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Received.

DI Thursday and DS Strange are en route.

Received.

The cortege is pulling up
outside the chapel. Over.

Received. Roger and out.

Eyes down for a full house.

They are about to enter the chapel. Over.

Bit of discretion, Charlie. This
isn't the Eights Week dinner dance.

Good turnout.

The Lord is my shepherd.

Two and three. 23.

Gandhi's breakfast.

Ate nothing.

80.

- Prepare the payroll for
Clissold Fashions. - At once, sir.

- Where do you think you're going?
- It's a free country.

You people.

Have some respect.

You have four hours.

Turn your papers over.

And begin.

- Five and two.
- Danny La Rue.

52.

Christmas cake.

Good morning, sir.

The payroll for Clissold fashion, sir.

Thank you, Gidderton. Just leave
it on the desk, would you?

Ah! The gang's all here,
then. Oxford's finest.

Tommy Thompson.

- Bernie Waters.
- Who's the long streak with the blonde?

Peter Matthews Senior. The house-trained
half of the Matthews brothers.

The Breakers Yard Matthews
brothers? Out Abingdon way?

"Scrap Metal Dealers of Repute."

The one on the right with the
dark glasses, that's Cole.

The older brother.

Ah, they're all villains,
the whole Matthews family.

Miss Frazil.

Friends or family?

The King is dead. Long live the King.

Harry Rose was a lot of things,
but royalty wasn't one of them.

Nature abhors a vacuum.

.. have anything to say to you.

Oi! What are you doing?

Afternoon, Mr Clissold. Late
today. I thought you'd forgotten us.

- It's a lunch hour, Miss Thursday.
- Sorry, Mr Fordyce, I'll make it up.

Indeed you will, Miss Thursday.
This is a bank, not a social club.

Miss Frazil's got a point. With Harry Rose gone,
the jockeying for top-dog could get nasty.

Hello, matey. Back already?

- Finished early. Pretty straight-forward,
isn't it? - You checked your answers?

Twice.

- How'd it go?
- Ah.

You know what they say about funerals.
Always someone catches his death.

Morse.

How old was Mr Grissold?

50s.

Gentlemen.

Cedric Clissold.

Late of Clissold Fashions.

There were two to the chest.

Shots heard about an hour ago -- which would
appear to give a fairly reliable time of death.

Be able to give you the calibre
once I've had a root about.

Looks to be a wages snatch, sir.

£2,000, according to Mrs Abbott.
She's come out from the factory.

Mr Clissold always collected
the payroll on a Wednesday.

- From where?
- Wessex on Cross Street.

Joan's branch, isn't it?

- Witnesses?
- One of the neighbours heard a shot.

Took it for a car backfiring.

- Next of kin?
- He was widowed.

No other family to speak of.

- Keep on with the door-to-door.
- Yes, sir.

Well, that didn't take long.

Harry Rose barely cold.

Right, matey. We'll take
the bank. You tidy up here.

A formal statement from Mrs Abbott. Give the
car a quick go, once we've got his body out.

It's just awful. Mr Clissold was a
valued customer of long-standing.

He seemed his usual self, did
he? Nothing out of the ordinary?

No. Not at all. It was a perfectly
straightforward transaction, the same as always.

How was his business?

He was facing stiff competition
from Far East imports

and recently had to lay off
a quarter of his workers.

Money troubles?

You didn't happen to
notice anyone outside?

Odds are the robbers would've
had their eye on him.

I didn't really notice.

I was late back from lunch.

No.

Tell a lie. There was
a car across the road.

Navy.

Well, what about the driver?

Hm... No. Sorry.

Anything more from Mrs Abbott?

She was asking after an order book,
some sort of carbon pad he used for work.

Forensics didn't pick up
anything like that, did they?

Not so far as I know.

Mucky Beth.

Moaning Becomes Electra.

Good grief!

Hedda Gobbler.

- Only In Oxford.
- Mm.

- We're shut.
- Yeah. Looks it.

You got an afternoon licence?

This is a private members' club.

- A nice bit of work today.
- Oh, yeah. What's that, then?

A wages snatch in Holywell Street.

We're all right for a comic. Ta.
Always looking for strippers, though.

What do you reckon, Pete?

Fred Thursday in G-string and pasties?

Don't talk with your mouth full,
Cole. It makes you look simple.

Where were you, then, this afternoon?

You know where we were. Harry Rose's wake.

And later?

- I took a bath.
- Anyone confirm that?

Yeah. Me.

And where were you? At the plug end?

- Come on!
- Drop it.

Drop it!

Drop it, you snide cow-son!

Drop it!

Or it'll be your neck and
Cole's parole, right there.

Any ideas you've got about taking
over Harry Rose's pitch, think again.

You're on notice.

What? Coming for us, are you, Fred?

- Then you'd better come carrying.
- Count on...

Sounds nasty.

Yeah, I heard you got plugged.
A lung shot, wasn't it?

You want to cut down on the pipe.

Two bullets, 0.38 calibre.

Same as you've got rattling around.

Thanks for the reminder.

- What have I missed?
- Sunday Night at the London Palladium!

Anything from his work?

Erm... seems to have been pretty well
liked, so far as I could make out.

- Nobody could tell me about his
personal life. - A private sort?

Secretive was the word used, by more than
one of his colleagues. Obsessively so.

Maybe not without cause.

There was a box in the boot of
his car filled with... stag films.

Nature studies?

Not an antler in sight, I'm afraid.

Well...

I'll leave you to your... whatever it is.

The doctor will fill you in on the rest.

Sergeant.

Oh, and I shan't need you in the
morning. I'll make my own way in.

What did I miss?

Not much.

In general good health
for a man of his age.

