Season 5 | Episode 1: Muse

CUMMING: This is "Masterpiece Mystery!"

DOROTHEA: Detective Sergeant Morse.

THURSDAY: You're a sergeant now.

That brings responsibilities.

(laughs) But career won't hold you at 3:00 in the morning when the wolves come circling.

If I found someone, then all of this wouldn't matter at all.

Hello, stranger.

THURSDAY: What starts with blood usually ends it it.

We'll get them, sooner or later.

(gunshots) MORSE: They say you're never so alive as when you're close to death.

CUMMING: Shaun Evans returns in "Endeavour," beginning tonight, on "Masterpiece Mystery!"

(thunder claps) (whimpers) (click) He sees things others don't even notice.

Brainy, introverted, intuitive, a loner in the swinging '60s, with opera records, crossword puzzles, and a love for his boss's daughter that he just can't express.

Now, he's supposed to be training a new man, as he was trained by Inspector Thursday.

But he's no role model.

He's one-of-a-kind, and just promoted-- Detective Sergeant Morse, known to his friends, if he had any, as Endeavour.

(Mendelssohn's "Elijah" playing) LAKE: In the spring of 1918, Nicholas II, deposed tsar of all the Russias, was brought, together with his wife and five children... (clicks) ...to the city of Yekaterinburg... (projector clicks) ...where they were executed by their Bolshevik captors.

(clicks) ♪ ♪ ♪ And yet no power cometh to help us ♪ ♪ And yet no power cometh to help us ♪ ♪ The harvest now is over ♪ (bell dings, crowd shouting) (shouting) LAKE: When the dead were examined, it was found that the women had concealed about their bodies gold and jewels.

Go ahead, caller.

(operators talking) (switchboards clicking) ♪ Summer days are gone ♪ Commissioned as a 16th birthday present for the Grand Duchess Anastasia, I give you...

..."Innocence."

(grunts) (flashbulbs popping) Or "Nastya's Egg."

(applause) (bell ringing, cheers and applause) ♪ No power cometh to help us ♪ ♪ The harvest now is over ♪ ♪ The summer days are gone ♪ (horn honks) (honking continues) ♪ The harvest now is over, the summer days are gone ♪ ♪ And yet no power cometh to help us ♪ ♪ No power cometh to help us ♪ ♪ No power cometh to help us ♪ Oh, God, look, look.

You!

Up on the roof!

CROWD: Five, four, three... (trombone playing fanfare) Two, one.

(cheering and applause) Thus, after almost 100 years, the long and distinguished history of Oxford City Police is ended.

♪ The harvest now is over ♪ (car door closes) ♪ The harvest now is over ♪ BRIGHT: The motto of the new constabulary is "Sit pax in valle tamesis."

For the benefit of the non-classicists amongst us, Detective Sergeant Morse has kindly provided a translation.

Morse?

STRANGE: He's on a shout, sir.

Handbag snatch.

Ah.

♪ The harvest now is over ♪ ♪ The summer days are gone ♪ ♪ The harvest now is over ♪ (psychedelic rock music playing) ("Elijah" continues) ♪ The summer days are gone ♪ ♪ The harvest now is over ♪ ♪ The summer days are gone ♪ (rain pelting) ♪ The harvest now is over ♪ (muffled gunshots fire) (typewriter platen twisting) ♪ The summer days are gone ♪ (thud) ♪ And yet no power cometh ♪ (newspaper rustles) ♪ To help us ♪ ("Elijah" ends) (rain falling heavily) (distant rainfall pattering) (exhales) (scrapes, clinks) (slurping) (exhales) (sets cup down) (telephone rings) (ringing continues) (car door shuts) ♪ ♪ STRANGE: Found by the beat man just after 6:00.

No I.D.

on him.

Car's leased.

Waiting on the firm's offices opening before we can say who to.

That's Joey Sikes.

MORSE: You know him, sir?

THURSDAY: We've had dealings.

Ex-boxer.

Decent right, but slow on his feet.

I saw him on the undercard at White City when Bruce Woodcock beat Freddie Mills.

He lost that night, too.

Who lives here?

STRANGE: No reply.

Still working door-to-door.

Doctor.

Gentlemen.

Shot-- three times.

Twice in the chest and once in the back.

From close range.

Somewhere between midnight and 4:00.

Someone inside the car, then.

Can't say if any of those would have been lethal until I've had a gander.

STRANGE: Well, it's not likely to be anything else, is it?

Unlikely he'd survive a metal spike being driven into his ear.

Whether that was insult to injury remains to be seen.

STRANGE: .38 caliber in the glove compartment.

Recently discharged.

THURSDAY: Nobody saw or heard anything?

There was a party in the warehouse down the end.

Loud music.

Between that and the thunderstorm.

He's had a woman in the car at some point, too.

Cocktail cigarettes ringed with lipstick.

THURSDAY: Right.

You press on here with the door-to-door.

I'll brief Mr.

Bright.

♪ ♪ Joey Sikes, sir.

Gunned down on Holywell Lane.

Falling out amongst the criminal fraternity?

Certainly looks that way, sir.

Well, I don't want these people thinking our reorganization is an opportunity for them to make hay.

(papers thud loudly) I'll make that clear, sir.

Oh, there was... one more thing.

About the Morse situation.

♪ ♪ We've got a number at Lonsdale, looks like.

Can you deal?

What kind of number?

Attempted burglary from the sounds of it.

Shirl's on the scene.

She'll fill you in.

I can finish up here.

♪ ♪ Morning.

Intruder spotted on the roof by the master and one of the dons last night.

Well, why didn't they call it in, then?

Well, they thought it might be a drunken undergrad larking about.

But this morning, a scout found this.

Appears he left empty-handed.

I've had a look topside.

This was the only thing up there.

TREWLOVE: It's an unusual spot for an auction.

It's an unusual bequest.

Not every day a college is left an object of vertu.

TREWLOVE: "Innocence," also known as "Nastya's Egg."

Fabergé's last great masterpiece.

It was lost for 50 years.

And now, bequeathed to us by a late graduate.

Its value to be realized to the benefit of the college.

DS Morse.

Thames Valley C.I.D.

TREWLOVE: What's it expected to fetch?

The reserve is set at 30,000.

If the provenance is to be believed.

GREY: It's reliable.

Robin Grey.

Dr. Grey is a great authority on Russian imperial jewelry.

He's been instrumental in establishing the veracity of the original designs.

Any news on this burglar?

Oh, well, we found this.

(clears throat) Well, that's The Shadow's calling card, isn't it?

MASTER: The what?

An international art thief.

He leaves a single red rose at the scene of his crimes.

Well, if he exists.

That's all a bit Simon Templar, don't you think?

(scoffs) GREY: Well, he's real enough to Interpol.

The Lugash diamond?

The golden dagger of Sultan Mahmud?

Or are you saying that none of those things were stolen?

Oh, I'm sure they were stolen, but whether or not by the same person is another matter entirely.

