Original subtitles

I'll be two seconds.

Night, Coleman.

Night, ma 'am.

I can't wait to see. I'm so excited.

A couple more days.

There's a whole new world out there.

What?

I see you're on the pool tonight.

I'll be mine as is, weakness. Yeah, far -carved, single malt, nurses with starch

-white cotton.

I can't have bread.

Well, there's other women in the world.

I know tonight's soiree has been in the diary for weeks, but I happen to have

stumbled on some rather spectacular news.

The fact is I've just had word that one among our number has been awarded an

extraordinary promotion.

So I won't go on, but suffice to say, thoroughly well -deserved, completely

of the blue, if you'll please raise your glasses to Inspector.

Fiona McKendrick.

Isn't that quiet?

I don't know how we'll get by without you.

Here lies Inspector Lewis, eclipsed by a woman of 28.

31. What's her gender got to do with it?

Where's she going, anyway?

She's someone with heavy rainfall and plenty of sheep.

No, I'm Scotland Yard, Commissioner's office.

Well, I'm in her contact for you.

Goodbye,

Robbie. Good luck, Fiona.

Congratulations. Thank you.

Goodbye, then.

Keep in touch.

Will do.

That water was, once, extremely hot.

You may find some surface burns on the killer's hands.

Unless he was wearing gloves.

Pedant.

Anything stolen?

I think not.

No. Any ID?

Found that in a bag by the door.

We're submitting a DNA test, just to be sure.

OK.

How come I never get a scrappy burglar caught in the act killing? Because you'd

be bored stiff.

Stephen Mullen?

Where do I know that name from?

If you get any closer, she's going to poke your eye out.

Just studying the evidence.

I found this in his jacket pocket.

The hunt in the forest, Uccello.

Early Venetian, nuts on perspective.

It's in the Asmodean.

Florentine. What?

You said Venetian.

Well, how do you know?

I got this at home on a set of coasters.

No name.

It was no dream.

Anything on our database?

Yeah, he's got a record. Drink driving, October 2006.

Went to Pentonville, got out seven months ago. That's right, Stephen

I mean, it was a bit more than drunk driving. Try attempted murder.

He lived here alone.

No, but there's a housemate, Alex Hadley.

Uniformer out looking for him.

Stephen Mullen.

Stevie? Where?

At his place, over in Marston.

Crunch!

He's supposed to be on at three.

I suppose I'll have to get Janine to cover for him.

We're very sorry for your loss, Mr Codden. Well, he's only been here two

minutes. Can you be more specific?

How long was he working here, love?

Three, four months?

Yeah, something like that.

Part -time he was.

Yod afternoon.

No great work, though, still.

Good with the ladies.

And the gents.

Some of them.

I can't hardly believe it.

Sure you don't want to top out that tan, seniors of you?

That's not tan.

That's blood pressure.

Pick up, mate.

Please, come on, pick up.

Come on, pick up.

You OK in there?

No? Yeah, I'll be out in a minute.

Open the door.

No.

Always wanted to have a go on one of those.

Alex Hadley, Sergeant Hathaway, Inspector Lewis, Oxford Police.

We need a word about your housemate, Stephen Mullen.

Stephen?

I'm afraid he was found dead in your place early this morning.

What?

Oh.

You okay to answer some questions?

Yeah.

Yeah, go ahead.

You lived with Mullen long?

A few months.

We were housemates. I rented the back room off him. Old friend?

No, I saw the ad in the local paper.

He, uh, he needed the extra cash after he got out of prison.

Did you get on all right?

Yeah.

We'd work out together some evenings, you know, lose some weight, and then put

it all back on down at the pub.

You know, trying to keep fit for some girlfriend.

Who was she, this girlfriend?

I've no idea.

And where were you last night?

Double shift. I left the house around ten and they even drove me into town. I

was just about to clock off when you guys caught up with me. Anyone confirm

that? Ask my boss, if you like.

Did he ever talk about his life before he went to prison?

He said he was a different man back then.

He didn't mention any troubles or grudges?

A man called Tom Rattenbury?

Who?

No matter.

Today? Not quite.

It's yours if you want it.

Thank you, Prince.

Plenty of smudges, but nothing to Hennessy.

Tom Rattenbury physics, Don.

Yeah, until he morphed into Celebrity Atheist.

Absolutely ubiquitous at one point.

Who? Newspaper articles.

Saw him in a TV documentary once.

Not half bad.

Yeah, if you like that sort of thing.

Not your cup of tea.

Well, it's just popular science and saber -rappling. I dare say it reads

well on a beach.

It pays the bills.

You are?

Detective Inspector Lewis, the Oxfordshire Police.

This is Sergeant Hathaway.

You are forgiven.

Enter.

We're all in the conservatory.

What's the deal, darling?

These gentlemen are from Oxford Police.

What have you done now?

We're here regarding a Stephen Mullen.

His son murdered this morning over at Martin.

What? It's all right, love.

Don't expect we'll be sending flowers, Tom.

I'm sorry. This is our son Daniel and his innumerata hope.

Students, obviously.

Pleased to meet you, Inspector.

Our daughter, Jessica.

Mullen, that's the guy. Yeah.

Stephen Mullen was a certain sick and tortuous individual.

One night... Darling, time and place. Better she hears it from us.

One night, three years ago, after he saw a promotional billboard for my

husband's latest television enterprise, it was one of your more red -blooded

attacks on the church, wasn't it? What did it say?

Anyway.

This man, Stephen Mullen, climbed into a ten -ton truck and drove it, in the

name of Jesus Christ, our saviour, straight into our hatchback.

