All language subtitles for 03 - The Point of Vanishing.en

I'll be two seconds.

Night, Coleman.
Night, ma'am.

I can't wait,
sweetheart. I'm so excited.

Couple more days.

There's a whole new world out there.

Urgh!

What?
I see you're on the pull tonight!

Every man has his weakness.
Yeah, fast cars... Single malts...

Nurses with starched white cotton.
Garlic bread?

Calls herself a woman of the world!

Erm, I know tonight's soiree
has been in the diary for weeks,

but I happen to have stumbled
on some rather spectacular news.

Fact is, I've just had word
that one among our number

has been awarded
an extraordinary promotion.

So I won't go on, but suffice
to say thoroughly well deserved,

completely out of the blue...
if you'll please raise your glasses

to Inspector Fiona McKendrick.

Congratulations.
Kept that quiet!

I don't know how I'll get by
without you.

Here lies Inspector Lewis,
eclipsed by a woman of 28.

31.
What's her gender got to do with it?

Where's she going? Somewhere with
heavy rainfall and plenty of sheep?

No. Scotland Yard,
Commissioner's Office.

Blimey! There's contacts for you.

Bye.
Goodbye, Robbie.

Good luck, Fiona. Congratulations.

Thank you.

Goodbye, then. Keep in touch.

Will do.

All right?
Yup.

That water was once extremely hot.

You may find some surface burns
on the killer's hands.

Unless he was wearing gloves.
Pedant!

Anything stolen?
SOCO think not.

Name? Any ID?
I found that in a bag by the door.

We are submitting a DNA test,
just to be sure.

OK.

How come I never get those scrappy
burglar-caught-in-the-act killings?

Cos you'd be bored stiff.

Steven Mullan?

Where do I know that name from?

If you get any closer,
she's gonna poke your eye out.

Just...studying the evidence.

I found this in his jacket pocket.

The Hunt In The Forest - Uccello.

Early Venetian. Nuts on perspective.
It's in the Ashmolean.

Florentine.
What?

You said 'Venetian'.
Well, how do you know?

I've got this at home
on a set of coasters.

No name.

It was no dream.

Anything on our database?

Yeah, he's got a record.
Drink driving, October 2006.

Went to Pentonville.
Got out seven months ago.

That's right! Steven Mullan.

Only it was a bit more than drunk
driving. Try 'attempted murder'.

Did he live here alone?
Neighbours say there's a housemate.

Alex Hadley.
Uniform are out looking for him.

Steven Mullan.

Stevie? Where?
At his place, over in Marston.

Crumbs!

He's supposed to be on at three!

I suppose I'll have to get Janine
to cover for him.

We're sorry for your loss,
Mr Cotton.

Well, he's only been here
two minutes!

Can you be more specific?

How long was he working here, love?
Three, four months?

Yeah, something like that.

Part time, he was.
The odd afternoon.

No great workhorse.
Still, good with the ladies...

and the gents - some of them.

Yeah, I can hardly believe it!

Sure you don't want to er...top up
that tan, seeing as you're here?

That's not tan.
That's blood pressure.

Oh, pick up, babe!

Please, come on, pick up!

Come on, pick up!

Are you OK in there? Love?

Yeah, I'll be out in a minute!
Open the door.

Come on! Open the door!

Oh... Oh, God.

I've always wanted to have a go
in one of those. Alex Hadley?

Sergeant Hathaway. Inspector Lewis.
Oxford Police.

We need a word about your housemate,

Steven Mullan.
Steven?

I'm afraid...he was found dead
in your place earlier this morning.

What? No!

Are you OK to answer some questions?

Yeah.

Yeah, go ahead.
You lived with Mullan long?

A few months. We were housemates.
I rented the back room off him.

Old friends?
No, I saw the ad in a local paper.

He...he needed the extra cash
after he got out of prison.

Did you get on all right?
Yeah.

We'd work out together some
evenings. You know, lose some weight

and then put it all back on
down the pub.

He was trying to keep fit
for some girlfriend.

Who was she, this girlfriend?
I've no idea.

And where were you last night?
Double shift. I...

I left the house around ten
and Steven drove me into town.

I was about to clock off
when you guys caught up with me.

Can anyone confirm that?
Ask my boss, if you like.

Did Steven ever talk about his life
before he went to prison?

He said he was a different man
back then.

He didn't mention
any troubles or grudges?

A man called Tom Rattenbury?
Who?

No matter.
Is that it?

Not quite.

Sorry.

Bit of a shock.

Take your time.

Forensics say it's yours,
if you want it. Fingerprints?

Plenty of smudges,
but nothing definitive.

Tom Rattenbury, physics don?

Yeah, until he morphed into
celebrity atheist.

Absolutely ubiquitous, at one point.

Books, newspaper articles...

Saw him in a TV documentary once.
Not half bad.

If you like that sort of thing.
Not your cup of tea?

It's just popular science
and sabre-rattling.

I dare say it reads rather well
on a beach.

It pays the bills. You are...?

Detective Inspector Lewis, sir.
Oxfordshire Police.

This is Sergeant Hathaway.

You are forgiven. Enter.

We're all in the conservatory.

Yeah.
Yeah, I know, it's amazing.

Cecile, darling.

These gentlemen are from
Oxford Police.

And what's he done now?

We're here regarding
a Steven Mullan.

He was found murdered this morning
in Marston.

What?
It's all right, love.

I don't expect
we'll be sending flowers!

Tom...

Oh, I'm sorry. This is our son
Daniel and his inamorata Hope.

Students, obviously.
Pleased to meet you, Inspector.

Our daughter, Jessica.

Mullan? Is that the guy...
Yeah.

Steven Mullan was a certain sick and
twisted individual. One night...

Darling! Time and place.
Better she hears it from us.

One night, three years ago,
after he saw a promotional billboard

for my husband's latest television
enterprise...

It was one of your more red-blooded
attacks on the Church.

What did it say?

Anyway... This man, Steven Mullan,
climbed into a ten-ton truck

and drove it, in the name
of Jesus Christ Our Saviour,

straight into our hatchback.

