All language subtitles for 02 - Childs Play

- This is rather embarrassing, Norman.
- I'm sorry, Vicar.

Last night's rain must
have loosened the sides.

It were fine when we left it.

Don't stop now. We're only
halfway through the service.

Oh, Mrs Huby won't mind.
She'll be in here long enough.

Get on with it.

Bloody typical.

You wait 40 years for a batty
old witch to pop her clogs

- and she still won't go under the sod.
- Dad, please.

Yeah, you mind your bloody
language, Uncle John.

Don't get clever with me, Rodney.

You're not poncing about
on the bloody stage now.

So loud, aren't you, dear cousin?

They should put that on your gravestone.

"John Huby, publican and
loud Yorkshireperson. "

It were you put her up to it, weren't it?

Don't be ridiculous.

All them years dancing
to her crackpot tunes,

drinking her watery tea and
listening to her barmy ideas

about blacks and the
bloody empire. And for what?

800 quid, the same as you.

She didn't even have the
decency to make it a grand.

Please, we're here to
say goodbye to a friend.

Friend? I thought you
were... What were it now?

Companion?

She had you dangling at the end
of a rope just like the rest of us.

Miss Keech is right.

- This isn't the time to...
- What?

Complain about being taken
for a ride by a shyster lawyer?

Now, careful, Mr Huby. I
know you're overwrought...

Don't get yourself wound up,
Dad. It's bad for your heart.

Come here. Look at this.

"In loving memory of
Alexander Lomas Huby. "

"... September, 1944."

Now, how can it be legal for
her to leave all that money

to someone who's been
dead for 50 year or more?

Now, come on. Tell us that.

Excuse me. The grave is now ready.

Shall we proceed with the interment?

Oh, come on.

...inasmuch as it hath pleased
Almighty God of His great mercy,

- Earth to earth, ashes to ashes...
- Oh, Gwendoline.

...dust to dust.

In the sure and certain hope of
the resurrection to eternal life

through Our Lord, Jesus Christ.

- Hey!
- Mother...

- What's all this about?
- Dad.

- Get off!
- Dad!

Amen. I think.

Spoilt your trousers?

A suit is one thing that
can be made as good as new.

Would you like a cup of something?
There's a funeral tea at Troy House.

You'll forgive me please
if I decline, but thank you.

Lexie.

Short for Alexandra, perhaps?

- And you are?
- Alessandro Pontelli.

But once I was someone else.

DALzlEL: Anybody at home?

Sorry for keeping you
waiting, Superintendent.

All right, sir?

Villains normally take a tea
break about this time, anyway.

Sorry?

- Everything all right, sir?
- Just washing my hands.

Yeah.

Would you like to wash yours?

- No thanks.
- Take a seat.

Well, Superintendent Dalziel.

- Your reputation goes before you.
- And yours, sir.

Like a man running along,
waving a red flag, shouting,

"Get out of the road, Dalziel's coming!"

- I do hope we're going to get on.
- So do I.

Settling in all right, are you?

Looks like you're on
top of the admin, anyway.

There are four things I like to
have on my desk, Superintendent.

An empty in-tray,
a full out-tray,

a copy of Archbold's
Evidence and Practice.

That's only three things.

And...

the Book, of course, for guidance

in times of confusion and uncertainty.

Do you believe, Superintendent?

In the fallibility of man?

Yes, sir.

I won't keep you. You
have demons to confront.

And a burglar who keeps
nicking plant hire equipment.

I'll just say one thing.

We're at war, Superintendent,
with the forces of evil.

Under pressure, it's
easy even for good men

to be tempted into fall.

As your new Deputy Chief Constable,

I want to assure you that I shall
expect the highest standards,

not just of professionalism
and accountability,

but also of personal
morality, behaviour...

And hygiene.

Clean hands, Andrew. Clean hands.

After all, as someone once said,

"We are here to serve. "

Shakespeare?

Didn't think it was your cup of hemlock.

Tell me about it.

Robocop's on telly that
night and Ellie expects me

to sit through Othello at the playhouse.

I thought she'd taken Rosie
to her mam's for the week?

Aye, but Ellie's on the theatre
board and expects a full report.

You can come if you like.
There's a spare ticket.

Busy Tuesday. My night for
putting out the rubbish.

You sad man.

CID.

Mac?

Hang on.

For you. Someone asking for Mac Wield?

DALzlEL: I don't know
where they find them.

Sir?

- Who is this?
- Perhaps it's something to do with

- care in the community. Where are you?

Release all the crazies and make them
senior officers in the police service.

Okay, don't move. I'm on my way.

Something's come up.

Wrong time of the month, is it?

Excuse me. Someone just made a phone call.

Who was it, please?

Over there.

- Can I use your back room?
- Yes, it's round the side there.

Cheers.

Come in, and shut it.

Key's in the hole.

What's this?

Well, up here, we call it a room.

Don't know what you call
it where you come from.

Well, come on then,
son. Haven't got all day.

What?

Well, you ring me at the
station, don't give a name.

Ask to meet in this dump.

- You must have something to tell me.
- Like I said, I'm a friend of Maurice's.

Maurice?

Who's he when he's at home?

Maurice Eaton, that's who.

I thought you'd have remembered him,
seeing as you were such good friends.

I've read the letters. Seen the pictures.

Maurice suggested I look you up.

But as you've forgotten
your friends, I'll move on.

Steady on.

What's your name?

Cliff. Cliff Sharman.

Thanks very much.

You didn't have to come back from
the funeral so soon, you know.

That's all right. I hate ham, anyway.

- And arguing about wills.
- It happens.

There's nothing quite as
corrosive for decent behaviour

as a disputed inheritance.

Especially the one that
involves three million quid.

Left by a dear lady with a few
kangaroos loose in her top paddock.

Poor Auntie.

