♪ ♪ MORSE: People move on.

Just the way of the world.

♪ ♪ ANDREA: We should tell people if they mean something to us before it's too late.

♪ ♪ Mind how you go.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (thunder claps) (whimpers) (click) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ THAMWOOD: Remember not the sins and offenses of my youth, but according to thy mercy, think thou upon me, O Lord, for thy goodness.

(phone ringing) ♪ ♪ Hello, Violet's Delights, flowers for every occasion-- how may I help you?

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (purse snaps shut) (engine starts, tires squealing) ♪ ♪ THAMWOOD: Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother here departed, we therefore commit his body to be consumed by fire.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (engine revving) ♪ ♪ FORTESCUE: "Then out spake brave Horatius, "The Captain of the Gate: "'To every man upon this earth death cometh soon or late.

"'And how can man die better "'Than facing fearful odds "'For the ashes of his fathers And the temples of his gods?'"

MORSE: We believe the two bodies we've found so far to be those of Josiah Landesman and his former secretary Brenda Lewis.

And no Peter Williams?

No, not yet.

(voice breaking): It's like half of me's always been here.

Half of me never left.

But, look, we're so close.

We'll find him, I promise you.

You have my word.

(birds twittering) THURSDAY: What those boys suffered.

Did you know?

About Jakes?

That he was a lad at Blenheim Vale?

No, sir.

Not when we were working together, nor, obviously, when what happened happened.

Morse never said?

No, sir.

It was private.

A confidence Jakes had given him.

And he's kept it all this time.

Soul of discretion, is Morse, sir.

You've a secret wants keeping, he'll take it to the grave.

♪ ♪ (cane pounding, distorted) (inhales sharply) ♪ ♪ (phone ringing) (ringing continues) (ringing continues) You all right?

Brush my teeth, and call me Pearly!

(chuckling): Aye, aye, man!

Now, Morse says congratulations are in order.

Ah, ta very much-- yeah, well, you'll be very welcome to join us on the day if you're still here.

JAKES: All right, I will, yeah.

Engagement announcement's just come out in the "Mail," actually.

It's a bit late, but, uh, a decent best man might've told me it's the done thing.

Traditionally, I think you'll find it's the bride's parents that take out the notices.

Oh, I done it in their name.

Look, you only do it once, don't you?

All right, cheers.

I'll see you there.

Old mate of mine from Cable Street.

D.I.

Finch.

Might have something on Mickey Flood.

Do you want me to run you?

He's spooked enough as it is.

I'm to go alone.

Well, it's probably for the best.

I've a sudden out in North Oxford.

Nothing suspicious, but uniform want me out there, just to be on the safe side.

It's good you took Jakes to Blenheim Vale.

He always thought a lot of you.

That's not quite how I remember it.

Well, that's as may be, but it's your doorstep he turned up on.

Mm.

Any sign yet of Peter Williams' remains?

No, no, not yet.

But the dig's ongoing.

Maybe he's just not there.

Or maybe we just haven't found him there yet.

Anything further on who owns the place now?

Oh, it's companies within companies.

Closest I've got is a firm called Centavo Holdings, registered out in Bermuda.

One owner of, um, Lionel Godfrey Chambers.

Can see why someone would hold onto the place.

Mm.

Private land.

Your own personal graveyard.

Yeah, if you had somewhere that you could bury all your secrets and mistakes, you would, wouldn't you?

Someone always finds 'em in the end.

Nothing stays buried forever.

♪ ♪ (brake engages) (engine stops) (exhales) (door opens) The late Professor Edwin Robert Bevin.

(door closes) Early 60s, academic.

Lived alone and died within the last six hours.

Cause?

I fancy a broken neck.

But he's also taken quite a blow to the skull.

Possibly from hitting the newel post on the way down.

The runner's ruched up and torn.

Huh.

And the other slipper appears to have landed there.

Who called it in?

An old friend from college was expecting him for lunch, apparently.

Dr. Fortescue.

When Bevin didn't arrive, he telephoned the local station, who sent a uniform round.

(loud rock music blaring) (music continues) Tomahawk been in?

LANCE: Not yet.

(music continues) Look.

I wouldn't.

He doesn't bother me.

(chuckles) ♪ ♪ All right to have him removed now?

Maniac.

Standard procedure, I assure you.

It's a clue that Bevin missed or didn't get to.

Puzzle in this morning's "Times."

Set by Codex, too.

"Mother takes murderer back.

Idiot."

Six letters.

Uh... Maniac.

(chuckles) Cut off in the middle of finishing a crossword.

I should take that very hard.

Well, whichever way you look at it, sooner or later, we all end up six down and two across.

What do you think made him leave his breakfast halfway through?

Someone at the door, perhaps?

Well, post's on the table.

(exhales) A telephone call?

Took him upstairs?

You're the detective, Morse.

I'm just a simple country pathologist.

Shall we say 2:00?

(thunder rumbling) (softly): Yeah.

♪ ♪ (door opens) (door closes) ♪ ♪ (exhales) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ What's with all the cloak and dagger, Ches?

(softly): Maybe it's escaped your notice, but the last person who came to Oxford to see you ended up crucified on the floor with his tongue torn out.

Mickey Flood was a lifelong villain who fell foul.

You're a senior serving officer.

(snorts) Do you think that'll make the blindest to these people?

Which people?

Whatever you've got going on at Blenheim Vale, let it drop.

Who did for Landesman, Ches?

Same as Brenda Lewis and her boy?

Is that what Mickey Flood was coming here to offer me?

Do the right thing.

Take my advice.

♪ ♪ LIBBY: Professor Bevin's death notice came in on Saturday from a Dr.... McMurdo-- it's via letter.

Um, address in Appleford.

And once the death notice has been placed, what's the process?

Well, we're legally obliged to confirm the details with the undertaker, in this case a Jephthah Claypole & Son, and then it goes forward to print.

What details?

Name and age of the deceased, date of decease, and any funeral arrangements.

DOROTHEA: I thought I saw you come in.

Miss Ventnor taking care of you?

Perfectly-- could I use your telephone?

Help yourself.

So what's called for, congratulation or condolence?

(dialing): I've just come from a sudden death in North Oxford.

Could be something or nothing.

If it's the former, I'll keep you posted.

But in the meantime, please, off the record.

No answer.

Right, well, thank you.

Miss Frazil.

Anytime.

♪ ♪ (knocks): You wanted to see me?

Uh... Kidlington, uh, need a man on secondment through the end of the year, and possibly beyond, uh...

I thought it might suit.

Right.

Comes with married quarters.

I'd need to talk it over with Joan.

Oh, course you will.

I haven't let you down, have I, sir, or... No.

Me moving on, I, I just want to see you all right, that's all.

Kidlington's the coming place.

You'll have more scope for advancement there than you will here.

I appreciate it.

Ta.

I'll give Joanie a ring.

(footsteps retreating) ♪ ♪ (birds twittering) (talking softly) Good afternoon.

Uh, may I help you?

