All language subtitles for Endeavour s09e02 Uniform.eng

MAN ON TV: 'It always
starts with a body.

'Then come the questions.

'That's where I come in.

'Jolliphant's the name.

'Detective Superintendent
Jolyon Jolliphant.

' "Jolly" for short.'

Now, you do remember you very kindly
promised to give Raph your vote

in the upcoming elections.

I mean, we will know
if he comes up short,

and if by some unhappy circumstance
he should come up short...

..there will be remonstrances...

and likely worse.

That's the slate. Yes?

Chin-chin! THEY LAUGH

'Constable Banks? Cut
along to old Ma Peggoty's

'and see if you can't sort
out these young tearaways.'

'Yes, Sarge.'

'Now... I'm sure what happened to
DCI Blaze will be on your mind.

'A good copper, gunned
down in the line of duty.'

TRAIN RUMBLES, BOTTLE CLINKS

COUGHING

'But you can rely on this.

'When it comes to one of our
own, we leave no stone unturned.'

'No, Sarge.'

'Meantime, the best
you and me can do

'is stick to our duties and do
'em to the best of our ability.'

HE YELLS

MOTORBIKE REVS

TRAIN RUMBLES

Well, well, well.

I say, you fellows.

Here's sport.

PUNCHING, MAN SCREAMS

BOYS CHEER AND LAUGH

'Every barrel has
its bad apples.

'But in my book, there are very
few creatures on this Earth

'lower than a bent copper.

'Now, I don't know what led him
down that path, but whatever it was,

'death has a way of wiping a
man's slate clean in this world.

'I can't speak as to the next.'

UPBEAT CREDIT MUSIC

Kettle on? Hm.

MAN: 'The finding
of this board

'is that the tragic
events of last December,

'which led to the
shooting of DI Thursday

'and the arrest of DS Morse,

'were due solely to
a mental breakdown

'suffered by ACC Clive Deare.

'We are also of a view
that further investigation

'into other extraneous matters

'would NOT be in the
national interest.

'To which end, all
investigative materials

'relating to Blenheim
Vale Boys' Home

'are to be sealed for 50 years.'

Morning, Morse. Good
morning, Mrs Thursday.

There's tea in the pot if
you want to go through.

Ah, no time this
morning, I'm afraid.

Fred tells me Jim Strange
has asked you to be best man

for him and Joan's...

Yes. Yes, that's right.

It'll mean a lot to him.

Well, to both of them, I'm sure.

Sam settling back in
all right? FRED: Morse.

Morning, Sir. Much in?

DS JIM STRANGE: Local beat
man found him on his rounds

not long after six.

Anything to say who he was?
Dosser, by the looks of him.

They hang out here and the
wasteland by the old Kemble Theatre.

Morning, Doctor.
Chief Inspector.

Much to go on?

Male, late 50s, early 60s,

most likely not in
the best of health,

multiple injuries, looks like
he took a serious beating.

What's with all the, uh, blood?

Someone stuck a broken
bottle in his neck.

Whether that's what did for him,
or he was already on his way out...

I'm afraid I won't be
able to express an opinion

until after the postmortem.

Shall we say two o'clock?

Doctor.

It's �20.

What's left of it. Burnt.

That's a lot of money.
Can't see him doing that.

Maybe that's what he fell
out with his mates over.

See if you can run his pals to
ground, find out what they got.

Jim, you take me
back to the station.

TRAIN RUMBLES

JAZZ MUSIC PLAYS

HE GROANS

"Fear not: for behold, I give
you good tidings of great joy."

The results are in...

Mr President.

CS BRIGHT: A vagrant?
Kicked to death...

or stabbed with a broken bottle,
according to Doctor DeBryn.

I dunno what the
world's coming to.

Most days, I barely
recognise it at all.

No, Sir.

Criminal damage... cars
smashed and stolen,

violence between gangs of young
men on Carfax in broad daylight,

wanton lawlessness.

This is Oxford!
It's not New York.

No, Sir.

Have you thought any
more about Carshall?

Yes, Sir.

I've decided to put in for it.

It'll mean a move, but... that
could be good for the family.

Joan'll be settled, and...

..I'd like to see Sam
properly back on his feet.

I'm sure.

How's he readjusting
to civilian life?

Pretty well, Sir. Thank
you. All things considered.

TIN CLANGS Hello?

I'm the police.

It's all right.

It's all right, no
need to be scared.

I'd just like to talk to you.

Devils? "In the shape of men."

The hell she mean by that? Oh,
I don't know. She was terrified.

She said they looked
like Fred Astaire,

only their faces were wrong.

Four or five of them.

That's what I'm to report
to Mr Bright, is it?

Case like that, she's
drunk from dusk till dawn,

it's hard to know
what she's seen.

Any of them have a name for
him? Hugh or Hughie, no surname.

I wouldn't put your hopes in
getting to the bottom of it.

These types blow into
town without a trace

and blow out again
just the same.

Unreliable witnesses at best.

And that's if you can
ever find 'em again.

Er, anything further on Brenda
Lewis' time at Landesman's?

There was a Missing Persons
case, in her name in '63

but closed shortly afterwards.

She worked directly for Joe
Landesman as his personal secretary.

Nothing more from Ronnie
Box, I don't suppose?

Weren't expecting anything, were
we? You never know with Box.

I wouldn't put it past him to
keep something up his sleeve

till he's worked out whether
it plays to his advantage.

Might be worth giving
him another tickle,

see if we can jog his
memory. PHONE RINGING

Thursday.

BELL CHIMES, BOYS
CHATTER AND LAUGH

Maybe we should
cool it for a bit.

"Cool it"? The police...

Aren't going to bother themselves
too much over some filthy old man.

You know, if I didn't
know better, Archie-boy...

..I'd say you were
losing your nerve.

No, no. It... It's
not like that, Raph.

I do hope not.

You got rid of it yet? No.

Not yet.

So... cause of death was
finally exsanguination.

The jagged end of the bottle
punctured his left carotid artery

and jugular vein.

Half a dozen wounds.

One hesitates to say frenzied,

but it certainly wasn't
just an unlucky blow.

When you say "finally"?

He was already in a
pretty poor state.

Ruptured spleen. A
number of cracked ribs.

Fractured humerus. Liver
laceration which...

could have proved fatal
if left unattended.

