All language subtitles for Endeavour - 09x02 - Uniform.NTb.English.C.updated.Addic7ed.com

'It always starts with a body.

'Then come the questions.

'That's where I come in.

'Jolliphant's the name.

'Detective Superintendent
Jolyon Jolliphant.

' "Jolly" for short.'

Now, you do remember you very kindly
promised to give Raph your vote

in the upcoming elections.

_

I mean,
we will know if he comes up short,

and if by some unhappy circumstance
he should come up short...

..there will be remonstrances...

and likely worse.

That's the slate. Yes?

Chin-chin!

'Constable Banks?
Cut along to old Ma Peggoty's

'and see if you can't sort out
these young tearaways.'

'Yes, Sarge.'

'Now... I'm sure what happened
to DCI Blaze will be on your mind.

'A good copper,
gunned down in the line of duty.'

'But you can rely on this.

'When it comes to one of our own,
we leave no stone unturned.'

'No, Sarge.'

'Meantime, the best you and me can do

'is stick to our duties and do 'em
to the best of our ability.'

Well, well, well.

I say, you fellows.

Here's sport.

'Every barrel has its bad apples.

'But in my book, there are very few
creatures on this Earth

'lower than a bent copper.

'Now, I don't know what led him
down that path, but whatever it was,

'death has a way of wiping
a man's slate clean in this world.

'I can't speak as to the next.'

- Kettle on?
- Hm.

'The finding of this board

'is that the tragic events
of last December,

'which led to the shooting
of DI Thursday

'and the arrest of DS Morse,

'were due solely to a mental breakdown

'suffered by ACC Clive Deare.

'We are also of a view
that further investigation

'into other extraneous matters

'would NOT be in the national interest.

'To which end,
all investigative materials

'relating to Blenheim Vale Boys' Home

'are to be sealed for 50 years.'

- Morning, Morse.
- Good morning, Mrs Thursday.

There's tea in the pot
if you want to go through.

Ah, no time this morning, I'm afraid.

Fred tells me Jim Strange
has asked you to be best man

for him and Joan's...

Yes. Yes, that's right.

It'll mean a lot to him.

Well, to both of them, I'm sure.

- Sam settling back in all right?
- Morse.

- Morning, Sir.
- Much in?

Local beat man found him on his rounds

not long after six.

- Anything to say who he was?
- Dosser, by the looks of him.

They hang out here and the wasteland
by the old Kemble Theatre.

- Morning, Doctor.
- Chief Inspector.

Much to go on?

Male, late 50s, early 60s,

most likely not in the best of health,

multiple injuries, looks like
he took a serious beating.

What's with all the, uh, blood?

Someone stuck a broken bottle
in his neck.

Whether that's what did for him,
or he was already on his way out...

I'm afraid I won't be able
to express an opinion

until after the postmortem.

Shall we say two o'clock?

Doctor.

It's £20.

What's left of it. Burnt.

That's a lot of money.
Can't see him doing that.

Maybe that's what
he fell out with his mates over.

See if you can run his pals
to ground, find out what they got.

Jim, you take me back to the station.

For behold, I give you
good tidings of great joy."

The results are in...

Mr President.

- A vagrant?
- Kicked to death...

or stabbed with a broken bottle,
according to Doctor DeBryn.

I dunno what the world's coming to.

Most days, I barely recognise it at all.

No, Sir.

Criminal damage...
cars smashed and stolen,

violence between gangs of young men
on Carfax in broad daylight,

wanton lawlessness.

This is Oxford! It's not New York.

No, Sir.

Have you thought any more
about Carshall?

Yes, Sir.

I've decided to put in for it.

It'll mean a move, but...
that could be good for the family.

Joan'll be settled, and...

..I'd like to see Sam
properly back on his feet.

I'm sure.

How's he readjusting to civilian life?

Pretty well, Sir. Thank you.
All things considered.

Hello?

I'm the police.

It's all right.

It's all right, no need to be scared.

I'd just like to talk to you.

- Devils?
- "In the shape of men."

- The hell she mean by that?
- Oh, I don't know. She was terrified.

She said they looked like Fred Astaire,
only their faces were wrong.

Four or five of them.

That's what I'm to report
to Mr Bright, is it?

Case like that,
she's drunk from dusk till dawn,

it's hard to know what she's seen.

- Any of them have a name for him?
- Hugh or Hughie, no surname.

I wouldn't put your hopes
in getting to the bottom of it.

These types
blow into town without a trace

and blow out again just the same.

Unreliable witnesses at best.

And that's if
you can ever find 'em again.

Er, anything further on
Brenda Lewis' time at Landesman's?

There was a Missing Persons case,
in her name in '63

but closed shortly afterwards.

She worked directly for Joe
Landesman as his personal secretary.

Nothing more from Ronnie Box,
I don't suppose?

- Weren't expecting anything, were we?
- You never know with Box.

I wouldn't put it past him
to keep something up his sleeve

till he's worked out
whether it plays to his advantage.

Might be worth giving him
another tickle,

see if we can jog his memory.

Thursday.

Maybe we should cool it for a bit.

- "Cool it"?
- The police...

Aren't going to bother themselves
too much over some filthy old man.

You know, if I didn't know better,
Archie-boy...

..I'd say you were losing your nerve.

No, no. It... It's not like that, Raph.

I do hope not.

- You got rid of it yet?
- No.

Not yet.

So... cause of death
was finally exsanguination.

The jagged end of the bottle
punctured his left carotid artery

and jugular vein.

Half a dozen wounds.

One hesitates to say frenzied,

but it certainly
wasn't just an unlucky blow.

When you say "finally"?

He was already in a pretty poor state.

Ruptured spleen.
A number of cracked ribs.

Fractured humerus.
Liver laceration which...

could have proved fatal
if left unattended.

That was all from the beating?

Oh, yes. Three or four assailants,
I'd have said.

Multiple contusions and abrasions.

I've put his bits and pieces
on the side.

Kept his wedding ring.

