Dalziel and Pascoe (1996–2007): Season 9, Episode 5 - The Dig: Part 1 - full transcript

(DOORBELL RINGING)

Good work, Jacob.

—So, what have we here?
—Some bones over there.

Let's clear this away.

Oh, my God, it's got tissue on it.
I have to call the police.

(SNORING)

(MOBILE RINGING)

Oh, bugger! Excuse me, love.

Dalziel.

Peter? I'm right in the middle of a...

You what?



Where? All right, give us 20 minutes.

No, no, no, I'll make me
own way there, thank you.

Sorry, love, I've got to go.

What is it you're looking for?

The last refuge of Queen Cartimandua.

She was the leader of the Brigantes.
First century AD.

Just after the Roman invasion.

—Sounds fascinating.
—It would be if we had more time.

The bypass will push through
here in a few days,

so we need every precious
second to excavate this site.

You realise we can't allow you to work

while a forensic examination
is going on?

Yeah, I know. How long do
you think that'll take?

Rather depends on what
my colleague says.



Are they sure it's
a modern skeleton, Peter?

Otherwise we could be wasting our time.

Well, not many first-century
Britons wore designer suits.

All right, Mr Sarcasm.

How long has it been in the ground?

Dr Brown is working on that now.

Oh, she's here, is she?

Nice girl, as I remember.

Andy, what's that smell?

—Is it your hair gel?
—Shut it.

Better come and meet Dr Rix,
she found the body.

Andy, this is, uh...

Hi. Dr Rix, Head of Archaeology,
Wetherton University.

Superintendent Dalziel.

(CHUCKLES) Sorry, comes with the job.

Used to digging up bodies, are you?

Rather more ancient ones than this one.

Look, Superintendent, we have less
than a week to excavate this site.

I think it may be one of the most
important sites in England.

Well, this is now a crime scene,
Dr Rix, we can't be rushed.

It's an adult male, interred
at least six months ago.

I've cleared the area around the skull.

There are two prominent fractures
to the left hand side.

The teeth have been violently
removed with a chisel,

or something similar.

So much from so little already.

I need to get the body back
to the lab for full analysis,

but this certainly looks like a murder.

Anything to help us with
an ID, Dr Brown?

No personal items so far.

Forensic may be able to get
you something on the fabrics,

-but we're dealing with remains here.
—Right.

I want this whole area
fully dug out, six feet either side.

Burying the body must have
been a messy business.

All sorts of things could
have been left behind.

Murder weapon, buttons,
fingernails, hair.

Digging tools.

Careful, sir, you're at risk
of contaminating a crime scene.

Look, I'm in a rush, okay?
And my DNA is logged.

All right, come on. As you're suited
and booted, dig this out for me, Lateef.

Down there.

Here.

Do you want this, uh, dusted for
fingerprints or swabbed for DNA, sir?

Let's find the other one first,
then we can do both.

Right, your job will be to find the
maker and the owner of these cufflinks.

Possibly 19th century.

This is not the Antiques Roadshow

just get them back to HQ
and have them photographed.

(SIGHS)

Trail's at least six months old,
Peter, we need to crack on.

And I'm wondering if whoever
did for our man

knew that the bypass would
provide a concrete coffin?

What, you think it might
have been a gangland killing?

Has all the hallmarks,
so it's worth asking around.

In the meantime, can you
start up the local inquiries, Peter,

and meet me in the pub at lunchtime?

MAN: Come along, that's right!

All right, come on,
that's it, keep coming.

That's it, keep going.

—Who's the gaffer here?
—Who wants to know?

Detective Inspector Pascoe.

He's in the site office, over there.

We've only been on this
stretch for a week.

Didn't start the road until March.

Would you have surveyed the route?

No, we're just labourers.
County Council do that.

It was their surveyor, James At her ton,
who found this supposed

Roman settlement when he was doing
his geophysical survey.

Pain in the arse.

Not keen on
the archaeological dig, then?

Well, I can see it has value

but they'd better be gone
by the time we get there.

My lads don't like delays.
It means smaller pay packets.

We've had to shut down the dig
while we try to identify the body.

Oh, that's not good, Inspector.

For, uh, community relations and all.

I hope that's not a threat, Mr Cashman.

—I'll need a list of your workforce.
—What for?

Because we'll want to talk to them.

Well, these lads, they work for cash
then disappear until the next job.

Introduce them to me.

That's Mad Dog on the dozer.

Tarzan does the rolling.

No Nose and Lord Lucan
are by the mini digger.

And I suppose your name's
not really Cashman, is it?

Depends on who's asking.

It'll be a team of my detectives
in about half an hour.

I want all their names then.

You can close down
your operation for 24 hours.

You're going nowhere till
we've finished over there.

DALZIEL: Yeah, but has anybody
dropped out of sight?

And I mean anybody.

Remember Harry Simms?

Long—term burglar and fence?

I heard tell he packed it in
about 9 months ago.

He's not around any more.

So, he's not exactly
the sort to wear, er,

silver cufflinks with
a religious theme, eh?

Oh.

Strictly muck and nettles is Simms.

He never really knew
what to do with his money.

Spent most of it on booze and horses.

—No culture, see?
—Yeah.

—Unlike yourself, Billy.
—(BILLY CHUCKLES)

—Nothing but the best for you, eh?
-Oh, well.

(SIGHS)

By the way,

Clive Jacobs got out today.

What's that make?

Sixteen years.

He should have done twice that.

I never saw you as
an hanger and a flogger.

You should have seen
what he did to her.

She was pretty.

Wanted to be a model.

(CAMERA SHUTTER CLICKING)

But the only photo shoot she ever got

was with a police photographer.

This lowlife Jacobs
goes and pulverizes her.

Okay, I'll show you the room.

What do you think about these?

JEWELLER: Well, handmade, I'd say.

A good 50 to 60 years old.

Possibly a commemorative gift
for a member of the clergy?

Probably Roman Catholic.

And, um... And this, make any sense?

Well, it's not a hallmark.

Looks as if it might
have been added later.

An acronym for a dedication in Latin.

PRIEST: It's most likely to be Catholic
or High Anglican.

But it is possible a priest would
wear a pair like these?

Of course, but it could
be a devoted Christian.

We found this inscription on
the back of one of the cufflinks.

PRIEST: This could be
a Biblical reference.

G would probably be Genesis.

I don't have time to check, I'm sorry.

Thank you, sir.

Who was most opposed
to the bypass, Mr At her ton?

Local residents, green lobby,
special interest groups.

I once had a road diverted
after a campaign

by a distinguished lepidopterist,
to save a rare species.

Of butterfly.

—The objectors?
—A hardcore of residents in St rent on,

centered around the Parish Council.

They owned the land here,
but they wouldn't sell up.

So how come the road's being built?

The chairman of the Parish
Council changed his vote.

—Do you have his name?
—Yes, it was Robin Blake.

Apparently, after he changed his mind
he resigned from the Council,

has been pilloried for it ever since.

What about the dig? That came later.

Well, I did a final sweep of the route.

The dry summer had brought up a rough
outline of the settlement in the grass,

almost like a flat plan.

After the usual lobbying,
Dr Rix of Wetherton University

was allocated three weeks
for an exploratory excavation.

—Then what, you cover it in tarmac?
—Not quite, no.

If her site can be proved
to be of special merit,

then more time can be
allocated for the dig

and it can be preserved
by carefully covering it over

and building the road above it.