That was all from the beating?

Oh, yes. Three or four
assailants, I'd have said.

Multiple contusions
and abrasions.

I've put his bits and
pieces on the side.

Kept his wedding ring.

Must've meant something to him.

Else he'd have
pawned it long since

and chucked the
proceeds down his neck.

Kiddies.

Probably in their 30s by now.

Not much to show for a life.

We enter the world with nothing
and leave with much the same.

Kings and beggars both.

The rich man at his table...

..poor man kicked
and stabbed to death.

Where was the
beret? In the coat.

TELEPHONE RINGING

How'd it go?

Ex-soldier, as it turns out.

Limehouse Rifles. My old
unit. Much in over lunch?

Trying to work my way
through the motors

that got vandalised on
the Broad last night.

Turns out the sports
car that got pinched

belongs to the Lady
Mayoress. So...

And we've got a missing person.

Locals are short-handed, so
they've asked us to deal.

Where's this? Out Slepe way.

DOOR SQUEAKS

Afternoon, I'm, er, Detective
Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley.

Miss Baynard,
would it be? Freya.

You reported a Paul Baynard
missing, is that right?

My dad. He locked up after work,

and then went on his
bike about eight thirty.

I thought he was going to The
Wheatsheaf in the village,

about three miles. And when
did you expect him back?

Chucking out time.

Is there anyone you can think of
that he might've gone to stay with?

No.

It's just us.

What does he do?

Illustrator. Book
covers, magazines.

How has he seemed recently?

Er, hard to tell.
He doesn't say much.

Anything been troubling him?

I wouldn't have said.

Why?

You think something
bad has happened?

People disappear for many
reasons, Miss Baynard,

not all of them sinister.

Sometimes, people just
need to step away.

To be honest, we very
rarely consider someone

to be a missing person

unless they've been gone
for at least a week.

It's just the two
of you, you said?

Mum died.

When I was young.

Do you have a photograph of him?

Erm...

Ordinarily, he's
quite camera-shy...

..but he needed it as a
study for a painting, so...

Half a face do you?

Anything further
on Mickey Flood?

Nothing outside this protection
racket warrant down the Smoke.

Well, tearing a man's tongue
out and nailing it to the floor?

There's got to be more to it that.
If I might have your attention.

Reports are coming in...

..that the body of a
uniformed constable

has been discovered by
a member of the public.

I'm on my way to Division...

..but if it's foul play...

..I want whoever's behind
it on the charge sheet

inside 24 hours.

BIRDS SQUAWKING

First impressions, Doctor?

Injuries are consistent with
a fall from a great height.

Neck's broken, but whether that
was before or after he fell,

I'm afraid I can't say just yet.

What about the when of it?

Five past twelve, according to
his wristwatch. Face is smashed.

Rigor would suggest six to nine
hours or thereabouts. So...

it's about the right
window, time-wise.

Cause?

Most probably the broken neck...

..but just feeling his skull,

I'd say that's very
likely badly fractured.

Doubtless, there'll also be a
panoply of internal injuries.

The nails of his left hand,
they're quite badly torn.

So you think he clawed at
whatever window he's come through?

Strewth! Pushed, then.

Not a conclusion I'd leap
to necessarily, Sergeant.

Many set on self-slaughter
change their mind at the last.

Often, sadly, to no avail.

I found a set of car
keys in his pockets.

KEYS JANGLE

No notebook or warrant card.

Face doesn't ring a bell.

If he's out of Castle Gate,
he's well off his beat.

CM-824?

That's not a Thames
Valley number, is it?

See if you can get a steer
on that collar number.

And a statement from
whoever found him.

Have a look at that car,
see who it belongs to.

He looks familiar.

Sure I've seen him
somewhere before.

So, what do you think?

He's come in here after some
bugger up to no good, or what?

Five past midnight.

Could just as easily have
been a midnight rendezvous.

Someone he knew, then. Mm.

You and Jim finish up here.

I'll report to Mr Bright when
he gets back from Division.

Anything? Well, a couple
of cigarette butts.

Empty packet of Old Soldiers, and
the wrapper of a prophylactic.

Midnight, the stars,
and you, eh? Mm.

It's always been a
popular spot for toms.

What about this? Dumped.

It's the Lady Mayoress's motor,

nicked the night before
last off the Broad.

I was thinking, maybe he
saw whoever dumped it,

and chased 'em inside
the factory. Damage?

Can't imagine the thief'd want to
be driving it around in that state.

If it were me, I'd have dumped
it the night it was stolen.

Any keys? Could be anywhere.

I've a unit coming out to
pick it up, if you wanna wait.

Said to the old man I'd see
him back at the station.

Hello there. I'm Detective
Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley,

Miss... Hatch.

I wonder if you could tell me
which lender last borrowed this?

Just For Jolly.

It should've been returned
on the 1st of July.

Yes, of course.

In fact, I remember him.

It was, er, late opening.

He was the last one
in here. Mister...

Ah, yes, here we are.

Mr Astin. Astin?

David Astin. Six
Kent Finn novels.

I remember saying to him,
"You must be a fan, then."

Would you have an
address for him?

FAINT JAZZ MUSIC

BELL RINGS

Bye now. I say, I say, I say.

"What can I do for you, then,
sir?" he asked him knowingly.

I'm not... I'm not buying.

"You say that now, sir. But wait
till you've sampled my wares,"

said Simple Simon to the Pieman.

Laughter is the best
medicine. TOY EMITS LAUGHTER

Sorry, do you mind turning that
off? I'm on police business.

I'm Detective Sergeant
Morse. Thames Valley.

I was given this address for a
David Astin. Does he live here?

Yes.

Well, then, I'm afraid
I've got some bad news.

His body was found earlier
this morning, out by Cowley.

HE LAUGHS

Oh, brilliant. Oh, well done!

You nearly had me
there for a minute.

I'm sorry, it's not
a laughing matter.

Who put you up to it?
It's Ray, isn't it?

Ray?

My brother, in case
he didn't mention.

No, honestly, I'm here
about David Astin.

There's only one
problem with that, see.

I'm David Astin.

..going through it... Oh.

Still no word on
his collar number.

I put a call in to the Yard. But
they're turning out from all over.

Some of them have cancelled leave.
Others have refused to go home.

