All language subtitles for Dalziel.and.Pascoe.S07E05.Dialogues.of.the.Dead.Part.One.WEB-DL.DDP2.0.H.264-squalor

(lively orchestral music)

(children chatter excitedly)

- Should we get inside?

If we hang round
here much longer,

me belly will think me
throat's been cut.

- We've only been
here 20 minutes.

We're supposed to be improving
our image with the public.

- Jax Ripley.
- Okay.

- The pain in my arse.

- Today's the day the
people of Wetherton

get their first chance
to really enjoy

their new heritage center.

I'm speaking to you from outside
the old library building,

which has been completely
refurbished,

and to celebrate, the
library staff have invited us

to a festival of words.

- Not muck-raking for
a change, then.

- Now, I've also been asked
to give a special plug

to their short story
competition,

which closes in just
two days time.

The prizes are spectacular.

- She'd know how to spin a yarn.

The amount of porkie pies she's
told about Wetherton CID...

- Okay?

Thanks.

Hat!

Hi, off duty?

- Yeah, hi Jax.

- I don't suppose you
fancy a drink later?

Keep me up to date
with Wetherton CID?

- Thanks, that's probably
not a good idea.

The boss is on the warpath.

- Mr Dalziel?

- Yes, Miss Ripley.

Mr Dalziel.

DC Bowler, what are you doing?

Fraternizing with the enemy.

I know what you're up to.

You think you're a crusading
journalist,

but you're not, you're a menace.

There are reasons why
we do what we do,

and reasons why we don't want
the public to know everything.

- Well, perhaps not
all your officers

feel the same way, Mr Dalziel.

- So, it's true.

You have got a mole.

-[Jax] I didn't say that.

- Just you listen, lad.

If ever she takes hold
of your bollocks,

whether to twist 'em
or to stroke 'em,

just lie back and think of me.

You got that?

- Yes, sir.

- Then get off, and go and
dip your wick elsewhere.

- All right, sir.

Bye then.
- Bye.

So, I don't suppose either of
you would fancy a drink, then?

Give me the true story
on Wetherton CID?

- If you carry on with
this campaign,

I swear to God I'll come
down on you so hard,

you'll wish you hadn't
been born.

- Better take that as a "No."

(lively orchestral music)

- (sighs) We've got
orange juice.

- Last time I drank orange
juice, I was in nappies.

- Oh, Superintendent Dalziel.

- Bloody hell, Stuffer.

- You shouldn't have
time to be mucking about

with summat like this, you know.

You want to be out
catching villains.

- God, dear, Stuffer Steel.

Don't want to get too
close to him, love.

Moss on his teeth, and
breath like a vegan's fart.

- Hello, Pete.

- Sam, hello.

- What are you up to?

Bit of community policing?

- Uh, yeah, all right.

-[Sam] Sorry, Franny,
here you go.

- That's Franny Roote, isn't it?

Didn't know he was out.

- Obviously keen to
improve his mind.

Shall we go in?

- It is thanks to the
tremendous generosity

of the people of Wetherton,

that this refurbishment
has been possible.

And I'd also like the thank
the Wetherton Argus newspaper,

for putting up the prize money

for our short story competition.

We're particularly
grateful to Charlie Penn

and the book club for
raising the funds to purchase

a complete set of the
Oxford English Dictionary,

which is the first time
the library has had

such a wonderful resource
at its disposal.

- Short story competition.

First dialogue: We start with A.

(mysterious music)

The AA man was wonderfully
helpful.

The bird passes between us.

(wings flapping)

He stands at the parapet,
nothing behind him.

And then he's gone.

He's landed face-up in
the shallow stream below.

Part of me wants to help him,

but I can't.

That first step was
clearly signed.

I have taken that step.

Talk again soon.

(chuckles)

That's a bit of a strange entry.

Something about the
death of an AA man.

- Hmm, another nutter.

- Yeah, looks like it.

I don't know, look at this.

The way it's written.

I mean, it's a short
story competition.

This would be better
off in an art gallery.

- Whoa.

Is there a name and address?

- No...

- Well, it's not eligible
then, is it?

- Well, we'll hang
onto it for a bit.

-[TV Newsreader] Andrew
Ainstable, an AA patrol man,

was found drowned in the river

following what is believed
to have been

an accidental fall from
a nearby bridge.

Police have said that foul
play is not suspected.

-[Operator] Hello,
Wetherton CID.

- Want a hand with that, sir?

- Reckon I can push
it on me own.

Peter!

Get your arse in here!

- We could just record it.

- Can't we just record it,
I'm due on the squash court!

- We've all got lives
to lead, Peter!

-[Crew] It's what John wants.

-[Jax] Okay, sure.

- Okay, the first half
will finish with the news.

- Which will then take
us up to the second half,

and my interview with
Councilor Steel's

gonna be the last item.

(chuckles) That chair
gonna take the weight?

-[Producer] Jax?

John wants to have a quick word.

- John, hi.