A lot at stake, then. History,
money, property values.

Happens all over England.

People get the choice between preserving
something from the ancient world

or getting some relief from traffic,
by and large they choose the latter.

Do you know Mr Cashman at all?
He's the subcontractor on the bypass.

Oh, I'm long gone before those chaps
come in on the project.

Thanks, Mr At her ton.

—I'll be back if I need any more help.
-Back?

May I ask what all this is about?

We found a body at the dig.

Cheers.

(DOORBELL RINGS)

If you want to view the house, you have
to go through the estate agent.

DI Pascoe. Mid Yorkshire CID.

-Are you Mr Robin Blake?
—Mmm—hmm.

Has something happened?

I just want to ask a question or two
about the Parish Council and the bypass.

Well, I'm not sure I can help you.
I'm no longer on the Council

and the road is well underway.

This concerns matters from
several months back.

—Well, you'd better come in, then.
—Thank you.

Lovely house.

I imagine it will be a wrench to leave.

Yeah, lived here most of me life.

But now it's time to head off to me
little retirement villa in Spain.

Oh yeah? whereabouts?

Well, anywhere away from the coast.

I understand from Mr At her ton,
the county surveyor,

that you were instrumental in
getting the bypass approved.

A very messy business.

I'm afraid I ended up
caught in the middle.

I don't like a fuss, Mr Pascoe,
so it was very disturbing for me

to be shouted at
by one group after another.

Is that why you changed your vote?

—For a quiet life?
—Partly.

But you were against
the road initially, I gather?

Hmm.

Well, at first, I thought it was
too much of a change.

Was the dispute a factor
in your decision to sell up?

I'm afraid so.

Some people will never forgive me.

I've been shunned, I've had hate mail,

people turning up on
the doorstep with threats.

So, I stay at home mostly.

There is nothing more vicious
than English village life.

Come through.

Have you heard that
a body has been found

buried on the route of the bypass?

No.

Do you know who it is?

We're trying to work out whether
it was a local or somebody visiting.

Perhaps during the original protest.

So, how vicious is vicious?

Well, there was a lot
of verbal nastiness

but nothing that
would suggest violence.

Would you care to name any
of the people who threatened you?

Now that you're leaving.

The landlord of the Spotted Pig,

the village pub, John Hobbs.

He believes he'll go out of business
once the bypass is open.

But I'd be grateful if you
didn't mention my name.

Were you pressurised by
anyone into changing your vote?

No, just changed me mind.
Wrote to the Council, resigned.

How does the village feel
about the archaeological dig?

Oh, mostly approve, I understand.

Not that I speak
to many people any more.

As for me, I used to be a history
lecturer, so I could hardly oppose it.

—Have you been out to the site?
—I haven't yet, actually.

Been a bit busy with
the house and what have you.

Spotted Pig, my arse.

I talked to Cashman, the subcontractor.

He's more of a gang master, really.

His men are a bunch
of hairy—arsed tearaways.

Nicknames only, so far,
but I'm working on it.

The thing is...

none of them would have been here
at the time the body was buried.

Work only started on the road in March.

Not much, then.

The only odd thing
about this Harry Simms bloke

is that he's got no form after 1987,

yet my snout suggests that
he was still operating up to

eight, nine months ago.

Doesn't say much
for our burglary squad.

I'll be over when I've got
a minute, okay?

I doubt if the body is Simms.

I mean, if he had
a pair of silver cufflinks,

they would be in a bag
with the word "swag" on it.

Anything useful here?

Maybe.

The landlord, John Hobbs.

He's supposed to have run
a hate campaign

against the chairman
of the Parish Council

for voting the road through.

—What can I do for you?
—We wanted to know if the, er,

body we found at the dig
is someone from the village.

St rent on is not exactly picture
postcard material

but we don't really get
much trouble here.

PASCOE: But the bypass decision
split the village, though.

Yeah.

And some grudges will last longer
than others.

Including your own
against the yes voters?

Well, let's just say that some people
get frostier welcomes than others.

—Like Robin Blake, for example?
—The man's a turncoat and he knows it.

—That land belonged to the village.
—Do you think someone got at him?

He's too well—off to take
a backhander, I just think

he knew he was going abroad,
so the decision wouldn't affect him.

PASCOE: But it does if he's been
ostracised by the village.

Yeah, well, he didn't come in
that often.

The Parish Council have their
Christmas lunch here

-but it's not a big deal, is it?
—How long you been here?

Me brother and I inherited the pub
10 years ago from our parents.

But we're going to struggle.
Once that road goes in

there's going to be no passing trade.

So if the body's not local,
there's someone missing from the area.

Do you recall anyone visiting
or staying a night or so

six, seven months back?

JOHN HOBBS: Around that time,
one of our regulars

got run over by a lorry, it were awful.

Come to think of it, there was someone.

That's when I saw a man
at the village notice board

and I've never seen him since.

Description?

He was tall, wearing a duffle coat.

With a label tied round his neck saying
"Please look after this bear"?

He's doing his best, Andy.

Obviously not good
enough for your boss.

Anyway, take it or leave it.

When was this, roughly?

It was mid—November, pre—Christmas.

Six months ago, then.

PAUL HOBBS: When you're ready, John.

You've got customers
dying of thirst here

and I've got two more
chicken fricassees to do.

Sorry about that. Our kid's
the original temperamental chef.

Tell him we want a word with him.

The subcontractor,
Cashman, has got a duffle coat.

Would he have been
around six months ago?

Not working.

But he had a big interest in getting
the right vote, didn't he?

(INDISTINCT TALKING)

What is it?

I had a policeman come round
to my office this morning.

—DI Pascoe.
—I've had him here, too.

Well they don't know anything, do they?

No, they found a body
at the dig this morning,

so they're bound
to be asking questions.

Oh! How could
something like this happen?

Talk about bad luck.

Well, it was for whoever's dead.
Don't panic.

The thing is, my daughter's up
to university in September

and I need help with the fees.

You've got a bloody cheek, At her ton.

If you'd kept your mouth shut about
your minor archaeological find,

none of this would have happened.

Well, I couldn't not report
a site like that,

they'd have questioned my competence.

They can join the club.

Look...

I could do with something now.

(STAMMERS) I've had a really
bad month on the horses

and my wife's threatening to leave me.

I've told you, you'll get the other
5k when the road's finished.

Now, piss off!

And don't even think
about squealing to anyone

or my lads will be round.

Prat.

—So what do you want to know?
—We have a body at the dig.

Six months old or thereabouts.

Do you know who it might be?

Nope.

What about visitors?

I'm in the kitchen most of the time.
We do get outsiders dropping in.

More, hopefully, when the bypass opens.

You were for it, then?

Yeah.

I'm trying to make this place
a destination restaurant,

rather than just a pit stop.

I get the impression you don't see
eye to eye with your brother.

We have our differences.

We get along. You have to
when you're in business together.

Do either of you take
your differences outside the pub?

Well, this is a small village.

Know anything about Robin Blake?

Yeah, he's a nice bloke.

Don't see as much of him now,

not since his vote for the road
turned him into a scapegoat.

Pity your brother has
taken against him, too.

You'd better tell us if he's
taken against anyone else.

Only me, but I can live with it.

Not much so far.

Not much would be a volume
of the Encylopaedia bloody Britannica

compared to what we've got.

