[theme music] [birds chirping] [tractor engine rattling] [metal clangs] [metal clangs] [indistinct conversations] -[laughter] -[whooping] God, did I really book this lot in?

See, opening and slamming all the doors and talking in different voices.

-[sighs] -Because what he's trying do is convince these guys that Charlie's trying to cuff that we've got 10 police cars out there, see.

So, there he is, running around the car, slamming the doors, talking in voices, woofing the while, and he feels this big hand on his shoulder.

And he turns around, and it's the-- Is everything all right, Mr. Rider?

Food's lovely.

[laughter] Hey, miss?

Blondie!

Coo-ee!

[laughter] Can we have some more wine over here?

A bloke over there died of thirst.

I'll fetch him a coffin, then, all right?

-[gasps] -Oi!

I was tapping him on the shoulder.

Well, that's not his shoulder.

You'll want to see an optician, mate.

[Henry] Mrs. Crabbe.

You know, like the popular seafood, only with another B and an E. [Woman on phone] C-R-E-B?

No, no, no.

C-R-A-B-B-E. [Woman] Hold the line, caller.

[sighs] Henderson, take this.

Now, if anybody sensible comes on the line, ask for Margaret.

Don't I know that tune?

Here, listen.

On second thought, put that down and wash the pots.

[breathes deeply] Eleven spotted dicks.

And one black coffee.

[sighs] Happy?

No, delirious.

Cooking custard for coppers.

I was put on Earth for it.

Ready?

Voila!

We'll be doing this for each other one day.

That'll be nice.

Bloody hell!

My bum is black and blue!

[Henry] I'm sorry?

Those retired policemen.

They're all dirty old men.

Well, they are.

I mean, they're too handy.

What gets into men at that age?

Bottle and a half of wine and a couple of large brandies each.

[clears throat] Ah.

[cheers and applause] -Happy retirement, Tommy.

-Yes.

[Officer] Where's Crabbe?

[Together] We want the chef!

We want the chef!

When you've finished in here, you should come -into the kitchen.

-I'd love to.

[Together] We want the chef!

[cheers] ♪ So beautiful ♪ ♪ Why was he born at all ♪ [Henry] You'll get me put out of business.

Tommy, congratulations.

Happy retirement.

Smashing lunch, chef.

Thank you very much, indeed.

[laughs] Detective Chief Inspector Doggett.

Henry Crabbe.

How do you do?

I thought I knew all of our Detective Chief Inspectors.

I'm in the Met.

I'm down here in the sticks with the Regional Crime Squad, for my sins.

And you, you're providing a service for the community.

That steak and kidney was magnificent.

Thank you.

Lucky for some.

-That was delicious.

-Thank you.

Is he a regular?

Well, he's one of our mainstays, Mr. Rider.

Oh.

-So he's local?

-Fairly.

I'm sorry about all that.

Oh, they're just noisy.

Here, try that.

Sir?

Uh, no, thank you.

[Henry] Well?

-Mm, New World.

-Yes.

Muscat liqueur.

Yes.

Yalumba.

-Well done.

-[chuckles] Charles Rider.

How do you do?

It's Fisher, isn't it?

Henry's boss?

Uh, yes.

Wine, it's my hobby.

You should come and see my cellar sometime.

Yes, uh, perhaps.

They say you promised them a discount because you're all in the job.

[clicks tongue] [car engine starts] -Rider.

-Yes?

Doggett.

Detective Chief Inspector Doggett.

Yes?

I know who you are.

Well, of course, you just used my name.

No, no, no, no, that's not what I mean.

I mean, I know who you are.

Drive on, please.

Everything all right?

Perfect.

-Loved the lunch, Mr. Crabbe.

-Oh.

-Be seeing you.

-Right.

You ever think of getting him checked out?

-Well, he's a policeman.

-I meant Rider.

Gary, stick to cooking.

[stark orchestral music playing] -All right?

-[both chuckle] Push me away from here.

You never know when one of these old imbeciles is actually taking it all in.

Rider, you say he's called now?

Yeah.

Has he got it?

Oh, he must have.

Mm, and you're expecting a result?

Yeah.

He's gone soft, he'll crack.

