02x09 - The Sky Is Empty

[bunniefuu]

Immorality in the life
of a member of the Church

can tarnish the work of God.

A woman may be the model
of a good wife and a good Christian.

But that counts for little,
for she is an adulterer.

I say to her, as to you all...

..don't for a moment think
that your sin is a private thing.

It is adultery and tarnishes
the name of the Church and...

..destroys... our ministry in the...

..community...

Uh... it destroys our ministry
in the community.

Either way, your infidelities
need to be brought to the light.

This is what I warned you about.

And I have been given
that responsibility.

You are not only breaking the
commitment you made to each other,

but also the one you made to God.

Some supper.

Thank you, Evelyn.

The fire in your room has been lit.
It's a cold night out.

Ah, yes.

Hello?

There's no-one there, Cyril.

Good evening. Father Morton.

You're aware of the hour?

Forgive me, Father,
for I have sinned.

It has been several months
since my last confession.

Father?

Father Morton?

Father?

Oh! Oh...

It is with sadness

that I can confirm
Father Cyril Morton has passed.

Aren't the police usually the ones

giving speeches
under such circumstances?

It's important
that we stay strong at this time

and know that everything happens
for a reason.

We've lost a wonderful friend
and an excellent priest.

This will be a great shock
to the community.

This was
an unfortunate act of nature.

Everyone will be informed
in due course

and funeral arrangements organised

and details announced
at a later time.

I'd say we're looking
at a severe allergic reaction.

Now we need to find out
who that last penitent was.

Well, we know that was Jean.

No, no, no,
she was here this morning.

Morton's been dead
since last night,

judging by
the discolouration of the skin.

..until we make an official
announcement later today.

We just have to accept that this
was simply Father Morton's time.

What's strange is this
late-night confession business.

Ah.

Didn't fancy church this morning?

I had other matters to deal with.

Pity, because things
don't quite add up at Sacred Heart.

Hope you're taking notes
on this, Davis.

Yes, sir.

You'll be handling this.
I'm otherwise occupied.

Everything alright?

I'll let you know if it isn't.

So, what doesn't add up?

Well, the time frame.

This whole late-night penitent thing.

What do we know about Father Morton?

Nothing at all.

I mean, I haven't set foot in church
since I arrived here,

except for today.

There's Morton's death certificate.
You'd better get Blake to sign it.

Well, hang on a moment.

Thank you, Charlie.

I might need to perform an autopsy.

The Church doesn't want one, Blake.

And besides, they're expensive
and, in this case, unnecessary.

Boss.

I'd like to speak to someone.

How can we help you, ma'am?

It's about Father Morton.
I'm his housekeeper.

Was.

I'm the reason he d*ed.

Right.

Cyril... Father Morton
went to meet a penitent

at the church late last night.

And who was that penitent?

I don't know.

I overheard you saying that
he d*ed of an allergic reaction?

Yes, that's right.

I gave him some fruit
on his way out.

It was new to the stores.
I hadn't seen it before.

I knew he had an allergy.

I shouldn't have
given it to him.

What kind of fruit was it?

I gave him a pear,
which I knew he wasn't allergic to.

The other was a Chinese gooseberry.

I did this, didn't I?

Evelyn, fruit allergies

can bring about
a severe reaction, certainly.

But having said that,
so can a number of other things.

I imagine we'll do an autopsy, then.

Dr Blake, this is Mr Michaels.

He's a surgeon here at the hospital.

Ah.
Hello.

Dr Harvey's said
only good things about you.

Really? Dr Harvey, you're too kind.
It's a pleasure.

Mr Michaels diagnosed Father Morton

with a brain tumour
several months ago.

He'd like to section the brain.

See exactly where the tumour is?

Yeah, when you're finished,
I'll remove the brain

and encase it
in formalin overnight to fix it.

Then I'll section it.
The Church has consented.

Right.
Well, then, we'd best get started.

You mentioned a possible
food allergy on the phone.

Yes, anaphylactic shock.

