04x01 - The Open Road

[bunniefuu]

Pull over, pull over!

What are you doing?

I got this, mate.

Oh, bloody hell,
Bomber, not now!

We gotta go!

Let's go, come on.

Not now!

Don't!

Goddammit!

And it looks like
Miss Beryl Routledge

will win this stage
of the RA Trial.

Second will be Clive Hildebrand,

with Trevor McKenzie
a distant third.

Congratulations, Miss Routledge.

Thank you very much, Mr. Jones!

Hello, Ballarat!

Ooh!

This'll be interesting.

You're making it
hard for me, Trev.

Oh, come on, Jonesy!

Mate, I can fix a lot of
things, but I can't fix this.

You've dropped in the rankings.

Below who?

And what are you grinning at?

I keep telling you, Trev,
it's your fuel intake, mate.

And how the hell
would you know that?

You been fiddling
with it, have you?

That'd be right.

This whole bloody
thing is rigged!

You alright, Errol?

Good.

What was all that about?

It's nothing.

Errol.

Errol!

Clive Hildebrand?

You're still the best.

You have a name for your car?

A name for the car? Well, no.

But perhaps you'd
like to name her.

Just here if I could,
Miss Routledge.

- Certainly.
- Thank you, beautiful.

Do you think you
can win the next leg?

I certainly think so.

- Watch out!
- Mr. McKenzie!

- Come on, McKenzie! BERYL:
My apologies, gentlemen.

Bloody hell.

Hello?

Hello?

Anyone...

Jean?

Ned, I do beg your pardon.

What can I do for you?

Good to see you, Bill.

Doc, you're back.

I am.

Through here, is it?

There.

Matthew.

Well, welcome back.

How are you?

Fine.

What have we got?

Errol Moore, mechanic and
navigator for Clive Hildebrand.

Arrived in town yesterday
with the Red Trial.

I'm sorry, I don't
follow motor racing.

Is this their vehicle?

No, it's the rival's.

Not very sporting.

The boy was dragged
under McKenzie's car.

Well, I can tell you, he
was dead before that.

These abrasions here were
received post-mortem, and here...

Petechiae, caused
by asphyxiation.

So, someone strangled
him and put his body here?

More likely, a jack slipped

while he was
working under the car.

And, by the way, petechiae,

yes, an indicator of asphyxiation,
not always strangulation.

I'll keep that in mind.

A quiet sort, and a talented
mechanic, apparently.

The boy's driver,
Clive Hildebrand,

came second in
yesterday's stage.

Right.

Question is, what
was the lad doing

underneath someone else's car?

Sir, you're to remain outside.
You're to remain outside!

Let him through,
Senior Sergeant!

Where is he?

Oh!

Mr. Hildebrand, I'm sorry.

Thank you all for coming.

It's my sad duty to announce

the accidental
death of Errol Moore.

Clive Hildebrand,
Mr. Moore's driver,

and our very own
Ballarat legend,

joins me in offering our
condolences to Mr. Moore's family.

In honor of Errol Moore,

the final leg of the Red Australia
Trial will be delayed until tomorrow.

And we'd like to thank
the town of Ballarat

and the Ballarat Courier
for their hospitality.

But before I go, can I just assure
the motoring public of Australia

that the Red Trial will go on.

Any questions?

- Yes, is the...
- He's a bit quick

to jump to that conclusion.

The funeral of Errol
Moore? MAN: Yes.

What?

- Any other questions?
- Nothing, nothing.

Now, who was there
when the body was found?

Trev came hurtling out.

He knew we were
all standing there

and he drove his
car straight at us.

When did he realize that
there was a body under the car?

It was hard to tell.

Are you in the market, Doctor?

No, no, not really.

It's impressive, though.

What model is it?

Vanguard Phase Il.

You haven't been
following the race?

Ah...

You said that Trevor
McKenzie drove his car at you.

Why?

Because he's a bloody
fool, would be my guess.

He dropped in the
rankings yesterday.

Had a go at Errol
straight after the race.

Miss Routledge!

