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Oi!

No petting!

The swimming pool is just that way.

And make sure you go through
the disinfectant pool.

- We don't want any verrucas.
- Hello.

- One for the ladies slipper
baths, love? - Yes, please.

A touch more hot water, please.

From Archimedes' Sand Reckoner to
the Torquetum of Jabir ibn Aflah,

man has sought to create
a "thinking machine"

that equals and even outstrips
the capabilities of his own mind.

Now, with the creation of the Joint
Computing Nexus, or JCN for short,

that dream comes one
step closer to reality.

Good evening, JASON.

And we look forward to
tomorrow's historic chess match

between JASON and Professor Gradenko.

I think I speak for the whole team

when I say we're all looking
forward to meeting Yuri immensely.

Unless there are any further questions...?

- Yes?
- What does it eat?

Journalists.

"An ormolu clock lay amongst the wreckage,"

its hands forever stilled at 10:28.

A pair of welted Brogues
betrayed the presence

of the late Eduardo Sanchez.

The body was already cooling, taking
on the familiar stiffness of death.

The blood, settling to the lower
reaches of the circulatory system,

had long fled the fine, aquiline features,

lending them that translucent,
alabaster aspect he knew all too well.

"What a piece of work is a man?"
mused Superintendent Jolliphant."

Winning in straight sets, the
American No.1 seed Billie Jean King.

Science now, and excitement
is mounting in Oxford

on the eve of an historic
encounter between man and machine

as Russian computer scientist
Professor Yuri Gradenko

prepares to take on the
Joint Computing Nexus,

also known as JASON, in a game of chess.

Morning.

- Mrs Thursday.
- Come on through.

He won't be a minute.

Morning, sir.

Morse.

A body's come up below Magdalen Bridge.

The clothes match the description of
a missing person from a month ago.

Professor Neilsen from Lovelace College.

Angler. Uniform are on scene, but
they'd like us to take a look.

Suspicious?

You never know.

Well, you can handle that, can't you?

Drop me by the tobacconist on your way.

Don't forget I'm out tonight.

- Oh. Are you?
- I told you. Keep fit.

- I'll leave you something
to warm through. - Right.

I should hear about my
Sergeant's exam today.

Results are out.

- You'll be off, then.
- Well, no. Not altogether.

There's a vacancy coming up on Nights.

Don't wait. I can walk in from here.

Morning.

Who found him?

Oh, Beaufort hearty, out
for a run just before seven.

This floated loose when we were
bringing the body to shore.

Forensics might be able
to make something of it.

Big day today, isn't it?

Just don't expect me to salute.

Good luck.

Morning.

Keep upwind if I were you.

Four weeks in the drink makes
for a very slippery customer.

This one's as ripe and runny
as a rancid Roquefort.

Is it him?

It's a him.

Further, I shouldn't care to hazard.

For whom were you hoping?

Dr Richard Nielsen, Research
Fellow up at Lovelace.

Keen fisherman. Went missing
around the end of term.

That would certainly accord
with the condition of the corpus.

Contents of the wallet
are pulp, I'm afraid.

This, though. It isn't engraved,

but someone might recognise it.

Foul play?

I need to get him back and pop
him on the radiator for a bit

before I can give you a definitive answer.

Stones in his pockets.

Suicide, most likely.

I don't suppose there's a note?

Oh, he'll have had his reasons, I expect.

Love's very popular.

The want of it. A broken heart.

Where do you stand with all that?

Suicide?

Love.

Bit early in the day for
metaphysics, isn't it?

"And one was fond of
me and all are slain."

Love and fishing.

Sooner or later, it all
comes down to the same thing.

The one that got away.

Not bad for a jumped up letter-sorter, eh?

- How's that? - Well, that's
what JASON was built for.

Mr Benn's nationwide
six-figure postal coding system.

Dad, there you are!

Oh, will you excuse me? Professor Amory.

My daughter Patricia.

Detective Constable Morse, City
Police, Professor, Miss Amory.

Actually, it's Dr Amory, but I prefer Pat.

What can we do for you, Constable?

I believe Richard Nielsen
is a colleague of yours.

Yes, certainly, an integral
member of the team.

Is there news?

I'm afraid a body was recovered

from just below Magdalen
Bridge about an hour ago.

The clothes on the body match the description
we have of those he was last seen wearing.

Sorry to have to tell you.

Well, we knew his fishing
tackle had been found.

I-I-I suppose we hoped that
he had some kind of breakdown

and-and wandered off somewhere.

The scientific world will be
looking at us, especially Russia.

- I'm just telling you how it is.
- If JASON breaks down

because you're too tight
to run to a pack of fuses,

we're all going to look pretty
bloody stupid, aren't we?

Do excuse my colleagues.

Passions are inclined to run a little high on the
eve of an important experiment such as ours.

That's right. The rest of the time,
we're just one big happy family.

This gentleman is from the
police. He's here about Richard.

They've found a body in the Cherwell.

- What?
- Good God, no!

It's a mistake, surely?
You're... sure it's him?

We recovered this from the body.

It's Richard's.

I gave it to him.

Had anything been troubling him?

Well, he was under enormous pressure
with work, but, er, otherwise...

You think he killed himself?

No.

No, I won't believe it. Not Richard.

What about money worries?

Well, if he had got into
pecuniary difficulties,

it's certainly not something
he shared with any of us.

Dr Neilsen's office is
just along here, sir.

Thank you.

That's a splendid backhand pass...

What's all that?

It's the personal effects
of Dr Richard Nielsen.

Been in the property store four
weeks. Thought I'd take a look.

- Suicide, isn't it?
- Supposedly. Where's, uh...?

Gone to lunch.

Ah, Morse...

- Good heavens! What's this?
- Wimbledon, sir.

Ladies highlights in
colour. It's quite lifelike.