Morton's housekeeper is afraid
he may have d*ed from eating fruit.

A Chinese gooseberry.

Kiwi fruit. It's from New Zealand.

He could have easily been allergic
and not known it.

If it is a food allergy,

we'll be looking for
a pulmonary oedema in the lungs.

Yes, or cerebral oedema.

I'll start by making an incision
into the thorax.

Very good.
Hey, wait a minute.

What are these?

Urticaria perhaps.

Hives caused by his allergies.

Yes.

Bear with me a moment.

I noticed something here. Look.

Look at that.

A bee stinger.

There's at least 20 stings here.

Do you happen to know if Morton
was allergic to apitoxin?

I never operated on him.
I'll have to check the file.

Because if he was allergic
to bee stings,

there's no way he'd survive
being stung this many times.

Perhaps we should check
the upper airways.

Charlie.

I didn't realise you were Catholic.

Well, I'm not a very good one.

You find anything?
Oh, just more questions really.

If Morton was being stung by bees,

why didn't he simply flee
the confessional booth?

As you know, the priest would take
his seat on this side of the booth,

the penitent right next door.

Well, as far as I can remember.

Hm.

Doc, you got any ideas
what's wrong with the boss?

Your guess is
as good as mine, Charlie.

Yeah... Yeah, I reckon
there's something he's not saying.

Well, not exactly transparent,
our Matthew Lawson.

Come have a look at this, Charlie.

Father Morton's K*llers.

And the piece of glass?

Kept in a jar, perhaps?

Charlie, help me move this pew
across to the door, would you?

Well, that scratch has definitely
been made by this pew, I'd say.

And look at the height of it,
Charlie.

All they'd need to do

is position the back of the pew
under the door handle here.

I think the penitent
waited in their side of the booth

until Father Morton was seated.

Then they opened the door to Morton
and they threw the jar of bees in.

Then they barricaded the door.

No! Agh!

Help!

It would have been quite dark
in here last night, wouldn't it?

Yes, perhaps only a few lights on.
Why?

Well, someone was reading
the Bible in candlelight,

maybe while Father Morton
was fighting for his life.

Right.

Well, that's evidence, Charlie.
We'll need to take it with us.

Whoever k*lled Father Morton,

they knew - they knew -
he was allergic to bee stings.

Charlie.

You have got to be joking.

Father Emery?

Yes?

You keep bees?

Yes, that's right.

You're the only one
that handles them?

Yes. It's my apiary.

I set it up when I arrived
around six months ago.

Right.

Were you aware Father Morton
had a bee allergy?

Yes.

But Cyril never
came near the apiary.

That was a given.
I see.

The autopsy revealed
he d*ed from bee stings.

Now you say you were aware
of his allergy,

and yet you set up your apiary
where he spent most of his time.

I spoke to Cyril about setting up
the apiary and he was fine about it.

I'll talk to the Superintendent.

He'll most likely
want you to come down to the station

to answer more questions.

I think you'll find he won't.

And why is that?

Because your Superintendent
knows better

than to point the blame too soon.

Gentlemen.

Thank you.

What does the boss say?

Stay away from the church.

Oh, come on!

Once we found out
about the bee stings,

we had to revisit the crime scene.

Yeah, he also said
don't steal any more Bibles.

Oh.

I suggested we bring in Emery
for questioning.

And?

The Archbishop in Melbourne

apparently suggested
that we didn't do that.

Oh, of course.

What about that mark on the floor,
right by the confessional booth?

Lawson doesn't believe Emery
would use his own bees

to k*ll a priest.

Really? Why is that? Because
he's a man of the bloody cloth?

We know this is m*rder,

but we have to be damn sure
before we accuse a priest.

Go and interview as many
of the parishioners as possible.

And if you could avoid
annoying too many people today,

I'd appreciate it.

Look...
Blake!

Lucien.

I've been asked to sew the sacred
linens for Father Morton's funeral.

Well, me and the rest
of the sewing circle.

They'll be coming over this evening,
if that's alright.

Yes, of course.

