All language subtitles for Midsomer.Murders.S08E08.Midsomer.Rhapsody.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP2.0.H.264-playWEB_track3_[eng]

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Yeah.

Good night, Arthur.

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Come out.

What are you doing in my house?

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The skull cracked like an egg.

Arthur Leggett, retired music teacher.

Much respected and admired.

And missing from the
Cedars' care home.

What was he sneaking around here
for in the middle of the night?

What was he after?

Probably the same thing
as whoever did this.

Well, looks like they had a
hell of a job finding it.

No forced entry.

He must have been followed in.

Or else someone was already
in here, sir.

Well, the auctioneers
obviously had a key.

They started cataloging it.

And I assume the care home.

What was here that was
so important to him?

Music.

Nothing else mattered.

He was respected and admired, Scott,

because he encouraged and
inspired so many people.

Including the great Joan Alder.

Joan Alder?

Midsomer Rhapsody?

-Yeah.
-Do you know that piece?

My mom was a fan.

She played it when she wanted
us out of the house.

Oh.

Drive

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Peggy, I'm sorry.

I'm sorry about this.

Arthur liked us to sing that
song, one of his favorites.

This is Charlie.

Ah, of course.

Hello, Charlie.

Congratulations.

I'm sorry I haven't had time to.

Listen, half the folk invited her.

I haven't met yet.

What do you expect from
a whirlwind romance?

Swept you off your feet, did he?

Oh, I'm sorry. This is Detective
Sergeant Scott.

And we'd like very much, if we
may, to talk to you later on.

Well, we're all waiting to
be interrogated, sir.

Thank you.

But first, I'd like to look
at Arthur's room.

So who's Vera Lynn?

That's Peggy Alder, Scott.

What, Joan Alder's mom?

Yes, indeed.

The one whose house they're trying
to turn into some kind of shrine.

The Joan Alder Society prefer
to call it a living museum.

And you know the family?

Yes, I do, through Joyce.

I don't get it, sir.

I mean, she wasn't exactly your
John Lennon, was she?

She only wrote one song.

Oh, she wrote lots more
than that, Scott.

Lovely music, beautiful music.

But you're right, it was the Repsody, Midsomer
Repsody she's most famous for.

What one thing could
Arthur Liggett have

had that was of so much
value, eh, Scott?

A second undiscovered reptile.

Yeah, maybe.

Mrs. Alder.

Thank you.

Bit of all right, ain't she?

Fancied her the first time
I said hi to her.

He'd taken to wandering,
but this was the

first time he'd done it in
the middle of the night.

We were all friends, Tom.

I know you were, Peggy.

Which makes it all the more stupid
that we fell out the way we did.

He accused our melody of stealing.

Wouldn't let it alone.

I said I'd never speak to him again.

I never dreamed I wouldn't.

Stealing?

It was all old music sheets.

He was giving them to Charlie.

Did he have any visitors?

Only Laura Crawford.

Who's Laura Crawford?

Joan's agent, writing
a book about her.

She came to see me then, Arthur.

Sorry to bother you, but
shall we cancel?

What?

The preview.

Melody said. Oh, Alan
Thorpe, my-in-law.

So we'll do it later, huh?

Why would I want to go and look at something
I lived in 40 years ago?

I'll leave you to it.

Because you said you wanted to.

I made the arrangements.

Well, I can't.

I'll see it at the opening.

I'll just go and have
a word with Melody.

You got the cooker then.

Pardon?

Mr. Swinscoe said he'd
got an exact replica.

What do you want to go getting a pokey
little thing like that for?

People will think we were
poverty stricken.

You were.

I don't know what was in the box.

I didn't look.

I thought it must be
something of Jones.

So he sent you to his house
to bring it back.

When? When was that?
About a month ago.

Why you?

Well, I used to take
him his groceries.

He trusted me, I suppose.

But what has a box file got
to do with his death?

I don't know.

He'll be here, Mr. Springsteen.

I'm opening in two days,
he promised me!

Get done, all right?

I'll walk over. Just go for your
man, drag him out of the

pub, and get him in here and finish
him what I want finished now!

All coming together, I see.

Inspector Barnaby.

Mr. Swinscoe, this is Detective
Sergeant Scott.

Well, it all fell into decline with

multi-occupation in the 50s and 60s,
when the Alders lived here.

But we're making progress.

You are, indeed.

I assume this is about Mr. Leggott.

Yes, well.

Well, do come in.

Oh, yes, it's very good.

Mr. Swinscope, when did you first
know of Mr. Leggett's request?

Couple of months ago by
solicitor's letter.

For the sake of argument,
let's assume there is

something worth a fortune in Arthur
Leggett's collection.

You got any idea what it might be?

None.

A John Alden manuscript, perhaps?

I wish.

Other than yourself, can you
think of anyone who might

have an interest in the contents
of Arthur Leggett's house?

Well, I suppose Michael Mabry.

He might not want any more of his wife's
papers to fall into our hands.

If you ask me, he doesn't want
to celebrate Joan's life

because he doesn't want any questions
reopened about her death.

An overdose of antidepressants
and too much

alcohol caused Joan to fall
asleep at the wheel.

Her case was fully investigated
at the time.

No charges were brought.

None were ever contemplated.

Oh, it's made him rich,
though, hasn't it?

Those posthumous royalties.

Hello?

Mr. Bullard's finished, sir, and the auctioneers
are waiting outside the house.

George, it's Tom.

Can you keep him on hold, please,
till Scott gets there?

-OK?
-Thank you.

I want you to oversee the cataloging
of everything in that house.

Before any box file gets taken away,
you go through each and every one.

Right, sir.

Ozpeg, are you all right?

He was a gentleman, Tom.

That's why I liked him.

To live such a life, you know?

So many people grateful
for his teaching.

And then to go like that.

So will you still go to the auction?

I don't think so.

Not now.

He was going to be the best man.

