All language subtitles for endeavour.s06e03.hdtv.x264

(MUSIC: 'In Dreams' by Roy Orbison)

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(FOOTSTEPS)

(SIREN BLASTS)

(CAR HORN BLEATS)

(DOG BARKS)

Morning, Mister Clamp.
Letty. Just the one. Airmail.

Nothing today, Mister Carraway.

(PHONE RINGS)

Chigton 3782. Veterinary Surgery.

(GUNSHOT)

(DOGS BARKING)

- You're not dressed.
- I'm going to cry off.

Bit of a head.

Nonsense. Bit of fresh air, put some
colour in your cheeks, do you good.

Curling up with a good book
will do me better.

Pa won't like it.

He'll have to not like it, then,
won't he? Have a wonderful time.

Hounds, please.

(HORN BLOWS)

(DOGS BARKING)

Aye-aye, matey. Doc.

What's the what?

Overdose, looks to be.

That'll be the fourth since August.

Three others across Division.

Choked on his own puke, has he?

Been at the keats again, Sergeant?

Yes, choked on his own puke

or asphyxia appears the
most likely cause of death.

Furthers and betters
once I've had a fillet.

Shall we say two o'clock, Morse?

Oh, I can't, I'm seeing a flat at two.

I can cover for you. Give you the
gen, if there's anything comes up.

As you please.

- Thanks.
- Sergeant.

What's with the flat? I thought
you were at the Section House?

I'm just a bit long in the tooth
for rugby songs

and bare backsides in the hallway.
I need my own four walls.

Expect he could've done
with a bit of that.

Probably had it once, an' all.
Missus, too, maybe.

Kids. Who knows.

Keep your ear to the ground.

Hear anything else,
you know where to find me.

(DOGS BARKING)

(HORSE NEIGHS)

Ru! Ru!

Bucephalus is lame. Give me Old Glory.

No ID on the victim. But I found these.

Any leads on the heroin?

That truck stop out
on the Bainbridge Road maybe.

Lorries coming in from the continent.

Been a few rocker types mooching about.

Something and nothing.

Is your father there?
Pa's horse has gone lame.

If you'd let him know
when he returns, Mrs Fairford,

I'd be very grateful.

Yes, I think it might be quite bad.

Thank you. Goodbye.

Sarah?

Morning, Farmer Bell.

Sir! Master Murray!

Easy, old boy.

- Pa!
- Pa!

- Mr Greville!
- Pa! - Pa!

Here! Here!

(SCREAMS)

Deceased is one Greville Creswell,
boss, according to the local bobby.

Creswell's sweets? They're out
Chigton Green way, aren't they?

What? Milky Boy and all that?

Mr Creswell owned the company.

The factory's a mile or so
outside the village.

He lived at Creswell Hall,
a few miles up the road.

Right. Start the ball rolling.

He was Master of the Chigton Hunt.
His horse went lame,

so he borrowed Rupert's, his younger son.

Doctor.

Ah, gentlemen.

One shot to the left side of the chest,

which presumably
knocked him out of the saddle.

Unlikely he'd have survived
without urgent medical attention

and the coup de grace
to the head from point blank.

- Shotgun?
- Yes.

- Twelve-bore by the look of things.
- Anything as to a time?

2:39.

One of the balls smashed his wristwatch.

Can you make a start on the locals?

Particulars and preliminary alibis
for now.

Who was where between two and three.

Anything we should know about the family?

No, sir. All very well liked.

They all got on, did they?

As far as I know, sir.

(DOOR BELL RINGS)

Detective Inspector Thursday,
Thames Valley.

Detective Sergeant Morse.

Murray Creswell. My wife Clemmie

and my younger brother Rupert,
and his fiancee Sarah.

Our condolences.

Thank you. Thank you very much.

Yes, it's er...

...been an enormous shock,
as you can imagine.

I'm sure.

Nevertheless, there are
some questions we'll need to ask

to find out who did this to your father.

Of course.

Is there a Mrs Creswell Senior?

Ma? No, Ma died six years ago.
Much missed.

At least she didn't live to see this day.

No. No, there's that.

May I offer you some refreshment?
Tea? Something stronger?

Not for me, thank you.

Can I start by asking where you all were

between the hours of two thirty
and three o'clock, say?

We'll also need to
talk to the staff here.

But we're not bloody suspects,
for God's sake.

I'm sure it's just procedure.

I was on my way back to the house
with Pa's horse.

I suppose I got here about
half past one, quarter to two.

Walked Bucephalus round the stable,
I called Shepherd, the vet.

That was about it really.

Clemmie and I were out with the hunt.

Somewhere toward Pigstanton.

Was that the same for you, Miss...?

Clamp. No. I had a headache,
I didn't go out and stayed here.

I thought you said you went for a walk?

In the end, I went
for a turn around the grounds,

see if I could shake it off.

Next thing I knew, everyone was back.

Could anyone vouch for you?

I didn't run into any of the staff,
if that's what you mean?

Did Mr Creswell have any enemies?

- No.
- No troubles at work?

Good heavens, no.
Pa was a very fair employer.

Creswell's is a family firm.

We've always been taught to look on
the workers as part of the family.

We've heard talk about a
possible takeover by Gidbury's.

Anything in that?

It wouldn't have been a takeover.

More of a partnership.
Creswell and Gidbury.

And how long would that have lasted?