You're amazing.

You should see my navigator.

But, then again, Trev
fights with everyone.

And when was the last time
that you saw Errol Moore?

When Trev was yelling at him.

Did you like Errol,
Miss Routledge?

I'd never even spoken to him.

But he seemed like a
lovely kid. Helluva mechanic.

Clive was lucky,
always has been.

How's that, exactly?

Well, Clive's a
local hero, Doctor.

He won the first Red Trial.

I thought he'd retired.

So did we.

Thank you, Miss Routledge.

- Good luck.
- Thank you.

Miss Routledge.

Are you honestly telling me that
you have no idea who she was,

or who Clive Hildebrand is?

Should I?

The Red Australia race is
the most famous motor rally

in the country, Blake.

Everyone's watching it.

By the way, my niece is
coming into town for a while.

Oh, lovely.

Look forward to meeting her.

How was Adelaide?

Churchy.

Traumatic asphyxiation.

Compression of the chest,
broken ribs, almost certainly.

Death would have taken...

A minute, maybe two.

Post-mortem soft tissue
and skeletal damage.

Are you alright?

Why do you ask?

You don't seem yourself.

You've barely said
a word, to me or him.

I'm sure I'm just
tired from my trip.

Compression line,
probably from the chassis.

From that shape, I'd
say it was a Holden.

Or a Phase I Vanguard.

Well-spotted.

It was, in fact, a Vanguard.

So, the jack slips,
chassis comes down.

And here he is.

Here he is, indeed.

Left hand...

grease under the fingernails.

Hardly surprising.

Dragging injuries to the
thighs, the back, the face.

Right hand...

Goodness me.

Two dislocated fingers.

Alice, look here.

Swelling on the joints.

Sustained before he d*ed.

Straightforward
dislocation, really.

Easily realigned.

Still, there's something
not quite right here.

Hang on a minute.

Hang on.

Why aren't his ribs broken?

I thought you said
the jack slipped.

It was a theory.

But there's no bruising or
lacerations to the rest of the chest.

No bones broken.

Alice, the car couldn't
have fallen on him.

Paperweight?

If it is, it's a very
ostentatious one.

It's also fully wound down.

I'm telling you, it didn't slip.

You should dust it for prints.

What about the autopsy?

Ah, two fingers dislocated
pre-mortem, and no broken ribs.

Well, think about it.

A jack slips, car
comes down on you,

by God, it's going
to break your ribs.

So they lowered the jack down
on him while he was under the car.

But before he suffocated,
he managed to grab them.

What about his fingers?

Now, what do we know
about the owner of the car?

Errol used to be my
mechanic, and then he left,

to join the great
Clive Hildebrand.

So, he leaves
you for Hildebrand,

they win last year's race,

and the next thing, he's found
dead underneath your car.

And what was he
doing underneath there?

Was he sabotaging you?

Well, he certainly
wasn't fixing it, was he?

Things have been
stuffing up lately.

And here I was, thinking it
was just Bomber being slack.

And you never forgave Errol
Moore for leaving your team.

Is that why you had a shouting
match with him after the race?

Bomber told you that, did he?

Then maybe you should ask
Bomber what he was doing.

Why don't you tell me what
you were doing last night?

We were working
on the car, together!

Bomber gave me
the irrits, so I left.

Next time I see the car,
Errol's wedged underneath it.

You ask him about that.

Trevor tell you that, did he?

Well, did he also tell you that
he was gonna have me bumped

to get Errol on the team?

That would've made you
pretty angry, wouldn't it?

Well, did he tell ya that
Errol turned him down?

Mr. McKenzie reckons that Errol
Moore might've tampered with your car.

What are your
thoughts about that?

No idea.

Is it likely?

Mr. Denman...

how did you get on
with the deceased?

Yeah, fine.

Everyone loved
Errol, didn't they?

So, the driver and his mechanic
are at each other's throats.

Well?

Oh, they both
deserve each other.

Got nothing on
either of them yet.

Matthew, this race...

Needs to be suspended
for the duration of this inquiry.

