All language subtitles for JC SP05 - The Clue of the Savants Thumb x264 RB58

Go on, take it!

It's the first test.

It's the first test.

It'll be hilarious.
Can't wait to see her face.

This is taking ages.
Hurry up. Write faster!

She's coming!

Who is responsible
for this sacrilege?!

I tell you now, whoever did this,

no secret is hidden
from the Holy Father.

You know who you are.

And the wrath of the
Lord will be upon you

and His punishment will
be harsh and righteous,

and commensurate with the
mortal sin of blasphemy!

You've some weird and
deviant ways, Rosalind Booth.

Natalie, have you anything you wish
to say to me about this afternoon?

No, Sister Cunegonde.

Sister!

We'll see if 24 hours
of isolation can tame

this rebellious spirit
of yours, Rosalind.

In this room you will read,
reflect on your sins,

and learn penitence through
the power of prayer.

And you will truly see God,

and learn to love Him through
the blessed Saint Barnabas,

and repent the error
of your heathen ways.

So are you going to
tell us what happened?

- Did you actually see God?
- So come on, tell us.

Course I didn't "see God."
What do you think?

Absolutely nothing happened in there.

Nothing at all.

Subtitles by MemoryOnSmells
http://UKsubtitles.ru.

'Yes, and although today one
simply thinks of oneself as this'

'jobbing writer-director-presenter-

'political-theorist-cum-social
anthropologist,'

'you having trained
initially, of course,'

'in the areas of medicine
and bio-chemistry,'

'I still find these areas
utterly fascinate me.'

'There's a lady in Sweden, for
example, who for 11 years now'

'has been sending me videos of
her husband's colonoscopies.'

'And while it's true that to
a specialist in rectal polyps'

'his abdomen is positively
stacked with treasures,'

'what's curious is her
passion for meticulously'

'documenting their progress.'

'Like some form of anal archivist'

'recording his posterior
for posterity, as it were.'

Well, there we must leave it.

As ever, Franklin Tartikoff,
it's been illuminating,

entertaining, and an absolute...

Ah, Nigel, yes.

Some of these dates
they've sent for the book tour,

I don't think they're going
to work, unfortunately.

July 15th, I'll be up to my
eyes in The Winslow Boy.

That's Terence Rattigan, for any
tabloid reporters listening in.

And the third and fourth of August,

I'll still be colour
grading Robin Cook.

And then, I'm afraid, the
last week of November's

not good for me,
as I'll be dead.

Any chance they could bring
that one forward at all?

Well, no. That prognosis, I'm
told, is amazingly accurate.

Based on this new software that
can sample the echocardiogram

and then calculate the exact
rate of ventricular atrophy.

As a tool for assessing life expectancy
in terminal heart disease

it's one of the most exciting new
clinical developments I can remember.

- Peter!
- Franklin, morning.

Come on up. The coffee's on.
How are you? Are you well?

- Fine?
- Thanks, yes. And how's Ros?

Had to get that funeral out
of the way this morning.

Oh, yes. An old school
friend, apparently.

She's been obsessing about
it for days. I don't know why.

Grace Elizabeth Elstow
left this world too early,

but it was, at least, a world
she had come to terms with.

She understood the temporary
nature of existence,

that man is no more meaningful
than a mountain of molecules.

Beautifully, but pointlessly
composited for one brief life span,

before reverting,
without consequence,

to an infinity of dust.

Not quite the Pope's
Easter message, but...

I suppose it's what she
would have wanted.

Dear Beth. You were their
one success story.

Funny how we all spin off
in different directions.

That's Grace and Kate, then, now.
Both gone.

Just the two of us left.

You... got my text?

And?

You went back. What did you see?

Too much.

I hoped...

Maybe I hoped it had all gone away.

All I know is, the sooner they pull
that wretched place down, the better.

But they'll still be with us, Ros.

The ghosts will never leave us

as long as we go on
running from the past.

We were just children.
We didn't deserve that!

I'm sorry, Beth.
I can't see the point.

It's 50 years now.

For God's sake, can't we please
just let it go and move on!

Ah yes, I see what you're
saying about the arrhythmia.

It's like a form of systolic
syncopation, almost.

Art Tatum in the atrium.

Ah! That'll be Fariba.

She said she'd call the minute
she landed. Do you mind?

No, no, we're almost done.

Sweetheart!
How was life in the jungle?

Yes, going to be clearing a space soon
for that BAFTA documentary award!

I tell you, 108 days with the
most primitive people on Earth,

109 if you count the
baggage staff at Jakarta,

just so opens your eyes to life,

survival, existence.

Well, listen, I can't wait
to see the footage.

No, I can imagine.

Yeah, I only went to Bhubaneswar.

Pottering around
the Buddhist shrine...

You're just off?

Yes. I've made one slight adjustment
to your husband's medication.

If I could leave it with you?

Yes. Of course.

And I'll be in touch
again next week.

Yes. Right. Bye then, Peter.

The student bar would be
empty by 10 o'clock...

Interesting.

Yes, but not something you'd
have much use for. It's a god.

- Taura-Ran.
- Oh, yes?

Which means, roughly translated,
"What cannot be explained."

It's like they're living on a whole
different spiritual plane to us.

- Gosh.
- We think we know all the answers.

We don't even know the questions.

And how's Brad?
You been keeping him warm for me?

Yes. Yes, we see him from
time to time, don't we?

