All language subtitles for Inspector Morse S03E04

Yes?

Don't go tonight.

I beg you, Rosemary, please.

Don't go.

You're drinking again.

Don't go, Rosemary.

I'll come home.

Please.

(Rosemary hangs up)

(Coughs)

MAN: Hello, Rosemary, it's me again,
you selfish, scheming, thankless bitch.

If you think you can just back out when you like,
you've got another think coming.

It could be that I've got some idea
about what I like, too.

You think it's drop everything now between us,
except your knickers.

MAN ON TAPE: You've got it wrong,
you know, Rosemary.

It won’t just be my word against yours.
I have the photographs.

Your husband would be very interested
in one or two of them. Certainly in one of them.

I mean it, Rosemary. Be there!

♪ The Archers theme tune

LADS: ♪ La-la la-la la-la la!

♪ Saxophone plays a quickstep

How do you manage to look like that when you've been up to your elbows
in dead guts all day?

I mean our lady pathologist.

Mind you, she scares the pants off me,

especially when I remember what she earns.

(Music stops)

Thank you. Thank you.

Well, flatfoots or not, here's your chance,
as the band takes you into a quickstep medley

and a good old-fashioned
ladies' request and excuse-me.

White wine? Gin and tonic?

- Wine.
- Hang on.

Maybe I'm braver than I thought.

I didn't know they had ladies' requests any more.

- Good evening, Chief Inspector.
- Good evening, Dr Russell.

We were just saying you look very erm...

off duty tonight.

I hope ''off duty'' is a compliment.

You brought a friend.

Mm. A colleague from the hospital.
Took pity on me.

''You shall go to the ball,'' he said.

Let's dance, Inspector.

(Cheering)

- You can quickstep, Morse.
- Surprised?

Well, you must find the music a pain.
Where did you learn?

Here. Oxford. College hops.

Of course.

You're such erm...an educated gent.

Listen, I ought to explain.

Technically, I'm on duty tonight,
or I might...have been more er...

More what?

More organized.

With invitations.

DR RUSSELL: What's wrong?

Sometimes I think
my sergeant hates to see me enjoying myself.

Are you?

Enjoying yourself?

It's...a murder, sir.

The report came in 20 minutes ago, sir.

Some bloke phoned to say it would interest the
police to go to Bay 5B of the Westgate car park

and take a look in the BMW there.

I hope it's been verified.
I wouldn't want my night out ruined by a hoax.

Yeah, it's been confirmed already, sir.

A shame. You seemed to be having a good time.

I'd been rescued from Cyril Dewar.

MAN ON POLICE RADIO: ..details as follows,
if you're ready to copy. Over.

WOMAN: Yes. Go ahead. Over.

- Any blood, Inspector?
- No.

Good.

This dress cost a fortune.
I'd have had to step out of it.

Why would a car thief ring the police?
He'd get the hell out, wouldn't he?

He's looking for a handbag. He finds a corpse.

Well, you see,
you have to know the criminal mind.

Now, the mind of a car thief

has its peculiarities.

This is Mr Waugh, the car park superintendent.

I'd be grateful if you'd give Sergeant Lewis an
account of parking procedures here, Mr Waugh.

Always delighted to help the authorities.

This is something the computer threw up, sir.

We'd best go.

(Ringing tone)

The car's registered in the name of
Michael Gifford, 12 Riverside Reach.

That's the name on the credit cards,
and there's a signed ID picture in there.

What is he? 32? 33?

Born 11th December 1955.

What else have we got?

A portfolio of architects' drawings,
a copy of the RIBA Journal.

Erm...

A yellow duster. A wash leather. All in the back.

- Glove compartment?
- Locked.

- OK if we move the body, Inspector?
- Just give me a second.

A parking ticket.

Issued tonight. 12 minutes past seven.

That figures. He's been dead four or five hours.
Say between then and eight o'clock.

Oh, and strangling's official.

With a piece of new white cord. The sort used
for hanging pictures. Nothing remarkable.

Nothing much in the pockets, either.

House keys on a ring,
loose change and the wallet.

- Car keys?
- Er, none.

- And none in the ignition.
- Yes, I noticed that.

Peculiar.

Why would the killer take the keys
and leave the car?

You didn't bring your friend.

Why would I?

He's a pediatrician. Not interested in corpses.

Sorry.

It's just something to say.

I'd like to think
that we could finish that dance sometime.

So would I.

Not a bad haul.

A bit more to go.

The computer says he was divorced.
Lived alone.

Still, there could be somebody waiting up.

I think there should be a visit.

You or me, sir?

Hello?

Hello? Anybody home?

Hello?

♪ WAGNER: Overture from Parsifal

The doctor won't be a minute.

How are you feeling now, Lewis?

Oh, a bit groggy, sir, but not bad.

I really appreciate
you coming down to the hospital.

Well, it saves time, doesn't it? If you get the OK,
we can press on with the job.

Anyway, you're a bit of a record-breaker now.

Two cracked heads in er...how many weeks?

Yeah. All right, sir.

You must have a skull like an anvil.

It wasn't on the same spot.

The first knock was here.

Last night's was there.

And you saw some sort of a van driving off?

Yeah.

Some sort of van. Could have been.

Could have been?

Well, I was passing out at the time, sir.

- Did the burglar get anything?
- No.

There were plenty of valuables around.
Not touched.

Maybe you disturbed him

before he got going.

Unless he was looking for something specific.

That's it. OK.

The doc says I've got high-quality bone.

I told you.

Like an anvil.

Gifford was an architect. Successful.

Expanding practice in Abingdon.

There was a lot of design around that house.

Yes.

A bit self-conscious, I thought, like his car.

What about the car? The stuff in it?

Two videos in the glove compartment.
Pornographic.

Yeah? I hope we're not in for a lot of that.

And a diary.

I'm going for this first. And the parking ticket.

- Morning, George. You just up?
- Yeah.

I've done half a shift at the clearing.

Busy night?

You didn't log much.

I was trying to attract that new vixen
down at the copse.

What do you think?

Well, it's all there, sir, isn't it?

I mean, yesterday's date,
7:15 pm, Westgate car park.

It said 7:12 on the parking ticket.
He was meeting someone.

- And today's date?
- Nothing.

Well, just a circle around the number.

Something supposed to be happening, perhaps?