- Hi, yeah, we've made
a kind of a montage

on the opening of the
heritage center.

That can line to the
start on the piece

about the short story
comp, yeah?

- Yeah, fine, uh, just
to let you know

that I've got some police
figures to back up the item

on Wetherton CID.

- Listen, Jax, can
we just ease up

on the campaigning
bollocks here?

- I'll come up.

- Ah, our senior citizen,
Moby Dick.

(people laughing)

- Couldn't we just record it?

- Is this really
necessary, Andy?

- I hope you know
what you're doing.

- Come on, it's called
journalism.

My new material's great, and
my sources are impeccable.

- Listen, you're playing
with fire, Jax.

I can only protect you so far.

- Well, thanks.

- I know what this is about.

It's that interview in
London tomorrow, isn't it?

You just want to make a big
splash, get yourself noticed.

- So?

- If Jax Ripley's trying
to rake muck on us,

and someone here is helping her,

I wanna catch them, and I
wanna rub their noses in it.

- Where's Bowler, George?

- Now back to a familiar theme.

Concern about what the
police do and do not tell us

about their clear-up rates.

This week, Mid-Yorkshire
and More has obtained

startling new figures, leaked
direct from Wetherton CID.

75% of burglaries in
Wetherton area are ignored.

Police may even be missing
more serious crimes altogether.

For example, behind
yesterday's news

of the the tragic accident

in which an AA patrol
man was found drowned

lies, we believe,
the possibility

of a more sinister
interpretation.

The patrol man's widow has
insisted the death is
suspicious.

The police response:
no further action.

- Of course there's no
further bloody action.

I looked at that meself!

- So, are we getting the police
force we need and pay for?

To discuss this, I've invited
Councilor Cyril Steel,

well known for his campaigns

on law and order issues
in Mid-Yorkshire.

Councilor Steel, welcome.

- The police here have
got a rule of thumb.

I mean, for example,
if there's a burglary

where the proceeds
of the property

come to less than
a thousand quid,

they don't even bother. (snorts)

- Stuffer Steel.

Of course he'd be on
the bloody bandwagon.

What did I tell ya?

Where's Jax the Ripper
getting her information?

Six months now, this office
has leaked like a baby's arse!

And who arrived here
six months ago?

Boiler.

- Okay, thanks everyone.

That was brilliant.

- Mr Dalziel's really
got it in for me.

- Well, if it isn't
you, you needn't worry.

- What is all this
Boiler business?

- Don't be soft.

You know what he calls me?

- What?

- Moby Dick, the Honorable
Member, with endless variations.

- Ah, well at least yours
is something to be proud of.

(chuckling)

(sharp knocking)
- Yeah.

- Sir...
- What?

- Wetherton Argus
are on the phone.

Want to know your response
to the TV program.

- This is my response.

- Charlie Penn.

What are you doing here?

Looking for a bit part
on Animal Hospital?

'Cause I hear they're
doing a feature on snakes.

- You'd know all about
animal life, wouldn't you?

Always a bitch, and
always on heat.

- Well, some dogs leave
me cold, Charlie.

Especially old ones,
with no new tricks,

which is why you're
here, isn't it,

to promote your old show?

- Good job you're back in
local news, sweetheart.

Never could tell your
arts from your elbow.

- Ooh, very good, Charlie.

You are on form.

At this rate, you might even
be up to the odd screenplay.

Like the Teletubbies.

- Least I don't get
my work on me back.

- A fantastic response
to tonight's show, Jax.

Listen, but why don't
you hang around?

We could go out for a drink.

- Um, no, thanks John, I'm
gonna get an early night.

I have an interview tomorrow.

- An early night?

That's gotta be a first!

-[Bill] Bye, Miss Ripley.

- Bye, Bill.

Ooh!
- Excuse me, I just--

- Sorry, I've gotta get off.

- Oh look (guffaws),
nothing in Greening.

- Okay, um...

Nothing on less than A5.

(chuckles)

Nothing without meaningful
punctuation.

- (chuckles) Nothing requiring

the use of a magnifying glass.

- Nothing with organic
matter adhering to it.

(both mimic gagging)

- Right. (chuckles)

- You'd better stand
by for some more.

There's been another
plug for the competition

on the local news.

- Ugh.
- What's-her-name, Jax Ripley?

She was in again the other day.

She said she'd give us one.

I said we needed it
like a hole in the head.

- Well, it's great publicity.

I hope you're on top of it.

See you tomorrow.

(sighs)

(squash balls thwacking)

- Sorry, I've been practicing.

- I'm a copper, you spend
all day on your arse.

- Wrong, chasing students,
aren't I.

Need to get you bobbies
back on the beat,

keep you fit, Pete.

Running after drug dealers
with a whistle in your gob,

truncheon in your hand.

- Well, I've gotta
hand it to you.

No sign of you taking it easy.

What do you want?

- Hello, Mr Pascoe.

- Franny, what is it?

- Um, I wondered if
you'd had a chance

to look at that last
essay of mine?

- Oh, yeah...

