All language subtitles for Midsomer Murders - 03x04 - Beyond The Graves.1 42 09.English.orig.Addic7ed.com

THEME MUSIC

By 3:30 that afternoon,
1 August 1644,

the fighting was over.

The battle of Aspen Tallow
had been lost.

Royalists had fallen round
the King like ripe corn.

But Jonathan Lowrie
was not among the dead.

Now, this way, please,
and keep up if you will.

There. Follow.

He had fought that day
bravely for King and country,

paying dearly for the privilege.

But who would care?

He was a wealthy man,
much in the King's favour,

and had few friends in this
Roundhead part of the world.

He made his way down this
very lane and paused here

to gather strength and
draw water from the well.

BELL RINGS

Stand aside, please,
I'm coming through.

Do mind the gradient,
Miss Bunsall.

He drank and moved on.

Follow. Follow.

MUSIC RESUMES

When he reached this point,

Cromwellian thugs on the rampage
caught sight of him from yonder.

For the first time in his life,
Jonathan Lowrie ran.

Blood poured from a wound
to his left shoulder,

leaving a trail.

But on he pressed.

Until here before him

stood the family home,
Aspen Hall.

Afternoon.

And as he entered the great hall,

he called out to his wife,
"Florence, Florence,"

and as he reached this spot,

so a Roundhead
musketeer at the door

shot him... dead.

And in accordance with his wish to
be buried where he fell that day,

this became his last resting place.

Though I know for a fact
he is not at peace.

You're not trying to sell us
a ghostie, Mr Bradford?

Why?

Don't you believe in such things?

Well, have you seen it?

Many have.

And before he walks abroad
he gives fair warning,

tolling the church bell mournfully.

We are blessed with a
fine portrait of Jonathan,

crafted at the height of his powers
by the artist Robert Walk.

You're a policeman.
Do something.

OMINOUS MUSIC

Who says justice is dead?

"George Burton fell off the twig

while being interviewed
about his book."

I gather you and George
weren't close.

Yeah, last of a gang.

Hijacked four lorries
in Dover, 1985.

Nailed one of the
drivers to a fence.

Ugh. And then
wrote a book about it?

That's all the rage, isn't it?

What time did Cully
eventually get in?

Two...

..ish.

They've got a favour to ask you.

They?

But, Dad, the lease on Nico's
flat has just run out.

I don't care.
He's not moving in.

What about the box room, Tom?

I mean, we could put
your stuff in the garage.

- Stuff?
- It's only for two weeks.

Why is it when I say no,
you both hear yes?

Oh, good morning, Nico.

There's something else.

There always is.

He's got a part in a soap opera.

Is it a speaking part?

It's a police drama.

I'm a detective sergeant.

We were hoping you'd
let him shadow Gavin,

see how it's done.

(JOYCE LAUGHS)

Suppose a nice, juicy murder's
too much to hope for then?

The best I can offer is
a vandalised painting

at Aspen Tallow Museum.

But so far,

your detective sergeant
is absolutely believable.

Terrific. Why?

You've observed rule number one.

Always keep the guv'nor waiting.

Charlie.

You've nearly finished.

Oh, I don't hang about.

Oh! It's perfect.

Ho!

It's much better than that
pokey acid in my house.

Oh.

Whoop. Careful, careful.

Never really thank
you enough for...

doing all that you've
done for me.

Moving me in here with you.

Well, I'm glad it's
all worked out.

And as for Monday morning,

Sandra MacKillop,

paintings restored,
framed cleaned,

you name it,
she can do it.

Actually, I've had a phone call
from Aspen Tallow Museum.

Alan Bradford, wants
me to do a job for him.

Well, there's a portrait
he wants me to repair.

He wants me to go down
there as soon as possible.

And what are you waiting for?

I was hoping...

that you'll come with me.

Give me five minutes.

- Morning, sir.
- Yes, morning, Angel.

No wonder they broke in, sir.

Fake alarm system,
single mortise lock on the door,

windows that don't close properly.

Where's Sergeant Troy?

Inside, sir. This way, sir.

Yes, thank you, Angel.
I can manage.

Right, sir.

Someone's had a go
at this painting, sir.

Rule number two.

Always treat the boss as
if he's blind and stupid.

Troy, Nico will be following
you around for a week.

What for, sir?

I'm Inspector Barnaby
and you are, sir?

Alan Bradford, curator.

I'm surprised you've got anything
left to curate, Mr Bradford.

Fake alarm system
on the front wall,

single mortise lock on the door,

windows that won't shut properly.

Why don't you hang up a notice
saying, "Please burgle me"?

It's a question of the
reddies, Inspector.

We're not everyone's
idea of a fun day out.

What would that mean, then?

Tell me what happened
here yesterday.

I was doing the
Jonathan Lowrie

death tour with half a
dozen or so punters.

The portrait was
fine when we left.

Hi, Alan.

- Sorry.
- Sandra.

Wonderful to see you.
Come on in. This is...

Inspector Barnaby.

That's Detective Sergeant
Troy behind you.

Hello.

Oh, er... Sandra MacKillop.

I'm here to repair
the painting.

MacKillop as in
MacKillop Software?

That's us.
I'm Charles MacKillop.

I'm Sandra's brother-in-law.

And guardian angel.

Why do you need one,
Mrs. MacKillop?

Well, m...

my husband died
last year and um...

Sandra, you said it.

That's marvellous.

Brilliant.

Oh, sorry, Inspector.

Alan, Charlie's turning a
room into a studio for me

but it isn't quite finished.

Is it okay if I start work here?

It's marvellous.

We can rope you off,
turn you into an exhibit.

Jonathan Lowrie.

Royalist, philanthropist.

Classical scholar.
An all-round excellent egg.

NICO: Yes, 1591 to 1644.

How do you know?

It says so over there
where he's buried.

SANDRA: Somebody really
meant business.

Can you fix it?
ALAN: Of course she can.

What did he look like,
as a matter of interest?

We turned him into
a postcard, on here.

Sold like hotcakes.

EERIE MUSIC

Are you alright?

Yes.

Yes.

When do I start?

There's nothing here for us, Troy.

File it under 'forget'.

Did you notice a
smell in there, sir?

It's a museum, Troy.

It's full of stuff long
past its sell-by date.

I did, Sergeant. Fish.

Your average villain's gone soft,
carving up paintings.

They'll be breaking
the speed limit next

or dropping litter.

You know, why choose that picture?

Why not one of the others?

Having broken in,
why not nick something?

You got something against
us having a quiet day, sir?

- What's your opinion, Nico?
- Me?

Come on man, you'll be doing this for
semi-real in a couple of weeks time.

Maybe it's a grudge
against the Lowrie family.

Going back 350 years? Never.

A man dies.

His wife's a picture restorer
trying to get back into the game.

Lo and behold, a portrait is damaged
and she's called in to fix it.

Job creation?

Or is that my nasty,
suspicious mind?

No comment, sir.

Have you got a
comment on that?

Yeah.

Someone took a shortcut
across the graveyard

and it fell out of
their shopping bag.

A shortcut where?

The museum's a dead end.

Sir, two minutes ago there
was nothing here for us.

Now the world turns on a
packet of smoked mackerel.

Put it in the canteen freezer.

Label it carefully or it
will end up on the menu.

