Dead Still (2020) s01e05 Episode Script

1
(dark music)
- There's a Yank in town.
Photograph collector
of some sort.
- [Harry] This here
is Bushrad Whacker.
- All right, Harry.
I'll buy it.
- Gentlemen, Molloy is one
hell of a photographer,
and there's big money in
ghost photography in America.
- You can use one
of my old cameras.
And I think I'll
come along with you.
- Eva Lambert, a very
well-known medium.
- [All] To the dead.
- Show yourself to us!
(shrieking)
- Make this stop, you witch!
(gunshot fires)
(all shouting)
(groaning)
- We're frauds, Molloy.
Nancy, I saw--
- [Man] You took their album
- What's this?
A black rose.
- [Conall] I think you may
have caught my heart off guard.
- Can you see those faces?
(solemn unsettling music)
- All right, Roper.
What have we got?
- A suicide.
- And?
- He's recently widowed,
can't go on without the missus.
So he ends it.
It's tragic but it makes sense.
- Strange of him not to
put a bullet in his head.
Huh?
Considering the
state of these walls.
Seems like they were
in plentiful supply.
- Oh yeah.
They make you wonder all right.
- Seems like a right little
gathering they had here.
- There was a man
spotted running from here
shouting to himself,
seems agitated.
Sounds like that American
you had me tailing.
- Why do you have Farrelly
tailing some American?
- Because I had a report
that an American called Whacker
was collared in
Liverpool for trading
in obscene cabinet cards,
and I trust Farrelly
to do a tolerable job,
if that's the real
point of your question.
- Whacker is a known associate
of both Cannon and Emil Chorney.
- Oh now, Harry,
don't you be jumping
with the mad
conclusions and all.
Can we not just work
with what we have?
- All I know is that a group
of well-known associates
drop like flies, and I don't
think it's a coincidence
that's dropping them.
(tense music)
(tense dramatic music)
(clears throat)
(clapping)
- Why are you both
sleeping there?
- Nothing untowards
happened, Uncle.
- Well I'd assume so.
Wouldn't think you so stupid
as to vacate a comfortable bed.
- Uh, yes.
How are you?
- Well, generally worse.
- I'm so sorry I stayed, sir.
I was in no fit
state to walk home.
- That's perfectly
all right, my boy.
We were all incapacitated
by those conwomen.
- Uncle, your wall.
- My wall?
- Yeah, in your study.
(whistles) Jeez that was
some job, Mr. Blennerhasset.
- You both saw it?
- It's quite the
collection, sir.
- I'm sure it does look
a little bit strange.
- Yes.
Well it is strange.
- So strange.
- Well I can assure you,
it's just a collection
of some of my
favorite portraits.
Nothing untoward.
- But they're facing your chair.
- Yeah, like they're
watching over you
with their dead eyes on you.
- And you wanted us
to bring you up there
to specifically look at it.
- It's all right.
Enough now.
- And you were
talking to the wall--
- Enough now, Nancy.
Please.
Now, let's get back
to the grindstone.
Better hurry up or we'll be
late for that appointment.
See you over there.
- We all behaved so
oddly, didn't we?
- Yeah, just like
we were raving mad.
Weren't we?
- Well, have fun.
I'm going back to bed.
- Hope you're fit for
work today, Molloy.
We've got a long
drive ahead of us.
- Yeah, I'm grand.
- Well I'm glad to see you
two are alive this morning
because there's one
fellow who isn't.
Word on the street is
Mr. Cannon was found dead
by his own hand last night.
(tense music)
- Oh Jesus, your
nephew's associates
certainly seem a
doomed bunch, sir.
- Well, if you lie with dogs.
- We're running low.
- Well you may get more supplies
before we go to Athlone.
- Why do you never
go out and get them?
Why's it always me
traipsing about the place?
- Because I'm the bleeding
Ghost Queen, aren't I?
