All language subtitles for Midsomer.Murders.S25E02 - Lawn of the Dead

- Whoo!
- Yes!

Where'd the ball go?

That's good.

Oh, that's good.

- Oh!
- Oh!

Yes!

Stick that in your pipe
and smoke it, Archie.

Need I remind you,
Ms. Gillan,

this is a no-smoking club?

Apologies for my daughter,
Wilf.

She gets the attitude
from her father.

That's why I divorced him.

That, and the fact he ran off
with your hairdresser.

Which was devastating.

Best hairdresser I ever had.
Excuse me.

That's good.

Yeah, that's great. With
the players in the back maybe

with the...
Come. Come a bit this way.

Okay. Alright, it's okay.
Just, yeah, that's nice.

- Is that okay?
- Yeah. That's great.

That's great.
Smile a bit. That's it. Lovely.

Do that. Alright.

- Oh, I'm so-- I'm so sorry.
- Oh!

Um...

You're going through?
- Yeah.

Excuse me. I'll just--
Sorry.

Sorry.

Alright, Jenny. Just relax.

- Oh, okay. Okay. Alright.
- Just for the club website.

Here we go.
- Let's just get it over with.

Yeah. Alright.
That is... great.

You can polish your balls
all you like, Dale,

but we all know you're
a marbles man underneath.

Archie, mate, show
these amateurs how it's done.

My pleasure.

Oh.

Tension getting to you, is it?

Never.

Come on, my beauty.

Nice one. Master at work.

Actually, I think mine's
nearest.

Over to you, Wilf.

Black ball closer.
Archie's team wins.

What?! No way! Are you joking?!

- Fix!
- They never lie.

Chloe, you know
the membership rules

as well as the rest of us.

Referee's decision is final.

Yeah, but my ball was closer!

Chloe's right.
You're just a bunch of cheats.

I'm sick of this farce.

Are you gonna let him get away
with this?

- Leave it out, mate.
- Oh.

- Ban him, Ruth. Ban him.
- Okay, let's just calm it.

It's only a knockabout.

Save your energy
for the championship finals.

Okay?
- You. I want a word.

Now, listen.

- Alright, champ.
- A bunch of losers, that lot.

Lovely evening for it.

Oh! Uh!

Uh, uh. Oh.

Aaaahhh!

Betty!
Good morning, Winter.

Betty!
I think I've cracked 18!

Listen, um...
now, 4 times 4 equals 16,

plus 4 is 20, minus
the square root of 4,

which is 2, equals-- ta-da!--
18.

Well done, darling.

Ah, the four fours maths
challenge.

I remember it well.

19?

Oh, I think

we've got to get to work,
haven't we, Winter?

- Uh, yes, we do, sir.
- Ah. Oh, I'm sorry, darling.

I'll get me jacket.

4 factorial-- 24.
Minus-4. Minus-4 over 419.

She knows.
Betty's actually up to 53,

but John's more likely
to let her stay up late tonight

if he feels like he's helped.

53? Wow.

That's top maths, that, sir.

Well done.
- Oh, well, thank you.

And, um, I'm actually more
of a Shakespeare man, really.

Hm. See you later.

Bye.

Victim is
Wilfred "Wilf" Worrell,

80, widower, retired
antiques dealer and groundsman.

Thank you.

I never really understood
the fascination with bowls.

Really?
I love a bit of bowling.

I used to play my granddad
all the time.

You know, it dates back
to the 13th century.

Surprisingly skilled.
It's all in the wrist action.

Right.

Great. More numbers.

- I've got it.
- Morning, Fleur.

Morning.

Alright?

Quite a mouthful.
Was that to silence him?

Whatever it was for,
it wasn't the cause of death.

That's PBI-- penetrating
brain injury to you--

caused by these--

measuring calipers,

thrust into the nasal cavity
with considerable force.

Indications
of cranial penetration

and associated
cerebral trauma,

triggering
intracranial hemorrhage.

Victim could have had them
on him.

Or they might have been taken
from the outhouse over there.

Hmm.

Time of death?

Judging from the lividity
of the bruising

'round the nostrils, I'd say
we're talking early evening.

What about these markers?

Looks like the victim
placed them there himself.

- A score?
- As in a score to settle, sir?

One thing at a time, Winter.
Mobile phone?

No sign of one...
or any other personal effects.

- Who found him?
- Ah.

That would be
the Dawn Chorus Yoga Club.

Ah, yes.
Yoga teacher Jenny Pollock,

along with mother and daughter
Ruth and Chloe Gillan.

Mum Ruth is a GP
and the bowling club president.

I've met her at many
a medical get-together.

Ruth Gillan?

Was Wilf Worrell
a mainstay of the club?

Mm, he was indeed.
Too much so, really.

Hm. In what way?

Oh, Wilf
should have retired years ago.

He wasn't a well man.
Thyroid issues mainly.

When I finally got him
to agree to a course

of statins and beta-blockers,

he'd also reluctantly accepted
that he needed some help here.

And who might that be?

Libby. Libby Trevor.
Local horticulturalist.

Amazing at what she does...

and the patience
of a saint with Wilf.

Do you need to get that?

No,
it's just the surgery chasing.

Hm.

Did anyone
not have patience with Wilf?

Well, he wasn't
the easiest person, to be fair.

Things got a bit heated
yesterday.

Ollie Peterson wasn't happy
with Wilf's refereeing.

- Because?
- Oh, he thought he'd won.

Wilf's measurements indicated
otherwise.

Measurements made
with calipers, by any chance?

Yes.
Lucas really kicked off...

accusing us all of cheating.

- Lucas who?
- Shaw.

Runs Midsomer Mocha, the
brand-new trendy coffee place.

Not everyone's cup
of tea.

Or coffee.

And did Mr. Worrell cheat?

Well, possibly,
but Lucas overreacted.

He's intense and a bit pushy.

Maybe it's all that caffeine.

Most of us
are open to new ideas.

But Wilf, however, wasn't.

So when Lucas got a youngsters
bowling team together,

Wilf resisted their entrance
to the club

and tried to get them
thrown out.

- For what?
- Oh, well, anything.

Um, breaking
dress regulation codes,

um, match etiquette rules,
breathing, you name it.

Why is the bowling club
up for sale?

Well,
our finances are perilous.

Membership's fallen off
the edge of a cliff...

- Hm.
- ...mainly because, well,

people insist on dying.

