All language subtitles for Midsomer Murders S02E03 - Beyond the Grave

(dramatic orchestral music)

- By 3:30 that afternoon,
August the 1st, 1644,

the fighting was over.

The Battle of Aspern Tallow had been lost.

Royalists had fallen round
the king like ripe corn,

but Jonathan Lowrie
was not among the dead.

Now, this way, please.

And keep up, if you will.

(gentle orchestral music)

Follow.

He had fought that day,
bravely, for king and country,

paying dearly for the privilege.

But who would care?

He was a wealthy man,
much in the King's favour,

and had few friends in this
Roundhead part of the world.

He made his way down this
very lane and paused here

to gather strength and
draw water from the well.

(bell ringing)

- Step aside, please, I'm coming through.

- Do mind the gradient, Ms. Bunsall.

He drank and moved on.

Follow, follow.

(bright orchestral music)

(tour group chattering)

When he reached this
point, Cromwellian thugs

on the rampage caught
sight of him from yonder.

For the first time in his
life, Jonathan Lowrie ran.

(dramatic music)

Blood poured from a wound
to his left shoulder,

leaving a trail.

But on he pressed,

until here before him

stood the family home, Aspern Hall.

Afternoon.

And as he entered the great hall,

he called out to his wife,
"Florence, Florence!"

And as he reached this spot,

saw a Roundhead musketeer at the door,

who shot him dead.

And in accordance with
his wish to be buried

where he fell that day, this
became his last resting place,

though I know for a
fact he is not at peace.

- Well, you're not tryin' to
sell us a ghosty, Mr. Bradford?

- Why, don't you believe in such things?

- Have you seen it?

- Many have.

And before he walks abroad,
he gives fair warning,

tolling the church bell mournfully.

We are blessed with a
fine portrait of Jonathan,

crafted at the height of his powers

by the artist Robert Walker.

(ominous music)

Well, you're a policeman, do something!

(dramatic music)

- Who says justice is dead?

George Burton fell off the twig

while being interviewed about his book.

- [Joyce] I gather you
and George weren't close?

- (grumbles) Last of a gang.

Hijacked four lorries in Dover, 1985.

Nailed one of the drivers to a fence.

- Oof, and they wrote a book about it?

- That's all the rage, isn't it?

What time did Cully eventually get in?

- Two-ish.

They've got a favour to ask you.

- They?

- But Dad, the lease on
Nico's flat has just run out.

- I don't care, he's not moving in.

- What about the box room, Tom?

I mean, we could put
your stuff in the garage.

- Stuff?

- It's only for two weeks.

- Why is it when I say
I no, you both hear yes?

Oh, good morning, Nico.

- There's something else.

- There always is.

- He's got a part in a soap opera.

- Is it a speaking part?

- It's a police drama.

I'm a detective sergeant.

- Oh.

- We were hoping you'd
let him shadow Gavin,

see how it's done.

(Joyce chuckles)

Suppose a nice, juicy murder's
too much to hope for then?

- The best I can offer
is a vandalised painting

at Aspern Tallow Museum.

But so far, your detective sergeant

is absolutely believable.

- Terrific.

Why?

- You've observed rule number one:

Always keep the governor waiting.

(soft suspenseful music)

- Oh, Charlie, you've nearly finished.

- Oh, I don't hang about.

- Oh, it's perfect.

Oh, it's much better than
that pokey attic in my house.

Oh!

- Whoa, careful, careful. (chuckles)

- Oh, I never really thanked
you enough for doing all

that you've done for me,
moving me in here with you.

- Well, I'm glad it's all worked out.

And as for Monday
morning, Sandra MacKillop:

Paintings restored, framed, cleaned.

You name it, she can do it.

- Actually, I've had a phone
call from Aspern Tallow Museum.

Alan Bradford wants me
to do a job for him.

- Tell me!

- Well, there's a portrait
he wants me to repair.

(soft suspenseful music)

He wants me to go down
there as soon as possible.

- And what are you waiting for?

- I was hoping

that you'd come with me.

- Give me five minutes.

- [Angel] Morning, sir.

- Yes, morning, Angel.

- No wonder they broke in, sir.

Fake alarm system, single
mortise lock on the door,

windows that don't close properly.

- Where's Sergeant Troy?

- Inside, sir.

This way, sir.

- Yes, thank you, Angel, I can manage.

- Right, sir.

- Someone's had a go
at this painting, sir.

- Rule number two: Always treat the boss

as if he's blind and stupid.

Troy, Nico will be following
you around for a week.

- What for, sir?

- I've been cast in a police drama.

- I'm Inspector Barnaby, and you are, sir?

- [Alan] Alan Bradford, curator.

- I'm surprised you've got anything left

to curate, Mr. Bradford.

Fake alarm system on the front wall,

single mortise lock on the door,

windows that won't shut properly.

Why don't you hang up a notice
saying, "Please burgle me"?

- It's a question of
the reddies, Inspector.

We're not everyone's
idea of a fun day out.

- Give it a go.

- What would that mean there?

- Tell me what happened
here yesterday, then.

- I was doing the
Jonathan Lowrie death tour

with half a dozen or so punters.

The portrait was fine when we left.

- Hi, Alan.

Sorry.

- Sandra, wonderful to see you.

Come on in.

This is...

- Inspector Barnaby.

That's Detective Sergeant Troy behind you.

- Hello.

- Oh, Sandra MacKillop I'm
here to repair the painting.

- MacKillop as in MacKillop Software?

- That's us.

I'm Charles MacKillop, I'm
Sandra's brother-in-law.

- [Sandra] And guardian angel.

- Why do you need one, Mrs. MacKillop?

- Well, my husband died, last year, and--

- Sandra, you said it.

It's marvellous.

Brilliant.

Oh, sorry, Inspector. (chuckles)

- Alan, Charlie is turning
a room into a studio for me,

but it isn't quite finished.

Is it okay if I start work here?

- It's marvellous.

We can rope you off, turn you
into an exhibit. (chuckles)

Jonathan Lowrie, royalist, philanthropist,

classical scholar, and
all-around excellent egg.

- Yes, 1591 to 1644.

- How do you know?

- It says so over there where he's buried.

- Somebody really meant business.

- [Alan] Can you fix it?

- [Charles] Of course she can.

- [Tom] What did he look
like, as a matter of interest?

- We turned him into
a postcard round here.

Sold like hot cakes.

(soft ominous music)

Are you all right?

- Yes, yes.

When do I start?

- There's nothing here for us, Troy.

File it under forget.

- Did you notice a smell in there, sir?

- Well, it's a museum, Troy.

It's full of stuff long
past its sell-by date.

- Well, I did, Sergeant, fish.

- Your average villain's gone
soft, carving up paintings.

They'll be breaking the speed limit next,

or dropping litter.

- You know, why choose that picture?

Why not one of the others?

And having broken in,
why not nick something?

- Have you got something against
us having a quiet day, sir?

- What's your opinion, Nico?

- Me?

- Oh, come on, man, you'll
been doing this for semi-real

in a couple of weeks' time.

- Well, maybe it's a grudge
against the Lowrie family.

- Going back 350 years?

Never.

- A man dies, his wife's
a picture restorer

trying to get back into the game.

Lo and behold, a portrait is damaged,

and she's called in to fix it.

Job creation, or is that my
nasty suspicious mind, huh?

- No comment, sir.

- Have you got a comment on that?

- Yeah, someone took a
shortcut across the graveyard,

and it fell out of their shopping bag.

- Shortcut where?

The museum's a dead end.

- Sir, two minutes ago, there
was nothing here for us.

Now the world turns on a
packet of smoked mackerel.

- Put it in the canteen freezer.

Label it carefully, or
it'll end up on the menu.

- Look after this.

(bright orchestral music)

- [Annie] Morning, Jim.

