All language subtitles for Midsomer Murders S07E04 - Sins of Commission

♪ Find your life

♪ Why should all my love
just turn away?

♪ Pretending
it's not needed in my life

♪ And why is love a game... ♪

CAR HORN

♪ Even if I show... ♪

CAR STEREO OFF

No nationals? No telly?

We said low-key.

Low-key doesn't mean
dead on arrival, Neville.

So glad you enjoyed it.

Well... Happy birthday, Con.

I miss you - more than ever.

And...

ALL: Ars gratia artis
et pro omnibus.

To love unrequited.

To honour...

..unblighted.

To you, my friend.

Wonderful.

Right, crack out the battle plan
and the bubbly, darling.

HAMMERING

That's very nice, girls. Thank you.

Keep going, Tom.

OK?

Everything all right, Cully?
Fine.

Good.

EXHAUST BACKFIRES

GIRLS SQUEAL

LAUGHING AND CHATTERING

Late again, Timmy.
Sorry, sis.

Great ceremony. The girls were fab.

Really?
Conor would've loved it.

Ugh, that's disgusting!

There we are.
Looks like real blood.

Oh, is everything sorted out there
now, Cully?

Please say yes.
I have a headache coming.

Madam?

Mrs Crofton's come to help.

Sam, darling,
you look like you've seen a ghost.

DOORBELL

DOOR CREAKS

Richard?

(SCREAMS)

(SIGHS)

Up, up.

KNOCKING
Get that. It'll be Neville.

See if you can find me anything
I can eat in this dump.

What did your last slave die of?
Backchat.

You'd better sort this out now, Nev.

And I'm not staying
in this pants pub either.

DOOR SHUTS

No work to do?

It's research, sir.
It's for the festival.

Jezebel Tripp's latest novel
sees the baddest guys
take on the baddest girls

for the ultimate
battle of the sexes.

Very conscientious, Scott.
Not to say uplifting.

Celebrities will liven things up.

Especially if they misbehave
like Jezebel.

Don't hold your breath.

The only thing to go off
in Midsomer St Michael
is the odd artistic temperament.

RINGS

DS Scott.

What's the address?

Yeah.

Yeah. Right, we're on our way.

Easy enough to break your neck
falling down those stairs.

No sign of a forced entry?
No, sir, nothing.

Julie, you go and get yourself
some fresh air. Go on.

Cup of tea, Miss Settingfield?
You'll feel better for it. Please.

With a tot of whiskey, would you?

Miss Settingfield?

We'll bring down our pathologist,
of course.

But my guess is that he had
an unfortunate accident.

It's such a waste.

Was he a full-time writer?
Couldn't afford to be.

In spite of having won
the Maplin Prize.

Four years ago.

He just did book-keeping.

You know, he wrote when he could.

I'm told that the second novel
is often the hard one.

No, not for Richard.
No, the second one was even better.

Which, of course,
didn't stop Sam Callaghan

selling it down the Swanee.
Sam Callaghan?

How's my editor most loyal?

I can't cope with that unspeakable
female any more, Sam.

You're referring to our star author.

Jezebel's difficult enough
at the best of times.

We're mad to carry on now.

I'm afraid we don't have
the luxury of a choice, Neville.

HEAVY ROCK MUSIC

Tim!

Tim!

Oh, for Pete's sake!

Sorry, old girl. Meditating.

Richard's dead, Tim!

Stiffen the Prussian guard.

You must be desperate, old girl.
No, don't be kind. It doesn't help.

I've just been with the police.

They say that he got drunk and fell.

Here. Down in one.

Medicinal.

We're going to have to call off
the action.

Oh, no, no, no, no. Rich would have
wanted us to continue.

Oh, would he? Look.

I found this.

No.

It's 99% certain, Tom. It's murder.

Result.

Yeah, his neck was broken for him
before he fell.

I'd say you're looking for somebody
with lethal training.

Time of death?

Mm... Between nine and midnight.

Sir?

He's er... He's not a ladies' man
by the looks of things, sir.

(CHUCKLES) Certainly not.

MONEY RATTLES

There's a computer missing there.
Hocked or nicked, I wonder.

You might want to talk to
John Denton.

Yes, George, thank you.
The thought had occurred.

Who's John Denton?
John Denton?

EXHAUST BACKFIRES

Morning.

Tim Settingfield. Kay's bro.
I'm in second-hand books.

Tom Barnaby.
Terrible news about Richard.

I'm afraid there's er...
more bad news.

We now know that Mr Rackham was,
in fact, murdered.

I'd like to ask you
some more questions,

if I may, about his circumstances.

I'm afraid we're due back.

I run a crammer during the holidays.

Tim helps out with
the literature classes. Sir?

Er, all right. I'll come up to
the school about four. OK.

Oh, Miss Settingfield.

Before you go...

The postcard that was on
Mr Rackham's mantelpiece,

I saw you put it into your bag when
Sergeant Scott was making the tea.

Oh, yes...

I sent it to him from Paris
at Easter.

Nice shot of Montmartre.
Thought I'd like to have it.

Oh, I see.
We'll catch you later.

What did young Julie have to say?

John Denton, sir. Apparently he had
a stand-up row with the victim in
the local pub night before last.

Did he indeed?
Who is he?

John Denton is...was
a Causton troublemaker turned SAS.

We had a few... Huh!
..dealings when he was a teenager.

He's a new man now, though,
so Cully tells me.

He's become a writer.
Must be a good one too, I think.

He's been short-listed
for this year's festival prize.

Do leopards change their spots?

Not in my jungle.

Hello, John.
Hi, Cully.

I read your manuscript last night.
I'm impressed.

I reckon I'll be plucking pheasants
for a while yet.

John Denton.

Could I have a word, please?
Er, in private.

Thanks, Cully.

I assume you know all about
Richard Rackham? Yeah.

I understand you and he had
a big falling-out at The Quill
the night before last.

