All language subtitles for Miss.Fishers.Murder.Mysteries.S02E02.Death.Comes.Knp.CC.en

(wind howling)

(thunder)

Roland.

Roland Claremont.

I call you

from the spirit world.

- (thunder)

- (gasps)

Prepare defense!

Bayonets!

- Bayonets!

- Bayonets!

(blows whistle)

(yelling, blasts)

Come on! Come on!

Forward!

(indistinct yelling)

(screams)

Stretcher bearer!

WOMAN: Roland?

Roland? Are you here?

Aunty Prue.

MEDIUM: And Maude, my sweet.

And dear Freddy.

MEDIUM: Oh.

Darling Phryne, too.

Hello, Roland.

PRUE: Roly, we need to know.

Freddy needs to know.

He doesn't feel right

accepting his award.

He can't recall his brave deeds

that day, you see.

Can't you recall anything,

Freddy?

Only the noise.

I'm sorry.

Basil is here with me too,

Freddy.

- PRUE: Basil who?

- MAN: Captain!

Captain! Captain! Help me!

- Stretcher bearer!

- Help!

Stretcher bearer! (groans)

- Stretcher bearer!

- (gunfire)

- Stretcher bearer!

- (gunfire)

(breathes heavily) Basil?

Roly?

PRUE: Tell Freddy how he

tried to save your life.

Tell him.

Stretcher now!

Stretcher bearer!

For pity's sake, man!

- (breathes heavily)

- (sound of gunshot)

(jazz music)

(coughs)

Mr Butler!

Your urgent assistance, please.

Mrs Bolkonsky, can you hear me?

Mrs Bolkonsky?

You have nothing

to feel guilty about.

You did everything you could

to help Roland.

FREDDY: No, I can't know that.

I don't remember.

How could you?

You were in shock.

- Gunshot. I heard a gunshot.

- PRUE: But of course you did.

No, no, no, after shelling.

When it was quiet as death.

Come on, darling, please,

you need to breathe. Please.

No bravery. No award.

Big slow breaths.

They're as cold as ice.

(whimpers) The circle.

It's still open. Everybody

must return to the table.

Not on your life.

I hope he settles soon.

We've got a long drive home.

But you must stay the night.

No, we couldn't possibly

impose.

I insist. Foster is too far for

Freddy to travel in this state.

PHRYNE: Mr Butler will

assist you to the guest room,

and, Dot, would you take up

some towels, please?

- Yes, Miss.

- Thank you.

Larry, we'll need the laudanum

and his heart medicine.

They're still in the motor car,

Mrs Ashmead.

No, I'll get them.

Just for heaven's sake,

get him out of this stuffy room.

Oh, dear.

LARRY: We can visit the cemetery

in the morning.

I'm so sorry.

Perhaps we could conclude

our spiritual matters tomorrow.

Well, if we don't, Mrs Stanley,

I can't be responsible.

DOT: I can't believe Miss Phryne

ever let that charlatan

cross the doorstep.

Have you ever known Miss Fisher

to do anything

she didn't want to do?

And for that matter,

I can't believe Mrs Stanley

is a life member of

the Spiritualist Society.

Well, I expect she joined

after her godson was killed

at the Front.

Must have been a terrible blow.

And for poor Captain Ashmead

as well.

Father Grogan says dabbling

in the occult is a mortal sin.

(man whistles)

(door creaks open)

Who's there?

Who's in there?

Hello? Oh!

(groans)

(groans)

MAN: Potts. Ernie Potts.

Always did the graveyard shift,

so to speak. Awful business.

Any next of kin?

The missus passed away years

ago, but there's a daughter.

JACK: Do you have a key to this?

HUGH: Do you think he disturbed

a break in, sir?

Doesn't look like

anything's been disturbed.

Whatever's going on?

(gasps)

Jack!

I'm afraid this is

a restricted area.

A cemetery worker

was murdered here last night,

and how is it, Miss Fisher,

you always manage to turn up

when I'm on the case?

Not always, Jack.

We merely came

to pay our respects.

This is a crime scene.

Roland was a good family friend.

Aunt Prudence's godson.

No, no, crime scene.

Well, I take it this is

the poor fellow's blood as well.

So what are you thinking?

