All language subtitles for Midsomer Murders S09E04 - Down Amoung the Dead Men

(car engine whirring)

(operatic music)

- Mrs. Redfern?

- Yes.

- How nice to meet you.

- You mean you're Martin Barrett.

- Yes.

I think we both expected
someone a little different.

(she chuckles)

(operatic music)

- The only thing that puzzles me is,

out of the nine girls who
were there, why choose me?

- Well, research.

The key to any successful enterprise.

- You've been poking your
nose into my business.

- Well, I suppose that's
one way of putting it.

- And what did your research tell you?

- That for the most part those girls

were a pretty insipid bunch.

Then your name came up.

A bit of an unknown quantity.

Independent ways.

- Wayward, you mean.

(operatic music)

- [Martin] Who is that?

(gun fires)

(intense operatic music)

(gentle instrumental music)

(device buzzing)

(gentle instrumental music)

(computer bleeping)

(gentle instrumental music)

(police agent murmuring on radio)

- Morning, sir.
- Morning.

- One blast through the window

and good night Martin
William Barrett, aged 43.

- Who reported it?

- Anonymous male, sir.

He rang the station at six this morning

from the box on the corner.

- Hello, George.

I thought you were supposed
to be in France this week.

- But for his nibs here, we would've been.

People are funny, aren't they?

He shot the poor devil to
kingdom come from outside,

and then put the window back on the catch.

- That's not funny, George?

That's cool, calm,
that's bloody terrifying.

- [Police Agent] Ready to
sign him off, Doctor Bullard?

- What else?

- Oh.

Er, he was a widower,
worked for the council,

had very few friends
and didn't go out much.

All according to the milkman.

- Oh, he would know, would he?

- Well, not as much as he thinks.

Barrett had a houseguest last night.

- He left in a hurry.

- She left in a hurry.

There's makeup on these
tissues in the bin.

Tony.

- Couldn't have been
the girlfriend, though,

or she wouldn't be in the spare room.

Mother?

Daughter?

Sister?

- Why does this place make
me feel uncomfortable, sir?

- Oh, a sensitive lad like you,

it must be the body in the kitchen.

- I can handle that, sir.

Maybe it's his taste in music.

- Mario Lanza's very good.

I think it's the pathological
neatness of this place,

you know, there's no clutter,
there's no unanswered letters,

no silly ornaments, nothing out of place.

Not even a mark on his blotter.

- [Ben] Yeah, well, who writes
letters these days, sir?

- Who knows how to.

George, what time do
you think he was shot?

- Say midnight to be going on with.

More when I've pulled him apart.

Is it all right to take
him back to the office now?

- Yes.

- Right, okay.

- [Ben] Right, off you go, Peter.

- Mind your back, Tom.

- Our board at home is
absolutely covered with stuff.

Messages, telephone numbers, lists.

Hundreds of years old, some of them.

But Martin Barrett has
but one solitary item.

- Constable.
- Now, does that

make it significant?

Or just lonely?

- What is it?

- It is a page from an auction catalogue.

And, since we have to start somewhere.

Then there's lot 387,

Love Beneath The Lilacs, oil on canvas,

William Graveney, 1879.

Hey, oh, well, it's a young chap getting

to know a young lady rather well.

Oh, you did?

You don't happen to have the name

and address of the vendor, do you?

Oh, you're an absolute star.

Thank you.

It's the painting.

It was sold by the man
who runs The Plough down

at Cadstone Ridge.

That's a five-minute walk from here.

Er, Jones, five-minute walk?

(gentle instrumental music)

(car alarm bleeps)

(people murmuring)
(gentle instrumental music)

- [Jack] Good morning, gentlemen.

- Good morning.

Mr. Fothergill?
- Yeah.

- I'm Detective Chief Inspect--

- Yeah!

Cough up, Ted.

(Jack chuckles)

I said to him, how long before
the police descend on me?

This being Gossip Central for the area.

Less than a day, I said.
- And what did Ted say?

- A month at least.

- On account of the fact
that you can never find one

of your fellas when you want one.

(Jack chuckles)

- Well, poor old Martin, eh?

Reg the milkman told us.

- Mine of information, that man, isn't he?

However, why do you suppose

that this was pinned up on
Martin Barrett's kitchen wall?

Did he intend to buy it, do you think?

- He might have done, I suppose.

Yes, perhaps he did.

- But we're right in thinking
it was yours to sell?

- My father's.

He passed away last November.

Yeah, the young lady in the
picture was a bit too skinny

for my taste, so I got rid of it.

- You tell us about
Martin Barrett, please?

Did people like him?

Loathe him?

Not give a damn?

- He was generally well-liked.

Sophisticated man.

Good conversationalist.

Oh, that's the young lady you
should speak to about Martin.

She used to clean for him.

Ruby, could you spare a moment?

Ruby Wilmott, this is Detec--

- Coppers.

About Martin.

You ready?

Martin Barrett was a
mean, vicious, ugly sod,

and I'm glad he karked it.

- Come on, Ruby, a spot of
Christian charity, surely.

- Why, is it Sunday?

- I'm sensing a difference
of opinion here.

"Intelligent and sophisticated?"

"Mean", and spiteful?"

- Villages, Inspector.

One man's friend is another man's enemy.

- Or in Martin Barrett's
case, his murderer.

- [Ben] When did you last
see him, Mrs. Wilmott?

- Yesterday morning.

- Did he ask you to make
up a bed in the spare room?

- I was his cleaner, not his wife.

Excuse me, I've got work to do.

- Coffee, gentlemen?

Something stronger?

- [Tom] Thank you, but no, thank you.

We also have work to do.

Thank you.

So, was Martin Barrett good,
bad or just plain ugly?

- All three, according to them.

I'm worried about this
girl in the spare room.

Why didn't she report the murder?

- The simple answer would be
that she played a part in it.

Track her down, would you?

You know, garages, railway
stations, taxi firms.

And get onto my new friend at
the auction house, would you?

Ask her if Martin Barrett
actually made a bid

for this Love Beneath The Lilacs.

Hm?
- Mm.

- Ruby, dear.

When the police start asking questions,

the trick is to close doors on them,

not to give them reasons
to go digging deeper.

- I told them the truth.

I hated Martin Barrett.

So did you, come to that.

(bird squawking)

- Thank you, Mr. Jocelyn,
thanks very much.

No, no, don't do that,
I'll call in for it.

(siren blaring)

Family all well?

Good.

Bye.

- You wanted to know
about Barrett's job, sir.

- Yeah.
- He was a wages clerk

at the council.

It doesn't come any
grayer than that, does it?

- Grey?

The man was invisible.

I can't find anything about him pre-1991

and precious little since.

- Lived abroad?

Changed his name, perhaps.

- I've also spoken to your lady
friend at the auction house.

Her name's Clara, by the way.

- Yes, she said.

- Barrett didn't try to buy
Love Beneath The Lilacs.

- Ah, Jack Fothergill's
father, God rest his soul,

I've asked his solicitor
for a copy of the probate.

Come with me.

- Oh, if I may, sir--
- What?

- This is an ESDA print-out
of the impressions

on Barrett's blotter.

- Yes, and?

- Well, there's a couple of letters,

and just down here in the
corner is a local phone number.

It's the only one and very
recent, the girl at the lab said.

- Have you called it?

- No.

- Well, do.

Wendy, could you get
onto Bull Lane Garage?

Ask them if they'll strip
down Barrett's car for us.

- Ask for Andy.

- [Richard] Hi, you're through
to Rick and Maggie Florian.

We can't take your call at the moment,

but leave your name and number
and we'll buzz you back.

Ciao.

- Ciao.