No stone unturned, I suppose.
Not for one of our own.

An actor? Yes, Sir.

He's in this Jolly For Short
programme on the television.

He plays a young
PC, Constable Banks.

They do most of it at
Associated Midland Studios.

Then, what's he doing here?

They film some of the
outside bits in town

and then put them into the rest
of it, so it's all one thing.

I spoke to the
people who make it.

They said he was "called"
yesterday, whatever that means,

but not used. They're
back here again today.

And this Constable Banks
is... is part of it?

Banks is the part
he's playing, Sir.

His real name is Raymond Swann.

He must've borrowed
my library card.

I probably haven't used
it since I was a kid.

A fall, you say?

Then at least it
would've been quick.

But I don't understand how...

Some sort of accident?

Did he live here? No. No,
he's got a place in Jericho.

You wouldn't have a
set of keys, would you?

Yeah. He gave me a spare,
in case of emergencies.

What car did he drive?

Little Fiat. He bought it with
the first money he made off Jolly.

"Repeats", they call it? They
pay you every time it's on.

Is it popular, this programme?

Oh, yeah. Must've been
going... five years, now.

But I think, last
time I saw him,

he said they're finishing
it after this lot.

That must've come as a
blow. How did he take it?

"An actor's life," he said.

And it was Raymond Swann,
you said. Not Astin?

It was his acting
name. For the union.

There was already a Raymond
Astin. It's one of their rules.

You can't have two actors
with the same name.

I'd like to see him.

Say my goodbyes. Yes. Course.

'Tell you the truth, Jolly, '

I don't know how much
change I've got left in me.

I'm not so young as I was.

Away with you.
You'll see me out.

I've been talking to
Marge about packing it in.

Maybe going down Minehead
way. Open a guest house.

PLANE OVERHEAD Sunset
over the bay...

Cut! Cut! Sorry, sorry!
Plane! BELL RINGS

Are you going to be doing that
pipe business over my line? Only...

CHATTER

Mike Gatwood, producer. Studio
rang to say you were coming.

I haven't divulged the news yet
to the cast and crew, but, erm,

if there's anything I can do.

Mr Swann was "called"
yesterday, I understand.

Yes, yes, he was. Er, he spent most
of the day on the minibus, though.

Why was that? Well,
it's not unusual.

He only had two lines, they were
in the last scene of the day.

So we cut one for time, and
then Ted, er, Sergeant Wilkins,

he thought the other
one was something

his character was more
likely to say, so...

And the minibus went back
where? Went back to the studio.

And who'd have been on that
with Mr Swann, the other actors?

No, no, they have private cars. Take
them back home, or to their digs.

Kenny - Superintendent Jolliphant -
he's staying in town at the moment,

because he's doing a thriller
at the Oxford Empire.

We'll need to speak to those of
the cast who were here yesterday

and anyone else who had
anything to do with him.

Oh, well, that's...
that's difficult today.

Er, but we start rehearsals
tomorrow for the next episode,

if you want to come by then.
We're in Pool Moor Hall.

It's a little church hall
that we use in Summertown.

Mike! Mike, please!

That is me being summoned.
So, erm, see you on the green!

It's a rum caper.

Sit in a bus all day
and not get used.

Wanted to do that, he could've
joined the real police.

I've got the keys to his flat and
car if you want to take a look.

No, you're all right.
Win's doing something.

Jim's family's coming over.

Well, just his gran.
That's all he's got.

She had the raising
of him, apparently.

You work with someone seven years.
Things you don't know about people.

Let me know if
you find anything.

"Play Dead."

Lovely carrots, eh, Gran?

Lovely carrots, Mrs Thursday.

Best call me Win, Jim, seeing
as we're going to be family.

No Sam tonight, then?

No, he had to go
out. Oh, did he?

Oh, we, uh, found that nicked car
belonging to the Lady Mayoress.

Morse said. He found this Kent Finn
book underneath it, apparently.

So it must've been dumped
after Swann hit the deck.

Mm.

I've put the smokes
and the fag packet

he picked up in the
factory into Forensics.

And the wrapper for the, um...

Wossname.

They were hopeful they might be
able to get some dabs off that.

Well, then.

DOOR UNLOCKING

SHOUTING, CLATTERING
I've got it.

SHE SIGHS

All right, come on.
Come here, that's it.

Here we go. Oh, do
you want me to, er...

Er, no. No, you're, you're
all right, Jim. I've got him.

You go on and... have your tea.

Come on, up you get.

That's it. That's it.

I'm all right. I tripped.

I know.

It's easily done. Up
the stairs. Come on.

You go and sleep it off.

Morse! Mrs Thursday.

Come in, he won't be a minute.

You wanna end up like that?

That's the way you're going, you
carry on the way you are. Then what?

Ah, Morse. Uh, I...

'And what put you onto it, Sir?'

As a matter of fact, it was
something Sergeant Wilkins said.

We were talking
about the tearaways

who've been troubling Ma
Peggoty recently and you said...

"The devil makes
work for idle hands."

And it was "hands"
that got me thinking...

of the Ormolu clock found at the
scene of Eduardo Sanchez's murder,

the hands forever stilled
at ten twenty eight.

Only trouble is,
the postmortem...

DOOR OPENS

Obviously, given
what's happened,

we're keen to understand Mr
Swann's recent mental state,

particularly in the days
leading up to his decease.

Is there anyone on the programme
he was particularly friends with?

Someone in the cast
or crew, perhaps?

Well, I really didn't know
him well enough to say.

So, you weren't on set the
last time he was there?

No, no, no, no, 'fraid not.

I... I popped by the day before,
just to... just to look in.

Do you remember seeing him then?

Well, I mean, there were a number
of uniformed extras at lunch.

He might've been one of them.

Oh, no, as a matter of fact,

there was a bit of a contretemps
around the catering truck.

What was that?

Well, a couple of passing
derelicts were helping themselves,

you know, stuffing their pockets
with rolls, biscuits, all sorts.

Mike knows. Mike! I was just telling
the police about the beggars,

coming along and helping
themselves to grub.

Oh, God! I mean, they're
like wasps at a picnic.

No-one begrudges anyone a bit of
food, but you've gotta watch 'em,

otherwise they're in and out of
production and in artistes' caravans

quicker than you can say knife.

