Original subtitles

Quick! Get it open!

All right!

Give us a go, then!

Come on!

Tolly, come on!

What a terrible meal.

Cold vegetables, warm white wine.

Unbelievable.

Don´t blame me, you were the one

who wanted to check out the competition.

What a waste of a night off.

Should have stayed in and pickled those onions.

I thought we´d left a light on in the restaurant.

We did.

Guess what.

You´ll be relieved to hear

they didn´t get the £4.75 in the till.

My knives, Margaret.

My knives are gone.

What exactly is missing, sir?

Well, let´s see, there was a couple of bottles of Scotch,

bottle of brandy,

a side of smoked salmon...

Oh, a truckle of farmhouse cheddar cheese.

Sounds like they´re going to open a sandwich bar.

And they also took my knives.

Left the Armagnac behind, I see.

What? Oh, yes.

Not all gloom and doom, then, is it, sir?

Would you like something in your coffee, Sergeant?

Since you asked, sir -- cheers.

Right.

It was just the knives they took, was it, sir?

Not the spoons or the forks or anything?

They weren´t ordinary knives.

They were chef´s knives.

Kitchen knives.

There were eight of them --

five French, three German,

hardwood handles, steel blades,

smallest was about three inches long,

the longest about fourteen.

"Various." That´s very useful, sir.

We catch any local villains chopping veg,

we´ll have ´em bang to rights.

You might at least pretend to be taking this seriously.

Come on, sir, you´ve been in the job, you know what it´s like.

We´ve got a snowball in hell´s chance of actually nicking ´em.

And even if we did catch ´em,

chances are they´re bunking off playschool

and all we can do is blow their noses,

give ´em a lift home.

Mmm, that´s all right, that is.

Now, your Calvados,

correct me if I´m wrong, is made from apples.

Now Armagnac, yeah, is a Cognac. Morning, sir.

Morning, sir.

Who are you?

Detective Sergeant Arlott, Middleton CID, sir.

What are you doing here? Investigating a reported break-in, sir.

Well, get on with it, then.

Crabbe.

A word.

It´s not enough to be good policemen,

we have to be seen to be good policemen.

It´s public relations, that´s the name of the game.

Ah, yes, now, who was it said PR was organized lying, sir?

Look at that, Crabbe.

Two junior officers from a small-town police station.

There they are, dedicated, uncomplaining,

bringing all their expertise and experience

to bear on the task at hand,

no matter how trivial it might be.

Why shouldn´t the public be told

about men of that caliber, Crabbe?

Why not, indeed, sir?

Public, Crabbe -- we must listen to them.

Be guided by them.

That´s why I want you to go to Wychwold.

Want me to go to Wychwold, sir?

Hmm -- they represent as near as possible

the national average in every respect --

unemployment, per capita income, suicide rate, crime rate.

That´s why I´ve chosen it for my research project.

Community policing for the third millennium.

PC Cambridge will collate all the relevant information.

I want you to go with her.

You mean you want me to go to Wychwold

with PC Cambridge, sir?

Yeah -- talk to the people there, listen to them.

Find out what they think about us.

One steak and kidney pie

and one vegetable pudding -- thank you very much.

Good afternoon.

Two apple tarts.

Look, all I´m saying is, the old bill walk in here,

sit on their fat arses, drinking your Armagnac,

and admit there´s nothing they can do

about thieves breaking into the restaurant.

Yes, but I should have had

a decent lock on that back door.

Now he´s blaming himself for getting burgled.

Unbelievable.

Two steak and kidney, one mashed and cabbage, one omelette --

new pot and spinach, and one vegetable --

It really makes me angry.

Hell hath no fury

like a villain who´s been ripped off.

Yeah, all right, but I was a professional,

I was in it to make money.

With these kids, it´s just mindless vandalism.

You know, those knives that were taken --

the one with the six-inch blade,

that was the first proper knife I ever got.

Should have seen Margaret´s face

when I told her how much it cost.

Yeah, now some flash little geek

is waving it around on the streets.

Look, I´d have had to replace them sooner or later --

nothing lasts forever, Steve.

Good day?

Not bad...

17 covers for lunch...

29 this evening.

What´s that?

That...

is a fried egg sandwich.

Hmm...

If done properly, it´s a classic.

I´ve half a mind to put it on the menu.

Yeah, that should get us in all the guide books.

Oh, that´s nice -- sneering.

