02x03 - A Foreign Field

[bunniefuu]

(Men speak Italian)

- It's alright, I s'pose.
- She's so pretty.

- What about him?
- Cary Grant's gorgeous.

Isn't he? I couldn't take my eyes
off him.

(Rustling)
What was that?

Anyway...
(Rustling continues)

Hello?

Hello?

Wonder how long he'd been
following us.

What?

- That man.
- What about him?

- He was here yesterday.
- So?

He hasn't moved at all.

Good morning.

- Martha...
- Excuse me?

Oh, my God.

Morning.

What have we got?

We don't know.

You checked his pockets?

No, must have slipped our minds.

Packet of cigarettes.

Used train ticket from Bendigo
via Castlemaine

the day before yesterday.

A numbered key tag.

Don't know where from.

A money clip with 30 quid
but no ID.

Right.

Well done, thank you.

His clothes are damp.

Dew, probably.
Judging by rigor mortis,

I'd say the poor chap's been here
for at least 12 hours.

The woman who called it in said

she saw him here about 3 o'clock
yesterday.

She didn't realise he was dead.
Right.

Well, no obvious signs of foul play.

Initial impression, natural causes.

However, he looks fit, doesn't he?

Finished?

Yes. Well, until the autopsy.

Everything ready, sister?

It's doctor, actually.

Alice Harvey,
the new pathology registrar.

Oh, I do apologise.

No need,
it happens all the time.

Well, it shouldn't.
Doctor Lucien Blake.

I thought you'd be younger.
I used to be.

Oh. No one told me
you had a sense of humour.

Before we start,

your dead man has removed
all the labels from his clothing.

I assume there's a reason.

Yes, I'm sure there probably is.

Skin irritation, or perhaps simply
aesthetics. Any suggestions?

Not yet.

Well then, doctor, shall we?

Adult male, approximately 40 to 45
years of age.

Six foot tall, blue eyes,
brown hair.

I think you'll find the hair
is grey.

It's been dyed.

You see here, there's a hint
of regrowth.

Why would a man do that?
That's a very good question.

Vanity, perhaps?

Anyhow, no distinguishing scars
or tattoos.

No puncture marks.

His nails are very well manicured.
No calluses.

But this is interesting.
Bruising on the knuckles.

Was he trying to disguise himself?

Dyeing his hair.
Was he disguising himself?

Well, I suppose it's possible, but
what do you make of the knuckles?

A fight?

Rigor mortis in the major and minor
muscle groups.

Liver mortis is fixed.

It fits with him dying yesterday.

I concur.
I'm glad.

You're not going to use that,
are you?

Well, unfortunately the body didn't
come with a zipper.

We have disposable scalpels now.

'The American Journal of Pathology'

recommends their use
over conventional blades.

Is that right?
It pays to keep up.

I'll keep that in mind.

Perhaps you'd like to step out and
get yourself some fresh air?

I'm fine.

But I wouldn't mind a cigarette.
Doctor.

'American Journal of Pathology'.
How about that?

It was such a shock.
It was.

And to see all those ants.
I'm sorry.

You're fine, ma'am.

You mentioned you saw him yesterday?

Yes, I was going to the pictures.

What time was that?

Right on 3 o'clock.
I was running late for a matinee.

Uh-huh. And on the way back?

No, I went home through the town.

And when you saw him this morning,

the man was in exactly
the same position.

Yes.
Is that right?

That's how I knew something
was wrong.

He must have been dead
the whole time.

And what about you, miss Harris?

Were you in the gardens
on Sunday?

I spent Sunday visiting a sick aunt.

She's had diphtheria.

Was there anything else
you can tell me?

No, I don't think...
Actually, yes.

This morning, in the bushes.
I forgot, yes.

We were followed by a man.
Did you see him?

He stayed in the bushes and when
we were near the body he ran away.

We only saw him from behind.

Ah, short dark hair,
a bit taller than me?

Mm, that's right. You know him?

Third report this week.

Did you actually see him
with the body?

He was close by when we saw him,
wasn't he?

He was.

Right. I'll let
the superintendent know.

The man we found. Who was he?

We're still working that out.

Time to open up your stomach, eh?

