All language subtitles for endeavour.s04e01.1080p.bluray.x264-brmp-HI

(music from Satie's
"Gymnopédie No. 1" playing)

(music continues)

(music continues)

Oi!

No petting!

The swimming pool
is just that way.

And make sure you go through
the disinfectant pool.

We don't want any verrucas.
Hello.

One for the Ladies Slipper
Baths, is it, love?

Yes, please.

(water running)

WOMAN:
A touch more hot here, please.

(music continues)

(men shouting)

(music continues)

MAN:
From Archimedes' sand reckoner,

to the Torquetum
of Jabir ibn Aflah,

man has sought to create
a thinking machine

that equals and even outstrips

the capabilities
of his own mind.

Now with the creation of the
Joint Computing Nexus...

Or J.C.N. for short...

That dream comes one step

closer to reality.

Good evening, JASON.

(audience chuckling)

(music continues)

And we look forward to
tomorrow's historic chess match

between JASON
and Professor Gradenko.

MAN: I think I speak
for the whole team,

when I say we're all
looking forward

to meeting Yuri immensely.

AMORY:
Unless there are

any further questions?

Yes?

What does it eat?

Journalists.

(laughter)

(music continues)

KENT FINN: "An Ormalu clock
lay amongst the wreckage,

"its hands forever stifled
at 10:28.

"A pair of welted Brogues
betrayed the presence

"of the late Eduardo Sanchez.

"The body was already cooling,

"taking on the familiar
stiffness of death.

"The blood,
settling to the lower reaches

"of the circulatory system,
had long fled

"the fine, aquiline features..."

"lending them that translucent,
alabaster aspect"

"he knew all too well."

“What a piece of work
is a man, '

"mused Superintendent
JoHiphant."

MAN (on radio): Winning in straight sets,

the American number one seed
Billie Jean King.

Science now, and excitement
is mounting in Oxford

on the eve of
an historic encounter

between man and machine,

as Russian computer scientist
Professor Yuri Gradenko

prepares to take on
the joint computing Nexus...

Also known as JASON...
In a game of chess.

(engine cuts off)

(exhales)

(doorbell rings, door opens)

Morning. MORSE: Mrs. Thursday.

Go on through.

He won't be a minute.

Morning, sir.

Morse.

A body's come up
below Magdalen bridge.

The clothes match
the description

of a missing person
from a month ago.

A Professor Neilsen
from Lovelace College.

Angler.

Uniform are on scene,

but they'd like us
to take a look.

Suspicious?

You never know.

Well, you can handle that,
can't you?

Drop me by the tobacconist
on your way.

Don't forget I'm out tonight.

Oh, are you?
I told you, Keep Fit.

I'll leave you something
to warm through.

Right.

(door opens)

(engine cuts off)

I should hear

about my Sergeant's exam today.

Results are out.

You'll be off then.

Well, no.

Not altogether.

There's a vacancy coming up
on nights.

Don't wait.

I can walk in from here.

(door closes)

Morning.

Who found him?

Oh, Beaufort hearty,
out for a run.

Just before 7:00.

This floated loose
when we were bringing

the body to shore.

Forensics might be able

to make something of it.

Big day today, isn't it?

Just don't expect me to salute.

Good luck.

Morning.

Keep upwind if I were you.

Four weeks in the drink.

Makes for a very slippery
customer.

This one's as ripe and runny
as a rancid Roquefort.

Is it him?

It's a him.

Further,
I shouldn't care to hazard.

For whom were you hoping?

Dr. Richard Neilsen.

Research fellow up at Lovelace,
keen fisherman.

Went missing
around the end of term.

That would certainly accord with
the condition of the corpus.

Contents of the wallet
are pulp, I'm afraid.

This though.

It isn't engraved,
but someone might recognize it.

Foul play?

I need to get him back and pop
him on the radiator for a bit

before I can give you
a definitive answer.

Stones in his pockets.

Suicide, most likely.

I don't suppose there's a note?

Oh, he'll have had
his reasons, I expect.

Love's very popular.

The want of it.

A broken heart.

Where do you stand
with all that?

Suicide?

Love.

Bit early in the day

for metaphysics, isn't it?

"And one was fond of me:

and all are slain."

Love and fishing.

Sooner or later it all comes
down to the same thing.

The one that got away.

AMORY: Not bad for a jumped
up letter-sorter, eh?

How's that?

Well, that's what JASON
was built for.

Mister Benn's nationwide

six-figure postal coding system.

WOMAN:
Dad!

There you are!

Oh, you excuse me...
I'm Professor Amory.

My daughter, Patricia.

Detective Constable Morse,
City Police.

Professor.
Miss Amory.

Actually,
it's Dr. Amory.

But I prefer Pat.

What... what can we do
for you, Constable?

I believe Richard Neilsen
is a colleague of yours.

Yes, certainly.

Integral member of the team.

Is there news?

I'm afraid a body was recovered
from just below Magdalen Bridge

about an hour ago.

The clothes on the body
match the description we have

of those he was
last seen wearing.

Sorry to have to tell you.

Well, we... we knew his,
fishing tackle had been found,

but X...
1 suppose we hoped that he...

had some kind of breakdown
and wandered off somewhere.

MAN: The whole of the scientific
world will be looking at us,

especially Russia!

MAN 2: I'm just
telling you how it is.

MAN 1: And if JASON breaks
down because you're too tight

to run to a pack of fuses?

We're all gonna look pretty
bloody stupid, aren't we?

AMORY:
Do excuse my colleagues.

Passions are inclined
to run a little high

on the eve of an important
experiment such as ours.

Yeah, that's right,
the rest of the time

we're just one big happy family.

AMORY: This gentleman
is from the police.

He's here about Richard.

They've found a body.

In the Cherwell.

What?

Good God, no.

It's a mistake, surely.

You're... sure it's him?

We recovered this from the body.

It's Richard's.

I gave it to him.

Had anything been troubling him?

Well, he was under enormous
pressure with work.

But otherwise, I...?

You think he killed himself?

MAN:
No.

No, I won't believe it.

Not Richard.

What about money worries?

AMORY:
Well, if he had got

into pecuniary difficulties,

it's certainly not something
he shared with any of us.

(machines whirring)

Dr. Neilsen's office
is just along here, sir.

Thank you.

(birds chirping)

MAN (on TV)“.
Splendid backhand pass...

STRANGE:
What's all that?

It's the personal effects
of Dr. Richard Neilsen.

Been in the property store
four weeks.

