All language subtitles for heartbeat_s14e05_hunter_s_moon

Heartbeat, what do you miss when my baby
kisses me?

Heartbeat, what does a love chip say in
my memory?

June, thank goodness.

Have you seen my husband on your way in?
No, why?

He's missing.

He's probably gone up the far woods or
something.

What do you mean, missing? He's been
gone all night.

He won't be there.

Why don't you go into the morning room
and I'll fetch you some coffee? You'll

turn up Mrs. Barnes.

No, if you haven't seen him either, he
could have had an accident.

I think I'd better call the police.

Tired of waiting, tired of waiting for
you.

So tired, tired of waiting, tired of
waiting for

you.

Right -o, Mrs Barton. We'll get someone
up there straight away.

Bye.

Mr Bartlett, Laura House Brown, didn't
come home last night. His wife's a bit

concerned. Could we send someone up
there?

I'll go there.

Oh, I'm sorry, Mr Vernon, but Mrs Forbes
Epple didn't order a taxi. Mr Harrison

did. But he ordered it for Mrs Forbes
Epple's wait.

I didn't know that, did I?

But why didn't you use your common sense
when you were sitting there waiting for

Mr Harrison not to arrive?

Why didn't you pick up Mrs Forbes
Epple's wait and save her walking home?

All right, well, maybe next time I'll
remember to do that.

David!

What I'm trying to get across to you is
there may not be a next time, thanks to

you leaving the chairman of the Taxi
Licensing Committee to walk home just

our license is up for review.

How can Mrs. Forbes -Happlethwaite be a
chap?

Well, I've been searching through the
archives in Ashfordly, but I've found

nothing.

Oh, what a shame, Mr Blake. That set my
heart on having a unique local dance as

the centrepiece of the thing.

Well, I think we just have to accept the
fact that the Aidensfield Cloud Dance

is nothing more than a rumour. Professor
Huntley will be so disappointed.

Professor Huntley? Yes, the
anthropologist.

He's an international expert on cultural
dance.

And you just happened to mention this to
him? Oh, we were so looking forward to

seeing it.

Cancelled a Paris trip especially, in
fact.

Oh, that's unfortunate, Mrs Ford. Are
you absolutely sure that this dance

doesn't exist?

Like I said, I've found nothing.

So I think we should get in touch with
the clog dancers, don't you? We don't

want them saying that it's too short a
notice.

I'm sorry to keep you waiting.

Pete P. Walker, Ashfordly Police.

Oh, Harry.

My husband, that is, went out late last
night to check the pheasant pens and

never came back.

You didn't notice till this morning?

I'm a very heavy sleeper.

Does he often go out that late?

We'd had some problems with a fox, and
Harry was determined to get it.

Well, he had a gun with him.

A shotgun, yes.

And the gun?

Still missing, too.

That's what worries me.

My husband... Well, he'd had a fair
amount to drink over dinner, brandy

Accidents will happen.

I take it you looked out by the peasant
pens?

Oh, I went myself, first thing. And then
I sent one of the farmhands, Derwent,

to look further afield. And there's
nowhere else he could have gone?

With a gun?

In the middle of the night?

Right.

Well, I'll go out and join your man, see
if we can widen the search a bit. Thank

you.

Will you excuse me?

I was just checking. None of the other
staff knows where Mr Barton could be.

Any luck?

No.

Let's get on any road.

Right, bye.

I'm sorry, Mr Charles, but I just had to
answer the phone.

Mr Vernon?

Do you think you could get the... Sorry,
I'm just

going to...

Was that Mrs Forbes' heffle -thwaite I
just saw leaving?

And if it was?

Well, I was wondering, as you're both on
the parish council, whether the subject

of taxi licences had come up. No, it
didn't.

Just take that inside, Matthew. There's
a good lad.

I hope the eggs are all intact this
time. Sorry about that, Mr Blaketon.

Ah.

Think I'd best check.

So she said nothing about the meeting
next week. No, she's more concerned

the village fete. She wants a unique
event, but so far yours truly has failed

come up with the goods.

What do you mean, a unique event?

You know, she's got me researching
references to a plough down from the

century, would you believe?

Supposedly only performed round here in
Aidensfield, but I'm beginning to think

that it never really existed.

