Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven.
She made a decent job of it.
We're supposed to be Homicide, not suicide.
Yeah, all traffic diverted to May Street.
What's the story?
Her name's Natalie Pierce. That's her husband up there.
He reckons she jumped.
No witnesses? We only just got here.
Do you want to canvass down here? Me and Simon can talk to the husband.
Sure.
We'll do the link over there. Get the building.
Can't you cover her up? The crime team's running late.
Cover her up anyway. Yeah, right.
They're gonna love that.
My responsibility. Matt Ryan.
Bond. James Bond. Piss off!
Mr Pierce. I'm Detective Ryan.
This is Detective Joyner.
We're sorry for your loss.
She jumped.
She jumped out there.
She climbed up on the rail.
I don't know, she said... she said she was sorry and she jumped.
You didn't try to stop her?
How?
I woke up this morning. I was on the couch.
She was already out there on the balcony.
Any idea why sh?
Every bloody idea!
These last couple of months I wanted to do it myself.
Half a dozen times.
We had a fire and we lost both our kids.
I thought Natalie was just starting to get over it.
I come home from work last night she's bloody hysterical.
She's crying.
Why do you think she waited until this morning to, er, jump?
Because there was a bloke here.
Just as I'm getting home from work he was leaving.
I don't know what the bloody hell he said to her.
I was too hurt.
I was too late.
Rita Solomon. Mm-hm.
I live on the fourth floor.
Do you know these people?
Yeah, Natalie was my friend.
I know what happened.
He killed her. Her husband.
What? Did you see it?
No, I didn't have to see it.
That prick killed her.
Well, you didn't see it so how do you know she didn't jump?
You bastard!
You finally got what you wanted! Shut up, Rita! Shut up!
You finally put an end to her. You've got no idea!
You bastard! You killed her!
You made her jump!
Sir.
So, Mr Pierce, this mystery man was coming out of your apartment?
No, no.
He was getting in the lift as I was... as I was getting out.
How'd you know he come out of your place?
Because at the same time, my, my front door was just clicking shut.
And then I turned to... to look back at the lift
and the lift was closing as well.
Ah, you were too late. Again.
What next?
Well, I went inside the flat and Nattie's hysterical.
I asked her what was going on.
I said, "What's going on? What's going on?"
But she wouldn't talk to me.
She just locked herself in the bedroom.
This man you say you saw. I did see him. I did see him.
Mm-hm. What did he look like?
I don't know, it was just a second.
Just... ordinary bloke.
Tall.
Um, dark hair, d-dark... dark-framed su... er... glasses on.
Sounds like Clark Kent.
You a Superman fan, Craig?
Like a what?
Mate, you made this up on the way over here, didn't you?
It's a big mistake - overembellishing.
I didn't kill her.
You were close friends.
What did you talk about?
Oh... about her kids, mainly.
They died in a house fire and he blamed her.
He hated her.
She was miserable all the time.
You said that he blamed her for the children dying. Why was that?
She was having an affair at the time.
Who with?
How would I know? I never met him.
Bloody like to though. Mongrel.
She never told me his name.
But it had been going on for a while, up until the fire.
And, er, she had this guilt.
Because she was with him.
She was with him when my kids died.
So, yes, I blame her! Yes, I blame her!
Did you kill your wife, Mr Pierce?
Oh, I wanted to. I bloody wanted to.
I love my wife.
I love her, you know, even after everything that happened.
It's got to have something to do with that bloke
that I saw getting into the lift.
How about I get someone in here
to help us put together a picture of this man, hmm?
If there's anything you'd like to add to your statement,
you can call me anytime.
OK. Thanks, Rita.
Thanks.
He does look like Clark Kent.
Ah, he doesn't exist, Sarge. Pierce made him up.
No, no. He could be genuine.
No, look, Pierce blames his wife for their kids, right?
She was out screwing her boyfriend
when she should have been looking after them.
So he moves her into the high-rise and he keeps at her.
He keeps playing on her guilt
until she can't take it anymore - it's payback.
That's what Rita Solomon reckons went down.
Good luck proving it.
Hmm. No, Matt's right, the DPP'd laugh us out the door.
Anything else? Any witnesses?
Yeah, uniforms canvassed the occupants
of the surrounding tower blocks, but they struck out.
Hmm. OK.
Get this copied and distributed.
The autopsy report should be in tomorrow.
Jennifer, you can pick that up on the way in.
And, Simon, interview rooms are for interviews.
