[operatic music, singing] STEPHEN: You know, when I was a boy, I used to imagine that the moor belonged to me, that I was the master of the moor.

You've caught it, the colors.

Everything is light, isn't it?

Light and darkness.

What do you do?

I restore furniture with my father.

I found a dead girl on the moor, murdered.

WHALBY: Better off out of it.

Don't talk like that.

I died 20 years ago.

It was all right until your mother left me.

One of them questioned me.

Sour-faced bastard.

Might've invited her for a quiet drink or something.

You're acting as if you think I did it.

You wouldn't be the first married man to invite a pretty girl for a quiet drink.

NICK: Are you getting a kitten for company?

STEPHEN: They say my wife's a moor widow.

I'm from the Three Towns Echo.

Who is he?

STEPHEN: I don't know.

Steven, you do know him.

Who are you?

Who are you?

Bastard!

That was your first time, wasn't it?

Yes.

NICK: He's never made love to you.

He did try, and now he can't bear me to touch him.

There's a young woman missing.

Her husband rang us.

We're looking for her.

STEPHEN: I had a premonition when I was a boy.

I knew one day I'd find a body on the moor.

And then a second, and a third.

# # # # # # # # MANCIPLE: You knew Mrs. Morgan.

Didn't you?

Mrs. Anne Morgan?

We contacted her husband.

He said he went to the house last February, and then again late March when he wasn't there.

Why didn't you say you knew her when you saw the body?

I met her twice, briefly.

What for?

I was writing an article for the Echo on Ling.

What?

Heather.

It's another name for heather.

It's moorland heather.

She was preparing an article on moorland heather.

She was a botanist.

Did you phone for an appointment?

I wrote.

She phoned back.

MANCIPLE: Both times?

Yes.

Her husband said you just turned up the second time.

His wife told him you just arrived.

I was passing.

I had the article on me.

I thought I'd drop it in.

- And?

She invited me in.

We had coffee.

We talked.

10, 15 minutes.

No more.

Your nick?

That scratch?

I was-- I was in a wood.

Some brambles.

Oh, yes.

This strange man on the moor who you didn't report.

I know we said this afternoon, but I couldn't-- Mrs. Whalby.

Your order, it won't be ready till tomorrow.

WOMAN: Come on, let's go do some shopping now.

We have to be careful.

I know, it's just-- know.

PSYCHIATRIST: Are you sleeping?

Mr. Whalby?

Mr. Whalby?

You ask me the same damn silly questions every time I come.

I need to know.

It's part of the profile of your illness.

WHALBY: What does that mean?

I mean, what does that mean?

Can you speak simple English?

Have you been sleeping?

I told you last time.

Last month.

Things might have changed.

They haven't.

Things don't change, do they?

I mean, do they, much?

You keep going.

Something keeps you going.

I don't know what.

Certainly not hope.

Perhaps it's a deep-down sense of anger.

Why you?

Why bloody you?

At first, you blame all sorts of things.

People.

Mostly people.

And then, slowly, you realize it's you.

It's yourself, inside you.

And there's no way you're going to get it outside.

So those bloody pills you prescribed me make me-- PSYCHIATRIST: What, Mr. Whalby?

No way you can get it out except-- There is within us all a terrible violence.

# # This is more than just sex, isn't it?

It is for me.

I think it is for you too.

# # I want to go out with you, be seen with you.

Be with you.

You know that isn't possible.

# # Oh, Nick.

Do you know the only good thing to come out of this place?

No.

A road to London.

Jam sandwiches.

Situations like this always call for jam sandwiches.

MANCIPLE: What sort of man do you think we're looking for?

What sort of person?

Person?

You're a journalist.

Simple word.

Know what it means?

We live in the house of language.

That's why we fear words.

Person.

It has many meanings.

A living soul, a self-conscious being, an outward appearance.

What sort of person do you think we're looking for?

A man who kills in the way this one does.

A man who is driven by something deep inside to kill in this way, some impulse, some-- It's not sexual.

He doesn't use them.

Let me give you another word.

Psychopath.

Would you say that a man who kills in this way, he would be a psychopath?

Would you agree to that?

Stephen.

You wouldn't know one if you met one, I promise you.

I've met them, before.

They work very hard at it, being normal, appearing normal.

They watch us, copy us, study us all the time.

What we do, the way we do it.

Sit, walk, talk, laugh, cry.

They can't feel pleasure or pain, at least not like we do.

They're empty, emotionally.

Emotionally empty.

They see everything, everyone as being like them.

