Previously on Guilt...
Grace, what did you do?
This is a mistake, I can assure you.
She hasn't done anything wrong.
I'm sorry, Molly.
I love you.
That girl can really work up the tears.
They're calling me
"American Psycho."
The press is all over my hotel.
I'm going crazy.
There's still the little matter
of the 20,000 quid Kaley cost me.
I'll get it.
We have to find Molly's phone
before someone else does.
You want someone to pay for what happened to your sister.
- My family needs answers. - Do you remember bagging up
a stuffed monkey from Molly's room?
Who gives a rat's arse about a stuffed monkey?
Whoever knicked it, that's who.
The tabloids have just handed us
an alternative suspect.
Do you think that professor knocked her up?
Are you gonna go after him?
Get away from my husband.
Get away from him now.
What is going on?
There's been a shooting, sir.
Hello, mate, Scotland Yard. I need to talk to her.
Hello, Mrs. Linley.
I'm Detective Sergeant Bruno,
Scotland Yard. Would you just please tell us
exactly what happened?
He broke into the house.
Mrs. Linley, who?
Who broke into your house?
I was terrified.
I know this is really traumatic for you,
but if you could please, please,
just tell us exactly what happened.
He shot my husband.
Who?
Molly Ryan's brother
shot my husband.
Synced & corrected by -robtor- www.addic7ed.com
Screw you.
Grace? What's going on?
They want me dead.
- Who? - The whole world.
Online. Everyone hates me.
Thinks I killed Molly.
Did you sleep at all?
I tried, but...
Hey, I know it's horrible what those people are saying,
but you can't pay attention to that.
- They don't even know you... - Carolyn Bloom does.
My friend from camp.
She's posted that
I was always "a bipolar skank,"
and that she's not surprised I snapped and killed Molly.
- Okay, that's enough. - Hey!
No, you'll never sleep
- if you keep reading this crap. - I won't sleep anyway.
You need to rest or you'll just keep spiraling.
Here. Take one of my sleeping pills.
Come on. Let's get you to bed.
Everything will feel better once you've gotten some sleep.
- Who is this? - Does it matter?
I have Molly Ryan's phone.
Like hell you do.
Any idiot can spoof a cell number.
Can any idiot do this?
Handsome friends you have.
Who the hell is this?
I want £30,000
via Bitcoin or this photo gets lobbed to the FBI,
the Scotland Yard, and Interpol... for starters.
You have no idea the minefield you're stepping in.
These men take their privacy very seriously,
and when they come for you, and I promise you they will,
they will inflict levels of pain
that you can't even begin to imagine.
Nice try but we both know you won't say a word...
or they'll come for you first, right?
Turn the damn car around.
That man was screaming
horrible things so I-I grabbed the rifle and when I went
into the kitchen he was just... beating my husband.
And then he saw me. Then he came at me and... I fired.
I think I might have hit him.
That's okay. You were defending yourself.
So, go on, what happened next?
He pushed me down
and grabbed the gun and...
and he shot Geoffrey in the head.
It's all right, Mrs. Linley, you've been really brave.
Thanks.
I just need to ask you a few more questions, okay?
Okay.
Look, when you were living in Oxford, did you happen
to know a girl by the name of Hanna Reid?
H-How is that girl possibly relevant
to what happened tonight?
Well, because...
your husband was having an affair with her,
and she wound up dead. I know it was ruled
a suicide, but in the light
of the Molly Ryan accusations...
He didn't kill her.
Hanna sent me a letter.
It's a suicide note.
I got it the day after she died.
I still have it.
You have it at home?
Geoffrey was wracked with guilt.
He was the one who had broken it off and that was
why she...
Anyway, we, uh...
you know, we worked through it.
We moved... moved on with our lives and we were beginning
to get past this, too, and...
Can I please go and be with my husband now?
Yeah, of course.
We'll have someone come and take you to the hospital.
Don't worry, we're gonna find Patrick Ryan.
We've put out an All Ports Warning on Patrick Ryan.
I just hope the press doesn't get a hold of this.
We've got enough headaches already.
I saw this coming.
Patrick Ryan's had a vendetta
since the moment his sister died.
Gwen, hey, hey, hey, hey.
Cut yourself some slack this time, will you?
I know few victim's relatives that don't have a vendetta.
I'm going home to get changed.
Be careful when you go looking for him.
He's dangerous, Bruno.