You want to eat your lunch, go somewhere else and eat it.
Sorry, Sarge.
That'd be fine if we actually got a lunch break.
? Alala, alala
? Would you be kind...?
? Gimme one little more... ?
Oh, my God!
Oh! Oh!
Oh! Oh... my...
...God!
Oh!
Oh.
This would be so much easier in a hotel.
Yeah. Much more traceable.
We'd pay cash.
Why? This is more exciting.
Oh.
I'll pay for the room, Simon. I can afford it.
No. No, your husband will find out.
That's what he does for a living.
He's going to find out anyway,
if I don't get home before he does.
Come on. Quick sticks!
? I'm so worried
? I bought that posh clothing
? But it still looks ugly
? Alala, alala
? Am I stupid
? I'm doing the talking
? But I don't get nothing
? Alala, alala... ?
No pre-mortem bruising.
No sign of a fight or a struggle.
Grazes on the back of both legs
consistent with sliding over a balcony railing.
Looks like a suicide, from all the physical evidence.
Well, physical evidence doesn't tell us
what's going on up here, though, does it?
I'd say it pretty much covers it.
Oh, you think so, do you?
"My wife's gone to the Bahamas."
"Jamaica?"
"No, she went of her own accord."
Did she jump of her own volition,
or did her husband talk her over the edge?
And what about this character? Does he exist?
If so, what is his involvement?
Well, maybe he was an ex-Iover
and he's gone over there to try to resurrect the relationship.
Hmm. Possibility. Anything else?
One thing. We checked her phone records.
The last call she made was to a Dr Patrick Swain - plastic surgeon.
Yeah, she had a boob job. It's in there.
They, er, don't do too well in a fall, apparently. Implants.
No, but they can be dated using serial numbers.
That's, er, in there too.
Natalie Pierce had that operation almost a year ago.
Why would she contact her plastic surgeon after such a long time?
Especially when she's about to commit suicide.
Good question. Maybe you should ask him?
Get your hand off it, Sherlock. It wasn't that big a deal.
You missed it.
Yeah, well, boobs aren't my thing, are they?
I'm more of an arse man.
Right.
I didn't actually speak to Mrs Pierce...
She left a message on my mobile.
Saying what?
Well, to call her. I assumed she wanted some more work done.
She was very happy about her breast augmentation.
You'd, er, given her your mobile number?
That must make you the most accessible specialist in town,
wouldn't you say?
You're married?
Very observant of you.
Yeah, he's good at his job.
Are you good at yours, Dr Swain?
How's your, er, your bedside manner, for instance?
Look, I've... I've answered your questions
so if there's nothing else...
Dr Swain, Natalie Pierce is dead.
She committed suicide.
My God, that's... er... that's awful.
Yeah.
And the last person she called before she killed herself was you.
Which would suggest to us
that perhaps you had more than a professional relationship.
That's ridiculous.
Look, I'm sorry about Natalie. Of course I am.
But I'm very busy and...
Right. Come on, we can go and ask his wife, see if she knows anything.
Is that a threat? No.
That's just the next logical step.
Were you seeing Natalie Pierce on a personal basis, Doctor?
We were... we were together when the fire happened.
You know about the fire?
Natalie was distraught afterwards, naturally.
She... she kept calling me, hysterical.
She even came here once.
It couldn't go on.
Just no fun anymore, eh?
Ever seen this bloke?
This is... This is a nightmare.
He was... he was here.
That's why Natalie called me, to warn me he was on his way over.
She'd told him we'd used to be involved.
He came here asking questions.
What kind of questions?
About the affair. How long it had been going on.
How we conducted it.
He wanted to know everything.
He was... he was like a crazy man.
He was yelling at me, pushing chairs over...
Did he say who he was?
No. No, no way.
I told him to get out or I'd call security.
He left.
So Clark Kent does exist?
The loony version, anyway.
Anything from the apartment block?
I waved his picture around the neighbours,
but no-one remembers seeing him.
I'll try running it through the database.
It doesn't matter if he exists or not, she still killed herself.
It's still suicide.
But what did Clark Kent say to her?
I mean, if he's the one that coerced her into jumping, he's culpable
and we need to find the bastard.
And do what? What are we gonna charge him with? Being a nasty person?
You lost something, Simon?
No.
There's gotta be something.
I'm gonna talk to Pierce again.
The Coroner won't release her body.
Reckon it'll be at least a week.
Yeah, takes time.
Not that long.