And if he doesn't?

Well, I don't know.

Well, we need a fallback position.

That's the first rule of interrogation.

Number one, avoid asking questions to which you don't know the answer.

And number two, if you have to, then make sure that you have a fallback position.

But that's the second rule.

I mean, you said it was number one.

-[dialing] -Yes.

Oh, directories?

Give me the phone number of Her Majesty's Prison, Talbot.

We'll go and see Razor Reg.

[door unlocks] [alarm beeping] [keypad beeps] Look at this.

Shopping from Sainsbury's, radios, TVs, community singing, Desert Island Discs.

This is a ponce's paradise.

I've been in worse holiday camps.

It's the new regime, gov.

-Hmm?

-Fresh start.

Oh, I'll give them a fresh start.

Cut off their hands.

That'd stop their violent deeds.

No, there's no need for all this mollycoddling.

[chuckles] Cop an eyeful of this pillock.

Shh, he'll hear you.

Well, I should hope so.

Oi!

Wake up, cloth ears.

And get out of the way.

Otherwise, we'll put you on bread and water for a month.

-What do you want?

-Razor Reg.

[chuckles] Mr. Costigan does not respond to that nomenclature anymore.

[chuckles] Mr. Costigan isn't expecting visitors.

Well, you tell the slag that Striker of the Yard is here.

And unless he shows his face within 10 seconds, he'll spend the rest of his miserable life in grisly Brisley.

Mr. Costigan says you've been retired from the Yard for 20 years and have no power here.

He wishes to inform you he is a reformed character and does not wish to mix with the likes of you.

Good day.

So he wouldn't want to know the whereabouts of Joseph James Webb?

Could you open the shop, please, Nicola?

Yeah.

[sighs] Hello?

Is that Andover Plaza?

Yes, could I speak to Mrs. Margaret Crabbe, please?

She's auditing there with the accountants today.

[Woman on phone] They're in the Free Enterprise suite.

Hold the line please.

[Nicola clears throat] Mr. Crabbe?

-Hello, Charles.

-Henry.

Have you got a corkscrew?

Mm-hmm.

Oh.

Chateau Cheval Blanc, '89.

A treat.

Bit early, isn't it?

Just have a glass with me.

Sure.

What are we celebrating?

Not celebrating.

Talking.

[cork pops] I have to talk to you, Henry.

Right.

Well, let's talk.

[door opens] [door closes] Henry.

And, uh, Mr. Rider, isn't it?

Can I help you?

Bloody Mary.

And will you be dining with us?

I'm not sure yet.

Nicola is always careful to conform to the terms of the license.

Good thing, too.

[telephone rings] Huh.

Can I have a glass of your vin rouge, Mr. Rider?

Uh, give him a glass.

Telephone.

Not now, please.

It's Mrs. Crabbe.

Oh, excuse me.

Perhaps I will have that Bloody Mary.

So...

Bow Street Runner.

Keep it.

As a reminder.

Of?

What I want from you.

What could you want from me?

We don't know each other.

Rider...

I know who you are, and I know what you are, and I know what you've got.

And I want it.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Now, I must go.

I have an appointment.

Does the name Razor Reg mean anything to you?

Nothing.

Well, that's funny, because he distinctly remembered you when I spoke to him this morning.

-[door opens] -[closes] Well, how much longer will you be?

Oh, Margaret!

Well!

-Yes?

-I want the boss.

Well, how do you know I'm not the boss?

Don't be stupid.

Margaret, you just hang on one minute, please.

Yes?

You interested in buying potatoes?

Are you joking?

Well, you do buy potatoes?

Out.

-What's wrong with me?

-Gary, the cleaver.

-Mar-- -Ooh!

Margaret, I... [grumbles] I shall speak to you later.

One Bloody Mary.

I seem to have left my wallet at home.

Put it on the slate for me.

We don't normally do slates.

It's all right, Nicola.

Yours?

Not mine.

-Where's Rider?

-Had to rush off.

[Henry] He didn't give me that impression.

Things change.

Since you came in, Mr. Doggett, yes.

What is going on?

Sorry?

Why did you come back here?

I like it here.

Mr. Rider looked as though he knew you.

All in the mind, Mr. Crabbe.

I never met the man before.

So, what are the specials today, eh?

Detective Chief Inspector, I do not like having the mickey taken out of me.

I may be a country boy to you, but I know when my leg is being pulled, and I do not like it.

All right, Henry.

We're friends, I'll tell you.

I've got a job on here, just down the road.

-A case?

-Exactly.

Anything I should know about?

Regional Crime Squad business.

Uh-huh.

And Rider?

Coincidence.

Like I said before, I never met the man.

-Can I order?

-[sighs] Yeah, on your slate.

I've got to go out for an hour.

Can you manage without me?

Yeah, long as a coach doesn't pull up.

No, no, just four diners and one comedian.

I'll get changed.

Uh, where's Henderson?

Oh, had to rush off.

I'll bet he did.

[clears throat] [Henderson] Police?

I want to report some potatoes missing.

[birds chirping] This is serious.

This is a burglary.

[beep] [telephone rings] Detective Inspector Crabbe.

[Officer] Have you just logged on to the Police National Computer?

Um, yes.

[Officer] Can I ask the nature of your inquiry, D.I.

Crabbe?

Who is this, exactly?

So, uh, how many are missing?

-How many?

-Potatoes.

We need the numbers for the report.

The burglary report.

Oh, and your insurers will want a copy.

What about a Scenes of Crime officer?

-For?

-Fingerprints.

Fingerprints!

[chuckling] And footprints.

Oh, no.

We've walked all over them.

You can tell a lot from footprints.

And the holes.

We'll need the dimensions of the holes.

Nicola?

It's me, Rider.

[chuckles] [Nicola] Oh, hello.

Is Henry available?

-No.

-No?

[Nicola] I'll get him to call you.

Well, actually, I just wanted to ask him to supper.

[tires screech] Listen, I've got to go.

Bravo Golf on the London Road in pursuit of a Jaguar motorcar registration number Hotel-286-Golf-Papa-Delta.

[indistinct radio chatter] [engine revs] -[Striker] Well?

-Wound him up like a watch.

All we have to do is wait.

[scoffs] You hope.

-Gov.

-Hmm?

If he don't do what we want him to do, will we really give his address to Razor Reg?

I would crush Rider as soon as I would swat a fly.

Is that a yes?

Oh, cold feet, eh?

[chuckles] You'd better hope that Rider caves in.

Right.

Yeah, but you haven't got time for philosophy.

Arrangements need to be made, in Finchley.

Excuse me, sir.

Bravo Golf, Bravo Golf, awaiting information.

Let go of me, Let go of me, you've no right!

I have protection, ask Freddie Fisher!

You can't arrest me!

-Ask Fisher!

-Shut up!

Received, over.

-He doesn't smell of drink.

-Let him go.

Are you serious?

-Can't we just biff him first?

-Dave, let him go.

Do you know someone called Rider?

[Henry] Why?

[Dave] We have a bit of a problem with him.

Does it have anything to do with running a check on him?

[Dave] How do you know that?

That's what inspectors are made of.

[sighs] New Scotland Yard?

Commander Collins, please.

Hello, Bunny!

Henry Crabbe.

How are you?

Rider gave my name?

Well, there's a note on the file referring it back to you.

Why?

Well, because it's a restricted file, sir.

They always quote a senior officer in the local area.

[keys clacking] There.

Now, in a minute, that phone's going to ring and someone from New Scotland Yard is gonna ask to talk to the person who entered the name Rider into the computer, in this case, you, sir.

And that's what happened when Cambridge arrested Rider?

No, no, no.

It's what happened to me yesterday when I entered the name Rider into my computer.

Some spook rang me.

You could have told me.

But I don't -- Ah, give it a minute, it'll ring.

Well, this isn't good enough.

I mean, say, this fellow is, I don't know, some sort of international terrorist.

He can't go waving my name about without my knowledge.

I'm gonna talk to New Scotland Yard.

Uh, first, may I, um... Oh, thank you.

[keys clacking] Joseph James Webb.

Born 1st of the 7th, 1939.

That's who Rider was before he was Rider.

Joseph James Webb.

It's a bit sparse.