Look after this.

STIRRING MUSIC

Morning, Jim.

Morning.

Anything in the papers?

None of it worth reading.

Come and sit down.
Tell me what news from the village.

All the gossip, you mean.

Oh, alright, tell me all the gossip

and if there isn't any
you can make some up.

Well, Michelle's had her baby.

And he certainly doesn't
look like anyone I know,

least of all her husband.

They've called him Leonardo,
after that actor.

And then there's the painting,
of course, that's got people going.

Yeah, what's the feeling about that?

Is it deliberate or casual or

a ghost from Alan's past?

Well, Kate's his favourite.

Where do you want me to
start today, Jim, up or down?

Why don't we start with coffee?

George Burton.

All things come
to him who waits.

The book.

What book?

Basically, the job of a DS is to
keep a check on his governor.

I mean I'm lucky old Tom's
a good bloke to work for.

But he does look for trouble
where there isn't any.

He's also coming this way.

Troy,

what do you think
of Alan Bradford?

I've handed it back
to uniform, sir.

I thought there was
no further action.

No, I want to show
Nico how we work,

you know the free
exchange of ideas.

Bradford.

Over the top, easily rattled,

born to carry the can,
otherwise harmless.

Nico?

Well, he's a bit
theatrical, but

yeah, I agree with
Gavin. Harmless.

Well, I've got news for you both.

The excellent, wonderful
and marvellous Mr Bradford

has got a record.

Sir, you said,

"Troy, there is nothing here for us.
File it under 'forget'."

That was before we found
the smoked mackerel.

Morning ladies.

What's all this?

Piece of little history, Jim.

A suite of armour, taken
from the battlefield in 1644.

A dead man's descendent
has send it back to us.

All the way from
Champagne, Illinois.

Well, I'll be damn.

Er, how's Sandra doing?

Marvellous.
Quite a head.

In fact, I think we
could build on this.

Open a craft section.

You know, real people
doing real things.

Come on. Get your jacket,
I'll buy you a pint.

TENSE MUSIC BUILDS

CREAKING

(SCREAMS)

What's wrong?

I'm going outside.

I'll be alright. I'm sorry.

I thought you said
she was better.

PHONE RINGS
Good afternoon.

Hello. How did it go?

- It went well, yes.
- Good.

Only a couple of things
for you to sign.

Must be a nice place
to work, the museum.

If you like ghosts, yes.

Not that old chestnut, surely.

I'm trying to be sensible, Charlie.

Look at him.
Is it just me?

Oh come on, Sandy,
the set of the eyes, I grant you,

but there the similarity ends.

The nose, the chin,
the way he's standing.

No, you're making
too much of it.

In any case, even if he does
look a bit like David, so what?

(SHOUTS) So now you think
he does!

Come on, let's go home.

I'll cook you something exotic.

Or would you rather talk it
over with Linda Marquis first?

I mentioned to this policeman
that David had died

and Alan Bradford was thrilled.

Just because I used the word.

And then it all came flooding back?

Yes, and then he showed
us this postcard.

I've known that portrait all my life
but I've never made the connection.

Does it remind you of anyone?

Well, yes. David.

Vaguely, I suppose.

But, Linda, Charlie says no.
Which is it, for God's sake?

It doesn't matter.

The point is, it
triggered your memory.

Not of the good times that you
and David had shared together.

But of the months of agony when
you couldn't accept his passing.

You forgot the 3-D
mantra we worked out

should his name be mentioned.

Can you say it for me now?

David delight departed.

Now mean it, Sandra.

David.

Delight. Departed.

And again,
with no doubt whatsoever.

David.

Delight.

Departed.

There are no ghosts in
Aspen Tallow Museum.

Not in paintings,
in rocking chairs

or under stone slabs.

They're only in your mind.

ATMOSPHERIC MUSIC

LOCKS DOOR

KNOCK AT DOOR

Gentleman caller at
this time of night?

That'll give my neighbours
something to talk about.

Ah, I won't keep you, Annie.

Don't be daft, Jim.
(LAUGHS)

What can I get you?

No, I just want to
say this then I'll go.

I'm selling the cottage, Annie.

What for?

Oh, it's a long story.

Well, for one reason or another

I've missed out on
certain things like

a wife and family.

I've regretted it.

Well, I'm too old for
kids but not for a wife.

Good-looking man
like you, Jim,

you could take your pick.

I have done.

CHURCH BELL TOLLS

Jonathan Lowrie?

You don't believe in ghosts,
do you, Jim?

It will be the wind.

Those bells must weigh a ton.

Jim...

..you mustn't.

BELLS CONTINUE

CREEPY MUSIC

(GASPS)

(GROANS)

DRAMATIC MUSICAL FLOURISH

So what's it's like?

The chap I'm playing does
not much to say for himself.

His boss has masses.

Look at it.

On and on and on...

They got that bit right then.

Yes.

Except unlike Tom, this bloke doesn't
say crying with a capital 'K' in every...

- Morning dad.
- Morning Cully.

Morning Nico.

You were saying?

The difference between
you and the...

...Chief Inspector here.

He's not nearly so...

...so thorough.

Doesn't say crying
with a capital 'K'

in every packet of smoked
mackerel, is that it?

Sorry.

You're sitting in my place.

- Thank you.
- Dad, it's for you.

Gavin.

It was just here.

I took a few steps forward, paused,

looked round and wham,

fist to the face.

Did you see the
owner of that fist?

Not really.

Dark hair, I think.

Dark features. Dark clothes.

But then it was dark.

Why were you here
in the first place?

I heard the church bell.

It's a sign Jonathan
Lowrie is up and about.

And you came to meet him?

Of course not.

But someone was ringing the bell.

Who were they? What did they want?

Mr Tate, you found him, yeah?

That's right.

And what were you doing here?

Bit of a party, was it?

Oh, we heard the same
thing that Alan did

so we came over to investigate.

I'm sorry, I don't think
I've had the pleasure.

Anne Quarritch.

Ah yes, you clean
the museum, yeah?

And before you ask if I've seen any
dodgy characters hanging around,

no, I haven't.

Mr Bradford.

Till just now.

Things are warming up,
Mr Bradford.

First the painting, now this.

You think they're connected?

300 years of peace and quiet,
then two crimes in two days.

Of course they're connected.
DOGS BARK

We're pulling a crowd, sir.

Oh, God.

Marcus, I didn't realise you
were so out of condition.

Take some deep breaths
before we get down to business.

Can I help you?

Yes.

You can chain my
tricycle to that fence.

I say, actually, that was a
polite way of asking you,

what are you doing here?

And we are police officers.

Really?

Well, then you're the ones
who need help, not me.

Do let me know if I can
be of any assistance.

You can. With names.

What's yours?

I am Marcus Lowrie,

Jonathan's great, great, great,
great, great, great,

great, great great-grandson.

- Close, were you?
- What are you doing here, Mr Lowrie?

The bell tolled in the
middle of the night.

Jonathan is risen and we
have a question to ask him.

Tough. The museum is closed
and you can't go in.

Alan, dear, don't be peevish.
What would you mother say?

She'd say, "Leave me alone.
I've been dead for 10 years."

Dead is an un-word,
as well you know.

Your mother is right here
with us now and she says,

"Don't be unkind to Eleanor,
let her into the museum."