The trouble is, Mrs Forbes Hepplethwaite
has told some professor or other and

he's coming down to the fete to see it.

All I can say is he's in for a big
disappointment.

Now, Gina, what's going on in here?

He's not here.

Maybe he went through the other side of
the cops.

Am I missing something here?

It's just unlike Mr Barton to be out
chasing foxes.

Chasing skirt, more like.

Any skirt in particular?

That secretary of his, Miss Mackay.

We have all right she is.

He'd hardly be chasing skirt with a
shotgun, would he?

Let's check the other side of the cops.

Jake, what are you up to?

Well, you'll have to get there quicker
next time.

David, I haven't got time to answer the
phone. One of us has got to save this

business.

Are you going to do that, then?

Mrs. Gould tells me to set her heart on
a plough dance for the fete, and I'm

going to make sure she gets one.

A plough dance?

Yeah, it's an old tradition. They used
to do this die dance.

Nobody knows what it is anymore.

How are you going to find out about it,
then? What do you think I'm doing now?

I'm using my initiative.

Car's still there.

And the Land Rover.

And there are no other vehicles?

Just the tractor.

What about Miss Mackay?

What about her?

Might we have gone to see her?

Why would he do that?

My husband, or rather I, sacked her
yesterday.

But nonetheless, it's best to check out
all possibilities.

She lives in the village.

You'll find her in the phone book.

Believe me, PC Walker, if all the
vehicles are here, Harry won't have gone

see her.

Kate's walking.

Right.

Thanks for that, Rob.

I'll let the sergeant know straight
away.

I'll run out.

Apparently, our missing farmer's got a
fancy lady.

Rob thinks he's worth checking, make
sure he hasn't just bedded down there

the night.

Yeah, you'd better go over there,
Bellamy.

Yes, Sarge.

So, you already knew that Mr Barton was
missing, did you, Miss McKay?

Yes, Joan, the housekeeper, telephoned
me.

To ask you that you stayed here that
night?

Probably not.

She just rang to let me know he was
missing.

Sorry, I...

Just that... Well... There has been some
talk.

Oh, about me and Mr Barton. Yes, I know.

And Mrs Barton believed it enough to
want him to leave.

So I did. And you haven't seen him since
then?

Not since yesterday morning when I left
Low House, no.

Have you any idea where he could be?

None at all.

Mr Barton!

Looks like he tried to climb into Lord
Ashfordly's land with his gun cocked.

Could it be possible he just didn't see
the fence?

He'll have seen the fence.

Hunter's moon last night, plenty of
light.

And he may not have been the world's
brightest, but I never saw him carry a

unbroken. But look, Sarge, tyre tracks.

It's almost as if he was shot somewhere
else and then dumped on the fence to

make it look like an accident.

Hmm.

Not much blood either.

All right, Walker, secure the scene.

See if you can find any other sign that
he was shot elsewhere.

I'll contact CID.

But it's not normal.

He drops things, forgets things.

And the delivery bag will never be the
same again.

Adolescence is a difficult time, Mrs
Clegg.

Sometimes the brain can't keep up with
how fast the body is growing. Be that as

it may, but it's cost me a fortune in
broken eggs.

Not to mention customer goodwill. Maybe
Matthew should do something to help

improve his dexterity and spatial
awareness.

Like what?

Like gymnastics or dancing, maybe.

Do you think that will help?

It's possible.

And if it doesn't, then maybe we'll
consider sending Matthew for some tests.

But I honestly believe there's nothing
serious wrong here.

I'm sorry to interrupt, Doctor, but the
police have been on. They need to speak

to you urgently.

That's all right.

I think we were pretty much finished
here, weren't we, Mrs. Clagg?

Thank you, Dr. Murrick.

Ballroom dancing for you then, Milad?

Maybe you'll take after your Uncle Bert.

Did a mean pas de deux, bladed Bert.

I'm very sorry about your husband, Mrs.
Barton.

I should have stopped him going out so
late.

It was silly.

An accident waiting to happen.

Perhaps.

There are some formalities that we have
to... Formalities?

Well, I presume the undertaker will be
able to deal with it all.

I'm afraid it's a bit more serious than
that.

CID and a pathologist are on the way.