Ciao, Jones.

Get an address for that number, will you?

If it's on our way, we'll
call in, have a word.

(gentle instrumental music)

Good morning, sir.

Are you Mr. Florian?

- I am, indeed.

- We are from Causton CID.

I'm Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby

and this is DC Jones.

I'm sorry to tell you this,
but there's been a murder

in the village.

- Oh, Martin Barrett, yeah, yeah.

We heard about it earlier.

- From Reg the milkman, do doubt.

- Yeah.

(chuckles)

How did you--
- This is uncanny,

isn't it, though?

Martin Barrett, why would he make a note

of your telephone number?

Has he been in touch lately?

- Well, not that I recall.

Um...

- I'd better dig up
the phone records, sir.

Jog Mr. Florian's memory.

- Hang on, you're right, he did phone.

On Tuesday morning, yeah,
my wife took the call.

- Perhaps we could speak to her.

- Ah, no.

(chuckles)

I'm afraid she's still in bed.

Bit of a heavy weekend.

No, all he...

All he wanted to know, apparently,

was the name of our builder.

- I'm not surprised.

He's made a lovely job of that, hasn't he?

- [Ben] Tell us about
the heavy weekend, sir.

- Well, we keep a boat
down at Fennacombe Bay.

I mean, that's not the problem, of course,

it's the clubhouse after
a full day's sailing.

- Where were you last
night around midnight?

- Um, well, just got back from Fennacombe.

So, cup of tea, hit the sack.

- What's your line of
business, Mr. Florian?

- I work in oil.

- What, do you paint
in it or drill for it?

(Richard chuckles)

- The latter.

Do you wanna see?

- Well, erm, yes.

Thank you.

Well, thank you, Mr.
Florian, thank you very much.

Give my regards to your wife.

- Thanks, I will.

- [Tom] Ciao.

(gentle instrumental music)
(geese honking)

- You do enjoy flirting with
danger, don't you, Ricky?

- What?

- The tarpaulin.

Maybe we should give next weekend a miss.

- No, on the contrary,

the sooner we finish there, the better.

(goose honking)

(shop bell rings)

(bell tolling)

- Old man Fothergill's probate.

Now, tell me what you see.

Or rather, do not see.

- Not much to it.

(Tom mumbles)

Uh-huh.
- Uh-huh.

(car engine whirring)

- [Man] I don't believe it.

(gentle instrumental music)

- Oh, hello again, Inspector.

I'm sorry, I didn't catch
your name this morning.

- No, you didn't, did you?

You were too busy collecting
your winnings from Ted.

- [Ben] Fancy us turning up
twice in one day, eh, Ted?

- Just so long as we get the
protection that we pay for.

- This is DC Jones, by the way.

My name is Barnaby, Tom Barnaby,

and we'd like a little
chat with you in private,

please, if we may.

- Ooh, don't worry, I
have no secrets from Ruby.

Do you mind, Ted?

- Can't even have a quiet drink

without somebody coming here interrupting.

- [Jack] Well, should we take a seat?

- Thank you.

- [Jack] Sit yourselves down, gentlemen.

I'd offer you something to drink,

but I'm sure you'll say you're on duty.

- Mr. Fothergill,

Love Beneath The Lilacs,

how much did you sell it for?

- Well, I'm not altogether--
- 97,000 pounds.

- Too much for Martin
Barrett, I'd imagine.

Which means that he didn't want to buy it,

as you allowed us to believe.

He just wanted to know its value.

- But why on earth would I--

- Oh, I do admire a man
who won't be beaten.

Don't you, Jones?

- Hm.

Here's the probate of your father's will.

No mention of a painting.

- Is that because it would have taken you

over the zero threshold
in terms of death duty?

- Yes, I suppose it would, yeah.

- Mr. Fothergill, you have
deprived the Chancellor

Of The Exchequer of his 40%.

Oh, don't worry, I'm
not interested in that.

That's between you and him.

- Then why are you here?

- Did Barrett ask you for
money to keep quiet about it?

- Well, I wouldn't put it quite

as--
- Yes.

- Yes.

5,000 pounds seemed a better
deal than 40% to the taxman.

Only it didn't stop at five.

The other day he asked for more,

in that way of his, where
you're not actually sure

that he's asked you, but
once he's gone you're left

in absolutely no doubt that he has.

- I need a bit of top-up, Jack.

- Well, go and ask Ruby,
she's minding the bar.

- I wasn't talking about the drink, right?

- That's the trouble with
paying Danegeld, isn't it?

You never get rid of the Dane,

unless, of course, you murder him.

- Well, I didn't do that, I promise you.

- Tell me where you were last
night, round about midnight.

- I was on my way to bed.

Um, we had a quiet night here.

- When did your last customer leave?

- About 11:30.

It was Ted, as usual.

- Can you think of anyone else

he might have been leaning
on, Mr. Fothergill?

- What, you mean Jack wasn't the only one?

- Oh, I doubt it, Mrs. Wilmott.

People like that usually have
several victims on the go,

and in Martin Barrett's case,

I imagine one of them killed him.

(dramatic music)

- [George] Afternoon, Tom.

- George.

- The report on Martin Barret is done,

being typed up as we speak,

and I can tell you something
about his murderer.

- Oh, make it his name
and address, will you?

- I dug three different
sizes of shot from the body,

and that means?

- That means that whoever killed him,

made up their own cartridges.

- Yes, and I think the
pellets were homemade, too.

You can get shot made for next
to nothing on the internet.

- But who would go to those great lengths,

George?
(cell phone rings)

- Poachers, gamekeepers, farmers.

- Barnaby.

Jones.

Oh, good.

I'll be with you in five minutes.

Thank you, George, and good work.

Eh, shouldn't you be in France?

- Next week now.

(car alarm bleeps)

(dog barking)

- [Tom] Jones?

- Ah, sir.

You're gonna like this.

- Am I?

- Barrett's car.

This had fallen down
between the windscreen

and the dashboard.

- Receipt from Squids In.

"To Mrs. Florian.

"Fish, two kilos."

- [Ben] The address is on the bottom.

- [Tom] Oh, yeah.

(machine buzzing)

The Harbour, Fennacombe Bay.

- Where the Florians keep their boat,

and here's proof that Barrett
went after them, I'd say.

The route to Fennacombe is highlighted.

- You're right, Jones.

I do like it.

You going to get cleaned up, are you?

- Yeah.

- And pick the bones out of this.

Whatever Barrett had on his victims,

only he and they knew about it, right?

- Right.

If it had been common knowledge,

Barrett wouldn't have
been able to have used it.

- And the only people who
can tell us what he knew

about them are the victims themselves.

- No point in asking them.

They won't say anything.

- Precisely.

So, whatever it was they were up to,

goes to the grave with Barrett.

- Do we need to know what they were up to?

- Oh, I think we do, Jones,

because whoever stood to lose
the most, probably killed him.

And since we can't confront
the Florians head on,

I think one of us should
go down to Fennacombe Bay

and find out what they
were doing down there.

- Sounds good, sir.

A trip to the seaside.

Shall we toss for it?

- Oh, I already did.

I won.

- Right, sir.

- Oh, there's still plenty to do, Jones.

I mean, not just finding the girl

but also whoever reported the crime.

I mean, why were they hanging
around Barrett's house

at six o'clock in the morning, eh?

I mean, there's still
plenty to do, plenty to do.

Whoa.

- I thought you liked
honey balsamic dressing.

- I do, I do, very much,
but not to swim in.

Talking of which, early rise tomorrow,

we're off to the seaside.

- [Joyce] Ooh.

(gentle instrumental music)

(cell phone rings)

- Hi, Jones.

