All language subtitles for Endeavour.S05E01.BluRay.1080p.DD5.1.H265-d3g

In the spring of 1918,

Nicholas II,

deposed tsar
of all the Russias,

was brought, together with
his wife and five children...

...to the city
of Yekaterinburg...

...where they were
executed

by their Bolshevik captors.

♪ And yet no power cometh
to help us ♪

♪ And yet no power cometh
to help us ♪

♪ The harvest now is over ♪

When the dead were examined,

it was found

that the women had concealed
about their bodies

gold and jewels.

Go ahead, caller.

♪ Summer days are gone ♪

Commissioned
as a 16th birthday present

for the
Grand Duchess Anastasia,

I give you...

...Innocence.

Or Nastya's Egg.

♪ No power cometh to help us ♪

♪ The harvest now is over ♪

♪ The summer days are gone ♪

♪ The harvest now is over,
the summer days are gone ♪

♪ And yet no power cometh
to help us ♪

♪ No power cometh to help us ♪

♪ No power cometh to help us ♪

Oh, God, look, look.

You!
Up on the roof!

Five, four, three...

Two, one.

Thus, after almost 100 years,

the long and distinguished
history

of Oxford City Police

is ended.

♪ The harvest now is over ♪

♪ The harvest now is over ♪

The motto
of the new constabulary

is Sit pax in valle tamesis.

For the benefit of the
non-classicists amongst us,

Detective Sergeant Morse

has kindly provided
a translation.

- Morse?
- He's on a shout, sir.

Handbag snatch.

Ah.

♪ The harvest now is over ♪

♪ The summer days are gone ♪

♪ The harvest now is over ♪

♪ The summer days are gone ♪

♪ The harvest now is over ♪

♪ The summer days are gone ♪

♪ The harvest now is over ♪

♪ The summer days are gone ♪

♪ And yet no power cometh ♪

♪ To help us ♪

Found by the beat man
just after 6:00.

No I.D. on him.

Car's leased.

Waiting on the firm's
offices opening

before we can say who to.
That's Joey Sikes.

You know him, sir?

We've had dealings.

Ex-boxer.

Decent right,
but slow on his feet.

I saw him on the undercard
at White City

when Bruce Woodcock
beat Freddie Mills.

He lost that night, too.

Who lives here?

No reply.

Still working door-to-door.

Doctor.

Gentlemen.

Shot-- three times.

Twice in the chest
and once in the back.

From close range.

Somewhere between midnight
and 4:00.

Someone inside the car, then.

Can't say if any of those
would have been lethal

until I've had a gander.

Well, it's not likely
to be anything else, is it?

Unlikely he'd survive
a metal spike

being driven into his ear.

Whether that was insult
to injury remains to be seen.

.38 caliber
in the glove compartment.

Recently discharged.

Nobody saw or heard anything?

There was a party in the
warehouse down the end.

Loud music.

Between that

and the thunderstorm.

He's had a woman in the car

at some point, too.

Cocktail cigarettes
ringed with lipstick.

Right.

You press on here
with the door-to-door.

I'll brief Mr. Bright.

Joey Sikes, sir.

Gunned down
on Holywell Lane.

Falling out amongst
the criminal fraternity?

Certainly looks
that way, sir.

Well, I don't want these people
thinking our reorganization

is an opportunity for them
to make hay.

I'll make that clear, sir.

Oh, there was...
one more thing.

About the Morse situation.

We've got a number at Lonsdale,
looks like.

Can you deal?
What kind of number?

Attempted burglary
from the sounds of it.

Shirl's on the scene.

She'll fill you in.

I can finish up here.

Morning.

Intruder spotted on the roof
by the master

and one of the dons
last night.

Well, why didn't they
call it in, then?

Well, they thought
it might be

a drunken undergrad
larking about.

But this morning,
a scout found this.

Appears he left empty-handed.

I've had a look topside.

This was the only thing
up there.

It's an unusual spot

for an auction.

It's an unusual bequest.

Not every day a college
is left an object of vertu.

"Innocence,

also known
as Nastya's Egg."

Fabergé's last great
masterpiece.

It was lost for 50 years.

And now, bequeathed to us
by a late graduate.

Its value to be realized
to the benefit of the college.

DS Morse.

Thames Valley C.I.D.

What's it expected
to fetch?

The reserve is set
at 30,000.

If the provenance
is to be believed.

It's reliable.

Robin Grey.

Dr. Grey is a great authority
on Russian imperial jewelry.

He's been instrumental
in establishing

the veracity
of the original designs.

Any news on this burglar?

Oh, well, we found this.

Well that's The Shadow's
calling card, isn't it?

The what?

An international art thief.

He leaves a single red rose
at the scene of his crimes.

Well, if he exists.

That's all a bit
Simon Templar,

don't you think?

Well, he's real enough
to Interpol.

The Lugash diamond?

The golden dagger
of Sultan Mahmud?

Or are you saying that none
of those things were stolen?

Oh, I'm sure
they were stolen,

but whether or not
by the same person

is another matter entirely.

Well, we'll step up
the beat patrol

until the auction is concluded

and in the meantime,
I'd advise you to keep it

under lock and key
and not just on display.

Unless you want it lost
for another 50 years.

Detective Sergeant Morse.

I never knew you cared.

So what was he after?

The Fabergé?
Who?

The Shadow!

I think given the date,
we're looking at something

less criminal altogether.

April Fool's.

For a cracksman
of international renown,

it was hardly a case

of now you see me,
now you don't.

So what's this other business
then, on Holywell Lane?

I heard something
on the police band,

it sounded serious.
Murder usually is.

But before you ask me
the who, why and what of it,

a full statement
will be released in time.

Simon Lake,
art dealer.

He's handling the sale
of the Fabergé,

on behalf of the owners.

So murder, cat burglary,
you're earning those stripes.

I've earned these stripes
many times over.

Seriously,
how are you finding it?

Just another tick in the box.

Oh, I thought there'd be,

I don't know...

...something more?

How'd you make out
at Lonsdale?

Oh, something and nothing.

April Fool, by the look of it.

Hello?

Oh, is this your desk?

Sorry.

Um, I was told to come up
and wait.

Fancy, is it?

George Fancy.

Detective Constable.

DCI Thursday.

Sergeant Strange.

DS Morse'll be showing you
around.

He's a good man,

so, watch,
listen, and learn.

We'll find you a desk,
don't worry about that.

Anything more
on this door-to-door?

A neighbor

said she saw a woman
in a white raincoat

getting out of the car
and heading up the mews

towards the party.

Looks like you had it right,
matey.

Blonde or brunette?

Couldn't say.

She had a scarf on.

But I have got
a last known residence

for Joey,
off his parole officer.

The Alhambra.

There we are, then.

Your first job, Constable.

