All language subtitles for Jonathan Creek 27 4x08 Easter Sunday Special 2010 The Judas Tree.OK.eng

Season 4, Episode 8: The Judas Tree

"Call Me" by Blondie

So talk to me then. What does it say?

You talk about the back of beyond. We could be absolutely
anywhere by now. Well, it's not my fault, is it?

Give us it here, a sec. Think I
could've picked a more rubbish navigator?

What was that last place we
went through, Lower Squiddlyswick

or something.
And that's got to be an hour ago.

Oh, God knows.
I'm getting such a headache.

If it's all the same with you, I'm just going to
get out and ask. What do you mean "ask"? Ask who?

I don't know, whoever lives in that
house, there. Try my luck, at least.

What are you talking about?
What house?

Have you...?

.. got the handbrake
on or did we just...?

There was a house!

Like... a funny little cottage!

Oh, great. So now I'm seeing things.

Stay right where you are.

SHE SHRIEKS

MIAOW!

DISTANT SHRIEKING

SOBBING

She does our daily washing...

I hope I'm not breaking the flow.

So, regarding your duties outside,
this is the main terrace area.

It just needs a bit of a sweep each
morning to clear away any debris.

Right. And a good, thorough scrub-down three
times a week with a fungicidal agent. Very good.

Paying special
attention to the grouting.

OK. The drains I would only
bother with every four days. Drains?

You've got slender arms. If there's anything nasty
growing down there, I'm sure you'll catch it early.

Human excrement in the mail-box.

Used to be a dreadful problem,
of course, years ago.

Intended for the
previous owner, but...

Unfortunately he never
left a forwarding address.

And then at six o'clock every night, if you could
just make sure the log basket's full in the lounge.

It might need a couple of trips.

Any questions so far? No.

Well it's certainly quite a
full schedule then, Mrs Gantry.

And underneath here would be,
what, some sort of coal-hole, or...?

No longer used, of course,
since Mr Dore and his wife moved in.

Carbon footprints and all that.

Oh, sorry. Is it all right if I
just...? Whatever you need to do, Emily.

Oh, thanks. Two minutes,
I'll be out of your hair.

Oh, God! Sorry, I'm so sorry.

Oh, this'll have to go back and be re-done. She'll
kill me. Don't be silly. Here. What am I like?

I won't tell if you won't.

Thanks.

Otherwise I'll be out on
my ear before I've even started.

You'll have me down
as a right liability.

Nothing of the sort. Now come on,
there we go. You got them?

Thank you. That's lovely.

No problem. There we go. So, another really
late one for you then, was it, last night?

Beavering away out there, you were.

Oh, well, I'm afraid the creative
impulse rarely keeps regular hours.

All these plots you come up with.

How do you even begin...

to get inside the
mind of a murderer?

Well, the trick, of course, is to fool the
reader into trusting all the wrong people.

And then, in the most apparently innocent and
everyday details, slowly sow the seeds of terror.

Do me a favour and smell that mango.

Beeswax. Who polishes fruit, Hugo?

Next thing you know she'll
be simonising the bananas.

One can take pride in one's kitchen a
little too... Mrs Gantry, are you well?

Oh, just a word about the new recruit. I
know it's only her second day, but, er...

If you could get something slightly more
appropriate organised by way of her working wardrobe?

Just to give my husband a
fighting chance with his deadline?

Leave it with me, Mrs Dore.

Is that a thumb-print on that mango?

How did I miss that?

That might be a better
option for tomorrow.

I should hate to see history
repeating itself. Sorry? History?

What are you talking about?

Oh, well, you see, the folly of
unrequited lust has more than once

brought tragedy upon this house.

According to the story,
in the late 1880s,

a young Egyptian woman
of striking beauty

came to work here as a housekeeper.

Her name was Selima al-Sharad.

And scarcely had she joined the
household of Dr Thadeus Northcote,

than she found herself attending to
his needs by night as well as day.

Until finally, when his passion for
her cooled, a strange demonic force

is said to have transformed her
from seductress to sorceress.

And she put a curse on her former
lover, predicting the exact date

and time of day that he would
meet a dreadful, agonising death.

Well, as a man of science,

he had little time for any
suggestion of witchcraft,

and simply went about his
business in the normal way.

Until the appointed hour came round.

She afterwards claimed
that through some divine faculty

she'd actually seen "Death"
approaching.

And the vision had struck
terror into her heart.

But the strange thing was,
no creature or living being

had come within 20 yards
of him when it happened.

Nor could any other method
or means of his murder be found.

Not a mark or injury anywhere on his body, or
any suggestion or possibility he'd taken poison.

So her act of vengeance, through
whatever supernatural agency,

forever went unpunished.

And of course,

this is the very room
in which she slept.

Some say, still sleeps.

If you believe in the power
of a restless spirit

to take control of a person's soul.

OK, so we come in off
the lighting change

with a whip-spot to find the table.

And bon appetit.

On the night, we can but hope,
you'll be smiling.

Are you kidding? The heat I've been taking last
seven days, we'll be lucky if it gets to air.

Oh, man, is my career
really in the crapper.

Well, you will go out on these
high-profile charity assignments to Africa.

You could choose your words
more carefully in future.

Goddamn Magic Relief!

They got you by the nuts every time.
Do you know how long it took

to get from the hotel to that Catholic
mission station in the desert? Six hours.

Couple of nuns come out to greet
me, what else am I going to say?

Anything, hopefully, but
"Jesus, I'm starving".

It's not your biggest lapse in
taste ever, I'll grant you,

but it's up there, would you say?

OK, go.

So now they've got to keep sticking
it to me with this crud every day.

Here we go again.

"Not content with flaunting his sick
humour in the famine zone,

"the egregious xenophobe was on more odious form
as we travelled to a village on the Eritrean border,

"where he was heard to say, 'Let's
hope we don't all get eaten alive',

"a reference, he later claimed,
to the high incidence of locusts.

