03x02 - Over Her Dead Body

[bunniefuu]

(Sombre organ music)

My name is Brenda. I worked with Declan at the Wadsworth Homestead, and, um, he was a really amazing gardener. And the Wadsworths, who are in France for the winter, sent this message, 'To our dear departed Declan, you knew how to coax a prickly stick into a perfect rose. You cared for our gardens as if they were your own. You were and will remain a poet and a gentleman.'

Thank you, Brenda.

In true O'Grady style, he's insisted on having the last word.

(Gentle guitar music plays, static buzzes)

You know, when the cancer found me out, I said to myself, 'Let's not make this a gloomy affair.'

And I didn't know how better to do that than to leave you with a final poem, The Sweet Smell of Death.

Lower the mainsail, lower the flags.

Lo and behold, I've run aground.

I'm holed, and I'm sinking.

Pour me a Guinness.

Don't stop me drinking.

Pour me a sh*t, pour me another.

Remember me. Remember me well.

Tight to the wind, out on high, riding the horizon, living it up between Mrs Smith's thighs.

(Laughter)

(Gentle guitar music plays)

And please remember that Declan's final book, Having a Pint on the Wild Blue Yonder, is for sale in the foyer.

Proceeds to the Cancer Recovery Foundation.

(Organ music plays)

(Plays sombre tune)

Let the Lord be your judge and jury now, Declan O'Grady.

Coward!

(People murmur, violin music continues playing)

(All gasp, exclaim)

(Ominous music)

Oh God! God!

(Tami Neilson's 'Bury My Body')

♪ You can bury my body. ♪
♪ You can bury my body. ♪
♪ You can bury my body. ♪

That doesn't look good.

Do you want to tell me how you got that?

s*ab wound. I said that. Not her, in case you were wondering.

You're not a ventriloquist, then?

(Chuckles) No. But a s*ab wound, that'd be my guess.

Guessing gets you nowhere, Detective Sims.

That's why I'm here.

Usually, I take the body to the morgue, and from there the undertaker takes them for burial.

Today it's all very back to front.

I'm sure she feels the same way.

I came to pay my respects to one of our great poets and ended up in a crime scene.

A right busman's holiday.

Crime or negligence?

When I die, can you remind me not to trust my body to that bloke?

Gotta get back to HQ for a budget meeting.

I'll, um, alert the coroner for you.

Keep up the good work, Spleen.

It's Breen.

Mm-hm.

Please step away from the car.

When it comes to caring for the dead, reputation is everything.

Well, I'm just after the facts so that we can ascertain what's gone on.

The fact is I delivered the deceased to the church, and he turned into a woman.

So you're positive that Declan O'Grady's body was in the coffin when you sealed it up?

Of course.

(Cell phone ringtone plays Chopin's 'Funeral March')

Excuse me.

Bugle Funerals, where life and death shake hands. This is Warren.

(Clears throat)

(Sighs) Detective.

I'm at a loss for words.

There may well be a simple explanation. (Sighs) But tell me, was the casket always closed from the time it arrived here at the church?

Yes. It was a closed casket ceremony.

There's nothing unusual in that.

Except for an Irishman.

Well, perhaps, but funerals are a personal affair.

So you never saw the deceased?

No, I didn't.

Tina.

(Sighs)

On behalf of St Judas, my apologies for this harrowing experience.

Don't take responsibility for another's sins, Reverend.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Detective Shepherd, do you know Tina Morehu?

Hello.

I'm Jared's auntie.

He speaks highly of you.

Oh, well, he's too kind.

He spoke highly of Declan too, but we won't hold that against him.

The Devil visited today.

There is, if you'll excuse the pun, a certain kind of poetic justice to Declan being turned into a woman, and a young woman at that.

God bless, Reverend.

An exemplary Christian, devoted to the scripture. I sometimes feel she puts me to shame.

So you don't know who she is?

At this stage, no.

Maybe her name is Scarlett.

Any idea what she was stabbed with?

It will take some time to figure out what implement caused that wound.

But I have special techniques.

I'll know more when I open her up.

Did you do the autopsy on Declan O'Grady?

Sadly, no.

Do you know who did?

He d*ed of natural causes.

I understand it wasn't necessary.

Unlike her, who d*ed of unnatural causes and did need one.

We have a Jane Doe.

According to Gina, dead for approximately three days, Which puts us at last Saturday.

No ID, nothing distinguishing, other than being Asian, 25 to 30 years of age and a tattoo of the word Scarlett.

Which could be her name.

Or the name of a lover.

Or her favourite colour.

There are no reports of a missing person matching her description on any police records.

Carry on with your enquiries.

We need to know who she is.

She's the only thing that ties us to Declan's casket.

Which brings us to the other big question - where is the body of Declan O'Grady?

Probably a question best asked... of this man.

(Upbeat blues music)

(Music fades)

(Saxophone plays Chopin's 'Funeral March' out of tune)

Mr Bugle?

(Continues playing off-key)

Mr Bugle?

(Saxophone squawks)

You cannot sneak up on people like that.

We did ring the bell.

Oh, I didn't hear it.

Been playing long?

Since I was 12.

It's a good way to destress and adds value to the services.

One-stop shop - embalming, all arrangements, even offer musical accompaniments.

Mr Bugle, we need to understand the exact process undertaken with Mr O'Grady and his movements before you took him to church this morning.

Well, I've told you what I know.

When you say one-stop shop, you do all the embalming yourself, right?

Yes.

So you embalmed Declan O'Grady?

Yes. I don't have an assistant.

After you'd embalmed Mr O'Grady, what happened then?

He went in the chiller.

Until?

Today. I brought him out and took him to St Judas.

I have a worksheet here.

It's, um, somewhere.

Sorry. Ah!

Here. Declan Patrick O'Grady.

It's all in order.

Except it says he wasn't to be embalmed.

What?

Oh, right.

Well, then I didn't, obviously.

When was the last funeral you conducted prior to today's?

Uh, the day before today.

Yesterday?

Yes, that's- that's correct.

And is it possible it was in a casket that was similar to Declan's?

Yeah, as a matter of fact it was - very similar.

It's Autumn Cradle. It's a lovely piece. Very popular.

And can we assume it was for this woman?

No. No, I've never seen her before.

Until today.

So who did you bury yesterday?

Andrea Broadly.

A woman?

No, Arthur. Arthur Broadly.

You seem unsure.

Is it possible you buried the wrong person?

I think that's highly unlikely.

Mr Bugle, we'll be seeking a court order to exhume the body...

No, no!

..from Mr Broadly's grave.

If word gets out, this will ruin me.

It can be a discreet process.

Is it really necessary?

Whatever way we look at it, there is a body missing, and we need to make sure we're looking for the right one.

Is it Declan or this Arthur Broadly?

We appreciate your help, Mrs Marlowe.

Oh, not at all.

See, poor old Arthur had no living next of kin, and I knew him well.

There was bridge, bingo and tai chi.

Oh yes, that's Arthur.

Such a big nose.

Oh, and that ridiculous toupee.

Who would want to be buried with a thing like that?

Father bless this soul for the disruption caused today, and let us remember-

I knew it. You see?

There was no professional misconduct. I think I deserve an apology.

Warren, the fact remains that you have still mislaid a body - that of Declan O'Grady - so we will need to talk about this down at the station.

Right. Well, in the name of good professional practice, I must attend to the casket first.

Well, at least we have one dead body in the right casket and the right place.

Hmm. Thanks again, Mrs Marlowe.

Oh, Jean, please.

An unpleasant task.

We're very grateful.

I'm happy to help.

I never forget a face.

Unlike Declan.

Meaning?

Well, I guess he was more a man of words rather than of faces.

