All language subtitles for Dalziel and Pascoe - 01x01 - A Clubbable Woman

Come in.

Good morning, Mr Dalziel.

How long have been with us,
Mr Pascoe? Not long, sir.

Seems longer.

The first time you walked in, you
said, "Good morning, Mr Dey-ell".

Sir? The first bugger that ever
got my name right...first time.

Unforgivable, that is.
Smart arse, I thought.

I was right.

Come on! Come on! Leave it!
Eh, eh, eh! Come on!

Connie?

All right?
He's all right.
He's immortal, aren't you?

What happened?
It was that fat git
in the second row. I'll have him!

I'll take a few minutes off.
Aye. This match is beyond redemption.
I'm surprised they haven't declared!

We're old enough to know better, eh?
But we never bloody learn, do we?

No. We never bloody learn.

DOOR OPENS
We're not open yet!

Eh, what's this?! This is medicinal!

- Open up!
- What are you having?

He doesn't remember the game.

So, two men short, reserve
playing fullback. We lost 43-5.

Who scored for us?

YOU did!
Like the old days, eh?!

Good. Right...

..I think we're ready to open now!
About bloody time!

You know you're on tonight?
Oh, God! So I am!

Get behind the bar!
Start pulling pints!

Another one?
No. Mary's expecting me.

She didn't know you were playing?
I didn't either(!)

Mary's never in the club these days.

Well...you know...women.

Aye...we know.

Fancy scoring a try like that
and not remembering it.

He's got better things to remember.

And worse.

TELEVISION IS ON

VEHICLE IDLES OUTSIDE

Legless as usual.

Who is?
Connon.

- What's he ever done to you?
- He's my boss, isn't he?

No, he's the personnel officer.

I'm a mechanic. I've served my time
and what's he got? A big house and
influential mates at the rugby club.

- He nearly played for England.
- Yeah(?)
- He's a stand-off.

A what?

It's a kind of half-back at rugby.
Mary told me.

- Aye? Over coffee(?)
- Yes.

"PETS WIN PRIZES" IS ON TV

Sorry I'm late.

I'll get a cup of tea.

VOMITS

He should have thought of that!
What's his surname?
Jones.

Can I help you? I'd like to speak
to Sgt Pascoe. He isn't in.

Out cleansing society(?)

He's in Leeds, at the opera. Can
anyone else help, or is it personal?

It's personal. I could give him
a message. Or he could ring you.

The arrangement is I ring him. Tell
him I called in. Who shall I say?

He's having a night at the opera?
Tell him, Mrs Claypool. Claypool...

In connection with...? Sex.

Five pints of best and a G and T.

She's here?
Yes.

- Mrs Evans?
- There's a long waiting list.

Gwen should have been here an hour
ago. Arthur went out to look for her,
then she came in ten minutes later.

- Words like shit and fan
come to mind.
- What is it about women's breasts?

They sustain life.

BARMAN:
Batten down the hatches.

Where the hell have you been?!
I haven't been anywhere!

Ted Morgan's buying me a drink
and all's right with the world.

Dick and Joy came to collect you
and you weren't there.
Sorry. I forgot.

I'm an independent woman.
I came in on the bus.

Look...!
Marcus Felstead, temporary
barman and bringer of peace.

Mary?

Brain haemorrhage.
Ruptured the meningeal artery.

A blow from a metal implement.

Someone knocked a hole in her head.
Probably a toffee hammer.

Do they have toffee hammers
any more? Don't suppose so.

Probably banned by those clowns in
Brussels. Any sign of the weapon?
No, sir.

We started a search this morning.
And house to house. Right.
Let's go and shake 'em up a bit.

Hey, who's Mrs Claypool?
A character in A Night at the Opera.
Marx Brothers film.

She was in here last night, looking
for you, in connection with sex.

I can explain.
Save it till I'm feeling strong.

What did Connie say
when you got there? Not much.
It was 1am. He was half asleep.

And he'd had a kick on the head
playing rugby. Who kicked him?
Could have been anyone.

You haven't played rugby, have you?
You know Mr Connon, don't you?
Why do you say that?

You're vice-president of the rugby
club. You HAVE done your homework.

I'll tell you the Sam Connon story.
It's very sad.

You're 20 years old. A local hero.
Dead cert to play for England
and become a legend.

Then you crack your ankle. Nobody
kicks you. You just fall over.

It's your own stupid fault.
Nobody to blame.

And that's the end of the dream.

You get trapped into marriage
with an older woman,

play for the local team,
get pissed on a Saturday night...

Trapped into marriage?
Mary Connon. The deceased.

Where's Connon? Inside, having
a cup of tea. I'll make him wait.
See if he sweats.

Shall I...? What? Stir his tea?

Speak to him. Why? You're friends...

I didn't say I liked him, did I?
No.

You can help these lazy sods find
a toffee hammer or a useful witness.

Then at midday, take yourself
for a drink at the rugby club.

Here's a list of suspects.
We need a gentleman who's acted
like a hooligan. Don't be clever.

Soccer is hooligans acting
like gentlemen and rugby union
is gentlemen acting like hooligans.

Bollocks!
Men play soccer to make money.

Rugby is violence for the love of
it. Or was until it got corrupted
by sponsors. I'll go in.

Found any possible weapons?
A garden gnome. But no bloodstains.

Witnesses? People opposite. They've
got a bit to say for themselves.