Moving on, retirement gift inscribed.

Nice little dedication by Joan Alder.

We'll start me at 1,000.

Come on, now.

Anywhere?

250.

I'm sorry, sir.

The bid is over here at 1,000.

1,200 anywhere?

12, 14, 15,

16.

1-6 for £1,600.

Sold.

Laura Crawford.

Exceeding all expectations, eh?

Marvelous.

Now then, box files, miscellaneous
song sheets, dozens of them.

First one, five pound anywhere.

No.

Two then.

Come on now.

Sold to Mr. Crane.

How many do you want, sir?

I'll take the lot.

Box files to Mr. Crane.

There you go, Scott.

Man's life, sold to the
highest bidder.

Market for everything, sir.

So it seems.

And our miscellaneous boxes, a
bargain at two pound, please.

Junk in every one of them.

Hey, hey.

That's Laura Crawford,
Joan Alders' agent.

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Oh, Arthur, you little beauty.

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Harvey Crane, yeah?

Guess what I've just found.

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Inspector Barnaby.

Come in.

Mr. Mabry.

My assistant, Mrs. Smeeton.

How do you do?

Hello.

Valerie told me about Arthur Leggett.

Saw around the village.

How well did you know Arthur Leggett?

Well, my first wife introduced us.

Lovely old boy.

He came over for dinner now and then.

Joan adored him.

And after your wife's death?

Well, no, what kept us together
kept us apart, I suppose.

Too painful.

It seems that Arthur Leggett was attempting
to retrieve something.

Is it possible that it was an
early manuscript of Joan's?

I suppose so.

A couple of bars on the back of an

exercise book would fetch
good money these days.

Well, with a fool like Swinscoe buying
up everything he can get his

hands on, everybody in Badger's Drift
is emptying out their cupboards.

If such a manuscript did
exist, might you

want to retrieve it for
your own archives?

I didn't steal it, if that's
what you're asking.

Where were you around
midnight last night?

Here.

Someone vouch for that?

I can.

I was here all night.

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Yes.

I'm Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby,
and this is DS Scott.

May we come in?

Of course.

Thank you.

How can I help?

I understand that your London
agency represented Joan

Alder during her lifetime, and
now you manage her estate.

-Is that correct?
-Yes.

And I understand, too, that you're
working on a biography of her.

As her agent, her friend, her
lover, I would say that

I'm perfectly placed to be her
biographer, wouldn't you?

Official?

By that, I assume you mean do I have
the approval of Michael Maybury?

No.

Why not?

Because he knows I never believed
in the loving, caring husband.

But he lets you manage her estate.

The bird might sing, Sergeant,
if she was set free.

What song might the bird sing, madam?

You're not here about
a-year-old crime.

No, we're here about Arthur Liggett.

I visited him at the Cedars.

What did he tell you?

Nothing much that I could use.

His memory of her had been sprinkled
with stardust in his dotage.

Did he ever mention being
in possession of a

manuscript that was hers or
something to do with her?

He didn't, but I gather he was.

Ah.

Harvey Crane.

You just missed him.

An early manuscript of Jones turned up
in a box of rubbish at the auction.

I checked every one, sir.

And he offered it for sale, didn't he?

How much?

I offered 50,000 pounds.

Must be on a good commission.

Worldwide royalties from
Rhapsody alone bring

in a quarter of a million
a year to the estate.

Michael Maybury getting it
all being next of kin?

For now.

What do you mean for now?

Are you going to the opening of
Jan Alder House tomorrow?

Yes, I will.

Good, I'll see you there.

Should be a most interesting event.

Hello, darling.

And you definitely found the manuscript
in one of these boxes?

Yes.

And they all came from the auction?

Yes.

And you knew straight
away what it was?

Well, of course.

A dated version of Rhapsody, earlier

than anyone believed it
to have been written.

So you took it to Laura Crawford?

Well, just to show somebody.

I had no intention of selling it.

Who gave you the black eye?

No.

I walked into a cupboard.

You walked into a fist?

Who else did you show
the manuscript to?

Michael Maybury.

And what did he say?

He had the audacity to suggest
I had manufactured it.

Why?

Is it possible that someone
could have faked it?

Of course not.

How can you be so sure?

Because I took it to the one
person who would definitely

know, the authority on all things
Joan Alder, Owen Swinscoe.

He bought it, Inspector.

There's your authentication.

So Owen Swinscoe now
has the manuscript?

He paid a deposit.

I gave him a copy.

He'll get the real thing when I have

official authentication and
the rest of the money.

How much will that be?

120,000 pounds?

Where would he get that kind of money?

The legate legacy, one supposes.

Ah, but that, that's
on hold, Mr. Crane.

What?

Well, you can't stop me making
a sale on this, can you?

Yes, I can.

I can postpone it for as
long as the item for

sale is evidence in a murder
case, Mr. Crane.

Where is it?

Get that to George Bullard, Scott.

Yes, sir.

Gently.

Thank you.

I'm positive I went through
every one, sir.

There was nothing. I
believe you, Scott.

I believe you. I don't believe that manuscript
ever went through the auction.

You think Crane took it from
Arthur Leggett's house?

Well, somebody took it.

Somehow it ended up in a box
in Harvey Crane's shop.

We used to think it was composed
when she was in South America

with John Farrow, but this new manuscript
is written in a very

distinctive, careful, neat hand, not
the wild scribble of later years.

We do have a sample of her earlier handwriting,
and this is exactly like it.

It was always rumoured that
it was John Farrow

who collaborated with Joan
in the composition.

Well, that's the interesting thing.

These notes here, look, this is
not John Farrow's writing, and

there are musical phrases here
written in this new hand, and

here she's incorporated those musical
phrases, which would mean

that she started to work on the Rhapsody
while she was still a schoolgirl.

Now, isn't that incredible?

And while she was taking lessons
with Arthur Leggatt.

Yes.

Which could explain why
he had the manuscript.

