Original subtitles

Morning, Stirlwind.

There's no hot water.

Okay, come and take a look.

wet in here.

I think we've sprung a leak or...

Right.

I think the most important thing is to not panic.

Need to think logically.

Does the engine work?

End it. Brilliant.

Humphrey? Are you all right?

Fine.

I'm not entirely sure.

It's dripping oil.

Have we got life jackets?

Well, I didn't think we'd need them.

You know, being parked up.

Wood.

We could make a raft.

Pumpery! I need two pencils and a pair of underpants.

One morning in the month of June, down by a rolling river, there a weary

traveler chanced to stay, and he bailed his lover.

Her cheeks were red, her eyes were brown, her hair in ringlets hanging

she'd a lovely face without a frown, just as the tide was flowing.

Get up on the ocean. Sail out on the sea.

Get up in the mountains.

Go climb in the trees.

Go through every emotion.

When you know they don't care.

Darling, I found you.

Oh, I'll go with you anyway.

Get up and get me.

What happened?

We're really worried.

Yes, the mooring rope snapped and the current dragged us out to sea, Carby.

Thank heavens for the RNLI.

Yes. Oh, Anne said to phone her the second you get back.

You all right, sir?

Yes.

Oh, just a bump.

Only you're needed.

Estridge gone on ahead?

Where? Kenneth Lindo's house.

Are you okay?

How's Martha?

We're both fine.

Thank you.

Okay.

You know, I only spoke to him last night.

Oh, of course.

You went to the book signing.

Here we are.

I'm still not sure this qualifies as a date.

In my defense, I was coerced into your Mamma Mia karaoke night.

Coerced? Well, maybe not coerced, but if those photos ever get into the wrong

hands, I think we are.

So consider this payback.

This

week...

sees the launch of the new Kenneth Linda novel, The Final Breath.

Now, since he's moved to Shipton Abbot, we are brazenly claiming him as one of

our own.

So, as your new local counsellor and treasurer of the Devon Literary Group, I

would like you all to give a huge welcome to our guest, Kenneth Linda.

His daughter, Helen, found him in the bath.

The electric fan in the water at his feet.

It looks like he's been here all night.

Looks like the power tripped eventually, but not quick enough to save him.

Well, this is something of a conundrum.

Why? Because in his latest novel, serial killer Jeremy Cook is walking to the

electric chair, which is where the last book left him. But it turns out he

bribed the guard to short -circuit the prison power, therefore delaying his

execution until the next day.

But that night, he murdered the guard that helped him and stole his uniform to

escape. Nice.

Then he found the judge that sentenced him and, like his nine previous victims,

killed him by dropping an electrical appliance into his bath.

thank you

we've

got some outside too

trampled flowerbed by an open rear door.

We did a quick check, and the footprints are probably male, judging by size and

weight, but they're not an obvious match for any of the footwear found in the

house. We've taken moulds, but there's a difference in indent depth, so we're

pretty sure whoever made them had a distinct limp.

Limp? Yeah.

Much less weight put on his left leg.

The main road runs across the back of the garden, so someone could have got

the fence and along this path.

Cameras? Nothing this side.

Doorbell camera at the front. We've got him being dropped off last night by his

daughter, Helen, and then her coming back this morning.

I know you, don't I?

From the book signing last night. You were with your father?

That's right.

D .I. Goodman.

Humphrey Goodman.

Huge fan.

This is my wife,

Martha. Hi.

So, Humphrey, do you have a favourite case?

Oh, yes. The first of the bathtub trilogy, Death by Design. The bottle

MacGuffin. Genius.

Oh, thank you.

Wait.

You're not Detective Humphrey Goodman?

Yes. How do you know that?

Well, I'm something of a fan of yours, too.

I read the newspaper report about the case you solved.

The poor chap murdered by his partner made it look like a car crash.

Brilliant.

Thank you.

Well,

a pleasure to meet you, Humphrey.

And you, my friend.

Thank you.

This must be difficult for you. Is there family we can call?

No. It's just me and Dad.

Are you up to a few questions, Helen?

I'll try.

When was the last time you saw your father before this morning?

