All language subtitles for Life On Mars - S01E05

Oi, referee, are you blind?!

- Right, hold on.
- What do you think I'm doing?

Back of the net!

- Did you see that?
- Definitely offside.

You're nicked, sunbeam.

Chris, take him away,
charge him.

I'll do it.

I'm arresting you for
the theft of a motor vehicle,

resisting arrest,
and driving like a div.

You're not obliged to say anything
unless you wish to do so,

anything you may say
may be taken in evidence.

Little sod. They should
bring back National Service.

What, take him away,
teach him how to kill people?

Didn't do me any harm.
Teach him some manners.

Oi, referee!

Has anyone ever told you
you need glasses, you dozy git?

Next time, I'll run you over!

Think you'd better take this.

Plod have found
a body in Trafford Park.

Somebody help us?

Oh, leave him. Weediest kid
always stayed in goal.

Come on!

Chris, you're being a div.
Get in.

My name is Sam Tyler.

I had an accident
and I woke up in 1973.

Am I mad? In a coma?
Or back in time?

Whatever's happened, it's like
I've landed on a different planet.

Now maybe if I can work out
a reason, I can get home.

Get him out of here! Get out!

Colin Clay,
No.8 Heathfield Road.

I think it was a heart attack.

It must have exploded out his arse.
There's blood all down his back.

- What's up with you?
- Got a cold.

Stabbing?

If it was, I couldn't find a hole.

Well, it was very cold last night.

He may have delayed
rigor mortis.

And I can smell alcohol,
so I'd say about 11:30.

- How'd you work that out?
- Chucking out time.

Found this.

United.

Well...

Whoever did it, at least
he had a decent motive.

He's a City fan.

Shall I let his old lady know
she can join the singles club?

No. I'll do it.

- Is your mum in?
- Mum!

I'm a police officer.
Can I have a word?

Ryan?

I'm gonna get off now.

Will you look
after your mum for me?

Promise?

Find out who killed me dad?

- Yes, I will.
- Promise?

Doesn't take much working out,
even for you lot.

Right, let's start by bringing in
all known football hooligans,

get their names and addresses,
find out where they were last night.

- Get Ray to breathe on them.
- I think you're wrong.

This doesn't bear the hallmarks
of a football-related attack.

United are playing City
on Saturday.

Some poor sod always
gets a good kicking.

But that's just it. He didn't.

If this was about football,
he would've had serious injuries.

He's dead,
that's quite serious.

Colin Clay wasn't beaten up.

He didn't have "Georgie Best
is a tosser" written on his forehead.

In fact, nothing I saw this morning
suggested he died

because of which
football team he supported.

That's because
you don't know this city like I do.

I want to talk to his family,
his friends, and his workmates.

I wanna find out
if there was another motive.

You do that, Sherlock, and
if that doesn't work, try the butler.

Maybe he did it.

I'll bang up a hooligan by lunch.

Hello, love. DC Skelton.

You didn't see anybody suspicious
on your round?

- What now, boss?
- Let's go back over the statements.

It's essential we take
a methodical approach-

Allow me
to rephrase the question.

Bloody hooligans.
Waste of space.

Had us scratching
our heads for a while.

His clothes were covered in blood
but only on the back.

If it wasn't for that,
we'd never have found it.

Found what?

There.

Just above the hairline.
Puncture wound.

We'll have to go in and have
a proper look, but my guess...

it punctured the cerebellum.

Knife?

Too small.

What then?

Your guess is as good as mine.

All I can tell you is, it was
no more than three inches long.

The skin is serrated too, on one side.

Some kind of hunting tool?

Maybe.

And there were no other injuries?

None I can find.

- No fractures or bruising?
- Nothing.

Nothing to suggest a beating.

No.

It was here, weren't it?

Ryan.

What you doing here?

Does your mum know
where you are?

She's crying
with loads of people around her.

Come on.
Let's get you back.

Everyone wants me to cry,
but I can't.

It's okay. You don't have to cry
if you don't want to.

Tried pinching myself really hard.

You can't make yourself feel
something that you don't.

I feel bad and that,

but I didn't see him much.
Only at weekends.

- Why's that?
- He drove lorries around.

Oh. 'Course he did.

Wayne's dad died too.

