Death in Paradise (2011–…): Season 2, Episode 8 - Episode #2.8 - full transcript

Under sufferance Poole attends a charity fund-raiser,whose host,local conservationist and philanthropist Malcolm Powell,is shot dead. His secretary Vicky claims the killer is a man called Jack Roberts but nobody knows who he is and appears to have vanished into thin air. Discovering that Powell fled to the Caribbean from England having defrauded investors in his company and that evidence of a large sum of money was found in Roberts' burnt out car Poole suspects blackmail. But events are complicated by the fact that Roberts died three years earlier. Clearly somebody has used to name to cover their own involvement in the murder and Poole uncovers a conspiracy. The case is solved and the team celebrate young Fidel passing his sergeant's exams when Poole is temporarily called back to London. Is this the end of his career solving deaths in paradise?

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MUSIC: "Wonderful World,
Beautiful People" by Jimmy Cliff

♪ Wonderful world, beautiful people

♪ You and your girl
Things could be pretty

♪ But underneath this there
is a secret

♪ That nobody can reveal. ♪

You know, I could swear this
lot are still alive.

See, that one just winked at me.

We're police officers, Camille.

We should be out catching criminals,
not dawdling about,

making polite chit-chat at some
random fundraiser.

You want to save the coral reef,
don't you?



Yeah, yeah of course.

Actually no... No, I don't,
not if I have to do this.

Yeah, and seeing as this charity's
all about saving sea creatures,

how come they're serving prawns,
hmm?

Bit of a mixed message,
don't you think?

That'll be him, then.

Well, I'll go and meet him,
I'll take him through to the study.
Yeah - good, good. Very good.

All right, sweetie?

Fine, yeah.
It's a bloody good turn-out.

It's all going marvellously.

Hot?

So, you're here to save
the coral reef, are you?

Well, actually,
I'm here under protest.

Yeah, orders from on high. Apparently
I am to "press the flesh".



Flesh which appears to be attached
to some very, very dull people.

All while eating this dreadful food

and choking on the lukewarm vinegar
masquerading as wine.

How about you? I'm the host.

Excuse me.

He's making his way to the study.

Right, good. Well, let's see what
he's got to say for himself, then.

Just give me ten minutes and then
come in and interrupt us, right?

OK. Good.

I trust you've been making friends,
establishing new contacts?

Well... Yes, actually the inspector
has just been talking to our host.

Excellent.

These charity things can be tedious,
I know, but surprisingly useful

when it comes to
negotiating our annual budget.

Most of the police
committee are here.

And I'm sure the Inspector would
love to meet all of them.

And so he shall.

Merci.

I said stay round the back!

All right!

Hi. Hi.

I'm Vicky Woodward.
Mr Powell's Personal Assistant.

Camille Bordey. Hi.

God!

Oh!

Everybody move back, please.
Move back.

I know who did this.

Jack Roberts.

That's him!

Dwayne, listen to me, there's been
a shooting at the Powells' house.

The suspect has just
left in a silver Mercedes car.

I've got a partial registration -
062.

See if you can intercept it.

So?

Well, I can't find any
signs of a struggle -

no bruising or
lesions on the victim's skin

and there are no tissues or fibres
underneath his fingernails.

Good,
so he was clearly taken by surprise.

And no sign of the murder weapon?

No, sir.

That's odd. What? Well, this air
conditioning unit is on full blast,

but the window's wide open.

Sometimes people open a window
just to get some fresh air.

Hmm.

Or maybe you think that's how
the killer got away?

This Jack Roberts, he arranged
today's meeting with the secretary,

didn't he? That's right.

Who in their right mind rings up to
make an appointment to commit murder?

And even if they did, who arranges
that meeting in the middle of a

charity fundraiser in broad daylight
with crowds of people everywhere?

Maybe when he came here,
he didn't intend to kill him.

They could have argued.

Right, let's get the paramedics in.
I want everybody out of the house.
I want it sealed off.

Only the victim's immediate family
can stay - once their rooms
have been checked.

Er, sir? Looks like he was planning
a trip.

Maybe his secretary knows why.

Fidel. Sir?

Bullet.

Hmm.

You're Mr Powell's personal
assistant?

Yes, I am.

This must be very distressing
for you. Had you been with him long?

Just a little over seven years.

Three years here,
four back in England.

And you arranged the meeting with
Mr Powell and Jack Roberts?

I did, yeah.
What can you tell us about him?

Er, well I've only spoken to him
on the phone, until today.

Um, I saw him arrive,
and I went out to his car and um,

I brought him back in the study to
wait for Mr Powell.

What was the nature
of their business?

Mr Powell didn't say, sorry.

I do know that he was very
uneasy about the meeting - um,

like he didn't want to do it,
but didn't have a choice.

He actually asked me
to interrupt him after ten minutes.