I forgot I still had it.

Um, it's in here somewhere.

Uh, ai-ai-ai-ai-ai...

Here we are.

I made some notes at the end.

Perhaps we can talk about
it in the next class.

- What's wrong, isn't
it any good?

- Yeah, yeah, yeah...

Okay, return match next week?

- Are you okay doing this?

I mean, with the heart trouble.

Shouldn't you be taking it easy?

- Don't worry about it.

Anyway, I'm not gonna
let it rule me.

- Sam, that guy, Franny
Roote, I know him.

I didn't know he was
a student of yours.

- And a very good one.

I met him when I was
teaching at the prison.

He's very bright.

How do you know him?

- Murder case, about
seven years ago.

(mysterious music)

(doorbell ringing)

(water laps gently)

(Jax gasps)

(melancholy music)
(police radios chatter)

- More than a thousand
quids worth

on this one then, eh,
Superintendent?

-[Reporter] Lieutenant, can
we have a statement please?

- What are you doing, George?

- Sorry sir, I'm not
feeling too good.

- Getting soft in his old age.

(camera shutters whirring)

(sighs deeply)

Who found her?

Not you, I hope.

- Cleaner, sir.

We've taken a statement.

- How did she die?

- LookS like she was stabbed.

We haven't found anything.

- There's no sign of a struggle.

- Someone she knew, probably.

Let him in herself.

Notice anything, Boiler?

She wasn't wearing that kit
on the telly, yesterday.

Very formal.

- I see what you mean, sir.

- Why is that, do you think?

- I'm not sure.

- The cleaner said she had
an important interview today.

BBC job in London.

- Lesson to us all, there.

Ambition...

It can be a killer.

Next of kin.

- I don't know, sir.

- She has a sister, apparently.

Uniform are tracing her now.

- This is it, lad.

This is what we do.

(gentle music)

- Just call if there's
anything we can do, I'm sorry.

- Get me a shark buttie, and
make it snappy. (chuckles)

Bugger me...

- Angela Ripley?

Inspector Pascoe, this here's
Superintendent Dalziel.

I'm sorry we have to intrude
on you at such a time.

Is it all right to talk?

- Yeah...

- Here?

- Yeah, it's quieter here,
the offices are pretty busy.

- Were you and your
sister close?

- Yeah, very.

Twins often are, aren't they?

- We can't beat about
the bush, Miss Ripley.

We have the impression your
sister had quite a few lovers.

Do you think any of
them wanted to kill her?

- I don't know, why
do you ask that?

- We have reason to believe

that she was at least acquainted

with whoever was
responsible for her death.

- How would you know?

She didn't think you
did your jobs properly.

Men...

Were very attracted
to my sister,

and you're right, she did
have a lot of boyfriends.

But I couldn't tell
you any of their names.

So, do you think we
could stop now?

'Cause I don't think
I can do it.

- Right, well perhaps you'd
like to think about it.

If anything occurs...

-[Andy] Time was, I
had some kid gloves.

But the dog must have ate them.

- Um, is there someone called
Hat Bowler working with you?

- Yes, why?

- Nothing...

- Now why would she ask that?

(Jax drowned out by music)

(door handle rattles)

John Wingate?
- Yes.

- Detective Superintendent
Dalziel.

This is Inspector Pascoe.

- Chris, could you
leave us a moment?

- You were editor of
Jax Ripley's program.

- Yes, but she had a
big say in the content.

- Rubbishing my force
was her idea, you mean.

(chuckles)

- When did you last see her?

- After the show.

-[Peter] What, you had a
drink, or something like that?

- To celebrate your success.

- No, she went straight
home, as far as I know.

- Are you aware of anyone
she was on bad terms with?

- No, other than you lot.

- If we murdered everyone
who complained about us,

we'd be had up for genocide.

What about good terms?

Was she in a relationship?

- I don't think so, no.

- Right lad, let's get on.

Personal effects.

You check the bathroom,
see what you can find.

- Sarge...

I think it's her diary.

- Let's see?

- Hair appointment, Sarah's
birthday, meeting with HM.

And there's another one.

Meeting with HM, two days ago.

(birds tweeting)

- How come a poncy TV
producer can afford all this?

- Your husband has said

that after he left the
television studios,

he went for a meal
with a friend.

Do you remember him
coming home late?

- He comes and goes, you know.

I don't take much
notice these days.

(door lock rattling)

- What's going on?

- We're investigating
a murder, Mr Wingate.

What do you think's going on?

Mrs Wingate seems unclear

about what time you
arrived home last night.

Perhaps you could be
a bit more precise?

- Well, why?

Am I a suspect?

- What was your relationship
with Miss Ripley?

- He was shagging her.

Perhaps the other way round.

He's quite passive in bed.

- Ripley was due to go
for an interview today,

for a job in London.

Was that something you
didn't want to happen?

- Well, I didn't want
her to go, no.

- Something else you
didn't tell us.

You phoned her.

At 10:36 last night.

What was that about?