Mr and Mrs Fernie. Number 277.

Not pleased. Sunday morning. We got
them out of bed. You woke 'em up?

No. We got 'em out of bed.

There you go.

How well did you know
Mr and Mrs Connon?
Well, I knew Mary.

I see him at work. Mostly
we keep out of each other's way.

She was a friend, really. Oh? I had
a cup of tea with her yesterday.

I was at the match.
Another rugby man?

No! Football. United.

Was I the last person
to see her alive? It's possible.

Apart from the murderer, of course.
And he got home at 8.30. Who did?

Connon. I meant the murderer.

Me too.
You can't say that!

Dave doesn't like Mr Connon.

Does Jenny know? Jenny?

Their daughter. She's at university.
Er...their daughter
has been informed.

So, you left the club at about 8.10
and you got home at 8.30?

Yes.
Can you be more precise about that?

Mary were watching
a so-called game show.

Hamsters were doing
an obstacle course. Is that a clue?

Oh, could be vital, Mr Connon.

Oh, look...this is daft!

I'm going to call you Connie -

everybody calls you that. And
everybody calls you "that bastard".

Ha-ha(!)
And on that more informal basis,
let me ask you something personal.

What was wrong with your marriage?

You'll have to explain.
You get kicked in the head,

you come home,
you're sick in the bathroom,

and she doesn't move from her chair.

She doesn't even make you
a cup of tea.

She just carries on watching these
idiots farting about on television.

There are men who play rugby
who'd have kicked in the screen.

Men who have no respect for their
wives don't deserve to keep them.

Is that where I went wrong?

Aye, mine upped and offed
with the milkman. When was it?

Fifteen years back. I remember.

You were a class player, Connie.
You still know how to go
for the man.

Which makes two of us.

Oh, I hate working Sunday mornings.
What happens now?

Formal statements, legal safeguards
of your civil liberties.

As a great man once said:
we'll have you looked at,

and then we'll decide
if you need seeing to.

Sid Hope. Club treasurer.
Impressive!

Sergeant Pascoe.
What's the problem?

Kids been chopping up the goalposts
again? You were here last night?

Saturdays - our main income source.

How many were in last night?
Sixty, seventy.

Including Sam Connon? Yes.

But he left early.
DOOR OPENS

Sorry, Sid. Late again.
No excuses. Seventh deadly sin.

Sloth. Oh...well done.

Sergeant Pascoe.
He's a police officer.

This is Marcus Felstead?
How do YOU know that?

My boss briefed me. Dalziel? Yes.

What did he say about me? Sorry!

"A bald runt with a pot belly."

And the face of an angel. Huh!
Spot on!

So, what's the trouble, officer(?)

It's about Connie. Mary Connon.

Mary?! You know her?

We all do.
She was always in here once.

Not so much now.
We all grow old, don't we?

Mary Connon won't grow old. She's
dead. Someone killed her last night.

The merciful goodness of the Lord
endures forever
towards those that fear Him,

and His righteousness
upon their children's children.

We have entrusted our Mary
to God's merciful keeping and we now
commit her body to the ground.

Earth to earth, ashes to ashes,
dust to dust.

In sure and certain hope
of the resurrection to eternal life
through our Lord Jesus Christ.

What are YOU doing here?
Same as you, sir. Wrong.

Friend of the family, me.
Member of the club.
Last respects must be paid.

But you... HIGH-PITCHED SNORT
..stranger in town,

AND a bloody policeman.

Intrusion into private grief.
Gets us a bad name.

I'm learning my trade.
"In his master's steps he trod."

And which one of us
is the very sod?

I'm here to look for a murderer.

You won't find him down there.

Not a bad gate
for a midweek match.

Arthur!

Oh, hello, Uncle Marcus.

Don't call me that. It makes me
feel even older than I am.
I'm sorry, I forgot.

Well...

I'll, erm...

I'll sit in the car till
you're ready, Dad. Take your time.

All right, lass.

PHONE RINGS

Pascoe.

How the hell did YOU get
this number?

No. It's very nice to hear
your voice, Mrs Claypool...

Jenny, I shall miss your mother.
You're the first person
who's said that.

I didn't mean to speak out of turn.

Don't apologise. Everybody else
has said the usual stuff -

deepest sympathy...sad loss...

can't find the words to express...

but you're the first person to say
you'll miss my mother.

Thank you.

I'll have to go. Bus to catch.

Did you hear anything from the
bereaved? Yeah, I heard Ted Morgan.

What did he say? He said that
Connon was kicked on his head in
a...loose maul. Is that the word?

Yes. Morgan says one of Connie's
own team kicked him - Arthur Evans.

The captain? He wouldn't do that
even if he is Welsh!
The match was already lost.

If he was going to stick the boot
in, he'd do it the gentleman's way,
up a dark alley. I don't buy it.

Ted Morgan's always been
a shit-stirrer.
PHONE RINGS

We've got to do better.

Sergeant Pascoe.

Mary knew the killer, otherwise
why did she just sit there?

We'll be there. We're not looking
for mysterious homicidal intruders,

we're looking for an acquaintance
of Mary... What is it?

Jenny Connon's had an anonymous
letter. And? Shit-stirring.

That's not the sort of language
we expect from an educated man!

Ohh...

How did it go off then?
What?

The funeral.
Was our Stanley there?

