(wind howling)
(thunder)
Roland.
Roland Claremont.
I call you
from the spirit world.
- (thunder)
- (gasps)
Prepare defense!
Bayonets!
- Bayonets!
(blows whistle)
(yelling, blasts)
Come on! Come on!
Forward!
(indistinct yelling)
(screams)
Stretcher bearer!
WOMAN: Roland?
Roland? Are you here?
Aunty Prue.
MEDIUM: And Maude, my sweet.
And dear Freddy.
MEDIUM: Oh.
Darling Phryne, too.
Hello, Roland.
PRUE: Roly, we need to know.
Freddy needs to know.
He doesn't feel right
accepting his award.
He can't recall his brave deeds
that day, you see.
Can't you recall anything,
Freddy?
Only the noise.
I'm sorry.
Basil is here with me too,
Freddy.
- PRUE: Basil who?
- MAN: Captain!
Captain! Captain! Help me!
- Stretcher bearer!
- Help!
Stretcher bearer! (groans)
- Stretcher bearer!
- (gunfire)
- Stretcher bearer!
- (gunfire)
(breathes heavily) Basil?
Roly?
PRUE: Tell Freddy how he
tried to save your life.
Tell him.
Stretcher now!
Stretcher bearer!
For pity's sake, man!
- (breathes heavily)
- (sound of gunshot)
(jazz music)
(coughs)
Mr Butler!
Your urgent assistance, please.
Mrs Bolkonsky, can you hear me?
Mrs Bolkonsky?
You have nothing
to feel guilty about.
You did everything you could
to help Roland.
FREDDY: No, I can't know that.
I don't remember.
How could you?
You were in shock.
- Gunshot. I heard a gunshot.
- PRUE: But of course you did.
No, no, no, after shelling.
When it was quiet as death.
Come on, darling, please,
you need to breathe. Please.
No bravery. No award.
Big slow breaths.
They're as cold as ice.
(whimpers) The circle.
It's still open. Everybody
must return to the table.
Not on your life.
I hope he settles soon.
We've got a long drive home.
But you must stay the night.
No, we couldn't possibly
impose.
I insist. Foster is too far for
Freddy to travel in this state.
PHRYNE: Mr Butler will
assist you to the guest room,
and, Dot, would you take up
some towels, please?
- Yes, Miss.
- Thank you.
Larry, we'll need the laudanum
and his heart medicine.
They're still in the motor car,
Mrs Ashmead.
No, I'll get them.
Just for heaven's sake,
get him out of this stuffy room.
Oh, dear.
LARRY: We can visit the cemetery
in the morning.
I'm so sorry.
Perhaps we could conclude
our spiritual matters tomorrow.
Well, if we don't, Mrs Stanley,
I can't be responsible.
DOT: I can't believe Miss Phryne
ever let that charlatan
cross the doorstep.
Have you ever known Miss Fisher
to do anything
she didn't want to do?
And for that matter,
I can't believe Mrs Stanley
is a life member of
the Spiritualist Society.
Well, I expect she joined
after her godson was killed
at the Front.
Must have been a terrible blow.
And for poor Captain Ashmead
as well.
Father Grogan says dabbling
in the occult is a mortal sin.
(man whistles)
(door creaks open)
Who's there?
Who's in there?
Hello? Oh!
(groans)
MAN: Potts. Ernie Potts.
Always did the graveyard shift,
so to speak. Awful business.
Any next of kin?
The missus passed away years
ago, but there's a daughter.
JACK: Do you have a key to this?
HUGH: Do you think he disturbed
a break in, sir?
Doesn't look like
anything's been disturbed.
Whatever's going on?
(gasps)
Jack!
I'm afraid this is
a restricted area.
A cemetery worker
was murdered here last night,
and how is it, Miss Fisher,
you always manage to turn up
when I'm on the case?
Not always, Jack.
We merely came
to pay our respects.
This is a crime scene.
Roland was a good family friend.
Aunt Prudence's godson.
No, no, crime scene.
Well, I take it this is
the poor fellow's blood as well.
So what are you thinking?
He disturbed a would-be
grave robber?
HUGH: Ah, that's what
I think too, Miss.
The door was locked,
and there's no sign of
disturbance to the tomb.