Father Morton baptised Jack
and young Christopher.

I am sorry, Jean.

You'll find out who did this?

I promise you I'll do my best.

Evelyn Toohey must be
beside herself with grief.

Yes.

Tell me about her.

Evelyn came to the church after her
father was sent to prison for theft.

I think she really needed to
believe in something after that,

which is when
she found Father Morton.

I don't know who she'll turn to now.

Well, God I imagine.

Huh, I didn't think
you were on his side.

No, but Evelyn is.

If I were you,
I would speak with Evelyn again.

She was his housekeeper.

She probably knew him better
than he knew himself.

Evelyn, this is very kind of you.

I really wasn't expecting lunch.

I'm just glad the food's
not going to waste.

Bless us, oh, Lord,
and these your gifts,

which we are about to receive
from your bounty.

Through Christ our Lord, amen.

Amen.

I'm not sure who I'll cook for now.

Or even if Father Emery
will keep me on.

I am just the housekeeper.

Father Morton left that night
to meet with a penitent.

That's right.

To be honest,
it's been a long time since I...

Anyhow, I can't imagine
late-night confessions

would be standard practice.

I'd never known anyone
to call that late.

And tell me, you worked
for Father Morton for a long time?

Yes.

I never really understood
the importance of religion

before meeting Cyril.

Sometimes it helps
to put a face to it.

It sounds as though you were
both very, very good friends, though.

We didn't always get along,

but I always tried
to keep Cyril's good name intact.

Especially since his sermons
had lost focus lately.

Recently, I'd overheard
that Father Emery

wanted Cyril to retire
from his position early.

And I can't say that he was
altogether wrong in suggesting it.

Some parishioners even
walked out of the last sermon.

Do you know who?

Ben and Celia Lloyd.

Right. Do you recall anything else?

I was waiting after the mass.

I always did,
should Cyril need anything.

This time,
Ben Lloyd was arguing with him.

I don't know what about,
but it looked quite heated.

Right.

Evelyn,
what was that last sermon about?

Adultery.

I'd left the stove on.

And that's what you were discussing
when you left the church?

I was worried we'd come home to
find our house burnt to the ground.

And you had every right
to be annoyed.

But I had no right
to raise my voice.

Witnesses say they saw you talking
to Father Morton after mass.

Not me.

They must have seen somebody else.

Tell you what,
there's some lovely pictures here.

Thank you.

Oh.
Are you alright?

Yes, I'm fine.

You both attend
Sacred Heart regularly?

Every Sunday.
Any other times?

Celia would see Father Morton
on a regular basis.

Confessions,
various church activities.

She even visited him
in hospital once.

Really? And what was that for?

It was for a bee sting.

His doctor suggested
some bed rest.

I took him a casserole.

Right.

Tell me, Father Morton's bee allergy,

was that common knowledge?

No. He kept it to himself.

It was just a small group of us from
the sewing circle who visited him.

Evelyn, Dorothy, Jean and myself.

Right.

So the women from the sewing circle

all knew about
Morton's allergy to bees.

As did Ben Lloyd,
and Father Emery of course.

And Mrs Beazley.

Well, I think we can safely
rule her out, Charlie.

We know they're just
playing happy families in there.

What, because of that photo frame
turned upside down?

Yes. I bet that photo
was their wedding photo.

And what about that folded blanket
on the couch?

Oh, because one of them
slept there last night?

I'd say Ben.

But this business about the stove
being left on -

no, no, no, no, no.

People spend nights on couches
over much, much bigger issues.

What, money?

Or infidelity.

The sermon they walked out of?

Precisely.

But is that enough of a motive
for Ben to k*ll Father Morton?

Well... I'm not sure yet.

Either way, he wasn't particularly
happy with Morton's last sermon.

Mm. Oh, Doc.

Yes?

Got it from the library.

Oh, Charlie, well done.

Thank you.
Mm.

Ladies, I have some news.

I'm pregnant.
Ohh!

Oh, Celia, congratulations.

