All language subtitles for Lewis S01E01 Whom the Gods Would Destroy x264 RB58-eng

Ladies and gentlemen, let us say
grace.

Benedic nobis deus omnipotens,

Et his donis,

Quae ex liberalitate tua sumpturi
sumus,

Amen.

Good night, gentlemen.
Thank you very much for coming.

Mr Linn, you don't know me.

My name is Fury.

I'm a freelance journalist and I've
been

talking to a Son Of The Twice Born.

If you'd like to know what he had to
say about that little group,

call when you've returned from High
Table.

Say, nine this evening.

The number's 993-817.

Hello?

This is Sefton. What's this all
about?

He's dying? What do you mean, he's
dying?

To be honest, it's not where
you want to be on a Tuesday.

Bloody kids!

Come on, you little scumbags.

- Oof!

There's a stack of courses to choose
from.

I know.

- Human geography?
- Nah. I've looked at that.

Understanding the physical and human
environment, and means of improving
it.

And?

I'm a copper. I'm already doing all
that.

Well, there's no great mystery.

Clubbed to death with a blunt
instrument.

Any idea why?

Normal body temperature minus
measured body temperature divided by
1.5 says,

some time between ten and 12.

It was certainly after dark.

How do you know?

There was a flash torch lying beneath
the body.

Who am I looking for?

Definitely somebody with blood on
their clothes or their person.

Thanks, Doctor.

One contact book. One wallet
containing pawn ticket dated the day
before yesterday.

One London to Oxford rail ticket
return.

One pair of glasses and that's it.

Nothing to ID him, no cash, nothing
of any value.

Oh, there was a white band on his
wrist from wearing a watch, but no
watch.

Well, he won't be needing one now.

Nothing like a bit of gallows humour
to kick-start the day, eh, sir?

Know anything about painting?

A bit.

Enough to tell good from bad.

And?

And I refuse to speak ill of the
dead.

Thank God for that.

I thought maybe I was missing
something.

What are all these little marks?

That's never a signature, surely?

Well, it's in the right place.

I recognise some of those characters.
It's Ancient Greek.

What's the betting he's an Oxford
man?

Engine oil, sir. Pretty fresh.

There can't be many cars pass through
here.

Or buses for that matter.

So how did he get here, then?

As far as we know, he didn't drive

and I doubt very much whether he
walked all the way from the railway
station.

Hitched a lift?

Or ordered a taxi?

If he did that,
maybe the cabby can remember him.

I called the pawnbroker in London.

The dead man's name was Dean Greely.
He lived in Bayswater.

What did he pawn?

Interesting, that. A gent's ring,
solid gold.

He'd hocked it a few times before,
but always redeemed it.

Then two days ago, they gave him a
couple of hundred on it. By today, he
had nothing.

And we think his watch is missing as
well.

Killed for a watch and a few hundred
pounds? Let's hope not.

Do we have a murder weapon?

- Not yet.

The driver from City Cabs definitely
remembers dropping Greely at the
narrow boat.

And when she gets back to the
station, her next fare's a woman.

The woman wants to know
where Greely had been dropped.

Well, where was she dropped - this
woman?

Cheap B&B, but when I phone there,
they say she's left.

- Moved here.
- Big step up from a B&B.

Must have come into some money.

Do you have an Ingrid Nielson here?

I asked where the previous fare
had been dropped

because the previous fare was Dean
Greely,

my partner in life for the last 20
years and more.

Your husband.

Well, we never got round to the
marriage thing.

Miss Nielson...

..Dean Greely was murdered last
night.

What?

How?

He was attacked.

We won't have the details
until the postmortem's completed.

I thought you might be here about...

..the money and the watch.

- What about the money and the watch?
- Well, I went out there last night.

He wasn't there.

The door was open, but nobody, you
know...

And what then?

His watch was lying on the table.

Anyway, I picked it up and took what
money I found in his wallet and left.

When you showed up, I thought...

.."The damn fool thinks he's been
robbed."

Maybe we should go and talk some more
down at the police station.

A suspect! That's what I like to
hear.

Not a suspect?

I want to hold her until we check her
clothes for blood, but I don't think
she's the one.

If she killed Greely, why hang around
in Oxford?

♪ Und Macheath der hat ein Messer...

Miss Nielson was just telling me
that she's a tribute artist.

I also act.

Strictly avant-garde.

Experimental.

Why did you ask the taxi driver
where Mr Greely had been dropped?

I wanted to make sure that's where
he'd be.

Why would he lie about where he was
going?

A woman phoned.

Wouldn't give her name.
Said she wanted to speak to Dean.

I told her she should call back.

- And did she?
- I don't know.

But the next thing is,
Deano's off to Oxford.

Said it was at the behest of an old
student pal.

So you followed him to Oxford,

made sure that he was on the boat,

booked yourself in a B&B, with what
intention?

Of going back out there and catching
them in flagrante.

He seems to have used Ancient Greek
to sign his pictures. Why was that?

A hangover from his Oxford days.

We met at Oxford, you know.

Constable, Miss Nielson's clothes,
please.

- I can go?
- For the moment.

We've got nothing to hold you on.

This old student pal who might have
phoned and got Greely up here - any
joy?

Well, I called every number
in Greely's contact book,

but none of them went to Oxford with
him.

There is still this entry, however.

But he's using Ancient Greek again.

- Why did he do that?
- I don't know.

I did some Greek
as part of the theology course.

If I'm right, then this heading
reads, "The Sons Of The Twice Born."

Which would be a reference
to the Greek god Dionysus.

Twice Born?

Yeah. The gods had a falling out

and the expectant mother of Dionysus
perished.

Zeus took the foetus, sewed it into
his thigh,

and then some time later Dionysus was
born for the second time.

Right. Course he was.

What about these three lines here?

I don't know.

Just random letters.

It could be a code maybe.

I know someone that can help.

Professor Gold.

Detective Inspector Lewis, Sergeant
Hathaway.