(Freddy coughs)
Oh, Freddy, Freddy,
it's just a horrid coincidence.
No. It's Roland, I know it.
I thought this would calm him.
It's alright, Maude.
I'll see you back at the car.
Mustard gas.
Well, what's their connection?
It's all very incestuous.
Maude is Roland's widow
and Freddy was his best friend.
Fought under him at Pozieres,
then married his widow.
They're all staying with
me at the present,
so if you'd like to
question them yourself,
- you might have to visit me.
- I'm impressed.
You've commandeered my case
before I knew I had one.
Constable,
finish searching the area.
I'll be at
Miss Fisher's residence.
HUGH: Yes, sir.
So you don't think
it was a coincidence either?
In my experience,
there's no such thing.
(door closes)
I can't tell you how distressing
this is, Inspector.
No wonder my poor godson
can't rest in peace.
Hold your fire, Aunt P.
The Inspector's on the case now.
Mrs Stanley,
I may as well begin with you.
I hope you'll begin and end
with me, Detective Inspector.
Maude and Freddy
have enough to worry about,
and we have an unfinished séance
to deal with.
Séance?
PRUE: Yes, with
the great Mrs Bolkonsky.
You've not heard of her?
PRUE: In Melbourne,
by popular demand,
offering her services
to a very select few members
of the Spiritualist Society.
Aunt P turned out to be
one of the select few.
The psychic equivalent of
winning a chook raffle.
Mrs Bolkonsky chose us on merit.
She told me herself.
(sighs) And so timely.
Freddy has suffered
very poor health recently.
Aunt P thought that
if anybody could convince Freddy
to accept his bravery award,
before it's too late,
it would be Roland himself.
Your late godson, Lieutenant
Colonel Roland Claremont.
Another fine young man,
cut down in his prime.
How many miles of red tape
did you have to battle
to get his remains back
from France?
I wasn't about to
leave him moldering
in some godforsaken
foreign turnip field!
Well, I'll have to interview
Captain Freddy Ashmead
and his wife, and any staff.
Now, where will I find
Mrs Bolwhatsit?
How glorious! (sniffs)
Thank you.
It's little enough in return for
your hospitality, Miss Fisher.
Last night ended on
an unfortunate note.
Detective Inspector Robinson,
may I introduce Mrs Bolkonsky,
spiritual medium,
from Sydney, via Paris,
London and San Francisco.
The Americans
are so wonderfully open.
We were booked solid for weeks.
And her manager,
Mr Warwick Hamilton.
True love must never be denied,
Detective Inspector.
Very profound.
I've been telling Mrs Bolkonsky
about the attack.
MAUDE: She has a theory.
It wouldn't be the first time
she's helped the police.
And your theory is?
Our gathering last night
was interrupted.
Yes, Freddy had a horrid attack.
The channel
was not properly closed,
and when this happens,
the spiritual energy may linger.
Disturbed,
and sometimes hostile.
There's nothing spiritual about
a man being hit over the head
and impaled on a fence.
That energy may enter
a living person.
Drive them to violent acts.
It is irresistible.
I'm sure it'll provide much
comfort to Mr Potts's family.
Now, where is Mr Ashmead?
I'll need to speak to him first.
I'm afraid
he's still indisposed.
Freddy's valet, Mr Larry Dunn.
An invaluable support
to the Ashmeads,
and to Maude's family
before that.
Perhaps, Mrs Ashmead,
you should go up.
Phryne, at this rate, I'm afraid
we may have to extend our stay.
Dear Maude, you're welcome
to stay as long as you need.
Let me help, too.
Perhaps Larry could answer any
questions you have, Inspector.
Thank you.
If I may use the parlor.
Of course.
And why not take
some of these with you?
Ham, cheese and mustard pickle.
I read your mind.
This way.
Inspector, believe what I say,
for your own sake.
The heart line never lies.
You know that your greatest
passion is very close at hand.
Pursue it.
And believe what I say,
Mrs Bolkonsky.
I have no intention of
pursuing my greatest passion,
unless it's these sandwiches,
which are a particular favorite.
(pants)
MRS BOLKONSKY: Oh, my heart.
Are you alright?
Oh, it's nothing, dear.
Mrs Bolkonsky looks so pale.
Is she ill?
She's given her heart
to her work, literally.
It's taken its toll.
She has no energy
to spare for skeptics.
Yes, well, Inspector Robinson
can be a difficult man to sway.
Well, you seem to have
a way with him, Miss Fisher.
And what about you?
Skeptic or believer?
Let's just say...
I keep an open mind.
Hmm. Always wise
to keep your wits about you.
Yes. Amazing what some get away
with in a darkened room.
- Balsa wood tables...
- On fishing lines.
Balloons with painted faces,
spirits with egg white and silk,
collapsible wrapping sticks
hidden under skirts.
Any amount of trickery
and illusion.
You seem very familiar with
the charlatan's repertoire.
Oh, I need to be,
or those charlatans
will bring genuine spiritualists
into disrepute.
And thanks to the Great War,
there's no shortage of bereft
customers ripe for the plucking.
My Aunt Prudence, for example.
Maude and Freddy.
I must confess
I was a bereft customer
when I met Mrs Bolkonsky.
I lost my twin brother
at the Somme.
I'm sorry.
Mrs Bolkonsky's gift
is genuine, Miss Fisher.
She takes only a modest sum
to help people and spirits alike
to find peace
in their separate realms.
And if people take solace
in belief,
who are we to criticize them?
Thank you, Mr Butler.
Mr Ashmead seems much more
settled after that brew.
Oh, good. Must be
a great responsibility,
having to care for
such an ill gentleman.
Oh, it's no burden.
The Captain doesn't complain.
It's Mrs Ashmead I worry for.
She gets herself into a state.
You used to work
for her parents?
I've known her
since she was a girl.
You must be
a great comfort to her, then.
We do what we can, don't we?
Didn't I make myself perfectly
clear? No more Laudanum.
LARRY: Now, Captain,
you know what Mrs Ashmead says.
Mrs Ashmead cannot
get it through her head
that there are far worse crosses
to bear than physical pain.
This fog in my head,
this constant mental daze...
Alright, alright.
- Good morning.
- Morning.
These are Dallas Bronze,
if I'm not mistaken.
Ah, yes, I believe so.
There you go, Captain.
Nice and hot.
And don't forget
your heart medicine.
Freddy?
Are you alright, Freddy?
I'm sorry.
Are you in pain?
Sometimes, Phryne,
I feel like I can't go forward,
I can't be still.
I can't even drink tea
without tasting blood.
The séance has stirred it
all up for you.
For me, it's faces
on streets or trams,
bearing the slightest
resemblance
and I'm right back there.
But my war goes on and on,
Phryne. In my head.
Battle neurosis,
that's what the doctors say.
It's a perfectly rational
response to an absurd situation.
But I can't help but feeling
there's some hideous truth
lurking in a dark corner of
my mind.
We're both home now.
We're safe.
Yes.
I never appreciated flowers
until France.
It's amazing how
a single scented wildflower,
struggling for survival
in a battlefield of mud,
can touch what's left of
one's heart.
Here.
Maude doesn't know that
I kept it.
She doesn't like me
being upset.
A Dispatches Report.
The day Roland was killed.
It says here that you
carried him off the field
in the midst of battle.
Yes, but why does it
rankle with me?
Why can't I remember?
When my time comes, I need
to know what kind of man I am.
Was I a hero, as your Aunt
would have me be, or...
...will I die a coward?
Shell shock does
mysterious things to the mind.
It closes doors.
But he doesn't trust
that Dispatches Report.
So, if you were to obtain
Roland's war records
as part of your inquiry
into the cemetery murder...
- And how would that help?
- Medical details.
The name of the doctor
in the field hospital
who treated Roland. Someone
must know the whole story.
Why bother with records
when Mrs Bolkonsky can
go direct to the source?
(knock at door)
Roland Claremont's war records,
as requested, sir.
How remarkably clairvoyant
of you, Jack.
You know, Hugh, if we ask nicely
he'll make the desk levitate.
I'm simply looking for a reason
why someone would break into
the tomb of a man who's been
dead for over a decade.
Yes, and why they'd kill
a poor gravedigger to do it.
"Claremont, Lieutenant
Colonel Roland Albert."
"Killed, the Somme,
July 25th, 1916."
"Wounded in battle, died
en route to field hospital."
And at the age of 12,
he thought it was fun
to throw lizards' guts
at unsuspecting females.
- I added that last bit.
- From personal experience?
It wasn't me, it was his nanny.
He was a horrible child.
Not quite the way your
Aunt Prudence described him.
Oh, seems Roly knew
how to pick a target.
"Signed Percy Bishop."
Well, it's a name at least.
Cec, don't get butter on it.
It's from the library.
So how does this
Mrs Baloney do it?
Well, they pick up on clues.
You know, follow hunches.
Just like Miss Fisher.
Ah, Bert and Cec.
And drop scones.
So who's this Percy Bishop
you want us to round up?
All I can tell you
is that he came from Coburg
and worked out of a field
hospital near Pozieres in 1916.
- Doctor?
- Stretcher bearer.
A bloody conchie.
A lily livered,
moralistic, gutless wonder.
And if he's still alive, I would
like him to remain that way,
at least until
I've had a word with him.
No guarantees.
- Percy Bishop?
- Go easy.
That's me.
BERT: Your mother said
we'd find you here.
You the Percy Bishop who was
a stretcher bearer at Pozieres?
Percy the conchie?
War's been over
ten or more years, Digger.
I don't need no more trouble.
Oh, there won't be any trouble.
A man who can't raise his fists
for his country
isn't going to be
any trouble at all.
Since when does a pacifist
go around breaking
other blokes' noses?
- It's not broken.
- So you stand by
and watch Percy "Iron Fist"
Bishop pummel me into the dirt?
You started it.
Then it's your own fault.
It's not as if been anti-killing
meant you got to sit out the war
knitting socks by the fire.
And now you're letting a sheila
hen peck me when I'm down.
- Bloody hell!
- Dragging a half dead Digger
out of two foot deep mud's
no job for a coward.
Oh, Bishop's no coward,
I'll grant you that.
It was a bad day.
Heavy shelling,
and a casualty list to match.
That didn't stop Roaring Roly
from taking his men
over the top.
"Roaring Roly."
That's appropriate.
He was always bellowing
at somebody.
And he was yelling fit to
blow a gasket when he got hit.
His leg was buggered.
I could see that.
I tried to go out for him, but
the Germans weren't finished.
Stuck my head out again
after it went quiet,
and that's when
I saw the Captain
coming towards the trench
with Roland on his shoulders.
I assume he didn't die
of a broken leg?
No, some Hun
took a pot shot at him.
Captain Ashmead remembers
hearing a final pistol shot
before Roland went quiet.
That'd be right.
But a pistol needs to be fired
at close range to do the job,
and, of course,
only officers carried handguns.
Maybe one of the German brass
finishing off the survivors.
If Roland was finished off,
why would your report state that
he died on the way to hospital?
It was a long time ago.
Mr Bishop...
...the truth is sometimes
hard to live with.
But to die
not knowing the truth...
...in Captain Ashmead's place,
what would you choose?
Roaring Roly, they called him.
And he led almost an entire
Battalion to their slaughter.
And ends up
with his own mausoleum.
I never liked him.
No idea why a woman like Maude
would want to marry him.
Then Freddy avenges their deaths
by shooting
his Commanding Officer?
Or he put a dying man
out of his misery.
Mercy killing? Murder?
Either way,
it would explain Freddy's
traumatic loss of memory.
By rights, the military
should be informed.
Even if it's been ten years,
there could be grounds
for a court martial.
You wouldn't report him?
No, I didn't think so.
Besides, I have my hands full
trying to solve the murder of
this unfortunate gravedigger.
Mmm. Any progress?
Constable, will you please
bring in that evidence?
We extended the search area
of the cemetery.
We found this late yesterday
in the rhododendrons
by the western entrance.
There's dried blood
on the tip here,
and it matches
Mr Potts's injuries.
Hmm, poor Mr Potts.
Still, it doesn't explain
why an innocent gravedigger
was murdered on
the doorstep of Roland's tomb,
right when Aunt Prudence is
on her high horse about awards
and poor Freddy
is haunted by the past.
Look at this.
There's a splash of blood
on the inside edge here.
So the door was ajar when the
attack on Mr Potts took place.
Someone was on the inside.
Either an expert lockpick
or someone who had access
to a key.
Well, I don't understand.
What on earth would anyone
be after, Inspector?
There was no sign of theft,
but an urn was smashed,
so perhaps someone
was disturbed.
Whoever it was locked the door
behind them after they left.
We've always kept the key
in the cemetery office.
Yeah, it seemed easiest
with us living out of town,
and Prudence likes to
bring flowers whenever she can.
Is there anyone who would
want to deface the grave?
Anyone with a grudge
against Roland?
Oh, apart from me, you mean?
Oh, that's not true, Freddy.
My first husband
was highly respected
and highly decorated...
- Maude!
- Freddy's not well.
I don't think he's strong enough
to deal with any more...
- Maude!
- I'm sure I can help...
Maude!
You know that's not
the whole story.
I've tried to pay homage,
hold my tongue.
But I've had enough.
I'm still angry with Roland
about what happened
on the Somme that day.
And I'm sure
I'm not the only one.
I tried to stop him.
I... I begged him
not to send the lads out.
All dead. Every single one.
Excepting you,
and Lieutenant Colonel out
on the field, wounded but alive.
Perhaps in the heat of
the moment, I did something,
and all these years I've
blotted it out of my mind...
Freddy! Freddy, don't say that.
You were a hero.
Then why in God's name is
all of this happening now?
Are you finished?
- Come on. Come on, Freddy.
- (coughs)
Slow breaths, darling.
I need Mrs Bolkonsky.
I need to speak to Roland again.
Freddy,
I don't think that's wise.
I need to, Maude.
MAUDE: Let's go upstairs
and you can lie down.
I want you there, Inspector.
Answers. You need them, too.
Come on. Come on.
HUGH: Another break in?
That must have happened
last night,
after you lot finished
searching yesterday.
And you didn't notice until now?
I'm doing the job of two men,
not by choice.
Of course. I didn't mean any...
Stick your light in there.
Must be the Colonel
had gold teeth.
Not much else left of him now.
Right, well,
I think I've seen enough.
If you could just keep
this area secure, Mr Beale,
I'll inform my Inspector.
How do you suggest I do that?
Lock's broken.
Stand guard?
Trust me, son, those robbers
got what they came for.
And he isn't going anywhere.
(gasps)
Why do you call me again?
The truth.
Tell me, whatever I did.
Basil is here too, Freddy.
Who is this Basil person?
(shelling, blasts)
Help me!
Stretcher bearer!
(gunfire)
You remember now, don't you?
FREDDY: My God.
He was alive.
I could have saved him.
But he did try to save you,
didn't he, Roland?
(screams)
FREDDY: The men,
dying all around.
Roland, you must know
that I blamed you.
I did not die by your hand.
And yet, in that moment,
had I not been overcome
with terror...
Freddy, what are you saying?
It could have been by my hand.
I wanted him dead.
Silver moon
shines full and bright,
lilac scents
the soft spring night,
here he'll slumber
through the years,
while Mary weeps
her silent tears.
(shudders)
That's one of Roland's poems.
Yes. It was the last he wrote.
I've carried it everywhere
with me, always.
What does it all mean?
(grunts, breathes heavily)
Go to his grave
when the moon is full.
You must drink
the virgins' tears.
Then spirits
will grant forgiveness
from beyond the grave.
FREDDY:
It's a full moon tonight.
The cemetery gates
will be locked.
I'll phone them in the morning
and we'll make special
arrangements for tomorrow night.
I assume the culprit is the same
person who murdered Ernie Potts?
At least we know the motive
for the first visit was robbery.
I've noted his medals
were missing, sir,
but what we need to know now
is what else was in the tomb,
apart from the Colonel himself.
Must be extraordinarily valuable
to risk returning
after attracting the attention
of the police force.
I trust, Detective Inspector,
you're now suitably impressed.
Yes, indeed. You don't
strike me as the kind of woman
who would fail to notice
her handbag being raided.
Oh, why can't you just accept
that this is a sign from Roland?
Full moons? Virgins' tears?
Really, Aunt P, if Mrs Bolkonsky
is channeling anything,
it's the mind of
a Penny Dreadful writer.
And as for forgiveness
beyond the grave,
no one, least of all
Captain Ashmead,
is to go near that cemetery
until I've made
further investigations.
What do you mean?
Roland's tomb has been robbed
of all valuables
and the Coroner has given
his approval to exhume the body.
(gasps)
Did you steal that poem
out of my Aunt's handbag?
No.
You have my word.
What about the virgins' tears?
Also known as Angels' Tears,
Lourdes water, Ganges water,
water from the
Fountain of Youth,
or the Glastonbury chalice,
collected in our travels.
Holy water.
For those who believe, and
harmless for those who don't.
Tell me, Miss Fisher.
Do you discredit everything
you cannot see?
No. Not everything.
I believe in radio waves
and electricity and magnetism.
Or the current that flows
between two people.
I would never discredit that.
Two veterans of a war, perhaps.
Or the energy that flares
between two independent spirits.
However briefly.
WARWICK: Shall we blame it
on that moon?
If you need a reason.
I certainly never needed one.
Were you with your brother
when he was killed?
Shrapnel wounds
leave distinctive scars.
Miss Fisher.
Private detective.
But this is the sanctity
of the boudoir.
We were in different Battalions.
I thought twins
did everything together.
He enlisted before me.
Perhaps if I'd been with him
that day...
Brotherly love,
no matter how strong,
is no protection against
mortar shells and mustard gas.
I knew the moment it happened.
I felt my brother's death
as though it were my own,
as if a piece of me
had died with him.
Is that why you sought out
Mrs Bolkonsky?
To reclaim your soul
from the spirit world?
The dead may lay claim
to our hearts and our minds,
but not our souls.
(door bangs)
(gasps)
Hello?
Who's there?
Dorothy Williams, there are
no such things as ghosts.
Basil's death
was tragic, unjust,
and he wanted me to know that.
- Basil?
- (woman screams)
(screaming)
Help!
Dot!
Get it off!
It's alright, it's alright,
it's just a piece of cloth.
I...
It was up there. I...
I pulled the cord
to switch off the light
and it floated down and...
But who would do such a thing?
The cord snapped
just this morning.
I asked Bert and Cec
to replace it.
Bert and Cec, who else?
They were reading that book.
Of all the mean,
horrid things.
Is everything alright?
It is now, Mr Butler.
Dot just had a fright,
that's all.
Freddy's gone!
He's gone!
(footsteps)
JACK: I hope you haven't called
us out for nothing, Mr Beale.
Define "rattled".
You know, like a chained dog
scratching fleas.
And then there was this
dragging noise and... (pants)
- Did you see anything?
- I didn't stop to look.
Well, which way did it go?
- The Claremont tomb.
- The... the Clare...
I thought you said
he wasn't going anywhere.
Sorry, but I don't speak
for the dead.
Right.
(grunts)
A-ha.
So much for a dog with fleas.
Ashmead. He's on his cane.
Forgiveness.
- What is it?
- Shh!
Who's there?
JACK: Not afraid of ghosts,
are we, Mr Hamilton?
- Jack.
- Ah, Miss Fisher.
No need for a crystal ball
to know what brings you here.
(Freddy grunts)
Freddy!
(groans)
PHRYNE: Freddy!
He's hurt!
Where's your medication?
PHRYNE: He's gone.
I'd like your recipe for
virgins' tears, Mr Hamilton,
down at the police station.
Rather convenient
to make your own holy water,
I would have thought,
seeing as you're doing
a roaring trade in the stuff.
What possible motive
could I have
to kill off my own clientele?
Revenge, perhaps?
- Excuse me?
- Mr Hamilton's twin brother
was at Pozieres
with Freddy and Roland.
He was killed along with
the rest of the Battalion.
His name was Basil.
So much for the sanctity
of the boudoir.
I'm sorry, Warwick, but I draw
the line at possible murder.
Why would I kill him?
They haven't even paid us yet.
Um, your... your brother's
connection to Roland Claremont
can't be mere coincidence.
Were both the séances rigged
by you and Mrs Bolkonsky?
I find that suggestion
highly insulting.
Did you deliberately manipulate
Freddy Ashmead
so you could engineer his death?