No disease.

You didn't happen to open his
jacket to get to his chest, did you?

No. It was like that when I arrived.

The robber takes £2,000, but then
hangs about to pinch his wallet?

Actually, the wallet was in the
back pocket of his trousers.

On the side, with the rest
of his personal effects.

Oh.

There wasn't a pad with this lot,
was there? His work were asking.

What came in is what's there. As always.

- What about his final meal?
- A bit gastric for you, isn't it?

Wouldn't happen to be chicken meat
and sweetcorn soup, by any chance?

Saveloy and chips.

You're sure?

Alimentary, my dear Morse.

- Why? - He's got a Chinese
take-away menu here.

Bamboo House on the Marston Road.

Oh, that closed.

Years ago.

Now... what's this about
a sergeant's exam?

- Pastures new?
- How's that?

There's not going to be room for
two sergeants at Cowley, is there?

A programme, sir?

Poor Mr Clissold.

I can't believe it. I only
saw him this afternoon.

You didn't notice anyone out of the
ordinary hanging round the street?

I'll get it.

- I thought you'd already
made a statement. - I have.

To Jim Strange.

Well, then, there's no need
to go on about it at home.

- Especially on Sam's last night.
- People remember things.

- For me, is it?
- No. It's for Joanie.

- Who for Joan?
- Some fella.

- He have a name?
- I didn't ask.

Call yourself a copper's son?

Hello.

Hello, blue eyes. When
can I see you again?

♪ Classical

Morse?

- Oh, Dr Lorimer.
- I thought it was you.

Well, this is a surprise, I must say.
I never thought to see you again.

- Are you in Oxford?
- For a few years now.

I'm a policeman at Cowley.
A detective constable.

Although, I sat my
sergeant's exam this morning.

Flying colours await, I'm
sure. You were a good student.

You mean, I was the only one who didn't mind
running down the High to put a bet on for you.

What did you have me get you?
20 Guards, a quarter of blended

and five bob on anything
offering threes or better?

"All my sins remembered."

- Well, "we have heard the chimes at midnight".
- Once or twice, yes.

- Well, er... it was good
to see you. - And you.

- Enjoy the second half.
- Thank you.

Come and see me.

Yes, erm, well, I'll telephone.

Tomorrow?

- Tomorrow?
- Ten o'clock?

You remember the way?

- Er... yes.
- Tomorrow, then.

I made you a round for the
coach. Cheese and pickle.

Come here, then.

Cheer-oh, Fatty.

Jump to it.

Don't cheek the RSM or you'll find yourself in
the Glasshouse quicker than you can say knife.

- I won't. - And see you
write your mother. I mean it.

A letter a week at least. Let
her know how you're getting on.

Right, then.

Here.

There's... er... just...

It's just a few bob for the NAAFI.

Best find your seat.

Watch that cough. Dad...

I'm fine. A creaking
gate hangs the longest.

'No.3, final call for the...'

Right.

On you get.

Sam!

Don't volunteer for anything.

Thought I said I'd make
my own way in today.

I forgot.

Come on, Larry. Shake a leg.

Stay in the car.

Any tips this morning, Bernie?

Oh, it's you, Mr Thursday.

Well, you'd do worse than Make
Mine Mink, the 2:30 at Newmarket.

Oh, I was hoping for something closer to home,
you know, this wages snatch on Holywell Street.

Clissold Fashions. Who's
the favourite on that?

Oh! I... I can't, Mr Thursday.

Surprise yourself.

- Stick or twist?
- Stick or...?

Aargh! All right, all right.

All right. Cole and Peter Matthews have been
planning something big. But that is all I know.

Uhh!

There.

- Wasn't too hard, was it?
- I don't want no come-backs.

- You know what Cole's like.
- Between you and me.

Thanks for the steer, Bernie.

Funny, that never came
up in the sergeant's exam.

What didn't?

- Knocking informants around.
- Not everything's in Fitton's.

- Is that how we do things now?
- I told you to wait in the car.

The end justifies the means?

Bastards like that, yes. This
isn't tea on the Master's lawn.

- Clissold's the first move
in a turf war. - Says who?

Me. Got the Matthews brothers written all over
it. We need to put it down and put it down hard.

I need a bagman I can stand on, someone
who's not afraid to get their hands dirty.

So, any time it gets
too salty, you just say.

Here.

You said you'd make your own way in.

Ah, good.

Come round.

Found me all right, then?

- Well, the gillyflowers.
- Ah, yes. Always.

Erm, sherry?

Mm, thank you.

They say you know you're getting older
when policemen start to look younger,

but I think, in my case, it's undergrads.

Coming through the quad there, it's
hard to believe I was ever here at all.

It was funny, seeing
you through the window,

you had that same look on your
face the first time I ever saw you.

- What look's that?
- Oh...

Nervous.

Shy.

Er... Hopeful.

Yes, I suppose I was. All of those things.

Frightened, mostly,
that's my abiding memory.

Of what?

Of being found out.

Found wanting.

Not for a moment. A Congratulatory
First was yours for the asking.

If I'd known one had but to ask...

- And you're keeping well?
- Oh, yes.

Yes, er, I'm chair on the
Greats Examination Board now,

but, er... one year rolls into the next.

The last I heard, you were
getting married. Is that right?

Yes. Yes.

And you?

- Did you ever...?
- Oh, no.

No, I've work.

And erm...

Well, work, mostly.

Rewarding, I expect.

It has its moments.

- Ah, Thursday.
- A wages snatch, sir.

The word is the Matthews brothers have
been planning something big... What's this?

Thursday, this is Detective Superintendent
Crowthorn and Detective Sergeant Craig.

From the Complaints Bureau.
They'd like to talk to you.

