All language subtitles for Endeavour S01E04-eng

Every story has a beginning.

Before the gates of Troy.

In a certain house at Ithaca.

Upon the road to Thebes.

But no matter where it starts,

every story has its hero.

As often as not,

a young man on a journey
from innocence to experience.

Morse.

Ah, Alistair! Might I have a moment?

If it's about this evening, Master,
I've made my views clear.

Alistair, I do understand
how upsetting all this must be...

I know you're angry, baby

But I'm gonna make it up to you

Gonna make it up to you soon

I know you're angry, baby

But I'm gonna make it up to you

Hey!
# I'm gonna make it up to you... soon

Oh, yes

I won't dance for anyone

But I will dance for you

I wouldn't sing for anything

But I could sing for you

And I...

I won't kill for anyone

But I would kill for you

Tell me where to lie

Tell me what to say

Tell me what to do

It is all for you

You can break my bones

You're the song I sing

Between clenched teeth, cos...

I wouldn't dance for anyone

But I'd dance for you...
Good evening, gentlemen.

Right...

Booth Hill.

..I would sing for you

And... I wouldn't die for anyone

But I would die for you

I'd die...

I would die for you...
Aargh.

Cos... I wouldn't die for anyone

But I would die, yeah

I would die

For...

You...

Morse.

Witnesses?

Woman over the way heard a squeal of
brakes.

By the time she got to the window,
the car was gone.

When was this?
About half an hour since.

Before eight. Nothing they could do. He was
already gone by the time they got here.

No identification. We have to wait
on next of kin coming forward.

How was he found?
Eh?

The body. Where was it?

Oh, up against the kerb there.

That's what's done for him,
according to the ambulance boys.

Head's a terrible mess.

What about debris?

Something like this, you'd expect
there to be glass from...

the windscreen or headlamps.

Not always. Depends where it's
caught him.

And how fast they were going.

When it comes to traffic accidents,
rhyme and reason are out the window, matey.

All aboard!

Morse.
Morning, sir.

Buses have called a strike.
I said we'd drop her at the bank.

Come on, Joan. Don't dawdle.

Morning.
Morning.

Haven't seen you about for a while.

Uh... no. No, I've been on
general duties.

Where's Peter, then, this morning?

Sergeant Jakes? He's got court.

Don't give much away, do you?

I...don't think I'm meant to, am I?

Work, you know?

Oh, I know.

Is he still with that Sandra?

Who? Jakes?
Never mind.

All out of Navy Cut.
I had to make do with Ribbon.

Never mind what?

Work. If you must know.
I was asking about work.

Only, he's like you. It's like
trying to get blood out of a stone.

Quite right. You don't have time to sit
gassing. You can walk from here, can't you?

Save us going round the one-way.

All right. Well, thanks for
half a lift.

Uh-uh. Nicely, please.
You want picking up.

Morse.

Anything in last night?

A truck containing �10,000 worth
of cigarettes

was stolen from outside a transport
stop on the Botley Road last night.

We've been asked to be on
the lookout.

Right, sir. Anything else?

Oh, actually, there was one other
thing.

Morse's results came back from
the range.

Sergeant's exam is coming up,
isn't it?

Yes, sir. Next week.

Won't count towards his mark,
of course,

but the Chief Constable sets
great store by such things.

No-one come forward to claim him?

Not yet.
I've bagged his personal effects.

But I wouldn't get your hopes up.

Just the usual. Specs.

Smoker's bits and bobs.
Keys. Wallet.

Somebody saw the accident, did they?

No. Why?

A case like this, I'd normally expect
to find some injury to the lower limbs.

Point of impact. Where the body's
come into contact with the vehicle.

Outside of the head injury,
there's not a mark on him.

Could have been a glancing blow,
I suppose,

tossed him into the air...
and the kerb's done the rest.

Uniform brought it in about an hour ago. In
the next street to that hit and run. Opened.

Anything to say it's the victim's?
Just essays, unmarked, on The Trachiniae.

It's a tragedy by Sophocles.

I took it the owner of the case
must be a Greats don,

so I rang around the colleges.

Names on the essays match undergrads
at a Baidley College

being tutored by a Professor Coke
Norris.

Doesn't mean to say he's the victim.

There's no answer on his home number and
he hasn't turned in for work this morning.

What about the driver? The car that
hit him must have been damaged.

Uniform are asking local garages but
without a description of the vehicle...

All right. Press on.

Oh, the results came through from
the range.

Where did you learn to shoot like
that? The Army, I suppose.

Thought you were in signals.
Mr Bright's very keen, in any event.

Asked after your sergeant's exam
next week.

I told him you were on top of
things. You are, aren't you?

Well, I think so.
Think? You'd better be.

Don't want you treading water on
general duties another 12 months.

Morning, sir. You're on this hit
and run, aren't you?

Woman come in to report her husband
missing.

A Mrs Coke Norris.

You got it?

Tell 'em you've had a think
and changed your mind.

He was supposed to meet me.
Where?

The station. I've been visiting
our daughter.

I waited and waited.
Mrs Coke Norris...

If he says he's going to be
somewhere, then he invariably is.

Mrs Coke Norris, um...

I'm afraid to say I may have some
very bad news for you.

Last night I was called to attend
a road accident.

We'll need you to make
a formal identification, but...

I have strong reason to believe that the
man who lost his life was your husband.

Oh...

Is there someone that we can notify?
Your daughter, perhaps?

Sorry.

Six, five, four,

three, two, one.

Ready or not, here I come.

Alistair was a much-valued
colleague,

held in great affection by all
who knew him.

Mrs Coke Norris told me that he was due to
attend a meeting here yesterday evening.

Yes. Yes, indeed.

You weren't concerned
when he didn't arrive? No.

I mean, it was just...

college business general
housekeeping.

How's she taken it?
Oh, as well as to be expected.

Were they married long, do you know?

20 years or so.