We've been following up on the man you saw coming out of your apartment.
Anything else you can remember?
What about before you went inside, was there anyone hanging around?
I told you everything I know.
Have a look at this.
"We're really sorry about what happened, Mrs Peters.
"We'll pray for you."
Nice sentiment.
It's the wrong name, mate. It's Pierce! Pierce!
Hey, wait, wait. There was, there was a car.
There was a car parked here.
Like, a grey, bluey-grey kind of car on... on that night -
the night that I saw the bloke.
What kind of bluey-grey car?
Old. Old... old Falcon. Something like that.
Bloody big dent in the bonnet,
like, like it hit a truck or something like that.
You didn't say anything about it before.
Well, I've only just remembered, mate.
I got a lot going on, in case you hadn't noticed.
I'm organising a funeral.
Why don't you just leave me alone, hey?
Why don't you just let me bury her body?
But you can't... You can't do that, can you?
Because it's always the same, there's always a bloody finger to point!
It was the same when I lost my kids!
People badmouthing us,
saying we're like druggies or deadbeats or something.
Mate, I think you should calm down. That I'd left them!
That it was my fault too! It's now my fault that they're dead!
Mr Pierce! I was at work!
I'm installing a bloody toilet... Just take it...
...across town and it's my fault that they're dead!
Mr Pierce.
And now you come here after my wife tops herself
and you start pointing the finger again.
Hey, hey... You can't...
Just take it easy.
Get on the phone, ring D24! Get on the phone!
Five calls from the media. So far.
Apparently Mr Pierce believes we're harassing him.
Look, the man's children were killed in a fire,
his wife has just committed suicide.
Now, oh, call me old-fashioned, I would have thought
that might require a little bit of sensitivity on our part.
But, no, you three go woofing in there with your size 12 boots on,
without so much as a backward glance, and the man ends up in hospital.
Whatever Craig Pierce may maintain, ma'am,
it's still an ongoing investigation.
But that doesn't give us the right to hound the man.
We're not. All we were doing was asking him some questions.
Yeah, that's right. He was the one who lost it.
You can consider yourselves very lucky
that this is nothing more serious than a panic attack.
Otherwise this would be
a very different conversation we'd be having.
Full status report on my desk
first thing tomorrow, please, Stanley.
Ma'am.
Honestly, if you three had half a brain between you, it'd be Ionely.
With respect.
Half a brain between three of us.
That'd be one sixth of a brain each. We'd probably qualify for a benefit.
I wasn't even there. Mmm.
What are we gonna do about this report?
We're gonna write it up as a suicide and cut our losses.
And what about Clark Kent? What about him?
Craig Pierce thinks he's responsible for his wife killing herself.
Is that the same Craig Pierce
that just bagged you out to the national media?
Yeah, well, he's looking for someone to be angry at.
You know, that's us until we find him somebody else.
You are sounding more and more like Stanley Wolfe every day.
You'll be joining his congregation next.
Nice one, guys! Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Pipe down, ladies. Go back to the 80's.
They're already there, most of them.
Your shout.
I hate this place. Matt?
Hmm. Thanks.
Simon Joyner.
Mate, what did you do - bash him with the Yellow Pages?
See, this is what happens when I'm not there to keep you two in line.
Mate, the guy had a spac attack. It's nothing to do with us.
Duncan.
That's not what they're saying on the telly. The red one.
It's a good thing I'm coming back.
You got the green light?
Yeah, squeaky clean.
The old firm's back in business.
I'll see you tomorrow.
Duncan got the green light. He's back tomorrow.
So... what about Jennifer?
Don't know.
? Hello, hello What's going through your head?
? Hell, there, boy Better get it read
? Hello, hello What's going through your head?
? Hell, there, boy Better get it read
? Hello, hello What's going through your head?
? Hell, there, boy Better get it read
? Hello, hello What's going through your head?
? Hell, there, boy Better get it read
? You used to be so real... ?
I'm not happy, Duncan.
They may have given you the all-clear,
but I still have plenty of questions.
Which means you'd better be leaving that weapon of yours in its holster
unless you've got a damn good reason for taking it out.
And be careful of other people's property, if you don't mind.
Yes, Sarge.
Wilton.
How are they hanging, Stanley? Hmm, reasonably even.
Duncan Freeman is back on my crew today.
Yeah, seen him. Flash little monkey. Yeah.
How's he afford those suits? You ever ask him?
Well, the point is now Duncan's back,
Jen Mapplethorpe goes back down to Fraud.