Thought I'd take a look.

Suicide, isn't it?
Supposedly.

Where's, uh...?

STRANGE:
Gone to lunch.

(applause on TV)

Ah, Morse...

Good heavens, what's this?

Wimbledon, sir.

Ladies' highlights, in color.
It's quite lifelike.

As may be, but this is
a police station,

not a television showroom.

Fell off the back
of a lorry, sir.

Just making sure
it's still working.

Yes, well.

Morse, when you have a moment.

Sir.

Don't suppose there's any need
to ask what that's about

with the new suit.

Fingers crossed.

Thanks.

FaHed?

The Board notes with regret

that a number
of examination papers

never arrived for marking
and were therefore classed

an automatic failure.

Better luck next time, yes?

One more thing...
There's a Russian arriving

at Lovelace College tomorrow
for the chess tournament.

It's Special Branch's bailiwick,

but Division want
the local force represented.

You've some Russian, I believe,

from your time in Signals.

The barest smattering, sir.

That still puts you
ahead of the rest of us.

I want you to act as my A.D.C.
and local liaison

with our colleagues in London.

Division has also asked
that news of Dr. Neilsen's death

is for the moment
withheld from the press

for reasons of political
sensitivity.

How many?

Papers?

Went astray?

You said "a number."

If there were any way
to find out,

I'd be interested to know.

(door opens)

(water dripping)

Hello?

Number two?

Mick!

(duck quacking)

That's a waste
of good luncheon meat.

Not today.

It will be.
Tuesday.

I don't know what it is,
but it's not luncheon meat.

Well, I'm off to see
Dr. deBryn.

The body we took out
of the river this morning.

I'll be glad
of your eye over it.

No, you're all right.

Seen one drowning...

I've a few things to do
of my own.

I'll see you back at the nick.

No underlying signs of violence.

I'm waiting on dental records

to put his identity
beyond doubt.

Meantime, I'm hoping to be able
to lift a set of prints

from the underlying dermis,
but it's a slow process.

STRANGE:
Afternoon, Doc... Matey.

Ah, my 3:00.

STRANGE: That's right,
Doc, the body found

in the Slipper baths
at Cowley Pool,

Miss Palfrey.
Yes.

No sign of heart attack,

but there is
a sizeable contusion

on the back of her head

and a few bruises
that look to be perimortem.

So, what?
She's slipped in the bath.

Hit her head and gone under.

She's drowned, then?

Looks that way.

Anything out of the ordinary?

One or two points of interest.

There were traces of
an oil based lotion on her face.

Some kind of beauty treatment
maybe?

And the other?

Well, it's turned
mostly to liquid,

but she had some sort of
alkali residue in her ears

and up her nose.

Face pack, perhaps?

Women do use them, I believe.

Thanks, Doc.

STRANGE: There wasn't anything
like that in the cubicle.

And it's not like they'd

had a chance to tidy.

Have you been to her home yet?

Not yet. Why?

I'll take it off your hands
if you like.

Save you the job.

I've nothing else on.

Yeah, all right.

Suppose I'd better make the most

before we lose you to nights.

When do you reckon you'll start?

My exam paper
never reached Division.

"Automatic failure."

Oh...

Bad luck, matey.

Still, what was it you said?

"If at first," eh?

Hello,
Detective Constable Morse.

City Police.
Miss...?

Tessa Knight, Oxford Mail.

I'm on the death knock.

Give me a break
or my editor'll have my guts.

I know Miss Frazil of old.

Tell her you ran into Morse
and he was very unhelpful.

She'll understand.

If you'll excuse me.

Miss Palfrey'd been in service,
according to the neighbors.

Spinster,
and she was a regular member

of the congregation
at St. Cecilia's.

Straightforward "accidental,"
then.

Make a nice change
for the Coroner.

Two drownings in one day.

That's unusual, don't you think?

THURSDAY:
Not specially.

He might just've been
found today,

but Dr. Neilsen's been dead
a month, hasn't he?

How many die on the roads
the same day?

Doesn't make it murder.

Not by itself, perhaps.

But why would Miss Palfrey
go to the Slipper Baths

if she had a bathroom at home?

Not everyone grew up
with indoor plumbing.

Maybe she thought it was cheaper
to go there once a week

than heat the hot water tank.

Who knows?

"Who knows?"

Sure you don't mean "Who cares?"

The world doesn't stop
just because...

Because what?

You mind your place.

MORSE: What is that, exactly?
My place?

THURSDAY: Your place
is where I say it is.

No more and no less.

Right.

Just don't go making something
out of nothing, that's all.

That's what we do, isn't it?!

That's what you do.

Didn't have your head
in the clouds all the time,

you might've gone better
with your Sergeants...

Mr. Bright mentioned.

Did he mention I could've
revised till Ragnarok

for all the good
it would've done me?

If my exam paper doesn't arrive,
then it's an automatic failure.

Right, home time.

(sighs)

Home!

(loud rock music playing)

(music stops)

Richard should've been here,

for the final preparations.

I know.

We all miss him.

Do you?

And what does that mean?

(machine beeps)

Nothing to do with me.

Gremlins.

Oh, it'll settle.

We can't take any chances.

General reset.

JASON breaks down tomorrow,
we'll be laughed out of college.

Stick the kettle on,
make a brew.

No, no, it's all right.

No point us both missing
a night's sleep.

You're sure?

I'll come in early.

(music resumes playing)

MAX: I thought you said
he was a seasoned angler.

A Minister's Dog is eccentric

even by our standards.

The name of the fly.

There are more
vulgar appellations.

Such as?

The Vicar's Bitch for one.

Legend has it the fly
was fashioned using hairs

from a cleric's Labrador.

Why eccentric?

You can take trout on it,

but traditionally,
it's a salmon fly.

No salmon in this
neck of the woods.

No salmon in any
of the rivers in Oxford.

I'm sorry,
the pool's closed, love.

I'm just cashing up.

Detective Constable Morse,
City Police.

There was a woman found dead
in the Slipper baths.

Which cubicle would that
have been?

It was cubicle two.

♪♪

(pipes squeaking,
water spraying)

BRIGHT: Professor Gradenko,
may I introduce my driver?

Woman Police Constable Trewlove.

How do you do?

(speaking Russian)

And Detective Constable Morse.

(speaking Russian)

If you're ready, Professor?

Excellent, Morse.

Excellent.

What's wrong
with your breakfast?

There's nothing wrong with it.

Just not in the mood
this morning.

I miss her, too.

I know you do.
Two weeks.

