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It's the start of a new era.

In Oxford, it's out with the old
and in with the new.

As Councillor Clive Burkitt,

in charge of the
planning and housing department,

welcomes the first tenant
to Cranmer House,

one of three tower blocks

at Oxford's new
Martyrs' Field development.

A stunning feat of modern engineering,

changing the Oxford skyline forever.

Councillor Burkitt is keen
to hand over the first set of keys.

For Mrs Olive Reynolds
and daughter Sandra,

this is a dream come true.

A top floor flat,
and just look at the view!

What a brave new world.

Ten minutes, Miss Paroo.

I'll chase up any stragglers.

Hello?

The library is closed!

Hello.

No!

Shit the bed?

I was in early.

- Well, DeBryn's been and gone.
- Any idea who they were?

Junkies. Pair of 'em.

I meant a name.

- Done the owner a favour, in any case.
- How's that?

The rest of the place has
cleared out. He can finally sell it.

- Morning.
- Christ, what's this?

You pair should get
on Opportunity Knocks.

"Me and my bloody shadow."

I didn't think I had you down till ten.

Heard it come over the RT.

Just wondered if there were
any similarities

with that tramp from the alley
the other month.

Well, they're dead...

...so there's that.

Well, I'll leave you ladies to it.

Al.

Win.

I said I'd get it back.

It's not all of it.
Not yet, but it will be.

There's, er... enough there for
that new oven you've been wanting.

And something for yourself, obviously.

A new frock or two.

I thought a holiday, maybe.

Where did it come from?

Where?

I got it back. That's where.

- From where it went, I got it back.
- Charlie...

...I don't believe you.

Winnie!

A bit of overtime here and there,
it soon adds up.

Overtime?

What, the sort of overtime
that leaves your knuckles raw,

and blood on your cuffs?

That sort of overtime?

You can keep it.

I don't want any part of it.

Doctor.

Inspector.

Osbert Page... Chief Librarian.

Found by Lucy Paroo, one of the juniors.

Single stab wound to the back.

Defensive injuries.
A pretty vicious attack.

Cause of death most likely
to be massive haemorrhage.

Time?

12 to 18 hours.

The library would have closed
about seven last night, so...

Wood chisel. Unusual choice of weapon.

Now, as far as I can see,

from the distribution of blood spatter,

the attack took place in this aisle.

He made half a dozen paces, before
being overcome by his injuries.

Be able to give you chapter
and verse after the post-mortem.

Shall we say two o'clock?

Sir.

Muddy boot prints.

Yes.

Evidence of mud and dirt
was found amongst the blood.

Sample's been taken by forensics.

Give you the full gen once it's in.

Family?

Not that I know of.

He lived alone in Jericho.

What was he like?

Set in his ways.

Quite disagreeable
when the mood was on him,

which was most of the time.

He lived for the library
and his walking, of course.

He was a keen rambler.

Did he get on well
with the rest of his colleagues?

I suppose.

I've not been here very long, so...

Who else was in here?

Well, there were only
a couple of regulars.

Where were they sitting?

Er...

...Professor Burrowes was sitting there.

And Dr Nicholson was sitting just here.

What are they, dons?

Yes, that's right.

"Memoirs Of A Voluptuary."

Isn't that part of the Phi Collection?

Yes, I believe so.

Well, I'd be interested to know
who asked for it to be brought up.

Of course.
If you'll just give me a moment.

- The Phi Collection?
- Yeah. Obscene or libellous works

that aren't available to all readers.

A special request has to be made
to the librarian for access.

Whoever did for Page,

would have hidden in the library
after closing, would you think?

Plenty of places
for a man to hide in here.

It was Dr Nicholson who put in
the request for the book.

I should have remembered, because
Mr Page got a bit batey about it.

Why's that?

Dr Nicholson was always after one
book or another from the collection.

I'll be grateful for a list of all
of the other books he asked for.

I don't suppose you remember anyone

wearing a pair of muddy boots, do you?

Muddy boots?

No, Mr Page would not
have stood for that.

Well, thank you, Miss Paroo.

Good morning.

I intend today to deal
with Godel's Completeness Theorem,

which states that if a formula
is logically valid,

then there is a finite deduction,
or formal proof, of the formula.

Is this a joke?

Who did this?

Who did this?!

Well...

...either Osbert Page
was the untidiest librarian

- to ever draw breath...
- Or somebody's beaten us to it.

Muddy boot prints.

A dozen fatal overdoses from heroin
cut with quinine.

And another two this morning,
most likely the same.

I'd rather hoped Eddie Nero's demise

had put an end to hard drugs in Oxford.

In volume, at any event.

You've spoken to DCI Box?

Investigations are ongoing, apparently.

DS Jago's bailiwick.

And the consignment recovered from
the car crash the other month?

Languishing in the evidence store.

Anything further on the car?

Stolen just over a year ago
travelling under false plates.

And no-one's come forward to
claim the driver's body as yet?

No.

Although it's fair to assume
he was some, sort of, courier.

Is there any word on the cartridge
that was found?

According to DeBryn,

it came from the same gun
that killed George Fancy.

He's certain?

No doubt. Something to do
with a mark on the rim.

Imperfection in the hammer.

Reliable as fingerprints, apparently.

I've been trawling through Oxford
city and county records for a match,

right back to the '40s,
but, so far, nothing.

Unless, of course, it's come
from outside our ground.

It's a disgrace.
Been open less than a year.

Everybody's been complaining about it

and now it's affecting my daughter.

She's not been well.

It's the damp. It's got onto her chest.

Damp?

Yeah. Come and have a look for yourself.

That's not damp, Mrs Reynolds.

- How long's it been like this?
- Since we moved in.

I tried painting over it, but it
just comes back through again.

It's not just me, it's happening
in loads of other flats.

___

Anything?

Well, not unless this map
of the Gower has any bearing.

What's that? Greek, is it?

Anemoi. Wind gods.

What about that, "HB"?

"HB"?

No, your guess is as good as mine.

