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This indicates the symmetric
fragments are caused by...

the passage of the fissioning
nucleus through an asymmetric cell...

And now, ladies,
we'll have that last exercise again.

Margaret Bell,
concentrate.

Anything for the weekend, sir?

No...
thank you.

Ten shilling postal order, please.

ENDEAVOUR
Season 1 - Episode 01

Subtitles by Deluxe
Sync: Marocas62

The plane that dropped the bomb
on Hiroshima

was named for the pilot's mother...

Enola Gay Tibbets,

and the bomb -
that obscenity in her belly -

they christened it Little Boy.

Was Mrs. Tibbets proud of her little
boy that day?

Say good night to Grandpa.

Good night, Bob.
Sleep tight.

MURDERER

"GIRL"

He had a hat and everything.

- What about identification?
- I didn't think to ask -

- with the hat.
- You usually

get a receipt when the
meter's empty, don't you?

He said I'd get one in the post.

Will I be liable for the loss?

I wouldn't have thought so.
Gas board are pretty good about this sort of thing.

Well, if there's nothing else.

Don't suppose there'll be much
chance of you catching him, would you?

Ehat with these post
offices getting knocked off.

Well, we'll certainly do our best.

My name is Bright.
Chief Superintendent Bright.

Firstly, I would just like
to express my gratitude

to Detective Inspector Thursday

for holding the
fort so admirably

pending my arrival.

Secondly...

Secondly, you should be aware

that I am putting
this station on notice.

I do not propose
to speak ill of my predecessor,

but where there are breaches
of procedure or Spanish practices,

you will find me a horse
of a very different colour.

That said, I want you to regard

my appointment as
a "tabula rasa".

A clean slate.

You play fair by me,
then I will play fair by you.

Carry on.

"Around and around the rugged rock
the ragged rascal ran."

- What?
- Well, that's a bit cheap, isn't it?

He'd be right up your
street, I suppose.

"Tabula wasa".
My Aunt Flo.

If you've no work, Jakes,
some will be found for you.

Sir.

Don't let them get a rise.

- It's nothing.
- Insubordination's what it is.

By proxy.
You're my bagman.

I know what's going
round the canteen.

Job should have gone
to a Detective Sergeant.

Well, it didn't.
It went to you.

You're here on merit.

Not that you'd know.
You might have found time to run an iron.

That shirt looks
as though you slept in it.

First impressions, Morse.

Right...

Sudden death on Southmoor Road.

Uniform just wants
the all-clear.

Thank you, sir.

You're meant to be
on the door, are you?

Sorry.
I just come off nights.

It's playing havoc with my...

I think I can live without the
details of your digestive timetable.

- Thankyou very much.
- Who are you?

For you, someone could have just wandered
in street for a bit of housebreaking.

If you're gonna be like that, let's
see some identification, matey.

Sharpish.

You're Morse.

Strange.

- What is?
- I am.

Me.
My name. Jim Strange.

The... sawbones is here
if you wanted a word.

It's all right.
You can look.

Nothing here to
frighten the horses.

No blood, least ways.

- What's the...
- My extensively educated medical guess

would be a heart attack.

Young, isn't she?

You'll need to run
her GP to ground,

but Digoxin would suggest
a heart defect of some sort.

- Time of death?
- Rigor completely passed.

So some time
before noon on Saturday.

- Do we know who she was?
- Margaret Bell.

Her family's in Rhodesia,
according to Miss Byng.

Landlady.

She's next door at the minute,
having a cuppa. For the shock.

Two other girls live here

but they went away Friday morning
for a week in Rhyl.

- That's as far as you've got, is it?
- No. Student, I'd say.

One of the...
colleges.

Beaufort colours.
These are Beaufort colours

and it's unlikely she'd
have been an undergrad there.

- Why not?
- Because they don't admit women.

More likely secretarial college.

I've already had a go through
her purse.

30 bob and a French letter.
Unused.

"Hope springs eternal
in the human breast.

"Man never is,
but always to be blest."

Keep me posted on the GP, Morse,
will you?

OK, let's go.

Good boy, Bobby.

There you go!

Did you like that?
Did you like driving?

Yes.

Don't be cross.
I was just passing.

Don't talk rot, Pamela.
You know perfectly well you weren't.

I brought a few changes.
They're all clean.

That's very good of you.
You needn't have.

I'm expecting Frank home any minute,
for lunch.

I could make junket.
Bobby could help me, couldn't you?

Honestly, you can't keep doing this.

Five post offices knocked over
in the last two months, sir.

All within a 20-mile radius.

- None on our ground, though?
- Not as yet.

But as well to be prepared, sir.

I'd prefer you concentrated
on this gas meter menace.

It transpires one of his victims

is great-aunt to the
Assistant Chief Constable.

I promised we'd roll out
the silver service, rapid result.

Right, sir.

Well, if there's
nothing else, I'll -

There is one other matter.

I understand you've a Detective
Constable acting as bagman.

Morse, sir.
Good man.

They're all good men,
Thursday,

but the rank system
is there for a purpose.

Bagman is a Detective Sergeant's
post.

He's an exceptional officer, sir.

Barely two years in uniform
before being transferred to CID.

Which, you may rely, means
no-one knew what to do with him.

Or his talents lay elsewhere.

A grammar scholarship

and a failed degree
might impress some...

..but the truth of it is he lacks
experience.

I'm bringing him on.

I'd as soon we didn't
get off on the wrong foot, Thursday.

Likewise, sir.

On your own recognisance.

And for a probationary period only.

The first hint of a hullabaloo,
he'll be returned to general duties.

Sir.

In Miss Bell's room,

we found a bottle of Digoxin,

which is a derivative of digitalis.

Quite dangerous, I'd have thought.

Dr. Prentice?

Yes, quite lethal.

It's not called "deadly nightshade"
for nothing.

But for certain cases,

such as Margaret's congenital heart
weakness,

it can actually help
the heart muscle contract

and do its work.

Which is why I have to say I am
surprised.

Surprised?

A heart attack.

If she was taking her medication,
then...

You will notify me
as to the inquest?

Of course.

- Hello, old girl.
- Lunch won't be long.

Hang lunch.

Not now, Frank, please.
I'm getting a head...

Perhaps at the weekend.

Pamela is here, making junket,
if you please.

I do wish she
wouldn't just drop by.

Maybe you can talk to her.

Yes, all right.
If you like.

Said you'd run her into town when
you were back from the surgery.

Perhaps that would be a good time
to raise it.

I lent her my scarf the last time
I saw her.

When did you see her last, Denis?