There'll have to be a post -mortem.

Is that really necessary?

In cases of sudden death, there are set
procedures.

Sorry, there's no choice.

Come and take a look at this.

What is this?

Poacher's snare.

It looks pretty clean, so it can't have
been here for long.

Do you think Mr Barton maybe spotted a
poacher and came out to investigate?

It would explain why he's this far from
the house.

I've seen him on Lord Ashfordly's land.

Ben Norton might know who uses him.

I'll ask him.

Ah, Mrs Forbes -Helms, wait.

What a coincidence. I was hoping to have
a word with you. If it's about the taxi

licence, Mr Scripps... No, no, no, no. I
wouldn't raise that matter before the

committee meeting.

No, I heard a little rumour that you
were interested in the plough dance I've

been researching.

The plough dance?

My dear Mr Scripps, I had no idea you
were interested in that sort of thing.

Yes, well, it's not something one
normally discusses, except with close

Well, what have you found? Only Mr.
Blaketon has drawn a complete blank.

hardly surprising. It's taken me months,
years even, to get to the bottom of it.

But I now have a plan.

With all the dance moves... I doubt if a
plan would mean anything to me, Mr.

Scripps. Why don't you demonstrate it?

What, now?

But I need four people. I'm sure it
wouldn't be too hard for you to find the

truth. Not for a man like you, Mr.
Scripps.

A man who is so keen to show us that you
can run an efficient taxi service.

Shall we say tomorrow night?

I'll get on to it right away.

Sir. Dennis.

Thank you.

I'm very sorry to hear about your
husband, Mrs Barton.

We'll do everything we can to get this
cleared up as quickly as possible.

I'm sure you will.

I'm afraid I can't tell you any more
than I've already told the sergeant

Are poachers a problem here?

Poachers?

No more than anywhere else.

There are quite a few active in the
area, but Mr Barton never complained to

about them. My husband was much more
concerned about foxes.

Losing the odd bird here or there wasn't
a problem. A fox can kill hundreds in

one night.

So would he have gone after a poacher
then if he saw one?

If he caught one in the act, of course.

Do you have reason to believe a poacher
was there last night?

Near where he was found, yes.

Could that explain why my husband was up
there?

It could indeed.

Mr. Blaketon!

You're never going to believe this.

What's that?

The cone.

After all your hard work trying to find
out about that plough dance, it turns

out that Vernon Scripps knows all about
it. Really? He's teaching it to a group

of locals as we speak.

Oh, I... I can quite well believe it.

Mr. Logger wants his car fixed. Now, how
am I meant to sort that out when Mr.

Scripps is away?

Yes, but we can deal with it later.

Well, that's what I just told Mr Logan,
and he wasn't very happy.

I mean, he's going to take his car into
Ashfordly Motors now.

David, will you listen to me?

This is our future we're talking about.

We have got to get a dance troupe
together for tomorrow night and teach

plough dance.

Well, I don't know any dancers.

You do now, because you're going to be
one of them.

I can't dance.

You can learn!

Oh, no, Mr Vernon!

David, can I just remind you who got us
into this mess in the first place?

Yeah, Ben Norton recognises Snare.

I'm going to go and see a man called Les
Thomas.

He lives up by Ardley Bridge.

Over and out.

Peace from the city and down to the
cave.

Open up. I know you're in there.

Talk to me here or down the station.

The choice is yours.

Liz Thomas.

PC Walker.

What do you want?

Like a rabbit were in your place.

Ah.

Found one of these down the lower house
farm.

No, not mine.

I don't go up that way myself.

They're very singular style.

I don't know anyone else who uses these.

They're for pheasants, aren't they? I
don't snare pheasants.

Just rabbits.

Can I put this poster up, Oscar?

No. What's it for, Bernard?

I'm looking for volunteers to learn the
plough dance we'll be performing at the

village fete.

Never heard of a plough dance.

Well, don't worry. Nobody else knows
either. I can't find any references to

anyway. Well, maybe you weren't looking
in the right places.

Oh, and you were, were you?

What do you reckon, Jen?

He could laugh, wouldn't he? Yeah.

Let's do it. Great.

That's almost all the dancers I need. I
just need one more.

How about you, Oscar?

Rehearsal's lunchtime tomorrow.

