Original subtitles

Tonight, on Murder, She Wrote.

You must be wondering what kind of a savage world

we live in down under, eh, Mrs. Fletcher?

That’s what I’m here to find out.

You’ve arrived in the middle of a hornet’s nest.

Just remember what happens to anyone that owes me money for too long.

Eamonn McGill was hanged for bank robbery.

Good heavens!

If he ever touches her again, I’ll kill him.

I’m not sure the police would take it that way.

Just the Fletcher woman to deal with.

You mean, you think that I might be in danger?

Let’s try a little outback justice, shall we?

So, the Bauxite mine

will not only get some of you layabouts jobs,

it’s gonna put Kookaburra Downs on the map so to speak.

And to hell with our sheep, right?

Sheepmen have been supporting Kookaburra Downs

for two centuries, Jarvis!

All I’m saying is you gotta move your sheep outta McGill Valley.

Ain’t gonna happen.

Outta the best grazing for 30 miles?

Well, Hatchey Creek’s just as good.

The council’s all behind dad on this one.

Not quite all, eh, Mayor?

Right, Melba, all but you. Duly noted.

But next week, the town’s gonna own The Valley.

Not if the McGill woman gets here.

Come on, Roo, not that one again.

She’ll be here. You’ll see.

Roo! Roo! She’s here! I’ll bet this one’s her!

Who?

A lady that just got off the Brisbane bus!

She’s coming this way, and she’ll be right in.

There she is.

Good day, ma’am. Can I help you?

Yes. Uh, I have a reservation.

My name is Fletcher.

Oh, how you goin’, Mrs. Fletcher?

Tim Jarvis, we spoke on the phone.

Oh, yes, of course.

Yeah, you’re in room number four.

That’s left at the top of the stairs.

I’ll get your bag for you if you like.

Thanks. Looks as if I came in in the middle of something?

No, no, just local politics.

Some of the sheepmen want to stop the mine at McGill Valley.

McGill Valley?

You’re not related to Eamonn McGill, are ya?

Well, as a matter of fact,

that’s what I’m here to find out, among other things.

Did Mr. Cathcart check in, by any chance?

Yeah. Yeah. He’s in room number two.

Oh, there’s a message for you

from John Molen, he’s our librarian,

and he’s keeper of the local records.

I’ll direct you there once you’re settled in.

Fine.

Oh, Hendrix! Fancy meeting you here. Taking a holiday?

Stuff it. You left Brisbane owing me 40 grand, mate.

No worries. You know,

it’s not like I’m not gonna pay or anything.

Well, you got that right.

You made me come to this God-forsaken dump

to collect my money.

Now, where is it?

I should have it for you any day.

You were due last week.

Well, I’ll have it to you by Friday, I promise.

You know, I’ll get it off my dad.

That’s why I came back. Get the money, bring it back to Brisbane.

Friday.

Add another 10%, okay?

Ever since I got your fax, Mrs. Fletcher,

I’ve been getting together everything I could

on your uncle Eamonn.

Oh, my goodness.

You’ve certainly gone to a great deal of trouble, Mr. Molen.

Oh, my privilege, local history being a hobby of mine.

I’m supposed to meet my lawyer, Simon Cathcart, here today,

but he seems to have disappeared.

He didn’t drop in here, did he?

I’d say that’s hardly a mystery

worthy of your next detective Dyson novel.

How do you do, Mrs. Fletcher? Colin Baxter.

Sergeant.

Cathcart was on his way to McGill Valley yesterday afternoon.

Oh. And incidentally,

I think that my detective Dyson

would’ve been more concerned with the fact

that Mr. Cathcart didn’t return to his room last night.

I wouldn’t presume to trespass on your literary expertise,

but perhaps he might’ve decided to spend the night at Woomarra,

at the other end of The Valley.

Did you find anything, sergeant?

As you said, just a broken window.

I better look around.

Apart from the town’s financial records

being rearranged, nothing’s missing.

Ah!

Probably just some children up to mischief.

I’ll fill out a report anyway.

Parents around here tend to let their brats run wild.

If you’ll excuse me.

Snotty English git.

Where were we?

Now, here is Eamonn McGill,

who is my grandmother’s brother.

He left Ireland in 1890,

and the family never heard from him again.

Well, he arrived here in 1893,

and within a few years,

bought all 130,000 acres of the McGill Valley.

In those days, land was going for six pence an acre.