None of the missing persons
fits the bill,

no further clues as to the body's ID

and "man in duffle coat"
narrows things down

to about four million trainspotters.

LATEEF: Sir, can I make a suggestion?

Why not do one of those facial
reconstructions on t'skull?

Perhaps your friend Dr Rix
will have a contact, Andy.

I'd rather talk to Dr Brown.

(PHONE RINGING)

Well, don't anybody rush, I'll get it.

Dalziel. Oh, Dr Brown.

We were just talking about you, yeah.

Oh, really?

All right, oh, okay, yes.
We'll be there straightaway.

Thank you.

(CLEARS THROAT)

Are you both coming?

Any chance to see you make
a fool of yourself, Andy.

Cause of death still a blow
to the head, Dr Brown?

Yes, two fractures to the skull,
here and here.

A hammer is most likely,

judging from the compressed fractures.

Profuse bleeding in the parietal lobe

will probably have been
the cause of death.

Oh, you know about
the teeth being chiselled off,

well, the end phalanges of every
finger were also crudely removed.

No fingertips, no prints.

Not just a murder,

but the ruthless obliteration
of the victim's identity.

Any further ideas on
when it happened, Dr Brown?

The standard decomposition rate suggests
no more than six months ago.

Winter frost may have
slowed decay a little.

Soil acidity was basically neutral.

There are only small fragments
of muscle remaining.

Fortunately, the clothes
kept the skeleton intact.

We'll get our DNA, though, won't we?

Oh, yes. These bones can still talk.

Sir, SOCO did find a second cufflink
for a DNA swab.

Well, that's only of use
if he was a criminal.

Otherwise he won't be
on the national database.

We were thinking
of a facial reconstruction.

There's a woman at the university's
archaeological department,

a Katie Bevins, yes,
she specialises in them.

—How long would it take?
—Depends how busy she is. I can ask her.

Er, today, please.

The reconstruction seems to be our
most likely source of identification,

—so as soon as possible. Thank you.
—Okay.

Oh, Dr Brown, could you, um...

Could you box the head
up for DC Lateef?

I doubt he wants to drive
a whole body across town.

Give me a few minutes.

(CLEARS THROAT)

(MOUTHING)

(CLEARS THROAT)

Eleanor, um...

Are you working on or, uh...

Once I've separated
the head from the body, no.

Just have to clean up

and, um, take Mr Pascoe's
lovely flowers home.

—You wait here till Dr Brown's finished.
—Sir.

You slimy toad.

Mason tipped me off
last week as well as you.

You'd better tell me about
any other moves you've made

or there'll be another stiff
on the slab.

(TYRES SQUEALING)

(OVERLAPPING CHATTER)

(ALL LAUGHING)

(ALL CHATTING, INDISTINCT)

Well, well, lads.
Look who's here. The enemy.

Oi! Oi!

You lot had better be out of our way
in three days' time

or there'll be some more buried bodies.

(MEN LAUGHING)

I don't respond to threats.

And I happen to know
what you road crew do.

You go out in the middle
of the night with iron bars

to clear the travellers and protesters
from the route.

Well, we are on this site legitimately.

And we're not going
till we're finished.

At least the gippos fight back.
That's more than I can say for you.

—Right now, behave. All of you.
—Just ignore them.

—I'll buy you a drink, darlin'.
—No, it's okay.

Well, it might get you in the mood
for a night of love in my caravan.

No, I think I'd need
an an aesthetic, not a drink.

(MEN CHUCKLING)

She just knocked you back, Tarzan.
What are you gonna do?

I'm not going to warn you again.
I want you to quieten down.

DR RIX: No, it's okay.

—Come and visit me in my van, darlin'.
-Get your hands off me.

—Eh, what do you say?
—Up and out.

—Come on, it won't hurt.
—Up. Out.

—Come on, darlin', it's all right.
-Get your hands off me.

—Just back off!
—What?

— (WOMAN SCREAMING)
—MAN: Help!

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

Do something!

DR RIX: Help!

Now, remember, the more you struggle,

—the more I like it.
—Will somebody help me?

Shh.

(WHISPERING) I cannot wait.

(GROANING)

(GASPING) Oh, God!

TARZAN: Oi I

Argh!

Run, let's get out!
Out the door, now! Quickly!

Amelia! Quickly, out!

Right! Get out! Get out!
Get out of here!

Go on, out with you! Do one!

-Get out!
-Leave them alone!

Get out!
All of you, just piss off, all right?

LATEEF: How do you go about
these things?

(BEVINS CHUCKLES)

For the first few hours,
I just sit and stare.

Try to visualise the person.

Then, I touch the head

and gradually understand
the contours of the face.

Rather you than me.

It's more scientific after that.

The depth of flesh,
the dimensions of the features.

These can all be calibrated.

(ENGINE STARTS)

(JEERING)

WOMAN: What's going on?

(INDISTINCT SHOUTING)

All right, 90 on, get down. Stop.

Get down, you! Now! Down!

(WOMAN SCREAMS)

DR RIX: What the hell are they doing?
Jesus. Form a chain.

Form a chain!
Don't let them near the site!

PC Higson out in St rent on.
I need urgent assistance!

What are you doing?

—WOMAN: Get away!
—(ALL CLAMOURING)

Go!

Get away from me!

(WOMAN SCREAMS)

(GLASS SHATTERING)

MAN: No!

(PHONE RINGING)

(SNORING)

(GRUNTING)

(PHONE CONTINUES RINGING)

(GRUNTING)

(MASK CRACKING)

(MUMBLING)

Dalziel, Dalziel!

What? Oh, bollocks!

—(DOG BARKING)
—Hey! Down!

MAN: Right, I'm coming!
What are you doing?

(INDISTINCT ARGUING)

(MEN GRUNTING)

Right. I want this lot charged
with destroying a crime scene,

threatening behaviour and arson,
just for starters.

Hang on. There's two missing.

Where's Lord Lucan
and the other one, Tarzan?

Probably still asleep in the caravan.

Argh!

MAN 1: You are never...
MAN 2: What are you doing?

(INDISTINCT ARGUING)

Looks as though the fighting
didn't stop at the pub.

(SIREN WAILING)

—Who is it?
—Tarzan.

He's been well battered, though.

I'll get a SOCO team out here.

And Dr Brown.

You better get over to the dig site.
See if Dr Rix is still missing.

What a mess!

You've got cack all over your face.

Dr Brown may not approve.

(SIREN WAILING)

—I should get some rest, Higson.
-Got things to do, sir.

Well, tell me what and I'll
assign some of my men.

Well, during last night's pub fight,

the one called Tarzan
apparently tried to rape Dr Rix.

That's handy. He's the stiff in there.

—When did you last see Dr Rix?
—Don't know.

She got lost in the carnage.

Okay, ta. Right, then, off you go.

Sleep and a shower, eh?

(ENGINE STARTS)

This looks like your murder weapon,
Mr Dalziel.

Not an accidental death, then?

Well, it's, er...
It's not a wood chopping job by, is it?

No, more specialist.

What, mountaineering or something?

Head's too long.

Could be an archaeological digging tool.

Could it?

Have you got anything resembling
a breakthrough, Lateef?

Email from forensic just came in
about the body in the dig.

Don't build your hopes up, though.

Not a trace of DNA other than
the victim's, mine and Dr Rix.

