All language subtitles for 136 -

Oh, I'm so sorry, Father. Unpacking everything has put me so far behind on my parish paperwork.

I'm just pleased you and the inspector are settling in so well.

What's with that? Did Mrs McCarthy leave it behind on purpose?

Actually, that was a housewarming gift for me from Edgar.

It's very striking.

It's hideous.

I know, but I haven't the heart to tell him.

It's been difficult with his demotion. I'm trying to make things easier for him.

Oh, hello.

Mrs Goodfellow.

Father Brown, Brenda, guess who I've just had a telephone call from?

Joyce Weber. She's inviting us for drinks over at her house this evening.

What? No!

Joyce Weber is the superintendent's wife.

She's the head of the CPWS.

The Cotswold Policemen's Wives Society.

Oh. I've been to a few of their fundraising events.

They're the absolute inner circle. This is a huge honour.

I've been going to their functions for over 20 years and I've never been invited to anything like this before.

So why now?

And isn't it a bit last minute?

There's a big charity auction at Hambleston tomorrow and most of the organising committee have caught in Patigo.

Shall I call her back and confirm?

Yes!

Wait!

No, I can't.

I've got these parish returns and I've not even started on the numbers for Mass.

They all have to be sent to the diocese by tomorrow.

Well, I can always do that for you.

Really?

Of course. I've seen you do it often enough.

And I have every faith in Miss Palmer's abilities.

Oh, thank you, Brenda!

Edgar would be so proud if I became part of the Policemen's Wives Club.

This evening has to go well.

Oh, thank you.

Where's my hair?

The same as the last time you asked.

No, it's important, Edgar.

I want to make a good impression.

You look lovely.

See?

There's no need to be nervous.

Easy for you to say, Inspector.

I'm no good at socialising with the top brass.

Just be yourself, Dandar.

Exactly!

I've attended hundreds of these things.

They're usually extremely dark.

Good evening.

Can I take your coats?

Hello.

Good evening.

Welcome.

It's lovely you could come.

Isn't it?

Absolutely.

I'm Mrs Inspector Rendon.

Or Angie, to you and I.

I know, Mrs Rendon.

I'm Violet Goodfellow.

We have met quite a few times, actually.

Of course, Violet.

It's so remiss of me.

We should have had you round years ago.

And this must be your husband.

Yeah.

Sergeant Goodfellow.

Mum.

Child.

Hello.

Isabel Sullivan.

Thank you so much for the invitation, Mrs Webber.

It's Joyce.

And I've been dying to meet you properly.

We presumed the inspector was happy being a lifelong bachelor.

You must be a very special woman for him to give that up.

Gerald, just in time.

He got held up at work.

Oh, Rendon.

Chaps, if you'll excuse me, I need a word.

My office.

Mm-hmm.

Please, help yourself to drinks.

We're all set up in the sitting room.

If you could start things off.

After all, we do have an auction to finalise.

Now, Joyce.

Come on, then.

The annual charity auction is one of the most important events in the CPWS social calendar.

Now, we might have lost most of our proper committee, but we still need to do our best.

Especially as this year, the Chief Constable Brandt will be attending.

Ooh, the Chief Constable.

Is that what Gerald spoke with you about?

Yes.

Now, all the money raised will go to the Cotswold Police Widows and Orphans Charity.

And as you can see, we've got some top drawer items to auction off.

A Persian rug, a Singer 201 cape with a vertical rotary hook.

Violet runs the village sewing circle.

Of course she does.

Well, I hope you plan to bid for it, then, Violet.

Bid and win.

Now, I'll need volunteers at the event to make sure things all run smoothly.

I don't mind helping out.

Neither do I.

Sorry I'm a little late.

Carol!

But actually, I bumped into another guest on the way over.

Good evening, one and all.

Mrs Webber telephoned me and asked me to pop by.

I had a few questions about the charity side of things.

I had thought that Mrs Lawson here would be able to answer them,

as she runs the Widows and Orphans Charity.

