All language subtitles for Endeavour.S04E03.Lazaretto.720p.WEB-DL.AAC2.0.H.264-EDVR_eng

'You're listening to the
Nightfly on Radio Carillon.

Broadcasting sounds that
soothe, cheer and comfort

the patients and staff
here at Cowley General.'

And now, with the time just
coming up to 11 o'clock,

this is your friend
Hester Fagen signing off.

That's it.

One pair of men's
spectacles. Tortoise shell.

17 shillings and ninepence ha'penny.

There you go, then, Mr Greely.
You just rest up there a bit.

Bit of company for you there, look.

Morse.
- Morning, sir.

I won't be a minute.

Much in?
- There's a sudden in Northway.

Uniform want us to give it
a quick once-over. - Right.

Well, drop me at the
station on your way there.

Off, then!

Win?

Cheer-oh.

Right.

No sandwiches?

No.

No, not today. After you, then.

Put her away, I'm going to visit
Mr Bryce-Morgan in the hospital.

Whoa!

Will do.
- There you go.

Good morning, gentlemen.

Good morning, Sir Merlyn.
- Morning, Sir Merlyn.

Now, how about that gastrectomy?
- Healing nicely, sir.

Dr Powell. If you can
bear to tear yourself away.

Morning, Sister.
- Morning, Sir Merlyn.

Everything ready?
- All ready, sir.

See you in the morning.
- Thank you, Sir Merlyn.

Now then, my good man,
how are you feeling today?

Fine, thank you, Sir Merlyn.

Mr Talbot was taken at the fall of Singapore
and set to work on the Burma Railway.

Once a year, he sheds the
lining of his stomach.

Still. We're "all friends now", eh?

Bed 10. Where's Mr Greely?
- He died, sir, in the night.

I saw him yesterday.
He was well on the mend.

He was quite elderly, sir.
- He was my age.

Straight-forward pulmonary
lobectomy, wasn't it?

I want a full postmortem.

I believe the body's already
been collected by the undertaker.

How many's that? It won't do, Powell.

Mrs Ethel Zacharides.

Sixties.

Dead about three days.

Evil old cow! Evil old cow!

Rather a limited repertoire, I'm afraid.

Answers to the name of Jeremiah.

Natural causes?

No obvious signs of violence.

Heart, possibly.

Apoplexy.

Could be any of the thousand shocks.

But nothing suspicious?

Not at first glance -- from a
medical point of view at least.

The rest I leave to you.
- What about this?

Knocked off the dresser.

A seizure, possibly.

Zacharides.

Rings a distant tocsin.

It'll come to me. Nothing
important probably.

Vale vigile!

That's it. All secure.
- 'Terence Bakewell, sir.'

Being transferred from Farnleigh
Prison to Cowley General this morning.

Sir?

Is this your erm... informant?

Yes, sir.

The peterman on the
Robson's jeweller's job.

'If you recall, Mrs Robson
was very badly injured.

Never walk again, leastways.'

Division said something about a
round-the-clock armed guard at the hospital.

Yes, sir. Bakewell's agreed
to turn Queen's Evidence

against those members of the
Matthews Gang still at large.

You think they'll try to get to him?

It's the Matthews Gang,
sir, what's left of it.

Anything from the neighbours?

Mrs Zacharides had lived here for 20
years. Her husband died six months ago.

She has a daughter in town, but they're
not on speaking terms, apparently.

We'll need someone for that.

What's this?
- That sudden up in Northway.

Local RSPCA officer's
laid up with the flu.

They asked us to keep an eye.

It can't stop here.

It's a nick, not a bloody
pet shop. Put it in yours.

Anything?

Natural causes, according to Dr DeBryn.

But she had two side plates out
and Mrs Zacharides lived alone.

Think she had someone with her?
- Or was expecting someone.

Her writing desk had been
disturbed. Papers strewn about.

That don't mean much. You
should see my nan's place.

The rest of the place was tidy enough.

Evil old cow!

Happy marriage she had, was it?
Look after it for now, Sergeant.

I need Morse to guard
Bakewell at Cowley General.

Is there something you wanted?

Mr... Mr Bakewell, is it?

Hospital Library. What can I tempt you to?

The Great Escape, if you've got it.

No, I don't think so.

Who's that, then?
- Never you mind.

Your temperature's gone up.

Always does when you take it, Staff.

Honestly, Mr Talbot!

You really think they'd try
for Bakewell in hospital?

It's the last dregs of the Matthews Gang.

He's all that stands between
them and a long spell inside.

I'll get Mr Bright to sign you a
chitty. Meet me in the armoury.

Morse!

Can you hear me, sir? Can you hear me?

'Switchboard.'
- I need an ambulance at once.

'To where?'
- Mr Bright's office.

'Right.'
- Yeah, as soon as you can.

There we are, sir. Don't worry,
sir, you're gonna be all right.

Thank you, gentlemen.
- Get him straight in.

Straight to surgery.

Can you hear me, sir? Superintendent?

Thank you, miss. You got him?
- Yeah.

Quick as you can.
- Into prep. - Thank you.

Sorry, sir, you'll have to wait here.

Swab.

Swab, I said.
- Sorry, Sir Melvyn.

I heard.

Well, he's in good hands.

The cutter's Sir Merlyn Chubb.

Chief Surgeon. Do you
want me to see what's what?

Could you? - Course, old
fellow. Try not to worry.

Oh, mystery solved, by the way.

Mrs Zacharides.

Her husband.

I performed his postmortem
about six months ago.

He was a patient here?
- Don't panic.

