All language subtitles for Life on Mars UK 2006 S02E07 720p WEB-DL HEVC x265 BONE-eng

Here he comes.

Terry Haslam.

Who does he think he is?
Joe Bugner?

Court Number Three
is now in session.

The Crown versus Haslam.

Mr Mackay. As you have already said,

the boxing match in question
was an extremely fierce one.

So hard-fought, in fact, you injured
your hand seriously enough

to require medical attention
following the bout.

-Is that true?
-Aye.

Would it also be true to say that
it was your manager, Mr Haslam,

the man you called
your second father,

who ensured you received
that treatment in timely fashion?

It would.

And that treatment is what you were
discussing with Mr Haslam

on the fire escape outside the hall

when you unfortunately
lost your footing,

slipped and fell down the stairs,
causing further injury?

Aye.

He did not push you?

No. It was an accident.
Mr Haslam was trying to help me.

I swear by Almighty God

that the evidence I shall give

shall be the truth, the whole truth
and nothing but the truth.

Good afternoon, Chief Inspector.
As we have heard,

Mr Mackay says he was the victim of
no more than an unfortunate accident.

Bearing in mind you were,
by your own admission,

"slightly intoxicated" and at least
20 yards away at the time,

can you confirm that what
you witnessed was an accident?

Mr Hunt?

I know what you'd like me to say.

But I know what I saw.
And what I saw

was him

kicking seven types of shit
out of him.

Do you find this defendant
guilty or not guilty

of inflicting grievous bodily harm?

-Not guilty.
-Yes!

You are joking me!

Order! Order!

The jury was nobbled.

Well, if the victim suddenly decides
it was all an unhappy accident,

what do you expect them to do?

What happened, Davie?

You got it all wrong.

I saw you destroy a man's life.

I made him. I broke him.

He's not the first
and he won't be the last.

-I'll bloody kill you.
-Have your go.

Come on. Walk away.

Broke his hand. Broke his life.

No, no, no, no.

No, he broke his soul.

-I'll drive you home.
-Gimme the ruddy keys.

No. You're drunk.

Stop! Stop.

-This is it.
-You sure?

-Haslam!
-Oi, Guv!

-You arse-faced bastard!
-Guv?

-Show us your face!
-Will you keep your voice down?

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!
What you doing?

-Haslam!
-Bloody hell.

-Put that away. Put that away!
-Come on out!

Put it away. Put it away! Come on.

I'll have you! Bastard!

Behave yourself.

Hunt! I'll break your legs,
you bastard! Get here!

-Haslam!
-Bastard! Bastard!

Get out the car! Bastard!

Bring you down next time,
you bent bastard!

-What the hell was all that about?
-Stop the car.

-What?
-Stop the car!

Why?

-I dropped my gun.
-What?

I've dropped my gun.

Where you going now? Guv!

-Gene. Gene!
-Why don't you just piss off?

-Hello?
-He'll come to you.

He'll ask for your help.

-Hello?
-Sam?

Guv.

-What do you want?
-I, um...

I appear to have killed a man.

My name is Sam Tyler.

I had an accident
and I woke up in 1973.

Am I mad, in a coma, or back in time?

Whatever's happened,
it's like I've landed on a different planet.

Now, maybe if I can work out
the reason, I can get home.

Well, at least he got
what he deserved. Fat bastard.

What happened?

I don't know.

I don't.

I woke up over there.

He was the first thing I saw,
which gave me a bit of a turn.

-How did you get here?
-I don't know.

The last thing I remember
is taking a swing for you in the pub.

Look, I know it looks bad.

Well, that's
the understatement of the century.

You may remember
threatening the victim's life

in front of a dozen or so witnesses.
At the courthouse?

-I didn't kill him.
-How did you get here?

-I don't know.
-Great.

-Where's your gun?
-What?

Your gun. Where's your gun?

You were waving it about like Charles
Bronson on crack a few hours ago.

You went back for it. Where is it?

-I don't know.
-OK...

-You woke up here?
-Yeah.

It's been fired.

Oh, shit.

You know they're
going to have to arrest you.

So why did you call me?

Because if this goes the way
it looks like it's going,

I want you to lead the investigation.

You need my help?

Just be the picky pain in the arse
you usually are, and I shall be fine.

