Endeavour (2012–…): Season 9, Episode 1 - Episode #9.1 - full transcript
They all think a lot
of you, you know.
You must look after yourself.
I've got a do coming up.
Don't suppose it would
be up your street?
You're young, you're smart.
Break the habit
before it breaks you.
I don't need help!
I can't use you in this shape!
It's Sam. Absent without leave.
A fella from his unit,
a sniper at a checkpoint.
Maybe that knocked him.
I will take those four weeks.
As long as you need.
The sun always comes up.
Just gotta hold on
for it a bit longer...
sometimes.
Oxford Royalty Theatre,
please. Certainly, guv.
INAUDIBLE
'Good evening and welcome.
'It is a beautiful summer's
evening here in Oxford,
'as you join us in
this wonderful setting
'for the first in a series
of homecoming concerts
'by the internationally celebrated
Oxford Concert Orchestra.
'The OCO has performed at
iconic venues the world over,
'but they return tonight
'to perform for the first time in
their home city in over a year.
'The orchestra will perform
'under the baton of Sir
Alexander Lermontov,
'and featuring the gifted
soloist Christina Poole...'
PHONE RINGS
'who has joined the OCO
for the 1972 season.
'Very much Sir
Alexander's protege,
'Miss Poole is the latest in a
long line of consummate musicians
'to truly flourish under his
careful guidance. He's been
'a great coach and
champion of her talents.
'He first encountered
her...' Ready?
'..as a teenager at
the Balasco Academy.
'Ah, and here comes
Christina Poole now,
'looking utterly beguiling in one
of the beautiful strapless gowns
'which have become so
much her signature.
'And just a few steps behind
her, the unmistakable form
'of Sir Alexander Lermontov.
'As he takes the podium, a hush
falls over the auditorium.'
ORCHESTRA PLAYS
CLASSICAL MUSIC
PHONE RINGS
Oxford, 2-8-3-1. Hello?
Hello? Is anyone there?
Is it Sam?
MAN SHOUTS
MAN GROANS
PUNCHING AND GROANING
APPLAUSE
A triumph, Chrissie!
Sensational!
Yes. Madame will be so proud!
Thank you! Thank you so much!
SHE SIGHS
98 pink elephants,
99 nine pink elephants.
Oh, you have been in
Lyme Regis, I perceive.
Do we know who he is?
No wallet or identification.
And no-one matching
his description
reported missing
overnight, so...
I'll take one of those, then,
please, if you can spare.
Of course. Thank you.
Morse.
Sir.
Aye-aye, matey! Back in the
land of the living, then?
Well, seemingly
not. Who found him?
Staff clearing up this
morning after last night's do.
The master doesn't
recognise him.
Undergrad from
another college, then?
What was the occasion?
Reception for the Oxford
Concert Orchestra.
Invitation only. How
many in attendance?
About 100, according
to the master.
Mainly dons and their guests. Maybe
ten to 15 members of the orchestra.
I've put in for a full list
from the office. Any
idea as to cause, Doctor?
No sign of violence or injury.
Can you put a time to it?
Between nine and three this
morning, approximately.
The bash wound up around midnight,
one o'clock, according to staff.
We can probably assume
he wasn't lying dead
in the middle of a drinks
reception, Sergeant. People tend
to notice that sort of
thing. Just the one shoe?
I've got uniform having a poke
about the bushes for the other.
Well, gentlemen, the postmortem
might give us something more,
but I've done all
I can here for now,
so unless you've any objection,
shall we say two
o'clock? Doctor.
So, how was the West, then,
matey? All pasties and scrumpy?
I was mostly following
in Hardy's footsteps.
Were you? "There's
another fine mess", eh?
I'll, er, chase up
about that guest list.
If you want to track down the
orchestra members and have a word,
it's probably more up your
street than Jim's or mine.
Most likely just putting a name
to him. Be all right with that?
I should think I'll manage.
Oh, thanks for
the postcard. Oh.
Expect you were glad of a
bit of sea air after, er...
The cure?
Your extended leave of absence.
How is the...?
I'm cured all right.
Hand steady, eye clear.
The only pink elephants
I'll be encountering are
those enumerated by Dr DeBryn.
Well, that's a weight, I'm sure.
Anyway, I'll see you
back at the nick.
What ho, Mrs T!
Water ain't 'ot yet!
"Her voice was ever
soft, gentle and low,
"an excellent thing in woman."
I say, Mrs Treadle,
whither the orange cremes?
I took them out. Miss Quincannon
likes the goldy foil ones.
I like the goldy foil ones.
You're not orchestra
leader. Speak of the devil!
Well, if you're here,
Jack, hell must be empty.
Morning, gang. Morning.
Mabs. What's this?
No orange cremes for
the rank and file.
They're the special reserve of
La Reine Margeaux, apparently.
Render unto Caesar, duckie.
The urn's not hot yet,
Margeaux, so I'm afraid
you'll have to wait your
turn with the rest of us.
I'll just bring you one
across when it's ready, Margs.
It's all right. I'll loiter
here with the hoi polloi.
So, how did it go last
night at the soiree?
Wouldn't know, old cock.
Not my cup of Lapsang.
You mean, you weren't
invited? I went to the pub.
We were at the White
Horse. I didn't see you.
Ah, I tonked on
down to the Turf.
Margeaux and Mabs was
there, though, weren't you?
With that ghastly old witch.
Madame Belasco is not a
ghastly old witch, Jack.
Ooh, stand by your bunks!
Ave, Imperator,
morituri te salutant.
We've a vacancy on the
Gardener's Tips page
if your fingers have taken a
turn towards the chartreuse.
I've not seen you about.
Well, I've not been about.
It's been months! I thought
maybe you'd moved on,
but I didn't think you'd
go without saying goodbye.
Your colleagues have been
singularly unforthcoming.
Something hush-hush?
All right, keep your secrets.
So, what's the story here?
I'm not sure there is one yet.
And do you have a name for him?
First order of business.
Well, if you fancy a stiffener
before the PM, my round, I think.
Ah, but thanks. Another time.
Passing up the offer of a drink?
Are you sure you're quite well?
Never better. Oh.
Morse? Well, we didn't have time
for much of a talk, sir, but,
er, he said he was right, so...
Good. Let's hope he's put all
his troubles behind him, hm?
There's a musical connection to
this body found at the college,
which should play to his
strengths, I'd have thought.
Well, sir, unless
there's anything else...
As a matter of fact,
there, is, er...
one thing.
I understand there's a
detective superintendency...
..coming up in the next couple
of months at Carshall New Town.
I have it on good authority
it would be looked on favourably
were you to express an interest.
Carshall, sir?
If I've been off my game at
all... Good heavens, no, no!
If I might put my
cards on the table...
After some thought,
I've decided the time is
due, perhaps long overdue...
..for me to retire.
If possible, I'd like to see
my men into safe harbour -
you, Strange, young Morse...
..else I fear I should feel
I'd left a job only half done.
Well, I don't know
what to say, sir. Er...
I'd always thought - well, hoped
- that after the last few years,
we'd see our service out together.
I'm sorry to let you down.
Never, sir, not for a minute.
Obviously, Carshall would
probably mean a move.
That's something you'd need
to discuss with Mrs Thursday.
But a superintendency would
be the crowning achievement
of an exemplary career.
And Morse, sir?
I'm sure you'd like
to take him with you,
but the appropriate rank
for a superintendent's
ADC is inspector or above.
Nobody could have
done more for him.
They all fledge in
the end, Thursday.
Hard as it is, one
has to let them go.
Sooner or later...
..they have to fly alone.
ORCHESTRA PLAYS
CLASSICAL MUSIC
No, no, no, no!
Come on! Always the
bloody wardrobes! You!
Yes, you, bass.
You're always late.
Can't you count, hm?
They're called triplets.
Tri-puh-let! Tri-puh-let!
Who the hell are you?!
Whoever you are, get
out! We're rehearsing.
Donald, what do I pay you for?
Bar 20.
I'm sorry, if it's an
interview you're after,
I'm afraid... Detective
Sergeant Morse,
Thames Valley. Mr...?
Fischer. Erm, Donald
Fischer. Orchestra manager.
I understand a number of your
principals from the orchestra
attended a party at Beaumont
College, last night.
No-one broke anything, did they?
Morning, Donald. What
sort of mood is he in?
Oh.
Ooh! Oh!
All right? I'm sorry.
Thank you. My apologies.
That was desperately
clumsy of me. Not at all.
Again! And...
I'm sorry.
You were saying?
We didn't see him, did we, Mabs?
No. No.
And it was quite dark.
Not dark enough that,
if we'd seen him,
we wouldn't remember
him. You are?
Margeaux Quincannon, orchestra
leader. My colleague, Mabs Portman.
It would appear none of us
saw anyone like that, officer.
I know I didn't. So, can we
get back to the rehearsal?
You're sure?
Absolutely, sure. I
never forget a face.
In fact...
you look familiar.
Have we met?
Well, we've not been
formally introduced,
but, er, well, I sing with the
Oxford Scholars' Choral Association.
We were part of
Faure's Requiem in '69.
Were you?
Not our finest
hour, as I recall.
What was it Shaw said? "Hell
is full of musical amateurs."
Again, please!
Needless to say, I
had the last laugh.
HE LAUGHS
All done?
Yes, thank you, Mr...?
John Graham-Scott.
"Jack." Viola.
Oh, God, here he comes!
Anal Fischer. The
only man in Oxford
with a flat up Alex
Lermontov's arse.
If you're ready, gentlemen.
I'm sorry, Donald.
Won't be two ticks.
Excuse me! Yes?
I just wanted to say
thank you for earlier.
Oh, not at all.
I wondered if I could...
if you'd like to attend
the concert this evening.
It's the premiere of a new concerto
Alex has written... for me.
As my guest, of course.
Erm... Or I've a prize-giving
at the Belasco this
afternoon, if you're free.
Look, I feel stupid
to even mention it,
but I should value the
advice of a professional,
someone familiar
with such things.
What things, Miss Poole?
Barring a superficial
scratch to the neck,
there is no obvious sign
of injury, I'm afraid.
Blood analysis might give
us something, possibly.
It's unusual in one so young,
but it could just
be natural causes.
His heart, perhaps.
Oh, stomach contents.
A last supper of
alphabet spaghetti...
if you want me to spell it out.
Ingested within an
hour of decease.
Unlikely he ate
at college, then.
What do you make to this?
Doubtless this will come
as a great surprise,
but I'm perhaps not as au fait
with the vagaries of fashion
as my position as an eminent
Home Office pathologist
might have led you to
believe. My point is,
that it looks rather new.
Little wear to the sole.
Then he clearly wasn't
in our business.
Now, might a pair of
heels deserve a glass?
Oh, no, not for me, thanks.
Late for Lent? New leaf?
Something like that.
Looked well, I thought. Morse.
Yeah.
I was thinking of asking him.
For, er... Oh,
well, no better man.
What you got today, then?
Ah, Morse!
Yes, you're back with us as
of this morning, of course.
Yes, sir. Splendid.
Your tour of the West Country
proved restorative, I hope.
Yes, sir. Thank you.
Yes, well, I'm sure
most of us could benefit
from a little time away from
the usual once in a while.
Well, carry on.
Come in. Ah, how did you
make out with the orchestra?
Well, nobody claims
to know him or have seen him
at the college last night.
Well, busy, maybe. I suppose
if he wasn't one of
their crowd... Mm.
I did find an identity bracelet
in the soil by the body.
"AL". Alan or Albert, perhaps.
Or Alec, if it is his.
The one shoe he did have
on was from Burridges.
Possibly bought fairly recently,
judging by the lack of wear.
I thought I'd pop in. But we could
get a late lunch, if you fancy.
I just got back from
the pub with Jim.
I wasn't sure how long you'd be
or whether it was
still something you...
I suppose we got into the
habit, with you been away.
No, no, no, it's...
Oh, actually, there
was one more curiosity.
Erm, Christina Poole,
the guest soloist.
After the concert last night,
she found someone had scrawled
the word "bitch" on her
dressing room mirror.
Connected, do you think?
I can't see how it can be, but I
did say I'd look into it for her.
She's got some prize-giving
over at the Belasco Academy.
It's a music school
for gifted children.
I thought I'd go there,
then go to Burridges.
KNOCK ON DOOR
Word through from uniform of a body
been found. Sounds like foul play.
Doctor.
You're keeping me
busy, Chief Inspector.
One more corpse and I shall be
able to claim a set of tumblers.
Jesus!
Yes, Sergeant, I
rather think that was
the general idea.
Only this man's tongue
has been torn out
and was nailed to the floor.
That what did for him?
Shot twice.
Once through the heart,
once through the head.
Be able to give you calibre
after the postmortem,
but he'd taken a savage beating
shortly before his
decease. How long?
12 hours, give or take.
Any identification on him?
No. I've put his wallet there.
But if I'm not much mistaken,
he appears to have the
telephone number for Castle Gate
written on his left cuff.
That's Mickey
Flood. You know him?
Knew him, back in the Smoke,
my Cable Street days.
Mickey Flood.
Full-time thief,
part-time informant.
What's he doing in Oxford?
There's a train ticket in
his wallet. Yesterday's date.
So, how do you know him?