Well, let me tell you, no less a person

than the great Hilary Smallwood

once wrote a whole essay on the delights

of a fried egg sandwich.

Hmm.

Wych...wold...

Wychwold...

What about it?

Wychwold -- what, you know, it´s that place where

Fisher wants us to go on that lunatic research project of his.

Wychwold...yes.

"Hilary Smallwood lives in Wychwold

in a rural paradise with a solid fuel cooker."

I thought the name rang a bell.

Yes, but who is she?

Who is she? Who is she?

Who is she -- Hilary Smallwood is only one of

the greatest food writers -- her books are classics.

"Pie Baking in the British Isles."

"Secret Life of the Peppercorn."

"Out of the Frying Pan, into the Dordogne."

Cookery books...

Oh, I wish you wouldn´t say it like that.

Anyway, she doesn´t just write cookery, you know --

Hilary Smallwood happens to be a writer of fine prose.

I´ll give you a sample at random.

All right...

Listen --

"The journey down from the mountains

was long and arduous,

and it was almost midnight when we arrived at the Auberge.

Undeterred, Madame, a sinewy little woman

with ferocious black eyes,

sat us down in front of the kitchen fire

and served a late supper.

Slabs of moist ham,

a plump omelette inlaid with a fine tracery of herbs...

We drank tumblers of peppery vin de pays,

and sat gazing into the dying embers.

Oil lamps flickered around us,

and for a moment we were transported back in time."

Riveting, isn´t it?

Okay, so this is the brief.

Six investigations have been selected

from Wychwold police files.

They represent a good cross-section

of police work in the community.

First, we interview those members of the public

involved in the investigation.

Then we interview the police officers

who conducted the investigation.

When the answers are correlated, we should have a fascinating

insight into the police and community interface.

You´ve been working with

Assistant Chief Constable Fisher for too long.

You´re beginning to sound like him.

Well, I think it´s a very exciting project...

and, if it´s published,

Mr. Fisher says I might get a researcher´s credit.

Hmm.

Never count your chickens, Cambridge.

Particularly where Freddy Fisher´s concerned.

We´d better go straight to the police station.

Chief Superintendent Richards is expecting us.

Hmm.

Sheet 3c is the multiple choice questionnaire.

I´m sure you´re familiar with the format.

Yes, yes, of course -- the thing that puzzles me --

You with us, inspector?

What? Sorry.

I´m a little puzzled

by the cases you´ve selected for your research project.

I´m afraid you´ll have to ask PC Cambridge about that,

Chief Superintendent -- she´s the researcher,

I am just riding shotgun.

For example, top of your list, Dilip Patel.

The coroner returned a verdict of accidental death.

There wasn´t a criminal investigation,

police involvement was minimal.

What can this particular case

possibly contribute to your research?

Mr. Patel was a prominent local businessman,

and a leading member in the Asian community in Wychwold.

I think the fact that he had a foot in both camps

is of interest, sir.

Well...I just hope you don´t have

some racial angle in this research of yours.

We have a good working relationship

with the people of this town.

I´d like it to stay that way.

It´s not my research project, sir,

it´s Assistant Chief Constable Fisher´s.

If you have any queries,

I suggest you refer them back to him.

Just so long as you understand the delicacy of the situation.

I think I understand it very well, sir.

That went well.

Yeah, he seemed a bit hostile, didn´t he?

Heh -- could you blame him?

Couple of outsiders come in,

poking their noses into investigations

he thought were over long ago.

Where to now?

Our first interview´s with Fazia Patel --

Dilip Patel´s widow.

Oh, perhaps you´d like to read the paperwork?

Oh, no, no, you just tell me in your own words, Cambridge.

Patel was a local boy made good.

Grew up here on the New Orchard Estate,

got out in his teens,

went to work for a local dress factory.

Factory was badly managed, losing money.

Patel managed to talk a bank into lending him enough money

to buy the factory -- turned it round in six months.

He went from strength to strength --

shops, factories, offices --

he was one of Wychwold´s biggest landlords.

So, naturally, he bought a house here in Church Close --

this is where you live when you´ve really made it

it Wychwold.

We´re looking for Wilmington House.

we support the instant response scheme.

Comwatch Security."

Got a bit lost, have we, Madam?

No, actually.

Because this is a private road, you see?

You can´t cut through.

Oh, I don´t want to cut through.