It's not our Joan.

Not to keep us
in the dark like this.

Not a word.

Oh, Fred...

She's all right.

I know she is.

She just needs time.

She'll get in touch.

When she's ready.

What's all this
with last night's paper?

"Situations Vacant."

I thought I might
get a little job.

Skivvying?

Cleaning.

Offices.

No shame in it.

Never said there is.

It's all right for you.

You've got work to go to.

I'm just here.

Mornings are all right,
I've got enough to keep me busy,

but after lunch...

It's the afternoons.

You're not going to be cleaning
in the afternoons, are you?

If it's offices.

No, it's earlies.

But I'll see
your sandwiches are done.

(speaking Russian)

MAN: Ladies and gentlemen,
Professor Yuri Gradenko.

I meant to say... commiserations.

Your Sergeants.

It's rotten luck.

I'm not sure how much luck
was involved.

Look, can you cover
for me later?

I've got to call Inspector
Thursday at the station.

Of course.
What's up?

Oh, just something I came across
at Cowley Baths last night.

Didn't know your enthusiasms
ran to chess.

They don't... usually.

I'm here in
an official capacity.

I've not seen much of you
since the Wessex raid.

When are you gonna give me
the inside story?

I'm sure you've spoken
to everybody else.

All bar you

and Inspector Thursday's
daughter.

The bank couldn't tell me
when she'll be in.

She's gone away, I believe,
to recuperate.

You all right?

You don't look as though
you've been sleeping.

You've lost weight.

Not in love, are you?

(chuckles lightly)

On my wages?

MAN: Gentlemen,
if you would take your places,

the tournament can begin.

Pawn to queen's four.

♪♪

♪♪

MAN: There will now
be a short break.

MORSE: Dr. Amory,
do you have a moment?

Have you heard any news
on Richard?

TESSA:
What's this?

Oh, Miss Knight
from the Oxford Mail.

Dr. Amory.

Sol...

Would you excuse us?

DOROTHEA: Morse,
this is a friend of mine.

Hi.
Kent Finn.

Hello.
Kent writes whodunnits.

Crime fiction, Doe, please.

A bastard form of literature,
but mine own.

He'd like to pick your brains.

Hm... well.
Such as they are.

DOROTH EA:
Don't be deceived.

He hides it well, but Morse
is the cleverest man in Oxford.

Oh!
I'm cut to the quick.

Second cleverest, then.

Now you're here.

(laughs)
You play?

Uh, yes, a little.
You?

Some.
It's why I'm here.

Research for the next novel.

I've rented a place
for the summer.

You must come over.

Dorothea tells me

you were at Lonsdale.

I'm a Lowlands man, myself.

Red brick and Chippy
with everything.

But seriously,
you must come over.

You know, I keep
a pretty decent cellar.

Oh, I'm sure whatever state
it's in,

it's better than my own.

Nice to meet you.

Oh, well listen, how about...

8:00?

Oh, do you mean this evening?

Oh, that'll be nice.

We'll have perhaps
a bit of a blitz after?

You know, in honor

of our respective alma maters.

I fear you'd find me
a very poor Woodpusher.

Oxford winning?
Splendid, hm?

Actually it's pretty
evenly poised, sir.

Oh, is it?

You play a little, officer?

TREWLOVE:
Oh I used to, sir.

At school, for my house.

Ah, well, I'm sure we all
played at school.

(chuckling)

The opening appears to have been
the Kronsteen Variation

of Queen's Gambit declined.

Black sacrificed material
for positional advantage.

The question now is
whether he's prepared

to accept the exchange
of knights in a bid

to develop the center.

Yes, of course.

Ididn't mean...

WOMAN (on police radio): 456 from Information Room.

More to my officers than...

Pretty face?

Appears, I was going to say.
Appears.

MAN: Ladies and gentlemen,
if you would please take your seats.

The tournament
is about to continue.

Morse, we've been
requested to attend

Cowley Baths immediately.

Drowned.

Within the last 12 hours.

Almighty lump on the
back of his head, too.

Hour or two before he died.

Suspicious, then?

He could've injured himself
earlier in the evening.

Slow sub-dural hemorrhage.

He comes for a swim.

Pressure builds
on the cerebral cortex,

and goodnight, Vienna.

Give you the definitive prix
fixeé once I've had a rootle.

Gentlemen.

Who was he?

STRANGE:
Don't know.

Not a regular,
according to the lifeguard.

What about his clothes?

He should have a rubber band,
shouldn't he?

Around his ankle,
or his wrist with a key,

and a locker number attached?

THURSDAY: E4,
according to the band,

only the key doesn't fit,

so we're getting a master
from reception.

Well, whoever he is,
he wasn't here last night.

STRANGE:
How d'you know that?

Because I'd have seen him.

I came in here to see
where Miss Palfrey died.

I found a crucifix on the door,

then this caught my eye.

(pipe squeaking, water spraying)

"Denial"?

Denial of what?

Writing on the mirror?
What's it say?

We're more interested in

when it could have been
put there.

MAN: Well,
could've been done any time.

Well, the place is cleaned
daily, isn't it?

Well, usually.

But we've been a bit
short-handed

this last month.

So how many people
used cubicle two

after Miss Palfrey died?

Nobody.

We shut it up.

Out of respect.

MAN: And of course,
the bath needed a full hygienic.

You know, it's uh...
standard procedure.

Get a lot of people

die in there, do you?

Our safety records are spotless.

I've been here eight years.

We've never had nothing
like this happen before.

In 1959, nobody died.

In 1960, nobody died.

In 1961...

All right, we get the picture.

So, what about this
"full hygienic"?

I was gonna do it
before we opened up.

Only he said
we weren't to open up.

So how could somebody
have got in for a swim

if the place is locked?

WOMAN:
I don't know.

Who's got keys?

Well, we have.
Set each.

THURSDAY:
What about past employees?

We'll need a list.

WOMAN:
I'll talk to Mr. Smedley.

Staff records are held up
at the council.

Any case,

that locker key you were after.

Edison D. Smalls, sir.

Summertown address.

And a pass for his work.

Looks to be the pump station.

How's he locked his key
in his locker?

He hasn't.

This isn't E4, it's E5.

F4.

THURSDAY:
What's this?

Somebody's idea
of "Take Your Pick"?

E4.

And a bunch of envelopes, empty.

Swimming pool address.

THURSDAY:
Sick joke.

I'll see if the staff
know anything about it.

This boy?

Connected to the other two,
d'you think?

It's not my place to say.

Who knows? Right?

Don't come the old acid.
It doesn't suit.

You didn't listen.

I told you it was suspicious.

About your business, Constable.
What business?

I don't have any orders, sir.

Find out how he got in here
when the place was shut.

So the boiler's inspected
a couple of times a year

by the Council.

I don't bother with it
otherwise.

It's their responsibility
to make sure

the service hatch is secure.

And when were they last here?

Uh... four months, maybe?

What were your movements last
night, after you closed up?

I went home.

Anyone vouch for you?

Mona, on reception.

Mona by name.

Yeah, she'll vouch.

All right, Mr. Mitcham.

I can take it from here.

Thank you.

(water dripping)

♪♪

There's a route
through the boiler room

to an unsecured service hatch.

Recent footprints in the dust.

How Edison got in presumably...

I'll get a photographer
down there.

Finish up here,
then you and Trewlove

bring his parents in.

I'll see you
back at the station.

THURSDAY: You weren't concerned
when he didn't come home?

MOTHER: He's always
late on a Tuesday, sir.

FATHER: He helps out
down at the Youth Club.

He's been going there
since he was a boy, sir.

A lot of his friends from school

were always getting
in trouble with the law.

I mean nothing serious.

No, sir, nothing serious.

Temperament and high-spirited.

There were that teacher
that used to help out

at the Youth Club of an evening,

and he took him under his wing

and taught him chess.

Chess?

MOTHER: Yes,
and he was so good at it.

FATHER: Played it at
the club all the time.

Edison always said
it was that club that kept him

on the straight and narrow.

MOTHER:
When he got older,

he wanted to help
other youngsters, you see,

like himself,
to keep out of trouble.

He got on all right
with his mates, did he, at work?

FATHER:
Oh, yes, sir.

Everybody liked Edison.

(sobs softly)

FATHER: Does my
boy look all right?

Because I don't want his mother
seeing him if he's...

THURSDAY: Like he's
sleeping, Mr. Smalls.

Just like he's sleeping.

You think somebody
did this to Edison?

If they did, sir,
we'll have them.

No stone unturned.

You have my word.

Ijust can't understand
what he was doing there!

Why?

Edison couldn't swim.

MAX: Right, gentlemen,
I'm fairly confident this will be

of interest to you both.

Some kind of plaster
would be my best guess.

Recovered from his nostrils.

Most of it had washed out,
but this was packed

towards the upper part
of the nasal cavity.

Was it the same thing you found
with Miss Palfrey?

Whatever hers was
had turned to liquid,

but I'm sending this off
for comparison.

He had traces of the same
oil-based lotion on his face.

I don't suppose there
was anything found like that

on Dr. Neilsen?

No.

He was drowned, though.

The Smalls lad.

Oh, yes.

I've drained the lungs.

But with a drowning
in a swimming pool,

I'd expect to find chlorine.

And that isn't the case?

No.

Initial tests suggest
traces of fluoride.

Tap water?

All I can tell you is that

wherever he drowned,

it wasn't in Cowley Baths.

BRIGHT: A case of this
magnitude... multiple victims

and a motive as yet unknown...
I'm sure I don't

have to impress on you the need
for absolute discretion.

It's imperative that no detail
of this investigation

be divulged beyond these walls.

Either at home
with one's family,

or amongst yourselves
while off duty.

Control of information
in a case like this

gives us the upper hand.

Careless talk
may very well cost lives.

All right, that's all.

BRIGHT:
So this latest victim.

THURSDAY:
Edison Smalls, sir.

BRIGHT: He didn't die
in the swimming pool,

where did he die?

Tuesday nights he helped out
at Wilkins Youth Club, sir.

They've been spoken to.

Smalls left about half past ten,
nobody saw him again.

No one except the killer,
at least.

What about the staff
at the baths?

STRANGE:
Clean as a whistle, sir.

All alibied, and no previous
on any of them.

Same with the ex-employees.

BRIGHT: Anything to
connect the victims?

THURSDAY:
An academic.

A retired servant of some sort.

And a worker
at the pumping station.

Unlikely to move
in the same social circle.

STRANGE:
Maybe they're just random?

Strangers, names picked
out of a phone book.

Well, if that's the case,

his next victim could be anyone
in Oxford.

Morse?

Any thoughts?

Not like you to be backwards
in coming forwards.

I couldn't say, sir.

Morse was onto it
from the start, sir.

Well, it was just a feeling.

BRIGHT:
And now?

The link is how they died,
surely.

Drowning?

I mean, it's all a little
baroque, don't you think?

And for those of us
in the cheap seats?

Overly ornamented.

The wrong fly
on Dr. Neilsen's fishing rod.

The message on the mirror.

The post in the lockers.

That's not random.
That's design.

So what does it mean?
Well, whatever it means,

it's his rules, his game.

He's only telling us
what he wants us to know.

THURSDAY: So,
what doesn't he want us to know?

MORSE:
Why the first victim?

That's the key.

What made Dr. Neilsen special?

That's the King's Gambit.

BRIGHT:
How's this?

E4,E5,F4.

That's the lockers
at Cowley Baths, sir.

It's algebraic
chess notation, sir.

The King's Gambit
was a popular sequence

of opening moves
in the 19th century.

BRIGHT: So the killer's
some sort of chess expert?

There was a chess set
at Miss Palfrey's house.

Set out mid-game.

STRANGE: What about these
boffins at Lovelace?

That's all chess.

Dr. Neilsen was one
of their outfit.

MORSE: Well,
they're computer experts,

not chess enthusiasts.

But, yes, I can take a look.

Very well. Carry on.

Well done.

(birds chirping)

JASON'S been thinking
about his next move

for nearly 40 minutes.

Yuri's got us beaten
by time alone.

Bad luck.

(machine beeping)

Good heavens...

Knight takes rook.

That's Checkmate in 15.

(applause)

Thank you, thank you.

Well done.

(applause continues)

ALL:
Cheers!

And again, cheers!

One, two, three, cheers!

(camera shutter clicks)

Yuri...

(speaking Russian)
Come on, old chap.

Napoleon's Dictum.

(laughter, indistinct chatter)

Dr. Amory?

This cigarette case that
you gave Dr. Neilsen...

It was his birthday.

Ijust wanted to do
something nice for him.

Nothing more than that?

It's always sex
with the police, isn't it?

A girl can't just be
friends with a chap.

It has to be sex.

Or love.

In my experience,

as many kill for love as desire.

Stirs up the mud.

Requited or not.

Could anyone have misread your
friendship with Dr. Neilsen?

Look.

My only role here...
And my only interest...

Is looking after my father.

No one's bought me flowers,
or made a pass at me,

or sent me billets-doux.

Beautiful, yes?

Richard was fond of waterlilies.

You knew Dr. Neilsen?

A remarkable young man.

I was very sad
to hear of his death.

We exchanged letters
for several years.

Chess, you understand.

It is your responsibility
to find out who killed him.

He drowned.

In my country,
people drown also.

Sometimes even by accident.

You have to catch the person
who killed Richard Neilsen.

His last letter he sent,
he said there were problems

within his group.

What kind of problems?

He didn't say.

But you should know.

Our opinions were simpatico

upon certain important matters.

Such as?

The threat to the world

posed by the ideologies
of our respective governments.

(man speaking Russian)

(speaking Russian)

I have to go.

Dr. Castle.

Oh, hello.

Do you have a moment?

Of course.

We're just, we're anxious
to get a better picture

of Dr. Neilsen's relationship
with the rest of the team.

Had he fallen out with anyone?

(clears throat)

CASTLE: Look,
I'm just a junior fellow here.

It's not really my place to say.

It's not really your place
to say what?

I just wouldn't want to speak
out of turn is all.

Perhaps speak to Bernard.

Sorry...

GOULD:
Yes, I argued with Richard.

We were overspent
our research budget

by quite some margin.

And that caused conflict
between you and Dr. Neilsen?

He was convinced someone was
making something on the side,

demanded to see the accounts.

Did you give them to him?
No.

But I think he took them
just before he disappeared.

There you are.

Just the man,
I've been looking for you.

So, come on.

Foul play, right?

Look, you can tell me.

I won't breathe a word.

Guides honor.

(sighs)

Well, what do you know?

Tit for tat?

All right.

Ah, the old lady who died
there yesterday

used to work for a doctor's
family out by Binsey.

You show me yours.

(whispering):
Was it murder?

We're treating it
as a suspicious death.

So this doctor?

Aston or Ashford.

And what about the one
today, Danny Smalls?

I knew it.

Get his name right,

at least for his parents' sake.

It's Edison Smalls.

Workmates all called him Danny.

Or Daniel.

He only got Edison at home.

So this Aston or Ashton...
What about them?

Miss Palfrey may have been
closer to the doctor

than his wife cared for.

There was a divorce.

My source says it was some
kind of local cause célébre.

Made the papers.

(whispering):
Thanks you for the steer.

FINN: Splendid. Splendid.

Yeah, well, I wasn't sure
if you'd come.

So I thought
we'd treat ourselves

to a... to a little drop.

Oh, the '61.
I'm honored.

Well, if I was
really honoring you,

I would have brought up
the '45, but, um...

Perhaps when I know
you a bit better.

I'll open this,
and I'll get some glasses.

(jazz playing in the background)

Ah, I see you've met my muse.

Yeah, haunting, isn't she?

Hmm...

Disturbing, certainly.

Who is it?

Nobody knows.

It was a young girl
fished out of the Seine

by the City du Louvre
in the 18803.

Story goes that the attendant
in the city morgue

was so taken with her beauty,
that he made an impression

of her features
in the hope that someone

would recognize her
and claim her.

But her likeness caught
the imagination

of fashionable Parisians and,
well, by the Yellow Nineties,

no self-respecting
Bohemian garret

could truly lay claim
to being part

of La Belle Epoque without one.

So um, yeah, right, shall we?

This way.

It must be fascinating work.

Pitting your wits against
some diabolical villain.

The red herrings.

I don't know,
the unexpected twists

in the final act before
the killer is revealed.

In might be that way in books.

In real life it's all legwork
or paperwork,

asking the same questions
over and over.

Would you, um, would you like me
to change the music?

I gather Opera's more your bag.

Oh, look, don't think
too badly of her.

Dorothea holds you in...
in some regard.

How is it you know her?

Oh, she reviewed my last
Superintendent Jolliphant

rather favorably.

So I sent flowers to thank her.

And we stayed in touch.

And as I was in Oxford, uh...

You're friends, then?

Well, a gentleman never tells.

A gentleman would just say,
"Yes," and leave it at that.

Hmm...

(chuckles)

(typewriter keys clacking)

DOROTHEA: If that's for
the morning edition,

you're cutting it fine.

TESSA:
Stop press.

(birds chirping, bells ringing)

What's this?

Well, I'll see you to the stop.

You don't have to wrap me
in cotton wool, Fred.

I won't break.

You're all I've got.

What are you gonna do
till Morse gets here?

Well, take a turn
through the park.

Fetch the paper.

Change is as good as a rest.

Here, give us one.

MAN (on radio): Following the unexpected
defeat of the Russian scientist

Professor Yuri Gradenko
by the computer JASON

in a chess match
at Lovelace College,

Professor George Amory,
who led the Oxford team,

predicted that within a
generation, few compartments

of intellect would remain
outside the machine's realm,

and that the problems
of creating

artificial intelligence
would be substantially solved.

THURSDAY: We're no closer
to catching this bastard

and now the whole world
knows about it.

We'll have every nutcase
and lunatic in Oxford

coming forward
to claim responsibility,

and no way to sort
the wheat from the chaff.

(sighs)

Tessa.

Come here.

This story... where'd you get it?

Straight from the horse's mouth.

Morse told me
at the drinks last night.

In confidence.

Well, did you say

it was off the record?

Well, I shouldn't have to.

But it's beside the point.

There are things in that article

which could only have come
from my notebook.

Are you accusing Miss Knight

of stealing it?

Because if you are, I'd like
the Mail's lawyers present.

I find this chit of yours does
have Morse's notebook,

I'll stick her on
and have her up before the beak

so fast her feet
won't touch the ground.

Look“.

Look, whatever
professional courtesy

you may have had
of me hitherto...

Do not look to rely upon
the same in future.

Professional courtesy?

I thought we were friends!

We were.

Running off at the lip
in front of a scribbler.

Of all people,
I thought you knew better.

I gave her nothing she hadn't
already worked out for herself.

You gave her your notebook.

She must've picked
my pocket when...

When what?
Bat her lashes, did she?

What does that mean?

It means if I know you,

you're still wearing
yesterday's shirt,

and that smudge of lipstick
on your collar

is the same shade
Miss Knight's wearing.

You've got about a second
to lose that smirk

before I slap it off your face.

Did you pinch his notebook?