I'm Detective Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley.

(chuckling): You pick your moments.

You're here about the accident, presumably.

I'm here to speak to a Dr. Rupert McMurdo.

I'm Dr. Andrea Massey, a colleague of Rupert's.

Today was his funeral.

Oh.

Oh, um, my condolences.

When did he... 12 days ago.

He fell from a train outside Radley on his way to work.

It seems another passenger hadn't closed the door properly.

(voice breaking): He must've leant against it, and... Is there a Mrs. McMurdo?

No.

No, he was unattached for as long as I knew him.

What was it you wanted to see him about?

Well, I need to see if he knew a Professor Edwin Bevin.

It isn't a name I ever heard him mention.

What was he like?

Oh, rather wonderful in his way.

Modest, thoughtful.

You were fond of him.

I shall miss him, dreadfully and always.

Well, I'll let you get back to, um...

Thank you.

Um, we should tell people if they mean something to us, don't you think?

Before it's too late.

♪ ♪ THURSDAY: "Professor Edwin Robert Bevin, "formerly of Lonsdale College, Oxford, "died suddenly at home June the 16th.

Omnia mors aequat."

"Death makes all things equal."

Somebody places a death notice in the "Oxford Mail," so?

Before Bevin dies.

What?

Who put the notice in?

A Dr. McMurdo, who had himself fallen from a train 12 days previous-- was killed outright.

Anything to go on?

Not much.

The letter to the "Mail" has an Oxford postmark.

I've a Dr. Fortescue to see at Lonsdale tomorrow, he's a friend of Bevin's, and Claypole and Sons.

The undertakers.

Mm.

The "Mail" confirmed Bevin's death with them on Saturday, but I can't see how when he was still alive.

(inhales) Right, then.

Continue inquiries.

Thank you, sir.

Oh, did your, uh, did your Cable Street man have anything on Mickey Flood?

No, no, not really.

But I took your advice and found a spot for Jim at Kidlington.

Out of harm's way.

So do yourself a favor-- I'll be out of here before long.

If you do find Peter Williams at Blenheim Vale, let that be the end of it.

Whoever did for him will be long gone, anyway.

And what about Andrew Lewis?

A boy comes to Oxford looking for his mother, and ends up dead on a college lawn.

That just goes for nothing?

He matters to someone.

But who?

His mother's dead and he couldn't get away from his father quick enough.

Actually, there's a cousin.

A young police cadet, Robert, in Newcastle.

He's been in touch asking when we're gonna release the body.

A copper?

Hmm-- he's making all the arrangements on behalf of the family.

So there are grandparents, aunts, uncles.

They are the "to whom."

Look, I just want to get to the bottom of it.

You won't be allowed to.

The people that want Blenheim Vale buried will see that it is, and you with it.

I don't want that on my conscience.

Well, you've done all you can.

You tried to warn me, I wouldn't listen.

Ego te absolvo.

You are absolved.

Bloody-minded sod when it suits, aren't you?

You got a death wish, is that it?

♪ ♪ (birds twittering) (door closes) THURSDAY: Home.

(keys clatter) ♪ ♪ (clears throat softly) ♪ ♪ WIN: Fred?

Yeah, yeah, minute.

♪ ♪ Packing up.

Done that once or twice.

He all right?

Rolled in about an hour ago.

Tried to wake him for his tea.

(phone ringing) Hello.

CHARLIE (on phone): Fred, it's Charlie.

(quietly): Charlie?

(aloud): Hello?

(line clicks) (receiver clatters) Hm.

Who was it?

Wrong number, I think.

I'll put the kettle on.

♪ ♪ Days of change are upon us, Morse.

Sorry, sir?

Endings and beginnings.

I'm to retire, DCI Thursday is for Carshall.

Now I hear Strange may be seconded to Kidlington?

Yeah, yes, sir.

What of your own future?

Well, I'm...

I suppose I'm undecided, sir.

I suppose I thought things would just go on.

But then they don't.

(chuckles) Another few years, you should really think about putting in for your inspector's.

I hear Division are to reopen Cowley, under DCI McNutt.

He's looking for a new bagman.

I could speak to him, if... Oh, well, thank you, sir.

Um, I'll certainly give it some consideration.

Yes, well... You sleep on it and let me know, hm?

I'll say good evening.

(breathes deeply) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (brakes squeak, parking brake engages) (engine stops) (children calling outside) Well, not a bad view.

I mean, I've seen worse.

(chuckles) So, what do you think?

Yeah, no, it's, uh...

It's, yeah.

(chuckles) We don't have to take it, Joanie.

Not if you don't like it.

I don't have to go for secondment.

It's the place to be, isn't it, you said, Kidlington?

(exhales) If you wanna get on, you know, make your mark, get noticed?

You are all that matters to me.

If you're not happy, then all the opportunities and promotions in the world don't mean anything.

I just want you to be happy.

FORTESCUE: I'd just done a bit of "Horatius at the Bridge" with a number of my students, and that wound up around 11:00.

I tried to reach Ned on the telephone without success.

Cheer-oh, Thompson, enjoy the vac.

Uh, Cyclades, isn't it?

Yes, sir.

Marvelous.

Thank you very much, sir.

See you next term.

And what was the reason for your call?

I wanted to tell him I'd seen his letter in the "Mail."

Ned was an inveterate letter writer.

Rarely a week went by without something from him in either the "Oxford Mail" or one of the nationals.

Mm.

You know, particularly since he retired.

THURSDAY: Where was it you lunched with him?

Uh, the Old Colonial, off the Broad.

I had a table booked for 1:00.

When he didn't turn up... How was it you knew him?

Through college.

And we both played for North Oxford Bowls Club.

Any family that you know of?

(drawer opens) A cousin in Weymouth, I think.

(drawer closes) But, uh, Ned-- Professor Bevin-- was long confirmed in his bachelordom.

(students laughing) Uh, thank you, gentlemen.

If you'll just give me two minutes.

Yes, sir.

My last tutorial of the term.

College always takes on a slightly melancholy air this time of the year.

Did Professor Bevin have any enemies that you're aware of, Dr. Fortescue?

Enemies?

Good heavens, no.

Look, what's this all about?

I mean, it was an accident, wasn't it, a fall?

Did he ever mention a Dr. Rupert McMurdo?

Oh...

Rings a vague bell, though I, I couldn't tell you from where.

But not a name I associated with Ned.

Who is he?

He's a paleontologist at the Pitt-Rivers.

I may have seen his name on a paper somewhere.

It's a small town.

"How well Horatius kept the bridge in the brave days of old."

We'd a padre big on that out in the desert.

Drumhead service just before Alamein.

"And how can man die better than facing fearful odds?"

Always stuck with me.

What do you make to him?

Fortescue?

Well, he seems decent enough.

THURSDAY: I don't know why he was so bothered about the letters... (panting): ...when Bevin wrote them weekly.

(yelps) Sir?

Sir, are you all right?

(Thursday gasps) MORSE: Sit down, there's a bench here.