[Henry] Well, perhaps he hasn't done very much.

[Fisher] One conviction?

Mm, burglary, 1958, Sloane Square.

He was arrested by a Chief Superintendent Striker, Scotland Yard.

And a Detective Constable Doggett from Finchley.

Striker of the Yard.

That's a big cop for a little burglar.

perhaps he's a lot more important than this file indicates.

But why would a D.C. from Finchley arrest a burglar in Sloane Square?

Oi!

Oi what?

Oi what, sir.

Where's the bloody sports ground?

Sorry, sir.

What bloody sports ground?

The police sports ground used to be here.

Oh, that.

They sold it for redevelopment.

They're building a housing estate on it.

If you want a game of rugby now, you have to drive -all the way to-- -Never mind rugby.

I don't give a toss about rugby.

Where's the pavilion?

Don't know.

I think the contractors burned it down.

What do you think Webb is?

MI5, MI6?

-KGB?

-A double.

Leading a life undercover, swanning in and out of your restaurant.

-Drinking vintage wines.

-Hobnobbing with detectives.

Using my name.

'Course, he could just be a grass.

Witness protection, all that.

Well, whatever, we need to get to the bottom of this.

I'll have to go to the chief constable.

No, that won't get to the bottom of it, sir.

And they're bound to say that you lost the paperwork.

I mean, it's so unfair.

Why choose me?

Because you're the assistant chief constable.

I never even heard of Rider before I met him in your kitchen.

Well, there's always the original officer in the case, Striker.

Well, he'd be dead now, surely.

I've talked to pensions.

He's 82 years old and living in a nursing home in Middleton.

Well, come on, then.

We'll go and have a talk to him.

I'm not having this.

No, you first.

I'm gonna lock this door.

[door locks] You were wrong about the phone call, you know.

Can't win 'em all.

[telephone rings] [Striker] All right, now, shake a leg, girl, or you'll miss the first race.

And what are you, a fireman?

I'm Assistant Chief Constable Fisher.

That is Detective Inspector Crabbe.

Well, I know nothing of chief constables.

I was in the Met.

I'm a bit like an assistant commissioner.

[exhales sharply] I doubt it.

[vehicle approaches] What do you want?

Well, um, uh, how are you?

[Striker scoffs] How am I?

I didn't know we had a star policeman so close by.

Oh, leave off, I'm not gaga yet.

We want to talk to you about Webb.

Webb who?

He was a burglar.

[exhales sharply] Never heard of him.

You nicked him in Sloane Square in 1958.

1958?

Are you serious?

[doorbell ringing] How do you know where I live?

It's hardly a secret.

-No?

-No.

And it's only a question of time before Razor Reg has your address.

What?

What did you say?

He's gonna cut you into little pieces.

Chop.

Chop.

Chop.

[chuckles] [Henry] What does Doggett want from Webb?

[Striker] Doggett?

[Henry] Doggett, yes, he's your D.C., your protege.

He's just been to see you, the nurse said.

[Striker] Oh, yeah, Doggett.

Yeah, well, I'm old, you know, my memory plays me up.

Yeah.

Um, what exactly happened in Sloane Square that made you two so close?

Well, why don't you ask him yourself?

We will.

This man Webb, what is he?

A spook, a grass, master criminal?

Look, I've told you, I don't know any Webb.

I'm an old man, and it's time for my kip.

Thank you very much sir.

Ah.

[Fisher] Now, remind me, who was Doggett?

Well, according to the files, he was the second officer in the arrest of Webb in 1958.

-Where can we find him?

-Well, he's here, sir.

He's on the Regional Crime Squad.

Well, then, I can just wheel him in and order him to spill the beans.

Well, I don't know about ordering, sir.

He's, um, in the Met.

Haven't you got a contact at Scotland Yard?

Yes, Bunny Collins.

He's a commander now.

He's the one who gave me Rider's real name.

Think he could tell us who Webb was spying for?

Or on.

But I think supergrass is favorite, don't you?

Yeah, yeah.

So, if he was grassing on someone, the question is, who?

Perhaps you should ask Bunny.

[sighs] Yes, sir.

Hang on.

