Okay, okay. How about this?
I heard a rumour that there's this beef farmer, not too far from here,
- feeding angel dust to his cattle. - Nope.
Okay...
What about an article on untreated sewage
- in the drinking water? - Nah.
- Nepotism in the council? - No.
A yoga teacher who is also running a brothel?
Emerson...
we need to give the locals
a reason to buy a local paper.
People around here couldn't give a toss if their water smells funny.
They don't question why their steaks are big and juicy.
Or why John Joe gave John Joe Jr the contract to cut the hedges.
Well, what do they want?
You tell me and I'll write it.
In a small town, not more than 50 miles from here,
there was a robbery in a post office.
Now, tomorrow,
their local paper is going to run a story on it.
It's a cracker. I presume you've heard.
No.
9 am.
A guy walks into the post office.
He's all alone in the place.
- Well, apart from the tellers, right? - Teller.
There's only one working this morning
because her co-worker called in sick, so...
The guy that walks in,
is holding a fistful of helium balloons.
And when he releases them...
They float up
and cover the security camera.
Look who woke up.
Camera covered, the robber pulls down his hoodie...
And he pulls out a gun
and he points it at the teller,
whose finger is about to press the alarm.
"I didn't press it," she says.
"I know," says he.
"How do you know?" she says.
"Because you'd be dead if you did."
That's a nice line.
Totally invented by the fella writing the story.
- I'll tell him you said so. - Do!
So, with the gun pointed at her,
the teller grabs a big envelope and she starts to pile the cash into it.
And when she's done, she gives it to the robber. And...
And what?
And that's it.
He leaves with the money.
Now,
what have you learned from this?
- That stories need better endings than that. - True.
But think big picture.
That story is like something you'd see on TV,
not something that happens here.
That's what the readers want.
Guns, crime, twists, turns.
Not 400 words about their local yoga teacher
being a bit of a prozzie.
But most importantly,
good stories aren't something I can look out the window
and see for free.
Oh... what happened to the robber? Did he get caught?
There's only one way to find out.
You'll have to buy a newspaper.
www.subtitulamos.tv
Killing is like eating.
Put it off for too long,
and you become ravenous.
Where and when this all ends, who knows.
I only know that I've given Tom here, enough rope.
And he's decided to hang himself.
The man's had every opportunity
to prove that he doesn't deserve this.
That he shouldn't be the one to put a smile on my face.
And yet... nothing.
Only confirmation that a life must end.
Shut up! To fuck!
Shut up!
And that I get paid.
Hold on, Mammy.
He's your son. You deal with him.
He can say what he wants.
It's my land.
My cattle go wherever they like.
Hang up.
- He said what?! - Come on!
Stay where you are! I'm on me way.
- _ - All he did
was put off the inevitable.
His death, and my happiness.
- _ - Oh, I'm not done with Tom.
Not by a long shot.
Good morning.
I got your mail by mistake.
_
Do you have any Panadol?
I don't believe in taking pills.
Why?
- Do you believe in pain? - No,
I believe in paying for your fun.
Good night out with Mal?
I know.
He's attractive, and smart, and my type.
But he's with her now.
And I have bigger fish to fry.
Hey, do you fancy going on the hop?
It's just Hughie.
He keeps knocking me back.
What the hell is this?!
And who the hell wrote it?
- _ - So I thought, you know what?
I'll ask Elvira.
Thought you might inspire me.
Uh... post office.
Okay, I'll take a look.
Dad's collecting his dole.
I said I'd run him home.
Have you no shame, Ward?
Do you not care what people think?
Scrounging off the government like that?
Why not do something with your life?
Show some initiative.
You're right, Veronica.
You're absolutely right.
How are ya, Joan?
40/1. You got a tip?
No, it's all my own work.
- Some balls you got, Ward. - It's not balls, Joan.
It's initiative.
Touch me for luck?
Slan abhaile!
I'm owed and you're betting on the ponies.
