All language subtitles for Red.Riding.The.Year.Of.Our.Lord.1983.2009.720p.BluRay.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]--

- One, two, three, four,
five, six, seven.

- Paul, Clare,
come on, we've got to go.

Maurice, hurry up.
We're late.

- Yeah.

[dramatic orchestral music]

♪ ♪

- ♪ Eia, Mater ♪

♪ Fons amoris ♪

♪ Fons amoris ♪

♪ Me sentire vim doloris ♪

♪ Me sentire... ♪

- All right, everyone,
let's get lined up, come on.

- ♪ Fac, ut tecum lugeam ♪

all: Cheese!

[laughter]

- ♪ Me sentire vim doloris ♪

♪ Fac, ut tecum lugeam ♪

♪ Ut tecum lugeam ♪

- Badger says he wants us all
to go upstairs

and have a drink...

after the dancing.

He says be discreet.

- I'd like you all to meet
a good mate of mine

from over the other side
of the Pennines.

This is John Nolan,

Detective Inspector
with Manchester.

- Firstly, let's raise a glass
to the Badger himself,

Bill Molloy, on the marriage
of his daughter.

- Cheers.
- Cheers.

- We've had enough of that
bollocks downstairs, haven't we?

No.

Let's drink to us.

The bloody lot of us.

all: The bloody lot of us.

- We'll keep this brief.

John here has acquired
offices for us

in the center of Manchester.

He's got the printing and
distribution end sewn up nicely.

- Got a few
Vice connections too.

- It's coming together.

Controlled vice.

Off the streets.

Out of the shop windows
and into our pockets.

The whole of
the North of England,

the girls, the shops, the mags,
the whole bloody lot.

We've got an opportunity here,

an opportunity
to invest the money

from our little venture

and turn it into something
even bigger,

something great.

You all know the construction
magnate, John Dawson.

John, please join us.

- Gentlemen.

- Mr. Dawson
has his own dreams.

Don't you, John?

- I do, Bill.

I'm offering you a business
opportunity, gentlemen.

With your help,

I'm going to build a leisure
and shopping complex...

and I'm not talking about
some fucking rabbit hutch

like Merrion Centre.

I'm talking about the biggest
of its kind in Europe...

a place where you can buy
everything you need,

where you can go and see a film
or go bowling,

where you can have breakfast,
lunch, or tea

all under one roof.

I'm talking about an investment
of £100 million.

There's land close by
the Hunslet and Beeston exit

of the M1.

It'd be ideal.

- We're gonna
make this happen, gents,

and we're gonna make
some bloody money too,

some fucking real
bloody money.

To us all.

And to the North.

all: To the North.

- To the North,
where we do what we want.

[glasses clink]

- At approximately 4:00 p.m.
yesterday evening,

Hazel Atkins disappeared
on her way home

from Morley Grange
Junior and Infants.

Hazel is ten years old.

She has medium-length,
light brown hair in plaits

and brown eyes.

She was wearing
light blue jeans,

a dark green top,

and she was carrying
a yellow bag

embroidered with an H.

Hazel was last seen walking up
Rooms Lane towards her home

in Bradstock Gardens.

When Hazel did not return
from school,

Mr. and Mrs. Atkins
contacted Morley Police,

and a search was launched
early yesterday evening.

As some of you are aware,

the police was joined
in the search

by more than 100 local people.

Now, given the inclement weather

and the fact that Hazel
has never gone missing before,

we're obviously concerned about
her safety and her whereabouts.

Now, Mr. Atkins would like
to read a short statement

in the hope that any member
of the public

who may have information

regarding Hazel's whereabouts
or disappearance

will come forward
and share this information.

Thank you.

- I'd like to appeal to anybody
who knows where our Hazel is

to please telephone the police.

Please.

If you know anything at all,
please telephone the police.

Please.

Let her come home.

We miss her.

- I put Ellis
out in the fields,

Evans is in and out
with the press,

and Jim's taking the parents
back to Morley.

- The evening papers
mention Clare Kemplay.

- What do they say?

- Nine years ago,
same school, goes missing,

turns up dead in the foundations
of a new estate.

- Usual bollocks, then.

Talking of which...

Angus-Angus wants us
to go see a medium.

- A what?
- Mandy Wymer.

Mystic fucking Mandy.

She contacted Kath Tyler
at the Post.

Angus reckons
it's worth a shot.

- Come on,
let's get back to Morley.

- ♪ Tomorrow ♪

♪ you're going to miss me ♪

♪ 'cause I'll be gone ♪

♪ Oh, but before I leave, baby ♪

♪ still gonna live alone ♪

♪ You're going to miss me ♪

♪ You're going to miss me ♪

♪ 'cause I'll be gone ♪

♪ You're gonna miss me ♪

- There you go, Mum.