Happily?
Oh... er...

Yes. Yes.

There was the daughter, of course.
Audrey.

I imagine that kind of thing
must put a strain on any marriage.

There was an accident,
five or six years ago.

Left her a cabbage.

She's in a private hospital or
clinic in London.

They keep a flat there, I believe,
so Millie can visit.

I'd like to take a look
at Professor Coke Norris's rooms.

His rooms?

Unless you've any objection.

No.

No, no. Of course not.

I just can't see what bearing his rooms
might have on a traffic accident.

It's just a question of us being
thorough in our inquiries, Master.

Something I can do for you?

DC Morse. City police.

Oh.

How do you do?

Ian Kern. I'm a friend of
Alistair's.

I was.

I lent him an old Baedeker's
last year.

Southern Italy. It had some sentimental
value. I didn't want it getting...

No. Don't let me stop you.

Thank you.

This is just awful.

Awful.

Is there any news as to the driver?

Not yet, I'm afraid.

What was he like?

Prickly.

Generous.

Kind.

Mostly kind.

I shall miss him.

What about Mrs Coke Norris?
What do you make to her?

Millicent likes a project.

Two years ago, we had starving
Africans.

Last year, it was the plight of
the Red Indian.

And this?

You're looking at it, God help me.

She thinks I need mothering.

No outlet for the maternal instinct.

Every other day, it's cakes or
casseroles.

Some might pay good money
to be cosseted like that.

Would they, though?
I don't doubt she means well,

but if not for Alistair,
I'd have told her where to get off.

Did he have any enemies
that you can think of?

Enemies?

Good heavens, no.

Well, not enemies, I wouldn't have
said. What, then?

Al had been a conchie, in the last show.
I mean, he did his bit on the ambulances.

But some people still held it
against him.

Ah, Eureka.

Well, unless there was anything
else, I'll leave you to your um...

Booth Hill? What makes you ask?

It's come up in connection
with a case.

We've been reporting on it
for about the last 18 months.

With the Oxpens being cleared,
the council needs new housing stock. Thanks.

The Housing Department's been in negotiations
with Baidley College to acquire Booth Hill.

Baidley?
They own the land.

Not been very popular
with the Rural England brigade,

but most objections have been dealt
with, one way or another.

A couple of tenant farmers
have been 'encouraged' to move on.

Strong arm stuff?
Nothing anyone will talk about.

Any idea where a Professor Coke
Norris might fit into this?

None. Why? Who is he?

He was a classics don at Baidley.
Killed in a hit-and-run last night.

He'd been reading your article on
Booth Hill.

One or two new faces
hanging about recently.

London types. Only, you didn't get
that off me, right?

You hear anything more on that,
you let me know. Right?

Keep the change.

Morse.

Good man, Albert. Reliable.

At ten bob a time, I expect he is.

Any copper's only as good
as the intelligence he gets.

What do they teach you?

I don't remember anything in Judges'
Rules about paying for information.

Got something new to think about,
then, haven't you?

Maurie. How's show business?

No business like it, Mr Thursday.
Can I get you a drink?

We're not stopping,
thanks all the same.

We just dropped by for a quick hello
with Charlie, if he's about.

Charlie? No, no, he's uh...

Oh. We've come all this way.

What time's he due, then?

See, I heard he decided to call time
on the night club business.

Word is somebody gave him what for.

Have I got that right?

He's uh... signed the place over to
me. I'm running it now.

You're pulling my leg. I wouldn't
leave you to run a whelk stall.

20 Guards, would you, Sasha?

Straight. As God's my judge.
Yeah, but he's not, though, is he?

So what do you know about this lorry-load
of snout knocked off last night?

Is there something you want?

I don't know nothing about that.

Don't kid a kidder, Maurie.

You're a front man.

Near beer, blue jokes and totting up
the night's take. That's your forte.

So who's in the big chair now, eh?

Hello, Fred.

Vic.

Long time.
Ain't it just.

Keeping well? Family?
Mustn't grumble.

What's this? Things got a bit too
lively for you at Mile End?

Nah. Retired, ain't I?

All got it coming, Fred. Even you.

This place will see me out.

Well...

look what the dog brought in.

Do you remember my Vince?

Fred Thursday. Look.

Blimey, you still at it? I thought they'd
put you out to grass after Carter.

That's the word in town, anyway.

Fred Thursday. Went milky and run
off crying to the sticks.

Who's this, then?

Never you mind who it is.
Vince.

Kids, Fred. All piss and vinegar.
What can you do?

Same ourselves once.
Here's how it is.

You round up your boys and get off
my patch and we'll leave it at that.

Might put the fear of God into
the locals, but this is me.

First and final.

Workhouse rules, Fred.

Last man standing.

So be it.

You think you've found somewhere
decent,

some place the rot hasn't got
to yet, but it creeps in.

They want to come that game here?
Over my dead body.

Who's Carter?

You stay away from this place.

And Vic Kasper. All right?

Just stick to that hit-and-run
and boning up for your sergeant's.

Leave this to me. Understood?

There he is, sir.

Ah, Morse.

Your sister Joyce, is it,
called while you were out.

It's your father.

He's all right. Just... taken poorly.

His heart, she said.
You're to telephone home.

Thank you, sir. If you need some
compassionate leave...

I'm sure it won't come to that. Hope
for the best. That's the ticket.

Well...
Sir.

He suffers with angina.
Has done for years.

I'm sure they're making more of it than there
is. You won't know till you talk to them.

If you're needed, you must go.
Sergeant Jakes at court.

I don't want to leave you a man down.

You let me worry about that.

Actually, sir, there is someone
I suppose you could look to.

I won't forget this. It's only
Acting Detective Constable.

It's not permanent.
Little acorns, matey.

See if you can get anywhere with
this car. Check the garages.

Righto. I hope your old man's uh...
Well, you know.

Joyce said she'd telephoned.

Hello, Gwen.