(gasping) Take a seat, sit down.

Are you all right?

What happened?

(panting) How can I help?

(stammering breathlessly) I suppose I...

I took rather a turn or... Maybe it's the heat.

I didn't sleep too well.

Well, we're in no rush-- that's it, take your time.

Take your time.

(Thursday exhales) (brakes squeal, dog barking) (sniffling) Hal, can you and Dennis help Vi with the floral tributes for the 4:00?

Yes, Gramps.

Cold, is it?

Hay fever.

You and Dennis?

Pollen must be up.

Hello, Vi.

Mm-hmm.

Much to come in?

Uh, about half a dozen.

Just take 'em through to the Chapel of Rest.

Dennis'll give you a hand.

Okay.

DENNIS: Yup.

Thank you.

(brake engages, engine stops) Can I help you?

Mr. Claypole?

Yes.

(car door closes) Detective Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley.

The "Oxford Mail" told us that they called you to confirm the details of Professor Bevin's death.

I'm afraid they're mistaken.

Until you mentioned his name, I'd never heard of him.

Might I ask who placed the death notice?

A Dr. McMurdo, formerly of Pitt-Rivers.

A recent customer.

We were pleased to undertake his funeral arrangements.

His cremation was only yesterday, in fact.

What was the date of his decease?

I'd have to check.

Hal?

(calling): Hal?!

My grandson.

Can you check the date of decease for Dr. Rupert McMurdo?

Sure.

Yes, he was quite a challenge with the damage from the accident.

The face was unrecognizable.

We had to work off photographs, build up the features with mortician's wax.

Tenth of this month-- Dr. McMurdo.

You're quite sure nobody from the "Oxford Mail" asked you about a death notice for Professor Bevin?

Hal, neither you nor Dennis spoke to anyone at the "Mail," did you?

HAL: Bevin?

No, doesn't ring a bell.

But that is your name there.

It's our name, all right, but it's not our telephone number, you see?

That's where you've gone wrong.

All right, thank you.

Yeah.

You'd think if the "Mail" are dealing with this lot regular, they'd have the phone number off pat, by now.

I don't know.

If you're looking at the death notice, you might just use what's in front of you.

Let's get you back to the nick.

Let the medic take a look at you.

You can drop me back there, but there's no need for all that.

But you've just had a turn.

I said there's no need.

♪ ♪ (car door closes) LIBBY: I can't swear to it, but I probably just called the number on the letter.

Hmm.

I thought that might be the case.

Is there anything else I can help you with?

Well, if you've got a copy of the "Mail" from the tenth of June.

Of course.

Thank you.

What's this about?

Oh, just something I'm looking into.

Also, can you check if you have any correspondence from around that time of someone wanting to put in a death notice for a Dr. Rupert McMurdo?

Absolutely.

That's the "Mail" from the tenth.

Thanks.

♪ ♪ STRANGE: "Unexpectedly-- "Dr. Rupert McMurdo, who died on the eighth of June.

Mortui Vivos Docent."

MORSE: "Let the dead teach the living."

Bevin's death notice had something in Latin, didn't it?

Hmm, "omnia mors aequat."

"Death makes all things equal."

It's my feeling that he's an academic.

The killer?

Yeah.

Greats man-- classicist.

That was your bag, wasn't it?

Hmm.

So, we have the accidental death of two men, each of which took place on a day their own death notice appeared.

Is that right?

MORSE: That's right, sir.

The first person to die, Dr. McMurdo, supposedly put in the death notice for the second, Professor Bevin.

Who took out McMurdo's?

Mrs. McMurdo, which is fine as far as it goes, only there is no Mrs. McMurdo-- he was single.

But in each instance, the date of decease given in the death notice is bogus, right?

The "Mail" won't print a notice without a date, and they check that date with the undertaker to make sure everything's above board.

Only in this instance, the undertakers deny any knowledge of having been contacted by the "Mail."

THURSDAY: They deny it, sir, because in each death notice, the phone number given for the undertakers is a false one.

Same number each time?

No, sir, same undertaker, Claypole and Sons, but different numbers.

(phone ringing) No response at either.

BRIGHT: Do we have any thought as to why somebody wanted to do harm to these men?

THURSDAY: None, sir.

(ringing continues) They were both academics, but unknown to each other, as far as we know.

(quietly): C.I.D.

BRIGHT: Forensically, nothing to say either met their death by foul play.

Not according to Dr. DeBryn.

Both deaths appear to have been engineered to resemble accidents.

So he didn't wanna be caught.

But he did want to get noticed.

I mean, there's a vanity to it, don't you think?

BRIGHT: How's that?

With the Latin.

He wants us to know how clever he is.

So you think there may be more?

I think almost certainly, sir.

(sighs) STRANGE: Ta.

We've got a reverse trace on the number given for the undertakers in Professor Bevin's death notice.

G.F. Naylor & Co., Neptune House, 174 Headington Road.

(phone ringing in distance) ♪ ♪ Been nobody in for about a month.

(straining): Done a moonlight, I reckon.

What makes you say that?

(straining): It's that sort of place.

Firms come and go.

Fly-by-nights.

How many worked there, do you know?

Couldn't say.

Landlord only calls us in when things go on the blink.

So don't see anybody much.

Well, if you do see anyone from Naylor's, could you give me a call on this number, please, Mr.... Bingley, John Bingley.

Had your car with 'em, did you, or... Ooh, police-- serious, then?

What's it all about?

They done a bunk with the insurance premiums, is it?

Something like that.

Aye!

Keep 'em peeled, eh?

(chuckles) (rock music playing) Your mate's back.

Hm?

SAM: Yeah, I saw.

Look.

Best give him a wide berth, all right?

He's got trouble written all over him.

(music continues) (door opens) You haven't had anything out of my other wallet, have you?

The one in the tall boy.

I was just... Oh, right.

(loudly): Sam?!

He's out.

I bet he is.

He's gonna put it back!

He said!

He's just borrowed it till he's flush.

I'll give him borrowed!

(sighs, keys jangling) ♪ ♪ Who's that?

(classical music playing) (rock music playing) LANCE: Why don't you head on home, mate?

Yeah.

Yeah, yeah.

I just... need to... (music continues) (door opens) (music continues faintly) (door locks) ♪ ♪ Morse.

Miss Thursday.

Dad's out-- sorry.

About the other night, I got delayed, I'm sorry... Don't worry, just, doesn't matter.

Well, I...

It wasn't important.

WIN: Evening, Morse.

Late for you!

He's here to see Dad.

All wedding right now.

Between that and Carshall, I don't know whether I'm coming or going.

Don't suppose you do, either, everyone off and leaving you.

Fred, and now Jim.

MORSE: Well, people move on.

Just the way of the world, isn't it?

You've found a place in Carshall?

Didn't Fred tell you?

(keys rattle) Oh, that'll be him now.

(door closes) Else Sam.

(calling): Fred?

THURSDAY: Yeah.

Morse is here.

THURSDAY: At this time?