He tried to kill me.

Only it wasn't Tom at the wheel,
as he'd thought.

It was Jessica.

Broken spine. Ruptured spleen.
Torn pancreas.

11 operations, and still counting.
Jess!

I'm sorry.

Don't be.

I can't seem to help myself.

We were all having
such a nice afternoon!

If you could each just confirm
your whereabouts last night,

then we'll get out of your hair.

When last night?
After ten.

I was here with Jessica,
planning her birthday party.

Tom, you were...
In my study, working out my notes.

I may have gone for a drive
at some point.

What time, sir?

Don't know. It was dark.

My machete was...
Don't be funny.

Anyone vouch for you?
Anyone see you?

No.

What about you, sir?

I was revising up in the loft.

By the way, I don't suppose this
means anything to either of you?

We found it at Mr Mullan's.
Uccello?

Nothing at all.

If you could try and remember
your route from last night, sir,

we might pull something off
the traffic cameras.

You can do that?
As a last resort, yes.

Is your daughter OK?

Thursday afternoon swimming club.

You know, Inspector, what
that man did to us was unspeakable,

but in a strange way,
it's brought us all closer together.

Neither Tom nor I dwell in the past.

We'll be in touch.

Cile... The postcard...

Not now.

Do you think
they'd give me a borrow?

How's your Spanish?

Bit worse than your German.

You know, this looks more like
a race than a hunt.

How do you mean?

Well, these riders,

the dogs, these spear-carriers...

What are they - stags?

Looks like they're all in it
together.

They're all racing off
in the middle of the night.

Where are they trying to get to?

Go on, enlighten me.
You know you're dying to.

'Punto di fuga'. Vanishing point.

First rule of perspective.
Giorgio Vasari.

Don't pretend you didn't get that
out of the book!

Anyway, there has to be more to it
than that.

There is. You're quite right.

In Renaissance terms,

the hunt was a courtly metaphor
for the pursuit of love.

The hunter - the male rampant.

The hind or deer -
the defenceless female.

But in the game of desire,
the chase is so much more uncertain.

Is the deer fleeing for her life,

or leading her lover away,
deeper into danger?

The hunter doesn't know.
That's the point.

But he can't stop himself.
He's swept on, into the forest,

to some point of pleasure
out there in the darkness.

Sorry. Forgive me, I...
No, no, not at all.

It's our most treasured canvas.

By members of the public,
not just old show-offs like myself.

Does this mean anything to you?

'It was no dream'. Thomas Wyatt.

Right. Who is...?

'They flee from me
that sometime did me seek.'

And, regretfully,
I must do the same.

You'll find
all you need in our shop.

Thank you...
Frances Wheeler.

Thanks.
Hobson's postmortem report.

A woman of few words, obviously.

Time of death?

Between midnight and one,
Wednesday night.

Drowning.
50% burns couldn't have helped.

Anything from Forensics? Prints?
Fibres?

Plenty of both,
but nothing we can get a match on.

You still fancy Rattenbury
for the murder?

Well,
Mullan tries to kill his daughter

and all he gets
is a drunk-driving charge.

Hardly justice, is it?

How's that for high art?

That's the billboard that Mullan saw
the night he went after Jessica.

You think he was asking for it?

I wouldn't go that far, but he must
have felt his share of culpability.

Hasn't been on telly since.

What do we know about Steven Mullan?

In and out of young offenders'
institutions.

Got into the Bible in a big way
when he tried to get off the heroin.

The Bible became his new addiction,
according to the parole report,

so he jumps
to the obvious conclusion

that Rattenbury is the Antichrist.

What?
No, it's just...

you make him sound
almost like a monk,

yet in his room...nude pictures on
the wall, marijuana in the ashtray...

Isn't that a bit chilled out
for a recovering fanatic?

Ooh... Speaking of fanatics,

the Politburo wanted me
to give you this.

Fiona McKendrick's leaving card.

You forgot to sign it.
Wouldn't know what to write.

Well, something witty yet sincere.

Personal, but not...you know, heavy.

I'd be surprised
if she even read it.

Oh?

Not one for a backward glance,
our Fiona.

Secret of her success.

What's going on?

Tintoretto.

Now, for all his Sturm und Drang,
he cared about craft.

A master of the vanishing point.

Rather like our American cousin,

who obviously has better things
to do with her time

than slum it here with us lot.

No matter. In Hope's absence...

..what do you make of this?

- Get in, Miss!
- What more can you tell us?

Get away from the car, please!

Stand back!

So much for sitting out the storm!

Are you OK?
Yeah.

This is Coleman, everyone.

Hi, Coleman.
Hi.

Can I have a gander at that?
Sure.

I thought I recognised you.

What am I missing?

I'm...Hope Ransome.

Rhodes scholar.
Daughter of Carl Ransome.

Carl Ransome the...
US Defence Secretary?

Close. Secretary of State...

..and the next leader of
the free world, according to my mom.

Blimey! Where to?

It was all my idea. We're just
finding it hard to shake off...

- The Hulk.
- The Hulk being...?

Right.

He takes the bodyguard thing
to a whole new level.

Guy's like a 300lb chastity belt.

Sorry, Inspector. We really must.

We have to get
my husband across town.

He's coming out of purdah at last.

I had my arm twisted. Some silly
debate at the Oxford Union.

Why did I agree to the bloody thing?
Do you a power of good.

What is it you call them, Dan?

'Bear-baiting
for the overprivileged.'

I'm afraid we are not done yet.

You told me last night that
you were working on Wednesday night.

In the loft here, you said.

Misleading a police investigation.
That's not good.

Mitigating circumstances!

Would you like to put the record
straight?

He was with me all night.

Sir?

She's right.

We left college at around...
When was it? Nine?

And I dropped her home around four.

Now, if you'll forgive me.
Of course.

What is your talk at the union?

Er, 'Doing Without'.
Without...?

Who do you think?

Mum's beside herself.
With joy, that is.

About your brother's whirlwind
romance?

Well, she practically set them up.

Friends in high places.

So does she know the Ransomes?