For You is my favourite one of yours.

(Chuckles) Mine too.

And you wrote it about...?

Oh, whoever the reader believes it to be.

(Laughs) But, really, who's it for?

For you, Mrs Marlowe.

(Chuckles)

Oh, Jean, please.

Thank you.

Can you sign it for Melody?

(Slow guitar music)

Do you remember me?

No, sorry, I don't.

Result of the cancer, you see, chipping away at his memory.

Oh, such a tragedy for a man of words.

Well, I must take a wander and check up on some old friends of mine.

Cheerio.

Safely stowed.

Thank you, Reverend.

Of course.

(Whispers): Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our sins.

Take a seat, thanks, Warren.

We'll be right back.

We've checked all backpackers', motels, the visitors' centre, pubs, cafes.

No one recalls seeing Jane Doe.

It's as if she came from nowhere and has been invisible until the coffin burst open.

Keep on it. She came from somewhere.

I was called to the Wadsworth Estate at around 11am on Sunday morning.

By?

A woman.

Called?

White. Barry White.

She was called Barry?

Oh, Brenda!

Sorry. Names - they can be so tricky.

Brenda. Yeah, she's the housekeeper there.

She was waiting outside.

Has a doctor been in attendance?

Yes, the doctor was here, but I can't go in there. His eyes are still open.

Well, allow me.

Miss White?

Safe and sound.

Um, he left instructions.

But I knew that already.

Because?

Mr O'Grady had visited my parlour.

Something simple, austere, earthy.

Yet comfortable?

Does that really matter?

So you would say he was at peace with his impending death?

No, I wouldn't.

Apologies.

(Sighs)

I'm sure you're world weary about death, but I'm still coming to terms with it.

It's like a place where life and death shake hands.

(Chuckles) I like that.

Hence the new logo, but that'll have to change now.

Everyone saw it at the church.

I'll have to rebrand. Again.

Mr Bugle, I'm not sure you appreciate there is a body under your care that is unaccounted for.

But nobody d*ed.

Pardon?

Well, I mean they were dead already, so it's not a complete catastrophe.

What were the instructions?

Sorry?

You said that Declan left instructions.

Oh, yes. Uh, natural burial, closed casket, quick interment.

Super.

And how long did he lie in the parlour?

Well, after I straightened the body, I labelled the coffin and put him in the chiller.

(Phone rings)

At which point the coffin was sealed?

Absolutely. When a client is to be buried au naturale - that's without preservation - it is imperative that the casket is airtight to slow down the decomposition process.

Otherwise things can get a bit... whiffy.

Then yesterday, Tuesday morning, I placed him in the hearse and took him to the church.

That was the last direct contact I had with the coffin.

Thank you, Warren.

Until after the service when...

Mm. Thank you, Mr Bugle, for your time.

Your death is my business.

Excuse me?

That's catchy.

We may have more questions later.

I've sent out copies to all registered tattooists hoping someone remembers doing it.

Well, assuming it was done in NZ.

Yeah. I recognise the font as Lucida Italic, which should narrow it down.

Certain tattooists specialise in certain fonts.

You have an encyclopaedic knowledge of tattoo fonts?

It's a common one.

And you know this because underneath that suit you are fully inked?

Roxy has one.

Oh really? Where?

Actually, don't answer that.

Someone needed to dispose of Jane Doe and switched Declan's body... out to where?

And why Declan?

Because they knew he was entrusted to the most hapless funeral director on the planet?

Yeah, but the reason must also lie with why Jane Doe needed to be disposed of.

Where are we at with the search for Declan's body?

OC Search have a team, and enquiries are underway.

I can't get an answer from Wadsworths'.

I'll take a drive over on my way home.

He's missing, and she appears out of nowhere.

But they're connected.

All ideas welcome.

(Jackie Bristow's "Rollin' Stone" plays)

♪ Travellin' the world like a rollin' stone... ♪

(Phone rings)

♪ It's in my blood. It's in my bones. ♪

Simon.

Lost poets, exhumations - it's all getting quite gothic up there.

Thanks for calling me back.

Developments?

A missing body and an unidentified Jane Doe linked by circumstance only.

(Sighs) Those Irish poets, eh?

Even when they're dead, they like to be the centre of attention.

Could you chase up the coroner again for cause of death?

Well, aside from too much Guinness and a brain tumour?

Sure. I'll put a call through in the morning.

Gotta get to hot yoga.

Hot yoga? God.

(Doorbell rings)

(Suspenseful music)

(Car engine starts)

Hey!

Excuse me!

(Tense music)

(Tom Cunliffe's 'They Dug It All Away' plays)

(Knock at door)

Merlot?

Uh, sure, yeah.

Freaky day, eh?

You're referring to the funeral?

Yeah, well, Declan was a good dude. I feel bad for him being disrespected when he's dead.

So much for rest in peace.

You, uh, knew him well?

I only got to know him properly recently when I got shoulder-tapped to take over his gardening role in Wadsworth.

He knew he was on the way out with his cancer and wanted to pass on his wisdom.

Why you?

Cos I'm good.

(Chuckles) Of course.

Nah, my Auntie Tina hooked me up.

She knew Declan was looking to hand over the reins and wanted someone with greenfingers.

I worked there for two weeks while he went to Thailand for some experimental operation.

Didn't work, apparently, so he came home to die.

'For you are the stars, the wind and rain. For me, shelter from the storm of pain. For you, I am yours. And we are one again.'

For You - you know it.

It's my favourite.

(Chuckles) As was she.

I wrote it about an incredibly special woman, but she's moved on now, as I will soon too.

He certainly has, but where to exactly is a little unclear.

You're sure it was Lucas Greene?

Yet when I rang the doorbell, no one answered.

And he came from inside the house?

I didn't see, but he must have, as did someone else driving a Jaguar.

Number plate?

It was too dark.

But, you know, a reverend plus a bicycle at night-time has to equal dodgy.

Well, curious at least.

(Phone rings)

Shepherd.

Seen last night's paper?

Reads: 'Boo.

Who is Declan's mystery woman?'

That has to border on unethical.

At least it creates awareness in the community.

It might help identify Jane Doe.

No, it's insensitive.

That was Gina. We need to take a detour on the way to St Judas.

Cushla. Speak of the devil.

Any developments you wanna share?

You don't deserve a lead after this.

Excuse me?

Parading an unknown dead woman on the front page is offensive.

It's news.

And what if her family don't know she's dead yet?

That'd be a hell of a way to find out, wouldn't it?

They'd find out eventually.

Yeah, through proper channels.

So pull your head in and work with us, not against us.

I have been working hard, Mike, to isolate the m*rder w*apon.

Given the shape, depth and circumference of the wound, I have narrowed it down to these.

All possibilities.

They're all long, narrow and tapered.

Yes. They all match the wound and the piercing of the heart.

What about a Kn*fe?

No, not a Kn*fe. Too thin.

To make a wound of that dimension?

Correct.

Apologies.

Please be careful.

You have a shoulder of pork on your table.

It's not for eating.

Glad to hear it.

It's the closest thing to the density of human flesh.

You s*ab this?

It's work, not just fun and games.

I'll take your word for it.

You want to try it?

It's good for anger.

I'm not angry.

Everyone is angry deep down.

It's good to let it out.

Right. Excellent. Thanks, Gina.

(Blues music)

Detectives.

Rev Greene.

A couple of questions.

Of course.

Did I see you leaving the Wadsworths' last night around 8pm?

Ah, yes. Yes, that would have been right.

Do you go there often?

I was ministering to Brenda White.

Oh, so she was there?

Yeah, she's been fragile since Declan's death.

She's been asking the big questions - the meaning of life, life after death, etc.

I rang the bell, but no one answered.