You can keep Morse company.

Do your work,
mind your Ps and Qs,

and you won't go far wrong.

I'm... used to working
alone, sir.

He'd learn more from you.

I expect he would.

But you've got rank now,
that brings responsibilities.

Show him the ropes.

Get to know him a bit.

It'll do him good.

Mr. Bright had a word,
about your situation.

I wasn't aware I had one.

Two detective sergeants
would ordinarily be surplus

in a nick of this size,

but right now Division's
got other fish to fry.

I thought you'd be pleased.

Well, a reprieve's not a pardon.

I'd as soon as not wait
another six months

for the other shoe to drop.

Beggars can't.

Look, none of us know
how the chips are gonna land

till this
reorganization's done.

Just take it
one day at a time.

Want me to drive?
No.

Anything?
Quiet as the proverbial.

Detective Constable Fancy.
WPC Trewlove.

George.
Pleased to meet you.

What's a pretty girl like you

doing in a place like this?

My job.

Hard to get, eh?

Oh, you've no idea.

I like a challenge.

Idiot.

Blimey,
she's a bit of all right.

Don't you reckon?

Who, Constable Trewlove?
Yeah.

She's a very
capable officer.

Doesn't suffer fools.

So this is
Sikes' place is it?

Good nick, is it?

Decent mates?

If you go in
for that sort of thing.

Don't you, then?

It's why I joined the job.

The social life.

And the uh... crumpet,

of course.

Got any hobbies?

Do you like sport?

Look, I don't really go in
for small talk, Constable.

George.

Or first names.

Let's just keep it to work
and we'll get along fine.

Very good.

That's very nice.

Very nice.

"What a good boy am I?"

Three bullets,
.38 caliber,

any of which
would've proved fatal.

Why bother
with the ear business?

Some sort of
underworld message?

Hear no evil, perhaps?

Something from
the building trade?

Whatever it is,
it would have needed a hammer

to drive it into the skull.

Anything else?

A smooch of lipstick.

Rain and the cobbles
had got rid of most of it.

Good afternoon.

This is the message service
for 938126.

Go ahead, caller.

Good afternoon.

It's Dr. Grey here.

I'd like to leave a message,
please.

So that's 8:00 at the club
with Dr. Grey.

Get that lot
dusted for prints,

and the contents
logged and booked in.

Mm-hmm.

Leaving us already, George?

Joey Sikes'
worldly possessions.

Mainly prophylactics
and contact mags.

Got a lead on his motor.

Registered to Magdalen Cabs.

Isn't that's a front

for Eddie Nero's
criminal activities?

One of them.

All right, easy... easy...

take a breather.
Hello, Eddie.

Ah, what's this, then, Fred?

You come to go
a few rounds, have you?

Maybe later.

You know the boys?

Yeah.

Looks like
you're a man short.

Joey Sikes.

When d'you see him last?
Joey?

Couldn't say.

But everything was just
jake between you?

Oh, yeah.
You sure about that?

He was found this morning
with three bullets in him,

and a spike
in his shell-like.

Any idea what he was doing
parked up in Holywell Lane?

Search me.

He was in
one of your cars.

So I give him a lend of a set
of wheels from time to time.

What about lady friends?

Anything like that?

No, he was off the birds.

I know you and Joey
were tight with each other,

but don't get any ideas, Eddie.

Like what?
Taking the law.

There's only one law
that counts, Fred.

An eye for an eye.

You're a third-division
shakedown artist

and fourth-rate ponce.

Always were, always will be.

There's any comeback
over Joey,

I'll have your cobblers
for a keyfob.

Mind how you go.

We'll need to find this woman

in the white raincoat.

I'll see where I can get
with this lipstick.

Girlfriend, you think?
Or witness, potentially.

At the moment,
she's the last person

to have seen him alive.

How did you make out
with George?

George?

Fancy.

Oh-- trying.

Oh, well, that's good.

I'm looking for a
particular shade of lipstick.

This is the...

Well, I think we can rule out

the new Revlon
Unlipstick range.

And it's not going to be
the Max Factor Frosterinos.

Could be Scarlet Billows...

...or Violent Crimson.

Excuse me, can I just...

Hm.

Hello, stranger.

So, are you back
or are you just visiting?

Dad didn't say?

I'm back.

Couple of weeks now.

But not home.

They must be pleased,
all the same,

your parents.

I think so.

Mum, definitely.

I'm sure they both are.

It's not the same.

No.

No, I imagine not.

Mr. Booth,
my neighbor in Leamington,

said he called you.

Yes.

A fall, the hospital said.

I slipped.

What about you?

Your sergeant's.

I meant to ask last time,
I just...

Oh, yes, it came through.

In the end.

Congratulations.

Detective Sergeant Morse.

Things change.

Yes.

Well, yes, I'm this way.

Are you all right?

I mean, really all right?

Something happens.

You have to look a bad thing
in the eye.

Break the spell.

I'll see you around.

It's a small town.

Well, I know
where you buy your lipstick now.

Tomorrow's world, Thursday.

Sir.

A new divisional HQ.

Thames Valley,
Kidlington.

Very smart, sir.

Clean, modern, spacious.

Computers.

And an information room
that will be the envy

of any constabulary.

And us, sir?

No final decision
has yet been reached

on whether Cowley will remain
open

or if we'll be absorbed into
the new station on Oxford Road.

Wouldn't have thought

there'd be room
for us all in there, sir.

No, well, there we are.

Ours is not to reason why.

George seems a nice lad.

Don't you think?

He's a cocky little sod.

Course he is,
he's young.

Full of piss and vinegar.

You were young once.
I'm still young.

You say so.

Some shepherd's pie in the oven
I've left you to warm.

Beans in the pan.

I'll get the cribbage board out
once Hughie Green's done.

Joan's got a new flat.

Over in Park Town.

Ever so nice, she says.

Be needing a lick of paint,
I should think, but...

I'm hoping that her dad's
gonna do it for her.

But she's happy,
that's the main thing.

Good.

Sir.

I'll go and just fetch
your sandwiches.

Much in?

Fancy.

Morning, sir.

Body's through there.

Doctor.

Eye-eye!

Right first, then left.

Sometime between
8:00 and midnight.

Any defensive wounds?

He didn't see it coming.

Quite literally.

Who was he?

His name is Robin Grey.

He's a history don here.

I met him yesterday.

The attempted break-in.

Last seen by the porter
going out

around 6:00 last night--
no one saw him come back.

Lipstick.

Same as Joey Sikes.

I know you're
out of practice, matey,

but most women wear it.

Uniform are fetching

his wife in.

There is evidence of coitus.

- Who found him?
- Spencer Bell.

One of his students.

I went across just before 8:00.

Knocked.

There was no reply.

I checked my watch.

Knocked again.

Then went in.

