Previously on Obituary...
There are some people in town who think Hughie didn't do it.
I'm going to make the real killer crack.
What a pathetic way to go.
Not one thing in your pocket but a betting slip.
Alma Birch, my mother, owns this newspaper,
which means soon, bone cancer,
I'll own this newspaper.
Done... for...
Not done for, Dunford.
"For over three decades,
Agnes was the heart behind this paper's obituaries.
Agnes is survived by her brother, Michael Dunford."
Tell your mother to drop the embezzlement charges against me,
without them I'm on release.
Albert threatened Denis's ma,
he's gonna hurt her if Denis doesn't give me up.
Fine! I'll write the story
and he'll come after me.
I'll lure him here and then we'll...
Kill him.
I'll sort this place out.
This whole thing stinks.
I don't know what it is but something is off here.
Guess what,
Mrs Birch came good.
Good to have you back.
Good to be back.
How was your little break?
A little too long for my liking.
Says the actress to the bishop.
You wanted to see me?
No more sneaky smokes in the building.
Use this instead.
What's next? No dirty jokes?
Actually, there has been a complaint.
Let me guess,
that old dragon from behind the death desk?
She's probably watching smut.
Considering her fading eyesight,
that'd be pointless.
Just finishing this email.
May I?
_
Ta Time with Hannah Eustace!
Welcome back, folks.
Today I have the pleasure of speaking with Agnes Dunford.
Now Agnes, the obituary my listeners are most excited about is...
- My own. - Have you written it yet?
My successor will write it.
Then the person who follows them will write theirs, and so on,
until the end of the world,
or we stop printing papers.
What if the work were to dry up?
You know, my listeners suggested
that you might start killing people.
What a grim thought.
Come on, Clive, tell us a real joke.
What's the difference between a genealogist and a gynaecologist?
The genealogist looks up the family tree,
the gynaecologist looks up the family...
bush!
Christ's sake, Clive!
The dirty jokes! What did I tell ya!
She's dead, you fools.
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Hey!
Hughie!
What do you want?
You're a murderer.
And you're lucky that's chocolate.
Fuck's sake.
Talk about embarrassing for you.
You said the killer wouldn't kill again.
That Albert skipped town, there was nothing to worry about...
and that it was okay for her to go home alone.
Elvira can take care of herself.
It's like I've told this story a million times.
One more time won't hurt.
Albert threatened my mother's life.
He would've killed all of us.
Elvira saved us.
Thank God for Elvira.
She phoned me.
I had a look for her car, but I couldn't find it.
- That usual? - That I couldn't find a car?
That someone's car was stolen and they called you?
Well, considering the pig's ear you make of everything,
hardly expect them to call you.
Let's go over it again.
- Sure, I took the photos. - Yeah.
- I hid out at Ruby's place. - Which was my idea.
Elvira had no choice but to act because you lot botched it so badly.
Look around, this town's breathing a sigh of relief.
As you should be.
I was beginning to think you'd never call.
Denis and Oisín match up with everything you've said.
It's over, you've got your man.
Great. But I still need help
shaping his motive for Ruby's murder.
That would be confidential information.
So would me mentioning your connection to Albert in my article.
What connection?
He fed you info about other dealers.
Ten arrests made last year, all non-nationals.
- Impressive, Rose. - Fine.
Here goes.
Albert's laptop,
the guy was a regular poster on a forum called Celtic Cross,
knock off Nazi website for overweight Irish men.
When he wasn't ranting about foreigners on his turf,
he spent his time attacking the mainstream media,
mentioned The Chronicle a lot.
Print that
and in the minds of your readers this is case closed.
So, Albert and me, our little meetings...
I am the keeper of all that is hidden.
My paper, Rose, will reflect the outstanding work you've done.
Have a good day.
Poor cow thinks she's in the clear.
And you know what happens to people who think they're in the clear, Mick?
They fuck things up.
Whoever you are,
I've found you the perfect fall guy.
