Original subtitles

Ok, gentlemen...

..It's a Jack. Possible run. And it's with you.

Thirty.

I'm out.

Too good for me.

Cover the 30, raise it 50.

Your 50...

..And call.

Two pairs, Jacks and fours.

Close, but no cigar.

How's that for a hand?

Jacks and eights.

♪ Cos I'm the man who broke the bank of monte Carlo... ♪

may I join the table? Yeah, I'm game, as the poacher said when they shot him.

Eyes down for a full house - we hope.

Raise 100

and another two. Too expensive for me, gentlemen.

Obviously more solvent these days. Let's hope it's not solvent abuse, hey?

300 to you. When the going gets tough, the tough get...

Your 200...

And I'll raise you five.

Raise... five...

..And another five.

Raise...

..Your 500...

Plus 10 grand.

Sorry, what do the tough do(?)

Well, I'd call, but I haven't got it on me. You good for it? Yeah.

Fine. He's calling on an iou.

Good enough for me.

Ok.

But without cash on the table, it's you to show.

Flush. Ace high.

Full house. Fours over Jacks.

How's that for a hand?

You owe me 10 grand.

♪ It's all right, it's ok

♪ it doesn't matter if you're old and grey

♪ it's all right, I say, it's ok listen to what I say

♪ it's all right, doing fine

♪ doesn't really matter if the sun don't shine

♪ it's all right, I say, it's ok

♪ we're getting to the end of the day! ♪

Ackerman's an innocent man!

It wasn't proven, he done nothing. They won't re-open his case.

They're scared, that's why, because he's innocent.

It's getting ugly.

"It" being the operative word.

Ackerman's wife, I take it?

Yes, the formidable Sylvia. Why's she protesting here?

I have no idea.

So what's it got to do with ucos?

Ackerman's soft furnishing factory burned down in '96.

All the evidence pointed to Stanley torching it for the insurance.

He got ten years despite maintaining his innocence during the trial and ever since.

He's just been refused parole after seven years inside, so Sylvia is kicking up merry hell.

This is about legal niceties.

It's not an unsolved case, is it? No.

But it is a public relations nightmare.

So we have to be seen to be doing something, asap.

Well, we're buried at the moment.

Clearly. Is this what's meant by "rushed off your feet"?

In here gentlemen.

So the fire started in the factory kitchen.

Where they found the remains of Stanley's mobile phone and car keys.

And where was Stanley? Here's the clincher.

Ackerman said that he was having a kip in his office between the hours of 7 and 9pm.

And the investigation team say that the fire commenced at eight.

The business was going down the pan. Classic insurance fraud. Gerry?

Sorry, Gerry, am I interrupting something?

No, I'm with the lads. Brian and Jack.

I agree with what they say.

Now Sylvia, apparently, is a publicity "carbuncle"

who has attached herself to our door and strickland wants her cauterised.

Cauterised? Removed. Yes.

"Red move, tangled to go."

Removed.

Anagram. I know.

Phone rings hello?

"Mother's minor altercation with a dog." Yeah, no, hold on.

Seven letters. Mastiff.

Mastiff. Very good.

What you doing in a place like this?

Family business. Mike employs me to sort out various things.

Here, what were you doing falling for a hand like that?

What was I doing playing cards with my bookie's nephew?

Yeah ok, that's fine. Excellent.

I brought him through for you.

Gerry, good to see you. Michael.

I'll, er, I'll leave you to it.

Take a seat.

The last time I sat down with you, cost me 10 grand.

Well, your blood pressure's still running a little high. I was hoping it was indigestion.

So what I'd like to do is get you fitted with a mobile ecg. A what?

Oh, it's nothing to worry about Mr... Halford.

It'll check your heart rate and tell us if you've got any irregular cardiac rhythms.

We'll also give you what we call a lifestyle diary to fill in.

I'm good for the money. I just don't have it right now,

and I wondered if we could work out some sort of payment plan.

So what,

you see betting as some sort of hire purchase agreement?

Tell you what, how about I just tear up this iou right now, debt cleared?

Debt cleared?

When I was 14 my father Joe was robbed after a night working walthamstow dogs.

Two guys jumped him. They were never caught.

My dad took one punch to the head, fell to the ground. Dead.

And they got away with 200 quid.

What's this got to do with me? I want you to reopen the case.