I thought perhaps
he might've

just nipped out for a moment.

In my day, students didn't just
wander into a don's bedroom.

I thought he might
have overslept, so I knocked.

I don't know why I went in,
I just did.

I...

What was he like?

I saw him for two hours
once a week.

I'm afraid I hardly
knew him at all.

And where were you last night?

In my room, right up there.

Anyone vouch for you?

You'd have had a good view
of his stair from there,

I'd've thought.

You didn't see him
come back last night?

Mr. Bell?

I'm not sure it was him.

But I think I recognized her.

Who?

I'm not even sure it was her.

But this woman had on
the same coat she wears.

A white raincoat.

But you don't know her name?
No.

She's a life model.

I think she knows the tutor,
Gerard Pickman.

At least that's
the idea I got.

I thought all the way over
in the car

that there must be
some mistake.

What happened?

Was it his heart?

An accident?

I'm sorry to have
to tell you, Mrs. Grey,

but your husband died
by violence.

Perhaps you should sit down,
here.

Trewlove.

Here.

You're okay.

When did you last see
your husband?

Yesterday morning.

Did Dr. Grey often stay
in college?

Once or twice a week,

if he had an early tutorial.

I'm sorry.

We will need to take statements

from all staff and undergrads

as to their whereabouts
yesterday evening.

I don't like to ask,

but what's going to happen
about the auction?

It can't go ahead now, surely.

Out of respect for Robin.

Exactly why
it should proceed.

He put so much work into it.

I'll discuss the situation
with the bursar and Mr. Lake,

- and...
- This Mr. Lake,

he have much to do with Grey?

Well, certainly,
they were great friends.

He's an art dealer.

He's acting for the estate.

Did their National Service
together, I believe.

Then we'll need
to speak to him.

If you could let us know
where to find him.

Anything to do
with the egg, you think?

Wasn't it him and the master
saw the Shadow Sunday night?

So they say.

There any doubt
about that?

That they saw someone?

No, but that it was
this cat burglar

I'm less convinced.

How come?

Well, because nobody sees
the Shadow.

That's the point.

He comes and goes,
and no one's any the wiser

till after he's struck.

So?

So he doesn't go clattering
around the rooftops

drawing attention to himself
like a one-man band.

They saw somebody up there.

And now Grey's dead.

The undergrad who found his
body, Spencer Bell,

says he saw a man and woman
turning off the quad

onto Grey's stair around 7:00.

Was it Grey?
He's not sure,

but he thinks
she's a life model

from a private art class
he attends.

No name, but he's given me
an address to the place.

Bit on the side, do you think?

If it was Grey.

Why don't you see who else
lives on his stair,

start taking statements?

All right.

I'll report back
to Mr. Bright.

Pursue inquiries
as you see fit.

Mm-hmm.

I must say,

we were all positively
chartreuse at Robin's good luck,

bagging a Matildabeest.

And a rowing Blue to boot.

Nothing in the world quite
compares to a sporty girl.

Strong in the wrist
and firm in the hams.

Do you think that
kind of talk's appropriate

about a young woman widowed
not an hour since?

She'd have to have been
a very Messalina

to keep Robin down
on the farm.

Is that right?

Quite a dog in his day.

Wet his nib in any inkpot.

Take my word.

They'll be queuing
halfway up the High

to offer their...

...condolences.

The master called me.

It's bloody awful news--
poor Robin.

You knew him well?

Nearly 20 years.

He was a good friend.

We did our
National Service together.

Place called Altdorf,
right on the eastern border.

Can you think of anyone
who would wish him any harm?

Robin?
Mm-hmm.

Not a soul.

He was helping to establish
a chain of provenance

for this egg of yours,
I believe.

Strictly speaking,
it's not mine.

I'm acting for the estate
of the previous owner.

But, yes, Robin had done
a lot of the legwork.

Who is the owner?

Someone who in life
valued their privacy.

And the estate wishes
to respect that.

I'm sure you understand.

Well, actually, no, I don't
understand, not at all.

First someone tries
to steal the Fabergé,

then someone intimately
connected with its sale

is brutally murdered.

There's nothing to say
the egg is anything to do

with what happened to Robin.

I think we'll determine that.

And knowing who the owner is,

will help us
form an opinion.

I think if my friend
had been brutally murdered,

I might be a little more
forthcoming.

I'd like to say more,
believe me.

Where were you last night?

Out of town.

To say more would risk revealing
the identity of the owner.

Convenient.

Not for me.

Well, did he have a mistress?

Dr. Grey.

With Lucy at home?

Would you?

He never mentioned anyone
called Delilah?

No.

Look, I would love
to stay and chit-chat,

but I've got
to collect the egg

and get it over to Lonsdale
for the auction.

Since the attempted burglary,

I'm only allowing it
to be displayed

for a couple of hours each day
under strict security.

The rest of the time,
it's in a safe at my flat.

Of course, I'll be glad

to answer anything
you can think of

once the auction's
out of the way.

Hello.

I'm Detective Sergeant Morse,
Thames Valley C.I.D.

I'm looking
for a Gerard Pickman.

One of his students
gave me this address.

He's gone into town.
Oh.

I'm his wife, Cassie.

And what time are you
expecting him back?

When his pockets are empty.

You're welcome to wait.

Don't eat that, Alec!

He's an artist, I understand.

Must be interesting work.

Oh, yes.

He's just finished designing
the new labels

for Richardson's Own Brand
vegetables.

Hello,
little bastard.

Don't call him that,
please!

Sorry to have kept you.

A bigger slash.

Still life?

Hm, there's a phrase.

It's for the cover
of a Kent Finn paperback.

Just For Jolly.

Dreadful hack,
but if it goes over well,

his publisher's promising
the whole back catalogue.

Thus the rentman doth make
cowards of us all.

The.38, is that a prop?

No, no, it's real enough.

I use it for foxes,
other vermin.

No policemen so far.

I don't suppose
you know much about art.

I know what I like.

It's after Manet, isn't it?

Olympia.

The canvas that scandalized
the Paris Salon.

Hmm.

Is that the model that sits
at your life class?

Yeah, that's right.

She have a name?

Evie.

With the beautiful red hair.

Eve Thorne.

Have you seen her recently?

Yesterday afternoon.

I had a class here.

Right, what about Sunday night?

A car picked her up
about midnight.

Taxi, I think.

Right.

Have you got an address for her?

No, just a telephone number.

It's a messaging service.

She's, uh...

She's not in any trouble,
is she?

No, it's just a routine inquiry.

She's a good kid.

Are you sleeping with her?

No.

But not for the want of trying.

I don't think she likes men.

Maybe it's just you
she doesn't like.

What happened, do you think?

I don't think, Tancred.

And you shouldn't, either.

How are you finding Oxford,
then, George?