Must've meant something to him.

Else he'd have pawned it long since

and chucked the proceeds down his neck.

Kiddies.

Probably in their 30s by now.

Not much to show for a life.

We enter the world with nothing
and leave with much the same.

Kings and beggars both.

The rich man at his table...

..poor man kicked and stabbed to death.

- Where was the beret?
- In the coat.

How'd it go?

Ex-soldier, as it turns out.

Limehouse Rifles. My old unit.
Much in over lunch?

Trying to work my way through the motors

that got vandalised
on the Broad last night.

Turns out the sports car
that got pinched

belongs to the Lady Mayoress. So...

And we've got a missing person.

Locals are short-handed,
so they've asked us to deal.

- Where's this?
- Out Slepe way.

Afternoon, I'm, er, Detective
Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley.

- Miss Baynard, would it be?
- Freya.

You reported a Paul Baynard missing,
is that right?

My dad. He locked up after work,

and then went on his bike
about eight thirty.

I thought he was going
to The Wheatsheaf in the village,

- about three miles.
- And when did you expect him back?

Chucking out time.

Is there anyone you can think of
that he might've gone to stay with?

No.

It's just us.

What does he do?

Illustrator. Book covers, magazines.

How has he seemed recently?

Er, hard to tell. He doesn't say much.

Anything been troubling him?

I wouldn't have said.

Why?

You think something bad has happened?

People disappear for many reasons,
Miss Baynard,

not all of them sinister.

Sometimes,
people just need to step away.

To be honest,
we very rarely consider someone

to be a missing person

unless they've been gone
for at least a week.

It's just the two of you, you said?

Mum died.

When I was young.

Do you have a photograph of him?

Erm...

Ordinarily, he's quite camera-shy...

..but he needed it
as a study for a painting, so...

Half a face do you?

Anything further on Mickey Flood?

Nothing outside this protection
racket warrant down the Smoke.

Well, tearing a man's tongue out
and nailing it to the floor?

- There's got to be more to it that.
- If I might have your attention.

Reports are coming in...

..that the body of a uniformed constable

has been discovered
by a member of the public.

I'm on my way to Division...

..but if it's foul play...

..I want whoever's behind it
on the charge sheet

inside 24 hours.

First impressions, Doctor?

Injuries are consistent
with a fall from a great height.

Neck's broken, but whether
that was before or after he fell,

I'm afraid I can't say just yet.

What about the when of it?

Five past twelve, according to
his wristwatch. Face is smashed.

Rigor would suggest six to nine
hours or thereabouts. So...

it's about the right window, time-wise.

Cause?

Most probably the broken neck...

..but just feeling his skull,

I'd say that's very likely
badly fractured.

Doubtless, there'll also be
a panoply of internal injuries.

The nails of his left hand,
they're quite badly torn.

So you think he clawed at whatever
window he's come through?

- Strewth!
- Pushed, then.

Not a conclusion I'd leap to
necessarily, Sergeant.

Many set on self-slaughter
change their mind at the last.

Often, sadly, to no avail.

I found a set of car keys
in his pockets.

No notebook or warrant card.

Face doesn't ring a bell.

If he's out of Castle Gate,
he's well off his beat.

CM-824?

That's not a Thames Valley number,
is it?

See if you can get a steer
on that collar number.

And a statement from whoever found him.

Have a look at that car,
see who it belongs to.

He looks familiar.

Sure I've seen him somewhere before.

So, what do you think?

He's come in here after some bugger
up to no good, or what?

Five past midnight.

Could just as easily
have been a midnight rendezvous.

- Someone he knew, then.
- Mm.

You and Jim finish up here.

I'll report to Mr Bright
when he gets back from Division.

- Anything?
- Well, a couple of cigarette butts.

Empty packet of Old Soldiers,
and the wrapper of a prophylactic.

- Midnight, the stars, and you, eh?
- Mm.

It's always been
a popular spot for toms.

- What about this?
- Dumped.

It's the Lady Mayoress's motor,

nicked the night before last
off the Broad.

I was thinking,
maybe he saw whoever dumped it,

- and chased 'em inside the factory.
- Damage?

Can't imagine the thief'd want to be
driving it around in that state.

If it were me, I'd have dumped it
the night it was stolen.

- Any keys?
- Could be anywhere.

I've a unit coming out
to pick it up, if you wanna wait.

Said to the old man
I'd see him back at the station.

Hello there. I'm Detective Sergeant
Morse, Thames Valley,

Miss... Hatch.

I wonder if you could tell me
which lender last borrowed this?

Just For Jolly.

It should've been returned
on the 1st of July.

Yes, of course.

In fact, I remember him.

It was, er, late opening.

He was the last one in here. Mister...

Ah, yes, here we are.

- Mr Astin.
- Astin?

David Astin. Six Kent Finn novels.

I remember saying to him,
"You must be a fan, then."

Would you have an address for him?

Bye now. I say, I say, I say.

"What can I do for you, then, sir?"
he asked him knowingly.

I'm not... I'm not buying.

"You say that now, sir. But wait
till you've sampled my wares,"

said Simple Simon to the Pieman.

Laughter is the best medicine.

Sorry, do you mind turning that off?
I'm on police business.

I'm Detective Sergeant Morse.
Thames Valley.

I was given this address for
a David Astin. Does he live here?

Yes.

Well, then,
I'm afraid I've got some bad news.

His body was found earlier
this morning, out by Cowley.

Oh, brilliant. Oh, well done!

You nearly had me there for a minute.

I'm sorry, it's not a laughing matter.

Who put you up to it?
It's Ray, isn't it?

Ray?

My brother, in case he didn't mention.

No, honestly,
I'm here about David Astin.

There's only one problem with that, see.

I'm David Astin.

..going through it... Oh.

Still no word on his collar number.

I put a call in to the Yard. But
they're turning out from all over.

Some of them have cancelled leave.
Others have refused to go home.

No stone unturned, I suppose.
Not for one of our own.

- An actor?
- Yes, Sir.