I´m looking for Wilmington House.

Well, you want the next drive on the left,

where you can see the "For sale" sign.

Thanks.

All part of the service, Madam.

Only doing our job, sir.

Just can´t be too careful, these days.

Enjoy your visit to Wychwold, sir.

I hope Mena´s playing won´t disturb you.

We haven´t been able to afford lessons since my husband died,

but I still make her practice every day.

Not at all. She plays very well.

Mrs. Patel, on behalf

of Assistant Chief Constable Fisher,

may I thank you for agreeing to take part in this project?

If I can be of assistance.

Dilip would´ve wanted me to help.

He was very public-spirited, you know.

Mrs. Patel, before we start,

perhaps you could briefly describe what happened

for Inspector Crabbe, who hasn´t had time

to go through all the paperwork.

Of course.

It was a Friday evening, just over a year ago.

I was expecting Dilip to be home by 8:00,

but at 10:00, there was still no sign of him.

I wasn´t really worried, because he´d rung earlier

to say that he was having a drink with Gerald Hopkinson.

He lives next door. So I phoned.

There was no answer, but I could see a light on

in Gerald Hopkinson´s garden shed.

He´s a keen gardener and often spends the evenings in there.

So I thought I would pop next door

and see if anyone was in.

Anne Hopkinson answered the door.

She said Gerald had been at home all evening.

While we were talking, Gerald came in from the garden

and he said there must be some mistake --

he hadn´t arranged to meet Dilip that evening.

They were...very nice, very concerned,

and I still wasn´t worried.

But by midnight, I was worried,

so I phoned the police and the hospital.

There was no news, of course.

The police came round at 4:00 in the morning.

Dilip had been found at the Wychwold Country Club.

He wanted to buy it, you know,

but was having trouble raising the money.

Perhaps that´s why he´d been drinking.

Dilip wasn´t a drinker, you know.

He must have...

tripped and fallen into the swimming pool.

The pool had been drained, but...

there was still enough rainwater in it to...

to drown him.

He must have gone to the country club for a last look.

He had such plans for that place --

sports facilities, a health spa,

a restaurant.

A place for everyone in Wychwold --

that was his dream.

Are you okay, Mum?

Yes. Yes, I´m fine, darling.

Mrs. Patel, thank you very much, indeed.

We´ll finish this research another time,

if that´s all right.

But, sir --

We were supposed to go through

the questionnaires with her.

Cambridge, don´t argue.

We´ve put that poor woman

through quite enough for one day.

Now, I´ve chickens to feed and dinners to cook.

I assume that´s Hopkinson.

Yes, sir.

Did you say you´ve got the paperwork

on the Patel case with you?

Of course, on the back seat.

You´re not actually going to read it, are you?

Well, how can I help you, Cambridge,

if I don´t have all the details at my disposal?

I can´t hear you!

I said, Fisher comes up with a cross-section

of all the crimes committed in Wychwold, right?

So what do we find at the top of the list?

Robbery, rape, murder? No.

The accidental death of a prominent Asian businessman.

It´s not even a crime, do you see?

And look at the list of people we´re supposed to interview.

The poor man´s wife, his daughter,

the security guard who found the body.

I´m surprised Fisher doesn´t want us

to investigate the guard dog as well.

But Dilip Patel, the night he died,

said he was going to have a meeting with Gerald Hopkinson.

So?

So why aren´t we interviewing him?

Come on, Cambridge.

Fisher wants us poking our noses round Wychwold.

But it´s nothing to do with this research project,

it´s something to do with this Patel business.

And he doesn´t want anyone to know, not even us.

If I might say so, your attitude

to Assistant Chief Constable Fisher

verges on the paranoid at times.

It´s not paranoid, Cambridge, it´s realistic.

Right, I´m off. Goodnight, Mr. Crabbe.

Goodnight, now, John. See you, John.

Thanks a lot. See you tomorrow.

Oh, just leave this, Steve. I´ll finish up in here.

Are you sure, Chef?

Yes, go on, go on.

Listen, thanks a lot for those lunches today.

I hear it went well.

Yeah, we had a bit of panic with the trout.

Otherwise, there was no problem.

Now, I´ll be leaving you alone again, tomorrow,

but I´ll be back for dinner.

Right, Chef.

Ah, Linda, take this man home, he´s had a long day.

Should buy me a pint, first.

How´d you do tonight?