- May we have a word?
- Please.

I'm sure we've met, haven't we?

Or in another life perhaps.

No, this one, but it was a long time
ago.

It's your lovely accent.

We were wondering if you could
translate something for us.

I've managed to translate some of it,

but these three lines, well, they're
all Greek to me.

- You're a scholar.
HATHAWAY: Yes.

Cambridge?

- What makes you ask that?
- It would explain your limitations.

Ah, let me see.

Oh, of course.
Three sets of alphabetic numbers.

Quite common in the Hellenistic
period,

having displaced the acrophonic
system.

Numbers?

Telephone numbers, actually.

How do you know that?

Because they all start
with the Oxford area dialling code.

Telephone numbers.
How didn't YOU see that?

Cambridge, eh?

What do they teach them there?

Well, thanks for your time,
Professor.

You were with Morse when we last met.

That's right, ma'am.

Shame about that - Morse.

Had his querulous side, of course.

But we're none of us perfect.

No. No, we're not.

Drop me back at the station and get
down to the telephone exchange.

I want names to go with all these
numbers.

If one of them did get Greely up
here, I want to know which one and
why.

Well?
- Got 'em all.

I checked out all three names
to see if we had them on file.

First up is Harry Bundrick. The
number I was given

was for Bundrick's Bicycle Shop in
town.

And?

In 1984, Mr Bundrick was
cautioned for kerb-crawling.

On one of his bikes? Go on.

Next up, Dr Sefton Linn.

College Principal, heavily tipped to
be a future Vice-Chancellor.

Dr Linn is not on file.

Lastly, Theodore Platt.

Last surviving member
of a very wealthy Oxford family.

Disparate group. What about Platt?
Got anything on him?

This is awkward, bearing in mind what
happened to your wife.

About three years ago, sir,
when you were away,

Theodore Platt was involved in a
head-on collision with another car.

He was left paralysed from the waist
down.

The consensus at the time was
that he was out of his head on drugs.

But he got himself a good lawyer and
he got off.

What about the other driver?

Killed outright.

So erm...Bundrick or Linn?

Platt.

The others are nearer, sir.

I think Platt.

Nice.

Very.

With me.

No.

Better to avoid sudden movements.

Who the hell are you?

Inspector Lewis, Sergeant Hathaway,
Oxfordshire Police.

What are they?

They're Malinois. Belgian shepherd
dogs.

I'm Anne Sadikov, Inspector.
This is my husband Theodore Platt.

Bloody women have everything
but a man's name these days.

You should be Mrs Platt.

Much too close to "prat" for my
liking.

How can we help you?

We're investigating a murder.

Dean Greely?

We read about that.

Murdering little Dean. Who could be
bothered, that's what I'd like to
know?

Maybe we should go inside.

Sandy, go and play.

I shall miss little Dean.

He was... He was like a lash for my
back.

Oh, and how was that, sir?

I have long harboured ambitions
to be an author.

High-brow, of course.

Unfortunately...

and despite having gone
to considerable lengths,

I've been unable thus far
to muster

the requisite talent for the job.

And all too often the companion piece
of failure is self-pity, do you
agree?

- Sometimes, I suppose.
- I'm against pity...

in all its forms - scourge of
mankind.

Sentiment used by the weak
to blackmail the strong.

"Have pity," they whine.

"For pity's sake," they groan.

Do you prefer the man unencumbered by
pity, the super man?

A policeman familiar with Nietzsche.

What is the world coming to?

Now, Greely, yes, he was a no-talent
bum like me,

albeit in another field of endeavour.

How I loathed looking at his feeble
efforts.

Miserable splodges of paint on
canvas,

smelling the reek of his failure.

But I was honest enough to admit

that when I looked at little Dean,
it was like looking in a mirror.

And since I couldn't pity him for his
failure...

I'm sure you can see
where I'm going with this, Detective.

Well, it's all very interesting.

I doubt it's why the officers are
here, Theodore.

Don't...

..patronise me.

I shall miss little Dean.
Known him since we were students.

That's why I've started early,
you see.

To little Dean.

Any excuse.

When were you last in contact with Mr
Greely?

Must be months.

So you haven't telephoned him
recently?

- You didn't know he was at his boat?
- No.

Well, thank you both for your time.

What?

- I said...
- I heard what you said.

I tell you I didn't know Dean was
here and you believe me.

Now, why is that?

Is it because of this?

Because that is discrimination, my
friend!

I could have you for that.

I could have done it. I can get
about. I could have done it.

You were here with me.
- I could have done it.

Why would you want to, Mr Platt?

What with little Dean being your own
personal lash and all that.

If you'll excuse us.

Oh, there is just one more question,
Mr Platt.

In Mr Greely's contact book, your
name

comes under the heading Sons Of The
Twice Born.

What does that mean?

That's something you'll have to ask
little Dean.

We would, but he's dead.

So?

Search me.

- That bloody arrogant...
- Sir?

What is a woman like her doing with
that?

He might still be able to get around,

but the poor bloke he smashed into
sure as hell can't.

And don't tell me he's mended his
ways.

Drunk or drugged up,
I bet he still gets behind the wheel.

- Sir?
- What?

Sometimes personal feelings can...

What about them?

Tell me what it is I'm not seeing,
Sergeant.

That ring he was wearing...

The image on it, I've seen it before.

That is the Greek god Dionysus.

Go on.

Well, you know that stuff about pity
being the scourge of mankind?

The sentiment used by the weak
to blackmail the strong?

Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche,

a German philosopher who praised
the Dionysian approach to life.

Oh, yeah?

He's known by some
as the god of earthly delights.

His Greek adherents used intoxicants
to achieve euphoric states,

release their creative energies,
their artistic abilities.

Which, these days, would be drink or
drugs.

Sons Of The Twice Born. I say Platt
must have understood the reference.

So why deny that he did?

Greek gods? German philosophers?
What is going on?

