All language subtitles for Pie.in.the.Sky.S01E06.Undesirable.Elements.AMZN-Hi OFF

Quick!
Get it open!

All right!

Give us a go, then!

Come on!

Tolly, come on!

What a terrible meal.

Cold vegetables,
warm white wine.

Unbelievable.

Don´t blame me,
you were the one

who wanted to check out
the competition.

What a waste
of a night off.

Should have stayed in
and pickled those onions.

I thought we´d left a light on
in the restaurant.

We did.

Guess what.

You´ll be relieved to hear

they didn´t get the £4.75
in the till.

My knives, Margaret.

My knives are gone.

What exactly
is missing, sir?

Well, let´s see, there was
a couple of bottles of Scotch,

bottle of brandy,

a side of smoked salmon...

Oh, a truckle of
farmhouse cheddar cheese.

Sounds like they´re going to
open a sandwich bar.

And they also took my knives.

Left the Armagnac behind, I see.

What?
Oh, yes.

Not all gloom and doom, then,
is it, sir?

Would you like something
in your coffee, Sergeant?

Since you asked, sir -- cheers.

Right.

It was just the knives
they took, was it, sir?

Not the spoons or the forks
or anything?

They weren´t ordinary knives.

They were chef´s knives.

Kitchen knives.

There were eight of them --

five French, three German,

hardwood handles,
steel blades,

smallest was about
three inches long,

the longest about fourteen.

"Various."
That´s very useful, sir.

We catch any local villains
chopping veg,

we´ll have ´em bang to rights.

You might at least pretend to be
taking this seriously.

Come on, sir, you´ve been in the
job, you know what it´s like.

We´ve got a snowball in hell´s
chance of actually nicking ´em.

And even if we did catch ´em,

chances are they´re bunking off
playschool

and all we can do
is blow their noses,

give ´em a lift home.

Mmm, that´s all right,
that is.

Now, your Calvados,

correct me if I´m wrong,
is made from apples.

Now Armagnac, yeah, is a Cognac.
Morning, sir.

Morning, sir.

Who are you?

Detective Sergeant Arlott,
Middleton CID, sir.

What are you doing here?
Investigating
a reported break-in, sir.

Well, get on with it, then.

Crabbe.

A word.

It´s not enough to be
good policemen,

we have to be seen
to be good policemen.

It´s public relations,
that´s the name of the game.

Ah, yes, now, who was it said
PR was organized lying, sir?

Look at that, Crabbe.

Two junior officers from
a small-town police station.

There they are,
dedicated, uncomplaining,

bringing all their expertise
and experience

to bear on the task at hand,

no matter how trivial
it might be.

Why shouldn´t the public
be told

about men of
that caliber, Crabbe?

Why not, indeed, sir?

Public, Crabbe --
we must listen to them.

Be guided by them.

That´s why I want you
to go to Wychwold.

Want me to go
to Wychwold, sir?

Hmm -- they represent
as near as possible

the national average
in every respect --

unemployment, per capita income,
suicide rate, crime rate.

That´s why I´ve chosen it
for my research project.

Community policing
for the third millennium.

PC Cambridge will collate
all the relevant information.

I want you to go with her.

You mean you want me
to go to Wychwold

with PC Cambridge, sir?

Yeah -- talk to the people
there, listen to them.

Find out what they think
about us.

One steak and kidney pie

and one vegetable pudding --
thank you very much.

Good afternoon.

Two apple tarts.

Look, all I´m saying is,
the old bill walk in here,

sit on their fat arses,
drinking your Armagnac,

and admit there´s
nothing they can do

about thieves breaking
into the restaurant.

Yes, but I should have had

a decent lock
on that back door.

Now he´s blaming himself
for getting burgled.

Unbelievable.

Two steak and kidney, one mashed
and cabbage, one omelette --

new pot and spinach,
and one vegetable --

It really makes me angry.

Hell hath no fury

like a villain
who´s been ripped off.

Yeah, all right,
but I was a professional,

I was in it to make money.

With these kids,
it´s just mindless vandalism.