My early days on the
beat before the war.
We were of an age, more or less.
He was in my brother
Charlie's year.
Always a wrong 'un.
Whole family were thieves.
Their old man, and his
old man before him.
Only Mickey's problem was,
he was never much good at it.
If it was raining luck, Mickey Flood
couldn't get wet to save his life.
Next of kin?
His wife's gone, Lil.
Daughter would be about
Joan's age now, I suppose.
Patty, was it?
You'd better push on
to your prize-giving.
Me and Jim can finish
up here and take the PM.
I'll see you back at the nick.
A former pupil here
at the Belasco,
I am delighted to call
upon Christina Poole
to present the Bedlow Prize,
which she herself won
a mere seven years ago.
Thank you so much,
ladies and gentlemen.
Do you get back much?
Only when I'm asked.
But former pupils who'd done well
used to come back and talk to us
when I was here, you see, and
so, one feels one really ought.
Ah. I owe the
place everything.
That sounds like something
you feel you should say,
rather than something
you actually believe.
Gosh, you really are a
detective, aren't you?
People always imagine
coming somewhere like
this must be endless fun.
There are a lot of
tears after dark,
a lot of unhappiness.
One does feel, at times,
rather like some sort of freak,
a performing animal. Mm.
I think children are probably
best left to be children.
If you're ready, we
ought to be heading back.
One minute. Of course.
So, this message on your mirror.
Is that the first you've received?
After a concert, yes.
But I've had one or two
pushed under my door.
I'm staying at
the Ragdale Hotel.
Also written in lipstick? No.
Could it be a jealous
girlfriend, perhaps?
Jealous? Of whom?
I'm altogether rather single.
You get letters, of course,
from lonely men. HORN TOOTS
Anything too awful I pass
on to Donald Fischer.
I'd better not keep
Alex waiting, erm,
but thank you for coming
and for taking me seriously.
VIOLIN PLAYS
May I help you, sir?
Yes, I'd like to
ask you about these.
Oh, yes, sir, the "Sir John".
I'm not sure we have
them in your size.
In fact, I think that
might be our last pair.
They're not for me. I'm
Detective Sergeant Morse,
Thames Valley. Have you
sold any lately in a size 8?
I'd need to check with
the stock department.
They came in as part of last
year's spring collection.
Right. You don't remember
selling any yourself?
In the last month, say,
to this man?
Oh, God. I don't remember him.
But I usually do a
half day Wednesdays,
so my colleague might
have served him.
She's at tea.
I'll call if we find anything.
Anything further
on Mickey Flood?
There's a warrant out
on him, back in London.
Some kind of protection racket.
That was never Mickey's caper.
He couldn't knock the
skin off a rice pudding.
He was a thief, first and last.
How did you make
out at the school?
It's hard to see how
these messages can relate
to this young man
at the college.
It's probably just some bad
blood within the orchestra.
She's a guest
soloist, an outsider.
Perhaps somebody just isn't
happy that she's there.
What about Burridges? Apparently
a saleswoman remembered
and said that she had a customer
return a pair recently for exchange.
She can't be 100%, but she thinks
it could be the same young man.
She's put a request out to the
accounts department. It's possible
they have his address on file.
Well, if you've got
this concert to go to,
I'll see you in the morning.
Leave Mickey Flood's things
on my desk, would you?
ORCHESTRA TUNE INSTRUMENTS
'Of course, as anyone familiar
'with the world of
classical music will know,
'there's a great
deal of superstition
'about the ninth
symphony of any composer.
'Now, with that in
mind, might one ask
'if you are yet thinking about
tempting fate with a tenth?
'By which, I assume
you're referring
'to the "curse of the
ninth", so called,
'which says that
composers must die
'before they complete
their tenth Symphony.
'As with most things, it was
Beethoven who started the legend.
'He died after
writing his ninth.
'As did Bruckner, Dvorak...'
KNOCK ON DOOR Five minutes, sir.
'Your great friend Vaughan
Williams, of course...'
Sir, five minutes.
Yes! Yes, I heard.
'It's debatable. If I remember,
it was Schoenberg who said,
'"It seems the ninth is a limit.
'"He who wants to go
beyond it must pass away.
'"It seems as if something might
be imparted to us in the tenth
'"which we ought not yet to
know, for which we are not ready.
'"Those who have written
a ninth stood too close
' "to the hereafter."'
Margeaux! What the hell are you
doing? You should be on stage.
Don't bloody tell ME!
Tell principal second violin!
Lindsay forgot her peg dope.
I've got some spare in my case.
An informant, you say?
Presumably that's what the
tongue business is about.
When did you see him last?
Must be the best part
of 25 years since.
Why come all this way?
What couldn't he tell you
over the phone from London?
Maybe he wanted to
arrange a face-to-face.
Why not just come
straight to the station?
Far enough off his home ground
for him not to be recognised.
Villains like Mickey would
sooner be caught dead
than set foot inside a nick.
Well, he's dead all right.
I don't like it, Thursday.
Gang business, London
business, here in Oxford?
Never ends well.
ORCHESTRA PLAYS
CLASSICAL MUSIC
MARGEAUX GASPS
Margs! Margeaux!
Is she ok? Margeaux!
Margs! Margs! Donald!
What's wrong with her?
What...?
Ladies and gentlemen, is
there a doctor in the house?
Here! Up here!
Yes, please. Soon as you can.
Oh, my God! I don't
think she's breathing.
Donald, do something! Shall
we get her off the stage?
Don't move her, don't move her!
Do something. It's all right.
Make some space. It's all right.
Morse.
Any idea what happened to her?
Too early to say.
According to her colleagues
- at least those I spoke to -
she was in otherwise
good health.
Some kind of fit
or stroke, perhaps,
or a heart attack.
Anything back yet from the
blood you sent for analysis
for the young man found
down at Beaumont College?
Give the lab a chance.
I only sent them
off this afternoon.
Since then, I've rather had my
hands full with this crucifixion.
But I did stress it was
a matter of some urgency.
Shall we say nine o'clock?
I think we'll all mourn Margeaux
in our own way.
But it will take some time
to come to terms with
the scale of our loss.
We've each of us lost a friend,
and the orchestra has lost
a fine leader. MUTTERS:
Bloody hypocrite.
In light of this tragedy,
I've instructed Donald
that we'll begin rehearsals
an hour later than
scheduled tomorrow.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to
speak to the rest of the orchestra.
We'll need a next
of kin, Mr Fischer.
Of course. She's, erm...
Parents in Cumbria, I
believe, are quite elderly.
She was unmarried, then?
Er, no, she wasn't married.
No boyfriend or...?
Er, as far as I know.
She lived alone.
How long had she been
with the orchestra?
Ten years? Was she well liked?
Well liked? Well liked?
What kind of a question is that?
SOBS: She just died
in front of all of us!
Margeaux was lovely.
She was just lovely.
Yes, of course, she was, Mabs.
They were at the Belasco
together. My condolences.
Come on, Mabs. Let's
go get you a drink.
Would these be hers?
Er, yes, I believe so.
You're taking her things?
Well, there's been a sudden,
unexplained death, Mr Fischer.
There are certain procedures
that we have to follow.
Carshall?
Well, it'd mean a bit
more to the pension.
It's not as if that
wouldn't be welcome
when I do turn in my tin star.
We're here, though.
We've made a home.
You have, you mean. Home
is wherever you are.
Oh! You won't get round
me with soft soap.
I'm not trying to get round you.
I can't think of
all this right now,
not when everything's
in the air with Sam.
Let's get this week
out of the way.
And we've Joan to think of.
Joanie'll be all
right. You sound like
you've already made
up your mind. No!
You'd have to be all right
with it. I wouldn't do anything
without your say-so.
And what about Morse?
You've always had a
lot of time for him.
What'll happen to him if you go?
There's nothing more
I can teach him.
All right, is he,
after his trouble?
Yeah.
Well...
I think so. He seems to be.
Hm.
KNOCK ON DOOR
It's too awful. I've
just been sitting here.
I can't believe she's
gone. She's been so lovely.
You've had a visitor.
Oh.
Yes, that. It was here
when I got back after...
Seems very trivial
against what's happened.
Were you close, you
and Miss Quincannon?
I don't know about close.
As a guest soloist, you're always
living in someone else's house,
but she'd been very welcoming.
I've got a table
booked at the Tratt.
I'm not sure I'm terribly
hungry. You have to eat.
Doesn't she? She has to eat.
You'll call me through
with a telephone and address
for Miss Quincannon's parents?
Of course, first thing.
Thank you. Not at all.
SHE GASPS
I told the maid
I'd mislaid my key.
I looked for you...
..after the performance,
such as it was.
Donald took me to a late supper.
Donald!
Must I remind you, the lives of
such as we are defined by sacrifice?
What does that mean?
Are you really going to squander
your time and talent on
some foolish infatuation?
It's not like that.
After all the work,
all I've poured in to
creating a great artist.
What about what I've poured in,
from a child?
Other girls had
friends, parties, fun.
I had a rehearsal
room. You were special.
I didn't ask to be!
I didn't ask to be.
What is it you want, Al?
I want things to be
the way they were.
You listened to me once.
We can put things back
together, just like new.
We'll go to the villa at Mongi
for the summer.
There's so much more I have
to teach you, Chrissy...
..to give you.
I know,
and I am grateful.
But I'm also desperately tired.
It's a terrible
thing, about Margeaux.
Of course, my dear, of course.
Well...
Good night.
Look, two or three years
at Carshall to see
us into my pension,
then we can go where
you like, can't we?
Either where Joanie is by then,
or we've always talked about
the coast. Selsey Bill...
DOORBELL RINGS
..Bracklesham Bay,
Isle of Wight, even, Shanklin.
We had a lovely time at
the Wavecrest that week.
Morse!
Well, you do look a
sight for sore eyes
and make no mistake! Much in?
We've a postmortem
with Dr DeBryn.
Well, I don't want
to hear about innards
before eight o'clock, I'm sure.
I'll fetch your sandwiches.
The principal violinist at the
Oxford Concert Orchestra died
during last night's performance.
I know it's not
suspicious at first hand,
but I thought, given that death at
Beaumont after their reception...
Here you are. Come home safe.
Morse. Mrs Thursday.
ORCHESTRA PLAYS
CLASSICAL MUSIC
Right. Miss Quincannon.
Essentially, Miss Quincannon
died of cardiovascular collapse
brought on by
respiratory arrest.
Natural causes, then?
After a fashion.
There were signs
of pulmonary oedema
which, by itself, might
suggest heart disease.
But there was also
laryngeal oedema,
which, since there's
no laryngeal injury,
brings anaphylaxis into play.
A severe allergic reaction.
To what? Something she ate?
Possibly. I've sent her stomach
contents off for analysis
and have put a
call in to her GP,
but sometimes, just coming
into contact with the allergen
can be enough to trigger
a fatal response.
Those prone to that kind
of thing usually carry
some sort of
antihistamine, don't they?
Oh, yes.
In extreme cases, if people
are particularly susceptible,
they're liable to
carry adrenaline. Hm.
Anything like that
in her handbag? No.
Would Miss Quincannon
have understood
what was happening to her?
If she'd had a severe reaction
before, I'd imagine so, yes.
Then why didn't she
do something about it?
Well, perhaps she wanted
to complete the performance
and just misjudged the severity of
the attack until it was too late.
Found these in the
bathroom cabinet.
Syringe and what looks
to be adrenaline,
presumably in case
she has an attack.
Anything? Oh, a few
school pictures,
certificates,
diplomas, and the like.
Is there much money in it?
Orchestra leader's the
highest paid member,
but she was never
gonna die rich.
I imagine she did
a bit of teaching.
What's this?
Oh, rosin. String
players use it.
This might be something.
She was writing a letter,
or at least drafting one.
"If you think you're
going to put me aside,
"you've got another
think coming.
"I won't go quietly.
"I'll make such a scene you won't
be able to show your face again."
Everyone I spoke to in the
orchestra said that she was single.
Maybe they don't know anything
about her private life.
It's interesting. The shade of
lipstick that Miss Quincannon wore
is a very close match to that
left on Christina Poole's mirror.
That might explain the letter.
If she thought she'd
been supplanted
in someone's affections
by Miss Poole...
Hell hath no fury.
Poor Margeaux had a
seizure, didn't she?
It was natural causes. That's
what we're here to establish,
Mr Fischer.
You got on well,
with Miss Quincannon,
would you say? For my part.
Margeaux had her ways.
She could be a bit grim
if she didn't take to you,
but I'm just rank and file,
and far too young to have
ever been a threat to her.
What kind of a threat, Miss
Trench? To her position.
It was something she
guarded very jealously.
And quite right, too.
There was a lot of
resentment in the boys' club.
And who'll take her place now?
Well, ordinarily, one might
expect the co-leader to step in,
but... Mabs can't face it.
She's ruled herself out.
They were close, I
understand. Two peas in a pod.
What about Miss
Quincannon's private life?
Can you help us with
anything in that regard?
I don't know if
there's anything in it,
but there's always been talk
that she and Alex
had some sort of...
Well, I don't know.
Something.
But it wasn't
something we discussed.
If anyone knows the ins
and outs, it's Mabs.
Here. Thank you.
I just cannot believe
that she's gone.