As may be, but this is a police
station, not a television showroom.

Fell off the back of a lorry, sir.
Just making sure it's still working.

Yes, well...

- Morse, when you
have a moment... - Sir.

Don't suppose there's any need to ask
what that's about, with the new suit.

- Fingers crossed.
- Thanks.

Failed?

The Board notes with regret that a number of
examination papers never arrived for marking

and were, therefore, classed
an automatic failure.

Better luck next time, yes?

One more thing. There's a Russian arriving at
Lovelace College tomorrow for the chess tournament.

It's Special Branch's bailiwick,

but Division want the
local force represented.

You've some Russian, I believe,
from your time in Signals.

The barest smattering, sir.

That still puts you
ahead of the rest of us.

I want you to act as my ADC and local
liaison with our colleagues in London.

Division has also asked that news of
Dr Neilsen's death is for the moment

withheld from the press for
reasons of political sensitivity.

How many papers went astray?

You said "a number".

If there were any way to find
out, I'd be interested to know.

Hello?

Number two?

Mick! Mick!

That's a waste of good luncheon meat.

Not today.

It will be. Tuesday.

I don't know what it is,
but it's not luncheon meat.

Well, erm, I'm off to see Dr deBryn.

The body we took out of
the river this morning...

...I'd be glad of your eye over it.

No, you're all right.

When you've seen one drowning, you...

I've a few things to do of my
own. I'll see you back at the nick.

No underlying signs of violence.

I'm waiting on dental records to
put his identity beyond doubt.

Meantime, I'm hoping to be able to lift a
set of prints from the underlying dermis,

but it's a slow process.

Afternoon, Doc. Matey.

- Ah, my three o'clock.
- That's right, Doc.

The body found in the slipper
baths at Cowley Pool, Miss Palfrey.

Yes. No sign of heart attack,

but there is a sizeable
contusion on the back of her head

and a few bruises that
look to be perimortem.

So, what? She's slipped in the
bath, hit her head and gone under?

She's drowned, then?

Looks that way.

Anything out of the ordinary?

One or two points of interest.

There were traces of an
oil-based lotion on her face.

Some kind of beauty treatment maybe?

- And the other?
- Well, it's turned mostly to liquid,

but she had some sort of alkali
residue in her ears and up her nose.

Face pack, perhaps?

Women do use them, I believe.

Thanks, Doc.

There wasn't anything like that in the cubicle,
and it's not like they'd had a chance to tidy it.

Have you been to her home yet?

Not yet. Why?

I'll take it off your hands
if you like, save you the job.

I've nothing else on.

Yeah, all right.

Suppose I'd better make the most
before we lose you to Nights.

When do you reckon you'll start?

My exam paper never reached Division.

"Automatic failure".

Oh. Bad luck, matey.

Still, what was it you said?

"If at first...", eh?

Hello. Detective Constable Morse.

- City Police. Miss...?
- Er, Tessa Knight, Oxford Mail.

I'm on a death knock.

Give me a break or my
editor'll have my guts.

I know Miss Frazil of old.

Tell her you ran into Morse
and he was very unhelpful.

She'll understand.

If you'll excuse me...

Miss Palfrey had been in service,
according to the neighbours. Spinster.

She was a regular member of the
congregation at St Cecilia's.

Straightforward "accidental", then.
Make a nice change for the coroner.

Two drownings in one day.

- That's unusual, don't you think?
- Not specially.

He might been found today, but
Dr Nielsen's been dead a month.

How many die on the roads in a day?

- Doesn't make it murder.
- Not by itself, perhaps.

Why would Miss Palfrey go to the slipper
baths if she had a bathroom at home?

Not everyone grew up with indoor plumbing.

Maybe she thought it was cheaper to go there
once a week than heat the tank. Who knows?

"Who knows?" Sure you
don't mean "Who cares?"

- Look, the world doesn't stop
just because... - Because what?

- You mind your place.
- What is that, exactly? My place?

Your place is where I say
it is. No more and no less.

Right. Right.

Just don't go making something
out of nothing, that's all.

- It's what we do, isn't it?
- It's what you do!

Didn't have your head in the clouds, you might've gone
better with your Sergeant's. Mr Bright mentioned.

Did he mention I could've revised till
Ragnarok for all the good it would've done me?

If my exam doesn't arrive,
it's automatic failure.

Right. Home time.

Home!

Richard should've been here
for the final preparations.

I know. We all miss him.

Do you?

And what does that mean?

Nothing to do with me.

Gremlins.

- I'll let it settle.
- We can't take any chances.

General reset. JASON breaks down tomorrow,
we'll be laughed out of college.

- Stick the kettle on, make a brew.
- No, no. It's all right.

No point us both missing a night's sleep.

Sure?

I'll come in early.

I thought you said he
was a seasoned angler.

A Minister's Dog is eccentric,
even by our standards.

The name of the fly.

There are more vulgar appellations.

- Such as?
- The Vicar's Bitch, for one.

Legend has it the fly was fashioned
using hairs from a cleric's Labrador.

- Why eccentric?
- You can take trout on it,

but traditionally it's a salmon fly.

No salmon in this neck of the woods.

No salmon in any of the rivers in Oxford.

I'm sorry, the pool's closed,
love. I'm just cashing up.

Detective Constable Morse, City Police.

There was a woman found
dead in the slipper baths.

Which cubicle would that have been?

It was cubicle two.

Professor Gradenko, may
I introduce my driver,

- Woman Police Constable Trewlove?
- How do you do?

And Detective Constable Morse.

If you're ready, Professor...

Excellent, Morse. Excellent.

- What's wrong with your breakfast?
- There's nothing wrong with it.

Just not in the mood this morning.

I miss her too.

I know you do.

Two weeks. It's not our Joan.