I suppose you'd better come in.

Your old room's full of lumber.

I'll be all right on the couch.
I've aired the bed in the spare.

I won't have it said
we couldn't put you up.

Hello, stranger.
Hello, Joycie.

You've lost weight. They not looking
after you down there?

Oh, you know. How is he?

Sis?

There was no need
for you to come up.

I told Joyce not to fuss.

How do you feel?

Just a bad turn. I'm right now.

Can I get you anything?

There's a three-year-old...

Rowsby Woof,

running in the 2:15 at Catterick.

You could put five bob on for us.

I'd phone it through,
only she won't let me.

Penny for them.

Dad?

Work.

What work?

Mickey Carter, if you must know.

Don't dwell, Fred.

No.

I thought you'd taken the pledge.
Fell amongst thieves.

Comes with the job, I suppose.
Probably.

Cheers.

Why did you go back... to Oxford?

Oh... A policeman goes
where he's sent.

When I told Pop, he just said,
'Proverbs 26:11'.

I thought... maybe...

Well...

I've many faults, God knows,

but I try to draw the line at
masochism.

Besides, traditionally it's the killer
that returns to the scene of the crime,

not the...

Whatever I was.

I'll telephone.

There's no need, on my account.

Long distance.

Police still?

Yes.

I never liked the police.

I'd better be off. You're not,
you know, a disappointment.

He's proud of you... in his way.

It's just...

you remind him of your mother.

Will you let me know how he is?

If I need to come back, or...

Since when do we do that?

You look like you could do with it.

Who?
Vic Kasper, sir.

Retired, he says.
Taken over the Moonlight Rooms.

Gone legit.
Any truth in it?

Faces like Vic Kasper
don't retire, sir.

I spoke to a colleague at the Yard.

He says Kasper had recently become
persona non with Sid and Gerald Fletcher.

You think he's come here
looking for a soft touch?

More likely he's come here to keep
breathing.

Oh. What are you doing out here?
It's perishing.

Making plans.
Oh, yeah?

Yeah.

You happy?

Course.
Really? You like the house?

Yeah.

I want you to be happy.

You make me a king.

You and me, Cyn, all the way.

Oh, you stupid...

Oxford 38802.

Good afternoon.
This is Detective Constable Morse.

Could you give me your address,
please? What do you want it for?

I'm trying to trace someone at this
number with the initials 'JV'.

Operations room, could you get me
a reverse trace on Oxford 38802?

Hello, matey.
Wasn't expecting you back so soon.

All...?

Yeah, fine.

Any luck with the garages?

I did a ring around of pretty much
every garage in the book, actually.

Got a list of all vehicles booked in
for body repairs since it happened.

Quite a long list, as it turns out,
but it paid dividends.

There was a Bentley booked in at a
dealership in Kidlington yesterday.

Cracked windscreen.

Owner, Mr Jolyon Frobisher.

The Master at Baidley?
Hm.

A piece of cake,
this detecting lark.

Don't know what you make all that
fuss about.

Dr Frobisher.

Dorothea Frazil, Oxford Mail.

I wondered if, as Master of Baidley,
you had any comment to make

in response to our recent article
on Booth Hill.

On, the record, obviously,
I'm very concerned by such allegations.

And off the record, Dr Frobisher?

I think those who make
irresponsible allegations in print

should take very great care.

I can't, Mr Thursday. You know that.
It's more than my life.

Fair enough, Maurie. Better get him
back, then, Sergeant Jakes.

It won't look good if Kasper sees us dropping
him off outside the Moonlight Rooms.

Someone might take him for a grass and
think he's been running his mouth off?

But I ain't.

Look, Vic came in, as a sleeping partner,
with Charlie, about two years ago.

That's all I know.

Charlie was happy with that?
You don't say no to Vic Kasper.

Go on, then.
You can get the bus back.

Oh. Millie. Hello.

I thought the porter must have it
wrong.

The Master insisted.

How are you?

Rather at sixes and sevens,
I'm afraid.

Trying to organise the funeral but I
imagine I'm making a hash of it.

Oh, Millie.

It really is too bad.

I can't bear to see you like this.

Oh, I'm all right. Really.

Nonsense. You've looked after me
in so many ways.

All those wonderful meals you
prepared.

So, listen, I'm going to come over
and help tidy Al's things.

His things?
His papers.

Essays.

Whatever else needs taking care of.

If he was anything like me, there may well be
books from the college library need returning.

So, how's that sound?

Really?

Oh... Oh, that would be most
terribly kind.

Not at all.

Many hands, eh?
Two heads better than one.

DC Morse. City police.

I spoke to someone on the telephone
here, an hour ago.

Would that have been you, Miss...?
Vallens. Judy.

Uh, no. I've only been in
about 20 minutes.

Any idea why Professor Coke Norris might
have your initials and telephone number

written in a matchbook,
Miss Vallens?

None.

I see him every now and then at
lectures. But that's it.

You're a student at which college?

I'm a Matilda-beast. Lady Matilda's.

Oh.

What about the matchbook?
Do you recognise that?

You sure about that?

Those...

Uh... yes.

I'm sorry. That would be
my flatmate, Georgina Bannard.

She gets them from work.

Where's that?
Some club off the Broad.

The Moonlight Rooms.
Mm.

What does she do there?
Cigarette girl.

Is she at home?

I'd like to speak with her.

When I got back from college,
all her stuff was gone.

Have you roomed together long?

Eight or nine months.

Might she have a boyfriend
she's gone to?

Nobody steady, I don't think.
What about family?

West Country somewhere?

You wouldn't have a photograph,
by any chance?

No. Why would I?

We're not close.

You seem very nervous,
if you don't mind my saying so.

Is... Is there something worrying
you?

Besides coming home to find that Gina's
cleared out and landed me with the rent

and you showing up 20 minutes later?

Well, if...

If she does happen to get in touch,
could you ask her to call me?

