All language subtitles for New Tricks S05E05 Couldn t Organise One.DVDRip.NonHI.en.ACORN

After hearing
the guilty verdict,

Deputy Assistant
Commissioner Robert Strickland

gave this reaction.

It is hard to comprehend

how a detective of
McAdam's rank and experience

could have deceived his
fellow officers for so long.

'Cause you were in
charge of him, you pillock.

We will now undertake
a full and thorough review

of all the major investigations
led by D.C.I. McAdam

during the last 15 years.

- Ouch.
- 15 years.

Pity the poor bastards
who've got to sort that lot out.

Yes. Pity.

But it's nothing to do with
us. Those are all closed cases.

- All except this one.
- No way.

- You don't want to do it?
- No.

1998... A 26-year-old
named Graham Thompson

drowned in a vat of beer.

Felspar's Brewery, Hoxton.

As in the still-functioning,
still-making-beer Felspar's.

Okay. Fair enough.

Ohh. Felspar's.

I must have drank
gallons of the stuff.

We could have a little look.

Wouldn't hurt.

♪ It's all right, it's okay ♪

♪ Doesn't really matter
if you're old and gray ♪

♪ It's all right, I
say it's okay ♪

♪ Listen to what I say ♪

♪ It's all right, doing fine ♪

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

♪ It's all right, I
say it's okay ♪

♪ We're getting to
the end of the day ♪

Subtitling made
possible by Acorn Media

Graham Thompson,
assistant brewer at Felspar's.

Last seen by his
girlfriend, Anna Hodgkiss,

on the 27th of November 1998.

10 days later he was found
by chief brewer Malcolm Hagley

at the bottom of this
fermentation tank.

- What beer was it?
- Pardon?

What sort of beer? In the tank.

- I don't know.
- Felspar's Far-Reaching Bitter.

There was no sign of foul play,

but his body had
deteriorated so badly

it could only be identified
from dental records.

- Don't make it anymore.
- No.

- What?
- Far-Reaching Bitter.

Shame. Wonderful beer.

Felspar's Fighting
Bitter, they used to call it.

- Did they?
- Owd Winkle. That was my tipple.

It was some brew, that.

The only thing that remained
intact were his work clothes

and some malted barley
found in the pockets.

They're being sent over later.

Specific gravity...
1062 degrees.

6% alcohol.

- Four pints of that and...
- You'd get an "owd winkle"!

Thompson...

a Glaswegian, had
no living relatives.

He was very well liked,

so his death may well
have well been an accident.

But it was unusual and
therefore suspicious.

More to the point, it was left
unsolved by a bent copper.

Any thoughts?

What a fabulous way to go.

Malcolm Hagley created
Far-Reaching Bitter.

South of England best
bitter five years in a row.

Five times on the trot!

I mean, if there was a
hall of fame for brewers,

he'd be numero uno, this bloke.

I mean, can you remember

the first time you
had a pint of that, hey?

Leave it out, will you?

That first pint never
touched the sides.

- Gerry, I'm an alcoholic.
- I know.

- Gotten sensitive on us.
- Shut up!

Morning.

Good morning, gentlemen.

I presume you are
Jehovah's Witnesses?

In which case I must inform you

that I am an adherent
of the Church of Rome.

Auf wiedersehen.

Hello. I'm
Superintendent Pullman.

This is Jack Halford.

We rang earlier. We're
looking for Anna Hodgkiss.

Right. Anna.

Hi. Nice to meet you. Uh,
do you want to follow me?

Sorry to have to
put you through this,

especially after
such a long time.

No, no, I'm glad.

Graham was the love of my life.

First love. You
never forget, do you?

No.

Apparently, you were the last
person to see Graham alive.

Do you remember how he was?

Like always. On about his work.

He was mad about it. Obsessed.

He did used to get
anxious over things.

Like what?

He wasn't happy
about some of the things

that were going
on at the brewery.

He never said what
exactly, but I could tell.

You didn't mention this
in the original case file.

Oh, no, I did.

I told the policeman
that was in charge.

He didn't take me
seriously. He just thought...

He made a pass at me.

This would be D.C.I. McAdam.

Why didn't you make a
complaint against him?

I was only a kid. He's
the man in charge.

If he doesn't take me seriously,
why would anyone else?

Graham was careful, you know?

Meticulous.

If he thought something
was wrong, it was.

You don't think it was
an accident, do you?

I know it wasn't.

Graham was very clever.
Lovely boy. Great nose.

Nose?

For beer. It's very important.

Ooh.

- You found his body.
- It was terrible.

He fell in, and he
couldn't get out.

- You think so, do you?
- Well, don't you?

Well, that's what we're...

trying to find out.

So how come you didn't spot
the body till the vat was emptied?

All the foam.

He was stuck at the bottom.

Just like the drayman.

Sorry?

Drayman and Lady Isabella.

Wife of Lord Ivor Felspar. 1780.

Caught her in
flag... in flagr...

In flagrante?

At it with a drayman.

His lordship threw her
off the brewing tower

and drowned the
drayman in a tank of beer.

In the very same room
where Graham Thompson died.

Their ghosts wander the
brewery at night even to this day.

Night.

- Really?
- I know. I've seen them.

Saw them the night
Graham disappeared.

Makes you think, doesn't it?

So you were in the brewing tower

the night that
Thompson went missing,

but you didn't see him?

So, what were you doing there?

It was a full moon.

