All language subtitles for Guilt s01e03 Exit Wounds.eng

Previously on Guilt...

(screams)

Grace, what did you do?

NATALIE: This is a mistake,
I can assure you.

She hasn't done anything wrong.

GRACE (crying): I'm sorry, Molly.

I love you.

That girl can really work up the tears.

They're calling me

"American Psycho."

The press is all over my hotel.

I'm going crazy.

FINCH: There's still the little matter

of the 20,000 quid Kaley cost me.

I'll get it.

We have to find Molly's phone

before someone else does.

GWENDOLYN: You want someone to pay
for what happened to your sister.

- My family needs answers.
- BRUNO: Do you remember bagging up

a stuffed monkey from Molly's room?

PIKE: Who gives a rat's arse
about a stuffed monkey?

BRUNO: Whoever knicked it, that's who.

The tabloids have just handed us

an alternative suspect.

PATRICK: Do you think
that professor knocked her up?

GRACE: Are you gonna go after him?

(grunting)

BEATRICE: Get away from my husband.

Get away from him now.

(Beatrice exhales)

(gunshot in the distance)

(sirens wailing)

(indistinct radio chatter)

(siren wails, then stops)

BRUNO: What is going on?

OFFICER: There's been a shooting, sir.

Hello, mate, Scotland Yard.
I need to talk to her.

Hello, Mrs. Linley.

I'm Detective Sergeant Bruno,

Scotland Yard.
Would you just please tell us

exactly what happened?

He broke into the house.

PIKE: Mrs. Linley, who?

Who broke into your house?

(crying): I was terrified.

I know this is really traumatic for you,

but if you could please, please,

just tell us exactly what happened.

He shot my husband.

Who?

Molly Ryan's brother

shot my husband.

(panting)

Synced & corrected by -robtor-
www.addic7ed.com

-
You are a small tree

(quietly): Screw you.

(rapid chiming)

(sniffles, phone chimes)

Grace? What's going on?

They want me dead.

- Who?
- The whole world.

Online. Everyone hates me.

Thinks I killed Molly.

Did you sleep at all?

I tried, but... (sniffles)

Hey, I know it's horrible what
those people are saying,

but you can't pay attention to that.

- They don't even know you...
- Carolyn Bloom does.

My friend from camp.

She's posted that

I was always "a bipolar skank,"

and that she's not surprised
I snapped and killed Molly.

- Okay, that's enough.
- Hey!

No, you'll never sleep

- if you keep reading this crap.
- I won't sleep anyway.

You need to rest or
you'll just keep spiraling.

Here. Take one of my sleeping pills.

Come on. Let's get you to bed.

Everything will feel better
once you've gotten some sleep.

(phone ringing)

- Who is this?
- (distorted voice): Does it matter?

ROZ (normal voice):
I have Molly Ryan's phone.

JAMES: Like hell you do.

Any idiot can spoof a cell number.

Can any idiot do this?

(phone beeps)

(distorted voice over phone):
Handsome friends you have.

Who the hell is this?

(distorted voice over phone):
I want ?30,000

via Bitcoin or this photo
gets lobbed to the FBI,

the Scotland Yard, and
Interpol... for starters.

You have no idea the minefield
you're stepping in.

(over phone): These men take
their privacy very seriously,

and when they come for you,
and I promise you they will,

they will inflict levels of pain

that you can't even begin to imagine.

Nice try but we both know
you won't say a word...

or they'll come for you first, right?

Turn the damn car around.

BEATRICE: That man was screaming

horrible things so I-I grabbed
the rifle and when I went

into the kitchen he was just...
beating my husband.

And then he saw me. Then he
came at me and... I fired.

I think I might have hit him.

That's okay.
You were defending yourself.

So, go on, what happened next?

(crying): He pushed me down

and grabbed the gun and...

and he shot Geoffrey in the head.

(gunshot)

It's all right, Mrs. Linley,
you've been really brave.

Thanks.

I just need to ask you
a few more questions, okay?

Okay.

Look, when you were living
in Oxford, did you happen

to know a girl by the name
of Hanna Reid?