So, who's the mystery man, or woman?

Well, whoever it is, Scott,
puts them in a

position to claim a share of those
royalties, doesn't he?

Now, Mr. Swinscoe, I know you'd
like us to have pride

of place at the opening tomorrow,
but I'm afraid, for

the time being, no one but
no one must know of the

existence of this new manuscript,
nor of its implications.

But this has cost me, Inspector,
my own money.

Who's this John Farrow?

John Farrow?

Well, he was the real thing, as
far as Joan was concerned.

What happened?

His father intervened.

Joan wasn't a saint.

Sometimes she made mistakes.

Biggest mistake she made
was Michael Maybury.

She'd be here today if
it wasn't for him.

You can't just say things like that.

She wrote to me when she
was in the mental ward.

Peggy, please, we're going
to the opening.

You know she did.

But strangely enough, this
letter got burned.

Do you think I'd lie about
a thing like that?

I burned it because if he'd
got his hands on it,

he would have used it to keep
her where he'd put her.

He'd put her in there
for her own safety.

Say what you like.

Michael Maybury sent my daughter
round the bend.

Can we get a move on, please?

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Ladies and gentlemen, it is
with the greatest pleasure

that I am able to introduce
to you a certain young

woman who destiny has brought
us today, a young woman

who recently took it upon herself
to discover her true parentage.

Her trail brought her to me
only to discover with

profound sadness that both her
parents had passed away.

But with that sadness came an immense

pride in discovering who
her birth mother was.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you

Joan Alder's daughter, Sarah.

♪

She didn't even have the decency
to tell that poor

girl that her own grandmother
was in the audience.

Well, I get the feeling that's Laura

Crawford's style, you know, set
up a photo opportunity.

Like the blue touch paper.

And poor Peggy.

I mean, she could have
died of just shock.

I thought it was wonderful.

I wouldn't have missed
it for the world.

Kept you glued to your
seat, didn't it?

Well, that was an accident
waiting to happen.

What, Hedge or Joe Smeaton?

Joe.

Drinking was off the rails.

I met his wife up at Michael
Mabry's house.

Soon to be ex-wife.

Did Joe Smeaton ever have
a fling with Joan Alder?

I know when Joan came back from South

America, he was there
for her for a while.

South America?

She took off with John Farrow.

John's father, Noah, made sure he
couldn't continue at college.

He did everything he could to stop
them from being together.

What he did was drive them away.

So what happened?

What happened, Cully, was that
John Farrow died down there.

Got involved in drugs, apparently.

The story was that a car
full of thugs and guns

turned up one morning, dragged
him from his bed.

He was bundled into the car.

And Joan never saw him again.

Somehow, she managed to get
back to this country.

Got a penny in her pocket, just a
few manuscripts and a suitcase.

That was sad.

No, no, no. One of those manuscripts
was about to make her a fortune.

She was pregnant when
she came home, too.

He just came out backwards,
into the driveway.

Nobody could have avoided it.

What were you doing outside
the hall that night, Joe?

I wanted to shame Swinscoe into paying
me the money he owed me.

Need it for matters pending, don't I?

What matters would they be, Joe?

It's my missus.

Not content with kicking
me in the crutch with

Maybury, now she wants a divorce
so she can marry the bastard.

I built him that bloody
conservatory and all.

I'll take a sledgehammer to it first.

Oh, that'll fix it.

Where were you last Wednesday
night, round about midnight?

What?

Night of Arthur's murder.

About 50 yards from the Badgers.

I fell in a ditch.

Couldn't get up.

♪

Very cozy.

Why do they call him Hedge?

That's what he does for a living.

Laying hedges, copper sling,
willow weaving, anything

that'll get him a meal.

Do we know his real name?

No.

Let's find out, shall we?

I mean, he wasn't just passing by when
Joe Smeaton knocked him down.

He was out the window watching.

Just saying.

You're not allowed.

It's my home.

How long have you lived around here?

10, 15 year.

What's your real name, Hedge?

I never bother anyone.

I don't cause trouble.

Your past is sitting in a bed and
breakfast in Badger's Road.

Sarah, you never knew, did you?

Is that what sent you reeling
into the road?

So you didn't die in South America.

I was selling short and selling on
what I managed to keep back.

They found out.

I used my father to bargain
for my life.

I wrote and wrote.

After months, I got a
letter, go to hell.

One day I saw my chance and I took it.

I ran for days.

I came home to a grave in a churchyard
15 years too late.

No, I didn't know she was pregnant.

Why did you assume a new identity?

I'd been on the outside of my life
too long to claim it back.

And you never contacted
anyone you once knew?

No.

What about Arthur Leggett?

Yeah. One day, I caught
him watching me.

I was by her grave.

It was her birthday.

It was dusk.

I thought no one was about.

Do you think he realized who you were?

I think maybe he did, yes.

And that was it?

No other contact?

All right.

He told me he had a manuscript
he wanted me to have.

Do you think she'd want to see me?

Even falling in love didn't stop her.

He set my music on fire, she'd say.

I never saw anyone as much
in love as she was.

I catch her looking at
him sometimes as

if her soul was swimming
in the wake of him.

And then Noah Farrow found out.

The next time I saw her,
I didn't recognize her.

Skin and bone, and pregnant with you.

You were a miracle, my love,
because she'd nothing left.

And I couldn't cope with
the both of you.

What I'm saying is

it wasn't your mother that had
you taken away, Sarah.

It was me.

Blame me.

She never gave up looking
for you, you know.

Hello, Tom.

Peggy.

Charlie.

My granddaughter.

Hello, sir.

Hello.

What can I do for you, Tom?

Well, there's more, Peggy,
what I can do for you.

Or rather, both of you.

Mate, you are in demand, aren't you?

Yeah.

Dad was supposed to be on this one.

When are they letting him out?

He's out.

Ah.

Been to Badger's, then?

How's Hedge?

He'll survive.