Get me out, Sam.

-What's happening?
-What's happening with the Guv?

-Wait.
-He can't have killed anybody.

-He hasn't been charged yet.
-It's got to be a mistake.

-There's no way...
-He can't have been that drunk.

He was hammered.
And he did threaten the victim.

Look, I'm not saying he did it,
but it looks bad.

But looks aren't enough
to hang anyone.

As the man said,
it's the evidence that counts.

And you are?

Frank Morgan. Acting DCI.

As your boss currently languishes
in a holding cell on a murder charge,

the powers that be have replaced him,

albeit temporarily,
I'm sure we all hope, with me.

Far as you're concerned,
for the immediate future,

I am the word and the law.

-DI Tyler?
-Um... yeah.

Good.

You must be DC Cartwright.

DS Carling. DC Skelton.

We'll start with one-on-ones in my
office, please, which would be?

Er... I don't...

Well, I imagine it would be that one.

Good.

Let's kick off, shall we?

Fine.

You were first on scene?

I was.

Good.

Why did he call you?

Well, I suppose he trusts me.

Just as it should be.

-Sir.
-Did he do it?

Without the postmortem and forensics,

I'm not prepared to make
a judgement on that.

Gut feeling?

No.

Whatever he is, he's not a killer.

Well, let's see
where the evidence takes us.

I'll lead the first interview.

I'll bring him up.

Thanks, Sam.

I'm sure everything
will go as it should.

What did he say, boss?
What's he like?

Well, he seems very professional.

Bastard. That's all we need.

Well, yeah, Ray.

Under the circumstances,
I think it probably is.

-He's doing an overview, isn't he?
-Yes, Chris, I think he is.

Did you get that from him,
or did he get that from you?

-What do you mean?
-He's from Hyde, isn't he?

And we all know
what they're like. Don't we?

Actually, I've never had the pleasure
of meeting your DI.

Carling, when you're ready?

Well, come on then, twinkletoes.
Strut your stuff.

Acting DCI Morgan
will be conducting the interview.

Who?

He's from Hyde.

Oh, great.

-What's he like?
-I've only just met him myself.

So how are we going to deal with him?

-Deal with him?
-Mm.

He leads the investigation.
There are no deals.

Oh, come on. Where's the picky pain?

Look...

I will ensure this investigation
is carried out in as transparent...

I don't want see-through.
I want fast.

You are a murder suspect.

We can't give you the keys

and say, "Just put them through
the letterbox when you're done."

-Get me out.
-I can't.

No, no, what you mean is you won't.

Talk to Davie Mackay.

-Why?
-You were in court yesterday.

Now, you know as well as I do

that something smelt bad
about the whole thing.

And it wasn't just your aftershave.

-Look, why should I?
-I see you've already started.

Oh, fuck.

-You're taping the interview?
-Should be standard practice.

I find it keeps everyone honest.

July 17th, 1973.

Present at interview: DCI Frank
Morgan, DI Sam Tyler, DCI Gene Hunt.

Two bullets
retrieved from Haslam's house.

Same calibre as police issue.

DCI Hunt's clothing.
Stained with blood.

Witness statement from a neighbour
woken by "bellowing and cursing".

She looked out of her window
to see this man

throwing a brick through the victim's
window around midnight.

She was woken again by shouting
from the same man at 3.30am.

Based on body temperature,

the pathologist's report
puts time of death at 4.00am.

Does he?

I understand that you claim to have
no memory at all

of any of events between leaving
the Railway Arms at 11.30 last night

and waking up in the victim's house
at half past seven this morning.

Right.

Quite a lot to forget,
don't you think?

-You all right, Guv?
-Never been better.

It's a fit-up, Guv. It's obvious.

Obvious.

Remember the picky pain, Sam.

What do you think?

It's not what I think that matters,
is it? It's what we find.

I'm looking for Davie Mackay.

Police.

-What is it?
-Terry Haslam's dead.

Aye. I heard.

You were lying,
weren't you, in court?

It wasn't an accident, was it?
Haslam beat you up.

I suppose it does nae matter now, eh?

Aye. He hit me. Did this.

-Why?
-Had it coming.

How?

It's no easy life, boxing.
You sacrifice a lot.