Happen whoever turned this place over

found what they were looking for.

I'll get forensics over.

Meantime, we can give those readers
at the library a spin.

Sir.

Dr Nicholson?

About the fun and games, is it?

What fun and games?

The stuff left in his cubby, sir.

Bits of metal.

An amulet, I suppose you'd call it,

with Greek writing or something on it.

One of the undergrads said someone's
been writing the word "Dora"

upon his blackboard.

- Dora?
- That's right, sir.

In the lecture theatre
and in his tutorial.

How long's this been going on?

About a month or so, I suppose.

I've offered to call the police
before now,

but he didn't seem too keen.

You were at the Bodleian
yesterday evening, Dr Nicholson.

Yes.

We'd like to know what time
you arrived, what time you left,

where you went from the library
and if anyone can vouch for you.

I was... arrived about five,

left just before seven and, er...
went home.

- Can anyone confirm that?
- My wife was out for the evening.

She returned about 11.

Did you happen to notice
anyone unusual or out of place

hanging around the library
about the time you left?

Someone wearing muddy boots, perhaps.

Muddy boots?

There were muddy boot prints
on the floor at the library.

Indeed.

No. No, er... no, I think
I would have remembered that.

Did you know Mr Page, personally?

As a librarian, yes,
but no... not personally.

I'm sorry I-I can't be
of greater assistance.

Unless there was anything else
I can help you with.

Er... there was just one thing.

This book you've had
out of the Phi Collection.

Memoirs Of A...

What was it, Morse?

- ...Voluptuary.
- Voluptuary.

Racy go for a numbers man,
I'd have thought.

I'm writing a paper on Edwardian erotica.

It's very popular.

Well-thumbed, I'm sure.

I'm more of a Holly Martins man myself.

Each to their own.

You've been in receipt
of some curiosities, I believe,

in your pigeon hole.

Time was, the discretion
of a porter could be relied upon.

Not in my experience.

- Rag week hi-jinks. Nothing more.
- Really?

Seems a little late in the year
for a rag week, I'd have thought.

Those who are responsible will be
found and disciplined, I'm sure.

It's a college matter, nothing
for the police to get involved in.

Well... if you change your mind,
you know where to reach us.

That one's Aegar tipularius,
a species of prawn.

Now extinct, of course.

I lifted him myself on a walking holiday,

in the long vac in '32.

In Germany.

Is that your field, Professor Burrowes?

Would that it were.
Would that it were.

Alas, no. Geology is my line.

The fossils are an adjunct, I suppose.

My particular delight is postage stamps.

Philately.

Er... this is about poor Mr Page, is it?

- You've heard.
- I have, yes.

Terrible thing. Absolutely terrible.

What is it you were doing at the library?

I'd been asked to evaluate
a number of items... letters,

historical documents and, er...
a vast stamp collection,

left to the college
by the late Mr Teagarden.

And is it valuable?

One or two of the stamps are of interest,

on the letters, oddly enough,

but, er... nothing spectacular
in the main collection.

And you left the library at what time?

About the ten-minute bell.

Ten to seven or so.

- Anybody see you leave?
- The other readers, I suppose.

I stopped off at my rooms
at the college and then came home.

Anybody see you at college?

Mr Jenkins, the porter, was on duty.

And here?

Well, I live alone.

I'm a confirmed bachelor.
Yet another old fossil.

You and me both, Professor.

I've just had another
three calls from residents.

- This is getting ridiculous.
- Off to save the world, Viv?

When are you going to do something

about the complaints at Cranmer House?

It's in hand.

With respect, Councillor Burkitt,
that's what we were told last month.

Miss Thursday, my junior.

I see you're training her up well.

It's not so funny
if you actually live there.

"Homes fit for habitation."
That was your election promise.

And I stand by it. Every word.

I'll look into it.

Miss Lansbury, make a note.

Now, if you'll excuse me,
I'm late for the chamber.

Sandra?

Have you washed your hands?

- How are you feeling?
- A bit better.

Go on, then. I've made you some soup.

Mum, it's happening again.

Right. Come on.

Disturbance, Cranmer House.

- What kind of disturbance?
- I don't know.

There's been multiple calls
from residents.

Look, you can be there and back
in 40 minutes. The guv'nor asked.

Right.

What was that?

- Did you feel that?
- I felt it.

What's happening? Mum, what's going on?
Why are the lights doing that?

I don't know. Right, we need to go.

We need to go. Come on, let's run. OK.

Let's go. Hold on to Mummy.
That's right.

Let's go. Come on, Come on, darling.

Come on, come on. It's OK. It's OK.

Morse to information room.
All units to Cranmer House!

We're OK. Let's go, let's go!

This way. This way. This way.

It's OK. It's OK.
Everything's gonna be OK now.

OK, darling. Keep going. Keep going.

- Mum!
- Sandra, run!

Jesus.

What do we do?

Where do we start?

Fire and ambulance are coming
from across the county.

- Relief are turning in.
- What happened?

What happened is immaterial
for the moment.

All that matters now
is the preservation of life.

You think
anyone could've survived that?

I don't know! But if they did,
it's up to us to get them out!

Castle Gate! Where are my officers?

Very good. Williams, Benson, Davis.

Let's get a human chain organised,
yes?

- Yes, sir.
- Start clearing some of this rubble.

But mind how you go.
I don't want any more casualties.

Yes, sir.

The accident appears
to have happened without warning.

One side of the building
has sheared away from the rest.

The total number of casualties
is not yet known.

Had the collapse happened
during the hours of darkness,

one can be certain

that the death toll would have been
very much higher.

Her Majesty the Queen

has sent a message of sympathy
to the bereaved.

We should clear out.

Leave it to uniform.
There's nothing we can do.

We can be here.

I can be here. One of us should...

...to help with identification.

Whatever you think.

Put that bloody cigarette out!

One at a time. Yes, Miss Frazil.

How can this happen?

Cranmer House
hasn't been standing a year.

