Original subtitles

# SUMMERTIME

COMMENTATOR: They're off! All The Girls slowly away,

Serious Harry breaks very fast

from TM and Hinari Video in the early stages.

Then Calara, good position, wide from Last Straw...

# Don't know why

# There's no sun up in the sky

# Stormy weather...

'..TM, helping to force the pace...'

# Since my man and I Ain't together...

# It's raining all the time... #

'Serious Harry just grabs the lead on the outside of TM.

Further back comes Comic Whirlpool, Calara, on the outside Last Straw

bursts through on the far side. Yes!

Three and a half to go. Come on!

Comic Whirlpool and Last Straw are the nearest challengers.

It's Serious Harry as they race inside the final furlong

from Comic Whirlpool... Come on, baby!

Serious Harry is holding it as they come to the line.

Serious Harry wins it! Comic Whirlpool second,

then came Last Straw third, and Palace Gate Gold for fourth.

Come on!

We're late.

OK, everyone...

..Dr Fitzgerald is now ready to give us his lecture.

Spinoza.

Descartes.

Hobbes.

Locke.

Freud.

Adler.

Jung.

Mayer.

Sullivan.

Torrey.

Pavlov.

End of lecture.

STUDENTS MUTTER

Moral.

What's the moral?

The bride in white... sees herself as the widow in black.

She's only just married him,

but she's planning for the day she'll bury him.

And she'll be centre stage once more.

I rehearsed the death of my father for years.

I even got a little bored.

I knew all my lines, but he was still alive.

And I never got my opening night.

So go and lock yourself away in a room for a couple of days,

and study what is here. (THUMPS HEART)

The things that you really feel,

not all that crap that you're supposed to feel.

And when you've studied,

when you've shed a little light on the dark recesses of your soul,

that is the time to pick up a book.

Here's the cavalry.

Afternoon, sir.

Can you tell me what's going on, please?

BARRAGE OF QUESTIONS

Sorry about the delay, ladies and gentlemen.

We'll be moving again as soon as possible.

Moving again as soon as possible, ladies and gentlemen.

One second, pal, honestly. All right.

Hello, boss. All right, Jimmy? Is it Sweeney?

Looks like it.

Scene of Crime not here? On his way.

Path as well.

George Wild, the guard. He found her.

Detective Chief Inspector Bilborough. We'll need your shoes.

Did you touch anything in here? No.

Statements from everyone on board. Reason for journey,

names and addresses, proof of identity. Right.

Seating plan of every compartment, who sat where,

who got off, who got on, where they got off, where they got on. Right.

Ladies and gentlemen, I'm Detective Chief Inspector Bilborough.

There's been a serious incident on this train.

Your cooperation and your patience would be appreciated.

Thank you.

And how did you pay for your ticket? Why do you need to know that?

Just routine, sir.

Was it Sweeney?

Dark brown pubic hair.

She wasn't a natural redhead.

Was it Sweeney?

Throat cut, pubic hair shaven - all his trademarks.

This is a classic.

He had her facing this wall.

Can you get one in relation to the window?

Do you see the blood pattern? High up, then sloping down.

Right, she's up against this wall.

The blood pressure's sky high, she's fighting for her life.

The blade pierces the carotid artery.

For a split second, it's a tiny hole in a high-pressure pipe,

so the force is amazing. Take a look at this.

See, there's the blood at its highest point.

Then the cut gets bigger.

The pressure drops, she drops, and then what's left in her,

- six pints of blood, say - bubbles out onto the floor

till the heart stops pumping.

It's an absolute bloody classic.

Can you get one of me pointing to it? I'll just do this.

Er... Something for the album.

CAMERA LENS CLICKS

120. It'll have to go through Finance.

Oh, come on, I can do with it now in readies!

It can't be done.

It wasn't quite what I was expecting.

Yeah, well, you know.

A little controversy, a little phoney passion - they lap it up.

Cheers. I really enjoyed it. All right, ta.

Bastard!

Oh, shit!

I'd prefer you not to smoke. Tough.

It's scientifically proven that I inhale 20% of everything you smoke.

You get it for nothing, though.

Do you mind?

I'm not getting cancer off you, right?

Do we know who she was? Not yet, sir.

POP MUSIC PLAYS

TELEVISION IS ON

Where's your mum? Eh?

Where's your mum? Out.

Where? What?

(SIGHS) Have you got any money? What?