Well, what couldn't wait till the morning?

MORSE: Uh...

I'll, uh...

I'll leave you to it.

I, um...

I was turning through the "Oxford Mail" and, and found a letter by McMurdo.

You came all the way over here to tell me that?

Well, I thought it might have a bearing.

Dr. Bevin also had a letter published in the "Mail."

(chuckling): Letters to the "Mail," Christ Almighty.

(pouring): Don't you ever take a night off?

Well, I thought it was important.

I thought you'd want to know.

Well, I don't!

Not tonight!

You want to tell me something out of hours, why don't you pick up the bloody phone like a normal person?

Some of us have got a proper home life!

And don't bother picking me up in the morning, I'll make my own way in.

(exhales): Right.

(quietly): I just came to see if you were all right after this morning, that's all.

(quietly): I'm fine!

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ STRANGE: Reverse trace for you on the number given for the undertakers on McMurdo's death notice: Mitchell & Wilcox.

Looks to be some sort of gents' outfitters, Summertown.

(phone ringing) (ringing continues) LIBBY (on phone): Hello?

Hello?

Is that Claypole's Funeral Directors?

Anything?

Place was locked up.

Looks like they'd ceased trading, same as the insurance brokers.

Miss Frazil called.

They had another letter from Bevin a week before he died.

What was it about?

More on Mr. Heath and the opportunities opened up by the European Communities Act.

That seems to've been quite a thing for him.

So I was right.

There is a connection between Bevin and McMurdo.

Insofar as they were both solitary men with too much time on their hands and a high opinion of themselves.

Also, I had Mr.

Bright on.

Division are asking after progress at Blenheim Vale.

I'm sure.

I said if we've got nowhere by the end of the month, we'd have to look at closing it down.

Peter Williams is still there.

You don't know that.

We can't just keep sticking holes in the ground in the hope of finding him.

I'm sorry, but there it is.

♪ ♪ (grunts) (whispers): Oh, my God!

(places keg down) ♪ ♪ THURSDAY: Were they regulars, these bikers?

(stammering): They'd been in once or twice.

One had a bit of a staring contest with a lad who comes in here most days.

Oh, yeah, who's that?

20s, dark hair.

Looks a bit down on his luck.

Wears an ex-Army-type coat thing.

Was he in last night, this young man?

(stammering): Yeah.

Legless as per.

And the bikers, when did you last see them?

(stammering): The dead fella.

Last I saw him, he was heading into the gents.

And his mate?

No.

No, I, I didn't see him go.

But I did see him cleaning his nails earlier with a knife.

What kind of knife?

Bowie, it looked to me.

MAX: Dead around 12 to 18 hours.

Single stab wound.

Weapon still in situ.

No I.D.

on him, I don't suppose?

Afraid not-- wallet.

About 30-odd pounds in it.

You may have better luck with his tattoos.

I'll be able to give you a full list once the postmortem's concluded.

But this might have a bearing.

Inside his jacket.

Won't know what we're looking at until it's been tested, but if it's powdered milk for his home economics night class, I'll eat my bowtie.

Some sort of fall-out over drugs, then, between him and his mate?

Well, possibly.

So what, then?

Rival ganger or an outsider'd be my guess.

Whoever he is, he'd better hope we find him before they do.

MORSE: Why's that?

STRANGE: 'Cause it's proper blood feud stuff with this lot.

Cross one of 'em, the rest of 'em'll hunt you down, and pay you back.

No matter how long it takes.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Not much further to add to my initial findings, I'm afraid.

Stab wound pierced the heart.

Whether that's luck or judgment's hard to say.

Mid-30s.

Belly full of beer and bar snacks.

No fingerprints on the knife.

It'd been wiped?

Oh, yes, quite thoroughly.

THURSDAY: You've photographed the tattoos?

MAX: Naturally.

I'll send the prints over later, but I've also made a stab at them freehand.

No pun.

All my own work.

Is there no keys?

MAX: How's that?

Maybe he rode pillion with his mate.

Didn't the barman say that they arrived separately?

♪ ♪ STRANGE: You'd a call from Miss Frazil at the "Oxford Mail."

I did tell her to phone the mortuary, but she must've missed you, but, uh... Hello, Fred.

Arthur!

You remember DS Lott, my old bagman.

Left us for the Smoke, what, seven years ago, was it?

Vice you went to, wasn't it, Arthur?

That's right-- drugs squad now.

And these days, it's D.I.

Lott.

My bagman, DS Bennett.

THURSDAY: So, to what do we owe?

This dead biker you got.

Death's Head Motorcycle Club would it be?

THURSDAY: News travels fast.

LOTT: Ooh, we've had an eye on them for a while.

How's that, then?

They operate mainly in the Midlands and the Southeast.

But lately, they're having a bit of a nibble around London, trying to get a toehold.

One of theirs, going by the name of Cochise, was killed a couple of months back in Camden.

Thought to be over territory.

Drugs?

Well, they're not flogging a "Watchtower."

Cannabis, hashish, speed, a bit of H. As a gang, they're suspected of involvement in three murders in the last four years.

Members of rival biker gangs.

So what are they doing in Oxford?

We think they're trying to set themselves up in university towns.

Well, there's a ready market for students.

If there ain't one, there soon will be.

You identified him yet?

No, not yet.

Well, if we can help with that.

We've got a fair bit of intelligence on 'em.

Pool our resources.

We're gonna be staying overnight.

Be at the Rydale, if you wanna drop by for a drink.

Have a catch-up.

Bury the hatchet, maybe.

We didn't exactly part at the best.

(shake hands) Well, it's all water under, innit?

It is on my part.

Life's too short, Fred.

Least said.

Hope to see you in the bar, then.

Jim.

College.

(phone ringing in background) Well, there's a turn-up.

Like a bad penny.

It's been seven years.

People change.

Rarely for the better.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ THAMWOOD: As we have heard from Dr. Fortescue, Professor Edwin Bevin was not only a man of letters, but also a man of latters, someone who expressed his thoughts on many burning issues affecting our national life through correspondence with national and local newspapers and periodicals.

His extensive epistolary record bears testament to a soul who, rather like St. Paul, believed that the pen is infinitely mightier than the sword.

Excuse me.

I'm a police officer, Detective Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley.

What's your name?

What's your business here?

Uh, Theo, Theo Conklin.

I don't have any business, really, except curiosity.

I like to read headstones.

MORSE: Headstones?

CONKLIN: Yes, I just like to read what's on them.

A rather morbid pastime, isn't it?

Well, not... Not really.

Actually, it's, it's more about life than death.

Each one is a little window into people's lives, families.

The children are always sad.

Especially when there's no one left to lay flowers anymore.

Have you ever noticed anyone who's clearly not part of the funeral?

Someone just standing watching, or taking pictures, perhaps?

No.

No, I've not seen anybody like that.

Apart from me.

♪ ♪ What's all that?

I got Claypole to collect up all of the sympathy cards, just in case.

