All language subtitles for New.Tricks.S02E06.Eyes.Down.For.A.Full.House.WEB-DL.DDP2.0.H.264-squalor_Track03

Ok, gentlemen...

..It's a Jack. Possible
run. And it's with you.

Thirty.

I'm out.

Too good for me.

Cover the 30, raise it 50.

Your 50...

..And call.

Two pairs, Jacks and fours.

Close, but no cigar.

How's that for a hand?

Jacks and eights.

♪ Cos I'm the man who broke
the bank of monte Carlo... ♪

may I join the table? Yeah, I'm game,
as the poacher said when they shot him.

Eyes down for a
full house - we hope.

Raise 100

and another two. Too
expensive for me, gentlemen.

Obviously more solvent these days.
Let's hope it's not solvent abuse, hey?

300 to you. When the going
gets tough, the tough get...

Your 200...

And I'll raise you five.

Raise... five...

..And another five.

Raise...

..Your 500...

Plus 10 grand.

Sorry, what do the tough do(?)

Well, I'd call, but I haven't got
it on me. You good for it? Yeah.

Fine. He's calling on an iou.

Good enough for me.

Ok.

But without cash on the
table, it's you to show.

Flush. Ace high.

Full house. Fours over Jacks.

How's that for a hand?

You owe me 10 grand.

♪ It's all right, it's ok

♪ it doesn't matter
if you're old and grey

♪ it's all right, I say,
it's ok listen to what I say

♪ it's all right, doing fine

♪ doesn't really matter
if the sun don't shine

♪ it's all right, I say, it's ok

♪ we're getting to
the end of the day! ♪

Ackerman's an innocent man!

It wasn't proven, he done nothing.
They won't re-open his case.

They're scared, that's
why, because he's innocent.

It's getting ugly.

"It" being the operative word.

Ackerman's wife, I take it?

Yes, the formidable Sylvia.
Why's she protesting here?

I have no idea.

So what's it got
to do with ucos?

Ackerman's soft furnishing
factory burned down in '96.

All the evidence pointed to
Stanley torching it for the insurance.

He got ten years despite maintaining his
innocence during the trial and ever since.

He's just been refused parole after seven years
inside, so Sylvia is kicking up merry hell.

This is about legal niceties.

It's not an unsolved
case, is it? No.

But it is a public
relations nightmare.

So we have to be seen to
be doing something, asap.

Well, we're buried
at the moment.

Clearly. Is this what's meant
by "rushed off your feet"?

In here gentlemen.

So the fire started
in the factory kitchen.

Where they found the remains of
Stanley's mobile phone and car keys.

And where was Stanley?
Here's the clincher.

Ackerman said that he was having a kip in
his office between the hours of 7 and 9pm.

And the investigation team say
that the fire commenced at eight.

The business was going down the
pan. Classic insurance fraud. Gerry?

Sorry, Gerry, am I
interrupting something?

No, I'm with the
lads. Brian and Jack.

I agree with what they say.

Now Sylvia, apparently,
is a publicity "carbuncle"

who has attached herself to our door
and strickland wants her cauterised.

Cauterised? Removed. Yes.

"Red move, tangled to go."

Removed.

Anagram. I know.

Phone rings hello?

"Mother's minor altercation
with a dog." Yeah, no, hold on.

Seven letters. Mastiff.

Mastiff. Very good.

What you doing
in a place like this?

Family business. Mike employs
me to sort out various things.

Here, what were you doing
falling for a hand like that?

What was I doing playing
cards with my bookie's nephew?

Yeah ok, that's fine. Excellent.

I brought him through for you.

Gerry, good to see you. Michael.

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

Take a seat.

The last time I sat down
with you, cost me 10 grand.

Well, your blood pressure's still running a
little high. I was hoping it was indigestion.

So what I'd like to do is get you
fitted with a mobile ecg. A what?

Oh, it's nothing to
worry about Mr... Halford.

It'll check your heart rate and tell us if
you've got any irregular cardiac rhythms.

We'll also give you what we
call a lifestyle diary to fill in.

I'm good for the money. I
just don't have it right now,

and I wondered if we could work
out some sort of payment plan.

So what,

you see betting as some sort
of hire purchase agreement?

Tell you what, how about I just tear
up this iou right now, debt cleared?

Debt cleared?

When I was 14 my father Joe was robbed
after a night working walthamstow dogs.

Two guys jumped him.
They were never caught.

My dad took one punch to the
head, fell to the ground. Dead.

And they got away with 200 quid.