- Sir, I think I may have
found us another victim,

and we're going up in the world.

Sir John Waverley.

- Waverley?

He's on the Police Committee.

- [Ben] That's why I'm phoning you.

Reg the milkman saw Barrett
driving away from his farm,

crack of dawn last Friday.

- [Tom] Oh, Reg again, eh?
- Maybe I should have gone

to the coast while you stayed here.

- Oh, no, no, no, no, Jones,

I've absolute confidence in you.

You go and talk to him.

But go gently, he lost his
wife a couple of months ago.

- Right, sir.

(cell phone bleeps)

(Tom pants)

- You can't beat it, can you, eh?

The first glimpse of the sea.

- Where?

Well, I'm glad I brought my cardigan.

- Did you know the Bullards
bought a house in France?

- Did I know?

Kath talks of nothing else these days.

- So, what is this rush
towards foreign climes, eh?

'Cause I don't understand it.

What is wrong with England, eh?

(sighs)

(gentle instrumental music)

- What did Jones want?

- Thank you.
(seagulls crying)

Jones thinks he's found
another of Barrett's victims:

John Waverley.

- Sir John?

He's not the sort to have
a skeleton in the cupboard.

- Oh, if it's about anything, it will be

about that refuge he used to
run for disaffected teenagers.

They were all girls, weren't they?

And one or two of them
were rather difficult.

- Cully had a friend there.

What was her name?

(car engine whirring)

- DC Jones?
- Yes, sir.

- Morning.
- Good morning, sir.

Mr. Barnaby sends his apologies, sir.

Life-and-death call to the coast.

- Come on through, Jones.

Coffee's on the go.

(dog panting)

- You know, It's at times like these

that I realise what a
good officer my DCI is.

He puts people at their ease straightaway.

- And you don't?

- Ah, well, I try to, certainly,

but when it's a matter
of tricky questions.

- You follow his example,
Jones, you won't go far wrong.

Fire away.

- Right, sir, I will.

What was Martin Barrett
blackmailing you about?

We think he had a sideline
in extortion, you see,

and I'd like to know if
he had anything on you.

- You're upsetting me, DC Jones.

Is it by accident or design, I wonder?

Look, I don't suppose Martin Barrett

and I have exchanged 10 words
since he came to the village.

- But he came here on Friday
morning, sir, at six o'clock.

- Well, it could have been
for any number of reasons.

To see one of my staff, buy some eggs.

- He came all the way here

to buy eggs at six in the morning?

- We operate an on-trust
system for locals.

They take what they want,
leave the money at the gate.

- You haven't answered my question, sir.

- Which was?

- Was Martin Barrett blackmailing you?

- Certainly not.

(knocking on door)

- Guvnor, time's pressing.

- Okay, Billy.

It's my farm manager.

We have a FABL inspection today.

I must go.

- No problem, sir, I can call back.

- No.

If you have any further questions,

I suggest you ask DCI Barnaby to ring

and make an appointment.

(cow mooing)

- Morning, Mrs. Wilmott.
- Morning.

Yeah?

- Nothing, just good morning.

(cow mooing)

(intense instrumental music)

- Ah, Joyce, the chap I want
to see is down there, I think.

So, can we meet back here
in about half an hour?

- [Joyce] Sounds good.

(intense instrumental music)

(dogs barking)

- All good.

All right.

Okay.

See you next week.

Yes, thank you.

How can I help, sir?
- Good morning.

I'm Detective Chief Inspector
Barnaby from Causton CID.

I wonder, when you've finished
here, could we have a word?

- Ah, you can have it now. Peter Hatchard.

- How do you do?

- Carol?
- Yeah?

- Can you take over, love?

- Yeah, sure.

- Won't be long.
- Okay.

- I wouldn't say I'm a friend
of Richard and Maggie's,

but I see them at the sailing club.

Seems like a nice enough bloke.

Life and soul of the party.

- What about her?

- Oh, well, she takes things
a bit easier, I think.

- I understand they've
got a property down here.

- Oh, yes, yes, on the
other side of the headland.

- Oh, how nice.

Er, this is a photograph
of Martin Barrett.

He's the victim in a murder
investigation I'm leading.

Have you ever seen that
man around Fennacombe?

- No, can't help you, I'm afraid.

- Ah.

- Mind you, I wouldn't say
Richard Florian's your man.

- Oh, you wouldn't?

- I, uh...

I should declare an interest.

I was in the Hong Kong
Police for seven years.

'80 to '87.

- Were you?

Well, good, I can get
your professional opinion

on this, can't I, hey?

Why do you think the Florians
come down here, then?

I don't think it's just
for the fishing, is it?

But whatever it is, I think

that Martin Barrett found out about it.

- You know, just before Christmas,

in the middle of the night,

we were called out to the Florians.

We being the Fennacombe lifeboat.

Their engine had caught fire.

I thought it a bit odd at the time

they hadn't called us themselves.

Left it up to some trawler.

- They were up to something, were they?

- It didn't seem so at the time,

but now you've got me thinking.

Ah, is that your good lady?

- [Tom] Yes, it is.

- Look, uh...

We're just about to go home.

Why don't you join us for lunch

and then I'll drop you
over to the Florians.

- Oh, that's kind.

Can you spare the time?

- Time is one thing we've
got plenty of round here.

(intense instrumental music)
(truck engine whirring)

- Never fails, does it, eh?

Drive round the corner,
see the sea and hoo!:

10 years old again.

- Yeah, come October, November,

you'll wish you were somewhere else.

South of France, maybe.

(women chuckle)

Come on, Tom, come with me.

- Joyce, let's send these two off

wherever it is they're
going, and we'll fix lunch.

(truck engine whirring)

- [Peter] Here we are.

This is where the Florians
stay when they're down.

- [Tom] How much do you reckon

a place like this would go for, Pete?

- 200 maybe.
- Phew!

- Not that they own it.
- Yeah, I know that,

I'm just curious.

(birds chirping)

- [Peter] Anything?

- Come and look for yourself.

Just basics.

A place to bed down in, nothing much else.

Is that their boat?

(birds cawing)

- [Peter] Yes.

- Well, maybe that'll have
more to say for itself.

How do we get out to it?

(boat engine whirring)

- Had a good walk, did you?
- Yes, thanks, sir.

- Oh.

Who's left all this stuff in here?

Ow, ow!

Ah!

(dramatic music)

Jack.

Jack!

Tell him someone.

Tell him I want him.

- [Tom] We'll have a little look round.

Come on.

- Yeah.
- All aboard.

(dramatic music)

- Is this what I think it is?

- Well, it rather depends on--
- Jack, no jokes.

Did you kill him?

- How could you possibly...

Look, you shouldn't wave guns around,

even if they're not loaded.

- You said you hated him.

Enough to murder him?

- Listen, if we are comparing
notes on Martin Barrett,

what was it you said?

He was "Mean, spiteful and ugly"

and you wish he'd "Karked it".

Shouldn't it be me
wondering if you killed him?

- Now, why should I do that?
- Well, if you don't know--

- No, come on, why?!
(gun fires)

(siren blaring)

- [Peter] Anything?

- Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Whatever it is they are up
to, they're very careful

to tidy up after themselves, aren't they?

- Unless you're on the
wrong track, of course.

- Who, me?

- It does happen, you know.

- Never.

- [Ben] Mind your backs, please.

- It went off.

- A Purdy, no less.

Yours, Mr. Fothergill?

- Yes, yes.

Family heirloom.

- I don't remember
seeing it on the probate.

Got a licence for it?

- Do I need one?

- Yes or no, Mr. Fothergill?

- No, he hasn't.