Well, don't forget, it's the rehearsal at All Angels' tonight, so don't get too caught up in all that, all right?

(phone ringing in background) (ringing continues) Thursday.

CHARLIE (on phone): It's Charlie.

I need to see you, 7:00.

♪ ♪ Ah, sir.

It's a sympathy card from a floral display.

Now, it's unsigned, but it's a Latin phrase.

"Mors cum terrore novo venit."

"Death has come with a new terror."

Not exactly "sincere condolences."

(quietly): No.

According to Claypole, there were only two deliveries of flowers for Bevin's funeral, both from regular suppliers.

Put a call in to see if there were any phrases in Latin on the sympathy cards for McMurdo.

Ah, Thursday.

Sir.

I'm just off to make my final report to Division prior to handing over to Chief Superintendent Prettyman.

Right, sir.

I'm likely to face questions as to the child's remains at Blenheim Vale.

No news as yet, sir.

I suppose it's only to be expected under the circumstances, but one can't help but feel regret at things left undone.

Perhaps time makes failures of us all, hm?

Never, sir.

It's just the nature of the service.

We do our bit as best we can, then hand on to the next man.

Doesn't matter who starts or finishes a thing, so long as it gets done.

Well, if it gets done.

Morse?

Well, it wouldn't be the first time that Division have closed down an investigation into Blenheim Vale.

There are budgetary implications.

And as much as we'd all like to see this boy found, if he's there, there simply aren't the resources... (receiver clatters) ...to keep digging indefinitely.

Sorry, sir, just in.

The body at the drinker.

Fingerprints are for a Raymond Kennit, A.K.A.

Tomahawk.

In and out of approved schools and borstals from a juvenile.

Two recent terms for GBH and drug dealing, respectively.

What drugs?

STRANGE: Amphetamine sulfate.

Same as was found on him.

Large quantities.

Outstanding warrants from four constabularies, including attempted murder.

Payback of a rival ganger who stabbed a Death's Head MC member.

These boys don't take any prisoners.

Well, I leave that, and all things else, in the safe and more than capable hands of my brightest and best.

No need to, um, take our farewells just yet.

I'll see you all at the church, but... Just in case the occasion overwhelms us...

It's been an honor and the greatest privilege of my service to have spent these last years with you.

Likewise, sir.

(exhales): Well, then.

Carry on.

♪ ♪ VI: Yes, we'll do that for you, no problem.

Is that to the undertaker's or going straight to the house?

11:00, lovely.

Cash or check is just fine.

Thank you, bye-bye.

(receiver clatters) Sorry about that-- um, Latin, you say?

Mm-hmm.

I don't think anyone's ever asked for anything in Latin for anybody.

Here, have a look at the order book, if you like.

It was definitely one of your cards, Miss...

It's Vi, dear.

Everybody calls me Vi.

As may be-- maybe someone just swiped a handful when they came in to buy some flowers.

Well, if that's the case, how could it possibly end up on the flowers?

Well, they could've put it on at the cremmy, couldn't they?

Or at the undertaker's.

♪ ♪ (door closes) You're early.

Yeah, for once.

(chuckles) You all right?

Yeah.

AFFCOTT: Is this the lucky man?

Uh, no, this is Mr. Morse.

I'm the best man.

Ah!

Well, don't worry, if the groom doesn't turn up, we shan't be calling you to step into the breach.

(chuckles) They do know it's 7:00, do they?

JOAN: Yeah.

(door closes) Uh, Dad called to say that he's running behind.

I'm to fill in so I can tell him what's what, in case he doesn't show.

This is the father of the bride, is it?

(laughs): Yes.

(chuckles): Sorry, Reverend.

AFFCOTT: No, no.

You know what they say, bad dress rehearsal, great show!

(chuckles) ♪ ♪ (door opens) (chuckles) ♪ ♪ STRANGE: All right, love?

Yeah.

Vicar.

Good to see you.

Matey.

No guv'nor?

(door closes) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Thought you'd left the country.

Just lying low for a bit.

Keeping me head down, that's all.

So, I'm here.

You gotta let it go, Fred.

Let what go?

Blenheim Vale, the Ostrich Fanciers' Club.

The Lewis boy-- all of it.

What do you know about Blenheim Vale?

When all that was going on, you were still knocking out fruit and veg, wholesale.

Who dragged you into it?

You should've taken me up on that drink, Fred.

Of course.

Got a finger in all the pies, then, Arthur?

(Lott cackles) That what Mickey Flood came to Oxford to tell me about?

Mickey always had a big mouth.

THURSDAY: So, what is it?

Tarts and drugs?

About your mark.

People want what they want.

I make no moral judgment.

No, just a tidy profit, like any ponce or pusher.

(laughs) Who did for Mickey?

Same as came after Ronnie Box, Len Dury's tripe-hounds?

Win some, lose some.

There's always plenty more soldiers in the box.

This doesn't have to be hard, Fred.

Arthur'd like to help you out, right, Arthur?

Well, I'm sure we can come to some arrangement.

Soon as we hear Blenheim Vale's been wound up.

What was your part in all that, Arthur?

Just out of interest.

Me and Clive Deare, we came up together, same intake.

I had the nous, and he had an accent to open doors.

They're no better than us, Fred.

They just been at it a lot longer.

Small wonder you don't want that coming out.

Tarts and dope is one thing, but children?

You just do your bit, Fred.

And if I'm not minded to close down Blenheim Vale?

A father should dance with his daughter at her wedding.

You what?

Oh, don't get brave, Fred.

It's only being Charlie's brother that's kept you above ground.

But he doesn't always get his own way!

♪ ♪ You got something of mine still.

I want it back in cash.

Soon as we hear it's done.

And Morse?

I'll put him straight.

You do that, or we will.

Charlie.

He'll be along in a minute.

Well, I'm not one to come between brothers.

(laughs) AFFCOTT: Then I do, "If anyone here present "knows of any lawful impediment "why this man and this woman "may not be joined together in holy matrimony, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

And hopefully nobody says anything.

(both chuckle) Now, your father's part isn't terribly complicated.

All he has to do is walk the bride down the aisle.

And when I say, "Who gives this woman to be married to this man?

", he replies...

I do.

AFFCOTT: And then return to his seat.

And then we have the exchange of vows.

And then I'll ask, "Who has the ring?"

It is ring, is it, singular, rather than rings?

STRANGE: Yes, yes, it is.

AFFCOTT: And the best man steps forward, places the ring on the open Bible, and that's your bit done.

MORSE: Right.

Think you can manage that?

I'll certainly do my best.

Of all the people, Charlie.

You think I had a choice?

Lott put you up to asking me for money.

For what?

So he always had something over me if he needed it?

Just do what he wants.

You're moving to Carshall after the wedding.

What's Blenheim Vale to you?

It's people murdered, women and children.

Other people's children.

Christ!

Is this what we were raised to, you, me, and Billy?

Looking out for Number One, that's what we were raised to.

At the end of a belt.