Now we're in touch again, you
must dine in, high table.

I'd like that.

You ever think of picking up your degree?

Oh, no. Like innocence and hope for mankind,
I number it now amongst the lost things.

Pity. I was very sorry to see you go. Been a
fellow by now, if you'd stayed the course.

I really... I must be off.

Is there something you
wanted to talk to me about?

You didn't invite me back just
to kick through the leaves.

It's Nina. My wife.

I'm... concerned... for her safety.

She's... That is, we are living
apart, have been for some time.

I'm here and she's got
the house in Summertown.

Erm, what do you expect
me to do with this?

Just hear me out. She's
become involved with this...

type.

Paul Marlock.

He works at The Royal... Some
bingo hall in Cobb Street, anyway.

Now she wants a divorce.

Right.

But you've no real grounds
to think she's in any danger?

I thought perhaps you...

might be able to look into it,

into this Marlock.

You have the means, presumably.

Ah.

I'm a police officer, not
a private enquiry agent.

If you want my advice, you'd... let it go.

Let it go?

Christ.

You know, I can still recall your exact
words, the first time you saw her.

I can see it now. As clear as day.

You came in, sat down
just there and said...

"I've just seen an angel crossing Carfax."

"This brown-eyed blonde, with
the reddest lips you ever saw."

That last term,

you were a thing...

.. altogether pitiable.

Well, there's no fool
like an old fool, I know.

Good afternoon.

Hello. I didn't think you were coming.

- How's that?
- You're not Mr Kitteridge?

The estate agent?

No. No, I'm here to view.

You?

They gave me the key at the office, said
to drop it back after I'd had a look around.

- What time are you?
- Two-thirty.

Me, too. They really are the end.

They've obviously double-booked us.

Hey, we could see it together.

All right.

Morse. Miss...?

Burton.

Nina.

Well, shall we?

My boyfriend is meeting me.

He should be here any minute.

Well, then, you should be safe enough.

- Have you just moved to the area?
- I've been here a while.

Yes, I've been here a while, too.

I'm in a pokey little
basement flat right now.

What brought you to Oxford?

I just wanted to travel.

Me and a girlfriend got as far
as Oxford. The money ran out.

I got a job.

- Doing what?
- Just factory work.

Machinist.

Done all sorts since then.

Waitress.

I work in a florist's now.

What about your boyfriend?
What does he do?

You ask a lot of questions.

Ah, I was in market research.

Old habits.

He's in the entertainment business.

Well, that's what I tell people.

He's a bingo caller.

I wonder what's keeping him.

Actually, he's not coming.

No?

No, I just said that to...

Well...

to make sure you were all right.

I see.

And am I?

All right?

I think so.

Sorry.

Silly, I suppose.

No. No, not at all.

He's already seen it.

He wants to put an offer in.

But I wanted to look it
over for myself first.

And does it pass muster?

I don't think so.

You?

No.

I don't think it's for me.

Better luck next time.

Where have you been?

- In pursuit.
- Of what?

An angel crossing Carfax.

I think I'm meant to leave wages snatches
to the rough boys, these days, aren't I?

Why? What's up?

Complaints want to talk to you.

- Suspended?
- A couple of weeks' furlough.

Just until it's cleared up.

If Bernie Waters has made a
complaint, someone's put him up to it.

He hasn't got the brains
to blow his own wig off.

As may be, but Division takes
these things very seriously.

No-one will question
your past service, but...

There'll be no room in
Thames Valley for...

out-dated methods.

Paul Marlock.

I spoke to the coroner's men.
That workbook or pad of Clissold's,

it hadn't fallen out in the van,
in case you were still looking.

I was.

- Thank you.
- Glad to be of use.

Oh, er, Trewlove.

Are you doing anything tonight after work?

- All the fours.
- Droopy drawers.

Tickety-boo.

62!

- Five and nine.
- The Brighton Line!

Oh, that's me! House! Here!

Ah, it appears we have a winner!

Dolores, will you check the card, please?

And while Dolores is doing that, we're just
going to take a short ten-minute interval.

After which, we'll be
playing for Big Money.

- Hot in there.
- Oh, yeah.

That's why I come out, to catch some air.

- You here with someone?
- Yes, the, er... bird.

She's bingo mad.

I was gonna say, you don't get
many blokes in here on their own.

You been at it long?

Six months.

Money for old rope. And
the tarts, of course.

- Is that right? - Yeah, I've got
this one on the go at the minute.

Legs up to here.

And stacked, like...

Pete Murray's turntable.

So, what's your line, then? College?

- That's right.
- Thought so. You look the type.

- Just having a gasp, Tom.
- Yeah, well, that's not what you're paid for.

Be lucky.

- Come on.
- Really?

- Mm-hm.
- Righto.

We could go out for a drink after.

What should I do with the winnings? I'd have
thought I'd have to turn them in for evidence.

- Ill-gotten gains in the line of duty.
- Oh, it wasn't in the line of duty.

A private matter. Keep it.

Really?

I don't want to find myself
on the end of a disciplinary.

Speaking of which, what is going on
upstairs, with Inspector Thursday?

Why? What do you hear?

That he leaned on someone
a little too heavily.

- At least, that's the word
around the canteen. - The canteen?

I wouldn't trust the spotted dick in
that place, let alone anything else.

Did you get anywhere with Marlock?
He looks a thorough scoundrel.

He is, but irresistible to
the ladies, it would seem.

- I thought him eminently resistible.
- You're a police officer. You're immune.

There is a woman under the uniform, Morse.

Just not a stupid one.

While you were talking to him,

I affected an interest with
Dolores, who brought me my winnings.

His telephone number.