- Who's Wayne? Mate of yours?
- Best mate.

Lives with his aunty and uncle.

Cos his mam ran off
with an insurance man.

Is your dad dead?

No - actually, no, he's not.

You're lucky.

Yeah.

- Do you live with him?
- No. Not anymore.

To tell you the truth,
I'm not sure where he is.

Dad promised to take me
to the match on Saturday.

Can't somebody else take you?

Not without me dad.

He scored, Sam.
Did you see that?

Someone smells nice.

New aftershave?

- Long time no see.
- That's cos I've been avoiding you.

I've got these for DCI Hunt.

Copies of the statements
from the door-to-doors.

Oh. I'll take them.

So, how you been?

Okay. You?

Yeah, good.

No more funny stuff?

- Funny stuff?
- You know, the whole...

time travel...
out of body experience thing.

Well, I went to see Doctor Who
and he prescribed me some pills, so...

You know, I can't work you out.
You're either mental-

Or?

Or... you just use that stuff
as a chat-up line.

Make yourself sound interesting.

"Please shag me,
I'm in a coma"?

There's no need to be rude.
I was just saying.

Sorry.

If it was a chat-up line...

would it work?

No chance.

This stuff from the alley...

has Forensics been
through it yet?

Yeah. Nothing there.

What's that?

A blakey.

What?

Stops your shoes wearing out.

Was the victim wearing these?

No sign of blakeys.
No markings.

You carried out the interviews
in the pub, didn't you?

Yeah.

What colour was the carpet?

It's hard to say.

Try.

Sort of... reddishy-purple.

I think I've got something.

Number for the special clinic
is on the notice board.

I've just been reading through
the door-to-door reports.

And?

A woman, at number 32,

50 yards from the murder scene,

heard a man's voice.

She thinks
he was shouting "Carl".

So?

What if it wasn't Carl?

What if it was Col?

What if my uncle had tits,
would he be my auntie?

If it was Col,

that means
he knew the murderer.

And then I found this
in the sweep from the alley.

It didn't belong to the victim,

and there are carpet fibres
in the spikes. Burgundy.

The same colour as the carpet
in the Trafford Arms,

which is where
he was drinking last night.

So what are you saying?

Whoever killed him
followed him out of the pub?

Which means
it wasn't football-related.

It's a United pub.

You wouldn't find
a City supporter in there.

Also, his wallet wasn't touched,
which means it wasn't robbery.

This wasn't mindless violence.

Someone had a motive.

Otherwise,
why else follow him home?

You're barking up the wrong tree.

Why?

Because, according to Chris,

all those people you spoke to
this morning all said the same thing.

Colin Clay was a good bloke,
salt of the earth,

no one had a bad word
to say about him.

- But...
- Right, was he in debt?

Was he shagging
somebody else's wife?

Right, was he the sort of bloke
that will go out and pick a fight?

So what was the one thing

that might have got him
killed in Trafford Park

coming out of a United pub, two days
before the match against City?

Or is that question
too difficult for you?

You have no evidence
to back that up!

And neither have you.

Difference is,
I trust my guts,

and they're telling me
this was about football.

Which means we should be worrying
about the thousands of United fans

who are looking
for revenge on Saturday.

All the more reason to prove
it wasn't a City gang who did this.

Look.

- What if I had more evidence?
- How?

Let me go undercover.

Gain their trust.

Find out who he was
drinking with last night.

Find out what happened
in the Trafford Arms before he left.

Come on. Let me show you
how clever I am.

Just one shift in the pub.

In the pub?

Ray, go and arrest
the landlord of the Trafford Arms.

- What for?
- Think of something on the way.

Right. Listen up.
Einstein here's come up with a plan.

He thinks that Colin Clay's killer
was drinking with him

in the Trafford Arms
on the night of the murder.

He also thinks there was a motive
apart from football violence,

so we're thinking,
what, inside the box.

- Outside.
- Yeah, that an' all.

So, in a bizarre twist of fate,

the landlord was arrested
this afternoon...

on suspicion of cattle rustling.

We're gonna refuse him bail
and keep him locked up for a bit

so that we can get
into the pub tomorrow night,

work a shift,
posing as his replacement.

That way we can dig about a bit,
see what we can find out.

So we're going
undercover in a pub?

The brewery have agreed.

