_
Jesus!
Tell him to sit.
He says to sit.
Now, I'm owed.
It may be buttons to him, but it's a fortune to me.
He says he's owed.
You said you'd have the field done in a day.
Weather permitting.
It depends on the weather.
Fuck the weather! You're not getting a penny.
- _ - What's he saying?
_
What's he saying now?!
_
- _ - Tell me what he's saying!
He says that the safety is on.
Daddy won't pay.
Then Daddy should shut his eyes.
_
You're even, right?
My trip here tonight? That's overtime.
I'm keeping your father's rifle.
That should make us even.
Wait!
_
I asked him...
if he would've shot me.
_
No.
He said he would've given me the gun,
and asked me to shoot you.
He said all I had to do,
is make it look like an accident.
And then everything would be mine.
_
I'm sorry...
_
I'm sorry, I can't hear you.
It's time you learnt to speak for yourself.
Like I just did.
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_
Emerson!
Emerson...
You'll get me kicked out!
Ah, yeah...
Sure I can do that.
_
Mal looks on the outside, like I feel on the inside.
What gives?
Now! Thank you. Enjoy!
God, that looks good.
- Oh, wanna swap? - I'm a vegetarian!
Well...
You do this every time we go out, I expect it. Gimme.
I seem to have a habit of stealing what's yours.
Is she talking about who I think she's talking about?
It's just a piece of meat.
Remember, it's on me, yeah?
Really?
I thought it was on those two auld lads who left the chip pan on
- and burnt their house down? - Mal!
I'm joking! You're very good to me.
Yeah, well... you're good to me too.
- Yeah, right. - Course you are.
Okay, then...
what's the nicest thing I've ever done for you?
I knew it.
- There is nothing. - You read my novel.
The girls at school got their hands on it.
Read one page and took the piss, but...
you quoted lines from the very last chapter.
I liked it.
- It let me into your head. - It was terribly written
- and deeply morose. - It made me jealous of you.
You were super smart.
- And I was super... - Hot!
Which I was jealous of.
And by the way, you're plenty smart.
Smart enough for Emerson?
You two have more in common than we do.
He thinks your writing is class.
- Yeah, right. - And ye have journalism.
- Whereas we have... - Sex.
Which I'd take over a Pulitzer any day of the week.
She has no idea what a Pulitzer is.
Hughie, where are ya?
- Clive's garage. - Really?
It was open.
Open or not, what are ya doing in there?
Clive's laptop.
It belongs to the paper.
It's gone from his files.
And you think I know where it is?
You were his solicitor, Maurice.
You know where everything is.
Look, a member of your staff has it.
Emerson Stafford.
Christ!
And all the work on Maria Riedle, also with Stafford?
Uh-huh.
What are you gonna do with all this tat?
- Will I send it to your records room? - Ha!
No, no, no, no.
You said it yourself, Clive's work belonged to the paper.
It'd be a sin to see it go to waste.
- Here. - Finally!
My... really rubbish novel.
What was your favourite part?
This whole novel thing.
- Why not call it a book? - Because it's a novel.
- What's the difference? - Between a novel and a book?
Well, for one thing, a novel is fiction.
So why do they call it the 'Booker Prize'?
I think Mal needs a win, so I'll give it to her.
My favourite part of your "nov-ell",
was when the little girl shot that deer.
George Slammon?
The drunk-driving kid-killer.
- What? What is it? - No way!
He's out!
Yeah...
Ten years, did seven. Good behaviour or something.
Didn't you and him...
No, his brother, Leonard.
He stole me smokes if I let him look at my tits.
What a monster.
- I never let him feel them! - No! George.
Over there having the time of his life.
He's a murderer.
He deserves a noose, not arcade games.
Yes! Come on!
Remind me never to make an enemy of you.
Ah, yes!
Finding my next victim has been torture.
And then the world places
a most deserving one right in front of me.
But I need to be sure, before I kill that...
Who is it?
Dad.
- Checking up on us? - Cracking up, more like.
What's up?
I need to bring up Maria Riedle with Hughie. But...
You can't tell him I told you he hired her.
