All language subtitles for Endeavour.S05E03.BluRay.1080p.DD5.1.H265-d3g (2)

Teatime, Lillian.

It's that Lime Whip
you like.

Shake a leg, love.

You want to make
your train.

This is the Night Mail
crossing the border,

Bringing the cheque
and the postal order

Letters for the rich,
letters for the poor,

The shop at the corner
and the girl next door.

Letters of thanks,
letters from banks,

Letters of joy
from the girl and the boy...

Cedric?

Cedric!

Supper, dear.

I don't want any supper.

I told you, I'm going out.

What's going on?

Get off...

Get off me...
I mean, please!

Let's go.

Miss Thursday.

It's, uh,
early for you.

I'm taking Mum out
for the day.

She's spoiling me.

We're going to pick out
a new lamp for the flat

and have some lunch--
at Burridges.

Oh.

That will be nice.
Mm-hmm.

I'm having
a flat-warming Wednesday.

8:00, if you're free.

Thanks.

I'll, uh...

Oh, only if you're...
Oh, well...

Got nothing on.

I know you're busy
with work.

We're off, then,
Fred.

Bye, Dad.

He can't hear
over the taps.

He won't be a minute--
do go on through.

Is there anything you need?

For the flat?

Uh, just bring a bottle...
if you're coming.

They've gone,
have they?

Oh, yes.

Just.

They did call up.

Much in?

Good morning.
Good morning.

Okay, um...

Build?

Average.

Right, we're on our way.

Where is he?

He's with Mr. Bright,
why?

Lorry hijack,

Waddington Junction.

Driver sounds to be
in a pretty bad way.

Whistle up
the old man

once he's done
with Morning Prayers.

See you out there.
Mm-hmm.

I cycle on a Sunday,
up into the Chilterns.

I set off about 7:00,

usually home by 6:00
or half past.

Frances does
bell-ringing,

but is normally
back by then.

And where's this?

The bell-ringing?

At All Souls'
on Southmore Road.

And when she still
wasn't home by 11:00,

I called Jilly to see
if she'd seen her.

I haven't spoken
to Fran since, uh,

well, um, last week.

What's all this?

Missing person.

Mr. Porter's wife.

Frances.

Mr. Porter
and his sister-in-law, Miss...

Conway-- Jilly.

When did you
see her last?

Yesterday morning.

No note,

and she hadn't
taken anything with her.

No suitcase,
no nothing.

All was well with you?

You hadn't
had a row, or...

No,
nothing like that.

And where should she be today?

Fran works
at Alice's Marmalade Cat.

It's a boutique.

Right.

Well,
leave it with us.

The detective constable
will see you out.

Try not to worry.

Nine times out of ten,

these cases are resolved
quite happily.

Oh, thank you.

Oh, do you have a photograph?

No, I'm sorry.

I didn't think.

Um, I can drop one by later,
if that would help.

Thank you.

And still no word
on the Flynn murder?

Not yet, sir, no.

Tied in to Eddie Nero,
you think?

Liam Flynn was
a strong-arm man and collector

for Nero's protection racket.

It's hard to see
there isn't some connection.

Just taken a payoff from a cafe
in the covered market,

hadn't he?

Yes, sir, that's right.

Only when his body was found,
the wallet was empty.

No chance it was just
an opportunistic robbery?

No.

Very well.

But a breakthrough

before the quarterly figures
are submitted

would be
to the general weal,

so far as our standing
with Division is concerned.

No news on the future
of the station?

None that has yet been
confided to me.

The survival
of the fittest, Thursday.

If we are useful,
we will endure.

If not...

Thames Valley was always going
to mean changes.

Sir.

I'll give you a copy
of my notes.

Mrs. Porter.

I suppose you want
to take it.

No, no, missing person.

Work for a detective constable--
you can deal.

Really?
Hm.

All right.

Okay.

I'd start at All Souls',
if I were you.

See if she made
the bell-ringing.

But as you think best.

I won't miss anything.

I know.

Missing person, didn't even ask
for a photograph.

You can't do it all
yourself.

Hmm.

Something's come in.

Excuse me, sir,
guv is here.

Righto.

Touch and go, according to
the ambulance boys.

Plenty of tire tracks.

There would be--
they'd've been a team,

manned with half a dozen
blokes at least.

Make sure we get
photos and casts.

What was he carrying?

Mixed load.

Whisky mostly--
smokes, tinned goods.

Come down from Scotland
via Birmingham.

Regular run?

Every other Sunday.

He arrived at the yard
around 9:00,

went to the pub whilst
the goods fellas got him loaded.

Whoever it was
must've been waiting for him

when he got back.

Where were the porters?

Gone home.

His was the last load
of the night.

Most of it was bound for
Richardson's Depot at Bicester

and some other shops
and stores around Oxford.

Hammond and Sons,
isn't that in Abingdon?

I've spoken to
the governor there.

Driver's Burt Hobbs,
been with the firm 15 years.

Oh, Christ.

I'll notify
his next of kin.

Bastards.

That could've been
my old man, or yours.

It won't do, Morse.

It won't bloody do.

His missus
is breaking her heart.

Had their ruby wedding
coming up in September.

Big do planned.

Do we have a value

on the load?

Thousands worth
of whisky.

Some are tobacco
and tinned goods.

A proper gang'd
have it coopered across

to another vehicle

inside two hours.

A decent, working man

going about
his lawful business

cut down
in as callous a manner

as you please.

We leave no stone
unturned.

Ah, perfect timing.

Cowley will be coordinating
the investigation

with Detective Inspector
Ronnie Box

and Detective Sergeant Dawson
from Robbery.

DCI Thursday will,
of course,

remain in overall
operational command.

Sir.

Your promotion
to detective chief inspector

inevitably means
a more managerial role.