He wasn't one of Sir Merlyn's.

♪♪

What did they say?
- Next 24 hours should tell.

Right, Bakewell. This is
Detective Constable Morse.

He's one of the officers who'll be keeping
an eye on you, so don't give him any trouble.

Have you talked to Mrs
Zacharides' daughter yet?

No, not yet.

She rang, works at Beaufort.
I'll hold on here.

Officer. Officer.

If you ever... Come here. Come here.

If you ever want to get him back
in chokey, stick him in another bed.

How's that?
- Bed Ten. It's unlucky.

Five weeks I've been here, and
I've seen three go in that bed.

Latest went just last night.

That's quite enough, thank you, Mr Talbot.

We don't want the other patients
troubled with your nonsense, do we?

No, Sister.
- Very well, then.

Officer.

Sister MacMahon.
- Detective Constable Morse.

You're one of the officers who'll
be looking after Mr Bakewell, is it?

Mm-hm.

I can't say I'm pleased
to have him with us.

Police presence on the ward, indeed.

Anything in it? Bed Ten?

Well, there's no great mystery.

We always put our most
poorly patients there.

And should nature take its course,
we can deal with that eventuality

without alarming the rest of the ward.

Caroline?

Morse?

What's the prognosis?
- Merlyn's done all he can.

But Edgar's had a very bad stroke.

I'm sorry.

You're still at er... Byers Hall?
- What a memory you have.

Hm. Well, for some things.

You were there often enough, I suppose.

Is William still at home?
- No.

He's visiting Susan.

And Henry, of course.

Of course.

Henry's at New Carthage now.

Head of the Law Faculty.

The youngest they've ever had.

Yes, I read something about that.

He's done very well for himself.

And you, Morse? What
have you accomplished?

Not so much, I don't
suppose, by comparison.

Well, if you need any assistance,
then I'd certainly like to help.

Here's my card. My home
number's on the back.

Well, I'm sure that won't be necessary.

Well, if you can think of anything.

A policeman?

A detective.

Miss Zacharides? I'm Detective
Constable Morse, City Police.

You spoke to a Sergeant Strange
this morning about your mother.

Yeah. I got a letter from her last week.

She'd been in dispute with the
hospital, where my dad died.

Some of his things
weren't returned to him,

that he had with him when he went in.

Such as?

She got his wedding ring back.

But there was a little
bit of money went missing,

and he had a diamond tie pin
that belonged to his father.

Hospital denied it, of course,
said she must have been mistaken.

Could she have been?

Any case, she said someone from
the hospital had written to say

they'd be coming by on
Friday to discuss it.

On Friday?

Did she say who was
coming to see her? - No.

And what ward was your father on?
- Fosdick Ward.

Fosdick?
- That's right. Bed Ten.

Right.

This is where you are, sir.

Division have asked me to cover
for Mr Bright for the time being.

That's good.
- Is it?

What do I know about flying a desk?

Any word?
- Perforated peptic ulcer.

The operation's gone as
well as could be hoped for.

And Bakewell?

They've put him on Fosdick
ward, same as Mr Bright.

He's putting a brave face on
it but I'd say he's rattled.

He should be.

Heavy mob wouldn't really try and knock
him off, would they? Not in the hospital.

I wouldn't put anything past 'em.

Right.

Chief Superin...

Chief Superintendent Bright's
office, DI Thursday speaking.

'Here then is a very special request

for a certain someone on Fosdick Ward.'

'Mr Bakewell? He's been as good as gold.'

'If you see anyone unusual on the
ward, be sure to let us know.'

Will do.

What are they like, the staff on Fosdick?

'Well, Sister Clodagh's a bit of a tartar.

Sister MacMahon, that is.'

You wouldn't want to get
on the wrong side of her.

'Sir Merlyn -- a great man.

All the doctors quake in their
boots when he's on his rounds.'

What about the rest of them?

Well, then, there's Nurse Byron -- Flora.

'She's very nice.

Always makes you a cup of tea if you ask.

Nurse Mills -- Jo-Beth.

Well, the place would
fall apart without her.

She tends to look after
the younger nurses.

Little Student Nurse Daisy Bennett.

She's very keen.

But she does tend to get
in the most awful scrapes.

Course, most of them are
potty about Dr Powell.

Except for Sister Clodagh, of
course. She's married to the job.

I think she may have
been engaged once, but...

.. I suppose everyone's got their
own secret sadness, haven't they?'

I suppose.

What's yours?

Flat feet.

Nurse. Thank you.

Ah, you're with Mr Bright, yes? Dr Powell.

How is he?

Well, we're hopeful for a
full recovery, of course,

but we will keep him on Open
Order for the time being,

so please don't feel bound
by general visiting hours.

Well, thank you.
- Excuse me.

Come on. Let's go and get a drink.

Who was that you were
talking to on the ward?

Oh. I knew her daughter
when I was at Oxford.

Come on.

"I knew her daughter at Oxford and...?"

You can't just leave it there.
- Maybe when I know you better.

Did she break your heart?

We were engaged to be married.

And then we weren't.

There. So now you know all my secrets.

Come on.

How is he?

Not come to.

Where's his babysitter?
- Gone for a brew. I said I'd cover.

I understand the operation went
well. We'll look after him.

Great.

I'm DC Morse.
- Nurse Mills.

Nice to meet you.

Excuse me, sir. Visiting hours are over.

Police. What's your business?

Jesus Christ! Get these cuffs off me!

Get these cuffs off me now!
- Stay here!

Thursday, don't leave me like this!

Don't worry, Mr Bakewell.
We'll look after you.