Ten cents. Isn’t that amazing!

Anyway, he left the land to your grandmother,

or her descendants,

and as there didn’t seem to be any

until Mr. Cathcart tracked you down,

the trust is scheduled to expire...

Mr. Cathcart said 100 years after Eamonn McGill’s death.

Day after tomorrow.

Then, under the terms of the will,

it reverts to the town,

which I’m sure you’ll have something to say about.

Yes. I understand that the sheep ranchers

have been leasing the land from the trust.

I’ll drive you out there if you like. It’s beautiful.

Well, perhaps later.

I’d really like to know more about Eamonn McGill.

I’ve got the complete transcript of his trial right here.

His trial?

Oh, I assumed you knew.

Your great-uncle was hanged for bank robbery.

Good heavens! Uncle Eamonn?

What on earth are you talking about, Jarvis?

How could a claimant suddenly show up

hours before the trust reverted?

And J.B. Fletcher? It’s unreal.

Some lawyer by the name of Cathcart just dug her up.

And where’s this Mr. Cathcart now?

That’s what Mrs. Fletcher would like to know.

He’s got a room upstairs.

Look, Orbit Mining has invested considerable money on your word.

All right, you guaranteed us The Valley.

Those advances we gave you, they weren’t charity.

Nick. Nick!

Okay, Tim, uh, here’s the problem.

Head office doesn’t know that we’ve given you any money.

They might interpret it as a...

- Bribe? - Exactly.

So if for any reason Kookaburra Downs

doesn’t acquire the McGill Valley and give us the contract

to start mining,

I’m afraid you’ll have to reimburse us the full amount.

Hey, look, miss Brock, Mr. Derby, this is a...

it’s a small bump on the road.

The word around town

is that you’re a member of the McGill family, right?

Well, maybe a very distant niece.

Good on you. Any kin of his is all right by me.

Melba Drummond. My son, Roo.

- How do you do? - Cigar?

Oh, no, no. No, thanks. I’m trying to quit.

Are you here for Eamonn McGill day?

Yes. I guess I am. Uh, what’s it all about?

Yearly knees-up to celebrate when he was hanged.

Day after tomorrow.

He was only trying to get back the money

the governor swindled from the town.

I’ll have you know

me grandmum saw him go at a public execution.

Terrible thing, but she always said he went out like a real trouper.

Well, that’s very comforting.

Mom, get to the real point with Mrs. Fletcher.

You’re gonna be filing a claim for The Valley, right?

I really need to talk to Simon Cathcart first,

but, yes, there is a possibility.

The town council’s gonna make an offer to buy it off you,

and then turn around and lease it

to an American mining company.

The sheepmen’s association would like to be first in

with an offer to lease it off you. Fair price, mind.

Here, none of your sales talk on my premises, Melba.

Mrs. Fletcher, don’t you believe her when she tells you

the town council’s selling out the sheepmen.

If and when you take title to McGill Valley,

I would like my innings with you,

on behalf of a truly fine company, Orbit Mining.

There you are, Mrs. Fletcher. Ready to go?

Absolutely.

Have you got time for a coffee, dad?

Oh, no. Not now, love, no.

Bring us a nice frosty Fosters, would you, love?

- I thought it was over. - It is.

Well, you don’t have to put up with his cheek then, do you?

Mrs. Fletcher?

If it turns out that I have title to The Valley,

I really would be interested to hear more, Melba.

Thanks.

Now she’s the real McGill.

That’s McCoy, mum.

Is something bothering you?

Nah. How’s she doing?

Good. The antibiotics seem to be working.

Couple of days,

we’ll have you back out there hopping about, mate.

And no more playing on the road.

It’s lucky you found her.

She would’ve been a goner for sure.

You saved her, not me.

You hear anything yet?

No. It’s too late now.

Anyway, I probably don’t have what it takes

to make it in vet school.

You’ve got the healing touch, Linda. That’s what counts.

I wish it was that easy.

I can just see myself in 20 years,

still serving cold ones in the Kookaburra Arms.

Nothing wrong with that, ’cause we’ll have a few little nippers by then, won’t we?

Donald, when’s it going to sink into that pea brain of yours,

we’re not getting married.

- You promised. - I was 12.

Yeah. Well, we’ll see. Dad needs you out front.

Roo, would you put her back for me?

Yeah.

Thanks.

You still putting crazy ideas in my fiancée’s head?

You’re the nutter around here, mate.

