All language subtitles for Kisvárosi gyilkosságok 2502 gépi

Thank you.

And smoke it, Archie.

Need I remind you, Miss Gillan, this is
a no -smoking club.

Apologies for my daughter, Wills.

She gets the attitude from her father.
That's why I divorced him.

That, and the fact he ran off with your
hairdresser. Which was devastating.

Best hairdresser I ever had, excuse me.

Yeah, that's great. And the players in
the back, maybe with the... Come a bit

this way.

Okay. All right, it's okay. Just, yeah,
that's nice.

Is that okay? Yeah, that's great. It's
great. Just smile a bit.

Do that.

Oh, I'm so, I'm so sorry.

Sorry.

Sorry.

All right, Jenny, just relax.

Okay. Just for the club website. All
right, let's just get it over with.

all right. That is great.

You can polish your bowls all you like,
Dale, but we all know you're a marbles

man underneath.

Aren't you, mate?

Show these amateurs how it's done.

My pleasure.

Oh.

Tempting game, do you?

Never.

Beauty.

Nice one.

Monster at work.

Actually, I think mine's nearest.

How do you, Will?

Black ball

closer. Archie's team wins.

What? No way, are you joking?

Fix. They never lie.

Chloe, you know the membership rules as
well as the rest of us. Referee's

decision is final.

Yeah, but my boy's closer.

Oh, he's right.

He's just a bunch of cheap.

I'm sick of this bar.

Are you going to let him get away with
this, Ruth?

Ban him, Ruth.

Ban him.

Okay, let's just calm it.

It's only a knockabout.

Save your energy for the championship
finals, okay?

Hugh, I want a word.

All right, champ?

Bunch of losers, that one.

Lovely evening for it.

Betty? Morning, Winter. Betty, I think
I've cracked 18.

Listen, um, now, 4 times 4 equals 16,
plus 4 is 20, minus

the square root of 4, which is 2,
equals, ta -da, 18.

Well done, darling.

The 4 -4 math challenge, I remember it
well.

19?

Oh, I think we've got to get to work,
haven't we, Winter?

Yes, we do skip math. Oh, sorry. Get me
a jacket.

4 factorial, 24, minus 4, minus 4, over
4, 19.

She knows that he's actually up to 53,
but John's more likely to let her stay

late tonight if he feels like he's up.

Top math, that. Well done.

Thank you. And I'm actually more of a
Shakespeare man, really.

Victim is Wilfred Wilf Worrell, 80,
widower, retired antiques dealer and

groundsman. Thank you.

I don't really understand the
fascination with bowls.

Really, a little bit of bowling. I throw
my granddad all the time.

You know, it dates back to the 13th
century.

Surprisingly skilled.

It's all in the wrist action.

Right.

Great. More numbers.

Morning, Fleur.

Morning.

Quite a mouthful.

Was that to silence him? Whatever it was
for, it wasn't the cause of death.

That's PBI.

Penetrating brain injury to you.

Caused by these.

Measuring calipers.

Thrust into the nasal cavity with
considerable force.

indications of cranial penetration and
associated cerebral trauma, triggering

intracranial hemorrhage.

Victim could have had them on him, or
they might have been taken from the

outhouse over there.

Time of death?

Judging from the lividity of the
bruising around the nostrils, I'd say

talking early evening.

What about these markers?

Looks like the victim...

Played them there himself.

A score?

As in a score to settle.

One thing at a time, Winter.

Mobile phone?

No sign of one. Or any other personal
effects.

Who found him? Ah, that would be the
Dawn Chorus Yoga Club.

Yes, yoga teacher Jenny Pollock, along
with mother and daughter Ruth

and Chloe Gillan.

Mum Ruth is a GP and the bowling club
president.

I've met her at many a medical get -to
-go.

Ruth Gillum?

Was that Wilf Worrell a mainstay of the
club? He was indeed.

Too much so, really.

In what way?

Oh, Wilf should have retired years ago.

He wasn't a well man.

Thyroid issues mainly.

And I finally got him to agree to a
course of statins and beta blockers.

He'd also reluctantly accepted that he
needed some help here.

And who might that be?

Libby. Libby Trevor, local
horticulturalist. Amazing at what she

patience of a saint with Will.

Do you need to get that? No, it's just
the surgery chasing.

Did anyone not have patience with Wilf?

Well, he wasn't the easiest person, to
be fair.

Things got a bit heated yesterday.

Ollie Peterson wasn't happy with Wilf's
refereeing. Because?

I thought he'd won.

Wilf's measurements indicated otherwise.

Measurements made with callipers, by any
chance?

Yes. Lucas really kicked off.

Choosing is all of cheating.

Lucas who?

Shaw.

Runs Midsomer Mocha, the brand new
trendy coffee place.

Not everyone's cup of tea.

Or coffee.

And did Mr Worrell cheat?

Not possibly, but Lucas overreacted.

He's intense and a bit pussy.

Maybe it's all that caffeine.

Most of us are open to new ideas, but
Wilf, however, wasn't. So when Lucas got

youngsters bowling team together, Wilf
resisted their entrance to the club and

tried to get them thrown out.

For what?

Oh, anything.

Breaking dress regulation codes, match
etiquette rules, breathing, you name it.

Why is the bowling club up for sale?

Well, our finances are perilous.

Membership's fallen off the edge of a
cliff.

Mainly because people insist on dying.

Quiet.

Archie Pollock's on a roll.

Championship -winning captain for the
last 12 years.

I see he also won in 1926.

Oh, his grandfather.

He comes from a long line of Archies.

A load of Pollocks, I might say.

Only ever threatened by Captain Curve
himself, Teddy Mulcahy, who's no longer

with us, but their rivalry was
legendary.

Best not mention him in front of Archie.