Got your digs sorted?

Yeah, section house
at the moment,

but I'm looking for a place
of my own.

What about you?

Yeah, Morse is shacked up
with me

at the minute.

Hopefully we'll come out of it
after a year,

with enough saved up
to put down for a flat each.

Provided we don't kill
one another first.

Well, the cause
was as expected.

Sharp object through the orbit
of the right eye

and on into the brain.

Death would have been
pretty instantaneous.

What about the weapon?

Ah, steak knife.

Traditional hump blade
with serrated edge.

Stag horn handle.

Sheffield steel.

Silver-plated.

Engraving dates it
to about 1920.

"S.C."

One of the colleges, maybe?

Something college?
Possibly.

Would it have taken
much force?

No great strength required.

Nerve, though.

You're thinking
of the lipstick.

Oh, the closest match
I found

was a color called
Violent Crimson.

From the Kiss Of Death range,
presumably.

How does it compare to what
you found on Joey Sikes?

Not enough of a trace
left to say.

A Lonsdale don
and a beat-up ex-boxer?

Hard to see
what they had in common.

Well, a woman in
a white raincoat, presumably.

Cherchez la femme.

Parson's Prime?

It's from a small brewery
just outside Watlington.

According to the foreman,
they, they supply

just one pub in Oxford:
The Cordwangler's Arms.

"Delilah."

You try the number?
Mm, unobtainable.

But there's a Delilah
performing there this afternoon.

I've also got a number
for Eve Thorne,

the life model that Spencer Bell
was talking about.

Pickman said she got a taxi
from his place

late on Sunday night.

I've left a message
on her answer service

to call me back.

Good.

How's the luncheon meat?

Adjourned.

Win says you ran into Joan.

You knew she was back, then?

Yeah, well, I...

I would've mentioned it,
but, uh...

What with one thing
and another.

Seem all right, did she?

Why? Haven't you seen her?

No-- no, not yet.

She's been by the house,
but... I've been at work.

Sergeant Strange said
you'd probably be here.

How'd it go at Lonsdale
this morning?

Um, there's nothing much
to report.

Most of them are alibied.

Except the master,
a Dr. Adrian Croxley,

and Tancred Howlett--

he lives on the same stair
as Dr. Grey.

Go on.

Go back to the station
and finish writing them up.

I haven't had lunch yet.

I thought I'd just

grab a pint,
if it's all the same.

You're not on piecework.

He's time for a beer.

You want topping up?

No.

Uh, well, uh,
just a half, then, George.

Thanks very much.

Certainly never
seen it at home.

Is that what it was done with?

Is that how he died?

How long had you
been married?

It would have been a year
come April 21.

All was well between you?

Perfectly well.

That's Simon Lake, isn't it?

He was Robin's best man.

They're very old friends.

How did you meet Dr. Grey?

At a drinks party.

Last February.

Two months later,
we were married.

You had no reason
to doubt his fidelity?

Just with his body
being found

the way it was,
we've...

Well, we're bound to ask.

How was it found?

There was lipstick
around his mouth.

And signs that physical intimacy
had taken place

shortly before his death.

I always knew Robin had lived
a full life.

But from the moment
we were married,

he never once gave me any cause
to think of him

as anything other than devoted.

She wouldn't be the first wife

to not know her husband
was deceiving her.

Unless she did, of course.

Just keep your wits
about you.

What does that mean?

Good-looking girl?

Tears?

Not every damsel in distress
wants saving.

What she looks like's
nothing to do with it.

I wonder if she knew
Joey Sikes?

Sikes is gangland.

He's no connection
with Dr. Grey.

They were both killed by
particularly gruesome means.

Both last seen with a woman
wearing a white raincoat.

And both had been kissed by
someone wearing red lipstick.

That's more
than a coincidence.

You can't come in here.
Detective Sergeant Morse.

Thames Valley C.I.D.

Miss...?

Ellis.

Paula Ellis.

Not Delilah, then?

That's just
for the stage.

I would have thought Salome
would be more fitting.

"The Dance of the Seven Veils."

Salome's already taken.

There was a Jezebel.

And a Bathsheba,
but she got glassed.

Be a love and hand us
my dressing gown, would you?

So...

What do you want, then?

Do you know a Robin Grey?

No-- who is he?

He's a don
at Lonsdale College.

Found this beermat
with your name on it.

Any idea
how he'd come by that?

None.

That is your phone number
on the back?

No.

I don't know whose that is.

But I can't be the only Delilah
on the circuit.

The faces change,
the names stay the same.

What, has he had an accident
or something?

He was found dead
this morning.

Do they ever ask
for your telephone number?

The... customers.

They can ask.

But ask don't get.

I've got two kids.

That's who I do this for.

I wouldn't let
any of those blokes

come within
a million miles.

How do you get the work?

Lefty Townsend?

I'm surprised
he's still going.

You know him?

Oh, yeah.

I know Lefty.

ENSA during the war.

Office boy with
Lew and Leslie for a bit.

All right, Left?

Fred.

I'm, uh,
just going to lunch.

Late lunch.

Spare five minutes?

Always.

Got your book?

Hmm.

I just came to offer
my condolences.

If there's anything
I can do...

Thank you,
that's very kind.

Do the police
have any further idea?

They suggested he may have been
with another woman last night.

You lived across the stair,
you didn't see?

I was out.

I'm... I'm sure
they're mistaken.

Was I a fool, Tancred?

Never.

Fooled, then?

There's only one fool here.

And it was never you.

Delilah.

Paula?

Lovely little mover.

Just come off a very successful
Dick at Eastbourne.

Is that right?

I'm hoping to get her
a summer season

with Englebert
at Blackpool.

What about the stripping?

Exotic dancing.

It's all very tasteful.

Nothing smutty.

I've seen it.

It doesn't leave much
to the imagination.

Well, that rather depends

on your imagination,
doesn't it?

Why all the Biblical names?

Adds mystery.

The girls are hardly like
to use their own, are they?

And the punters
seem to like it.

So Paula Ellis
isn't the only Delilah

you've had on your books.

Oh, no, I've had quite a few
over the years.

I wouldn't know where
they all are now, though.

Do you have an address
for her?

Eve Thorne?

Police.

Someone invited me to a party.

I don't remember who.

I got a cab to pick me up
from Gerry's place.

Do you know the driver?

No-- why would I?

And then what happened?

What usually happens at a party?

You have a drink,
dance, talk to people.

When'd you leave?

2:00, maybe?

Alone?

Yes.

So where were you Monday night?

What's this about?

I got a call.

Out of the blue.

A guy called and asked if
I wanted to go for a drink.

Robin Grey.

How d'you know him?

He'd seen me dancing.

Stripping.

So you went for a drink
and then what?

We went back to his place.

At Lonsdale College.