I can't do that. You work on unsolved crimes. This crime was never solved.

I don't do private work.

No-one has to know, not even Pete. It stays in this office.

I'm sorry, I can't do it.

Well then you better cough up 10 grand. I told you, I haven't got it.

What you gonna do, break my legs?

That's not how I work.

Are you blackmailing me? You're a big boy, you took the bet.

I'm just offering you a way out that helps us both.

Gerry, I'm asking you to look into a legitimate case.

Peter says you're straight, his word's good enough for me.

Please help me do this.

I'll have to think about it. There's the name you should look at.

Where's Gerry?

It doesn't make sense. Stanley sets the fire, but manages to leave his mobile phone and car keys behind?

The fire started quicker than he bargained for and he had to run.

Yeah, I'll go along with that. Right. Gerry, anyone?

Said he had to look something up in criminal intelligence.

She's practically yts.

Afternoon.

Joe Jacobs. Oh, bloody hell!

Died September 15th 1983.

Ssh. What you doing creeping around like that?

After receiving a blow to the head.

I don't creep, I glide.

Why are you here? Why am I here? Yeah.

That's a big, big question.

Because we're not all there?

The small answer is, she who must be obeyed requires your presence, sharpish.

This isn't the Ackerman case.

What you doing? Oi!

You sound like Anne Robinson. What's with all the questions?

You ask the big ones, I ask the small ones. Just a different way of working.

Anyway, who says I'm interested?

No, no, Brian! Brian!

Ackerman, fraud.

Joe Jacobs, murder.

You're right. I'm interested.

You're obviously overwrought after such a heavy day. Pub?

Ah... we'll see you there.

We've got a couple of things to check on.

Yeah, cross-reference certain references, certain anomalies in the... File.

Not Gerry's normal reaction to the mention of a libation.

The postmortem revealed Joe Jacobs suffered from eggshell skull syndrome.

That's where somebody has an abnormally thin, eggshell-like skull.

So it's one unlucky punch and goodnight Vienna?

Bad night Vienna.

A bookie carrying money after the races?

It's a mugging gone wrong, isn't it?

No, Pete Jacobs, Joe's bigger brother, who you would not mess with, was also there.

And he was taking a leak.

When Michael was going through his dad's books, he found out that Joe owed one George Morton 10 grand.

Lot of money 20 years ago.

It's a lot of money today.

George Morton was a well known face at the time, a street bookie. And Joe's backer.

When a bookie couldn't handle a bet, he'd go to someone like George Morton and lay it off, cover it.

He was like a bookie's bank manager.

And Michael Jacobs reckons George was calling in his overdraft?

Yeah, the only trouble is,

at that time George was the other side of London, sitting at the bar of the royal windsor hotel.

What are those two up to? Aren't you curious?

I find my curiosity is slowly ebbing away these days.

I've come to realise that the great mysteries of life will always elude us.

This is Gerry and Brian we're talking about here, Jack, not black holes. What's the difference?

We're all going to the dogs.

Jack, are you all right? What's the matter?

Walthamstow dogs.

Why weren't we invited on the little boys' night out? Why didn't they invite me?

You I can understand, but me...

Oh, not that it's not a gender issue, necessarily.

It's more an authority, a rank, a status thing.

No, no, no please don't stop, just keep digging.

Didn't Michael tell you about this? He thinks George Morton had something to do with it.

Nothing was ever proved. What do you think?

Well, it was over 20 years ago. Why's he wanna drag it all up now?

Pete, his dad was murdered, he didn't go on holiday!

Look, Joe probably did owe George money, but so did a lot of people.

It was a mugging gone wrong.

After the races, we did the count up, cleared the pitch, left the track.

Same routine every night. What time?

Midnight.

When we got to the car park it was empty.

I was only in the loo a few seconds.

When I came out, I saw these two guys running towards the car.

I knew something was up, so I ran over.

Saw Joe on the floor.

I looked at his face.

His eyes was open. You know, he was smiling.

Like he couldn't believe it, or he thought it was a joke.

Only it wasn't.

Well, he's dead.

I see it every time I come down here.

Every night after the last race, I walk through them gates,

there's my brother on the floor.

Every time.

I wanna just turn the clock back, you know, but...

Well, you can't, can ya?

No, mate.

But I can call time on this, and find out what really happened.

Get you another cuff.

