Original subtitles

This is you.

I'm a good man.

I'm a good man.

I'm a good man.

Oh yes I am.

Listen, why look for silver?

You can have gold.

I ain't too young.

And baby I ain't too old.

I'm a humble man.

And I'm always true.

You were made for me and baby I was made for you.

I'm a good man.

Mighty good man.

Good man.

Mighty good man.

And I like the way you smile at me.

I guess you like everything you see.

The Sunrise in annual pitch and putt traditionally

takes place on August Monday bank holiday.

But no one's actually bothered to book the course.

So we may have to push it till September which

actually suits me down to the ground man.

Because rain and squalls I thrive in pitch and putt in those conditions.

You're very chatty this morning.

Oh sorry ma'am.

Wine last night.

Mmm red.

Always makes my head a bit fuzzy.

Well at least you're home all night so no damage done.

Oh that's no brand new damage.

What do you know I was home all night?

Well ma'am you always report drinking red wine

at home and white wine when you're dining out.

Yeah.

Red wine home, white wine out.

Took me and the boyfriend ages to realise why we did that.

Yeah red wine at home so that you don't have to

keep popping backwards and forwards to the fridge.

Yeah.

Very good.

Blue lips, swollen.

Yeah.

Not the first time I've seen that.

Pathology will have to confirm but it looks like ligature strangulation.

On a busy bus man?

Well a few seconds is all you need to rent him unconscious.

Five kilograms worth of pressure to be exact.

Well you need a lot more pressure and time to

cut off the windpipe and cause brain dearth.

This is the number six bus.

It's one of the most popular in Bath.

Especially in the rush hour.

For someone to have killed this man, well he would

have had to have done it in the blink of an eye.

And even then nobody saw him.

Monthly bus pass.

Ian Andrews.

Bit of cash.

And bank card.

And this.

Completely blank.

I'll get it to tech services.

See what that magnetic strip tells us.

Here we are.

Ian James Andrews.

Age 33.

Divorced.

Various jobs.

You look familiar.

Oh, I think you're right now.

It was at 14th Saltmarsh Street.

Larkhole.

Oh no, that's near the...

That's the point of the start of this bus's journey.

Yeah, Larkhole Terminus here.

First on at Larkhole Terminus every morning.

Weekends too.

He gets on, he pays, he takes a paper and he goes upstairs to the front left seat.

And where does he normally get off?

Bath Spa Station.

Did you run the timetable this morning?

Yeah, as best I could.

There's roadworks everywhere.

You know, three or four diversions.

The bus should have a GPS system.

It's on our drive in the office mate.

If we can access the stored data, it should give us accurate times and locations.

Did anything odd happen between here and Larkhole?

What do you mean?

Anyone acting suspiciously?

Nobody that looked like... they do what was done to that guy.

He's unemployed and on benefits.

Where's he going every day?

Seven days a week.

Wearing a suit.

Right, Ian Andrews was strangled to death on a bus that was going through the city

centre at rush hour and nobody saw a thing.

How come?

Get on to local media, radio stations, Bath Live app, appealing for anyone who

was on the number 6 between 8 and 9am this morning.

And start looking at CCTV for every bus stop on the route.

Let's reconstruct Ian Andrews' final bus journey.

Ian Andrews.

Divorced two years ago, ex-wife and kid lives in New Zealand.

No other living relatives.

Mum? Money man.

US dollars.

200 then.

I reckon there's about 20,000 in there.

Now that's some sort of ticket stub.

The Brits and the Blues Masterclass with Professor Clarence Adderley.

It's dated from yesterday.

The Avalon Festival of Ideas.

The Festival of Ideas?

Yeah, they call it the Glastonbury of politics, philosophy and literature.

It's a sort of intellectual shindig.

It takes place every year over at Contandando.

Clarence Adderley, Artemis Professor of US History at the Virginia Commonwealth University.

Careful with the screen.

I've set it to sensitive.

Specialising in the American Civil War.

But I don't know who's British.

Born in Liverpool.

There's also a leading authority on the Blues.

And it's history.

My dad was into that stuff.

When I was growing up, after a few shandies, he'd

always sit us down and make us listen to the Blues.

In 2021, Professor Adderley published the first volume

of his definitive three-part history of the Blues.

As our riff travels north from the Delta, propelled by the singular, authentic voice

of Robert Johnson, it becomes hardened by the urban industrial experience.

The Blues becomes electrified.

And the torch passes from Muddy Waters to players like B.B.

King, who shifts the guitar from rhythm to lead.

When this is heard by John Mayall, Alexis Korner, Keith Richards...

...used upon by the likes of Jimmy Page, Peter Green and Eric Clapton.

Tell my friend boy Willie Brown, I'm standing at the crossroads,

believe I'm sinking down.

Nope.

Sorry.

His name's Ian Andrews.

He was found this morning dead under suspicious circumstances.

OK.

The only lead we have is this ticket stub for your talk yesterday.

We also found 20,000 US dollars hidden under the bed.

I... don't know what to say.

Sure, we just have to follow every available lead.

Sorry, this is routine, Professor, but can you confirm

where you were this morning between 8 and 9 AM?

I'm a happily married man.

I love my wife, I love my kids, my grandkids.

But this morning at 8 AM, I was with someone else.

Can we have a name?

She's married and sorry, I'm a gentleman.

Does your wife know that? Joan? Clarence.

Yeah.

No, I'm having a ball, really.

Yeah.

Look, listen.

Is Mr Ambassador available? Great.

I'll hold.

Lot 124.

A very desirable miniature Georgian carriage clock.

Should we start the bidding? 3,000 pounds.

3,100.

Madame, 3,200.

3,300.

3,400.

3,500 with you, Madame.

3,500.

Do we have 3,600? 3,660 pounds.