Look, he didn't mean to hurt
anybody, all right?

He's just got a lot on his
mind at the moment.

Him and mum are getting a divorce.

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Hm.

Well?

Mr. Farrow, Mr. Noah Farrow, I'm Detective
Chief Inspector Barnaby.

This is Detective Sergeant Scott.

May we have a word, please?

About?

Arthur Leggett.

A violent end to an immoral life.

Immoral?

He delivered my son into the arms of
a common slut who ruined his life.

Leggett's death is a judgment.

Is that what your religion tells you?

Is there anything else?

Yes, what does your religion
tell you about turning your

back on your own flesh and blood
in the hour of need, then?

My dogs need exercise.

I should get walking.

♪

Oh, that's a very bitter,
foolish fondle, man.

Why don't you tell him his
son was still alive?

I will, once he's worth talking to.

But if he's still got that amount
of hate in him, imagine

what it must have been like 30
odd years ago when he was...

when he was capable, eh?

Yeah, you can drop me anywhere
around here.

I'm not allowed to see where you live.

Oh, this will do fine.

Can I, um...

Can I see you again?

Would you like to?

Of course.

Tomorrow?

Yes, let me take you for dinner.

And let me take you.

♪

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Joan Alder wasn't the sole composer.

There's absolutely no doubt about it.

This whole section is written
in another hand.

And then it's used in the completed
version in Joan's hand.

Some of the notes and scribbles,
again, the other hand.

Look, would this work?

Then Joan's own notes.

Yes, thank you for this.

Now, it's not John Farrow, because
I've checked the writing

with some of his work, essays, music,
and one of the box files.

But why would Arthur Leggett
want John Farrow to

have this if it shows that someone
else helped write it?

Ah, you may like the romantic
notion of another hand being

involved, but I just think it brings into
question everything Joan wrote.

Could bring a massive interest.

Barnaby was absolutely right
to suggest we keep this

whole undiscovered manuscript
business to ourselves.

John Farrow.

May we talk?

Well, come in.

Come in, please.

Well, we've tried to get
everything right.

It's like a 1965.

Is this closed?

Oh, our secretary, Mr. Alan Thorpe.

Alan, this is John Farrow.

Alan Thorpe, you married Joan's
older sister, Melody.

I did.

I came to your engagement party.

We gave you a set of placemats.

John.

Well, it's a shock, John,
I'll say that.

All right.

I have a letter.

I'm Joe.

I was wondering if you'd like to
buy it, if you're interested.

Well, you could be, don't you think?

And this holds no sentimental value?

Yes.

Why sell it, then?

That's my business.

How much?

200?

Cash?

If you'll just give us a moment.

By all means.

May I have a look around?

Oh, please do.

I could sell this tomorrow
for 10 times that.

I'm not so sure.

Oh, come on.

This is fantastic stuff.

She was crazy for him.

We haven't got the cash.

Write me a check.

♪

♪

You've done a good job.

Thank you.

And from John Farrow himself,
that is a great compliment.

Thanks.

♪

♪

He wouldn't let me see where he lives.

It's a mucky old caravan, that's why.

Oh, well, I don't care.

Oh, but he thinks you might.

But I want us to get to
know one another.

He's taking me for dinner.

Oh, that's nice.

Who's paying?

He is.

What with?

What do you think?

Wedding suit?

Oh, fine.

She'll never know the difference.

Mind you, she's not exactly
20-20 vision.

Blinded by love, see?

I'm a lucky man.

Excuse me.

Is it Peggy Alder?

The same.

Oh.

Please, give her my best wishes.

I will.

And the name?

Hedge.

Hospital Hedge?

Yes, of course you are.

Hey, you're coming back with me.

Oh, no, no, no, I can't.

She wants to see you.

Well, she will, but I just need a
bit of time to sort things out.

Well, she'll kill me if I say I've seen
you and not brought you back.

Another day.

Hm?

What about next Saturday?

The wedding.

How you fixed?

-Well, I...
-You'll come in.

You'll be very welcome, old lad.

Charlie Spate, you're almost
part of the family.

Ever since you walked
under that truck,

I've heard nothing else
but John Farrow.

Listen, I hear you're
a bit of a musician.

So who is it?

I wish I could tell you.

If there was going to be someone
else helped her with this.

Excuse me a moment, would you?

Laura Crawford.

It's not convenient right now.

Well, this isn't just any letter.

It's Joan Alder to John Farrow.

And it's dynamite.

Listen, I'll call you back.

Some of these new writers think
their agent is their mother.

Now, where were we?

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Mr. Swinscoe!

Switch the switch off

Harvey?

I think the manuscript is a fake.

Most certainly it's not a fake.

You were as sure as I was.

Look, I've got a letter, a genuine letter
from Joan Alder to John Farrow.

A letter?

I don't see how.

But the police have already
got the manuscript.

And if they see this letter.

No need to involve the police.

We can sort this out without.

I need to see you, Harvey, today.

No, no.

I can't come today.

I've arranged to see you tomorrow.

Firstly, I'll come right back.

♪

Sorry, Mr. Swinscoe,
but, um, I'm away.

I've got a couple of little
jobs still to

do, but I'll be in tomorrow
and sort them.

Yes, all right.

Thanks.

♪

♪

♪

Uh, it's me.

Listen.

Sorry, lads.

Come on.

Come on.

No,

-let me.
-No, I have it.

Please.

I feel like I'm on the
outside looking in.

I just wish I had something of her.

Nothing much.

Something she'd written, perhaps.

Just something precious
to her, you know?

I've changed my mind, all right!

Tell the world, why don't you?

Listen, the manuscript...

Oh, so you're selling
that now instead?

No, of course not.

-How can I?
-The police have got it.

What do you know?

Nothing I can tell you.

Well, you're not playing cat
and mouse with this one.

Goodbye, Swinscoe.

Better luck elsewhere.

Ah, here she comes.

