All language subtitles for New Tricks S02E06 Eyes Down for a Full House.DVDRip.NonHI.en.ACORN

What are you trying
to do, hypnotise them?

Here we go.

Okay, gentlemen.

It's a Jack. Possible
run. And it's with you.

30.

- I'm out.
- Too good for me.

Cover the 30, raise it 50.

Your 50.

And call.

Two pairs, Jacks and fours.

Close, but no cigar.
How's that for a hand?

Jacks and eights.

♪ 'Cause I'm the man who
broke the bank at Monte Carlo ♪

- May I join the table?
- Yeah, I'm game.

As the poacher said
when they shot him.

Eyes down for a
full house. We hope.

Jack. Pair showing.

Possible run, possible
flush, possible full house.

It's with you.

A hundred.

Raise 100 and another two.

Too expensive for me, gentlemen.

Obviously a lot more
solvent these days, Gerry.

Let's hope it's not solvent
abuse, eh? 300 to you.

- When the going gets tough, the tough get...
- Your 200.

And I'll raise you five.

Raise five.

And another five.

Raise.

Your 500...

plus ten grand.

Sorry, what do the tough do?

Well, I'd call, but I
haven't got it on me.

- You good for it?
- Yeah.

Fine. He's calling on an
IOU. Good enough for me.

Okay, but without cash on
the table, it's you to show.

Flush. Ace high.

Full house. Fours over Jacks.

How's that for a hand?
You owe me ten grand.

♪ It's all right, it's okay

♪ Doesn't really matter
if you're old and grey

♪ It's all right,
I say, it's okay

♪ Listen to what I say

♪ It's all right, doing fine

♪ Doesn't really matter
if the sun don't shine

♪ It's all right,
I say, it's okay

♪ We getting to
the end of the day ♪

Ackerman's an innocent man!
Ackerman's an innocent man!

It wasn't about the money. It
wasn't proven. He never did nothing.

They won't reopen it. They're scared,
that's why. Because he's innocent.

It's getting ugly. "It"
being the operative word.

- Ackerman's wife, I take it?
- Yes, the formidable Sylvia.

- Why is she protesting here?
- I have no idea.

So what's it got
to do with UCOS?

Ackerman's soft furnishing
factory burned down in '96.

All the evidence pointed to
Stanley torching it for the insurance.

He got 10 years,

despite maintaining his innocence
during the trial and ever since.

He's just been refused
parole after seven years inside.

So Sylvia is kicking
up merry hell.

This is about legal niceties.
It's not an unsolved case, is it?

No. But it is a public
relations nightmare.

So we have to be seen to
be doing something ASAP.

Well, we're buried
at the moment.

Clearly. Is this what's meant
by "rushed off your feet"?

In here, gentlemen.

So the fire started
in the factory kitchen.

Where they found the remains of
Stanley's mobile phone and car keys.

- And where was Stanley?
- And here's the clincher.

Ackerman said that he
was having a kip in his office

between the hours
of 7 and 9 p.m.

And the investigation team say
that the fire commenced at eight.

The business was
going down the pan.

Classic insurance fraud. Gerry?

Sorry, Gerry, am I
interrupting something?

No, I'm with the lads. Brian and
Jack, I agree with what they said.

Now, Sylvia, apparently,
is a "publicity carbuncle"

who has attached herself to our front
door, and Strickland wants her cauterised.

- Cauterised?
- Removed.

Yes. "Red move, tangled to go."

Removed.

- Anagram.
- I know.

Hello?

- "Mother's minor altercation with a dog."
- Yeah, no, hold on.

Seven letters.

- Mastiff.
- Mastiff. Very good.

Ooh! What are you
doing in a place like this?

Family business. Mike employs
me to sort out various things.

Here, what were you doing
falling for a hand like that?

What was I doing playing
cards with my bookie's nephew?

"Being a mug",
I think you call it.

Yeah, don't worry, it's
nothing we can't sort out.

Cor blimey, Mission Control.

Done all right for himself,
hasn't he? This way.

Yeah, okay, that's
fine. Excellent.

I brought him straight
through for you, Michael.

- Gerry, good to see you.
- Michael.

- I'll leave you to it.
- Yeah.

Take a seat.

The last time I sat down
with you, cost me ten grand.

Well, your blood pressure's
still running a little high.

I was hoping it was indigestion.

So what I'd like to do is get
you fitted with a mobile ECG.

A what?

Oh, it's nothing to
worry about, Mr Halford.

It'll check your heart rate and tell us if
you've got any irregular cardiac rhythms.

We'll also give you what we
call a "lifestyle diary" to fill in.

Measures my lifestyle, does it?

You just jot down your daily food
and calorie intake, exercise taken,

and the amount of sleep
you get each night. Or not.

I'm good for the money, I
just don't have it right now,

and I wondered if we could work
out some sort of payment plan.

So, what, you see betting as some
sort of hire purchase agreement?

I'll tell you what.

How about I just tear up this
IOU right now? Debt cleared.

Debt cleared?

When I was 14, my father Joe was robbed
after a night working Walthamstow dogs.

Two guys jumped him.
They were never caught.

My dad took one punch to the
head, fell to the ground dead.

And they got away with
the princely sum of 200 quid.

What's this got to do with me?

- I want you to reopen the case.
- I can't do that.

You work on unsolved crimes.
This crime was never solved.

I don't do private work.

No one has to know, not
even Pete. It stays in this office.