Go! Go!

You get the reg?

Out of town talent, like as not
-- London. Birmingham. Glasgow.

Yes, I'll just get him.
- Put together an Identikit.

It's the station.
- Right.

Mr Bright's been taken sick, Fred says.

Yes. Ulcer.

Is everything all right?

She told us not to look for
her, but it's been ten weeks now.

I just need to know she's all right.

Did we do something wrong?
- No.

No. No, no, of course not.

Then why?

I don't know.

I'm off up.
- Right.

Uniform found the car
abandoned on Holywell Street.

I've ordered the guard on Bakewell
doubled. Sentries front and back.

Why, do you think he'll try again?

Not if I've got anything to do with it.

♪♪

Picture ready?
- Yes, sir.

Erm...
- Anything else?

The getaway car was reported stolen
in Coventry yesterday afternoon.

Wheel and door panels wiped clean
according to the fingerprint boys.

Looks like professionals.
- Right.

Come on.
- Where are we going?

I don't care who they are, they're
not taking liberties. Not here.

So what was he in for, Mr Zacharides?

Gall bladder.

I didn't think you'd need a
postmortem if you died in hospital.

Sir Merlyn insisted.
- Why?

Operation was a success, and Mr
Zacharides seemed to be recovering well.

Just went in the night.

Who operated on him?
- The Young Pretender.

Dr Powell.

Not a lot of love lost
between him and Sir Merlyn.

Word on the wards is
Powell fancies his job.

How does Merlyn feel about that? - Hm.

"Over my dead body" is the phrase
that springs most readily to mind.

Ah, Nurse Hicks. Just pop them
on my desk, please, thank you.

Hello, Gil.

Somebody tried to do for
Terry Bakewell last night.

Him.
- I want to know who he is,

where he is and which
shitehawk staked the job.

Don't make me ask again,
Gil. I haven't had breakfast.

Argh!
- Who is he?

I don't know his... real name.

They call him Scotch Tam.

Down from Aberdeen or somewhere.

Don't bother looking.
You won't see him again.

How did he know where to find Bakewell?

Oh, some bent screw at Farnleigh.

Who put the money down?

Whip-round, I should
think. What do you think?

I'd get that seen to, if I
were you, Gil. It looks nasty.

So what did you want to talk to me about?

Is there anything that I
should know about Fosdick Ward?

A patient called Zacharides
died about six months ago.

His wife thinks some of
his things were stolen.

I don't know about thieving, but...
there's something not right there.

Wouldn't be anything to
do with Bed Ten, would it?

Why? - Just something
one of the patients said.

Being put in Bed Ten is
tantamount to a death sentence.

The mortality rate on Fosdick
Ward is more than it should be,

certainly when compared to
the rest of the hospital.

Patients that had been recovering
suddenly going downhill.

Must be eight or nine have died
unexpectedly in the last six months.

And what do you think?

Don't quote me, but there's
talk Sir Merlyn's past it.

And what do you make of Dr Powell?
- Seems nice enough.

All the girls seem to like him.

Are you happy?

What about you?

Treat the next one better.

Good Lord! What kind of a
ward are you running, Sister?

The water in that vase is positively
putrid! Take those flowers away at once.

At once, Sir Merlyn. Nurse Bennett!

Yes, Sister.
- Get rid of those flowers!

Away with them now.

Now then, my good man. Bakewell, isn't it?

You'll be under my knife,
assisted by Dr Powell here.

This is Dr Kane, in charge
of keeping you breathing.

Any questions?
- Yeah.

I want to change beds.
- You want to what?

You heard me. All I hear, the life
expectancy in this one ain't too hot.

Remember who you're talking to.
- I don't care who he is.

Somebody tried to kill me last night,

and Bed Ten's got a bad reputation
amongst my fellow inmates.

If it's all the same...
- You're a rogue and a jailbird.

You'll go where you're put
and be thankful my oath

obliges me to treat
saint and sinner alike.

Sister.

With the time just coming
up to quarter past nine,

you're listening to Radio Carillon.

How long have you been at
Cowley General, Mr Fagen?

About three years doing the radio
and running the book trolley.

Since the divorce.

And it's voluntary, you said?
- Oh, yes. I don't get paid.

But my mother was a patient
here, rest her soul,

and they were so good to her,
I just wanted to do something.

Hm.

Well, I'll leave you to it.

Any requests, let me know.

I forgot, Sister.
- Oh! Oh, I know you forgot.

And how do you think that makes me look?
- I know, Sister. I'm sorry.

Where did they come from?
- Sister?

The sweet peas, girl. Who brought them?
- I don't know, Sister.

Did Mr Bakewell have a visitor?
- I wouldn't have thought so, Sister.

When you asked me to get rid of them,
it was the first time I'd seen them.

Right, then. About your work.

Mr Dunn needs a bed bath and a
full linen change. Quickly, now.

Morning.

I imagine you think that was a bit harsh.

But discipline in a hospital
is a matter of life and death.

Yes, I'm sure. Do you have a
moment? I'd like a quick word.

There's a small amount of petty
pilfering goes on in any hospital.

Patients steal from other patients.

A sad fact, but there it is.

Yes, but what about Mrs Zacharides?

The hospital conducted a thorough inquiry

and found she was mistaken
in her allegations.

Are you busy, Clo?

The officer was just
asking about Mrs Zacharides.

Oh, yes. Er... what about her?

She was found dead yesterday.

Really? Well, I am sorry to hear that.

According to her daughter, she
received a letter from the hospital.