He tried to kill me.

Only it wasn't Tom at the wheel, as he'd thought.

It was Jessica.

Broken spine, ruptured spleen, torn pancreas, eleven operations and still

cancer.

Nothing to help myself.

We were all having such a nice afternoon.

If you could each just confirm your whereabouts last night, then we'll get

of your hair.

When last night?

After ten.

I was here with Jessica planning her birthday party. Tom, you were? In my

working out my notes.

I may have gone for a drive at some point. What time, sir?

I don't know. It was dark.

My MacMurray was in the booth. Don't be funny.

Anyone vouch for you?

Anyone for you?

No.

What about you, sir?

I was riding up in the loft.

By the way, I don't think this means anything to either of you.

We found it at Mr Mullins.

Oh, shall I?

Nothing at all.

If you could try and remember your route from last night, we might be able to

pull something off the traffic cameras.

You can do that?

As a last resort, yes.

Is the order okay?

Thursday afternoon, swimming club.

You know, Inspector, what that man did to us was unspeakable.

But in a strange way, it brought us all closer together.

Neither Tom nor I dwell in the past.

We'll be in touch.

Feel. The postcard.

Not now.

I think they give me a borrow.

How's your Spanish?

A bit worse than your German.

You know, this looks more like a race than a hunt.

What do you mean?

Well, these riders, the dogs, the beer carriers, what are they, stag?

Looks like they're all in it together. They're all racing off in the middle of

the night.

Where are they trying to get to?

Go on.

Enlighten me. You know what you're dying to.

Hunter de Fouga.

Vanishing Point. That's the right perspective.

George A. Vissari.

Don't pretend you didn't get that out of the book.

Anyway, there has to be more to it than that.

There is. You're quite right.

In Renaissance terms, the hunt was a courtly metaphor for the pursuit of

The hunter, the male rampant.

The hind or deer, the defenseless female.

But in the game of desire... The chase is so much more uncertain.

Is the deer fleeing for her life or leaving her lover away deeper into

The hunter doesn't know the point, but he can't stop himself.

He's swept on into the forest to some point of pleasure out there in the

darkness.

Forgive me. No, no, not at all.

It's our most treasured canvas by members of the public.

Not just old show -offs like this.

Does this mean anything to you?

It was no dream, Thomas Wyatt.

Right. Who is? They flee from me that sometime did me sick.

And regretfully, I must do the same.

You'll find all you need in our shop.

Thank you.

Francis Wheeler.

Hodgson's post -mortem report.

A woman of few words, obviously.

Time of death?

Between midnight and one Wednesday night.

Official cause of death, drowning.

50 cent burns, couldn't have helped.

Anything from Ferrandi?

Prince? Ivers? Yep, plenty of both, but nothing we can get a match on.

You still fancy Rattenbury for the murder? Well, Mullen tried to kill his

daughter and all he gets is a drunk driving charge.

Hardly justice, is it?

How's that for high art?

That's the billboard that Mullen saw the night you went after Jessica.

You think he was asking for it?

Well, I wouldn't go that far, but he must have felt his fair share of

culpability. Hasn't been on telly since.

What do you know about Stephen Mullen?

In and out of young offenders' institutions, got into the Bible in a

when he tried to get off the heroin.

The Bible became his new addiction, according to the parole report, so he

to the obvious conclusion that it seems that Rattenbury's the Antichrist.

What? No, I just... You make him sound almost like a monk.

Yet in his room, new pictures on the wall, marijuana in the ashtray.

Isn't he a bit chilled out for a recovering fanatic?

Oh,

speaking of fanatic, the Pollock Bureau wants me to give you this.

Fiona McKendrick's leaving card. You forgot to sign it.

I know what to write.

Something witty yet sincere.

Personal, but not, you know, heavy.

I'd be surprised if she even read it. Oh?

You're not one for that, for a glance, half the owner.

The secret of her success.

What's going on?

Tintoretto.

Now, for all his sturm und drang, he cared about craft.

and master of the vanishing point.

Rather like our American cousin, who obviously has better things to do with

time than slum it here with us lot.

No matter.

In Hope's absence, what do you make of this?

So much for sitting out the storm.

You okay?

Yeah.

This is Coleman, everyone.

Hi, Coleman.

Hi.

Can I have a gander at that? Sure.

Oh, I thought I recognized you.

What am I missing?

I'm Hope Ransom. Rogue scholar daughter of Carl Ransom.

Carl Ransom, the U .S. Defense Secretary?

Close. Secretary of State.

And the next leader of the free world, according to my mom.

Blimey.

Why, too.

It was all my idea.

We're just finding it hard to shake off.

The Hulk.

The Hulk being... Right.

He takes the bodyguard thing to a whole new level.

Guy's like a 300 -pound taftity belt.

Sorry, Inspector.

We really must.

Hulk, we have to get my husband across town. He's coming out of murder at last.

I had my arm twisted, Tom.

Lily debated Coxford Union.

I agreed to the bloody thing. Do your part of good.

What is it you call them, Dan?

Bear baiting for the overprivileged.

I'm afraid we're not done yet.

You told me last night that you were working on Wednesday night.

In the loft here, you said.

Misleading a police investigation, that's not good. Oh, mitigating

circumstances.

Would you like to put the record straight?

He was with me all night.

Sir?

Oh, she's right.

We left college at around... When was it, nine?

And I dropped her home around four.

Now, if you'll forgive me. Of course.

What is your talk at the union?

Doing without.

Without?

Who do you think?

Mum's beside herself.

As joy, that is.

About your brother's whirlwind romance?