She hung out with them
in the Vineyard

when she was working in the States.

Mum used to be editor of Harper's
Magazine in the good old days.

Editor? I didn't know that.

Well, she came home after
my accident to take care of me.

So she gave up her career?

She kind of blamed herself.

And Dad, obviously.

It's so silly. It's not like...

if she'd been around more,
none of this would've happened.

How did you feel about
Steven Mullan's death?

You met him, though, didn't you?

No.

His prison record said
that you met him

in March last year.
That Restorative Justice programme,

where the criminal and the victim
meet face to face.

Oh, that.
How did it go?

We just...sat in the car park.

Mum said, 'If you don't go
through those gates,

you'll never be rid of him.

He'll be in your head
for the rest of your life.'

But I couldn't do it.

Just couldn't.

Stupid thing is, she was right.
He's still here.

Even though he's dead, even though
I never even saw his face.

She tends to be right
about most things.

Well, mothers
aren't always easy to live with.

Not easy to live without, though.

Thank God for swimming club.
It's my one hour of freedom.

Not that she entirely approves.
Why not?

Because she can't control me there.

She's obsessive. She...made me
a promise after my accident

that she was going to throw me
the biggest party ever for my 21st.

Anyway, it's on Saturday and...
they've taken out this massive loan,

which I'm not supposed to know
about.

Is that you?

Sort of.

She looks so alive, doesn't she?

Still, I don't miss her one bit.

Would you like to come?
To the birthday party?

I could do with some moral support.

Sure.

Atheists like Tom here suffer
from one thing, and one thing only:

it's pulpit envy!

They see the golden light
and they want it all for themselves.

- Quite so!
- Hear, hear!

Oh, I get that a lot.
People look at me and they say,

'What have you learnt, Tom,
from your stint in the wilderness?'

What they really mean is,
'Are you one of us yet?

Are you ready
to put up and shut up?'

Fat chance of that!

Well, I've got news
for all you good people.

Even in my darkest hour,

I still think I'm better off
without some helping hand

pushing me down the one true path!

'The responsibility is mine,'
Bertrand Russell said,

'but so, too, is the opportunity.'

Hear, hear!
Opportunity? Opportunity?

This man makes a martyr
of his only daughter

and still he won't shift an inch!

Is that what you really think?

Do you honestly think,
if I could have my time over,

I wouldn't change a thing?

You may believe what you like:

choirs of angels, UFOs,
the power of Prozac.

Whatever helps you sleep.

I may not share your illusions...

..but I'm no happier without them.

Ah, Inspector Lewis.
Dr Manfred Canter.

Shouldn't you be in uniform?

Not since they issued them
in flares. You teach theology?

Huh! This old rent-a-gob?

Don't be fooled, Inspector.

They only invite him along
cos he's good for a scrap.

You've known each other a long time?
We were students together.

Frightfully brilliant.

Of course, Tom beat me to
a fellowship by a poxy three weeks.

Cecile turned the whole thing
into a silly competition.

My wife's idea of a joke.

What was the prize
for this competition?

Ten quid, wasn't it?
It was rather more than that.

Well, where have you been
all my life?

Not yet born, for most of it!

Ouch!

Dr Canter is running a course
in Italian art.

Next stop, early Renaissance.

Uccello, and all that?

Among others.

We missed you at the seminar today.
Frightfully dull.

I expect you coped.

Oh, well, I muddled through,
as one does,

but always hankering after
something more.

Spoken like a true prophet.

And then I saw her face and,
in the words of Mr Neil Diamond,

'Now I'm a believer'.
Oh, shut up!

- Oh, I'm so sorry!
- No need.

Hey.

Yeah?

I don't like the guy
coming on to you.

You can't throw a drink in his face
every time...

Yeah, good night. See you later.

No, you can't.
Yes, I can.

Daniel OK?

Sure. He just gets kinda jealous,
that's all.

Does he have reason to be?
Oh, come on! I'm not that flattered.

Anyway, Manfred's just a show-off.
He's one of life's eternal flirts.

Hmm. Has he played up like this
before?

Daniel, I mean?

A little, but...you know,

nothing that's not age-
and gender-appropriate.

Will you please stop rescuing me?
I'll try not to make a habit of it.

Maybe you should work for my dad.

I have a nasty feeling
he wouldn't understand my accent.

I could be your interpreter.
I couldn't afford you.

Too old for ambition, is that it?
I've seen where it gets you.

Are they here for me?
Afraid so.

Come on. This way.

I had this crazy dream that...
over here I could...

I don't know, disappear.

Sounds very human to me.

Oh, boy. You know,
when you're a long way from home,

you do stupid stuff.

You want to tell me about it?

Some rock!
Congratulations.

They're all set
to announce the engagement

at Jessica's birthday party and...

I don't know anything about them.

The night of the murder, Daniel
says he was with you until four.

My sergeant spoke to
the press photographer

who took those snaps for the paper.

According to him, the pair of you
slipped out of the night club

just before midnight.

Daniel proposed outside college.

He said he'd forgotten the ring.
He needed to go pick it up.

How long was he away, Hope?

About three hours.

Please, don't say anything.

There's no point lying to us, Daniel.

After you left Hope at college,
what then?

Listen, I was getting engaged.

It's a big step.
I just needed some head space.

There.
Now can you please leave him alone?

Where did you go?
Home...

..to get my head straight.

What, drove or...?
Walked.

Yet to pass his test.

Thank you, Daniel.
Mind if we show ourselves out?

The last time Mullan was seen
by his housemate was when?

Ten-ish. He dropped Hadley in town.

Exactly. He 'dropped him in town'.
What does that say to you?

That Mullan gave him a lift.
Right. Spool back three years.

He's sent down for drunken driving,
but gets one more penalty.

Yeah. Driving licence
revoked for ten years.

So he was driving without a licence.
Right.

That, the dope in his ashtray,

the dirty pictures on his walls...
The guy was meant to be born again.

Something's not right. I knew it
the minute I walked into his room.

Get onto Hobson.
I need to see those DNA results.