We were drunk. Shouting the odds.
What about?

I don't know.
Writers, books, everything, nothing.

We were friends that argued.
It's not a crime, is it?

Where were you between
nine and midnight last night?

At home. On my own.
Are you accusing me of something?

No, John. I'm just doing my job.
Mind if I get on and do mine?

No, OK. You go ahead.

He's a bit moody, isn't he?

What did you want with John?

I don't think that
is any of your business, darling.

He's not a suspect, surely.
People are just prejudiced.

I'm not rushing to judgment, Cully.

Good...because I like him.

She likes him.
Aren't you going to warn her off?

Somehow, I don't think that would
achieve the desired effect.

TIM: Spit it out, Grace.

Has Mr Mephisto
got anything to do with this?

Don't call Sam that.
He is bad news, Grace.

He has gone for the dumb and
the dirty and he is dragging
the book trade into the gutter.

What is he getting YOU into?
(CLEARS THROAT)

Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby
and Detective Sergeant Scott.

(SIGHS) Mr Barnaby.

I'm afraid you find us
having a tiff among trustees.

Classes finished already,
Mr Settingfield?

Oh, you know, urgent trust business.
I wear a lot of hats.

Then perhaps you could explain
to us, if you'd be so kind,

the exact nature and function
of the Maplin Trust.

Um...

Grace's late husband, and, and, and
my dearest soul mate, Conor Maplin,

endowed a charity to promote
local writers.

Our most important work
is the annual literary festival.

And the Maplin Prize of ã20,000,

which we give
to an unpublished author,

every year
on the final day of the festival.

Conor appointed myself, Tim,
and the writer Camilla Crofton
as trustees in his will.

We administer the trust's work
and agree policy.

Or, in this instance, disagree.

Would the person dragging
the book trade into the gutter

by any chance,
be the same Sam Callaghan

who, in your sister's opinion,

ruined Richard Rackham's life?
The very same.

I understand that Richard Rackham
looked after your finances.

He was your book-keeper, Mrs Maplin,
until recently, that is.

For a while, yes.

Kay Settingfield also told us
that er, you sacked him,

for stealing.
Not exactly, no.

It was a misunderstanding.

All very unfortunate.

(SIGHS) You'd better help her
with her bags, Mrs Hunnicutt.

No flirting on duty, Casanova.
She's not really my style, sir.

(DROPS CHAIN)

Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby.
Yes.

Camilla Crofton.
I'm a friend of Grace Maplin's.

And one of the trustees. And you
write historical novels, don't you?

And very good they are too.
How very kind of you to say so.

Pleased to meet you.

I'll see what the landlord says
about the punch-up.

I've just been told
about Richard Rackham.

Did you know him?

We met occasionally
to discuss writing.

Have you spoken with Grace Maplin?

Yes. I interrupted a sort of
contretemps between her
and Mr Settingfield.

Par for the course with those two.

SCOTT: All right. Cheers.

Financial check on Rackham.

Apparently he had
full-on rent arrears
and a whacking great overdraft.

There's motive there.
House-to-house?

He didn't get many visitors
but he did last night.

Tall male. Left around nine.
Wearing jeans and red trainers.

FOOTSTEPS, DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES

ROCK MUSIC

♪ Why should all my love
just turn away?

♪ Pretending it's not needed... ♪

Thanks...for not killing me.

I only kill when I'm bored.

It was definitely our friend
in red trainers.

Why would he risk coming back
to the scene of the crime?

Have you noticed what else
is missing, Detective?

Sympathy, sir?
No.

Look...

No piggy bank.
Yeah.

Hm!

Thank you, Mrs Hunnicutt.
Glad to be of service.

It's much appreciated.
BELL TINKLES

I'll go out by the back.
Best if you do.

Mrs Helen Callaghan?

Yes. I'm Detective Chief
Inspector Barnaby.

This is Detective Sergeant Scott

from Causton CID.
Terrible news about Richard Rackham.

Indeed it was.

I understand that
he and your husband had...

a row about Richard Rackham's
second book. Is that right?

I wouldn't know.
I'm not involved in Sam's business.

Is there anything I can get you?
Er, yeah, Jezebel Tripp's latest.

Oh. They're selling so quickly,
I haven't had time to put more out.

All set?
Absolutely.

Operation Pen And Sword.

I want to be there with you,
like we planned.

Best you remain our silent partner
in the circumstances, John, eh?

What are we going to do
about Neville Williams?

You're not going to do anything,
old chap.

If they find out you're involved,

it'll spoil your chances
for the prize. Absolutely.

You leave Neville to me and sis.

POLITE CHATTER

Isn't that Harry Poulson?

It is!

Harry!

Tom.
Harry!

Joyce, good to see you.

It's been ages. You should've
let us know you were back.

I've only just arrived.

I'm a guest judge
for the prize this year.

Along with Neville Williams
and Jezebel Tripp.

Well done, you!

And I hear your crime novels
are selling out.

30 years at Causton nick turned out
to be good for something.

Have you heard about our murder?
Tom, you promised. No shop.

A quick word, sir?

(SIGHS)
Good to see you, Harry.

I had an ask around about locals
with killer skills.

I should have asked
who hasn't got them.

Sam Callaghan's ex-army.
Tim Settingfield's into tae kwon do.

Jezebel and her minder
do kickboxing.

The housekeeper's
an ex-prison warder!

Drinking to forget, Neville,
old chap?

What?
The postcard from Montmartre.

You know what we're talking about.

Time for a chat.

After pudding.

In the library.
Be there.

Or be in deep doo-doo.

Hello, Harry. Been a while.
John.

Congratulations on your nomination.
Thanks.

It would never have happened
without encouragement from you.

Listen, I know it's not really
the place to talk but...

..I need a big favour.

I can't.
Can't isn't an option.

She's right, Neville.

It has to be before the judges' vote
on Sunday.

