All language subtitles for Jonathan Creek s03e05 Miracle in Crooked Lane.eng

Here we go, my angel.

- It's too strong again.
- The stronger the better.

I can't seem to wake up these mornings.

Anyone who's had a coronary bypass
and a leg bitten off by a crocodile

is allowed to feel a
bit wobbly first thing.

You're here to convalesce,
Kathleen. Don't fight it.

How was your post? Anything on
that calendar in...? Where was it?

Hawaii? Didn't get it.

They're a bugger to photograph,
waterfalls. Will not keep still.

- Here we are. A nice cup of mud.
- Thank you.

Christine. All done for the day?

Yeah. I'd better shift myself,
I suppose. Get sir's lunch on.

How's your house guest? On the mend?

Constitution of an ox
- Kathleen.

She'll see us all off.

Good morning. Got room for
me to squeeze my bottom in?

- Unless you want to squeeze it for me, Tom?
- I don't think so.

What's got their goat?

It's not exactly the parish newsletter.

Are people full of crap
round here or what?!

Like I'm supposed to feel bad for
having a bit of fun in my life?

And don't tell me they're not
gagging for all the tasty details.

The way I see it, God
gave me a beautiful body.

And he gave it to me for a
reason. To bring people pleasure.

Which you did on a very regular basis.

I don't see any reason to be ashamed of
it and I'm not going to apologise for it.

Repent, you harlot! Or
be damned for eternity!

All right, Mrs Gibson! We
don't need any of that talk.

The things people get off
on. Did you read this tosh?

"When making love, a well-known
MP could only achieve a climax

"if I dressed as a traffic warden
and stuck penalty notices to him. "

Good thing he didn't ask to be clamped.

A bloke I went out with got
turned on by women in quicksand.

Weird or what? Apparently, it's a recognised
fetish, with websites and everything.

He had the nerve to ask me if I'd
get into a bath full of Ready Brek!

I mean, do me a favour.
And listen to this.

"On our first night, he warned
me that he'd got a dicky heart.

- "He'd certainly got a hearty d... "
- Look!

I can't do this if you're going
to gabble away like Ena Sharples!

I can't do it anyway. This whole thing
was a hideous mistake. Where are my socks?

Come on. I thought we'd
made a breakthrough here.

Like we'd agreed. We were
just going to go for it.

Stop dithering about, dive
in and see what happens.

It's hard to rise to the occasion when
you lie there guzzling Curly Wurlies.

- Talk about Bessie Bunter.
- Pardon? One single Curly Wurly.

Yes, all right.

So I get hungry in the night.

It's half past three!
Which is another thing.

Not a good time for me.
Bad for my cicadian rhythms.

So I'm just left here
high and dry, am I?

What a surprise.

I don't know. You may be right. Probably
is the worst thing we could ever do.

- Exactly.
- What do you mean?

It's the meeting of minds
that's important, isn't it?

Of all the people you'd have sex with, how
many would you want to have a coffee with?

It's much rarer to find someone...

- What the hell is this?
- I've been meaning to mention that.

"Delighted to hear
you'll both be joining us

"for our 17th annual Mystery
Writers' Convention on June 25th

"at the Trench View Hotel,
Rigglesworth... " That's Thursday.

"You'll meet members of the Jonathan Creek
Fan Club, who are all thrilled to bits... "

Jonathan Creek Fan
Club? This is a wind up.

No. It'll be brilliant.

There'll be all sorts of
people there. Danny de Vito.

He's filming at Elstree, says he's
going to pop by to present an award.

It'll be a real blast. There's all kinds of
aficionados out there we don't know about.

That's what worries me.

Thanks for doing the potatoes!
That's been a big help.

What have you been so
engrossed in all morning?

- As if I need to ask.
- Sorry?

Come on. You know full well
it's the convention on Thursday.

I'll look a right prat if I haven't
got any intelligent questions to ask.

We don't want you
looking like a prat, Jeff!

Why did you have to pick
that creep as a role model?