Yes, well, it's a very big house.

One can so easily get lost in it.

Uh, she drives a Jaguar?

Oh, you're asking the wrong person.

I've never been a car person.

Two wheels good, four wheels bad.

Reverend, were you ever alone with Declan's coffin once it arrived here on the morning of the funeral?

No. No, I think not.

It was only a matter of an hour before the service that Mr Bugle delivered Declan, and I had my helpers with me.

They being?

Mrs Marlowe, our organist, and Janelle, who does the flowers.

Declan, you poor man.

He truly was a great poet.

For You is my favourite.

It is a particularly passionate poem.

They say it's about Denise Snodgrass.

Oh, really? I thought it was about someone else.

As I remember, it wasn't long after that that the first of the mourners arrived.

Any idea who that might've been?

Tina Morehu.

Uh, no, who the poem was about?

Oh, to be honest, no.

Please don't get cold.

It's no secret Declan was a lover of more than just life.

It could have been any number of acquaintances.

I see.

The, um- the woman in the coffin.

I didn't actually see her, but I've heard said she was Asian.

That's all we know at this point.

(Cell phone rings)

Excuse me.

Simon.

I spoke with the coroner, Jim Manson.

He wasn't notified of Declan's death, as it was natural causes.

Do we know what exactly?

The cause of death certificate was forwarded to Internal Affairs.

By?

Uh, the undertaker, Warren Bugle.

It cites heart att*ck, a result of invasive brain cancer.

And who signed off on that?

A Dr Plummer.

Dr Plummer. Got it.

Yeah, I've sent a copy through to the station.

Thanks.

You said Tina Morehu was in the church at that time?

Yes. She comes often.

Nothing unusual in that.

OK. That's all for now.

Only too happy to help.

Warren Bugle got a cause of death certificate from a Dr Plummer.

He forgot to mention that.

Well, he has been very busy trying to think up a new slogan.

It's Lucas. Storming out last night was no solution.

Roger, questions are being asked.

It was her.

(Cell phone rings)

Mike?

Jared. I have a couple of questions for your Auntie Tina.

Do you have an address?

Well, just so it happens I'm at Auntie's now.

15 Powers Lane.

OK, see you soon.

Reads: For you, the devil departed.

For me, the red sea parted.

For you, I rise to the occasion, riding you with self-flagellation.

Swallow me whole, I'm wholly yours.

Way too many mixed metaphors.

(Glen Moffatt's 'A Place to Play' plays)

I always liked poetry.

You know country music doesn't count, right?

Oh, come on. Three chords and the truth - that's gotta be poetry.

(Turns volume up)

♪ All I want is a place to play. ♪

No.

Yes.

♪ A place to play where I can sing my songs ♪
♪ A place to play where I can forget ♪
♪ the wrongs that have been done... ♪

Yo.

Hey, Jared.

You said you were gardening with Declan.

Yeah.

After he got back from Thailand?

Yeah.

After his brain surgery?

Oh, he was pretty banged up.

They'd only given him a few weeks to live.

Obviously loved his work.

Well, I guess he was determined to make the most of the time he had left.

Detective.

Oh, Mrs Morehu.

Miss.

Miss. Uh, this is Detective Sims.

Hello.

We're just clarifying a few timelines around Declan's coffin.

What has that got to do with me?

You were one of the first mourners to arrive.

I like to get a good seat.

You, Mrs Marlowe, Janelle the florist and Lucas Greene.

Yes.

And were you ever alone at any point with the coffin?

I don't believe so.

You said it was poetic justice that Declan turned into a young woman.

I'm curious - what did you mean by that?

What are you insinuating?

Nothing, I just -

This had got nothing to do with me.

How dare you.

What?

'Cast them into the furnace of fire. 'There shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth.'

(Sighs) Steady on, Auntie.

Do you wanna know where Declan's body is?

Well, yes.

It is burning in the fires of eternal damnation, Mr Shepherd.

Try looking there.

No one was left alone with Declan's casket once it was placed in the church.

Therefore, the swap must have occurred at the funeral home.

Or en route between Wadsworths' and the funeral home?

Well, Warren Bugle said he checked him over before putting him in the chiller.

OK, Dr Plummer is based in Riverstone and is yet to return my calls, but Brenda White is at the homestead.

Let's get to Wadsworths'.

Uh, developments on Jane Doe?

We've checked out all Asian-based restaurants. Nothing.

I thought maybe she was a singer, perhaps in town for the karaoke festival, but that's next month and the organisers don't recognise her from their line-up.

Borders?

We've got airport police covering that off with Immigration.

Keep it up. She came from somewhere.

I know.

(Blues music)

(Music continues)

They don't make them like this any more.

Probably because people got sick of cleaning all the bathrooms.

(Chuckles)

There you go, English Breakfast.

I hope that's OK.

Perfect. Thanks.

That's quite a complex pattern.

Yes, well, I've always liked knitting, and now I have the perfect excuse.

Oh, are you expecting?

No.

(Chuckles)

They're for my sister.

She's expecting twins.

And when the Wadsworths are away, things are quieter here, so I steal a bit of time. Milk?

Oh, I can do it.

No, please allow me. It's what I do.

And if the Wadsworths knew that we had special guests and I didn't give proper service, well...

Brenda, were you present when Declan passed?

Yes.

First on the scene?

No, Janelle was.

Where were you?

Here in the kitchen cleaning, and, uh, she was in the garden with Declan.

Declan had been struggling for weeks and ever since returning from Thailand, we'd said that he needed to slow down, you know, because we had Jared Morehu on board, but...

(Screams)

Help! Someone, please!

It's almost as if he was determined to die with his boots on.

For God's sake, where's the doctor!

Where is he?

Uh, by the camellias!

What time was this?

Just after 10, I think.

And you called the ambulance?

I did, but...

He's collapsed. Uh, the Wadsworths' homestead, yes, yes.

It's too late.

Brenda, he's gone.

Let the Reverend know and then call Mr Bugle.

When I came back out, Declan had been moved to the cottage to wait for the undertaker.

And Dr Plummer waited too?

No. He'd left.

Well, then what happened?

Well, I didn't know what to do.

I was in shock.

Don't go in there.

God, his eyes are still wide open.

But you didn't go in?

No, I couldn't go in there.

And then Mr Bugle arrived to take Declan away.

Has the doctor been in attendance?

Yes, the doctor was here, but I can't go in there.

His eyes are still open.

Oh, allow me.

Did you go with Declan to the funeral home?

No. I called the reverend and then phoned the Wadsworths in France.

Well, thanks for your time, Brenda, and most excellent tea.

You're welcome.

(Both chuckle)

What were you cleaning?

Oh, uh, wine glasses.

How many?

Uh, six, I believe.

Uh, had there been a party?

(Scoffs)

I clean, Mr Shepherd.

That's what I do.

As you can see, the Wadsworths expect the highest standards.

Yet when you went to call for an ambulance, Dr Plummer came from within the house.

Well, he stayed over.

So he doesn't live here?

No, no. He's a personal friend of the Wadsworths, and when he has to work late in Brokenwood, he stays here so he doesn't have to drive all the way back to Riverstone.

There's plenty of rooms.

And Janelle - what was she doing here on a Sunday morning?

Well, she's a florist and Declan let her pick the more exotic blooms when the Wadsworths were away.

So when the blooms are out, she came running.

Well, we'll let you get back to your knitting.

(Cell phone rings)

Kristin Sims.

Dr Plummer, thanks for getting back to me.

Right, I see. I'll meet you then.

Thankyou.

He's teaching at the university in the city.

Won't be able to meet me until this afternoon.

What sort of a doctor teaches?

Either a very good one or a bad one.

It's me again.