Gerry!

I won, I won!

Four races on the trot.

Four? Yeah. I just picked them off the board, random, and I won.

You should be on the telly, you're obviously a bleeding expert.

Ah! Got a tip for me, Gerry?

What's up? Oh, I'm sorry, did you think I was vegetating in front of the TV with me slippers on? No Jack.

You haven't got any slippers. So why wasn't I invited?

So what d'you think?

There's nothing there.

No witnesses, apart from Peter Jacobs, who was in the loo anyway and didn't get a positive ID

of the robbers or the car they drove off in. Yeah, but what about Joe Jacobs? He lost his life.

Why you pushing so hard? This is murder.

I mean, with all due respect, this makes Sylvia and Stanley look like come dancing.

This is a ucos case.

Can't we give it a bash?

After we've dislodged Sylvia from our front door.

We could do both.

A bit of extra-curricular.

If his teeth come out, I'm off.

Look, I know this world.

There are people I can talk to. You spoken to this George Morton yet?

No, without the case being officially re-activated, we haven't got a leg to stand on.

Ok. But before I present it to strickland I wanna hear what Morton has to say.

Right.

Do you think they know who we are? They certainly know what we are.

Time has been remarkably good to you George.

This is 20 years old.

I keep meaning to get myself nicked, so you can have a new one.

Joe Jacobs. Oh, you are joking?

No, because then I'd have a red nose and a hat with a bell on it.

Meow! What can I say?

I talked to you lot 20 years ago, nothing came of it.

Don't you want to know what I was up to last night?

Far more exciting.

Far more, erm...

Unusual.

What, like a bath?

Ouch!

I like it.

Deal me out, lads.

Anything? Client lists, records of race meetings that your dad attended on the week of the robbery?

I got rid of most of it, just kept this.

Michael, we've got absolutely nothing to go on, so anything's a bonus.

This desk was your dad's. Right?

How d'you know? Well, the roll top won't accommodate a computer.

And it doesn't really fit in with the modern minimalist decor you've chosen.

So it's only real value is sentimental.

It's a chippendale.

These desks were full of hidden compartments containing secret documents and files.

It's empty.

Is it?

You'd be surprised what's in here.

Yeah, I wouldn't actually. I've had it 10 years.

But do you know it?

I suspect not.

I suspect you don't quite realise that...

I don't know how he does it either.

Two years ago, the antiques roadshow.

They had the exact same desk.

"Bomber boyo." What does that mean?

In the greyhound racing world, a lot. Remember shergar?

Thought that was a horse?

Yeah, well bomber boyo was a dog equivalent. Greyhound derby winner.

Kidnapped, never seen again. Early '80s.

Yeah, bit before my time. So you haven't seen this before?

No, never. What's this then?

It's a map.

You're being silly.

When Joe got turned over I was sitting in the royal windsor hotel.

Doing what? Meeting a young lady. A few drinks, a nice meal, sophisticated conversation,

and then a bloody good... George, you have a record for violence. Abh, malicious wounding, gbh even.

You'll understand my being a tad sceptical.

And you'll understand my record says I'm a lot of things, but not a killer.

But we don't believe that anyone set out to kill Joe, just Rob him.

Joe Jacobs owed me 10 grand.

Why would I Rob him for 200 quid in 50p's? It's a start.

It's chump change.

We had a business arrangement. Earned good money together.

Killing Joe Jacobs would be like shooting the golden goose.

There's no profit in it.

And anyway... I liked him.

Joe was a hoot.

Bomber boyo. Champion dog.

Stolen from Hudson's kennels February 1982.

Now there was no ransom demand and the owners were never contacted.

Most people in the dog racing game believe he was kidnapped and put out to stud.

And that's what this is.

A stud record.

Now all the names in there are the bitches that bomber boyo covered.

Got lucky with. After he supposedly died.

Now with this stud record you can trace the birth dates

of all the dogs fathered by bomber boyo and make a packet.

I didn't know there was big money in dog racing? Same as the nags.

Only smaller. Ok, ok. But where's the case?

Strickland won't touch it.

What would Joe Jacobs be doing with the stud record which'd be worth a small fortune?

Are you suggesting he was involved in the kidnapping? It gives us a motive.

Joe Jacobs wasn't whacked for the night's takings. It was revenge for bomber boyo.

Whatever deal Joe had going went wrong.