He disturbed a would-be

grave robber?

HUGH: Ah, that's what

I think too, Miss.

The door was locked,

and there's no sign of

disturbance to the tomb.

(Freddy coughs)

Oh, Freddy, Freddy,

it's just a horrid coincidence.

No. It's Roland, I know it.

I thought this would calm him.

It's alright, Maude.

I'll see you back at the car.

Mustard gas.

Well, what's their connection?

It's all very incestuous.

Maude is Roland's widow

and Freddy was his best friend.

Fought under him at Pozieres,

then married his widow.

They're all staying with

me at the present,

so if you'd like to

question them yourself,

- you might have to visit me.

- I'm impressed.

You've commandeered my case

before I knew I had one.

Constable,

finish searching the area.

I'll be at

Miss Fisher's residence.

HUGH: Yes, sir.

So you don't think

it was a coincidence either?

In my experience,

there's no such thing.

(door closes)

I can't tell you how distressing

this is, Inspector.

No wonder my poor godson

can't rest in peace.

Hold your fire, Aunt P.

The Inspector's on the case now.

Mrs Stanley,

I may as well begin with you.

I hope you'll begin and end

with me, Detective Inspector.

Maude and Freddy

have enough to worry about,

and we have an unfinished séance

to deal with.

Séance?

PRUE: Yes, with

the great Mrs Bolkonsky.

You've not heard of her?

PRUE: In Melbourne,

by popular demand,

offering her services

to a very select few members

of the Spiritualist Society.

Aunt P turned out to be

one of the select few.

The psychic equivalent of

winning a chook raffle.

Mrs Bolkonsky chose us on merit.

She told me herself.

(sighs) And so timely.

Freddy has suffered

very poor health recently.

Aunt P thought that

if anybody could convince Freddy

to accept his bravery award,

before it's too late,

it would be Roland himself.

Your late godson, Lieutenant

Colonel Roland Claremont.

Another fine young man,

cut down in his prime.

How many miles of red tape

did you have to battle

to get his remains back

from France?

I wasn't about to

leave him moldering

in some godforsaken

foreign turnip field!

Well, I'll have to interview

Captain Freddy Ashmead

and his wife, and any staff.

Now, where will I find

Mrs Bolwhatsit?

How glorious! (sniffs)

Thank you.

It's little enough in return for

your hospitality, Miss Fisher.

Last night ended on

an unfortunate note.

Detective Inspector Robinson,

may I introduce Mrs Bolkonsky,

spiritual medium,

from Sydney, via Paris,

London and San Francisco.

The Americans

are so wonderfully open.

We were booked solid for weeks.

And her manager,

Mr Warwick Hamilton.

True love must never be denied,

Detective Inspector.

Very profound.

I've been telling Mrs Bolkonsky

about the attack.

MAUDE: She has a theory.

It wouldn't be the first time

she's helped the police.

And your theory is?

Our gathering last night

was interrupted.

Yes, Freddy had a horrid attack.

The channel

was not properly closed,

and when this happens,

the spiritual energy may linger.

Disturbed,

and sometimes hostile.

There's nothing spiritual about

a man being hit over the head

and impaled on a fence.

That energy may enter

a living person.

Drive them to violent acts.

It is irresistible.

I'm sure it'll provide much

comfort to Mr Potts's family.

Now, where is Mr Ashmead?

I'll need to speak to him first.

I'm afraid

he's still indisposed.

Freddy's valet, Mr Larry Dunn.

An invaluable support

to the Ashmeads,

and to Maude's family

before that.

Perhaps, Mrs Ashmead,

you should go up.

Phryne, at this rate, I'm afraid

we may have to extend our stay.

Dear Maude, you're welcome

to stay as long as you need.

Let me help, too.

Perhaps Larry could answer any

questions you have, Inspector.

Thank you.

If I may use the parlor.

Of course.

And why not take

some of these with you?

Ham, cheese and mustard pickle.

I read your mind.

This way.

Inspector, believe what I say,

for your own sake.

The heart line never lies.

You know that your greatest

passion is very close at hand.

Pursue it.

And believe what I say,

Mrs Bolkonsky.

I have no intention of

pursuing my greatest passion,

unless it's these sandwiches,

which are a particular favorite.