Yes. And it went very well.
He took time off work, special.
He worships Mr Connon.

It's a shame, isn't it?
What?

When your hero turns out
to be a murderer.
Who says Mr Connon's a murderer?

Well, your Dave, for one.
Dave's never been right
about anything in his life.

You got back from the funeral
at what time?
Oh, it were about half past five.

There were a time check
on the radio. You switched it on
as soon as you were home? Well...

I wanted some noise in the house.
And, er...

this was waiting for you? Yeah.
I thought it was just another card.

May I talk to you in private,
Mr Connon? We'll go in the kitchen.

Sgt Pascoe will take a statement
from Miss Connon.

What would you like me to state?
Won't you sit down?

Sorry. OUR house.
Won't YOU sit down, Sergeant?

Why don't WE sit down?

You don't really want a statement
from me.

The fat controller wants us
out of the way
so he can chat up me dad in private.

You don't like Mr Dalziel?

Well...it's hard to respect any man
who scratches his balls in public.

"Dear Miss Connon...
It must be terrible to realise
that your father is a murderer.

"But it may be some comfort to know
that the man you think is your
father is not your real father."

True or false? I can't offer you
proof either way. We were married.
Jenny were born eight months later.

A bit premature.
We'd had sex before we married.

It were called intercourse then.
They took it away with the trams,
intercourse.

She didn't like me playing rugby.
Stuck at home with a baby.

I can understand it now.
But you didn't then?

What does any man understand at 20?

Primal urges? I suppose.
And Mary was older than you?

Only five years. But she understood
your primal urges.

You really ARE an evil bastard.
Are you Jenny's natural father?

I'll tell you what I know.

We had a row one night
and she said,

"Keep going to the club. That way
you might meet Jenny's father."

I'd have knocked her block off...
but I'm an evil bastard.
When was this?

Thirteen, fourteen years ago.
Too long ago for a motive.

You could have been having
the same row ever since.
Every man has his breaking point.

I'm not the breaking kind.

What did you tell him?

The same as I told you.

I have no clinical proof
of paternity,

but in every way that matters
a damn, you're my daughter.

And you're my dad.

Did you get a statement from
the lass? Nothing very helpful.

Good. You weren't meant to.

Play your cards right, you could be
in there with your primal urges.

What's today? Monday? Monday.

Tomorrow night's training night.
And committee night.

I'll drop in at my club -
chuck my weight about.

It'll make a nice change.

Cheers. Cheers.
Welcome back.

Welcome back? Haven't seen you
in here for years.
Just coincidence(!)

See? The acumen of a bank manager.
He understands. A coincidence. Mm.

How's the building trade, Jacko?
Still wiping out
the green belt? I scratch a living.

How is the detection trade?
I just scratch till I draw blood.

You been scratching Connie?
No.

Time to rig the agenda,
Mr Chairman.

Can I have a look at those?

Last week's team sheets?
I want to see who's playing now.

Good God! Is he still alive?

I'll see you.

You used to sniff around
Mary Connon in the old days,
didn't you? We all did.

YOU did. Me?

Connie got to the line first,
right between the posts.

I didn't know you'd brought
the wife. What are you doing here?

I'm a fully paid-up member. This
place is going to the dogs. I want
to become a pillar of the community.

A pillock? No... Two pints of best
and get yourself a fruit juice.
My pleasure.

There's one in every rugby club,
isn't there?
A smooth-talking graduate copper?

A nubile woman
to inflame the loins of the pack.

Once it were Mary Connon,
now it's Gwen Evans.
And Arthur Evans doesn't like it.

I'd need a set of jump leads
on my loins.

Arthur! It's eight o'clock.
Yeah, all right, bit. On my way.

It's starting.

Teams for Saturday.
Mr Wallis?

For obvious reasons,
I wasn't able to consult as usual.

Tonight I'm back to normal.

That's my suggested first team.
Thank you.

Young man who lives opposite me,
Stanley Curtis...

says he's the best wing three
quarter that lives opposite me.
I don't know...

I promised I'd mention it.
Now I have.

I've found it! Application form for
the Wales v England international.

It's the usual arrangement,
isn't it? We'll ask for 150,

get 40 and carve 'em up
amongst the committee, eh?

The international is after
Christmas. We have more pressing
matters to consider.

Can I get anybody a drink?

I'm all right, ta.
A bitter, please.

Half?
A pint - if you're working.

I can afford it.

Poor Stanley.
At school he'd always try
to look up my skirt.

He's a fitness freak now. He jogs.

Sublimation.
Hmm? Sublimation.

Now, then...

how's my toy boy this evening?

Fine, thank you, Mrs Evans.

A pint of bitter, please.
Aren't you in training?
It isn't for me.

I have a rival?

Just...just a friend.
Just good friends...

The most lethal words
in the English language.
Er...

Thank you, Stanley.

Cheers. Oh...
Are you going?

Mm...? Good night.

CRASH!
Oh!

Hello, Stanley.
Hello, Mrs Fernie.

How's the Sportsman of the Year(?)

At least he's trying to make
something of himself.

Yes. A bleeding idiot.
Ignore him, Stanley.

I'll see you.

Hey, you could race him.
I might do myself
a permanent injury.

Well, who'd notice
the difference?

Last call for any other business?
In that case...

Oh... Yes, Connie?