The aborigines believed

the spirit ancestors created the present world.

During dreamtime.

Exactly.

We still call this area sacred rocks.

It was a djang, a place of spiritual potency.

The elders used to meet here for corroborees.

Now all we get is a few kids out here for a barbie

once in a while, that’s about it.

Shame.

A culture that lasted for 40,000 years

has almost disappeared in 200.

John?

Wait. Let me.

Is it...

I’m afraid so, Jessica.

It’s your lawyer, Simon Cathcart.

Oh, my Lord.

To any vehicle eight to ten code 302.

BKI from Sierra 301. Correct, we’ll dance.

Roger, Sierra 301. Can you tend 127 Prince street?

Burglary in progress.

Mrs. Fletcher? Looks like a single bullet wound to the chest.

Tell me, you came all the way to Australia

just to meet Mr. Cathcart?

I was already scheduled for

a writers’ conference in Sydney,

when he got in touch with me last week in New York.

He told me about the possible inheritance,

and he insisted that I should be here by the fifth.

You’ve arrived in the middle of a hornet’s nest.

These ranchers are a pretty trigger-happy lot.

They’ve considered themselves outside the law ever since...

Ever since Eamonn McGill?

No reflection on you, of course.

It seems very unlikely to me that one of the sheepmen

would have killed Mr. Cathcart.

Because he was your key to The Valley?

And not the council’s.

If I took title,

it’s more likely The Valley would remain sheep country.

Well, then, it might be worth considering

who has the most to gain from this Bauxite mine.

It’s just like we heard.

The sheepmen are crowing all over town.

Convinced that J.B. Fletcher will be on their side

in the event she has a legitimate claim.

She makes me feel like an underachiever, Nick.

Charities, museums,

ten books on the New York Times best-seller list

in the past 12 years.

And Jarvis has failed us in every way.

Well, maybe not in every way.

Last night I got something on him that’s kind of interesting.

Hold that thought.

Mrs. Fletcher? Rhonda Brock, Orbit Mining.

Oh, miss Brock.

You haven’t seen Roo Drummond around here, have you?

I don’t know Mr. Drummond and I’m not certain I want to.

Roo might say the same thing about you.

This is my associate, Nicholas Derby.

Pleasure.

Can you spare a moment?

Well, all right. Just a moment.

I was sorry to hear about your lawyer, Mrs. Fletcher.

Can I ask, what are your plans for the McGill Valley

if you should happen to inherit it?

Well, I really haven’t had a chance to think it through.

Our analysis indicates

this is a very economically viable Bauxite deposit.

Let’s not burden Mrs. Fletcher with details, Nick.

If you were to lease it to us, we would be prepared

to give you a handsome percentage of revenues,

much more than any grazing rights could ever be worth.

Well, at the risk of sounding blunt,

I really can’t imagine leasing to a company

already responsible for five major toxic disasters back home.

Ancient history, Jessica.

Orbit mining is under new and enlightened management,

including myself.

We’ve adopted the most up-to-date

preventive cleansing techniques.

Well, I’d feel much more comfortable

without the necessity for cleansing anything, miss Brock.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must find Roo.

The unstoppable meets the immovable.

You said you have something on Jarvis?

Does Mr. Cathcart’s death mean you won’t get your inheritance?

Well, not necessarily.

Thanks to Mr. Cathcart’s law partners,

the Brisbane courts have delayed the dissolution of the trust

until my claim can be analyzed.

Not sure that I like that.

It gives Jarvis more time to cause trouble.

Meanwhile, I can’t understand what Mr. Cathcart was doing

at the sacred rocks.

Checking on Eamonn’s land?

I think that he went out there to meet someone.

I found several fresh pistachio shells on the ground

not far from the body.

All right. All right, so I was there.

I waited, but I didn’t even see him, dead or alive.

Mr. Cathcart told me on the phone that a local resident

had paid him to find an heir to the McGill trust.

Now, that was you, wasn’t it, Roo?

I called him after that Orbit crew

started firing up the council about the mining operation.

After all this time, we didn’t hold out much hope.

But we hired investigators in Ireland and then New York,

and ta-da.

So, it’s because of you that I’m in Kookaburra Downs.

Cathcart wanted to meet someplace quiet,

so he could give me copies of the research,

seeing as how I’d paid for it.

That must’ve cost a bit.

All the money grandpa left me.

Roo, that money was to put you through college.

Face it, mum, that’s your dream, not mine.