He's in this Jolly For Short
programme on the television.

He plays a young PC, Constable Banks.

They do most of it at
Associated Midland Studios.

Then, what's he doing here?

They film some of the outside bits
in town

and then put them into the rest
of it, so it's all one thing.

I spoke to the people who make it.

They said he was "called" yesterday,
whatever that means,

but not used.
They're back here again today.

And this Constable Banks is...
is part of it?

Banks is the part he's playing, Sir.

His real name is Raymond Swann.

He must've borrowed my library card.

I probably haven't used it
since I was a kid.

A fall, you say?

Then at least it would've been quick.

But I don't understand how...

Some sort of accident?

- Did he live here?
- No. No, he's got a place in Jericho.

You wouldn't have a set of keys,
would you?

Yeah. He gave me a spare,
in case of emergencies.

What car did he drive?

Little Fiat. He bought it with
the first money he made off Jolly.

"Repeats", they call it?
They pay you every time it's on.

Is it popular, this programme?

Oh, yeah. Must've been going...
five years, now.

But I think, last time I saw him,

he said they're finishing it
after this lot.

That must've come as a blow.
How did he take it?

"An actor's life," he said.

And it was Raymond Swann, you said.
Not Astin?

It was his acting name. For the union.

There was already a Raymond Astin.
It's one of their rules.

You can't have two actors
with the same name.

I'd like to see him.

- Say my goodbyes.
- Yes. Course.

'Tell you the truth, Jolly, '

I don't know how much change
I've got left in me.

I'm not so young as I was.

Away with you. You'll see me out.

I've been talking to Marge
about packing it in.

Maybe going down Minehead way.
Open a guest house.

Sunset over the bay...

Cut! Cut! Sorry, sorry! Plane!

Are you going to be doing that pipe
business over my line? Only...

Mike Gatwood, producer.
Studio rang to say you were coming.

I haven't divulged the news yet
to the cast and crew, but, erm,

if there's anything I can do.

Mr Swann was "called" yesterday,
I understand.

Yes, yes, he was. Er, he spent most
of the day on the minibus, though.

- Why was that?
- Well, it's not unusual.

He only had two lines, they were in
the last scene of the day.

So we cut one for time,
and then Ted, er, Sergeant Wilkins,

he thought the other one was something

his character was more likely
to say, so...

- And the minibus went back where?
- Went back to the studio.

And who'd have been on that
with Mr Swann, the other actors?

No, no, they have private cars. Take
them back home, or to their digs.

Kenny - Superintendent Jolliphant -
he's staying in town at the moment,

because he's doing a thriller
at the Oxford Empire.

We'll need to speak to those
of the cast who were here yesterday

and anyone else
who had anything to do with him.

Oh, well, that's...
that's difficult today.

Er, but we start rehearsals
tomorrow for the next episode,

if you want to come by then.
We're in Pool Moor Hall.

It's a little church hall
that we use in Summertown.

Mike! Mike, please!

That is me being summoned.
So, erm, see you on the green!

It's a rum caper.

Sit in a bus all day and not get used.

Wanted to do that,
he could've joined the real police.

I've got the keys to his flat
and car if you want to take a look.

No, you're all right.
Win's doing something.

Jim's family's coming over.

Well, just his gran.
That's all he's got.

She had the raising of him, apparently.

You work with someone seven years.
Things you don't know about people.

Let me know if you find anything.

"Play Dead."

Lovely carrots, eh, Gran?

Lovely carrots, Mrs Thursday.

Best call me Win, Jim,
seeing as we're going to be family.

No Sam tonight, then?

- No, he had to go out.
- Oh, did he?

Oh, we, uh, found that nicked car
belonging to the Lady Mayoress.

Morse said.

He found this Kent Finn
book underneath it, apparently.

So it must've been dumped
after Swann hit the deck.

Mm.

I've put the smokes and the fag packet

he picked up in the factory
into Forensics.

And the wrapper for the, um...

Wossname.

They were hopeful they might be able
to get some dabs off that.

Well, then.

I've got it.

All right, come on.
Come here, that's it.

- Here we go.
- Oh, do you want me to, er...

Er, no. No, you're,
you're all right, Jim. I've got him.

You go on and... have your tea.

Come on, up you get.

That's it. That's it.

I'm all right. I tripped.

I know.

It's easily done.
Up the stairs. Come on.

You go and sleep it off.

- Morse!
- Mrs Thursday.

Come in, he won't be a minute.

You wanna end up like that?

That's the way you're going, you
carry on the way you are. Then what?

Ah, Morse. Uh, I...

'And what put you onto it, Sir?'

As a matter of fact, it was
something Sergeant Wilkins said.

We were talking about the tearaways

who've been troubling Ma Peggoty
recently and you said...

"The devil makes work for idle hands."

And it was "hands"
that got me thinking...

of the Ormolu clock found at the
scene of Eduardo Sanchez's murder,

the hands forever stilled
at ten twenty eight.

Only trouble is, the postmortem...

Obviously, given what's happened,

we're keen to understand Mr Swann's
recent mental state,

particularly in the days
leading up to his decease.

Is there anyone on the programme
he was particularly friends with?

Someone in the cast or crew, perhaps?

Well, I really didn't know him
well enough to say.

So, you weren't on set
the last time he was there?

No, no, no, no, 'fraid not.

I... I popped by the day before,
just to... just to look in.

Do you remember seeing him then?

Well, I mean, there were a number
of uniformed extras at lunch.

He might've been one of them.

Oh, no, as a matter of fact,

there was a bit of a contretemps
around the catering truck.

What was that?

Well, a couple of passing derelicts
were helping themselves,

you know, stuffing their pockets
with rolls, biscuits, all sorts.

Mike knows. Mike! I was just telling
the police about the beggars,

coming along
and helping themselves to grub.

Oh, God! I mean,
they're like wasps at a picnic.

No-one begrudges anyone a bit of
food, but you've gotta watch 'em,

otherwise they're in and out of
production and in artistes' caravans

quicker than you can say knife.