Gidbury's would have sold us
to Consolidated Foodstuffs

the first chance they got,
an American firm.

Who will be head of the company now?

Really? Is that something to ask today?

It's not something we've discussed.

We thought Pa would go on
for a long time yet.

Ru and I both work there, but on
different sides of the company.

Pa had... the final say...

in all things.

There's Jago.

I'll speak to this vet, Shepherd,

see if Rupert Creswell's story stands up.

Right.

So, Greville Creswell.

No, he's not been
formally identified yet.

Anything to go on?

Well, nothing that we want to see
in the papers.

Do you know the place?

More or less.
Well, somewhere like it, at least.

If you want the real inside gen
on Chigton Green,

you could do worse
than talk to Miss Ling,

our advice columnist.

- 'Dear Worried Brown Eyes...'
- She's very good.

I'm sure. If you could pass her
number to PC Potter, local bobby.

Only got a PO Box for her.
She's a bit of a mystery.

Values her anonymity.

Don't we all.

Hello, Detective Sergeant Morse,
Thames Valley. Miss...?

Mrs Fairford.

- Won't you come in?
- Thank you.

Is this about what happened with
Grev Creswell?

It's all round the place. No secrets
here, I'm afraid. Village life.

Yes, yes, it is.

That's Henry, my little boy.

Dad's with a patient,
I'll let him know you're here.

- Thank you.
- I shan't keep you.

Dad, a policeman is here to see you.

Most of the shopkeepers haven't
turned a step outside the village

since they opened up this morning.

How'd you make out with the family?

The older son, Murray,
and his wife both have alibis.

As do the staff.

But there's no-one to vouch
for the younger son,

nor his fiancee, Sarah Clamp.

The grocer's daughter? I've just
been speaking to her parents.

She used to work at the factory.
Personnel. How she met the lad.

She landed on her feet, then.

Landed on something.

Let's see, um... I had lunch here
at the surgery with Isla.

Erm, but I was on my way to
Mr Swann's farm by about two-ish.

And I had left again by, what,
about three

and I telephoned here to see
if there'd been anymore calls.

And that's when Isla told me
about Bucephalus.

D'you know Mister Creswell well?

Not really, no.

I've looked after their animals
since we moved to Chigton in '63,

but, er... I can't really say
I know any of them.

Oh, apart from Sarah Clamp,
of course, I knew her slightly.

How's that?

I used to have a small
animal practice at Upper Pembury,

she's a cousin there, Rufus.

Nice boy, rather highly strung.

Anyway, he's done well for himself.
He's at Oxford now.

His mother had a very overfed Pekingese.

I must have ran into Sarah
once or twice over there.

Nice girl.

Old Ezekiel says he saw Farmer Bell,
Rennett Bell,

making his way up into the
Hangman's Wood with a shotgun

just after half two.

Anything between Bell and Creswell?

Not that I know of. Ren's
a moody sod at the best of times.

Take a run out there.
Have a word with Bell.

See what he was doing out in the woods.

You been out this way long?

Five years, more or less.

- Decent beat?
- I like it.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Just people going about their business.

Oh, er, take the next left.

Oh, Christ...

Call it in.

Call it in, Constable.

Information Room from four-two-nine-two.

Urgent assistance required
at Bell's Farm.

You're not going in? He's armed.

'Do you require medical assistance?'

Hello?

Hello, Mr Bell?

It's the police.

Is there anybody there?

I'm coming up the stairs.

(BIRD SQUAWKS)

Looks to have taken both barrels
in the back at fairly short range.

Massive haemorrhaging and heaven
knows what damage to her organs.

Death would have been
more or less instantaneous.

Between eight and 12 hours ago.

Well, she's in her work uniform.

Yeah. She, er...
she worked at Creswell's.

Well, if she clocked on
at eight thirty, nine,

that would make it
seven thirty, eight this morning?

What about him upstairs?

Oh, no, much later.
Three to four hours ago?

He'd a history of violence, you say?

Constable?

All right?

Yeah. Yeah. Just that...

You knew her?

Bad luck.

He was violent, Bell.

Nothing like this.

Ren was just a brawler
when the drinks were in him.

Never with women.

So, what d'you make to it, then?

Man kills his wife
and then another bloke,

usually only one reason behind it.

And himself into the bargain.

What about her next of kin?

Her brother's in the village.

Michael Murphy, the baker.
You want me to take you across?

No, no, you're all right. We'll manage.

Keep Sergeant Morse company
while he finishes up here.

- He'll run you into the village.
- But we're done, aren't we?

Pays to be thorough, Sergeant.

See you back at the ranch.

Is this your sister, Mandy-Jane Bell?

Anything?

We know your sister
worked at the sweet factory.

Is it possible she was...
involved with Greville Creswell?

Mandy was a wild girl, but...

I can't believe she'd carry on
with anyone behind Ren's back.

And certainly not Creswell.

Can you think of anything

that could have led her husband
to do what he did?

No. No, he must've gone mad.

"Your wife is sleeping with Creswell."

To the point.

It's not the first you've seen like
that, with the Happy Families card?

You get letters like this
in any town or village.

Local fall-outs
turning into shop thy neighbour.

These always come with one of them in.

Calling card, you might say.

How many is always?

Once a week or so.

Since when?

January, maybe. Started after
Sarah Clamp's grandmother died.

Natural causes, the inquest found.