I'll try not to.

Jenny Pollock, Chloe Gillan, Diaz
-Winter.

Guilty as charged.

And, uh, you are?

Uh, Libby Trevor, groundswoman.

Sorry, um, excuse me.

Sorry.

Can you tell me what you were doing here
this morning?

I run, I run my yoga class here twice a
week.

And my mum approved it. She was keen to
bring in some extra revenue.

Wolf opposed it, of course.

Wasn't happy about us using the green.

Wolf wasn't happy about anything.

Time for us all to go.

Safe to say you're not a fan, then.

Impressive detective skills, D .S.
Winter.

The Bowling Green is the only place in
the area we can do it. It's perfect, and

it's gone down well with the majority of
locals.

Because you're insanely brilliant.

I mean, personally, I could do without
seeing Dale and his downward dog at the

crack of dawn twice a week, but... I
mean, Jenny's done more for this

than pretty much anyone else.

81. Does that number mean anything to
you?

Someone's age, a house number, perhaps?

Not that I know of.

Mr Worrell, did he own a mobile phone?

Oh, definitely not. Old school.

Dinosaurs, more like. Jenny.

Are you okay?

I don't know, it just hurts. It's
terrible.

I know.

Well, let's get you home.

Has anyone shown interest in buying the
club?

Two bids so far, Flash Harry being one
of them.

Harry Peterson, architect, property
magnate and entrepreneur.

Sporty car, moved to the village a year
ago with his son Ollie.

The same Ollie who plays bowls?

Ollie's sweet, whereas his dad has made
no secret of his intention to expand his

property empire around here.

We figure he'll raise the club to the
ground, build some modern monstrosity

sell it for millions.

Apparently, Jack and Will thought
otherwise.

They were saying yesterday that Harry's
bid is dead in the water.

Jack? Oh, club accountant.

Archie's son.

He was here yesterday.

Taking photos to promote his wife's yoga
studio.

I really must make a move, if that's
okay.

Oh, by all means.

And who is the other potential buyer?
You mentioned two.

Oh, we have absolutely no idea.

An anonymous bidder.

Well, I think it's fair to say that Mr
Worrell wasn't the most popular person

the village.

Indeed. Generational conflict, sporting
rivalry, a spat with Lucas Shaw.

All soccer on the way to Mr Worrell's
house. Now, I'll follow.

Check his financials and get on to the
council. I want to know who's behind

anonymous bid to buy the bowling club.
And pay a visit to Lucas Shaw at

Mocha. Oh, I'd love to.

Really into my coffee at the moment,
sir. Become a bit of a Java junkie.

A what?

A roast ranger, sir.

Bean aficionado?

Well, keep it to yourself, Winter.

I'll speak to Jack Pollock, see what he
knows.

Right.

So, where were you last night, then?

Well, never mind me.

Where were you?

Pub, then boringly tucked in bed with a
book.

You, you?

Dr Dirty Stopout.

Didn't make it home, I noticed.

Well, for your information, I went back
to the surgery to a mountain of

paperwork and some midnight oil.

Ah, is that what they call it these
days?

I mean, I believe you.

Millions wouldn't. Well, it's not with
you home alone, anyway.

Well, you're not still holding out for
that Flash Harry, are you? Of course

Maybe a smidge.

He's funny, he's fun, he's charismatic,
loaded.

And I get on really well with his son.

And, uh, Dale?

Please, Mother.

He's a glorified man with a van. He's
not even a contender.

Hi, Harry.

Hi, ladies.

I mean, seriously.

What's not to like?

See you later.

Wow.

Who died?

Chloe, can you not?

Positivity, please.

There's positivity and there's delusion.

You've got to admit, Will's death on top
of already being boycotted by 90 % of

the locals?

It's not a good look.

Maybe this place isn't ready for a
coffee revolution.

We'll just have to work harder, then.

Today, Mr. Medeverell.

Tomorrow, the world.

You say so, coffee man.

I do.

I do say so.

There's police crawling everywhere.

Libby, calm down.

Didn't you hear what I said?

They're all over the place. What are we
going to do?

I'll tell you what we're not going to
do.

We're not going to panic.

We're going to stay calm and carry on as
planned.

Okay?

Tell me, does the number 81 mean
anything to you?

Relating to bowls, possibly.

No, no, not at all. About the bids to
buy the club, I gather you and Mr.

no longer believe that Harry Peterson's
bid is a goer.

That's correct.

I have a friend on the council who told
me they'd reject any bid that wanted to

build residential property on the land.

Which is Mr. Peterson's plan.

That's what he does for a living.

Look, I was told in confidence... but
made the mistake of telling Wilf, who

wanted to blab it to the world, which
could have ruined everything.

Does Harry Peterson know about this?

Might Mr Worrell have blabbed about it
to him?

Very possibly.

Wilf was nothing if not a stirrer.

I'll need an address for Mr Peterson if
you have it.

Sure. And would Mr Worrell blabbing be
annoying for you?

Well, it's my own fault, really.

I should have known better than to trust
him.

Can you tell me what you did last night
after the game?

Well, I'd been taking photos of Jenny
for her yoga, and then I dropped her

and went to the swamp.

A few of us did.

These photos, were they taken around the
club generally?

Yeah. All over. Just snaps, really.

Might I see them? You might have
captured something without knowing it.

Sure. I'll send them over to you.

Big match tomorrow.

The match.

Climax of the season.

Gone right to the wire.

Could be the last championship ever if
the club goes.

And potentially your 13th.

Quite a record.

Rivaled only by Teddy Mulcahy, I
believe.

Mulcahy. All mouth and no trousers.

A pretender. A mountebank.

Which is why I don't plan on letting any
of those youths win tomorrow.

First is first, second is nowhere. Isn't
that right, Jack?