That pawn ticket of Greely's.

That was for a ring, wasn't it?

- Hello?

Hello? Is it a repair?

Or are you looking to buy?

Neither, I'm afraid.

Sergeant Hathaway, Inspector Lewis.

We're investigating the murder of
Dean Greely.

How can we help you with that?

The shop's telephone number
was in Mr Greely's contact book.

You knew Dean Greely, sir?

Yeah, we were students together.

You kept in touch since university?

I sometimes phoned to borrow money.

- Have you been in touch recently?
- No.

Can you account for your whereabouts
when Mr Greely was killed?

It's just a routine question, sir.

I was here with my mother.

Harry's always here with me.
He's a very dutiful son.

I see.

The Sons Of The Twice Born.

Does that mean anything to you, sir?

No, I don't think so.

Such a terrible thing to happen.
I didn't know him, but murder...

- The poor man was terminally ill.
- He was what?

- Darling, isn't that correct?
- Yes, some journalist I spoke to.

Wanted to know about my prospects
for the Vice-Chancellorship.

She said we had a mutual friend in
Dean and that he was terminally ill.

Came as quite a shock.

Would you mind telling us where you
were when Mr Greely was killed?

Yes, of course.

I was in my office till very late

with only a mountain of paperwork for
company.

Can you think of anybody
that might want to harm Mr Greely?

Inspector, don't you have someone in
for the murder?

Er...a woman, I think it said on the
radio.

Not any more, no.

I see. Well...

Well, I'm afraid, no,
I've no idea who'd do such a thing.

Tell me about the Sons Of The Twice
Born.

What?

It came up with Theodore Platt
and Harry Bundrick.

You know, about the rings and stuff.

- Do you still have yours?
- It's er... It's around somewhere.

The Sons Of The Twice Born?
What in heaven's name...?

It's just a group of friends.

It was a long time ago. We were very
young.

Why on earth is it of interest to
you?

A murder inquiry, sir. There's
nothing about the victim

that wouldn't be of interest to us.

I see.

Sons Of The Twice Born. Sneaky.

Well, the old ones are the best.

What is it about this group?

Must be more to it than a bunch of
hooray Henrys

meeting for a knees-up, hasn't there?

Or else why lie about it?

Does it even have any bearing
on the case at all?

Sir?

I've been telling him about that.

Megan.

- Why were they looking at my car?
- It's dripping oil, I told you.

What were they saying?

You had a conversation with them.
About what?!

Megan, would you excuse us, please?

Sure.

- Darling, what's wrong?
- Nothing's wrong.

Then why the interrogation of Megan?

Interrogation? I... I was merely
curious

as to what those policemen were
saying to her.

- That's all.
- Sefton.

We've both worked very hard on your
career.

We're within an ace of the
Vice-Chancellorship. Everybody says so.

Now, is there anything I should know
about?

Is there anything that could
compromise you.

Darling...

there's nothing.

All this Greek god twaddle.

And Sefton Linn?

I really can't have you harassing
people of that standing

on what seems little more than a
concoction of conjecture and whimsy.

Come to think of it...

maybe I can kill two birds with one
stone here.

Ma'am?

My ladies group has organised a
recital of chamber music.

Mr Innocent is er...indisposed.

But since I know the Linns will be
there, so will you, Inspector.

Your presence can take the bare look
off me.

Me, ma'am? Chamber music? I don't
think so.

This is not a request, Inspector.

Perhaps if you see Sefton Linn
in a social setting,

you'll modify your opinion of him.

Now, the postmortem report on Dean
Greely.

On my way to pick it up now, ma'am.

When is it exactly,

ma'am, this recital?
- This evening.

And it's formal.

See if you can get us some background
on the Sons Of The Twice Born.

See if we can push this beyond a
concoction of conjecture and whimsy.

Shouldn't I wait, sir?

Wait for what?

Well, until you've been to the
recital

and had a chance to meet Sefton Linn
in a social setting.

If I were you, Sergeant,
I really would just get on with it.

Where will Mr Innocent be?

Feigning illness or injury, if I'm
any judge.

Is that it?

As I said at the scene,
someone crushed his skull. That's it.

Why? Were you expecting more?

He was supposed to be terminally ill.

Well, he's given his liver a bashing
over the years.

Apart from that, nothing.

Hello, Sefton.

You look well.

Thank you.

And you?

Oh...you know.

Never thought I'd find myself
back in the Bodleian.

I hear you're destined for great
things, Sef.

We'll see.

Is Professor Gold upstairs?

You can check,
but I think she's down in the vaults.

Well, well, well!

Sefton Linn and Harry Bundrick.

You naughty boys, huh?

What have you been up to? Reliving
old times?

Have you given him his kiss, Sef?

Made his day?

He might try to top himself again if
you don't.

For God's sake,
leave him alone, you twisted bastard!

Harry, are you missing those wild,
bacchanalian nights in my temple,

when we were all so out of it you
thought

you could risk a peck or two at old
Sef here?

Future Vice-Chancellor.

- Hello, Theodore.
- A-ha!

The poor man's Hypatia.

This must feel like old times for
you, Gold.

Now we get to find out why we're
here.

Only when we settle down and learn
to keep a civil tongue, Theodore.

I wanted to bring you together

where I once tried to inspire you to
great things.

I've had a visit from the police.

They wanted something translated
from a contact book.

I'd read of Greely's death
and I thought it might be his.

I was right.

And what has that to do with...

I checked with Sefton.

The police clearly link Dean Greely's
death with his student days.

And as you were once a tight-knit
group,

it occurred to me you might hold
important information.

And now that you're here,
you might like to think about that.

Well...do you think we should
commemorate him in some way?

Deano. A park bench perhaps.

Or a blue plaque saying,
"You may not have noticed,

but little Dean was here."

Or perhaps through discussion,
as the professor said.

I don't know anything. As far as I'm
concerned, he was hit over the head
by some drunk.