I'm just wondering where you are.

Oh, hello.

Courier?

What?

Well, you sound like you're chasing a courier.

Oh, exactly.

(Laughs) I mean, how hard is it to pick up some flowers?

It's not like I'm asking them to pick up some bizarre rancid cheese. I'm sorry.

How can I help you?

Uh, we're still trying to locate the body of Declan O'Grady.

A ghastly business.

I mean, how macabre to desecrate a man's memory by stealing his body and to do what?

There are some sick people in this world.

Uh, Janelle, you were with Declan when he d*ed?

I was. He d*ed in my arms.

Oh, for God's sake, get the doctor!

There was nothing he could do.

The att*ck was massive, apparently. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Let the reverend know and then call Mr Bugle.

And the ambulance came?

It did.

When Brenda returned to the garden, she said that Declan had been moved into the cottage.

To give him some dignity from the cold, hard ground.

The ambulance drivers helped you with that?

Well, I couldn't have done it.

Despite Declan's illness, he was a strong man, full of life even in death.

And Dr Plummer was...?

Oh, he'd gone by that stage.

He had an appointment in town, I believe.

(Dog barks)

Moutarde, sit.

Moutarde?

That's an interesting name.

It's French. Isn't he lovely?

Cheers.

(Printer beeps)

Yes! A photo match of Jane Doe coming through international arrivals.

Immigration records have her as Scarlett Ming.

Chinese heritage but hailing from San Francisco, where she runs a clothing boutique called Missy Scarlett.

She flew in on the 6am Saturday morning, the day before Declan d*ed.

On her immigration card, she wrote 135 Dunvilles Lane.

Wadsworths'.

Interpol are tracking down her next of kin.

They'll need to fly out to formally identify her.

She came from somewhere.

Nice work.

The question is what brings a San Francisco clothes designer to Brokenwood?

Maybe Mrs Wadsworth had a special fitting.

They're loaded enough, right?

Well, except she's in France.

Brenda White is the Wadsworths' housekeeper right?

Yes.

And the florist is called Janelle Peacocke.

Yes.

Brenda White, Janelle Peacocke, a woman trading as Missy Scarlett?

And what sort of a doctor teaches?

A professor.

Professor Plum-mer.

Surely, this has to be more than a coincidence, right?

All we need now is a colonel.

Moutarde.

It's French for mustard.

Are we suddenly in a board game?

Senior, there's a Reverend Greene here to see you.

(Quirky blues music)

It started some years ago when Brenda White, Janelle Peacocke, Professor Plummer and I realised we all shared our rather unique surnames with a timeless, classic and most rewarding board game.

And then with the Wadsworths having a large manor we could use while they were away, we thought wouldn't it be jolly good fun to adapt it into real life.

A role-playing club was formed.

Something of a whodunnit evening, you see?

And, uh, how exactly does it play out?

Ah, yes. Well, the evening begins in the dining room.

Firstly, the six weapons are made available.

We each take one and secrete it in a random room of our choice.

When everyone returns we each draw three cards that decide the w*apon, the room in which the m*rder is to take place and the victim.

We draw a fourth card, five of which are blank, the sixth reads m*rder*r - the short straw, if you will.

The aim of the evening is for the designated m*rder*r - let's say it was me - to move the required w*apon into the required room...

What are we drinking here?

...and negotiate the victim there as well.

At which point the victim assumes the position.

The villain slips out and assumes an innocent demeanour so as not to be sprung by the other participants.

We all meet back in the dining room at midnight, where the accusations begin.

Dr Plummer in the billiard room with the rope.

No.

Brenda White in the kitchen with the cleaver.

No!

(All groan, laugh)

If you're the villain and no one guesses... .you get away with m*rder.

It really is totally harmless, good old-fashioned fun.

A jolly good evening.

And the last time you played was last Saturday night? Yes.

That was the night before Declan passed away.

And Declan took part?

He always played the colonel.

Even though his name's not Mustard?

No one's is.

Except for Janelle's dog.

Quite. But the chance of everyone having the same name would be a coincidence too great.

However, Declan always called himself Colonel Moutarde.

I think it tickled Janelle's fancy.

He was well enough to play?

Oh, he knew it would be his last hurrah.

And the other woman?

Denise Snodgrass.

A fine player, but she left town.

Why?

Let's just say her feelings towards Colonel Moutarde weren't exactly murderous, more amorous.

Unrequited, sadly, so she left to get on with her life.

So you needed a Miss Scarlet.

Yes.

Enter Scarlett Ming.

Her name really was Scarlett, you know?

How did you find her?

Oh, she found us.

The internet. Somehow she'd heard about our private soirees.

That game is my favourite of all time.

I'll book my tickets.

(All chatter)

She really was a lovely, bubbly sort.

And when she arrived, she was very polite and courteous, wearing a dress that she'd made for the occasion.

We all took a shine to her.

We couldn't have hoped for a better participant.

Do you need a cup of tea?

Uh, sorry.

No, no, no. I'm fine.

Before each soiree we'd take a photo, a memento of the evening.

Oh, that one was taken about six months ago, Denise's last game.

And so the evening took shape.

We all went about our business.

(Quirky music)

Some were more active than others.

China girl, what joy you bring with your scarlet heart and your name of Ming.

(Both laugh)

That's very good.

No, no one more, one more.

Um, there was a young girl from Shanghai...

But the rules are clear.

You have to go to each room at least once during the evening, and there is strategy.

We move the weapons around to flush out the villain.

Eventually, we all met back in the dining room on the stroke of midnight.

Initially, of course, we all thought Scarlett was the victim.

And she wasn't?

You see, no one had the m*rder*r card.

I don't have it.

She's not in the study.

Or the library.

Nor the kitchen.

We know the billiard room is clear.

Yes, and the ballroom, but I found this.

I have it here.

Reads: Sorry. Too tired.

Jet lag.

Hope the game goes well.

XX, Scarlett.

We took it that she'd drawn the m*rder*r card but then got cold feet and slipped away.

It was a most disappointing night.

And that was the last time you saw Scarlett Ming?

It was. We assumed she'd got on a plane back to San Francisco.

Until you saw Declan's coffin?

Now, to be fair I didn't see her then.

And the others, well, they'd only met her briefly and she was wearing a scarlet dress.

In the coffin, apparently it was hard to tell.

It only made sense later.

Mm. After you conferred with the others at Wadsworths' last night?

I wanted to be sure we all thought the same thing.

It's her, I tell you. We can't be sure. I can't tell from that.

Oh my God.

What will the Wadsworths say?

This could all go horribly wrong.

The others were adamant that her demise had nothing to do with us. Regardless, I felt very conflicted.

Hence I'm here today.

And you believe your fellow role-players are telling the truth?

My goodness, yes.

No, please, they're all good Christian souls.

And it would have been most unfair to drag Scarlett into something distasteful if she were simply back in San Francisco.

Oh my God.

He converted you?

(Chuckles) Something even more weird. Something that was going on up at Wadsworths'. People playing m*rder.

What, like role-playing?

Uh, the Reverend Greene with the p*stol in the conservatory - that sort of thing.

Don't they have anything better to do on their Saturday night?

Well, what were you doing on Saturday night?

Well, it was a quiet one.

A bottle of Sav and I'm bingeing my way through the box set of Downton Abbey.

Well, maybe they were having more fun at Wadsworths'.

Hey, at least I wasn't murdering anyone.

Well, neither were they if Lucas Greene is to be believed.

But that was the last place she was seen alive, right?

Yep. So whoever m*rder*d her used Declan's death as the perfect way to hide her body.

They got lucky.

Very lucky.

Until Warren Bugle dumped her body on the tar-seal.