You know, those knives
that were taken --

the one with the six-inch blade,

that was the first proper knife
I ever got.

Should have seen Margaret´s face

when I told her
how much it cost.

Yeah, now
some flash little geek

is waving it around
on the streets.

Look, I´d have had to replace
them sooner or later --

nothing lasts forever, Steve.

Good day?

Not bad...

17 covers for lunch...

29 this evening.

What´s that?

That...

is a fried egg sandwich.

Hmm...

If done properly,
it´s a classic.

I´ve half a mind
to put it on the menu.

Yeah, that should get us
in all the guide books.

Oh, that´s nice --
sneering.

Well, let me tell you,
no less a person

than the great
Hilary Smallwood

once wrote a whole essay
on the delights

of a fried egg sandwich.

Hmm.

Wych...wold...

Wychwold...

What about it?

Wychwold -- what, you know,
it´s that place where

Fisher wants us to go on that
lunatic research project of his.

Wychwold...yes.

"Hilary Smallwood
lives in Wychwold

in a rural paradise
with a solid fuel cooker."

I thought the name
rang a bell.

Yes, but who is she?

Who is she?
Who is she?

Who is she -- Hilary Smallwood
is only one of

the greatest food writers --
her books are classics.

"Pie Baking
in the British Isles."

"Secret Life
of the Peppercorn."

"Out of the Frying Pan,
into the Dordogne."

Cookery books...

Oh, I wish you wouldn´t
say it like that.

Anyway, she doesn´t just write
cookery, you know --

Hilary Smallwood happens to be
a writer of fine prose.

I´ll give you a sample
at random.

All right...

Listen --

"The journey down from
the mountains

was long and arduous,

and it was almost midnight
when we arrived at the Auberge.

Undeterred, Madame,
a sinewy little woman

with ferocious black eyes,

sat us down in front of
the kitchen fire

and served a late supper.

Slabs of moist ham,

a plump omelette inlaid with
a fine tracery of herbs...

We drank tumblers of
peppery vin de pays,

and sat gazing into
the dying embers.

Oil lamps flickered
around us,

and for a moment we were
transported back in time."

Riveting, isn´t it?

Okay, so this is the brief.

Six investigations
have been selected

from Wychwold police files.

They represent
a good cross-section

of police work
in the community.

First, we interview
those members of the public

involved in the investigation.

Then we interview
the police officers

who conducted
the investigation.

When the answers are correlated,
we should have a fascinating

insight into the police
and community interface.

You´ve been working with

Assistant Chief Constable
Fisher for too long.

You´re beginning
to sound like him.

Well, I think it´s
a very exciting project...

and, if it´s published,

Mr. Fisher says I might get
a researcher´s credit.

Hmm.

Never count your chickens,
Cambridge.

Particularly where
Freddy Fisher´s concerned.

We´d better go
straight to the police station.

Chief Superintendent Richards
is expecting us.

Hmm.

Sheet 3c is the
multiple choice questionnaire.

I´m sure you´re familiar
with the format.

Yes, yes, of course --
the thing that puzzles me --

You with us, inspector?

What? Sorry.

I´m a little puzzled

by the cases you´ve selected
for your research project.

I´m afraid you´ll have to ask
PC Cambridge about that,

Chief Superintendent --
she´s the researcher,

I am just riding shotgun.

For example, top of your list,
Dilip Patel.

The coroner returned a verdict
of accidental death.

There wasn´t
a criminal investigation,

police involvement was minimal.

What can this particular case

possibly contribute
to your research?

Mr. Patel was a prominent
local businessman,

and a leading member in
the Asian community in Wychwold.

I think the fact that he had
a foot in both camps

is of interest, sir.

Well...I just hope
you don´t have

some racial angle
in this research of yours.

We have a good
working relationship

with the people of this town.

I´d like it to stay that way.

It´s not my
research project, sir,

it´s Assistant
Chief Constable Fisher´s.

If you have any queries,

I suggest you refer them
back to him.

Just so long as you understand
the delicacy of the situation.