Not to keep us in the dark like this.

Not a word.

- Oh, Fred...
- She's all right.

I know she is. She... She just needs time.

She'll get in touch when she's ready.

Here, what's all this
with last night's paper?

Situations vacant.

I thought I might get a little job.

Skivvying?

Cleaning, offices.

No shame in it.

Never said there is.

It's all right for you.
You've got work to go to.

I'm just here.

Mornings are all right, I've
got enough to keep me busy,

but after lunch...

It's the afternoons.

You're not going to be cleaning in
the afternoons, if it's offices.

No, it's earlies, but I'll
see your sandwiches are done.

Ladies and gentleman,
Professor Yuri Gradenko.

I meant to say...

commiserations.

Your Sergeant's. It's rotten luck.

Well, I'm not sure how
much luck was involved.

Look, can you cover for me later?

I have to call Inspector
Thursday at the station.

Of course. What's up?

Oh, just something I came across
at Cowley Baths last night.

- I didn't know your enthusiasms ran to chess.
- They don't, usually.

I'm here in an official capacity.

Not seen much of you
since the Wessex raid.

When are you gonna give
me the inside story?

I'm sure you've spoken to everybody else.

All bar you and Inspector
Thursday's daughter.

The bank couldn't tell
me when she'll be in.

She's gone away, I believe, to recuperate.

You all right?

You don't look as though you've
been sleeping. You've lost weight.

You're not in love, are you?

On my wages?

Gentlemen, if you take your
places, the tournament can begin.

Pawn to Queen's four.

There will now be a short break.

Dr Amory, do you have a moment?

- Have you heard any news on Richard?
- What's this?

Oh...

Miss Knight from the
Oxford Mail, Dr Amory...

So I...?

Would you excuse us?

Morse, this is a friend of mine.

Hi. Kent Finn. Hello.

- Kent writes whodunits.
- Crime fiction, Doe, please.

A bastard form of
literature, but mine own.

He'd like to pick your brains.

Well... such as they are.

Don't be deceived. He hides it well, but
Morse is the cleverest man in Oxford.

Oh! I'm cut to the quick.

Second-cleverest, then, now you're here.

You play?

Er, yes, a little.

- You?
- Some. Er, it's why I'm here.

Research for the next novel.

I've rented a place for the summer.

You must come over. Dorothea
tells me you were at Lonsdale.

I'm a Lowlands man, myself.

Red brick and chippy with everything.

But, seriously, you must come over.
I keep a pretty descent cellar.

I'm sure whatever state it's
in it's better than my own.

Nice to meet you.

Oh, well, listen, how about eight o'clock?

- Oh, do you mean this evening?
- Well, that'll be nice.

Well, look, perhaps we
could have a blitz after.

You know, in honour of our
respective almae matres.

I think you'd find me
a very poor woodpusher.

Oxford winning? Splendid, hm?

- Actually, it's pretty evenly
poised, sir. - Oh, is it?

- You play a little, Officer?
- Oh, I used to, sir.

At school, for my house.

Ah, well, I'm sure we
all played at school.

The opening appears to have been

the Kronsteen variation of
the Queen's Gambit declined.

Black sacrificed material
for positional advantage.

The question now is whether

he's prepared to accept the exchange of
knights in a bid to develop the centre.

Yes, of course. I didn't mean...

Four five six from Information Room.

More to my officers than a...

- Pretty face?
- .. appears.

I was going to say. Appears.

Ladies and gentlemen, if
you'd please take your seats,

the tournament is about to continue.

Morse, we've been requested to
attend Cowley Baths immediately.

Drowned, within the last 12 hours.

Almighty lump on the back of his head too,

hour or two before he died.

Suspicious, then?

He could've injured himself
earlier in the evening.

Slow subdural haemorrhage.
He comes for a swim,

pressure builds on the cerebral
cortex and good night, Vienna.

Give you the definitive prix
fixe once I've had a rootle.

Gentlemen...

Who was he?

Don't know. Not a regular,
according to the lifeguard.

What about his clothes?

He should have a rubber band,
around his ankle, or his wrist,

- with a key and locker number.
- E4, according to the band.

The key doesn't fit, so we're
getting a master from reception.

Well, whoever he is, he
wasn't here last night.

How do you know that?

Because I'd have seen him.

I came in here to see
where Miss Palfrey died.

I found a crucifix on the door.

Then this caught my eye.

"Denial"?

Denial of what?

- Writing on the mirror?
- What's it say?

We're more interested in when
it could have been put there.

Well, could've been done any time.

Well, the place is
cleaned daily, isn't it?

Usually, but we've been a bit
short-handed this last month.

So how many people used cubicle
two after Miss Palfrey died?

Nobody. We shut it up, out of respect.

And of course, the bath needed
a full hygienic, you know...

It's, er, it's standard procedure.

Get a lot of people die in there, do you?

Our safety records are spotless.

I've been here eight years, and we've
never had nothing like this happen before.

In 1959, nobody died.

- In 1960, nobody died. In 1961...
- All right we get the picture.

So, what about this "full hygienic"?

I was gonna do it before we opened up,

only he said we weren't to open up.

So how could somebody have got in
for a swim if the place is locked?

- I don't know.
- Who's got keys?

Well, we have.

- A set each. - What about past
employees? We'll need a list.

I'll talk to Mr Smedley. Staff
records are held up at the council.

Any case, that locker
key you were after...

Edison D Smalls, sir.

Summertown address.

And a pass for his work.
Looks to be the pump station.

- How's he locked his key
in his locker? - He hasn't.

This isn't E4, it's E5.

F4.

What's this? Somebody's
idea of Take Your Pick?

E4...

...and a bunch of envelopes, empty.

- Swimming pool address.
- Sick joke.

I'll see if the staff
know anything about it.

