All language subtitles for Endeavour - 09x03 - Exeunt.NTb.English.C.updated.Addic7ed.com

'Remember not the sins and offences
of my youth

'but according to thy mercy

'think thou upon me, O Lord,
for thy goodness.'

Hello, Violet's Delights,
flowers for every occasion.

How may I help you?

'For as much as it hath pleased
Almighty God

'of His great mercy to take unto Himself

'the soul of our dear brother
here departed,

'we therefore commit his body
to be consumed by fire.'

"Then out spake brave Horatius

"The Captain of the gate

"To every man upon this Earth

"Death cometh soon or late

"And how can man die better

"Than facing fearful odds

"For the ashes of his fathers

"And the temples of his gods."

We believe the two bodies
we've found so far

to be those of Josiah Landesman

and his former secretary, Brenda Lewis.

- And no Peter Williams?
- No, not yet.

It's like half of me
has always been here.

Half of me never left.

But, look, we're so close.

We'll find him, I promise you.
You have my word.

What those boys suffered...

Did you know? About Jakes?

That he was a lad at Blenheim Vale?
No, Sir.

Not when we were working together.

Nor, obviously,
when what happened... happened.

- Morse never said?
- No, Sir.

It was private.
A confidence Jakes had given him.

And he's kept it all this time?

Soul of discretion is Morse, Sir.

You've a secret wants keeping,
he'll take it to the grave.

- You all right?
- Well, brush my teeth

and call me Pearly!

Aye, aye! Morse says congratulations
are in order.

Ta very much.

Well, you'll be very welcome to join
us on the day

- if you're still here.
- All right, I will, yeah.

Engagement announcement's
just come out in the Mail.

It's a bit late,

but a decent best man might've
told me it's the done thing.

Traditionally, it's the bride's
parents that take out the notices.

Oh, I've done it in their name.
You only do it once, don't you?

All right, cheers. I'll see you there.

Old mate of mine from Cable Street,
DI Finch,

might have something on Mickey Flood.

Do you want me to run you?

He's spooked enough as it is.
I'm to go alone.

Well, it's probably for the best,
I've a sudden out in North Oxford.

Nothing suspicious,
but uniform want me out there

just to be on the safe side.

It's good you took Jakes
to Blenheim Vale.

- He always thought a lot of you.
- It's not quite how I remember it.

That's as may be, but it's
your doorstep he turned up on.

Mm.

Any sign yet of Peter Williams' remains?

No, no, not yet. But the dig's ongoing.

Maybe he's just not there.

Or maybe we just haven't
found him there yet.

Anything further on
who owns the place now?

Oh, it's companies within companies.

Closest I've got is a firm
called Centavo Holdings

registered out in Bermuda.

One owner of, erm...
Lionel Godfrey Chambers.

Can see why someone
would hold onto the place.

Mm.

Private land,
your own personal graveyard.

Yeah, if you had somewhere

that you could bury all your secrets
and mistakes you would,

wouldn't you?

Someone always finds 'em in the end.

Nothing stays buried forever.

The late Professor Edwin Robert Bevin.

Early 60s, academic.

Lived alone, and died within
the last six hours.

Cause?

I fancy a broken neck.

But he's also
taken quite a blow to the skull.

Possibly from hitting the newel post
on the way down.

The runner's ruched up and torn.

And the other slipper
appears to have landed there.

Who called it in?

An old friend from college was
expecting him for lunch, apparently.

Dr Fortescue.

When Bevin didn't arrive,
he telephoned the local station

who sent a uniform round.

- Tomahawk been in?
- Not yet.

Look, I wouldn't.

He doesn't bother me.

All right to have him removed now?

"Maniac."

Standard procedure, I assure you.

It's a clue that Bevin missed
or didn't get to.

Puzzle in this morning's Times.
Set by Codex, too.

"Mother takes murderer back. Idiot."

Six letters.

- Ah.
- Maniac.

Cut off in the middle
of finishing a crossword.

I should take that very hard.

Well, whichever way you look at it,

sooner or later, we all end up
six down and two across.

What do you think
made him leave his breakfast?

- Someone at the door, perhaps?
- Well, post's on the table.

A telephone call?

- Took him upstairs?
- You're the detective, Morse.

I'm just a simple country pathologist.

Shall we say two o'clock?

_

_

What's with all
the cloak and dagger, Ches?

Maybe it's escaped your notice,

the last person
who came to Oxford to see you

ended up crucified on the floor
with his tongue torn out.

Mickey Flood was a lifelong villain
who fell foul.

You're a senior serving officer.

Do you think that'll make
the blindest to these people?

Which people?

Whatever you've got going on
at Blenheim Vale,

let it drop!

Who did for Landesman, Ches?

Same as Brenda Lewis and her boy?

Is that what Mickey Flood
was coming here to offer me?

Do the right thing. Take my advice.

Professor Bevin's death notice
came in on Saturday

from a Dr McMurdo.

It's via letter, address in Appleford.

And once the death notice
has been placed, what's the process?

Well, we're legally obliged
to confirm the details

with the undertaker,

in this case
a Jephthah Claypole and Son,

- then it goes forward to print.
- What details?

Name and age of the deceased,

date of decease,
and any funeral arrangements.

I thought I saw you come in.
Miss Ventnor taking care of you?

- Perfectly. Can I use your telephone?
- Help yourself.

So, what's called for?
Congratulation or condolence?

I've just come from a sudden death
in North Oxford.

Could be something or nothing.

If it's the former,
I'll keep you posted.

But in the meantime, please,
off the record.

No answer.

Well, thank you.

- Miss Frazil.
- Any time.

You wanted to see me?

Kidlington need a man on secondment

through to the end of the year
and possibly beyond.

I thought it might suit.

- Right.
- Comes with married quarters.

- I'd need to talk it over with Joan.
- Course you will.

I haven't let you down, have I, Sir,
or...?

No.

Me moving on, I just want to
see you all right, that's all.

Kidlington's a coming place.

You'll have more scope
for advancement there

than you will here.

I appreciate it.

Ta.

I'll give Joanie a ring.

Good afternoon. May I help you?

I'm Detective Sergeant Morse,
Thames Valley.

You pick your moments.

You're here about the accident,
presumably?