It's Joan Alders' girl.

Possibly, or possibly not,
by John Farrell.

Dad, shut up.

But does she know Michael Maybury,
the man her mother married?

Has she met him yet?

Would she want to know if she knew
what he'd done to her mother?

Come on, Dad, that'll do. Oh,
well, everybody knows.

But he might get away with murder, but he
won't get away with stealing my wife.

That's right.

Mr. Swinscoe, I have a word.

Haven't you done enough?

Sorry?

What do you want?

I changed my mind.

I want to buy the letter back.

Oh, and where are you going
to get 2,000 pounds from?

Slow your shack.

Ah, the prodigal returns.

Right.

That'll do for petrol.

I'll have the rest in my hand
in the morning, or else.

Or else.

It won't be. In which case,
you'll just have to wait

like everybody else has to until
the job is finally done.

And when, you tell me, might that be?

Well, you're a clever little bastard for
a jumped up librarian, aren't you?

Ah, ah, ah, ah.

-Just leave it.
-Come on.
-Come on.

Come on.

Come on.

Bloody bookworm.

It's Sully's soul for a piece
of dead woman's underwear.

He can't even pay his own debts.

Cheers!

♪

♪

♪

Oh!

Got it!

-Lordy!
-Lordy!

-Hammer!
-Oh, my God!

Hammer!

♪

Charlie's going to make
Peggy very happy.

She deserves it.

She's been on her own for a long time.

What happened to her first husband?

He walked out.

Joan must have been about 11.

He was head gardener at the hall.

On Noah Farrow's place?

Went off with Noah Farrow's wife.

Oh.

I don't know.

What is it with your generation?

It's not my generation, thank you.

Anyway, if I don't take Peggy to collect
this outfit, there won't be a wedding.

Mm-hmm.

Bonneville.

Right, button missing, coat ripped.

Even if he had been drinking,
this man didn't fall in

by mistake or deliberately throw
himself in the river.

Do you think he was pushed?

Quite possible, but only
after quite a struggle.

Both wrists, hands grazed, and fragments
of limestone or similar in the nails.

As from a stone bridge.

It could be.

Badger's drift.

Quite possibly, yes.

If it was badger's drift, could the body
have made it this far downstream?

After the weather we've
been having, yes.

Thank you, George.

OK.

What turns a man so against
his own son?

I think I found out this
morning, Scott.

Joan Alder's father apparently took
off with Noah Farrell's wife.

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

He was in the Badgers with
Laura Crawford, sir.

All of these, either in the
bar or the dining room.

Now, Bullard was right.

This is where someone heaved him over.

What do you think?

It's lovely.

Beautiful.

Do you think Joan would have liked
it if she'd been here?

I'm here, Mother, and I like it.

Yes, thank you.

He rang to offer me a love
letter from Joan.

Did he really?

Not a love letter to me, Inspector,
to John Farrow.

By the time he got to the restaurant,
Swinscoe had changed his mind.

Why?

Something had scared him.

Kept shifting the conversation
to the manuscript.

Did he show you that letter?

No.

What if he'd found out by comparing
Joan's writing in the

letter to that in the manuscript,
that the whole thing was a fake?

There's no way.

That handwriting was Joan's.

Someone who forged it would
say that, wouldn't they?

Arthur Leggett wanted John Farrow
to have a manuscript,

probably the original John Farrow,
Joan Alder collaboration.

What if somebody stole that manuscript
from Arthur Leggett to copy it?

-But why?
-Why go to all that trouble?

To take some credit and stake a
claim at Joan Alder's estate.

Well, it makes sense that Swinscoe

thought he had a fake on
his hands, I suppose.

His own money up a creek.

If this is a forgery, all I can say
is it's one hell of a good one.

And I didn't meet up with Swinscoe
to get him drunk and

push him in the river, because
he'd found me out, either.

Be a good reason to kill him,
though, wouldn't it?

A very good reason, if
this is a forgery.

♪

If the letter wasn't in Swizzco's
pocket, it must be here.

♪

Coming in early, do you think?

I'll call on half a crane later.

Get that letter found.

Yes, sir.

♪

I got hold of him, yes.

And what happened then?

I got thrown out.

Why?

And then?

Then I walked home.

Across the bridge?

Better than getting your feet wet.

Did you lie in wait for Owen Swinscoe
to tackle him on the bridge?

-No.
-And then throw him into the river?

What, him for a swim, had he?

No, Mr. Smeaton.

He is dead.

What?

Drowned.

Dead?

I didn't see him after the set
two we had in the pub.

Oh, bugger it.

I'm not going to get
me money now, am I?

Well, he'd had a few before
he left, whiskeys.

I'd come in a couple of times, and he
was- Did you see him with a letter?

No.

What letter?

You sure?

Yeah, of course I'm sure.

So, what was he doing?

Drinking.

Oh, he made a phone call, private mine,
because he shut the door on me.

You didn't hear what he said?

No, I was in the back room.

When I did come in, he was, um,

framing photos.

Photos?

Look, that one.

Hey, bingo.

Mr. Burnaby, a spring clean.

You were in the Badgers last night.

You had a meal, which
you paid in cash.

I sold a letter to Owen Swinscoe.

Love letter from Joan.

Yes.

Is that what the conversation in the

restaurant with Mr. Swinscoe
was all about?

I wanted to buy it back.

I didn't know how I was going
to pay for it, but.

You didn't catch up with Owen
Swinscoe again, did you?

No.

-Why?
-What's he said?

How much did he get for your letter?

-Please.
-It was 200 pounds.

Didn't bother you to sell it?

Of course it did.

Until I met Sarah, it was the one and
only precious thing of Jones I had.

Morning, Sarah.

Morning.

And you didn't get the letter back?

No, you're welcome to look.

Well, you've been hiding it for the
last 30 years, haven't you?

Oh, what's all this about?

It's serendipitous about that.

There we are.