Right. See you there, then.

Aye, a young walker's picked up the
poacher. Hello, sir. Yes, well,

it's purely circumstantial, but... Oh,
Sarge, the Chief Counsel was on the

phone. Well, I'll take that, shall I?

Good evening, sir. Shiny here?

No, no, all under control.

Good day's work, I'd say. We brought in
the poacher.

I don't quite agree.

The sooner it's all wrapped up, the
better.

And the same to you, sir.

Goodbye.

Right. Where did you get those fairies?

From a mate.

Does this mate have a name?

I don't remember.

What about the snare?

Could be anyone's.

Save me the fairy story, Mr Thomas.

You've been going to Low House Farm for
a bit of poaching.

Harry Bowden caught you in the act and
confronted you. There was a struggle.

Maybe his gun went off and Harry was
dead. Does that ring any bells?

I never... I swear it, Mr Shiner.

All right, I admit.

I'll go up there now and again.

Maybe the obsolescent does make its way
into me bag.

But I've been left there three days
since.

What about last night?

Last night?

You want to know where I was last night?

Not going to ask again.

Scarborough.

I was in Scarborough.

Can anyone confirm that?

Some mates I was with.

They'll tell you.

And the bus driver this morning when I
come home. Because I didn't have the

right change.

There.

I couldn't have killed Mr Barton.

And I can prove it.

Are you all right?

Here. Open.

See ya.

Matthew, are you sure you're all right?

I'm fine, thanks, Doctor.

She seems like a nice girl.

So, come on, tell me all about Matthew
Clegg.

Honestly, Jenny, you should have seen
him. Was it that obvious?

The moment he saw her, he fell off his
bike and he couldn't get a coherent

sentence out.

Young love, eh?

I wouldn't go back to those days if you
paid me.

Much too painful.

Oh, no. I loved it.

Didn't you say that Matthew should take
up some form of dancing?

Oh, yeah. Something to help improve his
coordination.

Oh, you're not thinking of... Vernon's
plough dance.

I'm going to suggest that he becomes the
fourth member of our team.

Practice at lunchtime.

OK, everyone.

Right.

The pathologist has confirmed that the
body was moved after death.

So we've got to find out where it was
killed.

We also want prints and alibis from
everyone, right?

Let's go and talk to the lady at the
house.

She's not going to like having her
prints taken.

Lovely, that's not my problem.

You'll be tactful, won't you?

It's ridiculous.

My husband's death was quite clearly an
accident.

It's just a formality, madam.

There are certain inconsistencies.

And how do you think the staff will
react to having their fingerprints

It's humiliating.

We need to identify all the prints found
on the gun.

For elimination purposes.

Try telling them that.

It won't change the way they feel about
it.

Perhaps when they see you having your
fingerprints taken.

Me?

Why? Like I said, for purposes of
elimination.

I can't see why that's necessary.

Very well.

But I don't have all day.

I've heard Lisa likes you.

Why would she like me?

I'm not good -looking or anything.

You're a nice lad.

Nice? Mature.

And you've got a job?

I'm a delivery boy in your mum's shop.
Not exactly a visit.

Jackson, please!

Gather round. Now, when you've done your
steps, and then you've done your twirls

and your passes, round, right? And then
that'll be the finale.

And then there'll be a drumroll, and
then you jump over the broom handles.

Well, it'll be the plough on the night,
but we'll do these for the time being.

Right.

Have a go, then.

Of course, Mrs Barton doesn't help
herself acting all high and mighty.

Not so sorry for her. What with Mr
Barton carrying on with his secretary

that.

She doesn't want my sympathy, oh no.

All she wants is a large glass of
whiskey.

And for everyone to mind their own
business and leave her alone.

Did they argue, Roger?

Did they not argue?

They were like cat and dog.

What about the night Mr Barton died?

Did he argue that?

Dinner was a nightmare.

He told her he was leaving her for
Helen, Miss Mackay.

Oh, that must have upset Mrs Barton.

She's a tough one, she is.

If she was upset, the last person she'd
let know would be him.

I'm back.

Right, Gina, I'm off. I'll leave you to
it till I... Thanks for holding the

fort, Oscar.

No problem.

Shouldn't be too long. Don't worry, I'll
be fine.