Well, we'll step up the beat patrol until the auction is concluded, and in the meantime, I'd advise you to keep it under lock and key and not just on display.

Unless you want it lost for another 50 years.

(footsteps retreating) Detective Sergeant Morse.

I never knew you cared.

So what was he after?

The Fabergé?

Who?

The Shadow!

I think, given the date, we're looking at something less criminal altogether.

April Fool's.

For a cracksman of international renown, it was hardly a case of now you see me, now you don't.

So what's this other business then, on Holywell Lane?

I heard something on the police band, it sounded serious.

Murder usually is.

But before you ask me the who, why, and what of it, a full statement will be released in time.

(door opens) DOROTHEA: Simon Lake, art dealer.

He's handling the sale of the Fabergé, on behalf of the owners.

So, murder, cat burglary, you're earning those stripes.

I've earned these stripes many times over.

Seriously, how are you finding it?

Just another tick in the box.

Oh, I thought there'd be, I don't know... ...something more?

(chuckles lightly) ♪ ♪ STRANGE: How'd you make out at Lonsdale?

Oh, something and nothing.

April Fool, by the look of it.

Hello?

Oh, is this your desk?

Sorry.

Um, I was told to come up and wait.

Fancy, is it?

George Fancy.

Detective Constable.

DCI Thursday.

Sergeant Strange.

DS Morse'll be showing you around.

He's a good man, so, watch, listen, and learn.

We'll find you a desk, don't worry about that.

Anything more on this door-to-door?

A neighbor said she saw a woman in a white raincoat getting out of the car and heading up the mews towards the party.

Looks like you had it right, matey.

THURSDAY: Blonde or brunette?

STRANGE: Couldn't say.

She had a scarf on.

But I have got a last known residence for Joey, off his parole officer.

The Alhambra.

THURSDAY: There we are, then.

Your first job, Constable.

You can keep Morse company.

Do your work, mind your Ps and Qs, and you won't go far wrong.

MORSE: I'm... used to working alone, sir.

He'd learn more from you.

I expect he would.

But you've got rank now, that brings responsibilities.

Show him the ropes.

Get to know him a bit.

It'll do him good.

Mr.

Bright had a word, about your situation.

I wasn't aware I had one.

Two detective sergeants would ordinarily be surplus in a nick of this size, but right now Division's got other fish to fry.

I thought you'd be pleased.

Well, a reprieve's not a pardon.

I'd as soon as not wait another six months for the other shoe to drop.

Beggars can't.

Look, none of us know how the chips are gonna land till this reorganization's done.

Just take it one day at a time.

♪ ♪ Want me to drive?

No.

♪ ♪ (brakes squeak) Anything?

Quiet as the proverbial.

Detective Constable Fancy, WPC Trewlove.

George.

Pleased to meet you.

What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?

My job.

(chuckles) Hard to get, eh?

Oh, you've no idea.

I like a challenge.

(chuckles) Idiot.

(key turning in lock) So this is Sikes' place is it?

(keys jingle) Good nick, is it?

Decent mates?

If you go in for that sort of thing.

Don't you, then?

It's why I joined the job.

The social life.

And the, uh, crumpet, of course.

Got any hobbies?

Do you like sport?

Look, I don't really go in for small talk, Constable.

George.

Or first names.

Let's just keep it to work and we'll get along fine.

(clicks) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (softly): Very good.

That's very nice.

Very nice.

♪ ♪ (Max grunting) "What a good boy am I?"

(nail drops in tray) Three bullets, .38 caliber, any of which would've proved fatal.

Why bother with the ear business?

Some sort of underworld message?

Hear no evil, perhaps?

Something from the building trade?

Whatever it is, it would have needed a hammer to drive it into the skull.

Anything else?

A smooch of lipstick.

Rain and the cobbles had got rid of most of it.

♪ ♪ (picks up receiver, dials) (giggling) RUTH (voiceover): Good afternoon.

This is the message service for 938126.

Go ahead, caller.

GREY (on phone): Good afternoon.

It's Dr. Grey here.

I'd like to leave a message, please.

(operators talking) RUTH (on phone): So that's 8:00 at the club with Dr. Grey.

♪ ♪ Get that lot dusted for prints, and the contents logged and booked in.

Mm-hmm.

STRANGE: Leaving us already, George?

Joey Sikes' worldly possessions.

Mainly prophylactics and contact mags.

Got a lead on his motor.

Registered to Magdalen Cabs.

Isn't that's a front for Eddie Nero's criminal activities?

One of them.

♪ ♪ (punching, thudding) EDDIE: All right, easy... easy... take a breather.

Hello, Eddie.

Ah, what's this, then, Fred?

You come to go a few rounds, have you?

THURSDAY: Maybe later.

You know the boys?

Yeah.

Looks like you're a man short.

Joey Sikes.

When d'you see him last?

Joey?

Couldn't say.

THURSDAY: But everything was just jake between you?

Oh, yeah.

You sure about that?

He was found this morning with three bullets in him, and a spike in his shell-like.

Any idea what he was doing parked up in Holywell Lane?

Search me.

He was in one of your cars.

So I give him a lend of a set of wheels from time to time.

What about lady friends?

Anything like that?

No, he was off the birds.

I know you and Joey were tight with each other, but don't get any ideas, Eddie.

Like what?

Taking the law.

There's only one law that counts, Fred.

An eye for an eye.

You're a third-division shakedown artist and fourth-rate ponce.

Always were, always will be.

There's any comeback over Joey, I'll have your cobblers for a keyfob.

Mind how you go.

♪ ♪ MORSE (voiceover): We'll need to find this woman in the white raincoat.

I'll see where I can get with this lipstick.

Girlfriend, you think?

Or witness, potentially.

At the moment, she's the last person to have seen him alive.

How did you make out with George?

George?

Fancy.

Oh-- trying.

Oh, well, that's good.

MORSE (voiceover): I'm looking for a particular shade of lipstick.

This is the... Well, I think we can rule out the new Revlon Unlipstick range.

And it's not going to be the Max Factor Frosterinos.

Could be Scarlet Billows... (bell dings) ...or Violent Crimson.

WOMAN: Excuse me, can I just... (door closes) Hm.

(bell dings) Hello, stranger.

♪ ♪ So, are you back or are you just visiting?

Dad didn't say?

I'm back.

Couple of weeks now.

But not home.

They must be pleased, all the same, your parents.

I think so.

Mum, definitely.

I'm sure they both are.

It's not the same.

No.

No, I imagine not.

Mr. Booth, my neighbor in Leamington, said he called you.

Yes.

A fall, the hospital said.

I slipped.

What about you?

Your sergeant's.

I meant to ask last time, I just... Oh, yes, it came through.

In the end.

Congratulations.

(laughs) Detective Sergeant Morse.

Things change.

Yes.

Well, yes, I'm this way.

(chuckles softly) Are you all right?

I mean, really all right?

Something happens.

You have to look a bad thing in the eye.

Break the spell.

I'll see you around.

It's a small town.