Somebody was set to visit her
Friday, the day she died.

May I see it?
- I'm afraid the letter's missing.

I have to say, that sounds very
unlikely. Wouldn't you say, Doctor?

Oh, certainly. Yes.

As far as we were concerned,
the matter was closed.

Much as one hates to
speak ill of the dead,

she'd become something of a nuisance.

Coming onto the ward, pestering
the staff, making accusations.

In the end, I'm afraid we had
to threaten her with the police.

'Dr Powell to Theatre 6, please.'
- Oh, excuse me.

Do you remember a Mr Zacharides?

Yes.

I was very sorry to lose him.

One tries to maintain
a sense of detachment,

but it's not always easy.

Bed Ten, wasn't he?

Where's that come from?

Mr Talbot?

Hm.

It might have a slightly
higher than average death rate,

but it's not cursed or anything.

It just tends to be the
less-well patients end up in it.

His wife is of the opinion that
some of his things have gone missing.

Not one of the nurses, surely?

Heaven knows we don't get paid much,

but one doesn't go into
nursing for the money.

It's a calling, I suppose.
- Yes.

If you like.

And policing? What's that?

A failing.

I'll get onto that right away, sir.

Of course, sir. Yes, sir.

No, sir.

Three bags full, sir.

How you getting on?

Drink?
- Please.

Glass over there.

That sudden out at
Northway, Mrs Zacharides.

According to her daughter, she
was in dispute with Cowley General

over some of her late husband's
property not returned to her.

She thought someone was on
the nick up at the hospital?

That's about the size of it.
- Staff or public?

Impossible to say. She'd
become something of a nuisance.

The hospital deny any
impropriety, naturally,

and as far as they were
concerned, the matter was closed.

So?

Well, according to the daughter, she
received a letter from the hospital.

Someone was set to visit
her on the day she died.

Why would the hospital do
that if it was done and dusted?

Another thing.

Mr Zacharides died in
Bed Ten on Fosdick Ward.

Now, I know it sounds ridiculous

but it has something of a dark
reputation amongst its patients.

What?

Well, it does have a slightly
higher than average mortality rate.

Patients on the mend
taking a turn for the worse.

I'd like to look into it.

Well... pursue inquiries as you see fit.

There.

That's one decent
decision I've made today.

Anything else?

Doctor.

I won't have student nurses bullied.

Any particular student nurse
you had in mind, Doctor?

Just knock it off, Clo.

Dean.

Someone knows.

Home.

I'm home.

What's this?

Win?

Love of God.

Winifred!

I went to see Dr Moody today.

For what?
- Nerves.

Not sleeping.

I just don't feel myself, Fred.

What's that mean?

You just need something to... take
you out of yourself, that's all.

Why don't you go and
spend the week at Rene's?

I just don't want to go outside the house.

I get frightened.

Of what?
- I don't know.

It's just like that lately.

I get very nervous.

I'd do anything for you. You know that.

But...

.. I can't fix a thing if I
don't know what it is I'm...

I'm trying to fix.

What can I do?

I don't know.

Leave the window for me.

Where are you going? As if I didn't know.

You won't tell.

I should. But no, you're all right.

For God's sake, don't let Sister catch you.
- Wicked old cow.

Look, I know she seems a bit
fuddy-duddy by today's standards,

but are you sure you really
know what you're doing?

What do you mean?
- Doctors and nurses?

It all seems lovely in
some silly paperback,

but in real life, these
things can go awfully wrong.

It's just a bit of fun.

If that's your idea of fun.

I'm being careful, Jo.
- I should hope so.

Not too long out of bed, Mr Talbot.

How you feeling?

I've brung you a few grapes,
seeing as you've had no visitors.

So, you're public enemy
number one, then, is it?

All right. Don't get
your bowels in an uproar.

I've had er... I've had the odd
run-in with the law in my time.

Is that right?
- Yeah.

When I was a boy. Nothing in
your league, I don't suppose.

So, er... what's your line, then?

Murder.
- Oh.

I get an uncontrollable
urge to kill nosy parkers.

Ta for the grapes.
- Right.

♪ I get along without you very well

♪ Of course I do

♪ Except when soft rains fall

♪ And drip from leaves that I recall

No Morse?
- Day's leave, sir.

He asked if he could borrow the
car. I said it was all right.

Family is it, or something?

Didn't say, sir.

Anything more on this gunman?
- Thomas Fraser, sir.

Been in Glasgow the last few years.

Frequent guest of Her
Majesty at Barlinnie.

Suspected of involvement in several
gangland killings up there.

Gun for hire.

Stick out like a sore thumb
in this neck of the woods.

So why haven't we found him?

Hello, sir. Detective Constable
Morse. Oxford City Police.

Mr...?
- Booth.

Have you seen this lady?

She's not in any trouble.

54.

Morse.

Miss Thursday.

♪♪

I had a reverse charges
call from Leamington.

Well, it wasn't me.

Oh. Right.

Well, I just wanted to see how you were.

I'm fine.

What are you doing with yourself?

Doing with myself?

For money and...

I told you. I'm all right.

Yeah, I see.

And er... what about you?

Me? Er...

Oh, just... just... just work.

Can I get you a drink?
- Yes.

Er... but actually just a squash.

Um... I've got the car.

No, I appreciate that, sir,

I just felt apprehending whoever
attempted to murder Terence Bakewell

had priority over discussing traffic
congestion with Councillor Rooney.

That's why I was out of the office.

Yes, sir.

I'll talk to the Town Planning
Department this afternoon.

Of course, sir.

Thank you, sir.