I think we should make the effort to keep her here
or get her back AS AP.
Bloody bastard fart-arse technological crap!
So what do you want with me?
I write a letter of recommendation and we both sign it.
Well, as long as I get first dibs.
I could do with an extra body on my crew.
Especially a cute one.
I'll get back to you.
What's this?
I got the green light. I'm back.
Jennifer.
So I'm back down to Fraud?
Not necessarily.
I'll see what I can do.
We're in the middle of an investigation, Sarge.
It doesn't make any sense. Yeah, I said I'll see what I can do.
I'm writing a letter recommending that you be seconded
back to us on a permanent basis.
Wilton Sparkes has agreed to co-sign it.
I won't hold my breath.
There is a proviso, however. Sparkes wants you on his crew.
For what? To do the filing?
You'd be in Homicide.
Fraud is so boring.
Well, Stanley's already said
he's trying to get you back into Homicide, so...
Oh, with Wilton Sparkes. I can hardly wait.
I've always wanted to be a secretary.
Have you got your report in to Waverley?
Yeah, er, Simon did.
Usual, you know, buy ourselves some time stuff.
Promising leads, a couple more days...
No bloody way. What?
Blue-grey car with a bloody great dint.
Oh, just... can...
Hey, tell Simon and Duncan.
Oh, and give us the keys.
Great.
Mattie.
Are you sure it's a hit?
Gouge in the bonnet. Blue-grey.
Driver fits the description.
Did you check the rego?
Yeah, it makes sense him coming out of our car park. He's a cop.
Bloody hell.
DS Larry Klein.
He's been warming his bum in the Media Unit for the past year.
Did he go in the house? Yeah. I wandered by.
There's, er, a plaque on the front gate -
"Sean McCready, psychiatrist".
Klein's been in there for a while. Maybe we should...
Here we go.
What the hell are you doing? Pick him up. Talk to him.
Yeah, right.
He's just been in for a counselling session
from the stress of working in the Media Unit, or something.
And we go and jump him, and we look like idiots.
Do you want to get into even more trouble?
OK, Dunny, you, er, follow him, then. Me and Simon'll talk to the shrink.
Come on, mate.
Hello?
Police.
Dr McCready, it's the police.
He's down. Shit!
Looks like the doctor needs a doctor.
Duncan.
Police. Can you stay in the car, please, sir?
I got my wallet... Keep your hands where I can see them!
...with my police ID in my pocket.
Keep your hands where I can see them!
I said, I've got my police ID in my pocket!
You take your hand out of your jacket pocket now!
OK. OK.
Turn around and put your hands on the roof of the car!
Now!
Alright. I'm on your side.
I am a Sergeant, a Detective Sergeant!
Yeah, I know who you are.
You can show me your police ID down the police station.
Recognise anybody?
This is the guy. This is him.
This is the guy. This is the guy I saw getting in the lift.
What's his story? Huh, what's going on?
Is he... is he the bloke that Nat was screwing?
We're talking to him, that's all.
We're doing our job.
Maybe you wanna tell that
to your mates in the media.
That's him.
He kept asking me about my wife.
Going on about her having an affair, or something.
So why the bashing, Dr McCready?
I don't know. I told him to get out.
He got angry.
I told him my wife wasn't the sort of person to have an affair.
He got angrier still.
Has your wife ever had plastic surgery?
No. She never did.
Why?
Past tense?
She died. Nine years ago.
She... killed herself after we lost our kids in a fire.
It's true. Look at this.
Map of the world, eh?
I was almost killed myself trying to get them out.
Doctor, is he?
Oh, I see.
I thought he was a psychiatrist.
I don't know where they get off calling themselves doctors.
It's like you two calling yourselves detectives.
Delusions of grandeur.
Sergeant Klein, you know how this works.
We want answers.
You'll get the answers
when you give me sufficient and proper cause to ask the question.
That's how it works.
You were seen coming out of the building.
The victim picked out your photo.
I think that's sufficient and proper cause, don't you?
Dr McCready says you attacked him without provocation.
You wanna tell us why you did that?
What you were doing there?
Oh, I went there to ask him his advice.
I thought I was developing Mickey Mouse Syndrome.
Like this investigation.
Sean McCready's kids were killed in a house fire nine years ago.
The same thing happened to Craig and Natalie Pierce.
What's the connection?
Is there a connection?
Could be a coincidence, you know. What do you think?
Why'd you bash Sean McCready?
