01x07 - Episode 7

[bunniefuu]

May I suggest some restraint?

Restraint? You mean

don't throw him down the stairs?

One of these days, I'll get you drunk,

and you'll tell me about your old job.

I don't drink.

Sam Haig.

He's with the Scottish Telegraph.

Attended the Finch trial.

- Every day.

- No, don't know him.

He and Merritt spent

Thursday afternoons in a hotel room.

Mm, she didn't introduce us.

Even close as you said you were?

We didn't discuss

her personal life, remember?

Well, we believe they were working

on a corruption case together.

What sort of corruption? And where?

Something that connected

Graham Finch and Kirsty Atkins.

- Kirsty Atkins?

- Potential witness.

You wouldn't allow her

to testify in the case.

And why wouldn't I?

We were hoping you'd tell us.

I have no recollection

of this Kirsty Atkins

or what she may

or may not have to say in the case.

I suggest you ask Liam Taylor.

We did. He said to ask you.

We know that Kirsty told Merritt

that she'd testify

that she'd met Finch's wife

a year before in a woman's refuge.

The wife being there on account of Finch

beating the sh*t out of her.

So this will have been not particularly

helpful information for Finch.

Then why wasn't she brought in?

Kirsty was a, uh, prolific offender

and long-term resident of Saughton Prison.

So not necessarily credible.

It's our understanding

Merritt thought differently.

Soon after their conversation,

Kirsty was jumped.

So someone thought

she was credible enough.

So again, our question would be,

why wasn't she called?

I have no recollection of this individual.

I can only comment generally.

And with an individual like that,

a jury sees someone

who wants to get out of prison.

In a few weeks, she'll be

fresh out of prison, missing an eye,

with several dozen scars from a shanking

while in protective custody.

- Does he ever speak?

- Not if I can help it.

This attack would've been around the time

you told Merritt she couldn't use Kirsty.

I have to take your word,

because once more,

I have no recollection of any of this.

But you agree, to make this happen,

Finch would've needed

friends on the inside.

Morck, you are truly, as advertised,

out of your f*cking mind.

Why would I ever help out

someone like Graham Finch?

He wasn't a random husband

who threw his half-pissed wife

down the concrete stairs.

He had money. He had juice.

Finch was a long-time wrong guy

with his own long-time connections.

He had no need for any of my help.

Merritt would've come to you

if she wanted to call Kirsty.

Is there a record

of Merritt wanting to call Kirsty?

- Why are you so certain of all this?

- I believe Kirsty.

The serial drug offender

who wants out of prison.

What about the, uh journalist

that Merritt was supposedly working with?

He's dead.

Had a bad fall

the day before Merritt disappeared,

which, if you're keeping score,

means that's one dead,

one alive, one disappeared

within a week after Merritt came to you

with a witness who could put away Finch.

Okay, Morck.

You got me.

I'm owned by Graham Finch.

I assume he pays me

in gold coins or something.

No, sir.

We think you were threatened by him,

indirectly.

Your daughter, Julia,

she was run off the road during the trial.

She, in turn, struck and seriously injured

another man. It was all very messy.

A father never stops thinking

of all the ways

that harm can touch what he cares about.

For any man, this is a weakness.

May I ask, sir, how do you know

that Kirsty Atkins is a drug offender?

Well, you said so.

No. D.C.I. Morck said

she was a prolific offender. That's all.

Well, it seems the only person

who can help us prove any of this

is dead.

Well, we are not certain

that Merritt is dead.

You'd better hope she is.

Thank you for your time.

La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

La, la, la

La, la, la

La, la, la

You're the only one I can talk to.

What about Alison? Mia, Jenna? That lot?

They're too f*ck' high and mighty.

"High and mighty."

You sound like my f*ck' mum.

Stop it.

They're the right words, all right?

Yeah, they'll talk to William,

but I'm too scary.

You are very f*cking scary.

Aye, f*cking right I am.

I like talking to you though.

- I can say almost anything.

- Almost?

What can't you say? Give an example.

- I can't give you an example.

- Why not?

Because if I could say it to you,

I'd say it.

Good point.

What's so funny?

Lyle. What the f*ck?

Mum told me to tell you

she needs you at home.