Anyway, I'm off to Riverstone to meet with Dr Plummer, or should I say Professor Plum?

Watch he's not hiding a candlestick in his study.

Uh, Senior, there's people here to see you.

Jared. Tina.

Yeah, um, so, Auntie here has some news.

I do not need to be airing this issue with the police.

She reckons she knows who the poem For You was about.

Uh, sorry about the decor.

My office would be cosier.

Nah, I wanna keep this low-key.

Here's good.

This should remain as a matter between us and the Lord.

No. The cops have the right to know anything that might help them locate the body of my father.

(Chokes)

Sorry?

Declan is your father?

According to Auntie.

The first I heard was today.

Can I help it if Declan was a man who shirked from responsibility?

So you've never known who your father was?

But I had well-founded suspicions.

When I heard he was dying, I confronted him.

Surely he owed Jared the courtesy of acknowledging him as his son?

Oh, Tina, you've got to let it go.

What, are you denying it?

But what we had was what it was.

We were young.

Don't- Don't you change the subject.

This is the subject.

You've never gotten over it.

Running off with my sister?

No, it was a little hard to take.

Miriana came on to me.

Just confess to Jared.

He's not my son. If he was, I'd be proud to admit it.

Ow!

'His sins are more numerous than the hairs upon his head.'

Get out of here!

Enough of your crazy talk.

The truth will come out soon, Declan, and you - you will rot in hell.

I'm not going to hell.

So you and Declan were...?

Not something I'm proud of.

He was new in town.

I was 19. But in the end he favoured my younger sister.

And nine months later, Miriana gave birth to a son.

Maths is pretty obvious, don't you think?

Well, surely Miriana can verify?

I never knew my mum.

She d*ed in childbirth.

Oh hell. Sorry.

The truth will come out.

I took samples of them both and sent away for a DNA test.

Ow! Is that what you were doing?

Results are due any day now, and then Jared will know the truth.

So the poem For You, you think it could've been about Miriana?

I wrote it about an incredibly special woman, but she's moved on now.

Well, it certainly wasn't about Denise Snodgrass or any of the other women, though they all think it is.

Detective Sims?

Please come through.

The cancer apparently affected the hippocampus, but the human brain is remarkable.

It can sustain significant parts being removed without losing fundamental functions.

Hence the popularity of the lobotomy for a while, until they realised it was robbing people of their humanity.

Well, is a physical existence worthwhile without an ability to experience emotion?

Exactly.

In Thailand they were apparently able to remove a large part of the cancer, but apparently not enough.

Apparently?

Excuse me?

Well, you keep using that word.

Surely, as his doctor you'd know exactly what went on?

Uh, the cancer wasn't my domain.

I don't understand.

I wasn't Declan's doctor.

What?

Uh, there seems to have been some misunderstanding.

I counselled Declan as he faced the notion of death.

Uh, I'm not a GP.

I'm a doctor of psychiatry.

But you signed the cause of death certificate.

How could I have?

The last time I saw Declan, he was alive and well and tending the garden.

The poet.

Yes, I know who Declan O'Grady was.

And he was a patient here?

Well, not that I recall.

And even if he was, there is the matter of patient confidentiality.

All I need to know is when and for how long he was in the District Health Board records.

And the next time I see you down at the Frog and Cheetah, your first margarita's on me.

And what will Roxy think of that?

She'll be with me and probably already on to her third.

(Sighs) It can't matter too much since he's dead.

Appreciate it.

Yeah, yeah.

Dr Plummer, thanks for coming in.

DSS Shepherd.

Dr Roger Plummer.

You're also a professor, I hear.

That is correct.

Dr Plummer, as I mentioned, we were under the impression that you signed Declan's cause of death certificate.

And as I said, I did no such thing.

Well, this was forwarded to Births, Deaths and Marriages.

Is that your signature?

Well, yes.

Which would suggest that you filled it out.

I certainly did not.

But you were there at Wadsworths' on the Sunday morning when he d*ed?

Well, I may have been, but, as I said, the last time I saw Declan he was alive tending the flowers with Janelle Peacocke.

Where is he?

Uh, out by the camellias.

I'm off. Take care, Declan.

You too, Roger.

And with that, I left.

Then you're suggesting that the signature on the certificate is a forgery.

It must be.

Brenda White was at the sink.

What was she doing?

The dishes.

Glasses?

Um, cutlery, I think.

(Cell phone rings)

It's Breen.

Sam.

Excuse us.

Declan O'Grady never set foot in the hospital, nor does he appear anywhere in the District Health Board records.

For a cancer patient, he somehow managed his treatment completely independently.

And get this...

Right, thanks.

It seems Declan didn't have a GP.

I've already said I'm not an oncologist, and I don't like what you're implying.

But you have said that you were Declan's confidante and psychiatrist.

Therefore, surely you would know that he wasn't receiving treatment.

Well, it was none of my business.

So he just never mentioned it?

You're being very hostile.

No, I'm just-

...curious. We're curious as to your relationship with Declan.

Oh. I treated him as a friend and, to be honest, a fan.

He was a great poet, and I was happy to help.

Poets aren't wealthy.

They certainly can't afford psychiatry fees.

Would you say that Declan's psychological issues were significant?

Now, that is not something that I'm at liberty to discuss.

On the evening before Declan's death, you were at Wadsworths'?

Mm, yeah.

Doing what exactly?

That is a private matter.

It's no longer a private matter when a m*rder investigation is involved.

We know about the role-playing.

Reverend Greene was very forthcoming.

I see. What did he say exactly?

Why don't you tell us what you can remember?

Well, I can barely remember and I wasn't really in the mood, but... the sweet girl had made such an effort to be there and I knew it was most likely Declan's last time, so I played my part.

I spent most of the evening in the study, catching up on patient notes.

I moved a w*apon or two to see if I could, um, twig to who the perpetrator was.

I moved the p*stol from the study to the library at one point when I had suspicions Lucas may have been the perpetrator, but it was merely a red herring.

And I wanted some light reading, so I returned to the study.

Why was that?

That's none of your business.

You never know.

I feel I've said enough.

Anything else I say will be in consultation with my lawyer.

Brilliant, thanks.

Declan O'Grady never went to Thailand.

According to Immigration, he never left the country, because he has no passport.

Which means he never had an operation.

Better than that.

The ambulance that was called to Wadsworths' was intercepted at the gate and told that a doctor had already been and gone.

What? So they never actually saw the body?

All: Declan's not dead.

(Rock music)

Was the ambulance met by Janelle or Brenda?

Neither.

Thank you, but the undertaker has been called.

Lucas Greene?

OK, so he was there too?

Why did he omit that?

Must've been in on it.

Or he has something to hide.

OK, so Declan fakes his own death.

Why? What motivates someone to do that?

Well, we have a psychiatrist in the next room.

Perhaps he could shed some light.

Well, unless he was part of it.

I mean, Declan had help.

How else do you get out of a sealed coffin?

Warren Bugle?

Possible.

But wherever he is now, he may be depending on that help still.

The last one, the farewell poem, read the last lines.

(Clears throat, reads)

'Tight to the wind, out on high, riding the horizon, living it up between Mrs Smith's thighs.'

Who's Mrs Smith?

A lucky lady.

Or not, depending on your view of Declan's literary genius.

We find Mrs Smith, we find Declan.

And since you did so well finding Scarlett Ming...

You do realise there are a lot more Mrs Smiths in the world than Scarlett Mings?

Have a little faith.

Meanwhile, we have zero facts surrounding Scarlett's death other than she was last seen inside Wadsworth Manor.

Everyone believes she ran off after leaving the message.

Well, given that she was last seen playing out a fantasy and then ended up in a dead gardener's coffin, it seems unlikely.