Every brewer knows
there are special times

to add your ingredients.

Hops. Barley.

It's a very mysterious
process, brewing.

It was very scary.
Very frightening.

- What, finding Thompson?
- The ghosts.

Thompson was my prot... proté...

- Protégé.
- Yeah, but he was sneaky.

Wanted to be chief brewer.

He...

Terrible shame.

Terrible accident.

So, ex-D.C.I. McAdam,
you interviewed this girl,

and not content with
ignoring what she had to say,

you came on to her?

Oh, ho-hum.

I'm glad you're bored,

'cause you've got 15
more years to practice.

This was a suspicious
death. Very, by the look of it.

Really?

I thought it was just a
bad case of drunk diving.

You think this is funny, do you?

I think it's funny
coming from you.

What's that supposed to mean?

It means I'm not taking
lectures on sexual incontinence

from the daughter of Gordon
"Pants Down" Pullman.

Am I the only person in the Met

who doesn't have
any dirt on my dad?

I should have told
you about your father.

It was a mistake. I'm sorry.

That's okay. It's forgotten.

- Thank you, Dr. Lilwall.
- Call me Steve.

Okay, I'll take
all this stuff away,

reexamine it, and
see what gives.

Soon as I have any
results, I'll touch base.

Terrific. Thanks a lot.

You do realize
how lucky you are?

Most forensic scientists won't
do their thing outside the lab.

But we're cool.

Wonder if Steve's
short for prat?

So, what do you think?

Well, a sloppy, corrupt
cop works the case,

the dead man's girlfriend is
convinced it wasn't an accident,

and now his ex-boss,
there on the night,

lets slip he wasn't exactly
enamored with his...

- Protégé.
- Yeah.

- He was half-pissed.
- In vino veritas.

In vino maybe,

but after 15 cans of
Special Brew, I'm not so sure.

So, next step, we
check out the brewery.

I agree. And I think you need
your most experienced man.

I think you need
an expert on beer.

I am an expert on beer.

Actually, I think you need
someone who doesn't drink.

I think you should all go.

- Yeah. Fair enough.
- Okay.

I'll catch you later.
I've got to see my mum.

Good afternoon,
gentlemen. Wilfred Felspar.

Call me Freddie. Everyone does.

Freddie. I'm Jack Halford.

How do, Jackie?

- This is Gerry Standing.
- How do?

- Brian Lane.
- How do?

- Hello.
- Now, time is 1:55.

Cometh the hour,

we'll knock some cobwebs
off these lovelies, get cracking.

Till then, sad old
business, hmm?

Graham Thompson.

Yeah.

I'm sorry, it's just that
young Thommo, he was...

He was one of the best.

Absolutely brilliant
young fellow.

Destined to be
one of the greats.

Greats?

Brewers, Gary. Brewers.

Yes, boy was a genius.
And I use the word advisedly.

Only with us for five years

but, by heavens,
did he make his mark.

I loved him. Loved
him like a son.

Oh, talk of the devil.

These chaps are here
about young Thommo, Julian.

Not a good memory for Dad.

Nor for any of us.

Julian Felspar. Chief executive.

Yeah, Julian is running
the whole show now.

The face of modern brewing.

I'm just the old buffer fronting
up and glad-handing, really.

And how's the old buffer
been looking after you?

Well, he was just about
to offer us a beer, actually.

Yes. That's his usual P.R. ploy.

No drink for me.
I'm an alcoholic.

So... Ever been
'round a brewery?

- No.
- Oh, my Lord.

That is a hole in
your education.

Let's put it to right.

Let's go!

Now, this is the actual room
where Graham Thompson died.

It's where the beer finally
matures before barreling.

Yes, it's, uh... it's changed a
lot since since Thommo's time.

Only one of the old tanks left.

I still don't like to
come here very often.

I see you've CCTV cameras now.

That was part of a
semirationalization

back in 2000.

And of course to ensure that
what happened to Graham

never occurs again.

And what do you think did
happen to Graham Thompson?

Well, as I said back then,

I think he was in here
checking the brew,

and he just conked out, fell in.

During fermentation,
there's a lot of CO2 given off.

If you're not very
careful, it can make you ill.

Kick like a mule.

I think Thommo was overcome
by the fumes, and he...

You don't think he was murdered?

Murdered?

No! Why?

I heard he was unhappy.

Rubbish.

If he had been, I'd have
been the first to know about it.

- Would Hagley have known?
- Malcolm?

Malcolm loved
Thommo. Everyone did.

No, they were a team. An
incredibly successful team.

Can I ask, where were you
the night Graham went missing?

At home. With my wife.

She was dying.

We got off on the
wrong foot before.

I'd like to change that.

I'd like to persevere
with you, Bobby.

Try and find the
helpful soul within.

Why did you leave the
Thompson case open?

Why not just write
it off as an accident?

Indulge me.

Probably couldn't prove it was.

You certainly didn't kill
yourself proving it wasn't.

There you go again being nasty.

Okay.

Malcolm Hagley.

Now, he was there the
night Thompson went missing,

and yet you don't seem
to have made much of that.

Or did someone offer you a bung?

Ohh-ho-ho-ho.

Why ignore Anna Hodgkiss?

Well, she was very tidy.

Probably drove all other
thoughts out of my mind.

I am prone to playing
away every once in awhile.

Not something you have to
worry much about in here, eh?

You know, you're not
fooling anyone, darling.