In one, Dad.

You'll need a strong referee, I suspect.

We will.

But it's selfish of Wilf not to be
around, if you ask me. Dad.

What?

Just saying. You look after the club,
I'll sort the bowls.

Everything all right, Mr Pollock? Just a
twinge.

There's something wrong with you? No,
it's fine.

How did you get on at Mr. Worrell's?

Nice cottage, full of antiques, but then
he was a dealer.

Clearly a successful one. His financials
came back. All in good shape.

Something I suspect is that house
clearance expert come ambulance chaser,

McManus, might be interested in him.

Caught him snooping around.

Check him out.

Also, Mr. Worrell had an old school
landline. The last person to call him at

five o 'clock yesterday was Slash Harry
Peter.

Ah, just as well I'm about to meet him.

I knocked, but, uh... Is your dad here?

Said he'd be back soon.

You know, if you're a bit of a maths
buff, maybe you can help me with

Is there anything special about the
number 81?

Nine squared, three to the power of
four.

This is all about bowling?

Yes, I'm trying to predict the part the
bowling ball will take.

Accuracy is everything, unless the rest
is cheating.

I take it you're referring to Mr.
Worrell?

Why might he do that, do you think?

Pick on some breaking rules.

Not let's put practice greens.

He really had it in for us.

As a result, perhaps someone had it in
for him.

Can I help?

What the hell are those for?

Mushroom coffee.

It's the next big thing.

You can't just pick wild mushrooms,
experiment, and sell it as coffee.

There are rules and regulations.

We have to do this properly.

We'll never get investment from someone
like Harry Peterson.

Hi. Hey.

Piers Winter, course in CID.

What can we get you?

How about this one?

Parito. It's a nutty bean, responsibly
sourced from a cooperative in Nicaragua.

Or perhaps you fancy a Brazilian?

Yes, yes, maybe in a minute.

How's the cafe been received so far?

Wilf despised us, and generally
speaking, the destination coffee shop

exactly top of the village wish list.

Most people here are still wedded to
powdered instant and a kettle.

Same with the bowling club.

Their website's like somewhere from the
dark ages.

Jack did the puzzles. Wilf did the
jokes.

Everyone a belter. We joined hoping to
encourage some cross -fertilisation.

No, we're doing okay on the cross bit.

Less on the fertilisation.

How did you get into coffee?

Well, I was a barista champion.

I worked in cafes all over the world.

Madrid, Ecuador, Guatemala.

Got tired of working for other people.

And my family are from around here,
so... This is my dream.

I'll do anything to make it work.

What did you do after the game last
night? Mr McManus said something about

to the pub.

Yeah, a bunch of us did.

I'll need a lift.

And, uh, one of those.

Uh, yeah, yeah, sure.

He's a bright kid, your son.

Doesn't get it from me.

Really? I heard that you were a
successful architect turned property

can talk the talk, but I'm no good at
maths.

Not on Ollie's league, anyway.

You know, he's just still a teenager,
but he's already been in touch with the

European Space Agency about a mentorship
scheme they run.

Impressive.

Is it just the two of you?

It is.

Money can buy lots of things, but it
seems happiness is not one of them.

Ollie's mum lives abroad.

He misses her, and, well, he retreated
into physics, quantum mechanics, and the

multiverse.

He's become quite introverted.

And yet he's a member of the bowling
club.

Yes, a godsend.

When the coffee guys wanted to recruit a
youngster, Chloe Gillan took a punt on

Ollie, and he hadn't looked back.

Swapped one obsession, orbital
trajectories in space, for another, lawn

Who knew?

He loves it.

But he didn't love Mr. Worrell, though.

No.

But, to be honest, it's good for Ollie
to meet old duffers like that.

Life isn't always fair, and the sooner
he learns that, the better.

Where were you last night, around six o
'clock?

I picked Ollie up from the bowling club
and then came home.

And when did you last talk to Mr.
Worrell?

Yesterday, on the phone.

About?

Mainly, he wanted to gloat about how I
wasn't going to win the bid.

Something about council opposition to
residential property.

That must have been galling.

Not really.

Who said I was doing anything
residential?

What are your plans, then?

My plans are confidential and, for the
moment, academic.

With all due respect, I'd prefer to keep
it that way, if that's all right.

For the time being, yes.

Ollie? Everything all right?

Teenagers, eh?

Hormones and all that.

Does your son make a habit of lashing
out?

Oh, did you get me a coffee?

No. No, I'm taste -testing.

Now, I get gooseberry, but I'm not
getting a hint of hibiscus.

Tastes like pencil shavings to me.

I had no idea you ate pencils.

I, um...

I checked on Dale McManus, our house
clearance expert, and he's advised for

-tipping and was once accused of
identity theft, but nothing was ever

Interesting. And also the council got
back to me about an anonymous bidder, H.

Appleby.

Do some digging, and while you're at it,
see if Harry Peterson has been involved

in anything non -residential.

Hmm, will do.

Oh, also, I got you something, sir.

It's a steam wand.

Milk frother for your coffee.

It aerates the milk.

Makes it creamier.

I'll bear that in mind.

Fleur wants a word.

Glad you could join.

I'm working on the numbers.

Do you have any cryptic word games while
waiting for lab results, Fleur?

You don't get to be head of Causton
Cadaver's pub quiz team without

So pay attention.

It could be a letter to numbers code.

A1, B2, and so on. So if it is, A1 would
be... H -A.

It could be the start of Harry.

Or our anonymous bidder, H. Appleby.

Whoever they may be.

The victim held one of the markers as if
he placed them on the ground himself.

Was he trying to help identify his
killer?

That implies Mr. Worrell, after having
caliperins thrust into his brain... Had

time to think of the idea and execute it
before dying. I can check, but I

suspect death was instantaneous.