This boy, connected to the
other two, do you think?

It's not my place to say.

Who knows? Right?

Don't come the old acid. It don't suit.

You didn't listen. I told
you it was suspicious.

- About your business, Constable.
- I don't have any orders, sir.

Find out how he got in
when the place was shut.

So the boiler's inspected a couple
of times a year by the council.

I don't bother with it otherwise.

It's their responsibility to make
sure that the service hatch is secure.

And when were they last here?

Er, four months, maybe?

What were your movements last
night, after you closed up?

I went home.

- Can anyone vouch for you?
- Mona on reception.

Mona by name... Yeah, she'll vouch.

All right, Mr Mitcham, I can
take it from here. Thank you.

There's a route through the boiler
room to an unsecured service hatch.

Recent footprints in the dust,
how Edison got in, presumably.

I'll get a photographer down there.

Finish up here, then you and
Trewlove bring his parents in.

I'll see you back at the station.

You weren't concerned
when he didn't come home?

He's always late on a Tuesday, sir.

He helps out down at the youth club.

He's been going there
since he was a boy, sir.

A lot of his friends from school were
always getting in trouble with the law.

- I mean, nothing serious.
- No, sir. Nothing serious.

Temperament and high-spirited.

There were that teacher that used to
help out at the youth club of an evening.

- He took him under his wing,
taught him chess. - Chess?

- Yes, and he was so good at it.
- Played it at the club all the time.

Edison always said it was that club
that kept him on the straight and narrow.

When he got older, he wanted to help other
youngsters, like himself, to keep out of trouble.

He got on all right with
his mates, did he, at work?

Oh, yes, sir. Everybody liked Edison.

Does my boy look all right? Because I
don't want his mother seeing him if he's...

Like he's sleeping, Mr Smalls.

Just like he's sleeping.

You think somebody did this to Edison?

If they did, sir, we'll have 'em.
No stone unturned, you have my word.

I just can't understand
what he was doing there.

Why?

Edison couldn't swim.

Right, gentlemen, I'm fairly confident

this will be of interest to you both.

Some kind of plaster would be my best
guess, recovered from his nostrils.

Most of it had washed out,

but this was packed towards the
upper part of the nasal cavity.

Was it the same thing you
found with Miss Palfrey?

Whatever hers was had turned to liquid,

but I'm sending this off for comparison.

He had traces of the same
oil-based lotion on his face.

I don't suppose there was anything
found like that on Dr Nielsen?

No.

He was drowned, though, the Smalls lad?

Oh, yes.

I've drained the lungs, but with
a drowning in a swimming pool

I'd expect to find chlorine.

- And that isn't the case?
- No.

Initial tests suggest traces of fluoride.

Tap water?

All I can tell you is
that wherever he drowned,

it wasn't in Cowley Baths.

A case of this magnitude, multiple
victims and a motive as yet unknown,

I'm sure I don't have to impress on
you the need for absolute discretion.

It's imperative that no detail of this
investigation be divulged beyond these walls,

either at home with one's family or
amongst yourselves while off-duty.

Control of information in a case
like this gives us the upper hand.

Careless talk may very well cost lives.

All right, that's all.

- So, this latest victim...
- Edison Smalls, sir.

If he didn't die in the
swimming pool, where did he die?

Tuesday nights, he helped out at Wilkins
Youth Club, sir. They've been spoken to.

Smalls left about half-ten.
Nobody saw him again.

No-one except the killer, at least.

What about the staff at the baths?

Clean as a whistle, sir.

All alibied and no previous on any
of 'em, as with the ex-employees.

Anything to connect the victims?

An academic, a retired
servant of some sort

and a worker at the pumping station.

Unlikely to move in the
same social circle.

Maybe they're just random... strangers'
names picked out of a phone book.

Well, if that's the case, his next
victim could be anyone in Oxford.

Morse, any thoughts? Not like you
to be backward in coming forwards.

I couldn't say, sir.

Morse was onto it from the start, sir.

- Well, it was just a feeling.
- And now?

The link is how they died, surely.

Drowning... I mean, it's all a
little baroque, don't you think?

And for those of us in the cheap seats?

Overly-ornamented.

The wrong fly on Dr Nielsen's fishing rod.

This message on the mirror.
The post in the lockers.

That's not random. That's design.

- So what does it mean?
- Whatever it means, it's his rules, his game.

He's telling us what he wants us to know.

So what doesn't he want us to know?

Why the first victim? That's the
key. What made Dr Nielsen special?

That's the King's Gambit.

- How's this?
- E4, E5, F4...

That's the lockers at Cowley Baths, sir.

It's algebraic chess notation, sir.

The King's Gambit was a popular sequence
of opening moves in the 19th century.

So the killer's some sort of chess expert?

There was a chess set at Miss
Palfrey's house, set out mid-game.

What about these boffins at
Lovelace? That's all chess.

Dr Nielsen was one of their outfit.

Well, they're computer
experts, not chess enthusiasts,

but, yes, I could take a look.

- Very well. Carry on.
- Well done.

JASON's been thinking about his
next move for nearly 40 minutes.

Yuri's got us beaten by time alone.

Bad luck.

Good heavens.

Knight takes rook.

That's check mate in 15.

Thank you. Thank you.

Cheers!

And again. Cheers!

Cheers!

- One, two, three. Cheers!
- Cheers!

Yuri!

Oh, come on, old chap. Napoleon's dictum.

Dr Amory.

This cigarette case that
you gave Dr Nielsen...

It was his birthday.

I just wanted to do
something nice for him.

Nothing more than that?

It's always sex with the police, isn't it?

A girl can't just be friends
with a chap. It's has to be sex.

Or love. In my experience, as
many kill for love as desire.

It stirs up the mud, requited or not.