I'll put my foot through that. Have you any money?

No.

Katie!

In here, Dad!

POP MUSIC PLAYS

Have you any money? No.

I suppose you're expecting a tip. Yeah.

Lift your dahlias in the autumn.

POP MUSIC CONTINUES PLAYING

Have you been at this? No.

You're lying. I haven't touched it.

CORONATION STREET THEME ON TV

Hello?

We're going out. I know.

Sober. No choice.

# Summertime

# And the livin' is easy... #

POLICE RADIO: 'Inspector Bilborough,

can you give us your ETA at the Appleby residence?'

Yeah, we're arriving there now. Over.

Will you take the mother?

Yes.

You're good at that kind of thing.

I've had plenty of practice.

Mrs Appleby?

# So hush, little baby

# Don't you cry

# One of these mornings

# You're gonna rise up singing... #

Er... I'll have the lemon sole.

Would you like anything else to drink?

Yeah, please. Get me a double Scotch. Fitz.

Yes, dear. And a couple of bottles of house white.

Is that all right with you? Jo? Fine.

So, a double Scotch, two bottles of house white.

Would you like anything to start? Um... Another ashtray, please.

# But till that morning

# There's a-nothing Can harm you... #

Could you just check that they are your daughter's?

# Standing by. #

Oh...

Oh, Jacqui.

Oh, Jacqui. What happened to you, love?

Oh, there.

(We'll bring you home soon, won't we? Then you can go to sleep.)

Then you can go to sleep. (TEARFULLY) Oh, Jacqui.

Oh...

(TEARFULLY) There.

There. We're here now, love.

What were you doing?

Oh...

Go on, then, how much do you pay her? It's none of our business.

£2? £2.50 an hour? How much? What do you pay?

We don't have a child minder. No, but when you did use them,

what did you pay? It was completely different.

A pound an hour. A pound an hour!

Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!

Yeah, well, I mean, I don't spout about exploitation.

I don't spout about equal opportunities...

Come on! ..and feminism, and all that bullshit.

Let's talk about the weather.

It's complete, unadulterated bullshit.

You're paying some poor, downtrodden cow £2 an hour

to look after your child. That's enough, Fitz.

Your child, which means most to you in the whole world,

£2 an hour. And you've got a cleaner. We'll talk again when you're sober.

You've got a cleaner. That black woman that cleans the house.

Ideally, she should be a Filipino.

But she's black, so that's OK.

Drop it. I will not drop it.

Am I right? Yeah!

So how much do you pay her? The going rate.

£2.50? £3!

£3 an hour?!

She could make more than that in sodding South Africa!

No, she wouldn't!

So you pay this woman £3 an hour

to clean your house so you can go out

and teach Women's Studies for 20 quid an hour.

Do you not think that's just a teeny wee bit hypocritical?

Cos you're up on the podium talking about

equality and freedom and feminism,

and she's at home with her arm halfway down your lavatory!

I think what we have here is a failure to communicate.

I'll pay that by cheque.

I'm sorry, sir, but we only take cheques up to £50.

I'm not used to being treated like this.

If you've got problems with your technology, fair enough,

it happens all the time, but they're not my problems.

I'm sorry, sir. I'll pay by cheque, right?

And what I'll do is I'll sign the back and put my address on it.

I'm sorry, sir.

Use this. Thank you, sir.

They're having some problems with their computer.

# Every time

# We say... #

How bad this time?

Over the limit on both cards.

Two grand overdrawn at the bank.

Nothing else? No.

I raised five grand on the mortgage.

Told them it was for a new bathroom.

I forged your signature.

MUSIC PLAYS

Mark. What?

I want to talk to you. I'm busy.

I want to talk to you!

Get your things packed. What? Take no notice.

Get packed, we're going to your nan's.

It won't happen again. I mean it this time. I mean it!

# GEORGE GERSHWIN: Summertime

Why not a normal addiction, Fitz?

Heroin or cocaine?

Do too much and your dead.

Why pick something so bloody limitless?

Bye. Bye.

ENGINE STARTS

DOG BARKS

Oh, God.

What are you doing up at this time? You wet the bed again?

Got to sign on, haven't I?

'Finally, the custodians of the cottage where the romantic poet

'William Wordsworth once lived with his sister

'say they're having to restrict the number of visitors to the site.'

RADIO STATION IDENT MUSIC

Did the paper come yet? In the bog.

What? In the bog.