After all, that's all they know, themselves.

They try to, have to rationalize everything.

Everything has to have a meaning.

An explanation has to fit, fit in with what they-- However extraordinary.

Lyn!

Lyn!

Lyn!

You're in a dream.

Didn't you hear me calling you?

I'm sorry.

What's the matter?

Is it Stephen?

There's been another one, you know.

Another what?

Murder on the moor.

MANCIPLE: They're often very intelligent, in a strangely abstract way.

I mean, what is intelligence without emotion?

Without feelings?

Without feelings, where's morality?

If you can't relate to shame, remorse, guilt, if you can't understand those things, how can you control all those contradictions?

Inside, they feel superior, contemptuous, competitive.

They have to be the best, the worst.

So they have to kill more, in a shorter time, in a more impressive way.

The hair.

Cutting off the hair.

What do you think the significance of that was, Stephen?

# # I don't know.

I-- You-- When she-- when-- I thought when I-- what you don't understand-- what-- I know what you-- I-- I know what-- I know.

I-- I-- I'm-- Is everything all right?

Yes.

WOMAN: Between you and Stephen?

Yes.

Only-- What?

Well, we haven't seen either of you in weeks.

Not together.

Why don't we come to dinner?

I didn't mean that.

Next week.

It's the moor, isn't it?

He's always on that bloody moor.

You hate it, don't you?

Don't be silly.

WOMAN: Well, you do.

I don't.

You never go up there.

We were born on the moor.

Lyn, you've always hated it.

Not hate.

It's just it frightens me.

It always has.

The moor's a cruel place.

One day, it will hurt him.

# # # # MANCIPLE: Our man knows Fangmoor.

He knows it so well he can find his way about it in the dark.

Was it just coincidence that you were associated with both deaths?

Found the first body, led us to the second?

I don't like coincidence.

I am a deeply suspicious man, Mr. Whalby.

# # Stephen.

Stephen?

Oh, sorry.

I didn't-- Would you prefer to be on your own?

No.

No, please.

Would you like a-- Oh, no.

No, thanks.

Not at the moment.

Well, I can't go on hiding my hair for the rest of my life.

You did that deliberately, didn't you?

Yeah.

Why?

To show you that I think they're mad to even suspect you.

How did you know?

Press association.

Said there was a man helping police with their enquiries.

Not my name, though?

Oh, no.

I never do.

Not at this stage.

You seem to know all about it.

I've covered murders.

Several, in London.

So how did you know it was me?

I have my contacts, even here.

They have to be very careful of libel.

You could sue them.

All I want is for them to leave me alone.

Let me get you a drink.

Brandy, is it?

FRANK: Stephen Whalby is one of the most respected men around here.

I seem to have heard that before.

I've known him since he was a boy.

His wife?

What?

MANCIPLE: You must know his wife.

She went to school with my daughter.

She has long blonde hair.

Oh, spare me the Sunday supplement psychology.

MANCIPLE: She never goes on the moor.

Barman at the pub told me.

Isn't that interesting?

A lot of people don't like the moor.

But they go there.

They cross it.

They drive across it.

They have to, to get to places.

She doesn't.

She never goes there.

For both of them, her and her husband, for opposite reasons, the moor is an obsession.

I find that very interesting.

You've no substantial evidence to implicate Stephen Whalby in these murders.

No.

You've questioned him three times now, officially, last time in this station.

Yes.

Well, has he said anything, admitted to anything that could be used as evidence?

He wants to tell someone.

He has to tell someone.

I knew Manciple, in London.

Well, not personally.

Knew about him.

What about him?

He nearly killed another policeman.

Flying squad sergeant.

Found him with his wife.

No charges were ever brought.

It was kept in the family.

But that's why he's here.

That was part of the deal.

He was a career policeman.

Could have gone all the way.

And now there'll be no promotion for him beyond his rank.

It's a dead job.

And that's why he's such a bastard.

That's why you've got to be very careful of him.

He's dangerous.

MANCIPLE: They need to be caught.

He's seductive.

MANCIPLE: How else can they tell the world what they've done?

Seductive?

It's ridiculous.

Go on.

No.

Please.

MANCIPLE: It isn't guilt that makes them confess.

It's a lust for fame.

Well, when he was-- when he was talking to me, the way he talked, moved about me, not looking at me, and his voice, it was almost as if-- It'll do you good to talk about it.

And you don't normally sit in a pub and drink brandies by yourself, do you?

It was almost as if I had done it.

Killed those women.

MANCIPLE: They are nature's errors.

