♪ ♪ MORSE: I'm Detective Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley.

THURSDAY: What do you think you're gonna find?

FREYA: You think something bad has happened?

So, you and Jim Strange.

It is love, then?

STRANGE: You've burned your bridges this time.

(gun fires faintly) BRIGHT: We'll have the truth, whatever the cost.

MORSE: It's just my neck on the line.

(cries out) We did our bit and then some!

You've got to let it go.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (thunder claps) (whimpers) (click) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (car engine running) JOLLIPHANT: It always starts with a body.

Then come the questions.

That's where I come in.

Jolliphant's the name.

Detective Superintendent Jolyon Jolliphant.

"Jolly" for short.

("Jolly for Short" theme playing) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Now, you do remember you very kindly promised to give Raph your vote in the upcoming elections.

♪ ♪ (humming) I mean, we will know if he comes up short.

And if by some unhappy circumstance he should come up short, there will be remonstrances.

And likely worse.

(coins rattling) That's the slate, yes?

Chin-chin!

(laughing) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Constable Banks.

Cut it along into old Ma Peggoty's and see if you can't sort out these young tearaways.

Yes, Sarge.

WILKINS: Now, I'm sure what happened to DCI Blaze will be on your mind.

A good copper, gunned down in the line of duty.

(people coughing, bottles clanking) ♪ ♪ But you can rely on this: when it comes to one of our own, we leave no stone unturned.

BANKS: No, Sarge.

Meantime, the best you and me can do is stick to our duties and do 'em to the best of our ability.

♪ ♪ (yells) (engine revving) (train wheels screeching) ♪ ♪ RAPHAEL: Well, well, well.

I say, you fellows.

Here's sport.

♪ ♪ (pounding, thudding, laughing) (grunting, yelping) Every barrel has its bad apples.

But in my book, there are very few creatures on this Earth lower than a bent copper.

Now, I don't know what led him down that path, but whatever it was, death has a way of wiping a man's slate clean in this world.

I can't speak as to the next.

("Jolly for Short" theme playing) Kettle on?

Hm.

♪ ♪ CHIEF CONSTABLE: The finding of this board is that the tragic events... (gun fires faintly) ...of last December which led to the shooting of D.I.

Thursday... (cell door closing) ...and the arrest of DS Morse were due solely to a mental breakdown suffered by A.C.C.

Clive Deare.

We are also of a view that further investigation into other extraneous matters would not be in the national interest.

To which end, all investigative materials relating to Blenheim Vale Boys' Home are to be sealed for 50 years.

(birds chirping) (house door opens) WIN: Morning, Morse!

MORSE: Good morning, Mrs. Thursday.

(door closes) There's tea in the pot, if you want to go through.

Ah, no time this morning, I'm afraid.

Fred tells me Jim Strange has asked you to be best man for him and Joan's...

Yes, yes, that's right.

It'll mean a lot to him.

Well, to both of them, I'm sure.

Sam settling back in all right?

THURSDAY: Morse.

Morning, sir.

Much in?

(train wheels screeching) STRANGE: Local beat man found him on his rounds not long after 6:00.

THURSDAY: Anything to say who he was?

STRANGE: Dosser, by the looks of him.

They hang out here and the wasteland by the old Kemble Theatre.

Morning, Doctor.

MAX: Chief Inspector.

THURSDAY: Much to go on?

MAX: Male, late 50s, early 60s.

Most likely not in the best of health.

Multiple injuries.

Looks like he took a serious beating.

What's with all the, uh, blood?

Someone stuck a broken bottle in his neck.

Whether that's what did for him or he was already on his way out, I'm afraid I won't be able to express an opinion until after the post mortem.

Shall we say 2:00?

THURSDAY: Doctor.

It's 20 pound!

What's left of it.

Burnt.

MORSE: That's a lot of money.

Can't see him doing that.

Maybe that's what he fell out with his mates over.

See if you can run his pals to ground, find out what they got.

Jim, you take me back to the station.

(train wheels screeching) (radio playing soft jazz) (cymbals crash, Raphael winces) MULCASTER: Fear not: for, behold, I give you good tidings of great joy.

The results are in, Mr. President.

BRIGHT: A vagrant?

THURSDAY: Kicked to death or stabbed with a broken bottle, according to Dr. DeBryn.

I don't know what the world's coming to.

Most days, I barely recognize it at all.

No, sir.

(sighs) Criminal damage.

Cars smashed and stolen.

Violence between gangs of young men on Carfax, in broad daylight-- wanton lawlessness.

This is Oxford!

It's not New York!

No, sir.

Have you thought any more?

About Carshall?

Yes, sir.

I've decided to put in for it.

It'll mean a move, but that could be good for the family.

Joan'll be settled, and I'd like to see Sam properly back on his feet.

I'm sure.

How is he readjusting to civilian life?

Pretty well, sir, thank you.

All things considered.

(breathes deeply) ♪ ♪ (coughs softly) ♪ ♪ (object clatters) Hello?

I'm the police.

It's all right.

It's all right, no need to be scared.

I'd just like to talk to you.

Devils?!

MORSE: "In the shape of men."

The hell she mean by that?

Oh, I don't know.

She was terrified.

She said they looked like Fred Astaire, only their faces were wrong-- four or five of them.

That's what I'm to report to Mr.

Bright, is it?

Case like that, she's drunk from dusk till dawn, it's hard to know what she's seen.

Any of them have a name for him?

Hugh or Hughie, no surname.

I wouldn't put your hopes in getting to the bottom of it.

These types blow into town without a trace and blow out again just the same.

Unreliable witnesses at best.

And that's if you can ever find them again.

Uh, anything further on Brenda Lewis's time at Landesman's?

There was a missing persons case in her name in '63, but closed shortly afterwards.

She worked directly for Joe Landesman as his personal secretary.

Nothing more from Ronnie Box, I don't suppose?

Weren't expecting anything, were we?

Well, you never know with Box-- I wouldn't put it past him to keep something up his sleeve till he's worked out whether it plays to his advantage.

(phone ringing) Might be worth giving him another tickle, see if we can jog his memory.

Mm-hmm.

Thursday.

(bell tolling) (talking and chuckling) Maybe we should cool it for a bit.

"Cool it"?

The police... Aren't going to bother themselves too much over some filthy old man.

RAPHAEL: You know, if I didn't know better, Archie boy, I'd say you were losing your nerve.