What's this got to do with me?
I want you to reopen the case.

I can't do that. You work on unsolved
crimes. This crime was never solved.

I don't do private work.

No-one has to know, not
even Pete. It stays in this office.

I'm sorry, I can't do it.

Well then you better cough up
10 grand. I told you, I haven't got it.

What you gonna
do, break my legs?

That's not how I work.

Are you blackmailing me?
You're a big boy, you took the bet.

I'm just offering you a
way out that helps us both.

Gerry, I'm asking you to
look into a legitimate case.

Peter says you're straight,
his word's good enough for me.

Please help me do this.

I'll have to think about it. There's
the name you should look at.

Where's Gerry?

It doesn't make sense. Stanley sets the fire, but
manages to leave his mobile phone and car keys behind?

The fire started quicker than he
bargained for and he had to run.

Yeah, I'll go along with
that. Right. Gerry, anyone?

Said he had to look something
up in criminal intelligence.

She's practically yts.

Afternoon.

Joe Jacobs. Oh, bloody hell!

Died September 15th 1983.

Ssh. What you doing
creeping around like that?

After receiving a
blow to the head.

I don't creep, I glide.

Why are you here?
Why am I here? Yeah.

That's a big, big question.

Because we're not all there?

The small answer is, she who must be
obeyed requires your presence, sharpish.

This isn't the Ackerman case.

What you doing? Oi!

You sound like Anne Robinson.
What's with all the questions?

You ask the big ones, I ask the small
ones. Just a different way of working.

Anyway, who says I'm interested?

No, no, Brian! Brian!

Ackerman, fraud.

Joe Jacobs, murder.

You're right. I'm interested.

You're obviously overwrought
after such a heavy day. Pub?

Ah... we'll see you there.

We've got a couple
of things to check on.

Yeah, cross-reference certain references,
certain anomalies in the... File.

Not Gerry's normal reaction
to the mention of a libation.

The postmortem revealed Joe Jacobs
suffered from eggshell skull syndrome.

That's where somebody has an
abnormally thin, eggshell-like skull.

So it's one unlucky punch
and goodnight Vienna?

Bad night Vienna.

A bookie carrying
money after the races?

It's a mugging
gone wrong, isn't it?

No, Pete Jacobs, Joe's bigger brother, who
you would not mess with, was also there.

And he was taking a leak.

When Michael was going through his dad's books, he
found out that Joe owed one George Morton 10 grand.

Lot of money 20 years ago.

It's a lot of money today.

George Morton was a well known face at the
time, a street bookie. And Joe's backer.

When a bookie couldn't handle a bet, he'd go to
someone like George Morton and lay it off, cover it.

He was like a
bookie's bank manager.

And Michael Jacobs reckons
George was calling in his overdraft?

Yeah, the only trouble is,

at that time George was the other side of London,
sitting at the bar of the royal windsor hotel.

What are those two up
to? Aren't you curious?

I find my curiosity is slowly
ebbing away these days.

I've come to realise that the great
mysteries of life will always elude us.

This is Gerry and Brian we're talking about here,
Jack, not black holes. What's the difference?

We're all going to the dogs.

Jack, are you all right?
What's the matter?

Walthamstow dogs.

Why weren't we invited on the little
boys' night out? Why didn't they invite me?

You I can understand, but me...

Oh, not that it's not a
gender issue, necessarily.

It's more an authority,
a rank, a status thing.

No, no, no please don't
stop, just keep digging.

Didn't Michael tell you about this? He thinks
George Morton had something to do with it.

Nothing was ever
proved. What do you think?

Well, it was over 20 years ago.
Why's he wanna drag it all up now?

Pete, his dad was murdered,
he didn't go on holiday!

Look, Joe probably did owe George
money, but so did a lot of people.

It was a mugging gone wrong.

After the races, we did the count
up, cleared the pitch, left the track.

Same routine every
night. What time?

Midnight.

When we got to the
car park it was empty.

I was only in the
loo a few seconds.

When I came out, I saw these
two guys running towards the car.

I knew something
was up, so I ran over.

Saw Joe on the floor.

I looked at his face.

His eyes was open. You
know, he was smiling.

Like he couldn't believe it,
or he thought it was a joke.

Only it wasn't.

Well, he's dead.

I see it every time
I come down here.

Every night after the last
race, I walk through them gates,

there's my brother on the floor.

Every time.

I wanna just turn the
clock back, you know, but...

Well, you can't, can ya?

No, mate.

But I can call time on this, and
find out what really happened.