- Morning.

- Anything in the papers?

- None of it worth reading?

Come and sit down.

Tell me all the news from the village.

- All the gossip, you mean.

- Oh, all right.

Tell me all the gossip,
and if there isn't any,

you can make some up.

- Well, the Schupps had
their baby, and he certainly

doesn't look like anyone I
know, least of all her husband.

(Jim chuckles)

They've called him
Leonardo, after the actor.

And then there's the painting, of course.

That's got people going.

- Yeah, what's the feeling about that?

Is it deliberate or casual,
or a ghost from Alan's past?

- Well, Kidd's his favourite.

Where do you want me to
start today, Jim, up or down?

- Why don't we start with coffee?

(soft ominous music)

George Burton.

All things come to him who who waits.

A book.

What book?

- Basically, the job of a DS is to keep

a check on his governor.

I mean, I'm lucky, old Tom's
as good bloke to work for,

but he does look for trouble
where there isn't any.

- He's also coming this way.

- Troy!

What do you think of Alan Bradford?

- I've handed it back to uniform, sir.

I thought there was no further action.

- Now, I wanted to show
to Nico how we work.

You know, the free exchange of ideas.

- Bradford.

Over the top, easily rattled,
born to carry the can.

Otherwise harmless.

- Nico?

- Well, he's a bit theatrical but, yeah,

I agree with Gavin, harmless.

- Well, I've got news for you both.

The excellent, wonderful,
and marvellous Mr. Bradford

has got a record.

- Sir, you said, "Troy,
there is nothing here for us.

"File it under forget."

- And that was before we
found the smoked mackerel.

(bright orchestral music)

- Morning, ladies.
- Morning.

- What's all this?

- Piece of local history, Jim.

A suit of armour taken from
the battlefield in 1644.

The dead man's descendant
has sent it back to us,

all the way from Champagne, Illinois.

- (chuckles) Well, I'll be damned.

How's Sandra doing?

- Marvellous.

Quite a hit.

(sombre music)

In fact, I think we
could build on this, Jim,

open a craft section.

Ya know, real people doing real things.

- Come on.

Get your jacket, I'll buy you
a pint and talk you out of it.

(soft ominous music)

(chair creaking)

- Alan!

Alan!

- What's wrong?

- I'm going outside.

I'll be all right, I'm sorry.

- I thought you said she was better?

(phone ringing)
- Good afternoon, MacKillop.

- [Sandra] Hello, again.

- [Charles] Hi-ya, how'd it go?

- It went well, yes.
- Good.

Only a couple of things for you to sign.

Only take a moment.

Must be a nice place to work, the museum.

- If you like ghosts, yes.

- Not that old chestnut, surely.

- I'm trying to be sensible,
Charlie, but look at him.

Is it just me?

- Oh, come on, Sandy.

The set of the eyes, I grant you,

but there the similarity ends.

- The nose, the chin,
the way he's standing.

- No, you're making too much of it.

In any case, even if he does
look a bit like David, so what?

- So now you think he does!

- Come on, let's go home.

I'll cook you something exotic.

Or would you rather talk it
over with Linda Marquis first?

- I mentioned to this
policeman that David had died

and Alan Bradford was thrilled,

just because I used the word.

- [Linda] And then it
all came flooding back?

- Yes.

And then he showed us this postcard.

Now, I've known that portrait all my life,

but I've never made the connection.

Does it remind you of anyone?

- Well, yes, David.

Vaguely, I suppose.

- But Linda, Charlie says, no.

Which is it, for God's sake?

- It doesn't matter.

The point is, it triggered your memory,

not of the good times that you and David

had shared together, but
of the months of agony

when you couldn't accept his passing.

You forgot the three D
mantra that we worked out

should his name be mentioned.

Can you say it for me now?

- David, delight, departed.

- Now, mean it, Sandra.

- David, delight, departed.

- And again, with no doubt whatsoever.

- David, delight, departed.

- There are no ghosts
in Aspern Tallow Museum,

not in paintings, in rocking
chairs, or under stone slabs.

They're only in your mind.

(sombre music)

(suspenseful music)

(gentle orchestral music)

(Jim knocking)

(soft suspenseful music)

- Gentleman caller at this time of night.

That'll give my neighbours
something to talk about.

(both chuckle)

- I won't keep you, Annie.

- Don't be daft, Jim.

What can I get you?

- No, I just wanna say this and I'll go.

I'm selling the cottage, Annie.

- Well, what for?

- Oh, oh, it's a long story.

Well, for one reason or another,

I've missed out on certain
things like a wife and family.

I regretted it.

Well, I'm too old for
kids, but not for a wife.

- Good looking man like you,
Jim, you could take your pick.

- I have done.

(bells ringing)

Jonathan Lowrie?

- You don't believe in
ghosts, do you, Jim?

It'll be the wind.

- Those bells must weigh a tonne.

- [Annie] Jim, you mustn't.

(bells ringing)

(soft ominous music)

(Alan gasps)

(dramatic music)

- [Joyce] So, what's it like?

- The chap I'm playing doesn't
have much to say for himself.

I mean, his boss has masses.

Look at it, on and on and on.

- They got that bit right, then.

- Yes, except unlike Tom,
this bloke doesn't see crime

a capital K in every...

- Morning, Dad.

- Morning, Cully.

Morning, Nico.

You were saying?

- The difference between you
(phone ringing)

and the chief inspector here.

He's not nearly so thorough.

- Doesn't see crime with a capital K

in every packet of smoked
mackerel, is that it?

- Sorry.

- You're sitting in my place.

Thank you.

- Dad, it's for you.

Gavin?

- It was just here.

I took a few steps forward,
paused, looked round,

and whap, a fist to the face.

- Did you see the owner of that fist?

- Not really.

Dark hair, I think.

Dark features, dark clothes.

But then it was dark.

- Why were you here in the first place?

- I heard the church bell.

It's a sign Jonathan
Lowrie is up and about.

- And you came to meet him?

- Of course not.

But someone was ringing the bell.

Who were they?

What did they want?

- Mr. Tate, you found him, yeah?

- That's right.

- And what were you doing here?

Bit of a party, was it?

- We heard the same thing that Alan did,

so we came over to investigate.

- I'm sorry, I don't think
I've had the pleasure.

- Anne Quarritch.

- Ah yes, you clean the museum, yeah?

- And before you ask if I've
seen any dodgy characters

hanging around, no I haven't.

- Mr. Bradford?

- Two just now.

- Things are warming up, Mr. Bradford.

First the painting, now this.

- Do you think they're connected?

- 300 years of peace and quiet,
then two crimes in two days,

of course they're connected.

(dog barking)

- We're pulling a crowd, sir.

- [Alan] Oh God.

- Marcus, I didn't realise
you were so out of condition.

Take some deep breaths before
we get down to business.

- [Tom] Can I help you?

- Yes, you can chain my
tricycle to that fence.

- I say, actually, that was a polite way

of asking you what are you doing here?

And we're police officers.

- Really?

Well then, you're the ones
who need help, not me.

Do let me know if I can
be of any assistance.

- You can, with names.

What's yours?

- I am Marcus Lowrie,
Jonathan's great, great, great,

great, great, great, great,
great, great grandson.

- Close were you?

- What are you doing here, Mr. Lowrie?

- The bell tolled in
the middle of the night.

Jonathan is arisen, and we
have a question to ask him.

- Well, tough.

The museum is closed and you can't go in.

- Alan, dear, don't be peevish.

What would your mother say?

- She'd say, "Leave me alone.

"I've been dead for 10 years."

- Dead is an un-word, as well you know.

Your mother is right here with us now,

and she says, "Don't be unkind to Eleanor.

"Let her into the museum."

- And I can hear my old mother, too,

saying, "Don't let this
lady come the old acid,

"until you know who she is."