Patsy, you know the drill!
All financial transactions are to be conducted in my office.
And I will see you, over there!
First pint's on me!
I'll tell you what, that horse is a dead cert.
It won't touch a twig.
You should have heard what she said to me, that Veronica Sloan.
You'd think my dole money was hers, the way she was acting.
- Somebody should really... - What, do something about her?
You said you were getting paid.
I also said we've bills overdue.
That's not even the price of admission.
There's eight quid over!
You couldn't get two pints for that!
Then buy three glasses.
What's got into you?
Anonymous hate mail.
The writer claims that I'm a...
"You're nothing but a third-rate reporter
working for a failed newspaper.
A sentimental hack with a limited vocabulary.
Your prose is laborious, with a grasp of..."
"A grammar so poor,
it would make a six-year-old blush."
Callum, you're six. Does Elvira's grammar make you blush?
"Each column arrives D.O.A,
with articles possessing the...
emotional resonance of instructions
on the side of a Lego box."
Whoa.
"You, Miss Clancy, make Maeve...
Binchy?
- look like..." - Dostoevsky. What do I do?
Bin it.
And let it eat me alive?
Buy it.
It will give you a lift.
Dad dropped 50 quid on a horse today.
50 quid, we don't have.
Our English teacher, Mrs Bourke.
- You think she wrote it? - No!
She made us write an essay once.
You got 62%.
Flipped. Do you know what marks I got?
Less than 62%.
You always took that stuff in your stride.
I was too busy defending you.
I spent that week clattering anyone that said a bad word about ya.
And for that I'm grateful.
Yeah, well, I wish I hadn't.
We got names for ourselves.
Names we never shook. You...
The space cadet with the dead mother.
- And you... - The dumb jailbird with the dead aul' wan.
Wasn't there another one?
Callum, where's your baby brother?
Well, go get him then.
Christ on a bike!
Does babysitting pay well?
It does when you're on the dole.
It's definitely written by a man.
Oh my God! Did you not hear what I just said?!
Ignore it.
Do what you do best.
Which is what, exactly?
Write something so good this wanker never lifts a biro again.
- No letter talk, I said. - No, it's funny.
Why, 'cos it laughs at me?
No, it's full of tell-tale signs.
Look! Unusual penmanship.
That is basically a trail of breadcrumbs.
It's like our poison-pen friend
is begging to be caught.
If they wanted to be caught, they'd have signed their name.
They virtually have.
What use is it knowing that this person dots their I's funny,
or that their T's slant at an angle?
Where are you going? You're broke.
Who says I'm buying?
- Oh Dad, don't leave me like this. - You don't need me.
You're going to be in the box room,
chasing after your breadcrumbs.
They're all in there.
- Go find him! - No, no... the box room?
Thank you!
It gets a bit wild in here on dole day, huh?
Nothing compared to when the children's allowances comes out.
Now what about you? Are you going to get up and sing?
I heard you do a pretty good "Stayin' Alive".
- Remind me of our deal again? - Drinks for a chat.
- A rum and coke, right? - Good man.
Someone's done their homework.
Ach, now Patsy!
I want my fiver.
Well, you're not getting your fiver.
You're getting a tenner.
- I just want the fiver. - I know...
But you give me a fiver,
and I'll give you a tenner.
Think of it as interest.
Good man, Patsy!
Right.
Where is it?
Oh, dole day. Dole day.
Right, Patsy, hop it!
There's a young buck here I need to school
on the ins and out of his new town.
- Now! - Do you know Patsy?
- Yeah. - Great singer.
- Gifted. - Cheers, Patsy. I'll catch you later.
- Now, about this story. - Yeah, it's about Kilraven.
You know, half the people in this town are on the dole.
And the other half, the good people,
- they work, right? - I don't.
No, no. You stopped working a few years back.
Listen, if you're going to write a story
about dole spongers by the sea,
please leave me out of it.
Why did you stop working?