Besides, discussion with you two?

The words "life", "too" and "short"
spring readily to mind.

If you hadn't mentioned our group to
the police,

you might not have to put up with our
company.

- I didn't say anything.
- No, nor me.

You've been conned, you damned fool.

Wait, Theo.

Has er... Has either of you been
contacted by a journalist?

A woman named Fury.

Hm? Harry?

About Dean? Just the police.

No, not just about Dean.

About what, then?

Detective Inspector Lewis.

- Is Mr Platt at home?
- No, he's not, no.

Mrs Sadikov's in the temple.

Thank you.

Inspector!

Come in, please.

I'm afraid, if you're looking for
Theodore, he's just gone out.

Yeah, the lady at the house told me.

Wow.

My hobby.

My father's family were furriers.

The seamstress he employed showed me
the tricks of the trade. This is how
I use them.

There.

All better.

Sadikov.

- Russian is it?
- Yes.

My stepfather's family somehow ended
up in Bournemouth.

He started up the business there.

Now, there was a magician
with a needle and thread.

Was?

- Oh, he died a few months ago.
- Oh, I'm sorry.

Well...it was a bit of a blessing,
really.

When fur went out of fashion,
eventually he went out of business.

He took that badly.
He suffered a massive stroke.

As a direct consequence, I believe.

Which is perhaps just as well.

I doubt he and Theodore
would have gotten along.

Mother?

Died when I was young.

- You?
- Yeah, both dead.

Other family?

Son and a daughter.

Wife?

My wife...was killed.

Hit-and-run.

Oh.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

Did they get the person responsible?

Nope.

I don't suppose they ever will now.

To have someone
taken away from you like that...

You hide your anger well.

Sometimes I feel glad
they didn't get whoever did it.

Why?

Cos I'm scared of what I might do to
him.

Oh, I think I can understand that.

Where did you meet your
husband?

I erm... Well, I trained as a nurse
and decided I didn't fancy that.

And erm...I applied for a job as a
PA.

After various appointments,
I ended up working for Theodore.

A year later, he asked me to marry
him.

Ask her why she accepted my proposal.

Hello, Theodore.

No?

I'll tell you.

If I go before her, she gets a
fortune.

And I mean a fortune.

But she has to stay the course.
Divorce gets her nothing.

Can I get you something?

- A coffee?
- A little experiment, Inspector.

I want to see how long Sadikov there

will remain entombed in this
marriage,

just to get her hands on my loot.

What portion of her allotted time on
this earth

will she sacrifice to mammon?

Tea, then.

- With your favourite digestive?
- I don't want bloody tea!

What are you doing here?

- The Sons Of The Twice Born.
- What about them?

You said you'd never heard of them,
but you were one of them.

Who told you that?

Sefton Linn. Harry Bundrick.

Oh, well, it must be true,
but was it illegal?

Depends what you were getting up to.

We were a group of like-minded
friends is all.

And shared the same recreational
habits?

Why the evasion? Was it drugs?

You're boring me, Mr Policeman.

See? There you go again.

Yes! There I go again!
Now, get out of my house!

Really, Theodore, where are your
manners?

It's all right. The artistic
temperament and all.

Thanks for the coffee.

My pleasure. I'll see you out,
Inspector.

HATHAWAY: I turned up an article on
Platt.

A bit of a boy wonder, by all
accounts,

and a student of Professor Gold's.

So I thought I'd go and have a word
with the professor.

I called the library, found out where
she was and when I get there,

she's in a meeting
with the Sons Of The Twice Born.

What were they talking about?

I didn't hear, but judging by their
body language,

they're no longer a group, that's for
sure.

Oh, I wonder why.

Grew out of each other, just?

A lot of associations formed at
university do last.

I've got plenty of contemporaries
that are still friendly.

Were you not in any groups yourself?

No. I'm not a joiner of things.

Nah, nor me.

Drugs was their big thing, though.

There might be some pretty
embarrassing memories coming between
them.

Stuff that's way beyond the ken of a
nice theology student like yourself.

I mean, theology and mind-altering
substances

don't really go hand in hand, do
they?

No, you wouldn't think so, would you?

Nietzsche?

Yeah. A real page-turner.

What do you think?

A world without compassion.

It'd just be a free-for-all, wouldn't
it?

That's one interpretation.

Well, it's Platt's interpretation.

You heard him. You have to suppose
that goes for his cronies as well.

Anyway, philosophy is ruled out.

Far too many ambiguities, I reckon.

Maybe it's not an interest
you really need at the moment.

Maybe that's why you can't pick a
course.

Well, if not an interest, what?

I don't know.

Look, I'm holding you up.
Now, have a really good night.

- Get out of here.
- Right, sir.

It's the last one.

Yeah.

I hate them.

What will you do?

I have some irons in the fire.

Oh, I say.

Who's the new boy in the class?

You do scrub up well, Inspector.

You'd make someone a very decent
other half.

Well, I'm looking for another half.

And, if you ask me, this penguin suit

has been to far too many Masonic
dinners.

The trouser leg keeps rolling up
of its own accord.

I didn't realise you were in the
Masons.

No, I'm not, ma'am. It's a joke. It's
a hire suit.

There are the Linns. Come and meet
them.

Hello.

- How's things?
- Sefton.

How are you?

And you know Inspector Lewis?

Yes, yes, we've met.

Such a terrible business all round.

Have there been any developments,
Inspector, that you can speak about,
I mean?

Well, yes, there has been one
development as a matter of fact.

- Oh?
- What?

Did I not tell you, ma'am?

Dean Greely wasn't dying.

What?

It was all there in the postmortem
report.

Apart from the blows that killed him,
Dean Greely was in the pink.

But that can't be.

This journalist - what do you suppose

she stood to gain from lying about
that?

I really don't know.

- Did she leave you a contact number?
- No.

- Not a thing.
- Shame.

- It's time we were all getting in.

Excuse me, ma'am.

