Endeavour (2012–…): Season 2, Episode 4 - Neverland - full transcript

At the Round Table
there was one seat...

kept always vacant...

..reserved by Merlin,

for the knight
destined to claim the Grail,

and heal the Wounded Land.

The seat was named
"the Siege Perilous".

For should any other
dare sit therein...

it held only death.

H, P, N, X, U, T,

A, H, D, F, Z...

-Hi, Dad.
-Get inside, Tommy.



All right, George?

Endeavour
Season 2 - Episode 04

Subtitles by Deluxe
Sync: Marocas62

As Chief Constable,

I'd like to express
my appreciation to the Council

and, in particular,
to Alderman Wintergreen.

And, for taking over sponsorship of
this worthy cause,

we're also very grateful
to Mr. Josiah Landesman.

Thank you, Joe.

Thank you.

I'm likewise grateful to
Chief Constable Standish

for those kind words.

"Neverland"

The Gracie Craig Dance Company!
Ladies and gentlemen.



And now, without further ado,

would you please welcome
Benny and Clyde!

Following the rejection last
night by leaders in Rhodesia

of a new working document,

which was hoped might settle
the constitutional crisis,

Mr. Wilson announced in the House of
Commons

that the Government will fulfil their
commitment

to organising world opinion in the
United Nations

for selective mandatory sanctions
against Rhodesia.

To which end it is believed
Mr. George Brown,

the Foreign Secretary,
will today fly to New York.

New scarf?

The scarf.

-New?
-Yes.

Where's that from, then?

From Burridges, by the label.

-You're very literal.
-It's a failing.

You've never picked that.

So...
Who's the admirer?

Don't tease, Joan.

I think it's very nice if Morse has
found someone to take care of him.

Step lively, then.

-Warmed the polish?
-With a heated spoon, yeah.

I'm only saying.
If a job's worth doing -

I know.
Look after your shoes.

And your shoes look after you.

Much in?

We've an 11-year-old,
Tommy Cork,

done a bunk from home.

-Davey Cork's boy?
-Yep.

-Figures.
-And we've a request from County

to be on the lookout
for a George Aldridge.

Absconded from Farnleigh tea-time
Saturday.

-Here you go. Home safe.
-Righto.

Saturday?

-He'll be long gone.
-That was my thinking.

-What?
-New scarf?

Nice.

So what's he in for,
this escapee?

Breaking and entering, receiving
stolen goods, car theft.

Got three years, due out the second
week of January.

January?
This January?

Why make a break for it with
so little of yoursentence left to go?

That was my thought.
What's behind it?

-Family troubles? Girlfriend?
-No next of kin listed on his file.

No letters or visitors, according to
the governor.

Can't read, apparently.
So...

Well, I can't see
we'll come across him.

-Best look to the kiddie.
-I was going to.

Bloody place.

It turns my guts.

Bleach, sweat, boiled cabbage...
and everything on tick.

Never Never Land.

So what's behind this little jaunt?

Dave take his belt to him again?

Give him a leathering?

What does he like doing? Football?

Putting in windows and knock-down
ginger's more Tommy's line.

He's keen on dogs, though, yeah?

Dave's got his canaries,

but it's no pets with the Council.

I'm not about to go to the
housing department, Mrs. Cork,

but that's not canary moult.

-Brave new world, Thursday.
-Sir?

This Thames Valley business.

I was talking to Chief Constable
Standish at the Widows And Orphans.

Division have been very impressed
with my paper on the amalgamation.

The one Morse wrote up, sir?

Typed, I think you'll find,
from my prepared notes.

Of course, sir. A figure of speech.

At any event, I'm having lunch
this week with ACC Deare

to go over one or two of
the finer points. But...

"instrumental" is the word
bandied about quite freely.

Merger's definitely going ahead,
then?

Yes.
All systems go.

Naturally, there'll be some
streamlining.

Voluntary, for the most part.

Yes...
comes to us all, I suppose...

..in the end.

One way or another.

Excuse me. I'm looking for
Tommy Cork.

He's down by the canal.

-Down that way.
-Thank you.

Hello?

Anyone home?

He said he was gonna drown them.

Is that how you got the shiner?

You can't stay here. You know that.

Come on.
Don't worry.

I'll talk to the dog unit.

-Has he had anything?
-Canteen's not open yet, sir.

Here you go, then.

Mum says I'm not to take anything
off strangers.

We're not strangers. We're coppers.

Go on, you're in for a treat.
It's Monday - cheese and pickle.

Oi.
What do you say?

Thursday.
Good heavens, what's this?

-Waifs and strays?
-Tommy Cork, sir.

Young lad who's gone missing from
home. He's a bit nervous of us, sir.

Indeed?
There's no need for that.

Hasn't anyone ever told you,
the policeman is your friend?

-That's not what my dad says.
-No?

No. He says you're all bastards.

You wanted a word, sir?

Yes. Get him back as soon as
possible, Morse. All right?

This is a police station,
not a creche.

Yes, sir.

See you finish your crusts.

"Holiday Accommodation"

He ain't coming.

Don't say that.

I didn't say that.
You said it, you big dummy.

He ain't coming.

Drunk, by the smell of him.

Trying to take a short cut and the
fast's had him.

Name of Patterson, Eric.

No address, but he has a railway
ticket dated Saturday from Bristol.

Return.

Dead about 36 hours.

No obvious signs of injury.

A glancing blow to the skull
perhaps.

Or...
he fell from the train.

He could have leant out of the
window, the door's come open...

..and good night, Irene.

The FME has some concerns about
your blood pressure.

Is that all?

Army medics said the same
before they sent me up

the desert to meet Rommel.
Runs in the family.

He wants to see you
again in three months.

Review the situation.

The job takes its toll,
Thursday.

Only so many years of active service
in any of us.

-I'm good for a while yet.
-Well, I hope so too.

But one can't fight the natural way
of things.

The old order changes.
Younger, fitter men come along.

Wisdom and experience can be put
to best use in other ways.

Training, you mean?

Well, I'm sure it would suit some
and good luck to them,

but...
I don't want to play at it.

Theory's no substitute for practice.

I'm a proper copper or I'm nothing, sir.

-You don't waste much time.
-What's the story?

Misadventure.
Male.

50s. Not local.
Eric Patterson.

Miss Frazil?