Did you sleep with him?

It's a free country,
last time I looked.

You know he had a wife?

It never came up,
funnily enough.

What time did you leave?

Just after 9:00.

When I left him,
he was sleeping like a baby.

Look, what's this about?

Both the driver of the taxi
and Robin Grey

are dead, Miss Thorne.

So far you're the only link
we've got between them.

I don't know what happened
after I went,

but Robin was fine
when I left him.

As for the taxi driver,
I can't help you.

Look, I've answered
your questions.

I'd like to go home now.

We'll need to take a set
of your fingerprints.

Why?

For the process of elimination.

You'll be here a while yet.

What's going on?

The art dealer Lake
hasn't shown up.

Neither him nor the egg.

I've telephoned,
but there's no reply.

I assumed he must be
on his way.

Do you have
an address for him?

We can send a patrol car.

Certainly.

It's 15 Holywell Lane.

Holywell Lane?

Yes, why?

He can't have been dead long.

I saw him this morning
at the airfield.

Anything, Doc?

Well, his head's in this room

and his body's in that room,
so that...

...might have something
to do with it.

Anything as to a time, say?

Within the last
three to four hours.

Looks to have had

his throat cut first,
right to left,

then decapitation post mortem.

Small mercies.

Lipstick again.

What's this?

Dr. Grey at Lonsdale, sir,

had lipstick around his mouth.

As did Joey Sikes.

I thought that was gangland.

So did we, sir.

But his car was found
just outside here.

Oh, ballistics have come back
with a match.

The bullets I dug out
were from Joey Sikes' pistol.

He was shot with his own gun?

Looks like it, sir.

Constable.

Doctor.

Detective Constable
Fancy, sir.

Just over from County
as it was.

- Chief Superintendent Bright.
- Sir.

Neighbor over the road says
she heard a shot around 3:45.

Saw this woman
in the white mac coming out,

around half-four,
quarter to 5:00.

Well, he wasn't shot.

Three men slaughtered

with such violence.

You're surely not suggesting
a woman could have done it?

Well, two of the victims
were found in bed, sir.

And the lipstick.

So Joey Sikes was shot,

but then a skewer was driven
into his ear.

Dr. Grey was stabbed
in both eyes.

And now Lake has been
decapitated.

That means something,
doesn't it?

The method, do you think?

Oh, "S.C."

Same as was found on the knife
that killed Dr. Grey.

And the egg?

There's a single red rose
been left, sir.

The Shadow's signature.

How come door-to-door never
picked up Lake was living here?

Not his property, sir.

Looks like he's only
staying here for the duration

of the auction.

Owner's listed as
one Bertram Povey.

Deceased.

Knew each other,
didn't they?

Lake and Dr. Grey?

Both connected to this egg.

That's the key, isn't it?

What you got there?

It's a menu.

First of April last year.

"On the occasion of the
Passing of the Mock Turtle."

You were seen

leaving Simon Lake's flat

earlier this afternoon.

We can put you in a line-up.

Have our witness
pick you out.

He'd asked me round for 4:00.

I got held up.

In the end, I didn't make it
till quarter past, maybe.

The door was open,
so I went in.

I went into the bedroom.

The next thing I remember,
I was on the bus.

And on Sunday night.

When the taxi dropped you off
at the party?

That's who you were seeing,
Simon Lake?

And on Monday morning,

you were inside the flat,

with Lake, when the driver's
body was found.

Yeah.

We heard you knocking,

but Simon didn't want
to answer the door.

Mr. Bright would
like a word, sir.

In a minute.

Did you happen to notice
whether the safe

was open or closed?

No, I don't remember.

And the driver of the taxi.

Joey Sikes.

Do you know him?
No.

I advise you to cooperate,
Miss Thorne.

In your own best interests.

So you sleep
with Lake on Sunday,

Grey on Monday,

then come back for
another round with Lake today.

And?

Your fingerprints
have turned up

your previous convictions.

Soliciting.

You're a common prostitute.

You've seen where I live.

There's nothing common about me.

What's your type?

Blonde? Brunette?
Redhead?

Or do you go
for the mousey sort?

The kind that butter
wouldn't melt,

but get their glasses off
and, "Oh, Daddy!"

That's quite enough
thank you.

Maybe you want a goddess.

Someone you can put
on a pedestal.

Unattainable.

Or perhaps you like
to be mothered.

Have someone wash your tinkle.

Trewlove,
take her back to her cell.

You haven't been able to take
your eyes off me since we met.

Well, I've got your number.

I know what you are.

You like to watch, right?
Look but don't touch.

I know your kind.

What's that book?

A Spy in the House of Love?
That's you.

Outside looking in
at what you want

but daren't ask for.

You'd be a spectator
at your own funeral.

Take her down.

You think she killed him?

Well, she knew
all three victims,

had slept with two of them,

both of whom were connected
to this Fabergé egg.

Now, for all we know, Lake was
still alive when she arrived.

Now he's dead,
and the egg's gone.

I've known clients
get possessive

to the point of obsession

in some cases.

The only reason
I can think of

for her to lie

is if she saw someone
she recognized by Lake's flat,

going in or coming out.

Someone she was
afraid of, maybe.

If she saw him,
it's very likely he saw her.

Which offers the possibility

that whoever it is
will try and get to her.

Morse?

Reservations?

I think the only thing
she's scared of, sir, is us.

You reckon it's her?

Yes, she's lying
through her teeth.

There's two options.

She did it
or she knows who did.

Either way,
I want her under observation.

Stockings are in
the shoes.

You'll find the soles
are bloodstained.

You've been there,
you know what it was like.

This is all you were wearing
when you went to Lake's?

That's all.

Was he a regular customer?

When he was in town.

How often was that?

Till this last week,

I hadn't seen him
for a year, maybe.

Does he know what you do?

Pickman?

He knows what he needs to.
Why?

Olympia,
the painting he's working on.

The Manet knock-off.

"Olympia" was a common name
used by Parisian prostitutes.

Except she wasn't a tart,
was she?

The model.

Her name was
Victorine Meurent.

She was an artist
in her own right.

Her work was selected for
exhibition when Manet's wasn't.

Pickman tell you that?

I read it.

In a book.

Think he's any good?

Not particularly.

He can't shake off
the draftsman's training.

That's what they put him to.

In the army.

He doesn't seem
the army kind.

National Service,
wasn't it?

I think that's how
he knew Simon.

Simon Lake?

I saw him out at the windmill
last week.

That's when we picked up again.

Why? What was his business
with Pickman?

No idea.

First thing you learn
in my game.

You don't open your mouth.

Unless they ask you to.

All right.

Is this your idea
of discreet observation?

It's an unmarked car,
not a concert hall.

Yeah, all right.

Just keep your mind
on the job.

And make sure
she doesn't try to leave.