- My, my, the charges are
mounting up, aren't they?

Well, why don't I take this with me

and see if I can add murder to the list?

(gentle piano music)

(doorbell rings)

(dogs barking)

- Come on, come on in.

(gentle piano music)

"Martin Barrett is dead, but
nothing else has changed.

"Wait for instructions."

(gentle piano music)
(dogs panting)

- Morning, Mrs. Barnaby.

- [Joyce] Morning.

- Good day at the coast?

- Blustery.

- We've all gone soft in this country.

All central heating and
too many package holidays.

- [Radio Host] Get the benefit
of a high-pressure area

if he doesn't want it back.

- That shooting at The Plough,
what was all that about?

- Jack Fothergill's Purdy went off.

Ruby found it in a cupboard,

they argued about why he had it,

she slammed it down on the floor, bang.

- They argued?

- The truth is, and I'm
using the word experimentally

in their case, each thinks the other

may have killed Martin Barrett.

- Has the gun gone to the lab?

- Yeah, along with a box of cartridges.

So, any progress with the Florians?

- Ah, it's marginal.

Joyce, love.

- In the bin on your way out, please.

- Chief Inspector.

How did you get on with John Waverley?

- How well do you know him, sir?

- He's one of us, Jones, one of us.

- I know he's chairman
of the Police Committee--

- Yeah, no, I didn't mean that.

I mean, if you tap him, he rings true.

So, whatever Barrett thought
he'd dug up against him,

don't waste any time on it.

- Well, no, but I think
I should follow it up.

- Not at the expense of other things.

- With respect, sir, the
man was stonewalling me.

He came up with a dodgy
reason why Barrett went there

at six in the morning.

- And?

- You do know the farm was a refuge

for teenage girls at one stage?

- Oh, yes, of course I do,

and I also have very
good reason to believe

that the girls who found
themselves in the care of John

and Jean Waverley were very
fortunate to have done so.

- Okay, sir, I'll take
your advice, I'll back off.

- No, no, don't do that.

I might be right on most things, but

you can never tell.

(dramatic music)

(phone ringing)

Barnaby.

- [Peter] Tom, it's Peter Hatchard.

- Peter.

- Yeah, I hope you don't mind me phoning,

but I thought you should know.

The Florians are here and it's midweek,

so they're breaking a
long-established pattern.

- What are they doing?

- Right now they're sailing
towards Fuller's Sweep.

It's a reef that emerges at low tide.

I could follow them on some
pretext, I suppose, but--

- No, no, don't do that.

But thanks for the call,
I do appreciate it.

- Okay.

Let me know if there's
anything else I can do.

- [Tom] Thanks, Pete.

- [Ben] Well, try and
find out when that is.

- Jones.

What are you doing?

- Did you know Sir John
Waverley is in line

to be High Sheriff of Midsomer?

- Yes, I did know.

- I'd say that makes him a
bit vulnerable, wouldn't you?

- Vulnerable, yes, but
not necessarily guilty.

Grab your coat, come with me.

(siren blaring)

The Florians are out of town.

Hurry.

- Okay, sir.

(geese honking)

That's Ruby Wilmott's, sir.

- Save you breaking in.

(buzzing)

- By God, you're a hard worker, Ruby.

How many people do you clean for?

- Well, I do my fair...

Oh, just a sec, where's he going?

- I've got some very important
news about Jack's gun.

- What?

- The news is that there is no news.

But as soon as I hear anything,

I'll be over to share it with you.

Meantime, if coffee was
offered, we'd both love a cup.

(vacuum cleaner buzzing)

What are we actually looking for, sir?

- The reason why the Florians went down

to Fennacombe Bay so often.

And why Martin Barrett
followed them there.

Depth charts, maps of Fennacombe Bay.

All property of Greenbase Oil.

- Well, they were both on
the firm's exploration team.

He's a geologist, she's
a marine biologist.

Oil, sir?

- [Tom] Hm.

- Given that oil is big
money, does it figure in this?

I mean, is there oil under
Fennacombe Bay, possibly?

- Oh, I don't think so, do you, Jones?

I mean, you need heavy equipment

for oil prospecting, don't you?

I mean, not the kind of stuff

you can get on board a 38-foot catamaran.

- So, we're back to illegal
entry, smuggling or drugs.

- Hm.

Did you check up on Richard
Florian's credentials?

- Well, that's what I was
going to do before you...

- What were you doing all day yesterday?

You'd better do it now.

- Hm.

(dramatic music)

(computer bleeps)

(phone rings)

Ah, your friend Hatchard, sir.

- He's not my friend, he's an acquaintance

and a highly-commended police officer.

- Queen's Police Medal, no less.

Greenbase Oil.

It's a Japanese-owned company,

but Florian doesn't work for them anymore.

They fired him three months ago.

The word is, he engineered
his own sacking.

Picked a fight in the boardroom,
and I mean bare-knuckle.

- He's a man with a temper, then.

- Got a golden handshake.

Used it to set up on his own, they reckon.

- Doing what, though?

(women laughing)

(people murmuring)

- Dad, just in time to buy another round.

- I knew I'd come in useful one day.

Ah, young lady, here. What
would you all like to drink?

- [Woman] Oh, I'd like (mumbles), please.

- Whatever, whatever.

Cully, could I?

Are you doing anything this evening?

- Well, I wasn't, but I bet I am now.

- It's just that I have a little problem

I need your help with.

That old school friend of yours

who was staying up at Waverley Farm,

that Hayley something?

- Hayley Simpson.

Yeah.

I saw her a couple of months ago.

- Good, that means you can
still get hold of her, yeah?

- Yeah.

- It's just I need her to
vouch for John Waverley.

I mean, we all believe
he's a decent man, but...

- But you're not sure.

- Yes, I am, but I want to
hear it from someone who knows.

- Okay.

- Do you think you could invite her round

for supper this evening?

I'm doing the cooking.
(Cully chuckles)

- [Joyce] Come on in, Ben.

It's really nice that you could come.

- Dammit!

Left my camera at home.

- Honestly, Tom, I'd
have done it willingly.

You only had to ask.

- We'll have a glass of
that now. Cully, open up.

- What is it, sir?

- This, Jones, is lapin a la sauvage.

It's rabbit done French-style.

Pete Hatchard's wife gave
Joyce two the other day.

- Well, I only hope that Hayley
Simpson isn't a fussy eater.

(doorbell rings)

- I'll go.

Dad, put those vegetables on, will you?

- [Tom] Yes, yes, yes.

- We've never had rabbit
in our house, sir.

- Never had rabbit?

Well, prepare yourself for a treat.

- [Hayley] At least.

You look marvellous, Mrs. Barnaby.

- You'll have to call her Joyce,

otherwise she'll have
to call you Ms. Simpson.

(Hayley laughs)

Dad, say hello to Hayley.

- Ah.

Hayley.

Welcome.

Welcome.

Better call me Tom.

And this is Ben Jones, my DC.

- It's so lovely to see you
all and to meet you again.

You know, you lot really haven't changed.

- What?

Even Dad?
- Oi.

(dramatic music)

- I think it's rather dry.

- Oh.

- But if you're all happy with it.

- It's delicious, Tom.

- [Tom] Thank you.

- We often used to have this at the farm.

Sir John was always taking
pot shots at rabbits.

- Actually, it was John Waverley
that we wanted to, uh...

- Yes, that you wanted to ask me about.

Cully said.

- Well, for one reason and another,

which I don't want to go into,

we need to find out
what sort of man he was.

Now, I've known him for years,

and I think a straighter man
you could not wish to meet.

Ben here is of a different persuasion.

Not that he knows him at all.

