Original subtitles

Distant dog barks

It's tilting! It's tilting.

Just to you a bit.

Got it? - Yes. No, I've got it.

Don't wanna drop it.

We're not going to drop it.

You're veering, Sister.

Oh! — You're veering!

Wheelbarrow thuds

He chuckles quietly

Oh, very good, yeah.

They chuckle - she whispers

Indistinct chatter

TOM GRUMBLES INCOHERENTLY - Tom, for heaven's sake, be careful!

You'll have the whole bloody lot down in a minute!

That post is leaning now... it's leaning.

Will you just please calm down?

Say "Freud".

Hee-hee!

That's it, cradle him with pride.

Brutus!

Brutus?

TOM CONTINUES GRUMBLING — Honestly. I don't know.

Everything OK there, is it?

Alright? Good.

Please, just...

URINE TRICKLES Brutus!

Brutus, no!

Wait here.

Arthur. — Sisters.

Wellingtons. Squeaky clean.

That marrow came from the farm shop.

Microphone whines

A quick reminder of the rules.

Each entrant may submit one marrow only.

Entrants must be in attendance for the weigh-in

to be eligible to win.

There can only be one winner.

Frank.

Button.

Entries must have been grown by the entrant him or herself.

And last, but by no means least

the judge's decision is final.

No arguments.

We don't want a repeat of last year.

Brutus, there you are!

The real value of today is not in winning or losing

but in promoting a good old-fashioned community spirit.

In one generation teaching valuable skills to the next.

Dog pants

What have you got? Drop it!

And with so many children in attendance

it really is fun for all the family.

She screams

Screaming continues

Camera clicks

Camera clicks

This is all I'm at liberty to say at this time.

Well, can I at least get a picture?

No! - SHE SIGHS

Please, leave. Thank you.

Camera clicks

Well, he's definitely dead.

In fact...

I'd say he's positively ancient.

How ancient?

Well, that's a question for an archaeologist.

So not our problem, then. Excellent.

Oh, to think...

we may have stumbled across a Viking burial ground right here in Great Slaughter!

Or Roman perhaps.

Even Celtic!

They yell

Yelling continues

Men scream

Who knows what treasures may lurk beneath this soil?

We might be standing on a site of the most extraordinary scientific

and historical interest!

Oh!

Absolutely. — That's all well and good

but what about our marrows?

Now they've been harvested, they'll be losing water.

Could that affect their weight?

When will the scales be returned to the Post Office?

What about saboteurs?

One o' us should be up 'er.

Keepin' eye owt! That's right.

OK. The allotments are out of bounds until further notice.

Whatever for?

Apparently they're a site of "archaeological interest".

We won't know until they excavate.

Excavate it?

I'd like to see 'em try and dig up my plot.

All my winter veg is in.

Surely you won't dig up the entire site

for the sake of some old bones and bits of broken pottery?

OK, just to be clear, this isn't me, this is the archaeologist.

This is outrageous! I won't stand for it.

Hear, hear!

Stand for what?

As Chairman of the Allotment Committee, I propose we form an Action Group

to oppose excavation.

Who'll second?

I'll second.

Those in favour.

Good. Motion carried.

If there are no objections, I nominate myself as group co-ordinator.

Good.

Well, I shall write to the British Archaeological Association

and we should get our MP involved.

Perhaps retain a solicitor.

If it comes to it, we may be able to apply for an injunction.

Hm!

Thank you.

A gin and orange please, Gloria, and another sherry for Miss Thimble.

Medicinal, she says.

For the shock.

Sorry for shooting the messenger.

Oh, don't worry. It's your plot, isn't it? Miss...

Uh, Paignton. Edie Paignton.

Inspector Sam Gillespie.

Oh, I can't believe I've been growing me dinner on an ancient grave all this time.

Gives me the willies.

How long have you been up there?

Uh, about two years.

My husband left and took his income with him. So...

I had to feed myself somehow.

That's very enterprising.

Frank took me under his wing.

If it wasn't for him, I'd probably have starved to death.

I'm sure you would've figured it out.

You seem very capable.

The veg, maybe.

He also gave me a job in his textiles factory

sewing frilly knickers.

