'What would happen if you stopped trusting them,
'and started trusting me?'
There's a group I run.
It's a couple of times a week. We're meeting tonight.
Come.
You NUTTER!
Why do you do this? Because I am you.
I am the darkest part of you.
I am despair.
I am death.
I'm just trying to find out the truth.
I'm trying to find out who did this to you.
She was investigating something.
You have to tell Chrissie.
I know him.
The man on your appeal.
He came in about three months ago looking for a job.
12.5% of the population within a few square miles.
No wonder we can't find him.
One of the great invisibles.
You have to find him. Someone is going to kill him.
We're born alone, we die alone.
Only through love and friendship can we create
the illusion for the moment, that we are not alone.
We'll find who did this.
Otherwise what are we good for?
Can you see me yet?
Night-night.
I'm a state authorised judge. Go on.
So? I had a second phone.
Any headway on the pay-as-you-go number
found on Stevie's second phone?
We come to this country so filled with hope,
so grateful for the potential.
Yet still they say, "Why do we leave our door blindly open"
"to these people?"
But you migrated here too.
You see what people here do not see.
You of all people.
If only you had seen me clearly as I see you.
See the loneliness.
The isolation.
What it is like to be so far from your country and family.
What it is like to try and fit here.
How hard it is just to be.
Would you excuse me?
Why was Stevie calling you?
Does Chrissie know?
That you have a second phone or that you spoke to Stevie on it
in the weeks leading up to her death?
It didn't seem relevant. To who?
She was asking my advice.
She had a friend, he was here illegally.
For Christ's sake, Tom, that "friend" was all over a police appeal.
Yes, but I didn't know his name. She didn't tell me.
I didn't make the link.
She wanted to know his chances of staying here,
and I agreed they were pretty slim.
But I told her,
without the right paperwork... And his lawyer was pretty good.
I mean, as good as any of us are. She was trying to help him.
And what were YOU doing?
Oh, OK.
This is a cheap pay-as-you-go phone, and I use it for work,
and the occasional recreational activity.
What do you want from me?
You should tell Chrissie.
I know I should tell Chrissie if I wasn't a shit.
But I'm a shit.
Like a lot of other shits with a wife who barely looks at me.
Now, I'm serious.
The thought of seeing me naked is more than repellent to Chrissie.
It's practically laughable.
She'd rather sleep with the dog than spend a night cooched up with me.
And I am mortgaged up to the hilt,
I've got four delinquent and selfish children.
You know what? Forgive me if I didn't make the very obvious link
over a couple of phone calls.
Four!
You spoke to Stevie four times.
One was 19 minutes long.
I presumed they were screwing.
No. That's YOUR style, Tom.
Talk to Chrissie.
And say what?
We'll need a statement.
Talk to her before then.
The murder of Haider Jamail Abdi.
DS Stevenson was involved with him. How?
We've established that the blue Mondeo used in DS Stevenson's murder
was owned by Mr Jamal Abdi,
but it was not in his possession after October the 17th.
Five days later, it was used in the drive-by shooting of DS Stevenson.
We know that he sometimes stayed at her flat, and our increasing concern
is that the murder of Haider Jamal Abdi and DS Stevenson are linked.
They knew one another. We've ruled out any sort of relationship,
but we do know that she was investigating something
and Mr Jamal Abdi may have been helping her.
Was it this investigation that led to their deaths?
Mr Jamal Abdi was clearly frightened
in the hours leading up to his murder.
So, was someone trying to frame him? Who?
And how does this link to either or both of their murders?
Ira has been meticulously going through
the CCTV footage from the library.
Perhaps you'd like to bring us up to speed. Yeah.
This is a list of names.
No amber alerts as of yet.
Those we know who took out books that day
and were in the library. I've gone through most of the people,
but there are one or two not yet identified.
And unfortunately there wasn't a camera angled on the murder.
Where have you been?
Coffee with a friend.
You have no friends.
Well, that's not strictly true.
I don't count.
Are you all right?
I'm fine.
You're keeping something from me. Do not go behind my back.
Hostel in Whitechapel. Came in on the appeal. We're going down now.
Haider had been staying there.
He signed in on the night of Stevie's murder.
Eyewitnesses saw him on the phone to his wife.
Then reading in his room till gone midnight.
I take it all back - appeals forever more.
What the hell was she up to?
And who was he so frightened of?
Oh, Ira said you had a new lead, the pay-as-you-go.
It got up and went.
And now he gives me jokes.
River...
Come to me first, OK?