(SOBS)

(TEARFULLY) Oh, God.

SOBBING

Are you all right?

TANNOY: 'The Huddersfield train has just arrived at platform 7.

'We apologise for the delay

'and inconvenience we've caused to travellers. Thank you.'

There are certain similarities... They're bloody identical.

This is your first homicide. Second.

First, apart from a domestic.

This is my twelfth. You do not use words like "identical."

OK? OK.

Right, we'll do it over here.

Gather round, everybody. Hello. Hello. Hello.

Sorry to keep you waiting, ladies and gentlemen.

In a moment, Miss Parsons here will take you to the scene of the search

and you can get some pictures.

For now, I can tell you that there are certain similarities

between the murder of Jacqui Appleby...

..and the recent murder of Patricia Garth

at Oxenholme railway station.

My officers are working on the assumption

that these two crimes are linked.

Our first priority is to trace everyone

who got on or off the train

between Sheffield and Manchester Victoria.

PLAYFUL CHATTER

No, I'm not. Yes, you are.

Max!

Max!

Max!

That's dead boring.

DOG WHIMPERS

Max! Where are you?

The dog found the body and you... Is he gonna die?

You'll be all right, sir.

You'll be all right.

SHOUTING OVER SOUND OF CHOPPER Jumped from the train!

Smashed himself up!

You can tell where he landed!

Dragged himself as far as he could, blacked out.

Would you jump from a moving train?

If I'd killed someone.

Blood on his clothes, blood on the soles of his shoes,

scratches.

Keep the lads at it. I want the murder weapon.

We're taking you to hospital.

Doctor? Policeman.

Thank you.

I'm sorry to trouble you. Yes?

My name's Fitz.

I knew Jacqui. She was a lovely girl, I'm really sorry.

Thank you. Look, I'm a psychologist.

That's how I knew her. She was a student of mine.

I want to help. I'm good. And I'll catch him for you.

The police are coping, thanks all the same.

But if ever you need me, really.

Thank you. Thank you.

Thank you!

Amnesia? Yeah.

Jacqui was blood group B.

That's what they found on his clothes.

Checked the door - his fingerprints all over it.

Four descriptions of a man going in and out of the carriage -

he fits them all. Murder weapon?

Not yet, no. Jesus!

25 miles of track, boss.

It may take some time.

Through here.

Dr Turner, Dr Chung, Detective Sergeant Beck.

Hello. How do you do?

Well, you'd better come through.

I'm Detective Chief Inspector Bilborough,

this is Detective Sergeant Beck.

Hello.

Could you tell us your name, please?

There was a girl killed on the train.

You remember that?

I've heard them all talking. They think I did it.

Did you?

(SIGHS)

I don't know.

You were in her compartment. Your clothes were covered in her blood.

I'm a manual worker, some kind of manual worker.

Yeah.

We're also investigating the murder of Patricia Garth

at Oxenholme railway station about five weeks ago. Do you remember it?

Twice?

I've done it twice?

Possibly.

How long are you gonna keep him?

He could go on feigning amnesia till the cows come home.

We don't know that he's feigning it. Of course he's feigning it!

You've done test after test

and there's no physical reason whatsoever.

None that we've found.

There are emotional and psychological factors

to take into consideration.

He's murdered two young women -

they're emotional and psychological factors. I understand them totally.

Can I ask a question?

Suppose he was just refusing to speak. Would you keep him in then?

No. That's exactly what he's doing.

That man should be in a police station, not a hospital bed.

We'll try Pentothal.

Do you remember being on the train?

No.

Do you remember where you were going?

No.

Just the noise and the lift of the helicopter.

Then someone spoke to me.

A policeman? Yeah.

Then the hospital.

You don't remember the train? No.

Nothing at all?

A sound, a noise - anything at all?

My being like this is annoying you, I know.

But it's destroying me.

Prove to me I did this and I...

I promise I'll confess.

I'll sign anything you want.

I get on the phone, they say "Who is it?"

I say "It's only me. It's only Peter."

They get on to me, they say "It's Charlie."

"It's George." "It's Fred."

It's not "only Charlie", "only George", "only Fred."

There's a big fanfare of trumpets with them.

With me, it's always "It's only me."

Do you understand the point I'm making?

Yeah. "Only me."

Massive inferiority.

Low self-esteem.

No, it's not LOW self-esteem, it's sub-bloody-terranean self-esteem.

A woman fancies me.