- Mm-hmm.
- Is he all right?

What do you think?
16 weeks on his own?

Poor man will be pining
for you desperately.

Oh!

Whoa!

I think that's what DH
Lawrence would call

"the hastening gravitation
of spirit towards spirit"

"and body towards body."

Give me that again?

Whoa!

No, I meant the bit
about DH Lawrence.

You know, we need to look lively before
the owners of this place catch us.

- When are they due back?
- The end of February.

So they fly south for the winter
and leave you to mind the shop.

Got to be a cushy number.

And the rest.

There's all the maintenance work,
sorting out the animal feed.

And picking up strange
women at petrol stations.

I should have known
you worked on a farm

when you had to sit on that little
stool to put your hands up my shirt.

Nice part of the world, though.

What's that place?
Like a stately home or something?

Oh, Waxwood Hall.
Yeah, used to be an old convent school.

There was some weird
story back in the '60s.

These girls who all
woke up with, like,

strange red rings on their head.

Think one of them was actually
found dead the next morning.

You know what it's like,
local superstitions.

There's been talk around
this place ever since.

"Dark forces" at work
in that building

you really don't want
to meddle with...

Oh gosh, she's back
this week, I forgot.

Girl I was sort of seeing,
till she, erm...

Hey! How the hell are you?

Oh, just the usual.
Slopping about the farm.

Sorting out the livestock.

But listen, we should get
together for a catch up.

Yeah, when's good for you?

I don't know, Brad.
When's good for you?

Not just this minute, I'm guessing.

Oh, I know! And he was so looking
forward to catching up with you today.

But them's the breaks, I'm afraid,

when you're running a
global advertising agency.

Cos you and my dad go back 30 years,

directing those SDP party politicals.

Oh, yes, Roy Jenkins.
"With not a little rancour."

I think we went to 16 takes.

Oh, I never got a chance to
introduce you all properly,

did I, to my husband, Jonathan?

Don't think you know Jack,
producer extraordinaire.

You still based in Euston,
have I remembered that right?

And Davina and Rosalind.

And Franklin Tartikoff,
you obviously know.

Though to me you'll always be the
Right Reverend Leslie Clitoris.

I mean, priceless.

Some of the stuff you got away with
those early satire shows on radio.

Remember the mad Catholic bishop

who tied women's legs
together in a reef knot?

Oh gosh, yes. Leslie Clitoris.

BBC had no idea what
we were saying.

They thought he was the
chap who wrote The Saint.

So, anyway.
This is all news to us, Polly?

What was it, a whirlwind courtship?

More like an emergency airlift!

Poor man was living in a windmill,
weren't you, when I first met him.

Thinking up conjuring
tricks for a living.

So you know, bit of a reboot
required there, but...

Good for us all periodically, I think.
To metamorphose, move on.

I was born a man.

Exactly. Oh! Mustn't
forget, by the way,

it's Jack and Davina's
anniversary today,

so many congratulations
to you both!

To the lucky husband and his
lovely wife! Many more to come.

So where's he taking you after this,
somewhere exciting?

What?

No, it's just all this "he",
and "husband and wife."

I'm very sorry.

No, no, darling,
I'm sure he understands.

A few years ago, Jonathan,

I had some identity issues
with my gender.

We discussed it, we resolved it.

I was Geoffrey Hyde,
I'm now Jacqueline.

It's done. We've moved on.
We're very happy.

So great, when people can
work these things out.

So, sorry, what are you saying?
That you...

Made what we both felt
was the mature decision.

And in case you're wondering,
I got to keep all my male genitalia.

Oh, right.

I keep it in a jar in my
production office.

You know what it's like.

Pairs of shoes you
don't wear any more,

you still can't bear to throw away.

And the name, I suppose,
Jacqueline, sort of appropriate

with your identity issues?

Jacqueline Hyde?

How do you mean, exactly?

Actually, talking of satire,

did you have any luck with that
demo tape? I meant to ask.

- Some quite extraordinary performances...
- Let's go and say hi...

Can I say something
embarrassing, Jonathan?

I'm such an admirer of
all your cognitive work.

It takes a pretty
stubborn mind sometimes

to fly the flag for common sense

when everyone else around you
seems to believe in fairies.

That's...

I realise, obviously, that that's a
closed chapter in your life now,

but just so you know...

you have a fan.

I'll be away then now.
And see you later.

Yes. Enjoy your "bridge night."

Hi, how are you?

Indeed. In some ways
the perfect night for it.

We both know he knows.

Is there anything on this God-
awful Earth he doesn't know?

It's just that, to say that
to me, to even allude...

It's the first time ever he's tried
to rattle me with subtext.

This time next year,
things'll be different.

Yes, knowing him,

he'll suddenly develop a
miracle cure in his coffee break.

I have to go.

Fariba? You in there, darling?
What's happening?

Fariba, please open the door!

Oh, no! Fariba!

Oh, God, oh, God!
What's happened?!

Talk to me, will you?!

Fariba! Fariba!

Open the door!

Talk to me, will you?

Fariba?

Fariba, can you hear me?

Fariba!

Yes, you've got to
come over here now!

Oh, God, oh, God.

Fariba, can you hear me?

Shh...

I called the police.
I called the ambulance.

Well done, well done.

In God's name...

My darling, are you all right?
Can you talk?

Please talk to me.
What happened here?

This is insane.

You're making this up!

What happened?
Why can't you tell us?

Because I... I don't know.