I can't say
that I knew him terribly well.

I don't think
we had many scenes together.

Teddy had more to do with him.

And what about the day before last?
He was "called", but not used.

Did you see him or speak to him?

Erm... I may have over lunch
next to the chuck wagon,

but I don't know
whether anyone's mentioned,

I'm rehearsing a play
for the Oxford Empire at the moment.

Play Dead, would that be?

That's the one! It's rather
a neat little thriller, actually.

I play this writer whose young,
beautiful wife gets bumped off.

And all the way through, you don't
know whether it's me or not.

And is it you?

Ah, you'll have to come and see
to find out, won't you. Ha-ha.

No, seriously, do let me know if you
want some tickets for yourselves

or maybe just to raffle off
for charity. Or both!

We like to do our bit for the police,

because they're always so good for us...

You were saying... about Raymond Swann.

Oh. Yes, well, erm,
when I'm not being used,

I'm in my caravan, learning my lines,

because we go up next week
and I'm... I'm still on the book.

Small wonder, really, the way they
chop and change the lines on this.

It's a miracle I can keep anything
in my head at all. Ha!

I was telling Raymond only the other
day, your public are everything.

He'd been recognised, you see.
First time for all of us.

It could happen anywhere,
in the butcher's or the baker's,

just be queueing up,
like an ordinary person,

and then you hear the whispers
from members of the public

from the back of the queue...

"Is it him?" You know.

And it'll rattle down the line
like a cane fire.

- Is that right?
- Ciggie?

Er, I won't, thank you, sir,
and nor will he.

Then one of them will pluck up
the courage to ask, "Is it you?"

And I'll say, "Who?"

And they'll say, "Him. Off the telly."

I've told my wife to put that
on my gravestone:

Ted Pickersgill - "Him off the telly."

Of course... none of us are in the
same league as Kenny in that regard.

And about Raymond Swann?

Nice enough lad.

Very much wanted to get ahead.

Who knows?

A word in the right ear
to the right person...

In this game, it's never what you know.

I suppose...
some are born to starring roles

in new plays at the Oxford Empire,

and some are born
for a kick in the teeth.

How's that?

I'm surprised nobody's told you.

I've been written out
of this little extravaganza.

We understood the programme
was coming to an end?

I'm coming to an end...

..halfway through the run.

And it's not just my post-bag.

I get more fan mail
than anyone else round here.

- Except Kenny, of course.
- Is that right?

People like old Sergeant Wilkins.

He reminds them of the way
things used to be...

before the war.

Then it all went to pot.

Quite literally, in some cases.

None of them seem to know Swann well.

Or will admit to it, at least.

You think he was trying to mark
our card with that look

he gave to DI Chance
when he mentioned the pot?

I noticed he was smoking
Old Soldiers himself.

Just like the butts you found
at Cresswell's old biscuit factory.

I'm sure he's not the only man
in Oxford smokes them.

Maybe not. But he's
the only one we've met so far

who knew Raymond Swann.

Morse.

Nothing on him to say who he was,
before you ask.

His name is Paul Baynard.
He's an artist.

Does the covers
of those Jolliphant books.

He went missing three days ago.

That would certainly agree
with my initial findings.

Body's been immersed about that long.

Not a bad spot to fetch up, is it?

Laid out by Capability Brown.

That's some kind of faith,
don't you think?

All that work in anticipation of...

something you'll never live to see
in all its glory.

Any idea yet as to cause of death?

Won't be able to give you
a definitive answer

until after the PM. But...

there's a number of obvious injuries.

Lacerations and contusions in the main,

though, we've one broken arm
and a sizeable head wound.

None of which
immediately suggests drowning.

So injuries consistent
with a road traffic collision, then?

If he was riding a motorcycle, say?

- Was he riding a motorcycle?
- Last time he was seen living.

Right, we'll get a team out,
get the lake dragged.

Tomorrow do you? For the postmortem.

Yeah, of course.
Whatever you think best.

Afternoon, it's Detective Chief
Inspector Thursday, Thames Valley.

I believe someone from
the Regimental Association office

spoke to my sergeant earlier.

It's in connection
with identifying a body.

Someone who may possibly have served
with the regiment.

Thank you for the tea.

I'm very sorry to have to ask,

but we will need somebody
to identify the body.

Yes, of course. I'll do it.

Are you sure?

Look, this isn't the first parent
I've lost. I know the ropes.

The police. The postmortem.
The registrar. The undertaker.

The endless bloody forms.

What happened?

She killed herself.

HE was in no state to do anything.

I'm sorry.
That shouldn't have fallen on you.

Was there anything else?

Actually... yes.

Do you know much about his paintings?

Some. Like what?

Like what was his inspiration
for the images?

He liked to draw on life wherever
possible. Hence all the props.

And what about the places
that feature in the background

of some of the covers?

If a real place was featured in
the story, Dad liked to include it.

I think St Pancras Hotel
got mentioned in one.

And if the location was fictitious?

He'd base it on somewhere he knew
or had been.

What about this one, for example?

"Jolly Bad Business."

What's that building based on?

Well, it always seemed to me
a bit creepy.

I did ask him about it a few times,

but it's one of the many things
I could never get out of him.

And the model? Who's she?

I don't know. They came and went.
But that one...?

Like I say, I couldn't get him
to talk about it,

and I didn't want to push...

- He could be tricky.
- Could he? How so?

He had an extreme personality.

He was either madly up

or so gripped by despair,
he could barely get out of bed.

Was he always like that?

He was all right when I was a girl,
at least not so bad.

I suppose he took a turn
for the worst about ten years ago.

He was drinking a lot.

Some private members' place in town.

Don't suppose you know where?

Not sure. The Downspout, I think.

He'd finish work, get on his bike,

and then I might not see him for a
day or two. He'd be off on a bender.

But then something changed.

Something took hold of him.

Some sort of scare or fright.

And he was never quite the same
after that.

In what way?

He started hating the phone ringing
out of hours.