Only the Clamps got a letter
to say that Mister Carraway

had sold the old girl some bad fish.

Anything in it?

Well, I wouldn't have said.

But I would have thought
it was just some trouble-maker.

But since then we've had all sorts.

Different envelopes, but always typed.

And always with an Oxford postmark?

Which doesn't make any sense.

Cos whoever sent them knows the village.

Isla, do you have Mister Cobb, the baker?

Henry, do you have Master Cobb,
the baker's son?

- Oh, no!
- (HE SQUEALS)

(PIANO PLAYS)

- You are good to me, Puli.
- Nonsense.

But you are.

If you say so.

How was London?

I looked in at the RA.

French paintings since 1900.

All from private collections.

Was it lovely?

It was rather.

Oh, I didn't tell you, did I?

Jocelyn Grant-Menzies saw your
advertisement or whatever it is.

With the bird.

Did she?

She said she thought it was awfully good.

And that you were... terribly natural.

Married to a film star!

I was thinking of getting someone in.

Were you?

For the garden.

I thought perhaps I might put in
some jasmine, what do you think?

We used to have a whole lump of
the stuff at the Hill Station.

Do you remember?

You always said you liked the smell.

Good heavens.

My dear, was it something I said?

I...

I saw Julian Fitzalan today.

Julian? Everything's all right
with him and Norah, is it?

They're perfectly happy.

What, what is it, then, my dear?

What's upset you?

I don't think...

...I've been a very good wife.

No man ever had a better.

Looks a bit like Greville Creswell,
don't you think?

What's this?

Something Morse found at Bell's farm.

We're done with Chigton Green, aren't we?

Two victims, one killer,
Bob's your mother's fancy man.

Somebody wrote Bell a poison pen letter

claiming that his wife
was sleeping with Creswell.

- So?
- So, what if she wasn't?

You've only got her brother's word
for that.

It's what Bell thought that matters.

We'll take a run out to the factory.
Talk to the Creswells.

If it makes you feel better,

but I don't want any more time
spending on this than we have to.

This is about
as open and shut as it gets.

And what if the next person to get
one of these poison pen letters

reacts the same way as Rennett Bell?
What then?

Good morning,
I'm sorry to have kept you waiting.

If you'd like to follow me,
Murray's waiting in the boardroom.

Had your father been in receipt

of any of these anonymous letters
doing the rounds?

If it were the case, he never
mentioned it to either of us.

- How about yourselves?
- No, why?

Rennett Bell received one.

Alleging an affair between
your father and Mrs Bell.

An affair?

- You think that's why...
- That's preposterous.

Pa was old enough to be her father.

I doubt he even knew her name.

I'd be very grateful if
you'd keep all that to yourselves.

Pa's death has sent
the share price tumbling.

Any lower and we'll be liable to
a hostile takeover from Gidbury's.

How long had Mrs Bell been working here?

A year or two. You'd need to ask
Miss Neal in personnel for details.

Ru can take you down there.

Sergeant Morse tells me you've
been here over a hundred years.

Yes, yes, indeed. 1832.

I suppose things really got going
in the Great Exhibition

with the launch of the
Happy Family Assortment Box.

It became a bit of a craze.
Collect them all.

And Mr Chou, the confectioner,

is a caricature of
your father, I believe?

That's right.

Traditionally, they've been
based on the workers

and villagers hereabouts.

All in good fun, of course.
And we do ask permission.

You get the odd grump,

but most people take it
as a bit of an honour.

This way, please.

Mrs Bell had been with us
18 months. Only part-time.

Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

Reliable?

Well, I see from her records that
she had to be reprimanded earlier,

- after the Christmas party.
- For what?

She'd drunk rather too much and was...

indiscreet about Mister Rupert's fiancee.

Miss Clamp? In what way?

Miss Clamp used to work at the factory.

So, what happened?

I don't know exactly what went on,

but it ended up with Sarah
throwing a drink over her.

And would Mrs Bell have anything
to do with Mister Creswell Senior?

No. She worked in the Jelly Room.

Has the company received
any of these poison pen letters

that have been doing the rounds?

The company hasn't,
but there's many of the staff have.

I've had a few letters myself.

Did you show them to Constable Potter?

I couldn't very well, seeing as
he's the subject of one of them.

It came with a Mister Truncheon,
the policeman card,

and intimated Mandy-Jane and he were...

Is there anything in that?

They were an item once,
but I think... she disappointed him.

If Mandy-Jane Bell was carrying on
with Greville Creswell,

the family
certainly didn't know about it.

- What about her work mates?
- None that we spoke to.

They said she was high-spirited,
a bit of a handful,

but that she was devoted to him,
even though he was a difficult type.

You'd think if she was knocking off
the boss, she might've let slip.

Can't see her keeping it quiet.
Not in a place like that

where everyone knows
each other's business.

It was a lie, then,
whoever sent the letter.

No way to know that
Bell'd react the way he did.

What if they did know?

Potter said Bell could be violent,
unpredictable.

What if that's what they gambled on?

That he'd go mad and kill his wife
and Creswell into the bargain?

Well, it's a possibility, isn't it?

What if whoever wrote that letter
was pointing him at Creswell,

- hoping he'd react the way he did?
- Why would they?

Well, there's a lot of worry in the area

about the potential of
the company moving away.

- I don't know. Feels off to me.
- Me too.

The long and the short is
Rennett Bell did for them both.