Sold!

For 3,660 pounds, the lady at the front.

We could have got 4K.

It sold 25% over the reserve.

The bank won't extend Daddy's credit.

I'm on a streak.

We're good.

We're really good.

Aren't we?

Breathes with the years.

And we do have a sale, don't we?

I

have to handle a community impact assessment to reassure our stakeholders.

It's safe to use public transport and it would really help if I could mean it when

I said that we are making significant progress.

So our victim had a public profile.

I thought he looked familiar, ma'am.

So five years ago, Ian Andrews single -handedly foiled an armed

robbery over in Bristol in a betting shop where he worked.

He was all over the telly, the papers, for months after.

The crew he foiled, they're all still in prison.

But it doesn't mean we can rule them out as far as commissioning the crime.

And why in public on a bus and why didn't anyone notice?

We don't know yet.

But we've narrowed it down.

So whoever killed Ian Andrews must have known that he was a creature of habit.

Every morning at 8am, seven days a week, he'd

board the number six bus here at Lark Hall.

And then make his way to his usual seat in the front left-hand corner of the upper

deck, where he'd settled down with the puzzles from this free paper.

As you can see, he's made a start in the word wheel.

But he's only got as far as about half of the easy three-letter words.

Point of death, ma'am.

Now, I reckon it'd take me about 15 minutes to get this far under puzzles.

So that takes us to around 0815.

And that's Morrison Street around there.

And he always got off at Bath Spa Station.

At 0827.

So we focus on this 12-minute window between Morrison Street and Bath Spa.

Thank you.

Thank you, ma'am.

At some point within this time window, and from this stop on the journey through

to this stop, the killer must have sat directly behind the victim in order to

shut the windpipe quickly and efficiently and

get off the bus, leaving Ian Andrew's dad.

With $20,000 under his bed.

Hmm.

So far, we have TIE'd 79 potential witnesses.

Eight people think they remember seeing someone sit behind the victim,

but we can't even get an agreement on gender, let alone age, ethnicity, build.

Okay, we reassure the public with a uniform present on all city centre bus routes.

And when they're on the number six, they're

gathering more statements from regular commuters.

Yes, I have to take this.

It's the assistant chief constable again.

I'll be back in an hour.

Hello.

Ma'am, we've had another witness come forward.

Name's Hilary McLean.

She was sat upstairs between Larkhall and Bath Spa.

He was white, mid to late 30s, brown eyes, unshaven and short, dark hair.

And he was wearing like a zip-up, sports-tapping gray, black shorts,

black trainers and gloves.

That's very precise, Hilary.

You got on the bus at Larkhall Terminus at 8am, Miss Smith?

Yes.

Have you seen the dead man before?

Yeah, every time I get the six.

Mondays and Thursdays, usually.

And, um, where...

Where are you seated, Miss McLean? Right there.

So, on the right, the top of the stairs.

So, you would have been able to see everyone coming up

and down the stairs for the duration of your journey?

Yeah, I suppose.

OK, let's get back to the man that you saw acting suspiciously.

So, where did he get on? Guildhall.

And he sat right at the front.

Just behind the dead man.

And how long was he with you on the journey?

Ten minutes, I think.

Do you know where he got off?

No.

No, I'm not sure.

I had to take a phone call from work.

What was it that was so peculiar about him?

Well, it was when he came to get off, he just... well, he just didn't move.

He just stood there.

Behind the victim.

For how long? Twenty seconds.

Half a minute.

Looks like we've got a serious suspect, Sarge.

Yeah, this man standing behind the victim.

Ma'am, I've checked through the street, residential and business CCTV around all

the stops in the window, and I've got this.

There.

Getting on up Morrison Street at 8.15.

Is there any possible connection between Adderley and Ian Andrews? Not yet.

Adderley's only been in the country for a week.

He lives in the US.

Has done for the last 25 years.

Yes, the US Embassy has been in touch concerning our treatment of Clarence Adderley.

What?

And whilst he's not lodged a formal complaint, he did express some minor

distress about your attitude and behaviour when you interviewed him yesterday.

He cheats on his wife.

Of 40 years.

By the police.

But when I asked him where he was yesterday between 8 and 9, he lied.

Did he?

He just told us that he was having a romantic assignation.

When we tried to push it further, you did, you know.

You misspoke.

Ah, okay.

Tech services have identified the blank plastic card in the victim's wallet.

A left luggage locker at the bus station.

You'd better get down there, DCI Macdonald.

DS Dodds.

Our inquiry has now definitively placed the professor at the crime scene.

So he's a witness, not a suspect.

Silver body paint?

Now, the question that fascinates me as an Afro-Anglo-American from the hood is why?

Why this recurring cultural convection between obscure black American musical

genres and young white working class and lower middle class Brits?

Because we share a history, for good or ill.

We hear the century-old blues holler from the delta right here, right now,

and its essential authenticity sings to us and touches our shared humanity.

Any questions? Thank you.

Professor, might I return to that question of essential universal authenticity?

I'm listening, sir.

For disclosure, I'm Nicholas Olienka, and I'm a

specialist in developing manufactured neural networks.

You mean AI?

An emotive term that we prefer to avoid at the cutting edge.

But my work does present some disturbing questions.

And Professor, I'm on your team.

I, too, passionately believe in the human touch.

Now, no machine can replicate, for example, Robert Johnson's

authenticity, the artist at the centre of the blues creation myth.

Or can it?

Professor, the possibility torments me.

And one way or another, I have to know.

Please expand, Mr. Olienka.

I wonder if you'd indulge me in a friendly experiment.

And suppose I asked my programme to synthesise

a blues recording from the 1920s or 30s.

Could you, Professor Adderley, distinguish between the authentic and the...

I prefer the term modo, music of digital origin.