You're not here about
some dead beer-maker.

You're just desperate to know
more about your dear old dad.

Well, let's not disappoint, eh?

I mean, I might have tugged
the odd skirt in my time,

but at least I
never paid for it.

Oh, yeah.

Your old man was a
right one with the ladies

as long as the price was right.

My father is a very
emotional man.

Yeah. So is Malcolm Hagley.

Tired and emotional.

Has he had a drink
problem for long?

Quite awhile.

What, since before
Thompson died?

Yeah.

- Why did you keep him on?
- I didn't.

Soon as I took over the
business in 2000, I, uh, retired him.

That must have
been a bit dangerous...

Hagley's drinking.

Yeah, but then that's a constant
dilemma in a wet brewery.

Wet?

Breweries are either wet or dry,

depending on whether the
workers are allowed to drink or not.

In a wet one, they can.

And Felspar's is wet, yeah?

Absolutely bloody soaking.

This is my sister, Jacinta.

I understand you're here
about poor old Graham?

You knew Graham Thompson?

Oh, yes. He was a sweetie.

I don't recall you
being interviewed

in the original investigation.

I was in hospital.

Jacinta, did you want something?

Don't worry. I'm
not here to see you.

I was looking for Daddy.

Uh, will it be possible to
talk to you at some point?

Yes, of course. Au revoir.

My sister is an acquired taste.

You don't get on.

She seemed to get
on with Thompson.

And how about you, sir?

Where were you on the
night that Thompson died?

In hospital with Jack.

Uh, Jacinta.

Holding her hand.

All night?

Two nights and three days.

Do you need anything?

I don't mind. It's
not a problem.

Sandra, I'm not an
amputee. I like it here.

I know that.

You want to ask me something.

You always preface awkward
questions with offers of help.

I hope you're more subtle

when you're interviewing
members of the criminal fraternity.

Do you know a policeman
called Bobby McAdam?

- Yes.
- You do?

I've been reading
about him in the papers.

Do you know if Dad knew him?

Oh, really!

I had hoped you'd
stopped all this by now.

It's not that simple, Mum.

What about Ian Randle?

Do you honestly think I can
recall the names of all the men

that your father knew or
didn't know 30 years ago?

No. No, I don't.

Do you know I haven't been
in a Felspar's pub for years?

Not surprised if
they're all like this.

What have they done
to it? It used to be a pub.

When did they stop
making Far-Reaching?

- Do you remember?
- Nah.

This is their new
bitter. Mop Top.

These are pictures of Felspar's.

Old ones. Showing
the brewing process.

Not one that did
this. Blimey, this is...

Piss! My God, that's bad.

"Welcome to The Autopilot.

Indulge yourself in the unique
Felspar's leisure experience."

- What does that mean?
- It means the beer's piss.

- Hello. Could I have a dry...
- Sandra, Sandra, I've got it.

Oh. Sorry.

How's your mum?

Uh, yeah. Getting there.

This is nice.

Nice? How?

- Gastropub.
- Yeah, as in gastroenteritis.

Reminds me of Julian's
office. Marketing over content.

- Who's Julian?
- Julian Felspar.

Son of Sir Freddie,

now the chief executive
of Felspar's Plc,

and brother to Jacinta.

Neither of whom McAdam
bothered to interview.

Weird. The lot of them.

And that's Brian talking.

Think House of Usher.

Daddy loved Thommo but won't
hear a bad word about Hagley.

Unlike son Julian, who doesn't
get on with his sister, Jacinta,

and the feeling's mutual.

But she get's all perky when
you mention the name Thompson.

Look at this.

"South of England Best
Beer... December 2, 1997.

Felspar's Far-Reaching
Bitter. Five times a winner."

Now, Freddie said that Thompson
was only there for five years.

Which coincides with

the exact same five
years they won the award.

There you are. "South of
England Real Ale Show.

Now at the Jubilee
Exhibition Hall."

Perfect opportunity
to talk to people

who might have known our man.

Whatever. Take Brian.

Yeah, and I think that
Jacinta could be very helpful.

I know you do. That's
why I'm coming with you.

- Just there.
- Oh, thank you.

Ah, Stevie Swaithling?

Yeah?

Bloody hell, you're a woman.

Ah, you new men
and your chat-up lines.

Sorry, no...

My name is
Halford, Jack Halford.

This is Brian Lane.

We're from the Unsolved
Crime and Open Case Squad.

I wonder if we could
have a word with you.

Yeah, of course.

Carry on. I'll be back in a bit.

- Do you want to go and sit down.
- Thank you, yes.

We're reexamining the
death of Graham Thompson.

Graham Thompson.

Oh, it was terrible.

He was a genius!
Lovely bloke too.

So I heard. You
knew him well, then?

Oh, everyone knew about Graham.
Even before he left university.

- University?
- Leeds.

Degree in brewing
science. Shall we sit?

Degree? In brewing?

Oh, yeah.

Graham was headhunted
even before he left.

But Sir Freddie
got to him first.

Smart move.

Graham transformed Felspar's
from just okay to magnificent.

Far-Reaching Bitter was
created by Malcolm Hagley.

No.

No, Malcolm made the stuff,

but everyone knew who
was really responsible.

Did Hagley know everybody
knew? I mean, was he jealous?

You think Graham was killed?

By Malcolm Hagley?

Only thing Malcolm
ever killed was a pint.

