The ABC Murders (2018) s01e02 Episode Script

Episode 2

The ABC railway guide was beside both dead women.
It is the killer telling us the rules of thegame.
Mr Cust, is there something you want? The success of my enterprise.
Would you mind if I joined you, Sir Carmichael? Not at all, but it is quite wild out there.
Whore! Have I caused you some offence? You're not who you say you are.
Who the hell are you? Mon nom est Hercule Poirot.
Je suis un refugie.
Are you joining family who are already here, or are family, wife and children joining you later? Non.
Do you need a doctor? Non.
And what is your profession? Are you all right, madam? Gendarme.
Where's the letter from ABC? You have what I have.
The Inspector isn't going to want all these.
I have no wish for them either.
Take them.
What are you so twitchy for? You'd better not be doing your own thing.
Crome won't like that.
You have ransacked my home and removed my personal possessions.
"Twitchy" is the appropriate response.
All right if I use your lavvy before I go? No, it's not all right.
Don't do yourself any favours, do you? Sir Carmichael? How disgraceful of me, what an appalling show, I'm so sorry There's nothing to be sorry for.
You are such a comfort to me, Thora.
What the hell are you doing?! I was just trying to be kind.
I love my wife.
How can you live here all this time and not know that? You've misunderstood me, I I give you a week to find another job and somewhere else to live.
Consider this your formal notice of dismissal.
Sir, I Lady Hermione's asking for you, Sir.
Thank you, Capstick.
You have plenty of work to be getting on with, Miss Grey.
"Miss Grey" is it now? Someone's fallen off her pedestal.
Piss off! I've got my eye on you, girl.
Come on, just a short stroll.
Stretch the legs.
Come on, Wilbur.
You're supposed to be going for a walk.
Go on! Go on! What's the matter with you? Silly old thing! It's Mrs Kirkham from across the hall.
It's my daily woman's fault.
I honestly don't think she can read.
She just puts everything on the mantelpiece, whether it's for me, or for someone else.
She's incorrigibly stupid, but very good at dusting.
Madame, we are neighbours, yet you come to my door wearing that? Oh Oh, but it's not you we object to.
It's all the others.
The ones that breed like flies.
How may I assist you? Well, like I say, my daily's fault.
I only just saw it.
Incredibly rude.
Operator.
Churston.
Combeside is the house.
The name is Clarke.
Hurry! Churston 966.
Is this Combeside? It is.
Is Sir Carmichael safe? Who is this? What are you talking about? It is Hercule Poirot.
Somebody means him great harm.
Harm? Why? Because his name is Carmichael Clarke.
Who is it, Franklin? Darling, can you ask Car to come to the telephone? He took Wilbur for his walk.
When? Oh, I don't know, I was I was dozing.
What is it? Car? WILBUR BARKS Car? Car? Yes, there we are I was in the bath.
Is there something wrong? Sir Carmichael? I have to call the police.
I'm sorry, I have to call them right now.
Terror grips nation.
Thank you.
Terror grips nation.
Terror grips nation.
200 extra police constables will be patrolling the streets.
But our question for the commissioner of the Metropolitan police force is is this substantial enough in the face of terror that ABC is wreaking across the country? Inspector Crome of Scotland Yard was unable to comment.
The question on everyone's mind is where will ABC strike next? Who and where is D? And we are concerned, that this government is not Is my breakfast not good enough for you? I'm sorry? I said, is my breakfast not good enough for you? It looks delicious.
Chin-chin.
You think the killer wanted to get me? Why? He is, and pardon me for being so blunt, a deranged sexual pervert.
His victims are women.
Ascher.
Barnard But my surname is Grey.
Perhaps he thought it was Crey and mistook Sir Carmichael for you.
What about Capstick? Maybe the killer wanted to get her.
Inspector, how could anyone, even in the grip of depraved lunacy, mistake my brother for Miss Grey or Capstick? Did any of you see any strangers, anything or anyone unusual? Poirot was here.
I saw him.
Poirot.
No, Hermione, darling, that was a long time ago.
Was it? Really? Oh, of course! Yes! Mes enfants! That's right.
And what a party it was, eh? I've been having the most terrible dreams.