It was my last fight.
Legs had gone. I knew it.

Once your legs have gone...

I needed a payday.

Mr Haslam set me up with a good bout.
Second on the bill, decent money.

Out with a bang.

Even a win wasn't enough.

Decent cash wasn't enough.

I stole from him.

Broke into his office
after the fight.

Broke his heart.

So he broke my hand.

I let him down. Had it coming.

What money?

What money did you steal?

All I knew was Pete and Mr Haslam

kept their cash
in a money box in the office.

Pete who?

Pete Wilkes.

My trainer.

With all due respect,
Mr Merrick...

Yeah. Given that you've not yet
charged my esteemed client,

I don't see how you've had the brass
to hold him as long as you have.

I think I've explained
we're awaiting further testimony

before sending the case to Discipline
and Complaints for a decision.

That's hardly my client's problem.

Oh, with the very greatest respect,
Detective Chief Inspector,

put up or shut up.

Considering the nature
of the offence...

No more shall they in bondage toil

-And... and the fact...
-# Let my people go

Taking into consideration...

Go down, Moses

Go down, down to Egypt land

Tell old Pharaoh

Let my people go... aaah!

In spite of your
inappropriate behaviour,

under the circumstances,

I am willing to release DCI Hunt
on police bail.

-On condition...
-Condition?

...he reports to the police...
-Conditions?

Oh, no. No, no, no, no.

Conditions?

I'm fine.

Come on, lovely lad. We're done.

D'you know,
there were moments in that cell

when I despaired
I'd ever see your lovely face again.

It's a pleasure
doing business with you.

-You know where to find me.
-Come on.

Yeah, the nearest sewer.

He got me out.

-You seen Davie Mackay yet?
-Yeah.

His fighting days were over
well before he got his hand broken.

He decided to help himself
to a retirement package

from a cash box in the boxing club.

Davie robbed from Haslam?

Haslam and a guy called Pete Wilkes.
Davie's trainer.

-Do you know him?
-No.

How come you were there
the night Haslam broke Davie's hand?

Went to see the fight.

Davie was past his prime, but, er...
if you wanted to see a real fighter,

spit and blood, balls like a buffalo,
he was your man.

Let me know what you find.

-Why should I do that?
-'Cause we're both coppers. Keys.

-Keep DCI Hunt under surveillance.
-What?

We know what he's capable of.

I wouldn't want our witnesses

experiencing his more abrupt
methods of persuasion.

You're joking, aren't you?

Well, unless you think this suspect
deserves special treatment...

-No, but you can't...
-Good.

Look, I know
it's not a very pleasant job,

but I'm sure you two will do it
to the best of your abilities.

We need to rebuild public confidence
in the police force.

An efficient investigation is
one way, public relations is another.

What?

Nothing. I just...

I never thought I'd hear the phrase
"public relations" in this room.

Well, with PR in mind,

I have a very special assignment
for DC Cartwright.

Hearts and minds, Annie.
Hearts and minds.

Road bloody safety.

Well, you know, this case...

it could get messy, so...
probably better off out of it.

Well, thanks for your support,
Inspector.

-Ray's right, isn't he?
-What do you mean?

You're both from Hyde.

Oi.

Sam?

I might have turned up
a very interesting line of enquiry.

Really?

A man called Pete Wilkes.
He's the trainer at Haslam's.

Wilkes?

Great minds think alike.

Come on.

It's all coming together.

Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr Wilkes.
Please, take a seat.

I thought I might...

No, I'm sure I can handle Mr Wilkes.
I think we're on the same track.

Why don't you check up on the others?
Show your face.

The latest nail in Hunt's coffin.

-What are you doing here?
-Visiting our erstwhile leader.

-Who?
-Has he left the house?

No. His, er...
his wife left about twelve.

-At least we think it's his wife.
-It was his wife.

-She's put weight on, then.
-She carries it well, though.

Hey, there's nothing wrong with a bit
of meat in the right places.

Are there any other movements
I should be aware of?

Dropped a couple of brown trout
in the bookie's khazi an hour ago.

Meter man called round. But he was
only there about five minutes.

Thank you.

No problem.

-Is Gene there?
-Are you Ray?

No. I'm Sam. Who are you?

Meter man.