Wrong corpse?
Right corpse, wrong name.

Your murder victim
is not Steven Mullan.

Innocent's gonna love this! Come on.

Newspapers-down-the-back-of-trousers
time.

Forgive me if I'm struggling
to get my head round this,

but the man formerly known
as Steven Mullan is, in fact...

Alex Hadley. Late of this parish.
And he was formally identified by...

By his housemate,
whose name is, in fact...

Steven Mullan.

Swapsies, ma'am.

Try to look as if you're enjoying
this a little less, would you?

Is this your mess?

Actually, don't answer.
Just get it cleared up, will you?

Before the press start doing
cartwheels outside my office!

Alex Hadley.

What, if anything,
do we know about him?

Well, he's a bit of a drifter,
according to his sister.

Son of a highly-decorated naval
officer who died when he was a kid.

Not much contact with the family.

Spent most of the last decade
in Goa.

Is he known to us?

Had his wrists slapped last summer.
Class C drugs possession.

Which is how his DNA wheedled
its way onto the national database.

But why on earth...
If they were living together...

What does the real Mullan
say about this?

I'll be sure to ask him,
when I find him.

He hasn't turned up to work since
he falsely identified our corpse.

I'm keeping his place
under surveillance

in case he gets homesick.
Think he's our killer?

He's certainly acting like one.

A motive might help!

What did you tell him that for?
I didn't say anything.

I was just trying to help.
Well, don't.

I'm sorry, OK?

This isn't exactly easy for me,
by the way.

I know. I know that.

We'll get through this.

Yeah.

So, to paraphrase,
you rowed back from the afterlife.

A bit wishy-washy
on the Holy Spirit.

The Resurrection's a prose poem.

The Immaculate Conception
a metaphor.

No, let me finish.

You tear the life, the soul,
the innocence

out of your own belief system

and you sit there, like
some old relic from a dead empire,

blathering on
about the purpose of faith!

This is the bit where I clear
my desk under the cover of darkness.

Do you want a hand?
I'm almost done, thanks.

Not much, is it?
Three years, one box...

Good night and thank you.

I'm pleased for you.
You know that, don't you?

No, you're not, James.

You were never going to be.

I'm sorry.
Yeah.

See ya.
See ya.

Innocent on cracking form, I gather.
Poor soul!

She's been pining ever since
her precious Fiona made rank.

The young protegee.
You used to be one of those.

Not in that way, I wasn't!

Attractive, McKendrick?
Who am I to judge?

Ah, come on! Marks out of ten.

A crudely biological eight?
A traffic-stopping nine?

What is this?

An illegal trade
in hunch and hearsay.

It's called 'gossip'.
I'd give her a...seven.

Would you? Seven?

I think, objectively speaking,
fair enough.

Not my type at all. Why do you ask?

Oh, the other night when our leader
announced McKendrick's promotion,

your long-faced sergeant...
He's always long-faced.

An equine nine.
He is a free man, not a number.

Anyway, Hathaway has his reasons.

He sees his contemporaries
rising through the ranks

and thinks, 'Why not me?'

What?

When we came to say goodbye,
do you remember

you and McKendrick air-kissing

like a couple of tarts
in an operetta,

garlic bread notwithstanding?

I was just being polite,
as I would with any...

Yeah, but what did Hathaway do?

Hug? Kiss? Mexican wave?

I don't know. I...
Nothing, that's what.

Two colleagues work together for
years, absolutely no bodily contact.

Now, why would that be, Detective?

He'd have told me, wouldn't he?

Mullan's not dead?
That's correct.

At least...
that lets me off the hook.

Anyway, I wanted you to hear it
from me first.

Thanks.

Oi! No cheating. I've got eyes
in the back of my head.

The rest of the family not in?

No, Cile took Dan and his girlfriend
off for a curry.

You weren't tempted to join them?
Hm? We'd only cramp their style.

By the way, just for the record,

did you remember your movements
in the car?

On the night in question? Sorry.

Up to my eyes. Lecture first thing.

Oh, thank you for your support.

My...misadventure last night
at the Union.

I wouldn't call it that.

Don't be polite.
I was certifiably awful!

But I don't mind.
Perhaps I need reminding.

Of what?

Standing in a pool of light,

telling other people
how to lead their lives.

It all seems...somehow soiled.

What were they after? Any idea?
Sir?

Mullan and...the other fellow,
swapping names.

Oh, I don't know yet.

Mm-hm. Fresh start, perhaps.

Clean slate.
You know, I...almost envy them.

What was his real name, your victim?
Alex Hadley.

Mean anything to you?
No.

Jess?
I don't want to play any more.

Oi!

Steven Mullan?

Half the force
are out looking for you.

It was Alex's idea.
The swap?

That's right.
Why? Why would Hadley...?

He was going on about this girl.

Name?
I don't know. Maddie, Madeleine...

Married to someone else, of course.

Anyway, the husband found
these texts,

and it was game over,
as far as she was concerned.

Then, one day, in he comes,
hands me a beer.

'I've got a little confession
to make,' he says.

He'd only gone and got himself a job
at the husband's shop!

When the bloke asked his name,
he said...

Steven Mullan.

Yeah.
The shop... A solarium, was it?

Yeah. I was out of work at the time
and Alex was on at me to swap names.

He kept saying,

'What have you got to lose?'

He swore it would be two weeks!

He swore it would be two weeks.

But he was...he was too busy
enjoying himself,

messing about with the wife
underneath the old man's nose.

Well, why did you put up with it?

Did Hadley pay you?

Threaten you?
Come on! Look at me.

Look at what I am. I spent
the last three years of my life

running away from my own shadow!

Someone comes along and says,
'Start over.'

New name, new life...

I'm not gonna think twice, am I?

I didn't kill him.

Be a lot more convincing
if you put that down.

I didn't kill him. No way.

I may have given up on the Bible,
but...

..I still try to make every choice
the right one.

Then make the right choice now.
Come inside with me.

Let's get a statement written.

No.
Then I'm gonna have to arrest you.

Please, I...
I don't want to hurt you.

One more day.
I don't follow.