All right.
Let's get you back to bed, angel.
Come on.
Is Car coming home soon? Come on.
Come on.
I'll get an officer to take your statements.
Isn't it time you packed, Miss Grey? Corpus Christi.
Amen.
Corpus Christi.
Amen.
Corpus Christi.
Amen.
Corpus Christi.
Amen.
Corpus Christi.
Corpus Christi.
Amen.
Je vous saue Marie.
Pleine de grace.
Ils arrivent! Le Seigneur est avec vous.
Ils arrivent! Sainte Marie, mere de Dieu.
Corpus Christi.
Corpus Christi.
How come you never told the police? How come you let that man and those women be killed? I did not let them be killed.
Well, that's what it says here.
Where is he going to strike next? My dad died in Belgium.
Private Eric Beddows of the King's Infantry, blown to bits in your shitty country that you couldn't even stay and fight for! Your neighbour told me where you'd be.
Go.
What are you hiding from the police?! I'm sad, Lily.
No-one loves me.
You don't love me and I take care of you, don't I? Will you sing me a song because I'm sad? I wish I had been able to alert you sooner.
Your brother would be alive.
But I was not enough.
I don't hold you responsible.
Far from it.
How is Lady Hermione? She's very frail.
I wouldn't have left her if this wasn't so important.
What is your opinion of Inspector Crome? I am not familiar with his methodology.
Ah, well, I'm not convinced he's got one.
But you do, though.
So what do YOU think? There is a connection between Bexhill and Churston, because I've visited both places, but I've never been to Andover, so perhaps the connection is mere coincidence.
Crome doesn't ask questions.
I need you to ask the questions.
I don't think the Inspector would appreciate that.
Car's head was nearly taken right off his neck.
My brother, who never thought or did a petty, cruel thing in his life.
So I don't care what the Inspector appreciates, I want this bloody man stopped.
What makes you think it's a man? Excusez-moi.
"Mon cher Hercule, are you having fun yet? What's next" You ask the questions .
.
and I will pay for your time.
Come in.
You've met Miss Megan Barnard, I believe.
Mademoiselle.
And Donald Fraser.
Monsieur.
And Mrs Barnard isn't coping particularly well, so best left in peace.
And of course, poor Mrs Ascher's husband is in prison.
Thora is just getting dressed.
Ah.
We've had something of a fracas at Combeside.
Some of the maids have it in for Thora.
It's just jealousy, I expect, but I've taken this room for her.
It's been a horrible shock for the poor girl.
Thora? Ah.
You remember Miss Grey.
Mademoiselle Grey.
Franklin says you don't think the killer is a man.
Why not? There is a layer of artifice in the letters, as if a woman were writing to give the impression of being a man, or vice versa.
Betty would never have gone off with another man.
Never.
So Miss Barnard went to a beach hut and took her stockings off for another girl? I never thought Bexhill quite so racy.
Christ! Betty wouldn't have gone off with anyone! She loved me! We were in love! Mes enfants, if we are to discover the killer, we must be honest about the nature and proclivities of the victims.
Who the hell are you calling a child? I'm not a child! I'm not some boy to be patronised! Please, Mr Fraser, it's just something that Mr Poirot says.
"Mes enfants," he's known for it.
He means nothing insulting by it.
Well, I am insulted! We were told you were going to ask us questions, so get on and ask them.
Searching your memories, did any of you notice anything peculiar in the lead-up to the murders? No strangers? Nothing different in the behaviour of the victims? No, nothing strange.
Nothing different.
Mr Fraser? Er, no.
Nothing different.
Nothing unusual.
Is that it? Because the police asked exactly the same question, so we've come all this way for nothing.
I feel sorry for you, Mr Clarke.
You've wasted your money, I've wasted my time! He He's upset.
That went well.
Donald, wait.
Mademoiselle, can you tell me what sort of person your sister might have met at the beach hut in the middle of the night? Wasn't the kind of thing we discussed.
Could you tell me what stockings your sister wore? No.
So, despite what I said, despite me telling you point-blank to stay out of this, Clarke's got you on the payroll.
I did not withhold information from you.
Do not tell lies about me to make yourself more popular.
