Bergerac (1981–1991): Season 4, Episode 3 - What Dreams May Come? - full transcript

(CAR DOOR CLOSES)

No, please!

(PANTING)

No!

No!

No!

Right.

You!

You damned me!

(SCREAMING)

- George Barton?
- He called about an hour ago.



- What for?
- Animal rights.

Animal what?

Said he'd been given your name
by Charlie Hungerford.

Oh, thank you, Charlie.

(PHONE RINGS)

Bureau des Étrangers.

- WOMAN: Is that the police?
- Well, yeah...

- It's about Jerry Bruce.
- Jerry who?

Jerry Bruce.

They killed him.
Jerry Bruce's death was no accident.

Hello?

- Jerry Bruce?
- Yeah, who is he?

Wouldn't we like to know?
What's your interest in him?

- I just had this funny phone call, didn't I?
- You should be used to those.



No, it was some anonymous female.
She sounded hysterical.

What did she say?

"They killed him.
Jerry Bruce's death was no accident."

Do you fancy a coffee?

Hit and run then, was it?

Anything but, actually.
The driver drove him to the hospital himself.

And what sort of a state was he in?

He was fine. A little shaken up, of course.
Who wouldn't be?

No he was stone cold sober.
Apparently drives for a living. He's a chauffeur.

- So what's the problem?
- The coroner isn't happy.

The problem is he isn't prepared
to let anybody bury Bruce

until he's had the answers
to a couple of questions,

such as for starters,
"Who the hell was Bruce anyway?"

Look, I seem to be out of change.
Have you got any, by any chance?

Take a look at those.

That's all he had on him, apart from a few quid.

No chequebook, no driving license,
no credit cards, nothing.

It seems he worked as a beach photographer.

One of those who takes your picture
whether you want him to or not,

usually after a heavy lunch
and from your least flattering angle,

then slips you one of those just in case
you should be unwise enough to order a copy.

And this is the address of the studio, yeah?

Nothing so grand.
A holiday flat he'd been renting.

(SIGHS) Well, I suppose
you'd better take over the case.

- Is there a case?
- There is.

His flat was burgled yesterday

and cleared of anything that
might have told us where he'd come from.

At least that's the assumption,
as nothing could be found.

This doesn't seem to have been his week, does it?

He should have stayed on the mainland.

- Is that where he came from?
- That's what he said when he took the flat.

Oh, the books come with the flat,
do they, Mr Dudley?

Do you mind?

My interest in black magic faded
when Billy Daniels did, love.

- Billy who?
- You heard, Sergeant.

Well...

Into the occult in a big way,
your Mr Bruce, was he?

Well, obviously.

Mind you, I don't think we've had
any virgin sacrifices up here this week.

More's the pity. But then, how would I know?

I've hardly been able to set so much as
a cloven hoof in here since I gave him his keys.

What you might call a very private person, Jerry.

And this last week, well...

- What about this last week?
- Well, what indeed?

He'd got like a bloody hermit crab.
Hardly opened this door.

I've had to knock at least half a dozen times
to make sure he wasn't dead or something.

As it turned out, I needn't have bothered, need I?

You identified the body for us,
didn't you, Mr Dudley?

Yes, and you can keep that
for a game of soldiers in future.

What, turn you right off, did it?

Sergeant, I've seen dead bodies before, but I've
never seen one with a look like that on his face.

My God, anyone would have thought
he'd just come face to face with old Nick himself.

- Well, perhaps he had.
- You smiled when you said that, Sergeant.

- You live in the flat just below, don't you?
- That's right. 5A, if ever you're passing.

- And you heard nothing?
- Not a dicky-bird. Right pros whoever they were.

All the same...

what self-respecting burglar
would leave this behind, eh?

Did you know he was on these?

- What are they?
- Durophet.

- Duro-what?
- Uh, pep pills. Speed.

No, I didn't.

- Paid his rent in advance, presumably?
- Oh yes.

- Was it cash or cheque?
- Cash.

Did he ever mention
where he came from on the mainland?

No, just London. That was all.

(GLASS CRACKING)

- Who's this? That a girlfriend?
- Oh, very much so. For a while anyway.

How do you mean?

Well, up until the end of last week,
she was never away from the place, day or night.

Then suddenly, no more Helene.

And he was doing a hard-done-by as well.

I did wonder whether
they'd had some sort of row or something.

- Helene, you said?
- Duvall.

- Oh, French, is she?
- Originally, I believe, yes.

She runs this little shop in St Helier.

You'll find some even funnier books in there
from what I've heard.

Helene.

We thought you'd died.