Yes, but we always welcome your advice, Father.

We must get you a drink.

Angie, would you mind?

Of course.

Of course.

This way.

Damn shame I'd have me to use Solomon.

Fine police.

Oh, not for me, thank you, sir.

You know, I'm still not sure what you even did.

There was an issue with the case.

Some outside interference.

Hang on.

What's the priest doing here?

Your wife invited me, Superintendent Webber.

Allow me.

Got a good one here, Rendon.

Too many of these young women want more.

Careers and such like.

Well, I already have a job, Superintendent.

He's looking after my husband.

How about your new wife, Sullivan?

Presumes she doesn't work.

Actually, she's Father Brown's parish secretary.

Respectable work, at least.

Not too over-stimulating.

Well, has its moments.

Emma?

Franklin.

No, no, no.

Inspector Spinley and Franklin can't sit together.

Not after the charity golf fiasco.

Now you mention it, I read about that in Miss F's column.

Don't get me started on that woman.

Miss F?

Oh, she has a gossip column every Friday in the Cotswold Enquirer.

She is a muckraker.

No wonder she doesn't use her real name.

You know she described me as a social climber.

Me.

My husband went to one of the county's top schools.

So did Superintendent Webber, I understand.

A few years before, of course.

But no, they have a lot in common.

In fact, Gerald is personally recommending Michael for chief inspector.

Oh, Isabel, I'm so sorry.

Me talking about Michael having a promotion when your husband got demoted almost immediately after you got married.

Those things were unrelated.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

I didn't mean any offence.

We police wives need to stick together.

I mean, look at poor Carol.

It has been over a year since Terry died.

Wouldn't hurt to put some lipstick on.

Well, are you sure the committee have got in Patigo?

Or are they just trying to avoid Angie?

Put yourself together.

Think about your promotion.

I told you I don't want the damn job anyway.

Language.

We had a plan.

You ought to become chief inspector by the end of the year.

Or else.

And Mrs. Danbury can go by Sergeant Harker's wife.

Done.

I don't know how you do it.

You done?

Oh, yes, sir.

Come in, darling.

Go on.

Because I have an announcement to make.

This auction tomorrow will be my wife's last event for the CPWS.

She's giving it up.

Really?

She's keen to spend more time at home.

Aren't you, darling?

Yes.

That's a great loss.

Let's raise a glass to Mrs. Webber.

Oh!

Sorry, sorry.

It must be a reaction to his new allergy medicine.

Perhaps Inspector Rendon would benefit from a lie down.

Could you take him to the drawing room?

Come on.

Hold yourself together, man.

I'll get a cloth.

Apparently there's a telephone call for Inspector Sullivan.

Thank you, Jenkins.

I'll be right there.

Some trouble at the Red Lion.

Local chap Joe Arbuthnot.

Oh, I can go, sir.

Arby sometimes thinks he's back in the Great War.

Usually listens to me, though.

Good man.

So, Sullivan.

How would you like to see the implementation schedule for my new police radios?

I'd love to, sir.

I will ensure that Mrs. Goodfellow gets home safely.

Thank you, Father.

I'm so sorry, love.

I understand, but it doesn't mean I have to like it.

You be careful.

I will.

Oh, I thought Inspector Rendon might need water, but he's passed out snoring.

And you'll be waterfine.

That breached medication.

I have a good mind to speak to Michael's doctor.

Oh, please.

We all know it was the half bottle of malt he drank.

Maybe we should think about leaving.

You could have said that before I spent an hour learning about the superintendent's implementation schedule.

I'll find Father Brown and Violet.

I'll make her excuses to our host.

Sir, I'm afraid we, um...

I need help in here!

Anybody?

Mrs. Goodfellow?

Mrs. Goodfellow?

She's alive.

Anything?

How is Mrs. Goodfellow?

She's unconscious.

The ambulance is rushing her to hospital.

Sustained a nasty blow to the back of the head.

She must have interrupted the killer.

He used the superintendent's own truncheon against him.