I think I understand it
very well, sir.

That went well.

Yeah, he seemed
a bit hostile, didn´t he?

Heh --
could you blame him?

Couple of outsiders
come in,

poking their noses
into investigations

he thought were over
long ago.

Where to now?

Our first interview´s
with Fazia Patel --

Dilip Patel´s widow.

Oh, perhaps you´d like
to read the paperwork?

Oh, no, no, you just tell me
in your own words, Cambridge.

Patel was a local boy
made good.

Grew up here on
the New Orchard Estate,

got out in his teens,

went to work for
a local dress factory.

Factory was badly managed,
losing money.

Patel managed to talk a bank
into lending him enough money

to buy the factory --
turned it round in six months.

He went from strength
to strength --

shops, factories, offices --

he was one of Wychwold´s
biggest landlords.

So, naturally, he bought a house
here in Church Close --

this is where you live when
you´ve really made it

it Wychwold.

We´re looking for
Wilmington House.

we support
the instant response scheme.

Comwatch Security."

Got a bit lost,
have we, Madam?

No, actually.

Because this is a private
road, you see?

You can´t cut through.

Oh, I don´t want
to cut through.

I´m looking for
Wilmington House.

Well, you want the next
drive on the left,

where you can see
the "For sale" sign.

Thanks.

All part of
the service, Madam.

Only doing
our job, sir.

Just can´t be too
careful, these days.

Enjoy your visit
to Wychwold, sir.

I hope Mena´s playing
won´t disturb you.

We haven´t been able to afford
lessons since my husband died,

but I still make her
practice every day.

Not at all.
She plays very well.

Mrs. Patel, on behalf

of Assistant Chief
Constable Fisher,

may I thank you for agreeing
to take part in this project?

If I can be of assistance.

Dilip would´ve wanted me
to help.

He was very
public-spirited, you know.

Mrs. Patel,
before we start,

perhaps you could briefly
describe what happened

for Inspector Crabbe,
who hasn´t had time

to go through
all the paperwork.

Of course.

It was a Friday evening,
just over a year ago.

I was expecting Dilip
to be home by 8:00,

but at 10:00, there was
still no sign of him.

I wasn´t really worried,
because he´d rung earlier

to say that he was having
a drink with Gerald Hopkinson.

He lives next door.
So I phoned.

There was no answer,
but I could see a light on

in Gerald Hopkinson´s
garden shed.

He´s a keen gardener and often
spends the evenings in there.

So I thought
I would pop next door

and see if anyone was in.

Anne Hopkinson
answered the door.

She said Gerald had been
at home all evening.

While we were talking,
Gerald came in from the garden

and he said there must be
some mistake --

he hadn´t arranged to meet
Dilip that evening.

They were...very nice,
very concerned,

and I still wasn´t worried.

But by midnight,
I was worried,

so I phoned the police
and the hospital.

There was no news,
of course.

The police came round
at 4:00 in the morning.

Dilip had been found
at the Wychwold Country Club.

He wanted to buy it,
you know,

but was having trouble
raising the money.

Perhaps that´s why
he´d been drinking.

Dilip wasn´t a drinker,
you know.

He must have...

tripped and fallen
into the swimming pool.

The pool had been drained,
but...

there was still enough
rainwater in it to...

to drown him.

He must have gone to the country
club for a last look.

He had such plans
for that place --

sports facilities,
a health spa,

a restaurant.

A place for everyone
in Wychwold --

that was his dream.

Are you okay, Mum?

Yes.
Yes, I´m fine, darling.

Mrs. Patel, thank you
very much, indeed.

We´ll finish this research
another time,

if that´s all right.

But, sir --

We were supposed to
go through

the questionnaires
with her.

Cambridge,
don´t argue.

We´ve put
that poor woman

through quite enough
for one day.

Now, I´ve chickens to feed
and dinners to cook.

I assume
that´s Hopkinson.

Yes, sir.

Did you say you´ve got
the paperwork

on the Patel case
with you?

Of course,
on the back seat.

You´re not actually
going to read it, are you?