H-How is that girl possibly relevant

to what happened tonight?

Well, because...

your husband was having
an affair with her,

and she wound up dead.
I know it was ruled

a suicide, but in the light

of the Molly Ryan accusations...

He didn't kill her.

Hanna sent me a letter.

It's a suicide note.

I got it the day after she died.

I still have it.

You have it at home?

Geoffrey was wracked with guilt.

He was the one who had
broken it off and that was

why she...

Anyway, we, uh...

you know, we worked through it.

We moved... moved on with our
lives and we were beginning

to get past this, too, and...

Can I please go
and be with my husband now?

Yeah, of course.

We'll have someone come
and take you to the hospital.

Don't worry, we're gonna
find Patrick Ryan.

We've put out an All Ports
Warning on Patrick Ryan.

I just hope the press
doesn't get a hold of this.

We've got enough headaches already.

I saw this coming.

Patrick Ryan's had a vendetta

since the moment his sister died.

Gwen, hey, hey, hey, hey.

Cut yourself
some slack this time, will you?

I know few victim's relatives
that don't have a vendetta.

I'm going home to get changed.

Be careful when you go looking for him.

He's dangerous, Bruno.

Hey, mate.

- Can I help you find something?
- No, I'm good.

You all right?

I'm fine.

What's that in your coat?

Hey.

(panting)

(sirens wailing)

Every time I close my eyes,
I just keep seeing

all the horrible things
people are posting about me.

They're lies, nothing more.

Come over and I'll help you
forget about everything.

There are paparazzi camped
outside all the hotel doors.

I can't face them right now.

(over phone):
Well, then I'll come to you.

No, they'll just end up taking
some awful picture of you,

saying that we're screwing
our brains out while Molly rots.

This isn't gonna stop, Luc.

It's never gonna stop.

Y-You don't sound good, baby.

(over phone): I'm just...

I'm just glad my mom's
not here anymore to see

that the whole world
thinks I'm... a sociopath.

I'm coming over.

I don't care what those
idiots write about us.

(over phone): No, don't,
please, don't, I just...

I need to get some sleep.

I'll be... I'll be better
if I can just sleep.

(over phone): Grace...

LAHUE: I'm not talking street thugs.

This is the Russian mafia.

They... torture people for fun.

If those pictures ever get out, I-I...

Maybe you should think
about that next time

someone asks you
to launder money for them.

Why do you bother?

I mean, aren't you rich enough?

You think when I built my company,

I imagined I would ever
be reduced to working

with criminals?

The market slide in China

killed me.

I needed cash flow just to keep going

or the whole thing
would've fallen apart.

And here we are.

You know, your first

mistake was letting
Molly Ryan blackmail you.

You think?

Note to self,

gonna need to start
a blackmail slush fund

if you want to
keep representing this family.

Your sense of humor
is such a comfort to me.

Tell me you can fix this.

Well, if my suspicions

are correct, which they usually are,

your blackmailer...

needs cash.

He'll play by my rules,

and I

will draw him out of hiding.

What makes you so sure
he'll play by your rules?

Anyone willing to use infamous criminals

as pawns is either daft

- or desperate.
- (rock music plays)

Either way, they're going down.

GUTTERIE (over phone):
You want your 30,000 pounds,

we do things my way.

ROZ (distorted voice over
phone): Who's this?

You first.

You a copper?

Like James would risk
going to the police.

Well, whoever you are,
I better see a deposit

in my Bitcoin account by noon
or James is going to have

much bigger problems than the police.

Enough of this Bitcoin nonsense,
it's not secure.

(over phone): We're gonna
do things old school.

Now pay attention, because
I'm only gonna say this once.

(over phone): Get yourself
on the 2:00 p.m. bus

from Camden Town to Leicester Square.

You'll find a blue backpack
on the upper deck under seat

13-B.

Take the backpack,

leave the phone on the seat,

and be on your merry way.

You're not dictating the terms here.

I am.

It's Bitcoin, or I swear
to God I hit send.

Go ahead, hit send.