And I can hear my old
mother too, saying,

"Don't let this lady come the old
acid until you know who she is."

You're in the presence
of Eleanor Bunsall,

self-appointed queen
of Aspen Tallow.

What was the question
you wanted to ask Jonathan?

Is that any of your business?

Oh, please, indulge me.

I need to know what he did
with the family's money.

I'm sorry?

It went missing
shortly after he died.

We've scrimped and
saved for 300 years

but not anymore.

In that case, be my guest.

Thank you.

Jonathan Lowrie,

I am Eleanor Margaret Bunsall.

What have you got
to say for yourself?

Do you believe in life after
death Mr Bradford?

Of course not.

You told one of my colleagues,
PC Angel, that you did,

that you'd seen this
Jonathan Lowrie.

Strictly for the punters.
They love it.

Shh!

I know you're there, Jonathan,
so don't let's play silly games.

- Yes. Go on, speak to her.
- Quiet, Marcus.

We need your help with
the family silver, Jonathan.

Any ideas?

I know where it is.

Sh!

(SIGHS)

Oh, really, this is too much.

Noises off from you, Marcus,
chattering in the stalls

and now a late entrance.

Sandra, quickly, take a seat.

Sorry, Miss Bunsall.

Sorry.

SCRAPING NOISE
MARCUS: He's here.

(DOG WHIMPERS)

- Everybody out.
- What is it now?

Fire extinguisher.
SHOUTING

- Come on! Out!
- Just when we were getting somewhere.

Hope it works.

Mrs Bunsall, out now.
Stand clear.

It's under control.

- You alright?
- Just a shock, that's all.

- Where did she go?
- Who?

- Sandra MacKillop.
- She's down there.

Troy. Troy.

Who do you want?

Eleanor Bunsall
or Alan Bradford?

- Bradford, sir.
- Good man.

Ask her how she started the fire.

- Aw, it's...
- Go on.

Mr Bradford, word if I may.

Would this be a good time to
mention your criminal record?

Not if I have a choice
in the matter, no.

You mean that Mr Tate,
chairman of the trustees,

doesn't know about your
passion for valuable bronzes?

I didn't think he'd be interested.

I think he'll be fascinated.

No, Inspector, please.

But you stole a bust
of Oliver Cromwell

from an auctioneer in
Bristol valued at £13,000.

Not for money, for love.

Always the same old
crime of passion, is it?

Who was she?

Not that kind of love.

Love of one's subject.

History, the Civil War,
Cromwell, our chief of men.

Mr Barnaby wondered if you had
any ideas on how the fire started,

Miss Bunsall.

Heat, Sergeant.

Yes, but did you have anything to
do with it is what he meant, I think.

Do I look like a pyromaniac?

I'm not saying you're
the Brinks Mat type

but you did spend six months
inside Reading Jail.

Did you make any friends
while you were there?

Or, more importantly,
any enemies?

You mean you think I'm
a target, Inspector?

Well, someone doesn't
like you, do they?

I mean, the painting, the nose.

Perhaps that's why they
moved the packing case.

And the packing case, Inspector,
it's not where I left it last night.

Nico.

Sir. I mean, yes, Tom.

Sir will do just fine.

The Marcus family silver.
You say you know where it is?

Well, the inscription
on the burial slab,

it's Greek.

"Jonathan Lowrie... (Speaks Greek)"

"Here lies Jonathan Lowrie
and all his worldly goods."

Sir.

You tell Marcus?

Well, he wanted to know.

Would this be a typical
sort of day, Gavin?

Yep. Nutters, then more nutters.

Inspector.
I gather you've had quite a day.

We certainly have.

- Let me get you a drink.
- Oh, please.

Why did you let old Miss Bunsall
loose in the museum, Inspector?

Professional curiosity, I suppose.

You see, I don't believe in ghosts,

just people with dark motives.

Is that how you explain
the burning packing cases?

At the moment
I don't explain it at all.

But I can tell you it was helped
along with a little paraffin.

Hardly the work of a ghost.

It's not a joke, Charlie.

Something's going on in there

otherwise why is Inspector
Barnaby here?

Actually, I came to ask you.

Why did you rush away in
such a hurry this afternoon?

Is that a crime?

(FAINTLY) Sorry. So sorry.

I was frightened.
I was...

I needed to find Charlie.

Anything else?

Yes.

Why did Mr Bradford choose
you to repair the painting?

Because I'm the only
restorer within 30 miles.

Just seems odd that as you're trying
to get back into the swing of things

someone wrecks a painting.

- I resent that!
- Resent what?

- His implication.
- Which is?

You saw what happened
this afternoon, Inspector.

I'm in no mood...

- They have to ask these things.
- I don't have to listen.

Will she be alright?

The short-term answer's yes.

As regards the long-term,
I really have no idea.

Why is she like she is?

When David, my brother, died,

Sandra couldn't believe it.

Literally.

She had a kind of a breakdown.

So I moved her in here with me

and tried to protect her,
if you like.

From what?

Oh, you know, garden-fence gossip.

David was the fittest
man you'd ever meet.

Some people suggested he
might have taken his own life.

- But he didn't?
- No.

He wasn't the sort, Inspector.

You and he were business
partners, yeah?

Yeah. And he left quite
a gap, I can tell you.

Sandra may have lost her husband

but I lost somebody who

meant more to me than I realised.

Tell me about Eleanor Bunsall.

(SNORTS) Rider of broomsticks and
minder of other people's business.

She harmless, do you think?

So long as you don't listen
to the rubbish she talks.

Unfortunately,
Sandra thinks the world of her.

DRAMATIC MUSIC

Hello.

What's that, Jim?

It's a metal detector.

I want to put an article
in the parish magazine.

There is no silver in
Jonathan Lowrie's grave.

So don't waste your
time digging it up.

I love this place, Annie.

I don't really want to leave it.

Then why are you going?

No choice.

I'm going to France,
I've got a house there in the south.

It's miles off the beaten track.

There's olive trees for shade,
vineyard for wines.

The sea's just a stone's throw.

What do you say?

Me?

Think it over.

METAL DETECTOR BEEPS

Sounds like I've just struck gold.

DOOR OPENS

Buried treasure?

Yes. You come to claim
your share, Inspector?

No. My sergeant here is a
very practical man, as a rule,

but there's a tiny piece of him
that's willing to believe in ghosts

and their ability to set
fire to packing cases.

And it's almost this time yesterday,
almost to the minute.

- Troy, give me your hand.
- Pardon?

Give me your hand.

- (WINCES) Ow.
- That's how it happened.

Old glass.

Maybe 200 years old.

Uneven, with a prism in it.
Which means...

What's that mean, Troy?

Whoever moved the packing
case knew this place very well.

Like a curator.

Or a trustee.

Or a cleaner.

The police think I cut
the portrait myself

to get the job of repairing it.

I'm sure they don't.

And I must finish the job,
for Alan's sake.

- For your own sake.
- Well, yes, yes.

Yes, of course.

Is it a problem?

I don't know where to do it,
at home or at the museum.

Oh, I see. The museum has
taken on another dimension?

Yes. I keep thinking I see
David standing over me,

that he's actually there.

Well, let's tackle that.

If you stay away from the museum

your imagination will
make that feeling worse.

If you go there,
you can deal with it.