Well, how can
I help you, Cambridge,

if I don´t have all
the details at my disposal?

I can´t hear you!

I said, Fisher comes up with
a cross-section

of all the crimes committed
in Wychwold, right?

So what do we find
at the top of the list?

Robbery, rape, murder?
No.

The accidental death of
a prominent Asian businessman.

It´s not even a crime,
do you see?

And look at the list of people
we´re supposed to interview.

The poor man´s wife,
his daughter,

the security guard
who found the body.

I´m surprised Fisher
doesn´t want us

to investigate
the guard dog as well.

But Dilip Patel,
the night he died,

said he was going to have
a meeting with Gerald Hopkinson.

So?

So why aren´t we
interviewing him?

Come on, Cambridge.

Fisher wants us poking
our noses round Wychwold.

But it´s nothing to do with
this research project,

it´s something to do with
this Patel business.

And he doesn´t want anyone
to know, not even us.

If I might say so,
your attitude

to Assistant
Chief Constable Fisher

verges on
the paranoid at times.

It´s not paranoid,
Cambridge, it´s realistic.

Right, I´m off.
Goodnight, Mr. Crabbe.

Goodnight, now, John.
See you, John.

Thanks a lot.
See you tomorrow.

Oh, just leave this, Steve.
I´ll finish up in here.

Are you sure, Chef?

Yes, go on, go on.

Listen, thanks a lot
for those lunches today.

I hear it went well.

Yeah, we had a bit of panic
with the trout.

Otherwise, there was
no problem.

Now, I´ll be leaving you
alone again, tomorrow,

but I´ll be back
for dinner.

Right, Chef.

Ah, Linda, take this man
home, he´s had a long day.

Should buy me
a pint, first.

How´d you do tonight?

20 quid in tips.

Ah, score!

We´re in the wrong job.

Yeah, make that
two pints.

This place
hasn´t changed.

Yeah, it´s still
a dump.

Hey, Crabbe liked
that new tart I made.

He´s going to put it
on the menu next week.

Great.

The thing about Crabbe --
if he says he likes it,

then he really means it.

You know, the other day,
I -- oh, my God.

What?

I´ve just seen
their menu.
What about it?

Spot the odd one out --
burger, beans, chips;

jumbo sausage,
beans, and chips;

smoked salmon,
beans, and chips.

Ugh.

Linda, since when do they
serve smoked salmon

in the Lord Nelson?

Since it was thieved
from the restaurant.

Hello, stranger.
Hello, Bernard.

How are you, then,
keeping busy?

Yeah, not bad. You?
Terrible --
It´s bloody murder

in the leisure industry,
these days.

So this is a leisure
industry, is it? Nice.

Still, there´s always
opportunities, Steve,

you know what I mean?

Pop in one day when we´re quiet
and we´ll have a chat, eh?

Yeah, all right.

Don´t you bloody dare.

Why not?
It might be interesting.

He´s trouble, Steve, and I
don´t want you going near him.

We might find out where he
gets his smoked salmon from.

Sir.

Yes, Cambridge.

Where are you going?

I´m just popping next door to
have a word with the Hopkinsons.

You carry on with
Mrs. Patel.

Sir.

It´s all right, Cambridge,
they´re expecting me.

I phoned last night.

Well, go on, then, Cambridge,
get researching.

Garden looks wonderful.

Bit of a sore point,
Inspector.

My good lady wife will tell you
I spend far too much time

out there,
and not enough with her.

Nonsense, Gerald.

And that shed,
at the end there,

is that where
you were working

the night
Dilip Patel died?

Yes, I was working in there
all that evening, as I recall.

Do sit down,
Inspector.

Oh, thank you
very much, indeed.

Well, I´m here to do
a little market research

for Assistant
Chief Constable Fisher.

The usual sort of thing.

How can we get the public
to like the police?

Complete waste of time,
if you ask me.

Inspector --

I mean, if we really wanted
the public to like us,

all we´d have to do is
stop arresting them

and Breathalyzing them
and fining them

and stop throwing them
in prison.