My guess is, you'd rather
take the pounds.

2:00 p.m., Camden Town, upper deck.

(sighs)

What the hell was that about?

Roz...

The less you know, the better.

Is this about Finch?

I don't want you getting

in any trouble because of me.

I've got it under control.

(knocking at door)

You really do like to pop by, don't you?

I should get you your own key.

- Grace is losing it.
- Really? Big surprise.

Listen, I'm kind of

in the middle of a thing right now,

so unless this is DEFCON Five...

I got to get her out of London.

She's wigging out. She can't go outside

without the obnoxious British
press crawling up her ass,

and people are posting horrible things

- about her.
- Yeah, people are

- so mean.
- This is serious, Stan.

We need to get Grace's passport back.

I did some research, and we
might be able to get it released

under Section 29B
of the Criminal Code...

Which doesn't apply

anymore ever since your
little trip to Paris.

We need to go home.

It's not healthy for Grace here,
and my boss is running out

of patience with my little
sabbatical, so you need

to do whatever it is you do
when the law isn't your friend.

You want me to bribe someone?

I don't want to micromanage you.

I just want it done.

Cool, I like the new you.

Uh, but later, 'cause I got to go, okay?

Got a call from a corner shop
in Bromley.

Irish shoplifter, covered in blood,

cashier IDs him as Patrick Ryan.

What is he still doing in the city?

He... he could've made
for the coast, rented a boat,

sailed back to Ireland.

Linley's out of surgery.

Still alive, but barely.

Executed a search warrant

of his primary residence and found this:

Hanna Reid's suicide note.

Wow.

His wife wasn't lying.

So this is one girl he didn't kill,

at least not by his own hand.

She might not be the only one.

Also found a burner
hidden in his closet.

Take a look at this self-portrait.

Whoa, whoa.

Need a little warning before

you flash me a todger, please, mate.

Look, if you look closely...

No... I'd rather not.

It was taken in his house

on the 29 of March,

at 2:37 a.m.

Molly Ryan was killed
around 2:45 that night.

Way across town.

Linley didn't kill her.

Professor has sexted himself
a rock hard alibi.

If Linley dies...

Patrick Ryan just killed
an innocent man.

(muffled shout)

Don't scream.

I'm not here to hurt you.

You shot Linley.

No, I didn't.

I swear.

Then why did you run?

'Cause no one'd believe me...

except maybe you.

Why should I believe you?

You as much as told me
you were going after Linley.

I've seen your record, remember?

Assault, robbery...

That was a long time ago.

I'm telling you,
I did not shoot that man.

You're bleeding.

I'm fine.

Hardly.

Come on, sit down.

(phone buzzing)

(sighs)

(scoffs)

Damn it.

Grace?

(sighs)

Grace.

Oh, my God.

Grace.

Grace, wake up!

Grace! Grace, wake up!

_

We need to pump your sister's stomach.

You need to wait out here.

I'm sorry to disturb you,

but we're running a bit behind,
Your Highness.

How can I go out there
and smile all pretty

for an engagement portrait
when any minute now the police

could discover my...
relationship with Molly Ryan.

Molly...

was well-compensated to keep

her mouth shut.

She was also compensated

to stay on the pill.

I have no idea how many
loose ends are out there.

We'll find someone
inside the investigation, hmm?

Someone with a weakness to exploit.

Even commoners do things

they shouldn't, Your Highness.

(door closes)

Am I interrupting?

Wow.

You look... amazing.

I'd better.

17 people worked me
over for this portrait.

For some reason,
they completely rejected

my idea to wear my old trackies.

I love you in your old trackies.

I'm not sure your mum would.

My mum's hardly setting
the fashion world on fire.

(Charlotte chuckles)

Yes... but the public

have slightly higher standards

for a wannabe princess.

The public will love you
for the same reason I love you.

You're a brilliant, charming,

independent woman who says and
does exactly as she pleases.

(fast drumming)

(rhythmic drumming)

Cheers, lad.

Tough crowd.

Yo, yo, yo, DJ Roz.

Wankers wouldn't know talent
if it hit them in the head.