I'm sorry, I can't do it.

Well, then you better
cough up ten grand.

I told you, I haven't got it.

What are you gonna
do, break my legs?

That's not how I work.

Are you blackmailing me?

You're a big boy, you took the bet. I'm just
offering you a way out that helps us both.

You knew I was in
the Met, didn't you?

Saw my opportunity, I took it.

Gerry, I'm asking you to
look into a legitimate case.

Peter says you're straight.
His word's good enough for me.

Please help me do this.

- I'll have to think about it.
- There's the name you should look at.

- Where's Gerry?
- It doesn't make sense.

Stanley sets the fire, but manages to
leave his mobile phone and car keys behind?

The fire started quicker than he'd
bargained for, and he had to do a runner.

- Yeah, I'll go along with that.
- Right. Gerry, anyone?

He said he had to look something
up in Criminal Intelligence.

She's practically YTS.

Afternoon.

- "Joe Jacobs."
- Oh, bloody hell!

"Died September 1 5, 1983."

What are you doing
creeping around like that?

"After receiving a
blow to the head"...

I don't creep, I glide.

Why are you here?

- Why am I here?
- Yeah.

That's a big, big question.

Because we're not all there?

The small answer is she who must be
obeyed requires your presence sharpish.

Oh.

This isn't the Ackerman
case. What are you doing?

Hey!

You're beginning to sound like Anne
Robinson. What's with all the questions?

You ask the big ones, I ask the small
ones. It's just a different way of working.

Anyway, who says I'm interested?

No, no. Brian, Brian.

Ackerman, fraud.

Joe Jacobs, murder.

You're right. I'm interested.

You're obviously very overwrought
after such a heavy day. Pub?

Ah, we'll see you there. We've
got a couple of things to check on.

Yeah, cross-reference certain
references, certain anomalies in the file.

Not Gerry's normal reaction
to the mention of a libation.

Go and do more work.

And the passing of notes?
Don't think I didn't clock that.

The postmortem revealed Joe Jacobs
suffered from eggshell skull syndrome.

That's where somebody has an
abnormally thin, eggshell-like skull.

So, it's one unlucky punch
and Goodnight Vienna.

Bad night, Vienna.

A bookie carrying money after the
races. It's a mugging gone wrong, isn't it?

No, Pete Jacobs,
Joe's bigger brother,

who you would not mess with, was
also there, and he was taking a leak.

When Michael was going
through his dad's books,

he found out that Joe owed
one George Morton ten grand.

Lot of money 20 years ago.

It's a lot of money today.

George Morton was a well-known face at the
time, a street bookie. And Joe's backer.

When a bookie
couldn't handle a bet,

he'd go to someone like George
Morton and lay it off, cover it.

He was like a
bookie's bank manager.

And Michael Jacobs reckons
George was calling in his overdraft?

Yeah, the only
trouble is, at that time,

George was the
other side of London,

sitting at the bar of the
Royal Windsor Hotel.

What are those two up
to? Aren't you curious?

I find my curiosity is slowly
ebbing away these days.

I've come to realise that the great
mysteries of life will always elude us.

This is Gerry and Brian we're talking
about here, Jack, not black holes.

What's the difference?
We're all going to the dogs.

Jack, are you all right?
What's the matter?

Walthamstow dogs.

Why weren't we invited
on the little boys' night out?

I'm a boy. Well, a man.

Grown man, granted, but I
can still do boys' nights out.

Gerry used to keep
dogs, didn't he?

Why didn't they invite me? Well,
you I can understand, but me?

Oh, not that it's a
gender issue, necessarily.

It's more an authority, a rank,

a status thing.

No, no, no, please don't
stop, just keep digging.

I'm a ball-breaker, is that it?

Didn't Michael
tell you about this?

He thinks George Morton
had something to do with it.

- Nothing was ever proved.
- And what do you think?

Well, it was over 20 years ago.
Why does he wanna drag it all up now?

Pete, his dad was murdered.
He didn't go on holiday.

Look, Joe probably did owe George
money, but so did a lot of people.

No, it was a mugging gone wrong.

After the races, we did the count-up,
cleared the pitch, left the track.

Same routine every night.

- What time?
- Midnight.

When we got to the
car park, it was empty.

You know, I was only
in the loo a few seconds.

When I come out, I saw these
two guys running towards a car.

Well, I knew something
was up, so I ran over.

Saw Joe on the floor.

Looked at his face.

His eyes was open. You
know, he was smiling.

Like he couldn't believe it, or,
you know, thought it was a joke.

Only it wasn't.

Well, he's dead.

I see it every time
I come down here.

Every night after the last
race, I walk through them gates,

there's my brother on
the floor. Every time.

I wanna just turn the
clock back, you know.

But you can't, can you?

No, mate.

But I can call time on this, and
find out what really happened.

Get you another cuff.

Gerry. I won. I won!

Four races on the trot.

- Four?
- Yeah.

I just picked them off the
board, random, and I won.

You should be on the telly.
You're obviously a bleeding expert.

Ah.

- Got a tip for me, Gerry?
- What's up?

Oh, I'm sorry. Did you think I was
vegetating in front of the television

with a cup of cocoa
and me slippers on?

- No, Jack.
- You haven't got any slippers.

- Then why wasn't I invited?
- I didn't think you liked dogs.

- We love the dogs. Top night out.
- Oh, yeah.