KNOCK AT DOOR

Inspector Barnaby.

I'm sorry. Am I interrupting?

Just indulging
in a spot of business.

While I have you here, Miss Tripp...

May I ask, did you know
the deceased, Richard Rackham?

'Fraid not.

And you, Mr Williams?

Me, I met him through Sam
a few times.

And I understand you were at odds
with him over his second novel.
Is that right?

There was a disagreement, yes.

He felt we hadn't pushed the book
hard enough.

But it was all happily resolved.

Oh, good.

In what way?

We had a meeting about a week ago.
I offered him ã150,000

for a two-book deal.

He accepted.

ã150,000?

Well, thank you.
I'll leave you to your business.

I feel like a right idiot
in this get-up.

You look very handsome.

You don't fancy a drink later,
do you?

I splashed out
on a bottle of bubbly.

It might be very late.
That's fine by me.

All right.

Actually, I wanted to talk to you
about your main character.

He's a very...emotional,
romantic personality.

Is he you in disguise?

I'll see you later.
All right.

It's not just chickens he used
to scrag for a living, you know.

I've seen his service record.

Very tasty.

It's not just muesli she eats
for breakfast, you know.

RAUCOUS LAUGHTER

Yeah, the media call me a man-eater,

but normally, I just chew them up
and spit them out.

Nice suit, Danny boy.
Cheers.

Four months of every year
in Tenerife, living like a lord.

It sounds like paradise, Harry.

The writing must be hard work,
though.

All that plotting.
I don't write the books, Joyce.

The ghostwriter does all the graft.

All I do is come up with a murder
or two and have a read at the end.

(LAUGHS)

You're not a native to Midsomer,
are you?

No, I moved here with my husband
Oliver when we were first married,
in 1955.

Have you got a novel on the go now?

Actually, I have stopped writing,
more or less.

My...ex-publisher...

Sam Callaghan?
Mm-hm.

..decided
I was a diminishing return.

Not young and sexy enough for his
marketing people to bother with.

Oh, all in all, I'm happy enough to
enjoy my sunset years at leisure.

I must powder my nose
before the ceremony.

It's nice to talk to you,
Mrs Crofton.

Camilla, please.

You're drunk, Neville.

Never bothered you before.

Sad about poor dear Richard.
Don't stir it!

Why not? Time you came out,

and told the world -
I said leave it, Neville.

What are you going to do?
Call a policeman?

Neville!

I'll catch up with you later.

Ladies and gentlemen,

it is now time
for the opening ceremony.

So, if you would all like to make
your way to the stage area,

where we can begin. Thank you.

DISTANT FOOTSTEPS

FOOTSTEPS GROW CLOSER

Hello?

(Where is he? Where's Tim?
Where's Neville? Where's Jezebel?)

I've been talking to Harry, Tom.

He's making loads of money and he
doesn't even write his own stuff.

Lucky him.

Apparently, in crime writing these
days, publishers sell more books

if the name on the cover
is a real police officer.

All he has to do is think up
old cases to turn into stories. Ha!

Don't just bat this out of court,
Tom.

Did I say I would?

I'm so sorry
to keep you all waiting, but...

MURMURING

HARRY: Oh, God!
SHOCKED GASPS

The pen is mightier than the pound!

GIRLS:
# The pen is mightier than the pound

♪ The pen is mightier than the pound
The pen is mightier than the pound

♪ The pen is mightier
than the pound, pound, pound

♪ The pen is mightier than the pound

♪ The pen is mightier than the pound
TIM: I am dying.

♪ The pen is mightier than the pound

♪ The pen is mightier
than the pound, pound, pound

♪ The pen is mightier than the pound

♪ The pen is mightier than the pound
Girls!

(SHOUTS) Girls!

(SHOUTS) Thank you!
SINGING STOPS

You know she's mad.

At least my conscience
is still intact.

Look, I planned it all.
The girls came along for the ride.

Are you going to arrest her?
(LAUGHS)

Found this under the stage, sir.
I'm the one you want.

Whatever sis says,
I am the prime mover.

You are a trustee here.

A man's got to do, Chief Inspector.
It's a matter of principle.

It's a matter of disturbing
the peace and criminal damage.

I'm going to have to charge you.
What?

Oh, no, we've had more than enough
disruption already.

Couldn't we leave it for now?

Tim and I will discuss our positions
once the festival is over.

Someone, quickly!

On the terrace!

SIRENS APPROACH

What I really need to know

is whether it's the same killer.
This one's had his head smashed in.

So, it's two.
How do you work that out, sir?

Bludgeoning is mostly associated
with un-premeditated attacks, Scott.

Suggests passion, not calculation.

Any idea about the weapon?
Something heavy and blunt.

Like a paint canister?
Possibly.

We should start
with the Settingfields.

They were up to something
with Neville Williams earlier. Hm.

Let's check the victim's room first,
OK?

Oh, look.

Cupboard.

Ooh, are these they?

Yes, sir. Rackham's mystery visitor.

No sign of the laptop, though.

Ooh.

I think he was a bit more
than just a visitor.

(SNIFFS)

Take a seat.

We always stood for punishment
at school.

This is very serious,
Mr Settingfield.

I'm not laughing.

DOOR OPENS

Ah, sis.

Miss Settingfield,
that postcard you stole.

I'm willing to bet that that
was from Neville Williams
to Richard Rackham. Am I right?

That was a bolt out of the blue,
truth be told.

I confronted Neville about it
after pudding.

We thought that Neville
was Callaghan's spy.

Using Richard to find out
what we were up to.

But he denied it.
Said they loved each other.

Is that all you did - talk?

Yes. That's all. No rough stuff.

What were your movements
between the end of supper
and the start of the protest?

I was under the stage
priming the girls.

It may seem like a joke, Sergeant,
but I'm the custodian

of a precious commodity...
The honour of a great man.