I'm here to speak to
a Dr Rupert McMurdo.

I'm Dr Andrea Massey,
a colleague of Rupert's.

Today was his funeral.

Oh.

Oh, erm...

my condolences.

- When did he...?
- Twelve days ago.

He fell from a train
outside Radley on his way to work.

It seems another passenger
hadn't closed the door properly.

He must've leant against it, and...

Is there a Mrs McMurdo?

No. No, he was unattached
for as long as I knew him.

What was it you wanted to see him about?

Well, I need to see if he knew
a Professor Edwin Bevin?

It isn't a name
I ever heard him mention.

What was he like?

Oh, rather wonderful in his way.

Modest, thoughtful.

You were fond of him.

I shall miss him, dreadfully and always.

- Well, I'll let you get back to, erm...
- Thank you.

Erm...

We should tell people if they mean
something to us, don't you think?

Before it's too late.

"Professor Edwin Robert Bevin,

"formerly of Lonsdale college,
Oxford, died suddenly at home,

"June the 16th. Omnia mors aequat."

"Death makes all things equal."

Somebody places a death notice
in the Oxford Mail, so?

Before Bevin dies.

What?

Who put the notice in?

A Dr McMurdo,
who had himself fallen from a train

12 days previous, was killed outright.

- Anything to go on?
- Not much.

The letter to the Mail
has an Oxford postmark.

I've a Dr Fortescue to see
at Lonsdale tomorrow.

He's a friend of Bevin's.

- And Claypole and Sons.
- The undertaker's.

Mm. The Mail confirmed Bevin's
death with them on Saturday.

But I can't see how
when he was still alive.

- Right, then. Continue enquiries.
- Thank you, Sir.

Oh, did your...

did your Cable Street man
have anything on Mickey Flood?

No. No, not really.

But I took your advice and
found a spot for Jim at Kidlington.

Out of harm's way.

So, do yourself a favour,

I'll be out of here before long,

if you do find Peter Williams
at Blenheim Vale,

let that be the end of it.

Whoever did for him'll
be long gone anyway.

And what about Andrew Lewis?

A boy comes to Oxford
looking for his mother

and ends up dead on a college lawn
and that just goes for nothing?

He matters to someone.

But who? His mother's dead

and he couldn't get away
from his father quick enough.

Actually, there's a cousin.

A young police cadet, Robert,
in Newcastle.

He's been in touch asking
when we're gonna release the body.

- A copper?
- Mm.

He's making all the arrangements
on behalf of the family.

So there are grandparents, aunts,
uncles. They are the "to whom".

Look, I just want to get
to the bottom of it.

You won't be allowed to. The people
that want Blenheim Vale buried,

will see that it is and you with it.

I don't want that on my conscience.

Well, you've done all you can,

you tried to warn me. I wouldn't listen.

Ego te absolvo. You are absolved.

Bloody-minded sod when it suits,
aren't you?

You got a death wish? Is that it?

I'm home.

Fred?

Yeah, yeah. In a minute.

- Packing up.
- Done that once or twice.

He all right?

Rolled in about an hour ago.

Tried to wake him for his tea.

- Hello.
- 'Fred. It's Charlie.'

Charlie?

Hello?!

Who was it?

Wrong number, I think.

I'll put the kettle on.

Days of change are upon us, Morse.

- Sorry, Sir?
- Endings and beginnings.

I'm to retire.
DCI Thursday is for Carshall.

Now I hear Strange
may be seconded to Kidlington.

Yeah. Yes, Sir.

What of your own future?

Well, I'm...
I suppose I'm undecided, Sir.

I suppose I thought things
would just go on...

..but then they don't.

Another few years,
you should really think

about putting in for your Inspector's.

I hear Division are to reopen Cowley,

under DCI McNutt.
He's looking for a new bagman.

- I could speak to him, if...
- Oh, well, thank you, Sir.

I'll certainly give it
some consideration.

Yes, well.

You sleep on it and let me know.

I'll say good evening.

Well, not a bad view.

I mean, I've seen worse.

So, what do you think?

Yeah. No, it's, er... it's... yeah.

We don't have to take it, Joanie.
Not if you don't like it.

I don't have to go for the secondment.

It's the place to be, isn't it,
you said, Kidlington?

If you wanna get on, you know,
make your mark, get noticed.

You are all that matters to me.

If you're not happy,

then all the opportunities
and promotions in the world

don't mean anything.
I just want YOU to be happy.

I'd just done a bit of

Horatius At The Bridge
with a number of my students.

That wound up around eleven o'clock.

I tried to reach Ned
on the telephone without success.

Cheer-oh, Thompson. Enjoy the vac.

- Er, Cyclades, isn't it?
- Yes. Thank you very much, sir.

Marvellous. See you next term.

And what was the reason for your call?

I wanted to tell him
I'd seen his letter in the Mail.

Ned was an inveterate letter writer.

Rarely a week went by
without something from him

in either the Oxford Mail
or one of the nationals.

Particularly since he'd retired.

Where was it you lunched with him?

The Old Colonial off the Broad.

I had a table booked for one o'clock.

- When he didn't turn up...
- How was it you knew him?

Through college.

And we both played
for North Oxford Bowls Club.

Any family that you know of?

A cousin in Weymouth, I think.

But, er, Ned, Professor Bevin,

was long confirmed in his bachelordom.

Er, thank you, gentlemen.
If you'll just give me two minutes.

Yes, sir.

My last tutorial of the term.

College always takes on
a slightly melancholy air

this time of the year.

Did Professor Bevin have any enemies

that you're aware of, Dr Fortescue?

Enemies? Good heavens, no.

Look, what's this all about?

I mean, it was an accident,
wasn't it? A fall?

Did he ever mention a Dr Rupert McMurdo?

Rings a vague bell, though I...
I couldn't tell you from where.

But not a name I associated with Ned.
Who is he?

He's a palaeontologist
at the Pitt Rivers.

I may have seen his name on a paper
somewhere.

It's a small town.

"How well Horatius kept the bridge
In the brave days of old."

We'd a padre big on that up in desert.

Drumhead service just before Alamein.

"And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds."

Always stuck with me.
What do you make to him?

Fortescue? Oh, he seems decent enough.