Oh, to be honest, it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me

Ned leaving.

Sounds like a real community.

Everyone looking out for each other. - Yeah, it is.

That's what you have to understand.

The allotments isn't just a place where people go to grow vegetables.

It's home.

We're a family.

If anyone tries to take it away

I predict they'll have quite a fight on their hands.

What I am supposed to do if anyone wants to post an outsize package

I have no idea.

I'm sorry, Mrs Clam, but if I make an exception for you

I have to make an exception for everyone.

Phone rings

Ridiculous bureaucratic nonsense.

What's the prize? - HMM?

For growing the biggest marrow. What do they win?

Glory, Felix. Glory.

It's for you.

Delicious!

He sighs

Hello?

Do you want the good news or the bad news?

Both would be helpful.

Right. Well, I've managed to date the bones.

That's the good, by the way.

The bad is, they're not as ancient as they first appear.

Oh, I don't like where this is going. How old?

Two, maybe three years.

I'm afraid this isn't the scientific discovery of the century after all.

It's murder.

It appears the body was subjected to a large amount

of sodium hydroxide

otherwise known as lye, otherwise known as caustic soda.

OK then.

Where would you find large amounts of that?

Well, it has numerous commercial applications.

It's used in the manufacture of everything from paper to soap.

In its pure form, it's actually a highly effective industrial-strength drain cleaner.

It's also used on farms and abattoirs for the disposal of animal carcasses.

Ooh, yes!

This'll do nicely.

Ahem.

Fact. Sodium hydroxide is highly soluble

and when mixed with water, it will quickly break the chemical bonds

which keep flesh intact and muscle bonded to bone.

In short, it will liquefy a body, leaving only chalky bone hulls

which crumble easily, giving the impression of age.

It appears this was applied in a hurry though.

Note how some of the bones are slightly less affected.

The skull, for example.

Sorry. Breakfast?

I'm fine. Thank you.

Any chance of an ID?

Well, I don't think the dental remains can help.

But I could tell you their height and gender if we're lucky.

That's about it though, I'm afraid.

Look at this.

Cardboard.

And lots of it.

OK. Let's pull the missing persons files for the last three years.

Let's hope something jumps out.

I'll get this batch of bones back to the lab.

Yeah, and I'm gonna go and talk to Ms Paignton

about this husband that did a runner.

WPC Button.

Oh! Hello, Sarge, didn't see you there.

What are you doing here?

Dad sent me to check on his marrow.

Figured it was OK for me to cross the cordon.

Please, Sarge.

He's put so much work in.

I think that stupid marrow means more to him than I do.

Fine. But I didn't see you here.

Oh, thank you, Sarge.

Distant shouting

Save our allotment now! — Save our allotment!

Save our allotment! —- Hands off our veg!

Save our...

Alright, alright!

You can call it a day.

Your allotments are safe.

They mutter

And the excavation?

Cancelled.

However, your allotments are now a crime scene

and will remain off limits until further notice!

THEY MUTTER — Did he say crime scene?

OK, everyone, leave the premises!

That way, thank you very much! —- Come on.

That way! Thank you. Follow me out. - Edie? Edie, can I have a word?

Your husband. Ned, wasn't it?

He left about two years ago?

Yeah, that's right.

I wouldn't mind a word with him.

She sighs

Right, you and me both.

If you find him, let me know.

So you haven't had any contact since he told you he was leaving?

Didn't even have the guts to do that.

Just wrote a note to say he was off, that was it.

No forwarding address?

I don't think he wanted us to stay pen pals.

Did you keep the letter?

It's not the sort of thing one keeps as a memento, Inspector.

No, of course.

I'm sorry I can't be of more help.

Don't worry. We'll track him down.

See you've stooped to grave robbing?

SHE CHUCKLES Yes!

Very good. Although I regard it more as temporary appropriation.

You asked about cardboard up on the allotment?

Oh! Yes, marvellous.

Yes, I was going to reread The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

for obvious reasons, but I'm sure this will be just as thrilling.

Ok.

Oh, so the, um...

the cardboard technique, it's common, is it?

I'm not sure about "common".

The short version is, cardboard, then as much compost

and horses' muck as you can get your hands on.