Meaning someone else wrote the note?

And why did she write, 'Hope the game goes well,' when she had the m*rder*r's card, knowing that the game would fall apart without her?

And as cover-ups go, any one of them could've done it.

Or all of them.

The shrink's lawyer's here.

Miranda Temple.

Ms Temple? Detective Sims.

Hello. I'd like to see my client.

Of course. I'll show you through.

Uh, shall we commence in, say, five minutes?

(Scoffs)

Please. Need I remind you that the time alone with my client will be at my discretion?

I'll let you know when I'm ready.

What's to say he even is a professor?

He might just be role-playing.

At least we know that Temple's a lawyer, and she's a good one.

Can you take this?

Sure. What's your next move?

I'm gonna take these and apply a fine-tooth comb with a glass of Merlot.

And then tomorrow I'm gonna start again with Brenda White.

Good luck with Temple.

Wait. Where'd she go?

I'm ready. Are you?

So, after the role-playing had finished around midnight, you went to bed?

Yes.

And it was just you and Brenda White on the premises?

Really? I don't understand-

Your point is, Detective?

Scarlett Ming disappeared somewhere just prior to midnight.

She was next seen on Tuesday morning in Declan's coffin, but we know she d*ed late Saturday or thereabouts.

So I just need to make sure that Dr Plummer didn't see her in the manor after the game had finished.

I did not.

Then you woke on Sunday morning around what time?

I slept late - perhaps 9 - showered and left Wadsworths' around 9.45am.

I'm off. Take care, Declan.

You too, Roger.

9.45?

That's what he said.

Because both Brenda White and Janelle Peacocke recall you leaving later, after Declan collapsed, which was just after 10am.

Well, they're lying.

Both of them?

Clearly, both of them, because I had to make an appointment in town at 10am, and I'm a punctual person.

Detective, if my client had any part in this elaborate ruse that you're suggesting, then why would he not have used another name?

Why risk his practicing certificate to help Declan O'Grady play hide-and-seek?

We will need to corroborate your appointment in town.

Consider it corroborated.

I'll need a witness.

That would be me.

Dr Plummer was meeting with me in my chambers.

My PA, Cindy, was there to take notes.

On a Sunday morning?

On a Sunday morning.

At 10am?

Sometimes it's the only time when parties can get together.

Call Cindy to verify.

And since the certificate cites 10.35am as the time of death, then it can't have been Dr Plummer who filled it out, as he was with me in my chambers.

You look sceptical, Ms Sims.

What was the meeting about?

A private matter.

His wife has issued divorce proceedings.

It's been a very stressful time.

Now, it really is late, and I believe enough of my client's privacy has been invaded.

Roger, let's go.

Shepherd: There's something you haven't been forthcoming about.

I'm sorry?

The reason Dr Plummer stayed over on Saturday night.

Well, that's none of my business.

But you were part of it.

What?

The role-playing.

Oh, yes, that. Well, you need to talk to the others.

I have. What I want now is your version of events.

This is where we start the game and finish.

At midnight?

Yes.

Where were you just before midnight?

Uh, I was in the kitchen for a while - that's where I saw Reverend Greene getting more wine - and then the study with Dr Plummer.

And then I stopped for a while in the ballroom, um, did some knitting, but no one came, so I just moved on.

What about Janelle?

Did you paths cross much?

I saw her several times.

Once in the library and in the hall.

I think she had the rope.

There was something up her sleeve.

The weapons for the game get placed in different rooms before the game starts?

Yes.

Which one did you place?

Uh, I placed the candlestick into the conservatory.

Then depending on who draws the m*rder*r's card, they need to locate the w*apon and get it to the appropriate room?

Yes.

Which cards did you get?

Uh, I got the dining room, the cleaver and Rev Greene.

I've had him before.

He can be pretty tricky.

But you didn't get the m*rder*r card?

No. No, I didn't.

Was this room used?

No. It's mine.

You planning a trip?

Oh, no.

That's, um, for my sister's birthday.

She's the one with the travel bug.

Sorry, my room's a mess.

This one?

Uh, that's just the spare bedroom.

Where Dr Plummer stayed?

Mm-hm.

Can I see the ballroom?

Of course.

This is where the team photo is taken before every match?

Yes.

At the end of the evening when you realised Scarlett Ming had... disappeared, you all searched the rooms?

Yes.

Which ones did you search?

Uh, the ballroom.

That's where I found her note.

And she was nowhere to be seen?

We just assumed that she'd run off, that the game wasn't her cup of tea after all.

One more thing.

You said that when Declan d*ed, Janelle told you to let the Reverend know.

Yes.

But you didn't need to phone him.

No. But I did call him.

Reverend! Reverend! Reverend...

So he was in Dr Plummer's room?

What is it?

Oh God, I've slept in.

You never mentioned he'd stayed over.

Well, I didn't think it was important.

Thanks.

A rose by any other name.

Oh, pretty much anything but a rose.

Uh, camellias, Mike.

Ah. Oh well, a nice day for it.

An auspicious day no less.

How's that?

Well, this came in the mail this morning from the DNA place.

Not sure I wanna open it.

Jared, without giving too much away, we're now of the belief that Declan isn't dead, just disappeared, if that makes any difference.

I'm not sure if that helps.

(Cell phone rings)

Kristen.

The phone rang.

Yeah, I know and I answered it.

(Laughs) No.

When we spoke to Warren Bugle.

He described putting Declan in the chiller, and then the phone rang.

So if he did get a call-out, that could have provided opportunity for the switch to happen.

Good. Follow it up.

All over it.

(Tense music)

Mr Bugle?

(Suspenseful music)

Can I help you?

Oh.

Warren, hi. The place is unlocked.

Well, I got called out.

I have a new corpse to process.

She's in the car.

Warren, when you put Declan O'Grady in the chiller on Sunday, your phone rang.

Did it?

(Phone rings)

Bugle Funerals, where life and death shake hands. This is Warren.

Who was it?

It was a woman, uh, wanting me to pick up her dead husband, and I wrote down the address, but I noted it wrongly, obviously, because it didn't seem to exist.

So what did you do?

I drove round for an hour trying to find that phantom corpse.

No doubt one of my competitors b*at me to it.

But now with my new GPS, there will be no repeat.

You know, this has 12 separate functions for...

Finding dead people.

(Chuckles)

Not exactly, but...

What time was this?

Around noon Sunday.

It was shaping up to be a busy day after Mr O'Grady.

And it was a woman?

Yes.

But she didn't mention her name?

No.

Do you recall a Dr Roger Plummer visiting?

Dr Plummer signed Declan's cause of death certificate.

Oh, right. That rings a bell.

And you forwarded that on to Births, Deaths and Marriages?

It's all part of the service.

OK, so who gave it to you?

(Sighs) This was over a week ago.

Jerome Peacocke.

Not Janelle?

Janelle! That's it.

She came to do the flowers and passed it on to save the doctor a trip.

Thanks, Warren.

Oh, and, some, you know, friendly advice - you should get into the habit of locking your place up when you leave.

(Blues music)

Detective Shepherd.

A quick question, Reverend?

Of course.

Last Sunday morning, did you give a sermon at the 8am service?

Uh, no. No, um, my associate Delia did that service.

I took the 11.30am worship and the 7.30pm session.

That makes sense given that you were talking to the ambulance officers at Wadsworths'.

Would you care to come inside?

You have to understand, it's love, and.... you don't want it to be a secret.

But although the church is supposedly more open these days, it's still...

(Sighs) And... for Roger, you see, well, it's even more difficult for him.

Being married?

Indeed.

Who asked you to talk to the ambulance?

It was Janelle.

Oh, Janelle, I'm so sorry.

The ambulance is coming, but it's too late.

