All language subtitles for Endeavour S05E03 Passenger.DVDRip.NonHI.en.PBS

♪♪

Teatime, Lillian.

It's that Lime Whip you like.

Shake a leg, love.

You want to make your train.

This is the Night Mail
crossing the border,

Bringing the cheque
and the postal order

Letters for the rich,
letters for the poor,

The shop at the corner
and the girl next door.

Letters of thanks,
letters from banks,

Letters of joy from
the girl and the boy...

Cedric?

Cedric!

Supper, dear.

I don't want any supper.

I told you, I'm going out.

What's going on?

Get off...

Get off me... I mean, please!

Let's go.

♪♪

Miss Thursday.

It's, uh, early for you.

I'm taking Mum out for the day.

She's spoiling me.

We're going to pick out
a new lamp for the flat

and have some
lunch... At Burridges.

Oh.

That will be nice. Mm-hmm.

I'm having a
flat-warming Wednesday.

8:00, if you're free.

Thanks.

I'll, uh...

Oh, only if
you're... Oh, well...

Got nothing on.

I know you're busy with work.

We're off, then, Fred.

Bye, Dad.

He can't hear over the taps.

He won't be a minute...
Do go on through.

Is there anything you need?

For the flat?

Uh, just bring a
bottle... if you're coming.

♪♪

They've gone, have they?

Oh, yes.

Just.

They did call up.

Much in?

Good morning. Good morning.

Okay, um...

Build?

Average.

Right, we're on our way.

Where is he?

He's with Mr. Bright, why?

Lorry hijack,

Waddington Junction.

Driver sounds to be
in a pretty bad way.

Whistle up the old man

once he's done with
Morning Prayers.

See you out there. Mm-hmm.

I cycle on a Sunday,
up into the Chilterns.

I set off about 7:00,

usually home by
6:00 or half past.

Frances does bell-ringing,

but is normally back by then.

And where's this?

The bell-ringing?

At All Souls' on Southmore Road.

And when she still
wasn't home by 11:00,

I called Jilly to see
if she'd seen her.

I haven't spoken
to Fran since, uh,

well, um, last week.

What's all this?

Missing person.

Mr. Porter's wife.

Frances.

Mr. Porter and his
sister-in-law, Miss...

Conway... Jilly.

When did you see her last?

Yesterday morning.

No note,

and she hadn't taken
anything with her.

No suitcase, no nothing.

All was well with you?

You hadn't had a row, or...

No, nothing like that.

And where should she be today?

Fran works at Alice's
Marmalade Cat.

It's a boutique.

Right.

Well, leave it with us.

The detective constable
will see you out.

Try not to worry.

Nine times out of ten,

these cases are
resolved quite happily.

Oh, thank you.

Oh, do you have a photograph?

No, I'm sorry.

I didn't think.

Um, I can drop one by
later, if that would help.

Thank you.

♪♪

And still no word
on the Flynn murder?

Not yet, sir, no.

Tied in to Eddie
Nero, you think?

Liam Flynn was a
strong-arm man and collector

for Nero's protection racket.

It's hard to see there
isn't some connection.

Just taken a payoff from a
cafe in the covered market,

hadn't he?

Yes, sir, that's right.

Only when his body was
found, the wallet was empty.

No chance it was just
an opportunistic robbery?

No.

Very well.

But a breakthrough

before the quarterly
figures are submitted

would be to the general weal,

so far as our standing
with Division is concerned.

No news on the
future of the station?

None that has yet
been confided to me.

The survival of the
fittest, Thursday.

If we are useful,
we will endure.

If not...

Thames Valley was always
going to mean changes.

Sir.

I'll give you a
copy of my notes.

Mrs. Porter.

I suppose you want to take it.

No, no, missing person.

Work for a detective
constable... You can deal.

Really? Hm.

All right.

Okay.

I'd start at All
Souls', if I were you.

See if she made
the bell-ringing.

But as you think best.

I won't miss anything.

I know.

Missing person, didn't
even ask for a photograph.

You can't do it all yourself.

Hmm.

Something's come in.

♪♪

Excuse me, sir, guv is here.

Righto.

Touch and go, according
to the ambulance boys.

Plenty of tire tracks.

There would be...
They'd've been a team,

half a dozen blokes at least.

Make sure we get
photos and casts.

What was he carrying?

Mixed load.

Whisky mostly...
Smokes, tinned goods.

Come down from
Scotland via Birmingham.

Regular run?

Every other Sunday.

He arrived at the
yard around 9:00,

went to the pub whilst the
goods fellas got him loaded.

Whoever it was must've
been waiting for him

when he got back.

Where were the porters?

Gone home.

His was the last
load of the night.

Most of it was bound for
Richardson's Depot at Bicester

and some other shops
and stores around Oxford.

Hammond and Sons,
isn't that in Abingdon?

I've spoken to
the governor there.

Driver's Burt Hobbs,
been with the firm 15 years.

Oh, Christ.

I'll notify his next of kin.

♪♪

Bastards.

That could've been
my old man, or yours.

It won't do, Morse.

It won't bloody do.

His missus is
breaking her heart.

Had their ruby wedding
coming up in September.

Big do planned.

Do we have a value

on the load?

Thousands worth of whisky.

Some are tobacco
and tinned goods.

A proper gang'd have
it coopered across

to another vehicle

inside two hours.

A decent, working man

going about his lawful business

cut down in as callous a manner

as you please.

We leave no stone unturned.

Ah, perfect timing.

Cowley will be
coordinating the investigation

with Detective
Inspector Ronnie Box

and Detective Sergeant
Dawson from Robbery.

DCI Thursday will, of course,

remain in overall
operational command.

Sir.

Your promotion to
detective chief inspector

inevitably means a
more managerial role.