It would also imply that the killer left
the scene without checking the victim

was dead.

Impossible, but careless.

OK, so, alternatively... Well, the
killer put the markers on the ground as

Mr Worrell had done so himself.

To point the finger at someone else.

Exactly. There's something odd about
these photos.

They're numbered JPEGs, but there's
quite a few of them missing. Why

Pollock just send all of them?

Maybe he deleted some as he went.

Maybe.

In this one, the outhouse door is
locked, but it was open at the crime

Maybe he unlocked it after people left.

Maybe.

Or someone else could have.

Apart from Mr. Worrell, who else would
have keys?

His colleague, Libby Trevor.

Ah, the horticulturalist with the
patience of a saint.

Let's talk to her.

Is the yoga meeting good?

Yeah, fab.

I'll grab coffees.

Hi,

Chloe. Two lattes, please.

Chat with you now, is he?

Not Harry?

The good -looking, very successful,
super -minted Harry?

No. Why would he be? Good question.

Do you know what?

Forget the coffees.

Let's go.

What is it? Nothing.

I've done emergency appointments. Do you
want to answer my calls?

He's been busy.

I'm not here. I'm not here.

I'll see you later.

I don't know. We have to be careful.

Do we?

Why? Who cares?

Well, I do.

And Wilf did, didn't he? Wilf's not a
problem anymore, is he?

Look, um... Maybe we should just leave
it, you know?

We had our fun.

I mean...

It's no big deal, is it? And you are
that bit younger than me.

What's that got to do with anything?

Well, I thought, um... Maybe you liked
Chloe?

Based on... You two flirting earlier. A
correction that your daughter's

flirting. She'll do for England, by the
way. Literally anyone.

It's absolutely fine if you do, but if
that is the case, then...

I'd rather we drew the line now. I'm not
into Chloe.

Ruth.

The last few weeks with you have meant a
lot to me.

Can I see you tonight?

Afternoon, Miss Trevor.

May we come in? Yes.

Sorry about all the plants.

They calm me and I like the scents.

Personally, I'm getting a rather strong
aroma of vanilla.

I don't know what that can be.

How did you get on with Mr Worrell?

Wilf?

Yeah,

great.

He taught me everything I know.

And he was like a mentor to me, really,
especially when I first moved into the

area. And when was that?

Four years ago this summer.

I was on my own.

I fell in with the bowling brigade, and
I wanted to firm that up somehow, so I

became a groundswoman.

I gather Mr Worrell could be quite
difficult.

Wealth?

No,

not at all. Who told you that?

Ruth Gillan said he wasn't the easiest
person to work for.

But he was... Great.

I mean, working with someone from a
different generation has its challenges,

right?

The outhouse at the bowling club, I
assume you have a set of keys?

Yes. Who else has?

No one.

Just me and Wolf. Why?

Because we believe whoever killed him
might have had access to the outhouse.

Maybe Wolf just left it open?

We heard that a number of you went to
the Swan last night.

Did you all come and go at the same
time? Sure.

Oh, apart from Dale.

He left early.

Did he now?

Dale didn't say anything about leaving
the pub early when I happened.

Keep digging.

Likewise, Miss Trevor. She's on edge.

She's lying about something.

I don't remember much, to be honest.

Well, try and remember if you can, Dad.
It's important.

I was walking into the living room
and... Next thing I know, you're all

here.

Do you recall seeing anyone? Did you
notice anything untoward?

Just that the painting that was on the
wall was missing.

Wilf loved that painting.

And... What exactly were you doing here?

Wilf was a good friend. I came to pay my
respects.

How did you get in?

The front door was open.

Didn't you think that was odd?

No, not really.

Wilf could be forgetful. I'm sorry, but
I think we need to take Archie to

hospital just to get him checked over.

Jack? Yes, I agree. No, no hospital. The
paramedic said I'm fine. I just want to

go home.

I need a good night's sleep before the
match.

Maybe we should think about cancelling
the match, Dad. It's not like you're up

against a Teddy Mulcahy. Never mind him,
and don't be such a loser, Jack.

Your mother would turn in a grave if I
didn't play. Would she, though? Really?

Yes, she would, and don't you come back
again.

First is first, and second is nowhere.

Which reminds me, Jenny, we'll need a
referee for tomorrow. Somebody who

understands how important it is to get
the right result.

I'll do my best, but not Wilf.

Your father claims to compete in your
mother's memory, but you don't think so.

He competes to prove he's the man.

Got to see off the rivals.

Like Teddy Mulcahy?

A rival in every sense.

Meaning?

The whole village knew Teddy carried a
torch for Mum.

I don't think there was anything in it,
but after she'd passed, beating him

mattered more than ever. More than being
there for his son.

There was no sign of a break -in. The
back door was locked, but this door was

open. It was when Archie Pollock
arrived.

It was definitely locked when I was here
earlier. I checked.

Meaning whoever assaulted Mr Pollock had
a set of keys.

Maybe the killer took them from Mr
Worrell at the bowling club.

How was this called in?

999. No name given.

Unusual for a killer to ring 999.

Unless whoever did this isn't our
killer.

Maybe Mr Pollock just disturbed a
burglar stealing a painting.

Like, for example, the house clearance
expert that was sniffing around the

cottage earlier.

Speculation winter, but let's pay Mr
McManus a visit.

I just want to have a quick look round.

Archie Pollock said that he came here to
pay his respects. Seems like an odd

thing to do. Especially given that when
I saw him earlier, he seemed more

concerned about his good friend not
being able to referee tomorrow than he

about him being dead.

So he didn't come here to pay his
respects.

Then why was he here?

No, I could do the job, but it's got to
be done by tomorrow afternoon. I'm tied

up in the morning.