Let's do it, Mr. Olienka.

Only all our witnesses were like Hilary McLean.

It's a lot of detail there, ma'am, a lot.

Okay, we have our second suspect.

This man was seen by Hilary McLean standing directly behind the victim for 20

to 30 seconds between Morrison Street and Cadogan Square, within the window of 815 to 821.

So we check all street CCTV across those stops? Exactly.

Specifically looking for this guy getting on or off the bus.

Now, we're specifically interested in where you

were between 815 and 827 on the Monday morning.

I would have been in transit from my...

Oh, your romantic assignation.

Transit?

Yeah, I got a bus.

I don't remember which one or exactly what time,

but I have a feeling that you're about to tell me.

I have indeed, sir.

It's the number six from Lark Hall.

There you are, sir, boarding at Morrison Street there at exactly 815 a.m.

And this renders you as significant witness.

And this is important because?

Oh, because the person that we spoke about yesterday, Ian

Andrews, he was murdered on this bus between 815 and 827 a.m.

Can I ask you where you sat, sir? Upstairs.

Now that, that is music to my ears, sir, you see, because now our victim,

he was in the front left-hand side seating when he was strangled.

Strangled?

Now, that I did not see.

Strangulation?

Did anyone?

Have you any idea roughly where you sat, sir?

The seat behind the guy, you think that's where the killer sat?

Oh, yes, sir, that is the working theory.

Well, I don't remember exactly where I sat, but maybe I did sit there,

but I did not strangle a complete stranger.

You feel me, sergeant?

Oh, yes, sir, I feel you.

Good man.

Oh, yes, of course, sir.

He didn't want us to know he was on that bus.

Why?

If he didn't murder Ian Andrews.

Well, if he did, then he knows we haven't got any eyewitnesses.

Now, this is the bus station last Sunday.

So, we've got Ian Andrews.

He takes a bag out of the locker and takes it to the toilet.

Now, we fast-forward 20 minutes and...

Oh, that's Mr. Darcy.

I see him a lot when I go to choir practice at the Abbey.

So, that's why no one knew where Ian disappeared each day.

Because he was disguised as Mr. Darcy.

How can you just stand there all day, not

moving, not talking to anyone, just on your own?

Well, I never thought I would say this when I was applying for the Met,

but let's go interview Jane Austen.

Ma'am.

Hillary Maclean.

The home help job is just part-time, so I do this some afternoons and Sundays.

Actually, I'm more from doing that than my real job.

Is everything OK?

There is a living statue here.

Does Mr. Darcy recognise him?

Yeah, his patch is just over there.

And do you ever talk to him, interact with him? Er, no.

Is this about the dead man on the bus?

This is the man on the bus.

Ian Andrews.

Mr. Darcy.

Oh, that's awful.

I didn't... Mr. Darcy, I didn't know.

Did you notice anything unusual or different about him recently?

Oh, well, I don't know if this is unusual, but sometimes when I'd be going home in

the evening, I'd see him up in the alcove, you know, on Salveson Street.

It's a bit of a dead area, isn't it?

No, after everyone had gone home, even if it was raining.

Just standing there, looking at nothing.

You know, no-one to look at him.

And when did you last see him there?

Er, it was last Wednesday, about 7pm.

Ian Andrews has 15 minutes of fame by taking on three armed robbers,

but then he started complaining about the attention he was getting.

He started drinking, his marriage fell apart.

Yeah, well, there's a few chaps down the sun rising, going down that route.

Ian Andrews, it was like it was a curse being a hero.

So he became a living statue so people didn't recognise him.

What is it?

I don't know, ma'am.

Hello?

Sir?

There's blood spat on your nose.

I'll see who he is.

Alan Jones.

Also known as Jinxy.

He was my best friend at school.

You OK? Fine.

Yeah, fine.

Was, er, Jinxy married?

Kids?

Er, no, no, he, erm...

His sister, Mabel, she died a couple of years ago, and...

He's been on his own, er, since then.

Is the pathologist ready? Yeah.

Right, what's said to it?

What did he work as?

He was a sign writer at Jinxy, he was Bath's last...

Sign writer.

Well, first of all, he's been dead at least four days, probably longer.

As long as last Wednesday? That would fit.

His pockets have been rifled.

I'm not going to get prints from clothes.

His nose has been badly broken, splattered

patterns suggest a powerful blow to the face.

And here, a large contusion to the side of the head.

I'd work on the theory that that's what killed him.

I'm not seeing any defensive injuries.

So, one blow to the face?

No intention to kill? Yeah.

OK, you're clear to take him back to the PM.

Erm, some...

There's a bottle label there, there, ma'am.

Do you see Goldie? There.

It's wine bottle, isn't it?

Er... Fine chute cone.

We sift through the other pieces, er... reconstruct the bottle and pull for prints.

Yeah.

And we'll get DNA.

What do you think Jinxy was doing down here?

I don't know, ma'am.

Looks like he was using the place as a temporary workshop and, erm...

It wouldn't be the first time someone's punched Jinxy in anger.

He was...

He, like, two annoyed people, you know, gave them and we all...

..tolerated in it, the sun rising, but...

So small, it wouldn't take much to flatten him.

So...

Someone killed him?

In a moment of madness?

Bifled his pockets but didn't take his wallet?

What were they looking for?

I don't know, madam.

It's...

It's not very rich, is he?

Yeah, and then to...

..pull over these shelves and to smash all the glass, to just confuse and contaminate

the crime scene.

Ian Andrews was standing over there on Wednesday.

What if he was murdered because he saw what happened to Jinxy? Ormond.

I really want to work this case, madam.

OK.

Mum?

You had a personal connection to the victim, Sergeant Dodds? Yes, ma'am.

Jinxy, sorry, um...

..Mr Jones was my friend.