I'm not a manager,
sir, I'm a doer.

No disrespect, I just think
I should have been told,

that's all.

I've just found out myself.

It's come down from Division.

D.I. Box...

How did you get
on at All Souls'?

Mrs. Porter hasn't come to
practice for about two months.

She telephoned to
say she was unwell,

but she hasn't been back since.

What's this?

Oh, missing person.

Frances Porter.

Robbery Squad.

How's that, then?

Because it's our business.

There was a lorry hijack
at Waddington Junction.

Who do you fancy for it, then?

Eddie Nero, like as not.

Well, Nero's heists don't
usually involve murder.

Desperate times,
desperate measures.

All right, stand to.

Action this day.

A rolling observation
is to be made of Nero

and known associates.

That will be conducted
by D.I. Box's robbery team.

Fancy, you're assigned.

Meantime, Strange and
me'll look into the haulage side.

All right, as you were.

Right, fetch your coat.

You might learn something.

Fetch the car round, Jim.

Sir.

You don't want me on it?

Division wanna make
it Robbery's show,

good luck to 'em.

But they're not
having my best man.

Besides you've a missing person,

haven't you?

It's an occupational
hazard for haulage, but this...

No drivers you let go lately?

Nobody with a grudge,
anything like that?

Well, the only thing
out of the ordinary was,

I had a colored come in looking
for a job about a month back.

West Indian.

Wanted to know the ins and outs

of the cat's proverbial.

He got a name?

Not that I remember.

He had a scar, though.

Right side.

He just felt like a wrong'un.

All right, Mr. Hammond,

if it should come back to you.

I'll have a turn through
the picture gallery, but...

It doesn't sound like

any of Eddie Nero's
known associates.

If this had been him,
Hobbs would still be alive.

Nero's not afraid of violence,

but as a means to an end.

Nah.

This little bit of business

goes hand-in-glove
with Liam Flynn.

Somebody making a
move against Nero?

There's no firm in Oxford
with that kind of muscle.

Until now, maybe.

♪♪

Actually it's an
astrological symbol.

Leo.

That's a fire sign. Mm-hmm.

It means I'm very passionate.

Afternoon, squire.

After something in particular?

Yes, as a matter of fact.

Frances Porter. Oh, yeah?

Who're you, then, her old man?

I'm Detective Sergeant
Morse, Thames Valley.

Mr...?

Bedlo.

Marty Bedlo... this is my place.

All right.

When d'you see her last?

Saturday, when we closed.

Did she mention any
plans for the weekend?

Not to me.

Anoushka.

Did Frances say anything to you

about what she was
doing this weekend?

Oh, excuse me. Of course.

Alice's Marmalade Cat.

Oh, hello.

Hello.

Miss...? Nolan.

Did Mrs. Porter tell you

what she was doing this weekend?

Miss Nolan?

Don't mention anything to Marty.

She borrowed a couple
of things from the shop.

Nothing expensive.

Just a hat and a
pair of red shoes.

She was going to get
them back first thing.

She's got this guy
she's seeing, Don.

Don what?

I don't know.

Just Don.

Did she tell you where
she was meeting him?

♪♪

Detective Sergeant
Morse, Thames Valley.

I'm trying to find a woman
who was here last night.

Her name's Frances Porter.

She's... early 20s,
medium height.

Wearing a hat, possibly,

and some red shoes.

Well, the only person
we had in like that

was with a guest at the bar.

A Mr. Smith, in chalet nine.

I'd like to see
his room, please.

Yes, I don't see why not.

What a tumble!

I'm so sorry, it should
have been cleaned.

I'll have to give Mrs.
T. A piece of my mind.

I'll need to take these glasses
and champagne bottles with me.

Has she done something wrong?

Her family have
reported her missing.

Heavens.

What time did he
check out, Mr. Smith?

I don't know... I came
on at 7:00 in the morning,

and by then, he'd already gone,

so he must have left early.

Or late.

Guests provide a car
registration, presumably.

It's a beige, four-door saloon.

Possibly a Rover P6.

Index Mother-Delta-Papa-
six-six-eight-Foxtrot.

Soon as you can.

Yes, sir.

Still here? Mm.

A Miss Conway dropped
this by the front desk

earlier this evening.

Thanks.

Who is she?

Miss Conway's sister.

Frances Porter.

Any sign of her?

George mentioned.

George?

Yes and no.

Did Fancy... sorry, George...

Say anything about
the Hobbs murder?

Only that if I heard of any
Kilorran whisky going cheap,

I should let you know.

Morse.

That index came back.

It's a fleet vehicle registered
to Gidbury's Desserts.

Thank you, what's the address?

Ajax House, Solihull.

♪♪

So...

What's this all about then?

I was wondering if you
can give me an account

of your whereabouts on Sunday.

I, uh...

I was at home, mostly.

Played nine holes
in the morning.

Afternoon, I...

took the kids to the park.

It's just, your car registration

was noted at a motel just
outside Birmingham on Sunday.

And a man answering
your description

was seen in the
company of a woman

called Frances Porter.

Yeah.

All right.

You know how it is.

It was me, but I don't know

any Frances... what was it?

Porter.

No, I was with Jilly Conway.

Yeah, that's her, that's Jilly.

No, that's Frances Porter.

Jilly Conway's her sister.

Trust me, I've met her.

Why would she
lie about her name?

For the same reason
you checked into the hotel

under the name
of Smith, perhaps?

Because she's married.

Now, how long have
you been seeing her?

Two-and-a-half months.

And what did you do Sunday?

We had lunch. Mm-hmm.

Went back to the room.

I dropped her at
Kings Oak station.

She was going to catch
the train back to Oxford.

No, Sorry.

Didn't see her alight.

I clocked off.