I can't believe you're going all the way
to Whitchley just to prove Vernon

wrong. So what if he did make the dance?

It's the principle, Gina.

Remember that.

It's the principle.

Can

I

help?

I'm here to collect some plowshares. It
was arranged with, um... Me dad, yeah.

They're over there.

Oh, they're... Flower chairs.

Big. I suppose you need a hand to get
them on the truck, will you?

Yeah.

No, I mean, I can't ask you. You're a
girl.

When I'll have luck, I won't, yeah?

You take one and I'll grab other.

No, no, no. I'll get my lad to come
over. He's big and strong.

No. Come on, pick him up.

They're heavier than I expected.

Well, you can't have them bending every
time you hit a stone, can you?

I suppose not.

You're a strong girl, if you don't mind
me saying so, Miss... Rosie.

Just Rosie.

And I don't.

Mind you saying that is.

Oh, right.

I'm as good as any big, strong lad.

It's been brought up on a farm that does
it.

You ready for the next one?

Right.

No, Rob. None of them's got a record.

But I've turned up an interesting
rumour.

OK, cheers, Alf. I'll pass it on. Over
and out.

No sign of anything inside the house.

How's it going out here?

Just the barns and the outbuildings left
by the house, Sarge. But Ventress says,

word has it, Harry Barton's in financial
trouble.

I'm not interested in rumours. Let's get
on, shall we?

Hi. I was just wondering if you could
have a word.

What about him?

Well, I happen to know that Matthew
likes you.

Likes you a lot.

And I'd also heard that maybe you liked
him too?

Yeah, but he hasn't asked me out or
anything.

He's just a bit shy, Lisa, that's all.
But I know he'd like to.

Maybe you could give him a bit of
encouragement.

Oh, well, I couldn't ask him out myself.

What would my friend say?

OK.

We know that Matthew and a few of us are
doing a special dance this night at the

Village Face.

Matthew is?

Yeah. It's called the Plough Dance.

Oh, I've never heard of it.

No, well, the thing is, Lisa, that when
a young man successfully completed the

dance, it was tradition that a girl
could go up and give him a kiss.

What? Even if they weren't going out or
married or anything?

Oh, absolutely.

They have to be single men, you see,
which is why David and Matthew are doing

with me and Gina.

So at the end of the dance, it would be
perfectly all right for you to go up and

give him a kiss.

It's traditional.

Well, we're with tradition, and I
suppose it'd be all right.

This way, sir.

Just here.

Shotgun pellets.

It's damp.

This place has been scrubbed clean.

Clear the rest of the area.

I think we've got armor to see.

That's Mrs Barton's bedroom window just
up there.

Hard to believe she didn't hear a shot
at that distance.

Maybe sleeper or not.

That was the argument the housekeeper
overheard.

Time to put the pressure on, sir.

Let's ask Mrs Barton to accompany us to
the station.

If she doesn't want to go... Then you'll
have to arrest her.

You have the right to have a solicitor
present if you so wish, Mrs Barton.

You'll never get hold of him at this
time of night.

Nevertheless. Now, let's just get this
ridiculous farce over with as soon as

possible.

Let's start then, shall we?

Hey, Gina, I'm back, as promised, just
in time for opening. Good, because we're

performing for Mrs Forbes Appleswhite
tonight.

Ah, but performing what? That is the
question.

Not the Aidensfield Plough Dance, that's
for sure.

Well, not the real one, anyway. Why
won't you find out? Never you mind. You

go off and do your dancing, and we'll
see what happens at the fete tomorrow.

Oscar! Just go on. You don't want to be
late for Mrs. Forbes' step with weight,

and you've still got your pinny on.

I admit I argued with my husband, but
that's a long way short of killing him,

Detective Inspector.

He was leaving you.

So he said.

You didn't think he would?

Harry was completely infatuated with
that gold digger of a secretary, but

never have left me for her.

Why didn't you hear the shot?

It was almost under your bedroom window.

I'd had one or two whiskies to settle my
nerves.

Art Joan, she came in to say that she
was leaving about nine and gave me a

old -fashioned look when I poured myself
a large one.

My housekeeper doesn't approve of
drinking.

She obviously works for the wrong
employers.