Do you feel the need to prove that
you're not actually going mad?

I need to see David.

That's what frightens me.

Alright, boys and girls,
finish up what you're doing.

Time we moved on now.

Sandy!

I need some rivets
for this chap's gauntlet.

I'll be across in my office.

Two minutes.

EERIE MUSIC

MUSIC INTENSIFIES

David?

Is that you?

Sandra?

Sandra.

You alright?

Oh! Yes.

Yes, of course.

You're quite right to call
me in on this, Sandra.

Why didn't you do so earlier?

I should have, I know.

I used to tell you everything
in the past, but er...

Charles, isn't it?

Typical man.

Thinks he's the only
one who can help.

Well, even he thinks I'm going mad.

He's too polite to say.

Madness is an unword, dear.
It does not exist.

There are only varying
degrees of sanity.

Yours and mine just happen
to be more varied than most.

Now, what can I do for you?

Well, all these strange things
that have been happening,

the portrait, the rocker moving,
the bell, the fire,

people say it's Jonathan Lowrie

but I think David's
trying to reach me.

Well, we'll soon find out.

David.

What the devil is going on?

Out with it, man.

Bastards!

You stole it.

You stole my inheritance.

Give it to me.

Give it to me, I said.

Argh!

Arghhhh!

Eleanor, no!

We are not unwomen, Sandra.
We fear nothing. Follow me.

Inspector, who has
done this terrible thing?

I don't know, Mr Bradford,
I've only just got here.

To think,
I could be lying in there.

CAMERAS CLICK
It's Marcus Lowrie, sir.

He came to dig up
the family fortune.

Someone got there before him.

Only I don't think there
was a fortune, Tom.

Pennies in a leather bag though.

Oh God, they've made
made a mess of him.

What with?

Corner of something
solid and square.

He'd been hit six times.

But not with this?

No blood and it doesn't
match the dents.

Who reported it?

Eleanor Bunsall, sir.

Oof! Break out the
body armour, Troy.

DOG BARKS

Lowrie's dog, sir.
We can't just leave him here.

- Put him in the car.
- Put him in the car.

Come on.

A security system, Mr Tate.
I believe I did mention it.

I can hardly get it
installed overnight.

Nevertheless, I'd like a proper
chat with you, please, some time.

What for?

Well, you thought there was
money in that grave, didn't you?

Your metal detector
told you as much.

You'll need a statement
from me as well, Inspector.

Why? Did you kill him?

No, no, of course I didn't.

Brilliant at making you
feel guilty, isn't he?

Why pennies in the grave, sir?

For the ferryman.

What?

This Jonathan Lowrie, Greek scholar.

He'd had taken some coins
to pay the ferryman

to row him over the River Styx.

Why didn't you
know that Troy, huh?

Do a left here.

Rule number...
where are we up to now?

- Seven, sir.
- Rule number seven.

Never use the indicator, keeps
the other drivers on their toes.

- Is that right Troy?
- Hmm-mm huh?

What were you doing in the graveyard
at midnight, Miss Bunsall?

Is that any of your business?

Oh, indulge me, again.

Insomnia.
I often walk at night.

In a graveyard?
Alone?

I have so many friends there.

So there you are, chatting
away with a few old friends.

You hear Marcus scream,
you run inside,

and there he is dead.

Not dead, Inspector,
merely murdered.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Dead is an unword.

Did you see anyone else?

Such as?

Well, I had in mind his un-killer.

He must have still been
there, in the museum.

If I'd have known that I'd have
stayed on, had it out with him.

Which I'm very glad you didn't.

I was armed, Inspector.

Sir, this is CS gas.

Yes, I picked it up in France.

At the World Cup, where it came
in very handy, I can tell you.

Miss Bunsall,
it is illegal in this country

and I'm confiscating it.

In that case, I shall refuse
to cooperate further.

It's too late.

You've already told us
all we need to know.

Except, of course,

for who was with you last night.

My lips are sealed

in accordance with my version
of the Hippocratic oath.

Oh, the Hippocratic oath, hey?

So you were there professionally?

Who with?

Any more questions?
Sensible ones?

Yes.

Does nothing die in your
world, Miss Bunsall?

You know, people,
plants, animals?

You're smarter than
you look, young man.

We're all part of an endless saga.

We fade, yes, but only to reappear
in ever-brighter colours.

So you can talk to Jonathan Lowrie,
the dickie birds

or even a Christmas tree, just
as easily as you can talk to us?

More so, because they
appreciate what I say.

Oh, right.

Well, thank you.
(DOG BARKS)

Thank you, Miss Bunsall,
thanks for your time.

You're not going already, surely?

Well, is there something
else you want to tell us?

No, but he hasn't finished
mending my puncture yet.

God, spare me from little old ladies.

She's a cantakerous hellbag.

And daft as a bloody brush.

I don't know Troy.
I rather like her.

Some of what she
says does make sense.

I mean, we are all part
of an eternal [indistinct].

If you say so, sir.

And her own admission.

She doesn't see murder as
killing someone, does she?

Ah. And she was there when
Marcus copped it, I mean.

Mmm.

Oh, hello?
What are those two up to?

Inspector, come and join us.

If I was to ask you where your
sister-in-law was at midnight, sir,

you'd say in bed, I take it?

Well, she was.

Wasn't she?

We think she was in the graveyard
with Eleanor Bunsall

trying to contact her dead husband.

Oh, please, no.

Inspector, have you ever
known anyone like Sandra?

With her symptoms, I mean?

What exactly are they?

The usual stuff associated
with a breakdown.

Mood swings, uncertainty,
sudden panic.

That's so unlike the real Sandra.

I mean, I've always thought of her
as strong, determined, capable.

- People change.
- Especially after losing a partner.

But you told us, Charlie,

Sandra told us herself that
she was getting stronger.

Now in the space of a
few days all that's gone.

Can you explain that?

Not really, but...

one or two things do bother me.

Like what?

The portrait gets slashed.

Sandy's the obvious
choice to fix it.

Put that the other
way round though.

She'll be chosen to repair it,
so let's cut one up.

Are you saying you think there
might be some purpose in all this?

Go on, Mr Bradford.

And what's more, it's a portrait that
reminds her of her dead husband.

You were there the day I
showed her the postcards.

You alright?

Um... Yes, yes.

When do I start?

The portrait does bear an uncanny
resemblance to David, yes.

Which puts him
firmly back in her mind.

But she's known that
portrait all her life.

Why is it suddenly so important?

Because of other things
that happen around it.

Bells ring in the night,
the packing cases catch fire.

Yesterday...

I left her alone in the
museum for two minutes.

During which time a bust of
Charles I fell to the ground.

Sandra says it moved
of its own accord.

And she went straight
to Eleanor Bunsall, Troy.

She did, too.

How do you know?

Because I've been following her
around for the past couple of days.

I'm worried!

Sandy?

Thank God you're here.

What on earth are
you doing here?

Miss Bunsall?

- Is he dead?
- Yes.

But how?
There's no-one here.

Leave, both of you,
quickly and quietly.

Quickly.

You were there, Mr MacKillop?

Thank God.

Supposing he'd
lashed out at Sandra.

Or even Miss Bunsall.

In Miss Bunsall's case
he'd have regretted it.