I can't say that I
knew him terribly well.

I don't think we had
many scenes together.

Teddy had more to do with him.

And what about the day before last?
He was "called", but not used.

Did you see him or speak to him?

Erm... I may have over lunch
next to the chuck wagon,

but I don't know whether
anyone's mentioned,

I'm rehearsing a play for the
Oxford Empire at the moment.

Play Dead, would that be?

That's the one! It's rather a
neat little thriller, actually.

I play this writer whose young,
beautiful wife gets bumped off.

And all the way through, you
don't know whether it's me or not.

And is it you?

Ah, you'll have to come and see
to find out, won't you. Ha-ha.

No, seriously, do let me know if
you want some tickets for yourselves

or maybe just to raffle
off for charity. Or both!

We like to do our
bit for the police,

because they're always
so good for us...

You were saying...
about Raymond Swann.

Oh. Yes, well, erm,
when I'm not being used,

I'm in my caravan,
learning my lines,

because we go up next week and
I'm... I'm still on the book.

Small wonder, really, the way they
chop and change the lines on this.

It's a miracle I can keep
anything in my head at all. Ha!

I was telling Raymond only the other
day, your public are everything.

He'd been recognised, you
see. First time for all of us.

It could happen anywhere, in
the butcher's or the baker's,

just be queueing up,
like an ordinary person,

and then you hear the whispers
from members of the public

from the back of the queue...

"Is it him?" You know.

And it'll rattle down the
line like a cane fire.

Is that right? Ciggie?

Er, I won't, thank you,
sir, and nor will he.

Then one of them will pluck up
the courage to ask, "Is it you?"

And I'll say, "Who?"

And they'll say,
"Him. Off the telly."

I've told my wife to put
that on my gravestone:

Ted Pickersgill -
"Him off the telly."

Of course... none of us are in the
same league as Kenny in that regard.

And about Raymond Swann?

Nice enough lad.

Very much wanted to get ahead.

Who knows?

A word in the right ear
to the right person...

In this game, it's
never what you know.

I suppose... some are
born to starring roles

in new plays at
the Oxford Empire,

and some are born for
a kick in the teeth.

How's that?

I'm surprised nobody's told you.

I've been written out of
this little extravaganza.

We understood the programme
was coming to an end?

I'm coming to an end...

..halfway through the run.

And it's not just my post-bag.

I get more fan mail than
anyone else round here.

Except Kenny, of
course. Is that right?

People like old
Sergeant Wilkins.

He reminds them of the
way things used to be...

before the war.

Then it all went to pot.

Quite literally, in some cases.

None of them seem
to know Swann well.

Or will admit to it, at least.

You think he was trying to
mark our card with that look

he gave to DI Chance when
he mentioned the pot?

I noticed he was smoking
Old Soldiers himself.

Just like the butts you found at
Cresswell's old biscuit factory.

I'm sure he's not the only
man in Oxford smokes them.

Maybe not. But he's the
only one we've met so far

who knew Raymond Swann.

QUIET TALKING

Morse.

Nothing on him to say who
he was, before you ask.

His name is Paul
Baynard. He's an artist.

Does the covers of
those Jolliphant books.

He went missing three days ago.

That would certainly agree
with my initial findings.

Body's been immersed
about that long.

Not a bad spot to
fetch up, is it?

Laid out by Capability Brown.

That's some kind of
faith, don't you think?

All that work in
anticipation of...

something you'll never live
to see in all its glory.

Any idea yet as
to cause of death?

Won't be able to give
you a definitive answer

until after the PM. But...

there's a number of
obvious injuries.

Lacerations and
contusions in the main,

though, we've one broken arm
and a sizeable head wound.

None of which immediately
suggests drowning.

So injuries consistent with a
road traffic collision, then?

If he was riding
a motorcycle, say?

Was he riding a motorcycle?
Last time he was seen living.

Right, we'll get a team
out, get the lake dragged.

Tomorrow do you?
For the postmortem.

Yeah, of course.
Whatever you think best.

Afternoon, it's Detective Chief
Inspector Thursday, Thames Valley.

I believe someone from the
Regimental Association office

spoke to my sergeant earlier.

It's in connection with
identifying a body.

Someone who may possibly have
served with the regiment.

Thank you for the tea.

I'm very sorry to have to ask,

but we will need somebody
to identify the body.

Yes, of course. I'll do it.

Are you sure?

Look, this isn't the first parent
I've lost. I know the ropes.

The police. The postmortem.
The registrar. The undertaker.

The endless bloody forms.

What happened?

She killed herself.

HE was in no state
to do anything.

I'm sorry. That shouldn't
have fallen on you.

Was there anything else?

Actually... yes.

Do you know much
about his paintings?

Some. Like what?

Like what was his
inspiration for the images?

He liked to draw on life wherever
possible. Hence all the props.

And what about the places
that feature in the background

of some of the covers?

If a real place was featured in
the story, Dad liked to include it.

I think St Pancras Hotel
got mentioned in one.

And if the location
was fictitious?

He'd base it on somewhere
he knew or had been.

What about this
one, for example?

"Jolly Bad Business."

What's that building based on?

Well, it always seemed
to me a bit creepy.

I did ask him about
it a few times,

but it's one of the many things
I could never get out of him.

And the model? Who's she?

I don't know. They came
and went. But that one...?

Like I say, I couldn't
get him to talk about it,

and I didn't want to push...

He could be tricky.
Could he? How so?

He had an extreme personality.

He was either madly up

or so gripped by despair, he
could barely get out of bed.

Was he always like that?

He was all right when I was
a girl, at least not so bad.

I suppose he took a turn for
the worst about ten years ago.

He was drinking a lot.

Some private members'
place in town.

Don't suppose you know where?

Not sure. The
Downspout, I think.

He'd finish work,
get on his bike,

and then I might not see him for a
day or two. He'd be off on a bender.

But then something changed.

Something took hold of him.

Some sort of scare or fright.

And he was never quite
the same after that.

In what way?

He started hating the
phone ringing out of hours.

Even in hours, he
was none so keen.

He didn't like to hear footsteps
on the gravel after dark.

It was like something or
someone was after him.

What someone? Did he say?

I don't know. He
wouldn't talk about it.