I'm not a manager, sir,
I'm a doer.

No disrespect, I just think
I should have been told,

that's all.

I've just found out
myself.

It's come down
from Division.

D.I. Box...

How did you get on
at All Souls'?

Mrs. Porter hasn't come to
practice for about two months.

She telephoned
to say she was unwell,

but she hasn't
been back since.

What's this?

Oh, missing person.

Frances Porter.

Robbery Squad.

How's that, then?

Because it's
our business.

There was a lorry hijack
at Waddington Junction.

Who do you fancy
for it, then?

Eddie Nero, like as not.

Well, Nero's heists
don't usually involve murder.

Desperate times,
desperate measures.

All right, stand to.

Action this day.

A rolling observation is
to be made of Nero

and known associates.

That will be conducted
by D.I. Box's robbery team.

Fancy, you're assigned.

Meantime, Strange and me'll
look into the haulage side.

All right,
as you were.

Right, fetch your coat.

You might
learn something.

Fetch the car round,
Jim.

Sir.

You don't want me
on it?

Division wanna make it
Robbery's show,

good luck to 'em.

But they're not having
my best man.

Besides you've
a missing person,

haven't you?

It's an occupational hazard
for haulage, but this...

No drivers
you let go lately?

Nobody with a grudge,
anything like that?

Well, the only thing
out of the ordinary was,

I had a colored come in looking
for a job about a month back.

West Indian.

Wanted to know
the ins and outs

of the cat's proverbial.

He got a name?

Not that I remember.

He had a scar, though.

Right side.

He just felt like a wrong'un.

All right, Mr. Hammond,

if it should
come back to you.

I'll have a turn through
the picture gallery, but...

It doesn't sound like

any of Eddie Nero's
known associates.

If this had been him,
Hobbs would still be alive.

Nero's not afraid
of violence,

but as a means to an end.

Nah.

This little bit of business

goes hand-in-glove
with Liam Flynn.

Somebody making a move
against Nero?

There's no firm in Oxford
with that kind of muscle.

Until now, maybe.

Actually it's
an astrological symbol.

Leo.

That's a fire sign.
Mm-hmm.

It means
I'm very passionate.

Afternoon, squire.

After something
in particular?

Yes, as a matter of fact.

Frances Porter.
Oh, yeah?

Who're you, then,
her old man?

I'm Detective Sergeant Morse,
Thames Valley.

Mr....?

Bedlo.

Marty Bedlo--
this is my place.

All right.

When d'you see her last?

Saturday, when we closed.

Did she mention any plans
for the weekend?

Not to me.

Anoushka.

Did Frances
say anything to you

about what she was doing
this weekend?

Oh, excuse me.
Of course.

Alice's Marmalade Cat.

Oh, hello.

Hello.

Miss...?
Nolan.

Did Mrs. Porter tell you

what she was doing
this weekend?

Miss Nolan?

Don't mention anything to Marty.

She borrowed a couple of things
from the shop.

Nothing expensive.

Just a hat
and a pair of red shoes.

She was going
to get them back first thing.

She's got this guy
she's seeing, Don.

Don what?

I don't know.

Just Don.

Did she tell you
where she was meeting him?

Detective Sergeant Morse,
Thames Valley.

I'm trying to find a woman
who was here last night.

Her name's Frances Porter.

She's... early 20s,
medium height.

Wearing a hat, possibly,

and some red shoes.

Well, the only person we had in
like that

was with a guest
at the bar.

A Mr. Smith, in chalet nine.

I'd like to see his room,
please.

Yes, I don't see why not.

What a tumble!

I'm so sorry,
it should have been cleaned.

I'll have to give Mrs. T.
a piece of my mind.

I'll need to take these glasses
and champagne bottles with me.

Has she done
something wrong?

Her family
have reported her missing.

Heavens.

What time did he check out,
Mr. Smith?

I don't know-- I came on
at 7:00 in the morning,

and by then,
he'd already gone,

so he must
have left early.

Or late.

Guests provide a car
registration, presumably.

It's a beige, four-door saloon.

Possibly a Rover P6.

Index Mother-Delta-Papa-
six-six-eight-Foxtrot.

Soon as you can.

Yes, sir.

Still here?
Mm.

A Miss Conway dropped this
by the front desk

earlier this evening.

Thanks.

Who is she?

Miss Conway's sister.

Frances Porter.

Any sign of her?

George mentioned.

George?

Yes and no.

Did Fancy-- sorry, George--

say anything
about the Hobbs murder?

Only that if I heard of
any Kilorran whisky going cheap,

I should let you know.

Morse.

That index came back.

It's a fleet vehicle registered
to Gidbury's Desserts.

Thank you, what's the address?

Ajax House, Solihull.

So...

What's this all about then?

I was wondering if you can
give me an account

of your whereabouts
on Sunday.

I, uh...

I was at home, mostly.

Played nine holes
in the morning.

Afternoon, I...

took the kids
to the park.

It's just,
your car registration

was noted at a motel just
outside Birmingham on Sunday.

And a man answering
your description

was seen in the company
of a woman

called Frances Porter.

Yeah.

All right.

You know how it is.

It was me,
but I don't know

any Frances...
what was it?

Porter.

No, I was
with Jilly Conway.

Yeah, that's her,
that's Jilly.

No, that's Frances Porter.

Jilly Conway's
her sister.

Trust me,
I've met her.

Why would she lie
about her name?

For the same reason
you checked into the hotel

under the name of Smith,
perhaps?

Because she's married.

Now, how long
have you been seeing her?

Two-and-a-half months.

And what did you do Sunday?

We had lunch.
Mm-hmm.

Went back to the room.

I dropped her
at Kings Oak station.

She was going to catch
the train back to Oxford.

No, Sorry.

Didn't see her alight.