Okay, okay.

I'll do it as soon as I can.

Deal.

I need a word.

The, um, quality pieces that you said
Wilf Worrell owned, that you were

about, did that include a painting?

We had a few, but one that was
definitely worth a few bob, yeah.

The one in the kitchen?

Is that what you were gawping at through
the window when I saw you?

No.

Tell me, if your job is being familiar
with objects and their valuations, how

much is that painting worth?

A auction.

Who knows?

For insurance purposes, it's got to be
in the region of 10K, maybe more.

Tempting. And it's just been stolen. And
whoever stole it assaulted Archie

Pollock. I get it.

You think I took the painting and
assaulted Archie?

If I'd stolen it, would I just tell you
it was worth 10K?

You might if it was worth more.

It'd be my guest in check.

I'm sure you will anyway.

Anything else?

I thought I'd like to go home.

There is something else, actually. When
I asked you where you were last night,

you said you were at the pub.

I was.

You left early.

Where did you go?

Home.

I was tired.

Can I go now?

Honestly, Jamie, I love it.

I was practising all last night.

We kept John and I awake, trying to
catch up with Bessie on the 4 -4. I

73's the closest we've come to divorce.

Right, what do you think?

That's pretty good.

Oh, here's our plan.

Oh, morning, sir.

Jamie's just been telling me all about
grinders and pumpers. Have you now?

Well, I hate to interrupt coffee morning
winter, but we have work to do.

Are you planning a holiday, sir?

Research, actually.

Something Jack Pollock mentioned about
starting a new life.

Several developments overnight, sir.

Harry Peterson doesn't just do
residential.

He's a partner in a chain of health care
centres across Europe.

Also, he's trying to buy some woodland
on the edge of the village, but the

application doesn't say what for.

The bowling club and woodland. He
clearly wants to make his mark.

As for the other bidder, H is for Holly
Appleby, and she's proving quite

elusive. All I can find is a P .O. box
in Midsomer Parva.

I'll find out when she got the P .O.
box.

Yeah, we'll do so.

Also, there was a message on Wilfor's
answer machine that you need to hear.

It was left by Dale McManus two days
ago.

I'll keep this brief.

I'm sick of it, and I've told you loads.
Back off, Ruth. You're a dead man.

Prophetic, to say the least.

Go get him, Tiger.

And Ollie, if you don't win, it's okay,
right?

I heard about the assault. Are you okay?

Perfectly fine.

Thanks to you.

Enjoyed last night?

Me too.

Now I'm tired of hiding.

Not that again.

I had a thought this morning.

We'll just go somewhere else, start
fresh.

I'm serious.

Are you playing games with me?

No.

After this, I've got a job to do and I'm
free.

What do you say?

What are we waiting for?

Oi! Dale!

Chop, chop.

You need to get your eye in.

Aren't you, mate?

How's the head, all right?

Check with Jack Pollock about the rest
of the pictures he took.

The ones he didn't send us.

Yeah, will do, sir.

Everything all right?

Oh, just worried about Archie, that's
all.

Tell me, how far do you think he'd go to
win today?

Well, as far as needs be.

That's what worries me.

At a medication you prescribed for Mr
Worrell, you mentioned statins and beta

blockers. Yeah, that's right.

If someone else took them, would they,
for example, help with an arm tremor?

They might, although taking someone
else's medication is dangerous.

And illegal.

School. Referee in Jesus' temple.

Yeah, I'll break a leg.

Actually, Jimmy...

Nothing.

Ah,

Mr Pollock.

About those files that you sent us, some
of them are missing.

Were they? Well, I might have deleted
some.

Sure, we'd still like to retrieve them
if we can. OK, can I get them to you

later? We can do it now.

Just airdrop them to me.

Yeah, I'm not sure I know how to do
that.

I could show you.

That's ridiculous, man.

Apart from being incredibly
irresponsible, you do know that's

should have given me a prescription then
i have my reputation to think of so do

i and mine's worth more than yours
especially since wolf told me all about

and dale right dale

Head.

All these orbitals, you get to choose N.

We'll do east -west, please.

Battle of the land.

It'll take more than that.

Archie, your bold whisperer gets to
choose who starts.

Begin. Right, let's get ready.

You were right to check the photos, by
the way.

One of them, Jack Pollock, didn't manage
to send us. We'll have one striking

thing in common.

They all show Archie Pollock arguing
with Will Forrell.

The question is, what about?

Let's speak to our bowling legend as
soon as this match ends.

We're on the deciding end now.

Over to you, Jenny.

And the winner is... Ollie! Yes! Yes!
Yes!

Yes! Yes!

You did the right thing. You are no
daughter -in -law of mine!

I don't know why you married her.

You speak to Archie Pollock. I'll talk
to Dale McManus. Will do.

Will do.

Where is Mr Pollock Sr.? Storm door.

Not out front, he didn't.

There's a back exit.

I think he wanted to avoid people.

Harry Peterson found the body, called it
in, and then went home.

Did he now?

You'll need a word.

I'm guessing you're familiar with the
identity of the victim.

I am.

Dale McManus.

Was it an accident?

Hard to be sure, but we're checking the
crane cabin for prints.

I'll need to confirm, but... Preliminary
indications suggest cause of death was

a combination of blunt trauma to the
head and compression of the chest area,

leading to pneumothorax.

Not pleasant.

Noted anything missing?

His van.

Perhaps the killer took it.

I'll put a mark on its circulator trace.

What we do have, though...

About 30 metres over there is a large
collection of white goods.

Fridge freezer, washing machine, the
whole lot.

Fly tipping.

Mr Peterson.

It was you who found Delmont Manor's
body, is that right?

Yes, that's right.

Just passing, were you?

So soon, after your son's finest hour at
the bowling club, seems a bit strange.

