04x03 - Damned If You Do...

[bunniefuu]

It is my heartfelt pleasure
and my greatest honour

to claim this land, this island,
on behalf of France

and call her - Saint Marie!

Vive la France!

- Ryan!
- Sorry!

OK, come on, guys, let's keep it together.
We're nearly there!

Good! So, erm, all right, come on,
come on...

Vive la France! Vive le roi!

Vive la France! Vive le roi!

Maybe one more rehearsal -
we'll be fine tomorrow.

No, look, if we've any chance
of sticking to schedule,

we'd best cr*ck on with the food.

You know how quick
we lose the light this time of year.

All right, well, no need to panic -

plenty of time for foraging.

Right, yes, erm, fact sheets, everybody.

And don't forget we're rehearsing
your speech straight after dinner.

Well, I haven't even finished it yet.

Ah, well... there...

Right, I'm striking out this way.

I've had enough of this!
Who are you?

If you've got something to say to me,
say it to my face!

Yes, Detective Inspector Goodman.

Humphrey?

Look, it's Francis Davison, President
of the Saint Marie Heritage Society.

Look, I need to talk to you
about something...

Right, what do you think?

It's lovely. Really, really lovely.

No-one's forcing you to eat it.

I think it's delicious, Imke.

- Thank you.
- Well done for finding the recipe.

Mmm, yeah. Imagine what we could've
been eating if you hadn't!

- So, Francis...
- Mmm?

Are you going to give us

- a little flavour of your speech?
- Ah-ha-ha!

- Yeah, come on.
- Go on!

Um... all right.

Go on, Dad.

Something along... these lines.

Um...

Ladies and gentlemen,
on this weekend celebrating

our island's history, welcome to
the Saint Marie Heritage Society's tribute

to those brave European men and women

who risked life and limb
crossing the ocean

to discover our beautiful isle...

Any numbness, loss of feeling?

Excuse me.
What's wrong, what's happening?

Food poisoning, I think.

Um, is, er, Francis around?
Francis Davison?

He was here, he must be in his tent.

Francis? It's Humphrey Goodman.
We spoke earlier?

Francis?

Ow!

Francis...

Francis?

So, it's been 461 years since the French
first arrived on the island.

So how comes only a small band
of ex-pats

were the only ones celebrating it?

Do the Brits celebrate
the Romans invading them

- and kicking them up the back?
- We mark it.

So, what's happened?

Well, the Saint Marie Heritage Society
had been

rehearsing for tomorrow's
re-enactment of the French landing.

But half an hour after
eating their evening meal,

they all started to complain
about stomach ache.

The victim, Francis Davison,
came for a lie down.

They all seem to have been hit
by what looks like food poisoning.

So, they've all eaten this stew.
They've all been ill.

Francis had a particularly bad reaction.
Nothing suspicious in that.

But, if I told you
that no more than an hour ago,

Francis called me,
telling me that he thought

someone was trying to k*ll him,
what would you say then?

Coincidence?

I've got a feeling that if I say yes,
you're going to say no.

And I would say, what was that guy
doing with your number?

Yeah, well, um, yes, well,
I... I considered joining them.

It seemed a great way
to meet new people.

But then, er, I got to know you lot
and suddenly I realised I didn't need to.

Anyway, can we move on?
Um, I don't think this is a coincidence.

- You think he was m*rder*d?
- Mm-hm.

Let's get all the food and drink bagged up

and sent to the lab for analysis.
Any idea where Camille is?

She said something about
getting an early night.

Oh, er, no problem.

Um, yes, well, there's not much more
we can do

until tomorrow anyway with this light.

Um, er, yes, no problem at all.

We'll get the tent sealed off,
and maintain a police presence

until daylight, to preserve the scene.

Good - um, yes.

Thank you.

# Way out in the morning sun

# There lies my baby
She was waiting so long... #

Er, look, Camille...

Um, er... er, I know this is going
to sound a little out of the blue.

But I have been thinking long and hard
about this.

I... I go to sleep thinking about it,

I... I wake up thinking about it,
about you.

Can't stop thinking about you...

Do you have to do that?

Hey!

Ah.

Just rehearsing my speech.

You're giving a speech? For who?

Oh, er, no-one.
Er, just in case I'm ever asked.

Be prepared. Scout motto.

Dib dib dib.

I'll be in the Jeep.

Yes.

Not a word!

Dwayne, how come you can spend
all night on a beach

and still look smarter than I do?

Practice.

Right. Ah, look at this.
All this effort for nothing.

Today's anniversary will pass
and hardly anyone will notice.

OK. Tonight. You and me.

I'll show you how the island
really marks the anniversary.

Oh, yes, I'd like that, Dwayne.

Right, so what have we got?

Our victim sat down for his evening meal.

They all complained of stomach pain.

Francis came in here, lay down...

And d*ed.

Yes.

No sign of a struggle.

So, we have a change of clothes,
the key to his Jeep, phone,

wallet containing cards and cash.

Now, according to Francis's son,
his journal is missing.

