Inspector George Gently (2007–2017): Season 7, Episode 3 - Gently Among Friends - full transcript
Mouthy Scott Parker noisily toasts his friend Petey at Petey's fortieth birthday party and next day is found dead. He had heavy debts due to his wife Jo's gambling addiction but Gently discounts suicide as Scott had plans for building development in the city, which failed financially. Michael Woodruff, a union leader and old school-mate of Scott and Petey, was amongst those opposing the plans and had publicly fought with Scott whilst Petey was one of the men to whom Scott was in debt. Gently believes that a supposedly friendly fight among the three men following the party holds the key to Scott's death. Meanwhile Bacchus gets to see Gemma again but is concerned that Gently has a health problem he is keeping from him.
Will you get us a drink, pet?
Circulate, all right.
Enjoy yourselves.
All right, Craig, get me a drink.
Oh, easy!
Excuse me.
~ Right, I'm just going to say a few words.
~ Really?
All right, everyone. Gather round.
Scottie's going to say a few words.
~ Turn it off!
~ Can we have you on the dance floor, please?
Where is he? Peter?
~ Peter?
~ Come on.
Little Peter Magath, where is he?
~ Ah, there he is!
~ Go on, Peter!
Now, little Peter may not have been
the smartest kid in the village,
but he was the slowest.
I've got short legs.
We used to think, Michael and me,
that Peter had been dropped
on his head as a kid.
~ I had.
~ We felt sorry for him.
We worried about your future, Peter.
How's little Pete going to manage?
We didn't know you'd end up one
of the richest sods in Newcastle!
~ Did we, Michael?
~ No idea at all, Scottie.
Should've paid more attention,
then, shouldn't they?
~ Oh, they're only joking.
~ Hm. Hilarious(!)
Now, when Peter came to me and said,
"I'm going to make my
fortune laying pipe,"
I thought he wanted to be a gigolo!
~ What's a gigolo, Scott?
~ Ask Michael.
~ Gigolo, that's right!
~ Michael thought tonight was fancy dress,
so he's come as a Danish porn star.
~ Have you finished? The pies have come.
~ Not yet.
Our mate Michael, the best-dressed
Bolshevik in Newcastle.
We're all grateful to him for
standing up for our right
not to have our rubbish collected.
It used to be I was talking rubbish,
or he was talking rubbish,
now the whole of Newcastle's
talking rubbish
~ because we can't get it collected.
~ Hear, hear!
~ Scott.
~ Yeah, yeah, yeah.
All right, seriously.
I love Peter Magath. Just
like I love Michael.
Lifelong friends.
I love that Peter's an original.
I love that he had a vision of what
he could be and he pursued it,
even when we laughed.
I love that he has faith in others.
Maybe even in me.
God knows the world needs
people like that.
~ Peter!
~ Peter!
Right, music!
Yeeha!
Yeeha!
Yeeha!
Come on!
Whoo!
Yeeha!
'180 council dustmen
have gone on strike
'for a higher basic rate of pay.
'Fears that the mouldering rubbish
might become a health hazard
'mounted following reports
of rat sightings.
'The markets disgorge their
daily collection of garbage
'onto the growing mess.
'But the dustmen were adamant, they
wanted their basic wage upped from
'£15.9 shillings a week to £20.
'The dustcarts stayed in the depot.
'The general opinion was that
the whole business stank.'
He's got wooden splinters
in his head.
Body was discovered
just after 7:00, sir.
The sergeant reckons he was a jumper.
~ Really?
~ There's been a few of them lately.
They've pulled two out of the
Tyne already this month, sir.
If he was aiming for the
river, he was a bad shot.
Debt. Unemployment.
Is this where they found
him? He hasn't been moved?
No, sir.
There's no blood around him.
He was dead when he hit.
~ Have we got a name?
~ We've got his wallet, but there's no ID.
There's no money in it either.
So, robbery, maybe?
We've got this. It's a
receipt for a pawnbroker,
a couple of betting slips
from the dog track
and a note that says, "Gwendolen
Howard, 5:00 Wednesdays."