Last night. I dropped him home after the book signing.

Promise me you'll have an early night.

Oh, a nightcap first, I think.

One. At least.

Love you.

Love you too.

And how did he seem in himself?

Quiet.

But I know he was tired.

Can I ask, was your dad a particularly tidy man?

Tidy.

God, no. He was bloody -minded, intelligent, playful, and

a rather wonderful father.

But Tidy, no.

There's something else you need to know.

He was dying.

He had end -stage amyloidosis, an abnormal build -up of proteins.

Stopped his organs working properly.

Said he refused to die until he'd finished his damn book.

But he'd been going downhill pretty rapidly these past few weeks.

We knew it wouldn't be long.

But this... Do you think he took his own life?

Do you?

I know he was in a lot of pain, but he refused the palliative care he was

offered.

People are coming in.

You sure you're up to this, Dad?

Stop, Fancy.

I'm strong as an ox.

We need to take care of your dad, too.

You might be better at home.

They'll take him to the Chapel of Rest, and I promise I'll call and let you know

when he's there.

Thank you.

Do you think that's it?

He did this himself?

There was a towel, neatly folded, by the side of the bath, dressing gown and

slippers ready.

So why go to all that trouble if you know you'll never be getting out of the

bath? Exactly.

So it has to be an accident?

Possibly.

Wait.

You're thinking it's murder?

We should consider it.

Why? Because the victim wrote murder mystery novels?

No, Sergeant, because there are some things that don't make sense.

Such as?

Well, it's all rather neat, don't you think?

Too neat, perhaps, for a man not known for his tidiness.

That's it.

It was too neat.

So what if someone put those things in place to make it look like an accident?

And what about the fact that he died in exactly the way described in his own

book? Can we really accept that's just a coincidence?

No. So, if we can rule out suicide...

accident and coincidence, which we can because there's no such thing, then what

happened to Kenneth Linder must be by design.

Let's confirm cause of death. Let forensics finish up. And I want an

report. Why didn't the power trip out immediately?

Oh, and have his clothes checked too.

See if this belongs to any of them.

Please.

Okay. Thank you.

And we should talk to his agent.

Yes.

P .M.

Pothole Pete was on the RNLI boat.

He said if they overslept, they could have ended up in Guernsey.

Pothole Pete?

Oh, they call him that because people try to avoid him.

He goes on a bit.

Shipton Abbott.

No, that's not here.

The press office is at the hub, darling.

Do you need the number?

No problem.

Bye.

OK. I've got a criminal damage and also an assault on a shopkeeper

in town.

I'll be a couple of hours.

OK.

Shipton Abbott.

As his agent, you knew he was ill?

Of course.

But it wasn't public knowledge?

The way Kenny wanted it.

He's a very... He was a very proud man.

He didn't want people fawning over him.

I saw you at the book signing last night.

How did he seem to you?

Oh, she... You were wonderful.

Calm.

Considering this was his last roll of the dice.

Why do you say that?

His last book was a decade ago, and that did appallingly.

Obviously, he couldn't get a publishing deal, so started borrowing against the

house so that he could write this one.

He was in financial difficulty.

This book was his last chance of avoiding bankruptcy.

He kept his money problems from Helen, of course.

He didn't want her to worry about that on top of everything else.

They seem very close.

They lost Helen's mum when she was seven.

So it's only ever really been the two of them.

Everything Kenny ever did, he did for her.

But Mr. Linda confided in you about his financial difficulty.

I'm his agent.

Goes with the territory.

Can I ask?

Do the initials PM mean anything to you?

No, should they?

No.

Look, there was another man at the book signing last night.

He didn't look like a fan, but I saw you speaking to him. That would be Ken's

publisher, Anthony Wembley.

Nice to see you pushed the boat out, Anthony.

I think your client's Oxford Street soirees were over a long time ago.

Don't you?

He's made you a lot of money. He's made us all a lot of money, dear heart.

But I'm slightly surprised that as a literary agent you don't understand the

of the past.

Your loyalty is staggering.

Jump off your high horse, will you?

He's washed up.

We're both just hovering, waiting for him to die so we can revive his back

catalogue.

Not the nicest man.