Doesn't look like a burglary.

No sign of forced entry.

Which means it's likely to be someone who is already in the house.

Father.

I can take it from here.

No.

No.

No.

If it's Herbert.

It's my maiden name.

A gift for my 21st birthday.

Oh.

Father, what am I to do?

You will get through this, Joyce.

I promise.

I'll have to cancel the auction, of course.

All that work.

And I really wanted Michael to meet the chief constable.

The man is dead.

Our friend is injured.

And all she cares about is her husband's career.

Did anyone get a message to Sergeant Goodfellow?

Yes.

He's on his way to the hospital.

Oh, Father.

What if Violet doesn't make it?

I'm sure the doctors are doing everything they can.

She's lucky it wasn't worse.

However, they suspect there might be swelling on the brain.

And until it subsides, they just don't know.

I should never have left her father.

I should have been there to protect her.

You were doing your job, Sergeant.

And besides, there were three senior police officers present.

And one of them ended up dead.

What if...

What if Vice or the killer's face?

They might come back to finish the job.

But surely the officer posted here will protect her.

As will I.

I'm not leaving her aside.

Not again.

So you think it was an inside job, Father?

Apparently, Superintendent Webber let the staff go early.

So that means the guests.

And the hostess.

So the killer is one of the wives?

Or Inspector Endon.

But he wouldn't have been capable.

Not in his drunken state.

At this stage, we can't rule anything out.

What's that?

It's a list of letters I saw in the superintendent's study.

Father, is Mrs. Goodfellow really in danger?

If she can identify the killer, that is a possibility.

Then we need to find out who did this.

And speak to everyone who was there.

Well, actually, most of them will be in the same place this morning.

I am surprised.

It's still going ahead.

Oh, Isabel, just in time.

So, Meredith, you're on cloakroom duty.

Angie, meeting and greeting.

Carol, can you help the auctioneer?

And Isabel, you're to chaperone chief constable Brandt.

Surely it makes more sense for you.

We haven't got time to debate it.

We've only a few hours until the event begins.

Look lively, people.

We've got all those auction lots to put on display.

Joyce, can I just check?

So, Mrs. Webber's husband's just been murdered

and yet she's acting like nothing happened.

People react in different ways, Brenda.

And the CPWS is clearly very important to Joyce.

But last night,

Superintendent Webber announced that she was standing down.

Oh, how gorgeous.

It's a mixer.

Oh, look.

Here's something even better.

I don't think that ugly thing would raise much.

Oh, I don't know.

Maybe someone wants to start a collection.

How did you get on with the parish returns, Brenda?

Oh, yeah, fine.

It's all sorted.

Oh.

Violet had her heart set on this sewing machine.

Is there any news?

Doctors are still waiting for her to come round.

She'll pull through.

She's a police wife.

We can handle a lot.

No, what are you doing?

This is completely absurd.

No, this is wrong.

I didn't murder him.

You can tell me all about that at the station, Mrs. Webber.

No, you can't do this.

They surely can't think she killed Gerald.

Well, I love Joyce, but you never know what goes on behind closed doors.

Ah.

I wondered how long it would take, Father.

I'm curious about Mrs. Webber's arrest, Inspector.

I presume you've uncovered some compelling new evidence.

No.

My arrest the wives have murdered senior policemen for fun.

All right.

We found these locked in Superintendent Webber's desk.

You don't show the man's face?

No.

But from his bill, it's clearly not Superintendent Webber.

According to the dates, they met every Thursday at the same hotel.

It appears Mrs. Webber is having an affair,

and the superintendent found out about it.

What does Mrs. Webber say?

She's refusing to talk until her solicitor arrives from Gloucester.

But we all saw the tension between them yesterday evening.

I believe he confronted her, and things turned.

Inspector, I don't suppose you have a copy of the Cotswold Enquirer at hand.

The inspector thinks you were having an affair.

But it wasn't love that brought you to that hotel, was it?

It was your job.

The hotel is next door to the officers of the Cotswold Enquirer.