There's talk of an explosion
on one of the lower floors.

An explosion? Even so...

The borough engineer,
the chief surveyor.

All of the departments
with a responsibility

and an interest
in what's happened today

- are already at work.
- Was it built using...

The last thing we need
is people jumping to conclusions.

Yes, but...

There will be a thorough investigation,

and we will leave no stone unturned
to get to the bottom of it.

Now, thank you,
I'm sure you'll understand

I've much to attend to.
Thank you. Thank you.

I wanted to see if she was all right.

How is she?

- How's her mum?
- Hanging in there.

- You should be home.
- Home.

So should she.

So should her mother.
So should everyone.

- Accidents happen.
- Yeah, not like this.

You know,
somebody's got to be responsible.

Is there anything I can do?

You've done your bit... and more.

Good night.

Good night.

- Dulcie?
- No. It. It's me.

- Puli?
- That's right.

- I thought you were Dulcie!
- I know.

I must have been dreaming.

You weren't there.

Why weren't you there?

I was up country.

I needed you.

I know.

But you didn't come.

Why didn't you come?

I came as soon as word reached me.

Too late.

You were always too late.

Try to rest.

Right. Stand to.

Word from Bottoms is life goes on.

Business as usual, everyone.

So, where are we
on this Bodleian inquiry?

Morse?

Deceased is an Osbert Page.

Senior librarian at the Bodleian.

Murder weapon was a wood chisel,
found in situ, no fingerprints.

The interesting thing was muddy
boot prints found at the locus,

and leading away from the body.

They're with forensics.

Anything in the way of motive?

Page's flat was turned over, sir,
but as to what they were looking for...

There was a map of the Gower Peninsula

with one or two things written on it.

Page was a rambler.

- What was on the map?
- "HB".

And something in Greek.

"Anemoi".

The wind gods, apparently.

Well, I think we can probably
leave them off the suspects roster.

Speaking of which, couple of academics,
wasn't it, you said?

That's right, Dr Nicholson
and Professor Burrowes,

both at Garstang College,
neither of whom have an alibi.

Well, keep
at it.

Be nice to have a result
to throw at division for the quarterlies.

That junior librarian, Miss Paroo, rang.

She's got that list of books
you were after.

Right.

I've one or two errands to run.
Can you deal?

- Yeah, of course.
- Keep me posted.

Will do.

You all right?

Yes.

You had a bad go yesterday.

Well, there's many had it worse.

All the same.

Why don't you sign yourself off
for a few days?

I can take up the slack with himself.

I think now is hardly the time.

Well, if you change your mind.

I'd sooner be busy. Thank you.

Hello.

- Hi.
- I believe you've that list of books

that Dr Nicholson requested
from the Phi Collection for me.

Yes. Yes.

- Thank you.
- Afraid they're rather of a piece.

Antique smut.

Mr Page was not best pleased.

He often took the professor
to task about it.

However,
it was nothing beside his run-in

with Professor Burrowes
the other week.

What run-in?

Something to do with this donation,
or whatever it is,

from the Teagarden family, I believe.

The professor and Mr Page
had a blazing row about it.

Well, if you do come across it
I'd be grateful to see it.

Of course.

Excuse me, sir.
Is Professor Burrowes in today?

Luncheoning out, I believe, sir.

What about Dr Nicholson, is he in?

Just missed him, sir.

But... I see the fun and games
I told you about is still going on.

How's that?

Another message
just delivered to his cubby, sir.

Delivered by whom?

Person or persons unknown,

I believe that's the phrase, isn't it?

I didn't see.

Arrived when I was about my business.

Well, can I see it?

Yes, of course, sir.

There we are.

Thank you.

Right, well, I'll keep hold of that,
thank you.

Very well, sir. If you say so.
I'll let Dr Nicholson know.

I'll let him know myself when I see him.

Very good. Erm... you found
Professor Burrowes at home

- all right yesterday, did you?
- I did, yes. Thank you.

- Nice old man, isn't he?
- He is, yes.

One of my favourites,
if a porter's allowed such a thing.

He's always been very respectful.

Not like some I could name.

You wouldn't think
to look at him now, sir,

but... he was quite a cad
in his day.

But I suppose life
takes it out of the best of us.

- Dismay.
- How's that?

Same as most men, I suppose, sir.
Some girl he had hopes of.

Miss Teagarden.

Detective Sergeant Morse. Thames Valley.

Of course. Come in.

My condolences.

Thank you for seeing me
at such short notice.

Have you any idea
what's in the bequest?

Anything and everything.

Grandfather was something of a polymath.

His papers, stamp collections, letters.

But he didn't leave behind a list
or anything.

Really, because there's been mention
made of an inventory.

Not that I know of.

I can only assume it's been compiled
by those examining the collection.

Teagarden. Unusual name.

Should have been Treegarden or Orchard.

Baumgarten, only the
immigration official misheard.

So, your family's German.

Originally.

My grandfather's side
came to England in 1911.

- Is this him?
- No, that's his brother, Emil.

He was a physicist
before the war in Berlin.

Another Einstein, my grandfather said.

A very great man...
or would have been, had he lived.

A labour camp...

...for the V2 factory in Mittelbau.

The whole family.

Emil... his wife...

their daughter, Deborah,
for whom I'm named.

Do you read Hebrew?

A little.

Have you any idea what...

...this means?

Emet means "truth". Why?

Well, it just may have some bearing
on a case.

What about this?

"Mavet". Death.

Reminds me of a story
my grandfather used to tell me

when I was small.

Do you know what a shem is?

First word means "truth".
The second means "death".

So?

So, according to myth,
they're the "words of power"

which, when placed in the mouth
of a golem, give it life.

- A what now?
- A golem.

According to Jewish folklore,

it's a figure made of mud or clay,

which will do its maker's bidding.

So?

There could be a link to the murder
at the Bodleian.

What, you think a golem's
wandering around Oxford?

No, of course I don't, but the porter
at Garstang college did say

that somebody left Dr Nicholson
a clay figure in his cubby hole.