"Although to this correspondent
the words were clearly more redolent

"of cannibals and cooking pots. "

It's the press, Adam, it's
what they do. Get over it.

Oh, why is this so stiff?

Just bear with me a sec.

Anyway, where's the rest of our
cast got to today?

Hey! What's happening?

Is this a turn-up?

I've got a meeting down the road at
six, and I suddenly remembered

it was round here somewhere
you hold your top-secret rehearsals.

Of course, I didn't know the exact address.
I had to ask a woman at the bus-stop, but...

So how's it all going? Feel free to
acknowledge my presence. Is that...?

That's to stop him licking himself.

It's not something you want to watch.

Look, if you've come here looking
for a job because you're had enough

of waitressing, sorry, you're
out of luck. What's happened?

Has the bottom fallen out of the
Paranormal Problem-Solving business?

Who said I was looking for work? And I don't
know where you get the idea I've been waitressing.

The slight reddening of your
fingertips is characteristic

of someone who's recently
been handling hot plates.

The chafing on your knees almost
certainly the result of cleaning floors.

Both consistent with
nightly work in a restaurant.

While the absence of shopping appears to
suggest you've recently fallen on hard times.

Add to this the faint imprint of the
letters "Cavsnoit" on your forearm

where you've been leaning on the words
"Situations vacant" in the small ads,

the conclusion is a simple one.

Well, here's another fine mess.

She just quit. Who did?

Who did? Sunitri, our
uniquely gifted Bengali showgirl.

Said she couldn't in all conscience continue
to work with a barefaced, racist bigot.

Three hours to curtain up, Jonathan.

Who the hell's going to
do the Indian Basket Trick?

Oh, shut your row.
Come on, how hard can it be?

Just poke them through
and I'll get out the way.

Just poke them through?

Have you any idea of the immense
physical precision required here?

It takes years of training to perfect
the complex curvature of the joints.

Not even close. Got any more?
She'll end up like a pin cushion.

Hey, little star, you're doing great
in there! Any problems, just holler!

Nope. It's all easy peasy so far,
just keep them coming.

This is amazing.
Very last one now, on its way.

I'm still cool in here. I reckon
you could easily get another one in.

Down, through the top. Are you serious?
Just need to squeeze my shoulders back

another half an inch,
and I need to suck myself in.

Perfect.

Oh, man! Will you look at that? Where
did you find this girl? She's a natural.

You're going to slay them out there,

big time. Come on. I'll see you on
the ice. Yeah, see you later.

Look, what is it?

That she's good, that she's young?

That she's every bit
as smart as you are?

I tell you, 27 years,

I've never known anyone pick up
a trick that fast. We'll see.

OK, what is it?

The old Magic Johnson not
making the net enough lately?

So listen, get to work! You're
on your own in town for the night.

I tell you, it's out there, man,
on every street corner.

You just got to know
how to reel it in.

And the way you do that...

It's with the eyes. That's how
you communicate your intentions.

Check it out. See what I'm saying
with my eyes?

"Come to me tonight,
entrust me with your body,

"and I will pleasure every inch
of it, until you scream for mercy. "

Yeah, forgive me if I don't rush
out and buy your latest manual

on gender politics any time soon.

In the same series, I think wasn't it,
as "Dot Cotton on Super-String Theory"?

You know I'm right, Jonathan.
On every street corner.

You've just got to make it happen.

APPLAUSE

So, shall I...? Whatever... go first?

It's funny, isn't it, how you can
spend months and years

getting to know someone and then,
still never get to know them.

Ha, tell me about it.

When I actually think,

all you really need to know about someone
you know in the first five minutes.

So you think our life
stories'll keep for another time?

Give us something to talk about in our old age. There's
just two things you should know about me, actually.

I don't do tongues in ears.

Always found it a bit
disgusting, for some reason.

And don't be alarmed

if I suddenly wake up screaming
in the middle of the night.

It's just, when I was 17,

I had this completely
strange thing happen to me.

There was this woman I was
sharing a flat with at the time...

That's another story. And the two
of us were out in the country,

one day, middle of nowhere,
and there was this cottage,

in a field,

that was there one minute,

and then - so bizarre -

just completely
vanished into thin air.

And when I went over to look around,

there was this horrible old man

slithering about on the ground.

Scared me half to death.

To say that weird stuff
keeps following me around!

Like one day I'm working in this
shoe shop and this guy comes in,

says he's looking for an assistant for
his housekeeper. And serious money, so...

And I get there,
and it turns out that 100 years ago,

there was like this really bizarre
murder, which no-one could explain.

Is that right? Sorry? Weird stuff?
Like, unexplained, impossible things.

Bit of luck you ran into me then really, wasn't
it? I have no idea what you're talking about.

Oh, you mean the only reason you wanted to come
over here tonight was because you really liked me,

as a person who you just happened to bump into at
a bus stop, just purely and totally by accident?

Look, I don't know

what y... Suddenly this
all feels very strange.

I think... Maybe I'd better just...

CYCLE BELL RINGS

Morning.

Come in.

Your post. Thank you. I don't know
if Mrs Gantry mentioned to you,

our neighbours round the corner are in New Zealand
for the year. They've put the place into hibernation.

I said we'd keep an eye
on the post for them.

Number 29, Ashwood House.

If you'd just pop along there every
few days and have a sort through.

Anything that looks vaguely
important, I'll get it forwarded.

What's this?

"You loathsome bitch. Do not think you can escape
your fate. In three days, you will be dead. "

It's signed "Selima. "
Wasn't she that woman...?

Perhaps you can explain why
it's in your handwriting?

What? I never wrote that. I swear
to God, someone must've just...

You believe me, surely?

All right.

Just go.

Good morning, good morning! How are we all this sunny
day? Utterly brill house last night, didn't you think?!

The only thing, I've had an idea how we can
make it look better when I go up the rope.