So quit while you're ahead.
And move on.
_
He wants to keep me out of harm's way.
Ever since Albert,
he's been saying the same thing over and over.
I should've been here.
Do you hear me?
I should've been here.
What, so you could help me kill him?
- You don't want that in your head. - Try me.
There's more blood than you think.
Piercing the skin, that's easy.
- Muscle on the other hand... - I meant...
how did it feel?
To take a life?
Everything became a frenzy,
like...
time was fast-forwarding.
And after he was dead,
I closed my eyes and opened them
and I'd be on the other side of the room.
Were you scared?
I felt...
in trouble.
Do you feel guilty?
It was him or me.
- Do you feel okay now? - Yes.
Because you're here.
There's something else.
Something only you can know.
During the whole ordeal,
there was a moment...
I can't pinpoint it but...
What was it? What was it?!
I felt like...
Like...
God!
Exactly.
Elvira! Elvira...
Hey!
I got a heads up from someone at the supermarket.
Someone said Hughie collapsed, they thought it was a heart attack.
- And? - No, he's fine, he's fine.
He probably won't open the door to me, but...
I should visit him.
Hughie needs to go.
_
Saying goodbye to your editor is a traumatic experience.
For all his flaws,
our editor was the guiding force behind the Chronicle,
known for his sharp intellect and keen eye.
But what truly set him apart
was his ability to nurture talent.
This is a cutthroat business.
He made us see that everyone must fight
for their place at the table.
Especially me.
Before finishing up here,
I thought I'd get to make some grand editorial gesture,
like in the movies, you know?
And what in tarnation does that have to do with you,
you might ask.
Well,
Rose's quote puts you over the top.
Legal is content.
Your article tying Albert to the murder goes to print this Thursday.
- And? - And right before it does,
I'll inform the staff that you're the paper's new editor.
Now, if you don't mind,
bow your head, please.
Got it made in case I had to stay on a little longer.
_
Now, one more thing.
Your very generous salary
means that a staff member will have to go.
First order of business Thursday,
you'll terminate someone.
Kate will get a great reference.
A toddler covered in chocolate could do a better job than Kate.
However, she gives me the wiggles. So no.
Kate stays.
Who'd you have in mind?
You can't make me do that.
I'm sure you'll see Emerson gets a great reference.
- I refuse! - Think of the alternative.
If I don't give you this job, I'll give it to him.
Ask yourself,
can you risk that he won't fire you?
Now... avanti.
For all her flaws
our editor was the guiding force behind The Chronicle,
known for her sharp intellect and keen eye.
Spin! Fuck it!
But what truly set her apart
was her ability to nurture talent.
This is a cutthroat business,
she made us see that everyone must fight
for their place at the table.
Especially me.
How you feeling?
- Tip top. - Keeping busy?
Well, if you must know, I just finished reading a book about serial killers.
Did you learn any tricks?
The book is from the perspective of their wives.
Those poor women.
Living under the same roof, sharing the same bed as a murderer,
you don't get over that.
Wouldn't wish it on anyone.
Look, I need a favour.
Agnes Dunford's email password.
- You're the only one who has it. - Why do you need it?
- It might be nothing. - Then why are you here?
- Because you have the password. - Which you need.
Right.
- And I have. - Also right.
Then let's stop beating about the bush.
Is that what we're doing?
- I'll give you the password. - You will?
- You just have to beg me for it. - Beg you?
Beg me.
As in... on my knees?
Don't be dramatic.
In your own time.
- Hughie... - I'm all ears.
I beg of you...
May I have Agnes Dunford's email password, please.
No problem.
Thank you.
When you admit that you sent an innocent man to jail
and that your career is built on a ten-foot-high pile of lies.
Good to see ya.
Denis...
- Denis, give me something. - I told ya,
that password can't be cracked.
Either he gives it to ya, or you're fucked.
"Beg me."
I fucking did it!
_
Agnes Dunford...
