All language subtitles for Endeavour - S05E01_eng

In the spring of 1918,

Nicholas II, deposed
Tsar of all the Russias,

was brought, together with
his wife and five children...

.. to the city of Ekaterinburg...

.. where they were executed
by their Bolshevik captors.

Jab!

When the dead were examined,

it was found that
the women had concealed

about their bodies gold and jewels.

Go ahead, caller.

Commissioned as a 16th
birthday present

for the Grand Duchess Anastasia,

I give you...

Innocence.

Or Nastya's Egg.

Subtitles by Deluxe
Sync by Marocas62

ENDEAVOUR
Season 5 - Episode 01

Oh, good Lord. Look. You! Up on the roof!

Five, four, three, two, one.

Thus, after almost 100 years,

the long and distinguished
history of Oxford City Police...

.. is ended.

The motto of the new constabulary

is
"sit pax in valle tamesis".

For the benefit of the
non-classicists amongst us,

Detective Sergeant Morse has
kindly provided a translation.

- Morse?
- He's on a shout, sir.

Handbag snatch.

"Muse"

Found by the beat man just after six.

No ID on him. Car's leased.

Waiting on the firm's offices
opening before we can say who to.

- That's Joey Sikes.
- Do you know him, sir?

We've had dealings.
Ex-boxer.

Decent right
but slow on his feet.

I saw him at the undercard at White City
when Bruce Woodcock beat Freddie Mills.

He lost that night too.

- Who lives here?
- No reply.

Still working door-to-door.

Doctor.

Gentlemen.

Shot.
Three times.

Twice in the chest and once
in the back. From close range.

Somewhere between
midnight and four o'clock.

Someone inside the car, then?

Can't say if those were lethal
until I've had a gander.

Not likely to be anything else, is it?

Unlikely he'd survive a metal
spike being driven into his ear.

Whether that was insult
to injury remains to be seen.

0.38 calibre in the glove compartment.

Recently discharged.

Nobody saw or heard anything?

There was a party in the
warehouse down the end.

Loud music. Between that
and the thunderstorm...

He's had a woman in the
car at some point too.

- Cocktail cigarettes ringed
with lipstick. - Right.

You press on here with the
door-to-door. I'll brief Mr Bright.

Joey Sikes, sir.

Gunned down on Holywell Lane.

A falling-out amongst
the criminal fraternity?

Certainly looks that way, sir.

I don't want people
thinking our reorganisation

is an opportunity
for them to make hay.

I'll make that clear, sir.

There was one more thing.

About the Morse situation.

We've got a number at
Lonsdale, looks like.

- What kind of number?
- Attempted burglary from the sounds of it.

Shirl's on the scene.
She'll fill you in.

I can finish up here.

Morning.

Intruder spotted on the roof by
the master and one of the dons

- last night.
- Why didn't they call it in then?

Thought it might be a drunken
undergrad looking about.

But this morning
a scout found this.

Appears he left empty-handed.

I've had a look topside.

This was the only
thing up there.

- An unusual spot for an auction.
- It's an unusual bequest.

Not every day a college
is left an object of virtue.

"Innocence.

"Also known as Nastya's Egg."

Faberge's last great masterpiece.

It was lost for 50 years.

And now bequeathed to us
by a late graduate.

Its value to be realised to
the benefit of the college.

- DS Morse. Thames Valley CID.
- What's it expected to fetch?

A reserve is set at 30,000.

If the provenance is to be believed.

It's reliable.
Robin Grey.

Dr Grey is a great authority
on Russian Imperial jewellery.

He's been instrumental
in establishing

the veracity
of the original designs.

Any news on this burglar?

We found this.

But that's The Shadow's
calling card, isn't it?

- The what?
- An international art thief.

He leaves a rose at the scene
of his crimes.

If he exists.

That's all a bit Simon
Templar, don't you think?

He's real enough to Interpol.

The Lugash Diamond, the Golden
Dagger of Sultan Mahmud.

Or are you saying none of
these things were stolen?

I'm sure they were stolen,

but whether or not by the same
person is another matter entirely.

Well, we'll step up the beat patrol
until the auction is concluded.

In the meantime, keep it under lock
and key and not just on display.

Unless you want it lost
for another 50 years.

Detective Sergeant Morse.

I never knew you cared.
So what was he after?

- The Faberge?
- Who?

The Shadow!

I think, given the date, we're looking
at something less criminal altogether.

April Fool's.

For a cracksman of international renown,

it was hardly a case of "now
you see me, now you don't".

What's this other
business on Holywell Lane?

I heard something on the
police band. It sounded serious.

Murder usually is.

But before you ask me more,
a full statement will be released in time.

Simon Lake. Art dealer.

He's handling the sale of the
Faberge on behalf of the owners.

So, murder, cat burglary --
you're earning those stripes.

- I've earned these stripes many times.
- Seriously, how are you finding it?

Just another tick in the box.

I thought there'd be... I don't know...

Something more.

- How'd you make out at Lonsdale?
- Something and nothing.

April Fool, by the look of it.

Hello?

Is this your desk?
Sorry.

I was told to come up and wait.

Fancy, is it?

George Fancy.
Detective Constable.

DCI Thursday.

Sergeant Strange. DS Morse'll
be showing you around.

He's a good man, so
watch, listen and learn.

We'll find you a desk,
don't worry about that.

Anything more on this door-to-door?

A neighbour said she saw a woman

in a white raincoat getting out the car
and heading up the mews to the party.

- Looks like you had it right, matey.
- - Blonde or brunette?

Couldn't say.
She had a scarf on.

But I have got a last-known
residence for Joey

off his parole officer.
The Alhambra.

There we are.
Your first job, Constable.

You can keep Morse company.

Do your work, mind your Ps and
Qs and you won't go far wrong.

I'm used to working alone, sir.

He'd learn more from you.

I expect he would.

But you've got rank now.
That brings responsibilities.

Show him the ropes. Get to know
him a bit. It'll do him good.

Mr Bright had a word about your situation.

I wasn't aware I had one.

Two Detective Sergeants would, ordinarily,
be surplus in a nick of this size.

But right now, Division's
got other fish to fry.

- Thought you'd be pleased.
- A reprieve's not a pardon.

I'd as soon not wait another six
months for the other shoe to drop.

Beggars can't.

Look, none of us know how the chips are
gonna land till this reorganisation's done.

Just take it one day at a time.

- Want me to drive?
- No.