You'll be able to reverse-trace an
address for him, should you need it.

Good heavens, Morse. Late for you.

- Evening, sir.
- Something I can help you with?

Inspector Thursday, sir.

Can they make it stick, Complaints?

I suppose that very much depends on what
you said to the officers from Division.

Yes. He has in you, I
think, a loyal colleague...

.. and a staunch friend.

I've been wondering.

This "something big" Bernie Waters said
that the Matthews brothers had been planning.

What if it wasn't the wages snatch?

- Thank you, sir.
- Have you any reason to doubt it?

Cole Matthews' previous has been
in the 10,000, 15,000, 20,000 range.

Security vans. Post Offices.

If they are looking to take Harry Rose's
crown, then knocking off Cedric Clissold

for what amounts to beer money seems a
pretty poor way to stake their claim.

You've no other cause to think Clissold's
death anything other than what first appears?

These blue films I found in the boot of his
car. Now, if his death is connected to that,

then the list of suspects
could be half of the city.

Then whatever this "something big" is
the Matthews brothers have planned...

Is yet to occur.

Nice wheels, Ken.

An unauthorised overdraft is a serious
matter, Mr Morse, as I'm sure you understand.

Yes.

Last month, you wrote a cheque
payable to a Mrs G Morse for £25,

while you had insufficient funds in your
account against which to draw the sum.

We've also had £15 to a Mr Robey,
turf accountant, of Lincoln.

And the same to Mr Robey the month
before that and the month before that.

Really, Mr Morse, the Wessex is not
here to underwrite a life of vice.

No. Of course.

Look, I was a young man
myself once, you know.

I know what it's like. A fella must have the
latest this and that to impress the ladies.

But such profligacy will, I'm
afraid, incur a financial penalty.

Hello.

Hello.

I saw you down The Royal last night.

What were you doing at the bingo?

Well...

- Work.
- Oh.

Look, I don't know the ins and outs and
it's probably not my place to say, but...

.. the caller, Paul Marlock...

.. I'd give him a wide berth, maybe.

You're right. It's not your place to say.

May I help... you?

Well, actually, Mrs Lorimer, I'm hoping that
I can help you. Paul Marlock. Your boyfriend.

He's a conman.

You should drop him.

Did Felix put you up to this?

Well, you can tell him, better a conman...

.. than a...

- Than a...? Than a what?
- My God. You've no idea, have you?

I think you should go.

- Do you want me to call the police?
- I am the police.

Better a conman than a what?

I think Felix killed someone.

A man called Clissold.

When I first come here, I
worked at Clissold Fashions.

Clissold had me model the line for
buyers, just to make a bit of extra cash.

One of them said he had a friend in the film
business, that he could get me a try-out.

It sounded like fun. Only wh...

.. when I got there...

They weren't making Gone With The Wind.

It was just the once.

And I told him I wouldn't do any more.

I left Clissold's and put it out of my mind,
and got on with my life and I met Felix.

Everything was wonderful.

Then, last year, he went to a party for one
of his students who was getting married.

Had a bit of a film show, did they?

I begged him to let it go.

But he was terrified one of
his colleagues might see it.

He decided to...

find out where it had come from.

Which led him to Clissold.

But what makes you think he
went so far as to kill him?

Felix told me he threatened Clissold.

That unless he destroyed the film...

.. and all the prints, that he'd be sorry.

How did Clissold react?

He told Felix to get lost.

Or he'd put his name to a list
of customers he kept in a pad.

The one he used for work, I suppose.

I remember he was always very cagey
about it. Never let it out of his sight.

We didn't find anything like that on him.

Unless...

Well, he had been to the bank
the morning he was killed.

You think he might have left it there?

At the bank?

Would you recognise it?

Of course. It's just a carbon pad,
pick 'em up at any stationer's.

Thank you. For believing me.

I'm not sure that I do, altogether.

- I'm not lying.
- I'm not saying that you are.

You think what you think, but the Dr Lorimer
that I know wouldn't be capable of such a thing.

Oh, I've looked into your Paul Marlock.

Well?

He's a fraudster, but there's
nothing in his history

which would lead me to believe that
your wife is in any physical danger.

Out of interest, where were
you Wednesday afternoon?

- Between two and three.
- I had a lecture. Why?

It's not important. Just
something your wife said.

Ah, you've seen Nina?

Something, isn't she?

Let it go.

For your own good.

That's rich, coming from you.

Well, that's all I came to say.

If you'll excuse me.

.. pursue it, if I were you. It might...

My ears and whiskers! Is
that young Morse, I spy?

Oh. Hello, Jerome.

Oh, erm...

Run along, now, Randall. I shall
be with you in two shakes.

Alas, I fancy, a lover of
oysters. For all my blandishments.

What are you doing cloister
loitering? Looking up old friends?

Felix Lorimer.

Oh.

The face that lunched a thousand
shits. Present company, of course.

Felix, these days, is chairman
of the Greats examiners.

- Oh, yes. I'd heard.
- What had you heard?

- That he hands out vivas like Dolly Mixtures?
- Is this college gossip?

- Or did he beat you to a place on the board?
- That's neither here nor there.

It's about standards.

Let me tell you.

I had, of late, the great misfortune

to tutor the stroke from the Oxford boat, last
year, and a greater dullard may you never meet,

yet somehow... somehow...

this bank manager's son, scarcely
able to construct a sentence,

let alone a logical proposition,

ended up with a first.

Of course, I imply no impropriety.

But what of you?

Oh, nothing to report. I must be going.

Where might I find you?

I want to hear all your news.

Cowley Road police station. I'm
a detective with the City Police.

Look sharp, Joanie.

- Goodbye, Mr Mason.
- Thank you.