Apparently he relied quite heavily on it.
It's what he wrote his notes and dates in.

You think someone's stolen it?
Is that our motive?

Someone wanted to get hold of
whatever's in the journal? Possibly.

Maybe the answer's in that.
Er, anything else?

They had an authentic 16th-century recipe
for the evening meal.

I don't recognise
any of these ingredients.

Obviously, the postmortem will confirm,
but that means it's looking unlikely

Francis had a particularly severe reaction
to the poison.

The medics cleared at 4.30 in the morning.

They were satisfied that the rest
of the Society weren't in any danger,

so they sent them home after treatment.

Good.

I've arranged to meet them
at Catherine's bar.

Any particular reason?

It's where the Society meet each week.

Yes, that's quite a good reason. Right!

The boy is Ryan Davison, Francis's son.

Someone's looking after him, I take it?

Teresa Gower's looking after him
for the time being.

His mother passed away some years ago.

Right.

- Morning.
- Good morning.

I'm DI Goodman, this is DS Bordey.

Thank you for agreeing to talk to us
at what I know is a very difficult time.

Could I start by taking your names,
please?

Oh, er, I'm Teresa Gower, Club Secretary.

Er, this is Henri Garon. Imke Sandt.

And Ryan Davison.

I'm really sorry for your loss, Ryan.

Er, so, could you talk me through
what happened yesterday?

Well, it was the final rehearsal
for our re-enactment today.

And we got to the beach - what, about ten?

- Ten.
- Yes.

Er, set up the camp, rehearsed
and then prepared our evening meal.

Right. So who was it
who made the decision to serve stew?

We were following an authentic recipe
I found.

Francis was very keen for us

to relive the experience
of the original settlers.

Yeah. We all helped prepare it
and foraged for other ingredients.

- Foraged?
- For the herbs.

Teresa made a fact sheet for us
and we foraged in the woods by the beach.

And once the stew was cooking,

was there someone
in attendance at all times?

More or less. I mean, it was simmering
for quite some time

but we were never away for too long.

And you didn't see anyone
tamper with that?

- Oh, no.
- No.

Er, excuse me.
Were you using that yesterday?

Er, yes. For, er, Society archives.

Well, maybe you caught something on it.

Would it be possible to borrow it?
With the memory cards?

Yes, sure.

Thank you.

So, who was it who served up the stew,
and how much did you have?

We helped ourselves,
we had a couple of bowls each.

It's lovely. Really, really lovely.

No-one's forcing you to eat it.

And Francis had the same?

Yes.

What can you tell me about Francis?

He came to the island a year ago,
with Ryan.

Took over as President of the Society
two months back.

Everything you'd want your leader
to be - enthusiastic,

passionate, er,
exactly about the same things as we are.

How do you mean?

Well, anything to do with the island,
really. Loved the Society, too.

We were like a little family, weren't we?

Yes, um, forgive me for asking

but can you think of anyone
who might have wanted to harm Francis?

No.

He was a popular man.

I got your text.

It's awful, it's... just awful.

Alan Butler.

DI Goodman. You obviously knew Francis.

Our paths crossed at the Society, but
I haven't set eyes on him since I left.

You left?

About two months ago.

Right, which would explain
why you weren't on the beach.

I was at home.

- All afternoon?
- All afternoon.

You see, because just before he d*ed,

Francis called me...

...saying he was being threatened
by someone.

I think I'm being followed.

Yeah, somebody's out to get me,
I know it...

Ryan, did your dad mention this at all?

He said someone was threatening him?

You think someone k*lled him?

Yes. Yes, I do.

So, how come you didn't join the Society?

Well, it was all prancing
about the countryside,

pretending to be Charles II.

- Didn't appeal?
- No, I just don't have the legs for it.

Hang on a sec...

What?

We found a set of keys for a Jeep
in Francis's belongings at the campsite.

And?

Well, it wasn't parked at the beach,
it isn't here.

So where is it?

Gosh!

What?

Captain Howarth's Chronicles-
major 18th-century explorer

and biological archivist - knocks Darwin
into a cocked hat, in my humble.

Yes, yes, I'm, er, I'm working.

Yes, yes, yes, yes...

Ah, the Heritage Society accounts book.

Mmm.

Ah.

Francis said he was receiving
threatening letters when he called me.

Interesting.

What?

Unless I'm not reading this properly,

it looks like the Society
is $4,000 out of a pocket.

Yes, it's, um... out of pocket.

- Out of...
- I got it!

OK.

Dwayne, er, they'll need
checking for fingerprints.

Also we need to contact Ryan, ask him

if he knows where his dad's Jeep is.

Maybe he just borrowed it?

Too young - he's only 16.

Never stopped me.

We found the Society accounts book
and it looks like they are 4K in the red.

If we find out why,
it could help with the investigation.

I'll request financial checks.

And Dwayne's made a start
on Francis Davison's e-mails.

Right.

So, President of the Saint Marie
Heritage Society, Francis Davison.

He came here two years ago.

He tutors private pupils
in Caribbean history.

He's also writing a book about the history
of Saint Marie while he's here.