Boss is on the prowl.
Oh, Stevie's laptop.
It's on your desk.
We've pulled everything out now - search history, e-mails,
cleaned up the hard drive, etc. But there's... photos
and... stuff I don't want to wipe, so...
can you work out what to do with it?
Hi.
No. No, no, no, no.
You do not get out of dinner tonight, my love.
They... Tom! Listen to me, they are your parents.
It's Stevie's search history. I've trawled through it twice now.
There's some repeated searches, but no links yet.
I'll go over it later.
Cleaner. We're trying to trace him.
He's there mopping the floor. Library have no record of him.
I'm pulling up what I can, but most of the people there that day
probably didn't even have a library card.
Just skimming the free newspapers and getting in from the cold.
Haider's reading list - the odd bit of poetry,
a taste for Dan Brown novels.
He'd checked out a couple of books
on British citizenship and the legal system.
Why does everybody want to come to this city?
You did.
I came because I had to, when I was 14.
My grandmother died and my mother lived here.
First week, I lived on peanut butter sandwiches.
It was all she had in the fridge. It rained all the time
and nothing was green.
I hated it. Hated it.
But you stayed.
It had its advantages.
It's a city for everyone who belongs to everywhere else.
I went to Cork when I was 14.
Rained there too.
River!
All right?
Yeah.
I can drive.
It's fine.
She's gone.
How would you know?
I'm getting a feel for it.
Right...
Right.
Excuse me, is it all right if you just pull out some records for us?
Haider had been here nearly three months,
and moved out the day after Stevie died.
That must have been when he moved in with Khaalid.
They said it's worth talking to...
to Mrs Sunday Akentola. She's the hostel's immigration lawyer.
She comes in twice a week and Haider had a couple of meetings with her.
Most likely to get the process started, but no-one knows
if he followed through.
Mrs Akentola.
Sorry... Sorry. I've finished up for today.
It's all right, the last thing we need is a lawyer.
Do you mind if we walk?
I've got an appointment back in my office in...
oh, now.
Paperwork, June, for a Mr Haider Jamal Abdi. Please, do sit.
Here you are, Sunday. Thanks, June. A very nice man.
I am sorry I didn't make the association in the press.
Have you ever seen this woman?
No.
So he came on his own?
Yes. Yes. Always on his own.
His wife was in...
Mogadishu. Yes. Very smart. Very nice man.
Very sad.
Do you have more paperwork?
Er, yes... Yes.
The problem is, everyone says we make it
so easy for these people to come in,
but the Home Office lawyers, they are vicious.
All are guilty until proven innocent in a system that is broken.
It's not what you can become here...
it's what you are.
And we wonder why they come in underground.
Illegally. My job is to legitimise them.
Do you have a client list?
Yes.
I'm heading over to the hostel now, then back to court.
Thanks, Ema.
Client list...
I saw you at the immigration court earlier.
Yes, yeah...
You work there?
I work for a few clients. Legal firms, wherever I am needed.
Have you ever met this man?
He was staying at the hostel.
I'm sorry, I don't speak Arabic.
Um, his name, he's... he's Arabic, no?
No, Somalian. He was a client here.
I speak French, Romanian, Russian,
a bit of Italian - badly.
Did you ever see this woman before?
I saw her on the news.
Yes, she came in a few months ago.
Together with this man?
Maybe.
Maybe, yes.
Yes, maybe it WAS him.
She came in with him once or twice.
And then she came back alone. Once.
Mrs Akentola said she'd never met her.
Then I'm wrong. I'm sorry. Today is the worst day.
Friday is court day, so we're building up to that.
I need to get back there, back and forth, back and forth...
Are you sure you're wrong?
We suspect she was investigating something and this may be it.
You can help us.
Please don't say I told you.
She knows her.
Mrs Akentola knew her.
My suspicion is this is only a fraction of her client list,
but she has a pretty good strike rate, Mrs Akentola.
Then why is she lying about meeting Stevie?
If you're covering up an immigration scam...
That's what she was investigating.
Exactly, my friend.
There's nothing here. Overstayed visa, odd asylum case.
What's interesting is... Most of them go to appeal,
and only on appeal do they get a right to stay.
Mayonnaise.
Big mistake.
Four points.
It's not late.
I'm here. What?
I'm sitting right opposite. Yeah.
So you could talk. You could talk to me instead of her.
I could.
But then you'd have to have something interesting to say.
Found something? Maybe. I'm not sure yet.
River?
Are you free tonight?