Hey, mate.
- Can I help you find something? - No, I'm good.
You all right?
I'm fine.
What's that in your coat?
Hey.
Every time I close my eyes, I just keep seeing
all the horrible things people are posting about me.
They're lies, nothing more.
Come over and I'll help you forget about everything.
There are paparazzi camped outside all the hotel doors.
I can't face them right now.
Well, then I'll come to you.
No, they'll just end up taking some awful picture of you,
saying that we're screwing our brains out while Molly rots.
This isn't gonna stop, Luc.
It's never gonna stop.
Y-You don't sound good, baby.
I'm just...
I'm just glad my mom's not here anymore to see
that the whole world thinks I'm... a sociopath.
I'm coming over.
I don't care what those idiots write about us.
No, don't, please, don't, I just...
I need to get some sleep.
I'll be... I'll be better if I can just sleep.
Grace...
I'm not talking street thugs.
This is the Russian mafia.
They... torture people for fun.
If those pictures ever get out, I-I...
Maybe you should think about that next time
someone asks you to launder money for them.
Why do you bother?
I mean, aren't you rich enough?
You think when I built my company,
I imagined I would ever be reduced to working
with criminals?
The market slide in China
killed me.
I needed cash flow just to keep going
or the whole thing would've fallen apart.
And here we are.
You know, your first
mistake was letting Molly Ryan blackmail you.
You think?
Note to self,
gonna need to start a blackmail slush fund
if you want to keep representing this family.
Your sense of humor is such a comfort to me.
Tell me you can fix this.
Well, if my suspicions
are correct, which they usually are,
your blackmailer...
needs cash.
He'll play by my rules,
and I
will draw him out of hiding.
What makes you so sure he'll play by your rules?
Anyone willing to use infamous criminals
as pawns is either daft
or desperate.
Either way, they're going down.
You want your 30,000 pounds,
we do things my way.
ROZ : Who's this?
You first.
You a copper?
Like James would risk going to the police.
Well, whoever you are, I better see a deposit
in my Bitcoin account by noon or James is going to have
much bigger problems than the police.
Enough of this Bitcoin nonsense, it's not secure.
We're gonna do things old school.
Now pay attention, because I'm only gonna say this once.
Get yourself on the 2:00 p.m. bus
from Camden Town to Leicester Square.
You'll find a blue backpack on the upper deck under seat
13-B.
Take the backpack,
leave the phone on the seat,
and be on your merry way.
You're not dictating the terms here.
I am.
It's Bitcoin, or I swear to God I hit send.
Go ahead, hit send.
My guess is, you'd rather take the pounds.
2:00 p.m., Camden Town, upper deck.
What the hell was that about?
Roz...
The less you know, the better.
Is this about Finch?
I don't want you getting
in any trouble because of me.
I've got it under control.
You really do like to pop by, don't you?
I should get you your own key.
- Grace is losing it. - Really? Big surprise.
Listen, I'm kind of
in the middle of a thing right now,
so unless this is DEFCON Five...
I got to get her out of London.
She's wigging out. She can't go outside
without the obnoxious British press crawling up her ass,
and people are posting horrible things
- about her. - Yeah, people are
- so mean. - This is serious, Stan.
We need to get Grace's passport back.
I did some research, and we might be able to get it released
under Section 29B of the Criminal Code...
Which doesn't apply
anymore ever since your little trip to Paris.
We need to go home.
It's not healthy for Grace here, and my boss is running out
of patience with my little sabbatical, so you need
to do whatever it is you do when the law isn't your friend.
You want me to bribe someone?
I don't want to micromanage you.
I just want it done.
Cool, I like the new you.
Uh, but later, 'cause I got to go, okay?
Got a call from a corner shop in Bromley.
Irish shoplifter, covered in blood,
cashier IDs him as Patrick Ryan.
What is he still doing in the city?
He... he could've made for the coast, rented a boat,
sailed back to Ireland.
Linley's out of surgery.
Still alive, but barely.
Executed a search warrant
of his primary residence and found this:
Hanna Reid's suicide note.
Wow.
His wife wasn't lying.
So this is one girl he didn't kill,
at least not by his own hand.
She might not be the only one.
Also found a burner hidden in his closet.
Take a look at this self-portrait.
Whoa, whoa.
Need a little warning before
you flash me a todger, please, mate.
Look, if you look closely...