We were meant to go out Friday
but she...

..couldn't make it.

Here.

Have a smoke.
Steady your nerves.

No, thanks.
I don't.

What about Miss Bell?
Did she smoke?

No.

I don't think so.

Your...

With Miss Bell.
That was a...

..full relationship?

She wasn't that sort of girl.

- What sort of girl was she?
- Nice.

She wouldn't laugh at you
or make you feel small

just cos you've not had it all
handed to you on a plate.

A scholarship?

There's no shame in that.

Not many girls here
would go with a bloke

who darns his own cuffs.

God knows
what she was doing with me.

Right, what have we got today?

Monday, cheese and pickle.
Tuesday, luncheon meat.

Don't ruin it.
Anticipation's half the fun.

Cheese and pickle!
What do you know?

So, this sudden death...

Margaret Bell.
20 years old.

At secretarial school.

- Looks to be natural causes.
- "Looks to be"?

She had a heart condition

but her GP said she should have
been fine if she take her medication.

- Maybe she forgot.
- Maybe.

But she'd had someone
there, when she died.

A boy friend.
No law against it.

This isn't her steady.
He doesn't smoke.

There were some cigarettes
in a saucer on the window ledge.

It rained Friday evening,
but the saucer was dry.

Dr. DeBryn doesn't anticipate
anything untoward?

No, but...

You're kicking your heels.

Turn your mind to
these gas meter jobs.

Get a decent collar or two
under your belt.

Mind how you go with Mr. Bright.

He looks to be a stickler for rules
and regs.

It's my card he's after marking,
not yours.

Keep your head down and
your nose clean.

Concentrate on your police work.

All right?

.*

"Going to the Moonlight Rooms
with you know who."

Any idea who that might be?

I think it may be Derek.

She spoke about some
man called Derek.

Works in the post office.

Thanks very much.

Her name is Margaret Bell.
She died on Friday.

I just wondered if you knew her.

Can't say I knew her well.

Only to say hello to.

Really?
She'd written

in her shorthand notebook
that she was meeting

"you know who" at the
Moonlight Rooms Friday,

and her friends thought
"you know who" referred to...

- you.
- I don't know why they think that.

I might've said I'd see her there
some time, if I was going.

But as it was, I ended up
down the Legion, on Edgecombe Road.

The Legion?
That's a bit dull, isn't it?

I go for the old man.
He's a member.

So you didn't meet Margaret later?

Look, you asked me if I'd seen her,
I said no.

Did you know she had a boyfriend?

Who's that, then?
A college boy?

That's what they come here
for, isn't it, secretaries?

Pick themselves up a husband.

Some bluer prospect
if they can get it.

I don't think I said she was a
secretary.

The impression I got.

Cheerio, Wally.

- Morning, love.
- Mr. Clark.

Derek.

Afternoon, Miss.
Just the regular?

- Please.
- Everything all right, Officer?

He's not in any trouble, is he?

Just a routine inquiry, Mr. Clark.

- He's a good lad.
- I'm sure.

- Thank you.
- We've...

We've got the poster up.

PC Nixon dropped it round.

Very nice young man, he is.

It's a worry, though.
Kidlington.

I mean, that's only up the road.

If you see anyone acting suspiciously
or loitering outside...

Casing the place, you mean?

Yeah, the robberies seem to have been
conducted with some foreknowledge.

Cash deliveries and what have you.

Anyone you're not sure of,

just give the station a call
and we'll have someone round.

What was all that about?

Nothing.
Some girl I half know died.

- Died? What of?
- How do I know? Just died.

They're talking to everyone
who knew her.

Mr. Truby from regional's coming by
for eight.

I want you to take him
through the quarterlies.

You know I'm out Mondays.

You're out every night.

It's a wonder you've
any money left.

- Jesus.
- Hey.

I won't have language.
Not in this house.

If your mother
could see you carrying on...

She can't, though, can she?
She's dead.

She's dead and it's just you and me
and...

..fish fingers,
pension books...

..world without end.

Halle-bloody-lujah.

I've done my best.
What do you want?

Something else.

Something more.

Not this.

- Do we know who he was?
- No wallet on him, sir.

But the car's registered
to a Dr. Cartwright.

Got a practice in Florence Park
with a Dr. Prentice.

- Prentice?
- Yeah. Why?

I was there yesterday.

He's the GP in that sudden death -
Margaret Bell.

Killed some time
between nine and midnight.

Single shot.

Weapon discharged from
over by the door there.

Bullet entered the skull
half an inch above the...

left point of the supraorbital
ridge...

..and went on its merry way

to exit at about
the median point

of the left parietal
occipital suture line.

And... Yes.
And end up...

Hey, as it were...

presto.

No wallet you say?
Robbery, then.

Possibly, sir.

In any event, I think
it best Sergeant Jakes

assume management of
the incident room for the direction.

DC Morse is my bagman, sir.

Morse may remain as your driver
and aide de camp,

but a case such as this

requires an officer of
experience or senior rank

to coordinate the inquiry.

You're giving primary consideration
to this bicycle, I take it?

- Quite right.
- Sir.

I recall a not dissimilar case
in Freetown.

The usual mammy-palaver.

But the killer left his bicycle
at the scene.

You should be able to trace
its owner from the frame number.

Really?
In Oxford?

What Morse means to say, sir,

is that there's probably
more cycles hereabouts

than anywhere in the country.

Bikes get lost,
borrowed, stolen. Right?

Yes, sir.

But if the registered
owner isn't left-handed,

then he's probably not our man.

Left-handed?

As you'd have noticed, given the
opportunity to examine it yourself,

the front and rear brake cables
have been swapped over.

He'll also be an older man,

and of limited means, possibly.

- How did you get to that, then?
- Well, the bike's ancient.

But well maintained. Which points
to thrift, I'd have thought.

Taken together with evidence
of absent-mindedness...

What evidence?

He sometimes forgets
to wear his bicycle clip, sir.

There are scraps of material
torn from his trousers in the gears.

One a cavalry twill,
the other's a linen. Both black.

He wears subfusc as a matter of
habit.

A don, then?

Perhaps, sir. But I think,
given the limited means...

we are looking
for a man of the cloth.

A vicar shooting somebody in a lav?

I hope you'll eliminate
known criminals

from your inquiries
first, Thursday,

before troubling any clergymen,
what?

Really, Constable Morse...

you should be on the halls.

That minding how you go, is it?

How long had you and Dr. Cartwright
been in practice together?

18 months.

We were juniors together
at the Radcliffe.

Is there anyone you can think of
who would wish to harm him?