And I'm not looking
forward to making that call.

Senior Sergeant?

I need you to speak to
the rest of the competitors.

Take Davis with you.

Ask them if they saw McKenzie
or Denman last night between...

Ah, I'd estimate time of death
was between 12 and five a.m.

So, you heading home now?

I thought I might check
up on Clive Hildebrand,

perhaps ask a few
more questions.

Maybe you could apologize
for not knowing who he was.

Oh, come on, you old bugger.

Enjoying this, are you, Dad?

Thank you.

I don't want it.

Listen to me, Clive.
It's easy money.

I've already set everything up.

How many times do I
have to tell you, Herb?

I'm an amateur.

And I'm telling you,
Clive, you don't have to be.

Just say yes.

- Mr. Hildebrand.
- Afternoon, Doctor.

You know much about cars?

Very little, I'm afraid.

Errol knew
everything about them.

He was born in a garage,
his old man used to say.

I understand he used to
navigate for Mr. McKenzie.

What made him join you?

Oh, I never knew.

I just thanked my
lucky stars I had him.

Mr. Hildebrand, tell me,

what do you think he
was doing under that car?

Well, somebody was
messing with the cars.

Ours, Beryl's.

I reckon Errol was
figuring out who it was.

Right.

You don't think perhaps...

he was responsible
for the sabotage?

Not likely.

He wasn't that sort of bloke.

Personally, I reckon you
should take a look at Herb Jones.

Jones, the chap you
were just talking to?

He runs the race, doesn't he?

Yeah, just an official.

Doubt if he'd know a
lug nut from a walnut.

But there's no telling who he's got
in his pocket working against me.

That sounds personal.

Yeah, well, Herb reckons
there's no room for the likes of me

in the competition anymore.

Days of the amateur are over.

Ah.

Mr. Hildebrand?

Rose Anderson, Ballarat Courier.

- Miss Anderson -
You're on the record

as saying that the Red Australia Trials
have become increasingly commercialized.

As the winner of the very first
race, do you think there's still room

in the competition for
non-professionals like yourself?

- No comment.
- Mr. Hildebrand,

- just a little...
- I'd let him go.

Miss Anderson.

Well done, you've
learned my name.

- I'm Dr.
- Lucien Blake, the police surgeon.

I know who you are.

What are the police doing,
talking to Clive Hildebrand?

Passing on our condolences.

- What's the Courier doing?
- Our job.

- So, Patrick hired you?
- He did.

We're not talking
about me, are we?

Do the police suspect foul play?

That would be a
question for them.

Good afternoon, Miss Anderson.

Dr. Blake, you know
Mr. Hildebrand isn't the only one

with concerns about Herb Jones?

Really?

And where did you hear this?

I couldn't possibly
reveal my sources.

But you know what they say,
Doctor, you scratch my back...

The race is a huge business
proposition, Superintendent.

I am aware of that, Mr. Jones.

Are further delays
really necessary?

My paper has exclusives
with the drivers...

This is a police
investigation, Patrick,

and we need time to conduct it.

Don't worry, Patrick, I
assured the people of Australia

that the final leg would
take place tomorrow, so...

Just like you told
Clive Hildebrand

there was no longer
any room for amateurs.

- Blake.
- Oh, here we go.

By the way, you need to
reign in your journalists, Patrick.

One of them's been
harassing Hildebrand.

Good, that's what
we pay them for.

Look, I'm aware your
investigation takes priority,

but there are other
considerations.

Such as?

Such as a considerable
boost to the local economy,

the city's profile.

Yes, Patrick, I understand.

Thank you.

It would be churlish to mention
that little favor of mine, so I won't.

We'll leave you to it.

Mr. Jones.

Some of the drivers believe
your business interests

might be unduly
influencing the race.

Any truth in that?

- No...
- And you're accusing

my reporters of harassment?

Just when I was about
ready to tolerate you.

He makes a fair point.

What was that about a favor?

Might get another cup of tea.

It's fair to say there's a
certain amount of enthusiasm

for us to get a result,
so, where are we?