Far-Reaching Bitter
didn't win in 1998.

- Why not?
- It wasn't any good.

That's why there
was such a huge row.

- Row?
- With Sir Freddie.

Accused us of not
storing it properly.

Accused the winners
of tampering with it.

Accused just about everybody.

Truth was it just wasn't
Far-Reaching Bitter.

Not the one we
all knew and loved.

Is it true that brewers
work at odd times?

Like during the night,
say, or a full moon?

Oh, yeah. The
superstitious ones.

Yeah, they do all sorts.

So who did win
the best beer in '98?

Uh, Pole Star S.A.

Very nice pint.

What will you have?

Don't worry, there's
not a hint of Felspar's

in the whole apartment.

But the brewery paid
for most of this, didn't it?

I got this the hard
way. I married someone.

- Tell me about it.
- We won't, thanks.

- You're not married anymore?
- No.

It was brief. He was Belgian.

You said that Graham
Thompson was sweet.

How sweet?

Oh, bless you.

My taste doesn't stretch to
horny-handed sons of toil.

Besides, I prefer my
lick of Scotch in a glass.

How did he and
Malcolm Hagley get on?

Fine.

But I'm not really an
habitué of the brewing tower.

Julian said that you and
he don't see eye to eye.

He's an older brother. He's
very bossy, overprotective.

- About what?
- I said Graham was not my type.

Anyway, he had
enough on his plate

with that angry little
hairdresser, don't you think?

- You mean Anna Hodgkiss?
- Yes.

I only ever saw her twice,

but both times she was going
off at him like a Catherine wheel.

- And what were the rows about?
- No idea.

It was beyond the windows
of my brother's office.

And you didn't
hear what was said?

I was taught it was rude

to listen in on other
people's misery.

May I ask you two a question?

Are you lovers?

So you like our product.

Well, I like the beer.

As they say in the U.S.,
"Beer should be sexy too."

You not having one?

- I'm an alco...
- He's driving.

Actually we're looking into
the death of Graham Thompson.

- Former assistant...
- I know who he was.

By reputation.

Did you ever try to employ
him? I mean, back in 1998?

In '98 I couldn't have
afforded Thompson's socks.

Back then Pole Star
was a microbrewery

turning out less than
1,000 gallons a month.

I got the idea in Boston.

Microbreweries
are a big thing there.

Low costs, low overheads.

Although I can't say it's
ever quite that simple, is it?

Probably still be there if
we hadn't won best beer.

Thompson dying was a big
slice of luck for you, then?

Apparently Sir Freddie
Felspar felt the same.

He accused you of
tampering with his beer.

No one took that seriously!

Anyhow, I like Freddie.

His son's a different matter.

- You know Julian?
- I was at uni with him.

Business studies.

Which is a joke,
given how he runs his.

He'd sell his own
mother to turn a profit.

Not even interested
in the brewery.

Felspar's pubs make most
of their money now with food,

which is why
their beer's so shit.

Call that beer, Jopling?

I can piss better than that!

Pole Star?

Should call it bloody Cold Sore!

I know you, Jopling.
I know all about you.

With your fancy
ties and your tarts

and your stupid haircut.

You're a f...

You're a fraud!

- Sir?
- Uh, no, I'm...

No, no.

Maybe he thinks your
beer's a little too sexy.

- There you.
- No, Gerry!

On the mat. How many times...

- Cup of tea?
- Please.

Hagley's in a cell in
Kensington, unconscious.

The good news is
his blood-alcohol level

should get him in the
Guinness Book of Records.

Very long time to hold a grudge.

It's a lot more than that.

Hopefully when he sobers
up we'll find out what.

How'd you get on? Enjoy
yourself with Jacinta?

No, not really. I
don't fancy her.

I'm sure she'll get over it.

No, you don't understand.
I don't fancy her.

It's weird.

Maybe you're finally
emerging from puberty.

Sorry, yes, I'm here.

Ah, here we go.

"Julian Felspar,
Felspar Breweries Ltd."

Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah.

"BSc Business
Studies, 1990-1993.

Leeds University."

He kept that one quiet.

Let's try Jopling.

Yes. Pole Star Brewery.

"The Boss's Blog
by Tony Jopling."

- "About Me."
- Egomaniac.

"You probably want to
know what kind of guy

builds a business
success story from scratch."

Egomaniac tosser.

Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah.

"Masters Degree in Business
Management, Harvard."

After a degree in
business studies from...

Don't tell me. Leeds University.

In one. And again 1990-1993.

And Sandra tells
me that sweet...

Ehhh!

That sweet little Anna might
not be so sweet after all.

What, you think Jacinta's lying?

Oh, no. Her alibi checks out.

She was at the Wellesley
Park Private Clinic,

where superrich ladies go

when they're having
trouble with their bits.

Gynecological.

Well, she was there from the
27th to the 29th of November,

as was Julian, who was
keeping her company

in a luxurious family suite.

What about Sir Freddie?

His wife died at home on
November the 30th of cancer

and Freddie was at her bedside.

Had been there all
week, apparently.

It was a Dr. Morgan,
the family G.P.,

who signed the
death certificate.

According to him,
Freddie was devoted to her.

What we do know is Julian,
Jopling, and Thompson

were all at Leeds together.

Even though Jopling reckons

he only knew
Thompson by reputation.

Correct, and in '98,

when Thompson goes missing
and Felspar's bitter goes off,

Jopling wins best beer.