- You're in the presence
of Eleanor Bunsall,

self-appointed queen of Aspern Tallow.

- What was the question
you wanted to ask Jonathan?

- Is that any of your business?

- Oh please, indulge me.

- I need to know what he
did with the family's money.

- I'm sorry?

- It went missing shortly after he died.

We've scrimped and saved for
300 years, but not anymore.

- In that case, be my guest.

- Thank you.

Jonathan Lowrie, I am
Eleanor Margaret Bunsall.

What have you got to say for yourself?

- Do you believe in life
after death, Mr. Bradford?

- Of course not.

- You told one of my colleagues,
PC Angel, that you did,

that you've seen this Jonathan Lowrie.

- Strictly for the punters.

They love it.

- Shh!

I know you're there, Jonathan,

so don't let's play silly games.

- Yes, go on, speak to her!

- Quiet, Marcus.

- We need your help with
the family silver, Jonathan.

Any ideas?

- I know where it is.

- Shh!

(Eleanor sighs)

Oh really, this is too much.

Noises off from you, Marcus,
chattering in the stalls,

and now a late entrance.

Sandra, quickly, take a seat.

- Sorry, Ms. Bunsall.

Sorry.

(stone scraping)

- [Marcus] He's here.

(dramatic music)

(Sandra gasps)
- Oh!

- Everybody out.

- Oh, what is it, gentlemen?

(group chattering)

- What's that?

Over there.
- Quickly.

- What's that over there?
- Fire extinguisher.

(group shouting)
Damn fire extinguisher!

- [Alan] It's over there on the wall.

- Come on!

- Just when we were getting somewhere.

- Hope it works.

Ms. Bunsall, out now.

- [Nico] Stand clear.

- [Gavin] It's under control.

- You all right?

- Yeah, it was just a bit
of a shock, that's all.

- Where did she go?

- Who?

- Sandra MacKillop.

- She's down there.

- [Marcus] Oh, do stop her.

- Troy, Troy?

Who do you want?

Eleanor Bunsall or Alan Bradford?

- Bradford, sir.

- Good man.

Ask her how she started the fire.

- Oh, it's--
- Go on.

Mr. Bradford, word, if I may?

Would this be a good time to
mention your criminal record?

- Not if I have a choice
in the matter, no.

- You mean that Mr. Tate,
Chairman of the Trustees,

doesn't know about your
passion for valuable bronzes?

- I didn't think he'd be interested.

- I think he'll be fascinated.

- No, Inspector, please.

- But you stole a bust of Oliver Cromwell

from an auctioneer in Bristol
valued at 13,000 pounds.

- Not for money, for love.

- Oh, so it's the old
crime of passion, is it?

Who was she?

- Not that kind of love.

Love of one's subject,
history, the Civil War,

Cromwell, our chief of men.

- Mr. Barnaby wondered
if you had any ideas

on how the fire started, Ms. Bunsall.

- Heat, Sergeant.

- Yes, but did you have
anything to do with it,

is what he meant, I think?

- Do I look like a pyromaniac?

(Gavin sighs)

- I'm not saying you're
the Brink's-Mat type,

but you did spend six
months inside Reading Gaol.

Did you make any friends
while you were there,

or more importantly, any enemies?

- You mean, you think
I'm a target, Inspector?

- Well someone doesn't like you, do they?

I mean, the painting, the nose.

- Perhaps that's why they
moved the packing case.

The packing case, Inspector,

it's not where I left it last night.

- Nico.

- Sir?

I mean, yes, Tom?

- Sir will do just fine.

The Marcus family silver,
you say you know where it is?

- Well, the inscription
on the burial slab.

It's Greek.

Jonathan Lowrie, (speaking
in foreign language).

"Here lies Jonathan Lowrie and
all his worldly goods," sir.

- You tell Marcus?

- He wanted to know.

Would this be a typical
sort of day, Gavin?

- Yep, nutters, then more nutters.

(bright music)

- Inspector, I gather
you've had quite a day.

- [Tom] We certainly have.

- Can I get you a drink?

- [Tom] Oh, please.

- [Charles] Why did
you let old Ms. Bunsall

loose in the museum, Inspector?

- Professional curiosity, I suppose.

See, I don't believe in ghosts,

just people with dark motives.

- [Sandra] Is that how you explain

the burning packing cases?

- At the moment, I don't explain it all.

What I can tell you, it was helped along

with a little paraffin.

- (chuckles) Hardly the work of a ghost.

- It's not a joke, Charlie.

Something's going on in there.

Otherwise, why is Inspector Barnaby here?

- Actually, I came to ask
you, why did you rush away

in such a hurry this afternoon?

- Is that a crime?

Sorry, I'm so sorry.

I was frightened.

I needed to find Charlie.

Anything else?

- Yes.

Why did Mr. Bradford choose
you to repair the painting?

Because I'm the only
restorer within 30 miles.

- It just seems odd that as you're

trying to get back into
the swing of things,

someone wrecks a painting.

- I resent that!

- Resent what?

- His implication.

- Which is?

- You saw what happened
this afternoon, Inspector.

I'm in no mood--

- Oh, come on, they have
to ask these things.

- Well, I don't have to listen to it.

- [Tom] Will she be all right?

- The short term answer's yes.

As regards to the longterm,
I really have no idea.

- Why is she like she is?

- When David, my brother, died,

Sandra couldn't believe it, literally.

She had a kind of a breakdown.

So, I moved her in here with me

and tried to protect her, if you like.

- From what?

- Oh, you know, garden fence gossip.

David was the fittest man you'd ever meet.

Some people suggested he
might have taken his own life.

- But he didn't?

- No.

He wasn't the sort, Inspector.

- You and he were business partners, yeah?

- Yeah, and he left quite
a gap, I can tell you.

Sandra may have lost her husband,

but I lost somebody who meant
more to me than I realised.

- Tell me about Eleanor Bunsall.

- (scoffs) Rider of broomsticks

and minder of other people's business.

- Is she harmless, do you think?

- So long as you don't listen
to the rubbish she talks.

Unfortunately, Sandra
thinks the world of her.

(suspenseful music)

- [Jim] Hello.

- What's that, Jim?

- It's a metal detector.

I want to put an article
in the parish magazine

there is no silver in
Jonathan Lowrie's grave,

so don't waste your time digging it up.

I love this place, Annie.

I don't really want to leave it.

- [Annie] Then why are you going?

- No choice.

I'm going to France, I've got
a house there in the south.

It's miles off the beaten track,

but there's olive trees for
shade, vineyard for wines.

The sea is just a stone's throw.

What do you say?

- Me?

- [Jim] Think it over.

(suspenseful music)

(metal detector beeping)

- Sounds like I've just struck gold.

(metal detector beeping)

- Buried treasure?

- [Jim] Yes, you've come to
claim your share, Inspector?

- No.

My sergeant here is a very
practical man as a rule.

But there's a tiny piece
of him that's willing

to believe in ghosts, and their ability

to set fire to packing cases.

And it's almost this time
yesterday almost to the minute.

Troy, give me a hand.

- Pardon?

- Give my a hand.

- (gasps) Ooh.

- That's how it happened.

Old glass, maybe 200 years old.

Uneven with a prism in it, which means,

what's that mean, Troy?

- Whoever moved the packing
case knew this place very well.

- Like a curator or a
trustee or a cleaner.

- The police think I
cut the portrait myself

to get the job of repairing it.

- I'm sure they don't.

- (sighs) And I must finish
the job for Alan's sake.

- For your own sake.

- Well yes, yes, yes, of course.

- Is it a problem?

- I don't know where to do
it, at home or at the museum.

- Oh, I see, the museum has
taken on another dimension.

- Yes, I keep thinking I
see David standing over me,

that he's actually there.

- Well, let's tackle that.

If you stay away from the museum,

your imagination will
make that feeling worse.