And running the Heritage Society.
Busy man. Henri Garon.

Single. Moved to the island 18 months ago
from his hometown of Antibes.

He's an accountant
at the Three Sails Hotel.

Member of various clubs -
scuba diving, yacht club.

A social butterfly.

Quite. Imke Sandt.

Dutch national. Single, no children.

She worked as a primary school teacher
for eight years,

then gave it up to become a travel rep.

Teresa Gower?

Secretary for the Society. Unmarried.

Moved here six years ago,

following the death of her father
back in the UK.

Librarian at the Port Royal Library.

Ryan Davison?

16, moved here with his dad.

His mother passed away some years ago.
Straight A student back in the UK.

Which, er, just leaves Alan Butler,
ex-member of the Society.

He moved here following early retirement.

Middle management for 25 years
at the Hertfordshire Water Board.

Sergeant in the Territorial Army.

Where are my... my notes?

Inside left.

Inside left... ah, yes.
Well done, Florence.

So...

Five people gather ingredients
for an evening meal, prepare it,

cook it and help themselves.

They eat the same food,
they drink the same drink,

they all suffer food poisoning
and one dies.

To all intents and purposes,
it's a terrible accident.

Except - that one hour before his death,
the victim calls me

and confesses that he fears for his life.

And his journal's gone missing
from the campsite.

Indeed it has.
The journal has to be significant.

All of which means that his death is
much more likely to have been m*rder

than some awful coincidence.

Path and lab results are in.

Francis d*ed from eating a large amount
of the poison water hemlock.

- Water hemlock?
- It's found only in woodland areas

near the coast.

Fast acting
in a highly concentrated dosage.

Death would occur within 30 minutes.

It would seem somehow
he had a much larger amount

of the poison in his system
than anybody else.

And did the lab say where the poison was?

Only in the stew -
everything else was clear.

Not a trace showed up
in any of the water or wine.

Well, then, how did Francis consume
more poison than any of the others?

I don't know... he ate more stew?

No, they all ate the same.

Could the poison be
more concentrated in

one part of the stew than the other?

Then how did the k*ller ensure

that it was Francis who got
that particular portion?

Especially when they served themselves.

It's all too random -
it's a bit like a Christmas pudding.

A what?

Christmas pudding.

It's an old tradition in the UK -
hide a silver sixpence in the pud.

If you got it in your portion,
you kept it.

Let me see, then.

No. No water hemlock in
the Society fact sheet Teresa handed out.

Here's what it looks like.

Looks quite similar to this herb

the Society should have been
foraging for - pound-cake bush.

Could have been picked up accidentally,

and thrown in the stew -
it looks almost identical.

Yes, er... er, Dwayne, if you can get
down to the woods near the beach, see if

- this water hemlock actually grows there.
- Chief.

I'll look through the camcorder footage,

see if that sheds any light on
who may have put something in the stew.

- Chief?
- Yes?

I think I have something
on the $4,000 mystery.

E-mail exchanges between Francis
and Teresa.

Looks like she was the Society's treasurer
as well as the secretary.

She never mentioned that
when we spoke.

Hardly surprising.
Francis was on to her -

he knew it was her
who'd put the Society in debt.

And get this - they agreed to sort it out

on the morning of the rehearsal.

The morning of the day he d*ed.

- Hello again.
- Ah, hello.

We thought we, er, may as well get on
with it, sooner rather than later.

Hopefully keep his mind off things,
bless him.

Could we have a quiet word?

Of course. Er, Ryan, darling,
could you, er, carry on without me?

Oh, by the way, Ryan.

Do you have any idea
where your dad's Jeep is?

Is it not at the house?

Doesn't look like it.

I'm sure it'll turn up.

Teresa, um, we're looking into
possible motives people may have had

to k*ll Francis. Was there anyone
he'd fallen out with? Any issues he had?

Er, none that I know of.

And how did you get on?

Er, well. Good. I liked him.

Right, so how did he react
when he discovered that you'd taken

the Society bank account into the red

and used the cash for your own use?

I... I was stupid.

Desperate.

He was furious.

Quite rightly.

Did he thr*aten to involve the police?

No. Just asked that I repay the money.
And quick.

The only way I could raise the cash
would be to sell up here, go home.

And I love it. I love it so much.

Most of the other members of the Society

ended up on Saint Marie
through their work.

What brought you here?

Well, I saw the island on a documentary.

Fell in love immediately.

Promised myself that one day I...

This was the one thing
that kept me going when my dad was ill.

I was his sole carer and it was, er,
pretty lonely at times.

Yes, that's not too difficult
to understand.

It didn't work out quite as I'd planned.

Why is that?

Well, I arrived with a lot less
in the bank than I anticipated.

Most of what my dad was
going to leave me in his will

had been spent on his health care.

Then the funeral.

But I was determined to start again.

With Francis dead, your secret's safe -

no-one would ever know what you'd done.

Actually, um, he talked me out of it.

I was determined to sell,
pay back what I owe and go.

But, um, Francis very kindly said I could
pay off what I'd taken in instalments.