I lost £1 5, subjected myself to
salmonella from the burger bar,

and had something warm and wet masquerading
as white wine in a plastic cup.

Welcome to the pleasure dome.

So what are you doing here?

- So what do you think?
- There's nothing there.

No witnesses apart from Peter
Jacobs, who was in the loo anyway

and didn't get a positive identification of
the robbers or the car they drove off in.

Yeah, but what about
Joe Jacobs? He lost his life.

- Why are you pushing so hard?
- This is murder.

I mean, with all due respect, this makes
Sylvia and Stanley look like Come Dancing.

This is a UCOS case.

I mean, at least can't
we give it a bash?

After we've dislodged
Sylvia from our front door.

We could do both.

A bit of extracurricular.

If his teeth come out, I'm off.

Look, I know this world.
There are people I can talk to.

You spoken to this
George Morton yet?

No, without the case being officially
reactivated, we haven't got a leg to stand on.

Okay. But before I present it to Strickland,
I wanna hear what Morton has to say.

Right.

So, how's the grub?

- Very nice.
- Great.

- Here, do you want a spare rib, mate?
- No, I'm fine.

- Spring roll?
- No, thank you.

- Try some of this?
- Boiled rice is fine.

It contains all the fortified vitamins
necessary for a balanced diet.

Do you think they
know who we are?

They certainly know what we are.

Time has been remarkably
good to you, George.

This is 20 years old.

I keep meaning to get myself
nicked so you can have a new one.

Joe Jacobs.

Ah, you are joking?

No, 'cause then I'd have a red nose
and a hat with a bloody great bell on it.

Meow.

What can I say? I talked to you lot
20 years ago, and nothing came of it.

Don't you want to know
what I was up to last night?

Far more exciting.

Far more, erm, unusual.

- What, like a bath?
- Ouch. I like it.

Deal me out, lads.

Come on.

Anything.

Client lists, records of race meetings that
your dad attended on the week of the robbery.

I got rid of most
of it. Just kept this.

Michael, we've got absolutely
nothing to go on, so anything's a bonus.

- This desk was your dad's, right?
- How'd you know?

Well, the roll-top won't
accommodate a computer.

And it doesn't really fit in with the
modern minimalist decor you've chosen.

So its only real
value is sentimental.

It's a Chippendale.

These desks were full of hidden compartments
containing secret documents and files.

It's empty.

Is it? You'd be
surprised what's in here.

Yeah, I wouldn't, actually,
I've had it 10 years.

But do you know
it? I suspect not.

- I suspect you don't quite realise that...
- What?

That, just like a computer,

you simply need to
find a way of hacking in.

I don't know how
he does it, either.

Two years ago, the
Antiques Roadshow,

they had the exact same desk.

The same one where they
had one of Nelson's teeth,

and a stuffed cat belonging
to the King of Belgium.

"Bomber Boyo."

- What does that mean?
- In the greyhound racing world, a lot.

- Do you remember Shergar?
- Thought that was a horse.

Yeah, well, Bomber Boyo was the
dog equivalent. Greyhound Derby winner.

Kidnapped, never
seen again. Early '80s.

Yeah, a bit before my time.

- So you haven't seen this before?
- No, never.

What's this, then?

It's a map.

Well, now we're
getting somewhere.

Well, you would. It's a map.

You're being silly.

When Joe got turned over, I was
sitting in the Royal Windsor Hotel.

- Doing what?
- Meeting a young lady.

A few drinks, a nice meal,
sophisticated conversation,

and then a bloody good...

George, you have
a record for violence.

ABH, malicious wounding, GBH even.
You'll understand my being a tad sceptical.

And you'll understand my record
says I'm a lot of things, but not a killer.

We don't believe that anyone
set out to kill Joe, just rob him.

Joe Jacobs owed me ten grand. Why
would I rob him for 200 quid in 50p's?

- It's a start.
- It's chump change.

We had a business arrangement.
Earned good money together.

Killing Joe Jacobs would be
like shooting the golden goose.

There was no profit in it.

And anyway, I liked him.

Joe was a hoot.

Bomber Boyo. Champion dog.

Stolen from Hudson's
Kennels, February 1982.

Now, there was no ransom demand
and the owners were never contacted.

Most people in the dog racing game believe
he was kidnapped and put out to stud.

And that's what
this is. A stud record.

Now, all the names in there are the
bitches that Bomber Boyo covered...

Got lucky with.

After he supposedly died.

Now, with this stud record,

you can trace the birth dates of all the dogs
fathered by Bomber Boyo and make a packet.

I didn't know there was
big money in dog racing.

- It's the same as the nags.
- Only smaller.

Okay, okay, but where's the
case? Strickland won't touch it.

What would Joe Jacobs
be doing with a stud record,

which in itself would
be worth a small fortune?

Are you suggesting he was
involved in the kidnapping?

It gives us a motive.

Joe Jacobs wasn't whacked
for the night's takings.

It was revenge for Bomber Boyo.

Whatever deal Joe had going went wrong.
Joe was to blame and got punished for it.

Who do we talk to?

Here's a list of all the London trainers that
were about at the time the dog got nicked.

Why have you
circled Emma Winters?

Worked at Bomber Boyo's
kennels in the early '80s.

And now one of the top trainers
and breeders in the country.

Winner of five
Greyhound Derbies.

That's good, is it?

Excuse me, Miss Winters.

- Oh, do you have a pen?
- Pardon?