And the anonymous gossip column by Miss F is published every Friday,

the day after each one of your meetings.

The events Miss F writes about, you often attended.

And your maiden name, Fitzherbert, is, I presume, the basis for the Nom de Blume.

I thought I was being clever.

The column was my outlet, a way to express myself.

You don't know what it was like being married to a man like Gerald.

You probably guessed I didn't want to resign from the CPWS.

He was punishing me.

Because he found out.

He confronted me last night.

He was furious.

I had no choice but to admit to what I was really doing.

He said he'd telephone the newspaper the next day.

Have them fire me.

That must have been calling.

Yes.

But it doesn't mean I killed him.

The column was only a bit of fun.

I was working on a proper article, not just gossip.

I was going to ignore Gerald and get it published regardless.

But now he's dead.

And instead, I'll hang for something I didn't do.

Does this mean anything to you?

Gerald was making recommendations for a promotion.

They're the initials of the officers he was considering.

Do you think it means something?

I don't know.

Will you help me, Father?

Do you believe I didn't do this?

I do.

Oh, Father Brown, Violet's awake.

Mrs. Goodfellow, I am so pleased you are back with us.

It's an absolute miracle.

How are you feeling?

I've got a terrible headache, but it sounds like I got off lightly.

What do you remember about yesterday evening?

The whole night is a bit hazy, Father.

I remember Inspector Rendon making a fool of himself.

Yes.

The superintendent took him for a lie down.

Yeah, I heard them talking when I went to get the cloth.

Anything specific?

Well, just drunken rambling, I suppose.

Just to sum up about submarines and subs or, um, flowers and roses, I think.

Anything else?

Anything unusual?

Anything out of place?

There was papers scattered all over the floor in the superintendent's office,

and that's when I spotted him over by the desk.

Hey, hey, hey.

It's all right, love.

I walked in and everything went black, and the next thing I remember, I'm waking up here.

There were no papers on the floor when we found you, but there was a brown file on the desk.

So the killer tidied them up?

Why?

I don't know, but we need to see that file.

So you don't think Mrs. Webber did it then, Father?

Mrs. Webber is an intelligent and capable woman.

If she had wanted to kill her husband, she would have done so when her home was not full of potential witnesses and policemen.

She faces the gallows, Father.

There must be something you can do.

These initials are a list of officers Superintendent Webber was putting forward for promotion.

I know a few of these.

There's one set of initials missing.

MR.

Michael Rendon.

So he wasn't getting his big promotion after all.

Maybe that's why he was so drunk.

He was disappointed.

From what I saw, if anyone was upset, it was Angie, not Michael.

I suggest we talk to Mr. and Mrs. Rendon at the charity auction.

After we've examined that file.

Inspector Sullivan's not going to let you near the scene of the crime, Father.

Well, Daniel can do it.

I'm not going anywhere.

You could still be in danger.

Why?

I don't remember anything besides that nice young police officer still here.

Well, I could stay, Sergeant, if that helps.

Well, I suppose so.

Well, that's settled then.

Off you go.

The auction's starting soon.

You do look very dapper and good.

And you look divine, Mrs. Sullivan.

I'm sorry, Isabel.

You need to stay out here.

You're on cloakroom duty this evening.

What?

Well, with Joyce indisposed, I've been forced to make some difficult decisions.

And since you were so keen to help out...

Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I see the chief constable.

I'm looking after him this evening.

I'm so sorry.

I did volunteer my services.

Our first big event is husband and wife, and I have to sit through it alone.

Not entirely alone, Inspector.

I can keep you company.

I can keep you company.

Well, this is shaping up to be another funny evening.

Excuse me, Inspector.

I'm going to have a very small sherry.

Father Brown.

I'm just fetching a drink for the chief constable and Michael.

Oh, good idea.

I'm sure you're very keen that they get on well.

Well, especially, as I hear, Superintendent Webber failed to recommend your husband for a promotion.

Gerald promised us he'd put Michael forward, and then he suddenly changed his mind.