Mr President...

yesterday, immediately after
my wife's funeral...

my daughter received
an anonymous letter.

I believe it came from someone
connected with this club.

What did it say?

The writer knows.

I know. Jenny knows.

We realise what a dreadful time
this has been for you, but, er...

let's close the meeting
and discuss this informally.

I propose that the writer of this
letter, when identified, should
be banned from this club for life.

There's, er...nothing in
the rule book to cover this.

No.

We can't ban somebody we don't know.

No.

I've made a proposal.
Do I have a seconder?

I'll second it.

Now, I think,
according to the constitution,

it goes to the vote.

Unless there's any further
discussion?

Well...all in favour?

Carried.

Thank you.

Right, gentlemen, meeting closed.

Are you all right?

No. No, I'm not all right.

But I intend to be better soon.

I got you two.
Saves on the legwork.

You're a gentleman, sir.
Now, you wanted to ask questions?

Who'd want to kill Mary Connon?
Who's got it in for Connon? Next.

Who's having it away with Mrs Evans?

Well, Arthur Evans is convinced that
somebody's digging in his allotment.

Connon? Connon. The golden boy.

Aren't they mates? Your first
suspect is always your best friend.

Is Evans right?
Welshmen weren't born to be right.

Is there a policeman in the house?

Sergeant, it's for you.

Sergeant Pascoe.

We'll be there immediately.

Your neighbours have seen a man in
your garden. Don't spread it around.

I'll kill him!

SIREN WAILS

All right. Who saw him?
We did.

Name?
How should I know? YOUR name.

This is Mr Fernie.
Oh, aye. We've heard about you.
Round the back, you two.

He's still...over there.

Now, pay attention, sunbeam.

I have been called away from
a half-drunk pint because of you
and I am not best pleased.

So let's have a good look at you,
nice and easy, and I'll try and
keep my rottweilers under control.

Who are you? Anthony Wilkes.
University of South Warwickshire,
reading media studies.

Oh, Anthony!

Jenny!

Would that be a boyfriend
you're mauling there, Miss Connon?

Well, yes...sort of.

Unrequited love.
I wouldn't say that.

It looks to be reasonably requited.

Not his, YOURS, buggerlugs!

What's this?

It's a sequence-of-events chart.
Never had them when I was a lad.

Deprived childhood. It's a chart
of the night of the murder.

Here, the hours from 6pm till
midnight, and here, the main
protagonists. What? It means...

The participants in a great drama.

Now we can track the movements
of our protagonists
on the night of the murder. So...

they were drinking in the club on
Saturday night, but not all of them
and not all the time, right? Right.

I knew that in me head. Well...
Do you ever watch motor racing
on your telly?

Only in an emergency. At the end,

some overpaid prat in a daft hat
shakes a bottle of champagne so it
pisses all over the runners-up.

Yes, I've seen that.
This case has gone flat.

We need to shake the bottle,
see who we can splash.
Let's have a look.

Yeah.

He'll do.

Listen, Arthur, we've known
each other a long time. Now I give
you my word, as an old friend,

whatever you tell me will be
in strict confidence. Confidence?!

With a tape recorder and him there?

Regulations. Law of the land.
Hands tied.

If it wasn't Sgt Pascoe,
it'd be a total stranger.

AND he's a paid-up member
of the club.

It keeps it in the family if he is
my...amanuensis. Is that the word?

That's the word.
Look, I've got a match.
The coach leaves for Ilkley at 12.45.

Ilkley? Do you fancy your chances?

Well, they're all 16, run like
the wind... We'll get another good
hiding, but I want to be part of it.

I'm sentimental like that.
So, what do you want to know?

Oh, aye. Um...where did you go
when you left the club

at 8.15 last Saturday night?

I went home.
Why did you do that?

It's where I live! Home!
That's what it means.
Ask your bloody amanuensis.

Sergeant? Mr Evans went to see
why his wife was late.

What's wrong with that?
Nowt. It does you credit, Arthur.

Husband concerned
about his wife's well-being.

So, she wasn't at home.
What did you do then?
Went back to the club.

Sergeant? Mr Evans left the club
at 8.15. Returned at 9.15.

You live...not five minutes away
from the club.

And which ever way you do your sums,
that's 50 minutes unaccounted for.

Would YOU like to account for them?
Ease my troubled mind.

All right.

I was there. There?

Where's there?

Hurley Drive.

Connon's house?

Yeah. But I didn't go in, right?

What DID you do?

I followed him there.

I could see, er...lights on
in the house...

Mary watching television
in the living room.

And you came to the conclusion
that your fears were unfounded

and Connie was not having
an illicit tryst with your Gwen?

I wouldn't put it QUITE like that.
And, of course...

Connie had a headache.
You kicked him, didn't you?

I persuaded him to play, see?

I thought, at least I'll know where
you are this afternoon, you bastard.

Then he went down in this loose maul.

He had no right to be there, did he?
Always was a bit of a hero like that.

That's what made him different
from the rest of us.
I saw my chance and I took it.

Might have killed him.

Thought I had for a minute.

I do feel bad about that.

Guilty as charged.

You've got a bus to catch, Arthur.

You mean I'm free to go?
Saturdays...

we're only open for confessions.

Excellent. We've got Arthur Evans
at the scene of the crime. Eh?

Give us your pen.

If I think you're shafting my wife,
I don't murder YOUR wife.

