Original subtitles

After hearing the guilty verdict,

Deputy Assistant Commissioner Robert Strickland

gave this reaction.

It is hard to comprehend

how a detective of McAdam's rank and experience

could have deceived his fellow officers for so long.

'Cause you were in charge of him, you pillock.

We will now undertake a full and thorough review

of all the major investigations led by D.C.I. McAdam

during the last 15 years.

- Ouch. - 15 years.

Pity the poor bastards who've got to sort that lot out.

Yes. Pity.

But it's nothing to do with us. Those are all closed cases.

- All except this one. - No way.

- You don't want to do it? - No.

1998... A 26-year-old named Graham Thompson

drowned in a vat of beer.

Felspar's Brewery, Hoxton.

As in the still-functioning, still-making-beer Felspar's.

Okay. Fair enough.

Ohh. Felspar's.

I must have drank gallons of the stuff.

We could have a little look.

Wouldn't hurt.

♪ It's all right, it's okay ♪

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

♪ 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 ♪

Subtitling made possible by Acorn Media

Graham Thompson, assistant brewer at Felspar's.

Last seen by his girlfriend, Anna Hodgkiss,

on the 27th of November 1998.

10 days later he was found by chief brewer Malcolm Hagley

at the bottom of this fermentation tank.

- What beer was it? - Pardon?

What sort of beer? In the tank.

- I don't know. - Felspar's Far-Reaching Bitter.

There was no sign of foul play,

but his body had deteriorated so badly

it could only be identified from dental records.

- Don't make it anymore. - No.

- What? - Far-Reaching Bitter.

Shame. Wonderful beer.

Felspar's Fighting Bitter, they used to call it.

- Did they? - Owd Winkle. That was my tipple.

It was some brew, that.

The only thing that remained intact were his work clothes

and some malted barley found in the pockets.

They're being sent over later.

Specific gravity... 1062 degrees.

6% alcohol.

- Four pints of that and... - You'd get an "owd winkle"!

Thompson...

a Glaswegian, had no living relatives.

He was very well liked,

so his death may well have well been an accident.

But it was unusual and therefore suspicious.

More to the point, it was left unsolved by a bent copper.

Any thoughts?

What a fabulous way to go.

Malcolm Hagley created Far-Reaching Bitter.

South of England best bitter five years in a row.

Five times on the trot!

I mean, if there was a hall of fame for brewers,

he'd be numero uno, this bloke.

I mean, can you remember

the first time you had a pint of that, hey?

Leave it out, will you?

That first pint never touched the sides.

- Gerry, I'm an alcoholic. - I know.

- Gotten sensitive on us. - Shut up!

Morning.

Good morning, gentlemen.

I presume you are Jehovah's Witnesses?

In which case I must inform you

that I am an adherent of the Church of Rome.

Auf wiedersehen.

Hello. I'm Superintendent Pullman.

This is Jack Halford.

We rang earlier. We're looking for Anna Hodgkiss.

Right. Anna.

Hi. Nice to meet you. Uh, do you want to follow me?

Sorry to have to put you through this,

especially after such a long time.

No, no, I'm glad.

Graham was the love of my life.

First love. You never forget, do you?

No.

Apparently, you were the last person to see Graham alive.

Do you remember how he was?

Like always. On about his work.

He was mad about it. Obsessed.

He did used to get anxious over things.

Like what?

He wasn't happy about some of the things

that were going on at the brewery.

He never said what exactly, but I could tell.

You didn't mention this in the original case file.

Oh, no, I did.

I told the policeman that was in charge.

He didn't take me seriously. He just thought...

He made a pass at me.

This would be D.C.I. McAdam.

Why didn't you make a complaint against him?

I was only a kid. He's the man in charge.

If he doesn't take me seriously, why would anyone else?

Graham was careful, you know?

Meticulous.

If he thought something was wrong, it was.

You don't think it was an accident, do you?

I know it wasn't.

Graham was very clever. Lovely boy. Great nose.

Nose?

For beer. It's very important.

Ooh.

- You found his body. - It was terrible.

He fell in, and he couldn't get out.

- You think so, do you? - Well, don't you?

Well, that's what we're...

trying to find out.

So how come you didn't spot the body till the vat was emptied?

All the foam.

He was stuck at the bottom.

Just like the drayman.

Sorry?

Drayman and Lady Isabella.

Wife of Lord Ivor Felspar. 1780.

Caught her in flag... in flagr...

In flagrante?

At it with a drayman.

His lordship threw her off the brewing tower

and drowned the drayman in a tank of beer.

In the very same room where Graham Thompson died.

Their ghosts wander the brewery at night even to this day.

Night.

- Really? - I know. I've seen them.

Saw them the night Graham disappeared.

Makes you think, doesn't it?

So you were in the brewing tower

the night that Thompson went missing,

but you didn't see him?

So, what were you doing there?

It was a full moon.

Every brewer knows there are special times

to add your ingredients.

Hops. Barley.

It's a very mysterious process, brewing.

It was very scary. Very frightening.

- What, finding Thompson? - The ghosts.

Thompson was my prot... proté...

- Protégé. - Yeah, but he was sneaky.