It was... around the time that woman was killed, wasn't it?
That Austrian, or Swiss or...
- German. - German.
But I guess you already knew that.
See, I think you've been talking to Clive Cavendish.
And he's been putting ideas in your head.
I tell ya, it's a dangerous game.
You know the night she was murdered, she drank right here.
- You were here too, right? - Do you know,
people in this town get a bit...
testy when that subject is broached.
You're probably better off sticking with your dole-fraud story.
Well, Ward.
They're not the ones buying your booze now, are they?
_
Mam!
- But I didn't really know Maria. - Yeah, but you knew of her.
I knew she was a novelist, or something, you know?
She was heading home.
She'd a one-way ticket to Hanover.
Her handbag, her passport and her ticket were never found.
- Yeah, I know it's tragic. - Ya think?
Well, she was an outsider here. The people just didn't take to her.
Yeah, why was that?
Because they're fucking weirdos.
Look, take me through that night.
I heard you left after she did.
Look, I was blotto.
My head was this gaping abyss.
You see now, that's where I have a problem.
You see, up until that night,
- people say that you... - What people?
These fucking weirdos.
They say you were a quiet man.
Took no more than a few jars in your local and then...
I dunno. Something changed.
I wasn't the only one that was in here that night.
But you were here, and you were sober.
Well, Mallory and... uh... Hughie were here.
I'll get to them.
Yeah, but they're not going to tell you anything.
I tell you who you're better off talking to, Garda Mulcahy.
Yeah. I tried that.
No luck.
That's the thing about Rose, you see?
You scratch her back, she'll scratch yours.
Like a lot of people in this town,
I don't think she likes me.
Well I think you've got a fresh problem now.
Which is?
I drink faster than you ask questions.
On you go.
- I left at 11. - Maria was gone.
I went to the chipper, and then straight home.
And Elvira can confirm this.
- What, that I went to the chipper? - No, that you came home.
- Are you accusing me of something? - No, no, no...
I'm just trying to put together a timeline here, okay?
My daughter was going through a rough time back then.
Elvira... wake up!
She can't remember a thing.
Well, she seems way better now.
Yeah, well she's a work in progress.
Listen,
I don't want you mentioning any of this to her, ever. Okay?
Say I do...
what happens then?
Do I end up in the forest with a bullet in my gut?
As I said,
that's a dangerous game.
What is?
Putting ideas into people's heads.
Get yourself a wee drink.
Among all this banality,
there is a match in here somewhere
and I won't quit until I find it.
Does a "Mr. Stewart" live here?
Andrew's my husband, yeah.
Yeah, well, your husband has been writing to me.
Nasty letters.
- I don't think so. - The man is... sick.
- You've made a mistake. - Really?
I'd like to hear him say that.
You're right.
He is sick.
He also hasn't written in years.
- I'm sorry, I didn't... - Next time you try this,
you better be sure.
I've done this wrong.
Rather than look at how something is written,
I need to look at what is written.
_
Make Maeve Binchy look like Dostoevsky.
Peggy Brunswick!
As I said, intel is essential.
So it's time to see what Peggy fills her day with,
when she's not writing those delightful letters.
Anything else?
Hey, Toni.
Orders the same bowl of soup every day.
And takes over an hour to eat it.
- What's with the... - The hiccups?
She's had them for years.
Something to do with her heart.
Not that she has one.
Sorry, but fuck that old woman.
My first day here,
she goes on about how...
girls who have abortions are murderers.
And the worst part?
Not once has the bitch ever tipped me.
While Peggy plays with her soup,
I've got one whole hour to find what I need.
_
How did you get on with that letter?
I burnt it.
Jeez, I couldn't do that.
I guess that makes us... more different than I thought.
Dad... am I a good person?
- Where's this coming from? - I met someone today.
He's a real cool dude. Bill?
- He has down syndrome. - Yeah, Bill Butler.
He's quite the character.
Did you know that he goes out of his way to do an old woman's shopping?