And what's say we try one of these
newfangled scalpels?

(Coughs and splutters)

So you're ruling out a heart att*ck?

Cause of death was a catastrophic
failure of multiple body systems.

Death would have been very rapid
and very painful.

He was poisoned.

I've sent tissue samples to the lab
for toxicology.

Funny thing, the stomach gases
had a very particular odour.

I can't quite put my finger on it.

But I inhaled a hell of a lungful
when I cut the stomach open.

What were the contents?

Well, I took some samples
to do my own tests.

His last meal, interestingly enough,
was a pastie.

It was only partly digested.

So, are we talking accidental here,
or...

Oh, I doubt it. The poison was very
toxic and very fast acting.

su1c1de?
Possibly.

And there was bruising
on his knuckles.

Looks as if he'd been in a fight
the day before he d*ed.

Where's Charlie?

Oh, he's following up
on witness statements.

How'd you go
with the new pathologist?

You knew about her?

I hear she takes
some getting used to.

So, unidentified victim,
unidentified poison.

What else have you got?

A terrible headache.

Join the club.

Good day, was it?

I have a raging headache.

Well, that should help it.

I am a doctor, Jean.

Well, in that case, you can
prescribe me a sherry after dinner.

Done.

Wonderful.

Amaretto. That'll do for now.

What happened?
He was poisoned.

Poisoned?
Mm.

With what?

We don't know yet.

You won't catch me walking
around there.

Not with that man creeping about.

Jean.
Well, Mattie, he is a menace.

We don't know that.
Oh, yes we do.

He followed Lucy Cantrell home.

Is everything alright?

Cyanide.

What?

'Bitter almonds run and hide,
that's the smell of cyanide.'

They taught us that
in basic training.

They thought at some point we might
be exposed to gas att*ck.

'Smell the scent
of new mown hay,

'phosgene gas is on the way.'
There were dozens of them.

Do you think the body
in the park was gassed?

It's possible.

And today - forgive
the gruesome details -

but today I opened up his stomach

and copped a lungful
of his stomach gas...

Oh.
..and - I'm sorry -

it gave me
the most horrendous headache.

And I couldn't identify
the smell until just now.

Amaretto. Almonds. Cyanide.

Excuse me.

How's the headache?

Oh, it'll get there.
I brought you some Bex.

Oh, thank you, Jean.

What's in there?

Well, I took a sample
of his stomach contents

and I'm going to mix it with ferrous
sulphide and acid.

Now, if the cyanide was present
in the food,

this should change colour.

But, unfortunately,
it's not changing.

So you still don't know
how he was poisoned.

No, I'm afraid I don't.

And it's rather sad, really.

You know, his clothes were soaked
with dew by the time we got to him.

Oh, he was there all night?

Yes.

Who was he?

I don't know that, either.

Well, when you do find out
who he was,

make sure someone
tells his family.

Goodnight, Lucien.

Goodnight, Jean.

Apparently he caught the train
from Bendigo,

but there's no record of him there.

He's not on the missing persons
register in Melbourne.

I'll release his photo to the paper,
see if we can't get anything.

What are we looking at?

Well, cyanide isn't that difficult
to get hold of.

It's used in mining, cleaning
jewellery, used in some pesticides.

The thing is, we still don't know
how it was administered.

Cigarettes?
No. Checked them. Nothing.

What?

We tracked it down. The key belongs
to a locker at the train station.

Go and check it out.

Well, hang on.

We still don't know what form
the poison came in.

We don't know what's in that locker.

I'm just saying,
it'd pay to be careful.

Take Simmons with you,
and you might want to use a mask.

Actually, do you think the doctor
could accompany me instead?

Certainly.
Um, yes, Charlie, of course.

Great. Meet you out the front?
Yes.

Looks like you're growing on him.

PA: All services have been
temporarily cancelled.

Area's clear.
Good.

So what are we expecting to find?

Don't know.

But you think it could be
booby trapped?

It's possible.

Seems our man's been trying hard to
keep his identity hidden.

The boss said you're just back
from China.

That's right.

Wow. What was it like?

Fascinating.

In what way?

Why the interest, Charlie?

'Biggles in the Gobi Desert'.
Ah.