He could have ruined our entire career.

Our career?

Behind every great man is his wife, father.

Indeed.

But Superintendent Webber was going to derail your plans.

And now he's dead.

You're not suggesting.

Yes, I was upset with him, but it's the chief constable who actually appoints officers.

Oh.

Michael's going to go far.

I'll make sure of that.

You know, he never was a big drinker.

It's all Terry Lawson's fault.

Carol Lawson's late husband?

They were called to a bank robbery.

Michael told Terry to wait whilst they telephoned for orders, and Terry ran in, gung-ho, and got himself killed.

Since then, Michael's been having nightmares, drinking, avoiding social functions.

I'm sure witnessing the death of a colleague must have been extremely unsettling.

I can't believe Carol thinks Terry should be awarded the Queen's policeman.

For bravery.

For bravery.

For bravery.

She's been harassing Gerald for months.

You know, she wasn't even invited to the function last night.

She just showed up.

I mean, talk about poor etiquette.

Sorry, Father, I must fetch those drinks.

We'll be starting soon.

So, you've told Isabel you've already finished the paperwork.

I panicked.

I promised her I could handle it.

I'm adding up numbers for baptism, marriage and mass, and I keep getting different results.

Well, I'm sure we could solve it together.

But, if I help you with this, I need you to help me with something in return.

I needed some air, Father.

The constant, how are you coping, get a little much sometimes.

I wasn't invited to the Webbers last night.

Joyce was worried if I was there, I might.

It was a scene.

Over your bid to have your late husband awarded the Queen's Police Medal?

Yes.

I just wanted to beg Gerald one last time.

I assume the superintendent refused.

Again?

I told him.

I said, you think you're some expert on modern policing,

but you've no clue what it's like to be a real officer on the front line.

I imagine the superintendent didn't take kindly to that observation.

I didn't kill him.

I work with police widows every day.

I'd never willingly create another one.

Besides, Joyce calmed me down.

She had a new way to give Terry the recognition he deserves.

The article she was writing was about Constable Lawson.

I read it later that evening.

She explains how Terry was just trying to protect the public.

He wasn't reckless.

He was a hero.

The Enquirer won't publish it.

Not now its author has been arrested for murder.

Perhaps I could help.

The editor is a parishioner of mine.

He might listen to my request.

Father, could you?

Here you go.

Enjoy the auction.

Joyce Webber's article on Constable Lawson's death is extremely well written.

You missed Sergeant Goodfellow.

He dropped this off on his way back to the hospital.

Oh, is this the file Mrs. Goodfellow mentioned?

Yes.

See?

The sergeant thinks that blood could be the superintendent's.

The modern police force a feasibility study.

I had a look, but it's pretty dust stuff.

Just dates and costings from some new radio system Gerald was trialling.

It's a disaster.

The auctioneer isn't coming.

He heard about Gerald's death and assumed we'd cancelled.

Would you just start in five minutes?

I could always do it.

I am accustomed to being on stage.

No, pushing yourself into the limelight like that is not very becoming.

Besides, we don't want to abandon your post.

No, we need someone with authority and gravitas.

Oh.

Father.

People listen to you.

What?

You're perfect.

I have every faith in you as our auctioneer.

But I've...

Just think of it like acting, Father.

And project.

Come on.

Good luck.

Bad.

Do I hear 15 shillings?

Thank you, sir.

One pound.

I'm a very little one.

Oh, it's a bulk.

Going once.

Going twice.

Sold.

To the gentleman in the dinner jacket.

Oh, look.

That would be an excellent companion for your other one.

Father.

10 shillings.

Ah, 10 shillings, Inspector Sullivan.

Go on.

12 shillings.

12 shillings, Inspector Rendon.

15.

15.

One pound.

One pound.

One pound, 10 shillings.

One pound, 10 shillings.

I'd say, very exciting.

Five pounds.

Oh.

Five pounds.

Well, I say, five pounds for this, um...

Er...

Intricate figurine.

Going once.

