- sync and corrections by Mr. C - - www.addic7ed.com -
I just...
I don't understand how you can still love me.
Built for stamina, me.
Cormoran?
What's that?
You awake?
It's 9.40.
You've got clients waiting. I thought you'd want to...
I'll be five minutes. The alarm must have...
Can you offer them a cup of tea or something?
Yeah, we're on second cups already.
OK, offer them a biscuit. That always makes people feel special.
Right.
Reading it again?
So Daniel, I'm off.
I've done a letter for the HR people.
Don't try to dissuade me.
What's this about?
No, no. Please don't.
It's effective immediately, etc, etc.
Morning.
15 minutes late. Bet the army wouldn't let you get away with that.
If you didn't have such a good-looking secretary,
- I'd have left. - Good morning. How can I help you?
Hey, excuse me. I'm not waiting.
Robin, would you make up Mr Baker's final bill?
- But you're not finished! - We are.
I'm sure you can find somebody who doesn't mind having
a tosser for a client.
Come this way.
I need you to make a phone call.
One phone call?
I can pay.
Your girl said what your rates are, and if the call's not longer
than five minutes then I've already got the money on me.
My husband's gone off to a writers' retreat
and he'll have told 'em not to pick up to me.
So I just need you to get him on the line
and then I can tell him to come home.
Could a friend not do this for you?
My neighbour, Edna, can't do it because she's a woman.
He's gone off before, only this time it's been ten days
and our girl's missing her daddy and getting upset and we need him back.
Have you got the number for this retreat?
Bigley Hall.
He's always talking about that one.
What's his name?
Owen Quine. He's a very famous and good novelist.
Morning. I'm calling for Owen Quine. I know Mr Quine sometimes asks
for his calls to be screened, but these are medical test results.
So he really needs to take this one.
OK. Thanks.
He's not there. I believe them.
There's no charge. Sorry we couldn't help you.
I'll see you out.
No charge.
How's the day looking?
Well, surveillance on the Gunfrey place,
then I'm pulling town hall records on the Stokes while you see
Mrs Ingles in Chelsea.
And then at four o'clock, you're due to follow Mr Abingdon
from work, which I reckon will take about two hours,
which'll lead us to six o'clock and drinks.
Drinks?
With Matthew?
It's been pushed back twice. Please tell me you've...
Drinks. Great. Fine.
Could you text me Caroline Ingles's contact details?
Sure.
Can you find him?
I'm afraid we haven't the capacity to take on another client.
If you're worried, you could maybe try calling the police?
Yeah, they can trace phones and track bank card usage.
Things we can't do without breaking the law.
Yeah, but I called the police before and then he showed up in a hotel
with some girl and everyone got upset how I'd wasted police time.
I've got a photo of him.
His agent, Liz, will pay.
Owen's her best client. She loves him.
She can take it out of his next commission.
Please.
Absolutely not.
Leonora can find her own damn husband.
Excuse me.
End of flu.
It's been hellish.
And anyway, I fired Owen.
I'm not sure Leonora's aware of that.
Was there any particular reason for it?
Owen has written a very thinly-disguised slandering
of the people who have tried to help him.
He attacks his publisher, his editor, me, other writers.
It is a thinly disguised, nasty little allegory
that deserves nothing but burning.
And I say that as someone who loves books.
Ralph!
He's out with Beau!
Owen would like nothing better than for a search party to be sent
out to find him.
I shan't pay for his PR.
- Now, if you'll excuse me... - That's him there, isn't it?
Oh, yeah.
That's...
me, Quine, Andrew Fancourt, Joe North.
My first three clients.
You represent Andrew Fancourt?
- He sells a lot of books, doesn't he? - Mmm.
Out of the three writers, Andrew and I have parted ways and...
Joe's dead.
AIDS.
Do you think Quine might be staying with friends?
He hasn't got any left.
Well, he teaches creative writing, that supplies him.
What a phrase that is!
It supplies him with a fresh pool of wide-eyed sycophants.