Quite.

Archie Pollock's on a roll.

Championship-winning captain
for the last 12 years.

I see he also won in 1926.

Oh. His grandfather.

He comes from a long line
of Archies.

A load of "Pollocks,"
some might say.

Only ever threatened
by Captain Curve himself--

Teddy Mulcahy,

who's no longer with us.

But their rivalry was legendary.

Best not mention him
in front of Archie.

I'll try not to.

Jenny Pollock, Chloe Gillan.
D.S. Winter.

Guilty as charged.

And, uh, you are?

Uh, Libby Trevor, groundswoman.

There you go.

Sorry. Um... excuse me.

S-Sorry.

No. Excuse me.
You can't stand there.

Can you tell me what you
were doing here this morning?

Yeah, I run a sunrise
yoga class here twice a week.

- Ah.
- And my mum approved it.

She was keen to bring in
some extra revenue.

- Oh.
- Wilfred paused it, of course.

Wasn't happy about us
using the green.

Wilf wasn't happy
about anything.

Cantankerous old goat.

Safe to say you're not a fan, then?

Impressive detective skills,
D.S. Winter.

The bowling green is the only
place in the area we can do it.

It's perfect.

And it's gone down well
with the majority of locals.

That's 'cause
you're insanely brilliant.

I mean, personally,
I could do without seeing Dale

and his Downward Dog at
the crack of dawn twice a week,

but... Jenny's done more
for this community

than pretty much anyone else.

Hm.

81.

Does that number mean anything
to you?

Um, someone's age?
A house number, perhaps?

No, not that I know of.

Mr. Worrell--
Did he own a mobile phone?

Oh, definitely not.
Old-school.

- Dinosaur, more like.
- Jenny.

Oh.

Are you okay?

I just heard. It's terrible.

I know.

Well, let's--
Uh, let's get you home.

Has anyone shown interest
in buying the club?

Two bids so far.

Flash Harry being one of them.

Harry Peterson, architect,

property magnate,
and entrepreneur.

Sporty car.

Moved to the village
a year ago with his son Ollie.

The same Ollie
who plays bowls?

Ollie's sweet,
whereas his dad

has made no secret
of his intention

to expand his property empire
around here.

We figure he'll raze
the club to the ground,

build some modern monstrosity,
and sell it for millions.

Apparently, Jack and Wilf
thought otherwise.

They were saying yesterday

that Harry's bid is dead
in the water.

Jack?

Oh. Club accountant.
Archie's son.

And he was here yesterday?

Taking photos to promote
his wife's yoga studio.

I really must make a move,
if that's okay.

Oh, by all means.

And who is
the other potential buyer?

You mentioned two.

Oh,
we have absolutely no idea.

An anonymous bidder.

Well,
I think it's fair to say

that Mr. Worrell wasn't the most
popular person in the village.

Indeed. Generational conflict,

sporting rivalry,
a spat with Lucas Shaw.

SOCO are on their way
to Mr. Worrell's house now.

I'll follow.
- Check his financials.

And get onto the council.

I want to know
who's behind this anonymous bid

to buy the bowling club.

And pay a visit to Lucas Shaw
at Midsomer Mocha.

Oh, I'd love to.

Really into my coffee
at the moment, sir.

Become a bit of a Java junkie.
- A what?

A roast ranger, sir.

Bean aficionado?

Well, keep it to yourself,
Winter.

I'll speak to Jack Pollock,
see what he knows.

Right.

So... where were you
last night, then?

Well, never mind me.
Where were you?

Pub. Then boringly tucked
in bed with a book.

You-- You,
Dr. Dirty Stop-out,

didn't make it home, I noticed.

Well,
for your information,

I went back to the surgery
to a mountain of paperwork

and some midnight oil.

Ah, is that what
they call it these days?

I mean, I believe you.
Millions wouldn't.

What's up with you home alone, anyway?

Well, you're not
still holding out

for that flash Harry, are you?

Of course not.

Maybe a smidge.

Well, he's fun,
he's charismatic, loaded,

and I get on really well
with his son.

- And, uh, Dale?
- Oh, please, Mother.

He's a glorified man with a van.

He's not even a contender.

Hi, Harry.
- Hi, ladies.

I mean, seriously,
what's not to like?

See you later.

Wow.

Who died?

Chloe, can you not?
Positivity, please.

Yeah, there's positivity
and there's delusion.

You've got to admit
Wilf's death on top

of already being boycotted
by 90% of the locals--

It's not a good look.

Maybe this place isn't
ready for a coffee revolution.

We'll just have to work harder
then.

Today, Midsomer Devereux.

Tomorrow, the world.

If you say so...

coffee man.

I do.

I do say so.

There's police
crawling everywhere.

- Libby, calm down.
- Didn't you hear what I said?

They're all over the place.
What are we gonna do?

I'll tell you what
we're not gonna do.

We're not gonna panic.

We're gonna stay calm
and carry on as planned.

Okay?

Tell me, does the number 81
mean anything to you...

relating to bowls possibly?

No. No, not at all.

About the bids
to buy the club.

I gather you and Mr. Worrell
no longer believe

that Harry Peterson's bid
is a goer.

That's correct.

I have a friend on the council

who told me they'd reject
any bid

that wanted to build residential
property on the land.

Which is Mr. Peterson's plan?

That's what he does
for a living.

Look, I was
I was told in confidence,

but made the mistake
of telling Wilf,

who wanted to blab it
to the world,

which could have ruined
everything.

Does Harry Peterson
know about this?

Might Mr. Worrell have blabbed
about it to him?

Very possibly.

Wilf was nothing
if not a stirrer.

Hm. I'll need an address for
Mr. Peterson, if you have it.

Sure.

And would Mr. Worrell blabbing
be annoying for you?

Well, it's my own fault, really.

I should have known better
than to trust him.

Can you tell me what you did
last night after the game?

Well, I've been taking photos
of Jenny for her yoga.

And then I dropped her home
and went to the Swan.

A few of us did.
- These photos...

were they taken
around the club generally?

Yeah. All over.
Just snaps, really.

Might I see them?

You might have captured
something without knowing it.

Sure.
I'll send them over to you.

Big match tomorrow.

The match.
Climax of the season.

Gone right to the wire.

Could be the last championship
ever if the club goes.

And potentially your 13th.
Quite a record.

Rivaled only by Teddy Mulcahy,
I believe.