Did you go back a bit, to last June, July?

Yeah, there's more.

6:20.

7 pm, 7:15.

All Westgate car park.

No entries in August?

Right.

When did you switch to that stuff, Lewis?
Mineral water?

Are you developing yuppie aspirations?

You can't be a yuppie policeman, can you?

No, the doctor gave me some painkillers.

I hope they don't dull your wits.

Go to the front,

the notes bit.

Look at the phone numbers.

No, nothing special.

Doctor, dentist, garage, AA.

One here with no identification.

One that just says...Camilla?

- ls that what it says?
- That's what I read.

''Camilla'' in brackets,
and a circle round today's date.

It's not bad, this.
It's not up to their Barley Mow Special, but...

Did you find out about that number, sir?

It belongs to the Cotswold Insurance Company,
North Oxford branch.

That figures, having your insurer's number.

It would figure

if he'd had a policy with them.

- Didn't he?
- They told me they'd never heard of him.

He could have been thinking
about changing to the Cotswold.

In which case, he'd have put the name.

Still, first things first.

Gifford's work setup. You take the office.

I'll try and talk to his partner.

You will be all right on your own,
won't you, Lewis?

I'm not a partner. Actually, I'm an associate.

I was negotiating for partnership.

Were the negotiations going well, sir?

It's common knowledge
that Michael liked to run his own ship.

Did you and Mr Gifford see each other socially?

No, we kept our dealings strictly professional.

So you don't know
what went on in his private life?

Well, he hinted occasionally.

He liked to.

Women. Good times.
It sounded rather hollow to me.

Hollow?

Well, after the divorce.

His wife left him?

She ran away to the States with a photographer
a couple of years ago.

Not a very good photographer.

What are you saying, sir? He was devastated?

''Stupefied'' would be more accurate.

He'd have been happier
if it had been David Bailey.

You didn't like him?

I didn't have to.

I admired him.

His vision, energy. He...

He sold the company
as a group of discriminating specialists.

Nothing too large, in terms of work,
but always stimulating.

I'm a... I'm a restoration man myself.

It's not my field, the modern stuff, offices.

Very much Michael's thing.

So he'll be hard to replace?

Well, the underlings can't replace the boss,
exactly, can they?

And I have no authority,
not being a partner, as I said.

(Pneumatic drill)

Our two main projects, at the moment,
are the office block in Worcester Street

and the leisure complex at Interlaken.

What was Mr Gifford like to work for?

Come on! The man's dead.

Let's observe the decencies.

We're all very sad and shocked. That's the truth.

Bring Janice, will you?
She's had time enough to compose herself.

Janice?

Our receptionist. She's terribly young.
A lot more upset than the rest of us.

Any particular reason why she should be?

I'm sure I don't know, Sergeant.

What I'd say about Mr Gifford

is he set a standard
he expected everyone else to keep to.

Well, even yesterday...

Yesterday?

Leaving early.

Four o'clock. He said he'd earned it
for working through his lunch.

Four o'clock? Any idea where he was going to?

Driving into Oxford, he said.

But Janice saw him last.

Hello, Janice. There's nothing
to be frightened of. I just want a word or two.

Let's get out in the fresh air, shall we?

Ice-skating, sir?

Yes, I go every Wednesday.

It's what my wife and I call ''statutory recreation''.

She stays in and looks after the children.

On Fridays, I stay in
and she goes to her philosophy lectures.

A popular venue, the ice rink.
Right opposite the Westgate car park.

Yes, it's appalling to think I was so close.

Well, we'll get all that sorted out, sir -
times and so forth.

I always go to the seven o'clock session
and use the ice rink car park.

Interlaken, you said.
Could this be from Mr Gifford?

A small ingratiation.

I'm sorry, sir?

A postcard to the site foreman.
Michael liked to be one of the boys.

It'd be a work trip, though, not a holiday?

A bit of both.

A little late skiing while he supervised
the construction and deepened his suntan.

I'd like to have this, sir.

Certainly, Inspector.

Thank you.

Oh, er...one last thing, sir.
Does the name Camilla mean anything to you?

LEWIS: OK, now.

So you'd fetch him his tea around 3:30.
What happened then?

He erm...

Well, er...

He sometimes said things.

He liked...I don't know...if he could make a fool
out of you in front of other people.

ls that what he did yesterday?

He said my tights were all wrong with my shoes.

He said the clients got their first impression
of the practice from me on the desk.

And it was naff!

Anything else?

Erm...

He said erm...why bother working my notice?

He could soon get someone
who wasn't a liability.

No wonder you were leaving.

Now, listen.

I've got to ask you this.

Was Mr Gifford ever anything more to you
than just the boss?

Erm...

It was only...

It didn't last long.

It was all finished months and months ago.

It was only erm...

- Nothing.
- OK.

Janice, please.

We may not even need to bother you again.

Nothing's worth getting this upset about, is it?

I'll leave it there, then, for now.

I'll get someone to take her home.

No, no, no!

No-one's taking me home.

I'll go home. I'll get a taxi.

No-one's taking me.

All right, Janice.

It's all right, dear.

I've just remembered. There was a phone call
yesterday around three o'clock.

It could have been that
that decided Mr Gifford to leave early.

Any idea who it was?

No. It was a woman's voice.

And did it, sir?
The name Camilla get any reaction?

No. A total blank.

Where's the Radio Times?

Excuse me, sir.

You got any butter?

Gazing out on the Jungfrau.

The ''Frau'' not as ''Jung'' as all that,
but experience is everything.

Booze and high jinks well up to standard.
See you 30th. Cheers, MG.

Now, what sort of man

detaches the Frau from Jungfrau
like that, Lewis?

The sort that gets strangled for his jokes, sir?

Hm. The sort that shows off about women,
but doesn't really like them.

A touchy, arrogant high-flyer.

Discarded girlfriend in the background.

Yeah.

Mm. Taken it badly, has little Janice.

It seems like he trampled on her.

And a jealous colleague.

Mm. Mm.

You managed to find yourself something, then?

Oh, yes, sir. Sardine.

Well, one sardine and a radish.

Good.

(Burst of Schubert)

This is it.

Collector's item.

Camilla, sir? In brackets.

What? Oh. Oh, yes.

Yes, I'm seeing her tonight.

- On your own, sir?
- Yes.