I'm not sure he's very well.
I know, his poos are like boulders.
Get him some fibre.
And...
a mint tea.
For his bowl?
For my throat.
For God's sake, for the dog?
Apparently, he took a first in English at Warwick.
I'm minded to call them to check.
I won't waste any more of your time. Just a few more questions.
When was the last time you saw Quine?
We had lunch together.
We ate at Congreve's.
By then, I'd had some very angry calls from Daniel Chard.
I have never not read a manuscript before sending it off,
but just for once I skimmed a few pages and told Ralph to send it off.
Unforgivable.
I went to stay with a writer friend of mine, Dorcus Pengelly.
That's her real name.
Once I had read what the book contained, I fired him.
In the restaurant?
How did he take the news?
Poorly.
Before you judge me for that, I'll have you know
that I was one of the very few friends he had in this industry.
Have you met Orlando?
Is that the daughter? No, not yet.
She's sweet.
Had a hard start in life.
The state is niggardly with those needing more help than average.
Perhaps you've discovered that for yourself?
I hope you feel better soon.
It will tell my story, as all my books have done.
I draw upon my disagreement with Andrew Fancourt.
The end of a literary era.
I'm putting together a pack on Quine for you.
He's a very important writer, according to himself.
Those any good?
He's not a fan of short sentences.
I managed about ten pages then and had to take a break before I gave
myself a migraine.
Should I contact Liz Tassel about billing?
No, she won't be paying. I would like to help his wife,
but it will mean turning down some paid work.
Well, it's your business.
When we're out of debt...
I know you're worth more than I'm currently paying you.
It'll be a nice change, trying to bring a couple back together
instead of helping people divorce.
Yeah, I thought that, too.
Right, I'm off to Islington now.
Surveillance on the Gunfrey place.
I'll swing by Leonora Quine's first.
Can you make a start on those searches?
Will do.
Don't forget drinks.
I won't. See you at eight.
Six! We're meeting at six!
Six!
Leonora, dear, I really must...
Cormoran Strike, private investigator.
God, has it come to that already?
Jerry's Owen's editor.
He's one of the good ones.
Of course we all do worry about him.
You ring me as soon as he shows up, right?
Nice to meet you.
Did you smell the wine on him?
I got woozy just talking to him.
Nice he popped round, though.
Andrew.
Have you read it? Did he send it to you?
What do you want?
I fired Owen.
As soon as I read Bombyx, I told him it was despicable.
- I wanted you to know that. - I haven't read it.
Your dog is shitting on my lavender.
It's possible your husband is
seeking publicity for his new manuscript,
or he could be genuinely upset at being fired by his agent.
He's her best client, though. He's really good.
Liz came over to see him last week an 'all.
Back in the day, she chose him over Andrew Fancourt.
Why'd she go and fire him now?
I think he insulted a lot of the people she works with.
A hotel for ten days would be expensive.
Can you think of anyone he might be staying with?
He's had girlfriends as well as flings.
He always says, "That's that, no more," every time,
and I always believe him.
So, yeah. He's probably shagging some girlfriend.
And I still want him home.
You're stinking my flat out!
- Matthew, hi. - Cormoran.
- Who needs a drink? - No, it's table service here.
In a pub?
Matt comes here quite a lot.
Yeah, the food's all right. It's no Mango Tree, but it passes.
Mango Tree?
Yeah, Thai place.
- Any good? - Yeah, if Thai's your thing.
Did you watch the rugby?
No. What happened?
England Wales.
- Do you want to know the score? - OK.
England 16, Wales five.
Matt played rugby for Yorkshire under-16s.
Aah.
Do you play anything? Erm, like, did you before you...?
Oh, well, I used to be the European hop-scotch champion,
but can't do that any more.
Funny.
We'd like to invite you to...
In eight weeks?
Yeah, it's exciting.
So...
how long have you two been together?
Nine years. Yeah.
Yeah, we went to school together.
Yeah, she was the only half fit girl with a brain, really.