I have to keep a bit
of mystery about me.
- Punters don't know
which one of us is which.
Daddy always said the
way to keep the act fresh
was to alternate.
- Yeah well, Daddy's
still stalking Mountjoy,
so what the fuck does he know?
(knocking at door)
(tense music)
- One second!
(pounding at door)
Won't be another second now!
Now, look where your
over-eagerness nearly got you.
- Don't worry, Roper.
You fall for their shit once,
you won't fall for it again.
Believe me.
I do my research, girls.
You do too, I'm sure.
Digging deep into the background
of everyone that
attends your seances.
- Just handy to
put names to faces.
- I'm sure.
I read a report on
this seance in Kilkenny
where every last person
was plagued with visions
after drinking some
sort of concoction.
- Our line of
business does attract
a few bon viveurs,
it must be said.
- And then there was
the seance in Tullamore
last February, when people
found themselves relieved
of their personal belongings.
- And robbers, too.
Bon viveurs and robbers, yeah.
They love us.
- I wouldn't be one known
for coincidences, girls.
- Detective, there
are many things
far beyond your comprehension.
Doesn't mean they don't happen.
- What I can't comprehend is
why this Whacker
fellow shot up the room
for no reason.
- Oh no. (laughing)
He had a reason.
He was seeing
spirits, wasn't he?
Some fellow he
murdered, he said.
- He murdered a fellow?
- Back in America.
And it was the ghost that
this fellow tormenting him
on account of us
summoning the ghost.
- Oh yeah.
Course you did.
- Yes, we did.
Like we said we would.
And then we escaped.
- So you leave.
Who's left?
- The fellow who hired us.
Henry Vickers.
Then the host, the
late Mr. Cannon.
And then the photographers.
- Photographers?
- Oh Jesus, here we go.
- Yes, we've had a lot of bother
with poxy photographers of late.
- A pain and a half.
- Gee, not now, girls.
Sure everything you do is real?
- Yes.
It is.
- More so that they
get in the way.
They're very welcome to
photograph if they want.
We've nothing to hide.
- Who were the photographers?
- It was a young fellow.
He was from Dublin.
And then an older man,
and a younger woman.
An uncle and sister
to Mr. Vickers.
- Is that right, now?
- At least have a drink.
- Uh--
- No.
- Got it, yeah.
Got it here, lad.
- So you don't think
that there's something
quite dangerous that we've
accidentally been caught up in?
- Molloy, do not be foolhardy.
And before you
deliver what I'm sure
is a tremendously
passionate repost, don't.
We take photographs.
And you've been doing a
very admirable job of it.
- Despite the fact you
didn't want me to take
a photograph of your mother.
- No, you weren't
my first choice, no.
- You know, you should
have just trusted me
with the information
and been honest with me.
Stop making a fool out of me.
- I think you misunderstood.
I just didn't want to
subject a nice chap like you
to my wretched siblings.
- That's reassuring.
- Reason I'm the best at my job
is because I don't
question tragedy.
(dark solemn music)
- [Ossie] The lack
of bruising indicates
there wasn't a struggle.
More so, I reckon whatever
Mr. Cannon had imbibed
had him very relaxed altogether.
- So, they're all polluted,
there's a bit of argy-bargy,
and Mr. Cannon is upset.
And then he kills himself?
- Well, the throat
was slit cleanly
and methodically
from ear to ear.
- What a bloody waste of time.
- Hold on, Bill.
Ossie, the matter of
the wound, though.
It'd be a hard job to
pull off on himself?
- Well, you'd be surprised.
- Plenty of men done
worse to themselves.
- Shh!
Ossie, now what do you reckon?
- The knife was in his right
hand when it was found,
like you had noted, Ronnie.
The movement of the
knife is consistent
with Mr. Cannon
cutting his own throat
from left to right.
- But if he didn't do it--
- Then who did it?
Fred?
- Well he's gonna say
the killer photographer.