- What do you think, Ben?

- Well, er, house full of teenage girls,

was there anything dodgy going on?

- You really don't know him, do you?

I mean, the idea of John Waverley
laying a finger on anyone,

especially the girls at
the farm, is ludicrous.

- Well, you're right, sir.

This rabbit's a real treat.

(intense instrumental music)
(tractor engine whirring)

- [John] Lucy, Snuffer,
come on. (whistles)

(dogs whining)

Yes, yes.

(intense instrumental music)

(dog barking)

(intense instrumental music)

(dramatic music)

Must have been left during the night.

- But you didn't hear anything?

The dogs didn't bark?

- No.

- It's the work of an
amateur, this, isn't it?

I mean, it should say
simply, "10,000 pounds,

"Hallow Bridge, midnight tonight.

"Leave the area immediately."

Instead, he goes on for a full page.

- Um, it isn't the first
note I've received.

- Where are the others?

- Just one.

I owe you an apology, DC Jones.

Barrett did come here on Friday

and it certainly wasn't to buy eggs.

(dramatic music)

He never seemed a very warm person,

but he was positively
glacial that morning.

- Would prove most embarrassing.

- And just when is this liaison supposed

to have taken place?

- Well, clearly when you
were using this house

as a teenage refuge.

- And with whom?

- Don't let's be so picky, John.

There were nine girls here,

none of whom could be called saints.

- What about my wife?

Didn't she have anything
to say about the matter?

- She would have done, I'm sure.

If she hadn't been so

unwell.

- He had me boxed in right from the start.

- I think we should talk about
how we are gonna get you out

of this mess, John.

- High Sheriffs are
appointed by the Crown,

on the recommendation of local worthies.

A lot of good and important people

have put their faith in me.

They're the ones I'd let down if--

- Only if it were true, John.

- It doesn't have to be
true to be believed, Tom.

- DC Jones, I wonder if you'd mind

giving us a couple of minutes, please?

- [Ben] Sir.

- Yes, I know, but go on.

What would Jean have told you to do?

(John sighs)

- Inform you lot straightaway, I suppose.

- Then why didn't you?

Someone reported Barrett's murder

from the phone box near his house.

Now, was that someone you?

What were you doing there?

- I'd gone there to reason with him.

- At six in the morning?

- I'm a farmer, for God's sake.

We rise early.

- I'm sorry, John, that is
not a good enough answer.

My constable out there will
think that you went to pay him.

- I went there.

I went there at his
request to meet the girl.

- But why, if you had no
intention of paying him?

(dramatic music)

- I had every intention.

I was thinking of those good friends

who'd put me forward for--

- So, in order to maintain
their faith in you,

you were prepared to enter
into a lifetime of obligation

to Martin Barrett?

- I was trying to buy some time.

- While the press had a field day.

Hallow Bridge.

This is it.

- So, you still buy it, then, sir?

Despite the notes?

Despite him being ready to cough up?

- People do get blackmailed

for things they haven't done, Jones.

- And what about the saying,

"There's no smoke without fire?"

- Ugh.

Innocent people are accused
all the time, detective.

You think this is the old
pals' act at work, don't you?

- Not if you tell me otherwise.

- You mustn't listen to
canteen gossip, Jones.

10 years ago, a vital piece
of evidence went missing

in a case.

I took the can because it was my inquiry.

But John Waverley, he spoke up for me.

And he did that not
because we were old pals

or went to the same school, though we did,

he did it because he thought
it was the right thing to do.

- I'm sure it was, sir.

- What do you know about this refuge

that he and his wife ran?

- Er, not a lot.

- Not a lot.

Instead of whingeing and
whining, as most of us do,

about kids that go off the rails,

the Waverleys actually
threw open their house

to nine of them, including Hayley Simpson,

who you met last night, yeah?

John gave them stability,
gave them a home.

And he got them back on track.

Now, most of us are lucky to
do that with our own kids,

let alone someone else's rejects.

When I see a man like that in trouble--

- Sir, you've made your point.

- Good.

Now, what we've got to do, Jones,

is catch Barrett's apprentice.

I'm damn sure he knows more
about Barrett than we do.

Trouble is, there are no common factors.

- [Ben] Ruby Wilmott's a common factor.

- Oh, yes, she cleans for some of them.

- She cleans for them all, sir.

- Does she?

And John Waverley?

- Oh, yeah.

I saw her the other morning on her way in.

- Do you know something, Jones?

You're beginning to earn your keep.

(gentle instrumental music)

(intense instrumental music)

Ruby Wilmott.

So, all of Martin Barrett's victims,

at least all the ones we know about,

have clean and tidy houses because of you.

- Oh.

I clean for other folk, too.

I'm not exclusive.

- Did Martin Barrett use you
as some kind of resource?

- [Ruby] Eh?

- Did he ask you questions
about Sir John Waverley?

Jack, the Florians?

Asked you to find things out, maybe?

- Look, I didn't always
realise what he was up to.

He asked so cleverly and all
spread over weeks, months.

- So, sometimes you did realise?

Why, then, did you tell
him what he wanted to know?

Was it because he had something on you?

(Ruby sighs)

Ruby, did he have something on you?

- No, uh...

Yes.

- Well, I would very much like

to know what that something was.

- I want him to come.

- Where are we going?

- To my house.

(dramatic music)

- Good Lord.

And you pinched all this stuff

from people you were cleaning for?

- It's psychological.

- This was my father's.

And this.

This was in the pub.

- I'm sorry.

- Let me guess, you made
the mistake of stealing

from Martin Barrett, didn't you?

A man who knew every speck
of dust in his house.

- Yeah.

Oh.

- I think we should talk
about my opal cufflinks,

the ones you've just
taken from my bedroom.

- Ah.

No, ah.

- Oh, don't worry, Ruby.

I won't be sacking you.

Far from it.

- He came up here, saw
everything, and we struck a deal.

I was to find out things
and answer his questions

about other people.

- Who was he most interested in?

- Oh, the Florians, far and away.

Um, where did they go?

Who came to their house?

Who phoned them?

Then, one day, he asked me
to get some petrol receipts

from their car.

- To see where they went at weekends.

- But you found a receipt for fish?

- And the next weekend he
followed them to wherever it was.

Brought me back a couple of lobsters.

- Right, Ruby Wilmott,
you can take us right

through the list of your employers--

- And just for the record,
you are now a real contender

for his murder.
- Oh, you must be desperate.

- No, I didn't kill him.

Honestly.

- Where were you at midnight,
the day he was killed?

- I was getting ready for bed.

- Well, that's not a
very good alibi, is it?

I mean, that's the same
one you gave me, Jack.

(dog barks)

Are you saying that if
slap came to tickle,

you could vouch for each other?

- Yes.

But I don't suppose that's
much of an alibi either, is it?

(train horn blaring)

- [Tom] The note said, "The bag
will be left on the parapet.

"You drive up, put the money
in the bag, close the bag up,

"and drive away again."

It's a clear night.

We shouldn't have any problems.

But don't linger to see if
anyone might be around, okay?

- [Ben] There'll be
police officers nearby,

but you won't see them.

- [Tom] Yeah.

And afterwards, John,
come straight back here

and wait for us, and we'll
join you as soon as we can.

And, er, good luck.

(dramatic music)

(bird screeches)

(dramatic music)

- I do have a problem with this case, sir.

Nothing major, more sort of--

- Minor?

- Yeah.

- Ta.

- I mean, here we are, busting a gut

to find whoever killed Martin Barrett,

when everyone's glad he's
dead. And on the way we have

to harass old boys like Jack Fothergill.

- Yeah.