Hello.

- Hello.
- How can I help you today, sir?

Just a little cheque, if you
wouldn't mind. Just made out to cash.

Just spoke to the old man on the phone. We
need a shufti of the surveillance footage.

He wants us to see if we can get any more
ground covered before Kidlington takes over.

- Who's that?
- Kenny Stone.

Car thief and sometimes stock car racer.
Fancies himself another Jim Clark.

A get-away driver, perhaps, for Clissold.

- I know Bernie Walters, but who's
that with him? - Tommy Thompson.

- No. No. To the right of Thompson.
- Larry Nelson. Small fry.

Runs around picking up crumbs after
Peter Matthews. That's Peter there.

Peter's wife, Sheila.

Peter's wife doesn't seem
too keen on the widow.

That's cos Peter's knocking her off.

- Larry Nelson's very solicitous of the wife.
- Keeping in Peter's good books, in't he?

He looks shifty to me.

Well, Larry just does what he's told.

Hm...

I wouldn't be so sure about that.

- Cole and Peter about?
- They've gone to see their mother.

She took poorly. I'm looking after
the place for a couple of hours.

We're looking for Larry Nelson.

Larry? I wouldn't know.

Don't come that, Bernie. Larry breaks wind, you
know he's had one egg for breakfast or two.

What's the story with Larry
and Peter Matthews' wife?

- Story?
- They seem very close.

- What do you mean?
- A time like this.

Everything up in the air. A man might try and
break out on his own, wouldn't you think?

I couldn't say.

Plenty to say when it comes to putting
the black on Inspector Thursday, though.

Yeah, I've got rights. Can't go round
knocking people about like that.

Uhh!

- Your sort don't have rights, Bernie.
- That's enough.

You come for one of ours,
I will skulldrag you!

All right!

If you see Larry, tell
him we're looking for him.

Don't ever do that again. If I'm questioning
a suspect I expect you to back me.

Questioning? If you want to take a leaf out of
Thursday's book, there's better places to start.

Look, let's get one thing straight, matey.
You don't tell me, I tell you. All right?

If the job calls for brains,
you'll be first in the queue.

Something like this? Leave it
to those who've got the sand.

Ugh.

- Morning, Mr Fordyce.
- Mr Gidderton.

The weekend float's just pulled up.

Very good.

Tell them we'll open up the rear.

- Oh.
- Morning, Joanie.

Morning.

- Good morning.
- Good morning.

What if it wasn't a wages snatch?

I've been talking to my old
mods tutor, Felix Lorimer.

His wife's got involved with a
bingo caller from The Royal.

Paul Marlock. A conman and a fraudster.

The Royal's a front for the Matthews brothers.
If Marlock's caught up with that lot...

Well, the point is, when
I warned her about him,

she told me she suspected her husband of
killing Clissold. She's wrong. He didn't.

- How do you know?
- He was giving a lecture at the time.

Those blue films I found in Clissold's boot,
it turns out Nina Lorimer had made one for him.

She told me Clissold kept a record of everyone
he'd sold them to, in some sort of notepad.

Now, if we can find that, maybe it'll
prove, one way or another, who was involved.

I suppose she has an alibi, has she?
For the time in question. Mrs Lorimer.

Well, she works. In a florist.

And she was there. So far as I know.

As far as you know?

Well, you watch how you go, then.

Getting mixed up in other people's
affairs seldom ends happily for anyone.

I know what I'm doing.

Do you?

I'm not the one currently suspended.

Was it worth it, Bernie Waters?

- Bernie Waters is up to something.
- It wouldn't matter if he was or wasn't.

Sam off to the army. This bullet you're carrying
around. You just wanted to hurt somebody.

You won't have to worry about
picking up after me any more.

Your sergeant's come through. You'll
be off. And maybe it's about time.

Everything in its season.

Mind how you go.

It's police business, Mr Fordyce.

This is a most unusual request.

Ordinarily, we'd require a judge's order.

Unfortunately, time is of the essence.

It may have a direct bearing
on Mr Clissold's murder.

That's Lonsdale, isn't it, the
young man in the photograph?

My son, William.

He took a first in Greats last year.

Well spotted.

My old college.

Indeed?

My subject, too.

- Under Felix Lorimer.
- Ah.

A charming man.

Quite charming.

Mr Clissold's safety deposit box, sir.

- I need a signature.
- Of course.

And this.

Thank you, Gidderton.

- Is that it?
- It looks to be.

I have someone with me who
could be able to verify it.

Morse!

People will say we're in love.

Small world.

But I wouldn't want to paint it.

Does it look familiar?

- That's it. - All right.
Nobody move. This is a robbery!

Hands where I can see 'em!
Step away from the counter!

- OK.
- What are you doing?

- Stop. Stop.
- Don't look at me!

Get down on the floor. Do exactly as
you're told and no one will get hurt.

In five minutes, it'll all be over.

Come on, then. Get on with
it! What are you waiting for?

Put the money in the bag!

- You, where's the safe?
Where's the safe? - In here.

Right. Come on, then.
With me. You stay here.

- Come on, I haven't got all day!
- All right.

Move it!

CID. Strange.

Right. Get it open. Open it up. Come on!

Where is it? Get it open! Come on!

Move!

Come on!

Get down there!

Don't look at me. Don't look at me!

Come on!

Anonymous tip-off, sir. There's a raid taking
place at the Wessex Bank on Cross Street.

He's had his 20 minutes.

Excuse me? Madam?

Yes, sir? How can I help you?

- All units from Information Room.
- Sorry, sir. One moment.

Suspected robbery at Wessex
Bank on Cross Street. Repeat...

Get down!

Clear the street! Clear the street!