You don't even know
his name. It's Creek.

Because he's cerebral, he thinks.

He uses logic like a laser
to rationalise the irrational,

explain the most inexplicable
mysteries known to man.

That'll be a handy talent to have round
here, where nothing mysterious ever happens!

Now, do something useful and
pick up this potato peeler.

Do I really deserve it,
Rupert? All this poison?

Darling, it's no more
or less than the truth.

People should be prepared to
stand up for their indiscretions.

I can always rely on you
to say the right thing.

Perhaps I should give
this lawn a quick trim.

- Morning.
- Good morning.

- Got a couple of late ones for you.
- Splendid.

And I'll need a signature on this one.

Oh, my God!

Jacqui! Jacqui!

Welcome to our 17th
Mystery Writers' Convention.

- Hey, Danny de Vito! What did I tell you?
- Where?

- Over there.
- Wait a minute.

- Wait...
- Mr Creek.

We're so glad to see you and Miss Magellan.
Daphne Bywater. Your group are over here.

All ready and waiting.

They've got masses to
ask you about your cases.

For me, I've got to say, the classic
locked room was Jack Holiday in the bunker.

My only problem, if Rokesmith so mured
himself with all the tools and rubble,

how come he misses the cotton wool?

Good point.

Unless it's like some deeper instinct.

Rokesmith's id wanted to leave a clue
behind to see if anyone could work it out.

To show us all how clever he'd been.

Right.

The old telltale id. You may
just have cracked it there, Colin.

- We'd better wind things up.
- Unless you have more questions?

I'm going to get you for this.

Four hours in a wigwam with a bunch of
sad acts who know more about me than I do.

Two live in windmills. It's one step
away from Travis Bickle in "Taxi Driver"!

Don't blame me if it
ends up in a bloodbath.

DannyI DannyI

OK. 30 seconds, everybody,
before we get back to our seats.

A late arrival.

Jonathan, hi. Oh, man, fantastic.

Jeff Torrance. Huge, huge
fan. How are you doing?

Wow.

Sorry I didn't make it before, but...

This is the weirdest, weirdest thing.

Before I came out, something
just happened where I live...

Maybe this is fate or something...

- Maybe it is.
- Sorry?

Do you believe it's possible
for someone on the verge of death

to leave their own body
and appear in another place?

So how do we explain the fact that a
woman who was in hospital, in a coma,

with half her face burnt off,

was seen walking down the road last night,
totally unscathed, on her way to church?

OK. I think we're all
ready for you again, so...

Actually, bit of a bummer, something's
just come up and we've got to dash.

- Yes, it's a...
- Big, big mystery.

- Baffling beyond belief, actually.
- Got to snap into action.

Nice meeting you all.

- Where are we going?
- Linnet's Hill.

- You can follow me back.
- We came on the train.

No problem. I'll give you a lift.

- Back already?
- Promise not to faint.

- Told them about Jacqui.
- Oh, right.

- Why you do what you do is beyond me.
- Sorry?

Dress up as a person you've
never even met. Look at you.

You even grow your hair like the guy.

Christine...

This is...

- Oh.
- I know what you mean.

I don't know if you've caught any of
this Jacqui Jordan stuff in the press.

"The night I was spanked by an Arsenal
striker"? Was she a model in the '70s?

And professional bed hopper before she
settled down here as the country wife.

Nobody deserved that. I was there when it
exploded. It was like her face was on fire.

- Then today I was round at Vince's...
- In Crooked Lane.

He's got this friend staying
who's a British Mother Theresa.

Got to be in her 70s, but
still sharp as a needle.

That's why it's so spooky. She's the last
person who'd ever make a thing like this up.

She says that at 7.30 last night, when
Jacqui was in hospital, in intensive care,

she had a conversation
with her in the garden.

40 years of Christian aid work around the
world, I've seen my share of spells and sorcery,

but nothing quite like this.

I remember a witch doctor in Bali,

he said he could make a volcano
erupt by rubbing a snake.

When he took me in his
hut to show me how...