I don't know why he was so bothered
about the letters when...

when Bevin wrote them weekly.

Sir!

Sir, are you all right?

Sit down, there's a bench here.
Take a seat, sit down.

Are you all right? What happened?
How can I help?

I su... I...

I suppose I took...

I took rather a turn or something.

Maybe it's the heat.

I didn't sleep... too well.

Well, we're in no rush. That's it.
Take your time. Take your time.

Hal, can you and Dennis help Vi

with the floral tributes
for the four o'clock?

- Yes, Gramps.
- Cold, is it?

- Hayfever.
- You and Dennis?

Pollen must be up.
Hello, Vi. Much to come in?

Er, about half a dozen.

Just take 'em through to the chapel
of rest,

Dennis'll give you a hand.

OK. Thank you.

Can I help you?

- Mr Claypole?
- Yes.

Detective Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley.

The Oxford Mail told us
that they called you

to confirm the details
of Professor Bevin's death.

I'm afraid they're mistaken.

Until you mentioned his name,
I'd never heard of him.

Might I ask who placed the death notice?

A Dr McMurdo, formally of Pitt Rivers.

A recent customer.

We were pleased to undertake
his funeral arrangements.

His cremation was only yesterday,
in fact.

What was the date of his decease?

I'd have to check. Hal? Hal?

My grandson.

Can you check the date of
decease for Dr Rupert McMurdo.

Sure.

Yes, he was quite a challenge
with the damage from the accident.

The face was unrecognisable.
We had to work off photographs,

build up the features
with mortician's wax.

Tenth of this month, Dr McMurdo.

You're quite sure nobody
from the Oxford Mail

asked you about a death notice
for Professor Bevin?

Hal, neither you nor Dennis spoke to
anyone at the Mail, did you?

Bevin? No. Doesn't ring a bell.

But that is your name there.

It's our name, all right, but it's
not our telephone number, you see.

That's where you've gone wrong.

All right, thank you.

You'd think if the Mail
are dealing with this lot regular,

they'd have the phone number
off pat by now.

I don't know. If you're looking
at the death notice,

you might just use
what's in front of you.

Let's get you back to the nick,
let the medic take a look at you.

You can drop me back there,
but there's no need for all that.

- But you've just had a turn.
- I said there's no need!

I can't swear to it,

but I probably just called
the number on the letter.

Mm. I thought that might be the case.

Is there anything else
I can help you with?

Well, if you've got a copy of
the Mail from the tenth of June?

- Of course.
- Thank you.

What's this about?

Oh, just something I'm looking in to.

Also, can you check if you have any
correspondence

from around that time

of someone wanting to put in a death
notice for a Dr Rupert McMurdo.

Absolutely.

- That's the Mail from the tenth.
- Thanks.

"Unexpectedly, Doctor Rupert McMurdo,

"who died on the eighth of June.

"Mort... Mortui Vivos Docent."

"Let the dead teach the living."

Bevin's death notice had
something in Latin, didn't it?

Mm. Omnia mors aequat.
"Death makes all things equal."

It's my feeling that he's an academic.

- The killer?
- Yeah. Greats man, Classicist.

- That was your bag, wasn't it?
- Mm.

So, we have the accidental death
of two men,

each of which took place on a day
their own death notice appeared.

- Is that right?
- That's right, Sir.

The first person to die, Dr McMurdo,

supposedly put in the death notice
for the second, Professor Bevin.

Who took out McMurdo's?

A Mrs McMurdo,
which is fine as far as it goes.

Only there is no Mrs McMurdo.
He was single.

But in each instance,

the date of decease given in
the death notice is bogus, right?

The Mail won't print a notice
without a date

and they check that date
with the undertaker

to make sure everything's above board.

Only, in this instance,
the undertakers deny any knowledge

of having been contacted by the Mail.

They deny it, Sir,
because in each death notice,

the phone number given for
the undertaker's is a false one.

Same number each time?

No, Sir. Same undertaker,
Claypole and Sons,

but different numbers.
No response at either.

Do we have any thought as to why

somebody wanted to do harm to these men?

None, Sir.

They were both academics,
but unknown to each other,

- as far as we know.
- CID.

Forensically, nothing to say
either met their death by foul play?

Not according to Dr DeBryn.

Both deaths appeared to have been
engineered to resemble accidents.

- So he didn't want to be caught.
- But he did want to get noticed.

I mean, there's a vanity to it,
don't you think?

- How's that?
- With the Latin.

He wants us to know how clever he is.

So you think there may be more?

I think almost certainly, Sir.

Ta. We've got a reverse trace

on the number given for the undertaker's

in Professor Bevin's death notice.

GF Naylor & Co, Neptune House,

174 Headington Road.

Been nobody in for about a month.

Done a moonlight, I reckon.

- What makes you say that?
- It's that sort of place.

Firms come and go. Fly-by-nights.

- How many worked there, do you know?
- Couldn't say.

Landlord only calls us in
when things go on the blink.

So... don't see anybody much.

If you do see anyone from Naylor's,

could you give me a call
on this number, please, Mr...?

Bingley. John Bingley.

Had your car with 'em, did you?
Or... Ooh. Police.

Serious, then? What's it all about?

They done a bunk with
the insurance premiums, is it?

- Something like that.
- Right-ho.

Keep 'em peeled, eh?

- Your mate's back.
- Hmm?

Yeah, I saw.

Look. Best give him a wide berth,
all right?

He's got trouble written all over him.

You haven't had anything
out of my other wallet, have you?

The one in the tallboy, I was just...

- Oh, right. Sam!
- He's out.

- I bet he is.
- He's gonna put it back.

He said.

He's just borrowed it till he's flush.

I'll give him borrowed!

Who's that?

Why don't you head on home, mate?

Yeah. Yeah, yeah.

I just... need to...

- Morse?
- Miss Thursday.

Dad's out. Sorry.

About the other night, I got delayed.

- I'm sorry.
- Don't worry.

That doesn't matter,
it wasn't important.

Evening, Morse. Late for you!

He's here to see Dad.

All wedding right now.

Between that and Carshall, I don't
know whether I'm coming or going.

Don't suppose you do, either,
everyone off and leaving you.

Fred. And now Jim.

Well, people move on.

It's just the way of the world,
isn't it?