Just made me think, you know,
that maybe I could be a better person.
I don't think Bill does Peggy's shopping out of choice.
- Really? - Yeah.
You see, the bauld Bill
broke Peggy Brunswick's window with a sliotar.
And poor Bill's mammy doesn't work.
So to pay it off,
Peggy makes Bill do her daily shop.
That's awful.
Yep.
That's me done for the day.
Elvira...
am I a good father?
You made me, didn't you?
I mean, doesn't that answer your question?
That... bitch!
- _ - "Third-rate reporter!"
"Laborious prose".
"A grasp of grammar so poor, it'd make a six-year-old blush!"
_
No, no, no! Can't be having that.
Sorry Peggy,
- _ - but this won't be
some half-assed suicide.
This?
This will be a work of art.
And there's nothing more artful than a letter from Peggy,
killing Peggy!
Like sit-ups and skate-boarding,
turns out forgery is a lot harder than it looks.
"Dear, Bill.
I turn to you in my time of need...
There's a job that needs doing,
so delicate, no one may know.
My affliction, hiccups,
requires an urgent cure.
A shock to the system,
that will make my life, finally, bearable.
I am enclosing 150 euro as payment.
The task is simply..."
"Wear a mask,
then on a night of your choosing, so that I'm unaware,
frighten me with a fright so frightening,
it would 'almost' scare me to death.
For this Bill, I will be forever grateful.
Your friend, Peggy."
She was heading to bed
and you came charging out of a room.
You gave her a shock
and she fell back down the stairs.
Is that what happened?
Peggy's obit, to die for!
I love you...
A girl can dream.
But a girl can also make those dreams a reality.
Killing is a race.
Not between you and victim.
But between you and God.
And I don't like to lose.
- Someone do something! - I think she's gone.
No, no! If she dies, I won't get to kill her!
Come on!
Well, at least those hiccups have stopped.
_
Shit.
Clancy?
_
- That was fast. - I've not read it yet.
Speaking of fast, how did you write it so quick?
- It just flowed out of me. - Yeah?
Well, I wish it hadn't.
Why, is there a problem?
Yeah... Peggy.
From day dot, she wasn't a fan of yours.
She made it clear that as long as you worked in this paper,
she didn't want you writing her obit.
- I should have said! - But...
I tried to save her life!
You know what old people are like.
So who's going to write it then?
Does that mean I won't get paid?
Hughie, I'm broke.
And now deeply depressed.
Sorry, Clancy.
No pay if you're not in the paper.
Is there anywhere else you can get some cash?
Something's up.
My letter should have arrived by now.
- Morning, Bill. How are you? - Morning, I'm good!
Oh, come on!
I posted it four days ago.
Letters arrive, when they arrive!
Now keep your voice down.
Have... have you been drinking?
Oh, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
Excuse me?
- People are looking. - So?!
Who's next?
Him... if I have my way.
Well, Veronica.
'Tis younger you're getting.
This is my favourite part.
"Poorly written and lacks any sort of meaningful content."
Oh... sorry, Elvira.
I got your post by mistake.
It's just Hughie messed up again.
_
Wow, this concerned reader seems really concerned.
Our readers pay our salary, Kate.
Their concern are our concerns.
Peggy posted this the same day
as I posted my letter to Bill.
Who happens to be a nice kid,
only nice doesn't pay the bills.
My money comes home with me!
Before writing obituaries,
I like to grab a word with the nearest and dearest.
Since Peggy didn't have any family,
ye're it.
So, anything you'd like to add?
Peggy was a bitch!
He never talked like that before he met her.
That bitch!
Can you quote him on that?
You agree with him?
Worst person I've ever met.
- Wasn't she Bill? - A total bitch.
Okay, but...
I suppose I like to dig deeper.
- If someone dies and they were... - Despised.
Well, there's a reason for it.
You really want to know what made her so messed up?
Absolutely.
The reason she was horrible was...