Of course, she practically set them up.

Friends in high places.

So does she know the Ransoms?

She hung out with them in the vineyard when she was working in the States.

Mum used to be the editor of Harper's Magazine in the good old days.

The editor? I didn't know that.

Well, she came home after my accident to take care of me.

So she gave up her career?

She kind of blamed herself and Dad, obviously.

It's so silly. It's not like if he'd been around more, none of this would

happened.

How did you feel about Stephen Mullen's death?

You met him, though, didn't you?

No. His prison records say that you met him in March last year, that restorative

justice programme where the criminal and the victim meet face to face.

Oh, that.

How did it go?

We just sat in the car park.

Mum said if you don't go through those gates, you'll never be rid of him. He'll

be in your head for the rest of your life.

I couldn't do it.

I couldn't.

Everything, if he was right, he's still here, even though he's dead, even though

I never even saw his face.

He tends to be right about most things.

Well, mothers aren't always easy to live with.

Not easy to live without, though.

Thank God for the swimming club.

It's my one hour of freedom.

Not that she entirely approves.

Why not?

Because she can't control me there.

She's obsessive. She made me a promise after my accident that she was going to

throw me the biggest party ever for my 21st.

Anyway, it's on Saturday, and they've taken out this massive loan, which I'm

supposed to know about.

Is that you?

Sort of.

She looked so alive, didn't she?

Still, I don't miss her one bit.

Would you like to come?

To the birthday party?

I could do some more support.

Atheists like Tom here suffer from one thing and one thing only, it's pulpit

envy. They see the golden light and they want it all for themselves.

Oh,

I get that a lot.

People look at me and they say, what have you learned, Tom, from your stint

the wilderness?

Of course, what they really mean is, are you on a bus yet?

Are you ready to put up and shut up? Well,

I've got news for all you good people.

Even in my darkest hour,

I still think I'm better off without some helping hand pushing me down the

true path.

The responsibility is mine, Bertrand Russell said, but so too is the

opportunity.

Opportunity!

Opportunity! This man makes a martyr of his only daughter, and still he won't

shift an inch. Is that what you really think?

Do you honestly think if I could have my time over, I wouldn't change a thing?

You may believe what you like.

Choirs of angels, UFOs, the power of Prozac.

Whatever helps you sleep.

I may not share your illusions.

But I'm no happier without them.

Ah, Inspector Lewis, Dr. Manfred Cantor.

Shouldn't you be in uniform?

Not since they issued the mint layers.

You teach theology?

What a rent -a -gob.

Don't be fooled, Inspector. They only invited him along because he's good for

scrap. You've known each other a long time. Oh, we were students together.

Frightfully brilliant.

Of course, Tom beat me to a fellowship by a proxy three weeks.

The seal turned the whole thing into a silly competition.

My wife's idea of a joke.

What was the prize for this competition?

Think we'd be there?

It's rather more than that.

Well, where have you been all my life? Not yet born, for most of it.

Oh, ouch.

Dr. Kanner is running a course on Italian art.

Next stop, early Renaissance.

You tell her all that.

And my others?

Well, we missed you at the seminar today, frightfully dull.

I expect you coped. Oh, well, I muddled through, as one does.

but always hankering after something more. Spoken like a true prophet.

When I saw her face and in the words of Mr. Neil Diamond, now I'm a believer.

Shut up!

I'm so sorry. No need.

Yeah, out of the way.

I don't like the guy coming on to you. I know, but you can't blow a drink in his

face. It's a dagger, I feel it.

No, you can't.

Daniel, okay?

Sure. He just gets kind of jealous, that's all.

Does he have reason to be?

Oh, come on, I'm not that flattered.

Anyway, Manfred's just a show -off. He's one of life's eternal flirts.

See? Played up like this before, Daniel and me.

A little, but, you know, nothing that's not age and gender appropriate.

Can you please stop rescuing me?

I'll try not to make a habit of it.

Maybe you should come work for my dad.

Nasty feeling you wouldn't understand my accent.

I could be your interpreter.

Couldn't afford it.

Too old for ambition, is that it?

I've seen where it gets you.

Thank you for me.

All right, self.

Come on, this way.

I had this crazy dream that over here I could, I don't know, disappear.

Sounds very human to me.

Oh, boy.

You know when you're a long way from home and you do stupid stuff?

You want to tell me about it?

I'm Rock.

Congratulations.

They're all set to announce the engagement at Jessica's birthday party,

don't know anything about him.

The night of the murder, Daniel says he's with you until four.

And my sergeant spoke to the press photographer who took those snaps for

paper.

According to him, the pair of you slipped out of the nightclub just before

midnight.

Daniel proposed outside college.

He said he'd forgotten the ring. He needed to go pick it up.

How long was he away, Hope?

About three hours.

Please, don't say anything.

There's no... Point lying to us, Daniel. After you left Hope at college, what

then? Listen, I was getting engaged.

It's a big step, but I just needed some headspace.

Yes. Now, can you please leave him alone?

Where did he go? Home.

And my head's straight.

What, drove or... Walked.

Yet to pass his test.

He's doing so.

Thank you, Daniel.

Mind if we show ourselves out?

Last time Mullen was seen by his housemate was when?

Tennis. He dropped Hadley in town.

Exactly. He dropped him in town. What does that say?

Mullen gave him a lift.

Right. Pulled back three years.

Sent down for drunken driving.

And gets one more penalty.

Yeah, driving license revoked for ten years.

He was driving without a license.

Right. That, the dope in his ashtray, the dirty pictures on his wall. The guy

was meant to be born again.

