All language subtitles for McDonald.and.Dodds.S02E01.WEBRip.x264-ION10

Seriously, Mick?

Morning, Mr Elkins.

Morning, Jason.
Morning, Ollie.

A hot air balloon?

We love it.

I knew you would, you old tart!

Nice north-westerly coming in,
then, boys.

You know me,
I'm always lucky with the weather.

Right. Got it.

There you go.

They know what they're doing.

I hope it's gonna take
all the weight.

Cheers.

- Cheers.
- Cheers.

Thanks, Mick.

If I didn't know any better,

I'd have thought you lot had
gone off me.

I'd like to be addressed
as Captain.

Aye-aye, Captain!

Come up, then, Jackie.

Chocks away, chaps!

- It's beautiful.
- Don't lean over the basket, OK?

Steady as she goes.

Look, that's Glastonbury over there.

Look, can you see that?

Oh, it's so quiet.

That is 2,350 feet.

Cheers!

Cheers.

Thank you.

Bloody lovely.

Whoa! What's happening?!

Mr Elkins?

Something's happened.

You're headed for the city!
You need to gain height now!

Can you hear me?

What the...?!
Shut up!

Shit.

Can you hear me?

Fire the bloody burner.
Gain height.

- There's too much weight!
- Gain height. Gain height.

I'm gonna die!

We're gonna die!

Don't look down.
Don't look down.

Shit!

Jackie, Jackie,
just hold on to the side.

Hold on!

Help!

Just brace.

Just brace. Brace!

Come on. Hurry!

Come on.

- You OK?
- I'm fine.

I think we're fine.

- Where's the other guy?
- Mr Marsh!

Mr Marsh?!

Where is he?

Oh, no!

Seriously?

With who?

What night?

What time?

I suppose so.

But your kit goes
straight in the washing machine,

I'm not having it
stinking out the basket all week.

Erm, kitchen wipes and batteries.

I've gotta go.
I've got a hot air balloon crash.

A hot...
Never mind.

Boyfriend's got himself
a five-a-side game.

- Wednesday nights.
- Good for him, ma'am.

You haven't seen him play.
Second touch is a tackle.

What's all this, then?

Crashed about 20 minutes ago.

Five people hired it
from those Magnificent Men.

Took off from Clutton Hill, about
eight miles south-east of here,

around 8:30 a.m.,
floated around for an hour or so

and then... something went wrong.

Right. See if they've got
any phone footage.

You said five people?

Five people went up, Sergeant Dodds,
but only four came down alive.

It seems he came out of the balloon
basket somewhere over those trees.

Thank you,
Detective Constable Paciorkowski.

Have we identified the dead man?

Yes.
His name is Frankie Marsh.

Aged 58.

Address, Flat 1B,
number 5, Beckford Villas.

Now, apparently, it was all pretty
chaotic when they crash landed and...

- And they haven't been informed
there's a fatality? - No, ma'am.

OK.

Hi, I am DCI Lauren McDonald.
Are you all OK?

We're alive.

I have to inform you

that the other person
who was with you on your trip,

Frankie Marsh, he's dead.

Oh, God!

Oh, no!

What happened?

Well...

he fell.

He must have.

Can you describe
exactly what happened?

In as much detail as you can.

I actually didn't see him fall.

- Yeah. Me, neither.
- No. It was chaos up there.

It was terrifying.

Obviously, he fell.

I mean, you know, what else
could have happened to him?

He jumped.

He jumped.

Sorry, but why didn't you
mention this when I first asked?

Because I could have stopped him.
But I just froze...

I'm sorry.

Frankie just left us.

Hey, don't worry...

There you go.

You're accusing them
with your eyes, Lauren.

He jumped?
Really?

Prove he didn't
and we have a murder inquiry.

Until then, we follow the protocols,
especially with a fatality.

Air Incident Investigation Agency
needs to establish a cause

and file a full report
for the Home Office.

For a hot air balloon crash, really?

Investigator's on his way.

Ma'am, Sergeant Dodds needs you
over at Hedgemead Park.

Don't let the seagull
run the picnic.

- Morning.
- Morning, ma'am...

We are working
with an Air Accident Investigator.

Oh, wow.
Well, that's exciting, ma'am.

Not really,
they always turn up in sharp suits,

spouting jargon,
thinking they own the place.

You seen the body yet?

I was waiting for you, ma'am.

- Why?
- Your car.

Can you open your boot?

Ah, they're still here, ma'am.

My rough terrain shoes.

Those are exactly the same
as your non-rough terrain shoes.

Except these have reinforced
heel counter supports

and an industrial
strength stiffener.

I have a very delicate ankle, ma'am.

And when exactly did your
rough terrain shoes

take up residence in my boot?

After the murder of that Albanian
in the sewerage works. Hm.

So, our victim and the other four
people who were in the balloon

all live together
in the same building,

but in separate flats.
Number 5, Beckford Villas.

Ah, that's a very posh development,
ma'am.

It used to be the old eye infirmary

and then it was converted
into swanky apartments

for upmarket singles
and active retirees, if I recall.

Uh-uh.

I prefer them in a bag.

- All set, ma'am?
- Yeah.

- Got your, erm...
- My gubbins? Oh, yes, ma'am.

- Magnifying glass?
- Check.

- Pencil and notebook?
- Oh, yeah. Check. Check.

Latex gloves?

Oh, I never go anywhere
without my latex, ma'am. Ego?

Oh, I left that at home, ma'am.
It weighs me down.

And you with your delicate ankles...

Look at this, ma'am.

There is an anomaly
on his left hand.

There is significantly deep
scratches on his thumb,

index and first finger.

Why is that an anomaly?
He fell through all those branches.

Well, ma'am...

He...
Ah...

Er...

This man, he weighs about 12 stone.

And acceleration due to gravity is
ten metres per second, per second.

So, if he falls from a height of,
say, 500 feet, of, er...

Yeah. I get it.

He was going too fast
to get injuries like that.

Oh, thank you, ma'am.

Thank you, ma'am.

Now, these abrasions
are small, incisive,

on the inside of the fingers.

Now, you don't get injuries
like that

coming through them trees
at, erm...

200 kilometres an hour.

Also, those scratches
are fresh, ma'am.

He tried to grab onto something?

Or someone?

Right, Detective Constable...

- Er...
- Oh, Paciorkowski.

Get in contact with
the duty search advisor.

I want a PolSA team down here.
Full fingerprint search.

Every blade of grass.
30-metre radius around the body.

Ma'am.

He didn't jump.

There's more to it than that.