I clocked off.

Is that usual?

To leave
the station unmanned?

Well, it wasn't,
strictly speaking.

We live
above the shop.

My wife's expecting,
see.

Thought the baby
was coming.

The ticket office
at Kings Oak

said there are no direct trains
through to Oxford

at that time of a Sunday.

So she'd've had
to change here.

That's right,
ordinarily.

Only last Sunday
there was nothing due

after the Kings Oak
train.

Down was cancelled.

Blockage
on the line.

Would the passengers
have known that?

Don't get that
many passengers out here.

Not that time
of the night.

Well, if anyone
was stuck,

there's a cab number
in the booking hall

and a telephone
outside.

With you in a moment.

Anoushka.

Anoushka, customer, love.

Here now, what's this?

Two days, Marty.

Something
must have happened.

Come on.

Don't take on.

You don't know that.

She'll turn up.

Probably just had a row
with her old man.

Yeah.
Mm-hmm.

Maybe.

Listen,
I've been having a go

through the weekend
till receipts,

and there's a hat
and a pair of shoes

not accounted for.

Uh, excuse me.

I couldn't help
but overhear you talking

to the station master.

What he told you
wasn't strictly accurate.

No?

About nothing running here
Sunday night.

No, actually, there would
have been the Parly.

Some people call them
ghost trains.

It's a service
run by the railway

once a week, unannounced,

as a way of avoiding
closing the line altogether.

And one ran here
Sunday night?

That's right,
the 22:15 special.

Calling at Chadwick,
Hamingwell Halt, Pudham,

Whimperley,
East Pitherbury,

and Waddington Junction.

You're a trainspotter?
Railway enthusiast.

And what do you do

when you're not enthusing
about railways, Mr....?

Naughton, Cedric.

I'm with the Ministry
of Education.
Ah.

Schools inspector,
for my sins.

Mother wanted me
to be a...

...concert pianist,

but you've either
got a feeling for it,

or you haven't.

And those stations
that you just mentioned.

Would any of those
have been good for Oxford?

East Pitherbury'd
get you nearest,

but there's no...
direct service anymore.

They're all...
closed now.

Hello, sir.

Detective Sergeant Morse,
Thames Valley.

I was wondering
if you've seen this lady.

Sunday, perhaps.

Doesn't ring a bell with me.

Never get many through here
on Sundays.

I suppose she could have
alighted here

if she was trying
to get to Oxford.

Hm.
What's she done?

I passed a stretch
of overgrown track

on the way
from Norborough.

Where does that lead?

Nowhere, these days.

The old
Marsdon Branch Line.

No trains on that track
for a few years now.

Right.

Thank you.

Rigor has completely passed.

Dead somewhere
between 24 and 48 hours.

Hands bound.

Bruises to the neck
and throat

consistent with
manual strangulation.

What about
her feet?

No sign
of her shoes.

No.

Well, she walked
some way unshod,

by the looks of things.

Interfered with?

Her underclothes
have been removed,

and there would appear to be
some evidence of coitus.

She spent
Sunday afternoon

in a motel
with her lover.

Well, that might
complicate matters.

Be able to tell you more
after the postmortem.

Shall we say 1:00?

Gentlemen.
Doctor.

Place this is.

Private.

She could've screamed
the place down,

and nobody'd've
heard her.

If Scene of Crime
are done,

let's get her
out of here.

Of course.

Just needed some fresh air.

When did this close?

'64.

Along with the rest
of the branch line.

There's a few houses
about two miles west,

but the rest's
just farmland.

Must have been driven here.

Yeah, hard to see

how she would have stumbled
on it by herself.

So somebody picks her up

and brings her out
to this godforsaken hole.

You'd better
notify the husband.

There's the sister, too.

Mrs. Porter took her name

when she met
the dessert salesman,

Don Mercer.

Is he married?

Figures.

Excuse me, sir.

Thank you.

You're a ways out.

Have car, will travel.

What can you tell me?

Not much.

Well, give me a name, at least.

Frances Porter,
went missing Sunday.

But that's not
for publication.

Not till we've notified
the next of kin.

Any connection
to the Gresham girl?

County case, '64.

Linda Gresham.

Teenager
from Headington.

Body was found out
near Slepe Bridge station.

County thought it must be
somebody who worked the railway

or knew it, at least.

Why? Is it unsolved?

I spoke to the parents.

Nice people, decent.

I can let you have sight
of the transcript,

if you think
there's any connection.

I wouldn't want to speculate
at this stage.

We'd be glad

of any information
you might have.

Well, I'm sure
you've got it all on file...

But my contact
at County said

they nicknamed the killer
Prince Charming.

Because he took her shoes
as a souvenir.

Is that right?

Christ, who's this
soppy tart?

Constable Trewlove.

Get her out of here, Pat,

before she blows our cover

and makes a bollocks
of the whole observation.

She knows
what she's doing.

Information Room,
from Dawson.

Receiving.

We've got some plonk
in imminent danger

of queering our obs,
on Tobacco Street.

Put her off, will you?
And make it sharpish.

Now what's she doing?

On your way, girlie.

Robbery, D.I. Box.

Don't make me
flash my warrant.

Trewlove from Information Room.

Receiving.

Obs in progress

at your location.

Move on.

Received.

You might want to tell
the occupants

of LML-Four-Nine-Nine-C

that their Nondy's parked
on a double yellow.

If I'm seen to not move them on
by any likely lads,

it'll make
the vehicle concerned,

and its occupants

stand out like spare pricks.

Received.

Using the radio's
a bit of a giveaway, too.

There's a clear spot
just there.

Afternoon, gentlemen.

The beach is
a literal stone's throw,

and facilities are first-rate.

From the hotel,

there's excursions to all
the sights and local markets.

And, of course, being Acapulco,

there's the casinos
and the nightlife.

