04x06 - A Difficult Lie

[bunniefuu]

Wouldn't want to leave it short.

No, thanks for that, Frank.

Bloody hell.

And that would be?

Terry Reynolds.

He's a journalist.

Couldn't wait 30 seconds till
we were off the green, mate?

I called fore.

Didn't I, Freddie?

Besides, no harm
done, right Clay?

Hell of a sh*t.

What do you think, Freddie?

That's a gimme.

If you say so, Mr. Reynolds.

Well, pull your head
out and go pick it up.

Not the sharpest tool.

Gentlemen.

Well, that's it for me, lads.

Lots to be done
back at the clubhouse.

Me too.

Work beckons.

Thanks, fellas.

Now, Patrick, wouldn't
care to make the back nine

a bit more
interesting, would you?

Well, Frank, it's this for a
tie or the drinks are on you.

Don't know about you,
but I'm feeling pretty thirsty.

Keep smiling, you big
bastard, keep smiling.

Oh, get up.

Just pushed it to the right.

Huh, safe.

Patrick.

How's that egg?

Lovely, thank you.

You should try the
porridge, Lucien.

It's really quite good.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

It's alright. It's
just a little tea.

You didn't burn yourself?

Please don't tell Mr. Finn.

He said we're to be extra
nice to the doctor's wife.

I won't.

What's your name?

Iris.

My favorite flower.

There, our secret.

No one can begrudge a
woman her secrets, can they?

Quite.

- Doctor?
- Yes?

A message for you
from a Mrs. Beasley.

Thank you.

Frank, what have we got?

Found him about an hour ago.

Terry Reynolds, he's a...

Reporter for The Courier.

Yes.

I met him briefly a while back.

Checked for a pulse,
but he'd already gone.

The footsteps you can
see here, they're mine.

Right.

That area there,
that's been raked.

Not by me.

I see.

Best have a look.

A blow to the head, obviously.

And possible fractured skull.

That ball?

That's mine.

Any chance that I hit him?

Well, it's not impossible.

Where are his clubs?

Right.

Well, as always,

I'll know more once I've
conducted an autopsy.

Frank, can we have a word?

Clay.

That's Clay Richardson,
club president.

He was in our group this morning
but only played the first nine holes.

Just this way.

After Mr. Reynolds
finished his round,

you went and lodged his
scorecard at the clubhouse.

Is that correct?

Yes, I think it was
quarter past 10 maybe.

I'm not 100% sure.

Quarter past 10.

And did you see anyone else?

Frank, we were hoping for now

you might be able
to keep this quiet.

We're carrying out a
full investigation, Clay.

Tell me, do you know Terry well?

Oh, no, not well.

He hadn't been a member long.

He seemed a nice enough
bloke over a beer or two.

Mr. Richardson,
if you don't mind,

when the chief superintendent
found Terry Reynolds, you were?

Tending the practice fairways.

I don't understand.

From what Patrick said, this
was obviously an accident.

Yes.

Patrick, your relationship
with Terry these days...

Was strictly professional.

He didn't work for me.
He worked for my son.

Whenever you're ready, Clay.

We're supposed to be having
that bloody board meeting.

Excuse me, would you?

Frank, the Ballarat
Open is only days away.

Ah yes.

And it's your company
sponsoring the tournament, Patrick.

And it has absolutely
nothing to do with this.

I thought you might see
quite a juicy story here.

Not my job anymore, Blake.

No, it's your son's,

and Edward seems quite talented at
poking his nose where it doesn't belong

if he thinks it might
sell more newspapers.

Frank, you'll have
my report shortly.

Patrick.

Dirt and grass stains
to the heel of the hand.

No other defensive injuries.

Sand around, and...

yes, inside the
mouth and airways.

You can see the pond fracture,

the radiating lines
here and here.

I'll know more once
I've opened the skull.

You've been busy. Anything else?

I started toxicology.

There's faint traces of
alcohol in the stomach.

You've done that without me?

Wasn't gonna sit
on my hands all day

waiting for you, was I?

This bruising here...

Suggests that he was
struck with something

with rounded edges,
possibly spherical.