Okay, you told me. Now f*ck off.

She told me to drag you out of here.

Like that's gonna f*cking happen.

Smells like sex.

As if you'd know.

Your da's here.

- f*ck.

- It's okay. Just leave it.

- Hey, Harry.

- You win?

Eh, nah, not today.

We could've used you though.

I'm retired.

- You're Lyle Jennings.

- Mr. Lingard.

You're not here to burn the place down?

Da.

No, sir. I'm just here to pick up Harry.

Our ma needs him.

- She's awake, is she?

- We're just leaving.

Aye.

Lyle.

See you tomorrow.

What did I say about Harry Jennings

being in the house when I'm not?

- Ah, he's not so bad.

- I'm talking to your sister.

Me and Harry,

we like each other.

- Harry and I.

- In fact

we love each other.

- Like Romeo and Juliet?

- Whatever.

- He's not gonna be back anytime soon.

- You missed your brother's game.

William doesn't care

if I go to his stupid games. Do you?

- Only if you want to.

- See? Doesn't care.

- That's not the point.

- What is the point then? Family?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Do you mind?

Detective Morck.

Didn't recognize you.

You're not in your shitty car

outside my office.

Be glad I'm not sitting in your office.

Yet.

How you doin', Robbie?

Do we know each other?

I've seen you on the telly enough

to feel like we do.

I suppose I could say the same.

Like all good advocates,

I assume you turn away

when your client kicks his ball

out of the rough.

Are you here

to harass Mr. Finch, Detective?

If so, can we at least have lunch first?

It's all good, Robbie.

Detective Morck's just here

to apologize for a misunderstanding.

It was an accident, was it, that your

trained c*ck slimed

all over a 17-year-old kid?

It was. He was supposed

to slime all over you.

I'm very sorry.

I have to say

you tooled up Fritz pretty good.

I got the feeling Fritz enjoyed it.

Aye. You made his day.

You have my apology.

Was there anything else?

Well, yeah.

Do you mind, Detective?

Those are very expensive clubs.

Here's the thing.

You can't be tried again

for the m*rder of your wife.

So hats off there, Advocate.

But what I can get you for

is paying for the botched hit

on Kirsty Atkins.

The botched what on who?

Let's just not.

What do you say?

What do you say, Detective?

You leave Mr. Finch to have his lunch.

You have proof?

I have your other paid c*ck,

Ed Solomon,

who scraped Fritz off the f*ck' pavement

and drove him to hospital.

- Who now himself is in hospital, I'm told.

- Yeah.

Yeah, with a broken leg.

Well, it's a good job

he doesn't need his leg to talk.

Quite the conversationalist, Ed.

Turns out he's got a number

of texts and voicemails from you

that are f*cking hilarious.

Hilarious if you're not you.

- Or your lawyer.

- Such as?

"Gabby says he can put you in touch

with a couple of d*kes at Saughton

who can cut one of her f*cking eyes out

and make her eat it."

As she was threatening

to testify against you,

that's both metaphoric and symbolic.

Detective, I think we can end

this little interview now.

Now, we assume that this Gabby

is a fellow traveler

in your world of f*ck,

but what we don't know

is who told you

about Kirsty in the first place.

Detective Morck.

Wasn't Stephen Burns by any chance?

Maybe right after Ed or Fritz ran

his daughter's car

off the f*cking motorway.

If you want to talk

to Mr. Finch like this,

you can either make a formal charge

or you can go.

- This is a private golf

- Fore!

You might wanna go and pick that up.

I beg your f*cking pardon?

You can beg all you like.

On you go, Robbie.

Promise not to admit to anything

while you're away.

Kirsty gets out next month.

I'll send her a muffin basket.

You'll forget she ever existed.

Why would I do that?

Because if anything happens to her,

if she so much as stubs her f*cking toe,

I'm gonna assume it was your fault

and come knocking.

Is that all?

I'm guessing it was the genetic f*ck

who visited Jasper and Kirsty

who also had a go at Fergus Dunbar,

the cop who caught

the Lingard case the first time around.

Might have been.

They do have a lot of free time.

Did you have anything to do

with Merritt's disappearance?

- Found that funny?