I've got a break there myself
coming up.

Yes.

Yes, that's her.

That's my wife.

Frances Porter.

Come on, Mr. Porter.

This way, sir.

Alcohol levels
in her blood

suggest she'd had
quite a lot to drink.

Enough to impair
her judgment.

Cause of death was
as first appeared,

manual strangulation.

Coitus took place
within a few hours of decease,

but there are
no obvious signs

of sexual assault.

Which isn't the same
as to say

there may not have been

some sexual element
to the crime.

Indeed not.

The act
of murder itself

is often
sufficient stimulus

for the sexual psychopath
to achieve release.

Otherwise, she was a fit,
healthy young woman.

Roughly eight weeks pregnant.

I know you have already
been asked this question,

but I am afraid I must
put it to you again.

Was all well
between you and your wife?

She was my life.

Then I am sorry
to have to tell you

that she had lately become
involved with someone else.

What?

No, that's, er...

She was with him
Sunday evening.

I don't believe it,
not Frances.

She never gave you
any indication?

What about
your married life,

were you...
taking precautions?

What?

I don't see
our private life's any bearing.

My wife's been murdered.

If you must know...

No.

There was no need--
we couldn't.

There is no easy way
to put this, Mr. Porter,

but at the time of her decease,

your wife
was carrying a child.

About two months gone,

according
to the postmortem.

I am very sorry.

You got
a platform ticket?

I'm not doing
any harm.

I'm not saying
you are,

but the railway's got rules.

If you're going to...

...be like that about it...

This other man.

Don Mercer, sir.

Strange is bringing
him in now.

Presumably we only have his word

he put her on a train at...

Where is it?
Kings Oak.

We're pulling
the old County files

from the Linda Gresham case
in '64.

Her body was found
at Slepe Bridge,

another disused station
further along the line.

There may be other similarities.

Such as?

Their shoes were missing
in each case.

County thought the killer

may have taken them
as a memento.

I'm very sorry,
Miss Conway.

Poor Frances.

Did your sister...

confide in you?

How do you mean?
Confide what?

Did she ever mention
any other men?

It can't hurt her now.

She never said as much.

Not in so many words.

I just had a feeling.

Well, it appears
she'd become involved

with a man called Don Mercer.

She spent Sunday
with him

at a motel
out by Birmingham.

It appears
she was using your name.

My name?
Mm.

Why would she?

Well, I can think
of a few reasons.

Is there anybody else
you'd like us to notify?

Your parents?

No.

Dad died last year.

Mum's in...

in a home.

Can't really
communicate anymore.

Maybe it's a blessing.

At least I don't have
to tell her...

...about Frances.

Yes, hello--
Cowley police station, please.

What do you make
to Porter?

Bit of a wet week.

Not to know your wife

was involved with someone else.

Wouldn't be the first.

You wonder what goes on
in a marriage.

I know what goes on in yours.

Luncheon meat.

Ah, Miss Frazil.

My notes.

And a transcript

of the interview I conducted

with Linda Gresham's
parents.

Just in case.

What do you remember
of them?

Father was a merchant seaman.

Mother in nursing.
She was their only.

Went to Headington
Town Secondary, prefect.

Excelled in home ec,
music, and sport.

A well-liked girl.

Too much by someone.

Well, we'll talk
to the parents.

I've already tried
to reach them.

Did you?

Bit premature,
don't you think?

You said, "Tried."

They moved away.

No forwarding address.

Well, I'm sure
we can track them down.

Thanks for the...

Look, I know
you've got your job,

but I've got mine, too.

We both want to see
whoever did it caught.

Morse.

Yeah, thank you.

Hm, you smell nice.

What is it we're hoping to see?

Nero's men are hardly going
to be carting boxes of Kilorran

in and out of the gym,
are they?

Softly, softly, son.

Right, opening time.

Off you piss.

You're all right back
to Cowley from here, are you?

Find your way?

I should think so.

Be here for 9:00.

Pick up a couple
of bacon sarnies on the way.

And two teas.

Mine's three sugars.

Go on.

You can go home
early tonight.

You don't want me
to close up?

No, you're all right,
love.

I'll give you a lift home
in the car.

Oh, no,
it's all right.

I'll take the bus.

Thanks, Marty.

Sure.

Looking for anything
in particular, officer?

No, just looking.

Thank you.

Wait, wait, stop!

Stop, stop, stop, stop!

Mr. Mercer.

Detective Chief Inspector
Thursday.

Yeah,
about bloody time.

Two hours,
I've been waiting.

I've a good mind
to make a formal complaint.

Two hours.

What am I supposed
to tell my wife?

What did you tell her Sunday?
"Work," was it?

I think I'm owed
an explanation.

The woman you knew
as Jilly Conway

was found murdered.

Strangled, to be precise.

That enough of
an explanation for you?

Christ.

He's nothing to do with it,
but you are.

Now, wait a minute...

We've a witness says
they saw you car

parked in a slip-road
by the roundabout

on Sunday night, a quarter
of a mile from the motel.

What witness?
They said you were
standing on the verge

arguing with a woman

who answers the description
of Frances Porter.

Well, it wasn't me.

We can put you in a line-up,
get them to pick you out.

Is that what you want?

No?

So what were you
arguing about?

It was a tiff,
that's all.

The staff at Kings Oak Station
have no recollection

of Mrs. Porter
being dropped off by you,

or of her boarding a train.

Well, I can't help that.

Well, you'd better
hope someone can,

because right now, you're the
last person to see her alive.

And in my book, that means
you're halfway to the dock.

Just so you know,
I won't be diving in after you.

Don't tempt me.

As bad as that?

Try sitting in a motor

for half a day
with two sarky Charlies

who'd sooner
you weren't there

and aren't too polite
to let you know it.

