All language subtitles for endeavour.s06e03.1080p.bluray.x264-turmoil-eng

♪ In the still of the night '

♪ I drift away '

(fire roaring)

♪ And in that twilight hour

♪ I hear you say

♪ We'll meet again

♪ As true lovers do

♪ But 'til we meet again

♪ I'll dream of you

♪ With every breath

♪ I dream of you

♪ With every thought

(whistle blowing)

♪ I dream of you

♪ I dream you're mine

♪ 'Til the end of time

♪ 'Til then

♪ I'll dream of you, of you

♪ The moonlight
doesn't thrill me

♪ The stars
have lost their charm...

(dog barking,
milk bottles clattering)

Morning, Mr. Clamp.

Letty.

Just the one... airmail.

♪ ...when you're
not in my arms...

Nothing today,
Mr. Carraway.

♪ But then
sometimes I find...

(phone ringing)

Chigton 3782,
veterinary surgery.

♪ ...peace of mind' ♪

♪ When I dream of you '

♪ When I dream of you

♪ I dream of you.

(gunshot)

(dog barking in distance)

(people chattering)

You're not dressed.

I'm going to cry off.

Bit of a head.

CLEMMIE:
Nonsense.

Bit of fresh air

put some color in your cheeks,
do you good.

Curling up with a good book
will do me better.

Pa won't like it.

Well, he'll have to not
like it, then, won't he?

Have a wonderful time.

Hounds, please.

(playing bugle, dogs barking)

Aye-aye, matey, doc.

What's the what?

Overdose, looks to be.

That'll be the fourth
since August.

Three others across Division.

Choked on his own puke, has he?

Been at the keats
again, Sergeant?

Yes, choked on his own puke,

or asphyxia appears the
most likely cause of death.

Furthers and betters
once I've had a fillet.

Shall we say
2:00, Morse?

Oh, I can't... I'm seeing
a flat at 2:00.

I can cover for you.

Give you the gen, if
there's anything comes up.

As you please.

Thanks.

Sergeant.

What's with the flat?

I thought you were
at the Section House.

I'm just a bit long in the tooth
for rugby songs

and bare backsides
in the hallway.

I need my own four walls.

Expect he could've done
with a bit of that.

Probably had it once, in all.

Missus, too, maybe.

Kids.
Who knows?

Keep your ear to the ground.

Hear anything else,
you know where to find me.

(dogs barking)

(horse hooves beating)

(dogs barking)

(indistinct chatter)

(horse neighing)

Rup.

Rup!

(horse neighing)

Bucephalus is lame.

Give me Old Glory.

Aww.

ENDEAVOUR:
No ID on the victim.

But I found these.

Any leads on heroin?

That truck stop out on
the Bainbridge Road maybe.

Lorries coming in
from the continent.

Been a few rocker
types mooching about.

Something and nothing.

RUPERT:
ls your father there?

Pa's horse has gone lame.

If you'd let him know when he
returns, Mrs. Fairford,

I'd be very grateful.

Yes, I think it
might be quite bad.

Thank you.

Good-bye.

Sarah?

(bell chiming)

Morning, Farmer Bell.

(engine fading in distance)

(dogs barking)

(indistinct chatter)

(chattering, laughter)

Mmm!

Sir!

Master Murray!

(horse nickering)

Easy, old boy.

Easy, easy, easy.

Shh.

(various people calling "Pa!")

RUPERT:
Here!

Here!

(crying)

JAGO: Deceased is one
Greville Creswell, boss,

according to the local bobby.

TH U RS DAY:
CreswelPs sweets?

They're out Chigton Green
way, aren't they?

What, Milky Boy and all that?

Mr. Creswell
owned the company.

The factory's a mile
or so outside the village.

He lived at Creswell Hall,
a few miles up the road.

Right.

Start the ball rolling.

He was Master of
the Chigton Hunt.

His horse went lame,
so he borrowed Rupert's,

his youngest son.

THURSDAY:
Doctor.

MAX:
Ah, gentlemen.

One shot to the left
side of the chest,

which presumably knocked him
out of the saddle.

Unlikely he'd have survived

without urgent
medical attention.

And the coup de grace
to the head from point blank.

Shotgun?

Yes.

12 bore by the look of things.

Anything as to time?

2:39.

One of the balls
smashed his wristwatch.

You make a start on the locals.

Particulars and
preliminary alibis for now.

Who was where
between 2:00 and 3:00.

Anything we should know
about the family?

No, sir, all very well liked.

All got on, did they?

As far as I know, sir.

(car doors shutting)

(doorbell rings)

Detective Inspector Thursday,
Thames Valley.

Detective Sergeant Morse.

Murray Creswell.
How do you do?

My wife Clemmie,
my younger brother Rupert,

and his fiancée Sarah.

Our condolences.

Thank you.
Thank you very much.

Yes, it's been an enormous
shock, as you can imagine.

THURSDAY:
I'm sure.

Nevertheless, there are
some questions

we'll need to ask to find out
who did this to your father.

Of course.

Is there a
Mrs. Creswell Senior?

Ma?
No, Ma died six years ago.

Much missed.

At least she didn't live
to see this day.

No.
No, there's that.

May I offer you
some refreshment?

Tea?
Something stronger?

Not for me, thank you.

Can I start by asking you

where you were between the hours
of 2:30 and 3:00, say'?

We'll also need to
talk to the staff here.

But we're not bloody
suspects, for God's sake.

I'm sure it's just procedure.

I was on my way back to
the house with Pa's horse.

I suppose I got back here

about half past 1:00,
quarter to 2:00.