Joe was to blame and got punished for it. Who do we talk to?

Here's a list of all the London trainers that were about at the time the dog got nicked.

Why have you circled Emma winters?

Worked at bomber boyo's kennels in the early '80s.

And now one of the top trainers and breeders in the country.

Winner of five greyhound derbies.

Excuse me, miss winters. Oh, do you have a pen? Pardon? What you want me to sign?

Oh, no, no. I'm Gerry standing, i'm with the metropolitan police, ucos.

Unsolved crime and open case squad.

Sorry. Dogs don't have jockeys, so trainers are the nearest punters get to an autograph.

Congratulations, Emma. Thanks. What can I do for you?

Got any tips? No, no I'm sorry.

We're investigating a mugging. Could you sign this please?

Yes, certainly. Mugging?

I was wondering if you could give me a few tips. Excuse me.

Can we talk about this somewhere quietly? Yeah. Sorry about that.

Sorry mate. All right?

When we were going through Joe Jacobs's possessions, we found a book

and it had the name bomber boyo written in it.

Now you were a kennel maid where he was trained, weren't you?

Yeah, that was my first job with a pro trainer. Yeah?

Oh, everybody had a theory about bomber boyo.

Sold to a breeder in Australia, was a big one.

Owner did it for insurance.

Joined the circus, eaten by a whale.

The truth is, nobody knew.

No. I had a couple of dogs, years ago. Any good?

Well, just for fun really. But...

The times we did make it to the winner's enclosure...

You don't forget those. No.

Look sorry, I have to go.

We're running in the next race. Sure. Well, let me know how you're getting on.

All sounds very intriguing.

And as for the tip? Perfect parcel. He's running in the tenth.

Perfect parcel.

Thank you.

Perfect.

I won again.

All right chaps?

Here Gerry do me a favour will you? Take him away. He's ruining me.

Ta.

That's £300. I don't like it.

Three hundred quid, what's not to like?!

It's the random nature of it.

There's no rhyme nor reason to it.

It's just pure unreconstructed chaos.

It's called luck.

This idea that the odds are some sort of guide has no absolutely no validity whatsoever.

There's no logic, there's no scientific process.

It's just random happenstance masquerading as insightful deduction with an arbitrary nod

towards some laughable concept of form and analysis.

Bollocks.

Look, what you gonna do, give it back?

No. It's mine.

So did Peter say anything about the book? Didn't know anything about it.

Or Joe's connection to bomber boyo.

What about Emma winters? No joy?

Not necessarily.

Mr standing, I didn't expect to see you again so soon.

No, well I realised there were a couple of things I needed to ask you.

Oh, come in.

Cheers. Cheers.

Your guard dog? His bark's a lot worse than his bite.

Couldn't do that with a horse, could you?

Ebbmoor boy? Only ran a couple of times.

Won nothing.

What, and you had him stuffed?

It's my first dog. I'm sentimental. Ah!

Now printer's mate, on the other hand... oh, right!

20 to one?

My first, and biggest, derby winner.

Bony Earl's bits.

What's that, twelves?

Yeah.

And rainy lows.

Funny thing is she always did come in when it rained. Oh, er...

Five to two? You've got some memory for winners. That's cos I never backed 'em!

So what's the secret? What's the trick with champion dogs, eh?

Tomatoes.

Tomatoes?

Seriously.

We put a tin of tomatoes in every feed.

Cuts down on the lactic acid build-up in their legs. They run stronger, longer and faster.

If I get another dog, you must give me the recipe.

This is the parole board report on Stanley Ackerman.

In his interview, he failed on every question.

When asked if he felt remorse for his crime, he said, "no".

When asked would he consort with known criminals upon his release, he said, "probably".

But Stanley's been before enough parole boards to know what to say for an early release. Yeah.

Tilbury farm. That's the place on Joe Jacob's map. It's in a village called tackworth.

Could we please just concentrate on the job in hand?

Well, yeah but this has got an x on it. You know what that means?

Don't tell me, "here be dragons."

Guv, when you find a map with an x on it you are implicitly bound to go

to wherever that x is and start digging.

You just... Have to!

This verges on midnight oil, doesn't it?

Well, the sooner we get it done, the sooner we can remove Sylvia from our front door, sir.

It is always possible that Stanley doesn't want to be reunited with his lovely wife.