Yes. You've done the rounds since
we first met a hundred years ago,

when I was a cameraman in telly.

My first documentary was about this
lady's work. We've been chums ever since.

After her operation, I thought a few
weeks in the country might perk her up.

Yesterday was the first time we
tried outside for some fresh air.

I was nagged, to be honest.

Just lying here all day with my
books and my music has been bliss.

Pottering away at the old memoirs.
And then, at six o'clock, in he comes.

Time to stir your stumps, - or in my case,
stump - and have tea in the front garden.

It was a rather nice summer's evening.

Quite cool and refreshing and just
what I needed to liven myself up.

Till that wretched wasp came along.

Ow!

It's OK. I've got some stuff
inside. Usually does the trick.

Hi.

You must be Vince's...

You once worked as a
missionary or something?

Or something. Kathleen Gilmore.

- Sorry, I can't get up...
- No, no.

- I'm Jacqui.
- It's nice to meet you, Jacqui.

Come and have some lemon squash.

I suppose you haven't heard what
they're all calling me round here

since I sold my story to the papers?

- Cheesy flake?
- Sorry? Oh...

Quite right. Horrid things.

Why, what have you been
up to that's so terrible?

Let me see if I can guess.

Like a lot of young women, you've
used your looks to get ahead in life

and didn't care too much
who you hurt along the way.

And now, finally...

you're feeling some of their pain.

I've lived in this
village seven years...

and never once set
foot inside the church.

I don't know...

I just wondered...

today whether...

.. but maybe it's already too late.

What? You think God's
got to rush off somewhere?

If you've got something to say...

I promise you, he's ready to listen.

From where I was sitting, I had a
perfect view of the church clock.

I glanced at it as she left.

It was just coming up to 7.40pm.

That's where it's all
shot to high heaven,

because Jacqui had been in a coma since
lunchtime, when the lawnmower went up.

I spoke to Rupert this afternoon.
There's no change. She's still critical.

- Rupert?
- Bless him, the old darling.

He absolutely worshipped her.

What she saw, God only
knows. It's like my missus.

PhD in Medieval History and she runs
off with a man who makes balloon animals.

The guts are just suddenly
ripped out of your life.

I suppose you just have to
find a way of dealing with it.

And this happened where exactly?

You can't see it from
there. That's the wild bit.

It's on the front
lawn, next to the lane.

And she had the same clothes on she went
to hospital in? They weren't burnt or...?

The only thing I did notice -

the bottoms of her
trousers were a bit damp.

- Damp how far up?
- A few inches.

I don't know. Perhaps it's me...

my faith that's being tested here.

Whether she was flesh and
blood or something else...

I know I didn't dream it.

This woman was out there in
the garden yesterday evening.

Where do you pick holes in this? The
witness appears to be pathologically honest.

- It doesn't add up.
- If we look at prima facie evidence.

What if we run with a
more lateral hypothesis?

That the woman in hospital behind those
bandages is not Jacqui Jordan at all...

- but someone else.
- How do you get that?

OK.

This is the shed,
right... she went into...

when you arrived with the mail.

Given that you and Rupert were both
here when the fire start... Yeah?

Why am I delivering a
letter to Clement Attlee?

Because I didn't have a photo of Rupert.

It's purely representational, OK?

Can I continue?

By my reckoning, we
have a blind area here

where she could just have got away
out of the garden without being seen.

Sorry, Jeff, you're racing ahead of me.

- She's got an almost identical woman...
- Right.

.. same build, same
hair, same clothes...

- Right.
- .. to swap places with her in the shed...

For what reason exactly?

She normally get a stunt
double to cut the grass?

I think we've got
doppelgangers on the brain.

Well, it's obviously not going to
get solved in five minutes, so...

What do you say we put you up for the night?
You can come back to it in the morning.

We've got a spare double bed, so no
problem with the sleeping arrangements.

- I see what you mean about the Last Supper.
- You don't know the half of it.

It's an obsession.

Not that I've got
anything against Jonathan.