Anyone with whom he's had a falling
out?

No, not a soul.

Dr. Cartwright wore a wedding band,
sir.

I presume he was married.

Yes, a girl called Helen.

They live at Sloan House by Cumnor.

Place belongs to her father,
Edmund Sloan.

He's professor of physics
at Beaufort.

Sir Edmumd Sloan, the atom man?

Yes, that's right.

I'd like to put him in the picture,
unless you have any objection.

Coincidence, don't you think?

Yesterday we find Margaret Bell dead

and today the partner of her GP
is found shot dead.

Sudden death's sudden death.

Just cos it's a pretty girl
doesn't make it murder.

- I didn't say it was.
- Cartwright's been shot,

not Prentice.

What was all that
about with Mr. Bright, earlier?

I know you've a brain on you,

but as far as he's concerned,
a bit more of the humble policeman

and a bit less of the great detective
would go down a whole lot easier.

What's all this about?

Perhaps you should sit down,
Mrs. Cartwright.

Oughtn't we to wait for Sir Edmund?

Wait for Daddy for what?

I'm afraid
I have some very grave news for you.

- Who is it, Helen?
- The police.

My little sister.
Mrs. Walters.

- Is it... Daddy?
- No, madam.

It concerns your husband,
Mrs. Cartwright.

I'm sorry to tell you

his body was discovered
this morning at Godstow.

He'd been shot.

My God.

Helen, I...

My God!
Somebody catch her!

It's all right. It's a seizure.

She'll be all right in a minute.
We just have to keep talking to her.

Pamela? Pamela, good girl.
We're all here.

That's it.
Good girl.

Keep talking to her.
Just breathe. Good girl.

All right. Well done.

That's it.

It's all right.

.*

We'll be needing someone
to identify the body.

If I can spare the family...

Have you known them long?

Four years or so.

Through Frank.

In Lady Sloan's last illness,
she was treated at the Radcliffe.

That's how Frank
got to know the family.

All was well at home?

Well, only the wearer knows
where the shoe pinches.

But absolutely, I'd say.

Helen's a wonderful girl.

Would you know if there's any firearms
kept on the premises, Mrs. Cartwright?

Mother had a pistol.

For vermin. Squirrels and the like.

I haven't seen it in years.

- Helen.
- He's gone.

He's gone.

- I know, I know.
- Daddy.

It was here.
Together with a box of ammunition.

When did you last see it?

I doubt I've opened
this drawer in years.

Frank may have borrowed it
for something.

Can you think of anyone
who bore him any ill will?

Some disgruntled patient or...

No.
He had perfect bedside manner.

No problems with the practice?

- Did he get on well with Dr. Prentice?
- As far as I'm aware.

I know you need to speak
to all of us,

but if you could go gently
with Pamela.

She's been through a lot.

Gerald, her husband, died.

I'm afraid
this will have brought it all back.

- What happened to him?
- Car crash.

The other fellow's fault.
Drink.

- When was this?
- Two, two-and-a-half years ago.

Made the papers, I believe.

Had they been long married?

Just back from honeymoon.

Whirlwind romance.

He was some young chap
she'd met at ICI in London.

She had a job in the typing pool.

Registry office.
None of us invited, of course.

I'm afraid we'd rather lost touch.

With Pamela's illness...

..things have not always been easy
between us.

- If you could be careful with her.
- Of course, sir.

Hang on. See what the sister's
got to say when she comes to.

Right.

Just the who, what,
where and when of it.

That's all we're
after for the time being.

I'll get a car to run
you and Mrs. Cartwright

down to the mortuary
for the formal ID.

Did she know what her husband
was doing at Godstow?

Keen angler, apparently.

Evenings he was on call,
he'd go fishing after work.

Which is all right as far as
it goes, but it's closed season.

Whatever her husband was
doing at Godstow last night,

it wasn't fishing.

Who are you?

Constable Morse.

I've seen you before.

Cowley Parade, yesterday.

Where's Bobby?

My little boy.

Helen.

I'm so sorry.

I don't think it's fair for Helen to have
to cope with Bobby on top of everything else.

So why don't I
just take him home with me?

Just until you've had a chance
to come to terms with everything.

I can't cope with this today.

- Really, I can't.
- Pamela.

Daddy, I'm just trying
to do what's best.

Please, my dear.

You promised.

You said you'd see,
if I'd been good.

You can't just keep him here.

Tell her she can't.

Helen.

He belongs to me.
He's mine.

Daddy...
Daddy, please...

You always take her side.

I'm going to telephone a taxi.
If Bobby's things aren't here,

ready, by the time I get
back, there'll be hell to pay.

Can you give me the fare?

- I can take you home.
- No.

No, I'm not going
anywhere with you.

You're in on it with them.

Please. Ten shillings
should cover it.

Please, don't
give her any money.

Of course.

Bloody fool.

- Helen.
- He think she's helping.

You think you're helping,
but you're not.

You don't know her.

As far as the
family's concerned,

Mrs. Cartwright
took a sleeping pill

- and went to bed at ten o'clock.
- And the girl with the fits?

Dr. Cartwright took
her from Sloan House

to her flat in Florence Park
before his rounds.

- And?
- Sir Edmund

Sir Edmund was working in his rooms
at Beaufort College, sir.

Says he got home about eleven.

He's some one, isn't he?

Worked with the Americans
on the bomb. Knighted for it.

There's not one of the family
with a solid alibi, sir.

Family?
I thought it was a robbery.

Well, his wallet's
gone, sir, certainly.

But his watch...

wedding ring,
tie pin, it's all here.

Not much of a robber
to leave those behind.

Adhesive plaster, sir.
He was on call last night.

Final patient he attended
was half eight. Summertown.

Then what's he doing driving
all the way out to Godstow?

Fancy woman on the go?

There is another
possibility, sir.

Given where it's happened.

Touch of the Chase Me Charlies,
you mean?

- No kids, have they?
- An immoral rendezvous?

I should hope this case might
be resolved without resorting

to gross slurs against
a man's character.

For heaven's sake, Dr. Cartwright
was married, wasn't he?

No.
Helen.

You must think us very heartless.

One has to put the child first.

She's not fit, you see.

If something happened...

When did the seizures start?

She was about 12,

which Frank said
is often the case.

Helen!

Get in the taxi.

Pamela was always a difficult child.

She told tall tales.
Lies, I suppose.

She hid things.

La Gazza Ladra, we called her.

Was she violent in her fits?

And desperately strong.

My wife was against it but we...

..we had her put away.

I've put him down.
Hopefully he'll just cry himself to sleep.