[dialing] If your friend Bunny knew this man Webb was in some sort of protection scheme, why didn't he tell you in the first place?

It's my impression, sir, that senior officers are rarely so direct.

Hello?

-Costigan.

-Yes?

-I'm a-- -A policeman.

I want to talk to you about Joseph James Webb.

Has Striker put you up to this?

[Henry] No, just the opposite.

What about Webb?

Well, what was your relationship with him?

I haven't seen him in over 30 years.

But you do know him.

He put me in here.

Oh, yes.

The Tabard Street Torture trial.

But surely that was Striker, wasn't it?

I remember the headlines.

East End reign of terror smashed by Striker of the Yard.

Webb was Witness X. Oh, was he?

So, if Doggett and Striker want to threaten Webb, they just have to mention your name?

So they believe.

Is it true, then?

I wouldn't harm a hair on his head.

Why not?

I was a wretch, but now I'm saved.

My religious beliefs wouldn't permit revenge on that dirty lowlife ratbag, Webb.

What about the rest of the gang?

I can't be responsible for them.

Well, what would Striker and Doggett want from Webb, then?

I can't say.

The medical officer prescribed this for my heart.

Care to join me in a glass?

Sure.

It's very good.

[doorbell rings] [door unlocks] No Margaret, still?

No.

Well, come in.

Thank you.

There's some claret for you.

-Oh, thank you.

-And, um, here's the Yalumba, since you seemed to enjoy it so much.

Henry, you're very kind.

[door opens] No need for introductions, I'm sure.

Hardly.

No.

I'll open these, shall I?

Ah, thanks.

Henry, the reason I've asked you here is because I'm in a spot of bother.

I think you ought to know that we've learned you're a supergrass and that your real name is Webb.

And I'm entitled to your protection.

Not against your own crimes and misdemeanors, you're not.

Now, where's the stuff?

What stuff?

Ah, I knew we'd have to do this the hard way.

How much would you say that your cellar's worth?

I don't know.

50,000, maybe.

Good, we'll start there.

Start what?

See, every time your name is mentioned, the word wine somehow seems to float into view.

So I'm gonna go down into your cellar and start breaking bottles, and I shall continue breaking bottles until you tell us whatever it is that Doggett and Striker want from you.

[inhales sharply] -You wouldn't.

-Oh, he would.

[exhales sharply] I haven't seen a puddle worth £50,000 before.

[Rider] When I was a kid, I was a burglar.

I screwed the Police Sports Ground in Finchley.

Stole some wine.

Wine?

What, a lorry load?

-A bottle.

-One bottle of wine?

It's special.

What is it?

Chateau Ausone.

Ah.

Chateau Ausone.

-Is that good?

-No, it's not good, it's great.

It's a truly great wine.

Well, there we are, then.

Hence the obsession.

Doggett doesn't strike me as a wine buff.

It was the last surviving bottle of a case William IV gave Robert Peel to celebrate the foundation of the Police Service.

Robert Peel's wine.

That's historic, it's fantastic.

Is it here?

[Rider] The wine has a history.

It was looted during the Napoleonic wars, confiscated by the Duke of Clarence, who became king.

He gave it to Peel.

Then it was stolen, ransomed by some early detective.

Eventually ended up in Trenchard's office.

Trenchard was commissioner between the wars.

Really?

It was evacuated during the Blitz, got misdirected, and ended up in an RAF mess.

Where it was liberated by Striker.

A bottle of wine of highly suspect ownership.

Striker presented it to the Police Sports Association.

And you stole it from them?

Yeah.

So it was nicked to begin with.

Perhaps we should to take it into safe custody.

Why did you take it?

I was put up to it by a bloke whose gang I was in.

Razor Reg Costigan.

[glass shatters] [Fisher] My God!

I'm sorry.

-Is that-- -I don't think so.

Huh, that's the Robert Peel wine.

Chateau Ausone, 1814.

Well, now, you have it, and they want it.

I think your best course is simply to give it back.

Over my dead body.

Mm-hmm.

This would look very good in the trophy cabinet.

Yeah, I'm sorry, sir.

I really think Mr. Rider ought to hand it back.

You into older men, then?

[door opens] So, this is it, then?

Yes.