Is she likely to?

When you're relieved,

get these booked into forensics
at the station.

Did you get the contents of
Joey Sikes's suitcase booked in?

Is, is this what I've got
to look forward to?

If I want something doing,
I got to do it myself?

I forgot.

Well, don't.

You're not paid to forget.

You're paid to remember.

Was it Miss Thorne?

That's right.

Call received today
from a Mr. Lake at 13:54.

"If Miss Thorne would care

to call round
to Holywell Lane at 16:00."

Can you confirm
when that was picked up,

and if so, by whom?

Yeah-- Miss Astor.

This call from Mr. Lake
for Miss Thorne.

Has Miss Thorne
picked it up yet?

I believe so.

I'll need the address
for that account.

I'm afraid the manager's
gone home for the evening.

He's the only one with access
to that information.

But from memory,

it's a temporary agency,
I think.

Thank you, Miss Astor.

Temporary agency?

Yeah, I can imagine
what sort.

Home?

No, I'll walk
if it's all the same.

Get a bit of clean air
in my lungs.

I had three years on vice,
never agreed with me.

Bodies bought and sold,
lives ruined.

Not much more than kids
half of them-- runaways.

You'd see the sharks;

the pimps and the ponces,

queued up waiting for them
at all the big stations.

"Stand you a coffee, love?"

Straight off the train,
straight on the game.

The worst of human nature
right there.

It's no work for a family man.

One for the road?

Yes.

Oh!

Uh, no, I can't.

I want to get Joey Sikes's
personal possessions

logged into evidence.

Haven't you done that yet?

No, it slipped my mind.

That's not the example
you want to set Fancy.

You're a sergeant now.

You've gotta look sharp.

Yeah.

Night, then.

Good night, sir.

Dad?

What's this?

You've been back ages.

Fred?

Joan's all right, is she?

Happy?

She says.

I spoke to her earlier.

She rang.

I don't know what it is
with you pair.

You've barely spoken to her
since she got back.

I know you were cross
with her going off.

I'd do anything for her.

I know you would.

If anything
ever happened,

if she was in a spot...

You'd say?

Come to bed.

So Lake was the Shadow?

Looks that way.

What, just off him
having a balaclava?

Roses are sold by the dozen,
aren't they?

Traditionally.

Yes-- why?

Well, there were ten
in the vase-- one in the safe.

And the 12th on the roof
at Lonsdale.

What, he was trying to pinch
his own jewel?

Or get it into the papers

and drive the price up.

He knew Pickman,
or had business with him.

According to Eve Thorne.

There's a student that might be
able to shed some light.

I'll talk to him.

Word through on Lake's flat,
sir.

Gas and electric go through
to a Tancred Howlett.

That's one of the dons
at Lonsdale.

I had a statement off him.

He lives on the same stair
as Grey.

Where've you been?

With her, I suppose.

An hour, you said.

That was 2:00
yesterday afternoon!

Is this the women you saw
on the quad with Grey?

I don't know.

She was wearing a headscarf.

It was the white coat
I recognized.

But that is
Pickman's model.

Yeah, that's her.

And it's life studies
she sits for.

Mostly.

Pickman's had us do her
as Botticelli's Venus.

The girl from
Déjeuner sur l'Herbe.

And any number
of Gentileschi copies.

Giuditta con la sua
Ancella,

Susanna e i Vecchioni...

Do you ever see her
outside of class?

No.

But you want to.

She's a model.

If she smiles at you in class,
she's being paid for it.

It's art,

not real life.

Some of us can tell
the difference.

Can Pickman?

Is he a good tutor?

Best I can afford.

How was it you know
Simon Lake, Dr. Howlett?

We were up together.

At St. Alfredus.

But he got sent down.

For what?

Conduct
unbecoming.

Fleecing tourists
at Find the Lady.

Seems a bit stiff.

He also got one of
the cleaners in... trouble.

He said it wasn't his,

but someone had to carry
the can.

We stayed in touch,

and as he was in town...

But you don't
live there yourself.

No, no.

I inherited the place a couple
of years ago from an uncle.

I wonder if you could
shed any light on this.

It, uh...

It looks like a menu.

I know what it looks like.

I want to know what it means.

Who's the Mock Turtle?

I wouldn't know.
You sure about that?

It was found in
the pocket of a tailcoat

hanging in the wardrobe
in your flat on Holywell Lane.

One of my colleagues found
an identical waistcoat

in Dr. Grey's rooms.

He said it looks
like the order of service

for a dining club.

It was Robin's stag.

Robin was the Mock Turtle,
hence...

The Passing
of the Mock Turtle.

So what's this club?

The Berserkers.

Why so cagey?

Why deny it?

I don't want to get involved
in something like this.

Two people known to me
have been murdered.

- Oh, we know that.
- Where was it held?

The stag.

I, I don't know where.

I, I wasn't there.

Adrian was there,
but I, I was ill.

I didn't go.

You've got the menu.

Robin saved one for me.

A souvenir.

What was your business

with Simon Lake?

Just that-- business.

He liked my work.

I sold him the odd piece.

You were in the army together,
weren't you?

Altdorf.

What is this?

Well, we've got
a Fabergé gone missing

and two men connected
with its sale found dead.

Two men that you did
your National Service with.

That's more than a coincidence.

I wouldn't know about that.

"He liked my work.

I sold him a few pieces."

Past tense.

You knew he was dead

before I told you.

Now, look...
We've a neighbor

on Holywell Lane
says she heard a gunshot.

But I actually think it was
your bike, backfiring.

I heard it the first time
I came here.

You were at Simon Lake's flat
yesterday.

Did you kill him
and take the egg,

or was he dead
when you arrived?

I didn't kill Simon,
and I didn't steal the egg!

I've seen the Cyrillic writing
in your barn.

Tell them, Gerry.
Cass!

You tell them
or I will.

Cass, you don't know
what you're talking about.

She doesn't know
what she's talking about.

It was a con.

That's the kind of artist
my husband is.

You think I didn't know that
you were up to something?

You think I didn't notice?

Your old army mates just
dropping by out the blue.

Oh, Cass, please...

I've got to look out
for the kids, Gerry.

He's an idiot.

Easily led.

But he's not a killer.

If someone's killed
Robin and Simon over the egg,

I don't want them
coming for him next.

So Lake never meant to go
through with the sale.

No, sir.

It was intended
as an insurance fraud all along.

Lake had planned to give the egg
to Pickman that afternoon

and say it had been stolen.

Only when Pickman arrived
to collect the egg,

it had already gone.

And he found Simon Lake
murdered.

There were three of them
involved in the fraud.

Lake paid Pickman
to draft a design,

supposedly by Fabergé, in order
to create false provenance.

Grey-- the foremost authority
on Russian imperial jewelry--

signed off on it.