We'll let it settle overnight?

Yes.

The ball.

No traces of blood,
no skin or tissue.

But you're still
thinking m*rder.

Thing is, his caddy was the
last person to see him alive.

And?

And, according to Charlie, they'd
long since finished their round,

so what was he doing there,

still on the course all alone?

Tell me, Freddie,

Mr. Reynolds, would he
usually play on his own?

Most of the time, yeah.

He could rub his playing
partners up the wrong way.

Other members mostly.

Right.

And do you think?

Ah, Charlie, how did you go?

Find anything on the 18th?

No, just a MacGregor
and a couple of Dunlops.

Some old lost balls.

Those are some pretty
flash clubs, Freddie.

They yours?

Freddie, whose clubs are those?

Freddie, I need you to
stop what you're doing now

and put the clubs down.

Bloody hell!

Freddie, stop!

Alright, get up.

We'll continue this
down at the station.

Let's go.

You alright, Charlie?

Yep.

Well, thank you, Mister...

Richardson, Alec.

Oh yes, of course.

What the bloody hell's going on?

Yes, they're Terry's clubs.

The police need those
as evidence, Freddie.

So why'd you take them?

Because he owed me.

That's why.

He didn't pay you, did he?

He never paid you.

Sound about right?

How do you know?

I saw how he treated you
out on the course, Freddie.

But the clubs weren't
enough, were they Freddie?

You also took Terry
Reynolds' wallet.

He owed you quite a sum of
money so you whacked him.

Took his money
after he was dead.

That's not true.

On my word it's true.

You whacked him with a golf club

and just got caught red-handed
cleaning the m*rder w*apon.

Son, this does not
look good for you.

Freddie, your arms.

Roll up your sleeves now, son.

It's fine.

Doesn't hurt.

Terry hit a ball into
the drink this morning.

Threw a tantrum, chucked his
three wood in the water hazard,

and normally we
stay well out of there.

Because of the leeches.

But he made you go in.

He wouldn't let me see to these

until he finished his round.

Yes, I found him in the bunker,
but he'd already carked it.

Nothing I could do.

So I took his wallet

and I raked the sand out
behind me on the way out.

That is all I done.

Nothing else in his pockets.

Just a bunch of scorecards,
some spare tees, and pencils.

Lucien, if you wouldn't mind
tending to the boy's arms

and testing those clubs.

I've got calls to make.

Right you are.

Frank.

Clay, I'm a tad busy.

Freddie's our most
popular caddie.

He wouldn't do
something like this.

We've heard reports suggesting

that Freddie and Mr. Reynolds
hadn't been getting along.

The odd harsh word, maybe,
but he only ever wanted

Freddie to caddy for him,
and Freddie never said no.

Well, what about other members?

Well, what happens on the course
is supposed to stay on the course.

Reynolds nearly hit Lyall
Phillips with a ball this morning,

and they had a real belter
of an argument last Thursday.

Thought he was gonna
knock Terry's block off.

Right.

And Clay, Lyall Phillips was the
other member of your foursome?

Yes.

Last week?

That was nothing.

I'd caught Terry using
the old leather wedge

out on the course a few times,

moving the ball to a
better lie with his foot.

It was nothing serious.

That's not what we
heard, Mr. Phillips.

What's this about, anyway?

Terry Reynolds is dead.

Found on the golf course this morning
under what may be suspicious circumstances.

He's, well, this isn't
gonna sound good then.

Reynolds and I
had been fighting.

He was suggesting that I gift him
a fairly substantial sum of money.

And why would
you do that exactly?

Otherwise he was gonna
start writing some more

unfavorable articles about
the cricket club and about me.

About you?

He's the sports
editor of The Courier.

And he's done this before?

Yeah, he said things
like, I doctored pictures.

Paid opponents to throw games.

All bloody lies, of course.

Hey, get behind it.

Elbow up.

And that's it, Mr. Phillips?

That's not enough?

How would you like it?

I mean, made to look
like a cheat, like a liar

in front of
everybody in Ballarat.

So you paid him to
protect your reputation?

To protect my family,
my wife, and my daughter.