Why do today
what you can put off until tomorrow?

Story of my life! One more day.

One more day for what?
He didn't say,

but I trusted his sincerity,
if that makes any sense.

I was so sure that Rattenbury
was at the heart of this!

Have a word with Hadley's girlfriend
Madeleine.

Yeah, worth a punt.

Or you could run it past
Inspector McKendrick,

get the female perspective.

What?
Seemed like a bright girl.

Not my type, obviously.

What's Fiona got to do with
anything?

You brought her up.
No, I didn't.

Any sign of Mullan this morning?

No. I've got all units out
looking for him.

Oh, come on, darling. You can do
better than that. I know you can.

Please...

You know the rules. When
you've had enough, say the password.

Gazebo!
'Gazebo' is not the password.

Well, what is it, then?

What is what, dear?
The password!

You know perfectly well what it is.

I'll get your wheelchair.

Oh, for pity's sake.

Has she told you?
It wasn't Mullan who was murdered.

If you want to stay in
that wheelchair all your life,

be my guest.
Cile, that's enough!

Go on! Stick up for her,
like you always do.

I hope it makes you feel better
about yourself.

Madeleine Cotton?
Yeah?

Sergeant Hathaway, Oxford Police.
Can I come in?

Thank you.

Going somewhere nice?
I'm running late as it is.

I'll be as quick as I can.

Alex Hadley. You might know him
as Steven Mullan or...well, both.

That'll be my taxi.

Taxi. I'll be erm...
five minutes late. Thanks.

Mr Cotton not joining you
on your trip?

Er...

What? Fresh start? Well,
there's no crime there. Going far?

India.

Goa?
Mm, that's it.

Alex loved Goa, didn't he?
Yeah. His 'spiritual home'.

That's what he used to say.
How did you meet, you two?

Er... At the solarium.
OK, so let me get this right.

Your husband employed him
for what, 13 weeks?

Only I found a text on his phone
from your phone

from two months before that,

which means that you two
were together from way back.

My guess is that
your husband found out about it

and demanded that you end it.
Am I right so far?

Yeah.
Only it didn't stop, did it?

Then Alex is killed
and you've got to ask yourself,

'What if my husband
found out about it and...'

No. No!

Could you lose those sunglasses
for me, Madeleine?

Your husband knew Alex Hadley
was your lover. Right or wrong?

I don't know.

We can protect you.
You know that, don't you?

You're home early, love.

Check out the suntan on that!

Go ahead. Take your pick!

£7 an hour you were paying him?

For what? To bump and grind
on your own electric beach?

That must have stung!
Once more with feeling, Mr Cotton.

Wednesday night, 11:30.

Like I said,
I did an all-nighter in the shop.

Anyone see you? Anyone at all?

No.
You sure?

I already told you. I thought he was
gay, what with all the highlights.

I only found out
he was carrying on with Maddie

after you'd told us he was dead.

I caught her snivelling and I...

Gave her a slap?

If I was you,
I'd get a move on with that alibi.

And she me caught
in her arms long and small;

Therewithall sweetly did me kiss;

And softly said,
'Dear heart, how like you this?'

I lay broad waking.

But all is turned thorough
my gentleness

Into a strange fashion of forsaking.

A lover's rebuke?
Pretty much.

See, according to the notes,

Sir Thomas Wyatt was passionately
in love with Anne Boleyn.

She had her hands full
with Henry VIII,

so poor old Wyatt
hardly got a look-in.

They flee from me
that sometime did me seek.

Literally flirting with danger,
wasn't he?

Making moves on the King's wife!

Do you think Madeleine Cotton
could've sent this to Hadley?

She denies it.
Yeah.

Do you think
Cotton's capable of murder?

Though it pains me to say it,
I actually believe his story.

About the VAT?
No, not that.

But Marc is dense enough
not to realise that his wife was...

What, having it away with the help?
Quite.

If Maddie didn't send this, who did?

That's interesting...
what passes for romance.

Why no name?
Adds to the mystery, I suppose.

Yeah... Or uncertainty.
Sorry?

Well, you said that they swapped
names.

Perhaps whoever sent that
genuinely didn't know.

Any joy with the wine stain
on your jacket, sir?

Uh... See for yourself.

Little tyke!
This jacket's older than he is.

Was that a one-off,

or do you and Daniel Rattenbury
generally not get on?

Well, I can't say
I've ever warmed to the child,

though why he chose that occasion
to throw one of his tantrums...

Protective of his girlfriend?

Of Hope? Yes. Perhaps.

Does he have cause to be?
Well, not on my account.

Though she is rather beautiful
to look at,

if a man of my age
may be allowed to say so.

I suppose he was also protective
of his sister.

He'd have her under lock and key,
given half the chance! Poor Jessica.

Everybody seems to forget
she's now a young woman.

Well, still, Daniel must have been
very angry after the accident.

Driving a truck into the path of
a teenage girl is not an accident!

Was he angry, sir?

Yes. Yes, I suppose he was.

Are we keeping you, sir?

Well, yes, as a matter of fact,
you are.

Jessica's 21st. Flash old bash.
Cecile's reliving her glory days.

Oh, f...udge.

Forgot.
Well, well, well!

'Hathaway plus guest.'

Is this your date for the evening?
Oh, yeah, we're inseparable.

Come on, sir.
Let's go and tuck you into your tux.

We'll give you a lift, if you want.

I'm better under my own steam.

Thanks, all the same.

How long, you and her?

Me and who?

Fiona.

Oh, for pity's sake, man! How long
have you fancied Fiona McKendrick?

Oh, call a spade a shovel,
why don't you?

You two...?
Yeah. For a while.

We were even trying to work out

how on earth I was going to break up
with you, sir.

You know what she's like -
fast track, and all of that.

Office romance doesn't look
too hot on her CV, does it?

So...she went her way

and I got lumped with you.

Either your father
has had a massive advance

for a new book he's kept quiet about

or your mother's
just inherited a fortune.

I know!

I only hope your memories
are better than the hangover.

Who asked you?