Get you another cuff.

Gerry!

I won, I won!

Four races on the trot.

Four? Yeah. I just picked them
off the board, random, and I won.

You should be on the telly,
you're obviously a bleeding expert.

Ah! Got a tip for me, Gerry?

What's up? Oh, I'm sorry, did you think I was vegetating
in front of the TV with me slippers on? No Jack.

You haven't got any slippers.
So why wasn't I invited?

So what d'you think?

There's nothing there.

No witnesses, apart from Peter Jacobs, who was
in the loo anyway and didn't get a positive ID

of the robbers or the car they drove off in.
Yeah, but what about Joe Jacobs? He lost his life.

Why you pushing so
hard? This is murder.

I mean, with all due respect, this makes
Sylvia and Stanley look like come dancing.

This is a ucos case.

Can't we give it a bash?

After we've dislodged
Sylvia from our front door.

We could do both.

A bit of extra-curricular.

If his teeth come out, I'm off.

Look, I know this world.

There are people I can talk to. You
spoken to this George Morton yet?

No, without the case being officially
re-activated, we haven't got a leg to stand on.

Ok. But before I present it to strickland
I wanna hear what Morton has to say.

Right.

Do you think they know who we
are? They certainly know what we are.

Time has been remarkably
good to you George.

This is 20 years old.

I keep meaning to get myself
nicked, so you can have a new one.

Joe Jacobs. Oh, you are joking?

No, because then I'd have a
red nose and a hat with a bell on it.

Meow! What can I say?

I talked to you lot 20 years
ago, nothing came of it.

Don't you want to know
what I was up to last night?

Far more exciting.

Far more, erm...

Unusual.

What, like a bath?

Ouch!

I like it.

Deal me out, lads.

Anything? Client lists, records of race meetings
that your dad attended on the week of the robbery?

I got rid of most
of it, just kept this.

Michael, we've got absolutely
nothing to go on, so anything's a bonus.

This desk was your dad's. Right?

How d'you know? Well, the roll
top won't accommodate a computer.

And it doesn't really fit in with the
modern minimalist decor you've chosen.

So it's only real
value is sentimental.

It's a chippendale.

These desks were full of hidden compartments
containing secret documents and files.

It's empty.

Is it?

You'd be surprised
what's in here.

Yeah, I wouldn't actually.
I've had it 10 years.

But do you know it?

I suspect not.

I suspect you don't
quite realise that...

I don't know how
he does it either.

Two years ago, the
antiques roadshow.

They had the exact same desk.

"Bomber boyo."
What does that mean?

In the greyhound racing
world, a lot. Remember shergar?

Thought that was a horse?

Yeah, well bomber boyo was a dog
equivalent. Greyhound derby winner.

Kidnapped, never
seen again. Early '80s.

Yeah, bit before my time. So
you haven't seen this before?

No, never. What's this then?

It's a map.

You're being silly.

When Joe got turned over I was
sitting in the royal windsor hotel.

Doing what? Meeting a young lady. A few drinks,
a nice meal, sophisticated conversation,

and then a bloody good... George, you have a record
for violence. Abh, malicious wounding, gbh even.

You'll understand my
being a tad sceptical.

And you'll understand my record
says I'm a lot of things, but not a killer.

But we don't believe that anyone
set out to kill Joe, just Rob him.

Joe Jacobs owed me 10 grand.

Why would I Rob him for
200 quid in 50p's? It's a start.

It's chump change.

We had a business arrangement.
Earned good money together.

Killing Joe Jacobs would be
like shooting the golden goose.

There's no profit in it.

And anyway... I liked him.

Joe was a hoot.

Bomber boyo. Champion dog.

Stolen from Hudson's
kennels February 1982.

Now there was no ransom demand
and the owners were never contacted.

Most people in the dog racing game believe
he was kidnapped and put out to stud.

And that's what this is.

A stud record.

Now all the names in there are the
bitches that bomber boyo covered.

Got lucky with. After
he supposedly died.

Now with this stud record
you can trace the birth dates

of all the dogs fathered by
bomber boyo and make a packet.

I didn't know there was big money
in dog racing? Same as the nags.

Only smaller. Ok, ok.
But where's the case?

Strickland won't touch it.

What would Joe Jacobs be doing with the stud
record which'd be worth a small fortune?

Are you suggesting he was involved
in the kidnapping? It gives us a motive.

Joe Jacobs wasn't whacked for the night's
takings. It was revenge for bomber boyo.

Whatever deal Joe
had going went wrong.