Who was he?

A big noise in Fleet
Street after the war.

-So what was he doing in Oxford?
-I don't know.

I ran into him Saturday covering
the Police Widows And Orphans

at the town hall.

How did he seem?

He asked to meet me
for a drink yesterday,

only he never turned up.

Eric was always... unreliable.
But I thought he might show.

He said he wanted to pick my brains.

Did he say what about?

Landesman Construction.

Building your big new HQ out
at Kidlington, aren't they?

If it goes through.

When.

I saw him bending Alderman Wintergreen's
ear for a good ten minutes.

Well, whatever it was, doesn't
matter much to Eric now.

Won't have the results back
on his blood for a few days,

but he went with a gutful of Scotch.

Which must have pleased his duodenal
ulcer no end.

He wasn't in the best shape.

Cirrhotic liver,
TB scarring to the lungs.

-The phlegm fatale.
-So what killed him?

Our old friend
Mr. Blunt Trauma To The Skull.

Mr. Blunt Trauma?

I like to keep things simple...

when dealing with the police.

-So was he hit by the train?
-A glancing blow if it was.

Chipped a tooth. Found what
was left of it in his stomach.

How much Scotch makes a gutful?

Imperial or metric?

20-odd fluid ounces.

The bottle's-worth give or take.

So more than a half bottle, then?

Oh, yes.

-He could have got a skinful down the pub.
-I suppose.

I just can't see where he
thought he might have been going

if it was a short cut.

The state he was in,
who knows?

Anyway, I thought Dr. DeBryn said he
might have jumped from the train.

Yeah. Perhaps. But he wasn't
going home, if that was the case.

He was found beside the up line,
not the down.

-Besides, his ticket hadn't been punched.
-Well, it has now.

-Anything from Bristol?
-No, nothing.

Lived alone,
flat in the Clifton area, I think.

No other occupants listed.

-Not much more to be done, then.
-I may have a word with Alderman Wintergreen.

-Why?
-Miss Frazil saw Patterson

talking to him at the Widows
And Orphans on Saturday.

Look...

You run the car back.
I might stretch my legs.

-Are you sure?
-Yeah.

Bit of a walk.

Do me good, a bit of exercise.

And don't bother picking
me up in the morning.

I'll find my own way in.

'Night.

What?

Nothing.

Happy?

Are you?

Tommy!

Tommy, come here! Hey! Where you do
think you're going?

-Davey!
-Come here!

-No!
-Tommy!

I'm looking for Alderman
Wintergreen's office.

Detective Constable Morse,
City Police.

Patterson?
No, the name doesn't ring a bell.

It's just...

someone said they saw
you talking to him for about ten minutes

at the Widows And Orphans on
Saturday.

Gerald must have spoken to a hundred
people on Saturday, didn't you, darling?

It's possible he expressed an
interest in Landesman Construction.

Do you remember anyone approaching
you to talk about that?

Joe Landesman's a long-time
benefactor of the Widows And Orphans.

He was here, but I'm afraid I don't
remember your Mr...

-Eric Patterson.
-What happened to him?

He appears to have been hit by a
train late on Saturday evening.

-Dear.
-Appears?

I wouldn't have thought there to
be much doubt with something like that.

We like to be thorough.

Well, good luck with your investigation,
but you'll have to excuse me.

-I'm due in the chamber.
-Of course. Of course.

-Mrs. Wintergreen.
-Not at all.

Oh, here he is, then. What's this,
Fred, missed the alarm?

You'll find yourself
in the late book.

Tea, sir? Anything for you,
Mr. Chard?

No. No, you're all right.

Peter's a good sergeant.
You treat him right.

What brings you above ground?

Didn't think night-watch
could venture out in daylight?

Sworn to, Fred.
Sworn to.

It will all come out in the wash,
I'm sure.

Well, well,
if it ain't the cocky sod

that made me look a first-class
chump in the strangler case.

Did you want anything in particular,
Hugh,

or did you just drop by
to admire the furnishings?

Last quarter's crime figures.
Request by Division.

I put them in on the first of
the month, generally.

He who pays the piper.
They just want me to cast an eye.

Be this Thames Valley shake-up,
I expect. Winds of change.

Who knows where the pieces will
land?

Well, thanks for these.

Be seeing you.

First-class?
Third-rate, more like.

Whatever it is,
you watch yourself.

You'll be all right
as long as I'm here,

but when it comes to vindictive,
DI Chard's in a league of his own.

How'd you make out with the Council?

Wintergreen claims he's
never met Patterson.

But I've someone else to see
so I'll have to cry off lunch.

Well, all right.
Needs must.

Tuesday.

Mr. Landesman?

Detective Constable Morse,
City Police.

Your office said I might find you
here.

I assume they told you
I'd gone to lunch.

Well, sit you down, man.
Sit you down.

-What can I get you?
-Nothing, thank you.

-Thank you, sir.
-On duty, is it?

Well,
I'm sure that's to be admired.

Let me ask you something.

What do you think to motorway
service stations?

That phone's going to ring in
a minute

and I've got to decide whether to put
in for one on the M4 above Port Talbot.

I couldn't really claim to be
an expert -

The smart young men I pay
to know such things

tell me it's the future,
but I'm not so sure.

Do you use them?

I don't have a car.

But if you did?

No matter.
So...

what can I do for you?

I wanted to ask you about a
journalist called Eric Patterson.

You may have met him at the Widows
And Orphans gala.

I talk to a lot of journalists,

but I don't recall one
bending my ear that day.

If there's nothing else
I can help you with...

I'll let you get back to work.
Thank you.

Morse! Good heavens. What are you
doing here?

I've been to see Mr. Landesman, sir.

May I introduce
Detective Constable Morse, sir?

Assistant Chief Constable Deare.

Mr. Bright and I have been discussing
his paper

on the merger between County
and surrounding forces.

Extraordinary piece of work.

Thames Valley a new beginning.

-And an ending.
-Quite so.

But...
no progress without change.

Well, don't let us keep you, Morse.

Sir, thank you.
Mr. Deare.

Sharp young man.

Type we could do with more of.

-Wouldn't you say, Reg?
-Yes, sir.

That fatal on the railway,
you don't remember seeing him

talking to Alderman Wintergreen
at the Widows And Orphans, do you?

No.
Sorry, matey.