(gun fires, Charlie cries out) LOTT: Just making a point, Fred!

Keep your bloody head down.

(guns firing) ♪ ♪ (guns fire, man cries out) (gun fires) (engine revving) Go, go, go!

♪ ♪ (firing) ♪ ♪ Charlie?

Charlie!

♪ ♪ (wind howling) That went well, I thought.

Yeah.

STRANGE: Sam okay?

Doesn't seem himself.

JOAN: I think so.

Are you all right?

Look...

If you change your mind, I wouldn't think any less of you.

I've never been more sure of anything in my life.

Come on.

Seems only yesterday we were at school.

So what've you been doing with yourself?

Oh, you know.

We should go for a drink one night.

Have a catch-up.

(motorcycle approaching) Where've you been hanging out?

SAM: Oh, here and there-- nowhere in particular.

(engine revving) Look, I, um, I said I'd meet someone.

Look, let me give you a lift.

No, no, it's okay.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ PRETTYMAN: Now.

I know that many of you here at Castle Gate... (telephone ringing) ...and previously at Cowley enjoyed a long and happy association... (ringing continues) ...with my predecessor.

Morse.

DOROTHEA (on phone): It's Dorothea at the "Mail."

Another one's come in.

With a Latin phrase in it, tell him.

With a Latin phrase in it.

When's it for?

Tomorrow, same as the others.

For a Dr. Fortescue.

Right, well, he clearly hasn't worked out we've cracked his pattern, else he'd have changed it.

Thanks.

PRETTYMAN: I ask all of us to commit to our work here.

And I hope... That's Miss Frazil, said there's been another death notice.

...we can go forward... What's that, Detective Constable?

Uh, Detective Sergeant, sir.

It's a matter of some urgency.

THURSDAY: An ongoing case, sir.

The number for the undertaker's, he's used it before.

Who's the intended victim?

♪ ♪ Why me?

So far, all the victims of this individual have expressed strong views in the papers.

(sighs) Would you fall into that category?

No.

I mean, I gave an interview to the "Mail" earlier this year, but... What about?

♪ ♪ (doorknob turning) (door closes softly) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ I worked out you were keeping an eye on the "Mail," so I had to go to the "Oxford Times" for that one.

Well, anyone at the "Times" would know if a local policeman had been killed.

Old mate's a typesetter there.

He slipped it in for me on the Q.T.

Well, look, whatever you're about, it's finished.

We've got the place surrounded.

(ringing) They'll be watching the outside, waiting for me to turn up, except, I'm already here.

So, as long as I don't answer that, they're gonna carry on thinking I'm not here.

(ringing continues) Unless...

It could be your people calling to warn you that someone's noticed your death notice in the "Times."

(sighing): I'd have liked to have got a few more before anyone caught on.

Then I saw you at Neptune House, and that changed things.

(ringing continues) (ringing stops) So, uh, Fortescue was just bait, was he?

You used this number for Claypole's, knowing that I knew it.

I couldn't be sure, but I hoped you'd want to be the one to arrest me.

(sirens blaring) (grunts and moans) (shouting) Get him out of here!

Get him out of here.

BINGLEY: Get off me!

You're useless!

You all right?

You hurt?

Useless!

Get him in cuffs!

I'm doing your jobs for you!

Useless!

(exhales) Get off me!

Oh, bloody hell.

PRETTYMAN: So, who is he?

THURSDAY: His name is John Bingley, sir.

He's some sort of handyman with a contract to maintain shops and offices, a number of which he knew to be unoccupied.

PRETTYMAN: Presumably, it's the telephone numbers for those properties he gave to the "Mail."

THURSDAY: About the size of it, sir.

(ringing) So he could pose as Claypole's Undertakers when they rang to confirm the deceased.

PRETTYMAN: What about the sympathy cards on the floral tributes?

THURSDAY: He's married to a florist who did the funerals of the men he murdered.

Seems likely he substituted his own handwritten messages for the genuine ones.

We're going to brace her before we talk to him, but we've no reason to think she's any part of it.

I knew something wasn't right with him.

After 36 years, course I did.

I mean, he's never been right.

But you get numb to it, don't you?

Same as his father.

THURSDAY: His father?

Monumental stonemason.

Statues, gravestones.

He trained John up, but he never took to it.

It's where he learnt the Latin.

It's all the news, you see.

What news?

TV, radio.

He sat there morning, noon, and night.

Ranting and raving.

"This one's a bleeder, that one's a bleeder."

And the papers, too.

The Asians.

It was when they moved in next door, you see.

(crying): Sorry, I think I'm going to be sick.

(coughing, sobbing) (sobbing) BINGLEY: I mean, by rights, you should be thanking me.

I've rid the world of two very dangerous people.

Have you?

How's that?

Didn't you read their letters?

The poison they're pushing.

People soaking up their claptrap.

Drinking at their filthy well.

Which well's that?

Which well?

The Socialist well.

The Marxist well.

Godless queers running everything.

That's the world they want.

Every man a pansy, every woman a painted whore.

Is that what you think?

Don't you?

The pill, right?

Family planning.

They want to destroy the family, that's the real plan.

Family.

Once upon a time, it was a family: a mother and a father, and you got married in a church, before the sight of God.

"Love child," that's what they call 'em.

(laughing): Christ.

In my day, people knew the right word for that.

It's these package holidays they're going on.

I've seen it, it's in all the papers.

Not bad enough they, they forget themselves out there, now they wanna bring it all back here.

Bring what back?

Dagoes, Wops, Frogs.

The dregs of the continent, yes?

Is that right?

Yes.

That treason Heath signed, the European Communities Act.

He's thrown the door wide open.

And it won't stop there, mark my words.

Before you know it, we will be overrun with Blacks, Browns, Yellows, every shade in between.

Mohammedans, Jews, and they were all for it.

The men you killed?

Not men!

Traitors!

Saying you were English used to be the greatest claim a man could make.

Used to mean something.

Now when people say it, it's like they have something to be ashamed about.

Well, I'm not ashamed!

I'm English, and I'm proud of it.

JAKES: Who saw that coming?

Mind, he does seem very taken.

Can't say as I blame him.

I took her out a couple of times once, you know?

Don't think I got so much as a kiss goodnight.

Is that right?

Yeah.

Those days, I was just after a bit of snap, crackle, and pop.

There was always more to her than that.

Well!

This is all very nice, I must say.

Did I miss the stripper?

I know it's all traditional, but I do hope so.

All that flesh.

I get enough of that at work.

JAKES: When're you gonna settle down, then, Doc?

MAX: Oh, I'm quite settled, thank you, Peter.

Married to the mortuary.

Who's going to put up with me, reeking of formaldehyde?

(chuckles) MAX: Though I have been thinking about getting a dog.

JAKES: Well, I don't suppose it would want for scraps, would it?

You using or dealing or both?

Whatever it is fell out of your coat.

What's it to you?

You're under my roof.

You think I want that sort coming round?

I've got your mother to think of.

It stops, understand?

Or I will stick you on and blood be damned.