- Anything?
- Quiet as the proverbial.

Detective Constable Fancy.
WPC Trewlove.

- George.
- Pleased to meet you.

What's a pretty girl like you
doing in a place like this?

My job.

- Hard to get, eh?
- You've no idea.

I like a challenge.

Idiot.

Blimey!
She's a bit of all right!

- Don't you reckon?
- Who, Constable Trewlove?

She's a very capable officer.
Doesn't suffer fools.

So...
this is Sikes's place, is it?

Good nick, is it?
Decent mates?

- If you go in for that sort of thing.
- Don't you, then?

It's why I joined the job --
the social life.

And the crumpet.
Of course.

Got any hobbies?
Do you like sport?

Look, I don't go
in for small talk, Constable.

- George.
- Or first names.

Let's just keep it to work
and we'll get along fine.

"THE OXFORD BACHELOR
DIRECTORY"

Very good.

That's very nice.

Very nice.

What a good boy am I?

Three bullets, 0.38 calibre.

Any of which would have proved fatal.

Why bother with the ear business?

Some sort of underworld message?

Hear no evil, perhaps?

Something from the building trade?

Whatever it is,
it would have needed a hammer

- to drive it into the skull.
- Anything else?

A smooch of lipstick.

Rain and the cobbles
had got rid of most of it.

Good afternoon. This is the message
service for 938126. Go ahead, caller.

Good afternoon.
It's Dr Grey here.

I'd like to leave a message, please.

[So that's eight o'clock
at the club with Dr Grey.]

Get that lot dusted for prints and
the contents logged and booked in.

Leaving us already,
George?

Joey Sikes' worldly possessions.

Mainly prophylactics and contact mags.

Got a lead on his motor.
Registered to Magdalen Cabs.

Isn't that a front for Eddie
Nero's criminal activities?

One of 'em.

- Easy, easy. Take a breather.
- Hello, Eddie.

What's this, then, Fred?

- You've come to go a few rounds, have you?
- Maybe later.

- You know the boys.
- Yeah...

Looks like you're a man short.
Joey Sikes.

- When did you see him last?
- Joey?

- Couldn't say.
- But everything was just jake between you?

- Yeah.
- Are you sure about that?

He was found this morning with three bullets
in him and a spike in his shell-like.

Any idea what he was doing
parked up on Holywell Lane?

- Search me.
- He was in one of your cars.

I'd give him the lend of a set
of wheels from time to time.

What about lady friends?
Anything like that?

Nah,
he was off the birds.

I know you and Joey were tight with each
other but don't get any ideas, Eddie.

- Like what?
- Taking the law.

There's only one law that counts,
Fred.

An eye for an eye.

You're a third division shake-down
artist and fourth-rate ponce.

Always were, always will be.

Any comeback over Joey,
I'll have your cobblers for a key fob.

Mind how you go.

We'll need to find this
woman in the white raincoat.

- I'll see where I can get with this lipstick.
- Girlfriend, you think?

Witness, potentially. She's the
last person to have seen him alive.

- How did you make out with George?
- George?

- Fancy.
- Trying.

Well, that's good.

I'm looking for a particular
shade of lipstick.

This is the...

I think we can rule out the
new Revlon unlipstick range.

And it's not gonna be the
Max Factor Frosterinos.

Could be Scarlet Billows
or Violent Crimson.

Excuse me.
Can I just...?

Hello, stranger.

So, are you back or are you just visiting?

Dad didn't say?

I'm back!

Couple of weeks now. But not home.

They must be pleased, all
the same, your parents.

I think so.

- Mum definitely.
- I'm sure they both are.

It's not the same.

No.
No, I imagine not.

Mr Booth,
my neighbour in Leamington,

said he called you.

Yes.
A fall, the hospital said.

I slipped.

What about you?

Your sergeant's...
I meant to ask last time.

Yes, it came through in the end.

Congratulations.

Detective Sergeant Morse.

- Things change.
- Yes.

Yes, I'm this way.

Are you all right?

I mean... really all right?

Something happens.

You have to look a bad
thing in the eye.

Break the spell.

I'll see you around.

It's a small town.

I know where you buy your lipstick now.

- Tomorrow's world, Thursday.
- Sir.

A new divisional HQ for
Thames Valley, Kidlington.

Very smart, sir.

Clean, modern, spacious. Computers.

And an information room

that will be the envy
of any constabulary.

And us, sir?

No final decision has yet been reached
on whether Cowley will remain open.

Or if we'll be absorbed into
the new station on Oxford Road.

Wouldn't have thought there'd be
room for us all in there, sir.

No, well, there we are.
Ours is not to reason why.

- George seems a nice lad, don't you think?
- He's a cocky little sod.

Course he is. He's young.

Full of piss and vinegar.
You were young once.

I'm still young!

Say so. Some shepherd's pie in
the oven I've left you to warm.

Beans in the pan.

I'll get the cribbage board out
once Hughie Green's done.

Joan's got a new flat over in Parktown.

Ever so nice, she says.

Be needing a lick of paint,
I should think, but...

I'm hoping her dad's gonna do it for her.

But she's happy. That's the main thing.

Good.

- Sir. - I'll go and
fetch your sandwiches.

Much in?

- Fancy.
- Morning, sir.

Body's through there.

Doctor.

Aye-aye.

Right first, then left.

Sometime between eight and midnight.

Any defensive wounds?

He didn't see it coming.
Quite literally.

- Who was he?
- His name is Robin Grey.

He's a history don here.

I met him yesterday.
The attempted break-in.

Last seen by the porter going out
around six o'clock last night.

- No-one saw him come back.
- Lipstick.

Same as Joey Sikes.

I know you're out of practice,
but most women wear it.

- Uniform are fetching his wife in.
- There is evidence of coitus.

- Who found him?
- Spencer Bell, one of his students.

I went across just before eight o'clock.

Knocked.
There was no reply.

I checked my watch, knocked
again, then went in.

I thought he might have
nipped out for a moment.

In my day, students didn't just
wander into a don's bedroom.

I thought he might have overslept so I
knocked. I don't know why I went in.

I just did.

What was he like?

I saw him for two hours once a week.

I'm afraid I hardly knew him at all.

Where were you last night?

- In my room right up there.
- Anyone vouch for you?

You'd have had a good view from there.
You didn't see him come back last night?

- Mr Bell.
- I'm not sure it was him.

But I think I recognised her.

Who?

I'm not even sure it was her.