We've shared a desk for
as long as I can remember.
Sergeant Morse tells me
that you and Miss Quincannon
studied music together
when you were young.
At the Belasco, yes.
Can you recall any serious allergic
reaction she had to anything then?
Erm, well, there were some
things that Margeaux didn't eat,
but I always just put that
down to her being
faddy. Such as?
In the summer, she
avoided strawberries.
Was there anyone she was
involved with that you know of?
No. Not recently, at least.
There was the odd
chap here and there.
When you're constantly
travelling the world,
it asks a lot of people
to make something last.
It's been suggested that perhaps
she and Sir Alexander were involved.
Alex was very good to
Margeaux when she was younger.
He... He took her
under his wing.
But the idea that there was ever
anything seriously between them?
No, she would've said.
Let's just say, she relished
her position as orchestra leader
a little too much for my taste.
We enjoyed a...
healthy mutual dislike.
I'm sure I wasn't alone in that.
If there's something
you're trying to say...
What's to say?
You've spoken to our
young Donald, I see.
Yes.
Well, he wouldn't be the
first orchestra manager
to lose his head over
a visiting soloist.
Still, as Margeaux proved,
there's always been more than one
way to get to Carnegie Hall. Hm?
Was there ever anything between you
that went beyond the professional?
What, me and Margeaux?
It's been suggested. By whom?
Margeaux was a promising
young violinist.
I did what I could to help
her develop her talent.
One can see how a young girl might
take all that interest and attention
from a famous and powerful man and
mistake it for something else...
if it was mistaken.
Look...
..whatever mad ideas Margeaux
entertained, then or now,
there was never
anything more between us
than would be right and proper
between mentor and pupil.
What mad ideas are these?
That you and Miss
Poole were carrying on?
Oh, God!
Look, Margeaux may
have thought it.
But my relationship
with Christina
is on an altogether
higher plane. Is it?
If it's beyond a policeman to
understand, let me put it this way.
As a composer, I view
Christina as my instrument,
an extension of my physical
and spiritual self.
I express my innermost being
through her playing.
Well, I'm sure
knowing that must have been a
great comfort to Miss Quincannon.
She was very particular
about her biscuits.
I had to pick them out for her.
She wouldn't have anything
that was just loose in the box.
Thank you. Do they use this
space a lot, the orchestra?
When they're not abroad touring.
Rest of the time,
it's all sorts.
We had the Young
Generation in last week,
with that Mimi,
is it? Oh, yeah.
Oh, and next month we've
got him off Jolliphant
coming in for a
play at the Empire.
Are they a decent bunch?
These? Mm.
Well, as long as there's hot
water for the tea and coffee.
Sorry to interrupt, Mrs T. I just
wanted to ask the officer something.
Oh, don't mind me, I'm sure.
Thank you, Mrs Treadle.
I just wondered if there was
any news about my well-wisher.
Ah, I'm working on it.
But try not to worry.
These things very
rarely escalate.
Are you sure there's
nobody in the orchestra
that you might have upset?
No-one. At least, not
intentionally, I'm sure.
What about Miss Quincannon?
She'd been lovely,
so supportive.
You don't think she...?
It's just an avenue of inquiry.
Well, at least we've
a pretty decent idea
of who's been leaving those
messages for Miss Poole.
If Quincannon thought
Lermontov had thrown her over
for his latest protege...
That's if the draft
letters were meant for him.
Yeah, but I wouldn't
put it past his type
to still have been knocking
her off on the QT as and when.
They all seemed to know that
she had some kind of allergy,
even if they couldn't
agree on what it was.
Odd there was nothing
amongst her effects
to counter an attack.
Perhaps there was,
and somebody removed
it. On the other hand,
we could be chasing our
own tails and looking
for something that's not
there. What, an accident?
It's possible, isn't it?
She comes into contact with
something that sets off an attack
by quite innocent means.
Unless we find a solid motive,
I'd say we're looking at
death by misadventure.
At least that's how the
coroner will see it.
Let me call you back.
Aye-aye, matey. Burridges
have been in touch.
Something to do with
shoes, could it be?
Ah, right. Thanks.
And Dr DeBryn called.
Blood results came in
on the body of Beaumont.
Heroin and barbiturate.
A "hot shot", he called
it. How did he miss that?
No obvious track
marks on the arms,
so he'd no reason to believe
he was looking at an addict.
Turns out the injection
site was between his toes
on the right foot.
Couldn't say whether it
was self-administered,
but I shouldn't think
it's likely, would you?
Hello, again. I
understand you spoke
to one of my colleagues,
Detective Sergeant Strange,
about a pair of shoes that were
recorded in the exchange book.
Oh, yes, sir. Young Mr Burridge has
had the big book set aside for you.
Ah. If you'd like
to follow me.
No sign of any
drugs paraphernalia,
if this Thompson is our
man. It's him, all right.
Alphabet spaghetti. His last
meal, according to Dr DeBryn.
This probably answers whether
he injected himself or not.
I can't see him going out
wearing only one shoe. Mm.
You ever heard of Ace Private
Inquiries, Headington?
Don't ring a bell. Why?
Yeah, come in.
Come on through. I
won't be a minute.
TOILET FLUSHES Right.
Sorry to have...
Ronnie.
Thought you'd left Oxford.
As you can see.
So, to what do I owe? To whom.
Edward Thompson.
A client of yours,
or at least somebody
you've interviewed.
Doesn't ring a bell.
He had one of your cards.
Address in Ford Road,
Cowley. A boarding house.
You know how the private
game works, fellas.
If he was a client,
why would I tell you?
Cos he's dead. I can see that.
Somebody gave him a
hot shot and dumped
his body in the gardens
of Beaumont College.
What did he want?
He, er... He came to me
for help finding
a missing person -
his mother, Brenda.
Left home in '62 after a
fall-out with her old man.
Came down south. From where?
North-east. What
made him think
she'd come here, to Oxford?
Brenda used to send a
letter every so often.
Then, the letters stopped.
Who's Eileen Wright?
Friend of the family. Dead now.
The father didn't want
Brenda writing home,
so the letters came to
Eileen. That was the last.
Get anywhere with it?
Some.
Drink?
I usually nibble a couple around
this time in the afternoon.
Yeah, why not? No,
not for me, thanks.
Why? What's up? Copped a dose?
She used to do a bit of
temping, here and there.
Richardson's in Cowley,
a spell at British Imperial
Electric in the offices.
The last I've got for her
is in the September of '63.
She's at Landesman Construction.
Built Divisional
HQ, didn't they?
Did he or his mother
have any connection
to the Oxford Concert
Orchestra, do you know?
If they did, it never
got mentioned to me.
So... how is it
back at the factory?
Old Brighty still in charge?
Yeah, Mr Bright's still there.
They'll carry that
one out feet first.
We never much cared for
each other, but I, er...
..I'd never have wished
what happened on him.
I expect there's a lot of things
we wish had gone differently...
..but they went how they went.
Look, I wasn't
being cagey earlier.
It's just, when he came to me,
the boy didn't call himself...
What was it? Edward Thompson.
No. See, it was Andy,
he said his name was.
Andrew. Andrew Thompson?
No, Lewis. Andrew Lewis.
"AL", then.
Same as the identity bracelet
you found at Beaumont.
Mm, maybe Box turned up
more than he realised.
Stirred up a hornet's
nest, you mean?
Someone gets wind the boy's digging
through what happened to his mother
and decided to put a stop to it.
Assuming something
did happen to her.
What if she just
met someone new,
wanted to put her
previous life behind her?
Landesman.
Well, everyone's got to
work somewhere, I suppose.
She'd temped at British
Imperial Electric, too.
Hm, but Landesman Construction
was her last known employer
before the postcards stopped.
Hard to see how her
disappearance in '63
and the death of her son ties in
with Miss Quincannon.
What if it doesn't?
What if we're trying
to put together
two things that don't fit?
Might be an idea if
we split our labours.
If you push on with Miss Quincannon,
I'll try and track down anyone
who worked Landesman's at the
same time Brenda Lewis was there.
What about Mickey Flood?
I'm waiting to hear back
on the reverse trace.
We had a call at
home early evening
the night he died,
but when I picked up
the receiver, there
was no-one there.
Do you think it was him?
He had my number
written in a matchbook.
Maybe he thought I could
do something for him
about this outstanding warrant.
Why would you?
Unless he had
something to trade.
You didn't have to come.
I could've made my own way.
I just wanted to make
sure you got back safe.
All right, are you?
Can we stop somewhere?
You can't expect me to see her
straight, not right out of there.
You must know some place.
A copper, aren't you?
A career in music asks
a lot of a young person.
Hours of practice,
dedication.
Not everyone has
the temperament.
She was in the same year
as Mabs Portman, I believe.
Mabs?
Oh, Mabel. The year above.
Were they close?
Not particularly.
12 months at that age
can seem like a lifetime.
But later, when Mabel switched
from the viola to the violin,
they had a lot more in common.
Was there anybody while she was
here that she was friendly with?
I'm trying to find someone I can
talk to about her later life.
Margeaux's best friend
was Rose Garland.
Enormously gifted.
She would have gone
on to great things.
What happened to her?
A swimming accident,
here in the lake.
It took a great
toll on Margeaux.
Guilt is a terrible thing.
What did she have to
feel guilty about?
Being alive.
Take it easy, son.
You've got all day.
I wasn't coming
home this morning.
Where were you gonna go?
Anywhere. Somewhere
away from everything.
Nobody's expecting you to carry
on living at home, a grown man.
But you've gotta have
somewhere to lay your head,
at least until you get
a place of your own.
Your mum's been worried sick.
What she does best.
You're everything to her,
to all of us, but
especially to your mother.
You could have sent her a line.
To say what?
Sorry that I flunked it...
..that I pissed my pants and
ran away, that I'm a coward?
You're not a coward. Don't say that!
You weren't any of those things.
You were just...
..not well.
Is that what you
told the neighbours?
You weren't yourself.
That's what I meant.
A mate killed,
standing right next to you.
That would affect anyone.
If it's any consolation, I
know what you've been through.
No... you don't.
You don't have the first
idea, so stop saying that.
It's not all 'Roll Out The Barrel'
and 'Lili Marlene' any more.
I know that. Do you?
The other side, they
don't wear a uniform.
It's the bloke stood
next to you at the bar...
..the girl you get
off with at the dance,
a kid on a street corner.
Do you want that?
Oh, come here. Come
here. Hello, Mum.
Oh! Come on, don't fuss.
Don't fuss?!
I've been back and
forth to the window
that many times, I must've
worn a rut in the carpet.
What kept you?
Traffic bad? No, we
went for a drink.
Don't spoil your appetite.
I'm doing a roast later. I've
got a nice piece of beef.
I'm not hungry
later, though, am I?
Landesman?
The company was sold or went broke,
didn't it, after Blenheim Vale?
No-one's seen hide nor hair
of Joe Landesman in six years.
I know, sir. The
one that got away.
There's talk from Interpol he
went abroad. Spain, Portugal.
The company had property
there. Holiday hotels, I think.
Surely, you're not suggesting
he's anything to do with this
man found dead at Beaumont?
It's just a coincidence
his mother happened to work
for Landesman's firm, isn't it?
Blenheim Vale is done
with, long since.
VOICE-OVER: We weren't
bad lads, not really,
but somehow we all ended
up at Blenheim Vale.
Things happened there.
Awful, terrible things.
They wanted a name for whoever
burned out Wintergreen's car.
I tried not to...
One weekend, Big Pete went
off. He never came back!
You think Peter Williams
was buried here?
He's here... somewhere.
I was born a copper...
..and I'll die one, I expect.
GUNSHOT
All went well with your son?
I think so, sir. Yes, thank you.
You must be very glad
to have him home.
KNOCK ON DOOR Come in.
Sorry to interrupt, sir, but
I thought you'd want to know.
It's nuts, apparently,
she was allergic to.
I just got off the phone with
Dr DeBryn about Miss Quincannon.
He spoke to her GP. All
right. Carry on, Sergeant.
The death at the concert, sir.
Ah, just so.
Anything further
on Mickey Flood?
Division were asking.
It's early days, sir, but I've
put out a couple of feelers
with some old
colleagues in London.
Well, whatever's behind it, we don't
want that kind of business here.
Get to the bottom of
it, Thursday, fast,
and stamp it out.
Er, that's the phone box by the
railway under the bridge, right?
Well, then, get a forensics team
out there and see what's what.
Yeah.
I found these at Margeaux
Quincannon's place
amongst her sheet music.
Hotel bills? Meaning?
Meaning, I don't think
the letter we found there
yesterday was intended
for Alexander Lermontov.
Give me a minute.
So, what can I do for you?
I wonder if you can tell us why
Miss Quincannon had your bill
from the Englischer
Hof in her home.
My hotel bill? Mm-hm.
No idea. Really?
Only we spoke to the manager,
and he remembers you both
quite clearly, because much
like your current billet,
rooms 352 and 354 had
a connecting door.
Miss Quincannon insisted
upon it, apparently.
All right.
So, we had a scene. So what?
What goes on tour, you know?
I don't see what that has
to do with the police.
Miss Quincannon thought
your interest had moved on.
She was jealous
of the situation.
That would be our interest.