I can't face them, and Mr Bugle is on his way. Could you go and...?

Of course. Of course I will.

I'll, um- I'll say a prayer in worship.

Oh, thank you.

I shall so miss this place.

You'd think a man of the cloth and a psychiatrist could put a pretty compelling case to the Lord for some gay rights.

Warren Bugle is a liability to the dead.

Why, what's he done now?

Mm, it's more a case of what he didn't do.

I mean, he doesn't lock his doors.

Whoever did the switch, he made it easy for them.

And it was Janelle Peacocke who passed on the cause of death.

Well, while you've been hanging out with cadavers, I've been tracing Mrs Smiths.

There are 94 in the hinterland of Brokenwood, so busy day tomorrow.

Ah, putting your feet up, I see.

Simon!

Take it easy, Neeme.

Breen.

I was passing through on my way to the ranges for a pig hunt with a few lads from HQ.

Thought you'd appreciate this.

Is that Declan?

Or as he was known then, Tom Romanski.

He's no more bloody Irish than Vladimir Putin.

30 years ago in Southland he was charged with unlawful sex with a minor.

He was released on bail but disappeared. Completely vanished.

So he headed north and reinvented himself.

And lived happily ever after.

Up until he decided to fake his own death.

He must've got spooked.

Was the plaintiff a woman by the name of Melody, by any chance?

Mm. A Melody.

There - Melody Farmer.

Can you sign it for Melody?

Do you remember me?

No, sorry. I don't.

(Clears throat)

Coincidentally, around the same time the brain cancer kicked in.

Which answers the big question - why go to all that trouble?

To preserve his alter ego.

For the revered poet Declan O'Grady to die an innocent man.

That is a complicated way to live your life.

Well, when you find him, tell him to try pig hunting.

That keeps it real.

After he's done his stretch.

(Glen Moffatt's "Drivin' Me Lonesome" plays)

♪ This highway seems to go on forever. ♪

Neighbour.

Jared. Pour yourself a glass.

Sure.

You're up late.

So are you.

Burning the midnight to find Declan?

Yeah. But it's not helping.

You know, up until now I had no mother or father, just a great bunch of whanau.

Now I've got this mystery envelope.

Don't you want to find out one way or the other?

Well, if I open it and it's positive and Declan is my dad, then, yay, I got a criminal for a father.

And if it's negative, then nothing changes, so what's the point?

Reads: Tight to the wind, way out on high, riding the horizon, living it up between Mrs Smith's thighs.

I wonder if he had kids to her too. (chuckles) Did he ever mention a Mrs Smith?

Not that I recall.

I mean, I can't see the resemblance, can you?

And I've never felt very Irish.

Might not be any resemblance to see.

And he's not Irish.

Turns out he's Polish.

What?

Oh sh*t!

Uh, don't worry. Don't worry.

It's old. It's old.

(Eerie music)

It's a boat.

What?

Mrs Smith. It's a 40ft ketch moored down at the inlet.

Maybe the 'thighs' are a poetic sailing term for the deck either side of the companionway, if you catch my drift.

Looks like it hasn't seen any action in a while.

A perfect hiding place.

Well, jump in my dinghy and we'll check it out, eh?

(Chuckles)

I don't do boats.

(Alarm chirps)

Lovely morning for it.

Oh, morning, Detective.

You come here often?

Yes, this is Moutarde's favourite spot. (chuckles) Okey-dokey, into the car.

Good boy. Good boy.

Janelle, I've been meaning to ask - you said that after Declan d*ed in the garden, the ambulance paramedics helped you move his body to his cottage.

Yes.

Yet the ambulance was turned away at the gate, so they wouldn't have been able to assist.

Right. Well, I wouldn't know, because I wasn't there.

Oh. You were...?

I fainted.

Fainted?

Mm. The last thing I remember is saying to Brenda...

It's too late. Brenda, he's gone.

(Gasps)

The shock coupled with hyperventilation from giving him CPR. I was extremely overwhelmed.

Who do you think moved Declan?

Well, it must have been Reverend Greene.

I believe Reverend Greene was dealing with the ambulance at the gate.

Yes.

After which he rode straight to the church.

Well, it must've been Brenda, then.

Maybe.

Please excuse me. I have to go and open the shop.

(Cell phone rings)

Jared.

Yeah, no sign of life.

Maybe the Mrs Smith in the poem is actually a hot lady after all.

Well, it was worth a try.

Hey, I need to see a man about a rug.

You want me to stake it out?

I can't ask you to do that, Jared.

Is that official?

That's official.

Not a problem, sir.

We have special ways to deal with this. Then again, maybe I should upgrade.

How much is this one?

You have exquisite taste.

That is a premium rug.

Highest price but also highest of quality.

You sell many?

Hardly ever, which makes it all the more unique.

Special just for you.

When did you sell the last one?

Admittedly, it was last Sunday, but before that not for several years.

Today I can do a special price just for you.

I should check the measurements first.

Of course.

All the proceeds from Declan's last book go to the Cancer Recovery Foundation, right?

I believe so.

It's actually a limited liability company registered in Vanuatu.

A tax haven. He's all class.

Why?

These were all taken before Saturday night.

I took this yesterday.

The rug is different.

Why did it get changed?

To hide the damage.

Nice.

What about the who?

Well, it was someone who knew about the empty coffin that Declan would vacate, the person who was in on it.

Janelle knew.

Circumstantial?

Not when you consider this.

Watch carefully.

Living it up between Mrs Smith's...

The camera is switched off without Declan leaning forward or leaving frame.

He had help.

And see that?

Peacocke's pendant.

OK. Let's go over everything from start to finish.

I'll make the coffee.

Allow me.

(Upbeat blues music)

That has to be it.

It's the only thing that makes sense.

I'm liking it.

Are you OK with this?

I'd say it's time to round up our suspects and have a little chat.

A soiree, even.

Thank you all for coming.

It's not as if we had a choice, did we?

While we appreciate that all of you had the opportunity to k*ll Scarlett Ming, only-

Excuse me, that is slanderous.

..only one of you had the motive.

Which counts me out.

Roger, please.

Well, Dr Plummer, let's start with you.

You only gave the evening a cursory effort.

What, with news of your divorce, you were distracted; you weren't really in the mood.

You spent most of your time in the study, moving to the conservatory and then to the library to place the p*stol and to get a reference book.

So I find solace in Jung when I'm stressed.

That's hardly a crime.

Reverend Greene, on the other hand, well, you were always keen to play.

You moved through all the rooms, moving the weapons randomly so as to unsettle the m*rder*r in the hopes that they might give themselves away.

It usually works.

You visited the library on two occasions, once having followed Dr Plummer and again following Declan, but he was distracted by Scarlett entering the billiard room.

Very good. I'm sorry, but would it be wrong for me to say I'm actually rather enjoying this?

Brenda White moved through the rooms with deft ability.

After all, she knows the place better than anyone.

She spent time in the ballroom, where she sat for a while knitting.

And it was here that she accidentally left her sewing scissors.

Oh, I wondered what happened to them.

The only time Scarlett was ever seen entering the ballroom, Brenda was already in the billiard room with Declan, as witnessed by Reverend Greene, so it can't have been Brenda.

I don't remember that.

I do.

Which leaves us with Janelle.

But aren't you missing someone?

No.

Declan. He was there.

Who's to say it wasn't him?

Because Declan was intent on his own death, not someone else's.

You were the only one not to mention going into the ballroom on that evening.

Because I didn't. Not exactly in the spirit of the game, Janelle.

Do shut up, Lucas!

You came across Declan and Scarlett during the evening.

He was flirting.

With your scarlet heart and your name of Ming.

You'd seen it too many times.