Walked Bucephalus
round the stable.

I called Shepherd, the vet.

And that was about it, really.

MURRAY:
Clemmie and I

were out with the hunt,
somewhere toward Pigstanton.

Was that the same for you,
Miss...

Clamp.
No.

I had a headache.
I didn't go out, stayed here.

I thought you said
you went for a walk.

In the end, I went for
a turn around the grounds,

see if I could shake it off.

Next thing I knew,
everyone was back.

Can anyone vouch for you?

I didn't run into any of the
staff, if that's what you mean.

Did Mr. Creswell
have any enemies?

No.

No troubles at work?

Good heavens, no.

Pa was a very fair employer.

Creswell's is a family firm.

We've always been taught
to look on the workers

as part of the family.

ENDEAVOUR: We've heard talk of a
possible takeover by Gidbury's.

Anything in that?

It wouldn't have
been a takeover.

More of a partnership...
Creswell and Gidbury.

And how long
would that have lasted?

Gidbury's would've

sold us to
Consolidated Foodstuffs

the first chance they got...
An American firm.

Who will be head
of the company now?

CLEMMIE:
Really?

Is that something to ask today?

MURRAY: It's not
something we've discussed.

We thought Pa would go on

for a long time yet.

Ru and I both work there,
but on different sides

of the company.

Pa had the final say

in all things.

TH U RS DAY:
There's Jago.

I'll speak to this vet,
Shepherd, see if

Rupert Creswell's
story stands up.

Right.

S'?

So, Greville Creswell.

No, he's not been
formally identified yet.

Anything to go on?

Well, nothing that we want
to see in the papers.

Do you know the place?

More or less.

Well somewhere like it,
at least.

If you want the real inside
gen on Chigton Green,

you could do worse
than talk to Miss Ling,

our advice columnist.

"Dear Worried
Brown Eyes..."

She's very good.
I'm sure.

If you could pass
her number to PC Potter,

the local bobby.

Only got a P.O.
box for her.

She's a bit of a mystery.

Values her anonymity.

Don't we all.

(knocking)

Hello... Detective Sergeant
Morse, Thames Valley.

Miss...

Mrs. Fairford.

Won't you come in?

Thank you.

Is this about what
happened with Grev Creswell?

It's all round the place.

No secrets here, I'm afraid.

Village life.

Yes, yes, it is.

That's Henry,

my little boy.

Dad's with a patient.

I'll let him know you're here.

Oh, thank you.

I shan't keep you.

Dad, a policeman's
here to see you.

Let's see... I had lunch here
at the surgery with Isla.

Mm-hmm.

But I was on my way
to Mr. Swann's farm

by about 'LOO-sh.

And I'd left again
by, what, about 3:00?

And I telephoned here to see
if there'd been any more calls.

And that's when Isla
told me about Bucephalus.

And so you know
Mr. Creswell well?

Not really, no.

I've looked after their animals
since we first moved to Chigton

in '63, but I can't
really say I know any of them.

Oh, apart from
Sarah Clamp, of course...

I know her slightly.

How's that?

I used to have a small animal
practice at Upper Pembury.

She's a cousin there, Rufus.

Nice boy, rather highly strung.

Anyway, he's done well
for himself.

He's at Oxford now.

His mother had

a very overfed Pekingese.

I must have run into Sarah

once or twice over there.

Nice girl.

Old Ezekiel says
he saw Farmer Bell,

Rennett Bell, making his way
up into the Hangman's Wood

with a shotgun
just after half-2:00.

Anything between
Bell and Creswell?

Not that I know of.

Ren's a moody sod
at the best of times.

Take a run out there,
have a word with Bell.

See what he was doing
out in the woods.

You been out this way long?

Five years, more or less.

Decent beat?

I like it.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Just people going
about their business.

Oh, take the next left.

Christ.

Call it in.

Call it in, Constable.

POTTER: Information Room
from four two nine two.

Urgent assistance
required at Bell's Farm.

You're not going in?

He's armed!

DISPATCHER ON RADIO: Do you
require medical assistance?

ENDEAVOUR:
Hello?

Hello, Mr. Bell?

It's the police!

Is there anybody there?

I'm coming up the stairs!

(bird screeching)

(exhales sharply)

Looks to have taken
both barrels in the back

at fairly short range.

Massive hemorrhaging
and heaven knows what

damage to her organs.

Death would have been
more or less instantaneous.

Between eight and 12 hours ago.

Well, she's in her work uniform.

POTTER:
Yeah, she...

She... she worked at Creswell's.

Well if she clocked on
at 8:30, 9:00,

that would make it
7:30, 8:00 this morning.

What about him upstairs?

Oh, no... much later.

Three to four hours ago.

THURSDAY: He had a history of
violence, you say?

Constable?

All right?

Yeah, yeah.

Just that...

JAGO:
You knew her?

Bad luck.

He was violent, Bell?

Yeah, but nothing like this.

Ren was just a brawler
when the drinks were in him.

And never with women.

JAGO:
So what do you make to it then?

Man kills his wife
and then another bloke,

usually only one reason
behind it.

JAGO:
And himself into the bargain.

What about her next of kin?

POTTER:
Her brother's in the village.

Michael Murphy, the baker.
You want me to take you across?

THURSDAY:
No, no, you're all right.

We'll manage.

Keep Sergeant Morse company

while he finishes up here.

He'll run you to the village.

But we're done, aren't we?

Pays to be thorough, Sergeant.

See you back at the ranch.

MAX:
Is this your sister,

Mandy-Jane Bell?