When you get to meet the genuine
article, he's actually quite er...

- I know.
- Oh.

I didn't do the wrong thing last
night? I assumed you two were like...

Batman and Robin? Yes,
that's about right.

Morning. You're not hanging about, then?

Such a dirty trick. Sleep with
someone then piss off first thing.

So, what's our plan of campaign today?

I suppose we'd better check
out the husband. Rupert?

While you're there, get him
to show you his magazines.

What magazines?

At the last count, it was
running well into 30,000.

From 1970, I have every
major British title -

"Mayfair", "Hustler", "Carnival",
"Nugget" and so on. All mint.

"American Glamour" is
all on this wall here.

This is an extremely rare "Hot Jugs and
Hooters" from the American Bible Belt.

Cancelled after one issue.
Most copies were burned.

Amazing. I won't ask
what's on the top shelf.

I have complete runs of all the
late '50s, '60s collectibles.

"Snip Snap", "Swank", "Spanky",
"Tip Top", "Hotspot", "Nylon Jungle".

"Flirt and Squirt". That
brings back memories.

- "Flirt and Skirt".
- Oh, yes. Sorry.

Thinking of another
publication entirely.

So there you were one day cataloguing
one of these for your collection and...

She was, quite simply, the most
perfect being I'd ever set eyes on.

The sort of woman you
want to take away...

- I get the picture.
- .. and capture in oil.

Though I doubt if David or even
Anguier could have done her justice.

I never deluded myself that she married
me for anything other than my money.

It didn't matter.

To me, she is the most precious
and irreplaceable part of my life.

Like a diamond -

that may be flawed, but
will always be a diamond.

- Odd how much he looks like Jeffrey.
- Isn't it?

Mr Clifford-Wright, I don't think any of
us are in any doubt it was your wife, but...

None whatsoever. I've not
met this friend of Vincent's,

but she's either mistaken or
playing a very cruel joke on us all.

Excuse me.

- What have you found?
- God, Jeff! You'll give me a heart attack.

I found exactly what I expected to find.

- Brilliant! What?
- Nothing.

There's nothing dodgy about this shed.

I'm afraid your notion of pulling a
switch doesn't cut it on any level.

If she wanted us to think she'd been
injured, dupe someone to take her place,

how could she guarantee that person would
be burnt beyond recognition? It's too messy.

It couldn't have been the same woman
both times. That'd be some trick.

She wasn't the cleverest
person in the world.

- No... But maybe she didn't need to be.
- Say again?

If I was to suddenly disappear
now, right here in this garden...

would you call that a clever trick?

- Come on!
- OK.

Close your eyes and
count to three quickly.

One, two, three.

Oh, hey.

This is just...

Out of academic interest, have you got one
of women in quicksand? I knew this bl...

Oh, God.

- I'm so sorry.
- Well, now I don't know what to think.

You read about these things, don't you?

I'm sure there was remorse there...

for the way she lived her life.

In her eyes, you could tell.

That last day in the garden...

Is it too fanciful to believe
she made her peace with God...

before she...

Where to now?

- To the stile.
- Why?

To check something out and get
away from Jonathan Creek wannabes.

Neat little idea he had there, but I take
it from that scowl you weren't impressed.

So if we're saying that
accident was completely pukka -

no doubles, twins
or stand-ins -

we have to take the old dear's
story with a pinch of salt.

Yet she seemed so convincing.

Therein lies the key
to the whole deception.

- Obviously she's lying.
- Obviously she isn't.

How did you describe her?
Pathologically honest?

Everything she tells us
we have to take as gospel.

The fact that Kathleen Gilmore is
such a squeaky-clean, reliable witness

is the one thing that's
too convenient here.

Oh, right! I think I'm beginning...
to not understand a word you're saying.

Yes. Well, these things
are all very well in theory,

but a bit pointless without
evidence, so I have to...

Doesn't he ever go away?

I've booked us in for
panto this Christmas.

- What?
- "He's behind you!"

Sorry. Bit slow on
the uptake back there.