- Hilarious.

Why would I go after a prosecutor

after I was acquitted?

You were acquitted of m*rder.

She was looking into corruption.

With a reporter, Sam Haig,

who happened to die

the day before she disappeared.

She could've gotten you another way.

Now, that is very suspicious.

You wouldn't happen to know

anything about that?

No. Then, I'm not

in the habit of k*lling reporters.

Just your wife?

Fritz did say

you appeared to be a lunatic.

Oh, coming from Fritz,

that's high praise indeed. Look.

- Haig was at your trial.

- If you say so.

Aye, he was.

He was also the one

who told me about Kirsty Atkins.

When?

One day at trial.

He came up to me during a break

and told me she was going to testify

and that it would be quite damning.

- He just offered it up?

- He did.

Which made the information suspect.

I informed Graham that were it true,

I would file

an immediate motion against it.

It was my feeling that,

given the woman's history,

the ruling was likely to be in our favor.

In the end I did nothing.

I didn't have to.

And Graham was fine

with waiting to file a motion?

I was not party

to any further conversation in the matter.

And if Graham had wanted to pursue

a more aggressive approach,

I would, of course, have reminded him

that we had a very strong case

without resorting to intimidation.

Any idea why Haig gave you

such a gift in the first place?

- No.

- No quid pro quo?

None.

I assume that neither of you have

the slightest inkling

of what happened to Haig

after he delivered

his fortuitous piece of intelligence, hmm?

In my experience, Detective,

if you wanna stop a reporter

from looking at you,

the absolute worst thing you could do

would be to harm that reporter.

Same goes for the cops.

Once you go after one of theirs,

they will never leave you alone.

It's not worth it.

A lot of gray area there, Mr. Finch.

The thing with the golf club

was very amusing.

Thank you.

Though I have to say I was most relieved

when you didn't hit him with it.

Ugh, Jesus.

All this talk about me losing control.

You're the one who's crushing windpipes

and chucking people down the stairs.

Yes, except when I do these things,

I'm never out of control.

I'm very much in control.

What the f*ck did you do

back in Syria? Come on.

Are you going to answer that?

Morck.

- Someone's f*cking with you.

- Who is this?

Your favorite reporter, Dennis Piper.

Don't hang up. I'm about to help you.

That's very generous,

but I think you're a f*cking rodent.

I'm texting you something.

Take a look at it.

If you wanna talk after,

I'll be at the Golden Rule for an hour.

What the f*ck are you talking about?

Shall we watch?

f*ck!

Hey.

My tooth is infected.

I need antibiotics.

Better yet, a f*cking dentist.

Look.

Oh, okay, fine.

I'll just die from f*cking sepsis.

Rob you of the pleasure of doing it.

Seems a bit anticlimactic

after all this time.

He was never gonna leave me alone.

Every time I'd turn around,

there he'd be, staring at me.

- Staring at you?

- Yeah.

I'd be eating

or working out in the weight room.

I'd be reading in the library,

and he'd come and sit across from me.

I even caught him

watching me sleep one time.

I couldn't take that anymore.

You messed him up pretty good.

He may lose that eye.

Sam, did you hear what I said?

He might lose his eye.

Do you feel anything when I tell you that?

- Yeah, I feel good.

- You feel good?

He wasn't ever gonna leave me alone.

Sam?

I'm not his f*cking brother.

Had to get that into his head somehow.

Pound it into his head, you mean?

Are you sure

there wasn't something more to it?

Like more what?

Like more complicated?

Nah. Nah, I'm done talking.

Sam.

I said, I'm done talking.

This concludes the post-offence

interview with Samuel Haig, age 17.

10th March, 2013,

at 11:09 a.m.

With myself, Terry Dundee,

corrections counselor at Godhaven HMYOI.

I knew Haig, better than most,

which isn't saying much.

Haig was f*cking precious

about everything.

He wouldn't share sources.

Wouldn't talk to anyone at the office,

when he bothered to show up.

But, still, everyone thought

he was so clever.

- But not you.

- I f*cking knew the guy.

I knew the reason he got on so well

with people who crossed the line.

He was one of them.

- How'd you get the video?

- It was on his computer.

- Oh, you hacked Haig's computer?