Bad blood between
McKenzie and Moore.

Bad blood between
McKenzie and Denman.

Did anyone see either of them

after they finished
working on the car?

No, people were drinking.

Memories are hazy.

Trevor McKenzie's a hair-trigger
idiot at the best of times,

and the body was under
his car when he was driving.

Either he's brilliantly clever

and he's pulling
a double bluff, or...

Doc, any theories?

Ah, or someone's framed him.

Right, you hold the fort here.

I'll take Davis back
to the show grounds.

We'll have another
look through the garage.

What's wrong with you?

Nothing, Matthew.

I'm perfectly fine.

Really.

Do you ever wonder, Matthew,

what it is that drives
us to do what we do?

Go home, get some rest.

You'll feel like a new
man tomorrow, trust me.

- Lucien!
- Mattie!

You're home.

Yes, I arrived
back this morning.

- Well, how's Jean?
- Jean's well.

What do you mean, she's well?

I mean, to all intents and
purposes, she's in very good health.

So Jean is quite well
and I'm just going to have

to accept that as a
reasonable explanation

as to why you've been
gone for over a week.

Exactly.

Should we at least have a drink,

to celebrate you being home?

Are you going to continue to
bombard me with questions?

Well, I think I know when
I'm not going to get an answer.

In that case, that would be
lovely. Thank you very much.

You met Beryl Routledge?

I wouldn't have picked you
for a car enthusiast, Mattie.

Well, I'm not, usually.

But this is ordinary people
driving ordinary cars,

and they're racing right around
the country, isn't that something?

The deceased is
Errol Moore, age 20...

So, the boy BLAKE: Errol Moore.

- He was only 20?
- Yes.

Ballarat stage of the
rally at Western Victoria.

Ah, now, that's
Clive Hildebrand.

Clive Hildebrand...

was found dead
beneath the chassis of...

Mm, and there's
your Miss Routledge.

She's amazing.

Eh, perhaps.

To postpone the continuation
of the race temporarily.

And there she is,
chatting with young Errol.

She told me she
hadn't spoken with him.

Now, why would she lie?

I'll go.

You keep an eye out here.

Righto.

Oi!

Open up!

- You alright, boss?
- Did you see anyone?

No.

What happened?

Boss.

Boss!

Keep still, keep still.

Help!

Help!

Dr. Blake.

Hugh Masterson, Orthopedics.

- Where's Nicolson?
- He's not answering his phone.

Right.

Cuts and abrasions,
possible internals,

broken right femur, severe
laceration above the knee.

It's okay, it's okay.

Almost there.

Damage to the femoral artery.

Lucky Charlie put
a tourniquet on.

The break appears to
be compressing the artery,

cutting off circulation
to the lower limb.

We need to deal
with the artery now.

What is it?

I'm Orthopedics.

You need a vascular
surgeon for that.

We don't have a
vascular surgeon, Hugh.

Please.

It's alright, Matthew.

It's alright. Pulse?

How long since the accident?

Um, half an hour or so.

We amputate.

Over 30 minutes, no circulation,
the wound will be septic.

No, no, no, no, no.

We reset, put him
under, fix the artery.

We're not prepped.
We don't have a choice.

I've seen breaks
like this before.

- And I haven't.
- Matthew, can you hear me?

This is going to
hurt like hell, alright?

Assist Mattie.

I need you to hold him down.

Now, the idea is to get the
bone back into place, yes?

So, on my three, I'm going
to pull the leg back, and lower.

One...

two, three.

- No, not quite.
- Doctor!

Matthew, I'm sorry. We're
going to have to go again.

Alright? One, two, three.

Yes, that's it.

Well done.

Anything?

Just wait. Wait, please.

Lucien.

I told you we should
have amputated.

We've got a pulse.

You're sure?

Yes, yes.

It's weak, but we've got a
pulse. Well done, you two.

Now, we need anesthetic.

We get traction on this thing.

You still need to operate.

Would you supervise the
vascular procedure, Doctor?

Of course I will.

Jones.

It was Jones!