Wanted to be chief brewer.

He...

Terrible shame.

Terrible accident.

So, ex-D.C.I. McAdam, you interviewed this girl,

and not content with ignoring what she had to say,

you came on to her?

Oh, ho-hum.

I'm glad you're bored,

'cause you've got 15 more years to practice.

This was a suspicious death. Very, by the look of it.

Really?

I thought it was just a bad case of drunk diving.

You think this is funny, do you?

I think it's funny coming from you.

What's that supposed to mean?

It means I'm not taking lectures on sexual incontinence

from the daughter of Gordon "Pants Down" Pullman.

Am I the only person in the Met

who doesn't have any dirt on my dad?

I should have told you about your father.

It was a mistake. I'm sorry.

That's okay. It's forgotten.

- Thank you, Dr. Lilwall. - Call me Steve.

Okay, I'll take all this stuff away,

reexamine it, and see what gives.

Soon as I have any results, I'll touch base.

Terrific. Thanks a lot.

You do realize how lucky you are?

Most forensic scientists won't do their thing outside the lab.

But we're cool.

Wonder if Steve's short for prat?

So, what do you think?

Well, a sloppy, corrupt cop works the case,

the dead man's girlfriend is convinced it wasn't an accident,

and now his ex-boss, there on the night,

lets slip he wasn't exactly enamored with his...

- Protégé. - Yeah.

- He was half-pissed. - In vino veritas.

In vino maybe,

but after 15 cans of Special Brew, I'm not so sure.

So, next step, we check out the brewery.

I agree. And I think you need your most experienced man.

I think you need an expert on beer.

I am an expert on beer.

Actually, I think you need someone who doesn't drink.

I think you should all go.

- Yeah. Fair enough. - Okay.

I'll catch you later. I've got to see my mum.

Good afternoon, gentlemen. Wilfred Felspar.

Call me Freddie. Everyone does.

Freddie. I'm Jack Halford.

How do, Jackie?

- This is Gerry Standing. - How do?

- Brian Lane. - How do?

- Hello. - Now, time is 1:55.

Cometh the hour,

we'll knock some cobwebs off these lovelies, get cracking.

Till then, sad old business, hmm?

Graham Thompson.

Yeah.

I'm sorry, it's just that young Thommo, he was...

He was one of the best.

Absolutely brilliant young fellow.

Destined to be one of the greats.

Greats?

Brewers, Gary. Brewers.

Yes, boy was a genius. And I use the word advisedly.

Only with us for five years

but, by heavens, did he make his mark.

I loved him. Loved him like a son.

Oh, talk of the devil.

These chaps are here about young Thommo, Julian.

Not a good memory for Dad.

Nor for any of us.

Julian Felspar. Chief executive.

Yeah, Julian is running the whole show now.

The face of modern brewing.

I'm just the old buffer fronting up and glad-handing, really.

And how's the old buffer been looking after you?

Well, he was just about to offer us a beer, actually.

Yes. That's his usual P.R. ploy.

No drink for me. I'm an alcoholic.

So... Ever been 'round a brewery?

- No. - Oh, my Lord.

That is a hole in your education.

Let's put it to right.

Let's go!

Now, this is the actual room where Graham Thompson died.

It's where the beer finally matures before barreling.

Yes, it's, uh... it's changed a lot since since Thommo's time.

Only one of the old tanks left.

I still don't like to come here very often.

I see you've CCTV cameras now.

That was part of a semirationalization

back in 2000.

And of course to ensure that what happened to Graham

never occurs again.

And what do you think did happen to Graham Thompson?

Well, as I said back then,

I think he was in here checking the brew,

and he just conked out, fell in.

During fermentation, there's a lot of CO2 given off.

If you're not very careful, it can make you ill.

Kick like a mule.

I think Thommo was overcome by the fumes, and he...

You don't think he was murdered?

Murdered?

No! Why?

I heard he was unhappy.

Rubbish.

If he had been, I'd have been the first to know about it.

- Would Hagley have known? - Malcolm?

Malcolm loved Thommo. Everyone did.

No, they were a team. An incredibly successful team.

Can I ask, where were you the night Graham went missing?

At home. With my wife.

She was dying.

We got off on the wrong foot before.

I'd like to change that.

I'd like to persevere with you, Bobby.

Try and find the helpful soul within.

Why did you leave the Thompson case open?

Why not just write it off as an accident?

Indulge me.

Probably couldn't prove it was.

You certainly didn't kill yourself proving it wasn't.

There you go again being nasty.

Okay.

Malcolm Hagley.

Now, he was there the night Thompson went missing,

and yet you don't seem to have made much of that.

Or did someone offer you a bung?

Ohh-ho-ho-ho.

Why ignore Anna Hodgkiss?

Well, she was very tidy.

Probably drove all other thoughts out of my mind.

I am prone to playing away every once in awhile.

Not something you have to worry much about in here, eh?

You know, you're not fooling anyone, darling.

You're not here about some dead beer-maker.

You're just desperate to know more about your dear old dad.

Well, let's not disappoint, eh?

I mean, I might have tugged the odd skirt in my time,

but at least I never paid for it.