Cos I just worry they
can tell I'm on a wire.

But how about if I climb up the rope for
real, if you put enough tension in it,

and then I could just secretly hook the harness
through when I get to the top, just before the flash.

Cos when we did gym at school, I was
actually pretty damned nif...

God, you look like death dug up.
What's happened?

What happened is I went to bed last night in the
real world and woke up this morning in a Kafka novel!

You show her, I can't bear to look.

That gaff he made on Magic Relief turns out to
have been a bit of a gift to the internet satirists.

Witness first, the original clip
on YouTube. Thanks for coming.

Hi, I'm Klaus. Congratulations.

And then witness the spoof version, currently
riding rather higher on 600,000 hits.

Oh, that is incredible.

How've they done that?

Well, they'd have had to use a
very sophisticated CG programme.

The shirt, you're probably
looking at rotoscoping.

Could've been a frame by frame job, or
sometimes with a moving image you can just tell

it to lock onto a certain key point, and then
it'll just track that element for you as it goes...

Yes, thank you!
Can you hear yourselves?

I'm up here planning Operation
Barbarossa, and you're talking pixels!

I've got to get on to PA or
something, lay down some sort

of formal apology before this
whole thing goes thermo-nuclear.

Sweetheart, it's me...

Can you believe someone actually
sat up all night creating that?

I mean, you've got to give
them credit. PHONE RINGS

Yeah, hello?.. Oh, hi.

Listen, I am so sorry you
didn't get my text last night.

It's just I had this amazing
last-minute thing come up

and I had to dash off again,
after you'd come in specially.

'It was a bit of an odd night
in the end... '

I wound up with this guy I met
at a bus stop, who was...

Well, not all
I thought he'd be, and...

Oh, God, really? No, you want to be careful, there
are some serious wack-jobs knocking about this town.

You could come a right cropper. Anyway, what I wanted
to talk to you about, what took me to your website,

it's like, all that stuff
I told you on the phone,

about this woman and the doctor,

is starting to really freak me
out now, cos the other day, right,

I was outside, near the wood shed...

I tell you, Joey, something's
going on in this house.

Something frightening.

'Like a treasure map or something. '

And this was hidden away
in the desk in his study?

Which she obviously
didn't want me to see.

It doesn't take a genius to work out, does it?
Someone's got it in for you round here, big time.

Dumbwoman's Lane?

Can't be many of them around.

Intriguing. And there was no sign of the soil being
turned over, or anything being dug up or buried?

In which case, what the hell was she
up to? I've been racking my brains.

Sounds as if you've got yourself a
real little House of Mysteries there,

with this, what's
it called, Green Lanterns place?

Should keep you busy
for an hour or two.

Hang on, what's that strange
smacking noise I can hear?

Couldn't be the sound of you licking your lips at
the prospect of getting stuck into a case like this?

I had a dog like that once.
Made you feel so guilty if

you didn't keep throwing this
rubber ball at him all the while.

My trouble, I'm too good-natured for
my own good. Is that right?

Though I don't suppose Emily'd have a problem if
I brought in an office junior as a sounding board.

Oh, really. Well, you can just...

Emily? Do you know,

it's a bit old hat this, don't you
reckon, flying round the stage as a fairy?

What if I was, I don't know, like a
little imp or something, all in red.

And he could be dressed as maybe a wizard
or something, like in that Mickey Mouse film.

Might run it past him,
see what he thinks.

So when you were going to meet someone the
other night, and then couldn't make it...

Sorry? Yes, I might have a bit
of repair work to do there,

by the sound of things...

Oh dear.

How extremely unfortunate.

Oh, what've you found this time.

Hi, my name's Adam Klaus, and I just want
to take a moment before I go onstage...

What on earth possessed him to
record it in his dressing room?

.. and do what I love doing most of all,
entertaining people of all races and creeds,

to register a big, heartfelt apology
for what I now realise was a stupid

and unguarded remark on my
recent trip for Magic Relief.

Anyone who really knows me,
knows my stance on the issue

of race relations
could not be more positive...

You can kind of see where it's going, I think...
It was the legendary Stevie Wonder who said

"Ebony and Ivory

"live together in peaceful harmony. "

Man, I'm playing that piano.

So, this would be...?

Fairly simple colour key.

Amazing.

Oh, God. No!

Ow! Ow!

KNOCKING
Emily? Emily, you OK in there?

What's happened?

What's the matter?
Oh, you poor thing.

Shh, it's all right. It's all right.

It's all right. It was so real...

I was so frightened...

Mr Dore,

is everything all right?
I heard such screams.

No, it's OK. It's OK.

A bulb must have blown,
I think, that's all.

Watch where you're treading,
there's glass everywhere.

Do you want to go and reset
the fuses? Everything's fine.

I'm so sorry.
It was just that picture on the wall

frightened me half to death.

Really? What about the picture?

Well, it was...

I don't know now.

Maybe I just... OK. Look, Harriet,
she's probably just tired.

Come on, why don't we leave
you in peace, sleep it off?

One second. What do we have here?

What am I supposed to make of this?

Morning. I think you've
already met this person.

Emily, feel free to
tell me to bugger off.

Obviously, you're going
to be a mass of nerves.

Who wouldn't, with all the
madness that's going on round here?

Insecurities can play havoc

with your mental health,

as I unfortunately managed to demonstrate,
not very thoughtfully, the other night.

What he's trying to say is he's
such an anally fixated big-head,

he thought the only reason you wanted him
was for his world-famous powers of deduction.

As opposed to his charming
personality and animal magnetism.

But look, come on, you've got
to hang in here and not just go

imagining this woman's somehow taken over your mind,
making you write those weird notes and whatever.

That's just horror story time, it's
not real. Sometimes I think...

my whole life is a horror story.

That house that just disappeared.

The man in the grass.

It's like,
maybe I can see things sometimes

that aren't there any more.

You know, the mystery
of the vanishing cottage

may be the least challenging
of this whole puzzle.