Mum, I'm struggling for manpower here.

We're still tracing and interviewing all the bus passengers.

I could make a request for extra support.

Sergeant Dodds works alongside the inquiry in a non-evidential capacity.

He doesn't take any statements, so he can't

be called to court in the event of a trial.

OK.

Thanks, mum.

Thank you, madam.

Sergeant.

Yes, ma'am.

Ian Andrews witnessed the murder of your friend last Wednesday, but he didn't

report it to the police.

Why not?

Does that explain the cash under Ian's bed?

Was he blackmailing the killer?

20K in US dollars does lean towards Clarence

Adderley as the killer-stroke blackmail victim.

And this person still hasn't come forward, despite saturated witness appeals,

which is suspicious in itself.

Do we have anything on him? No, ma'am.

Well, whether or not Ian was blackmailing the

killer, it's your friend who's the key to all this.

He's the one with the connection to the murderer, isn't he, Sarge? Yes, ma'am.

Wait till you see him.

Alan Jones, also known as Jinxy, get everything we can on him.

And all the people that we've traced from the bus, recheck their background to see

if there's any connection to him.

We need to find out who owns that glass factory.

I've also found out your friend likes to do a bit of travelling, Sarge.

Three separate month-long trips to the US over

the past seven years, most recently last February.

Jinxy?

Travelling?

You must have noticed when he wasn't around.

Yeah, well, we'd go for a few months and see him down at the pub.

Well, each trip he takes out a four-week car hire from New Orleans Airport.

No, no, no.

That's not what his bank statements are saying.

His itinerary every time is a couple of nights at the Bourbon Street Shakedown

Hotel, and then he criss-crosses Mississippi, Alabama, South Carolina,

always finishing in Memphis, Tennessee.

America, again.

Deep south.

Everywhere we look, we're seeing Clarence Adderley.

I've visually colour-coded each of his trips.

So, red for 2017, yellow 2019, blue last year.

You can see his roots and all the places he's visited.

Every bar, motel, diner, filling station.

He's just buzzing around, randomly, back and forth.

And after school, we started drifting apart.

I got a job in Broccoli's Ironmongers with Jinx.

He thought that was boring.

All right.

He wanted to take his guitar on the road.

Like that old song.

Find himself a rock and roll band.

And all that.

And he ended up a sign writer? Yeah.

Youthful dreams.

Well, it could happen to Menge on it.

Midlife crisis and all that.

Was he not a happy guy? Oh, well, no.

He used to say, well, boast.

I'm only happy when I'm miserable.

Shouldn't that be... Yeah, Route 66, not 666.

Jinxy has lived here for 40 years.

And I've never been here before.

Blues, blues.

All blues records.

All those trips to the States.

He was buying all this memorabilia.

So...

Well done, Jinxy.

OK.

I'm gonna go and check through the living room.

When you're ready, you check his bedroom.

Give yourself a couple of minutes there, yeah?

Best wishes, Clarence.

Signed copy of Clarence Adderley's book, The Contract at the Crossroads.

And Jinxy's highlighted something.

Despite the valiant and exhaustive efforts of scores, if not hundreds of dedicated

and fanatical blues researchers, Little Robert's map, which is rumoured to

specify the exact crossroads where he sold his

soul, remains tantalisingly beyond our reach.

The lost chord that may never complete the tune.

Who's Little Robert?

That's Robert Johnson.

And his contract with the crossroads.

It's the legend.

Clarence Adderley was talking about it, the festival ideas.

It's the birth of the blues.

The legend goes that Robert Johnson, way back in time in the Mississippi Delta,

met the devil himself, sold his eternal soul to gain the blues.

Champagne Fleurette, 89.

From the barcode, we know it was purchased in Shakers Wine Shop on Bow Street at 5.

45 last Wednesday.

By Clarence Adderley.

Nope.

I don't know him.

His name was Alan Jones.

We found him dead yesterday in the old glass factory on Southson Street.

Under suspicious circumstances.

So, every murder that goes down in Bath, you want to pin on me?

The killings are linked.

Well, this man here is the... He liked you.

He was a jinxie.

He was a fan of the blues.

At the crime scene, close to the body, we recovered a smashed champagne bottle.

And when we reconstructed the barcode, we traced the purchase back to you,

sir.

Would this have been the Champagne Fleurette? Yeah.

I think I left that in a taxi.

It's only a matter of time until we pull fingerprints.

So, if you'd just like to volunteer a sample of

your prints, then we can easily clear this up.

You know, on the day that I was granted my U.S.

citizenship, I thought I would celebrate.

So, I hired a red 1968 Alfa Romeo Spider.

I thought I would drive down through the Carolinas, and I got pulled over by a

couple of state troopers, and, well, I don't need to tell you how it went after that.

So, I'm kind of wary of getting involved with cops on this kind of basis.

You feel me?

Sergeant Dodds?

No, sir, I don't think I do.

No prints.

Sorry.

Okay, well, what about this?

Where were you last Wednesday around 7 p .m.

? With your...

with your special friend? No, detective.

I can tell you exactly where I was and exactly who I was with.

Clarence Adderley?

Yes.

Yes, he's a client.

Well, a potential client.

He's very distinguished.

When was the last time that you saw Professor Adderley? That would be.

..

last Wednesday?

Yes, last Wednesday at about 6.30.

You're still open, then?

It was a private viewing.

The professor is a collector of minor Edwardian landscapes.

It's a burgeoning market.

How long was he here for?

A couple of hours.

Monday morning between 8 and 9 a.m.

Where were you both? We were here.

Anyone who could verify that?

No.

Why would they be?

You know, you still haven't asked why I'm asking you this.

We see a lot of the police here, looking for stolen goods.

They never tell us anything.

We're used to your methods.

Okay.