No... I'd rather not.
It was taken in his house
on the 29 of March,
at 2:37 a.m.
Molly Ryan was killed around 2:45 that night.
Way across town.
Linley didn't kill her.
Professor has sexted himself a rock hard alibi.
If Linley dies...
Patrick Ryan just killed an innocent man.
Don't scream.
I'm not here to hurt you.
You shot Linley.
No, I didn't.
I swear.
Then why did you run?
'Cause no one'd believe me...
except maybe you.
Why should I believe you?
You as much as told me you were going after Linley.
I've seen your record, remember?
Assault, robbery...
That was a long time ago.
I'm telling you, I did not shoot that man.
You're bleeding.
I'm fine.
Hardly.
Come on, sit down.
Damn it.
Grace?
Grace.
Oh, my God.
Grace.
Grace, wake up!
Grace! Grace, wake up!
_
We need to pump your sister's stomach.
You need to wait out here.
I'm sorry to disturb you,
but we're running a bit behind, Your Highness.
How can I go out there and smile all pretty
for an engagement portrait when any minute now the police
could discover my... relationship with Molly Ryan.
Molly...
was well-compensated to keep
her mouth shut.
She was also compensated
to stay on the pill.
I have no idea how many loose ends are out there.
We'll find someone inside the investigation, hmm?
Someone with a weakness to exploit.
Even commoners do things
they shouldn't, Your Highness.
Am I interrupting?
Wow.
You look... amazing.
I'd better.
17 people worked me over for this portrait.
For some reason, they completely rejected
my idea to wear my old trackies.
I love you in your old trackies.
I'm not sure your mum would.
My mum's hardly setting the fashion world on fire.
Yes... but the public
have slightly higher standards
for a wannabe princess.
The public will love you for the same reason I love you.
You're a brilliant, charming,
independent woman who says and does exactly as she pleases.
Cheers, lad.
Tough crowd.
Yo, yo, yo, DJ Roz.
Wankers wouldn't know talent if it hit them in the head.
No, it'll rain.
Just need to keep drumming.
Or you could find a more lucrative way
to spend your afternoon.
I'm all ears.
Excuse me?
Are you Grace Atwood's sister?
Yes.
Is Grace okay?
Did she wake up?
I'm sorry, I...
don't have a report from the doctor yet.
I just need to take down some information about the incident.
Can you tell me what happened to your sister?
I, um...
I think she took too many sleeping pills.
Did she have a prescription?
No.
They were mine.
Do you think your sister tried to take her own life?
I don't think she'd do that, but I...
Do you think she's
feeling guilty about something she's done?
Sometimes that can trigger a suicide attempt.
You're not with the hospital, are you?
Never said I was.
My name's Veena Patel,
I'm a reporter for The Story.
Yeah.
I have a story for you.
Once upon a time, there was
a little girl who dreamt
of being a real journalist,
but it turns out she's a no talent hack
who's not pretty enough to be a TV anchor,
so she's stuck at a low rent rag
with more ads for hookers than genuine news.
You know what
I think the real story is here?
How you're gonna live with yourself
if Grace dies after taking your pills.
It's a through-and-through.
Missed your arteries.
You're lucky.
Luckier than Linley.
What happened in that cottage?
I went there to look
that coward in the eye.
Have him tell me if he killed my sister.
Then his wife came in, waving
a rifle, shot him, so I ran.
That's when she shot me, too.
You should have called the police.
You think the police are gonna believe
a Northern Irish stonemason with a criminal record
over some posh, English housewife?
It's not 30 years ago, Patrick.
Come on, give us some credit.
I've got a ma back home.
She can't get
out of bed, she's so wrecked
from losing her little girl.
She's counting
on me to get justice for our family.
That's not going to happen if I get locked up
for something I didn't do.
That's why I need you to believe me.
You have to believe me.
I do.
No, you don't.
Patrick.
Ah, it was a mistake to come here.
No, it wasn't.
I want to help you.
Help me, huh?
Patrick.
Patrick Ryan.
Don't you do that. Come here!
- Huh? - It's not your stop, kid.
- Let go of me. - Happy to.
Soon as I get what I came for.
You have the phone, mate. Back off.
Yeah, but I need a name.
Unless you're the one calling the shots,
but you don't really strike me as the strategic type.
No. You were paid to make the drop.