He jumped?

Well, I had to say something.

You three were just standing there,
like bloody Kraftwerk.

Oh, come on.

Hey, he's gone.

He's actually gone?

Are you OK?

Yes, Mick. I am.

Yes!

Did you know that the first
hot air balloon pilots

were criminals, ma'am?

Back in the olden days,

balloons were highly dangerous
new technology.

Like when they used to
send dogs into space?

Yeah, or canaries down mines.

Soon as he got here,
he cleared us all out the way

and he's already done a full,
comprehensive audit of the scene.

Very...

What's so funny?

This is Roy Gilbert, from the
Air Incident Investigation Agency.

Oh...

Hi.

DCI Lauren McDonald.

Good morning,
Detective Chief Inspector.

Oh!

I'll just get my gubbins
from the car and we'll get started.

Is something wrong, ma'am?

No.

All good.

Thank you,
Detective Chief Inspector.

All done.
You can start clearing up.

So, what do you think, Mr Gilbert?

I'd prefer not to jump to any
conclusions at this stage,

Detective Chief Inspector, until
I'm fully ascertained of the facts.

Right.

I want everything photographed.
Exhibits seized and recorded.

If you don't mind me asking,
Sergeant Dodds,

where did you get your jacket from?
Impressive array of pockets.

Yeah, he likes to wear
his filing system.

Raynor's Rainwear in Quiet Street,
but it's closed down now.

Raynor's closed?
Oh, dear.

I don't go to Bath much these days.
Too many tourists.

Maybe I could source one
direct from the manufacturer.

More practical
than the old rucksack here.

- McLean's of Berwick-upon-Tweed.
- Aye.

I'll get my daughter, Victoria,
to surf the net.

Ma'am, we recovered this
from the victim's pocket.

That's the four survivors
when they were young.

- It looks like it's from a magazine.
- There's a date on it.

January 1980...

It's smudged.

Why would Frankie have this
in his pocket?

I dunno, ma'am, but I think
I recognise the typeface.

Sunday Times Magazine.

An accident doesn't mean
it's not murder.

So let's go into
murder inquiry mode.

- Background on the victim - ASAP.
- Ma'am.

Can you get me more on this?

Well, ma'am,
I'll have to go to the...

Yep. Take a walk on the wild side.

How long had Mr Marsh lived here?

About three years.

This apartment cost 900,000 quid
and it's been paid off.

Sorry, ma'am...

Did you see much of Frankie?

No. He kept himself to himself.

A bit of a loner if you ask me.

But he was friends
with the four residents upstairs?

Was he?

Ma'am, Mr Marsh's occupation
is listed as minicab driver.

Really?

- Why don't you check
with his employers? - Yeah.

And he's got no mortgage.

His place is filled
with all this expensive equipment

and he is a self-employed
minicab driver

who hardly ever shows up to work.

Frankie Marsh just doesn't compute.

Well, they're certainly an
interesting group of people, ma'am.

Our four balloon crash survivors

also shared a house together
in London,

in Notting Hill,
in the mid-1980s.

Oh, yes, they were quite a fast set.

The Sunday Times Magazine describes
them as the "creme de la creme..."

That's French, ma'am.
"..Of cool, hip London."

Cool, hip? Them? Really?

They just look rubbish
and annoying to me.

Sorry I'm late,
Detective Chief Inspector.

I, er, took a left
instead of a right at Chew Magna.

I was halfway to Wales
before I realised.

No worries, Mr Gilbert.

OK, what have you got?

This is from my phone.

It would appear
my initial diagnosis is correct.

Carabiner snapped.

We use four of these, double roped.
2,500kg carabiners.

That's more than enough
to take the stress

of an 80,000 cubic feet balloon.

Plus five passengers,
plus fuel tanks.

We screw-locked all four. 100%.

OK. I'm counting five people.
Let's see him come out.

Uh, we don't have that.
We lost them in the trees.

When we get them back, there's only
four people in the basket.

The man who wasn't there.

Hm?

That's a poem
that my old auntie used to say.

Yesterday, upon the stair
I met a man who wasn't there.

He wasn't there again today...

...I wish, I wish he'd go away.

So why didn't one of you
take 'em up in the balloon?

Because Mick Elkins

is an experienced balloon
and glider pilot.

And we checked and double-checked
his pilot licence,

medical certificate
and certificate of test.

It's there.

Elkins has over 60 flying hours
in balloons.

A couple of hundred in gliders.
That's very impressive.

So if he was so experienced,
when the carabiner thing snapped,

why didn't he get a clear path,

or why didn't he turn around
and land her back here?

Detective Chief Inspector, it is
impossible to turn a balloon round.

In fact, a pilot can't guide
a balloon anywhere, specifically,

so you are at the mercy
of the winds.

And that's why we were tracking
them in the recovery vehicle.

So, when you go up in a balloon, you
don't know where you are gonna land?

Exactly. The only agency
a balloon pilot has is his burner.

Now, we use the burner
to generate hot air.

And hot air,
Detective Chief Inspector, it rises.

- Really?
- Oh, yeah.

Forcing the craft
to a higher altitude

and, effectively, prolonging
the duration of the flight.

How much fuel did Mr Elkins have
at his disposal?

One of these.

Enough for about three hours.

Plus a reserve, if he needed it.

Three hours?!

But they were airborne
for less than one hour.

So why didn't he fire more hot air
into the...

- Envelope.
- Yeah, envelope,

and get clear of Bath
before he landed?

Good question,
Detective Chief Inspector.

We don't know
what happened up there.

All right, well, I will need
to conduct a formal interview

with Mr Elkins,
standard procedure, pilot debrief.

I'll get that set up, Mr Gilbert.

I might be, er, overstepping
the mark here, Sergeant, but...

am I right in thinking
you suspect foul play?

Well, sir, we do have an anomaly.

Mick Elkins is coming
to the station at 3 p.m., Mr Gilbert.

You should get your ducks in a row.

Roger, Detective Chief Inspector.

- Right, your new friend there...
- He's not my friend.

Takes me years
to make a friend, ma'am.

Whatever.
He's civilian support,

so you do not share murder inquiry
information with him

without my say so. OK?

But he's...
He's on our team, ma'am.

No-one's on our team except us.

Oh, and another thing,

this is obviously low level for the
Air Incident Investigation Agency,

which is why they've sent us
a semi-retired local inspector.

So I want him in and out quickly.

Then we can get to the bottom
of what really happened up there.

This Mr Gilbert strikes me
as over-fussy, too.

But don't worry, ma'am,
I'll keep him on track.

