Original subtitles

Will you get us a drink, pet?

Circulate, all right?

Enjoy yourselves.

All right, Craig?

Get me a drink.

Oh, easy!

Excuse me.

Right, I'm just going to say a few words.

- Really?

All right, everyone,

gather round.

Scottie's going to say a few words.

- Turn it off!

Can we have you on the dancefloor, please.

Where is he?

Peter?

Peter! Come on, man.

Little Peter Magath. Where is he?

Ah, there he is. - Go on, Peter!

Now, little Peter may not have been

the smartest kid in the village,

but he was the slowest.

- I've got short legs.

We used to think, Michael and me,

that Peter had been dropped on his head as a kid.

I had. - We felt sorry for him.

We worried about your future, Peter.

"How's little Pete going to manage?"

We didn't know you were going to end up

one of the richest sods in Newcastle.

Did we, Michael? - No idea at all, Scottie.

Should've paid more attention, then, shouldn't they?

Oh, they're only jokin'.

- Mm, hilarious.

Now, when Peter came to me and said

"I'm going to make my fortune layin' pipe,"

I thought he wanted to be a gigolo.

What's a gigolo, Scott? - Ask Michael.

Gigolo, that's right!

Michael thought tonight was fancy dress,

so he's come as a Danish porn star.

Have you finished?

The pies have come.

Not yet.

Our mate Michael,

the best-dressed Bolshevik in Newcastle.

We're all grateful to him

for standin' up for our right

not to have our rubbish collected.

Used to be I was talkin' rubbish

or he was talkin' rubbish.

Now, the whole of Newcastle's talkin' rubbish

'cause we can't get it collected.

- Hear, hear! - Scott.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

All right, seriously.

I love Peter Magath.

- Aw.

Just like I love Michael.

Lifelong friends.

I love that Peter's an original.

I love that he had a vision of what he could be

and he pursued it, even when we laughed.

I love that he has faith in others.

Maybe even in me. - Aw.

God knows, the world needs people like that.

Peter!

- Peter!

Right, music.

♪ Yeehaw ♪

♪ Yeehaw! ♪

♪ Yeehaw! ♪

♪ Yeehaw! ♪

Whoo-oo-oo-ah!

- ♪ Yeehaw! ♪

180 council dustmen

have gone on strike

for a higher basic rate of pay.

Fears that the moldering rubbish

might become a health hazard mounted

following reports of rat sightings.

The markets disgorge

their daily collection of garbage

onto the growing mess.

But the dustmen were adamant

they wanted their basic wage upped

from £15, 9 shillings a week to £20.

The dustcarts stayed in the depots.

The general opinion was

that the whole business stank.

He's got wooden splinters in his head.

Body was discovered just after 7:00, sir.

Sergeant reckons he was a jumper.

Really?

- Well, there's been a few of them, lately.

Aye, they pulled two out of the Tyne already this month, sir.

- Well, if he was aiming for the river, he was a bad shot.

Debt, unemployment.

Is this where they found him? He hasn't been moved?

No, sir.

- There's no blood around him.

He was dead when he hit.

Have we got a name? - Well, we've got his wallet,

but there's no ID.

There's no money in it, either, so, robbery, maybe?

We've got this.

It's a receipt for a pawnbroker.

Couple of betting slips from the dogtrack,

and a note that says

"Gwendolen Howard, 5:00 Wednesdays." Who's she?

- Gwendolen Howard.

Sir! Sir, we're a bit shorthanded

with the bin strike.

I need to release men to other duties,

if you don't absolutely need the scene sealed.

- It's a crime scene, Sergeant.

No, no, no, you heard him. Seal it.

Sorry. - Dawson pawnbroker.

Chance to get yourself a decent suit, John.

She died of leukemia. Left me her watch.

I'll be with you in a tick, gents.

Thank you.

What was your gran's name, son?

Uh... I just called her Granny.

I would've called her Glamorous Granny.

This is a Rolex.

Look, I-I just need the money.

I'm sorry, son.

Mr. Dawson has very strict rules about these things.

I'm not sure that this really belonged to your gran,

may she rest in peace. - What are you trying

to accuse us of, like? - Being stupid.

How are you today?

- Champion.

I'm sorry about the smell.

The working stiff normally has all me sympathy,

but this set of work-shy bastards, I could crucify.

I've got rats.

- We'd like to speak to Mr. Dawson, please.

He's not in at the moment.

Perhaps I can help ya?

Are you buyin' or sellin'?

Agh.

There is no Mr. Dawson.

It's just a name I can blame when I have to say no.

People can get...

What's the technical word?

Arsey.

Anyway, how can I help ya?

- Can you tell us who you issued this to, please?

I can try.

Here we are.

6733.

Gave the name of T Dan Smith.

- T Dan Smith.

Aha, that's what it says here.

- So, T Dan Smith,

until recently, leader of the council,

has fallen on hard times?

Well, probably not.

Some people aren't comfortable

about using their real names, you know.

Not just the thieves.

There's a lot of shame in fallin' on hard times.

Sad.

- Yeah, I can see the tracks of your tears.

Aren't you supposed to take their identities?

I'll tell Mr. Dawson.

- I can do a full audit of this place, sir.

Maybes get it shut down, you know.

- Eh, and I thought we were gettin' along!

What was pawned?

Four weeks ago, and all on the one ticket.

- All this?

Aye.

He said he'd be back for all of it.

Mind, they all say that, like,

but I believed him.

- And all this is definitely his?

No question in my mind. - Well, if he's

half-inched anything, I'll be back to see you.

- Oh, well, now, I'm torn, aren't I?

I mean, I don't want stolen goods on me hands,

but if it's a chance

of meeting you again, Sergeant...

- Your T Dan,

what's he look like?

Ooh... 40ish.

Short dark hair.

Bit taller than you.

Beautiful skin, soft blue eyes.

- How much you give him for this lot?

£42.10.

It's a hard life, innit?

There you are. - Thanks, John.

There's no missing-persons report

matching the dead man's description;

the pathologist hasn't got anything, yet,

and won't have until tomorrow;

and we've got no Gwendolen Howard

on any of our files.

- Makin' progress, then.

Don't shoot the messenger,

Insp Bacchus.

She never irritate ya?

No.

Our man's not a thief, John.

That pawnshop bloke could've sniffed out a thief

a mile away. We watched him do it.