I'm interested in buying that plot of
woodland. I go there sometimes to think

over my potential investment.

And you just happened across Mr.
McManus' body?

That's correct, yes.

Mr. Peterson, we can confiscate your
phone and your computer and find out the

real reason you went there, or you could
save us some time and just tell us the

truth.

I was due to meet Jenny Pollock.

I'm thinking of building a yoga center
there.

That she might run.

That's very generous of you.

Not at all. I'm a businessman. She's
very good at what she does. It would be

sound investment.

I see.

Did Mr. McManus have anything to do with
this plan?

No, nothing at all. I was late getting
there after celebrating with Ollie, and

when I arrived, he was just lying there.

So if you went to meet Mrs. Pollock, why
wasn't she there?

I don't know.

She texted me to meet her there straight
after the final.

I didn't send a text to Harry.

Mr. Peterson definitely received one. We
saw it.

No text.

But you could have deleted it.

I didn't. Then someone else must have.
Who else would have had access to your

phone? Presumably you have a passcode.

1234.

Guessable. But anyway, I almost had my
phone on me.

The text was sent at 11 .24, which is
around the time the bowling final was

to start. Did you have your phone on you
then?

Actually, no.

It was in my bag, which I left in the
outhouse.

So it could have been accessed there by
anyone at the bowling match?

Yeah, I suppose.

This business venture you might be
embarking on with Harry Peterson, is it

public knowledge?

What business venture? I think that
answers my question.

It's nothing, Jack, really.

Harry's thinking of buying some land and
setting up a yoga center.

He has some experience in that area.

Healthcare centers across Europe, etc.

Exactly. What's that got to do with you?

He asked me if I wanted to run it.

What? And you didn't tell me because...
Because there's nothing to tell.

Look, I'm not going to do it.

I don't want to get into business with
Harry. It's an on -starter.

Mr Pollock, the photographs that you
didn't send us to begin with... showed

father and Mr Worrell arguing. Do you
know what about?

No, I don't.

Was not sending us the photos just an
oversight, or did you think they might

implicate your father?

I was trying to protect him.

Because you think he might have killed
Mr Worrell? No, of course not. I just, I

was worried, I guess.

I knew it didn't look good.

I know what they were arguing about.

Archie told me about it last night as
part of trying to get me to cheat on his

behalf.

He asked Wilf if he could have some of
these meds to calm his arm.

Wilf said no.

So Mr Pollock stole them after Mr
Worrell was killed.

Where is your father now?

He refuses to be under the same roof as
me.

He's out walking. He'll be back soon.

He'll calm down.

Archie Pollock isn't going to calm down
any time soon. Winning the bowls meant

too much to him.

Something to do with unresolved grief
about the death of his wife.

What do you make of Mr and Mrs Pollock?

I'm not sure.

It's just about a yoga centre. I don't
see why Mrs Pollock didn't just tell her

husband. Maybe she knew he'd be
suspicious.

I mean, she could be lying to cover her
tracks.

What about Harry Peterson?

Well, we can't rule him out. He wouldn't
be the first murderer to pretend to

have found the body. We can't rule out
Archie Pollock either. Keep digging on

the Pollock family.

Your finances, background, everything.

Yeah, will do.

Do you know what Dale was planning on
doing after the final?

He said he had a job to do, that's all.

We needed to talk to him about a message
he left on Mr Worrell's answer machine.

You were mentioned in that message. We
need to know what it was about.

What is it, Mum?

Dale and I were seeing each other.

What?

So that's where you were two nights ago?

The night Mr. Worrell was killed?

Yeah, me and Dale met up.

That would explain why you left the pub
early.

Why not just say?

You could have told me. No, I couldn't.
I didn't want it to be public knowledge.

Why was that?

Chloe's dad ran off with a younger
woman, and I was very publicly

devastated, and even more publicly.

A vocal opponent to inappropriately aged
relationships.

Dale was hardly a babe in arms.

He was in his 30s. I'm in my 50s.

But also, I didn't want my private life
to be the talk of the village again.

I hated that.

So I wasn't comfortable going public
until I was completely sure about Dale.

And were you?

Yes.

I was, now.

But when Mr Worrell found out about you
two, he threatened to blab. Oh, and

some. Wilf was old school.

Disapproved. Loved having something over
us.

Famous for it.

Radio Wilf, we called him. And no secret
was safe.

He loved seeing my discomfort, reveled
in it.

He said the only thing he enjoyed more
than dealing antiques was dealing in

secrets.

And Dale?

lovable hothead that he was.

He hated seeing me being manipulated.

So he left a message telling Wilf to
keep quiet.

His wording was quite severe.

That was just Dale being protective.

He went in a bit heavy. He didn't mean
anything by it.

He didn't kill him, if that's what
you're thinking.

I don't know what you're so worried
about, Mum.

Not the only one round here misbehaving.
Why?

Who else is?

Well, Harry and Jenny, for starters.

Saw them having a lover's tiff out in
the woods.

They say that they were discussing a
joint business venture.

Believe me, what I saw was no business
talk. I'm surprised. I thought she'd

him off.

Seen him off?

In what way?

When Harry moved in, he made no secret
of the fact that he was attracted to

Jenny. It was the talk of the village.

Like Jack's mum and Teddy Mokahi all
over again.

Jenny fobbed him off, at least we
thought she did.

There was something Mr Peterson said
when he can't buy happiness.

Maybe he was talking about Jenny.

How did Jack Pollock handle all that?

Jack's Jack. He just lets these things
roll over him.

Sir, news on our anonymous second
bidder, Holly Appleby. She started the P

Box four years ago.

There's a lot of fools in the ether at
the moment. The 4 -4 challenge, four

years Holly Appleby has had her P .O.
Box, and it's four years since Libby

Trevor moved to the area.