No, no, it, it's not like that, Raph.

I do hope not.

You got rid of it yet?

No.

Not yet.

MAX: So...

The cause of death was finally exsanguination.

The jagged end of the bottle punctured his left carotid artery and the jugular vein.

Half a dozen wounds.

One hesitates to say frenzied, but it certainly wasn't just an unlucky blow.

When you say "finally"...

He was already in a pretty poor state.

Ruptured spleen, a number of cracked ribs, fractured humerus.

Liver laceration, which could have proved fatal if left unattended.

And that was all from the beating?

Oh, yes.

Three or four assailants, I'd have said.

Multiple contusions and abrasions.

I've put his bits and pieces on the side.

THURSDAY: Kept his wedding ring.

Must've meant something to him.

Else he'd have pawned it long since and chucked the proceeds down his neck.

Kiddies.

Probably in their 30s by now.

Not much to show for a life.

We enter the world with nothing and leave with much the same, kings and beggars both.

The rich man at his table...

The poor man kicked and stabbed to death.

Where was the beret?

In the coat.

(phones ringing) STRANGE: How'd it go?

Ex-soldier, as it turns out.

Limehouse Rifles-- my old unit.

Much in over lunch?

STRANGE: Trying to work my way through the motors that got vandalized on the Broad last night.

Turns out the sports car that got pinched belongs to the lady mayoress, so... And we've got a missing person-- locals are short-handed, so they've asked us to deal.

Where's this?

Out Slepe way.

(engine stops) (car door shuts) Afternoon, I'm Detective Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley.

Miss Baynard, would it be?

Freya.

You reported a Paul Baynard missing, is that right?

My dad.

He locked up after work, and then went on his bike about 8:30.

Mm-hmm.

I thought he was going to the Wheatsheaf in the village, about three miles.

And when did you expect him back?

Chucking out time.

Is there anyone that you can think of he might have gone to stay with?

No.

It's just us.

What does he do?

Illustrator-- book covers, magazines.

How has he seemed recently?

Uh, hard to tell-- he doesn't say much.

Anything been troubling him?

I wouldn't have said.

Why?

You think something bad has happened?

Oh... People disappear for many reasons, Miss Baynard, not all of them sinister.

Sometimes people just need to step away.

To be honest, we very rarely consider someone to be a missing person unless they've been gone for at least a week.

It's just the two of you, you said?

Mum died, when I was young.

Do you have a photograph of him?

Um... (softly): Yeah.

Ordinarily, he's quite camera-shy.

But he needed it as a study for a painting, so... Half a face do you?

♪ ♪ (exhales) STRANGE: Anything further on Mickey Flood?

THURSDAY: Nothing outside of this protection racket warrant down the Smoke.

Well, tearing a man's tongue out and nailing it to the floor, there's got to be more to it than that.

BRIGHT (loudly): If I might have your attention.

Reports are coming in that the body of a uniformed constable has been discovered by a member of the public.

I'm on my way to Division.

But if it's foul play, I want whoever's behind it on the charge sheet inside 24 hours!

First impressions, Doctor?

Injuries are consistent with a fall from a great height.

Neck's broken, but whether that was before or after he fell, I'm afraid I can't say just yet.

What about the when of it?

Five past 12:00, according to his wristwatch-- face is smashed.

Rigor would suggest six to nine hours or thereabouts.

So it's about the right window, timewise.

Cause?

Most probably the broken neck.

But just feeling his skull, I'd say that's very likely badly fractured.

Doubtless, there'll also be a panoply of internal injuries.

The nails of his left hand, they're quite badly torn.

So you think he clawed at whatever window he's come through?

Strewth!

Pushed, then.

MAX: Not a conclusion I'd leap to necessarily, Sergeant.

Many set on self-slaughter change their mind at the last.

Often, sadly, to no avail.

I found a set of car keys in his pockets.

No notebook or warrant card.

Face doesn't ring a bell.

If he's out of Castle Gate, he's well off his beat.

CM-824.

That's not a Thames Valley number, is it?

See if you can get a steer on that collar number.

And a statement from whoever found him.

Have a look at that car-- see who it belongs to.

He looks familiar.

I'm sure I've seen him somewhere before.

So, what do you think?

He's come in here after some bugger up to no good, or what?

Five past midnight?

Could just as easily have been a midnight rendezvous.

Someone he knew, then.

Hm.

You and Jim finish up here.

I'll report to Mr.

Bright when he gets back from Division.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Anything?

Well, a couple of cigarette butts, an empty packet of Old Soldiers, and the wrapper of a prophylactic.

Midnight, the stars, and you, eh?

Hm.

It's always been a popular spot for toms.

What about this?

Dumped.

It's the lady mayoress's motor, nicked the night before last off the Broad.

I was thinking, maybe he saw whoever dumped it and chased 'em inside the factory.

Damage.

Can't imagine the thief would want to be driving it around in that state.

If it were me, I'd have dumped it the night it was stolen.

Any keys?

Could be anywhere.

I've a unit coming out to pick it up, if you wanna wait.

I said to the old man I'd see him back at the station.

♪ ♪ Hello there.

I'm Detective Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley, Miss Hatch-- I wonder if you could tell me which lender last borrowed this, "Just for Jolly."

Stamp says it should've been returned on the first of July.

Yes, of course.

In fact, I remember him.

It was late opening-- he was the last one in here.

Mr.... Ah, yes, here we are; Mr. Astin.

Astin?

David Astin.

Six Kent Finn novels.

I remember saying to him, "You must be a fan, then."

(chuckles) Would you have an address for him?

(jazz music playing inside) (bell rings, music continues) MAN: Bye now!

(door closes) I say, I say, I say.

What can I do for you, then, sir?

He asked him, knowingly.

(door opens and closes) I'm not, I'm not buying.

You say that now, sir, but wait till you've sampled my wares.

Said Simple Simon to the Pieman.

Laughter is the best medicine.

(shrill laughter playing) Sorry, do you mind turning that off?

I'm on police business.

(laughter stops) I'm Detective Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley.

I was given this address for a David Astin.

Does he live here?

Yes.

Well, then, I'm afraid I've got some bad news.

His body was found earlier this morning, out by Cowley.

(laughing) Oh, brilliant, oh, well done!

You nearly had me there for a minute.

I'm sorry, sir, it's not a laughing matter.

Who put you up to it?