Hence the call.
I'm hoping you'll use that big brain of yours
to figure a way around it.
Did I ever tell you I did an online course once?
In?
- Forgery. - What?
- They teach that now? - Yeah.
Maybe I can help you.
- I was looking for you! - I was looking for you!
Snap.
You first.
- George Slammon. - Yeah, I heard he'd got out.
- I want to do a prison system piece. - Right.
So I had a look at the obits for that father and daughter he mowed down.
This... Patricia Ripley who wrote them.
Any chance of a word? She seemed in the know.
Older woman.
Never met.
Talked via a PO box.
Right. So... that's odd, because,
I found this stuck to one of those obits.
_
It's just a bit informal, for someone you never met.
I don't remember getting this.
But "M-R" is...
that stands for Miss Ripley.
Yeah, she signed everything like that.
Well, whoever she is, I'd love her phone number.
If you have it? Unless...
- Unless? - Unless she's dead or something.
Well...
Oh, you wanted to see me.
- Ah, it'll keep. - Right.
Hello, George.
He's nothing if not consistent.
This prison story.
What's your take?
It's how good people do bad things.
Now, I just need Ripley's phone number,
whenever you have it.
- Drop it. - Drop what?
You're on Maria Riedle.
You think Buckley didn't do it.
No doubt you're writing some shitty book.
Well, it's a shitty book I'd love to keep you out of.
The sticky on that obit.
Maria worked for The Chronicle.
And you were seeing here.
I'm right, aren't I?
Off the record?
If you tell me everything.
- I'll want something in return. - Shoot.
There you go.
You have Clive's laptop.
This town is full of little birdies.
Well, there's something on it that I need.
So we're both on Maria Riedle?
That's fine.
The more the merrier.
The week she died,
- the Guards did door to doors. - Yeah.
The questionnaires are on the laptop.
They documented the names of every gun owner in the town.
Plus...
the number of weapons each owned.
And you want a copy.
Why?
Cos the rifle is the key to the whole thing.
Give me a reason why I should give you what you want?
Because I know what really happened in here that night.
Why Maria went into the woods.
Mallory stole her bag and passport.
Maria wanted it back.
Sorry, Hughie. Still a step ahead of you.
This thing is an iceberg.
And you've only seen the tip.
If you want to see the lot...
you'll give me what I need.
An hour spent typing and deleting.
What's stopping me from going through with it?
Don't give me this, "done his time", horseshit.
He deserves it.
Is work doing your nut in?
It's Emerson. He's doing a thing on prison reform.
Said I'd give him a hand.
That wee lad leans on you too much.
I think he takes the piss.
I wouldn't worry.
I'm not much help. I mean,
it's not like I've been to prison.
You should talk to your man George Slammon.
He's just got out of prison.
Ah no, that'd be a waste of time.
Why is that?
Yeah, well...
people like him can't be reformed, can they?
I think that's where you and I differ.
He killed a father and daughter.
- Technically. - What? The man was driving.
Under the influence.
Alcohol messes with your judgement.
People do things that are completely out of character.
And the last time I looked,
character matters.
Okay.
Dad...
are you drunk now?
I suppose I could be. Why?
Because it messes with your judgement.
So everything you've said, I can ignore, yeah?
It's your call.
It's not like I'm an expert or anything.
Yeah, that's for sure.
But I do know someone who is.
_
Sorry for the short notice.
It's fine. It's quite around here.
Come on in.
So... bereavement counselling.
My mother died the same day I was born.
I've never really dealt with it.
My dad rarely brings it up.
I think he thinks I blame myself for her death.
Whereas really...
I blame the hospital staff.
And by blame, you mean...
I want to strangle each and every one of them.
Do you feel depressed?
Like I'm going through the motions.
Like nothing really matters anymore.
And before you say it, I've tried every pill going.
They gave me blackouts. I've lost whole chunks of my past.
So I'm working on developing some coping mechanisms.
That's good to hear.
Grief can be an overwhelming emotion.
But it's important to know that you're not alone.
That it's okay to take the time...
Is forgiveness important?
Like...
how did you do it?