Well, I think we can leave that now, Lewis.

Anything wrong, sir?

I had a couple of tickets for the opera.
They seem to have disappeared.

- Two tickets?
- Yes.

I must have...

Well, I can look for them later.

MAN: Oh, I don't believe it. You did it again!

Erm...

Didn't my staff...?

I mean, I left instructions.

There's no problem, is there?

We did a full database search.

The murdered guy has no connection
with Cotswold Insurance.

Your number was in his diary.

Well...he could have been
going to give us a whirl.

It's just as well he didn't.
We'd be shelling out now. Big, maybe.

Maybe.

Look, I am sorry that I didn't stick around
to see you at the office.

It would have saved us some time, sir.
We need to go to the top. You're the manager.

Yeah, well, I just had to get out and unwind.

There was a bit of an atmosphere this morning.
Anyone tell you?

You tell me, Mr Manley.

It wasn't anything. Just one of the girls... Women.

A bit of promotion's gone to her head.
Stands on her rights.

We had this rush on, looking for your stuff
amongst everything else.

She was whingeing about bloody flexitime

and this birthday lunch, can you imagine,
that she arranged at the Dew Drop.

Her and a couple of the others.

Give me blokes any time, I'm afraid.

You can bawl a bloke out, can't you?

Get it sorted, buy him a pint, then it's all over.

- Oh, yeah?
- Well...

Yeah, not with a woman.

Well, not Rosemary Henderson, anyway.

You know, she got me wound up yesterday.
The same thing.

So you unwind at the squash courts?

Yeah. Yeah, that's it.

A bit of marathon running, rowing.
Good for the broker's bulge.

Thank you for talking to us.

You will look out for any possible connection,
inform the people who were at the lunch?

Sure. Sure.

Hey, that's not your Jag, is it? What a beaut!

You know, I had my eye on a 2.4 Mark II.

- I had to settle for an S-Type.
- Excuse me. We've a very busy day ahead.

Well, sorry again. Cheers.

Hello. We're just knocking off.

We've got the first coat on the woodwork,
so mind the handrail.

Bloody hell!

The ticket we're looking for, lads,
is something like that.

But anything else you see, give us a nod.

Bri has Wednesdays off, I have Fridays.

It's part of the grand plan for keeping
the soul alive in the domestic swamp.

Your husband explained.

Mr Pierce believes
ice-skating is good for his soul, does he?

Mine's the soul at issue.

He's pretty well fulfilled by his work.
The ice-skating's to give his brain a rest.

If he left here at 6:30,

he'd have parked around er...

6:45?

You know, they'll never find a ticket.

I'm always clearing garbage out of the car.
Both cars.

Still, it's just a formality, isn't it?

Well, it is a formality.

It's also an inconvenience.

Michael, he...

It might seem harsh to say this.

He did nothing but inconvenience Brian.
Now he's doing it from the grave.

Why didn't Mr Pierce leave the practice?

Jobs with, I suppose, the Gifford cachet, aren't
easy to come by, but he was looking round.

Not a thing, sir. No ticket, no receipt.

Will you excuse me, Mrs Pierce?

LEWIS: You didn't ever pass the time of day
with any of the other skaters?

Well, I may have done.

Am I being questioned?

Romney Marsh, sir?

Oh, yes. The little Inchbold.

Do you like it?

It's... It's unusual for him.

It's early. You see,
Inchbold generally went in for...

Yes, I'm aware of what Inchbold
generally went in for, sir.

If you know where to look,
the prices are not prohibitive.

They are if you're a policeman.

Even if you know where to look.

I want the ice rink staff questioned about Pierce.

I want a check run on his income,
anything earned by his wife.

Also a discreet watch
on all multistory car parks tonight.

Right, sir.

He doesn't look much like an ice-skater,
does he?

See him in a sequined catsuit?

The white cord, Lewis.

DIY stores sell miles of it, sir.
I've got a hank in my shed.

No, it's a question of ''find the Frau''.

There's a woman in there somewhere.

Not Mrs Pierce?

Mrs Pierce is a hausfrau.

Bend your mind to the diary again, too,
would you?

Also, think about

why someone would have eight exquisite,
genuine Pre-Raphaelite paintings on his wall,

and one dud.

What, is it a dud? The Romney Marsh?

Well, if it's an Inchbold, even an early Inchbold,
I'm the next Chief Constable.

See you later.

(Horn beeps)

Gifford.

I know Michael.

Poor Michael.

But today's date means nothing.

You weren't expecting him?

No.

Can I get you a drink?

Er... Thanks.

Could I... ls that a bottle of Glen Duich there?

Probably.

Thanks.

Most of this goes for export now.

- Cheers.
- Cheers.

How did you meet Gifford?

The usual way.

Sorry? ''The usual way''?

For a prostitute to meet a man.

It was in a bar, somewhere suave.
I'm very careful.

No-one ever suspects I'm anything but
a straight businesswoman with a line in fashion.

- When was that?
- February.

He was in town on an architects' conference.

That was before my appointment book was as
busy as it is now, before I could pick and choose.

Ah.

I'm not really familiar with erm...

We don't see this erm...

..not precisely

this level of activity in Oxford.

- It disturbs you?
- No.

- No.
- Yes, Inspector.

Yes. You can't keep
your disapproval out of your voice.

A nice girl like me?

(Running water)

MRS PIERCE: Where are you going, Brian?
It's your turn to read the story.

We have absolutely nothing to hide.

Then why haven't we told them?

There's no point. It's not necessary.

No, listen, Bri. Listen!

Did you see Gifford on a regular basis?

Not exactly.
He was more trouble than he was worth.

Some clients are.

He... Well, he liked to monopolize me
when he was in town.

Whole nights. Weekends.

I went to Brighton with him. April, that'd be.

Good hotel, money no object, but...

I don't know. His ego got in the way.

Then he wanted me to go to Switzerland.

Interlaken? In June?

Yes. All expenses paid.
He said I was tax-deductible.

Did you go?

No. He was starting to get...

Oh, I don't know. Possessive.
Some men do about whores.

I didn't need that, or him. I'm in this business
because I like it and I'm good at it.

He was only competent, whatever he liked
to think about his performance.

You rejected him. How did he react?

Some men I meet halfway.

The powerful sort.