20 quid in tips.

Ah, score!

We´re in the wrong job.

Yeah, make that two pints.

This place hasn´t changed.

Yeah, it´s still a dump.

Hey, Crabbe liked that new tart I made.

He´s going to put it on the menu next week.

Great.

The thing about Crabbe -- if he says he likes it,

then he really means it.

You know, the other day, I -- oh, my God.

What?

I´ve just seen their menu. What about it?

Spot the odd one out -- burger, beans, chips;

jumbo sausage, beans, and chips;

smoked salmon, beans, and chips.

Ugh.

Linda, since when do they serve smoked salmon

in the Lord Nelson?

Since it was thieved from the restaurant.

Hello, stranger. Hello, Bernard.

How are you, then, keeping busy?

Yeah, not bad. You? Terrible -- It´s bloody murder

in the leisure industry, these days.

So this is a leisure industry, is it? Nice.

Still, there´s always opportunities, Steve,

you know what I mean?

Pop in one day when we´re quiet and we´ll have a chat, eh?

Yeah, all right.

Don´t you bloody dare.

Why not? It might be interesting.

He´s trouble, Steve, and I don´t want you going near him.

We might find out where he gets his smoked salmon from.

Sir.

Yes, Cambridge.

Where are you going?

I´m just popping next door to have a word with the Hopkinsons.

You carry on with Mrs. Patel.

Sir.

It´s all right, Cambridge, they´re expecting me.

I phoned last night.

Well, go on, then, Cambridge, get researching.

Garden looks wonderful.

Bit of a sore point, Inspector.

My good lady wife will tell you I spend far too much time

out there, and not enough with her.

Nonsense, Gerald.

And that shed, at the end there,

is that where you were working

the night Dilip Patel died?

Yes, I was working in there all that evening, as I recall.

Do sit down, Inspector.

Oh, thank you very much, indeed.

Well, I´m here to do a little market research

for Assistant Chief Constable Fisher.

The usual sort of thing.

How can we get the public to like the police?

Complete waste of time, if you ask me.

Inspector --

I mean, if we really wanted the public to like us,

all we´d have to do is stop arresting them

and Breathalyzing them and fining them

and stop throwing them in prison.

Simple, really -- then, of course,

we´d all be out of a job, wouldn´t we? Ha ha!

Inspector, I do know why

you and PC Cambridge are in Wychwold.

Do you?

Of course, you´re interviewing one of my men later today --

Justin Smedley,

the security guard who found Dilip Patel.

Smedley is one of my employees --

Comwatch Security is my company, Inspector.

Ah, Comwatch, yes, you´re the ones

who´ve taken over the police station.

Yes, we lease some office space there.

Training facilities, that sort of thing.

Just one tiny thing -- Mrs. Patel said that,

on the night her husband died,

he had a meeting with you, but there seems to be

no reference to it in the police report.

There´s no reference to it because it simply isn´t true.

Oh, well, that explains it, then.

He was a charming man

and a good neighbor, but we didn´t have a great deal

to do with each other, to be frank.

Oh, why was that, exactly?

Patel was an ambitious man, Inspector.

He´d come a long way very quickly.

What do you mean, all the way

from New Orchard Estate to Church Close?

Exactly.

Perhaps it was all a bit too quick.

It´s common knowledge he was overextended,

there were cash flow problems,

and the banks were losing patience.

Are you suggesting he committed suicide

because he was in financial difficulties?

Well, good Lord, Inspector, I wouldn´t presume.

Good God!

"The Pickling Job," by Hilary Smallwood.

You know, I thought that was out of print years ago.

She lives locally, you know.

I know, I´ve been trying to find her.

Well, I can give you her address.

I do Meals on Wheels, you see.

She´s on my run.

Meals on Wheels?

Do you mean to say

Hilary Smallwood has Meals on Wheels?

If I can be of any further assistance, Inspector,

just let me know.

Thank you -- tell me, what´s the story

behind these Comwatch signs?

One of Comwatch´s many services, Inspector.

People pay an annual subscription

and we include their house on a Comwatch patrol route.

It´s just an extension of Neighborhood Watch, really.

We work closely with the police, of course.

Of course.

They´re undermanned, Inspector,

as I´m sure you know.

We have our problems here in Wychwold,

mostly on the New Orchard Estate --

drugs, joyriding --

we ease the burden somewhat.

Prevention rather than cure.