As far as the punters
are concerned,

the undercover team will be
temporary manager, and barman.

So, who's gonna do it?

I volunteered myself
to lead the operation.

Einstein here will be coming
with me as barman. Questions?

Can I have a tab?

Not on your wages.
Anyone else?

Right. We go in tomorrow night.

And as I'm risking my personal safety
in a boozer full of United scum...

Ray, I want a full
back-up plan worked out.

Oh, and there's a sweepstake
on Ray's desk for Saturday's match.

I've got 2-0 City.

We're gonna need
a plonk as well.

What?

We can't run a boozer
without a barmaid.

- Oh, I really don't think-
- Good. Keep it that way.

Make sure she's got nice tits.

Just a thought.

Do either of you two know
anything about running a pub?

You want me
to teach you to work a bar?

- Yeah.
- Now?

We start tomorrow night.

How hard can it be?
You do it.

I can teach you how to pull a pint.

But the bonhomie
associated with the profession...

may take a little longer.

We'll settle for
whatever you can give us.

Two brown ale, double diamond,
gin and tonic, half a light ale,

and a port and lemon.

One ten.

Four brown split, two Campari
and a Dubari and lemonade.

Two quid.

One sixty.

It might be in your pub,
but in mine it's two quid.

And one for myself.

Cheers.

What can I get you?

I could ask you the same thing.

Didn't I tell you?
She's our new barmaid for tomorrow.

Oh no.

Looks like it could be a long night.

- Have you done this before?
- It's why I got chosen.

I was barmaid for six months
before I signed up.

That and me nice tits,
apparently.

What?

Nothing.

18�p.

Haven't you forgotten something?

Oh yeah,
and one for yourself.

Thank you very much,
don't mind if I do.

Hey, it's a piece of piss, this.

Snowball, Raymondo?

Why did you promise him, Sam?

Daddies always
let you down, don't they?

Hiya.

Are you going to see me mum?

Uh, no, I'm just meeting
someone in the pub.

This is Wayne.

Hiya, Wayne.

He's gonna get the bloke
that killed me dad.

Don't stay out too late,
eh, lads?

Things might kick off later.

Right. What we're looking for...

is someone who had any
kind of dispute with the victim.

They don't have to
have heard anything,

they might have witnessed
a heated exchange,

or sensed an atmosphere...
anything.

Gene?

- Don't you mean "guv"?
- We're undercover.

He's right...

Gene.

Right!
Let's get set up,

and hope
they're a talkative lot.

Oi, you. Word.

Were you in here
two nights ago?

Gene.

Wait here.

Do you understand
the concept of "undercover"?

Too direct?

Little bit, yeah.

This um...

...shirt/jumper is
a nice combination, well done.

Chicken and chips twice.

Two pans, a spoon
and a big tub of dripping.

So, what do you want?

Olive oil would be nice,
bit of coriander...

- It's a herb.
- This is Trafford Park.

You've got more chance of finding
an ostrich with a plum up its arse.

- Haven't got any plates.
- You're a smart lad,

use your initiative!

Chicken and chips twice.

Over here, mate.

What's this?

It's chicken in a basket.

Where's me plate?

You don't need a plate.
It's in a basket.

Word.

Chicken... in a basket?

You told me to use my initiative.

Let's see how good
you really are.

Two oxtail soups.

Food's off.

- Yes, mate?
- Pint of brown split.

Where's Frank?

I don't know, I think he got into
a bit of trouble with the police.

Brewery sent us down
to cover for him.

Nothing to do with Col, is it?

- Col?
- The bloke that were murdered?

No, I don't think so.

Why, did you know him, Col?

Everyone knew Col.
He was a great bloke.

Who'd kill someone because of
what football team they support?

You think
that's what it was, then?

That's what the papers are saying.

Read it if you like.

Cheers.

Look at that.

See? What'd I tell you?

Just 'cause it's in the papers,
doesn't mean it's true.

Look, it's in black and white. You just
don't like admitting you're wrong.

I'm not wrong.

So what've you found out,

apart from how much lemonade
to put in a tart's Dubonnet?

Give it a chance,
we've only just started.

- We'd better get a move on.
- Yeah, and remember...

Yeah, alright,
the softly, softly approach.

He didn't pay his tab.