The man at the funeral. What if
he really is the long lost son?

Then he's got a lot of explaining to do.

But if I'm convinced, he gets the lot.

You know what the will says, Lexie.

If Alexander Huby turns
up before the year 2010,

he gets everything.

Otherwise the money goes to
the League of Women for Empire.

Their man Goodenough, he
should be here any minute.

Then he might hear something
to his disadvantage.

Winston.

- Mr Goodenough?
- Yes, that's right. Winston!

I apologise if I have a dog with
absolutely no manners whatsoever.

- Eden Thackeray.
- Andrew Goodenough.

Just thought I ought to pop in for a chat.

I'm glad you did. There's been
something of a development.

Oh? Winston, sit!

How very intriguing.

Hello.

Lexie, you...

- You work here, for the lawyer?
- Yes, I do.

- Did you want to see Mr Thackeray?
- I have some business with him, yes.

He has someone with him just
now, but he shouldn't be too long.

Have a seat.

Well, Lexie, have you
no questions to ask me?

By now, everyone else would
be plying me with them.

"Who is he? What is he?
Could he possibly be?"

You don't always get answers
to questions by asking them.

You can use your eyes and think.

So, Lexie, now you have used
your eyes and you have thought,

what is your conclusion?

You never came back

until both Auntie Gwendoline
and her husband were dead.

No word, no sign, for half a century.

Your mother,

if she was your mother,

grieved so much it broke her
heart, then drove her mad.

What kind of son could do that?

What kind, indeed.

So, either you're a fraud

or a sadist with a heart of stone.

I cannot argue with your logic, Lexie.

I think you're a fraud.

I think I prefer it that way round.

After you.

Good afternoon, Alessandro,
or should I say, "Buonasera. '"

How do you do?

- We'll be in touch.
- Yes. Yes, indeed.

Would you like to come this way?

What about Wieldy?
Wouldn't come for a pint.

I don't know.

Seems to have the world on
his shoulders this afternoon.

Oh? Can't say I noticed.

No sensitivity, lad.
Call yourself a new man?

Maybe he's met our new DCC and
he's thinking about a career move.

Nice.

Very cosy.

You live on your own?

Of course. Maurice said
you hadn't come out.

Can't be easy for you.

Being a detective and everything.

Round here, I mean.

I manage.

It's good of you to put me up.

For a few days.

Till you move on.

Any chance of a shower?

Bathroom's through there.

Oh, by the way.

Where do you want me to sleep?

Sofa's comfy.

Speak of me as I am, nothing extenuate,

Nor set down aught in
malice: Then must you speak

Of one that loved not wisely but too well,

Of one not easily
jealous, but being wrought

Perplex'd in the extreme,
of one whose hand...

Let's go to the bar.

I mean, killing yourself for love
is a bit camp, don't you think?

Anyway, we open tomorrow.

You should come, should be a laugh.

It'll be nice for you and me
to get to know each other again.

You don't say much, do you, cuz?

Just waiting for you to
finish putting me at my ease.

I see I shall have to
watch you, little Lexie.

I'm five foot and half an inch.
Just about big enough and old enough

to know when I'm being patronised.

All right, I know when I'm beaten.

Why did you change your name?

I didn't think the name Rodney
Windibanks was terribly sexy.

Rod Lomas is altogether more purposeful.

And more likely to please
your wealthy great aunt?

My dear, you're not exactly
innocent to the charge of sucking up.

Isn't Lexie short for Alexandra?

My dad's idea, not mine.

- Much good it did him.
- You got a lousy 300 like me?

More importantly, I got
all her old opera records.

So now we understand each other,
why don't we retract our claws

and have a chat? Tell me
about this job of yours.

Why? What do you want to know for?

Maurice.

It's me, Mac.

Yeah.

Yeah. Yeah, listen.

What's this Cliff Sharman lad up to?

This is very good of you, Lexie.

Don't get used to it. I'm
not running a taxi service.

I saw that.

So you just asked her if
you could stay, did you?

Keechie? Equity minimum, love.

I can't afford The Howard
Arms like my dear mother.

Actually, neither can she,
but that's another story.

Here we are. Troy House.

And there's the faithful housekeeper.

Hello, Keechie. Ahh...

The witch.

Hello, Lexie.

Seems rather foolish
to sit here on our own

and not even acknowledge each other.

I have a bottle of wine, nearly
full. You have an empty glass.

- Would you care to join me?
- Thank you.

Please.

To health and prosperity.

So, you are Stephanie?

I remember you as a little
girl. You were very pretty.

And so you remain.

You're very good, aren't
you? Whoever you are.

Are you married, Stephanie?

- I was. He died.
- Oh. I'm sorry.

And you? You have a family?

Oh, no, no. I'm all alone, I'm afraid.

They do say it's better to
travel hopefully than to arrive.

- Is that your philosophy, Mr Pontelli?
- Uh, as a matter of fact, it is.

Does it bother you that you've
just made love to your cousin?

If your story's true, that is.

Nasty.

Old wounds. They no longer hurt.

- Tell me how...
- Shh.

Questions, they come later.

What do you want?

I can't sleep.

Make yourself a cup of cocoa.

This is stupid.

What, exactly?

Me, sleeping on that couch.

What are you trying to say?
See something you fancy?

Haven't you?

I'm just wondering where
all this is leading.

Aye.

Me, too.

What's your hang-up, Mac?

Are you scared of something?

Or are you just saving yourself
for the Chief Constable?

Listen you.

I'm not stupid.

Did you think I wouldn't call Maurice
and find out you're a thief and a liar?

Aye.

And maybe a budding blackmailer, too.

- Is that what you think?
- That's what I know, sunshine.

Are you leaving?

I think it is more discreet.

My room is just down the corridor.

Andy. Nice to see you.

- Good of you to help.
- Steady, Eden.