Oh, don't throw that fizz at me.
It's far too good to waste.

This man thinks
he can walk all over my family.

Not here. Not tonight.

Dan?

What is wrong with that boy?

I knew I should never have come.

He's right. I wouldn't spoil
your evening for the world.

Thank you for coming.

I'm very sorry.
Why don't I walk you out?

He's just an angry young man,
I'm afraid.

Don't take any notice of him.

Tom...
He's not welcome here.

Daniel...

Who invited Canter?

Look, don't worry about it,
all right? Just...

It's ridiculous.

I know it is, but just try and keep
yourself together, OK?

Sorry to go on, but is there really
nothing you're not telling me?

You and that art professor.
Give me some credit, will you?

Daniel seems to have doubts.
I wouldn't read too much into that.

Just nerves, I guess. Big night.

I suppose these are here
on your account?

Dad's, mostly. Ex-marines.

Your father's here?
Private chopper from London.

Should be here before nightfall
for the big announcement.

Introduce you, if you like. Maybe
Dad can persuade you to work for us.

She's trying to tap you up.
She made some passing remark.

Probably just being kind.

I was quite flattered, to be honest.

You reach a point in your life,
you've got to conclude

that you're invisible
to beautiful women.

I know that feeling!

Have you noticed the rather burly
gentlemen with earpieces?

It's security, because I understand
that Mr and Mrs Carl Ransome

will be arriving shortly.
That's Hope's parents.

I'm incredibly touched! They've just
flown in from Washington.

Where's Jess?

I promise you I'll make sure
that they land on the wrong desk.

She knows where we are.

That would be wonderful.

Is that you?

Help!

Yeah.

That's correct.

Bloody man!
Tonight was meant to be so perfect.

Are you sure
you didn't see Mullan's killer?

I almost touched him.
Can this not wait?

A man died tonight!

Jessica, I need to be clear on this.

You think Steven Mullan
was coming for you?

Coming... Obviously
he was planning some sort of attack.

The man was insane!
What else would he have wanted?

Was he coming for you?

I was so scared...

And then your dad came - what? -
straightaway?

No. No, I kept calling.
He couldn't find me.

Where is your husband,
Mrs Rattenbury?

Do you know, Inspector,
I have absolutely no idea.

Hey...

Dad?

I know I'm a rotten father.

Dad, are you OK?

I love you.

You know that?

I never say it, and I should.

Obviously I've only got myself
to blame for that.

Blame for what?

Dad...

Whatever it is,
it's not your fault.

The point is,

it's still not too late.

Do you understand?
There's still time.

What are you...?
To make amends.

What happened to
the leader of the free world?

Apparently, he turned his helicopter
around the minute he heard the news.

Fair enough.

We might have to let Maddie's
jealous husband off the hook.

Marc Cotton? For this murder, yeah.
No, no, no. For both.

He's finally coughed up an alibi
for Wednesday night.

Uniform turned up with this.

'Battleship Potempka'?

AKA Brenda Gormley.

An ageless beauty
of uncertain gender.

She confirms that she was with
Cotton in the solarium

between the hours of 11pm and 1am.

80 quid, full body massage.
Very competitive!

You think this is what he meant?
What?

Mullan?
'Only one more day,' he said.

One more day to go after Jessica
all over again.

How could I have got him so wrong?

It's left here.

Oh.
Where are we?

That's a good question.
You...

No, look. They said first right,
second left.

Davies, where are you?

Somebody's been pulling your chain,
Sergeant.

Davies! Do you want to be
my second murder victim of the night?

Sorry, sir.

Cile, it's me.

Half my life pummelling Christ.

And here I am, at the end of it,
chasing redemption.

Hi.

No.1 victim. Stabbed with this.

Any print?
No, nothing yet, I'm afraid.

In the back,
one upward thrust into his lung.

Here.

Not easy, felling a big chap
like um...

Steven Mullan.

Hm.

Moving on to your crash victim...

Since when was he my crash victim?

Since I had a rifle
through his pockets.

Here... For you.

Crushed under his own windscreen,
poor sausage.

And...there's this.

Where?

Where was the collision?
The A40.

About a mile west of the ring road.

X marks the spot.

That was the place
where Mullan ran into your daughter?

He's been nailed to that spot
ever since.

What's going on?

'Putting an end to it all.
I got my man.

Second time lucky.'

It beggars belief!

Can you confirm the handwriting?
Oh, it's Tom's.

Any idea why?
You mean, apart from the obvious?

Everyone knows that
when that man attacked my daughter,

no-one felt the wound more deeply
than Tom,

because I think he believed
it was his fault.

Mum! I'm sorry, darling,
but it's the truth.

As...he saw it.

If he hadn't set himself up
as a target in the first place...

And I suppose he must have seen
that...psychopath...

..following Jess into the maze
last night.

And he must have thought,
'This is it. This is my moment.'

For all anyone knows,
he may just have saved Jess's life.

Dad couldn't hurt a fly.
He wasn't wired that way.

Who knows what anyone is really
capable of?

We didn't find a note for you,
his family.

Often, people want to say goodbye.

Did he leave a message here?
A text or...?

Not that I'm aware of.

Oh, we...found this.

I wouldn't read too much into that,
Inspector. It's a family heirloom.

Tom's father was a priest in some
godforsaken parish up near Carlisle.

Well, why would he...?
Something to hang on to, I expect.

A lucky charm.

OK, Miss Rattenbury, I'm going to
have to ask you to leave.

Just leave me alone!
It's OK.

Leave me alone! Leave me alone!
Jess...

I'll give you a hand now, all right?
Come on.

Apart from the signed confession
and the other blind alleys,

how sure am I
that Rattenbury's our maze murderer?

Basically, yeah.
Well, I'll tell you this.

Mullan died of arterial wounds.

All that blood,
you'd expect some of it

to end up on the killer's clothes -
splashback.

But so far, the only blood type
we found on Tom Rattenbury

is his own.

Take a look,
if you don't believe me.

So what's the hypothesis?
Rattenbury made a mistake?

He killed Alex Hadley
thinking he was Steven Mullan?