Look, I made it clear
to Margeaux at the start
I'm a free agent.
It was just.. No strings?
Did she threaten to make
your relationship more widely
known amongst the orchestra?
Yes.
But, so what? It's not like
either of us were married.
I can't see that would have
gone over well with Lermontov,
if Miss Quincannon had told him
you'd set your sights
on his latest protege.
We've just looked
at the register, Mr Brathwaite.
Or perhaps you weren't aware
that that connecting door joins
to Miss Poole's room. In fact,
shall we knock, see if she's
in? Look, if anyone was wise
to Margeaux's little
games, it's Alex Lermontov,
and I told her so. I called
her bluff, she didn't like it,
so, instead, she
made a big number
about leaving the
Oxford Concert Orchestra
for the Munich Symphony.
Was she serious? HE LAUGHS
Of course not! That's
just how she was.
Margeaux liked to
throw threats about.
I heard her laying the same number
on Donald on the night she died.
Donald Fischer, why? How's that?
Just as we were about to go
on, I popped a collar stud,
so I had to hurry back to the
green room for a replacement.
They didn't see me,
but I overheard them.
You're damn right
we need to talk!
I could finish you, and
don't you forget it.
What did she threaten him with?
I can't be sure,
but when we were together,
she told me she thought
he might be running
some sort of... I don't
know, some sort of racket.
What kind of racket?
Something to do
with when the
orchestra was touring.
To be honest, I didn't
ask too many questions.
She was always spitting
poison about someone or other.
You want the full
gen, talk to Mabs.
Miss Portman? Of course.
Margeaux wouldn't belch
without Mabs saying, "Pardon."
Margeaux did go backstage, yeah,
just as we were about to go on.
Well, why was that? Thank you.
Erm, Lindsay's
A-string was playing up
and she didn't
have any peg dope,
so Margs went to dig
some out of her case.
But whatever Fergus may
have heard, I'm sure
it was just a misunderstanding.
Of what, Miss Portman?
Margeaux had this idea
that what the orchestra
was really being charged
for travel and accommodation while
on tour was less than the amount
that Donald was billing for. And
he was pocketing the difference?
Yes, I...
I can't believe he would
ever do anything like that.
Donald is a wonderful
orchestra manager.
But... well, Margeaux
would get these notions.
And once she had an idea,
it was hard to shift.
I refute the
allegations, entirely.
Well, Mr Fischer, at the risk of
sounding like Miss Rice-Davies,
you would say that, wouldn't
you? Margeaux never understood
that balancing the books sometimes
requires a little creativity.
We prefer the word "fraud".
If I have to rob
Peter to pay Paul,
people keep their jobs.
Very commendable, I'm sure.
The earners, the foreign tours,
that's what pays us to bring
'L'apres-midi D'un Faune'
to a half-empty theatre on a
wet Tuesday night in Nantwich.
And that is important,
cos that one concert might
mean everything to someone.
I know it did to
me. And if someone
like Margeaux Quincannon
stood in the way of that...
Margeaux wasn't a threat
to me. I had her number.
Look, the truth of it is, I was
just about to give her notice.
For what reason?
I didn't think anything
when I saw her coming out.
One can't really have the
orchestra leader sending hate mail
to the guest soloist.
We had an idea as much.
Did you talk to her about it?
I would have done once I got this
week's concerts out of the way,
but as it turned out...
"Coroner Albert Lyons
recorded an open verdict
"in the case of
Rose Garland, 14,
"who drowned in early
summer in a lake
"at the Belasco Academy,
situate Banbury.
"Various witnesses
gave testimony
"that, despite being
a promising student,
"Miss Garland was a highly-strung
girl who lived on her nerves.
"Her guardian, Mr Harry Treadle,
said his ward, a scholarship girl,
"had never been fully
accepted by her peers
"and had been subjected
to slights and insults
"which left her
feeling demoralised.
"This view of the school
was roundly rejected
"by Madame Belasco,
Principal of the Academy,
"and the coroner concluded
there was insufficient evidence
"to support Mr
Treadle's assertion."
GIRLS GIGGLE
INAUDIBLE
"Though no note
had been found...
"the Coroner could not
rule out suicide...
"and was therefore obliged
to record an open verdict."
TELEVISION PLAYS
So, you adopted Rose Garland?
Evacuee, she was.
I can still see her
standing in the church hall,
luggage label threaded through
her buttonhole with her name on.
She was just about as big as
the violin case she was holding.
How was it you came
to be her guardians?
Her mother and her grandparents
both caught it in the Blitz,
and her dad in
the Far East. Hm.
She had no other family to
speak of, so we took her on.
But you didn't
formally adopt her? No.
She called us Ma and Pops,
but she had a right
to her own name.
The war had taken
everything else she had.
We weren't gonna take
that away from her too.
Rose had been close
with Margeaux Quincannon
while she was at the
Belasco, was that right?
Devoted, they were.
Was why I looked after her
when I ran into her again here.
She was one of the nice ones.
We had no idea
Rosie was unhappy.
She never said.
Years after, I found
one of the messages
in the pocket of her blazer.
They told her to kill herself.
Too late to matter then.
But Madame must've known.
To turn a blind eye...
You wouldn't happen to have
kept that message by any chance?
Oh, yes.
I kept everything, good and bad.
All her certificates.
You don't forget.
Broke Harry's heart.
TYRES SCREECH
HE TOOTS HORN
Hello, Sam!
Morse!
Sorry, I didn't see you.
Erm, I'm looking for Joan's.
Has she moved?
Jump in.
Joanie! Sam!
Hm. Come here.
You all right? Hm. Need a pee.
OK, er, down the
hall, on the right.
He said he wanted to come round.
I wasn't sure whether to
take him to your parents'.
Er... how is he?
Oh, nothing that a good
night's sleep won't sort out.
Says he's left the Army. Yeah.
Hm.
And, erm, you're
all right, are you?
Oh, yes. You've been away.
Ah, yeah.
But you're back. For now.
Well, I... Oh, erm...
I had some business
at Burridges.
I saw that you'd returned some,
erm... some bridal gloves.
Have you got a wedding to go to?
Bridesmaid?
Or if you need an
escort... Morse...
Oh.
Well, congratulations.
Thank you.
But who's the lucky man?
Aye-aye. One in, one out.
Thought you'd knocked off.
I hear congratulations
are in order.
You and Miss Thursday.
Oh, yeah. Thanks very much.
Joanie mentioned,
did she? Yeah.
Keep it under your hat for
the minute, though, eh?
With the old man and everything.
Same nick, and all that.
Wouldn't want to leave him open
to accusations of anything.
Of course. Heaven forbid!
I'll be needing a best
man, though, matey.
Hoping I can rely on you. Me?
Who else?
We've been up against it together
more times than I can count -
and come through.
You're the best man
any fella could have.
And I know you'd
never let me down.
Just get me to the
church on time, eh?
What can I get you, sir?
Pint of Morrell's, please.
Ooh!
Someone's up and at 'em.
That's all very
mafioso, isn't it?
What have you got in
there? A tommy gun?
If I'm right, something
just as deadly.
I need you to run
some tests for me.
Rosin?
Mm-hm. What's rosin
when it's at home?
Something to do with musicians,
isn't it? Yes, sir.
It's solidified tree sap,
generally from conifers.
String players apply
it to their bows.
Why?
So it catches on the
strings and makes a sound.
Without it, the instrument
wouldn't make any noise at all.
And what's that to do with
Miss Quincannon's death?
It's how she was killed, sir.
She was allergic to it, is that what
you're saying? Something she used
all the time? No,
no. She was allergic
to what somebody's put in it.
I think the killer melted
down the top of the stick
sufficiently to then add
a top layer of the same,
only this time,
containing ground nuts,
then, at some point,
substituted the toxic stick
for Miss Quincannon's own.
Miss Quincannon
would have applied
the rosin containing
microscopic particles of nut
to her bow before the
concert that evening.
SHE GASPS
Dr DeBryn has
examined the violin
and the stick of
rosin that was found
in Miss Quincannon's
case. And?
And the dust on the body of
the violin has tested positive
for nut particles, but the
stick of rosin itself is clear.
So, someone swapped it back?
Mm, presumably in the aftermath.
Everyone overwhelmed
with shock and grief,
nobody would notice what would
be the action of a moment.
Well, if that's the how,
I'm assuming you've a
good idea of the who.
Yes, sir. Erm, I think some
people find out far too soon
that life will divide us into
winners and everyone else.
For those destined always
to walk a pace behind,
to never have their
moment in the sun...
APPLAUSE
And no urge stronger
than the wish
to be revenged upon the
cause of one's suffering.
Madame will be so proud.
Thank you.
Thus, a cruel and
spiteful campaign,
which led to tragic consequences
a quarter of a century ago...
..was destined to repeat
itself in the present.
Quincannon drove the Garland
girl to kill herself. I get that.
Mm-hm. But who
killed Quincannon?
Well, I think it's one of the
uglier aspects of human nature,
but even the least amongst us
need someone to look down on.
It's a terrible thing
to be disregarded...
..destined to never be more
than, at best, rank and file,
to always be second choice...
..second best...
ORCHESTRA PLAYS
CLASSICAL MUSIC
..second fiddle.
Build, build.
Excuse me, I'm sorry.
Miss Portman.
I believe you know
why we're here. If you'd
like to come with me, please.
What's going on?
You can leave the violin.
Sorry to disturb.
Men say, don't they,
about pairs of women
they see out together in a
bar or a club or something...
There's "the one,"
the "golden girl",
with the looks and
the personality.
And there's the other one,
the "friend".
I was always the friend,
at least where
Margs was concerned.
And I didn't mind that.
The truth is, I thought
the world of Margeaux.
A year older than me,
she was my heroine.
I would have done
anything for her.
And you did.
You helped cover up what she did
that drove Rose Garland
to kill herself.
It was you that helped
Margeaux convince the coroner
that Rose Garland was unstable.
Why?
So she'd notice me.
I needed someone to notice me...
..so that I knew I existed.
And she did notice me.
We... We became inseparable.
And what you covered up bound
you to each other for life.
So that, every time
she looked at you,
she was reminded of what she'd done,
reminded of her guilt and shame.
And as the years went
by, it just got worse.
The... the digs, the sly knife.
She couldn't forgive me,
but she couldn't let me go.
But she recently put it about
that she'd be leaving the orchestra
and maybe going to Munich.
You could finally have
stepped out of her shadow.
That was the breaking
point for me.
I stood everything
else, but that...
Even now, I'm not sure she didn't do
the whole thing just to get at me...
..you know, to build up my hopes,
only to smash them to pieces.
We couldn't both go
on living like that.
I couldn't face another day
with her, not like that.
It was her or me.
Except, what you covered up
wasn't just Margeaux's culpability
in the death of Rose
Garland, but your own.
No, that's Margeaux's
handwriting.
Perhaps,
or a decent approximation of it,
with the exception of
how the Is are dotted.
But that's the alto clef,
unique to the viola,
your original instrument
before swapping to the violin.
So you weren't just
a concerned friend
that covered up for Margeaux.
You were an active participant.
In fact, you went much further
than her campaign of petty
and vindictive name calling.
You told Rose Garland
to kill herself.
And she took you at your word.
So, now you've two deaths
on your conscience.
One we can charge you with now,
and the other which I'm sure will
haunt you for the rest of your days.
I didn't mean it.
I didn't mean it,
not like that. I...
I was a child.
I was a lonely little girl.
I just wanted a friend.
Presumably, she removed the syringe
from Miss Quincannon's handbag.
That'd be my reading of it, sir.
Killed her in front
of over 700 witnesses,
sat right next to
her the whole time.
And this other business,
the body at Beaumont College.
Andrew Lewis.
Inquiries are ongoing.
Landesman, though?
Blenheim Vale?
I'd hoped we'd seen
the last of that.
Bad business, Thursday.
Bad business all round.
Strange said you'd be in here.
They said, er, the odd beer,
the odd short does no harm.
Did they? Mm.
Everything in
moderation, they said.
Well...
..I'm sure you know best.
You spoke to Miss Poole?
Oh, yes, and Sir Alexander.
I'll type up my
notes in the morning.
Anything on Mickey Flood?
I'm waiting to hear back from
my old oppo at Cable Street.
Cos I was thinking,
if he did come to Oxford in
order to trade you information
in exchange for getting him off
this protection racket charge,
then, clearly, whatever he had
was big enough to get him killed.
So, why not sell it to some
London hat? Why you, I wondered.
Well... I'm sure we'll
get to the bottom of it...
..one way or another.
Usual?
No, er...
..I won't, if it's all the same.
I'm gonna push off,
get back to Win and Sam,
and Joan's coming round
for something to eat.
Is she? Well, that'll be nice.
Congratulations,
by the way. Hm?
Not so much losing a
Detective Sergeant,
but, er, gaining a son-in-law.
Ah, Jim mentioned, did he? No.
Oh, Joanie, then?
Yeah, I thought it best if it
came from them. To be honest,
it had half slipped my
mind, with Sam coming home.
I'm sure they'll be very happy.
Let's hope so.
Well, that's what it's all
about isn't it? So they tell me.
Tomorrow, then.
Yeah.
Same again.
Yeah.
Mind how you go.