_
He kindly offered to administer my diabetes medication.
Ward!
My God.
Alma Birch in the flesh.
Kind of.
Power takes many forms, but...
is this one of them?
This is Emerson, leave a message.
- How's she looking? - She'll live.
That's the whole idea, isn't it?
Well, I'm running life support, not a charity.
I'm sorry, okay?
Next week's pay, I swear, will be on time.
You'd better hope so.
So, Vivienne is keeping Alma alive.
This changes everything.
- Wowzers. - _
In my line of work,
this stuff is the holy grail.
I know you're eager to get me on my knees again,
but I'll remind you this isn't prison, Hughie.
Listen carefully, Emerson.
I know who killed Maria Riedle.
This again.
It's the same person who killed Sylvester McHugh
and Veronica Sloane.
Your list keeps on growing.
- Well, here's a new name to add to it. - Who?
Agnes Dunford.
She's been in a coma
- for months. - _
- And yet here she is, - _
- all that time, - _
writing her weekly article.
Vivienne's been impersonating her.
You know what that sounds like to me?
Leverage.
Let her ask her own question. Let her know...
- Speak of the devil. - Firing Emerson,
I don't think so.
Bitch, have you been spying on me?
Of course not.
Well, then you're telepathic,
because I was just about to haul your hoop in here.
Just off the phone with our favourite killer,
the one with the room temperature IQ.
- Who? - The poor person's Harold Shipman.
His place, today.
- He's gonna spill. - You mean...
Hughie?
I mean that exclusive I've been chasing.
Be at Hughie's at 2:00, and when you get in there
I want all gas, no brakes, you hear me?
You need to nail this guy.
At least we agree on that.
And this time I want clean, pristine prose.
Your last obit was on the fuzzy side.
Never act in anger.
Now, outski.
First Hughie, then Vivienne.
I have to call my mother.
Hi.
Just thinking about you.
Are you taking your meds?
Each year I update the advance obits for staff members.
Just wondering if there's anything you'd like added to yours?
Something clean and pristine, perhaps?
How about...
what horrified her most
was fading into middle age
with nothing to show for it.
I can work with that.
Also...
she had a wonderful ass.
Hi. Feeling okay?
A fuckin' flat.
This stuff induces a nice, clean heart attack.
The beauty of it?
Undetectable in autopsies.
As I said, the holy grail.
How about over there, so I can see you better?
I made us a pot of tea.
Milk and three sugars, yes?
When I went into prison
I planned on getting swole.
Prison talk for putting on muscle.
Of course,
me fight for freedom kind of got in the way.
Back door parole.
It means someone who died in prison.
And then there's slop slot.
The slot in the door where they deliver food?
And of course...
looper juice.
Medication they give you when they deem you...
mentally unwell.
- How was it? - Not as nice as this tea.
I intended to take notes,
- practice my shorthand. - Like I taught ya.
- It's a dying art. - Yeah...
Then I thought, let's let it die.
You know, for the life of me, I can't figure out which of us is stalling.
You're right.
Let's get down to it.
Jesus!
It's that bitch with the milkshakes again,
nearly gave me a heart attack at the supermarket the other day.
Looks like banana this time.
I'll clean it up after you've gone.
Me new information's far more important.
What new information?
You're still claiming someone else killed Maria Riedle.
Name them.
I'll print it.
It's more complicated than that.
See, the killer killed other people in the town.
Along with Maria, they murdered Sylvester McHugh,
Veronica Sloan and...
Agnes Dunford.
From The Chronicle?
The Agnes I replaced.
What makes you think anyone would want to kill her?
I trawled through Agnes's emails.
Every week she sent one to her brother in Australia.
Agnes had diabetes.
It affected her eyesight, making it hard
for her to inject her medication. Thankfully,
somebody else started visiting
and administered it for her.
Yet,
Agnes told her brother,
her condition only worsened.
Because this good Samaritan was actually injecting her
with duds, placebos, whatever! Not her actual meds.