Back home.

- Therefore shall he wash
his flesh in water,

and so put them on.

- And he shall take
of the congregation

of the children of Israel

two kids of the goat
for a sin offering

and one ram
for a burnt offering.

- And Aaron shall offer
his bullock of the sin offering,

which is for himself.

- Mr. Piggott?

- Mrs. Myshkin.

- Oh, your poor mum.

Sad you couldn't see
more of her.

- Yeah.

How's Michael?

- You heard about
that little girl?

- What little girl?

- Hazel Atkins.

- Yeah, oh, yeah,
I did, yeah.

- Can't blame my boy
for that, can they?

It changes everything,
doesn't it?

- Possibly, yeah.

I don't really know.

- Will you go see him?

Will you go see Michael?

- Michael already has
his own legal representation,

doesn't he?

- I've been serving
his sentence with him.

Eight years.

Please.

Just go and see him.

Please.

[upbeat soul music]

♪ ♪

- ♪ Closer ♪

♪ Mmmmmm ♪

♪ Closer ♪

♪ Ooh, ooh, yeah ♪

♪ A little closer ♪

- Hi, there.

John Piggott here
to see Michael Myshkin.

I'm his solicitor.

- Visits are limited
to 45 minutes.

You must both remain seated

throughout the course
of the visit.

You must have
no physical contact.

No passage of goods,
ciggies, whatever.

- What's he like, then,
Myshkin?

- Pervert, same as the rest.

- Violent?

- Only with his right hand.

- Hello.

- Hello.

- My name's John Piggott.

I used to live in Fitzwilliam
near you.

I'm a solicitor now,

and your mother asked me to come
and talk to you about an appeal.

Now, an appeal's a very lengthy
and costly procedure

that involves a lot of time,
a lot of different people.

So before any firm
embarks on such a course

on behalf of a client,

we have to ensure that there are
sufficient grounds

for such an appeal

and that there's
a great likelihood of success.

Now, even that costs
a lot of money.

Do you, uh...

do you understand
what I'm saying?

How long have you been
in here, Michael?

- Long time.

- And you know why
you're in this place?

Tell me why you're in here.

- Because of Clare.

- Clare who?

- Clare Kemplay.

- All right.

What about her?

- She did get killed,
and they said it were me.

- Who said?

- Everyone.

- Did you kill Clare?

- No.

- Why did you say
you did, then?

Michael, why did you say
you killed Clare?

- They said I had to.

- Who said?
- Everyone.

- Who's everyone?

- The policemen,
the solicitor.

- Why would they tell you
to do that?

- I don't know.

I told them who did.

- You know who killed
Clare Kemplay?

Who?

If it wasn't you, Michael,
who was it?

Who?

- It was the Wolf.

- The Wolf?

- [snickering]

The Wolf.

The Wolf!

The Wolf!

[laughs]

[Imitates wolf howling]

- One, two, three, four,
five, six, seven.

All good children
go to heaven.

Penny on the water,

twopence on the sea,

threepence on the railway,

and out goes she.

- Good luck, young man.

Mind how you go.

- [coughs]

[spits]

[zipper closing]

- Cheers.

- This is bollocks.

- Hello, love.

Dick Alderman.

This is Maurice Jobson.

- I know Mr. Jobson.

[doorbell rings]

- Is there anybody there?

- Kathryn Tyler, Mrs. Wymer.
- Yes.

Come in.

- Very nice.
It's very Bohemian.

- Please sit down.

- Miss Tyler here says
you've got some information

about this little girl that's
gone missing up Morley way.

- Yes.
- What type of information?

- You must be getting desperate.

- We're following up
every possible lead.

- I contacted the police
once before, a long time ago.

I never heard back.

- It's different now.

- I'm a medium.

Sometimes I can hear, feel,
see things other people can't.

Sometimes the dead
speak through me.

- So you think she's dead,
do you?

Hmm?
Hazel?

- Shall we find out?

Right.

Put your hands on the table.

It's okay.

Let's see what we can find.

It's happened before,

three times.

It's happening again now.

Under the grass that grows
beneath the stones and cracks.

Beneath those beautiful carpets.

Underground.

The Rat and the Wolf are here.

And the Pig.

There's a swan too.

The swan is dead.

Help me.

Help me.

Please, tell them
about the others.

Please.

- What are you fucking
talking about?

What others?

- The others beneath
those beautiful carpets.

You've got to tell them
where they are.

- Do you think she knows
aught about the 2:30 at York?

Bollocks, Maurice,
like you said.