Oh, Mulcahy.
All mouth and no trousers.

A pretender, a mountebank.

Which is why I don't plan
on letting any of those youths

win tomorrow.
First is first.

Second is nowhere.
Isn't that right, Jack?

In one, Dad.

You'll need a strong referee,
I suspect.

We will.

Bloody selfish of Wilf
not to be around if you ask me.

- Dad.
- What?

Just saying.

You look after the club.
I'll sort the bowls.

Everything alright,
Mr. Pollock?

Just a twinge.

There's something wrong
with your--

No. It's fine.

How'd you get on
at Mr. Worrell's?

Nice cottage.
Full of antiques.

But then, he was a dealer.
Clearly a successful one.

His financials came back--
all in good shape.

Something, I suspect,

that house clearance expert-cum-
ambulance chaser Dale McManus

might be interested in.

I caught him snooping around.

Check him out.

Also, Mr. Worrell had
an old-school landline.

The last person
to call him at 5:00 yesterday

was flash Harry Peterson.

Ah. Just as well
I'm about to meet him.

I knocked, but, uh...

Uh...

Is your dad here?

He said he'd be back soon.

You know,
if you're a bit of a maths buff,

maybe you can help me
with something.

Is there anything special
about the number 81?

9 squared.
3 to the power of 4.

Hm.

This is all about bowling?

Yes. I'm, uh,
trying to predict the path

the bowling ball will take.

Accuracy is everything.

Unless the ref's cheating.

I take it
you're referring to Mr. Worrell.

Why might he do that,
do you think?

Pick on us
for breaking rules.

Not let us book practice greens.

He really had it in for us.

As a result, perhaps
someone had it in for him.

Can I help?

Ah.

Excuse me.

What the hell are those for?

Mushroom coffee.
It's the next big thing.

You can't just pick
wild mushrooms,

experiment,
and sell it as coffee.

There are rules and regulations.

We have to do this properly,
or we'll never get an investment

from someone like
Harry Peterson.

Hi. Hey.

D.S. Winter, Causton C.I.D.

Uh, what can we get you?

How about this one?

Paraiso. It's a nutty bean,
responsibly sourced

from a cooperative in Nicaragua.

Or perhaps you fancy
a Brazilian?

Uh, yes. Yes, maybe, um...

maybe in a minute.

Um, how

How's the café
been received so far?

Wilf despised us.

And generally speaking?

A destination coffee shop
isn't exactly top

of the village wish list.

Most people here
are still wedded

to powdered instant
and a kettle.

Same with the bowling club.

Their website's like something
from the Dark Ages.

Jack did the puzzles.
Wilf did the jokes.

Every one a belter.
- We joined,

hoping to encourage
some cross-fertilization.

Yeah, we're doing okay
on the "cross" bit.

Less so
on the "fertilization."

Ah.

How did you get into coffee?

Well, I was a barista champion.

Um, I worked in cafés
all over the world.

Uh, Madrid, Ecuador, Guatemala.

I got tired of working
for other people.

And my family are
from 'round here, so...

This is my dream.

I'll do anything
to make it work.

What did you do
after the game last night?

Mr. McManus said something
about going to the pub.

- Yeah, a bunch of us did.
- I'll need a list.

And, uh, one of those.

Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure.

He's a bright kid, your son.

Doesn't get it from me.

Oh. Oh, really?

I heard that you were, uh,

a successful architect-turned-
property magnate.

I can talk the talk,
but I'm no good at maths.

Not on Ollie's league, anyway.

You know,
he's just still a teenager,

but he's already been in touch
with the European Space Agency

about a mentorship scheme
they run.

Ah. Impressive.

Is it just the two of you?

It is.

Money can buy lots of things,

but it seems happiness is
not one of them.

Ollie's mum lives abroad.

He misses her, and, uh...

well, he retreated into physics,

quantum mechanics,
and the multiverse.

He's become quite introverted.

And yet he's a member
of the bowling club.

Yes. A godsend.

When the coffee guys
wanted to recruit a youngster,

Chloe Gillan took a punt
on Ollie,

and he hasn't looked back.

Swapped one obsession--
orbital trajectories in space--

for another-- lawn bowls.

Who knew? He loves it.

Mm. But he didn't love
Mr. Worrell, though.

No, but to be honest,

it's good for Ollie
to meet old duffers like that.

Life isn't always fair.

And the sooner he learns that,
the better.

Hm.

Where were you last night
around 6:00?

I picked Ollie up from the
bowling club and then came home.

And when did
you last talk to Mr. Worrell?

Yesterday, on the phone.

About?

Mainly he wanted to gloat about
how I wasn't gonna win the bid.

Something about
council opposition

to residential property.

- That must have been galling.
- Not really.

Who said I was doing
anything residential?

Well, what are your plans, then?

My plans are confidential
and for the moment, academic.

And with all due respect,
I'd prefer to keep it that way,

if that's alright.
- For the time being, yes.

Ollie?
Everything alright?

Teenagers, eh?

Hormones and all that.

Does your son make
a habit of lashing out?

Oh. Did you get me a coffee?

No.
No, I'm taste-testing.

Now I get gooseberry,

but I'm not getting
a hint of hibiscus.

Tastes like pencil shavings
to me.

I had no idea
you ate pencils.

I, um--
I checked on Dale McManus,

our house clearance expert,

and he's had fines
for fly-tipping

and was once accused
of identity theft,

but nothing was ever proven.

Interesting.

And, also,
the council got back to me

about our anonymous bidder--
H. Appleby.

Hmm. Well, do some digging.

And while you're at it,

see if Harry Peterson
has been involved

in anything non-residential.
- Mm. Will do.

Oh, also, I got you something, sir.

It's a steam wand.

Milk frother for your coffee.

It aerates the milk,
makes it creamier.

I'll bear that in mind.

Ah. Fleur wants a word.

Glad you could join.

I'm working on the numbers.

Doing the cryptic word games

while waiting for lab results,
Fleur?

You don't get to be head

of Causton Cadavers' Pub
Quiz Team without practice.

So pay attention.

It could be a letters-to-numbers
code A1, B2 and so on.

So if it is 81 would be...

- 8A.
- Hm.

It could be the start of Harry.

Yeah or our anonymous bidder,
H. Appleby.

Whoever they may be.

The victim held one
of the markers

as if he'd placed them
on the ground himself.