Is that usual?

To leave the station unmanned?

Well, it wasn't,
strictly speaking.

We live above the shop.

My wife's expecting, see.

Thought the baby was coming.

The ticket office at Kings Oak

said there are no direct
trains through to Oxford

at that time of a Sunday.

So she'd've had to change here.

That's right, ordinarily.

Only last Sunday
there was nothing due

after the Kings Oak train.

Down was cancelled.

Blockage on the line.

Would the passengers
have known that?

Don't get that many
passengers out here.

Not that time of the night.

Well, if anyone was stuck,

there's a cab number
in the booking hall

and a telephone outside.

With you in a moment.

Anoushka.

Anoushka, customer, love.

Here now, what's this?

Two days, Marty.

Something must have happened.

Come on.

Don't take on.

You don't know that.

She'll turn up.

Probably just had a
row with her old man.

Yeah. Mm-hmm.

Maybe.

Listen, I've been having a go

through the
weekend till receipts,

and there's a hat
and a pair of shoes

not accounted for.

Uh, excuse me.

I couldn't help but
overhear you talking

to the station master.

What he told you
wasn't strictly accurate.

No?

About nothing running
here Sunday night.

No, actually, there would
have been the Parly.

Some people call
them ghost trains.

It's a service
run by the railway

once a week, unannounced,

as a way of avoiding
closing the line altogether.

And one ran here Sunday night?

That's right, the 22:15 special.

Calling at Chadwick,
Hamingwell Halt, Pudham,

Whimperley, East Pitherbury,

and Waddington Junction.

You're a trainspotter?
Railway enthusiast.

And what do you do

when you're not enthusing
about railways, Mr...?

Naughton, Cedric.

I'm with the Ministry
of Education. Ah.

Schools inspector, for my sins.

Mother wanted me to be a...

concert pianist,

but you've either
got a feeling for it,

or you haven't.

And those stations
that you just mentioned.

Would any of those have
been good for Oxford?

East Pitherbury'd
get you nearest,

but there's no...
direct service anymore.

They're all... closed now.

♪♪

♪♪

Hello, sir.

Detective Sergeant
Morse, Thames Valley.

I was wondering if
you've seen this lady.

Sunday, perhaps.

Doesn't ring a bell with me.

Never get many
through here on Sundays.

I suppose she could
have alighted here

if she was trying
to get to Oxford.

Hm. What's she done?

I passed a stretch
of overgrown track

on the way from Norborough.

Where does that lead?

Nowhere, these days.

The old Marsdon Branch Line.

No trains on that track
for a few years now.

Right.

Thank you.

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

Rigor has completely passed.

Dead somewhere
between 24 and 48 hours.

Hands bound.

Bruises to the neck and throat

consistent with
manual strangulation.

What about her feet?

No sign of her shoes.

No.

Well, she walked
some way unshod,

by the looks of things.

Interfered with?

Her underclothes
have been removed,

and there would appear to
be some evidence of coitus.

She spent Sunday afternoon

in a motel with her lover.

Well, that might
complicate matters.

Be able to tell you more
after the postmortem.

Shall we say 1:00?

Gentlemen. Doctor.

Place this is.

Private.

She could've screamed
the place down,

and nobody'd've heard her.

If Scene of Crime are done,

let's get her out of here.

♪♪

Of course.

Just needed some fresh air.

When did this close?

'64.

Along with the rest
of the branch line.

There's a few houses
about two miles west,

but the rest's just farmland.

Must have been driven here.

Yeah, hard to see

how she would have
stumbled on it by herself.

So somebody picks her up

and brings her out to
this godforsaken hole.

You'd better notify the husband.

There's the sister, too.

Mrs. Porter took her name

when she met the
dessert salesman,

Don Mercer.

Is he married?

Figures.

Excuse me, sir.

Thank you.

You're a ways out.

Have car, will travel.

What can you tell me?

Not much.

Well, give me a name, at least.

Frances Porter,
went missing Sunday.

But that's not for publication.

Not till we've notified
the next of kin.

Any connection to
the Gresham girl?

County case, '64.

Linda Gresham.

Teenager from Headington.

Body was found out
near Slepe Bridge station.

County thought it must be
somebody who worked the railway

or knew it, at least.

Why? Is it unsolved?

I spoke to the parents.

Nice people, decent.

I can let you have
sight of the transcript,

if you think there's
any connection.

I wouldn't want to
speculate at this stage.

We'd be glad

of any information
you might have.

Well, I'm sure you've
got it all on file...

But my contact at County said

they nicknamed the
killer Prince Charming.

Because he took her
shoes as a souvenir.

Is that right?

Christ, who's this soppy tart?

Constable Trewlove.

Get her out of here, Pat,

before she blows our cover

and makes a bollocks
of the whole observation.

She knows what she's doing.

Information Room, from Dawson.

Receiving.

We've got some plonk
in imminent danger

of queering our obs,
on Tobacco Street.

Put her off, will you?
And make it sharpish.

Now what's she doing?

On your way, girlie.

Robbery, D.I. Box.

Don't make me flash my warrant.

Trewlove from Information Room.

Receiving.

Obs in progress

at your location.

Move on.

Received.

You might want to
tell the occupants

of LML-Four-Nine-Nine-C

that their Nondy's
parked on a double yellow.

If I'm seen to not move
them on by any likely lads,

it'll make the
vehicle concerned,

and its occupants

stand out like spare pricks.

Received.

Using the radio's a
bit of a giveaway, too.

There's a clear spot just there.

Afternoon, gentlemen.

♪♪

The beach is a
literal stone's throw,

and facilities are first-rate.

From the hotel,

there's excursions to all
the sights and local markets.

And, of course, being Acapulco,

there's the casinos
and the nightlife.