- Hey, I'll get that. - No, I'll do it.
Hear you're into hurling.
Bill...
Oh my God!
Wait 'til you see this letter!
I get so many mental letters.
What is it?
She's named Bill as a beneficiary in her will.
- I get her money? - Her house.
Which means... whatever happens to me,
you'll be okay.
About that stuff we said.
Peggy was a saint.
And we'd hate for anyone to think we thought different.
Oh, but my job is about being truthful.
So painting Peggy as some saint...
Which she was!
I'm sorry, but we won't have a bad word about her.
_
Relax, Patsy.
You'll get your money.
Not outside, give it to me in here before we go.
I'll give it to you in here, right?
- Now, will you get off me back. - Just, I'm asking...
Put everything in an envelope.
I'm all out.
- Well, a bag then. - Sorry, scumbag.
I'm out of those too.
I read about you.
Say something?
I was just saying, you shouldn't let her talk to you like that.
What do you want me to do, pop her?
Bit more work for the daughter!
You're telling me to kill her?
- I didn't... I didn't say that. - What kind of a town is this?
Look, I'm a thief, okay? Not a murderer.
D'ya know what, bud?
Maybe you're right.
Maybe I am a killer.
What did you say?! Well?
I said, there's somebody behind you.
No, nah, nah.
What am I supposed to do now Ward, look!
Patsy, can you not see I'm a bit busy at the moment?
But I need my money.
Look...
40/1 shot, dead cert. There you go.
What?
No!
Where's my money?
- Is he okay? - No.
I asked him if he wanted a drink.
- He said he'd have a coffee. - Jesus.
Thanks for staying with him.
- I really appreciate it. - Yeah.
Do you mind if I stay a little longer?
It's a cool story. I want to see how it ends.
Hey... how are ya?
God forgive me for the things I said about Tom Quigley.
That man's a hero.
He did what anyone else would do.
Yeah, but if he wasn't there...
- You mean if I had killed him. - I'd be dead.
- He saved my life. - Yeah, well...
It looks like he saved his own life too.
And that Veronica Sloan. Do you know,
she pulled down the shutters on her window.
That cow acts like every penny in that place belongs to her.
Of course, she does.
Because she's stealing from it.
That envelope reeked of glue.
Give me two ticks. I'm just gonna see this race.
What's with the look?
- Oh, just something Dad said. - About the robbery?
Huh, which one?
Come on, Emerson, take the bait.
Shit... The teller.
There you go!
The one who acts like every penny in the place belongs to her?
- Look, I know you need this. - Well, there's an understatement.
- But... I don't like gossiping. - Then consider yourself a source.
Everything is strictly between us.
Come on!
I'm already doing a story on the robbery.
This is the cherry on top. It's the perfect ending.
- The locals will love it. - Of course, they'll love it.
- Just tell me. - Come on, to me!
Have there been rumours that this Veronica person has been stealing?
I don't believe it!
Good man, Ward. That was some tip, boy.
A stunning performance...
Yeah, well done Patsy.
I couldn't be happier for ya.
I was wondering when you'd call.
Where's the photographer?
You are here to talk about the robbery,
right?
Well,
- it depends, Veronica. - On what?
On which robbery we're talking about.
Make it quick.
I've a story about to go.
- On Maria Riedle? - On someone stealing money
from the people of this town.
We're talking 20 grand over ten years.
Have you talked with this criminal mastermind?
- She admitted everything. - She?
Said she did it right under everyone's nose.
Now, when people read this story, they'll ask,
"How did this happen?"
Then they'll ask, "Who let it happen?"
And you know who they'll point the finger at.
You want to make a swap.
Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, you'd publish it.
I'll hold off. Give you time to...
get the jump on me.
And in return you want...?
The DPP file.
For Riedle?
No chance.
- It's in a vault. - Was.
'Til last year.
How do you know that?
On the sly, Cold Case are taking another look.
They digitized the whole file.