Well, I know where you buy your lipstick now.

(chuckles) ♪ ♪ Tomorrow's world, Thursday.

Sir.

A new divisional HQ.

Thames Valley, Kidlington.

Very smart, sir.

Clean, modern, spacious.

Computers.

And an information room that will be the envy of any constabulary.

And us, sir?

No final decision has yet been reached on whether Cowley will remain open or if we'll be absorbed into the new station on Oxford Road.

Wouldn't have thought there'd be room for us all in there, sir.

No, well, there we are.

Ours is not to reason why.

♪ ♪ (lighter flicks open) (lighter ignites) (lighter flicks closed) (bell tolling in distance) ♪ ♪ WIN: Joan's got a new flat.

Over in Park Town.

Ever so nice, she says.

Be needing a lick of paint, I should think, but...

I'm hoping that her dad's gonna do it for her.

But she's happy, that's the main thing.

Good.

Sir.

I'll go and just fetch your sandwiches.

Much in?

♪ ♪ (people talking quietly) Fancy.

Morning, sir.

Body's through there.

(camera clicking) ♪ ♪ Doctor.

Eye-eye!

Right first, then left.

Sometime between 8:00 and midnight.

Any defensive wounds?

He didn't see it coming.

Quite literally.

Who was he?

His name is Robin Grey.

He's a history don here.

I met him yesterday.

The attempted break-in.

Last seen by the porter going out around 6:00 last night-- no one saw him come back.

MORSE: Lipstick.

Same as Joey Sikes.

I know you're out of practice, matey, but most women wear it.

Uniform are fetching his wife in.

There is evidence of coitus.

Who found him?

STRANGE: Spencer Bell.

One of his students.

BELL: I went across just before 8:00.

Knocked.

There was no reply.

I checked my watch.

Knocked again.

Then went in.

I thought perhaps he might've just nipped out for a moment.

In my day, students didn't just wander into a don's bedroom.

I thought he might have overslept, so I knocked.

I don't know why I went in, I just did.

I... ♪ ♪ What was he like?

I saw him for two hours once a week.

I'm afraid I hardly knew him at all.

And where were you last night?

In my room, right up there.

Anyone vouch for you?

You'd have had a good view of his stair from there, I'd've thought.

You didn't see him come back last night?

Mr. Bell?

I'm not sure it was him.

But I think I recognized her.

Who?

I'm not even sure it was her.

But this woman had on the same coat she wears.

A white raincoat.

But you don't know her name?

No.

She's a life model.

I think she knows the tutor, Gerard Pickman.

At least that's the idea I got.

♪ ♪ I thought all the way over in the car that there must be some mistake.

What happened?

Was it his heart?

An accident?

I'm sorry to have to tell you, Mrs. Grey, but your husband died by violence.

(whimpers) Perhaps you should sit down, here.

THURSDAY: Trewlove.

(weeping) Here.

You're okay.

When did you last see your husband?

Yesterday morning.

Did Dr. Grey often stay in college?

Once or twice a week, if he had an early tutorial.

I'm sorry.

(weeps) MORSE (voiceover): We will need to take statements from all staff and undergrads as to their whereabouts yesterday evening.

I don't like to ask, but what's going to happen about the auction?

(scoffs) It can't go ahead now, surely.

Out of respect for Robin.

ADRIAN: Exactly why it should proceed.

He put so much work into it.

I'll discuss the situation with the bursar and Mr. Lake, and... THURSDAY: This Mr. Lake, he have much to do with Grey?

Well, certainly, they were great friends.

He's an art dealer.

He's acting for the estate.

Did their National Service together, I believe.

Then we'll need to speak to him.

If you could let us know where to find him.

Anything to do with the egg, you think?

Wasn't it him and the master saw the Shadow Sunday night?

So they say.

There any doubt about that?

That they saw someone?

No, but that it was this cat burglar I'm less convinced.

How come?

Well, because nobody sees the Shadow.

That's the point.

He comes and goes, and no one's any the wiser till after he's struck.

So?

So he doesn't go clattering around the rooftops drawing attention to himself like a one-man band.

They saw somebody up there.

And now Grey's dead.

The undergrad who found his body, Spencer Bell, says he saw a man and woman turning off the quad onto Grey's stair around 7:00.

Was it Grey?

He's not sure, but he thinks she's a life model from a private art class he attends.

No name, but he's given me an address to the place.

Bit on the side, do you think?

If it was Grey.

Why don't you see who else lives on his stair, start taking statements?

THURSDAY: All right.

I'll report back to Mr.

Bright.

Pursue inquiries as you see fit.

Mm-hmm.

(exhales) ♪ ♪ ADRIAN: I must say, we were all positively chartreuse at Robin's good luck, bagging a Matildabeest.

And a rowing Blue to boot.

Nothing in the world quite compares to a sporty girl.

Strong in the wrist and firm in the hams.

Do you think that kind of talk's appropriate about a young woman widowed not an hour since?

She'd have to have been a very Messalina to keep Robin down on the farm.

Is that right?

Quite a dog in his day.

Wet his nib in any inkpot.

Take my word.

They'll be queuing halfway up the High to offer their... ...condolences.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ LAKE: The master called me.

It's bloody awful news-- poor Robin.

You knew him well?

Nearly 20 years.

He was a good friend.

We did our National Service together.

Place called Altdorf, right on the eastern border.

Can you think of anyone who would wish him any harm?

Robin?

Mm-hmm.

Not a soul.

He was helping to establish a chain of provenance for this egg of yours, I believe.

Strictly speaking, it's not mine.

I'm acting for the estate of the previous owner.

But, yes, Robin had done a lot of the legwork.

Who is the owner?

Someone who in life valued their privacy.

And the estate wishes to respect that.

I'm sure you understand.

Well, actually, no, I don't understand, not at all.

First someone tries to steal the Fabergé, then someone intimately connected with its sale is brutally murdered.

There's nothing to say the egg is anything to do with what happened to Robin.

I think we'll determine that.

And knowing who the owner is will help us form an opinion.

I think if my friend had been brutally murdered, I might be a little more forthcoming.

I'd like to say more, believe me.

Where were you last night?

Out of town.

To say more would risk revealing the identity of the owner.

Convenient.

Not for me.

Well, did he have a mistress?

Dr. Grey.

With Lucy at home?

Would you?

He never mentioned anyone called Delilah?

No.

Look, I would love to stay and chit-chat, but I've got to collect the egg and get it over to Lonsdale for the auction.

Since the attempted burglary, I'm only allowing it to be displayed for a couple of hours each day under strict security.

The rest of the time, it's in a safe at my flat.

Of course, I'll be glad to answer anything you can think of once the auction's out of the way.

(Alec squealing) Hello.

I'm Detective Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley C.I.D.

I'm looking for a Gerard Pickman.

One of his students gave me this address.

He's gone into town.

Oh.

I'm his wife, Cassie.

And what time are you expecting him back?

When his pockets are empty.

You're welcome to wait.