Joe was to blame and got
punished for it. Who do we talk to?

Here's a list of all the London trainers that
were about at the time the dog got nicked.

Why have you
circled Emma winters?

Worked at bomber boyo's
kennels in the early '80s.

And now one of the top trainers
and breeders in the country.

Winner of five
greyhound derbies.

Excuse me, miss winters. Oh, do you have
a pen? Pardon? What you want me to sign?

Oh, no, no. I'm Gerry standing, i'm
with the metropolitan police, ucos.

Unsolved crime and
open case squad.

Sorry. Dogs don't have jockeys, so trainers
are the nearest punters get to an autograph.

Congratulations, Emma.
Thanks. What can I do for you?

Got any tips? No, no I'm sorry.

We're investigating a mugging.
Could you sign this please?

Yes, certainly. Mugging?

I was wondering if you could
give me a few tips. Excuse me.

Can we talk about this somewhere
quietly? Yeah. Sorry about that.

Sorry mate. All right?

When we were going through Joe
Jacobs's possessions, we found a book

and it had the name
bomber boyo written in it.

Now you were a kennel maid
where he was trained, weren't you?

Yeah, that was my first
job with a pro trainer. Yeah?

Oh, everybody had a
theory about bomber boyo.

Sold to a breeder in
Australia, was a big one.

Owner did it for insurance.

Joined the circus,
eaten by a whale.

The truth is, nobody knew.

No. I had a couple of
dogs, years ago. Any good?

Well, just for
fun really. But...

The times we did make it
to the winner's enclosure...

You don't forget those. No.

Look sorry, I have to go.

We're running in the next race. Sure.
Well, let me know how you're getting on.

All sounds very intriguing.

And as for the tip? Perfect
parcel. He's running in the tenth.

Perfect parcel.

Thank you.

Perfect.

I won again.

All right chaps?

Here Gerry do me a favour will
you? Take him away. He's ruining me.

Ta.

That's £300. I don't like it.

Three hundred quid,
what's not to like?!

It's the random nature of it.

There's no rhyme
nor reason to it.

It's just pure
unreconstructed chaos.

It's called luck.

This idea that the odds are some sort of guide
has no absolutely no validity whatsoever.

There's no logic, there's
no scientific process.

It's just random happenstance masquerading
as insightful deduction with an arbitrary nod

towards some laughable
concept of form and analysis.

Bollocks.

Look, what you
gonna do, give it back?

No. It's mine.

So did Peter say anything about the
book? Didn't know anything about it.

Or Joe's connection
to bomber boyo.

What about Emma winters? No joy?

Not necessarily.

Mr standing, I didn't expect
to see you again so soon.

No, well I realised there were a
couple of things I needed to ask you.

Oh, come in.

Cheers. Cheers.

Your guard dog? His bark's
a lot worse than his bite.

Couldn't do that with
a horse, could you?

Ebbmoor boy? Only
ran a couple of times.

Won nothing.

What, and you had him stuffed?

It's my first dog.
I'm sentimental. Ah!

Now printer's mate, on
the other hand... oh, right!

20 to one?

My first, and
biggest, derby winner.

Bony Earl's bits.

What's that, twelves?

Yeah.

And rainy lows.

Funny thing is she always did
come in when it rained. Oh, er...

Five to two? You've got some memory
for winners. That's cos I never backed 'em!

So what's the secret? What's
the trick with champion dogs, eh?

Tomatoes.

Tomatoes?

Seriously.

We put a tin of
tomatoes in every feed.

Cuts down on the lactic acid build-up in their
legs. They run stronger, longer and faster.

If I get another dog, you
must give me the recipe.

This is the parole board
report on Stanley Ackerman.

In his interview, he
failed on every question.

When asked if he felt remorse
for his crime, he said, "no".

When asked would he consort with known
criminals upon his release, he said, "probably".

But Stanley's been before enough parole boards
to know what to say for an early release. Yeah.

Tilbury farm. That's the place on Joe Jacob's
map. It's in a village called tackworth.

Could we please just
concentrate on the job in hand?

Well, yeah but this has got an x
on it. You know what that means?

Don't tell me,
"here be dragons."

Guv, when you find a map with an
x on it you are implicitly bound to go

to wherever that x
is and start digging.

You just... Have to!

This verges on
midnight oil, doesn't it?

Well, the sooner we get it done, the sooner
we can remove Sylvia from our front door, sir.

It is always possible that Stanley doesn't
want to be reunited with his lovely wife.