It's Ray, isn't it?

Ray?

My brother?

In case he didn't mention?

No, honestly, I'm here about David Astin.

There's only one problem with that, see?

I'm David Astin.

♪ ♪ (talking softly) THURSDAY: Oh, still no word on his collar number.

I've put a call in to the Yard.

But they're turning out from all over.

Some of them have cancelled leave.

Others have refused to go home.

No stone unturned, I suppose, not for one of our own.

BRIGHT: An actor?!

Yes, sir.

He's in this "Jolly for Short" program on the television.

He plays a young PC, Constable Banks.

They do most of it at Associated Midland Studios.

Then, what's he doing here?

They film some of the outside bits in town and then put them in to the rest of it so it's all one thing.

I spoke to the people who make it.

They said he was called yesterday, whatever that means, but not used.

They're back here again today.

And this Constable Banks is, is part of it.

Banks is the part he's playing, sir.

His real name is Raymond Swann.

Ah.

He must've borrowed my library card.

I probably haven't used it since I was a kid.

Mm.

A fall, you say?

Then at least it would've been quick.

But I don't understand how...

Some sort of accident?

Did he live here?

No.

No, he's got a place in Jericho.

You wouldn't have a set of keys, would you?

Yeah, he gave me a spare, in case of emergencies.

What car did he drive?

Little Fiat.

Mm-hmm.

He bought it with the first money he made off "Jolly."

Repeats, they call it?

They pay you every time it's on.

Is it popular, this program?

Oh, yeah, must've been going five years now?

But I think, last time I saw him, he said they're finishing it after this lot.

Right, that must've come as a blow.

How did he take it?

An actor's life, he said.

And it was Raymond Swann, you said, not Astin?

It was his acting name, for the union.

There was already a Raymond Astin.

It's one of their rules.

You can't have two actors with the same name.

I'd like to see him, say my goodbyes.

Yes, of course.

WILKINS: Tell you the truth, Jolly, I don't know how much change I've got left in me.

I'm not so young as I was.

Away with you-- you'll see me out.

(plane passing overhead) I've been talking to Marge about packing it in.

Maybe going down Minehead way.

Open a guest house-- sunset over the bay... PHIL: Cut, cut, cut!

Sorry, sorry-- plane!

(bell rings) Are you going to be do that pipe business on my line?

(talking in background) (exhales): Mike Gatwood, producer.

The studio rang to say you were coming.

I haven't divulged the news yet to the cast and crew, but if there's anything I can do... Mr. Swann was called yesterday, I understand.

Yes, yes, he was, he spent most of the day on the minibus, though.

Why was that?

Well, it's not unusual.

He only had two lines, they were in the last scene of the day, so we cut one for time, and then Ted-- uh, Sergeant Wilkins-- he thought the other one was something his character was more likely to say, so.... And the minibus went back where?

Went back to the studio.

And who'd have been on that with Mr. Swann, the other actors?

No, no, they have private cars, take them back home, or to their digs.

Kenny-- Superintendent Jolliphant-- he's staying in town at the moment, because he's doing a thriller at the Oxford Empire.

We'll need to speak to those of the cast who were here yesterday and anyone else who had anything to do with him.

Oh, well, that's, that's difficult today.

But we start rehearsals tomorrow for the next episode, if you want to come by then.

We're in Pool Moor Hall, it's a little church hall that we use in Summertown.

MAN: Mike?

Mike, please?

That is me being summoned.

So see you on the green.

That's a rum caper.

Sit in a bus all day and not get used?

Wanted to do that, he could've joined the real police.

I've got the keys to his flat and his car, if you want to take a look.

No, you're all right, Win's doing something.

Jim's family's coming over.

Well, just his gran-- that's all he's got.

She had the raising of him, apparently.

You work with someone seven years.

Things you don't know about people.

Let me know if you find anything.

(dog barking) ♪ ♪ (door opens) "Play Dead."

♪ ♪ Mm.

Lovely carrots, eh, Gran?

Lovely carrots, Mrs. Thursday.

Best call me Win, Jim.

Seeing as we're going to be family.

No Sam tonight, then?

No, he had to go out.

Oh, did he?

Oh, we, uh, found that nicked car belonging to the lady mayoress.

Morse said.

He found this Kent Finn book underneath it, apparently, so it must've been dumped after Swann hit the deck.

Hm.

I've put the smokes and the fag packet he picked up in the factory into forensics.

And the wrapper for the, um... Whatsitsname.

They were hopeful they might be able to get some dabs off that.

Well, then.

(front door opens and closes) (Sam falls, yelps, objects clatter) I've got it.

(sighs) Well, come on, come here, that's it.

Here we go.

Oh, do you want me to...

Uh, no, no, you're, you're all right, Jim.

I've got him, you go on and have your tea-- come on, up you get, that's it.

(grunts): That's it.

(slurring): I'm all right-- I tripped.

I know, it's easily done.

Up the stairs, come on.

You go and sleep it off.

(birds chirping) (door opens) WIN: Morse!

MORSE: Mrs. Thursday.

Oh, come in, he won't be a minute.

THURSDAY (faintly): You want to end up like that?

'Cause that's the way you're going, you carry on the way you are, and then what?

(door opens) Ah, Morse, uh, I...

CHANCE: And what put you on to it, sir?

As a matter of fact, it was something Sergeant Wilkins said.

We were talking about the tearaways who'd been troubling Ma Peggoty recently, and you said... "The devil makes work for idle hands."

JOLLIPHANT: And it was "hands" that got me thinking of the ormolu clock found at the scene of Eduardo Sanchez's murder, the hands forever stilled at 10:28.

Only trouble is, the post mortem's... (door opens) THURSDAY: Obviously, given what's happened, we're keen to understand Mr. Swann's recent mental state, particularly in the days leading up to his decease.

Is there anyone on the program he was particularly friends with?

Someone in the cast, or crew, perhaps?

Well, I really didn't know him well enough to say.

So you weren't on set the last time he was there?

No, no, no, no, afraid not.

I popped by the day before just to, just to look in.

Do you remember seeing him then?

Well, I mean, there were a number of uniformed extras at lunch.

He might've been one of them.

Oh... Now, as a matter of fact, there was a bit of a contretemps around the catering truck.

What was that?

Well, a couple of passing derelicts were helping themselves, you know.