I've committed meself to nothing
except the full English breakfast.

- Kippers, you said?
- Arbroath smokies. Come on in.

Cliff?

Ogilby.

Is that the Investigations Department?

You're through to the organ
grinder, not one of the monkeys.

This is the editor. What can I do for you?

How much is a story
about a bent copper worth?

When you say bent, do you
mean corrupt or homosexual?

Both. His bosses don't know he's
gay, so he's got to be crooked

to keep it quiet, hasn't he?

Maybe. I didn't catch your name.

That's 'cause I didn't give it.

Why don't you work out how
much you're willing to pay

and I'll call you back, okay?

Alexander?

DALzlEL: Now, let me guess.

You want me to check this Pontelli out.

That's not police work.

Hire a private eye.

I need to find out about
his background in Venice.

I'll have the full
English breakfast, please.

What he did there, when he left.
Where he's staying, who he's seeing.

Now, all this can be done
swiftly and easily by the police,

whereas a poor solicitor...

Poor solicitor? Do me a favour.

A quick call to Interpol.
- Good boy.

I'm a policeman, Eden. Not a
telephonist. I investigate crimes.

Didn't park on a double
yellow line did you, Eden?

- Whoa, calm down, son.
- Get off.

Oh! All right, all right, all right.

Right, son. You're nicked.

Malicious damage and ruining my breakfast.

- Get him in my car, come on. Come on.

Hey, Wieldy. Book this clown, will you?

Playing traffic wardens, are you, lad?

Sir.

- He's been shot.
- DALzlEL: Bloody hell.

They've started a delivery service now?

Apparent cause of death
was haemorrhaging and shock.

The wound wasn't immediately fatal.
He could have lived an hour after it.

Which means he probably
wasn't shot where he was found.

Well, it's open to speculation,
Andy, but I would think not.

Well, that's a relief.

Wouldn't do a lot for our credibility

in the great law and
order debate, would it?

Well, some old bloke being
brutally slayed in our car park.

- What about the scars?
- Um, old gunshot wounds.

Terrible bit of stitching.
Field hospital, probably.

Birthmark on his hip and
he had cancer of the bowel.

Inoperable, by the look of it.

Some people might have
called it a mercy killing.

I'm not sure that's what
he'd say. Anything else?

Yeah. He'd had sex not
long before he died.

Randy old sod.

- It's from a Luger PO8.
- So we're looking for some old Nazi, eh?

Maybe Martin Bormann's
shacked up in the Dales.

A popular souvenir for troops
to bring back, wasn't it?

Probably been sitting in someone's
drawer for the last 50 years.

We need to talk to Thackeray
first. He met the man.

Put a trace on him. Find
out who he talked to.

Especially members of the family.

Search his hotel room and make
a list of the calls he made.

I already checked. Nothing in his luggage

- and he didn't use the phone at all.
- And get on to the Italian police.

Who was Pontelli? Where he
was born, all that stuff.

Maybe Wieldy could do that.
Where is he, by the way?

He's about as much use as
a chocolate teapot today.

Mac.

This interview is being tape recorded.

It may be tendered in evidence if
your case is brought before a court.

We are in an interview room at
the Wetherton Police Station.

I'm Detective Sergeant Wield.

Oh, it's a grand place to
hang out in, the Liberal.

Very Yorkshire sort of a
place, if you know what I mean.

Hmm.

I've seen more deals
than a Las Vegas casino.

- Deals?
- Way of the world, isn't it, Mr Raymond?

Not my way, Mr Ogilby, I'm happy to say.

Oh, of course I was forgetting, yes, sir.

Policemen never get their hands dirty
or dip their snouts into the trough.

I was interested to glance
at your newspaper, Mr Ogilby.

I can see why it might turn a
man like yourself into a cynic.

Drink?
- Orange juice for me, please.

Brandy for me. Double.

- So, Mr...
- So, Deputy Chief Constable.

How do you feel about homosexuality?

That isn't a proposition, by the way.

Well, I think it's a sore
affliction for the people concerned.

I feel very sorry for them.

They deserve our sympathy, support
and psychological counselling.

And do you feel as compassionate
towards homosexual policemen?

Is that a hypothetical
question, Mr Ogilby?

Not exactly.

So you don't deny being outside the
Wetherton Liberal Club this morning?

You must speak in reply.

No.

And you don't deny smashing
two Georgian picture windows?

No.

So maybe now you'd like to
enlighten us as to your motive?

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

So smug.

I've nothing else to say.

Come on, Winston. Good boy.

Ah, Mr Huby. Andrew Goodenough.

I represent the League
of Women for Empire.

- I have a proposition to put to you.
- Oh, aye?

Would you like to come
this way, Inspector?

- Thank you, Miss...?
- Huby.

Huby?

My secretary is the late
Mrs Huby's great-niece.

I gave her the job on Mrs
Huby's specific request.

I have to say, she's never let me
down. She's a bright little thing.

Well, that was kind of the
old lady. What was she like?

Snobbish, overbearing, rude.

Uh, some might say that
she was politically naive,

but actually she was a fascist.

She treated animals better
than she did her relatives.

She squandered whatever human
feelings she had on a crazy obsession,

which ruined her life,
soiled the lives of others

and brought us here to this
present unhappy situation.

That was a pretty powerful
speech for the prosecution.

Well, having said that, I must
say, she was a very valued client.

- She brought you a lot of business?
- Oh, she was never off the phone.

Mostly about the search for her son.

Was she disturbed?
Imbalance-of-the-mind disturbed?

Latterly, yes.

She had a stroke about three years ago.

She made a good recovery,

but then she spoke quite openly
about a psychic conspiracy

to stop her from seeing her son.

She said that her enemies
had sent a black demon

as a fake messenger from Alexander,

but she'd seen through the
deception and she'd slain the demon.