No.
Look, I admit
to taking advantage
of Mrs Stanley's association
with Freddy Ashmead.
I wanted to jog his memory
about Basil.
I believe he could have
done more to save my brother.
I wanted him to face the truth.
That's all. The same thing
Freddy himself wanted.
You expect me to believe that
after your virgins' tears cure?
- Collins?
- Why would I want him dead?
Memories make
for powerful ghosts,
and some people
deserve to be haunted.
Take his statement.
It wasn't Warwick.
Hamilton was after retribution.
You said it yourself.
Why are you now defending him?
Because what he says make sense.
Freddy Ashmead was a dying man.
The only reason
to hasten his death
would be to stop
his quest for the truth.
The person who knows the truth
doesn't want it coming out.
Deep down, Freddy knew
what happened to Roland.
He witnessed it.
And he was killed
on the verge of
remembering everything.
Which suggests Freddy wasn't
the one who shot Roland.
Exactly.
And neither did Warwick.
He was stationed at Arras,
15 miles away.
Ah, you've obviously
come to know him quite well.
As to who killed Freddy,
that vial was on
the dining room table for hours.
And any one of us could have
slipped something into it.
I'm not ruling out
Warwick Hamilton just yet.
But if I'm right,
the break in at the mausoleum
wasn't any ordinary
grave robbery.
(knocking)
Right, let's get this over with.
Ah, Mr Beale. Constable Collins
will take your statement
when he's free,
if you don't mind taking a seat
I've got a shift to get back to.
I don't have time
to hang around here.
That's a very lovely piece
you have there.
Where did you get it?
- I found it.
- Really?
On a dead man, by any chance?
This is everything of value
I could find in the bin
at the cemetery.
And our light fingered Mr Beale
swears that's where
he found Roland's watch?
Says it was on the ground
beside it.
According to the war records,
Claremont was buried
with his medals,
his cufflinks, his watch,
his poetry and his pistol.
Which isn't here.
So our thief took the pistol
and dumped everything else.
Ouch! But not fatal.
Now this is fatal, I presume.
(bullet rattles)
According to the war records,
Roland's pistol was a Colt.
PHRYNE: I thought the Webley
was standard issue
- for the British Commonwealth.
- Correct.
And fortuitously,
the Colt uses
a slightly different
caliber bullet to the Webley.
So if this came from
the missing pistol...
Roland was shot
with his own gun.
In the back of the head.
An unlikely enemy execution.
I told you. I heard a shot,
and then Captain Ashmead carried
Roland through the trench
with a shot to his head.
And whatever reason the Captain
had for pulling the trigger,
I wasn't going to make life
any tougher blowing the whistle.
So you did see Captain Ashmead
shoot Roland Claremont?
No.
Stretcher now!
- Stretcher bearer!
- (gunshots)
I just assumed he did.
So you falsified medical records
and spread the word
that Ashmead was a hero?
No, I didn't say nothing
about him being a hero.
Well somebody did.
He was mentioned in Dispatches.
Wasn't me. I kept my trap
well and truly shut.
Then who? All Roland's men
except Freddy
were killed that day.
Someone wrote it up later?
Ask Roland Claremont's batman,
if he's still alive.
- He helped to lay him out.
- Do you remember his name?
- (knock at door)
- HUGH: Excuse me, sir.
Coroner's toxicology report
on Captain Ashmead.
Traces of strophanthus,
a heart stimulant.
Toxic in large doses.
Freddy was on medication
for his heart.
His valet administered it.
His valet worked
for Maude's family,
and he went on to become
Roland's valet.
Perhaps Roland took him to war.
Did Maude have a copy of
that poem that Roland sent you?
Possibly.
But she knew it by heart.
Are Maude and Larry
having an affair?
Of course not!
Whatever made you think
such a thing?
(sighs) Maude's parents
were killed
when she was a little girl.
Larry was all she had left.
Yes.
Her protector.
I won't let this happen.
- Maude, calm yourself.
- No!
- It's so unfair!
- Maude, listen to me.
- It's better this way.
- No!
Haven't I always done
what was best for you?
- Shh.
- HUGH: Come on. Come on.
I need you to answer some
questions down at the station.