The cardboard smothers the weeds while it rots down

and the muck attracts the worms, turn it over. Job done.

It's ingenious.

Personally I think if you're gonna hoof all that muck all the way up there

you might as well have dug it over yourself.

SHE SCOFFS Each to their own.

Poor soul.

An untimely demise and a most un-Christian burial.

Covered in a ton of manure. Poor beggar.

I'm assuming they're all filed by date of disappearance?

What is?

The missing persons record.

Er... Yeah. Go with that.

Edie Paignton's plot is next to your dad's, isn't it?

That's right.

Do you know who had it before her?

No one did.

Wasn't even really a plot as such, just an abandoned corner.

Had to badger Sinclair to let her have it.

What was his objection?

Said it wasn't "regulation size".

You know what he's like.

Never happier than when he has a rulebook to throw at someone.

But she persisted.

Went over his head to the Parish Council in the end.

Caused a right old stink.

I was trying to do her a favour.

By refusing her?

Well, she didn't know what she'd be taking on.

She thought she could just turn up and start growing, but...

well, that land had never been cultivated.

If it hadn't been for Frank's no-dig suggestion

she'd still be trying to clear it now.

So the no-dig was Frank's idea?

She was hardly going to think of it, was she?

Thank you.

Work's been slow

on account of how deli...

delicate the bones are.

Any idea if it's male or female?

Well, the shape of the pelvis is usually an indicator but, um...

as you can see, much of this one has crumbled away completely.

But on the basis of probabilities, I'd say they're more likely

to be male than female

but it's impossible to say with any absolute certainty.

Height?

Between five foot six and five foot eleven.

Oh, that narrows it down.

Oh, but the good news is, I've pieced together the skull

and look at this.

Cause of death...

was a blow to the back of the head.

Or rather, three blows.

Made with?

Oh, I've no idea.

Oh. - Yes, I appreciate that's not much to go on

but I'm working on it.

Missing persons for the last three years.

So Deidre Walterson, aged 46.

No, she turned up.

Yeah, she ran off with her tennis coach

from Santorini, if I remember rightly.

That's not mentioned on the files.

It's all up here.

Wait, what's that? Warwickshire Police...

They lodged an enquiry regarding one of their missing persons.

Apparently he had business dealings in Great Slaughter

and had spent some time here.

Sidney Jackson.

No, doesn't ring a bell.

I requested the full report

but it was destroyed when their archive flooded last year.

OK, well, see what you can dig up on him.

No pun intended.

He chuckles

Jenny Harsden, aged 23

reported missing by her father, Frank—- - Wait.

Frank Harsden?

That's Frank from the allotments, isn't it?

Yeah. He's got the plot next to Edie Paignton.

Right.

Indistinct chatter

It's not her.

You seem very sure.

She's in London.

Wrote to me.

A few months after she left.

What, you didn't tell the police?

She's still listed as missing.

Haven't done a very good job of looking for her then, have you?

Hm.

What did the letter say?

Uh, that she was safe

and the baby had been born.

A boy, apparently.

Do you have an address?

No.

Somewhere in Peckham.

She didn't want to see me.

Why not?

Look, I know you're just doing your job, Inspector

but you're barking up the wrong tree.

Whoever you found up on that plot, it's not my Jenny.

Typewriters clatter ok.

Yeah.

Yeah.

OK, thank you, that is very helpful.

OK. Bye-bye.

What's helpful?

Three years ago, Sidney Jackson made an application

to buy the allotments from the council.

He planned to sell the land to a chain of supermarkets

but he disappeared before the final paperwork was signed.

Did he now?

Course, Sinclair was in charge of the "Action Committee".

HE SCOFFS That pompous old twit wouldn't know action

if it kicked him in the goolies.

He's all regulations this and procedure that.

No offence, but I tell you...

that supermarket would have put half the village out of business, me included.

Two hundred years of Button's Butchers down the Swanee.

I can't believe you never told me.

Ah, you were away at police training college, I wasn't gonna bother you with it.

So what happened?

Well, he just disappeared.

Do you remember the last time you saw him?

Oh, yeah. It was at one of Sinclair's committee meetings.