We know your sister
worked at the sweet factory.

Is it possible she was
involved with Greville Creswell?

Mandy was a wild girl,
but I can't believe

she'd carry on with anyone
behind Ren's back.

And certainly not Creswell.

Can you think of anything

that could have led her
husband to do what he did?

No.

No, he must've gone mad.

POTTER: "Your wife is
sleeping with Creswell."

To the point.

ENDEAVOR: It's not the
first you've seen like that?

With the Happy Families card?

You get letters like this

in any town or village.

These always come
with one of them in.

Calling card, you might say.

How many is always?

Once a week or so.

Since when?

January maybe.

Started after Sarah Clamp's
grandmother died.

Natural causes,
the inquest found.

Only the Clamps got a letter
to say that Mr. Carraway

had sold the old girl
some bad fish.

Anything in it?

Well, I wouldn't have said.

I would have thought it was
just some troublemaker.

But since then
we've had all sorts.

Different envelopes,
but always typed.

And always with
an Oxford postmark?

Which doesn't make any sense.

Because whoever sent them
knows the village.

SHEPHERD:
Isla, do you have

Mr. Cobb the Baker?

Henry, do you have
Master Cobb the baker's son?

Oh, no!

(laughing)

You are good to me, Puli.

Nonsense.

But you are.

If you say so.

How was London?

Ilookedin
at the R.A.

French paintings since 1900.

And was it lovely?

It was, rather.

You know, I was thinking
I might get someone in.

Were you?

For the garden.

I thought perhaps I might
put in some jasmine.

What do you think?

We used to have a whole
lump of the stuff

at the Hill Station.
Do you remember?

You always said you...
you liked the smell.

My dear, was it
something I said?

What is it, then, my dear?

Hmm?

What's upset you?

I don't think...

I've been a very good wife.

No man ever had a better.

Looks a bit like Greville
Creswell, don't you think?

JAGO:
What's this?

Something Morse found
at Bell's farm.

We're done with Chigton Green,
aren't we?

Two victims, one killer.
Bob's your mother's fancy man.

Somebody wrote Bell
a poison pen letter

claiming that his wife
was sleeping with Creswell.

So?

So, well, what if she wasn't?

Well, you've only got her
brother's word for that.

It's what Bell thought
that matters.

We'll take a run
out to the factory,

talk to the Creswells.

BOX:
If it makes you feel better,

but I don't want any more time
spending on this

than we have to.

This is about as
open and shut as it gets.

And what if the next person
to get one of these

poison pen letters reacts in
the same way as Rennett Bell?

What then?

RUPERT:
Good morning.

Sorry to have kept you waiting.

If you'd like to follow me,
Murray's waiting

in the boardroom.

THURSDAY:
Had your father been in receipt

of any of these anonymous
letters doing the rounds?

If it were the case,
he never mentioned it

to either of us.

How about yourselves?

No, Why?

Rennett Bell received one

alleging an affair between
your father and Mrs. Bell.

An affair?

You think that's why...
That's preposterous.

Pa was old enough
to be her father,

I doubt he even knew her name.

I'd be very grateful if you'd
keep all that to yourselves.

Pa's death has sent
the share price tumbling.

Any lower, we'd be liable to a
hostile takeover from Gidbury's.

How long had Mrs. Bell
been working here?

Ayear or two.

You'd have to ask Miss Neal
in Personnel for details.

Ru can take you down there.

THURSDAY: Sergeant Morse was
tells me you've been here

over a hundred years.

Yes, yes, indeed... 1832.

I suppose things really got
going in the Great Exhibition

with the launch of the
Happy Family Assortment Box.

Became a bit of a craze...
Collect them all.

And Mr. Chou the confectioner
is a caricature of your father,

lbefieve?

That's right.

Traditionally, they've been
based on the workers

and villagers hereabouts.

All in good fun, of course.
And we do ask permission.

We get the odd grump,
but most people take it

as a bit of an honor.

This way please.

MISS NEAL:
Mrs. Bell

had been with us 18 months.

Only part time.

Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Reliable?

Well, I see from her records
that she had to be reprimanded

earlier after
the Christmas party.

For what?

She'd drunk rather too much,
and was indiscreet

about Mr. Rupert's fiancée.

Miss Clamp?

In what way?

Miss Clamp used to work
at the factory.

So what happened?

I don't know
exactly what went on,

but it ended up with Sarah
throwing a drink over her.

And would Mrs. Bell
have anything to do

with Mr. Creswell Senior?

No.

She worked in the jelly room.

Has the company received
any of these poison pen letters

that have been doing the rounds?

The company hasn't, but there's
many of the staff have.

I've had a few letters myself.

Did you show them
to Constable Potter?

I couldn't very well,
seeing as he's the subject

of one of them.

It came with a Mr. Truncheon
the Policeman card,

and intimated
Mandy-Jane and he were...

ls there anything in that?

They were an item once...

but I think
she disappointed him.

If Mandy-Jane Bell was carrying
on with Greville Creswell,

the family certainly
didn't know about it.

What about her workmates?

None that we spoke to.

They said she was high-spirited,

a bit of a handful.

But that she was devoted to him,

even though he was
a difficult type.

You'd think if she was
knocking off the boss,

she might've let slip
to her colleagues.

Can't see her keeping it quiet.

Not in a place like that
where everyone knows

each other's business.

It was a lie, then,
whoever sent the letter.

No way to know that
Bell would react the way he did.

But what if they did know?

Potter said Bell
could be violent,

unpredictable.

What if that's
what they gambled on?