And was sick with joy.

# # # # LYN: He sort of lives inside-- inside himself, his head.

He's very hard to reach sometimes, most of the time.

Most of the time he spends reading.

He's very well read.

All sorts.

Poetry, philosophy.

Loves history.

He's-- he's got some strange books.

Put some different covers on them.

What do you mean?

Sometimes he-- he takes the paper cover-- NICK: Dustjackets?

From one book and puts it on another.

Yeah?

What sort of books?

Already had two.

I'll get fat.

Won't eat my supper.

I have got some tickets for the theater.

Two weeks' time in Plymouth.

I don't suppose you could-- I can't.

I wish I could.

I really do, Nick.

I-- I've never been to the theater.

Don't you have any friends outside?

I mean, isn't there someone you could say you were going to?

I don't really know anyone outside the village.

Not really.

I mean, what could I say?

How-- what time is it?

Well, it starts at 7:30.

I thought we could have a drink and then go for a meal-- I can't.

You know I can't.

You work here or not?

I've been with the police.

Again?

There's been another murder.

What?

STEPHEN: You didn't know?

Haven't been out of here.

Trying to get this bloody thing finished.

Who was it?

A woman from Jackly.

God almighty.

You didn't find this one?

I helped them find her.

You bloody fool!

Christ, boy.

Don't you use the brain you've got?

I think you're frightened of him.

Stephen?

Can't touch him.

Can't wear makeup.

Can't go to bed without a nightdress, do anything, go anywhere.

Can't laugh.

It's not like that.

If you could, you'd leave, wouldn't you?

I know you would.

Just go.

Get away from all this bloody nonsense.

Get away from him.

I can read it in your eyes, when you laugh.

Out on the moors, all hours, day and night.

What do you think they're going to think?

Who was it you talked to?

Cranborne?

No.

Who?

Man called Manciple.

He's a bloody madman.

From London.

They hate his guts.

He'll do you over.

I have done nothing but to try to help.

What was I supposed to do, leave that body on the moor, just walk away, ignored it?

Yes, yes.

That's exactly what I'd have bloody done.

How long are you going to let this go on, Lyn?

10 years, 20, till you're old and beaten down by it, living a life of quiet desperation?

That's part of a poem.

I wonder if Stephen's read that.

Yeah, I know you've got to go.

Sorry.

I love you, Lyn.

I can't just change overnight.

It's not that simple.

I'm not leaving here until you leave with me.

I had to report it!

Boy, why?

You're always talking to me about responsibility.

Here, at work with Lyn Always banging on.

Oh, for Christ's sake, Daddy, you can't live inside your head, in your skull, the way you do.

You have to relate to people!

Why?

They only hurt you, destroy you.

Tear the pretty pieces.

I love you.

You're my father and my mother.

You're a wise man.

Deep down, a decent, caring man.

Why do you show people this dreadful side of yourself?

I've forgotten what it's like to be happy.

My life has no meaning, no value.

I'm tired, boy.

So tired.

Physically, mentally, spiritually.

When I'm ill, I face each day with dread.

When I'm well, I-- I'm just waiting for the beast to bite again.

Stay away from the moors, Stephen.

STEPHEN: I can't.

You know I can't.

Frank rang.

Why didn't you phone me?

What's going on, Stephen?

I don't know!

Don't tell me you don't know.

Of course you know!

And I want to know.

I knew the woman, the second.

Knew her?

Well, not knew her.

Met her, twice.

When?

- Months ago.

- Where?

How?

I told you about it!

You didn't!

You never talk about women!

You don't like women, do you, Stephen?

I'm tired.

What was it you said to me once, quoted, about the evil inherent in women?

I need to sleep.

LYN: Did she have long blonde hair like mine, like the first girl?

Like your mother?

Don't.

LYN: Is that why you married me, Stephen?

For my hair?

For your mother's hair?

Who am I, Stephen?

Because I don't know anymore.

Tell me who I am, who you think I am, who you want me to be, what you want me to be.

Did you kill those women, Stephen?

Did you murder your mother?

Did you?

Did you kill them, Stephen?

Did you?

Did you?

Did you?

I don't know.

God, Lyn, I don't know.

# # # # # # # # # # You Manciple?

Who the hell are you?

Stephen Whalby's my son.

What do you want?

A word.

You've got two minutes to say what you've got to say.

They say you're a hard bastard.

So am I.

Now, you listen to me.

Listen good.

You leave my son alone.

He's done nothing except try to help.

I know he's a strange lad.