You've found a place in Carshall?

Didn't Fred tell you?

Oh, that'll be him now. Else Sam.

- Fred?
- Yeah.

- Morse is here.
- At this time?

Well, what couldn't wait
till the morning?

- Er...
- I'll, er... I'll leave you to it.

I, erm...

I was turning through
the Oxford Mail and...

and found a letter by McMurdo.

You came all the way over here
to tell me that?

Well, I thought it might have a bearing.

Dr Bevin also had
a letter published in the Mail.

Letters to the Mail? Christ almighty.

Don't you ever take a night off?

Well, I thought it was important,
I thought you'd want to know.

Well, I don't! Not tonight!

You want to tell me something
out of hours,

why don't you pick up the
bloody phone like a normal person.

Some of us have got a proper home life!

And don't bother picking me up
in the morning,

I'll make my own way in.

Right.

I just...

came to see if you were all right,
after this morning, that's all.

I'm fine!

Reverse trace for you on the number
given for the undertaker's

on McMurdo's death notice.
Mitchell & Wilcox.

Looks to be some sort of
gents' outfitters. Summertown.

'Hello? Hello? Is that
Claypole's Funeral Directors?'

Anything?

Place was locked up.
Looks like they'd ceased trading.

- Same as the insurance brokers.
- Miss Frazil called.

They had another letter from Bevin
a week before he died.

What was it about?

More on Mr Heath
and the opportunities opened up by

the European Communities Act.

That seems to have been
quite a thing for him.

So I was right.

There is a connection
between Bevin and McMurdo.

In so far as they were both solitary men

with too much time on their hands
and a high opinion of themselves.

Also, I had Mr Bright on.

Division are asking after progress
at Blenheim Vale.

I'm sure.

I said if we've got nowhere
by the end of the month,

we'd have to look at closing it down.

Peter Williams is still there.

You don't know that!

We can't just keep
sticking holes in the ground

in the hope of finding him.

I'm sorry, but there it is.

Were they regulars, these bikers?

Er, they'd been in once or twice.

One had a bit of a staring contest

with a lad who comes in here most days.

Oh, yeah, who's that?

Twenties, dark hair.
Looks a bit down on his luck.

Wears an ex-army type coat thing.

Was he in last night, this young man?

Yeah. Legless, as per.

And the bikers,
when did you last see them?

The dead fella,

last I saw him,
he was heading into the gents'.

- And his mate?
- No.

No, I didn't see him go.

But I did see him cleaning his nails
earlier with a knife.

What kind of knife?

Bowie, it looked to me.

Dead around 12 to 18 hours.

Single stab wound. Weapon still in situ.

- No ID on him, I don't suppose?
- Afraid not.

Wallet.

About 30-odd pounds in it.

You may have better luck
with his tattoos.

I'll be able to give you a full list
once the post mortem's concluded.

But this might have a bearing.

Inside his jacket.

Won't know what we're looking at
until it's been tested,

but if it's powdered milk
for his home economics night class,

I'll eat my bow tie.

Some sort of fall-out over drugs,
then, between him and his mate?

Well, possibly.

So, what, then?

Rival ganger or an outsider
would be my guess.

Whoever he is, he'd better hope
we find him before they do.

Why's that?

Cos it's proper blood feud stuff
with this lot.

Cross one of 'em, the rest of 'em
will hunt you down and pay you back.

No matter how long it takes.

Not much further to add to my
initial findings, I'm afraid.

Stab wound pierced the heart.

Whether that's luck or judgement,
it's hard to say.

Mid-30s, bellyful of beer
and bar snacks.

- No fingerprints on the knife.
- It'd been wiped?

Oh, yes, quite thoroughly.

You've photographed the tattoos?

Naturally.
I'll send the prints over later,

but I've also made a stab
at them freehand.

No pun.

All my own work.

- Is there no keys?
- How's that?

Maybe he rode pillion with his mate.

Didn't the barman
say that they arrived separately?

You'd a call from Miss Frazil
at the Oxford Mail.

I did tell her to phone the mortuary,

but she must've missed you.

Hello, Fred.

Arthur?

You remember DS Lott, my old bagman.

Left us for the Smoke,
what, seven years ago, was it?

Vice, you went to, wasn't it, Arthur?

That's right. Drugs squad now.

And these days it's DI Lott.
My bagman, DS Bennett.

So, to what do we owe?

This dead biker you got.

Death's Head Motorcycle Club,
would it be?

News travels fast.

- We've had an eye on them for a while.
- How's that, then?

They operate mainly in
the Midlands and the South East.

But lately they're having
a bit of a nibble around London,

trying to get a toehold.

One of theirs,
going by the name of Cochise,

was killed a couple of months back
in Camden.

- Thought to be over territory.
- Drugs?

Well, they're not flogging
a watch tower.

Cannabis, hashish, speed, a bit of H.

As a gang, they're suspected

of involvement in three murders
in the last four years.

- Members of rival biker gangs.
- So what are they doing in Oxford?

We think they're trying to set
themselves up in university towns.

Well, there's a ready market
for students.

If there ain't one, there soon will be.

- You identified him yet?
- No, not yet.

Well, if we can help with that...

..we've got a fair bit
of intelligence on 'em.

Pool our resources.
We're gonna be staying overnight.

Be at the Ragdale
if you wanna drop by for a drink.

Have a catch-up, bury the hatchet maybe.

We didn't exactly part at the best.

- Well, it's all water under, isn't it?
- It is on my part.

- Life's too short, Fred.
- Least said.

Hope to see you in the bar, then.

Jim.

College.

- Well, there's a turn-up.
- Like a bad penny.

It's been seven years. People change.

Rarely for the better.

As we have heard from Dr Fortescue,

Professor Edwin Bevin
was not only a man of letters,

but also a man of latters.

Someone who expressed his thoughts
on many burning issues

affecting our national life,

through correspondence
with national and local newspapers

and periodicals.

His extensive epistolary record

bears testament to a soul,
who, rather like Saint Paul,

believed that the pen is
infinitely mightier than the sword.

Excuse me.

I'm a police officer, Detective
Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley.

What's your name?
What's your business here?

Theo. Theo Conklin.

I don't have any business,
really, except curiosity.