Just wait for it.
Wait, and--
- Well, no.
Well stop now.
This is it lads.
Dan, this was a very
well-controlled cut,
and Mr. Cannon was
not only intoxicated,
he was left-handed.
- I'm telling you, Bill.
- Murders made to
look like suicides.
- If Mr. Cannon
cuts his own throat
that quick and that clean,
in the seated position
he was found in,
there'd be a fair
old spurt of blood
from the corroded artery.
- And there was traces of
blood nowhere on the floor,
only on himself.
- This is what
you think happened
up in Dublin Castle, too?
- I am just focusing
on Mr. Cannon,
because I think we all agree
that there's something
off with this one.
- You think there's some sick
bastard out there doing this?
- If there is,
he's right-handed,
tidy enough with a blade,
and wearing a coat
he doesn't mind
getting a bit of blood on.
- Right.
Find the American.
Bring him in.
Someone knows what
happened in that house.
(tense dramatic music)
(slow solemn music)
(birds chirping)
(groaning loudly)
(shrieks)
- What's the matter?
- He's still alive.
- Yes.
That's why I asked
you to come quickly.
- Well I do apologize.
A complete misunderstanding
on my part.
- Can we hurry?
- Yes, yes certainly.
Molloy?
- Does that happen often, sir?
- Yeah, more than
you might think.
Did you bring your new camera?
- Yeah.
- Oh, great.
It's easy to make a mistake
considering the amount of poison
that's in you from last night.
- The other camera box.
Where is it?
- Well, it's,
it's in my study, I think.
- I think I might have
put something in there.
Something I found whenever
I left the seance.
- What did you find?
- I just, I could've
imagined it.
You know how you imagined seeing
your old assistant last night?
- Yes.
- It's a photo album.
- What sort of photo album?
- It's like death photography.
It's like your kind
of photography.
- My kind of photography?
- Yeah, but it's
a bit more, um--
- Murderous?
- Yes.
- We need to hurry, Molloy.
Make haste, Carruthers.
- Mr. Bennerhasset?
It would be nice, I think,
to get a cabinet card done.
- Yes, that'll be
no work at all.
- Something I can put
on the mantelpiece
for when George
has gone his way.
- Oh, I know,
I know as well.
That'll be no problem
at all, Mrs. Harrison.
I'll get it all sent on to you.
Maybe you should spend
some time with George
before he slips away.
- Yeah.
- Oh, there he is now.
- George!
You shouldn't be out of bed.
Get back at once.
- [Brock] Quick as
you like, Molloy?
- In a hurry, sir?
- Yes.
I feel like some
trouble's coming our way.
We need to get home posthaste.
- That tone was
same as years ago.
- Possibly.
And it feels like
somebody's toying with me.
Now, Carruthers, I
need you to be vigilant
until I figure out
how to deal with this.
Now don't whisper
to it to a soul.
- Not a soul, sir.
- I can't believe it.
- Dreadful business.
Cannon was a decent skin.
- Honestly, Percy.
They had us seeing all sorts.
Who knows what poor Louis
saw before he ended it.
- Well, he was a fiend for the
old mind-altering substances.
You'd think he'd be
well abled for it.
And Henry too.
Where is he?
- Oh, some dive I presume.
I don't know if he
knows about Louis.
- You've been getting
yourself into a lot
of dangerous situations for
a girl who's new to town.
- I'm a grown woman, Percy.
- That's very naive behavior
on these city streets, Nancy.
- I can walk around
perfectly fine,
unescorted, thank you.
- Can you though?
Getting kidnapped
in whorehouses?
Shot at at a bloody seance?
- Well look at me now.
I seem somewhat alive, don't I?
- Silly girl.
- What did you say?
- I said you're silly
for putting yourself
in such danger, are you not?
- Silly?
I suppose I'd have to be
hanging about with impotent
wastrels like yourself.