Even in hours, he was none so keen.

He didn't like to hear footsteps
on the gravel after dark.

It was like something or someone
was after him.

What someone? Did he say?

I don't know. He wouldn't talk about it.

I don't know if he had
any real cause to be scared,

or if it was all in his imagination,
but...

real or imagined,
the past ten years, he's been...

..I suppose haunted is the word.

You don't think about something
for long enough...

..you think you've forgotten.

What's all this?

The Superintendent Jolliphant books.

I think the artist who illustrated
the covers, Paul Baynard,

was trying to say something.

Baynard? That's your body
out the lake, innit?

Yeah. It was his habit to draw from life

anywhere that was mentioned
in the books, but, erm,

but if a place was made-up,

he would base it on somewhere he knew.

Where does that look like to you?

Now, I've read this book.

Nowhere described in it bears
any resemblance to Blenheim Vale.

So why'd he use it?

Well, I think he knew something
about Blenheim Vale.

About the disappearance of Brenda Lewis,

maybe even about Peter Williams.

Williams?

I think we need to get a dog team
out there. Diggers, even.

Oh, come on!

Sir?

You think I'm going to get
the say-so from upstairs

for something like that

off the back of a bunch of paintings
used on paperback novels?

- There's more than that.
- Look...

..if Paul Baynard thought
he had a line on a missing person,

why go to all the trouble
of putting clues in paintings?

Why not just come forward to the police?

Because he was afraid.

Look, in 1963, he was a member
of The Downspout Club.

- Had been for years.
- So?

So was everyone else
involved with Blenheim Vale.

Joe Landesman. Assistant
Chief Constable Clive Deare.

If he was drinking with...

I don't care how pissed a man gets,
he's not gonna confess

to doing away with someone
and burying a body in Blenheim Vale.

Well, at the same time,
Baynard got a new model.

She's on the cover of Just For Jolly
and Jolly Bad Business,

published in '64.

Take a look at the initials.

BL.

So you think Baynard's model
is Brenda. Andrew Lewis's mother?

Well, look, there is a similarity, look!

Brenda Lewis was working direct
for Joe Landesman

as his personal secretary.

Let's say she finds out
something she shouldn't have.

She lets slip her suspicions
to Paul Baynard.

And then, unwittingly, or in his cups,

he mentions it at The Downspout Club.

Maybe even to Clive Deare?
He's a high-ranking police officer.

Exit Brenda Lewis. And Baynard gets
leant on to keep his mouth shut.

But instead,
he starts alluding to what he knows

in the paintings that he makes
for these Jolliphant books.

It's JUST about possible, I suppose.

But do you really wanna
go over all that again?

Blenheim Vale nearly did
for the pair of us last time.

- We solved it.
- Not all of it.

We didn't get Joe Landesman.

Landesman is long gone.

And even if he wasn't, it's history.

Somebody gave Andrew Lewis a hot shot

and then dumped his body
at Beaumont College.

Now, that's not history.
That's last month.

- And it's on our ground.
- It's not mine.

Not any more.

I've applied for a transfer.

Carshall. It's a superintendency.

I can't take you with me.
I'd like to, but I can't.

So, there it is.

I see.

Look, it's... it's not how
I wanted to tell you.

I've gotta think of Win, Joanie,
getting Sam back up on his feet.

No, of course. Of course. I understand.

Two years, three at most. I'm done. Out.

I can't be doing with all
this Blenheim Vale all over again.

Not now.

And nor should you.
You've gotta let it go.

- I can't.
- Why not?

We did our bit. And then some.

Why should you risk your neck?

Cos somebody has to.

Well, let it be some other bugger.

Just not us. Not this time.

- Ooh.
- Oh.

- What ho!
- What ho!

Why the long face, Archie, old bean?

You'll put me off my stroke.

The car's been found.

We know. It was in the p-p-p-papers.

Perhaps you should have p-parked
it more c-c-c-carefully.

And a-a-a body.

That was also in the p-p-p-papers.

No. A-A-A different one.

Well, that's unfortunate.

But nothing to do with us, officer.

Right? We all know the tune.

Nothing to do with us, officer.

Buck up, you corks!

I feel an evening's entertainment
coming on.

So, what happened to you
the other night?

Don't you start. I've already copped
an earful off the old man.

- Well, you can't blame him.
- Mm.

What's all this?

Oh, it's just some old tat
I found in my room.

Gonna see if there's anything worth
keeping before chucking it.

Is there?

- Not so far.
- Hm.

Feels small.

- Don't you think?
- What does?

This house.

When we were kids, it felt...

..different, somehow.

- WE were different.
- Yeah.

I really thought that this
was all there was.

All there was in the world.

Then you realise it's all just lies.

What is?

Everything. School. Papers.

The telly.

Sunday Night At The London Palladium.

Thank Your Lucky Stars.

"Join the Army. See the world."

And then you realise
it's all just about killing.

That's just the hangover talking.

Right.

Put your boots on.

Get yourself some fresh air.
Come on, it'll make you feel better.

There's a 99 in it.

Go better with a pint, wouldn't it?

Used to come here
when we first left London.

Sunday after tea.
Ice cream, and a feed of the ducks.

Don't suppose there'll be
much of this at Carshall.

New town?

Who am I kidding?
I'm too old for a new town.

They'll be lucky to have you.

Starting over at my time of life?
Must want my brains testing.

- When're you off?
- After Joan's wedding.

Well, it's the right thing.

Is it?

I've never run away from a fight yet.

What do you mean? You're not
running away from one now.

It's like you said, you've done your
time.

You've the family to think of.

It's like the war at the end.

When we knew we'd got 'em licked,
and they knew it, too.

I lost three of my lads
those last few days.

Fellas I'd been with from the off.

Can still see 'em... young, still.

Younger than you,
younger than Sam, even.

Get through all that...

..only to catch a packet at the finish.

Doesn't seem right, somehow.

Insult to injury.

Was there anything from your old
regiment on our vagrant soldier?