If you go there, you can deal with it.

Do you feel the need to prove

that you're not actually going mad?

- I need to see David.

That's what frightens me.

- [Teacher] All right, boys and girls,

finish up what you're doing.

Time we moved on now.

If you'd just like to
follow me to the upstairs--

- Sandy, I need some rivets
for this chap's gauntlet.

I'll be across in my office.

Two minutes.

(door slams)

(ominous music)

(stone cracking)

- David?

David?

Is that you?

- Sandra?

Sandra.

You all right?

- (sighs) Yes.

Yes, of course.

- You were quite right to
call me in on this, Sandra.

Now, why didn't you do so earlier?

- I should have.

I know I used to tell you
everything in the past, but...

- Charles, isn't it?

- Typical man, thinks he's
the only one who can help.

- Well, even he thinks I'm going mad.

He's too polite to say.

- Madness is an un-word, dear.

It does not exist.

There are only varying degrees of sanity.

Yours and mine just happen
to be more varied than most.

Now, what can I do for you?

- Well, all these strange
things that have been happening.

The portrait, the rocker
moving, the bell, the fire.

People say it's Jonathan Lowrie,

but I think David's trying to reach me.

- Well, we'll soon find out.

David.

What the devil is going on?

Out with it, man?

(soft suspenseful music)

(dramatic music)

- Bastards!

You stole it.

You stole my inheritance.

Give it to me.

Give it to me, I said!

(dramatic music)

(Marcus cries out)

(Marcus cries out)

(Marcus grunting)

- Eleanor, no!

We are modern women,
Sandra, we fear nothing.

Follow me.

(dramatic music)

- Inspector, who has
done this terrible thing?

- I don't know, Mr. Bradford.

I've only just got here.

- To think, I could be lying in there.

- It's Marcus Lowrie, sir.

He came to dig up the family fortune.

Someone got there before him.

- Only I don't think
there was a fortune, Tom.

Pennies in a leather bag, though.

- God, they made a mess
of him, didn't they?

What with?

- The corner of something
solid and square.

He'd been hit six times.

- But not with this?

- No blood and it doesn't match the dents.

- Who reported it?

- Eleanor Bunsall, sir.

- Oof, break out the body armour, Troy.

(dog barks)

- Lowrie's dog, sir.

Can't just leave him here.

- Put him in the car.

- Put him in the car.

- Come on.

- A security system, Mr. Tate,
I believe I did mention it.

- I can hardly get it installed overnight.

- Nevertheless, I'd like a proper chat

with you, please, sometime.

- What for?

- Well, you thought there was money

in that grave, didn't ya?

Your metal detector told you as much.

- You'll need a statement
from me as well, Inspector.

- Why, did you kill him?

- No, no, of course I didn't.

Brilliant at making you
feel guilty, isn't he?

- [Gavin] Why pennies in the grave, sir?

- [Nico] For the ferryman.

- [Gavin] The what?

- This Jonathan Lowrie, Greek scholar.

He'd have taken some
coins to pay the ferryman

to row him over the river Styx.

- Why didn't you know that Troy, huh?

Do a left here.

- Rule number, what are we up to now?

- Seven, sir.

- Rule number seven:
Never use the indicator.

It keeps the other drivers on their toes.

Is that right, Troy?

- Mm-hmm.
(dog whimpers)

- [Tom] What were you
doing in the graveyard

at midnight, Ms. Bunsall?

- Is that any of your business?

- Oh, indulge me again.

- Insomnia.

I often walk at night.

- In a graveyard, alone?

- I have so many friends there.

- So, there you are, chattin'
away with a few old friends,

you hear Marcus scream, you run inside,

and there he is, dead.

- Not dead, Inspector, merely murdered.

- Oh, I'm sorry.

Dead is an un-word.

Did you see anyone else?

- Such as?

- Well, I had in mind his un-killer.

He must've still been there in the museum.

- Oh, if I'd known that,
I'd have stayed on,

had it out with him.

- Well, I'm very glad you didn't.

- I was armed, Inspector.

- Sir, this is CS gas.

- Yes, I picked it up in France

at the World Cup where
it came in very handy,

I can tell you.

- Ms. Bunsall, it is
illegal in this country

and I'm confiscating it.

- In that case, I shall
refuse to cooperate further.

- It's too late.

You've already told us
all we need to know,

except of course for who
was with you last night.

- My lips are sealed, in
accordance with my version

of the Hippocratic Oath.

- Oh, the Hippocratic Oath, eh?

So, you were there professionally?

Who with?

- Any more questions, sensible ones?

Yes?

- Does nothing die in
your world, Ms. Bunsall,

you know, people, plants, animals?

- You are smarter than
you look, young man.

We are all part of an endless saga.

We fade, yes, but only to
reappear in ever brighter colours.

- So, you can talk to Jonathan Lowrie,

the dickie birds, or
even a Christmas tree,

just as easily as you can talk to us?

- More so because they
appreciate what I say.

- All right, well, thank you.

Thank you, Ms. Bunsall.

Thanks for your time.

- You're not going already, surely?

- Why, is there something
else you wanna tell us?

- No, but he hasn't finished
mending my puncture yet.

- God spare me from little old ladies.

She's a cantankerous old bag,
and daft as a bloody brush.

- Oh, I don't know, Troy.

I rather like her.

Some of what she says does make sense.

I mean, we are all part
of a eternal pageant.

- If you say so, sir.

- And on her own admission,
she doesn't see murder

as killing someone, does she?

- Ah, and she was there when
Marcus copped it, you mean?

(Tom grunts)

- Oh, hello.

What are those two up to?

- Inspector, come and join us.

- If I was to ask you

where your sister-in-law
was at midnight, sir,

you'd say in bed, I take it?

- Well, she was, wasn't she?

- We think she was in the
graveyard with Eleanor Bunsall,

trying to contact her dead husband.

- [Charles] Oh, please, no.

- Inspector, have you ever
known anyone like Sandra,

with her symptoms, I mean?

- What exactly are they?

- The usual stuff
associated with a breakdown,

mood swings, uncertainty, sudden panic.

- That's so unlike the real Sandra.

I mean, I've always thought of her

as strong, determined, capable.

- People change.

- Especially after losing a partner.

- Yeah, but you told us
Charlie, Sandra told us herself

that she was getting stronger.

Now in the space of a few
days, all that's gone.

- Can you explain that?

- Not really, but one or
two things do bother me.

- Like what?

- The portrait gets slashed.

Sandy is the obvious choice to fix it.

Put that the other way round, though,

she'll be chosen to repair
it, so let's cut one up.

- Are you saying you think there might

be some purpose in all this?

- Go on, Mr. Bradford.

- And what's more, it's a portrait

that reminds her of her dead husband.

You were there the day I
showed her the postcards.

You all right?

- Oh, yes, yes.

When do I start?

- The portrait does bear

an uncanny resemblance to David, yes.

- Which puts him firmly back in her mind.

- But she's known that
portrait all her life.

Why is it suddenly so important?

- Because of other things
that happen around it.

Bells ring in the night.

Packing cases catch fire.

Yesterday, I left her alone
in the museum for two minutes

during which time a bust of
Charles I fell to the ground.

Sandra says it moved of its own accord.

- And she went straight
to Eleanor Bunsall, Troy.

- She did, too.

- How do you know?

- Because I've been following her around

for the past couple of days.

I'm worried!

Sandy?

- Thank God you're here.

- What on Earth are you doing here?

Ms. Bunsall?

Is he dead?

- Yes.

But how, there's no one here?

- Leave, both of you.

Quickly and quietly, quickly!

- [Tom] You were there, Mr. MacKillop?

- Thank God.

Supposing he'd lashed out at
Sandra, or even Ms. Bunsall?

- In Ms. Bunsall's case
he'd have regretted it.