(pants)

MRS BOLKONSKY: Oh, my heart.

Are you alright?

Oh, it's nothing, dear.

Mrs Bolkonsky looks so pale.

Is she ill?

She's given her heart

to her work, literally.

It's taken its toll.

She has no energy

to spare for skeptics.

Yes, well, Inspector Robinson

can be a difficult man to sway.

Well, you seem to have

a way with him, Miss Fisher.

And what about you?

Skeptic or believer?

Let's just say...

I keep an open mind.

Hmm. Always wise

to keep your wits about you.

Yes. Amazing what some get away

with in a darkened room.

- Balsa wood tables...

- On fishing lines.

Balloons with painted faces,

spirits with egg white and silk,

collapsible wrapping sticks

hidden under skirts.

Any amount of trickery

and illusion.

You seem very familiar with

the charlatan's repertoire.

Oh, I need to be,

or those charlatans

will bring genuine spiritualists

into disrepute.

And thanks to the Great War,

there's no shortage of bereft

customers ripe for the plucking.

My Aunt Prudence, for example.

Maude and Freddy.

I must confess

I was a bereft customer

when I met Mrs Bolkonsky.

I lost my twin brother

at the Somme.

I'm sorry.

Mrs Bolkonsky's gift

is genuine, Miss Fisher.

She takes only a modest sum

to help people and spirits alike

to find peace

in their separate realms.

And if people take solace

in belief,

who are we to criticize them?

Thank you, Mr Butler.

Mr Ashmead seems much more

settled after that brew.

Oh, good. Must be

a great responsibility,

having to care for

such an ill gentleman.

Oh, it's no burden.

The Captain doesn't complain.

It's Mrs Ashmead I worry for.

She gets herself into a state.

You used to work

for her parents?

I've known her

since she was a girl.

You must be

a great comfort to her, then.

We do what we can, don't we?

Didn't I make myself perfectly

clear? No more Laudanum.

LARRY: Now, Captain,

you know what Mrs Ashmead says.

Mrs Ashmead cannot

get it through her head

that there are far worse crosses

to bear than physical pain.

This fog in my head,

this constant mental daze...

Alright, alright.

- Good morning.

- Morning.

These are Dallas Bronze,

if I'm not mistaken.

Ah, yes, I believe so.

There you go, Captain.

Nice and hot.

And don't forget

your heart medicine.

Freddy?

Are you alright, Freddy?

I'm sorry.

Are you in pain?

Sometimes, Phryne,

I feel like I can't go forward,

I can't be still.

I can't even drink tea

without tasting blood.

The séance has stirred it

all up for you.

For me, it's faces

on streets or trams,

bearing the slightest

resemblance

and I'm right back there.

But my war goes on and on,

Phryne. In my head.

Battle neurosis,

that's what the doctors say.

It's a perfectly rational

response to an absurd situation.

But I can't help but feeling

there's some hideous truth

lurking in a dark corner of

my mind.

We're both home now.

We're safe.

Yes.

I never appreciated flowers

until France.

It's amazing how

a single scented wildflower,

struggling for survival

in a battlefield of mud,

can touch what's left of

one's heart.

Here.

Maude doesn't know that

I kept it.

She doesn't like me

being upset.

A Dispatches Report.

The day Roland was killed.

It says here that you

carried him off the field

in the midst of battle.

Yes, but why does it

rankle with me?

Why can't I remember?

When my time comes, I need

to know what kind of man I am.

Was I a hero, as your Aunt

would have me be, or...

...will I die a coward?

Shell shock does

mysterious things to the mind.

It closes doors.

But he doesn't trust

that Dispatches Report.

So, if you were to obtain

Roland's war records

as part of your inquiry

into the cemetery murder...

- And how would that help?

- Medical details.

The name of the doctor

in the field hospital

who treated Roland. Someone

must know the whole story.

Why bother with records

when Mrs Bolkonsky can

go direct to the source?

(knock at door)

Roland Claremont's war records,

as requested, sir.

How remarkably clairvoyant

of you, Jack.

You know, Hugh, if we ask nicely

he'll make the desk levitate.

I'm simply looking for a reason

why someone would break into

the tomb of a man who's been

dead for over a decade.