Oh, yeah.

Your old man was a right one with the ladies

as long as the price was right.

My father is a very emotional man.

Yeah. So is Malcolm Hagley.

Tired and emotional.

Has he had a drink problem for long?

Quite awhile.

What, since before Thompson died?

Yeah.

- Why did you keep him on? - I didn't.

Soon as I took over the business in 2000, I, uh, retired him.

That must have been a bit dangerous...

Hagley's drinking.

Yeah, but then that's a constant dilemma in a wet brewery.

Wet?

Breweries are either wet or dry,

depending on whether the workers are allowed to drink or not.

In a wet one, they can.

And Felspar's is wet, yeah?

Absolutely bloody soaking.

This is my sister, Jacinta.

I understand you're here about poor old Graham?

You knew Graham Thompson?

Oh, yes. He was a sweetie.

I don't recall you being interviewed

in the original investigation.

I was in hospital.

Jacinta, did you want something?

Don't worry. I'm not here to see you.

I was looking for Daddy.

Uh, will it be possible to talk to you at some point?

Yes, of course. Au revoir.

My sister is an acquired taste.

You don't get on.

She seemed to get on with Thompson.

And how about you, sir?

Where were you on the night that Thompson died?

In hospital with Jack.

Uh, Jacinta.

Holding her hand.

All night?

Two nights and three days.

Do you need anything?

I don't mind. It's not a problem.

Sandra, I'm not an amputee. I like it here.

I know that.

You want to ask me something.

You always preface awkward questions with offers of help.

I hope you're more subtle

when you're interviewing members of the criminal fraternity.

Do you know a policeman called Bobby McAdam?

- Yes. - You do?

I've been reading about him in the papers.

Do you know if Dad knew him?

Oh, really!

I had hoped you'd stopped all this by now.

It's not that simple, Mum.

What about Ian Randle?

Do you honestly think I can recall the names of all the men

that your father knew or didn't know 30 years ago?

No. No, I don't.

Do you know I haven't been in a Felspar's pub for years?

Not surprised if they're all like this.

What have they done to it? It used to be a pub.

When did they stop making Far-Reaching?

- Do you remember? - Nah.

This is their new bitter. Mop Top.

These are pictures of Felspar's.

Old ones. Showing the brewing process.

Not one that did this. Blimey, this is...

Piss! My God, that's bad.

"Welcome to The Autopilot.

Indulge yourself in the unique Felspar's leisure experience."

- What does that mean? - It means the beer's piss.

- Hello. Could I have a dry... - Sandra, Sandra, I've got it.

Oh. Sorry.

How's your mum?

Uh, yeah. Getting there.

This is nice.

Nice? How?

- Gastropub. - Yeah, as in gastroenteritis.

Reminds me of Julian's office. Marketing over content.

- Who's Julian? - Julian Felspar.

Son of Sir Freddie,

now the chief executive of Felspar's Plc,

and brother to Jacinta.

Neither of whom McAdam bothered to interview.

Weird. The lot of them.

And that's Brian talking.

Think House of Usher.

Daddy loved Thommo but won't hear a bad word about Hagley.

Unlike son Julian, who doesn't get on with his sister, Jacinta,

and the feeling's mutual.

But she get's all perky when you mention the name Thompson.

Look at this.

"South of England Best Beer... December 2, 1997.

Felspar's Far-Reaching Bitter. Five times a winner."

Now, Freddie said that Thompson was only there for five years.

Which coincides with

the exact same five years they won the award.

There you are. "South of England Real Ale Show.

Now at the Jubilee Exhibition Hall."

Perfect opportunity to talk to people

who might have known our man.

Whatever. Take Brian.

Yeah, and I think that Jacinta could be very helpful.

I know you do. That's why I'm coming with you.

- Just there. - Oh, thank you.

Ah, Stevie Swaithling?

Yeah?

Bloody hell, you're a woman.

Ah, you new men and your chat-up lines.

Sorry, no...

My name is Halford, Jack Halford.

This is Brian Lane.

We're from the Unsolved Crime and Open Case Squad.

I wonder if we could have a word with you.

Yeah, of course.

Carry on. I'll be back in a bit.

- Do you want to go and sit down. - Thank you, yes.

We're reexamining the death of Graham Thompson.

Graham Thompson.

Oh, it was terrible.

He was a genius! Lovely bloke too.

So I heard. You knew him well, then?

Oh, everyone knew about Graham. Even before he left university.

- University? - Leeds.

Degree in brewing science. Shall we sit?

Degree? In brewing?

Oh, yeah.

Graham was headhunted even before he left.

But Sir Freddie got to him first.

Smart move.

Graham transformed Felspar's from just okay to magnificent.

Far-Reaching Bitter was created by Malcolm Hagley.

No.

No, Malcolm made the stuff,

but everyone knew who was really responsible.

Did Hagley know everybody knew? I mean, was he jealous?

You think Graham was killed?

By Malcolm Hagley?

Only thing Malcolm ever killed was a pint.

Far-Reaching Bitter didn't win in 1998.

- Why not? - It wasn't any good.

That's why there was such a huge row.