I've got a break there
myself coming up.

♪♪

Yes.

Yes, that's her.

That's my wife.

Frances Porter.

Come on, Mr. Porter.

This way, sir.

Alcohol levels in her blood

suggest she'd had
quite a lot to drink.

Enough to impair her judgment.

Cause of death was
as first appeared,

manual strangulation.

Coitus took place within
a few hours of decease,

but there are no obvious signs

of sexual assault.

Which isn't the same as to say

there may not have been

some sexual
element to the crime.

Indeed not.

The act of murder itself

is often sufficient stimulus

for the sexual psychopath
to achieve release.

Otherwise, she was a
fit, healthy young woman.

Roughly eight weeks pregnant.

I know you have already
been asked this question,

but I am afraid I must
put it to you again.

Was all well between
you and your wife?

She was my life.

Then I am sorry
to have to tell you

that she had lately become
involved with someone else.

What?

No, that's, er...

She was with him Sunday evening.

I don't believe it, not Frances.

She never gave
you any indication?

What about your married life,

were you... taking precautions?

What?

I don't see our private
life's any bearing.

My wife's been murdered.

If you must know...

No.

There was no
need... we couldn't.

There is no easy way
to put this, Mr. Porter,

but at the time of her decease,

your wife was carrying a child.

About two months gone,

according to the postmortem.

I am very sorry.

♪♪

You got a platform ticket?

I'm not doing any harm.

I'm not saying you are,

but the railway's got rules.

If you're going to...

be like that about it...

This other man.

Don Mercer, sir.

Strange is bringing him in now.

Presumably we only have his word

he put her on a train at...

Where is it? Kings Oak.

We're pulling the
old County files

from the Linda
Gresham case in '64.

Her body was found
at Slepe Bridge,

another disused station
further along the line.

There may be other similarities.

Such as?

Their shoes were
missing in each case.

County thought the killer

may have taken
them as a memento.

♪♪

I'm very sorry, Miss Conway.

Poor Frances.

Did your sister...

confide in you?

How do you mean? Confide what?

Did she ever mention
any other men?

It can't hurt her now.

She never said as much.

Not in so many words.

I just had a feeling.

Well, it appears
she'd become involved

with a man called Don Mercer.

She spent Sunday with him

at a motel out by Birmingham.

It appears she was
using your name.

My name? Mm.

Why would she?

Well, I can think
of a few reasons.

Is there anybody else
you'd like us to notify?

Your parents?

No.

Dad died last year.

Mum's in...

in a home.

Can't really
communicate anymore.

Maybe it's a blessing.

At least I don't
have to tell her...

about Frances.

♪♪

Yes, hello... Cowley
police station, please.

What do you make to Porter?

Bit of a wet week.

Not to know your wife

was involved with someone else.

Wouldn't be the first.

You wonder what
goes on in a marriage.

I know what goes on in yours.

Luncheon meat.

Ah, Miss Frazil.

My notes.

And a transcript

of the interview I conducted

with Linda Gresham's parents.

Just in case.

What do you remember of them?

Father was a merchant seaman.

Mother in nursing.
She was their only.

Went to Headington
Town Secondary, prefect.

Excelled in home
ec, music, and sport.

A well-liked girl.

Too much by someone.

Well, we'll talk to the parents.

I've already tried
to reach them.

Did you?

Bit premature, don't you think?

You said, "Tried."

They moved away.

No forwarding address.

Well, I'm sure we
can track them down.

Thanks for the...

Look, I know
you've got your job,

but I've got mine, too.

We both want to see
whoever did it caught.

Morse.

Yeah, thank you.

♪♪

Hm, you smell nice.

♪♪

What is it we're hoping to see?

Nero's men are hardly going
to be carting boxes of Kilorran

in and out of the gym, are they?

Softly, softly, son.

Right, opening time.

Off you piss.

You're all right back to
Cowley from here, are you?

Find your way?

I should think so.

Be here for 9:00.

Pick up a couple of
bacon sarnies on the way.

And two teas.

Mine's three sugars.

Go on.

You can go home early tonight.

You don't want me to close up?

No, you're all right, love.

I'll give you a lift
home in the car.

Oh, no, it's all right.

I'll take the bus.

Thanks, Marty.

Sure.

♪♪

Looking for anything
in particular, officer?

No, just looking.

Thank you.

♪♪

♪♪

Wait, wait, stop!

Stop, stop, stop, stop!

Mr. Mercer.

Detective Chief
Inspector Thursday.

Yeah, about bloody time.

Two hours, I've been waiting.

I've a good mind to
make a formal complaint.

Two hours.

What am I supposed
to tell my wife?

What did you tell her
Sunday? "Work," was it?

I think I'm owed an explanation.

The woman you
knew as Jilly Conway

was found murdered.

Strangled, to be precise.

That enough of an
explanation for you?

Christ.

He's nothing to do
with it, but you are.

Now, wait a minute...

We've a witness
says they saw your car

parked in a slip-road
by the roundabout

on Sunday night, a quarter
of a mile from the motel.

What witness? They said
you were standing on the verge

arguing with a woman

who answers the
description of Frances Porter.

Well, it wasn't me.

We can put you in a line-up,
get them to pick you out.

Is that what you want?

No?

So what were you arguing about?

It was a tiff, that's all.

The staff at Kings Oak
Station have no recollection

of Mrs. Porter being
dropped off by you,

or of her boarding a train.

Well, I can't help that.

Well, you'd better
hope someone can,

because right now, you're
the last person to see her alive.

And in my book, that means
you're halfway to the dock.

Just so you know, I
won't be diving in after you.

Don't tempt me.

As bad as that?

Try sitting in a motor

for half a day with
two sarky Charlies

who'd sooner you weren't there

and aren't too polite
to let you know it.