Who's she?
Gwendolen Howard?
Sir? Sir, we're a bit shorthanded
with the bin strike.
I need to release men to other duties
if we don't absolutely
need the scene sealed.
It's a crime scene, Sergeant.
No, no, no. You heard him. Seal it.
~ Sorry.
~ Dawson pawnbroker.
A chance to get yourself
a decent suit, John.
She died of leukaemia.
Left me her watch.
~ I'll be with you in a tick, gents.
~ Thank you.
What was your gran's name, son?
Er... I just called her Grannie.
I would've called her Glamorous
Grannie. This is a Rolex.
Look, I-I just need the money.
I'm sorry, son. Mr Dawson has very
strict rules about these things.
I'm not sure that this really
belonged to your gran,
may she rest in peace.
~ What are you trying to accuse us of, like?
~ Being stupid.
~ How are you today?
~ Champion.
I'm sorry about the smell.
The working stiff normally
has all my sympathy,
but this set of work-shy
bastards, I could crucify.
I've got rats.
We'd like to speak
to Mr Dawson, please.
He's not in at the moment.
Perhaps I can help you?
Are you buying or selling?
Ah.
There is no Mr Dawson.
It's just a name I can blame
when I have to say no.
People can get, erm...
What's the technical word? Arsey.
Anyway, how can I help you?
Can you tell us who you
issued this to, please?
I can try.
Here we are.
6733.
He gave the name of, T Dan Smith.
T Dan Smith.
A-ha. That's what it says here.
So, T Dan Smith, until recently,
leader of the council,
has fallen on hard times?
Well, probably not.
Some people aren't comfortable about
using their real names, you know.
And not just the thieves.
There's a lot of shame in
falling on hard times. Sad.
Yeah, I can see the
tracks of your tears.
Aren't you supposed to
take their identities?
I'll tell Mr Dawson.
I can do a full audit
of this place, sir.
Maybe get it shut down, you know.
Hey, and I thought
we were getting along.
What was pawned?
Four weeks ago. And
all on the one ticket.
~ All this?
~ Aye.
He said he'd be back for all of it.
Mind, they all say that,
like, but I believed him.
And all this is definitely his?
No question in my mind.
Well, if he's half-inched anything,
I'll be back to see you.
Now I'm torn, aren't I?
I mean, I don't want stolen
goods on me hands,
but if it's a chance of meeting
you again, Sergeant...
Your T Dan, what's he look like?
Ooh... 40ish.
Short dark hair.
A bit taller than you.
Beautiful skin, soft blue eyes.
How much did you give
him for this lot?
£42.10.
It's a hard life, isn't it?
~ There you are.
~ Thanks, John.
There's no missing person's report
matching the dead man's description.
The pathologist hasn't got anything
yet and won't have until tomorrow.
And we've got no Gwendolen
Howard on any of our files.
Making progress, then(!)
Don't shoot the messenger,
Inspector Bacchus.
She never irritate you?
No.
Our man's not a thief, John.
That pawnshop bloke could have sniffed
out a thief out a mile away.
We watched him do it. He's
pawning the family silver.
This is a man with a wife,
who's got rings and necklaces.
At least, she did have.
So, where is she? What's
she waiting for?
~ It's dead.
~ 'Right. How do you know that?'
Because there's no dial
tone, that's how I know.
'We've noted that you've
been cut off.'
Well, why've we been cut off?!
'Anita Magath.'
Anita, Jo. Is my husband there?
Tommy Cary?
Aye. I've got me licence,
just not on us.
You're all right. We want to know
if you know who this belongs to.
Aye, I know him.
He put a pony on the third race.
Doesn't happen very often.
He chases his bets. Makes us uneasy.
It's like watching them
jumping off a cliff.
Is he? Jumping off a cliff.
When you take the money, you try not
to think about the look in their eyes,
but, aye, there's some
you feel sorry for.
~ Was he one of them?
~ Jimmy?
What, is it an addiction?
Most people bet for a laugh,
but some can't stop laughing till
they've emptied their pay packet.
And that's when the crying starts.