When did he say that?

Well, I went round to his place
the morning he d*ed.

I thought I'd be walking into
some huge barney, but, um,

he was so gentle.

So understanding.

Teresa - where do these go?

Oh, big box in my car, love.
Um, look, I'll help you.

- May I?
- Yes, of course.

Everything OK?

Oh, nothing to worry your head about,
sweetheart.

Just asking about your dad.

You think she's telling the truth?

You think $4,000 is worth
k*lling someone for?

People have d*ed for far less.

And what if Francis wasn't
quite as understanding

as Teresa's making out?

Oh... this brings it all back.

Disco in the village hall.

Slow dances. Young love.

What was her name?

Your young love.
They say you never forget.

Ah, um, Gillian Ratcliffe.

She wasn't mine - friend's girl.

I was holding his coat
until the dance had finished.

Great song, though.
Could never be written by an Englishman,

far too direct.

What would an Englishman sing?

Er, dunno. Beatles, She Loves You.

Not Ilove you, but she loves you.

Fella concerned couldn't probably
bring himself to say it.

Say what?

I love you.

Well, I have no patience
for a man like that.

Got something to say, say it.

It's not that easy sometimes.

And what if she didn't feel the same?

He'd be emotionally repressed,
high maintenance -

what woman would go for a man like that?

Yeah. Quite.

Oh!

Dwayne...

where are you?

I'm in the woods.

OK. I need you to do something for me.

There's an opening, leading to the beach.

Ah, got it.

Head towards it, but stop maybe

ten metres away, so that the opening
is directly in front of you.

I've stopped.

You're hiding in the trees, aren't you?

This is going to end up
on one of those TV shows, where you

scare the life out of me and get $250, eh?

Dwayne, please concentrate.
Three metres to your left,

there should be a small clearing...

Yes.

Are there any discarded cigarettes?

No.

Yes.

Great! Bag them!

How did you know that?
Hey, where are you?

Just bag them, Dwayne.

All right,

I'm bagging, I'm bagging!

Water hemlock. Found exactly
where we thought it would be.

In the wood near the campsite.

It's so similar to the rest of the herbs -
someone must have picked it up,

put it in the pot - and voil?.
Big mistake.

Yes, possibly.
But it still doesn't explain

how an excess of the same poison
ended up in Francis's system.

Er, I don't suppose

you came across his journal
lying about in the woods, did you?

- Er, no, Chief.
- I'm convinced it's significant.

I, um, spoke to Ryan
about his father's Jeep -

he's no idea where it is.

Dwayne, could you put the feelers out?

Er, um... er, garages,
second-hand dealers, scrapyards...

Thieves, scoundrels... yeah, yeah.
Don't worry, Chief, leave it with me.

Got you!

This is footage from the woods
near the beach.

See? Just here. A silhouette.

Difficult to see -
male or female?

Can't tell. But... fast forward an hour...

He - or she - is still there.

What's that?
That's a spark of light.

They're smoking.

Oh! Well done, team. Get them to the lab,
get the saliva tested for the DNA.

Ah, we may not need to.
I found this.

This is on the Heritage Society blog page.

Alan is the only one smoking.

And the brand - the pack before him
on the table - is Black Strand.

Snap!

Oh, well done, Florence.

- Yeah.
- Sterling work.

Yes, and you, Dwayne.

So, Alan was lying.

He was in the wood,
near the Society camp.

Yes, and if it was him,

then he would have had the perfect
opportunity to poison the stew.

Sorry to disturb you.

30 lengths a day, keeps the doctor away.

Yes!

So, you're the, er, ex-President
of the Saint Marie Heritage Society.

Guilty as charged.

Any particular reason you left?

Well, I'd been at the helm ten years.

Decided to take a back seat,
give someone else a chance at the wheel.

That someone being Francis Davison.

Yes, we've seen
the Society's blog page.

Looks like you all had some good times.

Fantastic group of people.

Enthusiastic, cultured, very friendly.

Then why resign?

My wife was diagnosed
with terminal cancer.

I'm sorry.

I resigned from the Society

so we could spend what little time
she had left together.

Then, when she d*ed...

I decided not to go back.

Hmm, right, well, then how come
you spent a number of hours

watching the group from the woods
on the day of the re-enactment?

You go to the camp, acquire some
water hemlock and when the Society members

aren't looking, slip it
into the stew and leave unnoticed.

You think I k*lled Francis?
That's preposterous.

We can prove you were at the woods.
But why?

Revenge?

Ah, the journal at last.

It belonged to Francis.

Everything he did or was going to do
with the Society -

including the speech he was meant
to give today - is in there.

I thought, if I took it...

Then today's celebrations
would fall apart.

I wanted him humiliated.

To feel a little of what I felt.

Why did the two of you fall out?

We clashed over several events
on the Society's calendar.

Every year, we commemorate
the British invasion of the island.

But Francis arrives,

and suddenly, the whole thing apparently
possesses a very dark tone -

it's too colonial,
celebrates thuggery over the islanders.

Yes, I imagine there is
a sensitivity required.