But this woman had on the same
coat she wears -- a white raincoat.

- But you don't know her name?
- No. She's a life model.

I think she knows the tutor
Gerard Pickman.

At least that's the idea I got.

I thought all the way over in the
car that there must be some mistake.

What happened?

Was it his heart?
An accident?

I'm sorry to have to tell you, Mrs Grey,
but your husband died by violence.

Perhaps you should sit down. Here.

Trewlove.

Here.

OK.

When did you last see your husband?

Er... yesterday morning.

Did Dr Grey often stay in college?

Once or twice a week if
he had an early tutorial.

I'm sorry.

We will need statements
from all staff and undergrads

as to their whereabouts yesterday.

I don't like to ask but what
will happen about the auction?

It can't go ahead now, surely,
out of respect for Robin?

Exactly why it should proceed.
He put so much work into it.

I'll discuss the situation
with the bursar and Mr Lake...

This Mr Lake. He have
much to do with Grey?

Certainly. They were great friends.

He's an art dealer. He's
acting for the estate.

Did their National Service
together, I believe.

We'll need to speak to him if you
let us know where to find him.

Anything to do with the egg, do you think?

Wasn't it him and the master
saw The Shadow Sunday night?

So they say.

- Is there any doubt about that?
- They saw someone.

But that it was this cat burglar,
I'm less convinced.

How come?

Because Nobody sees The Shadow,
that's the point.

He comes and goes and no-one's any
the wiser till after he's struck.

- So?
- So he doesn't go

clattering around the rooftops
drawing attention to himself,

like a one man band.

They saw somebody up there.

And now Grey's dead.

The undergrad who found his
body says he saw a man and woman

turning onto Grey's stair
around seven o'clock.

- Was it Grey?
- He's not sure.

But he thinks she's a life model
from a private art class he attends.

No names, but he's given
me an address to the place.

- A bit on the side, do you think?
- If it was Grey.

See who else lives on his stair,
start taking statements.

All right.

I'll report back to Mr Bright.

Pursue enquiries as you see fit.

I must say,

we were all positively
chartreuse at Robin's good luck,

bagging a Matilda beast.

And a rowing blue to boot.

Nothing in the world quite
compares to a sporty girl.

Strong in the wrist and firm in the hams.

Do you think that talk's appropriate
about a woman widowed not an hour since?

She'd have to have been a very Messalina
to keep Robin down on the farm.

- Is that right?
- Quite a dog in his day.

Wet his nib in any ink pot.

Take my word.

They'll be queuing halfway up the
High to offer their "condolences".

The Master called me. It's
bloody awful news. Poor Robin.

- You knew him well?
- Nearly 20 years.

He was a good friend. We did
our National Service together.

Place called Altdorf, right
on the Eastern border.

Can you think of anyone who
would wish him any harm?

Robin?
Not a soul.

He was helping to establish
a chain of provenance

with this egg of yours,
I believe.

Strictly speaking,
it's not mine.

I'm acting for the estate
of the previous owner.

- But, yes. Robin had done a lot of the legwork.
- Who is the owner?

Someone who in life valued their privacy.

The estate wishes to respect that.
I'm sure you understand.

No, I don't understand.
Not at all.

First someone tries to steal the Faberge,

then someone intimately connected
with its sale is brutally murdered.

There's nothing to say the egg
is anything to do with Robin.

I think we'll determine that.

And knowing who the owner is
will help us form an opinion.

I think if my friend had been brutally
murdered, I might be a little more forthcoming.

I'd like to say more, believe me.

- Where were you last night?
- Out of town.

To say more would risk revealing
the identity of the owner.

- Convenient.
- Not for me.

Did he have a mistress,
Dr Grey?

With Lucy at home?
Would you?

He never mentioned
anyone called Delilah?

No.

I would love to stay and chit-chat
but I've got to collect the egg

and get it to Lonsdale
to the option.

Since the attempted burglary I'm
only allowing it to be displayed

for a couple of hours each
day in strict security.

The rest of the time,
it's in a safe in my flat.

Of course,
I'll be glad to answer

anything you can think of once
the auction's out of the way.

Hello.

I'm Detective Sergeant
Morse, Thames Valley CID.

I'm looking for a Gerard Pickman.

One of his students gave me this address.

He's gone into town.
I'm his wife Cassie.

What time are you expecting him back?

When his pockets are empty.

You're welcome to wait.

Don't eat that, Alec.

He's an artist, I understand.

That must be interesting work.

Oh, yes.

He's just finished designing the new labels
for Richardson's own-brand vegetables.

- Hello, little bastard.
- Don't call him that, please!

Sorry to have kept you.

A bigger slash.

- Still life?
- There's a phrase.

It's for the cover of a Kent
Finn paperback --

Just For Jolly.

Dreadful hack but if it goes over well,

his publisher's promising
the whole back catalogue.

Thus the rent man doth
make cowards of us all.

The 0.38.
Is that a prop?

No, no, it's real enough. I use
it for foxes, other vermin.

No policemen so far.

- I don't suppose you know about art.
- I know what I like.

It's after Manet, isn't it?
Olympia.

The canvas that scandalised
the Paris salon.

Is that the model that
sits at your life class?

That's right.

- Does she have a name?
- Evie.

With the beautiful red hair.

Eve Thorne.

Have you seen her recently?

Yesterday afternoon.
I had a class here.

What about Sunday night?

A car picked her up about midnight.

- Taxi, I think.
- Right.

Have you got an address for her?

Just a telephone number.
It's a messaging service.

She's er... She's not
in any trouble, is she?

It's just a routine enquiry.

She's a good kid.

- Are you sleeping with her?
- No.

Not for the want of trying.

I don't think she likes men.

Maybe it's just you she doesn't like.

What happened, do you think?

I don't think, Tancred.

And you shouldn't either.

How you finding Oxford, then, George?

- Got your digs sorted?
- Section House at the moment.

But I'm looking for a place of my own.

What about you?

Yeah. Morse is shacked
up with me at the minute.

Hopefully we'll come out of it after a year
with enough saved to put down for a flat each.

Provided we don't kill one another first.

Well,
the cause was as expected.

Sharp object through the orbit of
the right eye and on into the brain.

Death would have been
pretty instantaneous.

- What about the weapon?
- Steak knife.

Traditional hump blade with serrated edge.

Stag-horn handle. Sheffield
steel. Silver-plated.

Engraving dates
it to about 1920.

SC. One of the colleges, maybe?
Something college?