And when you stop and think about it,
the man in the grass

would be part of the only
explanation that could possibly fit.

It's a bit of a flyer,

but the real clue to what
you saw that night

will almost certainly be the weather.

Excuse me, I'm very sorry to interrupt.
Jonathan Creek, is it? I'm Harriet. Joey Ross.

I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal your friend
for a while. Top guest room, Emily, in five minutes.

Some of that bed linen from the
other day really won't do, I'm afraid.

No, no, you jest. How could I object
to a visit from Jonathan Creek?

I mean, we plough
a similar furrow, don't we?

I plot them, you solve them.
Murders.

I've not long been back here, of course.
The family home, this where we all grew up.

My brother and I, well, it seems
like ancient history now.

Till I took off overseas, earned a crust
or two, and then a couple of years ago,

fresh marriage, fresh start,

something seemed to just
beckon me back.

The lingering air perhaps,
of Victorian mystery.

You'll be familiar, I imagine,
with the nuts and bolts of the case?

An absolute classic of
its kind, by all accounts.

Victim remotely positioned, under
constant observation,

succumbs to his fate
at a time precisely predicted.

The cause of his death never
resolved from that day to this.

Unsurprisingly,
this Egyptian femme fatale character

was not slow, after that,

to exploit her celebrity status.

I've ransacked her personal account of those
years for some sort of clue, how she did it, but...

Em, yes, riveting as all this is, of course, to
students of ancient history, there's a small matter

of unexplained death threats which I don't know if
anyone's taking very seriously, but... No, no, no,

it's most alarming,
particularly the one last night.

First of all, who
could have put it there?

And more to the point,
what the hell does it mean?

"Beware the approach of Isis. "

Isis being? An ancient Egyptian
deity, fertility goddess if I remember.

Or a part of the River Thames in
Oxfordshire depending on your preference.

Picked up some interesting pieces
then, Mr Dore, on your travels.

Except for that one, funnily enough.

Discovered one day
here in the attic.

It seems to date right
back to the earliest owner.

Some sort of primitive
reed instrument apparently.

Look, I'm going to have to
love you and leave you for now.

One or two calls to make, so
hopefully catch up with you later.

An Ellison Starberth Mystery.

You ever read any of these?

I'm afraid I have.

What?

No, it's just,

the way the dust in here's
been disturbed, I'd say this has

been very recently removed,
and then put back again.

So who's doing it?

Dodgy death threats
and phoney photographs.

You've only got a choice of three.

Or four if we count the spirit of our
Victorian witch, whatever she was,

who appears able to
re-materialise in a pile of logs.

Ah, now, I've got a pretty
good idea how that was done.

Father Alberic, how are you today?

I'm a bit earlier than I said, Mrs
Gantry, I hope it's not inconvenient.

Now, you'll correct me if I'm wrong here, I've no
doubt, but was there not a very old magic trick once

where you had this big sheet of glass on
the stage, tipped over at an angle, and then

some bod in the orchestra pit, who'd be reflected
upwards, to look all kind of eerie and translucent.

Pepper's Ghost.
First patented February 1863.

Which means all they'd have to do
would be to prop up their glass here

and then your ghostly actor, probably
just with this woman's photo stuck

on their face or something, would take up
position down below, underneath the open trapdoor.

HE SNEEZES

I should never make the mistake of stroking
a long-hair, they always set me off.

I'm sorry about that. He'll settle
down now, over there by the bird table.

Can I get you an antihistamine or...

I won't risk it with
the blood-thinners.

Heaven knows, I'm a walking
dispensary these days, Mrs Gantry.

They think there might be an early malignancy knocking
about somewhere. But apart from that, you're well?

You're not going to do anything
silly with that trap-door?

I know, but we don't want...

I suppose you're going
to say this is all my fault? Yes!

I mean, she comes in here every day,
at six, I think it is,

so it's not like we'll be
stuck down here forever.

Just the 5� hours then, imprisoned in an airless
dungeon beneath half a hundredweight of tree stumps

Why we both had to come down in the
first place, I'm not entirely sure!

Well, so we could check out that theory, see
if there was a sheet of glass that they...

Fortunately, I like nothing better
when trapped in a coal-hole,

than to curl up with a good book.

Might just help me to
forget about the fact that...

Yes, all right. I know what you're going to
say, so there's no need to say it, thank you.

What was I going to say? I know
exactly what you were going to say.

You don't need to make
things worse by saying it.

We should never have had those two
cups of coffee. Just shut up and read!

It was cos it was linen,
it was kind of hard to do.

Is that one, OK, though?
I'm not sure.

No. And if I could just
see this one. Same problem.

So you've recently
acquired a new helper, I hear?

That'll all end in tears,
the way things are going.

And why he thinks I can't
manage on my own any more...?

I'm as fit as I ever was,
Father Alberic.

Fit enough, I hope, to come and buff up
my pews next Saturday at the usual time.

All right, I am now
officially very bored.

And very uncomfortable.
These cement bags are like rock.

Yes? I didn't say anything. Well,
would you mind saying something,

before I go completely stir-crazy?
What's that book told you so far?

So far, the victim was
one Dr Thadeus Northcote,

a prominent neuro-surgeon and known associate of
the eminent Victorian scientist Sir Francis Galton,

himself a close friend of Charles Darwin.
Skipping the prologue? Significant facts?

I don't know,

there's a whole bunch of photos in there
which may or may not tell us something.

Thing that keeps bugging me is this
business of the blood-curdling scream.

The fact that she screamed
and then he collapsed.

According to her, because the vision of Death
approaching struck terror into her heart.

It's clearly bollocks.

It's almost as if...

No. What is very persuasive is his theory that
she couldn't resist the idea of leaving some kind

of cryptic hint behind,

somewhere in the book,
about how she pulled it off.

It may be nothing, but if you look at
that dedication she's put in the front...