It'll be like talking to yourself.

Sorry?

Well, friend or no friend,
he is like you, isn't he?

W-What?

What, that chap?
He's nothing like me, ma'am.

And, er, I'm a tad put out
you'd even think that.

Quite a large tad, in fact.

I thought tads were small.

Not always.

Sorry.

My boyfriend keeps telling me,
"Think it, Lauren, don't say it."

- Are we good?
- Yeah, I suppose.

Are we funky?

No, no, no, ma'am.
We're not funky.

- Not at the moment. No.
- Well...

...it's something to aim towards.

But this...
this is really weird, isn't it?

The four of them
lived together in 1985.

And now, 35 years later,
they're living together again.

I know, ma'am.
Even I think that's weird.

We were just up there
having a lovely time.

Then something snapped.

This.

Now, that is a 150kg carabiner,

which is too small, too light
for a balloon of this size.

Now, the Magnificent Men,

they say they use
four 2,500kg carabiners.

Well, there you go,
it's criminal negligence, right?

The balloon hire boys,
see, they cut corners.

And this proves it.
Case closed.

Not really.

Well, unfortunately, that evidence
has been in your possession

for over six hours, sir, so...

It's compromised. Raises issues
of preservation and continuity.

What about the fuel tanks?

What about 'em?

We're coming down on top of Bath...

And I'm thinking, what if one of us
fall out over a built-up area?

So I tried to get some height,
get to a field.

But the, er...
the burner wasn't working.

In what way not working?

It fired up for a couple of seconds,
then the bastard thing cut out.

If we could keep our language
respectable, sir.

We are recording.

What about the, erm,
reserve fuel tank, sir?

There was no time to switch tanks.

And you didn't see Frankie jump out?

No.

- Why?
- Who does this belong to?

Yeah, it's mine.

Authentic Bomber Command,
Number 8 Pathfinders Force.

- If you say so.
- I mean,

Pathfinders flew ahead of
the main formation on night raids.

Dropped flares on German targets.

- Bravest of the brave, those boys.
- Excuse me, Mr Gilbert...

- Why were you wearing it?
- Just a bit of fun.

No fun now, sir.
A man dead.

Look, it's my friend who's dead.

And it's your job to find out why.

Now, are we done?

Mr Gilbert?

Er... thank you, Mr Elkins.
This is very helpful.

I'll get someone to show you out.

A word, please, Mr Gilbert.

Right, I think I'm gonna
have to set some ground rules here.

Oh, I'm a nincompoop!

Exhibits!

This is full.
100% full.

I'm sorry,
I'm getting dithery in my old age.

100% full?!

Yet Mr Elkins told us that he took
the balloon up to over 2,000 feet!

I wonder...

Er...

Thank you, Sergeant.

Huh...

What?!

Sergeant Dodds, if you go in the top
left-hand pocket of my rucksack...

Thank you, Sergeant.
Same as mine.

Yep.

- Ah!
- What have you got?

Have a look at this, Sergeant.

Have a look at that,
just behind the pointer.

- Oh!
- What? What is it?

This pointer's been...

glued.

The gauge on the balloon's spare
tank was also glued to full.

Now, between them,
the tanks only have enough gas

to get the flight
to a height of 2,350 feet.

At which point,
the rogue carabiner snaps.

The balloon starts to lose altitude,
and when Elkins fires the burner...

...nothing.

There's no fuel in the tank.

Mr Gilbert,
I don't wanna rush you here,

but do you think you might have
a conclusion for us?

Yes, I do.

I believe someone somehow accessed
the Magnificent Men's premises,

replaced a strong carabiner
with a weak one,

emptied the fuel tanks
and they glued the gauges to full.

Detective Chief Inspector McDonald,

we are now investigating
a deliberate, meticulously-planned

and fatal act of sabotage.

A premeditated act of violence

directed at a group
of law abiding citizens,

resulting in one fatality,
but could have been five.

I want you to assure the survivors
of our ongoing protection.

Yes, sir.

I actually remember those people
from the '80s.

I was a New Romantic, you know?

What, like Boy George?

I am choosing to ignore that,
Lauren.

Those four were celebrities
back then.

- Really?
- Yes.

And they have obviously
weathered the years well.

Financially, at least.

Which means they're
well connected in Bath,

- so tread gingerly around them.
- I will.

- But...
- But what?

- We still haven't explained the
scratches on the victim's hands. - OK.

But concentrate on the logistics
of the sabotage.

How it was done, who had
the expertise and the opportunity.

- That's your priority.
- Yes, sir.

Got my A-team on it.

Shush-shush.

Airbus... A320neo.

Ah...

Best long-range single-aisle model
on the market.

I can tell by the engine note.

It's a game I play with little
Georgie, my grandson.

Ha...

You're... ex-military,
aren't you, Mr Gilbert?

RAF.

Straight from school.
Like my father.

I flew Tornado GR1s
in the first Gulf War.

Hit the IRAF bases
and oil refineries.

Hairy stuff.

But they won't keep you on forever,
will they?

So once they retired me,
I flew commercial for ten years.

Budget airline.

Course, cos of my age,

they put me on what's known
as a zero-hours contract.

Five times a week to Alicante.

And the passengers...

...holidaymakers.

People are so uncouth nowadays,
aren't they?

So I joined The Air Incident
Investigation Agency.

Part-time.

- Maybe it wasn't put in the set-up.
- What was he doin' up there?

- Explain!
- We always prep.

Right. Come on, Sergeant.

Crack this blasted case.

Aye-aye, Captain.

That's Navy talk, Sergeant.

Oh, yeah, sorry.
I beg your pardon, sir.

Sabotage? No way.
We safety checked everything.

Double-checked.

When did you do your safety checks?

Sunday night.
Finished at ten.

We loaded the trailer
ready for Monday morning.

We were back at 5:30 a.m.

We've already established that the,
er, fuel tanks were empty.

The fuel gauges were glued on full.

No.

Those tanks were full.

They felt full.

What's the weight difference

between a full tank
and an empty one?

10 kilos.

When Mick Elkins took that
balloon up, those tanks were full.

This was taken by Barbara Graham,
Monday morning.

Their arms are definitely
straining, ma'am,

it's obvious
they're lifting 20 kilos.

- You can't fake that, can you?
- No, ma'am.

The balloon boys aren't lying to us,
are they?

Why would they?
Why sabotage your own balloon?

How on Earth could those tanks
weigh 20kg on the way up,

but were empty on the way down?

That's up to you
and your mate Roy to figure out.

- Mate?
- Sorry, colleague.