Greed...

and so-called individualism is
killing more than just literature,

and I will not stand by and allow
Conor's contribution to the cause

to be neglected or forgotten.

However much Grace may be seduced
by our fiendish Faustian friend.

Besides which,
I am a life-long vegetarian.

I do not kill woodlice,
let alone people.

A few items for you to look at.

One fresh cigar stub.

Harry Poulson smokes cigars.
But then, so does Sam Callaghan.

And I found this key
in the victim's ticket pocket.

There's some kind of dust
in the indentations.

Er, Tom?

Sorry to intrude.

Thank you.

But I bumped into Neville Williams
before dinner.

He looked dreadful.

Asked if we could talk.
What about?

He said he'd been seeing
Richard Rackham secretly.

His concern was that you might
view him as a murder suspect
if he came clean.

How old are you, Miss Singh?
25.

How much longer, do you think?
I have no idea.

SCOTT: And you've been here
since three o'clock? Yes.

Were you on your own at any time?

Your guard dog's watching me.

This is totally screwing me up.
Poor you (!)

Not withstanding your grief,
I need your signature. It's urgent.

I am not signing anything until
you've sorted our little problem.

Can we get to bed soon?
I'm knackered.

And I imagine you must be
a little upset too

about your editor, Miss Tripp.

Of course.

Tragic business.
Yeah.

Neville Williams seemed um...tense
when we spoke to him last.

I was wondering, was there
a particular reason for that?

We were discussing Jez's contract.
Talking about money made him tense.

Did you know that he
and Richard Rackham were...

lovers?

No.

I didn't.

News to me.

OK, fine.
I'll call you back to confirm.

Who was that?
Harry Poulson.

Sam Callaghan wants to meet
at The Quill at three o'clock.

Just a preliminary chat. Just to
talk about what would be involved.

OK, fine.

KNOCK AT DOOR
OK, fine.

KNOCK AT DOOR

Come in.

Thank you, Mrs Hunnicutt.
Good morning.

I didn't sleep.

Only the righteous sleep,
Mrs Maplin. Not many of those about.

KNOCKS AT DOOR

Oh, Tim. I'm not dressed.

I've seen it all before, darling.

What do you want?
I've got a splitter.

I want to know why you spared me
last night.

Bad publicity for the festival
if you'd been arrested,
don't you think?

So, it wasn't out of love, then?

Do you ever give up?

Or did sinister Sam stay your hand
for his own foul purposes?

Don't despise him, Timmy,

or me.

I wish you would trust me.

Conor trusted you
and you betrayed him...

..with me.

CAR APPROACHES

Morning, Sam.

You're early.

Come to service
the lady of the house?

What I do or don't do with Grace
is no concern of yours.

Anyway, I've decided
to take matters in hand myself.

It doesn't come cheap, though.

Any news?
Yeah.

It's what you thought...

Grace Maplin is stony broke

and barely owns the gravel
on her own drive.

The bank's near to calling in the
mortgage. She's a desperate woman.

I'm sorry I got you involved.
You being a judge and all.

No, I'm not bothered.

The thing is, though...

I could do with a favour in return.
Yeah, sure. What is it?

I need an alibi for after supper
last night.

Morning.

Do you mind if I ask
what you're doing?

Oh, I was just...

I'm just really upset about Nev.

I needed some private space.

Drive me back.
I could really do with the company.

Sure. No problem.

Harry.
Tom.

Scotch?
Er, no. No, thank you.

We need to talk about last night.

I gave my statement
down at the station.

Did you mention the altercation
with Neville Williams
in the library?

What altercation?

Shall we take a stroll outside?

Harry, we've known each other now
for what, 30 years?

And...for most of that time, I've
known, well, we've all of us known
about your...orientation.

And I can quite understand why,
you know,

you felt the need
to keep it a secret.

Can you?

Well, all right, no, I can't.

But my guess is that the altercation

with Neville Williams in the library
is connected.

I knew Richard Rackham, you see.

He was my first ghostwriter.

And my first...

Yeah, yeah, right. I see.
What about Neville Williams?

We had a brief thing.
It ended a year or so ago.

Badly?

We...disagreed about me not...
You know...

coming out.

Did you know that Neville was having
an affair with Richard Rackham? No.

Were those two
trying to blackmail you, Harry?

No.

Where were you last night after
your chat with Neville Williams?

I was with John Denton.
John Denton? Ask him.

I will. I didn't know
you two knew each other.

Cully.

I just saw Mrs Hunnicutt
up to something very weird.

She just took a whole load of cash
off the florist.

What is it?
Did I say something wrong?

No, no, no. It's um...
What?

I can keep a secret, you know.

As long as
I'm not incriminating myself.

OK. Grace Maplin
is in serious money trouble.

She's got Mrs H running a scam
with the festival suppliers.

You're kidding?
No. Afraid not.

My guess is that Richard was sacked
because he spotted something dodgy.

I need proof, though.

I feel like a fish out of water.

While this lot...
They don't even know they're born.

I come from a school of hard knocks,
you know.

Me too, depths of "sarf" London.

It was touch and go for a while
whether I'd end up on the dark side.

Hello, Miss Tripp.

Hi.
Scott.

Security up to scratch, is it?
Yes, sir. Fine, no problem.

Oh, good.
Then we can all get on, can't we?

Would you tell me again, when did
you last see Neville Williams?

End of supper round the table.

And then?
I went down to the stage with Dave.

David Lowry, your personal trainer?

Yeah.
Is he about?

He's popped off
to do an errand for me, actually.

There you are.

Mr Barnaby just wanted to check
I was with you after supper.

Yeah. Yeah, well, I've got to keep a
close eye on the crown jewels, eh?

Absolutely.

Morning.
Morning.

Well, comrades, as I see it,

we need to establish whether one
of us murdered Neville Williams.

What, you don't think I -
Well, it wasn't us.

You said you would deal with him.
Not like that!