That he'd go mad
and kill his wife

and Creswell into the bargain?

Well, it's a possibility,
isn't it?

What if whoever wrote the letter
was pointing him at Creswell,

hoping he'd react
the way he did?

Why would they?

Well, there's a lot of
worry in the area

about the potential
of the company moving away.

I don't know.
Feels off to me.

Me too.

The long and the short is
Rennett Bell did for them both.

Anything else is
just speculation.

Put it to bed.

Well, I don't think
that we've heard the last of it.

Noted.

Meantime,

there's a sudden
with your name on it come in

over Hescott College.

Jago's got the gen.

Livener, Fred?

Yeah.

Yeah, why not?

(bell tolling)

I'm sorry.

It's all a bit coppery,
I'm afraid.

Appropriately enough.

Just a hint of sucrose.

Oh, must you?

It's a bloodbath,
not a Cotes du Rhone.

What's the, uh...

Chap called Bura.

Rufus Bura.

Research fellow, apparently.

Anything suspicious?

Medically, I can't really
comment until after the PM,

but it all looks
pretty textbook.

A couple of tentative slashes

on the left wrist
before screwing his courage

to the sticking place.

Aspirin and brandy
for literal good measure.

Otherwise, A/les in Ordnung.

Mahler.

No solipsistic impulse
knowingly overlooked.

People do despair, Morse.

Hmm.

You don't say.

It'd gone, the flat.

The 1:00 viewing took it.

Oh, bad luck.

I'm thinking of looking
a little further out.

How fan's further'?

There's a place in
Chigton Green to let.

Looks quite nice.

Well, all the best with it.

How did you get on
with the derelict

the other morning?

Oh, no surprises there.

Asphyxia... inhaled
his own vomitus.

Doesn't sound any
better in Latin.

Blood results
came in this morning.

Heroin cut with quinine
to about the same ratio

as the other overdoses.

Same supplier, then.
Or dealer, at least.

I've copied in James Strange.

He asked... I trust that was all right.
Mm-hmm.

Dental and
fingerprints attached.

Still unidentified, I presume?

Mmm.
Soldier, possibly.

Known unto God.

(bells tolling)

(door opening)

THURSDAY:
Home.

Oh, off out, are you?

You know I am.

I was thinking,

maybe we could go away somewhere

for a week or two.

I've got some leave due.

What with?

Washers?

What's this?

Oh, just some chocolates.

You used to like Happy Family.

Creswell's.

That's right.

Didn't one of them get killed?

I read about it in the papers
this morning.

We were up the factory
earlier, me and Morse.

They've got
a little kiosk there.

I just saw them
and thought of you.

You needn't have.

I wanted to.

Put me in mind of when
we'd settle down in here

with the kids of a Saturday
to watch the big film.

You remember?

Joanie and Sam were always
after you for the card.

You'd give one one week
and the other the next.

Remember?

Still got them somewhere,
I expect.

Well, they'd be
worth something now.

To who?

Somebody.

Tat.

I should throw them
all away, really.

Win...

I won't be late.

No.

(door opens)

All right.

(door shuts)

ENDEAVOUR:
And I found this in the grate.

I mean, there's not
much of it left.

Looks like it's been burned.

But to me it looks like
a Happy Families card.

Not that again.

The letter sent to Farmer Bell

did have an Oxford postmark.

You know how many
Happy Family cards

are out there?

Tens of thousands.

Hundreds of thousands.

THURSDAY:
What's this?

BOX: That sudden I
sent him on at Hescott.

Suicide, fellow called Bura.

Morse has got it into his head
he's something to do

with what happened to Creswell.

ENDEAVQUR:
The vet, Shepherd,

said he knew Sarah Clamp
through a cousin of hers

at Upper Pembury
who's now in Oxford.

The family had a Pekingese
he used to treat.

There's a photograph
on Bura's desk

of him with a woman
and a Pekingese.

So who's this Sarah Clamp?

Daughter of the
village greengrocer.

She's set to marry
Rupert Creswell.

Anything untoward
about the Bura suicide?

Not according to Dr. DeBryn.

I spoke to a Rhodes scholar
that Bura played rugby with,

name of Clinton.

He said Rufus
kept himself to himself.

No girlfriend that we know off.

You've got a call
from that local yokel,

Potter.

Excuse me.

All typed, standard paper,
Oxford postmark.

Always a second-class stamp.

And all from
"A. Wellwisher."

As I said, I sent them off

for fingerprinting after
the first few come through.

And anything?

Nothing on them, bar
those they were sent to

and anyone they'd shown them to.

And John, of course.

HAZEL:
Rich asked my advice.

Trying to nail down where they
went into the postal system.

Any luck?

HAZEL: Well, we narrowed it
down to a few boxes in Oxford,

but never the same box twice

and never the same day
two weeks running.

And we even kept a watch
on one or two of the post boxes

for a bit, on our own time,

but we never saw
who posted them.

POTTER:
Poor old Rufus.

ENDEAVOUR:
Mmm.

Did he come to the village much?

Yeah, before he went to Oxford.

Not that he was too well liked.

Little Lord Fauntleroy,
the lads used to call him.

Seems a bit cruel.

Well, people are.

He'd been a bit
of a crybaby at school.

Telltale tit.

Always had his nose stuck
in some book or another.

But he'd drop by
and see Sarah regular.

Was a bit lonely, I expect.

Now, you and Mandy-Jane Bell.

I believe you were...

something?

Where'd you hear that?

Yeah, for a bit.

Right.

And did Bell know?

Well, not unless she told him.