I didn't say a bloody thing! They make up what they want, they always do.
Because of this, I have been spat at in the street! Well, I've been spat at, too! Happens to coppers.
Oh.
So now I am a policeman? A "copper", even.
How gratifying.
Don't twist my words! And never mind what it says about you - look what they say aboutme! I can't find my arse with both hands! That is not what it says.
Well, it might as well do.
What the hell?! Madame Ascher was wearing new stockings.
Betty Barnard was strangled with the same make of stockings.
And Carmichael Clarke was a secret stocking-wearer, was he? Had ladies scanties on under his tweed suit? Keep that one out of the papers.
I think this is what is left of the packet the stockings came in.
We need to identify it.
"We", and you "think"? It's a scrap of paper.
You have people, you must put them on it immediately.
First off, you don't give me orders.
And second, yeah, I do have people - top people - but they're a bit busy working on the letters to chase after a scrap of paper - they're trying to break the code, because there must be a code.
There is a code.
The code is me.
What?! I'm having a brandy, do you want one? You're offering me a drink? Despite what I may think, Japp said you were a good man, so I am offering you a brandy.
Do you want one? Yes or no? Japp said that? The code is you? Chin-chin.
In 1921, I had a cream tea at The Ginger Cat in Bexhill where, years later, Betty Barnard was to become a waitress.
In 1928, I attended Lady Hermione's birthday party in Combeside.
I know.
She kept talking about you, said you'd been there.
Poor lady couldn't even remember her husband had died.
But Andover doesn't fit the pattern.
I found this in Madame Ascher's shop.
It was framed.
She'd kept it since 1914.
It was precious to her.
You took evidence from a crime scene? What is wrong with you? Read it.
"A train carrying refugees from Belgium was held at a siding, "waiting for a driver.
One of the passengers got tired of the "long delay and his mother went into labour.
"Luckily for mother and baby, Mrs Alice Ascher, who owns a nearby "tobacconists, was able to offer the newborn boy a full" "wardrobe of bootees and shawls.
" It's very sweet, but what's it got to do with you? "The baby was delivered by another passenger on the train, "one M Hercule Poirot" "before continuing on his journey.
" But I didn't know it was Andover.
The night was dark, and no-one thought to mention where we were.
This baby will be 19 by now.
What was the mother's name? Marie.
Her surname.
I didn't even ask.
It wasn't important at the time.
This baby could be our man.
What if it isn't a man writing the letters? Of course it's a bloody man! How do you know how to deliver a baby? I've lived a long life.
But you were right, Crome.
The killer knows me, knows all about me.
From the moment I arrived in this country, my entire life here - they know everything.
And the next locale, the letter D, will also be a place I have visited.
We know that the next target's name will begin with D, so to find them, let's make a list of all the places beginning with D that I have been to.
Dawlish, Deal, Didcot, Denmark Hill, Doncaster, Dorking, Dundee, Dinas, Dover, Dove Holes, Downham Market, Duke Street, Dunrobin Castle and Dyce.
One of these stations, one of these cities, towns and villages, is where ABC will be next.
Go through the telephone directory, go through the census, find every person with a surname beginning with D.
"Person"? I thought you said the killer was after women.
Well, maybe I changed my bloody mind! Get on with it! How long is she gone for? Couple of hours.
What's this? Backgammon.
I used to play a lot.
I used to be good.
What happened? I stopped being good.
Oh, Mr Cust! You're the killer! It's you! I'm a travelling salesman.
I sell stockings.
SHE LAUGHS I'm only joking.
The ABC is to do with the railway guide - I read that in the paper.
And you'd have to be thick to leave that sort of clue if it was actually your name.
Still, if it was you, I'd get you to bump Mum off.
Heave her down a flight of stairs.
Lily, murder is a crime.
It's a sin against God.
I'm joking, again.
Though sometimes - I've got to be honest - it seems like a really good idea.
Make life easier.
Waste of a good stocking, if you ask me.
Nothing else ties as tight.
Tighter.
So what does the A and B stand for, then, Mr Cust? Alexander Bonaparte.
Don't tell Mum that - she'll start ranting and raving about the foreigns.