Simple, really --
then, of course,

we´d all be out of a job,
wouldn´t we? Ha ha!

Inspector, I do know why

you and PC Cambridge are
in Wychwold.

Do you?

Of course, you´re interviewing
one of my men later today --

Justin Smedley,

the security guard
who found Dilip Patel.

Smedley is one of
my employees --

Comwatch Security
is my company, Inspector.

Ah, Comwatch, yes,
you´re the ones

who´ve taken over
the police station.

Yes, we lease
some office space there.

Training facilities,
that sort of thing.

Just one tiny thing --
Mrs. Patel said that,

on the night
her husband died,

he had a meeting with you,
but there seems to be

no reference to it
in the police report.

There´s no reference to it
because it simply isn´t true.

Oh, well,
that explains it, then.

He was a charming man

and a good neighbor,
but we didn´t have a great deal

to do with each other,
to be frank.

Oh, why was that,
exactly?

Patel was an ambitious man,
Inspector.

He´d come a long way
very quickly.

What do you mean,
all the way

from New Orchard Estate
to Church Close?

Exactly.

Perhaps it was all
a bit too quick.

It´s common knowledge
he was overextended,

there were cash flow problems,

and the banks
were losing patience.

Are you suggesting
he committed suicide

because he was in
financial difficulties?

Well, good Lord, Inspector,
I wouldn´t presume.

Good God!

"The Pickling Job,"
by Hilary Smallwood.

You know, I thought that
was out of print years ago.

She lives locally,
you know.

I know, I´ve been
trying to find her.

Well, I can give you
her address.

I do Meals on Wheels,
you see.

She´s on my run.

Meals on Wheels?

Do you mean to say

Hilary Smallwood
has Meals on Wheels?

If I can be of any further
assistance, Inspector,

just let me know.

Thank you --
tell me, what´s the story

behind these
Comwatch signs?

One of Comwatch´s many
services, Inspector.

People pay an annual
subscription

and we include their house
on a Comwatch patrol route.

It´s just an extension of
Neighborhood Watch, really.

We work closely with
the police, of course.

Of course.

They´re undermanned,
Inspector,

as I´m sure you know.

We have our problems
here in Wychwold,

mostly on
the New Orchard Estate --

drugs, joyriding --

we ease the burden
somewhat.

Prevention
rather than cure.

Hmm, I see the Patels
don´t subscribe.

Financial reasons,
I´m afraid.

As you can see,
the house is up for sale.

Ah, so the Patels

are going to be leaving
Church Close.

Well, they´ll be
much missed, I´m sure.

Inspector, please take this.

I´ve written Hilary Smallwood´s
address on a card inside.

Oh, but I couldn´t.

But you must.

Well, I´m -- but I´m
speechless. Thank you!

My wife can be
very impetuous.

Well, but, please,

you will thank her
for me, won´t you?

Ah, there´s
Cambridge for me.

Well, thank you very much,
indeed, Mr. Hopkinson.

Pleasure.

I´ve got Hilary Smallwood´s
address.

Wisteria Cottage,
Mill Lane, Wychwold.

Now, let´s stop someone
and ask where it is.

Sorry, sir, no time.
We´re already behind schedule.

Schedule?
What´s this?

"Please not a word to my
husband about the letter."

What letter?

Exactly.

You´ve got
a bloody nerve, Crabbe.

Sir.

Gerald Hopkinson is
on the Police Committee.

He´s a Justice of the Peace.

And you go barging into
his house -- his home, Crabbe,

asking a lot of
impertinent questions,

making snide insinuations.

I was just curious, sir,
because Mrs. Patel said --

Mrs. Patel? Mrs. Patel´s husband
was a chancer, a wide boy.

He left her without a bean,

and a house worth
half the mortgage.

She´ll be back
on the New Orchard Estate

before you can say
"negative equity."

You know what these people
are like.

When things start to go wrong,

they´ll blame anybody,
except themselves.

"These people," sir?

I beg your pardon,
Constable.

I was just wondering what you
meant by "these people," sir.