So let me tell you how it's gonna be,
I'll give you a nice, hefty raise,
you tell me who hired you.
Manchester! Manchester! Manchester!
- Let go of me, Mister. - Give me the bag, kid.
Manchester!
Manchester! Manchester!
What's going on here?
This pervert bothering you, kid?
Yeah, he's not letting me leave.
I'm making a citizen's arrest,
- the kid stole my bag. - This bag here?
- Give me that? - Worth knickin', is it?
Give it here. Give me that bag.
- Give me the bag! - Ooh, nice phone there,
glitter boy.
Wha...
What, you don't have one of those?
Give me that ba...
Whoa!
Looks like we hit the lotto here, boys.
Right, let's get out of here. Go, go, go, go, go.
Go, go, go, go.
See ya later, egghead.
Glitter boy!
Natalie?
Gracie.
I was so worried I was gonna lose you.
Are we at the hospital?
Yes.
You took too many sleeping pills.
I couldn't sleep.
I-I just kept hearing all the haters.
Grace,
did you try to...
No.
No, it was...
it-it was an accident.
I...
I was just so tired.
I must've...
I must've lost track of how many I'd taken.
Oh, God.
Is it all over the Internet?
Ugh.
Bet the haters loved that.
You don't have to worry about that right now, okay?
All you need to do is rest.
Hey.
Will you do something for me?
Yeah.
Anything.
Will you get me a banana milkshake?
From Fatboys?
Grace, Fatboys is, like, all the way back by our hotel.
I think they have ice cream in the cafeteria.
I know.
My stomach really hurts
and that is literally the only thing that sounds good.
Please?
Okay, fine.
I'll be back as soon as I can.
You'll be pleased to know that Molly Ryan's phone
is out of your blackmailer's hands.
Oh, thank God.
Who was behind this?
You really think it'll improve your mood
to know the name of the street punk that milked you
for 30,000 quid?
This better be the end of it, Gutterie.
Oh, I completely agree.
There have been a lot of people hating on me
since my friend Molly died.
Oh, for Pete's sake.
A lot.
And I'm not gonna lie,
it sucks.
But I kind of get it.
If I was out there watching all the press on me,
I'd-I'd probably think that I was...
a slut,
a druggie,
a selfish irresponsible bitch.
And the stuff that's already come out,
well, that's just the beginning.
Keep digging.
'Cause you're gonna find out that I...
screwed my best friend's boyfriend in high school,
I... was arrested for stealing some nail polish
a couple of years ago.
And part of the reason I came over here was because...
I was flunking out of college.
I've made some major mistakes.
But there's one thing I didn't do.
I didn't kill Molly Ryan.
She was my friend.
She knew all that crap about me, and she still loved me.
So if you've never made any mistakes,
then go ahead,
keep hating on me.
But if you've ever screwed up,
maybe stop and think for a minute
before you attack me or anyone else out there
who's having a bad time.
From the looks of that bullet wound,
Patrick was shot from behind, not from the front.
Oh, so you're a gunshot wound expert now, aye?
Enough to know an entry wound from an exit wound.
And his fingerprints, they weren't on the gun, were they?
Look at his hands.
There ain't no way that he was wearing gloves
when he was beating on Linley.
And I'm guessing he didn't stop to put some on
before he went after the wife's gun.
I don't think he ever touched the gun, mate,
Oh, bloody hell.
Beatrice Linley shot her own husband.
And we let her walk right out of here.
Straight back to his bedside.
Are you my nurse?
Strange, isn't it?
You put me in the hospital
and now here you are.
Mrs. Linley.
What are you doing here?
Truthfully,
I'm not sure anymore.
I'm sorry about what happened between me and your husband,
and for slashing your tires.
I never wanted anyone to get hurt.
You know when...
the first time I found out Geoffrey had had an affair,
it hurt deeply.
And he was so sorry,
and he tried so hard to make it up to me,
and no one else knew about it,
except the girl.
But, anyway, it was our business.
And then last week,
I wake up and it's all over the papers that my husband
is having an affair with you.
Maybe Molly Ryan too.
That he might've killed her.
But then the police told me
he's been shagging his students for years.
So I have been a bloody fool this whole time.
And now everybody knows,
and everybody pities me and judges me.
He made a mockery of my life,
and so did you.
What's happened?
- We got to the room right after you called it in.
Patient was already coding.
Looks like his respirator's been messed with.