Bugger this.

I'd sooner that you didn't tell
Mum and Dad that you'd seen me.

You should get in touch.
Or drop them a line.

Or something.

And say what?

Just let them know that you're all right.

It's the right thing to do.

Oh, the right thing.

I've always done the right
thing, for all the good it's done.

What happened at the bank
was nothing to do with you.

It's not your fault that
Ronny Gidderton died.

You know that's not true.

If I hadn't got mixed up with that....

The daughter of a police inspector.

Well, it doesn't matter now
cos I'm not coming back.

Why?

What will you do?
- I don't know.

Go abroad?

I don't care.

I do.

You shouldn't.

You know...

...I thought...

I thought for a minute...

Nearly.

All those times you walked me home.

The perfect gentleman and you
never tried it on, not once.

It's funny how things turn out.

It can turn out how you want it to.

You should... You should probably go.

Reading material? Got 'em all here.

Westerns. Romance. Crime.

Latest Kent Finn?
- Nothing, thank you.

I've got a tumour on Windsor
Ward reading Lady Chatterley,

but I don't expect he'll
get to the end of it.

Want me to pop your name down?
- That really won't be necessary.

Hello. What's your name?

Charlie, don't bother the gentleman.

It's quite all right.
- Come here.

You got kids?

No.

I've got a daughter, Barbara. 23, she is.

I've got a picture of
her in my wallet here.

Don't trouble yourself
on my account. Really.

We're not friends, Mr Bakewell.

No need to be like that, copper.

I'm just trying to pass the time of day.

We're all in the same boat here.

As may be, but don't presume
to some easy familiarity by it.

Don't fool yourself.

You might have a nice house and
sit on the bowls club committee,

but when it comes down to it, we're
just two cheeks on the same arse.

'Ere, Fred. Who stuck a
broom handle up his jacksy?

Is that how you get the
station swept, is it?

Mind your manners, or
you'll get one up yours.

I wasn't sure if you'd sooner green
or black, so I got one of each.

Fred.

Listen, the Matthews Gang.

If anything happens...
- Nothing's gonna happen, Terry.

You're on the mend.

Couple of days, you'll be back
in Farnleigh, safe and sound.

If it does, though, I'm
asking you man to man.

One father to another.

Look out for my Babs.
She don't know nothing.

But they'll come for her all the same.

I'm begging.
- No need to beg.

They won't touch her. I promise.

You came.
- Yes, I was passing.

Were you?

No.

Is it as you remember?
- More or less.

How's Edgar?
- No change.

Why do they say that? I have no idea.

He's changed utterly.

He's changed beyond all recognition.

I suppose they mean in his condition.
- I'm aware of what they mean.

It is good of you to come.

We don't see eye to eye.

Why would you be kind?

Because life is too short.

It was all such a long time ago.

Laying ghosts?
- Yeah, perhaps.

Some places exert an influence
far beyond their due.

People, too.

Yes.

Yes. If you let them.

Now. Good as new.

He'll be back to his thieving
ways before you know it.

Would you like me to close?
- No.

I'd like the odds of my patient's
survival to be better than evens.

Why doesn't he just retire? I'm
sure his mind's going, or his nerve.

Did you see his hand shake?

Seen that new little redhead
on Maybury? Legs up to here.

Get it while it's hot, boyo. Or I will.

I'm all right on that score.

How is it you know Sir Merlyn?

He saved Susan's life.

Two years ago.

Her heart, of all things.

And as a mark of gratitude, Edgar
left a major bequest in his will.

To the hospital?
- No.

To Merlyn, personally.

He's about to retire soon, isn't he?

No, he's not going to retire.
Not as far as I know.

Why do you ask?

I'm just trying to build up a picture.

And have you spoken to Susan?
- Of course.

I haven't mentioned you.

No.

Well, I didn't think you would.

Nurse!

Are you all right?

Can you give me something for the pain?
- I'll fetch Dr Powell.

Right time on the wards today.

Nurse Daisy's in trouble
with Sister again.

Too much mascara.

Not like you, eh?

Evil old cow!

Morning.
- Morning, Sister.

Anything to report?
- No, Sister. Uneventful night.

Morning, Mr Bakewell.

Mr Bakewell?

Sister. Sister!

Nurse Mills, get the Doctor.

Get the screen round.

♪♪

Mr Bakewell was found dead
shortly after 7.30 this morning,

when the day staff came on shift.

We're not in the habit of keeping
the deceased on the ward.

What condition was he in after the operation?
- Recovering well, I believe.

Then how do you explain his taking
a sudden turn for the worse?

I'm afraid we'll have to leave
that for the postmortem, but er...

I believe Dr Powell was on call and
attended to Bakewell last night.

I was on Nightingale Ward.

Nurse Byron came and asked
me to attend to Mr Bakewell.

What time was that?
- It was a little after three o'clock.

He was in some discomfort.

I told Nurse Byron to administer two
opioid analgesics orally, and then I left.

Just before three o'clock, Mr Bakewell
asked for something to help with the pain.

So I went and found Dr Powell.

How long were you gone from the ward?

Ten minutes? It's about
four minutes there.

I spoke to Dr Powell for perhaps two
minutes, and then four minutes back.

There couldn't have been any mistake
in the dosage you gave Mr Bakewell?

It was exactly what Dr Powell prescribed?
- A couple of painkillers.

Um... sorry, Dr Powell's
completely thorough.

The unpaid overtime he puts in.

He even comes in when he
doesn't have to be here,

just to check on his patients.

Doesn't he?
- I... I suppose.