- Yeah, okay, I um...

I tried to persuade
her not to go.

- Did you see her, Mr Wingate?

Go round to her home?

- No, no, she wouldn't see me.

She wanted to end it.

- Where were you when
you phoned her?

- In my car.

- She wouldn't see you,
what did you do then?

- Just went back to the office.

- We've checked the movements,
in and out of the TV studios.

You arrived at 12:23, what
did you do before that?

Where did you go?

- Okay.

Okay, I did go round there.

I went to her place.

She was just lying there.

Dead.

I panicked.

- Ugh, this is getting
out of hand!

- Mm...

Oh Dick, Dick, listen to this.

We're really scraping
the barrel here.

(clears throat)

When I woke up this morning,

I found I'd had a wet dream.

- Oh, no!
- And as I lay there,

trying to recall it, I found
myself getting excited again.

- Ah, stop.

- So I started all over again.

(laughing)

- Uh, right.

- Oh, it does my heart good to
see a woman enjoying herself.

Here's some more.

How goes it, with
the shortlisting?

- Well, perhaps we could
persuade you to help us, Mr
Penn,

seeing as you're a professional.

- Oh, that's the reason
I won't, Miss Pomona.

Unless I'm paid a
decent fee for it.

Anyway, I'm still working
on the show.

We're still casting...

- Hm...

- Well, Jax Ripley won't be
rubbishing your work anymore.

- The Times asked me to write
an obituary, but I declined.

- The police might
be interested.

- They might.

Right now, I'm after
a book on the Tarot.

Design concept.

I'll ask your delightful
assistant

to show me where. (chuckles)

(dramatic music)

- No one knows about
this meeting, do they?

It's confidential.

You can promise me that?

- I shouldn't, really.

- You used to go out
with Jax, didn't you?

- Yeah, yeah.

Just for a while, when
we were students.

- She said you were
a really nice guy.

Straight.

Jax were having an affair

with a senior member
of your force.

- What?

- It was how she got
her information.

She were pretty open
with me, and in fact,

she described her policeman
in some intimate detail.

Give me an identity parade
naked, I'll spot him.

- Ah...

Right.

No name?

- She referred to him as

The Honorable Member.
- HM.

- Who is it?

- I don't know.

- There were a big fat guy
come to talk to me earlier,

what were his name?

- That's the superintendent,
Mr Dalziel.

- She said her policeman
were fat.

- I'm telling you,
whoever it was,

there is no way it's
Mr Dalziel. (chuckles)

- Then who is it?

- I'll see what I can find out.

- And I'll be in touch again.

(mysterious music)

- I seize the haft of the knife,

and slide the long thin
blade into her heart.

I raise her in my arms, and
carry her into the bedroom,

and lay her down on
the bed, reverently,

for this is a solemn

and a holy step in
both our journeys.

- What else?

- Do not let me stumble.

Speak soon, I beg
you, speak soon.

Flamin' Nora.

Whoever wrote this
knows every detail.

- When exactly did this arrive?

- Um, it was in the
library post this morning.

It would have been delivered
last night.

- So it has to be the killer.

- Oh, this came in yesterday.

There's no name or address.

I just put it to one side.

(curious music intensifies)

- Same style.

- Some weird story
about an AA man.

-[Peter] He has landed face-up

in the shallow stream below.

-[Andy] He hit his head
on those stones.

- Part of me wants to
help him, but I can't.

I have no choice but
to stand and watch.

- No choice...

What was that last part?

- The first step was
clearly signed.

- Murder.

- Talk again soon.

- And he did.

Jax Ripley.

(sighs) So she was right.

We didn't do our job properly.

If I had, she might
be alive now.

(mysterious music)

The AA said there'd
been no call-out.

His widow didn't think he'd
have stopped for nothing.

Oh look, I should have seen it.

- What?
- The toolbox.

Why would the toolbox be out

if he hadn't have stopped
for someone?

Andrew Ainstable, the
AA man, and Jax Ripley.

What are the connections?

Now, so far, the only
contender we've had

for Ripley's murder is
her boss, Wingate,

but he's got a cast iron
alibi for the AA man.

He was at a conference
in Dublin.

As much as I'd love to nail him
for his taste in television,

he's not looking very likely.

- What about Ripley's
personal effects?

Anything interesting?

- Well, we found a diary, sir.

- And?

Well, spit it out, Moby.

- We've not finished
checking it, sir.

So far, nothing odd.

- Well, get on with
it, for pity's sake!

Time you two take,

I'd have checked every
name in the phone book.

- We've um, we've
taken a statement

from everyone who was at
the TV studio that night.

Now, according to security,
one of them spoke to her

as she was leaving, but
he didn't mention it.

He's got form.

- Franny Roote.

-[Edgar] Works there
as a cleaner.

- Roote?

What, the Roote that was
accessory to murder in 1996?

- That's him.

- Well, let's check him out.

Oh, and Boiler, get
up to the library,

see if you can find
owt interesting

amongst the other competition
entries.