These articles, had you
spoken to anyone about them?

Yeah, I spoke to Patrick
and then to his son.

Right.

And what did Edward have to say?

I told him The Courier
can write articles

about whomever we wish.

That is our job, after all.

Isn't that right, Alec?

And you are?

He's an old friend
and my lawyer.

Thought it might be
handy having him here,

especially dealing with him.

You don't seem particularly
upset about Terry Reynolds.

Well, it wouldn't do any good for me
to go to water, now would it, Doctor?

What sort of example would
I be setting for my staff?

I liked the man,
for what it's worth.

He was very astute.

You call blackmailing
Lyall Phillips astute?

That's quite an
allegation, Sergeant.

I give my staff a fair amount
of license to do their job,

and Terry delivered.

By using his column
to, shall we say,

coerce money from the public?

As editor of the newspaper,
that must concern you.

Well, if you can find proof that
Terry was doing anything illegal,

then yes, it would concern me.

Yes, of course.

We'd like to take a look
through your archives, if we may,

just to read some of
Mr. Reynolds' work.

Oh, well then Sergeant
Davis can go and get a warrant.

That's correct, isn't it Alec,
from a legal perspective?

Now if you don't mind.

I got your message.

I thought you'd
want to see this.

The official cause of death is
actually extradural hemorrhage.

Related to the skull fracture.

The fracture tears the artery
here just behind the temple.

Yes.

So he's struck,
falls, blacks out.

Yes.

And then after some
time he'd have woken up.

Woken up?

Yes.

Before long, he would've
become woozy again.

The bleed compressed his brain.

He'd be stumbling and slurring
until the pain and drowsiness

overtook him and
he fell one last time.

So what you're saying is that
it definitely wasn't my golf ball.

Not your ball, no.

Oh, so m*rder more than likely.

Blood alcohol?

Negligible.

One drink, two at the most.

I tell you what, though,

the death blow might not
have happened at the bunker.

So where then?

Absolutely no idea, but he
was alive when he went in.

You know, of course, Terry
Reynolds and Patrick Tyneman

have had bad blood...

Yes, an incident
last year. I'm aware.

Patrick was with me all morning.

Yes, but he and his boy they,

they might know more
than they're letting on.

I see.

So that was the reason for
your visit to Edward this morning

and not the lovely photograph
of you and your wife on page six?

We need to go
back to The Courier

and look at Reynolds' columns,

see if there was anyone else
he may have been blackmailing.

Watch you don't cut yourself.

Greco's tidy off-spin tweak has
bamboozled the bland batsman.

Huh, I see what you mean about
the quality of the man's writing.

Not a patch on the previous
chap they had covering sport.

Harvey Treloar.

That's him.

You know, I used to read
his columns to your father.

He said he was the best sports
writer he'd read since Percy Taylor.

- Is that right?
- Mm hm.

Oh.

Oh, do you mind setting this?

Yes, yes, of course.

You know, Jean, Lyall
Phillips was telling the truth.

There were a number
of poison pen stories

written about the cricket club and
then, about a month ago, they stopped.

You know, I saw the article
about you and Mei Lin?

How is she? Is she alright?

Yes, she wanted me to
thank you again for that

lovely picnic basket
you made up for her.

Which reminds me,

I still have a few
tests I need to conduct.

Before you open the fridge,
Jean, I should tell you that...

I think you've set
one too many places.

Yes, I have.

I'm sorry.

I thought I might invite
someone over for dinner.

I hope that was alright.

If I had have known in
advance that you were coming.

No, no, that was just fine.

Thank you, Jean.

So you think Terry was m*rder*d.

Off the record,
quite possibly, yes.

That's what you were
up to at the paper.

And of course,
these things, Charlie.

Well, they're not
blank at all, are they?

Why would they have
been erased do you think?

I have no idea.

Rose, I meant to ask you,
though, what was the reaction

in the office to the
news of Terry's death?

I wouldn't say anyone
was heartbroken.

So he had enemies at work then?

A long list, starting
with the Bear.

Sorry, the Bear?

Harvey Treloar.

Interesting nickname.

As in cuddly?