Evening, all.

Thought I'd stop by, give you
the bad news mano a mano.

The tests on Thompson's
clothing were negative.

No blood, DNA.
Nothing to help you.

Is that it, Steve?

Well, actually, there
is one odd thing.

It's G.M. barley.

Who's he?

No, the barley in
Thompson's coat pockets.

It's genetically
modified. Illegal.

Even more so back in 1998.

I'm having the DEFRA
labs do further tests done

to try and find its provenance.

Place of origin.

Soon as the word's
solid, I'll blip it on to you.

Ciao.

One of these days
I'm gonna blip him.

So Anna was right.

There was trouble
at the brewery.

And Thompson knew it.

This looks like a
two-pint problem.

You coming?

No, no. Count me
out. I've got paperwork.

See you in the morning.

Okay, so, what is it
with Sandra, then?

What's going on?

All I know is she's not
telling us what she's up to.

She got a bloke?

Nah!

Then she'd be all drippy
and stupid, wouldn't she?

Promotion?

Nah. Then she'd
be all nice to us.

Concerned, et cetera.

Is she pregnant?

Well, you can ask her!

Well, I don't know. What, then?

McAdam knew her dad.

And he let her know.

McADAM: Who is it?

People will start to talk.

I'm gonna ask you a few
questions, ex-D.C.I. McAdam.

And you're gonna answer them.

You're wasting
your breath, darling.

They all know I'm ex-job.

Yeah.

But wait till they hear about

all the little kiddies you've
been interfering with.

I haven't been
messing with any...

You...

Get me out of here.

You ain't going anywhere, Bobby.

So let's talk.

1974. You worked in vice.

Might have done.

Yeah, yeah. All right.

The Harmony Massage
Parlour, Canning Town.

I take it vice knew about it?

- They ran it.
- They ran it?

No one told Jack
Halford's investigation.

No. Well, vice are gonna
cooperate with a CIB inquiry?

Right. Cops don't
rat on each other.

No.

Good thing for
your dad we don't.

How'd you work that one out,

when he ended
up killing himself?

Mum still gets her
pension, doesn't she?

Okay. Ian Randle.

How does he
fit into all of this?

Ah.

All I know...

is there was a working girl.

Randle was her pimp.

But she decides to move to
a better-class establishment.

Randle has words.
Loses it. Kills her.

Your dad took exception
to this because, allegedly,

he and said girl were
fond of each other.

Word is he got Randle alone
and shot him in the massage parlor.

This working girl...
What's her name?

It was 30 years ago, darling.

Only ones who'll
know are her mates.

Know any 60-year-old whores?

So, Julian, would
you care to let us know

why you didn't mention

that you were at university
with Graham Thompson?

Well, we shared
a flat for awhile,

but I only did brewing
science for three months.

I swapped courses.
Graham didn't.

Brewing was his life.

Yeah, he was a good
guy but... obsessed.

In 1998, whose job was it to
order the company's supplies?

Hops, barley, so forth?

Used to be Malcolm,

and then I took over
at the end of the year.

Because?

Well, I felt that
Malcolm was too...

Pissed?

Profligate.

Why? Is it important?

Well, you never
know in this job.

Feeling better?

Give me a drink.

What, so you can have
another go at Jopling?

- I need a drink.
- No, you don't.

You want one. It's
not the same thing.

- You don't understand.
- No?

Try this.

You feel like death.

If you don't have
a drink, you'll die.

Or worse, you'll sober up.

But if you sober up, you'll
have to think about something.

If you think about anything,

it'll be how much
you hate yourself.

And how much better off
everyone would be if you were dead.

But that would
mean killing yourself.

You haven't got
the courage for that.

So you have a drink.

Who are you?

That's better.

Only I ask the questions, okay?

Now, why did you go
mad at Jopling yesterday?

- Who?
- Tony Jopling.

Pole Star.

- At the beer festival.
- He...

I don't know.

Okay, let's go back
a bit further, shall we?

1998.

The year Thompson died.

You ordered some barley.

Oh, uh, yeah. Maybe.

Yes. Ordered it just
before the beer festival.

You remember?

- Malcolm?
- Hmm?

It was G.M. barley.

Genetically modified barley.

Yes, you, Malcolm.

You got hold of it.

But it's not allowed
in this country.

- So where did you get it?
- What are you talking about?

I don't know what
you're talking about.

- Leave me alone.
- Malcolm, look at me!

Did you order G.M. barley?

- Stop it! Please!
- Brian.

Steve's on his way.

He's got something
"wicked" to tell us.

Hi, guys. Check this out.

The barley in the
dead man's pockets

is a strain called Cerebus,

developed by Distance
Agritech of the U.S.

They applied to trial the
grain in Europe in 1993

but were refused
an import license.

Cerebus was up to 30% cheaper

than most conventional
barley at the time.

But when it failed its license,

it became more or
less worthless for export.

Cool, huh?

"Distance Agritech.

Taking cereals to a new level."

H.Q... Boston, Massachusetts.

As in the Boston where
Jopling got his big idea?

What if Jopling got Hagley
to sabotage Felspar's beer

so Pole Star could
win at Olympia?

Thompson found out about
it. So Jopling killed him.

That would explain why
Hagley's so angry so ashamed.

Guys, if you're
looking to prove this,

there is a slight problem.

Without samples of the
beer at the time to analyze,

there's no way of
proving G.M. barley

was or wasn't in
this or that beer.