- I like to read headstones.
- Headstones?

Yes, I just like to read what's on them.

It's a rather morbid pastime, isn't it?

No, not really.

Actually,
it's more about life than death.

Each one is a little window
into people's lives, families.

Children are always sad.

Especially when there's no-one left
to lay flowers any more.

Have you ever noticed anyone who's
clearly not part of the funeral,

someone just standing, watching,
or taking pictures perhaps?

No.

No, I've not seen anybody like that.

Apart from me.

What's all that?

I got Claypole to collect up all
the sympathy cards just in case.

Well, don't forget it's the
rehearsal at All Angels tonight.

So don't get too caught up
in all that, all right?

Thursday.

'It's Charlie. I need to see you.
Seven o'clock.'

Ah, Sir.

It's a sympathy card
from a floral display.

Now, it's unsigned,
but it's a Latin phrase,

"Mors cum terrore novo venit."

"Death has come with a new terror."

Not exactly "Sincere condolences".

According to Claypole,

there were only two deliveries
of flowers for Bevin's funeral,

both from regular suppliers.

I'll put a call in to see if
there were any phrases in Latin

on the sympathy cards for McMurdo.

- Ah, Thursday.
- Sir.

I'm just off to make my final report
to Division prior

to handing over
to Chief Superintendent Prettyman.

- Right, Sir.
- I'm likely to face questions

as to the child's remains
at Blenheim Vale.

No news as yet, Sir.

I suppose it's only to be expected
under the circumstances,

but one can't help but feel regret
at things left undone.

Perhaps time makes failures of us all.

Never, Sir.
It's just the nature of the service.

We do our bit as best we can,
then hand on to the next man.

Doesn't matter
who starts or finishes a thing

so long as it gets done.

- Well, IF it gets done.
- Morse?

Well, it wouldn't be the first time
that Division have closed down

an investigation into Blenheim Vale.

There are budgetary implications.

And as much as we'd all like to see
this boy found if he's there,

there simply aren't the resources
to keep digging indefinitely.

Sorry, Sir. Just in.
The body at The Drinker.

Fingerprints are for
a Raymond Kennit aka Tomahawk.

In and out of approved schools
and borstals from a juvenile.

Two recent terms for GBH
and drug dealing, respectively.

- What drugs?
- Amphetamine sulphate.

Same as was found on him.
Large quantities.

Outstanding warrants
from four constabularies,

including "attempted murder".

Payback of a rival ganger who'd
stabbed a Death's Head MC member.

These boys don't take any prisoners.

Well, I leave that and all things else

in the safe and more than capable
hands of my brightest and best.

No need to, er...
take our farewells just yet.

I'll see you all at the church, but...

..just in case the occasion
overwhelms us...

..it's been an honour and the...

greatest privilege of my service

to have spent these last years with you.

Likewise, Sir.

Well, then.

Carry on.

Yes, we can do that for you, no bother.

And is that to the undertaker's
or going straight to the house?

Eleven o'clock. Lovely.

Cash or cheque is just fine.

Thank you. Bye-bye.

Sorry about that. Latin, you say.

I don't think anyone's ever asked
for anything in Latin for anybody.

Here, have a look at my order book,
if you like.

It was definitely one of your cards,
Miss, erm...

It's Vi, dear.

Everybody calls me Vi.

As may be,

maybe someone just swiped a handful

when they came in to buy some flowers.

Well, if that's the case, how could
it possibly end up on the flowers?

Well, they could've put it on
at the cremmy, couldn't they?

Or the undertaker's.

You're early.

Yeah, for once.

- You all right?
- Yeah.

Is this the lucky man?

- Er, no. This is Mr Morse...
- I'm the best man.

Ah! Well, don't worry.

If the groom doesn't turn up,

we shan't be calling you
to step into the breach.

They do know it's seven o'clock,
do they?

Yeah.

Er, Dad called to say
that he's running behind.

I'm to fill in so I can tell him
what's what in case he doesn't show.

This is the father of the bride, is it?

Yes.

- Sorry, Reverend.
- No, no.

You know what they say,
bad dress rehearsal, great show!

- All right, love.
- Yeah.

Vicar. Matey.

No Guv'nor?

Thought you'd left the country.

Just lying low for a bit.

Keeping me head down, that's all.

So, I'm here.

- You gotta let it go, Fred.
- Let what go?

Blenheim Vale,
the Ostrich Fanciers' Club,

the Lewis boy, all of it.

What do you know about Blenheim Vale?

When all that was going on,

you were still knocking out
fruit and veg wholesale.

Who dragged you into it?

You should've taken me up
on that drink, Fred.

Of course!

Got a finger in all the pies, then,
Arthur?

Is that what Mickey Flood
came to Oxford to tell me about?

Mickey always had a big mouth.

So, what is it? Tarts and drugs?
About your mark.

People want what they want.
I make no moral judgement.

No, just a tidy profit
like any ponce or pusher.

Who did for Mickey?
Same as came after Ronnie Box?

Len Drury's tripehounds.

Win some, lose some. There's always
plenty more soldiers in the box.

This doesn't have to be hard, Fred.

Arthur'd like to help you out.
Right, Arthur?

Well, I'm sure we can come
to some arrangement

soon as we hear
Blenheim Vale's been wound up.

What was your part in all that,
Arthur? Just out of interest.

Me and Clive Deare,
we came up together, same intake.

I had the nous
and he had an accent to open doors.

They're no better than us, Fred.

They just been at it a lot longer.

Small wonder you don't want that
coming out.

Tarts and dope is one thing,
but children!

You just do your bit, Fred.

And if I'm not minded
to close down Blenheim Vale?

A father should dance with his
daughter at her wedding.

- You what?
- Oh, don't get brave, Fred.

It's only being Charlie's brother
that's kept you above ground.

But he doesn't always get his own way.

You've got something of mine still.
I want it back in cash.

Soon as we hear it's done.

And Morse?

I'll put him straight.

You do that. Or we will.

- Charlie.
- He'll be along in a minute.

Well, I'm not one
to come between brothers.

Then I do, "If anyone here present
knows of any lawful impediment

"why this man and woman may not be
joined together in holy matrimony,

"let them speak now
or forever hold their peace."

And hopefully nobody says anything.