Hmm, I see the Patels don´t subscribe.

Financial reasons, I´m afraid.

As you can see, the house is up for sale.

Ah, so the Patels

are going to be leaving Church Close.

Well, they´ll be much missed, I´m sure.

Inspector, please take this.

I´ve written Hilary Smallwood´s address on a card inside.

Oh, but I couldn´t.

But you must.

Well, I´m -- but I´m speechless. Thank you!

My wife can be very impetuous.

Well, but, please,

you will thank her for me, won´t you?

Ah, there´s Cambridge for me.

Well, thank you very much, indeed, Mr. Hopkinson.

Pleasure.

I´ve got Hilary Smallwood´s address.

Wisteria Cottage, Mill Lane, Wychwold.

Now, let´s stop someone and ask where it is.

Sorry, sir, no time. We´re already behind schedule.

Schedule? What´s this?

"Please not a word to my husband about the letter."

What letter?

Exactly.

You´ve got a bloody nerve, Crabbe.

Sir.

Gerald Hopkinson is on the Police Committee.

He´s a Justice of the Peace.

And you go barging into his house -- his home, Crabbe,

asking a lot of impertinent questions,

making snide insinuations.

I was just curious, sir, because Mrs. Patel said --

Mrs. Patel? Mrs. Patel´s husband was a chancer, a wide boy.

He left her without a bean,

and a house worth half the mortgage.

She´ll be back on the New Orchard Estate

before you can say "negative equity."

You know what these people are like.

When things start to go wrong,

they´ll blame anybody, except themselves.

"These people," sir?

I beg your pardon, Constable.

I was just wondering what you meant by "these people," sir.

Shut it, Constable.

Sir.

I will not have you harassing a man who is a personal friend

and who´s done more for law and order in Wychwold

than anybody else.

I suppose you mean Comwatch Security, sir.

Working with private, reputable companies

is the way ahead, Crabbe.

And I´m pleased to say I have the full support

of the Chief Constable.

So tell that to Assistant Chief Constable Fisher.

Certainly, sir.

That´s all, Crabbe.

I don´t want to see you again.

Yes, sir, thank you very much, sir.

Oh, and, sir --

What?

Um, where is Mill Lane?

Not much money in cookery books, then?

Hilary Smallwood doesn´t write for money, Cambridge.

Mrs. Smallwood, hello!

If you´re a social worker, you can go away.

No, no, no, I´m not a social worker, Mrs. Smallwood,

I´m an admirer.

I haven´t got any money.

No, I´ve collected all your books, you see?

I´ve got a couple of them here.

My favorite is "Pie-Making in the British Isles."

I make pies, do you see?

I don´t cook anymore. I´m too old for all that.

Oh, but you must eat, Mrs. Smallwood,

you´ve got to eat.

No, no, I can´t be bothered with all that.

I´m very old, you see.

Well, how would it be if I made you one of my pies?

Do you think you might try it?

I might.

I might not.

You´ve no idea what this means to me, Cambridge.

You´re right, I haven´t.

Wish me luck on this one, Alexis.

You still working?

I´m making a pie for Hilary Smallwood.

Who?

Never mind, Margaret.

Did you pick up any gossip on Patel?

Well, as far as I can gather, Patel was pretty good.

He took risks, but the right risks.

He was heavily geared up with the banks, of course,

but, on the whole, the business was cash-rich

and, as far as the equity was concerned, he --

Margaret, please.

All I want to know is, was he broke?

That´s what I´m trying to explain.

He borrowed heavily, but business was good.

He was able to service his debt.

In fact, he was about to buy a big property.

Oh, what´s it called? Wychwold Country Club.

Really?

So it´s a spot of lunch here with Mrs. Smallwood,

if she´ll let me in, then I´m having a chat

with Anne Hopkinson at 5:00.

Are you sure you don´t want some pie?

I´m due at the coroner´s office.

Some of us have got work to do.

What have you got in there?

I´ve made a veal and ham pie

and some new potatoes.

They´re mustard mayonnaise.

Ha! I won´t eat anything, you know.

What do you expect?

I´m an old woman.

I can´t move without this damn thing.

Are you going to open the hamper or not?

Sorry.

I won´t eat anything, mind you.

Well?

Not enough seasoning.

Add a little grated lemon rind next time.

And try using gammon, not bacon.

Better texture.

Otherwise, not bad.