Whereas you think he
should be given a medal

for cheating the Chancellor
of the Exchequer?

- He should certainly be
mentioned in Dispatches.

- Wake me up if I doze off, will you?

- Yes, sir.

(dramatic music)

(motorbike engine whirring)
(people shouting)

- Guvnor, target is a
motorcyclist all in red.

He's heading your way.

- [Ben] Right, thanks.

(dramatic music)

(motorbike engine whirring)

(dramatic music)

(dog barking)

- I thought there was more to you

than this nasty little caper.

- Did you, Tom?

- Inspector Barnaby to you.

- Then you'd better call me Mrs. Redfern.

- Interview recorded on 20th of August,

2005, at 06:30 hours.

Those present:

- DCI Barnaby.

- The tape, please, Mrs. Redfern.

- Mrs. Hayley Redfern.

- And DC Jones.

The caution has already been given.

- So you were a friend of
Martin Barrett, were you?

- Business associate.

- [Ben] You were there
the night he was murdered.

- Was I?

- We've got tissues from the bin.

We can put them and you
together if necessary.

- Then that's what you'd better do.

- When I first met you,

all those years ago,

I put your problems down to a rough start.

You know, broken home, abusive father.

But "Hey," I thought,

"You're the girl who'll make it through."

With the help of John Waverley.

His care for you, his belief in you.

He gave you a lot.

And is this the way you repay him?

- Don't talk to me about
what I owe John Waverley

or his lady wife.

Whatever they did, it was for themselves.

He was a self-righteous Victorian

who thought he could change me.

Well, I didn't wanna be changed.

- But changed you'll be, Mrs. Redfern,

if you go to prison for
Martin Barrett's murder.

- Murder?

I didn't murder that pathetic--

- Martin Barrett's murder.

- I told you, I didn't kill him.

- Did you see who did?

(dramatic music)

Did you?

(dramatic music)

(tractor engine whirring)

(knocking on door)

Hey, Billy!

Where's the guvnor?

- Still in bed, shouldn't wonder.

(tractor engine whirring)

(cows mooing)

(dogs barking)

(dramatic music)

(rattling)

- Jones.

Come.

Break it.

(dogs barking)

- Sir John.

Sir John.

(dogs barking)

Come on, dogs.

Come on then.

There's good dogs, there's good dogs.

Come on.

- [Tom] John.

Come on, John, what
the hell have you done?

Come on.

John.

John.

- [Ben] In you go.

There you go.
- John.

John, John, John, John!

- Anything?
- Yes, only just.

Get him on his feet.

Walk him about, slap his
face, just keep him moving.

- Come on, this is not gonna happen.

Come on, Sir John, wake up.

Come on, Sir John.

(dramatic music)

(car engine whirring)

Come on, Sir John.

Come on, stay with me, Sir John.

Come on, wake up.

Wake up.

Sir John.

(car engine whirring)

That's it, stay awake.

Stay with us, Sir John.

Stay with us.

(car engine whirring)

- How's he doing?

- [Ben] He's not good, sir.

(tyres screeching)

- Hey, police.

We've got an emergency in the car.

It's an overdose.

Wait, and together, come on.

(phone ringing)

- Why did he do it, sir?

- "But he who filches
from me my good name."

It's allegations, detective,
false allegations.

You can deny them as much as you like.

People will never look at
you in the same way again.

- Even if you didn't do anything?

(Tom chuckles)

- You think some smart-alec
lawyer defending Hayley

would be too bothered about
the truth of the matter?

"There's no smoke without fire."

(phone ringing)

- Nice bit of driving by the way, sir.

Invigorating.

- Thank you very much.

Can you get me a cup of coffee?

(people murmuring)

(machine bleeps)

- [Doctor] That's fine, Mr. Florian.

Nurse Lynn will show you the way.

- [Richard] Where is she?

- [Lynn] She's actually in Rosemary Ward.

- Ah, which is what down here?
- No, that's down here,

second on the left.

- Okay, thanks very much.
- You're welcome.

(dramatic music)

- Sir.

Bit of luck.

- Ah, excuse me, sister.

- Can I help?

- I hope so.

I'm Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby,

this is DC Jones from Causton CID.

We understand that you have
a patient in your care,

a Mrs. Florian?

- Um, yes, Margaret Florian.

She came in earlier for a check-up.

- A check-up?

What for?

- Her husband suspected
she'd had a mild attack

of decompression sickness.

- They've been diving.

How long will she be in for?

- She'll be going home later
tonight, I should think.

Fortunately, her husband's
an experienced diver

and he gave her oxygen
at the scene of the dive.

- Hm.

Thank you, thank you very much.

You've been a great help.

- Okay.

- But don't, please don't
tell her we were here.

- Okay.

(seagulls crying)

- There we go, sir.

That's eight pounds.

You've got 10 pounds there.

Lovely.

(cell phone rings)

- Thank you very much.
- Bye.

(cell phone ringing)

- Peter Hatchard.

- [Tom] Peter, the very man.

Tom Barnaby.

- Morning.

How goes it?

- Well, there have been
developments, of sorts.

And I wouldn't mind your
help, since you offered it.

We believe that the
Florians have been diving.

- Ah, and you wanna know what for?

- [Tom] I'll need to search
the house at some point.

- Yeah, well, why don't you
come and stay at our place, sir?

And in the meantime, I'll, uh...

I'll ask round, see what
they've been diving for.

- Thank you.

- Wendy's been working
on Barrett's background.

She put him through
the immigration mangle.

Turns out he's Australian by birth.

- Ah, that explains why there's no trace

of him here before '91.

- Before coming here, he was a sales rep

for a timber firm in Taiwan.

Do they have trees in Taiwan?

- Well, that depends on
how good he was at his job.

Of course they have trees in Taiwan.

(phone rings)

Yes?

Does she?

Well, we'll be right down.

Thank you.

Hayley Redfern wants to talk to us.

- How's Sir John?

- He's off the danger list.

But we don't need to tell her that, do we?

Ask the custody sergeant to
take her down to the canteen.

- The canteen?

- The canteen.

I didn't get any breakfast.

- [Ben] Thank you, Sergeant.

- Is this coffee or soup?

- I never meant it to turn out like this.

John Waverley doing what
he's done, I mean...

Aren't you gonna say something?

- It was you who wanted
to see me, Mrs. Redfern.

I'd be very happy never to see you again.

- Is he going to die?

- We didn't get to him soon enough.

- Why did he do it, though?

- Disappointment at you letting him down?

- People don't kill themselves
over things like that.

- People like John Waverley do.

I think that what you
did destroyed his faith

in human nature, destroyed
his belief in himself.

- What can I do, though?

- Well, you could tell us
what else Martin Barrett said

apart from, "Let's ruin the reputation

"of a thoroughly decent man."

- He got chatty.

After dinner.

Too much wine.

- [Martin] In fact I--

- [Hayley] He boasted that he
had a golden goose lined up.

- Well, geese, actually.

A couple of overfed geese,

who think they're about to
get away with a fortune.

- [Tom] Did he mention a name?

- But I know different.

- No.

He'd been drinking.

But not enough to lower his guard.

- Did you see a car?

Make?

Number?

Anything?

- I'm sorry.

- Not even a glimpse of who killed him?

- The first thing I heard was a...

A shot.

(operatic music)

(gun fires)

(Martin groans)

(operatic music)

(car engine whirring)

(tyres screeching)

And then I just took off.

- You didn't even stop
to see if he was dead?

- No.

(Tom sighs)

- Sergeant, could you get an extension?

I'd like to hold her for another 48 hours.

- Why?

- Why?

Because you had a very good
reason to kill Martin Barrett.

You were gonna take over his business.