Alright, alright. Matthew,
calm down for me.

Calm down for me.

Well done.

Lucien?

I'm fine, Mattie.

Would you do something for me?

Check on Charlie.

Yes.

Hey, well done.

Ah, Alice.

Come on in.

I got the toxicology back
for the man under the car.

There's nothing unusual
in the bloodstream.

What?

Errol Moore's
toxicology results.

They're completely clean.

No dr*gs, no alcohol.

How are you, Chief
Superintendent?

Terrible.

I'll leave you to
the doctor, then.

Thank you, Alice.

How's Charlie?

Ah, our Charlie.

Well, he's got three broken
ribs, so I've sent him home.

Herbert Jones has been
brought in for questioning.

We need to send someone back
to the garage to have a look around.

Well, I'll pass that on,
but in the meantime,

you need to get some rest, eh?

Both legs are present, I see.

Yes.

Yes, but you've sustained
a lot of damage, Matthew.

Still.

Thank you, Lucien.

Yesterday, when you saw
Superintendent Lawson

and Sergeant Davis at the
show ground, why did you run?

I didn't run.

My apologies.

The Chief Superintendent
sends his regards.

Mr. Jones maintains
he'd left the show grounds

before we were run down.

Ah.

He also maintains that...

I didn't run anyone down,

and I had nothing to
do with Errol Moore.

So why did you run away?

Our records indicate you
own a two-tone Vanguard,

registration HHE-585.

Where is it?

Parked outside the show grounds.

It's been there for days.

I'll suspend the
interview for now.

If my men find any
mark on that car,

anything at all that suggests

it was the one that ran us
down at the show grounds,

I will escort the
doctor out of this room

and leave you in here
with the Senior Sergeant.

Alone.

Last chance.

Charlie, I fancy a cuppa.

Bill?

- White with three, thanks, Doc.
- Good.

- I might join you, Blake.
- Excellent.

Alright.

Alright. Yes, I
was driving the car.

I'm sorry, alright?

I didn't mean to
run anyone down.

It was just an accident.

Then what were you doing there?

Why did you run from us?

I take money from manufacturers

to boost their vehicles
up in the rankings.

And when that doesn't work,

you tamper with the
cars from time to time.

You saw two policemen
there, and you panicked...

I didn't see anyone!

I thought it was one
of the other drivers.

And if they'd found me
they would have k*lled me.

Is that what happened
with young Errol?

No.

I tried to pay the kid off
to help me weeks ago.

And he turned you down.

The only one who'd go
along with it was Bomber.

Bomber Denman.

And, Bill, we've got enough to
charge him with the hit and run?

You bet your arse we do.

Good.

Now, someone needs to speak
with Denman. I can do that.

I'm coming with you, Doc.

Charlie, if you're not going
home, you should stay here.

Miss Anderson,
what brings you here?

Police rounds,
what do you think?

Excellent.

Sergeant Davis, someone
you should speak with.

- Cup of tea, Miss?
- Black, no sugar.

Suspected burglary and two
cases of public drunkenness.

Also, Market Street will be
closed to traffic tomorrow,

and that's about it.

And the investigation
into Errol Moore's death?

I'm unable to comment
about that right now.

Shame.

I heard there was an incident
at the show grounds last night.

That's subject to
further investigation.

So the police are investigating?

We're pursuing a number
of avenues of inquiry.

And you heard this from...?

Are you sure that
you're not able to tell me?

Pretty sure, yep.

Do you think that I might be able to speak
with Chief Superintendent Lawson, then?

He's unavailable at the moment.

Would you tell him that I was
here, when he is available?

Of course.

It's been a pleasure.

Miss Anderson?

The number at the desk,
so I can keep you posted

on what's happening
here, when it's appropriate.

And why would you do that?

Because I was
once new in town too.

Sergeant Davis.

Miss Anderson.

Scott Wilson Brown to the
refreshment tent, please?

That's Scott Wilson Brown
to the refreshment tent.

Mr. Denman?

Herbert Jones sends his regards.