Those things are not dreamt of in
our philosophy, Malvolio. Horatio.
Whoever.

Connon's the man with the motive.
Paradise lost.
Then he meets Gwen Evans -

Paradise regained. Go and see her.

Me? This afternoon,
when Arthur's safe in Ilkley.

If Connie doesn't come, you could
be in with a chance yourself. Here.

A-hem...

Um...Dad...

We've, um...we've hatched a plot.

I can tell.

The first XV are playing at home
and we think you should take Anthony.

I've never seen a rugby match
in the flesh. I've watched it on TV
and found it bewildering.

Who better to explain the finer
points, if there ARE finer points?
Oh, yes, there ARE finer points!

Will you come?

I thought I'd sort through
some of Mum's personal things...

I thought you'd prefer to be out
of the house while I do it.

You're both very thoughtful.

I've got a book coming out
and a new job. So have I.

I know about your job. You don't
know about mine. Tell me about it.

Lecturer in social science,
Holm Coutram College.

Holm Coutram?
That's dangerously near.

25 miles north. You're familiar
with the points of the compass?
Yes.

We do a written paper and an oral
examination(!) Good. I'm pleased.

At one time you'd have been proud.
I am. Pleased and proud.

Late but welcome.

I hear the siren call
of criminal investigation.

The message from Mrs Claypool
said it was in connection with sex.

Are you getting any? No. You? No.
I'll put a notice on the board.

I hear the hallelujah chorus
of social science. You don't change.

Neither do you, that's the problem.

Something wrong?
Isn't there always?

Goodbye for ever(!)

(Come into my parlour.)

If you're going to have secret
assignations, don't have them in my
pub. This is CID territory. Noted.

Single malt arrives, unbidden.

Also noted.

Now for the sermon.

I've got nowt against women.
You're a young man. Young men
have to get their end away.

What's her name?
Ellie. Eleanor Soper.

Love's young dream?
At university we were a number.

An odd number? Even number? Or what
old farts like me call a couple?

We were an odd number. She gave
you the elbow. Yes. She didn't
approve of my joining the police.

She's right. What would she think
of you, calling on a married woman
while her husband's away?

At least it's not your big fat boss.
Doesn't anybody like Mr Dalziel?

Not that I'm aware of.

I have to ask one or two questions
on his behalf. Go on, then.

You're aware your husband
is jealous of Mr Connon? Yes.

Does he have reason to be?
None whatsoever.

You've rowed about it? Our marriage
wasn't made in heaven, it was made
in Ebbw Vale. So you have rows?

Certainly we have rows. And what
the hell business is it of yours?
None, probably.

But we have to find out
what IS our business.
The lads were right about you.

What? They say
you're a silver-tongued bastard.

DOORBELL
Are you expecting someone? I've no
expectations of anything, Mr Pascoe.

The gospel according to Gwen.

Hello, Gwen.

- Are you all right?
- You'd better come in.

Ah! Hello, Mr Pascoe. Mr Felstead.
I thought you'd be in Ilkley.
You haven't been dropped?

Nobody is ever dropped
from the Fourths.

I've retired.
Age has begun to wither me.

What happened to Connie last week -
could be my turn next.

Marcus phoned to tell Arthur
he wouldn't be playing. I told
him that Arthur was under arrest.

No. Assisting us with our enquiries.
He's gone to Ilkley.

So he's all right, then? He's fine.

- And you?
- In the time-honoured phrase,
as well as can be expected.

Ah, that's what I need to know.

Right...

I'll be off to the match, then.

Is the game better
if seen through a glass mistily?

This one is. Is this not
a good example of the genre?

Not good.

Haven't got any better, have they?

We've, er...

We've had complaints about you, Andy,
from various members of the club.
Oh? What are they moaning about?

Well, if I might quote -

"He hangs around, all cheerful,
but he's still a dirty copper
wanting us to grass on our mates."

Sounds about right.
Who said that? Jacko Roberts?

Oh, I couldn't possibly grass
on a mate.

I'll tell you about Jacko Roberts.
He built the clubhouse for us.

Did it all for cost.
No profit margin.

Then the roof leaked,
so he came back to fix the roof.
He made a right mess of the place.

Bloody butterfingers!
You couldn't catch a dead rat!

Your clubhouse has a leak,
Mr Chairman, and you need
a dirty copper to fix it.

And you've got the dirtiest around.
I don't care how much mess I make,
your rugby club will end up fixed!

MOBILE PHONE RINGS

Dalziel.

Yeah... All right. Ten minutes.

I'm off. Something important?

Aye. A damn sight more important
than THIS insubstantial pageant!

So what we've got here is
another example of Dalziel's Law.

It's Saturday and half the force
is out making the streets secure
for the soccer hooligans,

and we get a missing child.

An early result - that's what we
want. Sgt Wield will tell you how.

Michael Annan, known as Mickey,
aged eight.

103 Scour Terrace, Oakfield Estate.
Went out to play last night
and didn't come home.

His parents tell us
he likes to play on the common.

MUTTERS

We'll start the search tonight, then
again in the morning, if necessary.

Thank you, Mr Connon.
That was fascinating. Good.

There's a symbiotic relationship
between skill and violence. You
think so? I'd like to see it again.

Nothing is repeatable.
That's the point about the game...

all games...the moments.

And once they've gone,
they've gone forever.

Jenny?

Jenny!