I'm sorry.

Sorry. Thanks.

Linn!

Old habits die hard, Professor.

Inspector.

Yes, I continue to work late.

But I absorb so much less these days.

Please, sit.

Thank you.

Are you here because of Platt and co?

Why?

For a time, those young men were very
close.

If Greely's fate was indeed sealed
in the period of their friendship,

it occurred to me that collectively
they might hold some clue.

So you organised a meeting.

Yes.

How could you know?

Oh, it doesn't matter.

Well, I hope you don't mind, but they
would never

have come together of their own
accord.

But they would for you.

I've always retained an affection for
my charges, Inspector.

Even a feeling of responsibility.

One hopes it's reciprocated.

What were they like back then?

Greely was one of mine.

As was Platt and Linn.

Bundrick was reading medicine

but he had a tremendous crush on Linn

and so became part of their group.

But Bundrick was cautioned for
kerb-crawling.

Perhaps he was...versatile.

I used to form discussion groups in
those days.

Informal.

The true meaning of Greek myth.

Greely, Linn and Bundrick
would come along and...

..then Platt showed up.

He was quite, quite brilliant.

And charismatic, too.

Very soon, the other three were...

completely in his sway.

Well, they eventually stopped coming
to my meetings.

And I was later to hear stories
of drink and drugs.

And copious amounts of both, I may
add.

Then came a falling-out,
I don't know what about.

Bundrick dropped out altogether.

He even attempted suicide, you know.

Slashed his wrists, I believe.

It's true what they say.

Youth is wasted on the young.

Isn't it, though?

You couldn't recommend a primer to
me, could you, of Greek mythology?

I'll have one sent round to you.

- Yes?
Mr Bundrick?

My name is Fury.

I see you've got my little message.

Now, there's something I'd like you
to do for me.

I won't do it!
Do you hear me? I won't do it!

Harry?

What's the matter, Harry?

"His best friends killed him because
of a boast."

Who would send us a thing like that
and why?

If you take it literally,
this is not the killer teasing us.

But it implies that the sender knew
who the killer was.

Why not tell us, for God's sake?

If you're gonna shove something
through my letterbox,

please make it a name, not a riddle!

Then there's Greely's miraculous,
if brief, return from his death bed.

Maybe Greely lied to the journalist

about dying and was running a scam or
something.

Maybe.

All I know is, when I told Linn,

I couldn't have got a bigger reaction

if I'd hit him with a sledgehammer.
Why would that be?

Why do you want to see him?

He may be able to help us
with the Greely murder.

Help you? How?

I'm sure he's already told you
everything he knows.

If we could just speak to him, Mrs
Linn?

The porter says he hasn't been to his
office.

So, where do you think he might be?

Mrs Linn?

Well, he's been...

College matters, you understand?

Funding sources, I think it is.

Anyway, I must have been asleep
when he got in and was still asleep
when he left.

- Left for where?
- Out walking.

He does his best thinking when he's
out walking.

Now, you really must excuse me. I
have a rather important engagement to
attend.

When he gets back, get him to give us
a call.

I'm sure he'll be only too willing to
help if he can.

What do you think?

Something's not right.

Call a car, get over to Bundrick's.

I'll drive out to Platt's.

Sergeant Hathaway.

Have you seen Sefton Linn,
Mr Bundrick?

Sefton? No, why? Is something wrong?

We'd like to speak to him.

Urgently.

But he seems to have gone missing.

- Missing? What do you mean, missing?
- I mean missing...

..Mr Bundrick.

It's all right, Harry.

If we see or hear from Mr Linn,
you'll be the first to know,
Sergeant.

Now...

good day.

Oh, the Sons Of The Twice Born.

You were one of them.

- Is your husband at home?
- Yes. Come on in.

Damn...

Damn, damn, damn.

Raargh!

Oh, my God!

Lay him down.

- What?
- On his back.

Mr Platt!

Mr Platt...

- Stay with us.
- Have you got a pen?

Yeah.

Break it open.

Don't you die on me.

Oh, don't die!

Yeah, ambulance.

You saved his life.

I saw it being done once

when I was a nurse.

I wasn't sure I could replicate it,
though.

Lucky for him you could.

Can you speak?

Just about.

Inspector Lewis is with me.

He wants to know
if Sefton Linn has been in touch.

No. Why?

He's gone missing.

They say everything's fine,

that it didn't do any lasting damage.

They told me.

Now, you tell me.

What?

You could have let me die.

I don't want you to die.

- No?
- No.

Now you must rest.

When I asked you to marry me...

..it was no...

..experiment.

It was because...

..I love you.

Rest.

Sir!

Mr Linn, you don't know me.

My name is Fury.

I'm a freelance journalist

and I've been talking to a Son Of The
Twice Born.

If you'd like to know what he had to
say about that little group,

call when you've returned from High
Table.

Say, nine this evening.

The number's 993-817.

Call the exchange, see if they can
give us a location for that number.

Why ask him to call a public
telephone?

And why that one?

Fury.

She said her name was Fury, right?

Mm.

The Erinyes, the Furies,
were agents of the gods,

who punished wrongdoing.

They would harass and injure their
prey, but never kill them.

Whom the gods would destroy,
they first make mad?

Yeah.

Or maybe her name's just Fury,
like she said.

Come on.

Call when you've returned from High
Table.

Say, nine this evening.

The number's 993-817.

What does it mean?

We think the Son Of The Twice Born
she's referring to is Dean Greely,

and that he'd been talking to the
journalist about the group.

We think your husband killed Greely
because of what he revealed.

No, you must be mistaken.

These Sons Of The Twice Born
were into drugs in a major way.

Maybe Greely was about to reveal all.

A future Vice-Chancellor with a past
like that?

What does she sound like, this Fury?

Age - impossible to tell.

Social status - middle-class if her
delivery's anything to go by.

And we have no idea who she could be?

Checked with the National Union of
Journalists,

every press organisation we can
think of.