I didn't get that chance.

If you arranged the meeting, then
you must have some contact details?

I have a phone number.

Please? Yes.

And um...
could you give us a description?

Here we are. Thank you.

He was white. Um, 35, 40 maybe,
and quite a bit taller than me.

Six foot?
At least. Yeah. Brown hair.

Brown eyes.

Build? Quite skinny.

What was he wearing?

A casual jacket. And jeans.

And black shoes.

Would you know him if you saw him
again? Yes. Definitely.

Did anyone else see him?

No. Oh, well...actually,
Mark may have done.

Who's Mark? Mark Grainger.
He's one of our divers.
He's staying at the house.

He needed some overtime.

He's working double shifts so he was
at the marine reserve last night.

He was making his way upstairs
as we went through the hall.

Anyone else? I don't know.

Um... I don't know who else
was in the house.

Er, Duncan Wood, our gardener -
he was outside,

so he may have seen him arrive.

OK, thank you.

Oh, there's one more thing.

We found this on Mr Powell's desk.

Yes, I made that booking.

A one-way ticket to
the Cayman Islands?

Well, Mr Powell said it was
charity business,

so he didn't know, you know,
how long he was going to stay.

Thanks.

That's all for now. Thank you.

Um, Fidel?

Fidel? Sorry, I was just...

Yeah, you'd better get this
description circulated

and check on Dwayne. Sure.

Straight to the voicemail.

Now there's a surprise.
Can I borrow your finger?

Here. Come on.

Yes, thank you.

Right. OK, so the victim was what,
five foot ten? Excuse me, thank you.

And er, shot through the heart.

So, the shot must have been
fired...

..from round about...

..here.

Hmm, so the shot wasn't fired
through the window.

Now, there are no scuff marks,

no sign of anyone having climbed
through in a hurry,

no footprints in the flower bed
outside,

so the question remains -
why is it open?

I should talk to the other witnesses
um, Mark Grainger and Duncan Wood.

Talk to the wife, too. See if she
knew anything about this Jack Roberts
and what the meeting was about.

And check with the phone company.

See if they can track the number
the secretary gave you. OK.

Well, that's it really. This bloke
pulled up in a car, Vicky met him

and took him inside.

Um, could you describe him?

He looked a bit like my Uncle
George. Uh, that doesn't help.

Tall, skinny. Had like a blazer on.

That's it? Pretty much.

Oh, did you hear the gunshot?

Look, it was hard not to.
Where were you exactly?

I nipped round to take
a look at the party,
when Vicky the rottweiler caught me.

I said, keep out the way.

I was heading back round to the
pool when I heard the bang.

Then the guy in the silver car just
flew past me like a bullet.

And it was the same man you saw go
in? Yeah, it was the same man.

I'm telling you, Fidel, I know these
roads like the back of my hand

and it's nowhere to be seen.
He's either dumped the car or he's
taken the mountain road inland

before doubling back somewhere.

OK, well, start heading back
this way.

I've contacted the airport
and the marina and I've circulated

his description - they're all
on the look out - he can't get far.

Yeah, that's what they all say.
I'll see you in a while.

All right.

Er, didn't pay much attention
if I'm honest. People are coming
and going all the time.

But you did see him?

Yeah, from the back.
As they walked towards the study.

I said hello to Vicky and she turned
round, but the bloke didn't.

Could you describe him?

Quite tall. Dark hair.
Was wearing jeans, I think.

Sorry,
don't suppose that's much help.

No, no, don't worry. That's all
right. And when the shot was fired?

I was up in my room.
I'd been at the centre checking
on delivery of new equipment.

So I thought I'd get a quick shower
and change of shirt before
I joined the party.

I heard the bang,
so I went out to the balcony.

You could tell from everyone's
reaction it was something bad,
so I just ran downstairs.

Have you ever heard Mr Powell
talk about a Jack Roberts?

No. Sorry.

OK, thank you for your help.

Pleasure.

Listen, can I, er, can I be cheeky?

Excuse me?

Can I take you out for a drink?
Tonight, maybe?

I know this wicked little beach bar.
I don't think so.
You've got a boyfriend?

No. Then... But I'm a police
officer investigating a murder

and you're a potential witness.

Not the done thing.
So it's not a no, then?

It's a what - maybe?

Still nothing from Dwayne?

No. It looks like our killer's
vanished into thin air.

Talking of air,
we'd better get some in that tyre.

Yeah, sure.

I've never even heard of this man.
Who is he?

That's what we're trying to
establish.

You're sure your husband never
mentioned him? I'm sure.

And I... I didn't even know
he had a meeting today.

He should have been at the party.

So you have no idea what this
meeting might have been about?

No. Doesn't Vicky know?

She, um, she knows much more about
his comings and goings than I do.

No.

There's nothing else you
can tell us?