They treat me like
I'm bloody invisible.

Imagine.

I guess
you get that a bit,

being in uniform.

Uniform.

Of course,
I wondered what it was.

You might want to take a look
at Lloyd Collins.

West Indian--
Jamaican, possibly.

He's got a record stall
in Brennan Street Market.

Running an M.O.T. failure
of a van

registered
to 43B Hartford Road.

And?

You asked me to be
on the lookout

for Kilorran whisky.

He's using
a bit of cardboard

from a case of the same
on his stall.

His prices are written
on the back.

But...

I can't put that
to Robbery.

He's also not above
dealing in stolen goods.

There's an LP on his stall
from Morse's flat.

He was burgled
last autumn.

Collar like that, you could
make a name for yourself.

So...

Why tell me?

Because I'm all heart.

You're the detective.

I'm just a uniform,
remember?

I don't know,
we just hit it off.

There was a... connection.

I gave her a lift
back to the station.

It just started.

Nothing just starts,
Mr. Mercer,

unless someone
wants it to.

Did she tell you
she was pregnant?

Two months gone.

About the same time you started
seeing her, wasn't it?

I imagine that might put you
in the soup at home.

Marriage, kids--
work, as like as not.

All of it up in smoke.

A man might take it
upon himself

to do something
about it.

Not meaning to,
of course, but...

No.

...put on the spot
like that.

Is that how it went?
No, there's...

I'd never...

Well, it could've been
her husband's, couldn't it?

You didn't know
she had a husband.

So you claim.

So any child
would be down to you.

It was only meant
to be a bit of fun.

I, I didn't sign on
for all that.

I told her,

if she was keeping
the damn thing,

to stick it up
for adoption.

Either way, I wasn't going
to be around.

Gallant to the last.

So you didn't take her
to Kings Oak station?

It wasn't even half a mile.

I told her she could walk it.

And was she wearing
her shoes?

Far as I remember--
why?

Just a line of inquiry.

Right, twist it
how you like,

but there's no way
I'd've laid a finger on her.

Not for that.

When I left her
at the roundabout,

she was safe and well.

Do you believe him?

"She was lonely,
I was lonely.

One thing led
to another."

I might buy it
from a lovesick teenager,

but not from a man
who sells Lime Whip

to earn his crust.

Right, I best be off.

Joan.

Best not keep
your mum waiting.

Hello.
Oh, hello.

Can I give you
a lift anywhere?

No, thanks all the same.

I'm meeting someone.
Right.

But don't forget,
tomorrow night.

Flat-warming.

Oh, yes.

I stopped by the Chinese.
So I see.

There's plenty
if you want a bowlful.

Sweet and sour pork,
chicken chop suey,

beef in black bean,
spring rolls.

Egg fried rice.

I'll be fine
with a drink, thanks.

I had a bottle
of Radford's.

In the fridge.

In the fridge?

It's bitter, not lager.

How d'you make out
with Mercer?

There's nothing
to hold him on.

Not yet, leastways.

Got back on Sunday
around 10:00, so he says.

You'll have to talk
to the wife, then.

How you getting on
with the hijack?

There might be a connection

to a fella on the market.

Lloyd Collins,
Jamaican.

But it's early days.

I don't want
to jump the gun.

...is sure to delight

even the most discerning
of dinner guests

Gidbury's lime dessert.

It's not just good...

Joan come by, then?

That lamp that we picked up
from Burridges.

There's something wrong
with the fitting.

You know,
where you put the bulb in?

Want me to take
a look at it?

No, no.

She just wants me to change it

next time I'm passing.

All right, then,
is she?

I just seem
to put her back up lately.

It's not you.

She's just getting back
on her feet again,

that's all.

Still with that
Public Advice thing?

Part-time.

She said something
about school.

Free School,
whatever that is.

Oh, and Charlie rang.

What Charlie?
My Charlie?

How many Charlies
do you know?

Funny.

You don't hear
from him

for the best part
of ten years...

Well, that's family,
isn't it?

I'll call him tomorrow.

What time
are The Minstrels on?

Late, Cal.

That's branch meetings for you.

Everybody wants
to say their piece.

Lot of stuff about
the line being closed down.

You all right, are you?

My back's playing up.

I'll just go and wash up.

You've hurt yourself.

What? That?

Oh, bugger.

No, I caught
some old Tommy Brock.

Had to finish him off
with the jack.

Oh, Cal.

I couldn't leave him
like that, love.

Would've been cruel.

Rexy!

Rex!

Come on.

Come on, boy.

What's your business
with my van?

Lloyd?

Who wants to know?

I heard you might be
the man to talk to.

About what now?

Well...

where a man could get his hands
on some decent Scotch.

And where you hear that?

Just...
up the market.

Rarse, man.

Me got nothing for you.

Come on,
help a fellow out.

I've... I've got a party

at college,

and I've got
to get the bar stocked.

The college, you say?

Yeah, yeah, that's right.

Leave me your number.

Me see
what me can do.

Gentlemen

Doctor.

I'm afraid
we don't have a name

for her yet.
It's Anoushka Nolan.

So which station is it
we're by here?

Slepe Bridge.

Same as where Linda Gresham
was found.

Oh, yes.

I thought
it felt familiar.

Any similarities?

To this?

Well, by dint
of location.

And her hands
were tied.

It was kept out of
the papers, but

Linda Gresham's strangulation
involved a ligature.

Her own bra.

This was manual.

Hands bound, mind.

Same type of sash-cord.

Same type of knot.

Just like
Frances Porter.

But he hasn't taken
her shoes.

No.

It's got to be more
than some sex killer

targeting women at random,
hasn't it?

Maybe that's what
we're meant to think.

Maybe this whole
railway connection is...

just window dressing.

Copycat, you mean?

