Irish Blood

Sergeant Claude,

someone killed my father.

Just watch.

Hello, Fiona.

Glad you cracked the code...

That it?

Well, there was more...

...but the techie at the phone shop

said that the file was corrupted.

Corrupted?

It got wet.

Got wet.

I dropped it the toilet.

You dropped it?

In the toilet?

The point is...

...there was more to the video.

And Declan said that if anything happened to him,

it was not an accident.

How could he known

he'd be murdered if he was still alive when he recorded it?

Riddle me that.

After he recorded it

he fell off a cliff.

You don't find that a little suspicious?

We investigated this.

Thoroughly.

His friends and family said

that your father had been pure squirrelly of late.

Now,

I'm sorry for your loss.

But whether by accident or intent,

Declan Murphy authored his own demise.

Appropriately named.

Our Sergeant Claude.

Clod.

As in dumb as a chunk of mud.

You took my statement at the hotel.

Garda Róisín Doherty.

Listen, I know what it's like

to have someone treat you like you're a moron.

Well, I don't think that he was treating me like a moron--

Oh, no. That was absolutely his

"feck off ya moron" look.

I believe ya.

Then help me.

I was hoping you'd ask.

Spool of calculator tape.

One airplane boarding pass dated 2022...

A box of cigarillos.

A... horseshoe.

One sports glove and...

...what looks to be...

...a diary.

Dear Fiona,

it's your sweet 16th.

My little Fifi,

I bet you're lovelier than--

Give me that.

I glanced through it.

It's just a bunch of sappy bullshit he wrote to me

over the years.

And what's all...

this alleged to be evidence of?

Well, Declan claimed to be investigating

some kind of criminal activity in Wicklow.

Yeah, it sounds far fetched, I know.

If you didn't trust him,

why did you come the whole way to Ireland?

I came here to give him a peace of my mind.

Okay.

And then I got here and surprise!

He's dead, so now I've got this.

Whatever this is to deal with.

Then let's deal with it.

I live for solving mysteries

and Old Claude won't let me

within a country mile of one.

So where do you wanna start?

Well, you could check police records

to see if there's anything on Declan.

And... put this somewhere safe.

- Done. - Okay.

So...

...what you up to later?

Of course, yeah.

Moron.

Sorry.

playing in background

Fiona.

Thought you'd be back in LA by now.

I made it as far as the airport.

But I couldn't get on that plane.

continues playing

A poem...

...in honor of our...

...dearly departed Declan.

Let thy joys alone

be remembered now.

Let thy sorrows go sleep awhile.

Or if thought's dark cloud

come over thy brow,

let love light it up with his smile.

Unwritten rule numero uno.

Read the other players.

But I have a great hand. See?

She protects us.

Including closet monsters?

Against everything.

Oh, joy alone should be thought of now.

Let our sorrows go sleep awhile.

Or, should--

- Sorry! - How rude.

I'm sorry, sorry...

So sorry!

Sorry!

Oh, my god.

Hey, what's up?

Hello? Róisín?

You heard me.

Can I get ten boxes of your finest

jumbo, magneto tampons?

You know the ones with the deluxe,

platinum applicators?

If I could get that urgently delivered

to Garda Róisín Doherty.

Róisín, did you call the right number?

Never mind, moving on.

I checked our files.

Your dad has no criminal record,

but he did go a bit batshit

at the race course about a week ago.

Define batshit.

He stole a horse and assaulted a jockey named Oscar Rafferty.

They got the horse back

and Rafferty declined to press charges.

- Ms. Fox? - Oh.

Okay, got it. I'll call you later.

No shame in being a woman, Claude.

I was your father's assistant.

Minerva Quilligan.

I spoke with you on the phone.

I have so many questions.

Well, now is not the time.

We're heading over for the reading of Declan's will.

You should come.

I don't think I can sit in a room with a family

that doesn't know I exist

and listen to my dad's last will and testament being read.

He wanted you to be there.

He was...

an unconventional man.

Come or don't come. It's your choice.

To my brother, Finn,

I leave my 1999 Cork Rebels

All Ireland Hurling Championship jersey,

a garment he shamelessly coveted with unabashed longing.

Cheers, Decker.

The household furnishings can be divided

amongst my family members as they see fit.

I claim the credenza.

I'm not having that monstrosity in my house, Mom.

Except for the credenza,

which I leave to my dear sister, Una.

- Ah, Jesus... - I win.

Shh, please.

Now...

my cottage on Lough Dan--

Deck had a cottage on Lough Dan?

Yes...

I leave to...

...Ms. Fiona Fox.

Why would he give a cottage to an overseas client?

He must have been...

giving her the ride.

What?

Slipping her the lad.

Burying the bishop.

Bumping uglies? - Oh!

Finn, stop.

No!

None of that.

Declan was...

Declan was my father.

What?

Oh, no. Declan didn't have a daughter!

He did.

He swore me to secrecy.

Bollocks!

If... if I had a grandchild,

my son would've told me.

You do have a grandchild.

Declan raised me til the day I turned 10.

I took my mom's name,

but I was born Fiona Murphy.

Her brother's child.

Never thought I'd see the day.

Oh, my god.

It's like a piece of him is still with us!

Don't you think, Mum?