They treat me like
I'm bloody invisible.

Imagine.

I guess you get that a bit,

being in uniform.

Uniform.

Of course, I
wondered what it was.

You might want to take
a look at Lloyd Collins.

West Indian...
Jamaican, possibly.

He's got a record stall
in Brennan Street Market.

Running an M.O.T.
failure of a van

registered to 43B Hartford Road.

And?

You asked me to
be on the lookout

for Kilorran whisky.

He's using a bit of cardboard

from a case of the
same on his stall.

His prices are
written on the back.

But...

I can't put that to Robbery.

He's also not above
dealing in stolen goods.

There's an LP on his
stall from Morse's flat.

He was burgled last autumn.

Collar like that, you could
make a name for yourself.

So...

Why tell me?

Because I'm all heart.

You're the detective.

I'm just a uniform, remember?

I don't know,
we just hit it off.

There was a... connection.

I gave her a lift
back to the station.

It just started.

Nothing just starts, Mr. Mercer,

unless someone wants it to.

Did she tell you
she was pregnant?

Two months gone.

About the same time you
started seeing her, wasn't it?

I imagine that might put
you in the soup at home.

Marriage, kids...
Work, as like as not.

All of it up in smoke.

A man might take it upon himself

to do something about it.

Not meaning to,
of course, but...

No.

Put on the spot like that.

Is that how it
went? No, there's...

I'd never...

Well, it could've been
her husband's, couldn't it?

You didn't know
she had a husband.

So you claim.

So any child would
be down to you.

It was only meant
to be a bit of fun.

I, I didn't sign
on for all that.

I told her,

if she was keeping
the damn thing,

to stick it up for adoption.

Either way, I wasn't
going to be around.

Gallant to the last.

So you didn't take her
to Kings Oak station?

It wasn't even half a mile.

I told her she could walk it.

And was she wearing her shoes?

Far as I remember... why?

Just a line of inquiry.

Right, twist it how you like,

but there's no way
I'd've laid a finger on her.

Not for that.

When I left her
at the roundabout,

she was safe and well.

Do you believe him?

"She was lonely, I was lonely.

One thing led to another."

I might buy it from
a lovesick teenager,

but not from a man
who sells Lime Whip

to earn his crust.

Right, I best be off.

Joan.

Best not keep your mum waiting.

Hello. Oh, hello.

Can I give you a lift anywhere?

No, thanks all the same.

I'm meeting someone. Right.

But don't forget,
tomorrow night.

Flat-warming.

Oh, yes.

♪♪

I stopped by the
Chinese. So I see.

There's plenty if
you want a bowlful.

Sweet and sour pork,
chicken chop suey,

beef in black
bean, spring rolls.

Egg fried rice.

I'll be fine with
a drink, thanks.

I had a bottle of Radford's.

In the fridge.

In the fridge?

It's bitter, not lager.

How d'you make out with Mercer?

There's nothing to hold him on.

Not yet, leastways.

Got back on Sunday
around 10:00, so he says.

You'll have to talk
to the wife, then.

How you getting
on with the hijack?

There might be a connection

to a fella on the market.

Lloyd Collins, Jamaican.

But it's early days.

I don't want to jump the gun.

Is sure to delight

even the most
discerning of dinner guests

Gidbury's lime dessert.

It's not just good...

Joan come by, then?

That lamp that we
picked up from Burridges.

There's something
wrong with the fitting.

You know, where
you put the bulb in?

Want me to take a look at it?

No, no.

She just wants me to change it

next time I'm passing.

All right, then, is she?

I just seem to put
her back up lately.

It's not you.

She's just getting
back on her feet again,

that's all.

Still with that
Public Advice thing?

Part-time.

She said something about school.

Free School, whatever that is.

Oh, and Charlie rang.

What Charlie? My Charlie?

How many Charlies do you know?

Funny.

You don't hear from him

for the best part
of ten years...

Well, that's family, isn't it?

I'll call him tomorrow.

What time are The Minstrels on?

♪♪

Late, Cal.

That's branch meetings for you.

Everybody wants
to say their piece.

Lot of stuff about the
line being closed down.

You all right, are you?

My back's playing up.

I'll just go and wash up.

You've hurt yourself.

What? That?

Oh, bugger.

No, I caught some
old Tommy Brock.

Had to finish him
off with the jack.

Oh, Cal.

I couldn't leave
him like that, love.

Would've been cruel.

♪♪

Rexy!

Rex!

Come on.

Come on, boy.

♪♪

What's your
business with my van?

Lloyd?

Who wants to know?

I heard you might
be the man to talk to.

About what now?

Well...

where a man could get his
hands on some decent Scotch.

And where you hear that?

Just... up the market.

Rarse, man.

Me got nothing for you.

Come on, help a fellow out.

I've... I've got a party

at college,

and I've got to get
the bar stocked.

The college, you say?

Yeah, yeah, that's right.

Leave me your number.

Me see what me can do.

Gentlemen

Doctor.

I'm afraid we don't have a name

for her yet. It's
Anoushka Nolan.

So which station
is it we're by here?

Slepe Bridge.

Same as where Linda
Gresham was found.

Oh, yes.

I thought it felt familiar.

Any similarities?

To this?

Well, by dint of location.

And her hands were tied.

It was kept out
of the papers, but

Linda Gresham's
strangulation involved a ligature.

Her own bra.

This was manual.

Hands bound, mind.

Same type of sash-cord.

Same type of knot.

Just like Frances Porter.

But he hasn't taken her shoes.

No.

It's got to be more
than some sex killer

targeting women
at random, hasn't it?

Maybe that's what
we're meant to think.

Maybe this whole
railway connection is...

just window dressing.

Copycat, you mean?