So I had no choice.
What about you? Have you got a girlfriend?
No, no.
Not for a while.
I might head to the bar.
We're working on a missing person's case.
Sounds like most of the work's watching married people cop-off.
I said to Robin, you should be called privates investigators.
That's not all we do.
We're actually quite busy at the moment, aren't we?
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Going to have to take on a new investigator.
How do you find one?
We advertise. Probably go with ex-police.
They tend to have useful relationships.
I'm going to go to the bar.
What can I get you?
Yeah, same again, please.
Yeah. Robin?
Oh, erm, white wine, please.
White wine and one of those Czech beers
and can I get a pint of that?
I felt a bit sorry for him, to be honest.
He's not an easy conversationalist, is he?
What's up with you?
Nothing. Just...
him talking about taking someone else on.
Yeah, but not for your job. He just needs another one of him.
Yeah.
I suppose I just thought I'd move up the ladder there.
I mean, I never bloody see you.
You bring in next to no money.
Fuck's sake.
I told you it would be tough at first building up an agency.
I'm pregnant.
Morning, Venetia.
Morning.
How did you...?
- It's on the invitation. - Oh.
I was conceived in Venice.
Good noodles at that pub.
I think I've got something.
You said his only friends were his students,
so I looked up the class he teaches.
They put out a publication each year showcasing the students' work,
with contact details and web links.
One of them has a blog about her erotic fiction,
full of cosy mentions of her and TGW.
The Great Writer.
- Her name's Kathryn Kent. - Sounds promising.
What did you think of Matthew?
Nice bloke.
Are you Kathryn Kent?
Yes?
I'm looking for Owen Quine. I thought he might be here?
No.
- Not a fan? - He can go to hell.
I'm an investigator. His wife's very worried for him.
Thought he might be staying with you.
You took his writing class, didn't you?
We were friends.
He said he'd write me into his new book.
And then he posted a copy through my door.
I hope I never see him again.
It's an odd one, though.
Sending it to his girlfriend, knowing it would hurt her?
It seems nihilistic.
It's like a suicide note.
Railing against a world that called your last novel
"sphincter-clenchingly awful."
Is that a real review?
That was one of the better ones.
I'm heading to Leonora's to ask some more questions.
Do you want to come?
I can't tonight.
Yeah, OK.
Oh. I've done the searches.
Might be worth asking about her husband co-owning
a house on Talgarth Road.
I know.
Yeah, but he never goes there. I don't even know if we've got...
It might have been worth mentioning, given he's been missing
- for nearly a fortnight now. - He owns it with Andrew Fancourt,
so he can't ever do anything with it.
Their mate, Joe, left it them when he died.
Sometimes they get it rented out to artists an' that, but mostly
Andrew won't let them make money off it, just to piss Owen off.
Here you are.
He won't be there. It's a wreck.
Did he leave you a copy of his new manuscript, by any chance?
Oh, yeah.
He left it for me by the front door.
He knows I'm not going to read it like that.
I only read 'em when there's a cover and it's proper,
even if he reckons it's good.
So he posted this into his own home?
I don't know. It was on the doormat. It was just sat there.
- I can't see any box-files for Bombyx Mori. - Oh, there will be.
He's always getting some idea and it has to go down before he forgets.
Apart from Jerry and Liz, have you had any visitors
since Owen disappeared?
His publisher rang, but he didn't come over.
People don't really.
Do they, Dodo?
Do you like to draw?
Yes.
And I take things.
Yeah, we talked about that didn't we, Dodo?
She pinches things and sticks 'em in her monkey.
Who's that man?
He's helping us find Daddy.
- I want Daddy. - I know you do, pet.
Say what you like about him, but Owen does a good bed-time story.
My name is Cormoran Strike.
That's not a name.
I was named after a Cornish giant.
Could I borrow this?
Go for your life.
Hey, babes, how was work?
The FSA are bringing in new regs,
so we have to get on top of that along with the client business.
I've had Mum on the phone complaining about a headache.