- Where's Sandra now?

- In bed.

I can go and wake her if you'd like.

- No, no, no, don't.

Well, thank you, gentlemen.

We'll leave it for now.

(sombre music)

- So, now Sandra's being got at, is she?

- But not in your book, obviously, Troy.

- Right.

- Okay, tell me this.

Why was Marcus killed?

- For the family dosh.

- There wasn't any.

- Well, the killer didn't know that.

- Well, he would've.

By the time Marcus
walked in, he'd dug down

as far as the skeleton, hadn't
found so much as a gallstone.

- All right, then he was pissed off.

All that work for nothing.

So, he swings round, clobbers him,

turns him into cat's meat.

- The way you tell it,
Troy, so graphically,

one might almost be there.

- Annie, I don't mean to
push you on this, but--

- It's all right, Jim,
I've thought it over.

The answer's yes, I'll come with you.

- You won't regret it, I promise you.

- When do we leave?

- [Jim] I think we should go
soon, like in a couple of days.

- Why, what's the panic?

- Barnaby wants to talk to me.

- Oh Jim, you haven't done
anything daft, have you?

- Like killing Marcus?

No, no.

I just don't want the police
tramping all over my past life.

There's one or two things
you should know about me

before we go, Annie, just
in case you disapprove.

- Well, why don't you tell me about them

somewhere more comfortable?

(gentle ominous music)

- Who the hell are you?

- Yeah, the point is, who are you, Jim?

I reckon you were the banker

for George Burton and his cronies.

You shafted him, and now they're all dead,

you can spend the money.

- On your bike.

- A hundred quid.

With all the plans I've got?

100,000 more like.

(Jim chuckles)

(both laughing)

(bottle thuds)
(man grunts)

(suspenseful music)

(man cries out)

(dramatic music)

(gentle music)

- We're not going to see Ms.
Bunsall again, are we, sir?

- We can if you want.

- No!

It's just that after the puncture,

I had to unblock a drain, putty
a window, and rehang a tile.

- That's police work for ya,

helping old ladies across the road.

Right, I'll have an egg and bacon bap,

a large white coffee with two sugars,

and whatever you fancy for yourself.

- Sir?

- Coffee, black.

- If you wanted something
more substantial,

I wouldn't rat on you,
well, back home, I mean.

- No sugar.

- Nice lad.

But get a load of this,
he's gonna be paid more

for playing me than I am for being me.

- It's a funny old life, Troy.

Listen, I want you to find out how much

Sandra MacKillop is worth.

You can lean on our old
friend, Mr. Jocelyn.

According to this, he is
the company solicitor.

(gentle music)

Hop in Anne.

- Ta.

Oh!

Ah.

- [Tom] Hold on.

There ya go.

Elbows.

- Jim, Mr. Barnaby is here.

Jim, we...

(soft ominous music)

- [Gavin] Blimey, they've
been going at it some,

whoever they are.

- Troy, upstairs, go on.

Nico, the front room.

Is he going on holiday?

- Kind of.

He was gonna to take me with him.

What do you think's happened to him?

- Where to?

- France, France for good.

- What, he's leaving all this?

Selling up?

- Sir?
- Yeah.

Who is he, Annie?

I'll bet you money his name
isn't really James Tate.

- It's a mess upstairs, as well, sir.

They've really turned it over.

- But he's not there?

- No.

- What is going on, Annie?

- He's in that book.

- George Burton.

Last of a gang on whom our Mr. Tate

was keeping a very close eye.

Suitcase packed, ready to
go, to France, you say?

Whereabouts in France?

- South.

Olive trees, vineyards, sea.

That's what he promised me.

- And that takes money, lots of it.

- It doesn't seem real, does it?

- No.

- But he was there, we all saw him.

- Marcus was a greedy,
lazy old man, Sandra.

If he hadn't been, he'd still be alive.

- Hello, you two.

- Hi, Alan.

We've come for the painting.

- I'm going to finish it off in my studio.

- Oh.

Ah, morning, Inspector.

- Morning.

- Sergeant Troy.

- [Tom] That piece of
china that got broken,

where does it live?

- Right here.

Landed there, in a dozen pieces.

- And you've no idea why it fell?

- None whatsoever.

- Mrs. MacKillop, do you have any ideas?

- Sorry, no.

- Just in case you had any doubts,

there are no ghosts
here, just human beings,

with all the usual foibles,
greed, envy, malice.

Someone opened this
window from the outside,

and then they pulled on a nylon thread,

with a fish line, maybe,

which was looped around
the top of the figure,

and when the figure smashed,

they pulled the thread clear.

- (chuckles) Simple as that?

- But why, Inspector?

- Do you smell anything?

- Fish.

- Do you have a cellar here?

- Yeah.

- Show it to me.

- Oh, right.

(soft ominous music)

Here we are.

(suspenseful music)

(man screams)
(Gavin cries out)

Oh!

- You all right, sir?

- Get after him.

- [Gavin] Come on.

- Who is he?

- I don't know.

- You must have known he was here.

- I didn't, I swear it.

- [Gavin] We've lost him, sir.

- You get paid to catch
him, Troy, not to lose him.

- Rule number 24: Don't
expect any sympathy.

- Who was he, sir?

- He, Nico, was a ghost,
with a weakness for fish.

- No real damage, Tom.

You'll have a nasty bruise, though.

Arnica.

A spade, you say?

I didn't know gardening
could be so dangerous.

- This was ghost busting, Cathy.

- Thanks a lot, Tracy.

I'll call you next week, okay?

- Old friend?

- New friend.

- Right, well, give my love
to Joyce and Cully, won't you?

- Cathy, I wouldn't ask this
unless it were important,

and I know you've got a
waiting room full of people

out there, but if I wanted to
drive someone over the edge,

could I do it?

- I'm living proof of that, sir.

- Seriously.

- Yes, of course you could.

- Even to suicide?

- That would depend on your victim,

but you can induce paranoia
in all sorts of ways,

psychologically, chemically, surgically.

Who are we talking about?

- Sandra MacKillop.

- Ah, that's why you came here
and not to Causton General.

Well, Sandra, as I'm sure you know,

is a patient of mine, so
don't expect any details.

- Even though she might be in danger?

- I would like to help
you, yes, but (sighs)

I did send her to a counsellor
over the death of her husband.

Now, she might be less ethical.

- What's her name, Doctor?

- Linda Marquis.

She's good at her job, but she
may already be known to you.

(suspenseful music)

- I've had a word with David, by the way.

- Have you?

What did he say?

- Oh, he didn't say anything.

- But I thought you just
said you'd spoken to him.

- Oh no, you don't understand
how it all works, dear.

The Davids of this world
don't actually speak to me.

I just put myself in their
shoes and speak for them.

They're rather one-sided conversations.

Something like being back
in the classroom. (chuckles)

- Well, what do you say, then?

- I say that David wants
you to be the fun-loving,

confident girl you always were.

So, down to business.

What's made you change?

- His departure.

- Well, that's part of
the problem, certainly.

What about diet, though?

- Diet?

- We are what we eat, Sandra.

Everyone knows that, but who carries it

to its logical conclusion?

Did you know, for instance,
that spinach can be

a very depressing vegetable?

And that fennel is uplifting?

- No.

Charlie does all the cooking,

and I don't think he'd be very...

- Take me through a typical day's menu.

Breakfast.

- The cellar dweller's gear, sir.

(Tom laughs)

- [Tom] Have you got a name for him?

- No, nor any signs of the murder weapon.

Pencil and paper, Nico.

- Here.

- One round of sandwiches, pilchard,

going off with a vengeance.

You think Sandra MacKillop's
life is in danger,

sir, or just her sanity?

- That's a good question, huh, Troy?

- One pocket knife, army, Swiss, thereof.