That's why she died.
And the only person to know this?
Was her brother.
Who stopped replying to her emails.
He had a stroke.
Only when he recovered did he read them
and discover what had happened.
The poor old man even went as far as getting on a plane
two and a half months ago and come here.
You know him...
as James Doe.
My James Doe?
I know him as Michael Dunford.
Okay.
McHugh,
Sloan, I can almost understand them.
Hardly the most popular people in town,
but why would anyone want to kill Agnes?
So you could replace her.
Funny, I thought you'd laugh at that part.
Let me get this straight.
You think someone killed Agnes Dunford
- so I could take her shitty job? - Elvira...
You never viewed that job as shitty.
You wanted it long before you got it, and when you got it
- you gave it everything. - Fine.
Assuming what you've said is true...
name them.
Who killed Agnes?
Are you expecting someone?
- It's open! - Who is it?
Hey.
Hey yourself.
Now, Elvira,
I want you to know
that Emerson's only looking out for you.
It was my idea for it to happen this way.
So did you get it?
Someone tell me what's going on.
- He didn't tell you? - Tell me what?
- I was waiting for you. - Tell me what?!
- Agnes's killer. - Well, go on then!
Get it over with, say it!
Please, for me,
would one of you grow a pair.
It was your father, Elvira.
- Ward. - He killed Agnes.
Dad?
And the others.
Have you got anything stronger than tea?
How about an email
from Agnes to her brother?
In it, she describes
how her diabetes has taken its toll,
causing her eyesight to deteriorate.
Thankfully a kind young man named Ward Clancy started visiting.
Ward's daughter, Elvira, wanted to become an obituarist,
so Agnes offers to review her work.
She was honest with Ward, maybe a little too honest,
saying your efforts weren't up to scratch.
Bitch!
Ward asked her when she intended to retire.
Agnes said you'd have to wait your turn,
she had no intention of giving up her job any time soon.
Even suggested that you look for work in the city or in England,
Ward's greatest fear.
She does end on a positive note, though,
saying that Ward now visits daily
to administer her medication.
And that all going well, soon, she'll be back to full health.
Nah.
- Elvira... - No!
- We should take a break. - This...
Whatever this is,
it still doesn't explain the others.
- Agnes took a break from the paper. - Maria replaced her.
Looked like it was gonna be full time, meaning no work for you.
Meaning Ward killed Maria.
And as for Sylvester and Veronica?
Well, I admit, I had a hand in that.
- It that's not, that's not true. - No, I made the call
to pay Elvira per obituary.
I had no idea work was going to get so slow.
Ward must've killed them so that you could get paid,
- so that you could survive. - You mean so he could drink!
Hey, look the man did what he did and he ended up paying for it.
- Dad got sloshed and drowned. - So we all thought.
Right, I didn't know where to start here,
so I just started with what we had.
This is the only item they found in Ward's pocket
when they discovered his body.
He placed that bet at 1:33
and the horse came in, it was a nice bit of money,
but he never claimed it.
So, I went down to the bookies.
Right, I took a chance, I tried to claim the money for myself.
And it took me a while to break down the woman who worked there
but she eventually told me why she didn't call the Guards.
Why would she go to the Guards?
- Just bear in mind... - Emerson!
He told her that if he won
but didn't come back that she could keep the money.
Dad never placed a bet
- without making that joke. - I know.
And I'm afraid it doesn't end there.
He asked her to check her phone,
he said he was running late and he needed to find the shortest route
to get somewhere.
- And the somewhere was...? - Saint Michael's Bridge.
The bridge Dad fell from.
Well, not to hammer home the point but...
check the back of that slip.
MD, 2 pm.
Michael Dunford.
And then at the bridge,
Michael confronted Ward about his sister.
They fought,
Michael pushed Ward over the ledge,
and into the water, and then he fled.
I'm trying to leave, but my legs won't work.