His time was over.

Metaphorically speaking, people are just not buying his books anymore.

And yet you still publish this latest novel. True, but on very, very different

terms. No advance, and on the condition that he brought back the bathtub murders

trilogy.

They were his most successful books, so I thought they will guarantee our best

chance of a return.

But with no advance, would that mean that he was writing for free,

Yes, but he would get the lion's share if the book sold well.

But you don't expect it to?

No.

So a much better deal for you than him, then?

What can I say?

Business is business.

Plus, I tend to come out in a rash when I lose money.

Do you know how Mr. Linder died?

He was electrocuted in his bath.

Oh.

Exactly the same way as the first murder in his new book.

To be honest, I haven't read it, but it does sound a tad ironic.

You haven't read a book you've just published?

I have people.

Do the initials PM mean anything to you?

No, I don't...

No, I don't think they do.

If it is murder, can we make him a suspect, please?

I'm not sure that's quite how it works, Sergeant.

Pity.

This PM thing, could it be something else rather than initials?

Such as?

I don't know.

Afternoon? No, PM only really works as a suffix, doesn't it?

And why have it in your hand unless you're trying to tell us something?

The name of his killer?

Why not?

We don't believe it was an accident.

Agreed. Why take your own life if you're dying?

Life insurance.

His daughter would benefit.

But you get that when he died anyway.

If the prognosis was right, he may have only had weeks left, a day's perhaps.

Which brings us right back to the question.

Who could possibly benefit from the death of a dying man on the verge of

bankruptcy?

They threw this.

But you didn't see anything?

Nothing. Just a bang and the whole window caved in.

Lucky no one was hurt.

And this was what time?

Nine, yeah. Just after we opened.

Financials are on your desk.

Makes for pretty grim reading.

What? And he had no life insurance.

Counciled his policy two years ago and never renewed.

And the phone's been ringing off the hook.

Journalists all wanting to know how Kenneth Linda died, and if it's true, he

in the bath.

I didn't think we'd released anything yet. No, we haven't. Well, I passed them

all on to the Hubbs press office.

Well done, Margot.

Was there anything on Kenneth Linda's social media?

That was easy.

He's on my Facebook friends.

You knew? What?

Back in the day, when he was an angry young writer and I was a redcoat of

fans.

What? You were a redcoat?

Well, only for eight months.

I got sacked.

Why? They said I rigged the over -70s healthy dress competition just because

Grandad won.

And Kenneth Linder?

Oh, we met at a Mary Hopkin concert.

Turned into a weekend of debauchery in Norwich.

We mostly lost touch after that.

Although people do say he based one of his characters on me.

Which one?

Melody Alcott.

She was the waitress in the first bathtub murders.

Yes, she was, yes.

She was the killer's ex -girlfriend. She was the one who helped unlock the whole

place. She was the one who eventually led Horace Bishop to Jeremy Cook at the

third book.

And that was you?

Supposedly. But I never saw it myself.

She was a bit... strange.

Can you give me a description of the man who hit you, Mr Bevan?

He was a lot taller than me, like.

He had on a tracksuit, one of them with a hood.

Did you see his face?

No. He had a scarf over his face.

I came out on my way to the bank.

I only took three steps.

He stood right in front of me, just like you are now.

And he hit me with a rolled -up newspaper.

So you... came up to you and hit you on the head with a rolled -up newspaper.

I'm telling you, Kelly, the theory has gone to the dogs. Yesterday, a similar

thing happened.

A man came up to me, tried to punch me in the face.

A different man?

Yeah, dressed the same like.

He was taller than me, too.

And he tried to punch you?

Yeah, but he missed.

Then he started crying and ran off.

Crying? It's these kids, Kelly.

They're all sniffing glue and smoking something.

Day before, one of them stole my dog poo.

Dog poo?

Honey Butcher, my dog, got into the shop from upstairs, left a little present

there, so I bagged it up, went outside to the bin, and this lunatic ran up,

snatched it and ran off.

Wait.

Can you describe him?

He's a border terrier.

No, no, no. The man who stole your poo.

Oh, a dress that seemed like a tracksuit and face covered.