Really?

Yes.

Now, pour me a glass of whiskey

with an equal measure of tap water.

Of course. Then I´ll have to go.

Will you come back?

Do you want me to?

I don´t care one way or the other.

Hey, Bernie, Bernie, this smoked salmon is the business.

Yeah? I never touch the stuff meself.

Cheers. So where did you get it?

Pal of mine, you know.

Do you think he could get me some?

I could do a pie with this stuff.

It´s a one-off, Steve, tell you the truth.

Bloke that comes in here, he´s got this brother,

right little nutter --

I mean, I´ll have word, I mean, you never know.

Was I brilliant or what?

I think we should call the police.

Now, you are joking, aren´t you?

You mustn´t stay long

or my husband will know you´ve been here.

His men will see your car.

"Please not a word to my husband about the letter."

What letter, Mrs. Hopkinson?

The letter I wrote to Assistant Chief Constable Fisher

about what happened the night Dilip Patel died.

I know Mr. Fisher´s wife, you see,

we do a lot of charity work together.

And what did happen that night?

After supper, Gerald said

he was going to work in the garden.

He said he didn´t want to be disturbed.

But about 9:00, there was a phone call about work.

I didn´t know what to do --

I knew Gerald would be furious if I disturbed him,

and furious if I didn´t give him the message.

I could see the lights were on in the shed,

so I went down.

He wasn´t there.

I went back half an hour later.

He still wasn´t there.

So Mrs. Patel phoned when you were in the garden?

Yes, and then she came round and,

while we were talking, Gerald appeared.

He said he´d been in the shed all the time.

He told a lie, you see.

That´s why I wrote to Mr. Fisher.

Do you think we could have a look at the shed?

Where does that gate lead to?

There´s a path that runs along the back

of all the houses in Church Close.

It goes to the Country Club.

Do you have the key?

There´s one inside the house. Would you like me to get it?

Please.

That won´t be necessary.

I have a key with me.

Ah! The very man we´re looking for.

Gerald, I was just showing Inspector --

Anne, please go back into the house.

What are you doing in my garden?

It´s tedious, I know, but I wanted to know

what you were doing the night Dilip Patel died.

Perhaps you could tell me.

You´re the detective. Why don´t you tell me?

Oh, all right, then, we´ll give it a whirl, shall we?

Do you have that key?

Thank you -- now, you left the shed at,

oh, let´s say 8:30, quarter to 9:00.

And then you let yourself out through the gate here.

Shall we?

Earlier that evening, a couple of

Comwatch security guards

went to see Patel in his office.

My guess is, they told Patel you wanted

to see him up here at the country club.

Which, if I´ve got my bearings right,

is on the far side of that gate.

Members of the country club who lived in Church Close

were allowed to use this entrance.

So Patel was brought

to the main entrance of the club

and he was probably in the clubhouse,

waiting for you,

whilst you made your way up here.

Run out of steam already, Inspector?

What? No, no, no, no.

I was just imagining what it must have been like

for you, losing all this.

Those long summer´s evenings,

tennis parties, croquet on the lawn,

discussing business over pink gin

while the ladies gossip.

But time passes,

a younger generation comes through,

not quite so interested in croquet and pink gin.

And suddenly, the club starts losing money.

So you formed a consortium of the members.

But you still couldn´t raise enough money

to buy the club.

It must have been so galling for you

when Dilip Patel popped up as a potential buyer.

Patel couldn´t raise the cash either.

I think he had.

I think that´s why you asked him to come here.

I presume you have a key for the house.

Of course, you must have.

You´re in charge of security, aren´t you?

So...this is where you met Patel.

"Members are reminded that swimwear

is not permitted in the bar."

Quite right, too.

I wonder what you talked about.

A drink, eh? Here we are.

A decent Scotch.

Not against your religion I hope.

Well, you know --

Cheerio.

We had some bloody marvelous parties here,

you know, what a crowd --

"Work hard, play hard,"

that was our motto.

We talked about the club. What else?

I told him something of the club´s history.

And that means Wychwold´s history, Crabbe.

Because this is where

the people who ran Wychwold gathered.

If you wanted anything done in this town,

you came and talked to the likes of Maurice Fletcher.

Doesn´t sound very democratic.

"Democratic"?

Don´t you lecture me on democracy!

There´s no need to raise your voice.

Oh, yes, there is!