It's good to have
you back. I've...
Good to have you back.
of you, you know.
You must look after yourself.
I've got a do coming up.
Don't suppose it would
be up your street?
You're young, you're smart.
Break the habit
before it breaks you.
I don't need help!
I can't use you in this shape!
It's Sam. Absent without leave.
A fella from his unit,
a sniper at a checkpoint.
Maybe that knocked him.
I will take those four weeks.
As long as you need.
The sun always comes up.
Just gotta hold on
for it a bit longer...
sometimes.
Oxford Royalty Theatre,
please. Certainly, guv.
INAUDIBLE
'Good evening and welcome.
'It is a beautiful summer's
evening here in Oxford,
'as you join us in
this wonderful setting
'for the first in a series
of homecoming concerts
'by the internationally celebrated
Oxford Concert Orchestra.
'The OCO has performed at
iconic venues the world over,
'but they return tonight
'to perform for the first time in
their home city in over a year.
'The orchestra will perform
'under the baton of Sir
Alexander Lermontov,
'and featuring the gifted
soloist Christina Poole...'
PHONE RINGS
'who has joined the OCO
for the 1972 season.
'Very much Sir
Alexander's protege,
'Miss Poole is the latest in a
long line of consummate musicians
'to truly flourish under his
careful guidance. He's been
'a great coach and
champion of her talents.
'He first encountered
her...' Ready?
'..as a teenager at
the Balasco Academy.
'Ah, and here comes
Christina Poole now,
'looking utterly beguiling in one
of the beautiful strapless gowns
'which have become so
much her signature.
'And just a few steps behind
her, the unmistakable form
'of Sir Alexander Lermontov.
'As he takes the podium, a hush
falls over the auditorium.'
ORCHESTRA PLAYS
CLASSICAL MUSIC
PHONE RINGS
Oxford, 2-8-3-1. Hello?
Hello? Is anyone there?
Is it Sam?
MAN SHOUTS
MAN GROANS
PUNCHING AND GROANING
APPLAUSE
A triumph, Chrissie!
Sensational!
Yes. Madame will be so proud!
Thank you! Thank you so much!
SHE SIGHS
98 pink elephants,
99 nine pink elephants.
Oh, you have been in
Lyme Regis, I perceive.
Do we know who he is?
No wallet or identification.
And no-one matching
his description
reported missing
overnight, so...
I'll take one of those, then,
please, if you can spare.
Of course. Thank you.
Morse.
Sir.
Aye-aye, matey! Back in the
land of the living, then?
Well, seemingly
not. Who found him?
Staff clearing up this
morning after last night's do.
The master doesn't
recognise him.
Undergrad from
another college, then?
What was the occasion?
Reception for the Oxford
Concert Orchestra.
Invitation only. How
many in attendance?
About 100, according
to the master.
Mainly dons and their guests. Maybe
ten to 15 members of the orchestra.
I've put in for a full list
from the office. Any
idea as to cause, Doctor?
No sign of violence or injury.
Can you put a time to it?
Between nine and three this
morning, approximately.
The bash wound up around midnight,
one o'clock, according to staff.
We can probably assume
he wasn't lying dead
in the middle of a drinks
reception, Sergeant. People tend
to notice that sort of
thing. Just the one shoe?
I've got uniform having a poke
about the bushes for the other.
Well, gentlemen, the postmortem
might give us something more,
but I've done all
I can here for now,
so unless you've any objection,
shall we say two
o'clock? Doctor.
So, how was the West, then,
matey? All pasties and scrumpy?
I was mostly following
in Hardy's footsteps.
Were you? "There's
another fine mess", eh?
I'll, er, chase up
about that guest list.
If you want to track down the
orchestra members and have a word,
it's probably more up your
street than Jim's or mine.
Most likely just putting a name
to him. Be all right with that?
I should think I'll manage.
Oh, thanks for
the postcard. Oh.
Expect you were glad of a
bit of sea air after, er...
The cure?
Your extended leave of absence.
How is the...?
I'm cured all right.
Hand steady, eye clear.
The only pink elephants
I'll be encountering are
those enumerated by Dr DeBryn.
Well, that's a weight, I'm sure.
Anyway, I'll see you
back at the nick.
What ho, Mrs T!
Water ain't 'ot yet!
"Her voice was ever
soft, gentle and low,
"an excellent thing in woman."
I say, Mrs Treadle,
whither the orange cremes?
I took them out. Miss Quincannon
likes the goldy foil ones.
I like the goldy foil ones.
You're not orchestra
leader. Speak of the devil!
Well, if you're here,
Jack, hell must be empty.
Morning, gang. Morning.
Mabs. What's this?
No orange cremes for
the rank and file.
They're the special reserve of
La Reine Margeaux, apparently.
Render unto Caesar, duckie.
The urn's not hot yet,
Margeaux, so I'm afraid
you'll have to wait your
turn with the rest of us.
I'll just bring you one
across when it's ready, Margs.
It's all right. I'll loiter
here with the hoi polloi.
So, how did it go last
night at the soiree?
Wouldn't know, old cock.
Not my cup of Lapsang.
You mean, you weren't
invited? I went to the pub.
We were at the White
Horse. I didn't see you.
Ah, I tonked on
down to the Turf.
Margeaux and Mabs was
there, though, weren't you?
With that ghastly old witch.
Madame Belasco is not a
ghastly old witch, Jack.
Ooh, stand by your bunks!
Ave, Imperator,
morituri te salutant.
We've a vacancy on the
Gardener's Tips page
if your fingers have taken a
turn towards the chartreuse.
I've not seen you about.
Well, I've not been about.
It's been months! I thought
maybe you'd moved on,
but I didn't think you'd
go without saying goodbye.
Your colleagues have been
singularly unforthcoming.
Something hush-hush?
All right, keep your secrets.
So, what's the story here?
I'm not sure there is one yet.
And do you have a name for him?
First order of business.
Well, if you fancy a stiffener
before the PM, my round, I think.
Ah, but thanks. Another time.
Passing up the offer of a drink?
Are you sure you're quite well?
Never better. Oh.
Morse? Well, we didn't have time
for much of a talk, sir, but,
er, he said he was right, so...
Good. Let's hope he's put all
his troubles behind him, hm?
There's a musical connection to
this body found at the college,
which should play to his
strengths, I'd have thought.
Well, sir, unless
there's anything else...
As a matter of fact,
there, is, er...
one thing.
I understand there's a
detective superintendency...
..coming up in the next couple
of months at Carshall New Town.
I have it on good authority
it would be looked on favourably
were you to express an interest.
Carshall, sir?
If I've been off my game at
all... Good heavens, no, no!
If I might put my
cards on the table...
After some thought,
I've decided the time is
due, perhaps long overdue...
..for me to retire.
If possible, I'd like to see
my men into safe harbour -
you, Strange, young Morse...
..else I fear I should feel
I'd left a job only half done.
Well, I don't know
what to say, sir. Er...
I'd always thought - well, hoped
- that after the last few years,
we'd see our service out together.
I'm sorry to let you down.
Never, sir, not for a minute.
Obviously, Carshall would
probably mean a move.
That's something you'd need
to discuss with Mrs Thursday.
But a superintendency would
be the crowning achievement
of an exemplary career.
And Morse, sir?
I'm sure you'd like
to take him with you,
but the appropriate rank
for a superintendent's
ADC is inspector or above.
Nobody could have
done more for him.
They all fledge in
the end, Thursday.
Hard as it is, one
has to let them go.
Sooner or later...
..they have to fly alone.
ORCHESTRA PLAYS
CLASSICAL MUSIC
No, no, no, no!
Come on! Always the
bloody wardrobes! You!
Yes, you, bass.
You're always late.
Can't you count, hm?
They're called triplets.
Tri-puh-let! Tri-puh-let!
Who the hell are you?!
Whoever you are, get
out! We're rehearsing.
Donald, what do I pay you for?
Bar 20.
I'm sorry, if it's an
interview you're after,
I'm afraid... Detective
Sergeant Morse,
Thames Valley. Mr...?
Fischer. Erm, Donald
Fischer. Orchestra manager.
I understand a number of your
principals from the orchestra
attended a party at Beaumont
College, last night.
No-one broke anything, did they?
Morning, Donald. What
sort of mood is he in?
Oh.
Ooh! Oh!
All right? I'm sorry.
Thank you. My apologies.
That was desperately
clumsy of me. Not at all.
Again! And...
I'm sorry.
You were saying?
We didn't see him, did we, Mabs?
No. No.
And it was quite dark.
Not dark enough that,
if we'd seen him,
we wouldn't remember
him. You are?
Margeaux Quincannon, orchestra
leader. My colleague, Mabs Portman.
It would appear none of us
saw anyone like that, officer.
I know I didn't. So, can we
get back to the rehearsal?
You're sure?
Absolutely, sure. I
never forget a face.
In fact...
you look familiar.
Have we met?
Well, we've not been
formally introduced,
but, er, well, I sing with the
Oxford Scholars' Choral Association.
We were part of
Faure's Requiem in '69.
Were you?
Not our finest
hour, as I recall.
What was it Shaw said? "Hell
is full of musical amateurs."
Again, please!
Needless to say, I
had the last laugh.
HE LAUGHS
All done?
Yes, thank you, Mr...?
John Graham-Scott.
"Jack." Viola.
Oh, God, here he comes!
Anal Fischer. The
only man in Oxford
with a flat up Alex
Lermontov's arse.
If you're ready, gentlemen.
I'm sorry, Donald.
Won't be two ticks.
Excuse me! Yes?
I just wanted to say
thank you for earlier.
Oh, not at all.
I wondered if I could...
if you'd like to attend
the concert this evening.
It's the premiere of a new concerto
Alex has written... for me.
As my guest, of course.
Erm... Or I've a prize-giving
at the Belasco this
afternoon, if you're free.
Look, I feel stupid
to even mention it,
but I should value the
advice of a professional,
someone familiar
with such things.
What things, Miss Poole?
Barring a superficial
scratch to the neck,
there is no obvious sign
of injury, I'm afraid.
Blood analysis might give
us something, possibly.
It's unusual in one so young,
but it could just
be natural causes.
His heart, perhaps.
Oh, stomach contents.
A last supper of
alphabet spaghetti...
if you want me to spell it out.
Ingested within an
hour of decease.
Unlikely he ate
at college, then.
What do you make to this?
Doubtless this will come
as a great surprise,
but I'm perhaps not as au fait
with the vagaries of fashion
as my position as an eminent
Home Office pathologist
might have led you to
believe. My point is,
that it looks rather new.
Little wear to the sole.
Then he clearly wasn't
in our business.
Now, might a pair of
heels deserve a glass?
Oh, no, not for me, thanks.
Late for Lent? New leaf?
Something like that.
Looked well, I thought. Morse.
Yeah.
I was thinking of asking him.
For, er... Oh,
well, no better man.
What you got today, then?
Ah, Morse!
Yes, you're back with us as
of this morning, of course.
Yes, sir. Splendid.
Your tour of the West Country
proved restorative, I hope.
Yes, sir. Thank you.
Yes, well, I'm sure
most of us could benefit
from a little time away from
the usual once in a while.
Well, carry on.
Come in. Ah, how did you
make out with the orchestra?
Well, nobody claims
to know him or have seen him
at the college last night.
Well, busy, maybe. I suppose
if he wasn't one of
their crowd... Mm.
I did find an identity bracelet
in the soil by the body.
"AL". Alan or Albert, perhaps.
Or Alec, if it is his.
The one shoe he did have
on was from Burridges.
Possibly bought fairly recently,
judging by the lack of wear.
I thought I'd pop in. But we could
get a late lunch, if you fancy.
I just got back from
the pub with Jim.
I wasn't sure how long you'd be
or whether it was
still something you...
I suppose we got into the
habit, with you been away.
No, no, no, it's...
Oh, actually, there
was one more curiosity.
Erm, Christina Poole,
the guest soloist.
After the concert last night,
she found someone had scrawled
the word "bitch" on her
dressing room mirror.
Connected, do you think?
I can't see how it can be, but I
did say I'd look into it for her.
She's got some prize-giving
over at the Belasco Academy.
It's a music school
for gifted children.
I thought I'd go there,
then go to Burridges.
KNOCK ON DOOR
Word through from uniform of a body
been found. Sounds like foul play.
Doctor.
You're keeping me
busy, Chief Inspector.
One more corpse and I shall be
able to claim a set of tumblers.
Jesus!
Yes, Sergeant, I
rather think that was
the general idea.
Only this man's tongue
has been torn out
and was nailed to the floor.
That what did for him?
Shot twice.
Once through the heart,
once through the head.
Be able to give you calibre
after the postmortem,
but he'd taken a savage beating
shortly before his
decease. How long?
12 hours, give or take.
Any identification on him?
No. I've put his wallet there.
But if I'm not much mistaken,
he appears to have the
telephone number for Castle Gate
written on his left cuff.
That's Mickey
Flood. You know him?
Knew him, back in the Smoke,
my Cable Street days.
Mickey Flood.
Full-time thief,
part-time informant.
What's he doing in Oxford?
There's a train ticket in
his wallet. Yesterday's date.
So, how do you know him?
My early days on the
beat before the war.
We were of an age, more or less.