Right, you'd best follow it up.

I'm afraid I can't help you.

- I've no idea what they mean.
- Are you sure about that?

We found one of them
in a waste-paper basket

near to where you were sitting
in the Bodleian,

and the other one
in your cubby hole here.

I'm as much in the dark as you.

Whoever left them must believe
they mean something to you.

Well, then, they're wildly mistaken.

I also believe there have been
things written on your blackboard

during lectures.

I don't recall.

According to those present,
it was the word "Dora".

- Does that mean anything to you?
- No.

Really? Because the students
seemed to think,

that you were rather distracted
by the word.

Why should I be?

I've never met anyone with that name.

Really, I'm at a loss to see
the connection between these things

and a stabbing at the Bodleian.

- He's lying.
- Of course he is, but why?

There's a connection
between Nicholson and Osbert Page.

I'm just... I'm just not seeing it yet.

You will when you're thinking straight.
You need some kip.

I need a drink. Do you fancy one?

I can't.

It's been a while.

I'm not much company these days.

Pick up sticks in the morning.

All right, matey.

Doctor. Sir. So, what couldn't wait?

One of the bodies
recovered from the rubble.

Male, 50s.

Nothing to identify him.

I have it from the fire brigade
that his remains were found

in what would have been the basement.

He did not die
in the collapse of Cranmer House.

He was shot.

Twice in the back. Hands bound.

I'm afraid that's...
not the worst of it. Doctor?

There was concrete in the sinuses,
mouth, throat,

oesophagus, and even
into the upper reaches of the lungs.

He was buried alive, smothered,

drowned in liquid concrete,
which then set.

Bullets came from the same gun
that shot George Fancy.

Whoever this is
has been dead for about a year...

...encased in the foundations
of Cranmer House.

- We need to put a name to him.
- Have you anything to go on?

Just what's there.

- Magdalen Cabs.
- Eddie Nero's old firm.

The specs have come
from Dinkley's in the High,

according to the name in the case.

"HB"?

Morse?

We're looking into the death
of Osbert Page,

Chief Librarian at the Bodleian.

Stabbed to death there two nights ago.

In his flat, there's a map of the Gower

with the initials HB.

Yes, I've just had the results
through from forensics.

The muddy boot prints at the flat

are consistent with those found
at the Bodleian.

Clay, limestone and traces of fine sand.

Sea sand, most likely,

due to the roundness of the particles.

Right, so, who else knows about this?

So far, just us.

Dr DeBryn was good enough

to inform me
and Detective Sergeant Strange first.

I think, for the moment, at least,

such information should be contained
amongst former city officers.

Well, then, we're a man shy, aren't we?

Where is Thursday?

No-one is suggesting

Detective Inspector Thursday
has any involvement.

Not for a moment.

We just need to be sure of him.

Word on the wire is
he's got pretty tight with Box.

You've gotten pretty tight with the ACC.

ACC Bottoms' probity
is not in question here.

Out, is it?

No, not tonight.

I've seen someone...

...a solicitor.

Right.

We can't go on this way.

No.

- You in Sam's old room, me in ours.
- I never asked for that.

No.

Well, it's done now.

Is it?

I think so.

Right.

It doesn't have to be nasty.

No.

Him, is it?

Him?

Him up the ballroom. I followed you.

No, Fred, it isn't him. It's you.

- You keep the house.
- I don't want it.

Any more than I wanted the oven...
or clothes, or a holiday.

Then what do you want, Winifred?

I wanted my husband back.
The man I married.

I don't want the house
and I don't want the money.

God knows
what you had to do to get it.

It was never about the money.

We've been without before.
It didn't matter.

It never mattered.

We had each other.

Well...

just give me
what you want signing and I'll sign it.

Is this Dinkley's Opticians?

Detective Sergeant Morse,
Thames Valley.

I dropped a pair of spectacles in
this morning.

Your receptionist said
that she would check the prescription

against any of the patients you have
with the initials HB.

Hollis...

Binks.

He's missed two appointments? I see.

And would you have an address
for Mr Binks?

Hello?

Did you get those figures?

Have you seen Morse?

He's not in his bunker.

He left word.
He's pursuing inquiries.

What inquiries?

I don't know. He's your dog.

He's nobody's dog. Yours nor mine.

- I didn't mean...
- I don't care what you didn't mean.

You'll treat your colleagues
with respect,

- or I'll know why.
- All right. Don't bite my head off.

I'm just saying he's...

- Saying what?
- Well, he's not...

...one of us.

Speaking of which...

You're all right.
We're all friends here.

Where's it come from?
Seeing as we're all friends.

- Why do you care?
- Say I do.

It's just baksheesh...

for a blind eye turned.

It's a bit late
to be on a conscience, Fred.

Don't spend it all at once.

Clive Burkitt.
Councillor, Planning and Housing.

Detective Sergeant Morse.
Thames Valley.

I'm looking for any information
you could have on Hollis Binks.

Hollis Binks?

Erm... thank you, Miss Lansbury.

Yeah, he's a borough surveyor here,
I believe.

Yes. Yes, he was.

What is it you want to know about him?

Well, what he did at the council,
when he left.

Just what his duties
might have involved.

In connection with what?
He's not in any trouble, is he?

No, no, just a general enquiry.

Well, he, er...
he left about a year ago, I think.

Tendered his resignation and, er...
and that was that.

I think he found another position
in the North East.

Well, I'd like to see it, please.

- Sorry?
- His resignation letter.

Presumably it's on file somewhere.

Yeah, I know.
I would have thought so, yeah.

Actually, do you know what?
This really isn't the best time.

What, with... everything.

Do you think
we could catch it up later?

Yes. Yes, of course.

Any further idea
what happened at Cranmer?

- Gas.
- Right.

Well, if you do dig out
Binks' resignation letter,

- then I'd like to see it.
- Of course.

Miss Thursday, Ms Wall.

Morse, what are you up to?

I'm just looking
for some information on a Hollis Binks.