My wife's cooking dinner
and said...
She said I should ask you if you'd like to come over.
I'm busy.
Sure.
Sure. Another time.
Um... What is she cooking?
Probably something... meat...
There'll probably be some meat of some kind.
Lamb, maybe.
I don't like lamb.
There you go.
I'm going nowhere.
Oh, River.
You go on.
We're in filling in forms.
I'm trying to keep them calm, but it's all storm with that family.
What forms?
Compensation. They've taken advice, apparently.
This is where Stevie would have come in, you know, acted as my ballast.
Do you want me to talk to them?
No, no. You've got enough on your plate.
Um, are we... getting any closer?
I'll take that as a hopeful sign.
That family... Vultures.
They're grieving.
The press don't help. Six weeks.
For Christ's sake, six weeks.
You can't let them dictate. Yeah.
So, er, Rosa's sick.
Right.
We were meant to go out last night,
but she seems fine today.
Tom, listen to me.
Do you think she seems fine?
They are your parents. Good. Good.
And you need to start taking responsibility, do you hear me?
Sorry. Sorry! Keep me posted.
Marcus and Rosa, are they...? Are you following me?
This is the men's.
But...
If I was having a pee, would you hover outside like that?
Yeah.
Are they?
No.
I don't think so.
He might want to, but...
Did he say that? Oh, God.
Of course.
Why wouldn't a beautiful 30-something like Rosa
go for a balding, self-opinionated older man? I mean...
Yeah, what a catch
God, the arrogance of you men. To think that...
Is that it?
Have you finished?
It doesn't matter that I am heading up this entire investigation.
It doesn't matter that he keeps shoving me in front of the press.
The weekly humiliation of questions unanswered.
Can you...?
What do I say, River?
We have nothing. Nothing! Marcus is right.
Six weeks.
Tom has cancelled...
So now I have to cook and smile
and sing Happy-sodding-Birthday
to a man who has neither the inclination nor the teeth
to even eat sodding birthday cake.
Which I also made. Whilst doing this job. While he...
he...
If people say they have to work late, do they?
Do they have to work late?
Is he having an affair... Tom?
What makes you say that?
Do I even care?
All these bloody women with their ridiculous names.
Pretty...
and clever...
and young.
He introduces them to me.
I surprised him last week.
He was embracing this tiny, tiny, little elfin thing.
With a pink woolly hat and...
so pretty.
Then he kissed me in front of her
and whisked me off before I could make a scene.
Apparently she was terribly upset because her hours had been cut
and apparently it's highly competitive
for interpreters these days.
I consoled him. MIRTHLESS LAUGH
He's an ass. Yeah. Yeah.
That's what Stevie used to say.
Ohhh...
She gave you that money, didn't she?
That's what she was giving you outside the restaurant. The 10K.
I'm not an idiot.
They were her total life savings
and, in the event that anything should happen, she had this idea
that she'd give it to you because you'd know what to do with it best.
That's what she's giving you, isn't it?
She knew something was coming.
Yeah.
I told you you were keeping something from me.
Her internet searches.
I know we dismissed a lot of them...
But the list of companies she was researching,
there are some interesting names and there's a connection somewhere.
So find it.
Don't work too late.
You know he's married?
This is not out of some prurient interest, but if it can help...
Personally, I'm not a great advocate for infidelity.
Not that I have much experience, but...
I imagine that...
you never feel entirely alone with the one you love.
There will always be another person in the room.
And I can see you do.
At this minute, Tom's wife is cooking a birthday dinner for his father
and his four children.
And again, no judgment, but it is a pretty shitty thing to do.
His father, the old man, is nearly 80 years old.
Probably put him through law school.
But he'd rather be spending the night with his mistress.
He's working late.
He told you that too?
The bastard.
You need to tell me what's going on.
I want Mrs Akentola's entire client list.
Not just the sanitised version that she's given me.
As far as I can see,
the cases that Mrs Akentola runs through are pretty hopeless.
So why do so many of them get through?
I really need to go now.
Bastard.
Ah, Inspector.
Ever closer.
Yet ever further from the truth of who she was.
Don't you have somewhere to be?
River... in a completely sane world,
is madness not the only freedom?
Why would one not take oneself to the boundless edge
when there is darkness all around?
Give in to it.
Give in to it as a child does to his mother.
Until, wilful...
he defies her.
So I grabbed him and I said, "Listen, you muppet."
"I've paid your shitty fare, now drop me on the corner like I asked."