I can't believe he's gone.

So the wife didn't know what the
meeting with Jack Roberts was about,
either?

He's a man - of course he's keeping
secrets from the women in his life.

A bit sexist?

Um, it's a fact.

All men lead secret lives
away from their women.

And those men that don't,
wish they did.

Well, I don't have secrets.

I've always regarded myself as being
something of an open book.

Really?

Then what's in the metal tin in the
top left hand drawer of your desk?

No-one can escape their past,
can they?

So, we're running
checks on Jack Roberts.

Um... the mobile phone is switched
off so they can't track it and

there's no record of him entering
Saint Marie through immigration.

Well, er, he was very brazen.
Perhaps he was a professional.

Yeah, or he could be local,
or he came from one of the other

islands by private boat.
I'm checking with the marina now.

So there are only four people who
know of Jack Roberts.

Let's get our eye witnesses
in front of a police artist,

see if we can get a sketch done.

And Fidel, run a full background
check on Malcolm Powell,

see if you can find a link
with Jack Roberts.

Fidel? Yes, sir?

Background check. Yes, sir, on who?

Were you listening to anything
I said?

Yes, sir. Of course, it's just,
if you,

if you could remind me, that's all.

The victim? Right away, sir.

What?!

♪ I said yeah
I say yeah

♪ It's what I say
It's what I say

♪ I say yeah, my lord
I say yeah

♪ It's what I say
It's what I say

♪ Let's take it up this time... ♪

Right, so Mr and Mrs Powell's
assistant, Vicky Woodward,

meets this man at his car
and leads him into the house.

Seen first by the gardener,
Duncan Wood.

Then by Mark Grainger
just as they're entering the study.

No-one else saw Jack Roberts.

Now, Vicky Woodward returns to
the party to collect Mr Powell.

On their way back to the house,
he instructs her to interrupt

the meeting
after ten minutes had passed.

'Give me ten minutes then
just come in and interrupt us.'

Miss Woodward
then goes back to the party.

But before she can interrupt
the meeting as requested,

this man shoots Mr Powell,
gets into his car, and escapes.

Letting down our tyre before he
goes, so we can't follow him.

Logic would suggest he left via
the open window, but there was no
physical evidence of that.

Did we find any
fingerprints on the window frame?

Yes, um, but the only clear prints
were Mr Powell's and Miss
Woodward's.

Now, I do not believe
he escaped through the open window,

I think he went out the way
he came in.

Yet no-one saw him leave. Why?

Because that area of the house was
empty, apart from Mr Powell

and his killer.
Everyone else was at the party.

Oh! Except Mark Grainger,
but he was upstairs.

Honore police station.
How do you know that?

I saw him myself - upstairs on the
balcony seconds after the gunshot.

What about the gardener? He was
outside as well on the other side of
the house,

after talking to Vicky Woodward.

Sir! It's Dwayne.
He's found something.

When nothing passed me,
I knew he had turned off somewhere,

so I retraced the road back to
the Powells' house.

Then a street trader told me
he saw a silver car being

driven at speed, turning
off down into the lane back there.

Well done, Dwayne.
Thank you, Chief.

This is definitely it.

Do we, er, do we know how far
we are from the house?

Less than half a mile.

It makes sense he'd ditch
the car as soon as he could.
He knew we were looking for him.

I want a fingertip search of the
area. Let's see if he's dumped the
murder weapon.

Chief.

Sir!

One set of footprints - and whoever
it was, was dragging something.

A small boat? A dinghy maybe?

No, no, no, it'd be way too small.
He couldn't get very far in that.

Right, so he dumps the car,
burns it to destroy any evidence

and then, er,
takes a small boat out to - what?

A bigger boat anchored in the bay?

Is that why he didn't mind being
seen? He knew he'd be long gone?

This wasn't a
spur-of-the-moment killing,

brought on by anger or
the result of an argument.

This was a premeditated murder,

meticulously planned down to
the last detail.

Yep. Chief!

Look.

It's those paper things
they use to bind up bank notes.

Each one, 2,000.

And there's ten of them.

20,000.

How can we can check if there was
a bigger boat in the area?

To get to this part of the island
it must have passed the harbour

and the quayside.

OK, let's check it,
if we can get a name of the boat,
we can alert the coastguard.

Done.

OK, sir -
I've checked everywhere by the car

and there is no
sign of the murder weapon.

No, no, of course not. That'd
be far too easy, wouldn't it?

Er, nothing about this case
makes any sense.

Go on. Right, well the air
conditioning was on full blast,

but the window was wide open.

Secondly, the killer clearly went to
the Powell house to commit murder,

yet made no attempt to
conceal his identity.

Just shot the victim through the
heart, drove off in full view of
everybody.

And why did he have
20,000 in cash?

Payment? If he was a professional?

Yeah, paid by whom?