Stuffing their pockets with rolls, biscuits, all sorts, Mike knows-- Mike!

I was just telling the police about the beggars, and they were coming along and helping themselves to the grub.

Oh, God, I mean, they're like wasps at a picnic.

No one begrudges anyone a bit of food, but, uh, you've gotta watch them, otherwise they're in and out of production and in artists' caravans quicker than you can say "knife."

I can't say that I knew him terribly well.

I don't think we had many scenes together.

Teddy had more to do with him.

And what about the day before last?

He was called, but not used.

Did you see him or speak to him?

Um, I may have over lunch next to the chuck-wagon, but I don't know whether anyone's mentioned, I'm rehearsing a play for the Oxford Empire at the moment.

"Play Dead" would that be?

KENNY: That's the one.

It's rather a neat little thriller, actually.

I play this writer whose young, beautiful wife gets bumped off.

And all the way through, you don't know whether it's me or not.

And is it you?

Oh, you'll have to come and see to find out, won't you?

(laughs): No, seriously, do let me know if you want some tickets for yourselves, or maybe just to raffle off for charity, or both!

We like to do our bit for the police, because they're always so good for us when we're here.

You were saying about Raymond Swann.

Oh, yes, well, when I'm not being used, I'm in my caravan learning my lines, because we go up next week and I'm, I'm still on the book.

Small wonder, really, the way they chop and change the lines on this.

It's a miracle I can keep anything in my head at all.

(chuckles, pulls on pipe) I was telling Raymond only the other day, your public are everything.

He'd been recognized, you see.

First time for all of us-- it could happen anywhere.

In the butcher's or the baker's.

And you'd just be queueing up, like an ordinary person.

And then you hear the whispers from members of the public at the back of the queue.

(whispering): "Is it him?"

You know?

And it'll rattle down the line like a cane fire.

THURSDAY: Is that right?

Ciggie?

Uh, I won't thank you, sir, and nor will he.

Ah, well-- then one of them will pluck up the courage to ask, "Is it you?"

And I'll say, "Who?"

And they'll say, "Him, off the telly."

I've told my wife to put that on my gravestone.

"Ted Pickersgill, him off the telly."

(lighter clicks) Of course... None of us are in the same league as Kenny in that regard.

And about Raymond Swann.

Nice enough lad.

Very much wanted to get ahead.

Who knows?

A word in the right ear to the right person.

In this game, it's never what you know.

I suppose, some are born to starring roles in new plays at the Oxford Empire, and some are born for a kick in the teeth.

How's that?

Oh, I'm surprised nobody's told you.

I'm being written out of this little extravaganza.

We understood the program was coming to an end.

I'm coming to an end.

Halfway through the run.

And it's not just my postbag.

I get more fan mail than anyone else round here.

Except Kenny, of course.

Is that right?

People like old Sergeant Wilkins.

He reminds them of the way things used to be.

Before the war.

And it all went to pot.

Quite literally, in some cases.

None of them seemed to know Swann well.

Or will admit to it, at least.

You think he was trying to mark our card with that look he gave to D.I.

Chance when he mentioned the pot?

I noticed he was smoking Old Soldiers himself, just like the butts you found at Cresswell's old biscuit factory.

I'm sure he's not the only man in Oxford smokes them.

Maybe not, but he's the only one we've met so far who knew Raymond Swann.

Hm.

♪ ♪ Morse.

Nothing on him to say who he was, before you ask.

His name is Paul Baynard.

He's an artist, does the covers of those Jolliphant books.

He went missing three days ago.

That would certainly agree with my initial findings.

Body's been immersed about that long.

Not a bad spot to fetch up, is it?

Laid out by Capability Brown.

That's some kind of faith, don't you think?

All that work in anticipation of something you'll never live to see in all its glory.

Any idea yet as to cause of death?

Won't be able to give you a definitive answer until after the PM, but there's a number of obvious injuries.

Lacerations and contusions in the main, though we've one broken arm and a sizeable head wound.

None of which immediately suggests drowning.

Right.

So injuries consisting with a road traffic collision, then?

If he was riding a motorcycle, say?

Was he riding a motorcycle?

Last time he was seen living.

Right, we'll get a team out, get the lake dragged.

Tomorrow do you?

For the post mortem?

Yeah, of course, whatever you think best.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Afternoon, it's Detective Chief Inspector Thursday, Thames Valley.

I believe someone from the regimental association office spoke to my sergeant earlier.

It's in connection with identifying a body, someone who may possibly have served with the regiment.

Thank you for the tea.

I'm very sorry to have to ask, but we will need somebody to identify the body.

Yes, of course, I'll do it.

Are you sure?

Look, this isn't the first parent I've lost.

I know the ropes: the police, the post mortem, the registrar, the undertaker, the endless bloody forms.

(sighs) What happened?

She killed herself.

He was in no state to do anything.

Well, I'm sorry.

That shouldn't have fallen on you.

Was there anything else?

Actually, yes.

Do you know much about his paintings?

Some-- like what?

Like what was his inspiration for the images?

He liked to draw on life wherever possible.

Hence all the props.

And what about the places that feature in the background of some of the covers?

If a real place was featured in the story, Dad liked to include it.

I think St. Pancras Hotel got mentioned in one.

Huh, and if the location was fictitious?

He'd base it on somewhere he knew, or had been.

And what about this one, for example?

"Jolly Bad Business."

What's that building based on?

Well, it always seemed to me a bit creepy.

I did ask him about it a few times, but it's one of the many things I could never get out of him.

And the model?

Who's she?

I don't know.

They came and went, but that one... Like I say, I couldn't get him to talk about it, and I didn't want to push.

He could be tricky.

Could he?

How so?

He had an extreme personality.

He was either madly up or so gripped by despair, he could barely get out of bed.

Was he always like that?

He was all right when I was a girl, at least not so bad.

I suppose he took a turn for the worst about ten years ago.

He was drinking a lot.

Some private members' place in town.

Don't suppose you know where.

Not sure.

The Downspout, I think.

He'd finish work, get on his bike, and then I might not see him for a day or two.

He'd be off on a bender, but then something changed.

Something took hold of him.

Some sort of scare or fright.

And he was never quite the same after that.

In what way?

He started hating the phone ringing out of hours.

Even in hours, he was none so keen.

He didn't like to hear footsteps on the gravel after dark.

It was like something or someone was after him.

What someone?

Did he say?

I don't know.