And was he taller than you?

What do you mean?

Well, you said the others were... I'm just trying to get a description.

Oh. Well, yeah.

No, you mentioned a Kelly.

Kelby. And he was wearing a tracksuit.

With his backside hanging out.

That gets for you these days, though, doesn't it?

I know you've got all these faith -recognition cameras these days. You'd

better off with us -recognition.

OK. Well,

leave it with me, Mr Bevan. I'll talk to the other shopkeepers, see if anyone's

seen anything, but I'll be in touch.

Right -o, Kelly.

Hey, Kelly!

Bloody good idea!

That's what they need!

Stop calling me Kelly.

Hello, boys. See anything happen down there?

No.

Thank you.

No problem.

Hello?

That was the boatyard.

The lilybond might be out of the water for months.

It needs a complete overhaul. I can't say I'm surprised.

It had bits falling off when I was staying on it.

Well, you know you're always welcome at mine.

I'm probably mortified.

Thanks very much.

Oh, not about staying with you, about the boat.

Really loves that boat, doesn't he?

Yeah, but it's only ever supposed to be a stopgap until we've found somewhere

more permanent.

So maybe it's time we did just that.

Find a house.

Good for you, Morty.

It won't be easy.

There's always loads of places up for sale.

No, I don't mean finding a house.

I mean telling Humphrey.

So you've heard, then?

Heard what?

About Archie.

What about him?

I heard he was dating.

Good for him.

Don't you want to know who it was? No.

Who?

No idea, but very pretty by all accounts.

They were seen coming out of Kitty J's arm in arm.

Hi, Nick.

OK, thank you.

The button doesn't match any of the clothes found in the wardrobe.

Right. And the RCD switch was disabled, which meant the power didn't cut off

instantly. So, if it was murder, then it was premeditated.

What were those initials you found?

P .M. Why?

I might add something.

On Kenneth Linda's page, someone posted a death threat.

Saying he's a fraud, that he's sold out doing a new book, that he's ruined the

trilogy by adding a fourth book.

Some of the messages are pretty vile.

The last one?

Look. Be careful you don't end up like one of your own victims.

That fits, doesn't it? A deranged fan. Who better to copy a murder from the

book? Paul Mecca. M -E -C -A.

Paul Mecca.

So what do we know about him? Nothing. Just the name. Not much history.

Looks like the account's only been open a few weeks.

I can put in a request for some more information, but you know what these

media companies are like.

I wouldn't hold your breath.

Okay. If he's a fan, then maybe he was at the book signing last night. And if

he's not local, then he must have stayed somewhere.

So let's check local hotels, guest houses, all of that.

Right.

Shipman Abbott.

You're worried.

What? Help.

They'll just have to wait, okay?

I need to speak to Helen Linder first.

Sergeant!

I can't ever remember Dad mentioning a poor mecca.

It seems he disapproved of the new book, accusing your dad of selling out.

Oh, we had lots of that.

The thing is, Dad didn't necessarily disagree with him either.

But going back to the bathtub murders was the only way he could get published.

I think he needed the money.

Oh, he never said anything.

But he hated Anthony Wesley.

I know he'd never have gone back there unless he had to.

Sorry, excuse me.

Hello?

D .I.

Goodman, I presume.

James Smith, please.

Sorry.

I was expecting Chief Superintendent Woods.

No longer with us, I'm afraid.

Oh. Oh, not deceased.

In Dartmouth.

Though some might argue they're much the same thing.

Yeah, but I digress.

Look, there's been a small restructure.

Not trying to boil the ocean, just a realignment.

Bringing all the remaining substations under our control.

Our? Our administrative planning.

Which in turn reports to the local police and crime panel. In your case,

would be Shipton Abbot, of course.

It's non -invasive.

Just... Building a loop.

Everyone's in it and we all open our kimono.

Kimono? Well, share what we have. Get all our ducks in a row.

That's how we move the needle. You follow?

Yes. No, not really.

Now, the first carriage on the train to Efficiency Harbour is streamlining.

Trimming the fat.

Cutbacks.

Unclogging the pipes.

There's only four of us.

Which is rather the point.

In what way?