He's pawning the family silver.

This is a man with a wife

who's got rings and necklaces.

At least, she did have.

So, where is she? What's she waiting for?

It's dead. - Right. How do you know that?

Because there's no dial tone, that's how I know.

We've noted that you've been cut off.

Well, why have we been cut off?

Anita Magath.

Anita, Jo.

Is my husband there?

Tommy Cary?

Aye. I've got me license, just not on...

- No no, you're all right.

We just want to know

if you know who this belongs to.

Aye, I know him.

He put a pony on the third race.

Doesn't happen very often.

He chases his bets.

Makes us uneasy.

It's like watching 'em jumpin' off a cliff.

Is he? Jumpin' off a cliff.

When you take the money,

you try not to think about the look in their eyes,

but, aye, there's some you feel sorry for.

- Was he one of them? - Jimmy.

What, is it an addiction?

Most people bet for a laugh, but some can't stop laughin'

'til they've emptied their pay packet,

and that's when the cryin' starts.

Bills to pay,

bairns goin' hungry at home, angry wives.

Certainly keeps those guys busy in that window,

I can tell ya.

- Who are they, loan sharks?

I'm not really in a position to judge.

- Did our man use them?

I don't know. I suppose.

Always managed to find a bit of money from somewhere.

Do you know his name?

Aye. Said his name was... - T Dan Smith?

- No, Richard. Richard Grainger.

And when you find him, tell him there's still

£2.10 to come back on that.

Aye, he won't be collectin' it.

Off the cliff?

Something like that, yes.

It's all part of the job, pet lamb.

- It isn't, actually.

I had to do it.

- Oh, please don't tell me this is character-building,

'cause you're living proof that it's not.

I could have you disciplined for that.

- Go on, then.

Lovers' tiff?

Right, guv, there's three Richard Graingers

in the Newcastle area.

One is four years old, one's 78,

and the other one

is alive and well and works at the Ministry in Longbenton.

So, the dead man's not from the area, then.

Do I amuse you?

What, is this that T Dan Smith blokey again?

What, he's called Richard Grainger, now, is he?

Are there any chocolate biscuits, pet?

What? What's funny?

Grainger Street, Grainger Town, Grainger Market.

Yeah? - Richard Grainger.

He pretty much built Newcastle about 100 years ago.

- I knew that.

Local knowledge, John. Can't beat it, eh?

The dead man's obviously got a sense of humor.

He was interested in how the city was built

and then he names himself after two different blokes

who are known as Mr. Newcastle.

I'll just go and, uh,

chase up those choccy biscuits for you, ah?

Still irritating you, then? - Teeny bit, yeah.

Lab report, sir.

What?

- He's lost his voice, sir.

He's got a cold or flu, or summat.

Chest infection.

Thanks.

Just be happy.

Three skull fractures.

Injuries to the legs and upper body.

Injuries are consistent with a heavy, blunt force.

Could've been caused by a fall. Blah blah blah.

Multiple bruises and lacerations.

Victim was beaten.

Wooden splinters found in the skin and on the body.

Well, we saw them.

Good examiners, in't they?

Blood alcohol level: .293.

Surprised he could stand up.

No condition to defend himself, was he?

So, who is our Mr. Newcastle?

Well, let her in, Peter.

Anything?

- Have you spoken to Michael?

Michael's not answerin' his phone.

What happened to your face?

- Have you called the RVI?

What was Scottie

doin', exactly, the last time you saw him?

Gettin' a taxi, I think.

We were all stotious.

Jo, maybe youse should go back home

and wait for him to turn up there.

- What?

Look, Jo, if you think Scottie's done something stupid,

you should be callin' the police,

not standin' here, starin' at me after 36 hours.

- Something stupid?

Like what?

Phone's still not workin'.

Can I use yours?

Police, please.

This way, please.

Sir?

Which one's the wife?

- It's the woman in the cream coat.

Who's the other two?

- The bloke is Peter Magath, the dead man's best mate;

and that's his wife, Anita.

Aye, look. Have you seen the state of his face?

They don't seem especially close, do they?

She called in,

saying that she was worried about her missing husband

and feared for his mental state.

Her description of her husband matches our man exactly.

- I'll take them down.

No, no. Rachel, you take her down.

Sit with her.

Watch her face and remember everything that she says.

Afterwards, assuming it is her husband,

bring her back here and, if she wants to talk,

let her talk, but don't tell her anything.

And, afterwards, you bring her back here

and I'll come and find you. - Um...

What?

Do you not think she has the right

to know her husband was murdered?

No. No one has a right to know anything,

'til I know who killed Mr. Newcastle.

We work for the dead, not the living.

Off you go.

Are you sure she can manage it? She's never done it before.

- Only one way to learn.

Are you ready?

Is this your husband, Mrs. Parker?

- I-I mean, yes, it's Scott, all right, but,

just the shell of what he was.

What he used to be.

I'm sorry, Scottie.

- All right.

Where did you find him?

- I, uh, I don't have any details.

How did he do it?

- Do what?

Kill himself.

- I'm afraid I don't know anything about his death.

Don't know much, for a copper, do ya?

Are you the tea lady?

When did you last see Scott?

Night before last, me birthday party.

Happy birthday.

- Thanks.

Was it?

What? - A happy birthday.

Well, I was 40.

Who wants to be 40?

I wouldn't mind.

Were you there, Mrs. Magath?

'Course. We were all there.

Us, Jo, Scottie, Michael.

Michael?

Michael Woodruff.

Who's he?

- Michael and me were Scottie's best friends.

Since we were all kids.

Where can we find him?

- Organizing the bin strike.

Oh, that Michael Woodruff.

Good news for rats.

- Do you think we could take Jo home now,

assuming she's identified the body?

Although it might not be him.

No, it is him.

You seem to be...

What?

Are you suspicious, or something?

No, though I wouldn't mind finding out

who took a lump out of your face.

Oh, this. Oh, it's, heh, hijinks at the party.

Michael started smashin' chairs over our heads.

Why was that?

Pissed. Wanted to see if they'd break.

You know, like in the pictures.

Like Lee Marvin hittin' John Wayne.

Did they?

Yeah.

These are wooden chairs?

Aye, wooden chairs.

Tell me more about this party.

Oh.

- It was at our restaurant, Pete's.

Oh, the American one?

Ah, right, ah. I've heard that's good.