Could anyone have misread your
friendship with Dr Nielsen?

Look, my only role here

and my only interest is
looking after my father.

No-one's bought me flowers
or made a pass at me

or sent me billets-doux.

Beautiful, yes?

Richard was fond of water lilies.

You knew Dr Nielsen?

A remarkable young man.

I was very sad to hear of his death.

We exchanged letters for several years.

Chess, you understand.

It is your responsibility
to find out who killed him.

He drowned.

In my country, people drown also.

Sometimes, even by accident.

You have to catch the person
who killed Richard Nielsen.

His last letter he sent, he said
there were problems within his group.

What kind of problems?

He didn't say, but you should know

our opinions were simpatico
upon certain important matters.

Such as?

The threat to the world posed by the
ideologies of our respective governments.

Professor Gradenko!

I have to go.

- Dr Castle.
- Oh, hello.

- Do you have a moment?
- Of course.

We're just... We're anxious
to get a better picture

of Dr Nielsen's relationship
with the rest of the team.

- Had he fallen out with anyone?
- Er... Er...

Look, I'm just a junior fellow here.
It's not really my place to say.

It's not really your place to say what?

I just wouldn't want to speak
out of turn, that's all.

Perhaps speak to Bernard.

Sorry.

Yes, I argued with Richard.

We overspent our research
budget by quite a margin.

And that caused conflict
between you and Dr Nielsen?

He was convinced someone was
making something on the side,

demanded to see the accounts.

- Did you give them to him?
- No.

I think he took them just
before he disappeared.

There you are. Just the man.
I've been looking for you.

So, come on. Foul play, right?

Look, you can tell me. I won't
breathe a word. Guides' honour.

Well, what do you know?

Tit for tat? All right.

Ah, the old lady who died there yesterday

used to work for a doctor's
family out by Binsey.

You show me yours.

(Was it murder?)

We're treating it as a suspicious death.

So, this doctor...?

Er, Aston or Ashford.

And what about the one
today? Danny Smalls?

- Look, just...
- I knew it.

Get his name right, at least for his
parents' sake. It's Edison Smalls.

Workmates all called him Danny or Daniel.

He only got Edison at home.

So, this Aston or
Ashford, what about them?

Miss Palfrey may have been closer to
the doctor than his wife cared for.

There was a divorce.

My source says it was some kind of
local cause celebre. Made the papers.

Thanks you for the steer.

Splendid. Splendid. Yeah.

Well, I wasn't sure if you would come.

So, I thought, erm, we'd treat
ourselves to a little drop.

Oh, the '61. I'm honoured.

Well, If I was really honouring
you, I would have brought up the '45,

but, erm, perhaps when I know you better.

I'll open this and I'll get some glasses.

Ah! I see you've met my muse.

Haunting, isn't she?

Disturbing, certainly. Who is it?

Nobody knows.

It was a young girl fished out of
the Seine in the 1880s. Story goes,

the attendant in the city morgue
was so taken with her beauty

that he made an impression of her features

in the hope that someone would
recognise her and claim her.

But her likeness caught the
imagination of fashionable Parisians

and, well, by the Yellow '90s,
no self-respecting Bohemian garret

could truly lay claim to being part
of La Belle Epoque without one.

So, erm, yeah...

Right, shall we?

This way.

It must be fascinating work, pitting your
wits against some diabolical villain.

The red herrings.

I don't know, the unexpected twists in the
final act before the killer is revealed.

It might be that way in books.

In real life, it's all
legwork or paperwork,

asking the same questions over and over.

Would you...? Would you
like me to change the music?

I gather opera's more your bag.

Oh, look, don't think too badly of her.

Dorothea holds you in some regard.

How is it you know her?

Oh, she reviewed my last Superintendent
Jolliphant rather favourably,

so I sent flowers to thank
her, and we stayed in touch.

And as I was in Oxford, er...

You're friends, then?

Well, a gentleman never tells.

A gentleman would just say
yes, and leave it at that.

Hm.

If that's for the morning
edition, you're cutting it fine.

Stop press.

What's this?

Well, I'll see you to the stop.

You don't have to wrap
me in cotton wool, Fred.

I won't break.

You're all I've got.

What are you gonna do
till Morse gets here?

Well, take a turn through the park.

Fetch the paper.

Change is as good as a rest.

Here, give us one...

...the unexpected defeat
of the Russian scientist

Professor Yuri Gradenko by the computer
JASON in a chess match at Lovelace college.

Professor George Amory, who led the Oxford
Team, predicted that within a generation

few compartments of the intellect would
remain outside the machines' realm

and that the problems of creating artificial
intelligence would be substantially solved.

We're no closer to catching this bastard,

and now the whole world knows about it.

We'll have every nutcase and lunatic
in Oxford to claim responsibility

and no way to sort the
wheat from the chaff.

Tessa! Come here.

This story, where did you get it?

Straight from the horse's mouth.

Morse told me at the drinks last night.

In confidence.

Did he say it was off the record?

I shouldn't have to, but
it's beside the point.

There are things that could
only have come from my notebook.

Are you accusing Miss
Knight of stealing it?

Because, if you are, I'd like
the Mail's lawyers present.

If I find this chit of yours
does have Morse's notebook,

I'll have her up before the beak so
fast her feet won't touch the ground.

Whatever professional courtesy
you may have had of me hitherto,

- do not look to rely upon the same in future.
- Professional courtesy?

- I thought we were friends.
- We were.

Running off at the lip
in front of a scribbler!

- I thought you knew better.
- I gave her nothing she hadn't worked out.

You gave her your notebook.

She must've picked my pocket when...

- When what? Bat her lashes, did she?
- What does that mean?

It means you're still
wearing yesterday's shirt,

and that smudge of lipstick on your collar
is the same shade Miss Knight's wearing.