Well, we're here because we're conducting an

inquiry into the suspicious death of this man.

Alan Jones.

He's sometimes known as Jinxy.

Did you know?

No.

Well, his murder was connected to the killing of one Ian Andrews on Monday morning.

Do you recognise him?

No.

Would you be willing to give us a sample of your fingerprints for elimination purposes?

No.

There's a lot of no's here, folks.

You know, something happened in that glass factory

and a punch was thrown and it killed Jinxy Alan Jones.

Now, if either of you threw that punch, then you're in serious trouble.

And if either of you witnessed the throwing of that punch, the murder of

Jinxy Jones, and you didn't report it, then you are in serious trouble.

Do you understand me?

Yes.

Good day.

Say Jinxy.

Jinxy.

Coming out, Dubsy?

Say what you want to say.

He was murdered.

Murdered?

Jinxy was murdered?

What, deliberately? Why? Chaps, we.

..

we think that Jinxy was killed last Wednesday.

How? One punch.

In anger.

I knew it.

I knew Jinxy's mouth would get killed one of these days.

Did any of you see him in the days before he died?

No.

No, sorry.

And did you ever see him with a stranger? Something odd.

Sorry, Dodsy.

We haven't seen Jinxy here since...

Easter Monday.

What did you say to him, Dodsy?

He never came back here after that.

That Brian one, was he actually making eyes at me?

Oh, yeah, sorry, ma'am.

You know, Brian's quite the ladies' man.

He's had a fling with most of the female rock singers of the 1980s.

Power Ballad, I'll say no more.

So, sorry about that.

So, what happened on Easter Monday between you and Jinxy?

Well, I was drunk.

I gave him a piece of my mind.

Lauren, I do want to shoot my bolt in there in front of the lads.

Stout fellas, but they're amateurs.

Truth is, Laurie, I ran in a Jinxy after my gig at the Bell.

Last Tuesday night? Yeah.

Brian's the lead singer in a bad company tribute band.

Worst company.

I once went out on the pool with Paul Rogers.

Right.

Tuesday night, Brian.

Jinxy? Oh, yeah.

Well, Jinxy was on one of his all-day benders.

Yeah, happy being miserable.

No, dodsy.

Jinxy was happy being happy.

I've never seen him so happy.

It was in his eyes.

They were twinkling.

His eyes were twinkling with happiness.

Twinkling.

So, what was he so happy about being happy about? The crossroads.

Yep.

It found the crossroads.

And it was going to make him rich.

Seriously rich.

Did he expand on that, Brian?

Jinxy didn't ever expand.

He just sank his old peculiar.

Told me I was the worst singer ever.

That my whole life was one big pathetic lie, especially to myself.

And left.

God, I miss Jinxy.

Oh, me too, Brian.

Me too.

Thanks, Brian.

One love.

Crossroads.

There's something going on here, isn't there? Something.

..

Some sort of story.

You're right, ma'am.

We tell the story, maybe we solve the case.

Yeah, the story.

It starts in the deep south.

The preacher man's a-coming.

Gotta get my soul clean.

The preacher man's a-coming.

Gotta get my soul clean.

Ah, professor, you came.

Thank you.

Did you think that I'd back out?

Well, you'd be delighted to hear I have devised a test.

Penitentiary Hollerin' Blues? Ah, yes.

The original production copy was damaged.

The middle-eight was accidentally cut, so they deemed it unreleasable.

But Columbia have recovered Robert Johnson's own uncontaminated copy.

Owned by his family.

Yes, I heard the rumors.

Well, sir, I have obtained access.

So, if we reconvene at 1pm, you will for the first time hear

the missing middle -eight of Penitentiary Hollerin' Blues.

Well, all right.

But for my test, you will also hear potential versions of the same sequence,

synthesized by my program.

Your challenge, should you wish to accept it, is this.

Can you discern the authentic from the synthesized?

Well, in the words of the great philosopher, let's take it to the bridge.

James Brown? Of course.

This is a pattern, after all, or it's more a recurring theme.

Now, the bulk of his purchases were made at or near crossroads.

The contract at the crossroads?

So, Robert Johnson, according to legend, sold his soul to the Earl of Hell.

Earl of Hell? Now, look here.

Jinxy's highlighted little Robert's map.

Now, ma'am, this map, what if Jinxy, on one of his trips to the States,

had somehow laid his hands on this map?

Last Tuesday night, Jinxy was happy being happy because he'd found the crossroads

that was going to make him rich.

Twenty-four hours later, he's dead and someone's rifled through his pockets.

Jinxy was killed for Robert Johnson's map.

Where is it now?

And who's got it?

Yes?

Mr Ollie Inker, I'm Greg Devere, my sister Geraldine.

May we come in?

I've been advised by the US Consulate not to say

anything more to you guys without a lawyer present.

Professor, I first met Jinxy Jones when we were both five years old in reception

class at our old Lady of Fatima Primary School.

Now, I think that Jinxy somehow acquired Robert, Robert Johnson's missing map.

And I think that is why he was killed.

OK.

Maybe I should have said something earlier, but when you

guys showed up with a photo of another dead guy, I panicked.

Truth is, I did meet Jinxy.

In the glass factory?

I don't know anything about a glass factory.

He came to the festival.

He wanted to talk blues to me.

Got drunk.

I couldn't make out much of what he was saying.

Something was eating at him.

Oh, did he say what exactly?

Now, look, guys, I have told you everything that I know, but as soon as

this dumb bet with our AI friend is over, I'm going to make tracks out of here tonight.

So, it's been a pleasure.

They think they've found the gloved man from the bus.

Facial recognition across social media came back with ten matches to this guy,

with only one living in Bath.

Gordon Pendry, aged 39, resident in Bewley.

Oh, that's on the number six ring.