Yes, I think I'm
right bloody fool.
- Mind your tone!
(knocking at door)
- Apologies.
But no one was
answering the front door
and well it's a matter
of some importance.
- Oh bollocks.
- You're not the first
woman to greet me like that,
Miss Vickers, and I know
you won't be the last.
- Sorry, detective.
I've had a rough day
full of vexing men.
I think it's time for
you to disappear, Percy.
Write me an apology
letter if you want.
I'll reply if I
haven't been murdered.
- Go easy on her, detective.
She has a bit of a
mood on her today.
- Off you go now, Percy,
like a good little man.
Try not to hurry too much.
- Seems like a lovely chap.
- What do you want, detective?
- Were you in the late Mr.
Cannon's house last night?
- Come on.
Might as well make a
tea party out of this.
(playful music)
- You do a decent scone up here.
Not as good as a
cork scone, though.
Right.
Ms. Vickers.
You've been involved in a lot
of police business of late.
- Well, detective.
It just so happens that a
lot of police businesses
involve death and
photography of late.
- Mm-hmm.
And was this studio
hired to take photographs
at the seance?
- Molloy was.
Henry and Louis hired him.
They wanted to get in on
that spirit photography fad
with that American fellow.
- Mr. Whacker's been
involved in a growing
black market of
peculiar photography?
Your brother must have
been trying to make
a handy few bob.
Where's he?
- Not quite sure, detective.
- Suspicious timing, though.
All the same.
And where's Mr.
Molloy and your uncle?
- Do you want our
professional assistance
or do you suspect
us of something?
- I'm just trying to
get their perspective
on what happened that night
at Mr. Cannon's.
I see if their theories
tie up with mine.
- And how are those theories
going down in Dublin Castle?
- Not great for
the longest time,
but it's turning
into something now.
- Just not the whole picture.
- No.
Not quite, not yet.
Well tell me this.
Did you ever come
across an example
of a black rose used in
memorial photography?
As like some sort of
a photographic prop?
- No.
- You wouldn't lie to me
about any of this, would you?
- No, I wouldn't.
- Very well, Miss Vickers.
Thanks for your
time, and the scone.
I may have to call back later
to chat to your uncle.
- Of course.
- Oh, and I want you to know
if any of this develops
into something worse,
don't regret that you stood back
and watched it happen.
(dark suspenseful music)
(sighs)
- Go on.
Go on.
- Your nephew told me
that he found the album
from some secret society
in the Wicklow Mountains.
- Obviously not very
secret if Henry's involved.
- Then Whacker was keen
on it, and bought it,
then I found it and pocketed it
like a fucking idiot.
- [Brock] And no one's seen
you take it from the seance?
- I don't think so, no.
- Well, if Regan's
idea is right,
then hypothetically the
person who killed Cannon
was looking for the album.
- And he did the
same thing to a man
being held in Dublin Castle.
- Well if they
knew we were there,
then Nancy and your
mother and your sister
may not be safe.
- Don't tell me that.
We're an hour from Dublin.
- You're the idiot that
left it in my house.
- I know, but I
didn't know I took it.
Honestly, look I was
in such a bad way.
I'm sorry, sir.
- Is it horrific?
- Yeah, they don't look
terribly fake Mr. Blennerhasset.
- Then we must destroy it.
- Well we have to
take it to the police.
- No.
- No?
- No, Molloy.
There's a better way
to deal with this.
- But what if
Regan's right, sir?
Why can't we give
the album to them?
It's evidence, is it not?
- These photographs.
Do they look like mine?
(dramatic music)
- So where is Henry?
- He's hiding at an
apartment in Queen Square.
- Does he know
that Louis is dead?
- That's why he's hiding at
the apartment in Queen Square.
- What have they got
themselves caught up in, Hanna?
- Henry wouldn't say, exactly.
But he took something
from some people
and the people are very
keen to get it back.
- Do you think Louis was killed?