- Possibly.
- Would it have taken much force?

No great strength required. Nerve, though.

You're thinking of the lipstick.

The closest match I found
was Violent Crimson.

From the Kiss of Death range,
presumably.

How does it compare to what
you found on Joey Sikes?

Not enough of a trace left to say.

A Lonsdale don and
a beat-up ex-boxer.

Hard to see
what they had in common.

A woman in a white raincoat,
presumably.

Cherchez la femme.

Parson's Prime.

It's from a brewery outside Watlington.

According to the foreman, they
supply just one pub in Oxford.

- The Cordwangler's Arms.
- Delilah. Did you try the number?

Unobtainable. But there's a Delilah
performing there this afternoon.

I've also got a number for Eve Thorne,

the life model that Spencer
Bell was talking about.

Pickman said she got a taxi from
his place late on Sunday night.

I've left a message on her
answer service to call me back.

Good.

- How's the luncheon meat?
- Adjourned.

Win says you ran into Joan.

You knew she was back, then?

Yeah. Well, I would have mentioned it
but... what with one thing and another...

Seem all right, did she?

- Why, haven't you seen her?
- No. No, not yet.

She's been by the house,
but I've been at work.

Sergeant Strange said
you'd probably be here.

How'd it go at Lonsdale this morning?

Um... there's nothing much to report.

Most of them are alibi'd.
Except the Master,

Dr Adrian Croxley
and Tancred Howlett.

He lives on the same
stair as Dr Grey.

Go on. Go back to the station
and finish writing them up.

I haven't had lunch yet.

I thought I'd just grab a
pint, if it's all the same.

- You're not on piecework.
- He's time for a beer.

- Do you want topping up?
- No.

Well, just a half, then,
George. Thanks very much.

Certainly never seen it at home.

Is that what it was done with?
Is that how he died?

How long had you been married?

It would have been a year come April 21st.

- All was well between you?
- Perfectly well.

- That's Simon Lake, isn't it?
- He was Robin's best man.

They're very old friends.

How did you meet Dr Grey?

At a drinks party... last February.

Two months later we were married.

You had no reason to doubt his fidelity?

With his body being found the way
it was, well, we're bound to ask.

How was it found?

There was lipstick around his mouth.

And signs that physical intimacy
had taken place

shortly before his death.

I always knew Robin had
lived... a full life.

But from the moment
we were married,

he never once gave me any cause

to think of him as anything
other than devoted.

She wouldn't be the first wife

to not know her husband
was deceiving her.

Unless she did, of course.
Just keep your wits about you.

What does that mean?

Good-looking girl?
Tears?

Not every damsel in
distress wants saving.

What she looks like's
nothing to do with it.

I wonder if she knew Joey Sikes.

Sikes is gangland.

He's no connection with Dr Grey.

They were both killed by
particularly gruesome means.

Both last seen with a woman
wearing a white raincoat

and both had been kissed
by someone in red lipstick.

That's more than a coincidence.

- You can't come in here.
- I'm Detective Sergeant Morse,

Thames Valley CID.
Miss...?

Ellis.

- Paula Ellis.
- Not Delilah, then?

That's just for the stage.

I would've thought Salome would be more
fitting. The Dance Of The Seven Veils.

Salome's already taken.
There was a Jezebel.

And a Bathsheba
but she got glassed.

Be a love and hand us my
dressing gown, would you?

So...

- What do you want, then?
- Do you know a Robin Grey?

No.
Who is he?

He's a don at Lonsdale
College.

Found this beer mat with your name on it.

Any idea how he'd come by that?

- No.
- That is your phone number on the back?

No.
I don't know whose that is.

I can't be the only Delilah
on the circuit.

The faces change,
the names stay the same.

- Has he had an accident?
- He was found dead this morning.

Do they ever ask for your
telephone number, the...

customers?

They can ask, but ask don't get.

I've got two kids.
That's who I do this for.

I wouldn't let any of those blokes
come within a million miles.

How do you get the work?

Lefty Townsend?

- I'm surprised he's still going.
- You know him?

Yeah.
I know Lefty.

ENSA during the war.

Office boy with Lew and Leslie for a bit.

All right, Left?

Fred!

I'm just going to lunch.
Late lunch.

- Spare five minutes?
- Always.

Got your book?

I just came to offer my condolences.

- If there's anything I can do...
- Thank you.

- That's very kind.
- Do the police have any further idea?

They suggested he may have been
with another woman last night.

You lived across the
stair. You didn't see?

I was out.

I'm sure they're mistaken.

- Was I a fool, Tancred?
- Never.

Fooled, then.

There's only one fool here.

And it was never you.

- Delilah.
- Paula?

Lovely little mover.

Just come off a very
successful "Dick" at Eastbourne.

Is that right?

I'm hoping to get her a summer season
with Engelbert at Blackpool.

- What about the stripping?
- Exotic dancing.

- It's all very tasteful. Nothing smutty.
- I've seen it.

Doesn't leave much to the imagination.

That rather depends on your
imagination, doesn't it?

- Why all the Biblical names?
- Adds mystery.

The girls are hardly likely to use their
own, are they? And the punters like it.

So Paula Ellis isn't the only
Delilah you've had on your books?

Oh, no. I've had quite
a few over the years.

I wouldn't know where
they all are now.

Do you have an address for her?

Eve Thorne?
Police.

Someone invited me to a party.

I don't remember who. I got a cab
to pick me up from Gerry's place.

- Do you know the driver?
- No. Why would I?

- And then what happened?
- What usually happens at a party.

You have a drink. Dance.
Talk to people.

- When did you leave?
- Two, maybe.

- Alone?
- Yes.

So where were you Monday night?

What's this about?

I got a call. Out of the blue.

A guy called and asked if
I wanted to go for a drink.

- Robin Grey?
- How do you know him?

- He'd seen me dancing.
- Stripping?

So you went for a drink and then what?

- We went back to his place.
- At Lonsdale College.

Did you sleep with him?

It's a free country last time I looked.

- You know he had a wife?
- Never came up, funnily enough.

What time did you leave?

Just after nine.

When I left him, he was
sleeping like a baby.

Look, what's this about?

Both the driver of the taxi and
Robin Grey are dead, Miss Thorne.

So far, you're the only
link we've got between them.

I don't know what happened after I went
but Robin was fine when I left him.

As for the taxi driver,
I can't help you.

Look, I answer your questions,
I'd like to go home now.

We'll need to take a set
of your fingerprints.