Used to read it to my younger
brothers. Made it sound amazing.

They like it?

Not half as much as I did.

Well, perhaps I'll tell you
about it sometime.

Now, these intimidating
looking things.

Straps go around the back
of the head.

Believe me, I've had some practice.

Well.

End's been sharpened.
Yes.

Yes, he was expecting
trouble at some point, wasn't he?

Yeah.

Shirts.

Dressing gown, shoes, socks.

All the labels removed.

What's that, Charlie?

Poetry?

Ah, 'The Return Of Persephone'.

Persephone. It's a new one on me,
too.

Hey, doc.

'Porters Rooming House'.

Thank you, Charlie.

WOMAN: With you in a tick.

Ah, thank you.

You know, Charlie,
China was terrifying in fact.

I was in Shanghai,
but there were stories going around.

Stories about what was happening
in the countryside.

Didn't quite make it
to the Gobi Desert, I'm afraid.

So, what were you doing there?

Oh, family matters.

I also managed to catch up with
a couple of contacts,

you know, have a chat.
People I knew.

Anyone interesting?

Oh, yes. China's at a real
crossroads...

Can I help you?

Ah, Senior Constable Davis
from Ballarat Police.

This is Doctor Blake.
How do you do?

Do you, ah,
recognise this bloke?

It's alright. We just want to
find out what we can about him.

For his family.

Big bloke. Brown hair.
Bit of an accent.

He stayed here two nights ago.

Had a fight with another boarder.

About what?

Oh, who knows? The other bloke
was a bit of a reffo.

Did he leave a name, an address?

John Smith.
Funny name for a foreigner.

And no forwarding address?

That bloke your man
had a punch-up with,

he's working
out at Chandler's orchard.

Name's Carmello Benetti.

Yeah, well, thanks for scaring off
half my workforce.

Well, what do you reckon I come back
and we do a sweep of everyone's IDs?

So what's Benetti gone and done
this time, then, eh?

Oh, routine enquiries.
Is this one of your blokes?

Nah.

No, he's too white for this job.

Don't keep it any longer...
..alright?

He's a good worker,
not like the rest of them.

Is there anything else
we should know?

Yeah, you speak wog?

Benetti.

Please. Please. No English.

Mr Benetti, I'm arresting you
on charges of assaulting police

and resisting arrest.

You don't have to say anything
but anything you do say may be...

Save your breath.
He doesn't understand.
..used in evidence against you.

Charlie, don't touch your face
or put your hands near your mouth.

He's thrown pesticide at you.
What's the pesticide?

It's for the possums.
What's the active ingredient?

Cyanide.

What the bloody hell
do you think you were doing?

Sorry.

Is this where you're staying?

Si.
You know this man?

Si.

You know his name?

Arsehole.

Thank you, Mr Benetti.

Two nights ago, did you and this man
have a fight?

Si.

And he did this
to your eye?

Very strong. Very rude.

Mr Benetti, why fight?

Libro.

You fought over a book?

Si.
I teach myself English.

I pick up his book.

He is angry. We argue.

We fight.

Sunday afternoon, where were you?

Giardini.

Botanic Gardens.

Si.

Did you k*ll this man?

This man dead from poison.
Did you do it?

He kills the man over a book
of poetry.

Prior to confrontation
he has access to cyanide

and he was in the gardens on Sunday.
Poetry.

You know, there was a poem
in the man's suitcase

from the station
that'd been torn out of a book.

Ah, excuse me.

Yes, here we are. Look.
'The Return Of Persephone'.

'Gliding through the still air,
he made no sound,

'Wingshod and deft,
dropped almost...'

(Clears throat)

Yes. Benetti must have force-fed him
the damned pesticide.

How is that possible?

Well, he is an aggressive bugger.

Lawson, imagine.

Imagine if I tried to force this
poem down your throat?

I wouldn't.
Well, you...

Now, you see? That's what
I'm talking about.

In plain sight,
on a Sunday afternoon,

Benetti tries to force our man
to swallow poison

and no one sees anything? Look.

Hey!
Exactly.

Ahem. Sorry to interrupt.
Um, this is Mrs Lundqvist.

Yes?

Excuse me, but I saw this.