I'm calling it. Time of death, 9:13 p.m.
You seen the wife?
Where's Beatrice Linley?
I'm so sorry,
Mrs. Linley.
You have already said you are sorry.
So did Geoffrey.
But I killed him anyway.
Do you feel better...
now that he's gone?
No.
I don't suppose killing you will help, either.
Step back, Mrs. Linley.
How you doing?
Oh, you know.
My sister got her stomach pumped.
She almost got killed by a crazy woman.
So I guess I've had better days.
Yeah, you've, um...
had more than your fair share of troubles
since you came to London, haven't you?
Yeah, but it's fine.
It's all fine, you know?
They're releasing Grace today.
So I have no idea why I'm crying.
It's okay, it's a lot for anyone.
Don't do that.
Don't be nice to me, 'cause it's just gonna make it worse.
See?
Oh, this is so embarrassing.
I never cry in front of the cops that I work with at home.
I swear.
I won't tell them, don't worry.
Clever girl, aren't you?
And the phone?
It's in there.
Brilliant.
Thank you.
You were telling the truth.
Beatrice Linley shot the Professor.
She's in custody as we speak.
Then I'm free to go?
No.
There's a little matter
of breaking into a man's home,
assaulting him.
Those are serious charges.
It could put you away for quite some time.
I can't look the other way just because I...
Just because you what?
I would like to make a deal with you, Patrick.
I don't do deals with people I don't trust.
I'm not sure you have a choice.
Linley's dead.
His good wife finished the job in the hospital.
Which means, I can make the assault charge go away.
But for me to even consider it,
you need to assure me,
when you walk out that door, you'll go to the port.
Get on a ferry.
Go back to Belfast.
Molly's killer will not go unpunished.
Not on my watch.
But...
if you can't agree to that,
you're welcome to stay in London...
in a jail cell.
Well, I'm ready to go home.
Hello?
What the hell is going on?
Y-Your... Your... Your...
Royal Highness, Sir?
Oh, we can dispense
with the formalities.
I feel like we're going to be close chums.
I hope you don't mind me using your kitchen.
I got rather hungry waiting for you.
And then Phillip, here,
refused to run out and get a curry.
Now, he...
wanted to handle this himself,
but I needed to make sure
that you understood the full gravity
of our situation.
Our situation.
Hmm.
All right.
And what exactly is that?
Please, take a seat.
You look like you've had a long day.
Now,
I would have whipped up something more interesting,
but you're a bit of a cliché bachelor
with no real food in the cupboards,
so... parmesan?
Yeah, please.
So I, uh...
had to improvise.
Let's call it...
Pasta...
Bruno.
Please, eat.
I don't have many marketable skills,
but I really am quite the cook.
To my mum's dismay.
We gonna have to get to the dessert course
before you tell me what you're doing here?
No small talk.
You must be disastrous at dinner parties.
All right, then.
Let's talk about something that may interest you.
What was that man's name again, Phillip?
Donovan Trimbly, Your Highness.
Donovan Trimbly.
He didn't bring the best out in you, now did he?
I don't know what you're talking about.
You can lie to your colleagues.
You can lie to your boss.
You can even lie
to your mum.
But you will never lie to me, Detective.
What do you want?
You keep my secrets.
I'll keep yours.
Oh, my God.
I've always wanted to do this.
Ah.
Come on, don't be shy.
How does it feel?
Like winning.
Mmm.
We should start robbing banks if you're this hot for it.
No.
I was going crazy today
waiting for you to get back.
It's just... promise me you'll pay off Finch
and you won't put yourself in danger
on my account ever again.
I'll do whatever I need to do to keep... you safe.
What happened to you?
I thought I'd take the bus.
It wasn't for me.
Hope you took it to get Grace's passport back.
You know, I am not batting a thousand today.
Apparently, the magistrate assigned to Grace's file
does not find me as charming as you.
That is truly shocking.
So that means we're stuck here
until Grace is officially exonerated?
Yeah, kind of.
Although, there is one silver lining.
Turns out
your sister's a natural born spin doctor.
BBC, Daily Mail,
the entire British press corps,
is eating up her little confessional.
Meryl Streep would be jealous of that performance.
Performance?
If a client of mine asked me to pull them out
from under an avalanche of negative publicity,
and not just pull them out, but to turn
that avalanche into a worldwide lovefest,
I could not have scripted it better myself.
_
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