(drunkenly): Here he is, look!

My best man.

My best mate.

I were in uniform, he brought me across into C.I.D.-- Acting Detective Constable.

Never looked back.

And it's all down to him.

Don't walk away from me.

(grunts) (yelps) (glass breaking) Sam!

Whoa, whoa!

Dad, I'm sorry, I... Dad... No.

No, you're all, you're all right, son.

(grunts) You're all right.

Don't worry-- stop and have a drink.

Let him go, Jim, let him go.

MAX: Do you require medical assistance?

(breathlessly): No, you're... You're okay, Doctor.

Though, uh, a large scotch might take the edge off.

MAX: Yes.

You all right?

Yeah.

What was that about?

Oh...

Nothing.

One too many is all.

Well, at least we're a stag do now, right?

♪ ♪ So, what're you gonna do?

Bright out, the old man, Strange to Kidlington.

Where's that leave you?

I'm not sure it leaves me anywhere.

Mm.

I'll tell you where it leaves you.

Odd man out, same as always.

You should come back with me.

What, to America?

Mm.

Go west, young man.

It's a big country.

Somewhere a man can make a new start.

Skies so big you can barely catch your breath to look at 'em.

That all sounds wonderful.

But no, that's not for me.

Why not?

I don't get it.

You're on your own, you got no ties.

What's keeping you here?

♪ ♪ MORSE: It's Detective Sergeant Morse.

I called earlier about A.C.C.

Deare's service record.

WOMAN (on phone) Yes, we've pulled that for you from the archives.

If you'd like to drop by, you can view it on the premises, but I am afraid it can't leave the building.

So, what couldn't we talk about back at the factory?

Lionel Godfrey Chambers.

The owner of Blenheim Vale-- he's in Bermuda?

Well, the firm is.

So what about this Chambers?

I've found him.

Where?

Here.

Died 23rd of May 1920, five days old.

Diphtheria, according to his death certificate.

THURSDAY: That where you got to this morning?

MORSE: Mm, I also got a copy of his birth certificate.

And I'm not the first to do so.

A fictional identity.

Like a long firm fraud.

Mm.

Find a dead child roughly your age.

Apply for "your" birth certificate, which you've lost.

Then use that to get a passport, and from that, the world's your oyster.

To set up bogus companies like Centavo Holdings.

He could have false identities all over the world.

What makes you think it's this Lionel Godfrey Chambers?

Because his grave's adjacent to a family plot of someone that we both know.

Now, I looked into Arthur Lott's service history.

He was a cadet with A.C.C.

Deare.

They came up together.

He was even his bagman for a while.

And I don't know what he's got going on at Vice, but I bet a pound to a penny he is in it up to his neck with Deare at Blenheim Vale.

I know, I saw him.

Lott?

When?

Doesn't matter.

What did he, what did he want?

What do you think?

♪ ♪ I tried to do a good turn four years ago.

It went bad.

Left me open.

Charlie.

It was our life savings, mine and Win's, everything we had.

And now they're calling in their marker, right.

Well, what's the price?

Blenheim Vale.

I do what they want, I get our money back.

They want you to shut it down before you go to Carshall.

The case stays open, the active investigation gets closed down.

I know you.

You wouldn't do that just for money.

I told you.

They come at you through what you love.

Family!

You got to let it go.

For everybody's sake.

(exhales) ♪ ♪ Cutting it fine.

What time are you meeting Jim at the church?

(door closes) (sighing): Oh, you're going to be the loveliest bride there ever was.

'Cause you're mine.

Mum.

Don't set me off.

I've always been proud of you.

Always.

And if I've ever let you think anything else, I'm sorry.

(knock at door) Come on, Mum, car's here.

I won't kiss you.

Don't want to spoil your makeup.

(chuckles) Yeah, I won't kiss you, either.

(laughs) Love you, though, sis.

You, too.

♪ ♪ (door opens) (door closes) (classical music playing) DOROTHEA: Chief Superintendent.

Ah, just Reginald, Miss Frazil.

I'm a civilian now-- Doctor.

This is true.

Miss Frazil.

Hello.

Good morning.

Now, if either of you should require a handkerchief, I do have a plentiful supply.

(exhales) (people talking in background) Morse with you?

He's not coming.

It's my wedding-- what do you mean he's not coming?

He's got the ring.

It's all right, I got the ring.

I'll kill him-- where is he?

(music continues) (talking in background) (car door opens) ♪ ♪ You've done all right for yourself, then, College.

Detective Sergeant?

Oh, it's not just cream that rises to the top, then.

Well, clearly not.

Just you, is it?

Charlie sends his regrets, couldn't make it.

That's why I...

I never feel fully dressed unless I have a bit of insurance.

Where's Fred?

(organ playing "Bridal Chorus") LOTT: You and me, then.

Push come to shove, he couldn't face it?

Sent you along to do the dirty work?

Something like that.

What a good little bag man you are.

Yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir.

Right, College?

Fred said you were cut up rough.

You couldn't let this place go.

No, it's like I said to you on the phone.

Thursday squared it away with the new chief superintendent.

We're finished here.

Good.

But there is one thing I'd like to know, just for myself.

Who was it killed Andrew Lewis?

The kid was poking around, should've kept his nose out.

He was just looking for his mother.

Well... Who was it did for her?

And Landesman?

Dead men tell no tales.

And what about the little boy?

Peter Williams-- is he buried here?

We didn't kill him, why would we?

Well, because of what he knew.

With his background, who'd believe him?

No, I took him up Lincoln way.

See, there was a couple there, and they, uh... Well, they wanted a kiddie of their own.

Name of Kennit, if I remember.

STRANGE: Sorry, sir, just in.

The body at the drinker.

Fingerprints were for a Raymond Kennit, A.K.A.

Tomahawk.

Well, I'd say we're about finished.

Is it all there?

All there.

All right, show me.

All Fred's savings.

(chortles): Not much, is it?

Well, at least it was honestly come by.

(knife tearing) (cries out) (church bells ringing, crowd cheering) Hello, Gran.

(Joan and Strange laughing, crowd cheering) (applauding) STRANGE: Hey.

Come on, then.

(crowd cheering) (Joan laughing) LOTT: Oh, you didn't really think I was gonna throw good money after bad, did you?

(cries out) This was meant for Fred.

Since he's not here, you'll have to do!

(grunts softly) Oh, don't worry.

He'll get his soon enough.

You're out of time, Morse!

(men grunting) ♪ ♪ (Morse grunting) LOTT: They with you?

We're with nobody.

His business with you is his business.

We've been looking for you since Cochise got knifed on your say-so in Camden.

Stand off!

I'm a police inspector.

We know who you are.

♪ ♪ You look like a princess straight out of a fairy tale.

(clicks tongue softly): Aw.

You're all right.

Yeah.

(music playing, people talking in background) (glasses clink) (music continues) Oh, gotta find...

There she is.

Sure.

(music continues) (people talking in background) (exhales) (music continues) Don't tell me-- work.