And all of you, make
sure you read these.

Our killer's got a taste
for words, and pictures.

And these fancy doodles suggest

he reckons he's a bit
of Rolf Harris.

All right, class dismissed.

And Boiler, a word.

- She's contacted you, has she?

Wake up, lad.

Angela Ripley, seeing as
you're on such cozy terms

with the whole family.

- I did meet with her, sir.

- Why would she want to
speak to you, I wonder?

- She knew that I
knew her sister.

She felt happier talking to me.

- And why have I had no report?

- That's because there
was nothing to report.

Nothing concrete, sir.

- Just something light
and flimsy, was it?

Don't forget, Boiler...

No private dicks here.

Everything is shared.

- Yes, sir.

(teaspoon clinking)

- Sarge.

That thing in her diary, HM...

- What about it?

- Her sister knows Jax
was having an affair

with a police officer, and
I know who HM stands for.

I'm getting pressure from her.

- So what you gonna do?

- She wants me to put
HM in the frame.

- God...

I'd never have hurt Jax, never.

It was just a bit of
a fling, that's all.

You understand.

- Yeah, I think so.

I went out with her.

Years ago.

- Did you now?

- You passed information to her.

- It was a deal, an exchange.

She'd have got her London job,

and it would all have
been over, forgotten.

I didn't give her anything
important.

I'm a married man, son.

If this gets out, that's
me finished.

Marriage gone, job gone.

I might as well top meself.

- Well, the super suspects me,

so that's all right, isn't it.

- Is it?

(mysterious music)

- Sweetheart, anyone
who gets this part

has got to be aware of the
lighting, it's crucial.

- I need you to sign this.
- Now, let's try it again.

- Why don't you watch
some of this?

He's casting, might
interest you.

In fact, why didn't you
think of auditioning?

- Oh god, come off it, Dick,
that's all over (chuckles)

- But you'd be bound
to get the job.

You know he likes you.

- Quiet!

Trying to work.

- That's one casting couch
I wouldn't like to lie on.

(chuckling)

-[Philip] Well, this is the
best I could do, Ambrose.

- Oh, don't you worry,
it's looking great, Philip.

At last.

It should get a lot of interest.

- Oh, I need it, this
thing has cleaned me out.

- Don't worry, I'll make
sure you're all right.

Anyway, it's bound to sell.

It's wonderful.

You can always rely on me.

You do know that, don't you?

- Thanks, Ambrose.

(screen rollers squeaking)
(mysterious music)

- Stop!

You're not up to it.

That's it, on your bikes.

- See you later.
- Come on, quickly!

- He's such a bastard!

- Casting, more like
scraping the barrel.

- How's it going, Charlie?

Everything on schedule?

- I'm doing me best.

It's not the right venue,
I've said so from the start.

- I'm sure you'll make it work.

Anyway, it's good for us to
have the production open here.

It'll really put the
heritage center on the map.

- (chuckles) That's not
why you're doing it.

- What are you complaining for?

You've got the venue
at a knock-down price.

- Only so you can line
your own pocket

when we start to make money.

- You can hardly claim to
be exploited now, can you?

This arrangement suits
both of us, after all.

- It would, if you didn't
drive such a hard bargain.

- You remember, keep
it to yourself.

Councilor Steel is around today,

and he loves to poke his nose
into the center's finances.

- Ugh...
- We don't want him

getting suspicious, do we?

- Hello.

- Hello.

- Who are you?

- Bowler, DC Bowler,
Wetherton CID.

- Ryena Pomona.

Bowler, as in hat or cricket?

- Well, people do call
me Hat, actually.

- Better than Spin.

People call me Rye, as in wheat.

So, how can I help?

- Perhaps we could go
back to the library.

I got rather lost.

- Mm, bet you didn't.

- What?

- Oh, I bet you were sleuthing,

because that's what
you do, isn't it?

You just...

You sleuth.

Well, come on, then, chop-chop.

- We're grateful to you both

for agreeing to help us
at such short notice.

These are the dialogues.

- Thank you.
- We thought you might

be able to help, Sam, with
their peculiar literary content.

And we're hoping, Dr
Urquhart, that you can give us

some insight into the
psychology of the person.

- Don't push your luck, love.

- Oh, catch up, man.

Has the sweetly-scented
puff from Brixton

not wafted its way up here yet?

- What the hell do you
think you're doing?

This building belongs
to the council.

You can't go drilling
holes in the floor!

- How the hell do you
expect it to stay up, then?

- Well, if it's not safe,

you'd better take the
bloody thing away!

- Hang on, Stuffer.

- Don't you tell me
to hang on, darling!

- I've told Philip
we can be flexible.

- Oh, yeah.

I know all about you
and your flexibility.

I'm gonna start looking
at you and your cronies,

see how much you're
milking out of this place,

like Charlie Penn
and his poxy play.

- A perfectly straight-forward
business arrangement.

- Oh, is it?

I might not know owt
about the Arts,

but I know an awful
lot about business.