This is my husband.

That's him.
His hair's darker, though.

Full name?

Sven. Sven Lundqvist.

Nationality?

Swedish, originally.

You bastard!

Now, Mrs Lundqvist...

You might need to explain yourself.

Three years we were married,
and one day he just disappears.

Gone.

How long ago was this?

A year ago.

All that time I never knew.

I thought something horrible
must have happened to him.

Why something horrible?

A husband doesn't just disappear
for no reason.

I imagined all these awful things.

But he was here, all the time.

50 miles away.

Probably took up with
some other woman.

50 miles?

I live in Castlemaine.

And I'm still his wife, so anything
he left behind, it's mine.

God knows he left me with nothing.
What brought you to Ballarat?

Visiting my brother.

And what line of work is he in?

He's a jeweller.

And did you drive down
from Castlemaine?

No, I caught the train. Why?

We might continue this down
at the station, if you don't mind.

Is that necessary?

Yes, it is.

He abandons her.

She hears nothing for a year
and then quite by chance,

happens to see him
on the same train.

Is this where you tell me
poisoning's usually a woman's crime?

Isn't it?

Jealousy's a much stronger motive

than an argument
over a book of poetry.

And so is gaining financially
from death.

We've been thinking the poison
was forced on him.

What if it was something he took
without realising?

Something she offered him?

I thought you said
it wasn't in his food?

It wasn't. I'm just trying to
work things out.

What if it was in
liquid form, perhaps?

Sir?
What?

I've been talking to witnesses
from the gardens.

A couple of them remembered seeing
our man,

and he wasn't alone.

Did they say who he was with?

It was a woman, with blonde hair.

And apparently they were kissing.

Bring them in. Let's see
if they recognise her.

Just head through this door.

I'll definitely speak
to your parents about that.

Just step this way.

None of them recognised her.

No one?

They all said
that the woman was blonde,

but none of them saw her face.

How long can we keep her here?

Couple more hours,
then we'll have to release her.

What do you have in mind?

Not really in the mood
for this, Lucien.

Thank you anyway, Jean.

Now...

This is where that poor man
was found.

Yes.

Would you mind turning round
to face me?

Mm.

Yes. And, um, come a little closer.

Thank you. Now what can you see?

Well, you, obviously.

No, I mean, behind me.

Trees and some bushes.

Right.

Apparently she had her arms around
him, around his neck.

Mm.

Yes.

Now, still not entirely sure
how this is supposed to work.

Oh? What part, exactly?

Cyanide is fast acting

and there'd be convulsions
and involuntary moans.

Apparently no one noticed
a damn thing.

Maybe that's why she
had her arms around him.

So no one could see
what was happening.

Yes, perhaps.

Lucien, there's someone
in the bushes.

What? Really?

Right.

Hello?

Don't be alarmed, I just want
to talk with you.

Bloody hell!

Jean, are you alright?
Yes, I'm fine.

Let's go home.

Um, just bear with me.
Oh!

Lucien.

Yes, of course.

Have you any idea what's going on?

Allow me.
What's all that about?

Well, I'm not entirely sure.
Give that one to me.

It's heavy.

Yes, the more I find out
the less I seem to know.

You'll work it out. Do you think
he saw what happened?

Bloody hell. Come on.

Charlie, where did you find him?

Same place.

He must have gone back
after you and Mrs Beazley left.

It's alright.
I just want to speak with you.

Save your breath, doc.
Interview room.

Calm down.

His hiding place in that park
is a little way behind the tree.

If he was there Sunday, he might
have seen the woman's face.

I don't like our chances of getting
any sense out of that one.

I have an idea.

Davis, Miss O'Brien will
sit in on the interview.

It's alright, Charlie.

She's done quite a lot of work
with the impaired.

He's impaired, alright.

Just see what you can find out.

Hello. I'm Mattie O'Brien.

(Man grunts)

Hey, settle down, alright?

It's alright, Davis.

You're Aaron, aren't you?

Can you take those handcuffs
off him, please?

Why on earth would I do that?

Because I think it'll help him
calm down.

Please?

Alright.

Hey, I'm gonna take the cuffs off
you, alright?