Well? Doesn't your favourite author
at least get a cup of coffee?

- Something wrong, Helene?
- Was it really necessary to go that far?

Oh, absolutely, love.

He was dangerous to us.
You were very wise to tip us off about him.

- Couldn't you simply have warned him off?
- You know what they're like.

When they feel they've been insulted,

they're simply incapable
of half-measures, I suppose.

- So the cause of death was heart failure, was it?
- Right.

Brought on by the shock
of the accident, presumably?

That couldn't have helped, could it?

Did you realise at the time he was on speed?

Not at the time, no, but the treatment would have
been the same, of course, even if I had.

- Did he ever recover consciousness?
- Yes, briefly.

Did he say anything?

- Just the one thing.
- Yeah, what?

Well it was all a bit odd, really.
He objected to being sedated.

At first we thought
he was some sort of religious nut.

And then after
I'd finally got the needle into him,

he sort of fixed me with his glittering eye
and said, "You've damned me."

- He said what?
- "You've damned me."

I must say, when I saw
the look on the poor bastard's face,

when it was all over, I did rather wonder
whether he knew something we didn't know.

Not a pretty sight.

Well, just so long as
it doesn't put you off your lunch.

My wife reckons this job brutalises you,
you know.

Good Lord, she doesn't, does she?

(BELL RINGS)

- Are you looking for anything in particular?
- A Miss Helene Duvall, actually.

- I am Helene Duvall.
- I thought you must be.

I'm Sergeant Bergerac,
from the Bureau des Étrangers.

- We spoke on the telephone.
- We did?

- Yes, you wanted to report a murder.
- A murder?

Yes, of a Mr Jerry Bruce?

- Is this some kind of Joke?
- It had better not be.

- Jerry Bruce died in an accident.
- Yeah, that's what we thought, till you phoned us.

I never rang you.

Now, Miss Duvall
you have a very distinctive accent.

And one perhaps
that would be easy to imitate, yes?

Now, why would anyone want to do that?

Whoever rang you, Sergeant,
it certainly wasn't me.

- But you knew Jerry Bruce, didn't you?
- Of course. He came into the shop.

I think you knew him better than that.
He had a photograph of you, framed, in his flat.

Why did you two suddenly stop seeing each other?
Was it a lover's tiff?

He was not my lover.

- We were Just...
- Good friends?

- That's right.
- Then why did you stop seeing him?

I didn't. It Just so happened that
for a week or so, I haven't seen him, that's all.

Where did he come from in England?
Do you know?

He never talked about things like that.

- What did you talk about?
- Oh, the usual thing.

- Books?
- Yes.

Books about the occult? Books about black magic?
Close encounters of the other kind?

That had to be something you two had
very much in common. I mean, given that lot.

Look, Sergeant, why am I being asked
all these questions?

I told you. Your phone call made us curious.

I told you, I made no such phone call.

All right. Put it this way, somebody did.

Somebody who sounded very much like you to me.

Oh, you stupid bitch.

- Sergeant Bergerac?
- Yeah?

Oh, you do exist, then?

- I'm sorry, have we met?
- We have now, at last.

No thanks to you it seems to me.
George Barton.

Oh, Mr Barton.
I was Just about to give you a ring.

- Of course you were.
- Would you like to go on through?

Right, Mr Barton, take a seat.

- Now, what can we do for you?
- Well, for starters, you can stop it.

- Stop what?
- What's going on right next door to me.

What is going on?

Dumb animals are being tortured.
That is what's going on.

Some sort of research establishment,
is this, sir?

- It's a private house!
- What makes you think anything's going on?

I don't think, Sergeant, I know.
I've got ears.

I know an animal in mortal agony when I hear it.
And I've got a nose.

I know what it is they're burning in that furnace
when they've finished.

- Look, Mr Barton, if what you allege is correct...
- It is correct!

If what you allege is correct,
then you've got to go through the proper channels,

which, in your case,
has to be the local police.

Look, I've done all that, haven't I?

Nobody listens.
Everybody thinks I'm some sort of nut.

That's why Charlie Hungerford pointed me in
your direction because he thought you just might.

- And I'm willing to Mr Barton, but...
- Good.

But having said that,

I would then have to say that
it is really none of this department's business.

Sergeant Bergerac cruelty to animals
is everybody's business!

Never mind. Never mind.
Message received and understood.

- Look, Mr Barton...
- No, you look, Sergeant.

Look, into what's going on in that house,
because if you don't

don't you be surprised
if you find there are some of us who will.

(DOG BARKING)

(SIGHING)

Another satisfied customer?

Oops! Oh, hello! Nice doggy.