A decision within ten working days they said, that's all I know.

And if they rule against us?

That'll be that.

And when can we expect to hear?

‘Ere up, here 'e come.

You're not welcome here, Jackson.

I thought you'd want to hear the good news.

Decision's through.

Appeal denied.

Oh...

I'm signing the land papers at 9am tomorrow morning.

I suggest you collect anything you want to keep before then.

After that, it's mine.

He chuckles

Tom blusters incoherently

Never saw him again.

Here, pass us the gristle bucket, Pegdoll.

Bucket clatters

You didn't wonder what had happened to him?

Yeah, course we did.

We weren't gonna go looking for him, were we?

We were just glad it was over.

So, you reckon it's him then? The body.

Ah. It's one of the possibilities we're exploring.

Yeah, well, good luck if it is.

Swing a cat and you'll find ten people that wanted to see the back of Jackson.

Don't suppose you'll ever find out who did it.

‘Ere, faggots for tea, Pegdoll. Don't be late.

I won't. Thanks, Dad.

Alright, love.

Convent bells chime

Sister. — Sister.

I'm sure I saw one just like it when I was in here the other...

A-ha!

Not three blows with one instrument, but one blow with three.

You're saying this could be the murder weapon?

I'll have to take it to the lab for further examination

but potentially, yes.

Tools clatter

Wait here.

Tools clatter

Loud crash

A-ha!

Ah, Inspector.

Frank, what are you doing here?

You know that the allotments are out of bounds.

I-1'm sorry, I just...

I thought I left my reading glasses here somewhere...

I'm gonna have to escort you out.

Alright, alright.

What's this?

You can't possibly think Edie's got anything to do with this?

Girl wouldn't harm a fly.

I'll escort you out.

And that won't tell you anything, they're ten a penny.

I got one just like it myself.

See?

Well, perhaps, Mr Harsden, you'd be so kind as to allow us an examination?

Be my guest.

Thank you.

I should think there's one of these in every shed on site.

Right. I'll leave you to it then.

Reading glasses.

He must think I'm an idiot.

He was down here checking on his bleeding marrow.

If he's right about everyone having one of these

perhaps we could have a quick peek in Sinclair's shed before we go?

Check all three of them.

INSECT BUZZES - What was that?

Wasp? Bee!

Bizz it away! — Alright, come on.

Oh, go away! - INSECT BUZZES

Oh! Close, but no cigar.

You're sure? None of these match?

Afraid not.

But we're on the right track though, fear not!

These cultivators are the right shape and size.

And the good news is, the one we're looking for will be most distinctive.

One of these prongs will be just ever so slightly bent inwards.

But there's a good chance none of these three did it.

It's a puzzle, isn't it? - HE SIGHS

What's next?

Well, I'm glad you've asked.

So once the bones were removed from the site

I collected an additional spit's depth of soil

from all sides and underneath, just in case.

What am I looking at?

Teeth! Not bad condition either.

I'll put them together and take an impression

then check it against dental records for an ID.

Will that work?

Only one way to find out.

No match on the murder weapon. How are you doing?

I've requested Jenny Harsden's medical records.

If Frank is telling the truth, there'll be a record of the pregnancy.

Excellent. Any more on Jackson?

His mother no longer resides at her last known address.

She doesn't appear on the electoral register.

Father unknown. No siblings.

OK. Well, stay on it.

What about Ned Paignton?

We've drawn up a list of friends, family and business associates.

WPC Button is working through it now.

OK, good. I'm going to stop in at the pub.

See if I can coax any useful information out of the locals.

It's also the local single ladies' bridge night, if I'm not mistaken?

Ah. A happy coincidence, Felix.

You know me. Duty first.

He sucks teeth

I wonder...

Oh, bingo!

Is that what I think it is?

Well, if what you think it is is a right maxillary lateral incisor

then yes, it is.

A gold tooth?

Eighteen carat.

Say hello to Sidney Jackson.

You beauty!

Right, now we've got our victim, we need to widen the net.

Motive.

Sinclair was fighting for the allotments

but plenty of people would've been affected by the supermarket, so...

Means. We need to find out who had access to large amounts of caustic soda.