As for Fleetwood Mac up there,

we do as we're tasked and we treat
them as survivors and victims.

But just because their balloon
was sabotaged

doesn't mean they didn't
push Frankie out.

That's difficult to prove, ma'am.

Unless one of them breaks ranks
and turns witness.

So we drive a wedge between 'em.

That's quite a challenge, ma'am.

They are lifelong friends.

Yeah.

You must be the victim
of a few lifelong friendships.

Oh, well, er...

there's Reg Cartwright,
erm, Soapy Carmichael.

Oh, no, he passed away
last Christmas Eve.

Eric...

always forget his second name,
he's got a wife.

And Stan, yeah, the sign writer.

He's dyslexic.

Dyslexic sign writer?

Oh, yes, Stan.
He's got a system.

I don't see so much of those boys
these days. How come?

Well, ma'am, when men get to my time
of life, they isolate themselves,

you know, erm, socially.

Boyfriend's got himself
a five-a-side game.

- Oh, right, good for him.
- Is it?

Not sure I want him
putting down roots.

It's not like we're planning on
staying forever, are we?

Oh.

OK, ma'am.

I have to inform you that
we've established that your crash

was the result of a deliberate act
of sabotage.

What? Not negligence?
The boys at...

No, sir.
Planned, pre-meditated sabotage.

Ha!

Sorry, we're all a bit stressed.

If you see anything unusual
or suspicious,

give us a ring directly
on this number.

Don't hesitate. OK?

Can you think of anyone who might
be holding a grudge against you?

No. We've only been in Bath
for a few years.

I don't think any of us
have had any problems.

Maybe further back.
As far as 1985?

Why would you think that?

We found this in Frankie's pocket.

Why do you think
he was carrying this?

No idea.

- How long have you known Frankie?
- Since the mid '80s.

- Yeah.
- So, when this was taken,

he shared the house with you
in Notting Hill?

Uh, no.
It was just the four of us.

Frankie didn't move in until...

- '86?
- Mm.

Sorry, Miss Somner, when you say it
was just four of you in the house...

What's this got to do with anything?

Surely you should be trying
to nick whoever it was

who messed with the balloon?
That's who killed Frankie.

Actually, Mr Marsh killed himself,
according to Ms Graham.

Obviously, I'm putting everything
into the sabotage investigation,

but I do have a duty
to Frankie's family.

He didn't have any family.

OK. Was there a reason he jumped?

To save us.

If Frankie hadn't jumped.

The basket would have gone
and we'd all be dead.

He was... devoted to us.

And I suppose that's why he carried
that picture in his pocket.

He lost his keys last week,

and rather than wake any of us up
to let him in,

he spent the night in a hotel.

How can you be so sure that he
jumped to save your lives?

We were all up there
clinging on for dear life.

Mick, remember?
You shouted, "There's too much weight."

- Yeah.
- He smiled at me.

That lovely, sweet smile of his.

And then he jumped.

Can I just get this clear,
Mr Elkins?

So, Mr Marsh realised that to save
your four lives, he had to go?

Yeah, I guess so.

And when he jumped, did he grab hold
of anything, Miss Graham?

I'm sorry?

- As he jumped to his death...
- To save the rest of you.

- ...Did he grab hold of anything?
- Or anyone?

No.

I don't believe this!
You think one of us pushed him?

We have evidence to suggest

there might have been
some kind of struggle.

What evidence?

Look, can we just
all be honest here?

Good idea.

We are, none of us,
shrinking violets.

We've had success, we've made money.

- There are a lot of, of...
- ..frenemies out there.

Yeah, we'd be happy to give you
a list of all those who hate,

despise and envy us.

Why not? It might be fun.

You know, it's the curse
of the modern world, ma'am.

How to a affix the optimum amount
of butter on my chips

when the butter's frozen.

I mean, you wait for the butter
to melt, then the chips are cold.

What matters more,
the chips or the butter?

I feel like it's the butter.

Yeah, that's true.

Then... a cold chip?
That's a crime against nature.

Right, what have we got?
The carabiner thing snaps...

Mick Elkins realises
there's too much weight,

and Frankie jumps
to save the lives of his friends.

Because he's so devoted to them.
Convenient, huh?

But the scratches on his hand

don't necessarily prove
that he was pushed.

Yeah, but they do prove
that they were lying

about what actually happened.

- Don't lick your fingers!
- Sorry, ma'am. Oh, OK.

So, why was Frankie carrying this?

And why did it make them all
so paranoid?

London, 1984.

At 19, Frankie Marsh was the drummer

in what was known
as a new wave band,

The Key Marginals.

They didn't last long.

He worked as a road person
for a group called Japan,

but they sacked him
for stealing their equipment.

He moved into 15, Faraday Square,
Notting Hill, in October 1986.

And this is him in 1992.

Four arrests in six years for breach
of the peace, drunk and disorderly,

assault, possession of amphetamine
sulphate with intent to supply.

Three months' incarceration.

The creme de la creme
of cool, hip London,

and they let this little hooligan
into their lives?

Right.

Everyone, you all know the
approximate route the balloon took,

from Clutton Hill
to Royal Crescent Meadow,

about eight miles or so.

We're canvassing for eyewitnesses
and/or phone footage,

dashcam footage, CCTV.

Anybody, anywhere, that saw Frankie
Marsh come out of that balloon.

I'm still not ruling out a push.

That's hard to prove.

I mean, shouldn't we
be concentrating on the sabotage?

As SIO, I make the operational
calls here, Mr Gilbert.

The rest of you...

Jackie Somner, Barbara Graham,
Gordon Elmwood and Mick Elkins.

We don't know who, outside the
group, sabotaged that balloon,

but did they grab this opportunity
to get rid of Frankie Marsh?

Are those four murderers,
as well as victims?

Get 'em talking.

The more they talk,
the more they'll lie.

And the more they lie,
the more mistakes they make,

and the closer
we'll get to the truth

of knowing what really happened
up there.

It's a four-way marriage.

Let's break it up.

Well, of course
I had enemies in the '80s.

I mean, you should start
with the board of Virgin,

cos when I jumped ship to EMI,
I took Sade with me.

Norman Foster, because I loved
to call him Richard Rogers.

The record business?
Dog-eat-dog.

Richard Rogers, because I loved
to call him Norman Foster.

Deranged wives?

I've always preferred married men.

I wrote for the fanzines,
the NME, The Face,

but I was promoting the bands
and the whole scene.

When Elton and John Reid
had their tiff,

I was there to catch Elton.
Old Reidy was threatening a hitman.