Do you own that? - Aye.

No, we both own it.

Right. Near the cathedral?

Yeah.

Mighty fine ribs.

We should go.

Just near the High Level?

Yeah.

Here's some tea, Mrs. Parker. - I don't want a cup of tea!

Jo. Jo, it's all right.

Could you just...? Thank you.

Come on.

It's all right. C'mere. - Where's me bag?

I've got it. I've got it.

It's okay. It's all right.

Shock.

- To be expected.

Yeah.

I'll need a list of all the people who were at your party.

Also, the staff who were present.

I don't understand, Mr. Gently.

My friend has taken his own life.

We need time to deal with this as best we can.

Why are you askin' for lists?

I'm sorry. Didn't I make myself clear?

Scott Parker was murdered.

So I'll call round the restaurant

for that list about 7:00, all right?

I'm not always there. - Be there.

Bring your wife.

Guv, there's something very wrong.

That woman is weird.

In the mortuary, first, she said it isn't Scott,

just the shell of who he used to be.

And the next thing, she's bangin' on

about how her car got stolen and how her house got burgled.

- Were they?

Well, I don't know, but I can find out for ya.

And I think she said "I'm sorry, Scottie."

- I'd like you to get to know her over the next few days.

Meanwhile, we'll need everything that we can get on Pete Magath;

Scott Parker; and this other guy, Michael Woodruff.

- Right.

Ohhhhh!

Let's not forget: there was no money in his wallet.

It's as likely to be a street robbery, if anything.

Nah. There was a ferocity to it.

Street robbers, they hit you once,

they're gone.

I think there was hatred in this, a loss of control.

Gentlemen.

Looking for Michael Woodruff.

No?

Michael Woodruff?

- What are you looking for him for?

That's our business.

What's he done wrong?

Who says he's done anything wrong?

This strike is not illegal and we are not disturbin' the peace.

- It's got nothing to do with the strike.

It's about Scott Parker.

I'm Michael Woodruff.

What about Scottie?

I'm afraid he's dead.

It's all right, lads.

Gone.

Just like that.

Did you see him leave the party?

Was no party, by the end, just the three of us.

Then, just me and Peter.

What time did he leave?

- I don't even know.

2:00?

Where had everybody gone? - Party ended pretty quick

when Scott started smashin' the place to bits.

Was he angry, or summat?

Aye, smashin' chairs and the usual crap.

Peter and me tried to stop him, but he was...

What?

He was uncontrollable, off his head.

- Was this the game where you were trying to see

if the chairs would break, like they do in the Westerns?

- Eh?

That's what Pete Magath said.

Ah, well, Peter.

Peter's the nicest bloke in the world, man.

Trust him to put a nice gloss on it.

The bloke

was smashin' up his restaurant, man.

Could Scott be violent, then?

Yeah.

Not headbanging violent, but...

Scottie felt the world was against him.

Take that resentment,

mix it with a couple of bottles of bourbon,

and it's goodnight, Vienna.

Next day, he's full of apologies.

There's no next day, this time.

Was he suicidal?

Nah.

Well, you seem very sure about that.

- All he talked about was the future, man.

His head bulged with his plans for the future.

- What sort of plans?

This place, Newcastle. - Ah, right.

He wanted to rip it down and rebuild it.

- Like Richard Grainger and T Dan.

His heroes.

Promise us one thing.

You'll not let anybody con ya

into thinkin' Scott Parker took his own life.

What was your last sight of him on that night?

Staggerin' away from the restaurant,

2:00 in the morning,

blood on his head from hittin' the wall,

cursin' us, cursin' the world,

cursin' God, cursin' the sky,

singin' at the top of his voice.

Which direction?

Towards the High Level.

- Scott had no money on him when he died.

Scottie never had any money.

Now, I know you don't think he's a jumper,

but could he have been so drunk that he got himself into a mess

and fell off the High Level, you know?

What was he singing?

Um...

Oh, it was that thing, uh...

"Five Bridges."

Gemma?

Gemma!

Gemma!

You all right, John?

- Yeah, never better.

Is this all part of the celebrations?

- Yeah. Me in the middle, Scott on the left.

We were 10.

- Michael Woodruff was desolate about his friend's death.

I'm sure it's the same for you.

I'm very sorry.

- I don't think I'll ever really

get to grips with it all.

Was this one of the things that was being smashed, then?

Ohh. Where did this take place?

- Just where you're standin'.

Oh.

You cleaned up a bit, have ya?

- Aye.

Why else do you pay cleaners?

Not opening tonight, then?

Mark of respect.

Here's your list. Much good may it do ya.

- Thank you.

Will the names of the cleaners be on here?

No, but I'll provide them separately for you,

- if you really want them. - Yes, please.

Have you always been in the restaurant business?

No. I started out as a laborer,

installing pipe for the oil refineries.

Anita thought we could do it cheaper ourselves, so,

I borrowed some money, set up my own company.

Are you an engineer, then?

Nah. I'm just lucky.

Lucky that you've got a wife that's so encouragin'.

If you want to say "pushy," say it.

Opening this place was my idea, as well.

How were you able to do it so cheaply?

The pipes.

Nonunion labor.

Yankee oil companies loved it.

What did your friend Michael Woodruff think

about that?

- See, that's the wonderful thing about lifelong friendships:

you don't have to like everything

about someone you really love.

- Like it didn't matter that Scott was violent?

Who told you that?

Michael Woodruff.

Michael should shut his face, now and then.

Michael doesn't think it's suicide.

Yeah, he rang me.

Why are you playing games with us?

You tell me murder, but you ask Michael about suicide.

Well, why don't you tell me why you assume it was suicide.

That's what Jo thinks.

So Scott Parker's wife thinks that he's committed suicide,

but she doesn't call the police for almost two days.

Don't you think that's just a little bit odd?

Well, she is a bit odd, let's face it.

Nita.

Have you seen the way they live? - Nita, that's not...!

I'm sorry, I think the woman's borderline insane.

I've always thought it.

Not the best of friends, then.

God, no. She hates me.

- Why?

Because I've got what she wants.

And everything I got,

I got through hard work and being savvy

and everything she got, she got on the never-never.

And where did that get Scott Parker?

At the foot of the High Level.

I'm sorry, gents, I think you're dead wrong.

I think he had a million reasons to chuck himself off a bridge.

A million.