He wouldn't talk about it.

I don't know if he had any real cause to be scared, or if it was all in his imagination.

But real or imagined, the past ten years, he's been...

I suppose "haunted" is the word.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (gun fires) (body falls) ♪ ♪ JAKES: You don't think about something for long enough, you think you've forgotten.

♪ ♪ (sighs) What's all this?

The Superintendent Jolliphant books.

I think the artist who illustrated the covers, Paul Baynard, was trying to say something.

Baynard?

Mm.

That's your body out of the lake, innit?

Yeah.

It was his habit to draw from life anywhere that was mentioned in the books.

But, um, but if the place was made up, he would base it on somewhere that he knew.

Where does that look like to you?

Now, I've read this book.

Nowhere described in it bears any resemblance to Blenheim Vale.

So, why'd he use it?

Well, I think he knew something about Blenheim Vale.

About the disappearance of Brenda Lewis.

Maybe even about Peter Williams.

Williams?!

I think we need to get a dog team out there.

Diggers, even.

Oh, come on!

Sir?

(door closes) You think I'm going to get the say-so from upstairs for something like that off the back of a bunch of paintings used on paperback novels?

There's more than that.

Look, if Paul Baynard thought he had a line on a missing person, why go to all that trouble of putting clues in paintings?

Why not just come forward to the police?

Because he was afraid.

Look, in 1963, he was a member of the Downspout Club.

Had been for years.

So?

So was everyone else involved with Blenheim Vale.

Joe Landesman.

Assistant Chief Constable Clive Deare.

Now, if he was drinking with both of those...

I don't care how pissed a man gets, he's not gonna confess to doing away with someone and burying a body in Blenheim Vale.

At the same time, Baynard got a new model.

She's on the cover of "Just for Jolly" and "Jolly Bad Business," published in '64.

Take a look at the initials.

(sighs) "B.L."

So you think Baynard's model is Brenda, Andrew Lewis's mother.

Well, look, there is a similarity, look!

(exhales) Brenda Lewis was working direct for Joe Landesman as his personal secretary.

Now, let's say she finds out something she shouldn't have.

She lets slip her suspicions to Paul Baynard.

And then unwittingly, or in his cups, he mentions it at the Downspout Club.

Maybe even to Clive Deare.

He's a high-ranking police officer.

Exit Brenda Lewis, and Baynard gets leant on to keep his mouth shut.

But instead, he starts alluding to what he knows in the paintings that he makes for these Jolliphant books.

It's just about possible, I suppose.

But do you really wanna go over all that again?

Blenheim Vale nearly did for the pair of us last time.

We solved it.

Not all of it.

We didn't get Joe Landesman.

Landesman is long-gone.

And even if he wasn't, it's history.

Somebody gave Andrew Lewis a hot shot and then dumped his body at Beaumont College.

Now, that's not history, that's last month.

And it's on our ground.

It's not mine.

Not anymore.

I've applied for a transfer-- Carshall.

It's a superintendency.

I can't take you with me-- I'd like to, but I can't.

So, there it is.

I see.

Look, it's, it's not how I wanted to tell you.

I've gotta think of Win, Joanie, getting Sam back up on his feet.

No, of course, I, of course, I understand.

Two years, three at most, I'm done, out.

I can't be doing with all this Blenheim Vale all over again.

Not now.

And nor should you.

You've got to let it go.

(chuckles): I can't.

Why not?

We did our bit and then some!

Why should you risk your neck?

Because somebody has to.

Well, let it be some other bugger.

Just not us, not this time.

♪ ♪ (gasping, hissing) MULCASTER: What-ho!

What-ho.

RAPHAEL: Why the long face, Archie, old bean?

You'll put me off my stroke.

(stammering): The car's been found.

We know.

(mocking stammer): It was in the p-p-p-papers.

MULCASTER (mocking): P-perhaps you should have p-parked it more c-c-c-c-carefully.

(stammering): And a, a, a, a body.

(mocking): That was also in the p-p-p-papers.

(stammering): No, uh, a different one.

RAPHAEL: Well, that's unfortunate.

But nothing to do with us, officer, right?

We all know the tune.

OTHERS: Nothing to do with us, officer.

(mallet hits ball) Buck up, you corks!

I feel an evening's entertainment coming on.

So, what happened to you the other night?

Don't you start.

I've already copped an earful off the old man.

Well, you can't blame him.

Mm.

What's all this?

Oh, it's just some old tat I found in my room.

Gonna see if there's anything worth keeping before chucking it in the bin.

Is there?

Not so far.

(chuckles) Feels small, don't you think?

What does?

This house.

When we were kids, it felt...

Different, somehow.

We were different.

Yeah.

I really thought that this was all there was.

All there was in the world.

Then you realize it's all just lies.

What is?

Everything-- school, papers.

The telly.

"Sunday Night at the London Palladium."

"Thank Your Lucky Stars."

"Join the Army, see the world."

And then you realize it's all just about killing.

That's just the hangover talking.

Right?

Put your boots on.

Get yourself some fresh air.

Come on, it'll make you feel better.

There's a 99 in it.

(chuckles) (ducks quacking) Go better with a pint, wouldn't it?

Used to come here when we first left London.

Sunday after tea.

Ice cream and a feed of the ducks.

Don't suppose there'll be much of this at Carshall.

New town.

Who am I kidding?

I'm too old for a new town.

They'll be lucky to have you.

Starting over at my time of life?

Must want my brains testing.

When are you off?

After Joan's wedding.

Well, it's the right thing.

Is it?

I've never run away from a fight yet.

What do you mean?

You're not running away from one now.

It's like you said, you've done your time.

You've the family to think of.

It's like the war, at the end.

When we knew we'd got 'em licked, and they knew it, too.

I lost three of my lads those last few days, fellas I'd been with from the off.

Can still see 'em.

Young still, younger than you, younger than Sam, even.

Get through all that only to catch a packet at the finish.

Doesn't seem right, somehow.

Insult to injury.

Was there anything from your old regiment on our vagrant soldier?

Sellers, his name was, Hugh Sellers.

Hanging round the Legion kitchen on the cadge from time to time.

Somebody recognized him.

Family?

Looking into it.

Shouldn't think the parents are still about, but...

Wife, kids, maybe?

Like to let 'em know, if I could.

Get justice for him.

And what about Andrew Lewis?

Don't you think he deserves justice, too?