No comparable DNA on the database.

I think you should see this.

—There's a file on Dr Rix?
—Yep.

Two arrests for violent conduct
during the poll tax riots,

late '89 and early '90.

She was released with a
formal caution on each occasion.

Student activist at the campus, too.

Andy, this sort of thing
shouldn't be kept.

Policemen were kicked in the balls.

She did the same thing
to Tarzan last night, by all accounts.

He was trying to rape her!

I wouldn't give this stuff house room.

Look, the murder weapon
may well belong to her.

She had every reason
to be vengeful towards Tarzan.

And now this suggests
a capacity for violence!

That report was probably compiled
by a fellow student

under pressure from Special Branch.
It's totally irrelevant now!

—Guilty conscience, Peter?
—No, Andy.

I chose the side
I thought was right back then.

Leave that stuff out of it, okay?

(CAMERA FLASH FIRING)

Murder? Who's been murdered?

Tarzan, whoever he is.

He's the bloke who started it all.
The bloke who nutted that student.

Well, I'd better ring round the bookings
and cancel them.

JOHN: What, after another murder?

No one's going to want to come
to St rent on any more, are they?

So have you made any progress
with that other body yet at the dig?

No, we're having trouble identifying it.

The murderer made sure
we couldn't use the normal means.

Dental records, fingerprints.

Well, how are you going to find out
who it was, then?

I hear they're doing
a facial reconstruction

up at the university.

(WHIRRING)

This interview is being conducted
under caution.

You are not under arrest
and you are free to leave any time.

Er, I thought I was being brought here
to give a statement.

I want the one called Tarzan
charged with attempted rape.

That will be difficult, Dr Rix,

because he was found murdered
in a caravan at the bypass site.

Well, if he's dead, then
there's no need for me to be here.

A moment, Dr Rix.

Do you recognise this?

It's the sort of tool that we use
to open rock foundations

or old timbers.

Sometime last night
it was used to kill the road worker

—they called Tarzan.
-So?

You had a tussle with this
Tarzan character last night

in the Spotted Pig.

It was slightly more than a tussle.

He tried to rape me
and I defended myself.

By kicking him in the balls.

Only once.

Is there a possibility that this pick
belonged to you or one of your team?

Well, we've had several items stolen
from the campsite

since the road crew arrived.

They could have taken more stuff
during the attack.

Including this one?

Almost certainly.

Can you tell me where you were
after the attack?

I checked up on the students,

assessed the damage to the site.
To the equipment.

You didn't go seeking revenge
on your attempted rapist?

This is ridiculous.
I gave him one kick in the balls.

(SCOFFS)

I had no thought
of attacking my assailant.

I'm not bloody Boadicea.

You have been violent to men before,

twice assaulting policemen
at demonstrations.

Where did you get that from?

You weren't convicted
but you were formally cautioned.

Why is this still on record?

We have to hang on
to information now. Just in case.

Does he know about
the Data Protection Act?

It has been brought
to his attention, yes.

Campus creeps who supplied
information about fellow students.

I'm leaving now.

But you can expect a letter
from my solicitor.

Thanks for your help.

Thanks for bringing the police service
into disrepute.

You know, it's a real shame
you don't come into the pub any more.

Well, your brother John
has something to do with that.

But actually, it suits me now.

What's happened to you, Robin?

This dispute over the road

seems to have taken the spirit from you.

It was a very trying time.

To be honest, I don't think
I'll ever get over it.

Anyway, what can I do for you?

Well...

You remember last year,
you promised me some money

to help with funds for the restaurant?

It was your birthday party, wasn't it?

No, yours. Here.

You were a bit drunk, I think,
but you said later that you meant it.

Short—term memory.

Always the first to go.

So it seems.

What's the matter?

Nothing.

Not enough?

I'll call you later.

PASCOE: Fraud has never been so obvious.

Shall I summarise?

Buying materials at lower specification,

then invoicing the contractor
for higher spec stuff.

Estimated skimming off so far, £53,000!

It's a poker game.

They give the job
to the lowest tender, we take it,

knowing we have to make shortcuts
to make a profit.

You're generous with
your money, though, aren't you?

There are two cash withdrawals
of £5000 on the company's statement.

Unaccounted for.

Backhanders, were they?

Unless, of course, you've paid
to have somebody killed off.

—Killed?
—Someone in St rent on

objected to your road six months ago?

Look, if my team had found that body
we would've cemented over it

just to keep going,
but I wouldn't have somebody killed

just 'cause they were in the way.

Tell me where this 10 grand went, then.

It comes from the main contractors.

I do things with it they can't.

Such as?

Buying off At her ton,
the county surveyor.

Where's At her ton?

He's gone up to the roof
for some fresh air.

Mr At her ton?

Come back in so we can talk.

Cashman phoned.
He told me you were coming.

Well, I don't necessarily have to
believe anything Mr Cashman said.

I did wrong.
I knew it would come to this one day.

Don't come near me! I'll jump!

I'm not moving, Mr At her ton.

Come back inside so we can talk.

About what? The end of my career?

The headlines in the newspapers
that will bring shame on my family?

Mr At her ton, what was
your first name again?

James, why?

Well, I'm just going to sit here, James.
I'm not going to do anything.

I'm investigating a murder.
You're not involved.

Well, why did you come here, then?

Because Cashman says
that he gave you £10,000.

And I want to know
what that might mean for my case.

Well, he's wrong!

It was only five.

Well, that's good.
It makes you less guilty.

But I still took the money,
though, didn't I?

Disgraced my position.

You didn't ask for it, though, did you?

Yes, I did.

(INHALES) I'm corrupt, aren't I?

Tell me about it.
Why did you need the money?

You don't give a toss
about me, about my debts.

About my failure as a father.

And a husband.

How did you get into debt?
Job must pay well.

Yeah, but I bet the wrong horses,
didn't I, Mr Pascoe?

For nearly 10 years.
You don't know how boring this job is.

Little trip to the betting shop
made my day.

Well, I can understand that.

So, that's all?

No drug habit. No mistresses.
No fast cars.

Just dopey horses.

And my weakness.
I was a sitting duck for Cashman.

Oh, he's an operator for sure.

But I don't want to see you
killing yourself

just for leaving off
a couple of wildlife sites

in your survey of the bypass.
It's nothing.

It's my job

to make sure roads are built
in harmony with the natural environment.

And I didn't do it.

But you alerted Dr Rix
to the Roman site.

That was a good thing you did.

I did a deal with her, too,

to admit my daughter
to the Archaeology department

—in spite of her lousy A—levels.
—Well, that's no crime.

You must love
your daughter a great deal.

Come in.

Forensic reports only one blood type
found in the caravan.

Probably Tarzan's.

They're running a check on the DNA
database, so if he's got a record,

which seems likely, he'll be on it.

But a couple of cigarette ends
were found,

which gave up another DNA sample.

And they got a match.

Shouldn't you be gloating

because this clears Dr Rix of suspicion?

She was already clear in my mind.

—Who's the match for?
—Clive Jacobs.

—Who's still in prison.
—He should be.

But he isn't.

The bastard walked free
yesterday morning.

So, now it looks like
he's murdered again.

(GASPS)

—What's this all about?
—Do you remember my name, Jacobs?

Because I certainly remember yours.

What the hell are you
doing here, Dalziel?

I only got out yesterday.