- Where's all
of Clare Kemplay's stuff, Dick?

The files, you know?

- Maurice, it's a coincidence.

What else could it be?

- Where's
the fucking stuff, Dick?

- I don't know.
Wood Street, probably.

- Let's go.
- What, now?

- Yeah, now.

- All the things BJ seen
and all the things BJ done

all those fucking,
fucking things.

- This is
Detective Superintendent Jobson.

- Pleasure.

- Mr. Dunford hopes to be

the Post's new
crime correspondent.

- Well, I always got on well
with Jack Whitehead.

- Good old Jack, eh?

- He'll be standing in
for a trial period.

- Gentlemen,
we'll keep this brief.

At about 4:00 p.m.
yesterday evening,

3rd of September,

Clare Kemplay disappeared
on her way home

from Morley Grange
Junior and Infants.

Clare is ten years old.

She was wearing a red top,
grey school uniform,

and Wellington boots.

When Clare left school,
she was carrying...

- Okay.

Lad found her.
He works on the site.

- What's your name, son?
- Leonard.

- Leonard Cole.
Builder's mate.

- Well, we're gonna need

a statement from you, Leonard,
all right?

- I'm taking him down now.
- Where's Bill?

- Over there.
- Okay.

- He dumped her in a hurry.

Maybe he was surprised.

Facial abrasions,
possibly bites.

Words razored into her chest.

"4 LUV."

He tried to stitch fucking
swan wings onto her, Maurice.

- Christ.

- Fancy a fuck, fatty?

Tenner back at hers.

- Tenner?

[knocks on door]

- Mr. Piggott saw Michael
on Saturday.

- You will help him, then?

- Well, as I told you,

I don't have very much
experience with appeals.

Certainly not this kind.

You see, what should have
happened with Michael's case is,

his original solicitor
should have lodged an appeal

at his trial within 14 days.

- Mr. McGuiness told him
he must plead guilty.

- Mr. Clive McGuiness?

- Michael's solicitor.

- It's very difficult to appeal

against a confession
and a guilty plea.

- Some days I think me brain
will explode.

- I'm sorry.
I'd really like to help you.

I would, but...

I just don't think
I'm the right man for the job.

I mean, to be frank,

I don't see
what the grounds are,

other than Michael's
changed his mind.

- But he didn't do it.

- He confessed.

So you see, you'd basically be
appealing against hisself.

- Mr. McGuiness gave him
bad advice.

- Yeah.

And he doesn't need any more.

So I'm sorry, but I don't think
I'll be of any use.

- I remember your father.

I can remember him with you
and your mates playing football

on that field over there
across the road.

Next to Reverend Laws and her.

And now it's happening again.

That poor lass.

Never stops.

Not round here.

But you know that, love,
don't you?

- I'm sorry, Mrs. Myshkin.

Best you find somebody else.

- Do you remember her?

Wings.

"4 LUV."

- I heard you
were sniffing around.

- There are similarities.

- It's just a coincidence,
isn't it, Maurice?

We got the bastard,
didn't we?

- Maybe he had help.

- He'd have said so back then.

- Back then,
he said he didn't do it.

Maurice, he coughed for the lot,
didn't he?

Clare Kemplay, Jeanette Garland,
the Ridyard girl,

right back to '69.

Myshkin is where he belongs,
where you put him.

- I know Myshkin's got nothing
to do with Hazel Atkins.

I'd just like to talk to him.

- All right.

All right,
maybe he did have help.

Maybe there was
some pervert, a fan,

a copycat thing.

Go and talk to him.

And keep it
out of the papers.

And take Dick Alderman
with you.

And, Maurice?

You know he did those things.

You know it in your heart.

- Michael.

Do you remember us?

I'm Mr. Jobson,
and this is Mr. Alderman.

We're policemen, yeah?

- How are you, Michael?

- Hands flat on the table!

- There's no need for that,
Michael, eh?

We just want to ask you
a few questions, that's all.

We'll be gone
before you know it.

You just tell us what we want.
It's all right.

Hey.

It's okay.

Been in here a while now, eh?

Must miss home.
I know I would.

Family, your mates,
Fitzwilliam, eh?

You and your mum and dad,
wasn't it?

Dad were a miner, weren't he?

Passed away.

- Because of dust.
- Yeah.

Sorry to hear that.

Yeah, but, I bet your mum's
keeping your old room for you,

keeping it all
just the way it was.

Does she come and visit you,
does she, eh, your mum?

- Yes.

- Good.

And how about your mates?

Do they come, do they?

Hmm?

'Cause you had some mates
at work, didn't you?

That photo studio
in Castleford.

Who was your mate there,
Michael?