All I managed to pick
up on the bush telegraph

is that a certain DI is in
for a leg up the greasy.

I wish.
No, not Thursday.

Chard.

DCI, if Thames Valley goes through.

In operational control of all plain
clothes.

The old man won't like that,
answering to the likes of Chard.

It will put his nose right out of...

Loose lips, Constable.

And less of the old, if you don't mind.

Sir.

The kid's gone AWOL again.
Tommy Cork.

From what his mother's saying, his old
man's given him a proper larruping.

Tommy?

-This absconder from Farnleigh?
-Looks to be, sir.

Do you think the Cork boy took up
with Aldridge?

Fish and chips for two.

They weren't here yesterday.
Nor was the transistor.

So where is he?
Why did he run away?

Maybe he saw something of
what happened to Aldridge.

Let's hope he's still alive.

Better get down to Farnleigh, see if
there's anyone there who can shed light.

You're wasting your time.
It's already been looked at.

What do you mean,
it's been looked at? By who?

Police.
I took 'em for County.

-When was this?
-Earlier.

What name did they give?

I don't remember offhand.

But it would be in the logbook,
presumably?

Yes, presumably.

On your feet, Parker.

-What's all this about, then?
-Aldridge.

-Got himself drowned.
-Drowned?

-Did he own a transistor, do you know?
-Yeah, yeah, he -

You should be in the laundry,
shouldn't you?

Get to it, then.

So...

-Where are Aldridge's things?
-I told you.

Your mob took them.

I'd be grateful if you could check the
entry log as to who that was, exactly.

I'll find you when I'm finished here.

I told you...
he ain't coming.

-What kind of man was Aldridge?
-Frightened.

He woke up most nights screaming.

Nervous type.
Always fiddling with his Roman beads.

He was religious?

He didn't go to chapel or bother
the Sky Pilot over much.

It was just this thing
with his beads.

Did he give you any indication he was
going to escape?

I had an idea, since Wednesday.

How's that?

He liked me to read him out the
personal columns from the Oxford Mail.

You know, "Second-hand ironing
board, one careful owner."

'Tall, dark stranger would like
to meet similar.'

Well, this one I read out,
George went white as a sheet.

That night he had the terrors bad.
I mean, worse than I ever seen.

Do you remember what it said?

It was just a bunch of letters.

APA something. I don't know.

Are you sure it was Wednesday?

Positive.

Pineapple chunks, see.
It's pineapple on a Wednesday.

Parker!

Running all the way, Mr. Wainwright.

My opposite number at County

assures me none of his officers
have been to Farnleigh.

Somebody went in, sir, because
the place has been cleared.

What makes you think
they were County men?

-Prison officer's impression, sir.
-They'd have had to sign in, wouldn't they?

The signatures were illegible.

I have to say Chief Constable Standish

is none too happy with
the perceived slur.

-Sorry, sir.
-Assistant Chief Constable Deare,

DS Jakes.

-Peter, I believe?
-You wanted something?

It's Tommy Cork, sir.
We might have had a sighting.

Hanging around outside
the Empire Theatre.

A runaway, sir.
Ten years old.

He may have seen the murder of
this abscondee from Farnleigh.

-I see.
-The sighting was very sketchy.

Patrol's been dispatched.
Probably nothing.

-Drowned?
-Yes.

But that doesn't explain
the rest of it.

Contusions are consistent with his
having taken a sustained beating.

Within an hour or so of his death.

-Somebody worked him over.
-Rather comprehensively.

Fractured ribs,
ruptured spleen,

all while his hands were bound.

Can you put a time to it?

An hour or two either
side of midnight.

A41.

The A41, presumably.

Not that it comes
anywhere near Oxford.

So where's he got the coat?

His coat?
What about it?

It's not standard prison issue.

-Stolen.
-Thompson and Beard. Savile Row.

They also had a branch in The Broad,

if memory serves.

That closed when Adam was a boy.

What's that?

-A laundry tag?
-Dry-cleaning more likely.

-See if you can get a local match.
-Sir.

Sir?

What's this?

The small ad in the Mail
that spooked George Aldridge.

A41.

That's the same as the tattoo
on Aldridge's arm.

-Who placed the ad?
-The Mail are digging it out,

but, going through his record,

Aldridge spent some time at
Blenheim Vale,

a residential home
for wayward boys.

Closed in '55,
when Boxgrove opened.

The Blenheim Vale that's being
redeveloped as the new HQ?

Miss Frazil said that journalist,
Eric Patterson,

wanted to pick her brains about
Landesman Construction.

Two men die within days of each other
in suspicious circumstances,

each with a connection
to Blenheim Vale.

Hello.

Get away from me.

Don't be alarmed. I'm a policeman.

I'm Detective Constable Morse,
City Police.

What are you doing here?

I'm just having a look around.
You?

I live about a mile through
the woods. Am I in trouble?

-Not with me.
-I know it's trespass, I just...

It just feels more like a walk
in the woods.

I can go, then?

What's the word on Tommy Cork?

Uniform are scouring the street,
but...

Someone cleared out
George Aldridge's cell,

-so if it wasn't County...
-Who knows?

When I started, the good blokes
all wore blue.

Maybe Mr. Bright's right.
Time to go.

"Streamlining", he called it,
this merger.

They'll be looking to make way
for a bit of new blood.

A lump sum if you go voluntary.

Retirement?

New station?
New force?

I'm too set in my
ways to start over.

Every dog.

I'd see you were looked to.

Find someone to take you on,
rattle you through your Sergeant's.

McNutt maybe?
McNutt's good.

One for the road?

I didn't stay in Oxford to work
under McNutt.

"They were together
in the armchair by this time

"and Wendy plied him with more
questions.

"If you don't live in Kensington
Gardens now...

"Sometimes I do still.

"But where do you live mostly now?

"-With the Lost Boys.
-Who are they?

"They are the children who fall out
of their perambulators

when the nurse is looking
the other way.

"If they are not claimed
in seven days,

"they are sent far away
to the Never Land

"to defray expenses.

"-I am Captain.
-What fun it must be.

"Yes", said cunning Peter,
"but we are rather lonely."

"You see we have no female
companionship.

"Are none of the others girls?

"Oh, no.

"Girls, you know,

"are much too
clever to fall out of their prams."