How did you get here before us?

You could have just
cut across the field.

OK, how about this? It was Jacqui they
took to the hospital, but she wasn't burned.

She protected herself, pretended to go into
a coma, so she could slip out later on...

Yes. The problem with that theory is the
hospital just called to say she'd died

without ever regaining consciousness.

You're serious?

What are we looking at? Some kind
of intricately plotted murder?

Intricately plotted and so brilliantly
executed it almost came off.

The clue to it all, I've got a shrewd
idea, could well lay in this garden.

No problems. I saw Vince go out
with his camera a minute ago.

If you want to sniff
around, I'll keep an eye out.

Right. Why don't you do that.

I suppose it's pointless to
ask what we're looking for?

Mmm.

Ah.

Ah ha.

- What have we here?
- Looks like a tyre track.

- From a bicycle?
- Utterly ingenious.

No two ways about it.

Sorry. Couldn't resist.

Any joy? Managed to nail the culprit?

- Actually, Jeff...
- Jeffrey!

What the hell are you playing at,
snooping around someone else's garden?

Hi. What's going on?

Not a lot. We were just leaving.

Really? You mean leave
the village? Going where?

Good question. Scotland Yard probably.
Shed some light on this murder.

Murder? Who's been murdered?

At this moment, I haven't the faintest
idea, but we'll keep you posted.

DCI Horner. Hello. So,
what's the story here?

You've got a murderer, but
you don't know the victim?

Correct. But we've got a good
idea when the crime took place.

Between 7pm and 8pm
on Wednesday 24th June.

Bear with me two seconds.

Anthony James Feldman. Age 37.

Shot through the temple
at his home in Battersea.

His girlfriend found
him in the sitting-room.

This was wrapped round his head.

- It's empty.
- Look inside.

Hmm. Weird.

I suppose you know what
this is without looking?

I've got a pretty good idea.

- I said things would be hotting up here.
- What are you on about?

Two cop cars, heading for
Crooked Lane if I'm any judge.

And I think I saw JC in the back. This
is something I'm not going to miss.

What can you see?

- Great, the main man's here. We can begin.
- Sorry?

This is known in mystery writer's
parlance as the "wrap-up".

Where you use your logic like a laser
to explain how the whole thing was done.

- Well, I...
- Sit down.

Your friend was just
about to enlighten us.

OK. Prima facie, as you said,
what are we looking at here?

A woman's rushed to
hospital with terrible burns,

goes into a coma from
which she never recovers.

But as she's lying on life-support, she
manages to materialise outside this house

on her way to church
to atone for her sins.

An out-of-body
experience?

Or a fantastically-conceived sham...

engineered by someone for reasons that
had nothing to do with Jacqui Jordan.

It's not that you were
short on technique, Jeff,

but you were looking for the secret
of this trick in the wrong garden.

When you told us you'd seen
her, we believed every word.

If we couldn't rely on Kathleen
Gilmore, who could we rely on?

But maybe that was the point.

And then last night,
suddenly, it just came in...

almost literally,
through the curtains -

a glimmer of what all this was about.

The wet trousers, that
long groove in the soil,

the contents of that
apparently empty box...

all came down in the end to
one fairly chilling proposition.

Suppose you weren't
brought to this house

out of the goodness of
someone's heart to recuperate,

but were quite cold-bloodedly set up

to provide an alibi for someone
about to commit a murder?

You can't be... What on
earth are you trying to say?

Oh, shit.

Life isn't fair, Vince, but rubbing out
the man who stole your wife doesn't help.

Like my missus.

PhD in Medieval History, runs off
with a man who makes balloon animals.

The guts are ripped out of your life.

I suppose you just have to
find a way of dealing with it.

You weren't talking
about Rupert and his loss.

You were talking about your life.

And you'd found a way, hadn't
you, Vince, to deal with that?

As we now know, you arrived at
Feldman's home at about 7.30pm,

knowing his partner would be out
until 8pm at an evening class.