- He was a borough surveyor here.
- Don't know him, I'm afraid.

I knew Hollis.
Been here years. Very thorough.

He quit without notice
about a year ago.

- Without notice?
- Just up and left.

Councillor Burkitt said
that he tendered his resignation.

- First I've heard of it.
- Right.

What's he like, Burkitt?

No more slippery
than any other politician.

Yet a lot said
he'd never get Martyrs' Field built,

"Too expensive."
But he proved them wrong.

- How's that?
- Put his money where his mouth is.

Well, other people's money.

His reputation was at stake.

Made it part of his election pledge
in '64.

Doubled his majority.

Right.

Best crack on.
Be in the office, Joanie.

- Thank you.
- Sergeant.

How you getting on at Cranmer house?

We've got people scattered
all over town.

Bed and breakfast, Sally Army.

Even squeezed some into undergrad digs.

It's not ideal long-term,

but at least they're safe and dry
for the time being.

How are things with you?

One day's much the same as the next.

I didn't mean work, I meant you.

It's the same thing, isn't it?

Have you seen your father lately?

Not much. Why?

Well, I just wondered
if he was all right.

He hasn't seemed himself lately.

Anyway, there it is. Er...

I'll...

Bright.
Good morning, Sir.

Lunch. Yes, I'd be delighted.

Of course.

Shocking about Cranmer House,
those poor people.

This is about Mr Page, is it?

Well, partly.

I believe you had a bit of a row
with him the other week

about a misplaced inventory.

Something to do with
the Teagarden donation, was it?

Lost, not misplaced.

I'm somewhat at sea without it.

Er... please.

And the other part?

You said "partly".

Yes. I wanted to ask you
about Hollis Binks.

I believe you knew him.
Your name's in his address book.

Yes, Hollis was a student of mine,

and a fellow member of
the Happy Wanderers Walking Club.

We did the
Santiago de Compostela together.

A fine geologist.

Did Page ever mention him?

Not to me, no. Why?

Only, his name was also
in Binks' address book.

Well...
presumably, they knew each other.

The Gower Peninsula.

Will that be
a popular place for walkers?

For everyone. Holidaymakers.

When was the last time you saw him?
Binks?

Not for years.

Erm... well, he wrote to me
about a year ago.

About Faringdon sponge gravel.
Yes, that was it.

What's that?

It's part of the Greensand,
formed in the Cretaceous.

And what did he want to know?

If it was found
anywhere other than Wicklesham.

It extends
to Lower Coxwell and Fernham,

but Wicklesham is the only place
where it's quarried.

For aggregate, in the main.

Lovely walking there,
if you're ever out that way.

Follow me.

Thank you.

Reginald. Glad you could join us.

You know Councillor Burkitt?

No, I don't believe
I've had the pleasure.

Chief Superintendent.

Well, don't stand on ceremony.

Take a pew and we'll get the orders in.

There may come a time to dig
more deeply into Nero's activities,

but the man is dead.

One more death in his debit column

will bring him no nearer
to facing justice.

That's certainly the view
of senior officers at division.

Few more senior than
the assistant chief constable,

I wouldn't have thought.

I'm merely relaying to you
certain operational matters

as have been explained to me.

There are things here that go
far beyond Oxford and Thames Valley.

Best handled from London.

Such operational matters concern
the councillor for housing and planning

in what regard, may I ask?

I'm here in a purely
advisory capacity, Reginald.

A trouble-shooter, if you like.

Yes? I see.

What trouble do you intend
to shoot today, Councillor?

Not me, I hope.

One of your colleagues from Cowley
has been concerning himself unduly

with matters of a... sensitive nature.

Matters with...
potential ramifications

for some departments
of local government.

Morse, is it?
His enthusiasm is commendable, but...

misplaced.

I'm in Traffic, sir.

I don't see how I can bring
any influence to bear upon him.

Well, that brings me to my second point.

It seems a fearful waste of resources

to have an officer
of your experience and ability

closed away in Traffic.

There's no need to be coy.

We're all men here.

ACC Bottoms is moving to the Met
next year,

which will leave a vacancy
up at division.

It would be a fine way
to finish one's service.

And some much-needed good news
for your wife, I'm sure.

My wife?

I may have mentioned.

Excuse me, sir.

I have a previous appointment
elsewhere.

Councillor.

I have a friend at the Royal Masonic.

Some new experimental cancer
treatments are being looked at

out of America.

A shortlist of patients
suitable to take part in the trial

is being drawn up.

I see.

If you change your mind...
What are friends for?

We are not friends, Councillor.

Nor, I'm very happy to say,
are we ever likely to be.

You all right?

Kids, Morse.

Women and children.

Families destroyed.

When they tore down the Oxpens slums,

it was meant to be a fresh start.

A brave new world.

Safe and clean and...

...how does it end like this?

A gas leak.

Isn't that the official line?

Official lie.

We're talking about
a catastrophic structural failure.

Gas explosion or no,

they're supposed to withstand
anything like that. It's the law.

Well, people have been known
to break the law.

What do you make to Burkitt?

Martyrs' Field's got his name
all over it, it's his legacy.

He's hardly likely to jeopardise that.

Is that what you wanted to ask me?

In part. I'm more interested

in anything you can tell me
about Four Winds Aggregate.

Out at Wicklesham?

George McGyffin's old firm. One of them.

He's yards and works all over.

Here. Somerset.

Some sea-dredging firm in Wales.

And he supplied materials
for your new divisional HQ.

Really?

Has he anything
to do with Cranmer house?

They had a contract
on the concrete side, I think.

Out of the council,
before it closed down.

Right.

And what about a Hollis Binks?

He was a borough surveyor
up until about a year ago.

No. No, I've not come across him. Why?

This librarian, Page, at the Bodleian,

stabbed to death.

You think that's connected
to what's happened here?

I don't know. Possibly.

I'm just poking around.

- Who knows?
- Someone knows.

The first time I saw her, she was 19.

I was... not much more.