And you weren't away from
the ward at any other time

until you were relieved this
morning at the time of shift?

No. No, I wasn't.

We found the stem of a bunch
of grapes under his bed.

Any idea where that could have come from?

That was a gift, I
believe, from Mr Talbot.

Anything?

Constable Jones said he didn't
leave his side all night.

He's a good man, sir.

Well, somebody got to Bakewell and
my money's on Scotch Tam Fraser.

Reckon he came back for another go?

How did he get past the
sentry and Constable Jones?

Who knows? But he did. He could
be back in Scotland by now.

But if he's in Oxford, I want him found.
- Bed Ten again.

Oh, you're not putting
anything by that, are you?

There was one thing, sir.

Jones said he saw the
Sister take something

out of Bakewell's hand when she found him.

Like what?
- Well, he couldn't be sure,

but he thought it looked like a flower.

A white one.

I don't know what he thinks he
saw, but I'm afraid he's mistaken.

You removed a bunch of
flowers from beside his bed.

That's what I heard you talking
to Nurse Bennett about.

But what of it?
- Have you any idea where they came from?

I've more important things
to be doing with my time.

My point is, how could he
have received any flowers

if he didn't have any visitors?

I expect they belonged to another
patient that had been discharged.

Rather than throw them out, one of
the nurses or porters donated them.

Now, if you'll excuse
me, I've a ward to run.

Well, I um... came to in
the early hours, briefly.

There was a screen around his bed.

Someone was in there with him.

I could see a shadow moving
about. It was a nurse, I think.

You didn't see which one?
- No.

Just the silhouette of a uniform.

Where was Constable Jones?
- I don't know. Wasn't there.

Anything else, sir? Anything at all?

No. I must have fallen asleep again.

That's the end of our case
against the Matthews Gang.

Bakewell was our star witness.

I've had another word with
Jones, sir. He's come clean.

Call of nature. Five minutes, he says.

I'll talk to the rest of the patients,
see if anyone else saw anything.

Sir.

Told you, didn't I?
- Yes, you told me all right, Mr Talbot.

Did you see anything?
- Oh, no, no. Out like a light.

You gave Bakewell a bunch
of grapes, I believe.

Well, half a bunch. Felt sorry for him.

On his ownsome, no visitors, you know.

You're a regular patient here, are you?

Oh, yeah, yeah, I've been in and
out a bit. On account of my guts.

I wonder if you could give
me a list of all of the dates

you stayed over the past... six months.

And did you see anything unusual?

No, it was pretty quiet, to be honest.

I had a couple of urine samples
to run over to Pathology.

That's in a separate block.

Oh, and Mrs Waldegrave on Hyacinth
Ward died about one o'clock.

Have you any idea why
Bakewell would have been found

with a flower in his hand?

Well, if it had been a white flower,

the staff do do that if
it's a child that's died.

When they lay 'em out, they put
a little flower in their hand,

like a white rose, or a daisy or such.

For the parents.

They look like little angels.

It's hard to believe
they've gone sometimes.

But they have.

Information Room from Trewlove.

Information Room from Trewlove.

Been here since Wednesday,
from the parking tickets.

Ohh! Gee-whizz!

That's Tam Fraser.

So it couldn't have been him that did for
Bakewell, not if he was already dead.

That'll be his driver, presumably.
- Get the pathologist out.

Dead two days, according to DeBryn
-- Scotch Tam and his driver.

Two shots apiece. Point-blank range.

What's this?

All the deaths in Bed Ten on Fosdick Ward.

With Bakewell, that's nine
in the last six months.

And all of them are Dr Powell's.

What do we know about him?
- Not much.

Sir Merlyn fancies he's
after his job. - Is he?

Who knows? There's no love lost.

I've asked for his records
from Long Hampton and Finisham.

What about other members of staff?

The porter, Capper, he was on
duty for most of the deaths.

Erm... the nurses. It's a changing roster,

so all of them have access to the ward.

Patients? - The only
long-term one is Burt Talbot.

He was present for four
of the deaths in Bed Ten.

Where were you yesterday?

I had things to do.

Family, or...?

Well, if you need an
ear, or more time off...

No, no, no, I'm fine, thank you.

It's done now.

Keep me posted.

Wrong office.

Is that Mrs Robson?

The jeweller's wife.

Naomi.

You were married?
- She left me for Robson.

And Bakewell was in the
gang that left her paralysed.

You think I'd do something
to him over a woman?

Yes... I do... if you were
still in love with her.

I suppose you think that's pathetic.

I didn't do anything to Bakewell.

Where were you last night?

Finished my shift here, got home at 11.

Right. Anyone vouch for you?

Now you're just trying to be funny.

Can anyone vouch for you?

Slight change of scenery for you,
Mr Bright. Bed Ten, please, Capper.

Right you are, Sister.
- I was quite happy where I was.

Dr Powell's orders.
- There you go, Mr Bright.

He'll be by later to discuss your X-rays.

Did they talk to you?

Not that I could tell them
much. I mean, I just found him.

Dean says they've been
in and out of everything.

Dean, is it, now?

I think "Dr Powell" would be appropriate.

I think after last night,
I can call him what I like.

You're wasting your
breath. She's a big girl.

But you know what his reputation's
like. And they do talk, doctors.

She doesn't want to be just
another notch on the bedpost.

We nurses need to look out for each other.
- I don't get it at all.

Give them a white coat and a stethoscope,

and we're expected to fall at their feet?

Evening.

Some food for you.

♪♪

It bears the hospital letterhead,
but we've no Dr Keenan here.