Well, let's reunite her with something, shall we?

So, 6am start?

Which one of you two's gonna pick me up?

So, officially, you're no longer a copper?

No, not officially, no.

See, our job is to warm up what we call cold cases

and then with our years of experience and expertise, crack 'em. Which led you to me?

Yeah, the job does have some perks.

So, what, am I some kind of suspect?

We're looking for two cosh-wielding gorillas.

And luckily you don't fit the description.

I don't have to do an ID parade then? No, I don't think so.

You don't need to check my DNA?

Yeah, but that's a very technical and complicated procedure.

How long would it take? Me?

All day and all night.

Phone rings

oh, I'm sorry.

What?

Yeah, well hold on, hold on.

Can I...?

Where?

And when are you gonna get there?

Ok. I'll see you there.

Tackworth? Why you going there?

We don't wanna talk shop.

Well, it's not shop when it's just up the road.

Oh, secret?

Well, I told you mine.

Tomatoes. Well actually, we found a map as well.

Map? Of what? Well, that's what we're gonna go and find out.

Whoa, no, no, no. I'm driving.

Well, like I said, it's only up the road.

God, this is unbelievable. Oh, come on, it's not that bad.

Least it's not been concreted over and turned into a shopping mall.

I mean, I can't believe I got up at five in the morning to run around the bloody countryside.

You should be grateful.

Enjoy active service while you can.

You're a long time dead.

And on that cheery note...

No. Now you see, that's unbelievable.

You hate mornings. The early worm catches the bird.

Ok, so that must mean it's 28 paces from this tree.

North.

Right.

One... hang on, hang on...

What? How d'you know they're the right size? Hey? The paces.

A pace is a pace. No, fair comment. Could've been paced out by a midget.

Or a man on stilts. Just get on with it!

Man on stilts?

Right. Go.

One... two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten...

..24, 25, 26, 27, 28.

Right, this is it. You sure?

Yep. Ok, I'll delegate.

Bic - bird in charge. What you playing at?

It is the artist's job to provide work for the artisan.

Anyway, you need the exercise, do you good.

I'll get old MacDonald to rustle up some tea.

Me and you then, Gerry.

Come on, look lively.

Grunting

Brian, please, let's go now.

Hang on, I think I've got something.

A bone?

Human?

All right, leave it. We'll get pathology down. No hang on.

Brian, I said to leave it. That's a skull.

Alas, poor doggie. Result!

Bullet-hole? Not one of yours, is it?

You have gunned down a few in your time.

Sandra Pullman. Jesus, you shoot one bloody dog...

Well, it's definitely a dog. Greyhound?

I'm a pathologist, Gerry, not a vet.

Could be a miniature poodle, for all I know.

The Clay in the soil preserved the bones pretty well.

And yes, it was shot. Shot at close range.

"Is this a new lead

"or are the boys in blue merely barking up the wrong tree?

"Should they be hounded out of the force

"or simply sent to the doghouse?" Etcetera, etcetera!

Front cover and two pages on how the metropolitan police deploy its manpower and money -

digging up a dead dog! There was a legitimate reason for that search, sir.

What, he was the brains behind brinks mat?!

You don't know its bomber boyo.

No, but we can find out. How?

Get his next of kin to identify him?

All racing dogs are registered with the ngrc.

The national geographic research commission? No -

with the national greyhound racing club.

They've got a serial number tattooed behind their ear.

We haven't got any ears.

Kathy, we can get DNA from this, can't we? Right.

The ngrc records every racing dog in a registration book.

This ensures that the dog that's running is the real thing and not a ringer. A ringer?

Fake. Fake.

As an owner you get one of these with all your dog's details.

Now, using Joe's book, we can trace all the dogs that bomber boyo sired.

Now, if we trace the dogs, we trace the owners.

And if the DNA from bomber boyo matches any of their dogs,

they will talk.

Yeah, that'll work...

..In theory.

We found a book. The book had a map in it.

The map led us to the dog, which we believe to be bomber boyo.

So in the hunt for Joe Jacobs' killers,

we're relying on dead dogs to help us with our enquiries?

And the Ackerman case?

We're perfectly capable of dealing with two cases simultaneously.

Well, I wouldn't take bets on it.

While this rag is hardly the might of the fourth estate,

it is... Out there.

Woman shouts

right now, we can do without the publicity.