-Good morning, sir.
-Good morning, Angela.

Could you check how busy
my diary's looking today?

-Of course.
-I've the offer of nine holes

with Joe Landesman
and another pair,

and, well, I wanted to give him
a time.

-Give you a lift?
-No. Thank you.

-Have a good day.
-What is it?

You weren't yourself last night.
Has something happened?

Well, it's a few things.
Thursday, really.

He's talking about
early retirement.

It's got me thinking.

What if I wasn't a policeman
any more?

What would you do instead?

I don't know. Teacher, maybe.

We could go abroad.

-We?
-Why not?

People do.
Couples.

I'm gonna be late.

"Sir, I would be grateful if you
would place this advertisement

"in the appropriate section of your
newspaper on Wednesday 30th November.

"Message as follows:
A.P.A.D. A41."

Arrived Tuesday, second post.
Paid for in cash, I'm afraid.

-No signature.
-But it's been franked.

Post office should be able to tell
you who holds the franking licence.

Is there any news on Eric?
Or of the lad Tommy Cork?

None as yet, I'm afraid.

Anything in the archive
on Blenheim Vale?

Nothing that springs to mind.
It's been shut, what, ten years?

11.

There was a...

What was it?
Vague recollection of a suicide

a couple of years after it closed.

-A young man hanged himself.
-You wouldn't remember a name?

I'll have a look,
send on what we've got.

You'd probably be quicker getting on
to County. They looked at it.

There was nothing there. I covered the
inquest. It was open and shut.

Toodle-oo.

Thank you, Miss Frazil.

I wonder if it's worth having another
go at Landesman.

-You already braced him over Patterson.
-Yes, but not George Aldridge.

All right.
I'm going to dig out DI Church

see if he can shed any
light on the County angle.

-We compare notes down the watering hole.
-Yes, sir.

Morse putting it about we
cleared Aldridge's cell

has not won him any friends at County.

-I can promise you.
-Anything in it?

Nothing that I've heard.

-What about Blenheim Vale?
-What, the new HQ?

Word is a few palms
got nicely greased

up at the Council getting that through.

-Like whose, for instance?
-Like Wintergreen, for one.

Wintergreen?

Town Hall graft.
Came in with the Ark, didn't it?

What about before that, when it was
a boys' school?

It wasn't my patch then.

I didn't come across it
till after it had closed.

I was told there was a lad hanged
himself eight or nine years back.

Might have done.

Couldn't have a dig around for us,
could you?

I don't know, Fred.

Some things in our game -
sleeping dogs.

What's that mean?

It means I'm taking a risk
even talking to you.

Then why did you agree to meet?

Cos there's nothing
they can do to me.

I'm putting my papers in.

This time next month, it will be
Inspector Church no longer.

Plain old Mr. Church.

I've a feeling
I won't mind that one bit.

It's all change, Fred. Time to go.

-If you do hear anything on
-Aldridge...-He's dead.

Bury him.
Forget him.

For your own sake.

-Mr. Landesman?
-Detective Constable...

Morse.

You know Chief Constable Standish,
I take it?

And Detective Inspector Chard?

Detective Constable,
what's this about?

It's pursuant to an enquiry
into the murder

of George Aldridge, sir.

He's the escapee from Farnleigh
Open Prison.

Did you know him, Mr. Landesman?

I'm afraid, as a rule, I don't seek
the society of habitual criminals.

Present company...

He was at Blenheim Vale in the late
'40s, early '50s.

Constable, I buy, sell and develop
properties.

Profit and loss. That's as far as
my interest extends.

The history of a place,

who lived there,

I'm afraid that's...
that's none of my business.

Unless there was anything else
you wanted to ask, Constable?

No, Chief Constable Standish,
DI Chard.

That was all, sir.

I'm sorry to have interrupted
your game.

Do I detect a note of rebuke?

You want to watch that, Rupe.

Come on, Gerry.

He's only doing his job.

He will be back before five.

May I give him a message?

Thank you.

Do excuse me, sir.

Nicholas Myers,
junior clerk.

How may I be of service?

Detective Constable Morse.
City Police.

A letter was sent from this office,
a week ago

last Monday, to the Oxford Mail.

An advert for the personal columns.

I was wondering if you could shed
any light on that.

In what regard, sir?

Well, I'm...

looking to find out
who wrote the letter.

I see. Then I regret I am unable
to be of any assistance.

I merely post and frank.

Correspondence is taken care of
by the partners' secretaries.

Of course,
if it relates to a client,

it would be covered by
legal confidentiality.

That doesn't seem to be the case.
This was a private matter.

I see.

Well, I can ask the partners,
of course, sir.

Well...

-Thank you for your assistance.
-Not at all, sir.

You wouldn't happen to know
a George Aldridge. I suppose?

No. That's not a name with which
I'm familiar.

Well...
thank you.

You see, Alderman,
the way things stand,

we've got you rumoured to
be on a nice little earner

for making sure things went
Landesman's way at Blenheim Vale.

And now a journalist with an interest
in Landesman has turned up dead,

a journalist last
seen talking to you

at the Widows And
Orphans on Saturday.

Anything you'd like to tell me
about that?

Well, that is one heck of a story,
I grant you.

But, sadly,
in politics,

one attracts that sort of tittle-tattle
as a matter of course.

I'm still not exactly sure what is
being alleged.

Well, you can see how it looks.

In my book,
a thing walks like a duck

and talks like a duck...

-You deny any impropriety?
-Naturally.

Where did you come across
this particular little gem,

-if you don't mind me asking?
-I'm just off then, Mr. Wintergreen.

-Good night, Angela.
-Good night.

I am a man of considerable private
means, Inspector.

But I'll tell you what I put a price
on far beyond rubies.

My good name.

Now, you say I would put this
at risk.

For what?

A pocketful of change?

Really.

Sir. How did you make out with
Wintergreen?

Oh, he's a slippery customer,
but that's hardly...

What are you doing with those?

-Those should be in the exhibits desk.
-With things going missing,

I thought they'd be safer
in my pocket. Besides,

-I think I've got something.
-What?

Well, the beads. It's not just
a random arrangement.

It's a code.
Radioteletype, to be specific.

Morse?

Black for dots.
White for the dashes.

Red to mark the word breaks.

Spells out,
"All for one, and one for all."

The Three Musketeers.