Come on. Let's go!

Get on your feet! Get on your feet!

Move!

Move it! Move it!

You're going to be OK. They're here now.

Get back!

Get back!

Get back!

- Talk to me, Tommy. What's going on?
- It's the kid. He's shot a copper!

He's done what? He's done what?

Sir.

This is Chief Superintendent
Reginald Bright of the City Police.

To whoever is inside the Wessex Bank,

you are completely
surrounded by armed officers.

Lay down your arms and come
out now with your hands up.

I repeat, you are completely surrounded.

Lay down your arms and come out.

It's all right.

Well, this is no bloody use.

Sir.

My name is Bright. Let's
not make things worse.

- Put him down.
- What? Wait!

- Who asked you?
- Don't be so bloody stupid.

- Stupid?
- Yes.

Do I look stupid?

If you gun down a senior
police officer in cold blood,

they'll hunt you to the ends
of the earth, that's all.

Tell him we want transport.

And safe passage guaranteed.

We want a car

and safe passage guaranteed.

- Or we start shooting.
- I'm not sure that can be arranged.

You've got one hour. Or
one of this lot gets it.

Your choice.

Right.

Whoo-hoo!

Whoo-hoo! Come on!

Cole? Cole!

What are we gonna do?

Get 'em locked up downstairs.

- On your feet!
- You're the manager, right?

- Are there any other ways out of here?
- There's a rear entrance.

They'll have that covered.
What about downstairs?

No. That's just used for storage.
Account records. That sort of thing.

Show me. Come on! Move
it! Come on. Get in there!

I need you to brief DI Barcroft. You'd
better send a car. Actually, go yourself.

Where the hell is Morse?

Get down there now. Come
on, move it! Move it!

Right. What have we got?

Ah.

Would you believe it?

All right, all right. I'm coming.

Oi! Get down there!

Keep an eye on them!

- I want to go home.
- We'll all go home.

- The police will sort it out.
- They haven't made much of a job of it so far.

It's a raid that's gone wrong.
The getaway driver's panicked.

The men upstairs are stranded,
frightened, and in it up to their necks.

They didn't seem frightened to me.

Once they realise the fix
they're in, they'll surrender.

We all just need to keep calm.

- What's next door?
- A hotel.

Any tools in the place? A crowbar?

A sledgehammer?

Come on!

- There's a fire axe.
- Where? Show me. Come on.

Are you all right?

Is that the one?

Yeah.

- Not that I can see it means anything.
- Oh, it means something.

Clissold didn't want anyone
else to read it. It's enciphered.

- Can you read it?
- Not without the key.

Good luck.

It's all Greek to me.

He's sighted.

It's a good job you're here.

I mean, I'm glad.

- If it's any comfort.
- Me, too.

Don't worry.

It'll be all right.

- What's this?
- A puzzle.

Why would a man carry around a menu for a
restaurant that long ago went out of business?

I give up. Why would he?

More to the point, why would he circle
just one item on the menu? Number 26.

Chicken meat and sweetcorn soup.

- Do you know?
- Mm.

Well, of what are there 26?

Teeth?

No. That's 32.

- Bones in the human foot.
- There are, but that's not it.

26 cantons in Switzerland.

Or is it 25?

Letters in the alphabet.

Of which the last and 26th is...?

Z.

So...

26 equals Z

equals C for chicken.

And so it goes on. One gives us...?

D.

That's right.

And two is E and so on.

So, what does it say?

Well, so far, I've got "Royal Palace 50",
"Dark Venetian 80" and "Greek Scholar 200".

Maybe I was wrong.

You're welcome to grab a bunch of numbers
and start turning them into letters.

You're trying to keep us occupied.

Which would you prefer?
Terrified or distracted?

I'd sooner be thinking of a way out.

Please keep me abreast.

- What can I do?
- Do?

I'm not going to sit on my hands.

With the way things are,
I'm afraid you may have to.

Look, I'm leaving for the station in a
moment. Division want a progress report.

- I'll brief you on the way.
- Where's Morse?

I don't know. Can't get hold of him.

Mrs Thursday, please try not to worry.

Fred, what did he mean,
"With the way things are"?

Mrs Thursday. Inspector.

There's no story, Miss Frazil.

- Not today.
- I know. I know.

I just thought we could have a cup of tea.

There's nothing on the record today,
Inspector. I'd just like to help.

I wouldn't mind a cup of tea, Fred.

I'll be at the station with
Mr Bright. I won't be long.

- Come on.
- Thank you.

All right?

They just shot him.

Like it was nothing.

Here.

For the nerves.

Keep the pack. Stick 'em behind
your notebook, then nobody will know.

Thanks.

A tip my old guv'nor gave me.

Sergeant Vimes. Cable Street.

No pasaran.

All right?

Let's have that jacket buttoned up, then.

Sir.

You'd better look after this.

What did you mean? About Paul?

Just that I've come across
him in my travels. That's all.

You deserve better.

He asked me about work.

(About the bank.)

When we had deliveries
for the weekend float.

I thought it was just conversation.
But it wasn't, was it?

Did you let on about...?

Dad?

- No fear.
- Well, that's something, at least.

You two know each other, do you?

We've a mutual acquaintance.

Oh, yeah? Who's that, then?

No-one you'd know.

- It's like that, is it, then?
- It's like that.

"Charlott own."

Doesn't make any sense.

Charlott, without an E,
own. Charlotte owns what?

- You, what's your name?
- Ronnie Gidderton.

- And you?
- Morse.

Right, on your feet. Come on!

- Just in case.
- Aw! Yeah.

Yeah, very touching. Move your arse!

It must be nice. A daughter.

She's a good girl.

The best.