That's all you're going to get out of me.

Ask Jo Parker, if you want the rest.

Are you withholding information?

Yeah.

Arrest me,

you jumped-up, smarmy-faced little shitehawk.

Are you finished?

No.

So, what was your last sight of Scott Parker?

- Weavin' his way down the road,

with blood down his shirt, where his head had hit the bar.

Or a chair smashed over his head.

Cursin'. Singin'.

- Yeah, those were pretty much the exact same words

that Michael Woodruff used, except you're sayin'

that Michael started smashin' chairs,

where he was sayin' it was Scott.

Well, maybe...

- Nita, you weren't there, remember?

Does it matter, who smashed the first chair?

Yeah, I think it does.

Oh, well, I'm sorry!

I can't remember.

We were all completely pissed.

All right.

One more question.

Does the name Gwendolen Howard mean anything to you?

No?

Right, then,

just the names and addresses of the cleaners, please, pet.

"You don't have to love

everything about..." - No.

"You don't..."

No, no. - "about someone you like."

No, that's arse about face. "You don't have to

like everything about someone you love."

It's almost the definition of their friendship, innit?

Something strong that they had between them

all their lives, growin' up together.

Anita's a bit of a mare, in't she?

Took a shitehawk to point it out, didn't it?

To shitehawks everywhere.

To friendship.

- To friendship.

God bless you.

- You can't bring yourself to tell me

what's wrong with ya, can ya?

Here we go.

- Why have you not shared it with me, if we're friends?

Guv, your hands are shakin';

you keep droppin' things on the floor.

- Oh, leave it out.

All right.

John, this is the way I deal with things, okay?

Besides, look.

- It's gone?

Well... Yeah, gone, maybe for good.

Good. - Yeah.

I bet you can't do this.

- Oh, here we go.

Very good.

Ohh! Yes.

Oh, I am the king!

Slow. Slow.

I, um...

I've just come to say night-night.

I'll pop in on Mrs. Parker tomorrow, like you said.

Yeah.

You do know you've got...?

Yeah. - Yeah.

I don't think she has any respect for me.

So your house was burgled last month, Mrs. Parker?

Broke in through the back.

- And they took mostly jewelry and the television?

And a canteen of cutlery.

Silver.

Did you make a claim?

- Aye.

The loss adjustor came last week,

so we should get some money back.

Not we, I.

And your car was stolen as well?

Are you on your own here,

Mrs. Parker? - Yeah.

Do you work?

- No, not anymore.

Used to, though.

No children?

No. I had a lot of miscarriages in my 20s.

At the finish, I had a hysterectomy.

Oh, I'm sorry.

So, what will you do now?

I'm sorry to have to ask you this:

was Scott worried about anything?

Money?

The thing with Scott is that he was so positive.

"Keep your eyes on the prize."

- And what was the prize?

Change, modernization, progress.

Is there anybody you can stay with for a while?

- Anita.

Peter and Anita.

I'll give them a bell.

When me phone's back on.

Well, I could give them a call for you, if you like.

I can manage.

I've got to go out

in a minute.

Right.

Have you got business here, gents?

- We are waitin' for Mrs. Parker to leave.

We have an arrangement with her until she goes.

- Right. And who are you, please?

Sorry.

There we are.

- Estate agent.

What, she's sellin' the house?

- The mortgage was foreclosed a month ago.

Repossession?

Mrs. Parker's allowed to live here until it's sold,

but she doesn't own it anymore.

She's a little bit fragile?

We don't show buyers around when she's in, at her request.

She goes out.

So, they were completely broke, weren't they?

- The burglary, the car theft?

Frauds, I think, sir.

I think they got desperate to keep afloat.

Well, we know where the jewelry went.

- Hmm.

Hey, maybe the mare was right:

a million reasons for him to chuck himself off a bridge.

So, where'd all the money go?

Where is this place?

It's up near the university.

City Vision Developments.

Maybe he put all of his money into his business.

Last company accounts showed 25 employees.

I've told Jo to meet us there.

Can I just say?

I've got a lot of respect for the both of youse,

if you don't mind us sayin'.

I mean, I had no idea that you were in a circus act together.

Eh, is this supposed to be Newcastle, this?

It's not going to happen, is it?

Scott always said it would.

He wanted to buy up all the warehouses along the quayside,

as they fell into disuse when the river trade fell off.

He could always see ahead, Scottie.

Did he buy those warehouses?

No. He couldn't afford them.

What he did buy was land near the Town Moor.

That was his phase 1, redevelopment.

Borrowed from banks and investors to do it.

But the council rejected his plans.

- Would they not give him planning permission?

Nobody would help him.

Banks wanted their money back.

And the investors?

Them, as well.

- So, what was the argument against redevelopment?

I mean, I'd like to see this sort of thing happen.

Who wouldn't?

- Plenty of people.

Stick-in-the-muds.

People who think development should be not-for-profit,

owned by the community.

Unions, for instance.

Michael Woodruff's union?

Michael's voice was the loudest.

Does he know you're in his chair?

He said I could.

I was lookin' for somewhere quiet.

I thought you were out.

- Teacher's pet.

What is it you're doin', anyway?

Swottin' on this exam.

Or tryin' to.

Sergeant's exam? - Yep.

Ah.

What'll you do, if ya don't pass?

Fail.

What'll you do, if you fail?

What'll you do if you fail, Rachel?

Well, I'll do it again.

Do you mind?

Sorry.

Ahem! Gwendolen Howard.

Gwendolen Howard.

Did you ask Jo Parker if she knew a Gwendolen Howard?

No.

Why not?

- Because maybe I thought she had enough on her plate,

without me puttin' the idea in her head

that her dead husband was shaggin' summat on the side.

Right, okay, but Confucius said that

we serve the dead, right?

Not the livin'.

I'll ring her.

She doesn't have a phone.

Inspector, sir, please, will you not do this?

It's not funny. I'm really stressin'

over this exam! - All right, all right.

Yes, I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Good luck.

I mean it.

- Thank you.

Ahem.

Gwendolen Howard.

Hey, that's a slash.

It's "Gwendolen/Howard".

Rachel.

Rachel! - Right.

Pass us the A to Z, man, will you?

A to Z, quick. Come on.

All right!

Right.

Gwendolen/Howard.

I reckon it's a place.

- It's not.

Do you want to bet?

10 bob.