[whispers]
Dick.

- Michael?

Who was your friend
at the photo studio?

What about Leonard?

Never hear of him?

- Leonard?

- Yeah, Leonard Cole.

How's he doing?

He never comes?

Never writes?

- No.
- No.

Christmas card?

- No.

- You two were best mates,
I heard.

- Yes.

- Thick as thieves.

That's not very nice, is it?

Some bloody mate
he turned out to be, eh?

Fucking hell.

- It's a while
since we saw Leonard Cole.

We should bring him in.

- Okay, boss.

- Mr. Jobson?

You know he had a meeting
with his solicitor on Saturday?

- What, going to appeal, is he?

- He said a policeman told him
to say he did it.

- Did he say which policeman?
- The solicitor headed him off.

- Smart man.
- And what was his name?

- Piggott.
John Winston Piggott.

- Thanks for that.

- Pleasure.

- Piggott?

- Yeah, John Piggott.

A right fat bastard.

His father was one of us.

Arthur the Pig?

- ♪ I'm by a fire ♪

♪ And yet I'm cold ♪

♪ I'm a young man ♪

♪ And yet I'm old ♪

♪ I'm hurt ♪

♪ But I can't feel
the pain, no ♪

♪ Keep right on listening ♪

♪ But I don't hear a thing ♪

♪ Oh, baby ♪

♪ Baby, baby ♪

♪ Every day seems so wrong ♪

♪ Oh, baby ♪

♪ Baby, baby ♪

- BJ will come round the back of
your house in dead of night...

watch you sleep in bed.

BJ is coming.

- Got him riding his motorbike
into Morley.

All denim and leather, he was.

He had the words "Angel Witch"

stitched into the back
of his leather jacket

between wings, in studs.

- We've had him down
in the belly six hours.

Forensics have got the dirt
from his nails,

blood from his arm,
the cum from his cock.

- I mean, technically,
we've not even started

to interview the little twat.

- It's a pity the Badger
can't be with us.

Be like old times, eh?

- What have I done?

- There you go, Leonard.

- What have I done?

What have I done?

- Put your hands
flat on the desk.

- That looks nasty.

You ought to get it seen to.

- You, um...

you were the one that found
Clare Kemplay, weren't you?

We had a chat about that,
do you remember?

- I didn't do naught.

[screaming]

- Put your hands back.

- No.

- Put your hands back.
- No.

- Put your fucking hands back.

Flat.

- What do you want?

Just tell me what you want.

No! No!

[screaming]

- Put your hands back.

- No.

- Put your hands back.

- No.
- Put your fucking hands back!

- Just tell me what you want!

- Sit down.
- Stand up!

Don't move! Eyes front!
Don't move!

[Leonard crying]

- [shushing]

[muffled screaming]

Owl's gone soft, has he?

[Leonard screaming]

- I knew you'd come.

- You said you'd tried
to contact us before.

- About Clare Kemplay.
Yes.

- Why?

- You were on that case,
weren't you?

I remember you.

You had that boy
put away for it.

- For Clare
and for two others, yeah.

- Clare spoke to me.

- What, in a séance?

- She begged for help.

She-she said,
"We are in hell."

- We?

- The others.

I saw her.

I saw the blood.

I saw the wings.

- What else?

- Words.

"4 LUV."

I saw her.

I saw the blood.

- He tried to stitch fucking
swan wings onto her, Maurice.

- That poor lass, Clare.

After what they say
happened to her,

I couldn't live with meself.

I'd been away, like.

She were driving.

- She?
- The boss' wife.

- Naughty boy.

What was the car?

- MG Sports.

- Color?
- Red.

Red one.

It were dead icy,

and we were mucking around,
you know.

I'd had more to drink
than her, like.

Anyway, we were
just coming past,

and this white van
comes out of nowhere.

- You know Clare Kemplay
was found round here?

- The wife said.

- So what'd you do then?

- She'd done something
to her neck,

and she was
a bit hysterical, like.

I went over to the van
to see if the driver were okay.

He were a bit stunned.

She wanted to drive on.

Worried we might get found out.

- So you got
a good look at him?

- Oh, aye.

I recognized him.

- Look at this place.

I give it ten years.

It will be fit
for naught but dogs.

They should burn it down.

- Number seven.

A priest.

- Wouldn't be the first time,
would it?

No church I know of, mind.

Didn't Arthur Piggott
live round here?

- Yeah, next door.

- We're looking
for Mr. Laws, love.

- Haven't you done enough?

We don't know anything
about that Morley lass.

- Where is he?

- Up at the allotment,
top of the field,

end shed.

- Watch yourself.

- Should have brought
a bloody picnic.