That's what the tattoo meant
on George Aldridge's arm.

A41. All for one.

What about the rest of it?
A.P.A.D., wasn't it?

Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and
D'Artagnan, presumably.

So which one was George Aldridge?

More to the point,
who are the other three?

-Hello.
-Nick? It's Henry.

Meet me tonight?

-Yes.
-See you then.

Where are you going?

You know where I'm going.

Can I come, too?

No.

Don't do anything
I wouldn't do!

-Who found him?
-His secretary. Mrs. McGarrett.

Dr. DeBryn.

Good God, it's true, then.

We were at Division
when we heard.

-Time?
-Some time between ten last night

and one o'clock this morning.

Jesus.

-You all right?
-Yes, sir.

-You don't look it.
-Something I ate.

Statements and particulars from
anyone who may have seen anything.

Anyone working late.
Councillors, cleaners.

-Right, sir.
-Sir.

Had you worked long
for the Alderman?

-Two years.
-What do you make to his wife?

She's always been perfectly charming
towards me.

-Are there any children?
-No.

When did you see him last?

Yesterday evening, at 5:30,
when I finished work.

How did he seem?

His normal self.
Busy.

Never too busy for a quick word
and a cheerio.

And, then, after work,
you went where?

Home.

-Your husband will confirm that?
-My father.

We share a house together.
I'm widowed these three years.

-I'm sorry.
-Thank you.

Thank you.

Morse.
A moment?

This...
This assertion of yours that um...

officers may have
been in to Farnleigh

and cleared George
Aldridge's cell.

I made some discreet enquiries
of my own.

You think there's something untoward
at County?

The rot goes deeper and wider
than that.

Even to your own station.

You've raised doubts
this year yourself,

over evidence going missing.

Yes.
I have, sir.

There was a notebook pertaining
to the Frida Yelland case.

And a ring,
a Masonic ring,

connected to Blythe Mount,
the school out at Slepe.

Dark forces, Morse.

Which must be dragged into
the light.
Torn out, root and branch.

Bad apples?

The Commissioner's asked me to get
to the bottom of it,

with the major priority,
but I need two men

I can trust to do the legwork.

We've a chance here.
A real chance.

To clean the stables
once and for all.

Make Thames Valley something
worth fighting for.

Sir, do you think it's connected to
the death of Alderman Wintergreen

or the disappearance
of Tommy Cork?

Can't say it chimes with my
intelligence, though it's possible.

Whatever comes your way in the Aldridge
case, you report to me and Division.

Any time,
night or day.

We can break them.
The three of us.

Did he have any enemies
that you can think of?

Gerry was in local government.

Rivalries, perhaps, but nothing
to warrant something like this.

He had a very winning personality.

-But with the public?
-There was the odd crank, of course.

"The Green Ink Brigade",
Gerald called them.

Though, for the most part,
people adored him.

He played the organ, you know.

And the piano.

People loved to hear him.

This...Green Ink Brigade...

..were there ever any threats made
against him?

Neither more nor less than his
colleagues received.

Nonsense most of it.

People exercised about roads or
housing.

Did he ever mention the name
George Aldridge to you?

It's not a name with which
I'm familiar.

All I can tell you
is my husband's life

was one lived beyond reproach.

Why anyone would...

It's past fathoming.

What do you reckon to this business
with Deare?

Well, something rotten's
happening at County.

And the Town Hall, too.

Look,
I'd better report to Bright.

See if you can get a statement
of Landesman and meet me here.

Why? Do you think Landesman's
involved?

If what Church says about
backhanders holds water, who knows?

Maybe they had a falling out
over spoils.

Both Wintergreen and Landesdown were
playing golf

with DI Chard and Chief Constable
Standish.

Deare said it went deeper and wider
than we knew.

What if it goes higher, too?

Then you'd better mind how you go.

You're here about Gerry.
What happened to him?

Beyond he was murdered,
we can't say.

You were close,
I understand.

Well, we'd certainly known
one another many years.

Gerry was a man of exceptional
qualities.

Such as?

He had...

Well, it's...
often overused,

but Gerry had it.

You know, the...
popular touch.

He really did.

I can't tell you how many times
I've been with him,

in the street or at some function
or other,

everyone wanted to talk to Gerry.

And he was very good with that,
very generous with his time.

-Money, too, of course.
-What about enemies?

None that come to mind.

I'll need an account of your
whereabouts yesterday evening.

I was working late at the office,
alone.

Will anyone vouch for you?

"Alone" would seem to suggest not.

Sir.

Sir. There's an account in this
punishment book

of an attempted arson,

George Aldridge and five
other boys committed there.

-One of his co-accused was Ben Topling.
-Who?

Him. It's the same that was on
the wall of Aldridge's cell.

Shan't keep you.

There's no rush.

Have to say, it's very impressive.

-How do you do it?
-Practise till your throat bleeds.

I had a speech impediment at school
and the man treating me...

Don't touch him!

He doesn't... Sorry. I don't mean
to be rude, but...

the mechanism is delicate.

Sorry.
What did you want to ask?

You attended Blenheim Vale

for several years in the early
'50s.

Is that right?

You are Benjamin...

Arnold Topling?
Date of birth 23/06/38?

You got the wrong man, copper!
You'll never take me alive! See?

This is a serious investigation,
Mr. Topling.

-It's no laughing matter.
-No, of course. I...

Sorry.
Nervous habit.

You've got nothing to
be nervous about...

unless you've done
something wrong.

-I haven't.
-Liar!

We can continue this down
the station, if you'd prefer.

-Just the three of us.
-It's fine.

Clyde, please...
Please...

All right, already.
Not another word.

Please, um...ask me what you like.

My lips are sealed.

Quiet as the grave.

Our records show that
you were at Blenheim Vale

at the same time
as George Aldridge.

Not that I remember.

He had a poster for the show
on his wall.

-Why might that be?
-What's the matter, Benny Boy?

Cat got your tongue?

It's a popular show.

You think that's the only reason?

-I can't say.
-That's not good enough.

George Aldridge was murdered

and we've a boy missing,
who may have seen something.

-A boy?
-Tommy Cork.

He's ten years old.

If whoever did for Aldridge knows
the child was a witness,

he could be in mortal danger.

-If you know anything at all...
-I can't... say.

Mr. Topling?