- You've been looking at houses.

Are we moving?

- No, no.

We could buy a place down there.

It could be an investment.

We could let it out.

- We could also freeze to
death on an average day.

- Yeah, but there's no harm
in making inquiries, is there?

(car horn honking)
Oh, that's Jones.

I'll give you a ring when we get there.

Bye, love.

- Take care.
- I will.

- Ruby, you're a wee bit late.

- I wasn't sure about coming in at all.

- Why ever not?

Ted, go and mind the bar for me, will you?

There's a good chap.

- "If you please" wouldn't come amiss.

Mind you, the shock
would probably kill me,

but I could take a chance--
- Just do it, Ted, will you?

- Why don't you tell me
to pour myself a pint

while I'm in there, hey?

(truck engine whirring)

(birds cawing)

(door rattling)

(birds cawing)

- Look, I'm...

I'm hardly a spring chicken, Ruby,

and life isn't exactly brimming over

with exciting prospects.

Or, rather, it wasn't until I met you.

Free spirit and all that.

- Free for the moment.

Do you think they'll
take us to court, Jack?

- What if they did?

Would they send us to prison?

I doubt it.

- So, where does it
leave you and me, then?

- Carrying on much as before, I'd say.

With the added frisson that

although we missed our
true vocation as criminals,

we each had our moments.

(she chuckles)
(he grunts)

Let's crack on before Ted
drinks the day's profits.

(playful music)

- Mrs. Hatchard.

Your husband has, I hope,
checked up with you about us--

- Staying here?
- Yeah.

- Yes.

Talk of the devil.
- Tom.

- Peter.

Good to see you again.

This is Ben Jones.

- Hello.
- Hi.

- Now, look, unless you're
fixed up for supper tonight,

I thought we'd go down to
our little place on the beach

and barbecue a couple of sea trout.

- That sounds absolutely perfect.

- Come on.

I'll show you your room.

(seagulls crying)

- And mine.

- I went over to the
Florians' house this morning

by the way.

The boat was there.

They weren't.

It all looked the same as the
last time, frankly: empty.

- Watch your feet.

- [Tom] Got any thoughts
on the diving angle?

What do you think they were diving for?

- Yeah, I've been talking to a couple

of the old boys over in Shale.

They reckon that a ship
called the Harlequin ran

onto Fuller's Sweep and broke up.

- When was this?

- 1846, but it loses
nothing in the telling.

They reckon she was carrying
gold artefacts from France.

- That would make it
treasure-trove, wouldn't it?

- Isn't there supposed to be a
register of wrecks somewhere?

- Yeah, at the Admiralty,

but there's no record of the Harlequin.

- Well, how do we confirm or deny, then?

- Well, I've got my diving certificate.

My diving gear's still in good shape.

Why don't we go out there tomorrow morning

and give it the once over?

My usual fee.

I'm dirt cheap.
(all laugh)

(dramatic music)

(boat engine whirring)
(dramatic music)

- [Jones] Can I help with that?

- Here we go.

Switch me on.

(dramatic music)
(water gurgling)

- Richard!

(boat engine whirring)

- Aw.

- What do we do?

- Well, I can't dive now, that's for sure.

I think we should call his bluff.

And let's see just how smart
our Mr. Barnaby really is.

(dramatic music)
(water gurgling)

Good day to you, Inspector.

What on earth are you doing?

- You go first.

What are you doing?

- (chuckles) We're off to France.

Booze and fags.

Can we get you anything?

- No, thank you.

(boat engine whirring)

- [Jones] So now they
know we're onto them.

- That won't worry Richard Florian.

He sails very close to the wind.

Not just today.

Every day.

(dramatic music)

(water gurgling)
(dramatic music)

- Got it!

(dramatic music)

How will that do you, then?

- That'll do me very nicely.

Is there any more down there?

- Well, I reckon they've
had the bulk of the stash,

but there's still enough down there

to bring them back again.

So, what's next?

- We make friends with the local police.

(car engine whirring)

- [Richard] He's becoming
rather predictable,

our Mr. Barnaby.

- All the same, what do we do?

- Well, there's nothing we need to do.

If they're searching the place,
they won't find anything.

(car engine whirring)

- Mr. Florian, you've
arrived just in time, sir.

We won't have to break your door down now.

- Inspector, I'm trying very
hard to see a funny side

to this, but it's eluding me.

- That's because there isn't one.

- This is a search warrant.

May I have the keys to
your house, please, sir?

- I find all this rather
stressful, Inspector.

What are you hoping to find?

- Oh, yes, I'm sorry, you've
been poorly, haven't you?

Decompression sickness.

I assure you everything
inside will be left exactly

as we found it.

Unless, of course, we find
what we're really looking for.

- Well, you didn't find it in
our house in Midsomer Worthy.

Oh, yes, Mrs. Wilmott told us

you'd broken in, helped yourself.

- On the contrary, sir,
Mrs. Wilmott invited us in.

Even offered us coffee.

Trailer's full of
cigarettes and alcohol, sir.

French.

- (chuckles) Well, I did
ask you if you wanted us

to get you something. (laughs)

I have to tell you, Barnaby,

you're gonna be very disappointed.

- Sir, I think you'd better
come and have a look at this.

(dramatic music)

- You were saying?

(dramatic music)

- In the living room,
sir, stuffed into the sofa

under the webbing.

(dramatic music)

- I've never seen that gun before.

- If I had a pound for every time--

- Did you hear what I said?

I have never seen that gun in my life.

- What exactly do we have here?

These cartridges are
home-made, Mr. Florian.

I'll have them sent to Causton immediately

to have them compared with the pellets

which killed Martin Barrett.

And the marks on the cartridge
case found at the crime scene

tested against the
hammer of that gun there.

And if they match up,
as I believe they will,

you'll both be charged with murder.

In the meantime

I'm arresting you on suspicion of it.

- No question about it: same mix of shot,

same hammer marks on the cartridge cases.

The guy might just as
well have signed his name.

- Thank you, George.

Erm, France?

- Tomorrow.

Apparently the weather
there is fabulous today.

What's it like where you are?

- Er, too hot, really.

We got them.

- Congratulations.

- What happens next?

- Er, local police take
them down to Causton.

They'll both be charged with murder.

Well, thank you very much for
what you've done, both of you.

Thank you.

- Oh, glad we could help.

(car engine whirring)

- [Tom] Just gonna take a short detour

on the way home, Jones.

- [Ben] Where to, sir?

(seagulls crying)

- [Tom] Looks bigger in the photo.

- [Ben] Always does, sir.

What's it for, anyway?

- Well, you know, Jones, one day...

- [Ben] What, retirement, sir?

- Yeah, it has to happen sometime.

- And I was just getting to know you.

- Look, I meant at some
indeterminate point in the future.

- Ah.

(waves lapping)

- So, we've got them, Jones, the Florians.

So, why am I not a happy man, eh?

- The weather, sir?

(Tom laughs)

- What is it with your generation
and a stiff breeze, eh?

- And you're actually
going to paddle, sir?

Even though that lot's come straight down

from the Arctic Ocean?

- Yes!

(groans)
I am.

- And I still haven't
got a camera with me.

- [Tom] So, seriously, why don't I feel,

you know, right about this, huh?

- Well, we haven't found the gold,

so how can we prove that
the Florians were after it,

let alone Barrett being onto them?

- Ah, but we've got a murder
weapon and the cartridges.

They all match up.

- Fingerprints?

- No.

But...

No, no, you're right.

I can't even prove

that Barrett was ever
down here in Fennacombe.

- Oh, that's no problem, sir.

You can get a statement
off Hatchard for that.

- How come?