Shut it, Constable.

Sir.

I will not have you harassing
a man who is a personal friend

and who´s done more
for law and order in Wychwold

than anybody else.

I suppose you mean
Comwatch Security, sir.

Working with private,
reputable companies

is the way ahead, Crabbe.

And I´m pleased to say
I have the full support

of the Chief Constable.

So tell that to Assistant
Chief Constable Fisher.

Certainly, sir.

That´s all, Crabbe.

I don´t want to see you again.

Yes, sir, thank you
very much, sir.

Oh, and, sir --

What?

Um, where is Mill Lane?

Not much money
in cookery books, then?

Hilary Smallwood doesn´t write
for money, Cambridge.

Mrs. Smallwood, hello!

If you´re a social worker,
you can go away.

No, no, no, I´m not a social
worker, Mrs. Smallwood,

I´m an admirer.

I haven´t got
any money.

No, I´ve collected
all your books, you see?

I´ve got a couple
of them here.

My favorite is "Pie-Making
in the British Isles."

I make pies, do you see?

I don´t cook anymore.
I´m too old for all that.

Oh, but you must eat,
Mrs. Smallwood,

you´ve got to eat.

No, no, I can´t be
bothered with all that.

I´m very old,
you see.

Well, how would it be if I
made you one of my pies?

Do you think
you might try it?

I might.

I might not.

You´ve no idea what this
means to me, Cambridge.

You´re right, I haven´t.

Wish me luck
on this one, Alexis.

You still working?

I´m making a pie
for Hilary Smallwood.

Who?

Never mind, Margaret.

Did you pick up
any gossip on Patel?

Well, as far as I can gather,
Patel was pretty good.

He took risks,
but the right risks.

He was heavily geared up
with the banks, of course,

but, on the whole,
the business was cash-rich

and, as far as the equity
was concerned, he --

Margaret, please.

All I want to know is,
was he broke?

That´s what I´m trying
to explain.

He borrowed heavily,
but business was good.

He was able to service
his debt.

In fact, he was about
to buy a big property.

Oh, what´s it called?
Wychwold Country Club.

Really?

So it´s a spot of lunch
here with Mrs. Smallwood,

if she´ll let me in,
then I´m having a chat

with Anne Hopkinson
at 5:00.

Are you sure you
don´t want some pie?

I´m due at
the coroner´s office.

Some of us have got
work to do.

What have you got
in there?

I´ve made a veal
and ham pie

and some new potatoes.

They´re mustard
mayonnaise.

Ha! I won´t eat anything,
you know.

What do you expect?

I´m an old woman.

I can´t move
without this damn thing.

Are you going to open
the hamper or not?

Sorry.

I won´t eat anything,
mind you.

Well?

Not enough seasoning.

Add a little grated
lemon rind next time.

And try using gammon,
not bacon.

Better texture.

Otherwise, not bad.

Really?

Yes.

Now, pour me
a glass of whiskey

with an equal measure
of tap water.

Of course.
Then I´ll have to go.

Will you come back?

Do you want me to?

I don´t care
one way or the other.

Hey, Bernie, Bernie, this
smoked salmon is the business.

Yeah? I never touch
the stuff meself.

Cheers.
So where did you get it?

Pal of mine,
you know.

Do you think
he could get me some?

I could do a pie
with this stuff.

It´s a one-off, Steve,
tell you the truth.

Bloke that comes in here,
he´s got this brother,

right little nutter --

I mean, I´ll have word,
I mean, you never know.

Was I brilliant
or what?

I think we should call
the police.

Now, you are joking,
aren´t you?

You mustn´t
stay long

or my husband will know
you´ve been here.

His men
will see your car.

"Please not a word to my
husband about the letter."

What letter,
Mrs. Hopkinson?

The letter I wrote to Assistant
Chief Constable Fisher

about what happened
the night Dilip Patel died.

I know Mr. Fisher´s
wife, you see,

we do a lot of
charity work together.

And what did happen
that night?

After supper, Gerald said

he was going to work
in the garden.