What do you want me to sign?

Oh, no, no. No, I'm Gerry Standing,
I'm with the Metropolitan Police, UCOS.

- Unsolved Crime And Open Case Squad.
- I'm sorry.

Dogs don't have jockeys, so trainers are
the nearest punters get to an autograph.

- Congratulations, Emma.
- Thanks very much.

What can I do for you?

Got any tips? No, no, sorry.
We're investigating a mugging.

- Could you sign this, please?
- Yes, certainly.

- Mugging?
- Yeah.

I've been watching your races for years, Emma.
I was wondering if you'd give me a few tips...

Excuse me, excuse me a minute. Can
we talk about this somewhere quietly?

- Yeah. Sorry about that.
- Sorry, mate, all right?

When we were going through Joe
Jacobs' possessions, we found a book,

and it had the name
Bomber Boyo written in it.

Now, you were a kennel maid
where he was trained, weren't you?

- Yeah, it was my first job with a pro trainer.
- Yeah?

Oh, everybody had a
theory about Bomber Boyo.

Sold to a breeder in
Australia was a big one.

Owner did it for insurance,
joined the circus, eaten by a whale.

- The truth is, nobody knew.
- No.

I had a couple of
dogs, years ago.

- Any good?
- Well, just for fun, really, but...

Well, the times we made it
to the winner's enclosure...

- You don't forget those.
- No.

Look, sorry, I have to go.
We're running in the next race.

Sure.

Well, let me know how you're
getting on. All sounds very intriguing.

And as for the tip, Perfect
Parcel. He's running in the 10th.

Perfect Parcel. Thank you.

Perfect.

I won again.

All right, chaps.

Here, Gerry, do me a favour, will
you? Take him away. He's ruining me.

Ta.

That's £300.

I don't like it.

- £300? What's not to like?
- It's the random nature of it.

There's no rhyme
nor reason to it.

It's just pure,
unreconstructed chaos.

- It's called luck.
- Yeah, but I mean,

this idea that the odds are some sort of a
guide has absolutely no validity whatsoever.

There's no logic, there's
no scientific process.

It's just random happenstance
masquerading as insightful deduction,

with an arbitrary nod towards some
laughable concept of form and analysis.

Bollocks.

- Look, what you going to do, give it back?
- No, it's mine.

So did Peter say
anything about the book?

Didn't know anything about it, or
Joe's connection to Bomber Boyo.

- What about Emma Winters? No joy?
- Not necessarily.

Oh. Put a tenner
on Perfect Parcel.

See how your chaos
theory works with that.

Why? Where are you going?
See a man about a dog?

Woman.

Mr Standing, I didn't expect
to see you again so soon.

No, well, I realised there were a
couple of things I needed to ask you.

Oh, come in.

- Cheers.
- Cheers.

- Your guard dog?
- His bark's a lot worse than his bite.

Couldn't do that with
a horse, could you?

- Ebbmoor Boy?
- Only ran a couple of times. Won nothing.

- What, and you had him stuffed?
- It was my first dog. I'm sentimental.

Now, Printers Mate,
on the other hand...

Ah, right. 20-to-1?

Yeah, my first and
biggest Derby winner.

- Boney L's Bits. What's that, twelves?
- Yeah.

And Rainy Lows.

Funny thing is she always
did come in when it rained.

Oh. Um... 5-to-2?

- You've got some memory for winners.
- Yeah, that's 'cause I never backed them.

So, what's the secret? What's
the trick with champion dogs, eh?

- Tomatoes.
- Tomatoes?

Seriously. We put a tin
of tomatoes in every feed.

Cuts down on the lactic acid build-up in their
legs. They run stronger, longer and faster.

Well, if I ever get another dog,
you must give me the recipe.

Why did you give it up? Racing?

Expenses. Wife
and kids came along.

Then divorce, then alimony.

Then more wives,
more kids, more divorce.

- Busy man, Mr Standing.
- Gerry.

Stan deserves parole!
Stan deserves parole!

This is the Parole Board
report on Stanley Ackerman.

In his interview, he
failed on every question.

When asked if he felt remorse
for his crime, he said, "No."

When asked would he consort with
known criminals upon his release,

he said, "Probably."

But Stanley's been before enough parole boards
to know what to say for an early release.

- Yeah.
- Tilbury Farm. That's the place on Joe Jacobs' map.

It's in a village
called Tackworth.

Could we please just
concentrate on the job in hand?

The Ackerman case.
Remember, Brian?

Well, yeah, but this has got an X
on it. You know what that means.

Don't tell me,
"Here be dragons."

Guv, when you find
a map with an X on it,

you are implicitly bound to go to
wherever that X is and start digging.

You just have to.

- This verges on midnight oil, doesn't it?
- Well, the sooner we get it done,

the sooner we can remove
Sylvia from our front door, sir.

Stan deserves parole!
Stan deserves parole!

It is always possible that Stanley doesn't
want to be reunited with his lovely wife.

Well, let's reunite her
with something, shall we?

So, 6 a.m. start. Which one
of you two's gonna pick me up?

- So, officially, you're no longer a copper?
- No, not officially, no.

See, our job is to warm
up what we call cold cases

and then, with our years of
experience and expertise, crack 'em.

- Which led you to me?
- Yeah, the job does have some perks.

So, what, am I some
kind of suspect?

We're looking for two
cosh-wielding gorillas.