- Why?
- For the process of elimination.

You'll be here for a while yet.

What's going on?

The art dealer Lake hasn't shown
up, neither him nor the egg.

I've telephoned but there's no reply.

- I assumed he must be on his way.
- Do you have an address for him?

- Send a patrol car.
- Certainly. It's 15 Holywell Lane.

- Holywell Lane?
-

There's nothing to report.

He can't have been dead long.
I saw him this morning at the airfield.

- Anything, Doc?
- Well...

his head's in this room and
his body's in that room.

So that might have
something to do with it.

Anything as to a time, say?

Within the last three to four hours.

Looks to have had his throat
cut first, right to left.

Then decapitation post mortem.

Small mercies.

- Lipstick again.
- What's this?

Dr Grey at Lonsdale had
lipstick round his mouth.

As did Joey Sikes.

- I thought that was gangland.
- So did we, sir.

But his car was found just outside here.

Oh, Ballistics have
come back with a match.

The bullets I dug out were
from Joey Sikes' pistol.

- He was shot with his own gun?
- Looks like it.

- Constable.
- Doctor.

Detective Constable Fancy, sir.
Just over from County, as was.

- Chief Superintendent Bright.
- Sir.

Neighbour over the road said
she heard a shot around 3.45.

Saw this woman in the white
mac coming out at around...

half four, quarter to five.

Well, he wasn't shot.

Three men slaughtered with such violence.

You're surely not suggesting
a woman could have done it?

Two of the victims
were found in bed, sir.

And with lipstick.

So Joey Sikes was shot, then a
skewer was driven into his ear.

Dr Grey was stabbed in both eyes
and now Lake has been decapitated.

That means something, doesn't it?

The method, do you think?

Oh, SC. Same as was found on
the knife that killed Dr Grey.

And the egg?

There was a single red rose been
left, sir.

The Shadow's signature.

How come door-to-door never
picked up Lake was living here?

Not his property, sir.

Looks like he was only staying
for the duration of the auction.

Owner's listed as one
Bertram Povey. Deceased.

Knew each other, didn't
they, Lake and Dr Grey?

Both connected to this egg.

That's the key, isn't it?

What have you got there?

A menu.
1st April last year.

"On the occasion of the
passing of the Mock Turtle."

You were seen leaving Simon Lake's
flat earlier this afternoon.

We can put you in a line-up,
have our witness pick you out.

He'd asked me round for four.

I got held up.

In the end I didn't make it
till quarter past, maybe.

The door was open so I went in.

I went into the bedroom.

Next thing I remember, I was on the bus.

And on Sunday night, when the
taxi dropped you off at the party,

that's who you were seeing... Simon Lake.

And on Monday morning, you
were inside the flat with Lake

when the driver's body was found.

Yeah. We heard you knocking but
Simon didn't want to answer the door.

- Mr Bright would like a word, sir.
- In a minute.

Did you notice whether the
safe was open or closed?

No.
I don't remember.

And the driver of the taxi, Joey Sikes.

- Do you know him?
- No.

I advise you to cooperate,
Miss Thorne,

in your own best interests.

So... you sleep with Lake
on Sunday,

Grey on Monday.

Then come back for another
round with Lake today.

- And...?
- Your fingerprints have turned up

your previous convictions.

Soliciting. You're a common prostitute.

You've seen where I live.

There's nothing common about me.

What's your type?

Blonde? Brunette? Redhead?

Do you go for the mousy sort?

Butter wouldn't melt
but get their glasses off

- and, "Oh, Daddy".
- That's quite enough. Thank you.

Maybe you want a goddess.

Someone you can put on a pedestal.

Unobtainable. Or perhaps
you like to be mothered.

- Have someone wash your tinkle.
- Take her back to her cell.

You haven't taken your eyes off me.

I've got your number. I know where
you are. You like to watch, right?

Look but don't touch. I know your kind.

What's that book?

"The Spy In The House Of Love",
that's you.

Outside looking in at what
you want but daren't ask for.

- You be expected you're...
- Take her down.

- You think she killed him?
- She knew all three victims.

Had slept with two of them, both
are connected to this Faberge egg.

For all we know, Lake was
still alive when she arrived.

Now he's dead
and the egg's gone.

I've known clients get possessive to
the point of obsession in some cases.

The only reason I can think of for her to
lie is if she saw someone she recognised

by Lake's flat, going in or coming
out, someone she was afraid of, maybe.

If she saw him, it's
very likely he saw her.

Which offers the possibility that
whoever it is will try and get to her.

Morse?
Reservations?

I think the only thing she's
scared of, sir, is us.

You reckon it's her?

- She's lying through her teeth.
- There's two options.

She did it or she knows who did.

Either way, I want her under observation.

Stockings are in the shoes.

You'll find the soles
are blood-stained.

You've been there.
You know what it was like.

This is all you were wearing
when you went to Lake's?

That's all.

Was he a regular customer?

- When he was in town.
- How often was that?

Till this last week I hadn't
seen him for a year, maybe.

Does he know what you do?
Pickman?

He knows what he needs to.
Why?

Olympia. The painting he's
working on, the Manet knock-off.

Olympia was a common name
used by Parisian prostitutes.

Except she wasn't a tart, was she?

The model.

Her name was Victorine Meurent.
She was an artist in her own right.

Her work was selected for
exhibition, Manet's wasn't.

- Pickman tell you that?
- I read it. In a book.

- Do you think he's any good?
- Not particularly.

He can't shake off
the draughtsman's training.

That's what they put him to in the Army.

He doesn't seem the Army kind.

National Service, wasn't it?

I think that's how he knew Simon.

Simon Lake?

I saw him out at the windmill last week.

That's when we picked up again.

What was his business with Pickman?

No idea.

First thing you learn in my game...

.. you don't open your mouth.

Unless they ask you to.

Right.

Is this your idea of discreet observation?

It's an unmarked car, not a concert hall.

Yeah. All right.

Just keep your mind on the job and
make sure she doesn't try to leave.

Is she likely to?

When you're relieved, get these
booked into Forensics at the station.

Did you get the contents of
Joey Sikes's suitcase booked in?

Is this what I've got to look forward to?

If I want something doing,
I've got to do it myself?

- I forgot.
- Well, don't.

You're not paid to forget.
You're paid to remember.

CENTRAL EXCHANGE

- Was it Miss Thorne?
- That's right.

Call received today
from a Mr Lake at 13.54.