I came up here and
I found him like that...

I heard somebody coming upstairs,
and I... I locked the door.

Whoever did that, I didn't know,
they might still be in the house,

outside there, with
a gun to your head.

I... I couldn't think straight!

But you never moved from
that door the whole time.

I mean, for God's sake, he was
in here, you both saw him!

This is just surreal, isn't it?

Where the hell did he go?

Can you please move...

Sorry, I thought he might
have a small window, but

I'm afraid we're looking at back-
to-back appointments all morning.

Then he's got lunch with his
co-directors at Claridge's at one,

and from three to five he'll
be at his club in town, so...

Erm, yes!
Can I stop you there?

I think we've got our wires
crossed here, haven't we?

It's just, I googled the name
and this company came up, but

obviously got the wrong Jonathan
Creek here entirely, haven't I?

So, very sorry to
have troubled you.

Bye.

Oh!

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

What are you like?

It wasn't deliberate,
I swear to you, honestly.

"Sorry, Mr Creek, just to warn you."

"There was a rather strange woman
hanging about earlier on."

"I got security to escort
her off the premises,"

"but just in case she manages
to worm her way back in..."

"She looked like the sort
that doesn't give up."

I'll bear that in mind.
Thank you, Angelika.

Said she thought you might
have a small window.

Has she ever been in this room?

Look, if all you've come
here to do is smirk at the

fact that I've finally managed
to turn my life around,

progress my career,

do something a bit more grown-up and
responsible and creatively challenging.

Only I've got a very important
presentation to Weetabix

in five minutes,
so if you don't mind...

All right, get out.

I'm sorry, no! Sorry.

Look, three years.

People can change,
it's none of my business.

So look, I'll keep this short, okay?

Cos this won't be on
your radar yet, probably.

It's only just breaking, but...

A dead man in a room, right,

seen and photographed by witnesses,

completely evaporates into thin air.

Walls, floor, ceiling all rock solid,

no way he could have got out through
the window, or through the door,

which was being watched the whole
time, and yet when they went in...

I mean, it is just mind-blowing.

There'll be an explanation.

It'll all be very weird
and wonderful.

Once you've fathomed it, everyone
will be deeply underwhelmed,

and you'll wonder why
you bothered, so.

Ordinarily, agreed. But this one is so
bulletproof, from what they're saying,

it's like nothing you've
ever come across.

There's a lot of mad talk in this village
already about supernatural forces.

And now with this
Franklin Tartikoff character

just apparently turning into dust,
like some kind of vampire...

Franklin Tartikoff?

Sorry, I didn't realise
you were uh, in a meeting.

You know we're...

Yes. This was just...
absolutely.

Best of luck with that, then.

Sounds like you'll need it.

- What's the latest news?
- What's going on?

- Please step back, please.
- Please step back, please.

There's nothing to see here.

Move all back.

This is private property,
ladies and gentlemen,

please stay back.

Ow!

We found this in the kitchen,
Mrs. Tartikoff.

Could you enlighten us at all?

My husband's bat detector.

He'd been tracking this soprano
pipistrelle for the past week,

appeared to have come
out of hibernation.

Oh, in fact, that's something I
should really have warned you about.

Copy that, Sergeant.

I can report the bat net has
just been safely located.

Joey Ross. Joey Ross...

Bear with me just a few seconds.

I could switch to voice recognition,

but calling up a Wikipedia
file is not without risks.

Now, according to this, you run
a website which catalogues

and explains real life
paranormal experiences,

in occasional collaboration with...

Well, well, well!

A name that immediately
sprang to mind, of course,

when this little puzzle
first presented itself.

He and I had the pleasure
of working together once,

on the curious matter
of the limping man.

Some years before a sniper's
bullet put me in this contraption.

So you wouldn't be...

Gideon Pryke?

They tried to retire me, of course,

but I still have the
use of one finger,

which was enough to argue my case.

And, please God, the world has
moved on since Raymond Burr...

Sergeant Cudlipp!

The heel of a man's shoe,
size 11 I'd imagine,

directly below the victim's study.

Get me a cast, as quick as you like,
and roll out Operation Dandini.

Yeah, I think that's where DC
O'Brien would have been, sir,

when he was checking
out the windows.

Except DC O'Brien's tread
is quite dissimilar,

and this chap appears to have
been standing hard against the wall

with his nose in the bricks.

Unusual behaviour during a
thunderstorm, what do you think?

No problem, Guv.

Assigned to me just this week

by someone upstairs who knows
bugger all about bugger all.

But you've got some form
in this line of inquiry.

What say we go and pool
our early observations?

"Franklin Tartikoff, whose body
was discovered late last night"

"by his adopted daughter
Fariba Tartikoff,"

"only to vanish, minutes later,
right under everyone's nose."

"But then, hopes of a solution
rose this morning"

"with the arrival of the formidable
investigator Gideon Pryke,"

"who famously suffered near-
fatal injuries five years ago"

"while rescuing a child's puppy
during the Chinese Embassy siege"

"and whose unique ability..."

Do you know, I'm not sure now
about these blonde highlights.

Think next time I
might go more Titian.

What does that involve,
formaldehyde?

Hmm? What were you
watching just then?

Look, the poor man's dead,
there's nothing we can do about it.

Where's that little knob?

- I'm sorry?
- You know!

The one we have to keep turning down
when your brain gets overheated.

Look, whatever it is
that's happened...