We haven't got the training.

I had nothing to do with it.
All right. Steady the buffs.

If it wasn't one of us...
it must be one of them.

We need to find out more.

Thank you for this.
I won't keep you long.

I want to ask you if you know
anything at all about this.

We think it came from a piggy bank
belonging to Richard Rackham

but we found it in
Neville Williams' room last night.

Oh!
Do you recognise it at all?

No. No, it could have been
for anything, couldn't it?

Isn't it a locker key?

Sorry to interrupt.

Kay kindly opens the pool
to locals in the summer.

We all have a locker key.
This is mine.

They look like royalty statements
for Richard's book. Mm.

There's some written maths
and some other stuff here too.

What's that?

Huh!

Rich, you must leave Neville

or I will end it for you.

I can't live or love without you.

You promise you'll tell her as soon
as the festival is over, Sam.

I promise.

So, Tom, how can I help?

I'm confused, Camilla,
about these royalty statements.

Why would Richard Rackham want
to keep them hidden in his locker?

And why would Neville Williams

have risked being caught
at the scene of a crime

to retrieve the key
that would enable him

to get them back in?
It's hard to make any sense of it.

Now, tell me more about the case.

Mysteries and deductions
are my forte after all.

Well, we think our killer's
a professional.

He's a trained expert.
Oh.

What's your view of John Denton?

Not your idea
of a likely murderer, hm?

Who else had motive?

Harry Poulson may have had.
He's gay too, isn't he?

He's had affairs with both victims

and he's anxious, very anxious
to keep it secret. Blackmail?

Sounds promising.

Plus another blackmail possibility.

Rackham blamed Sam Callaghan for
the failure of his second novel, yes?

Perhaps Neville Williams did so too.
They might have found some...

irregularity in the accounts
and tried to make Callaghan pay

to keep them quiet.

Neville was a highly talented
editor, very ambitious. Sam's pet.

Even if Richard
was bitter enough to try blackmail,

I doubt Neville would have risked
his career to get involved.

Fair point.

No, surely the billet-doux we found
is your strongest clue
to the killer.

Sugar?

Coffee, dear.

Oh, and I'm going ahead
with the divorce.

But I thought we worked
all this out.

My thing with Grace is over.

Helen, I'll stop it today.

Sam, please don't lie to me,
it's very tiresome.

KNOCK AT DOOR

That'll be Mr Barnaby.
He called on the other line.

Good morning. Please come in.

Coffee, Chief Inspector?
No thanks, not at the minute.

I've just got a quick question
to ask you, if I may.

It's about your business and...

DOOR CLOSES

I found some copies
of your royalty statements

in a locker
belonging to Richard Rackham.

And I have reason to believe

that Neville Williams was very keen
to get his hands on them.

Perhaps you could enlighten me
as to why that should be.

Not sure I can, no.

Neville could simply have taken
copies off our computer.

Oh, right.

Thank you.
See you later at The Quill.

I look forward to it.

DOOR OPENS

(Are you hiding from Mrs Hunnicutt?)

There's no hiding from Mrs -
Cully?

Cully?

(What about now?)
Perfect.

I'll make sure she doesn't come in.

We're just scraping the surface
of this, you know.

We should dig deeper. Have more
chats with the Settingfields.

Do some checks on Jezebel
and Callaghan and the prize judges.

All right.
You got any joy on those?

Yeah,
I got on to a bloke from Fraud.

The royalty statements
are definitely kosher.

The handwritten stuff seems to be
a record of sales figures and cash
owing on Jezebel Tripp's latest.

Look. I wouldn't mind
a slice of that action.

Why? Why would Richard Rackham
be keeping Jezebel's accounts?

Presumably
provided by Neville Williams.

It beats me.

The graphologist's report
on the love letter
makes interesting reading.

Oh, aren't they wonderful?

A left-handed female wrote it.

Kay Settingfield said Richard
Rackham was definitely bisexual.

Now look at the forensic report
on the cigar stub.

Purple lipstick.
Jezebel Tripp's favourite colour.

Are we all here?

Right.

Well, I suppose we should
formally declare the judging panel
in session.

As you know, we've got quite a lot
of informal consensus.

Three votes for John Denton.

One for Sally Singh.

And I'm really very close
to a decision between the two.

I wondered if we might come
to a final vote earlier than usual.

Why? We're stuck here all weekend
anyway.

Given the murder of a judge

and the tainted circumstances,
I thought it might be preferable.

Well, I hope you enjoy Barbados.

I'm sure I shall.

TOM: Miss Tripp.

Miss Tripp, I'm sorry,
sorry to trouble you again.

Hi. Hi.
I've got a reading to do.

I know. It's just
a couple of quick questions.

The problem you discussed with
Neville and Mr Callaghan last night.

It wasn't a problem.

You seemed anxious to get something
sorted out before the judges' vote.

I'm being head-hunted by publishers.

I needed them to make me an offer
for the new contract.

Oh, I see.

Do you smoke cigars, Miss Tripp?

I have the odd one
when no-one's looking.

Smoking's so 20th century.

In your statement, you said
you didn't go onto the terrace
at any point last evening.

I had a smoke there, though.
I remember now.

Yesterday afternoon.

Thank you.
That's all I needed to know.

Jez.

Hi, sorry. Would you mind er...
Not now, Sergeant!

It won't take a second, sir.

There you go.

Darling Danny.

Love Jez. There you go, Danny boy.
Thank you.

All right, sir?
Nice one, Scott.

Oh, beauty, beauty, beauty.

Nor tongue nor eye can name thee.

Lovely, Melody.

Lovely stroke.

Eyes down, Timmy.

John has some news.

Greetings, comrade.

Grace is ripping off trust funds
and pocketing the cash.

She's using Mrs Hunnicutt
to help her do it. No!

I've seen her with my own eyes, Tim.

And I'm not the only one. Cully!