And luckily, you don't
fit the description.

- I don't have to do an ID parade, then?
- No, I don't think so.

You don't need to check my
DNA? I mean, isn't that what you do,

take tissue samples
and process them?

Yeah, but that's a very technical
and complicated procedure.

- How long would it take?
- Me?

All day and all night.

Oh, I'm sorry.

What?

Yeah, hold on, hold on.

Can...

Where?

And when are you
going to get there?

Okay, I'll see you there.

Tackworth? Why
are you going there?

We don't wanna talk shop.

Well, it's not shop
when it's just up the road.

Oh. Secret.

Well, I told you mine. Tomatoes.

Well, actually, we
found a map as well.

- Map? Of what?
- Well, that's what we're going to go and find out.

Whoa, no, no, no. I'm driving.

Well, like I said,
it's only up the road.

God, this is unbelievable.

Oh, come on, it's not that bad.

At least it's not been concreted
over and turned into a shopping mall.

I mean, I can't believe I
got up at 5:1 5 in the morning

to run around the
bloody countryside.

You should be grateful. Enjoy
active service while you can.

You're a long time dead.

And on that cheery note...

No. Now, you see,
that's unbelievable.

- You hate mornings.
- The early worm catches the bird.

Okay, so that must mean
it's 28 paces from this tree.

North.

Right.

- One...
- Hang on, hang on.

- What?
- How do you know they're the right size?

- Eh?
- The paces.

- A pace is a pace.
- Fair comment.

- It could've been paced out by a midget.
- Or a man on stilts.

- Just get on with it, will you?
- A man on stilts?

All right. Go.

One, two, three,
four, five, six,

seven, eight, nine, 10...

24, 25, 26, 27, 28.

Right, this is it.

- You sure?
- Yep.

Okay, I'll delegate.

Quick. Bird in charge.

What are you playing at?

It is the artist's job to
provide work for the artisan.

Anyway, you need the
exercise. Do you good.

I'll get Old MacDonald
to rustle up some tea.

Me and you, then, Gerry.

Come on, look lively.

- Aw, I'm gonna ruin these shoes.
- Get on with it.

Brian, please let's go now.

Hang on, I think
I've got something.

A bone?

Human?

All right, leave it. We'll
get pathology down.

No, hang on.

- Brian, I said to leave it.
- It's a skull.

- Alas, poor doggie.
- Result.

- Bullet hole?
- Not one of yours, is it?

Well, you have gunned down
a few in your time, haven't you?

Sandra Pullman.

Jesus, you shoot one bloody dog.

Well, it's definitely a dog.

- Greyhound?
- I'm a pathologist, Gerry, not a vet.

It could be miniature
poodle for all I know.

Anyway, the clay in the soil
preserved the bones pretty well.

And yes, it was shot.
Shot at close range.

- So it's not a kidnapping any more.
- Dognapping.

- It's murder.
- Canicide. That's dog murder.

No, you don't get it, do you?
The point is we've found him.

This is why Joe Jacobs was
murdered. This is Bomber Boyo.

"Is this a new lead, or are the boys in
blue merely barking up the wrong tree?

"Should they be hounded out of the
force, or simply sent to the doghouse?"

Etcetera, etcetera.

Front cover, and a full two pages
given over to how the Metropolitan Police

deploy its manpower and money.

Digging up a dead dog.

There was a legitimate
reason for that search, sir.

What, he was the
brains behind Brinks Mat?

- You don't know it's Bomber Boyo.
- No, but we can find out.

How? Get his next
of kin to identify him?

All racing dogs are
registered with the NGRC.

- The National Geographic Research Commission?
- No, with the National Greyhound Racing Club.

They got a serial number
tattooed behind their ear.

We haven't got any ears.
All we've got is bones.

- Kathy, we can get DNA from this, can't we?
- Right.

The NGRC records every
racing dog in a registration book.

This ensures that the dog that's
running is the real thing and not a ringer.

- A ringer?
- Fake.

Fake.

As an owner, you get one of
these with all your dog's details.

Now, using Joe's book,

we can trace all the dogs
that Bomber Boyo sired.

Now, if we trace the
dogs, we trace the owners.

And if the DNA from Bomber Boyo
matches any of their dogs, they will talk.

Yeah, that'll work. In theory.

We found a book. The
book had a map in it.

The map led us to the dog, which
we believe to be Bomber Boyo.

So in the hunt for
Joe Jacobs' killers,

we're relying on dead dogs
to help us with our enquiries?

And the Ackerman case?

I promise you, sir, we're perfectly capable
of dealing with two cases simultaneously.

Well, I wouldn't
take bets on it.

While this rag is hardly the might
of the Fourth Estate, it is out there.

And right now, we can
do without the publicity.

I want you to clear up this dog mess as
quickly and as inexpensively as possible.

How did the local
press get hold of it?

Probably the farmer. Well
worth his while tipping them off.

- You all right, Jack?
- Yes, yes, I'm fine.

Look, I've just been going through
Stanley Ackerman's accounts.

Did you know he had a flat
round the corner from the factory?

- No.
- One bedroom. Cost him 35 grand.

Which he rented out to a
Louisa Ballas for nothing.

- Nothing?
- Quite.

Now, Miss Ballas worked at Ackerman's factory
until about four months before the fire,

when she was suddenly laid
off with a very handsome payout,

not including the flat.

- You don't get nothing for nothing.
- Not so much laid off as laid on.