A file I'd really, really love
for you to print off for me.
I could lose my job.
Or with what I'm about to give you,
you could help your job.
Do you know, you remind me of someone.
Oh, cool, who?
I can't remember.
But they annoy the shit out of me.
- Well, that's not very nice. - Oh, and neither are you.
Now...
does this thief have a name?
Veronica! Open the door.
Ah, Veronica.
Another problem?
With Veronica's obit?
No.
It's a solid piece of work.
You tell the reader, without telling the reader,
that this was a complex and lonely person.
I kinda feel for her.
Veronica's life was a cry for help.
Hopefully, when this town reads it, they won't see...
a monster.
They'll see someone who did bad things, but had their reasons.
Veronica had unmet needs,
needs we can't understand.
and... and, if stealing helped that, then,
- it's a price worth paying. - Right.
I can't understand
why Veronica killed herself.
Call me old-fashioned, but she was a tough cookie.
It's always the last one you suspect.
I dunno.
It feels off.
Veronica doesn't strike me as a suicide.
I'm sorry, Hughie,
but that's kind of an insensitive thing to say.
Not if it's the truth.
Hold on.
I'm not done.
Emerson's in a bad way.
I think he blames himself for going too hard on Veronica.
- Can you have a word? - Oh, I don't think I...
Please. This is...
your kinda thing.
- Suicides? - The bereaved.
And right now, Emerson is grieving.
I think we look at death all wrong.
I think we should look at it as freedom.
Talking to families, after a death,
they always say something like:
"They're finally at peace." Or, "At least they're free now."
Give them time. They'll tell you how much pain this person was in.
Because everyone's in pain.
And Veronica,
she was no different.
You didn't hurt her.
You freed her.
She lived in fear. The shame of being caught.
And now that fear is gone.
That's how you need to look at it.
That's how I look at it and...
it works for me.
I'm not cut up because of what Veronica did.
- No? - No.
I can tell you this, right?
Yeah... you can tell me anything.
Veronica made her own decisions, right?
To steal. Then to end her own life.
- Exactly. - That's not on me.
- No, it's not. - No.
What bothers me is...
That it took someone dying for you to write something this good.
- You've read it? - Twice.
- And? - It's the best thing I've read in yonks.
So that's what's bothering you.
That you benefited from someone's death,
- and it made you feel... - Happy.
Don't worry.
I won't tell anyone.
Not even, Mal.
No, I already told Mal.
Really?
What did she say?
That I should talk to you.
That no one gets this stuff better than Elvira Clancy.
At least someone's getting some!
Oh here, I got you something.
For me?
Can you afford this?
Oh, what am I saying? Of course, you can.
Not anymore, I can't.
- I lost the babysitting gig. - What happened?
- That little shit Callum. - That we took shopping?
Squealed to his Mam.
I had his baby bro doing a little
"off-the-books" retail therapy.
- Including this. - I taught him everything I know.
But that's not even the worst part.
His mother reported me to the dole.
I might have to get a real job.
Look, I've had a good week, if you need cash.
Nah.
I got an upgrade on my phone.
Found a dude who wants to buy it.
That lippy was to cheer you up.
Looks like you don't need it.
I took your advice.
About the letter.
Ignored it,
went home and wrote up a storm.
Good for you.
- You're not sticking around? - Gotta bounce.
Celebration drink with Emerson.
He's had a good week too.
I used to be able to hear Sandy scream.
That memory is fading now.
That must be how this goes.
Still, new memories are forming.
Better memories.
Memories I could only dream of.
Changed your mind?
Sorry.
- I thought you were my friend. - Not yet.
Do you come here often?
I do. Every day.
Even that day Mr Benson fell.
Oh no... no, no, no!
I can still hear him scream.
Seeing him fall like that...
It plays in my head over and over...
I'm sorry, do I know you?
Not yet, Elvira.
But we're going to do something about that.
See you around.
Not if I see you first.
_
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