Well, I think that answers my question.

- What about Pontelli?
- He just turned up out of the blue.

- What did you make of him?
- Well, he'd certainly done his homework.

Dates of birth, family
business, Troy House.

It was all very convincing.

But when I pressed him for reasons
of why he'd stayed away for so long,

he got agitated, rubbed his head,
muttered something about years of pain

and then left very abruptly.

Sorry to interrupt, Mr Thackeray,
but I'll get off, if that's okay.

Yes, of course.

I'd better be off, too.
Appointment with a Mr Othello.

Thanks for your help.

The last scene got me
thinking of Pontelli's death.

- What?
- I thought you'd have heard.

He was found outside the police station.

No, no. I've been stuck in
a dress rehearsal all day.

Hello? Enjoy the play, Miss Huby?

- It was okay.
- I thought it was terrible.

I'm sorry. I'm sure we've met.

My cousin, Rod Lomas. You've
just watched him play Gratiano.

Ah.

Inspector Pascoe's investigating
Mr Pontelli's death.

All the same, a very
interesting production.

Good.

No... What I need to have are
details of place and date of birth.

No, birth.

Like what happened to the Virgin...

Where the man was born and when.

Very good.

Thank you.

No, no, no. It's very good.
Almost as good as my Italian.

Yeah.

Arrivederci.

Lord help us.

How's it going, Andrew?

Sir. You work late.

Oh, of course, yeah. The empty
in-tray, the full out-tray.

Oh, it's not bad. We've established
where Pontelli lived in Venice

and that he worked as a
translator and travel courier.

Not much of a living, but
he only had himself to keep.

He was a bit of a loner, so they reckon.

I wanted to have a word
about another serious matter.

What do you know about
unnatural practices in CID?

Oh, there's no need to worry about that.

The last practising
Freemason retired last year.

Andrew, it's come to my attention

that there may be an active
homosexual in your department.

The press are onto it.
That rag The Challenger.

I'm unhappy about the implication,

so I would like you to tell me who it is.

- You would?
- I would.

Well, give us a kiss and I'll tell you.

Oh, sorry, sir. It's been a long day.

- I take it you're serious?
- Be assured of it, Superintendent.

I came for my things.

They're where you left them.

Bit late to catch a bus.

Where are you going to stay?

In town somewhere.

Things to do.

Like blackmailing a copper?

I could've said something, but I didn't.

What on Earth made you do
such a stupid thing, anyway?

I didn't come here looking for you.

I came to find my dad.

Your dad?

He went off years back.

He did that sometimes after me mum died.

He'd pack in his job and just take off.

That final time, he sent
us a postcard from up here.

It was the last I heard from him.

- Maybe...
- What?

He didn't want to get in touch again.

- Maybe he met somebody and...
- He wouldn't do that.

At least, I don't think...
I need to find him.

He wasn't very nice sometimes,

but he was my dad.

So you rang a policeman?

I felt a bit lost.

I mean... I mean, here
I was, not knowing anyone.

For all I knew, they still tarred
and feathered queers up here.

Then what?

Walk the streets looking
for a familiar black face?

I rang all the Sharmans in the book.

Nothing.

And then I thought if I get my
name in the papers or something...

You're not trying to say that's
why you smashed those windows?

That's the daftest bloody
thing I've ever heard.

Well, I don't know, do I?

What with you and dad and everything.

- I've got to go.
- Well, it's late.

It's very late.

Don't you feel lonely sometimes, Mac?

Give us a hug, will you?

Speak of me as I am, nothing extenuate.

Nor set down aught in malice.

Then must you speak

of one that loved not wisely but too well.

Mac, there's something I have to tell you.

Bit early for a declaration of love.

I did think about trying to make
something out of you being gay.

Well?

I thought I'd make a few
quid out of the papers.

I rang one of them up
after we had that row.

The Challenger.

What happened?

Nothing.

I spoke to this bloke.

He wanted to meet and talk
about money and things.

But I didn't.

Did you mention my name?

No.

No, I didn't.

Honest.

Well, that's all right, then.

No harm done.

- Sugar?
- No, thank you.

- Milk?
- Please.

Well, Mrs Windibanks, you said
you wished to sleep on my offer.

Just run it past me again, Mr
Goodenough, if you'd be so kind.

Of course. A thousand pounds down.

I could write you a cheque now
on your signature of the waiver.

And if my challenge to the will as
it presently stands is successful,

then you'd receive five
percent of the estate.

Which might equate to
what? Roughly, of course.

A little hard to say.

It depends on the value of the
shareholdings at the time of sale,

but certainly no less than �150,OOO.

Which means that the blue rinse
fascists get almost three million.

What do you plan to do with it,
open a few concentration camps?

Madam, I know there's a lot at stake here

and no doubt you're
unhappy about the will,

but there's really no
need to be offensive.

So, what about my cousin?

Presumably he's spending your
thousand pounds even as we speak.

I think Mr Huby saw the
merit of my proposal, yes.

Not a lot, is it, 150,OOO
compared to three million?

It is when you have no case in law
and, forgive me, no means to pursue it.

I think a more appropriate comparison
is between 150,OOO and nothing.

Mr Goodenough, you're a
very persuasive young man,

- but I'm turning down your proposition.
- Mother, what are you doing?

But I should like to
thank you for making it.

Goodbye.

Challenging the will
yourself would, I assure you,

be an extremely expensive mistake.

Where are you going?

Work.

You sleep on, eh?

Yeah. Thanks.

I'm a bear of very little
brain. Just go through it slowly.

Just suppose it could be proved

that Pontelli really
was Alexander. What then?

Pontelli? Well, then he would inherit.

So now he's dead. What
happens to his estate?

It'll go to the hordes of Venetian
gondolieres he probably sired.

But if he had no family and made no will,

then his estate would go
to his nearest relative.