Once I got my column
in The Telegraph,

the old comrades weren't happy.

Billy McKenzie.

You know, wonderful singer,
but I... I stood on his whippet.

Although I suppose we should
rule out the dead, shouldn't we?

Along comes COVID,
I switch all my money into Perspex

and I pick up bankrupt restaurants
at basement prices.

Gordon, he calls it
vampire capitalism.

Twitter.

Young people.

We're asset rich.

And there's a whole storm
brewing over this!

The way you look at us.

Resentful.

And now, if you'll excuse me...

...I'm grieving.

You're wearing black cufflinks.

What is this place?

I've always been rather partial
to a private club.

I was a founding member
of The Groucho.

What's that, a lap dancing club?

Fascinating.

Thanks for these.

You guys have given us
over 500 leads.

Enemies are the price
of selfishness.

What made you so selfish?

Well, I blame Mrs Thatcher.

What made you so wholesome?

Back in the '80s, Frankie was
this vicious little thug.

How come he got to be
in your exclusive...

No, Frankie was one of us.

We all come from
very modest backgrounds.

My father was a postman
in Milton Keynes.

That's what it was all about
back then.

You know, chancing your arm.

Inventing yourself.

Grabbing opportunities.

Do you see?

But you had to be brutal.
And we were.

And it was thrilling.
God, it was thrilling.

Thrilled myself into a stupor.

Being cool looks rubbish.

- We all loved Frankie.
- You do "love"?

And Frankie loved us,
which is why he gave his own life.

That is bullshit and you know it.

Should I stay or should I go?

Did he jump or was he pushed?

I can't prove that he jumped,
you can't prove that he was pushed.

Unless one of you confesses...

or breaks rank.

Go on. Be selfish.

Chuck the others out the balloon
and save yourself.

We are a group of firm,
fast and famous friends.

None of us would dream
of breaking ranks.

That's what they all say.

You're trying to get us
to turn on each other.

But we're the victims here.

You know, somebody tried to kill us.

And they succeeded
in killing poor old Frankie.

Well, you certainly have given us

a comprehensive list
of potential culprits.

But, erm...
which of them did you tell?

It was you who organised
the balloon trip, Mr Elkins,

as a surprise for your friends.

That's what Miss Graham and
Mr Elwood and Miss Sumner told us.

He's doing it again.

Trying to split us up.

You, sir, were the only one who
knew that the trip was happening.

So, did you tell anyone else?

- No!
- Why the surprise?

It's what I do.

I do what I do for my friends
because I love 'em

and they love me.

And we loved Frankie.
Frankie, he loved all of us.

We are unbreakable.

Now deal with it.

Unbreakable? Nah.
No-one's unbreakable. Not to us.

We just need more leverage.
More leverage gets us more pressure.

More pressure gets us a confession.

Sorry to chuck my tuppence worth
in again, Detective Chief Inspector,

but shouldn't we focus on the
other culprit's modus operandi?

I mean, how did he get access
to the Magnificent Men's equipment?

Well...
Or she...

Good point, Sergeant,

there's no telling what
ladies are capable of these days.

Thanks for that, Roy.

So, if the trip was a surprise,
who else knew about it?

Well, Mr Elkins told us
that he didn't tell anyone.

So, is he protecting someone?

Ma'am?
Looks like you were right.

I know.
About what?

PolSA search team
just recovered this...

ten metres from the body.

Steel wire fixing.

Explains the scratches
on the victim's fingers.

That's from Jackie's coat.

Come on.

I wonder...

No compromise, no platform!

No compromise, no platform!

Cancel Culture.
How original.

Have you read the book?

Posh, privileged,

middle-class women claiming
they speak for half the population.

What happened, Jackie?

30 years ago, you're the face
of radical feminism.

What changed your mind?

Life.

Sabotage and the push are connected.

And Mick Elkins is behind both.

Ooh, publishers are
gonna love you.

Barbara?
You said that when Frankie fell,

that he didn't grab onto anything
or anyone.

But we've just recovered this,
ten metres from Mr Marsh's body.

This matches the buttons
on your coat, Jackie,

which I can see you've replaced.

Are you sure
there wasn't a struggle?

Look, Frankie's dead
because some psychotic maniac

- sabotaged that balloon...
- You, Mr Elkins...

...to give yourselves cover
to murder Frankie.

What, are you nuts?

- You have the capabilities.
- Get this clown out of here.

Clown?

You think I'm funny?

My father flew
those Pathfinder missions.

- Excuse me, Mr Gilbert...
- We lost a lot of good men.

Decent men,
who fought for your...

My whole childhood, military bases
in Germany after the war,

Gutersloh, I hardly saw anything
of England

because we were making sacrifices
for the likes of parasites...

Outside!
Now, please, Mr Gilbert.

Out of order, Mr Gilbert.

Look, I've been thinking.

Mick Elkins has over 200 hours'
flying time in gliders and balloons.

Get real, mate!

If he wants to kill Frankie,
there are easier ways.

If you know the dimensions
of the envelope.

The approximate weights
of your passengers,

the basket and the fuel tanks,
you can calculate it.

Yeah? Factor in the tensile strength
of the cables,

the load-bearing capacity
of the carabiners.

If one carabiner breaks,
the other three

are not strong enough
to support five people.

Mick Elkins took
a calculated gamble.

You can tell he lifts weights.

He gambled he could hold a bent
carabiner in place for two minutes

while one of his friends
pushed Frankie out.

And then they tell us
that Frankie jumped to save them.

Go home, Mr Gilbert.

Cool off.

There's gonna be
repercussions over this,

serious repercussions.

Ma'am, look, I'm not saying

that Mr Gilbert is the most
tactful individual,

but he's only trying
to help us get to the truth.

I know, but Mick Elkins and his
mates sabotaged their own balloon,

risked plunging a couple of thousand
feet to their certain death,

just so they had a cover story
to kill Frankie?

It does explain the known facts.

I know, but it's still
just a theory.

Where's the hard evidence
that Mick Elkins...?

Where's the hard evidence
of a push?

Jackie's missing button
is only circumstantial.

It's leverage
for a confession, though.

Or it was until Roy stormed in
and blew it.

Er...

...what did the zebra say
to impress his new girlfriend?

It's a joke.

What did the zebra say
to impress his new girlfriend?

I don't know.

"I used to play for Juventus."

- Juventus play in black and white.
- I know.

But it's not funny?

No, it is funny,
Detective Constable Craig.

I have a very obnoxious laugh.

People find it disturbing.

Even my parents.