Do not move from that seat,
do you hear me?

Is that better?

You like the gardens, don't you?

You like the trees?

What do you do there?

Two days ago, did you see a man and
a woman under a tree?

A man and a woman.

From your special place.
Did you see them?

And what were they doing?

Did he see her face?
We're not sure.

We think he did but it might not
have registered with him.

Well, what did register with him?

He noticed she had a full figure.

He told you that?

Not in so many words.

Oh, tell me this hasn't come down
to the size of a suspect's...

Excuse me, how much longer
am I expected to sit here?

Not much longer, ma'am.
We're just...

Do you mind?

I'll let the superintendent know.
Sorry.

Just stand there.

So was that her?

I've got no idea.

Um, was that the woman in the park?

Mate, just focus...
Charlie!

Was that her?

Ah, she was curvier than that? OK.

Mrs Lundqvist.

I came forward because I thought
I was doing the right thing.

I've been insulted,
and made to wait.

I've been stared at.

You have no idea what it's like,
no idea.

I am so sorry.

All this time,

not knowing
what had happened to him,

only to find out
he'd simply walked away.

You have every right to be angry.

I thought he loved me.

Please.

They think I poisoned him.

And I hate to ask, but did you?

No, of course not.

Can you think of a reason
why anyone would want to?

No.

Then tell me about him.

He had a way of listening to you
when he talked.

He actually listened,
not like Australian men.

He was always very popular
with the women.

Was he?

It wasn't that he was terribly
good-looking, even.

It was just that he listened to you?
Yeah.

What else can you tell me?

He loved music.

At night he'd put on his records,
and we'd talk.

What about?

The future, mostly.

He never liked to talk
about the past.

Tell me, do you think Lundqvist
was in fact his real name?

Of course it's his real name.

It's my name now.
Why would you ask that?

Well, no reason, really.

I'm dreadfully sorry.
Forgive me for asking.

At least now I know what happened
to him.

Excuse me.
Hmm?

I'm looking for a poem.
I'm not entirely sure who wrote it.

What's the poem?
'The Return Of Persephone'.

AD Hope. Wonderful writer.

You're the second person
that's asked for him this week.

Just over here.

Oh!

Must be out on loan.
I don't remember checking it out.

Who else was asking after it?

A Dutch fellow.

Frankly, I was surprised he knew
anything about Australian poetry.

Quite.
Mm. Mm.

How did you know he was Dutch?

Oh, he told me.
It's a wonderful poem, isn't it?

Quite sad, but rather physical,
if you get my meaning.

Yes, yes, of course.

Sir?

Would you like me to reserve
the book for you?

When the gentleman returns it?

That's quite alright.
But thank you anyway.

Can I help you?

Yes, Doctor Lucien Blake.
Police surgeon.

Miss Patrick, is it?
Yes.

He's with the police, Else.
Thanks, Martha.

Yes?

Hello. Just a few extra questions,
if I may, miss Patrick.

Did you enjoy the movie
you saw on Sunday?

Um, goodness, what was it?
'Bridge On the River Kwai'.

No, 'Indiscreet'.

Ah, 'Indiscreet', yeah.

The body you discovered.

That poor, poor chap.
He was Dutch, wasn't he?

We don't seem to have it
on our records,

but you spoke with him, didn't you?

No, I...what are you implying?

Is everything alright?

I'd like you to leave.

Of course.

You don't happen to have a book
of poetry by AD Hope?

Please, leave. Now.

Thank you both for your time.

Good evening.
Good evening.

I was here earlier about...

You're with the police.
What do you want?

The gentleman we were asking after.

Did he happen to leave anything
in his room?

No.

Mind if I take a look?
There's another bloke in there now.

But I cleaned the room before
he went in. There was nothing there.

Right. Did he have any visitors?
No.

Any female callers?

No. He was a very nice man,
very decent.

Now if you don't mind...

Yes, he was.
He was a very decent man.

You see, the thing is,
he d*ed the day after he stayed here

and that's why I'm here.

And I'm looking for a book
of poetry.

He gave it to you, didn't he?

He said he didn't need it anymore.

May I see it, please?

What do you need it for?

I'm really not sure.

Do you mind if I...