Probably your managing director
and father-in-law. Excuse me.

Jonathan Creek.

Oh, hi. Hi.

Yeah, of course, who hasn't?

I don't know what to say.

"I shouldn't have
rang you, it's just..."

You're the only one
I can say this to.

Jonathan... I'm frightened.

"Frightened that..."

every certainty, everything I've
ever believed, is about to vanish...

like my husband, and never return.

And this was taken...

According to the statements,

about 13 minutes before
they broke down the door.

So I take it we're not looking
at any tomfoolery with

floorboards, or hidden panels, or...

So his body was just here.

We don't know whether he'd
been shot, or stabbed or what.

Let alone why.

His daughter was just here,
who then fainted.

And this'll be, what,
like an airing cupboard?

Aargh! Red hot!

Dunno. He wasn't really dead,

and he got in the tank
and boiled away?

Oh, God, this is
freaking me out already.

Where the hell do you even start?

You disappoint me.

I would have thought the pictures on
the stairs were rather suggestive?

Well, there go our two dinner
parties this weekend.

He needs me over there, apparently,
for this top-table powwow.

Sounds like they're only projecting

single-digit growth now
across the affiliates.

So that's me off to JFK,
crack of dawn.

Better get myself sorted.
I'm so sorry, angel.

Oh, well.

The hand in his pocket!

Which is a bit of a
weird one for starters

but according to those photos out
there, he had that habit, apparently,

of always leaving his thumb outside,
just like hooked over the edge.

Except here it isn't.

The whole hand's inside.

From which we might
fairly conclude...

That he didn't put his
hand in his pocket.

Someone else put it there
deliberately, after he was dead.

But for what reason?

Well, when we know that,

I suspect we'll have the key
to the whole mystery.

In the meantime, I draw your
attention to a disc that was

sitting there in his DVD drive.

Fatally corrupted, unfortunately,
so the contents are unknown.

"GP". Perhaps they knew
you were coming.

Could be a dead end, of course.

But you might be intrigued
to hear what the SOCO boys

found on his computer keyboard.

What?

Nothing. Which, I think you'll
agree, is decidedly fishy.

There wasn't a single
fingerprint on one of the keys.

Constable Atkins.

I want a complete shakedown of
every notebook, BlackBerry,

tablet and diary in the house.

You're looking for a name
with the initials GP.

An inside job? Possibly.

We'll give that daughter of his
the benefit of the doubt for now,

but only for now.

Rest assured, someone around here

knows a lot more
than they're saying

and by jingo, I'll have it out
of them before we're done.

Until tomorrow?

- Okay?
- Okay, good.

Oh. It's going to be a
miserable weekend for you,

rattling around here on
your own like a spare part.

What are you going
to do with yourself?

God only knows.

- Just come back in one piece, okay?
- Okay.

And love to your dad!

Listen, Fariba.

That day in the field with Brad...

Is of no consequence to us now.

That's not who we are.

It's not what we are.

Something inside us

deep and infinite that
can't be measured.

That was never created
and can never die.

Do you buy into that, Joey?

We talk about belief, religion.

I see only wisdom.

The wisdom to accept
what we can never know.

This is where you part company
slightly, I gather, from your, erm...

I was three years old when they
rescued me from the floods.

Mayabunder in the
Andaman Islands.

He was out there doing a
series about Marco Polo.

Growing up in the West, I don't
know. Did I lose something?

Maybe that's why I went back,
to find out.

Transubstantiation of
the body into spirit.

Can a human being just
float away into thin...

If you don't mind me
giving it the once over.

Shall we say half an hour?

Anything else you need,
just give me a shout.

Otherwise, all yours
then, Mr. Creek.

It's good to have you
back in the saddle.

Well, this is poor.

But then I call in Don Draper to
solve a crime, what do I expect?

So what changed your
mind then, in the end?

No, it's just... you look at
this picture by the police

when they got here against the one
she took out there on the landing...

Why can't I shake off the feeling
there's something missing?

Err, yes. A dead body?

Sort of why we're all here.

No, it's too subliminal still.
Just won't come.

So you noticed the hand in the
pocket with no thumb sticking out?

Yes.

And that shoe print under the window
that was flush against the wall?

Yes.

And the small piece of squashed Blu-
tack lying over there on the floor?

Y...

What's that got to do with anything?

Nothing, possibly.

Or it could be the most significant
detail in the whole case.

I suppose the "GP"
on that corrupted disc

is unlikely to be our doctor friend.

Even if he is sleeping with the wife.

Where the hell did you get that from?

She told me.

Why go on pretending?

Franklin and I...

It was never that sort of marriage.

We both knew that
almost from the start.

He was just simply the most
astonishing, provocative

and intellectually gifted
man I'd ever known.

As hard as it was,
I'd prepared myself to lose him.

But not like this.

One other point, Mrs. Tartikoff,
you may be able to help us with.

A text my sergeant found on
your phone, dated January 3rd.

"Remember 1968,
the year of the Circles."

From someone called Beth.

Yes. Someone I knew at school.

St. Barnabas Roman Catholic,
not far from here.

One of our old classmates
had just died, and...

No doubt you've already checked
up on the history of it all.

No doubt I have.

A rather queer business in which a
14-year-old girl was found dead in bed,

with a red ring on her face.

No apparent explanation
for what killed her,

but the general consensus
was "sheer terror."

More red rings were subsequently
reported on several other girls,

but they lived to tell the tale.