- Yeah, we're not finished yet. - But I am, finished.
Ruined, when this gets out, I'm...
- done for. - Not so fast!
Because there's a plan in place to protect you.
During his acceptance speech,
I'll have Patsy announce that he has new evidence
in the Maria Riedle murder case.
He'll call for the whole investigation to be re-examined
and declare Hughie innocent.
- Coming from an elected official... - Carries more weight than me saying it.
They'll have no choice but to look into it.
- That still doesn't help me. - No it does, it does,
because when they ask him where we got the evidence,
he'll say it came from you.
Right, now think how brave and honest you'll look.
Yeah, a woman exposing her own father like that.
Outing Ward and throwing your support behind me,
I'll be free.
Yes, your father's reputation will be tarnished...
- There's an understatement. - Jesus Christ, Elvira!
You're not listening! Ward was a killer!
Right, this, all, all of this, it has to end!
Look, look, I get it, I get it, I do.
Right now all you see is someone betraying your dad.
But, believe me,
look long enough,
and eventually all you'll see is someone protecting you.
Before I say something I might regret,
could you please leave, Emerson?
No, no...
That wasn't a request, that was a demand.
You're in shock.
Drink some more.
Accepting what Ward did will take time.
Look at that smug, fucking smug face.
No, no, no.
That's the thing though...
I can't accept it.
The truth will out, Elvira.
It was me, Hughie.
I did it to get paid.
I'm the murderer.
I killed them all.
Do you hear me?
I'm a murderer.
It's okay.
- It's not okay. - I'd do the very same.
Kill people?
Lie about killing people
to protect my father.
My God, you don't believe me.
I believe people do what they need to do.
I know I did.
So I understand where you're coming from,
and I will be here for ya.
Tell Vivienne I cancelled.
By the time she tries to send me back to prison,
the truth will be out.
You'll see, kid.
We'll be fine.
I know, it's a little early in the day.
What can I say,
I learned from the best.
More than that,
I think you taught me everything!
Just by being my father,
you gave me this darkness.
Darkness that I always thought meant
that if anyone got to know the real me...
eventually I'd have to kill them.
I'm not so sure about that.
Deep down, you knew the real me.
Do you think I'd kill you?
Don't answer that.
I'll have the man I want,
the job I want.
Rose will look like a fool.
And Hughie would be none the wiser.
Let Patsy make his speech,
and it's over, Dad.
Home free, in the clear,
out of harm's way.
All I have to do...
is let them blame you for everything.
I dunno.
Maybe if you were here to tell me what to do,
you'd say no.
But you're not here, Dad.
You got caught.
And I'm never getting caught.
Okay.
Well, what can I say, folks?
We're about to put another beauty to bed.
He's lucky he won't get the sack when I'm editor.
But before I press send on this week's edition,
I'd like to make an announcement.
If you're a leader without followers,
you're just a woman taking a walk.
That's right, I see you all as my followers,
with this paper as my church.
Alas, to quote Charles Manson,
"All good cults must come to an end".
- Let the coronation begin. - So...
as of today...
One second.
It's Mick.
Hannah Eustace from Krvin FM was killed last night.
Rose has opened a murder investigation.
About Emerson getting the boot,
I think when you hear what I have to say you'll change your mind.
Sorry, babes, looks like we're back to square one.
- What? - The gig,
- it's not quite yours yet. - No.
No, no,
I've had enough of these stupid fucking games.
Spicy, I like it.
Now watch this, you're really gonna like it.
Hey, fuck-sticks!
I've always wanted to say this.
We need to change our front page...
Stop the presses!
So much for Albert being my fall guy.
_
This is like that scene in a movie
where someone screams their lungs out in their car.
I've always hated that scene.
Two nights ago,
from sunset to sunrise, where were you?
- The night of the murder? - That's right!
Where were you, Elvira?
My father's grave.
The entire time.
Can anyone confirm this?
Anyone at all?
Gee...
talk about bad luck!
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