Something's not right. I knew it the minute I walked into his room.

Get on to Hobson. I need to see those DNA results.

Wrong corpse.

Right corpse, wrong name.

Your murder victim is not Stephen Mullan.

Innocence, can I love thee?

Come on.

Newspapers down the back of trousers, son.

Forgive me if I'm struggling to get my head round this, but the man formerly

known as Stephen Mullan is in fact... Alex Hadley, late of this parish.

And he was formally identified by... By his housemate, whose name is, in fact,

Stephen Mullen.

Topsy. Try to look as if you're enjoying this a little less, would you?

Is this your mess?

Actually, don't answer. Just get it cleared up, will you?

Before the press start doing cartwheels outside my office.

Alex Hadley. What, if anything, do we know about him?

Well, he's a bit of a drifter.

According to his sister, son of a highly decorated naval officer who died when

he was a kid, not much contact with the family, spent most of the last decade in

Goa. Have you known to her?

How his wrist slapped last summer for class C drugs possession.

Which is how his DNA weedled its way onto the national database.

But why on earth? If they were living together... What does the real Stephen

Mullen say about this?

I'll be sure to ask him when I find him. He hasn't turned up to work since he

falsely identified our corpse.

I'm keeping his place under surveillance in case he gets hold of it. You think

he's our killer?

He's only acting like one.

The motive might help.

What are you telling that for? I didn't say anything.

I was just trying to help. Well, don't. I'm sorry, okay?

This isn't exactly easy for me, by the way. I know.

I know that.

Get through this.

Yes.

So, to paraphrase, you've rode back from the afterlife a bit wishy -washy on the

Holy Spirit. The resurrection's a prose poem, the immaculate conception's a

metaphor. I mean, honestly, no, let me finish. You tear the life, the soul, the

innocence out of your own belief system, and you sit there.

like some old relic from a dead empire blathering on about the purpose of

This is the bit where I clear my desk out onto the cover of darkness.

Turn around.

I'm almost done, thanks.

Not much, is it?

Three years, one box.

Good night and thank you.

I'm pleased for you.

You know that, don't you?

No, you're not James you were never going to be

I'm sorry.

Yeah

Innocent and cracking form, I gather.

Poor Thor.

She's been pining ever since her precious Fiona made rank.

The young protege.

Used to be one of those.

Not in that way, I wasn't.

Attractive, McKendrick?

Remind the judge.

Ah, come on.

Mark's out of ten.

Crudely biological eight, a traffic -stopping nine. What is this?

The legal trade in hunch and hearsay is called gossip.

I'd give her a seven.

Would you?

Seven?

Objectively speaking, fair enough.

Not my type at all.

Why do you ask?

Oh, the other night when our leader announced McKendrick's promotion, your

-faced sergeant... He's always long -faced.

An equine nine.

He is a free man, not a number.

Anyway, Hathaway had his reasons.

He sees his contemporaries rising through the ranks and thinks, why not

What?

When we came to say goodbye, do you remember?

You and McKendrick air -kissing like a couple of tarts in an operetta. Garlic

bread, notwithstanding.

I was just being polite, as I would with any seven. Yeah, but what did Hathaway

do? Hug? Kiss? Mexican wave?

I don't know.

Nothing. That's what.

Two colleagues worked together for years, absolutely no bodily contact.

would that be, detective?

You told me, wouldn't you?

Mullen's not dead.

That's correct.

At least that lets me off the hook.

Anyway, I wanted you to hear it from me first.

Thanks. Oi, no cheating. I've got eyes in the back of my head.

The rest of the family not in?

Oh, Field took Dan and his girlfriend off for a curry.

You weren't tempted to join them?

We'd only cramp their style.

Just for the record, did you remember your moments in the car? On the night in

question? Sorry.

Up to my eyes.

Lecture, first thing. Oh, thank you for your support.

My misadventure last night in the Union.

I wouldn't call it that. Now, don't be polite.

I was certifiably awful.

But I don't mind.

Perhaps I need a reminding.

Of what?

Standing in a pool of light, telling other people how to lead their lives.

It all seems somehow soiled.

What were they after, any idea?

To Mullen and the other fellow swabbing names. Oh, I don't know yet.

Fresh start, perhaps.

Clean slate.

You know, I almost envy them.

What was his real name, your victim?

Alex Hadley.

I mean anything to you?

No.

I don't want to play anymore.

Half a force out looking for you.

It was Alex's idea.

Swap?

That's right.

Why?

Why would Hadley... Going about with this guy.

Man? I don't know.

Maddie, Madeline.

Married to someone else, of course.

Anyway, the husband found his text and it was game over as far as she was

concerned.

And then one day, in he comes, hands me a beer.

I've got a little confession to make, he said.

He'd only gone and got himself a job at a husband's shop.

And when the bloke asked his name, he said he was Stephen Martin.

Yeah.

The shop.

Hilarium, was it? Yeah.

I was out of work at the time and Alex was on at me to swap names.

He kept saying, what have you got to lose?

He swore it would be two weeks.

He swore it would be two weeks.

He was too busy enjoying himself messing about with the wife underneath the old

man's nose.

Why did he put up with it?

Did he hardly pay you?

Threaten you? Come on.

Look at me.

Look at what I am.

I've spent the last three years of my life running away from my own shadow.

Someone comes along and says, start over.

New name. New life.

I'm not going to think twice, am I?

I didn't kill him.

It'd be a lot more convincing if you put that thing down. I didn't kill him.

No way.

I may have given up on the Bible, but... I still try to make every choice the

right one.

Well, make the right choice now. Come inside with me.