Is she all right?
Yeah, just short on attention.
That's a good-looking omelette.
Come on, then.
Robin, I'm going to Quine's house on Talgarth road.
Give Bombyx a read, would you? See if you can make any sense of it.
Cormoran Strike's office.
Yes, I am so sorry, he was detained on another case.
Yeah, well, he can still see you tomorrow.
OK, I'm so sorry about that, bye.
He's dead.
I found his body at that address.
- Police are there now. - Oh, my God.
- Does his wife know? - Police are there, too.
Really odd murder scene.
It's quite disturbing. Pictures are pretty grim.
Sorry.
Jesus.
It's demented.
Gutting someone and taking their intestines away.
You have to read this.
Look at the last chapter.
You finished it already?
I skipped to the end. I always do.
Read it. Go on.
The hero dies in exactly the same way Quine did.
Tied up, guts torn out.
It must be the grimmest part of the book,
and someone made him re-enact it.
Sorry, I'm just going to...
Hi, are you OK?
When?
Where are you now?
Right, I'll come straightaway.
OK. I love you.
Everything OK?
Matt's mum just died.
Erm...
She had a stroke.
Tell him I'm sorry, will you?
Yeah.
I'm going to get the tube, then I'll call you later.
Mystic Bob! Hello, mate.
It's good to see you.
I pulled a few strings to get the case once
I heard it was one of yours. How are you? How's the fiance?
- We broke up. - No?
Shit, sorry, mate. What...?
How's the case looking, Rich? How about forensics?
Time of death's going to be a bastard.
Guts are missing, so there's no last meal to date,
and then there's acid everywhere.
Even the flies stayed off the body, so we've got no maggots.
Neighbour saw a woman in a burqa coming
out the property about ten days ago with a sports bag.
Burqa's not a bad disguise.
Do we assume the bag was full of Quine's intestines?
Assume so, yeah.
We'll have the dogs search the rubbish dumps.
We've got a suspect as well, the wife.
He was having an affair, probably going to leave her.
But if he dies, she gets a nice insurance pay-out.
She's got a key to this place. All adds up.
I don't think she had the ingenuity to pull off
something like this.
And she hired me to find him.
You don't have the full picture, mate.
We talked to the neighbours.
Massive argument in the street the night before he goes.
Did she tell you that? And get this, before she married him?
- Worked in her uncle's butcher shop in Hay-on-Wye. - Oh.
- Gutting pigs, the works. - Oh.
This is my mate, Cormoran.
- Ex-SIB. The bloke that saved my life. - Hi.
I've heard lots about you from Richard.
He'd just finished a manuscript for his new book.
It makes some very unpleasant allegations about people he knew.
Each of them has a motive, if that's what you're looking for.
- But only if they read it. - The killer definitely did.
Quine was killed in the exact same way as the hero from his book.
Tied up, gutted, laid out to be eaten.
Bloody hell.
Is Leonora Quine in it?
Yes.
Not hard for her to get a look at his work in progress.
She's upset.
It's all the coming and going. They asked her questions.
I told 'em what she's like, but they still did.
- I'm sorry for your loss. - Yeah, that's what they said as well,
but with them you can see it's like they have to say it.
I can't do much more for you now, Leonora.
This is a murder case.
There's no charge for the work we've done,
- so please don't worry about that. - Shush.
They dug out photos.
These were private photos,
and they were all like, "Look, there's him tied-up by you,"
and I'm saying, "Yeah, but that's what he likes."
How's that mean anything to anyone?
I can recommend a good lawyer. She's an old friend of mine.
If they question you again...
Why have I got to pay for a lawyer now?!
All I ever done was look for him!
I want it quiet!
It's all right, Dodo.
It's all right.
Let's do... a cloud.
I want Daddy!
What goes on in a cloud?
- Daddy! - A bird?
A blue bird?
- Or a red bird? - Red.
There's a red pencil for you then, Dodo.
Now, you put it there.
I'm a bit scared they're going to take me away from her.