- But why?
I mean, I know they're
all degenerates,
but essentially
they're harmless.
- Well someone doesn't think so.
- Those boys.
They can't do anything
without making a
cock of bothers.
- I wanted to live in town
for a bit of excitement.
This is just too much.
- Well I've told you.
If you let men
with horrible taste
dictate your social life,
then you'll end up in
the worst situation.
Believe me, I woke up in hobbles
that were chilled to the bone.
- That would suit me fine.
I just don't like murder.
- Well, you're doing a
good job of it so far.
No matter what Percy says.
- Ugh, another feckless clown
looking for a distraction.
- Well at least he's
a bit of excitement
you can do without.
Unlike me, I'm stuck
with that bloody fool
of a brother of yours.
- Do you think it's all
right if I visited him?
- You'll be lucky if he
opens the door to you.
- Don't worry, I have my ways.
(tense dramatic music)
- I fucking knew it was
you all along, Abel White.
I know who was behind it.
- No, hold on.
Stop.
Don't ruin it for me, girl.
I'm warning you.
- Hurry your arse up, so.
I want to read the next chapter.
- I won't be reading it tonight
so you may hold your horses.
- Is that a good yarn, Betty?
- A bit too good,
Farrelly if you get me.
The housework has been
neglected, to say the least.
I'm managing to keep
the child alive, though.
- Don't mind her, Farrelly.
She's only messing.
The housework was never
up to much anyway.
(laughing)
- Well you're not just
reading yourself, no?
- We have a rule there.
We read one chapter each
and then pass it over.
We tried reading
pages at the same time
but I get very impatient
waiting for him to catch up.
- Give over.
I like to scan them for details.
- Who solves them the most?
That's right, I
solve them the most.
- Only because you've
been jumping on my leads.
- He said you're the best
detective he knows, ma'am.
- Wasn't exactly an avenue
opening itself up to me
but look, I'll take
it where I can get it.
- Dublin Castle is not
in our kitchen, boy.
- Anyway look, time
is of the essence here
so will you make it back to it?
Where are we at?
- Whacker is still managing
to give us the slip.
Traced him back to his legends
but still no sign of him.
- I thought there is a sign.
He's got something to hide.
- No, something doesn't
sit right though.
(tense music)
Why would a man
waste all his bullets
shooting up the house
then turn around and murder
a fellow with a knife?
- Well I'm afraid you
might as well ask why a man
would make it look
like a suicide
if he just wanted
to murder a fellow.
- Hmm.
- Some years ago, I had
trouble with an assistant
who subsequently
committed suicide
after he'd sent a letter
accusing me of things.
- What kind of things?
- It's not relevant.
What is relevant is
when I was interviewed
by the police, they
were so aggressive
that it's made me suspicious
of them ever since.
- What's that got
to do with this?
- This assistant
he, I allowed him to
introduce a motif into my work.
Black rose.
- Who else knows about the rose?
- No one.
I don't know anyone
else who uses this
in their work.
- Well tell Regan that, then.
- Do you honestly think
that Regan's gonna believe
your story of how
you found the album?
An assistant to a man
who takes photographs
of dead people?
- You think they're
gonna suspect us?
- Yes.
I do.
And that's why no one
should ever see this album.
Look, whoever's using this,
they're attaching it to
my work for some reason.
- To frame you?
- I don't know.
But Molloy, this could ruin us.
We're implicated the longer
we hold onto this album.
And the longer we
hold onto this album,
our loved ones are in danger.
And that is why we
must destroy it.
(tense somber music)
- [Man] Morning, ma'am.
(knocking)
- Nancy.
Yes, I knew it was you
because of our knock.
It's our old knock, remember.
When we were children.
If you'd asked me to do
it I wouldn't be able to
for the bloody life of
me, but once I heard it
I knew it was you.
Okay, come in.
Come in.
Oh sausages.