"If Miss Thorne would care to call
round to Holywell Lane at 16:00".

Can you confirm when that was
picked up, and if so by whom?

Miss Astor?

This call from Mr Lake
for Miss Thorne.

- Has Miss Thorne picked it up yet?
- I believe so.

I'll need the address for that account.

I'm afraid the manager's
gone home for the evening.

He's the only one with
access to that information.

But from memory it's a
temporary agency, I think.

Thank you, Miss Astor.

Temporary agency?

Yeah.
I can imagine what sort.

Home?

I'll walk, if it's all the same,
get a bit of clean air in my lungs.

I had three years on Vice,
never agreed with me.

Bodies bought and sold,
lives ruined.

Not much more than kids,
half of them -- runaways.

You could see the sharks,
the pimps and the ponces,

queued up waiting for them
at all the big stations.

"Stand you a coffee, love?"

Straight off the train,
straight on the game.

The worst of human nature,
right there.

It's no work for a family man.

One for the road?

Yes.

No, I can't.

I want to get Joey Sikes's personal
possessions logged into Evidence.

Haven't you done that yet?

No, it slipped my mind.

That's not the example
you wanna set Fancy.

You're a sergeant now.
You gotta look sharp.

Yeah.

- Night, then.
- Good night, sir.

Dad?

Why this face?

You've been back ages.

Fred?

Joan's all right, in't she?

- Happy?
- She says.

I spoke to her earlier.
She rang.

I don't know what it is with you pair.

You've barely spoken
to her since she got back.

I know you were cross with her going off.

I'd do anything for her.

I know you would.

If anything ever happened...

if she was in a spot...

.. you'd say?

Come to bed.

Shipdale Chase Hotel

So Lake was The Shadow?

- Looks that way.
- Just off him having a balaclava?

- Roses are sold by the dozen,
traditionally. - Yes. Why?

- Ten in the vase, one in the safe...
- And the 12th on the roof of Lonsdale.

He was trying to pinch his own jewel?

Or get it in the papers
and drive the price up.

He knew Pickman,
or had business with him,

according to Eve Thorne.

There's a student might be able to
shed some light. I'll talk to him.

Word through on Lake's flat, sir.

Gas and electric go through
to a Tancred Howlett.

That's one of the dons
at Lonsdale.

I had a statement off him.

He lives on the same stair as Grey.

Where have you been?

With her, I suppose.

An hour, you said.

That was two o'clock yesterday afternoon.

Is this the woman you saw
in the quad with Grey?

I don't know. She was wearing a headscarf.
It was the white coat I recognised.

- But that is Pickman's model?
- Yeah. It's her.

And it's life studies she sits for?

Mostly.

Pickman's had us do her
as Botticelli's Venus.

The girl from
"Dejeuner Sur L'Herbe",

and any number of Gentileschi
copies:

"Giuditta Con La Sua Ancella",
"Susanna E Vecchioni".

Do you ever see her outside of class?

- No.
- But you want to.

She's a model.
If she smiles at you in class,

she's being paid for it.
It's art.

Not real life.

- Some of us can tell the difference.
- Can Pickman?

- Is he a good tutor?
- Best I can afford.

How was it you know
Simon Lake, Dr Howlett?

We were up together...

.. at St Alfredus.

But he got sent down.

- For what?
- Conduct unbecoming.

Fleecing tourists
at Find the Lady.

Seems a bit stiff.

He also got one
of the cleaners in trouble.

He said it wasn't his but
someone had to carry the can.

We stayed in touch and...

as he was in town...

But you don't live there yourself?

No, no. I inherited the place
a couple of years ago from an uncle.

I wonder if you could
shed any light on this.

It's...
It looks like a menu.

I know what it looks like. I
want to know what it means.

Who's the Mock Turtle?

- I wouldn't know.
- Are you sure about that?

It was found in the pocket
of a tailcoat hanging

in the wardrobe in your flat
on Holywell Lane.

My colleague found an identical
waistcoat in Dr Grey's room.

He said it looks like the order
of service for a dining club.

It was Robin's stag.

Robin was the Mock Turtle,
hence...

The passing of the Mock Turtle,
so... What's this club?

The Berserkers.

Why so cagey?
Why deny it?

I don't want to get
involved in this.

Two people known to me
have been murdered.

- We know that.
- Where was it held, the stag?

I don't know where.

I wasn't there.

Adrian was there
but I was ill. I didn't go.

- You've got the menu!
- Robin saved one for me.

A souvenir.

What was your business with Simon Lake?

Just that.
Business.

He liked my work.
I sold him the odd piece.

You were in the Army
together, weren't you?

- Altdorf.
- What is this?

We've got a Faberge gone missing

and two men connected
with its sale found dead.

Two men that you did
National Service with.

That's more than a coincidence.

I wouldn't know about that.

"He liked my work.

I sold him a few pieces."

Past tense.

You knew he was
dead before I told you.

- Now, look...
- A neighbour on Holywell Lane

heard a shot.

But I actually think it was
your bike backfiring.

I heard it the first time
I came here.

You were at Simon
Lake's flat yesterday.

Did you kill him and take the egg?

- Or was he dead when you arrived?
- I didn't kill Simon or steal the egg!

I've seen the Cyrillic
writing in your barn.

- Tell them, Gerry.
- Cass!

- You tell them or I will.
- Cass!

She don't know what you're talking about.
She doesn't know what she's talking about.

It was a con.

That's the kind of artist my husband is.

You think I didn't know
you were up to something?

Think I didn't notice?

Your old Army mates just
dropping by out the blue?

- Cass, please!
- I'm looking out for the kids, Gerry.

He's an idiot. Easily led.

But he's not a killer.

If someone killed Robin
and Simon over the egg...

I don't want them coming for him next.

So Lake never meant to
go through with the sale?

No, sir. It was intended as
an insurance fraud all along.

Lake planned to give the egg to Pickman
that afternoon and say it had been stolen.

When Pickman arrived to collect
the egg, it had already gone.

- And he found Simon Lake murdered.
- Three of them were involved in the fraud.

Lake paid Pickman to draft a
design, supposedly by Faberge,

in order to create false provenance.

Grey, the authority on Russian
Imperial jewellery, signed off on it.

- How did they come by it in the first place?
- Pickman explained.

They were soldiers at a camp for displaced
persons on the East German border.

They transported some refugees to
the West in exchange for the egg.

But without the provenance it's worthless.

They bided their time until
they could do something with it.