Before that, Holly Appleby lived in
Aspern Tallow. She went through a messy

divorce, ended up in the courts, but why
open a P .O. Box?

To protect her anonymity when she moved
on, perhaps.

Interestingly, Libby Trevor said she
moved here on her own.

Thinking that maybe Holly Appleby
changed her name to Libby Trevor.

Possibly, but why wouldn't Assistant
Groundswoman put in a bid to buy the

bowling club?

Because she loves her job.

Well, you say that, but if that's the
case, what are all these bowling balls

still doing out here? Why wouldn't Libby
Trevor put them away after the final?

Unless she left in a hurry.

Busy. Oh, what? No, I was just sorting.

Mind if we take a look in the
greenhouse?

Hmm.

Vanilla.

That's not earth on your hands, is it?

It's vanilla -scented coffee.

And this is the real Midsummer Mocker.

Time to come clean, Holly.

It is Holly, isn't it?

Fuck you!

Cheers mate, thank you.

Hey, which one do you want to try this
time?

Something authentic would be good.

Okay, what can I hit you with?

Colombian, Guatemalan?

Actually, you can hit me with the truth
and fill me in about Dale McManus

blackmailing you.

Or I can introduce you to the Causton
CID coffee machine, which is about as

authentic as you are.

My marriage was abusive.

But I finally got out of it and I
started over in Midsomer Devril.

Changing your name and trying to make
sure your ex couldn't track you down.

Libby started out as Liberty, a sign of
my new freedom.

All I wanted to do was belong and I
thought...

that the bowling club would do that.

But Mr Worrell made it difficult.

Wolf was a bully.

Which wasn't good for me because it
reminded me of...

..of what I had fought so hard to escape

from.

Earlier, you were very complimentary
about Mr Worrell. You said he was like a

mentor to you. Why lie?

I'm sorry, I guess.

I guess I didn't want to speak ill of
the dead.

I didn't want to have to admit all this.

How did you become involved with
Midsomer Mocha?

I liked Lucas's dream.

And I was trying to figure out how to do
something positive with a property that

I owned in Aspen, Tallow.

So I thought that if I sold it, I could
use the proceeds as collateral.

To join forces and help to buy the
bowling club.

That was the theory.

But in practice, it's proving kind of
different.

That's the thing with dreams. They don't
always come true.

With Libby's backing, the plan is to
turn the bowling club into a coffee

emporium with an outside space for
coffee events and music gigs.

Emporium. We've hardly won over the
hearts and minds so far. We just need

You can make the best coffee in the
world, source the best growers, use the

finest beans.

That's if you don't have anyone to drink
it.

We've seen your setup in Libby's
Greenhouse.

Everything here is fake.

We just needed to reduce costs in order
to survive.

Until things take off. By importing the
cheapest beans that you can find.

Probably not ethically sourced and
roasting them yourself. It's not going

forever.

And you assumed that no one would find
out.

But Dale McManus did.

I've accessed his emails.

He found out what you and Libby were up
to and he's been trying to extort money

from you.

Money I haven't got.

You might if you broke into Wilf
Worrell's house and stole a painting.

Did Wilf find out your little secret
too?

What? No.

Look, I didn't like Wilf.

Wilf didn't like me, but I didn't steal
any painting. What do you think I am?

A fraud.

Someone desperate to keep their dream
alive.

Dale McManus was found dead earlier
today.

I swear I don't know anything about
that.

Lucas Shaw?

He's admitted fraud, but he's adamant
that he didn't kill anyone, and I think

he's telling the truth.

He's misguided, but he isn't a killer.

What about Libby Trevor?

I don't think she's killed anyone
either.

So who did kill Dale McManus? And why?

I wonder if we might be taking Mr
McManus's death too much at face value.

Meaning?

We know that Harry Peterson received a
text message from someone wanting to

him in the woods. He was delayed by the
match celebrations with his son. So what

if Mr McManus in the woods to dump white
goods was just in the wrong place at

the wrong time?

Harry Peterson was the real target.

Indeed.

How are we doing with the Pollock family
background?

Financials are interesting.

Accounts are all in order.

But you were right to look into the
Turks and Caicos. Some years ago, Jack

Pollock lost a whole pile of money in an
investment there.

And apart from that, everything's above
board.

Interestingly, though, he did the
accounts of Teddy Mulcahy.

His father's nemesis.

Presumably historic accounts, given that
Mr Mulcahy's been dead for years.

I guess.

I'll check.

Mr Pollock, how can I help?

We're on our way.

Jack Pollock.

He says his father's been kidnapped.

Any further word?

Anonymous email demanding a quarter of a
million pounds as a ransom.

We'll try and trace the sender.

Four hours to find that money. How am I
going to do that? You're not. We don't

recommend giving in to ransom demands.

And this seems more like an act of
financial desperation than anything

It's easier for you to say. It's not
your father whose life's in danger. If I

had the money, I'd hand it over right
this second. Can we borrow against the

house? I've already spoken to the bank.
There isn't the time. We don't have that

kind of money. Maybe we could call a
local support.

We'd never raise enough.

What about Hardy?

I could ask him.

We could ask him. Thanks.

Uniform have triangulated the signal and
found your father's phone roadside on a

country lane. We'll head over there.

In the meantime, please, don't do
anything without talking to us.

I doubt there's much in the way of road
cameras here.

There might be one at the junction where
the road meets the village.

I'll get tech onto it urgently.

One mobile phone and one discarded
bowling ball.

Is that blood?

Actually, it's coffee.

If it's still wet, we could get Winter
to do a taste test. Already done it.

We'll do a GCMF test in the lab to make
sure, but I did the old PTT,

pipette tongue taste.