I want you to clear up this dog mess as quickly

and inexpensively as possible.

How did the local press get hold of it?

Probably the farmer. Well worth his while tipping them off.

You all right, Jack? Yes, yes, I'm fine.

I've been going through Stanley Ackerman's accounts.

Did you know he had a flat around the corner from the factory? No.

One bedroom - cost him 35 grand,

which he rented out to a Louisa ballas, for nothing.

Nothing? Quite. Now miss ballas worked at Ackerman's factory

until about four months before the fire when she was suddenly laid off

with a handsome pay-out, not including the flat.

You don't get nothing for nothing. Not so much laid off, as laid on. Was he there when the fire started?

If he was he wouldn't tell the police, otherwise Sylvia would have killed him.

I'm gonna track down Jacobs and get this bloody dog thing buried once and for all.

What'll you do - tail him?

If dad had anything to do with bomber boyo, my uncle would have told me.

Why? Because he's become like a father to me.

All families have secrets.

Yeah, I heard a rumour - the bookies snatched bomber boyo.

The race world's full of rumours - all rubbish.

I set great store by rumours, mr Jacobs.

Truth's lubricant, as it were. You're wasting your time.

You should be looking at George Morton. We have.

Not only is his alibi rock-solid,

it's also clear that he had no reason to kill your father.

No, I want to know what your dad was doing with a book and a map... Look, look, sorry, stop!

This isn't the deal that I had with Gerry.

Deal?

Three of the dogs in Joe Jacobs' book were registered with the ngrc.

All with the same trainer - ray Langton - Emma winters' boss at the time.

He's let us take blood samples from his dogs, see if they match our dog.

I've been speaking to Michael Jacobs.

That's nice. How is he?

He's not very pleased with the work we've been doing. Which isn't good, seeing as he's paying for it.

You've lost me. You didn't take this case because of truth and justice.

You took it because of your ineffable stupidity

and a gambling debt!

What do you want me to say?

I'm sorry. I got in too deep.

Strickland's already pissed off with this case! Look if...

If he finds out why, it won't be just a bloody dog that gets a bullet!

You're right.

And when you're right...

You're right. And you are right.

I messed up, big time.

This should be the time when I hand my badge in,

but, as I'm not a copper any more, the best I can do is...

My blockbusters card.

Something clicks

Hello.

Gamblers anonymous?

Just read it first before you bin it, yeah? Sandra, Sandra...

Do you wanna come in? Ok, thanks.

I made a bad mistake.

I still believe it was a valid ucos case...

..But my reasons for getting involved were... dodgy.

Thank you, Brian. You're welcome.

I understand, as a unit, we can't have any secrets.

It devalues the efficiency of the team

and the validity of any operation we seek to undertake.

Moreover... is this gonna take much longer?

That's not exactly the reaction I was hoping for, Jack.

It's just that I've got something I want to get off my chest.

The doctor noticed that I got a spot of high blood pressure.

So...

She fitted me with this.

Urgh! Blimey!

It checks on irregular heart beat,

that sort of thing.

So, now you know.

God, Jack... Is it serious?

No, no. Just another of those little reminders, like dentures, hearing aids, toupees,

hip replacements, bus passes... You hate the bus.

Well, Gerry's right. We work as a team. I thought you should know.

Yeah, well thanks, Jack.

It's all right.

Any little secrets you wish to share with us?

Phone rings

hello? How long you got to wear that for?

Well, 24 hours a day for about a week.

Oh, cheers anyway.

That was Kathy in the labs.

The DNA from all the other dogs doesn't match the dog in the field.

Book, map, dog. Haven't got us anywhere, have they?

Ok. Well, let's go from the top. What have we got?

Man's best friend's aside - Michael Jacobs?

No. Doesn't know anything about the book.

Emma winters? No, she doesn't know anything about the book.

George Morton? Doesn't know anything about the book.

Hold on, hold on!

The reason he doesn't know about the book is

because we hadn't found it when he was questioned.

No, no, no. My turn.

Joe was a bookie, but he was also a degenerate gambler.

Shocking. Always chasing money, having mad ideas how to get it.

Like kidnapping bomber boyo? Yeah.

Joe had someone on the inside working in the kennels.

Don't ask me who, I don't know.

Joe's idea was to Nick the dog, put it out to stud,

build up a chain of dogs that only he and a few others knew about.