- Row? - With Sir Freddie.

Accused us of not storing it properly.

Accused the winners of tampering with it.

Accused just about everybody.

Truth was it just wasn't Far-Reaching Bitter.

Not the one we all knew and loved.

Is it true that brewers work at odd times?

Like during the night, say, or a full moon?

Oh, yeah. The superstitious ones.

Yeah, they do all sorts.

So who did win the best beer in '98?

Uh, Pole Star S.A.

Very nice pint.

What will you have?

Don't worry, there's not a hint of Felspar's

in the whole apartment.

But the brewery paid for most of this, didn't it?

I got this the hard way. I married someone.

- Tell me about it. - We won't, thanks.

- You're not married anymore? - No.

It was brief. He was Belgian.

You said that Graham Thompson was sweet.

How sweet?

Oh, bless you.

My taste doesn't stretch to horny-handed sons of toil.

Besides, I prefer my lick of Scotch in a glass.

How did he and Malcolm Hagley get on?

Fine.

But I'm not really an habitué of the brewing tower.

Julian said that you and he don't see eye to eye.

He's an older brother. He's very bossy, overprotective.

- About what? - I said Graham was not my type.

Anyway, he had enough on his plate

with that angry little hairdresser, don't you think?

- You mean Anna Hodgkiss? - Yes.

I only ever saw her twice,

but both times she was going off at him like a Catherine wheel.

- And what were the rows about? - No idea.

It was beyond the windows of my brother's office.

And you didn't hear what was said?

I was taught it was rude

to listen in on other people's misery.

May I ask you two a question?

Are you lovers?

So you like our product.

Well, I like the beer.

As they say in the U.S., "Beer should be sexy too."

You not having one?

- I'm an alco... - He's driving.

Actually we're looking into the death of Graham Thompson.

- Former assistant... - I know who he was.

By reputation.

Did you ever try to employ him? I mean, back in 1998?

In '98 I couldn't have afforded Thompson's socks.

Back then Pole Star was a microbrewery

turning out less than 1,000 gallons a month.

I got the idea in Boston.

Microbreweries are a big thing there.

Low costs, low overheads.

Although I can't say it's ever quite that simple, is it?

Probably still be there if we hadn't won best beer.

Thompson dying was a big slice of luck for you, then?

Apparently Sir Freddie Felspar felt the same.

He accused you of tampering with his beer.

No one took that seriously!

Anyhow, I like Freddie.

His son's a different matter.

- You know Julian? - I was at uni with him.

Business studies.

Which is a joke, given how he runs his.

He'd sell his own mother to turn a profit.

Not even interested in the brewery.

Felspar's pubs make most of their money now with food,

which is why their beer's so shit.

Call that beer, Jopling?

I can piss better than that!

Pole Star?

Should call it bloody Cold Sore!

I know you, Jopling. I know all about you.

With your fancy ties and your tarts

and your stupid haircut.

You're a f...

You're a fraud!

- Sir? - Uh, no, I'm...

No, no.

Maybe he thinks your beer's a little too sexy.

- There you. - No, Gerry!

On the mat. How many times...

- Cup of tea? - Please.

Hagley's in a cell in Kensington, unconscious.

The good news is his blood-alcohol level

should get him in the Guinness Book of Records.

Very long time to hold a grudge.

It's a lot more than that.

Hopefully when he sobers up we'll find out what.

How'd you get on? Enjoy yourself with Jacinta?

No, not really. I don't fancy her.

I'm sure she'll get over it.

No, you don't understand. I don't fancy her.

It's weird.

Maybe you're finally emerging from puberty.

Sorry, yes, I'm here.

Ah, here we go.

"Julian Felspar, Felspar Breweries Ltd."

Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah.

"BSc Business Studies, 1990-1993.

Leeds University."

He kept that one quiet.

Let's try Jopling.

Yes. Pole Star Brewery.

"The Boss's Blog by Tony Jopling."

- "About Me." - Egomaniac.

"You probably want to know what kind of guy

builds a business success story from scratch."

Egomaniac tosser.

Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah.

"Masters Degree in Business Management, Harvard."

After a degree in business studies from...

Don't tell me. Leeds University.

In one. And again 1990-1993.

And Sandra tells me that sweet...

Ehhh!

That sweet little Anna might not be so sweet after all.

What, you think Jacinta's lying?

Oh, no. Her alibi checks out.

She was at the Wellesley Park Private Clinic,

where superrich ladies go

when they're having trouble with their bits.

Gynecological.

Well, she was there from the 27th to the 29th of November,

as was Julian, who was keeping her company

in a luxurious family suite.

What about Sir Freddie?

His wife died at home on November the 30th of cancer

and Freddie was at her bedside.

Had been there all week, apparently.

It was a Dr. Morgan, the family G.P.,

who signed the death certificate.

According to him, Freddie was devoted to her.

What we do know is Julian, Jopling, and Thompson

were all at Leeds together.

Even though Jopling reckons

he only knew Thompson by reputation.

Correct, and in '98,

when Thompson goes missing and Felspar's bitter goes off,

Jopling wins best beer.

Evening, all.

Thought I'd stop by, give you the bad news mano a mano.