He was in my brother
Charlie's year.
Always a wrong 'un.
Whole family were thieves.
Their old man, and his
old man before him.
Only Mickey's problem was,
he was never much good at it.
If it was raining luck, Mickey Flood
couldn't get wet to save his life.
Next of kin?
His wife's gone, Lil.
Daughter would be about
Joan's age now, I suppose.
Patty, was it?
You'd better push on
to your prize-giving.
Me and Jim can finish
up here and take the PM.
I'll see you back at the nick.
A former pupil here
at the Belasco,
I am delighted to call
upon Christina Poole
to present the Bedlow Prize,
which she herself won
a mere seven years ago.
Thank you so much,
ladies and gentlemen.
Do you get back much?
Only when I'm asked.
But former pupils who'd done well
used to come back and talk to us
when I was here, you see, and
so, one feels one really ought.
Ah. I owe the
place everything.
That sounds like something
you feel you should say,
rather than something
you actually believe.
Gosh, you really are a
detective, aren't you?
People always imagine
coming somewhere like
this must be endless fun.
There are a lot of
tears after dark,
a lot of unhappiness.
One does feel, at times,
rather like some sort of freak,
a performing animal. Mm.
I think children are probably
best left to be children.
If you're ready, we
ought to be heading back.
One minute. Of course.
So, this message on your mirror.
Is that the first you've received?
After a concert, yes.
But I've had one or two
pushed under my door.
I'm staying at
the Ragdale Hotel.
Also written in lipstick? No.
Could it be a jealous
girlfriend, perhaps?
Jealous? Of whom?
I'm altogether rather single.
You get letters, of course,
from lonely men. HORN TOOTS
Anything too awful I pass
on to Donald Fischer.
I'd better not keep
Alex waiting, erm,
but thank you for coming
and for taking me seriously.
VIOLIN PLAYS
May I help you, sir?
Yes, I'd like to
ask you about these.
Oh, yes, sir, the "Sir John".
I'm not sure we have
them in your size.
In fact, I think that
might be our last pair.
They're not for me. I'm
Detective Sergeant Morse,
Thames Valley. Have you
sold any lately in a size 8?
I'd need to check with
the stock department.
They came in as part of last
year's spring collection.
Right. You don't remember
selling any yourself?
In the last month, say,
to this man?
Oh, God. I don't remember him.
But I usually do a
half day Wednesdays,
so my colleague might
have served him.
She's at tea.
I'll call if we find anything.
Anything further
on Mickey Flood?
There's a warrant out
on him, back in London.
Some kind of protection racket.
That was never Mickey's caper.
He couldn't knock the
skin off a rice pudding.
He was a thief, first and last.
How did you make
out at the school?
It's hard to see how
these messages can relate
to this young man
at the college.
It's probably just some bad
blood within the orchestra.
She's a guest
soloist, an outsider.
Perhaps somebody just isn't
happy that she's there.
What about Burridges? Apparently
a saleswoman remembered
and said that she had a customer
return a pair recently for exchange.
She can't be 100%, but she thinks
it could be the same young man.
She's put a request out to the
accounts department. It's possible
they have his address on file.
Well, if you've got
this concert to go to,
I'll see you in the morning.
Leave Mickey Flood's things
on my desk, would you?
ORCHESTRA TUNE INSTRUMENTS
'Of course, as anyone familiar
'with the world of
classical music will know,
'there's a great
deal of superstition
'about the ninth
symphony of any composer.
'Now, with that in
mind, might one ask
'if you are yet thinking about
tempting fate with a tenth?
'By which, I assume
you're referring
'to the "curse of the
ninth", so called,
'which says that
composers must die
'before they complete
their tenth Symphony.
'As with most things, it was
Beethoven who started the legend.
'He died after
writing his ninth.
'As did Bruckner, Dvorak...'
KNOCK ON DOOR Five minutes, sir.
'Your great friend Vaughan
Williams, of course...'
Sir, five minutes.
Yes! Yes, I heard.
'It's debatable. If I remember,
it was Schoenberg who said,
'"It seems the ninth is a limit.
'"He who wants to go
beyond it must pass away.
'"It seems as if something might
be imparted to us in the tenth
'"which we ought not yet to
know, for which we are not ready.
'"Those who have written
a ninth stood too close
' "to the hereafter."'
Margeaux! What the hell are you
doing? You should be on stage.
Don't bloody tell ME!
Tell principal second violin!
Lindsay forgot her peg dope.
I've got some spare in my case.
An informant, you say?
Presumably that's what the
tongue business is about.
When did you see him last?
Must be the best part
of 25 years since.
Why come all this way?
What couldn't he tell you
over the phone from London?
Maybe he wanted to
arrange a face-to-face.
Why not just come
straight to the station?
Far enough off his home ground
for him not to be recognised.
Villains like Mickey would
sooner be caught dead
than set foot inside a nick.
Well, he's dead all right.
I don't like it, Thursday.
Gang business, London
business, here in Oxford?
Never ends well.
ORCHESTRA PLAYS
CLASSICAL MUSIC
MARGEAUX GASPS
Margs! Margeaux!
Is she ok? Margeaux!
Margs! Margs! Donald!
What's wrong with her?
What...?
Ladies and gentlemen, is
there a doctor in the house?
Here! Up here!
Yes, please. Soon as you can.
Oh, my God! I don't
think she's breathing.
Donald, do something! Shall
we get her off the stage?
Don't move her, don't move her!
Do something. It's all right.
Make some space. It's all right.
Morse.
Any idea what happened to her?
Too early to say.
According to her colleagues
- at least those I spoke to -
she was in otherwise
good health.
Some kind of fit
or stroke, perhaps,
or a heart attack.
Anything back yet from the
blood you sent for analysis
for the young man found
down at Beaumont College?
Give the lab a chance.
I only sent them
off this afternoon.
Since then, I've rather had my
hands full with this crucifixion.
But I did stress it was
a matter of some urgency.
Shall we say nine o'clock?
I think we'll all mourn Margeaux
in our own way.
But it will take some time
to come to terms with
the scale of our loss.
We've each of us lost a friend,
and the orchestra has lost
a fine leader. MUTTERS:
Bloody hypocrite.
In light of this tragedy,
I've instructed Donald
that we'll begin rehearsals
an hour later than
scheduled tomorrow.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to
speak to the rest of the orchestra.
We'll need a next
of kin, Mr Fischer.
Of course. She's, erm...
Parents in Cumbria, I
believe, are quite elderly.
She was unmarried, then?
Er, no, she wasn't married.
No boyfriend or...?
Er, as far as I know.
She lived alone.
How long had she been
with the orchestra?
Ten years? Was she well liked?
Well liked? Well liked?
What kind of a question is that?
SOBS: She just died
in front of all of us!
Margeaux was lovely.
She was just lovely.
Yes, of course, she was, Mabs.
They were at the Belasco
together. My condolences.
Come on, Mabs. Let's
go get you a drink.
Would these be hers?
Er, yes, I believe so.
You're taking her things?
Well, there's been a sudden,
unexplained death, Mr Fischer.
There are certain procedures
that we have to follow.
Carshall?
Well, it'd mean a bit
more to the pension.
It's not as if that
wouldn't be welcome
when I do turn in my tin star.
We're here, though.
We've made a home.
You have, you mean. Home
is wherever you are.
Oh! You won't get round
me with soft soap.
I'm not trying to get round you.
I can't think of
all this right now,
not when everything's
in the air with Sam.
Let's get this week
out of the way.
And we've Joan to think of.
Joanie'll be all
right. You sound like
you've already made
up your mind. No!
You'd have to be all right
with it. I wouldn't do anything
without your say-so.
And what about Morse?
You've always had a
lot of time for him.
What'll happen to him if you go?
There's nothing more
I can teach him.
All right, is he,
after his trouble?
Yeah.
Well...
I think so. He seems to be.
Hm.
KNOCK ON DOOR
It's too awful. I've
just been sitting here.
I can't believe she's
gone. She's been so lovely.
You've had a visitor.
Oh.
Yes, that. It was here
when I got back after...
Seems very trivial
against what's happened.
Were you close, you
and Miss Quincannon?
I don't know about close.
As a guest soloist, you're always
living in someone else's house,
but she'd been very welcoming.
I've got a table
booked at the Tratt.
I'm not sure I'm terribly
hungry. You have to eat.
Doesn't she? She has to eat.
You'll call me through
with a telephone and address
for Miss Quincannon's parents?
Of course, first thing.
Thank you. Not at all.
SHE GASPS
I told the maid
I'd mislaid my key.
I looked for you...
..after the performance,
such as it was.
Donald took me to a late supper.
Donald!
Must I remind you, the lives of
such as we are defined by sacrifice?
What does that mean?
Are you really going to squander
your time and talent on
some foolish infatuation?
It's not like that.
After all the work,
all I've poured in to
creating a great artist.
What about what I've poured in,
from a child?
Other girls had
friends, parties, fun.
I had a rehearsal
room. You were special.
I didn't ask to be!
I didn't ask to be.
What is it you want, Al?
I want things to be
the way they were.
You listened to me once.
We can put things back
together, just like new.
We'll go to the villa at Mongi
for the summer.
There's so much more I have
to teach you, Chrissy...
..to give you.
I know,
and I am grateful.
But I'm also desperately tired.
It's a terrible
thing, about Margeaux.
Of course, my dear, of course.
Well...
Good night.
Look, two or three years
at Carshall to see
us into my pension,
then we can go where
you like, can't we?
Either where Joanie is by then,
or we've always talked about
the coast. Selsey Bill...
DOORBELL RINGS
..Bracklesham Bay,
Isle of Wight, even, Shanklin.
We had a lovely time at
the Wavecrest that week.
Morse!
Well, you do look a
sight for sore eyes
and make no mistake! Much in?
We've a postmortem
with Dr DeBryn.
Well, I don't want
to hear about innards
before eight o'clock, I'm sure.
I'll fetch your sandwiches.
The principal violinist at the
Oxford Concert Orchestra died
during last night's performance.
I know it's not
suspicious at first hand,
but I thought, given that death at
Beaumont after their reception...
Here you are. Come home safe.
Morse. Mrs Thursday.
ORCHESTRA PLAYS
CLASSICAL MUSIC
Right. Miss Quincannon.
Essentially, Miss Quincannon
died of cardiovascular collapse
brought on by
respiratory arrest.
Natural causes, then?
After a fashion.
There were signs
of pulmonary oedema
which, by itself, might
suggest heart disease.
But there was also
laryngeal oedema,
which, since there's
no laryngeal injury,
brings anaphylaxis into play.
A severe allergic reaction.
To what? Something she ate?
Possibly. I've sent her stomach
contents off for analysis
and have put a
call in to her GP,
but sometimes, just coming
into contact with the allergen
can be enough to trigger
a fatal response.
Those prone to that kind
of thing usually carry
some sort of
antihistamine, don't they?
Oh, yes.
In extreme cases, if people
are particularly susceptible,
they're liable to
carry adrenaline. Hm.
Anything like that
in her handbag? No.
Would Miss Quincannon
have understood
what was happening to her?
If she'd had a severe reaction
before, I'd imagine so, yes.
Then why didn't she
do something about it?
Well, perhaps she wanted
to complete the performance
and just misjudged the severity of
the attack until it was too late.
Found these in the
bathroom cabinet.
Syringe and what looks
to be adrenaline,
presumably in case
she has an attack.
Anything? Oh, a few
school pictures,
certificates,
diplomas, and the like.
Is there much money in it?
Orchestra leader's the
highest paid member,
but she was never
gonna die rich.
I imagine she did
a bit of teaching.
What's this?
Oh, rosin. String
players use it.
This might be something.
She was writing a letter,
or at least drafting one.
"If you think you're
going to put me aside,
"you've got another
think coming.
"I won't go quietly.
"I'll make such a scene you won't
be able to show your face again."
Everyone I spoke to in the
orchestra said that she was single.
Maybe they don't know anything
about her private life.
It's interesting. The shade of
lipstick that Miss Quincannon wore
is a very close match to that
left on Christina Poole's mirror.
That might explain the letter.
If she thought she'd
been supplanted
in someone's affections
by Miss Poole...
Hell hath no fury.
Poor Margeaux had a
seizure, didn't she?
It was natural causes. That's
what we're here to establish,
Mr Fischer.
You got on well,
with Miss Quincannon,
would you say? For my part.
Margeaux had her ways.
She could be a bit grim
if she didn't take to you,
but I'm just rank and file,
and far too young to have
ever been a threat to her.
What kind of a threat, Miss
Trench? To her position.
It was something she
guarded very jealously.
And quite right, too.
There was a lot of
resentment in the boys' club.
And who'll take her place now?
Well, ordinarily, one might
expect the co-leader to step in,
but... Mabs can't face it.
She's ruled herself out.
They were close, I
understand. Two peas in a pod.
What about Miss
Quincannon's private life?
Can you help us with
anything in that regard?
I don't know if
there's anything in it,
but there's always been talk
that she and Alex
had some sort of...
Well, I don't know.
Something.
But it wasn't
something we discussed.
If anyone knows the ins
and outs, it's Mabs.
Here. Thank you.
I just cannot believe
that she's gone.
We've shared a desk for
as long as I can remember.