So where does that leave us?

Could Pickman have
killed Lake and the rest,

taken the egg for himself?

If that had been his intention, why leave
the papers supporting its provenance behind?

The materials used in its making
notwithstanding, without them it's worthless.

If he's not got it, who has?

The killer presumably, sir.

We have got a further lead.

Very well. Carry on.

So, you are a Berserker, Dr Croxley?

Just a bunch of like-minded
fellows, making merry.

We've got two of your number
dead. Not much to be merry about.

All dons, is it?

In the main, though not exclusively.

The sole proviso of membership is
one must be a gentleman of quality.

You were at Dr Grey's
stag party last year.

Alas, a young man married.

I take it from that you're
a single man yourself.

Absolutely.

"What passing bells...?"

They don't call it a morning
suit for nothing.

Why didn't Tancred Howlett attend?

It's no great secret, not around college.

He'd entertained hopes of Lucy himself.

Was Robin Grey aware of that?

Oh, yes.

So... Dr Grey was there,
Simon Lake. Who else?

It's a secret society.

As an officer of rank, I'm sure
that's something you can respect.

Middle-aged academics,
prancing around in waistcoats,

calling each other daft names?
I've more time for the Tufty Club.

- I beg your pardon?
- You can beg my fat arse!

Grow up, Dr Croxley. You're too
old for the dressing-up box.

There are no secrets as far
as the law's concerned.

Well.
Since you put it like that...

.. I can give you a
list of those I remember.

Was Joey Sikes there?

Doesn't ring a bell,
I'm afraid. Who is he?

- Where was the party held?
- I don't recall.

Wouldn't be the Shiplake
Chase Hotel, by any chance?

Really?
Was that it?

Shiplake Chase? Pulled that
one out the bag, didn't you?

There was a bundle of bar bills
in Joey Sikes' suitcase. SC.

Same as engraved on the knife that
killed Grey. And the silverware at Lake's.

Go ahead, caller.

Good afternoon. I'd like to
leave a message for Miss Thorne.

They said they were a rugby
club up from Cambridge.

I've been in the pub and hotel
trade for 30 years, so...

- And I've never seen anything like it.
- Played up, did they?

They looked very respectable in
their evening suits and waistcoats.

But once the wine was
in... they went berserk.

Everything smashed to pieces.

What they did to the
pig's head centrepiece...

I told them, "If I'd known
you would carry on like that,

I'd have put straw down."

In the end, I threatened them with the
police. They asked to see the owner.

- Gave him a cheque, did they?
- I couldn't say, sir.

I refused to serve them.

And threatened to give
notice if the owner insisted.

The rest of the staff did the same.

We closed the bar at 10.30
and left them to it.

Have you had any thefts lately?

We had some agency staff in for
a wedding about a month ago.

Things went missing.

We did ask them to look into
it, but haven't heard back.

So two of the victims were members
of this disgusting dining club?

The... What is it?

- The Berserkers, sir.
- The Berserkers.

Sounds like a collection of Philistines.

Joey Sikes wasn't a member, sir.

The Philistines...

"put Samson's eyes out after
he was betrayed by Delilah".

- The name on Grey's beer mat.
- He was stabbed in the eyes.

And the rest?

I don't know.

That still leaves Eve Thorne as being
the only link between all three of them.

Anything from her answering service?

They're still compiling
a list of messages.

Her bills go to 24 Tobacco Yard.

- Tobacco Yard?
- That's the address of Magdalen Cabs.

Call girls. That's what Joey
Sikes was running for you.

That's what he was doing in Holywell
Lane the night he got the hard word.

- I don't know what you're talking about.
- I'll spell it out for you.

The client gets the girl's name
and number from a contact book.

Same kind of contact book I
found in Joey Sikes' flat.

He calls and leaves a
message for Eve or Jezebel

or whichever "belle de jour"
takes his fancy

with an answering service.

The girls ring in as often as
needs be to pick up their messages.

But if it's particularly
urgent and can't wait,

the messages relay
to Magdalen Cabs.

But you know that because
you're paying the bills.

- Anything you'd like to say?
- Can't help you.

Let's see if a night in the
cells can't jog your memory.

On what charge?

Procurement, conspiracy
to corrupt public morals.

Take your pick.
Either way, you're nicked.

Afternoon, sir.
How may I be of service?

A few things my wife asked me to pick up.

I've er... got a list
here, if that's a help.

Your mum said you were back.

- All right, are you?
- I'm fine.

New flat?

That's right.

Just me and two girlfriends. No
men, if that's what you're wondering.

I just wanted to see how you
were.

- Checking up on me?
- No.

I can let you have my flatmates' names
if you want to run them past Records.

I just want things to be right.

Right?

How they were.
We always got on.

You can't fix it. I've seen what
happens when you try to fix things.

There are bad things in the world,
Joanie, bad people, wickedness.

- I've only tried to keep you safe from that.
- Nobody asked you to.

You, your mum and Sam.
If I've come up short...

It's 1968.

I'm not your little girl any more.
People have to make their own mistakes.

Say hello to Mum for me.

Anything?

Residents in and out.

Florist dropped off some flowers.
That's about it.

- She hasn't been in or out?
- Not since I've been here.

Fancy said the same.

You think she did it?

I think she's a dangerous woman.

I've got a list of temps that worked
the wedding at Shiplake Chase.

- That was quick.
- You asked for it.

You're a good sergeant, Jim.

Good man too.

I don't know about that, sir.

There's not many'd take Morse in.

- He'd do the same for me.
- Would he?

He's a prickly bugger at the
best of times...

just how he is.

You wanna come in?

***

- From an admirer?
- I do have them.

So it seems.

- Flowers, chocolates...
- You should see the lingerie they send.

"Eve Thorne, RA."

Well... the Royal Academy
would be thrilled.

Judgmental prick, aren't you?

Who did you see when
you left Holywell Lane?

Nobody.
I've told you.

I don't remember anything
from finding Simon...

To being on the bus. Yes, you said.

You know,
if you're in any trouble,

I can't help you unless
you tell me the truth.

I don't need your help.

I've been taking care of myself
since I was old enough to know how.

Looks that way.

You gonna ride in on your white
charger and save me?

Is that it?

There aren't any heroes.

Just men and I know
what they're like.

- I'm sure you do.
- Oh, you bet.

I knew a girl once.

Convent educated.

Wanted to be an artist.

Did a bit of modelling,
dancing, just to make ends.