So you better watch your step.

And I'll tell you something,

you better let us know
what's going on,

all right, Mr Bird?

And soon!

- Is that the only way

the dialogues could have
got in the sack?

I mean, could someone have
dropped them in the sack

when it was here?

- Yes of course, if
we're away from the desk.

- There'll be CCTV cameras?

- Yeah, but whether or not
they're working, and uh,

I think they're only
on at night.

- You must get all sorts
passing through here.

Using the reference library.

- Yep, all sorts.

Even people like you.

- Yes, the ornithology
section's brilliant.

- Oh, you're a twitcher.

- Yes.

- Oh, and you go
twitching a lot?

- When I can.
- Mh-hmm.

So what do you do?

Do you try and tick them
off, one by one,

or try and see them all?

- It's not like trainspotting.

I'm not a complete
anorak, you know.

- Did I say that?

I didn't say that, did I?

- Rye?

- Will you excuse me?

-[Peter] "How are you doing?

"Me, I'm fine."

- I'm fine as well.

- Is he talking to himself?

- I thought that at first,
but really it's like

the writer's talking
to someone else.

But what the other person
says isn't set down.

- Mm, it stays in his head.

It would have to.

You see here, "What language
do the dead really speak?

"You all talk together,
I presume?"

- What language do they speak?

- You saying the person
he's talking to is dead?

- Of course, I should
have seen it.

This is a dialogue of the dead.

It's a strong literary
tradition.

- It's also a very common
characteristic of psychosis.

Hearing voices, dead or alive.

See here, if we look
at the first one.

The writer feels that
the ghost he's talking to

is sending signs, giving
instructions.

- You mean like a sort
of morse code?

Dot-dot-dot-dash-dash.

- Dr. Urquhart, please.

- So, what should we call him?

The words.

Words man.

- Wordsman.

Wordman of Alcatraz.

- But not only words, look
at all these illustrations.

- Highly creative individual.

If you look some of the
drawings are for a

kind of cryptic or playful
commentary on the text.

Here, for example, he's
sending the AA man

up on a journey and
into this door here.

- To the other side.

He's connecting with
someone on the other side.

- So, we can expect
more victims.

- Excuse me.

- Um, I'll help you.

- I need a book on politics.

-[Rye] Politics...

(mysterious music)

(music intensifies)

- What are you doing?

Why are you still here?

- I'm checking through
all the other stories.

- Slow reader, are you?

- Perhaps, but I don't
miss much, Mr Dee.

- Well, uh, thank you
very much, gentlemen.

Let's hope we won't be
needing you again.

- Sir.

- Thanks to you both.

Oh, Sam.

Franny Roote...
- What about him?

- Well, you said he
was a student of yours.

- And he's got anything
to do with this?

- Did you know he works as
a cleaner at the TV studios?

- Of course.

- And he never mentioned
anything to you about Jax
Ripley?

- No.

Sure you don't suspect someone,

just 'cause he can write.

You can do better than
that, can't you?

- I knew Jax Ripley.

- Did you know her well?

- I went out with
her, for a while.

While we were at university.

- I don't know what to say.

I'm sorry, I--

- It was a long time ago, and
we didn't keep in touch, but--

- Still it must be a bit of a...

A huge shock.

- So, your boss...

Bit prickly?

- Dick?
- Yeah.

- Yeah, sometimes.

- What is that board
game he's got in there?

- Paronomania.

- As in paranoia?

- No, as in parono, paronomasia
means word plays, puns.

It's um, I don't know,

it's a very elaborate
form of Scrabble.

Dick invented it.

He uses three languages
for a start.

He's a very...

Well, he's an exceptional man.

He's a lexicographer
by training.

- I'm flattered you think
I know what that means.

- Um, he's interested
in words, and alphabets,

and dictionaries, and
he's a librarian.

- Yeah.
- And you're a detective.

- Now I...

I've got to get back, but
this, if you fancy it?

Dress is informal, it's uh...

Gallery's opening,
it's this evening.

- Yeah.
- Great.

- Might be interesting.

- Sorry, is that code for saying

you'll be bored rigid?

- Not if you'll be there.

- I'll be working.

- Me too.

- Right then, well,
maybe I'll see you there.

(phone trilling) Sorry,
one, hold on--

_ No, it's fine, no,
take your call.

See you soon.

- Boiler, what's going on?

- I'm checking other
witnesses, sir.

- Right, well I've got
an invitation for you.

There's a gallery opening
there, at the center.

Yeah, all the arty types
will be there.

Our killer might be looking
or a free drink as well.

I want you there.

- Rye?

Do I have your attention?

- 100%.

- There's a reader, needs these.

From the stack.

- Okay.

- I thought I was doing what
you said, to here, uh...

Give the story a clear arc.

- You do, most of the time.

I think you write well,
you know that.

Your stories have a real flow.

It's just, there, the narrative
arc has got a bit obscure.

That's all.

We'll talk about it next time.

- Um, I wanted to give you this.

