All language subtitles for The Gentle Touch s01e05 Blade

Why aren't you at work?

Stink!

Oh, fantastic.

I'm fast enough.

Oh, Matthew.

Yeah?

What's it mean?

Don't they teach you anything at that
school?

Let's go down to 1430. Oh, we can't. I
can't.

We going to let it beat you?

Yes.

My old woman a quitter?

Your old woman's an old woman.

As far as running's concerned.

Come on, Zatopek. Who?

Oh, I knew that would be the next
question.

Cause of death, stab wound in the pump.

Knife?

Sin blade.

Stiletto?

Scalpel tap, I'd say.

Judging by his hands, probably taken by
surprise.

Could have been someone in you.

There's no defence cuts?

Not in the greys.

Maybe some pairings under the nails,
yeah?

I doubt it.

Depending on the PM, you can say the
cause of death is the knife.

Well, that's cautious enough.

Cheers, Doc.

For you.

Get out of control.

Tell them the photograph's been taken.
Train's all ready for the forensic

yeah?

You want a notebook?

Couple of items here.

Might prove useful.

Tube ticket from Hammersmith.

And a check card made in the name of
Bernard Harrison.

I'm on an address to go with that,
right?

A beautiful morning.

Stop it, OK?

Have you got the pink ones on today?

Pardon?

Come on, Maggie, don't be like that.

It's only a good career being fired by a
murder inquiry.

Oh, I've heard. It could do us both a
lot of good. Is that that

crushing up nicely last night?

Yeah, I'm tired.

What made your boy talk?

Conscience, I guess.

There's more than one way to skin a
rabbit.

What again?

I'm Detective Inspector Croft.

He's hiding in the woodshed. Who is? You
know.

Whoever it is you're looking for. One
more crack like that and we'll be

for you.

Anyone ever tell you how wonderful you
London bobbies are?

No. No, they never bloody will either.
Now look.

You button your lip, right?

Does Bernard Harrison live here?

Well, does he?

Yeah. Basement flat.

Do you mind if we come inside?

Don't ask him. Tell him.

For the house a couple of years ago. For
the last property bonanza.

You rent out rooms?

Flats, not rooms.

Sorry. How suburban can you get?

How long has Bernard been here?

Best part of a year.

Describe him.

Not my type, sorry.

Meaning? Oh, look around you. A little
on the right side, wouldn't you say?

Fand of the X.

Fand of some bloody thing.

You mean he's gay?

As in Paris.

Pommy Poofter, that's what they call him
on Sydney Hill.

Shirtlifter. But you were American.

My God, lady.

You've got some fans.

Wrapped it up yet?

Bernard was a fairy.

No kidding. Is that right?

Look at the murial. Young boy coming out
the oyster shell. Bernard do it?

Some gay caballero. Are you one too,
Bruce?

You're tired of teeth, is that it?

Watch it.

He roused recently.

Sounds of arguments, quarrels, shouting.

Not that I heard.

Do you have any enemies?

How the hell would I know? There are two
ways of doing this, you know. Here and

now, amicably, or down at the station,
officially.

There are a couple of things you haven't
told me. For instance?

Like why you're here, when you're
leaving, what's keeping you. Items like

Bernard's dead.

No. Oh, yes.

Stop him laughing in church.

Heartbroken, isn't he?

What happened? Was he mutt?

Knifed.

You squeamish.

I don't like blood.

When was it? This morning.

Where? On the Piccadilly line.

What some people won't do for a seat.

Did he spend last night here?

No idea.

Did you see him? No.

Was he often out all night? Away
fixtures?

Not that I know of.

What about parents, brothers, sisters?

Can you account for where you were? Me?
You. So between 10 .30 and 11.

Well, yeah, I was here. Alone?

Er, yeah.

Yeah, I made a couple of calls. Yeah, I
was alone. I paid the milkman, Barry

Leavenish. Was Bernard currently living
with anyone?

Well, I'm not my tenant's keeper. OK,
big brother, you're not. So who was the

flavour of the month?

Oh, come on, you must have been curious.

We all like to know who's getting into
whose pants.