- After he died.

Like it doesn't make a difference.

How did Haig get the video?

Someone at Godhaven

must have gave it to him.

He'd been going back to the place

in the last few months before he died.

- Why?

- He was working on a story.

- Can we read it?

- I've still got some standards.

f*ck off. You're a journalist.

You'd do your own mother from behind.

How does this help in our investigation?

It helps in your investigation

into who k*lled Sam Haig.

We're not investigating Haig's death.

Well, maybe you should be.

Sam found this kid.

The one he was talking about in the video.

The one he practically skelped to death.

What is this kid's name?

He called him "X" to protect his identity.

And how does Mr. X relate

to Merritt Lingard?

Oh, wait. It doesn't.

Unless Haig got her screwed

into whatever was happening

with this kid from his past.

Sounds like something a crackerjack journo

like you should look into.

Talk to Terry Dundee,

the other voice on the tape,

the one talking to Sam.

He's still at Godhaven.

I've reached out,

but he gave me the big f*ck off

about how records are sealed.

This has been fascinating.

Well, if you find anything, Morck,

you be sure to remember me.

- Hey.

- All right?

- What are you watching?

- Oh, just some shite.

Perfect.

You had this look on your face.

I've never seen it,

even when you're super pissed off at me.

When you went after that guy,

you were like

this guy I didn't even know.

Yeah.

Okay.

I'm two people.

Yeah? I have to be.

I see things most days

no one person can see,

that no one person can handle,

or should ever have to see, to be honest.

Like what?

What's the worst thing you've seen?

I'm not gonna do that to you.

Not gonna put

what's in my head into yours.

I didn't to your mum.

I'm not gonna to you.

- Why not?

- You live in a different world.

Yeah? There's no need for you to know

the specifics of the other world

beyond that it exists

and once in a blue moon,

something from over there

crosses into here.

So the guy in the ice cream shop,

he knows that.

He wants to scare you

by showing you the other world.

He wants to make you so afraid

that he f*cking owns you.

You can't go through what you did

without it stirring things up.

What, like

do you mean I'm gonna have

have nightmares and sh*t?

Who knows what it'll be,

but if you think you're gonna die

or you're around death,

all of a sudden there's this

menu of various and sundry sh*t

that's just waiting to sneak up on you.

- Are you trying to scare me?

- You're already scared.

That's the whole point.

You now know that things can change

in an instant.

- We're members of the same club.

- Well, I don't wanna be in that club.

Well, no one joins voluntarily, fella.

People spend their whole lives

trying to avoid that kind of calamity.

But you have to go to the meetings,

speak to the other members of the club

so you know you're not the only one

who's thinking and feeling the

sh*t

that you're thinking and feeling.

What, so like

you and Hardy?

Yeah.

Like me and Hardy.

And now me and you.

Wait, you

you wanna talk about it?

Yeah.

When you need to, sure.

About what what happened?

About what's happening.

Maybe we should start

with how thoroughly pissed off you are

at me ruining things with your mum.

And then abandoning you when I was shot.

I mean, that's that's not your fault.

You You couldn't help it.

No.

But you can still be mad.

That's okay.

You're allowed to be f*cking mad.

Maybe let's have

our first meeting about that.

I am here.

I'm listening.

Promise.

Morning.

Not much of a file, is it?

Police took one look at that cliff

and made the call right there.

I'd likely have done the same myself.

Injuries consistent

with traumatic fall from a great height.

As if there's a fall from a great height

that's not traumatic.

Okay, so what's your problem?

Outside of the timeline and cause of death

being very f*cking dodgy.

- Mm, the guy who found Haig, Paul Evans.

- Yeah, yeah, the climbing instructor.

Yeah.

He says he was

with his wife the night before

and found Haig's body in the morning

when he went to take pictures.

But the day he found Haig's body,

it was pouring rain.

It's Scotland.

Could've been rain when he woke up,

sun when he got there,

a f*ck' blizzard when he went home.

He also sent about a dozen messages

to Haig's burner phone that night.

- A few examples.

- Go on.

"No more secrets."

"I think you need to get

everything out in the open."

"This isn't about my wife."

"I want you to know that I see you."