(Alec giggles) Don't eat that, Alec!

He's an artist, I understand.

Must be interesting work.

Oh, yes.

He's just finished designing the new labels for Richardson's Own Brand vegetables.

(motorcycle approaching) (exhaust popping) (Alec roars) Hello, little bastard.

CASSIE: Don't call him that, please!

♪ ♪ (movement in another room) (door opens) (door closes) (footsteps approaching) GERARD: Sorry to have kept you.

A bigger slash.

Still life?

Hm, there's a phrase.

It's for the cover of a Kent Finn paperback.

"Just For Jolly."

Dreadful hack, but if it goes over well, his publisher's promising the whole back catalogue.

Thus the rentman doth make cowards of us all.

The .38, is that a prop?

No, no, it's real enough.

I use it for foxes, other vermin.

No policemen so far.

I don't suppose you know much about art.

I know what I like.

It's after Manet, isn't it?

"Olympia."

The canvas that scandalized the Paris Salon.

GERARD: Hmm.

Is that the model that sits at your life class?

Yeah, that's right.

She have a name?

Evie.

With the beautiful red hair.

Eve Thorne.

Have you seen her recently?

Yesterday afternoon.

I had a class here.

Right, what about Sunday night?

A car picked her up about midnight.

Taxi, I think.

Right.

Have you got an address for her?

No, just a telephone number.

It's a messaging service.

(rustling papers): She's, uh... She's not in any trouble, is she?

No, it's just a routine inquiry.

She's a good kid.

Are you sleeping with her?

No.

(paper rustling) But not for the want of trying.

(chuckles softly) I don't think she likes men.

Maybe it's just you she doesn't like.

♪ ♪ MAX: Well, the cause was as expected.

Sharp object through the orbit of the right eye and on into the brain.

Death would have been pretty instantaneous.

What about the weapon?

Ah, steak knife.

Traditional hump blade with serrated edge.

Stag horn handle.

Sheffield steel.

Silver-plated.

Engraving dates it to about 1920.

THURSDAY: "S.C." One of the colleges, maybe?

Something college?

Possibly.

Would it have taken much force?

No great strength required.

Nerve, though.

You're thinking of the lipstick.

Oh, the closest match I found was a color called Violent Crimson.

From the Kiss Of Death range, presumably.

How does it compare to what you found on Joey Sikes?

Not enough of a trace left to say.

A Lonsdale don and a beat-up ex-boxer?

Hard to see what they had in common.

Well, a woman in a white raincoat, presumably.

"Cherchez la femme."

THURSDAY: Parson's Prime?

MORSE: It's from a small brewery just outside Watlington.

According to the foreman, they, they supply just one pub in Oxford: The Cordwangler's Arms.

"Delilah."

You try the number?

Mm, unobtainable.

But there's a Delilah performing there this afternoon.

I've also got a number for Eve Thorne, the life model that Spencer Bell was talking about.

Pickman said she got a taxi from his place late on Sunday night.

I've left a message on her answer service to call me back.

Good.

How's the luncheon meat?

Adjourned.

(puts sandwich down) Win says you ran into Joan.

You knew she was back, then?

Yeah, well, I...

I would've mentioned it, but, uh... What with one thing and another.

Seem all right, did she?

Why?

Haven't you seen her?

No-- no, not yet.

She's been by the house, but...

I've been at work.

LUCY: Certainly never seen it at home.

Is that what it was done with?

Is that how he died?

How long had you been married?

It would have been a year come April 21.

All was well between you?

Perfectly well.

MORSE: That's Simon Lake, isn't it?

He was Robin's best man.

They're very old friends.

How did you meet Dr. Grey?

At a drinks party.

Last February.

Two months later, we were married.

You had no reason to doubt his fidelity?

Just with his body being found the way it was, we've... Well, we're bound to ask.

How was it found?

There was lipstick around his mouth.

And signs that physical intimacy had taken place shortly before his death.

I always knew Robin had lived a full life.

But from the moment we were married, he never once gave me any cause to think of him as anything other than devoted.

MORSE (voiceover): She wouldn't be the first wife to not know her husband was deceiving her.

Unless she did, of course.

Just keep your wits about you.

What does that mean?

Good-looking girl?

Tears?

Not every damsel in distress wants saving.

What she looks like's nothing to do with it.

I wonder if she knew Joey Sikes?

Sikes is gangland.

He's no connection with Dr. Grey.

They were both killed by particularly gruesome means.

Both last seen with a woman wearing a white raincoat.

And both had been kissed by someone wearing red lipstick.

That's more than a coincidence.

(inhales) ♪ ♪ (funky dance music playing) (cheering, clapping) (dance music continues) (whistling) (cheering, clapping) (whistling) (beaded curtain rattling) You can't come in here.

Detective Sergeant Morse.

Thames Valley C.I.D.

Miss...?

Ellis.

Paula Ellis.

Not Delilah, then?

That's just for the stage.

I would have thought Salome would be more fitting.

"The Dance of the Seven Veils."

Salome's already taken.

There was a Jezebel.

And a Bathsheba, but she got glassed.

Be a love and hand us my dressing gown, would you?

(applause and cheering in background) (jewelry jingling) So... What do you want, then?

Do you know a Robin Grey?

No-- who is he?

He's a don at Lonsdale College.

Found this beermat with your name on it.

Any idea how he'd come by that?

None.

That is your phone number on the back?

No.

I don't know whose that is.

But I can't be the only Delilah on the circuit.

The faces change, the names stay the same.

What, has he had an accident or something?

He was found dead this morning.

How do you get the work?

THURSDAY (voiceover): Lefty Townsend?

I'm surprised he's still going.

You know him?

Oh, yeah.

I know Lefty.

ENSA during the war.

Office boy with Lew and Leslie for a bit.

(door closes) (keys jingling) All right, Left?

Fred.

I'm, uh, just going to lunch.

Late lunch.

Delilah.

Paula?

Lovely little mover.

Just come off a very successful Dick at Eastbourne.

Is that right?

I'm hoping to get her a summer season with Englebert at Blackpool.

What about the stripping?

Exotic dancing.

It's all very tasteful.

Nothing smutty.

I've seen it.

It doesn't leave much to the imagination.

Well, that rather depends on your imagination, doesn't it?

(chuckles) Why all the Biblical names?

Adds mystery.

LEFTY: The girls are hardly like to use their own, are they?

And the punters seem to like it.

So Paula Ellis isn't the only Delilah you've had on your books.

Oh, no, I've had quite a few over the years.

I wouldn't know where they all are now, though.

MORSE: Do you have an address for her?

♪ ♪ (brakes squeak, handbrake engaged) ♪ ♪ Eve Thorne?

Police.

EVE (voiceover): Someone invited me to a party.

I don't remember who.

I got a cab to pick me up from Gerry's place.

Do you know the driver?

No-- why would I?

And then what happened?

What usually happens at a party.

You have a drink, dance, talk to people.

When'd you leave?

2:00, maybe?