How did they come by it
in the first place?

Pickman explained.

They were young soldiers
at a camp for displaced persons

on the East German border,

where he transported
some refugees to the West

in exchange for the egg.

But without the provenance,
it's worthless.

So they bided their time
and set it by

against the time when they
could do something with it.

So where does that leave us?

Could Pickman
have killed Lake and the rest,

taken the egg for himself?

If that had been
his intention,

why leave the papers

supporting its provenance
behind?

The materials used
in its making notwithstanding,

without them, it's worthless.

Well, if he's not got it,
who has?

The killer,
presumably, sir.

We have got a further lead.

Very well, carry on.

So you are a Berserker,
Dr. Croxley.

It's just a bunch of like-minded
fellows making merry.

We've got two
of your number dead.

Not much to be
merry about there.

All dons, is it?

In the main,
though not exclusively.

The sole proviso
of membership

is, one must be
a gentleman of quality.

You were at Dr. Grey's

stag party last year.

Alas.

A young man married.

I take it from that you're
a single man yourself, then?

Absolutely.

"What passing bells...?"

They don't call it
a morning suit for nothing.

Why didn't Tancred Howlett
attend?

Well, it's no great secret.

Not around college.

He'd entertained hopes
of Lucy himself.

Was Robin Grey
aware of that?

Oh, yeah.

So Dr. Grey was there,
Simon Lake.

Who else?

It's a secret society.

As an officer of rank,

I'm sure that's something
you can respect.

A bunch of middle-aged academics
prancing around

in pretty waistcoats
calling each other daft names?

I've more time
for the Tufty Club.

I beg your pardon.

You can beg my fat arse.

Grow up, Dr. Croxley.

You're too old
for the dressing-up box.

There are no secrets as far
as the law's concerned.

Well.

Since you put it like that.

I can give you a list
of those I remember.

Was Joey Sikes there?

Doesn't ring a bell, I'm afraid.
Who is he?

Where was the party held?

I don't recall.

Wouldn't be
the Shiplake Chase Hotel,

by any chance, would it?

Really?

Was that it?

Shiplake Chase?

Pulled that one
out of the bag, didn't you?

There was a bundle of bar bills
in Joey Sikes' suitcase.

S.C.

Same as engraved on the knife
that killed Grey

and the silverware
at Lake's.

Go ahead, caller.

Good afternoon.

I'd like to leave a message
for Miss Thorne.

They said they were a rugby club
up from Cambridge.

I've been in the pub and hotel
trade for 30 years, sir,

and I've never seen
anything like it.

Played up, did they?

They looked very respectable
in their evening suits

and waistcoats.

But once the wine was in,
they went berserk.

Everything smashed to pieces.

What they did to the pig's head
centerpiece...

I told them,

"If I'd known you were going
to carry on like that,

I'd have put straw down."

In the end,

I threatened them
with the police.

They asked to see the owner.

Gave him a check, did they?

I couldn't say, sir.

I refused to serve them
and threatened to give notice

if the owner insisted.

The rest of the staff
did the same.

We closed the bar at 10:30

and left them to it.

Have you had any thefts lately?

We had some agency staff in
for a wedding about a month ago.

Things went missing.

We did ask them to look into it,
but haven't heard back.

So two of the victims
were members

of this disgusting dining club,
weren't they?

The-- what is it?

The Berserkers, sir.
The Berserkers!

Sounds like a collection
of absolute philistines.

Joey Sikes
wasn't a member, sir.

The Philistines
put Samson's eyes out

after he was betrayed
by Delilah.

That was the name
on Grey's beermat, wasn't it?

And Dr. Grey was stabbed
in the eyes.

And the rest?

Oh, I don't know.

That still leaves Eve Thorne
as being the only link

between all three of them.

Anything from her
answering service?

They're still compiling
a list of her messages,

but her bills
go to 24 Tobacco Yard.

Tobacco Yard?

That's the registered address
of Magdalen Cabs.

Call girls.

That what Joey Sikes

was running for you.

That's what he was doing
in Holywell Lane

the night he got the hard word.

Don't know what
you're talking about.

Well, then, I'll
spell it out for you.

The client gets the girl's name
and number from a contact book.

Same kind of contact book
I found in Joey Sikes' flat.

He calls and leaves a message
for Eve or Jezebel,

or whichever belle de jour
takes his fancy

with an answering service.

The girls ring in
as often as needs be

to pick up their messages.

But if it's
particularly urgent,

and it just can't wait

the message is relayed
to Magdalen Cabs.

But you know that,
because you're paying the bills.

Anything you'd like to say?

Can't help you.

Let's see if a night in the
cells can't jog your memory.

On what charge?
Procurement.

Conspiracy to corrupt
public morals.

Take your pick.

Either way, you're nicked.

Afternoon, sir.

How may I be of service?

A few things my wife
asked me to pick up.

I've a... a list here,
if that's a help.

Your mum said
you were back.

All right, are you?

I'm fine.

New flat?

That's right.

Just me and two girlfriends.

No men, if that's what
you're wondering.

I just wanted to see
how you were.

Checking up on me.
No!

I can let you have my flatmates'
names and dates of birth,

if you want to run them
past records.

I just want things
to be right.

Right?

How they were.

We always got on.

You can't fix it.

I've seen what happens
when you try to fix things.

There are bad things
in the world, Joanie.

Bad people!

Wickedness!

I've only ever tried
to keep you safe from them.

Nobody asked you to!

You, your mum,
and Sam.

I've come up short.

It's 1968.

I'm not your little girl
anymore.

People have to make
their own mistakes!

Say hello to mum for me.

Anything?

Residents in and out.

A florist dropped off
some flowers.

That's about it.

She hasn't been in or out?

Not since I've been here.

Fancy said the same.

You think she did it?

I think she's
a dangerous woman.

I've got a list of temps
that worked the wedding

at Shiplake Chase.

That was quick.

You asked for it.

You're a good sergeant, Jim.

Good man, too.

Oh, I don't know about that,
sir.

Well, there's not many'd
take Morse in.

He'd do the same for me.

Would he?

He's a prickly bugger
at the best of times.

Just how he is.

You wanna come in?

From an admirer?

I do have them.

So it seems.

Flowers, chocolates.

You should see the lingerie
they send.

"Eve Thorne, R.A."

Well...

The Royal Academy
would be thrilled.

Judgmental prick, aren't you?

Who did you see
when you left Holywell Lane?

Nobody.

I've told you.

I don't remember anything
from finding Simon...

To being on the bus.

Yes.

You said.

You know, if you're
in any trouble...

I can't help you
unless you tell me the truth.

I don't need your help.

I've been taking care of myself
since I was old enough

to know how.

Yeah, it looks that way.

You're going
to ride in

on your white charger
and save me?