Do you think that's where
he was when the fire started?

Well, if he was, he
wouldn't tell the police,

otherwise the delightful
Sylvia would have killed him.

Right. I'm going to track
down this Michael Jacobs

and get this bloody dog
thing buried once and for all.

What'll you do? Tail him?

If my dad had anything to do with
Bomber Boyo, my uncle would have told me.

- Why would he?
- Because he's become like a father to me,

that's why.

- All families have secrets.
- Yeah.

I admit I heard a rumour the
bookies snatched Bomber Boyo,

but the race world's full of
rumours, all of them rubbish.

I set great store by rumours, Mr
Jacobs. Truth's lubricant, as it were.

I'm sorry, you're wasting your time.
You should be looking at George Morton.

We have. Not only
is his alibi rock-solid,

it's also clear that he had
no reason to kill your father.

No, what I want to know is what your
dad was doing with a book and a map...

Look, look, I'm sorry, stop. This
isn't the deal that I had with Gerry.

Deal?

Three of the dogs in Joe Jacobs'
book were registered with the NGRC.

All with the same
trainer, Ray Langton,

Emma Winters' boss at the time.

He's let us take blood samples from
his dogs, see if they match our dog.

I've just been speaking
to Michael Jacobs.

That's nice. How is he?

He's not very pleased with the work
we've been doing, which isn't good,

seeing as he's paying for it.

You've lost me.

You didn't take this case
because of truth and justice.

You took it because of your
ineffable stupidity and a gambling debt!

What do you want me to say?

I'm sorry. I got in too deep.

- Strickland's already pissed off with this case!
- Look, if I could...

And if he finds out why we took it, it won't
be just a bloody dog that gets a bullet!

You're right.

And when you're right...

you're right. And you are right.

I messed up big time.

This should be the time when I hand my badge
in, but as I'm not a copper any more...

the best I can do is...

my Blockbuster's card.

- What?
- Nothing.

- When you're right...
- You're right.

Hello.

"Gamblers Anonymous"?

Just read it first
before you bin it, yeah?

Sandra, Sandra. Do
you wanna come in?

Okay, thanks.

I'm not addicted. I just got in a
bit too deep this time, that's all.

Now you're repeating yourself.

Try looking at some
of these questions,

i.e. number one, has it affected your work?
I'll leave you to figure that one out.

Number two, is it having a detrimental
effect on your loved ones? Shall I go on?

Why change the habit of a
lifetime? No, no, no, I'm sorry.

- Look, I appreciate this, I really do, but...
- It's not you, is that it?

Gerry the boozer, the brawler,
the ladies' man, Gerry the gambler.

Gerry Standing, all-round decent
bloke and always there for a good laugh.

You've really switched to search
and destroy tonight, haven't you?

No, otherwise I'd be with
Strickland pointing the finger.

What's stopping you?

You're not bad, Gerry.
You're just not very good.

Oh. That's the nicest
thing you've ever said to me.

Then do something about
it. Blimey, you're old enough.

- And ugly enough?
- Read it.

I made a bad mistake.

I still believe it was
a valid UCOS case

but my reasons for
getting involved were...

Dodgy.

- Thank you, Brian.
- You're welcome.

I understand, as a unit,

we can't have any secrets.

It devalues the
efficiency of the team

and the validity of any
operation we seek to undertake.

- Moreover...
- Is this gonna take much longer?

That's not exactly the
reaction I was hoping for, Jack.

It's just that I've got something
I want to get off my chest.

The doctor noticed that I got
a spot of high blood pressure.

So, she fitted me with this.

Blimey.

It checks on
irregular heartbeat,

that sort of thing.

So, now you know.

God, Jack, is it serious?

No, no. Just another of those
little reminders, like dentures,

hearing aids, toupees, hip
replacements, bus passes.

- You haven't got any of those.
- Touch wood.

You hate the bus.

Well, Gerry's right. We work as a
team. I just thought you should know.

- Yeah, well, thanks, Jack.
- All right.

Any little secrets you
wish to share with us?

Hello?

So how long you
got to wear that for?

Well, 24 hours a
day, for about a week.

Cheers, anyway.

That was Kathy in the labs.

The DNA from all the other dogs
doesn't match the dog in the field.

Book, map, dog.

Haven't got us
anywhere, have they?

Okay, okay. Let's go from
the top. What have we got?

Man's best friend
aside? Michael Jacobs?

No. Doesn't know
anything about the book.

- Emma Winters?
- No, she doesn't know anything about the book.

- George Morton?
- Doesn't know anything about the book.

No, hold on, hold on.

The reason he doesn't
know anything about the book

is because we hadn't found
it when he was questioned.

No, no, no. My turn.

Joe was a bookie, but he
was also a degenerate gambler.

Shocking.

Always chasing money,
having mad ideas how to get it.

- Like kidnapping Bomber Boyo?
- Yeah.

Joe had someone on the
inside working in the kennels.

Don't ask me who, I don't know.

Joe's idea was to nick
the dog, put it out to stud,

build up a chain of dogs that only
he and a few others knew about.

He was gonna make a fortune.

The night Joe was robbed, he
was coming to meet me in the hotel.

- What, to give the money back?
- What money? Joe didn't have any money.

This is what he was
gonna give me that night.

- I got it five years ago.
- Who off?

I bought it off a bloke
who bought it off a bloke.