Sergeant Morse tells me
that you and Miss Quincannon
studied music together
when you were young.
At the Belasco, yes.
Can you recall any serious allergic
reaction she had to anything then?
Erm, well, there were some
things that Margeaux didn't eat,
but I always just put that
down to her being
faddy. Such as?
In the summer, she
avoided strawberries.
Was there anyone she was
involved with that you know of?
No. Not recently, at least.
There was the odd
chap here and there.
When you're constantly
travelling the world,
it asks a lot of people
to make something last.
It's been suggested that perhaps
she and Sir Alexander were involved.
Alex was very good to
Margeaux when she was younger.
He... He took her
under his wing.
But the idea that there was ever
anything seriously between them?
No, she would've said.
Let's just say, she relished
her position as orchestra leader
a little too much for my taste.
We enjoyed a...
healthy mutual dislike.
I'm sure I wasn't alone in that.
If there's something
you're trying to say...
What's to say?
You've spoken to our
young Donald, I see.
Yes.
Well, he wouldn't be the
first orchestra manager
to lose his head over
a visiting soloist.
Still, as Margeaux proved,
there's always been more than one
way to get to Carnegie Hall. Hm?
Was there ever anything between you
that went beyond the professional?
What, me and Margeaux?
It's been suggested. By whom?
Margeaux was a promising
young violinist.
I did what I could to help
her develop her talent.
One can see how a young girl might
take all that interest and attention
from a famous and powerful man and
mistake it for something else...
if it was mistaken.
Look...
..whatever mad ideas Margeaux
entertained, then or now,
there was never
anything more between us
than would be right and proper
between mentor and pupil.
What mad ideas are these?
That you and Miss
Poole were carrying on?
Oh, God!
Look, Margeaux may
have thought it.
But my relationship
with Christina
is on an altogether
higher plane. Is it?
If it's beyond a policeman to
understand, let me put it this way.
As a composer, I view
Christina as my instrument,
an extension of my physical
and spiritual self.
I express my innermost being
through her playing.
Well, I'm sure
knowing that must have been a
great comfort to Miss Quincannon.
She was very particular
about her biscuits.
I had to pick them out for her.
She wouldn't have anything
that was just loose in the box.
Thank you. Do they use this
space a lot, the orchestra?
When they're not abroad touring.
Rest of the time,
it's all sorts.
We had the Young
Generation in last week,
with that Mimi,
is it? Oh, yeah.
Oh, and next month we've
got him off Jolliphant
coming in for a
play at the Empire.
Are they a decent bunch?
These? Mm.
Well, as long as there's hot
water for the tea and coffee.
Sorry to interrupt, Mrs T. I just
wanted to ask the officer something.
Oh, don't mind me, I'm sure.
Thank you, Mrs Treadle.
I just wondered if there was
any news about my well-wisher.
Ah, I'm working on it.
But try not to worry.
These things very
rarely escalate.
Are you sure there's
nobody in the orchestra
that you might have upset?
No-one. At least, not
intentionally, I'm sure.
What about Miss Quincannon?
She'd been lovely,
so supportive.
You don't think she...?
It's just an avenue of inquiry.
Well, at least we've
a pretty decent idea
of who's been leaving those
messages for Miss Poole.
If Quincannon thought
Lermontov had thrown her over
for his latest protege...
That's if the draft
letters were meant for him.
Yeah, but I wouldn't
put it past his type
to still have been knocking
her off on the QT as and when.
They all seemed to know that
she had some kind of allergy,
even if they couldn't
agree on what it was.
Odd there was nothing
amongst her effects
to counter an attack.
Perhaps there was,
and somebody removed
it. On the other hand,
we could be chasing our
own tails and looking
for something that's not
there. What, an accident?
It's possible, isn't it?
She comes into contact with
something that sets off an attack
by quite innocent means.
Unless we find a solid motive,
I'd say we're looking at
death by misadventure.
At least that's how the
coroner will see it.
Let me call you back.
Aye-aye, matey. Burridges
have been in touch.
Something to do with
shoes, could it be?
Ah, right. Thanks.
And Dr DeBryn called.
Blood results came in
on the body of Beaumont.
Heroin and barbiturate.
A "hot shot", he called
it. How did he miss that?
No obvious track
marks on the arms,
so he'd no reason to believe
he was looking at an addict.
Turns out the injection
site was between his toes
on the right foot.
Couldn't say whether it
was self-administered,
but I shouldn't think
it's likely, would you?
Hello, again. I
understand you spoke
to one of my colleagues,
Detective Sergeant Strange,
about a pair of shoes that were
recorded in the exchange book.
Oh, yes, sir. Young Mr Burridge has
had the big book set aside for you.
Ah. If you'd like
to follow me.
No sign of any
drugs paraphernalia,
if this Thompson is our
man. It's him, all right.
Alphabet spaghetti. His last
meal, according to Dr DeBryn.
This probably answers whether
he injected himself or not.
I can't see him going out
wearing only one shoe. Mm.
You ever heard of Ace Private
Inquiries, Headington?
Don't ring a bell. Why?
Yeah, come in.
Come on through. I
won't be a minute.
TOILET FLUSHES Right.
Sorry to have...
Ronnie.
Thought you'd left Oxford.
As you can see.
So, to what do I owe? To whom.
Edward Thompson.
A client of yours,
or at least somebody
you've interviewed.
Doesn't ring a bell.
He had one of your cards.
Address in Ford Road,
Cowley. A boarding house.
You know how the private
game works, fellas.
If he was a client,
why would I tell you?
Cos he's dead. I can see that.
Somebody gave him a
hot shot and dumped
his body in the gardens
of Beaumont College.
What did he want?
He, er... He came to me
for help finding
a missing person -
his mother, Brenda.
Left home in '62 after a
fall-out with her old man.
Came down south. From where?
North-east. What
made him think
she'd come here, to Oxford?
Brenda used to send a
letter every so often.
Then, the letters stopped.
Who's Eileen Wright?
Friend of the family. Dead now.
The father didn't want
Brenda writing home,
so the letters came to
Eileen. That was the last.
Get anywhere with it?
Some.
Drink?
I usually nibble a couple around
this time in the afternoon.
Yeah, why not? No,
not for me, thanks.
Why? What's up? Copped a dose?
She used to do a bit of
temping, here and there.
Richardson's in Cowley,
a spell at British Imperial
Electric in the offices.
The last I've got for her
is in the September of '63.
She's at Landesman Construction.
Built Divisional
HQ, didn't they?
Did he or his mother
have any connection
to the Oxford Concert
Orchestra, do you know?
If they did, it never
got mentioned to me.
So... how is it
back at the factory?
Old Brighty still in charge?
Yeah, Mr Bright's still there.
They'll carry that
one out feet first.
We never much cared for
each other, but I, er...
..I'd never have wished
what happened on him.
I expect there's a lot of things
we wish had gone differently...
..but they went how they went.
Look, I wasn't
being cagey earlier.
It's just, when he came to me,
the boy didn't call himself...
What was it? Edward Thompson.
No. See, it was Andy,
he said his name was.
Andrew. Andrew Thompson?
No, Lewis. Andrew Lewis.
"AL", then.
Same as the identity bracelet
you found at Beaumont.
Mm, maybe Box turned up
more than he realised.
Stirred up a hornet's
nest, you mean?
Someone gets wind the boy's digging
through what happened to his mother
and decided to put a stop to it.
Assuming something
did happen to her.
What if she just
met someone new,
wanted to put her
previous life behind her?
Landesman.
Well, everyone's got to
work somewhere, I suppose.
She'd temped at British
Imperial Electric, too.
Hm, but Landesman Construction
was her last known employer
before the postcards stopped.
Hard to see how her
disappearance in '63
and the death of her son ties in
with Miss Quincannon.
What if it doesn't?
What if we're trying
to put together
two things that don't fit?
Might be an idea if
we split our labours.
If you push on with Miss Quincannon,
I'll try and track down anyone
who worked Landesman's at the
same time Brenda Lewis was there.
What about Mickey Flood?
I'm waiting to hear back
on the reverse trace.
We had a call at
home early evening
the night he died,
but when I picked up
the receiver, there
was no-one there.
Do you think it was him?
He had my number
written in a matchbook.
Maybe he thought I could
do something for him
about this outstanding warrant.
Why would you?
Unless he had
something to trade.
You didn't have to come.
I could've made my own way.
I just wanted to make
sure you got back safe.
All right, are you?
Can we stop somewhere?
You can't expect me to see her
straight, not right out of there.
You must know some place.
A copper, aren't you?
A career in music asks
a lot of a young person.
Hours of practice,
dedication.
Not everyone has
the temperament.
She was in the same year
as Mabs Portman, I believe.
Mabs?
Oh, Mabel. The year above.
Were they close?
Not particularly.
12 months at that age
can seem like a lifetime.
But later, when Mabel switched
from the viola to the violin,
they had a lot more in common.
Was there anybody while she was
here that she was friendly with?
I'm trying to find someone I can
talk to about her later life.
Margeaux's best friend
was Rose Garland.
Enormously gifted.
She would have gone
on to great things.
What happened to her?
A swimming accident,
here in the lake.
It took a great
toll on Margeaux.
Guilt is a terrible thing.
What did she have to
feel guilty about?
Being alive.
Take it easy, son.
You've got all day.
I wasn't coming
home this morning.
Where were you gonna go?
Anywhere. Somewhere
away from everything.
Nobody's expecting you to carry
on living at home, a grown man.
But you've gotta have
somewhere to lay your head,
at least until you get
a place of your own.
Your mum's been worried sick.
What she does best.
You're everything to her,
to all of us, but
especially to your mother.
You could have sent her a line.
To say what?
Sorry that I flunked it...
..that I pissed my pants and
ran away, that I'm a coward?
You're not a coward. Don't say that!
You weren't any of those things.
You were just...
..not well.
Is that what you
told the neighbours?
You weren't yourself.
That's what I meant.
A mate killed,
standing right next to you.
That would affect anyone.
If it's any consolation, I
know what you've been through.
No... you don't.
You don't have the first
idea, so stop saying that.
It's not all 'Roll Out The Barrel'
and 'Lili Marlene' any more.
I know that. Do you?
The other side, they
don't wear a uniform.
It's the bloke stood
next to you at the bar...
..the girl you get
off with at the dance,
a kid on a street corner.
Do you want that?
Oh, come here. Come
here. Hello, Mum.
Oh! Come on, don't fuss.
Don't fuss?!
I've been back and
forth to the window
that many times, I must've
worn a rut in the carpet.
What kept you?
Traffic bad? No, we
went for a drink.
Don't spoil your appetite.
I'm doing a roast later. I've
got a nice piece of beef.
I'm not hungry
later, though, am I?
Landesman?
The company was sold or went broke,
didn't it, after Blenheim Vale?
No-one's seen hide nor hair
of Joe Landesman in six years.
I know, sir. The
one that got away.
There's talk from Interpol he
went abroad. Spain, Portugal.
The company had property
there. Holiday hotels, I think.
Surely, you're not suggesting
he's anything to do with this
man found dead at Beaumont?
It's just a coincidence
his mother happened to work
for Landesman's firm, isn't it?
Blenheim Vale is done
with, long since.
VOICE-OVER: We weren't
bad lads, not really,
but somehow we all ended
up at Blenheim Vale.
Things happened there.
Awful, terrible things.
They wanted a name for whoever
burned out Wintergreen's car.
I tried not to...
One weekend, Big Pete went
off. He never came back!
You think Peter Williams
was buried here?
He's here... somewhere.
I was born a copper...
..and I'll die one, I expect.
GUNSHOT
All went well with your son?
I think so, sir. Yes, thank you.
You must be very glad
to have him home.
KNOCK ON DOOR Come in.
Sorry to interrupt, sir, but
I thought you'd want to know.
It's nuts, apparently,
she was allergic to.
I just got off the phone with
Dr DeBryn about Miss Quincannon.
He spoke to her GP. All
right. Carry on, Sergeant.
The death at the concert, sir.
Ah, just so.
Anything further
on Mickey Flood?
Division were asking.
It's early days, sir, but I've
put out a couple of feelers
with some old
colleagues in London.
Well, whatever's behind it, we don't
want that kind of business here.
Get to the bottom of
it, Thursday, fast,
and stamp it out.
Er, that's the phone box by the
railway under the bridge, right?
Well, then, get a forensics team
out there and see what's what.
Yeah.
I found these at Margeaux
Quincannon's place
amongst her sheet music.
Hotel bills? Meaning?
Meaning, I don't think
the letter we found there
yesterday was intended
for Alexander Lermontov.
Give me a minute.
So, what can I do for you?
I wonder if you can tell us why
Miss Quincannon had your bill
from the Englischer
Hof in her home.
My hotel bill? Mm-hm.
No idea. Really?
Only we spoke to the manager,
and he remembers you both
quite clearly, because much
like your current billet,
rooms 352 and 354 had
a connecting door.
Miss Quincannon insisted
upon it, apparently.
All right.
So, we had a scene. So what?
What goes on tour, you know?
I don't see what that has
to do with the police.
Miss Quincannon thought
your interest had moved on.
She was jealous
of the situation.
That would be our interest.
Look, I made it clear
to Margeaux at the start
I'm a free agent.