Nor have we, in the 20
years I've been here.

Well, whoever sent it seems
to have a good knowledge

of Mrs Zacharides'
dispute with the hospital.

As may be. But it did not come
from within Cowley General.

You all right, sir?
- It's nothing.

Overwork.

I'm due a holiday.

Your hands would shake
too if you had my lists.

So, someone claiming
to be from the hospital

makes a bogus appointment with
Mrs Zacharides, and does her in.

Presumably to stop her from digging
into what happened to her husband.

The bureau was in a mess,
didn't you say? - Mm-hm.

Maybe the killer was looking for
the letter to cover their tracks.

Ah, gentlemen. Sergeant Strange
said you were on the premises.

Do you have a moment? I believe
it will be to your advantage.

The late Mr Bakewell.

As you know from my previous examination,

there was nothing to
suggest anything untoward

in the manner of his decease.

However, when I looked again, I found...

Ah. Do you see?

A very tiny wound on his right buttock.

That's not much bigger than a pin prick.

Actually, the prick of
a hypodermic needle.

Nothing unusual in that, perhaps.

Mr Bakewell died in a hospital, after all.

So, I checked his records.

Mr Bakewell only received oral analgesic.

No injections?

So somebody stuck him with
something. Any idea what?

There's nothing shown up
on his blood toxicology.

However, I'm going to take a
sample from around this area.

Might shed some light.

What about Mrs Zacharides?
- Been collected by the undertakers.

I've spoken to them. Her
body's already been embalmed.

There was another one. Down in
Bed Ten earlier this week. Mr...

Oh, erm, Mr Greely.

Yes. - Yes, it's the
same there, I'm afraid.

So we've no way to make a comparison?

Well, there might be.

Good morning, gentlemen.

Now, which one's this?

Arthur Carpenter. Died
in July. Unembalmed.

Anything further on your
examination of Bakewell?

Markedly high levels of insulin in the
tissue surrounding the injection site.

How come that wasn't found at postmortem?

Insulin disappears from
the blood after death.

Now, we don't fully
understand the mechanism

whereby hypoglycaemia brings on death,

but the latest thinking is
a fall in glucose levels

causes a massive release of adrenaline,

which triggers an electrical
disturbance in the heart.

Looks like we're there.

Crikey, he's ripe.

Yeah, left buttock.

Minute puncture wound.
- Same as Bakewell.

How'd it go?
- You wouldn't have enjoyed it.

But he appears to have been another
victim, according to Dr DeBryn.

Anything on Powell?
- Well, there's nothing from Finisham.

But he seems to have left Long
Hampton under something of a cloud.

There was a death on the
children's ward 15 years ago.

Where's this?
- Warwickshire. An 11-year-old girl.

Molly Keenan.

The letter to Mrs Zacharides was
signed "M Keenan", wasn't it?

The parents tried to bring a case
for negligence against Dr Powell,

but he was cleared on the evidence
of a young nurse, Clodagh MacMahon.

Sister MacMahon.

Dr Powell.

Can you tell us about Molly Keenan?

What?
- Molly Keenan, Dr Powell.

11-year-old girl at Long Hampton
Hospital, died in your care.

I was cleared of any involvement.
- From the testimony of Sister MacMahon.

Insulin overdose, wasn't it?

Administered by you.

Administered by me, yes.
But the syringe had been

prepared in error by a student nurse.

Ruby Hiscutt. Who later killed
herself by the same means.

In the six months since your tenure,

there have been upward of a
dozen deaths on Fosdick Ward,

several of whom we can now prove
died from hypoglycaemic shock.

All of them your patients.
- So what, I'm responsible?

I think we should continue
this down the station.

Dean! Dean!

Where are you taking him?
He didn't do anything!

He's just helping us with our inquiries.

Nurse Bennett. About your business.

You did this!

You...

.. evil old cow.

That's what they think!

That's what everybody
calls you behind your back.

An evil old cow.

Oi! Oh!
- It's all right, Daisy.

She didn't mean it.

Get her out of here.

Take a look round his office. See if
you can dig anything else up there.

And try his flat. I'll
see you back at the nick.

Why would Nurse Bennett think our
arresting Dr Powell was your fault?

Who knows?

The girl's head is full of fancies.

Is there anything between them?
- I'm sure I don't know.

You were with him at Long Hampton, yes?
- Only very briefly.

But it was your testimony that cleared
him in the case of Molly Keenan.

I didn't clear him.

He was innocent.

It was a young student nurse was to blame.

He wasn't guilty then and I
can't believe he's guilty now.

Can't or won't?

I believe you know the
stroke case on Fosdick Ward.

Mr Bryce-Morgan?
- Yes. Why? What about him?

He died... 20 minutes ago.

I thought you'd want to know.

Right.

Caroline.

I'm so, so sorry.

Are you?
- Yes, of course.

Edgar was always very decent to me.

Well, he always had a
weakness for failures.

The Assistant Chief Constable
was a golfing friend of Edgar's.

I asked him about you.

And he said that you'd
never amount to much.

You didn't even pass your sergeant's exam.

You see, I was right about you, even then.

When you speak to Susan, then
please just give her my condolences.

And your love?

No.

No.

Look, whatever you may think of me,
I am truly sorry that he is dead.

Can you explain why Mrs Zacharides

would receive a letter from
the hospital signed M Keenan?

No.

Look, I haven't killed anyone.

They were all your patients, Dr Powell.

If anyone's killing patients in
that hospital, it's Sir Merlyn.

Is this his idea?

Blame me for his mistakes? Is that it?