- Have you heard back from
the MacKillops' solicitor?

- No, he's playin' hard to get.

One donkey jacket, blue.

- Then lean on him.

- Look, sir, we've got a
real body, Marcus Lowrie,

and a couple of real suspects,
favourite being this geezer.

Shouldn't we find out who
he is and where he's gone?

- He has gone to ground, Troy.

Don't ask me where, but
I think I know who he is.

- You do?

- Yeah, and if someone would do a spot

of housebreaking for me, I could prove it.

You're too kind, Troy.

- Ta, sir.
- Thank you.

- Have you heard anything,
Mr. Barnaby, about Jim?

- I've had a forensic team
in his cottage, Annie.

They found some blood
on one of the chairs.

There was a fight, certainly,

but we don't know the extent of it.

- So, where is he then?

He's ditched me, hasn't he?

Like every man I've ever met.

- I'll let you know the
moment we hear anything.

- Now, give us a pint, now, white wine.

There ya go.

- Why this pub, Tom?

- Oh, what's the matter,
don't you like it?

- I love it.

Now you answer my question.

- I'm meeting Troy here.

- Ah.

- If he doesn't get caught, that is.

- Doing what?

- Breaking in to Anne Quarritch's house.

It's delegation, Joyce.

Troy doing that, Nico and Cully--

- Yes, where are they this evening?

- Jim Tate's cottage,
in search of his past.

- Evening, Mrs. B.

- Hello, Gavin.

- We're on, sir, with a slight variation.

- Which is?

- The smoked mackerel.

I did put it in the canteen freezer

and I did label it clearly.

Don't worry, I nipped into the supermarket

on the way here, bought us some more.

- Won't be a moment.

Go on.

- Oh, ta.

What can I get you?

- I'll have a large, straight answer.

This is a till receipt.

I found it pinned to a
board in your kitchen.

On it, you'll find smoked
mackerel, at two pounds 13 p.

- That is a packet of smoked mackerel,

priced two pound 13 p
found in the graveyard.

You were taking it to
the man who's been hiding

in the museum cellar.

- Shoulda turned him in, Annie.

Why didn't you?

- Because he threatened to kill me.

- Who is he?

- I was once married to him.

- Ralph Edward Bailey, doing
10 years for manslaughter.

Absconded from Durham jail four weeks ago.

You divorced him June 1987.

Went back to using your maiden name.

- And he's killed again,
by the looks of things.

Marcus Lowrie.

You've been harbouring
a very dangerous man.

- How did you know it was me, Inspector?

- Remember when we gave you
a lift to Jim's cottage,

you dropped your shopping?

A bit heavy on the smoked fish.

- Who was it for?

- Me.

- No, it's for Ralph at the museum.

Well, he's not there now.

So where is he?

- He's hiding out at Jim Tate's cottage.

(soft ominous music)

(Cully whispering)

- There we go.

I'll say one thing for that
scene of the crime lot,

they sure can tidy up.

Look at the scene.

- What exactly are we
looking for though, Nico?

- I don't know.

What are you looking for?

Only, I might just have it.

- Let's start at the top
and work our way down.

(gentle music)

(soft suspenseful music)

(metal clanks)

(suspenseful music)

No, don't.

(sirens blaring)

(door bangs)

(sirens blaring)
(dramatic music)

- Cully?

Cully!

- I'm okay, Dad.

- Where is he?

- Attic.

(engine rumbling)

(tyres screeching)

(Gavin sighs)

- It's all right.

It's only a car.

- No Nico, sir?

- No, not this time.

I don't want him to see our darker side.

- I'm not sure I wanna see that myself.

- Last night, you got from the station

to Jim Tate's cottage
in four minutes flat.

Everything I ever said about your driving

I take back, unreservedly.

- Where are we going, sir?

- To see Linda Marquis.

- [Gavin] Can I get
breakfast on the way, sir?

- [Tom] On me.

- So, Marcus was killed by Ralph Bailey,

who also robbed Jonathan's grave?

- If there was money
there, I'm sure he did.

But why play the ghost to
Sandra MacKillop, then, huh?

- To get her out of the museum.

Her presence was cramping his style.

- Well, Bradford's there
all the time as well.

Didn't try getting him out of the way.

- No, but he did smack him one.

Then off he went to see James Tate

because Annie said he had money.

(bright orchestral music)

It all hangs together,
Troy, I grant you that.

It's too clearcut.

- [Gavin] Is that wrong, sir?

- [Tom] Life's not like that.

- [Gavin] So to beef things up,

we call on this Linda Marquis?

- Not for the hell of it, Troy.

Sandra MacKillop is at
the bottom of all this,

and Linda Marquis is her
confessor, as indeed, I am yours.

How many fried eggs a week should you

not have more than, then?

- I have no idea, sir.

- Four.

Bacon roll is just as bad.

I spy, with my little eye,
something beginning with C.

- Yeah, all right, sir,
I know, cholesterol.

- No, Charles.

Good morning, Mr. MacKillop.

You're up bright and early.

- Morning.

Must look odd, Inspector,
but Sandra's not the only one

who has needed counselling.

It's been a tough time for me, too.

- I can imagine.

- [Linda] Is this a professional matter

or a personal one, Inspector?

- I'd like to know who's
got in for Sandra MacKillop?

- I thought you were
investigating a murder?

- Oh, we are.

- What sort of a business do you think

I'm running here, Mr. Barnaby?

- A very successful one,
by the looks of things.

First client, half-past eight a.m.

- Mr. MacKillop.

People have busy lives.

I try to accommodate them.

And I never betray their confidence.

- Oh, no, no, no, you are
very good at keeping secrets,

especially your own.

- Do I have any?

- Oh, you have a humdinger.

And you fit the description
so perfectly, heroin chic.

- It was a long time ago.

- A short two years ago.

- All right, but it's over now.

- And for that, more power to
your elbow, or just above it,

but what would the likes
of Charles MacKillop

and Sandra say if they heard about that?

- They'd say it makes
me more understanding,

more of a human being.

- All right, I'll ask them.

- No.

If I tell you something, will
she know that it came from me?

- Mr. Bradford!

I'm keen on history,
too, especially yours.

It seems that in the dim and distant past,

you and Sandra MacKillop were an item.

- Then David MacKillop
stepped in, pots of money,

and you were sidelined.

- And we'd like to know
how that made you feel.

Bitter, angry, vengeful?

- Not so long ago, you
saw me as the victim

in all this, Inspector.

Slashed portrait, fist in the face.

- I've changed my mind.

- How did it make me feel?

Relieved.

- Oh, come on.

Passionate romance with a beautiful woman,

suddenly drops you, you
were beside yourself.

You've been trying to get
back at her ever since.

- That's simply not true, Inspector.

Yes, I did, once throw my cap at Sandra,

but mainly for my father's sake.

- I'm sorry?

- He was forever nagging
me to find a girlfriend.

And I did try and fall in love with Sandy,

I promise you, but my
heart just wasn't in it.

- And why was that?

- If sexuality were the Civil War,

I'd be a Cavalier, not a Roundhead.

- You what?

- I have never been attracted
to the opposite sex.

- I don't think we need
trouble you any further, sir.

- Just a sec.

Charles MacKillop, no
girlfriends, no wife.

In this, civil war of
sexuality, where does he stand?

- On your side, Inspector.

- Which is also mine.

- I never doubted it for a moment, Gavin.

- Sir, Sandra MacKillop in her will,

Mr. Jocelyn drew it up for her in favour

of her sister in Canada.

- Say what she's worth?

- Well, she owns half the company,

which is valued at just over 10 million.

- That's worth fighting about.

- I am the resurrection and
the life, sayeth the Lord.

He that believeth in
me, though he were dead,

yet shall he live.

And whosoever liveth and believeth in me,

shall never die.