- Where's Sandra now?
- In bed.

- I can go and wake her if you like.
- No, no, don't.

Well, thank you, gentlemen.

We'll leave it for now.

So now Sandra's
being got at, is she?

But not in your book,
obviously, Troy.

Right.

OK, tell me this,
why was Marcus killed?

- For the family dosh.
- There wasn't any.

Well, the killer didn't know that.

Well, he would have.

By the time Marcus walked in,

dug down as far as the skeleton,

hadn't found so much as a gallstone.

Alright then, he was pissed off.
All that work for nothing.

So he swings round, clobbers him,
turns him into cat's meat.

The way you tell it,
Troy, so graphically,

one might almost be there.

Annie, I don't mean to
push you on this, but...

It's alright, Jim.
I've thought it over.

The answer's yes.
I'll come with you.

You won't regret it,
I promise you.

When do we leave?

Well, I think we should go soon,
like in a couple of days.

Why? What's the panic?

Barnaby wants to talk to me.

Jim, you haven't done
anything daft, have you?

Like killing Marcus? No, no.

I just don't want the police
trampling all over my past life.

There's one or two things you should
know about me before we go, Annie,

just in case you disapprove.

Why don't you tell me about them
somewhere more comfortable?

Who are you?

Me?

Yeah, the flinky is,
who are you, Jim.

I reckoned you were the banker.

For George Burton and his cronies.

You shafted them.

And now they are all dead,
you spent the money.

On your bike.

A hundred quid.

For all the plans I've got?

100,000 more like it.

We're not going to see Miss
Bunsall again, are we sir?

- We can if you want.
- No!

It's just that after the puncture,
I unblocked a drain,

putty a window,
and rehang a tile.

That's police work for you.

Helping old ladies across the road.

Right, I'll have an egg and bacon.

A large white coffee with 2 sugars,

and whatever you fancy for yourself.

Sir?

Um, coffee black.

If you wanted something
more substantial,

I wouldn't rat on you.

Back home, I mean.

No sugar.

Nice lad.

But get a load of this.

He's going to be paid
more for playing me

than I am for being me.

It's a funny old life, Troy.

Listen.

I want you to find out how much
Sandra MacKillop is worth.

You can lean on our
old friend Mr. Joselyn.

According to this,
he's is the company solicitor.

- Hop in, Anne.
- Ta.

Oh. (GROANS)

Hold on.

There you go.
Elbows.

Jim, Mr Barnaby's here.

Jim, we...

Blimey, they've been
going at it some,

whoever they are.

Troy, upstairs. Go on.

Nico, front room.

Was he going on holiday?

Kind of.

He's gonna take me with him.

What do you think's
happened to him?

- Where to?
- France.

France for good.

What, he's leaving all this?
Selling up?

- Sir!
- Yep.

Who is he, Annie?

I'll bet you money his name
isn't really James Tate.

It's a mess upstairs as well, sir.

They've really turned it over.

- But he's not there?
- No.

What is going on, Annie?

He's in that book.

George Burton.

Last of a gang

on whom our Mr Tate was
keeping a very close eye.

Suitcase packed, ready to go.

To France, you say?
Whereabouts in France?

South.

Olive trees, vineyards, sea.

That's what he promised me.

And that takes money.

Lots of it.

Doesn't seem real, does it?

- No.
- But he was there, we all saw him.

Marcus was a greedy,
lazy old man, Sandra.

If he hadn't been,
he'd still be alive.

Hello, you two.

Hi, Alan.
We've come for the painting.

We're going to finish
it off in my studio.

- Ah, morning, Inspector.
- Morning.

Sergeant Troy.

That piece of china that
got broken, where did it live?

Right here.

Landed there in a dozen pieces.

You've no idea why it fell?

None whatsoever.

Mrs MacKillop.

Do you have any ideas?

Ah. Sorry, no.

Just in case you had any doubts,
there are no ghosts here.

Just human beings
with all the usual foibles.

Greed, envy, malice.

Someone opened this window

from the outside.

And then they pulled
on a nylon thread,

or a fish line maybe,

which was looped around
the top of the figure.

And when the figure smashed

they pulled the thread clear.

Simple as that?

But why, Inspector?

Troy.

Do you smell anything?

Fish.

- Do you have a cellar here?
- Yeah.

- Well, show it to me.
- Oh. Right.

Here we are.

(STRAINS)

(YELLS)
(YELLS)

You alright, sir?

- Get after him.
- Come on.

- Who is he?
- I don't know.

You must have
known he was here.

I didn't, I swear it.

We've lost him, sir.

You're paid to catch him,
Troy, not to lose him.

Rule number 24,
don't expect any sympathy.

Who was he, sir?

He, Nico, was a ghost
with a weakness for fish.

No real damage, Tom.

You'll have a nasty bruise though.

Arnica.

A spade, you say?

I didn't know gardening
could be so dangerous.

This was ghost-busting, Cathy.

Thanks a lot, Tracy.

- I'll call you next week, OK?
- OK.

Old friend?

New friend.

Right. Well, give my love to
Joyce and Cully, won't you?

Cathy, I wouldn't ask this
unless it were important.

And I know you've got a waiting
room full of people out there, but

if I wanted to drive
someone over the edge,

could I do it?

I'm living proof of that, sir.

- Seriously.
- Yes, of course you could.

Even to suicide?

That would depend on your victim

but you can induce paranoia
in all sorts of ways.

Psychologically, chemically,
surgically.

Who are we talking about?

Sandra MacKillop.

Ah, that's why you came here,
not to Causton General.

Well, Sandra, as I'm sure you know,
is a patient of mine.

So don't expect any details.

Even though she
might be in danger?

I would like to help
you, yes, but...

I did send her to a counsellor
over the death of her husband.

Now she might be less ethical.

What's her name, Doctor?

Linda Marquis.

She's good at her job

but she may already
be known to you.

I had a word with
David, by the way.

Have you?

What did he say?

Oh, he didn't say anything.

But I thought you just said
you've spoken to him.

No, no, you don't understand
how it all works, dear.

The Davids of this world
don't actually speak to me.

I just put myself in their
shoes and speak for them.

There are the ones
I did, conversations

something like being
back in the classroom.

Well...

...what do you say then?

I say that David
wants you to be the

fun loving confident
girl you always were.

So, down to business.

What made you change?

His dea-...

His departure.

Well, that's part of
the problem, certainly.

What about diet though?

- Diet?
- We are what we eat, Sandra.

Everyone know that, but who
carries it to its logical conclusion?

Did you know for
instance, that spinach,

can be a very
depressing vegetable.

And that fennel, is uplighting.

No.

Charlies does all the cooking and

I-I-I don't think he'll be very in...

Take me through a
typical's day menu.

Breakfast.

- The cellar dweller's gear, sir.
- Ah-ha.

- You got a name for him?
- No.

Nor any signs of
the murder weapon.

Pencil and paper, Nico.

Here.

One round of sandwiches.
Pilchard.

(SPEAKS THROUGH BLOCKED NOSE)
Going off with a vengeance.

You think Sandra MacKillop's
life is in danger, sir,

or just her sanity?

That's a good question,
that, Troy.

One pocket-knife,
army, Swiss thereof.

You heard back from
the MacKillops' solicitor?

No, he's playing hard to get.