When was she released?

We were talking of Pamela.

My God, even today.

Helen.
Just after her 18th birthday.

Though, what that has to do
with my husband being shot,

I have no idea.

Please.

When Mummy was dying,

she had us promise
to bring Pamela home.

Frank explained there'd been
miraculous advances with drugs,

such that she really ought to
be able to manage on her own.

That's when she went to London?

My inspector said she had a job
there.

ICI?
Frank was at St Mary's at the time.

So he could look in

and make sure she was
taking her tablets.

Then...
when he came back to Oxford,

telephone calls went unanswered,

letters returned unopened.

And one day she just turned up here.

A young widow with a child in tow.

Yes, that's...

..Frank Cartwright.

My husband always
looked on the bright side of things.

Happy go lucky.

Perhaps that's what first drew me
to him.

Not that...

Things at home weren't always...

It must have been difficult for you,
growing up.

I learnt not to mention the P-word.

And I missed her.
All her...

Missed her terribly.

- How long was she confined?
- Six years.

It wasn't an asylum.

People always assume.

Mummy would have never allowed that.

It was...
very nice.

A... A colony...for...people
like Pamela.

An epileptic colony?

Yes.

- Hello? Any one in?
- Heavy, I'd imagine,

lugging all that lot about.

Meter.

Can I see some identification
if you don't mind?

Wouldn't you know it? Must've
left it in my other trousers.

Pity.

See, I've got mine.

- You've rung the depot?
- Out of hours, I'm afraid.

I called an emergency number

but they have no record of you.

Paperwork can't have gone
through yet.

I've only been in the job
three weeks.

Constable Spencer will see you're taken
care of for a drink and a hot meal.

Made an arrest, then?
We'll hang the flags out.

Poor Frank.

I don't think
I was a very good wife.

I'm sure that's not the case.

I don't think I ever loved him,
you see.

Not properly.

The way one reads about it in books.

"He took her in his arms
and all became a mist."

And he was kind...

after Mummy.

Took me out once or twice.

When he proposed,
it seemed impolite to refuse.

- There must have been more than that.
- Must there?

Perhaps if we'd had children...

Some girls take to it, I suppose.

I don't want to be old and alone.

You won't let that happen, will you?

Helen...

you are the most simply marvellous
girl in the whole world.

- You know I've always thought that.
- Haveyou?

I used to tease Frank about it.

"I saw her first," I'd say.

"Lucky devil, if
you don't watch out,

"I shall steal her
out from under you."

Will you?

.*

An honest mistake, sir.

Well, that's not how
the gas board sees it.

Aye-aye.
The gas man cometh.

I spent two hours on
the telephone last night,

rectifying matters.
At home!

Mrs. Bright's bridge
evening was quite ruined.

An honest working man arrested while
going about his lawful business.

It's not good enough, Thursday.

I think you'd better
make yourself scarce.

"Man that is born of a woman

"hath but a short time to live

"and is full of misery.

"He cometh up and is cut down
like a flower.

"He fleeth as it were a shadow

"and continueth not in one stay.

"And dost thou open thine eyes
upon such a one

"and bringest me into judgment
with thee?"

Had you reported the bicycle stolen,
Reverend Monkford?

No, no. Someone else's need
was clearly far greater than mine.

- When was this?
- Gosh...

a few weeks ago now.

Yes, I should have kept it
chained up, I suppose.

It was found by the river,
at Godstow.

Outside a public convenience.

Do you know the area?
No, no.

No, I'm afraid I don't.

Have you ever met
a Dr. Cartwright?

Frank Cartwright.

He has a practice
in Florence Park.

Well, I know all the doctors
in my parish, obviously, but...

that's about it.

You've an interest in science?

Yes.

Yes, I read chemistry at Beaufort
before the war.

I've kept a keen interest
in the nature of things.

The truth of them.

Something we have in common,
I should imagine.

Well, we share a passion
for cruciverbalism, certainly.

Yes.

I've always had a weakness
for a puzzle.

Alas, I'm a little off my
game today.

You might want to take a look
at 11 down.

"Running over a
dune is an effort."

Nine letters.
Think it

should help you with
the south-west quadrant.

You do seem an unlikely sort of
policeman.

If you'll forgive me.

Well, it's rather
where I have ended up,

by way of academe and the Signal
Corps.

- Jack of all trades.
- The Signal Corps?

What were you doing there?

I was a cipher clerk.

Cipher clerk.
Indeed?

I noticed a grave in your churchyard.

Lady Daphne Sloan. 1903 to 1960.

Anything to do with the Sloans
at Cumnor, would you know?

Yes, yes. Yes, the Sloan family have
a long association with St Eligius,

going back many generations.

I married one of them a
few years ago.

Well, performed the service,
at least.

Helen, would that be?

Possibly.

I'm afraid names don't...

You know.

As a matter of interest,
where were you Monday night?

Monday night?

Yes, I was here.

Preparing...
the sermon for Sunday.

It's an expository.

St Matthew, chapter seven,
verse seven.

I have to ask...

How did you find me?

Process of elimination.

There aren't that many
left-handed vicars in the diocese.

I'll see your bike's returned
as soon as we're done with it.

Thank you.

Well, seeing as you've helped me,

by way of recompense,

"After beard teased...

"..an exclamation of surprise
will bring you home."

11 letters.

Well, it's something for you to
think about on the way back to town.

I'm sorry, sir.
This last chapter

- seems to be taking longer.
- As soon as you can, Denis.

- I've left my...
- All right.

Sir Edmund,

I wonder, might I
speak with you a moment?

I was just on my way to hall.
Perhaps you'd care to join me?

I'd be glad of your company.

- That's... very kind.
- Not at all.

- That was Denis Bradley, wasn't it?
- One of my brightest.

A rather promising young physicist,

and more importantly,
an accomplished transcriber.

He's been helping with my memoirs.

Typing up my rather
illegible longhand.

- How do you know him?
- A girl he was seeing -

Margaret Bell -
died suddenly last weekend.

Good heavens.
I'd no idea.

Poor boy.

- Of course. That will explain it.
- Explain what?

Well, the latest
pages he turned in

were awash with
typographical lacunae.

I'm afraid I may have been a little
hard on him.

- Has he ever been to Sloan House?
- Once or twice.

To collect my notes
and deliver fair copy.

He'd have known Dr. Cartwright, then.

- Frank?
- Yes,

I suppose he would have
seen him about the place.

Please.

Thank you.

Now, you must tell me.
I've rather held off asking.

But I gather you
were at Lonsdale.