Well, there is a way
of solving the problem.

I'm not gonna like this, am I?

Sorry it's so late, Freddie.

Not at all. But I'm afraid you
won't see much at the moment.

- Everyone's rattling off home.
- Oh, that's all right.

I just wanted to whiz through,

reacquaint myself
with the geography.

I'll wait here, then.

We're in.

- Gerry.
- Oh!

Oh, bloody hell, Brian. What
do you think you're doing?

I've been through
those supply-order files.

Nothing.

I want to have another
look at those tanks.

Be careful.

Idiot.

At the real-ale show, when
Thompson was missing,

you accused Tony Jopling
of sabotaging your beer.

Well, I was very upset,
very stressed at the time.

Are you now saying that he
didn't interfere with your beer?

Uh, Sir Freddie, is there
something you know about Jopling

which for some reason
you feel you don't, um...

No. No, I don't.

Oh.

Oh, uh, are you all right?

Are you okay, Brian?

I'm fine, thank you, Jack.

Uh, thank you, Freddie.

Are you raving mad?

What was I supposed to do?

Well, what about Brian?

He'll think of something.

Hello?

Oi! You've locked me in!

Whew.

Beer. Huh.

Beer.

Uh...

Felspar's Fighting Bitter.

That's three bottles each
for every year from '92 to '98.

That should be enough for
the doc to analyze, shouldn't it?

- If it's okay.
- Oh, no, they're all full.

No, no, no, no, no. I
mean, if it hasn't gone off.

Let's see. Um...

"Best before 07/96.

No, that date thing's just
for health and safety, innit?

To cover 'em for
insurance purposes.

Steve's only going to
need one bottle, isn't he?

For each year.

And the lab can
only tell you so much.

I mean, it's all about taste.

Jack.

You're brilliant.

Oh!

Would you pass me my crocodile?

It is time to eat my
cheese and pantaloons.

Looks good.

Mmm. Smells good.

Oh, no.

No.

No! No!

No!

1997.

'92, '93, '94,

'95, '96, '97.

I particu-I-larly liked the '96.

So...

Now for the '98.

Oh!

Ugh!

Oh!

Let's go back to the '92.

Try taking a few deep breaths.

Oh, thank you.

- What are you doing here?
- Sorry about that.

I...

I was with your father.

And the next thing
I know, he's gone.

Well, it's lucky for
you we got CCTV.

Two deaths could
hardly both be accidents.

Exhibit "A."

Where are the samples?

I mean the ones with
the beer still in them?

- You want to fight?
- What?

No, no, no, Gerry.
Leave... Leave it.

It's not worth it.

You think you're
so clever, don't you?

Huh?!

- How is it?
- It's fine. It's fine.

Honestly, I don't mind.

If you don't like
it, you can say.

I just thought it would be nice
for me to bring you something.

And for us to spend
an evening together.

And because you've got
something to tell me, you said.

Something important. Again.

When he died,
Dad was in trouble.

He was in a lot of trouble.

He was being
investigated by the CIB...

for unlawfully killing someone.

I'm trying to find out why.

But it's really difficult

because it's such
a long time ago.

Man or woman?

A man.

But I think it was
because of a woman.

Who was it, the
person he killed?

It was someone
called Ian Randle.

The woman... I don't
know her name...

She was a prostitute.

Did you know he was
seeing someone else?

He called me by the wrong name.

And the first time it
happened, we made a joke of it.

And then he did it
again, just before he died.

At the wrong time.

In the wrong place.

Deirdre.

I mean, imagine.

I mean, just the
sound of it. Deirdre.

Uh.

Men are so bloody strange.

I know.

I don't think I'll ever
understand them.

That's 'cause there really
isn't very much to understand.

So if Hagley was
delirious on CO2,

it would explain why he
thought he saw ghosts.

But of course, like me,

the apparitions he saw were
almost certainly real people.

Now, November 27,
1998, was a full moon.

Hagley was there, brewing
away. Probably drinking as well.

The fumes kicked in...

The alcohol kicked in,
and it all went a bit weird.

Sound familiar?

Good morning.

Well, for you, as
it happens, yes.

From the limited residue

I was able to recover
from the bottles,

tests show that one of
them did contain traces of

genetically modified material.

The Cerebus G.M. barley.

Correct.

The bottle of Far-Reaching
Bitter from 1998.

Okay. Thank you.

What do we say, boys?

Thanks, Steve.

Sorry, Steve.

I also found on
the other bottles

traces of E. coli,
campylobacter,

and salmonella as well.

Enjoy.

Hello.

Right.

Malcolm Hagley. Wants
to meet me for a chat.

He offered me money.

What?

Money. A bribe.

Who?

Who do you think?

How do you explain your
attempt to bribe Malcolm Hagley?

Cerebus barley was developed
in Boston whilst you were there.

I think you had it imported
illegally to the U.K.

with the intention of adding
it to the Far-Reaching brew

in order to sabotage it.

That's ridiculous.

You thought Malcolm
Hagley would be amenable

because you knew
he resented Thompson.

So that night you went
to the brewing tower.

Only problem was
Hagley was unwell.

Delirious from the
effects of too much CO2.

And to make matters worse,
Thompson turned up as well.

You're making this up.

I think you murdered
Graham Thompson,

and I'm not making that up.

I didn't do it!

I wasn't there. I swear to God.

I'm giving you a
chance to explain.