And he's like, "The postcode you entered"
"is at the bottom of the road." And I'm like,
"I know where I live, shithead!"
And then I see I'm in my own car,
I'm driving up a one-way street the wrong way...
and it's the sat nav.
I'm talking to that sat nav.
That's the new voice.
So I obey it all the way home.
Took me three hours round the North Circular,
I only live ten minutes away.
My girlfriend asked why I was late.
I said I'd dropped off for a drink at the pub.
I couldn't tell her.
"He's been a real shit today."
"He's talking through the sat nav now."
But I will.
I will tell her.
Thanks. Thank you. Thank you, Robbie.
If we are to see our voices as articulating those emotions
that perhaps we have hidden in the remotest parts of ourselves,
then I'd say that wasn't bad, Robbie, for him.
He was helping you that day.
He wasn't telling you to throw yourself under that train.
OK.
OK. Anyone else?
River?
This is your second session. Is there anything you want to say?
No.
I know everyone would be very supportive of your story.
My story.
You've listened to everyone else's.
So, um...
what have you thought, hearing how other people are coping?
What I've thought?
Yes.
Silence has a presence.
Do you make that shit up yourself? "Silence has a presence."
What does it mean?
Do you want to know what I think?
I think our friend here should buy a map.
Everyone drives with sat nav now and yet nobody knows
where they're going or how they got there.
That would shut his voice up.
I think that Twinkle-Toes,
that your concern that you haven't met a boyfriend
because your voices keep telling you not to
is self delusion of the worst kind.
Our baby here - I have the greatest sympathy for you.
In this company, I'd be hanging out with Kurt Cobain in my head.
There are worse role models,
although the drugs and suicide aren't ideal.
Your spots will go away,
and I'd go as far as to say that you're my favourite.
Bar you, my friend. Bar you, my friend.
I want to be where you are.
You are clearly having a much better time than this sorry group
of self-absorbed, moaning, infantilised freaks!
Very good, Inspector. Very good.
Laugh on and laugh loud!
Because, frankly, this last...
mind-numbing hour...
is an hour I will never get back in my life.
Which brings me back to you.
No children yet. How old are you?
Fertility drops radically at 35.
You might want to think about that.
Whatever warped Messiah complex you have might be better served
directed towards those you love,
than those you wouldn't even
share a cup of coffee with outside of this room.
As Groucho Marx so famously said "I refuse to join a club that..."
"that would have me as a member.'"
So consider this my resignation. My cancellation.
I don't need my two?2 dues back,
because the coffee was better than the company.
So... that's something.
Right.
Sorry, have you finished?
So let's remember that we don't censor anyone's voices here.
So, um... thank you, River.
Thank you.
OK, same time Thursday.
Thank you, everyone.
Don't let him in.
He's coming for you.
Who are ya? Who are ya? Who are ya? Who are ya? Who are ya?
Who are ya?
What the hell?!
Crazy, man!
River?
It's all right.
Red.
No, white.
Red.
Stick with... Stick with red.
Breathe.
What have you got in the fridge?
Eggs.
Good.
Now, remember how you do this. Yeah.
Because we went over this. Yeah.
Pour the wine.
Are you hungry? It's late.
I-I could...
I have eggs.
Eggs is good.
Right.
You want more?
No. No.
Good eggs.
Do you cook a lot?
Oh, when I can.
Go ahead, you... No.
Tonight...
What I said...
particularly about children...
Oh.
I did have a child.
She died at six weeks.
So...
I'm sorry.
And you should note that I've shared coffee with you...
what? Twice?
And now eggs, so...
'The number you have called is unavailable.
'Please leave a message after the tone,
'or press one to change your message.'
Yes!
Who's playing?
Liverpool.
It's not my team.
Wait!
Officer requesting backup!
Just slow down!
I just want to talk to you! Wait! Slow down!
I just want to talk to you!
Why are you running?
Get down!
No! No!
Aaagh!
There was a playground near my grandmother's house.
No children. Not for miles.
I used to think it was just for me.
And I would see this old man looking down at me from his flat.
And he would wave at me and I would wave back.
So one day, I said to myself, I'll go and knock on his door,
I'll speak to him.
I was a very nervous boy.
But still I walked over to his block of flats and knocked on the door.
No-one in.
I walked back home across the playground...
and there I saw him...
lying in the snow.
I didn't know what had happened, but...
he was dead.
And I ran so fast...
to Mr Alghren's house.
That's what everyone did.
And he said...
"I'm a policeman, you're all right now."
And he took me home.