Was he trying
to help identify his killer?

That implies Mr. Worrell,

after having caliper ends
thrust into his brain...

Had time to think of the idea
and execute it before dying.

I can check, but I suspect
death was instantaneous.

It would also imply
that the killer left the scene

without checking the victim
was dead.

Possible but careless.

Okay, so...
Pfft, alternatively...

Well, the killer put
the markers on the ground

as if Mr. Worrell had done
so himself.

To point the finger
at someone else.

Exactly.

There's something odd
about these photos.

They're numbered JPEGs,

but there's quite a few
of them missing.

Why wouldn't Mr. Pollock
just send all of them?

Maybe he deleted some
as he went.

Maybe.

In this one,
the outhouse door is locked.

But it was open
at the crime scene.

Well, maybe he unlocked it
after people left.

Maybe.

Or someone else could have.

Apart from Mr. Worrell,
who else would have keys?

His colleague, Libby Trevor.

Oh, the horticulturalist
with the patience of a saint.

Let's talk to her.

Was the, uh,
yoga meeting good?

Yeah. Fab. I'll grab coffees.

Yeah.

Hi, Chlo.
Two lattes please.

Chap with you now,
is he not, Harry?

You know, the good looking,
very successful,

super-minted Harry?

No. Why would he be?

Good question.

Do you know what?
Forget the coffees.

Let's go.

- What? What is it?
- Nothing.

Yeah. Cheers. Jack.

What are you doing here?

I got an emergency
appointment

'cause you weren't answering
my calls.

I've been busy.

Not here. Not here.

I'll see you later?

I-- I don't know.
We have to be careful.

Do we?
Why? Who cares?

Well, I do.

Wilf did, didn't he?

Well, Wilf's not a problem
anymore, is he?

Look, um,
maybe we should just leave it.

You know?

we had our fun.
I mean, it's no big deal, is it?

And... you are that bit younger
than me.

What's that got to do
with anything?

Well, I thought, um...

maybe--
maybe you liked Chloe.

Based on...?

You two flirting earlier.

Haha! Correction--
Your daughter flirting.

Which she'll do for anyone,
by the way.

Literally anyone.

It's-- It's absolutely fine
if you do.

But if that is the case, then
I'd rather we drew the line now.

I'm not into Chlo.

Ruth.

Uh, the last few weeks
with you have meant a lot to me.

So can I see you tonight?

Please?

Sure?

Okay.

Afternoon, Miss Trevor.
May we come in?

Yes.
Uh, sorry about all the plants.

They-- They calm me,
and I like the scents.

Well, personally,
I'm getting a rather strong

aroma of vanilla.

I don't know what
that can be.

How did you get on with
Mr. Worrell?

Well, um...

Yeah. Great.

He taught me
everything I know,

and he was like a mentor to me, really?

Especially when I first moved
into the area.

- And when was that?
- Four years ago this summer.

I was on my own.

I fell in with
the bowling brigade

and I wanted to firm that
up somehow, so I--

I became the grounds woman.

I gathered Mr. Worrell
could be quite difficult.

Wilf?

No, not at all.
Who told you that?

Ruth Gillon said he wasn't
the easiest person to work for.

He was great.

I mean, working with someone
from a different generation

has its challenges, right?

The, um, the outhouse
at the bowling club.

I assume you have a set of keys?

- Yes.
- Who else has?

No one.

Just me and Wilf.
Why?

Because we believe
whoever killed him

might have had access
to the outhouse.

Maybe Wilf just left it open.

We heard that a number of you
went to the Swan last night.

Did you all come
and go at the same time?

Sure.

Oh, apart from Dale.

He left early.

Did he now?

Dale didn't say anything

about leaving the pub early
when I asked him.

Well keep digging.
Likewise, Miss Trevor.

She's on edge.
She's lying about something.

I don't remember much,
to be honest.

Well, try and remember
if you can, Dad.

It's important.

I was walking
into the living room and...

...next thing I know,
you're all here.

Do you recall seeing anyone?

Did you notice anything
untoward?

Just that the painting that
was on the wall was missing.

Wilf loved that painting.

And what exactly
were you doing here?

Wilf was a good friend.
I came to pay my respects.

How did you get in?

The front door was open.

Didn't you think
that was odd?

No. Not really.

Wilf could be forgetful.
- Uh, erm, I'm sorry.

But I think we need to take
Archie to hospital

just to get him checked over.

Jack?
- Yeah, I agree.

No. No hospital.
The paramedics said I'm fine.

I just want to go home.

I need a good night's sleep
before the match.

Maybe we should think about
cancelling the match, Dad.

it's not like you're up against
a Teddy Mulcahy.

Never mind him.
And don't be such a loser, Jack!

Your mother would turn in
her grave if I didn't play.

- Would she, though? Really?
- Yes she would.

And don't you ever forget it.

First is first,
and second is nowhere.

Which reminds me, Jenny.

We'll need a referee
for tomorrow.

Someone who understands

how important it is to get
the right result.

I'll do my best.
But I'm not Wilf.

Your father
claims to compete

in your mother's memory.

But you don't think so.

He competes
to prove he's "the man."

Gotta see off the rivals.

Like Teddy Mulcahy.

Hm.
A rival in every sense.

Meaning?

The whole village knew
Teddy carried a torch for Mum.

I don't think
there was anything in it.

But after she'd passed,

beating him mattered
more than ever.

More than being there
for his son?

I guess.

There's no sign
of a break in.

Back door was locked,
but this door was open.

It was when Archie Pollock
arrived.

It was definitely locked when
I was here earlier, I checked.

Meaning whoever assaulted
Mr. Pollock had a set of keys.

Maybe the killer took them from
Mr. Worrell at the bowling club.

How was this called in?

999. No name given.

Unusual
for a killer to ring 999.

Unless whoever did this
isn't our killer.

Maybe Mr. Pollock just disturbed
a burglar stealing a painting.

Like, for example,
a house clearance expert

that was sniffing
around the cottage earlier.

Speculation, Winter.

But let's pay
Mr. McManus a visit.

I just want
to have a quick look round.

Archie Pollock said that he came
here to pay his respects.

Seems like
an odd thing to do.

Especially given
that when I saw him earlier,

he seemed more concerned
about his good friend

not being able to referee
tomorrow

than he was
about him being dead.

So he didn't come here
to pay his respects.

Then why was he here?

No. I can do the job.