Anything else is just speculation.

Put it to bed.

Well, I don't think that
we've heard the last of it.

Noted.

Meantime, there's a sudden
with your name on it come in,

over Hescott College. Jago's got the gen.

Livener, Fred?

Yeah.

Yeah, why not.

I'm sorry. It's all a bit coppery,
I'm afraid.

Appropriately enough.
Just a hint of sucrose.

Oh, must you? It's a bloodbath,
not a Cotes du Rhone.

What's the, uh...?

Chap called Bura. Rufus Bura.
Research fellow, apparently.

Anything suspicious?

Medically, I can't really comment
until after the PM,

but it all looks pretty textbook.

A couple of tentative slashes
on the left wrist

before screwing his courage
to the sticking place.

Aspirin and brandy.
For literal good measure.

Otherwise, alles in Ordnung.

Mahler.

No solipsistic impulse
knowingly overlooked.

People do despair, Morse.

You don't say.

It'd gone, the flat.
The one o'clock viewing took it.

Oh, bad luck.

I'm thinking of looking
a little further out.

How far's further?

There's a place in Chigton Green
to let. Looks quite nice.

Well, all the best with it.

How did you get on with
the derelict the other morning?

Oh, no surprises there.
Asphyxia... inhaled his own vomitus.

It doesn't sound any better in Latin.

Blood results came in this morning.

Heroin cut with quinine to about the
same ratio as the other overdoses.

Same supplier, then, or dealer, at least?

I've copied in James Strange. He
asked. I trust that was all right.

Dental and fingerprints attached.

Still unidentified, I presume?

A soldier, possibly.

'Known Unto God.'

(CHURCH BELLS)

- KEYS IN DOOR
- Home.

Oh, off out, are you?

You know I am.

I was thinking... maybe we could go
away somewhere for a week or two.

Got some leave due.

What with? Washers?

What's this?

Oh, just some chocolates.

You used to like Happy Family.

- Creswell's.
- That's right.

Didn't one of them get killed?

I read about it in the paper
this morning.

We were up the factory earlier,
me and Morse.

They've got a little kiosk there.

I just saw them and thought of you.

You needn't have.

I wanted to.

Put me in mind of when we'd settle
down in here with the kids

of a Saturday to
watch the big film, you remember?

Joanie and Sam were always
after you for the card.

You'd give one one week
and the other the next, remember?

Still got them somewhere, I expect.

Be worth something now.

To who?

Somebody.

Tat.

I should throw them all away, really.

Win...

I won't be late.

No...

- ...all right.
- (DOOR SHUTS)

And I found this in the grate.
I mean, there's not much left.

Looks like it's been burned.

But to me, it looks like a
Happy Families card.

Not that again?

The letter sent to Farmer Bell
did have an Oxford postmark.

You know how many
Happy Family cards are out there?

Tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands.

What's this?

That sudden I sent him on at Hescott.

Suicide. Fella called Bura.
Morse has got it into his head

he's something to do with
what happened to Creswell.

The vet, Shepherd,
said he knew Sarah Clamp

through a cousin of hers at
Upper Pembury, who's now at Oxford.

The family had a Pekingese
he used to treat.

There's a photograph on Bura's desk
of him with a woman and a Pekingese.

So, who's this Sarah Clamp?

Daughter of the village greengrocer.
She's set to marry Rupert Creswell.

Anything untoward about Bura's suicide?

Not according to Doctor DeBryn.

I spoke to a Rhodes scholar that
Bura played rugby with,

name of Clinton. He said Rufus
kept himself to himself.

No girlfriend that we know off.

You've got a call
from that local yokel. Potter.

Excuse me.

All typed, standard paper,
Oxford postmark.

Always a second class stamp.
And all from "A Well-wisher".

As I said, I sent 'em off
for fingerprinting

after the first few come through.

And, anything?

No, nothing on them,
bar those they were sent to

and anyone they'd shown 'em to.
And John, of course.

Rich asked my advice.

Trying to nail down where
they went into the postal system.

Any luck?

We narrowed it down
to a few boxes in Oxford,

but never the same box twice.

And never the same day two weeks running.

Yeah, we even kept a watch on one or
two of the post boxes for a bit,

on our own time,
but we never saw who posted 'em.

Poor old Rufus.

Did he come to the village much?

Yeah, before he went to Oxford.
Not that he was too well-liked.

Little Lord Fauntleroy,
the lads used to call him.

Seems a bit cruel.

Well, people are. He'd been a bit of
a cry-baby at school. Tell-tale-tit.

Always had his nose
stuck in some book or another.

But he'd drop by to see Sarah regular.

Bit lonely, I expect.

Now, you and Mandy-Jane Bell,

I believe you were... something?

Where d'you hear that?

Yeah, for a bit.

Did Bell know?

Not unless she told him.

Look, it was years ago. We were kids.

That's why I didn't mention it.

Far as I was concerned,
it was all water under the bridge.

No hard feelings?

I knew I was just a distraction
for her. Easy come, easy go.

All right.

Mrs Clamp?

Hello, I'm Detective Sergeant Morse.
Thames Valley.

It's all right, Cec, police.

It's about your nephew, Rufus Bura.

Rufus? What about him?

Rufus was found dead this morning,
at Hescott College.

Dead?

Well, it would appear
that he has taken his own life.

Now, of course, we'll notify
our colleagues in Australia,

but I thought your sister
might prefer to hear it from you.