No female Fury on file anywhere.

So it may well be a mythical name...

..in more ways than one.

I suppose, being who and what he is,

Sefton Linn has dozens of contacts in
Oxford?

We need to let them know we're after
him.

And, Lewis...

Ma'am?

About Linn...

Yeah, ma'am.

- Platt.
Mr Platt?

- Who's this?
- My name is Fury, Mr Platt.

And right now, I'm watching your wife
in the garden.

Such a pretty woman.

What do you want?

You know, I'm sure you could
so easily come out and catch me

if it wasn't for your unfortunate
condition.

Good for me, Mr Platt.

Not so good for your pretty wife.

How can you possibly protect her,
keep her out of harm's way?

I said, what do you want?

Your friend, Mr Linn.

Such a clever man.

And yet I was able to manipulate him
with considerable ease.

That should tell you something about
me, Mr Platt.

About my capabilities.

About what a dangerous enemy I can
be.

Do you want me to clean the study,
Mr Platt?

No, no.

- Sorry?
- No! Not now!

Morning.

Lewis.

What?

Good morning.

For us, maybe.

But not for Sefton Linn.

He took both barrels of a
shotgun and he didn't see it coming.

If he'd tried to defend himself,
you'd expect wounds to the arms.

But as you can see,

there's nothing, it's all to the
torso.

He drove here. Looks like he got out
of his car,

walked to meet his killer, and then
bang.

His clothes look new.

It doesn't look like he's been living
rough. So, where's he been?

Well, there was a door key in his
pocket.

All we need to do now
is find the door that it opens.

Try his home and office. If it
doesn't fit them,

he must have got himself a bolt-hole.

Or had someone else get it for him.

Try rented accommodation.

Something isolated, probably,
and recently leased.

There's hundreds of places around
Oxford - holiday homes, cottages.

Yeah, but we know
precisely when he disappeared.

So, if we check what properties were
advertised in the local press that
day,

we might get lucky.

Inspector Lewis!

Please, come in.

Thank you.

You told me you had reason to mourn
Dean Greely's passing, Mr Platt.

Unless you can do the same for Linn,
I want to know where you were last
night.

I was here.

Alone?

I had a migraine, went to bed early.

But I'd have heard something
if Theodore had left the house.

Anyway, why would you suspect me?

Linn knew and trusted his killer,
trusted him enough

to get out of his car on a dark track

and go and talk to him.

And whoever did this seems to have
enticed Linn out into the open. Why?

Because it would be more convenient
for a cripple? Is that what you're
saying?

I'm saying, I'm gonna get whoever did
this.

But in the meantime,

a word of warning, Mr Platt.
- A warning?

These are dire times
for members of your little group.

I think those that are left
should be extra vigilant.

I'd be quaking in my boots if I
could.

Damn it.

Lewis.

I had a chat with a member
of the college council.

They have some letters relating to
Sefton Linn they think we should look
at.

I'll go straight there, ma'am.

Your mother sent those letters
to the college council.

You can see they're not complimentary
about Sefton Linn.

In fact, I'd say vitriolic was
an understatement.

I had no idea she was doing this.

Was your mother at home last night,
Mr Bundrick?

Yes, why?

Because, sometime last night,
Sefton Linn was murdered.

I'm very sorry.

What's going on, Mr Bundrick?

Greeley, now Linn.

What's this all about?

If you know anything at all...

I was...I was to become a surgeon,
you know.

I know.

And something...

There came a time when I couldn't
carry on.

My mother blamed the others for that,

for leading me astray.

She blamed Sefton most of all.

She even blamed him when I tried
to...

It wasn't Sefton's fault.

It was...it was something else
altogether.

What?

What was it, Mr Bundrick?

You can tell me.

- I was...
Harry?

Harry!

You should never have said these
things about Sefton!

I stand by every word.

The idea of a man like that holding
high office!

Sefton's dead, Mother! He's been
murdered!

Good.

If you catch whoever did it,

thank him for me.

Can I help you?

I was hoping that this key would open
that door.

It's the back door key.

The last refuge of Sefton Linn.

This is the owner, local farmer John
Staunton.

- Who hired the cottage?
- Not Linn. It was a woman.

Forties, plain-looking,
working-class, he says.

Paid cash.

- Name?
- Worth. Patricia Worth.

I called in, asked them to run
a check.

And they came up
with a Missing Person's report.

Trisha Worth, aka Patsy Worth,

reported missing in 1984
by close friend, Tina Daniels.

Both of them lived on the Wellington
Road and both...

Both Patsy Worth and Tina Daniels

had been cautioned a couple of times
for soliciting.

Prostitutes.

Wasn't Harry Bundrick warned
for kerb crawling?

Yes, he was.

Inspector.

How can we help you?

I'll tell him.

Have you ever heard Linn mention
a Patricia Worth

or Tina Daniels?

Theodore?

No.

What is it?

Patsy Worth was a prostitute.

Harry Bundrick used prostitutes.

Now, someone calling herself Patsy
Worth has hired a cottage

for Bundrick's friend, Sefton Linn.

See, that name Patsy Worth, I don't
buy it being picked at random.

It's too much of a coincidence.

Picked by someone who knew her, then?

Yeah. Like the woman
that reported her missing, maybe.

Tina Daniels.

(KNOCK ON DOOR)

(SPEAKS SOFTLY)

They've caught a prowler on the Platt
Estate.

You said you didn't know any of
Greely's friends

and we find you outside one of their
houses!

Your partner and one of his friends
have been murdered already

and now you're stalking another one.
- No.

I started thinking.

If Dean was telling the truth,

then it was an old friend
who'd asked him up to Oxford

and that old friend knew he'd be at
the boat.

- Right?
- Go on.

When Linn went missing,

I knew who was behind it all.
- Who?

Platt.

He was always the manipulative
puppeteer,

with money in his brains.

Well now, for some reason,

he was killing them.