You've got about a second to lose that
smirk before I slap it off your face.

Did you pinch his notebook?

You silly, silly girl.

Do you know, I heard you
were something once...

The Korean War. The Tribune...

Now look at you.

Knocking it back at 11 in the morning,
washed up in some provincial backwater.

One more word, and you're fired.

I resign.

The Sketch saw my piece.

If I can come up with another one like
it, there's a job waiting for me there.

That's right. Fleet Street. London!

Good luck.

Next time you see my name,
it'll be on page one.

Tread lightly, child.

Tread lightly.

After local newspaper
the Oxford Mail revealed

that a murderer who kills his victims
by drowning is at large in the city,

Chief Superintendent Reginald Bright of the
Oxford City Police declined to comment.

Losing one's notebook is about as gross a
dereliction of duty a serving officer can make.

- An honest mistake, sir.
- Honesty doesn't come into it.

- I will thank you not to speak for him.
- It's why I'm here, sir.

Well, you've had your say.

Sir.

You asked me to find out how many
examination papers went astray.

I made enquiries.

The answer was one.

Just yours, Morse.

Just yours.

- I see.
- Do you? I wonder.

This past three years, you've
made some very powerful enemies.

They won't forgive and they won't forget.

They mean to dog your steps until
the very last hour of your service.

And now this... If you want my advice,

your best hope of salvaging
any kind of career

would be to transfer
to another constabulary.

- Leave Oxford?
- Why not?

Fresh start. You've no family local.

As I understand it, there's
nothing to keep you here.

Scotch before lunch?

I thought you said it gave you guts-ache?

How did you leave it?

One step forward.

Now, look, that with Miss Knight...

Go on.

- ...it wasn't just a one-way street.
- What did you get from her?

She told me that Miss Palfrey worked
for a doctor's family out by Binsey,

name of Aston or Ashford.

Now, I've had a look in the Gazetteer.

I can't find anyone with
either name currently in Oxford.

Electoral rolls, then. It could take days to
collate and cross-reference that material.

Yes, but there is another possibility.

Can you do it? Morse said
you ran a demonstration

of the new postal coding
system for the GPO.

Oh, we compiled a database of names
and addresses from the '61 census

and the '64 electoral rolls, but
only for households in Oxfordshire.

That's all we need.

Well, it's possible, of course.

JASON will identify and isolate
any parameters you specify.

Bernard, could you...?

It'll take us a while to find
the tape drums, get them loaded,

but, yes, I don't see why not.

So, erm, what am I looking for?

A Dr Aston or Ashford in the Binsey area.

- Oo-oo-ooh!
- I can do it.

Ooh, no fear.

The last time you input code, JASON
nearly had a nervous breakdown.

- It wasn't that bad.
- Oh, wasn't it?

What he should have
entered was "Read drum".

What was it that you actually put in?

"Rude dram". Look,
anyone can make a mistake.

OK.

Well, I'll make coffee.

I've a feeling we'll need it.

Aston, wasn't it, or Ashford?

Yes, could be either, in the Binsey area.

We might get a better result
if we start with just "A-S",

the first two letters being
shared by both surnames.

Sure, Dr Gould? Wouldn't that give us anyone
whose surname begins with A-S in Oxfordshire?

Binsey should narrow it. Sooner that than
miss a variation. Double-barrelled, even.

So, how does it work, Dr Gibbs?

The program's written in Forbin 66,
with a few additions of our own.

There!

Well, now what?

Now you can sample Broderick's
disgusting home-ground,

or do what I'm going to do.

- Go home to bed.
- That long, you reckon?

You could get lucky, but you're
unlikely to get much back before morning.

JASON will be thinking for quite a while.

Good night.

Oxford is tonight a city in fear as, further
to an initial report in the local paper,

journalist Tessa Knight confided
to this programme that the murderer,

whom she described as "clearly a lunatic,"

has already killed three
victims by drowning.

Hello? Is anyone there?

Hello?

Three in the... Binsey area.

Ashcourt, Ashton and Leighton-Asbury.

- Well, sorry to have troubled
you, Mrs Ashcourt. - No problem.

- Who's next?
- Ashton is nearer.

There's two occupants in '64.

That looks to be a terraced
house, according to the electoral.

Doesn't sound big enough
to warrant servants.

- What about Leighton-Asbury?
- Briar House, one occupant in '61.

- A Judith Leighton-Asbury.
- Right.

Oh!

Gently, if you would, gentlemen.
She's been through quite enough.

Dear God! What is this place?

It appears to be where he
brought his victims, sir,

and made their death masks.

That's where the alkaline residue
on their faces came from.

The bottom right-hand four
are the recent drownings.

- And the rest?
- Les Gueules cassees.

The broken faces.

Soldiers mutilated by
wounds in the Great War.

What in God's name are they doing here?

Life masks such as these were taken
in order that facial prostheses

could be tailored to the
requirements of the patient.

It would certainly explain
the material I recovered

from the ears and nasal
cavities of his victims.

The house belongs to a Dr Leighton-Asbury.

We've given his details to the General
Medical Council. They're looking into it.

There's also a wife, Judith.

She was here in '61, but since then...

I've called the Land Registry, sir,
to see who owns the property now.

Looks to be patient records.
Hundreds of the bloody things.

Better go through them. See if
any of the names ring a bell.

There should be a handbag.

Constable?

She was a reporter, wasn't she?

She'd need somewhere to keep her notebook.

Her coat is here. I can't see
her going far without a handbag.

Sir?

That poor girl.

I should've listened to you.

Well, you had... things on your mind.

Who doesn't? It's no excuse.

This lands at my door, nobody else's.

You couldn't have known.

You knew.

You always know.

And you were cheated with your Sergeant's.

I know you wanted it. Deserved it too.