Well, he was like a housefly.

Baz Baz.

He had more friends than you've had hot
arrests.

Now, what... It's just an expression.

So names addresses descriptions, right?

They're like ships. They pass in the
night.

I never met half of them. Didn't want
to. As long as they pay the rent, don't

frighten the horses.

A dress book.

Where did he work? What about the job?

He was a waiter. Local?

Chase Hugo.

No. Now, why do you curl your lip when
you see that? You think I can't afford

it? Well, I just have that sort of lip.
Tends to curl.

Some people, it's hair. Me, it's lips.

We know it. It's off Wigmore Street. Off
in every sense of the word.

Ask for the menu, you get a big kiss.

Asked on a wine list. Who knows what
you'd get? Now, who did he know in

Hammersmith? Jeez, I always caught the
bloody crow. What are you talking about?

How many times? I've told you. I don't
know.

Going to use the radio.

Hey, you forgot something.

I did?

You forgot to warn me about not leaving
town.

So I did.

On second thoughts, it might make things
easier if you did leave town.

Haven't you ever thought of emigrating?

Yeah. Every time I meet a copper.

Excuse me, sir.

Have you noticed anyone resembling this
photograph in this vicinity at any time?

Sorry. Excuse me, sir.

Have you seen this young man using a
stethoscope?

No.

Your macron, Doctor.

Oh, thank you, Peter.

The crab, fresh in from Cornwall. Very
good.

Where's Bernard?

Oh, he hasn't come in.

Until? No, just didn't show up.

Is he ill, or...? Probably just feeling
sorry for himself.

Any reason?

Well, I'm sure if you don't know,
Doctor, then no -one does.

They're like ants.

They're everywhere.

Trains, streets, bushes.

Pavements are awash with vomit.

There was a time there'd have been a
public outcry. About what?

Apathy. Nobody cares. That's the curse
of it. Standards have gone to pot. Whoa,

whoa, whoa.

Mrs Ridgway, you've got to let me in on
the secret.

Now, what are we talking about?

Alcohol.

Thank you.

The trouble is, he wasn't drunk.

There were beer cans all round him. Not
his beer cans.

How do you know?

The contents of the stomach.

One cup of strong tea, one bacon
sandwich ingested shortly before death.

Then I must have judged him.

I owe him an apology.

Oh, take it as read.

Now, how did you join the train?

Barron's Court.

Uh -huh. And when you first noticed him,
was he alone?

Yes. Think carefully.

I always do.

You sure?

Absolutely positive.

Right. And where was this?

Piccadilly, Leicester Square, one or the
other.

That was a long time.

Was it?

Well, what were you doing between
Barron's Court and Piccadilly?

I was in another carriage.

Oh, you changed carriages.

That's correct.

Why? Someone tried to chat you up?

I got into a smoker by mistake.

And, of course, you don't like tobacco
smoke.

I'm nothing against smoking, so long as
it's done by consenting adults in the

privacy of their own homes and not in
public places or on public transport.

about the underwear ads on the
escalators?

Disgusting. I thought you might say
that.

He's a good -looking lad.

Yeah, very.

Male prostitute.

Could be.

Confirmed passive, according to the
pathologist.

It's not exactly camera -shy, is it?
Where is this? Hammersmith Pond? Yeah,

looks like it.

I love the macho look.

Look like well -dressed lumberjacks.
Basic street gay, they call it. Do they?

Who are all these gay blades?

All the names are there.

Gerald, Lionel, Aubrey, et cetera, et
cetera.

Heaven knows where they are now.

Order compiler lift. Try to trace them.
Will do.

Now, what about Landall? Richardson.

You've met him? Only say hello.

Doesn't mean much. You believe him? I
think so. I mean, he's your typical

redneck doggie. You're rather an Olympic
athlete or a poof.

Bear country's one big naffy. You'd
better show him the pictures anyway.

Now, what about Sheyuga?

What about it? I think you ought to take
it. Why?

Croft is a bigot.

Good copper.

Good copper, excellent bigot.

OK.

Permission to make a personal remark,
sir?

No. Donut sugar. Banjo Whittle.