The tests on Thompson's clothing were negative.

No blood, DNA. Nothing to help you.

Is that it, Steve?

Well, actually, there is one odd thing.

It's G.M. barley.

Who's he?

No, the barley in Thompson's coat pockets.

It's genetically modified. Illegal.

Even more so back in 1998.

I'm having the DEFRA labs do further tests done

to try and find its provenance.

Place of origin.

Soon as the word's solid, I'll blip it on to you.

Ciao.

One of these days I'm gonna blip him.

So Anna was right.

There was trouble at the brewery.

And Thompson knew it.

This looks like a two-pint problem.

You coming?

No, no. Count me out. I've got paperwork.

See you in the morning.

Okay, so, what is it with Sandra, then?

What's going on?

All I know is she's not telling us what she's up to.

She got a bloke?

Nah!

Then she'd be all drippy and stupid, wouldn't she?

Promotion?

Nah. Then she'd be all nice to us.

Concerned, et cetera.

Is she pregnant?

Well, you can ask her!

Well, I don't know. What, then?

McAdam knew her dad.

And he let her know.

McADAM: Who is it?

People will start to talk.

I'm gonna ask you a few questions, ex-D.C.I. McAdam.

And you're gonna answer them.

You're wasting your breath, darling.

They all know I'm ex-job.

Yeah.

But wait till they hear about

all the little kiddies you've been interfering with.

I haven't been messing with any...

You...

Get me out of here.

You ain't going anywhere, Bobby.

So let's talk.

1974. You worked in vice.

Might have done.

Yeah, yeah. All right.

The Harmony Massage Parlour, Canning Town.

I take it vice knew about it?

- They ran it. - They ran it?

No one told Jack Halford's investigation.

No. Well, vice are gonna cooperate with a CIB inquiry?

Right. Cops don't rat on each other.

No.

Good thing for your dad we don't.

How'd you work that one out,

when he ended up killing himself?

Mum still gets her pension, doesn't she?

Okay. Ian Randle.

How does he fit into all of this?

Ah.

All I know...

is there was a working girl.

Randle was her pimp.

But she decides to move to a better-class establishment.

Randle has words. Loses it. Kills her.

Your dad took exception to this because, allegedly,

he and said girl were fond of each other.

Word is he got Randle alone and shot him in the massage parlor.

This working girl... What's her name?

It was 30 years ago, darling.

Only ones who'll know are her mates.

Know any 60-year-old whores?

So, Julian, would you care to let us know

why you didn't mention

that you were at university with Graham Thompson?

Well, we shared a flat for awhile,

but I only did brewing science for three months.

I swapped courses. Graham didn't.

Brewing was his life.

Yeah, he was a good guy but... obsessed.

In 1998, whose job was it to order the company's supplies?

Hops, barley, so forth?

Used to be Malcolm,

and then I took over at the end of the year.

Because?

Well, I felt that Malcolm was too...

Pissed?

Profligate.

Why? Is it important?

Well, you never know in this job.

Feeling better?

Give me a drink.

What, so you can have another go at Jopling?

- I need a drink. - No, you don't.

You want one. It's not the same thing.

- You don't understand. - No?

Try this.

You feel like death.

If you don't have a drink, you'll die.

Or worse, you'll sober up.

But if you sober up, you'll have to think about something.

If you think about anything,

it'll be how much you hate yourself.

And how much better off everyone would be if you were dead.

But that would mean killing yourself.

You haven't got the courage for that.

So you have a drink.

Who are you?

That's better.

Only I ask the questions, okay?

Now, why did you go mad at Jopling yesterday?

- Who? - Tony Jopling.

Pole Star.

- At the beer festival. - He...

I don't know.

Okay, let's go back a bit further, shall we?

1998.

The year Thompson died.

You ordered some barley.

Oh, uh, yeah. Maybe.

Yes. Ordered it just before the beer festival.

You remember?

- Malcolm? - Hmm?

It was G.M. barley.

Genetically modified barley.

Yes, you, Malcolm.

You got hold of it.

But it's not allowed in this country.

- So where did you get it? - What are you talking about?

I don't know what you're talking about.

- Leave me alone. - Malcolm, look at me!

Did you order G.M. barley?

- Stop it! Please! - Brian.

Steve's on his way.

He's got something "wicked" to tell us.

Hi, guys. Check this out.

The barley in the dead man's pockets

is a strain called Cerebus,

developed by Distance Agritech of the U.S.

They applied to trial the grain in Europe in 1993

but were refused an import license.

Cerebus was up to 30% cheaper

than most conventional barley at the time.

But when it failed its license,

it became more or less worthless for export.

Cool, huh?

"Distance Agritech.

Taking cereals to a new level."

H.Q... Boston, Massachusetts.

As in the Boston where Jopling got his big idea?

What if Jopling got Hagley to sabotage Felspar's beer

so Pole Star could win at Olympia?

Thompson found out about it. So Jopling killed him.

That would explain why Hagley's so angry so ashamed.

Guys, if you're looking to prove this,

there is a slight problem.

Without samples of the beer at the time to analyze,

there's no way of proving G.M. barley

was or wasn't in this or that beer.