Alone?

Yes.

So where were you Monday night?

What's this about?

(chuckles softly) I got a call.

Out of the blue.

A guy called and asked if I wanted to go for a drink.

Robin Grey.

How d'you know him?

He'd seen me dancing.

Stripping.

So you went for a drink and then what?

We went back to his place.

At Lonsdale College.

Did you sleep with him?

It's a free country, last time I looked.

You know he had a wife?

It never came up, funnily enough.

THURSDAY: What time did you leave?

Just after 9:00.

When I left him, he was sleeping like a baby.

Look, what's this about?

THURSDAY: Both the driver of the taxi and Robin Grey are dead, Miss Thorne.

So far you're the only link we've got between them.

♪ ♪ I don't know what happened after I went, but Robin was fine when I left him.

As for the taxi driver, I can't help you.

Look, I've answered your questions.

I'd like to go home now.

We'll need to take a set of your fingerprints.

Why?

For the process of elimination.

You'll be here a while yet.

(talking in background) FANCY: What's going on?

TREWLOVE: The art dealer Lake hasn't shown up.

Neither him nor the egg.

I've telephoned, but there's no reply.

I assumed he must be on his way.

STRANGE: Do you have an address for him?

We can send a patrol car.

Certainly.

It's 15 Holywell Lane.

Holywell Lane?

MASTER: Yes, why?

♪ ♪ (closes car door) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (both gasp) (panting) (groans) ♪ ♪ (talks softly) MORSE: He can't have been dead long.

I saw him this morning at the airfield.

STRANGE: Anything, Doc?

Well, his head's in this room and his body's in that room, so that... ...might have something to do with it.

STRANGE: Anything as to a time, say?

Within the last three to four hours.

Looks to have had his throat cut first, right to left, then decapitation post mortem.

Small mercies.

Lipstick again.

BRIGHT: What's this?

THURSDAY: Dr. Grey at Lonsdale, sir, had lipstick around his mouth.

As did Joey Sikes.

I thought that was gangland.

THURSDAY: So did we, sir.

But his car was found just outside here.

Oh, ballistics have come back with a match.

The bullets I dug out were from Joey Sikes' pistol.

He was shot with his own gun?

THURSDAY: Looks like it, sir.

MAX: Constable.

Doctor.

Detective Constable Fancy, sir.

Just over from County as it was.

Chief Superintendent Bright.

FANCY: Sir.

Neighbor over the road says she heard a shot around 3:45.

Saw this woman in the white mac coming out, around half-four, quarter to 5:00.

Well, he wasn't shot.

BRIGHT: Three men slaughtered with such violence.

You're surely not suggesting a woman could have done it?

Well, two of the victims were found in bed, sir.

And the lipstick.

So Joey Sikes was shot, but then a skewer was driven into his ear.

Dr. Grey was stabbed in both eyes.

And now Lake has been decapitated.

That means something, doesn't it?

The method, do you think?

Oh, "S.C." Same as was found on the knife that killed Dr. Grey.

And the egg?

STRANGE: There's a single red rose been left, sir.

The Shadow's signature.

♪ ♪ THURSDAY: How come door-to-door never picked up Lake was living here?

STRANGE: Not his property, sir.

Looks like he's only staying here for the duration of the auction.

Owner's listed as one Bertram Povey.

Deceased.

THURSDAY: Knew each other, didn't they?

Lake and Dr. Grey?

Both connected to this egg.

That's the key, isn't it?

What you got there?

MORSE: It's a menu.

First of April last year.

"On the occasion of the Passing of the Mock Turtle."

You sleep with Lake on Sunday, Grey on Monday, then come back for another round with Lake today.

And?

Your fingerprints have turned up your previous convictions.

Soliciting.

You're a common prostitute.

You've seen where I live.

There's nothing common about me.

What's your type?

(chuckles softly) Blonde?

Brunette?

Redhead?

Or do you go for the mousey sort?

The kind that butter wouldn't melt, but get their glasses off and, "Oh, Daddy!"

That's quite enough thank you.

Maybe you want a goddess.

Someone you can put on a pedestal.

Unattainable.

Or perhaps you like to be mothered.

Have someone wash your tinkle.

Trewlove, take her back to her cell.

You haven't been able to take your eyes off me since we met.

Well, I've got your number.

I know what you are.

You like to watch, right?

Look but don't touch.

I know your kind.

What's that book?

"A Spy in the House of Love"?

That's you.

Outside looking in at what you want but daren't ask for.

You'd be a spectator at your own funeral.

Take her down.

You think she killed him?

MORSE: Well, she knew all three victims, had slept with two of them, both of whom were connected to this Fabergé egg.

Now, for all we know, Lake was still alive when she arrived.

Now he's dead, and the egg's gone.

I've known clients get possessive to the point of obsession in some cases.

The only reason I can think of for her to lie is if she saw someone she recognized by Lake's flat, going in or coming out.

Someone she was afraid of, maybe.

If she saw him, it's very likely he saw her.

BRIGHT: Which offers the possibility that whoever it is will try and get to her.

Morse?

BRIGHT: Reservations?

I think the only thing she's scared of, sir, is us.

You reckon it's her?

Yes, she's lying through her teeth.

THURSDAY: There's two options.

She did it or she knows who did.

Either way, I want her under observation.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Stockings are in the shoes.

You'll find the soles are bloodstained.

You've been there, you know what it was like.

This is all you were wearing when you went to Lake's?

That's all.

Was he a regular customer?

When he was in town.

How often was that?

Till this last week, I hadn't seen him for a year, maybe.

Does he know what you do?

Pickman?

He knows what he needs to.

Why?

"Olympia," the painting he's working on.

The Manet knock-off.

"Olympia" was a common name used by Parisian prostitutes.

Except she wasn't a tart, was she?

The model.

Her name was Victorine Meurent.

She was an artist in her own right.

Her work was selected for exhibition when Manet's wasn't.

Pickman tell you that?

I read it.

In a book.

Think he's any good?

Not particularly.

He can't shake off the draftsman's training.

That's what they put him to.

In the army.

He doesn't seem the army kind.

National Service, wasn't it?

I think that's how he knew Simon.

Simon Lake?

I saw him out at the windmill last week.

That's when we picked up again.

Why?

What was his business with Pickman?

No idea.

First thing you learn in my game.

You don't open your mouth.

Unless they ask you to.

All right.

♪ ♪ (rock music playing on radio) (tapping, humming along) (music shuts off) Is this your idea of discreet observation?

It's an unmarked car, not a concert hall.

Yeah, all right.

Just keep your mind on the job.

And make sure she doesn't try to leave.

Is she likely to?

When you're relieved, get these booked into forensics at the station.

Did you get the contents of Joey Sikes's suitcase booked in?

(sighs) Is, is this what I've got to look forward to?

If I want something doing, I got to do it myself?

I forgot.

Well, don't.

You're not paid to forget.

You're paid to remember.

(sighs) ♪ ♪ Was it Miss Thorne?