- Where would you gather that?
- Talk in the SCR.

Oxford's a self-regarding
sort of place. Insular.

You can't deny the novelty
of a Greats undergraduate

serving as a constable
with the city police.

I can try.

Your daughter's marriage
to Dr. Cartwright...

Was that an altogether happy one?

Well, I'd say no marriage
is altogether happy.

But Helen and Frank
were happier than most.

And your own relationship
with Dr. Cartwright.

How was that?

Whatever reservations
I may have had,

Frank became like a son to me.

A happy family, then?

Happiness is subjective,
don't you think?

Take me.
Feted, titled...

..and yet...
my wife, Pamela...

..and now Frank.

I'd say it was a judgment,
if I believed in such things.

For what?

I helped unleash a force with the power
to wipe mankind from the face of the earth.

And that troubles you?

A quarter of a million souls
is a lot to answer for.

It would seem
I'm not alone in that view.

How long's this been going on?

- About six months.
- No specific threats as such?

No, a single word
most of the time.

Variations on a theme.

"Monster." "Killer." "Murderer."

To do with his war work?

Well, that's how he took it. But
with his son-in-law being killed...

Got the wind up, has he?
See if there's anything in it.

How did you make
out with that bike?

- Any luck?
- Yes and no.

Belonged to a Reverend Monkford.

- Vicar of St Eligius.
- Good.

He says it was
stolen some time ago.

Not him that cycled down to Godstow,
then?

He says he was in Monday night,
working on a sermon.

Maybe we'll have better luck
with this gun.

Mr. Bright wants
the river dragged,

so I'm breaking
out the gumboots.

Do you want me to run you?

No. No.
Jakes will do.

He's got a list together
of Cartwright's patients.

Go through that.
See if there's any with form.

Particularly firearms offences.

There is one more thing, sir.

Margaret Bell's boyfriend,
Denis Bradley.

I thought we'd been over that.

He's been helping Sir Edmund Sloan
with his memoirs,

so if the murder weapon is the
revolver taken from Sloan House,

- Bradley's been there.
- How would he know where to find it?

More than likely one of the family
made away with it, do you think?

They're a rum lot
by anybody's yardstick.

And Doctor DeBryn called.
Wants you to drop by the mortuary.

That sudden of yours.

- Margaret Bell.
- Yes?

Interesting stomach contents,

One or two partially
dissolved tablets.

- Digoxin.
- No.

These are of a blueish-purpley hue.

Dye had leached into
the lining of the gut, you see.

Do you feel all right?

- You're not going to er...
- No.

I can get you a glass of water.

I'd sooner the point,
if it's all the same to you.

The point is, I've just had
the results back from the lab.

- Drinamyl.
- Amphetamine?

- They're illegal, aren't they?
- As of last year.

Unfortunately, that doesn't mean
people have stopped taking them.

Not me. Like a good drink.

That's where I draw the line.

Derek wouldn't get mixed up
in anything like that, sir.

He's never been in any trouble.
He works hard.

Got a decent future ahead of him -
if he knuckles down.

- Knuckles under, he means.
- See what I mean?

Go and see to that tea.

No, don't trouble on
my account, Mr. Clark.

Go on.

He's not a bad lad.

Just...
It's been hard on him.

Since losing Ivy.

I promised her I'd
do my best, but...

a boy needs his mother,

all said and done.

Where do you want it?

Just about bust a gut carrying
that thing.

What do you want
with her typewriter, anyway?

Something I want to check.

Must be difficult typing
all this yourself now.

What does that mean?

Up until the last two messages,

the hate letters sent
to Sir Edmund Sloan

were written on a Remington Model 5.

Specifically,
Margaret Bell's Remington Model 5.

What makes you think that?

The E key is misaligned.

I'd expect Sir Edmund's memoirs

to show the same anomaly.

Did Margaret type
the hate mail, too,

or just the memoirs?

Just the memoirs.

I typed out the
rest of the messages

while she was taking a bath.

If I notify the college,
you'll be sent down.

If?

You've worked hard.
Don't throw it away over nothing.

Nothing?

I'd thought maybe he felt some
remorse, some prick of conscience.

But all the hair shirt
and the mea culpa is just an act.

- An act?
- He's going to America.

- America?
- A fat chair at Stanford.

He's taking them all with him.
Helen, Dr. Cartwright, the kiddie.

Only the doc wasn't too keen,
so far as I can make out.

Don't you get it?

They're paying him to come up
with new ways of killing people.

My God, doesn't that matter to you?

Isn't it your job
to catch murderers?

- You're taking it a bit far.
- Am I?

You kill one person,

they lock you up
and throw away the key.

You kill 300,000

and they give you a knighthood.

Daddy sent you to spy on me, did he?

No. I just wanted to make sure
you were all right after yesterday.

What did they say about me?

Did they tell you
I'd been put away?

That I'm a danger to Bobby?

I'm not.

It was the first turn I've had in
over a year.

It was a shock hearing about Frank
that way.

Is there anyone you can think
of who'd want to do him any harm?

No, of course not.

He was...
kindness itself.

If it hadn't been for Frank,
I'd still be locked up.

You probably think I should be
after my last performance.

They can't keep
you from your son.

You don't know my family.

I can see him,

visit my own son.

I have to pretend not to mind.

Not to make a fuss.

Or they'll put me back inside
and I won't see him at all.

At least I know
he's just a bus ride away.

I suppose that's some comfort.

Will you take me to bed?

You don't need to buy me things
or tell me you love me. I just...

Please, just for a while.

I'm here in a position of trust.

I'm not your type.

I should go.

No, stay, please.

"She saw the helmet and the plume,

"She looked down to Camelot.

"Out flew the web,
and floated wide;

The mirror cracked from side to side:

"'The curse is come upon me',
cried the Lady of Shalott.

Thanks very much.
I'll tell him.

What power has a constable
re a bookmaker's permit?

He may...

He may demand production
by the holder.

Relevant act?

Betting, Gaming and Lotteries Act
1963 Section 2.

Come on, matey.

These are the easy ones.

Try another.

- What's the point?
- You're the one wanted testing.

I can't keep my mind on it.

There's something
about this Cartwright case.

Something I'm missing.

There's this girl.

Well, she's beautiful.

Incredibly so.

But there's a sadness to her.

Nothing left to hope for.

But somehow holding on.

You're all right, actually,
aren't you?

Most of the lads
have got you down

- as a bit of a queer fish.
- Have they?

- Standoffish, rude.
- Right.

You've got to rub along with people
in this job if you want to get on.

Don't worry about this.
You'll get it.