It's the short story

that I want to enter
in the competition.

I wondered if you could
take a look at it?

- Franny, I can't, I'm
one of the judges.

- I know, it's just there's
a lot riding on this for me.

- It wouldn't be right for
me to read it, would it?

- I'm just asking you
to take a look at it!

- I don't think so.

- You've just told me this
other story's not working,

you said it's obscure.

- A bit.

- So how do I know if
this one's right?

- Franny, I can't read it.

- You've got to help me.

- Don't start your
career on a lie.

(bright orchestral music)

- Er, no drinking on duty, lad.

Cheers.

Who was it who said when
he heard the word, culture,

he'd reach for his revolver?

Someone with his
head screwed on.

- Goering, Hitler's best friend.

- Superintendent Dalziel,
this is my wife, Cecilia.

- Oh, charmed, I'm sure.

- Superintendent.

- Inspector Pascoe.

- Any particular reason
why you're here?

Not arresting anyone, are you?

- Only the bugger
who chose this.

- Ambrose, charging lots
of commission, I hope?

- Now, that is not the purpose
of the gallery, and you--

- Well, you should,

because we're wanting something

on the income side of the
balance sheet, you know.

And where's the grub?
(sniffs disgustingly)

- Charlie.

- Ah, Dalziel.

- Superintendent to you.

You were at the TV studios
last night, weren't you?

Before Jax Ripley's murder.

- Yeah, so?

- John Wingate didn't
seem to think

that you and she got on well.

- Oh, she was a little
intimidated by the art.

- But you did have words.

- What's your point, Dalziel?

- Our killer fancies himself
as a bit of a writer, you know?

- And so do I.

(laughs) Is that the
best you can do?

God help us all.

- Mr. Penn, the play writer.

Nice, cushy little deal
you've got going

with Ambrose, isn't it?

- Ah now, it's good
for Wetherton.

This production could really
put our new theater on the map.

- Yeah...

That's bollocks, this
is your chance

to get your snout in
the trough, isn't it?

Well, I'm on your case,
you know, Mr Penn.

So just be warned.

- Okay, night night.

- Like it?

- Oh, it's a bit--
- Bit too traditional for you?

Perhaps you'd prefer something
a little bit more abstract.

Um...

- Dick painted it.

- Sorry, I should have owned up.

- Where is it?

- It's my cottage, up on
the edge of the moors.

- It's a lovely place.

- Right, come along, Rye, let's
go and check the supplies.

- Rye, I was wondering,

maybe you'd like to come
birdwatching with me

tomorrow afternoon, perhaps?

- Tomorrow afternoon?

We close early.

- I know.

- Okay, yeah.
- Yes.

- Sam, how's the judging?

- Fine.

- So, cracked the case
yet then, Mr Pascoe?

- Inspector Pascoe.

I can't discuss the case.

- She uh, she gave you lot
plenty of trouble, didn't she?

I don't suppose you'll
really try that hard.

- Wishful thinking, eh Franny?

- What's that supposed to mean?

- Well, they say a leopard
never changes his spots,

don't they?
- Yeah.

You hoping to try and
pin this on me, are you?

- I'm not pinning
this on anyone.

- Well, then you lay off.

- Now, come on, Franny.

-[Stuffer] The main thing
is, the council are getting

nothing out of anything.

I mean, we've got all this now,

we're not...

What the bloody hell's
he doing out?

I'll make sure you
go straight back.

- You moldy old bastard!

- Here, look here, give
some of (mutters angrily)

- So, um...

What would the title
of this one be, then?

Elm Disease?

What?

- It's called Pan.

It's mine, and it's ash.

How are you, Mr Dalziel?

- I'm very well thanks, Edwin.

Wieldy, Edgar said
you might be here.

- This is Edwin, my partner.

- DC Bowler, known as Hat.

- How do you do?

Well, do you like it?

- It's not bad, yeah.

I can see now, why
you call it Pan.

It's got a very nice pipe.

(chuckles)

(mysterious music)

(latch clicks)

(stabbing swishes)

- Someone told me
you were a copper.

Someone's pinched my burin.

- Happens a lot when you're
wearing tights, does it?

- Councilor Steel, gents
loo along the corridor.

I did my best, but
I think he's dead.

Murdered, sir.

- Get outside the door,
no one goes in.

You better get hold of uniform.

(dialer beeping)

Tried giving the kiss
of life, did you?

- Yes, sir.

- Braver man than I am.

Any sign of a weapon?

- I found this lying
next to the body.

I marked where with a pen.

- Good lad.

Done all the right things.

I know who this belongs to.

(gags and retches)

- This little fellow
was confirmed

as the murder weapon,
by forensics.

- And no prints, of course.

- Wiped clean.

The burin was pushed through
the base of the skull,

cut right through
to the medulla,

and punctured the brain stem.

The killer was either very
lucky, or very expert.

I want to show you this, too.

At first I though it was
contusions from the fall,

but I think they look
like deliberate marks.

I imagine, with the burin again.