No, grumpy, the moody
old bugger, and punchy too.

Punchy how, Miss Anderson?

Well, Sergeant, it's
practically legend at the paper

the number of scraps Harvey
got himself into over the years.

Right, such as?

Like the time this fullback
turns up to the paper

demanding to fight Harvey over
what he said was a piss-poor article,

sorry, Jean, about his
play on the weekend.

What happened?

Harvey knocked
two of his teeth out.

With one punch.

And then they spent
the whole afternoon

drinking and talking
footy at the pub.

What, and he only
now gets sacked?

Not even sacked.

Terry demoted him
to the printing press.

Why would a man like that
be demoted and not fight?

It's a tough job,
4:00 a.m. starts.

Harvey would do
well to pack it in.

No offense, Doctor, but
sometimes the older generation

needs to be told
when to step aside.

I suppose this is
about Terry Reynolds.

k*lled by a rogue golf
ball, Clay said. Is that right?

Well, not entirely.

Mr. Treloar, I saw you
at the club not long after.

Oh, yeah.

It's been a while since
I played a round or two,

but they're still stuck
with me on the club board.

Are you qualified
to work in here?

Does it look like I'm qualified?

I just whack things
till they start working.

Mr. Treloar, Harvey, I imagine
it must've been difficult for you

at your age to, to start over.

Harvey, you finished
working yesterday morning at?

Half past nine, as always.

And you turned up at the golf club for
your board meeting just after midday.

Is there anyone who can
vouch for your whereabouts

in the meantime?

Nah, it's a pity though.

If I'd got there a bit sooner,
I might've seen it happen.

You think this is funny?

See this?

Colac's Calamitous Cricketing
Collapse by Terry Reynolds.

It's a bad bloody
joke is what it is.

You know, if you ask me,

it's just a shame he wasn't
hit by something larger.

When was the last time you
saw or spoke to Terry Reynolds?

A couple of weeks ago maybe.

What did you two speak about?

He demanded all my old work.

My notebooks.

All my research, everything.

Right, and you just gave
them to him, did you?

He said it didn't belong to
me, it belonged to the paper.

What was in the notebooks?

38 years’ worth of contacts.

And you expect me to believe
that all that inspired in you

was a little
professional jealousy?

Did you k*ll Terry
Reynolds, Mr. Treloar?

Of course I didn't.

Are you sure?

Pretty bloody sure, yeah.

Alright, Harvey,
you're free to go.

But if there's something
you're not telling me,

I will find out.

Are we clear?

Are we clear?

We're clear.

Oh, I need to search
Terry Reynolds' flat.

I've released the caddy.

Now we can head
over to The Courier.

No need, Superintendent.

Mr. Tyneman.

What can we do for you?

Well, after your
sergeant's previous visit,

I had Miss Anderson perform a
thorough search of Terry Reynolds' desk.

And?

Mr. Tyneman thought these
might be useful to your investigation.

Harvey Treloar's old notebooks.

A few photos.

Some hate mail.

We found them in a hidden
compartment underneath a drawer.

As I said, if Terry has
done anything untoward,

I want to know about it.

Just want to be clear
where we all stand.

I know, I know.

The man can be an arse,
but at least now we have these.

What is it?

We may have a problem.

Lucien, what on
earth are you doing?

Well, I popped home
to ask you a question,

and, well, you you were out.

So you thought you'd
m*rder all the dishes?

What happened to Mr. Pig?

Hm?

Mr. Pig, yes.

Well, he was used to
test for bruising and this,

all of this, is to test
for skull fractures.

Look, I'm trying to determine
a potential m*rder w*apon.

Is that what you
wanted to ask me about?

No, as a matter of fact.

Look, Jean, here.

That's shorthand.

Yes.

I'm sorry, I've never
had any need for it.

No, didn't think so.

Ah, this.

Hate mail.

Really?

Addressed to Terry Reynolds
signed by a number of different people,

all with the same handwriting.

Hm, you know, there
was another article

in this afternoon's
edition, about the Chinese.

Have you spoken to Mei Lin?

I think you should visit her
and explain what's going on.

Yes, well perhaps later I might.