You're on. - Gwendolen Road. Page 54, 1E.

Road crosses Howard Street, Cowgate.

H-h-h-h-hey!

Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!

Eh? Look at that.

Eh, local knowledge, you can't beat it, ah?

You owe me 10 bob.

- That's me dinner tonight.

Well, you shouldn't bet what you can't afford to lose.

"Gwendolen/Howard, 5:00 Wednesdays".

Why not?

Can I come?

Nope. You got your exams to sweat over.

Go on, son. Get yourself aboard here.

Right.

You, Percy Street.

Oi, son, up for a bit of graft, are ya?

Go on.

All right?

- Come on. Come on. We're busy.

Right, wagons roll!

Lovely, lovely. Good man. Right.

Your lads are doing all right here.

See you later, son.

- Rat! Rat! Rat!

Hiyah!

- Go on, stamp on the bugger!

Hey!

- I'm not payin' you to catch rats!

Hey, let them strike as long as they want, eh, bonny lad?

That Michael Woodruff, they call him the friend of the rat.

Good for business, I call him.

- You ever come across Michael Woodruff?

Just the once.

Old man, what are you doin'?!

We're not takin' out washers, man!

Just the stuff that stinks.

Howay, then, come on! Clear up here!

Youse can all start drinkin' your pay, ya lazy bastards.

There are issues of privacy.

I can get a court order.

Yes, I thought you might say that.

Both accounts, I take it?

Mrs. Parker's, first. Mm-hmm.

Basket case.

Like lending money to Bangladesh.

Debt, debts,

unauthorized withdrawals,

bouncing checks, missed deadlines.

How much?

- At the last count, as of today,

£4,648, 10 shillings, and fourpence.

- You've loaned all that

to a woman without a job?

Her husband is her guarantor.

Not anymore, he's not.

No, but he was.

I thought Scott was a good bet.

'Til the Planning Department holed him below the waterline.

Mm. What'd she spend it on?

Oh, come on.

Bookmakers.

Jo would bet

on two drops of water going down a window.

Do you think your bank was prudent,

using its customers' savings to finance reckless gambling?

- Oddly enough,

that's exactly what Regional Head Office asked.

Oh.

- Yeah, next time you see me, I'll be flying through the air

with me trousers on fire.

Scott must've had other investors.

Who were they?

Right.

Thank you.

What, man?

It's for you!

Eh?

- It's for you.

Hello?

Rachel.

Sorry, Mr. Gently.

Go and see Jo Parker again.

Those investors in City Vision lost a lot of money.

Right.

Scotch, please.

I went to see Scott's bank manager.

Did ya?

Yeah.

How did it feel,

to lose so much money because of Scott?

Shit, actually.

No no no no no. On the house, Neil.

- Oh. Oh, thank you.

Yeah, must be hard

to come to terms with something like that.

Nah, it's the risk you take.

Investing's a bet.

You don't bet what you can't afford to lose.

Did Scott Parker take that advice?

No, Scott didn't.

No, Scott lost everything he had, and more, didn't he?

His ship went down with all hands.

You still tryin' to call it murder, Mr. Gently?

His head was full of wooden splinters.

So's my face.

Look, I've admitted to you what happened.

Michael's admitted what happened.

Scottie walked out of that door alive.

Do you know about Jo Parker's gambling habit?

Oh, yes.

How?

- Five hundredth time Scottie blagged us for a loan,

I made him tell us where all the money was goin'.

Did you tell Anita that you were paying Jo's gambling debts?

I mean, Anita and Jo

don't get on, I know, but what about Anita and Scott?

What about 'em? - They like each other?

Everybody liked Scottie. Everybody.

Did Scott like your wife?

What's not to like?

How long ago

did the ship go down with all hands?

- Four months.

What caused it?

- No plannin' permission.

But you and Scott still owned the land.

Surely, it had some value.

Not while there was no plannin' permission.

It was hard, seeing Scottie get that decision reversed.

He went about things all the wrong way.

The committee saw through him.

He couldn't even keep up with the rent on his offices.

Too busy, keepin' up with Jo's bad debts.

- Were you angry with him about that?

Nah. It was Scottie. That's what he was like.

No point being angry with him. Thanks.

He spent a fortune on these unnecessary

drawings and models made

by these fancy architects from Sweden.

He was even talkin' about chuckin' another bridge

over the Tyne, as if there aren't enough of those already.

This all had to be paid for and I got sick of forkin' out,

so, he borrowed, on the property.

What, he used property that was partly owned by you

as collateral for his own debts,

as well as his wife's? - Yeah.

Did you give him permission for this?

No.

Did your wife know?

Bonny lad.

Don't say I never gave you nowt.

Mine's a pint. - Cheers, gaffer.

Good man.

All right?

Where do ya dump it?

On the tip. Where else?

I'll wait on, though,

'til the pickets have gone home.

After dark? - Aye, too bloody right.

How'd you find out about us, anyway?

A friend of mine's done it before.

Scottie? Scott.

Might use a different name for the taxman.

Richard Grainger.

Oh, Richard, aye. Canny enough lad, like.

Bit talkative, always bangin' on about bridges.

His hands were soft.

I knew he needed the money, ya know.

Mind, he could fight, if he had to.

Hey, get in. Cheers, lad.

That surprised us.

What do you mean? - You know you asked us

about Michael Woodruff? - Aye.

The one time I come across Michael Woodruff.

Hey, what a bastard he is.

Hey up, lads.

Get out of here, ya bloody scabs!

Eh, man, we've got a legitimate day's work here.

Not round here, you've not.

All right, pack it in!

Come on, now.

Right, move!

Go now.

Scottie.

All right, ladies. Nowt to see here.

Aaaagh!

- Go on, Michael!

Get 'im!

Ah!

Aghh!

- Just stay down. Just stay down.

Scottie!

What're ya doing this for?!

I've got nothing!

I'm on my knees, Michael!

I'm on my knees.

I got nothing, man!

I got nothing.

I am nothing!

Right. Well done, mate.

Oi.

- Look at that.

Come on.

Aye, he could fight, all right.

Never seen anybody else

fight Michael Woodruff to a standstill.

He was obsessed with bridges, you know.

He used to say "They're not an invitation to leave.

They're a door opening.

A new bridge is a new way in."

He loved the High Level, for its dark grandeur,

but he adored the Tyne Bridge for what it said about change.

He used to point up, where it comes into Newcastle.

"Looker, man, Jo.

Were they afraid of change?

Were they afraid to take a risk?

They smashed through the most beautiful Georgian houses

to inject the A1 straight into the heart of the city."

That's the Scott I married.

And are you the Jo he married?

What time is it?

It's quarter past 6:00.

You have to go.

I've got some people coming round.

- All right, okay. Well...

Well, maybe I'll pop in on you tomorrow, eh?

- Yeah. I'll see youse tomorrow.

Right.

- Where you goin', pet?

I'm goin' to see Mrs. Parker. Any objections?

- She's a bit busy, at the minute.

Come back in half an hour.

- Ahem.

What's going on here?

Who are you, like?

- Looker,

no one's forcin' her to do this.

There's worse ways to pay off your debt, ya know.

Forcin' her to do what?

Nobody asked her to borrow money off we.

Forcin' her to do what?

- Rachel.

Jo, are these men harassing you, pet?

- No. Have an arrangement.

Now just go away and leave us alone, will you?

- Jo. Jo!

How often does this happen?

Wednesdays.

Is it... It's just your friend, or...?

Both we.

- And how long will it go on for?

'Til her slate's clean.

Do you know her husband died this week?

No, I didn't know that, like.

Seemed like a canny lad.

What, you knew him?

- Yeah, he would come and complain,

asked if we'd wait for the money,

usual sort of stuff you get, ya know.

He knew?!

Hey, pet,

you better spend some time in the real world.

There's a cold wind blowin' out here.

- Yeah, these were the clowns we saw

at the dogtrack, sir. Do you remember?

Do their alibis stand up for the night of the murder?

Yes. - Then we're not interested

in them. - Oh, sir, come on, man.

It's 1969, not 1869.

Why should a woman have to sell herself to these pigs,

just 'cause she owes them?

Rachel, if she's not being coerced,

what do you think I can do?

What law has been broken, eh?

Meanwhile, I've got to catch her husband's killer.

John!

- Right, let's serve the dead, ah?

To hell with the living.

Find out where they drink.

What do you think gives you the right

to attack men goin' about their work?

Isn't their work, is it?

It's our work.

They're scabs and I batter them whenever I can.

It wasn't really an official strike, though, was it?

It was a wildcat strike. Are they really scabs?

Sorry, you've brought us in here

to discuss me union's rulebook, have ya?

Do you hate scabs, Mr. Woodruff?

With every breath in me body.

Did you hate Scott Parker, then?

Ahhh, that's why I'm here.

How did you find out about that?

I'm a detective.

Nah. Nothing could ever make me hate Scottie.

Well, somebody did. He was beaten to death.

- Have you any idea who did it?

I cannot tell youse who he walked into on the High Level,

but I can tell youse the world is turnin' nasty.

There's some really bad people out on the streets.

We noticed. - Eh, you could spend your time

chasin' them round the block, stead of me.

Do summat useful.

Well, I'll look into it, after me tea.

How about that? So come on.

Who started smashin' up furniture on Saturday night?

Scottie.

- Why?

I don't know. He was pissed.

Whose head got the first chair? - Peter's.

Then what?

- Peter smashed one over his head,

got his own back.

Then I smashed one over Scottie's head,

then they both smashed chairs over my back,

'cause they thought it was funny.

Then Scottie smashed one round Peter's face,

then he staggered into the bar and hurt himself,

and that's when blood got spilt and that's when we stopped.

And it was just the three of you present?

Was that a yes? - Yes.

And you have no explanation for this extraordinary behavior?

Aye. And I've give youse it twice: alcohol.

"Alcohol. Hijinks.

We all love each other so much, we couldn't possibly

hurt each other, even with a chair leg.

We're just three mates havin' fun."

You know what?

I don't believe a word of it.

Your mate was beaten to death.

- I don't know what else to say to you.

Well, try answering this, then:

why did your union veto Scott's redevelopment plan,

his City Vision?

You really don't understand the political process,

do ya?

We were one voice among many.

Now, that's not a veto.

It's democracy.

I'm sure you lot were in favor of it.

'Cause whenever there's a struggle

for democratic rights,

the cops are always on the wrong side.

He needed your support.

You refused to give it to him. Why was that?

Because, analyze the so-called vision and guess what...

It's just another piece of property speculation

designed to make a few guys rich.

Oh, guys like Scott Parker and Peter Magath.

See, I don't understand why you bothered hangin' around them.

You despise everything they stand for.

- Like I told youse: you don't have to like...

Yeah, no, yeah, no. I've heard that one before.

So this guy that you loved, this guy that you wouldn't hurt,

you beat the shit out of him

'cause he's trying to earn 3 quid to pay his bills, right?

And, now, he's in a fridge, with his name tied to his toe

and his skull smashed in three places.

How many times did you hit him with that chair leg?

Once.

What about Peter Magath, how many times did he hit him?

More than once.

How many?

Three times.

Maybe four.

Rachel, it's your exam today, innit?

- Yes, sir.

Well, good luck. Not that you need it.

- Thank you, sir.

Knock 'em dead, Rachel.

- Thank you, sir. Insp Bacchus?

That pub

- you were askin' about? - Yeah.

It's the Printer's Pie in Jesmond.

Right. I'll give it a go.

- Give what a go?

They've got an Aunt Sally team.

So she said "I'm not doin' it twice."

Hello, lads.

You fancy a beer tonight?

- Aye.

Yeah.

- Companies House sent this over, sir.

Thank you, Peter. Hang on.

Can I call you back?

I will.

Gem, let's talk about it.

Right.

Half a dark, please.

Ta. - Ta.

Could I have a quick word?

What about?

Spot of bother that I've got meself into.

Somebody said you could help us out.

Who said? - Bloke called Tommy Cary

at the dogtrack. - Oh, Tommy, yeah. Yeah.

Financial bother, is it, um...?

John. - John.

Yeah. I lost me job.

I've taken a few too many liabilities at once.

And a bit of bad luck. - Aye, a bit of bad luck.

Knows when to turn up, doesn't it?

Yeah, just when you least want it, usually.

What are you lookin' for, John?

£250.

- Over what period?

Um...

Well, I'm...

I could probably just get it back to ya

in two months... Three, at the most.

It's £350 after 2 month and £450 after 3 month.

Well, I'd probably feel more comfortable with three months.

- Confident about payin' us back, John?

Oh, aye. - 'Cause we're professionals.

We will take your car. We will take your house, if necessary.

I rent.

- Just so you know what you're getting yourself into.

This man.

I've watched him take the rings off the fingers

off a bankrupt's wife and smile when he's doin' it.

Well, I tell you what:

leave the rings, take the wife.

She's the bad luck, is she?

Aye, it's not going well.

What's she called?

Gemma. - Good-lookin', is she?

It's always the good-lookin' ones that bring trouble.

She's... she's a real beaut.

Oh, yes!

That's trouble.

- That is trouble.

Yeah, we'd like to help you, John.

Oh, fantastic. Great.

That's great, lads.

Could I ask for a bit of help now, for tonight?

- Like an advance?

Yeah, yeah, we can do that.

Have you got any identification, proof of address, anything?

Not here, John.

We've got to be a bit discreet.

£20 notes suit you?

That'd be perfect. - There's a yard out back.

Meet us there, couple of minutes.

Right. All right.

Thanks for everything. I really appreciate it.

It's a big weight off me mind.

- Well, we like to help people, John.

There's a cold wind blowin' out there.

Aye, I know. I'm all right now, eh?

I've got me longjohns on.

Tosser.

Hey, what's going on?!

Oh! Ah!

Oh!

Stay down! - Oh!

Eh!

Agh!

All right, lads.

That's it.

Well done. See ya tomorrow.

- This is your only warning.

Jo Parker is protected, from now on.

You go anywhere near her, ever again,

and you'll regret it for the rest of your life.

Do you understand?

You go home,

get any agreements that she entered into with ya,

and burn 'em.

They won't be botherin' her again.

- You frighten me, sometimes, Insp Bacchus.

Me? I'm just a pussycat.

Morning, sir. - Morning, Harpo.

How'd it go, Rachel?

Oh, yeah, how did it go? - All right, I think.

I think. Fingers crossed.

- You'll get the result you deserve, Rachel.

Well, if she does, she can always resit.

You just couldn't resist it, could you, eh?

Is he in? - Yep.

Rachel, sit in. - Really?

So you knew he was skint.

You knew he was desperate.

I knew he was skint.

Did he ask you for money

on the day he died?

Yeah. So you're telling us, for instance,

that you didn't know that he was so short of money,

that he was pawnin' his wife's jewelry?

Aye. Anita noticed the jewelry had gone.

Yeah. Your wife noticed it, so you knew.

- Yeah.

How many times do I have to bail him out

because she's a pathological gambler?

I don't know. I'm askin' you what you knew.

I mean, were you aware that he took work

as a casual laborer, workin' as a scab,

collectin' rubbish bags?

What?

Which led to a public fistfight with Michael Woodruff.

You're makin' that up.

Those two are like brothers.

- Yeah. I had a brother like that, once.

He knocked seven sorts of shit out of me.

Or were you aware that their debts were so severe

that Jo Parker is being physically harassed

by loan sharks?

No.

No, I didn't know.

I'll find a way to help her out.

Well, that's very nice of you.

So, we're agreed he was desperate.

You didn't know. Or maybe you didn't want to know.

Now, this all kicked off on the night

of your birthday party, yeah?

I wanted to help him.

- What stopped you?

Or maybe it's a case of who stopped you.

'Cause your wife isn't particularly keen

on Jo and Scott Parker, is she?

You leave Anita out of this.

I'll leave your wife out of it

when you tell me the truth about what happened.

- The party had finished.

Me, Scottie and Michael were havin' one for the ditch.

Cowboy shit, phony.

Ha!

Phony, phony, phony.

Oh, he's off. Heh heh.

Like you, Peter.

Yeah, smile, Peter.

Nicest bloke in the world.

You know what?

You're empty, man.

Empty life,

empty marriage.

Look, I think we'll call it a night, yeah?

Right, we're closed now.

- Oh, Michael, Peter's stopped smilin'.

Why's that, you think?

- Come on.

I'll take ya home. - No no. What did I say, ah,

that wiped the smile off his face?

Was it the bit about the marriage?

Ooh!

All right, Pete.

- Ah, you're just drunk.

I'll call you a taxi.

Yeah, taxi.

Taxi-i-i!

This phony! - Ah, very clever.

Phony cowboy shit.

- Scottie! Put that chair...

You want a piece of that?

Eh!

Come on, then.

End of story.

- So it wasn't three drunken boys having fun

and it had nothing to do with John Wayne and Lee Marvin.

It was about Scottie lashin' out.

At me and at Michael.

What did he mean by your "empty marriage"?

He wanted to lash out at Anita as well. He was angry.

That was it.

That's all it was.

Look, if the taxi firm

had answered the phone, if he'd got home safe,

if he hadn't died that night, we'd all be friends again.

All this would be forgotten.

You sure?

Well.

I wonder if Scott would've forgiven you for this.

Yeah.

It's a transfer of land ownership, isn't it?

The land that Scott bought for his vision of Newcastle

and failed to get planning permission for.

You and your wife invested in it and, when the bank foreclosed,

you had the right to buy it, which you did,

at a knockdown price, leavin' Scott with the debts.

It's a hard world.

Yeah, well, it's a nasty world, isn't it?

Especially when you consider the following:

there are three directors of this company:

you; your wife;

and Michael Woodruff, the man whose loud voice

scuppered the planning application

upon which Scott Parker's dreams depended.

You all shafted him.

Perhaps it's just as well he never lived

to find that out.

Go and pick them up for me, would you, please, John?

And, Rachel, go and get Jo Parker.

- Right, sir.

You'll find Michael at my house.

So when did Scott first tell you about his scheme?

- It was at Pete's Bar.

I've just had these plans drawn up from the architects.

Here, have a look at that. - You're spendin'

on architects again, man. - No no, look at this.

What I loved about Scottie was he had this infectious,

naïve belief in the power of architecture,

public planning; changing the cityscape,

and thus people's lives, for the better.

Streets in the sky,

houses made of, ha, sunlight and steel.

Yeah, I had to love him for it.

All mad, of course.

Pie in the sky.

Made no sense, as a business venture.

So why did you invest?

Because the astonishing thing was,

somehow, Scottie, with all his barking-mad ideas,

had managed to get a piece of prime development land

for a pretty good price.

He couldn't pay for it, unfortunately, but,

that didn't seem to matter because, in some way,

it couldn't go wrong, you know, as a business deal,

with the right people in.

- And the wrong ones out.

He had a chance, the chance of a lifetime.

He could've been rich on his share,

if he'd just been willing to

modify his plans.

Bin them, you mean,

in favor of yours.

Go easy on Anita and Michael, when you see them, Mr. Gently.

They're in love.

When we were kids, the three of us,

Scottie was the strong one,

somehow, the leader.

I was the troublemaker, always in fights.

What makes ya?

Where does it come from?

I got chucked out of the Cubs on me first night

for laughin' at the National Anthem.

Why?

How did I know I thought it was funny?

- Don't forget your meeting at the Town Hall, sweetheart,

or you'll get drummed out the Brownies as well.

- Yeah, there's plenty of time.

Gonna have ya again before I go.

- Oh, are ya?

Don't I get a say?

Nah.

Lovely.

Peter was the cow's tail,

always hangin' behind.

- Why are ya tellin' us this, Michael?

Because

how is it, all these years later,

I more and more get the feeling I'm part of some plan

Peter's got worked out for us all?

All his life, people have underestimated Peter Magath.

And, now, it's Insp Gently's turn.

Oh, ignore it.

It'll be somebody sellin' insurance.

Police!

Jo?

It's Rachel!

Jo?!

Havin' a bit of trouble locatin' Mrs. Parker.

Your wife and Michael are on their way.

Since there's a reasonable chance

you could be facing a charge, by the time we finish,

I'm reminding you of your right to a solicitor.

- No, thanks.

Oi!

- Can I have some bacon, please,

and some eggs.

And those cigarettes. Jo. All right.

Go upstairs and wash your face,

put some smart clothes on, and brush your hair.

We've got to go down to the station.

Jo,

those men, they won't be botherin' ya anymore.

So you can forget about them.

Right, take a seat, please.

They're to have no contact with each other

and none with Peter Magath.

Same goes for Mrs. Parker, when she gets here.

Were they in bed together?

Think so.

Sir.

It's come back.

There's two lads just arrived, sir.

- Oh?

Why didn't you mention this two nights ago, Neil?

Didn't think.

Didn't think, or wasn't told what to say?

You both work for Anita and Peter Magath.

Is that just a bloody coincidence?

No, that's why we were in the area, wasn't it?

We left Pete's Bar at about 20 to 1:00.

Mr. Magath locked the door behind us and then,

we went over the bridge to a lock-in in Gateshead.

Got there about 1:00.

We stayed there for just over an hour

and then came back the same way.

When we were crossin' the High Level again,

about half-past 2:00? That's when we saw him.

And you're telling me the same story?

Aye.

- So you both saw

Scott Parker, alone, alive,

and on his own two feet, on the High Level Bridge

at approximately 2:30 on Monday morning?

Is that what you're telling me?

What'd you say to him?

We said "Goodnight, Mr. Parker."

And what did he say to you?

- Nowt.

Just stared into the parapet.

He had blood on his head, but he was standin' up straight.

And you would both be prepared to repeat this story in court,

where to tell a lie is called "perjury"

and carries a prison sentence?

Write it down.

Done us up like a pair of kippers.

So, what do we do now, just let them all go home again?

If you'd like to take a seat.

A man is dead.

And between you, you four people,

supposedly his nearest and dearest,

are responsible for that death,

however it came about.

Yes, and I know that I may never know exactly what happened.

Mrs. Parker,

your addiction to gambling

ruined his finances and led him into desperation

and yourself into what amounted to prostitution.

Mrs. Magath,

there was no love lost between you and the dead man,

I know that, so, at least, in your case,

it was simple greed,

not hypocrisy, like these two,

his so-called best friends.

You betrayed and cheated a man that you'd grown up with

and you must carry that on your consciences

for the rest of your lives.

Assuming, of course, that you have consciences.

But it's my opinion that one or both of you killed him.

But, two witnesses have come forward,

both employees of the Magaths, heh,

who are prepared to swear

that they saw Scott Parker alive, if not exactly well,

after he left Pete's Bar on that Sunday night.

That being the case, Mrs. Parker,

I will inform the coroner that I now have no objection

to releasing your husband's body for burial.

Jo, do you want me to take you home?

- Oh, no, no, I'll take Jo home.

Jo, is that okay?

Come on, then.

Merciful Father

and Lord of all life,

we praise you that we are made in your image

and reflect your truth and light.

Above all, we rejoice at your gracious promise

to all your servants,

living and departed,

that we shall rise again

at the coming of Christ.

- Which one of them actually did it, do you think?

We'll never know, John. Will we?

Phony, phony, completely phony.

He's off. Heh heh.

Ha!

Like you, Peter.

Look, I think we'll call it a night, yeah?

Right, we're closed now.

- Oh, Michael, Peter's stopped smilin'.

Why's that, you think? - Come on.

No no. What did I say, ah,

that wiped the smile off his face?

Was it the bit about the marriage?

Ooh!

- Ah, you're really drunk.

I'll get ya a taxi.

- Yeah, taxi-i-i!

You shut it now, Scott.

I've put you down once.

Don't make us do it again.

You're right, mate.

You're right.

I said phony! - Ah, great!

Phony, phony. - Scottie.

Crap! Come on, then! Ahh! You want a bit, Michael?

- Hey! - Come on, big man!

Stop bein' a bloody idiot! - You want a piece?

Come on, then. - Eh, man.

We thank you for the life of your child Scott,

for the love he received from you and showed amongst us.

Above all, we rejoice at your gracious promise

to all your servants, living and departed,

shall rise again...

Enough! - Come on, then.

Scottie, stop!

- Ah! Ah!

And we ask that, in due time,

we may share with our brother that clearer vision

when we shall see your face in the same Christ as our Lord.

We now commit his body to the ground.

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

In the sure and certain hope

of the resurrection to eternal life.

Good, glad you like it, 'cause Anita and I both

see this very much

bein' Scottie's legacy.

Don't we?

- Very much, very much. It's what he would've wanted.

And we're going to make sure

Jo benefits as well, aren't we?

We're family.

Ugh!

You had a brother. - Hmm?

You said you had a brother, used to thump ya.

Yeah. Died in the war.

In action?

Yeah. Well, ha ha, diphtheria.

He was my best friend.

Until I met Isabelle.

No.