Gene said to tell the first one to
knock that you're a useless tosser.

You let the prime suspect
in a murder case

walk right past you
in broad daylight?!

-We didn't expect...
-That might be acceptable to Hunt,

but I can assure you
it is not acceptable to me!

Now get out of my sight!

I want every officer in this force
out looking for Hunt.

When you find him,
I want to know where he's been.

The Guv's no killer.

Tosser.

I wasn't expecting much
from this unit, but, Christ!

How can you operate as an effective
officer in a place like this?

-I don't know.
-It's a very sticky case.

We need to double-check every detail.
Tick all of the boxes.

Keep your eye on the prize, Sam.

What are we waiting for?

-Operator.
-I need Hyde.

Hyde 2612.

One moment, please.

Connecting you now.

-Hello?
-Hello?

-Who is this?
-Who is this?

-Who are you? What do you want?
-Who are you? What do you want?

...nothing to do with me.

I don't believe you.

Guv?

Guv.

I've already spoken to your boss.

Yeah? Well, now, Mr Wilkes,
you can speak to me.

-Who owns this club?
-Terry Haslam.

-Now that Terry's dead?
-I don't know.

So control of this club
doesn't pass over to you?

I'm a trainer. I train fighters.

Terry was the businessman.
We made a good team. While it lasted.

Bob and weave, son, bob and weave!

Meaning what?

Meaning it's time for me
to join the pension queue.

How much money did you lose
when Davie Mackay stole that cash?

-Davie? What cash?
-From the money box in your office.

What? Nobody stole any money.

-Who are you covering for?
-No one stole any money.

-What was Haslam up to?
-Look, I told Inspector Morgan.

I don't know
what was in that envelope.

What envelope?

-Could have been holiday brochures.
-What envelope?

Night of Davie's last fight.
The night he had his accident.

Haslam came back here
while I was cleaning.

Gave me an envelope, asked me
to pass it on to Mr Hunt. I did.

You know Gene Hunt?

Oh, yeah.
He and Terry Haslam go way back.

Mr Hunt'd come down and watch
the odd training session.

He's more than just a fan. Got a good
eye for a fighter, has Mr Hunt.

-I bet he has.
-Watch his left. Come on! Move!

At the kerb, halt.

Look right, look left.

Look right again.

And if it's all clear, quick march!

Aren't you supposed to stop people
from getting knocked over?

-If you've just come for a laugh...
-No, I haven't, I haven't.

Well, why have you come here, then?

It's the Guv.

He said he never knew
Davie's trainer, Pete Wilkes.

Wilkes has known him for years.

He gave him an envelope
on the night of Davie's last fight.

An envelope from Haslam.

So you think Haslam paid Gene to keep
quiet about breaking Davie's hand?

He told me he'd stopped all that.

He swore he would never...

I knew something was going on,
you know, in that courtroom.

The way Gene and Haslam looked
at each other. Unspoken messages.

But Sam, Gene testified against him.

Maybe he didn't pay him enough.
I don't know.

But what I do know is,

Gene was on the take.

And it's wrong, it's all wrong.

Well, then he did it.

He crossed the line.

He killed a man. You always said
Gene didn't know when to stop.

I trusted him.

So did I. We all did.

You know, without trust,
you've got nothing.

Who am I supposed to believe in now?

DI Tyler, come in.

-Where are you?
-Here, Phyllis.

-What happened?
-Knockout in the fifth.

-Hunt.
-What?

No, I can't believe it.
He can't have done.

Hunt deliberately slipped your
less than effective surveillance.

We have two witnesses
who say he turned up here earlier

and argued with Wilkes.

Wilkes swore Hunt's relationship
with Haslam was antagonistic.

What is it you find
so hard to believe?

-Yeah, but...
-They saw him here!

Face it.

OK, gentlemen, shall we proceed?
Now get out there and find Gene Hunt!

The best thing we can do,
the only thing we can do,

is our job.

So we gather evidence,
we make our case and we bring him in.

Shut up.

-What I'm trying to say...
-I don't care.

So shut your sodding mouth.

-Ray...
-Sergeant Carling to you. Sir.

Don't do something
you might regret.

What I do regret
is the day you walked onto my beat.