Well, there is a way of solving the problem.

I'm not gonna like this, am I?

Sorry it's so late, Freddie.

Not at all. But I'm afraid you won't see much at the moment.

- Everyone's rattling off home. - Oh, that's all right.

I just wanted to whiz through,

reacquaint myself with the geography.

I'll wait here, then.

We're in.

- Gerry. - Oh!

Oh, bloody hell, Brian. What do you think you're doing?

I've been through those supply-order files.

Nothing.

I want to have another look at those tanks.

Be careful.

Idiot.

At the real-ale show, when Thompson was missing,

you accused Tony Jopling of sabotaging your beer.

Well, I was very upset, very stressed at the time.

Are you now saying that he didn't interfere with your beer?

Uh, Sir Freddie, is there something you know about Jopling

which for some reason you feel you don't, um...

No. No, I don't.

Oh.

Oh, uh, are you all right?

Are you okay, Brian?

I'm fine, thank you, Jack.

Uh, thank you, Freddie.

Are you raving mad?

What was I supposed to do?

Well, what about Brian?

He'll think of something.

Hello?

Oi! You've locked me in!

Whew.

Beer. Huh.

Beer.

Uh...

Felspar's Fighting Bitter.

That's three bottles each for every year from '92 to '98.

That should be enough for the doc to analyze, shouldn't it?

- If it's okay. - Oh, no, they're all full.

No, no, no, no, no. I mean, if it hasn't gone off.

Let's see. Um...

"Best before 07/96.

No, that date thing's just for health and safety, innit?

To cover 'em for insurance purposes.

Steve's only going to need one bottle, isn't he?

For each year.

And the lab can only tell you so much.

I mean, it's all about taste.

Jack.

You're brilliant.

Oh!

Would you pass me my crocodile?

It is time to eat my cheese and pantaloons.

Looks good.

Mmm. Smells good.

Oh, no.

No.

No! No!

No!

1997.

'92, '93, '94,

'95, '96, '97.

I particu-I-larly liked the '96.

So...

Now for the '98.

Oh!

Ugh!

Oh!

Let's go back to the '92.

Try taking a few deep breaths.

Oh, thank you.

- What are you doing here? - Sorry about that.

I...

I was with your father.

And the next thing I know, he's gone.

Well, it's lucky for you we got CCTV.

Two deaths could hardly both be accidents.

Exhibit "A."

Where are the samples?

I mean the ones with the beer still in them?

- You want to fight? - What?

No, no, no, Gerry. Leave... Leave it.

It's not worth it.

You think you're so clever, don't you?

Huh?!

- How is it? - It's fine. It's fine.

Honestly, I don't mind.

If you don't like it, you can say.

I just thought it would be nice for me to bring you something.

And for us to spend an evening together.

And because you've got something to tell me, you said.

Something important. Again.

When he died, Dad was in trouble.

He was in a lot of trouble.

He was being investigated by the CIB...

for unlawfully killing someone.

I'm trying to find out why.

But it's really difficult

because it's such a long time ago.

Man or woman?

A man.

But I think it was because of a woman.

Who was it, the person he killed?

It was someone called Ian Randle.

The woman... I don't know her name...

She was a prostitute.

Did you know he was seeing someone else?

He called me by the wrong name.

And the first time it happened, we made a joke of it.

And then he did it again, just before he died.

At the wrong time.

In the wrong place.

Deirdre.

I mean, imagine.

I mean, just the sound of it. Deirdre.

Uh.

Men are so bloody strange.

I know.

I don't think I'll ever understand them.

That's 'cause there really isn't very much to understand.

So if Hagley was delirious on CO2,

it would explain why he thought he saw ghosts.

But of course, like me,

the apparitions he saw were almost certainly real people.

Now, November 27, 1998, was a full moon.

Hagley was there, brewing away. Probably drinking as well.

The fumes kicked in...

The alcohol kicked in, and it all went a bit weird.

Sound familiar?

Good morning.

Well, for you, as it happens, yes.

From the limited residue

I was able to recover from the bottles,

tests show that one of them did contain traces of

genetically modified material.

The Cerebus G.M. barley.

Correct.

The bottle of Far-Reaching Bitter from 1998.

Okay. Thank you.

What do we say, boys?

Thanks, Steve.

Sorry, Steve.

I also found on the other bottles

traces of E. coli, campylobacter,

and salmonella as well.

Enjoy.

Hello.

Right.

Malcolm Hagley. Wants to meet me for a chat.

He offered me money.

What?

Money. A bribe.

Who?

Who do you think?

How do you explain your attempt to bribe Malcolm Hagley?

Cerebus barley was developed in Boston whilst you were there.

I think you had it imported illegally to the U.K.

with the intention of adding it to the Far-Reaching brew

in order to sabotage it.

That's ridiculous.

You thought Malcolm Hagley would be amenable

because you knew he resented Thompson.

So that night you went to the brewing tower.

Only problem was Hagley was unwell.

Delirious from the effects of too much CO2.

And to make matters worse, Thompson turned up as well.

You're making this up.

I think you murdered Graham Thompson,

and I'm not making that up.