He was gonna make a fortune.

The night Joe was robbed, he was coming to meet me in the hotel.

What, to give the money back? What money? Joe didn't have any money.

This is what he was gonna give me that night.

I got it five years ago. Who off?

I bought it off a bloke who bought it off a bloke.

In any case, it's a load of old Fanny.

Not worth the paper it's written on.

Why didn't you mention this before? Why should I?

I honestly thought Joe died in a robbery, everybody did.

You're the one telling me he was killed because of bomber boyo.

If I thought these were important you'd have been first to know.

Was Peter Jacobs involved in nicking the dog? Possibly. Nah.

He didn't have the imagination for a stroke like that.

He was always Joe's glorified chauffeur.

Right, cheers, George.

Listen, what happened to the dog?

Lord lucan's got it.

George sniggers

Pete?

What you doing here? I went round to your house, your wife told me you'd be here.

Two miles, twice a week.

Might even have a pop at the marathon. Look, this bomber boyo thing.

Who was on the inside?

Joe never told me. Honest, Gerry, it was Joe's deal.

I had nothing to do with it.

I never met her.

Her? How do you know it was a her?

Well, him, her, what the difference does it make?

I can think of a bloody big one!

Well, cos it's usually girls that work in the kennels. That's...

That's why I said it.

Peter, you're gonna have to talk to me, mate.

Look, they kept the dog hidden away somewhere.

But it didn't work out.

Joe told me the dog died a few weeks after they snatched it.

Hey, that's all I know.

What, you gonna Nick me for this? What, for something your brother did? Don't be stupid.

George Morton told me that Joe Jacobs did snatch bomber boyo

using someone on the inside. Who?

He didn't know and nor did Peter Jacobs.

And I phoned tilbury farm.

Now the farmer swears blind that he didn't tip off the local rag.

So, whoever did

also sent the paper to strickland to sabotage the case.

I messed up again.

The only other person who knew we had the map and then went onto the dig...

Was Emma winters.

How come?

Ask a silly question.

We're pretty certain that the dog we found was bomber boyo.

That's fantastic. How can I help?

We'd like to take DNA samples from your dogs

to see if they come from bomber boyo's blood line. Ok.

I've got nothing to hide, Gerry. Come on.

Good dog.

Are you coming? What you doing?

These names, where do they come from?

The dogs? The owners usually. What, you? Well, as they were mine, yes.

But don't they normally have some connection with their mums and dads?

Not necessarily. But rainy lows, boney l's bits, printer's mate...

I mean, they're not anything to do with anything, are they?

Apart from ebbmoor boy.

Only that's not ebbmoor boy, is it?

That's bomber boyo.

Brian, that is ebbmoor boy.

No. That's an anagram. Anagram?

Anagram. They're all anagrams, Gerry.

Rainy lows - ray Wilson.

Printers mate - Martin Peters.

Boney l's bits - nobby stiles.

Ebbmoor boy - bomber boyo. Bobby Moore.

Bobby Moore - 1966 world cup squad.

You got another dog, a ringer.

You shot it, buried it, and said it was bomber boyo.

It's only a dog. This isn't about bloody dogs!

This is about murder.

I think you'd better start taking this seriously, miss winters. Yeah.

I told Joe the dog had a gastric torsion.

It happens with greyhounds, they have to be put down immediately.

I gave Joe the map to show where I buried him in case he needed proof.

But he trusted me.

Probably thought a young girl couldn't outsmart him.

But I did. So you built your whole business on the back of bomber boyo?

Yeah. But that's all. I never had anyone kill Joe. I didn't need to.

Did Peter Jacobs know you were involved?

I don't know. I do know that Joe couldn't drive,

so they were together pretty much all the time.

Look, this could ruin me! One good turn deserves another.

You went to the press.

Then, you sent the paper to my boss.

I was just trying to protect my livelihood.

Yeah...

Likewise.

Peter Jacobs was right about one thing,

there wouldn't have been any other witnesses around. It's empty.

Now Joe Jacobs' car was parked over there.

So the robbers were parked here,

waiting for Joe and Peter to come up there...

Yeah, but only Joe made it to the car cos Peter...

Was having a Jimmy riddle in here.

Locked.

At midnight, this place is deserted.

Everything would be locked up, wouldn't it, including the loos?