She's not in any trouble. I'd just...
I'd just like to speak with her.

Did your husband ever talk about
a Judy Vallens?

She's an undergrad
at Lady Matilda's.

No.

How about Georgina Bannard?

If you entertain any suspicion of impropriety
between my husband and these young women,

I believe I can set your mind
at rest.

After Audrey's accident...

Oh, how to put it.

Alistair lost all interest in, and,
indeed, facility for physical intimacy.

Completely.

He used to ride to hounds, you see.

When Audrey was 12, he took her out
for the Alvescot hunt.

Meant to be her blooding.

Only, there was...

Alistair said that a snipe broke cover right
in front of her mount and she was thrown and...

Al felt himself responsible,
you see.

He wasn't, of course, but...

Oh.

She's in some sort of clinic,
I understand. In London.

She needs constant specialist care.

Did your husband ever mention
Booth Hill, Mrs Coke Norris?

Well, for the past year or so,
he talked of little else.

Really? Why? What was his interest?

Booth Hill was originally
owned by Alistair's family.

They gifted it to Baidley College
after the Great War...

as a way of avoiding death duties.

Land rich, cash poor.

So where did he stand
on this proposed development?

He felt it went against the spirit
of the gift.

Not that anyone seemed to care
very much.

Except for Ian, of course.
Ian?

Dr Kern.
Ah.

Everyone else was more concerned with what
they were going to make out of it personally.

All the senior fellows stand to gain
a considerable windfall.

Including your husband?
Alistair wouldn't have taken it.

As a point of principle.

Not that I imagine Jolyon Frobisher will
feel such an offer need be made now.

The sale was formally approved,
I understand,

at a meeting the evening
Professor Coke Norris died.

Mm.

That's more at stake than the general
housekeeping you led me to believe.

I said it was college business.
Which it is.

Might the professor have carried the
day if he'd spoken against?

He would not.

The land has been in college
ownership for nearly 50 years.

It's ours to dispose of
as we think best.

Why? Is the college short of funds?

Management of the land has been
a constant drain on resources.

The decision was as much about what the
college stood to save by letting it go

as about what it might gain.

Your vehicle's been booked in the
garage with a broken windscreen.

How did that happen? I came out
one morning and there it was.

Vandals, I suppose,
or some drunken undergraduate prank.

Or some of your late tenant farmers

expressing their displeasure
at being driven off their land?

'Their' land?

What are you? Some sort of
socialist?

Booth Hill is our land,
for the moment.

How did you know about my car?

When investigating a hit-and-run,
it's procedure to compile a list

of all vehicles booked in for bodywork
or windscreen repairs post facto.

Oh, post facto, indeed.

After the fact.
I know what it means.

Then you'll have no objection to one of my
colleagues taking a look at your vehicle.

None.

Unfortunately, it's presently
on loan to my brother.

Where might I find your brother?

On the Continent somewhere.

He's decided to drive down
to Monte for a few weeks.

Of course, as soon as he returns,
I'll let you know.

I'll look forward to it.

Coke Norris was meant to speak
against the sale of this Booth Hill.

Only, he was killed by a hit-and-run
driver on the way in.

The ayes carried the day.
That the Moonlight Room's motif?

I'm hoping they might shed some
light on this Georgina Bannard.

I don't want you getting involved
with them. Why?

Because Y's not a Z.

Do you mean because of Carter?

Well, do you have any objection
to me going to the Town Hall?

I've a meeting with Mark Carlisle,
senior planning officer.

Talk to whoever you want.
Just keep away from Vic Kasper.

Anyway, how'd you make out at home?
Your father on the mend?

Yeah. Seems to be.

What's that, then?
Lager beer, is it?

Double Diamond. Works wonders.

The wonder is anyone buys the stuff.

Pour me one while you're there.
Pour it yourself.

You'd pour him one.

Yeah, I would.

Has he said anything?

He thinks you're gonna land him
in it.

That copper was talking to Maurie
about a lorry-load of smokes.

If he wanted to retire, he should have
bought a bungalow and moved to Margate.

It's disgusting how he's carrying
on. He's earned it.

He's gone soft. He's more of a man
than you'll ever be.

Thorpie on the phone, Vin.

Don't mess it up for him.
It's what he wants.

What about what I want?

What do you want, Vince?

Baidley stand to make quite a lot of
money, I'd imagine.

The recompense is proportionate,
but our impulse is one of social conscience.

Have you seen some of the housing
at the Oxpens?

Oh, yes, indeed.

Then you know the place is a midden.

People need somewhere decent
to live.

Hot water. Indoor plumbing.

This new development will be light,
clean, airy.

You've seen the papers, presumably?

The Mail. The story about the tenant
farmers being driven off the land.

I hope you're not suggesting the council
would have anything to do with such a thing.

Someone was very keen
to have them off the land.

If they're to be believed.

Money in the air.

They could just be laying
the groundwork to bring a suit.

For what?
Compensation.

Loss of earnings. Who knows?

Simple everyday country folk?

I wouldn't trust half of them
as far as I could spit.

Kids haven't seen it?
Think I'm stupid?

Who sent it?

Is that why you were on about Mickey
Carter the other night?

I thought we left all this behind.

Evening, Officer.

What can I get you?

I'm looking for a Georgina Bannard.

I believe she's a cigarette girl.

Don't ring a bell. They come and go.

Stick around, enjoy the show.

Anything he wants, on the house.

Ladies and gentlemen, would you
please put your hands together

and give a Moonlight Rooms welcome

to Miss Lila Pilgrim.

Darlin', don't you go

Darlin', don't you go

Darlin', don't you go near me
with your blues

I need some rock and roll

I need some rock and roll

I need some rock and roll

I need some rock and roll

Save my soul

Darlin', don't be mean

Darlin', don't be mean

If you stay with me,
let you be my king

I wanna be your queen

Darlin', don't you go

Darlin', don't you go

Darlin', don't you go near me
with your blues

I need some rock and...