And I didn’t tell you ’cause you would’ve said

I was stark raving bonkers,

like everyone else in town. Wouldn’t you?

- I gotta get back. - Melba...

I think that Roo should tell sergeant Baxter

everything that he knows.

Right, Jess. Good if he told someone.

She wouldn’t take help

if she was being eaten by a great white.

I just wanted her to be able to keep her sheep station.

Ever since dad died, it’s all she’s got left.

Well, she’s still got you.

So, it looks like one problem is out of the way, at least.

Leaving one major one, Jessica Fletcher.

She’s convinced me that Orbit can’t apply leverage on her.

So the thing is, Tim, if she is the sole heir,

we’re in trouble, and you’re gonna get us out.

What are these?

We’ll call them your incentive, Tim.

But these are town treasury balances; how did you get these?

My colleague, Mr. Derby,

um... explored the library last night.

Yeah, I heard about the break-in.

And he got a hold of some of the town’s account records,

as you can see, showing 20,000 siphoned

from town coffers in the last month alone

in checks endorsed by you.

Well, there’s an awful mistake here.

I’m not sure the police would take it that way.

What do you want?

Well, what we both want, Tim.

You’ll clear the way for Orbit Mining

to acquire McGill Valley from Kookaburra Downs.

I’m not interested in how, just get it done. Hmm?

So what exactly was Cathcart supposed to give you out there?

Birth and marriage records from Ireland and the States.

Proof that Mrs. Fletcher’s related to Eamonn McGill.

But there was nothing like that at the murder scene.

Or in his car, which we found about half a mile away.

Don’t you think that’s strange, Drummond?

That’s not so strange if the killer was out to stop

Mrs. Fletcher’s legitimate claim to The Valley.

Or maybe quite the opposite.

Perhaps Cathcart was bearing bad news, Drummond.

Mrs. Fletcher has no legitimate claim,

in which event, the lawyer was done away with

for an altogether different motive.

You can go.

Mrs. Fletcher. A word, please?

Oh, of course.

Thank you for bringing him in,

but now, I’d like you to stay out of this.

And quite honestly,

I think it would be better if you left town.

You mean you think that I might be in danger?

Suppose your arrival has frustrated the killer’s goals.

That makes you his next logical choice.

Well, I really can’t leave just now.

I feel partly responsible for Simon Cathcart’s death.

You little mongrel, how could you do that to your own dad?

What in blazes made you think you’d get away with it?

Forging my name like that on town checks.

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

I had to.

Hendrix threatened to slice me up.

I was gonna pay it back with the mining money.

No one had to know.

Oh, yeah. No one but that woman, Rhonda Brock and her man Derby.

Don’t you see what you’ve done to me?

Now I’m in their bloody pocket.

I should never have helped you in the first place.

It’s only made your gambling worse.

Now I see what value you place on your own father.

You’re not my son anymore.

I’m cutting you off as of now.

What did I tell you?

You got in. Congratulations.

Hey, Linda’s going to vet school.

Hey, I’ll still be here when you get back.

More’s the pity. Leave me alone.

- No, listen, Linda. - She said let go of her.

Donald.

Donald!

Haven’t you caused enough trouble already?

Get outside and sober up before I knock you for six.

Sorry about that, Roo.

If he ever touches her again, I’ll kill him.

Yeah.

You okay?

I’m all right, Linda.

The old man’s getting squeezed from both ends, right?

Well, that’s our business.

But he’ll just about give away those mining rights,

we’ll have him so screwed up.

What about the kid?

You just do what you’d normally do.

And you’ll still cover him?

I’m good for anything you don’t get from the old man,

plus a little bonus when Orbit gets the rights,

just like we agreed.

You said to keep upping his credit.

I don’t normally carry a stiff like Donald this long.

Trust me. Just the Fletcher woman to deal with,

and we are home and dry.

There you go, love.

Thanks.

He robbed quite a few banks before he was finally caught.

Of course, in those days, most of us came from convict stock anyway.

So Eamonn McGill became a sort of local Robin Hood.

Yes. Except Robin Hood

didn’t leave Sherwood Forest in trust for his family.

Nothing more important than family, I always say.

Phone call, Mrs. Fletcher.

Oh. Thanks. Excuse me. Don’t... Right back.

- Thank you. Hello. - Mrs. Fletcher,

it’s Donald Jarvis.

I’ve just gotta tell you, it’s not his fault.