Let's get a statement written.

No. Well, then I'm going to have to arrest you.

Please, I... I don't want to hurt you.

One more day.

No, four.

I do today what you can put off and judge tomorrow.

All in my life.

One more day.

One more day for what?

You didn't say.

But I trusted his sincerity, if that makes any sense.

I was so sure that Rattenbury was at the heart of this.

You have a word with Hadley's girlfriend, Madeline?

You're worth a punt.

What, are you running past Inspector McKendrick at the female perspective?

What?

Seems like a bright girl.

Not my type, obviously.

What's Fiona got to do with anything?

Well, you brought her up. No, I didn't.

Any sign of Mullen this morning?

No, I've got all the units out looking for her.

You can do better than that. No, you can't. Please.

You know the rules. When you've had enough, you say the password.

Gazebo! Gazebo is not the password.

What is it then?

What is what, dear? The password!

You know perfectly well what it is.

I'll get your wheelchair. Oh, for pity's sake.

Has she told you?

It wasn't Mother who was murdered.

If you want to stay strapped in that wheelchair for the rest of your life, be

guest. See you. That's enough.

Go on.

Stick up for her, like you always do. I hope it makes you feel better about

yourself.

Madeline Cotter?

Yes? Sergeant Hathaway, Office 15. How come in?

I'm running late again.

I know, I'll be as quick as I can.

Alex Hadley.

You might know him as Stephen Mullen, or, well, both.

Don't be my taxi.

Yeah, I'll be, um, I'll be sorry, mate.

Mr. Cotton, I'm joining you on your trip.

Got a fresh start.

There was no crime there.

Going far?

India.

Goa? That's it.

Alex loved Goa, didn't he? Yeah, he did. Spiritual home, that's what he used to

say. How do you meet, you two?

At the Salarian.

OK, so let me get this right.

Your husband employed him for, what, 13 weeks?

Only I found a text on his phone from your phone from two months before that,

which means that you two were together from...

Way back.

My guess is that your husband found out about it and demanded that you end it.

Am I right so far?

Only it didn't stop, did it?

Then Alex is killed.

You've got to ask yourself, what if my husband found out about it and... No!

No!

You'd lose those sunglasses for me, Madeline.

if Ali was your lover, right or wrong?

I don't know.

We can protect you, you know that, don't you?

You're home early, Lars.

Check out the suntan on that.

Go ahead.

Take a peek.

Seven quid an hour you were paying him? For what?

To bump and grind on your own electric beach?

That must have stung. Once more with feeling, Mr Cotton. Wednesday night at

.30. Like I said, I was doing an all -nighter in the shop. V .A .T.

Anyone see anyone at all?

No. You sure?

I already told you.

I thought he was gay, what with all the highlights.

When he found out he was carrying on with Maddie, after you told us he was

I caught a sniveling in the storeroom and I... Gave her a slap, Mr. Cotton.

If I wouldn't know, I'd get a move on with that alibi.

And she caught me in her arms, long and small.

There we all sweetly give me kiss.

And softly said, dear heart, how like you this.

It was no dream.

I lay broad waking.

But all is turned thorough, my gentleness, into a strange fashion of

Love is rebuke.

Pretty much.

See, according to the notes, Sir Thomas Wyatt was passionately in love with Anne

Boleyn. She had her hands full with envy aid.

Poor old Wyatt hardly got a look in. No flee from me that sometimes did me seek.

Literally flirting with danger, wasn't he? Making moves on the king's wife.

Do you think Madeleine Cotton could have sent this to Hadley?

She denies it.

No. Do you think Mark Cotton's capable of murder?

No, it pains me to say it. I actually believe his story.

What, about the P .A .T.? No, not that.

Mark is dense enough not to realise that his wife is having her way with the

hell. Quite.

Well, if Muddy didn't send this, who did?

That's interesting.

What passes for romance?

Why no name?

That's for the mystery, I suppose.

Or uncertainty.

Sorry? Well, you said that they swapped names.

Perhaps whoever sent that genuinely didn't know.

Any joy with the wine stain on your jacket, sir?

See for yourself.

Little tyke. His jacket's older than he is.

Was that a one -off, or do you, Daniel Rattenbury, generally not get on?

Well, I can't say I've ever warned to the child.

They're why he chose that occasion to throw one of his tantrums in.

Protective, perhaps, of his girlfriend?

Of hope? Yes, perhaps.

Does he have cause to be?

Well, not on my account.

Though she is rather beautiful to look at, if a man of my age may be allowed to

say such things. Well, I suppose he was also very protective of his sister.

Oh, he'd have her under lock and key, given half the chance.

Poor Jessica.

Everybody seems to forget she's now a young woman.

Well, still, Daniel must have been very angry after the accident.

Driving a truck into the path of a young teenage girl is not an accident.

Was he angry, sir?

Yes. Yes, I suppose he was.

Are we keeping you, sir?

Well, yes, as a matter of fact, you are.

Jessica the 21st.

Flash old bash.

Cecile's reliving her glory days. Oh, futz.

I got.

Oh, well, well.

Hathaway plus guest.

Is this your date for the evening?

Oh, yeah, we're inseparable.

Come on, sir, let's go and tuck you into your tux.

We'll give you a lift if you want.

I'm better under my own steam.

Thanks all the same.

How long, you and her?

Me and who?

Fiona.

I've a pity statement.

How long have you fancied Fiona McKendrick?

I call a spade a shovel, why don't you?

You too?

Yeah.

For a while.

We were even trying to work out how on earth I was going to break up with you,

sir.

And you know what she's like, fast track and all of that.