- One donkey jacket, blue.
- Then lean on him.

Look, sir, we've got a real body,
Marcus Lowrie,

and a couple of real suspects,

favourite being this geezer.

Shouldn't we find out who
he is and where he's gone?

He has gone to ground, Troy.

Don't ask me where but
I think I know who he is.

- You do?
- Ya.

And if someone would do a
spot of house breaking for me

I could prove it.
You're too kind, Troy.

- Ta, sir.
- Thank you.

Have you heard anything,
Mr Barnaby, about Jim?

I've had a forensic team
at his cottage, Annie.

They found some blood
on one of the chairs.

There was a fight, certainly,

but we don't know the extent of it.

So where is he then?

Ditched me, hasn't he?

Like every man I've ever met.

I'll let you know the
moment we hear anything.

Now get us a pint
and a white wine.

- There you go.
- Why this pub, Tom?

Why, what's the matter,
don't you like it?

I love it.
Now you answer my question.

I'm meeting Troy here.

If he doesn't get caught, that is.

Doing what?

Breaking into
Anne Quarritch's house.

It's delegation, Joyce.

Troy doing that,
Nico and Cully...

Yes, where are
they this evening?

Jim Tate's cottage,
in search of his past.

- Evening, Mrs B.
- Hello, Gavin.

We're on, sir,
with a slight variation.

- Which is?
- The smoked mackerel.

I did put it in the canteen freezer
and I did label it clearly.

Don't worry, I nicked in to the
supermarket on the way here,

bought us some more.

Won't be a moment.
Go on.

Oh, ta.

What can I get you?

I'll have a large straight answer.

This is a till receipt.

I found it pinned to a
board in your kitchen.

On it, you'll find smoked
mackerel, at £2.13p.

That is a packet of
smoked mackerel,

price £2.13p,
found in the graveyard.

You were taking it to the man who's
been hiding in the museum cellar.

Should have turned
him in, Annie.

Why didn't you?

Because he threatened to kill me.

Who is he?

I was once married to 'im.

Ralph Edward Bailey,

doing 10 years for manslaughter.

Absconded from Durham
Jail four weeks ago.

You divorced him June 1987,

went back to using
your maiden name.

And he's killed again,
by the looks of things.

Marcus Lowrie.

You've been harbouring
a very dangerous man.

How did you know
it was me, Inspector?

Remember when we gave
you a lift to Jim's cottage?

You dropped your shopping?

You were a bit heavy
on the smoked fish.

- Who is it for?
- Me.

No, it's for Ralph in the museum.

Well, he's not there now
so where is he?

He's hiding out at
Jim Tate's cottage.

There we go.

I'll say one thing for that...
(VOICE BECOMES MUFFLED)

He sure can tidy up.

What exactly are we looking
for though, Nico?

I don't know.

What are you looking for?

Only, I might just have it.

Let's start at the top
and work our way down.

FOOTSTEPS

METAL CLANGS

TENSE MUSIC

SIREN

SIREN WAILS

Cully! Cully!

- Where is he?
- Attic.

ENGINE STARTS

WHEELS SCREECH

It's alright.
It's only a car.

No Nico, sir?

No, not this time.

Don't want him to
see our darker side.

Not sure I want
to see that myself.

Last night, you got from the station
to Jim Tate's cottage in 4 minutes flat.

Everything I ever said about your
driving, I take back, unreservedly.

Where are we going, sir?

To see Linda Marquis.

Can I get breakfast
on the way, sir?

On me!

So Marcus was killed by Ralph Bailey.

Who also robbed Jonathan's grave.

If there was money there,
I'm sure it is.

But why play the ghost to
Sandra MacKillop?

To get her out the museum.

Her presence was
cramping his style.

But Bradford's there
all the time as well.

Didn't try getting
him out of the way.

No, he did smack him one.

Then off he went to see James Tate
because Annie said he had money.

It all hangs together, Troy.

It's too clear cut.

Is that ????

It's not like that.

So to beef things up, we
call on this Linda Marquis.

Not for the hell of it, Troy.

Sandra MacKillop is at
the bottom of all this

and Linda Marquis
is her confessor.

As indeed, I am yours.

How many fried eggs a week
should you not have more than?

I have no idea, sir.

Four.

Bacon roll is just as bad.

I spy with my little eye

something beginning with 'C'.

Ya, alright sir, I know.

Cholesterol.

Charles.

Good morning, Mr MacKillop.

You're up bright and early.

Morning.

Um...

Must look odd,
Inspector, but um...

Sandra's not the only one
who's needed counselling.

It's been a tough
time for me too.

I can imagine.

Is this a professional matter
or a personal one, Inspector?

I'd like to know who's got
it in for Sandra MacKillop.

I thought you were
investigating a murder.

Oh, we are.

What sort of a business do you
think I'm running here, Mr Barnaby?

A very successful one,
by the looks of things.

First client, 8.30am?

Mr MacKillop.

People have busy lives.

I try to accommodate them

and I never betray their confidence.

Oh, no, no, you are very
good at keeping secrets,

especially your own.

Do I have any?

Oh, you have a humdinger

and you fit the description
so perfectly.

Heroin chic.

It was a long time ago.

A short two years ago.

Alright, but it's over now.

And for that, more power to
your elbow or just above it

but what would the likes of
Charles MacKillop and Sandra say

if they heard about that?

They'd say it makes me
more understanding,

more of a human being.

Oh right.

I'll ask them.

No.

If I tell you something, will she
know that it came from me?

Mr Bradford.

I'm keen on history too,
especially yours.

It seems that in the
dim and distant past

you and Sandra MacKillop
were an item.

Then David MacKillop stepped in,

pots of money and
you were sidelined.

And we'd like to know
how that made you feel.

Bitter?
Angry?

Vengeful?

Not so long ago you saw me as
the victim in all this, Inspector.

Slashed portrait, fist in the face.

I've changed my mind.

How did it make me feel?

- Relieved.
- Oh, come on.

Passionate romance
with a beautiful woman.

Suddenly drops you and
you're beside yourself.

You've been trying to get
back at her ever since.

That's simply not true, Inspector.

Yes, I did once
throw my cap at Sandra,

but mainly for my father's sake.

I'm sorry?

He was forever nagging
me to find a girlfriend.

And I did try and fall in love with
Sandy, I promise you, but...

..my heart just wasn't in it.

And why was that?

If sexuality were the Civil War,

I'd be a cavalier,
not a roundhead.

You what?

I've never been attracted
to the opposite sex.

I don't think we need trouble
you any further, sir.

Just a sec.

Charles MacKillop.

No girlfriends, no wife.

In this, um, civil war of sexuality,

where does he stand?

On your side, Inspector.

Which is also mine.

I never doubted it
for a moment, Gavin.

Sir.

Sandra MacKillop and her will.

Mr Jocelyn drew it up for her

in favour of her sister in Canada.

So what's she worth?

Well, she owns half the company

which is valued at
just over 10 million.

That's worth fighting about.

"I am the resurrection and
the life," saith the Lord.

"He that believeth in me,
though he were dead,

"yet shall he live.

"And whosoever liveth
and believeth in me

shall never die."

I know that my redeemer liveth

and that he shall stand at the
latter day upon the earth.

Vicar! Halt!

(QUIETLY) What's wrong?