What?

I arrested him
three months ago for assault.

Did you have to hit him?

Well, I thought
it were a good idea,

just before he said, "Hello, Detective
Chief Inspector. Fancy seeing you here."

- We can't leave him here.
- He'll be fine.

Okay then, Sherlock.

You've got two hours to show me
how clever you are.

So how well
did you know him then?

There will never be
a woman Prime Minister,

as long as I have
a hole in my arse.

Cheers, mate.

Same again.

- How was the food?
- Oh, it was great, yeah.

Apart from vinegar
going through the holes.

It's Pete, innit?

- Pete Bond, yeah.
- Sam.

Must be weird, that,
going from one pub to another,

covering for other people.

It is a bit, yeah.

So where was your last pub, then?

It was.. other side of town.

- So what was it called?
- The Nelson.

Round the back of Hartford Street.
Do you know it?

Cheers, Pete.

Yes, lads?

Four pints of malt and
two brown splits, please.

- You going to the match?
- Yep. You?

Can't. I'm working.

That was a nasty business,
the other night.

He were a top bloke, Col.
Couldn't believe it when I heard.

- He a mate of yours?
- A good mate.

City lot have got
a lot to answer for.

So it's right,
what they say in the papers?

Yes. They're gonna get
what's coming to 'em tomorrow.

We all owe Colin that.

Time to liven things up a bit.

Hard to keep your stories straight
when you're pissed, you ask my missus.

- I'm not sure that's ethical.
- It's not, it's vodka.

Pete.

- Who's that?
- That's Coxy.

He said he was
a mate of Colin's.

Yeah, they got on okay.

He's been dying to get stuck
into the City boys all season.

Looks like
he'll get his chance now.

- Noisy lot.
- I know.

They're the only ones
we haven't talked to properly.

Do you want me to try?

No, I'll do it.

Alright lads,
what do you reckon?

Bobby Charlton
on the score sheet tomorrow?

Fancy Lou Macari myself.

Is that right, pal?

Right, whose round is it?

They're not exactly friendly,
are they?

That's because you're not
their kind of people.

Is that right?
And who is "their kind of people"?

Me.

You look like a man
wishing he was somewhere else.

Sorry, Pete,
I was miles away there.

So, going to the match tomorrow?

No, I doubt it.

You don't know
what you're missing.

I used to go a lot
when I was younger.

- United man?
- Oh yeah.

Once a Red,
always a Red.

All those people, all coming
together for one thing,

and most of them you've never
seen before in your life.

But if they're wearing red,
you're mates.

It makes you feel like
you really belong to something.

I can't remember the last time
I went to a match.

I think it was...

I think it was about now.

Now, this time of year.

So why'd you stop going then?

It just sort of happened.

But you miss it, though?

I never really thought it,
but yeah, I suppose I do.

You should come back.

Once a Red, always a Red,
remember.

Pete, you go, mate.

Let us know if you fancy it.

Get the old blood
pumping again, eh?

Still nothing?

Who was this bloke,
St Francis of Assisi?

No one'll say
a bad word against him.

I'm gonna get some air.

You killed me dad!
I'm gonna kill you!

Get off me!

He killed me dad!
Get off!

Wayne!

I didn't do anything!

- What's going on?
- It were him.

I saw it in the papers.

- Saw what?
- That City lot killed me dad.

Even if that's true,
it wasn't Wayne.

Well, he supports City.
I hate him!

Ryan, it doesn't work
like that, mate.

What if it had been a City fan killed,
would that have been your fault?

You can't start ripping
lumps out of people

just 'cause of which
football team they support!

- They killed me dad.
- No, they didn't!

Who did then?

I don't know.

It don't matter.

You break your promise.

That's what grown-ups do, innit?

I used to go to
the football with my dad.

Every Saturday,
watch United.

It was the only time of the week
I got him all to myself,

you know what I mean?

'Course you do.

Just me and me dad.

Then when he left,

I never went again.

Well, I'm not either.

The thing is, mate,

if you stop doing all the things
you used to do with your dad,

you lose him all over again.

And that thing
that you're feeling now,

it will never go away.

I really miss him.

I know.

There's gonna be trouble.

If there is, call the station.

Back-up's on stand-by.

Can I have a word?