We just waved a few flags,
sang God Save The Queen, and marched

up Main Street in m*llitary uniform -
where's the insensitivity in that?

What's wrong with
a bit of old-fashioned patriotism?

You argued with Francis?

All the time.

The last straw was
when he cancelled the celebration

and replaced it with
what should have happened today.

Oh, the arrival of
the first European settlers on the island.

How does that differ from
the Brits landing?

How is one invading force
better than another?

So, Francis insults you
by changing the Society calendar,

making it almost impossible
for you to stay.

In a nutshell.

And puts you under pressure
at the very time you needed his help.

When your wife was ill.

Yes, I can't imagine
how you must have felt.

Your wife desperately ill,

Francis putting you under enormous strain.

I don't think I'd blame you
if you wanted revenge.

Look, Inspector. I admit it!

I didn't like the man.

But I swear, I didn't want him dead.

Yes, indeed, yes.

So, it turns out
Alan Butler stole Francis's journal,

but claims he didn't k*ll him for it.

So it'd be good to know
exactly what's in it.

- Would you mind, Florence?
- Thank you. So, yesterday,

the Saint Marie Heritage Society
sat down for their meal.

One of them - or... or this man...

managed to get some poisonous
water hemlock into the stew.

Somehow, Francis ingested
more of the poison than anybody else,

despite the fact that we know
that all of

the other... consumables at the camp
contained no trace of the poison.

So how did that happen?

How did our k*ller ensure
that it was Francis... who d*ed?

No, we're not getting anywhere here.

So, er, let's sleep on it
and come at it fresh in the morning.

Right, Dwayne, meet you in an hour.

You and me, suits and boots.

Yes... But maybe in something
a little less formal, eh, Chief?

Good night, Florence.

Good night, sir. Have fun.

Yes, and you.

OK, Chief, you're about to witness
the best thing

the Brits brought with them
when they invaded.

The humble British pub...
without the fighting.

Wow. This place is amazing, Dwayne!

Crikey!

Indeed, and plenty of it.

Marco?

Yes... we need go...

Camille!

Camille!

Oh! Er, I'm terribly sorry!

Yes...

Whoo!

It's always the quiet ones, eh?

Two beers - large.

And two rums - larger!

- To Francis!
- To Francis!

To Francis!

So... going anywhere nice?

If you're angling for information...

This is your second date
in as many days.

- Good night, Maman.
- Tell me his name at least, Camille!

Uh-uh!

Oh, ah, Monsieur Garon.

No - Henri, please.

Will it be possible
to get my camera back soon?

Well, I'm sorry, it's still part
of an ongoing investigation.

I see.

Well, then, have a very nice evening.

Thank you.

Vive la France!

Yes! Vive la France!

So, what about you?
Got your eye on anyone?

You know what, Dwayne... I have.

Not here, though. Somewhere else.

So, why you here
getting drunk with me?

Shouldn't you be wherever she is?

Well, we haven't really,
sort of, um, got round to, kind of,

talking about it.

- Why not?
- Well, I'm building up to it,

just trying to find the right moment...

There never is a right moment -
just get in there, the man!

You think?

Look, when things aren't quite
going the way I want them to,

I have this little trick.

It works every time.

I'm all ears. All ears.

Women like a hero - so be that hero.

Sweep her off her feet.
Let her fall into your arms.

Yes, but how?

Contrive a little mishap.

And before any real danger occurs,

you just sweep in there and save the day.
After that,

she'll be like putty in your hands.
Trust me.

I can see that working for you, Dwayne,

but, you see, I'm not really
the action hero type.

If you don't try, you'll never know.

Whoo! Ah!

You, sir, are a gent and a scholar.

Night-night, Dwayne - and thanks.

I'll see you bright and early, Chief.

Maybe not so bright
and maybe not so early.

Cami...

- Good morning.
- Good morning.

- Good night?
- Brilliant.

Quite inebriated, actually,
painted the town red, eh, Dwayne?

And quite a few other colours, too.

Good night yourself?

Yes, sure. Quiet.

Um, this is the video
from the Heritage Society again.

You going to give us
a little flavour of your speech?

I bumped into Henri and he mentioned
getting his camera back.

There is something not right.

Anything show in Francis's journal?

Notes on the re-enactment, his speech,

but nothing of any significance.

Apart from a mobile phone number
and the initials GO beside it.

It was one of the last entries.

I've left a message for them
to get back to me.

OK.

Chief?
I just had a call from Honest Eddie.

He's one of my... contacts.

He said a Jeep has just been seen
at the lock-ups down on the coast.

And it matches the description
of the missing Jeep?

Perfectly. Apart from the windows.
They've been broken, apparently.

- Want us to check it out?
- Er, yes.

Nothing?

Ladies and gentlemen...

No. Maybe he really did
just want his camera back.

Welcome to the Saint Marie Heritage...

I think you might need to rename
Honest Eddie... Lying Eddie?

At the very least, Mistaken Eddie.

Look, if he said he saw it, he saw it.

Dwayne, there must be
a thousand Jeeps like...