And it's your last chance.

Look, yeah.

Okay, I tried to bribe him,

but that was to try and get the
recipe for Far-Reaching Bitter.

Anyway, he said no.

He knocked me
back. So did Stevie.

I don't know anything
about any G.M. barley.

Stevie Swaithling?

You tried to bribe
her to win best beer?

No, to get Thompson's recipe.

She was knocking him off.

Yeah. Mad about him.

Why didn't you tell us

you were having an affair
with Graham Thompson?

I didn't see that it was
anyone's business.

You mean you didn't want to
be a suspect in a murder inquiry.

Me? I loved him.

But he didn't love you, did he?

I don't know what
you're trying to say.

I'm saying that he didn't
want to see you anymore.

You don't understand.

What hurt most... Being
rejected for a hairdresser

or just someone younger?

My God, you don't think there
was just two of us, do you?

Women liked Graham.

Lots of women.

Mm.

Where you going?

Well, you know me,
Jack. Workaholic.

You're a very bad man.

Hmm. So all my exes say.

Do you often eat alone?

Yes.

That way I'm with
someone who cares.

Yeah, I know how you feel.

I often prefer the
food to the partners.

But talking of partners, you
said your marriage was brief.

But getting married,
separating, and divorcing

all within the
space of 18 months,

that really is going some.

Even for me.

Raphael Schamp?

It's pronounced "Shom."

Ah, right.

Belgian brewing heir.

You must have
had a lot in common.

- No.
- So why marry him?

None of your business.

Okay.

Then why did he divorce you?

He did divorce you, and
not the other way 'round.

Was it because he realized
that you didn't love him?

Because you were still holding
a torch for someone else?

Even though that
someone else was dead?

No.

Raphael divorced me

because he found out
I couldn't have children.

Thereby failing to ensure

both his and my
dynastic brewing heritage.

"The inheritance of waste,"

to paraphrase my
stupid family motto.

Now, if you don't mind, I
and my salsiccia linguine

would like to get
to know each other.

Alone.

A Belgian multimillionaire
marries someone

without knowing whether
they can have kids or not?

Who says romance is dead?

She may not have realized
until after she was married.

Sandra, she spent three days

in the Wellesley
Park Private Clinic.

Of course she knew!

All right, but what's that
got to do with G.M. barley?

More to the point, what's that
got to do with Thompson's death?

Well, it's got
something to do with it.

With her.

I don't know. She gives out
this really unhappy feeling.

- I've met women like her before.
- I bet you have.

I don't want to
upset your "feelings,"

but as far as I'm concerned

they're no substitute
for facts or evidence,

both of which we have
just about bugger all.

So tomorrow morning
we're gonna come back in,

and we're gonna
start all over again.

Wait a minute. Where you going?

- To get some facts.
- What about her?

Mobile.

Ah, yeah, yeah. Hi, hi.

Um, can you put me through to
your cereals department, please?

- Good night.
- Good night, Sandra.

Night.

- Ah, hi.
- Brian?

Phone me.

Sorry, sorry, yes. My
name's Malcolm Hagley.

I'm just checking on

a consignment I ordered
from you several years ago.

Hope you've chained your
bike to something strong.

Jean Bennett?

I understand you used
to know Deirdre Mortimer?

- Oh, please. No.
- No, Jean. Wait, please.

I'm a police
officer. Look, look.

Okay?

In 1973, you and Deirdre
were arrested for soliciting,

and Ian Randle, your pimp,

was charged with living
off immoral earnings.

I don't know what
you're talking about.

My father was Gordon Pullman,

the man who's supposed
to have killed Ian Randle.

Jean, look, all I'm trying to do

is find out the
truth about my dad.

Please help me.

I'll tell you what...

There is no way she
is visiting a boyfriend.

Not here.

That's a very classist remark.

What, you think she's decided

she wants a hoodie
as a soul mate?

She might surprise you.

She might be a lot more
open to change than you think.

Well, her car certainly is.

Deirdre was beautiful.

Randle called her Goose.

'Cause she was the goose
what laid the golden eggs.

Classy punters.

Thanks.

Yeah, Randle had
big plans for her.

Then she met your dad.

Actually she'd known
him a long time.

Randle had no idea.

Then she told him she weren't
having any more to do with him,

she was getting out.

And Randle killed her for that.

And what about my father?

You won't want to hear this.

But he was in love with her.

So he killed Randle
out of revenge.

No. To protect the boy.

What boy?

Deirdre's boy. Carl.

He was 4 years old.

He was there when
Randle killed his mum.

Only he was hiding.

Then Randle found him,

and when he realized he had
seen everything that happened, he...

He was strangling him
when your dad come in.

Your dad shot Randle.

Saved Carl's life.

Then he brought him to me
to make sure no one knew.

What happened to him?

I couldn't look after him.

I didn't know what to do.

In the end, I left
him in a church

so that someone
good would take him in.

I don't know where he is now.

Look, it's just a simple
misunderstanding.

Well, me gonna misunderstand
your ass, granddad.

- Oi!
- Get in the car.

Hey, check out granddad's bitch.

Delta Charlie One to Control.

Can you please send armed backup

to Hurst Towers on
the Mears Estate?

We have several hooded
perps, possibly armed,

assaulting three pensioners

Pensioners?

Oh, it's your mobile. Nice one.

Care to explain?

You first.

Do you fancy a drink?

Sure.