Is this wise, comrade? Miss Barnaby?

It's true, Mr Settingfield.

Mrs Maplin's suppliers are charging
the trust way over the odds
for pretty much everything.

Then splitting the difference
with Grace.

Mrs H is her go-between.

There's the proof if you want it.

TIM: Callaghan's company
is hanging by a thread.

If it weren't for Jezebel,
he'd be finished.

I understood he was very successful.

The company is,
or was when his wife ran it.

She owns all the shares.

Jezebel's no better.
She's from the stockbroker belt

not the gutter.
The nearest she's got to the streets

is getting into a cab outside
Harvey Nick's.

Even Milla's got a bit of history.

Did you know she was Russian?

Name of Poltova.

Lost her family.

Did a spell in the Gulag before
pitching up in London after the war.

Husband died young.

Conor fell hopelessly in love
with her.

Poor chap.

And when she refused him,
he married Grace on the rebound.

Oh, thank you.

Thank you for that. You've given us
a lot of things to think about.

Do you mind if I meet you
at the nick?

I want to test out a quick theory.

Jezebel.

We've got to delay our plans.
Barnaby's too close.

No way.

After tomorrow it'll be too late.

If you don't cooperate
I can always open negotiations
with your other half.

Try it and you're a dead man.

No Tom?
He's always late.

Goes with the territory, I'm sure.
Sorry. Sorry I'm late.

No problem. Drink?
Yes, please. Just a pint.

Er, a bitter and a red wine.

Well, Joyce has indicated you might
be interested in a change of career.

Yes, well, I would be willing
to consider it, yes.

With the right company.

Good time for a move now

as Harry will tell you.

Crime is hot.
Real-life cops are hotter.

And you couldn't do better
than Callaghan De Vere.

Any plans for your next book?

Something shorter
for a lot more money.

LAUGHTER

You think I'm joking!

I'm afraid we've gone
a little over time,

so I'll thank Jezebel and you can
take a break. Thank you, Jezebel.

MOBILE RINGS

I'm done. I'll be right over.

Thank you, Mrs Hunnicutt.

Things are moving on rather quickly.

So they are.

Thank you for your help
and your discretion.

Pleasure doing business.

OK, let's go.

WOMAN SCREAMS

(SCREAMS)

Nothing too premeditated
about this one.

You've definitely got to find
two killers now.

(SIGHS)

Well, bang goes our table for two
at Sergio's tomorrow night.

Oh, my theory checked out, sir.

She was hiding this
near the main gate.

Get that to the lab now.

Yes, sir. Oh, I visited
David Lowry's room as well.

I'm afraid he's packed and flown.

MOBILE RINGS

DS Scott... Yeah...

Are you sure?

All right, cheers.

That was the graphologist, sir.

Apparently, Jezebel didn't write
the love letter after all.

Dad.

I'm a bit busy, Cully.

It's about Jezebel...

..and Sam Callaghan.

It was a bartering session.
That's all.

She was trying it on
and I wasn't playing.

We weren't arguing,
we were negotiating.

What did you mean by
"open negotiations"
with Jezebel's other half?

Who was Jezebel's other half?

Well, just another author.

Why on earth would I want to
kill Jezebel?

She was my biggest banker.
Sir.

Call from the lab.

Yeah? They found a match
for the print on the murder weapon.

Already?
Yeah.

Apparently,
it was already on the system.

Hey.
Hello.

What was that for?

Dunno. Cheer you up?

Thanks.

I still can't believe it.
I was with her just minutes before.

Death's like that.
Never hear it coming.

No. One minute you're OK,
future's always gonna be better...

..and then it happens.
Time's torn in two

and the future's snatched away
from you for ever.

Beautifully put.

I've been working on it.

John, I'd like to ask you
a few questions, please.

(SIGHS) Why? What for?

In connection with the murder
of Jezebel Tripp.

I haven't killed anyone.

Then you'll have to explain
why your fingerprint was found
on the murder weapon, won't you?

DOOR OPENS

DOOR CLOSES

I helped to put the marquees up.
My prints will be on the pegs.

The lab confirms your print
on the murder weapon

but not in blood so it is possible
you're telling the truth.

I am telling the truth!
But we still have a problem, John.

Sit down.

It's just like old times this,
isn't it?

Would you tell me, please,
what you were doing

between two and four?
And I'll need to be convinced.

Would...talking to your daughter
convince you?

CULLY: First we followed her
to a travel agent in Causton.

Then we went and spoke
to Tim and Kay Settingfield.

And we watched her meet
Mrs Callaghan at the lake.

I was with him the whole time.

He might have told me
straightaway, mightn't he?

I told him not to say anything
to anyone. I knew you'd disapprove.

It's not my disapproval
that matters, is it?

Keeping quiet about what Grace
Maplin and Mrs Hunnicutt were up to

might be construed
as withholding key evidence.

I'm sorry.

We just wanted to make sure
we weren't jumping to conclusions.

There is something you can do for me
since you insist on joining in.

Keep watching Mrs Hunnicutt,
will you?

Until I can find the time
to deal with her.

All right... Cheers.

We can release John Denton.
It appears he and my daughter

have been up to a little bit
of joint sleuthing.

But I'll need some background
on Brenda Hunnicutt, please.

Have you got anything on the laptop?
Not a lot.

Most of it's been wiped. There's
an e-mail from Richard Rackham

sent the day before he died to
Mrs Crofton asking her to visit.

Camilla said
she'd taken him under her wing.

We've looked at Jezebel's
bank statements.

She got big payments
from Callaghan's company.

That's OK. There would be,
wouldn't there?

Yeah, but the weird thing is,
most of the money was paid out
again straightaway.

Jezebel's a big spender.
To one company?

Outfit called Reiterations Limited.

So, I was thinking, what,
maybe blackmail?

Mm... Interesting.

All right. Find out what you can
about Reiterations Limited.

I am going for a chat
with Grace Maplin.