Sorry, Isabel.

Going twice.

Oh, well.

It wasn't meant to be.

And sold for five pounds.

To Inspector Rendon.

I'm so sorry, Isabel.

I hope that wasn't something you desperately wanted.

You did that to her, Mrs. Sullivan.

I need another drink.

The next lot is a Cotswold police badge,

er, mounted and framed,

with the motto as a subscript.

Lex semper servanda.

It's Latin.

Where is he going?

Mid-auction.

Isabel, you can take over.

Oh, no.

I don't want to cause any embarrassment.

All right, don't be ridiculous.

You're perfect for the job.

Go on.

Go on.

You're going to lecture me on the perils of the demon drink, Father?

It's a bit late.

Inspector Rendon.

How fortuitous.

No, it's not my place to pass judgment.

Although last night you were inebriated.

Which is why, when Mrs. Goodfellow overheard you talking about submarines and roses,

she assumed it was drunken rambling.

Highly likely.

But it wasn't, was it?

Because subrosa, in Latin, means in secret.

So, a secret between you and Superintendent Webber.

The lie that you were unable to contact police headquarters the day Terry Lawson died.

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

I had no time to find a police box before Terry stormed off into the bank.

But you didn't need to find a police telephone box.

Because according to this article, that day you were driving a Morris Isis.

And those particular vehicles were trialling the superintendent's new car radio.

Your call would have gone straight through to the operations room.

Yes, I remember now.

I did try.

But they didn't pick up.

I doubt that, Inspector Red.

Because according to these logs, on that day,

Superintendent Webber was in the operations room, supervising his new system.

Your call would have gone straight to him.

You're right.

It did.

Gerald told us not to wait, but to go straight in.

He wanted to prove his new systems could fight crime more efficiently.

So into the bank we went.

Terry was ahead of me, right in the line of fire.

Later, Gerald pulled me aside.

He was panicking.

Told me to tell everyone Terry went rogue.

Said he'd help me with my career.

I knew how desperate Angie was for me to be promoted.

But I've hated myself.

And Gerald ever since.

Last night, in your emotional state,

did you fight with Superintendent Webber?

No.

When you saw me, I could barely stand.

Besides, I never hurt someone like that.

Whenever I close my eyes, all I can see is Terry.

My blood.

Inspector Rendon,

I urge you to tell the truth about what happened.

It would destroy my career.

My wife would leave me.

You ever told anyone else about this?

Michael?

Are you in there?

No, never.

Not even.

Sub Rosa, remember?

Michael, the Chief Constable's asking after you.

What are you doing in here?

As if I have to ask.

Here, drink this.

Drink.

Oh.

Of course.

And our final lot for this evening,

a Singer 201 case sewing machine.

How about that, ladies?

Shall we start the bidding at £9?

Yes.

£9.

Oh, thank you, Mrs Appleton.

Ten.

Did I mention the vertical rotary?

Maureen Appleton better not win that over me.

And the cord and foot pedal are a lovely match.

Shouldn't you be in hospital?

Sergeant Goodfellow is on his way to visit you.

Oh, well, I shan't stay long.

I just need to win that sewing machine.

£11.10.

Violet, you made it!

£11.10.

Going, going, gone.

Sold to Mrs Goodfellow.

Oh, Father.

We've raised such a lot.

We might even be able to pay for another day trip

as well as the holiday to Western Supermare.

That's marvellous news, Mrs Lawson.

But you won't be going with them.

That is to say,

not if you admit to what you did to Superintendent Webber.

Sorry?

You took a glass of water

to Inspector Rendon.

You said he'd passed out.

But he was awake, wasn't he?

The glass was half empty.

In his turmoil,

did he drunkenly confess

what really happened at that bank robbery?

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

That your husband was acting

under Superintendent Webber's orders.

You must have been terribly shocked.

Not shocked.

Angry.

I'd gone to ask Michael

to support my Queen's Police Medal campaign.

But he started crying.

He told me about the radio in the car.

How Gerald demanded they go in.