In any case, it's a load of old fanny.
Not worth the paper it's written on.

Why didn't you
mention this before?

Why should I? I honestly thought
Joe died in a robbery. Everybody did.

You're the one telling me that he
was killed because of Bomber Boyo.

If I thought these had anything to do
with it, you'd have been the first to know.

- Was Peter Jacobs involved in nicking the dog?
- Possibly.

Nah, he didn't have the
imagination for a stroke like that.

He was always Joe's
glorified chauffeur.

Right. Cheers, George.

Listen, what
happened to the dog?

Lord Lucan's got him.

Pete.

What are you doing here?

Well, I went round to your house,
your wife told me you'd be here.

Two miles, twice a week. Might
even have a pop at the marathon.

Look, this Bomber Boyo
thing. Who was on the inside?

Joe never told me.

Honest, Gerry. You know, it was
Joe's deal. I had nothing to do with it.

I never met her.

Her? How do you
know it was a her?

Well, him, her, what the
difference does it make?

I can think of a bloody big one.

Well, 'cause it's usually girls
that work in the kennels, that's all.

That's why I said it.

Peter, you're gonna
have to talk to me, mate.

Look, they kept the dog hidden
away somewhere. But it didn't work out.

Joe told me the dog died a
few weeks after they snatched it.

Hey, that's all I know.

What? You gonna
nick me for this?

What, for something your
brother did? Don't be stupid.

The marathon's 26 miles long.
What odds you giving for making it?

Not good.

Hi, this is Emma Winters.
Sorry I can't take your call.

Please leave a message.

Oh, hello, it's Gerry.
Gerry Standing.

Emma, could you phone me as soon as
possible, please? It's quite urgent. Bye.

George Morton told me that Joe
Jacobs did snatch Bomber Boyo

using someone on the inside.

- Who?
- He didn't know, and nor did Peter Jacobs.

Um, I phoned Tilbury Farm.

Now, the farmer swears blind
that he didn't tip off the local rag.

So whoever did

also sent the paper to
Strickland to sabotage the case.

I messed up again.

The only other person who knew we
had the map and then went on to the dig

was Emma Winters.

- How come?
- Ask a silly question.

So how do we prove it?

Test her dogs' DNA,
compare them to Bomber Boyo.

No, Strickland won't
sign off any more budget.

I'm really sorry.

Look.

I'll happily exchange the
results of random chance

for the certainties of
rigorous scientific analysis.

All right.

Hiya.

Brian Lane.

We're pretty certain that the
dog we found was Bomber Boyo.

Well, that's fantastic. What
would you like me to do to help?

We'd like to take DNA
samples from your dogs

to see if they come from
Bomber Boyo's blood line.

Okay.

Well, I can also provide you with
registration books and documentation

for all the dogs I've owned and
trained over the last 10 years.

Would you like to see them?

I've got nothing to
hide, Gerry. Come on.

"Boney L's Bits."

"Printers Mate."

Good dog.

Are you coming?
What are you doing?

These names, where
do they come from?

- The dogs? Well, the owners, usually.
- What, you?

Well, as they were mine, yes.

But don't they normally have some
connection with their mums and dads?

Not necessarily.

But Rainy Lows, Boney
L's Bits, Printers Mate,

I mean, they're not anything
to do with anything, are they?

Apart from Ebbmoor Boy. Only
that's not Ebbmoor Boy, is it?

That's Bomber Boyo.

- Brian, that is Ebbmoor Boy.
- No. That's an anagram.

- Anagram?
- Anagram. They're all anagrams, Gerry.

Rainy Lows, Ray Wilson.
Printers Mate, Martin Peters.

- Boney L's Bits...
- Nobby Stiles.

Ebbmoor Boy, Bomber Boyo.

- Bobby Moore.
- Bobby Moore.

1966 World Cup squad.

A bit mangy, not quite the dog
he was 20 years ago, but who is?

And now we do have his ears.

You got another dog. A ringer.

You shot it, you buried it, and
you said it was Bomber Boyo.

It's only a dog.

This isn't about bloody
dogs, this is about murder.

I think you'd better start taking
this seriously, Miss Winters.

Yeah.

Look, I told Joe the
dog had a gastric torsion.

It happens with greyhounds, they
have to be put down immediately.

I gave Joe a map to show where I
buried him just in case he needed proof.

But he trusted me.

Probably thought a young
girl couldn't outsmart him.

You don't often beat
the bookies, but I did.

So you built your whole business
on the back of Bomber Boyo.

Yeah. But that's all.

I never had anyone
kill Joe, I didn't need to.

- Did Peter Jacobs know you were involved?
- Well, I don't know.

I do know that Joe couldn't drive, so they
were together pretty much all the time.

- Look, this could ruin me.
- One good turn deserves another.

You went to the press. Then
you sent the paper to my boss.

I was just trying to
protect my livelihood.

Yeah, likewise.

Right under me bloody
nose. I mean, what was I on?

She must be having
a right laugh now.

Humawatag.

- What?
- Anagram. What a mug.

Yeah, and there's
one born every minute.

Peter Jacobs was
right about one thing.

There wouldn't have been any other
witnesses around at the time. It's empty.

Now, Joe Jacobs' car
was parked over there.

So the robbers were parked here,

waiting for Joe and
Peter to come up there.

Yeah, but only Joe made
it to the car 'cause Peter...

was having a
Jimmy Riddle in here.

Locked.