That it?

There aren't any heroes.

Just men,
and I know what they're like.

Yeah, I'm sure you do.

Oh, you bet.

I knew a girl once.

Convent-educated.

Wanted to be an artist.

Did a bit of modeling,
dancing, just to make ends.

Got in with the wrong crowd.

One night, some party somewhere,

they went at her like dogs.

Oh.

I'm sorry.

Sure you are.

You're always sorry after.

I don't need you.

I don't need anyone.

So are you any closer
to finding out who did it?

Is that why you invited me in?

Maybe.

You got a girl?

Didn't think so.

When did you last get
your leg over,

as a matter of interest?

None of your business.

It's exactly my business.

I just don't see why you
get to ask all the questions,

that's all.

You know everything about me.

I know nothing about you.

Save it for your clients,
Miss Thorne.

I'm immune.

You've got need coming off you
like a junkie

gouging for a spike,

but you won't do
anything about it.

Why?

What happened?

Somebody take your girl?

I can help you forget her.

Or maybe you don't want to.

I can be her, if you like.

Are you expecting somebody?

Bedtime.

You change your mind?

Why "Weibermacht"?

What?

The inscription.

Weibermacht.

The Power of Women.

The hand that rocks the cradle,
right?

It's an artistic theme.

Powerful men brought down
by women.

Is that what this is about?

Is that why they've been killed
in such a specific manner?

How would I know?

Unless I killed them.

They don't touch me.

If that's what worries you.

They might think they do.

They get her,
for an hour or two,

and they get exactly what they
paid for, but they don't get me.

Is that what
you tell yourself?

Listen, tiger.

We all do what we have to,
even you.

What I do is honest.

You think so?
Mm.

Well, how many times have you
fitted someone up?

Planted evidence?

Knocked a confession out of some
poor innocent bastard?

Never.

You will.
No.

It's what coppers do.

I know.

I've seen it, I've lived it,
so don't tell me.

You might think
you're above it all,

but don't kid yourself--
you're right down here

in the dirt
with the rest of us.

Go to bed.

Bastard.

Why don't you make me?

You're not Miss Evie.

Eve Thorne
was at Shiplake Chase.

I think she was
the entertainment

for Robin Grey's stag night.
Maybe she wasn't alone.

Ruth Astor,
the telephonist.

Her name came up on a list

of agency staff
sent to Shiplake Chase.

We should go.
Where?

Adrian Croxley's.

I was looking forward
to a nice dolly-party.

All girls together.

Evie couldn't come.

I suppose you'll do.

"Eve Thorne R.A."

I thought the "R.A."
stood for Royal Academy.

Only it was Ruth Astor.

So they must have been hired
to be the entertainment

for Robin Grey's stag do.

And Joey Sikes was the driver.

Here.

Put some of this on her.

She looks like death
warmed up.

Smile.

I can't.

Yes, you can.

And you be nice.

You don't remember me,
do you?

Well, something happened

at Shiplake Chase that night,
something terrible.

I don't think
I've had the pleasure.

Oh, you have.

We have some entertainment
for you.

You're very pretty.

Fantastic wine, cheers.

What are you doing?

I tried to forget about you.

Believe me, I tried.

Eddie gave her a job
at the telephone message service

by way of a payoff.

He was the one
who sent her there, after all.

Make it right, Eddie.

You get her fixed up.

You make it right.

Which would leave her perfectly
placed to hunt them all down--

one by one.

Good afternoon, it's
Dr. Grey here.

It was Grey's voice
I recognized first.

Then yours.

But Lake's was the hardest
to find.

I had to...

I had to wait.

But I had time.

I'd like to leave a message,
please.

So she goes back
to Shiplake Chase

posing as an agency temp,

and steals the silverware

she used to kill Grey and Lake.

I wanted you to know
who was coming.

Why drive a skewer
into Joey's ear

when she's already shot him?

Many of these scenes
of vengeful women

were from the Bible, painted
by Artemisia Gentileschi.

She also suffered
at the hands of men,

just like Ruth Astor.

Jael who slew Sisera by driving
a tent peg into his temple.

Samson-- undone by Delilah
before being delivered

into the hands of the
Philistines to be blinded.

Which makes Lake what?

Holofernes, perhaps.

Being beheaded by Judith.

I wanted you to know
what it felt like

to feel powerless and afraid.

So what's she got in store
for Adrian Croxley?

You're frightened now, right?

Hail Mary, full of grace.

The Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou among women,

and blessed is the fruit
of thy womb, Jesus.

You let her go!

Whoa!

You'll pay for this,
you bastards.

It was you.

I thought it had to be.

Ruth.

Ruthie.

Darling, we've got
to get away from here.

The police are coming,
sweetheart.

Let go of the knife, eh?

Oh...

Oh, Ruthie, what've you done
to yourself?

I...

I got them.

I know, baby.

I know.

All of them.

I tried...

It was too much.

Get away!

You don't touch her.

Nobody's going
to touch her.

She needs an ambulance.

No.

No, she doesn't want
an ambulance.

Shhh...
She'll die!

Nobody touches her!

Come on.

Come on.

Ruthie!

Oh, Ruthie.

Ruthie.

Can we charge her with anything?

If she knew this girl
was the killer?

I don't think
she was certain, sir.

Well, not until the end.

It would be the devil
to prove otherwise.

Who was she,
this girl?

Ruth Astor, sir.

No family,
as far as we can make out.

Eve Thorne seems to be
the only person

to show her any kindness.

She helped her out.

Helped her get back on her feet
after Shiplake Chase.

To do all that

and then kill herself.

Maybe it was only hate

kept her going.

Once she'd settled
their account,

maybe she'd nothing left
to live for.

Remorse, perhaps?

Couldn't live with
what she'd done?

Or what had been done to her.

Quite.

Will it stick, do you think,
with Nero?

Procurement?

I doubt it.

I know Eddie.

The whole thing'll get pinned
on Joey Sikes.

But it'll come round.

There's still the matter
of the egg, of course.

I don't suppose we'll ever know

what happened to that.

Actually, sir.

We do.

Ruth Astor took it
from Lake's flat.

Sent it to Eve Thorne

Good heavens.

Together with some flowers.

There's a card.

"Not to be opened
until Easter."

"Buy yourself a new life,
and live it for both of us.

R."

"Innocence."

Well, they got that right,
about the kids, at least.

But murder's still murder.

What starts with blood
usually ends in it.

All that death
and suffering,

for what?

There's always some as got
and some other bugger's not.

Nobody wins in the end.

They all wanted something
they couldn't have, I suppose.

Doesn't everyone?

Police are looking
for a young white man,

well-dressed
with a medium build,

driving a white Mustang,

who shot and possibly
critically wounded

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.,

at his hotel room in Memphis,
Tennessee, this evening.