Is that all you've got, is it? His word?
Hey?
How do you know I didn't go there to make an appointment
and find him already bashed, hmm?
Why'd you visit Natalie Pierce?
Who's Natalie Pierce?
And if I did visit her, who said I went to see her?
Her husband. Then he's mistaken. Are we done?
No. No, we're gonna charge you with this attack, Sergeant,
and it is gonna stick.
So you charge me. I'll admit to the assault.
And then I'll make an issue about his provocation and my stress
and I'll be charged and released on bail.
What provocation? What stress?
Working in the Media Unit, cleaning up after donkeys like you two.
It can be stressful.
So I went there to ask him his advice
and he was rude.
And I don't like rude people
so I bashed him
and I'm deeply remorseful about what happened, Your Worship.
Now charge me, you donkey.
What about Natalie Pierce?
What did you say to her that made her cry all night then kill herself?
Who's Natalie Pierce?
Nice job.
This guy's looney tunes, Sarge.
Should have pushed him on the fires, Matt.
Can't see it. We checked with Arson.
Both accidents. The Pierce fire, heater, curtains.
McCready's was a toaster.
Both electrical faults.
The only common denominator were the kids.
Yeah, something's definitely off.
Hold him overnight. Drag out the paperwork.
See what you can dig up on him.
? Eventually, it took its toll...?
Klein had you for breakfast.
What, and you could have done better?
My oath, mate. He ran rings around you.
Crap.
Hey, he ran rings around both of us.
Sorry, Si, no luck. Thanks for looking, sweetheart.
Lost his ID card, hasn't he?
What? You're kidding.
It's been three days.
It's not funny! What am I gonna do?
Tell Stanley. So he can ream you a new arsehole.
Cheers! Cheers!
Morning, Sarge. How's it going?
Been better.
Yeah, I've had a pretty crap week too.
Oh, you've no idea, son.
Had your prostate checked yet?
What?
Prostate cancer.
It can hit young blokes too, you know.
I had mine cut out about a year ago.
One thumb up your bum, your whole life changes forever.
No, no, you ought to get it checked.
It can affect your performance.
One minute you're bloody Godzilla in bed,
the next - ooh.
What's this, er, about, Sergeant?
You tell me.
You lost anything?
Sorry?
Your ID maybe?
The one I found in the back of my wife's car.
You know, the Audi with the stains in the back seat.
The one you've been porking her in!
You little shit! You've been rooting my missus!
When I'm ready,
this is going to Stanley Kiss-My-Arse-I'm-With-Jesus Wolfe
and he's gonna be told exactly where it was found
and how it bloody well got there!
Let's see how that offends his Christian sensibilities!
Till then...
...sweat.
So that's why he's been acting so suspicious.
He is way past bloody suspicious.
I've been looking for that ID for days.
He found it in your car, Lorraine. He knows.
So what's he playing at?
Why hasn't he said anything?
Look, you have gotta get it back for me.
How am I supposed to do that?
I don't know. Just... just steal it or whatever.
But he is planning a bloody crucifixion.
Oh, you're back then. Good.
Plenty to do. I've got a pile of paperwork to get through.
Fine. Point me at it.
Good. If you can, er, get me a coffee while I pull the file.
White and three.
Bloody Sparkes!
Pain-in-the-arse, misogynistic piece of shit!
Mapplethorpe? Jennifer, isn't it?
Ah, yes, ma'am.
Transfer not working out too well?
No. No, ma'am. Everything's fine. Mm-hm.
I was just... venting.
Ah. Venting.
I was 18 when I came into this job.
In those days a female cop could only be one of two things -
a nympho or a dyke -
determined entirely on whether you stuffed up
by sleeping with one of your male colleagues.
The second station I went to, they didn't even have a toilet,
a female toilet.
And when one was finally installed
the boys took to using it with great gusto and relish
and stank the place out.
Which, of course, amused them highly, as I'm sure you can imagine.
You know what I did about it? I didn't do anything about it.
I kept my head down and did my job.
I didn't waste time on the bullshit.
They think differently to us.
This is our secret weapon, Jennifer. Use it.
Sarge.
Something's been niggling at me.
Larry Klein's house calls - run through them.
Easy.
He left McCready with the crap beaten out of him.
He talked Natalie Pierce into a state where she committed suicide.
Hmm. And Patrick Swain?
Her plastic surgeon.
Hmm.
Shit! How come he left Swain untouched?
Klein's on some kind of a mission here.