Now, you might get to be my DCI,
but don't think for one minute

you'll be a tenth of the copper
Gene Hunt was.

You're a good policeman, sir.

You've taught me a lot.

But it won't be the same
without the Guv.

You took your time.

What are you doing?

I'm giving you up.

No, you're not.

-Yes, I am.
-No, you're not.

-You killed somebody.
-No, I did not.

-I saw you in the boxing club.
-I needed to speak to Wilkes.

In the course of which you hung him
from the ropes and slit his throat.

What?

That's how they found him.

You told me you didn't know him.

I didn't do it, Sam. Neither of them.

Sam. I swear.

I swear to you
I did not kill those men.

Why should I believe you?

Because you trust me!
Like I trust you.

-Why did you need to talk to him?
-I thought he'd know who framed me.

And why on earth
would somebody want to do that?

Because I didn't do
what I was supposed to.

Terry Haslam dragged himself
out of the gutter

using his fists and his brain.

Earned the respect
of his fellow fighters.

People like Davie Mackay
would have died for him.

When it came to money,
he always had a few tasty sidelines.

And you took his hush money.

Ringside seats, meet the fighters.

-And then the odd tenner.
-Backhanders.

Perks. Part of the job.

Since when has looking the other way
become part of the job?

What really sticks in my gullet

Is that I put a stop to it,
all of it, months ago.

Oh, really?

Wilkes said he gave you an envelope.

Why else would you have gone
to the boxing club that night?

I went to see Davie's last fight.
Simple as that.

On the way out, I heard an argument,
and being a good copper,

I go and sort it out.

I see Haslam breaking Davie's hand,
shoving him down a fire escape.

Whatever he did, he didn't deserve
what Haslam dished him.

And inside that envelope
was a load of cash.

Oh, and, er... a little note.

"If you keep quiet,
I won't write to the Chief Constable

"telling him about
our little previous arrangement."

So Haslam blackmailed you
to get him off the GBH charge?

What made you change your mind?

A rare attack of "do the right thing".

Yeah, and then I wake up
to find Haslam staring back at me,

his blood all over the walls.

Go to Morgan.

If I go to Morgan, I go to jail.

Do not pass Go.

Do not pause to say farewell
to friends and family. No.

I didn't do it, Sam.

I swear on my life.

I know.

It's proving it that's the problem.
That's the hard thing.

Don't shoot!

Tyler!

Sam! Help us!

-No!
-What is it?

Aaagh! Jesus, what?

It was a dream. Just had a dream.

What I call a dream involves
Diana Dors and a bottle of chip oil.

Oh, no. That's what you call
a guilty conscience, my friend.

-What?
-The root of nightmares.

My conscience is clear,
thank you very much.

Whereas me, slept like a baby.

Yeah, a 20-stone baby.
Burps, snores, farts.

I do NOT snore.

You know, the only fingerprints
on that gun were yours.

-What about footprints?
-No.

-On the glass, you know, broken...
-Broken window. No.

Well, you must have missed something
or I wouldn't be in this bloody mess.

I need to see the flat.

-The crime scene?
-Yeah.

Good look at the place might
kick-start the old mighty engine.

-Me brain.
-Oh.

So you want to do a reconstruction?

Well, if you want to over-complicate
the idea... Oh, sorry, course you do.

Well, we'd need the crime photos

that, um...
are locked away in Morgan...

-Your cabinet.
-Yes. My cabinet.

Which I just so happen
to have the keys for.

OK.

-I'm coming with you.
-What?

I need the smell of CID to get
the old investigative juices flowing.

Half the police force
is out looking for you.

-They won't look for me there.
-You're off your head, you are.

Look. You're not the one who'll have
to knit himself a new arsehole

after 25 years of male affection in prison
showers. I'm coming with you.

You won't get within a mile of CID
without being recognised.

Unless...

Come on.

-Leave it on.
-I'm bloody dying in there.

You will be dead if they catch us.

How bloody dare he?

You seen the state of this place?
Ridiculously neat.

Hold up, hold up.
They're coming back in.

Wait for it.

OK.

Sam.

Who's the big rat?

It's, er... it's that
training exercise for the WPCs.

Hearts and minds.

Good. Good.

Oh, anything new on Wilkes' murder?

Pretty straightforward, I think.
Find Hunt, we find the killer.