Oh, poor Brenda,
this will break her heart.

When did you see him last?

Easter. He come by for Easter.

But I spoke to him every week
more or less.

Sunday, he calls.

Him and Sarah have always been
very close, you see.

And since Brenda went abroad...
Well, we're his only family near.

The last time you spoke
to him, how did he seem?

Anything troubling him?

Nothing on his mind?

- Normal. Same as ever.
- Right.

- I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
- Of course.

Will you excuse me?
I'd better call Brenda.

Of course. My condolences.

Hello.

Oh, hello.

I didn't think I'd see you again
after Bell's farm.

I've just been over to see
Mrs Clamp, the green grocer.

It's about her nephew.

Rufus?

Do you know him?

He came into the surgery
once in while with his dog. Why?

It's about the poison pen letters.

Henry, go and sit on the blanket.

I don't suppose you or your father
have received any?

Someone sent one to my neighbour,
Miss Neal.

Miss Neal?

Miss Neal who works at Creswell's?

In the personnel department,
that's right.

So, it wasn't to me, as such, but, erm...

But it was about you?

"Miss Pett, the vet's daughter."

If you were to ask my father
about Henry and me,

he'll tell you that I was widowed.

Death.

That's respectable, you see.
No awkward questions.

No shame.

The truth is, erm...

my husband left me
when Henry was quite small.

For another woman.

And that's what it said in the letter?

I can give it to you verbatim,
if you like.

"Mrs Fairford's husband
is alive and well,

"and driving a taxi in Upper Pembury."

Miss Neal thought I should know.

Wasn't that kind of her?

So, there.

Another woman.

How awful must I be?

I don't think you're awful at all.

Look, I'm not in the habit
of doing this, but, uh...

would you
like to go for a drink this evening?

With me?

Er, yes.

- SOBBING
- There.

Bucephalus.

Greville's horse that went lame.

Nothing to be done, I'm afraid.

You'd better take her back to the house.

- Give her a drink or something.
- Of course.

Mum telephoned.

Suicide, she said.

Yes. Yes, I'm sorry.

Can you think of anything that would
have prompted Rufus to kill himself?

Nothing.

He was a lovely boy.
I was enormously fond of him.

We were more like brother and sister
than cousins, I suppose.

And he knew the village well?

He was here at least as much
as he was in Upper Pembury. Why?

Oh, just... something I'm looking at.

I believe your mother was
the first to receive

one of these letters that have
been doing the rounds.

- The hate mail?
- Mm-hm.

Yes, about Mister Carraway,
the fishmonger.

Absolute nonsense, of course.

And you worked at Creswell's.
In the personnel department?

- Yes. That's how I met Rupert.
- Right.

And what can you tell me
about Mandy-Jane Bell?

You had a bit of a disagreement,
I understand.

At the work's Christmas party?

That was nothing.
She'd just had too much to drink.

I'm not, if you're wondering,
a gold-digger.

If you'll excuse me,
I told Mum I'd be round.

Isla won't be a moment.
Can I offer you a drink?

I won't, but thank you.

I'm just taking five minutes
with the crossword

before we settle down
to an evening of Snap!

Happy Families?

He collects them. All the kids do.

"Slaughter horse and worry about it."

- Crossword clue. I don't suppose...?
- Carnage.

- Is it seven letters?
- Of course, it is.

Carnage.

- Sorry to have kept you.
- Not at all.

He's been helping me with the crossword.

Has he? Well, now I'm going
to save him. Shall we?

Yes, well, goodnight.

Night, Henry.

Home?

- Chief Superintendent.
- Doctor, very good of you to meet me.

- Not at all. Please.
- Thank you.

What may I get for you?

Oh, er... a brandy, I think.

Albert, a brandy, if you would.

They do quite a decent spot of supper.

Excellent. Excellent, I'm sure.

Now, how may I be of service?

I may rely on your discretion
as a medical man.

Oh, always. Please, speak freely.

My wife has been diagnosed
with cancer of the lungs.

Inoperable, according to the specialist.

She's scolded me for an optimistic fool,

but I wonder if you can recommend
anyone from whom one might seek

a second opinion?

Well, there's no better man in
England than Sir Julian Fitzalan.

I know him slightly,
I would be happy to...

Chief Superintendent?

Julian is my wife's specialist.

He's not infallible, of course.

You're very good to say so.

What is the prognosis?

Months, weeks, perhaps.

It's quite advanced, I understand.

They say the, erm...

...they say the drugs will control
the worst of the pain.

I'll make inquiries, of course.

But my advice would be to make the
most of the time you have together.

I'm sorry if I seem nervous.
I'm... out of practice.

You must think me very parochial.

No, not at all. In fact,
I grew up somewhere just like this.

Really?

Look, about earlier,
I made a bit of a fool of myself.

Oh?

Someone was bound to tell you.

It's just, erm...

I wouldn't want you to...

It's important to tell the truth.
Be honest.

I'm through with lies.

You're... you don't have someone?
In town or...?

Oh, no. No. No.
It's been... a year, almost.

What happened? Sorry, I shouldn't ask.

No. No, erm, what happened...?

She decided that a war
was preferable to my company.

Which probably tells you
all you need to know about me.

She was a photo-journalist. Vietnam.

Afraid I can't compete with that.

It's not a competition.

Really, I'm very dull.