As long as the words are
"it's my round",

and "what're you having?".

Now!

Sorry, lads!
Tinkerbell here needs a hand!

I'll be back in a minute!

What the bloody hell
do you think you're doing?

I tell you what I'm doing,
you little prick.

I'm getting me hands dirty!

Now, I've come here
on your say-so,

even though I know
you're wrong about this.

So, while you're pussy-footing
about out there,

asking what colour underpants
Denis Law is wearing,

I'm doing some male bonding
on the off chance

that you are not as stupid
as you might look!

- I thought you were drunk.
- Yeah, well, think again.

I could drink every one
of them toe-rags under the table

and still stop off
for a pint of me way home.

How'd you think I became a DCI?

You think they give away
badges in them Lucky Bags?

Right, well,
let's finish what we started.

And if I want a bollocking for
drinking too much, I'll phone the wife.

Are we done?

- Yes, guv.
- Good.

They're a lively lot, aren't they?

And they haven't got
a brain cell between them.

So what's he like, this Coxy?

He's the local hard nut.
At least, he thinks he is.

Right! Let's have a drink!

Get 'em in, lovely bumps.

Hey, keep your hands to yourself.

Here's to cracking
a few heads tomorrow!

Do we know who got Colin, then?

What?

Colin. Who's in the frame?

It were City lot, who else?

Dunno, I heard it might not be.

- From who?
- Someone.

Well, whoever it is,
is talking out their arse.

Why the concern,
you didn't even know Col.

He's a Red and
that's good enough for me.

It was City lot, weren't it, lads?

They'll get what's coming to 'em
tomorrow, don't worry about that.

So what's the plan then, lads?

What, I meet you tonight and suddenly
you want to know all of my business?

What's your problem?

People sticking their noses
in things that don't concern 'em.

Hey, come on.
We've all had a drink...

What's wrong? We're just
having a friendly little talk.

Who said that you were my friend?

Why are you so interested in
what I do and what I don't do?

Are you a copper or what?

Forget it, mate.
If they don't wanna chat, forget it.

Piss off, the lot of you.

- You what?
- We're shut.

You've just ordered more drinks.

I've just ordered drinks for my mates,
like you said you aren't one.

Are you leaving or
am I throwing you out?

What, all of us?

Right, then.

Come on, who's next?

You've got some guts.

Enough to take on you
bunch of girls.

Come on, Coxy.
It's a big day tomorrow.

Let's just have a drink, eh?

Yeah, we erupt between ourselves,
we all get banged up and miss tomorrow.

What say we have
another drink then, eh?

Come on, Gene,
shake his hand.

Get the beers in.

Your mate's got some balls.

If they were any bigger,
he'd need a wheelbarrow.

- You gonna join us, sweetheart?
- Maybe later.

- Looks like you've made a new friend.
- Slimy git.

Mind you, he wears
the same aftershave as you.

I don't wear aftershave.

How is he?

Oh, he's okay.
He's just pretending to be drunk.

Really.

They don't give away DCI badges
in Lucky Bags, you know.

Smart-arse.

You'd better sit him up.

We've made you some coffee.

Up your arse.

Come on, drink this.

Smells like shit.

Oh, fine.
And you smell like a brewery.

Maybe we should
walk him around for a bit.

I don't think we'll get
any sense out of him tonight.

Sir!

Did he tell you anything?

I know what you're thinking.

Really?

You think I'm pissed.

Now you come to mention it...

Well, I'm not.

I...

am...

a professional...

police officer.

So, we got nothing.

Right.

Since your daft idea didn't do anything
but take our eye off the ball,

we're gonna have to
drag in the hooligans again.

What good will that do?

Right now,
it's the only choice we got.

Even if they don't know anything, it might
stop someone else from getting killed.

Hiya.

Look, I'm...

I'm still gonna try
and keep that promise, okay?

It's just...
it might take a little bit longer.

Are you going to the match?

You've got your scarf on.

It isn't mine.

It's me dad's.

Me mam wanted to throw it away,
after what the papers said.

I'm only wearing it
cos I can smell him.

Hang on...

We found your dad's scarf
in that alley.

He was wearing it.

I've got it at the station.

He only wore it match days.

So he wasn't wearing it
when he left the house?

- Are you sure?
- Yeah.