I ran a full number
plate of the car. It was stolen.

Something else that doesn't
make any sense.

Why? Criminals steal cars to give
them anonymity.

Our killer was happy to make
an appointment in his own name!

You know, why not use his own car?
Or simply hire one?

Why go to the trouble
of stealing a car

and run the risk of getting caught?

Fidel, where are we up to on the
background check on Malcolm Powell?

Fidel! Hmm?

What is the matter with you today?
Every time I look at you,
you're on that bloody phone!

I'm sorry, sir.
Come on then, come on. What is it?

You've got some new
app-game-twit-face feature that does
your shopping for you,

while totting up your bank account
and telling you the weather in North
Korea? No, sir.

Well, what is it, then?

It's my sergeant's exams. Good,
thank you! It's your sergeant's
exams! Yes, good...

I didn't know that, did I?
It's good.

I should be getting my results
today. They said they'd call.

But I should be
focusing on my work, not on that.

I'm sorry, I won't let it happen
again. Unless they ring?

No, of course, thank you.

And er, yeah - I wouldn't worry,
Fidel,

I'm sure you've passed
with flying colours.

Thank you, sir.
The Powell report is on your desk.

Thank you. Good work.

OK,
so I checked the harbour office.

They didn't see any boats passing
that way. I also spoke to the
fishermen round there.

They have a clear view of the bay
from where they sit. They didn't
see anything either.

So he's still on the island?

So burning the car,
the tracks to the water -

all an elaborate distraction.

But a distraction from what?
What doesn't he want us to find?

And why didn't he leave the island
when he had the chance?
Another dead end.

I ran a check on the other islands.
I've got 17 matches for

the name Jack Roberts. Only eight of
those were in the right age range.

Two are dead, one is in prison
and of the remaining five,

four are of Caribbean descent.

What about the other one?

Um, he lives in Antigua.

So? He could have come here by boat.

And he's also five feet four
and weighs 23 stone.

Ah.

Right, OK, real name or not,

I want to know who gave
Jack Roberts 20,000.

Why can't we just dust those
bands for prints?

No, it's not possible. With
porous paper like that,

only the labs in Guadeloupe will
have equipment sensitive enough.

So, no.
That's where you're wrong, Fidel.

Could someone be so kind as to
buy me a tube of wart cream?

What?

What's that?

There's been an explosion
up at the old mine

and you need to get
help as fast as you can?

Everyone's a critic, eh?

So, you found your wart cream?

Which, as I'm sure you know,

contains one very useful active
ingredient - silver nitrate.

Yeah, of course I knew. OK, go on -
how does this experiment work?

Right. Well, the silver nitrate
impregnates the soft paper

and reacts with the sweat in the
fingerprints to form silver chloride.

So I started it last night and now
the paper has dried out, it's er,

well, just a question of exposing the
new compound to ultraviolet light.

If you'd like to hold that, please.

Because under UV light,

silver chloride fluoresces...

..revealing the prints.

Any matches? Yes, I have, er,
yes, 33 clear prints

so far - all belonging
to the same person.

Who? Malcolm Powell.

Why would Malcolm Powell be giving
20,000 to his killer?

Well, I did some company searches
on his UK businesses last night,

and it seems that Malcolm Powell
isn't quite the man

everyone's been telling us he is.

Can I help you? Yes. You can talk to
me about Lindman Investments.

It was the main reason
the Powells came here.

You know, the economic
situation in the UK was awful,

everyone hating any
kind of financial institution.

Especially a corrupt one.

The company ran into trouble.

He did what he did to save it.

The press called it a Ponzi scheme,
but you know what? It was a lot more
complicated than that.

But he still conned all
his investors out of their money.

He paid for his mistakes.

You know, I doubt that
escaping prosecution

and moving to the Caribbean was
seen by everyone as justice.

He was truly sorry those people
lost their money.

And Jack Roberts?

Oh, well... Jack Roberts started
calling a few weeks ago.

He was demanding a meeting.

He was one of the UK
investors for Lindman?

Um, yeah. He wouldn't give up.

He was threatening to expose him

and go to the press, and in the end,
Mr Powell agreed to pay him off.

20,000.

How did you know that?

Never mind, carry on.

Well, Jack Roberts insisted
on collecting the cash face-to-face.

And that's what the meeting
was about? Uh-huh.

Why didn't you tell us
any of this before?

It took Mr and Mrs Powell almost
three years to build a new
life for themselves here.

I guess
I'm still trying to protect that.

Very well, that'll be all.
Thank you.

Thank you.

Oh, no - one more thing.

How long have you been
in a relationship with the gardener?

I don't trust her.

What, because she was having
an affair with the gardener?

A bit prudish, isn't it? I thought
you French were supposed to be the
great romantics.

She's been his personal
assistant for seven years.

She must have known what
he was doing in the UK.