Yes, and why they'd kill

a poor gravedigger to do it.

"Claremont, Lieutenant

Colonel Roland Albert."

"Killed, the Somme,

July 25th, 1916."

"Wounded in battle, died

en route to field hospital."

And at the age of 12,

he thought it was fun

to throw lizards' guts

at unsuspecting females.

- I added that last bit.

- From personal experience?

It wasn't me, it was his nanny.

He was a horrible child.

Not quite the way your

Aunt Prudence described him.

Oh, seems Roly knew

how to pick a target.

"Signed Percy Bishop."

Well, it's a name at least.

Cec, don't get butter on it.

It's from the library.

So how does this

Mrs Baloney do it?

Well, they pick up on clues.

You know, follow hunches.

Just like Miss Fisher.

Ah, Bert and Cec.

And drop scones.

So who's this Percy Bishop

you want us to round up?

All I can tell you

is that he came from Coburg

and worked out of a field

hospital near Pozieres in 1916.

- Doctor?

- Stretcher bearer.

A bloody conchie.

A lily livered,

moralistic, gutless wonder.

And if he's still alive, I would

like him to remain that way,

at least until

I've had a word with him.

No guarantees.

- Percy Bishop?

- Go easy.

That's me.

BERT: Your mother said

we'd find you here.

You the Percy Bishop who was

a stretcher bearer at Pozieres?

Percy the conchie?

War's been over

ten or more years, Digger.

I don't need no more trouble.

Oh, there won't be any trouble.

A man who can't raise his fists

for his country

isn't going to be

any trouble at all.

Since when does a pacifist

go around breaking

other blokes' noses?

- It's not broken.

- So you stand by

and watch Percy "Iron Fist"

Bishop pummel me into the dirt?

You started it.

Then it's your own fault.

It's not as if been anti-killing

meant you got to sit out the war

knitting socks by the fire.

And now you're letting a sheila

hen peck me when I'm down.

- Bloody hell!

- Dragging a half dead Digger

out of two foot deep mud's

no job for a coward.

Oh, Bishop's no coward,

I'll grant you that.

It was a bad day.

Heavy shelling,

and a casualty list to match.

That didn't stop Roaring Roly

from taking his men

over the top.

"Roaring Roly."

That's appropriate.

He was always bellowing

at somebody.

And he was yelling fit to

blow a gasket when he got hit.

His leg was buggered.

I could see that.

I tried to go out for him, but

the Germans weren't finished.

Stuck my head out again

after it went quiet,

and that's when

I saw the Captain

coming towards the trench

with Roland on his shoulders.

I assume he didn't die

of a broken leg?

No, some Hun

took a pot shot at him.

Captain Ashmead remembers

hearing a final pistol shot

before Roland went quiet.

That'd be right.

But a pistol needs to be fired

at close range to do the job,

and, of course,

only officers carried handguns.

Maybe one of the German brass

finishing off the survivors.

If Roland was finished off,

why would your report state that

he died on the way to hospital?

It was a long time ago.

Mr Bishop...

...the truth is sometimes

hard to live with.

But to die

not knowing the truth...

...in Captain Ashmead's place,

what would you choose?

Roaring Roly, they called him.

And he led almost an entire

Battalion to their slaughter.

And ends up

with his own mausoleum.

I never liked him.

No idea why a woman like Maude

would want to marry him.

Then Freddy avenges their deaths

by shooting

his Commanding Officer?

Or he put a dying man

out of his misery.

Mercy killing? Murder?

Either way,

it would explain Freddy's

traumatic loss of memory.

By rights, the military

should be informed.

Even if it's been ten years,

there could be grounds

for a court martial.

You wouldn't report him?

No, I didn't think so.

Besides, I have my hands full

trying to solve the murder of

this unfortunate gravedigger.

Mmm. Any progress?

Constable, will you please

bring in that evidence?

We extended the search area

of the cemetery.

We found this late yesterday

in the rhododendrons

by the western entrance.

There's dried blood

on the tip here,

and it matches

Mr Potts's injuries.

Hmm, poor Mr Potts.

Still, it doesn't explain

why an innocent gravedigger

was murdered on

the doorstep of Roland's tomb,

right when Aunt Prudence is

on her high horse about awards

and poor Freddy

is haunted by the past.