There should only be three.

Your staff -to -square footage ratio is... off -message.

Oh, but it's not all bad news.

No, the decision about who to lose... all yours.

Hey, Sam, it's Martha Goodman.

There's one of your properties I'd like to see if it's still available.

On Polkett Hill?

Cheer up. It might never happen.

That's the point.

What?

Everyone seems to have things going on.

Martha's looking to buy new owls.

Anne's just been made a new counsellor, going off on fancy lunches all the time.

Aren't you dating again?

And here's me.

Exactly the same as I was.

Last week, last month, pretty much the whole of last year.

Literally nothing is happening in my life right now.

One morning, I'm just going to wake up and find out I'm old, still on my own,

and still living in Tipton Abbot.

Can't think of anything worse.

I know, right?

So who's Archie dating, then? Not that I'm bothered, just interested.

No idea.

Supposed to be really pretty, though.

No one seems to have seen anything.

If it's the town centre, the CCTV should have picked them up.

Hi there.

So, the name Mecca, I ran a quick trace.

We have 34 families with that last name in Devon and Cornwall. But, with nothing

to cross -check it with...

It's tough to narrow down.

Right.

So what do we know about him?

He's a Kenneth Linder fan.

He's got a limp.

And he's got a button missing.

Not much.

All right.

See if there's a Kenneth Linder fan club or a book reading group.

They'll have a list of members.

Why didn't I think of that?

Yes, and maybe we could take a punt on the limp, too.

Check for local hospital admissions in the last six months.

Injuries to his left... Left leg. I'm on it.

Yes.

So, the hub.

Anything to report?

Yes. Yes, seems we're under new management, everyone.

The chief super's moved on.

We're now being overseen by the planning team and the local police and crime

panel.

So where's Charlie Woods gone?

Dartmouth, I think he said.

Oh, no. She was lovely. I really liked her. Yeah.

She was definitely one of the better ones.

Is that it, though? Now Charlie's gone? No new directives or anything?

Er, no.

Lab have confirmed Kenneth Linder as death by electrocution.

Although they have listed his amyloidosis as a secondary cause.

His body was so weak he was unlikely to survive the initial shock.

This is madness.

What's that, Kelby? The local bookmaker, David Bevan, assaulted three times in

three days.

Got the town centre CCTV footage, but not one of them makes any sense.

Look, here.

This is the first one.

His dog makes a mess in his shop. He bags it up and was taking it to an

bin. Then someone snatches it off him. That's weird.

Then the next one, same time, next day, near enough, a different bloke

runs up and tries to punch him, misses, and then Mr Bevan said that he started

crying and then ran off.

Right. And then this morning, a third bloke came out of nowhere, Wax him on

head with a rolled -up newspaper for no reason, and then just runs off as well.

That's all very odd. Just kids messing about.

I think I found your poor Mecca.

Yes, he arrived two nights ago.

I said he was here on bit walk.

Kept himself to himself.

Thank you.

Would you know him?

If you saw him again?

No doubt it.

Don't pay much attention to overnighters.

Can I ask how he pays?

Cash.

Cash.

Has anyone else been in this room?

No.

A cleaner's supposed to check for things like this.

Did he give any personal details when he checked in? Address? Phone number? He

filled a registration card out.

Can we see it?

It's downstairs, in the office.

Yes, ma 'am.

Do you have any security cameras?

We have a doorbell camera.

Excellent. Hmm.

Can't see him arriving.

Oh, but he might have come in through the side door.

Let's look at when he left.

OK. Thanks, Margot.

Address and phone number are false.

There he is.

He's got a limp.

That's him.

Come on.

You should have got an hour ago.

Nearly done.

Boy, your age. You've been rushing home, getting ready to go out.

Haven't you got a date or anything?

Nah, I've given up on all them dating apps.

That's one I met up with.

Must have used a photo that was older than me.

She keeps sending me photos of her lasagna.

Well, don't be long.

I won't.

Bad day?

Not as bad as Selwyn.

Look, he's homeless.

Oh, your author's been all over the news.

I think it was murder.

I think so, yeah.

Any idea who it was?

Well, we've got a good suspect.