You can imagine the
effect it had on us,

young, impressionable
schoolchildren.

Anyway, bizarre as it was,
it's all ancient history now.

But there is something else, Inspector,
you might be interested in

that's rather more current,
and rather more sinister.

And so this is saying what, exactly?

They think there might be some kind
of local secret society in the village.

This appeared 18 months ago,

and I know plenty of people
say it's still going on.

Arcane activities.

You can never get anyone
to talk about it, of course,

but we've no idea
what they're up to.

What, a few rolled-up trouser
legs and the odd moose head?

I don't think we'll lose any sleep
over this one, Mrs. Tartikoff.

But rest assured,

if I spot any dodgy handshakes
in the village, I'll let you know.

Yes, well, I need to be getting
off now, to this seminar.

I am contactable,
if you need anything else.

I understand, Mrs. Tartikoff.
Life goes on.

What?

Load of old bollocks that was!
Are you blind?

That secret society
thing was so obviously

just to get us all out of this room.

Why?

Cos there was something in this
drawer, didn't you notice?

She very niftily locked away when all
that talk came up about her old school.

So come on, have you
got all the gubbins?

No, I have not got all the gubbins!

This is a blatant intrusion into
the privacy of a grieving woman.

Oh, don't be such an infant!
I'll do it myself.

You know, you want to be careful.

Women who butter you up like that,
they're usually after something.

Who said she was buttering me...
Put down that foot file!

I demand that y...

Do you have you any idea the
damage you're doing with that?

Right.

Okay.

Pound to the penny, this is what
she didn't want us to see.

Postmark, same date as that text.

Her down here on the right,
would you say?

With three of her old buddies.

Waxwood Cove, March '68.

Waxwood Hall I thought
that place was called, but

named after somewhere
on the coast maybe?

They all went to on
a field trip once, or...

And what have we got
here when it's at home?

Some sort of schoolgirl's code?

With a drawing of a hangman.

Come on, you put all this together
with "the year of the circles".

Why was she so keen to convince
us it was all just ancient history?

And why did the word
'circles' have a capital C?

Just get the feeling all that
weird stuff that happened there,

there's got to be a connection.

Something that still
haunts her to this day

and has somehow wormed its way
into every corner of her life.

So, where exactly is
this Waxwood Hall?

You know there's some interesting
stuff here, about this place

when you start looking for it.

It says here, another thing a
lot of ex-pupils talked about

was something called
the "quiet room",

which was like a room where the
nuns would put unruly pupils

with just some bread
and water and a bible

"to study and contemplate and redeem
themselves through prayer."

Like being banged up
in solitary for the night.

But what's weird is, listen to this.

"Notwithstanding their
rebellious nature,"

"many of the girls who
were thus confined"

"actually said they had
seen God in the room,"

"with several others claiming
they had actually been touched"

"by the blessed saint as
they reached out to him."

Well, I think that gives the
lie to our "seaside trip".

Question is, why would you
label a photo that was

taken in that room upstairs
"Waxwood Cove"?

Jonathan, I've got a horrible feeling
we're not alone in this place.

I just heard this,
I don't know what it was,

like this strange metallic
twanging noise.

Seemed to be coming from
down there, somewhere.

Wait here.

Listen, I think I might've
sussed that code!

Did they leave any chalk in here? Ah!

There's a definite feeling in here.

You shudder to imagine what
it was like living in this place.

The clue is the hangman!

You think about the hangman game.

What's the first thing you do
before you try and guess the word?

You draw a small horizontal
line for each letter.

Except on this, it's the other
way round, which means...

if we fill in all the base-
lines afterwards...

Mmm.

What do you mean, "Mmm"?

That's got to be worth more than
"Mmm" any day of the week!

I'd like to see you manage
to work that one out.

But, no, very good.

Question is, WHAT
would be at midnight?

It's easy to think that
"year of the Circles"

referred to those rings that
appeared on their heads,

but I don't know.

The capital C threw up
another possibility that

would dovetail rather neatly
with that photo taken upstairs.

Waxwood Cove quite obviously
makes no sense as a place name.

But what if the end of that
photo had been cut off

to remove something, or someone
else, from the picture

and at the same time part
of the writing went with it.

Well it's... it's hardly a theory
we can test at this stage,

but how much more tenable is
the idea of a Waxwood Coven

and a group of mutinous
Catholic schoolgirls

adopting the name of a witch
from Greek mythology,

let's say, for example,
the Four Circes.

Which didn't quite make it past

the predictive text option
on that phone message.

So you think they might have had
their own little secret society

that had something to do with
those rings and the girl that died?

Whatever it was that
happened that night,

this suggests they
knew it was coming.

And it's something she's
still trying to deal with.

Well, I wonder where this "quiet
room" was, when it's at home.

Ah! Agh!

Jonathan!

Joey? What happened?
Are you okay?

What... in the name of
Hell was all that about?!

Back in a sec.

So I guess we know now

how those nuns made them all feel
they'd been "touched by the Lord".

It would appear someone round here's

doing a rather naff job of
trying to frighten us off.

Yes, but not that naff!
Can we please just leave?

Thank you.

Fun and games for you
there then, Mr. Creek.

And I wonder what you'll
make of this little gem.

Submitted by a local busybody

with a handy bit of surveillance
kit on his property.

These are off a CCTV from the
top of a pole outside his house.