-Mr. Topling!
-Leave him alone!

He's telling the truth.

He's scared for his life.
Can't you see that?

-Scared of what?
-Not 'what', dummy.

Who.
There's things

in that haunted maze of a mind
he can't admit.

Not even to himself.

When he says he can't say,
he means just that.

He can't say.

But I can.

If you two are on the level

and you really wanna
know about Blenheim Vale,

ask Doc Fairbridge.

-Detective Constable Morse.
-Mrs. McGarrett.

I'm sorry, madam.
There must be some mistake.

We're looking for Dr. Fairbridge.

That'll be Dad.
Would you like to come in?

Blenheim Vale was only on my list
for a few years.

From...
'51 to about '55.

When it closed?

We lived off the Woodstock Road,
adjacent to the grounds.

What do you think he meant by,
"Ask Doc Fairbridge"?

I've no idea.

Truly. There's nothing to tell. It was
just a run-of-the-mill establishment.

I looked to any medical concerns
the boys had.

Vaccinations and so forth.
Mumps, measles, whooping-cough.

And, of course, all the usual cuts,
bumps and bruises.

Do you remember a George Aldridge?

I'm afraid not.

Yes, you do, Dad.

He used to come over the fence
and play with us, sometimes.

Did he?

I'll have to take your word for it.

But for the life of me,
I can't picture him.

I'm on call.
Excuse me.

I'm sure we've a photograph of him
somewhere.

I could dig it out,
if that'd be useful.

If it wouldn't be too much trouble.

I can't guarantee that.

I'll certainly let you know as soon
as I've found it.

Thank you very much, Mrs. McGarrett.

Did you mean it?
Teaching?

Packing it all in, going abroad?

-Yes.
-It's just...

you say things,
and...

some times you sound like you
mean them, and others,

-like...
-Like when I've got 2,

maybe 3, murders and a
missing child to think about?

I just don't want you
to think I'm making you

-do anything you don't want to.
-I know. I don't.

-You really want to leave?
-Yes.

OK.
Just not on my account.

No, I'll put my papers in, I promise.

As soon as it's over.
When the hurly-burly's done.

Maybe we could talk about it
tonight.

Again?
What's to say?

It's done.

Will you lock up?

Mrs. Wintergreen's turned
up a pile of letters

in her husband's old briefcase.
This Green Ink Brigade.

Did she say what's in them?

Mostly complaining about the sale of
Blenheim Vale to Landesman.

Wintergreen had the
casting vote on the Council

when it went through.
I said

I'd take a run up there with Jakes.
Where are you?

Meeting Angela McGarrett for her
photograph of George Aldridge.

Pick up sticks after lunch, then.

Dad didn't approve of me playing
with the boys from Blenheim Vale.

We used to sneak away into the woods
when the grown-ups weren't looking.

Did you keep in touch with any of
them after you moved away?

No, I hadn't thought of it in years.

And then I bumped into Henry
last summer in the High.

Henry Portmore.

He's some sort of academic
at Pelham now,

married to Hilary Spencer.

They've a little boy.

So there's one happy ending.

Hilary's brother Ed had a nervous
breakdown and hanged himself...

from a tree at Blenheim Vale.

Ed Spencer was the first boy
I ever kissed.

It wasn't a grown-up kiss,
of course.

We were too young to know about
that.

Just a peck.

One remembers it all the same.

Why did you tell me you didn't know
George Aldridge?

What happened at Blenheim Vale?

There were five...
six of us.

And Petey...
Petey Williams.

We weren't bad lads, not really.

Just kids.

Orphans, some of us.
Others

just had a knack of
getting into trouble.

Somehow we all ended up
at Blenheim Vale.

It was me, George, Benny, Ed, Henry
and the two Petes.

Big Pete and Little Pete.

We were a gang,
I suppose.

Not so much Little Pete,
he was a bit younger,

but we used to let him tag along.

Little Pete what?

I don't remember.
He wasn't there for very long.

See, kids came and went.
It was tough, you know.

Cold water, cross-country...

But you had each other
and that is how you got through.

Big Pete was our leader,
for want of a better word.

Then this new bloke turned up,

a do-gooder, had all these
new ideas.

Put a bit of money into the place,

sports equipment and so forth.

Set a lot of store by physical
fitness,

improving weekends.

We had to meet him in the car down
the end of the lane.

He drove us somewhere,

a guest house, a hotel,
whatever it was.

Things happened there,
awful, terrible things.

We paid him back, though.

Or we thought we had.

Go on, Pete.

Go on.

They had an idea who did it,

but they couldn't prove it.

We all got stuck on half rations.

Maybe somebody squealed,
but however it went...

One weekend, Big Pete went off.

We all knew where he'd gone,
only this time he...

he never came back.

They said he'd been transferred.

-You didn't try and find him?
-Of course we did.

After we left, we tried.
Nothing. No record.

-Did you go to the police?
-Oh, yeah.

We told him not to.
George went.

-He spilled the whole story.
-And what happened?

They told him not to tell lies.

Not so long after that, he started
getting into proper trouble with the law.

Before the last time
he was sent down...

..the rest of us made a vow.

If ever one of us was ever in
trouble...

You'd put an ad in the personal
column of the Mail.

Anyone that saw it,
no matter where they were

or what they were doing,
was honour-bound,

if they could, to attend a pow-wow
within the next seven days.

So...why did you place the ad now?

A couple of weeks back...

..this journalist comes by,
out of the blue.

A bloke called Patterson,
Eric Patterson.

He'd heard rumours about what went
on out at Blenheim Vale.

He said he'd been looking into it
for a while.

-What did you tell him?
-Nothing.

I told him I couldn't help him.

I put it out of my mind or tried to.

And then I got a visit.

From whom?

Your lot, asking after Patterson.

So I denied any knowledge.

And they said if he did come by,
I should let them know.

I didn't know what to do.

So you put an ad in the Mail?

Who was he,
this governor at Blenheim?

Gerry certainly was a governor at
Blenheim Vale, that's no secret.

But the rest of this revolting
slander...

My husband is murdered

and you have the gall to come
into my home with such filth?

Gerry's life

was dedicated to the service of
those less fortunate than himself.

In particular,
the young,

who perhaps didn't enjoy
the same kind of advantages.

I have to say,

I'm surprised you
were so easily taken in.