Erm, ma'am, I've, er, sent a copy

of Frankie Marsh's financial
profile to your tablet.

Well, I'm not gonna say

that this means Mr Gilbert's right,
ma'am, but... Maybe he is.

Maybe the whole thing was
a conspiracy to kill Frankie,

led by Mick Elkins.

Well...

This is motive.

Frankie's financial profile.

You bought him
the apartment downstairs.

Jackie pays him 25k a year
for "consultancy services".

Ditto Gordon and Barbara.

Yeah, well, we loved Frankie
like a brother, you know?

That's a lot of love for people
who are supposed to be selfish.

Ah, that's just a pose.
Live Aid was the '80s.

I helped Bob and Midge make it work.

Bob and Midge?
What's that, kids' TV?

- Henry Howard.
- Sorry?

You know, I've been thinking
about enemies, you know?

This guy called Henry Howard.

He got it into his head
that me and him were like mates

cos we're both balloon pilots.

Anyway, his restaurant goes bankrupt
and I swoop in.

Was Frankie blackmailing you?

All four of you?

Is that why he had to go?

Excuse me, sir, but what were you
doing between 9 p.m. on Sunday night

and 5:30 a.m. on Monday morning?

I was here.

Hm... Henry Howard.

We'll certainly take a look at that,
won't we, ma'am?

Thank you for your time, sir.

Right, what's happening?
You just pulled a Roy Gilbert on me.

I had him in there. I was right
about Frankie blackmailing him.

Yes, ma'am, you are right,
and so is Mr Gilbert.

I think that I can prove that
Mick Elkins sabotaged that balloon.

Now, two weights were missing
from Elkins's rack up there.

Two 10kg weights.

See? See, there now.

It looks like they're shifting
two full 20-kilo tanks.

But we know those tanks were empty.

Ma'am, there is a 10kg difference

between and full tank
and an empty one.

Look. Look, now, see.

The tanks, they're kept
in weatherproof bags.

So, what exactly are you saying?

Mick Elkins, he breaks into
the Magnificent Men trailer

on Sunday night, he empties
the tanks of 10kg of fuel,

then he inserts his weights
into the bags to compensate

and to fool the Magnificent Men.

Then the balloon, it takes off
with his weights in the bag.

Then the balloon crash-lands
with his weights in the bag.

And our people,
they secure the crash scene

and they seize the tanks
in the bags as exhibits.

Ma'am... the weights'll
still be there,

at Exhibits, in the bags,

with Mick Elkins's trace evidence
all over them.

DC Craig said I could find you here.

They've removed me from the inquiry
after my outburst.

I'm sorry about that.

- It was unprofessional.
- OK.

I just wanted to say how much
I've enjoyed working with you,

both of you.
It's been a privilege.

Thanks, Roy.

Well, we couldn't have done it
without you, sir.

A few of us inconsequential fellows,

we meet up on the last Friday
of every month

at the Sunne Rising
on Upper North Street.

A couple of cleansing pints of ale
and some idle chat.

You're quite welcome to join us.

I just might...
just might take you up on that.

- Thank you, Sar...
- Ah...

Right, let's get
those weights, ma'am.

It's empty.

There's no weights.

Where are they?

Barbara Graham has raised an online
complaint of harassment.

- Jackie Somner's doing a BuzzFeed article.
- BuzzFeed?

On her personal experience of
the West of England Constabulary's

- structural sexism.
- That's rich, coming from her!

Do not interrupt.

I'm not one of your suspects.

Gordon Elmwood's asked
the CC's wife...

Oh, yes, he's her friend.

...To have a word
in her husband's ear.

Mick Elkins's London solicitor

is demanding a Professional
Standards Investigation.

All because you allowed
this Roy Gilbert...

I didn't allow anything.
He gate-crashed.

- He overstepped his remit.
- Well, he's gone now!

This has become a multi-pronged
attack on me, Lauren.

What are you gonna do about it?

Uh, well, er, we believe, sir,

that weights were used
to fool the Magnificent Men.

What is he talking about?

Forget about the weights.
If Elkins was behind it,

he wouldn't leave the weights in
the bags under our nose, would he?

They'd be in the Avon by now.

Honeymoon over, Lauren?

I don't do honeymoons, sir.

OK.

Let's kick the tyres on this.

These guys have been lying to us
from the start.

Considering their financial
relationship with the victim,

I think he was blackmailing them.

Over what? I don't know,
but look at the pattern.

In 2016, the four of them move
to Bath to share an apartment block.

A year later,
Frankie turns up and moves in.

Go back to 1985, the four of them
buy a house in Notting Hill.

- A year later, Frankie moves in.
- Not four of them.

- What?
- What, er... 1985...

...I think there may have been
five people living in that house.

So, if you can just enlarge that
for us, please,

Detective Constable Paciorkowski?
Just on the mirror there.

Can we make that clearer?

So, who's he, then?

Mick Elkins?

Nah, that's not Mick, is it?

No. Definitely not.

They did tell us
that were four of them

living in that house in Notting Hill
in 1985, didn't they?

Yes, they did, ma'am.

Well, he looks right at home to me.

Could be a boyfriend
or a mate, but...

Drill down hard on that house
in Notting Hill.

Ownership, tenancies,
anything and everything.

When'd you find out about this?

When I went to the library, ma'am.

- On Monday?
- Yes, ma'am.

Why didn't you tell me on Monday?

Well, I just...

I didn't think that it was important
at the time, ma'am.

I decide what is
and isn't important.

That's how it works here.
You give me information

and I turn it into knowledge.

But I do need the information
as soon as we find it.

- Ma'am.
- Yes, ma'am.

All right.

- Yes?
- Message from Roy Gilbert...

...for Sergeant Dodds.

He wants you to meet him
at the crash scene.

He has a theory about the case.

Well, no stone unturned, ma'am.

Yeah, OK. Fine. Go get your
weird little friend's theory.

Well, that's not fair, ma'am.

Roy Gilbert's a good and decent man.

This is paradise.
This is the end of the journey.

The destination?

This is a place called happiness.

And cut! Really well done, Barbara,
thank you.

Thank you.

Oh, for God's sake...

I didn't know you were an actress.

I'm not. I'm an '80s icon,
as you know.

Clickbait for the equity release
demographic. You know...

"Sign your house over to us, boys,
and... you get me."

Who's this?
There, in the background.

- I don't know.
- Really?

He's in your house.
In Notting Hill. In 1985.

Looks right at home to me.

I'm sorry. I don't know.

Sergeant Dodds.

I hope I haven't dragged you away
from anything important.

