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.

# Eia, Mater

# Fons amoris, fons amoris

# Me sentire vim doloris

# Me sentire vim doloris... #

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.

The bloody lot of us.

We'll keep this brief.
John here has acquired offices

for us in the centre 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 pocket.

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, er...

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 t'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 one hundred million pounds.

There's land close by the
Hunslet and Beeston exit of the M1.

Be ideal.

We're going to to make
this happen, gents.

And we're going to make
some bloody money, too.

Some fucking, real, bloody money.

To us all.
And to the North.

To the North!

To the North,
where we do what we want.

At approximately 4pm 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

one hundred 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 whereabouts.

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'll 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.

Oh, aye, what do they say?

Nine years ago, the same school,
goes missing,

Turns up dead in the
foundations of a new estate.

Usual bollocks, then.

Talking of which...
Ugh, 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

# Cos I'll be gone

# Oh, but the thought of me, baby

# Still gonna linger on

# You're going to miss me

# Sure going to miss me

# Cos I'll be gone

# Sure gonna miss me... #

There you go, Mam.

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 goats
for a sin offering,

and one ram for a burnt offering.

And Aaron shall offer his
bullock of the sin offering...

Mr Piggott?

Mrs Myshkin.

Oh, your poor mam.

Sad you couldn't see more of her.

Yeah.

How's Michael?

You heard about that little girl?

What little girl?

Hazel Atkins.

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.

# Closer

# Mm, closer

# Move, yeah... #

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 lotta...
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... 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?

The Wolf.

The Wolf!
The Wolf!

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

All good children go to heaven.

Penny on the water,

Tuppence on the sea

Threepence on the railway
And out goes she.

Good luck, young man.

Mind how you go.

Cheers.

Hello, love.

Dick Alderman.

This is Maurice Jobson.

I know Mr Jobson.

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.

Well, 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.

Well, 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?

Hm? Hazel?

Shall we find out?

Right.

Put your hands on the table.

It's OK. 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.

Oh, 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 owt
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 her fucking stuff, Dick?

Wood Street, probably.

Let's go.

What, now?
Yes. Now.

'All the things BJ's 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.

Aye. Good old, Jack.

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

Gentlemen, we'll keep this brief.

At about 4pm yesterday
evening, 3rd 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 a plastic... '

The lad found her.
He works on the site.

What's your name, son?
Leonard.

Leonard Cole.
Builder's mate.

We need a statement from
you, Leonard. All right?

I'm taking him down now.

Where's Bill?

He's over there.

OK.

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.

A tenner?!

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.

Um, 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'll 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 yourself.

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 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 OK.

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.

But I bet your mum's keeping
your old room for you, eh?

Keeping it all just the way it was.

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

< Yeah.

Good.

And how about your mates? >

Do they come, do they? >

Hm?

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

That photo studio in Castleford.

Who was your mate there, Michael?

Dick.

Michael?

Who's your friend
at the photo studio?

What about Leonard? >

Never hear off him? >

Leonard?

Yeah, Leonard Cole. How's he doing?

What? He never comes? Never writes?

No.

Christmas card?

< No.

You two were best mates, I heard.

< Yeah.

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.

OK, 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.
Father was one of us.

Arthur the Pig.

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

'Watch you sleep in bed.

'And BJ is coming. '

'Been 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 and studs.

Been in the belly six hours.

Forensics have
dirt from his nails,

blood from his arse,
cum from his cock.

We've not even started
to interview the little twat.

It's a pity "The Badger" can't
be with us. Like old times, eh?

What have I done?

There you go, Leonard.

What've I done?

What have I done?

Put your hands flat on the desk.

That looks nasty.
You ought to get it seen to.

You...

You were the one that
found Clare Kemplay.

We had a chat about that.
Do you remember?

Aye. I didn't do nowt.

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!

Put your hands back.

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!

Owl's gone soft, has he?

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 seance?

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.

Poor love.

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 myself.

I'd been away, like.

She were driving.

She?

The boss's wife.

Naughty boy.

What was the car?

MG Sports. Colour?

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?

Wife said.

So what did you do then?

Well, she'd done summat to her neck.

She was a bit hysterical, like.

I went over to van
to see if driver were OK.

He were a bit stunned.

Well, she wanted to drive on.

Worried we might get found out.

So, you got a good look at him?

Oh, aye.

I recognised him.

Look at this place.

I give it ten years.