Mm-hmm.

Based on newspaper
accounts of Linda Gresham.

But whoever's
behind it got it wrong.

He didn't know Linda Gresham

had been strangled
with her own bra.

Or that her shoes
had been taken.

What about Frances
Porter's shoes?

They'd been taken.

Yes, but that was before,
not after, her murder.

It looked like she'd
been walking for miles.

The soles of her feet

were all scratched and filthy.

So what connects Frances Porter

to Anoushka Nolan?

Mr. Bedlo.

This about Frances?

In a manner of speaking.

No Miss Nolan today?

You're telling me.

I had to open up myself.

She was in a pretty
bad way over Frances.

I let her go home
early last night.

You want to talk to her,

maybe try again this afternoon.

What were your movements
last night, Mr. Bedlo?

After you'd closed up.

Last night?

I was at home.

Anyone vouch for you?

Do they need to?

You drive a car, Mr. Bedlo?

Yeah, I have a car.

What's this about?

Anoushka Nolan was found

just after 7:00 this
morning by a dog walker.

How do you mean "found"?

Dead, Mr. Bedlo.

Strangled.

Same as Frances Porter.

Coloreds?

You're dreaming, son.

Lorry load of Scotch and fags?

That's white man's mischief.

They haven't got it up
here for that kind of caper.

Too much like hard work.

Where's this come from?

Where were you

in 1964, Mr. Bedlo?

All over.

I was flogging miniskirts
out the back of a van.

Mary Quant.

Markets.

Here. Midlands, mainly.

Headington?

Yeah.

I said all over.

Did you ever know a girl
called Linda Gresham?

Her.

She's a school kid.

Popular with teenagers,

I'd've thought.

Miniskirts.

So?

Who is she?

She was murdered in 1964.

Her body was left out

by Slepe Bridge station, the
same place as Anoushka Nolan.

Wait, whoa, whoa, wait.

What is this?

When it comes to crumpet,
I'm not a guy that has to try.

You know what I mean?

It's been reported to
us that you tried it on

with both Frances Porter
and Anoushka Nolan.

I don't care what anyone says.

I never laid a finger.

On either of 'em.

Or this Linda girl.

Never.

Not once.

A man would have to
be mad, wouldn't he?

Murdering two
members of his own staff?

It doesn't add up. It might.

It starts with Frances Porter.

She's the original crime.

And if Anoushka Nolan found
something out about that...

stumbled on some
piece of evidence

which would give the game away.

Then we have a motive.

So maybe the child
isn't Don Mercer's.

Maybe it's Marty Bedlo's.

Mrs. Porter was
sleeping with two men now

besides her husband?

Oh, it's just speculation, sir.

I don't know what
the world's come to.

Truly, I don't.

A man would come by
greater moral instruction

in a monkey house.

Results through
on the vehicle tracks

from the Waddington
Junction hijack.

Said you were to
be on the lookout

for a van with a one odd
tire on the rear off side.

Ah.

Cheers, Shirl.

There you are.

Sir?

Don't bloody "sir" me.

I want a word with you, girlie.

What's this?

As you were, Tubby.

This is the one I want.

Who do you think you are?

Some sort of detective?

Throwing out
your little theories.

I'll tell you what you are.

A woodentop.

A plonk.

A Person of Limited
or No Knowledge.

I know enough not to
park on double yellows.

Keep your tits out
of my operation.

Got it?

There.

You can run along
now and have a little cry.

I'm not the crying sort.

Oh, I know your sort.

Good for two things.

One of them typing.

I believe you're unfit for
duty through drink, sir.

Go home and sleep it off.

You mouthy little...

Woah!

Right!

Try that again.

What's the meaning of this?

Just giving the WPC a
few words of advice, sir.

It was a bit more than that.

I may have expressed
myself harshly.

So be it.

We're a bit rough
around the edges,

but that's Robbery.

I don't care who you are.

Robbery? I've shit 'em.

All right, Thursday.

Reprimand is one thing.

Humiliating junior ranks
in front of senior officers

is quite another.

I was putting her straight.

Indeed, then let
me put you straight.

I will be making express
request to Division

the Hobbs case be taken back

solely into Cowley's hands,
and you will not oppose it.

Am I understood?
She was asking for it.

Don't ever let me hear
you talk to one of my officers

like that again.

Well...

we all know you've got

a bit of a soft
spot for her, sir.

I beg your pardon.

Proper little Chief Super's pet.

Maybe that spot's
not so soft, eh?

One phone call
from me to Division,

and you will find yourself
facing a disciplinary board.

Extension 388.

Ask for the Chief Constable.

It's a new world out there.

By the book's all well and good,

but it's "fire with
fire" that gets results.

Division knows it,
even if you don't.

Get out.

Go on, get out
before I forget myself.

Get back...

to whatever disgusting
sewer you crawled out from,

don't ever dare to show
your face in my station again,

or I promise you,

you'll have cause to regret it.

Excuse me.

You made it!

I wasn't sure if you
liked red or white,

so I brought one of each.

Oh, great.

What can I get you?

Just a beer, please.

There you go.

Here, come

You've got to see this.

It's the view I
fell in love with.

Yes.

You can't see from there.

Come closer.

This is as close as I get.

You come here.

I'm not gonna jump.

There's someone
I want you to meet.

Her name's Claudine.

She's a photographer.

Well, a photojournalist.

Something interesting, anyway.

You'll like her.

She's pretty.

I'm sure.

And French.

No matchmaking.

You need looking after.

I'm really not on
the market right now.

Thank you, though.

Actually, I should probably go.

You just got here.

Yeah, work.

I just wanted

to wish you well.

Hope it's a happy place for you.

A fresh start.

Stupid cow!

Do you have a light?