Mm...
What?

Hadley was murdered
around about midnight, right?

Even if that light was out,

there's a street lamp
right outside the window.

Look. He could see in his victim's
face as he forced him under.

Jessica never went near the trial,

but her dad was at the court
every day.

He knew what Mullan looked like.

Then he would've known
it wasn't Mullan he was drowning.

Tom Rattenbury
confessed to both killings!

All this time you've been
so sure he was our man.

Why do you have to go unpicking
everything?

I'm just saying, reasonable doubt.

How's the jury gonna react?
Hathaway, say something sensible.

Mr Rattenbury's movements,
Wednesday night.

The first killing?

Yeah. Remember he said
he went for a drive?

Then refused to give us his route.

We had a thought.

Rattenbury?
Eight minutes past midnight.

Same time as the first murder.

He's off the hook,
whether he'd have liked it or not.

But this is...

The exact spot
where he died last night.

Rattenbury's been going back there
regularly.

Such a personal thing, no wonder
he wouldn't tell us about it.

So this suicide note...
Was a lie.

Such a public figure.

Why confess to something
he hadn't done?

'Putting an end to it all,'

meaning not his life,
but the murder investigation.

No more questions, no more mess.
Go on.

What if he was trying to protect
someone?

We've been through this
a hundred times!

Mum, it's OK.

I went looking for Jess
and got waylaid.

Why?
Coleman.

I was showing him
how to make a margarita.

That's easily confirmed.

And, just for the record,
Wednesday night?

I told you, I never went near
Hadley! I left Hope outside college.

My head was spinning.

I mean, only footballers
get married at 22, right?

Are we finished now?

Daniel checks out. There was a queue
of grateful cocktail drinkers

who swear
he was never near the maze.

If Tom Rattenbury wasn't covering
for his son, who was he protecting?

The wife?
Cecile?

Drown a fit young man in his bath?

Stab a big, strong lad in the back?

Besides which,
same problem with her as with Tom.

She'd have known
that she was killing the wrong man.

Now, whatshisname - Marc Cotton.
Did his alibi stand up?

Yep. Solid. Potempka went to battle.

Here's your chum.

Thank you so much.

If you could just dump it all
by the porter's lodge?

See? Chivalry's alive and kicking.
Given the right encouragement.

I'm so glad you're here.
I wanted to say goodbye.

Oh?

I am being airlifted back to
reality.

Papa's orders.

What about Daniel?

Collateral damage?
Something like that.

He was meant to be here
to see me off.

Who knows?
Maybe he had a better offer.

Actually, I'm kind of relieved.
Oh, don't say that.

Oh? Why not? In a couple of weeks,
he'll be so over me!

I was gonna mail this to him.
I don't suppose...

No problem.
Thanks.

Thank you all so much.
I really appreciate it.

All done.
Thanks.

Well, good luck.

And, hey, that offer's still open.
My dad can always use a good man.

Hope!

What is it I'm not seeing?

The night you got engaged...
Tell me, if only for Daniel's sake.

You'll probably find him down by
the boat house. Ask him again.

Ask him what?

Try to catch him on his own
this time.

Hope asked me to give you this.

What do you think? Pretty?

Can we go through it again?
You left Hope outside the college...

Give it up!
Please, Daniel.

You'd forgotten...

The ring.
So?

So I went to pick it up.
Where?

In the car.

But you told me it was at home.

Yeah?

You went home, Daniel.

What did you see?

What did you see?

Early hours of Thursday morning,

just a couple of short hours
after the first murder,

you were seen by Cecile's son.

He came home to pick up
his engagement ring

and walked in on the pair of you.

Yes, poor chap.
I'd call that a 'rude awakening'.

I suppose you've always been
infatuated with Cecile?

That wager you had with Tom
Rattenbury when you were students...

What was the stake again? £10?

Bit more than ten quid, wasn't it?

You lost out
on the love of your life.

No, he was welcome to her.
She was out of my league.

Still, a man can have delusions
of grandeur, can't he?

Piss and wind.

Either charge my client,
or let him go.

This is a search warrant
for your rooms, Dr Canter.

Well, tell them not to break
anything, for God's sake.

There's no worries on that score.
Forensics are painstakingly precise.

They'll crawl over every square inch

till they find a match
with Mullan's place.

You have one message.

Alex, sorry to chase,
but we didn't see you earlier.

Are you coming in next week or...?
Sorry, gotta go.

Message one.

Alex, sorry to chase,
but we didn't see you earlier.

Are you coming in next week or...?
Sorry, gotta go.

Canter kills Alex Hadley and later
that night comes round to your place

for half an hour on the fireside rug.

It was considerably shorter
than that.

I had a terrible feeling
it was his first time.

I hope it lived up to the billing.

For heaven's sake!

Manfred turned up in a state
because of one of his students.

Anyway, it was all very silly
and not to be repeated.

A 'sympathy shag' -
isn't that what you call it?

Tom and I were always very forgiving
about these sort of things.

Where is my bloody phone?

He was a close friend
of your husband's!

You make it sound so salacious.

There's nothing less salacious than
a dead body! I've been around a few.

I thought it was your aftershave.
Mrs Rattenbury, stop!

No!

No, you stop...

..and answer me this.

In this exotic revenge fantasy
of yours, why now?

I mean, why would I possibly
want to kill Steven Mullan now,

when I have been building,
brick by brick, a fu...

..a future for my family?

Unlike Tom, I don't wallow
in what can't be helped.

Now, if you'll excuse me,
I have a husband to bury.

You have one new message.
Message one.

Cile, it's me.

Half my life pummelling Christ...

Are you lost...in the forest?

I keep thinking,
if I stare at it long enough...

You're in danger
of turning into one of our regulars.

Where exactly
is this 'vanishing point', anyway?

Out there, in the dark.

Mind you don't lose your footing.

You think we're barking up
the wrong tree?

Well,
I think we're missing something.

Why would Tom Rattenbury go to his
grave to protect his wife's lover?

And why now, as she said?

What would drive a woman
like Cecile, after all this time,

to conspire in murder?