Yes, he's an ex-paratrooper.

Chain killer?

Let's pick him up.

Oh, hang on a second.

His military medical files have just come through, and a sniper bullet went through

his left wrist on a patrol in Sierra Leone in 2012.

If you can't grip a rope tightly with both hands, you can't strangle Ian Andrews.

TIE him.

Get a formal witness statement.

We rule him out.

We're left with Clarence.

Yeah, all the Deveres.

All three.

Oh, Sarge.

Data on the bus company's GPS system.

Exact times and locations on the bus on Monday morning.

Okay, the glass factory on Wednesday.

We know that Jinxy was there with his map.

The champagne bottle places Clarence Adderley there.

And if he's alibying the Deveres, that means that

Greg Devere and Geraldine Devere were also there.

So, we have a victim, a killer and two witnesses

who saw the murder but didn't report it.

Why not?

Oh, this isn't right.

This... this diversion.

So, they had the traffic turn left into Morrison Street, then on to Wellington

Street, but if they'd have turned right towards Pulteney Bridge, they would have

joined the main trunk road into Bath City Centre.

Southwest Water have no record of a diversion on Monday, nor do the council.

DCR Macdonald?

Yes, he's given a detailed update on the inquiry.

What do you need?

Well, I need to see this bus driver again.

Okay.

You go with him.

You have to take his statement.

He's not allowed.

Monday morning, around 8.15, the bus was diverted at Morrison Street into

Wellington Street.

Why didn't they turn us down to Pulteney Bridge?

Well, that's what we're trying to ascertain, sir.

So, you turned into Wellington Street at 8 .15, missing out the Oswald Street stop,

arriving at Cadogan Square at 8.21.

Yeah, sounds right.

So, when you turned into Wellington Street, did the automatic internal lights come on?

No, they weren't working.

It's been tampered with.

Okay.

What have we got?

Well, first, there were no signs of any recent roadworks anywhere.

Okay.

I've checked through the traffic cam at Morrison

Street, and the bus was diverted from its route there.

A diversion sign and traffic cones were set out at 7am.

The council then removed it all at 11.45 due to a score of public complaints.

They thought it was kids or some kind of student prank.

But actually, it was this person.

And you see, he or she keeps their face hidden from that camera.

Right.

Second?

The interior lights of the bus were disabled at the depot.

So, at 8.15am, the misdirected bus came this way.

As you can see, under the bridge, the upper deck would have been plunged into darkness.

So the bus would have been travelling about 5 or 10 miles an hour.

So it would have taken about 30 seconds to emerge at the other end of the tunnel.

Which is more than a blink of an eye.

Which means that the killer didn't have to be sitting directly behind the victim.

No, ma'am.

No.

30 seconds is just enough time for the killer to have gone into the seat behind

the victim and applied enough pressure on the larynx to

murder Ian Andrews and make it back to his original seat.

Right, show me that again.

It could be bloody anyone.

Any gender.

It's the best view we have, ma'am.

You sure?

How many stops did that bus miss because of the diversion?

Oh, that's just one, ma'am.

There we go.

So, there.

Oswald Street it would have been.

So the driver would have just come out and taken a hard left on Kingswood Road and

then left again back down to rejoin the original route at Cadogan Square.

So there must have been more signs put out to

redirect the driver back onto the original route?

Yes.

I'll start checking CCTV between here and Cadogan Square.

OK, so it could have been anyone who was upstairs

between Morrison Street and Cadogan Square.

Between 8.15 and 8.21.

Which is when this guy got on before Clarence Adderley.

So, following the line, who else was upstairs

between the diversion and Cadogan Square?

Five passengers.

Well, six if you include this guy.

You had Kevin Buxton at the back, Barry Oldham three or four rows ahead,

Hillary Maclean on the right... Hillary Maclean.

Now,

we know that this man is not the killer.

How did he become a suspect even in the first place?

Hillary Maclean told us...

Hillary Maclean told us that she saw him standing for 20 to 30 seconds behind the

victim between Morrison Street and Cadogan Square.

Saw him, ma'am.

Saw him.

She must eat a lot of carrots.

Right, deep background on Hillary Maclean.

She's just gone from witness to suspect.

Miss Maclean, we have established that this man could not have killed Ian Andrews.

OK.

Well, I hope you find you did.

But we have established when he was killed.

Around 8.16 on Monday morning between Morrison Street and Cadogan Square.

Which is when you said you saw this man standing behind Mr Andrews.

Yes.

Have you forgotten that the bus was directed down Wellington Street and under

the bridge where it was plunged into darkness for 30 seconds?

Almost total darkness?

Which means that you could not have seen this man standing behind Mr Andrews.

Seems that you have lied to us.

30 seconds of darkness.

Would have been enough time for you to cross the aisle and kill Ian yourself.

What?

We've accessed your employment history.

Five years ago you worked at the Ashton branch of Oddsmatch betting in Bristol.

The same place that Ian Andrews did.

I didn't kill Ian.

You're going to have to do better than that, Hillary.

Ian was a hero.

And to me.

And I always liked him.

But I watched what happened to him and he didn't like all the attention.

He was a quiet, decent man.

Anyway, he left Bristol and I always wondered what had happened to him until a

couple of years ago.

And I came to Bath and I saw him.

And I tried to reconnect with him on the bus but he would just never talk to me.

But he knew who I was.

He just looked through me, you know, like he

didn't want to be reminded of all of that.

You told me that you didn't know Ian and Mr Darcy were the same person.

Because I just wanted to help you.

And I was so, so sure that that guy killed him.

I didn't know what to do about her.

She's just a bit of a poor soul.

Yeah, who's wasted a shed load of our time?

And we can't rule him out completely, or Clarence, or anyone on that bloody bus.

Ma'am?

Yeah?