The sort that - well, there aren't many of them -

who appreciate what I've got to offer,

take the trouble to please me, too.

You didn't answer the question.

OK, you, stop right there.

- So he went quietly?
- In the end.

Did he ever mention anything
about his background, his wife, the divorce?

Are you married?

That has nothing to do...

No, I'm not.

Why?

Too choosy.

Too...hesitant.

Too lazy. Too busy.

Hesitant?

Yes.

Well...

Sometimes. Isn't everyone?

I'm not.

Look...

You know, I find it very hard to believe in your
perfectly controlled, perfectly self-contained life.

You're hesitant because you've never found out
what you're really capable of.

If you did, you'd have the confidence
for anything, forever after,

with any woman.

Why did you really stop seeing Gifford?

I told you. He was a nuisance. He was boring.

Oh, come on!

Boringness is endemic, isn't it?

Well, you just said... You said it.

''All the interesting ones
are few and far between.''

If you cut out all the bores,
you'd have no business.

All right. He did get rather unpleasant
when I said I wouldn't go to Interlaken.

How unpleasant? Threats?

Not actually. He sent some letters.

What kind of letters? Have you got them?

- No.
- Why? Were they too horrible to keep?

I wouldn't say... Well, no, not actually...

All right. They were pretty terrible.

He couldn't take rejection. ''You whoring,
ungrateful cow.'' That kind of thing.

Anything else?

There was a tape. A cassette tape.

It came through the post.

Revolting.

I got rid of that, too. Sorry.

I'd better go.

Stay.

Tell me about this woman.

Which woman?

The one you hesitate with.

We could explore.

Talk.

Anyway, it wouldn't...

There'd be no...obligation.

(Phone rings)

He was dead.
He was dead when I found him. I swear!

MORSE: Tell me.

Well, that's it, isn't it?

All right. I go through the back window.
I stick my hand in.

I do the lock.

I mean, I'm going for the radio, ain't I?

So I get the door open and I find the body.
There you go.

So what did you do?

I phoned you, didn't I?

You could have done it.

He was asleep under that rug.

You disturbed him, panicked and throttled him.

Did you get my mum?

No, he didn't. He didn't get her.

- Go on.
- What?

Why did you break the back window?

Well, I just told you, didn't I?

There must be easier ways of getting in.

No, no. Not with a BMW, there ain't.

I mean, even if you drop a wire,

there's all these safety catches on the locks.

- Get rid of him.
- Eh?

Out, Miles. We've had enough.

Do a statement.

No, wait!

Where are the keys?
Be useful to a fellow like you, BMW keys.

There weren't none.
That's the funny thing. There weren't none.

Anything new?

He got better-looking
when the swelling went down.

His daily identified him
without too much revulsion.

- I don't think she liked him.
- No-one did.

He was suntanned, but not in the usual places.

He'd been skiing in Interlaken,
not lazing on a beach without his clothes.

- Do you ever do that?
- What?

Er, time of death between 6:30 and 7:30.

- Laze on a beach without your clothes?
- No.

- Was he fit?
- Hm. Extremely.

Beautiful muscle tone.

The attacker was right-handed?

And tremendously strong.

Had to be. If Gifford had put up a fight,
he'd have been quite an opponent.

- Not a woman?
- Hm, I don't think so.

It's possible, but how many women
can be this aggressive? It's very rare.

That's right.

Thanks.

I sometimes wonder why I'm doing this job.

Why I'm not out there among the living...
days like this.

Maybe I could do with
some lazing on a beach, et cetera.

It's a tantalizing thought.

- ls it?
- I sometimes wonder about police work, too.

But...in the end,

we both pay the price for job satisfaction.

At least you're at the top.

- Well, so are you.
- Well, I suppose

I've settled for something.

- Actually, er...
- Mm?

I was wondering...

A big load from the infirmary, Doctor.
Nasty spleen.

They want you to look at it fast.

Yes, OK. I'll be along in a moment.

I'll er...

I'll call you.

Yeah, please do.

(Raucous laughter)

Ow! Ooh!

Let's walk, Lewis.

OK.

(Video switched off)

Seen enough to say how Gifford liked his porn?

Oh, straight, sir. Well, more or less.

He liked his women a bit on the submissive side.

Hey, the acting in those things is terrible.

''Couldn't take rejection.''

Who said that, sir? Camilla?

No-one recalled Brian Pierce at the ice rink?

An instructor swore he'd seen him
at the Green Café, though, regularly. Evenings.

- You checked?
- No corroboration. Quick turnover of staff there.

What about his money?

Well, Gifford paid him £20,000 a year.

He could make a few thousand extra
from jobs on the side.

Oh, his wife has £1,500 a year
from a family trust.

Hm.

Try buying Pre-Raphaelite
landscapes and portraits with that!

We'll get the Fraud Squad boys
to go over Gifford's accounts.

Oh, and Janice...

I tried the address and number
on her office record.

She wasn't there.
Hasn't lived there for weeks.

How does Pierce fit in with the circle in the diary?

The circle in the diary could relate to anything,
couldn't it?

I had a spot of bother getting to sleep last night.

I kept going over and over that.

We have this calendar and Valerie does it -
puts circles around important dates.

Kids' dental appointments
and sports days and such.

She'd write them in, though, wouldn't she?
So she'd know why she'd marked them.

Yeah. Well, I suppose.
But not the really obvious things.

Such as?

Birthdays in the family.

Right.

The birthdays of someone close
don't need an explanation.

It's just to remember the...

To post the card in time.

I suppose so.

- Oh, you mean Gifford may have been...?
- Yes.

Yes, he knew someone
with a birthday yesterday. Someone close.

Who?

I don't know about ''close'',
but he knew someone with a birthday.

Well, think, Lewis.

- Manley. In Manley's office.
- Correct.

- The woman he had a row with.
- At the Cotswold Insurance Company.

Yeah. Gifford had the Cotswold number,
but no name next it.

He didn't need to put a name. It was familiar.

Lewis!

- How's the head?
- I thought you'd never ask.

(Lively chatter)

I seem to have inconvenienced you again.

But if you've always kept quiet
about something...

Anyone could have seen us. It's a public place.

Not at the opera. Not from this office.

- Could we take it from the beginning again, sir?
- Yes. Sure.

We're opera buffs, Amy and me.