Out there, in the dark.

She didn't know who he was!

Miss Wheeler?
Yes?

This man...
is he one of your regulars?

Yes.

Are you sure?
Yes. Great, stocky fellow.

When was this?
Oh, it was months ago.

I wouldn't normally remember,
only...he had someone with him.

A girl in a wheelchair.

Thank you, Miss Wheeler.

So Jessica sent the postcard
to Mullan?

A lover's rebuke.

Come back to her, be there for her.

She said she'd never met him.
Oh, she'd met him all right.

He probably trailed after her,
waiting for his chance,

wanting her forgiveness,
and when she asked him his name,

when he had the chance to tell her
the truth, he bottled it.

He said that he was..
Alex Hadley.

Maybe he couldn't bring himself to
tell her. How did you work it out?

That painting.
All those hunters in the forest.

She was one of them,

reaching out for someone
to hold onto.

A blind grope in the darkness...
but she was misled.

She had no idea it was him.
Where were they meeting?

Wheeler says they haven't been here
for months.

That's right - and that postcard
was only sent last week.

Alex, sorry to chase,
but we didn't see you earlier.

Are you coming in next week or...?
Sorry, gotta go.

His work?
Yeah, but why say 'next week'...

on a Thursday evening?
He worked full time, didn't he?

Are you coming in next week or...

Gotta go.

What's that?

Gotta go.

Echoes... Kids...

Gotta go.

A swimming pool.

Oh, not again.
Is your daughter at home?

I expect so, but if you think...
She said she was going for a swim.

She didn't tell me.

St Margaret's in Summertown?
Get over there, fast.

2:30 every Thursday, was it,
this swimming club for the disabled?

We don't do that word.
No, of course. Sorry.

Still, it must take
some organisation.

I mean, apart from the staff,

you'd have to draft in
extra part-time helpers,

so that it's one-on-one.

Strong swimmers. Physically fit...

..like Steven Mullan.

They just wanted somewhere
they could meet,

where no-one would stare at them.

Have a bit of fun,
physical contact...

You saw them, didn't you?

No.

And Jessica's injuries...
They were yours, too.

Isn't that what compassion is?

Fellow suffering, fellow sacrifice?

jacked in the brilliant career...

to be an unpaid physio.

And Jessica's imagining she can fall
in love with who she wants!

Touching her...

Letting her believe
he was someone else.

You persuaded Canter to kill him?

Your idea, was it - the drowning?

Pity you got the wrong bloke!

And of course, you got your man -
'second time lucky'.

You must have guessed that

he and Jessica would want to meet up
on the night of her party,

so that he could explain,
ask for her forgiveness...

What I can't see is, what would make
your husband take the blame?

Why die to protect a man
like Manfred Canter?

Damn!

I'm not used to...
To this knife?

Where is your best knife,
Mrs Rattenbury?

'I'm not used to being
interrogated,' I was going to say.

I didn't kill him.
I didn't kill anyone.

Will you do something for me?
Mm.

Will you please try not to hate him?

Steven?

I see now, he only lied
because he wanted to help me.

Her lie... Her lie was like poison.

Whose lie?

What a thing to say...
My mother is like poison.

- Darling, are you all right?
- Jess, what happened?

Is she all right?
Yes, she's fine.

- What on earth were you thinking of?
- Jess, what were you doing?

Have you got a blanket for her?

She confessed yet?
Almost.

Lewis.

We've got him.

One dinner jacket...found in your
bathroom under the floorboards.

And not just wine stains any more.

Mullan's blood all over it.

Forensics will give us
chapter and verse shortly.

Couldn't bring yourself to chuck it
out, could you, Dr Canter?

No, that's half my trouble.

I'm always hanging on to things
I should have let go of.

I have a feeling I was wearing this
when I met her.

And there was a point when I really
thought she was going to be mine.

But then I realised that

passion is something
that only happens to other people.

In life, in books, in paintings...

But never to me. Not once, you see.

And then...then she took my hand.

My Cecile.

What was it you said?
'Delusions of grandeur'?

I suppose that was it.

I suppose I imagined that,
if I just did as she asked, I...

..I could be one of those people.

I don't expect you to understand.

Well, look at the three of us!

Can we all please stay strong?

For Dad's sake.

Aren't you going to ask
why he stormed out?

I told him, Mum.
I told him about your lie.

What have I done now?
I always knew it was Steven.

Deep down...
No, no, you didn't.

Yes, I did. And I loved him anyway!

No.
Yes! And I forgave him.

You...

I tried to forgive you, but I can't.

Cile, it's me.

Half my life pummelling Christ...

..and now I've come to the end of
it...

..I'm chasing redemption.

You've...told me
Daniel killed those men.

So I'm going to take the blame...

..and he can walk free.

My life for his.

Clean slate.

I hope I'm...finally forgiven.

Do you want me to...?
No. Let them finish.

Forensics confirmed that
the blood on Canter's jacket

came from Steven Mullan.

So with Cecile's confession,
that's conspiracy to murder.

Just wish we could get her
for her other crime. Hm?

Lying to her husband,

telling him at the Blenheim Maze
that their son was the murderer.

You know, I think she hated him.
For the accident?

Yeah. It was their little secret.
But what about this?

You tell me.

St Christopher,
patron saint of travellers.

Perhaps it just happened to be
in his pocket.

Yeah, maybe.

Here, this way.

I thought we were going for a beer.

Not yet.
Got a little job for you first.

Oh, no, what are you up to?

What was that story
Jessica Rattenbury told you...

..about the Restorative Justice
Programme?

Sitting in a car outside the prison,
her mum said,

'Go through that door,
look the man in the eye,

otherwise he'll be stuck
in your head forever more.'

Look, I know your pride's
taken a beating,

but don't do 'what ifs'. Go in there.

Say goodbye properly.

Inspector McKendrick
left last night.

Apparently not.

No, I can't.
Course you can. Go on!

Lay the ghost to rest.

Either that, or we feed you
to Battleship Potempka.

80 quid. Full body massage.

Your call.

I'll have a pint.