Rock and ro-o-oll...

Hey! What's your game?
Oh.

Can't you see a girl's getting
changed? I'm sorry. I...

just wanted to ask if any of you
know a girl called Georgina Bannard.

Lost something?

Artistes only. Can't you read?

No customers back here.

Want me to tell you twice?
It's all right, Vince.

I've got it.
Do you want to come through?

I'm sorry, miss.

Cheeky.

Drink?
Er, no, thank you, Miss...

Riley. Cynthia. Call me Cyn.

So, where do you fit into this
setup, Miss Riley?

Hostess.
I see.

I doubt it.

Maurie said you were looking for
something.

That's right. Georgina Bannard.
She works here as a cigarette girl.

Says who?

Well, does she or doesn't she?

Not here, ducky.

Look, you seem like a nice bloke,
but um...

having coppers about
makes the clientele jumpy, so...

whatever you're about...

please just drop it. Walk away.

Or what?

..rushed to his face
and with the make-up, it burns

A smile so wide
that you could sit there and hide

From the lights on the stage

As they cried his name

Cos he has the answer

Tangled

But there's nobody laughing when

He gets home

You have to be pretty lonely

When the spotlight's your home

Cos he is the answer

Tangled

Just an exotic-looking creature

In a glass container

You could watch him, watch him

Watch him scratch his leg

Watch him when he sleeps, yeah

You can watch him till his death

Yours, I believe.
What's your game?

Vince.
You send this to my home? My home!

Not me, Fred. You got it all wrong.

Watch it, coming in here,
throwing your weight about.

You'll go the same way
as your boy Carter.

What did you say?
Sir.

You heard.

I don't think I did. Come out from
behind your mates and tell me again.

Dad.

Get out now. Morse, see her back.

Now, where were we?
Sit down, boy.

You gonna let him come in like that?
Sit down.

You come near my family again,
you'll be needing a wreath, not me.

Who's there?

You won't say anything?

About Peter.

Please. It's not easy meeting
blokes. With Dad.

No one's... Oh, God. Wait a minute.

Oh.

Well, he can't dance.
I know that much.

Nobody's ever good enough.

I'm sure he's just got your best
interests at heart.

That's very square.

I thought it would be all right
with a copper.

Well, there are coppers and there
are coppers.

And what sort are you?

I'm the sort that see young ladies
safely home.

Go on. I'll wait till you get
inside.

Don't say anything, will you?

Thanks.

Good night.

Night.

Where is she?

They didn't...?
No. Just put the frighteners on.

Everyone's a critic.

Any idea what was behind it?

Oh, they were quite specific.

I'm to lay off any further stories about
Booth Hill if I know what's good for me.

Which, alas, was a lesson
I never took to.

I put the Master of Baidley
rather on the spot yesterday.

He marked my dance card
in no uncertain terms.

Frobisher threatened you?

A bit heavy-handed for academics.

I don't expect they did
their own dirty work.

All I've managed to glean, there seems
to be some vague London connection.

London?
I've picked up the name Fletcher.

Sid, maybe, if that means anything.
It might.

Get a decent look at whoever it was?
It was dark.

But there were two of them.

I've given a description to
Constable Strange.

Unless there was anything else...

I've got a leader to write.

You deny you threatened her?

Young man, that's a grossly
impertinent question.

Condescend to me, Master,

and I'll frogmarch you
across that quad,

down the high and into Cowley police
station, in handcuffs.

Do you understand?

Did you threaten her?

I refute the allegation utterly.

As I do her previous farrago of printed
untruths and half-baked innuendo.

Refute all you please.

If I find out you had anything to do
with what happened last night,

I'll bring the roof down
on your head.

A complaint has been made,

by the Master of Baidley College,
about Morse.

More or less accused him of being
behind this incident at the Mail.

The paper's been investigating links

between Booth Hill and certain figures
in the London underworld the Fletchers.

But not this Kasper character
you're so keen on.

Vic Kasper and the Fletchers
are known associates.

Former known associates,
as I understand it.

The Chief Constable doesn't want
the Master troubled again.

The development of Booth Hill is an integral
part of the council's housing scheme.

Frobisher complains to the Mayor,

the Mayor complains
to the Chief Constable...

Can't let murder stand in the way of
profit. Murder?

Nothing suggests that what happened
to Professor Coke Norris

was anything more than a tragic
accident.

I don't want this animus
between Kasper and yourself

turning into some kind of
private vendetta.

This is not the Wild West.
I know my duty.

See you remember it.
I'm thinking of you, Thursday.

I've seen too many a good officer
lose his way over some personal feud.

Believe me, such things
never end well.

Sorry to interrupt, sir, but we've got a
report of a young woman's body being found.

Looks like foul play.

Who found the body?
A courting couple, sir.

Quite a popular locale for it.
Even in this weather?

When the blood's up, matey.

Big with the local toms, too, sir.
For what it's worth.

Anything to say who she was?

This is all she had in her pocket,
I'm afraid.

Back of the head. Point blank.

Couple of days ago by the look of
things. Couple of days?

Sure? Sure? If it is this Bannard girl,
her flatmate said she saw her yesterday.

Put it this way, Morse.

Either I'm a Home Office pathologist
of some years standing,

who's suddenly taken leave of
his senses, or she's a liar.

Frankly, I know where I'd put
my sixpence.

It's the only photograph
I have of us, of Georgina.

I found it after Constable Morse had left.
It had fallen down the back of the fridge.

It's not her... is it?

I'm very sorry, Miss Vallens.

Oh, my God.

So when did you last see her?

She was still working at the
Moonlight Rooms, wasn't she?

You're like a bad penny, Fred.

I see you've brought your friends.
Safety in numbers, eh?

Get a brew on.
Or do you want a man's drink?

You know this girl?

Should I?
She worked at the Moonlight Rooms.