By the way, I should be
home in time for supper.

- Lucien.
- I've got a few...

You don't always need to change
the topic of conversation, you know.

Thank you, Jean.

I should probably take...

I'll do it.

I'll be home later.

Mei Lin, these articles, they.

Look, it's all about
selling newspapers.

I wouldn't want to think
that something like this

would make you feel
unwelcome in any way.

You worry too much about me.

If I've proven nothing else,
it's that I'm survivor, yes?

Yes.

You're stronger than me.

You always were.

This case you're working on,

have you found the
person responsible?

No, not yet.

There are several suspects,

all with their own reasons
for wanting him dead.

It reminds me of something
you used to say about

the men you worked
with in Singapore.

Cut the grass and...

And the snakes will come out.

You remember that?

I remember everything.

Goodness me, I should
probably get going.

Yes, and I was about
to go for my walk.

Will you be alright on your own?

I've already organized to
meet Iris, my new friend.

I'm fine, Lucien.

Alright.

Sergeant Davis, you called?

Yes.

I was just about to knock off.

Fancy a drink?

Another, if you'd be so kind.

Thank you, Cec.

Certainly, sir.

A drink or a newspaper?

Cec, tell me, you
much of a golfer?

Well, sir, my father used to say that
golf was a waste of good farmland.

I see. So how often do you play?

Twice a week, when I can.

Good for you.

And Cec?

Yes?

Thank you for
the telephone call.

Of course, sir.

Look, that's not the
issue at the moment.

I'm afraid I have to agree
with your father on this.

Okay, well what are we gonna do?

Don't worry about
what we're gonna do.

But what's it worth to us?

What are you doing?

You don't.

Bit of an upstart, isn't he?

What's Blake
doing staring at us?

Sounds like Harvey was onto something
seriously strange at the golf club.

Strange how?

I want to be the one
to write this story.

If we're going to be working
together, Sergeant Davis,

I have certain terms.

Tell you what,
for all your help,

I'll give you two free
questions about the case.

Five questions.

Three, each.

Within reason, of course.

Of course.

So, do the police have any suspects
in the Terry Reynolds m*rder as yet?

We've interviewed several
suspects, but there's no...

hard evidence as
yet to charge anyone.

Do those notes
mention any names?

Oh, well, Richardson
keeps popping up.

Is that the president
of the club?

Was that a question?

Nice try.

Any truth to the
rumors of an altercation

between Reynolds and Clay Richardson
in the days leading up to his m*rder?

Clay Richardson?

Well, not that I...

You've heard something from
one of your sources, I'm guessing.

You're gonna just take all this
to Edward Tyneman, aren't you?

Of course I am.

What a waste of a question.

How can you work
for someone like that?

Do you know why
I'm here in Ballarat?

I used to work for a paper in
Collingwood, The Chronicle.

I know it.

I was there for
almost three years.

I never got further
than a secretarial role.

Then my editor offered me a
chance to get my foot in the door

provided that I sleep with him.

I said no, and then I hit him
in the face with a dictionary.

He didn't take it well.

Made a few phone calls

and I got blacklisted from
every paper in Melbourne.

I've worked with
all sorts, Charlie.

Edward Tyneman,
yeah, he's different.

He's taken an interest in me.

Not like that.

He's using you, Rose.

And I am using him.

I'm not going to report to people
like the editor of The Chronicle forever.

I work for the likes of
Edward Tyneman now,

so that in the future,
I won't have to.

So, shall we get
back to business?

Alec, fancy a game?

I was actually just
getting my coat.

Right.

I hope you don't mind me saying
so, but that looked a tad heated.

The local tennis squad want to
rent some of our practice fairways,

convert them to grass courts.

I think it's a good idea.

Ah, but your father
and the board don't.

We need more revenue,

and Dad needs my help,
even if he'd never admit it.

What about you, Doctor?

Any interest in becoming
a fee-paying member?

Well, thank you, but no.

The only swing I'm familiar
with comes from a big band.

Hey, get your hand off my boy!

Mr. Richardson, Alec and I...

Bloody busybody.

Alright, Dad. Time to go home.

Evening.