—Come to rub it in, have you?
—No, Jacobs!

I'm arresting you on suspicion
of murder. Same as last time.

Bent bastard! You can't...

You're mad, Dalziel!
You're off your head!

—You framed me up the last time!
—You murdered

a helpless young woman, Jacobs!

I wasn't even there, you arsehole!

I saw what you did to her!
And I still have nightmares!

-Get him out of here!
—No! No!

Not again!

How can you do this to me?

Not again! Why won't you believe me?
I didn't do it!

I wasn't there! No!

Believe me, please!

I didn't do it! I'm innocent!

Get... Please!

No! I wasn't even there!

Please believe me, I didn't do it!

What the hell?

You are not welcome here!

I want to say how sorry I am
for what's happened here.

What do you want?

I want to offer your operation
an extension of three days.

Three days?

Well, we're hoping
that your road builders

will be out of action
a lot longer than three days.

They deserve to be put away

but even if they were, I'd have to hire
a new lot and get on with the job.

There's no sentiment
in my business, I'm afraid.

Well, mine's pretty hard—faced, too.

Look,

I may be able to find
a few thousand in cash

to compensate you for your losses.

A few?

2,000.

4,000.

John, we need to talk.

About what?

I'm buying you out.

Fifty grand

to get you out of my life.

(SOBBING)

(PHONE RINGING)

WOMAN: Morning, Mr Dalziel.

Sir, for you.

Thank you.

Officers at the scene described
the murder of 22- year-old Jean Higgins

as one of the most brutal
they've witnessed

The investigation is being led by
Defective Inspector Andrew Dalziel

of Mid Yorkshire Police...

Just trying to remind me self
of how nasty Clive Jacobs was.

...and they're currently
following up reports

of a man seen leaving
the house last night

He was my first collar as a DI
and I remember thinking,

"This is how it's going to be
from now on."

PASCOE: I was still at uni
when you were on this case.

...about six foot tall,
and members of the public

are being warned not to approach him.

Horrible things happening
to innocent people.

Why kill her when all she'd done
was disturb a Mickey Mouse burglary?

Jacobs killed a bloke this time,

so there must be a different motive.

Same frenzy, though.

BEVINS: I haven't touched anything.

—What time did you leave last night?
—About 8:30.

Door doesn't look to have been forced.

No, the caretaker locks up on
on his rounds at around 10.

So whoever did this
could have just come in before then?

(SIGHS)

Who else would have had access
once the door were locked?

Any member of the department.

Must have taken an awful lot
on this reconstruction.

I can start again quickly.
I've still got my notes and sketches.

Yeah, but you've no skull.

That's packed with Dr Brown.

I work from a cast
taken from the skull.

(CHUCKLES)

Is this another part of the fit—up?

There is no fit—up.

Three of your cigarette stubs were found
inside the murdered man's caravan.

Caravan?

I haven't been near a caravan
since I was a kiddie.

So I wasn't there and I didn't do it.

Who's Tarzan?

Someone who crossed you,
in or out of jail?

No idea who you're
talking about, Dalziel.

Coming back to you now, is it?

I can't tell who it is.

He was a road builder,
living on site at a bypass.

You went there to kill this man,
didn't you?

This is frigging madness.

I've only been out a couple of days.

Sixteen years after he fitted me up
the last time.

And he's doing it again.

What did you do after you got out
of Welbeck prison?

I went for breakfast with an old mate.
He picked me up out of the nick.

Has he got a name?

Or is this an attempt at an alibi?

Harry Simms.

Where do you know him from?

We did a stretch together
back in 1987—88.

He used to be a burglar, like me.

—What's he doing now?
—I didn't ask.

—Where is he?
—I don't know.

We went our separate ways
after breakfast.

Then what did you do?

Checked in at the hostel.

I had a kip.

Spent the rest of the time
watching the telly.

Then my door got kicked in by coppers.

Not even you can get
a conviction out of that, Dalziel!

You were done fair and square
the last time.

No alibi,

your DNA at the crime scene.

The break-in was your usual MO.

Through the back kitchen door.

The murder happened on your patch.

And you just got out of prison.

I mean, talk about being
a repeat offender.

You won't get me back in jail.

The jury will decide that.

What do you think this is, Dalziel?

A fashion statement?

I'm on chemotherapy for bowel cancer.

—I've got less than two months to live.
—I'm sorry.

But murder is murder.

I'm a burglar, not a killer, Dalziel.
You know that.

You know I never used violence.

Until Jean Higgins disturbed you.

And this man gets done for what?
Revenge? Business?

I wasn't there on either occasion.

I've no idea who this Tarzan is!

What do you know about
a bypass site near St rent on?

Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah.
It was all the talk of E wing.

No, I don't know about it.

(KNOCKING ON DOOR)

(WHISPERING) SOCO have a match
for Tarzan's DNA.

He's a local thief,

otherwise known as Keith Gibson.

(SIGHS)

What do you know about Keith Gibson?

I know of him, I don't know him.

He was another Wetherton burglar,

but now he's out of the way.

Because he was the man you killed.

(SIGHS)

Clive Jacobs.

You will be formally charged
with the murder of Keith Gibson.

I'm innocent, you bastard.

And before I die, I'm going to prove it.

(RECORDER CLICKS)

If you're dying,

make a confession.

Ease your conscience.

It's not my conscience
that's the problem.

It's yours.

(DOORBELL RINGING)

JACKSON: (KNOCKING) Sir?

We finally got an ID on Lord Lucan.

From the prints in the caravan
and a beer glass at the pub.

I knew he'd have a criminal file
like the rest of them.

Yeah. It's Harry Simms.

The thief with no form since 1988.

DALZIEL: What was he up to
on the road site?

Lord Lucan and Tarzan had
set up their own sideline,

stripping out any buildings
that had been

compulsorily purchased for the road.

Doesn't that make them
local government property?

It's a nice little perk

for those that want to do it
after a hard day's work.

To which you turned a blind eye.

Could they have fallen out over it,
this reclamation business?

It's possible.
Lord Lucan always had a short fuse.

—Can we get back to your bungs?
—We've got enough to charge him, Peter.

If you'll excuse me.

—So why Simms all of a sudden?
—Because he's around again.

And I want to find out more
about him, Billy.

Well, he's just a thief,
from what I hear.

(CHUCKLES) Clever, as well.

He's not been caught in ages.

That's probably why he
calls himself Lord Lucan.

What's he been up to?

He's been working on the roads,
helping himself to anything en route,

stripping out old houses

with Keith Gibson, AKA Tarzan.

Gibbo's been doing
that sort of thing for years.

Not any more. He's dead.

I think Clive Jacobs killed him
the other night.

His DNA was found at the murder site.

Simms may have seen Jacobs
earlier in the day,

so I badly want to talk to him.

—He's got a missus.
—Address?

I can ask around.

I can't figure why
Jacobs would kill again.

That's my job.

Everyone thought it were
unlikely that Jacobs

would do that woman 16 years ago.

I mean, the man's
a career burglar, not a robber.

The forensic evidence was
irrefutable, though.

Well, that's why most of us
accepted him going down.

Was anybody else ever
mentioned back then?

Simms did take over his patch about
a year after Jacobs had gone down.

Why would Simms pick up Jacobs
from Welbeck when he came out?

Some kind of arrangement?

I'll double that
if you can find Simms for me.

Stay right there, you bastard.