I know better than any.

He spends all his day on the moor.

Has done ever since he was a lad.

I know how it must look.

I know you've got your job to do.

But you're wrong, dead wrong.

You keep pushing, my son, hounding him, you will answer to me.

Are you threatening me?

I reckon so.

Don't you?

I could get you three months for that.

I don't give a tuppenny toss what happens to me.

He's my son.

He's all I've got left.

There's nothing else.

No one else that matters.

You're a violent man, aren't you, Mr. Whalby?

I'm an angry man!

Violence is the manifestation of anger.

You sound just like my-- Psychiatrist?

First people we check with in this sort of situation.

We need to know who are the sick people.

Is your son a violent man, Mr. Whalby?

Never in his life.

You live like a pig, Mr. Manciple.

I have to find out who it is, Lyn.

Please, Stephen.

Please.

It isn't me.

I know it isn't me.

Let the police do their job.

And he's out there, somewhere.

Manciple was right.

You must stay off the moor until this is over.

You must see the sense of that.

They'll never find him.

He knows the moor.

# # Hello?

No, he's not up yet.

Is she-- is she all right?

Tell her Stephen and I will come to see her.

What time's visiting?

Thanks.

Bye.

STEPHEN: Who was that?

Aunty May.

You frightened me.

What did she want?

Granny Naulls has been taken into hospital with a slight stroke.

She's going to be all right.

I am not asleep.

It's Stephen.

NAULLS: I know.

I'd know your walk anywhere.

I brought you some jellies.

Oh, jellies.

My favorite.

Sit down.

I can't stay long.

I've got to pop back to work.

But I'll come back this afternoon.

You're a good boy.

And I'll bring Lyn.

NAULLS: Oh, yes, Lyn, that pretty girl with the beautiful hair.

It was your mother who was beautiful.

Best-looking girl around here, she was.

All the boys was after her.

I never really liked your father, though.

But she did.

Oh, yes.

Well, she married him, didn't she?

Silly girl.

Did she love him?

My dad.

Oh, everybody thinks they're in love, don't they?

He loved her.

Perhaps too much.

No, she-- she met someone that she liked even better.

Well, that happens.

But she loved you always.

She couldn't have.

NAULLS: Yes.

Mentions you often, in her letters.

Could you pass me the jellies?

Thank you.

So about 4:00, 4:30?

Mm.

STEPHEN: Does anyone ever hear from Peter?

Peter?

My cousin, Peter Knowles.

NAULLS: Mm.

Him.

Yes, he was-- he was a strange one.

Disappeared abroad.

I don't know where.

You'll have to ask your Uncle Leonard.

I like the green ones best.

Hello.

I wasn't expecting you.

What's the matter?

We've got to talk, Nick.

Talk?

Yes.

Just talk.

# # What's up, boy?

Where are you going?

# # LYN: I do love you, but in a different way to Stephen.

Stephen needs me now more than at any other time in our marriage.

I can't go on with this deceit.

I can't see you anymore.

You must understand.

Please, Nick.

# # # # # # Yeah.

Hello, Stephen.

I thought we might meet.

Hoped.

You must be Lyn.

Yes.

I'm Stephen's mother.

You're old.

Stephen.

Why?

Well, we all grow old.

Why are you here, now?

I mean, I needed you for years.

I don't need you now.

She come to see me, not you.

You're her son, but she's my daughter.

You haven't seen her for 20 years, and for 20 years, I haven't seen her.

I don't want to cause you any more-- Suffering?

Pain, rejection?

There's a dozen more words, all of them unkind, hateful.

Do you hate me, Stephen?

No.

No, I don't think so.

I don't hate you.

We're going.

- No, Stephen.

I'm going.

LYN: You can't go like this, leave it like this.

She's your mother.

No, she's not my mother!

My mother was beautiful and young, with golden hair that shone like the sun!

Stephen.

She was kind and gentle and caring, and she smelled of expensive soap.

She was bought this expensive perfumed soap, and we couldn't really afford it, and my dad used to-- and he died!

He died when you left him, left that money and the note on the table!

Have you any idea what you did to him?

Have you ever considered?

No, those tears are too late.

20 years too late.

Half a life too late.

You don't understand.

I didn't love him.

I did love you.

I love you now.

No less for the things you just said to me.

I left you behind because he needed you more than I did.

You were part of me.

He kept part of me with you.

But he lost his reason.

# # He's frightened, of his emotions, of love.

I know.

I know.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # CHILD: Do you think there's any treasure down there?

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #