Original subtitles

(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)