That's right.

Call received today from a Mr. Lake at 13:54.

"If Miss Thorne would care to call round to Holywell Lane at 16:00."

Can you confirm when that was picked up, and if so, by whom?

Miss Astor?

This call from Mr. Lake for Miss Thorne.

Has Miss Thorne picked it up yet?

I believe so.

I'll need the address for that account.

I'm afraid the manager's gone home for the evening.

He's the only one with access to that information.

RUTH: But from memory, it's a temporary agency, I think.

Thank you, Miss Astor.

MORSE: Temporary agency?

THURSDAY: Yeah, I can imagine what sort.

Home?

No, I'll walk if it's all the same.

Get a bit of clean air in my lungs.

I had three years on vice, never agreed with me.

Bodies bought and sold, lives ruined.

Not much more than kids half of them-- runaways.

You'd see the sharks; the pimps and the ponces, queued up waiting for them at all the big stations.

"Stand you a coffee, love?"

Straight off the train, straight on the game.

The worst of human nature right there.

It's no work for a family man.

One for the road?

Yes.

Oh!

Uh, no, I can't.

I want to get Joey Sikes's personal possessions logged into evidence.

Haven't you done that yet?

No, it slipped my mind.

That's not the example you want to set Fancy.

You're a sergeant now.

You've gotta look sharp.

(softly): Yeah.

Night, then.

Good night, sir.

♪ ♪ Dad?

What's this?

♪ ♪ You've been back ages.

Fred?

Joan's all right, is she?

Happy?

She says.

I spoke to her earlier.

She rang.

I don't know what it is with you pair.

You've barely spoken to her since she got back.

I know you were cross with her going off.

I'd do anything for her.

I know you would.

If anything ever happened, if she was in a spot... You'd say?

Come to bed.

("La Traviata" aria playing) (papers shuffling) (aria continues) (soprano aria begins) (soprano aria continues) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ So Lake was the Shadow?

Looks that way.

What, just off him having a balaclava?

Roses are sold by the dozen, aren't they, traditionally?

Yes-- why?

Well, there were ten in the vase-- one in the safe.

And the 12th on the roof at Lonsdale.

What, he was trying to pinch his own jewel?

Or get it into the papers and drive the price up.

He knew Pickman, or had business with him.

I'll talk to him.

Word through on Lake's flat, sir.

Gas and electric go through to a Tancred Howlett.

FANCY: That's one of the dons at Lonsdale.

I had a statement off him.

He lives on the same stair as Grey.

THURSDAY (voiceover): How was it you know Simon Lake, Dr. Howlett?

We were up together.

At St. Alfredus.

But he got sent down.

For what?

Conduct unbecoming.

Fleecing tourists at Find the Lady.

Seems a bit stiff.

He also got one of the cleaners in... trouble.

He said it wasn't his, but someone had to carry the can.

We stayed in touch, and as he was in town...

But you don't live there yourself.

No, no.

I inherited the place a couple of years ago from an uncle.

I wonder if you could shed any light on this.

TANCRED: It, uh...

It looks like a menu.

I know what it looks like.

I want to know what it means.

Who's the Mock Turtle?

I wouldn't know.

You sure about that?

It was found in the pocket of a tailcoat hanging in the wardrobe in your flat on Holywell Lane.

One of my colleagues found an identical waistcoat in Dr. Grey's rooms.

THURSDAY: He said it looks like the order of service for a dining club.

It was Robin's stag.

Robin was the Mock Turtle, hence...

The Passing of the Mock Turtle.

So what's this club?

The Berserkers.

Why so cagey?

Why deny it?

I don't want to get involved in something like this.

Two people known to me have been murdered.

Oh, we know that.

STRANGE: Where was it held?

The stag.

(stammering): I, I don't know where.

I, I wasn't there.

Adrian was there, but I, I was ill.

I didn't go.

You've got the menu.

Robin saved one for me.

A souvenir.

MORSE (voiceover): What was your business with Simon Lake?

Just that-- business.

He liked my work.

I sold him the odd piece.

You were in the army together, weren't you?

MORSE: Altdorf.

PICKMAN: What is this?

Well, we've got a Fabergé gone missing and two men connected with its sale found dead.

Two men that you did your National Service with.

That's more than a coincidence.

I wouldn't know about that.

"He liked my work.

I sold him a few pieces."

Past tense.

You knew he was dead before I told you.

Now, look... We've a neighbor on Holywell Lane says she heard a gunshot.

But I actually think it was your bike, backfiring.

I heard it the first time I came here.

You were at Simon Lake's flat yesterday.

Did you kill him and take the egg, or was he dead when you arrived?

I didn't kill Simon, and I didn't steal the egg!

I've seen the Cyrillic writing in your barn.

Tell them, Gerry.

Cass!

You tell them or I will.

Cass, you don't know what you're talking about.

She doesn't know what she's talking about.

It was a con.

That's the kind of artist my husband is.

You think I didn't know that you were up to something?

You think I didn't notice?

Your old army mates just dropping by out the blue.

Oh, Cass, please...

I've got to look out for the kids, Gerry.

He's an idiot.

Easily led.

But he's not a killer.

If someone killed Robin and Simon over the egg, I don't want them coming for him next.

♪ ♪ (sighs) (folder drops on table) So Lake never meant to go through with the sale.

MORSE: No, sir.

It was intended as an insurance fraud all along.

Lake had planned to give the egg to Pickman that afternoon and say it had been stolen.

Only when Pickman arrived to collect the egg, it had already gone.

And he found Simon Lake murdered.

There were three of them involved in the fraud.

Lake paid Pickman to draft a design, supposedly by Fabergé, in order to create false provenance.

Grey-- the foremost authority on Russian imperial jewelry-- signed off on it.

How did they come by it in the first place?

THURSDAY: Pickman explained.

They were young soldiers at a camp for displaced persons on the East German border, where he transported some refugees to the West in exchange for the egg.

But without the provenance, it's worthless.

So they bided their time and set it by against the time when they could do something with it.

So where does that leave us?

Could Pickman have killed Lake and the rest, taken the egg for himself?

If that had been his intention, why leave the papers supporting its provenance behind?

The materials used in its making notwithstanding, without them, it's worthless.

Well, if he's not got it, who has?

THURSDAY: The killer, presumably, sir.

We have got a further lead.

Very well, carry on.

THURSDAY: So you are a Berserker, Dr. Croxley.

It's just a bunch of like-minded fellows making merry.

We've got two of your number dead.

Not much to be merry about there.

All dons, is it?

In the main, though not exclusively.

The sole proviso of membership is one must be a gentleman of quality.

You were at Dr. Grey's stag party last year.

Alas.

A young man married.

Why didn't Tancred Howlett attend?

Well, it's no great secret.

Not around college.

He'd entertained hopes of Lucy himself.

Was Robin Grey aware of that?

Oh, yeah.

So Dr. Grey was there, Simon Lake.

Who else?

It's a secret society.