I think it's time to talk
to the wife.

So? Anything?

No. I don't understand. They said
they'd have the results today.

But they'll phone? Yes.

Or maybe send an email.
Or even a letter.

But definitely today?

Yes - today, today, today...

Or tomorrow. Or maybe the day after
that, I don't know, I'm not sure.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!
so you mean to say, I have to suffer

two more days of you looking
like a horse with a toothache?

I think I only slept one
hour last night.

My stomach was all knotted up,
I keep waking up in cold sweats,
it's crazy.

You shouldn't let it get to
you like this, man.

I know, Dwayne, but it's important.

Things have been tough
since the baby arrived.

Juliet can't work, and well -
well, money's tight.

I could lend you some. No, thank you
but it's not just about that,

it's not just about the now,
it's about the future.

You know, being a man.
Being able to provide for my family.

Fidel, you don't need money
to be a great dad

and you don't need
sergeant stripes either.

Yes, OK it's not just that, it's...

I want Juliet to be proud of me
as well.

Fidel, she already is.

You think?

I know.

Yeah.

You want a man hug?

A what?! Come here, man!

I knew it would be
something like this.

You can't just steal people's money
and walk away.

Mrs Powell. We believe that before he
died, your husband tried to buy

Jack Roberts off.
D'you know anything about that?

No, of course not!

Were you aware
that he had 20,000 in cash?

No, but I wouldn't be.

There was
always cash lying around the house.

Malcolm was an old barrow boy.
He preferred it,

said it was easier to keep track of.

When did you know his investment
company was a scam?

The same time as everybody else.

I was horrified and not just
because of what he'd done,

but because he'd kept it from me.

It was a tough time for us.

Our marriage only survived

because he agreed to come out
here three years ago and...

I know what you must think.

But my husband was a good man -
he was a kind man.

And the charity was
testament to that.

He just...

he just took a wrong turn and...and
couldn't find his way back.

Good morning, sir.

Oh, I got the interim report
back from the pathologist.

All right, so Malcolm Powell was
killed by a 9mm bullet that

pierced his heart - it was
the right ventricle -

and the striations to
the flesh around the wound suggest

that the gun was held directly
at his body when it was fired.

Sounds like an execution to me.

Right. And I also contacted
the Serious Organised Crime Agency

back in the UK
about Lindman Investments.

Now, they seem to think
that up to £18 million was

taken from investors
before the company collapsed

and not all of it was found either.

They think Malcolm Powell had it?

Well, if he did,
they didn't find anything.

So, who was our victim, hmm?

An inept businessman who simply
took a wrong turn?

Here in Saint Marie to
rebuild his life,

make amends with his charity work?

Or a crook? Hmm, a crook.

Well, you know what they say,
a leopard never changes its spots.

Yeah, Fidel, I want you to
go to the bank.

Check all the accounts held there in
either Powell's or his wife's name.

In particular,

I want you to look at the statements
for the Marine Reserve.

If you would, follow the money!

Yes, sir!

Camille. Yes.

See if you can get
the police reports.

Get a list of all the people who
lost money in Lindman Investments.

OK.

We have a problem. What?

I've just spoken to Lucille.

She's a systems coordinator on the
fifth floor of Government House.

We had a little thing going on last
year, nothing serious,

just a bit of summer loving
and some windsurfing...

Yes, all right, Dwayne, thank you.
spare us the gory details, if you
would.

Yes, of course, sir. Anyway,
the fifth floor is where the exam

board is, and I asked her to check
on the sergeant's exam results.

Dwayne! That is completely
unethical.

What did she say? That they were
posted out this morning.

Posted? And the post office is
closed for the weekend.

Did she say whether he'd passed?

She hasn't got a clue. And neither
will he until Monday now.

I checked the list
of investors for Lindman UK

and I've found a Jack Roberts.

He lost everything he had.

Ah! At last.
Something that makes sense.

No, not exactly.

He disappeared. Three years ago,
a boating accident -

he fell from his yacht in La Manche.

Oh, right - the English Channel.

La Manche. Yeah, it's what I said.
The English Channel.

Why is it English? I don't know
really, but it's called the English
Channel.

Was his body found? No. Still listed
as missing, presumed dead.

I've got it! You were
right to make me follow the money.

What have you found? Well, firstly,
it seems Mr Powell took out

cash from his personal account
regularly, 2,000 at a time.

His wife said
he liked to carry cash.

Yes, but then I checked
the marine reserve account. And?

All cleared out, two days ago.

Up to 3 million
was wired into a bank

account in the Cayman Islands. Look.

Which explains the plane ticket we
found. He was going to leave the
country.

Once a crook, always a crook!
Exactly. Hold on. This doesn't make
any sense.

We've been assuming Jack Roberts
killed Malcolm Powell because of
money he lost three years ago.