Enjoy yourself.

I can't bear it, Sam. This whole
thing is such a total mess.

We'll get over it, darling.

The important thing is to keep our
goals in sight and stay on track.

I don't see how that's possible.

The festival's almost ruined.
We've lost half our prize judges.

I...I mean, the money thing.

My bank's being a bit recalcitrant.

I wondered, perhaps,
if your bank would help bridge us

until the new company's
up and running.

My bank?!
Grace!

You never met Conor, did you?

He was a lot meaner
than anyone gives him credit for.

He was extremely generous
with the community but absolutely
beastly to me about money.

Even after he died...

I was left with nothing.

Just petty cash.

Everything else went to service
his posthumous good deeds.

I had to do something and Mrs
Hunnicutt's clever in those ways.

Did Sam Callaghan know about
this plan? Was he party to it?

Sam? Oh, no.
He doesn't know anything about...

Look... I... I don't suppose
you could keep this to yourself

just for the moment?

You see, I haven't quite filled the
picture in for Sam as far as my own
financial situation is concerned.

KNOCK AT DOOR

John, it's me, Cully.

I heard they'd let you go.
Yeah, they did.

Good.

No guard dog?

No.

(SIGHS)

Damn you, Sam Callaghan!

KNOCK AT DOOR
Yes?

Mrs Callaghan to see you.

What?

No, I can't possibly see her.

It'd be best all round
if we did talk, Grace.

Do relax, Grace.
I'm not here to shave your head

or to send you out into the village
in shame.

I've come to tell you
that you're welcome to my husband.

There are things you should know
first, if you're seriously intending
to take him on, that is.

I can't live or love without you.

Supper's ready.

Of course.
MOBILE RINGS

Barnaby.

Scott.

Camilla?

When did the call come in?
About ten minutes ago.

Ten minutes?
She could be dead by now.

BARKING

DOOR CREAKS

MUFFLED VOICES

Tom! Is everything all right?

Well, yes, I...
I suppose it must be.

Your alarm was set off.

There was an intruder, yes,

but luckily,
Sam turned up to see how I was.

He confronted the man
and off he went.

That's very courageous.

I just bumped into him, really.

Description?
I didn't really notice.

Well, er, Scott, um...

We'll take a look around,
make sure everything's secure.

I'll call back tomorrow morning
if I may. Make sure you're OK.

Many thanks, Tom. I'm very grateful.

Do you think the intruder
was our killer, sir? No.

In fact, I'm not sure there was
a third party there at all.

CAR ENGINE STARTS

There... You're saved.

So what happens now?

I'm going to do a deal with you,
Sam.

What did the police want earlier?

Oh, just a few more questions.

CREAKING

DOOR OPENS

Call the police.

Right...

Mr Lowry, could you tell me what you
were doing breaking into the hall
last night?

I was planning on
getting on a plane.

But I...I left all my cards in my
dinner jacket in the laundry room.

Did you kill Jezebel Tripp?

No way.

Look...

I was employed by Jezebel...

I'm not a fitness trainer.
I'm a writer.

She er...picked me up in a bar
one night a few weeks back.

So, what sort of job
did you really do for her?

I was going to be her ghost writer.

It was a one-off opportunity.

She needed a cover for me
so no-one found out.

Which was just about OK
until we came here.

And, I don't know,

Jez and Neville spent half
their time whispering or arguing.

And then Neville was murdered...
and she's demanding I take a laptop

from his room and start
wiping all this stuff...

She's getting more and more uptight.

Then SHE gets killed.

LOCK CLUNKS

Are you off somewhere,
Mrs Hunnicutt?

PHONE RINGS

DS Scott.

Hello, Cully. You -

You've done what?

All right, Tom, no more evasions.

I want to know
if you're just stringing me along.

I'm not stringing you along.

I'm interested but not convinced.
Put it like that.

This case has shown up
the publishing world
in an ambiguous light.

You can't make assumptions about
everyone because of a few murders.

Oh.
Mr Barnaby?

I'm sorry to interrupt but it's
rather urgent that I talk to you.

Right...

What do you want to tell me?

Helen Callaghan came to see me
last night.

She...claims
that Sam has been involved

in a very serious
criminal deception.

One that rather puts mine
in the shade.

That's absolute rubbish.

Who's been telling you all this?
Shall we say "a reliable source"?

Would you rather talk
at the station, Mr Callaghan?

You see, in my book, fraud
and the need to keep it a secret

are plausible motives for murder.

I admit Jezebel was threatening
to go to another publisher.

I admit I fiddled a few figures.

Yes, well, my source says
that for the past year,

you have been transferring
large quantities of sales
from lesser-known authors,

to exaggerate the sales
of Jezebel's books.

Make sure she went with you
to your new company,

whose start-up
you erroneously assumed

Grace Maplin would be able to fund.
Now, is that about accurate?

So...

Richard Rackham, Neville Williams,
were they first to discover this?

And did you, Mr Callaghan,
commit murder to avoid exposure?

Richard and Neville found out
what I was doing, yes.

They blackmailed me, yes.

The price was a contract
for two new books for Richard.

I agreed. End of story.

Enjoying the book?

I don't think "enjoying"
is the right word.

How did you get on with Harry's?

I thought it was a bit predictable,
you know.

I'm looking for inspiration,
to tell you the truth.

I've got three murders
and I'm convinced

there's only one killer
and one big motive.

This really is the most awful tripe.

Listen... Philo hauled her
beautiful but battered body

onto the starship,
doubling forward with the pain.

"You know what I'll do
if you leave." Philo turned.

"Grow up, Ninnia."

"I mean it.
I can't live or love without you."

Er... Read that last bit again.

Sorry, Cully. Thank you for this.
It's all right.

Oh, did you hear about
our citizen's arrest of Mrs H?

I did and very commendable too
but I have a bigger fish to land.