Why did you change the locks, Kay?

—To keep you out.
-Oh, no need for that, babe.

You left, I stayed.

This is my house now.

—I just want a couple of things.
—Well, put it in writing and piss off.

Got someone else, have you?

If you don't go, I'll slice you, Harry.

Just do us one favour.
Don't tell anyone I was here.

Okay?

And who'd be interested in you,
you bag of shite?

The Catholic Church once used letters
of the alphabet to represent days,

because they didn't want anything
to do with Norse gods and stuff.

You know, like Wednesdays from Wodin

and Thursdays from Thor.

Or Friday from Man.

Give him a break, Andy.

So, they devised a calendar using
the first seven letters of the alphabet.

A to G.

Look, I don't care how
vital this is, Lateef,

you would have lost the jury by now.

Sir, please, stay with me.

The first Sunday of every year
was marked by a letter

depending on when January
the first fell.

In 1951,

the first Sunday was on the seventh.

So, that gets a G.

The first letter
of the inscription is G,

meaning 1951.

The birthday of the man
in the shallow grave.

The next Roman numeral is V,

which is the month, May.

The next is the day, which is the third.

I'll have a vowel please, Carol.

Sir, at least we know the victim
was born on May 3,1951.

Yeah, along with
a hundred thousand others.

Good work, Parvez.

Sir, I was just scanning call—outs.

There's been a break-in reported
at 27 Barnes Bridge Road.

DALZIEL: Mrs Simms?

It was only a break—in.

I didn't ask for a detective.

I was just passing. Can I come in?

Well, I don't want to make
a fuss or nothing.

Does the name Harry
mean something to you?

—How do you know about him?
—I am a policeman and he's a criminal.

If you can get him put away
for 10 years, I'll marry you.

My name's Kay.

Well, tempting as it is, Kay,

I don't accept bribes.

Sit down.

Sit down.

When did he walk?

Last August.

Happiest day of me life.

He's been back, though, hasn't he?

Today?

Look, uh,

I don't mind that you phoned
the police to establish, uh,

an insurance claim
but just tell me the truth about Harry.

Right.

Ta.

He, uh, he wanted
something from the house.

—Did he get it?
—Nope.

Was he in trouble with anyone?

Within the, uh,
criminal fraternity, I mean.

Probably.

He was always stepping
on other people's toes.

Like, uh, Keith Gibson?

Tarzan?

I can tell from the look
on your face you know him.

Yeah, well he's been keeping
me company on and off

while Harry's been away.

I'm sorry, Kay.

He's dead.

Battered to death yesterday.

Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, no!

We've made an arrest.

But I think Harry may have got
someone to do his dirty work.

No, no, no, no, no.

Was Harry ever violent to you?

This is a metal plate
that I got from a row we had in '98.

Look, if he gets in touch with you again
you've got to let me know immediately.

—You could be in danger.
—Right.

So, um,

so who is it that's killed Keith, then?

Well, I've charged a friend of Harry's
called Clive Jacobs.

—I'm innocent.
—He's the bastard that killed me sister.

—When did he get out?
—Jean Higgins,

your sister?

I was only 15 when she was killed.
I'll never get over it.

Why were you so friendly
with Harry Simms

when he took over your territory?

JACOBS: When you get life, Dalziel,

you give up all territorial rights.

And anyway, we had an arrangement
from when we were in the jug together.

If either of us went down again,

we'd look after each other's patch.

This is when you were both
in Welbeck at the same time?

1987 to 88?

Yeah. Right.

—Why are you going back to then?
—Because I'm like that.

What was the timing on your release?

Harry got out a couple of days
before me and then I came out.

Broke into Jean Higgins'
house and killed her?

I told you,
I was having a fling with Jean.

She'd written to me a few times,
so I knew it was still on.

As soon as I got out,
I went around to see her.

I couldn't get any answer at the front,
so I went round the back.

That's when I saw the broken pane
of glass in the kitchen door.

I was worried for her.

The door was open, so I went in.

Jean. Jean, are you there?

Jean?

JACOBS: She was a really beautiful girl.

I panicked, ran off.

Why didn't you phone the police
or an ambulance?

Shock.

Maybe, I thought

if I stood there like a lemon
I'd get done for it.

When we picked you up,

you agreed to give us a blood sample

so we could check it against
the blood we found in the house,

on the paper towel on the floor.

I knew I was innocent.

I thought it would clear me.

But it didn't, did it?

Tell me again how you got your cut?

I got it in the prison workshop.

I told you at the time,

I was on a workbench.

I cut it on a chisel.

—Did anybody see you?
—No, I suppose not.

If I'd made more of a fuss, eh,
and reported it.

Was Harry Simms in the workshop
at the same time?

Behind me. On the workbench
behind me, yeah.

(HAMMERING)

Ow! Ohh!

Ooh.

Ow! (INHALING)

Dr Brown? It's Andy.

DALZIEL: I could use some help,

Well, you were probably still at school.

But it looked to be
a straightforward murder.

Blood was found at the scene
on a paper towel.

The DNA sample that was extracted
was an exact match.

The accused even volunteered
his own sample as proof of innocence.

And his fingerprints
were found on the door handle.

So, why do you have doubts?

Well, because it was early days
of DNA analysis.

Everyone was going round
thinking it was a magic bullet.

But then yesterday, the same DNA
was found at the caravan murder.

Off cigarette butts.

But the man's only just got out of jail.

Sounds like revenge.

Either by him or on him.

I'm beginning to worry that he
was the patsy both times.

He was a burglar.

I mean, he wouldn't have left his prints
if he was going in to burgle that house.

But that's what it was made
to look like.

It'd take an awful lot of planning.

And mistaken assumptions
by the investigating officers.

The DNA sample at the caravan
could have been planted

by the killer in an attempt
to implicate someone else

but he's likely
to have left his own traces behind.

But you can't fake
a blood sample, though, can you?

If it's any help,

blood samples don't last very long,

unless they dry on glass

or a paper towel, perhaps?

Are you all right?

Hey.

Sorry. I'm always bringing
the job out with me.

—(CHUCKLES)
—Still,

at least I can talk about that fluently.

You're a great detective, Andy.

And not much of a catch.

(CLICKS TONGUE)

I'll get the bill.

I'm going to get you
transferred to a hospital, Clive.

You need to rest up.

What's all this about, Dalziel?

(SIGHS)

I now believe that you were
dating Jean Higgins.

But I've also discovered
that Harry Simms

was seeing her at the same time.

(GROANS)

—Paul Hobbs?
—DALZIEL: Yeah.

Why him?

Brotherly feud looks like
a good place to start.

Peter?

Have you got a minute?

Sure.

I think I made a bollocks
of the Clive Jacobs case.

—Both of them.
—You're kidding.

Jacobs and Harry Simms
were both shagging Jean Higgins,

but neither of them knew about it.

She sent Jacobs love letters
when he was inside.

Simms found them so he killed her.

And set Jacobs up.

Now he's at it again,

murdering Keith Gibson,

or should I say Tarzan,

for shagging his wife,
and making it look like Jacobs did it.

So he planted DNA samples
in both cases?

It's dead easy, isn't it?

Getting hold of somebody's old ciggies.

Especially when you're
sitting opposite them.

—What are you going to do?
—Bust a gut to catch Harry Simms.

When did you last see him?