It was just.. No strings?
Did she threaten to make
your relationship more widely
known amongst the orchestra?
Yes.
But, so what? It's not like
either of us were married.
I can't see that would have
gone over well with Lermontov,
if Miss Quincannon had told him
you'd set your sights
on his latest protege.
We've just looked
at the register, Mr Brathwaite.
Or perhaps you weren't aware
that that connecting door joins
to Miss Poole's room. In fact,
shall we knock, see if she's
in? Look, if anyone was wise
to Margeaux's little
games, it's Alex Lermontov,
and I told her so. I called
her bluff, she didn't like it,
so, instead, she
made a big number
about leaving the
Oxford Concert Orchestra
for the Munich Symphony.
Was she serious? HE LAUGHS
Of course not! That's
just how she was.
Margeaux liked to
throw threats about.
I heard her laying the same number
on Donald on the night she died.
Donald Fischer, why? How's that?
Just as we were about to go
on, I popped a collar stud,
so I had to hurry back to the
green room for a replacement.
They didn't see me,
but I overheard them.
You're damn right
we need to talk!
I could finish you, and
don't you forget it.
What did she threaten him with?
I can't be sure,
but when we were together,
she told me she thought
he might be running
some sort of... I don't
know, some sort of racket.
What kind of racket?
Something to do
with when the
orchestra was touring.
To be honest, I didn't
ask too many questions.
She was always spitting
poison about someone or other.
You want the full
gen, talk to Mabs.
Miss Portman? Of course.
Margeaux wouldn't belch
without Mabs saying, "Pardon."
Margeaux did go backstage, yeah,
just as we were about to go on.
Well, why was that? Thank you.
Erm, Lindsay's
A-string was playing up
and she didn't
have any peg dope,
so Margs went to dig
some out of her case.
But whatever Fergus may
have heard, I'm sure
it was just a misunderstanding.
Of what, Miss Portman?
Margeaux had this idea
that what the orchestra
was really being charged
for travel and accommodation while
on tour was less than the amount
that Donald was billing for. And
he was pocketing the difference?
Yes, I...
I can't believe he would
ever do anything like that.
Donald is a wonderful
orchestra manager.
But... well, Margeaux
would get these notions.
And once she had an idea,
it was hard to shift.
I refute the
allegations, entirely.
Well, Mr Fischer, at the risk of
sounding like Miss Rice-Davies,
you would say that, wouldn't
you? Margeaux never understood
that balancing the books sometimes
requires a little creativity.
We prefer the word "fraud".
If I have to rob
Peter to pay Paul,
people keep their jobs.
Very commendable, I'm sure.
The earners, the foreign tours,
that's what pays us to bring
'L'apres-midi D'un Faune'
to a half-empty theatre on a
wet Tuesday night in Nantwich.
And that is important,
cos that one concert might
mean everything to someone.
I know it did to
me. And if someone
like Margeaux Quincannon
stood in the way of that...
Margeaux wasn't a threat
to me. I had her number.
Look, the truth of it is, I was
just about to give her notice.
For what reason?
I didn't think anything
when I saw her coming out.
One can't really have the
orchestra leader sending hate mail
to the guest soloist.
We had an idea as much.
Did you talk to her about it?
I would have done once I got this
week's concerts out of the way,
but as it turned out...
"Coroner Albert Lyons
recorded an open verdict
"in the case of
Rose Garland, 14,
"who drowned in early
summer in a lake
"at the Belasco Academy,
situate Banbury.
"Various witnesses
gave testimony
"that, despite being
a promising student,
"Miss Garland was a highly-strung
girl who lived on her nerves.
"Her guardian, Mr Harry Treadle,
said his ward, a scholarship girl,
"had never been fully
accepted by her peers
"and had been subjected
to slights and insults
"which left her
feeling demoralised.
"This view of the school
was roundly rejected
"by Madame Belasco,
Principal of the Academy,
"and the coroner concluded
there was insufficient evidence
"to support Mr
Treadle's assertion."
GIRLS GIGGLE
INAUDIBLE
"Though no note
had been found...
"the Coroner could not
rule out suicide...
"and was therefore obliged
to record an open verdict."
TELEVISION PLAYS
So, you adopted Rose Garland?
Evacuee, she was.
I can still see her
standing in the church hall,
luggage label threaded through
her buttonhole with her name on.
She was just about as big as
the violin case she was holding.
How was it you came
to be her guardians?
Her mother and her grandparents
both caught it in the Blitz,
and her dad in
the Far East. Hm.
She had no other family to
speak of, so we took her on.
But you didn't
formally adopt her? No.
She called us Ma and Pops,
but she had a right
to her own name.
The war had taken
everything else she had.
We weren't gonna take
that away from her too.
Rose had been close
with Margeaux Quincannon
while she was at the
Belasco, was that right?
Devoted, they were.
Was why I looked after her
when I ran into her again here.
She was one of the nice ones.
We had no idea
Rosie was unhappy.
She never said.
Years after, I found
one of the messages
in the pocket of her blazer.
They told her to kill herself.
Too late to matter then.
But Madame must've known.
To turn a blind eye...
You wouldn't happen to have
kept that message by any chance?
Oh, yes.
I kept everything, good and bad.
All her certificates.
You don't forget.
Broke Harry's heart.
TYRES SCREECH
HE TOOTS HORN
Hello, Sam!
Morse!
Sorry, I didn't see you.
Erm, I'm looking for Joan's.
Has she moved?
Jump in.
Joanie! Sam!
Hm. Come here.
You all right? Hm. Need a pee.
OK, er, down the
hall, on the right.
He said he wanted to come round.
I wasn't sure whether to
take him to your parents'.
Er... how is he?
Oh, nothing that a good
night's sleep won't sort out.
Says he's left the Army. Yeah.
Hm.
And, erm, you're
all right, are you?
Oh, yes. You've been away.
Ah, yeah.
But you're back. For now.
Well, I... Oh, erm...
I had some business
at Burridges.
I saw that you'd returned some,
erm... some bridal gloves.
Have you got a wedding to go to?
Bridesmaid?
Or if you need an
escort... Morse...
Oh.
Well, congratulations.
Thank you.
But who's the lucky man?
Aye-aye. One in, one out.
Thought you'd knocked off.
I hear congratulations
are in order.
You and Miss Thursday.
Oh, yeah. Thanks very much.
Joanie mentioned,
did she? Yeah.
Keep it under your hat for
the minute, though, eh?
With the old man and everything.
Same nick, and all that.
Wouldn't want to leave him open
to accusations of anything.
Of course. Heaven forbid!
I'll be needing a best
man, though, matey.
Hoping I can rely on you. Me?
Who else?
We've been up against it together
more times than I can count -
and come through.
You're the best man
any fella could have.
And I know you'd
never let me down.
Just get me to the
church on time, eh?
What can I get you, sir?
Pint of Morrell's, please.
Ooh!
Someone's up and at 'em.
That's all very
mafioso, isn't it?
What have you got in
there? A tommy gun?
If I'm right, something
just as deadly.
I need you to run
some tests for me.
Rosin?
Mm-hm. What's rosin
when it's at home?
Something to do with musicians,
isn't it? Yes, sir.
It's solidified tree sap,
generally from conifers.
String players apply
it to their bows.
Why?
So it catches on the
strings and makes a sound.
Without it, the instrument
wouldn't make any noise at all.
And what's that to do with
Miss Quincannon's death?
It's how she was killed, sir.
She was allergic to it, is that what
you're saying? Something she used
all the time? No,
no. She was allergic
to what somebody's put in it.
I think the killer melted
down the top of the stick
sufficiently to then add
a top layer of the same,
only this time,
containing ground nuts,
then, at some point,
substituted the toxic stick
for Miss Quincannon's own.
Miss Quincannon
would have applied
the rosin containing
microscopic particles of nut
to her bow before the
concert that evening.
SHE GASPS
Dr DeBryn has
examined the violin
and the stick of
rosin that was found
in Miss Quincannon's
case. And?
And the dust on the body of
the violin has tested positive
for nut particles, but the
stick of rosin itself is clear.
So, someone swapped it back?
Mm, presumably in the aftermath.
Everyone overwhelmed
with shock and grief,
nobody would notice what would
be the action of a moment.
Well, if that's the how,
I'm assuming you've a
good idea of the who.
Yes, sir. Erm, I think some
people find out far too soon
that life will divide us into
winners and everyone else.
For those destined always
to walk a pace behind,
to never have their
moment in the sun...
APPLAUSE
And no urge stronger
than the wish
to be revenged upon the
cause of one's suffering.
Madame will be so proud.
Thank you.
Thus, a cruel and
spiteful campaign,
which led to tragic consequences
a quarter of a century ago...
..was destined to repeat
itself in the present.
Quincannon drove the Garland
girl to kill herself. I get that.
Mm-hm. But who
killed Quincannon?
Well, I think it's one of the
uglier aspects of human nature,
but even the least amongst us
need someone to look down on.
It's a terrible thing
to be disregarded...
..destined to never be more
than, at best, rank and file,
to always be second choice...
..second best...
ORCHESTRA PLAYS
CLASSICAL MUSIC
..second fiddle.
Build, build.
Excuse me, I'm sorry.
Miss Portman.
I believe you know
why we're here. If you'd
like to come with me, please.
What's going on?
You can leave the violin.
Sorry to disturb.
Men say, don't they,
about pairs of women
they see out together in a
bar or a club or something...
There's "the one,"
the "golden girl",
with the looks and
the personality.
And there's the other one,
the "friend".
I was always the friend,
at least where
Margs was concerned.
And I didn't mind that.
The truth is, I thought
the world of Margeaux.
A year older than me,
she was my heroine.
I would have done
anything for her.
And you did.
You helped cover up what she did
that drove Rose Garland
to kill herself.
It was you that helped
Margeaux convince the coroner
that Rose Garland was unstable.
Why?
So she'd notice me.
I needed someone to notice me...
..so that I knew I existed.
And she did notice me.
We... We became inseparable.
And what you covered up bound
you to each other for life.
So that, every time
she looked at you,
she was reminded of what she'd done,
reminded of her guilt and shame.
And as the years went
by, it just got worse.
The... the digs, the sly knife.
She couldn't forgive me,
but she couldn't let me go.
But she recently put it about
that she'd be leaving the orchestra
and maybe going to Munich.
You could finally have
stepped out of her shadow.
That was the breaking
point for me.
I stood everything
else, but that...
Even now, I'm not sure she didn't do
the whole thing just to get at me...
..you know, to build up my hopes,
only to smash them to pieces.
We couldn't both go
on living like that.
I couldn't face another day
with her, not like that.
It was her or me.
Except, what you covered up
wasn't just Margeaux's culpability
in the death of Rose
Garland, but your own.
No, that's Margeaux's
handwriting.
Perhaps,
or a decent approximation of it,
with the exception of
how the Is are dotted.
But that's the alto clef,
unique to the viola,
your original instrument
before swapping to the violin.
So you weren't just
a concerned friend
that covered up for Margeaux.
You were an active participant.
In fact, you went much further
than her campaign of petty
and vindictive name calling.
You told Rose Garland
to kill herself.
And she took you at your word.
So, now you've two deaths
on your conscience.
One we can charge you with now,
and the other which I'm sure will
haunt you for the rest of your days.
I didn't mean it.
I didn't mean it,
not like that. I...
I was a child.
I was a lonely little girl.
I just wanted a friend.
Presumably, she removed the syringe
from Miss Quincannon's handbag.
That'd be my reading of it, sir.
Killed her in front
of over 700 witnesses,
sat right next to
her the whole time.
And this other business,
the body at Beaumont College.
Andrew Lewis.
Inquiries are ongoing.
Landesman, though?
Blenheim Vale?
I'd hoped we'd seen
the last of that.
Bad business, Thursday.
Bad business all round.
Strange said you'd be in here.
They said, er, the odd beer,
the odd short does no harm.
Did they? Mm.
Everything in
moderation, they said.
Well...
..I'm sure you know best.
You spoke to Miss Poole?
Oh, yes, and Sir Alexander.
I'll type up my
notes in the morning.
Anything on Mickey Flood?
I'm waiting to hear back from
my old oppo at Cable Street.
Cos I was thinking,
if he did come to Oxford in
order to trade you information
in exchange for getting him off
this protection racket charge,
then, clearly, whatever he had
was big enough to get him killed.
So, why not sell it to some
London hat? Why you, I wondered.
Well... I'm sure we'll
get to the bottom of it...
..one way or another.
Usual?
No, er...
..I won't, if it's all the same.
I'm gonna push off,
get back to Win and Sam,
and Joan's coming round
for something to eat.
Is she? Well, that'll be nice.
Congratulations,
by the way. Hm?
Not so much losing a
Detective Sergeant,
but, er, gaining a son-in-law.
Ah, Jim mentioned, did he? No.
Oh, Joanie, then?
Yeah, I thought it best if it
came from them. To be honest,
it had half slipped my
mind, with Sam coming home.
I'm sure they'll be very happy.
Let's hope so.
Well, that's what it's all
about isn't it? So they tell me.
Tomorrow, then.
Yeah.
Same again.
Yeah.
Mind how you go.
It's good to have
you back. I've...
Good to have you back.