I know I'm her mother, but....

She'll be all right.

Yeah.

Fred'll sort it.

He always does.

Yes, sir. Understood.

Of course.

I'm sorry. I'm afraid Division won't wear
it. You are to remain suspended from duty.

Thursday.

Before the Blenheim
Vale files were sealed...

.. one final piece of
evidence was abstracted.

I don't suppose anyone
will miss it in 50 years.

All right.

You take over.

That as far as you've got?

Who's in charge with you lot?

- What's it to you?
- I want to talk to him.

Oh, yeah? About what?

Something to your advantage.

Fetch him.

What are you doing sat on your arse?

- Cole.
- What?

One of the hostages wants to speak
to you. The young blond-haired one.

He knows something...

So?

You want a coach, don't you?

What if I could make sure you get it?

Ronnie.

Banking, it's all about trust.

Investment and return.

The customer gives us their money.

They trust us to invest it wisely.

And, for their trust, we make sure they get
something back, more than they originally gave.

Look, if I trust you with something
guaranteed to get you what you want...

.. that's got to be worth
something, hasn't it?

Like what?

- Letting you walk out?
- Not just me.

Everybody.

Well, nearly.

- Why not?
- So what have you got?

- I need your word.
- Huh, the word of a bank robber.

All right. You've got my word.

Him. He's a policeman.

He's lying. He doesn't know what he's
saying. He's just trying to get out of here.

You've got one of theirs, they'll
have to give you what you want.

I've never seen this man before
today. I came in here for a loan.

- I came in here for a loan, didn't I?
- Well, somebody's lying.

- And I don't like liars.
- He'll have identification.

It's clean.

- Nice try.
- No, no, I can prove it.

- How? How?
- Aah! Someone else knows him.

She'll tell you.

That's the hour, isn't it?

More or less.

They won't really make good
on their threat, will they?

Come on.

You, come here.

Come on!

What's your name?

Joan.

- Joan what?
- Strange.

Joan Strange.

- Is that right? Joan Strange?
- Yes.

And who's this?

I don't know.

I never seen him before.

You see, this one says
that one is a copper.

- He says you know him.
- I don't. He's just a customer.

- He's just a customer?
- He isn't!

- Joan, tell him.
- Is that right?

He's just a customer?

Yeah.

So if I was to...

Aargh!

Oh, my God.

Look at me. Look at me!

If I was to do that to him,
that'd be all right with you?

Just leave her. He's telling the
truth. I'm a police officer. Let her go.

E Morse?

Detective Constable, City Police.

You knew all along? You bastard.

It was on his desk.

I told you. I don't like liars.

But I hate a grass!

She will be all right.

- Where are you going?
- You're not the only one who took an oath.

Bless you, doc. But I can't let you go.

Let me? You do your job, I'll do mine.

If they have made good on their threat, we're
gonna need you for after, to make it stick.

Please, doc. If anything happened to
you, Mr Bright would have my guts.

Who's she?

Joan Thursday. Please, no more violence.

Good man.

Remind me. An inspector
outranks a constable, doesn't he?

So what do I need you for?

Kill me, you'll never know who set you up.

What?

You think it's an accident that I'm here?

That we had the place surrounded in
five minutes? Somebody sold you out.

Maybe we should hear him out.

- Put him down.
- No!

- No, please! No!
- Oi!

Aah...

Be a man.

Answer it.

Wessex Bank. Howard
Fordyce, manager, speaking.

He wants to speak to whoever's in charge.

- Who's this?
- You know who this is.

Listen to me, Cole.

You let the staff and the customers go now
and that's that. The law takes its course.

Say we don't.

Then I'll put you in the ground.

Ooh, big talk for a lung-er.

I'm a lung-er, all right.

The doc's given me three weeks.

Bad luck for you.

Bad luck for both of us.

How's that?

I can go in my bed, with
posterity gathered solemn round.

Or I can go standing toe-to-toe with you.

I know which I'd sooner.

But it's your choice. What's it to be?

I'll take my chances.

Never bet against a man
with nothing to lose.

Oh, you've got something
to lose, all right.

I'm looking at her, right now.

We've got another of yours here, too.

A cocky little toe-rag. Name of Morse.

So you listen. You get
your people off the street.

We want a coach and safe
passage to London Airport.

I see one copper between here and there...

.. your girl will be the first to go.

I know you.

I've seen you down The Royal.

I don't think so.

You're Nina.

Paul Marlock's bit.

It's all right.

You've got nothing to worry about.

Paul's family.

We'll see you're looked after.

- I'm sorry, Joan.
- No, shush now. Come on.

Help is on its way.

I just wanted to get
everyone out of here...

I know. I know.

Be a hero...

We were never going home, were we?

No.

It was life from the second the
boy took a pop at the copper.

Back inside?

We'll give 'em a dance, though, eh?

Mr Fordyce...

your son was stroke in the
Oxford boat last year, wasn't he?

What of it?

You wrote a cheque to £1500.

Made out to cash.

Last July. What... what was that for?

You have to tell me the truth now.

Right. Take 'em out.

Move it! Come on.

Clissold's pad.

Oi! You not coming?

No. We'll buy you time. Keep
'em busy, they try anything.

- Open the doors!
- No, no, no, no. Not you two.

Through there.

- Move it! Come on!
- All right.

Go! Go! Get behind me!

On you go!

Move it. Come on. Come on!

Move it!

- Move! - Just let us go.
We'll only hold you up.

- You're our ticket out of this.
- Leave her. She's done.

- You only have to look at her.
- Better get a second wind, hadn't she?

With me.

If anything happens,
give this to your father.

- What is it? - It's the reason
Cedric Clissold was killed.

It's blank.