Look, I wasn't the first person to go nosing around the Downspout Club.

Somebody had been there before me.

MORSE: Did Andrew Lewis give you a photograph of his mother to help with your inquiries?

Would've been useful to have had our noses across it before now, Ronnie.

You never asked.

He was my client, Fred, long before he ever became your body in Beaumont College.

And did the Downspout Club feature in your investigation?

I heard somebody's been following in my footsteps.

Yeah.

Joe Landesman was a member, and others.

Why?

What about Paul Baynard?

Doesn't ring a bell-- who's he?

He's an artist.

Killed this week in a road accident.

It seems increasingly likely he has some connection to Brenda Lewis.

Then his death wasn't an accident.

What've you heard, Ron?

Rumor.

Whispers in the dark.

It's like trying to catch woodsmoke.

One minute you think you've got hold of something, only to have it come apart in your hands.

Big picture?

Can't say.

But there's bits of London caught up in it.

Big-time-- your old narc, who copped it up here.

Mickey Flood?

What's he to do with any of this?

Nobody's talking.

But word is he tumbled to some bit of villainy connects here and there, and that's what cost him.

And that's somehow connected to Brenda Lewis?

(exhales) Who was Mickey running with down the Smoke, Ron?

At the time of his decease, there was a warrant out for him on a protection racket.

That was never Mick.

All I hear, the past few years, he's been perched on a stool, the landing of some Dean Street walk-up, minding the punters behave themselves.

Money for jam.

And just the cushy number for a broke-down, busted old lag like Mickey Flood.

Hard to reconcile that with whatever he did to get him nailed to the floor and his tongue cut out.

Ain't it just?

(ducks quacking) Better?

Hmm, much.

(chuckles) So... Was it bad over there?

No, not really.

Boring more than anything.

We were worried sick.

So what're you gonna do with yourself?

Get pissed every day?

Just need to get away from it all for a bit, you know?

Go somewhere-- somewhere hot, preferably.

(chuckles) So, you and Jim Strange.

What about me and Jim?

I don't know, I just... Never thought.

You two.

Love finds you when you least expect it.

It is love, then?

What sort of question's that?

Well... (chuckles): He looks after me.

I know he'd never hurt me, and he makes me feel safe.

My tin hat made me feel safe, but that wasn't love.

I've seen how short life can be, Joanie.

One moment you're there, and then the next... Don't waste a second on regret.

If what Flood knew has a bearing on Brenda Lewis, that means there's definitely a London connection between Blenheim Vale and what happened to Peter Williams.

Landesman?

Hmm.

Except no one's seen sight nor sound of that bastard in six years.

I really think we need to get troops on the ground at Blenheim Vale-- forensics.

What do you think you're gonna find after all this time?

His body.

If I give the go-ahead on that kind of operation, that could mean my move to Carshall, the superintendency.

(keys jangle) All of it.

I'm not asking you to give the go-ahead.

You've Hugh Sellers' family to track down, haven't you?

And whatever happened to Raymond Swann to get to the bottom of-- if you're off doing that, it's just my neck on the line.

(engine starts) So, who's for a drink?

Not tonight, thank you, Dickie.

I'd love to, but I promised Anne I wouldn't be too late, and I've got to get the last act of "Play Dead" under me belt.

Are you doing a play, Kenny?

Don't think we've heard about this!

(softly): Don't-- he only does it to get a rise.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (knocks) (Morse sighs) (phone rings) Oxford 2947.

JOAN (over phone): Morse.

Miss Thursday.

I... Is everything all right?

(chuckles): Yes, I just, I was... We never had that drink.

No, um... No, we, we never did.

I'm stopping by the Eagle and Child tomorrow.

Around 6:00?

Well, I'll see you there.

Yes.

(chuckles) (receiver clicks, dial tone buzzing) (object clatters) (footsteps approaching) (keys jangle, lock turns) (door creaking) (gun firing) (birds chirping) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (phone rings) Bright.

(machinery humming) (sirens approaching) (sirens stop) Christ Almighty, what the hell have you done, matey?

Balloon's gone up.

BRIGHT: Morse!

Morning, sir.

Who ordered all this?

I did.

On what grounds?

I believe there's a body buried here.

BRIGHT: What's this, a tip-off, or what?

MORSE: Not exactly, sir.

There's an artist, Paul Baynard.

I think he's left visual clues in his paintings as to the location of the gravesite.

Paintings.

Used also on the cover of paperback novels.

Did you know about this, Thursday?

Certainly, sir.

I have orders from Division to see this business stopped and the excavation closed down at once.

(sighs) But they're not here.

And I am.

I can buy you until the end of the day.

After which, I fear we shall all swing together.

Will that be enough?

Yes, sir, thank you, sir.

Very well-- carry on.

(exhales) You sure about this, sir?

It's not as if they can threaten me with dismissal, is it?

I once made a very grave mistake that left Morse in prison and you fighting for your life.

I'll be damned if I'm about to repeat it.

Well, you've burned your bridges this time, matey, and no mistake.

There's something here.

I know there is.

There better be.

For your sake, there better be.

(bell tolling) Forensics from the Raymond Swann murder site.

No dabs on the johnny wrapper.

Bog standard on the snout.

Hm.

THURSDAY: Any luck at Blenheim Vale?

Ah, not yet.

But there's only so much staring at the mud a man can do.

If something there, they'll find it.

But there's something I wanted to show you.

It's a mask.

This piece was found by Hugh Sellers' body.

This piece was found in the woods by where Paul Baynard was fished up.

Same people involved in both deaths?

Now, the woman who saw Hugh Sellers' attackers said their faces were "wrong."

Like devils-- the masks.

Hm.

Very likely the same crowd caught up in this gang fight on Portmeadow.

And both of these men were killed the same night that the lady mayoress's car was stolen from the Broad, right?

It's her motor Raymond Swann's Jolly book was under.

So, they've what?

Done for Sellers, then mowed Baynard down on some joyride in the country in the stolen car?

Then dumped his body in the lake on the Shifford estate.

Next night, they've thrown Swann off the car park?

I don't see how that follows.

Unless they're maniacs.

Well, whoever they are, none of this gets us any closer to finding them.

It might.

I think I know where this mask may have come from.

THURSDAY: Anywhere else local knock those out?

No.

It's my stock, no doubt.

Is this to do with what happened to Ray?