Who knew the allotments? And opportunity...

What's the matter?

This is the break we've been waiting for.

Um...

Well? Spit it out.

He sighs

This is ridiculous.

I think I'd know if me own dad was a murderer.

It's just to rule him out. I'm sure this'll put him in the clear.

Oh, no.

There you go, Hester. Regards to your mum.

Will do. Thank you, Mr Button.

Alright, Sam? How's tricks?

Here, I've got a nice bit of bacon put aside for you, my friend.

Actually, Ted, I'm gonna have to ask you to come down the station.

I've used caustic soda for years. It's standard practice.

I saw Miss Thimble cleaning her drains with it the other week.

You gonna arrest her too?

And I told you, half the village wanted rid of Jackson.

It's not just me that stood to lose everything.

I want to believe you, Ted. I do, but it's not that simple.

This is a photograph of Sidney Jackson's fatal injury.

And this is the implement which caused it.

Then that's not my cultivator.

But it was found in your shed. Can you explain that?

He sighs

No, I can't.

Ted Button. I'm arresting you for the murder of Sidney Jackson.

Sam! Come on, lad.

You're not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so

but what you say will be put into writing and may be given as evidence.

He huffs

I'm sorry.

You can't be serious, sir.

You're making a terrible mistake!

Oh, don't.

He sighs

Peggy...

Sharpener grinds noisily

I am sorry—- - SHARPENER GRINDS

Knock on door

Coo-ee.

Fear not, Sergeant. We'll get to the bottom of it.

I was only following the facts.

Yes, I know. And so does WPC Button.

She'll come around.

Post.

Thank youl!

Eventually.

Jenny Harsden's medical records. No doubt confirming Frank's story.

Pregnant. Just like he said.

A broken arm. A sprained wrist.

Bruised ribs. A black eye?

There's always an excuse.

A slip on the stairs. An open cupboard door.

So Frank was knocking her around?

No wonder the poor girl didn't want to raise her baby here.

And if that's what he'd do to her, what might he do to the man

who got his daughter pregnant out of wedlock?

I spoke to Southwark Registry Office

and asked them to locate a copy of the birth certificate.

Oh! Drumroll, please.

The father of Jenny Harsden's baby is...

Sidney Jackson.

Good man! Great work!

Ahem. Uh, now, there is just one tiny problem.

We've yet to prove the link between Mr Harsden and the murder weapon.

Well, you'd better get cracking cos I'm bringing him in.

If you have any bright ideas, Sergeant, now would be a good time to mention them.

I do have one.

I knew you would.

He laughs

We photograph the contest every year and I never destroy a negative.

You don't know when it might come in handy.

Are you going to tell me what you're looking for?

Confidential police business, I'm afraid.

Well, then you might be here for a while.

We'd best get started.

You never told us that Sidney Jackson was the father of Jenny's baby.

You never asked.

Can't imagine you were too thrilled to find that out.

Did he offer to marry her?

He scoffs

I wouldn't have let her marry that toerag if he was the last man on Earth.

No? How far would you have gone to stop it?

I'm not a violent man, Inspector.

Really?

So how do you explain these broken bones in your daughter's medical records?

Ah... She always was a clumsy girl.

Come on, Frank.

If you're man enough to knock a young girl around

you should be man enough to admit it.

Is this yours?

I told you before, these things are ten a penny.

They all look alike.

It's subtle but this one is actually ever so slightly bent, just here.

You expect me to know every knock and dent in my tools?

No one could tell you that.

What if I was to tell you

that this is the cultivator that killed Sidney Jackson?

I'd ask you where you found it.

Well, that's the funny thing.

The person whose shed we found it in...

none of their fingerprints were on it.

No? - No.

Anybody else's fingerprints on it?

No.

I suppose that's the thing about gardeners, Inspector.

They tend to wear gloves.

Let's cut to the chase, Frank.

The other day at the allotment, you weren't looking for your glasses

you were switching your cultivator with Ted's.

And you can prove that...

I suppose?

Dad? Brought you a brew.

Oh-ho-ho-ho!

That's my girl.

Mm. HE SIGHS

So...

reckon they'll be reopening the allotments then soon, will they?