"With thanks to HCN,
none but we may know. "

Northcote's wife was named Helen.

What, you think the two women
might've been in cahoots somehow?

I don't know. What I do know is I'm absolutely
going to burst in a minute if I don't...

Hang on a sec.

Light! Oh, I don't believe
this, what are the chances?!

That's the very thing!

Cement bags indeed.

You know what you've got
here, don't you? Do I? What?

Oh, you are jok.. Cat litter?

However long's this been here?
Thank you, God.

You're not seriously
going to use that?

"All-natural,
instant-clumping clay formula. "

Just hold that steady is all I ask.

Try not to wobble.

We're running a bit dry here, Mrs
Gantry. Any chance of a top-up?

Won't be two seconds. So you're managing
to get some down time, I hope, Father.

Oh, yes. Still hanging
in with the old carpentry?

I always say, if I have a vice, it's
to be screwed on the edge of a bench.

And that's got me into trouble
on more than one occasion.

Better?

You sure you don't want to...?

Much better, thank you.

There's plenty more there,
if you should feel the need.

How long's that coffee
had to percolate now?

A good 2� hou...

Oh, God, no.

"Beware the approach of Isis. " What?

That just took me back to
when we were in the kitchen.

Because what did that first note say?

"In three days you will be dead. "
Isis.

I think I know now what it means.

It's not a river or an ancient
Goddess. Well, what does it mean?

What it means,
I've got a horrible feeling,

is that Harriet Dore has only
got a minute left to live.

Thank you. Whoops.
A drop more, Mr Dore?

What are you doing? Have you gone completely
insane?! Get your hands off me! Get away from me!

Dear God above.

Mrs Dore! You're mad!

Help me!

Help me, somebody, help me!
This isn't happening. Oh my God!

No! No!

Oh, my God, oh, my God!

Father, can you manage? Yes, yes.

Stay with me, my darling.

Oh, my God... All right, my darling.

Mr Dore, may God have mercy on us!

For God's sake,
call for a doctor, an ambulance!

Yes, yes. Absolutely.
Oh, my precious...

In the name of God, who did this?

I couldn't stop her.
She dragged me across the room,

grabbed me by the throat
and pushed me.

No!

I wasn't even there!

I'd just gone round
to put out the bins out,

ready for the... Oh, God!

She did it.

Emily! She murdered me.

For God's sake, just get her away
from here. Just leave us!

Officer, the young girl,
she can't have gone far. Find her!

Help! Is there anyone out there?!

HIGH-PITCHED NOISE

They had one of those, like,
police shrinks in here this morning.

Reckons I'm distorting
things in my mind,

blocking out what happened,
cos I can't bear to face it.

What do you think, Jonathan?

You believe I killed her?

I think it's what someone wants us to believe.
And they've gone to a hell of a lot of trouble

to put this case together very convincingly.
And somehow, we've got to prise it apart.

And it's not impossible.

The weirdest things sometimes, that
don't add up, once they're explained...

That cottage you saw and then
didn't see, we've had a thought.

Never mind how unlikely the thought,
just run with the sheer, cold analysis.

A building cannot disappear.

It can't even seem to disappear.

But what looks like a building,
that can seem to disappear,

that could have been placed in that field
deliberately, in the middle of nowhere,

for a purpose that's
unlikely to occur to any of us.

These days, probably, no-one'd go to
the trouble of building the facade

of a fairytale cottage on location for
a scene in a movie now long forgotten,

pending the arrival of a
film unit in a few days' time.

When you first spot it, during a lull
in the wind, the illusion's complete.

A second later, our "night watchman"
character, there to keep an eye on the site

takes a nasty tumble.

One of those things, I suppose.

We'll never know now, will we?

But it does just show that...

No, I don't suppose we ever will.

We are all of us unique
and blessed before God,

and the tragedy of any loss
touches us all.

But while Harriet Dore today
is no longer flesh,

her spirit, I know,
walks among us still.

Quite a fair turn-out then,
you'd say, on the day.

Considering she was hardly famous
outside her publishing circles.

I doubt there's anyone round here
would have known her from a bar of soap.

But how prophetic were your words, Mrs Gantry
- "It'll all end in tears. " Yes.

Excuse me for a moment.

So you'll be staying on, will you,
at the house?

Of course, he's talking now about selling
up and going back to the Far East to live.

So much to come to terms with.

And with this latest development,
one wonders if he'll ever get over it.

Latest development?
Oh, you haven't heard?

The coroner's report has
been knocking about for days.

Though if you want my opinion,
it was definitely news to him.

At the time of her murder, Harriet
Dore was eight weeks pregnant.

Morning! I was just trying it for size and I
seem to have broadened out a bit around the gills.

Sorry to disturb you.
You need a hand?

It may seem macabre, but I always
say, if you want a job doing...

And listen, I must tell you, Miss
Ross, I'm such a devotee of your work.

The way you put that case to bed last
year, the painting in the haunted attic.

Master-class in ratiocination.

I think some of these screws'll
have to come out. Right, of course.

If your Dr Watson chap is acquainted
with drills... Intimately.

No, just so we've got it right,
Father, order of events that day.

You were all sitting there
at the table, you heard all these

noises, and then you actually
saw her pushed out of the window?

It's a dreadful business,
to be sure.

And so Emily was the only other
person around the house that day?

No way that looks good, does it?
DUCKS QUACK

That's my personal copy.

Well thumbed, of course. Like yourselves,
I find these things quite addictive.

Oh, and something interesting
I found out the other day,

Helen Northcote's middle name
was Catherine.

That's not in the book, of course.

Oh, really.
But it pretty much nails it then?

HCN? And if you're looking for a
weapon that could kill a man

in the middle of a lawn without
being seen or heard,

how about that blowpipe
we saw in his study?

What's-her-face screams, so he turns his
head, and gets it in the neck from the wife.

Excellent! You have the
mind of a true logician.