That one.

Hey!

Head him off!

Stop!

Come on! Let's go!

What's wrong?

Dwayne, if you could search
Ryan's bedroom?

Ryan, what's happened?

What were you doing with the Jeep, Ryan?

Just wanted to get out of here. Get away.

We told you your dad's Jeep was missing,

you said you didn't know anything
about it. Why was that?

Why were the windows smashed?

Why were you trying to set fire to it?
Trying to destroy evidence?

Chief!

- Yeah?
- Open on his desk.

Ah.

You need to talk.

You sent your father threatening letters,
you poisoned him.

No! OK!

I sent the letters - yes - and the Jeep,

I smashed the windows
but I didn't poison him.

I just wanted to scare him,

I just wanted him to - I don't know -
just notice that I was there.

It was great when we first arrived.
I thought we'd be fine.

But it's... it's hard to make friends,
you know, it takes time.

And he was always so busy.
Throwing himself into everything.

Teaching, writing, the Society...

I even started going to the meetings
myself, to spend time with him.

But he hardly even noticed I was there.

Teresa saw what he was like.

I'm going to get another drink.
Do you want one?

He was just so passionate
about everything.

I'm sorry.

I know it was wrong,
but I just lashed out... just wanted a dad.

Yes, well, you should have told us.

Is there anything else, Ryan?
Anything that can help us

find out who did this to your father?

Well, I... I heard Dad arguing
on the phone.

Who with?

I don't know.
But Dad sounded pretty angry.

Look, we've talked about this -
it ends here, it ends now.

Do you understand?

When was this?

Three nights ago.

Camille, the list of members' phone
numbers from the Heritage Society, please.

So... three days ago...

No calls after 6.30 -
until this one here at nine -

about the time Ryan said...

...and another two.

Number belongs to Imke Sandt.

Right.

Grab yourselves a drink
and meet me back at the coach, OK? Merci!

Can I help you, Inspector?

Yes. We looked through
Francis's call record on his mobile.

You made three calls to him
on the same night. Why?

I'm sorry, I...

You see, the night before he d*ed,

his son heard Francis
arguing with someone

on the phone, around the same time
as you called him.

You were heard arguing
and the next day he was dead.

Ryan said he heard Francis saying,
'"This has to end here.'"

Were you having
a relationship with Francis?

I was so tired of this...

knowing people for no more than
the length of their holiday,

then they'd be off and replaced
with a new coach-load of people

you'd never see again.

You mean men?

Yeah. It's not the ideal place
to start a relationship.

So, what did Francis offer?

Stability.

He had the house, the kid.
For the first time in my life,

he made that kind of thing
seem attractive.

But he ended it?

I thought things were going well
between us.

But I guess I got it wrong.
He didn't feel the same.

So you called him?

I didn't want to believe it was over.

I pleaded with him not to end it.

It's not the most attractive thing to do,
is it?

Beg someone to stay.

But I guess you do stupid things
when you're in love.

Thank you.

Thank you.

It's funny, isn't it?

You can live in paradise

and yet still have exactly the same
troubles as if you were living in...

oh, I dunno, Grimsby... Ooh.

Not that there's anything wrong
with Grimsby.

We're all under the same sky.
If you're not loved, you're not loved.

Watch out, I've got you!

Oh, my God, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!

What did you think you were doing?!

I just saw the chicken man,
I just thought...

Hang on - I'll save you.

Save me?! Oh, don't you dare!

I'm perfectly capable
of doing this on my own!

Idiot!

Don't go there!

Well, we now know that Francis
wasn't actually being victimised,

it was just his son trying desperately
to get his father's attention.

If Ryan is to be believed,

the threatening letters have nothing
to do with the m*rder.

- Chief?
- Yes?

Maybe this was just a tragic accident.

Hmm...

Thank you.

But the levels of toxin in Francis
were too high to be accidental.

Sir, I think we're getting somewhere.

The number I found earlier
in Francis's journal.

It belonged to a Guillaume Orme,
he's an accountant.

According to him, Francis contacted him

on the morning of the re-enactment,
asking him

to block Teresa's access
to the Society's bank account.

- Well, who can blame him for that?
- Guillaume also told me

he'd advised Francis to insist
Teresa leaves the Society.

- And?
- Francis said

- he'd already done it that morning.
- She never mentioned that.

I wonder what else she's been lying about.

What's that noise?

I thought that had finished.

Must be an earlier recording.

I mean, no, no, we've got to try
and do the two things, I think...

Why do we have to always move on?

I think it's important
to have the two...

Mmm. Looks like she's got a bit of a fan.

Imke? Big smile!

Yes, a very big fan.

You were right to be suspicious, Camille.

No wonder Henri wanted his camcorder
back in a hurry.

So, the camera belongs to Henri.

Who loves Imke.

Who loves Francis.

Who's dead.

That's very kind of you to bring it.
I could have picked it up at the station.

You sh*t that footage. Yes?

Without Imke's knowledge, obviously.

Or Francis's.

This isn't how it looks.

