Borderline

Male, mid 20s, head smashed in, blood everywhere.

- Was Conor dyslexic? - No, not dyslexic. Mirror writing.

In love.

We have a hotel full of dentists to entertain.

God knows, they need some fun in their lives.

You need to shut your mouth when the police ask about Conor Byrne.

Our murder weapon is a hurley stick.

Great! So, now the whole town's a suspect.

This is from a camera at the rear of the bar. Finn Walsh appears.

What are they arguing about? - That's Finn walking home.

Except he doesn't live that way. That's the way to the sports complex.

- So, you were jealous? - Maybe.

- Not enough to kill him. - Sure about that?

Sorry for your loss, but I swear to God, I didn't kill your father.

- He swore it wasn't him. - And you believe him?

Aye.

The stolen care used the night your father was murdered was found burnt-out.

Our forensics team found no prints, right?

- Right. - Wrong.

These prints, do they belong to Patrick Gorman?

- Yes. - Lying bastard!

If I help you,

you have to do as I say, whether we're north or south of the border.

Whatever it takes.

Shit!

Bang, bang.

- You're dead. - Fuck you, Fitz.

All it took was fake numberplates

and a lock on your front door that a blind baby could pick.

- Are you trying to get yourself killed? - I've a lot on my mind.

Clearly, staying alive isn't one of them.

That wig won't save you either, though it suits you.

- Pity you're a lezzie from Leinster! - Again, fuck you!

Seriously, our friend has only been out a few weeks

and we already have intel that the family are looking for you.

- So what? - So we need to move you.

No way, I've moved twice already.

If I have to move again, I'll tell them where I am and get it over and done with.

- I so knew you'd say that. - So, why did you bother coming?

I wanted to make fun of you out here, in the sticks.

Well, you've had your fun. Now drink up and piss off.

Secretly, I think you like it here. You've gone native since you started working

- with our wee friend, The Preacher Man. - He's not my friend.

Did you tell him what I found out about Gorman?

- Yeah. - I trust you're not going to help him

pursue that information any further, detective?

No.

Right answer.

You heard from Caitlin or she from you?

No. I changed my number. She's no idea where I am.

Anyway, I'm the last person she'd want to talk to.

Second right answer. Three in a row and you win a prize.

Are you dating anyone out here, cos you know that's against the rules?

No, I'm not.

You were so close to winning a holiday for two in the sun.

Mind you, I doubt Orla would want to lie on a beach

with someone who might have their head blown off.

It's not serious.

End it.

- Shakir. - 'Sir, I have Conor's phone record.

- 'I think there is a girlfriend.' - OK.

Better take notes, constable, else Detective Regan won't be happy.

- Yes, sir. Where is she? - Not sure.

She texted asking me if I could come because she had another appointment.

Actually, that's not true.

- She said, "You do it. I'm busy." - Sounds like her.

Aye, aye.

Kelly Logan?

It's cold in here.

It's a bit chilly in here for the wee babby, no?

- Can't afford the heating. - You can afford a designer suitcase.

It's a fake. Are you here to arrest me for that?

No. We're here to investigate the murder of Conor Byrne.

According to his phone records, he called you on Sunday, just before the game.

He also called or texted you every day for the last few weeks,

often several times a day.

Were you two in a relationship?

- I'm sorry. - It's OK. We're here to help.

He was my boyfriend.

Aye. We found the note you wrote to him.

- He kept that? - Aye.

I loved him.

Is the baby his?

- No. - Who's the father?

It's just some guy. It was just a mistake.

- Is this your house? - No, it's my mum's.

- And where is she? - She's working.

- She's a cleaner. - And what do you do?

- I clean too. - Where?

In the supermarket. I work nights and then my mum looks after the baby.

Which supermarket?

Can we do this another time?

Aye.

Have we met before?

No.

OK.

I haven't seen you here before.

I... I'm new here, madam. Name's Conor.

Yeah. I can read.

Mrs Healey, nice to have you back. I'll check Mrs Healey in.