Let's keep the focus on you.
Okay.
Just... I came to you,
because you've been through this.
All I want to know is...
how did you forgive George Slammon?
Say it. Say I've not forgiven him!
Say every day he's alive, I'm dead!
True. I...
became a bereavement counsellor after what happened.
However, I also earned a diploma.
I'm here because I can help you.
Then help me... be happy.
Let's try a different tack.
Name your earliest memory of being happy.
Talk about pound-shop psychology.
Mad, what's missing from my mind.
Then it seems we have homework.
Next session,
I want you to tell me about a childhood memory,
that put a smile on your face.
Elvira, you're a writer.
Research your subject, in this case you.
Who'd have thought there were so many guns in Kilraven?
God knows what I'm looking for.
But thank you, Emerson.
Don't thank me, Hughie.
Tell me.
Right.
Shut the door.
Okay, look the simple fact is...
I killed Maria.
- Is that on the record? - Jesus Christ, Emerson!
I loved her!
Do you love Mallory?
- Well... - Well, could you?
You know what you look like now?
- Me on my wedding night. - There's an image.
Well, don't do what I did.
Down tools.
And find yourself someone who you can love with all your heart,
no matter how mad they are.
Look how well that worked out for you.
Yeah.
You're right.
- Maria went into the woods... - Because Mallory stole her bag.
- Hughie, I know... - Because I paid Mallory to steal it.
Ah, Hughie no!
I just wanted to stop her from leaving.
And instead, I sent her to her death.
Now, I never thought that I would have the chance.
But this is why I have to solve her murder.
- And why this has to... - Stay between us.
I need to get to know George better.
Then I can decide his fate.
_
Die or live, George. You tell me.
Shit.
This is worse than prison.
Maybe he's still doing his time.
Just give me a sign.
Something that says you're sorry, that I mustn't kill you.
My God.
What type of man are you?'
Wait.
Are you the type that goes for a jog,
remembers the iron is on and runs back home to...
Hey! Who's there?
Show yourself, you coward.
You wanna kill me, is that it?
Pay you back for what I've done?
What are you gonna do, shrug me to death?
That yokes dangerous, you know. It's modified.
Do you even know how to use that?
Sexist pig!
But no, I don't.
I mean, is this thing even on?
Hey!
Fuck!
Missed!
_
Look at you, getting good at this.
Doh!
I missed.
I wouldn't be so sure about that.
My happy memory.
You don't give up, do you?
I should be jumping for joy.
And yet...
And yet, nothing!
_
Stop any bad guys lately?
Thanks for meeting me.
This might sound odd.
But remember how I covered your dad for the paper?
His run for the council?
Now, don't get me wrong. I liked the man.
Tough.
Never claimed to be something that he wasn't.
- Yeah. - He should've won.
Only for his ties to the 'RA kept coming up.
I don't hear the word "allegedly", Hughie.
Well, for one of those articles,
your father brought me hunting.
He brought lots of people hunting.
Before heading out, I was presented with four rifles,
and told to pick one.
Now, I hadn't thought about that for years.
And then I came across something.
- Oh yeah? - Five years ago...
- Let me stop you there, Hughie, right? - No.
After the murder of Maria Riedle,
the guards went door to door.
- Yeah. - And they took stock of...
of every weapon, in this town and the surrounding areas.
But your father showed the guards three rifles,
not four.
Claimed he only ever had three.
Now, I'm not saying your dad did anything wrong. No.
But my question is...
was anyone else on this farm who shouldn't have been?
Somebody who worked here?
Came across a rifle?
Maybe took it?
No one came onto this farm,
that I didn't know.
So no one came onto this farm,
and took a gun.
Or rifle?
What's this really about Hughie?
I'm trying to right a wrong.
And I'm trying to finish a day's work,
so if you don't mind?
- Want some? - Oh no, thanks.
I'm on the job.
Did anybody ever tell you, you have a cracking bod?
The head's good...
but that bod...
You should do more with it.
He's as disgusting as his brother.
So, this obituary craic.
- You wanna know something George did? - Yes.
Maybe something that no one else knows he did?
He took it up the hoop in prison.