(chuckles)

No, it'll rain.

Just need to keep drumming.

Or you could find a more lucrative way

to spend your afternoon.

I'm all ears.

(sighs)

(indistinct TV news reports)

Excuse me?

Are you Grace Atwood's sister?

Yes.

Is Grace okay?

Did she wake up?

I'm sorry, I...

don't have a report from the doctor yet.

I just need to take down some
information about the incident.

Can you tell me what
happened to your sister?

I, um...

I think she took
too many sleeping pills.

Did she have a prescription?

No.

They were mine.

Do you think your sister
tried to take her own life?

I don't think she'd do that, but I...

Do you think she's

feeling guilty
about something she's done?

Sometimes that can
trigger a suicide attempt.

You're not with the hospital, are you?

Never said I was.

My name's Veena Patel,

I'm a reporter for The Story.

Yeah.

I have a story for you.

Once upon a time, there was

a little girl who dreamt

of being a real journalist,

but it turns out she's a no talent hack

who's not pretty enough
to be a TV anchor,

so she's stuck at a low rent rag

with more ads for hookers
than genuine news.

You know what

I think the real story is here?

How you're gonna live with yourself

if Grace dies after taking your pills.

It's a through-and-through.

Missed your arteries.

You're lucky.

Luckier than Linley.

What happened in that cottage?

I went there to look

that coward in the eye.

Have him tell me if he killed my sister.

Then his wife came in, waving

a rifle, shot him, so I ran.

That's when she shot me, too.

You should have called the police.

You think the police are gonna believe

a Northern Irish stonemason
with a criminal record

over some posh, English housewife?

It's not 30 years ago, Patrick.

Come on, give us some credit.

I've got a ma back home.

She can't get

out of bed, she's so wrecked

from losing her little girl.

She's counting

on me to get justice for our family.

That's not going to happen
if I get locked up

for something I didn't do.

That's why I need you to believe me.

You have to believe me.

I do.

No, you don't.

Patrick.

Ah, it was a mistake to come here.

No, it wasn't.

I want to help you.

Help me, huh?

Patrick.

(siren blaring)

Patrick Ryan.

Don't you do that. Come here!

(groans)

- Huh?
- It's not your stop, kid.

- Let go of me.
- Happy to.

Soon as I get what I came for.

You have the phone, mate. Back off.

Yeah, but I need a name.

Unless you're the one calling the shots,

but you don't really strike me
as the strategic type.

No. You were paid to make the drop.

So let me tell you how it's gonna be,

I'll give you a nice, hefty raise,

you tell me who hired you.

HOOLIGANS: Manchester!
Manchester! Manchester!

- Let go of me, Mister.
- Give me the bag, kid.

HOOLIGANS: Manchester!

Manchester! Manchester!

What's going on here?

This pervert bothering you, kid?

Yeah, he's not letting me leave.

I'm making a citizen's arrest,

- the kid stole my bag.
- This bag here?

- GUTTERIE: Give me that?
- Worth knickin', is it?

Give it here. Give me that bag.

- Give me the bag!
- Ooh, nice phone there,

glitter boy.

- GUTTERIE: Wha...
- (Hooligans giggling)

What, you don't have one of those?

Give me that ba... (grunts)

- (passengers gasp)
- (Hooligan chuckles)

Whoa!

Looks like we hit the lotto here, boys.

Right, let's get out of here.
Go, go, go, go, go.

Go, go, go, go.

See ya later, egghead.

Glitter boy!

(grunting, groaning)

(heart monitor beeping steadily)

Natalie?

Gracie.

(Natalie sniffs)

(kisses, then sniffs)

I was so worried I was gonna lose you.

Are we at the hospital?

Yes. (sniffles)

You took too many sleeping pills.

I couldn't sleep.

I-I just kept hearing all the haters.

NATALIE: Grace,

did you try to...

No.

No, it was...

it-it was an accident.

I...

I was just so tired.

I must've...

I must've lost track
of how many I'd taken.

Oh, God.

Is it all over the Internet?

Ugh.

Bet the haters loved that.