As an officer of rank, I'm sure that's something you can respect.

A bunch of middle-aged academics prancing around in pretty waistcoats calling each other daft names?

I've more time for the Tufty Club.

I beg your pardon.

You can beg my fat arse.

Grow up, Dr. Croxley.

You're too old for the dressing-up box.

There are no secrets as far as the law's concerned.

Well.

Since you put it like that.

I can give you a list of those I remember.

Was Joey Sikes there?

Doesn't ring a bell, I'm afraid.

Who is he?

Where was the party held?

I don't recall.

Wouldn't be the Shiplake Chase Hotel, by any chance, would it?

♪ ♪ Really?

Was that it?

(tray rattles) Shiplake Chase?

Pulled that one out of the bag, didn't you?

There was a bundle of bar bills in Joey Sikes' suitcase.

S.C.

Same as engraved on the knife that killed Grey and the silverware at Lake's.

♪ ♪ (engine starts) (engine revs) (car drives off) ♪ ♪ (brakes squeak) (birds chirping) PIVEN: They said they were a rugby club up from Cambridge.

I've been in the pub and hotel trade for 30 years, sir, and I've never seen anything like it.

Played up, did they?

They looked very respectable in their evening suits and waistcoats.

But once the wine was in, they went berserk.

Everything smashed to pieces.

What they did to the pig's head centerpiece...

I told them, "If I'd known you were going to carry on like that, I'd have put straw down."

In the end, I threatened them with the police.

They asked to see the owner.

Gave him a check, did they?

I couldn't say, sir.

I refused to serve them and threatened to give notice if the owner insisted.

The rest of the staff did the same.

We closed the bar at 10:30 and left them to it.

Have you had any thefts lately?

We had some agency staff in for a wedding about a month ago.

Things went missing.

We did ask them to look into it, but haven't heard back.

So two of the victims were members of this disgusting dining club, weren't they?

The-- what is it?

The Berserkers, sir.

The Berserkers!

Sounds like a collection of absolute philistines.

STRANGE: Joey Sikes wasn't a member, sir.

The Philistines put Samson's eyes out after he was betrayed by Delilah.

That was the name on Grey's beermat, wasn't it?

And Dr. Grey was stabbed in the eyes.

And the rest?

Oh, I don't know.

THURSDAY: That still leaves Eve Thorne as being the only link between all three of them.

Anything from her answering service?

They're still compiling a list of her messages, but her bills go to 24 Tobacco Yard.

Tobacco Yard?

That's the registered address of Magdalen Cabs.

THURSDAY: Call girls.

That what Joey Sikes was running for you.

That's what he was doing in Holywell Lane the night he got the hard word.

Don't know what you're talking about.

MORSE: Well, then, I'll spell it out for you.

The client gets the girl's name and number from a contact book.

Same kind of contact book I found in Joey Sikes' flat.

He calls and leaves a message for Eve or Jezebel, or whichever belle de jour takes his fancy with an answering service.

The girls ring in as often as needs be to pick up their messages.

But if it's particularly urgent, and it just can't wait the message is relayed to Magdalen Cabs.

But you know that, because you're paying the bills.

THURSDAY: Anything you'd like to say?

Can't help you.

Let's see if a night in the cells can't jog your memory.

On what charge?

Procurement.

Conspiracy to corrupt public morals.

Take your pick.

Either way, you're nicked.

♪ ♪ Your mum said you were back.

All right, are you?

I'm fine.

New flat?

That's right.

Just me and two girlfriends.

No men, if that's what you're wondering.

I just wanted to see how you were.

Checking up on me.

No!

I can let you have my flatmates' names and dates of birth, if you want to run them past records.

I just want things to be right.

Right?

How they were.

We always got on.

You can't fix it.

I've seen what happens when you try to fix things.

There are bad things in the world, Joanie.

Bad people!

Wickedness!

I've only ever tried to keep you safe from them.

Nobody asked you to!

You, your mum, and Sam.

I've come up short.

It's 1968.

I'm not your little girl anymore.

People have to make their own mistakes!

♪ ♪ Say hello to Mum for me.

(keys jingling) (pulls brake) ♪ ♪ Anything?

(sighing): Residents in and out.

A florist dropped off some flowers.

That's about it.

She hasn't been in or out?

Not since I've been here.

Fancy said the same.

You think she did it?

I think she's a dangerous woman.

(door opens) I've got a list of temps that worked the wedding at Shiplake Chase.

That was quick.

You asked for it.

You're a good sergeant, Jim.

Good man, too.

Oh, I don't know about that, sir.

Well, there's not many'd take Morse in.

He'd do the same for me.

Would he?

He's a prickly bugger at the best of times.

Just how he is.

♪ ♪ (rain pattering) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (knocking) (opens door) You wanna come in?

From an admirer?

I do have them.

So it seems.

Flowers, chocolates.

You should see the lingerie they send.

"Eve Thorne, R.A." Well...

The Royal Academy would be thrilled.

Judgmental prick, aren't you?

Who did you see when you left Holywell Lane?

Nobody.

I've told you.

I don't remember anything from finding Simon... To being on the bus.

Yes.

You said.

You know, if you're in any trouble...

I can't help you unless you tell me the truth.

I don't need your help.

I've been taking care of myself since I was old enough to know how.

Yeah, it looks that way.

You're going to ride in on your white charger and save me?

That it?

There aren't any heroes.

Just men, and I know what they're like.

Yeah, I'm sure you do.

Oh, you bet.

I knew a girl once.

Convent-educated.

Wanted to be an artist.

Did a bit of modeling, dancing, just to make ends.

Got in with the wrong crowd.

One night, some party somewhere, they went at her like dogs.

Oh.

I'm sorry.

(laughs wryly) Sure you are.

You're always sorry after.

I don't need you.

I don't need anyone.

(clicks, radio static buzzes) (Satie's "Gnossienne No.

2" playing) (match strikes) ♪ ♪ So are you any closer to finding out who did it?

Is that why you invited me in?

Maybe.

You got a girl?

Didn't think so.

When did you last get your leg over, as a matter of interest?

None of your business.

It's exactly my business.

I just don't see why you get to ask all the questions, that's all.

You know everything about me.

I know nothing about you.

Save it for your clients, Miss Thorne.

I'm immune.

You've got need coming off you like a junkie gouging for a spike, but you won't do anything about it.

Why?

What happened?

Somebody take your girl?

I can help you forget her.

Or maybe you don't want to.

I can be her, if you like.

♪ ♪ (sighs) ♪ ♪ Are you expecting somebody?

Bedtime.

You change your mind?

♪ ♪ (door closes) ♪ ♪ (rustling papers) ♪ ♪ (door opens) ♪ ♪ Why "Weibermacht"?

What?

The inscription.

"Weibermacht."

The Power of Women.

The hand that rocks the cradle, right?

It's an artistic theme.

Powerful men brought down by women.

Is that what this is about?

Is that why they've been killed in such a specific manner?

How would I know?

Unless I killed them.