Jeez I'm a devil
for a good sausage.
You're a savior, Nancy.
- Mother's looking for you.
She's worried.
- Oh, don't worry about her.
She's always worried when
we're out of her grasp.
Look at the two of us now,
living the great
life in town, huh?
You'll have some
sausages, you will?
- Henry, what are
you caught up in?
- Some ketchup now would
be the right sauce, huh?
- [Nancy] Henry.
- Hmm?
You'll have a sausage, you will?
- Yes of course
I'll have a sausage.
Now, are you going to
tell me what's going on?
- Some serious
bloody shenanigans,
let me tell you Nancy.
We got in with Whacker, see.
That's where it all started.
He contacted Louis
prior to coming here
about some publication man.
Anyway, turns out he was a devil
for the firewater,
so we all head out
on Monday night he says he's
meeting an art collector
up in a house in the
Wicklow Mountains,
and would we come?
So I said why not?
We're all roaring
drunk at this stage.
Where's the harm?
So we all head up to the house
in the Wicklow Mountains,
and it's a lively night.
Lively.
You can imagine the scenes.
You might be able to
refer it, yourself
if you get a few more
parties under your belt.
- Henry, what did you do?
- I stole a photograph
album full of pictures
of people being
tortured and murdered.
I know, I know.
I thought it was absolutely
gas crack at the time.
(tense music)
- Who are these people, Henry?
(sighs)
- Who are they?
I don't know, some
sort of secret society.
Nothing bloody
secret about them,
unless bumbling
in the front door
and then leaving
these photographs
all over the blasted place.
- They kick you out?
- No, not at first, no.
They seemed quite
pleasant at the start,
which was quite strange,
you know, maybe a bit theatrical
or sort of thing, and I
just thought they were
being odd for the
sake of being odd.
(panting)
We shouldn't have
been there, Nancy.
And all that probably
would have been fine,
but then I went and
made things worse.
It's always me making a
bloody pig's ear of things.
- You're being too hard
on yourself, Henry.
- No Nancy, you
don't understand.
Whacker told me that
those pictures were real.
They weren't fake
or manufactured.
These people had
employed someone
to take pictures of people
who had crossed them.
These are a very different
breed of bad, Nancy.
They have influence.
I don't know how,
but they have ways
of making people
do things for them.
- But why do something
as grotesque as this?
- Because it's something
that's never been done before.
Because they can.
Look after yourself now, Nancy.
- You too, Henry.
- No, I really mean it though.
You have to look after yourself
til all this dies down.
- Well, so do you.
Try to get back home
as soon as you can.
Or go back to mother's
for a few days.
A slightly safer way
to live in dread.
- Yes, but I've organized a
meeting with Whacker later,
see if he can call off the dogs.
- Be discrete.
You have a tendency to
be very not discrete.
- Don't worry about me.
I can be a devil when
the fat's in the fire.
- Farewell.
(tense music)
- Violets and lilies
of every sort.
Wildflowers!
- Flowers.
- Ah, an American.
Is it wallflowers
you're looking for, sir?
- Just give me the
damn flowers, woman.
- In there.
- Did you tell Maud about the
thing about the wallflowers.
- I couldn't remember
what flowers you told me.
Does it matter?
- No, no.
Not really, I suppose.
Were you followed?
- I don't know.
It's one of those
days where it seems
like everybody's watching you.
Where's the album?
- What do you mean
where's the album?
You have the album.
- Oh, goddammit.
Well, somebody stole
it at Cannon's house.
What about your
uncle, your sister?
- What would they want with it?
- Those things are like
Caravaggios of photography.
Very lucrative.
All you had to do is behave,
and no, you're a
god damn amateur.
- Obviously, yes.
But this got very serious
all of a sudden, Whacker.
- Could have made a
fortune if you fuckers
hadn't ruined me.
- You shouldn't have
bloody brought us, then.