If she asks, just tell her you're called Alexander - it's a good English name.
Please, Lily.
It lets it out, the darkness.
Make it stop.
It needs to hurt.
Harder.
Mademoiselle.
Do you recognise this? The colour, perhaps - does it correspond to anything you might have seen on your sister's dressing table? The colour of a packet of stockings? I'm sorry.
Maybe your mother would know.
Is she here? Donald took her to Herstmonceux Castle for the day.
There's a tea room.
They do cakes.
Mmm.
I haven't been completely honest about that night.
I suppose I'm ashamed about it.
We didn't agree to not say anything, Donald and me, we just You see, he, Donald and me Had a prior understanding.
Hmm? I observed a tension.
He will not look at you, yet you run after him.
After he, erm .
.
took up with Betty, he kept coming round for his supper, like he always had done, whether Betty was in or not.
Mum loves him, you see.
She's always wanted a son.
Betty would never have married him.
It was too much for me, so I used to sit in the kitchen.
Mum's gone to the pictures.
She still put you a plate up, though.
Feel free to eat it in the other room.
Oh, Megan, you are embarrassing yourself, huh? Making out like this is everyone's fault.
But if you'd made more effort with your hair, your clothes, been more go-getting, maybe I wouldn't have looked elsewhere.
A man wants to feel good with a girl on his arm, not dragged down.
You need an interest, a hobby.
You should do a course or something.
Look at Betty.
She's learning silver service - not because she wants to be a waitress - so she can see how real people behave for when we're both getting on in life.
She's thinking ahead.
Betty's at the Palais.
She's serving something all right, but I doubt it's silver.
Donald?! You're coming home with me.
Let go, you dozy bastard! You stay here, I won't marry you! Oh, my broken heart! I wanted him to see I would have been a good wife.
I would have been faithful.
I wanted to rub his nose in it.
Hmm.
In the circumstances, that is entirely forgivable.
Really? Yes.
I thank you for your help.
You mustn't think badly of Donald.
He is eating cake with your mother while you, mademoiselle, grieving and alone, are peeling potatoes, so I will think what I please.
There was a man at the Palais with the same clothes as you! He walked right past me! I'm told Lady Hermione believed she saw me at Combeside, the day Sir Carmichael was murdered.
She gets very confused.
I'll let you speak alone.
She's, erm She's looking forward to seeing you, but you must expect her to be most uncomplimentary about Thora, I'm afraid.
The animosity seems to be the only thing keeping her going.
Bravo.
Bon anniversaire, Lady Hermione.
Oh, I am such an admirer! Such an admirer.
Are we going to have a murder? Please say it's going to be spectacularly grisly! Mes enfants, ce sois - tonight - we have prepared a murder of unparalleled and macabre savagery, of reckoning and revelation! Birthday murder! Birthday murder! Birthday murder! Birthday murder! Birthday murder! For you, this is a game, but for me, it is my calling.
I catch killers.
Actual killers.
Tomorrow I will hunt them again - I will follow their trails of blood, but, mes enfants, tonight blood will be our entertainment.
Oh! Birthday murder.
Birthday murder! Birthday murder! Birthday murder! Birthday murder! Birthday murder! Birthday murder! Birthday murder! Birthday murder! Birthday murder! Don't come too close.
I I I smell.
It's in my throat, you see.
Sometimes I can taste it.
Je suis desole, for all your sorrows.
Oh, I've been told Miss Grey is in a hotel.
Franklin is like my darling Car - he won't hear a word against that bloody girl.
A pretty face and a sob story about being an orphan and they are both putty in her hands.
Lady Hermione, I'm told you believed I came to the house - not years ago, but recently.
Oh, the morphine plays tricks on me.
Sometimes I forget that Car is dead.
Such cruel tricks.
It was, er just a person.
I was by the window against the sun, which is supposed to be good for me.
The same hat, the coat.
No, thank you, we don't buy anything at the door.
But it was just a salesman.
Of course, I knew it wasn't you.
But just for a moment, I was so happy.
"Poirot is here," I thought.
"Now we shall have fun, like we did when we were beautiful.
" Did you ask Miss Grey about it? I had another attack.