No, you're not.

I think Henry's a very lucky little boy.

He's my world.

Yeah, that's obvious to anyone
who sees you both together.

It doesn't put you off?

Most men would run a million miles
from a single woman

with a kiddie in tow.

More fool them.

Look, I've kept quiet, Ru,
but Pa was right.

You don't really know this girl
from Adam.

What the hell does that mean?

You think I'm going to have some
village girl sitting on the board?

She worked in the factory for God's sake!

She might have been raised
in the village,

but at least she's the manners to
know one doesn't listen at keyholes,

unlike your brood-mare!

Excuse me, Clemmie, won't you?

Here we are.

I, erm,
I would ask you in... I'd like to.

Really, I want to. It's just...
It's just with Henry.

That's all right.
I wasn't expecting you to.

You hardly know me.

It doesn't feel like that.

Is that mad?

Love should be brave, don't you think?

Even if it doesn't last.

You should go inside.

I'll telephone.

I'll be back later, Clemmie.

Stone me, matey.
This what it's come to, has it?

I was just getting 40 winks.

Called in at the Section House.

DeBryn said you went to the post mortem.

Thank you.

Any progress on the overdoses?

No.

You wonder why that is?

It's not my case.
Box has put the DI and Jago on it.

Same question. You wonder why that is?

What're you saying?

I'm saying, if Box's investigation

into who's keeping Oxford supplied
with heroin cut with quinine

has stalled,
maybe there's a reason for it.

You want to crack this thing,
it's down to us.

I told you, there is no us.

I'm just gonna keep my head down,
my nose clean,

and wait for the winds to change.

Since when do you value your neck
so high?

Well, I met someone.

Oh, yeah?

She's got a little boy. Five years old.

I dunno, it could be something.

What?

Everyone else deserves a chance...
why should I be so different?

- Because you are.
- What if I don't want to be?

I mean, that's what it's about, isn't it?

Having someone to come home to.

I wouldn't know.

Look...

...just watch your back here.

For old time's sake.

I mean it. Trust no bugger.

Even your closest.

Be seeing you.

There you go.

What's this?

I told you, I look after my firm.

And what have I done
to warrant looking after?

Don't take it that way.

You'd have been taken care of
before now, I'd had my way.

Just needed to be sure of you.

And now you are?

I think so. I'd hate to be wrong.

Listen... it's all above board.

Just a bit of bunce.

This more of what Jago
was picking up last week? For what?

What a man don't know can't hurt him.

If we're square,
there's more where that came from.

I'll fill you in as
to the rest of it as time goes by.

You're a good man, Fred.
Same as my old man.

He did nearly 30 years in a blue uniform.

Two months shy of his pension,

going after a couple of safe-crackers,

he went through a skylight.

Fell 35 feet on
the concrete and broke his back.

Know what he got for his trouble?

A watch and a chain.

The watch stopped working
after a fortnight.

And six months later, so did he.

I swore on his grave, if I was
going to risk my life for this job,

I was going to get more out of it
than just a poxy watch and chain.

You deserve no different.

Deserve?

After the way they've treated you?

I wouldn't treat a dog like that.

Christ, you must've noticed
a change in your pay-packet?

What's next?

They put you out to grass
on some nothing job like old Rich?

A man's got his dignity, Fred...

or he's got nothing.

Doesn't make you a bad copper.

Just makes you a smart one.

Go on.

Take the missus out this weekend.

Treat her.

Blimey...

For a minute there, you had me
giving you two-bob, thrupenny bit.

You and me both.

To be fair,
I was no different the first time.

Second time, you barely feel it.

After that... it's all gravy.

Go on, then.

Get 'em in.

Morning, darling.

Clemmie.

Murray not down yet?

I thought he must be with you?

No. What time did he get back last night?

I don't know. He didn't come into me.

I'll, erm... go and knock.

I don't think he's been home.

What? No, that can't be right.

I'm pretty sure his bed
hasn't been slept in.

Oh, my God.

It doesn't mean anything.
Maybe his car wouldn't start.

No reply. I'll drive over there.

- I'll come with you.
- It's best you wait here,

- just in case I miss him. Sarah?
- Yes, of course.

Try not to worry, Clemmie.

Murray?!

Not in the office?

No. There's not a sign of...

Call the police.

Call the police!

What've we got, Doctor?

He died sometime between
nine and midnight.

I won't be able to confirm cause
until I've got his lid off.

But as far as injuries are concerned...

A single circular wound
about half an inch diameter

to the base of the skull.

Shot, then, surely?

No, there's no starburst pattern,

which one would expect to find from
a discharge at point blank range.

Yes, quite.

Could have been done with any
number of pointed instruments.

Such as?

Oh, a spiked bayonet,

medieval misericord,

rondel dagger, the Japanese sai.

The only thing one can pronounce
with any certainty at this juncture

is that he came to a sticky end.

Shall we say two o'clock?

What?

That's not a bullet wound.

I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting.

What can I do for you?

It's about Murray Creswell.

Ah...

"Ah", what? What's this?

I was gonna tell you. It's, uh...

He's been found dead up at the factory.

No...

I'm so sorry, my dear.
It's all round the village.

Would you...

I'm sorry.

Please, excuse me. I must see to Henry.

Isla used to ride to hounds with the
Chigton Hunt when she was younger.

Very nice.

She was good friends with Clemmie
and Murray until Henry came along.