Could you open it, please?

I'd forgotten that.

No.

El Paso, Texas.

It's a marriage certificate.

So with a marriage certificate,
he would have an equal

claim along with Michael Mabry
that Joan orders his estate?

Yes, yes, he would.

Could that marriage certificate have
been in Arthur Leggett's house?

No.

That's been living 30 years
in a tobacco tin.

What I think did go missing
from Arthur

Leggett's house was a
genuine manuscript.

And somebody meticulously copied
that manuscript to

show the emboldenment of a hand
other than John Farrow's.

Owen Swinscoe bought it.

But then Owen got hold of a genuine
letter from Joan Alder.

And there was something, something
that letter's got

that made him suspect that the
manuscript was a fake.

So the forger had to get
hold of that letter.

And if he couldn't, well,
he'd have to kill Owen

Swinscoe, just as he had to
kill Arthur Leggett, yeah?

George, the love letter's
genuine, Tom.

Yes, it is.

Joan's handwriting changed
over the years, but not

until after the trauma of losing
John Farrow in the adoption.

And I've checked it against this.

Valentine card, where'd you get that?

Alan Thorpe volunteered it.

Alan Thorpe?

Apparently Joan's sister remembers
her writing it.

I think it's what's known as a tease.

Now, what we have here is a very good attempt
at copying her earlier writing.

But there are some letters
formed that are from the

writing of a Joan Alder after she
came back from South America.

So as this purports to
have been written

three years earlier, we have
ourselves a forgery.

And did the forger use genuine paper?

I mean, late 60s, early
70s manuscript paper?

Yep. It could have been found at
Arthur Leggett's house, yeah?

Well, thank you, George.

You're welcome. I'll leave
them with you.

It's worth the wait.

So the forger goes to Arthur
Leggett's house to

get the original manuscript
in order to copy it?

Well, having made the
forgery, go around

to Planted, and Leggett
found the matter.

And the original's still out there?

Somewhere. As we find the forger,
we find the killer.

Thank you.

That call Owen Swinscoe made, sir?

Harvey Crane?

That's right.

My mother was saying Michael Mabry
had something to do with it.

Well, they never got on, did they,
him and Owen Swinscoe?

Oh, that's ridiculous.

Well, if she can put Joan's
death at his door

because of some letter that
Joan wrote when she

was so far gone she couldn't
tell what day it was.

Well, that's something none
of us will ever know.

What?

Well, was she mad when she wrote it,
or was she genuinely in danger?

Well, we know you never liked him.

I don't like the fact that he's lived
off your sister all these years.

He's rich.

He's a successful author
in his own right.

You never liked him because it was
him that won Joan and not you.

Well, I wanted it the
way all us lads did.

When I was full enough to confess a teenage
passion to the woman I married.

You don't tell the woman you married how
much you used to fancy her sister.

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

Scott!

Are you all right?

♪

♪

♪

Dearest mother, it's a photocopy of a
letter from a supposed mad woman.

Michael Maybury was driving
her to suicide.

According to this letter, that's
what Joan believed.

Crane was on his way to find a buyer.

You think he got this
from Lee Smeaton?

Well, he's had access to Peggy's
house for weeks, hasn't he?

Maybe he was the one who found it.

Is this going to turn out to
be another forgery, sir?

I say that's a strong possibility,
wouldn't you?

♪

♪

♪

Oi, you going out somewhere?

Yeah.

My dad.

Mates just phoned to say they nearly knocked
him over out on the Parva Road.

We've just come from the Parva Road.

We didn't see your dad there.

Well, look, he's had a few, all right?

What a surprise.

Yeah, well.

What were you doing at Harvey
Crane's house, Lee?

Give me a tenner for some
magazines I found.

Oh, and he was trying to
fix a new lock on his

back door, which he made
a right pig's ear off.

So I did that for him, too, which took
me the best part of an hour.

So the tenner did pretty well
out of that, didn't I?

Where did you find the magazines?

I found them in the attic
at Joan Alderhouse.

Why? You leave Harvey
Crane's house, and

straight afterwards, he goes
off on his motorbike.

Any connection?

No.

-You sure?
-Of course I'm sure.

Don't know where he went, all right?

He went up the Parva Road.

So what are you asking me for, then?

Go and find your dad, Lee.

-Hurry!
-Hey!

-Joe!
-Joe!
-No!
-No!

Joe!

Barnaby!

Mr. Mabry,

can I have a word, please?

Yes, yes, of course.

Come in.

Hello, Mrs. Smeaton.

Not Smeaton anymore, Inspector.

Mr. Mabry, I wonder if you'd mind
looking at something for me.

Oh, my glasses are going down.

If that is the letter received by
Peggy Alder all those years ago.

Well, then I can see why she feels
the way she does about me.

But if it's not genuine, then
someone may have used

letters actually written by Joan
to make a realistic forgery.

Why does that?

To frame you, Mr. Maybury.

I see.

I know what my late wife
went through, Barnaby.

How many men she had
trawling bars night

after night for five minutes
and forgetting.

And I know what I went through trying
to save her from herself.

So I don't give a damn what you
or anybody else believes.

When did you last see Harvey Crane?

Last week, when he came around
with the manuscript.

Oh, yes.

You gave him a black eye, didn't you?

Toad on the make.

Is he where this came from?

You're certain you haven't
seen him since then?

I'm surprised I haven't.

I'd have thought this would be
worth a try at blackmail.

And you haven't heard from him today?

There was a phone call, but
the caller hung up twice.

Well, did you try 1471?

I'm sorry.

I thought it was Joe again.

Hello, Harvey Crane is unable to
take a call at the moment.

Please leave a message.

Ah, so he was about to offer it to me.

Have you been in the
house all evening?

Since we came back from court
this afternoon, yes.

Why?

What's happened now?

Harvey Crane was murdered
this evening.

♪

♪

♪

♪

Banned from the driving cab.