He only had one.
This one.

Malcolm Cox is on the list of people
drinking in the pub that night.

I want you to check for any
previous convictions for assault.

Move!

Smell that.

- I'm sorry?
- Smell it.

- Kinky.
- Please.

- Well?
- Well what?

When you dropped off those reports,
you said that I smelled nice.

Is this what you smelt?

Yeah, so?

I don't wear aftershave.

No, but you talk gibberish.

But in the pub last night,

you said that Malcolm Cox was
wearing the same aftershave as me.

- Is this it?
- I suppose so.

Right.

The lads in the pub said

that Malcolm Cox was spoiling
for a fight with the City fans,

but none of the United fans
were interested.

So?

But now they are.

So what's made 'em
change their mind?

Go on.

This scarf was found at the scene
where Colin Clay was killed.

Now, I've just come back
from his house.

This scarf wasn't his.

I think it belonged
to whoever killed him.

- Yeah, but it's a United scarf.
- Exactly.

And whoever dropped it
was wearing the same aftershave

that Malcolm Cox was wearing.

Smell it.

Yeah, him and
two million others, no doubt.

Hai-Karate.

Cox has got eight previous
convictions for assault.

I found out that bit.

The weapon that killed Colin Clay
was no more than three inches long

and serrated on one side.

When you squared up to him last night,

Malcolm Cox put his keys
through his fingers, like that.

Keys. I think that's
what killed Colin Clay.

A ready-made knuckleduster,

that the police would never spot
if they picked you up.

So you think Cox killed Clay?

All makes sense.

I doubt he meant to kill him,

but he thought that
by attacking a United supporter,

making it look like
it was the City fans,

the United faithful would back him.

All went wrong. Clay died.

If we can prove that...

We can stop the hooligans
taking over this match.

Kick-off's in two hours.

So the City fans are innocent?

In that case,
I approve of your findings.

You got an address?

- Who is it!
- The milkman.

Alright, lads.

What's happening?

You're nicked.

Mind the bloody paintwork!

New scarf?

Where did you go
when you left the Trafford Arms

the night Colin Clay was killed?
- Home.

Can anyone vouch for that?

- Who?
- Me cat.

You're quiet.

I'm just waiting for the
Boy Wonder to get bored,

then I'll bounce you
around the walls.

You followed him home
that night, didn't you?

Prove it.

So, what, you just thought
you were gonna beat him up a bit,

and with the match coming up, everyone
would blame it on the City boys.

Come on, you Reds!

Had to be somebody
well-liked though, didn't it?

A nice bloke, just to get
everybody angry enough.

Nah, that's bollocks.

So, someone shouted out
his name, he stopped,

giving you the chance
to sneak up behind him,

punch him in the back of the head.

Is that what happened?

He asked you a bloody question.

Only you used your keys,
though, didn't you?

Like this.

Just like you were gonna do
last night, in the pub, you remember?

He must have gone down
like a sack of spuds.

Don't know
what you're talking about.

- You ran away, didn't you?
- I told you, I was at home.

So scared, you dropped
your scarf. The other scarf.

I didn't kill anyone!

And that scarf
is now in Forensics.

- Foreign-what?
- A bloke with tweezers...

is pulling out little strands
of hair and skin from the fibres.

And what are the odds
it's gonna be your hair, Coxy?

We're gonna see to it you get life.

I told you,
me scarf was nicked.

You were seen wearing it
the night he was killed!

See, jurors love all that,
makes them feel like Columbo.

No, you've done it wrong!

One more thing.

Missing a blakey?

Malcolm Cox, I'm arresting you
for the murder of Colin Clay.

- I didn't kill him!
- Who did then?!

You do not have to say anything
unless you wish to do so...

- It was an accident!
- Did you hit him?

Did you hit him?!

- But anything you do say...
- It wasn't me!

- may be given in evidence...
- It was Pete!

It was Pete's idea.

None of the lads wanted to take on City

and he was in the pub
that night and he said...

if we beat up a United fan,
it'd bring 'em around.

Pete... Bond?

Yeah. We only meant
to rough him up a bit.

He was the one who showed me
how to use the keys, it's his trademark.

I just went along to help him.

We were just gonna rough him up bit,
but when Pete hit him he went down.

I didn't know
what to do, so I ran.