I say: my God, what kind of woman is this that fancies me?

Where's her wooden leg?

A woman marries me - well...

..she must be, I don't know, from outer space.

She must be a Martian or something.

The police have found someone,

but he claims he has amnesia.

What tests have they run? I don't really know.

How would you go about it?

There was no skull damage, right? No.

Well, I'd have to establish that it wasn't organic.

I'd run a liver function test.

The chief cause of amnesia in murder is alcohol.

Then I'd run a blood sugar test for hypoglycaemia.

Then there's schizophrenia and epilepsy,

so I'd need an electroencephalogram.

I don't know, I'd need to see her.

But if it was none of them?

Well, if there's no brain damage and no organic reasons,

and he's claiming complete amnesia,

I would say he's having us on.

Ann would like you to get involved.

I thought the police were coping.

I want to grieve for my daughter.

I can't because he's standing between us.

He's in the way.

And I want him out of the way.

Forgotten.

I want to be able to grieve.

Sorry to bother you, sir.

I'm DS Penhaligon of Anson Road police station.

I understand you travel regularly on the Manchester Wigan train.

Yeah.

No, it's just a general inquiry.

Well, that's my job.

I knew Jacqui. Her parents want me involved, right?

If I need a psychologist... Yeah.

They're a bunch of wankers at that hospital, you know that.

A bunch of wankers. They speak very highly of you.

Look, homicide and amnesia are heavy.

You need to know what you're doing, and I do know what I'm doing.

Thank you. Right.

I've forgotten more about amnesia than they'll ever know!

I'm arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Jacqui Appleby.

You do not have to say anything. Anything you do say

will be taken down in evidence. Do you understand? Yes.

It's in your interests that you are not photographed. Do you understand?

Yes.

SIREN

Right, you perverted, murdering bastard!

Now is the time to start talking. Right?

Now is the time to start talking. Leave him.

Leave him, OK?

I have a niece that age.

It could have been my niece you butchered! Not yet!

Leave him for now! That's an order! OK?

Listen. You're finished. You're gonna be remanded.

You know what that means for someone like you?

Hundreds of blokes just like him, all wanting to get at you,

all wanting to cut your balls off. I want to see how brave his is then!

You've got one chance. If I had my way,

I'd turn you over to the families of the women you butchered.

I know you're lying. You know you're lying. The whole world knows.

So my advice to you would be to get to the station and confess.

Butchering women! Confess.

I know you think you've got a chance of getting away with it,

but you've got no chance. Sick, twisted pervert!

We've got blood, scratches on your face, witnesses.

What's going on in that festering pit?

I don't know about him - you terrified me.

# ALISON MOYET: That Ole Devil Called Love

# It's that ole... #

Hi. Can I see Judith, please? She's in a meeting.

How long? All day.

All day?!

What's the agenda? Saving the planet?

# Putting rain in my eyes... #

POUNDS ON DOOR

# Tears in my dreams

# And rocks in my heart... #

Can you open this door? I can't.

Please! Fitz, I can't.

# He keeps telling me... #

MUSIC PLAYS UPSTAIRS

MUSIC PLAYS

Oh, my God!

Half-past three in the afternoon and you're still in your pit!

You idle git!

How the hell do you expect to do anything with your life?

You're lying in your bed with your hand on your dick all afternoon!

You think I'm listening to you?

I'll go downstairs and get a bucket of cold water! I mean it!

A bucket of cold water! You're a joke!

Bucket of water!

Do you smoke?

I don't know.

Can you smell it?

Yeah.

Doesn't it make you want to smoke?

No.

Then you've never smoked. Good.

You think it's a disgusting habit? Yeah.

But not quite as bad as murdering young women?

You play all naive, innocent,

but you're sharp, educated. Am I right?

I can't remember.

Why did you go into her compartment? I can't remember.

Plenty of space? Perhaps.

There was plenty of space elsewhere. The train wasn't full.

Did you go in there because you saw a young girl on her own

showing a bit of leg? Yeah.

You remember? No.

I'm just agreeing with everything you say.

Amnesia's no defence.

It makes no difference - you'll still get life.

If I could remember I'd tell you everything.

Do you trust me? Yes, of course, you're a policeman.

If you had a lawyer here, he'd tell you to cooperate.

I am cooperating.

Stand there chucking cut-throat razors out of a moving train? Yes.

I'm gonna look a right pillock. No more than normal. Do it.