Well, it looks like
you've been stalking her.

I know...

You're infatuated with a woman who had
a relationship with a man who's now dead.

- m*rder*d.
- So, what was it, Henri?

You wanted him out of the way,
so you could move in?

That night was the first I knew
about her and Francis.

I found myself outside her place,
camera in hand, thinking,

'"Henri, what are you doing?

'"Do you have any idea
how ridiculous this makes you? '"

When I realised that she loved him...
I knew there was no chance for me.

Is this how you behave
when you're in love?

Stupid?

I know that now.

I wanted to tell her.
I should have told her.

Why didn't you?

She didn't see me in that way.

I guess I knew that all along. But...

You must think me a fool.

Well, yes, well...
it's, er, certainly, um...

an unorthodox method of courtship.

It got out of control.

I became a little obsessed, I admit.

But I didn't k*ll Francis.

Keeping this.

What did he say?

He admitted he was in love with Imke

but denied any involvement
in Francis's death.

Come on, the answer has to be
here... somewhere.

Who is our most convincing k*ller?

Alan!

He'd been ousted from the presidency
and he was under terrible pressure,

because he'd just lost his wife.

Henri - in love with Imke,
knew about her relationship with Francis.

Imke - in love with Francis
but he rejected her.

Ryan. A* student back in the UK,
Dad forces move here, his grades suffer,

he's lonely, thinks his dad doesn't care.

Teresa - stole cash
and Francis caught her.

Like you said, it could be any of them.

How did the k*ller make sure
that it was Francis that got

the metaphorical silver sixpence
from the metaphorical Christmas pud?

- Sir?
- Mm-hm?

Your pen is leaking.

Oh, yes, so it is. Thank you.

It's always leaking, this pen!

I'll just be a minute to clean...

Only in the stew -
everything else was clear.

He was so gentle,
so understanding.

It belonged to Francis.

We were following
an authentic recipe I found.

Just wanted a dad.

You know who did it, don't you?

Yes, I do.

And how.

And why!

Shall I call all the suspects now

and tell them to meet us
at Catherine's bar?

You're a fast learner, Florence.

Thank you all for joining us.

Francis's death was designed
to look accidental.

An innocent mistake.

A terrible reaction to a poisonous herb
mistakenly added to a stew.

What the k*ller didn't know

was that not an hour before Francis
tucked into that fateful meal,

he called me, saying that he thought
someone was trying to k*ll him.

It was for that reason
and that reason alone,

we decided that Francis's death
wasn't an accident at all.

It was m*rder, plain and simple.

But - and this is what kept stumping us -
how did the k*ller

manage to deliver a fatal dosage
of the poison to just one person?

I mean, you all ate exactly
the same amount of food,

so why did Francis die...

...while the rest of you were merely ill?

Apart from you, Alan.

See, by your own admission,

your departure from the Society
had been humiliating.

Your wife was ill
and this other man just swept in,

changed everything and did it
without your consultation or approval.

Like you just didn't matter.

You, more than anyone else,

had the opportunity to poison
the stew unnoticed.

I know how it looks.

But I didn't k*ll him.

Believe me.

I do.

And, Imke... you loved Francis.

At last, you'd found a man
you could rely on.

It was you who chose the recipe
for the rehearsal dinner.

Maybe you selected it with the sole aim
of using it to poison your ex-lover.

No.

Henri. You also had motive.

You were in love with the woman
Francis was seeing.

I swear to God, I didn't do it.

Ryan, your dad brought you
halfway round the world,

away from everything and everyone
you'd known.

All you wanted was for him
to acknowledge you. But he didn't.

But I genuinely believe
that the last thing you wanted

was for your dad to die.

Which makes this m*rder
all the more tragic.

Just leaves us with you, Teresa.

You k*lled Francis Davison.

What?

But that... that's ridiculous!

You see, as Heritage Society Secretary,

you'd been at the heart of
organising the events to celebrate

the first European settlers
landing on the island.

And knowing that part of the day's
activities involved foraging for

the ingredients to be used
in that evening's meal,

you realised you could contrive

for Francis's m*rder
to look like a tragic accident.

Once Imke had found the recipe
you would be cooking from, you prepared

a fact sheet outlining all the herbs
the Society would be foraging for.

All you then had to do,

was find a poisonous plant
similar to any one of them.

As a librarian, I'm sure it wouldn't
have been too hard to find

the necessary botanical books you needed.

Then it was just a quick recce
to the beach where the rehearsal

was happening to make sure that
both plants were indeed growing there.

And everything was in its place.

When the day of the rehearsal came,

all you had to do was hand out
the fact sheets.

And instead of picking
the harmless pound-cake bush,

you knowingly picked
the poisonous water hemlock.

You put it with the rest of the herbs
to be used in the stew.

It was then just a matter of sitting back

and letting the poison take its course.

You knew you would have to
suffer as well.

But it was a small price to pay
to get the result you wanted.

Francis's death.

Which brings us back to the question -

how did you manage to k*ll only Francis,
while everyone else -

yourself included -
were left just feeling unwell?