There's been a report of a
disturbance at Terry Reynolds' place.

Speaking of which, I
need to borrow you.

Alright, son, there's
nowhere to run.

You're looking for something.

So are we.

So this is why you broke
into Terry Reynolds' place,

more scorecards?

They're not scorecards.

Terry paid me to
keep my ears open,

write down every dirty
little secret these blokes

might mention to one another.

And pass them on for a
few quid each time, yes?

But why break in
here to find 'em?

Because Terry always
made me sign the cards.

He said if anyone found
out what he was doing,

I'd go down too.

Which explains why the ones
we found on you yesterday

you'd already erased.

These are the
secrets of arguably

some of the most
important men in Ballarat.

It's alright, son.

It's alright.

The thing is, what
secret is worth k*lling for?

I haven't got time for this.

It's true, Mr. Phillips.

Terry Reynolds was
blackmailing you,

but it was never about
the cricket club, was it?

Leave me alone.

Just answer the question,
please, Mr. Phillips.

Terry Reynolds dealt in
secrets and he discovered yours,

didn't he, about your
daughter, Claire?

- Does anyone else...
- Lyall, it's alright.

No one else needs to know.

My Claire,

she got herself in a bit of trouble
with one of the boys at school.

The baby's been adopted
now, and Claire's recovering,

but Reynolds found out somehow.

He said he was gonna tell
one of the boys on the team,

maybe even the gossip
columnist at the paper.

Unless you paid him.

She was 17, Doctor.

He would've ruined her life.

Sounds like you had every
reason to despise the man.

I hated the bastard.

I wrote some angry
letters to the paper,

signed 'em different names.

I thought they'd give
him the flick, but Harvey.

Remember how I told you
I took him out for a drink

the night that Reynolds
sent him packing?

And?

And I remember Harvey saying that
Terry would never see him coming.

All because they
were demoting him?

They weren't just demoting him.

Mr. Treloar?

Mr. Treloar, we'd just like to
speak with you for a minute.

Mr. Treloar, we'd just
like to speak with you.

Just leave me alone!

Harvey, please.

Edward, what the blazes?

Not now, Dad,
everything's under control.

Thank you, Doctor.

Now I have cause
to fire the old fool.

Edward, please.

You've known
Harvey Treloar for...

More than 30 years.

We started out together.

My father hired him.

And my son just fired him.

This was never about you
sponsoring the Ballarat Open, was it?

You knew, sooner or later, all
this would lead back to Edward,

and I'm guessing you knew
what Terry Reynolds was up to.

Of course I did.

But you were worried
Edward was somehow involved.

I've tried being hard on him.

We both saw how
well that worked.

And I've tried helping him.

I've tried encouraging him.

You look after your
family above all else.

That's what my father taught me.

Yes.

Patrick, if he's done
something wrong,

I can't protect him.

I know.

I can't protect him
anymore either.

Thanks for the drink, Lucien.

Look, you have no alibi at the
time of Terry Reynolds' m*rder,

and we know that you'd spoken
seriously about harming the man!

Am I wrong?

- You're a fool.
- Am I wrong?

You're thicker than two
planks is what you are!

Harvey, please.

Please try to remain calm.

I know this is difficult.

Chief Superintendent,
do you think we might

be able to remove the
handcuffs as a sign of good faith?

There we are.

Now, Harvey, if you
didn't k*ll Terry Reynolds,

can you think of anyone
else who may have wanted to?

Take your pick.

You know, in looking into this
case, I read some of your writing.

Apparently my dear late father
very much enjoyed your work,

your passion, years of
dedication, your turn of phrase.

There was one in particular.

Ah, yes.

What the especially brutal
local derby lacked in ambience

it more than made
up for in ambulance.

Yeah, well, what of it?

You see, Harvey, I think it's that
pride, that love for what you do.

That's what Terry Reynolds and
Edward Tyneman took from you, isn't it?

They laughed at me.

Thought it was funny
sending me down there.

They tried to break
me, get me to retire.

But you're not 65 yet, are you?

They said it made no difference

that'd I'd be physically
unfit to work the press.

Patrick's bloody son.