Look,

we know the two of you had
a bad relationship at times,

so let's not pretend
you never got angry with him.

We didn't come to blows.

You still haven't answered my question.
Did you argue last night?

He said he wanted to give me 50 grand

to walk away.

Where would he have got
that sort of money from?

I don't know.
Somebody must have put him up to this.

—So did you follow him out?
—I did not kill him.

I might have wanted to strangle him,

but I wouldn't do that
to my own flesh and blood.

I wouldn't do that.

What do you make of it, Eleanor?

Two heavy blows to the head, one
that stunned, one that killed, probably.

Can't be sure yet.

Have to confirm it at autopsy.

Any sign of a struggle?

There's no obvious bruises on his arms,

there doesn't appear
to be anything under his fingernails.

So he was either taken unawares
or attacked by someone he knew.

That is your area, Mr Dalziel.

Where would a pub chef
like Paul Hobbs get 50 grand?

Well, it could have been from Cashman.

Though I doubt he'd have shared
Paul's upmarket aspirations.

Anything's possible.

I'm beginning to think that Clive Jacobs

is the only truly innocent
person in either case.

We've all made mistakes, Andy.

Yeah, but mine... (SIGHS)

...may have cost Jacobs
the best part of his life.

(GROANING)

After taking advice from my solicitor,
I'm now prepared to admit that I bribed

the St rent on Parish Council chairman.

—Robin Blake?
—That's the one.

Is that what made him change his mind?

No, no. I approached him
eight, nine months ago,

dropped a big hint about five grand.

But he said no, the bypass would
only go through over his dead body.

But you kept working on him?

No. He was so adamant, we dropped him.

Then out of the blue, he phoned me,

asked me if the money
was still available.

So I got it for him.
Only he wanted ten now, not five.

Are we talking about
the same bloke here?

Retired university lecturer?

—Well—off, big house full of books?
—That's him, all right.

—Although his manner had changed a bit.
—In what way?

Well, he was just so upfront
about wanting the money

in exchange for his vote.

So I went round to his house
one night, handed it over.

Wearing your duffle coat?

Well, it was pissing down.

(CHUCKLES) And I don't have
an extensive wardrobe.

—When?
—November, I think.

The land sale went through
the following week.

Did you bribe anyone else?
Paul Hobbs, perhaps?

I don't enjoy doing it, you know?

I'm just the fixer for the big beasts
who want to keep their hands clean.

But you're the catalyst
for a lot of trouble.

Look, I've done dozens of these roads.

They always stir up buried hatreds
in small communities.

I've come to make an offer
on your house.

I don't have any record
of an appointment.

—Did you go through the estate agent?
—No,just passing.

I'm a cash buyer. Parvez Lateef.

Our neighbourhood watch
warned me about you lot.

You get people chatting
at the front door

while your pals nip in round the back.

(CHUCKLING)
I don't have any pals, Mr...

You know, I don't think
you'd enjoy it round here.

People might not be your type.

What do you mean? Not Yorkshire?

I bet they don't know the names

of the 1924 County Championship
winning team.

Leyland, Macaulay, Waddington, Kilner.

-Sutcliffe.
-Dolphin.

BOTH: Rhodes.

Come in.

Must be quite emotional
to leave a place you've lived in for...

—How long?
—Apart from university, most of me life.

Really? Where did you go?

—Cambridge.
—Which college?

-St Catharine's.
-Between St John's and Trinity?

That's the one.

Lounge through here.

Classical fan, eh?

Bet there's no Russell Watson in here.

—I'm sorry?
—Just a jest.

Lots of Tchaikovsky, I see?

We used to listen to his
7872 Overture at school.

Well, it's a fantastic piece, isn't it?

Ah. Certainly is.

Lets you know exactly
how he felt when he heard

about Russia defeating that Napoleon.

LATEEF: He may have been
testing me out, of course.

But he seemed to think the Cambridge
college he went to is next to Trinity.

Well, me brother's there.
And it's way up next to King's.

Maybe he misheard you.

He's also an historian

who thinks Tchaikovsky
was around in 1815.

Well, he weren't born until 1840.

Robin Blake's bank statements
for the last seven months.

See, at the start, he's got more than
£150,000 in his account.

But for the last six months,
there's been a regular transfer

of £10,000 a month
to an account in Spain.

He's retired now, you said?

Yeah, but at the same time he's been
taking out £2,000 a month in cash.

And all this activity dates to roughly
the time of the first murder,

the body in the dig.

So?

Well, this bloke's a virtual recluse.

Why would he need two grand a month?

Or 10 grand
from Cashman, for that matter?

You've lost me.

—I think someone's looting this account.
—(PHONE RINGING)

Might be Blake himself,
but it may be someone else.

And I wonder if this was where
Paul Hobbs

was going to get his 50,000 from?

—Sir?
—DALZIEL: Yeah?

—Your phone's ringing.
—All right.

I hope this is info on
Harry Simms' whereabouts.

Every uniform in the city
has got his description.

Yeah? Eleanor!

How nice to hear from you. Yeah.

Oh!

Really? Is it? Right.

Okay. I'll be right over.

Where is it?

Okey—dokey. See you soon.

The, uh, facial reconstruction
of the skull is finished.

—You coming?
—No, I'll press on with this, thanks.

—Call me.
—Yeah.

LATEEF: Sir?

I think I've cracked the inscription
on the cufflinks found at the dig.

The birthday you know is May 3rd, 1951.

—All right?
—J1B, I think, stands for...

Jeremiah Chapter 1, Verse 5. Listen.

"Before I formed you
in the womb, I knew you..."

Tell Peter.

Right, sir.

Such craftsmanship.

Oh, and I contacted English Heritage,

and they're going to do everything
that they can to preserve the site.

That's wonderful.

Mmm.

DALZIEL: You should have told me
you had a conflict of interest

when you were examining the dig site.

There was none.

Nor was there when I dealt with the
murder at the road makers' camp.

I conducted my duties
with complete professionalism.

Even when I realised that Janet
could be accused

of murdering the man in the caravan.

Eleanor doesn't have to declare
her sexuality to you, does she, Dalziel?

I'd appreciate it if my private life
stayed that way, Andy.

You won't give her
a hard time, will you?

No.

You get that. If I choose
to take it up.

Accepting Atherton's daughter
on a degree course

in return for his tip—off
about the site.

Making a deal with Cashman
that allowed his thugs to get bail.

Archaeology is
a dirty business, Dalziel.

Do you want to see this?

I think I'll save it for
the low spot in me evening.

You know, that "let's get the skull
out of the box" moment.

DALZIEL: What a terrible waste.

LATEEF: Chicken tikka masala. Couldn't
you have picked an Indian dish, sir?

PASCOE: Looks like the diet's off
in a big way, then?

Au contraire.

This is the Atkins diet.

Tommy Atkins.

Tell him, Parvez.

DALZIEL: What have you found?

The DNA of the body at the dig

and the DNA from the Hobbs murder site,
they're the same.

Same? It's impossible.

That would mean a stiff killed
another bloke six months later.

You've been reading too much
of the Bible, Lateef.

Bear with me, sir. It is possible.

—DALZIEL: How?
—Identical twins.

—They have the same DNA.
—Bollocks.

The body at the dig could have
had a twin who murdered him,

and whose DNA would just show up
at the scene as identical.

That same twin must have then
murdered Paul Hobbs.

Well, let's ask him. He's in here.