Came off me diet somewhere between
Warren Street and Mornington Crescent. I

it was worth it.

It wasn't.

And bruiser in the shop window, ash in
the gut.

What's this?

Some sort of mineral oil.

Liquid paraffin? No.

Better check the contents of the
medicine cabinet.

Also the bedclothes.

Address book? Got it. Not a girl's name
in sight.

Surprise, surprise.

Calendar jottings.

Shopping lists, diaries.

Notes by the telephone, letters, backs
of envelopes. What about all these party

invitations? They're all being checked.

Popular lad, wasn't he?

Joss sticks, tender wine. You'll find
some pot around here somewhere.

You'll be the first to know.

Anything from Hammersmith?

Yeah, they checked all the cafes and the
greasy spoons in the area. And?

No one remembers serving it. What about
the press?

Press bureau, nationals, TV and radio,
both sides.

Can you help notices on all the
platforms?

No. Early days yet.

Give me time.

As folks will know by now.

You'd be a parent.

Not more trouble.

Making the cross -country team, that's
all.

At least you won't come home pregnant.

That's true.

Right, I'd better get back to the
factory. Where's Fenton? I sent him out

some sandwiches. I'll leave him here,
OK?

Yeah.

Oh,

Jolson, Frank Sinatra, that's all I'm
having on my day -to -day. What about

one luxury, sir?

I hear there's a new WPP over at Bow
Street.

Come on, Maggie, I'm a one -woman man,
you know that.

But if you come across some pots, save
us a bit. The only thing that turns

on.

8701. Is Bernard there, please?

No, not at the moment. Take a message.

Who is that?

Mrs Forbes.

Cleaner.

Would you tell him that...

Sorry to keep you. Oh, it's all right.
Detective Inspector Bolt.

I'm serious.

Yes, it is. It concerns one of your
waiters.

Bernard?

Yes.

An accident?

Worse. I'm afraid he's dead.

Oh, no.

How? He's been stabbed.

Oh, my God, that's awful.

Awful. When was he last here?

Yesterday, lunchtime.

He didn't do dinner. It was his evening
off. Did you hear from him afterwards?

No. What time did he leave?

About 3 .30, I should think. We served
lunch till three.

We weren't that busy.

Do you have any idea where he went? No.

Excuse me.

Peter!

He may know more than I do.

Bernard's been killed.

Stabbed.

When? This morning.

I thought you might be able to help me
instead.

I'm trying to fill in his last few
hours.

Well, I didn't see him after yesterday
afternoon when we left.

You left together?

Yeah. I found him walking off towards
Oxford Street.

Alone? Yes.

The only idea where he was going?

No.

When was he due here again?

This morning.

Do you know any of his current friends?

What does that mean?

A regular cabbage wine at our Bernard.

Highgate's social butterfly.

Yes?

That's it.

Sounded as though there was more.

No.

How did you get on with him?

No sweat. Wasn't a shoker.

End of interest.

Where did he work?

Over there. Tables two, four, six and
eight.

How long had he been here?

A few months.

I'd have to check. They come, they go.

Do you mind if I look at your
reservations book?

Surely. It's in my office.

Peter, would you fetch it, please?

Is there ever any trouble in the
restaurant?

No, there are problems enough.

Is he particularly friendly with any of
the other waiters?

Not that I know of.

Are you pleased with his work?

Pleased.

Satisfied. There are waiters who are
artists, raise a meal, contribute to it.

Others who are labourers. He was a
labourer.

Polite, efficient, but no flair.

Any trouble with any of the clients?

Not stabbing clients.

Let me be the judge of that. If your
steak au poivre isn't hot, you don't

the waiter.

Thank you. May I finish my lunch? Please
do. Thank you very much.

It won't be easy.

By seldom, huh?

You looking for anything special?

No.

Tables, two, four, eight.

And eight?

A patron that ate regularly at his
tables.

Something like that.

A tiff? One of them was in tears.

Which one?

Bernard or the other one? The other one.

All right, so Bernard's doing something
the other bloke doesn't want him to. Or

not doing it. Would be.

Argument escalates, out comes the blade.