Look, it was years ago
when we were kids.

(bicycle bell chimes)

That's why I
didn't mentioned it.

Far as I was concerned,
it was all water

under the bridge.

No hard feelings?

I knew I was just
a distraction for her.

Easy come, easy go.

All right.

(sighs)

ENDEAVOUR:
Mrs. Clamp?

Hello, I'm Detective
Sergeant Morse.

Thames Valley.

It's all right, Cec, police.

It's about your
nephew, Rufus Bura.

Rufus?
What about him?

Rufus was found dead this
morning at Hescott College.

Dead?

Well, it would appear that
he has taken his own life.

Now, of course

we'll notify our
colleagues in Australia,

but I thought your
sister might prefer

to hear it from you.

Oh, poor Brenda.

This will break her heart.

When did you see him last?

Easter.
He come by for Easter.

But I spoke to him
every week, more or less.

Sunday he calls.

Him and Sarah have always
been very close, you see.

And since Brenda went abroad,

well, we're his
only family near.

And the last time you spoke
to him, how did he seem?

Was anything troubling him?

Nothing on his mind?

Normal, same as ever.

Right.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Oh, of course.

Will you excuse me?
I'd better call Brenda.

Of course.
My condolences.

(chattering)

Hello.

Oh, hello.

I didn't think I'd see you again
after Bell's farm.

I've just been over
to see Mrs. Clamp,

the greengrocer.

It's about her nephew.

Rufus?

Do you know him?
Hello.

He came into the surgery
once in while with his dog.

Why?

It's about the
poison pen letters.

Henry, go and sit
on the blanket.

I don't suppose you or your
father have received any?

Someone sent one to
my neighbor, Miss Neal.

Miss Neal.

Miss Neal who works
at Creswell's?

In the personnel
department, that's right.

So it wasn't to me, as such,

but...

But it was about you.

(exhales)

"Miss Pett, the Vet's daughter."

If you were to ask my father

about Henry and me, he'd
tell you that I was widowed.

Death, that's respectable,
you see.

No awkward questions.

No shame.

But the truth is

my husband left me when
Henry was quite small.

For another woman.

And that's what it
said in the letter?

I can give it to you
in verbatim if you like.

"Mrs. Fairford's husband
is alive and well

and driving a taxi
in Upper Pembury."

Miss Neal thought I should know.

Wasn't that kind of her?

So there... another woman.

How awful must I be?

I don't think
you're awful at all.

Look, I'm not in the habit
of doing this, but, um...

Would you like to go
for a drink this evening?

With me?

Uh, yes.

(car brakes squealing)

(gunshot)

(sobbing)

There.

Bucephalus.

Greville's horse that went lame.

Nothing to be done, I'm afraid.

You'd better take her
back to the house.

Give her a drink or something.

Of course.

Mum telephoned.

Suicide, she said.

Yes. Yes, I'm sorry.

Can you think of
anything that would have

prompted Rufus to kill himself?

He's not infallible, of course.

(ballroom dance music playing)

(ballroom dance music continues)

ISLA:
I'm sorry if I seem nervous.

I'm out of practice.

You must think me
very parochial.

No, not at all.

In fact I grew up
somewhere just like this.

Really?
Mmm.

Look, about earlier,

I made a bit of
a fool of myself.

Oh?

Someone was bound to tell you.

It's just...

I wouldn't want you to...

It's important
to tell the truth.

Be honest.

I'm through with the lies.

You're... you don't
have someone in town or...

Oh, no, no.
No.

It's been a year, almost.

What happened?

Sorry, I shouldn't ask.

No, no.

What happened?

She decided that a war

was preferable to my company.

Which probably tells you

all you need to know about me.

(Flheylaugh)

She was a photojournalist.

Vietnam.

Afraid I can't
compete with that.

Well, it's not a competition.

Really, I'm very dull.

No, you're not.

I think Henry's a very
lucky little boy.

He's my world.

Yeah, that's obvious

to anyone who sees
you both together.

It doesn't put you off?

Most men would run
a million miles

from a single woman
with a kiddie in tow.

More fool them.

MURRAY:
Look, I've kept quiet, Ru.

But Pa was right.

You don't really
know this girl from Adam.

RUPERT:
What the hell does that mean?

MURRAY: You think I'm going
to have some village girl

sitting on the Board?

She worked in the factory
for God's sake.

She might have been
raised in the village,

but at least she's the manners
to know one doesn't

listen at keyholes,
unlike your brood mare!

Excuse me, Clemmie, won't you?

ISLA:
Here we are.

I... I would ask you in.

I'd like to.

Really, I want to.

It's... it's just with Henry...

That's all right.

I wasn't expecting you to.

You hardly know me.

It doesn't feel like that.

(sighs)

Is that mad?

Love should be brave,
don't you think?

Even if it doesn't last.

(sighs)

You should go inside.

I'll telephone.

(door closing)

(leaves rustling in wind)

MURRAY:
I'll be back later, Clemmie.

(door closing)

(knocking on door)

Stone me, matey.

This what it's come to, has it?

I was just getting 40 winks.

Called in at the Section House.

DeBryn said you went
to the postmortem.

Thank you.

Any progress on the overdoses?

No.

You wonder why that is?

It's not my case.

Same question.

You wonder why that is?

What are you saying?
I'm saying

if Box's investigation
into who's keeping Oxford

supplied with heroin
cut with quinine has stalled,

maybe there's a reason for it.

You want to crack this thing,
it's down to us.

Just watch your back here.

I mean it.

Trust no bugger.