Though sadly, my dear, that object in the
glass case is no blowpipe. Far too short.

And there were no puncture marks or
poison darts anywhere on the body.

Also, I'm afraid, it was
Katherine spelt with a K.

Still, very interesting that you
bring it up, because when I was

there last week, discussing
the funeral arrangements...

I happened to notice that
pipe was no longer there.

It was an odd meeting
- he seemed to be burdened with the issue of man's accountability for his sins.

And the strangest request, he asked if he
might come to the church and undergo confession.

At which point, I'm afraid I had
to leave, when the cat came in.

Very low tolerance, you see,
to our feline friends.

And once the
nasal cavities start opening up...

And so, did he? Did he what?

Come to you for confession.

Oh, yes. The very next morning.

I can't tell you,
obviously, what he said to me.

Confidentiality of the box.

That as well, but mainly
because I fell asleep.

Most dreadful lapse on my part.

All the drugs one has to take,

at my age, I'm afraid it's just...
PHONE RINGS

Oh, sounds like me. It must've
dropped out. Oh, it's gone dead.

Oh, well, they'll call back.

Oh, that's interesting.

The Judas tree.

Come again? You recognise that?

Oh, yes, cercis siliquastrum?

Always seemed a misnomer
for such a lovely specimen.

But according to legend, of course,

this was the tree from which Judas Iscariot
hanged himself after betraying Our Lord.

Was there any reason, would you say,

Mrs Gantry, why Miss Somerton would
want the deceased out of the way?

Let me rephrase that, was there any
suggestion that she might have had

designs of her own on her employer?

I can't really recall.

Well, let me refresh your memory.

Was there an incident recently,
in the night, when you had occasion

to visit the accused's
bedroom when a light fused?

Well, yes.

And can you describe for us exactly
what you saw when you reached the room?

Mr Dore was there,

and Miss Somerton, the accused,

had her arms around him

and her head on his shoulder.

She had...

only her underwear on.

She was squeezing him very tightly.

I couldn't hear what she was saying.

Well, no.
I saw no-one push her exactly.

But you heard sounds of a violent struggle
going on, and your wife screaming at someone.

Yes. We've heard that the shred of
cloth that was in her hand,

it has now been confirmed,
was torn from the accused's dress.

And before she died, Mr Alberic,
can you tell us as precisely

as your memory will allow,
what were her last words?

She said, "She did it.

"Emily. She murdered me. "

I'd be a lot closer to cracking this thing
if I knew what it was I was trying to crack.

Obviously, a major fit-up, but I
don't fancy her chances with that jury.

I don't know. Have you noticed there's a
lot of dodgy echoes of creepy movies here?

Gaslight and The Shining spring to
mind. And you wouldn't say the novels

of Hugo Dore were always noted
for their original plotlines.

All right, so he's found out
his wife's been playing around.

Decides to bump her off, but make it look
like the work of his amorous young housekeeper.

He knows she still has nightmares about some
weird experience that happened 20 years ago,

so he uses that back story
about our Victorian friend

to try and spook her into
believing she actually did it.

Question. Mmm?

What are we doing in this place?

The owners are in New Zealand, didn't she
say? The whole thing happened weeks ago.

But a bit of re-staging and elucidating
can sometimes just help to focus the mind.

OK, so you're coming up
the stairs, like she did.

And from inside
the bathroom you hear...

I push open the door

and go to the basin.

So whoever it was just
tucked themselves in behind the door

while her back was turned, and then
slipped out again while she was...

So that's no big deal.

The only problem being, how could
they possibly know she was going

to come here in the first place, to set up a stunt
like that? Well, fairly obviously, they couldn't.

Which can only mean there's something
else going on in this house

that we've yet
to get to the bottom of.

OK. More aimless foraging, I think.
You want to take upstairs?

I'll go down.

LATCH CLICKS

DOOR SHUTS

All clear out here now,
when you're ready.

Yeah, actually,
I might need a bit of a hand.

Now, what do we suppose he came up here for? Hold
on, I think I've got cramp or something, in my knee.

Makes sense, I suppose, he'd use this
place for anything he wanted to hide.

Hello? Can you hear me out there?

I'm jammed solid! Hello?!

Ah! Aha!

Hidden, we can only assume, to prevent
its true function from becoming apparent.

Jonathan! Awhh! Fascinating.

And at this stage,
of course, the purest hypothesis,

but it would certainly all
slot together very neatly.

The scream in the garden, the light bulb
that blew in her room that night and...

.. HCN. I mean, is that obvious or what? We
could have Googled it and got there quicker.

Jonathan, can I possibly
have your attention?!

I am seriously stuck in here! And short
of a ruddy Caesarean... Yes, hang on a sec.

What the hell have
you got yourself into?

I didn't have any choice, did I,
with the doors all locked.

Just pull. I'm going to
have to put it on its side.

Oh, God, that's not helping
one little bit.

Careful!

Pulling me arm out of it's socket.
How is this going to work?

Rocking about all over the place.
My bloody shoulder...

What's happening? Oh, oh, ah!

Oh, ow, ow! Ah ah ah! Oh, oh, aah!

SHE COUGHS

Hopefully it was insured.

Oh, give me some good news.

What was all that up there about
screams and gardens and light bulbs?

"Significant facts,"
was it, you said?

And what did I say about our
Victorian Dr Northcote?

That he was a close friend of
the scientist, Sir Francis Galton,

who, among his many varied achievements, is
widely credited as the inventor of the dog whistle.

120 years ago, thereabouts,

a previous housekeeper at Green Lanterns famously
put a curse on her employer that caused him to die,

apparently without any
physical explanation.

To an impressionable mind, the idea of
that malign presence still in the house,

somehow controlling her actions,
was fairly terrifying,

and may have had a direct bearing on
the run-up to Harriet Dore's death.

The mechanics of that first crime,
from all the evidence,

were pretty daunting.