Look at this.

There's a splash of blood

on the inside edge here.

So the door was ajar when the

attack on Mr Potts took place.

Someone was on the inside.

Either an expert lockpick

or someone who had access

to a key.

Well, I don't understand.

What on earth would anyone

be after, Inspector?

There was no sign of theft,

but an urn was smashed,

so perhaps someone

was disturbed.

Whoever it was locked the door

behind them after they left.

We've always kept the key

in the cemetery office.

Yeah, it seemed easiest

with us living out of town,

and Prudence likes to

bring flowers whenever she can.

Is there anyone who would

want to deface the grave?

Anyone with a grudge

against Roland?

Oh, apart from me, you mean?

Oh, that's not true, Freddy.

My first husband

was highly respected

and highly decorated...

- Maude!

- Freddy's not well.

I don't think he's strong enough

to deal with any more...

- Maude!

- I'm sure I can help...

Maude!

You know that's not

the whole story.

I've tried to pay homage,

hold my tongue.

But I've had enough.

I'm still angry with Roland

about what happened

on the Somme that day.

And I'm sure

I'm not the only one.

I tried to stop him.

I... I begged him

not to send the lads out.

All dead. Every single one.

Excepting you,

and Lieutenant Colonel out

on the field, wounded but alive.

Perhaps in the heat of

the moment, I did something,

and all these years I've

blotted it out of my mind...

Freddy! Freddy, don't say that.

You were a hero.

Then why in God's name is

all of this happening now?

Are you finished?

- Come on. Come on, Freddy.

- (coughs)

Slow breaths, darling.

I need Mrs Bolkonsky.

I need to speak to Roland again.

Freddy,

I don't think that's wise.

I need to, Maude.

MAUDE: Let's go upstairs

and you can lie down.

I want you there, Inspector.

Answers. You need them, too.

Come on. Come on.

HUGH: Another break in?

That must have happened

last night,

after you lot finished

searching yesterday.

And you didn't notice until now?

I'm doing the job of two men,

not by choice.

Of course. I didn't mean any...

Stick your light in there.

Must be the Colonel

had gold teeth.

Not much else left of him now.

Right, well,

I think I've seen enough.

If you could just keep

this area secure, Mr Beale,

I'll inform my Inspector.

How do you suggest I do that?

Lock's broken.

Stand guard?

Trust me, son, those robbers

got what they came for.

And he isn't going anywhere.

(gasps)

Why do you call me again?

The truth.

Tell me, whatever I did.

Basil is here too, Freddy.

Who is this Basil person?

(shelling, blasts)

Help me!

Stretcher bearer!

(gunfire)

You remember now, don't you?

FREDDY: My God.

He was alive.

I could have saved him.

But he did try to save you,

didn't he, Roland?

(screams)

FREDDY: The men,

dying all around.

Roland, you must know

that I blamed you.

I did not die by your hand.

And yet, in that moment,

had I not been overcome

with terror...

Freddy, what are you saying?

It could have been by my hand.

I wanted him dead.

Silver moon

shines full and bright,

lilac scents

the soft spring night,

here he'll slumber

through the years,

while Mary weeps

her silent tears.

(shudders)

That's one of Roland's poems.

Yes. It was the last he wrote.

I've carried it everywhere

with me, always.

What does it all mean?

(grunts, breathes heavily)

Go to his grave

when the moon is full.

You must drink

the virgins' tears.

Then spirits

will grant forgiveness

from beyond the grave.

FREDDY:

It's a full moon tonight.

The cemetery gates

will be locked.

I'll phone them in the morning

and we'll make special

arrangements for tomorrow night.

I assume the culprit is the same

person who murdered Ernie Potts?

At least we know the motive

for the first visit was robbery.

I've noted his medals

were missing, sir,

but what we need to know now

is what else was in the tomb,

apart from the Colonel himself.

Must be extraordinarily valuable

to risk returning

after attracting the attention

of the police force.

I trust, Detective Inspector,

you're now suitably impressed.

Yes, indeed. You don't

strike me as the kind of woman

who would fail to notice

her handbag being raided.

Oh, why can't you just accept

that this is a sign from Roland?

Full moons? Virgins' tears?