Hmm.

You tinker!

You!

You'd inherit because
you were his first cousin,

not second like publican John.

- Lots of ifs, all the same.
- You just leave them to me.

And Pontelli,

was he really Alexander?

He might have been.

Mrs Windibanks.

Was it something particular you
were looking at, Superintendent,

or just taking a general view
with an idea of making an offer?

Well, the coachwork looks grand,

but the engine could do
with a closer inspection.

And sometimes I wonder
why I ever left the North.

Bottoms up.

Why did you?

Why else? To marry a man.

- Arthur Windibanks?
- It's not true whatever you read.

Arthur was a fine man
and a wonderful husband.

- He left you without a penny.
- I managed.

So I see.

Now...

Where were you the night before last?

I had dinner, came in here for
a while, then I went to bed.

Did you see Mr Pontelli?

I think you know very well that I did.

- Your impressions?
- I liked him. A sad man, in a way.

I got the feeling he
thought he'd wasted his life.

You felt sorry for him?

Yes, I did.

Enough to make you
invite him into your bed?

There's evidence he had
sex not long before he died.

He came to my room, yes.

I wish all my confessions
were as quick as that.

Well, you've talked to the barman

and no doubt you'll soon be
tracking down the chambermaid.

He stayed till about 10:OO, then he left.

You're sure?

Superintendent, you might
have a case against me

if he'd been strangled
with a silk nightgown,

but I gather he was shot.

Well, thanks.

That'll be all for the moment.

Have you deliberately not asked
the question I most expected?

When I was a little girl, we
went to Troy House on holiday.

One summer's day, we went
for a swim in the river.

Blacksmith's Pool.

I was only about five and
Alex was already a soldier,

but he was shy about getting changed.

He put a towel round his waist,
you know, like we used to.

And at the vital moment his
friend pulled the towel down.

He flashed his lunchbox, you mean?

Not quite. I saw the other side.

On his left buttock he had a
birthmark shaped like a maple leaf.

I've never forgotten it.

Well, give us the punchline, then.

When Signor Pontelli was
in my bed the other night,

I saw it again, very clearly.

It seems he really was my cousin.

I take it you weren't convinced
by Mr Pontelli's appearance?

Oh, a certain coarseness of feature,
not unlike the publican Huby,

but not a trace of the Lomases.

Alexander was a very
pretty child. This man...

- Did he visit you?
- Me? Why should he?

Well, this was his old
home. You were his nurse.

Wouldn't it have been natural
to have wanted to come?

Well, perhaps, if he'd been Alexander,

but he wasn't, so he didn't.

What's in there?

It's the cellar. Full of old memories.

Who's interested now?
Make a fine bonfire soon.

So you came to see Mrs Windibanks.

We heard you're planning
to contest the will.

Absolutely.

With, we understand, an
agreement with Mr John Huby

that he won't be making any
claim on the estate himself.

Yes, that's right.

Very generous of him.
Is there a sweetener?

His case isn't a strong
one, but if he pressed it

he might cause a degree of nuisance.

How much, if you don't mind my asking?

A thousand pounds down and five
percent of the estate if we win.

What are your chances?
- Fair.

Fairer still now that Pontelli's
out of the way, I suppose?

Didn't put him there yourself,
did you, Mr Goodenough?

Superintendent, I'm a part-time,
unpaid advisor to a charity.

Do you really think I'd murder an old man

so it might, just might
benefit from his death?

No. Silly question. Here's another one.

What's a nice, bright, presentable
young chap like yourself

doing with a bunch of loonies like
the League of Women for Empire?

Old colonials don't have a
monopoly on patriotism, Mr Dalziel.

There's a greater threat to our
independence and sovereignty,

our whole way of life,
our very Englishness,

than at any time in the last 500 years.

Time for all good men to stand up
and do their bit, whatever it may be.

You'll be singing Land
of Hope and Glory next.

All right?

Winston!

Sergeant Wield.

AA patrolman spotted Pontelli's car
at the Hartley Roundabout about 11:OO.

All over the place. Like
the driver was drunk.

Did he see where it had come from?

Pretty sure it was the Greendale Road.

That's a great help in narrowing it down.

He might've been to Huby's
pub, Troy House or here.

Listen, you might check out Goodenough.

Find out if his Little
Englander routine is for real.

- Something else, sir?
- Maybe.

Thing is, Wieldy, someone's
out to cause trouble.

- Trouble?
- For me.

More particularly, for some
other bugger on the force.

The editor of The Challenger shoved a
banger down the trousers of the nutter

who's just moved into the DCC's office.

That means big trouble.

Sodom and Gomorrah kind of
trouble, if you know what I mean.

- I'm not sure that I do, sir, entirely.
- No.

It's all gobbledygook, innit?

I'll just have to think of a
way of dealing with it meself.

Ta-da! Prepared a feast.
Hope you like Chinese.

Don't smoke that stuff here, right?

Oh. Bad day at office, love?

Sit down. I've just made a fresh pot.

I want some answers from you. Right now.

- What?
- You know what about.

- What? I don't know.
- I must be stupid to trust you.

- Chill out, man, what's wrong?
- Me. Why me, eh?

What about you? What do you mean?

Wieldy? I just thought
you might fancy a jar.

I'm a bit... I'm a bit busy.

Oh, right. I just thought with
Ellie away, we might, you know.

I'm sorry, Pete.

- That's okay. Another time, maybe.
- All right.

See you tomorrow.

That one of your mates?

You should've invited him in.

When you rang up the paper,

you didn't tell me you'd
spoke to the bloody editor.

- What did you say to him?
- Last night you said it didn't matter.

- Don't you trust me?
- I need to know.

- Something's been said down the station.
- Oh! How terrible for you.

You might actually have to come
out and admit the truth. Is that it?