The governor's house. A garden party.

Me and Win, it was the Palais.

Her father was something
in the Colonial Service.

Win's old man worked the docks.
Limehouse Basin.

Thought I might not be too welcome,

being a young copper,
but he was a straight go.

The sky was pink and pearl,
band playing.

Geraldo, I think it was, for us.

The crowd parted
for the briefest moment and...

...There she was, pretty as a picture.

Surrounded by all these dashing types,

desperate to light her cigarette.

Next thing, I'd crossed the lawn,
I was standing beside her.

"Have you come to save me?" she said.

"Yes", I said.
"I rather think I have."

And now I can't.

You've a works along the Gower,
I understand. Sea dredging.

Nash Bank. What of it?

Did Hollis Binks ever go there?

Who?

Hollis Binks, he was a borough surveyor.

No.

Really? That's a surprise.

As he seemed to have had an interest
in your company

Four Winds Aggregate.

You supplied the concrete

for the Martyrs' Field
development, didn't you?

What did you say your name was?

Detective Sergeant Morse,
Thames Valley.

Well, Detective Sergeant Morse,
Thames Valley,

let me tell you something.

Construction site's no place
for small boys with soft hands

and clean shirts.

It's dirty work.

Dangerous work. Man's work.

Accidents happen.

That sounds like a threat.

Advice, son.

You ever seen a shovel fight?

That's how navvies used to
settle their differences on site.

I once seen two brothers
go at each other with shovels.

20 minutes, it lasted. Hell of a thing.

And the noise!

Only finished when one of them took
the other one's arm off at the shoulder.

Go home.

Go on, go home.
Forget about Hollis Binks and Four Winds.

I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr McGyffin.

That's too bad.

Boys'll show you
safe back to your car.

It's all right, I can manage.

Bloody hell.

Any news?

I had a dig around
for this gun used on George.

We've been looking in the wrong place.

It was used in a wages snatch
in '64 in Reading.

Amongst the investigating officers
was a DS Ronnie Box.

Then we've got him.

Well, if we're going to move
against him, it's got to be solid.

We're accusing him of killing
a fellow police officer.

Depending how far this goes,
we get one shot.

It's gotta stick.

What's that, Jim?

...just popped in to see Morse.

Is that right?

Well, you've got business.
I won't keep you.

Sir.

- Where'd you get to?
- Something came up.

Pursuing inquiries, DS Jago said.
What inquiries?

It's nothing, probably.

The guv'nor was asking about
an unknown out at Cranmer House.

Said you'd know about it.

What is it, something off the books?

He said all the old Cowley firm
knew about him.

I don't.

Morse.

Miss Teagarden. Good afternoon.

Yes, in about half an hour?

Very well. Until then. Thank you.

It's come down from division.

Whatever you're about,
they want to pass it to the Yard.

I can't help them.

Come on. We can talk straight.

- Can we?
- Course. This is you and me.

Doesn't feel that way.

In fact, it hasn't felt that way
since I got to Castle Gate.

Feels more like you and Box.

No, that's fine. Things change.

You don't owe me anything,

but I don't owe him anything either.

Certainly not loyalty.

He's not my guv'nor, never will be.

You know, there is a line.

I just hope
that you're on the right side of it.

It's all there. Every penny.

I don't get it.

What's to get?

I had a mad half-hour, that's all.
It's over.

Have a drink.
You're not thinking straight.

I'm thinking straight
for the first time in a long while.

Maybe for the first time
since George Fancy.

Fancy?

That's what's got you by the tail?

- It's nothing to do with this.
- He's everything to do with it.

He stood for something.

I take this,
I might as well piss on his grave.

Look...

there's no comeback,
if that's what you're worried about.

It's bent.

The world's bent.

Always has been. We can't fix it.

We can try.

Everybody else dips their beak
for a sight less than us.

- Protection money?
- Yeah. We protect people.

Every time we turn out.

Cos it's our job.

Not for this. Not for a kick-back.

- Makes us no different to Eddie Nero.
- We are no different!

There are two kinds of people, Fred.

Those who take...

...and them that get taken.

I know what side I'm on.

So do I. I always have done.

It slipped my mind.

I thought I was owed. I was wrong.

This job doesn't owe me anything.

So, I'm giving it back.

- It doesn't work like that.
- It works how I say it does.

How you live your life
is your business.

You don't have to worry about me.
I'm putting in for a transfer.

I'll be out of your hair.

Mind how you go.

I was closing up the house
when I came across a bundle of letters

at the back
of my grandfather's writing desk.

Well, photostats.

The originals, I imagine, went
with the rest of the bequest materials.

To Garstang College?

At first, I thought my grandfather
must have kept them for the stamp,

they were from Oslo,
from a friend there,

but I couldn't see
why he would have made copies

if it was just the stamp
he was interested in.

Do you read German?

No. No, I'm afraid not.

They're about my Great Uncle Emil
and his family.

- Emil, scientist?
- A physicist.

Physicist, sorry.

He was part
of the Meitner-Hahn group in Berlin,

researching heavy elements,

but with the passing of the Race Laws,

things became impossible for him.

I don't doubt it.

Many of his colleagues fled Germany,
but he was a patriot.

Afraid his work
might fall into the wrong hands,

he smuggled his notebooks
out of Germany

to someone he met
while lecturing at Oxford.

Someone he later came to believe
had betrayed him.

Right.

You wanted to see me, Worshipful Master?

Someone's threatening the good works
and reputation of this lodge.

A man known to you.

How's that?

Morse, brother.

Let us not deal falsely?

We need to check his inquiries.

You'd be doing him a bit of good...

if you appeal to his reason.
Well...

can't hurt your prospects,
though, can it?

Inspector Strange?

Inspector?

For those
who keep their oaths, brother...

...all things are possible.

_

The Page case.

Miss Teagarden came across
a bundle of letters.

Well, copies of letters

that she found to have been given
to Garstang College

as part of the Teagarden bequest.

Concerning?