What's wrong with your head?

Uh, terminal cancer.

Oh God, I'm so sorry.

No, no, no. Don't be. Don't be.

When I meet a woman as beautiful as you, it just reminds me how important it is to fight the disease and live on.

Make way, Declan.

(Laughs)

Don't listen to him.

He's a poet.

You can't believe a word he says.

Later, you would snap.

After all, you had the right cards.

Then having lured Scarlett into the ballroom...

Oh my God! So excited.

My first time and it's me.

With the rope? So cool.

(Ominous music)

This is ridiculous.

And based on what?

This photo was taken before the event. The pattern on the rug has three diamonds running across.

The rug there now also has three diamonds but a black border.

Someone replaced the rug to hide the bloodstains.

As the clock struck 12, you all reconvened in here.

Clearly, the victim is Scarlett.

I accuse you, Lucas, with the candlestick in the conservatory.

Ah, but the candlestick is here.

Oh. So it is.

Really, Roger, where is your head this evening?

Well, I'm picking...

After several other false accusations, it became clear that Scarlett wasn't around.

Moutarde?

No.

She's not in the study.

Or the library.

Nor the kitchen.

The billiard room is clear.

Yes, and the ballroom, but I found this.

Reads: Sorry, too tired.

Jetlag.

Hope the game goes well.

Scarlett.

Oh, she was clearly a dud.

We recruited a failure.

Lost her nerve.

Poor thing.

Oh dear.

Port, anyone?

I admit I said that, but it doesn't mean anything!

But you were in love with Declan.

Yes, I was.

Everyone was in love with Declan, but that doesn't make me a m*rder*r!

But the k*ller had to know of Declan's plan.

Riding the horizon, living it up between Mrs Smith's thighs.

Declan, you are so clever.

Thank you, Janelle.

So when you k*lled Scarlett in a fit of jealous rage, you knew you had a way out.

A way to dispose of the body - in Declan's casket.

Please, that is wrong.

It's all wrong!

All?

He was a strong man, full of life even in death.

(Cries) Yes, all right, I helped him stage his own death.

You treacherous woman!

How dare you jeopardise my career!

I was doing it to help our friend Declan.

Janelle.

But I didn't k*ll Scarlett.

So where is Mr O'Grady now?

Well, if I knew that, don't you think I'd damn well be with him now!

Janelle Peacocke, you're under arrest for forging a death certificate in Dr Plummer's name and for the m*rder of Scarlett Ming.

No, you are wrong!

You are so wrong!

Can we go?

Yes. Thank you.

You're all free to go.

Shame on you.

(Cell phone rings)

Jared.

Yeah, Mike.

Unofficially speaking, the fox has broken cover.

Mrs Smith is heading for open water.

Thanks. It seems that Declan has set sail without you.

Bastard.

Headed for international waters?

I feel boats coming on.

Deep sea.

Big swells.

I'll process Ms Peacocke.

Well, they really aren't salubrious, are they?

Functional at best.

Your lawyer shouldn't be too far away.

I didn't k*ll Scarlett.

But you did aide and abet Declan O'Grady.

I was a fool. It was a fantasy - the thought of leaving Brokenwood and sailing away and starting again.

But now it has unravelled in ways I could not imagine.

And where do you think he's headed?

He was always waxing lyrical about the South China Seas - Surabaya, Borneo and then up to Sri Lanka.

With a stop in Vanuatu on the way?

Yeah.

(Scoffs) The things we do for love, even if it is unrequited.

I'll check on your lawyer.

Breen, try north-nor'-west.

Uh-huh.

(Marlon Williams 'Little Mountain Town')

♪ These city streets... ♪

See anything?

♪ There's nothing for me here. ♪

(Increases volume)

♪ It's oh so cold. ♪
♪ It's oh so cold, but there's no snow on the ground. ♪
♪ So why should I stick around? ♪
♪ Well, sometimes I wish I lived in a little ♪
♪ mountain town where everybody knows your name... ♪

That's it.

♪ Oh, oh, oh... ♪
♪ Oh, oh, oh. ♪
♪ Whoa, oh, oh. ♪
♪ Oh, oh, oh. ♪

(Cell phone rings)

Jared.

I opened it.

And how do you feel about that?

Let's talk about it tonight over a Merlot, eh?

Yeah, sounds good.

I'd like that.

♪ Whoo! ♪

We've recovered the yacht.

It seems Mrs Smith has turned into Mary Celeste.

And Declan isn't on board?

No. Neither is there any dinghy or life raft.

He's lashed the tiller.

This doesn't change anything, does it?

Far from it.

♪ The only thing, well, the only thing that ♪
♪ keeps me here is the love of a girl. ♪
♪ The sad love of a girl. ♪
♪ She never understands... ♪

(Grunts, sighs)

We did it.

Like the chambers of a g*n...

We are the b*ll*ts ready to fly.

Not one of your greats, Declan.

Not like For You.

How the hell did you...

So where are we off to?

Baby clothes shopping?

Prams, high chairs?

So much to get.

Far from those booties being for your sister, they were for you, weren't they, Brenda?

Yes, well, I've always liked knitting, and now I have the perfect excuse.

Are you planning a trip?

I mean, why else would you be taking pregnancy supplements, and what sister expecting twins would really be planning on globe-trotting?

But Janelle...

Janelle didn't do it, as you know.

But Detective Sims...

Was playing a role.

We needed everyone to think we'd found the k*ller so that the real k*ller would lead us to Declan.

And, look, here we are.

Oh, tea? It must've been cold out there.

What do you mean the real k*ller?

Sorry.

While you were busy being dead, you've missed out on so much.

You see, being pregnant to you made Brenda understandably vulnerable.

Don't listen to him.

He's a poet.

You can't believe a word he says.

Fearing that you might back out of your plan for the more exotic Scarlett Ming,...

There was a young girl from Shanghai whose beauty enchanted my eye.

No, I must stop.

I have this for you.

I don't know what to say.

Oh my God.

When you finally managed to lure Scarlett into the ballroom, I imagine it all came as something of a reflex response.

He's so mysterious.

Oh, and that poem For You is totally amazing. I feel like it was written for me.

Oh my God!

So excited. My first time and it's me. Oh, and with the rope?

So cool.

I couldn't find the rope.

I think Janelle has it.

Is this true?

I didn't mean to.

Oh.

Then while Janelle was doing your dirty work staging your death...

(Sobs)

She's upstairs. Go!

..then sending Warren on a wild goose chase,...

Hello. My husband's d*ed.

Marigold Lane.

I will be there forthwith.

..then rescuing you from the chiller,... Brenda was busy covering her tracks.

Janelle described a clatter, not smashing glass - the sound of tin clanking on tin.

What would that have been?

European precision.

Not cheap.

You couldn't bring yourself to throw them away.

Look, I knew nothing of this.

I'm sure you didn't.

I mean, why would Brenda want you to know that?

I mean, it's one thing to run off into the sunset with your pregnant lover, but knowing she's a m*rder*r, well, you'd wanna sleep with one eye open.

Declan, I love you. Please...

Then, again, did Brenda know about you, Tom?

Tom?

Brenda White, you are under arrest for the m*rder of Scarlett Ming.

Tom Romanski, you are under arrest for faking your own death, and we need to talk about that historic matter of sex with a minor.

What?

You two have so much to catch up on. Excuse me.

Take these.

Sir.

Despite what all the women of Brokenwood think, the poem For You was written about your mother, right?

Oh, and if it's any relief, Jared Morehu is not your son. It was certainly a relief to him.

♪ Sometimes I wish I lived in a little mountain town ♪
♪ where everybody knows your name and nobody gets you down. ♪
♪ I've never found my way up there to that little mountain town... ♪