I didn't do it!

I wasn't there. I swear to God.

I'm giving you a chance to explain.

And it's your last chance.

Look, yeah.

Okay, I tried to bribe him,

but that was to try and get the recipe for Far-Reaching Bitter.

Anyway, he said no.

He knocked me back. So did Stevie.

I don't know anything about any G.M. barley.

Stevie Swaithling?

You tried to bribe her to win best beer?

No, to get Thompson's recipe.

She was knocking him off.

Yeah. Mad about him.

Why didn't you tell us

you were having an affair with Graham Thompson?

I didn't see that it was anyone's business.

You mean you didn't want to be a suspect in a murder inquiry.

Me? I loved him.

But he didn't love you, did he?

I don't know what you're trying to say.

I'm saying that he didn't want to see you anymore.

You don't understand.

What hurt most... Being rejected for a hairdresser

or just someone younger?

My God, you don't think there was just two of us, do you?

Women liked Graham.

Lots of women.

Mm.

Where you going?

Well, you know me, Jack. Workaholic.

You're a very bad man.

Hmm. So all my exes say.

Do you often eat alone?

Yes.

That way I'm with someone who cares.

Yeah, I know how you feel.

I often prefer the food to the partners.

But talking of partners, you said your marriage was brief.

But getting married, separating, and divorcing

all within the space of 18 months,

that really is going some.

Even for me.

Raphael Schamp?

It's pronounced "Shom."

Ah, right.

Belgian brewing heir.

You must have had a lot in common.

- No. - So why marry him?

None of your business.

Okay.

Then why did he divorce you?

He did divorce you, and not the other way 'round.

Was it because he realized that you didn't love him?

Because you were still holding a torch for someone else?

Even though that someone else was dead?

No.

Raphael divorced me

because he found out I couldn't have children.

Thereby failing to ensure

both his and my dynastic brewing heritage.

"The inheritance of waste,"

to paraphrase my stupid family motto.

Now, if you don't mind, I and my salsiccia linguine

would like to get to know each other.

Alone.

A Belgian multimillionaire marries someone

without knowing whether they can have kids or not?

Who says romance is dead?

She may not have realized until after she was married.

Sandra, she spent three days

in the Wellesley Park Private Clinic.

Of course she knew!

All right, but what's that got to do with G.M. barley?

More to the point, what's that got to do with Thompson's death?

Well, it's got something to do with it.

With her.

I don't know. She gives out this really unhappy feeling.

- I've met women like her before. - I bet you have.

I don't want to upset your "feelings,"

but as far as I'm concerned

they're no substitute for facts or evidence,

both of which we have just about bugger all.

So tomorrow morning we're gonna come back in,

and we're gonna start all over again.

Wait a minute. Where you going?

- To get some facts. - What about her?

Mobile.

Ah, yeah, yeah. Hi, hi.

Um, can you put me through to your cereals department, please?

- Good night. - Good night, Sandra.

Night.

- Ah, hi. - Brian?

Phone me.

Sorry, sorry, yes. My name's Malcolm Hagley.

I'm just checking on

a consignment I ordered from you several years ago.

Hope you've chained your bike to something strong.

Jean Bennett?

I understand you used to know Deirdre Mortimer?

- Oh, please. No. - No, Jean. Wait, please.

I'm a police officer. Look, look.

Okay?

In 1973, you and Deirdre were arrested for soliciting,

and Ian Randle, your pimp,

was charged with living off immoral earnings.

I don't know what you're talking about.

My father was Gordon Pullman,

the man who's supposed to have killed Ian Randle.

Jean, look, all I'm trying to do

is find out the truth about my dad.

Please help me.

I'll tell you what...

There is no way she is visiting a boyfriend.

Not here.

That's a very classist remark.

What, you think she's decided

she wants a hoodie as a soul mate?

She might surprise you.

She might be a lot more open to change than you think.

Well, her car certainly is.

Deirdre was beautiful.

Randle called her Goose.

'Cause she was the goose what laid the golden eggs.

Classy punters.

Thanks.

Yeah, Randle had big plans for her.

Then she met your dad.

Actually she'd known him a long time.

Randle had no idea.

Then she told him she weren't having any more to do with him,

she was getting out.

And Randle killed her for that.

And what about my father?

You won't want to hear this.

But he was in love with her.

So he killed Randle out of revenge.

No. To protect the boy.

What boy?

Deirdre's boy. Carl.

He was 4 years old.

He was there when Randle killed his mum.

Only he was hiding.

Then Randle found him,

and when he realized he had seen everything that happened, he...

He was strangling him when your dad come in.

Your dad shot Randle.

Saved Carl's life.

Then he brought him to me to make sure no one knew.

What happened to him?

I couldn't look after him.

I didn't know what to do.

In the end, I left him in a church

so that someone good would take him in.

I don't know where he is now.

Look, it's just a simple misunderstanding.

Well, me gonna misunderstand your ass, granddad.

- Oi! - Get in the car.

Hey, check out granddad's bitch.

Delta Charlie One to Control.

Can you please send armed backup

to Hurst Towers on the Mears Estate?