One of the more bizarre items we've dusted
for fingerprints. Of course, it was clean.

You'd done more than
cover your tracks there.

If the coppers ever called round
here - if rather than when -

you'd have an unimpeachable witness

who'd swear you were in the
garden drinking lemon squash.

What she couldn't know was that
when you were both having tea,

it wasn't 7.30 in the evening,
but 7.30 in the morning.

For goodness' sake. You think I
don't know what time of day it was?

- I'd been awake since breakfast... -
I said it was cold-blooded, Miss Gilmore.

Think about it for a sec. For two
weeks, you've been pretty immobile -

in a room, in a bed, unable to move.

Your whole concept of
time is up for grabs.

Watches and clocks are easily fixed.

For a former lighting cameraman, with access
to a few lamps and a bit of scaffolding...

the daylight coming through net
curtains can be very carefully regulated.

The trees at the side made a
perfect screen for all the hardware.

It's a trick that's worked
all the time in TVand movies.

Filming day for night and night for
day is put to more cynical use...

to shield the identity of a murderer.

Vince... Tell me this is so much drivel.

Every morning I'd
shift forward one hour,

so by Wednesday, we'd be
exactly 12 hours ahead.

Your body's telling you something
isn't quite right with...

- What is it?
- Cicadian rhythms.

Like a bad case of jet lag.

But that was the least of it
after all you'd been through.

So on Wednesday morning, she's been
awake all night. To her, it's now teatime.

So you settle her outside. If
the wasp hadn't sent you indoors,

the conversation with Jacqui
might never have happened.

Then it's her next bedtime.

Did you slip her some
sedatives so she slept through?

Now it's Thursday,
you're back on real time.

Feel a bit grotty, but no idea why.

By this time, the gear's
all been de-rigged outside,

leaving no clue as to what's happened.

Except for a few ruts where
your power cable's been lying.

So she'd already been there...
to church, that morning.

Before you were even up probably.

Oh, Rupert, mate... I'm sorry you
had to get tangled up in all...

That wasn't the idea. You can see that?

I think I'll go now.
If you'll excuse me.

Yes. And we should be
making a move. Mr Rees?

Oh, Kathleen...

Why do we do it?

God only knows, Vincent.

And I still couldn't see it.

Why couldn't I see that?
Damp trouser bottoms.

Obviously from the dew on the grass.

I mean, that is star quality.

So, listen, going to
stay over again tonight?

We thought we'd grab a bed at the
hotel this time, actually, Jeff.

Thanks all the same.

It's a fascinating process to behold.

He takes it all in and lets it brew,

then you get this slow drip of
realisation as it all fits together.

Yeah. Talking of slow drips.

He's going to get his marching
orders soon because it's like...

- Now you've seen the real thing?
- There's no comparison.

Oh, God, I would swim through treacle.

- He is technically available.
- For the right soulmate.

Of course, he's not exactly a pushover.

But if you want to know
what really turns him on...

Well, we finally did it.

- Yup.
- We won't be doing it again.

Probably not.

It was like... Making love
to your favourite uncle.

- Which you should never do.
- Not without consulting your auntie.

- Though we were both very tired.
- We were.

Funnily enough... I'm not now.

No? Well, I supp...

Hello? Yes.

No.

No, that'd...

OK. Ten minutes.

Christine...

needs to see me urgently.

It's OK. I'm up here! Come in!

- Oh, you are kidding.
- Jonathan, hi.

Christine?

What the hell are you doing back?
You're supposed to be at Tesco's!

Oh, you sick bastard!

I was trying to do you a favour.

I thought she'd be so repulsed that...

Anyway, it's perked
up their relationship.

She'll see him in a more
assertive light now, finally.

Look, Jonathan... apropos of
last night, I was thinking.

Depending on how you're fixed,
when we get back to town,

we could maybe invest in a
few bottles of wine tonight.

Batten down the hatches
and... Who knows?

This time we might just...

But you can't expect miracles.

Repair and Synchronization by
Easy Subtitles Synchronizer 1.0.0.0