I don't know if he had any
real cause to be scared,

or if it was all in
his imagination, but...

real or imagined, the past
ten years, he's been...

..I suppose haunted is the word.

GUNSHOT

BODY THUDS

You don't think about
something for long enough...

..you think you've forgotten.

MORSE SIGHS

What's all this?

The Superintendent
Jolliphant books.

I think the artist who illustrated
the covers, Paul Baynard,

was trying to say something.

Baynard? That's your
body out the lake, innit?

Yeah. It was his habit
to draw from life

anywhere that was mentioned
in the books, but, erm,

but if a place was made-up,

he would base it on
somewhere he knew.

Where does that
look like to you?

Now, I've read this book.

Nowhere described in it bears
any resemblance to Blenheim Vale.

So why'd he use it?

Well, I think he knew
something about Blenheim Vale.

About the disappearance
of Brenda Lewis,

maybe even about Peter Williams.

Williams?

I think we need to get a dog
team out there. Diggers, even.

Oh, come on!

Sir?

You think I'm going to get
the say-so from upstairs

for something like that

off the back of a bunch of
paintings used on paperback novels?

There's more than
that. Look...

..if Paul Baynard thought he
had a line on a missing person,

why go to all the trouble of
putting clues in paintings?

Why not just come
forward to the police?

Because he was afraid.

Look, in 1963, he was a
member of The Downspout Club.

Had been for years. So?

So was everyone else
involved with Blenheim Vale.

Joe Landesman. Assistant
Chief Constable Clive Deare.

If he was drinking with...

I don't care how pissed a man
gets, he's not gonna confess

to doing away with someone and
burying a body in Blenheim Vale.

Well, at the same time,
Baynard got a new model.

She's on the cover of Just For
Jolly and Jolly Bad Business,

published in '64.

Take a look at the
initials. THURSDAY SIGHS

BL.

So you think Baynard's model is
Brenda. Andrew Lewis's mother?

Well, look, there is
a similarity, look!

Brenda Lewis was working
direct for Joe Landesman

as his personal secretary.

Let's say she finds out
something she shouldn't have.

She lets slip her
suspicions to Paul Baynard.

And then, unwittingly,
or in his cups,

he mentions it at
The Downspout Club.

Maybe even to Clive Deare? He's
a high-ranking police officer.

Exit Brenda Lewis. And Baynard gets
leant on to keep his mouth shut.

But instead, he starts
alluding to what he knows

in the paintings that he makes
for these Jolliphant books.

It's JUST about
possible, I suppose.

But do you really wanna
go over all that again?

Blenheim Vale nearly did for
the pair of us last time.

We solved it. Not all of it.

We didn't get Joe Landesman.

Landesman is long gone.

And even if he
wasn't, it's history.

Somebody gave Andrew
Lewis a hot shot

and then dumped his body
at Beaumont College.

Now, that's not history.
That's last month.

And it's on our
ground. It's not mine.

Not any more.

I've applied for a transfer.

Carshall. It's a
superintendency.

I can't take you with me.
I'd like to, but I can't.

So, there it is.

I see.

Look, it's... it's not
how I wanted to tell you.

I've gotta think of Win, Joanie,
getting Sam back up on his feet.

No, of course. Of
course. I understand.

Two years, three at
most. I'm done. Out.

I can't be doing with all this
Blenheim Vale all over again.

Not now.

And nor should you.
You've gotta let it go.

I can't. Why not?

We did our bit. And then some.

Why should you risk your neck?

Cos somebody has to.

Well, let it be
some other bugger.

Just not us. Not this time.

Ooh. Oh.

What ho! What ho!

Why the long face,
Archie, old bean?

You'll put me off my stroke.

The car's been found.

We know. It was in
the p-p-p-papers.

Perhaps you should have p-parked
it more c-c-c-carefully.

And a-a-a body.

That was also in
the p-p-p-papers.

No. A-A-A different one.

THWACK OF BALL

Well, that's unfortunate.

But nothing to do
with us, officer.

Right? We all know the tune.

ALL: Nothing to do
with us, officer.

Buck up, you corks!

I feel an evening's
entertainment coming on.

CURTAINS RATTLE

So, what happened to
you the other night?

Don't you start. I've already
copped an earful off the old man.

Well, you can't blame him. Mm.

What's all this?

Oh, it's just some old
tat I found in my room.

Gonna see if there's anything
worth keeping before chucking it.

Is there? Not so far. Hm.

Feels small.

Don't you think? What does?

This house.

When we were kids, it felt...

..different, somehow.

WE were different. Yeah.

I really thought that
this was all there was.

All there was in the world.

Then you realise
it's all just lies.

What is?

Everything. School. Papers.

The telly.

Sunday Night At The
London Palladium.

Thank Your Lucky Stars.

"Join the Army. See the world."

And then you realise it's
all just about killing.

That's just the
hangover talking.

Right.

Put your boots on.

Get yourself some fresh air. Come
on, it'll make you feel better.

There's a 99 in it.

STIFLED LAUGH

FOOTSTEPS, DUCKS QUACKING

Go better with a
pint, wouldn't it?

Used to come here when
we first left London.

Sunday after tea. Ice cream,
and a feed of the ducks.

Don't suppose there'll be
much of this at Carshall.

New town?

Who am I kidding? I'm
too old for a new town.

They'll be lucky to have you.

Starting over at my time of life?
Must want my brains testing.

When're you off?
After Joan's wedding.

Well, it's the right thing.

Is it?

I've never run away
from a fight yet.

What do you mean? You're not
running away from one now.

It's like you said, you've done your
time. You've the family to think of.

It's like the war at the end.

When we knew we'd got 'em
licked, and they knew it, too.

I lost three of my lads
those last few days.

Fellas I'd been
with from the off.

Can still see
'em... young, still.

Younger than you,
younger than Sam, even.

Get through all that...

..only to catch a
packet at the finish.

Doesn't seem right, somehow.

Insult to injury.

BIRDSONG, WATER FLOWING

Was there anything from your old
regiment on our vagrant soldier?

Sellers his name
was, Hugh Sellers.

Hanging round the legion kitchen
on the cadge from time to time.

Somebody recognised
him. Family?

Looking into it. Shouldn't think
the parents are still about.

But wife? Kids, maybe?

Like to let 'em
know, if I could.