We have several hooded perps, possibly armed,

assaulting three pensioners

Pensioners?

Oh, it's your mobile. Nice one.

Care to explain?

You first.

Do you fancy a drink?

Sure.

You don't know that what she told you is true.

No, I don't.

And even if it was, there's no way you could prove it.

That's not what I'm looking for, Jack.

Well, I'm just glad we know why you were acting so weird.

So this woman says your dad did it to save a child's life?

- Mm-hmm. - Well, I buy that.

Talking of child's lives,

I think you should know that 90% of the admissions

to the Wellesley Park Clinic are for terminations.

How do you know that?

It's the old Ways and Means Act, innit?

It's not how you know, it's who you know.

But Jacinta was in there for three days.

Abortions don't take that long, even in a private clinic.

Not unless something goes wrong.

- There's more. - I rang Distance Agritech.

They've no record of selling anything to a Malcolm Hagley.

But they do have a record

of selling it to someone in the U.S.

Someone who told them they were setting up a microbrewery there.

Jopling?

No.

Ah. Thank you for coming, Miss Felspar.

I just wanted to check exactly who was where

on the night Thompson died.

Now, you were in a private clinic.

Can you tell me, what was the nature of your illness?

I don't see that's any of your business.

I'm sorry, but I think we've reached the point

where it is my business.

Julian, you were there. Can you tell me?

Well, I really think that's for my sister to say.

You're very sensitive

to your sister's wishes all of a sudden.

Given that you're not that close.

But then I reckon you've never been close to anyone.

Certainly not Graham Thompson.

That's not true.

Thommo and Julian got on famously together.

Sir Wilfred, I know this is very difficult for you,

but please, you must listen.

Your father obviously loved Thompson.

Saw him as the son that he wished he'd had.

So he was a direct threat to your future.

You think I killed Graham?

The night he died, I was with my sister.

Holding her hand?

I don't think even close relatives get to hold the hand

of someone who's having an abortion.

Why can't you have children, Jacinta?

What was it? An infection?

Ectopic pregnancy?

I'm truly sorry.

You lied to us, Julian.

You told us that Hagley ordered supplies up to 1998.

Which is true.

Yeah, but what you didn't tell us was that early that year

you purchased supplies

of genetically modified barley in the United States

and had it shipped to the U.K.

Well, yes, but that was to reduce costs.

Even if that were true,

it still wrecked Thompson's landmark beer.

And he found out.

Around the same time that you found out

your sister was pregnant by him.

No.

A possible heir for Sir Freddie.

I don't think so.

Jack?

Tell them, Jack.

Tell us what?

That you made sure she had an abortion?

An operation that went so badly wrong it left her infertile.

No!

No.

Jacinta, please.

No wonder she hates you.

Look, we don't believe you set out to kill Thompson.

We think you just wanted him fired.

I didn't kill Graham.

I wasn't anywhere near here that night.

Look at your sister, Julian. Tell her it wasn't true.

Jacinta, please. Help me!

You kill a man to save your inheritance.

No! I did not do that!

- No? - No!

- Why not? - Because the child wasn't his!

And how would you know that?

Because it was mine.

You satisfied? The child was mine.

- Mine. - Stop it!

Stop this!

My son never killed Thommo.

I did.

Sir Wilfred, please.

Shut up!

It was me. Do you understand?

It was me.

Thommo... Graham Thompson... He came to see me.

He was... He was very unhappy.

He'd discovered that someone had tried to add

cheap, poor-quality grain to the mash brew.

He confronted Malcolm Hagley, but he denied it.

And then he found out who had actually got hold of the barley.

- Julian. - Yeah.

So he arranged to meet me at night in the brewery.

I left my wife...

She was pumped full of diamorphine...

And I went to the fermentation room.

Thommo was there.

He asked me to try the barley, taste it.

He was right.

He insisted that I sack Julian.

- And you wouldn't. - No.

No, I told him that the brewery was a family business,

the name over the gate was Felspar, not Thompson.

What was his reaction?

He said the beer was his, not ours.

"In that case," I said, "you can take it with you.

You're fired.

You're just a brewer, not family."

"No," he said.

"If I was family, I'd be sleeping with my own sister.

Like Julian does."

Then what?

I lashed out.

Well, he... he was taken by surprise.

He fell backwards into the vat.

He couldn't get out.

Look, I tried to help him.

I tried to reach in, pull him out, but I couldn't.

I couldn't get him out.

Then I saw Malcolm.

I thought he must have seen everything,

but he didn't even know who I was.

Thought I was a ghost.

I... I never let my children know that I knew.

But, uh, I did.

I knew something was... was not right.

I blame myself.

My wife and I, we... we scarcely saw them.

Even in the holidays.

They grew up with only themselves.

Without any love save their own.

I blame myself.

- Think he'll go down? - Manslaughter?

I don't think he cares.

Why didn't Jacinta say something?

What could she say in front of her dad?

Well, I told you there was something weird going on.

Seeing as you were so right, you can so write this one up.

- Good night. - Good night.

Night.

Yeah, good night.

The last one.

What a shame!

♪ It's all right, it's okay ♪

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

♪ 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 ♪

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