Thank you.

Good night?

Hello.

It's George.

The lorry hijack.

That market trader came through.

He's gonna let me have
four cases of Kilorran whisky

for 20 nicker.

Where're you picking it up?

Lock-up on Pike Street.

Ten minutes.

Okay.

Lloyd?

Lloyd, it's George.

Ambulance!

Ambulance!

Ambulance!

Easy, Lloyd,
Lloyd, Lloyd, Lloyd.

Ambulance is on
its way, all right.

Lloyd, Lloyd,
Lloyd, stay with me.

Who did this?

Who did this?

Cromwell Ames...

♪♪

♪♪

Somebody probably
saw him talking to you,

took him for a narc.

Anything on this Cromwell Ames?

Nothing on file according
to the Information Room.

But the deceased's
a fair bit of form.

Receiving, mostly.

Doctor.

Multiple wounds.

A ferocious attack.

Won't know which
was the killer blow

until I've opened him up.

Anything out of the ordinary?

Beside the headless cockerel?

Well, it wasn't a knife,
I can tell you that.

The only thing I've
seen comparable of late

is Liam Flynn.

Shall we say 2:00?

There's no Kilorran on board.

But the rear off-side
tire's a mismatch.

Which puts it at the
Waddington Junction hijack.

♪♪

What do you think
the bird's about?

I know what it looks like,

but I hope I'm wrong.

The black cockerel's

a pretty potent voodoo symbol.

That rules out Eddie Nero.

Didn't we have a
consignment of toasters

take a walk off Burridges'
loading bay last month?

It's like Ali Baba's cave.

Kilorran.

Someone's got a sweet tooth.

There was a case of
that on Hobbs' manifest.

Bound for Richardson's.

They can't be Frances
Porter's shoes, can they?

Oh, I think they could be, sir.

Mercer left her at the
roundabout, didn't he?

Maybe she thumbed a lift

to Kings Oak station from Hobbs.

Why would she leave
her shoes behind?

Clearly you've never worn heels.

They were new, weren't they?

Maybe they were rubbing.

So, half-cut.

Upset from her row with Mercer,

she gets out of Hobbs' lorry,

and he's on his way
before she realizes

she's left them
behind. So, what,

after they knock the lorry off,

Lloyd does a sweep of
the cab for any bunce?

Maybe he had them in
mind for his market stall.

Is there any possibility

the hijack gang
could have killed her?

These are professionals, sir.

A detour to mess her about and
leave her dead at Gibbet's End...

I can't see it. No, well,

keep me apprised
of any developments.

Carry on.

Right, Fancy and Trewlove,

get the contents of
the lockup booked in.

Me and Strange'll

take the Shabeen
on Kingston Street.

Can you keep the
railway ticking over?

Sir.

Did you get that address for me?

There you go.

Thanks.

♪♪

Afternoon.

Ferdy.

Mr. Thursday.

What can I get you gentlemen?

A couple of Scotches.

Kilorran if you've got it.

We don't stock it.

We gave Highland, Glen Ross,

and The Old Pretender.

Two Highlands,
straight, no chaser.

Anybody been by

offering any cases of
Kilorran on the cheap?

Them know better.

This is a straight joint.

We don't get no
trouble round here.

You know that.

I know you're still
paying protection

to Eddie Nero's mob

to make sure
things stay that way.

That is management.

I'm just a barman.

Someone does come round,
you'd be sure to let us know.

Sure.

So what's new, Ferdy?

Nothing new.

This is Oxford.

Nobody fresh on the scene?

From out of town, maybe?

Fella with a scar.

No.

Nobody like that.

We heard the name Cromwell Ames.

Mean anything to you?

Cromwell Ames?

No.

Do you want another?

No.

Thanks.

Keep the change.

It's Ferdy.

Him there?

♪♪

And nobody notified you?

I can't say I'm
surprised, though.

Mrs. Conway wasn't
on the best of terms

with the older daughter.

Nor the husband.

When did she move in?

Last year.

Just after her husband died.

She had a number of strokes.

And this is a private home?

That's right.

So who pays for it?

Miss Conway has
power of attorney

and has control of
the family finances.

I believe it's quite a
considerable fortune.

Here we are.

Nice young man
to see you, Lillian.

Hello, Mrs. Conway.

Lillian?

I wouldn't get your hopes up.

You'll be all right
for five minutes?

Oh, yes, yes.

Mrs. Conway.

My name's Morse.

I'm a police officer.

Mrs. Conway, I'm afraid

I've got some very
bad news for you.

It's, um...

It's about your daughter,

Frances.

Mrs. Conway, do you
remember Frances?

Mrs. Conway, do you
remember Frances?

Jilly.

Um... no, Mrs. Conway.

That's Frances.

She's married to Noel.

Jilly.

I'm afraid, um...

It doesn't matter.

Any luck?

No.

I did say.

Yes, you did.

Well, thank you
anyway, Miss, er...?

Misses.

Gresham.

She was a good girl, Linda.

She'd do anything for anybody.

Bright too.

Everybody said so.

Good at sport.

And music too, I believe.

Oh, yes.

Yes, she had all
her certificates.

Grade four, she was.

Mrs. Naughton said
she was a natural.

Her piano teacher.

She took it very bad.

You wouldn't think, would you?

A stranger taking on like that.

And how long have
you been down here?

Two years, more or less.

We thought it would be
better for my husband.

He hasn't worked since.

He just pines for her.

He's there and not there.

A bit like these.

I lost one child
and got another.

I'm sorry you've
had a wasted trip.

Oh, no, no.

Maybe it's for the best.

At least Mrs. Conway's
been spared what you haven't.

Still, it's a pretty sad pass

when you can't recognize
your own daughter.

Would you excuse me?