My guess would be powdered instant.

Sit here and do nothing.

Dad's out there somewhere.

It's all my fault.

Look, I don't like the idea, but I think
we have to do what you suggested.

Ask Harry.

What about the police?

What about them?

Harry.

What's the connection between the
murders and the kidnapping?

Money. Someone is desperate for it.

They stole a valuable painting from Mr.
Worrell, and now they want a quarter of

a million pounds for the return of
Archie Pollock.

Why? Greed?

A debt, more like. I think someone got
into trouble and made the mistake of

asking Mr Worrell, who you said had
money, to borrow some. Mr Worrell said

because he's an old curmudgeon. Who
likes nothing better than dealing in

people's secrets. He threatens to tell
the world, and so needs to be silenced.

You know, it's really bugging me about
these photos.

They're not...

shot of Jenny Pollock with Archie and
Wilf in the background, the two men are

the main subject of the picture.

We knew that Jack Pollock was curious
about the argument, which was just about

meds. He said he didn't know what it was
about, but maybe he thought they were

arguing about something else.

Well, we checked out Teddy Mulcahy's
accounts, and interestingly, so has the

taxman.

Heavily in debt and still active. We're
pending imminent investigation.

So the financial clock is ticking and
the net closing in.

Who would know how to keep a dead man's
accounts alive?

Jack Pollock would.

He hasn't kidnapped his own father, has
he?

Winter.

Ah, OK.

Yeah, thanks.

Patrol have sighted Dale McManus' van in
a field next to the woods.

Let's go.

What are you doing here? I could ask you
the same question. I asked you not to

do anything without talking to us. You
don't understand. They said to come

alone.

To use Harry's phone to transfer the
money. Then and only then would Dad be

released. We need to do what they say.

Transfer the money.

Don't. Look, quick, quick. The time's
running out.

It is indeed, Mr Pollock.

There are no kidnappers because there
was no kidnapping, was there?

Someone tell me what the hell is going
on.

Mr Pollock has faked his father's
kidnapping.

Jenny, what... What's going on? What are
you doing here? I need to know what's

happening. Mr Pollock here, one failed
Turks and Caicos investment behind him,

needed to do something.

Prove himself to his father and provide
for his wife.

Was Mr Peterson's arrival in the village
the trigger? The dashing international

businessman? You couldn't compete?

Well, you tried to.

By making investments under a false
name. Your father's nemesis, Teddy

Was that some kind of private joke to
get at your father? Why?

Because he wasn't there for me.

He was never there.

After Mum died, he was too obsessed with
his stupid bowling.

So when your fake investments went
wrong, with the taxman looming, you

Wilf Worrell to bail you out.

What a mistake that was.

He said no and started lording it over
me. Which explains the photos. You were

never worried how those photos looked
for your father.

I saw Wilf having words with Dad. I
thought he was telling him about me.

And I needed to know for sure. So I went
back, but he wasn't. But that just made

things worse.

So you needed to silence him. And
knowing where Mr. Worrell kept the keys,

went to the outhouse.

You killed him.

And then tried to point the finger at
your nemesis.

Harry, you thought H -A might be enough.

I wasn't thinking straight. I needed
money. Fuck.

So you stole a painting, accidentally
assaulting your father in the process.

And then you decided to target Harry
direct.

You used Jenny's phone to lure him to
the woods only.

That doesn't work either. Harry's
delayed and you kill an innocent man.

I didn't mean to kill Dale. He was...
The wrong man in the wrong place.

And you're...

You're panicked, you're lost, and then
it hits you.

The solution to everything.

Pretend to kidnap your father, demand a
ransom that will clear your debts once

and for all. Knowing that your wife
would turn to Harry to pay for it before

he's killed by kidnappers.

Otherwise known as you.

Jack? It should have been him.

Stay back!

Who else will help me?

Put the knife down, Jack. It won't help.

So close.

Just sailing off into the sunset?

Just... I wanted us to be happy.

I wanted us to be together.

I am.

We are.

No, no. You're having enough now.

I'm not.

I've seen all your messages.

I've seen your secret meetings. The fear
of being caught.

Because I didn't want you to think this.

Right.

You're going to run off with him and
live happily ever after. And you know

I don't blame you.

Because I can't compete with him.

Look at me.

Look at me and tell me you weren't
tempted.

Okay, I was.

But I didn't give in to it.

I stayed true.

It's true.

She loves you, not me.

What have you done, Jack?

Your wife doesn't cheat.

You just believe the gossip.

I was a laughingstock.

You're not.

Nothing happened.

I wanted it to, but Jenny refused.

Even when I just wanted to invest in her
with a yoga center, she refused that

too. She thought it would be
inappropriate.

You had the dream already.

You were living it.

So am I.

Oh, come on, Betty. Everybody wants to
see the trophy.

I give you the 4x4 Maths Challenge
champion.

And it was all her own work.

It was, actually. We were rubbish.

Together we have a new challenge.

Yeah, we do indeed. A bowling match.
These were my grandfather's pride and

Oh. And we also have to honour Harry
Peterson's successful bid to buy the

Midsomer Devril bowling club. He plans
to modernise it and keep it as a bowling

club for his son to play at. Very good.

They had names for their teams, didn't
they? They did.

There's Archie's Bowls Whisperers and
Ollie's Orbitals. And I've been giving

some thought to a name for us. And in
every sense, you can't beat Barnaby's

Bowling Bevvies. You're comparing me to
a drink.

That's something else I'm very fond of.

I thought of Fleur Power or The Flying
Fleur.

But I'll leave it to Jamie.

Winter Milan.

Oh, I think we did it.

Oh, well.

I think the clear winner is... Hang on.

That's cheating.

Of course it's not.

It's a bowl, isn't it?

Woof, woof.