A healthy man with a healthy heart,
in the middle of a lawn,

suddenly keels over and dies.

No marks or wounds were detected, no food
or drink that could have been poisoned,

there was no possible trigger that could
have caused his death at exactly 3.15,

the moment it was predicted, just a high-pitched,
blood-curdling scream that came from the bushes.

No significance to that,
fairly obviously.

Unless that scream was
not a reaction...

.. but the instrument
of murder itself.

A scream that set in
motion something so lethal

that it could kill within seconds,
and then disappear,

quite literally, into thin air.

Hydrogen cyanide,

HCN,

could be pumped into a small
airtight container...

.. and then sealed with a piece of glass
known to shatter at a certain frequency.

SHE SCREAMS

Fair to say you'd need specialist skills
to put something like that together,

but I think we can assume that she
had the contacts,

and that her powers
of persuasion were well up to it.

But where do we think the inspiration
for something like that would come from?

A prototype ultrasonic whistle,

known to be in Northcote's
possession at the time.

Too weak, certainly, to crack a watch
at that distance,

but used on
a custom-made replica light bulb,

just outside a bedroom door...

Lights are geared to go off
all over the house and, in the dark,

the picture's easily switched back.

That creepy photo

and the forged letters...

.. and the apparition in the woodshed,
from the moment she arrived in the house,

were all part of an orchestrated
campaign to make Emily Somerton feel

and look like a woman out of control,
who was capable of murder.

INAUDIBLE

So let me just see if
I have this correct, Mr Creek.

Mr Dore, as a calculated
ploy to frame the accused,

has deliberately orchestrated
all the events you describe,

and then pushed his own wife
out of the window.

How exactly,
when he was sitting at a table

on the far side of the garden with
two independent witnesses?

It wouldn't be the first case of this
kind where an accomplice was involved.

An accomplice who
appears to have borne

a miraculous resemblance to Miss
Somerton, according to the deceased.

From her position in the room,

the way the light was coming
in through that other window,

she'd have been
virtually in silhouette.

Bearing in mind all the
death threats,

the victim's already primed
for her to try something.

The fact it was all over in seconds,

Harriet Dore saw
exactly what she expected to see.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have
you now reached a verdict? We have.

Is it a unanimous verdict? It is.

On the charge of murdering Harriet
Dore, do you find the defendant,

Emily Anne Somerton, guilty
or not guilty?

Guilty.

"As she was led away to the cells, with a look of
barely disguised resignation, and many long years

"to reflect on her crime,
the defence team must have

"pondered the wisdom of fielding as their star
witness the self-styled 'magic sleuth', Jonathan Creek,

"whose ludicrous musings and
utterly improbable reasoning

"would have stretched any jury's
credulity to breaking point. "

The thing is, they're right.

All that guff I cobbled together
about an accomplice in silhouette

and "seeing what she expected
to see",

doesn't get near to explaining
what happened that day.

And the more you turn it all over,
the more you realise that Hugo Dore

was a whole lot smarter
than we gave him credit for.

To kill someone in such a way...

that the victim is going to accuse the
wrong person seconds before they die,

it's bordering on
psychopathic genius.

Of course,
there is one other possibility,

which we both know is
staring us in the face.

You know what I'm saying, Jonathan.

Cos I know what it is

to believe in someone that much, to
build your whole future on someone,

because it's something you know and
feel, deep down, is right,

with every instinct you
ever trusted.

And, you know,
that is absolutely the way,

the true and perfect way,

to get shat upon
from a great height.

I know.

I know you know.

And it makes no difference, does it?

None whatsoever.

So, which of the many drawing boards
do you want to go back to?

I suppose it's a lot to hope for, it's
suddenly going to just fall into place.

Except somewhere here is the
key to how it was all worked.

You just
hope for some slight glimmer.

Teaspoon? Where he dropped his cup
when it happened.

'Course...

Cos he's allergic to cats. Excuse me?

Cos they never made it
clear, did they, in court,

which table they were sitting at.

But if the cat was over
there, with the birds,

the only one they
could have been sitting at...

Amazing.

It's only when you're
actually here, you can see it -

the solution to the whole trick.

And it pretty much explains, I think, who
was washing their hands in that bathroom.

OWL HOOTS

Darling, I'm afraid
we've got company.

Actually, we were just passing.

So, I wonder what you've got to say
about all this now then, Jonathan?

What would Ellison Starberth
say at this point?

We know that between you, you've pulled off as cynical
and staggering a deception as I've ever come across,

in order to incriminate
an innocent young woman.

Convincing us all that you'd fallen to your
death that day, impaled on a set of metal spikes.

Just a bit impressive.

Although we're still quite curious, it has to be
said, what it is keeps bringing you back to this place,

to the Judas Tree.

An unnaturally deep concern,
it would seem, for its welfare.

If it weren't for the location,

I'd almost be prepared to guess it
was one of you that planted it.

You're angling for
the truth, Jonathan.

I wonder if you've
got the stomach for it?

Go on... Look, we don't
have to play this game.

Let them work for it,
they're so bloody smart.

Oh God, I just got that shiver.

This is like when people lay
flowers at the side of the road.

Something happened here.

Something horrible.

Someone close to you?

It's the strangest thing, you know?

Growing up with an older brother,

who's younger than you.

Strange, but constantly fulfilling.

Today we call these
people "special".

Well, Danny was certainly that.

A child at 27,

born into a world he couldn't
possibly hope to understand.

Stop! Stop! Stop the car!

Please, get out! I don't know
what to do. Can you help us?

Thank you so much. She's just there.

Straight ahead.

It's my ankle.

Shit!

SHE SCREAMS

DULL THUD

He survived just long enough
to paint the picture.

Of course, when they finally picked
them up, and took it to court,

two sweet young girls,

forced to defend themselves against
a man of proven mental inadequacy.

Of course all the
evidence went their way.

.. Not guilty.
SHE EXCLAIMS

But you got past it.