I thought he was a mate.

Yes, but Patrick's been
cut off from the newspaper.

He couldn't help
you, not this time.

His boy said if I fought it,

his lawyer would leave
me without a leg to stand on.

And that made you angry.

Of course it made
me bloody angry!

Starts out you're too old
for footy, too old for boxing.

You can't keep up with
the grandkids anymore.

Ah, it happens, nothing
you can do about it.

But for them to try to tell
me I was too old to write,

to even try to
take that from me.

No one treats me like
a doddering old fool.

I don't want to have
anyone laugh at me either.

Not now, not ever.

Boss, we've finished
with the shorthand.

There's something I
think you should see.

Well?

Now, Frank, please don't think I'm
not enjoying being your personal caddy,

but what are we doing
back at the crime scene?

The shorthand indicated that
Richardson may have been

guilty of misappropriating
funds from the golf club.

You think Reynolds had
him under the thumb too?

Well

Whoa!

You're alright.

Thank you.

Frank, when you
found Terry Reynolds,

he was roughly where you're
standing now, lying face up, correct?

Yes, that's right.

Well, if he fell in from up
here, and I'm sure he did,

why were there no
marks in the sand showing

where he tumbled down?

Well, Freddie
Wilson said he raked.

Yes, around the body after
he stole Mr Reynolds' wallet,

but time would've
been of the essence.

I think he would've raked his
footprints to and from the body,

but not the whole bunker surely.

You shut the hell up!

It's none of your
bloody business!

I'm the president of this club!

I'm the president!

What the hell are you doing?

Hey, there's no need for that!

You're coming with me.

Don't worry, Dad,
I'm coming with you.

No, you're not, Alec.

As my father's legal counsel, I
have the right to accompany him.

Fine, suit yourself.

Now, Clay, you've
obviously been drinking,

so we can delay this until we're
both satisfied that you're sober.

No, no, get it over with.

Now you're aware that The Courier
was putting together a story on you?

Bastard Reynolds.

Not a first, though.

Harvey Treloar found out about
everything that was going on,

but he wasn't about
to publish anything.

No.

You see, he wouldn't
do that to a mate.

Terry Reynolds,
on the other hand.

Well, he knew the
club was in a bit of strife,

and he knew you
were responsible.

You don't have to answer
that, Dad. It wasn't a question.

We lost some money.

You were embezzling funds.

Unless you have proof
of that, Superintendent,

that's just
speculative nonsense.

I didn't embezzle a penny.

I just made some bad decisions
with the the club's money.

And Terry knew, with the
Ballarat Open only days away.

Well, if the club members
found out what you'd been doing...

This is absurd!

Superintendent, I
suggest we postpone.

Will you just shut your mouth for
once and let me handle this, boy?

You keep interrupting, and
I'll be interviewing you next.

Sit down.

Thank you.

The autopsy report shows
a small amount of alcohol

in Reynolds' system
when he d*ed.

So, you two have a beer at the
clubhouse after his round, yes?

Yes.

You argued at the bar.

Soon after, he was found dead.

Bottle to the temple is my
guess, or something similar.

Superintendent, please.

Son, your father is a hell of
a nice bloke when he's sober,

but forever looking for
a fight when he's not.

And you were the last
person to see Reynolds alive,

and no one, no one can
corroborate your story

of being out on the practice
fairway at the time of death.

No.

No, that's right.

Oh, there you are.

What are you doing
sitting in the dark?

Oh, was I?

You know, if someone
really wanted that man dead,

then doing the deed
on a public golf course

still seems like a very
strange choice to me.

It's obvious that you need
to talk about this, Lucien,

and I'm not going
anywhere until you do, so.

Alright.

The police have
arrested Clay Richardson

for Terry Reynolds' m*rder.

But you don't think he did it.

No.

Jean, what do you
know about the man?

Well, Clay owned and ran a
successful freight company

with his wife till
not very long ago.

His wife?

Bronwyn. She passed
away a year or so ago.

Lovely woman.

Right.

And after she d*ed...

He sold the company.

Bronwyn handled all the company
finances from what I've heard.

I see.