- Well I don't know my way
around rural fucking
Wicklow, do I?
- Violets!
- I'm finding that album.
- Have you gone
absolutely mad, man?
Leave well enough alone!
- Violets, I said!
- I'm getting the hell out
of this godforsaken country.
- [Maud] Violets!
- We have to let them
know we don't have it!
- Violets and roses!
- [Harry] How are you, Maud?
- Oh, Harry.
My old segocia.
What can I do for you?
- Suppose you didn't
see an American
around these parts, did you?
- Oh yeah?
Older fellow?
Looked official?
I might have.
About gone a minute now, Harry.
Shouldn't be too hard to spot.
(dark foreboding music)
- [Cecil] Whoa, stand, stand.
Whoa, stand.
- Sir, do you want
me to check inside?
- No Molloy, you go home.
Carruthers and I
will deal with this.
- What do you want
me to do, sir?
- Right, you come with me
and bring that
stick you're fond of
and whistle if you see anything.
Nancy?
Nancy!
(whistling)
Carruthers, what's wrong?
- Nothing.
- Well why did you whistle?
- Because there's nothing wrong.
- I told you to whistle
if something was wrong.
- Oh.
Sorry.
(slow tense music)
- Bloody man.
- Uncle?
How was your trip?
- Oh, well enough.
(whistling)
(door creaking slowly)
(dark ominous music)
- Lilly!
Ma!
Lilly!
Oh Jesus.
Oh thank Christ.
Where's Ma?
- She's staying with Billy.
- Was someone in here?
- Yeah.
He's gone now.
You're taking
fucking photographs.
How dangerous can it be?
- Get your things.
- [Brock] How's Henry?
- [Nancy] Henry's
in rough shape.
- How rough?
- The same amount of
drinking as usual,
it's just sad drinking.
Ah Lilly.
You little dote.
- Well how are you, Violet?
- I don't think our
home's very safe.
Is it fine if we
stay here tonight?
- You can have my room.
- Nancy.
- I'll sleep down here.
- We'll both share
the same room, like.
- Yeah, tops and tails.
It'll be grand.
Where's the kitchen?
- Downstairs at the back.
Help yourself.
- I will, thanks.
- Home for waifs
and strays, I see.
- This photo album.
- You know about it?
- Who told you?
- Henry.
He told me all about
it, and its owner.
An organization, he said.
A very ambitious one.
- Look, whoever
commissioned this album
are very sick, dangerous people.
- Or very rich
and very powerful,
which tends to be the case
with secret societies.
- Henry took it, but they
thought Chorney had it.
Then they thought Cannon had it.
Who do they think has it now?
One of you has it?
Took it at the seance.
- Christ, look.
I stole it.
I accidentally stole it.
But it's destroyed, weren't it?
- It's true, we did.
It should put an end to
this unfortunate business.
(knocking at door)
- Away with the fairies.
- Properly poisoned.
- Off our chops.
- Lambert sisters.
Shifty whores.
You wouldn't be the first
person to go wilding
that maggot juice.
- Oh, I can only imagine.
- So, you were
all hallucinating,
all hell breaks loose,
and then this Whacker
fellow pulls out a gun?
- Yeah, I had to tackle
him to the ground.
- Then we pack up our equipment.
- And left immediately.
- You said you saw someone
as we were leaving?
- Oh, that was just Carruthers.
I was merely plagued
with visions.
- You all were.
That's why it's so hard to get
a clear picture
of what happened.
- I have an idea, detective.
- You do?
- It's a theory.
These tots still
aren't quite right
from last night's shenanigans.
We should let them sleep.
Then you and I can
talk privately.
- I'd be very grateful.
- Are you going to
your study, uncle?
- No, we'll go somewhere
more appropriate, Nancy.
As I discovered,
my nephew has a little
photography ring,
got in a little too deep
with this Whacker fellow,
so some sort of manner of
quarrel broke out between them.