Mm-hmm.

Based on newspaper accounts
of Linda Gresham.

But whoever's behind it
got it wrong.

He didn't know
Linda Gresham

had been strangled
with her own bra.

Or that her shoes
had been taken.

What about
Frances Porter's shoes?

They'd been taken.

Yes, but that was before,
not after, her murder.

It looked like she'd been
walking for miles.

The soles of her feet

were all scratched
and filthy.

So what connects
Frances Porter

to Anoushka Nolan?

Mr. Bedlo.

This about Frances?

In a manner of speaking.

No Miss Nolan today?

You're telling me.

I had to open up
myself.

She was in a pretty bad way
over Frances.

I let her go home early
last night.

You want to talk
to her,

maybe try again
this afternoon.

What were your movements
last night, Mr. Bedlo?

After you'd closed up.

Last night?

I was at home.

Anyone vouch for you?

Do they need to?

You drive a car,
Mr. Bedlo?

Yeah, I have a car.

What's this about?

Anoushka Nolan was found

just after 7:00 this morning
by a dog walker.

How do you mean "found"?

Dead, Mr. Bedlo.

Strangled.

Same as Frances Porter.

Coloreds?

You're dreaming, son.

Lorry load of Scotch
and fags?

That's white man's
mischief.

They haven't got it up here
for that kind of caper.

Too much like hard work.

Where's this come from?

Where were you

in 1964, Mr. Bedlo?

All over.

I was flogging miniskirts
out the back of a van.

Mary Quant.

Markets.

Here. Midlands, mainly.

Headington?

Yeah.

I said all over.

Did you ever know a girl
called Linda Gresham?

Her.

She's a school kid.

Popular with teenagers,

I'd've thought.

Miniskirts.

So?

Who is she?

She was murdered
in 1964.

Her body was left out

by Slepe Bridge station, the
same place as Anoushka Nolan.

Wait, whoa, whoa, wait.

What is this?

When it comes to crumpet,
I'm not a guy that has to try.

You know what I mean?

It's been reported to us
that you tried it on

with both Frances Porter
and Anoushka Nolan.

I don't care
what anyone says.

I never laid a finger.

On either of 'em.

Or this Linda girl.

Never.

Not once.

A man would have to be mad,
wouldn't he?

Murdering two members
of his own staff?

It doesn't add up.
It might.

It starts
with Frances Porter.

She's the original crime.

And if Anoushka Nolan found
something out about that...

stumbled on some
piece of evidence

which would give the game away.

Then we have a motive.

So maybe the child
isn't Don Mercer's.

Maybe it's
Marty Bedlo's.

Mrs. Porter was sleeping
with two men now

besides her husband?

Oh, it's
just speculation, sir.

I don't know what
the world's come to.

Truly, I don't.

A man would come
by greater moral instruction

in a monkey house.

Results through
on the vehicle tracks

from the Waddington Junction
hijack.

Said you were
to be on the lookout

for a van with a one odd tire
on the rear off side.

Ah.

Cheers, Shirl.

There you are.

Sir?

Don't bloody
"sir" me.

I want a word with you,
girlie.

What's this?

As you were, Tubby.

This is the one
I want.

Who do you
think you are?

Some sort of
detective?

Throwing out
your little theories.

I'll tell you
what you are.

A woodentop.

A plonk.

A Person of Limited
or No Knowledge.

I know enough not to park
on double yellows.

Keep your tits
out of my operation.

Got it?

There.

You can run along now
and have a little cry.

I'm not the crying sort.

Oh, I know your sort.

Good for two things.

One of them typing.

I believe you're unfit for duty
through drink, sir.

Go home
and sleep it off.

You mouthy little...

Woah!

Right!

Try that again.

What's the meaning
of this?

Just giving the WPC
a few words of advice, sir.

It was a bit more
than that.

I may have
expressed myself harshly.

So be it.

We're a bit rough
around the edges,

but that's Robbery.

I don't care
who you are.

Robbery?
I've shit 'em.

All right, Thursday.

Reprimand is one thing.

Humiliating junior ranks
in front of senior officers

is quite another.

I was putting her
straight.

Indeed, then let me
put you straight.

I will be making
express request to Division

the Hobbs case
be taken back

solely into Cowley's hands,
and you will not oppose it.

Am I understood?
She was asking for it.

Don't ever let me hear you
talk to one of my officers

like that again.

Well...

we all know you've got

a bit of a soft spot
for her, sir.

I beg your pardon.

Proper little
Chief Super's pet.

Maybe that spot's
not so soft, eh?

One phone call
from me to Division,

and you will find yourself
facing a disciplinary board.

Extension 388.

Ask for
the Chief Constable.

It's a new world
out there.

By the book's
all well and good,

but it's "fire with fire"
that gets results.

Division knows it,
even if you don't.

Get out.

Go on, get out
before I forget myself.

Get back...

to whatever disgusting sewer
you crawled out from,

don't ever dare to show your
face in my station again,

or I promise you,

you'll have cause
to regret it.

Excuse me.

You made it!

I wasn't sure
if you liked red or white,

so I brought one of each.

Oh, great.

What can I get you?

Just a beer,
please.

There you go.

Here, come

You've got to see this.

It's the view
I fell in love with.

Yes.

You can't see from there.

Come closer.

This is as close as I get.

You come here.

I'm not gonna jump.

There's someone
I want you to meet.

Her name's Claudine.

She's a photographer.

Well, a photojournalist.

Something interesting,
anyway.

You'll like her.

She's pretty.

I'm sure.

And French.

No matchmaking.

You need looking after.

I'm really not
on the market right now.

Thank you, though.

Actually,
I should probably go.

You just got here.

Yeah, work.

I just wanted

to wish you well.

Hope it's a happy place
for you.

A fresh start.