Get justice for him.

And what about Andrew Lewis?

Don't you think he
deserves justice, too?

Look, I wasn't the first person to
go nosing around The Downspout Club.

Somebody had been
there before me.

Did Andrew Lewis give you
a photograph of his mother

to help with your inquiries?

Would've been useful to have had our
noses across it before now, Ronnie.

You never asked.

He was my client, Fred,

long before he ever became
your body in Beaumont College.

And did The Downspout Club
feature in your investigation?

I heard somebody's been
following in my footsteps.

Yeah...

Joe Landesman was a
member. And others. Why?

What about Paul Baynard?
Doesn't ring a bell. Who's he?

He's an artist.

Killed this week
in a road accident.

Seems increasingly likely he has
some connection to Brenda Lewis.

Then, his death
wasn't an accident.

What've you heard, Ron?

Rumour. Whispers in the dark.

It's like trying to
catch wood smoke.

One minute, you think you've
got hold of something,

only to have it come
apart in your hands.

Big picture? Can't say.

But there's bits of
London caught up in it.

Big time.

Your old nark who
copped it up here.

Mickey Flood? What's he
to do with any of this?

Nobody's talking...

..but word is he tumbled
to some bit of villainy

connects here and there.
And that's what cost him.

And that's somehow
connected to Brenda Lewis?

Who was Mickey running
with down the Smoke, Ron?

At the time of his decease,

there was a warrant out for
him on a protection racket.

That was never Mick.

All I hear, the past few years,
he's been perched on a stool,

the landing of some
Dean Street walk-up,

minding the punters
behave themselves.

Money for jam.

And just the cushy number

for a broke-down, busted
old lag like Mickey Flood.

Hard to reconcile that
with whatever he did

to get him nailed to the
floor and his tongue cut out.

Ain't it just.

Better?

Mm, much.

SHE CHUCKLES

DUCKS QUACK

So...

Was it bad over there?

No, not really.

Boring more than anything.

We were worried sick.

So what're you gonna do with
yourself? Get pissed every day?

Just need to get away from
it all for a bit, you know.

Go somewhere, somewhere
hot, preferably.

So, you and Jim Strange.

What about me and Jim?

I dunno. I just...

never thought... you two.

Love finds you when
you least expect it.

It is love, then?

What sorta question's that?

He looks after me.

I know he'd never hurt me,
and he makes me feel safe.

My tin hat made me feel
safe, but that wasn't love.

I've seen how short
life can be, Joanie.

One moment you're there,
and then the next...

Don't waste a second on regret.

If what Flood knew has a
bearing on Brenda Lewis,

that means there's definitely
a London connection

between Blenheim Vale and what
happened to Peter Williams.

Landesman? Mm.

Except no-one's seen sight nor
sound of that bastard in six years.

I really think we need to get troops
on the ground at Blenheim Vale.

Forensics.

What d'you think you're gonna
find, after all this time?

His body.

I give the go-ahead on
that kind of operation...

..that could mean my move to
Carshall, the superintendency.

All of it.

I'm not asking you
to give the go-ahead.

You've Hugh Sellers' family
to track down, haven't you?

And what happened to Raymond
Swann to get to the bottom of.

If you're off doing that,
it's just my neck on the line.

So, who's for a drink? Not
tonight, thank you, Dickie.

I'd love to, but I promised
Anne I wouldn't be too late,

and I've got to get the last
act of Play Dead under my belt.

Are you doing a play, Kenny?

Don't think we've
heard about this (!)

Don't. He only does
it to get a rise.

TELEPHONE RINGS

Oxford two-nine-four-seven.

'Morse.'

Miss Thursday?

'I...' Is everything
all right?

'Yes.' SHE CHUCKLES

'I just...

'I was...' SHE SIGHS

'We never had that drink.'

No, erm...

No, we-we never did.

'I'm stopping by The
Eagle And Child tomorrow.

'Around six?'

Well, I'll see you there.

'Yes.'

TELEPHONE DISCONNECTS, STATIC

FIRE CRACKLES

BOTTLE SMASHES

FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING

DOOR CREAKING

GUNSHOTS

PHONE RINGS

Bright.

SIREN BLARES

Christ Almighty, what the
hell've you done, matey?

Balloon's gone up.

Morse! Morning, Sir.
Who ordered all this?

I did. On what grounds?

I believe there's
a body buried here.

What's this? A tip-off,
or...? Not exactly, Sir.

There's an artist, Paul Baynard.

I think he's left visual
clues in his paintings

as to the location
of the gravesite.

Paintings. Used also on the
cover of paperback novels.

Did you know about
this, Thursday?

Certainly, Sir.

I have orders from Division
to see this business stopped

and the excavation
closed down at once.

But they're not here...

..and I am.

I can buy you until
the end of the day.

After which, I fear we
shall all swing together.

Will that be enough?
Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.

Very well. Carry on.

You sure about this, Sir?

It's not as if they can threaten
me with dismissal, is it?

I once made a very grave mistake
that left Morse in prison,

and you fighting for your life.

I'll be damned if I'm
about to repeat it.

Well...

you've burned your bridges this
time, matey, and no mistake.

There's something
here. I know there is.

There better be. For your sake.

There better be.

BELL RINGS OUT

DISTANT PHONE RINGS

Forensics from the
Raymond Swann murder site.

No dabs on the johnny wrapper.
Bog standard on the snout.

Any luck at Blenheim
Vale? Ah, not yet.

But there's only so much
staring at the mud a man can do.

If there's something
there, they'll find it.

But there's something I wanted
to show you. It's a mask.

This piece was found
by Hugh Sellers' body.

This piece was found in the woods
by where Paul Baynard was fished up.

Same people involved
in both deaths?

Now the woman who saw
Hugh Sellers' attackers,

said their faces were "wrong".

"Like devils." The masks.

Very likely the same crowd caught up
in this gang fight on Port Meadow.

Both of these men were
killed the same night

that the Lady Mayoress' car was
stolen from the Broad, right?

It's her motor Raymond Swann's Jolly
book was under. So, they've what?

Done for Sellers, then
mowed Baynard down

on some joyride in the
country in the stolen car.

Then dumped his body in the
lake on the Shifford estate.

Next night, they've thrown
Swann off the car park?