Banned from the badgers.

Joe.

Stay away from the rectorate.

The only person you're gonna
damage is yourself.

Dad?

Johnson.

See you, Joe.

Take a bath.

Oi!

The harbour road was closed off.

What's all that about?

You told me that's where
Harvey Cream went.

What's happened?

There was a road accident.

Lee Smeaton was there for an hour,
which gives Harvey Crane plenty

of time to find the letter in the magazines
and make a few phone calls.

Tried Maybury first, bit of blackmail.

But whoever planted that urn
knew he'd do that, and

they were waiting for him on the
road to the old rectory.

But why kill him?

Because he knew of the forgery of the
manuscript from Owen Swinscoe.

Rang him up to ask for his money back.

So our killer thinks he can frame
Michael Maybury twice over.

Firstly, for murdering Joan Alder
20 years ago, and then for

killing Harvey Crane, who's supposedly
got evidence that Joan was murdered.

Leave the way clear once the dust
has settled for them to claim

co-authorship of the Midsomer Rhapsody
and a share in all those royalties.

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

Miss Crawford, can I have
a word, please?

It's rather late.

May we come in?

Do you have to?

No, you can come out if you like.

We'll go for a ride.

Come in, Inspector.

Sarah.

Inspector Barnaby.

May I ask as a point of interest, are you
now with the Laura Crawford agency?

Course she isn't.

That may change, however.

Depending on how much
she's worth, right?

Oh, please.

Depending whether or not I lay claim
to what I am apparently entitled.

I don't want to cause any trouble.

No trouble to me, my dear.

-But?
-Michael Mabry.

Who else?

You still say he was responsible
for his wife's death?

Yes, I do.

In black and white, actually.

Since we last talked, a letter has surfaced
which puts the matter beyond doubt.

You've seen that letter?

Or was it just read to
you over the phone?

Have you had any contact with
Harvey Crane today?

No.

Well, he called me around seven.

And?

OK, he did read me a letter.

You've been out this evening?

No, I've been in all day.

You vouch for that, Sarah?

Yeah.

I've been here since about six.

Was this the letter that
was made to you?

Looks like it.

Look, what's this about?

You claim you were Joan Alder's lover.

Are you also hoping you're
going to claim

part ownership of the
Rhapsody royalties?

Me?

You think I did all this?

Miss Crawford, I'm investigating
three murders.

And I'm asking you.

Leave the village.

And a word of advice to you,
Sarah, about Michael Mabry.

You make your own mind up.

How dare you?

♪

♪

♪

♪

Have they not RSVP'd?

No, Mother.

Well, what are we supposed
to assume then?

They're not coming?

I suppose so.

Well, you can't assume that.

You'll have to get in touch.

Don't you think I've got enough to do?

Can I make a suggestion?

I'm sure Joyce would be more
than pleased to help out.

It's Melody's job.

Well, one less job to worry
about, wouldn't it?

It will be done.

Uh, Peggy, I'm sorry, but, um...

You read it.

Is that the letter Joan wrote
to you from hospital?

Yes.

But you said you burnt it.

Well, I can't have, can
I, if it's here?

Could be a fake.

Fake?

What on earth for?

Well, it seems to prove that what
you've been saying for years

is true and, uh, could cause a lot
of trouble for Michael Maybury.

Well, if it is a fake, there's plenty

that's heard the contents
as many times as I have.

All I know is I remember screwing it
up and throwing it in the flames.

Screwing it up?

Yes.

I know you've a job to do, but she's
been a bit highly strung of late.

I don't want her to make herself ill
over it all before the wedding.

Well, I'm being as delicate as I can
be in the circumstances, Charlie.

What she told you about Michael Mabry?

Oh, quite enough.

He had the cheek to get somebody to

phone here to ask for a
wedding present list.

Oh, that sounds like a really bad
man, doesn't it, eh, Charlie?

Peggy needed someone to blame.

Michael Mabry was the obvious target.

And once she started, she
couldn't back off.

I think she needs your
help here, Charlie.

Help her face up to this one.

Michael, um, someone to see you?

Sarah Douglas, Joan's daughter.

Sarah...

Because it's wonderful.

Thank you, I...

You do have her eyes.

You really do.

I'm so glad that you wanted
to come and see me.

Oh, well, I've heard a lot about you.

I wanted to see for myself.

So, Harvey Crane gets hold
of a letter which

implicates Michael Mabry in
his wife Joan's death.

Now, our forger knows that Harvey's going
to try and blackmail Mabry with it.

So he gets himself near to Mabry's
place, waits till he hears

Harvey's motorbike, and then does a Steve
McQueen across the road with a wire.

And hopes we're going to think
it's Mabry, which we don't.

No, we don't.

Found a bit.

Oh, thank you

We are summoned.

So who told you that I
didn't help my son?

Peggy Alder?

Did her daughter tell her
when she came back?

How did she know?

Did the people who were
holding him, did they

tell her after they killed
him that I didn't help?

What else could it be?

And does it matter?

Well, does everyone know?

No, everyone else does
not know, Mr. Farrow.

What you did is safe with me.

So who?

And one other.

He didn't die, Mr. Farrow.

John?

In fact, he's been living within five
miles of you for the last 15 years.

It's alive.

My son's alive.

He won't see you?

No, of course not.

Have you?

Any idea?

Of the love you tried to deny him

But you didn't deny them everything.

Mr. Farrow, you have a
granddaughter, too.

No one would recognize Hedge.

I hope not.

How do I look?

You look wonderful.

Thank you

John, I, I beg of you, a
moment of your time.

We have to be somewhere.

Yes, of course.

I thought you were dead by my hand.

I don't know how a father
could do such a thing.

An evil, bitter man.

It's the weight, John, I wouldn't
ask you to lift.

So what do you want?

You know who this is?

Yes.

You don't get to cripple
this generation, too.

-Please.
-He's not here to hurt anyone.

I just wanted to see you.