Look, perhaps here I should say that I'm a...

My wife's dead.

Amy's divorced. Real gossip fodder.

I mean, this bunch, salt of the earth,

but they'd never believe

- that we could just be friends.
- Manager and secretary.

- You were at the opera on Wednesday night?
MANLEY: Der Rosenkavalier.

Could I make the point that Edward -
Mr Manley -

turns these occasions into treats
for me and my daughter.

- She's disabled. We don't get many treats.
- Oh, come on, Amy.

You might find this statement of interest, sir.

So, you parked your car in St Giles, sir,
a little before 6:55 on Wednesday.

You met Mrs Morris and her daughter
at the Apollo.

Then we all had a drink in the bar.

You were in your seats...when?

About quarter past, twenty past seven.

Wonderful seats. Front stalls.

- I did a copy of the holiday list.
- Oh, yeah. Thanks, Gloria.

You wanted to see the staff holiday dates.

Two people away at the end of June.

Marian Robbins

and Rosemary Henderson.

ls that of any interest?

Which one's the birthday girl, Mr Manley?

I'm not reading you.

- Someone had a birthday yesterday.
AMY: That was Rosemary.

- Exercising her rights.
- Any idea where she went for her holidays?

I'm not sure. South of France, wasn't it?

Switzerland. Interlaken.

Remember? The hotel suite
with the superb crystal chandeliers.

I'd like to speak to her now.

Trust Rosemary to be missing
when she's wanted.

She's clinching an account today,
somewhere in Swindon.

..eight. Right round.

And one...two...three...

four...five...

six...seven.

Change direction! Eight...seven...six...

five...four...three...

How often does she come here?

She's on the books.

Fully paid-up.

250 quid a year.
She can come whenever she wants for that.

MORSE: Mostly Wednesdays,
after wrestling with Gifford at the Westgate.

Oh, and this place
closed for structural alterations in August.

No appointments in the diary for August.

How often do you have a stiff drink
before your exercise classes?

Not often.

Never.

Wednesday was different, I told you.

Tell me again.

I'd had this terrible day.

A row at the office,

although that's...well, it's nothing new.

And no-one to tell about it when I got home.

My husband's very...

Well, he seems obsessed
with the work these days.

You parked at Gloucester Green.
They issue stickers there. Did you get one?

Well, I must have done. I don't know where it is.

If you were at Gloucester Green at 6:45,

still here at twenty past,
and doing back-bends at 7:45,

there's no way you had time
to dodge up to the fifth level of the Westgate.

How about before?

- Before?
- Look, I don't need to tell you, Mrs Henderson,

it would have been better for everyone,
including you, if you'd come forward sooner.

How could I ''come forward''?

I'm married.

Michael and me, it was...

Well, I suppose you could call it
a holiday romance.

Isn't that ridiculous at my age?

No. You were telling me
you met Gifford for the first time at Interlaken.

Yes.

That was what was so...

I mean, there we were in the Alps,
this hotel and everything.

He said his firm was in Abingdon,
and I said that...

Well, the coincidence was...

You were alone?

Yes. My husband hates flying and I needed...
Well, I just had to get away.

So, back here you continued seeing him?

Off and on.

Regularly, surely?

Gifford had appointments every Wednesday.

It wouldn't surprise me
to learn that he was seeing someone else.

No.

No, I'd broken it off. I'd been so stupid.

And I didn't enjoy deceiving my husband.
He's not been well.

Where else did you meet Gifford,
apart from the Westgate?

Nowhere.

No, there was nowhere.

Yes, all he was offering was a few minutes
in a parked car in a multistory car park.

And I...

I...I took it.

Just that.

Until I came to my senses.

When was the last time?

Two weeks ago.

The barman says Mrs Henderson listened
to The Archers with him on Wednesday night.

She drank a single malt whiskey.

The last thing. Did Gifford ever threaten you?

No.

No abusive letters or calls?

No, nothing like that. I told you, it didn't last long.

Oh, er...

Would you mind, Mrs Henderson?
I'd like a specimen signature for the records.

Oh, of course.

ROSEMARY: Will that do?
MORSE: Thank you.

- Good night.
- Good night.

Specimen signature, eh?

She's left-handed. The killer isn't.

Well, she's in the clear. If Gifford was still alive
to get a car park ticket at 12 minutes past seven.

Yes.

Neat, isn't it?

So what do we do, sir?
Go for the husband or respect their privacy?

No, leave him out for the moment.
I'll look into the background.

You locked the study door.

I came back and you'd gone off with the key.
It's been locked all day.

I've got a model in there. It's fragile.
I don't want the children messing it about.

For heaven's sake, Brian, you might trust me!

Hand over.
Dymph wants the gold ink for tomorrow.

- She's got her medieval project.
- Not now.

What do you mean?
Brian, will you please tell me what's going on?

Oh, there's a parcel for you.

It was behind the door when we came in.
It's too early for the post.

- I'm sorry we woke you up, Mrs Henderson.
- Oh, no, please.

I'm glad you're early. George isn't back yet.

Your neighbours will be having a lie-in,
Saturday morning. Bit of luck, nobody'll notice.

There you go, Sergeant.

Yeah, that's it. There you are, no time at all.

- Your alibi, Mrs Henderson.
- What?

Gloucester Green car park,
Wednesday 28th September, 6:49 pm.

Well, my God! Fancy it's being there!

I usually just - well, I don't know -
screw them up and lose them.

OK.

Off you go, then, lads. Thanks.

I'll not keep them here,
damaging your reputation.

Relieved?

I'll bet she is.

It's more than Brian Pierce is going to be.

Yes, I've got Inspector Grossmith
from Fraud with me now.

Yes, he's been following
the invoice trail, apparently. Very revealing.

No.

No.

We haven't got the address
of ''poor little Janice'' yet, Lewis.

OK. Yes, I'll get someone
to check with Directory Inquiries. Bye.

(Sighs)

So, Pierce was ripping him off?

How much?

15, 20 thousand a year
for the last five or six years.

A very tidy rip-off.

He was diverting materials Gifford had paid for
into jobs he had going on the side,

and then collecting from the clients.

You'd think Gifford would have twigged
and sacked him.

Well, maybe he did ''twig''.

Maybe he liked having something over Pierce,
something to bargain with.

Anyway, Bill Grossmith's still working on it.