Sellers his name was, Hugh Sellers.

Hanging round the legion kitchen
on the cadge from time to time.

- Somebody recognised him.
- Family?

Looking into it. Shouldn't think
the parents are still about.

But wife? Kids, maybe?

Like to let 'em know, if I could.

Get justice for him.

And what about Andrew Lewis?

Don't you think
he deserves justice, too?

Look, I wasn't the first person to
go nosing around The Downspout Club.

Somebody had been there before me.

Did Andrew Lewis give you
a photograph of his mother

to help with your inquiries?

Would've been useful to have had our
noses across it before now,

Ronnie.

You never asked.

He was my client, Fred,

long before he ever became
your body in Beaumont College.

And did The Downspout Club
feature in your investigation?

I heard somebody's been following
in my footsteps.

Yeah...

Joe Landesman was a member.
And others. Why?

- What about Paul Baynard?
- Doesn't ring a bell. Who's he?

He's an artist.

Killed this week in a road accident.

Seems increasingly likely he has
some connection to Brenda Lewis.

Then, his death wasn't an accident.

What've you heard, Ron?

Rumour. Whispers in the dark.

It's like trying to catch wood smoke.

One minute, you think
you've got hold of something,

only to have it come apart
in your hands.

- Big picture?
- Can't say.

But there's bits of London
caught up in it.

Big time.

Your old nark who copped it up here.

Mickey Flood?
What's he to do with any of this?

Nobody's talking...

..but word is he tumbled
to some bit of villainy

connects here and there.
And that's what cost him.

And that's somehow connected
to Brenda Lewis?

Who was Mickey running with
down the Smoke, Ron?

At the time of his decease,

there was a warrant out for him
on a protection racket.

That was never Mick.

All I hear, the past few years,
he's been perched on a stool,

the landing of some Dean Street walk-up,

minding the punters behave themselves.

Money for jam.

And just the cushy number

for a broke-down,
busted old lag like Mickey Flood.

Hard to reconcile that
with whatever he did

to get him nailed to the floor
and his tongue cut out.

Ain't it just.

Better?

Mm, much.

So...

Was it bad over there?

No, not really.

Boring more than anything.

We were worried sick.

So what're you gonna do
with yourself? Get pissed every day?

Just need to get away from it all
for a bit, you know.

Go somewhere, somewhere hot, preferably.

So, you and Jim Strange.

What about me and Jim?

I dunno. I just...

never thought... you two.

Love finds you when you least expect it.

It is love, then?

What sorta question's that?

He looks after me.

I know he'd never hurt me,
and he makes me feel safe.

My tin hat made me feel safe,
but that wasn't love.

I've seen how short life can be, Joanie.

One moment you're there,
and then the next...

Don't waste a second on regret.

If what Flood knew
has a bearing on Brenda Lewis,

that means there's definitely
a London connection

between Blenheim Vale
and what happened to Peter Williams.

- Landesman?
- Mm.

Except no-one's seen sight nor sound
of that bastard in six years.

I really think we need to get troops
on the ground at Blenheim Vale.

Forensics.

What d'you think you're gonna find,
after all this time?

His body.

I give the go-ahead
on that kind of operation...

..that could mean my move
to Carshall, the superintendency.

All of it.

I'm not asking you to give the go-ahead.

You've Hugh Sellers' family
to track down, haven't you?

And what happened to Raymond Swann
to get to the bottom of.

If you're off doing that,
it's just my neck on the line.

- So, who's for a drink?
- Not tonight, thank you, Dickie.

I'd love to, but I promised Anne
I wouldn't be too late,

and I've got to get the last act
of Play Dead under my belt.

Are you doing a play, Kenny?

Don't think we've heard about this

Don't. He only does it to get a rise.

Oxford two-nine-four-seven.

'Morse.'

Miss Thursday?

- 'I...'
- Is everything all right?

'Yes.'

'I just...

'I was...'

'We never had that drink.'

No, erm...

No, we-we never did.

'I'm stopping by
The Eagle And Child tomorrow.

'Around six?'

Well, I'll see you there.

'Yes.'

Bright.

Christ Almighty, what
the hell've you done, matey?

Balloon's gone up.

- Morse!
- Morning, Sir.

Who ordered all this?

- I did.
- On what grounds?

I believe there's a body buried here.

- What's this? A tip-off, or...?
- Not exactly, Sir.

There's an artist, Paul Baynard.

I think he's left visual clues
in his paintings

as to the location of the gravesite.

Paintings.

Used also on the cover
of paperback novels.

Did you know about this, Thursday?

Certainly, Sir.

I have orders from Division
to see this business stopped

and the excavation closed down at once.

But they're not here...

..and I am.

I can buy you until the end of the day.

After which, I fear we shall all
swing together.

- Will that be enough?
- Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.

Very well. Carry on.

You sure about this, Sir?

It's not as if they can threaten me
with dismissal, is it?

I once made a very grave mistake
that left Morse in prison,

and you fighting for your life.

I'll be damned
if I'm about to repeat it.

Well...

you've burned your bridges
this time, matey, and no mistake.

There's something here. I know there is.

There better be. For your sake.

There better be.

Forensics from the Raymond Swann
murder site.

No dabs on the johnny wrapper.
Bog standard on the snout.

- Any luck at Blenheim Vale?
- Ah, not yet.

But there's only so much
staring at the mud a man can do.

If there's something there,
they'll find it.

But there's something
I wanted to show you. It's a mask.

This piece was found
by Hugh Sellers' body.

This piece was found in the woods
by where Paul Baynard was fished up.

Same people involved in both deaths?

Now the woman who saw Hugh Sellers'
attackers,

said their faces were "wrong".

"Like devils." The masks.

Very likely the same crowd caught up
in this gang fight on Port Meadow.

Both of these men were killed
the same night

that the Lady Mayoress' car
was stolen from the Broad, right?

It's her motor Raymond Swann's Jolly
book was under.

So, they've what?