Office romance doesn't get too hot on the CV, does it? So, if you went our

I got none with you.

Either

your

father has had a massive advance for a new book he's kept quiet about, or your

mother's just inherited a fortune.

I know.

I only hope your memories are better than the hangover.

Who asked you?

Oh, Daniel, don't throw that visit at me. It's far too good to waste. This man

thinks he can walk all over my family.

Not here.

Not tonight.

What is wrong with that boy?

I knew I should never have come.

He's right. I wouldn't spoil your evening for the world.

Thank you for coming.

I'm very sorry. Why don't I walk you out?

He's just an angry young man, Samson.

I'll take any notice.

Tom?

He's not welcome here.

Daniel.

Who invited Camden?

Look, don't worry about it, all right?

Keep yourself together.

I know it's ridiculous, but just try and keep yourself together, okay? Okay.

Sorry to go on, but there's really

nothing you're not telling me. You and that art professor.

Give me some credit, will you?

Daniel seems to have doubts.

I wouldn't read too much into that.

Nerves, I guess.

Ignite?

I suppose these are here on your account?

Dad's mostly.

Ex -Marines. Your father's here?

Private chopper from London.

Should be here before nightfall for the big announcement.

Introduce you if you like.

Maybe Dad can persuade you to come work for us.

Trying to tap you up?

You made some puffing remark.

Just being kind.

Oh, it's quite flat, though, to be honest.

You reach a point in life you've got to conclude that basically you're invisible

to beautiful women. I know that's really...

I don't know if there's a rather large, fairly gentleman around the place with

their pieces. But it's security, because I understand that Mr. and Mrs. Carl

Branson will be arriving shortly.

Let's hope so.

I'm incredibly touched.

They've just flown in from Washington, and they're taking time out.

Waiter. And I promise you I'll make sure that they land on the mountain.

She knows where we are.

That would be wonderful.

Was he coming for you?

I was so scared.

And then your dad came, what, straight away?

No.

No, I kept calling. He couldn't find me.

Where is your husband, Mrs Ratner? Do you know, instructor?

I have absolutely no idea.

Dad? I know I'm a rotten father.

Dad, are you okay?

I love you.

You know that.

I never said I should.

I was serving on myself to blame for that.

Blame for what?

Dad, whatever it is, it's not your fault. The point is, it's still not too

Do you understand that? There's still time.

What do you... To make amends.

What happened to the leader of the free world?

Apparently Mr. Ransom turned his helicopter around the minute he heard

Fair enough.

He might have to let Maddy's jealous husband off the hook.

Mark Cotton?

For this murder, yeah. No, no, no, for both.

He's finally coughed up an alibi for Wednesday night.

Uniform turned up a bit.

Battleship Potemka.

A .K .A. Brenda Gormley. An ageless beauty of uncertain gender.

She confirms that she was with Cotton in the solarium between the hours of 11 p

.m. and 1 a .m.

80 quid, full -body massage.

Very competitive.

You think this is what he meant?

What?

Mullen?

Give me one more day, he said.

One more day to go after Jessica all over again.

How have I got him so wrong?

Left here.

Oh. Where are we?

Good question.

You go. No, look, they said first right, second left.

Davies, where are you?

Somebody's been pulling your chain, Sergeant.

Dave East!

Do you want to be my second murder victim of the night?

It's you.

It's me.

Lost my life, pummeling Christ.

And here I am at the end of it, chasing redemption.

Hi.

Number one victim.

Stabbed with this.

And it pricked?

No, nothing yet, I'm afraid.

In the back.

One upward thrust into his lung.

Here. Not easy felling a big chap like, um... Stephen Mullen.

Moving on to your crash victim.

Since when was he my crush, Victor?

Since I had a rifle through his pockets.

Here.

For you.

Crushed under his own windscreen, poor sausage.

And, uh... There's this.

Where?

Where was the collision?

The A40, about a mile west of the ring road.

X marks the spot.

That was the place where Mullen ran into your daughter.

It's been nailed to that spot ever since.

What's going on?

Putting an end to it all.

I got my man.

Second time lucky.

It beggars belief.

Can you confirm the handwriting?

No, Tom's.

Any idea why? We mean apart from the obvious.

Everyone knows that when that man attacked my daughter, no one felt the

more deeply than Tom, because I think he believed it was his fault. Mom.

I'm sorry, darling, but it's the truth.

Oh, he saw it.

If he hadn't have set himself up as the target in the first place...

And I suppose he

must have seen that psychopath.

following Jeff into the maze last night.

And he must have thought, this is it, this is my moment.

But for all anyone knows, he may just have saved Jeff's life.

Dad couldn't have a fly.

He wasn't wired that way.

Who knows what anyone is really capable of.

We didn't find a note for you, his family.

Often, People want to say goodbye.

Did he leave a message here?

Text or... Not that I'm aware of.

Oh, we found this.

I wouldn't read too much into that, Inspector. It's the family heirloom.

Tom's father was a priest in some godforsaken parish up near Carlisle.

Why would he... Something to hang on to, I expect.

A lucky charm.

I'm really going to have to ask you to leave now.

You're home now, all right? Come on.

Are you saying, apart

from the signed confession and the other blind allies, how sure am I that

Rattenbury's our main murderer?

I hear you.

Well, I'll tell you this.

Marlon died of arterial wounds.

All that blood you'd expect from a bit to end up in the killer's clothes.

Flashback. But so far, the only blood type we've found on Tom Rattenbury is

own.

Take a look, if you don't believe me.

So what's the hypothesis?

Rattenbury made a mistake.