I don't get involved in the staff.
That's Cyn's side.

Looker, though.

You involved in this business
with Coke Norris, Vic?

Coke Norris? What's that?

What's this all about? The girl I
asked you about the other night.

Georgina Bannard.

How long had she worked at the club?

I don't know. She was there
when I arrived.

I had no trouble with her.
She was a good little worker.

Well, she's a dead little worker
now.

They found her body this morning.

Somebody had put a bullet
in the back of her skull.

That's too bad.

Yeah.
What did you say her name was?

Georgina Bannard.
No.

She called herself something else.

Judy. That was it.

Yeah. Judy Vallens.

If it's any use.

She used different names,
depending how the mood took her.

The mood? She got in with people
when she was younger.

People who took advantage.

Men. You know?
Ended up with a record.

She was a known prostitute?

Was she involved with Professor Coke
Norris in that capacity?

A while ago, she was sent to meet
this man in a mews in Bayswater.

Sent by whom?
Someone from where she worked.

She had to collect a key
from a cubbyhole at Baidley.

Whose cubbyhole?
The Master's.

Frobisher's?
How did you know that?

Because I was with her
when she picked it up.

How was that?

You were...

particular friends, would it be?

You wouldn't be the first to have
their head turned by a working girl.

I went with her to London, I kept
out of the way.

And the man arrived.

It turned out that he was to do with
the Town Hall.

He'd had a lot to drink and he'd
started talking...

well, bragging about some deal
that the council had going.

Booth Hill?

He said that he stood to make
a packet,

only there was a don at the college
trying to stop it going through.

Professor Coke Norris.
That was the weird thing.

You see, it was Coke Norris's flat
that we were in.

How could you know that?
There were photos there...

of him and his wife
and their daughter.

But from the way that this man was
talking...

it sounded as if he had it in for the
Professor, I mean, really had it in.

You tried to warn Coke Norris?

You wrote your number down on a matchbook and
slipped it to him, asked him to call. Did he?

He dropped by our flat
on the way home from college

the day that he got knocked down.

I told him what I'd heard.

This man from the Town Hall...
did he have a name?

Carlisle.

Sexual favours?
That's a scandalous allegation.

In return for what?

Making sure the purchase of Booth Hill
from Baidley goes through without a hitch.

And seeing the construction contract
is awarded to the right bidder.

Who is she, this girl I'm supposed
to have been carrying on with?

You'd have known her as
Judy Vallens.

Her real name is Georgina Bannard.

You met her in a flat in Bayswater
a couple of months ago.

We found her body this morning.

She'd been shot
in the back of the head.

The people you've got involved with are
very dangerous individuals, Mr Carlisle.

I'd urge you to cooperate with
our enquiries. We can protect you.

I don't need protecting.

I've done nothing wrong.

Unless you're here to charge me with
something, I've nothing else to say.

I'd think about that, if I were you.

A short spell inside's better than
eternity in a wooden box.

You know where to reach us
if you change your mind.

This flat of yours in London,
Mrs Coke Norris.

Unless you've any objection, I'd like
to send Constable Morse to take a look.

No, of course not.

But Alistair hasn't been there in
weeks.

No? When was he last there?

We went to the proms in September.

Really? What was the programme?

A Haffner and Mahler 4.

Is it important?

Only in so far as I wanted to go...
but without success.

Well, you missed out.
It was quite wonderful.

We stayed up for the weekend,
saw Audrey,

caught the first train back
early on Monday morning.

How often do you visit your
daughter? Every week, if I can.

On the same day each week or
different days? The same day.

So someone watching your movements

might be able to guess
when your husband might be alone?

I suppose they could, yes.

Mrs Carter?

Mrs Wilkins, I see.

But I am right in thinking
you were a Mrs Carter?

He looked out for us after Mickey
was killed. Inspector Thursday?

He sent me money
at the end of each month.

Right up until
when I got married again.

He'd taken Mickey under his wing,
see.

From a young constable.

Only that night...

Mickey went to see this informant
by himself.

It turned out he'd been set up.

It'd have only been a beating,
everyone said.

But whoever it was went too far.

Mr Thursday blamed himself.

I told him there was no need
but he wouldn't have it.

Then when nobody got charged and they
started saying what they did about Mickey...

things got bad.

Fred had a young family himself.

He had to look out for them,
make sure they were kept safe.

Enjoying that sandwich?

It's all right.

Do you come here often?

Joan, ain't it?

Who wants to know?

You're from down the Moonlight.

Yeah, that's right.

Vince.

Can you give a little message
to your old man for me?

You tell him...

If you've got something to say to
my dad, you can tell him yourself.

If you can find the guts.

Ah, matey.

That envelope you had in London, Forensics
confirms it was Coke Norris's handwriting.

It was sent last post
the night he died.

Thanks.

Looks like Miss Vallens is on
the level, sir.

Georgina Bannard had a string of
soliciting convictions to her name.

I say her name truth is, she gave a
different alias every time she got nicked.

Marion Childs, June Buckridge,
Betty Brinker.

Right.

Better let Mr Bright know
where we are.

You didn't tell him... the old man?

About the other night
with Joanie at the Moonlight?

Oh...

I would have if it was you.

No, you wouldn't.

Look...

you've got your Sergeant's coming up
tomorrow.

What if I could get you a look
at the exam paper?

If you don't pass, you'll be stuck on
general enquiries for another year.

Is that what you want?

I'm trying to do you a favour.

No.

You're trying to buy me off.

If you want to do me a favour...

don't mess her about.

All right?

Yeah, that's my scrawl.

I picked him up from Wolsey Gardens.

Old boy, 50s, a don, I took him for.

How come?

On account of the briefcase.

I remember him cos he gave me
a ten bob tip.

What time was this?

Round half-seven.

Where did you take him?

The station. Wait and return.

I took it he must be meeting someone,
only he wasn't in there five minutes.

There we are, sir.

Thank you very much.