Got in with the wrong crowd.

One night, at some party somewhere,

they went at her like dogs.

I'm sorry.

I'm sure you are.

You're always sorry after.

I don't need you.

I don't need anyone.

So are you any closer to
finding out who did it?

Is that why you invited me in?

Maybe.

You got a girl?

Didn't think so.

When did you last
get your leg over?

- As a matter of interest.
- None of your business.

It's exactly my business.

I just don't see why you get to
ask all the questions, that's all.

You know everything about me.

I know nothing about you.

Save it for your clients,
Miss Thorne.

I'm immune.

You've got needs...

coming off you like a
junkie gouging for a spike.

But you won't do anything about it.

Why?
What happened?

Somebody take your girl?

I can help you forget her.

Or maybe you don't want to.

I can be her, if you like.

Are you expecting somebody?

Bed time.

Are you gonna change your mind?

- Why "weibermacht"?
- What?

The inscription. "Weibermacht...
the power of women."

The hand that rocks the cradle, right?

It's an artistic theme.

Powerful men brought down by women.

Is that what this is about?

Is that why they've been killed
in such a specific manner?

How would I know?
Unless I killed them.

They don't touch me, if
that's what worries you.

They might think they do. They
get her for an hour or two.

They get exactly what they
paid for. They don't get me.

- Is that what you tell yourself?
- Listen, tiger.

We all do what we have to,
even you.

- What I do is honest.
- You think so?

How many times have you fitted
someone up, planted evidence,

- knocked a confession out
of some poor bastard? - Never!

- You will.
- No.

That's what coppers do. I know.

I've seen it, I've lived
it, so don't tell me.

You might think
you're above it all

but you're down in the dirt
with the rest of us.

- Go to bed!
- Bastard!

Why don't you make me?

You're not Miss Evie.

Eve Thorne was
at Shiplake Chase,

the entertainment for Robin
Grey's stag night.

She wasn't alone.

Ruth Astor, the telephonist,

her name came up
on a list of agency staff

- sent to Shiplake Chase.
- We should go.

- Where?
- Adrian Croxley's.

I was looking forward
to a nice dolly party.

- All girls together.
- Evie couldn't come.

I suppose you'll do.

Eve Thorne, RA. I thought the
RA stood for Royal Academy.

Only, it was Ruth Astor.

They must've both been hired
to be the entertainment

- for Robin Grey's stag.
- And Joey Sikes was the driver.

Here.

Put some of this on her.

She looks like death warmed up.

Smile.

- I can't.
- Yes, you can.

And you be nice.

You don't remember me, do you?

Something terrible happened
at Shiplake Chase that night.

I don't think I've had the pleasure.

You have.

- Very good.
- We have some entertainment for you.

Very pretty. Fantastic wine, this. Cheers.

- What are you doing?
- I tried to forget about you.

Believe me, I tried.

Eddie gave her a job at the
telephone message service

by way of a pay-off.
He was the one who sent
her there after all.

Make it right, Eddie.

You get her fixed up.
You make her right.

Which would leave her perfectly placed
to hunt them all down one by one.

Good afternoon.
It's Dr Grey here.

It was Grey's voice I recognised first.

Then yours.

But Lake's was the hardest to find.

I had to...
I had to wait.

But I had time.

I'd like to leave a message,
please.

So she goes back to Shiplake
Chase, posing as an agency temp.

And steals the silverware she
used to kill Grey and Lake.

I wanted you to know
who was coming.

Why drive a skewer into Joey's
ear when she's already shot him?

Many of these scenes of vengeful
women from the Bible

were painted
by Artemisia Gentileschi.

She also suffered at the hands
of men, just like Ruth Astor.

Jael, who slew Sisera by driving
a tent peg into his temple.

Samson,
undone by Delilah,

before being delivered into
the hands of the Philistines

to be blinded.

Which makes Lake what?

Holofernes, perhaps?

Being beheaded by Judith.

I wanted you to know
what it felt like...

.. to feel powerless and afraid.

So what's she got in
store for Adrian Croxley?

You're frightened now, right?

Hail Mary, full of Grace,
the Lord is with thee

Blessed art thou among women

And blessed is the fruit
of thy womb, Jesus.

Leave her go!

You'll pay for this, you bastards.

It was you.

I thought it had to be.

Ruth.
Ruthie.

Darling, you've got to get away from
here. The police are coming, sweetheart.

Let go of the knife, eh?

Ruth! Oh, Ruthie, what
have you done to yourself?

I got them.

I know, baby.

- I know.
- All of them.

I tried... It was too much.

Get away. You don't touch
her. Nobody's gonna touch her!

She needs an ambulance.

No.
No.

No, she doesn't want an ambulance.

- She'll die!
- Nobody touches her!

- Ruth?
- Come on. Come on.

Ruth... Ruthie?

Ruthie.

Can we charge her with anything?

If she knew this girl was the killer?

I don't think she was certain, sir.

Not until the end.

It would be the devil to prove otherwise.

- Who was she, this girl?
- Ruth Astor, sir.

No family as far as we can make out.

Eve Thorne seems to have been the
only person to show her any kindness.

She helped her out.

Helped her get back on her
feet after... Shiplake Chase.

She did all that?

And then kill herself?

Maybe it was only hate
that kept her going...

Once she'd settled their account...

.. maybe she'd nothing left to live for.

Remorse perhaps?...

- couldn't live with what she'd done?
- or been done to her?

Right.

Will it stick,
do you think, with Nero?

- Procurement?
- I doubt it.

I know Eddie.

The whole thing will get
pinned on Joey Sikes.

Then it'll come around.

There's still the matter
of the egg, of course,

don't suppose we'll ever
know what happened to that!?

Actually sir...
we do.

Ruth Astor took it
from Lake's flat,

sent it to Eve Thorne.

- Good heavens!
- Together with some flowers.

There's a card.

"Not to be opened until Easter"

"Buy yourself a new life
and live it for both of us"...

Innocence.

Well, they got that right
-- about the kids, at least

But murder's still murder.

What starts with blood usually ends in it.

All that death and suffering...

For what?

There's always some has got
and some other bugger's not...

Nobody wins in the end...

They all wanted something
they couldn't have, I suppose.

Doesn't everyone?

Police are looking
for a young white man,

well dressed, medium build,
driving a white Mustang,

who shot and possibly critically
wounded Dr Martin Luther King, Jr

at his hotel room in Memphis,
Tennessee, this evening.

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