He thinks Gifford was on a dodge himself.
His tax position's questionable.

Pierce has still got to be our number one.

Yes. Well...

It would be a pity not to check out
the Henderson leads that you brought in.

If you say so, sir.
And it's always a pleasure to see Dr Russell.

Lifting a fellow consultant's notes
isn't 100% ethical, Inspector.

The proper channels will take more time
than I think we've got.

So, Henderson is ill.

Hm. Extensive liver damage. Irreversible.

- Caused by what? Booze?
- Mm.

Warnings about alcoholism going back to 1984.

Admitted earlier this year with liver failure.

He won't have long, then?

Six, nine months, maybe.

- He'd be too weak to strangle a man, then?
- No, not necessarily.

Anything else? Side effects?

Well, he could be impotent.

Could he? Ah.

I wonder how his wife would deal with that.

That's all. Thanks for coming in on Saturday.

You're welcome.

I shop near here anyway on Saturdays.

And I lunch at the White Horse, so erm...

I don't know why we should have agreed to.

Why does Rosemary Henderson
deserve special consideration?

She didn't come clean with us.

- You think we should see Henderson, sir?
- Yes.

But surely...

I mean, shouldn't we see Pierce first?

Pierce'll keep. We'll go to Wytham Woods.

I thought erm...

Hasn't that job been automated by now, sir?

Of course. But there's no gadget
that does it this clean.

Is it a duty?
You're employed as a warden, I understand.

It's not a duty. It keeps my strength up.

There's been a murder, Mr Henderson,
in the Westgate car park.

Wednesday night. You may have read about it.

A Mr Michael Gifford.

He was er...

known to your wife.

Were you aware of that?

No.

We've had reason to ask her
to account for her movements.

It's her exercise class, Wednesdays.

How did she know him?

MORSE: I think perhaps
you should discuss that with her.

Where were you on Wednesday,
Mr Henderson?

What have my movements got to do with it?
I didn't know him.

I need information.

I was here.

MORSE: You've been living here?
HENDERSON: More or less.

For two weeks?

There's a new pair of badgers...erm...

I think - they seem to be, anyway -
establishing themselves in the copse.

A new vixen, too.

I didn't want to leave them.

Aren't there relief wardens?
You don't have to do it all, surely?

I like it here.

You can see my notes, my log.

Yes, well, I'm sorry, sir,
but unless somebody actually saw you...

I mean, you could have written a log at any time.

It doesn't count as proof.

Proof? What do you mean, proof?

Suicide. He didn't keep, after all.

(Mrs Pierce sobs)

I can't imagine what possessed him.

Everything was fine.

Really, fine.

I could believe...

I even think
it could have been some kind of accident.

I wouldn't go on thinking that
if I were you, Mrs Pierce.

There'll be an inquest, of course.

You should prepare yourself
for some painful revelations.

Painful?

We completed our audit
of Mr Gifford's accounts today.

Oh.

So you'll know.

Know?

About Brian. About...

Well, there'll be discrepancies, I imagine.

There are.

Brian took nothing that wasn't his by rights.

He did the work of a partner, so he drew
the pay of a partner, one way or another.

Michael...he...

Well, you didn't know him.
He played complicated games.

If Mr Gifford had found out?

He was in no position himself to throw stones.

Mutual blackmail. I er...

It crossed my mind.

I reject ''blackmail'', actually.

We had contingency plans.

The collection's worth a good deal, the paintings.

If we'd sold, we could have repaid everything
Brian took and still have been in profit.

It was a crime, Mrs Pierce,
even if it looked like efficient investment.

Brian is...

He was...efficient.

We were an efficient unit, together, the family.

It was perfect.

He had such an eye for quality.

You do know, of course,
there are three paintings missing?

LEWIS: You know, I can't for the life of me
see why we have to complicate it.

Gifford was onto him, so he killed Gifford.
We were onto him, so he killed himself.

If it had gone to court, it would still have been
a nasty bit of public disgrace for Pierce.

He wouldn't have been able to handle it.
His wife wouldn't, either.

If he'd have done it, the efficient Mr Pierce
would have had an alibi. A proper one.

Nobody remembering him at the ice rink
doesn't mean he wasn't there.

Doesn't it?
An unlikely-looking ice-skater like Pierce?

No, no, no.

I want to think,
and I want to talk to Henderson again.

I'll see you later, Lewis.

- Do you want me to call Mrs Henderson?
- Yes. Certainly.

Hello. George Henderson here.

Look, this is erm...

I've got to talk to somebody, and, well, erm...

You...

It's about my wife.

Yeah.

The police have been.

She's got something to do
with this Westgate murder.

I don't know, but I'm really...

I'm scared.

I couldn't tell them, but...I know for a fact
that she was in the Westgate car park

Wednesday night.

I saw her drive in there about half past six.

Look, could you...?

Could we meet?

Yes, it'd perhaps set my mind at rest.

No.

I can't go home. I'll be here.

Yes, in the office.

Yeah, that suits me.

Yeah. Bye.

Hello.

I thought I might find you here.

I thought you might think you'd find me here.

In fact, I thought you might think
I'd been so blatant that you wouldn't come.

I got held up. The Pierce suicide.

Oh, God, yes. Poor Mr Pierce.

He was being delivered to the mortuary
just as I was leaving.

ls there somewhere a bit quieter?

Yes.

Thank you, Sergeant Lewis.

My husband?

Well, I've...

Naturally, I understand why you told him, but...

Well, you do see my situation.

I...I know, but...
Well, nothing's going to come of this.

So it could be that a lot of trouble's
been taken for...well, really for nothing.

Yes.

Well,

thank Inspector Morse for me, will you?

Bye.

Don't you eat lunch, Morse?

This is pure food.

As a doctor, I ought to challenge that,
but I suppose better ones have tried.

I don't know about ''better''.

I enjoy talking to you.

Then why don't you do more of it?

I don't know.

The job gets in the way, maybe.

I get in the way.

Maybe I'm the job.

(Table crashes)

- Get off me! I want another drink!
- No, you're not having any more.

- Get off! I'm not going. I'm not going.
- Out. Out.

JANICE: Get off me!

I'm sorry. I really am sorry,
but please excuse me. I'll call you.

Janice! Wait!

It was just after I was speaking to you,
Sergeant Lewis. It was really strange.