So you uh...
You managed to talk to our Jim, then, did you?

Oh I talked to him, all right.
There's just this one problem.

He wasn't bloody listening, was he?

Oh, dear.

(PHONE RINGING)

Bureau des Étrangers.

- HELENE: Seargeant Bergerac, please.
- Hold on, please.

- Jim. Helene Duvall.
- Bergerac.

Seargeant Bergerac, can we talk?

Yeah, sure, I'll come round to the shop.

No, not to the shop. We're closed.
Come to my flat.

- All right, what's the address?
- It's 6B, Jaystone Tower.

I'm on the sixth floor, by the lift.

Right. On my way.

- Hello, Charlie.
- Oh, Jim, I was hoping I'd catch you.

- Bit out of your way, isn't it?
- Well, it's official business, you know.

- With me?
- Well, no, not exactly.

All right, then, see you.

- No, well, it's this friend of mine, George Barton.
- You just missed him, Charlie.

- Oh, have I?
- Yeah, him and the Hound of the Baskervilles.

- Given you a bit of earache, has he?
- You disappoint me. Do you know that, Charlie?

I do?

I would have thought that the chairman
of the Law and Order Committee

would have channelled a complaint to the police
more precisely than that.

He's got a bit of a bee in his bonnet,
has our George.

- He sees vivisectionists under every bed.
- Yes, so I gathered.

So what I thought was,
if he could get a sympathetic hearing

- from at least one member of the force...
- So you could get him off your back?

Oh, Jim, you're getting cynical in your old age.

Yeah, I think I got it
from the in-laws I used to have.

He's not liable to do anything stupid, is he?
Like putting poison into chocolate bars?

- Old George? He wouldn't harm a fly.
- Yeah, possibly.

But in Barton's book,
flies rate just above people, don't they?

(GOAT BLEATING)

(DOORBELL RINGING)

- Ah, Sergeant, please come in.
- Thank you.

Please go through.

- Would you like a drink?
- No, no thanks.

Look, there's something
I wanted to clear up about Jerry's death.

- Oh, yeah?
- Well, we were lovers. I lied to you.

Oh, for a while it was wonderful between us,
but there was a row.

He wanted a more permanent relationship,
to own me, children.

I couldn't accept that.
There was a terrible argument.

And, in the end, I told him
I never wanted to see him again.

I suppose I got my wish, didn't I?

- Then why did you lie about it?
- Well, I felt so foolish, ringing you like that.

- It was so stupid.
- What, telling the police that he'd been murdered?

When I heard that he was dead,
I felt as if he had been murdered,

by me Just as surely as if
I'd stuck a knife into him.

He used to ring me all the time.
I never would take his call.

Are you suggesting that
he threw himself in front of that car on purpose?

Oh, please, Sergeant, don't say that.

And there's nothing else
you want to tell me about him?

There's nothing else to tell.

All right. Well, thanks for that anyway.

Oh, I'll show you to the door.

Oh, and I'd get a steak for that eye if I were you.

Oh, yes. I uh...
I walked into a door you know.

Miss Duvall.

Oh, damn him!

(RINGING)

- Bellow.
- Bart, It's me, Helene.

What do you want?

I just wanted you to know that it's all right now.
I talked to him.

Who?

The police sergeant,
the one who came to the shop.

I explained everything to him.

I told him that I'd broken off
my affair with Jerry,

and that I felt I might have been responsible
in some way for the accident,

- because he was so upset.
- And you think he believed you, hmm?

You really think he believed you.

(DOGS BARKING)

(DOG BARKING)

All right, Sam.

All right, boy.

All right, Sam.

(DOG WHIMPERS)

Stay.

(SAM WHIMPERING)

(WHIMPERING)

(SAM PANTING HEAVILY)

(SAM WHIMPERS)

What the hell's been happening here, then?

He got himself trapped in his shed,
him and his dog.

- Apparently he stored petrol in there.
- Poor old devil.

That's the only house round here, isn't it?

That's right.
You know who lives there, don't you?

Yeah, one of our distinguished tax exiles.
Jersey's answer to Dennis Wheatley, I understand.

(GOATS BLEATING)

Lost, are we?

Oh, I was looking for Mr Bellow.

Tried the front door, did you?
I'm Bellow.

- I'm Sergeant Bergerac, Bureau des Étrangers.
- Oh, yes?

- Quite a menagerie.
- Yes.

- It's about the fire at Barton's place.
- Oh, yes?

- You must've had a grandstand view.
- Yes.

Yet, in fact, you weren't the one
who first phoned the fire brigade.

I was just about to when I heard them arriving.