A disgruntled fan who's sending threatening messages and we can place

the scene, so... I'm sorry.

I know you liked him.

I did, yeah.

But it's not that.

I got called into the hub.

Oh.

You've been told off again.

Not this time.

The thing, I've got to lose someone at the station.

What? Yeah.

Apparently there should only be three of us at the station, so I need to lose

one of either Isla, Colby or Margot.

That's awful.

What will you do?

I have no idea.

So, I've got something that might cheer you up or make you feel ten times worse.

Right.

If it's bad timing and you don't want to talk about it, then just say so. It's

bad timing.

But the lilybond will be out of the water for a week, maybe a month.

And although we can stay a month again...

I was thinking that maybe it was time to move on and went back to our original

plan when we first moved down and bought a

house.

Are you serious?

Look.

Hello, Peter. Where have you been?

Oh, Art, it's still not better, that leg.

Oh. Hello, lovey. See you Friday.

Ha!

Oh!

You're in early.

What's up with you? Weren't you bed?

No. So, I had a brainwave.

Oh. I was sitting in the bath.

listening to Billie Eilish, when I realised that all those things that

to Mr Bevan, outside the bookmakers, all happened at the same time, between five

to nine and ten past nine.

Three days in a row.

So what if they're there again today? I can get there first and wait for them to

show up.

So, what's Billie Eilish got to do with it?

Oh, nothing.

I just like her.

The fan club hasn't got a Paul Mecca listed.

I'm still waiting on hospital reports.

OK.

That's sad.

What is?

It's an interview with Kenneth Linder.

They asked him where the title of his book came from.

When his wife was dying, she made him promise to look after their daughter,

Helen. He said to her that he would.

To his final breath.

I think he kept his promise. They were very close.

Yes. I only wish we had more answers for her.

Right.

Let's run through what we've got again.

I need that money.

Al Fatiha.

You lived here as a teenager, didn't you?

Yes, I did.

Didn't you find it weird seeing the same people every day?

They're always looking the same.

Kelby?

Hello. Can I use your bathroom, please?

Neither can we roll out, huh?

Kelby?

Kelby? Mum's washing my uniform.

I was chasing one of the kids that assaulted Mr Bevan, caught one of them,

he dobbed the other two in.

They're in the hub at the moment, being questioned.

Well done, Kelby. Indeed.

Well done, Kelby. So, what was it all about?

OK, so, Mr Bevan keeps the cash from the tills and the slot machines in a safe

overnight, then banks it the same time every morning.

They obviously found out about it and decided to rob him.

But they weren't very bright.

The first one thought Mr Bevan was on his way to bank his takings.

But he wasn't. He was disposing a bag of dog poo.

The next day, they had a different plan.

The second one was going to throw pepper into Mr. Bevan's face and steal the bag

of money.

But he didn't account for the window.

The third

one had another plan.

He had put a big chisel in a rolled up newspaper.

Gosh, but he hadn't racked it tightly enough.

So when he pulled his arm back...

That's

what happened to the barber's window.

And lucky it did, because it could have killed someone.

Oh, what have you done?

I turned my ankle when I was getting pulled out of the mud.

Have we got the doorbell footage of Paul Mecca?

Uh, yeah. Hang on.

Oh, they're talking about us.

Yes,

they could!

That's exactly what it is.

Oh, that's very clever.

Do you know what happened?

I think I do.

So was it murder?

Not exactly.

He took his own life?

Strictly speaking, both.

The button, the memo pad, the footprints in the garden, the mysterious pool

maker, the jacket he just happened to leave behind.

All... very convenient and easy to find, all ultimately leading nowhere.

Why? Because they weren't clues at all.

They were simply the pen strokes of a master storyteller.

Kenneth Leonard's books were no longer attracting the following they once did.

And facing financial ruin, he was then very

literally

dealt a killer blow.

He was dying.

But his thoughts were not for himself.

They were for his daughter, Helen.

Having kept his financial woes from her, he knew that when he was gone, she'd be

left with nothing.

So I think when he was told he was dying, he concocted a plan.

First, he had to get a publishing deal.

He did so by agreeing to return to his most successful trilogy, The Bathtub.