Ohh!
That's wonderful news.

Thank you.

It's so unexpected.

Oh, you two must be very excited.

Oh, yes.

Oh, Ben will make
a wonderful father.

A first child.
It's such an exciting time.

It is cause for celebration,
you know.

Celia, what's wrong?

I'm not much in the mood.

It seems unfair considering Father
Morton's passing, and poor Evelyn.

Is there something else?

The truth is, I haven't told Ben.

Ladies. I am sorry to interrupt.

I seem to have
misplaced my newspaper.

I threw out
this afternoon's newspaper.

I see.
As I do every evening.

Lucien, this is Dorothy Turner.

Ah! Dorothy, an absolute pleasure.

Lovely to see you here, Mrs Lloyd.

Thank you.
I trust you're feeling better.

Actually, Doctor, I'm expecting.

Well, congratulations.
How about that?

Wonderful news.

And I see the church linens
are coming along beautifully.

We can thank Dorothy
for being such a taskmaster.

We'll be lucky to get
this made before the funeral.

Ah.

Well, in that case,
I should leave you to it, eh?

Ladies.

See you next time.

It was so lovely to have you here.

Thank you, Jean.
Bye, Dorothy.

You take care of that step there.

Celia.
Jean.

Look after yourself.

I trust you got what you wanted?

Hmm?

Oh, the paper. I'll, um,
well, I'll see tomorrow's edition.

I don't appreciate you
treating my friends as suspects.

I imagine you can do as you like.
You're not accountable to anybody.

I'm accountable to you, Jean.

I know you want me to find out
what happened to Father Morton.

Unless of course
you think God was responsible.

Well, he is, in some ways.

Well, I admire you, Jean.

Being able to forgive God
so effortlessly.

What about
your lovely friend Dorothy?

An injury of hers,
it's permanent, is it?

Yes.
I wonder, has she forgiven God?

It's not God she needs to forgive.
It's her late husband.

He was a horrible and violent man

and on one occasion he shoved
her down a flight of stairs.

She's always kept that to herself.

Goodness me.

Well, there you are.

Proof that man can generate evil
all on his own.

What happened to the husband?

He d*ed in a car accident
soon after that.

Mysterious ways.

Mm.

There's something about Celia
that I should tell you.

Hold that thought. I'll get it.

Drink?

Mad if we don't.

Come on through.

Jean.
Oh, Matthew, what a lovely surprise.

Hope I'm not interrupting.
No, never.

In fact, you here just in time

to help settle
a small debate on religion.

Now, do you think God or man is
responsible for evil in the world?

Man.

Well, Lucien, that means
you've turned your back on God

and Matthew's turned his back
on man.

I'm not sure what's left
to have faith in.

Whiskey.
Ha.

So, Matthew, what's your secret?

Sorry?

The secret to remaining detached

while at the same time being
entirely consumed by the case.

Well, uh, don't be
entirely consumed by work.

Doesn't always give back.

Ah, that's sound advice.

Well, speaking of being
entirely consumed by work,

Jean, you were going to tell me
something when Matthew arrived.

Oh.

Yes, Celia admitted to be being
very upset with Father Morton.

Apparently she'd told him
her sins in confession

and she's sure that he's referenced
those confessions

in his last sermon.

Well, that's interesting.

Look, let's say that's Father Emery.

This is Father Morton.

And these are
some of the congregation

who knew about Morton's bee allergy.

Now, there's Celia and Ben Lloyd.

Then we have Dorothy Turner.

Now, the Lloyds walked out
during Morton's last sermon,

which focussed on infidelity.

Now, Celia - she was the one
who confessed regularly.

I suspect she told Father Morton,

he took that information
and wove it into his sermon.

Now, let's not forget Dorothy Turner.

She has a secret of her own
about how she came to be disabled.

And perhaps Morton
was going to reveal her secret, too.

The point is,

whoever k*lled Morton, I think
had one helluva secret to protect.

A secret worth k*lling for?

Makes you wonder, though, doesn't it?