He said he didn´t want
to be disturbed.

But about 9:00, there was
a phone call about work.

I didn´t know what
to do --

I knew Gerald would be
furious if I disturbed him,

and furious if I didn´t
give him the message.

I could see the lights
were on in the shed,

so I went down.

He wasn´t there.

I went back
half an hour later.

He still wasn´t there.

So Mrs. Patel phoned when
you were in the garden?

Yes, and then
she came round and,

while we were talking,
Gerald appeared.

He said he´d been
in the shed all the time.

He told a lie, you see.

That´s why I wrote
to Mr. Fisher.

Do you think we could
have a look at the shed?

Where does that gate
lead to?

There´s a path that runs
along the back

of all the houses
in Church Close.

It goes to
the Country Club.

Do you have the key?

There´s one inside the house.
Would you like me to get it?

Please.

That won´t be
necessary.

I have a key with me.

Ah! The very man
we´re looking for.

Gerald, I was just
showing Inspector --

Anne, please go back
into the house.

What are you doing
in my garden?

It´s tedious, I know,
but I wanted to know

what you were doing
the night Dilip Patel died.

Perhaps
you could tell me.

You´re the detective.
Why don´t you tell me?

Oh, all right, then, we´ll
give it a whirl, shall we?

Do you have that key?

Thank you --
now, you left the shed at,

oh, let´s say 8:30,
quarter to 9:00.

And then you let yourself
out through the gate here.

Shall we?

Earlier that evening,
a couple of

Comwatch security guards

went to see Patel
in his office.

My guess is, they told
Patel you wanted

to see him up here
at the country club.

Which, if I´ve got
my bearings right,

is on the far side
of that gate.

Members of the country club
who lived in Church Close

were allowed to use
this entrance.

So Patel was brought

to the main entrance
of the club

and he was probably
in the clubhouse,

waiting for you,

whilst you
made your way up here.

Run out of steam
already, Inspector?

What?
No, no, no, no.

I was just imagining
what it must have been like

for you,
losing all this.

Those long
summer´s evenings,

tennis parties,
croquet on the lawn,

discussing business
over pink gin

while the ladies
gossip.

But time passes,

a younger generation
comes through,

not quite so interested
in croquet and pink gin.

And suddenly, the club
starts losing money.

So you formed a consortium
of the members.

But you still couldn´t
raise enough money

to buy the club.

It must have been so
galling for you

when Dilip Patel popped up
as a potential buyer.

Patel couldn´t raise
the cash either.

I think he had.

I think that´s why
you asked him to come here.

I presume you have
a key for the house.

Of course,
you must have.

You´re in charge of
security, aren´t you?

So...this is where
you met Patel.

"Members are reminded
that swimwear

is not permitted
in the bar."

Quite right, too.

I wonder what
you talked about.

A drink, eh?
Here we are.

A decent Scotch.

Not against your
religion I hope.

Well, you know --

Cheerio.

We had some bloody
marvelous parties here,

you know,
what a crowd --

"Work hard, play hard,"

that was our motto.

We talked about the club.
What else?

I told him something of
the club´s history.

And that means Wychwold´s
history, Crabbe.

Because this is where

the people who ran
Wychwold gathered.

If you wanted anything done
in this town,

you came and talked to
the likes of Maurice Fletcher.

Doesn´t sound
very democratic.

"Democratic"?

Don´t you lecture me
on democracy!

There´s no need
to raise your voice.

Oh, yes, there is!

The people
who made it prosperous,

the people who administered
it, who policed it,

the people who made sure
the refuse was collected

and the buses ran
on time.

I told him something of
the parties and the people

and how I met my wife,
here, in this very bar.

See this chap?
Maurice Fletcher.

I beat him the men´s
singles in 1955.

He was engaged to Anne
but not for long.

I got her in the end.

So you see, I beat him
in the singles

and then I beat him
in the mixed doubles.

"All´s fair
in love and war."

I tried to explain to him
how destructive is

all this
egalitarian rubbish!

We´re not all equal,
Crabbe, we never were!