Well, let's reunite her
with something, shall we?

So, 6am start?

Which one of you
two's gonna pick me up?

So, officially, you're
no longer a copper?

No, not officially, no.

See, our job is to warm
up what we call cold cases

and then with our years of experience and
expertise, crack 'em. Which led you to me?

Yeah, the job does
have some perks.

So, what, am I some
kind of suspect?

We're looking for two
cosh-wielding gorillas.

And luckily you don't
fit the description.

I don't have to do an ID
parade then? No, I don't think so.

You don't need to check my DNA?

Yeah, but that's a very technical
and complicated procedure.

How long would it take? Me?

All day and all night.

Phone rings

oh, I'm sorry.

What?

Yeah, well hold on, hold on.

Can I...?

Where?

And when are you
gonna get there?

Ok. I'll see you there.

Tackworth? Why you going there?

We don't wanna talk shop.

Well, it's not shop
when it's just up the road.

Oh, secret?

Well, I told you mine.

Tomatoes. Well actually,
we found a map as well.

Map? Of what? Well, that's
what we're gonna go and find out.

Whoa, no, no, no. I'm driving.

Well, like I said,
it's only up the road.

God, this is unbelievable.
Oh, come on, it's not that bad.

Least it's not been concreted over
and turned into a shopping mall.

I mean, I can't believe I got up at five in the
morning to run around the bloody countryside.

You should be grateful.

Enjoy active service
while you can.

You're a long time dead.

And on that cheery note...

No. Now you see,
that's unbelievable.

You hate mornings. The
early worm catches the bird.

Ok, so that must mean
it's 28 paces from this tree.

North.

Right.

One... hang on, hang on...

What? How d'you know they're
the right size? Hey? The paces.

A pace is a pace. No, fair comment.
Could've been paced out by a midget.

Or a man on stilts.
Just get on with it!

Man on stilts?

Right. Go.

One... two, three, four, five,
six, seven, eight, nine, ten...

..24, 25, 26, 27, 28.

Right, this is it. You sure?

Yep. Ok, I'll delegate.

Bic - bird in charge.
What you playing at?

It is the artist's job to
provide work for the artisan.

Anyway, you need the
exercise, do you good.

I'll get old MacDonald
to rustle up some tea.

Me and you then, Gerry.

Come on, look lively.

Grunting

Brian, please, let's go now.

Hang on, I think
I've got something.

A bone?

Human?

All right, leave it. We'll get
pathology down. No hang on.

Brian, I said to
leave it. That's a skull.

Alas, poor doggie. Result!

Bullet-hole? Not
one of yours, is it?

You have gunned
down a few in your time.

Sandra Pullman. Jesus,
you shoot one bloody dog...

Well, it's definitely
a dog. Greyhound?

I'm a pathologist,
Gerry, not a vet.

Could be a miniature
poodle, for all I know.

The Clay in the soil
preserved the bones pretty well.

And yes, it was shot.
Shot at close range.

"Is this a new lead

"or are the boys in blue merely
barking up the wrong tree?

"Should they be
hounded out of the force

"or simply sent to the
doghouse?" Etcetera, etcetera!

Front cover and two pages on how the metropolitan
police deploy its manpower and money -

digging up a dead dog! There was a
legitimate reason for that search, sir.

What, he was the brains
behind brinks mat?!

You don't know its bomber boyo.

No, but we can find out. How?

Get his next of
kin to identify him?

All racing dogs are
registered with the ngrc.

The national geographic
research commission? No -

with the national
greyhound racing club.

They've got a serial number
tattooed behind their ear.

We haven't got any ears.

Kathy, we can get DNA
from this, can't we? Right.

The ngrc records every
racing dog in a registration book.

This ensures that the dog that's running is
the real thing and not a ringer. A ringer?

Fake. Fake.

As an owner you get one of
these with all your dog's details.

Now, using Joe's book, we can trace
all the dogs that bomber boyo sired.

Now, if we trace the
dogs, we trace the owners.

And if the DNA from bomber
boyo matches any of their dogs,

they will talk.

Yeah, that'll work...

..In theory.

We found a book. The
book had a map in it.

The map led us to the dog, which
we believe to be bomber boyo.

So in the hunt for
Joe Jacobs' killers,

we're relying on dead dogs
to help us with our enquiries?

And the Ackerman case?

We're perfectly capable of dealing
with two cases simultaneously.

Well, I wouldn't
take bets on it.

While this rag is hardly the
might of the fourth estate,

it is... Out there.