- Why not Bundrick?
- Harry?

Never. He loved Linn.

Tried to get over him with his little
friend, but alas couldn't.

Little friend?

Harry visited a prostitute.

In fact, poor Harry was in the red
light district when he tried to end
it all.

You know her name?

Tina.

Patsy Worth and Tina Daniels -

they're key to this somehow, I know
it.

Call me ageist,
but in their mid-forties,

what kind of living
could they make on the streets?

- Niche market, perhaps.
- There are easier ways, ma'am.

Sir.

You were right. There is one on that
street.

Called Love Lines.

Thank you!

Love Lines.

Can I speak to Tina,
please?

She's not in right now, mate.

She starts her shift at five.

Does she take a break at all?
I'd hate to miss her.

Between 8:45 and 9:15.

OK, I'll call back, then. Thank you.

She doesn't start till five.

But she takes a break between 8:45
and 9:15,

which would explain why Linn was told
to call the phone box at nine.

A public phone,

yet she works in a place like that.

Well, they'll monitor all incoming
calls, I imagine.

Know about these places, do you?

I'm assuming they don't want their
operatives

tying up the line for personal calls,
that's all.

If you say so.

Platt.

Mr Platt.

What do you want?

Don't you find it awfully quiet

being all alone in that big house?

I'll be in touch with instructions.

All alone?

Anne!

Anne!

Anne!

Anne!

Anne!

Anne!

Come on, ring.

Cheers.

Greek.

Yep, didn't seem to be any getting
away from it.

So I see.

"To Inspector Lewis from Margaret
Gold."

She even signed it for you.

Yeah, I asked her for a primer.

I never expected one she'd written
herself.

Ah, for whom the gods would destroy,
etc.

Just wanted some insight into...

..the case.

It can't be her. That's...

She's Platt's cleaning lady.

Well, maybe she cleans in there as
well.

Call them.

Hi, Mark.

- Love Lines.
-Hi, has Tina arrived yet?

She's just come in if you wanna wait.

I'll call back.

It's her. Platt's cleaning lady and
Tina Daniels are the same person.

But I've heard her speak.

No way could she be Fury.

Or could she?

Come on.

Ma'am, would you mind?

This is meant to be...

..phone sex.

My name is Fury.

I'm a freelance journalist and I've
been talking to a Son Of The Twice
Born.

If you'd like to know
what he had to say about...

- We're recording.
-OK, let's go.

Hello, this is Tina. Who's calling?

Hello, Tina. My name is Michael.

Hello, Michael. Have we chatted
before?

Only, I feel sure I would remember
such a manly voice.

No, Tina, this is my first
time.

My friend Robbie recommended me to
you.

So, Tina, the thing is,

my girlfriend and I have just broken
up.

- And I'm feeling lonely.
- I know the feeling, Michael.

Such a terrible emptiness inside.

Such painful longing.

Such an aching need

when you wake up all alone in that
big bed.

Would you like to watch me, Michael?

Yes, Tina, I would like that very
much.

That's wonderful.

Would you like to watch me all alone,

lying on the top of my silk sheets...

..on my bed, Michael?

Tina, I have to go. My mum's coming.

Tina Daniels.

Or would you prefer Fury?

Patsy Worth?

This is all about Patsy, isn't it,
Tina?

Do you want to know why you're here?

You called Dean Greely
and enticed him to Oxford.

Then you telephoned Sefton Linn
and told him you were a freelance
journalist

called Fury,

and that you were talking
to a Son Of The Twice Born.

What buttons did you push, Tina?

To get Sefton Linn to go out and kill
Greely?

Next thing you do is hire a cottage
from a Mr Staunton,

using the name Patsy Worth, your
close friend,

the close friend who you reported
missing 20 years ago.

The cottage is for Linn,

who is, by now, trying to avoid
the long arm of the law,

in this case, Inspector Lewis and
myself.

But then, somehow, Linn is coaxed out
of hiding

and is himself murdered.

Would you care to expand on any of
this, Tina?

I've got nothing to say.

Tell us about Harry
Bundrick.

He was a regular client of yours,
wasn't he, way back then?

Bundrick drove to a
less-than-salubrious part of town

to try and kill himself.

Why was that?

Any joy?

- Not yet.
- Warrant to search her premises.

There's an imprint on this pad, sir.

Looks like...

Adrenochrome.

Adrenochrome? Does that mean
something?

Yeah.

Um, it's a drug.

A very special drug from a very
special place.

Where?

Well, to harvest adrenochrome,
you have to go to hell itself.

What?

You've got to murder for it.

Do you know what adrenochrome is,
Tina?

No.

Somebody's written that word on this
pad.

Look, you can see the imprint.

We got that pad from your flat.

Adrenochrome is a drug, Tina.

And Platt and his crew,

they thought drugs could work wonders
for them, couldn't get enough of
them.

And how they wanted
to try adrenochrome, Tina.

But try it in its purest form.

Which, myth has it, gives the highest
of highs.

But the thing about it is,

in its purest form,

adrenochrome comes from
the human adrenal gland.

And when you remove that,

the donor dies.

Is that what happened to Patricia
Worth, Tina?

Your friend?

Bundrick said a friend of his needed
a girl.

I recommended Patsy.

Bundrick called later to say she
hadn't turned up when she was
supposed to.

She had.

And been killed.

- How do you know that?
- Bundrick told me.

It was one night. It was about a year
after Patsy went missing.

I got into his car.

And he told me what they did.

So that was your power over them?

You had all the facts.

I told Greely that an old chum of his
was about to spill the beans.

But if he wanted to find out who,
he was to go to the boat and wait.

I told Linn that I was a freelance
journalist

and that Greely had been talking to
me.

I told him that Greely was dying and
wanted to make a clean breast of
everything.

I told Linn that if he ever hoped to
make Vice-Chancellor,

he should silence Greely.

So you've been manipulating
the Sons Of The Twice Born

to kill each other off,

in revenge for their role
in Patricia Worth's death?