Concerning the German side
of the family, the Baumgartens.

You remember Burrowes said that he
used to go hiking on the continent

- before the war?
- Digging for fossils.

That's right.
Well, on one such trip,

he met and fell in love
with Deborah Baumgarten. Jewish.

She perished, along with her family,

at a labour camp
called Mittelbau-Dora.

I know Mittelbau. V2 rockets.

Her father had been a physicist
before the war.

He lectured here at Oxford,

where he befriended a maths undergrad
at Garstang College.

Dora. That's what was written up
on Nicholson's blackboard.

Exactly, so according to these letters,

Nicholson promised to get
the Baumgartens out of Germany.

But when they arrived at the embassy,
no-one had so much as heard of them.

- Why would Nicholson betray him?
- Baumgarten came to believe

that Nicholson had only ever
been interested in his notebooks,

which he'd sent before him,
to Oxford, for safekeeping.

- And Burrowes?
- Well, 20 years later,

Burrowes was going
through the Teagarden bequest,

finds these letters
and this bank note.

It was found by Miss Paroo
at the Bodleian.

Used for currency
at camp Mittelbau-Dora.

Now, I believe that Burrowes and Page
had a blazing row

over items that Page
cleared away from the library.

I just wonder
what the significance of it is.

Maybe this is what Burrowes
was looking for in Page's flat.

Geology teaches a man patience.

All my life, well,
the part of it which mattered,

I've mourned her fate.

But to find now
that it could have been avoided,

should have been avoided.

That...
we might've had a life together.

Nicholson took that from me.

Worse, far worse. He let them perish.

I wanted him to pay for that.

So, you started this campaign.

The things left in his cubby hole,
the little figurine of a golem.

The word "Dora" chalked up on his board.

Did Page find this Mittelbau-Dora
banknote of yours?

Was he aware that you were
behind this war of nerves

with Nicholson?
Is that why you killed him?

- Page?
- Yes, Page.

I had nothing whatever
to do with Page!

I left that banknote...

in the Bodleian by accident,
with my list of stamps.

As far as I was aware, it was lost.

So, you went to Page's flat
looking for the banknote.

No. Even if Osbert Page had found it,

it wouldn't have meant
anything to him.

I freely admit the rest.

Jasper Nicholson
got nothing less than he deserved.

But Page?
That was nothing to do with me.

We know who's been sending you
these messages

and all the rest of it.
And we know why.

They've been spoken to.
You won't be getting any more,

but I can't say as I don't feel
some sympathy for who's responsible,

given what you did.

What I did?

You promised Emil Baumgarten
and his family

that you'd get them to safety.

But at the last,
you just left them to their fate.

I tried to get them out.

I-I-I did everything
that was humanly possible.

All that was in my power to do,
but it was too late.

But not too late to take his work
for your own.

- What do you mean, his work?
- Yeah, his notebooks.

You could at least have given the man
credit for his own work.

So, that's what you think?

Well, you must think it.

Doctor Nicholson...

Emil's work was flawed.

Terribly, monstrously flawed!

A-a-as I read through his notes,
it became clear to me,

and it would have been obvious
to anyone else who saw

that he had suffered
some kind of breakdown.

I mean, his mind...

...his beautiful...
wonderful mind, all...

...unravelling there before me
on the pages.

The, er... anxiety and stress
of his situation,

the worry for his family.
Well, it must have...

So, er... we burnt his notebooks.

You destroyed them?

What else should I have done?

I had to protect him from those devils.

They might have taken his life,
but I swore to be resolved

that they would not take
his reputation.

He was my friend and...

I failed him.

I've carried the shame
of that failure...

...my failure, for more than 25 years.

Now, I'm a man
profoundly without faith...

...but I promise you,

not a day has gone by when
I have not, with utter humility...

...said the Mourner's Kaddish
for Emil Baumgarten

and his murdered family.

- No golem, then.
- Seemingly not.

Burrowes is a rambler.
If the muddy boot prints aren't his,

whose are they?

What's wrong?

Nothing.

I'll drop you at the station.

And I'll put Box in the picture.

I don't know what more I can say.

I've told you all I can.

About Nicholson, yes,
but this is about another matter.

It concerns Binks and Osbert Page.

The Bridge Of Sighs
was built just before...

- Look, it's the Pelican Man!
- It's the Pelly!

Yes, yes.

Yes, yes. Of course you can.

You saw it on the television?

What's going on?

Well, I know you,
so you must be McGyffin.

Is he running you, or you running him?

It's all right, Ronnie.

Why don't you go and wait by the car?

Guess that answers that.

Is he working you with his foot,
or what?

You should hear 'em out, Fred.

For your own sake.

I understand
you're leaving Oxford, Inspector.

Putting in for a transfer.

Word gets around.

Yeah, well, that's all very lovely,

but you need to settle
your mess bill before you go.

Your boy's sticking his beak in
where it's not wanted.

You stop him, or we will.

You don't know Morse.

How's Charlie?

What did you say?

Word is the Yard's
looking for your brother

in connection with a long firm fraud.

I wouldn't know about that.

There's a cheque with your name on
says different.

On the other hand,

if Morse could be persuaded
to do the right thing...

He's an idealist.

I'm sure we all are.

Maybe once, Councillor.
Now you're just a villain.

Same as this two-bob shitehawk.

Look...

You play fair and all your troubles...

...disappear.

The cheque, gone.

Everything back to how it was.

Just bring him out
to Wicklesham tomorrow.

Maybe between us,
we can talk some sense into him.

Fred...

What've you got me into, you...
cowson?

You can't beat 'em, Fred.

I know. I thought
it'd just be a nice little tickle.

In and out, and no harm done, but...

But once you're in...

...these boys play for keeps.

It's you or Morse.

Everything all right?

Yeah.

I've been to see Burrowes.

And?

I think I know who killed Page,
or who ordered it at least,

even if he didn't do his own dirty work.
Drink?

Thanks.

Page had been looking into
the disappearance of a fellow rambler.