I'm sorry.

False alarm. Carry on.

And though this
body be destroyed,

yet shall I see God,

whom I shall see for myself

- and mine eyes shall behold...
- No, I'm right!

Inspector,
all is not well down there.

Bring it up.

Right, Troy, off you go.

- What am I looking for, sir?
- Squatters.

Go on.
(SIGHS)

Oh!
(ALL SCREAM)

Who is it?

James Tate, Inspector.
Who else would it be?

It is James Tate, sir.

(SOBS)

You are sitting in my chair

and you're probably wearing
my socks, aren't you?

Hey?

Who did you say is
coming to take him?

- It's a young PC called Angel.
- Ah.

Said he was coming down today.

Tom, I think we found
James Tate for you.

George Burton and Co
stole £3 million worth of stuff,

it cashed in at £1 million.

They hired an accountant,
Michael Whistler,

to pay off safe houses,
car dealers, lawyers...

- Bent cops?
- Yep.

Then he invested
what was left over.

But one or two of the gang,
who were all inside by now,

wondered whether it really
had boiled down to a million

or was it a million and a half?

And if so, what happened
to the other half-million?

They sent a heavy to see
Whistler and he'd gone.

PHONE RINGS
Disappeared into thin air.

And you think he's James Tate?

With the gang all inside he
had time to reinvent himself.

Plastic surgery if necessary.

Then pop up five years
later in Aspen Tallow.

Well done, both of ya.

Phone, Tom.

Barnaby.

Yeah, I'll be there in 10 minutes.

DOOR OPENS

They found him and my
car on a dockside in Hull.

He was trying to get
work on a Polish trawler.

Just mad about fish, hey?

OK, Ralph, what's your beef
with Sandra MacKillop?

You what?

If he knew any French now, he'd
point at himself and say, "Moi."

Christ, where did they dig you up?

We'll come to the digging
later and in the meantime,

what's your grudge against
Sandra MacKillop?

I don't have one.

Convicted killer
escapes from Durham Jail,

comes all the way back here
just to admire the scenery.

Do us a favour.
You had an old score to settle.

So you try to drive her nuts.

Bells in the night,
breaking china,

burning packing cases.

If you must know, I've always had
the highest regard for Sandra.

- Ask her.
- No.

You've been playing ghosts

in between killing Marcus
Lowrie and James Tate.

That's it. I'm done.
Solicitor.

It's gotta be him, sir, or
is that still too clear cut?

Just a little.

Motive, money.
Opportunity, bags of it.

On top of which, since we
found him in the cellar,

all this ghosty stuff's stopped.

Sandy, you sure you don't
mind me rushing off?

The meeting's in half an hour.

You go ahead, Charlie.

Alan must be here by now.

- Thanks.
- Pleasure.

Oh, and call in at
the office later on.

There's a heap of
stuff for you to sign.

Uh-huh.

OMINOUS MUSIC

(SCREAMS)

Sandra, what is it?
What...?

What?

Michael Aaron Whistler,
who became James Tate.

Look at his form, sir.

Oh, spoken like
a proper copper.

Hello, Cathy.

Nico, chair for Dr Bullard.

Tom, it's about
Sandra MacKillop.

You know you asked if it was
possible to drive someone mad?

Well, 10:00 this morning,

Anne Quarritch brought
Sandra to my surgery,

as near to the edge
as I've seen her.

Why? What has
happened to her?

She claims to have seen
writing on the museum wall.

David, delight, departed.

- Should that mean something?
- Thank you.

It's a mantra which
Linda Marquis taught her.

Which brings me to why I'm here.

Mrs MacKillop,
it's Chief Inspector Barnaby.

I'd like us to meet, please.
I need your help.

- Hello, are you still there?
- Yes.

Somewhere private,
and I'd like you to come alone.

Do you know the lake
at Martyr Warren?

Two people have been killed,
both by Ralph Bailey.

But there's a problem.

He couldn't have put the
writing on the museum wall

because he was
locked up at the time.

I don't think anyone
living did it, Inspector.

Sandra, you are as sane as I am.
I can prove it to you.

David, delight, departed?

You saw it because it was there.

- But when Alan went to look...
- It wasn't there.

You're the only one with any
faith left in me, Inspector.

What's happening to me?

At first, I thought
someone wanted you dead

but now I believe that's
the last thing they want.

Will you help me?

Sandra?

Come in. Come in.

Close your eyes, Sandra.

What do you see?

Darkness?

Images of this room?

The windows. Plants, you.

So it can be with our thoughts.

They can appear on
the wall of our mind.

I saw those words at the museum
because David put them there.

No Sandra, you put them there.

He's telling me something.

And I'm refusing to listen.

Linda,

you're the only person
that really understands me.

You've got to help.

There are no ghosts there.

They've been conjured up
by the likes of Alan Bradford

for the sake of his visitors.

And not by you.

I will take you to the museum
and I will prove it.

When can we go?

This evening?

I got that stuff from Dr Bullard,
sir, the drug stuff.

George Bullard lent me that.

Knocked up a slide for me too.

How does it tie in
with the murder?

I'll tell you in the car.

There's one or two
loose ends to tie up.

We'll have a coffee later.
Come on.

Well, tell him that Ralph
threatened to kill you.

At the very least he'd have
beaten you up yet again.

All the more reason to
have gone to the police.

That what he'll say.

Won't you?

- I'm sorry?
- Harbouring a criminal.

You just tell me the truth, Annie.

I promise I'll do my best for you.

Can't say fairer than that, can I?

- Hello, Mr Bradford.
- Hello.

How did Ralph know
that Jim Tate had money?

Did you tell him?

No, he must have overheard Jim
talking about his place in France

one day in the museum.

- Can I ask something?
- Mmm.

How did old Bunsall know
it was Jim in that grave?

The power of extended logic.

Ultra common sense, if you like.

We've all got it but she uses it.

You mean it's not a special gift
like she'd have us believe?

Of course not.

Bags you be the one
to tell her, sir.

In the meantime,

you didn't know that Ralph
was hiding in your cellar?

No.

That makes you either
very naive or stupid.

How about engrossed
in other things?

- Such as?
- My work.

Trying to shine a
light in dark places,

like Aspen Tallow.

That much we have in
common, Mr Bradford.

Anything else? Troy?

Yes, sir.

Since when have you two
been so, um, friendly?

I'm here to give
Annie her wages.

I do so every week and she
makes me a cup of tea.

It's called a ritual

and so far as I know
it's perfectly legal,

Gavin.

TENSE MUSIC PLAYS

DOOR CLOSES

Why is that, I wonder?

See?

No words on walls,

no moving china.

It's funny, I'd never
noticed it before

but you're quite right.

It's just like him.

And Jonathan Lowrie
back in his place.

How are you, Jonathan?

If only you knew what
you'd put us through.

It's the wind.

What's wrong?

(WHISPERS) Look.

What?

There.

Can't you see him?

See what?

It's David.

Look!

Sandra, you and I are
the only people here.

David is dead and buried
and over in the graveyard.

Then who is that?

Where?

What are you talking about?

Are you sure you
can't see him, Linda?

Sandra, you need serious help
and this was not a good idea.

Can you see me, Miss Marquis?

Troy, see that ghost over there?

Go and run him through
with that. Go on.

Charlie?