"Are you back at the hotel?"

"Is she still there?"

- Hold on. Who's "she"?

- It's gotta be Merritt.

And there was no response

until the last message, which said,

"I'm going for a climb, S."

And no one followed up on any of it.

It was irrelevant to Haig's death

once it was deemed accidental.

It's not irrelevant to Merritt.

Haig and Merritt had been meeting up

at the Prince's Garden Hotel,

and Haig's editor said

he had a burner phone for security.

So Evans was talking to Haig

about all that stuff, secrets,

and "I see you" and all that.

- You and Carl don't talk like that?

- I don't talk to my wife like that.

Maybe you should.

- Hello, Rose.

- Hiya, Donna.

- You want breakfast, Mr. Grumpy Arse?

- I'm not hungry.

Wanna face the wee angel of darkness

on an empty stomach?

- I'm not hungry.

- Suit yourself.

f*ck sake.

Rose, you want anything? Cup of tea?

Uh, no, thanks.

I've had too many cups already.

- Did you tell Ritesh to mow the lawn?

- Yeah, why?

He's your carer, not your gardener.

The garden needs more care than I do.

Looks like shite.

He's better off out there

than f*cking hovering around all the time.

Angel of darkness?

Physiologist who's either gonna get me

walking again or locked up for m*rder.

Okay, so

tell me.

If Carl already shook

the tree of Paul Evans,

then why are we having this conversation?

- Evans's story's full of holes.

- It's leaky as f*ck.

Probably doesn't want anyone to know

about his special friendship with Haig.

Or he knows more than he's saying.

About Merritt.

If you think that, then go back

and pester him again. Ask him.

- Ask him?

- What he's hiding.

Just come right out and ask him?

Why not? That's what you wanna know.

Paul Evans is not gonna tell me

if he's hiding something.

There's ways to ask and ways not to ask,

if you know what I mean.

Depends on how big your ba*ls are.

I don't even have

- Well, they're not that big.

- Wrong answer.

I'm serious, Rose. If that's true,

what the f*ck are you doing here?

Try again.

I have very big ba*ls.

There you go. That was easy.

Let's me and you figure out

how you're gonna f*ck with Paul Evans.

God, that effing, f*cking safety hatch.

Argh!

Hurry up!

I told that bastarding boy

he needs to fix that.

f*cking arsehole.

I'm here for my appointment.

Oh, could you not?

Thank you.

I take it you found my address

by inappropriate means?

Which is fair enough,

given your abandonment of me.

Gotta say, it's a nice place.

I mean, a bit weird.

But cute.

Cute?

Mm, like 20-year-old you lived here

with your student mates.

20-year-old me did live here

with my student mates.

- What's your place like?

- Like my ex-wife.

So we both live

steeped in our own sad histories.

I'll bet you had a lot more fun here.

Not really. I was severely underweight

and deeply depressed.

My twenties were spent

weighing carrots and doing star jumps.

Sounds better than my marriage.

I'd rather have gotten

my suffering out in my twenties.

- You know suffering, do you?

- Fifteen years on the m*rder squad.

I meant your own.

So this is where

you accuse me of self-pity. Great.

I don't accuse.

I just observe.

- Have you met Dr. Sonnenberg?

- I have.

And what did you think?

She reminds me of my aunt Enid.

The kind that likes to potter

round the garden,

making sure all the pansies are healthy

on top of all the bodies

buried underneath.

Anyway, I'm giving up on therapy.

You can hardly give up

on something you haven't tried.

Martin, my lodger, says

I should pay more attention to my dreams.

Honestly can't remember

the last one I had.

You're supposed to write them down

as soon as you wake up before you forget.

No, I meant I don't have them.

You don't dream?

I don't sleep.

And you don't need therapy?

- I need sleep.

- Well, they have pills and things now.

Mm. They scare me.

You read about people all the time,

waking up after a sleeping pill

and they've eaten

everything in the fridge,

or the front door's open

and the dog's got its lead on,

or you wake up naked

next to their ex in the bathroom.

Why are you here, Carl?

I don't know.

I thought I did.

But now I don't.

When you figure it out,

you can come back and tell me.

I think that's us for today.

f*ck's sake.