She can't manage it.
It's only ever been me and Owen.
That's great, thank you.
What time's your train?
11.
Do you think you could get the day off?
Yeah, I'd like to.
I'll ask.
How long have you been up? You sent me an e-mail at 5am.
The police think Leonora killed Quine. She needs our help.
How's Matthew?
Funeral's already arranged.
He's going up today.
Take whatever time you need.
We've been getting a lot of complaints from clients.
The work with Leonora's really put us back.
I'm making a list of people we know who've been ridiculed
or slandered in the book.
Leonora, Liz Tassel.
Succuba and the Tick.
Yeah, judging by how angry she is,
I'm guessing Kathryn Kent's in there, too.
I think she's Harpy.
I know what he says about the three of them is really cruel,
but there are others that come off a lot worse.
Liz mentioned the book was attacking his publisher, Daniel Chard.
He could be The Cutter? Phallus Impudicus.
- Vainglorious. - One of the really nasty ones.
Chard called me this morning.
He doesn't want to risk meeting us in London and he's paranoid
about his phone being tapped, which is probably sensible.
So I'm going to have to meet him in bloody Devon.
I'll need a hire car booked for tomorrow.
I'll drive us.
Are you sure? I can probably manage with an automatic...
No, I'm sure. I'll drive us, definitely.
I'm really sorry, I'm not going to be able to get away today.
We're just so over-stretched on this case we're working on and I've
got a meeting at the British Library tomorrow
that I tried to move, but...
Anyway, the good news is it's round the corner from the station
and I've got a ticket for the 8pm.
So, I will be with you all as soon as I can.
I'm sorry, Matt. Give my love to your dad, and I love you.
Why does he have to live in Devon?
At least it's not Cornwall.
Thanks for coming.
Hi.
Would you...?
- We're shoes off, if you don't mind. - Oh, no problem.
Oh, sorry. I'd forgotten.
Why don't you leave yours on?
Is your foot all right?
Relatively speaking.
Relative to mine?
Oh, no, I mean, it's a sprain, that's all.
Tea? Coffee?
Coffee would be great.
Manny!
Would you please make coffee for our guests?
He doesn't like it down here.
He wants to be back in London.
Horrible news about Quine.
How are his sales?
Oh, improving.
Look, what I have to say is confidential.
Would you mind waiting in the kitchen?
Sure.
Look, I am fairly confident...
Well, I mean, almost certain
that Bombyx Mori is not the work of one person.
Quine must have had an accomplice.
How can you tell?
The style seems like his, certainly,
but some things in it I doubt he could possibly have known.
And I've been in books all my life.
A writer's voice is particular.
Hard to substantiate.
I know.
If you can prove, definitively,
who authored the book...
I'll pay you £10,000.
I hate gossip.
And believing that maybe someone I know told Quine
private things about me...
- Have you read Bombyx? - I have.
It's especially savage about me and about the writer Andrew Fancourt.
I asked Andrew to join me in suing to prevent publication,
but that seems moot, since Quine has been...
- you know. - Disembowelled.
Yeah.
What does Quine allege about you both?
In Andrew's case, he implies that Andrew himself wrote
a nasty parody of his late wife's novel.
She killed herself over it.
Andrew found her on the kitchen floor,
with the parody pinned to her chest.
Has Mr Fancourt read Bombyx?
No, but I gave him the gist.
Fancourt and Quine were close before they fell out?
Who have you been talking to?
Liz Tassel.
She represented them both...
for awhile.
Liz told everyone that Quine was a genius...
and she had a huge crush on Andrew.
Not a woman who always gets it right...
and not least in sending out Bombyx Mori.
I'm just going to use the loo.
Are you friends of his?
We're private investigators.
I didn't push him down the stairs. He fell.
OK. Are the toilets this way?
It's downstairs.
I'm just trying to think if there's anything else I need to ask. Er...
Look, I have a call with New York.
I'm sorry the coffee didn't materialise. Manny's a little bit...