Just got to keep
going over it and over it.

Till it sticks.

Same again?

.*

What did you find?

Amphetamines?

That sudden death of Margaret Bell.

According to Dr.
DeBryn, her heart attack

was most likely brought
on by amphetamines.

The army gave us Benzedrine
in the desert.

- Meant to keep you alert.
- Did they?

Funnily enough, I
found the Germans

managed that quite
nicely on their own.

There's a boy in the
Margaret Bell case,

Derek Clark, works at the
East Cowley Post Office.

He denies it but
I'd be surprised

if it wasn't him who
supplied Margaret.

Think this Clark boy
had 'em off Cartwright?

I think it's a question
well worth putting to him.

Maybe he panicked and killed
Cartwright to cover his tracks.

Try the back.

Mr. Clark, Mr. Clark, can you hear me?

- Is he alive?
- Mr. Clark?

Wallace Clark heard the break-in
about quarter past nine

and came downstairs
to see what's what.

Which is when they jumped him.
Presumably.

The lad followed on
and got the same treatment.

Much of a haul?

Morse is over
there now, sir, but

at first glance it would
appear about 800 in cash.

Plus whatever bunce in stamps, Premium
Bonds, postal orders, tax discs.

Three assailants, you said?

The wicked swines cut two of the old boy's
fingers off to make him open the safe.

The same as Kidlington and the rest?

How is it you came to be there?

I know you've already spoken to
DI Hillian from Robbery, Derek.

But I need to ask you
something else.

This amphetamine business.

On my father's life, sir,

I wouldn't have anything to do
with that sort of thing.

You gave Margaret
Bell amphetamines

supplied to you by
Dr. Frank Cartwright.

Who's he?

Him.

He's been in the post office
but I don't know him.

Only to serve.

Didn't know his name was Cartwright.

But you did go back to Margaret
Bell's room.

They were your cigarettes
in the saucer on the sill.

It was just a bit
of a kiss and a cuddle, sir.

She was fine when I left her.
I swear.

Where were you Monday night?

I was working late at the shop, sir.

For Mr. Truby, the regional manager.

We were going through the
quarterlies till gone midnight.

You can ask him.
He'll tell you.

All right, Derek.
We'll be in touch.

I see.

Yes.
Yes, indeed.

Thank you.

The suppliers confirm it.

Frank's been ordering Drinamyl

surplus to our regular requirements
for the last six months.

There's no chance you could be
mistaken here?

No, sir.

Dr. Cartwright's fingerprints
were found on the package.

I can't believe it.

Frank was...

I mean, it's just
utterly out of character.

Yes?

Yes.
Yes, he is.

Thursday.

I wonder, might you identify
this handwriting, Dr. Prentice?

When was this?

- Which?
- In the red.

When did it happen?
Do you know?

That's Frank's scrawl.
I'd know it a mile off.

- I see.
- It's even worse than mine.

- Yeah.
- It looks like he's...

jotted down a call-out.

- Why?
- Both of them?

Something I needed to clarify.
Thank you.

We're on our way.

Thanks for your help, Doctor.
We'll be in touch. Morse.

Sir.

Reverend Ranulph Monkford.

Been in the parish about five years.

Morse saw him yesterday.
It was his bike out at Godstow.

- Who found him?
- Housekeeper. A Miss Scoby.

Arrived to find the vicarage had
been turned over and Monkford missing.

I've taken a preliminary statement.

Not himself at all yesterday,
she says.

Very distracted.
Kept going on about not talking.

- Not talking?
- "Do not talk at meals.

"Do not talk travelling."

There were more but those were
the ones Miss Scoby could remember.

I wondered if it might be
some religious thing.

Like monks.

Thank you, Miss Scoby.

Not been right
for a couple of months, she says.

Over some young bloke he found
kipping rough in the church porch.

- How's that?
- Put him up for the night,

the next morning the
blighter's cleaned him out.

Made off with his prize
coin collection.

Killed between
8:00 and 11:00 last night.

Three shots.

Two in the back,
which sent him off the ladder.

Followed by the coup de grace
from close range.

The same killer as Dr. Cartwright?

I prefer to leave speculation
to the professionals.

I'll be able to speak
to any firm similarities

once I've completed
the postmortem.

Looks like Morse was right
about a clergyman, sir.

But not much else.

It transpires Dr.
Cartwright's sister-in-law

has a criminal record.

As even the most cursory examination
of her history would have revealed.

Juvenile assault
upon some poor orderly

at the sanatorium to
which she was confined.

- Bad?
- She stabbed him in the groin.

But how bad it was is hardly
the point.

It should have come to light.

- I'll talk to him.
- No.

He's had enough rope.

Morse...

Someone was looking for something.

What if Reverend
Monkford was lying

about his bike being stolen?

- Morse.
- What if he was there

and saw Dr. Cartwright's killer?

Then why didn't he come forward?

I don't know.

Maybe it was someone he knew.

What if he was trying to protect
them? What if he...

Look, I can see you've got
the bit between your teeth

but there's been a development.

Let's get a drink.

It's not her.

Maybe. May be not.
The point is, you should have checked.

- I didn't need to.
- Why?

Cos she's a damsel in distress?

When it comes to a
bird with a wing down

you've a blind spot a mile wide.

- It'll be your undoing.
- There's a child in this

being kept from its mother in
case anybody hadn't noticed.

If that's a blind spot,
then so be it.

Derek Clark's lying, sir.

He's involved somehow.
I know he is.

Look, he might not have been
entirely straight with us

about this Margaret Bell girl,

but at the time Monkford
was being shot,

Derek Clark was being trussed up and
beaten senseless at the Post Office.

- I don't know.
- Well, I do.

You're being returned
to general duties for the present.

Where's this come from?

- Bright?
- Mr. Bright.

No, it's my decision.

Best you hear it from me.

Six months' time,
a year,

get through your exams,
we can look again.

- And in the meantime?
- Learn your trade.

Thanks for the drink.

I'm a good detective.

And a poor policeman.

No-one can teach you the first.

Any fool can learn the second.

.*

I suppose I should have realised
it wasn't a school.

But it did look like one a little.

Through the rain.

He left me in a room
on the first floor,

which I took for the head's study.

After what seemed the longest time,

I went to the window
to look outside.

And I saw Daddy,

but I wasn't worried.

Because he didn't have his umbrella.

And I knew
he wouldn't go anywhere without it.

And then an orderly
came outside with it.

And that's when I realised...

I banged and banged on the glass.

He must have heard me.

He must have.

But he didn't look up.

He just got in the car
and drove away.