And now we discover that
Jack Roberts is dead.

What? Yes. According to this,
we have five witnesses who saw him

swept overboard
into the English Channel.

La Manche. Just ignore it.

Two others dived in to try
and rescue him.

So if Jack Roberts is
not our killer,

what if it's someone
using his name to avenge him?

But why make an appointment to do it
for the middle of a charity party?

In broad daylight -
surrounded by so many people?

Someone who wants to be caught?

Ah!

That is the paradox right
at the heart of the case, isn't it?

The only logical reason to kill
someone during a daylight party is

because you want to be seen and yet,
no-one saw him commit the murder.

Maybe that's it. The identity of the
killer seemed so obvious, we just
accepted it,

we didn't question it. Right, when
you hit a dead end, throw out
everything you think you know

and start again. So, if we dismiss
Jack Roberts as a possible suspect
for the moment,

who else could have killed
Malcolm Powell?

At the precise moment the shot was
fired, where was everyone?

The gardener - Duncan Wood -
he was in plain view. Could he be
the killer?

Absolutely not.
The same goes for Vicky Woodward.

Right, Mark Grainger appeared
on the balcony above the study,

seconds after the gunshot,
so he couldn't have done it, either.

Statements indicate Mrs Powell
wasn't actually seen

when the shot was fired.

We only saw her
when we arrived at the house.

I think she genuinely loved him.
She would be the last on my list.

In a case of paradoxes, maybe that
makes her the most likely.

No, no, no, no, no, no - there's
something else, isn't there?

There's the other things. There's
the... I mean, why was the window
left open?

And the drawer.

And who made the appointment and
drove the car if Jack Roberts had
been dead three years?

It's not possible.

You're right sir, it's not possible.
If Jack Roberts isn't our killer...
Because he's been dead three years.

..And you're also saying that Mrs
Powell can't be... I don't think so.

..Then no-one's our killer.
Because when Malcolm Powell died,

everyone was in the garden,
weren't they?

It's not possible to be in two
places at the same time.

What? I said it's not possible...
No, I heard you. That's brilliant.

You can't be in two
places at the same time!

Except, of course you can.

In fact, that's the only thing
that makes any sense!

Right, you say the victim
regularly took out

bundles of cash in 2,000 chunks.

Is that right? Yes, sir.

Is the house still sealed off? It is.
We allowed Mrs Powell to stay,

but the murder scene's been
preserved.

OK, get everyone to the house.
First I need a search warrant.

Yes, sir.

I want to search
the bedroom above the study.

The murder weapon is not here.

The house was sealed off.
It has to be here.

Wait.

Someone has moved the carpet.

Sorry to have kept you all waiting.

It's just this case has been a
particularly difficult nut to crack.

It's true that we had eye witnesses
placing the killer at the scene.

Identified as Jack Roberts.

And we later discovered that
Jack Roberts was an investor,

who was cheated out of his money
by Mr Powell's UK company,

Lindman Investments.

Which gave us a motive.

So we had a killer and a motive.
Excellent start.

Until we discovered that
Jack Roberts had been missing,

presumed dead for over three years.

Around the time you came
here from England, was it not?

Yes.

So was Jack Roberts
our killer or not?

Was he dead or alive?

To be honest, I didn't hold out much
hope we'd ever find him.

But in fact, he's in this very room.

Or at least the real killer is.

The one who used
the name of Jack Roberts to create

something of an elaborate illusion.

You see, this was to be
the perfect murder.

Predicated on the fact that
Mr Powell had

a reputation for being less than
honest with other people's money.

Just tell me who killed my husband?

Well, it's obvious,
when you think about it.

There's only one person here
with the organisational skills

necessary to pull off such
a meticulously-planned murder.

It was you, Vicky, the secretary.
You killed Malcolm Powell.

What!?

Just as it was you who emptied
the charity's bank accounts.

And bought the plane
ticket in his name to make it

look like he was about to
skip the country.

I'm sorry, you saw me!

I was in the garden
when he was killed!

Ah, yes, you were, weren't you?

And you can't be in two places
at the same time, can you?

Therefore - logically -
seeing as you're the killer...

Mr Powell must have been
killed at a different time.

A fact that I was able to
prove about ten minutes ago

when I found the murder weapon.
in the bedroom above the study.

The house was sealed off,
it has to be here.

Perhaps you can tell me

why did everyone hear the shot
that killed Mr Powell

when the gun that was used to fire
it was fitted with a silencer?

There were two shots fired that day,
weren't there?

One with the silencer
and one without. Two shots?

So, you're saying she had what
an accomplice?

No, Mark. I'm saying she had two.

As you well know
because you were one of them.

That can't be true.

And you were the other.
Weren't you, Duncan?

Because this wasn't one person
masquerading as Jack Roberts,

it was three!

You see this was a plan
hatched between lovers.