It's just gotta be done
by tomorrow afternoon.

I'm tied up in the morning.

Okay, okay.

I'll do it as soon as I can.

Deal.

I need a word.

The, um, quality pieces that
you said Wilf Worrell owned,

that you were curious about,
did that include a painting?

He had a few,
but one that was definitely

worth a few bob, yeah.

The one in the kitchen?

Is that what
you were gawping at

through the window
when I saw you?

No.

Tell me if your job
is being familiar with objects

and their valuations,
how much is that painting worth?

At auction, who knows.

For insurance purposes,

gotta be in the region
of 10K, maybe more.

Tempting.

And it's just been stolen.

And whoever stole it
assaulted Archie Pollock.

I get it.

You think I took the painting
and assaulted Archie?

If I'd stolen it, would I just
tell you it was worth ten K?

Well, you might,
if it was worth more.

Then be my guest and check.

I'm sure you will, anyway.

Anything else?

If not, I'd like to go home.

There is something else, actually.

When I asked you
where you were last night,

you said you were at the pub.

I was.

You left early.

Where'd you go?

Home.

I was tired.

Can I go now?

Honestly, Jamie, I love it.

Good.

I was practicing
all last night,

which kept John and I awake

trying to catch up with Betty
on the fourth floor.

I think '73 is the closest
we've come to divorce.

Right. What do you think?

That's pretty good.

Mm!
Oh. Here's Einstein.

Oh. Morning, sir.

Jamie's just been telling me
all about grinders and tampers.

Have you now?

Well, I hate to interrupt
coffee morning, Winter,

but we have work to do.

Are you planning holiday, sir?

Yeah. Research, actually.

Something Jack Pollock mentioned
about starting a new life.

Several developments
overnight, sir.

Harry Peterson doesn't
just do residential.

He's a partner in a chain

of healthcare centers
across Europe.

Also, he's trying to buy

some woodland
on the edge of the village.

But the application
doesn't say what for.

The bowling club
and woodland.

He clearly wants to make
his mark.

As for the other bidder,
H is for Holly Appleby,

and she's proving quite elusive.

All I can find is a P.O. box
in Midsomer Parva.

Well, find out
when she got the P.O. box.

Yeah, will do, sir.

Also, there was a message

on Wilf Worrell's answering
machine

that you need to hear.

It was left by Dale McManus
two days ago.

I'll keep this brief.

I'm sick of it.
And I've told you loads.

Back off Ruth
or you're a dead man.

- Prophetic to say the least.
- Mm.

Go get 'em, Tiger.

And Ollie, if you don't win,
it's okay, right?

Quite a few people already.

They did a really nice job
on it.

Have one of those.

I heard about the assault.
Are you okay?

Perfectly fine,
no thanks to you.

Enjoyed last night.

Me too.

And I'm tired of hiding.

Not that again.

I had a thought
this morning.

Why don't we just go
somewhere else?

Start fresh.

I'm serious.

Are you playing games
with me?

No.

After this, I got a job to do.

Then I'm free.

What do you say?

What are we waiting for?

Hey! Dale!

Chop, chop.
You need to get your eye in.

Archie, mate,
how's the head, alright?

- Oh, is that right?
- I've got my money on him.

Check with Jack Pollock

about the rest of the pictures
he took.

The ones he didn't send us.

Yeah. Will do, sir.

Hello.
Coming this way?

Yeah, that's it.

- Everything alright?
- Oh.

Just worried about Archie,
that's all.

Tell me, how far do you think
he'd go to win today?

Well, as far as needs be.

That's what worries me.

The medication
you prescribed for Mr. Worrell,

you mentioned statins
and beta blockers.

Yeah that's right.

If someone else took them,
would they, for example,

help with an arm tremor.

Hm.

Well, they might.

Although,
taking someone else's medication

is dangerous.

And illegal.

Oh, alright.

Best go,
refereeing duties to attend to.

- Yeah. Break a leg.
- Mm.

Actually, Jenny, um...

Nothing.

Ah, Mr. Pollock, about
those files that you sent us,

some of them were missing.

Uh, were they, uh,
well, I might have deleted some.

Sure, we'd still
like to retrieve if we can.

Okay.
Can I get them to you later?

We can do it now.

Just, um,
airdrop them to me.

Uh, yeah.

I'm-- I'm not sure I know
how to do that.

I could show you.

Have you taken Wilf's meds?

Apart from being incredibly
irresponsible,

you do know
that's essentially doping.

You should have given me
a prescription then.

I have my reputation
to think of.

So do I, and mine's worth more
than yours.

Especially since Wilf
told me all about you and Dale.

Right, Dale?

Heads.

Ollie's Orbitals,
you get to choose ends.

We'll do East-West, please.

Better lay of the land.

It'll take more than that.

Archie,
your Bowls Whisperers

gets to choose who starts.

they can.

Right. Let's get ready.

You were right
to check the photos, by the way.

The ones that Jack Pollock
didn't manage to send us

all have one striking thing
in common.

They all show Archie Pollock
arguing with Wilf Worrell.

Yeah.
Question is, what about.

Let's speak
to our bowling legend

as soon as this match ends.

We're on the deciding end now.

That looks good.

Over to you, Jenny.

And the winner is...

Ollie's Orbitals!

Yes! Yes, he did it!

Yes, good shot, mate.

Absolute world.

- Whoo!
- Come on!

Ice cold.
Come on!

Justice.

Whoo!

How'd that feel?
Dale, you alright?

Oh, blimey!

Here he comes.

- What was I meant to do?
- Look, you did the right thing.

You are no
daughter-in-law of mine!

I don't know
why you married her.

You speak to Archie Pollock.

I'll talk to Dale McManus.

Will do.

Although...

- Ready?
- Oh, yes. Good. Lovely.

Where is Mr. Pollock Sr.?

He stormed off.

Not out front, he didn't.

There's a back exit.

I think he wanted to avoid
people.

Harry Peterson found
the body,

called it in,
and then went home.

Did he, now?
We'll need a word.

I'm guessing you're familiar
with the identity of the victim.

I am.

Dale McManus.

Was it an accident?

Hard to be sure,

but we're checking
the crane cabin for prints.

I'll need to confirm,
but preliminary indications

suggest cause of death
was a combination

of blunt trauma to the head

and compression
of the chest area

leading to pneumothorax.

Not pleasant.

Notice anything missing?