You don't have to worry about
that right now, okay?

All you need to do is rest.

Hey.

Will you do something for me?

Yeah.

Anything.

Will you get me a banana milkshake?

From Fatboys?

Grace, Fatboys is, like,
all the way back by our hotel.

I think they have ice cream
in the cafeteria.

I know.

My stomach really hurts

and that is literally the only
thing that sounds good.

(sighs)

Please?

Okay, fine.

(Natalie chuckles)

I'll be back as soon as I can.

You'll be pleased to know
that Molly Ryan's phone

is out of your blackmailer's hands.

Oh, thank God.

Who was behind this?

You really think it'll improve your mood

to know the name of
the street punk that milked you

for 30,000 quid?

This better be the end of it, Gutterie.

Oh, I completely agree.

(phone beeps)

(computer chiming)

There have been a lot of people
hating on me

since my friend Molly died.

Oh, for Pete's sake.

A lot.

And I'm not gonna lie,

it sucks.

But I kind of get it.

If I was out there watching
all the press on me,

I'd-I'd probably think that I was...

a slut,

a druggie,

a selfish irresponsible bitch.

And the stuff that's already come out,

well, that's just the beginning.

Keep digging.

'Cause you're gonna find out that I...

screwed my best friend's
boyfriend in high school,

I... was arrested for stealing
some nail polish

a couple of years ago.

And part of the reason
I came over here was because...

I was flunking out of college.

(over phone):
I've made some major mistakes.

But there's one thing I didn't do.

I didn't kill Molly Ryan.

She was my friend.

She knew all that crap about me,
and she still loved me.

So if you've never made any mistakes,

then go ahead,

keep hating on me.

(over phone):
But if you've ever screwed up,

maybe stop and think for a minute

before you attack me
or anyone else out there

who's having a bad time.

From the looks of that bullet wound,

Patrick was shot from behind,
not from the front.

Oh, so you're a gunshot wound
expert now, aye?

Enough to know an entry wound
from an exit wound.

And his fingerprints, they
weren't on the gun, were they?

Look at his hands.

There ain't no way
that he was wearing gloves

when he was beating on Linley.

And I'm guessing he didn't stop
to put some on

before he went after the wife's gun.

I don't think he ever
touched the gun, mate,

Oh, bloody hell.

Beatrice Linley shot her own husband.

And we let her walk right out of here.

Straight back to his bedside.

(heart monitor beeping steadily)

(heart monitor beeping steadily)

Are you my nurse?

(chuckles)

Strange, isn't it?

You put me in the hospital

and now here you are.

Mrs. Linley.

What are you doing here?

Truthfully,

I'm not sure anymore.

I'm sorry about what happened
between me and your husband,

and for slashing your tires.

I never wanted anyone to get hurt.

You know when...

the first time I found out
Geoffrey had had an affair,

it hurt deeply.

And he was so sorry,

and he tried so hard
to make it up to me,

and no one else knew about it,

except the girl.

But, anyway, it was our business.

And then last week,

I wake up and it's all over
the papers that my husband

is having an affair with you.

Maybe Molly Ryan too.

That he might've killed her.

But then the police told me

he's been shagging
his students for years.

So I have been a bloody fool
this whole time.

And now everybody knows,

and everybody pities me and judges me.

He made a mockery of my life,

and so did you.

What's happened?

- We got to the room right after
you called it in.

Patient was already coding.

Looks like his respirator's
been messed with.

DOCTOR: I'm calling it.
Time of death, 9:13 p.m.

(beep stops)

You seen the wife?

Where's Beatrice Linley?

GRACE: I'm so sorry,

Mrs. Linley.

You have already said you are sorry.

So did Geoffrey.

(whispers): But I killed him anyway.

Do you feel better...

now that he's gone?

(chuckles)

No.

I don't suppose killing you
will help, either.

Step back, Mrs. Linley.

How you doing?

Oh, you know.

My sister got her stomach pumped.

She almost got killed by a crazy woman.

So I guess I've had better days.

Yeah, you've, um...

had more than your fair share
of troubles

since you came to London, haven't you?