Even your closest.

Be seeing you.

There you go.

(door unlocking)

(door closing)

Home.

Chief Superintendent.

Doctor, very good
of you to meet me.

Not at all.
Please.

Thank you.

What may I get for you?

Oh, a brandy, I think.

Albert, a brandy, if you would.

Now, how may I be of service?

I may rely on your
discretion as a medical man?

Oh, always.

Please, speak freely.

My wife has been diagnosed
with cancer of the lungs.

Inoperable, according
to the specialist.

She's scolded me
for an optimistic fool,

but I... I wonder
if you can recommend anyone

from whom one might seek
a second opinion.

Well, there's no better
man in England

than Sir Julian Fitzalan.

I know him slightly.
I would be happy to...

Chief Superintendent?

Julian is my wife's specialist.

I swore on his grave that if
I was going to risk my life

for this job, I was
going to get more out of it

than just a poxy watch
and chain.

And you deserve no different.

Deserve?

After the way
they've treated you?

I wouldn't treat
a dog like that.

I mean, Christ, you
must've noticed a change

in your pay packet.
What next?

They put you out to grass on
some nothing job like old Reg?

A man's got his dignity, Fred,
or he's got nothing.

Doesn't make you a bad copper.

Just makes you a smart one.

Go on.

Take the missus out
this weekend.

Treat her.

Go on, then.

Get 'em in.

(birds chirping)

(dish, utensils clatter)

What's this?

I told you,
I look after my firm.

And what have I done

to warrant looking after?
Don't take it that way.

You'd've been taken care of
before now, I'd had my way.

Just needed to be sure of you.

And now you are?

I think $0.

I'd hate to be wrong.

Listen, it's all above board.

It's just a bit of bunce.

This more of what Jago
was picking up last week?

For what?

What a man don't know
can't hurt him.

If we're square, there's more
where that came from.

I'll fill you in
as to the rest of it

as time goes by.

You're a good man, Fred.

Same as my old man.

He did nearly 30 years
in a blue uniform.

Two months shy of his pension,
going after

a couple of safe crackers,
he fell through a skylight.

Fell 35 feet on the concrete
and broke his back.

Know what he got
for his trouble?

Awatch and a chain.

The watch stopped working
after a fortnight.

And six months later, so did he.

Nothing.

He was a lovely boy.
I was enormously fond of him.

We were more like brother and
sister than cousins, I suppose.

And he knew the village well?

He was here at least as much
as he was in Upper Pembury.

Why?

Oh, just something
I'm looking at.

I believe your mother
was the first to receive

one of these letters that
have been doing the rounds.

The hate mail?
Mm-hmm.

Yes, about Mr. Carraway,
the fishmonger.

Absolute nonsense, of course.

And you worked at Creswell's.

In their personnel department?

Yes, that's how I met Rupert.

Right.

And what can you tell me
about Mandy-Jane Bell?

You had a bit of a
disagreement, I understand,

At the work's Christmas party.

Oh, that.

That was nothing.

She'd just had
too much to drink.

I'm not,

if you're wondering,
a gold digger.

If you'll excuse me,
I told Mum I'd be round.

(birds chirping)

SHEPHERD".
Isla won't be a moment.

Can I offer you a drink?

I won't, but thank you.

I'm just taking five minutes
with the crossword

before we settle down

to an evening of snap.

Happy Families?

He collects them.
All the kids do.

"Slaughter horse

and worry about it."
Crossword clue.

I don't suppose...

Carnage.
Is it seven letters?

Of course!
It is.

Carnage.

Sorry to have kept you.
Not at all.

He's been helping me
with the crossword.

Has he?

Well, now I'm going to save him.

Shall we?
Well, good night.

Night, Henry

Blimey.

For minute there,
you had me giving you

two-bob thruppenny bit.

You and me both.

To be fair, I was no
different the first time.

Second time, you barely feel it.

After that, it's all gravy.

Morning, darling.

Clemmie.

Murray not down yet?

I thought he must be with you.

No.

What time did he
get back last night?

I don't know.

He didn't come in to me.

I'll, uh, go and knock.

(dialing phone)

I don't think he's been home.

What?
No, that can't be right.

I'm pretty sure his bed
hasn't been slept in.

Oh, my God.

It doesn't mean anything.
Maybe his car wouldn't start.

No reply-

I'll drive over there.

I'll come with you.

It's probably best
you wait here,

just in case I miss him.

Sarah?

Yes, of course.

Try not to worry, Clemmie.

(car engine revving)

(car doors shutting)

Murray?

Not in the office?

No.
There's not a sign of him.

Call the police.

Call the police!

(bubbling)

What've we got, Doctor?

He died sometime
between 9:00 and midnight.

Won't be able to confirm cause
until I've got his lid off.

But as far as injuries
are concerned,

A single circular wound
about half-an-inch diameter

to the base of the skull.

Shot, then, surely?
ENDEAVOUR: No.

There's no starburst pattern
which one would expect to find

from a discharge
at point blank range.

Yes, quite.

Could have been done with any
number of pointed instruments.

Such as?

Oh, a spiked bayonet.

Medieval misericorde.

Ronda-dagger.

The Japanese sai.

The only thing one can pronounce

with any certainty
at this juncture

is that he came to a sticky end.

Shall we say 2:00?

(clears throat)

What?

That's not a bullet wound.

I'm so sorry to have
kept you waiting.

What can I do for you?

Morse says you've
got a horse gun.

I keep it locked
in this box here.

(door hinge creaking)

Oh, good heavens...

It's gone.

I could have
sworn I put it back.