And I didn't see them again
for three years.

It's come to light that
you...assaulted an orderly there.

There were some...

nice ones...

and some not so nice.

A 15-year-old girl,
you can imagine...

If Frank hadn't have come along
and got me out when he did...

I found this the other evening.

Why was Dr. Cartwright writing to you?

You saw him often enough.

What was it that he
had to put in a letter

that he couldn't
say to your face?

My colleagues are looking at
you as a suspect for murder.

Do you understand that?

Now, I think they're wrong
but

if I'm going to help you
then you have to give me the truth.

Were you having an affair?

Pamela?

Pamela, put your head back.
Put your head back.

How is she?

She's asleep. I've put her to bed.

It's good of you to call.

Did your husband see much of
Pamela in London, Mrs. Cartwright?

I think I said.

Frank looked in
on her to make sure

she was taking her tablets.

They would have been close, then?

Close?
Yes, I suppose.

And more than close?

My God.

You people really
are the living end.

I'm not even going to dignify so
disgusting an insinuation with a response.

How does Pamela support herself?

My wife left a small annuity on her.

She has no other income?

No-one else would send her money?
No other relative or friend?

Gerald's family, I suppose.

Her late husband.
Why do you ask?

Because I saw her cashing a
postal order the other day.

But that's nothing
you'd have sent her?

No.

Some of my colleagues
are of the opinion

Pamela is somehow involved

in the death of your husband
and that of Reverend Monkford.

Does that bother you at all?
Perhaps it would suit your plans.

What plans?

When did you intend to tell her
you were leaving for the US?

Or perhaps you didn't intend
to tell her at all?

You are going to America,
Sir Edmund?

Daddy?

Is it true?

Constable Morse is mistaken.

I have had an offer for Stanford
but I haven't accepted it.

You're lying.

Don't you ever stop?
What's the matter with you?

You've been returned
to general duties.

What are you about,
coming round here?

I think Pamela was having an affair
with her brother-in-law.

You do?
Then I'm obliged.

I was just going to question her
in order to keep Mr. Bright happy.

I couldn't think of
a motive until now.

- What motive?
- Crime of passion.

Never mind it was her brother-in-law
she was carrying on with.

Well, by that token you
should be talking to Mrs. Cartwright.

If you're looking for a motive,
speak to her. Jealousy.

She doesn't have a
conviction for assault

and a history of
mental instability.

When you search the flat, you're going
to find a gun and some ammunition.

I will,
will I?

What's that, Sir
Edmund's missing revolver?

I'd have thought so.

And just when were you
thinking of mentioning that exactly?

- Sir, I need to tell you...
- Not this time.

I don't want to hear it.
I'm warning you, Morse,

for your own sake, stay
out of this case. I mean it.

You come within a mile, I'll see you out of the
nick so fast your feet won't touch the floor.

Not looking too good, is it?

You won't get a match.

How about we let Ballistics
do their job?

She steals things.
I've seen her.

"La Gazza Ladra". The family's
pet name for her as a child.

"The thieving magpie".

It doesn't mean anything.

It means she's
going away for life.

No alibi, Morse.

For Cartwright or the
night Monkford died.

Old man's sweating her now.

Well, make sure
he takes a look at her wrists, then.

Unless I'm much mistaken, she's
already tried to kill herself once.

I imagine she took the gun
intending to try again.

It's called reasonable doubt.

Seven and six each week.

Morse. Morse!
Morse!

Please, don't let them take Bobby!

Get off me!

- Go gently.
- Please don't let them take him.

Morse!

- Get off!
- Now, settle down.

Morse, can you hear me?

Operator, this is a police call.

Detective Constable Morse,
Oxford City Police.

Warrant number 175392.

Could you connect me, please,
to Somerset House.

Births, Marriage and Deaths.

I wonder if you can tell
me if you have a marriage

registered in the
following names.

- Thank you.
- Oi!

Oi!

Here!

You're pinched, matey.

Turn to your left.

Constable Strange
nicked the gas meter man.

Better get counting.
Fair few shillings in there.

Police work, Morse.

It's not Gideon's Way, I know.

But it's what gets them
up the steps.

You'll be pleased to
hear we arrested the man

responsible for robbing
your gas meter at home.

Right. I didn't
know it had been.

He was an imposter,
a thief.

Well, thanks very much.

But, you see, amongst
the spoils recovered

from your meter were
several rare coins.

Formerly in possession
of Ranulph Monkford.

Vicar of St Eligius.

A man offers you kindness
and that's how you repay him?

Kindness?

He found you sleeping rough
in the porch and took you in.

Well, he would say that,
would he?

Easy money, rolling queers.

Give them the glad eye,

find somewhere private and,
before anything happens,

Bob's your uncle.

They're not exactly going to
come running to you lot, are they?

What the hell's he up to?

You'd better scarper, matey.

If Jakes blows upstairs
he's seen you, that'll be your lot.

Could you do me a favour?

What is it you're after?

The night Monkford was killed,

someone gave this
place a good going over.

Think the boy who took the coins
came back?

No, I'd say it was someone else.

I think they were looking
for something specific.

Good God.

The Golf, Cheese and Chess Society?

What the bloody hell's that?

Prior to the police
I served in the Signal Corps.

My instructor had worked at
another facility during the war.

Home to the Golf, Cheese and Chess
Society.

GC&CS.

The Government Code and Cypher
School.

Monkford was a cryptographer.

A what?

A code-breaker.

I told him I'd been in Signals.

- I've been an idiot.
- Have you?

Breadcrumbs.
Breadcrumbs?

Yeah, when Hansel and Gretel
went to the Gingerbread House,

they left a trail of breadcrumbs

so that they could
find their way home.

But what's breadcrumbs?

The answer to a crossword clue.

It's the last thing that Monkford
said to me.

"Breadcrumbs" was his insurance
in case something happened.

His way of letting me know
he'd leave a message.

Morse, I've just heard it
on the bush telegraph.

The balloon's gone up.
Bright's on his way.

Morse...
Are you listening?

If he finds you,
he'll be in his bloody element.

What did you say?

.*

Perhaps you'd care to explain
just what it is you're doing here.

I think I know who killed
Cartwright and Monkford, sir.

- Think or know?
- Know.

What's this?
More threadbare legerdemain?

Might as well hear him out, sir.

But we're about to charge
Pamela Walters, aren't we?

Every Friday, Dr. Cartwright
went to the East Cowley post office

and had a postal order
made out to the sum of 10 shillings.

Every Monday that order
was cashed by Pamela Sloan.