I couldn't believe it.

I went to Gerald.

He didn't care.

You can't prove any of this.

Michael Rendon is a feckless drunk.

Then I'll get proof.

There must be something somewhere.

Logs and files can be amended

as easily as witness statements,

Mrs Lawson.

Your husband will never get

the Queen's Police Medal.

He'll always be regarded

as a fool-hardy idiot

whose rash actions

got him killed.

Hello?

Hello?

Superintendent.

I didn't want to hit poor Violet,

but I panicked.

Ah!

What Superintendent Webber did was wrong.

But he did not give you the right to take his life.

He took my terry from me and then tried to ruin his reputation

with lies he deserved to pay.

And what about Mrs Goodfellow and Mrs Webber?

In seeking revenge for your husband's death,

you took a life.

And then you put two innocent lives in mortal danger.

I never meant to,

I never meant to, Father.

You can't imagine how relieved I am that Violet's all right.

And I never dreamt that Joyce would be blamed.

Then you must confess.

So you can be at peace

and one day be with your husband again.

I can't.

Now lock me up and throw away the key.

Or worse.

Which is exactly what will happen to Mrs Webber.

For your crime.

Constable Lawson spent his life upholding the law.

Not breaking it.

If he was here now,

what would he want you to do?

Everyone has given so generously.

And here is the total amount raised from...

Thank you, Mrs. Sullivan.

As de facto head of the Cotswold Policemen's Wife Society,

it gives me great pleasure to announce that we have raised...

£151.10 shillings.

Now, to tell us how the money will be spent,

is Mrs Carol Lawson.

Thank you, everyone.

The money raised will be spent on a much-needed holiday

for the county's police widows and orphans.

We all know what a dangerous job it is,

being a police officer.

And at times, it can be just as difficult,

being a policeman's wife,

never knowing what risky situations our loved ones are facing.

But we also understand that that's what we signed up for.

Our role as wives is to support the men we love,

no matter what.

My late husband, Terry,

always did his duty right to the end.

He never questioned it.

He believed in upholding the law.

So I want to make sure I honour his memory

by doing the right thing,

no matter how difficult or daunting it might be,

because that's what he would want me to do.

And goodbye.

Please make sure the holiday goes ahead, Father.

Those women and children deserve it.

I will, Mrs Lawson.

Violet, I'm so, so sorry.

Inspector Sullivan,

can I speak to you for a minute?

I'll have to meet you at home, I'm afraid.

I can't imagine what Carol must have gone through,

discovering the truth.

Terry Lawson was just following orders.

It could have been us.

I reworked the article to tell the full story.

I'm sure Carol will take real comfort from that.

And the byline is your own real name?

Yes, Father.

The Inquirer has offered me a job as a staff reporter.

Congratulations.

Oh, talking of jobs,

thank you so much for helping me with the parish returns.

Oh, I did have a little help.

I only helped you with the tallies and that.

You did the rest.

Impressive work, Miss Palmer.

Well done.

Sir, what happened to Michael Rendon

after he admitted he lied?

He's been suspended.

Pending an internal investigation,

but it doesn't look good.

That's a shame.

I imagine it is Mrs Rendon

who will feel it most keenly.

Oh.

If she leaves the Policeman's Wives Society,

you could take over, Miss S.

Oh, no thank you, Brenda.

Forget being the perfect policeman's wife.

I think the key to a successful marriage

is being supportive

and honest with each other.

Well, it's worked for Daniel and I

these past 25 years.

Mm.

Isabel,

I know how disappointed you were

that we didn't secure that wonderful figurine

at the auction,

so after visiting a lot of dealers

and paying an extortionate amount,

I found this one for you instead.

Oh, Edgar.

I don't know what to say.

I don't know what to say.

I don't know what to say.

I don't know what to say.

I don't know what to say.

Well, it's a hard thing.

I don't know what to say.

It's a hard thing.

But, when I see you...

Oh, yeah.

Huh.

Hm.

Oh, yeah.