KNOCKS ON DOOR

(Oh, my God...)

You dragged us out here for this?

It's straightforward
show-us-your tits stuff.
So where is Jenny?

You say this arrived after you went
to the match. So it must have been
delivered by hand. And then what?

The author knocks at the door and
says, "Come for a walk with me"?

I think you're both
underestimating the young lady.

There is a contradiction.
Do tell me. I love hearing
about contradictions.

This letter accuses Jenny of...

flaunting her naked body
at her bedroom window.

You think that's out of character?

I'm frankly not in a position to say.
But her bedroom's at the rear
of the house,

so to see her...flaunting, you'd
have to climb over the fence at
the back. And it isn't easy. I tried.

Hello!

Eh...what's happening?
Are you all right, love?

I've been to the supermarket,
but otherwise I'm fine. Why?

What can you tell us about this?

Oh, God...
I didn't mean you to see that.

I found it among Mum's things.
Any more like it?

Mm. Let's be having them.

It's Mary Connon flaunting and some
tit-fancier writing the letters.

So she threatens to report him
and he knocks her on the head?

Here's an informed guess. These
were sent over a period of time and
she kept them, like love letters.

I think she enjoyed it.
Flashing isn't confined to males.

You said you didn't like her, but...
Nobody did. She was a real Delilah.

All those hypocrites at the funeral,
that was for Connie's sake.

Mind you, I don't like him either.
PHONE RINGS

CID. Sergeant Pascoe's desk.

Oh! Send her in.
Give all the lads a treat.

Young woman with a pram,
asking for you. What?

Oh, I lied about the pram.
A parcel, that was the word.

Er, Supt Dalziel. Eleanor Soper.
My old friend from university.

Oh...you're the ex?

We don't have any secrets here.
We tell each other everything.
In that case, yes.

You're a bloody mug, Pascoe. Giving
a nice lass like this the elbow.
I gave HIM the elbow. I can see why.

He's got funny habits. I didn't
want him to join the police.

It does bring out the worst
in a man. Open your present.

My new book.

It's about police corruption.
Oh, aye?

Do I get a mention? Perhaps
in the next volume. I doubt it!

Ms Eleanor Soper.

Let me confess...
I use foul and abusive language,
I pick my nose and scratch my balls,

I fart louder than is necessary,
and I do it in public.

I've got sod all to hide. I do
my job, go home and have my tea,
often in the middle of the night.

And you will have observed that
I don't know any funny handshakes.

Have you done any in-depth research
into children who go missing? No.

Or women who flaunt their naked
bodies in full public view? No.

Then Mr Pascoe will see you off
the premises.

We have to be very careful
with liberal-minded do-gooders,
especially on a Saturday night.

What a monster. Yep. But he's all
right when you get to know him?

No. Monster all the way through.
Correct? King of all the beasts.

What was that about
missing children?
We've got one. Eight-year-old lad.

I'll...I'll be in touch.

Why?

When I've read the book.

Right(!)

See you around...Watson.

She's a clever lass.

You're well rid of her...unless
she's a phenomenally good shag.

You were at the match. Was Marcus
Felstead there? No. When I saw him
at Mrs Evans', he said he was going.

He changed his mind.
Yeah, but what did he do instead?

I don't know. Stayed at home.
Maybe he went back to Gwen's.

Marcus and Gwen?! Even standing
on a box, he'd suffocate. Didn't
Mickey Rooney marry Ava Gardner?

I don't know! I'm not interested
in your sexual fantasies. Only
in my own. And our Peeping Tom's.

Give the neighbours a shake
tomorrow. He should fall out.

Morning. Morning. I persuaded
Mr Connon that one Sunday paper
isn't enough for three people.

Are you here...professionally?
We're never off duty, sir.

May I share a speculative theory
with you? By all means.

When I first arrived and there was
no-one here, I telephoned my parents,

and I found the Connons' number
written on the wall here.

What's your theory?

It's really a question. Why would
anyone phone a house 20 yards away?

Why not ring the bell?
Fair question.

And it also occurs to me, albeit
as a somewhat degrading theory,

that this telephone box does command
an excellent view of the late
Mrs Connon's bedroom window.

Thank you, Mr Wilkes.

Mrs Fernie, could I speak
to your husband alone?
Me and Dave, we don't have secrets.

It's a little delicate.
Definitely not delicate secrets!

Very well. It seems that the late
Mary Connon used to appear at her
bedroom window not fully dressed,

so to speak.
Bollock naked, so to speak? Yes.

Everybody knows that.

Mary Connon received obscene
anonymous letters and phone calls.
And you think I'm the local pervert?

I'm not accusing... You are!
Have you any of these letters?

I've got a photocopy. Can I see it?

You're talking through
your bum hole, Sergeant.

I am?
Well, this isn't Dave's handwriting.

It's much too neat. And whoever
wrote this is sexually frustrated.

I suppose.
Suppose nothing. It's obvious!

Now let me tell YOU something.

My Dave's big, loud and daft.
He won't mind his own business
and once in a while he hits people,

but he is NOT sexually frustrated.
I see.

Not since 11.20 this morning.

And if you're going to write that
down, it was during The Archers.

Thank you.

Any joy?

We've found SOME bits and pieces.

Guns? Prehistoric. Came over
with the Vikings probably.

That's an air pistol.
My dad had one.

Anything on the boy?
You'll be the second to know.