For 20 years,

left the country, changed your
name when your career took off.

It's only since you got back,

something,

or someone, persuaded you it
was time to settle that score.

It's not very fashionable, but...

sometimes I think you have to
meet brutality with brutality.

So what happened?

You tracked them both down?

Decided they were going to pay for what
they'd done, one with a jail sentence,

the other with her life.

Echoes of movies should really have
got me there sooner.

Cos the way you did it was
straight off a film set, wasn't it?

Only instead of using a stunt performer,
who might just pass muster in the wide shot,

you did something quite barbaric.

.. OK.

As Emily leaves the bedroom,

your two independent witnesses are
already taking up their positions,

in the one part of the garden
where the illusion will work.

So at 3.15, as per your
cryptic death threat...

Have you gone completely insane?!
Get your hands off me!

Help me! Help me, somebody!

SHE SCREAMS

A matter of seconds,
you're downstairs, behind the gate.

By the time the other two get
there, the switch has been made.

So seamlessly no-one
suspects a thing.

And, of course, you'd already been at
that fringe on her dress beforehand.

After they've gone,
you make the switch back.

Police, paramedics, undertakers,

all take the whole thing at face
value. You've identified the body.

And as we heard the other week,

no-one round here knows Harriet Dore
from a bar of soap.

When Emily took cover in that house,

she couldn't have known how
close she was to the truth.

So that was the perfect hidey-hole for
a week or two, till things blew over?

And since then, what?
A hotel room somewhere,

sitting it out till a few months'
time, you'd be back together, overseas.

That wooden pipe, it turned out, wasn't
that much of a clue in the scheme of things.

If you hadn't made such a
big deal about hiding it.

The curse of a crime writer,
exploiting all those parallels.

Just seemed to knit it all together.

And that mess in the hall,
I take it, was your handiwork...

.. the day I went back for
those reading glasses.

It never flowered, you see,

that was always the beauty of it.

Splendid pink blossom

in early spring.

So what now?

If this were a detective novel...

You'd hang yourself from one of
the branches, cloaked with shame,

I'd turn myself in and
your friend would go free.

The real world, sadly, is
not so neatly structured.

They didn't believe your story last
time, you think they'll believe this one?

All right, her condition...

we had no idea about. Would it have
made a difference? I don't know.

But I do know it was a lunatic idea,
coming out here in the first place tonight.

Can I suggest, sweetheart, whatever
we need to discuss at this stage of

the game, we discuss another time,
another place? Of course.

But, of course, when I got your text, it seemed
so urgent... My text? Hang on, it was you...

Oh, I can't believe it...

This was a setup?

Don't look at us.

Then, who?

I suppose it was a betrayal of trust
and confidence, in a sense,

but when he found out, you see,

an innocent life had been lost
in that whole gruesome business...

.. that's when he felt the need to
declare his crime.

INDISTINCT

HE SNORES

And then my dilemma,
of course, was no less.

That information was sacred,
and not for me to pass on.

But when I spotted you out there last
night, in the garden, it did occur to me.

A couple of urgent text messages
would bring them and us together.

But as you say, it does all
feel rather final somehow.

The hand of God, do we think,

balancing our lives?

Our sins are never forgotten.

Our punishments,

merely deferred.

DOOR LOCKED

Oh.

Oh, dear. Bad news?

It's from Mr Karswell,
the deacon at St Patrick's.

Father Alberic.

They found him two nights ago.

He'd apparently made a DVD.

'We are all of us unique

'and blessed before God and the
tragedy of any loss touches us all.

'But while I am, today,
no longer flesh, my spirit, I know,

'walks among you still. '

As he said, if you want a job doing.

'It's a well-worn phrase, the Lord
took him to early. But you know,

'I've had a long and fulfilling life
in the service of our saviour.

'Even shared his interest
in woodwork.

'An example of my efforts,
as a matter of fact... '

Now I know I speak for most people here when I
say I'm sick and tired of being lectured to by

white middle class intellectuals, about what
I am and what I'm not meant to be offended by.

Believe it or not, we don't need to be
patronised, we can think for ourselves.

And what I know about this guy is that he's
real, he's sincere, and he's got it here.

And we're proud to have him on the
roll call tonight,

working for The Race Against Racism, would
you please give it up for Mr Adam Klaus.

CHEERING
OK, folks, let the show commence!

HE STOPS CLIP

HE STARTS CLIP

How was lunch? Enrico Caruso
could scarce have sung its praises.

And we had a fine and fertile discussion,
did we not, on the future course of the act.

You could say my John Dore was
drizzled with creative juices.

I don't think I'll bother.

And talking of Dores,

are you over the worst yet?
Bless him.

Cos you've got
to be gutted after all that?

But listen, you know what I've been
thinking, that police shrink she said about

might've been onto something, when she talked
about blocking out things that have happened?

It wouldn't surprise me if she had absolutely
no recollection of that stuff with his brother.

Like she'd airbrushed it all out of
her head, the court case, everything.

You read about all that bollocks,
like a kind of denial.

And yet she remembered
the man in the grass.

Well, selective maybe.

Who knows?
Anyway, I'll just be a sec.

So, last night's gig. Did you log on yet, see
whether we made it in one piece on to YouTube?

Er, yes.
Yes, it's certainly on there.

It's very much as you'd expect.

Well, let me see.

Right.

There's one version.

Oh, what have we here?

Uh, yes, I think
someone did also post something...

different.

What they've done there, it's quite interesting
actually, they've used these straight lines up here...

Like the diagonals on the hat.

Basic reference points.

To make it easier to matte in
the Klansman's hood over my face.

Exactly...
HE STOPS PLAYBACK

Isn't that interesting?

Now, I just have to remind myself,
whose idea was it to stage this

whole routine dressed as a
"grand wizard" in the first place?

Cos I know it wasn't you.

Oh!

There's a coincidence. What?

Just coming up to 3.15.