..if I hang on to it for a bit?

I promise I'll get it back to you.

I'm so sorry he d*ed.

He was different.

Yes, he was.

Thank you.

What kind of code?

Well, I'm guessing

it's some type of one-time pad
encryption algorithm.

In English?

Well, it uses a series of letters
and numbers.

The letters correspond
to the numbers,

and there's a key, a certain page
the algorithm refers to.

Now, you combine the two,
you have a simple code.

Almost unbreakable, unless
you've got the right key.

How the hell do you know all this?

Well, I may have come across
something similar after the w*r,

but my point is this.

I think our man in the morgue

was involved in some kind
of intelligence work.

Hmm.

And you don't seem at all surprised.

Well, we've been getting
some phone calls.

People recognised his photo
in the paper.

A woman in Stawell had an affair
with him five years ago.

According to her he was a Norwegian
by the name of Tor Olsen.

Walked out on her as well.

An affair in Shepparton, and he was
Dutch. Niels van der Berg.

Ran all this past Immigration.

The names belong to children
of deceased immigrants.

Bloody hell.

Somehow he got hold
of the records.

So, he cuts all the labels off
his clothing.

He dyed his hair. Throw this code
business into the mix.

You think you can cr*ck this?
I can try.

Well, we've got a day. We've got
to get that body out of the morgue.

We don't even have a name
for him.

We better get a move on, then.

I've, ar, been fielding calls
about you as well.

Who from?

Federal police. The army.

Wanting to know
about your recent travels.

Charlie's showing interest, too.

What exactly did you do
after the w*r, Blake?

Well, I could tell you but then
I'd have to k*ll you.

This is no joke.

I know.

Right.

Corresponding numbers -

2, 32. 23.

Off to a flying start, Lucien.

(Door knocks)

Lucien, I'm heading to bed.
Is there anything you need?

No, I don't think so, Jean.
Thank you.

Is that your key?

Hopefully.

Do you really think there are spies
in Ballarat?

Oh, not spies as such.

Just people who work for
other governments.

They're everywhere.

Is that what you used to do?

Yes.

For a time, it was.

Maybe this man was a Soviet.

Well, perhaps.

You know, there's a story going
around about Soviet agents,

how they'd carry cyanide pills
with them

in case they were captured.

So maybe this man
ended his own life.

Oh, mind you, it was so very public.

And there was that woman friend.

One thing I do know,

Lawson needs him out of the morgue

so we're going to have to
bury him soon.

Did you find out his name?
We thought we had.

We never had a funeral
for Christopher.

Oh, Jean, I didn't know.

He d*ed along with the rest
of his section

but it was six months
before they told me.

He was long buried.

You know, it's just the thought
of him

being buried alone there,

with no one to say goodbye.

Well, I'll leave you to it.

Goodnight, Jean.

Blonde hair.

Sven Lundqvist, Tor Olsen,
Niels van der Berg.

'...ravenous eyes.

'To see her shake,
the midnight drifting

'from her loosened hair,

'the girl once more in all her
actions wake

'the blush of colour in her cheeks
appear,

'lost with her flowers that day
beside the lake.'

Blonde hair. Cheers to blonde hair.

Ahem.

Well, that turned out to be rather
more complex than I thought.

Well, at least you gave it a try.

Oh, I don't know Jean.

Perhaps I'm using the wrong key.

It seems to me there are too few
symbols or something.

But please, help yourself.

I've spent the entire evening
staring at the damned thing.

Perhaps fresh eyes would be good.

What's this, then?
Part of the cipher.

You see, the technique is you
connect the key and the message

using modular addition.

It looks like a Ballarat
phone number to me.

No. No, no, no, just
a fraction of the text.

Right. Well, I'd best tidy
all this away.

Very good.

'Gliding through the still air...'
Gliding through hell.

Bloody nightmare of a thing.

Just had the Ballarat Historical
Society on the phone.

Now, Elsie Patrick.

Wasn't she that woman who found
that dead body?

I didn't hear the phone ring.

Oh, no, no. I rang them.

That's their number.

Mattie!

You think he'll talk to us?

Well, I have a feeling he might
talk to you.

Come on.

Try over there, eh?

You stay here.