Bills to pay, bairns going
hungry at home, angry wives.
It certainly keeps those guys busy
in that window, I can tell you.
Who are they, loan sharks?
I'm not really in
a position to judge.
Did our man use them?
I don't know. I suppose.
Always managed to find a
bit of money from somewhere.
Do you know his name?
Aye. Said his name was...
T Dan Smith?
No. Richard. Richard Grainger.
But when you find him, tell him there's
£2.10 to come back on that.
~ He won't be collecting it.
~ Off the cliff?
Something like that, yeah.
~ It's all part of the job, pet lamb.
~ It isn't, actually.
~ I had to do it.
~ Oh, please don't tell me
this is character-building
because you're living
proof that it's not.
I could have you
disciplined for that.
~ Go on, then.
~ Lovers' tiff?
Right, guv, there's three Richard
Graingers in the Newcastle area.
One is four years old, one's 78
and the other one is alive and well
and works at The Ministry
in Longbenton.
So, the dead man's not
from the area, then?
Do I amuse you?
What, is this that T
Dan Smith blokey again?
He's called Richard
Grainger now, is he?
Are there any chocolate
biscuits, pet?
What? What's funny?
Grainger Street, Grainger
Town, Grainger Market.
~ Yeah?
~ Richard Grainger.
He pretty much built Newcastle
about 100 years ago.
I knew that.
Local knowledge, John.
Can't beat it, eh?
The dead man's obviously
got a sense of humour.
He was interested in
how the city was built
and then he names himself
after two different blokes
who are known as Mr Newcastle.
I'll just go and, er... chase up
those choccy biscuits for you, eh?
~ Still irritating you, then?
~ Teeny bit, yeah.
~ (Lab report, sir.)
~ What?
He's lost his voice, sir.
He's got a cold, or flu, or summat.
~ (Chest infection.)
~ Thanks.
Just be happy.
Three skull fractures.
Injuries to the legs and upper body.
Injuries are consistent
with a heavy blunt force.
Could have been caused
by a fall. Blah-blah-blah.
Multiple bruises and
lacerations. Victim was beaten.
Wooden splinters found in
the skin and on the body.
~ Well, we saw them.
~ Good examiners(!)
Blood/alcohol level, 293.
Surprised he could stand up.
In no condition to defend
himself, was he?
So, who is our Mr Newcastle?
Well, let her in, Peter.
~ Anything?
~ Have you spoken to Michael?
~ Michael's not answering his phone.
~ What happened to your face?
Have you called the RVI?
What was Scottie doing exactly
the last time you saw him?
Getting a taxi, I think.
We were all stotious.
Jo, maybe you should go back home
and wait for him to turn up there.
~ (What?)
~ Jo, if you think Scottie's
done something stupid,
you should be calling the police,
not standing here staring
at me after 36 hours.
Something stupid? Like what?
My phone's still not working.
Can I use yours?
Police, please.
This way, please.
Sir?
~ Which one's the wife?
~ Er... it's the woman in the cream coat.
Who's the other two?
The bloke is Peter Magath,
the dead man's best mate,
and that's his wife, Anita.
Aye, look. Have you seen
the state of his face?
They don't seem especially
close, do they?
She called in saying that she was
worried about her missing husband
and feared for his mental state.
Her description of her husband
matches our man exactly.
I'll take them down.
No, no. Rachel, you take
her down. Sit with her.
Watch her face and remember
everything that she says.
Afterwards, assuming it is her
husband, bring her back here
and if she wants to talk, let her
talk, but don't tell her anything.
And afterwards, you bring her back
here and I'll come and find you.
~ Um...
~ What?
Do you not think she has the right
to know her husband was murdered?
No. No-one has a right
to know anything
till I know who killed Mr Newcastle.
We work for the dead, not the living.
Off you go.
Are you sure she can manage it?
She's never done it before.
Only one way to learn.
Are you ready?
Is this your husband, Mrs Parker?
I-I-I mean, yes. It's
Scott all right,
but... just the shell of what he was.
What he used to be.
(I'm sorry, Scottie.)