The all-knowing, ever present

trusted personal assistant
and her gardener boyfriend.

I'm not really sure at what point
they enlisted you, Mark.

Perhaps they knew you
were in financial difficulties.

Er, Mark Grainger,
he's working double shifts.

How do you know all this?

Well, it's simple, really.

If the real Jack Roberts died three
years ago - as he almost certainly

did - then the three people who
claim to have seen him and who

all gave an identical description
of him, must be in cahoots.

This wasn't about revenge,

this was about stealing 3 million.

Miss Woodward would have
known about Jack Roberts -

the fact his body was never found.

How dramatic,
a man who lost everything,

returned from the dead to
wreak his terrible revenge.

The perfect stooge, to provide
each of you with the perfect alibi.

It began with Mark driving
the car to the house.

We all saw the car arrive
but couldn't see who was driving.

Well, I'll go and meet him.
I'll show him into the study?

To be met by Vicky, as arranged.

But rather than show him
into the study,

she let him make his way upstairs.

She then went to get her employer
bringing him back to the house.

Once in the study, she went to her
desk, opened the drawer,

took out her gun and shot Malcolm
Powell through the heart.

No-one heard anything
because she used a silencer.

She then moved to the window
and opened it.

Mark lowered a bag from upstairs.

Vicky retrieved the car
keys from it then sent him

the gun in return.

She then left the house

stopping only to give her lover
Duncan the car keys.

By the time you exchanged
pleasantries with

Sergeant Bordey
Mr Powell was already dead.

And it was time for the next
part of your plan.

Once he'd removed the silencer
and fired the gun again.

The plan was to make sure
he was seen on the balcony within

seconds of the gun shot.

Thereby giving both himself
and Miss Woodward

the perfect alibi.

First of course, you had to hide
the gun and the silencer.

The house was sealed off, but no
doubt you intended to come back

and retrieve it, once
we were off on a wild goose chase.

Which was your next job, wasn't it?

You made sure we couldn't give chase
and then made off in the Mercedes.

All that was left to do was to leave
a false trail for us to follow.

We were supposed to think that
Mr Powell had tried to buy

Jack Roberts off before he then
escaped the island on a boat.

You dumped and burnt the car.

You even left behind some cash
wraps as the final
piece of evidence,

no doubt collected by Miss Woodward
over the preceding months.

Duncan then made his way
around the headland

as if he'd never been gone.

And you were left with three
cast-iron alibis

and 3 million in cash,
just waiting to be picked up.

After all, none of you could have
been near the study

when the shot was fired.

And if that wasn't enough, we'd all
seen the killer arrive together,

heard the shot together,
and watched him drive away together.

The perfect murder.

For which all three of you
will spend the rest of your lives
in prison.

Lock them up.

You should have been there, Maman.
Seriously this time,

it was brilliant. Genius.

Ah, I don't know about that.

Ah, credit where it's due, Chief.

Well, as much as I'd like to
take all the credit, it was a team
effort, so thank you.

Well, we've had some excitement
here today, you know.

Oh, what?

Someone broke into the Post Office.
No!

A window was forced open.

Must have been kids.
I guess.

Although talking about post.

This arrived for you earlier,
Fidel - I forgot to mention it.

Wait! Earlier, when?
Earlier. Before now.

The Post Office was already closed

when you found out this
had been posted.

Chief, will you take off your
detective head? You're amongst
friends now.

If I find out you broke into
that Post Office...

Don't worry. You won't find out.

Look, can I have it or not?

I suppose so, although strictly
speaking this makes us
all accessories.

I'll risk it.

I passed!

Come here.

Bravo, Fidel! Thank you, sir.
Yes, aye!

Please, carry on.
You've done a great job.

And I hear congratulations
are in order, Sergeant Best.

Yes sir, thank you.

I just need to give Juliet a call.

Can I buy you a drink, Commissioner?

A small rum perhaps,
just to mark the occasion.

Coming right up.

Could we have a word, please?

If it's about the Post Office,

I have five eye witnesses who saw me
on the other side of the island, OK?

Sir.

Commissioner. Chief.

Congratulations.

You have quite a team.

Yes, yes, I do.

I've just had a conversation with

an Inspector Darwin of the Serious
Organised Crime Agency in London.
Oh?

He headed up the investigation
of Malcolm Powell

and Lindman Investments UK.

I see. Yeah.

A substantial amount of the money
invested in the company was

never recovered.

So I understand.

He seemed to think the fact we've
just charged Powell's assistant

with his murder might prove useful.

They want to question her.

So when are they coming?

They want to interview her
in London. Ah, right.

They want her escorted by a senior
officer. I suggested you.

Me? It makes sense.
You know the details of the case.

So, I'd have to go back to London?

Just for a few days.

If you took this evening's flight,
you'll be there in the morning
and back by Friday?