But I can't say I'm sorry
not to lose you to Nights.

You're better than that.

There's a boy's room, across the hallway.

So... a son and a daughter, then.

The Leighton-Asburys.

"A pupil".

Saves writing the kid's name
out in longhand, I suppose.

- Cowley Baths.
- Yeah.

There was one of these
at Miss Palfrey's house.

A gift, possibly, from the girl.

Looks to be pages from a diary.

Is that French?

"He won't leave me alone.
He watches me all the time."

I know what he wants, but I
won't. It's disgusting and wrong.

There's no-one I can tell.

"I can't see any other way out."

Who's this "he"? Does she say?

She doesn't name him, but there's
a lot more in a like vein.

Should I go on, sir?

Get down the station and type up a
translation as quick as you can.

Sir.

Garden backs onto the Cherwell. Nothing
down there but some old boathouse.

Doesn't look like anyone's
been inside for donkey's.

Nearest neighbour's only
been here a few years.

Just remembers the wife. She died in '62.

I've spoken to the Royal
Army Medical Corps.

They're searching for him
in regimental records.

- There's a son and a daughter.
No names... - Actually, sir,

just through from the station,
Edison Smalls' previous.

Three months suspended for a fight with a lad
he used to play chess with down the youth club.

Alexander Leighton-Asbury.

I've spoken to Edison's parents. They
were just playing a game, nice as you like.

Edison said something to the
Leighton-Asbury boy, and he went for him.

- What did he say?
- Something he didn't like, clearly.

But push come to shove, it was Edison got
stuck on and the other kid walked away.

I'll get a trace out for him.

Right.

You'd better get over to Miss
Knight's flat, take a look.

This is her room.

Well, thank you.

Er, she was a fan, that's all.

Erm...

Look, what... What's this all about?

What it's about, Mr Finn,

is Tessa Knight lying drowned in an
outsized fish tank over by Binsey,

with a death mask of her face
staring down at her from the wall.

It's about your muse being
just such a death-mask,

cast from the features of a woman
drowned in the Seine 80 years ago.

But above all, it's about finding one of
your pipe-cleaner men on her bedside table.

You were sleeping with her.

For how long?

A couple of weeks, maybe a month.

Such gallantry.

And when did you really last see her?

Erm, shortly after you left,
she dropped by, er, briefly.

Where were you the night
before the chess tournament?

Erm... with Tessa, at her flat.

And the night before that?

If you've come to read me
the riot act, volume two...

Do you need a drink or
can you tell me straight?

Is it Tessa?

How bad?

Her body was found at a house
out by Binsey this morning.

She'd been drowned.

You didn't send her there?

She resigned yesterday
morning, just after you left.

I have to ask...

Kent Finn, he said he was with
you the night Miss Palfrey died.

That's right.

So you can you give him an alibi.

Why would he need an alibi?
He's nothing to do with Tessa.

Er...

Oh. Right.

I see.

Comes to booze, Kent's
a bit of an amateur.

I wouldn't have said he was in a state
to drive anywhere, let alone kill anyone.

Binsey, you say, Tessa was found?

Yes, a house out that way.

Owned by a family called Leighton-Asbury.

Miss Palfrey was in service there.

- The head of the family is a
doctor of some sort. - Army surgeon.

Something to do with plastic surgery,

- for pilots burned in the war.
- Yes, that's right.

It was one of the first stories
I covered when I came to Oxford.

The daughter, aged about 16,
drowned herself in the boathouse.

- Weighted down...
- With stones in her pockets?

Yeah.

At the inquest, the
housekeeper Miss Palfrey

gave evidence that the brother
had an unnatural interest in her.

The parents denied it.

I don't think the coroner wanted
to add to their grief, but...

That would accord with
what we read in her diary.

So what happened to him?

Sent away. Family somewhere.

I think the parents split up not
long after. I can look into it.

I'd be grateful.

Poor Tessa.

She'd an idea about some job
in Fleet Street on offer,

if she got the scoop on all this.

Last thing she said was,

"Next time you see my name,
it'll be on the front page."

You're certain the
Leighton-Asbury boy is involved?

He's the only person we can
connect with Miss Palfrey, sir,

and we know he fought with Edison Smalls.

It could just as well
have been the father.

The doctor? Or his wife,
even? Or none of them at all.

- Just someone who knew the house was empty.
- It's possible, sir.

Didn't you think there was
a link to the scientists

up at Lovelace College? Hasn't
that been the thinking so far?

Well, we can rule out Dr Gould
and Dr Castle straight away.

We were with them both at the
time Tessa Knight was killed.

- That leaves who?
- Er, Professor Amory,

his daughter Pat and Dr Clifford Gibbs.

Amory's in a wheelchair.

Hard to see him having the physical
capability of murdering anyone.

- Gibbs, did you say?
- That's right. Why?

Yeah.

I thought I'd seen it.

Wing Commander Rupert Gibbs,
Six-Oh-Two Squadron, RAF Westhampnett.

Shot down over Sussex,
September 16th, 1940.

Damage to the upper and lower maxilla.

Extensive third-degree burns.

Could you tell us about your father's
relationship to Dr Leighton-Asbury?

Yes, Dad was a patient, for
the best part of ten years.

Did you ever go with him, out to Binsey?

Once or twice.

Did you know his kids?
He had a son and daughter.

I remember a little girl, vaguely.

What about the boy? Alexander?

No.

Been there recently?

Binsey? Good God, no.
Wouldn't know where to find it.

Easy enough to find an address,
as you've already demonstrated.

Why the interest in Leighton-Asbury?

The body of a young woman was found drowned
at the house in Binsey this morning.

Tessa Knight.

That's awful. But if you think

Dr Leighton-Asbury's got anything
to do with it, you're way off-beam.

- How's that?
- Well, I'm a scientist.