A man called Hollis Binks.

You remember the initials we found
in his flat

- on the map on the wall? HB.
- Who is Binks?

Binks was the borough surveyor.

His body was recovered from
the foundations of Cranmer House.

Box's unknown. Why wasn't I told?

Well, I'm telling you now.

I think Binks's death and Page's death,

are both related to what happened
at Cranmer House.

Cranmer House was built
by McGyffin Construction,

using concrete which should
have contained high-quality sand

from Four Winds Aggregate
out at Wicklesham.

But McGyffin also owns another place
out on the Gower Coast.

The Gower.

That's where Page wrote HB on the map.

I think he was adulterating the concrete

with unwashed sea sand
from the Gower Coast.

So?

So, salt.

The sodium in the sea sand-concrete mix

would have corroded the iron rebars
running through Cranmer House,

weakening the entire structure.

Concrete cancer, they call it.

That's why the tower collapsed.

I think they were using sub-standard
material, charging full price,

and pocketing the difference.

So, Binks worked out
McGyffin was running a scam?

Yeah, him and his former boss,
Councillor Burkitt.

He'd been to see Professor Burrowes

to talk about geology before he died.

They killed Binks and Osbert Page?

Well, I've got forensics looking
into the muddy boot prints

we found both in the library
and at Page's flat.

And I'm convinced that
it's going to be the same material

will be found at Wicklesham Quarry.

If Page was worried about Binks,
why didn't he come to us,

report him missing?

- Maybe he was afraid.
- Of what?

Of us.

If a senior councillor is involved,
then who knows how far it goes?

Say you're right...

People like that...

It only goes one way.

What are you saying?

It's a hiding to nothing.

You want another Blenheim Vale?

You've gotta let it drop.

- Who are you trying to protect? Box?
- That what you think?

It wasn't, but maybe I was wrong,
and everyone else is right.

- About what?
- About you!

I thought I knew who you were,
but this year, I barely recognise you.

Always given me too much credit.

- I'm not what you think.
- What is going on?!

- You've got to let it go.
- I can't.

That's an order!

- Morse.
- 'There you are. It's Max.'

It's late for you.

'Listen... I've just had the results
through on your muddy boot prints.'

As suspected,

consistent with material
found locally at Wicklesham.

Sorry, wait a minute.

Can I help you?'

Doctor?

Max!

♫ 'Mexicali Rose' by Jim Reeves

I'm off to bed now.

Right.

I'm sorry.

I made a mess of things.

I love you.

Sorry was all I wanted.

I know.

I've loved you too long to stop now.

I should've said it sooner.

Better late than never.

I heard the telephone.

Yes.

Yes, it was, er... it was just work.

What's wrong?

A moment's courage
or a lifetime of regret?

That's always been the choice.

Surprised?

You couldn't see me for Box.

No-one's coming.

It's how we came into the world,
you, me, all of us.

We're born and we die alone.

All right, Morse?

You picked the wrong team, brother.

We're city men, first and last.

We mind our own.

Where's DeBryn?

Alive?

Last time I looked.

It's all right, Doctor.
We'll have you home safe soon.

That's not how this goes.
You must have known that.

You can't believe
you'll get away with the murder

of four police officers
and a Home Office pathologist.

They plan to hang the crimes on us, sir.

Who killed Fancy? You or Ronnie?

Box?

- It was his gun.
- Once.

But he's not the sand
for man's work, or he'd be here now.

You stole Nero's heroin.

It's the next big thing.

You took over his whole business.

The protection, the drugs, everything.

Who better than a copper to know
every filthy racket in the city?

How many times you seen them
get away with it, Fred?

- It's a stacked deck.
- The truth will come out.

Or the truth'll be what I put
in my report.

A falling out of corrupt coppers...

...and I settled the last man standing.

Al?

DS Jago may bear some influence
over uniform and CID...

...but his writ will not run
as far as Traffic.

Sod this.

- Get out. Get out!
- Take 'em!

It's over, Fred.

Put it down.

Drop the gun...

...now!

You wouldn't shoot a man
in the back, would you, Morse?

The same way you shot George Fancy?

He was just in the wrong place.

Drug money.

Put him down.

Well, well, well.

Guv'nor.

Found some bottle at last?

We can all still walk out of here alive.

Boss?

No, we can't.

I couldn't let him do it.

Who'd have thought?

Ronnie?

Ronnie!

Ronnie.

Get an ambulance.

- You all right?
- Yes.

Here.

Thanks.

Cracked. Bugger!

I can't judge him.

I took a...

...wrong turn.

He came good in the end.

If he pulls through...

...maybe we all get a second chance.

George didn't.

All right, thanks.

Burkitt?

Turned Queen's.
Put the black spot on all of them.

He say who did for Page?

McGyffin's heavies, on his orders.

That was the hospital.

Box is 50-50.

The report will reflect
a drugs ring smashed,

a criminal conspiracy unmasked...

...and the death of a brave
detective constable finally avenged.

- And ACC Bottoms?
- Is to take early retirement.

The force cannot be judged by the
behaviour of a few rotten apples.

Division have assured me
there will be changes.

- For the better, I hope.
- Indeed.

Alas, I will be leaving Traffic,

to assume overall command at Castle Gate.

But with impending losses, I shall
need a reliable detective sergeant,

if you're done with your
Forward Planning Committee.

Sir.

And a good man to head CID.

Acting Chief Inspector,

might you be persuaded
to forego your transfer?

It depends on home, sir.

As does so much.

Morse.

Sir.

Very well.

Carry on.

There's a bagman's desk
going begging. If you want it.

Castle Gate CID.
DS Strange speaking.

I'll be needing a car.

Well, I'm sure
we can find you something.

Got Mrs Thursday on the blower.

I said you're fine,
but she doesn't sound best pleased.

Wants to know
what time you're coming home.

Tell her he'll be home shortly.

Go on. I can manage.

I know you can.

Right, then.

Usual time in the morning.

Morse, Thames Valley.

___

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