It will be fit for nowt 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 the allotment, top of field.
End shed.

Hey. 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.

He didn't do it.

You should
have phoned to make an appointment.

My diary's busy now.

You took on that
woman's pervert son.

I'm not representing Michael Myshkin,
if that's what you're referring to.

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?

Some guy from Bradford.

He's telling 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.
Mr Cole's solicitor.

Oh, is that right?

Er, it appears Mr Cole already
has a solicitor and it isn't you.

That'd be the duty solicitor.

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.

But it isn't signed.

Of course it's not.

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

And you're not
bloody listening.

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 six.

Better get your skates on.

Clunk-click.

She's here to see her son.
Leonard Cole. She's entitled.

Mrs Cole? >

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!

OK. 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 mam.

You're really

< disgusting.

But I've got a pure heart.

# Take the ribbon from my hair

# Shake it loose

# And let it fall

# Lay it soft

# Against your skin... #

Leonard were working on the houses >

and we used to see him and Michael
mucking about in the churchyard.

Started talking to him.

Michael were always about >

because he could get us booze
and cigs from off licence. >

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 owt.

# All I'm taking

# Is your time

# Help me make it

# Through the night... #

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

# Lord, tonight I need

# A friend

# Yesterday is dead and gone... #

I'm trying to find a member of staff,
Edward Dunford.

Edward Dunford?

No, can't say I've 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, weren't there?

< Jack Whitehead?

Whitehead also covered
Jeanette Garland, didn't he?

Jeanette goes missing
from Castleford, July 1972.

The police went on about a white
Ford Transit, gypsies, the usual.

But again, the trail went cold.
Never found.

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

Eddie thought so.

Somebody must have
an address for him, surely?

Eddie's dead. >

Car crash.

1974.

What about Hazel?

Do you think she's connected?

Maybe. >

< I'm sorry,

this is miserable stuff.

No, it's not that. >

It's this record. Always
does that to me. It's stupid.

< Know what you mean.

I'm a soul man myself.

Hello?

< Maurice, it's me.
I've seen her, Maurice.

What? Hazel?

< No, Jeanette. Jeanette Garland.

That's where the Garlands
used to live.

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!

Hey...

She can't breathe
because of the dust.

She wants to come home.
Help me!

Stop it!

No-one sees!

Now, come on.

She can't breathe, Maurice!
She's suffocating.

Look, come on, now.

Mr Piggott?

You're here about
Leonard Cole?

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. Erm...

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.

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?

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, I know
who you mean.

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.

Just examples,
possible avenues to explore.

As I say, I'm feeling
somewhat overfaced.

Oh, I think you have
the measure of things.

< No, no, not at all. No.

< I just need to be

a little bit clearer before I spend
any more of my client's money.

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.

Goodbye, Mr Piggott.

< The policemen told you
to say you killed Clare?

But you didn't kill her?

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...
It wasn't me done it.

McGuiness!

What do you think you're doing?
You're not on the pills again?

Leonard Cole.

Leonard Cole was guilty.
He hung himself.

End of fucking story, OK?

Now, if you don't bloody mind,

I'm gonna 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.

The 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?

The girls IN GRAVEYARD!

Well, I can't remember, John,

after all these years!

Remember.

Skinny.

Jailbait.

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 weren't bothered.

He weren'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.

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? Do you believe in that shit?

I believe they could be
the remains of Jeanette Garland.

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

Dick? Dick!

Come here.

Morning, gents.

Do you like rats, Reverend? Eh?

Come on! Get him!

Get him! Come on!

No! Yes!

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. Hm?

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?

Yeah, of course I do.
Hello, Maurice.

John, erm, 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, in'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 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.

You know when swans mate,

they mate for life.

When one of them dies,
the other pines to 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 come to us before, Bill.

How's that, then, John?

Well, could've saved a lot 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. OK, 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.

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, where we do what we want.

Bloody oasis, isn't it, Maurice?

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

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.

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 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.

But you know!

Everybody knows. Everybody!

I saw.

I watched.

The Wolf made me.

Michael, who is he?

Your dad were there too.

Your dad was the Wolf's friend.

Dad.

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 mam again.

I said if you told them

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

You did. You did.

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

and Susan and Jeanette.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

Argh...

Oh ho ho! There you are.

God...

You haven't the guts.

The sea is all blood...

The waters wormwood...

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. '

Subtitles by
Red Bee Media