(scoffs) They don't touch me.

If that's what worries you.

They might think they do.

They get her, for an hour or two, and they get exactly what they paid for, but they don't get me.

Is that what you tell yourself?

Listen, tiger.

We all do what we have to, even you.

What I do is honest.

You think so?

Mm.

Well, how many times have you fitted someone up?

Planted evidence?

Knocked a confession out of some poor innocent bastard?

Never.

You will.

No.

It's what coppers do.

I know.

I've seen it, I've lived it, so don't tell me.

You might think you're above it all, but don't kid yourself-- you're right down here in the dirt with the rest of us.

Go to bed.

(gasps) Bastard.

Why don't you make me?

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (object shifts in other room) ♪ ♪ (doorbell ringing) (light switch clicks) You're not Miss Evie.

Eve Thorne was at Shiplake Chase.

I think she was the entertainment for Robin Grey's stag night.

Maybe she wasn't alone.

Ruth Astor, the telephonist.

Her name came up on a list of agency staff sent to Shiplake Chase.

We should go.

Where?

Adrian Croxley's.

I was looking forward to a nice dolly-party.

All girls together.

RUTH: Evie couldn't come.

I suppose you'll do.

♪ ♪ "Eve Thorne, R.A." I thought the "R.A." stood for Royal Academy.

Only it was Ruth Astor.

So they must have been hired to be the entertainment for Robin Grey's stag do.

THURSDAY (voiceover): And Joey Sikes was the driver.

Here.

Put some of this on her.

She looks like death warmed up.

SIKES: Smile.

I can't.

Yes, you can.

And you be nice.

You don't remember me, do you?

MORSE: Well, something happened at Shiplake Chase that night, something terrible.

I don't think I've had the pleasure.

(softly): Oh, you have.

♪ ♪ (talking, applause) MAN: We have some entertainment for you.

(men laughing) (clapping) You're very pretty.

Fantastic wine, cheers.

(glasses clink) ♪ ♪ (crunch) (panting): What are you doing?

I tried to forget about you.

(laughing) Believe me, I tried.

(breathing shallowly) (tires screeching) Eddie gave her a job at the telephone message service by way of a payoff.

He was the one who sent her there, after all.

EVE: Make it right, Eddie.

You get her fixed up.

You make it right.

Which would leave her perfectly placed to hunt them all down-- one by one.

(talking in background, switchboard clicking) GREY (on phone): Good afternoon, it's Dr. Grey here.

RUTH (voiceover): It was Grey's voice I recognized first.

Then yours.

(gasps) But Lake's was the hardest to find.

I had to...

I had to wait.

But I had time.

LAKE (on phone): I'd like to leave a message, please.

So she goes back to Shiplake Chase posing as an agency temp, and steals the silverware she used to kill Grey and Lake.

I wanted you to know who was coming.

♪ ♪ (knocking) (muffled gunshots fire) THURSDAY (voiceover): Why drive a skewer into Joey's ear when she's already shot him?

(gun fires) MORSE (voiceover): Many of these scenes of vengeful women were from the Bible, painted by Artemisia Gentileschi.

She also suffered at the hands of men, just like Ruth Astor.

Jael who slew Sisera by driving a tent peg into his temple.

(metal clanging) ♪ ♪ Samson-- undone by Delilah before being delivered into the hands of the Philistines to be blinded.

(inhales) (stabbing) ♪ ♪ THURSDAY (voiceover): Which makes Lake what?

Holofernes, perhaps.

Being beheaded by Judith.

(whispering, trembling): I wanted you to know what it felt like to feel powerless and afraid.

(sniffles) So what's she got in store for Adrian Croxley?

RUTH: You're frightened now, right?

(thud) (groans) (coughs) Hail Mary, full of grace.

The Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

(groaning) (men laughing) (whimpering) (breathing shallowly) (men laughing) You let her go!

MEN: Whoa!

You'll pay for this, you bastards.

(panting) It was you.

I thought it had to be.

Ruth.

Ruthie.

Darling, we've got to get away from here.

The police are coming, sweetheart.

Let go of the knife, eh?

(gasps) Oh... Oh, Ruthie, what've you done to yourself?

(softly): I...

I got them.

♪ ♪ I know, baby.

I know.

All of them.

(crying): I tried...

It was too much.

(sobbing) Get away!

You don't touch her.

Nobody's going to touch her.

(sobbing) She needs an ambulance.

No.

No, she doesn't want an ambulance.

Shhh... She'll die!

Nobody touches her!

♪ ♪ (sobbing) Come on.

Come on.

(sobbing) Ruthie!

Oh, Ruthie.

Ruthie.

(sobbing) ♪ ♪ BRIGHT (voiceover): Can we charge her with anything?

If she knew this girl was the killer?

MORSE: I don't think she was certain, sir.

Well, not until the end.

It would be the devil to prove otherwise.

Who was she, this girl?

Ruth Astor, sir.

No family, as far as we can make out.

Eve Thorne seems to be the only person to show her any kindness.

She helped her out.

Helped her get back on her feet after Shiplake Chase.

To do all that and then kill herself.

Maybe it was only hate kept her going.

Once she'd settled their account, maybe she'd nothing left to live for.

Remorse, perhaps?

Couldn't live with what she'd done?

Or what had been done to her.

Quite.

Will it stick, do you think, with Nero?

Procurement?

I doubt it.

I know Eddie.

The whole thing'll get pinned on Joey Sikes.

But it'll come round.

There's still the matter of the egg, of course.

I don't suppose we'll ever know what happened to that.

Actually, sir, we do.

Ruth Astor took it from Lake's flat.

Sent it to Eve Thorne Good heavens.

Together with some flowers.

There's a card.

"Not to be opened until Easter."

"Buy yourself a new life, and live it for both of us.

R." ♪ ♪ "Innocence."

Well, they got that right, about the kids, at least.

But murder's still murder.

What starts with blood usually ends in it.

All that death and suffering, for what?

There's always some as got and some other bugger's not.

Nobody wins in the end.

They all wanted something they couldn't have, I suppose.

Doesn't everyone?

♪ ♪ REPORTER (on radio): Police are looking for a young white man, well-dressed with a medium build, driving a white Mustang, who shot and possibly critically wounded Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., at his hotel room in Memphis, Tennessee, this evening.

(click) CUMMING: Next time on "Masterpiece Mystery!"...

MAN: "The Pharaoh's Curse"?

(growls) (gasps) Maybe there is something to the legend after all.

MORSE: This isn't a game, do you understand?

THURSDAY: Given the wrong circumstances, anybody's capable of anything.

MORSE: If anything happens to them, we'll come after you with everything we've got.

(tires screeching) (screaming) CUMMING: "Endeavour," next time, on "Masterpiece Mystery!"

♪ ♪ CUMMING: Go to the "Masterpiece" website, watch full episodes, listen to our podcast, and more.

This program is available on Blu-ray and DVD.

To order, visit shop.PBS.org, or call us at 1-800-PLAY-PBS.