- Can I help you, gentlemen?

- Mr. Laws?
- Uh-huh.

- I'm DCS Molloy.
This is DS Jobson.

- I take it it's about
the Morley lass.

- What about her?
- Our Leonard.

You've found out something.

- It's you we want to
talk to this time, Mr. Laws...

down at Morley station.

Do you think Hazel
is still alive?

- I can't tell.

She's on the edge.

- This is bullshit.

- That boy's innocent.

You know he is.

[knocking on door]

[knocking continues]

- He didn't do it.

- Mrs. Cole, you really
should have telephoned

to make an appointment.

My diary's pretty busy
right now.

- You took on
that woman's pervert son.

- I'm not representing
Michael Myshkin,

if that's what you're
referring to, Mrs. Cole.

- Mary!
- He remembers us, Mary.

You remember us,
don't you, John?

- Of course I remember.

- He had nothing to do with her
or this new one.

- He has got a solicitor,
hasn't he?

- They gave us some guy
from Bradford.

- He's telling our Leonard
to confess,

but the lad's done nothing.

- Clive McGuiness.

- McGuiness?

- He's his father's double,
isn't he, Mary?

- It's us, John.

It's us.

- Right.
Same time tomorrow.

- Hello, there.
Here to see Leonard Cole.

- And you are?
- John Piggott.

I'm Mr. Cole's solicitor.

- Oh, is that right?

It appears Mr. Cole
already has a solicitor,

and it isn't you.

- That'd be the duty solicitor,
Mr. McGuiness.

Mr. Cole has dispensed
of his services

and now has
his own representation.

- And is there anything written
or signed by Mr. Cole

releasing Mr. McGuiness
from his role?

- That is why I'm here.

- Yeah, but it isn't signed.

- Of course
it's not bloody signed.

That's why I'm asking
to see him, so he can sign it.

- And you're not bloody
listening, Mr. Piggott.

You're not his solicitor,
so you can't see him.

- Can I use that telephone?
- No, you can't.

- Will you let his mother
see him?

- Yeah, if she was here
by 6:00.

Better get your skates on.

[horn honks]

[engine revs]

[tires squeal]

- Clunk-click.

[tires squealing]

- She's here to see her son,
Leonard Cole.

She's entitled.

- Mrs. Cole?

[whispering indistinctly]

- What is it?
What's happened?

- He's dead.

Hung himself.

- Ashes to ashes,

dust to dust.

May God bless Leonard's soul.

Amen.

- Hello.

- I were Leonard's girlfriend.

- I was almost his solicitor.

What's your name?
- Tessa.

- Fancy a quick jump, Tessa?
- Piss off.

- All right, see you later.

- What have you got in them?

- Lunch.
Do you want some?

- Have you got any blow?

- Don't snort that, will you?

- What is it?

- Me mum.

- You're really disgusting.

- But I've got a pure heart.

- ♪ Take the ribbon
from my hair ♪

♪ Shake it loose ♪

♪ and let it fall ♪

♪ laying soft
against your skin ♪

- Leonard were working
on the houses,

and we used to see him
and Michael mucking about

in the churchyard.

We started talking to him.

Michael were always about

'cause he could get us
booze and cigs

from the off-license.

We were just pissed
all the time.

Then I started going out
with Leonard.

He used to say, like, Michael
had never been kissed or out.

Leonard didn't kill himself.

He wouldn't.

- He didn't kill
that little girl either, did he?

- He couldn't.

- ♪ Let the devil
take tomorrow ♪

♪ Oh, tonight I need ♪

♪ a friend ♪

♪ Yesterday is dead and gone ♪

- I'm trying to track down

a member of staff,
Edward Dunford.

- Edward Dunford?

No, can't say
I've ever heard of him.

He was a crime correspondent,
worked for you in about 1974.

- I'd have been
at primary school.

- Thanks for that.

- Hi, it's Fiona at reception.

I've got a gentleman here
asking for an Edward Dunford.

- Eddie covered the beginning
of Clare Kemplay.

- It was horrendous.

- There was a load of stuff
they never released.

You don't want to know.

- There was
another crime correspondent,

wasn't there,
Jack Whitehead?

Whitehead also covered
Jeanette Garland, didn't he?

- Jeanette goes missing
from Castleford, July 1972.

Police went on about
a white Ford Transit,

Gypsies, the usual.

But again, trail went cold,
never found.

- You think they're connected,
Jeanette and Clare?

- Eddie thought so.

- Somebody must have
an address for him, surely?

- Eddie's dead.

A car crash, 1974.

- What about Hazel?

Think she's connected?

- Maybe.

- I'm sorry.
This is miserable stuff.