Finger has its own. Fine. First find
your lover.

Oh, Maggie.

Inspector Croft has turned up a witness.
Saw the quarrel on the train. Oh, good.

Good check.

Horrific. Medium height, casual clothes,
jeans, probably.

Age, early twenties, possibly cowboy
boots.

Possibly? Remember his boots. Can't
remember who was wearing them.

Yeah, which of the two you mean? Which
of any one?

They obviously had foot break.

Didn't you get any luck?

No, luck at all.

Oh.

Bernard waited on four tables.

He wasn't particularly friendly with any
of the other staff.

Well, that's what they say now.

That could be.

I just checked the reservations book.
Now, one regular invariably ate at one

Bernard's tables and always alone.

Is that significant?

Oh, I think so.

As long as you're eating alone, it
doesn't particularly care where you eat.

Here, take it, boy.

Anyway, I think it might be worth
looking up.

Who is he?

A little dog.

What do we know about him? He's got
cheeky feet, private practice.

Wouldn't you know it.

For pumping B1 into Arabs or giving
overpriced abortions to disorganized

continental ladies.

He didn't bring it. Your soapbox. They
make me sick.

Quacks, pill pushers, cue jumpers. Each
to his own.

When they come to take mine, it's odd. I
want to talk to the man who's doing it,

not to his interpreter.

Well, am I going to survive?

More to the point, am I going to play
squash again?

And when I say again, I mean like
tomorrow.

Or at least the day after.

Relax.

Sing out if it hurts.

Painful? Uncomfortable.

You squirm. Shifter, not squirm. Hair
splitter. I'm reading English.

That explains it.

Oxford, isn't it? Not the college.

When I was an undergraduate, they used
to call Oxford Morris's Latin Quarter.

It's geisha girls now and the tea break.

Well, Sally.

Fluid's gone.

The tenderness, too, so I think we're
safe with the ligament.

Don't want to venture into cartilage
country.

Continue to strap it? No, I don't think
so.

No one's going to rely on it.

Let's take it easy.

Squash? No, not the best way. Oh, God.
No, go steady.

But if I do that, I'll be... Be
sensible.

Checking the next bag?

Yes, why not?

Bring me back a couple of ivy leaves
from the college walls.

Enjoying university?

Yeah.

Just like youth.

Wasted on the young.

Like your turn again.

Life, life, where are you?

Where did you go?

Why didn't you wait for me?

Yes, Mr. Ritchie? You've cut yourself.

Oh, yeah, I've, um, just got a faint
nick on the wrist, that's all.

You're bleeding everywhere like a duck
pig.

It's a lot of exaggeration.

Show me.

I've just put a new dress in.

Really? When did you do it? This
morning.

Painful? No, not really.

You go up to the hospital and put a
couple of stitches in it, pull it

It doesn't need it.

I'm not arguing, I'm telling you.

Dripping blood everywhere.

Christopher Lee's got nothing on you.

I think Mr. Ritchie doesn't need it.
It'll take you half an hour, top one.

It was a waste of time. My time, my way.

Go.

Bernard Harrison.

No, I don't think so.

Are you quite sure?

Inspector, I meet a lot of people, a lot
of names flat on my mind. But not this

one. No, I'm sorry.

Bernard is a waiter at a restaurant
called Chez Hugo.

Oh, that Bernard.

Yes, of course I know him.

It was the Harrison bit that threw me.

Do you eat there quite often?

Yes, quite often. It's my local, about
three minutes' walk.

You mean very busy at the same table?

Yes, I've been going there for years.

And Bernard waits at that table?

That's right.

It's one of the few two -person tables
in the restaurant.

I see.

Who does the bookings?

My secretary.

Any idea what she asked for?

Haven't a clue, ask her.

Dr. Thorne, one o 'clock as usual.
Something like that, I suppose.

Why the interest in Bernard?

He's been killed.

Murdered on the tube this morning.

That's terrible.

Awful.

Any idea who did it?

No, not yet.

I was wondering if there was anything
that you could tell us.

I'll give you all the help I can. Please
sit down. Thank you.

He wasn't there at lunchtime.