Your father's part
isn't terribly complicated.

All he has to do
is walk the bride down the aisle

and when I say, "Who gives this
woman to be married to this man?"

he replies...

- I do.
- And then return to his seat.

And then we have the exchange of vows.

And then I'll ask, "Who has the ring?"

It is ring, is it, singular,
rather than rings?

Yes. Yes, it is.

And the best man steps forward and
places the ring on the open Bible

and that's your bit done.

- Think you can manage that?
- I'll certainly do my best.

- Of all the people, Charlie.
- You think I had a choice?

Lott put you up to asking me for money.

For what? So he always had
something over me if he needed it.

Just do what he wants.

You're moving
to Carshall after the wedding.

What's Blenheim Vale to you?

It's people murdered,
women and children.

- Other people's children.
- Christ.

Is this what we were raised to?
You, me and Billy?

Looking out for number one.
That's what we were raised to.

At the end of a belt.

Just making a point, Fred.

Keep your bloody head down.

Go, go!

Charlie?

Charlie?

- That went well, I thought.
- Yeah.

- Sam OK? Doesn't seem himself.
- I think so.

Are you all right?

Look...

..if you'd changed your mind,
I wouldn't think any less of you.

I've never been more sure
of anything in my life.

Come on.

Seems only yesterday we were at school.

So, what've you been doing
with yourself?

Oh, you know.

We should go for a drink one night.
Have a catch-up.

Where've you been hanging out?

Here and there. Nowhere in particular.

Look, I... I said I'd meet someone.

- Let me give you a lift.
- No, no. It's OK.

Now, I know that many of you here
at Castle Gate...

..and previously at Cowley

enjoyed a long and happy
association with my predecessor...

Morse.

'Can I see you at the Mail?
Another one's come in.'

- With a Latin phrase in it, tell him.
- With a Latin phrase in it.

When's it for?

Tomorrow. Same as the others.
For a Dr Fortescue.

Well, he clearly hasn't worked out
we've cracked his pattern,

else he'd have changed it. Thanks.

..I ask all of us to commit
to our work and I hope...

That's Miss Frazil, said there's
been another death notice.

- What's that, Detective Constable?
- Detective Sergeant, Sir.

- It's a matter of some urgency.
- An ongoing case, Sir.

The number for the undertaker's,
he's used it before.

Who's the intended victim?

Why me?

So far, all the victims
of this individual

have expressed strong views
in the papers.

- Would you fall into that category?
- Er, no.

I mean, I gave an interview
to the Mail earlier this year...

What about?

I worked out
you were keeping an eye on The Mail.

So I had to go to the Oxford Times
for that one.

Well, anyone at the Times would know

if a local policeman had been killed.

Old mate's a typesetter there.
He slipped it in for me on the QT.

Well, look, whatever you're about,
it's finished.

We've got the place surrounded.

They'll be watching the outside,

waiting for me to turn up.

Except, I'm already here.

So as long as I don't answer that,

they're gonna carry on thinking
I'm not here.

Unless...

..it could be your people
calling to warn you

that someone's noticed
your death notice in the Times.

I'd have liked to have got
a few more before anyone caught on.

Then I saw you at Neptune House
and that changed things.

So, what?
Fortescue was just bait, was he?

You used this number for Claypole's,
knowing that I knew it.

I couldn't be sure,

but I hoped you'd want to be
the one to arrest me.

Get him out of here!
Get him out of here!

- You all right?
- Get off me! You're useless!

- Are you hurt?
- Useless!

- Get him in cuffs!
- I'm doing your job for ya!

Useless! Get off me!

Oh, bloody hell.

So, who is he?

His name is John Bingley, Sir.
He's some sort of handyman,

with a contract to maintain shops
and offices,

a number of which
he knew to be unoccupied.

Presumably, it's the telephone
numbers for those properties

- he gave to the Mail.
- About the size of it, Sir.

So he could pose as
Claypole's undertakers

when they rang to confirm the decease.

What about the sympathy cards
on the floral tributes?

He's married to a florist who did
the funerals of the men he murdered.

Seems likely he substituted
his own handwritten messages

for the genuine ones.

We're going to brace her
before we talk to him,

but we've no reason to think
she's any part of it.

I knew something wasn't right with him.

After 36 years, course I did.
I mean, he's never been right.

But you get lumbered, don't you?

- Same as his father.
- His father?

Monumental stonemason.
Statues, gravestones.

He trained John up,
but he never took to it.

It's where he learned the Latin.

- It's all the news, you see.
- What news?

TV, radio.

Sat there, morning, noon and night,
ranting and raving.

"This one's a bleeder.
That one's a bleeder."

And the papers, too!

The Asians. It was when they
moved in next door, you see.

Sorry. I think I'm gonna be sick!

I mean, by rights,

you should be thanking me.

I've rid the world
of two very dangerous people.

Have you? How's that?

Didn't you read their letters?

The poison they're pushing.

People soaking up their claptrap,
drinking at their filthy well!

- Which well's that?
- Which well? The socialist well.

The Marxist well.

Godless queers running everything.
That's the world they want.

Every man a pansy,
every woman a painted whore!

Is that what you think?

Don't you?
The pill, right, family planning.

They want to destroy the family,
that's the real plan.

Family!
Once upon a time, it was a family,

a mother and a father
and you were married in a church,

before the sight of God.

"Love child",
that's what they call 'em. Christ!

In my day,
people knew the right word for that.

It's these package holidays
they're going on.

I've seen it, it's in all the papers.

Not bad enough they...
they forget themselves out there,

- now they wanna bring it all back here.
- Bring what back?

Dagos, wops, frogs,
the dregs of the continent. Yes?

- Is that right?
- Yes.

That treason Heath signed,
The European Communities Act.

He's thrown the door wide open.

And it won't stop there, mark my words.

Before you know it, we will be
overrun with blacks, browns,

yellows, every shade in between.

Mohammedans, Jews.

- And they were all for it.
- The men you killed?

Not men. Traitors!

Saying you were English...

..used to be the greatest claim
a man could make.

Used to mean something.

Now when people say it,

it's like there's something
to be ashamed about.

Well, I'm not ashamed!

I'm English, and I'm proud of it.

Who saw that coming?

Mind, he does seem very taken.