(ominous music)

I know that my Redeemer liveth,

and that he shall stand at
the latter day upon the Earth.

- Vicar, halt!

- What's wrong?

- I'm sorry.

False alarm, carry on.

- And though this body be destroyed,

yet shall I see God, whom
I shall see for myself

and mine eyes shall behold--

- No, I'm right!

Inspector, all is not well down there.

- Bring it up.

Right, Troy, off you go.

- What am I looking for, sir?

- Squatters, go on.

(Gavin sighs)

- [Gavin] Oh.

(Sandra screams)
(group gasps)

- [Tom] Who is it?

- James Tate, Inspector,
who else would it be?

- It is James Tate, sir.

- [Sandra] Oh!

- You are sitting in my chair
(dog whimpers)

and you're probably wearing
my socks, aren't you, eh?

- Who did you say is coming to take him?

- He's a young PC called Angel.

- Ah.

- Said he's coming down today.

- Tom, I think we found
James Tate for you.

George Burton and Co.

Stole three million pounds worth of stuff,

in cash they got one million.

They hired an accountant,
Michael Whistler,

to pay off safe houses,
car dealers, lawyers.

- Bent cops.

- Yeah.

And he invested what was left over.

But one or two of the gang,
who were all inside by now,

wondered whether it really
had boiled down to a million,

or was it a million and a half?

- And if so, what happened
to the other half million?

- They sent a heavy to see Whistler

and he'd gone,
(phone ringing)

disappeared into thin air.

- [Joyce] And you think he's James Tate.

- With the gang all inside, he
had time to reinvent himself,

plastic surgery if necessary,

then pop up five years
later in Aspern Tallow.

- Well done, both of ya.

- Phone, Tom.

- Barnaby.

Yeah, I'll be there in 10 minutes.

- They found him and my
car on a dockside in Hull.

He was tryin' to get
working on a Polish trawler.

- Just mad about a fish, eh?

Okay, Ralph, what's your
beef with Sandra MacKillop?

- You what?

- If he knew any French now,
he'd point to himself as moi.

- Christ, where'd they dig you up?

- We'll come to the digging later.

In the meantime, what's your grudge

against Sandra MacKillop?

- I don't have one.

- Convicted killer
escapes from Durham jail,

comes all the way back here
just to admire the scenery.

Oh, do us a favour.

You had an old score to settle.

- So you tried to drive her nuts.

Bells in the night, breaking
china, burning packing cases.

- If you must know, I've always had

the highest regard for Sandra, ask her.

- No, you've been playing ghosts,

in between killing Marcus
Lowrie and James Tate.

- That's it, I'm done.

Solicitor.

- It's gotta be him, sir, or
is that still too clearcut?

- Just a little.

- Motive, money, opportunity, bags of it.

On top of which, since we
found him in the cellar,

all this ghosty stuff stopped.

- Sandy, you sure you
don't mind me rushing off?

The meeting's in half an hour.

- You go ahead, Charlie.

I'm sure Alan must be here by now.

Thanks.

- Pleasure.

Oh, and call in at the office later on.

There's a heap of stuff for you to sign.

- Uh-huh.

(soft suspenseful music)

(door thuds)

(painting thuds)

(dramatic music)

(Sandra screams)

- Sandra, Sandra, what is it, what?

- [Tom] Michael Aron Whistler,
who became James Tate.

- Look at his form, sir.

- Oh, spoken like a proper copper.

Hello, Cathy.

Nico, chair for Dr. Bullard.

- Tom, it's about Sandra MacKillop.

You know, you asked if it was
possible to drive someone mad.

Well, at 10 o'clock this morning,

Anne Quarritch brought
Sandra to my surgery

as near to the edge as I've seen her.

- Why, what had happened to her?

- She claims to have seen
writing on the museum wall.

"David, delight, departed."

- Should that mean something?

- Thank you.

It's a mantra, which
Linda Marquis taught her.

Which brings me to why I'm here.

(sombre music)

- [Tom] Mrs. MacKillop, it's
Chief Inspector Barnaby.

I'd like us to meet, please.

I need your help.

Hello, are you still there?

- [Sandra] Yes.

- Somewhere private, and
I'd like you to come alone.

Do you know the lake at Martyr Warren?

(sombre music)

(footsteps tapping)

Two people have been killed,
both by Ralph Bailey.

But there's a problem.

He couldn't have put the
writing on the museum wall.

He was locked up at the time.

- I don't think anyone
living did it, Inspector.

- Sandra, you are as sane as I am.

I can prove it to you.

- David, delight, departed?

- You saw it because it was there.

- But when Alan went to look--

- It wasn't there.

- You're the only one with any
faith left in me, Inspector.

What's gotten into me?

- At first, I thought
someone wanted you dead.

But now I believe that's
the last thing they want.

Will you help me?

(gentle music)

- Sandra?

Come in, come in.

Close your eyes, Sandra.

What do you see?

Darkness?

- Images of this room,
the windows, plants, you.

- [Linda] So it can be with our thoughts.

They can appear on the wall of our mind.

- I saw those words at the museum

because David put them there.

- No, Sandra, you put them there.

- He's telling me something,
and I'm refusing to listen.

Linda, you're the only person
that really understands me.

You've got to help.

- There are no ghosts there.

They've been conjured up by the likes

of Alan Bradford for the
sake of his visitors,

and now by you.

I will take you to the
museum and I'll prove it.

- When can we go?

- This evening?

- I got that stuff from Dr.
Bullard, sir, the drug stuff.

- George Bullard lent me that.

Knocked up the slide for me, too.

- How does it tie in with the murder?

- I'll tell you in the car.

Just one or two lose ends to tie up.

We'll have a coffee later, go on.

- Well, tell them that Ralph
threatened to kill you.

At that very least he'd have
beaten you up, yet again.

(phone ringing)

- All the more reason to
have gone to the police,

that's what he'll say.

Won't you?

- I'm sorry?

- Harbouring a criminal.

- You just tell me the truth, Annie,

and I promise I'll do my best for you.

Can't say fairer than that, can I?

Hello, Mr. Bradford.

- [Alan] Hello.

- How did Ralph know
that Jim Tate had money?

Did you tell him?

- No.

He must have overheard Jim talking

about his place in France
one day in the museum.

- Can I ask something?

(Tom grunts)

How did old Bunsall know
it was Jim in that grave?

- The power of extended logic.

Ultra common sense, if you like.

We've all got it, but she uses it.

- You mean, it's not a special gift,

like she'd have us believe?

- Yeah, of course not.

- Perhaps you'd be the
one to tell her, sir?

- In the meantime, you
didn't know that Ralph

was hiding in your cellar?

- No.

- That makes you either
very naive or stupid.

- How about engrossed in other things?

- Such as?

- My work.

Trying to shine a light in dark
places, like Aspern Tallow.

- That much we have in
common, Mr. Bradford.

Anything else, Troy?

- Yes, sir.

Since when have you two been so friendly?

- I'm here to give Annie her wages.

I do so every week and
she makes me a cup of tea.

It's called a ritual.

And so far as I know, it's
perfectly legal, Gavin.

(soft ominous music)

(switch clicking)

- Oh, why is that, I wonder?

See?

No words on walls, no moving china.

It's funny, I'd never noticed it before,

but you're quite right,
it's just like him.

And Jonathan Lowrie back in his place.

How are you, Jonathan?

If only you knew what
you'd put us through.

(suspenseful music)

It's the wind.

What's wrong?

- Look.

- What?

- There.

Can't you see him?

- See what?

- It's David.

Look!

- Sandra, you and I are
the only people here.

David is dead and buried
and over in the graveyard.

- Then who is that?

- Where?

What are talking about?

- Are you sure you can't see him, Linda?

- Sandra, you need serious help,

and this was not a good idea.

- Can you see me, Miss Marquis?