Charlottown. Park Royal. Dark
Venetian. They're horses. All of them.

Move it!

- It was always about the money.
- What was?

Tell your father to arrest Felix
and Nina Lorimer and Paul Marlock

for the murder of Cedric Clissold.

- I thought it was a robbery.
- They intended to kill him.

Keep it down!

Where are they?

- It's locked!
- Blow it off.

Come on. Move. Move it!

Bloody hell! Open the door!

Drop it.

Move it. Come on.

Come on, get on with it.

- Yes?
- Right.

Go. Go. Go. Go. Move it!

Go, go, go.

Armed police!

Move! -- Come on!

Get over there now!

Head down! Move it!

Aaargh!

- Aargh!
- Pete? Are you all right, Pete?

Throw the gun out! Or she gets it.

- Aaargh...
- Drop it!

Put it down!

The chamber's empty. Only he's
too stupid to count to six.

I'll show you stupid!

Aaargh!

Take me in, then, lawman.

Do it.

- Do it!
- Sir, don't.

Not here. Not like this. Don't...
Don't let her see you do this.

- Dad?
- Show them who you are.

- This is who I am.
- No! It never has been.

We hold the line. If you cross
it now, then there's no way back.

With me. Now.

Thursday?

- Sergeant Strange.
- Sir.

Take him in.

Get up!

Aah!

Well, how many was it? Was it five or six?

Tell me!

- How many?
- I told you. You were empty.

Are you all right?

Morse?

We have to act fast. The one loose
end in Lorimer's plan is Paul Marlock.

- How's that?
- Let me explain.

Clissold lent Lorimer thousands of
pounds to pay off his gambling debts.

Lorimer was obviously in way over his
head. In order to meet the interest,

Lorimer started selling degrees to
undergrads that didn't merit them.

Such as Howard Fordyce's son.

When Clissold's fashion business got into
trouble, I think he called in the loan.

- Only Lorimer couldn't pay.
- No.

So that's why they killed Clissold.

Well, no, that's why they conspired to kill
him. Nina knew Paul Marlock from the bingo.

It was him that pulled the trigger.

But she was never serious about
him. She only had eyes for Lorimer.

Marlock's real job was to get the
pad, listing Lorimer's debts.

But the pad wasn't there,
so they used me to get it.

- So it was nothing to do with the blue films?
- No. That was all a ruse.

Intended to lead me up the
garden path, which it did.

Number one, Kelly's eye.

Harold's den. Number ten.

3-0, blind 30.

Paul Marlock, you're under arrest
for the murder of Cedric Clissold.

- Going somewhere?
- End of term.

Detective Inspector Thursday,
Dr Lorimer, City Police.

Oh, Mrs Lorimer. All forgiven?

We've decided to give it another go.

After what happened in the bank,
nearly losing Nina like that.

Well, you got what you
wanted. Clissold's carbon pad.

Listing exactly what you owed him.

- You destroyed it, presumably.
- I don't know what you mean.

Then it's a good job Morse
pinched out the carbon copies.

You're lying.

- When?
- A situation like that,

it could easily have been mislaid.

We've also got Paul
Marlock. Your intended patsy.

He's already talking
about turning Queen's.

You used me.

You always had a weakness
for the fairer sex.

People don't change.

It was nothing personal.

I had to get back Clissold's
pad. You do see that?

- So you had a man killed.
- Not a very nice man.

Not one of us, Morse.

If it had come out about
my selling degrees...

I had to think of the college.

You were thinking of yourself.

No.

- Actually, it was Nina.
- You've ruined her life.

- Dragged her down with you.
- I didn't have a life until I met Felix.

I don't want one without him.

You know what I was.

Please. One moment, please.

He was the first man who ever looked at me as
if I was something more than just a good time.

I'd do it all again.

Without a second thought.

Love, Morse.

Imagine that.

So where's the money?

We'll find it at Paul Marlock's.
The gun too, I should think.

- Who tipped us off about the bank raid?
- My money's on Larry Nelson.

He's after Peter Matthews' wife. At least,
that's how it looked at the funeral.

So he tips us off, Cole
and Peter get lifted.

He can carry on with Sheila, maybe
get a shot at the title himself.

I saw what you did for Joan.

There was a bullet left in the chamber,
whatever you told Cole Matthews.

You knew it.

You drew his fire.

You should get back to
her, see she's all right.

Yeah.

I just keep seeing Ronnie.

- It's my fault.
- No.

You fell foul, that's all.

A good night's sleep, you'll
feel better in the morning.

Eh, Mum?

Nature's remedy.

Yeah.

A good night's sleep.

Good night.

She'll be all right.

I just wanted to get everyone out of here.

Do I look stupid?

- Put him down.
- No!

It's a good job you're
here. I mean, I'm glad.

Me, too.

It's probably best if I wait in...

I think it's probably best
if you just do as you're told.

- What do they call you, then?
- Morse.

Morse.

- Thought I'd be all right with a copper.
- There are coppers and there are coppers.

- What sort are you?
- The sort that sees young ladies safely home.

I think this is the bit where I
say, "Thanks for a lovely evening."

And we have a long kiss
under the porch light,

until my dad taps on the window
and then I go in and you go home.

Love, I suppose. You don't know
until you meet the right one.

No. Don't suppose.

Miss Thursday, where are you going?

Like this?

I have to.

Well, where will you go?

I don't know.

- Stay.
- I can't.

Just give it time.

Everything that happened,

just give it a chance.

You mean the world to them.

You mean the world...

Look after them.

Dad won't understand.

If you need anything...

.. money or a voice on the
phone, you know where to find me.

You should get something on that.

Take care of yourself, Morse.

You too, Miss Thursday.