Maurice was right about you.

- You're a hypocrite.
- Maybe he was right about you, too.

You're dead, do you know that?
From the waist up and down.

You're a dead pig!

They should just stick you on a
platter with an orange in your mouth.

I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that.

You're a liar, a thief and a tart.

Get out!

Hey! Snowy! Whoa!

Snowy!

Whoa!

Whoa! Whoa!

Stand!

Snowy!

Where's he going?

Look, you can't see her.

This death on her
doorstep has made her ill.

If that's her doorstep, there's a donkey
crapping on the living room carpet.

Miss Keech.

Are you all right?

- Do you know who I am?
- You're a policeman.

This is a lovely bedroom you've got.

You... You nursed Mrs Huby in
here, didn't you? After her stroke?

- Yeah.
- It can't have been easy.

With her mind going and that.

With all that stuff about
black demons and that.

Please, don't speak of that.

- Superintendent...
- Miss Keech, um...

I know you can't tell us much
about this young man's death,

but just one question.

I wanted to ask you about Alexander Huby.

You were his nursery maid. Is that right?

One of my less pleasant
duties over the years, yes.

Can you remember, um...

Did he have any
distinguishing features at all?

You sure?

Nothing like a birthmark on his backside?

No, he did not.

- You'd know, I suppose.
- Well, I wiped his bottom enough times.

Aye, right.

Uh, who was he?

That boy in the lane?

Sharman. His name was Cliff Sharman.

Oh, yes?

Yes.

All right, Wieldy?

I've just made a statement. I
heard nothing, I saw nothing.

Do we have to go through all this again?

So you heard nowt and saw nowt last night.

And ditto when Pontelli got topped.

- Right little wise monkey, aren't you?
- Beats being a gorilla, I suppose.

Where exactly were you the
night of Pontelli's murder?

I know you did the show,

but you didn't come home till
about 2:OO in the morning.

Well, it's a little difficult...

- It's a long story.
- Shorten it.

He was with me.

I picked him up after the show
and took him back to the inn.

Dad was in bed, so we had a drink
and then went up to my bedroom.

I see.

Miss Keech is asleep now,
so I'll get off to work.

I'll come and look after her tonight
while you're at the theatre. Okay?

I thought you two were related?

Only very distantly.

Couple of convictions, small beer.
Prostitution and possession of dope.

Born in London, no parents.
His gran's on her way up.

What was he doing here? Apart from
his bit with the glazing trade?

Sir, can I have a word?

Yeah, I'm off to see the
doc. Meet us at the mortuary.

Clearly took a bit of a beating
before the car ran over him.

Yeah, well, what's that?

Uh, some animal had a nibble in the night.

Fox, maybe.

We'll have to wait for
the PM to be certain.

Sir, I need to talk.

The thing is, sir...

I'm homosexual.

But Wield, lad, I've known for years.

No, no. You don't understand.

I'm gay. A poof.

- Queer.
- I know.

I spotted it as soon as you came into CID.

The only time it bothered us
was when you got all misty-eyed

over that young lad Singh.

So I had him posted
up-country, out of harm's way.

You sod.

What am I supposed to be, grateful?

You can be anything you like,
Wield, except insubordinate.

What you are is only my
business when it touches the job.

Like now, for instance.

What about this lad Sharman?

I was attracted to him.

At least he had the guts
to be what he really was.

I think he thought I
was pretty contemptible.

He was probably right.

He went from your flat to phone the paper.

Ready to blow the gaffe on
you for a little bit of lolly.

I'm sorry, but that doesn't help at all.

This relationship between
you and him, was it physical?

Sorry, sir. Oh, I didn't realise...

Well?

Cause of death as suspected.

Wasn't a dosser. Body,
hair and nails clean.

He'd had intercourse
not long before he died.

DALzlEL: Okay.

Was that you?

Yes.

Right. I want you to
go home and stay there.

- Oh, come on.
- You've withheld information.

You've broken police regulations.

You've acted in a manner
unbecoming a professional!

Oh, aye. And you're a
suspect in a murder inquiry.

What, you think I killed him, do you?

Some people might. I'm not
sure I'd be one of them.

Okay.

You might throw in the odd "sir"
if it's not too much bother.

Who else is going to get
you out of the doggie doo?

- Erm...
- Shut the door and sit down.

Who's that?

Why have you come to me?

It's all right, Miss Keech. It's only me.

Oh, it's Lexie. Little Lexie.

Brought you something
to eat and a pot of tea.

Oh, I can't eat and I don't want tea.

There, in that cupboard there.

Pour me a glass, will
you? Just as it comes.

# I dreamed a dream one day

# And now, that dream

# Is it the same with... #

Oh.

Mother's ruin.

Would you like to sleep
now or shall I read to you?

You're very kind.

Never liked me, though, have you?

No, not much.

And why is that?

Because when I came here when I was
a little girl, you weren't very nice.

Tried to frighten me.

I never quite succeeded.

Strange little creature that you are.

- Well, bugger me.
- Best be careful what you say.

Hey?

What's up?

I'm not sure it's a laughing matter, sir.

Well, what is it, then? A hanging matter?

That's not what I meant and you know it.

I reckon I'm a damn sight more...

Liberal? Is that the
word you're groping for?

Don't tell me. Some of
your best mates are poofs.

You're only bothered 'cause
Fat Andy with a coarse gob

sussed out what you didn't.

Shall we start again?

You pack in the gags and I'll
go easy on the righteousness?

How are we going to
get Wieldy out of this?

Hello.

Everything all right?

How's Keechie?

Funny. Not her usual
self, saying odd things.

Her reasoning couldn't
be worse during the night.

I don't suppose there's any chance...

What?

Of you staying.

To look after Miss Keech, I mean.

There's lots of bedrooms and...

Well, you'd have to ring
to tell your dad, of course.