I don't see how that follows,
unless they're maniacs.

Well, whoever they are,

none of this gets us any
closer to finding them.

It might. I think I know where
this mask may have come from.

Anywhere else local
knock those out? No.

It's my stock. No doubt.

Is this to do with
what happened to Ray?

No, it may be useful in
connection to another case.

You sold many lately?

Well, Mr Astin?

There's a fella comes in.

Regular. Young. Posh.
Student, I suppose.

He's had a bunch of 'em
off me. How many's a bunch?

Four. A while back.

Then this week, he
had another one off me

when he brought
the outfits back.

What outfits? Fancy dress.

We had words, actually.
Really, about what?

The state of the gear.

I mean, I always take a
deposit to cover wear and tear,

but these were a
write-off. In what way?

Torn. Muddy. Oil.

And a couple of the shirts
were covered in blood.

I just didn't think...
When was this?

Tuesday, was it? Yes. Tuesday.

Do you have a name for him?
No. He paid the excess in cash.

But this was in
one of the pockets.

I don't know if it's him.

"Ormsby Gore."

INDISTINCT CHATTER

LAUGHTER

Good afternoon, gentlemen.
Thames Valley Police.

Which one of you
is Mr Ormsby-Gore?

MISTER Ormsby-Gore?

THEY LAUGH

I'm afraid there's
no such person.

Might you mean LORD Ormsby-Gore?

And who might you be,
sir? Viscount Henley.

That's Lord Freddie Mulcaster. And
the Honourable Henry Brockhurst.

The Debonairs... presumably.

Who's this, Raph?

Er, police, Arch.
Nothing to worry about.

Lord Ormsby-Gore.

There are matters I must put to you
under caution at the police station.

The same goes for
the rest of you.

MULCASTER: Now, see
here, my good man.

I'm sure you're a fine,
dedicated public servant,

and all the rest of it.

I'm not your man,
good or otherwise.

I'm the Queen's man, and I'm
here to see her peace is kept.

Look, my, my father
i-i-is, is in the Cabinet,

and... and... and your Chief
Constable shoots on our estate.

The Shifford estate,
would that be?

Held by the Ormsby-Gores,

lake and grounds landscaped
by Capability Brown.

That's right. From where we
pulled the body of a motorcyclist.

MULCASTER: You can't imagine
this is going to go well for you?

Sir.

All right, let's be having 'em.

Get your hands off
me! Get off me!

Nobody says anything
without a lawyer! Archie?

You keep your mouth shut. You
hear me? They've got nothing.

They're refusing to talk until
their solicitors are present.

And they're coming up from London,
so it could be a long wait.

Well, it won't
surprise you to learn

I've already had the Chief
Constable on the telephone.

You're certain about these
boys? It doesn't look good, Sir.

We can very likely place them
at all three scenes of crime.

We've bits of mask they bought

found at the scene of
Hugh Sellers' murder

and also where Paul
Baynard's body was dumped.

And the car was found
at the same factory

that Raymond Swann
took a dive off.

KNOCK ON DOOR

Sorry to interrupt, Sir,

but there's been a
development at Blenheim Vale.

You'd better get out there.

Me and Jim can deal
with these tripe hounds.

BELL RINGS

Doctor? Morse. It's a man.

From the state of the corpus,

I'd estimate he's been
here five to ten years.

Single hole in the back of
the cranium. No exit wound.

And we may have a bullet,
or what's left of it,

still left inside the skull.

You know, you were right, Morse.

You said we'd find
remains here and we did.

They can't close it down.

Not now there's a body.

There's somewhere I need to
be. Oh, your, um, motorcyclist.

I was wrong.

He was still alive when
they put him in the water.

Drowned.

Look, I really don't have
anything to say to you people.

Beneath you, are
we? Pretty much.

A man should know his place...

..don't you think?

I think over-privileged,
entitled, arrogant young men

who run around hurting
innocent people

and never believe they're gonna
have to answer for any of it

can always be relied on to turn on
each another like rats in a sack.

They'll give me you...

..or you'll give me them.

But the longer you leave
it, the worse it'll get.

'Who set fire to the �20 note?'

Money to burn, that the joke?

People with everything,
taunting a man who has nothing.

Who stuck him? Who
killed Hugh Sellers?

Nobody.

He didn't bleed to death
of his own account, did he?

One of you broke a bottle and
stabbed him in the neck with it.

No. You went out with
the sole intention

of doing someone serious harm.

For kicks, was it?

Look, the old man may have
been pushed around a bit,

but he was alive and
well when we left.

I swear.

BOTTLES CLINK IN DISTANCE

SHE SIGHS

SIREN BLARES

CAR DOORS SHUT

Evening. What's the trouble?

"Officer." Sorry?

"What's the trouble, officer?" Good
manners don't cost nothing, do they?

Bit of respect...
for the uniform.

I'm "Job." And I'm
in a bit of a hurry.

Oh, that's funny.

Cos I've got all the
time in the world.

Licence and insurance documents.

Come on, come on.
Let's be having you.

You're in a hurry, aren't you?

I don't keep them in the
car. Why've you stopped me?

You have a, er...
defective brake light.

Well, it was all right
this morning. SMASHING

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

There's no call for
profanity. Or belligerence.

Wait a minute. Have
you been drinking?

I can smell it on your
breath. No, you can't.

And your aggressive
demeanour leads me to believe

your ability to
drive may be impaired

through the consumption
of alcohol. Adams!

Is this a joke?

Are you refusing to comply
with the instruction?

One long, steady blow.

That's it. See?

Doing what you're told's
not so hard, is it?

You want to get used to it.
Better for you in the long run.

Better for everybody.

It's Stevens, isn't it? From
County? Before the merger.

Well.

What a memory you've
got. Yeah. It's Morse.

From Cowley. I've just come
from Blenheim Vale. Oh, we know.

You're not Traffic at all,
are you? What is this?

THUD

This?

This is as polite as it gets.

We'll be seeing you... city man.

HE LAUGHS

EXHALES SHARPLY

GLASSES CLINK

Excuse me, was there a
brunette here, blue eyes?

Yeah. She left about
40 minutes ago.

Have you got a phone I can
use? Yeah, it's on the bar.

LAUGHTER IN DISTANCE

Did you up, did she? Pretty
little thing. Brunette.