TV:
'After the ice had gone, 10,000
years ago...' Am I interrupting?

No.
I thought Anthony might find
this photograph interesting.

You?

England trial, 1976. Chip-kicked
over their back line, caught it,
side-stepped the fullback,

touched down in corner.
My shining hour. I wish I'd seen it.

You weren't born, either of you.

Not quite.

Well...

HUBBUB OF MUSIC AND CHATTER

Marcus...

Hello, lads.

Just the man I want to see.
Enquiries? No, no.
It's personal and trivial.

I just want you to confirm or deny
a bit of malicious gossip that
tumbled into my shell-like ears -

concerning you and Gwen Evans
Marcus!

I want a word with you!
Arthur, we'd ALL like a word
with him. Form an orderly queue.

I just want to tell him he can't
retire. We lost 55-0 yesterday!
We didn't deserve nil.

Is the beautiful Gwen with you?
She's in the toilets,
tarting herself up.

Excuse me, we're running out of
crisps. I'll be back in a minute.

Humiliation!

What? Running out of crisps?

No! Our match yesterday.
We were playing against children,
man, mere bloody children!

Would Marcus have made any
difference?
Well, he's a little, fat, bald runt

but he's got his share
of low cunning.

At our age...what else is left?

HEAVY BREATHING

GWEN:
We have to tell him.

MARCUS:
Then he kills you and he kills me.
In either order.

You saw what he did to Connie
and that was mistaken identity.

Ahem... Good evening, both.
How long have you been there?

Long enough. Mr Felstead, why don't
you call in and see us tomorrow?

Clarify a few things.

How long has it been going on?
Two years. Bloody hell!

Nightmare! So why do it?

I hesitate to mention "love" to you.
You do right.

But it's a bugger though, isn't it?

Here you are,
pulling the best bird in the parish
and you can't tell anybody.

I'd want to shout it from the
rooftops. Who'd have believed me?
PHONE

Sergeant Pascoe.

So, what are your plans, apart from
protecting yourself from Arthur?
Sir.

Oh... Excuse me.

Aye?

Oh, hang on. Piss off, Marcus.
We've found a missing child.

Your sex life is no longer
of any interest.

At Old Trafford?! Don't tell me -
asleep on the penalty spot.

Some kids'll do anything for
an autograph... Returning to base.

You can't. Mrs Grogan at number 40
is expecting you.
Did she see something?

She reckons she did.
She's nosey but she's usually right.

I'm nice to the Mrs Grogans
of this world.
Give it a good long ring.

She's a bit deaf.
Thank you, Mrs Williams.

Jacko Roberts saw Mary Connon
with Arthur Evans in the Blue Boar
the night before she was killed.

And he's just remembered?! Yeah.
They're a tight bunch at the club,
and Arthur's popular,

but they all grass eventually.
What can I do?

Call on Arthur. He might talk
to you. Ask him if he's a murderer.

TOM JONES RECORD PLAYS
Have you found her?

Sorry?

♪ ..Is my momma and papa...

♪ Down the road I'd look
and there runs Mary

♪ Hair of gold
and lips like cherries... ♪

She's left me.

I'm...very sorry, Mr Evans.

Look, she'd better have gone
on her own, cos if she's gone
with anybody else, I'll KILL him!

You do not pump out a man's stomach
because he's had a drop of Scotch!

It was the doctor's decision. Oh,
you trust the medical profession?!

God have mercy on your soul(!)

Oh, God! I hate this bloody thing!
It's working perfectly well.

A police canteen should serve
sausages and chips 24 hours a day!
No wonder there's a crime wave!

Anyway, Arthur Evans
isn't your romantic suicide type.

You'll be on his hit list now.

I'll bear it in mind.

And little Marcus has done
a runner? Uniform checked his digs.

His car's gone and he told
his landlady he wouldn't be back.

Marcus Felstead and Gwen Evans...
Romeo and Juliet...
Who'd have thought it?

Moral - anything's possible.

The world is flat.
The moon is made of green cheese.

May I have a word, sir?
What's YOUR problem?

A witness claims to have seen a man
in Connon's front garden
the night Mary Connon was killed.

What was he doing?

He was climbing in the house
through an upstairs window.

I wouldn't have thought that was
possible. Only one way to find out.

It's what we call a reconstruction
in the investigative trade.

It looks good in the paperwork.
Well?

He was a better athlete than I am.

Can you get to the window?

Possibly. Try.
Give the crowd its money's worth.

I'd rather not, sir.
Are you disobeying an order?

I don't want to spoil
the footprints on the roof.

Oh, get down!

Er...do you know any
sexually frustrated young athletes?

Yes.

Oh...

Young man,
you are trying my patience.

I didn't do anything!

It's another fine mess, Stanley(!)

I didn't kill her. What DID you do?
Did you write the letters?

Yes. And telephoned her?

Yes...but she asked for it.

You'll have to explain that.
When did it start?
A couple of years ago.

When I first started
serious training.

I was out running one night...

and there she was...at the window...
like...all...

Naked? Yes. Don't worry, son.

All men have a deep desire to say,
"Show us your tits," to every woman
we fancy. Even Pascoe.

But we do not make obscene
phone calls or write dirty letters!

I was daft, wasn't I?

But you said...she asked for it.

One night...

I was in t'phone box and, er...
she must have been watching me...

because SHE rang ME,
in the phone box.