Murders. But, more importantly, I think he's the one who suggested he write it

without an advance.

Instead, taking the lion's share of profits from book sales.

But why would he do that if he was broke?

Because he intended to make sure the book was a runaway success.

And I think he did so by murdering himself.

Knowing he only had weeks.

Perhaps days left to live.

Kenneth Linda said goodbye to his daughter.

But as he wasn't insured, he knew he had to find a way to secure her future.

Promise you'll have an early night.

A night kept first, I think.

One. At least.

Love you.

Love you too.

To fulfill the promise he made to her mother.

All they do is go.

I doubt that any right -minded person would consider such a thing. But once he

made his plan, his course was set.

First thing he did was plant his clues.

First, the footprint.

Adding a limp for dramatic effect.

Then, the mysterious note.

And the button.

And then, with everything in place, here it has been.

A few days before, he booked into Sandal's guesthouse in the name of the

character he created, making sure that he left the jacket with the missing

button behind and to get caught on the doorbell camera, allowing us to see the

supposed limp he'd orchestrated in the flowerbed to confirm.

his identity.

I also think he sent himself the death threats.

The account used by Paul Mecker had only been operating a few weeks.

So he did it all himself?

Yes, Carby.

I think he did.

As news spread of the fictional matter that became real life, he ensured that

his new book became a bestseller.

Remember the words that he spoke to his dying wife.

All those years ago when she begged him to look after their daughter.

That he'd look after her until his final breath.

And that's exactly what he did.

So what gave him away? But who's Paul Mecker?

Why, I can't... Two things were his undoing.

Footprint casts from the garden show that the weak leg was on the left. Yes.

Walking away from the guesthouse.

The limp was clearly on his right leg.

And the other thing?

Well, the hubris.

It's an anagram.

Paul Mecca Mayer

Culpa.

Latin?

An admission of guilt.

Quite literally, it was me who did it.

Thank you

for taking the

time to stop by.

We thought you'd want to know.

Oh, I doubt it's much comfort.

No. None at all, to be honest.

The truth is, I'd swap every penny of the fortune he worked so hard to leave

for one more day with him.

Yeah, yeah.

A lot of, you know, like, filing and stuff. Here we go.

I don't think I've forgotten anything.

Oh, dear.

Well, don't kill me.

Want some good news?

Yes, always.

Kenneth Linda's publisher, Anthony Westley, just got sacked.

Why?

For signing a contract that gives most of the money from the book sales for the

Linda estate.

Yes, the book is bigger than ever. It's a bestseller.

Losing all that money, you must have a nasty rash.

Well, I think we shouldn't lose sight of the fact that a daughter lost her

father, but...

Well done, everyone.

And well done, you, to our amazing inspector, Martha, who saved him from a

watery grave, our brilliant Kelby, who cracked his own case and waded through

mud to bring his prisoner in, and Margot, who is the font of all

Esther, the voice of reason and the glue that holds us all together, and not

forgetting our new counsellor. Oh!

Cheers! Cheers!

Okay, so the pictures I showed you are a bit old, and no one's lived here for a

while. Really?

Close your eyes.

Oh, God.

I can't see anything.

This way.

There's a step.

Okay, yeah.

Do we have a key?

Don't need one.

There's no pencil.

Up, up, up.

Yes, yes.

Ah,

it's Anthony.

What's that smell?

That's not us.

Right.

Okay.

Are you ready?

I'm not sure.

One, are you sure we're in the right house? And two, if we are, what on earth

possessed you?

I'm glad you asked.

to attempt to undo those crimes. I am not mad.

You think someone trashed the place, then immediately put everything back.

Smith is still pounding me for a decision on who I'm going to let go.

Oh, my God, Mum, there's Archie in that one.

Pausing fostering still feels like the right thing to do. Especially now we're

back living with your mum.

Remember, you are enough.

I've definitely had enough. Know that much?

It came this morning.

A mythical beast lurking offshore next tonight on BBC One, the series finale of

Death in Paradise coming up. And it was ahead of its time, the cult classic

turns 30.

Who can forget this life? Press red to watch on iPlayer.

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