Peter Bond.
Where can we find him?

The United faithful...

are still blaming the City fans
for the death of Colin Clay.

As you can imagine, the Blues
aren't too happy about that.

So in one hour, both sides are gonna
meet at the old textiles factory

behind the shops in Leaming Road.

This is gonna be bigger and uglier

than any pre-match scrap
you've ever dealt with before,

so let's get a move on.

Come on, you heard him.
Chop-chop!

Where's Ray?

He phoned in sick.
In bed with flu, he said.

Right, come on, load up!

Phyllis, at one o'clock,

I want you to call
the local radio stations

and tell 'em we've found
the man who killed Colin Clay.

- What for?
- Just do it.

And be sure to tell 'em
the killer was a United supporter.

That way, we might save
someone from getting a kicking.

Talking of which, shouldn't this lot
be wearing protective clothing?

- You what?
- You know...

Visors, shields, stab vests...

They've got helmets.

Come on, hurry up,
they're waiting for you.

Wagons roll!

Everyone sit tight.

There.

Okay, let's have 'em.

Wait.

Bloody hell.

Alright, lads, tool up.

Haven't you got anything?

No.

Good luck.

Go, go, go, go, go!

Yes!

So you thought you'd come
to the match after all, Sam?

I'm a police officer.

What's your problem?

You are.

Do you know how long
I've waited for this?

- I'm not interested.
- None of them would have it.

So, what, you thought you'd beat up
a United supporter, get them on side?

They had no bottle.

What was it you said to me, Pete?
"Once a Red, always a Red"?

It's football.

You know nothing about football!

Peter Bond, I'm arresting you
for the murder of Colin Clay.

You are not obliged to say anything
unless you wish to do so,

anything you do say
may be given as evidence.

- Prove it!
- I have.

Piss off!

This is the buzz, man.

This is what we do.
It's the game.

I used to go to football
with my dad.

United and City fans used to
walk to the match together.

Our next door neighbour,
he had a City flag up in his window.

Kids used to play together
in the street.

Red and Blue.

And then people like you came along,

and you took it away from us.

Look, a good punch-up's
all part of the game.

It's about pride.
Pride in your team.

Being the best.

No, it isn't.

This is how it starts.

And then it escalates.

It gets on the telly
and in the press,

and then other fans from other clubs
start trying to outdo each other,

and then it becomes about hate.

And then it's nothing to do
with football anymore!

It's about gangs,

and scumbags like you,

roaming the country,

seeing who can cause
the most trouble!

And then we overreact,

and we have to put up
perimeter fences,

and we treat the fans like animals!

Forty, fifty thousand people,
herded into pens.

And then how long
before something happens?

How long before
something terrible happens,

and we are dragging bodies out?

Thought you were a United man.

You killed somebody.

It went wrong.

I was just gonna give him a kicking.

He's dead.

That's mine.

This doesn't belong to you.

This belongs to decent people

who work all week and take their kids
to the football on a Saturday.

People like Colin Clay.

You alright, boss?

Lock him up.

You're sure
you don't wanna be here?

No, you go on. I've got something
I need to do first.

I'm ready then.

- What for?
- An apology.

Was this,
or was this not,

a football-related crime?

Was the murderer drinking
with him in the Trafford Arms?

Don't try and wheedle out of this.

I'm right, you're wrong,
admit it.

We caught him because
I convinced you to go undercover.

Before that, you were just
dragging hooligans in.

Still about football!

- Not in the way you were thinking.
- It was still about football!

You just will not be
proved wrong, will you?

You know, that's very childish.

- No, it is not.
- Yes, it is.

I thought he had flu?

Sergeant!

Come back here,
you scabby little git!

Hiya.

My mum told me that you caught
the bloke that killed me dad.

I promised you, didn't I?

Do you know anyone
that wants this?

What is it?

It's a ticket for the match.

Do you remember
when I told you about my dad?

I was wrong
never to go to a match again.

Hey, you never know.
Maybe one day,

me and you can go
to a match together.

I'd like that.

So would I.

But for now, I've only got
the one ticket, so...

Have you got anyone
that can take you down there?

There you are,
isn't that your mate?

Is that his uncle?

Looks like they're going.

Thanks, mister.

You excited
about the match, Sam?