Why would it matter if he was
sending money to his sister-in-law?

- Thank you.
- Three years ago

Pamela Sloan attempted suicide.

Frank Cartwright had been
keeping an eye on her.

Since she moved to London.

He found her in
the nick of time.

- Pamela, no.
- Go away!

His own marriage failing,

Cartwright understood Pamela's
desperation all too well.

Two lonely people in a big city
far from home,

they looked to one another
for companionship

and comfort.

He got her pregnant.

I spoke to the National Registry
first thing.

There was a man
called Gerald Walters

who worked at ICI
and he did die in a car crash

but there was no whirlwind romance
with Pamela Sloan.

No marriage.

For two years they kept their affair
secret.

Pamela passed herself off
as a young widow

and collected Cartwright's
weekly postal order.

- Thankyou.
- You're welcome.

Eventually someone realised
Dr. Cartwright

was sending money to a woman
who was not his wife.

They fired a shot into the dark

and hit the bull's-eye.

The sender threatened to reveal
what he knew to Cartwright's wife

and sought to turn it
to their own advantage.

Cartwright paid
off the extortioner

with a regular delivery
of amphetamines.

And the Reverend Monkford?

How do you explain
his involvement?

He came upon Dr. Cartwright's
killer at the scene.

Unfortunately the murderer also
recognised the Reverend Monkford.

You might find this compelling,
Thursday,

but so far it seems to me nothing
but surmise and rank flummery.

If he knew who the killer was,

why didn't he just come forward?

And explain what he was doing
cycling to a public convenience

miles from his parish at 10 o'clock
on a summer's evening?

You can prove none of it.

Actually, sir, I believe I can.

What are you going to do, produce
some eyewitness from thin air?

As a matter of fact, sir,
we do have a witness.

The Reverend Monkford.

Shall I send back to the station
for a Ouiji board?

All right, Jakes.

He's left us a message.

It's been staring us
in the face all along.

What message?

Hymn numbers?

Actually, sir,
that's the last thing they are.

The first time I saw it,
I thought it odd

to have 17, 18, 19 following
on like that.

The last time I saw Monkford,

he hinted he intended
to leave a message.

Something that might speak for him.

Even if he wrote
down what he knew

and hid it somewhere at
home, it might be found.

And someone did search
the vicarage the night

he was killed looking
for exactly that.

Fearful for his life and afraid
the truth would die with him,

Monkford concealed the killer's
identity in the hymn numbers.

Concealed?

I've since found out that Monkford
worked in cyphers during the war.

You saying these hymn numbers
are some sort of code?

Exactly, sir.

Only, I couldn't find the key
until now.

Actually it was Strange
who hit upon the answer.

Before taking the cloth,
the Reverend Monkford

read chemistry at
Beaufort College.

You'll find a copy of the
periodic table hanging in his home.

Isn't that a list of the elements,
hydrogen, carbon, helium?

Yes, yes, of course.

Strange, there's a blackboard there.
Could you...?

Each element is
assigned a symbol.

Typically an
abbreviation of its name

together with a unique one-
or two-digit atomic number.

Can you write these down
as I call them off?

So, 74 gives us tungsten.

17, chlorine.

18, argon.

19, potassium.

The elements spell out a name.

TCAP?

Tucap?

No, not quite, sir, but
you're on the right lines.

The chemical symbol
for Tungsten isn't Tu

as you might expect.
It's W from the German, Wolframite.

And Potassium isn't
P as you might expect

but K after the Latin, kalium.

Taken together they're...
Tungsten...

Chlorine.

Argon.

And Potassium.

W-C-L-A-R-K.

Wallace Clark.

- Good grief.
- Derek's father.

But there's nothing to say
he even knew the vicar.

Ivy Clark, sir.

Wallace's wife
is buried in the churchyard.

The next plot but one
to Lady Daphne Sloan.

Reverend Monkford
performed the service.

Bloody hell, matey.
That's...

Elementary.

I promised Ivy
I'd take care of Derek.

Keep him on the straight.

Derek knew the ropes, Wallace.

Even if we had pinched him
on the amphetamines,

the worst he'd have got was bound
over and a fine of 10 nicker.

Now he's looking at life.

And so are you.

I was just going
to talk to Cartwright,
tell him to leave Derek alone.

Only, it was him, wasn't it?

Coming asking about this dead girl.

She'd taken them before.

No problem.

I swear.

Only this time
it happened so quickly.

There was nothing I could do.

Girls turning up dead,
police poking round.

I mean... I couldn't risk
Cartwright getting a conscience.

- What if he'd come to you?
- But Cartwright didn't know

who was blackmailing him.

It was a blind drop.
He couldn't have told us

it was Derek he was
supplying because...

he didn't know.

- I couldn't take the risk.
- Where's the gun, Wallace?

In the attic.

A souvenir from my Home Guard days.

Knew where you stood then.

And the break-in?

The night Monkford died.

A hell of a way to give yourself
an alibi.

So we did the place over.

Made it look like robbery.

To give him an alibi.

For the vicar.

He gave Ivy a lovely send-off.

But he'd seen me.

There was nothing for it.

He only did any of it
to keep me out of trouble.

He never had much
time for the shop.

- Where's Sir Edmund?
- Just through there, sir.

I've decided to accept
the chair of physics at Stanford.

We'll be leaving after Frank's
funeral.

Helen will be joining me.

And Bobby?

He belongs with me.

He belongs with his mother.

You've no right to keep him from her.

He's all I've got.

I love him every bit
as much as she does,

as if he were my own.

But he's not.

It's not fair.
Why...

Why can Pamela have a child and...

What's wrong with...

Please, it's not fair.

I've issued an alert
to ports and airports.

If you try to leave
the country with him,

you'll be arrested.

You can't do that.

There are charges
I could bring against you.

What charges?
I'm his grandfather.

But not his mother.

It is felony to unlawfully detain
any child under the age of 14

with intent to deprive the parent
of the possession of such child.

Offences Against the Person Act 1861.
Section 56.

What will you do?

Find somewhere.

Far away.

Beyond their reach.

Now I've got Bobby back,
I won't do anything silly again.

Thank you.

We'll manage.

You mustn't worry.

I did love him.

Frank.

That's what matters, isn't it?

It's all that matters.

Thank you.

I heard she was leaving town.

It's a good thing you done there,
Morse.

I hope so.

Run you back to the station?

Thanks, but I've
got to get to court.

The gas meter committal.

- That's today, is it?
- This afternoon.

I'm going to help Strange make sure
the case papers are in order.

Police work.

I'll see you back at the nick, then.

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