Dead Still

Suicide, it appears,

but the bodies were posed in the exact same position.

- Picture of a fella lookin' like

he'd been tortured for the camera,

wrists slit, then snuffed out.

- You took a photograph from that album,

had a little private showing.

The fake photographs you stole

from that party you were not invited to.

Charney.

The Communist punks.

- Nancy, I see that you've met Percy.

Nancy.

Lovely name.

- Well, the girls 'round here don't really dress like that.

It's a disguise.

- Murdered in front o' the camera.

But how could an animal such as this

know his way around a camera?

- I just can't fathom it.

- Something happened here, didn't it?

- I trusted something I shouldn't have.

- Ye didn't see that train comin',

but I did.

Fred.

The lad should've been checked thoroughly

for concealed weapons.

He was, but...

- So are you responsible for the poor job,

or was it Farrelly?

It was me.

You should know better.

Alright, but look.

Charney was found in an identical position

as the two suicides that I'd mentioned

in my report.

- There's only so many ways you can kill yourself.

- And nobody on duty saw anything strange last night?

- Nothing in the report, except for a Communist

dying in our custody,

and seeing as it was a Communist

who didn't need to be in our custody,

we could have had a much quieter report, couldn't we?

Look.

It's the photograph we found on him last night.

Looks like McKlein, doesn't it?

Suicide, I mean, or so we thought.

I believe he was brutally tortured, photographed,

and then killed.

- Come on, Fred, this is just parlor tricks.

No, but look at the wounds.

They're consistent with the other suicides.

What's this?

Black rose.

Was that on McKlein when you found him?

Huh?

- Any chance of a smoke, Mary?

Oh, Jesus.

I'm not sure.

McKlein was in debt.

The whole town knew that.

And this Charney was a desperate character by all accounts.

Think I'm onto something here.

- You are getting young lads like Farrelly excited

with this talk of big cases.

- Big cases grow out of small talk.

Look, Freddy, me boy,

you're only in G Division a few months,

and you want a big case.

Your name in the Times, rising up the ranks.

I get it.

But this is not the boglands.

This is Dublin, heart of the British empire.

How many changelings and pookas

do you see roaming the streets?

Leave that old banter to the Fenians.

We deal in facts.

Proof.

If I can prove this is real,

will you have a word with Mallon

about putting me on the case?

Come on, Fred.

We have Republican agitators getting bold as brass,

and here you are chasing a few wastrels

doing cheap photo tricks.

You don't want the boys laughing

at you anymore, do you?

Who's laughing at me?

Wasn't laughing at ye.

Look, um...

Just stick to your corner, Freddy.

Good man.

Stick me corner up your hole.

There.

Are you happy now?

Brock.

Hmm?

- I warned you not to touch Mother.

Could you not, for once?

Well.

Thought she looked much happier.

Whoa, stand.

Stand down.

Oh.

Thanks, Carruthers.

- Oh, I'm just keeping up appearances, young man.

Lucky enough for you.

- Aw, Jesus, will you just come on?

We're from the same part of Dublin.

Why you always being so sore wi' me?

Should we just--

Should we just go for a pint one evening?

Nancy.

It's lovely to see you.

- I'm sorry for your troubles, Miss Nancy.

Thank you, Carruthers.

Me, too, I'm very sorry

for the loss of your grandmother.

Thank you, Molloy.

She'd been mostly miserable, so in a way,

it's a relief.

I need to warn you, though.

Our family can be trying.

Uncle, you already know,

and well, the others made him like that.

Who's this divil at all?

- This is Mr. Molloy, assistant to--

Ah.

The gravedigger.

No, he's not a gravedigger.

This is the gravedigger.

I'm Conall Molloy,

assistant to Mr. Blennerhasset.

Please accept me deepest sympathies on your loss.

- My brother says you're competent,

but Brock is a terrible judge of character.

Can we please get this over with?

I can't bear to see Mother looking so alive.

Alright, in you go.

Wipe your shoes, now.

I'm sorry for your loss, sir.

- I thank you for coming, Molloy.

You did owe me a favor.

I'm honored you asked.

Uh, Conall?

Yeah?

Half an inch to the right.

To my right?

No, to your right.

Always photography's right.

Course.

- What odd corner of Dublin did you pull this one from?

Mother, please.

- A grave, he was literally pulled from a grave.

Imagine.

Digging holes for corpses for a living.

- Uncle Morris, can you please-- ?

- One step below taking photographs of them.

Apologies.

Take your time.

Grandmother isn't going anywhere.

- Maybe he should dig her grave while we have him.

- Uncle, I must say, the memorial photography business

must be in bad shape if this is who you have

working for you.

He's doing a job, Henry.

More than you've ever done in your--

- Your last young assistant was much better.

What was his name?

John?

He was very charming.

- I don't remember any old assistant.

Oh, this was years ago.

The fellow disappeared in the end, didn't he, brother?

Remember, that friend of yours who disappeared?

He wasn't my friend.

He was your assistant.

- My assistants are not my friends.

- You don't have any friends, Brock.

Never had.

- Sacrificed everything for photography.

- Now it seems any old gravedigger can use a camera.

Ah, will you just be quiet?

Please.

I'm ready.

So just don't move.

Especially your mouths.

Thank you.

Uh, Molloy?

Yes, sir?

That was...

That was quite commendable, you know,

particularly under the circumstances.

Thanks very much, sir.

Carruthers.

Pack Molloy's stuff.

Look, I'm going to have to stay here

with these people until after the funeral.

So take tomorrow off.

With pay.