Well, yeah. I mean that would be
great sir, thank you. Wow.

Your flight leaves at six o'clock,

I'll have a cab pick you up
at your house in an hour.

I'll have the prisoner taken
directly to the airport,

you can pick her up from there.

An hour. Crikey.

I suggest you go home and pack.

I think he just said I'm going back
to London for a few days.

Oh, I tell you it's a job to
know what to pack.

It will be winter over there,
you know. I checked the weather.

Overcast. Four degrees.

Ha, ha! It's not even that
cold in my fridge.

But you will be back on Friday?

Yeah, that's the plan.
Of course things might change.
You know, not saying they will,

but, you know being here wasn't
really the plan, was it?

Not exactly.
It just sort of happened.

One minute I was in Croydon
and the next...

I mean, not that I haven't loved it,
you know, I have.

And you and... Well,
all of you! You know, the gang.

Yeah. Loved every minute of it.

Well, maybe not every minute,
you know, in the main.

Anyway, it's only till Friday.
Probably. No need for big goodbyes.

Oh, actually I will need someone
to look after Harry. Harry?

Yeah, my lizard.

I had to give him a name. I couldn't
just keep calling him lizard.

Only you could call a lizard Harry.

Yeah, it was in the paper when I was
trying to think of a name.
Prince Harry.

I think he looks quite like him.
He likes fruit, you know.

Well, mangoes, and erm...
any bugs you can catch.

You know,
he sort of likes it best if you,

if you mash the bugs up
in the fruit.

No big deal,
a couple of times a day.

Well, in the morning at eight
and again at six.

Don't worry,
I'll take care of your lizard.

Ah! Beer!

Just what I need.

You won't come back, will you?

Yeah, of course I will.
No, you won't.

You'll get home,
it will be cold and raining

and you'll have a pint
of beer in your pub and

you'll want to stay there.

All packed, Chief?

Yes, well. I mean,
not really much to, erm...

you know, it's only a few days.

It won't be the same without you,
Sir.

Oh, gosh, there's my car.

Yeah, coming!

I'd better take that, Chief.

Hold on.

Right, well...

So, we'll see you on Friday
then, Sir. Yep. Absolutely.

Safe flight, Chief.

Back before you know it.

Harry!

I'm telling you,
he's not coming back.

By the time
he gets that cold in his bones

and that rain in his face, he'll
think he's died and gone to heaven.

No, Dwayne. He'll be back.
Won't he, Camille?

He said he would.

Of course he did and I'm sure
he meant it when he said it.

But it'll all be different
when he's home. Yeah, maybe.

Look, I think the inspector
is a man of his word.

I tell you what though,
he was funny.

It could have been 110 in the shade

and he'll be sitting there in a suit
and tie drinking a cup of tea.

Moaning about how
hot it is! Of course it's hot!

You've got a woollen suit on!

Or with the motorbike, he would
hold on so tight like that.

It was like Wallace and Gromit.
His knuckles were white.

I tell him the jeep was being used
even when it wasn't,

just to get him in the sidecar.

You know what, I have never heard
anybody moan like he did.

It was too hot.
The sand was too sandy.

And the milk wasn't the right milk.

Well, he'll be somewhere tonight,
with a huge plate of fish and chips,

a mug of tea and a crossword.
A toast!

To the most annoying, childish,

pedantic, funny,

brilliant man I've ever met.

Inspector Richard Poole.

Richard Poole!

Oh, you look nice.

What, this?

It was the first thing I saw
when I opened the wardrobe.

Oh really? I just thought with it
being Friday...

Is it?

Mm.
Which means Richard will be back.

Well, I suppose it does,
I'd forgotten all about it.

Well, I think the London flight
lands at four...

Yeah, 4:30!

I think.

Do you want to go to the airport?

Of course not. Why would I?

Anyway, I think the Commissioner
is going to meet him.

So you don't want to do
anything special then?

What time is it?

Quarter to six.

So land at half past four,
get cases by what five?

More or less.

Get to the car. Friday evening
traffic, should be here by...

Quarter to six?

He'll be here, don't worry.

The suspense is killing me.

What is it?
The Commissioner's car.

Good evening, team.

He was on the flight, right?

Ah. Bit of a problem on that front.

Too right, there's a problem.

They lost my luggage. Again!

That's two flights I've made
to this benighted island

and both times they've
lost my luggage!

It's like they've got some
kind of twisted vendetta against me.

What is the point of having
a luggage carousel

if there's never anything on it!
Hmm?

I mean they should maybe turn
it into something else,

like a revolving fruit and vegetable
display or a children's ride.

I mean they call it paradise,
but they've got a very funny
idea of what paradise is,

if it includes walking around in
a hundred degree heat in the same
pants for a fortnight!

Welcome home, Chief.

It's good to have you back.