Which might explain

why he's now in trouble
for embezzlement.

From the golf club?

No, that doesn't sound right.

No?

Well, embezzlement suggests
that Clay knew what he was doing.

I think it's more likely that he
just couldn't juggle club finances.

Right.

Would he k*ll someone to
keep that hidden, I wonder?

And then, of
course, there's Alec.

The son?

Well, he's a lawyer,
not an accountant.

Do you know, he very
nearly decked me today.

Who, the father or the son?

Richardson the elder.

He, well, he'd had
a few too many,

and anyhow, his boy
stepped in to stop him.

It's a shame.

Some men just need to
be saved from themselves.

What?

Of course.

Alec.

Doctor, what are you doing here?

Fancy that game now?

I'm actually quite busy.

Alec, it's your father.

Just a few questions I
need to work through.

My father didn't m*rder
Terry Reynolds, Doctor.

No.

No, I don't think so either.

But your father's never
had a head for figures,

has he, Alec? But you do.

The money from the tennis club,

that wasn't enough
to cover what he'd lost.

Mind you, it was a start.

Now.

Break?

Lovely.

Now you organized
to meet Terry Reynolds

after he finished his round.

You didn't tell your father.

This was something you
were determined to deal with

on your own.

Now you argued.

Push turned to shove, and you
struck him as hard as you could

with one of these right
here at the billiard table.

Phenolic resin, incredibly hard.

You thought you'd k*lled him.

In fact, you started
cleaning up all the evidence.

But he got up and
he went outside.

He staggered as far as
the bunker, and then he fell.

You followed him in,
you rolled him over,

and finished what you'd started.

Alec?

Is this man bothering you?

And then you rolled him
over again onto his back,

And then you raked the
sand, hoping it would look.

Oh, goodness, like some
unfortunate accident.

It's an interesting
theory, Doctor,

but it's all conjecture.

Yes, but if I went to
the Colonists' Club

and checked the billiard tables
there'd be a ball missing, wouldn't there?

Of course, you'd have
disposed of it by now.

However, if you used the towel
in your golf bag to clean that ball...

Well, that'd be enough.

Alec, sometimes fathers
need their sons' help,

even when they won't admit it.

Dad never.

I told him that we could work things
out with Reynolds, that I could help.

Sometimes, Doctor, the
older generation don't know

when they're in over their head.

Edward, everything alright?

Yes, everything's perfectly
fine, isn't it Edward?

Patrick, here.

You two should have a game.

Clear the air,
what do you think?

Charlie?

You don't give up, do you?

I'm afraid not.

Alright, you ready?

Ballarat Police arrested a
man in relation to the m*rder

of Mr. Terry Reynolds of
Little Street in East Ballarat.

"The suspect was apprehended
at Wendouree Golf Club

last night during a private
gala and has since been

transferred to Melbourne
where he will be held

before facing court next month."

And then it gets
rather colorful after that.

Do you mind if I have a look?

No, no.

I'm extremely busy at the moment,
Rose, so if this is about the article...

No, it's not.

It's about the Herald,
you know, in Melbourne.

Right, what about them?

They've been asking a lot
of questions about the events

leading up to Terry's death.

How he got the job here.

His role at The Courier.

His, well, his work habits.

They even think that you
may have been involved

in whatever Terry was up to.

I see.

And what do you think?

Me?

I think whatever Terry was
up to was small potatoes.

I don't think Edward Tyneman
would stoop to that level.

Did you tell them that?

No.

I haven't told them anything.

At least, not yet.

Fine.

Harvey Treloar
gets his job back.

And you can work the
police b*at from now on,

but your work better be good.

Oh, don't worry, it will be.

Diet and exercise are
very important, yes?

Till next time.

That's the last one?

Yes, nothing till one o'clock.

Right.

Jean, I really should
thank you again.

Without you last night, I...

Don't.

We can't do this, not anymore.

Yes, I'm sorry.

Of course, you're
absolutely right.

I wish I wasn't,
but there it is.

It's not fair on Mei Lin.

And it's not fair on me.

I should go.

Yes, you should.

I was afraid it would be you.

Well, aren't you
going to invite me in?