Done for Sellers,
then mowed Baynard down

on some joyride in the country
in the stolen car.

Then dumped his body in the lake
on the Shifford estate.

Next night, they've thrown Swann
off the car park?

I don't see how that follows,
unless they're maniacs.

Well, whoever they are,

none of this gets us
any closer to finding them.

It might. I think I know
where this mask may have come from.

- Anywhere else local knock those out?
- No.

It's my stock. No doubt.

Is this to do with what happened to Ray?

No, it may be useful
in connection to another case.

You sold many lately?

Well, Mr Astin?

There's a fella comes in.

Regular. Young. Posh.
Student, I suppose.

- He's had a bunch of 'em off me.
- How many's a bunch?

Four. A while back.

Then this week,
he had another one off me

when he brought the outfits back.

- What outfits?
- Fancy dress.

- We had words, actually.
- Really, about what?

The state of the gear.

I mean, I always take a deposit
to cover wear and tear,

- but these were a write-off.
- In what way?

Torn. Muddy. Oil.

And a couple of the shirts
were covered in blood.

- I just didn't think...
- When was this?

Tuesday, was it? Yes. Tuesday.

- Do you have a name for him?
- No. He paid the excess in cash.

But this was in one of the pockets.

I don't know if it's him.

"Ormsby Gore."

Good afternoon, gentlemen.
Thames Valley Police.

Which one of you is Mr Ormsby-Gore?

MISTER Ormsby-Gore?

I'm afraid there's no such person.

Might you mean LORD Ormsby-Gore?

- And who might you be, sir?
- Viscount Henley.

That's Lord Freddie Mulcaster.
And the Honourable Henry Brockhurst.

The Debonairs... presumably.

Who's this, Raph?

Er, police, Arch.
Nothing to worry about.

Lord Ormsby-Gore.

There are matters I must put to you
under caution

at the police station.

The same goes for the rest of you.

Now, see here, my good man.

I'm sure you're a fine, dedicated
public servant,

and all the rest of it.

I'm not your man, good or otherwise.

I'm the Queen's man, and I'm here
to see her peace is kept.

Look, my, my father i-i-is,
is in the Cabinet,

and... and... and your Chief
Constable shoots on our estate.

The Shifford estate, would that be?

Held by the Ormsby-Gores,

lake and grounds landscaped
by Capability Brown.

That's right.

From where we pulled
the body of a motorcyclist.

You can't imagine
this is going to go well for you?

Sir.

All right, let's be having 'em.

Get your hands off me! Get off me!

Nobody says anything
without a lawyer! Archie?

You keep your mouth shut.
You hear me? They've got nothing.

They're refusing to talk
until their solicitors are present.

And they're coming up from London,
so it could be a long wait.

Well, it won't surprise you to learn

I've already had the Chief Constable
on the telephone.

- You're certain about these boys?
- It doesn't look good, Sir.

We can very likely place them
at all three scenes of crime.

We've bits of mask they bought

found at the scene
of Hugh Sellers' murder

and also where Paul Baynard's body
was dumped.

And the car was found
at the same factory

that Raymond Swann took a dive off.

Sorry to interrupt, Sir,

but there's been a development
at Blenheim Vale.

You'd better get out there.

Me and Jim can deal
with these tripe hounds.

- Doctor?
- Morse. It's a man.

From the state of the corpus,

I'd estimate he's been here
five to ten years.

Single hole in the back
of the cranium. No exit wound.

And we may have a bullet,
or what's left of it,

still left inside the skull.

You know, you were right, Morse.

You said we'd find remains here
and we did.

They can't close it down.

Not now there's a body.

- There's somewhere I need to be.
- Oh, your, um, motorcyclist.

I was wrong.

He was still alive
when they put him in the water.

Drowned.

Look, I really don't have
anything to say to you people.

- Beneath you, are we?
- Pretty much.

A man should know his place...

..don't you think?

I think over-privileged, entitled,
arrogant young men

who run around hurting innocent people

and never believe they're gonna
have to answer for any of it

can always be relied on to turn
on each another like rats in a sack.

They'll give me you...

..or you'll give me them.

But the longer you leave it,
the worse it'll get.

'Who set fire to the £20 note?'

Money to burn, that the joke?

People with everything,
taunting a man who has nothing.

Who stuck him? Who killed Hugh Sellers?

Nobody.

He didn't bleed to death
of his own account, did he?

One of you broke a bottle
and stabbed him in the neck with it.

- No.
- You went out

with the sole intention
of doing someone serious harm.

For kicks, was it?

Look, the old man
may have been pushed around a bit,

but he was alive and well when we left.

I swear.

Evening. What's the trouble?

- "Officer."
- Sorry?

"What's the trouble, officer?"

Good
manners don't cost nothing, do they?

Bit of respect... for the uniform.

I'm "Job." And I'm in a bit of a hurry.

Oh, that's funny.

Cos I've got all the time in the world.

Licence and insurance documents.

Come on, come on. Let's be having you.

You're in a hurry, aren't you?

I don't keep them in the car.
Why've you stopped me?

You have a, er... defective brake light.

Well, it was all right this morning.

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

There's no call for profanity.
Or belligerence.

Wait a minute. Have you been drinking?

- I can smell it on your breath.
- No, you can't.

And your aggressive demeanour
leads me to believe

your ability to drive may be impaired

through the consumption of alcohol.
Adams!

Is this a joke?

Are you refusing to comply
with the instruction?

One long, steady blow.

That's it. See?

Doing what you're told's
not so hard, is it?

You want to get used to it.
Better for you in the long run.

Better for everybody.

It's Stevens, isn't it?
From County? Before the merger.

Well.

- What a memory you've got.
- Yeah. It's Morse.

From Cowley. I've just come
from Blenheim Vale.

Oh, we know.

You're not Traffic at all, are you?
What is this?

This?

This is as polite as it gets.

We'll be seeing you... city man.

Excuse me, was there a brunette
here, blue eyes?

Yeah. She left about 40 minutes ago.