Who?

Dad.

It’s me.

I’ve got a terrible confession to make.

Why are you calling me about this?

Because it’s your uncle’s land,

and you ought to know the truth.

Look, do you know where the stables are?

Yes.

I’ll meet you there in ten minutes,

but don’t trust anyone.

Then why should I trust you, Donald?

Because I’ve got Simon Cathcart’s briefcase,

and all your papers.

Thank you so much for dinner, John.

There’s something that I have to check up on.

Donald?

Donald?

Mrs. Fletcher?

I saw you leave the hotel.

I was worried about you being out here on your own.

It’s him you should have been concerned about.

Donald Jarvis!

It was like a sickness with him.

He couldn’t stop.

He ran through everything I ever saved,

and more.

And then last night,

I disowned him.

I told him I wasn’t gonna pay any more of his gambling debts.

Then on top of that,

he was publicly humiliated by his ex-girlfriend.

You shouldn’t blame yourself if he committed suicide.

That’s my flesh and blood.

I raised him. Who else?

That’ll be all for now, Mr. Jarvis.

You must be wondering what kind of a savage world

we live in down under, eh, Mrs. Fletcher?

First your Mr. Cathcart, getting shot in the back.

Now my Donald doing away with himself.

At least Donald’s suicide

clears up a couple of things for us.

Look, I couldn’t say this in front of his father,

but when I spoke to Donald on the phone last night,

he did not sound like a man who was about to kill himself.

He told you he had a confession to make.

Then he turns up with Cathcart’s briefcase,

everything intact, all your trust papers in perfect order.

Are you suggesting that he killed Cathcart?

Remorse is a powerful emotion, Mrs. Fletcher.

He killed Cathcart and stole the papers

to assure the town would get The Valley by default.

Then you turn up, the papers mean nothing.

The murder is just a dreadful waste.

His whole world goes to pieces.

Disavowed by his father,

spurned by the girl he loves, deep in debt.

I don’t believe that Donald committed suicide.

He told me that he had the briefcase...

And the killer... the killer left the briefcase

to create the illusion of a suicide?

Wouldn’t you?

Okay. I’ll tell you what, lay it off at the same odds.

Yeah. I’ll be home today.

We’ve gotta talk.

Shame about old Donald toppin’ himself.

Yeah. The cops may think that,

but you just couldn’t wait, could you?

Now you look here, mate. In my line of work,

it helps if clients ain’t sure what you’re gonna do next.

I’m not going to admit anything, if that’s what you think.

We had a deal.

We still do. I’ve got a payoff coming, remember,

when you sort out this McGill thing.

Yeah. Some hope. Any leverage we had with Jarvis is gone.

So don’t figure on getting anything else out of me

after this screw up, all right.

Just remember what happens to anyone

that owes me money for too long.

I don’t know. I just could’ve been a bit nicer about it, that’s all.

I don’t want you feeling so responsible.

Here, if Roo hadn’t stepped in,

I was about ready to give Donald a knuckle sandwich myself.

Sure, dad.

You know, I really liked Donald at one time.

He changed, Linda.

I hate to say this about anyone,

but you’re better off with him gone.

He was determined to drag you down one way or another.

You’re always out for my best interests, aren’t you?

Well, I’m your dad. That’s my job.

The rumors have been going all over town

that you’ve got a deal set up with Rhonda Brock.

And I can just imagine who’s spreading that rumor.

The sheepmen can’t compete with Orbit Mining

when it comes to money.

Melba, they’re simply trying to undermine

our trust in each other,

and unfortunately, they’re succeeding.

Now you know where I stand.

Sorry, Jess.

It’s just that we’ve learned to trust no one.

Not that I don’t trust him, mind you,

but Roo didn’t come home last night.

I reckon he’s a bit cheesed off with the way I treated him.

Well, I think he put you and Kookaburra’s interests

ahead of his own. I’d be proud of him.

Melba, you’re the town treasurer, right?

Yeah. Not much to it.

Collect the taxes once a year. Audit the accounts.

Sign the checks?

Mmm-hmm, me and the Mayor, Tim Jarvis.

Something on your mind?

Why the hell did I have to hear this

from Melba Drummond?

Oh, I only found out yesterday myself.

I was so angry with Donald.

That’s when I told him he was on his own.

See, I thought I could pay the town back.

No one’d be the wiser.

Last thing I could do for him.

Very convenient he’s not here to deny it.