And then Car was killed, and I was so confused.
What did this visitor look like, the one you thought was me? Young? Old? I'm not sure.
Thora was always waiting for me to die.
Even when I was still alive.
Don't let her get her claws into Franklin.
Promise me she won't get her claws into him.
Er, I I don't know what he looked like! You don't look travelling salesmen in the face, it only encourages them! I I bought a pair of stockings from him to make him go away.
Was he dressed like me? I don't know! What type of stockings? Do you remember the name? I don't know.
What colour was the packet? I threw the packet away and I only wore the stockings for a few hours and then I threw them away, too.
Why? Because I have long legs and they were too short for me! Thora, why didn't you say any of this? Because I forgot.
You forgot? How could you forget? Because I did! There were police everywhere, and Sir Carmichael was like a father to me, and now everyone's shouting me, and I've done nothing wrong except No-one's shouting.
Yes, you are! Why are you even here? You said you'd be at Combeside.
None of this is fair I had to come down when I found this out! .
.
none of this at all.
No-one understands or cares about how bloody awful it is to be me! Excuse me for a moment.
Thora Come on, now.
I'm sorry.
Don't cry, I know, I'm sorry.
I I I shouldn't have shouted at you.
I'm sorry.
Come here.
I'm sorry.
There is a man there, sleeping.
Yes, he comes in most nights.
This is for him.
Then he should have it before it gets cold, Father.
Yes.
Peter.
Peter.
Thank you.
I wish you would take communion.
It grieves me to see you leave mass without the Eucharist.
I cannot take communion without confession.
I do not confess.
I believe it would bring you some peace.
Why should we have peace? Why should anyone, here, now, have peace? We should be raging.
Is that what you are? Raging? And doubtful, and terrified.
Of what? Failure.
Of not being enough.
You can't possibly know that you would fail.
Oh, I do.
I have failed - failed terribly, catastrophically.
I was not enough.
Nor was he.
I doubt him.
I doubt all of it.
So, Father Anselm, what do you say to that? I say that the confessional is just a few short steps over there.
Come with me.
You've already spoken it out loud - say it in there so that I can absolve you and you can receive the sacrament.
God forgives all.
But I do not.
There, now.
Well, here we go again, Horrocks.
Hey? Mind your back, ladies.
Do beg your pardon.
Sharing with you again? Beggars can't be choosers, love.
I'd earn more bloody money begging.
And I'd keep better company! I know it was you in Macclesfield, that sewed Horrocks' hand inside his trousers, like he was being dirty.
Well, I'm telling you now, you lay one finger on my dummy, and I will geld you with a rusty spoon, and I'm going to laugh! That's all you'll hear, you bloody bastard - my laughter! Doncaster! This is Doncaster Station.
Who sells stockings at a racecourse? Forget the stockings! "Giddy up" is what you say to horses.
You've been to Doncaster races before.
Where we're going is horses.
But why would ABC give such a blatant clue? Because he's a cocky shit.
They all get cocky, that's what brings them down.
Did he say anything else to you? No.
Well, then.
He's close.
I can smell him.
Coming into the final furlong, it's neck and neck.
Chips With Everything drawing ahead, Lucky Chap is fighting back.
Chadona is coming up on the outside, but it's Chips With Everything holding firm, holding firm.
Lucky Chap is coming back! It's going to be neck and neck! It's Chips With Everything by a mile! Go on, you beauty! Go on! Eye-eye, Horrocks.
ABC sells stockings door to door.
Oh, shit! Shit! Who buys stockings at a race meeting? Showgirls might buy stockings between the matinee and the evening performance.
ABC has made a mistake, Crome.
This is Doncaster, but this is not Dexter Dooley, ventriloquist.
This is Benny Grew, a risque comic.
More than a mistake, ABC has made a catastrophic error and will act.
We must prepare for a storm of slaughter.
We must prepare for the wrath of God.
Ils arrivent! Ils arrivent! Soldats! Last tube, ladies and gents, last tube.
Make your way to the exits, station is closing.
Station is closing, thank you! Oui.
I can hear you breathing.
You have my attention.
What do you want? "Who are you, Hercule?" "Who are you really?"