Harrow

What are you doing?

-Watching High Noon. -No, no.

No, no. Why aren't you working?

- I hate clowns. - Yeah, lots of people hate clowns.

You're being paid to complete an autopsy of one by 5 p.m.

-Let Fairley do it. -You're doing it.

-No. I'm not. -Daniel,

the police need it by today.

There are people of interest who are a flight risk

because--ta-da!-- this looks like murder.

-Great. -Not great. They need to know if it is.

-Give it to Fairley. -I gave it to you.

I'm not doing it.

You think I don't know who this guy is?

Accusations of child molestation,

but none ever stuck.

Now that he's dead, the police are thinking

one of this victims grew up, tracked him down,

surprised him on his yoga mat, and broke his neck.

Then why aren't you doing the autopsy?

Because if I do it, I'll find that cause of death

is a subarachnoid hemorrhage on the base of the brain

as a result of traumatic medial laceration of the right vertebral artery

by excessive autorotation of the C2 and C3 vertebrae.

He died twisting his neck doing yoga in his makeup--

wearing it because it brought back sweet memories

of the tender moments he spent with all those children

whose lives he destroyed, hence the angel lust.

You want it done? Give it to Fairley.

With a bit of luck, he might suggest blunt force trauma,

the police willinvestigate,

and then enough dirt will come up on this shithead

that he'll be remembered as a child molester

instead of a clown.

You really shouldn't interrupt a guy watching High Noon.

Fairley's finished your clown.

Give me one good reason why I shouldn't fire you.

Vocabulary. I have the most arcipluvian way with words.

-You quit years ago. -I know.

It's hard to start again.

They say it's easy, but I tell you,

it takes willpower.

Knock yourself out.

You told Fairley about the yoga.

Yes.

He might have come to a different conclusion.

Now that grease-painted prick gets away with it by dying.

It was the truth.

You know what? You should fire me--

before I get us both into trouble.

Yeah, I should, but what good would it do?

You'd still be in that exam room, working. You love it too much.

So what happens the next time

I find something that I don't like?

You watch Gary Cooper, and you tell the truth.

But if you fail to do your job,

I will dock your pay, so get back to work.

And apologize to Fairley.

- Fairley. - Ah.

-You're here to apologize, hmm? -Yeah.

'Cause you want to, or because Pavich told you to?

Thanks to you,

I'm late for my Kodo class.

Kodo. Japanese art of incense appreciation.

Ah.

You were right.

Yeah.

You OK?

Yeah.

Harrow.

Has your daughter taken drugs before?

Not that I'm aware of. What was it she took?

Fern's symptoms suggests some sort of psychoactive, like MDMA.

But she's responded well.

How did she get here?

She was left outside by someone.

They didn't stick around.

She's just in here.

Fern!

Fern!

Fern! Wait!

- Not a great time. - Sorry.

Is Fern there?

- Argh! No. - Has she called?

Using her actual voice?

She sent me a text, like,

a week ago saying she's fine.

Why? What's happened?

She was admitted to emergency.

- She took something. - When?

Party drug. But she was OK.

Which hospital? Is she OK?

Did you see her?

She left before I got there.

What do we do?

I don't know.

Just let me know if you talk to her.

Do you know who I am?

Yeah. Bruce Reimers.

I'm not sure why you're here.

You get bored of hassling Fairley?

Fairley's an idiot.

He's not.

Though he does spend more than a hundred bucks on a haircut.

-Drink? -Sure.

Tough shit.

I don't drink with people who break into Bettie.

What do you want, Reimers?

It's from your boss.

If I don't collect Livy's body by the end of the week,

the state will cremate her.

The end of the week? Well, you better...

No! No!

-Case is closed. -Reopen it.

Reimers, your daughter wasn't murdered.

She wasmurdered!

Olivia didn't kill herself.

Your idiot mate Fairley got it wrong.

Hey! I don't like Fairley any more than you,

but he is thorough.

Well, he missed something.

No.

You gonna shoot me?

Dead pathologists do shitty autopsies.

Whoa! Not Bettie!

Whoa.

Livy was murdered!

Look, I'm sorry.

You get what everyone else gets. You get the system--

the system that looks at everything and makes a decision.

And the system decided that your daughter wasn't murdered.

Hey--!

You are part of the system! You can change it!

Just because you don't like the answers

doesn't mean you get special privileges.

Trust me, I know.

You can threaten me, you can hit me,

you can even shoot Bettie if you want,

but I can't change the system.

You say that.

But you have a daughter, right?

You get to see her again.

I never will.

Fern.

You know, you can get new shears from Bunnings for, like, $10.

You don't get these at Bunnings.

This is an 1870 surgeon's kit by Mathieu of Paris.

-How do you know? -I read the box.

Google it.

OK, maybe you don't sell it to street traffic, but...

auction online-- three grand, easy.

Hmm. Tell you what.

Hundred bucks.

-Nine hundred. -Two hundred.

-Six hundred. -Three.

- Five. - Five hundred?

They're worth over three grand!

-Three-fifty. -Ta.

-You're quick. -You were lazy. This is the closest pawnshop.

Next time I'll go further. Good night.

-You OK? -I'm fine.

You were on a hospital drip two hours ago.

What was it you took? You gonna take more?

Not right at this second, no.

-Your mother's worried sick. -Yes! I got that

from the 500 voicemails she left this afternoon.

Thanks for telling her.

Well, what do you expect? You disappear

-for the best part of a year! -I keep in touch.

Text messages. "I'm alive. I'm fine."

-You think that's enough? -Has to be.

You could have died today.

It's my life.

Bub, we need to talk.

We really don't.

-There's something I have to tell you. -I'm going now.

-I'll follow you. -You do that, and I swear

you won't see me for another year.

What if I quit?

You couldn't leave work for two days straight, let alone--

What if I did?

What if I quit,

and me and you, we sail to Bora Bora?

Very Brando. Pack fat clothes.

-I mean it. -What, then you and me

sit on the sand and play our guitars?

Yeah.

Why now?

You need me.

I don't need anyone.

Look, I should have tried harder. I should have quit sooner.

And I would've, if I...

Listen, there's a good westerly coming Friday.

Enough time for me to get Bettietidied up.

Come with me.

Friday.

Just say it. Friday!

Friday.

All right...

what's this gonna cost me?