A number of people believe
their cars have been sabotaged

throughout this race.

- They're paranoid.
- Is that right?

When questioned, Mr. Jones
admitted that it was, in fact,

the two of you
tampering with the cars.

He even suggested

that you might be the
one who k*lled young Errol.

Well, he's a liar.

So why don't you go piss off?

You got nothing.

- I gather you like dynamite.
- Hey.

I never have.

The impact it has
on the human body,

the damage it wreaks on
flesh and bone, it's horrible.

Now, you listen to me.

I don't have the patience
today for your games.

A very good friend of
mine nearly d*ed yesterday,

so you will tell me
what I want to know.

What?

If you think I had anything...

You were sabotaging cars.

Perhaps Clive and Errol's, yes?

Errol discovered the truth,

so you m*rder*d him before
anyone else could find out.

Is that what happened?

Come on, last chance.

Go on, why don't ya?

Go on. You don't have the balls.

Time's ticking. Tell
me what happened.

Alright, look, alright,

I didn't touch their car,

just that bitch Routledge
and a few others.

I didn't do a thing to Errol!

- Did you k*ll him?
- No.

You're absolutely sure?

I didn't do it, you
crazy bastard!

Alright.

You're insane.

Yes, perhaps I am.

I've been called worse.

Now, here's what's going
to happen next, Bomber.

You're going to
go to the police.

You're going to tell them
exactly what you just told me.

Yes?

Yeah, fine, alright, I'll go.

Best stop this nonsense as well.

Your dynamite days are over.

Good afternoon, Mr. Denman.

Bloody hell.

Standards, they
have their quirks.

Quirks, indeed.

It has been the source of
some frustration over the years,

I can tell you.

You're not thinking of
selling, are you, Doctor?

Well, let's see what she's got.

Well, the brakes are in
good nick. That's something.

Yes.

You lied to me, Miss Routledge.

Excuse me?

When you were first
interviewed yesterday,

you lied about having never
spoken with Errol Moore.

I must have forgotten.

You know what us women are like.

Now, if you're in the
market for a new car.

Is there a Mrs. Blake?

What kind of motor would she
want the good doctor to have?

Did you try this on with
young Errol, Miss Routledge?

Is that why you didn't
want us to know?

Yes, I spoke to Errol.

It's no secret, he's the
best mechanic on the tour.

I wanted him on my team.

Your team?

Didn't you want to show
the world that your team,

comprised solely of women,
how they could b*at the men?

I'm a pretty woman
driving a car, Doctor.

The public finds
that fascinating.

But I've had enough of
women's magazine covers.

Now I want headlines for being
the winner of the next Red Trial.

Quite.

How did Errol
respond to your offer?

He said no, stupid boy.

Did he say why?

Because next year, he
wanted to become a driver.

Enter the Red Australia himself.

I see.

And you...

Wished him luck, and told
him I would wave to him

from the top of the
podium in 12 months' time.

Of course.

To your knowledge, did he
tell anyone about his ambitions?

Well, I assume so.

He already had a car
lined up and everything.

No sponsor, though.

Oh, no, he was going amateur all
the way, just like his bloody idol, Clive.

You don't approve.

Errol and Clive take the whole
noble amateur thing far too seriously.

It's not a mistake
I intend to make.

I'm in this for the fame,
and the money, of course.

Now, I think something
simple for you.

Nothing too fast
or ostentatious.

Anyway, shall we?

Mattie rang me.

- Yes, he's - Is Matthew...

He's alright.

It's going to be difficult.

- Doctor.
- Dr. Masterson.

I've been looking at the
Superintendent's X-rays.

Oh, honestly, I'm fine.

Anyone would think
I'm some bloody invalid.

I spoke to Hobart earlier.

He said that Jones has
confessed to running us down.

Yes, but not to
k*lling young Errol.

Now, I spoke to Mr. Denman
and Beryl Routledge.

Beryl Routledge?

You didn't tell me that!

Oh, he has no idea who she was.

Ah, typical.

Do you think she's involved?

I don't know.

How is the leg?

Oh, well, still there.