What was Father Morton thinking,
betraying his parishioners like that?

That's if he was thinking.

Good God, Matthew,
you're quite right.

Thank you. Ah.

Sorry to keep you, Dr Blake.

No, not at all.
Good to see you, Mr Michaels.

You mentioned on the phone

that you needed more detail
on Morton's brain tumour.

Yes. I was curious as to
the exact location of the tumour.

I was going through Morton's
medical history and I found a name.

Thomas Blake.

Any relation?

Yes, my father.

He was Morton's doctor for a while.
Oh, I wasn't aware.

Morton's tumour
was in the early stages

of infiltrating his frontal lobe.

Right.

Which means disinhibition
was potentially a factor.

Going off on verbal tangents,
making inappropriate comments,

poor impulse control.

Not the sort of problem
a priest would want to have.

Excuse me.

Certainly.

Yes.

It's for you.

Thank you.

Blake.

- Piss off!
- Just calm down!

Go on! Get out of me bloody house!

Bloody settle down!

Hey, hey. Calm down, mate.

Get over here!

Get away from me!
It's over!

Under control, Charlie?
Yeah, she's in the bedroom, Doc.

Celia?

It's got nothing to do with you!

Oh, Celia.

Are you alright?

My stomach!

She got what she deserved.

Let's pop you up on the bed.

Pop you up here.

Let me see that tummy of yours.

Oh, for God's sake.

Alright, I'm here.
I'm here, alright?

Do you think you can walk with me?

Yes.
Yes.

Good girl. That's it. Come on.

I was in the area. I got the call.

As soon as I heard the address,
I got the station to call you.

Good man.

Well, it looks like Celia got
a couple of decent sh*ts in as well.

That was me.

Right.

Well... Ben was clearly very focussed
on what it was he set out to do.

What? b*at his wife to a pulp?

No. He was aiming fairly
and squarely for her abdomen.

He didn't set out
to hurt her as such.

He wanted to k*ll the baby.

Celia was having an affair.
She told Morton.

Morton revealed her secret

and then, then she announced
she was pregnant.

It seems like a good enough reason
to want to k*ll Morton.

And Ben knew of Morton's bee allergy.

Celia.

We'll come back tomorrow.
Yes.

I'm glad Celia
and the baby are alright.

Horrible business.

It is indeed.

Jean, I wanted to give you these.

I know your Dr Blake
is looking into Cyril's passing.

They're complaint letters from
Father Emery to the Archbishop.

I overheard Father Emery
talking to Cyril,

saying he was going to complain.

Father Emery gave me
the letters to post,

but I just couldn't,
knowing what was in them.

Now I think they might
actually help the police.

I'll make sure
the Doctor receives them.

So Father Emery wanted Morton
removed from the parish?

Well, that's if Evelyn's
telling the truth.

Yeah.

I did a background check on her.

Confirms what we know -

that her father
went to prison for theft.

He stole a substantial amount
of money and a porcelain doll.

A porcelain doll, Charlie.

Not something you'd imagine
a grown man

would be particularly interested in.

Perhaps Evelyn stole the doll
and she let her father take the fall.

And if she lied about that,

she could well have been
involved in Morton's death.

But she came into the station
and confessed to k*lling him.

I mean, she wouldn't do that
if she was innocent.

Charlie, confessing,
that's a wonderful alibi.

She might have written
these very letters.

Maybe we should steam them open.

That's the Queen's mail, Blake,
and we don't have a warrant.

I suggest you delve deeper
into Ben Lloyd's past.

Yes, sir.

Lawson, what's going on?

Nothing.

I just want to make sure that
Father Emery's accorded due process.

But those letters...
Due process!

If you go off
on one of your tangents,

the Archbishop will be all over us.

Well, what if Charlie and I
just had a friendly chat with Emery

and not mention the letters?

Feel free.

Matthew, if you don't
mind me saying...

..you've spent an awful lot of time
on the phone today.

I'm just asking,
is everything alright?

It's not your problem.