Here.

Who took these? Me.

I'll see you later.

Search the train again. There's nothing there, boss.

Take it apart. I want the murder weapon.

Hiya, Kev. All right, mate? Yeah.

You got much for me? Not a lot.

TAPE: 'My being like this is annoying you, I know.

'But it's destroying me.'

TAPE STOPS

Originally Irish, brought up round here.

I'd say he spent a year or two abroad - Spain, Italy, Portugal -

and the last 10 or 15 years down south.

Is that it?

Listen again.

'My being like this is annoying you, I know.

'But it's...' TAPE STOPS

This man's supposed to be a manual labourer.

"MY being like this", not

"It's annoying you, I know, ME being like this."

"MY being like this is annoying you, I know"?

That's strictly grammatical. This man's educated.

He knows how to handle his participles.

Find anything? Not yet, Sarge.

Anything, Constable? No, nothing yet, Sarge. OK.

Can you just double-check underneath those seats? Yeah.

Have you charged him? Not yet, no.

Will you charge him?

As soon as we find the murder weapon.

And if you don't find it?

You'll have to release him.

We still have 24 hours. And we're doing everything possible.

Razors. Jonesy? Sorted, boss.

Yeah? And what happened?

Well, the furthest he travelled was 18 metres.

Right, widen the search to 18 metres either side of the track.

Boss, there's 25 miles of track.

I know that. Now find the bastard thing.

Dr Fitzgerald, please.

I'll have a cuppa.

Dr Fitzgerald. Yeah. Bilborough.

I'm sending a car for you.

Hello.

What time do you make it?

Ten past two.

They call me Fitz. What do they call you?

I don't know.

Bloodthirsty murdering bastard?

Do you remember filling this in? Yeah.

Who's the British Prime Minister?

I don't know. I had to guess.

You guessed wrong. I gave you three choices, you guessed wrong.

I'm sorry. It's understandable.

The President of the United States - three choices, you got it wrong.

I'm sorry. It's understandable. Really.

The leader of the Labour Party - three choices, got it wrong.

Standard rate of income tax - three choices, got it wrong.

The Chancellor of the Exchequer, the manager of the England football team,

the author of Catch-22, the capital of Sweden, all wrong.

I'm sorry.

You will be.

You see, that is definitely not understandable.

You close your eyes and stick a pin in,

you'd be bound to get at least two right.

The odds against getting them all wrong are huge.

You think I did it on purpose? Yes.

I didn't.

Who cares?

Nobody ever loses their memory.

It just gets locked away like the mad woman in the attic.

Occasionally you hear her scream,

but you daren't unlock the door and have a look in. Am I right?

There's a great sadness in your life.

This crime of yours...

In the grand scheme of things, it's nothing.

It's nature.

Nature knows men have to penetrate women...or the species dies.

With all that at stake, do you really think nature cares how we do it?

Whether we say please or thank you? Whether she's willing? Hm?

Sex crimes - a little of what nature requires taken to excess.

Murder, too.

Healthy aggression taken a little to excess.

I'm saying I understand.

Yes?

Yes.

They'll crucify you for it, of course.

You know why?

Cos you've gone and done exactly what they've always wanted to do

deep down in their hearts -

murdered, butchered, raped.

They'll look at you and they'll be looking deep into their own hearts,

and it will terrify them.

They'll crucify you out of fear.

Not out of decency or justice, or anything like that -

out of fear.

I disagree.

You're walking down the corridor on the train.

You go past her compartment. She's sitting there.

Young, beautiful, alone,

vulnerable - everything a woman should be.

She's reading a book. She's got her legs crossed.

She's showing maybe an inch, maybe two of thigh.

Warm, soft, smooth, white thigh.

You pull open the door.

Her eyes flicker. She doesn't look up from her book.

You sit down opposite her.

You look at her.

She can feel you staring at her.

She just stares even harder into her book,

but you know that she's not really reading it.

Her legs start shaking to the rhythm of the train.

And you want to put your hand up there on that soft, white thigh.

Just to stop it from shaking.

If you did that, she'd look at you, she'd smile.

She'd know.

She'd just know.

So you get up and you open the window.

And your legs brush hers,

and she makes a little movement and shows a little more thigh perhaps.

And you sit down beside her, closer this time,

and you can smell her perfume.

And the blood's pumping through her throat.

And it's making the little silver crucifix round her neck shake

and catch the light a little.