Last piece of the jigsaw, eh?

You know what?
My squirrel instinct tells me

he's even more of a bastard
than I first thought.

That's very perceptive.

For a rat.

Do you remember anything?

OK.

OK.

Quarter to twelve.

You put a brick through the window.

Haslam runs out, we drive off.

You jump out of the car
and stagger off looking for your gun.

Say... ten to twelve.

Yeah. You're not telling me
anything new here.

We're working it through.

We're looking for something
that might spark a memory.

Where did you go
after you got out of the car?

-Do you remember picking up the gun?
-No.

Did you come
straight back to Haslam's?

Did you have a kip,
trying to sleep it off?

Did you fall over? Cut yourself?
Did you kick a cat?

No. Not a sodding thing.

OK.

So you're next heard
heading towards the house at 3.30.

So let's say Haslam opens the door.

He sees you waving your gun about.

Runs straight in here.

Nowhere to hide
so he just backs into the corner...

Wait a minute, wait a minute.
Why would I come in here?

Why not do him
as soon as he opened the door?

That's what I would do.

-Opens the door, bam. Show's over.
-It makes no difference.

-Yes, it does.
-No, it doesn't.

Your gun. Your prints on your gun.

-Haslam's blood on your shirt.
-You think I'm capable of murder?

-It doesn't matter what I think.
-I am not a killer!

-Prove it!
-I can't.

Where's those photographs?

Vision of the future.

It's a remote control.
It's not a magic bloody wand.

-He wouldn't have seen that.
-What?

The pathologist.
He wouldn't have seen it.

Red, blue.
Red it goes on, blue it goes off.

Doesn't go off
till two o'clock in the morning.

It's a heating vent.

The heating was on
until two o'clock in the morning

and Haslam's body was sitting
right on top of it.

-Click of the switch.
-Yeah, all right.

It's not exactly nanotechnology,
you know.

Right, OK.

The window was smashed,
it was a cold night.

Ambient temperature
would have been low.

Haslam's body was prevented
from cooling at the predicted rate.

The time of death is wrong.
He was killed earlier.

Haslam was killed hours before
that neighbour saw you coming back.

Click of the switch.
Vision of the future.

I'm trying to save your arse here

and all you can do
is go on about the shiny new toy.

Telly. Right?

Lots of tellies.

Flick of the switch.
Vision of the future.

I was stood here... swaying...

Under the impression
for some considerable time

that I had multiple vision.

Dying for a slash. Bladder
the size of a bloody bowling ball.

It was there.

Oh, blessed relief.

Niagara bloody Falls, my friend.

-Then what?
-Then, um...

Oh, you coming in, or what?
You're blocking me passage.

Sorry, love.

-Oh, I might have known.
-Known what?

It took two bottles of bleach
and a can of Ajax

to get your stink
off that front step.

My stink off this front step?
You saw me here?

Saw you? I had to step over
your ruddy carcass.

You've a nerve coming back here.
He's like a dog to vomit.

-Hold on, love...
-Me, I'd have left you there to rot.

-That's what friends are for, eh?
-Friends? What friends?

Him that came and poured you
into the back of his van.

More fool bloody him. He were the one
that needed help, poor sod.

Looked like he'd been in the wars
with that bandaged hand.

I love you.

Let's call Davie.

-You filthy swine.
-Ooh, yeah.

Davie's not at the boarding house.

Where is he, then?

Well, strangely enough,
he didn't leave a message.

Why would Davie want to kill Haslam?

And why would he say he stole money
from Haslam when he didn't?

You know, I might just have a theory.

Davie was a good boxer,
but he wasn't champion material.

It's never about money
for boxers like Davie.

It was about pride,
about being a man.

So what is it about?

It wasn't about money for Davie.
It was for Haslam.

It was Davie's last fight
and he didn't start well.

First few rounds, you'd never believe
he was in that ring.

He had no... no power,
no movement, nothing.

Then he started to get better.
By the sixth round, he'd come out

like an Alsatian with a red-hot poker
rammed up his arse.

Floored the other fella with
a single punch. It was magnificent.

Great moment. Great win.
But it shouldn't have happened.

-What do you mean?
-He wasn't supposed to win.

Davie had to explain to us
why he got beaten up.