Yeah, but it's fine.

It's all fine, you know?

They're releasing Grace today.

So I have no idea why I'm crying.

It's okay, it's a lot for anyone.

Don't do that.

Don't be nice to me, 'cause
it's just gonna make it worse.

(crying)

See?

(crying): Oh, this is so embarrassing.

(sighs)

I never cry in front of the cops
that I work with at home.

I swear.

I won't tell them, don't worry.

(dance music playing)

(dance music plays)

Clever girl, aren't you?

And the phone?

It's in there.

(laughs)

Brilliant.

Thank you.

You were telling the truth.

Beatrice Linley shot the Professor.

She's in custody as we speak.

Then I'm free to go?

No.

There's a little matter

of breaking into a man's home,

assaulting him.

Those are serious charges.

It could put you away
for quite some time.

I can't look the other way
just because I...

Just because you what?

I would like to make a deal
with you, Patrick.

I don't do deals
with people I don't trust.

I'm not sure you have a choice.

Linley's dead.

His good wife finished the job
in the hospital.

Which means, I can make
the assault charge go away.

But for me to even consider it,

you need to assure me,

when you walk out that door,
you'll go to the port.

Get on a ferry.

Go back to Belfast.

Molly's killer will not go unpunished.

Not on my watch.

But...

if you can't agree to that,

you're welcome to stay in London...

in a jail cell.

Well, I'm ready to go home.

(dishes clinking)

Hello?

What the hell is going on?

Y-Your... Your... Your...

Royal Highness, Sir?

Oh, we can dispense

with the formalities.

I feel like we're
going to be close chums.

I hope you don't mind me
using your kitchen.

I got rather hungry waiting for you.

And then Phillip, here,

refused to run out and get a curry.

Now, he...

wanted to handle this himself,

but I needed to make sure

that you understood the full gravity

of our situation.

Our situation.

Hmm.

All right.

And what exactly is that?

Please, take a seat.

You look like you've had a long day.

Now,

I would have whipped up
something more interesting,

but you're a bit of a clich? bachelor

with no real food in the cupboards,

so... parmesan?

Yeah, please.

So I, uh...

had to improvise.

Let's call it...

Pasta...

Bruno.

Please, eat.

I don't have many marketable skills,

but I really am quite the cook.

To my mum's dismay.

We gonna have to get
to the dessert course

before you tell me
what you're doing here?

No small talk.

You must be disastrous
at dinner parties.

All right, then.

Let's talk about something
that may interest you.

What was that man's name again, Phillip?

PHILLIP: Donovan Trimbly, Your Highness.

Donovan Trimbly.

He didn't bring the best out
in you, now did he?

I don't know what you're talking about.

You can lie to your colleagues.

You can lie to your boss.

You can even lie

to your mum.

But you will never lie to me, Detective.

What do you want?

You keep my secrets.

I'll keep yours.

(laughing)

Oh, my God.

I've always wanted to do this.

Ah.

Come on, don't be shy.

How does it feel?

Like winning.

Mmm.

We should start robbing banks
if you're this hot for it.

(sighs) No.

I was going crazy today

waiting for you to get back.

It's just... promise me
you'll pay off Finch

and you won't put yourself in danger

on my account ever again.

I'll do whatever I need to do
to keep... you safe.

What happened to you?

I thought I'd take the bus.

It wasn't for me.

Hope you took it
to get Grace's passport back.

You know, I am not
batting a thousand today.

Apparently, the magistrate
assigned to Grace's file

does not find me as charming as you.

That is truly shocking.

So that means we're stuck here

until Grace is officially exonerated?

Yeah, kind of.

Although, there is one silver lining.

Turns out

your sister's
a natural born spin doctor.

BBC, Daily Mail,

the entire British press corps,

is eating up her little confessional.

Meryl Streep would be jealous
of that performance.

Performance?

If a client of mine asked me
to pull them out

from under an avalanche
of negative publicity,

and not just pull them out, but to turn

that avalanche
into a worldwide lovefest,

I could not have
scripted it better myself.

_

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