But what happened to her, Tina?

They were taking drugs all night.

Patsy passed out.

That's when they decided to do it.

All of them?

No.

Linn backed out.

He ran away.

Left Patsy to her fate.

Bundrick couldn't do it.

Greely couldn't do it.

So Platt did it.

When they realised what they'd done,
they panicked.

Greely, Platt and Bundrick got rid of
the body.

Bundrick said he couldn't remember
where.

He was too out of his head.

Somewhere on Platt's land, he said.

(Bundrick...)

Bundrick said his guilt started right
there.

He threw his ring into the grave.

After he finished telling me what
they'd done...

..he took out his razor and slashed
his wrists.

Ring, damn you.

Ring!

The reason you didn't come forward

was that you were protecting someone.

"Tenth anniversary.

Roman made the coat especially."

Courtesy of the Bournemouth Register
Office.

A marriage certificate, between you,
Tina,

and Roman Sadikov.

Which means that
Anne Sadikov had to be in on this.

But just to help you avenge
the death of an old friend?

No, I don't think so.

There'll be more to it than that.

Patricia Worth was Anne's mother,
wasn't she?

And it was Anne you were protecting
at the time.

Who'd want to tell a little girl
that her mother had died like that?

Patsy was my best friend.

When she died, Anne was six.

I wasn't gonna put her into care.

I looked after her.

Later on, I married Roman.

He was a good stepfather to Anne.

We had a good life
until the business went under.

Why did you use Patsy Worth's name
when you booked the cottage?

Linn called Platt, said he needed
a place to hide.

Anne said she'd help out.

Platt said I had to use a false name.

Somehow it seemed right...

Patsy should be involved in it
somehow.

So I used her name.

Why did Anne save Platt's life?

Because he's the only one left

that knows precisely where her mother
was buried.

Did Bundrick know where Linn was
hiding?

- No.
- No.

So, if the plan was for

the Sons Of The Twice Born to
annihilate each other,

Platt has to be Linn's killer.

He's the only one that knew where he
was.

There would always have to be one
left.

Bundrick?

Because he showed remorse.

So the only one left to be dealt with

is Platt.

Yes!

Theodore...Theodore...

This woman...

She says, give me the directions
and she'll let me go.

What directions?

- What does she mean?
- Listen to me, Anne.

Listen.

I'm gonna give you directions.

There's a statue...

..of Diana.

I've got that, Theodore.

I'll tell her.

Anne!

Darling!

You murdered my mother, Theodore.

And your chums did nothing to stop
you.

Rubbish!

She was just some whore!

You her daughter?

It's not possible.

I'm afraid it is, Theodore.

- God, I think I know what it means.
- What?

"His best friends killed him because
of a boast."

What?

His best friends. Man's best friend.

Dogs.

I killed for you!

She said if I didn't kill Linn,

you would be harmed!

I did it for you!

I know you did.

We had intended for Bundrick to do
it, but he refused.

But when you said you love me,

I knew you'd step up to the plate.

Is this where it happened?

- No!
- Is this where you killed my mother?

Did she beg you for mercy, Theodore?

- Ask you to have pity on her?
- No!

- Did you laugh at that?
- No! No!

You can't imagine the daughter of a
little whore causing your group to
implode.

Well, it's true. And you were the
easiest to fool because you love me.

- "I love you, Anne."
- Bitch!

- "I love you."
- Bitch!

I take no great pleasure in doing
this.

It was you who brought me to this
point.

- You!
- You bitch!

I'll stick you, you bitch!

I'll stick you!

Oh, dear.

I think they heard that, Theodore.

No! Aaargh!

You're too late, I'm afraid. He tried
to attack me, and the dogs...

The dogs...

I'm glad it's over.

I'm glad.

Could have all been over a long time
ago.

No.

Sefton persuaded me to forget all
about it.

God knows, I've tried.

She was 16
when she became pregnant with me.

She decided to keep me,
even when her parents booted her out.

I sometimes wonder
if I would have done the same thing.

When I was old enough, I found out
about her,

what she did for a living.

I made Tina tell me the rest.

But if you knew Platt murdered
your mother, why didn't you tell us?

Do you really think Platt would have
led you to this place?

This is what's really important to
me.

Well, why marry him?

It wasn't a regular marriage.

That would have been out of the
question.

I did it for the money.

We'll be wealthy women
when we get our lives back.

When Her Majesty decides
to give us our lives back.

I don't imagine that'll be too long.

After all,

we never laid a finger on any of
them.

"His best friends killed him because
of a boast."

Somebody sent me that.

There was this Greek called Actaeon.

He boasted that he was a better
hunter than the goddess Artemis.

So she turned him into a stag
and his own dogs tore him to pieces.

You think I sent it and you want to
know why?

Well, if I had sent it,

I may have been thinking,

since you can't have your own
revenge,

maybe, in some small way,
you could share in mine.

After all, if you'd worked it out,
you could have stopped me.

But you didn't.

You don't have to do this.

Yes, we do.

Have you had a chance to look at my
book?

Oh, yeah.

"Foolish is the child who forgets
a parent's piteous death."

Electra, in the play by Sophocles.

But is that utterance truly wise?

Would it not have been better for
Anne

to forget her parent's piteous death?

Well, maybe she just...

couldn't forget.

Thanks for your help, Professor.

And for your book.

Goodbye, Inspector.

I've been thinking about the Open
University.

What about plain old history?

Oh! Nah. My worst subject at school,
man.

Anyway, I think you might be right.

It's maybe not what I'm wanting right
now, not really.

You haven't let the case put you off?

- What? Platt, you mean?
- Hm.

Learning didn't make him a killer.

Condemnation for Platt,
yet barely a harsh word for Anne.

If she did send you that riddle,
she's guilty of premeditated murder.

Doesn't that make her just like
Platt?

Not in my book.

transcript:chocolate
sync:innuit