His van.
Perhaps the killer took it.

I'll put a mark on it.
Circulate a trace.

What we do have, though,
about 30 meters over there,

is a large collection
of white goods--

a fridge, freezer,
washing machine, the whole lot.

- Fly tipping.
- Mm-hmm.

Mr. Peterson.

It was you who found
Dale McManus's body.

Is that right?
- Yes. That's right.

Well, just passing,
were you?

So soon after your son's finest
hour at the bowling club?

Seems a bit strange.

I'm interested
in buying that plot of woodland.

I-- I go there sometimes

to think over my potential
investment.

And you just happen
to cross Mr. McManus's body?

That's correct. Yes.

Mr. Peterson,
we can confiscate your phone

and your computer and find out
the real reason you went there.

Or you could save us some time
and just tell us the truth.

I was due to meet
Jenny Pollock.

I'm thinking of building a yoga
centre there that she might run.

That's very generous of you.

Well, not at all.
I'm-- I'm a businessman.

She's very good
at what she does.

It would be a sound investment.

I see.

Did, uh, Mr. McManus

have anything to do
with this plan?

No, nothing at all.

I was late getting there
after celebrating with Ollie.

And when I arrived...

he was just lying there.

So if you went to meet
Mrs. Pollock,

why wasn't she there?

I don't know.

She texted me to meet her
there straight after the final.

I didn't send a text
to Harry.

Mr. Peterson
definitely received one.

We saw it.

Er, no text.

But you could have deleted it.

I didn't.

Then someone else must have.

Who else would have had access
to your phone?

Presumably
you have a passcode.

One, two, three, four.

That's guessable.

But anyway,
I always have my phone on me.

The text was sent at 11:24,

which is around the time the
bowling final was due to start.

Did you have your phone
on you then?

Actually, no.

It was in my bag,
which I left in the outhouse.

So it could have been accessed

there by anyone
at the bowling match?

Yeah, I suppose.

This business venture
you might be embarking on

with Harry Peterson,
is it public knowledge?

What business venture?

I think that answers
my question.

It's nothing, Jack.
Really.

Harry's thinking
of buying some land

and setting up a yoga centre.

He has some experience
in that area.

Healthcare centres
across Europe, etc.

- Exactly.
- What's that got to do with you?

Well, he asked me
if I wanted to run it.

What?
And you didn't tell me because?

Because
there's nothing to tell.

Look, I'm not gonna do it.

I don't want to get
into business with Harry.

It's a non-starter.

Mr. Pollock,
the photographs

that you didn't send us
to begin with

showed your father
and Mr. Worrell arguing.

Do you know what about?

No, I don't.

Was not sending us
the photos just an oversight,

or did you think they
might implicate your father?

I was trying to protect him.

Because you think he
might have killed Mr. Worrell?

No, of course not.
I just--

I was worried, I guess.

I knew
it didn't look good.

I know what they
were arguing about.

Archie told me about it
last night as part

of trying to get me
to cheat on his behalf.

He asked Wilf
if he could have some

of his meds to calm his arm.

Wilf said no.

So Mr. Pollock stole them
after Mr. Worrell was killed.

Where is your father now?

Refuses to be
under the same roof as me.

He's out walking.
He'll be back soon.

He'll calm down.

Archie Pollock isn't
gonna calm down anytime soon.

Winning the bowls
meant too much to him.

Something
to do with unresolved grief

about the death of his wife.

What do you make
of Mr. and Mrs. Pollock?

I'm not sure.

If this is just about
a yoga centre,

then I don't see why
Mrs. Pollock

didn't just tell her husband.

Well, maybe she knew
he'd be suspicious.

I mean, she could
be lying to cover her tracks.

What about Harry Peterson?

Well, we can't rule him out.

He wouldn't be
the first murderer

to pretend to have found
the body.

We can't rule out
Archie Pollock either.

Keep digging
on the Pollock family,

their finances, background, everything.

Yeah, will do.

Do you know
what Dale was planning

on doing after the final?

Um, he said he had a job to do.
That's all.

We needed to talk to him

about a message he left on
Mr. Worrell's answering machine.

You were mentioned
in that message.

We need to know what
it was about.

What is it, Mum?

Dale and I
were seeing each other.

But...

So that's where
you were two nights ago.

The night Mr. Worrell
was killed.

Yes.
Me and-- Me and Dale met up.

That would explain
why he left the pub early.

Why not just say that?

You could have told me.

No I couldn't.

I-- I didn't want it to be
public knowledge.

Why was that?

Chloe's dad ran off
with a younger woman,

and I was very publicly
humiliated and devastated,

and even more publicly,

a vocal opponent to...

inappropriately aged
relationships.

Dale was hardly a babe in arms.

He was in his 30s.
I'm in my 50s.

But also, I just--

I didn't want
my private life to be the talk

of the village again.

I hated that.

So I wasn't comfortable
going public

until I was completely sure
about Dale.

And were you?

Yes.

I was now.

But when Mr. Worrell
found out about you two,

he threatened to blab.

Oh and some.

Wilf was old school,
disapproved,

loved having something
over us.

Famous for it.

"Radio Wilf" we called him.

And no secret was safe.

He loved seeing
my discomfort.

Reveled in it.

He said the only thing
he enjoyed more

than dealing antiques
was dealing in secrets.

And Dale?

Lovable hothead that he was.

He hated seeing
me being manipulated.

So he left a message
telling Wilf to keep quiet.

His wording was quite severe.

That was just Dale being
protective.

He went in a bit heavy.
Didn't mean anything by it.

He didn't kill him,
if that's what you're thinking.

I don't know what
you're so worried about, Mum.

You're not the only one
around here misbehaving.

Who might--
Erm, who else is?

Well, Harry and Jenny,
for starters.

Saw them having a lover's tiff
out in the woods.

They say
that they were discussing

a joint business venture.

Believe me,
what I saw was no business talk.

I'm surprised.
I thought she'd seen him off.

Seen him off?
In what way?

Well, when Harry moved here,

he made no secret of the fact
that he was attracted to Jenny.

Was the talk of the village.

Like Jack's mum and
Teddy Mulcahy all over again.

Jenny fobbed him off.
At least we thought she did.

Something Mr. Peterson said.

Money can't buy happiness.

Maybe he was talking
about Jenny.

How did Jack Pollock
handle all this?

Jack's Jack.

He just...

lets these things
roll over him.