I had noticed that Father Morton
was struggling with his sermons.

Yes.

It's been reported
that confessional secrets

were revealed during those sermons.

You don't seem surprised, Father.

I had my suspicions.

Canon law prevents a priest from
betraying the penitent in any way.

Yes, of course.

You wanted to report it?

Yes - I wrote letters
to the Archbishop in Melbourne,

but I never received a response.

Apart from those sermons,

did you feel overall that he wasn't
performing his duties as a priest?

Latin is not a language
people understand anymore.

Heh. And I'm guessing
the Archbishop remained silent?

Yes.

So I kept an eye on the Father.

I expected that at some point
he would retire.

And you would have been
next in line to take over.

As the only other priest here, yes.

That would have been
a step up for you, wouldn't it?

I'm only human.

But my concern was for the Church.

I was trying to deal with the matter

in a way that did not damage
anyone's reputation.

Did Morton ever complain about you?

I'm sure he did.

I'm sure he felt that my approach
was perhaps too modern.

So you didn't always see eye to eye?

We can still love our neighbours,
even when we disagree with them.

I can get angry at God sometimes,

but it doesn't mean
that I'll walk out on him.

Do you have any idea why someone
would want to k*ll Father Morton?

No.

m*rder is a mortal sin.

And my poor Ligurian bees
just make honey.

They don't k*ll people.

Ligurian bees?

Yes, that's right.

Apis mellifera syriaca.

The bees we found are Cyprian.

Emery's bees, Ligurian.

Right.

Well, I'll try to find out
who keeps Cyprian bees in town.

In the meantime, listen to this.

That passage in the Bible,
the page with the candle wax on it?

It's Romans 7:7.

'God forbid. Nay, I had
not known sin but by the law -

for I had not known lust,

except the law had said,
"Thou shalt not covet".

Covet, Charlie.

Covet.

Father Emery
wanted Father Morton's job.

Exactly.

Are these all of them?

All except for one.

Father Emery's
got Morton's last sermon.

He wants to read it at the funeral
as a tribute, I gather.

Well, this one,

he seems to be addressing
certain members of the congregation.

Listen. 'This Sunday's gospel
presents us with a parable

that, in certain respects, has
important contemporary relevance.

The parable
of the dishonest housewife.'

He goes on and on and on.

Doesn't name names.

Well, that could be any housewife.
True.

Listen to this one.

'The Corrupt Means of Getting Gain.

This is by taking that which does
not belong to us as our own,

also known as stealing.' It goes on.

'God has condemned this practice

and has declared that his children
should leave it behind

with the other works of the flesh.'

Ephesians 4:28.

I think you made a mistake
going into medicine, Doctor.

Mm, I can see it too.

The voice. The delivery.

Well, thank you so much, Mattie.

But the delivery wasn't the point.

What is the point?

I need to know if this sermon,
or any sermon of Father Morton's,

relates to one of our suspects.

Oh, not that I can tell.

But these don't appear
to be only sermons,

but notes that he's taken
on individual people.

Yes.

I mean, here for example.

I'm sure this says 'housekeeper'.

The housekeeper was diabetic.

Evelyn Toohey's diabetic.
I've treated her at the hospital.

Right.

And look, it says here,

'The housekeeper committed theft,
stole a porcelain doll,

her father took the blame.'

That sounds like Evelyn.
She collects porcelain dolls.

So it's fair to say, then,

that she may have confessed that
to Father Morton.

Now the sermons themselves,

the way they're worded,
I recall one about coveting.

Here it is.
Ah.

He gave that sermon
about four weeks ago.

And that's the one about adultery.

Right. Which was last week's sermon.

And the sermon that was
to be given next week was...

The Sanctity of Life.
Thank you.

So that's three
of the Ten Commandments.

Yes.

Thou shall not commit adultery,
thou shall not covet thy neighbour.

And the Sanctity of Life
could also be translated

as one of the other commandments -
thou shall not k*ll.

Yes, of course.

Thou shall not k*ll.

Right. Look at this.