I wish you'd told us more about this,
Mrs Henderson, at the interview.

Well, so do I, now.

Let's get it sorted out, then, eh?

I thought I'd do a blitz on his dry-cleaning.

While he's been on this survey, it's...

Well, it's just been his old clothes.

He comes in and out here while I'm at work.

Why would he do that?

Why wouldn't he want to see you?

Well, it's awkward hours,

and I...

Oh, no.

No, it's...

It's because of...

Oh, I didn't want to say this.

It's because he's drinking.

He's on a...

Well, he...he has these bouts.

He's been all right since he was in hospital,

but I think if he found the things,
which he obviously did...

..well, it started him off again.

Wait a minute.

- There was a tape and letters from Gifford?
- Yes.

Horrible.

I was going to give them to the police,
but I couldn't.

I couldn't. It was what Michael said about me.

I would have done, though, in the end.

I meant to. That's why I kept them.

They were in this?

Yes, I hid them in the airing cupboard
behind the towels.

George never goes in there.

Well, he obviously did this time.
He took everything out.

- Was this with the box?
- Yes.

- How long could he have known about it?
- I've no idea.

Well, when did you last check
that the stuff was all in the airing cupboard?

Two weeks, about.

- Well, not again, since the murder?
- No.

No, I didn't want to check.

I didn't want to know.

I was frightened.

I still am frightened.

25,000 quid in a paper bag?!

Well, she'd thrown a bit of it around the place.

You reckon
that's what Pierce'd get for his paintings?

Two of them.
Romney Marsh wouldn't fetch anything.

Check out the art dealers, then?

Mrs Pierce will be clawing the money back
in no time.

I think he's been too clever for that.

Oh?

Janice just happened to get an anonymous gift
of £25,000 on the day he died.

Even if it's proved to have come from Pierce,

it means that he wanted her
and no-one else to have it.

What about the dud one? Romney Marsh?

Yes, well, think.

Pierce's tidy little ways,
even when it comes to fraud.

He goes out one day

to snap up a charming early Inchbold landscape
with whatever it costs in his pocket.

OK.

He comes home with a landscape,
the right sort of date.

Not an Inchbold, but who's to know?

He's the one with the eye.

But what's he done with the money?

He'd set Janice up with her own little business,

so she wouldn't have to be
Gifford's excess baggage any more.

A flat above the shop where they could go
after the Green Café, every Wednesday at least.

- They'd, like, fell for each other, then?
- Well, he fell for her.

She kept saying, this afternoon,
he was very kind and nice.

I thought as much.

Poor little Janice.

Her grief over Gifford's death would have meant
the end for Pierce, on top of everything else.

Ah.

We have a problem.

Should be child's play to you, Lewis.

But, look, sir. Pierce...

Gifford gave Janice a mouthful
on the day he was killed.

Yes, and he had the power
to put Pierce in court any time. Yes.

He had motives all over the place.

So what are we doing here
and why am I shifting this barrier illegally?

Because it's there, Lewis.

(Engine revs)

Why did he get rid of the dud painting?

Come, come, Lewis. Who'd want to be caught
with a fake in his collection?

His wife would never live it down.
The man had some decency.

Hey, this is it, sir.

It's what?

This is the van that drove away from Gifford's
the night I got thumped on the head.

I noticed this logo on the side when I went down.

Hm.

He'd have got Gifford's address from the letters.

Trouble, sir?
Or is he just getting careless with the drink?

One of the rifles is still missing.

He has a terminal illness.

Question: Would he disinherit his wife
because of her fling with Gifford?

Who else has he got?

Nobody.

Suppose he put Gifford out of the way.

He wouldn't get much of a sentence.
He might not even live to go through the trial.

I think you'd better have a look at this, sir.

(Car approaches)

Later.

(Car door closes)

Good evening.

Oh, my God, Inspector!

- What's happened?
- I don't know.

What might have happened?

I've been ringing George
ever since Sergeant Lewis was with me.

The more I thought about it, I feel sure

he's in a bad way.
I've been getting the answering machine.

LEWIS: Could he be out with his foxes?

Take a look at his log.

No, the entries have tailed off.

Look, I've got a feeling...

Yes, tell me about your feeling in a moment.
Sergeant Lewis is just leaving.

We expect to be winding up
the Gifford case very soon.

Thanks, Lewis.

Ah, right, sir. I'll see you later.

Excuse me.

You had no trouble with the barrier,
Mrs Henderson?

What? Oh.

No, George showed me ages ago.
There's a button you can press.

Oh, I wish I knew where he'd got to.
He's very unstable.

Because of the drinking
or this illness you mentioned?

He's ill because he drinks.

It's all self-inflicted.

He's had warnings, plenty.

Well, drink, it's erm...

It fills some kind of need.

I have needs, too.

Needs which George can't meet.

Well, if there's nothing else,
I'd like to get home before it gets dark.

It's bad enough being in the house alone.

I needn't detain you any longer.

Can I give you a lift somewhere?

Thank you. I'll just hang on here for a while.

- Let me know if there's anything about George.
- Of course.

I can't officially organize a search till the morning.

Oh, look, his wallet.

It's typical.
The door's open. Anybody could come in.

I'd better... Oh, and his car keys.
I don't want him driving.

Good night.

Good night.

(Church bells peal)

POLICE RADIO: Search of Wytham Woods
terminated at 9:45 am, sir.

Nothing further discovered.

Body thought to be that of George Henderson.
Aged around 48. Forestry warden.

The preliminary path report says,
"Cause of death: query suicide."

Query?

Dr Russell doesn't wish to commit herself
at this stage, sir.

- And who can blame her?
- Sir?

Let me know any other developments.
I'm at the Westgate.

Morning, Lewis.

I blew it again, didn't I, sir?

I shouldn't think you did anything of the kind.
Have you got the ticket?

I waited an hour for her to come back out of her
house before it struck me she wasn't going to.

Whatever she...

Well, I reckon it must have been the phone call
or something at the library.

The ticket, Lewis.

Oh, yeah.

What time does it say?

9:30, sir.

Mine says 9:55.

Now, get back in the car.

Put the ticket on the dashboard.

Now,

suppose I wanted to strangle you, Lewis.

Yeah.

Now,

I remove the car park ticket

and the keys...