I apologize, Miss... Do you know, I don't think you've ever called me by my name.

Have I not?

No.

Well, that's probably for the best.

(laughs): How's that?

Because if I had said it once out loud, I don't think I might never have been able to stop.

Truth is, I love you.

I've loved you from the first moment you opened that door.

(reception music fades) (exhales): I should've told you.

I should've said something, I should have said something.

(exhales) But now it's too late.

(gasps softly) ♪ ♪ No.

It's not.

♪ ♪ (reception music resumes) (chuckles) Do you know, I don't think you've ever called me by my name.

Have I not?

No.

Of course.

Mrs.

Strange.

Well, you might give me a hug.

Oh.

For luck.

(chuckles) (music continues) STRANGE: Whoa, whoa, whoa, steady on there, matey, that's a married woman you got there.

(laughs) All right, then, Joanie?

You should get going.

Uh, just give me a minute with Mum.

Okay.

Mum.

Oooh!

Can't rely on you for anything, can I?

What happened?

I'm sorry, something came up-- work.

All work and no play, matey.

I think... Shall we?

Yeah, ready for the off.

Oh!

MC: Ladies and gentlemen, will you please make your way to the front entrance, where the bride and groom are about to depart?

(guests cheering and applauding) ♪ ♪ Give me the keys, give me the keys.

What?

Please.

I've only had two.

I know, but I'm driving.

(keys jingling) (guests cheer and applaud) (cheering fades) ♪ ♪ JOAN: Three, two, one!

(crowd cheering) I think these are for you.

Oh... (laughing): Yes.

(all cheering, calling out) ♪ ♪ Bye!

Bye!

See ya!

(exhales slowly) (sniffs) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (pills rattling) (wildlife chittering, breeze blowing) ♪ ♪ WIN (sighing): I've been here so long.

All those years.

Sam, Joan.

(voice breaking): It all goes so fast.

(crying): It went too fast, Fred.

Now... (sobbing) There, there.

We got plenty of time, you and me.

(breathes) Get Sam settled and straight.

Mm.

We'll be right as ninepence.

Here's looking at you.

(breathes deeply) (car horn honking, dog barking) Best not keep him waiting.

Ah, Mrs. Thursday.

I was hoping I'd catch you.

I thought you'd be at work.

I have the afternoon off.

Choir practice up at Blenheim.

The palace?

Mm.

Ooh.

We've a dress rehearsal for a concert coming up.

Well, I'm glad to see you're back on your feet.

(exhales) We've been that worried.

(chuckles) Oh, wait up.

The Wednesday Special.

You don't eat enough.

(exhales) (chuckles) Don't be a stranger.

It's only Carshall.

I'll miss you all the same.

(sniffling) Oh!

Ask Sam his news.

(engine starts, car door shuts) (cabinet closes) Sam?

(footsteps approaching) Yeah, your mum said you have news.

Yeah.

I'm gonna try out for the police.

Jim's straightened things out.

Two Thursdays on the beat?

I'm not sure the world's ready for that.

(chuckles) Good luck.

Yeah, you, too.

I'll see you there, Dad.

THURSDAY: Yeah.

(door shuts) Just, uh, waiting on the removal men, give 'em the keys.

Afternoon off?

Yeah, I've got choir.

Time for a pint?

Yeah, half, maybe.

(both speaking softly) The bikers had been looking to get even with Lott ever since he did for one of theirs in Camden.

What were you thinking, going out there on your own?

I wanted to tell him that we were closing down the Blenheim Vale investigation.

You did that to get him off my back?

What about the boy, Peter Williams?

I know how important that was to you and Jakes.

He's still not found.

Well, someone once told me that not every question gets an answer.

The Peter Williams that Jakes knew died a long time ago.

Well, wherever he is now, I hope he's at peace.

If the bikers did for Lott, maybe that's some kind of justice.

Did you see what happened?

And Charlie?

I don't know, I'm sorry.

Well, Charlie always went his own way.

But Lott, he had it coming.

And what about Tomahawk?

Did he have it coming?

I told the bikers that he was a registered informant.

Lott's man on the inside.

Hopefully, that'll buy some time that they won't immediately try to find whoever really killed him.

Not Sam, of course, even though that's his button.

According to the barman, he was in no fit state to defend himself.

But someone else.

Someone else who knew what he was doing.

Who had killed before, in the Army, say.

Someone who came home that night unrecognizable as the captain I would've followed into hell.

Morse.

(voice trembling): I know thee not, old man.

TOMAHAWK: Hey, you.

Deal on our ground, you're gonna get carved up.

sHey, leave off.

(blade sings) THURSDAY: On your way.

I'll do for the pair of you.

(yelps) (knife tears) (grunts) THURSDAY: Instinct.

One minute he was there, the next he wasn't.

He'd have done for Sam.

I don't regret it.

I'd do it again in an instant.

That type.

He was nothing.

He was...

He was someone's son.

But not mine.

Not mine.

♪ ♪ Who else knows?

Just us.

Look, what happened with Lott and what happened in the yard stays between us.

But with this lot, it's an eye for an eye, no matter how long it takes.

Now, they've never seen you, but they know Sam.

If he were to come back, if they should ever see him again, even you couldn't defend him against that mob.

He has to disappear.

Yeah.

And that's on me.

♪ ♪ We'll move away somewhere.

Much further than Carshall.

And Joanie?

And Jim?

No.

They're not connected.

They're safe.

You'll keep an eye?

Always.

♪ ♪ (brakes squeak) (engine stops) ♪ ♪ Sure you don't want me to drop you?

No, you'll miss your recital, or whatever it is.

Coach'll do.

There's one more thing.

It's your money.

All of it.

♪ ♪ (breathes deeply) You turned out all right.

Knew you would.

Mind you, you had a good teacher.

The best.

♪ ♪ Why don't you take this?

You might need it if you're staying.

♪ ♪ (trunk closes) Right, then.

Mind how you go.

Goodbye, sir.

(hands clasp) Endeavour.

Morse, sir.

Just Morse.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (gun fires) (choir singing "In Paradisum" by Fauré) BRIGHT: Our revels now are ended.

These our actors, as I foretold you, were all sprits, and are melted into air, into thin air.

And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, the cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples, the great globe itself, yea, all which it inherit shall dissolve.

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, leave not a rack behind.

♪ Aeternam habeas ♪ BRIGHT: We are such stuff as dreams are made on.

And our little life is rounded with a sleep.

♪ Requiem ♪ (piece continues) ♪ Aeternam ♪ ♪ Habeas ♪ ♪ Requiem ♪ (singing slowly on "requiem") (piece ending) Is that it?

That's it.

♪ ♪ (engine starts) ♪ ♪ (exhales) ♪ ♪ (click) ♪ ♪ ANNOUNCER: Go to our website, listen to our podcast, watch video, and more.

To order this program, visit ShopPBS.

"Masterpiece" is available with PBS Passport and on Amazon Prime Video.

♪ ♪