You haven't changed, with all your airs and graces, Joe.

You've still got the same mean face, Striker.

How's your pal, Razor Reg?

Pssh, oh, we're not pals.

You're two sides of the same coin, that's what you are.

Thank you, Nicola.

So... Is this your wine?

That's my wine.

Is that the wine?

I expect so.

And you leave Rider alone if he gives you this?

-That is all we want.

-Yes.

And will Razor Reg get his address?

Not from us.

Is that agreeable, Mr. Rider?

Yes.

Good.

So, what are you going to do with it?

Uh, well, there's a slight hitch there.

Hitch?

Well, the sports ground, where you nicked it from, has been demolished.

[laughs] It's not funny.

That's our heritage.

Oh, come off it.

Well, since it doesn't appear to have a legal owner and it is Robert Peel's wine, I think, as senior officer present, I should take it into protective custody.

You won't!

[strains] Not you, as well.

Maybe Rider should have this back, after all.

-Oh!

-No chance.

All right, then, I'll tell you what.

Henry!

-Oi!

-Uh.

[cork pops] Let's drink it.

Crabbe.

Have you gone nuts?

This label says Chateau Ausone, 1814.

[Striker] So what?

In Robert Peel's day, wine bottles were all handmade.

This is a machine-made 20th-century bottle.

This, gentlemen, is a fake.

So...

Here we are, a roomful of detectives.

And the question is, what happened to the original?

Now, then, Doggett.

Did you break it?

Me?

When would I have ever had chance to-- No, perhaps not.

Mr. Rider?

I kept it in a safe for 35 years.

Yes, and we all saw how shocked you were when you thought the bottle was broken.

So, who does that leave, Robert Peel?

It would still be a 19th-century bottle if he broke it.

Mm.

Striker, what about you?

What about me?

Well, you would have been in the best place to swap it.

Maybe the bottle never even existed.

Maybe you just turned up with any old bottle of wine and claimed it was Chateau Ausone, 1814.

This isn't just any old bottle of wine.

Well?

I had the original bottle of wine, but, um, I dropped it.

You what?

I dropped my kit bag on Waterloo Station when I was demobbed.

The wine was in it.

You what?

You mean I've been chasing this Herbert for close to 30 years over a bent bottle of wine that was so bent that it wasn't even what it said on the label?

What's the matter with you?

When he nicked it, I could hardly say, oh, no, never mind, it's only a fake, could I?

Good Lord.

What wine is this?

Oh, my father gave it to me.

It's, uh, he got it from a bombed-out house.

Try to remember.

Uh... Scottish name?

Montrose?

Yes.

Yes.

Prewar Chateau Montrose.

I can hardly believe I have it in my hand.

What was the year?

'34.

One of the great years of one of the great wines of the 20th century.

Mmm.

[Henry] Hello, Mr. Quirke.

Hello.

-Did you invite him?

-Yes.

I asked him to show me where the boundary is.

-There.

-There.

[sighs] Yes, well, would you both please stand where you reckon your land ends?

This tree stump to there, you can see.

He planted on my land.

From this tree stump to there, he dug up my spuds.

I dug up potatoes from my field.

My field!

And he called the cops.

Only after you tried to sell my spuds, coming to my restaurant.

Whose restaurant?

-Well, his restaurant.

-My restaurant.

The restaurant where I supply the spuds!

You were trying to intimidate me.

Yes, well, what you need is a fence.

We had one, he took it down.

It's my land!

All right, all right!

Look!

This is what to do.

The crop that grows between there and there, the pair of you will split 50/50.

Then in the autumn, you will put the fence back.

-That's not fair.

-Why?

I planted the crop, he gets it for free!

But he has to put the fence back!

[groans] -No more argy-bargy, right?

-Yeah.

And no more silliness in my kitchen.

No.

Well, let that be an end of it.

I'll be off, then.

Oh, and by the way, [clears throat] does the name Razor Reg mean anything to you?

What, Razor Reg Costigan?

Yes.

-The Tabard Street torturer?

-That's him.

Yeah, terrible business.

-Yes.

-What about him?

He gets out in about four weeks, and he owes me a favor.

[engine turns over] [theme music]