So you're saying you didn't hear the
shot because you were drunk.

Shall we just say sleeping heavily due
to alcohol preserve a little of my

dignity?

Who do you think killed your husband,
Mrs Barton?

If it wasn't me, you mean.

I suggest you look into Harry's
financial affairs.

If there was a way to lose money, Harry
was an expert at it.

He wasn't dead.

I dare say he borrowed from someone ill
-advised.

That would be very much his style.

And now, if that were all, I'd like to
go home.

I'm sorry, Mrs Barton.

I'm keeping you in custody until
tomorrow.

My husband died last night. I'd like to
be able to grieve in peace.

You can grieve in peace in the cell.

And I suggest you contact your solicitor
in the morning.

Yes! That went very well.

Very well indeed.

Yeah, but what's going to happen
tomorrow?

Tomorrow, David, we are going to save
our taxi business.

Oh, yeah? How are we going to do that,
then? By keeping Maud Forbes Hepworth

-Waite and her visiting professor happy.

Oh, but, Mr Vernon, who's to look after
the garage while we're at the Faye?

Mr Scripps, he's not back until next
week. We can't close it down, can we? I

mean, I promised him. David, don't worry
about the garage.

I've sorted it.

I'm not convinced by this tale of Barton
owing money to dubious people.

What do your instincts tell you?

I've already applied for a warrant to
access his bank details.

And it's getting late.

Night.

Mr Scripps?

Wasn't expecting you until next week.
You must be David.

Oh, yeah.

I'm Rosie.

Rosie Cartwright.

Mr Scripps gave me a job here as a
mechanic.

Did you say he'd gone away?

Yeah. He's away for a fortnight.

He only offered me the job yesterday
when he came to look at the ploughs.

Oh! All right, you must be Mr Vernon,
not the Mr Scripps that owns the garage.

Oh! I hadn't realised there were two of
them.

Maybe I ought to check I really do have
a job.

Ah, Miss Cartwright. I see you've met
David.

Yeah, and he tells me that you don't
actually own the garage.

Well, I... Well, I don't actually own
all of it. My brother and I run several

businesses from here, and I suppose you
could say nominally that he does run the

garage, if you get my meaning.

So are you or are you not in a position
to give me a job?

Miss Contrite, I wouldn't make that sort
of decision without a full consultation

with my brother. David, we haven't got
time for this discussion, have we? We're

running late. The plowshares are on the
truck. I want you to get them set up,

ready for the dancing.

Is the other Mr Scripps more
straightforward?

Yes. Thank goodness for that.

You'll see when he gets back.

Any developments?

I've sent Bellamy to speak to Miss
Mackay again.

I'll tell you one thing.

I'm not going to let Mrs Barton browbeat
me into letting her out on bail.

Well, if we don't get some evidence, we
may not have a choice.

Reports back on the fingerprints, Sarge.
Let me see that.

Oh.

Let's see how she explains this away.

What is it?

There.

Her fingerprints are on the gun, too,
along with her husband's. I think we've

got her, Dennis.

We know there was a row the night he
died.

Yes, he said.

He said?

I thought you hadn't seen him.

I didn't.

He turned around.

Do you know, you really should have told
me that.

How do you explain your fingerprints on
the gun?

I often handle the guns. I'm not a bad
shot.

You were the only other clue set of
prints.

The killer must have worn gloves.

You told us Harry went out last night
with the gun and you never saw him

How can yours be the clearest print that
that is true?

I don't know. I can't explain it.

I can only think they must have been
left from before.

Are you all right, Maggie?

I'm sorry. It was just so awful to think
that he was dead because of me.

Well, if it's any use.

You couldn't have known that she'd take
losing him so badly.

But you see, she didn't.

So she needn't have killed him.

She didn't... Lose him.

I turned him down.

He was devastated. He threatened to kill
himself and everything.

But what else could I do?

I'd send his bank statements, for
goodness sake.

His bank statements?

His only asset was the farm, and that
was in Mrs Barden's name.

So if you left her...

He'd have nothing.

I mean, what sort of girl did he think I
was?

It had to be her.

If you look at where her fingerprints
were found on the gun, it's not in a

firing position.

No. But it was a struggle?