Obviously not.

Did you talk much?

The occasional chat.

Did he say much about his private life?

Not a lot.

I know he lived in Haggart. I think he
had a flat there, or maybe he shared.

not sure.

Did you ever have any reason for going
there?

No. You know the phone number?

In Haggart? Yes.

No.

Somebody phoned at lunchtime today.

Softly spoken, smooth, polite, well
-educated.

It could quite easily have been you.

Not guilty.

Ah.

That's ducky, isn't it?

What is?

Looking up my dustbin.

Sorting through the contents.

Ah.

A couple more upstairs if you get really
hungry.

Bit of old Chuck the cat, didn't he?

Nice.

I've heard about priests reading
animals' intros.

Oh, boy, this is a beaut.

Looking for leads, you see?

Just routine, eh?

That's right.

Of course, we've seen them all today,
you know.

First one, he couldn't pull piss out of
a book without instructions on the heel.

Oh, yeah.

Who was that?

Oh, Gordon. Came about the breaking.

Ah, the attempted break.

I don't know, robbery, murder,
vanishing, dustbins.

I like this in Wollongong.

You want a cup of tea when I put the
people on?

No, I wouldn't resist too hard.

Mr. Richardson.

Yeah? That break -in, when was it?

Well, it wasn't, that's the point.

All right, when was it attempted?

Oh, mid -morning. I was still in me cup.
What happened?

Oh, some snotty little bastard had a go
at the back door, I reckon. Smashed the

glass. Reached through for the handle
and cut their wrist.

Badly? Hope so.

It's that comprehensive bottom of the
hill.

How good?

Hot as an oven.

They concentrate on the three R's.

Rape, robbery and receiving.

Did you tell my governor about this?
Which one was he?

It was the she, actually.

You're kidding.

They came in here like the Gestapo on
heat.

All right, if I use your phone.

Well, I don't think Bernard will object.

So far, we've traced about half the
names from the address book, and not a

likely starter amongst a lot of them.

As regards the weapon, we're conducting
a search of all the tube stations'

immediate vicinities between Hammersmith
and Leicester Square. So far, no knife.

Could get with him. Could be.

Back at the flat, we've found stains on
a pillowcase.

Air cream?

Yeah, but not Bernard's. Now, uh... What
about these paper clippings? He

advertised a couple of times in the gay
columns. And that phone number you

wanted checked.

Gay switchboard.

Maggie. Ah.

What about this Dr Thorne?

I think he's in the theater.

He's married. Didn't deny knowing
Bernard.

His secretary makes the bookings.

He sits at one of the only two two
-seater tables in the place. It's very

So what about your voice on the
telephone? Was it him?

I don't think so.

Well, you do sound some short.

Oh, I'm not. I mean, how many words did
I hear? A dozen? Twenty at the most.

Well, what about his manner?

Hard to say.

Come on, Maggie.

Bent or not, what's the verdict? Well,
it's not easy. I mean, obviously he's

a Jeff Cape. He's very strong with a
bedside manner. I'll bet.

Deep pockets, nice soft handshakes. He's
not a killer.

He's not? No, he's...

Too suave, too knowledgeable, too laid
-back to go shoving a blade in his

boyfriend's chest.

So you admit the possibility he could
have had a boyfriend.

Well, of course I admit it. Little ACDC,
we were all messy, didn't we? But you

don't think so, not in this case?

No. OK, anything else?

Aye, one small item.

I think going over Bernard's bank
statements, paying in book, etc., it

over the past eight months he's
deposited no fewer than five pence.

Made out by none other than one Richard
Thorne, M .T.

Five checks, totaling how much? £400.

Let's get the bastard in.

Brilliant. You think?

It's obvious.

Like a pot pie in a synagogue.

Motive? Well, pound to a penny who's
being blackmailed. He's got a wife,

reputation, snazzy practice.

How much more motive do you need?

Bloody private pillfishers. They'll be
locked up.

Inspector Falls.

Hang on.

It's for you, sir.

Char.

Hello, Russell.

Yeah?

Where was it?

OK,

Char, leave it with me.

Hammersmith, Nick.