You silly, silly girl.

(phones ringing,
typewriters clacking)

(scoffs)

D'you know,
I heard you were something once.

The Korean War?

The Tribune?

Now look at you.

Knocking it back
at 11:00 in the morning...

Washed up in some
provincial backwater.

One more word and you're fired.

I resign.

The Sketch saw my piece.

Ifl can come up
with another one like it,

there's a job waiting
for me there.

That's right.

Fleet Street.

London.

Good luck.

Next time you see my name,

it'll be on page one.

Tread lightly, child.

Tread lightly.

MAN (on radio): After local
newspaper the Oxford Mail revealed

that a murderer who kills
his victims by drowning

is at large in the city, Chief
Superintendent Reginald Bright

of the Oxford City Police
declined to comment.

(exhales)

Losing one's notebook is about
as gross a dereliction of duty

a serving officer can make.

THURSDAY:
It's an honest mistake, sir.

Honesty doesn't come into it,
Thursday.

I will thank you
not to speak for him.

It's why I'm here, sir.
Well...

You've had your say.

Sir.

(door opens, closes)

You asked me to find out
how many examination papers

went astray.

I made inquiries.

The answer was one.

Just yours, Morse.

Just yours.

I see.
Do you?

I... I wonder.

This past three years,

you've made some
very powerful enemies.

They won't forgive,
and they won't forget.

They mean to dog your steps

until the very last hour
of your service.

And now this?

If you want my advice,
your best hope

of salvaging any kind of career

would be to transfer
to another constabulary.

Leave Oxford?

Why not?

Fresh start.

You've no family local.

As I understand it, there's
nothing to keep you here.

(phone ringing,
indistinct chatter)

Scotch before lunch?

I thought you said
it gave you a gut-ache.

How did you leave it?

One step forward.

Now look,
that with Miss Knight...

Goon...

It wasn't just a one-way street.

What did you get from her?

She told me
that Miss Palfrey worked

for a doctor's family
out by Binsey...

Name of Aston or Ashford.

Now, I've had a look
in the gazetteer

and I can't find anyone
with either of those names

cu rrently in Oxford.

Electoral rolls, then.

It could take days to collate

and cross-reference
that material.

Yes, but there is
another possibility.

Can you do it?

Morse said you ran
a demonstration

of the new postal coding
system for the GPO.

Oh, we compiled a database
of names and addresses

from the '61 census
and the '64 electoral rolls,

but only for households
in Oxfordshire.

That's all we need.

Well, it's possible, of course.

JASON will identify
and isolate any parameters

you specify.

Bernard, could you?

It'll take us a while to find
the tape drums, get them loaded.

But, yes, I don't see why not.

CASTLE:
So what am I looking for?

A Dr. Aston or Ashford
in the Binsey area.

(Gibbs chuckling, inhaHng)

I can do it.

Oh, no fear.

The last time you input code

JASON nearly had
a nervous breakdown.

CASTLE:
It wasn't that bad.

GIBBS:
Oh, wasn't it?

What he should have entered
was "read drum."

What was it that you
actually put in?

"Rude dram."

Look, anyone can make a mistake.

Okay.

Well, I'll make coffee.

I've a feeling we'll need it.

Aston, wasn't it?

Or Ashford.

Yes.

Could be either.

In the Binsey area.

We might get a better result
if we start with just "A-S,"

the first two letters
being shared by both surnames.

Are you sure,
Dr. Gould?

Wouldn't that give us anyone
whose surname begins with A-S

in Oxfordshire?

Binsey should narrow.

Sooner that than miss
a variation.

Double-barreled even.

So how does it work,
Dr. Gibbs?

The program's written
in Forbin 66...

With a few additions of our own.

There!

Well, now what?

Now you can sample Broderick's
disgusting home ground,

or do what I'm going to do.

Go home to bed.

That long, you reckon?

You could get lucky,

but you're unlikely to get
much back before morning.

JASON will be thinking
for quite a while.

Good night.

(whirring, beeping)

MAN (on radio): Oxford is
tonight 8 city in fear.

There '5 further to an initial
report in the local paper.

Journalist Tessa Knight
confided to this program

that the murderer,
whom she described

as clearly a lunatic,

has already killed three
victims by drowning.

(door scraping loudly)

Hello, is anyone there?

Hello?

(gasps)

(whirring)

(birds chirping)

(vacuum humming)

(machine whirring)

(yawning)

Three in the...
(clears throat)

Binsey area:
Ashcourt, Ashton,

and Leighton-Asbury.

Well, sorry to have
troubled you, Mrs. Ashcourt.

You're welcome.

Who's next?

Ashton is nearer,
there's two occupants in '64.

There looks to be
a terraced house,

according to the electoral.

Doesn't sound big enough
to warrant servants.

What about Leighton-Asbury?

Briar House.
One occupant in '61.

A Judith Leighton-Asbury.

(birds chirping)

(knocking)

(door opens)

(wings flapping)

(floorboards creaking)

(static)

(creaking)

♪♪

(gasps)

MAX: Gently, if you
would, gentlemen.

She's been through quite enough.

Dear God, what is this place?

It appears to be where
he brought his victims, sir,

and made their death masks.

That's where
the alkaline residue

on their faces came from.

The bottom right-hand four
are the recent drownings.

And the rest?

Les gueules cassées.

The broken faces.

Soldiers mutilated by wounds
in the Great War.

What in God's name
are they doing here?

Life masks such as these

were taken in order
that facial prostheses

could be tailored to the
requirements of the patient.

It would certainly explain
the material I recovered

from the ears and nasal
cavities of his victims.

MORSE:
The house belongs

to a Dr. Leighton-Asbury.

We've given his details

to the General Medical Council.

They're looking into it.

There's also a wife, Judith.

She was here in '61,
but since then...?

I've called the Land Registry,

sir, to see who owns
the property now.

Looks to be Patient Records.

Hundreds of the bloody things.

THURSDAY:
Better 90 through them.

See if any of the names
ring a bell.

There should be a handbag.

Constable?

She was a reporter, wasn't she?

She'd need somewhere
to keep her notebook.

Her coat is here,
but I can't see her

going far without a handbag.

Sir?

That poor girl.

I should've listened to you.

Well, you had...
things on your mind.

Who doesn't?

It's no excuse.

This lands at my door...
Nobody else's.

You couldn't have known.

You knew!

You always know.

And you were cheated,
with your Sergeant's.

I know you wanted it.

Deserved it, too.

But I can't say I'm sorry
not to lose you to nights.

