856 words, 5 minutes read time.
Netflix’s Department Q is a gripping crime drama that reinvents Nordic noir by relocating its cold-case investigations to Edinburgh. Based on Jussi Adler-Olsen’s bestselling novels, the series follows Detective Chief Inspector Carl Mørck, who is assigned to lead a newly formed cold-case division after a traumatic incident leaves his partner paralyzed and another officer dead. Rather than a promotion, his reassignment to Department Q is a way to sideline him—a bureaucratic maneuver to keep him out of the way.
Initially, Mørck is given little support, with only Akram Salim, an administrator, assigned to assist him. However, as the cases unfold, Akram proves to be far more than a desk-bound bureaucrat, bringing sharp investigative instincts and a quiet determination to the team. Alongside Detective Constable Rose Dickson, they begin to unravel long-forgotten crimes, exposing deep-seated corruption, class prejudice, and institutional neglect.
Their first case is the disappearance of Merritt Lingard (Chloe Pirrie), a high-profile prosecutor who vanished four years prior while traveling on a ferry with her disabled brother, William. Initially presumed dead, her case was dismissed as a likely suicide. However, as Mørck and his team dig deeper, they uncover disturbing inconsistencies. The investigation leads them to Lyle Jennings and his mother, Ailsa, who have been holding Merritt captive in a hyperbaric chamber—a twisted form of punishment rooted in Lyle’s own traumatic childhood. Lyle, a deeply disturbed individual, blames Merritt for the death of his brother, Harry, and has spent years psychologically tormenting her.
Merritt’s disappearance is tied to events from her teenage years. She had once planned to run away with her boyfriend, Harry Jennings, escaping their troubled home lives. The plan involved stealing a valuable ring from Merritt’s estranged mother, but at the last moment, she told Harry not to go through with it. He did anyway, breaking into her home—only to be confronted by her brother, William. In the ensuing chaos, Harry was attacked, and his younger brother, Lyle Jennings, retaliated violently, leaving William permanently brain-damaged.
Harry took the blame for the assault, but as he fled from the police aboard a ferry, he fell overboard and drowned. Lyle and his mother, Ailsa, blamed Merritt for Harry’s death, believing she had orchestrated the events that led to his demise. This resentment festered for years, culminating in Merritt’s abduction. While Merritt is undoubtedly a victim, the series does not shy away from the fact that her choices played a role in the suffering of those around her. Her indecision regarding the theft set off a chain of events that led to William’s injury and Harry’s death. Her career as a prosecutor, built on a rigid sense of justice, contrasts sharply with the moral ambiguity of her own past. The show forces viewers to question whether Merritt is merely a victim or if she bears some responsibility for the tragedies that shaped her life.
Dr. Rachel Irving (Kelly Macdonald) plays a crucial role in Mørck’s journey, serving as his therapist and one of the few people willing to challenge his emotional defenses. Their sessions are tense, often resembling verbal sparring matches rather than traditional counseling. Mørck, deeply cynical and emotionally closed off, treats therapy as an obligation rather than a necessity. Rachel, however, refuses to let him dismiss his trauma so easily. Their dynamic is one of the most compelling in the series. Rachel sees through Mørck’s sarcasm and self-destructive tendencies, pushing him to confront his guilt over the Leith Park shooting that left his partner paralyzed and another officer dead. She also forces him to acknowledge the emotional weight of the cases he investigates—particularly the Merritt Lingard disappearance. Over time, their sessions evolve from reluctant exchanges to something more meaningful, with Rachel becoming one of the few people Mørck trusts.
Mørck’s relationship with his teenage son, Oscar, is another source of emotional tension. Since the shooting, Mørck has struggled to connect with Oscar, who resents his father’s emotional distance and inability to be present. Their interactions are often brief and strained, with Oscar pushing back against Mørck’s attempts to re-engage. Oscar’s frustration stems not just from Mørck’s absence, but from his father’s inability to express vulnerability. He sees Mørck burying himself in work, avoiding personal conversations, and refusing to acknowledge the emotional damage he carries. This leads to moments of conflict, particularly when Oscar begins acting out, testing boundaries in an attempt to provoke a reaction. Despite their difficulties, there are moments of quiet understanding between them. Mørck, though emotionally stunted, clearly cares for his son, and Oscar—despite his anger—wants his father to be present. Their relationship doesn’t resolve neatly, but the series allows space for small steps toward reconciliation, making their dynamic one of the most realistic and affecting in the show.
What makes Department Q stand out is its refusal to offer easy resolutions. Mørck’s therapy sessions don’t magically heal him, his relationship with his son remains complicated, and the Merritt Lingard case leaves behind more questions than answers. The series thrives on moral ambiguity, forcing its characters—and its audience—to grapple with the emotional weight of justice, trauma, and accountability.
By Mia Fulga
I’ve always said that nostalgia was the drug of choice for most people in the UK. Trainspotting was about the addictive, attractive and destructive nature of heroin.