Oh, he's a darling boy,

but children can put a brake
upon one's social life.

So, what can I do for you?

Morse says you've got a horse gun.

Pa.

Now Murray.

I feel like I'm going mad.

Can you think of anyone
who wished your brother ill?

No. Murray really was
the best of fellows.

I know he was my big brother
and it's often the way,

but I've looked up to him all my life.

I'm sorry, Ru.

Are you sure he didn't receive
any of these poison pen letters?

Not as far as I'm aware.

You've guns up at the house, presumably.

Shotguns, certainly.

You did this! Mrs Creswell...

You killed him!

- Clemmie...
- You killed him! Mrs Creswell...

Half the business wasn't enough for you!

You wanted it all,
so you could sell it to Gidbury's!

- Clemmie!
- You're in on it, too.

Don't think I don't know.

You're in on it together! Both of you!

They're murderers! Murderers!
Well, don't just stand there!

- Arrest them...
- Stop it! Pull yourself together!

Look, Clemmie, you've had a shock.

We all have. But it's not helping anybody

to tear at one another like this.

Let's just go outside for a bit,
Mrs Creswell, get some air.

I keep it locked in this box here.

Oh, good heavens.

It's gone.

I could have sworn I put it back.

When did you see it last?

At Creswell Hall.
When I put down Bucephalus.

- You've had no cause to use it since?
- No.

And you locked it back away
once you were done?

Yes, I thought I had. But, erm...

Well, I suppose anyone could get
into the car when I'm out on call.

I don't leave it locked.

When did you last see your husband?

Yesterday evening.

Around ten.

He said he had business to attend to
at the factory.

Did he give you any indication as
to what the business might be?

We were having supper.

Me, Murray and Rupert.

Just after nine, the telephone rang.

Murray went to answer it.

Did he say who it was?

No.

But when we were alone
in the drawing room later,

he said he had to go out for a while.

I assumed it was something
to do with work.

So...

...he left at around ten-ish.

Then what?

Sarah turned up at about
eleven o'clock to see Rupert.

I left them to it and went to bed.

You didn't miss your husband?

Not until this morning.

We have separate rooms.

And what about yesterday evening?

A call did come through last night
about ten past nine.

Just after you brought Isla back
from the pub.

It was a bad line, but the caller
said he had a cow in labour

and it looked to be a breech delivery.

And where was that?

He said they were calling from
Foxtail Grange,

somewhere out towards King's Abbot.

It didn't ring a bell,
I drove out there anyway.

Couldn't find the place
for love nor money.

I did try calling Isla just in
case she'd taken it down wrong.

I hadn't. I don't make mistakes.

Not when it comes to practice business.

Anyway, I couldn't get through, so
I ended up driving round and round

until, eventually, I just gave it up
as a bad job.

How was it you couldn't get through here?

My fault, I'm afraid, I was
talking to an old school friend.

What time did you get back
to the surgery?

Eleven. Eleven thirty.
Something like that.

I can confirm that.

Yes, she was still yakking away
on the telephone.

The farmer didn't leave a telephone
number when he first rang?

No.

No, he said he was calling
from a phone box.

I did offer to take his number
and call him back, but...

he hung up.

I'd been in the village
having supper at my parents'.

Must have left about half past ten,
something like that.

You went straight to Creswell Hall?

That's right.

And once there, you didn't go out again?

No. Not until this morning.

And your intended.
He was with you the whole time?

Yes.

He had quite a lot to gain by
his brother's death, didn't he?

Rupert loved Murray.

There's more to life than money.

You know who thinks like that,
Miss Clamp? The rich.

I'm not rich.

But you will be.

You think someone called Shepherd
out on a fool's errand?

Or he arranged it himself, perhaps.

Keeps him in play for Murray.

Unless someone's trying to put him
in the frame for it.

So, where's his horse gun?

Oh, I don't know. Maybe he did
leave it up at Creswell Hall,

but he's got no motive
to go after Murray.

That we know about.

The exchange should be able to tell you

what call-box this farmer used.

I wonder if Murray received
any of these poison pen letters

- since last we asked?
- Murray Creswell was lured

to the factory last night
by a telephone call, not any letter.

Yes, but whoever lured him there
could have received one.

Like Farmer Bell, you mean?

Someone primed to go off?

You think whoever sent these letters
made similar allegations

about Murray Creswell.

He'd led a pretty blameless life,
according to his brother.

Hard to see what he can have done
to make someone kill him.

True.

But the village is already half mad
with suspicion and mistrust.

The right word in the wrong ear

wouldn't take much to
push someone over the edge.

What's this? Jago said you were with
Shepherd's daughter in the pub?

It was just a drink.

She's a suspect.
Christ, what's the matter with you?

- They bat their lashes...
- I've got a life.

- Not on duty, you haven't.
- I wasn't on duty.

It shouldn't matter. A copper's
a copper, first, last and always.

Where's that got you

Sir, I...

Just find the gun.

- READS: - Dear Anxious of Jericho.
If your friend suffers from BO,

try to introduce regular bathing

as a topic into a more general
conversation about health.

And, no, you cannot get pregnant
through any form of kissing.

So... you're Miss Ling,
Agony Aunt in the Oxford Mail.

I trust I may rely on your discretion.

You must be privy
to a lot of peoples' secrets.

Are these the only
anonymous letters that you write?

Am I author of these poison pen letters?