Woman shouts

right now, we can do
without the publicity.

I want you to clear up
this dog mess as quickly

and inexpensively as possible.

How did the local
press get hold of it?

Probably the farmer. Well
worth his while tipping them off.

You all right, Jack?
Yes, yes, I'm fine.

I've been going through
Stanley Ackerman's accounts.

Did you know he had a flat around
the corner from the factory? No.

One bedroom - cost him 35 grand,

which he rented out to a
Louisa ballas, for nothing.

Nothing? Quite. Now miss ballas
worked at Ackerman's factory

until about four months before the
fire when she was suddenly laid off

with a handsome pay-out,
not including the flat.

You don't get nothing for nothing. Not so much laid
off, as laid on. Was he there when the fire started?

If he was he wouldn't tell the police,
otherwise Sylvia would have killed him.

I'm gonna track down Jacobs and get this
bloody dog thing buried once and for all.

What'll you do - tail him?

If dad had anything to do with bomber
boyo, my uncle would have told me.

Why? Because he's
become like a father to me.

All families have secrets.

Yeah, I heard a rumour - the
bookies snatched bomber boyo.

The race world's full
of rumours - all rubbish.

I set great store by
rumours, mr Jacobs.

Truth's lubricant, as it were.
You're wasting your time.

You should be looking at
George Morton. We have.

Not only is his
alibi rock-solid,

it's also clear that he had
no reason to kill your father.

No, I want to know what your dad was doing with
a book and a map... Look, look, sorry, stop!

This isn't the deal
that I had with Gerry.

Deal?

Three of the dogs in Joe Jacobs'
book were registered with the ngrc.

All with the same trainer - ray Langton
- Emma winters' boss at the time.

He's let us take blood samples from
his dogs, see if they match our dog.

I've been speaking
to Michael Jacobs.

That's nice. How is he?

He's not very pleased with the work we've been doing.
Which isn't good, seeing as he's paying for it.

You've lost me. You didn't take
this case because of truth and justice.

You took it because of
your ineffable stupidity

and a gambling debt!

What do you want me to say?

I'm sorry. I got in too deep.

Strickland's already pissed
off with this case! Look if...

If he finds out why, it won't be
just a bloody dog that gets a bullet!

You're right.

And when you're right...

You're right. And you are right.

I messed up, big time.

This should be the time
when I hand my badge in,

but, as I'm not a copper any
more, the best I can do is...

My blockbusters card.

Something clicks

Hello.

Gamblers anonymous?

Just read it first before you
bin it, yeah? Sandra, Sandra...

Do you wanna
come in? Ok, thanks.

I made a bad mistake.

I still believe it was
a valid ucos case...

..But my reasons for getting
involved were... dodgy.

Thank you, Brian.
You're welcome.

I understand, as a unit,
we can't have any secrets.

It devalues the
efficiency of the team

and the validity of any
operation we seek to undertake.

Moreover... is this
gonna take much longer?

That's not exactly the
reaction I was hoping for, Jack.

It's just that I've got something
I want to get off my chest.

The doctor noticed that I got
a spot of high blood pressure.

So...

She fitted me with this.

Urgh! Blimey!

It checks on
irregular heart beat,

that sort of thing.

So, now you know.

God, Jack... Is it serious?

No, no. Just another of those little reminders,
like dentures, hearing aids, toupees,

hip replacements, bus
passes... You hate the bus.

Well, Gerry's right. We work as a
team. I thought you should know.

Yeah, well thanks, Jack.

It's all right.

Any little secrets you
wish to share with us?

Phone rings

hello? How long you
got to wear that for?

Well, 24 hours a
day for about a week.

Oh, cheers anyway.

That was Kathy in the labs.

The DNA from all the other dogs
doesn't match the dog in the field.

Book, map, dog. Haven't
got us anywhere, have they?

Ok. Well, let's go from
the top. What have we got?

Man's best friend's
aside - Michael Jacobs?

No. Doesn't know
anything about the book.

Emma winters? No, she doesn't
know anything about the book.

George Morton? Doesn't
know anything about the book.

Hold on, hold on!

The reason he doesn't
know about the book is

because we hadn't found
it when he was questioned.

No, no, no. My turn.

Joe was a bookie, but he
was also a degenerate gambler.

Shocking. Always chasing money,
having mad ideas how to get it.

Like kidnapping
bomber boyo? Yeah.

Joe had someone on the
inside working in the kennels.

Don't ask me who, I don't know.

Joe's idea was to Nick
the dog, put it out to stud,

build up a chain of dogs that only
he and a few others knew about.