Sir, news on an anonymous
second bidder, Holly Appleby.

She started the P.O. box
four years ago.

Oh.

A lot of fours in the ether
at the moment.

The forth form challenge,

four years Holly Appleby
has had her P.O. box,

and it's four years since
Libby Trevor moved to the area.

Before that,
Holly Appleby lived in Aspen.

She went through a messy divorce
and ended up in the courts.

But why open a P.O. box.

To protect her anonymity
when she moved on perhaps.

Interestingly, Libby Trevor said
she moved here on her own.

Hm,
you're thinking that maybe

Holly Appleby changed her name
to Libby Trevor.

Possibly, but why would
an assistant grounds woman

put in a bid
to buy the bowling club?

Because she loves her job?

Well, you say that,
but if that's the case,

what are all these bowling balls
still doing out here?

Why wouldn't Libby Trevor
put them away after the final

unless she left in a hurry?

Busy?

Oh! Uh, what?
No, erm...

No, I was just sorting.

Mind if we take a look
in the greenhouse?

Mm, vanilla.

Ah.

That's not earth
on your hands, is it?

It's vanilla-scented coffee.

And this is the real
Midsomer Mocha.

Time to come clean...

Holly.

It is Holly, isn't it?

Hello?

Dale!

That you?

Lovely. Cheers, mate.
Thank you.

Hey.

Which one do
you want to try this time?

Something authentic
would be good.

Okay.
Uh, what can I hit you with?

Uh, Colombian. Guatemalan?

Actually,
you can hit me with the truth...

and fill me in about
Dale McManus blackmailing you.

Or I can introduce you to
the Causton CID coffee machine,

which is about as authentic
as you are.

My marriage...

was abusive.

But I finally got out of it

and I started over
in Midsomer, Devereux.

Changing your name
and trying to make sure

your ex couldn't track you down.

Libby...

started out as "liberty."

A sign of my new freedom.

All I wanted to do was belong.

And I thought that the bowling
club would--

would do that.

But Mr. Worrell
made it difficult.

Wilf was a bully...

which wasn't good for me
because it reminded me of...

...of what I had fought
so hard to escape from.

Earlier you were very
complimentary about Mr. Worrell.

You said he was like
a mentor to you.

Why lie?

I'm sorry, I guess--

I guess I didn't
want to speak ill of the dead.

I-- I didn't want
to have to admit all this.

How did you become
involved with Midsomer Mocha?

I liked Lucas's dream.

And I was trying to figure out
how to do something positive

with a property
that I owned in Aspen Tallow.

So I thought that if I sold it,

I could use the proceeds
as collateral.

To join forces and help
to buy the bowling club.

That was the theory.

But in practice,
it's proving kind of different.

That's--
That's the thing with dreams.

They don't--
They don't always come true.

With Libby's backing,

the plan is to turn
the bowling club

into a coffee emporium
with an outside space

for coffee events
and music gigs.

Emporium.

You've hardly won over
the hearts and minds so far.

We just need time.

You can make the best coffee
in the world,

source the best growers,
use the finest beans...

But if you don't have anyone
to drink it...

We've seen your set up
in Libby's greenhouse.

Everything here is fake.

We just needed to reduce
costs in order to survive

until things take off.

By importing the cheapest
beans that you can find.

Probably not ethically sourced
and roasting them yourself.

It's not gonna be forever.

And you assume
that no one would find out.

But Dale McManus did

I have access to his emails.

He found out what you
and Libby were up to,

and he's been trying
to extort money from you.

Money I haven't got.

You might if you broke
into Wilf Worrell's house

and stole a painting.

Did Wilf find out
your little secret, too?

What? No.

Look, I didn't like Wilf
or Wilf Didn't like me,

but I didn't steal any painting.

What do you think I am?

A fraud.

Someone desperate
to keep their dream alive.

Dale McManus was found
dead earlier today.

I swear, I don't know
anything about that.

Lucas Shaw?

Mm, he's admitted fraud,

but he's adamant
that he didn't kill anyone.

And I think he's telling
the truth.

He's misguided,
but he isn't a killer.

What about Libby Trevor?

I don't think
she's killed anyone, either.

So who did kill Dale McManus?

And why?

I wonder if we might
be taking Mr. McManus's death

too much at face value.

Meaning?

Well, we know
that Harry Peterson

received a text message
from someone

wanting to meet him
in the woods,

but he was delayed

by the match celebrations
with his son.

So what if Mr. McManus

in the woods
to dump white goods,

was just in the wrong place
at the wrong time?

And Harry Peterson
was the real target?

Indeed.

How are we doing with
the Pollock family background?

Financials are interesting.
The accounts are all in order.

But, erm, you were right to look
into the Turks and Caicos.

Some years ago, Jack Pollock
lost a whole pile of money

in an investment there.

Apart from that,
everything's above board.

Interestingly, though, he did
the accounts of Teddy Mulcahy.

- Hm, his father's nemesis.
- Mm.

And presumably
historic accounts

given that Mr. Mulcahy
has been dead for years.

I guess.

Well, check.

Mr. Pollock, how can I help?

We're on our way.

That was Jack Pollock.

He says
his father's been kidnapped.

Any further word?

Anonymous e-mail demanding

a quarter of £1 million
as a ransom.

We'll try and trace the sender.

Four hours to find the money.

How am I gonna do that?
- You're not.

We don't recommend giving
into ransom demands.

And this seems
more like an act

of financial desperation
than anything else.

It's easy for you to say.
It's not your father

whose life's in danger.

If I had the money, I'd hand it
over right this second.

Can we borrow
against the house?

I've already spoken
to the bank.

There isn't the time.

We don't have
that kind of money.

Maybe we could call
on local support.

We'd never raise enough.

What about Harry?

I could ask him.
We could ask him.

Thanks.

Uniform
have triangulated the signal

and found your father's phone.

It's roadside on a country lane.

We'll head over there.

In the meantime, please don't do
anything without talking to us.

I doubt there's much
in the way of road cameras here.

There might be one
at the junction

where the road meets
the village.

Well, get tech onto it
urgently.

Yes, sir.

One mobile phone

and one discarded bowling ball.

Is that blood?

Actually, it's coffee.

Hm, if it's still wet,

we could get Winter
to do a taste test.

Already done it.

We'll do a GCMS test
in the lab to make sure.

But I did the old PTT--

pipette tongue taste.