I haven't got long.
The prize-giving is in an hour.

Just ten minutes
of your technical expertise.

How far back does it go?

1945.

Can you find a reference
to a specific name?

Yeah, just type a keyword.

Key in Poltova. It's P-O-L-T-O-V-A.

No.

Right, try Oliver Crofton.

C-R-O-F-T-O-N.

One match.

September, 1955.

Russian bride
acclaimed as secret war hero.

God, she was beautiful.

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

TIM: Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you, Midsomer.

Right, um... Is this on?
FEEDBACK

LAUGHTER

The moment you've been waiting for.
Grace will now make the citation

for the 12th annual
Maplin Prize winner.

Grace.
APPLAUSE

The winner of this year's prize
deserves praise on several counts.

For honesty, for courage

and for loyalty to my late husband's
literary values.

The winning novel has been forged
from a crucible of dark experience,

but has ultimately given birth
to a hopeful authorial vision.

The novel is Night Vision.

The author is John Denton.

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

Phew, er...

Well, I'm really er...

I'm stunned, actually.

I'd just like to say thank you

and I'd like to take a moment
to remember Conor Maplin.

Without him, the world would be
a less hopeful place.

Thank you very much, everyone.

WILD CHEERING

Er, the trust this year is awarding
a further special prize...

..to someone whose literary career
is matched only by her commitment

and loyalty to the trust.

Camilla Crofton,
ladies and gentlemen.

APPLAUSE

I am immensely flattered and er...

extremely grateful.

To be perfectly frank, my kind of
output, as it is now called,

has long been out of fashion.

With publishers, at least.
In connection with which,

ladies and gentlemen,
I have a story to tell you

and a confession to make.

In a rather wilful attempt
to prove my ex-publisher wrong,

I, two years ago, wrote a novel
in the chick lit genre.

Actually, it turned out rather well.

Knowing, however, it could never be
published under my own name,

I engaged a surrogate, an actor,

a face to match
the luridness of the text.

My chosen pen name was...

..Jezebel Tripp.

GASPS

Since the publication
of the first novel,

I have enjoyed taking revenge
on a fickle and faithless
publishing world.

And in that context,
I am grateful to receive this prize.

In recognition of values long since
abandoned by an industry which...

profits so shamelessly from
the talent it so often betrays.

Thank you.

TENTATIVE APPLAUSE
Bravo!

Bravo!

Do you know what's going on, sir?
Yes, I do.

CHEERING

Camilla.

I'm truly sorry.

Yes, of course.

Here.
Thank you.

Well, Tom...

Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby.

How shall we proceed?

You decided to end your arrangement
with Jezebel, didn't you?

And to reveal your deception
on the occasion
of this year's prize-giving.

But you discovered that there were
others apart from Jezebel,

whose futures depended on that...
arrangement remaining a secret.

In a nutshell, yes.

I rather stupidly warned Jezebel
of my intentions.

My guess is that she gathered
all interested parties

to come up with
the only complete solution.

Your death?

But they didn't realise,
the conspirators,

who they were dealing with.

Katarina Poltova.

Pol-TOV-a.

Pol-TOV-a.
Teenage survivor of the Gulag

who escaped to work
as a field officer

at the Wartime Special Operations
Executive

before coming to this country.

So...

..you set up the conspirators,
did you, one by one?

Starting with Richard Rackham.

You kept your appointment with
him...and then you murdered him.

I would have to disagree with you.

I'm afraid I killed automatically,
as a reflex, in self-defence.

One did get rather good at killing
back in Dubrovnik...

..in the bad old days.

And poor Richard's attempt
was extremely amateurish.

I didn't guess the involvement
of the others

until I saw
Sam Callaghan at the hall,

the morning after Richard's death.

The poor man was rather shocked
to find me still alive.

Sam, darling,
you look like you've seen a ghost.

And Neville Williams?

He spun me a story
about some trouble he was in

and suggested we meet after dinner.

I suspected his intentions.

You came.
I'm anxious to help, Neville.

It was all rather...inconvenient.

And...you were getting close. I felt
I needed to put you off my scent.

So you planted the love letter.

Well... Love's always a dependable
motive for murder, don't you think?

I'd seen Richard hiding
the box file earlier.

It was easy to break into the locker
and plant the letter.

You didn't kill Jezebel Tripp
in self-defence.

Oh, yes. I did.

She suggested a meeting.

I didn't count on John's prints
on the tent peg, of course.

(SCREAMS)

It was rather messy.

And that left just Sam Callaghan.

Yes. He broke in, silly man.

I pretended to be asleep
on the sofa.

He tried to suffocate me.

I knew you weren't convinced
by our intruder story but...

at least I managed
not to kill again.

Instead, I made a deal.

My silence
in return for my moment of glory.

I'll have to charge you.

Quite right that you should.

Though, I'm hopeful that a good jury
will accept a plea of self-defence.

And I have no real regrets.

I'm really rather glad to say
goodbye to Jezebel Tripp.

And you never know,

once I've had a chance
to digest the experience...

..it may emerge
as a rather good book.

Are we all done, sir?
Yes, Scott. I suppose we are.

I thought you might like these, if
you don't mind dead women's shoes.

What's that?
Dinner for two at Sergio's.

It was gonna be me and Jezebel
but...

Well, you could take Cully.

I've already asked.
She's going out with
the worst-dressed man in Midsomer.

Thank you.

Here we go.

Wow!

You can write and you can cook.

Do you want to marry me?

Well, this is a nice surprise.

Well,
I thought you deserved a treat.

You're not going to try
for that writing thing, are you?

No. No, it was useful.
It was interesting.

But I'm very happy where I am,
thank you very much.

I was right
about the publishing world.

It stinks.

But I'm sure a jury will go for
Camilla's plea of self-defence.

I'll do my best to back her up.
I'm sure you will.

Hey. To Camilla Crofton.

May she live for ever. Na zdorovye!