385.

One moment.

Here we are, sir.

Thank you.

I thought we had Professor
Coke Norris's briefcase.

So did whoever killed him,
but there were two.

The one found in the next street
to where he was run over and this.

Where did you come by it? In the
left-luggage office at the station.

That's what the raffle ticket was
for.

He got a taxi there on the way to
Baidley College.

He goes into the station with the first
briefcase, leaves this one inside,

then comes out carrying the same one he
went in with no-one watching any the wiser.

So what's in it? I haven't had
a chance to examine it in detail,

but it appears to be a list of
financial transactions,

specifically every bribe and backhander
Coke Norris was able to uncover

between Baidley College
and the council.

The council? I thought I'd made
Division's views on this quite clear?

I haven't had a chance to put Morse
in the picture as yet, sir.

Let me save you the trouble.

How the council and the college conduct
their business is a matter for them.

Even if it involves corrupt
practices?

You've said yourself, you don't have
time to examine this dossier in detail.

What at first glance may appear
suspect

might turn out on further
examination to be quite innocent.

I'm sure the Master at Baidley will be
able to clear up any misunderstanding.

The Master at Baidley is not to be troubled
further and that is my final word on the subject!

Coke Norris may have been onto something
between the council and the college,

but there's nothing in here
which ties the deal up with Kasper.

He's involved.
Don't you worry about that.

He's in it up to his neck.

'Hast seen the white whale?'

My Joan say what she was doing
at the Moonlight the other night?

Works night out.
Girls from the bank.

How come you were there?

I was working on the case...

looking for Georgina Bannard.

After I'd told you to steer clear?

Look, I don't need protecting, sir.

Don't you?
No.

I won't end up like Mickey Carter.

What would you know about it?

I saw his widow.

You did what?
Yeah, when I was in London.

Going behind my back.

No, sir, doing my job.

Your job's what I say it is.
You'd no business.

If it has a bearing on the case,
then it is my business.

You weren't gonna tell me.

Was it Vic Kasper?

Couldn't prove it.

Investigations started turning up
Mickey had been on the take.

He hadn't, of course,
it was a fit-up.

But the brass didn't want to know.

They brushed it under the carpet.

You wouldn't let that go?

Oh, I let it go, all right.

To my shame.

I walked away and let them bury Mickey
Carter's good name along with his body.

They come at you through what you
care about.

That's why you moved to Oxford?

More or less.

But this is where it stops.

You were right.

It wasn't the Army...

where I learnt to shoot.

When I was 12...

the first Christmas...

after my mother...

my father bought me a pistol.

He used to take me out on the common
after rabbits.

Make a man.

How are you settling in?

I've an unpleasant feeling of dead
man's shoes.

Just boxing up the last of
Al's stuff.

Do you have a minute?
Actually, I'm a bit pushed for time.

I said I'd take Millie
to the undertaker's.

Have you any idea how the Master
may have come by the key

to Professor Coke Norris's flat
in London?

Dr Kern?

It's just college gossip.

Some time ago, Alistair loaned
Frobisher the key to their London flat.

He had some symposium to attend.

But...

the Master took advantage
somewhat.

He had a second key cut?

And made it available to those fellows
who needed a place to stay in London.

Married fellows?

I suppose intimate knowledge
of his colleagues' affairs

wouldn't do the Master any harm
when it came to a vote on Booth Hill.

Blackmail, you mean?

It's a way of persuading any waiverers
sympathetic to Coke Norris's cause.

Come on, Maurie.

You're not gonna throw something
at me again, are you?

Flag of truce. I'm offering
a ceasefire.

What ceasefire?

48 hours head start, chance to wind things up
and be on your way, before we come after you.

Come after me for what?
I told you, I'm retired.

We've got Coke Norris's briefcase,
Vic.

It's all there in black and white, every bent deal
you put together to land the Booth Hill contract.

You been on the funny fags?

I don't want anyone else getting
hurt.

So that's the offer.
Take it or leave it.

Can I open the box?

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

But I'll tell you this.
I'm going nowhere.

Your Joan not spoke to you yet?

What about my Joan?

I guess not.

She was down here the other night
with that copper.

What copper?

That boy of yours.

Made a nice couple, I thought.

You what?

You talking about Morse?

It must weigh on a father,
that kind of responsibility.

She's a good-looking girl.

It'd be a tragedy...

But you can't be there to watch them
all the time, can you?

Those papers you've got on
Booth Hill.

I want them today.

That's how things are gonna go
from here on, Fred.

You better get used to it.

I want a word with you in private.

Sorry, sir. Morse's sister.

Joycie?

Calm down.

I'll be there soon as I can.

Got your ticket?
Yeah.

Sorry about this, it's probably just
another false alarm.

Family. A man only gets one father.

We'll manage.

What was it you wanted to talk to me
about?

It'll keep.

I know you went out with Joan
the other night.

Be good to her.

Right.

You're back. The way you went out this morning,
I didn't get a chance to do your sandwiches.

Have you got time now?

No, I just popped back to get
my pipe.

I left it in the shed.

I'll do you a quick round.

Fred?

I can't believe how many of these
Alistair's had out of the library.

Not the Agamemnon, though.

That was a present from Andrew Maidenhead,
the junior man before you.

My young admirer,
if you can believe such a thing.

Why wouldn't I?

He was a sweet boy but in the end I had to
have Alistair talk to the Master about him.

Heavens! Let me help.

No, no, I'm fine.

You've got to give them
what they want.

Start down that road,
there's no end to it.

This is Joan they're threatening!

I won't let anything happen.

You've got my word.

All right?

Something from Companies House
for Morse.

It found its way onto my desk marked
'urgent'.

I'm afraid his father's
taken a turn for the worse, sir.

I see. Where the hell is everyone?

Two bob a pack and you're laughing.
It's easy money.

There you are.

Where's Vic?

It's just me.