- No, it's not that.

It's this record.

It always does that to me.
It's stupid.

- Know what you mean.

I'm a soul man, meself.

[telephone rings]

- Hello?
- Maurice, it's me.

I've seen her, Maurice.

- What, Hazel?

- No, Jeanette.
Jeanette Garland.

- That's where the Garlands
used to live there.

- This place is worst of all.

Lost children's shoes...

and tears and...

blood.

Oh, it's dark.
She's afraid.

And she's suffocating;
she's crying.

She's crying!

She can't breathe
because of the dust.

She wants to come home!
Help me, Maurice.

- Stop it.
- No, I'm serious.

- Come on, now.

- She can't breathe, Maurice!

She's-she's suffocating.

- Come on, now.

[somber orchestral music]

♪ ♪

Mr. Piggott?

You're here about
Leonard Cole, are you?

- On behalf of his mother.

- How is she?

- How do you think?

- Well, how can I help you?

- She's asked me to collect
Leonard's belongings,

you know,
his personal effects.

- Sure.

I can't promise you
the motorcycle today.

It's still with Forensics.

I'm afraid the late Mr. Cole

is still very much part
of the investigation.

All right, well, if you'd just
like to sign this, please.

- To be honest with you,

I seem to have got myself
up to my neck.

- A bit out of your depth,
are you?

- Bitten off
more than I can chew,

which is saying something,
as you can see.

- Go on.

- To be straight with you,

I'm also representing
Michael Myshkin.

You know who I mean?

- Yes, Mr. Piggott,
I know who you mean.

- Well, I'm in the process
of preparing

a preliminary appeal
on his behalf.

- Didn't he plead guilty?

- Diminished responsibility.
- Well, then.

- One might argue that his pleas
were ill-considered,

even that the confession itself

might have been gained
by unlawful means.

- That's a very serious
allegation, Mr. Piggott.

- Just examples,
possible avenues to explore.

As I say, I'm feeling
somewhat overfaced.

- Oh, no, I think you have
the measure of things.

- No, no, no, not at all, no.

I just need to be a little bit
clearer about everything

before I spend any more
of my client's money.

- What, and you want me
to tell you?

- I'd like you to tell me

if Michael Myshkin
murdered Clare Kemplay.

- Yes, he did.

- Alone?

- Boss, urgent.
It's Rochdale.

- If you'd like
to wait downstairs,

I'll make sure
you get his things.

- Think about this, Mr. Jobson.

I don't think Myshkin
killed Clare,

and I don't think Leonard Cole
took Hazel Atkins,

and I don't think
he killed himself.

- Good-bye, Mr. Piggott.

- Policemen told you
to say you killed Clare.

But you didn't kill her?

But you signed a piece of paper
to say you did.

- They said if I didn't,
I'd never see me mum again.

- The police said that?

Your first solicitor,
Mr. McGuiness,

did you tell Mr. McGuiness
that you didn't kill Clare?

And what did he say?

- He said it was too late.

He said it would make things
worse for me.

- Do you remember Leonard Cole?

- He were me best friend.

- Michael,
did Leonard kill Clare?

- No.

- Who did, then?

- Leonard knows.

- Leonard's dead, Michael.

- It's not my fault.

It's not.

It wasn't me who done it.

- McGuiness!

[knocking on door]

- What do you think
you're doing?

You're not on the pills again,
are you, John?

- Leonard Cole.

- Leonard Cole was guilty;
he hung himself.

End of fucking story, okay?

Now, if you don't bloody mind,

I want to get dressed,
get some breakfast.

Some of us
still have an office to go to.

- Michael Myshkin.

- What about him?

He did it;
he confessed.

- You were
his solicitor, Clive.

You were supposed
to defend him, protect him.

- You know what
hypogonadism is?

It means your balls don't grow.

That's what Myshkin had.

Poor bastard
just couldn't control himself.

Week before he did what he did
to that poor lass,

he was wanking himself off
in front of two teenage girls

in some fucking graveyard.

- What were their names?

- Whose?

- Girls in graveyard!

- I can't remember, John,

for the life of me,
after all these years.

- Remember.

- Skinny.

Jail bait.

You know, the same
as all of them.

Tessa someone.

- Tessa?

- Cole's girlfriend,
wasn't she?

John.

John!

Maurice told me
about your father.

Understandable
you want to right some wrongs.

Jesus.

- You fucking set him up!

How could you do that?

- They made me!

The police made me.

They can do what they want.

- I don't believe you.

- Leonard were dead rotten
to Michael.

He used to tease him,

try and make him
go with lasses.

It were fucking cruel.

But Michael wasn't bothered.