And she got me to say things like...
dirty things.

Not ever so dirty. I don't know
that many seriously dirty things.
You have to work at it.

She told me she kept my letters
in her dressing table, and why
didn't I spice them up a bit.

Then I decided to stop.

Why? Don't laugh.

It was interfering with me training.

I'm not laughing. It isn't funny.
But she didn't want me to stop.

She threatened me. She...she kept
the letters. To show to Mr Connon?

Mr Connon, the police, me parents,
everybody.

So, er...you decided to steal them?

On the Saturday night.

THAT Saturday night.

I went onto t'little flat roof
and in through t'window.

I could hear t'telly on downstairs.

I went into t'bedroom

and I was just about to open
t'dressing table drawer

when someone on t'bed moved
and sort of groaned. Mr Connon?

Yeah. He sat up.

What did YOU do? I ran away.
Downstairs. There was a lot of
noise, I thought no-one'd hear me.

Noise from the television?
And voices. Somebody laughing.

I was halfway down t'stairs when
Mrs Connon came out into t'kitchen
and saw me and screamed. Why?

You were her toy boy.
Didn't she recognise you?

I had this over me head.

Show us.

Ooh, it's enough to make anyone
scream. Give it to Mr Pascoe.

So, she screamed. Then what?

There was a man in t'front room.
Who? I didn't see him.

He said something like,
"What's the matter?"

I threw something at her
and legged it through t'front door.

Did you know his voice? It's a bit
muffled with a stocking on your head.

What did you throw at Mrs Connon?
What? You threw something at her.
What?

I-It was just something I picked up.

When Mr Pascoe asks you a question,
he's entitled to an answer!

It was an old air pistol!
Me dad used to keep it for the rats!
It's useless! He never killed any!

Is that your father's air pistol,
Mr Curtis? Yeah. Who did he buy it
from? Lord Kitchener? Lord who?

Don't say that. It upsets me.
You MAY be home in time
for Blue Peter...

Thank you. ..But don't bank on it.

No.

Forensics won't thank you for that,
sir. They'll be too busy finding
imaginary footprints on the roof.

How did you know? I know everything.
And I know how these buggers work.

It's a spring-loaded mechanism. Put
a pellet in and pull the trigger.

Wow. That's not going to help
anybody's frontal lobes, is it?

That's our toffee hammer.

LOUD MUSIC,
GENERAL CHATTER

Does your heart good, doesn't it?

Seeing all these young people.

This is no place
for the likes of us. Come on.

Can't talk with all this racket
going on.

How's the head? Memory improving?

Memory? Come on, Connie!
Fill in the gaps.

What was it that woke you up?
Mary screaming?

The hooded monster on the stairs?
Who was the man in the living room?
Who got rid of the gun?

Was it you or him?

He did. I know you're a man
of few words but that outburst
still leaves the odd gap.

I heard the scream, then the
front door. Stanley doing a runner.

I didn't know it was Stanley
until Marcus told me. Marcus?

He was the man in the living room?

I thought you knew.

You heard noises...

..you went down the stairs,
you found Marcus and Mary...
Having it away on the rug? No.

She were dead by then. I assume
you asked Marcus for an explanation.
"Excuse me, sir, my wife's dead."

He said it were an accident.

I hope he had a good story.
I believed him.

Try it on me.

Marcus came round because
Mary knew about him and Gwen.

She were threatening to tell
Arthur Evans. Why?

Her idea of fun.

Describe the accident.

Young Stanley had dumped this old
air pistol and Marcus had picked
it up. He were arguing with Mary.

She was teasing him
about his love life with Gwen.
He was waving the gun around.

She says, "What are you
going to do? Kill me?"

Then she grabbed the gun and held
it against her own head and pressed
his finger which was on the trigger.

Bang. She were dead.

That's Marcus's story?

Yes. Which you believe?

I lay down for half an hour,
give him time to get rid of the gun,
then I phoned the police.

We'd had a masked intruder.
We could blame everything on him.
Stanley. Poor little twat.

Whatever he does, he'll always be
found out. So it adds up to what?

Death by misadventure?
Manslaughter at worst? Yes?

Not murder.

Are you prepared to stand up
in court and testify

that your late wife was a wicked,
manipulative, conniving,
sex-starved bitch?

When I bust me ankle
and I knew it were all over...

the glory that was me,
do you know what she said to me?

"It's only a game, Connie...

"It's only a game."

That's a terrible thing to say.

It's true. That's why
it's a terrible thing to say.

She weren't talking about rugby.

I know.

CROWD SINGS "Land of my Fathers"

Come on!

Sid! Sid!

I shall need a pint every 15 minutes
for the duration of the game. But if
Wales win...I shall drink a lot.

Welcome home, Arthur.

COME ON, BOYS!!

Come on, England!
Let's show these taffies!

England! England! England!

I'll explain it as we go along.
I thought you might.

Come on, England! COME ON!!

Where have YOU been?!

A world cruise.

Spent my entire life savings.

Worth it?

Every penny!

Good.

How have YOU been?

I often wished I could get away
from Mary.

I used to think it wouldn't matter,
but it does.

It always matters.

They know you're here.
I had to tell 'em.

They met me coming in.

Well...

mustn't spoil your enjoyment.

WHISTLE BLOWS

It's only a game, Marcus...

only a game.