You're better than that.

There's a boy's room
across the hallway.

So, a son and a daughter, then.

The Leighton-Asburys.

"A pupil."

Saves writing the kids' name
out in longhand, I suppose.

Cowley Baths.

Yeah.

There was one of these
at Miss Palfrey's house.

A gift, possibly?

From the girl.

(doll head clanging
and rolling on floor)

Looks to be pages

from a diary.

Is that French?

TREWLOVE:
"He won't leave me alone.

"He watches me.

"All the time.

"I know what he wants,

"but I won't.

"It's disgusting.

"And wrong.

"There's no one I can tell.

I can't see any other way out."

THURSDAY:
Who's this "he"?

Does she say?

TREWLOVE:
She doesn't name him,

but there's a lot more
in a like vein.

Should I go on, sir?

Just get down the station
and type up a translation

as quick as you can.

Sir.

Garden backs onto the Cherwell.

Nothing down there
but some old boathouse.

Doesn't look like anyone's
been inside for donkeys.

THURSDAY: Anything
more on the family?

Nearest neighbor's
only been here a few years...

Just remembers the wife.

She died in '62.

But I've spoken to the
Royal Army Medical Corps.

They're searching for him
in Regimental records.

There's a son and daughter, too.

No names.
Actually, sir.

Just through from the station...
Edison Smalls's previous.

Three months suspended
for a fight here

with some lad he used to play
chess with down the Youth Club.

Alexander Leighton-Asbury.

Now I've spoken
to Edison's parents.

Apparently, they were
just playing a game,

nice as you like.

Edison said something
to the Leighton-Asbury boy.

And he went for him.
Well, what, what did he say?

Oh, something he didn't like...
Clearly.

But push come to shove,
it was Edison got stuck on,

and the other kid walked away.

I'll get a trace out for him.

Right.

You had better get over

to Miss Knight's flat,
take a look.

This is her room.

Thank you.

Uh... she was a fan.

That's all.

Look, what...
what's this all about?

What it's about, Mr. Finn,
is Tessa Knight lying drowned

in an outsized fish tank
over by Binsey,

with a death mask of her face

staring down at her
from the wall.

It's about your "muse"
being just such a death-mask,

cast from the features
of a young woman

drowned in the Seine
80 years ago.

But above all,
it's about finding

one of your pipe-cleaner men
on her bedside table.

You were sleeping with her.

For how long?

(clears throat)

A couple of weeks,
maybe a month.

Such gallantry.

And when did you
really last see her?

Um, shortly after you left
she dropped by.

Uh, briefly.

Where were you the night before
the chess tournament?

Um... with Tessa,
at her flat.

And the night before that?

If you've come to read me

the Riot Act, Volume Two...

Do you need a drink

or can you tell me straight?

(sighs)

Is it Tessa?

How bad?

Her body was found at a house
out by Binsey this morning.

She'd been drowned.

You didn't send her there?

She resigned.

Yesterday morning.

Just after you left.

MORSE:
I have to ask.

Kent Finn.

He said he was with you,
the night Miss Palfrey died.

That's right.

So you can give him an alibi.

Why would he need an alibi?

He's got nothing
to do with Tessa.

(sighs)

Oh, right.

I see.

Comes to booze,
Kent's a bit of an amateur.

I wouldn't have said he was
in a state to drive anywhere,

let alone kill anyone.

Binsey, you say,
Tessa was found?

Yes, a house out that way.

Owned by a family
called Leighton-Asbury.

Miss Palfrey was
in service there.

The head of the family
is a doctor of some sort.

A surgeon.

Army surgeon, something to do

with plastic surgery
for pilots burned in the war.

Yes, that's right.

It was one of the first stories

I covered when I came to Oxford.

The daughter.

Aged about 16.

Drowned herself in the
boathouse, weighted down...

With stones in her pockets?

Yeah.

At the inquest,

the housekeeper, Miss Palfrey,

gave evidence that the brother

had an unnatural
interest in her.

The parents denied it,
of course.

I don't think the coroner
wanted to add to their grief.

But...

Well, that would accord with
what we read in her diary.

So what happened to him?

Sent away.

Family somewhere.

Think the parents split up
not long after.

I can look into it.

I'd be grateful.

Poor Tessa.

She'd an idea about

some job in Fleet Street
on offer

if she got the scoop
on all this.

Last thing she said was,
"Next time you see my name,

it'll be on the front page."

(sighs)

You're certain
the Leighton-Asbury boy

is involved in some way?

He's the only person we can
connect with Miss Palfrey, sir,

and we know he fought
with Edison Smalls.

BRIGHT: It could just as well
have been the father, couldn't it?

The doctor?
Or his wife, even?

Or none of them at all.
Just someone who knew

the house was empty.
It's possible, sir.

Didn't you think there was
a link to the scientists

up at Lovelace College?

Surely? Hasn't that been
the thinking so far?

Well, we can rule out Dr. Gould
and Dr. Castle straight away.

We were with them
both at the college

at the time
Tessa Knight was killed.

That leaves who?
MORSE: Professor Amory,

his daughter Pat,
and Dr. Clifford Gibbs.

Amory's in a wheelchair.

Hard to see him
having the physical capability

of murdering anyone.

Gibbs, did you say?

That's right.

Why?

Yeah, I thought I'd seen it.

Wing Commander Rupert Gibbs,

602 Squadron, RAF Westhampnett.

Shot down over Sussex,

September 16, 1940.

Damage to the upper
and lower maxilla.

Extensive third degree burns.

THURSDAY: Could you tell us
about your father's relationship

to Dr. Leighton-Asbury?

Yes... dad was a patient.

For the best part of ten years.

Did you ever go with him
out to Binsey?

Once or twice.

Did you know his kids?
He had a son and daughter.

I remember
a little girl, vaguely.

What about the boy?
Alexander?

No...

THURSDAY:
Been there recently?

(laughing):
Where? Binsey?

Good God no, I wouldn't know
where to find it.

Easy enough to find an address

as you've already demonstrated.

Why the interest
in Leighton-Asbury?

The body of a young woman
was found drowned

at the house in Binsey
this morning.

Tessa Knight.

That's... awful.

But if you think
Dr. Leighton-Asbury's

got anything to do with it,

then you are way off beam.
How's that?

Well, I'm a scientist,
I don't go in for God,

but that man was
a miracle worker.

Where were you last night?
For the record.

(chuckling)

You know where I was,
I told you.

I went to a recital,
and then I went home to bed.