Charlie.

What have I ever done to you?

Hey.

I've been 25 years in this game

and I've never laid a
finger on a prisoner.

But today I think I understand
why some people do.

Alright, so the joke
got a bit out of hand.

A joke? A joke?!

Well, how about this for a deal?

You make me laugh and you can
walk through that door scot-free.

Better still, tell us why
we're here in the first place.

Directors. Sandra MacKillop,
Charles MacKillop,

in equal measure.

David left his share of the business
to Sandra and you wanted it.

You couldn't kill her because
then it would go to her sister,

so you tried to get power of attorney
over her by driving her mad.

What for, Mr MacKillop?

So you could flog it?

Run off with Miss
Needle-features here?

I resent that.

The clinic you were in say you
weren't hooked just on heroin

but also on a drug called Zolazepam.

That's a mind bender,
and you kept back a supply of it.

Just in case.

And you hooked Sandra
MacKillop on it.

Not me.

Watch out, Charlie,
she's jumping ship.

Go on, Linda,
do yourself a bit of good.

How did he do it?

In the meals he's
always cooking her.

And then a couple of months back,

according to my medical expert,
you withdrew it.

Now it's a drug that's
harder to kick than heroin,

with 54 known side effects.

Paranoia, confusion, insecurity,

panic, disorientation, the lot.

There you are, read all about it.

You know, Charlie,
if you stayed away from this woman

we might never have got to you.

What?

Remember that morning we
found you outside her house,

pretending there was
nothing between you?

Except for a spot of counselling
which had gone on all night.

Inspect - (Clears throat)

Inspector, before
we go any further,

none of this was my idea.

It was her fault, was it?

She counselled you to drive
your sister-in-law insane?

Split them up, Troy.
Put her in a cell.

Yup, stay where you are.

Feel free.

Why?

Because you are one
of those women

who's had everything
thrown your way,

from love to money.

I just...wanted a little of both.

Right, let's clear up
the details, shall we?

The slashed painting?

That was Linda.

Chosen for his
likeness to David?

Yeah.

And the bell at night?

Broken china?

That was me.

The packing cases too.

Spent lot of time in the museum
as a kid so I knew the hot spot.

The writing on the wall?

Linda.

But I hit Alan Bradford.

It's something I've wanted
to do for a long time.

Can I go now?

This isn't some sort
of priestly confession

where I give you 10 Hail Marys
and send you on your way again.

You mentally tortured
your brother's wife.

But can you go
to prison for it?

Playing the caring relative.
Certainly made a fool of me.

I doubt if I'll do time
for bruising your ego.

No, maybe you're right

but I have a big,
fat card up my sleeve.

I'm holding a man down
the corridor for two murders.

Ralph Bailey, yeah.

Ralph Bailey, yes.

Ralph says you're
the man I'm after.

He saw you bury James Tate.

And the idea
really appeals to me.

I mean, he's going
back to jail anyway

and, like you say,
you might get off.

So why don't I fit
you up for a murder

or even two?

Now look, Inspector,

he's the one who buried Jim Tate.

I watched him do it.

In the absence of any proof,

I prefer his version.

But I can help you.

Not with Marcus, I wasn't there,
but a couple of nights later

I was on my way to the museum
at 2:00, 3:00 in the morning.

THUMPING NOISE

At the gate, I could hear digging

over at Marcus's grave.

SPADE CLATTERS

It was Bailey.

Before he dumped Jim in the grave
he stole his watch and a gold chain.

Find them...

and that's proof enough, isn't it?

Why don't you write it all down?

Then what happens to me?

Well, then I don't charge you
with a murder you didn't commit.

I said solicitor.

Well, they've all gone
to the moon, Ralph.

There's a bloke upstairs by
the name of Charlie MacKillop.

Do you know him?

Since we were kids.

He says he saw you beat
Marcus Lowrie to death.

And you believe him?

We can point the evidence
your way, if we need to.

Well, you don't need to.

I'd heard Jim Tate run a metal
detector over Jonathan's grave,

so that night I lifted the slab.

Halfway through,
in walks Charlie MacKillop.

He set something up.

A slide projector.

He was testing it
when Marcus bowls up.

And you chose a place
of peace and quiet.

DOOR RATTLES

What did Charlie do?

Hid in the shadows.

Bastards!

FOOTSTEPS

You stole it.

You stole my inheritance.

Give it to me.

I said give it to me.

(GRUNTS)

The projector.

Go take his office apart,
then his house, but find it.

I am a fair man, Ralph.

You write all this down for me

and I'll see you don't lose parole.

- Any luck upstairs?
- Sorry, no.

That's everywhere.
House, office, studio.

What now?

Now I tell Barnaby, then duck.

(SIGHS) So where is it?

Well, he could have
chucked it anywhere.

- Oh, great.
- Sort of random.

Over a hedge, in a tip.

Over there, I suppose.

Yeah. Sure, it's a start.

Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho!
You little beauty.

Guess what?

Ralph now says that you
murdered Marcus Lowrie.

Which of course I already knew

but was unable to prove.

What are you talking about?

He saw you do it.

Then he's lying!

No, I think you've both
been very honest.

You with your description
of Jim Tate's unofficial burial

and Ralph with his story

of how you beat Marcus
Lowrie to death with this.

No matter how well you
cleaned it up, Charlie,

there'll be bits of him
on it somewhere.

Guess what?

Charlie now says he saw
you bury James Tate

and he's made a statement
to that effect.

Yeah, that you wrote for him.

Oh, come on, Ralph, what
do you take me for, a cheat?

Don't worry.

I've got a forensic team
taking that grave to bits.

If you were there
they'll find something.

I wasn't. He's lying.

And if you weren't, they won't.
However...

Your personal belongings,

taken off you when
you were recaptured.

Tell me,

why has that got James
Tate's fingerprints on it?

You pair of bastards.

Oh, Ralph, that's
been said before.

And I sincerely hope
that it will be said again.

Alright, I give up.

You stay there,
I'll make do over here.

Dad, you're talking to a dog.

Ya, I know. And he's talking
back to me, aren't you Spot?

That will be the men
in white coats then.

I'll get it.

I'll miss him. He's really
settled in, don't you think?

Not Nico, Spot.

- Morning, sir.
- Hello, Kevin.

Oh, yeah, he's a beauty.
(DOG BARKS)

Mum will be well pleased.

- Give her my regards, will you?
- Yeah, thanks.

Sorry I didn't come
round yesterday.

- I was off sick.
- Oh, are you better?

Yeah, yeah, touch
of food poisoning.

Canteen grub, sir,
know what I mean?

Got any idea what it was
that disagreed with you?

I think it was the fish pate
Wednesday, smoked mackerel.

Yeah, well, that's the trouble.

Never know where they've
been, do you, Troy?

No, sir.

By the way, on
page 3 of the Mail.

Is that good or bad?

"Last night, police in Causton
charged two local men

with the murders of
Michael Stuart Whistler,

also known as James Tate,

last surviving member of
the George Burton Gang,

and of Marcus Jonathan Lowrie."

And then it goes
on about the ghost.

God, what's the world
coming to, Joyce?

Half a paragraph on the crime

and a whole page on something
that doesn't exist.

BELL TOLLS

CREAKING

THEME MUSIC

Captions by CSI Australia