(mysterious music)

- And then, you brought
us face to face,

and I knew this was the one.

I bided my time, but eventually,

people began to drift away,

and when I saw my particular

piece of flotsam join
the drift, I followed.

My aura was strong now.

I felt myself borne
along in its brightness,

and time begins to ebb.

I know it will be suspended,

and allow me to do my duty.

(stabbing swishes)

(inhales and sighs)

- He calls it his duty, why?

- There is a line here
about the pain

which the victim caused
and still causes others.

Perhaps it's a particular
pain he's thinking of.

Perhaps the ghost he's
talking to wants revenge.

- He's very relaxed, isn't he?

Like he's got all the
time in the world.

- Well, I haven't.

I can't sit about on me arse
while he kills enough people

to get himself caught.

- Maybe I could ask you
to take a look at these.

There was a strange wound
on Steel's head,

apparently deliberately
inflicted.

Any thoughts?

- Forehead, the mark of Cain.

It might be a biblical
reference.

- No, it looks like a P.

There's an M.

- Yes, but what was
the name of the victim?

Cyril Steel, wasn't it?

- Cyril.

-[Both] Cyrillic!

Yeah, well, that would
make the P their R,

and the N their P, and the
line in the middle is an I,

be RIP.

- A joker.

- Definitely.

This person sees the
whole thing as a game.

No, no, what I should say
is that there's a system.

- System?

- Well, the first was
AA, the AA man.

The second, BBC, Jax Ripley
worked for the BBC, didn't she?

C for Cyril.

- I hope you're wrong, Peter.

'Cause if you're not,

the next victim's name
begins with a D.

- Dick!

Not a job for a dyslexic.

So where's um...

- She's on her break.

- What's eating you?

- I've seen you leaning
over her, licking your lips.

- Oh, what's the matter, don't
you like the competition?

Surely it's nothing
you can't cope with?

I'd have thought that
young detective

was more of a threat.

Fancy a game?

(laughs)

- Franny is desperate
to be a writer,

and he's...

Well, he's been pushing
it a bit.

I'm one of the judges,
of course,

and he's vexed with me
'cause I won't bend the rules

and help him with his work.

- Steel was foreman of the
jury that sent him down.

- Yeah, I bet he enjoyed that.

He was a teacher, and he
bullied children so much,

he was forced out
of his profession.

So you suspect Roote...

- I have to, Sam.

(knocking)

- Excuse me.

Franny, I'm busy at the moment.

Can't you come back
at the usual time?

- Yeah, I need to see you.

I need to talk to you.

- One minute.

- Talk of the devil.

- He's a demanding student.

Very insecure, that's all.

Looking for the bad,
that may be your job,

but it's not mine.

My job is to encourage the
Franny Roote's of this world.

I was very hard on
a student once.

Told him that he was
a waste of space.

That he should grow up,
come back when he was ready,

that kind of thing.

He took it very badly.

Two days later he was dead.

Car crash.

And it's haunted me.

I often wonder if
it wasn't suicide.

- Thanks for coming
in, Miss Ripley.

- Thank you.

- Boiler!

This is a murder investigation.

You had a relationship
with one of the victims.

You know perfectly well that
you should have told me that.

- It was so long ago, sir.

I didn't think it was necessary.

- It's not about what you think!

It's about basic procedure.

That's not all, is it?

You knew the identity
of her lover,

and you failed to reveal that.

- Yes, sir.

- He could have been a suspect!

- I knew he wasn't, sir.

- Who cares about your
bloody opinion, eh?

You concealed evidence!

I should have you thrown
out on your arse!

Do you understand?

- Yes, sir.

- Get out of my sight now!

- I'm sorry.
- Get out!

- He's a good lad, sir.

He was just trying--

- You're the cowardly bastard
for letting him carry the can.

(breathes angrily)

And what's all this for?

You're not gonna tell
me you're being

public-spirited, are you?

That you're some sort of, erm...

Heroic whistleblower.

Are you?

- No, sir.

- That wasn't the
reason, was it?

No, the reason was...

You were trying to
get your leg over.

You let this woman lead
you by your sad old dick!

Maybe the size of it's down to
the fact your brain's in it!

Fine retirement you're
gonna have, aren't ya?

Whole pension down the toilet.

You'll be knackered.

(breathes deeply)

Just go on sick leave.

Get out.

- Thank you, sir.

- Get out!

(door slams)

(door locks beep)

- Mr Pascoe, Mr Pascoe,

please, I need you
to help me, really.

- Why?

- It's Sam, Sam Johnson?

He's...

There's no reply from
his bell, you see?

And I've tried calling him,
and the machine's not on.

And his machine is always,
always on when he's out.

- You could find someone
with a key, couldn't you?

- No!

No, look, I couldn't, okay?

I was gonna break the
door down, and then...

Look, you're old
friends, I know.

And please, if you could--

- Bowler.

Meet me at the university.

Now.

(mysterious music)

- Key, sir.

(moves into melancholy music)

(lively orchestral music)