He killed Alex Hadley thinking he was Stephen Mullen.

Hmm.

What? Hadley was murdered around about midnight, right?

Now, even if that light was out, there's a street lamp right outside the window.

Look, he'd have seen his victim's face as he forced him on there.

Now, Jessica never went near the trial, but her dad was at the court every day.

He'd have known what Mullen looked like.

And he would have known it wasn't Mullen he was drowning.

Tom Rattonbury confessed to both killings.

All this time, you've been so sure he was our man. Why do you have to go on

picking everything?

I'm just saying, reasonable doubt.

How's the jury going to react? Pass away.

Say something sensible, for pity's sake.

Mr Rattonbury's movements, Wednesday night.

The first killing?

Yeah, I remember he said he went out for a drive.

Then refused to give us his route.

We had a thought.

Rattonbury? Eight minutes past midnight, same time as the first murder.

He's off the hook, whether he'd have liked it or not.

But this is... The exact spot where he died last night.

Rattenbury's been going back there regularly.

Such a personal thing. No wonder he wouldn't tell us about it.

So, this suicide note... It was a lie.

Such a public figure. Why confess to something he hadn't done?

Putting an end to it all, meaning not his life, but the murder investigation.

No more questions, no more meth.

Go on.

What if he was trying to protect someone?

Oh, I've been through this a hundred times. Mom's okay.

I went looking for Jeff and got waylaid.

Why? Coleman.

I was showing him how to make a margarita.

That's easily confirmed.

And just for the record, Wednesday night... I told you I never went near

I left her by outside college.

My head was spinning. I mean, only footballers get married at 22, right?

Are we finished now?

Daniel checks out. There was a queue of grateful cocktail drinkers who swear he

was never near the maid.

Tom Rattenbury wasn't covering for his son. Who was he protecting?

The wife.

Cecile. A fit young man and his boss.

Stab a big strong lad in the back.

It's not his wish.

Same problem with her as with Tom. She didn't know she was killing the wrong

man.

What was his name? Mark Cotton. Did his alibi stand up?

Yep. College.

Pemka went to battle.

Here's your chum.

Thank you so much. If you could just dump it all by the porter's lodge.

See? She'll be alive and kicking.

Given the right encouragement.

I'm so glad you're here. I wanted to say goodbye.

Oh? I'm being airlifted back to reality.

Papa's orders.

You like Daniel?

Collateral damage.

Something like that.

He was meant to be here to see me off.

Who knows, maybe I had a better offer.

Actually, I'm kind of relieved.

I would say that.

Oh, why not?

A couple of weeks would be so over, maybe.

I was going to mail this to him. I don't suppose... No problem.

Thanks.

Thank you all so much. I really appreciate it.

Well done. Thanks.

Well, good luck.

And hey, that offer's still open.

My dad can always use a good man.

Oh!

What is it I'm not seeing?

The night you got engaged.

Tell me, if only for Daniel's sake.

You'll probably find him down by the boathouse.

Ask him again.

Ask him what?

Try to catch him on the phone this time.

Hope asked me to give you this.

What do you think?

Pretty?

Can we go through it again?

You left Hope outside the college. Give it up.

Please, Daniel.

You'd forgotten the ring, so...

So I went to pick it up. Where?

In the car.

You told me it was at home.

Yeah?

You went home, Daniel.

What did you see?

What did you see?

Early as a Thursday morning, just a couple of short hours after the first

murder, you were seen by Cecile's son.

Came home to pick up his engagement ring and walked in on the pair of you.

Yes, poor chap.

I'd call that a rude awakening.

I suppose you've always been infatuated with Cecile.

That wager you had with Tom Rattenbury when you were students, what was the

stake again?

Ten pounds?

A bit more than ten quid, wasn't it?

You lost out on the love of your life.

He was welcome to her.

She was out of my league. Still.

Man can have delusions of grandeur, can't he?

Fist in wind. Either charge my client or let him go.

This is a search warrant for your rooms, Dr. Cantor.

Well, tell them not to break anything, for God's sake.

Oh, there's no worries on that score.

Forensics are painstakingly precise.

They'll crawl over every square inch till they find a match with Mullins

Alex, sorry to chase, but we didn't see you earlier. Are you coming in next

week, or... Sorry, got to go.

Cantor kills Alex Hadley, and later that night he comes round here to your place

for half an hour on the fireside rug.

I was considerably shorter than that.

Do you know, I had a terrible feeling it was his first time.

Well, I hope it lived up to the billing. Oh, for heaven's sake.

Manfred turned up in a state because of one of his students.

Anyway, it's all very silly and not very peaceful.

A sympathy shower, isn't that what you call it?

Tom and I were always very forgiving about these sort of things. Where is my

bloody phone? It was a close friend of your husband's.

You make it sound so salacious.

There's nothing less salacious than a dead body. I've been around a few.

And there was, I think it was your aftershave. Mrs Rattenbury, stop!

No!

No, you stop and answer me this.

In this exotic revenge fantasy of yours, why now?

Why would I possibly want to kill Stephen Marlin now when I have been

brick by brick a few...

A future for my family.

Unlike Tom, I don't wallow in what can't be helped. Now, if you'll excuse me, I

have a husband to bury.

Are you lost?

In the forest?

I keep thinking if I stare at it long enough.

You're in danger of turning into one of our regulars.

Where exactly is this vanishing point, anyway?

Out there, in the dark.

Mind you don't lose your footing.

You think we're barking up the wrong tree?

I think we're missing something.

Why would Tom Rattenbury go to his grave to protect his wife's lover?

And why now, as she said?