~ All right.
~ Where did you find him?
I, er... I don't have any details.
How did... he do it?
Do what?
Kill himself.
I'm afraid I don't know
anything about his death.
Don't know much for a copper, do you?
Are you the tea lady?
When did you last see Scott?
Night before last. Me birthday party.
Happy birthday.
~ Thanks.
~ Was it?
~ What?
~ Happy birthday.
Well, I was 40. Who wants to be 40?
I wouldn't mind.
Were you there, Mrs Magath?
'Course. We were all there.
Us, Jo, Scottie, Michael.
Michael?
~ Michael Woodruff.
~ Who's he?
Michael and me were Scottie's best
friends. Since we were kids.
Where can we find him?
Organising the bin strike.
Oh, that Michael Woodruff.
~ Good news for rats.
~ Hm!
Do you think we could take Jo home,
assuming she's identified the body?
Although it might not be him.
No, it is him.
You seem to be...
~ What?
~ Are you suspicious, or something?
No. Though I wouldn't mind finding
out who took a lump out of your face.
Oh, this. Oh, it's er...
hijinks at the party.
Michael started smashing
chairs over our heads.
Why was that?
Pissed. Wanted to
see if they'd break.
You know, like, in the pictures.
Like Lee Marvin hitting John Wayne.
Did they?
Yeah.
These are wooden, wooden chairs?
Aye. Wooden chairs.
Tell me more about this party.
~ Oh!
~ It was at our restaurant, Pete's.
Oh, the American one? Ah, right,
I've heard that's good.
~ Do you own that?
~ Aye.
No, we both own it.
~ Right. Near the cathedral?
~ Yeah.
Mighty fine ribs! We should go.
Just near the High Level.
Yeah.
Here's some tea, Mrs Parker.
I don't want a cup of tea!
Jo! Jo, it's all right!
~ Could you just...? Thank you.
~ Come on!
~ (It's all right. Come here.)
~ Where's me bag?!
(I've got it, I've got it.
It's OK. It's all right.)
~ Shock.
~ To be expected.
Yeah.
I'll need a list of all the
people who were at your party.
Also, the staff who were present.
I don't understand, Mr Gently.
My friend has taken his own life.
We need time to deal with
this as best we can.
Why are you asking for lists?
I'm sorry, didn't I make myself
clear? Scott Parker was murdered.
So I'll call round the restaurant
for that list about 7:00, all right?
~ I'm not always there.
~ Be there.
Bring your wife.
Guv, there's something very wrong.
That woman is weird.
In the mortuary, first,
she said, it isn't Scott,
just the shell of who he used to be.
And the next thing, she's banging
on about how her car got stolen
and how her house got burgled.
~ Were they?
~ I don't know, but I can find out for you.
And I think she said,
"I'm sorry, Scottie."
I'd like you to get to know
her over the next few days.
Meanwhile, we'll need everything
that we can get on Pete Magath,
Scott Parker and this other
guy, Michael Woodruff.
All right? Right.
Go on, in it goes!
Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho!
Let's not forget, there was
no money in his wallet.
It's as likely to be a street
robbery, if anything.
Nah. There was a ferocity to it.
Street robbers, they hit
you once, they're gone.
I think there was hatred
in this. A loss of control.
Gentlemen.
Looking for Michael Woodruff.
No?
Michael Woodruff?
What are you looking for him for?
That's our business.
~ What's he done wrong?
~ Who says he's done anything wrong?
This strike is not illegal and
we are not disturbing the peace.
It's got nothing to
do with the strike.
It's about Scott Parker.
I'm Michael Woodruff.
What about Scottie?
I'm afraid he's dead.
It's all right, lads.
Gone.
Just like that.
Did you see him leave the party?
Was no party by the end.
Just the three of us.
Then just me and Peter.
What time did he leave?
I don't know. 2:00?
Where had everybody gone?
Party ended pretty quick when Scott
started smashing the place to bits.
Was he angry or summat?
Aye. Smashing chairs
and the usual crap.
Peter and me tried to
stop him, but he was...