No, it may be useful in connection to another case.

You sold many lately?

Well, Mr. Astin?

There's a fella comes in.

Regular, young, posh-- student, I suppose.

He's had a bunch of them off me.

How many's a bunch?

Four, a while back.

Then this week, he had another one off me when he brought the outfits back.

What outfits?

Fancy dress.

We had words, actually.

Really?

About what?

The state of the gear.

I mean, I always take a deposit to cover wear and tear, but these were a write-off.

In what way?

Torn, muddy, oil.

And a couple of the shirts were covered in blood.

I just didn't think, you know.

When was this?

Tuesday, was it?

Yes, Tuesday.

Do you have a name for him?

No.

He paid the excess in cash.

But...

This was in one of the pockets.

I don't know if it's him.

Ormsby-Gore.

(people talking in background) (laughing) Good afternoon, gentlemen, Thames Valley Police.

Which one of you is Mr. Ormsby-Gore?

"Mr." Ormsby-Gore?

(laughing) I'm afraid there's no such person.

Might you mean Lord Ormsby-Gore?

And who might you be, sir?

Viscount Henley.

That's Lord Freddie Mulcaster and the Honorable Henry Brockhurst.

The Debonairs, presumably.

ARCHIE: Who's this, Raph?

RAPHAEL: Police, Arch.

Nothing to worry about.

THURSDAY: Lord Ormsby-Gore, there are matters I must put to you under caution at the police station.

Same goes for the rest of you.

Now... See here, my good man, I'm sure you're a fine, dedicated public servant and all the rest of it...

I'm not your man, good or otherwise.

I'm the queen's man, and I'm here to see her peace is kept.

(stammering): Look, my, my father is, is, is, is in the cabinet, and, and your chief constable shoots on our estate.

The Shifford estate, would that be?

Held by the Ormsby-Gores?

Lake and grounds landscaped by Capability Brown?

That's right.

From where we pulled the body of a motorcyclist?

You can't imagine this is going to go well for you.

STRANGE: Sir.

All right, let's be having them.

RAPHAEL: Get your hands off me!

MULCASTER: Get off me!

RAPHAEL: Nobody says anything without a lawyer!

Archie, you keep your mouth shut, do you hear me?!

They've got nothing!

(phone ringing in distance) They're refusing to talk until their solicitors are present, and they're coming up from London, so it could be a long wait.

Well, it won't surprise you to learn I've already had the chief constable on the telephone.

You're certain about these boys?

It doesn't look good, sir.

We can very likely place them at all three scenes of crime.

We've bits of mask they bought found at the scene of Hugh Sellers' murder and also where Paul Baynard's body was dumped.

And the car was found at the same factory that Raymond Swann took a dive off.

(knock at door) Sorry to interrupt, sir, but there's been a development.

At Blenheim Vale.

You'd better get out there.

Me and Jim can deal with these tripe hounds.

♪ ♪ (bell tolling) ♪ ♪ MORSE: Doctor.

MAX: Morse.

It's a man.

From the state of the corpus, I'd estimate he's been here five to ten years.

Single hole in the back of the cranium, no exit wound.

And we may have a bullet, or what's left of it, still left inside the skull.

You know, you were right, Morse.

You said we'd find remains here, and we did.

They can't close it down.

Not now there's a body.

There's somewhere I need to be.

Oh!

Your, um, motorcyclist-- I was wrong.

He was still alive when they put him in the water.

Drowned.

(exhales) Look, I really don't have anything to say to you people.

Beneath you, are we?

BROCKHURST: Pretty much.

A man should know his place.

Don't you think?

I think over-privileged, entitled, arrogant young men who run around hurting innocent people and never believe they're gonna have to answer for any of it can always be relied on to turn on each another like rats in a sack.

They'll give me you or you'll give me them.

But the longer you leave it, the worse it'll get.

(exhales) ♪ ♪ (people laughing) (engine revving) THURSDAY: Who set fire to the 20-pound note?

Money to burn, that the joke?

People with everything, taunting a man who has nothing?

Who stuck him?

Who killed Hugh Sellers?

Nobody.

STRANGE: He didn't bleed to death of his own account, did he?

One of you broke a bottle and stabbed him in the neck with it.

No.

You went out with the sole intention of doing someone serious harm.

For kicks, was it?

Look, the old man may have been pushed around a bit, but he was alive and well when we left.

I swear.

(sighs) (siren blaring, cars slowing) (sirens, engines stop) (car doors close) Evening.

What's the trouble?

"Officer."

Sorry?

"What's the trouble, officer?"

Good manners don't cost nothing, do they?

Bit of respect for the uniform.

I'm job, and I'm in a bit of a hurry.

Oh, that's funny.

'Cause I've got all the time in the world.

License and insurance documents.

Come on, come on, let's be having you.

You're in a hurry, aren't you?

I don't keep them in the car-- why have you stopped me?

You have a, uh, defective brake light.

Well, it was all right this morning.

What the hell do you think you're doing?!

There's no call for profanity.

Or belligerence.

(sniffing): Wait a minute, have you been drinking?

I can smell it on your breath.

No, you can't!

And your aggressive demeanor leads me to believe your ability to drive may be impaired through the consumption of alcohol.

Adams!

Is this a joke?

Are you refusing to comply with the instruction?

One long, steady blow.

That's it, see?

Doing what you're told's not so hard, is it?

You want to get used to it.

Better for you in the long run.

Better for everybody.

(sniffs) It's Stevens, isn't it?

From County before the merger.

Well.

What a memory you've got.

Yeah-- it's Morse, from Cowley.

I've just come from Blenheim Vale.

Oh, we know.

You're not Traffic at all, are you?

What is this?

(yelps, gasping) This...

This is as polite as it gets.

We'll be seeing you, City man.

(keys jangle) (Morse groans, officers chuckle) (exhales) (glasses clanking) Excuse me, was there a brunette here?

Blue eyes?

Yeah.

She left about 40 minutes ago?

(exhales) Have you got a phone I can use?

Yeah, it's on the bar.

(panting) (dialing) (phone ringing out) Stood you up, did she?

Pretty little thing-- brunette, baby blues.

That the frail?

(replaces receiver) Oh, is there any word on what happened to poor old Ray yet?

Uh, no, no, not yet.

I've being doing a bit of press, "Oxford Mail."

Little piece they're doing.

"Farewell, My Jolly."