Dr. Portmore?

Detective Constable Morse,
City Police.

My brother couldn't cope

with what happened to
him at Blenheim Vale.

A depression,
the coroner ruled.

The police looked into it,
of course, but...

..no suspicious circumstances.

It was all I could do not to laugh
in their faces.

Just out of interest,
where were you both the night

Alderman Wintergreen was killed?

We were with Nick and Ben,
at Nick's place.

How is she, Angela?

Henry last saw her in town,
not long after her divorce.

She was in quite a bad way then.

Divorce? She gave me to understand
that she'd been widowed.

Perhaps that's easier to say.

-It wasn't a happy marriage.
-Poor girl.

Growing up here, it's a wonder
she can function at all.

This was Dr. Fairbridge's house?

"Sanctuary", we called it.

He was the only adult that showed us
a little bit of kindness.

Forgive me, but...

given what happened to
your brother...

..I'd have thought this would be
the last place you'd choose to live.

I managed to convince the college
to finance a dig here,

ostensibly to look for
a Neolithic barrow.

But that's not what you were
looking for?

No.

What, then?

I think you probably know.

I'd been working here
about six weeks.

Late one Friday afternoon,

I get a visit from the local
bobby asking what we're up to.

Monday morning, I get a message in
my pigeon hole from the bursar.

Funding's been withdrawn
and the dig shut down.

-Did they give a reason why?
-None that satisfied.

I've got an appeal in but it's not
expected to come to anything.

Do you think Peter Williams is buried
here?

He's here...

somewhere,
I...

And I intend to find him.

I owe him that. He was my friend.

In regard of these sordid and
disgusting accusations,

no further approaches will be made
to Mrs. Wintergreen.

Peter Williams, a young boy,
may have been murdered, sir.

Indeed?
Who says so?

My wife happens to sit

on the Widows And Orphans steering
committee with Hazel Wintergreen.

-Well...
-Yes, "Well"!

I appreciate such hateful grubbiness

may accord with your "four legs
good" view of the world.

But it does not make it so.
It does not make it a fact.

It does not make it true.

It is fishy, though, sir.

Landesman acquires Blenheim
Vale and, the next thing,

Dr. Portman's dig gets shut down.

We've three men alleging Wintergreen
interfered with them, sir.

There is nothing in that. Blenheim
Vale was looked at in the early '50s.

-Looked at by whom?
-Assistant Chief Constable Deare

amongst others.

The investigation concluded nothing
went on there

that could not be found occurring in
any minor public school.

Anything more is just the wild and spiteful
imaginings

of a group of former delinquents.

They're not lying.

Better run it past Deare,

see if it fits with
anything he knows.

Come by the house when you're done.

Walls have ears.

Chard?

I wouldn't trust anyone in this nick
further than I could spit.

All right, then, Tom,
where have you been, then?

Tommy!

Tom!

These three friends
of George Aldridge.

Where were they the
night Wintergreen died?

Together - the three men and Hilary.

Would they talk now,
go on record?

I'd like to speak with them,
rectify my mistake.

With their testimony, we could nail...

who knows how many
of the bastards.

I don't know.
I could ask.

If you could.

Don't lose heart.

We're close, Morse.

We're close.
The net's tightening.

-So what's Deare's take?
-Same as mine.

It all starts with the journalist,
Patterson.

Joan?
Come away now.

Somewhere on his travels,
in some pub or bar,

he runs into a young man
with a story to tell,

a victim of Wintergreen
or Landesman.

-Or both.
-Whichever it is,

Blenheim Vale gets mentioned,
along with one or two of the boys.

Now, Patterson is a
newspaperman to his boots.

So he approaches some of the boys.

He comes to Oxford,
but no-one wants to talk.

But he's persistent to the point
where Nicholas Myers panics

and sends out the Twilight Bark,
the emergency SOS

to his fellow musketeers,

calling them for an
emergency pow-wow.

But George Aldridge is still banged
up in Farnleigh.

And it takes him till Saturday to go
over the wall.

At which point, Patterson's already
decided to take a different tack.

He's this hard-bitten Fleet Street hack,
who's run with criminals and gangsters.

Why be scared of
some Council placeman

and the director of a
construction company?

He approaches
Wintergreen and Landesman.

Only he reckoned without their
connections to the police.

And, unfortunately for him,

he chooses the same Saturday that Aldridge
decides to go on the run from Farnleigh.

When Landesman and Wintergreen find
out that Aldridge has gone AWOL,

they assume that he escaped

in order to spill his guts to
Patterson about Blenheim Vale.

They were afraid that all of the
terrible things that they'd done

and had, no doubt, continued to do

were finally to be dragged into
the light.

So they took steps.

Drink it all up.
That's a good boy.

Bad apples, Morse.
Every barrel's got 'em.

The same 'bad apples'
that did for George Aldridge.

And Tommy Cork saw them.
That's why they were after him.

But who's involved?

Which officers and from where?

The same as cleared out
Aldridge's cell, presumably.

What was all that about?

Anything which might point the finger
at Wintergreen and Landesman.

Only, they overlooked
the playbill on the wall

which led us to Benny Topling.

I think Patterson had
intended to see Topling,

he had a theatre ticket.
But...

obviously Landesman's goons got
to him first.

So who killed Wintergreen?

Constable Strange, Dad.

Come through.

Evening, sir.
What's this, house calls?

Take the weight.
I'll get a brew on.

Thank you, sir.
Morse.

Hello, mate.

Couldn't get the kettle on,
could you, love? One of the lads.

I can see that.

What happened to the hallstand?

I thought that was where work
stopped.

I only caught half a glimpse,

but it was definitely Tommy Cork,
no question.

-Registration?
-That's just it.

Only the first part.

It matches a number of unmarked cars
used by County.

I rang through,
but they're showing no record

of any of their units
having lifted him.

I just...
I just thought you should know.

You'd better talk to Deare.

Sir.

A telephone call for you, sir.

-Would you excuse me, Reggie?
-Yes, yes.

Of course.

Reginald.

-This came for you.
-Thank you.

Hello?

-Hello, sir.
-Morse, thank God.

-I've been trying to reach you.
-Sit, It's about the boy.

-Tommy Cork?
-Yes.

Don't worry.
We know where he is.

-But he'll only come across to you.
-Yes, sir.