We -- we never were
and we never will be.

And then you both went
outside, did you?

What do you intend doing
with this place, anyway?

Turning it into some sort of
stinking public amenity?

Some sort of
hamburger bar,

with screaming kids
and loud music, eh?

Is that your idea of
democracy, reduce everything

to the lowest
common denominator, yeah?

Forcefeed everybody
with filth and trash!

Well, I´m not going to
let it happen.

I´m going to win.

And did you
convince him?

Him? No.
He wouldn´t listen.

He didn´t want to listen.
He ran away, out here.

A town like Wychwold
is a delicate organism.

I told him,
"A town like Wychwold..."

And every part
of that organism...

must be held in balance
and harmony!

Every part of
that organism must be

in its rightful place,
held in balance and harmony.

Destroy that balance,
you unleash chaos!

Anarchy -- Wychwold
would be engulfed...

in a tidal wave of crime
and drugs and filth!

You´re the one!

And he was the one,

he was the one
destroying the balance.

I told him,
"Get out of my club..."

Now, get out of
my club!

Get out of my street!

Aah!

I didn´t touch him.
He was drunk, he fell.

I told Masters and Lockey
to go away,

that I would look after
Patel, but --

But he --

It´s all right, Gerald.

You´ve said enough
for now.

Yes, more than enough.

Just pot luck,
I´m afraid.

You should have told me
you were coming.

What´s this?

It´s egg and bacon pie
and some salad.

Egg and bacon pie?

My God, do you realize
how many calories

there are
in something like that?

Oh, there´s probably
millions, I should guess.

You don´t have to eat it
if you don´t want to, sir.

Well, I suppose a little
can´t do any harm.

Come on, Cambridge,
tuck in.

Oh, you want something
as well, do you, Constable?

I suppose you´d better
sit down, then.

Now, then, where was I?

The letter Anne Hopkinson
wrote to you, sir.

That stuff
about her husband

might all have been
some little fantasy.

And that would have left me
looking extremely silly.

Added to which,
Chief Superintendent Richards

is a particular favorite
of the Chief Constable.

Or "was," I should say.

I had to find a way of
getting in there, somehow.

So I cooked up
this research project.

Hairy fairy nonsense,
of course.

I knew, if there were
any irregularities

in the Patel investigation,
you´d sniff them out.

Pity about Richards.

He´ll take early
retirement, of course.

Got a job with
Comwatch Security, I believe.

Oh, that´s nice.

He´ll be able to hold the fort
while Hopkinson goes to jail.

Hmm, Richards
would probably be made

Assistant Chief Constable
next year.

Chief was very keen on
his ideas about privatization.

Indeed, I share many
of them myself.

We lack judgment.

We need someone with vision
to push through

those sort of
radical changes.

Well, the field is wide open
for you, now, sir.

I hope you´re not implying
this was all some sort of

elaborate ploy on my part
to discredit a rival.

Nothing was further
from my mind, sir.

Is anything the matter,
Constable?

I´m not very hungry,
sir.

I think I´ll go
and wait in the car,

if that´s all right
with you.

Very well.

An excellent lesson
in chicken-counting, sir.

What?

Reference to a previous
conversation, sir.

Cheers.

Look after yourself,
Tully.

I´ll see you
later, man.

Hello, Tully.

Who are you?

I want a chat.

I reckon he´s a poof,
Tully.

Yeah. You fancy me
or something?

Agh! Get off me.

I´m gonna do you,
you ponce.

Go on, Tully,
cut him!

I only wanted
a chat, Tully.

So Gerald Hopkinson
began to think

he was the law
and, more than that,

he began to think he was
above the law.

That´s the danger,
you see,

when a private individual
has that much power.

Good morning.

Morning.

They inevitably use it
to further their own ends.

Henry Crabbe´s thought
for the day.

Yes, very uplifting.

You´d make
a marvelous vicar.

In a civilized society --
Present for you, Chef.

Oh.

In a civilized society,
the private citizen

cannot, must not

take the law -- ugh.

Steve.

Yeah?

Thank you.

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