Meaning?

Well, maybe you took the money to pay his debts,

and then you killed him when you couldn’t keep up with his habit.

Your arrogant pommy bastard.

My son commits suicide, and you say that I killed him.

If you ever loved a kid,

you’d never say a thing like that.

I apologize.

Much as I love this job, sometimes it takes over the man.

My wife and boy were killed

in a hit-and-run accident six years ago.

That’s why I came here. To forget.

Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.

No one here did.

Look, I don’t know if this makes it better or worse,

but the coroner’s report indicates

that Donald was murdered.

Tim, you did everything you could for the boy.

Yeah. Thanks. Yeah.

Go on home.

Mrs. Fletcher, no hard feelings?

Somehow, it’s a relief Donald wanted to tell someone.

Melba, I’m gonna resign as Mayor.

This darn mining idea’s done no good for anyone.

I just want Kookaburra Downs back the way it was.

Good on ya, Tim.

Mrs. Fletcher,

coroner’s report confirms Donald’s neck was broken,

and he was already dead before he was strung up.

Hmm.

The coroner also mentions

that there were severe lacerations

and splinters on Donald’s hand,

which might indicate that there was some sort of

struggle before he succumbed.

Oh, that explains the broken railing.

By the way, Cathcart was killed

with a single bullet to the back.

That was an exit wound we saw in his chest.

Thank you again.

Thank you, sergeant.

I want to know as soon as anyone sees Roo Drummond.

Have you seen Boyd Hendrix?

He just checked out about ten minutes ago.

Said he was headed back to Brisbane.

Good day, Jessica.

- Oh, John. - You find something?

Well, yes, sergeant Baxter believes

that this may have broken

when Donald was struggling with his killer.

And this may just help him to discover who it might be.

Uh-huh.

Do you like stables, John?

Uh, no, well, um, I saw you come in.

I thought maybe you’d like to check out

the Eamonn McGill research I dug out for you.

Well, I very much appreciate your trouble, John,

but I’d like to take a rain check, all right?

Oh, I understand.

Slow down, Sandy.

You’ll get indigestion if you’re not careful.

Roo! Where’ve you been?

Everyone’s been looking for you all over.

Never mind. There’s something I’ve gotta tell you.

You know, Roo,

I thought you might never get around to saying that.

Glad to see you’re back in town, Roo.

Looks like everything worked out the way you planned it,

except for one little problem.

What plan? What’re you on about?

Murdering Donald Jarvis.

Now wait a minute. I thought he killed himself.

Wrong. And half the town heard you threaten him last night.

- But he didn’t mean it, it was... - This is crazy, Baxter.

Even your mother doesn’t know where you’ve been since then.

That doesn’t mean I killed him.

No. No, but this does.

Mrs. Fletcher found it near where Donald was murdered.

Oh, it’s a perfect match, Cinderella.

Must have torn it off when you broke his neck.

I arrest you for the murder of Donald Jarvis.

Looks like your friend, Mrs. Fletcher,

just redeemed the McGill family name.

What are you doin’?

Get out, you mongrel.

What, are you out of your mind?

You are makin’ a big mistake here, mate.

Yeah, and I don’t care

if they send every devil in hell after me.

You’re going to pay for what you did to Donald.

So I leaned on him a little, it’s only business.

Business. You call murder business?

Wait up here. I never killed him.

No, look, I swear.

I never harmed a hair on that kid, I swear.

Let’s try a little bit of outback justice, shall we?

Look here, Baxter,

Roo’s a real man and he’ll stick up for himself,

but he ain’t no Jack the Ripper.

Roo, it was self-defense, right?

You two got in another fight, and then, in the heat of the moment,

the worst happened, and you tried to cover it up.

It’d be best if you admit it now.

I never saw him after he left the hotel.

Do you still think that Donald killed Cathcart,

or are you blaming it on Roo now?

One thing at a time, please, Mrs. Fletcher.

Where did you go last night after you left the bar?

He was with me all night.

Are you willing to testify to that under oath?

It’s all right, Linda.

After everything that happened yesterday,

I needed some time alone.

I went walkabout out at sacred rocks, slept under the stars.

This morning, it all seemed a lot clearer.

I had something I needed to do back in town.

That’s the first I knew he was dead.

Here’s your killer, sergeant. Sit.

Who’s he?

His name’s Boyd Hendrix.

He’s the scumbag loan shark Donald owed the money to.