It's the engineer I'm here for,
not the oily rag.

You ain't got what I told you
to get you here for nothing.

Where's the papers?

In safekeeping.

Fetch him now.

You think you're walking out
of here?

I know you're not,
nor is your old man.

After that, I don't much care.

Whoa, whoa!

Fred?
I told you to clear out, Vic.

Now it's this.

Wait a minute. What for?

How about Coke Norris? No?

All right.

Try the young girl we found
with a bullet in her skull.

I'm retired, I told you.

Carter, then.
We can agree on Carter.

All fair's, Fred, water under.

Threatening my Joan?

Water under?

That's none of mine.
Bad luck for you, then.

Sir.

Don't, he's telling the truth.
Stay out of this, Morse.

Thank God, someone with some sense.

What's this?

Papers?
After a fashion.

These are the articles of association
for Landersmine Construction.

Hold on.

Four shareholders, equal partners.

Sid and Gerald Fletcher,
your son Vince and Cynthia Riley.

What?

I don't know nothing about this,
Vic. Vince!

Tell him.

She don't, Dad. Cyn's been loyal.

I put it in her name as a surprise
for you.

You would have been surprised.

Your son's put together a firm at the
Fletchers' to build houses on Booth Hill.

No law against it.
No.

But there is a law against bribing
public officials.

Cheques to the sum of �6,000 drawn
against the account of Landersmine
Construction

have been cashed over the past 12
months

by Mark Carlisle senior planning
officer in the Housing Department.

It's between me and the boy, Fred.

You let me straighten him out.
Can't do it, Vic.

Police, nobody move!
Drop the guns!

Guns down!

All in order, Thursday?

Yes, sir.

All in order.

Morse?

Vince Kasper, I'm arresting you for
conspiring to bribe a public official.

You don't have to say anything but
anything you do say may be written down

and can be given in evidence
against you.

Strange.

We'll also need you to come down the
station for questioning, Miss Riley.

Go back to London, Mr Kasper.

Oxford's not for you.

Workhouse rules.

I put you on a train.

I got off.

So if it wasn't Vince or Vic who did
for Coke Norris and the girl,

we're back to where we started.

Yes.

Exactly where we started.

Mrs Coke Norris?

Oh, Inspector.

Constable Morse.

The front door was already open.
Come in, do.

One or two questions we need to put
to you about your husband's death.

Of course. Please.

The morning of the day he was killed,
you took a train to London the 10:40?

Right. And the day you came back,
what train did you catch?

The er...9:50.

So you'd have left your flat at what
time, about half-past nine?

Around that, yes.

After the first post.
Oh, er... yes.

But when I visited your London flat, I found
a letter addressed to your husband on the mat.

It would have arrived that morning.

I'm curious why didn't you bring it
back to Oxford with you for him?

Isn't the truth of it that you caught the train
up to London but returned to Oxford that same day

in the car kept at your mews flat?

Of course not, that's ridiculous.

How could I? I don't even drive.

No, you don't have a licence.

But you did drive an ambulance
in the war.

You think I ran Alistair over?
No.

You knew your husband was going to Baidley
College that evening so followed him.

You lured him into the car
under some pretext or other.

You drove him out of town
to some private place,

where you stalled the car or otherwise
engineered a mechanical fault.

Ridiculously late.

You got him back into the car,
then found a quiet street in Oxford

where you dumped his body to be taken
for the victim of a hit-and-run.

The squeal of brakes was
a nice touch.

But you almost ruined it.

You'd dumped his body but overlooked his
briefcase and driven back with it to London.

So you took an early train back to
Oxford and left it in the street.

That's why you missed the first post.
You'd left before it arrived.

Why would I hurt Alistair?

Because you'd become infatuated with
Ian Kern to the point of obsession.

In your head, you'd created
the fantasy of a future together.

When the land sale arose, you saw
a way of financing that delusion.

As a junior fellow, Dr Kern stood to gain nothing
from the deal but what if he became a senior?

Professor Coke Norris confided
every detail of his campaign to you.

We were of one mind.

Even so, you must have been alarmed
when he told you of a pupil

who had vital information whereby
the land sale might be derailed.

You followed Judy Vallens,
found out where she lived.

But you made the same error
that we did

and mistook her flatmate,
Georgina Bannard, for Miss Vallens.

You shot her in the head.

You shot her, then returned to her flat for her
clothes to create the impression she'd gone.

Where's your evidence
for any of this charade?

You told me the last time your
husband was in London was for a prom,

the Haffner and the Mahler 4.

That concert took place
on Friday 3rd September,

the same weekend your car was in
for its annual service.

The car was returned from a garage
in Mayfair on the Monday morning.

According to you, it has been parked
outside your mews ever since.

Right.
Right.

So how do you explain
the difference in mileage

between the total written down in the log
book after its service and its current total,

a distance of 120-odd miles, roughly that
of a round trip from London to Oxford?

If you transported your husband in
the car, there will be evidence

a spot of blood on the carpet, in the
crack between the seat and the back rest.

Mrs Coke Norris, you've killed two people,
all for some delusional fantasy of a romance

with someone
who finds your attentions oppressive.

Ian loved me.

He did.

I know he did. He just needed time.

Perhaps you'd like to get your coat.

Actually, I think I should like
to sit down for a moment.

Sir?

Where's Dr Kern?

Mrs Coke Norris?

In the study.

After all I'd done.
After all I'd done.

Call an ambulance.

This is DC Morse, Oxford Police.

I need an ambulance...

Morse?

All right, watch yourself
on these steps.

Agh!
Come on.

I've made as best a running repair
as I can.

But you really need to go to
Casualty.

I don't have time.

The doctor said we should talk
to you.

Anything you need?

I'll be back in a few days.

It's a pity you didn't come and see
me a bit sooner.

The leg will mend,

but in middle-age you may well find
yourself saddled with a limp.

Nothing serious, just if you're
overtired or the weather turns.