It's all right. I already have.

What do you think our parents
would say if they could see us now?

Oh! My dad would say,

"What you doing with yon
useless, namby-pamby lummox?"

And your mother would say,

"Darling, how could you with
that little chit of a girl?"

- You don't like my mum much, do you?
- She dotes on you, doesn't she?

Until about three years ago,

I was the marvellous
boy of infinite promise.

Then Dad died and I became
just another unemployed actor.

So she had to rewrite my role.

Now we're both word perfect
in an intimate two-hander,

in which I don't say that
she's old enough to be my mother

and she doesn't say that I'm old
enough to be earning my own living.

I certainly spotted the fraud
you pulled on Auntie Gwen.

Mr Thackeray missed it, but I saw
the entry in her bank statements.

What?

Her offshore investments.

Your mother and you have been siphoning
off the profits these last few years,

while she was ill.

Stephanie had no money.

We were desperate.

That's why I did nothing.

But what about the paperwork?

I looked the other night.
Couldn't find anything.

Is that why you gave me an alibi?

No.

I just knew you hadn't killed Mr Pontelli.

How?

Because when I told you about his
murder you were genuinely shocked.

You're not that good an actor.

Thanks.

Wieldy, I'm sorry.

What for?

Well, thinking I was a friend
and not really knowing you.

And for the boy.

I don't know what he meant to
you, but I'm sorry for his death.

And the manner of it.

Dalziel knew. Did he tell you?

Not half. Bloody irritating.

At least I was able to fool someone.

Even if it was a
short-sighted, insensitive sod.

You'd better drink your coffee
before we both burst into tears.

Look, anything I can
I do for you, just say.

Maybe there is.

Cliff came up here looking for his dad.

Name of Richard Sharman.

Said he was brought up in a
children's home round here.

Now, I don't know if it's got
anything to do with Cliff's killing,

but we should find him and
let him know his son's dead.

I owe the kid that much at least.

Well, I'll try Social Services.

There can't be many black lads
in homes up here in the '50s.

If we can't find him, we might
be able to track down a relative.

You heard us rowing the
other night, didn't you?

And I know you'll have to tell Andy.

And I know it'll look bad, too.

But I didn't kill the kid, Peter.

Even though I feel I did.

- Wieldy...
- Just find out, will you?

- Hello, Mrs Sharman.
- What do you want?

Just a little chat.

I'm 79 year old and I've
still got me own teeth.

Is that right?

Trouble is I've forgotten where I put 'em.

Listen, love, I came to
talk to you about your son.

Son? I haven't got a
son. What you on about?

Sorry, but the records
show that in November 1944

you gave birth to a son
called Richard Sharman.

Uh... That little tart, not me.

She called herself Mrs
Sharman but she weren't.

That were me.

Even though me and him
weren't exactly Darby and Joan.

Your husband, Sergeant Ernest
Sharman, was he black, then?

Black?

Don't be bloody daft!
He were born in Bradford.

Listen, lad. The tart served
at the same base as Ernie.

Dropped her knickers for him and all.

Much good it did him. He
were dead inside three month.

Copped a bullet in the Ardennes.

- So, she must have been black, then?
- No, lad.

She were the colour of cold custard.

But her babby were black, all
right, like the ace of spades,

which proves Ernie weren't the only
squaddie who'd had his way with her.

Some big buck GI put her
up the spout, I reckon.

So, she didn't get what she were after.

I got that. I got the sod's pension.

She got nowt but a lifetime's
trouble, which was all she deserved.

- Mrs Sharman.
- What?

Right, one more thing. Who was she?

Her? Her name were Keech. Ella Keech.

No, I'll not be late.
You don't mind staying?

Of course not.

I've got things to do.

Go on.

Seen this lad before?

Not sure, actually.

Try a bit harder.

Sorry. Can't help.

Look. Yes, I'm a copper. I'm also queer.

Understand?

So was this lad. He got himself
into trouble. So have you seen him?

He's been in a couple of times.

When?

Was he with anybody?

Look, pal, I don't want to get involved.

He was murdered the night before last.

Somebody beat him up and then
drove the car over his chest.

Oh.

I think perhaps you'd better sleep now.

Oh, I'll soon have more of that
than I'll know what to do with.

Now then.

A woman's sleep's full of dreams, Lexie.

Sadness and regret and all the bad
things you've done in your life.

Faces, too.

- Where are you going?
- I'll just be downstairs.

Listen, I'm scared, Lexie.

Gwennie was right.

There are devils down there.

Devils and demons.

Down where, Miss Keech?

All done. All gone.

You didn't let him do it, did you, Lexie?

No, Rod's a nice boy.
But they're all the same.

They'll leave you. One way or another.

Come in.

I thought you'd like to
see the report on that boy.

Peter gave me the gen.

You can spare me another example
of your turgid prose style.

Ah, well, then, you might miss something.

Like I nearly did at the PM.

Come on, then.

The bite. Wasn't a fox, it was a dog.

Well, I thought it might be helpful.

Hello.

- Miss Keech.
- Oh, Ella.

- Why don't you call me Ella?
- What are you doing with that?

Ernie brought it back after the war.

He showed me how to oil and use it.

Ernie Sharman. That's
my husband, you know.

- You know, it's never been fired?
- Please.

Tell a lie. Just the once.

- Who?
- Oh.

- That's my son Richard.
- Your son?

Well, I couldn't send him away
again, could I? I couldn't do that.

Brought him back with me after the war.
Was a beautiful baby. Such lovely skin.

I had nothing, nobody.

Ernie had been killed and
I'd only my position here.

She made me send him away,
so I had to put him in a home.

"Can't have him here," she said.

"Well, you can't have a
little black bastard here. "

Do you know, I think she couldn't
get over the fact that I had a son

and she'd lost hers.