20 -year -old boy, just been treated,
Duquesne Road Hospital, five stitches

a wrist wound.

And? Yet again.

What's strange about that? Got a phony
name and address.

Let's take a crack at the doctor. Oh,
yes, you'd like that, wouldn't you?

Love it. It was not the doctor at a row
with Bernard on the underground.

Jeans, cowboy boots. Yeah, all right,
all right.

Now, you get back to Dr. Thorne. Remind
him what happens to a person obstructing

a murder inquiry.

Make sure he's got an alibi for the time
of the killing.

You know, the trouble with you,
Maggie...

Now, you get yourself over to
Hammersmith, take the photo fit, see if

the description of the other boy on the
train, right?

Sorry to do this while we're talking.

Oh, it's all right. I know the problem.

Getting in here, it's like getting into
Fort Knox.

He keeps busy.

Frantic. So bad for the image.

Find your doctor elbow deep in dust and
fluff.

Doesn't even look hygienic.

Are you in the profession, too?

No, no.

Having the brains for it.

Or the stomach.

Aren't you? You must eat some pretty
ugly things.

Oh, yes.

Last another day.

Do you ever worry that it's doing you
harm?

How do you mean?

Well, souring your milk of human
kindness.

Making you too tough.

Yes, I worry about that quite a lot.

And? Then I just get right on and do the
next job.

And you, I've met some pretty callous
doctors.

Oh, you can say that again.

We met one.

Dinner party recently.

An orthopedic surgeon.

He's just got a consultancy at a
hospital near the M23.

The glee at the thought of the patients
being scraped up. His words, not mine.

For him to practice on. Oh, not nice.

How long have you been married?

Nine years.

And you?

I'm a widow.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Children? Just the one.

I wondered where everyone was.

Hello, darling.

You know Inspector Ford, don't you? Yes,
we met earlier.

How would you like to revive a dying
man?

China or Indian?

Indian, I think.

You any preference, Inspector?

Oh, as long as it doesn't dissolve the
spoon, it'll be one up on what I'm used

to.

Indian it is.

What went wrong?

You lied to me. That's what's wrong.

I'm sorry.

How did you find out?

I do the questions, you do the answers.

It was stupid.

Criminal.

Obstructing the police in a murder
investigation is an offence.

And it was you on the phone at 1 .45.

Did you know Bernard quite well?

You knew he was a homosexual?

Did you kill him?

What? I said, did you... Look, I heard
what you said. Of course I didn't kill

him. There's no of course about it.

When did it happen?

About half past ten.

At ten -thirty, I was in the London
clinic visiting a hernia patient. A

people must have seen me.

By eleven, I was back here. Non -stop
surgery till twelve. A couple of local

calls, then lunch.

Why did you lie?

Panic.

Tell me about your relationship with
him.

Not easy.

I think how much less easy it could be
at the old Bailey.

Is that so? Could be.

I first knew him as a waiter.

Then I went to an actor's workshop at
the National.

You know, that's where he was.

He was there.

We had a drink in the bar, talked.

Beginning of relationship.

Did you ever go to his flat?

A few times.

Did you meet any of his friends?

Once or twice. Names?

One was called Biggles.

He was a guardsman.

Coldstream, I think.

They used to use the Golden Lion.

You go there?

No.

Was he blackmailing you?

Not in so many words. What then?

He needed money.

Knew I was aware of it. Knew I could
afford it.

What was his hold on you?

I wrote him some letters.

There was a photo of us together.

Compromising? In the garden at his flat.

What was the attraction?

Part physical, part... You see...

To build all this up, the reputation, to
sustain it, it's highly competitive.

Everyone I come to contact with
practically is a success, a winner.

Pressure, pressure, more pressure.

He was an out -and -out loser.

Articulate, but a loser.

Could be very funny in an outrageous
way.

It was restful, relaxing.

Kind of boost.

Sure none of this makes much sense.

No, I understand it. Understand, but
disapprove. Oh, approve.

Disapprove. Makes no difference.

Does your wife know?

She must have an inkling.

Surely. Why?

I'm over 40.