- Pity about Mr Barton.
- You think so?

- Don't you?
- The man was a fool.

- Don't mince your words, do you?
- My words are far too precious to be minced.

You know he'd laid a complaint against you
with us, yeah?

- No.
- Yeah.

According to him, you've been carrying out
experiments on animals up here.

(CHUCKLES)

Well, I told you the man was a fool.

So, what can I do for you, Sergeant?

Did you notice anyone suspicious
hanging around Barton's place?

No. Why?

Is foul play suspected, then?

I was Just wondering how, in broad daylight,
on his own property,

he could get himself burned to death.

I don't know.

Perhaps he thought
he could extinguish the flames himself

without bothering the fire brigade.

The sort of stupid thing he would do.

- Well, will there be anything else, Sergeant?
- No.

Not for the moment. Thank you.

This is the car that was involved
in the fatal accident the other day, isn't it?

That's right, sir. Yes.

- Were you driving it, then?
- Yes, sir.

- Oh, you work for Mr Bellow, do you?
- Well, for the last five years, sir, yes.

I had no chance, you see, sir.
He ran straight out in front of me.

What could he have been doing
all the way out here, I wonder?

Well, I suppose
he could have been visiting old friends, sir.

Old friends?

Well, there is a cemetery just down the road.

Oh, well, my lucky day, then.
Yeah, thanks. Yeah. Yes, yes.

- What's this?
- The answer to all your problems, actually.

At least as far as
the mysterious Jerry Bruce is concerned.

His name isn't Bruce at all. It's Green.

Known in the Fleet Street fleshpots
as Fearless Frank Green.

Scourge of the dissolute, guardian of the public
morals and muckraker of the Sunday yuck.

He hadn't claimed any expenses
for about a fortnight,

so his editor thought he ought to
make a few enquiries.

- Why the assumed name?
- Well, his usual MO, it seems.

Just in case he was recognised
by one of his legion of fans.

- What was he doing in Jersey?
- You can ask his editor.

He's coming over personally
to make the formal identification.

Bloody hell!

- Thanks.
- Pleasure.

- (LAUGHING) Black magic rites? In Jersey?
- Don't laugh, Sergeant.

Ideal breeding ground.

Flavour of the month for the man
who has everything, has had everything,

is very rich and very, very bored.

How many of those per square yard
have you got on this island of yours?

Besides, he was getting somewhere. Fast.

- Last time we spoke to him.
- Oh, yeah?

Apparently, he pulled a local bird
who got him right in on the inside of the thing.

Saw him as a potential convert.
French girl.

- Helene Duvall?
- That's the one.

Did he say who else was involved?

As far as he could gather,
all sorts of local household names.

- Was one of them by any chance, Bart Bellow?
- Ah.

According to Frank,
he was top cat in the organisation.

Oh, yeah.
Well, he'd have to be, wouldn't he?

Guess who?

- What do you want?
- Just a word.

I would like your help.

- Oh, going somewhere nice, are we?
- Paris. My mother's sick.

When did you first realise that Jerry Bruce
was actually Frank Green?

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

Is that what the row was really about,
when you finally realised that he was using you

to infiltrate Bellow's local branch
of the magic circle?

I tell you I don't know anything about
any of these things!

It's no use packing, Miss Duvall.
You're not going anywhere.

What do you mean?

We have reason to believe
that Frank Green was murdered.

Also you are a material witness.

And in view of that fact, if you're planning
to leave Jersey in the near future, forget it.

I'm a French citizen.
You have no right to hold me.

You'd like to bet?
What's the matter, Helene?

You afraid that Brother Bellow
will slap a hex on you or something?

- It isn't funny.
- Oh, come on.

If dancing around graveyards
at midnight stark naked

is what it takes to turn you on, then all right.

But don't tell me
you actually believe this garbage.

You may mock! He mocked at first.

What are you trying to tell me?
That Green became a believer, too, eh?

Seeing is believing, Sergeant.
And he saw things he never would have believed.

Oh, yes, he believed, all right.

- He was conning you, Helene.
- No.

Yes, he was. That's the way he always worked.
How else do you think he could get his story?

Look, why do you think
he was taking those pills?

Each man to his own poison, I suppose.
Now, with me, it was the booze.

No! It was to stay awake!

Because he knew that if he fell asleep
what would be waiting for him.

Why do you think
he was up at Bellow's place that day?

He was begging, Sergeant.
Begging for Bellow to call it off.

"It" being a cross between King Kong and
the Creature from the Black Lagoon, I suppose.

You saw what happened to him
the first time he did lose consciousness.