When did you see it last?

At Creswell Hall.

When I put down Bucephalus.

JAGO: And you've had no
cause to use it since?

No.

And you locked it back
away once you were done?

Well, yes I...
I thought I had.

But... well, I suppose
anyone could get into the car

when I'm out on call.

I don't leave it locked.

Pa.

Now, Murray.

I feel like I'm going mad.

Can you think of anyone who
wished your brother ill?

No.

Murray really was
the best of fellows.

I know he was my big brother,

and it's often the way,
but I've looked up to him

my whole life.

Sorry, Ru.

Are you sure he didn't receive
any of those

poison pen letters?

Not as far as I'm aware.

You've guns up at
the house, presumably.

Shotguns, certainly.

You did this!
Mrs. Cresswell...

You killed him!
Clemmie!

You killed him!
Mrs. Creswell...

Half the business
wasn't enough for you!

You wanted it all, so you
could sell it to Gidburys!

Clemmie!

You're in on it too.
Don't think I don't know!

You're in on it together,
both of you!

They're murderers, murderers!

Well, don't just stand there,
arrest them!

Stop it!
Pull yourself together!

Look, Clemmie,
you've had a shock.

We all have.

But it's not helping anybody

to tear at one
another like this.

Let's just go outside for a bit,
Mrs. Creswell, get some air.

ENDEAVQUR: And what
about yesterday evening?

Acall did come through last
night about ten past 9:00,

just after you brought
Isla back from the pub.

ISLA:
It was a bad line,

but the caller said
he had a cow in labor,

and it looked to be
a breech delivery.

JAGO:
And where was that?

They said they were calling
from Foxtail Grange,

somewhere out towards
King's Abbot.

It didn't ring a bell.
I drove out there anyway.

Couldn't find the place
for love nor money.

I did try calling Isla, just in
case she'd taken it down wrong.

I hadn't.
I don't make mistakes.

Not when it comes
to practice business.

SHEPHERD:
Anyway, I couldn't get through,

so I ended up driving
round and round

until eventually I just
gave it up as a bad job.

How was it you couldn't
get through here?

My fault, I'm afraid.

I was talking
to an old school friend.

And what time did you get back
to the surgery?

11:00, 11:30,
something like that.

ISLA:
I can confirm that.

SHEPHERD: Yes, she was still
yakking away on the telephone.

And the farmer didn't
leave a telephone number

when he first rang?

No, no, he said he was calling
from a phone box.

I did offer to take his number
and call him back,

but he hung up.

When did you last
see your husband?

Yesterday evening.

Around 10:00.

He said he had business to
attend to at the factory.

Did he give you any indication

as to what the
business might be?

We were having supper.

Me, Murray, and Rupert.

Just after 9:00,
the telephone rang.

Murray went to answer it.

Did he say who it was?

No.

But when we were
alone in the drawing room later,

he said he had to
go out for a while.

I assumed it was
something to do with work.

So he left at around tennish.

Then what?

Sarah turned up
at about 11:00 to see Rupert.

I left them to it
and went to bed.

You didn't miss your husband?

Not until this morning.

We have separate rooms.

You think someone
called Shepherd out

on a fool's errand?

Or he arranged it himself,
perhaps.

Keeps him in play for Murray.

Unless someone's trying

to put him in the frame for it.

JAGO:
So, where's his horse gun?

Oh, I don't know.

Maybe he did leave it
at Creswell Hall.

But he's got no motive
to go after Murray.

BOX:
That we know about.

The exchange should be
able to tell you

what callbox this
farmer rang in on.

I wonder if Murray's received
any of these poison pen letters

since last we've asked.

Murray Creswell was lured
to the factory last night

by a telephone call,
not any letter.

Yes, but whoever lured him there
could have received one.

Like Farmer Bell, you mean?

ENDEAVOUR:
Mmm.

JAGO:
Someone primed to go off.

You think whoever
sent these letters may have made

similar allegations
about Murray Creswell?

He'd led a pretty blameless
life, according to his brother.

Hard to see what he can have
done to make someone kill him.

True.

But the village is already half
mad with suspicion and mistrust.

The right word
in the wrong ear...

wouldn't take much to push
someone over the edge.

(people chattering)

THURSDAY:
What's this?

Jago said you were with
Shepherd's daughter in the pub.

It was just a drink.

She's a suspect.

Christ, what's
the matter with you?

They bat their lashes...
I've got a life.

Not on duty, you haven't.

I wasn't on duty.
It shouldn't matter.

A copper's a copper,
first, last and always.

Where's that got you?

Sir, I...

Just find the gun.

"Dear Anxious of Jericho,

"if your friend
suffers from B.O.,

"try to introduce
regular bathing

"as a topic into a more general
conversation about health.

And, no, you cannot get pregnant
through any form of kissing."

So!

You're Miss Ling,
Agony Aunt in the Oxford Mail.

I trust I may rely
on your discretion.

You must be privy to
a lot of people's secrets.

Are these the only anonymous
letters that you write?

Am I author of these
poison pen letters?

I am not.

Though I believe
they were also written

on an Adler Favourite too.

I recognize the typeface.

Does anybody else know
that you're Miss Ling?

Only one other has
ever guessed my identity,

and she's dead now.

Mandy-Jane Bell.

She used to read my
column as a teenager,

and was always trying to guess
who might have written to me.

But my correspondents
always used an alias,

so I couldn't've told her
even if I'd wanted to.

(chickens clucking, dog barking)
II

(door creaking)

Back, are you?

The phone records
have come through.