- Have you got a phone I can use?
- Yeah, it's on the bar.

Did you up, did she?
Pretty little thing. Brunette.

Baby blues. That the frail?

Oh, is there any word on what
happened to poor old Ray yet?

Er, no. No, not yet.

I've just been doing
a bit of press. Oxford Mail.

Little piece they're doing.
"Farewell, My Jolly."

Oh, anyway... can't stop. Got to
get up to town for an audition.

Cowardy Custard at The Mermaid.

Evening, Morse. You with Jim?
Joan Thursday was in earlier.

Drink?

Who was driving?

Brockhurst.

'It wasn't his fault.'

'The guy on the bike
didn't have his light on.'

Whose idea was it to dump the body
on the Shifford estate?

Archie's.

His family's away for a couple
of months. We thought by then...

All the fuss would've died down,

and you could find a more permanent
location for the body.

Look, this is all conjecture.

If you had anything like evidence,
you'd charge me.

We've got pieces of one
of your masks found at Littlemore,

that's something, I suppose.

And I don't care how careful you were,

Forensics'll find your fingerprints
all over the car. And the motorbike.

Why'd you do for Swann?

D'you think he was a real copper?

Who's... Who's Swann?

Where you left the car.

Wait a minute. All-All-All I did
was-was dump the car.

Sure, I-I-I saw the guy
off the television.

But he was leaving when I arrived.

I've just come from seeing Kenneth -
sorry, "Call me Kenny" - Prior

at the Oxford Empire.

Did Ted Pickersgill this morning -
Sgt Wilkins - this morning.

And just finished now
with young Narcissus. DI Chance.

Thought he was gonna make a move
on Joan, but thankfully she left.

Not long before you arrived, actually.

- What do you make to them?
- Actors.

Pickersgill's a grumpy sod.

But I suppose it's Jolliphant
makes it. Avuncular, that voice.

You'd never know he was from
"oop North", would you?

- Who is, Kenneth Prior?
- That's the RADA for you, dear.

Marvellous what they can do
with "electrocution" lessons.

Do you want a programme?
He signed it. I've no use.

And it's not Kenneth Prior.
Least, it wasn't.

There was already another actor
in the union with the same name.

What, he changed it? Like Raymond Swann?

Yeah.

He could've changed his first name,
but...

maybe he didn't want to be confused
with Peter.

- Peter who?
- Sellers.

Hugh Sellers was your older brother.

I don't suppose I'd seen him
since before the war.

He tracked you down.

No, no, it wasn't like that. Just...

..The Convergence Of The Twain.

He came along to the set

along with all the rest
of his tatterdemalion crowd,

scavenging the bins, helping themselves.

I was hoping that he wouldn't
recognise me, but... of course...

What did he want?

I don't know. I don't think he knew.

Money... in the first instance.

- How much?
- £100.

But I... I knew that wouldn't
be the end of it.

But it wasn't even the money.
It was the risk.

The risk?

Of it coming out. That we were... erm...

can you imagine
if the press had got hold of it,

the field day they would have had?

"The... The...

"brother of television's
Superintendent Jolliphant

"is a tramp!"

I had to think of the show.

The show was ending.

You were thinking of yourself.

You arranged a meeting?

Yes. I said that we could meet
and I would give him the money

on the strict understanding that he
didn't come to the set to get it.

I had the money on me.
I wasn't going there to...

But when I saw him, he was already...

Well, you could have called
an ambulance, even then.

You could have saved him.

He'd always been... a bit of a...

..a weight.

So you found a way to be rid of him.

And you took it.

And what about Swann?

He'd seen us together, earlier that day.

I'm not quite sure that he realised
exactly what he'd seen.

But he knew instinctively...

that it was something
that could be used to his advantage.

So he tried to blackmail you?

He said that he'd read in the papers
that a tramp had been found dead.

And, "Wasn't that a coincidence?"

given the commotion
that we'd had over lunch.

And did I think that he should
mention it to the police

that they'd been there.

Well, I said I couldn't discuss it
there and then,

but if he cared to go to the factory
where I parked up

after rehearsals for the play,
then we...

..we could talk about it then.

I wondered... if I'd been recognised.

That's the thing about being
on the television, you see.

They may not know your name, but...

..people always know your face.

Charlie and I had our problems, but...

to be that ashamed
of your own flesh and blood.

He was afraid, I suppose.

That he'd lose all that he'd built up

if his name was associated with a tramp.

But murder?

Who's to say what anyone would do,
if what they value was threatened?

Word just through from Blenheim
Vale. They've found another one.

Adult female. Somewhere between
her late 20s and 50.

Most likely mid-30s.

And, like the male,
shot in the back of the head.

- Brenda Lewis.
- I'll need dental records to confirm.

However, I do have a match
with the man we found.

It's Josiah Landesman.

What went on here?

Whatever it was, this time
we get to the bottom of it.

- And Division?
- Can't bury it twice.

We'll have the truth...

..whatever the cost.

I thought we were done
with all this. Jesus!

You have to get him away from this.

I had a run-in yesterday
with the dregs from County.

Whatever we find here's
not gonna be forgiven.

Stick him on secondment somewhere.

You know Jim. He's a good man.

- He won't go.
- Well, give him no choice.

It's not just him you have
to think about, not any more.

What was it you said, "They come
at you through what you love"?

You have to keep them safe now.
All of them.

- 'It's me.'
- I gathered as much.

'I had a visitor
after you and Morse left.

'Looks like the two of you have
being asking the wrong questions.'

- Where are you, Ronnie?
- Gone.

'Come in.'

With your help, we can take this lot,

- 'whoever they are.'
- Not these.

This isn't Jago and the Four Winds.
This is big time.

'You take this on,
you won't come out of it.

'You, nor Morse, neither.

- 'Drop it.'
- I can't.

Then I'm talking to a dead man.

'Final call for Union Air
Flight 714 to Johannesburg.'

I've gotta go.

'Don't join the dots on this one.'

You won't like the picture.

Wotcha.