Now, at midnight,
this place is deserted.

Everything'd be locked up,
wouldn't it? Including the loos.

The toilets are locked,
Brian. They're locked.

It doesn't mean they were then.

Do you wanna bet?

He's been lying to us.

- Who has?
- You.

You said you were in the bog at the
time of the mugging. After midnight, right?

That's right.

Yeah, but the toilets you
said you used aren't open.

Well, I don't know, Gerry,
it was 20 odd years ago.

What difference does it make?

The same difference as knowing that
Joe's inside man at the kennels was a girl.

Now, come on,
Pete, what happened?

Did you just lose your
temper and give him a whack?

No. Gerry...

- Well, where were you, then?
- Look, I told you where I was.

Nobody's saying
you meant to kill him.

Look, I never laid a finger on him. He
was my own brother, for Christ's sakes.

Bookmakers' pitches are handed
down from father to son, aren't they?

What some people might
call dead men's shoes.

Yeah, so what?

Well, you were the elder brother, but
your dad entrusted the business to Joe.

You were overlooked,
weren't you, Peter?

You were passed over because your dad knew that
Joe was the one with the brains in the family.

- You just did his driving.
- It wasn't like that.

Yeah, you were his
chauffeur. His gopher.

No, no, I'm my own man. My own
man. Nobody better than me. Nobody.

All right, easy. Easy,
easy. Take it easy.

- What are the odds he did it?
- Odds on.

- Aren't you going in?
- No, not yet.

He's Gerry's bookie, not mine.

You know what Joe was like.

Always on the make,
taking people in.

He told me Bomber Boyo
died of some disease.

Then about a year
later, I heard whispers.

Joe had these books and he was
handing them out for the right price.

I realised Joe had
cut me out of the deal.

So you took revenge?

I never laid a finger
on him, I swear.

Then who did?

Just a couple of guys
who did that type of work.

I knew Joe was gonna meet George
Morton and give him one of the books.

I told them they could have the cash
in the bag. All I wanted was the book.

When I saw it go down...

They hardly touched him.

I never meant for it to happen.

He should have
treated me better.

I was his brother,
his older brother.

He should've...

He should've showed
just a little bit of respect.

Joe didn't rip him off.
Emma Winters did.

And the books Joe
sold were worthless.

Joe made them up...

then when he needed a few
quid, he'd sell them to any idiot

who wanted to make
some easy money.

Look, do you want
me to call you a lawyer?

No.

Call Michael. I want
to talk to Michael.

That dog's caused more aggravation
than the hound of the Baskervilles.

I don't know what you're worried
about, I've lost me bleeding bookie.

You should be grateful. Anyway,
you don't gamble any more, do you?

Emma had her
good points, though.

Please.

- Well, come on, I'm allowed one vice, aren't I?
- Yeah, being wrong.

- Gerry.
- Hello, Michael.

Look, I'm sorry, it's not really
the result you wanted, is it?

Well, I'd heard plenty
of stories about my dad.

The old boys down the track would tell
me of some of the strokes that he'd pulled.

I used to think they were funny.

No, the world I work in now is different. It's
not the one my old man knew, it's not as...

- Colourful?
- Yeah.

Listen, come on, I'll
take you to see Peter.

No, no. I just came to give you this. I
always honour an agreement. Debt cleared.

Look, I think Peter
really needs to talk to you.

I'm not interested.

Let my husband go!
Let my Stan come home!

Let my husband go!

Stanley Ackerman
couldn't give an alibi

because he was round at his
girlfriend's flat at the time of the fire.

Which wouldn't have gone down
too well with the lovely Sylvia.

And if Stanley, a renowned fraudster,
had set the fire to claim the insurance,

then he would
have an alibi set up.

Let my Stanley come home!

What do you think, Gerry?

- What?
- The case.

- The Ackerman case?
- Oh.

Now, Stanley left the factory
for a bit of the other, right?

- Right.
- But he forgot his mobile phone.

So when he gets to his girlfriend's
flat, he realises he can't find it.

So he dials the number. Like
you do when you lose your phone.

Now, the fire started in the
kitchen area and he'd left the gas on.

The phone rings,
ignites the gas.

Well, it's like when
you turn on a light bulb.

When a mobile phone
rings, it can spark electricity.

That's why you get all these notices telling
you not to use them near petrol pumps and stuff.

So the call sparks the phone,
the spark ignites the gas.

Well, it's obvious, isn't it?

You clever boy.

Well, thank...

Well, seeing as how
Stanley's an innocent man,

shall we give him a break and
not put forward Gerry's theory,

let him stop inside?

It would be the
humane thing to do.

I can't handle that
for the next two years.

How... How did you
work all that out?

Well, it's like you and Bobby Moore
and co. Just needed a fresh pair of eyes.

Otherwise, it's all banal,

or anal ball.

What are you talking about?

- Alan Ball.
- You got it.

Football.

Can I ask you something?
You know the offside rule?

♪ It's all right, it's okay

♪ Doesn't really matter
if you're old and grey

♪ It's all right,
I say, it's okay

♪ Listen to what I say

♪ It's all right, doing fine

♪ Doesn't really matter
if the sun don't shine

♪ It's all right,
I say, it's okay

♪ We're getting
to the end of the day

♪ High tech, low
tech, take your pick

♪ 'Cause you can't teach
an old dog a brand new trick

♪ I don't care what anybody says

♪ At the end of the day ♪