We know who called Shepherd.

Yes, I think I know, too.

(work whistle blowing
in distance)

THURSDAY:
Mr. Shepherd.

Detective Inspector
Thursday, Thames Valley.

I believe you
know Sergeant Morse.

SHEPHERD:
Yes, of course.

Any luck with the humane killer?

Not yet,
Mr. Shepherd.

We're hoping your daughter
might be able

to help us with that.
Isla?

Well, actually, I believe
she's something to show you.

Darling? ISLA: Yes.

I received a letter
this morning.

One of those letters.

I was going to bring it in.

"The grocer's daughter
is sleeping with men

from half the houses
in the village."

I'm sure she's isn't.

ENDEAVOUR:
I'm sure she isn't, too.

The typeface is the same, but
that's not an Oxford postmark.

THURSDAY: Just as a matter of
interest, Mr. Shepherd,

where did get your typewriter?

It was a present for Isla
from Murray Creswell.

Our old machine
was giving up the ghost,

so he let us have
a spare from the factory.

ENDEAVOUR:
When was this?

Last summer, why?

Because for the
past nine months,

your daughter has been using it
to type poison pen letters.

I don't believe you.
No, that's insane.

Why would she do such a thing?

That scene at
the works Christmas party

with Mandy-Jane Bell

calling Sarah Clamp
a gold digger,

that was only half
the story, wasn't it?

She also told Murray Creswell
she suspected

he was your son's father.

Where would she get that idea?

ENDEAVOUR:
The Oxford Mail.

Miss Ling's Problem Page,
to be precise.

Mandy-Jane Bell had an appetite

for other people's misery.

In fact, one letter
so took her fancy

that she pinned it
to her noticeboard

until she could work out

just who "Worried of
Upper Pembury" could be.

The clues were all there...
Adulterous wife,

rich married lover.

THURSDAY: But the most
telling was Miss Ling's reply.

She told the wife she should
pass herself off as a widow.

Because“.
How did it go, Sergeant?

Because death is
infinitely more respectable

than adultery and comes with
fewer awkward questions.

Who told you your secret
was out, Mrs. Fairford?

Murray Cresswell
or Mandy-Jane Bell?

Murray.

That's why the little bitch
approached him

at the Christmas do.

Money, that what she was after?

He gave her a few bob.

But I knew that
wouldn't be enough

for a girl like Mandy-Jane.

So you started your
little hate mail campaign,

knowing that sooner or later
you could slip in a letter

to Rennett Bell amidst
all the other misery

that you'd stirred up.

THURSDAY:
What where you hoping for?

That Bell would just give her
a good hiding?

Chuck her out maybe,
same as happened to you?

ISLA:
Maybe...

And none of them are any better.

They have all got
something to hide.

Gossip.
I have had to live with it.

The looks.

The sly stares.

People looking down their noses.

And I had Henry to protect.

Why should he
pay for my mistakes,

grow up with that stigma?

Right, but you
needed an accomplice.

Someone outside the village.
You typed the letters.

But to avoid suspicion,
posted them to Rufus Bura,

who sent them
back to Chigton Green

with an Oxford postmark.

Why would Rufus do such a thing?

THURSDAY:
Because like your daughter,

he despised the village
and everyone in it.

ENDEAVOUR: But when your
malicious prank ended in somebody

being murdered,

he couldn't face the
consequences of his actions.

So Rufus killed himself.

And Rennett Bell shot
Mandy-Jane and Grev Creswell.

I didn't kill them.

THURSDAY:
No, not directly.

But the night of
Murray Creswell's murder,

telephone records show
a request from this number

for a check on the line.

A woman's voice,
according to the operator.

Just after 9:00.
That be right?

ENDEAVOUR:
You told your father

it was a farmer calling from,
where was it, Foxtail Grange?

But, in fact, having sent him
out on a wild goose chase,

(phone ringing)
you telephoned Cresswell Hall,

told Murray to come and meet
you at the factory,

then gave yourself an alibi

by leaving your phone
off the hook,

so that if anyone called,
they'd get an engaged signal.

(busy signal beeping)

(gunshot)

He wanted me to come clean.

For the best, he said.

He'd see that his
child was looked after.

His child!

When I fell pregnant,
he didn't want to know.

And now he was saying I wasn't a
fit mother to raise his child,

threatening to take Henry
away from me.

And all so you could
pay Mandy-Jane back.

It was wicked what she did.

Poking her nose into other
people's affairs.

And you're no different.

My boy! Henry!

Let me say goodbye to Henry!

Come on, let's go.
Henry!

Get... get off me1

Henry! Henry!

Stop, please!

Henry!

All right?

What a place.
Mmm.

Look...

What, plenty more fish?

You can clear up here, can you?
Yeah.

(phone ringing)

Morse.

OPERATOR: Urgent request to
attend an RTA on Wells Street.

Oh, no, you want traffic.

OPERATOR:
This is DS Morse?

That's right.

OPERATOR:
Then it's you he wants.

Who wants?

OPERATOR:
Chief Superintendent Bright.

Nobody else, he said,
just Morse.

Right.

Sir?

Thank you for coming so quickly.

There's something
you need to see.

The hold all there.

Well, who's the driver?

No identification.

Car hired in London.

So why me?

Doctor?

There's an old spent round
under the drivers seat.

I can't swear to anything more

until I've had it under
the comparison microscope,

but it's the same caliber
as killed George Fancy.

Where's Inspector Thursday?

(thunder rumbling, rain pouring)

(muffled conversation, laughter)

(rain pouring, thunder rumbling)