He never met Barrett.

- Who says?

- Well, he says: Peter Hatchard.

I showed him the photo of Barrett.

- But, sir, they must have met.

- Why?

- Barrett had the receipt
Ruby Wilmott nicked for him.

The lock-up would have
been his starting point,

just like it was yours.

I mean, you didn't come down here

and yell out, "Has anyone
seen Richard Florian?"

You went straight to
Hatchard's fish stall.

- And Barrett would have
done that too, yeah?

So why did he lie?

Why did Peter Hatchard lie
about meeting the man, eh?

Oh, my...

We arrested the wrong man.

- I see what you mean.

- I see what you mean too.

This water's bloody freezing.

My jacket.

My phone.

Phone my home, eh?

(seagulls crying)

Get the home number.

(dramatic music)

- Hi, Cully, it's Ben Jones.

Hang on a sec.

- Cully?

Have the binmen been?

- Well, I don't know.
- No, look,

it's very important, I want--

- Mum.

Binmen, have they been?

- Tomorrow morning.

- Oh, good, look, I
want you and your mother

to sift through the rubbish.

See if you can find the rabbit, okay?

- Dad!

- I need the lead shot that
you all picked out of the meat

and placed so delicately
round the edges of your plate.

Take it down to George Bullard
and ask him if it matches up

with all the stuff we've got, okay?

I'll phone ahead and warn him.

Bye.

(phone bleeps)

Right.

You and I are going to
the local police station.

I wanna know if Martin Barrett

and Peter Hatchard ever
met in another life.

I mean, one was in Hong
Kong, the other in Taiwan.

It's not beyond the bounds.

(birds chirping)

- This is it.

(gentle instrumental music)

(birds chirping)

(intense instrumental music)

- Tom, did you forget something?

- Yes, I did.

- Ah.
(bird chirping)

Got one.

- Uh, we're, uh... We're
just about to have a drink.

Why don't you come and join us?

- Not a social call, Peter.

It's business, so no drinks, thank you.

But we'd still like to come in.

(dramatic music)
(seagulls crying)

(birds chirping)

We had to go all the way to Australia

to get what we needed, Peter.

- Long trip.

- Yes, indeed.

But even the steam-powered computer

at Fennacombe police station
got there in the end.

Martin Barrett was firmly lodged

in the Australian legal
system because when he was

in Taiwan he went to the
Australian embassy there for help.

- He was in trouble?

What kind of trouble?

- He was trafficking
people into Hong Kong.

And when the Hong Kong
police caught up with him,

they wanted to know who
his contact was on shore.

- And they found it was one of their own:

an ex-colonial police officer

by the name of Peter Hatchard, Q.P.M.

- No, Peter wouldn't do...

- Sure you won't have that drink?

- Very sure.

- You don't mind if I do?

- The reason they caught up with you,

Peter, was because Martin
Barrett told them exactly

where you were, in your
rather splendid house

in up-market Kowloon.

And in return for that information,

he only got one year for what he did,

whereas you, being an ex-policeman,

and in spite of your
exemplary record, got 25.

- Which is interesting
because, presumably,

you didn't serve it all.

- I did five.

I knew the set-up.

Who to talk to.

Who to pay.

- And you still had money
from the enterprise.

(Peter chuckles)

- Not by the time they finished with me.

- Carol, did you know anything about this?

- She knew nothing.

Carol and I met here.

I was brought up just down the road

and like all good criminals,

I returned to the scene of the crime.

- All right, Carol, I'll tell you

why I'm going to have
to arrest your husband

on a charge of murder.

We received this an hour
ago from the forensic lab.

It says, as you see,
that the mix of lead shot

in those two rabbits you
so kindly gave to my wife,

unbeknown to your husband,
is exactly the same

as the stuff which killed Martin Barrett.

See, Peter, if it hadn't
been for those rabbits,

you'd be home and dry.

- And it wasn't smart

to say you'd never seen Barrett before.

- Yes.

What a godforsaken day it was when he just

turned up out of nowhere.

10 years I'd been back in England.

Time enough, I thought,
for the past not to jump up

and bite me in the face.

(dramatic music)

I thought he'd gone back to Oz.

And there I was.

Bright, sunny day,
mopping out the lock-up.

And I heard the voice.

- [Martin] I'll have a couple
of those lovely lobsters,

please, and 30 seconds of your time?

- [Carol] Yes.

- Do you know where my friends Richard

and Margaret Florian live, by any chance?

Only I'm sure they have
a place here somewhere.

- [Carol] Richard and Margaret?

Yes, they're down by the estuary.

- And where is that?

- I knew by his manner,

that ingratiating, smarmy voice,

the Florians weren't friends of his.

Didn't know why he wanted
to get in touch with them.

Didn't know until you turned up.

- So, you went down there
and, in your own good time,

you shot him.

- But when we got close,
you planted the gun

at the Florians' cottage.

- Why, Peter?

Why,

when we've got all this,

do you have to go and spoil it?

- That's the most intelligent
question yet, Peter.

Why?

(dramatic music)

- I spent five years in Shek
Pik Prison because of him.

And as an ex-policeman

that was no picnic.

It cost me a small fortune to escape.

And when I did,

my wife had divorced me

and my children were

God knows where.

Revenge.

Pure and simple.

(dramatic music)

- [Tom] Sir John Waverley.

- Tom.

The nurse told me you saved my life.

- Oh, well, let's say we
assisted in preventing it

from ending prematurely.

There's copper speak for you.

How you doing?

- Things are better.
- Good.

- [John] What's in the bag?

- [Tom] Ah.

In the bag, John, are some
things belonging to you

and Jean, like this.

(cows mooing)

- Good Lord.

Ruby Wilmott.
- Yep.

Do you want to press charges?

- No.

- What about Hayley Simpson?

- I say: give her another chance.

- Hm.

Well, I'll see what I can do.

John, good to see you.

- [John] Good to see you, Tom.

(dramatic music)

(cows mooing)

(gentle instrumental music)

- [Tom] Wait for the word, gentlemen.

(gentle instrumental music)

- Mr. Barnaby.

- Mr. Florian.

- You've come to apologise
(chuckles) again.

- No, I thought once was enough.

(Richard chuckles)
- Then why are you here?

- To tie up a few loose
ends, Mrs. Florian.

- Well, you've, um...

You've brought an awful
lot of people with you

for a few loose ends.

- That's because we're going
to rip your house apart, sir.

- Ooh, this is really
over the top, Barnaby.

You've been through the place once.

- Oh, I don't think we have.

We poked around a bit, sir,

and, as you know, we came up with nothing.

- Hm.

- Better luck this time, though, eh?

- Thank you.

Thank you.

I wish he'd take that
smug look off his face.

- Is that smug, sir?

It looks more like a
fingers-crossed look to me.

- That's wishful thinking, lad.

Mind you, I have to say that your instinct

on this case has been much,
much better than mine.

I got Hatchard very wrong.

- For all the right reasons, though.

- Mind you, you got Waverley wrong.

- We'll call it quits.
- Hm.

So, what does your
finely-honed instinct tell you

about this situation, then, eh?

Are we flogging a dead horse?

Have they sold on whatever
they dredged up from the wreck?

Or is this something else
we have entirely wrong?

- No.

Those two are as dodgy as they come.

And you're right, sir, it is a smug look.

Oh, sheesh!

(dramatic music)
(water purling)

Tool box.

Bring it over here.

- [Policeman] Tool box,
Constable, and sharpish.

(dramatic music)
(birds chirping)

- [Ben] Let's get the grill off.

(dramatic music)
(birds chirping)

- Well, well, well.

(gentle instrumental music)