Well...
Oh, take a look at Jerry Waldegrave.
He'll be at our centennial party. I'll put you on the list.
Need to retrieve my assistant.
Oh, yes. Manny!
Forget about the coffee.
Would you please fetch Mr Strike's assistant?
All done, Mr Strike?
I think so.
Come on, then. Speak your mind.
Really, I'm fine.
Chard ended up telling me a lot of useful things.
The book might have had multiple authors.
I get the impression Quine knew a lot of damaging stuff,
so maybe he was killed to stop further revelations?
Chard avoiding telling me what Quine knew about him.
I can guess, though.
I wasn't going to stop him talking by picking him up on his manners.
No, it's really... It's not about that. It's just..
What do you want from me?
As in...?
I mean, what were you intending when you hired me?
Because I've been working really hard.
I know, I've noticed.
You said you're going to take on another investigator.
OK, OK. Listen. Just...
You mightn't like what I'm going to say, but just let me get it out.
I did take you on thinking I could train you.
'Course I didn't have the money for that,
but I reckoned you could learn on the job...
until.
But you're getting married to someone who hates you doing this.
I'm not going to ask you to ruin your marriage over a job.
Have you told Matthew about today?
No, not yet.
I need a partner who can share the long hours,
who can give up their weekend at the drop of a hat.
I wouldn't ask that of an assistant, but I'd demand it of a partner.
That's what broke me and Charlotte up in the end.
Amongst other things.
She hated what I do.
Hated that when she finally demanded I choose, I chose the job over her.
If it's what you really want,
I'll put you on a surveillance course when I get the money.
But I'm not spending that on an assistant.
That is what I want.
This is what I love.
Then cheer the fuck up and give me that sandwich
- if you're not going to eat it. - It's not a good sandwich.
- Too much onion. - There's no such thing.
Can we get going?
If I don't make my train, I'll miss the funeral.
Don't.
Let's just go.
- Bollocks. - I'll see what's happening.
Sorry about this.
They're not going to be able to get in to tow it out.
It's an idiotic place to break down.
Can you open that gate?
- Why? - Just, can you?
Hey. This is a bit...
I've got this, trust me.
- Where did you learn to drive like that? - Oh, I've always loved driving.
I used to practise in the field with my uncle doing the pedals
- before I could reach them. - Yeah, but that wasn't just enjoying driving.
I did an advanced driving course...
..the year I left uni.
Something to do. Got me out of the house a bit.
Signal's back.
Andrew Fancourt here.
I have no comment to make on Bombyx Mori.
I haven't read it and I don't intend to.
And nor do I have any valedictory words for Owen Quine.
I disliked him both as a man and as a writer.
I hope that helps.
Oh.
I can't just leave her, can I?!
Is there anyone you can call?
Oh, God! This isn't happening!
Come inside, loveheart. You have to.
Be good for Edna. Be a good girl.
- Call him! Tell him what's happened! - I will, I promise.
I'll be home soon, Dodo. I promise.
Thank you. Thanks.
Bye!
Excuse me. Do you know how to drive?
Yeah.
I'll pay you 20 quid if you drive me home in this car.
And why can't you do it?
I've only got one leg and my driver had to go home.
Do you want more money or is it the situation as a whole
that's making you hesitate?
Excuse me.
Arrested or charged?
I'm asking you these questions to try to keep you out of prison.
Well, I didn't do anything. That's enough, innit?
- The ugly truth is, it might not be. - What's she mean, "It might not be"?
You were supposed to keep me out of here. You promised.
Fancourt's in Bombyx Mori. You'd have thought...
I'm not sure the Met's literary criticism unit
was brought in on this one.
He's certainly got the imagination for it.
Lots of the profile pieces you read on him
talk about how he writes violence.
Could Fancourt kill a man?
He's very good at writing hate.
The one-legged detective. I've read about you, Mr Strike.
I've been looking into Owen Quine's death.
I was hoping we'd have a chance to talk.
Well... here we are.
Oi!