You don't know that
what she told you is true.

No, I don't.

And even if it was, there's
no way you could prove it.

That's not what
I'm looking for, Jack.

Well, I'm just glad we know
why you were acting so weird.

So this woman says your
dad did it to save a child's life?

- Mm-hmm.
- Well, I buy that.

Talking of child's lives,

I think you should know
that 90% of the admissions

to the Wellesley Park
Clinic are for terminations.

How do you know that?

It's the old Ways
and Means Act, innit?

It's not how you know,
it's who you know.

But Jacinta was in
there for three days.

Abortions don't take that
long, even in a private clinic.

Not unless something goes wrong.

- There's more.
- I rang Distance Agritech.

They've no record of selling
anything to a Malcolm Hagley.

But they do have a record

of selling it to
someone in the U.S.

Someone who told them they
were setting up a microbrewery there.

Jopling?

No.

Ah. Thank you for
coming, Miss Felspar.

I just wanted to check
exactly who was where

on the night Thompson died.

Now, you were
in a private clinic.

Can you tell me, what was
the nature of your illness?

I don't see that's
any of your business.

I'm sorry, but I think
we've reached the point

where it is my business.

Julian, you were
there. Can you tell me?

Well, I really think
that's for my sister to say.

You're very sensitive

to your sister's
wishes all of a sudden.

Given that you're
not that close.

But then I reckon you've
never been close to anyone.

Certainly not Graham Thompson.

That's not true.

Thommo and Julian
got on famously together.

Sir Wilfred, I know this
is very difficult for you,

but please, you must listen.

Your father obviously
loved Thompson.

Saw him as the son
that he wished he'd had.

So he was a direct
threat to your future.

You think I killed Graham?

The night he died, I
was with my sister.

Holding her hand?

I don't think even close
relatives get to hold the hand

of someone who's
having an abortion.

Why can't you have
children, Jacinta?

What was it? An infection?

Ectopic pregnancy?

I'm truly sorry.

You lied to us, Julian.

You told us that Hagley
ordered supplies up to 1998.

Which is true.

Yeah, but what you didn't
tell us was that early that year

you purchased supplies

of genetically modified
barley in the United States

and had it shipped to the U.K.

Well, yes, but that
was to reduce costs.

Even if that were true,

it still wrecked
Thompson's landmark beer.

And he found out.

Around the same
time that you found out

your sister was pregnant by him.

No.

A possible heir for Sir Freddie.

I don't think so.

Jack?

Tell them, Jack.

Tell us what?

That you made sure
she had an abortion?

An operation that went so
badly wrong it left her infertile.

No!

No.

Jacinta, please.

No wonder she hates you.

Look, we don't believe
you set out to kill Thompson.

We think you just
wanted him fired.

I didn't kill Graham.

I wasn't anywhere
near here that night.

Look at your sister,
Julian. Tell her it wasn't true.

Jacinta, please. Help me!

You kill a man to
save your inheritance.

No! I did not do that!

- No?
- No!

- Why not?
- Because the child wasn't his!

And how would you know that?

Because it was mine.

You satisfied?
The child was mine.

- Mine.
- Stop it!

Stop this!

My son never killed Thommo.

I did.

Sir Wilfred, please.

Shut up!

It was me. Do you understand?

It was me.

Thommo... Graham
Thompson... He came to see me.

He was... He was very unhappy.

He'd discovered that
someone had tried to add

cheap, poor-quality
grain to the mash brew.

He confronted Malcolm
Hagley, but he denied it.

And then he found out who
had actually got hold of the barley.

- Julian.
- Yeah.

So he arranged to meet
me at night in the brewery.

I left my wife...

She was pumped
full of diamorphine...

And I went to the
fermentation room.

Thommo was there.

He asked me to try
the barley, taste it.

He was right.

He insisted that I sack Julian.

- And you wouldn't.
- No.

No, I told him that the
brewery was a family business,

the name over the gate
was Felspar, not Thompson.

What was his reaction?

He said the beer
was his, not ours.

"In that case," I said,
"you can take it with you.

You're fired.

You're just a
brewer, not family."

"No," he said.

"If I was family, I'd be
sleeping with my own sister.

Like Julian does."

Then what?

I lashed out.

Well, he... he was
taken by surprise.

He fell backwards into the vat.

He couldn't get out.

Look, I tried to help him.

I tried to reach in, pull
him out, but I couldn't.

I couldn't get him out.

Then I saw Malcolm.

I thought he must
have seen everything,

but he didn't even
know who I was.

Thought I was a ghost.

I... I never let my
children know that I knew.

But, uh, I did.

I knew something
was... was not right.

I blame myself.

My wife and I, we...
we scarcely saw them.

Even in the holidays.

They grew up with
only themselves.

Without any love save their own.

I blame myself.

- Think he'll go down?
- Manslaughter?

I don't think he cares.

Why didn't Jacinta
say something?

What could she say
in front of her dad?

Well, I told you there was
something weird going on.

Seeing as you were so right,
you can so write this one up.

- Good night.
- Good night.

Night.

Yeah, good night.

The last one.

What a shame!

♪ It's all right, it's okay ♪

♪ Doesn't really matter
if you're old and gray ♪

♪ It's all right, I
say it's okay ♪

♪ Listen to what I say ♪

♪ It's all right, doing fine ♪

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

♪ It's all right, I
say it's okay ♪

♪ We're getting to
the end of the day ♪

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