Really, Aunt P, if Mrs Bolkonsky

is channeling anything,

it's the mind of

a Penny Dreadful writer.

And as for forgiveness

beyond the grave,

no one, least of all

Captain Ashmead,

is to go near that cemetery

until I've made

further investigations.

What do you mean?

Roland's tomb has been robbed

of all valuables

and the Coroner has given

his approval to exhume the body.

(gasps)

Did you steal that poem

out of my Aunt's handbag?

No.

You have my word.

What about the virgins' tears?

Also known as Angels' Tears,

Lourdes water, Ganges water,

water from the

Fountain of Youth,

or the Glastonbury chalice,

collected in our travels.

Holy water.

For those who believe, and

harmless for those who don't.

Tell me, Miss Fisher.

Do you discredit everything

you cannot see?

No. Not everything.

I believe in radio waves

and electricity and magnetism.

Or the current that flows

between two people.

I would never discredit that.

Two veterans of a war, perhaps.

Or the energy that flares

between two independent spirits.

However briefly.

WARWICK: Shall we blame it

on that moon?

If you need a reason.

I certainly never needed one.

Were you with your brother

when he was killed?

Shrapnel wounds

leave distinctive scars.

Miss Fisher.

Private detective.

But this is the sanctity

of the boudoir.

We were in different Battalions.

I thought twins

did everything together.

He enlisted before me.

Perhaps if I'd been with him

that day...

Brotherly love,

no matter how strong,

is no protection against

mortar shells and mustard gas.

I knew the moment it happened.

I felt my brother's death

as though it were my own,

as if a piece of me

had died with him.

Is that why you sought out

Mrs Bolkonsky?

To reclaim your soul

from the spirit world?

The dead may lay claim

to our hearts and our minds,

but not our souls.

(door bangs)

(gasps)

Hello?

Who's there?

Dorothy Williams, there are

no such things as ghosts.

Basil's death

was tragic, unjust,

and he wanted me to know that.

- Basil?

- (woman screams)

(screaming)

Help!

Dot!

Get it off!

It's alright, it's alright,

it's just a piece of cloth.

I...

It was up there. I...

I pulled the cord

to switch off the light

and it floated down and...

But who would do such a thing?

The cord snapped

just this morning.

I asked Bert and Cec

to replace it.

Bert and Cec, who else?

They were reading that book.

Of all the mean,

horrid things.

Is everything alright?

It is now, Mr Butler.

Dot just had a fright,

that's all.

Freddy's gone!

He's gone!

(footsteps)

JACK: I hope you haven't called

us out for nothing, Mr Beale.

Define "rattled".

You know, like a chained dog

scratching fleas.

And then there was this

dragging noise and... (pants)

- Did you see anything?

- I didn't stop to look.

Well, which way did it go?

- The Claremont tomb.

- The... the Clare...

I thought you said

he wasn't going anywhere.

Sorry, but I don't speak

for the dead.

Right.

(grunts)

A-ha.

So much for a dog with fleas.

Ashmead. He's on his cane.

Forgiveness.

- What is it?

- Shh!

Who's there?

JACK: Not afraid of ghosts,

are we, Mr Hamilton?

- Jack.

- Ah, Miss Fisher.

No need for a crystal ball

to know what brings you here.

(Freddy grunts)

Freddy!

(groans)

PHRYNE: Freddy!

He's hurt!

Where's your medication?

PHRYNE: He's gone.

I'd like your recipe for

virgins' tears, Mr Hamilton,

down at the police station.

Rather convenient

to make your own holy water,

I would have thought,

seeing as you're doing

a roaring trade in the stuff.

What possible motive

could I have

to kill off my own clientele?

Revenge, perhaps?

- Excuse me?

- Mr Hamilton's twin brother

was at Pozieres

with Freddy and Roland.

He was killed along with

the rest of the Battalion.

His name was Basil.

So much for the sanctity

of the boudoir.

I'm sorry, Warwick, but I draw

the line at possible murder.

Why would I kill him?

They haven't even paid us yet.

Um, your... your brother's

connection to Roland Claremont

can't be mere coincidence.

Were both the séances rigged

by you and Mrs Bolkonsky?

I find that suggestion

highly insulting.