She's a tough woman, I grant you, but
you really think she would get the

of him in a struggle?

And if we charge her, she'll get off, I
know.

I've spoken to the secretary again.

She turned him down, apparently. He was
devastated, she said.

Turned him down?

The placement of the fingerprints are
consistent with Mr Bartlett killing

himself, sir.

Wouldn't you consider his dire financial
position?

Suicide?

But why would anyone move the body,
cover up?

Let's interview her again.

What is it this time?

Is it some other ridiculous theory?

We think your husband killed himself,
Mrs Barton. His fingerprints are in the

firing position on the gun.

He was facing financial ruin. And his
girlfriend had turned him down.

I warned him she wouldn't touch him with
a barge pole once she found out he

wasn't rich.

wouldn't listen.

What happened, Mrs Barton?

I heard the shot about midnight, went
down to the barn and found him. How did

you move him?

I managed to get him into the back of
the Land Rover, drove up to the far

and dragged him to the fence.

He must have been heavy, lifting him on
your own like that.

Needs much, Sergeant. I had to make it
look accidental.

His life insurance.

I had a suicide clause.

So selfish.

Never thought of anybody but himself.

Killed himself like some miserable, weak
coward.

Left me to clear up the mess.

I think it's a farce. What do you mean?

Oh, we've got a bee in his bonnet about
Vernon making the dance up.

I thought it was you that discovered
that there was an A, the full -plough

dance, Oscar.

Oh, aye, but it was only yesterday I
discovered a reference to it and found

exactly what the dance involves.

And needless to say, it's nothing to do
with Vernon's fantasy.

You're not going to tell Mrs Forbes
Apples, wait, are you? I don't think you

should be allowed to get away with it.
She'll be furious, especially if she's

got that professor coming to see it.
Aye, I know.

She'll go mad.

She'll never let him renew his taxi
licence.

It's the only business he's got left.
Oscar, he can't. He'll be ruined.

Don't you think I hadn't thought about
that?

Of chance, Mrs Barton was attempting to
obtain money by deception, Milder.

Shame. But it definitely wasn't murder.

No, sir.

Had me going for a while, though.

Yes, sir.

I'll leave you to get on with it,
Sergeant.

Sir?

I don't know what you're all hanging
about for.

There was a village pate to attend,
didn't there?

You should buy that Victoria sponge. I
made it myself.

This way, Professor.

I'll have the sponge, please.

I know it's not made by Mrs Ventress.

Mr Scripps.

This is Professor Huntley, the eminent
anthropologist.

We are honoured indeed to have such a
distinguished academic at our humble

village fate.

I'm not stopping.

Oscar, please don't say anything.

Don't worry, Gina.

Ah, Professor Huntley, I presume.

I think you and I should have a chat
about this plough dance you're just

to see. Let me introduce Oscar Blaketon,
Professor, esteemed local councillor

and the real discoverer of the plough
dance.

Let me tell you, if it hadn't been for
Oscar, you wouldn't see this plough

performed here today.

You see, the thing is, Mr Scripps here
has taken the dance... I've done my best

to teach these unskilled but keen
villagers the dance.

But really it's down to Oscar's hard
work.

In libraries throughout the county, that
has been the inspiration. That is

something that we will all be eternally
grateful for.

All the libraries in the county?

Well, the Whitby Library, to be exact.

Well, I can't really take all the
credit.

Oh, they're about to be gone.

Follow me.

Why? Accident prevention.

Lisa, have you seen this massive jar of
sweets?

We can win that, you know. I don't want
a massive sweet jar, and I don't want a

cake. Look, and I don't want Matthew to
trip over and break his leg.

You know that he falls to pieces every
time he sees you.

I can't be there till the end of the
dance. There's nothing I've got to do.

Please, it's important.

All right, but don't do it until the end
of the dance.

Do you promise?

I promise.

Left it. Well done, Mr. Scrooge.

I take it our little misunderstanding
that the taxi is forgotten, then. What

misunderstanding would that be?

It was an accident. I didn't mean any
harm.

Now, if it had been Phil Bellamy, it
might have been a different matter.

There's no Mrs. Bellamy waiting for you
at home, then. Just go before you do any

more damage to this family.

I understand.

You want him, not me. But you're not
having Jack.

Richard!