Baby blues. That the frail?

Oh, is there any word on what
happened to poor old Ray yet?

Er, no. No, not yet.

I've just been doing a
bit of press. Oxford Mail.

Little piece they're doing.
"Farewell, My Jolly."

Oh, anyway... can't stop. Got to
get up to town for an audition.

Cowardy Custard at
The Mermaid. HE SCOFFS

Evening, Morse. You with Jim?
Joan Thursday was in earlier.

Drink?

Who was driving?

Brockhurst.

ENGINE REVS, LAUGHTER

'It wasn't his fault.'

WHOOPING, YELLING

'The guy on the bike
didn't have his light on.'

THUD, SMASHING

Whose idea was it to dump the body
on the Shifford estate? Archie's.

His family's away for a couple
of months. We thought by then...

All the fuss would've died down,

and you could find a more
permanent location for the body.

Look, this is all conjecture.

If you had anything like
evidence, you'd charge me.

We've got pieces of one of
your masks found at Littlemore,

that's something, I suppose.

And I don't care how
careful you were,

Forensics'll find your fingerprints
all over the car. And the motorbike.

Why'd you do for Swann?

D'you think he
was a real copper?

Who's... Who's Swann?

Where you left the car.

Wait a minute. All-All-All
I did was-was dump the car.

Sure, I-I-I saw the
guy off the television.

But he was leaving
when I arrived.

I've just come from seeing Kenneth
- sorry, "Call me Kenny" - Prior

at the Oxford Empire.

Did Ted Pickersgill this morning
- Sgt Wilkins - this morning.

And just finished now with
young Narcissus. DI Chance.

Thought he was gonna make a move
on Joan, but thankfully she left.

Not long before you
arrived, actually.

What do you make
to them? Actors.

Pickersgill's a grumpy sod.

But I suppose it's Jolliphant
makes it. Avuncular, that voice.

You'd never know he was
from "oop North", would you?

Who is, Kenneth Prior? That's
the RADA for you, dear.

Marvellous what they can do
with "electrocution" lessons.

Do you want a programme?
He signed it. I've no use.

And it's not Kenneth
Prior. Least, it wasn't.

There was already another actor
in the union with the same name.

What, he changed it?
Like Raymond Swann?

Yeah.

He could've changed
his first name, but...

maybe he didn't want to
be confused with Peter.

Peter who? Sellers.

Hugh Sellers was
your older brother.

I don't suppose I'd seen
him since before the war.

He tracked you down. No, no,
it wasn't like that. Just...

..The Convergence Of The Twain.

He came along to the set

along with all the rest of
his tatterdemalion crowd,

scavenging the bins,
helping themselves.

ANGRY CHATTER

I was hoping that he wouldn't
recognise me, but... of course...

What did he want?

I don't know. I
don't think he knew.

Money... in the first instance.

How much? �100.

But I... I knew that
wouldn't be the end of it.

But it wasn't even the
money. It was the risk.

The risk?

Of it coming out.
That we were... erm...

can you imagine if the
press had got hold of it,

the field day they
would have had?

"The... The...

"brother of television's
Superintendent Jolliphant

"is a tramp!"

I had to think of the show.

The show was ending.

You were thinking of yourself.

You arranged a meeting?

Yes. I said that we could meet
and I would give him the money

on the strict understanding that he
didn't come to the set to get it.

I had the money on me. I
wasn't going there to...

But when I saw him,
he was already...

Well, you could have called
an ambulance, even then.

You could have saved him.

He'd always been...
a bit of a...

..a weight.

So you found a way
to be rid of him.

And you took it.

And what about Swann?

He'd seen us together,
earlier that day.

I'm not quite sure that he
realised exactly what he'd seen.

But he knew instinctively...

that it was something that
could be used to his advantage.

So he tried to blackmail you?

He said that he'd read in the papers
that a tramp had been found dead.

And, "Wasn't that
a coincidence?"

given the commotion that
we'd had over lunch.

And did I think that he should
mention it to the police

that they'd been there.

Well, I said I couldn't
discuss it there and then,

but if he cared to go to the
factory where I parked up

after rehearsals for
the play, then we...

..we could talk about it then.

YELLING

HE EXHALES HEAVILY

BREATHES HEAVILY

I wondered... if
I'd been recognised.

That's the thing about being
on the television, you see.

They may not know
your name, but...

..people always know your face.

THURSDAY: Charlie and I
had our problems, but...

to be that ashamed of
your own flesh and blood.

He was afraid, I suppose.

That he'd lose all
that he'd built up

if his name was
associated with a tramp.

But murder?

Who's to say what anyone would do,
if what they value was threatened?

KNOCK AT DOOR

Word just through from Blenheim
Vale. They've found another one.

Adult female. Somewhere
between her late 20s and 50.

Most likely mid-30s.

And, like the male, shot
in the back of the head.

Brenda Lewis. I'll need
dental records to confirm.

However, I do have a match
with the man we found.

It's Josiah Landesman.

What went on here?

Whatever it was, this time
we get to the bottom of it.

And Division? Can't
bury it twice.

We'll have the truth...

..whatever the cost.

I thought we were done
with all this. Jesus!

You have to get
him away from this.

I had a run-in yesterday
with the dregs from County.

Whatever we find here's
not gonna be forgiven.

Stick him on secondment somewhere.
You know Jim. He's a good man.

He won't go. Well,
give him no choice.

It's not just him you have
to think about, not any more.

What was it you said, "They come
at you through what you love"?

You have to keep them
safe now. All of them.

CAR DOOR SHUTS

KNOCK ON DOOR

PHONE RINGS

RONNIE: 'It's me.'
I gathered as much.

'I had a visitor after
you and Morse left.

'Looks like the two of you have
being asking the wrong questions.'

Where are you, Ronnie? Gone.

'Come in.'

With your help, we
can take this lot,

'whoever they are.' Not these.

This isn't Jago and the Four
Winds. This is big time.

'You take this on, you
won't come out of it.

'You, nor Morse, neither.

'Drop it.' I can't.

Then I'm talking to a dead man.

TANNOY: 'Final call for Union
Air Flight 714 to Johannesburg.'

I've gotta go.

'Don't join the
dots on this one.'

You won't like the picture.

DOORBELL RINGS

Wotcha.

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