What mistakes?
- Have you seen his hands?

The last six months,
he's developed a tremor.

Drinks, does he?
- I'm sure he does.

But that is either motor neurone disease,

or he's medicating
himself for Parkinson's.

Either way, he shouldn't be
within 20 feet of a scalpel.

How's Nurse Bennett?
- She'll be fine.

Is there's something
between her and Dr Powell?

It happens.

It's not Daisy's fault.

There's no fault in love, surely?

Provided nobody else gets hurt.

Has somebody been hurt?
- Not in this instance, no.

He even tried it on with me.
- Dr Powell did?

You weren't interested?
- You can't rely on a man like that.

It's what's inside that counts, isn't it?

Always.

♪♪

I found this in Powell's office.
- Mr Zacharides' tie pin.

It matches the description
his daughter gave.

Souvenir or...?

I also found these at his
flat, on top of the wardrobe.

He was involved with Sister MacMahon

when he was a houseman at Long Hampton.

He's kept some of her love letters,

and some clippings about the Keenan case.

You think that's a bearing?
- Worth considering.

He's now seeing that student
nurse, Daisy Bennett.

Can't be easy for Sister
MacMahon, knowing that.

What about this?
- Brace him for round two.

See if there's anything else
in there we can put to him.

He's sleeping.
- Probably for the best.

I've told you already, it's not mine.

No, Doctor. It belonged to Mr Zacharides.

Have you any explanation how it
came to be found in your office?

Someone must have put it there.

Why wasn't Sister MacMahon on the
ward the night Molly Keenan died?

What?
- You heard.

A young girl gave
evidence to the inquest --

Molly Keenan's cousin, Jo-Beth Keenan.

When she realised her
cousin was gravely ill,

as a result of the
insulin that you gave her,

she called the night bell for
assistance, only nobody came. Why?

Why didn't you respond, Doctor?

Was it because you and Nurse MacMahon had
other more pressing things on your mind?

It was because Clodagh switched it off.

It was just half an hour.

It might only have been half an hour,

but that was long enough for Molly
Keenan to die of hypoglycaemia.

I made a terrible, terrible mistake.

And a child died.

And it will... it will never
be enough to make it right,

but God knows I have paid for that.

You paid for nothing. You passed the
buck to an innocent student nurse.

She killed herself. That's two
deaths on your head, Doctor.

We couldn't have known she'd do that.

We? You mean you and Clodagh?

You probably don't remember Molly
Keenan's cousin at all, do you?

The young girl who rang
for help, but nobody came.

No.
- No.

Well, she remembers you, both of you.

Has Mr Bright had an injection?

No. Not while I've been here.

Everything all right, Sister?

Quite all right.

Excuse me, Miss. We're
looking for Nurse Mills.

Jo's on night shift.
- Well, she's not on the ward.

Have you checked the chapel?

It's you.

Dr Powell's not coming back.

You can't cover up for him this time.

It's all going to come out now, all of it.

How the...

How the pair of you left a child to die.

And you... you protected him..

Why?

I loved him.

How can you go on living,
knowing what you've done?

If it were me...

.. I'd...

I'd kill myself.

Break it down.

Get her out of here.
- Come on, Sister.

Let's go.

Don't.
- All right.

Oh, er...

Ten victims for Bed Ten.

That was Molly's bed, was it? Bed Ten?

Measles, we were in for.

When Molly started to get
sick, I... I rang on the bell.

It rang and it rang, but nobody came.

By the time I got them back onto
the ward, it was too late for Molly.

She was my cousin.

And the truth is, I forgot about them.

I forgot, but I... I never forgave them.

And then fate delivered
them into your hands.

They had to pay. Molly was a child
and they took away her future.

And what about Mrs Zacharides?

Her husband was the first.

Only she wouldn't leave it alone.

You see, it was... it was too early.

I needed more people
to lay at Powell's door,

otherwise they could have brushed
it under the carpet, as with Molly.

So you... So you wrote the letter...

...pretending to be from the hospital.

'Went to the house.'

And then, when the opportunity
arose, you killed her.

Evil old cow.

Evil old cow!

You killed all those people
just to frame Dr Powell?

They were sick already.

It was a... a kindness.

Mrs Zacharides wasn't ill... was she?

Just inconvenient.

You said there were ten. I can
only count nine. Who's the tenth?

Who is it?

I didn't know you were
going to arrest Dr Powell.

I thought if a policeman died,
you'd... you'd have to take notice.

Mr Bright.

Sir.

Sir. Sir!

There's insulin in the saline.
- I'll fetch a doctor.

Stay awake, sir! You've
got to stay awake, sir!

Stay awake!

Nick of time, according to Dr DeBryn.

Much more of it, he'd have been a goner.

Mm. We were lucky she came clean.

Why did she, do you think?

Maybe she needed to prove to
herself that she wasn't wholly lost.

Well, she'll never breathe free air again.

Nor should she.

People shouldn't get away with things.

She had that right, at least.

That's our business, nobody else's.

Hell of a price to pay.

It was the dead that
paid the price, not her.

Hell of a responsibility, though.

The power of life and death.

Well, you've power over ham and tomato.

I don't even know what
I stuck in it today.

Tell me to mind my own business,
sir, but is everything all right,

with Mrs Thursday?

Nothing that Joan walking through
the door wouldn't put right.

She misses her, that's all.

Suppose we all do.

You think she'll come back?

...on Earth as it is in Heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our trespasses

as we forgive those who
trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation
but deliver us from evil.

For thine is the kingdom,
the power and the glory,

for ever and ever, amen.