Troy, you see that ghost over there?

Go and run him through with that.

Go on.

(sombre music)

- Charlie.

Charlie.

What have I ever done to you?

- Hey. (sighs)

- I've been 25 years in this game,

and I've never laid a
finger on a prisoner.

But today, I think I
understand why some people do.

- All right, so the joke
got a bit out of hand.

- Joke, a joke?

Well, how about this for a deal?

You make me laugh and you can walk

through that door, scot-free.

- Better still, tell us why
we're here in the first place.

- Directors, Sandra
MacKillop, Charles MacKillop,

in equal measure.

- David left his share of the business

to Sandra and you wanted it.

You couldn't kill her, because then

it would go to her sister,

so you tried to get power
of attorney over her

by driving her mad.

- What for, Mr. MacKillop?

So you could flog it,

run off with Miss Needle Features here?

- I resent that!

- The clinic you were in,
say you weren't hooked

just on heroin, but also
on a drug called zolazepam.

That's a mind bender.

And you kept back a supply
of it, just in case.

And you hooked Sandra MacKillop on it.

- Not me.

- [Tom] Ooh, watch out, Charlie.

She's jumping ship.

Go on, Linda, do yourself a bit of good.

How did he do it?

- In the meals he's always cooking her.

- And then a couple of months back,

according to my medical
expert, he withdrew it.

Now, it's a drug that's
harder to kick than heroin,

with 54 known side effects,
paranoia, confusion,

insecurity, panic,
disorientation, the lot.

There you are, read all about it.

Ya know, Charlie, if you had
stayed away from this woman,

we might never have got to you.

- What?

- Remember that morning we
found you outside her house,

pretending there was nothing between you?

- Except for a spot of counselling,

which had gone on all night.

- Inspector, before we go any further,

none of this was my idea.

- Oh, it was her fault, was it?

She counselled you to to drive
your sister-in-law insane?

Split 'em up, Troy.

Put her in a cell.

Stay where you are.

- Feel free.

- Why?

- Because you are one of those women

who's had everything thrown
your way from love to money.

I just wanted a little of both.

- Right, let's clear up
the details, shall we?

Slashed painting.

- That was Linda.

- Chosen for his likeness to David?

- Yeah.

- And the bell at night, broken china?

- That was me.

The packing cases, too.

Spent a lot of time in
the museum as a kid,

so I knew the hotspot.

- The writing on the wall?

- Linda.

But I hit Alan Bradford.

That's something I wanted
to do for a long time.

Can I go now?

- This isn't this some
sort of priestly confession

where I give you 10 Hail Marys

and send you on your way again.

You mentally tortured your brother's wife.

- But can you go to prison for it?

- Playing the caring relative,
certainly made a fool of me.

- I doubt that I'll do
time for bruising your ego.

- No, maybe you're right.

But I have a big, fat card up my sleeve.

I'm holding a man down the
corridor for two murders.

- Ralph Bailey, yes.

- Ralph Bailey, yes.

Ralph says you're the man I'm after.

He saw you bury James Tate.

And the idea really appeals to me.

I mean, he's going back to jail anyway.

And like you say, you might get off,

so why don't I fit you up
with murder, or even two?

(suspenseful music)

- Now look, Inspector,

he's the one who buried Jim Tate.

I watched him do it.

- In the absence of any
proof, I prefer his version.

- But I can help you, not
with Marcus, I wasn't there,

but a couple of nights later,
I was on my way to the museum,

two, three in the morning.

(shovel scraping)

At the gate, I could hear
digging over at Marcus's grave.

It was Bailey.

Before he dumped Jim in the grave,

he stole his watch and a gold chain.

Find them and that's
proof enough, isn't it?

- Why don't you write it all down?

- Then what happens to me?

- Well, then I don't charge you

with a murder you didn't commit.

- I said solicitor.

- Oh, they've all gone to the moon, Ralph.

There's a bloke upstairs by
the name of Charlie MacKillop.

Do you know him?

- Since we were kids.

- He says he saw you beat
Marcus Lowrie to death.

- And you believe him?

- We can point the evidence
your way, if we need to.

- Well, ya don't need to.

I'd heard Jim Tate run a metal detector

over Jonathan's grave, so
that night I lifted the slab.

(suspenseful music)

(stone scraping)

(footsteps tapping)

Halfway through, in
walks Charlie MacKillop.

He set something up,

a slide projector.

He was testing it when Marcus balls up.

(door clicks)

- [Gavin] And you chose the
place for peace and quiet.

- [Tom] What did Charlie do?

- [Ralph] Hid in the shadows.

- Bastards!

You stole it.

You stole my inheritance.

Give it to me.

I said, give it to me!

(dramatic music)
(Marcus crying out)

(Charles grunting)

- The projector.

Go take his office apart,
then his house, but find it.

I am a fair man, Ralph.

You write all this down for me,

and I'll see you don't lose parole.

(soft ominous music)

- [Gavin] Any luck upstairs?

- Sorry, no.

- That's everywhere,
house, office, studio.

- What now?

- Now, I tell Barnaby then duck.

(sighs) So, where is it?

- [Nico] Well, he could
have chucked it anywhere.

- [Gavin] Oh, great.

- [Nico] Sort of random,
over a hedge, in a tip.

- [Gavin] Over there, I suppose.

- [Nico] Yeah, sure it's a start.

(suspenseful music)

- Oh, you little beauty!

- Guess what?

Ralph now says that you
murdered Marcus Lowrie,

which of course, I already
knew, but was unable to prove.

- What are you talking about?

- He saw you do it.

- Then he's lying!

- No, I think you've
both been very honest.

You with your description of
Jim Tate's unofficial burial,

and Ralph with his story of how you beat

Marcus Lowrie to death with this.

- No matter how well you
cleaned it up, Charlie,

there'll be bits of him on it somewhere.

(sombre music)

- Guess what?

Charlie now says he saw
you bury James Tate,

and he's made a statement to that effect.

- Yeah, that you wrote for him.

- Oh come on, Ralph, what
do you take me for, a cheat?

Don't worry.

I've got a forensic team
taking that grave to bits.

If you were there, they'll find something.

- I wasn't, he's lying.

- And if you weren't, they won't.

However, your personal belongings,

taken off you when you were recaptured.

Tell me, why has that got James
Tate's fingerprints on it?

- You pair of bastards.

- Oh, Ralph, that's been said before,

and I sincerely hope it'll be said again.

(dog panting)

All right, I give up.

You stay there, I'll make do over here.

- Dad, you're talking to a dog.

- Yeah, I know, and
he's talking back to me,

aren't you, Spot, huh?
(phone ringing)

- That'll be the men in white coats, then.

- I'll get it.

- I'll miss him.

He's really settled in, don't you think?

Not Nico, Spot.

- Morning, sir.

- [Tom] Hello, Kevin.

- Oh, yeah, he's a beauty.

Mum'll be well pleased.

- Give her my regards, will you?

- Yeah, thanks.

Oh, sorry I didn't come round yesterday.

I was off sick.

- Oh, you better?

- Yeah, yeah, touch of food poisoning.

Canteen grub, sir, know what I mean?

- Got any idea what it
was disagreed with you?

- I think it was the fish pate
Wednesday, smoked mackerel.

- Yeah, well that's the trouble,

never know where they've
been, do ya, Troy?

- No, sir.

By the way, we're on
page three of "The Mail."

- Is that good or bad?

- "Last night, police in
Causton charged two local men

"with the murders of
Michael Stewart Whistler,

"also known as James Tate,
last surviving member

"of the George Burton gang,
and of Marcus Jonathan Lowrie."

And then it goes on about the ghost.

- God, what's the world coming to, Joyce?

Half a paragraph on the
crime and a whole page

on something that doesn't exist.

(church bells ringing)

(chair creaking)

(bright eerie music)