No, Sir. I, er...

I seem to have
become, erm...

...superfluous.

Join the club.

If you'll indulge me a little,
this is what I'm thinking.

If I'm correct,

and Mick Elkins did sabotage
his own balloon trip...

It's all about the fuel tanks.

You took the words
right out of my mouth.

Yeah, I believe it is
all about the fuel tanks.

But the question is, how did Elkins
fool the Magnificent Men

- into thinking they were full?
- Weights.

Sergeant, I'm beginning
to feel superfluous myself.

Well, when I went
to Mr Elkins's apartment,

I noticed that two ten-kilogram
fitness weights were missing.

That's it.

That's the missing piece
in my theory. That's the proof.

Only if we can
recover those weights.

And that's my problem, sir.

I know they went up
with the balloon,

I know they came down again,

but when I went to Exhibits...
nothing.

Gone.

So where in the blazes are they?

What did Elkins do with them?

Unless...

Unless he smuggled them away
from here?

From under our noses?

How could he? The place
was crawling with police

when they landed,
the Magnificent Men were here,

- I mean, how could he...?
- No, you're right. Of course not.

Unless...

The only other possibility
is that... someone else...

removed them.

No. I don't think
that is the only other possibility.

Sergeant,
I believe Elkins dumped them.

I think he threw them overboard,

just after they'd thrown Frankie
overboard.

Elkins couldn't risk landing
with them on-board.

I mean, what if we searched
the fuel tank bags?

He'd be caught red handed.

That's it!

That's exactly it.
Brilliant, sir. Quite brilliant!

Sergeant, standard Air Incident
Investigation Agency practice.

We recreate the flight.

So, same type of plane,
same weather, same altitude,

same flightpath. Now, mostly,
we're looking for evidence.

So, debris, missing parts.

But perhaps, you and I, in the air,
working together,

might spot the missing weights
on the ground,

bang Mick Elkins to rights.

- Something wrong, Sergeant?
- Well, sir, I...

...I suffer from vertigo.
I really don't like...

As I used to say
to my nervous passengers,

it's the air that holds you up.

Nope. Sorry. No idea.

A lot of people came and went.
Who didn't wanna be in our gang?

Normal people?
Take a proper look.

What's your Achilles heel, Jackie?

Like seeing a ghost, eh?

We keep coming back to Notting Hill,
1985. That time, that place.

YOU keep coming back to that.

As far as I'm concerned,
the past is another planet.

Actually, that's a rather good line
for my funeral oration for Frankie.

Which, if you don't mind,
I'm trying to prepare.

Gordy, time to go.

Who's this, Mick?
Notting Hill, 1985.

I was on tour a lot back then.
'85 to '90,

it's all a bit of a blur.

Come on, Mick. Let's go home
and Google ourselves.

Took you 35 years
to get rid of Frankie.

Why'd he keep following you lot?
What did he have on you?

There were four of you
up in that balloon.

One killer, three witnesses.

So, how long until one of you cracks
and gives up the killer?

It's only a matter of time, boys.

Weather conditions
similar to last Monday.

Now, we know Elkins'
point of origin,

we know where he crash-landed.

I reckon I can
shadow his flightpath,

at a lower altitude, of course.

Shall we?

Right. What have we got?

First. That house in Notting Hill.

It's how those four
made their fortune.

They bought it in November 1986
for 30 grand.

Sold it three years later
for 1.5 million.

Split the profits four ways.

30 grand? Bloody hell! That's not
even a deposit in my world.

But the thing is, ma'am, in 1985,

there were five people resident
in the house.

The man in the mirror?

John Malcolm. We can place him
in London between March 1984

and September 1985.

He absconded from his home
in Germany

on the military base in Gutersloh.

Whoa!

What was the name
of that military base?

Gutersloh.

That's where Roy Gilbert
was brought up.

So, what does that mean, ma'am?

It means he has the expertise,
the capability...

...and the motive.
Where's Dodds?

He left a message, he's...

Climb aboard, Sergeant Dodds.

Are you sure
we're gonna be OK up there?

Sergeant... I've rattled through
Iraqi ground barrages unscathed.

I reckon I can handle this fella.

Whoa...!

You're fine, old son. We're still
tethered to the ground, see?

- Ah...
- Are we ready, chaps?

Just checking your gas, Mr Gilbert.
Obviously.

All right, Sergeant? All set?

Get my gubbins from the car,
and we'll get ourselves started.

Two ten-kilogram weights.

Damn! I forgot my binoculars.

Whoa... Argh!

- Shit!
- Bloody hell!

No! Hold on, bro...
Hold on to me, Ollie...

What do I do?!

- The vent!
- The what?

Pull the bloody vent!

What vent?!

Come on! Help! You need to help us,
Mr Gilbert!

He's gonna go up, Ollie,
he's gonna go.

Bloody hell.

Aaargh!

The red line! Pull the red line!

Do what you're told!
Pull the red line!

What happened, Roy?

I don't know.

I think I owe you an apology.

I've come round
to your way of thinking.

Mick Elkins did this.

I'd appreciate your help
in proving it.

Of course.

I'm so sorry, Sergeant. My mistake.

My daughter, Victoria, she says
I'm getting older and dithery.

Are you OK?

He's OK.
Sergeant Dodds,

I'm bringing Mr Gilbert back
onto the inquiry.

He's gonna help us nail Mick Elkins,
aren't you, Roy?

Yeah.

It's my call.

And you need to decide which side
your chips are buttered on.

It's great to have you
back on board, sir.

Right, now,
let's get a chopper up...

- ...and see if we can find those weights.
- Good idea, Sergeant.

Mick Elkins has taken us all
for a ride.

- He's been laughing at us.
- Yeah, well. That stops now.

- Are you OK?
- Ah, yes, ma'am. I think so.

Apart from Roy Gilbert
trying to kill me.

Don't worry about him,
I've got a plan.

Who's John Malcolm?

The man who wasn't there.

We gather here today to
lay to rest Francis Edward Marsh,

beloved friend of Gordon, Barbara,
Michael and Jacqueline.

If you think
you can stop the burial...

There's no point. We can't prove
that Frankie was pushed.

But we CAN prove that Mr Elkins
sabotaged that balloon.

- Oh, not this again!
- Mr Gilbert?

Last Sunday night, you broke into
the Magnificent Men trailer.

You inserted two ten-kilogram
weights into the bags

to fool the balloon boys.

DC Craig?

These are the weights you used.

Recovered from a field
where you dumped them.

But missing from your weights rack.