Stupid cow!

Do you have
a light?

Thank you.

Good night?

Hello.

It's George.

The lorry hijack.

That market trader came through.

He's gonna let me have
four cases of Kilorran whisky

for 20 nicker.

Where're you picking it up?

Lock-up on Pike Street.

Ten minutes.

Okay.

Lloyd?

Lloyd, it's George.

Ambulance!

Ambulance!

Ambulance!

Easy, Lloyd, Lloyd,
Lloyd, Lloyd.

Ambulance is on its way,
all right.

Lloyd, Lloyd, Lloyd,
stay with me.

Who did this?

Who did this?

Cromwell Ames...

Somebody probably
saw him talking to you,

took him for a narc.

Anything on
this Cromwell Ames?

Nothing on file according
to the Information Room.

But the deceased's
a fair bit of form.

Receiving,
mostly.

Doctor.

Multiple wounds.

A ferocious attack.

Won't know
which was the killer blow

until I've opened him up.

Anything
out of the ordinary?

Beside the
headless cockerel?

Well, it wasn't a knife,
I can tell you that.

The only thing I've seen
comparable of late

is Liam Flynn.

Shall we say 2:00?

There's no Kilorran on board.

But the rear off-side tire's
a mismatch.

Which puts it at the
Waddington Junction hijack.

What do you think
the bird's about?

I know what it looks like,

but I hope I'm wrong.

The black cockerel's

a pretty potent
voodoo symbol.

That rules out
Eddie Nero.

Didn't we have
a consignment of toasters

take a walk off Burridges'
loading bay last month?

It's like Ali Baba's cave.

Kilorran.

Someone's got a sweet tooth.

There was a case of that
on Hobbs' manifest.

Bound for Richardson's.

They can't be Frances Porter's
shoes, can they?

Oh, I think
they could be, sir.

Mercer left her at the
roundabout, didn't he?

Maybe she thumbed
a lift

to Kings Oak station
from Hobbs.

Why would she leave
her shoes behind?

Clearly you've
never worn heels.

They were new,
weren't they?

Maybe they were rubbing.

So, half-cut.

Upset from her row
with Mercer,

she gets out
of Hobbs' lorry,

and he's on his way
before she realizes

she's left them behind.
So, what,

after they knock
the lorry off,

Lloyd does a sweep of the cab
for any bunce?

Maybe he had them in mind
for his market stall.

Is there any possibility

the hijack gang
could have killed her?

These are professionals, sir.

A detour to mess her about
and leave her dead
at Gibbet's End...

I can't see it.
No, well,

keep me apprised
of any developments.

Carry on.

Right,
Fancy and Trewlove,

get the contents
of the lockup booked in.

Me and Strange'll

take the Shabeen
on Kingston Street.

Can you keep the railway
ticking over?

Sir.

Did you get that address for me?

There you go.

Thanks.

Afternoon.

Ferdy.

Mr. Thursday.

What can I get
you gentlemen?

A couple
of Scotches.

Kilorran
if you've got it.

We don't stock it.

We gave Highland, Glen Ross,

and The Old Pretender.

Two Highlands,
straight, no chaser.

Anybody been by

offering any cases
of Kilorran on the cheap?

Them know better.

This is a straight joint.

We don't get no trouble
round here.

You know that.

I know you're still
paying protection

to Eddie Nero's mob

to make sure
things stay that way.

That is management.

I'm just a barman.

Someone does come round,
you'd be sure to let us know.

Sure.

So what's new,
Ferdy?

Nothing new.

This is Oxford.

Nobody fresh
on the scene?

From out of town,
maybe?

Fella with a scar.

No.

Nobody like that.

We heard
the name Cromwell Ames.

Mean anything to you?

Cromwell Ames?

No.

Do you want another?

No.

Thanks.

Keep the change.

It's Ferdy.

Him there?

And nobody notified you?

I can't say
I'm surprised, though.

Mrs. Conway wasn't
on the best of terms

with the older daughter.

Nor the husband.

When did she move in?

Last year.

Just after
her husband died.

She had
a number of strokes.

And this is
a private home?

That's right.

So who pays for it?

Miss Conway
has power of attorney

and has control
of the family finances.

I believe it's quite
a considerable fortune.

Here we are.

Nice young man
to see you, Lillian.

Hello, Mrs. Conway.

Lillian?

I wouldn't
get your hopes up.

You'll be all right
for five minutes?

Oh, yes, yes.

Mrs. Conway.

My name's Morse.

I'm a police officer.

Mrs. Conway,
I'm afraid

I've got some very bad news
for you.

It's, um...

It's about
your daughter,

Frances.

Mrs. Conway,
do you remember Frances?

Mrs. Conway,
do you remember Frances?

Jilly.

Um... no, Mrs. Conway.

That's Frances.

She's married to Noel.

Jilly.

I'm afraid, um...

It doesn't matter.

Any luck?

No.

I did say.

Yes, you did.

Well, thank you anyway,
Miss, er...?

Misses.

Gresham.

She was a good girl,
Linda.

She'd do anything
for anybody.

Bright too.

Everybody said so.

Good at sport.

And music too,
I believe.

Oh, yes.

Yes, she had all
her certificates.

Grade four, she was.

Mrs. Naughton said
she was a natural.

Her piano teacher.

She took it very bad.

You wouldn't think,
would you?

A stranger taking on
like that.

And how long
have you been down here?

Two years, more or less.

We thought it would be better
for my husband.

He hasn't worked since.

He just pines
for her.

He's there and not there.

A bit like these.

I lost one child
and got another.

I'm sorry you've
had a wasted trip.

Oh, no, no.

Maybe it's for the best.

At least Mrs. Conway's
been spared what you haven't.

Still, it's a pretty sad pass

when you can't recognize
your own daughter.