Father Emery
coveted Morton's job, yes?

The Lloyds, well, Celia - adultery.

Evelyn Toohey, a thief.

Whoever k*lled Morton

must have known he was working
his way through the commandments.

And when Morton posted the topic
of what was to be that next sermon,

the k*ller knew that he or she
was next in line to be exposed.

And here's the thing.

That very sermon is about
to be read out at Morton's funeral.

So Father Emery could be...

Next.

So all of his sermons
were based on the Ten Commandments?

The most recent ones were.

So based on our theory, if k*lling
was the topic of the sermon,

whoever k*lled Morton
must have k*lled before.

Because they confessed their
first crime with Father Morton?

Yes. They had to stop him
before he gave that sermon.

Oh, I did a background check
on our suspects.

No, there's nothing on any of them.

Really? Nothing?

Well, there is one thing.

Uh, Dorothy Turner's husband, John.

He didn't die from the accident.

He d*ed a few days later,
from surgery.

Heart complications
from the accident.

Right.

Oh, and here's that list
that you wanted

with all the apiaries in the area.

There's only one beekeeper
with those Cyprian bees.

We need to find Emery.

He'll be getting ready to deliver
that final sermon of Morton's.

Whoever k*lled Morton

could potentially target Emery
at any point prior to the funeral.

And quite frankly, we could use
his help with this list of bees.

Dr Blake. What can I do for you?

Hello, Father.

Just a few more questions, really.

Um... some weeks ago, Father Morton
spoke about coveting in a sermon,

and I wondered, did he make
specific reference to you?

Because he thought
that I wanted his parish?

Yes.

Do you know 'Thou shall not covet'
is about the only commandment

which focusses on one's intention
and not on one's action?

I may have wanted Father Morton's
position, his parish,

but all I did
was write letters to Melbourne.

We found this, open,
over by the confessional booth.

I think someone wanted to make it
look like you k*lled Father Morton.

They'd been reading a passage
about coveting.

For someone who is
not a member of the congregation,

you certainly seem
to have studied your Bible.

I have the address of a beekeeper
who breeds Cyprian bees.

The same variety of bee
we found in the confessional booth.

I was hoping you might help me.

The Church
does not want to have anything

to do with this investigation.
Ah.

But...

..I need to know what happened
to Father Morton as much as you do.

Thank you.

And Dr Blake...

..don't let God go

because you couldn't hear him
when you needed to.

Don't let hurt decide your faith.

So the owner's been away
for the last week.

Yeah, yeah,
we've spoken to the neighbours.

I guess we're hoping to find anything

that looks...
well, out of the ordinary.

I'll point out anything that I see.

Thank you.

Cyprian bees.

Ah.

There's a lot of activity here
but nothing unusual.

What does that thing do?

Smoke. Keeps the bees calm.

But we will need to stay
relatively still and quiet.

No sudden movements.

Goodness.

It's fine, keep still.
That's what the nets are for.

Yes, of course.

Now, this lid
has not been replaced properly.

It's definitely been tampered with.

Yes, you see,
this hive is dilapidating.

That crowding is not usual
in a healthy, concealed hive.

Right.

Charlie?

No fingerprints
but there are finger impressions.

I'd say they were wearing gloves.

I'll take your word for it, Doc.

Ah.

Cigar ash.

Cigar ash, you say?

It's been used by an amateur
to calm the bees down.

Yes.

Charlie?

I think we have our k*ller.

There we are, Charlie.

I'll tell you, Lawson was right
about staying away from the church.

I didn't realise
we had an appointment, gentlemen.

Ah, Mr Michaels.

Don't suppose you happen
to have a cigar on you?

I have a long line of patients
waiting outside.

Surely you understand that?

Or perhaps you're not
in great demand as a doctor?

I'm told any amateur
going near an apiary,

having done their research of course,

will know that cigar smoke
calms bees down.

Bees?
Yes, bees.

The ones you took from that apiary
just outside town.

The same ones
you held in a glass jar

and smashed into the confessional
booth, k*lling Father Morton.