I am not.

Though I believe they were also
written on an Adler Favourite Two.

I recognised the typeface.

Does anybody else know
that you're Miss Ling?

Only one other has ever guessed
my identity...

...and she's dead now.

Mandy-Jane Bell?

She used to read my column as a teenager.

And was always trying to guess
who might have written to me.

But my correspondents
always used an alias,

so I couldn't have told her...
even if I'd wanted to.

Back, are you?

The phone records have come through.

We know who called Shepherd.

Yes, I think I know, too.

Mr Shepherd. Detective
Inspector Thursday, Thames Valley.

I believe you know Sergeant Morse.

Yes, of course.
Any luck with the humane killer?

Not yet, Mister Shepherd.

We're hoping your daughter
might be able to help us with that.

Isla?

Actually... I believe she's
something to show you. Darling?

Yes.

I received a letter this morning.
One of those letters.

I was going to bring it in.

"The grocer's daughter
is sleeping with men

"from half the houses in the village."

I'm sure she isn't.

Yeah. I'm sure she's not, too.

The typeface is the same,
but that's not an Oxford post-mark.

Just as a matter of interest,
Mister Shepherd,

where did you get your typewriter?

It was a present for Isla,
from Murray Creswell.

Our old machine was giving up the ghost.

So he let us have a spare
from the factory.

When was this?

Last summer. Why?

Because for the last nine months,

your daughter's been using it
to type poison pen letters.

I don't believe you.

That's insane.
Why would she do such a thing?

That scene at the work's Christmas
party with Mandy-Jane Bell

calling Sarah Clamp a gold-digger,
that was only half the story?

She also told Murray Creswell she
suspected he was your son's father.

Where would she get that idea?

The Oxford Mail.

Miss Ling's Problem Page, to be precise.

Mandy-Jane Bell had an appetite
for other people's misery.

In fact, one letter so took her fancy

that she pinned it to her noticeboard,

until she could work out just whom
'Worried of Upper Pembury' could be.

The clues were all there.

Adulterous wife. Rich, married lover.

But the most telling
was Miss Ling's reply.

She told the wife she should
pass herself off as a widow

because, how did it go, Sergeant?

Because "Death is infinitely
more respectable than adultery,

"it comes with fewer awkward questions."

Who told you your secret was out,
Mrs Fairford?

Murray Creswell or Mandy-Jane Bell?

Murray.

That's why the little bitch
approached him

at the Christmas do.

Money? That what she was after?

He gave her a few bob.

But I knew that wouldn't be enough
for a girl like Mandy-Jane.

So, you started
your little hate mail campaign,

knowing that sooner or later
you could slip in a letter

to Rennett Bell in amongst all the
other misery that you'd stirred up.

What where you hoping for? That Bell
would just give her a good hiding?

Chuck her out, maybe,
same as what happened to you?

Maybe.

None of them are any better.
They have all got something to hide.

Gossip.

I have had to live with it.

The looks. The sly stares.
People looking down their noses.

And I had Henry to protect.

Why should he pay for my mistakes,
grow up with that stigma?

But you needed an accomplice,
someone outside the village.

You typed the letters.

But to avoid suspicion,
posted them to Rufus Bura.

Who sent them back to Chigton Green
with an Oxford postmark.

- Why would Rufus do such a thing?
- Because, like your daughter,

he despised the village
and everyone in it.

But when your malicious prank ended
in somebody being murdered,

he couldn't face the consequences
of his actions.

So, Rufus killed himself

and Rennett Bell shot Mandy-Jane and
Grev Creswell. I didn't kill them.

No, not directly.

But the night of
Murray Creswell's murder,

telephone records show
a request from this number

for a check on the line.

A woman's voice,
according to the operator.

Just after nine, would that be right?

You told your father it was a farmer
calling from, where was it,

Foxtail Grange?

But, in fact, having sent him out
on a wild goose chase...

you telephoned Creswell Hall.

Told Murray to come and meet you
at the factory.

And then gave yourself an alibi,
by leaving the phone off the hook,

so that if anyone called,
they'd get an engaged signal.

He wanted me to come clean.
For the best, he said.

He'd see that his child was looked after.

His child!

When I fell pregnant,
he didn't want to know.

And now he was saying I wasn't
a fit mother to raise his child.

Threatening to take Henry away from me.

And all so you could pay Mandy-Jane back.

It was wicked what she did.

Poking her nose
into other people's affairs.

And you're no different.

Henry! Let me say goodbye to Henry.
Henry!

Get off me!

Henry! Henry!

Stop, please! Henry!

All right?

What a place.

Look...

Plenty more fish?

- You can clear up here, can you?
- Yeah.

(PHONE RINGS)

Morse.

'Urgent request to attend RTA
on Wells Street.'

- Oh, no, you want traffic.
- 'This is DS Morse?'

- That's right.
- 'Then it's you he wants.'

- Who wants?
- 'Chief Superintendent Bright.'

'Nobody else, he said, just Morse.'

Right.

Sir?

Thank you for coming so quickly,
there's something you need to see.

The holdall there.

Who's the driver?

No identification. Car hired in London.

So, why me?

Doctor?

There's an old spent round
under the driver's seat.

I can't swear to anything more

until I've had it under
the comparison microscope, but...

...it's the same calibre as killed
George Fancy.

Where's Inspector Thursday?

(LAUGHTER)

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