Would you excuse me?

Yes, sir.

No, I think it is
about the money.

Oh, you made me jump.

Yes?

What do you want?

I'm sorry.

I've been
to see your mother.

Oh, yes.

I understand she wasn't
on the best of terms

with your sister
and Mr. Porter.

No.

Well, Mum always liked
to play favorites.

See, what I can't understand
is this.

Why would a mother
be surrounded by photographs

of a daughter
she couldn't stand?

You see, I think

Frances Porter
is very much alive.

Then whose body was found?

Jilly Conway's.

Falsely identified by you
at the mortuary

as your wife.
To what end?

Financial gain.

After your mother-in-law
went into a home,

Jilly--
the real Jilly Conway--

was granted
power of attorney.

And more importantly,

control over
the family finances.

I think you wanted
that money

and drew up an elaborate plan
to get your hands on it.

Rubbish.

How's the travel business
doing?

All right, is it?

Because rest assured,
Mr. Porter,

we will be taking a very close
look at your accounts.

It's audacious,
I'll grant you that.

Murder Jilly,
say it was Frances who'd died,

and have your wife
assume the identity

of your dead sister-in-law.

Here we are.

Tell me everything.

Never suspecting
her own flesh and blood

intended ill toward her,

Jilly confided
and shared things

only one sister might share
with another.

How and where she'd met
a nice man called Don Mercer.

How their affair had begun.

Right down to where
she would be

on the Sunday she disappeared.

All the while unaware

that every intimate detail
and disclosure

was being considered

as to how best
it could be used against her

by you and your husband.

You were just looking for
the right opportunity.

And Sunday night
presented you with that.

A blockage on the line,
a change to the timetable,

and the arrival of
the once-a-week train

delivered your sister
to her death.

Lost, miles from home.

Who should Jilly call

to help her
get back to Oxford...

...but her sister?

I imagine you took her
to some private,

out-of-the-way spot
close to Gibbet's End.

And Gibbet's End was chosen
so we might assume her death

was in some way connected
to the Linda Gresham case.

That her killer had taken up
his old ways again.

Perhaps you met Linda Gresham's
mother at the care home.

That's what first put
the idea into your head.

This is crazy.

As if I'd harm
my own sister.

You acquainted yourselves
with the case

from the newspapers.

So you wouldn't know

that Linda Gresham
was strangled with a ligature.

And you made

the same mistake twice,

the second time
with Anoushka Nolan.

Fran, could you hang these?

Course...
listen, do you think

I could borrow these shoes
and that hat

for the weekend?
Sure.

That is great.

It is beautiful,
isn't it?

Oh, wow, look
at the flower.

And they match.

I think she must have seen
a woman she thought to be dead.

Frances?

Just go through.

This is the maddest story
I've ever heard.

You've no proof of it.

Who dropped the torch
at Gibbet's End?

You or Noel?

There were no fingerprints,
of course.

I imagine
you both wore gloves

on the night in question.

But did you wear gloves
when you put the batteries in?

Did you really think

there wouldn't be
a photo of Jilly in the papers

sooner or later,

and that Marty Bedlo
wouldn't see it

and realize
she wasn't you?

Or maybe you had plans
for Marty, too.

Actually...

we planned to be
a long way away by then.

Ah.

Somewhere without
an extradition treaty.

Well, your husband is
certainly well placed

to make
the travel arrangements.

Jilly was always the favorite.

Right from when we were small.

You know,
youngest, I suppose.

It was only a few years
between us,

but when she came along,
that was it.

It was like
Mum had no time for me.

It was all, "The baby this,"
"the baby that."

There was nothing
too good for her.

There was
ballet lessons, ice skating,

horse riding.
You were jealous.

Of the love.

Of the attention.

Up until then,
it'd been just me and my mum.

It was like someone had...

...just turned off the sun.

She should've put me
in charge of the money.

I was the eldest.

She was your sister.

Oh, some sister.

She knew Noel's business
wasn't doing well.

She could've given us an advance
against the inheritance

to get us out of a hole,

but no,
"This is Mum's money, Frances.

I'm just looking after it."

Looking after herself,
more like.

New car, clothes,
foreign holidays,

and she didn't even
book those through us.

I just thought,
"Why should she have it all?"

Even now.

What about me?

Heather?!

Heather?!

Heather!

So Frances Porter's

been passing herself off
as her own sister

for the past four days.

- Yes, sir.
- Morse.

Bold as brass.
So it's got nothing to do

with the killing
of Linda Gresham?

No, sir.

They just crept into
her killer's shadow for cover.

To kill her sister for money,
though, it's...

People have done far worse

for much less,
Constable.

What is it?

She got him.

Morse!

"This is the Night Mail..."

What is it
about men and trains?

How's his mother taking it?

You really think
he killed Linda Gresham?

Certainly looks
that way.

You'd better take her back
to the station.

We'll be along to take a
statement from her shortly.

Sir.

What do you think
it's worth?

Good few quid,
I should think.

Turn it off.

Still doesn't get us any closer
to this Cromwell Ames.

If he is making a move
on Eddie Nero's territory,

then it'll be
all-out gang warfare.

It's who gets caught
in the crossfire.

That's what keeps me up
at night.

Just through,
Mrs. Paterson.

She had a girl.

Wants to know
what the name

of the nice young officer
who first arrived was?

Morse.

Morse?

For a girl?

Tell her it's George.

You sure?

Right-o.

Georgina it is.

Well, that's something decent
out of all this.

You've got to look
for the silver lining.

Let me know
when you find it.

I'd hate to miss that.

...following his shooting
at a Los Angeles hotel

in the early hours
of yesterday morning,

Senator Robert Kennedy died

shortly before 9:45
Greenwich Mean Time.

The younger brother
of John F. Kennedy,

the late American president...