Timed at 1.17am on the
night of Tartikoff's death.

- Like some kind of straw effigy.
- Being burnt at the stake?

What do you think?

WI been watching
"The Wicker Man" again?

We popped along to
that spot this morning.

Found nothing but a
sea of ash, of course.

Anyway, have to love you
and leave you, I'm afraid.

Looks like we've found
our elusive "GP" finally.

Entry in the deceased's
personal organiser.

Next Monday at ten, he had a meeting
arranged with a certain Greta Portland.

Not many of those
on the electoral roll,

but we have turned up
one in South Derbyshire.

If there's anything exciting,
I'll give you a bell.

So, there you go, that's us both
booked in upstairs for later.

You never worry at all what the
missus might make of all this?

Remember, she only
knows you as Clark Kent.

So that's it then now, is it?

Pulling women out of elephants
and sawing rabbits in half,

all done with.

All done with, thank you.

It's a little thing called "growth",
you should try it some time.

Course, he never said, did he,
where those pictures were taken,

but if we're talking
fields and farms,

I think I might know
someone who can help.

So just a very quick
recap, if I may.

This guy Brad, you think
may be able to help us,

you don't actually
know his surname.

Or where he comes from.

Or his phone number,
or his address.

Or anything about his background,
or basically anything about him at all.

Well, no, we didn't
really get that far.

You only got as far as sex.

Well, yes. It was a very cold day.

A very cold day? Of all
the spurious mitigation!

Whatever happened
to putting on a scarf?

I despair of the modern generation.

Hey, don't take your bedroom
frustrations out on me!

- Just cos you're off the market now.
- I beg your pardon?

And the reason I didn't pursue it,

was when I found out she was
still technically in the frame,

I just thought I
should fall on my sword.

But not before you'd
fallen on his sword!

God, you can't turn it off,
can you? What now?

This piece of timber...

has been very recently
fixed across that post,

about six feet off the ground.

And we know that how?

Pattern of old slug trails,
you can just make out.

And these hooks, with what appear
to be wisps of rope through them...

it's almost like...

Ah. Funnily enough, we
were just talking about you.

Can we talk?

Fariba Tartikoff.

Sorry?

Sorry, it's a terrible line.

Just one second,
can you hold on?

I'm just seeing if I can
get a better signal here.

Ah, hello?

Eileen... sorry?

Eileen Aubrey?

No, no, no!

Of course I know your
work, obviously, yes!

Yeah, sure, I can do.

Any reason why we have
to meet there or...?

No, that's fine.

Okay.

Okay, yeah, got that.

Right, well, I'll see you then.

You and I, Jonathan, we
both see the world as it is.

Gods and spirits and
magic and miracles!

The eternal refuge
of the credulous.

- And yet... and yet.
- I know.

For all the niggling little
pointers in this case

that seemed to promise so much,

as things stand,
you have to say,

what happened in that
room with your husband

just isn't physically possible.

I've never told this
to anyone, but...

I had once, an experience
at school.

In which you were locked in a room
with bread and water and a bible,

and a portrait of St. Barnabas,
and you had a vision of God?

Along with a whole load of other pupils
who were sent to the "quiet room".

Not quite the miracle it seemed
at the time, I would suggest.

But the reason you buried it,
I'm guessing now,

is because you couldn't face
the idea of being judged...

for a mortal sin, committed by you
and your Catholic school friends

who belonged to this,
whatever it was called,

Waxwood Hall witches' coven.

The Sisters of Circe.

There's a nice Woody Allen story
about a guy goes to the opera

and accidentally falls
into the orchestra pit.

Too proud to admit his mistake,

he goes back every night for a month
and does exactly the same thing.

There's an echo of that here,
isn't there?

Those red rings that appeared
on all the other girls' heads

just had to be a smokescreen
you deliberately repeated,

to make other people
think the first one was

part of some bigger,
supernatural mystery.

I can speculate, Rosalind,
till the cows come home,

about what happened
that day, "at midnight".

Some kind of initiation rite for the
new girl that went horribly wrong?

The cruelest irony, she
was so desperate to join.

Of course we told her she'd
first of all have to prove herself.

Survive this fiendish endurance
test we'd prepared for her.

The time has come.
Midnight is upon us all.

The witching hour.
The witching hour.

Prepare you now to join
the daughters of Lucifer.

The Sisters of Circes.
And nor shall you cry.

Prepare to face your darkness.

What we had no way of knowing

how could we possibly have known...

She had an allergy to bees.

Something we found out, by purest
chance, weeks, months later.

To my dying day, I'll never forget
the way she struggled!

She was trying to tell us
her life was in danger.

Somewhere along the line,
her heart gave out.

The fear, the sheer terror,
she just stopped breathing.

How did this happen?!

What could we do?

To our eternal shame,
we did nothing.

None of this ever happened.

Our minds were already so
crammed with make-believe.

Was it one more act of rebellion

to create this monstrous lie

we'd have to live with
for the rest of our days?

Sister!

Even when she wrote to me,
Beth, and sent me the photo...

how could I bear, even now,
to look into those eyes?

How could I seek forgiveness
when there was no one there?

You see my problem?

Existence of a supreme being
may be one for another day,

but whoever those
fingers belonged to,

you touched in that room, it
certainly wasn't God or any saint.

If it wasn't for the setting
of a girls' convent school,

any kind of instant religious
experience in the mid 60s

wouldn't take a lot of explaining.