My wife had to give away our daughter.

-Wife?
-I loved her.

Yes.

And I know now how much she loved you.

You might like to have that.

We have to go

A wedding.

Yes, of course.

I think it would be lovely if
we arrived in your car.

Have I got time to mow the lawn?

Do you like it?

Oh, it's stunning.

Worth every penny.

When your turn comes, Colleen...

Dad?

I suppose there's any
chance of a low key?

-No.
-No?
-There isn't.

Did you manage to get
hold of everyone?

Yeah.

I'm afraid I'm going to have
to go out for a while.

Dad?

-Tom?
-I'll see you at the church.

Dad, you can't.

Tom!

♪

George, where do we go?

Take a look at this.

Look at the paper.

It's exactly the same.

But you said this is 35 years old.

It is.

The real thing.

Lifted from Arthur Liggett's
to do the deed.

So who wrote the wedding list?

Melody Thorpe wrote that.

She wouldn't make that mistake.

No, she's not a forger.

She used what she thought was
just another piece of paper.

BEEP BEEP

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

He's already the winner, sir.

♪

♪

♪

♪

Turn it off.

Hello?

Yes.

What?

-Right.
-Thank you.

We're being burgled.

What?

No, you can't.

Scott!

This is it.

This is the center of operations.

The original manuscript of
Midsomer Rhapsody by

Joan Alder with additional
material by John Farrow.

I pronounce that they be man
and wife together in the

name of the Father, and of the
Son, and of the Holy Ghost.

Those whom God hath joined together,
let no man put asunder.

Father, you may kiss the bride.

♪

♪

♪

What the hell's going on?

Alan Thorpe, I'm arresting
you for the murders

of Arthur Leggett, Owen Swinscoe,
and Harvey Crane.

I think we are both going to be very
happy with the family we've got.

Oh, it's not mine.

Mine are all scoundrels, still
serving their majesties.

Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no,
not really, not really.

None of them left.

Yesterday, I was on my own.

And today, I have a wonderful
wife, and a

stepdaughter, and now a
granddaughter, too.

What more could a man want?

Well, just for you to all
have a lovely day.

Enjoy yourselves, I will.

You took this original manuscript
from a box file

your wife had brought home to
give to Arthur Leggett.

And you went to Arthur Leggett's
house, and you took

some old, unused manuscript
paper, and you set to

work rewriting the Joan Alder
story to your own advantage.

You even created a complete set of notes
to accompany the manuscript,

written in what you thought was Joan's
old hand, using this, uh,

Ballantyne card she'd once sent you as
a, as a joke to copy the handwriting.

You don't know what you're
talking about.

What you didn't know was
that Arthur Leggett

knew who Hedge was long
before any of us did.

And you didn't know that
it was Arthur's

wish to give that manuscript
to John Farrow.

Why would I go back to his house?

To place it where you knew it
would be taken for auction.

And you certainly didn't expect him to

turn up at his home in the
middle of the night.

Having killed Arthur Liggett,
you couldn't

leave the forgery on the
premises, could you?

In case we were to remove
it before the auction.

So you took it with you, didn't you?

After you'd ransacked the
place to make it look

like they worked with an
opportunistic burglar.

So you waited at the auction to see who
was going to buy up the box files.

Saw your chance, and you slipped
in the manuscript.

So there it was, waiting for Harvey
Crane to take the bait.

Which he did.

You sold it to your colleague,
Owen Swinscoe.

Ladies and gentlemen.

It is with the greatest
pleasure that I.

What you didn't foresee was
that Laura Crawford

would unveil Joan Alter's
daughter, Sarah, and

that that would lead to John Farrow
revealing his identity.

And you couldn't have foreseen,
could you, that

John Farrow would sell a love
letter from Joan so

he could afford to take his
daughter out to dinner.

But if Owen Swinscoe were ever
to compare that letter

with the manuscript, you knew
he'd realise it was a fake.

And he did.

Do you think they're married, Bernard?

Or don't you care?

This Valentine card you so
helpfully provided to

assist in the authentication
of the manuscript

didn't contain all the letters
of the alphabet, did it?

Some of them were missing, like
the letter F and the letter G.

And you guessed how they were formed, and
you guessed wrong, and you knew that.

The minute you saw the love letter, and
you knew something had to be done.

So you waited for Owen Swinscoe
outside the badges.

He watched him leave, walk across the
road, walk towards the badge.

Oh!

Oh, bloody fool.

Give her the letter.

I haven't got it!

You have a lot in common with
popular music, Inspector.

Crude and repetitive.

I should be somewhere listening
to a masterpiece.

You killed Arthur Leggett.

And then you killed Owen Swinscoe.

And then you realized Harvey
Crane knew too much.

And you saw your chance to lure
him to Maybury's house by

creating another letter, one which
cast suspicion onto Maybury.

You knew Harvey Crane couldn't
resist a bit of blackmail.

And you knew the first place he'd
go was the Elk Rectory.

You're only a few feet away from
me at that moment, are you?

You hated Michael Mabry, didn't you?

Not because she thought
he was responsible for

Joan's death, but because
she chose him over you.

You were infatuated by
her, weren't you?

I don't, uh, expect you to
understand, Inspector,

but I was the love of Joan's
life, even at school.

You can quibble about your
F's and your G's, but it

was I who inspired her, collaborated
with her on Rhapsody.

I was the music student who
didn't get into college.

I wasn't quite, uh, bohemian
enough for them.

But by the time John Farrow
took her off to South

America and got her into drugs,
our best work was done.

Well, this proves it.

When she came back with child,
she was already sick.

And men like Mayberry preyed
on her vulnerability.

The best days of Joan Alder's
life were with me.

Well, you and I agree on
one thing, Mr. Thorpe.

I, too, would much prefer to be
listening to Jones' music.

Fine in a store, it's fine.

And when he can make a sensible
statement, charge him.

Yes, sir.

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