Frank Green died of heart failure,

almost certainly as a result of being hit by a car
driven by Bart Bellow's chauffeur.

But of course!
That's how it always work!

That's how it work with him,
how it work with George Barton...

What do you know about
the death of George Barton?

(PHONE RINGING)

Hello?

Hello?

Please, Sergeant, just let me go, huh?

Certainly. Just as soon as
you make a full statement

telling us all you know about the deaths
of Frank Green and George Barton.

Look, Helene,
we can give you full protection.

(SCOFFS) Protection?

Excuse me.

- Yes, Sergeant?
- Jerry Bruce.

Or should I say Frank Green?

The one your chauffeur ran down,
the bottom of your drive a few days ago?

Ah.

Do you realise that
he was an investigative journalist

and that you were the one he was investigating?

The price of fame, I'm afraid, Sergeant.

The endless attentions of the gutter press
goes with the territory.

And well worth putting up with, presumably,

for the sort of money you must get paid
for writing this sort of guff.

That is how you see it, is it?

I mean, spells, incantations, raising the devil?
In this day and age?

And is the idea of casting a spell so very different
from the standard Christian practice

of praying to some plaster saint?

I really wouldn't know.
See, that's not my bag either.

Oh, you must come around sometime, Sergeant.

- Let us convert you, hmm?
- Like you did with Frank Green?

That is, before you realised
what his real game was.

I'm afraid you've just lost me, Sergeant.

Now, if there's nothing more,
I really should be getting back to my guests.

Monthly meeting
of the local witches' coven, is it?

I must say, you people have come a long way
since broomsticks.

You know, Sergeant, you really shouldn't be so
facetious about things of which you know nothing.

Going to have something nasty
from the outer circle waiting for me, are you?

Next time I nod off?

Good night, Sergeant.

Oh, and, Sergeant?

Sweet dreams.

- Police?
- Just a routine enquiry. Nothing more.

Now do carry on.
We mustn't keep the gods waiting.

- Helene isn't here, then?
- No, sir.

She's a menace, Gary, to all of us.

Yes, sir.

So you think they killed Green and Barton?
Morning, everybody.

Green because he was about to blow the gaff

on whatever it is goes on
at Bellow's nasty little cocktail parties,

and Barton because he was going to give him
some bad publicity, too.

- Well, Bellow must be mad, or you are.
- It's got to be him!

- Have you read his latest book?
- No.

He's serious about it, believe me.

And apart from that, from all the Rollers
and the Bentleys lined up in the drive,

a lot of very wealthy people have got a lot to lose
if this ever hits the headlines.

- Morning, Peggy.
- Morning, sir.

What makes you think
they'll have a go for Duvall next?

From what I told them last night,
they'll feel they've got no option.

And what was that, may I ask?

I let slip some information
that Bellow knows she must have given me.

- Not exactly ethical.
- Well, neither is two murders.

Well, try not to make it three, please.

Oh, it's no sweat. I've had the place
under surveillance since last night.

Suitably equipped, presumably,
with cloves of garlic?

But of course.

Off you go, love.

(CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYING)

Looks innocent enough, doesn't it?

That's Helene Duvall.

JIM: What's she playing at?

Well, whatever it is,
she seems to be doing it willingly.

Don't lose him.

(PHONE RINGING)

Hello?

BELLOW: Helene? He's coming for you now.

Helene, he can't wait for you to go to sleep.

He's coming for you now.

Pull him over.

(HONKING)

- Well, he doesn't seem to like that idea.
- Persuade him.

(HONKING)

(PLEADING IN FRENCH)

Ah, Sergeant Bergerac.

I didn't realise you were a police,
or I would've pulled over sooner.

You are nicked, my friend.
Take him down to the station, Barry, and hold him.

- On what charge?
- Don't worry. I'll think of something.

(HELENE POUNDING ON DOOR)

(HELENE POUNDING ON DOOR)

(PLEADING IN FRENCH)

(CRYING)

(PLEADING IN FRENCH)

Bellow! Bellow!

Bellow!

(COUGHING)

JIM: Helene!

Helene!

Helene!

(SCREAMING)

Helene. Helene!

Wake up. Helene? Helene? Helene!

- Tricks, then, from beginning to end?
- Well, suppose so.

Hey, hey, don't tell me
you're a last-minute convert to the faith.

(SCOFFS)

Funny, though, wasn't it?
The way the fire went out when Bellow was killed?

The experts say it can happen.

The sudden flash uses up the available oxygen
and snuffs out the fire.

Ah, well, there's a rational explanation
for everything, isn't there?

- Hmm. Of course.
- Still, a hell of a way to go, wasn't it?