..lock the doors and disappear.

Now, I could give the ticket
and the keys to someone else.

Someone else?

Who could come here to the Westgate,
get a ticket with a later time stamp,

like mine,

put it in your car and then leave,

paying the fee on the earlier parking ticket.

And poor old PC Plod
would think you'd been murdered after 9:55.

So...

Gifford was dead by maybe quarter to seven,
not alive at 12 minutes past, like we thought.

That's right. Yes, think of all those careful alibis.

The woman that rang Gifford in the afternoon
to tell him to come early.

Come on.

(Cheering)

Go on!

(Applause)

Come on!

WOMAN: On two. One. Two.

Snap, sir.

- Good morning, Mrs Morris.
- Sergeant Lewis.

- This'll be your daughter?
- Oh, yes. This is Lisa.

This is Chief Inspector Morse.

Turning out for the firm, eh?

It's a little excursion for us,
supporting the Cotswold team.

Edward works ever so hard with them.

ls there... There's no trouble?

MORSE: Edward? Yes.

Manley?

Remember the jogger
in Wytham Woods last night?

LEWIS: Manley?

We do a few sandwiches, Lisa and me.
Dole them out on race days.

Are you er...on duty?

- Many supporters from the office here?
- A few.

Not Mrs Henderson, of course.

Hardly. She's daggers drawn with Edward.

Yes. She said.

Yes. Excuse me. I've just got to see someone.

Oh, what's this, Inspector?

A few more inquiries, sir.

I don't like the sound of ''sir''. When policemen
get polite, you know there's trouble.

The fact is, Mr Manley,

we're having to revise our estimate
of when Michael Gifford was murdered.

Oh?

Everything goes back half an hour,

to the vague part of your timetable,

the part before the opera
with Mrs Morris and her daughter.

Ah, 6:25-ish? I was leaving my house then
to drive to the theater.

Anyone see you?

I don't know. I nipped out for a loaf of bread.

Yes. Erm...

''4:45'', it says in your statement,

but that gives us two hours
in which anything could have happened.

She's a beautiful woman, isn't she?

Rosemary?

I've seen her in too many unbeautiful situations,
I'm afraid.

Gifford thought so.

He wanted to possess her.
Her husband couldn't bear to let her go.

Coffee, Inspector?

Shortly.

Henderson's is the alibi that's really...

..well, nowhere, which is why we have to be
absolutely certain about everyone else's.

Yeah. Sure. I understand.

So I'd like to know what the hell you were doing
in Wytham Woods last night.

Sorry?

You were identified
by two independent witnesses.

Navy tracksuit, with a hood.

Green stripe. Running.

Weren't you, sir?

No, sorry. I was at the rugby club last night,
quaffing till all hours with the lads.

From what time?

I saw the game in the afternoon and stayed on.

COX: Are you ready? Then row!

Nice car, Mr Manley.

Yes.

Not as nice as yours, though.

Got the keys?

- Of course. I drove here this morning.
- Show me.

Amy!

Amy, keys, please.

- Spares? Have you got a spare set?
- Doesn't everyone?

Let's go to your house and get them.

No need. I have them here, as a matter of fact.

Melting moments, anyone? Home-made.

Try them.

I don't understand.

Try my car, sir.

- What?
- Over here.

Last call for coffee.

Anyone else? There's a little left.

MAN: Yes, please.
AMY: There you are.

Come on, quick. Say what you've got to say.

Last night, in the heat of the moment,
you left your keys in George Henderson's office.

You found out
when you jogged back to your car,

but you'd seen us arriving,
so you jogged straight on home.

Or, rather, you stopped
and rang your accomplice on the way.

- Accomplice?
- Who came and retrieved them.

I knew he'd kill himself.

They won't make me identify him, will they?

I'm a sucker for a hard-luck story.

They'll tell you.

Henderson phoned me.
He said he thought Rose...

He knew Rosemary was involved in
Gifford's murder, and would I talk to him about it.

Well, he sounded crazy.

Well, I was going on a practice run,

so I could just as easily
take the Wytham Woods road as any other.

So I said I'd meet him at his office.

- Well?
- Nothing.

He was raving. I left immediately.

Look, if you want a murderer,
you've no need to look further than George.

Who's dead, by the way.

Suicide, apparently.

Of course, it may not have been suicide.

It might have been
that someone had a fight with him in the office,

drew a bit of blood,

dragged him into the woods and...

blew half his face away.

No, no, no. No!

I didn't! I didn't.
Anyone will tell you I am not like that.

It was an accident.

We had a set-to in his office, sure.

I brought him down.
It wasn't difficult, his condition.

But he must have got second wind or something,
because I'd left and he came roaring after me.

We had another and he...

We were grappling and...

the bloody gun went off.

Mrs Henderson took my spare keys
instead of yours.

I switched them
while she was checking her husband's log.

You picked them up later
at the Summertown public library.

Thank you, Mr Manley.

Mrs Henderson and Manley, eh?

Overacting the animosity between them.

The perfect alibi.

When all the time they were...

I don't know. Passion.
It makes a right old mess, doesn't it?

They brought you in too, did they?

It's all over, isn't it, love?

We got it wrong.

You got it wrong in Interlaken with Gifford,

but I want you to know it was still
the best thing that ever happened to me.

The best thing.

You do realise, Inspector, don't you,
that this man has made my life a misery?

He's had his knife into me.
The staff at the office will bear me out.

It was no secret.

I'll be talking to you, Mrs Henderson,
when I'm ready.

♪ Take Your Partner

You've got no time for this sort of music,
have you, Morse?

I've got more time for Wagner.

Hm. He didn't write many quicksteps, as I recall.

You owe me a dance.

Oh, I can dance to anything.

- Really?
- Mm.

You should try dancing
to the back end of Lohengrin some time.

No. No.

Let's have something from Parsifal,
since we're going to a performance.

Er, look, erm...

No, we're er...

We're not.

I'm sorry. Er...

- It's er...
- Oh.

(Music stops)

Where did you get those?

I wish I could say from a grateful patient,
like any decent healer.

But how?

By phoning the box office night and day
to ask about returns.

By diverting my technician

from a highly complex analysis
of stomach contents to go in to collect them.

- By then...
- You're amazing.

You shall have your wish.

I don't believe this.

Why, what have you found?

My lost tickets.