Come upstairs.
PHRYNE: Roland Claremont.
You weren't only Roland's valet
on the home front,
were you, Larry?
I know what you did.
You tried to stop a bully
from abusing his authority.
On your feet, soldier!
Clean this!
- With what?
- Use your hands!
What a pity
you couldn't stop him
before that charge
over No Man's Land.
Stretcher now!
- Stretcher bearer!
- (gun cocks)
For pity's sake, man!
(gunshot)
Captain! Captain!
He's wounded! Help him!
(groans)
PHRYNE: Freddy carried Roland
off the field,
and you made sure his heroism
was duly noted
in all the right places.
Maude was terrified of Roland.
He was a brute.
To her most of all.
I couldn't let him
come back from the war.
And Freddy's shell shock
made it all so easy.
Until my Aunt started lobbying
for his bravery award
and it all started
coming back for him.
And then Maude
did what she could.
After the séance, she panicked.
And tried to retrieve the gun.
She did it for me.
She wasn't strong enough
to open the tomb.
Who's in there?
Oh, that poor, poor man.
I panicked.
I didn't mean to kill him.
(groans)
Good God.
PHRYNE: And Larry realized
what you'd done,
and went back there with you
to do the job properly.
I thought if we could make it
look like a proper robbery...
We took everything.
Except the bullet
that killed Roland.
I felt around for it,
but it was dark.
Maude was upset.
But it didn't stop Freddy's mind
searching for the truth.
So someone had to stop him.
Someone with access
to his medicine.
Like who?
You think Larry poisoned Freddy?
You think I did?
No! She loved Freddy.
She loved you, too.
And he was a very sick man.
Was her debt to you
the greater one?
No, no, no, she was like
a daughter to me.
There's no debt.
There never was.
JACK: You bribed Mrs Bolkonsky
to go along with
your rigged séance.
And you supplied her with the
words to Roland's poem.
No, we didn't bribe her.
She'd been pushing
for another séance all along.
She... she knew Freddy
was a tortured soul, but...
I recited the poem for her,
that's all.
Then you added
his heart medicine to that vial?
No. I... I don't understand.
How could anyone kill him
with cod liver oil?
Cod liver oil?
That's all we gave him
for his heart.
So...
Drinking virgins' tears
by the moonlight
was Mrs Bolkonsky's idea.
Oh, it's nothing, dear.
That energy may enter
a willing person.
Drive them to violent acts.
It is irresistible.
(sighs)
Jack, I think it's time
you had a heart to heart
with your tarot card reader.
It's the Wheel of Fortune...
...and The Chariot.
Most auspicious.
Queen of Swords.
A woman of great vision
and courage.
From my point of view,
it's reversed.
Deceit, manipulation.
A woman adept
at playing games with the truth.
Are you unwell, Mrs Bolkonsky?
My heart, I'm afraid.
I'll have Mr Butler
bring you some water,
unless you require
something stronger.
Justice.
Do you want me to continue
with your reading, Inspector?
I'd prefer a signed confession.
There's no escaping destiny,
Mrs Bolkonsky.
"Strophanthus Tonic.
Milk for the Ageing Heart."
The Hanged Man.
That won't be necessary.
I don't understand. Why?
For you.
For your brother, Basil.
(sobs)
He was left hanging
on barbed wire.
He died an agonizing death.
(gunshots)
And Freddy ignored
his cries for help!
But I didn't want Freddy dead.
No, but your brother did.
(sobs)
I'll take that.
JACK: Three murders,
three murderers.
That's a personal best,
Miss Fisher.
It's not a record
I hope to beat anytime soon.
I'll drink to that.
And Warwick Hamilton
is in the clear.
I presumed as much,
otherwise you wouldn't have
let him leave the country.
Shame about our Mrs Bolkonsky.
Now I'll never know
what the future holds for me.
A fortune teller once told me
that I would marry well,
have four children
and play a lot of croquet.
What do you think of that?
I can almost see you
playing croquet.
I see a very careful man,
who professes to be cynical
in the face of mysteries
he can't explain,
and claims to have no passions,
in spite a heart that runs
as deep as the Pacific Ocean.
That's strange.
All I can see
is another martini.
(jazz music)