I need you to meet me straightaway.

-Where? When?
-Get a pen and take this down.

Hello?

Who's calling?

I'll just get him for you.

Dad, it's a Mr. Deare for you.

VERDICT IN BLENHEIM
HANGING CASE

"Suicide ruled as cause of death"

"Investigating Officer Det.
Supt. Clive Deare of Oxford"

"DS Hugh Chard"

Yes.
Yes, I understand, but...

There has to be some other way.

I've done enough.
I can't...

For the love of God, he's a child!

I'm a doctor!

All right, all right.

Where is he?

All right, I'll meet you there!

Meet who?

Where?

What child?

-Angela...
-It wasn't just a bad dream.

Was it?

All well, Clive?

Actually, sir,
it's Detective Constable Morse.

You better take a seat,
it's quite a story.

Brandy?

Where's Thursday?

What do you mean, where is he?

He left a message
with the duty log

saying he was meeting
you at Blenheim Vale.

I need you to get every man you can
trust over there now.

City boys only.
Understand?

No can do, matey.

-Orders.
-Orders?

What orders, from where?

We've been told if anything
comes through from out that way,

we're not to respond.

Some County operation.
It's come from ACC Deare.

I see.

-What's that?
-If it all goes wrong,

maybe everything,
Deare, Chard, it's all in there.

I told you one day you'd have
to choose.

Today's that day.

If you do nothing else,

find Bright and tell him
Thursday's in trouble.

I need your help.

Thursday's out at Blenheim Vale.
I've the car outside. Come on.

Blenheim Vale?

I can't.

Little Pete?

Myers couldn't remember
your last name.

Were you there?

To some of us bastards,
it's more than just a name.

You don't think about something for
long enough, you think you've forgotten.

Then one day, somebody comes
along...

Deare?

There were four of them.

Deare, he was just a copper then.

Josiah Landesman...

..the new governor,
Wintergreen...

-..and Doc Fairbridge.
-Dr. Fairbridge?

He knew what was going on
and did nothing to stop it.

He covered up for them
when they went too far.

One name.

Last chance.

What about Standish?
Was he involved?

No.
It was just the four of them.

I ran that dry-cleaning tag
to ground.

The coat belonged to the doc.

George Aldridge went to him

and he betrayed George
Aldridge to his death.

He always was a
two-faced bastard.

The other lads couldn't see it.

Only me.
Fairbridge was one of them all right.

Did Angela have any idea
what was going on?

More than an idea, I think.

Some of them...it wasn't just
the lads.

You just had to be young.

See...

They wanted a name...

for whoever had burnt out
Wintergreen's car.

They knew who it was,
but they wanted a name.

So I told 'em.

I tried not to.

Look,

we have a chance to bury them.

All of them.

Come on.

I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't.

That could have been nasty.

-Sir, it's a setup.
-I figured as much.

I don't usually pack this
for a friendly chat.

But you came anyway?

It's always been about the boy.

If there was any chance to get him
back, however small...

You'd have done the same.

-So who are we expecting?
-It's Deare.

Just Deare?

Deare arranged a small
reception just for me.

Said he had Tommy, but the kid would
only come across if I was there.

Chard tried to kill me.

-Landesman?
-No.

He's not the type
to get his hands dirty.

Why would he when he's got Deare
there?

The only thing I can't work out

is why they killed Wintergreen.

They didn't.

It was someone else.

Wintergreen's appetites extended
beyond just the boys of Blenheim Vale.

The mind plays tricks, I suppose.

Does what it can to forget.

Perhaps Angela told herself that it
was all in her imagination.

Something I'm sure her father
encouraged in her.

In any event, something triggered
the recollection with...

fatal consequences.

-Good night, Mr. Stafford.
-Good night.

Alderman...

Hello.

Funny.

It'll be 28 years tomorrow
since I joined the job.

28 years to the day,
excepting the war, of course.

All this with the merger
put me out of sorts.

Got me thinking...

..less ahead than behind.

I forgot for a minute
it's not about me.

It's about them that turn to us
for help...

..in time of need.

Weak, defenceless.
Old, young.

Especially the young.

Does that mean you've reconsidered?

Win would never put up with me
under her feet all day.

Nah...

I was born a copper.

And I'll die one, I expect.

"Ensanguining the skies

"How heavily it dies

"Into the west away;

"Past touch and sight and sound

"Not further to be found,

"How hopeless underground

"Falls the remorseful day."

You know there's no cavalry coming?

Still time.
I won't think the less.

To the end, then.

To the end.

Nothing you can do
for him now.

The early bird, I'm afraid.

Sir!
Sir!

You bastard!
You bastard!

Names?
Really.

No bon mots?
No

apposite Augustan valedictory?

I expected better from a Greats man.

Oxford material?
Nah.

Just a boy from the sticks
with a chip on his shoulder

and a library card.

Where be your gibes now?

You're mad.

You can't seriously think you'll get
away with this.

Actually...

I think they'll pin
another medal on my chest.

History's written by the victor.
You know that.

Bad apples?
That's you two, I'm afraid.

In my version of events,
at least.

And since that's all they'll have,

it's rather all that counts.

You see, when Chard
told me you'd got away,

I had to improvise.

Right now, every copper in the
county is out looking for you.

Pity you won't be around to
appreciate my solution.

There, I'm afraid...

endeth the lesson.

Stay with me, sir.

Stay with me, sir.
Sir?

It's gonna be all right, sir.

Stay with me, sir!
Stay with me!

ANGELA: It wasn't dreams.
It was memories.

My own father.

No more dreams.

My poor...
lost boys.

No...
No!

Come on, Tommy.

We...

found the boy in one of
the top rooms, sir.

He's no recollection
how he got here.

-Let's get this young man back to his mother.
-Sir.

Come on, Tommy, let's go.

We'll make sure
you're looked after.

He's in the best of care.

-DC Morse?
-Yes.

My name is Detective Inspector
Gregson of Kidlington CID.

Endeavour Morse,
I am arresting you

for the murder of Chief
Constable Rupert -

-You're arresting me?
-You do not have to say -

You've made a mistake.

-..can be used in evidence.
-Some kind of a mistake.

-Take him inside.
-Get your hands off me!

You've made a mistake!

-That's it.
-Get your hands off me!

What is going on here?

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