Do you think he knows?

Well, I'm not
certain he's aware...

Doctor!

- Mrs. Beasley.
- Hello.

I thought you should see these.

Most of the skin on Moore's back
was scraped away post-mortem,

but these are from a patch of
skin remaining on his shoulder.

I think it's the imprint of the
ground beneath the body.

Paving of some kind.

Well done, Alice.

Jean!

Oh, Mattie, it's
lovely to see you.

You too!

It has been so quiet
while you were gone.

I had to go to Melbourne
for conversation.

Excuse me, you two.

I just need to fetch my torch.

Where are you going?

Back to the show grounds.

I'm coming too.

Wait, I wanted to find
out about Adelaide.

I'll tell you about it later.

I do love what you're
doing with your hair.

I didn't know she'd been
going down to Melbourne.

Yes, spending more time
with the family, apparently.

- Right.
- This is...?

Er, Trevor McKenzie's car.

Have you wedged
something under the tires?

Just asking!

Of course I have.

Thank you.

Now.

What are you looking for now?

Oh, I don't know.

I've never really looked
beneath the car before.

Just this one?

Alright, any car.

So, tell me.

Our young Errol
was found under here.

But this isn't his car.

The car was lowered
directly onto his chest.

It left a corresponding
compression mark.

You know that different cars
have differently shaped chassis?

Well, yes, of course I do.

But some are similar.

Well, for example,
the Vanguard and the...

The Holden.

So, who drives one of those?

I have a pretty good idea.

What about the impression that
the ground left on the man's skin?

Not from here.

He d*ed somewhere else, Jean.

I need you to find a phone
box and call Bill Hobart for me.

You know, I wasn't
lying when I said

I didn't know much about cars.

But I do know medicine.

You know what it's like
to be a hero, Doctor?

To be an ordinary man

with ordinary people
looking up to you?

Yes, look, the pressure,
I can only imagine.

Of course, with Herbert

and his business associates
snapping at your heels,

it must be very stressful.

But look, it was Jones and
Denman sabotaging your car.

Young Errol had
nothing to do with it.

Please, he looked up to you.

He worshiped you!

Errol told me he
wanted to drive next year.

When I found him working
under the car that night, I...

So you thought the worst and you
k*lled him, didn't you, Mr. Hildebrand?

Please!

Lucien!

That young man had done
nothing wrong, not a damn thing.

You m*rder*d him,
you moved the body,

put it under McKenzie's
car, and for what?

He betrayed me.

Betrayed you?

He didn't betray you.

You were his hero.

Clive Hildebrand, I'm arresting you
for the m*rder of Errol John Moore.

Matthew, Patrick.

Hobart told me.

Well done.

Yes.

Yes, um...

Matthew, look, there's...

- There's something...
- I know, I know.

My leg's never
gonna heal properly.

I'll probably walk with a stick,
or something equally humiliating.

They'll pension me off.

Yes.

Unless I can find a doctor

who's willing to
fudge my medical.

Ah.

Ah, don't worry.

Not even you can
sort this one out.

I'm sorry.

Boss.

- Miss Anderson?
- Sergeant Davis.

I take it you've met my niece.

What's that?

Ah, report on Errol Moore.

Just leave it on the desk.

These are the things
you asked for, Boss.

Thank you.

Well,

gentlemen,

it's been an honor.

Carry on.

Matthew.

So, have you remembered?

Why it is we do what we do?

Yes, I most certainly have.

Another time, eh?

A job for Rose at the Courier.

That was Patrick's favor.

Well?

10 miles to the gallon.

You don't think
that's a little wasteful?

What do other cars get?

You don't know?

Have you told anyone?

Who would I tell?

- Patrick Tyneman?
- Oh, Patrick.

Lucien, where's your car?

Finally traded it in.

This is my new one.

You do know the fuel
consumption isn't great?

So I've heard.

Fancy a spin?

Definitely.

Could I borrow it next
time I go to Melbourne?

Not a chance.

Right.

You wait till you
get out on the road.

It's an absolute beaut.