I don't go in for God. But
that man was a miracle worker.

Where were you last night? For the record.

You know where I was, I told you.

I went to a recital and then I
went home to bed, for the record.

- Anyone vouch for that?
- No.

What about Tuesday night?

I was here, working.

Bernard told me to reboot JASON.

Look, if you think that
you've got evidence

that I'm involved in all of
this, then you should charge me.

Otherwise, I've got nothing else to say.

- We're gonna brace Dr Gould as
to Gibbs' alibi. - Right, sir.

Tail Gibbs. I don't want
him out of your sight.

We've had word through from the RAMC, sir.

- Regimental records confirm Dr
Leighton-Asbury's decease. - Right.

We're looking for Dr Bernard Gould.

Erm, you just missed him,
about half an hour since.

- Any idea where he might be?
- Home. He was feeling under the weather.

Gibbs said Dr Gould told him to reset
JASON the night before the tournament.

- Would that be regular?
- Yes, JASON had been behaving erratically.

It's standard practice. You close
the machine down and restart it.

You turn it off and on again.
How long would that take?

Oh, a few hours.

If the reset took a few hours, rather than
the all night that Gibbs had said it did,

it would give him time to kill Miss
Palfrey and drop her at the swimming pool.

Information Room to DI Thursday.

Thursday. Over.

Message for Morse from Dorothea Frazil.

Go ahead.

'Alexander Leighton-Asbury went to
live with his maternal grandparents,

name of King, in Dundee. She has
further information at the Oxford Mail.

- Over.'
- Out.

Sir...

- You think Gibbs has got Miss Frazil?
- That's how it looks, sir.

Strange lost him close by
to the offices of the Mail,

but we've got an alert out to all units.

- Where would he have taken her?
- Don't know yet, sir.

But here's some news on
the Leighton-Asbury girl.

A birth registered in the second
quarter of 1939. Penelope.

Perhaps we should try the swimming baths.

Maybe he's taken her there.

Tessa Knight's coat did reek of chlorine.

Out.

- Where is she?
- Where's who?

Miss Frazil.

I don't know what you're talking about.

- What have you done with her?
- Nothing.

Get him dressed.

Morse, with me.

Show me where you found those footprints.

Maybe he's got her down there.

Miss Frazil?

Miss Frazil?

Miss Frazil?

Morse?

Morse! Miss Knight's handbag!

"RXN. Check Meat."

"Rook takes knight. Check Mate."

It's not Gibbs.

- You think Dr Castle is the
Leighton-Asbury boy? - Yes.

After his sister killed herself, he
went to his grandparents in Scotland.

- Their name was King.
- How does that get you to Castle?

What he wrote on the
wall. Rook takes Knight.

Rook is the proper name
for the chess piece,

only some people call it a Castle.

The fly, the Vicar's Bitch.
That referred to Miss Palfrey.

- What about "Denial"?
- It wasn't Denial, it was Daniel,

for Edison Daniel Smalls.
See, Castle's word-blind.

That's why he mistyped "Rude
Dram" for "Read Drum".

The envelopes in the locker
were mail. The Oxford Mail.

He's been telling us his
next move at each instance.

He must know we've found
the house in Binsey.

What about the boat house
where his sister drowned?

- What's his motive?
- Miss Palfrey he knew as a child.

Same as Edison Smalls. Perhaps it
was something to do with his sister.

You sit in your offices
writing your stories.

- Ruining lives.
- My God!

You're him. You're Alexander.

Well, I'm flattered you remember me.

I remember you, of course.

The disgusting insinuations
you made after the inquest.

- I wrote the truth.
- I loved my sister.

Well, she didn't love you. Not
in the way you wanted her to.

She was afraid of you.
You're why she killed herself.

- Enough!
- I'm not afraid.

Oh, you will be, in the end.

I think that's him.

Get after him! I'll take care of her.

It's all right! I'll get you out!

Please, open the door!

Fred!

Fred!

- Fred!
- I'm not leaving you.

- Argh!
- It's OK. Don't worry.

Fred, please!

Out you get! Quick!

If she wanted you dead, you would be.

- Who?
- Penelope!

Penelope's dead.

Your sister, she's dead.

I just found her again!

After all that time, I
can't let it happen again!

You're ill.

You've had... You've had a breakdown,

and Dr Neilsen knew it.

He was going to tell Dr Amory,
have you taken off the project.

- That's why you killed him.
- I had to. I had to kill Neilsen.

She spoke to me.

Through the computer, through JASON.

If I lost JASON, I would
have lost Penelope too.

And the death masks, what were they?

I made them for Penelope as an offering,

so she could see I had
done what she asked.

I know it sounds mad, but
we're meant to be together.

Always.

I'm not mad.

(No, I'm not mad.)

God knows I should be, growing up here.

It was a house of monsters.

But the men who came to visit
your father were heroes, as was he.

The only monster in that house was you.

I read your sister's diary.

- She was terrified of you.
- I'd never hurt Penelope!

The only way to get away was by drowning!

She drowned herself to get away from you.

- You forced her to it.
- No.

Look, anyway, it's finished. It's over.

- Put the bricks down, it's done.
- None of it matters now.

I just want Penelope back.

I miss her so much.

Now I know what I've got
to do to get her back.

Breathe. Breathe.

Breathe, you bastard!

It was in Tessa Knight's handbag.

Beyond hurting her now.

It's evidence.

Castle'll get what he's got
coming, with this or without.

It wouldn't harm your prospects any if you
found it'd slipped down the back of your sofa.

But that wouldn't be true.

You don't have to stay in Oxford.

You have to make a stand somewhere.

They're not going to drive me out.

You two done, is it?

All right for some.

Can I give you a lift?

Well, this is very nice, I must say.

I don't suppose there's any word?

No. No word.

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