You called it right.

The last diversion sign, he didn't realise there was a camera there.

And he took off his mask.

Never mind who was on that bus.

This nails us a double killer.

Now, sir, I shall play you three tracks.

One of them is the genuine Robert Johnson missing bridge.

Please listen carefully to each version, and then make your call.

I'm listening.

Version one.

Next.

Professor, I really think you should listen a little longer before you... I'm good.

Next.

Version three.

Sir?

Professor?

Version three is Robert Johnson.

You're...

You're right.

Straight out of Compton.

Compton dander.

Professor?

How did you do it? I'm confused.

Your accomplice performed well enough.

The signature harmonic distortion of the RCA44B microphone.

A minus.

The sonic artefacts on the acetate disc.

Straight A.

The hallmark open G tuning.

And the microtonal melisma.

B plus.

But it isn't about what is there.

It's about what isn't there.

And your robot missed the train.

I'm sorry?

Little Robert recorded penitentiary hollering blues

close to the Mississippi and Western Railroad.

And if you listen hard enough to the first section, you will hear a train passing.

Now the bridge on track three has the train.

Track one and two, no train over the bridge.

Now what is this about?

What is this? I know you.

You failed me.

My PhD.

The impossibility of history.

The impossibility of history.

Well you deserve to fail.

It was a substandard piece of work.

No, it was good and you know it.

But thank you, professor.

You set me on a path to my true vocation.

You didn't deploy some sensitive ear attuned to the authentic.

All you did was what any machine could have done, detective work.

Detective work, as in finding evidence, is kind of what history is.

Yes, but if it wasn't for the train, could you have told

the difference between authentic and the synthesized?

That, my friend, you will never know.

Professor, we're ready to sell.

To the highest bidder.

I am the only bidder.

What do you mean, highest bidder?

There's more than one person interested.

When and where?

Tech support happy? Yes, ma'am.

Good.

Suspect surveillance? All covered.

And they're all heading to Devere's.

What happened at the glass factory last Wednesday is

going to happen again with all the same party present.

And our options are one killer, two victims, or two killers, two victims?

We're a joint enterprise with more than two killers.

And there's no evidence linking the killer with either victim? No, ma'am.

And you're sure you've got enough to leverage a confession?

If everything goes to plan, ma'am.

Okay.

Now or never.

Lot one of one.

Gentlemen, a map of the Mississippi Delta.

Signed, dated and verified by one Robert Johnson.

Little Robert's 40 days and 40 nights in the Delta everywhere he went.

And lo, the unholy of unholys, the precise location of the contract at the crossroads.

More beautiful, more detailed than all your young man's dreams.

Decades of scholars fashioning Little Robert as a legend in their own image.

This map confirms the moment that the stones started rolling.

When mankind drew breath before a shout of defiance that would shake the world.

Look upon it and hear the jubilating preachers and railroad whistles.

Smell the backwards jukes, the homemade corn liquor, the fried catfish.

It's worth more than money, Clarence.

The true crossroads in cold hard numbers.

The time and the place of the birth of the blues.

April 1932, 33 degrees north, 91 degrees west.

Years and years I trudge those places.

Twenty years.

Nicholas, come on.

Let's not do this, man.

This is heritage.

Can we get on with it, please?

Put the ready, please.

Shall we open the auction at $300,000? $350,000.

$550,000.

$575,000.

$580,000.

$600,000.

$610,000.

$620,000.

$630,000.

$640,000.

$660,000.

That's $660,000 with you, Mr. Ollie.

$660,000 going once.

One second.

One second.

$660,000 going twice.

I've secured the funds from my father.

$666,000.

$666,000.

Going once.

Going twice.

Gone to Mr. Ollie and get $666,000.

I've emailed you the certificate of provenance.

We're ready to receive the funds.

With pleasure.

Why?

Why are you doing this? Okay.

The three of you are under arrest on a menu of charges

from perverting the course of justice to double murders.

Our story begins in the Mississippi Delta in 1932, when little Robert Johnson...

Jinxy got hold of the map last year, brought it back to Bath and wanted to sell it.

Then what?

One of you three killed Jinxy.

The other two saw it and didn't report it.

So whether you're a witness or a killer, it's about length of sentence now.

I suggest you talk.

Excuse me, I should go.

Jinxy came to you with the map.

Then what?

Um...

So I ran a cheque on the provenance, and it came back genuine.

So why not put it up to public auction? Legitimately.

You told Jinxy that it was a fake.

I offered him 500 pounds.

He said no.

He didn't seem to trust us.

No!

Sarge, you won this.

Oh, yeah.

But then you were told that Professor Adly was coming into town with his influence,

his money, and his passion for that.

Look, we didn't tell Jinxy that the map was real, but we did go back to him and

propose that we sell the map to the professor and then split the profits.

So you arranged the sale last Wednesday at the glass factory.

Jinxy was dead when we got there.

Come on, Clarence.

And then you just happened to be on the number six bus when Ian Andrews,

who witnessed the killing of Jinxy... It was them.

It must have been them.

They must have killed Jinxy before we got there, and then she sent me a text.

We've got the map.

We want to sell.

Meet me on the bus.

What? No, I didn't.

She told me what time.

815 Morrison Street.

Sit upstairs.

Second row from the front on the left.

I think he killed Jinxy before we got to the glass factory.

You're a big man, strong enough to punch Jinxy's lights out, strong enough to

throttle Ian Andrews, and we can place you at both crime scenes.

No, come on.

Clarence Adderley, I'm placing you under arrest on the

suspicion of the murder of Ian Andrews... Stop, stop, stop!

You can't arrest him, ma'am.

I bloody well can, Sarge.

Ian Andrews was murdered in the 30 seconds that it took

for the bus to pass under the bridge at Wellington Street.