You're not still thinking about the sodding marrow contest?

Well, I thought I was in with a good chance this year.

Weigh-in's this afternoon.

Oh, that's that then.

You know what Sinclair's like.

Someone's got to be there, in person, or you're disqualified.

All that work.

All that effort for nowt.

Alright, fine, I'll go.

That's my good girl.

But you know I'm sure this'll all be cleared up any minute.

Then you can go yourself.

Oh, come on, Pegdoll. We both know how it looks.

Don't see how they can prove that cultivator was planted.

Even your Sister Boniface can't perform miracles.

It's no use. There's nothing here.

No luck here either, I'm afraid.

I suppose it would have been rather convenient.

A photograph of the suspect with the murder weap...

Sister?

I need to head back to the lab!

Forty three.

Forty three pounds!

Forty three!

Let's talk about caustic soda.

I understand it's widely used in the textile industry.

APPLAUSE Next up, Edie Paignton.

Is it true your father's been arrested?

No.

Yes, but it's been a mistake.

They're sorting it now.

Where's Frank?

Inspector, I've got a marrow judging to get to

so unless you've got anything else, I think we're done here.

Rhubarb!

Hello, Sam. May we?

Yes.

You once had a rather handsome crop of it.

Rhubarb, that is.

Ted's crop that year looks rather tame in comparison.

Lovely brassicas though.

What's she on about?

In and of itself, that doesn't tell us much

but it got me thinking about something I read recently.

Fact. Rhubarb thrives best

in soil that has a pH between 6 and 6.5.

Brassicas on the other hand prefer their soll slightly more alkaline

a pH of 7 or above is ideal.

For the most part, it doesn't make much difference

most plants will tolerate a range of growing conditions

but as you can see

your soil is actually rather much more acidic than Ted's

which is more alkaline.

So?

We tested the soil from the cultivator in your shed.

We also tested the soil from the murder weapon found in Mr Button's shed.

Which proves incontrovertibly, I'm afraid...

that the cultivators were switched.

Good man!

Frank, give it up. You might as well tell us what really happened.

Glass shatters

Was that quite necessary?

Sit down, Mr Harsden!

He was a slimy, arrogant little toad!

Looking down his nose at us, thinking he was better.

Time's up, Frank.

Everyone else has cleared out.

How's Jenny these days? She, uh...

she had her sprog yet?

What's it to you? — Oh, nothing.

I told her to get rid.

Even bought her the gin.

Silly cow.

You?

Didn't you know?

She couldn't get enough of me.

He laughs

Now hurry up and get off my land.

He yells - tool thuds

I did this village a favour.

You find one person round here sorry he's gone.

Huh? Even his own mother barely looked for him.

You do the honours. We'll go and spring Ted.

It would be my pleasure.

Frank Harsden, I'm arresting you for the murder of Sidney Thomas Jackson.

You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so

but what you say may be put into writing and given in evidence.

Fifty one.

Fifty one pounds!

Fifty one! We have a winner!

Ted Button!

Come on up, Ted!

What's this?

Dad's been waylaid, so he sent me instead.

No, no, this won't do at all. The rules are quite clear.

Entrants must be in attendance to be eligible to win.

But—- - No, no, I'm sorry

he'll have to be disqualified. - SIREN WAILS

So the winner is the next heaviest which is, uh...

Siren wails

Oh, you won, Dad! Come on!

Get in!

APPLAUSE - Woohoo!

Ted giggles

Thank you.

Thank you, everybody.

Can I have a photograph, Ted? And maybe an exclusive interview?

Thank you, sir.

Oh, actually, Sergeant Livingstone was your St George.

He saved the day.

Thanks, Sarge. I'll never forget this.

Ever.

If ever your officers fancy a nice bit of sirloin for tea...

you know where to come.

Much appreciated, Ted...

However, I'm afraid

the Manual of Guidance prohibits police officers

from accepting unsolicited gifts.

Even from satisfied members of the public.

Say no more.

I don't want you to get in trouble on my shift.

Come in for the photo though, eh?

Free sirloin for life.

The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, Sam.

Sam?

Sa nn y "marrow"!

Marrow!