For the record.

Anyone vouch for you?
No.

What about Tuesday night?

I was here, working.

Bernard told me to reboot JASON.

Look, if you... if you think

that you've got evidence,
that I'm involved in all this,

then... then you should
charge me.

Otherwise, I've got
nothing else to say.

We're going to brace Dr. Gould
as to Clifford Gibbs' alibi.

Right, sir.

If Gibbs comes out, tail him.

I don't want him

out of your sight.

We've had word through
from the RAMC, sir.

Regimental records confirm
Dr. Leighton-Asbury's decease.

Right.

THURSDAY: We're looking
for Dr. Bernard Gould.

Um, you... just missed him.

About half-hour since.
Any idea where he might be?

AMORY:
Home, presumably.

He was feeling a little
under the weather.

MORSE: Clifford Gibbs said
Dr. Gould told him to reset JASON,

the night before the tournament.

Would that be regular?

Yes, JASON had been behaving

somewhat erratically.

It's standard practice.

You close the machine down,
and then... then restart it.

So you turn it off
and turn it on again.

How long would that take?
Oh, a few hours.

(bicycle bell clinging)

If the reset took a few hours,
rather than the all night

that Gibbs had said it did,
then it would've given him time

to kill Miss Palfrey and drop
her at the swimming pool.

Yeah...

MAN (on radio): Information
Room to DI Thursday.

Thursday. Over.

Message for Morse
from Dorothea Frazil.

Go ahead?

Alexander Leighton-Asbury
went to live

with his maternal grandparents,
name of King, in Dundee.

She's further information
for him at the Oxford Mail.

Oven.

Out.

Sir?

BRIGHT: You think Gibbs
has got Miss Frazil?

That's how it looks, sir.

Strange lost him close by
to the offices of the Mail.

But we've got an alert
out to all units.

Where would he have taken her?

Don't know that yet, sir.

But here's some news
on the Leighton-Asbury girl.

A birth registered
in the second quarter of 1939.

Penelope.

Perhaps we should
try the swimming baths.

Maybe he's taken her there.

Tessa Knight's coat
did reek of chlorine.

Out.

VVhereis she?

Where's who?

Miss Frazil.

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

What've you done with her?

Nothing.

Get him dressed.

Morse, with me.

THURSDAY: Show me where
you found those footprints.

Maybe he's got her down there.

THURSDAY:
Miss Frazil?

Miss Frazil!

Miss Frazil?

Morse?

Morse!

Miss Knight's handbag!

"RXN.

Check Meat."

"Rook takes Knight.

Check Mate."

It's not Gibbs.

THURSDAY: You think Dr. Castle
is the Leighton-Asbury boy?

Yes, after his sister killed
herself, he went to live

with his grandparents
in Scotland.

And their name was King,
wasn't it?

How does that get you to Castle?

What he wrote on the wall:
"Rook takes knight."

Rook is the proper name
for the chess piece.

Only some people call it
a castle.

The fly, "the Vicar's Bitch."

That referred to Miss Palfrey.

What about "Denial"?

MORSE: It wasn't
Denial... it was Daniel.

Edison Daniel Smalls.

You see, Castle's word-blind.

That's why he mistyped
"Rude Dram" for "Read Drum."

And the envelopes in the locker
were mail...

The Oxford Mail.

He's been telling us his next
move at each instance.

So where's he got Miss Frazil?

He must know we found
the house in Binsey.

Well, what about the boat house
where his sister drowned?

So what's his motive?

Miss Palfrey he knew as a child.

Same as Edison Smalls.

Perhaps it was something to do
with his sister.

You sit in your offices,

writing your stories,

ruining lives.

My God...

You're him.

You're Alexander.

Well, I'm flattered
you remember me.

Oh, I remember you, of course.

The disgusting insinuations

you made after the inquest.
I wrote the truth!

I loved my sister.

Well, she didn't love you!

Not in the way
you wanted her to.

She was afraid of you.

You're why she killed herself!

Enough!
I'm not afraid.

Oh, you will be...

in the end.

I think that's him!

(tires screeching)

(grunting)

(tires screeching)

Get after him,
I'll take care of her!

It's all right,
I'll get you out!

Please!

Open the door.

(whimpering)

Fred!

Fred!

I'm not leaving you.
It's okay, don't worry.

(hammering)

Out you et! Quick! 9

(explosion)

(birds squawking)

(panting)

(yells)

(water lapping softly)

(Morse breathing heavily)

(exhales)

(panting)

If she wanted you dead,
you would be.

Who?

Penelope!

Penelope's dead.

Your sister, she...
she's dead.

I just found her again!

After all that time,

I can't let it happen again!

You're ill.

You've had...
you've had a breakdown,

and Dr. Neilsen knew it.

(shouting, arguing)

He was going to tell
Dr. Amory

and have you taken
off the project.

That's why you killed him.

CASTLE:
I had to.

I had to kill Neilsen.

She spoke to me.

Through the computer,
through JASON.

Ifl lost JASON, I would have
lost Penelope, too.

MORSE: And the death
masks, what were they?

CASTLE: I made them for
Penelope as an offering.

So she could see
I had done what she'd asked.

I know it sounds mad,
but we're meant to be together.

Always.

(crying)

(sniffling)

I'm not mad.

(softly):
I'm not mad.

God knows I should be,

growing up here.

It was a house of monsters.

But the men who came to visit
your father were heroes.

As was he.

The only monster in that house
was you.

I've read your sister's diary.

She was terrified of you.

I'd never hurt Penelope!

The only way to get away
from you was by drowning!

She drowned herself
to get away from you.

You forced her to it.

No.

Look, anyway, it's finished,
it's over.

Put the bricks down, it's done.

None of it matters now.

Ijust want Penelope back.

I miss her so much...

(sniffling)

(crying)

Now I know what I've got to do
to get her back.

(loud splash)

(grunting)

Breathe!

Breathe, you bastard!

(gasping)

(retching)

(panting)

It was
in Tessa Knight's handbag.

Beyond hurting her now.

It's evidence.

Castle'll get what he's got
coming with this or without.

It wouldn't harm
your prospects any

if you found it'd slipped down
the back of your sofa.

But that wouldn't be true.

You don't have to stay
in Oxford.

You have to make a stand
somewhere.

They're not going
to drive me out.

WIN:
You two done, is it?

All right for some.

Can I give you a lift?

Well, this is very nice,
I must say.

I don't suppose
there's any word?

No. No word.

♪♪

(birds cawing)