The toilets are locked, Brian.

They're locked. Yeah, doesn't mean they were then.

D'you wanna bet? He's been lying to us.

Who has?

You. You said you were in the bog at the time of the mugging.

After midnight, right? That's right.

Yeah, but the toilets you said you used, aren't open.

I dunno, it was twenty years ago! What difference does it make?

The same difference as knowing that Joe's inside man

at the kennels was a girl!

Now come on, Pete, what happened?

Did you just lose your temper and give him a whack? No.

Gerry! Well, where were you then? I told you where I was.

Nobody's saying you meant to kill him.

Look, I never laid a finger on him. He was my own brother, for Christ sakes. Erm...

Bookmakers pitches are handed down from father to son, aren't they?

What some people might call dead men's shoes. Yeah, so what?

Well, you were the elder brother,

but your dad entrusted the business to Joe.

You were overlooked, weren't you, Peter?

You were passed over because your dad knew that Joe was the one with the brains in the family.

It wasn't like that. Yeah, you were his chauffeur.

His gopher. No, no. I'm my own man, my own man!

Nobody's better than me! Nobody!

All right, easy, easy. Take it easy.

What are the odds he did it?

Odds on.

Aren't you going in? No, not yet.

He told me bomber boyo died of some disease.

Then about a year later... I heard whispers.

Joe had these books and he was handing them out for the right price.

I realised Joe had cut me out of the deal.

So you took revenge?

I never laid a finger on him, I swear. Then who did?

Just a couple of guys who do that type of work.

I knew Joe was gonna meet George Morton

and give him one of the books.

I told them they could have the cash in the bag.

All I wanted was the book.

And I saw it go down.

They hardly touched him.

I never meant for it to happen.

He should have treated me better.

I was his brother, his older brother.

He should have...

..He should've showed just a little bit of respect.

Do you want me to call you a lawyer?

No.

Call Michael.

I want to talk to Michael.

That dog's caused more aggravation than the hound of the baskervilles.

I don't know why you're worried, I've lost me bookie.

You should be grateful. Anyway, you don't gamble any more.

Emma had her good points though. Please.

Well, come on, I'm allowed one vice, aren't I? Yeah, being wrong.

Gerry...

Oh, hello, Michael.

Look I'm sorry, it's not really the result you wanted, is it?

Well, I'd heard plenty of stories about my dad.

The old boys would tell me some of the strokes that he pulled.

I thought they were funny. The world I work in now is different.

It's not the one my old man knew. It's not as er... colourful? Yeah.

Come on, I'll take you to see Peter. No, no.

I just came to give you this. I always honour an agreement.

Debt cleared.

Look, I think Peter really needs to talk to you.

I'm not interested.

Let my husband go! Let my Stan come home!

Let my husband go!

Stanley couldn't give an alibi because he was at his girlfriend's flat at the time of the fire.

Which wouldn't have gone down well with the lovely Sylvia.

If Stanley, a renowned fraudster, set the fire to claim the insurance, then he would have an alibi set up.

Let my Stanley come home! What d'you think, Gerry?

What? The case.

The Ackerman case?

Oh!

Now Stanley left the factory for a bit of the other, right? Right.

But he forgot his mobile phone.

When he gets to his girlfriend's flat he can't find it.

So he dials the number. Like you do, when you lose your phone.

Now the fire started in the kitchen area and he'd left the gas on.

The phone rings, ignites the gas.

Well, it's like when you turn on a light bulb.

When a mobile phone rings, it can spark electricity.

That's why you get all these notices

telling you not to use them near petrol pumps and stuff.

So the call sparks the phone.

The spark ignites the gas. Well, it's obvious, isn't it?

You clever boy. Well, thank...

A husband and wife should be together for life!

Seeing how Stanley's innocent, shall we give him a break

and not put forward Gerry's theory, let him stop inside?

It would be the humane thing to do.

I can't handle that for the next two years.

♪ It's all right it's ok

♪ it doesn't really matter if you're old and grey

♪ it's all right I say it's ok

♪ listen to what I say

♪ it's all right doing fine

♪ it doesn't really matter if the sun don't shine

♪ it's all right I say it's ok

♪ we're getting to the end of the day

♪ high-tech low-tech take your pick

♪ cos you can't teach an old dog a brand new trick

♪ I don't care what everybody says... ♪