Two years ago, Dorothy Turner was
referred to you with a brain injury,

an injury she sustained after being
severely beaten by her husband, John.

Now, three months later,
he was involved in a car accident.

According to hospital records, you
were the surgeon who operated on him.

There's beeswax and resin
on these gloves, Doctor.

And imprints on the lid of the hive

which will no doubt
match your driving gloves.

Put yourself in my shoes.

I operated on Dorothy Turner
multiple times

to repair the damage
inflicted on her by that monster.

Yes, I understand -
he pushed her down the stairs.

No, no, no. First he b*at her,
then he pushed her down the stairs.

Then he stomped on her head,

and then he butted out his cigarette
on her arm.

That was the last
of a long line of injuries.

So you let him die on the table,

and then you confessed all
to Father Morton.

That is one helluva secret, isn't it?

When did you realise you were
in danger of being exposed?

I am a doctor.

I noticed his symptoms a year ago.

But when he started breaking
the secrets of the confessional,

I knew I had to act.

Thou shalt not k*ll.

Clearly, you didn't
consider the irony.

Morton was ageing.

He was going to die of that brain
tumour within a few months anyway.

Oh, I see.

So you just helped things along.
Is that it?

Mysterious ways, Doctor.

I am simply God's servant.

Mr David Michaels, I need you
to accompany me down to the station,

where you'll be formally charged

with the m*rder
of Father Cyril Morton.

Lawson.

I think you'd be very proud
of your Senior Constable.

Couldn't have found Michaels
without him.

Matthew.

What's going on?

I've been summoned to Melbourne
on disciplinary charges.

I'll be facing a Special Branch
Committee set up for such matters.

Apparently they've been
keeping an eye on me for some time.

Boss, I haven't been...

I said 'they', not 'you'.

An interim station boss
will be appointed in my absence.

Until then, Davis,
you're the senior officer.

Well done today.

Thank you, sir.

Yeah, hang on a minute.

Disciplinary charges?

Oh, it's shorthand
for police politics.

I've become inconvenient.

Well, I'll drive you to the station.

It's alright. I've organised
an officer to take me.

Oh, I see.

Well, I trust
you'll call from Melbourne?

Let us know when you'll be back.

Exceptional work, Lucien.

You too, Matthew.

Good morning.

You're up early.

Yes, I thought I might take a walk.

You know it's still dark out there.

Oh, best time of the day.

No-one else around.

Are you worried about Matthew?

Yes. Yes, I am.

I'll get you some breakfast.

Oh, I might walk first,
if that's alright.

Um, you know, Evelyn was telling me

she and Father Morton
didn't always get along.

But it didn't stop them
from being great friends.

Ah, that's true.

You know,
I was reading his final sermon.

He was talking about
the sanctity of life,

how that translates as
'live and let live'.

Mm.

We must respect the differing
opinion of one another.

Yes.

It's the differences
that make us interesting.

Yes, I know.

It's been a long time
since I was last here.

A funeral, in case you've forgotten.

It's alright.

I didn't come
expecting an answer this time.

Though I imagine Father Morton did.

Did he know he was losing his mind?

Did he kneel right here
and ask you for your help?

I'm sure he did.

And what did you give him?

A sign?

Or nothing?

All these children, your children,
begging you for help.

What father ignores his children?

You know I can't.

I can't.

Jack Beazley.
Hi. Mattie O'Brien.

Mum hasn't told you about me,
has she?

It's alright, it's alright.
You're just trying to hurt me!

No, no, no, I'm with the police.

How well did you know the family?

They were old money.
They barely spoke to me.

Albert Corrigan!

Hey.
Aghh!

He shows up at the same time
as the Dennisons are gunned down?

I thought we could have
a bit of fun. Sound good?

Your uncle seems to think
he might have been involved.

This isn't happening.

Those are family interests.

They were the subject
of a court case recently.

There was supposed to
be a suppression order.

I had it lifted.

A Vanguard ute, two-tone blue.