- Thank you, Conor. - Yes, sir.

Busy week ahead? - The usual.

I thought meeting face-to-face had become a thing of the past.

Lucky for us it isn't.

She's been in here all afternoon.

Says she's not doing it any more.

Why don't you stick on the kettle, make us a cuppa?

What's up, babe?

You know.

I warned you. There's no room for love in this business.

- He wasn't a client. - We're all clients in one way or another.

I'm not going to do it any more.

Just give the work to the other girls.

You're hurting me!

Where is the money your boyfriend stole from my husband?

I told you, I don't have it.

There, there, there.

It's OK, sweetheart.

Look, here's what we'll do.

I have a new client for you tonight.

His name is Mr Lee, he's totally minted.

You do this one and we'll call it quits.

OK?

I have one of these.

You can't beat a massage at the end of a long day.

- Really? - It's true.

My friend said, "I bet that chair will give you a better massage

"than your wanker ex-boyfriend ever did."

Well, if it doesn't, I'll give you your money back, Miss er...

- Niamh Foley. Call me Niamh. - OK, Niamh.

- How do you like to pay for this? - Cash. Is delivery included?

It is. In fact, I'll deliver it myself.

Oh. A real-life celebrity delivering my chair. How could I refuse?

Would you like a selfie?

Sure.

- Regan. - 'Brady, ma'am.

'Forensics are back on the items belonging to Finn Walsh.'

- Anything? - 'Negative on his hurley sticks

'but on his clothing they found traces of Conor's blood.'

All right.

(PLAYERS COMMENTING, ENCOURAGING EACH OTHER)

What the fuck are they doing here?

Don't, it'll only make it worse.

Finn Walsh, you are under arrest for the suspected murder of Conor Byrne.

You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so,

but anything you do say will be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence.

I know this lad. He's innocent, I'm sure of it.

How sure?

Yeah, I didn't think so. Come on.

- What's going on, coach? - Go on, carry on. Mind your own business.

Back to the training.

- Excuse me. - What do you want?

- I want to help with your investigation. - Talk to him.

I'm all ears.

I have some video footage you might be interested in.

Aye, OK.

- Send it to me. - OK. Thanks.

(WHISTLES) Hey, you! - Shite.

- Gotta go. - I told you, you're barred from here!

- The kid's a troublemaker. - Do you know him?

Aye. He's been hanging around here looking for dirt on Conor.

I told him there isn't any.

- What's going on with him? - You have a good day, Mr Mullen.

He's got nothing to do with it. Don't you worry, son!

I'll phone my solicitor.

Since we last spoke, we received Conor's phone records.

You didn't tell us you'd texted him on the night of the murder.

I told you I was drunk. I don't remember anything.

You remembered to delete the message from your phone. Why was that?

No comment.

- No comment. - It doesn't matter.

Your phone is with forensics. We'll find it soon enough.

OK, so here's how it looks to me.

You and Conor had an argument in the bar over the fact he wasn't a team player.

Monty was forced to step in to break things up,

but you had unfinished business.

So, you texted Conor to meet you in the clubhouse to set things straight.

You're a local, so you know how to get there along the path avoiding the CCTV.

When Conor arrives with a hurley stick to defend himself, you argue.

You snatch the hurley stick off him and use it to hit him, like you hit a sliotar.

That's not true.

You didn't mean to kill him, but you got a kick out of hurting him.

Then you couldn't stop.

You hated him. You thought he was going to steal your place in the team.

No comment.

What did you do with the hurley stick, Finn?

The one you smashed into Conor's head.

Pure speculation, detective.

Only when you left the clubhouse afterwards

did the full horror of what you did sink in.

We tested the puke. It's yours.

Perhaps your delayed response to the appalling crime you'd just committed.

Are you a qualified psychologist now, detective?

I don't need to be to know when someone's lying.

May I outline the facts?

I won't ask any questions.

Fine by me.

Finn, fact one,

you were caught on CCTV leaving Jack's bar at 9pm on the evening of the murder.