Bloody hell.

Robin Andrew Blake,
born 3rd of May, 1951

to James and Martha Blake.

Oldborough.

—Is that the date you had, Parvez?
—Yes, sir.

—May 3rd.
—And another boy.

Stuart Anthony Mills.

Born to Gerard and Mary Mills
on the same day, 3rd of May.

Oldborough. That must be the twin.

You sure your dates are right?

Pretty much, sir.
They're dominical days.

The formula works right through
the year for a complete calendar.

Blake's cottage is called Blackfriars,
the common name for the Dominicans.

There's a Dominican priory
over at Oldborough, isn't there?

These kids could have been adopted.

How may I help you?

Well, it's, uh, probably
before your time, ma'am.

We have a dead man.

A murder to solve.

And there's a possible link
to the, uh, Dominican order.

Not a monk or a Father, I hope?

No, I don't think so, no.

This man was found
wearing a pair of silver cufflinks.

There was an engraving on them.

Partly in, uh, Dominican letters,

partly a Latin reference
to a Biblical text.

The letters suggest a birth date.

May 3rd, 1951.

I was wondering whether your order
took in orphans back then?

We also believe that this man,

boy,

was born with an identical twin.

Would there be a chance that
they could be linked to this place?

Murder, you said?

I'm afraid so.

By whose hand?

We suspect the other twin.

The order has always taken in orphans

or children in distress
and found them caring families.

—Would there be records?
—No need, Superintendent.

In another life,

I was brought
to this place from Ireland,

as a 16—year—old.

With child, as they said in those days.

Two children, it transpired.

Twins.

Beautiful boys.

They were taken from me

and found loving homes
in God—fearing families.

While I stayed on to make my penitence

and serve the Lord.

I'm most terribly sorry, ma'am.

I wanted the boys

to have a set each of my father's
silver cufflinks,

for when they became men.

Inscribed with their birth date and...

yes, my own little message to them.

"Before I formed you in the womb,

"I knew you."

Look.

The diary stops last November.
The time of the murder.

Meaning that it's Blake that's dead?

Well, it fits.

The sudden change of behaviour,

accepting the bribe,
looting the bank account,

selling the house.

How could a second twin impersonate
a man he doesn't know?

Well, it's all in these.

Every day of Blake's life.

Who he liked, what he did,
what he thought.

With the bonus that Blake led
a quiet life in the village.

Total life swap. Spooky.

That's the hardest interview
I've done since...

well,

Clive Jacobs the other day.

Well, at least she's got her faith
to sustain her.

What's Jacobs got?

A couple of months?

If I'm right about Simms
being the killer,

absolution.

—No comfort there.
—No, ta. Driving.

Best be off, anyway.

Er, on your way out...

can you report a missing file
from my office?

Subject, Dr Rix.

Crime, theft of my dreams.

PASCOE: I did try to tell you
she and Brown were an item.

When I phoned Dr Brown
the other morning, Rix answered.

Bagged me not to let on.

Anyway, I shredded her file.

—Best to move on.
—Uh, ordinarily,

that would be a disciplinary of fence.

(PHONE RINGING)

Dalziel.

Sorry? Who...

Kay, is that you?

Harry?

-Got your passport.
—Come here.

I think I'll stay put

and take the money,
if it's all the same to you.

(GRUNTS)

You dirty, pinching bitch.

—Let her go, Simms.
—I'll break her neck!

You're going down
for two murders, Simms.

Don't make it three.

I know how you set Jacobs up.

Do you want another death
on your conscience, Dalziel?

—Let her go!
—(KAY GROANS)

(PANTING)

That was for Jean, Mr Dalziel.

Don't mind, do you?

I always said I'd get the man
who killed me sister.

PASCOE: Stuart Mills.

We think we can prove that you killed
your twin, Robin Blake,

and lived as him for several months
while asset—stripping his estate.

We know you sent money
from Blake's bank account to Spain.

Two babies lying in cots
over 50 year ago.

One gets lucky.

Nice parents, comfortable house,
good education.

The other gets nothing.

So their whole lives are
determined by sheer chance.

My mum and dad weren't
exactly the Rockefellers.

Life's what you make of it.

Not from a run—down farm
in East Yorkshire,

where your father
gets drunk every night.

Not from leaving school at 16
to do his work for him.

Not from being screwed by banks whenever
you try to make things better.

How did you find out you had a twin?

Well, I felt he was there all along.

Must be to do with
lying side by side in the womb.

And then last year, when me adoptive
mother died, she left me a long letter.

The farm had gone out of business

and so me only legacy
was to find that I was illegitimate

and that there was somebody else
who had my life.

So I thought I'd pay him a visit.

But it wasn't until I got here

that I realised that
you really couldn't tell us apart,

No trouble finding him.
Photos plastered everywhere.

And then I saw the house.

(THUNDER RUMBLING)

Lined with books.

(DOORBELL RINGS)

He was so shocked he couldn't speak
for about five minutes,

I told him who I was, and...

what had happened to us
and who our real mother were.

He'd never been told. He never knew.

And then I showed him the only thing

that our mother had passed on to us.

This symbol of the heartless church
that had made her give away her babies.

Had you planned to kill him?

No.

But he was so hostile to me.

He was so angry with me
for coming into his life.

He showed me no brotherly love.
Not an ounce.

I told him that I'd like a settlement.

Balancing for the life that he'd had,
the one that I hadn't.

He just told me to leave.

You can't just walk into my life

—and expect to share it!
-But I'm your brother!

(PANTING)

We could be together.

We could meet our real mother,
share our lives again.

I'm going to call the police.
This has got to stop, now!

No!

—(GASPS)
—He told me to leave.

—No.
—This has got to stop.

—Leave.
—Now! Now! Stop.

BLAKE: Now Stop.

I still don't know
how I could have done it.

(GRUNTING)

But I did.

I sat staring at his body for hours.

Then you took away his identity.

MILLS: (WHISPERING) I took...

After I'd got over the shock,

I worked out how I could be him
long enough to get at his money.

And then I did what was necessary

I changed me vote for Cashman's money.

I resigned from the Council

and I went to Spain
to look for a house.

And when I came back I'd been
ostracised by most of the village,

which, as it happened, was a big help.

Why did you kill Paul Hobbs?

From the diaries, I knew that Robin
had always been a good friend to him.

He'd, uh, encouraged
his culinary ambitions.

He'd, uh, paid for a course
at a catering college.

He'd mentioned that the skull
was being reconstructed.

Then he came to see me.

He'd rumbled me.

I offered him money Fifty thousand

PASCOE: You hoped his greed
was greater than yours?

Well, I...

I could see me whole life
being snatched away from me.

Me new life.

I'd put a deposit on a place in Spain.

(SOBBING)

Oh, I'm sorry I killed him.

Both of them.

I'm really...

I'm sorry.

I will push for a complete pardon

and make sure that
the legal compensation

goes to whoever you nominate.

I don't have anybody.

Give it to a cancer charity

or prison reform.

DALZIEL: Clive...

I...

I can't tell you how sorry I am.

At least you weren't
doing it deliberately.

Not like Harry Simms was.

My incompetence helped him.

Is it a nice day outside?

It's not bad, yeah.

Walk me round a bit?

I'd love to see some sky.

What do the Yanks call it?

—Closure.
—(SIREN WAILING)

No such thing, Peter.