My guess would be
powdered instant.

Can't just sit here
and do nothing.

Dad's out there somewhere.

It's all my fault.

Look, I don't like the idea,

but I think we have to do
what you suggested.

Ask Harry.

- What about the police?
- What about them?

Harry, it's me.

What's the connection between
the murders and the kidnapping?

Money.
Someone is desperate for it.

They stole a valuable painting
from Mr. Worrell,

and now they want a quarter
of £1 million

for the return
of Archie Pollock.

Why?

Greed?
- A debt more like.

I think someone got into trouble

and made the mistake
of asking Mr. Worrell,

who you said had money,
to borrow some.

Mr. Worrell said no,
because he's an old curmudgeon.

Who likes nothing better

than dealling
in other people's secrets.

He threatens to tell the world
and so needs to be silenced.

You know, what's really bugging
me about these photos

is that they're not shots
of Jenny Pollock

with Archie and Wilf
in the background.

The two men are the main subject
of the pictures.

Meaning that Jack Pollock
was curious about the argument,

which was just about meds.

He said he didn't know
what it was about,

but maybe he thought they were
arguing about something else.

Hm. Oh, we checked out
Teddy Mulcahy's accounts.

And interestingly,
so was the tax man.

Heavily in debt and still active

although pending
imminent investigation.

So the financial clock is
ticking and the net closing in.

Who would know how to keep
a dead man's accounts alive?

Jack Pollock would.

He hasn't kidnapped
his own father, has he?

Winter.

Ah.
Okay. Yeah. Thanks.

Patrol have sighted
Dale McManus's van in a field

in a field next to the woods.

Let's go.

What are you doing here?

I could ask you
the same question.

I asked you not to do
anything without talking to us.

You don't understand.
They said to come alone.

To, uh, to use Harry's phone
to transfer the money.

Then and only then
would Dad be released.

We need to do what they say.

Transfer the money.

- Don't.
- Look! Quick, quick!

The time's running out.

It is indeed, Mr. Pollock.

There are no kidnappers
because there was no kidnapping,

was there?

Can someone tell me what
the hell is going on?

Mr. Pollock has faked
his father's kidnapping.

Jenny. What? What's going on?
What are you doing here?

I need to know
what's happening.

Mr. Pollock here,

one failed Turks and Caicos
investment behind him,

needed to do something.

Prove himself to his father
and provide for his wife.

Was Mr. Petersen's arrival
in the village the trigger?

The dashing
international businessman?

You couldn't compete?

But you tried to by
making investments

under a false name.

Your father's nemesis,
Teddy Mulcahy.

Was that some kind of private
joke to get at your father?

Why?

Because he wasn't
there for me.

He was never there.

After mom died,
he was too obsessed

with his stupid bowling!

So when your fake investments
went wrong

with the taxman looming,

you asked Wilf Worrell
to bail you out.

What a mistake that was.

He said no
and started lording it over me.

Which explains the photos.

You were never worried how those
photos looked for your father.

I-I-I saw Wilf having
words with Dad.

I thought he was telling him
about me

and I needed to know for sure.

So I went back.
But he-- He wasn't.

But that just made things worse.

So you needed to silence him.

And knowing
where Mr. Worrell kept the keys,

you went to the outhouse.

You killed him

and then tried to point the
finger at your nemesis,

Harry.

You thought H.A.
might be enough?

I wasn't thinking straight.
I-I-I needed money fast.

So you stole a painting,

accidentally assaulting
your father in the process.

And then you decide
to target Harry direct.

You used Jenny's phone
to lure him to the woods.

Only that doesn't work either.

Harry's delayed,
and you kill an innocent man.

I didn't mean to kill Dale.

He was the wrong man
in the wrong place.

You're-- You're panicked,
you're lost, and then...

it hits you.

The solution to everything.

Pretend to kidnap your father.

Demand a ransom that will clear
your debts once and for all.

Knowing that your wife would
turn to Harry to pay for it

before he's killed by
"kidnappers."

Otherwise known as you.

Jack?

It should have been him.

Stay back!

Or else so help me God,
I'll kill him!

Put the knife down, Jack.
It won't help.

I was so close.

To sailing off
into the sunset?

I just...

I wanted us to be happy.

I wanted us to be together.

I am.

We are.

No, no.
You're having an affair.

I'm not.

I've seen all your messages.

I've seen your--
y-y-your secret meetings.

Th-Th-The--
The fear of being caught.

Because I didn't want
you to think this.

Right.

You're gonna run off with
him and live happily ever after.

You know what?
I don't blame you.

Because I can't compete
with him.

Look at me.

Look at me
and tell me you weren't tempted.

Okay, I was,
but I didn't give in to it.

I stayed true...

because I love you.

Oh, God!

It's true.
She loves you, not me.

What have you done, Jack?

Your wife doesn't cheat.

You just believed the gossip.

I-- I was a laughing stock.

You're not.

Nothing happened.

I wanted it to,
but Jenny refused.

Even when I just
wanted to invest in her

with a yoga centre,
she refused that, too.

She thought it would be
inappropriate.

You had the dream already.

You were living it.

Oh, God!

I'm sorry, Dad.

So am I.

Oh. Come on, Lizzy, everybody
wants to see the trophy.

I give you the four by four
maths challenge champion!

And it was all her own work.

It was actually.
We were rubbish.

Together
we have a new challenge.

Yeah, we do indeed.

A bowling match.

These were my grandfather's
pride and joy.

Oh, and we also have to honour
Harry Petersen's successful bid

to buy the Midsomer
Devereux Bowling Club.

He plans to modernize it
and keep it as a bowling club

for his son to play at.

Very good.

They, uh, had names
for their teams, didn't they?

They did.

There's Archie's
Bowls Whisperers

and Ollie's Orbitals.

And I've been giving
some thought to a name for us.

And in every sense, you can't
beat Barnaby's Bowling Bevies.

Comparing me to a drink.

Well, it's something else
I'm very fond of.

I thought of, uh,
Fleur Power or...

the Flying Fleurs.

But I'll leave it to Jamie.

Winter Milan.

My dear.

Oh! Come on. Ooh.

- Ooh.
- Ooh! Yeah.

Ooh.

Ooh!

Ooh. I think we did it.

Oh, well...

I think the clear winner is...

Hang on.
That's cheating.

Of course it's not.

- What?
- It's a bowl, isn't it?