He wasn't interested.

He only had eyes for one girl.

He used to talk about her
all the time.

- You're lying.

- He had a photo.

He used to talk to it...

for hours.

- Fuck off.

Did you ever actually
see them together?

Did you?

- He used to say
he could save her.

- Save her.

Save Clare, what do you mean?

- Not Clare, Jeanette.

Jeanette Garland.

- Cheers.

- Not my idea of discreet,
Maurice.

- It's not my patch,
is it, sir?

- Nothing was found.

A false lead.

Got it?

A bloody medium?

- You sent me to see her, sir.

- Are you in love
with that mad cow or something?

Do you believe in that shit,
do you?

- I believe they could be the
remains of Jeanette Garland.

- You whinge worse than
a bitch in heat, Maurice.

Now, you listen to me.

You get the evidence we need

to nail Leonard fucking Cole
in his coffin

and don't fuck up.

It is very fucking cold
out there.

- That poor lass, Clare.

After what they say
happened to her,

I couldn't live with myself.

- So you got
a good look at him?

- Oh, aye.

I recognized him.

- It's you we want to talk to
this time, Mr. Laws.

You know Clare Kemplay
was found round here?

- Put your hands
flat on the table.

Nasty.

- Yeah, you
should get that seen to.

- Stand up.

- Come on.

This way.

- On your toes.

- [grunts]

- Dick? Dick!

- Morning, gents.

- Do you like rats, Reverend?

Eh?

Come on, get him!

Get him!

Come on!

- [screaming]

- What do you say, eh?
What do you say?

- I've got nothing to say.

I did nothing.

I know nothing.

- Is that right, eh?
Eh?

Do you like it?
Eh?

- John Dawson.

- What?

What did you say?

- You ask Mr. Dawson.

He knows what I did.

He knows what I know.

He'll tell you all about it.

- We've got him.

He fucking did it.

You saw that.

Bill?

We know he did it.

- No, we don't, Maurice.

No, we don't.

- Is he expecting us?

- Looks like it.

- I didn't expect to see you
here today, Bill.

- Nice surprise.

- Bad penny.

You remember Mr. Jobson?

- Of course I do.
Hello, Maurice.

- John, is there somewhere
we can have a word?

- You want a word, Bill?

- Yeah, a word.

- All right.
Come up to the house.

The wife's away;
we'll get some privacy.

It's beautiful, isn't it?

I had an architect design it
in the shape of a swan.

Two wings, see?

Lovely job.

I wanted a word with you,
as it happens, Bill.

I've got a problem with Gypos
up at the Hunslet site.

- Gypos?
They won't be a problem.

- Glad to hear it.

Don't want a few pikeys

getting in the way
of our investment, do we?

- John loves swans.

- They're beautiful creatures.

Do you know, when swans mate,
they mate for life?

- One of them dies,
the other pines the death.

- Very romantic.

What can I do for you?

- It's about Clare Kemplay.

- We've got Martin Laws
down at Wakefield.

- Reverend Laws, you mean?

I wish you'd have
come to us before, Bill.

- How's that, then, John?

- Could've saved lots of bother.

- How do you mean?

- Reverend Laws was with me
all that day.

Family do.

He were here with me.

- You should've
told us sooner, John.

- It's bollocks.

Fucking bollocks.

- Got no reason
to hold him now.

- It's fucking bollocks,
and you know it.

- Finished?

Have you fucking finished,
Maurice?

We fucking owe John Dawson.

John Dawson is king,
and don't you forget it.

We have a positive sighting
of a white Ford Transit.

There's a vehicle
of a similar description

at that Gypo camp
up at Hunslet.

We'll hit them tonight.

I'll ring around.

Make it midnight.

Okay, Maurice?

Maurice?

- Yeah.

Is Eddie there?

Dunford?

I thought you were
a fucking journalist.

Well, you'd best start
asking questions.

You don't need to know.

Are you interested
in the Romany Way?

White vans and Gypos.

Hunslet-Beeston exit
off the M1.

Mischief Night came early,

and you're late.

[distant screams]

- Eddie Dunford's
being a bloody nuisance.

- Dunford doesn't know anything.

- He knows enough.

He's not in your pocket
or anyone else's.

- Isn’t John Dawson
the real problem?

- How's that, Maurice?

- Putting his private pleasures
before business.

- Before our business.

- Dawson has been warned.

- Dick's right.

Our business.

Two little problems.

Not so much.

- I've got Bob Craven
and Dougie onto it.

- Thank you, Bill.

Make it nice and clean.

Good.
Solved.

Our investment's secure.

What we've planned,

what we've all worked
so hard for,

it'll not get thrown away.