But he came back.

Oh, I used to visit him in the orphanage.

I was Auntie Ella.

Then when he was about 13,
he started going on and on

about coming to live with me.
Well, I couldn't be doing with it.

So I stopped going. Didn't
see him again until...

- Is anyone there?
- Huh? Who is that?

- Hello?
- Have they come for me?

Look out!

- You all right?
- Yes.

Sergeant.

I want a word with you.

You're quite versatile, aren't you?

Conman, pimp, blackmailer.

Wield!

Leave it, lad.

- DALzlEL: What's all this, then?
- He killed Cliff.

He's mad. He's mad. He tried to kill me.

I'm going to sue you for
this. You've got nothing.

You're gabbling, son.
We've got everything.

At least we will do when Forensics
have had a shufti at Fido out there.

What?

Next time you give someone a going-over,

not that there'll be a next time,

make sure you feed your mutt beforehand.

Is that you, son?

I... met him in a bar in Soho.

He was a pretty little boy.

I had him and then I pimped for him.

Older men used to go for him in a big way.

As you well know.

But he's a fastidious little creature.

Never really liked it
when I asked his clients

for a bit of a loan now and then.

When you blackmailed them, you mean?

And finally he refused
to play along at all

and we had a bit of a tiff and he split.

That was months ago.

At which point you came up with something

potentially much more profitable.

Advisor indeed.

But then, I suppose charities
have always attracted villains.

Especially the plausible ones.

Like wasps to strawberry jam.

Well, the League would have got their cut.

Then you'd have got yours.

When you came up here,
you ran into Cliff again,

that morning, here at the club.

Yeah, that's right.

We agreed to meet up and he
tried to sting me for some money

to keep him going, he said,
whilst he looked for his father.

You shut him up.

Well, no, we'd driven
out to the country to...

Well, then he started on the money
again and he was blackmailing me.

So I gave him a bit of a
beating. Nothing special, I mean,

he used to go in for that sort of thing.

Then I went back to the
car and he followed me

and that's when it happened.

You killed him. You drove
your car over his body.

No. No, it was an accident.

So who cares? Only a
black bastard, wasn't he?

Well, finally, Richard tracked us down.

It was after Gwennie's stroke.

She was madder than ever.

He came one afternoon
when I was out shopping.

And when I got back, she was lying
here, raving on about black demons

and Richard was lying on the
floor with a dagger in his chest.

He was still breathing.

We had a few minutes
together before he died.

You never told anybody?

What was there to say?
They'd have taken him away.

And I was waiting.

Waiting? What for?

Alexander.

I knew he'd be back.

And...

I was waiting.

Hello, Keechie.

Keechie!

Bang! He went away again.

And died in our car park.
You killed him, Miss Keech.

She killed my son, I killed hers.

Now I can die content.

Soon, I hope.

What a life, eh?

What a bloody life.

So, that's the clincher.

The lad did have a birthmark.

Who gets the money now, then?

Well, since Alexander is dead and it
seems he went without making a will...

- No wife? No family?
- It goes to the nearest living relative.

Stephanie Windibanks.

It seems that she and her son are
embarking on a very comfortable life.

Poor lad. What a life
he had in front of him.

Who's the little girl in the photo?

I do wish you'd go and get ready, darling.

And for heaven's sake, cheer up.

Don't you think it's a little bit
foolish to be spending all of this money

when it's not even certain
you're the rightful heir?

Don't worry your pretty little
head about that. It's okay.

- He might have made a will of his own.
- He didn't.

I know.

What do you think? Hampstead or Highgate?

Villa by the Heath, I think.

While they're doing it up, I
think we'll take a suite somewhere.

I've always liked Claridge's.

What do you think, Rod?

Stephanie, you can't.

Don't you think I've paid for it?

For years with nothing, the shame
of what happened to your father,

the misery of being without him?

That's my due and yours.

- We'll be in touch, Andy.
- All right.

Mr Lomas.

You'd better read this.

- Well, come on, then. What is it?
- It's a will.

Alexander Huby's. Dated, signed
and witnessed on the day he died.

There's only one beneficiary.

Well, this is for you, Lexie.

Me?

You read it.

"Dear Lexie, we have only met twice,

"but it seems I already
know you well enough

"to say that you are the brightest
as well as the most decent Huby

"or Lomas I've come across.

"Though a cynic might say
that's not saying much. "

Very nice.

"You asked me why I came back.

"The truth, all my life I've been hiding,

"most shamefully during the war when
I deserted the men under my command.

"I built a new identity, but the
hiding went on for 50 years. "

Only when I knew that
I was dying of cancer

did I decide to show
myself to my poor mother.

What I found was her coffin.

And apart from your
gentility, anger and suspicion,

that is the reason for the enclosed.

I hope that the Huby money is
of use to you and not a curse.

Make the best of your life.

"Alexander Huby. "

Poor man. Came home to die.

- Very satisfactory, Mr Dalziel.
- Sir.

Just one little item not yet cleared up.

Sir?

Oh.

Oh, isn't all that dead and buried,
sir, with poor Clifford Sharman?

Yet somebody might dig it
up again, Superintendent.

So I think you'd better tell me, finally,

without any further prevarication.

Right.

You see, sir, the thing is...

This is very difficult for me.

Well, people think I'm a big,
bruising bull in a china shop.

But I'm not, really.

Not deep down.

I'm a sensitive man, really.

Mr Dalziel.

You're a good listener, you know that?

I have a confession to make.

A confession?

I'm sorry, sir. Excuse me, it's
just Cliff's gran, she's leaving.

Would you excuse me, sir?

For just one moment?

Have you been dyeing your hair, Peter?

Sir?

Maybe it's the sun
that's bleached it a bit.

It suits you, though.

Thank you, sir.

For being so kind and... understanding.

I've just told him...