Especially when you factor
in a supply of sugar cubes.

Did they even have any idea what
they were playing about with?

Polly's in New York, did you say?

Yeah, till Monday.

She's a lucky girl.

Jonathan Creek.

Yeah, she was here, only just left.

Actually we... we got to the bottom
of a couple of things, which...

- Sorry, when was this?
- 'Down here!'

Someone called Eileen Aubrey?

Wanted her to meet up at eight
o'clock tonight in the "East Barn".

I looked up the name, she writes
for one of these TV trade papers,

but at that time of night?

Don't know, someone's up
to something round here.

What if it's some kind of set-up?

I mean, I don't know. Whoever tried
to throttle me in that room, what if...

You're not telling me this is what
that secret society was all about?

Only one of your soppy
Magic Circle outfits.

That's what it was that was
missing from that photo.

I can see it now, plain as day.

Africa.

What?

No sign of Fariba here, I notice.

And it's just coming up
to eight o'clock now.

Hang on.

East Barn, you said?

- But if the moon's over there...
- No, I wrote it down.

That's exactly what she put.

You didn't say she put a full stop!

- So?
- Cos it's not East Barn at all, is it?

EA, Eileen Aubrey. St. Barnabas.

We're in the wrong place!

- Look out!
- Ah! No!

No!

They said you might be...
in some... some danger.

- I followed you here.
- Don't try to talk!

Oh!

You always said there are some
things we can never know.

So, is this where I have
to admit you were right?

What a bore.

This won't take us long,
ladies and gentlemen.

But on the back of last night's
tragic developments,

I thought it might be a good
idea to just pool our thoughts

and see if we can't nudge this one,
finally, into the back of the net.

Sceptic, as I was, about all that
secret society nonsense,

it turns out to have been at
the very heart of this illusion.

An illusion as ingenious
as it was macabre.

And perpetrated, it seems, for
the most perverse of motives.

The disappearing body deprived us
of one crucial piece of information

that would have unravelled
this case in seconds.

HOW the victim was killed.

No body, but there was a photo.

A photo that confirmed
what everyone saw

Franklin Tartikoff lying
against the wall,

one arm behind his back,
the other hand in his pocket.

Distinctly odd.

And clearly deliberately
engineered by another party.

But why?

A fleeting image last night
of a revolving pumpkin

suddenly unlocked it for me.

What it was that had changed
between these two pictures,

before and after the
body disappeared.

The logic of which led
directly to the reason

why that hand had to be kept
out of sight in that pocket.

Because there was no hand.

For all his credentials
as this iconic polymath,

there was a lighter side,
wasn't there, to your father,

that was all of a piece with his
early work in TV and radio.

And yet another passion,

that he took a mischievous
delight in keeping secret.

Nemo dicite.

"Tell no one".

The society was very
strict about all that.

Like everything he turned his mind
to, magic became quite a skill.

Rather like yourself, he had all these
amazing ideas for different props.

He'd design, I'd put together.

Then we'd meet up to
make sure it all worked.

Hey.

Yeah, all set.

In some ways, the
perfect night for it.

"It took me three weeks to build."

"A woman sawn in half"

"and the blade appears to go
right through, into the wood."

"We were all set to give it a
trial run... when it happened."

"There was only one person
I could think of turning to."

Franklin...

I always knew...
there was something else.

The way he was with me...

It wasn't such a
secret round here.

What if no one believed me?

What if they thought I'd done this?

Look...

All I could think
about was my mother.

Somehow, if I could make it look
like he'd never left the house,

at least she'd be spared
the worst of that horror.

Okay, look at me...

"It was like, in some weird
way, I was being tested."

"This was my chance
to make it happen,"

"what cannot be explained."

Fariba?

"I could make it seem like he'd
been attacked in that room."

Dear God.

Fariba!

"The body would disappear."

"She would absolutely
swear it had been there."

"It would look like the flap
had just slipped back again."

"She'd go off and ring the police"

"and I'd have, maybe ten
minutes to take it all apart."

"When she never moved from
outside door, I had to improvise."

"Amazingly, I found a few minutes
before the police arrived,"

"to recover it all."

The fact that that globe
had revolved 180 degrees,

of course, proved nothing.

But it was enough to trigger

the only real insight that
made any sense here,

that all we actually need
to think we've seen a body

is the head.

The rest, more or less,
we don't even question.

Except for the hands.

That was where it all
started to unravel.

Maybe...

Maybe I just dared to hope
somewhere in that night of hell,

there was some... purpose.

That I could take her to a place
where science would desert her.

Before she left us,

something deeper,

more meaningful might
find its way into her life.

Of course we still don't know who or
what made that statue come down.

Or why the flat of a retired
postmistress called Greta Portland

had been turned over
and not a penny stolen.

Accident?

Coincidence?

Maybe.

Or maybe there's one more sting in
the tail here yet we can't foresee.

One for the professionals,
I think.

Oh.

There you go, staring us right
in the face again as usual.

What?

I'll tell you in a bit.

Suffice to say that
on this occasion,

predictive text would've have
done us all a very big favour.

Yes, got that.

That's great.

Erm, I do kind of need to, yes.

"If this checks out, God only
knows what's gonna kick off."

Oh, great!

And so what about Arabella's 40th?

I mean, what time are
you going to be...?

I'll give you a call, okay?

Oh, and if anyone else comes
asking for that address,

"very sorry, but you
can't help. Okay?"