Yes.

You know, I tried rock climbing once.

I do Zumba now.

Prefer to keep my feet on the ground.

Right. What is it

that brings you here then?

Oh.

D.C. Dixon. I'm looking for Chloe Evans?

- Chloe?

- That's right.

You just missed her.

- Are you sure? We had an appointment.

- I'm very sure. I'm her husband.

She's gone to see her midwife.

Ah.

So you're Paul?

Okay.

Um

Is there something I can help with?

No, no, I don't think so,

as this is a follow-up appointment

to a conversation

I had with Chloe the other day, so

What conversation?

Sorry, I can't share any information

brought to our attention.

But I'm her husband.

Again, I'm sorry.

If you let her know I was here

and have her give me a call on this number

as soon as she can.

Lovely to meet you, Paul.

She told you, didn't she?

Who told me what, Paul?

Ah. You're good right there.

Is that Mace?

Pepper spray.

I've also got a pair of brass knuckles

and a wee Taser.

You think I wanna hurt you?

I know you don't want to get sprayed.

Are you even a real cop?

I often ask myself the same question.

But can I ask you about Sam Haig?

Right, so Chloe did tell you about us?

No, but you just did.

The word "us" that did it.

And it's totally fine, by the way.

For f*ck's sake, I'm not even g*y.

No. Course you're not.

Maybe you just wanted to experiment.

I wasn't involved with Sam

in any kind of sexual way.

How were you involved with Sam?

When you climb, you become close.

Trust is everything.

I was the one person

Sam felt he could say anything to.

- Such as?

- You name it.

We'd get up on a cliff or a crag, and

we'd just talk.

So climbing was like therapy.

Sam trusted you with the rope

and his deep, dark secrets.

Yeah, that's about it.

You were lying then

when you told the other detectives

you didn't know

about Sam and Merritt Lingard?

- Of course he would've told you.

- I wasn't lying. Sam never mentioned her.

Come on.

With all that sharing going on,

she'd have came up.

She didn't. I didn't think

Sam was involved with anyone back then.

What about the dozen or so texts

you sent two days before?

The ones with the bits like,

"We can't leave it like this."

"I see you." Blah, blah, blah.

We'd all been drinking that night,

and Sam was going on

about his latest piece,

saying he thought

it was gonna change his life.

Of course, Chloe, who never liked Sam,

she was always annoyed with his secrecy,

she said something

along the lines of, well, that's good

because he needed to make

some big f*cking changes in his life

or he was definitely gonna die

and take me with him.

- They had a big row and Sam left.

- He went to the hotel?

The one you mentioned in your texts.

"Are you at the hotel?

Is she still there?"

I'm assuming that the "she"

you were referring to was Merritt.

Why assume that?

Sam and Merritt

had been meeting up at a hotel.

Like I've told you several times now,

he never mentioned her.

Don't suppose you know the hotel?

Course I do.

It's up the road from us. The Spivey Inn.

- The Spivey Inn?

- Aye.

Really? And you're sure

that's where he was?

Yeah, very sure.

And he wasn't with a woman?

I didn't say that.

"It's not about Chloe.

Is she still there?"

Oh, f*ck me.

I sent her back to apologize.

Chloe went to see Sam?

- Aye.

- Alone?

Well, I was too pissed to go anywhere.

And did she? Apologize?

In a manner of speaking.

What manner would that be?

Like I said, we'd all been drinking.

Oh.

But I thought you said

that she didn't even like him?

Sometimes it makes it better.

Why didn't you tell the police back then?

- It was a one-time thing.

- Are you sure?

- I didn't k*ll Sam Haig.

- No one said you did, but

- Come on, did you k*ll Sam Haig?

- Course not.

- He shagged your wife.

- Yeah, thank you.

I didn't know about that. I was worried

because he wasn't responding to my texts.

At least not until the last one he sent.

The one saying he was going for a climb.

If you wanna speak to me or my wife again,

call our lawyer.

Thank you.

Good morning, Merritt.

It's rubbish day.

My favorite day of the month.

There you go.

Ah, just take your own sweet time.

You wanna live in your own sh*t

for another month, that's fine by me,

ya' manky b*tch.

Emergency. Which service?