Well, it was a leaky pen
that solved it for me.

It was then I realised that it wasn't
just the stew that was poisoned.

We'd already checked the other consumables
from the beach.

The wine, fruit juice, water.

Not one contained any hint of the poison.

So where was the extra poison secreted?

Part of Francis's presidential duties
was to make a speech

on behalf of the Heritage Society
at the re-enactment.

And it seems, Teresa, that you'd been
the one encouraging him to rehearse it.

Are you going to give us
a little flavour of your speech?

- Come on!
- Oh, go on!

Yeah, come on!

He'd only just finished writing
the speech before dinner.

Writing it in the one thing
he took with him everywhere.

His journal.

That's how Francis ended up
consuming more poison than anyone else.

Because the edges of the pages
of his journal that contained his speech

had been saturated with
a lethal concentration of poison.

You knew you only needed
tiny amounts of water hemlock

in the stew to make everyone sick.

But, to k*ll, you'd need to administer
a much bigger dose.

Having sourced
the poisonous herb a few days earlier,

you then reduced it down to its most toxic
and lethal concentration.

You then contacted Francis,

arranging to meet
to talk about your money troubles.

And I assume that
when the opportunity presented itself,

you seized it.

You knew, in its concentrated form,
it would only take

a few licks of poison to k*ll him.

See, you knew Francis's habit.

Knew he'd need his journal,
how much he relied on it.

And as he licked his fingers
to turn the page...

his fate was sealed.

Francis!

See, the answer was in the journal,
after all.

You popped the silver sixpence
in his mouth. You k*lled him.

I've no idea what you're talking about.

Why would I do that?

Because, you'd spent the best part
of the last 35 years

looking after your father
and when he d*ed...

...apart from a dwindling inheritance,
you found yourself with nothing.

No husband. No children.

You took what little cash you had left

and you came out here to start again.

You joined the Heritage Society
to find friendship

and you found the family you'd never had.
And the child you'd never had.

You k*lled Francis because
you were about to lose the one person

that mattered the most to you.

You were about to lose Ryan.

It's nonsense.

You saw how unhappy he was on Saint Marie.
Miles from home. No friends.

His father not giving him
any time or attention.

But you did, didn't you?

You loved him
as though he were your own son.

And since Francis d*ed,
you've been constantly by his side.

Wherever Ryan goes, you go.

So when Francis found out
about your misuse of Society funds

and told you to leave, you realised
you were about to lose everything

and most of all, Ryan.

For the first time,
your life had a purpose,

you'd become a mother by default.

If Francis had lost all trust in you,

why would he allow you
anywhere near Ryan?

You'd lose your son.

You couldn't let that happen. Wouldn't.

Your love for Ryan was so strong,

you were willing to k*ll to keep him.

So Francis had to die.

You deserved so much better.

You deserved to be loved.

- Sweetheart...
- Take her away.

Please!

It's a sorry affair, if you ask me, Chief.

Yes, it is. A boy's lost his father.

But I can't help
but feel some pity for Teresa.

Thank you for all your hard work,
everyone.

We did a good job.

Well... night, sir.

Night, Florence. Dwayne.

Er, sir.

I wanted to apologise.

No, I... I should be apologising.
I threw you in the sea.

Yes, but, um, the way I spoke to you
was entirely wrong.

You're my superior officer.

And a friend.

And as a friend, there's something
I need to tell you.

- Things have been...
- I'm sorry, I...

OK, you first.

No, please.

Right.

For the past few days,
your attitude, your behaviour.

You've been a little... odd.

Odd?

Maybe the wrong word. Um, distracted.

Preoccupied. Like you have
something on your mind.

You're right. I have.

Something I've been wanting
to talk to you about...

Which was annoying me.

And then... I realised why.

I was feeling the same.

Yes?

Yeah. I think, to be fair,
you've probably picked up on it.

Felt the vibes.

In my head,
I've talked this through a million times

and it's never come out right,
so I'm just going to say it...

No, no, no, no,
I need to go first or I'll burst.

I...

I've been offered a job in Paris.

One of the inspectors flew in
a few days back

and I had dinner with him
a couple of times to discuss the offer.

I'd be going back to my roots -
undercover work.

They approached me.

It's a bit of a shock, but it's
a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

I haven't said yes yet -
I need to think about it.

But... say you're pleased for me?

Please.

I'm delighted.

- Really?
- Really, really, really delighted. It...

Such a... exciting change you need.

- Yes.
- Yeah.

You... you know what?

We should celebrate -
this is a champagne occasion!

Champagne at your mother's bar!

OK.

Well, I need to freshen up first,
but, er, I'll meet you at the bar.

Thank you for being so understanding.

I'll meet you there.

Yes, see you there.

I've got the best bridesmaids ever.

Jenny!

Stop! That's it!

How can I go to Paris?
You wouldn't survive a week.

Dwayne, how do you know
so much about hen dos?

A great magician never reveals
his secrets.

She can't go
unless we agree to the transfer.

- She'd hate me.
- It would be in complete confidence.

I think it's time I was honest with you.