(chuckles) Well, anyway, can't stop.

Got to get up to town for an audition.

"Cowardy Custard" at the Mermaid.

(laughs) Evening, Morse.

You here with Jim?

Joan Thursday was in earlier.

Drink?

Who was driving?

Brockhurst.

(laughing and cheering) RAPHAEL: It wasn't his fault.

(laughing and cheering) RAPHAEL: The guy on the bike didn't have his light on.

(tires screech) (crashing, thudding) Whose idea was it to dump the body on the Shifford estate?

Archie's.

RAPHAEL: His family's away for a couple of months.

We thought by then... All the fuss would've died down and you could find a more permanent location for the body.

Look, this is all conjecture.

If you had anything like evidence, you'd charge me.

We got pieces of one of your masks found at Littlemore's.

That's something, I suppose.

And I don't care how careful you were, forensics will find your fingerprints all over the car and the motorbike.

STRANGE: Why'd you do for Swann?

Did you think he was a real copper?

Who's, who's Swann?

Where you left the car.

(stammering): Wait a minute, all, all I did was, was dump the car.

Sure, I, I saw the guy off the television.

But he was leaving when I arrived.

I've just come from seeing Kenneth-- sorry, "Call Me Kenny"-- Prior at the Oxford Empire.

(chuckles) Did Ted Pickersgill this morning-- Sergeant Wilkins-- this morning, and just finished now with young Narcissus, D.I.

Chance.

Thought he was gonna make a move on Joan, but thankfully she left.

Not long before you arrived, actually.

(people laughing in background) What do you make to them?

Actors.

Pickersgill's a grumpy sod.

But I suppose it's Jolliphant makes it.

Avuncular, that voice.

You'd never know he was from up north, would you?

Who is?

Kenneth Prior?

That's the RADA for you, dear.

Marvelous what they can do with electrocution lessons.

Do you want a program?

He signed it-- I've no use.

(sighs): And it's not Kenneth Prior-- at least it wasn't.

There was already another actor in the union with the same name.

What, he changed it?

Like Raymond Swann?

Yeah-- he could've changed his first name, but maybe he didn't want to be confused with Peter.

Peter who?

Sellers.

♪ ♪ (glass clinks) THURSDAY: Hugh Sellers was your older brother.

(puts down glasses) I don't suppose I'd seen him since before the war.

He tracked you down.

No, no, no.

It wasn't like that, it was just... (inhales deeply): "The Convergence of the Twain."

He came along to the set along with all the rest of his tatterdemalion crowd, scavenging the bins.

Helping themselves.

(crew clamoring) MAN: Get outta here!

(clamoring in background) Keep going!

I was hoping that he wouldn't recognize me, but of course... What did he want?

I don't know.

I don't think he knew.

Money, in the first instance.

How much?

100 pounds.

But I, I knew that wouldn't be the end of it.

(stammering): But it, it wasn't even the money, it was the risk.

The risk?

Of it coming out that we were...

I, can you imagine if the press had got hold of it?

The field day they would have had.

(stammering): "The Brother of Television's Superintendent Jolliphant Is a Tramp!"

I had to think of the show.

The show was ending.

You were thinking of yourself.

You arranged a meeting.

Yes, I, I said that we could meet and I would give him the money.

On the strict understanding that he didn't come to the set to get it.

I had the money on me, I, I wasn't going there to...

But when I saw him, he was already... (inhales, Hugh wheezing) Well, you could have called an ambulance, even then.

You could have saved him.

He'd always been a bit of a... A weight.

♪ ♪ THURSDAY: So you found a way to be rid of him.

And you took it.

And what about Swann?

(inhales): He'd seen us together, earlier that day.

I, I'm not quite sure that he realized exactly what he'd seen, but he knew instinctively that it was something that could be used to his advantage.

So he tried to blackmail you.

He said that he'd read in the papers that a tramp had been found dead.

And wasn't that a coincidence, given the commotion that we'd had over lunch?

And, and did I think that he should mention it to the police that they'd been there?

Well, I, I said, I couldn't discuss it there and then, but if he cared to go to the factory where I parked up after rehearsals for the play, then... We could talk about it then.

♪ ♪ (Swann screams) (panting) ♪ ♪ (panting) KENNY: I wondered if I'd been recognized.

That's the thing about being on the television, you see.

They may not know your name, but... People always know your face.

THURSDAY: Charlie and I had our problems, but, to be that ashamed of your own flesh and blood.

He was afraid, I suppose.

That he'd lose all that he'd built up if his name was associated with a tramp.

But murder?

Well, who's to say what anyone would do, if what they valued was threatened?

(knock at door) Word just through from Blenheim Vale.

They've found another one.

(sighs) (people talking in background) MAX: Adult female, somewhere between her late 20s and 50.

Most likely mid-30s.

And like the male, shot in the back of the head.

Brenda Lewis.

MAX: I'll need dental records to confirm, however, I do have a match with the man we found.

It's Josiah Landesman.

STRANGE: What went on here?

(whispers): Whatever it was, this time we get to the bottom of it.

And Division?

Can't bury it twice.

We'll have the truth.

Whatever the cost.

I thought we were done with all this.

Jesus!

You have to get him away from this.

I had a run-in yesterday with the dregs from County.

Whatever we find here's not gonna be forgiven.

Stick him on secondment somewhere.

You know Jim.

He's a good man, he won't go.

Well, give him no choice.

It's not just him you have to think about, not anymore.

What was it you said?

"They come at you through what you love."

You have to keep them safe now, all of them.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (knocks on door) ♪ ♪ (phone rings) BOX: It's me.

I gathered as much.

I had a visitor after you and Morse left.

Looks like the two of you have been asking the wrong questions.

Where are you, Ronnie?

Gone.

THURSDAY: Come in.

With your help, we can take this lot, whoever they are.

Not these.

This isn't Jago and the Four Winds, this is big time.

You take this on, you won't come out of it.

You, nor Morse, neither.

Drop it.

I can't.

Then I'm talking to a dead man.

WOMAN (on P.A.

): Final call for Union Air flight 714 to Johannesburg.

I've gotta go.

Don't join the dots on this one.

You won't like the picture.

(call ends) ♪ ♪ (doorbell ringing) (door opens) Wotcher.

♪ ♪ (click) ♪ ♪ 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.

THURSDAY: Mind how you go.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ 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.

♪ ♪