Did you deliberately manipulate

Freddy Ashmead

so you could engineer his death?

No.

Look, I admit

to taking advantage

of Mrs Stanley's association

with Freddy Ashmead.

I wanted to jog his memory

about Basil.

I believe he could have

done more to save my brother.

I wanted him to face the truth.

That's all. The same thing

Freddy himself wanted.

You expect me to believe that

after your virgins' tears cure?

- Collins?

- Why would I want him dead?

Memories make

for powerful ghosts,

and some people

deserve to be haunted.

Take his statement.

It wasn't Warwick.

Hamilton was after retribution.

You said it yourself.

Why are you now defending him?

Because what he says make sense.

Freddy Ashmead was a dying man.

The only reason

to hasten his death

would be to stop

his quest for the truth.

The person who knows the truth

doesn't want it coming out.

Deep down, Freddy knew

what happened to Roland.

He witnessed it.

And he was killed

on the verge of

remembering everything.

Which suggests Freddy wasn't

the one who shot Roland.

Exactly.

And neither did Warwick.

He was stationed at Arras,

15 miles away.

Ah, you've obviously

come to know him quite well.

As to who killed Freddy,

that vial was on

the dining room table for hours.

And any one of us could have

slipped something into it.

I'm not ruling out

Warwick Hamilton just yet.

But if I'm right,

the break in at the mausoleum

wasn't any ordinary

grave robbery.

(knocking)

Right, let's get this over with.

Ah, Mr Beale. Constable Collins

will take your statement

when he's free,

if you don't mind taking a seat

I've got a shift to get back to.

I don't have time

to hang around here.

That's a very lovely piece

you have there.

Where did you get it?

- I found it.

- Really?

On a dead man, by any chance?

This is everything of value

I could find in the bin

at the cemetery.

And our light fingered Mr Beale

swears that's where

he found Roland's watch?

Says it was on the ground

beside it.

According to the war records,

Claremont was buried

with his medals,

his cufflinks, his watch,

his poetry and his pistol.

Which isn't here.

So our thief took the pistol

and dumped everything else.

Ouch! But not fatal.

Now this is fatal, I presume.

(bullet rattles)

According to the war records,

Roland's pistol was a Colt.

PHRYNE: I thought the Webley

was standard issue

- for the British Commonwealth.

- Correct.

And fortuitously,

the Colt uses

a slightly different

caliber bullet to the Webley.

So if this came from

the missing pistol...

Roland was shot

with his own gun.

In the back of the head.

An unlikely enemy execution.

I told you. I heard a shot,

and then Captain Ashmead carried

Roland through the trench

with a shot to his head.

And whatever reason the Captain

had for pulling the trigger,

I wasn't going to make life

any tougher blowing the whistle.

So you did see Captain Ashmead

shoot Roland Claremont?

No.

Stretcher now!

- Stretcher bearer!

- (gunshots)

I just assumed he did.

So you falsified medical records

and spread the word

that Ashmead was a hero?

No, I didn't say nothing

about him being a hero.

Well somebody did.

He was mentioned in Dispatches.

Wasn't me. I kept my trap

well and truly shut.

Then who? All Roland's men

except Freddy

were killed that day.

Someone wrote it up later?

Ask Roland Claremont's batman,

if he's still alive.

- He helped to lay him out.

- Do you remember his name?

- (knock at door)

- HUGH: Excuse me, sir.

Coroner's toxicology report

on Captain Ashmead.

Traces of strophanthus,

a heart stimulant.

Toxic in large doses.

Freddy was on medication

for his heart.

His valet administered it.

His valet worked

for Maude's family,

and he went on to become

Roland's valet.

Perhaps Roland took him to war.

Did Maude have a copy of

that poem that Roland sent you?

Possibly.

But she knew it by heart.

Are Maude and Larry

having an affair?

Of course not!

Whatever made you think

such a thing?

(sighs) Maude's parents

were killed

when she was a little girl.

Larry was all she had left.

Yes.

Her protector.

I won't let this happen.

- Maude, calm yourself.

- No!

- It's so unfair!

- Maude, listen to me.

- It's better this way.

- No!

Haven't I always done

what was best for you?

- Shh.

- HUGH: Come on. Come on.