What would drive a woman like Cecile, after all this time, to conspire in

murder?

Out there in the dark.

She didn't know who he was.

Miss Wheeler?

Yes?

It's mine.

Is he one of your regulars?

Yes. You sure?

Yes, great doggie fellow.

When was it?

Oh, it's a month ago. I wouldn't normally remember, Annie.

He had someone with him. A girl in a wheelchair.

Thank you, Miss Wheeler.

So Jessica sent the postcard to Mullet. A lover's rebuke. Come back to her. Be

there for her. She said she'd never met him.

She met him, all right.

He probably trailed after her, waiting for his chance, wanting her forgiveness.

When she asked him his name, when he had the chance to tell her the truth, he

bottled it.

He said that he was Alex Hadley. Maybe he just couldn't bring himself to tell

her. How do you work it out?

That pain thing.

All those hunters in the forest. She was one of them.

Reaching out for someone to hold on to.

Blind grope in the darkness.

She was misled.

She had no idea it was him.

Where were they meeting?

Wheelifers haven't been here for months.

That's right, and that postcard was only sent last week.

Alex, sorry to chase, but we didn't see you earlier.

Are you coming in next week or... Sorry, gotta go.

Is it work?

Yeah, but why pay next week?

On a Thursday evening, he worked full -time, didn't he?

You coming in next week or... Sorry, gotta go.

What's that?

Sorry, gotta go.

Echoes?

Kids?

Sorry, gotta go.

Swimming pool.

Oh, not again.

Is your daughter at home?

I expect so, but if you think you're going to be able to disturb her... She

she was going for a swim.

She didn't tell me.

Is Margaret in Summertown?

Get over there for her.

2 .30 every Thursday, was it? The swimming club for the disabled.

We don't do that word.

No, of course. Sorry.

Still, it must take some organisation.

I mean, apart from the staff, you'd have to draft in extra part -time helpers.

So it's one -on -one.

Strong swimmers.

Physically fit.

Like Stephen Mullen.

They just wanted somewhere they could meet.

And no one would stare at them.

A bit of fun.

Physical contact.

You saw them, didn't you?

No.

And Jessica's injuries, they were yours too.

Isn't that what compassion is?

Fellow suffering.

Fellow sacrifice.

And you played your part.

Jacked in the brilliant career to be an unpaid physio.

And there's your daughter, imagining she can just fall in love with who she

wants.

Touching her.

Letting her believe you are someone else.

You persuaded Candor to kill him.

Your idea, was it? The drowning?

Pity you got the wrong bloke.

But of course, you got your man.

Second time lucky.

You must have guessed that he and Jessica would want to meet up on the

her party. So that he could explain.

Ask for her forgiveness.

What a chance he is.

What would make your husband take the blame?

Why die to protect a man like Manfred Cantor?

I'm not used to this knife.

Where is your best knife, Mrs Rattenbury?

I'm not used to being interrogated, I was going to say.

I didn't kill him.

I didn't kill anyone.

Would you do something for me?

Would you please try not to hate him?

Stephen.

I see now he only lied because he wanted to help me.

Her life.

Her life was like poison.

Whose life?

What a thing to say.

My mother is like poison.

Jessica, darling, are you all right? Just what happened?

Is she all right?

Yes, she's fine. Thank you.

What on earth are you thinking of? What were you doing?

Have you got a blanket for her?

She confessed yet?

Almost.

Lewis.

We've got him.

One dinner jacket.

Found in your bathroom under the floorboard.

And not just wine stains anymore.

Mullen's blood all over it.

Forensics will give a chapter in very shortly.

Couldn't bring yourself to chuck it out, could you, Dr. Cantor?

It's half my trouble.

I'm always hanging on to things I should let go of.

I have a feeling I was wearing this when I met her.

And there was a point when I really thought she was going to be mine.

But then I realized that passion is something that only happens to other

in life, in books, in paintings.

But never to me, not once, you see.

Then she took my hand.

It made her feel.

What was it you said? Delusions of grandeur?

I suppose that was it.

I suppose I imagined that if I just did as she asked, I could be one of those

people.

expect you to understand.

Will you please stay strong?

For Dad's sake.

Why aren't you going to ask why he's drawn down?

I told him, Mum.

I told him about your lie.

What have I done now?

I always knew it was Stephen.

Deep down. No.

No, you didn't. Yes, I did.

And I loved him anyway.

No. Yes.

And I forgave him.

You.

I tried to forgive you, but I can't.

Do you want me to... No.

Let them finish.

Forensics confirm that the blood on Cantor's jacket came from Stephen

So with the sealed confession, that's conspiracy to murder.

Just wish we could get her for her other crime.

Lying to her husband.

Telling him at the Blenheim maze that their son was the murderer.

You know, I think she hated him.

For the accident?

Yeah, I think it was their little secret.

But what about this?

You tell me.

St Christopher, patron saint of travellers.

Perhaps it just happened to be in his pocket.

Yeah, maybe.

Oh, here, this way.

Thought we were going for a beer.

Not yet.

Got a little job for you first.

Oh, no, what are you up to?

What was that story Jessica Rattenbury told you?

About the restorative justice programme?

Sitting in a car outside the prison, her mum said, go through that door, look

the man in the eye.

Otherwise he'll be stuck in your head forever more.

Look, I know your pride's taken a beating.

But don't do what -ifs. Go in there.

Say goodbye properly.

It's about to make Hendrick left last night.

I'm not.

I can't. Of course you can. Go on.

Lay the ghost to rest.

Either that, or we feed you to Battleship Potemka.

80 quid.

Full body massage.

You're cool.