't make any promises.

- Just read it.
- Yeah.

Um, one last thing.

Do you remember who you wrote to
at Clover Books?

Of course I remember, although
I never heard back from her.

Her name was Jemima.

We're here!

Oh!
Thanks!

- Hey, Susan.
- Hi, Alice.

Ragnar Jonasson rang you
three times.

He wants to talk to you
about the notes you sent him.

Your sister Katie rang twice,
wants you to call her back,

and Steven can't make
the Waterstones launch.

Where's Jemima?

Well, haven't you heard?
She's gone.

What do you mean, "gone"?

Well, she's handed in
her notice. She's left.

- Do you know why?
- Not really.

No, she didn't much
like it here.

It was the money.
I know she was looking around.

Do you have a number for her?

Is this about
the missing chapter?

Well, partly, yeah.

I think Charles has it.

I know he's been trying
to reach her, too.

Right.

You never saw a submission

from a man called Lee Jaffrey,
did you?

Mm, name doesn't ring a bell.

Well, the title might.

- "Magpie Murders"?
- Mm.

- That's a bit of a coincidence.
- Well...

If you believe in coincidence.

Huh! Oh.

- Oh. It's your sister again.
- Let it go to voicemail.

'Hi, you've reached
Susan Ryeland.

'Please leave me a message.'

Excuse me.

I'm looking for Max Ryeland.
He's my father.

- Is he...
- He's resting now.

But he's still very ill.

- Can I see him?
- Yes, of course.

Is he in there?

Dad.

How are you feeling?

Susan?

No, Daddy.
Susan's not here.

It's Katie.

I want to see Susan.

I want to see Susan.

Charles, uh...

I need to talk to you.

Did you know that Alan
plagiarised "Magpie Murders"

- from another writer?
- What?

Well, he wasn't exactly
a writer.

He stole the idea from a waiter

who worked at that restaurant
where you took him for dinner.

How do you know?

Well, I've seen him.
I've spoken to him.

Oh!
Oh, my God.

You're not going to let this go,
are you?

Charles, this is serious.

- They met on a writer's course.
- What's his name?

- Lee Jaffrey.
- Is his book any good?

Well, I've read the first
couple of pages...

Oh, and the ending,

which is completely muddled
and doesn't help at all,

and no, in answer
to your question. It's awful.

But the plot does have
a lot of similarities.

He knew where Alan lived!

How do you know that?

Because he told me!

What could I do?

Drive up to Suffolk
and have it out with him? Nah.

- He was a big-shot writer.
- Idiot.

I was nobody.
Who would've believed me?

He knew Alan lived in Suffolk,

and it's a members' club,
so they must've had his address.

Well, you don't think
that he went...

Have you spoken to Jemima?

Ah, no. Um...

I left a message
on her voicemail,

and I got an email from her
this morning.

Oh, um...

"I don't know
how many pages there were,

"but I'm sure I didn't miss any.

"I always checked the page count

"against the dial
on the machine..."

It wouldn't have been like her
to make a mistake.

She was always very reliable.

Why did she leave?

She got another job.

- What, and you just let her go?
- I couldn't really stop her.

Do you believe her
about the pages?

I think we have to.

- Yeah.
- Tomorrow? 9am?

Alan's funeral.

I thought we were
driving up together.

- Yeah. See you then.
- All right.

'This is Andreas.
I'm not here at the moment.

'Please leave a message
after the beep. Thank you.'

Hello. It's me. Um...

I'm here on my own, and...

feeling a bit miserable.

I wish we could've talked
a bit more... constructively.

Look, please don't...

Don't make any decisions
about Crete.

I mean, don't...

Don't get on a plane.

I just need a bit more time

to get my head round it,
and then...

You know, maybe, I...
I don't know, maybe...

we could make it work.

Anyway, I'm...
I'm in tonight, so...

why don't you come over?

Oh!

Hi. Hi.

- Katie, I'm sorry...
- 'Dad's had a stroke.'

Uh, ah... right.

- Um...
- 'He's in Ipswich Hospital.

'I've spoken to the doctors.
He's very weak.

'They think if he has
another one, then he...

'he might not make it.'

Well...

I'm really sorry. Um...

'He wants to see you.'

Why?

'Why do you think?'

No, no...
No, I'm sorry, Katie.

I've already told you
I don't want to see him.

'Yeah, but I think
you should.'

Katie! He walked out on us.
You, me, and Mum.

We were children. I haven't
seen him for thirty years.

Why would I want to see him now?

'For closure.'

- I don't think I owe him that!
- 'Not for him, for you!'

Oh, you think I need it, do you?

No, I'm... I'm sorry,
Katie. I...

I don't want to see him.

- I won't!
- 'Ugh.'

Sorry, sorry, sorry!

- Infidelity...
- Oh!

It's often struck me that
in a murder investigation,

it's remarkable how often
infidelity has a part to play.

There are in reality
very few reasons

why one person will set out
to kill another,

but the sense of betrayal,

the destruction of good faith,

mm, that can be deadly.

I'm not interested in the
murder investigation right now.

You wish to know
who killed Sir Magnus Pye.

Well, you're not gonna tell me,
so I'm gonna go to bed!

I would advise you
to be careful, Miss Ryeland.

Betrayal hurts.

I've had enough!
I'll tell you I've had enough!

Get a grip on yourself, woman.

- Never!
- Oh, for God's sake!

How could you?
You disgust me!

I did nothing.

You've made a laughing stock
out of me.

Everyone knows about you
and your filthy affairs.

You're like a rutting goat.

I wish I'd never married you!

That's not what you said
when you saw the house,

the land, the title.

Oh, no! Lady Pye.

You couldn't get enough of it.

One day you'll go too far,
Magnus.

One day, I swear to God,
I'll put a knife in you,

and I won't care
if I hang for it!