- I noticed they were missing.
- I noticed, too.

Only one set of prints on them,
Mick.

Yours.

You replaced a strong carabiner
with a weak one...

This is bullshit!

You calculated the load bearing
capacity of the balloon

so, when the weak carabiner snapped,

the basket couldn't support
all five of you.

Mick...?

Very clever, Mr Elkins.

You forced your friends
to get rid of Frankie

without you lifting a finger.

Say it, Jackie.
Say what you're thinking.

- Did you set us up?
- No!

Come on, Jackie.

- Gordy?
- I should talk to my lawyer, Mick.

You're kidding!

I did NOT! This is crap!

Barbara?!

I don't know, really...
I don't know.

- You set us up!
- No, I didn't!

- They're chucking you out
the balloon, Mick. - You set us up!

It was your button, Jackie!
They found your button!

Cos Frankie pulled it off!

Let's just take a step back here.

I didn't set anyone up.

I'm the innocent one here.

I was trying to save everyone!

They did it!

They did it!

I don't blame you.

35 years, sex on tap.

Frankie liked you on his arm,
too, didn't he?

Took you down the pub...
impressed the lads.

You pushed him, Barbara.

And I'll swear to that in court.

OK.

You're going for murder, Barbara.

You two, accessories to murder.
And as for you, Mick...

Mr Elkins is innocent.

What?

Sunday night.

It wasn't Mr Elkins who broke into
the Magnificent Men trailer.

That was you, Mr Gilbert.

It was you
who sabotaged the balloon.

Changed the carabiner

and slipped Mr Elkins's weights in
with the fuel tanks.

Then, later, after the crash,

it was you who cleared
the crime scene of our people

so that you could smuggle
Mr Elkins's weights out

from under our noses and use them
to frame Mr Elkins.

But I'm afraid that your trusty
rucksack gave you away.

The first time you met us.
Do you remember, sir?

Do you remember what happened?

Good morning,
Detective Chief Inspector!

It snapped...

because you were carrying those
two ten-kilo weights in it

that you'd stolen
from Mr Elkins's apartment.

You little shit.

Apart from that, it was all
planned and executed

with military precision.

There's too much weight.

If they don't lose someone from
the basket, then they'll all die.

There's no time to draw lots,
no time to discuss it.

But you knew exactly
who they'd choose to lose.

Frankie Marsh.

It was genius, Mr Gilbert.

You were the invisible hand
that modelled the perfect,

murderous, now-or-never moment.

The killer who wasn't there.

So, it wasn't really murder.

Of course it's a murder!
She pushed him!

I didn't have a choice.

Frankie would have died anyway.

I mean, yes, I did push Frankie,
but I didn't actually murder him.

Did I? When you think about it,
Barbara actually saved four lives.

How uncharacteristically selfless.

You can't arrest me.
It won't stand up in court, will it?

No.

Stop it! Stop laughing.
You think...

People like me, you know, ordinary
people who just live in the suburbs

and don't make a fuss
about everything...

You think we're funny?

We're dull? We're boring?

We fought!

My father fought!

Good men... died.

Gave EVERYTHING for England!

We fought for...

So, is that it, mate?!
We don't wear a poppy, so...

John Malcolm.

Go on, Roy.
Tell them why you did it.

Mr Gilbert grew up in Gutersloh
in Germany.

On an RAF base.

Next door to his best friend,
John Malcolm.

John ran away from home.

To London.

He was 16. I never heard from him.

He cut off all contact.
With me, with his mum and dad.

They went looking, but gave up.

I went looking.
I came to your house.

Notting Hill, 1985.

Frankie answered the door.
He laughed.

Said John just up and gone,
didn't know where. I searched,

but I never found him.
Police never found him.

It was the end of his mum.

Not knowing.
Never knowing what happened to him.

We found no trace of John Malcolm
after 1985.

It seems he disappeared.

And then, 35 years later,
you run into Frankie here. In Bath.

You approach him.

What DID happen to John Malcolm?

Frankie laughed at me again.
He was drunk...

started rubbing it in my face.

So I got him more drunk.

He started ranting about you people.

About how you excluded him,
but you couldn't get rid of him

cos of what he knew.
He knew what you did.

He lost his keys last week,

and rather than wake any of us up
to let him in,

he spent the night in a hotel.

What did Frankie tell you?
What did they do?

You paid Frankie...
to kill my friend.

In 1986, you four bought the house
in Notting Hill for 30 grand.

30 measly grand, on the basis
of a legal entitlement to purchase,

because you squatted there.
Three years later,

you sell the place for 1.5 million.

But John Malcolm was
the original squatter.

He had first entitlement to buy.
Until you got rid of him.

You didn't pull yourselves up
by your bootstraps.

You took the life of an innocent,
expendable young man.

Greed was good, eh?

Where's the body?

Right now, I have a 20-man
specialist search team in the Met

waiting to pull your old house
apart, piece by piece,

brick by brick. It's gonna take time
and it's gonna take money.

When it comes to sentencing,

judges tend to get angry
about things like that.

And let's face it...

none of you are bright
young things any more.

Where's the body?

Life... your lives...

changed when you killed my friend.

Was it worth it?

Was it really worth it?

In the wee small hours?

They always land on their feet.
That's what Frankie said.

And I thought,
"Not any more. Not this time."

You couldn't prove
they murdered John Malcolm,

so you forced them
to murder Frankie.

You know, Sergeant, in another life,
you and I could have been friends.

You took advantage of me, sir.
Then you tried to kill me.

A man spends too long alone,

he ends up blaming everyone
but himself.

I lost my bearings.

Time to go, Roy.

'Ghosts'
by Japan

They've found a body under the house
in Notting Hill.

Met have confirmed dental records.
John Malcom.

Very good, ma'am.

Hey!

We've clocked off.

Do you know, ma'am, I live alone.

I'm not complaining.

That's my bed and I'll lie in it.

But...

we go through winter,
and it's dark and it's wet and cold

and... the streets are empty
and we're all stuck in our houses.

Sometimes, you think
the sun'll never shine again.

And then...

...then the Mayday weekend comes.

Every year, I look forward
to the May weekend.

Cos that means
that the summer's here,

and all the people, they come out...

I don't like empty streets, ma'am.

Roy hated crowds and tourists,
didn't he?

So, it pains me to say it, but...
I was wrong.

You're nothing like him.

- If I don't lose my bearings.
- Yeah, well, you won't.

Would you like another Old Peculiar,
Sarge?

I would indeed...

...Detective Chief Inspector.

Yeah, right!

Hey... Funky.