Can't say as I blame him.

I took her out a couple of times
once, you know.

Don't think I got so much
as a kiss good night.

- Is that right?
- Yeah.

Those days, I was just after
a bit of snap, crackle and pop.

There was always more to her than that.

Well, this is all very nice, I must say.

Did I miss the stripper?

I know it's all traditional,
but I do hope so.

All that flesh.
I get enough of that at work.

When are you gonna settle down,
then, Doc?

Oh, I'm quite settled, thank you, Peter.

Married to the mortuary.

Who's going to put up with me
reeking of formaldehyde?

Though I have been thinking
about getting a dog.

Well, I don't suppose it would want
for scraps, would it?

You using or dealing or both?

- Whatever it is, fell out of your coat.
- What's it to you?

You're under my roof.

You think I want that sort coming round?

I've got your mother to think of.
It stops! Understand?

Or I will stick you on
and blood be damned.

Here he is, look! My best man!

My best mate!

I were in uniform,
he brought me across into CID,

Acting Detective Constable.

Never looked back.

And it's all down to him.

Don't walk away from me!

- Sam! Sam! Whoa-whoa-whoa!
- Dad, I'm sorry.

- Dad...
- No.

No, you're all... you're all right,
son. You're all right.

- Don't worry.
- Stop and have a drink.

Let him go, Jim. Let him go.

Do you require medical assistance?

No, you... you're OK, Doctor.

Though, er, a large Scotch
might take the edge off.

Yes.

- You all right?
- Yeah.

- What was that about?
- Oh... nothing.

One too many is all.

Well, at least
we're a stag do now, right?

So, what're you gonna do?

Bright out, the old man,
Strange to Kidlington.

Where does that leave you?

- Not sure it leaves me anywhere.
- Hmm.

I'll tell you where it leaves you.

Odd man out, same as always.

You should come back with me.

What? To America?

Go west, young man. It's a big country.

Somewhere a man can make a new start.

Skies so big you can barely
catch your breath to look at 'em.

All sounds wonderful.

But, no, that's not for me.

Why not?

I don't get it.

You're on your own, you've got no ties.

What's keeping you here?

It's Detective Sergeant Morse,

I called earlier about
ACC Deare's service record.

'Yes, we've pulled that for you
from the archives.

'If you would like to drop by,
you can view it on the premises.

'But I'm afraid
it can't leave the building.'

So, what couldn't we talk about
back at the factory?

Lionel Godfrey Chambers.

The owner of Blenheim Vale,
he's in Bermuda?

Well, the firm is.

- So, what about this Chambers?
- I've found him.

- Where?
- Here.

Died 23rd of May, 1920, five days old.

Diphtheria,
according to his death certificate.

- That where you got to this morning?
- Mm.

I also got a copy
of his birth certificate

and I'm not the first to do so.

A fictional identity.

- Like a long firm fraud.
- Mm.

Hmm. Find a dead child roughly your age,

apply for "your" birth certificate,
which you've lost.

Then use that to get a passport,

and from that, the world's your oyster.

To set up bogus companies
like Centavo Holdings.

He could have false identities
all over the world.

What makes you think
it's THIS Lionel Godfrey Chambers?

Because his grave's adjacent
to a family plot

of someone that we both know.

Now, I looked into
Arthur Lott's service history.

He was a cadet with ACC Deare,
they came up together.

He was even his bagman for a while.

I don't know what he's got
going on at Vice,

but I bet a pound to a penny
he is in it up to his neck

with Deare at Blenheim Vale.

I know, I saw him.

Lott? When?

Doesn't matter.

What did he... What did he want?

What do you think?

I tried to do a good turn...

..four years ago.

It went bad.

Left me open.

Charlie.

It was our life savings,
mine and Win's, everything we had.

And now they're calling in their marker.

- Well, what's the price?
- Blenheim Vale.

I do what they want,
I get our money back.

They want you to shut it down
before you go to Carshall.

The case stays open. The active
investigation gets closed down.

I know you.

You wouldn't do that just for money.

I told you.

They come at you through what you love.

Family!

You've got to let it go.

For everybody's sake.

Cutting it fine.

What time are you meeting Jim
at the church?

You're gonna be the loveliest bride
there ever was.

Cos you're mine.

Mum. Don't set me off.

I've always been proud of you. Always.

And if I've ever let you think
anything else, I'm sorry.

Come on, Mum. Car's here.

I won't kiss you.
Don't want to spoil your make-up.

Yeah, I won't kiss you either.

Love you, though, sis.

You too.

Chief Superintendent.

Just Reginald, Miss Frazil.
I'm a civilian now.

- This is true.
- Miss Frazil.

- Hello.
- Good morning.

If either of you should require
a handkerchief,

I do have a plentiful supply.

- Morse with you?
- He's not coming.

It's my wedding. What do you mean
he's not coming? He's got the ring.

It's all right, I've got the ring.

I'll kill him! Where is he?

You've done all right for yourself,
then, College.

Detective Sergeant.

Oh, it's not just cream
that rises to the top, then.

Well, clearly not. Just you, is it?

Charlie sends his regrets,
couldn't make it.

That's why I...
I never feel fully dressed,

unless I have a bit of insurance.

Where's Fred?

'You and me, then.'

Push come to shove, he couldn't face it?

Sent you along to do the dirty work.

Something like that.

What a good little bagman you are.

Yes, Sir, no, Sir, three bags full, Sir.

Right, College?

Fred said you'd cut up rough.
You couldn't let this place go.

No. It's like I said to you
on the phone.

Thursday squared it away
with the new Chief Superintendent.

- We're finished here.
- Good.

But there is one thing
I'd like to know, just for myself.

Who was it killed Andrew Lewis?

The kid was poking around,
should've kept his nose out.

- He was just looking for his mother.
- Well...

Who was it did for her?

- Landesman?
- Dead men tell no tales.

And what about the little boy,
Peter Williams?

- Is he buried here?
- We didn't kill him, why would we?

Well, because of what he knew.

With his background, who'd believe him?

No, I took him up Lincoln way.

See, there was a couple there,
they, er...

Well, they wanted a kiddie of their own.

Name of Kennit, if I remember.

'Sorry, Sir, just in.
The body at The Drinker.

