Dead Still

Something's not right.

What's this?

Black rose.

- Is that not the flower you give

when someone has already died?

Or a lost love.

There you are now, Miss Nancy Vickers.

Consorting with the low sorts and the likes of that.

There's a Yank in town,

photograph collector of some sort.

- You stole this when we were there?

Well it was just lying about.

- Some years ago I traveled with an assistant

who subsequently committed suicide.

I saw him!

You've seen a dead person?

You're not dead, Vudry.

I allowed him to introduce a motif

into my work, a black rose.

- And you're saying someone killed him

in the cell, in Dublin Castle?

- Is that what you are, detective?

Suspicious of your colleagues?

- Someone's trying to cover something up.

- I think you may have got my heart off current, Nancy.

What?

Can you see those?

Whoever commissioned this album

are very sick, dangerous people.

- Tends to be the case with secret societies.

Henry took it.

Who do they think has it now?

- Your employer sent you this, sir.

Not too happy that we haven't found it yet.

Make sure it disappears.

I don't want anyone to know I've got it.

The photo album, did you tell him about that?

I told him everything.

I hope so, Uncle.

People are dying.

Jesus Christ.

I don't think we're looking at a suicide here.

No boy, we're not.

And you shit talking me down in the yard.

Look at this, escalation.

Fuck me.

This isn't a pretty picture.

No it is not.

She came here to work.

- She came here because you could

keep her trapped no longer.

You want to keep her fragile and useless,

just like Mother used to do to us.

No, brother.

I just want to protect her from herself.

The two of you are more alike than I ever could have feared.

- A package, two letters, a postcard,

and a new camera brochure.

There are some nice new models listed.

Another new camera?

We can't be falling behind in trends, Mother.

That's not it.

He was drunk one Christmas.

Blabbering about how the camera, what was it Brock?

How the camera captures the soul,

or something silly like that.

What's the matter with you?

I...

I fear something terrible has happened.

How are you feeling since the funeral, sir?

I'm fine, Molloy.

So fine in fact that I'm confident in my abilities

to work on my own again.

Sir?

- What I mean is, your trial period of employment

has come to an end.

My foot has healed sufficiently,

and I want to thank you for your work.

- I'll be happy sir to continue the same hours

but half the pay.

This job means a great deal to me.

You're dismissed.

- Uncle, I'm going with Carruthers now.

If Mother is as bad as she was at the funeral,

I might be gone a few days.

- You should stay with your mother, Nancy.

She needs you now.

- I thought you'd rather have me here.

I don't need you anymore.

- Seems we've both been dismissed.

Molloy!

You really dismissed him?

It's for the best.

And me?

- Thank you for your efforts, Nancy,

but I'm back to being independent now.

You spoke to Regan, you said.

This was all supposed to go away.

What were you sent that's so alarmed you

the day that Henry was found?

Why do you place a black rose in your photos?

I don't.

You did.

I didn't.

I saw them.

On that strange little wall you keep hidden in your study.

The black rose is not mine.

Who then?

Go now, Nancy.

- My brother is dead, so if you think

that I won't get to the bottom of this,

then you are sorely mistaken.

I am not the same eager little girl I once was.

Neville taught me to be as cold as you are.

Don't think I won't use that.

Watch your back, Carruthers.

Everyone's getting dismissed today.

So, what you reckon?

Laying it all out now, with what we know.

- Right, this Yank by the name of Whacker.

He wants to make a buck off murder photography.

He's war hardened, committed atrocities no doubt.

- Comes to Europe looking to add to his collection.

Falls in with Louis Cannon and this crowd

looking for ways to make more money.

- But Whacker needs a photographer to make some of his own.

One who can pose and photograph the victims.

If not butcher them outright.

- The last three fellas are connected,

but the first two suicides have nothing in common.

Well nothing's come up yet.

Happenstance.

What did I say about--

- Don't, wait, now, you're looking for someone

to photograph the dead.

Who won't ask questions and can keep secrets.

- Someone whose business isn't what it once was.

Sometimes it's just as plain

as the nose on your face, Fred.

Blennerhasset.

And I the fool, tellin' him my theories.

- Sure, of course he won't cooperate with you

if the whole bloody trail leads back to his doorstep.

- I knew there was a reason why they were shuttin' me down.

See if Whacker contacts him.

Business proposition.

Lethal business, like.

- But the guilt is gettin' to Blennerhasset.

His nephew's just done, it's gone too far.

The man is shook to fuck, rattled so he is.

The net is closing in, Fred.

It is, girl.

- I can't keep our secret anymore.

Not if you aren't dead.

Good day, sir.

I'm lookin' for a photo album.

- I have no idea what you're talking about.

Very well, perhaps we could have some tea.

Or perhaps not.

There ya are now.

Here I am now.

How have you been?

Sad.

I'm just sad, Molloy.

Henry didn't deserve to die like that.

And I don't like being at home.

It makes me sadder.

I can only imagine, Nancy.

- Is your confidence in yourself so shaken

that you're back digging graves?

- I promised a better life, Nancy.

Work, food on the table.

A small bit of comfort.

I don't have the luxury of not working like you do.

I'm sorry, that was mean.

It's fine.

But why do something you hate for a better life?

Who needs that promise from you?

Me wife.

I promised her.

I bought a small plot for Siobhan when she died last year.

My goodness.

I'm so sorry for your loss, Molloy.

- I don't want anyone's sympathies, Nancy.

I just wanted to do me work, you know?

- Do you have to give up doing something you love?

I never said I was giving up.

I'm gonna go to Rubinstein, or the Grave Brothers,

or some other fellow gaffer.

Given up?

I mean absolute bollocks to that.

Good for you, Molloy.

Good for you.

It's not so bad.

I get to spend some time with yourself, so.

It's grand.

- I'd like your advice on a matter.

Will you have a cup of tea with me?

I'd kill for a sup, Nancy.

- I don't know what to do about Uncle.