And she's everything a woman should be.

Alone, vulnerable.

So you say something. And she looks up from her book,

she gives you a yes or a no answer,

and then goes straight back to the book.

She's dismissed you.

She's dismissed you the way every woman has always dismissed you.

Well, you'll show her.

And even the train's urging you on. "Kill the bitch, kill the bitch,

"kill the bitch, kill the bitch, kill the bitch, kill the bitch."

They're all the same, aren't they? Huh?

With their white thighs, and their smooth, white shoulders and necks.

But underneath it all, they're blood,

and filth, and stench, and hair.

Tatty, matted, disfiguring hair.

"Kill the bitch.

"Kill the bitch, kill the bitch,

"kill the bitch, kill the bitch, kill the bitch!"

Is that how it was?

Is it?

(SIGHS)

It's you who needs the psychologist.

SOUL MUSIC

We're closed. I know. Eddie's expecting me. OK?

Hi.

Yeah? How are you fixed, Eddie?

No chance, Fitz. How about cashing a cheque?

30, 35, 40.

Am I speaking Urdu or something?

# Don't run away now

# Don't be afraid

# Be strong, yeah

# Be strong now... #

JUDITH: 'Hello?' It's me. Don't put it down.

Please, don't put it down.

'What do you want?' Look, er...

I haven't had a drink or a bet for two days.

'That's because you haven't got any money.'

DIAL TONE

# You'd better hide your tears

# Don't, don't cry

# Don't, don't cry... #

Have your tickets ready, please.

Tickets, please.

Would you put it out, please, sir?

Ticket, please.

Where did you get on? Um... It was er...

..that door.

Could you tell me where you got this number, please?

DOORBELL

You couldn't have done - we're ex-directory.

Sorry to trouble you. It's all right. Come in.

How do you think we feel?

Look, I'm sorry, I'm putting the phone down.

Would you mind if I had a look round Jacqui's bedroom?

No, of course.

Have you got kids?

Then you should know better.

I'm putting the phone down.

Please don't ring again.

You haven't done anything since er... No.

It's exactly as it was.

She left all her stuff here.

Safer than at the university. Right.

Do you mind if I... No.

The police have been through it all. There's nothing there they wanted.

JACQUI: Hiya, Mum. Please don't.

She pitied me, didn't she?

She loved you.

DOORBELL

I'll leave him.

When it's all over,

and she's buried.

Why?

It's what she wanted.

I'll leave you, then.

The book. The Bible.

Just ignore him. I have.

I don't like being up high if there's nothing to stop me falling over.

I was just wondering, cos some phobias are...

you know, unexplainable, really. Mm.

Your best or your worst personality feature?

Oh, my God. That's like something out of... (INDISTINCT)

My best...my best feature?

I would um... A sense of humour. Mm.

A colour. Red.

A holiday resort. Blackpool.

A city. London.

Amo, amas, amat. Amamus, amatis, amant.

A sport. Rugby.

A river. The Thames.

I knew her. What?

Jacqui. I knew her.

Young, beautiful, energetic, intelligent.

Seeing all that in one human being depresses you, doesn't it?

It brings it home to you how pathetic you are.

How worthless, how boring, how dead you are.

How unattainable she is.

It makes you want to grab it,

snuff it out, kill it, destroy it.

Hm? Is that how you felt?

I understand.

Is that how you felt?

I've been there. I've felt that.

A country. Italy.

A number. Any number.

211 902.

An animal. A dog.

Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta.

Epsilon, Zeta, Eta, Theta.

Who made you? God made me.

Why did God make you?

God made me to know him, love him and serve him in this world

and to be happy with him forever in the next.

A writer. Dickens.

I know you've got a conscience.

I know that deep down...

..you're a good man.

I've been to the house twice.

Met the parents.

Can you imagine what you've put them through?

What they've been through?

It's not grief. Grief is a process.

They can't even begin that process, thanks to you.

It's desolation.

Cold, bleak, numb desolation.

The daughter they loved is down in the morgue.

In a refrigerated cupboard.

Let them bury her.

They have to bury her.

People will say "He was a killer, he was a butcher,

"but he did one decent thing.

"He confessed so they could bury their daughter."

It's the one last decent thing you can do.

Please.

Please.

# Summertime

# And the livin' is easy

# Fish are jumpin'

# And the cotton is high

# Your daddy's rich

# And your mama's good-lookin'

# So hush, little baby... #

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