He was gonna make a fortune.

The night Joe was robbed, he
was coming to meet me in the hotel.

What, to give the money back? What
money? Joe didn't have any money.

This is what he was
gonna give me that night.

I got it five years
ago. Who off?

I bought it off a bloke
who bought it off a bloke.

In any case, it's a
load of old Fanny.

Not worth the
paper it's written on.

Why didn't you mention
this before? Why should I?

I honestly thought Joe died
in a robbery, everybody did.

You're the one telling me he was
killed because of bomber boyo.

If I thought these were important
you'd have been first to know.

Was Peter Jacobs involved in
nicking the dog? Possibly. Nah.

He didn't have the
imagination for a stroke like that.

He was always Joe's
glorified chauffeur.

Right, cheers, George.

Listen, what
happened to the dog?

Lord lucan's got it.

George sniggers

Pete?

What you doing here? I went round to your
house, your wife told me you'd be here.

Two miles, twice a week.

Might even have a pop at the
marathon. Look, this bomber boyo thing.

Who was on the inside?

Joe never told me. Honest,
Gerry, it was Joe's deal.

I had nothing to do with it.

I never met her.

Her? How do you
know it was a her?

Well, him, her, what the
difference does it make?

I can think of a bloody big one!

Well, cos it's usually girls that
work in the kennels. That's...

That's why I said it.

Peter, you're gonna
have to talk to me, mate.

Look, they kept the dog
hidden away somewhere.

But it didn't work out.

Joe told me the dog died a
few weeks after they snatched it.

Hey, that's all I know.

What, you gonna Nick me for this? What, for
something your brother did? Don't be stupid.

George Morton told me that Joe
Jacobs did snatch bomber boyo

using someone
on the inside. Who?

He didn't know and
nor did Peter Jacobs.

And I phoned tilbury farm.

Now the farmer swears blind
that he didn't tip off the local rag.

So, whoever did

also sent the paper to
strickland to sabotage the case.

I messed up again.

The only other person who knew we
had the map and then went onto the dig...

Was Emma winters.

How come?

Ask a silly question.

We're pretty certain that the
dog we found was bomber boyo.

That's fantastic.
How can I help?

We'd like to take DNA
samples from your dogs

to see if they come from
bomber boyo's blood line. Ok.

I've got nothing to
hide, Gerry. Come on.

Good dog.

Are you coming? What you doing?

These names, where
do they come from?

The dogs? The owners usually.
What, you? Well, as they were mine, yes.

But don't they normally have some
connection with their mums and dads?

Not necessarily. But rainy lows,
boney l's bits, printer's mate...

I mean, they're not anything
to do with anything, are they?

Apart from ebbmoor boy.

Only that's not
ebbmoor boy, is it?

That's bomber boyo.

Brian, that is ebbmoor boy.

No. That's an anagram. Anagram?

Anagram. They're
all anagrams, Gerry.

Rainy lows - ray Wilson.

Printers mate - Martin Peters.

Boney l's bits - nobby stiles.

Ebbmoor boy - bomber
boyo. Bobby Moore.

Bobby Moore - 1966
world cup squad.

You got another dog, a ringer.

You shot it, buried it, and
said it was bomber boyo.

It's only a dog. This
isn't about bloody dogs!

This is about murder.

I think you'd better start taking
this seriously, miss winters. Yeah.

I told Joe the dog
had a gastric torsion.

It happens with greyhounds, they
have to be put down immediately.

I gave Joe the map to show where I
buried him in case he needed proof.

But he trusted me.

Probably thought a young
girl couldn't outsmart him.

But I did. So you built your whole
business on the back of bomber boyo?

Yeah. But that's all. I never had
anyone kill Joe. I didn't need to.

Did Peter Jacobs
know you were involved?

I don't know. I do know
that Joe couldn't drive,

so they were together
pretty much all the time.

Look, this could ruin me! One
good turn deserves another.

You went to the press.

Then, you sent the
paper to my boss.

I was just trying to
protect my livelihood.

Yeah...

Likewise.

Peter Jacobs was
right about one thing,

there wouldn't have been any
other witnesses around. It's empty.

Now Joe Jacobs' car
was parked over there.

So the robbers were parked here,

waiting for Joe and
Peter to come up there...

Yeah, but only Joe made
it to the car cos Peter...

Was having a
Jimmy riddle in here.

Locked.

At midnight, this
place is deserted.

Everything would be locked
up, wouldn't it, including the loos?