I need you to answer some

questions down at the station.

Come upstairs.

PHRYNE: Roland Claremont.

You weren't only Roland's valet

on the home front,

were you, Larry?

I know what you did.

You tried to stop a bully

from abusing his authority.

On your feet, soldier!

Clean this!

- With what?

- Use your hands!

What a pity

you couldn't stop him

before that charge

over No Man's Land.

Stretcher now!

- Stretcher bearer!

- (gun cocks)

For pity's sake, man!

(gunshot)

Captain! Captain!

He's wounded! Help him!

(groans)

PHRYNE: Freddy carried Roland

off the field,

and you made sure his heroism

was duly noted

in all the right places.

Maude was terrified of Roland.

He was a brute.

To her most of all.

I couldn't let him

come back from the war.

And Freddy's shell shock

made it all so easy.

Until my Aunt started lobbying

for his bravery award

and it all started

coming back for him.

And then Maude

did what she could.

After the séance, she panicked.

And tried to retrieve the gun.

She did it for me.

She wasn't strong enough

to open the tomb.

Who's in there?

Oh, that poor, poor man.

I panicked.

I didn't mean to kill him.

(groans)

Good God.

PHRYNE: And Larry realized

what you'd done,

and went back there with you

to do the job properly.

I thought if we could make it

look like a proper robbery...

We took everything.

Except the bullet

that killed Roland.

I felt around for it,

but it was dark.

Maude was upset.

But it didn't stop Freddy's mind

searching for the truth.

So someone had to stop him.

Someone with access

to his medicine.

Like who?

You think Larry poisoned Freddy?

You think I did?

No! She loved Freddy.

She loved you, too.

And he was a very sick man.

Was her debt to you

the greater one?

No, no, no, she was like

a daughter to me.

There's no debt.

There never was.

JACK: You bribed Mrs Bolkonsky

to go along with

your rigged séance.

And you supplied her with the

words to Roland's poem.

No, we didn't bribe her.

She'd been pushing

for another séance all along.

She... she knew Freddy

was a tortured soul, but...

I recited the poem for her,

that's all.

Then you added

his heart medicine to that vial?

No. I... I don't understand.

How could anyone kill him

with cod liver oil?

Cod liver oil?

That's all we gave him

for his heart.

So...

Drinking virgins' tears

by the moonlight

was Mrs Bolkonsky's idea.

Oh, it's nothing, dear.

That energy may enter

a willing person.

Drive them to violent acts.

It is irresistible.

(sighs)

Jack, I think it's time

you had a heart to heart

with your tarot card reader.

It's the Wheel of Fortune...

...and The Chariot.

Most auspicious.

Queen of Swords.

A woman of great vision

and courage.

From my point of view,

it's reversed.

Deceit, manipulation.

A woman adept

at playing games with the truth.

Are you unwell, Mrs Bolkonsky?

My heart, I'm afraid.

I'll have Mr Butler

bring you some water,

unless you require

something stronger.

Justice.

Do you want me to continue

with your reading, Inspector?

I'd prefer a signed confession.

There's no escaping destiny,

Mrs Bolkonsky.

"Strophanthus Tonic.

Milk for the Ageing Heart."

The Hanged Man.

That won't be necessary.

I don't understand. Why?

For you.

For your brother, Basil.

(sobs)

He was left hanging

on barbed wire.

He died an agonizing death.

(gunshots)

And Freddy ignored

his cries for help!

But I didn't want Freddy dead.

No, but your brother did.

(sobs)

I'll take that.

JACK: Three murders,

three murderers.

That's a personal best,

Miss Fisher.

It's not a record

I hope to beat anytime soon.

I'll drink to that.

And Warwick Hamilton

is in the clear.

I presumed as much,

otherwise you wouldn't have

let him leave the country.

Shame about our Mrs Bolkonsky.

Now I'll never know

what the future holds for me.

A fortune teller once told me

that I would marry well,

have four children

and play a lot of croquet.

What do you think of that?

I can almost see you

playing croquet.

I see a very careful man,

who professes to be cynical

in the face of mysteries

he can't explain,

and claims to have no passions,

in spite a heart that runs

as deep as the Pacific Ocean.

That's strange.

All I can see

is another martini.

(jazz music)