Threatened to carve him up,

and then he did him in when Donald couldn’t pay.

Let him tell you himself.

Sergeant, I want this man arrested for kidnapping.

Did Donald Jarvis owe you money?

Yeah, he was a client.

I’m a registered bookmaker from Brisbane.

I came up here to sort out payment terms,

all above board, mind you.

You might want to look at this, sergeant.

It just dropped out of his pocket.

If you want me later, you know where to find me.

Now, I’m no expert, Mr. Hendrix,

but your accounts seem to indicate

you’ve been charging your clients exorbitant interest.

Don’t you know that’s a crime?

It’s a plant. I’ve never seen that book before in my life.

Now, I’m not saying another word until I talk to my lawyer.

Lock these two up until we get a chance to sort this out.

Hang on, you’re not sticking my Roo for something he never done.

Not sticking? The nail. Of course.

Mrs. Fletcher?

Well, Melba’s right. Roo didn’t do it.

Then it was Boyd Hendrix?

Listen, if you’ll bear with me,

I think the whole town will know by tonight.

Hello?

I was getting concerned, Jessica.

I couldn’t find you.

Well, not without good reason.

After my arrival here, I was the only person

between Mr. Cathcart’s killer

and his goal to see the mine become a reality.

And that was the same person that killed Donald?

Almost certainly.

Except I don’t believe Donald’s murder was premeditated,

was it, Mr. Jarvis?

Carry on, Mrs. Fletcher.

You got me on tenterhooks.

What started me thinking was a chance remark

you made this morning at the station house.

You must be wondering what kind of a savage world

we live in down under, eh, Mrs. Fletcher?

First your Mr. Cathcart, getting shot in the back.

You had no way of knowing

that Mr. Cathcart had been shot in the back,

because it wasn’t until later the coroner confirmed

the wound in his chest was actually an exit wound.

Well, you’re a writer. You deal in figures of speech.

But it was a simple move

that sergeant Baxter made earlier today

that reminded me of something much more important.

The spindle on his desk reminded me

of the broken railings here in the stables,

and a nail that was exposed as a result

of Donald’s struggle with his killer.

Now, when I checked in at your hotel,

I remember clearly

that there was nothing wrong with your right hand.

But this morning, I noticed a very bad scratch there.

Yes, that scratch, Mr. Jarvis.

I believe you injured your hand on a bare nail in the stable

when you fought with your son.

I heard a rumor that you knew who killed my son.

It’s all pie in the sky, Mrs. Fletcher.

If that’s all you got,

I got more important business to deal with.

Sorry, but she’s got it right, Tim.

That nail tested positive for human blood.

Whoever it belonged to, fought with Donald, broke his neck,

and tried to make it look like suicide.

Now who do you suppose that was?

I was prepared to do anything for the boy.

Getting rid of Cathcart, starting the mine.

It would’ve solved all his money problems,

and given the town a boost.

He found where I’d hidden the briefcase

after killing Cathcart.

He was drunk, wasn’t making any sense.

He was saying he was... he’d called you, Mrs. Fletcher.

He was gonna return the briefcase to you.

He was gonna fix things with the police.

What do you think you’re doing with that?

- I’ve already phoned Mrs. Fletcher. - You what?

I’m gonna call the police, too.

We fought. I lost all reason.

You’re nothing but trouble for me.

Donald?

Donald?

Afterwards, I tried to make it look like suicide.

God forgive me, Mrs. Fletcher.

After you arrived, just for a moment,

I thought if I finished you off, I’d solve all my problems.

You planted the button that framed Roo Drummond?

Yeah. Yeah, I found it

after the fight in the bar between them.

I gave everything in the world to that boy.

Nothing was enough for him.

Well, now that you’ve got a new Mayor,

I have decided to give McGill Valley to the town

as a conservancy for sheep grazing,

and sacred rocks will be given back to the aborigines.

Good on you, Jess.

Will you be coming back for the wedding?

Well, congratulations.

It won’t be for a while yet.

I have to graduate from vet school first.

Oh, of course.

But if I’m in Australia, I’d love to be there.

Yeah? Well, we’ll have to make sure

that she comes back then, won’t we?

Quiet, come on, guys. Quiet.

It’s my distinct privilege as your new Mayor

to declare that from now on,

Eamonn McGill day will be changed to Jessica Fletcher day.

I suppose this puts you one up on your uncle.

You didn’t even have to be hanged.