The toilets are locked, Brian.

They're locked. Yeah,
doesn't mean they were then.

D'you wanna bet?
He's been lying to us.

Who has?

You. You said you were in the
bog at the time of the mugging.

After midnight,
right? That's right.

Yeah, but the toilets you
said you used, aren't open.

I dunno, it was twenty years
ago! What difference does it make?

The same difference as
knowing that Joe's inside man

at the kennels was a girl!

Now come on, Pete,
what happened?

Did you just lose your temper
and give him a whack? No.

Gerry! Well, where were you
then? I told you where I was.

Nobody's saying
you meant to kill him.

Look, I never laid a finger on him. He was
my own brother, for Christ sakes. Erm...

Bookmakers pitches are handed
down from father to son, aren't they?

What some people might call
dead men's shoes. Yeah, so what?

Well, you were
the elder brother,

but your dad entrusted
the business to Joe.

You were overlooked,
weren't you, Peter?

You were passed over because your dad knew that
Joe was the one with the brains in the family.

It wasn't like that. Yeah,
you were his chauffeur.

His gopher. No, no. I'm
my own man, my own man!

Nobody's better than me! Nobody!

All right, easy,
easy. Take it easy.

What are the odds he did it?

Odds on.

Aren't you going
in? No, not yet.

He told me bomber boyo
died of some disease.

Then about a year
later... I heard whispers.

Joe had these books and he was
handing them out for the right price.

I realised Joe had
cut me out of the deal.

So you took revenge?

I never laid a finger on
him, I swear. Then who did?

Just a couple of guys
who do that type of work.

I knew Joe was gonna
meet George Morton

and give him one of the books.

I told them they could
have the cash in the bag.

All I wanted was the book.

And I saw it go down.

They hardly touched him.

I never meant for it to happen.

He should have
treated me better.

I was his brother,
his older brother.

He should have...

..He should've showed
just a little bit of respect.

Do you want me
to call you a lawyer?

No.

Call Michael.

I want to talk to Michael.

That dog's caused more aggravation
than the hound of the baskervilles.

I don't know why you're
worried, I've lost me bookie.

You should be grateful. Anyway,
you don't gamble any more.

Emma had her good
points though. Please.

Well, come on, I'm allowed one
vice, aren't I? Yeah, being wrong.

Gerry...

Oh, hello, Michael.

Look I'm sorry, it's not really
the result you wanted, is it?

Well, I'd heard plenty
of stories about my dad.

The old boys would tell me
some of the strokes that he pulled.

I thought they were funny. The
world I work in now is different.

It's not the one my old man knew.
It's not as er... colourful? Yeah.

Come on, I'll take you
to see Peter. No, no.

I just came to give you this. I
always honour an agreement.

Debt cleared.

Look, I think Peter
really needs to talk to you.

I'm not interested.

Let my husband go!
Let my Stan come home!

Let my husband go!

Stanley couldn't give an alibi because he was at
his girlfriend's flat at the time of the fire.

Which wouldn't have gone
down well with the lovely Sylvia.

If Stanley, a renowned fraudster, set the fire to claim
the insurance, then he would have an alibi set up.

Let my Stanley come home!
What d'you think, Gerry?

What? The case.

The Ackerman case?

Oh!

Now Stanley left the factory
for a bit of the other, right? Right.

But he forgot his mobile phone.

When he gets to his
girlfriend's flat he can't find it.

So he dials the number. Like
you do, when you lose your phone.

Now the fire started in the kitchen
area and he'd left the gas on.

The phone rings,
ignites the gas.

Well, it's like when
you turn on a light bulb.

When a mobile phone
rings, it can spark electricity.

That's why you
get all these notices

telling you not to use them
near petrol pumps and stuff.

So the call sparks the phone.

The spark ignites the gas.
Well, it's obvious, isn't it?

You clever boy. Well, thank...

A husband and wife
should be together for life!

Seeing how Stanley's innocent,
shall we give him a break

and not put forward Gerry's
theory, let him stop inside?

It would be the
humane thing to do.

I can't handle that
for the next two years.

♪ It's all right it's ok

♪ it doesn't really matter
if you're old and grey

♪ it's all right I say it's ok

♪ listen to what I say

♪ it's all right doing fine

♪ it doesn't really matter
if the sun don't shine

♪ it's all right I say it's ok

♪ we're getting to
the end of the day

♪ high-tech
low-tech take your pick

♪ cos you can't teach an
old dog a brand new trick

♪ I don't care what
everybody says... ♪