So shenanigans really over a
few distasteful photographs.
- Two members of
this photography ring
are now dead due to
these shenanigans.
- Oh.
Suicides, I thought?
- No, not following
that path anymore.
- Oh.
Oh, I see.
Well, your theories
on the market for this sort
of depraved photography
seem to be true.
- That photograph I poached,
the subject had a black
rose pinned on him.
- Black rose is very common
in memorial photography.
- [Frederick] Is it?
- Yes, a symbol of death.
- Or lost love.
- Yes.
- Take a photograph for
a reason, don't you?
To commemorate something.
- Well, studying the
likeness of death
gives us comfort, I suppose.
We can see what awaits us.
- Do you feel that
you capture the soul,
Mr. Blennerhasset?
- Yes I do, in a way.
Yes, I preserve the essence
of my subjects forever.
- That killer.
He might have the same idea.
- He might very well, you know.
The American, Mr. Whacker,
took a great interest
in photographing the dead.
In some of my work,
he said, two tintypes.
- [Frederick] How'd he get them?
- That's what I found troubling.
He said he had ways.
Then he became all incensed
and started waving a gun around.
I think he's a man who's
not really in control
of his emotions.
- Ears are starting to
listen to me down the yard,
but I'm not sure
I trust the ears.
I think Chorney's death
was just too convenient.
- Is that what you
are, detective?
Suspicious of your colleagues?
- I just feel someone's
trying to cover something up.
Just glad it's not you.
- Why would it be me?
- Just got the sense that you
weren't being too cooperative.
- Oh, no.
Merely had nothing to offer you.
And now I see things
as you see them,
I'm happy to be of assistance.
- If it is this Whacker fellow,
murdering all these
people and covering it up,
why would you want
to commemorate that?
- Detective, I think
you sorely underestimate
the appeal of entertainment.
- Is he gone?
- Yes, and quite
happily I might add
which makes a nice change
- [Nancy] Did you
tell him everything?
- Yes, I did.
I told him of Henry's friends
and the little photography ring.
I told him.
- And the photo album, did
you tell him about that?
- I told him everything.
- I hope so, uncle.
Because it's not a buzzing bee
you're trying to evade.
People are dying.
There'd be great public
interest if this gets out,
that's for certain.
- Regan will deal
with this, as always.
I would just prefer
to take photographs.
- Did all right for
yourselves, didn't you?
(dark solemn music)
(groaning)
(muttering)
(groaning)
(man whistling)
- [Man] Henry.
They want it back.
- I sold it to Whacker, I swear.
- [Man] Where is he?
- I don't know.
- [Man] If Whacker
doesn't have it.
(foreboding music)
- Now you leave Nancy
and uncle alone.
They have nothing
to do with this.
- [Man] Liars, all of you.
(ominous music)
(groaning)
(moaning)
- No, no!
- [Brock] I don't want
Nancy to see this.
- Just don't worry.
I don't want anyone
to know I've got it.
- Just make sure it disappears.
And hopefully the rest of
this will all disappear, too.
- Yeah.
Hope so soon.
- Thank you, Molloy.
- Our employers, sir.
Want us to stop looking.
It's getting too messy.
Said they'll take care
of it themselves, now.
They said they
won't be paying us.
- [Man] It was them
who lost the album.
- I know, but I would hope sir
that this will be
an end to it, now.
- [Man] Not for me.
(eerie suspenseful music)
- Good morning, Nancy.
- Good morning, uncle.
Molloy.
- Morning, Nancy.
- So today's appointment,
it's a young child,
little Grace McCalister.
Died of virulent diptheria.
- Jeez, the poor little thing.
- Yes.
Her parents never had a
chance to have her photograph
taken while she was alive.
So Mr. and Mrs. McCalister
are expecting us at nine.
Molloy, when you were outside
did you see Carruthers?
- [Conall] Yes,
just on the buggy.
(solemn violin music)