♪♪

Yes, sir.

No, I think it is
about the money.

♪♪

Oh, you made me jump.

Yes?

What do you want?

I'm sorry.

I've been to see your mother.

Oh, yes.

I understand she wasn't
on the best of terms

with your sister and Mr. Porter.

No.

Well, Mum always
liked to play favorites.

See, what I can't
understand is this.

Why would a mother be
surrounded by photographs

of a daughter she
couldn't stand?

You see, I think

Frances Porter
is very much alive.

Then whose body was found?

Jilly Conway's.

Falsely identified by
you at the mortuary

as your wife. To what end?

Financial gain.

After your mother-in-law
went into a home,

Jilly... the real
Jilly Conway...

Was granted power of attorney.

And more importantly,

control over the
family finances.

I think you wanted that money

and drew up an elaborate
plan to get your hands on it.

Rubbish.

How's the travel business doing?

All right, is it?

Because rest
assured, Mr. Porter,

we will be taking a very
close look at your accounts.

It's audacious,
I'll grant you that.

Murder Jilly, say it
was Frances who'd died,

and have your wife
assume the identity

of your dead sister-in-law.

Here we are.

Tell me everything.

Never suspecting her
own flesh and blood

intended ill toward her,

Jilly confided and shared things

only one sister might
share with another.

How and where she'd met a
nice man called Don Mercer.

How their affair had begun.

Right down to where she would be

on the Sunday she disappeared.

All the while unaware

that every intimate
detail and disclosure

was being considered

as to how best it could
be used against her

by you and your husband.

You were just looking
for the right opportunity.

And Sunday night
presented you with that.

A blockage on the line,
a change to the timetable,

and the arrival of
the once-a-week train

delivered your
sister to her death.

Lost, miles from home.

Who should Jilly call

to help her get
back to Oxford...

but her sister?

I imagine you took
her to some private,

out-of-the-way spot
close to Gibbet's End.

And Gibbet's End was chosen
so we might assume her death

was in some way connected
to the Linda Gresham case.

That her killer had taken
up his old ways again.

Perhaps you met Linda
Gresham's mother at the care home.

That's what first put
the idea into your head.

This is crazy.

As if I'd harm my own sister.

You acquainted
yourselves with the case

from the newspapers.

So you wouldn't know

that Linda Gresham was
strangled with a ligature.

And you made

the same mistake twice,

the second time
with Anoushka Nolan.

Fran, could you hang these?

Course... listen, do you think

I could borrow these
shoes and that hat

for the weekend? Sure.

That is great.

It is beautiful, isn't it?

Oh, wow, look at the flower.

And they match.

I think she must have seen a
woman she thought to be dead.

Frances?

Just go through.

This is the maddest
story I've ever heard.

You've no proof of it.

Who dropped the
torch at Gibbet's End?

You or Noel?

There were no
fingerprints, of course.

I imagine you both wore gloves

on the night in question.

But did you wear gloves
when you put the batteries in?

Did you really think

there wouldn't be a
photo of Jilly in the papers

sooner or later,

and that Marty
Bedlo wouldn't see it

and realize she wasn't you?

Or maybe you had
plans for Marty, too.

Actually...

we planned to be a
long way away by then.

Ah.

Somewhere without
an extradition treaty.

Well, your husband
is certainly well placed

to make the travel arrangements.

Jilly was always the favorite.

Right from when we were small.

You know, youngest, I suppose.

It was only a few
years between us,

but when she came
along, that was it.

It was like Mum
had no time for me.

It was all, "The baby
this," "the baby that."

There was nothing
too good for her.

There was ballet
lessons, ice skating,

horse riding. You were jealous.

Of the love.

Of the attention.

Up until then, it'd been
just me and my mum.

It was like someone had...

just turned off the sun.

She should've put me
in charge of the money.

I was the eldest.

She was your sister.

Oh, some sister.

She knew Noel's
business wasn't doing well.

She could've given us an
advance against the inheritance

to get us out of a hole,

but no, "This is Mum's
money, Frances.

I'm just looking after it."

Looking after
herself, more like.

New car, clothes,
foreign holidays,

and she didn't even
book those through us.

I just thought, "Why
should she have it all?"

Even now.

What about me?

Heather?!

Heather?!

Heather!

So Frances Porter's

been passing herself
off as her own sister

for the past four days.

Yes, sir. Morse.

Bold as brass. So
it's got nothing to do

with the killing of
Linda Gresham?

No, sir.

They just crept into her
killer's shadow for cover.

To kill her sister for
money, though, it's...

People have done far worse

for much less, Constable.

What is it?

She got him.

♪♪

Morse!

"This is the Night Mail..."

What is it about men and trains?

How's his mother taking it?

You really think he
killed Linda Gresham?

Certainly looks that way.

You'd better take
her back to the station.

We'll be along to take a
statement from her shortly.

Sir.

What do you think it's worth?

Good few quid, I should think.

Turn it off.

♪♪

Still doesn't get us any
closer to this Cromwell Ames.

If he is making a move
on Eddie Nero's territory,

then it'll be all-out
gang warfare.

It's who gets caught
in the crossfire.

That's what keeps
me up at night.

Just through, Mrs. Paterson.

She had a girl.

Wants to know what the name

of the nice young officer
who first arrived was?

Morse.

Morse?

For a girl?

Tell her it's George.

You sure?

Right-o.

Georgina it is.

Well, that's something
decent out of all this.

You've got to look
for the silver lining.

Let me know when you find it.

I'd hate to miss that.

Following his shooting
at a Los Angeles hotel

in the early hours
of yesterday morning,

Senator Robert Kennedy died

shortly before 9:45
Greenwich Mean Time.

The younger brother
of John F. Kennedy,

the late American president...

♪♪