That's not something I can verify.
Verify?
Okay then.
Verify this.
George did that to you?
I knew it! He did deserve to die!
No. George gave me a kidney.
Say that again?
Kidney failure since I was a nipper.
George gave me the greatest gift there is.
A second shot at life.
I guess bad people do good sometimes.
Shouldn't you be writing that down?
Hey, do you wanna make an easy ton?
George's eulogy. You could write it for me?
- I wouldn't know where to start. - I just want to sound good.
- I'm not a fucking magician. - Pick a friend, yeah?
Write about her.
- I don't have many friends. - Great.
Imagine her dead. Then write about it.
I'll do the rest.
This morning as I made my way here from the rectory,
I thought about how Jesus, in order to save the life of a sinner,
declared, "Let he who is without sin,
- cast the first stone." - _
Which is ironic really,
considering the first time I met wee George,
he was throwing several stones at me.
Letting Leonard speak,
not a good idea.
The man's a header.
He might surprise you.
In fact, it might be the best thing I've ever written.
Now Leonard, George's brother,
would like to say a few words.
Saved by the bell.
Perfect.
The last thing they hear before George is six feet under,
is what a monster he was.
George Slammon took it all from me.
My husband.
My child!
And my life.
- He was... - Tell us what he was.
someone I thought about every day
for the last seven years.
And every day of those seven years,
I thought about what I would...
say to him.
And now it's too late.
But if I got the chance...
If I could speak to George...
- I would... - Finally!
say...
I forgive you.
Say that again?
I forgive you, George.
No you don't!
Rest in peace.
Sit down, morons!
Sit. Down!
Good man yourself.
- How's the girls? - How's yourself, Ward?
What are you doing here?
Good, aren't they?
- Who? - The working classes, look.
Throwing a couple of bob behind the bar when one of their own dies.
Course, it's ironic,
the guy that knocked Slammon down...
They found someone?
Yeah.
A drunk driver.
There's a few round here happy about that.
But not you.
Two wrongs don't make a right, love.
George didn't deserve that.
Sorry, excuse me...
I need to get the fuck out of here!
- Come on. - But it's just getting started.
Jesus, it's a funeral, not a music festival. We're going.
Have you ever heard the like!
The man slaughtered her family and she gets up and says that!
- I thought what she said was lovely. - Lovely?!
Are you serious? The man deserves to rot in hell!
Eh, it's not that simple.
- I'll think you find it is. - Elvira!
Letting him off like that.
- Elvira? - What?
- Uh, well... - What?!
George didn't do it.
- Yes he did! - No, he didn't.
- He did. - I said he didn't!
Mal, don't say anything else, okay? Not a word.
It was Leonard, Elvira.
No, it wasn't.
He was driving, not George.
When George got home, he said he'd take care of it!
With Leonard's health,
he knew he wouldn't last two seconds in jail.
And George took the rap.
Now Leonard swore me to secrecy, so swear you'll do the same!
Why didn't you tell me this before?
- Why should I? - Because then I wouldn't have...
Killed him.
Been so cold to him in his obit.
You weren't to know! It's not your fault.
A good man died. This is on Mal!
Still... for her to forgive anyone like that, it's nuts!
You really think that?
Yeah, of course I do.
Then... what about me?
What about you?
Say I did something like that to you,
would you be able to forgive me?
- Like what? - Hypothetically!
Say I did something to you. Awful.
And I couldn't bring myself to tell you what it was.
If I asked your forgiveness,
would you give it to me?
I'd need to know what it was.
- So you couldn't? - That's not what I said.
- What did you do? - Okay. How about this.
- Go on. - I know, I cockblocked you.
- Cock-what? - So take him then, yeah?!
- Take who? - Emerson!
- He's all yours. - Wait, what do you mean?
I mean then we're even.
And I can stop feeling guilty.
- Would you listen to yourself! - Do you like him or not?
He's a friend and a colleague.
- Mallory, you've lost it. - Just have him, go on.
Then we're even and I can forget about all this.
- Mallory, I don't know what you did! - Oh please Elvira,
- just fucking forgive me. - I can't forgive you
for something I don't know!