He's quite happy to give one person a kicking, well, why not another?
Why not indeed?
If Swain got out of that visit without a thumping,
that has to be because he told Larry Klein what he wanted to know.
Your plastic man's gonna crack this open for you.
Jump on him. Hard.
Dr Swain!
Oh, look, whatever it is I'm really pushed.
Well, this won't take long, Doctor.
Sorry. I haven't got the time.
Swain. That's old English for Swine, isn't it?
Shepherd, actually. And that would be Middle English.
You know, I saw this item
about this whole debacle on television the other night.
The, er, the man who collapsed.
I'm sure you wouldn't want another complaint about harassment
to be lodged with your superiors.
So if there's nothing else...
Well, media exposure can work both ways, Doctor.
You see, I'm having a beer with a friend of mine tonight -
newspaper reporter.
He's always on at me for dirt to dish.
I mean, you gotta be so bloody careful.
You have a few beers, you might let a few things slip.
If you know what I'm saying, Doctor.
We'd been together for about a year when it happened.
The fire?
We had a routine by then.
And...
...that's what Klein wanted to know about?
That... and everything.
And you told him?
He threatened me. He was all but foaming at the mouth.
Didn't want plastic surgery yourself, eh?
We used a little boutique hotel.
Very discreet.
We'd have an early lunch at the hotel restaurant
then room, drink, bed, sex.
And after that Natalie would go home
to be there for the kids when they got back from school.
Except on the day of the fire, it was meal, drink, bed...
...no sex.
Why not?
We both went to sleep. We'd been... we'd been drugged.
Yeah, right.
How do you know that?
I'm a doctor. You think I can't tell when I've been sedated?
What's the name of the hotel, Doctor?
Larry Klein was charged and released on bail an hour ago.
Tell Matt and Duncan that he's out.
Alright.
Larry Klein's been released.
Oh, that's all we need, another lunatic on the street.
Hey, check this out.
Hello! Anybody here?
Hello!
Oh, Jesus, please don't hurt her!
Speak bloody English and speak it now!
Klein! ...you dago barstool!
I told you I'd be back!
What happened to them after they were drugged?!
Please, Papa. Signor, we know nothing about this.
What happened to them after they were drugged?
You talk to me! You tell me, you dago bastard!
I wanna know what happened! Put it down, Klein!
Put it down and listen to me!
Put it down!
Stay where you are! I'll cut her hand off!
Yeah, I'm gonna stay where I am. You just put the meat cleaver down.
Nobody's talking to you. Put it down!
Help me, Papa. Please! You don't want to hurt her.
Listen to me, don't hurt her. Put the cleaver down.
Larry. Stay where you are!
Larry, I'm gonna stay where I am. You just put the meat cleaver down.
We know nothing about this. Please!
Larry, we can get you whatever you need.
But you're not gonna get it this way and you know that.
So just put the cleaver down! Put it down.
Larry, you know how this works.
You don't know what's been going on!
Are you OK?
Alright. Come on.
Yeah.
Come on.
Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey, come on.
Your silence cost people's lives. You bastard!
Shut up.
You're under arrest.
You're real brave scaring a young girl like that, aren't you?
Means to an end.
Get us a rum and a smoke like a good man.
It's a government building. No smoking.
That's right.
Well, that's a shame.
That's a real shame. I was gonna swap you this key for a rum and a smoke.
Now, why would we want that?
Because this is a very important key.
This belongs to 13a Pelham Lane.
Up the back of the derelict factories near the markets. You know it?
This key opens room 116.
It's a very important room.
You better not be stuffing us around.
What number are we looking for?
116.
What the hell is this?
OK. Get to liaison AS AP.
Sarge?
Er, I wanted to apologise for whingeing at you earlier on.
I was just feeling sorry for myself.
Sparkes won't keep it up forever.
Well, if he gave me something half-interesting to do
I'd make him all the coffee he wants.
Hmm. I'm sure he'll work that out eventually.
Are you still working?
We've had a development.
Anything I can do?
What's she doing here?
Seven fires in nine years.
The psychiatrist, Sean McCready, his children were the first.
Then Craig and Natalie Pierce's children, they were the last.
All of these kids...
...all dead.
Why kill the kids?
Why come back and torment the parents?
You think I'm some kind of multiple offender, do you?
Aren't you?
This isn't a trophy room. It's a crime profile wall.
This is an office.
He didn't kill any of these children. He's trying to work out who did.
Yay!