Give me a shout if you need me.

Hello, Aaron. How are you?

Lucien?
Mattie?

Can you come out?

I would like you to come back out,
please, but calmly.

It's alright, it's alright.
This is my friend, Lucien.

Men frighten him, Lucien.
Don't come any closer.

Alright. Mattie, that's a very
expensive coat he's wearing.

He didn't have that the last time
I saw him.

That's a lovely coat you're wearing.
Where did you get it from?

Yes, I thought as much.

Mattie, do you think
you could check to see

if there's a label at the back
of the coat?

Would you hold still for me?

The label's been cut off and...

..blonde hair.

It's a woman's, by the length of it.

May I see it?

Not a woman's, as such.

In fact, it's not even human.

I would say, however,
that's come from a wig.

Miss Patrick, good morning.
I've told you everything I know.

Yes, yes. But your colleague hasn't.

Martha?

Miss, ah...
Harris.

Miss Harris.

How can I help you?

Does the Historical Society have any
material, any books,

on migrant settlement in Ballarat?

A few, actually.
Wonderful.

I'd love to see what you have.

OFFICER: Stay where you are.

I'm just getting my purse.

Martha?

Martha Harris.

Member of the Australian Communist
Party since 1943.

The Soviets were our allies,
and it's not illegal.

Sacked from a government job

under suspicion of
having a relationship

with an attache
at the Soviet Embassy,

who subsequently went missing.

Is that why you
moved to Ballarat?

No. I have a sick aunt
who lives here.

Suffering from...
Diphtheria.

Does she know you were wearing her
wig in the park?

May I smoke?

How many identities
did you manufacture for him?

Sven Lundqvist.

He d*ed in Wendouree in 1912
at the age of three.

Niels van der Berg d*ed
at Castlemaine in 1897

at the age of six months.

Tor Olsen...

I have no idea
what you're talking about.

Do you like poetry, miss Harris?

'Foreknowing all bounds of passion,
of power, of art,

'mastered but could not mask
his deep despair.

'Even as she turned with Hermes
to depart,

'looking her last
on her grim ravisher,

'for the first time she loved him
From her heart.'

Was that what it was like for you?

Holding him while he d*ed?

Whoever this attache was,
you loved him.

And you'd given up everything
for him.

Everything.

And he couldn't
even remain faithful.

What about his marriage?

Was that the last straw?

You should charge me, if you have
anything, or let me go.

But there's no reason to go on
talking like this.

You're right.

Anyway, this is no longer
in our jurisdiction.

There are agents on their way
to talk to you, miss Harris.

Unless you have anything else
to say, this interview is over.

Miss Harris?

No.

I have nothing more to say.

Cyanide. Sugar-coated
to disguise it.

You did love him.

Passionately.

But unlike you, he was trained
to walk away.

I gave up everything for him.

I found him new places to live,
new identities.

But every time
he found another lover.

And the message you wrote
in that book,

you were arranging to meet,
weren't you?

I'd had enough.

He was a traitor.

To his country?

To me.

Charlie, there's terrible famine
in parts of China right now.

Insurgencies in Malaysia, Indonesia
and Vietnam.

And yet that woman m*rder*d her
lover because he was unfaithful.

It's a complicated old world.

Jean?

Jean, do you know where I put my...

Thank you.

Presentable?
Yes, you are now.

Have you worked out
what you're going to say?

Well, it's a pauper's funeral,
just Lawson and I.

And the good people from the funeral
home, of course.

What about the wife?
No, she couldn't face it.

I'm going to say that even though we
don't know this man's name,

even though he was born and fought
under another flag,

he's resting with us now,

and we will look after him
as one of our own.

Is it alright if I come with you?

Yes, of course.

Right.

A hit-and-run.
Constable Michael Martin.

I don't think it's bruising at all.
It's frostbite.

Frostbite?
This is definitely the one.

Your name was printed on the truck
that knocked down my officer.

The police are investigating your
stepfather's death.

What's to investigate?

Perhaps he was the victim
of foul play.

Someone took the Cessna
up last night.

There's mud on the tyres.
Noel Ashford go up with you?

I don't really know anyone.

They don't trust me
and that makes it really hard.