Take care, bye.

So this person I'm about to meet,
when you say keep an open mind,

what's that supposed to...

Jonathan, hi. I got your message.

Jacqueline, this is Joey.

So I think you've got a DVD
we might be interested in.

How often does it happen?

We all type "great" and get "Greta".

I'd even seen it on a guest
list a few weeks ago.

Don't think you know Jack,
producer extraordinaire?

You still based in Euston,
have I remembered that right?

Actually talking of sat navs, have
you had any luck with that demo tape?

I meant to ask...

I had some fanciful notion,

if we could sell it as a series,
he might come on board...

in an advisory capacity.

"So if we can maintain
that fiction,"

"which seems to be working
well for us at the moment,"

"if we can get 50% of the
media to swallow our story"

"then we're home and dry."

My God, is that...?

How did you get hold of this?

Well, I'm gobsmacked.

You imagine if this went public?

This is what everyone's been
saying, for the last ten years.

I mean, complete and absolute proof

they were all lying through
their teeth. It's lethal.

What's known in the business,
I think, as "a smoking gun".

Or at least it would be...

if any of it was real.

The production, we were
more than happy with.

Uncanny look-alikes and some
brilliant mimics for the voices.

I just felt, as late-night satire,
it was all a bit clunky.

Whereas Franklin, I know,
would've given it some wit.

But how scary is it, that certain
people in very high places

appear to have somehow
got wind of this footage,

and took it completely
at face value?

Then everything we're told
never happens in real life,

tracking down every
copy of the DVD,

and neutralising anyone who
might have known about it...

has been going on,
right under our noses.

Oh, God. Because Fariba
works in documentaries,

she could've been a threat.

And that chainsaw
coming to bits...

You don't think that was...?

Oh, shit.

- Oh, God. Polly...
- Uh-uh-uh.

How is that a smart move?
Come on.

It's okay, you can all relax.

Oh God, Jonathan.

We've just got one little
job to take care of

and then we'll be out of your hair.

Just so we've got all bases covered.

You don't have to do this,
none of that's real!

Insurance policy.

We'll see what you make
of this locked room.

Okay!

I hate to be a killjoy, but that's
not going to work, I'm afraid.

No, no...

You think so?

Try me.

No!

Yes, it's dangerous stuff, petrol.

When I got my lads to
search your car this morning,

I couldn't quite work out
what it was doing there.

So I had them replace it
with diluted apple juice.

Hell of a lot safer, and
healthier too, you'll find.

I don't think so, matey-girl.

God, you lot took your time!

Go on, back to the nick
with them, the fun's over.

Move!

- All done?
- All done!

It all had to start somewhere.

I'm afraid it started with me.

A man who couldn't
keep his mouth shut.

That last day, I went
round to check him over.

I found myself alone
in the study.

Ah, that will be Fariba.

She told me she'd call me
when she landed. Do you mind?

No, no...

"It was devastating
stuff, as I thought."

"I mean, absolute
political dynamite."

"I may have mentioned it the next
day to a friend at the golf club."

"A gentleman..."

"Well, let's say rather well
placed in Whitehall."

We can only guess how far
it went... up the ladder.

Far enough, at any rate,

for a couple of specialists
to be planted on my team

having already set
about their dirty work.

Took me a while to rumble
that one, I'm afraid.

Who else could've beaten me
to that false lead in Derbyshire?

They'll take the rap
for all this today,

but that's about all.

Far too smart to
leave any footprints.

Bit like the people
they're protecting?

Well, we all know how it works.

Smooth tongue, big smile,
the right hand gestures,

you really CAN get away with murder.

Anyway, thanks.

No, thank you.

Enjoy the rest of your Sunday.

In deciphering the puzzle,

my attention was drawn
to several key details...

the prints of the shoes,

which have landed in a most
unusual position against the wall,

the way the globe had turned around,

suggesting it might have been
opened up and used as...

some kind of hiding place

and you go through all the various
clues. I mean, it's brilliant!

Cos obviously, I know his nibs here

has got no taste any more
for that kind of publicity.

Wouldn't do his new career
in the City much good.

Oh, God no. You've got to keep
his name out. Thank you.

So, filming an advert for Weetabix,
how does that work, then?

You get the rushes every
day, presumably?!

Stop it! She's a riot.

No, listen. I think you've
made the right decision.

I will admit,
I couldn't see it at first,

but all this post-modern detective
malarkey, you're right.

It's a young man's game.

You don't want to get to the point where
you're just embarrassing yourself.

And she'll be good for you.

Nice choice.

Thank you.

From someone called Brad...

Oh was, was he that
guy that you, um...?

"Forgive me, Jonathan,"

"but you'll understand why
I couldn't bear to keep this."

"Although it may seem ghoulish,
I felt you were the one person"

"who would truly appreciate
its finer points."

Ah.

So there you go, then.
A little toy for you to play with.

So where did you first meet
this character anyway?

At a miserable bastards convention?

Oh, don't! Don't know what you'd be
doing there. That's another story.

Friend of mine took me
to see this magic show,

which is just so not my scene.

Oh, I know what you mean.

It's this weird little world
they all live in, don't they?

THEY know it's a con,
WE know it's a con,

they know we know it's a con,

and at the end of the day, you're
all like, who's fooling who?

You might want to get out more.

And here's an idea,
don't be such a dick.

Oh. Sorry, how was it?

Did you have any joy?

Sadly not.

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