Permanently overworked, overtired, run
down.

watching my weight, my blood pressure,
some damn thing.

When the moon is blue, we occasionally
manage the odd session of ritualistic,

passionless coupling.

The sighs are outnumbered by the yawns.

Does she have to know?

No. But she might... She won't hear it
from us.

Unless, of course... Unless what?

Unless you're still lying to me.

Wank back.

Well, let me help.

I'll put an extra cup on.

Why don't I join you, if that's all
right? Fine.

Sir, there's no reason for any of this
to come to light, as far as the

concerned.

No reason at all.

Good.

Slowly. Anything in note?

A couple of ounces of cannabis.

I thought we'd find that.

Your sticks.

A few magazines, but they didn't exactly
come from WH Smith.

That's about all.

Right, don't stop what you're doing,
just listen.

Now, as we know, about quarter to eleven
this morning, someone tried to break in

upstairs. Let's assume for the moment
that it was the murderer.

Big assumption.

Enormous, but stick with it. Now,
obviously, he was coming here for a

broke a window.

Cut his wrist, turned him off the whole
idea. Question is, what was he coming

here for?

Something to tie him in with Bernard.
Exactly.

Something he thought we'd find that
would put us on to him, right? Good.

Something that belonged to him?

Could be.

Be almost anything.

That picture.

Towel hanging up in the bathroom.

Pair of slippers.

I agree.

So let's get on with it, shall we?

You done the desk yet?

Not yet.

Have you seen Richardson?

Not since about mid -afternoon.

He's not there at the moment.

I'll get him down later, walk him round,
see if he can see anything that doesn't

belong.

Something of a camera buff.

Yeah.

Photographs everywhere.

Couple of cameras next door.

Are you filming?

Neither of them, sorry.

Twenty jeans, cowboy boots.

Maybe. Maybe boots.

Lived in Hammersmith.

Or close by.

And he has a stitched -up cut on his
wrist.

And he's gay.

Have a go? Thank you. Bye. Bye.

Hello, Mum. It's Larry.

How are you?

Oh, not so dirty.

No, I'm still at the shop.

He's just gone home.

Listen, Mum, I'm... Have you got a
minute?

Oh, well, it doesn't matter. I just
wanted to chat, that's all.

Who are you going with?

Oh, I wish you luck.

Well, I'll talk to you again, then, all
right?

Bye. Bye, love.

That's OK.

I should be going by now.

What's a ten -day colleague?

What? Ten -day colic. What is it?

Oh, dang it.

I have to be thought of it again.

Ten -day colic?

It's a new baby to get, isn't it?

That's what's wrong with our driver.

He's a bit old for it, isn't he?

No, he's kidding.

He's not been kicked for about three
nights.

He drives like it as well.

Yeah.

Lending department, open daily nine till
seven.

What's she got?

Don't know.

I think this is it.

What?

I'm sure it is.

A book.

Why not?

No reason.

I don't get it.

Borough of Hammersmith.

Central Library, Shepherd's Bush Road,
due back on the 19th. Go on. He, whoever

he is, lives around Hammersmith. Yeah.

This is Highgate.

I'm with you.

This is borrowed from a Hammersmith
library.

Borrowed in his name?

We take it back to the library.

I give us his borrower's ticket. The
ticket gives us his address.

I still say you're wrong.

Well, let's find out, shall we?

Now, his name is Thorne. Yes. With an E.

With an E. Christian name Richard, other
initial G.

Richard Geoffrey. And signs his checks,
Richard G.

Thorne.

Well?

I didn't hear you, Mrs Thorne.

Why? We'll get to that in a minute. Is
it his?

Yes.

There has to be an explanation.

Of course there has.

I mean, you know it, I know it. But do
they know it, the great British

And do they care?

That's our friend.

What's his name?

Bernard. Without the saint. Bernard
Harrison.

Who is he?

As far as we can gather, a sort of male
good time girl.

Queer?

Mm -hmm.

As I said, my bet is he was blackmailing
your husband.

Over what?

I've no idea.

That's probably something you're the
best person to find out.

A good face.

If that's your bag.