Yeah, and he couldn't tell us.
He was supposed to throw the fight.

That gives him
an obvious motive to kill Haslam.

Very good.

So he probably saw you drop your gun
outside Haslam's.

A weapon falls into his lap.

He sees you lying there
in the street, barely conscious.

All he has to do is place you
at the scene to shore things up.

You know,
you'll make a detective yet.

Let's get over to the boxing club.

You can't go in there.

Or has it slipped your attention
that you're public enemy number one?

Is that your idea of a disguise?

Impenetrable. I pass through crowds
like the Invisible Man.

Guv. It's Morgan.

We've got to bring you in.

Right.

Hang on.

Guv?

-Why are we running?
-Because they're chasing us!

In here.

Why don't we go to Morgan
with what we know?

Trust a man from Hyde? No chance.

Come on.

Bastards.

Ray.

-Eh, I've got a stitch.
-Oh, come on, you div.

What do you want? Who are you?

-Mr Hunt.
-Need a favour, Mickey.

-The usual. Put those on.
-Right.

Mush, mush.

Oh, shit, they've doubled back!

Un-bloody-believable. Come on.

I can't believe
they fell for the same trick twice.

They really are bloody useless.

-Hang on. How did you get?
-Mickey Holmes. He owes me one.

78, he still drives
like a bloody lunatic.

Mind you,
he better not scratch the paintwork.

Keep your head up. Good.

Whoa. Take a break.

Hello, Mr Hunt.

Haslam wanted you to throw
that fight, didn't he, Davie?

He had a lot of money riding on it.
Him and Pete Wilkes.

He was going to see you OK,
slip you a few quid.

You'd end up the loser.

You couldn't do it, could you?

So you did what you do best.
You fought back and won.

I know what the life's like.
I'm not stupid.

I see them through the ropes,

sitting in the front row with their
suits and cigars and rolls of cash.

People like you, parasites,
think it's a game.

Like any game, you want to bend
the rules in your favour.

Only it's not a game to us.
Not when that bell goes.

It's fighting.

Brutal. Hard, bloody fighting.

It's kill or be killed.

And you stood up.
Like I did in court.

Did you kill Terry Haslam?

He thought he owned me.

Like I was a dog.
Like a piece of meat.

And then I saw you
pissing in the street that night.

It was an ideal opportunity.

You want to know what really
twisted my guts? What killed me?

Pete Wilkes.

My man, my corner, just sitting back
and letting it happen.

So, aye, I did Haslam.
And I did Wilkes.

I did 'em both.

And d'you know what?
I'd do 'em again.

You're coming in.

I'm not sorry for what I did.

Didn't think you would be,
a man like you.

Come on.

Oh. Nice of you to drop in
once I've already solved the case!

I'll take over from here.

He's here.

I believe I have a right
to feel a little upset.

See, I understood that I commanded
your unswerving loyalty, your love,

affection
and unquestioning obedience.

Apparently I was mistaken.

However, given the evidence
with which you were confronted,

I can understand
why that loyalty wavered.

What I find
somewhat harder to understand

is how you miserable tossers

could for one second

believe that I could be
a frigging bastard murderer!

Oh, and another thing.

I should inform you

that I intend to drink the equivalent
of the North Sea in whisky tonight.

So raid your piggy banks.

No hard feelings?

Just doing your job, copper.

Ray.

Cheers, Guv.

Cheers, you bunch of Judases.

-Oh, go on, Chris. Go on, then.
-Hey...

Nice one.

-Night, Sam.
-Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Where you going?

Er... home.

Stay.

Right, I told you all, to me!

-Come on, lads!
-I'm the sheriff!

You had to believe
Gene was innocent, didn't you?

Couldn't bear to think
he might betray you?

Could you?

Well...

if you haven't got trust,
who are you supposed to believe in?

You have to start with what you know.

You know?
What you see in front of you.

And what do you see?

I see you.

Good work.

Hey, listen.

We're all right, aren't we?
You and me.

Oh, yeah. You're doing a great job.

-Cheers.
-Really.

We're all very proud of you.

Not your fault Hunt wriggled
out of it. Good opportunity, but...

Hang in there, Sam.
Soon as we can, we'll sort this out.

Bring you back home.