So what?

This is before the Professor boarded the bus at Cadogan Square.

The Professor's innocent.

You're wrong, he's innocent.

No.

No?

Mr Ollie Inker?

Well, I mean, if he was at both crime scenes on the bus and at the glass

factory, then he can't be... How do you know the Professor was at the glass factory?

Because you said, you said that you found his prints on the champagne bottle.

Sir, do you see how McDonald never said that

the prints came from the champagne bottle?

An hour ago, we obtained a warrant to enter and search

your lovely little short -let flat down there in Bathwick.

And our tech people, you know, they're very good.

They discovered that for the last two weeks, you've been monitoring the

Professor's emails and telephone calls.

What?

And they also found that you had intercepted the

arrangements for the meeting at the glass factory.

And so you contacted Jinxy.

You told him to be there 15 minutes early.

And there you were, waiting for him.

And you wanted that map.

You wanted it before the Professor could buy it.

But Jinxy...

He wasn't going to accept your offer.

It was you.

Now, Jinxy provoked.

Come on, mate.

I'm offering you ten grand.

Ten grand, son.

What else you got?

Ten grand!

You've got to do better than that.

What do you mean?

People like me!

People like me!

What do you mean? I said to.

..

Hey!

It was you who punched him.

Faintly.

He was dead when I got that wrong.

See about that.

Because Jinxy, of course, he wasn't carrying that map, was he?

But you still had the presence of mind to confuse the crime scene.

Before the De Beers and the Professor showed up.

So you waited.

You watched.

And that's when you saw the champagne bottle smash.

But then, the Professor and the De Beers, they decided not to report Jinxy's murder.

He's dead.

I'm calling the police.

The police seem mad.

Because, well, Mr. De Beers still had a map to sell and the Professor wanted to buy it.

So to report the existence of the murder would have

meant to report the existence of the map to the police.

What are you doing?

I'm protecting you.

No.

No.

I want nothing to do with you people.

You knew the sale of the map was still on and you

wanted to snatch it from under Clarence's nose.

But then things got worse for you.

I want money.

Ian Andrews saw everything and he blackmailed you.

Ian Andrews?

Who's that?

So to keep Ian Andrews at arm's length, you gave him the $20,000.

Which, combined with the ticket stub from the

Festival ideas, led us here to suspect the Professor.

Which gave you time.

To observe Mr. Andrews's routine and plot his murder.

You're speculating.

At 6.23 last Monday morning, you disabled the interior lights on the number 6 bus.

You then set up a diversion on Morrison Street.

Your last diversion sign at Cadogan Square, you made a mistake.

You didn't notice the CCTV cameras.

You then deployed your expertise with WhatsApp messages to set up a meeting on

the bus between Mr. Veer and the Professor.

So, sometime before 8.15 on Monday morning, you boarded the number 6 bus.

When it turned into Wellington Street and was plunged into darkness, you struck.

We have an eyewitness that places you on the bus.

I was on the bus, but did your eyewitness see me in the dark?

Then you alighted the bus.

And the new Professor, as instructed by your fake text message, sat behind the

already strangled victim.

With your blackmailer, Ian Andrews dead, and the Professor framed for his murder,

you went after this man.

He approached us.

Told us he was a wealthy collector of blues memorabilia, and did we have any

pieces in our collection of interest?

And then you came up with the idea of this auction, didn't you?

To pit the Professor against Mr. Olienka, to bid up the price.

So, here we all are.

From Mississippi Delta to Bath, England.

You did all this because I failed you?

You really need help, because you're not right.

No, I was right, and you know it.

No, you're wrong.

You're wrong in every respect, because you're still just a boy.

A boy who just never understood the word no.

And you're a complacent fool who sells manufactured authenticity to white people.

You really need to grow up.

I grew up, no, I was dragged up on a council estate.

We had nothing.

You are just a posh boy.

Yeah, I see it in your manner.

I can hear it in your voice.

I hear the English public school.

I can hear the entitlement, the privilege.

Just another posh boy who thinks it's all just a game.

Well, son, the world is not yours.

Jinxy, he hated the posh boys.

Starts with failure, turns into a thirst for revenge.

And you hit the professor where it hurts.

His belief in blues music, and Robert Johnson, and its authenticity.

Ramp up the pressure on Clarence, and then he wants what Clarence wants the most.

And when Jinxy doesn't give it to him, he sinks into a pit of festering,

obsessive, crazy, weird hatred.

All because you didn't get a gold star.

Because I killed Jinxy.

I killed a man because of him.

It's all your fault.

I killed Jinxy because of you.

And I killed...

I need to hear you say it, Nicholas.

And I killed Ian Andrews, too.

Nice turnout, eh?

Well, um, we never stop liking Jinxy.

You know, ma'am, I've only ever been drunk three times.

At the school dance, I was so nervous of girls.

And at my old aunt's funeral, I...

And then... Easter Monday.

Jinxy was just going on at me about how pointless everything was.

My life and his life, everyone's life.

I told him, out of all the people who's ever lived and died in the history of

humanity... 17 billion, because I checked... Yeah, I bet you did.

...that there's only 300 million who've ever got lucky.

Properly lucky.

And, ma'am, if you were a white man, and born at the same time and place as me

and Jinxy, you would have had more advantages than any of the 17 billion.

And Jinxy was one of the 300 million.

And I told him, I said, just stop being so bloody miserable.

You, Jinxy Jones, you're one of the luckiest of the lucky.

So then he wanted to sell the map for loads of money.

And I... it never settled right with me what I said to him.

Nice music, though, isn't it?

There is a house in New Orleans They call the rising sun It's been the ruin of many

poor girls And me, I know I won I'm going back to New Orleans My race is almost

around I'm going back to New Orleans 🎶 Music 🎶