Obviously, your husband must have
doctored him at some time, yes?

The slightest pretext, that's all these
characters need. They are vicious little

bastards.

Anyway, like I said, we want to keep
this hushed up.

Don't want any reputations going through
the mincer.

That's most thoughtful of you.

I imagine word of mouth is quite
important in this game.

I imagine you're right.

We've identified Shammy. Brian,

let's go.

You leave Thorne to me?

We'll sit.

Olive, what are you doing?

Three guesses.

You're going to give yourself one hell
of a headache.

I've already got it.

We're celebrating something.

If that weren't so thick, it would be
funny.

Oh, well, I'll fetch a glass, catch you
up.

Bernard Harrington.

How?

The vigilant fuzz.

She promised.

It wasn't a she.

It was Inspector Croft.

He was most solicitous.

Thought he was helping.

Protecting your good name.

What he thought he was doing for me, God
knows.

I'm sorry.

Sorry? Yes.

You don't think sorry sounds just the
teeniest bit lame?

What can I say?

I think you owe me some form of
explanation.

I need that drink.

Have mine!

You're better.

To know that one's husband no longer
finds one sexually attractive... That's

hard enough.

To find that he prefers someone else.

And that someone else is... What is the
question of preferring?

Well, you explain it, then.

I can't, not just like that.

Take your time.

I'm in no hurry.

He was someone to talk to.

Someone outside our normal orbit.

A waiter.

A gay waiter.

You'd rather talk to him than me.

You'd rather take him to bed... Let's
talk about it when you're sober.

Why? It'll be easier to make you
understand.

To understand?

We'll work something out.

You really are an incredible man.

Nine years of you, I haven't much pride
left.

But more than you give me credit for,
thank God.

Hello?

Speaking.

Five minutes.

Okay, thank you.

One ring on the doorbell and I'll be
straight down.

Where will you go?

Where?

Who cares where?

Anywhere. What will you do?

Send for your things?

Oh, God, Shopper.

Larry Nelson.

Larry Nelson.

I'm Detective Chief Inspector Russell.

Chief, come. Yeah, well, before you say
anything, I... All right, I know what it

says.

Maybe used in evidence. Blah, blah,
blah.

I did it.

I killed him.

I didn't mean to.

I went with him to beg him to change his
mind.

He enjoyed that.

He was so cruel.

So hurtful.

Why? Well, that's blended, sir.

I think you'll find it'll all clear up
in a week or so.

The letters.

It'll be safe in here.

Come through.

We found them at the flat.

Is there something wrong?

Wrong? Yes.

I thought we had an agreement.

An agreement?

I tell you the truth, right?

You'd say nothing to my wife.

That's correct.

She knows.

You sure?

Not from us. From you. No, you're wrong.
His name was... What did you say?

Croft.

Do you know him?

Do you?

Yes.

Thank you very much.

I'm sorry.

We're talking about a marriage.

Possibly a career.

People's lives.

What was his excuse?

His reason for telling her?

Something to do with blackmail.

Trying to protect us.

What can I say?

I wish you'd never said anything.

Ah, a friend of yours, Ginger Brooks,
got himself nicked.

Where? K Division.

He got caught sheltering from the rain
in a jeweller's in Romford.

He was?

Better than my town old bush.

What were you doing at the films?

Tidying up about the cheque.

Well, she's perfectly good, isn't she?

Liar. To be eliminated.

You're a stirrer. An interfering, no
-good stirrer. It's all part of the

isn't it? It is not the game. You don't
have to put them both in. It's a rough

old world. Dog eat dog.

It's cops like you give pigs a bad name.
Now, what was it somebody said this

morning? More than one way to skin a
rabbit?

Didn't mean to happen. Not in your head.
In your what? She didn't have to know.

What? That old man was better.

Come on, Maggie, be your age. She was
married to him. Of course she knew. Oh,

right, it was a marriage of pretense.

Most people are in some area or the
other. Oh, is that a fact? Tell me more.

I've not heard about this. The ex -Mrs
Croft. You think you can do her share of

pretending?

Married to you?

Poor cow.

My God.

She must have been an Oscar winner.