But what I could see that he could not...
the old man came home with me.
And stayed.
And talked to me.
And I wasn't alone any more.
Do you blame yourself?
No.
He was old. It was cold.
For Stevie?
It's understandable.
Some people never encounter death their entire lives.
And you...
you live with it...
every day.
Hello.
Christ! You idiot!
Oh...
Shh, shh. Sorry, sorry. Are you all right?
Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Oh, God, babe...
This is...
This is your fault.
Do you know I cooked lamb for you both tonight?
Marianne. Only he didn't ask you, did he?
Cos that's not what you do, is it? You don't actually talk,
actually get to know one another.
The only way I can do this,
the only way that I can wait for him to come home late at night
is if I know you've got his back.
You're his partner! That's what you're meant to be.
Can we just go home? No. He works every hour God sends for you,
to impress you.
He's bringing papers home, falling asleep in his dinner. For you!
And you barely even talk to him.
You barely even see him. Well, I see him.
Because he's my partner.
And I'm married to him too.
So I need you... I need you to...
Because...
he is very precious... to me.
He's important.
All right?
So come to dinner NEXT week.
Nice to meet you.
Come on.
Oh, look at this.
It's the same guy.
Six.
DOOR BANGS OPEN Get up.
He'll need an interpreter.
Found wrapped in a shirt, behind a hostel radiator.
What's his name?
Fedor Postan. 34 years old. Moldovan. Unemployed.
Overstayed his visa in March. May have known Haider from the hostel.
Any previous record?
Where shall I begin?
I'm Detective Chief Inspector Chrissie Read
and this is my colleague, DI River.
You will be charged with the violent attack on my colleague,
Detective Sergeant King, last night.
We also want to talk to you about the murder of Haider Jamal Abdi. TRANSLATION CONTINUES
You do not have to say anything,
but it may harm your defence if you do not mention
when questioned something which you later rely on in court... Excuse me.
Could you please go slower? Thank you.
Anything you do say may be given in evidence.
Do you recognise this?
No comment.
You have been caught on camera mopping a floor in the library
where Mr Jamal Abdi was murdered.
Yet the cleaning company has no record of your employment.
No comment.
Your prints are on this knife.
We will link you to this murder.
So maybe you want to rethink.
I'm offering you the chance to help us and do yourself a favour.
Give me a motive, because we have the weapon. So start talking.
I want to give a statement. Good.
I get a text.
Someone leaves money for me to pick up.
Where?
The carwash in Dalston Lane.
I get a locker number and a key.
I was meant to pick up a second instalment after the job was done.
So you haven't picked it up yet?
DCI Read is leaving the interview room.
Chrissie. You get a confession out of him and fast.
Are these his things? Yes, ma'am.
Ah, locker 19.
I work with Tom. I know you do.
You need to look at this list.
This is Mrs Akentola's entire client list.
Nothing left out. I don't think Fedor even knew the man he killed.
But these people are broke and will do anything for a few hundred pounds
and a promise of a visa.
I can get others.
One or two lawyers who I suspect are doing exactly the same -
ensuring clients' applications go through. Paying judges when needed,
to overlook discrepancies and approve their right to stay here.
Which judges?
Which judges?!
My client is waiting here! How long are you going to hold him?
We're charging him.
Thank you.
Chrissie. Not yet. Not yet.
Find out if there's a camera on locker 19.
Couple of thousand.
Is that the going rate now?
Police. We need to pull up some CCTV footage, please.
Thank you.
This is the last couple of days.
It's there.
This was yesterday?
Yeah.
Go back.
There.
Zoom in.
I want all this footage.
Get the whole team on this.
We've bought a new sofa.
Had the roof done in August.
Came to about?10,000.
Paid for it in cash.
He said it was...
a back-dated... rebate.
SHE SNIFFLES And there was more.
It doesn't mean he was involved in Stevie's death.
Wait outside the house. Just give me... ten minutes.
Just... time to clear the kids.
Chrissie... Please don't.
Hello. You want a drink?
I sent the kids out for fish and chips.
Genius. I've a tonne of work to sign off on, so...
What?
Hello!
We need to take you in, Tom.
All right...
Chrissie?
We need to ask you some questions.
Yeah. Chrissie...
You are under arrest.
I just need to... No. Leave those.
We need to go through everything.
Chrissie.
Chrissie!
Tom Read, I am arresting you for perverting the course of justice.
You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence
if you do not mention
when questioned something which you later rely on in court.
Excuse me. Chrissie?
Come on, Tom.