I won't let that happen.

To the North,
where we do what we want.

- To us all,

and to the North.

- To the North.
- The North.

- The North,
where we do what we want.

[laughter]

- Bloody oasis,
isn't it, Maurice?

We've seen some things,
haven't we?

In five years' time,
the game will be over.

We'll leave it to the new lot,
put our feet up,

meet up from time to time
in a place like this,

talk about the old days,

the good old, bad old days.

The lab report
came back from Rochdale.

Chicken bones.

Bloody chicken bones.

You and your psychic girlfriend.

- Can I see the report?

- There's a reason you never
made it over Bill, Maurice.

You ever wonder about that?

Probably the same reason

your wife
up and left with the kids.

You're a whiner.

Tipping off Dunford that time.

Thought I didn't know?

You cunt.

You and your guilty
fucking conscience, Maurice.

- What about Hazel?

- Hazel Atkins is dead.

Leonard Cole killed her.

You know that in your heart.

Now, fuck off
and retire quietly.

- Mr. Myshkin
has been refusing his food.

He's also taken
to smearing excrement

on the walls of his room.

Both staff and his family feel

he might possibly attempt
to take his own life.

Michael.

You've got a visitor.

I'll be outside.

Ten minutes.

- Michael.

I want you to tell me
about Jeanette Garland.

Michael, please.

Look, I've tried to help you.

I still want to help you.

You knew her, didn't you?

You had Jeanette's photo,
didn't you?

You carried it
with you everywhere.

You talked to it.

- I used to see her sometimes.

The others laughed,
but she didn't.

- When did you last see her?

- That day.

- Where?

- Castleford.

- Where in Castleford?

- In a van.

She wasn't smiling.

She wasn't waving.

I loved her.

- Who was she with, Michael?

Who took her?

- You know.

- I want you to tell me.

- You know!

Everybody knows.
Everybody!

I saw.

I watched.

The Wolf made me.

- Michael...

who is he?

- Your dad were there too.

Your dad were
the Wolf's friend.

- Dad.

[wind whooshing]

[hinge squeaking]

[door bangs]

[pigeons cooing]

[bird wings fluttering]

[grunting]

- I see it at night.

I see it all the time.

It won't go away.

I told you.

I told you a long time ago.

I could have saved them.

I could have.

- It's not your fault, Michael.

It's not your fault.

- I told you.

I did, didn't I?

- Yeah.

Yeah, you did.

- I told.

And you said for me not to say.

You said.

- I said if you told them,

that you would never see
your mum again, didn't I?

I said if you told them,

you'd spend the rest
of your life in prison.

- You did.

- And I said for you to say
that you killed Clare

and Susan and Jeanette.

- [sobbing]

- And I'm sorry, Michael.

I'm so sorry.

- This is for you.

For all the things
you made me do.

For all the things
you made me see.

For voices in my head
and silence of night.

For the boy I was
and boys that saw.

For every little kid
you fucked

and all their dads
who liked to watch.

Your tongue in my mouth

and your lies in my ear.

Loving you, loving me.

This is where it ends.

It ends here.

- This is BJ.

[floorboards creaking]

- I'm going to teach you
how to love me.

Hello, BJ.

Ah, poor boy.

I tried to look after you.

I tried to protect you.

Put it down.

[gun cocks]

Put it down, BJ.

It doesn't suit you.

Good boy.

Let it go.

I'm going to teach you
how to love me.

Do you remember?

You were the first.

You were the best.

[rocks crumbling]

[water dripping]

Mr. Piggott is king today.

You be nice to Mr. Piggott.

The sea is the way,

thy path is through
the great waters,

thy footsteps unknown.

You stand at the door
with the keys to death and hell.

[electric drill whirring]

[gunshot]

- [grunts]

[gun cocks]

[laughs]

There you are.

You haven't the guts.

[gunshot]

[groans]

[gun cocks]

The seas all blood;

the waters, wormwood.

[gunshot]

- Hazel?

♪ Twinkle, twinkle ♪

♪ little star ♪

♪ How I wonder ♪

♪ what you are ♪

- Here is one that got away
and lived to tell the tale,

from Karachi Social Club
and Griffin Hotel,

Wakefield nick
and St. Mary's Hostel,

motorways and car parks,

parks and toilets,

idle rich and unemployed.

From shit they sell
and shit we buy,

from kids with no mums
and mums with no kid.

From all dead meat
and my dead friends,

pubs and clubs,

from gutters and stars,

local tips
and old slag heaps.

From badgers and owls,

wolves, and swans.

Here is a son of Yorkshire.

Here is one that got away.

One, two, three, four,
five, six, seven.

All good children
go to heaven.