'Fingerprints are for
a Raymond Kennit aka Tomahawk.'

- I'd say we're all about finished.
- Is it all there?

- All there.
- All right, show me.

All Fred's savings.

Not much, is it?

Well, at least it was honestly come by.

Argh!

Come on, then.

Oh, you didn't really think

I was gonna throw
good money after bad, did you?

This was meant for Fred.

Since he's not here, you'll have to do!

Oh, don't worry.
He'll get his soon enough.

You're out of time, Morse!

They with you?

We're with nobody. His business
with you is his business.

We've been looking for you
since Cochise got knifed

on your say-so in Camden.

Stand off! I'm a police inspector!

We know who you are.

You look like a princess
straight out of a fairy tale.

Ah.

- You're all right.
- Yeah.

Ooh, I better find her. There she is.

Sure.

Don't tell me. Work.

I apologise, Miss...

Do you know, I don't think
you've ever called me by my name.

- Have I not?
- No.

- Well, that's probably for the best.
- How's that?

Because if I had said it once out loud,

I don't think
I might ever have been able to stop.

Truth is... I love you.

I've loved you from the first moment
you opened that door.

Oh, I should have told you.

I should have said something.
I should have said something.

But now it's too late.

No.

It's not.

Do you know, I don't think
you've ever called me by my name.

- Have I not?
- No.

Of course.

Mrs Strange.

Well, you might give me a hug.

- A hug.
- For luck.

Whoa, whoa, steady on there, matey.

That's a married woman you've got there.

All right, then, Joanie,
we should get going.

- Er, just give me a minute with Mum.
- OK.

Mum.

Can't rely on you for anything,
can I? What happened?

I'm sorry, something came up. Work.

All work and no play, matey.

- Right, I think...
- Shall we?

- Yeah, ready for the off.
- Oh!

Ladies and gentlemen,

will you please make your way
to the front entrance,

where the bride and groom
are about to depart.

- Give me the keys, give me the keys.
- What? No, I've only had two.

No, I'm driving.

I think these are for you.

Oh, I've been here so long.

All those years.

Sam and Joan.

It all goes so fast.

It went too fast, Fred.

Now.

There, then.

We've got plenty of time, you and me.

- Get Sam settled and straight.
- Mm.

We'll be right as ninepence.

Here's looking at you.

Best not keep 'em waiting.

Ah, Mrs Thursday.
I was hoping I'd catch you.

I thought you'd be at work.

I have the afternoon off.
Choir practice up at Blenheim.

- The palace? Ooh.
- Mm.

We've a dress rehearsal
for a concert coming up.

Well, I'm glad to see
you're back on your feet.

We've been that worried.

Oh, wait up.

- The Wednesday special.
- You don't eat enough.

Don't be a stranger, it's only Carshall.

I'll miss you all the same.

Ooh, ask Sam his news.

Sam?

- Your mum said you've news.
- Yeah.

I'm gonna try out for the police.

- Jim's straightened things out.
- Two Thursdays on the beat.

I'm not sure the world's ready for that.

Good luck.

Yeah, you too. I'll see you there, Dad.

Yep.

I'm just waiting on
the removal men, give 'em the keys.

- Afternoon off?
- Yeah, I've got choir.

Time for a pint?

Yeah, half, maybe.

The bikers had been looking
to get even with Lott

ever since he did for
one of theirs in Camden.

What were you thinking,
going out there on your own?

I went to tell him
that we were closing down

the Blenheim Vale investigation.

You did that to get him off my back?

What about the boy? Peter Williams?

I know how important that was
to you and Jakes.

He's still not found.

Well, someone once told me that
not every question gets an answer.

The Peter Williams that Jakes knew
died a long time ago.

Well, wherever he is now,
I hope he's at peace.

The bikers did for Lott,
maybe that's some kind of justice.

Did you see what happened?

And Charlie?

I don't know. I'm sorry.

Well...

Charlie always went his own way.

But Lott? He had it coming.

And what about Tomahawk?

Did he have it coming?

I told the bikers
that he was a registered informant,

Lott's man on the inside.

Hopefully, that'll buy some time,

that they won't immediately try
to find whoever really killed him.

Not Sam, of course,

even though that's his button.

According to the barman, he was in
no fit state to defend himself.

But someone else...

..someone else
who knew what he was doing,

who had killed before, in the army, say.

Someone who came home
that night unrecognisable

as the captain
I would have followed into Hell.

- Morse...
- I know thee not, old man.

Here, you!

Deal on our ground,
you're gonna get carved up.

Hey, leave off!

- On your way.
- I'll do for the pair of you!

Instinct. One minute, he was there...

..the next, he wasn't.

He'd have done for Sam.

I don't regret it.

I'd do it again in an instant.

That type.

He was nothing!

He was...

He was someone's son.

But not mine.

Not mine.

Who else knows?

Just us.

Look, what happened with Lott

and what happened in the yard,
stays between us.

But with this lot, it's an eye for
an eye, no matter how long it takes.

Now, they've never seen you,
but they know Sam.

If he were to come back,

if they should ever see him again,

even you couldn't defend him
against that mob.

He has to disappear.

Yeah.

And that's on me.

We'll move away somewhere...

..much further than Carshall.

And Joanie and Jim?

No.

They're not connected. They're safe.

You'll keep an eye?

Always.

Sure you don't want me to drop you?

No, you'll miss your recital
or whatever it is.

Coach'll do.

There's one more thing.

It's your money.

All of it.

You turned out all right.

Knew you would.

Mind you, you had a good teacher.

The best.

Why don't you take this?

You might need it if you're staying.

Right, then.

Mind how you go.

Goodbye, Sir.

Endeavour.

Morse, Sir.

Just Morse.

"Our revels now are ended.

"These our actors, as I foretold you,

"were all spirits
and are melted into air...

"..into thin air.

"And, like the baseless fabric
of this vision,

"the cloud-capp'd towers,

"the gorgeous palaces,

"the solemn temples,

"the great globe itself,

"Ye, all which it inherit,
shall dissolve.

"And, like this insubstantial
pageant faded,

"leave not a rack behind.

"We are such stuff
as dreams are made on...

"..and our little life
is rounded with a sleep."

- Is that it?
- That's it.