This is your last chance.
- Oh is it now? - Yeah.
This is how it's gonna be.
I can go home...
and tell him to leave.
Or I can go home and do things to him that'll mean he'll never leave.
Your call.
You know what, Mal?
Go home and do what you do best.
Okay.
I offered.
Now we're even.
You've blown this out of proportion.
We're going to talk this down to drink, right?
Talk it down to whatever!
Only get your own damn man!
Just so you know, the Booker Prize
is named after the company that sponsors it.
It has nothing to do with books.
Oi! You owe me money.
You wouldn't give us a hand, would ya?
I poured my heart into those words.
Words I never got to say.
Tough titty.
I'm not paying.
The wrong brother died!
- We need to talk. - No!
We need to laugh.
You're always blabbing about how fab her writing is. Well...
Here's a chance to read some more.
- Elvira wrote this? - Yup.
It's pretty good.
For a kid.
She was seventeen.
It's awful. Now, read it to me.
"It's ironic.
For someone who loves death,
I can't remember the first one I witnessed.
Like literally,
I cannot remember my mam."
- Bless me Father, for I have sinned. - Don't be so smart!
That rifle you stole from Daddy back then...
It has history.
Where is it?
I got rid of it.
I was worried about my daughter.
Why?
I was scared she was gonna harm herself with it.
Hughie Burns is sniffing around.
Jesus.
He knows there was weapons on our land.
That someone stole a rifle.
- And what did you tell him? - Nothing, yet.
Aye, cos you can't, can you?
Your daddy was balls-deep with the Provos.
Last thing you want is anybody snooping around your land.
- You'll need to deal with him. - I'm an old man.
An old dangerous man, remember?
Deal with Hughie Ward,
or I'll deal with you.
"The first two shots hit,
but the third spun from the rifle
and flew into the dark and depraved woods,
where it struck a deer.
Evelyn was embarrassed.
She felt happiness, not grief.
Her father had never seen her this pleased.
Yet Evelyn was convinced that this fleeting feeling would not last.
That her life would be spent chasing it.
The deer still breathing,
her father took his hunting knife and ended...
the proud beast's life."
Hunting rifle.
Hello, Ward.
I didn't think you'd come back.
Most people don't.
I have a lot of lingering questions.
That's why I'm here.
Now, before we start,
I need a favour.
Okay.
In your job,
you visit people who have lost loved ones.
I've had new business cards printed up.
Could you maybe leave one behind after you called to a house?
I knew it!
What you said at George Slammon's funeral. It's lies!
You don't forgive him, because you can't!
My God.
You did whole speech thing to drum up business.
I believe in what I do here.
Your phone has been off the hook since, right?
I mean, I'll be able to fix my pain, but I can fix others.
- I gotta know. Just tell me. - I ask the questions.
Were you happy when Slammon died?
Answer me, and I'll never ask you again.
He robbed me of my life.
Now he's been robbed of his.
His funeral was the best day I've had,
in a very long time.
Finally!
If only the wrong brother didn't die.
So...
Your best day. When you were young.
I was 10.
I went shooting bottles with my father in the woods.
And? There must be more to it?
The therapy I'm proposing is about triggering good memories.
How about going back into those woods?
And shooting bottles?
No, I don't...
Wait, I...
I already tried that.
Holy shit!
You did? When?
I was...
19 maybe?
You're remembering this now, for the first time since?
I thought it might make me happy.
But I just felt the same. I was off my head on meds.
Elvira, take a deep breath.
Inhale through your nose.
I decided...
cos it didn't work,
I'd kill myself.
Think back.
Tell me exactly what happened.
Focus on your breath,
and the feeling of the chair beneath you.
Close your eyes.
I want you to describe what you're seeing in your mind's eye.
Let the memories come to you.
Oh, thank God!
Mal saved me.
No...
No!
Elvira...
Leave me here. I need to see what happens next.
Elvira...
So that's what Mal wants forgiveness for.
What happened?
My friend...
Go on...
She left me for dead.
And how does that make you feel?
Like killing that bitch, that's how.
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