The people who made it prosperous,

the people who administered it, who policed it,

the people who made sure the refuse was collected

and the buses ran on time.

I told him something of the parties and the people

and how I met my wife, here, in this very bar.

See this chap? Maurice Fletcher.

I beat him the men´s singles in 1955.

He was engaged to Anne but not for long.

I got her in the end.

So you see, I beat him in the singles

and then I beat him in the mixed doubles.

"All´s fair in love and war."

I tried to explain to him how destructive is

all this egalitarian rubbish!

We´re not all equal, Crabbe, we never were!

We -- we never were and we never will be.

And then you both went outside, did you?

What do you intend doing with this place, anyway?

Turning it into some sort of stinking public amenity?

Some sort of hamburger bar,

with screaming kids and loud music, eh?

Is that your idea of democracy, reduce everything

to the lowest common denominator, yeah?

Forcefeed everybody with filth and trash!

Well, I´m not going to let it happen.

I´m going to win.

And did you convince him?

Him? No. He wouldn´t listen.

He didn´t want to listen. He ran away, out here.

A town like Wychwold is a delicate organism.

I told him, "A town like Wychwold..."

And every part of that organism...

must be held in balance and harmony!

Every part of that organism must be

in its rightful place, held in balance and harmony.

Destroy that balance, you unleash chaos!

Anarchy -- Wychwold would be engulfed...

in a tidal wave of crime and drugs and filth!

You´re the one!

And he was the one,

he was the one destroying the balance.

I told him, "Get out of my club..."

Now, get out of my club!

Get out of my street!

Aah!

I didn´t touch him. He was drunk, he fell.

I told Masters and Lockey to go away,

that I would look after Patel, but --

But he --

It´s all right, Gerald.

You´ve said enough for now.

Yes, more than enough.

Just pot luck, I´m afraid.

You should have told me you were coming.

What´s this?

It´s egg and bacon pie and some salad.

Egg and bacon pie?

My God, do you realize how many calories

there are in something like that?

Oh, there´s probably millions, I should guess.

You don´t have to eat it if you don´t want to, sir.

Well, I suppose a little can´t do any harm.

Come on, Cambridge, tuck in.

Oh, you want something as well, do you, Constable?

I suppose you´d better sit down, then.

Now, then, where was I?

The letter Anne Hopkinson wrote to you, sir.

That stuff about her husband

might all have been some little fantasy.

And that would have left me looking extremely silly.

Added to which, Chief Superintendent Richards

is a particular favorite of the Chief Constable.

Or "was," I should say.

I had to find a way of getting in there, somehow.

So I cooked up this research project.

Hairy fairy nonsense, of course.

I knew, if there were any irregularities

in the Patel investigation, you´d sniff them out.

Pity about Richards.

He´ll take early retirement, of course.

Got a job with Comwatch Security, I believe.

Oh, that´s nice.

He´ll be able to hold the fort while Hopkinson goes to jail.

Hmm, Richards would probably be made

Assistant Chief Constable next year.

Chief was very keen on his ideas about privatization.

Indeed, I share many of them myself.

We lack judgment.

We need someone with vision to push through

those sort of radical changes.

Well, the field is wide open for you, now, sir.

I hope you´re not implying this was all some sort of

elaborate ploy on my part to discredit a rival.

Nothing was further from my mind, sir.

Is anything the matter, Constable?

I´m not very hungry, sir.

I think I´ll go and wait in the car,

if that´s all right with you.

Very well.

An excellent lesson in chicken-counting, sir.

What?

Reference to a previous conversation, sir.

Cheers.

Look after yourself, Tully.

I´ll see you later, man.

Hello, Tully.

Who are you?

I want a chat.

I reckon he´s a poof, Tully.

Yeah. You fancy me or something?

Agh! Get off me.

I´m gonna do you, you ponce.

Go on, Tully, cut him!

I only wanted a chat, Tully.

So Gerald Hopkinson began to think

he was the law and, more than that,

he began to think he was above the law.

That´s the danger, you see,

when a private individual has that much power.

Good morning.

Morning.

They inevitably use it to further their own ends.

Henry Crabbe´s thought for the day.

Yes, very uplifting.

You´d make a marvelous vicar.

In a civilized society -- Present for you, Chef.

Oh.

In a civilized society, the private citizen

cannot, must not

take the law -- ugh.

Steve.

Yeah?

Thank you.

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