~ What?
~ He was uncontrollable.
Off his head.
Was this the game where
you were trying to see
if the chairs would break,
like they do in the westerns?
~ Eh?
~ That's what Pete Magath said.
Ah, well. Peter!
Peter's the nicest bloke
in the world, man.
Trust him to put a nice gloss on it.
The bloke was smashing
up his restaurant, man.
~ Could Scott be violent, then?
~ Yeah.
Not head-banging violent, but...
Scottie felt the world
was against him.
Take that resentment, mix it with
a couple of bottles of bourbon
and it's goodnight, Vienna.
Next day, he's full of apologies.
There's no next day this time.
Was he suicidal?
Nah.
You seem very sure about that.
All he talked about
was the future, man.
~ His head bulged with
his plans for the future.
~ What sort of plans?
This place. Newcastle!
~ Ah, right.
~ He wanted to rip it down and rebuild it.
Like Richard Grainger and T Dan.
His heroes.
Promise us one thing.
You'll not let anybody con you into
thinking Scott took his own life.
What was your last sight
of him on that night?
Staggering away from the
restaurant 2:00 in the morning,
blood on his head from
hitting the wall,
cursing us, cursing the world,
cursing God, cursing the sky,
singing at the top of his voice.
Which direction?
Towards the High Level.
Scott had no money
on him when he died.
Scottie never had any money.
Now, I know you don't
think he's a jumper,
but could he have been so drunk
that he got himself into a mess
and fell off the High Level?
What was he singing?
Um...
Oh, it was that thing, er...
Five Bridges.
Gemma?
Gemma!
Gemma?!
♪ Five bridges cross the Tyne
♪ And the city sits close by
♪ For some go north and some go south
♪ But each one seems to cry
♪ There's no good
complaining bout dirty air
♪ Because there's nothing
much else to breathe
♪ And it's no good shouting
from nine to five
♪ If you haven't got
the guts to leave
♪ You do not want to leave
♪ But then you make
yourself believe... ♪
~ Are you all right, John?
~ Yeah. Never better.
Is this all part of the celebrations?
Yeah. Me in the middle,
Scott on the left.
We were 10.
Michael Woodruff was desolate
about his friend's death.
I'm sure it's the same
for you. I'm very sorry.
I don't think I'll ever really...
.. get to grips with it all.
Was this one of the things
that was being smashed, then?
~ Oh! Where did this take place?
~ Just where you're standing.
Oh. You've cleaned
up a bit, have you?
~ Aye.
~ Why else do you pay cleaners?
Not opening tonight, then?
Mark of respect.
Here's your list.
~ Much good may it do you.
~ Thank you.
Will the names of the
cleaners be on here?
No, but I'll provide them separately
for you if you really want them.
Yes, please.
Have you always been in
the restaurant business?
No. I started out as a labourer,
installing pipe for
the oil refineries.
Anita thought we could do it cheaper
ourselves, so I borrowed some money.
Set up my own company.
Are you an engineer, then?
Hm! Nah. I'm just lucky.
Lucky that you've got a wife
that's so encouraging.
If you want to say pushy, say it.
Opening this place
was my idea, as well.
How do you do it so
cheaply? The pipes.
Non-union labour.
Yankee oil companies loved it.
What did your friend Michael
Woodruff think about that?
That's the wonderful thing
about lifelong friendships.
You don't have to like everything
about someone you really love.
Like it didn't matter
that Scott was violent?
~ Who told you that?
~ Michael Woodruff.
Michael should shut
his face now and then.
Michael doesn't think it was suicide.
Yeah, he rang me.
Why are you playing games with us?
You tell me murder, but you
ask Michael about suicide.
Well, why don't you tell me
why you assume it was suicide?
It's what Jo thinks.
So Scott Parker's wife thinks
that he's committed suicide,
but she doesn't call the
police for almost two days.
Don't you think that's
just a little bit odd?
~ Well, she is a bit odd, let's face it.
~ Nita.
~ Have you seen the way they live?
~ Nita, that's not...!
I think the woman's borderline
insane. I've always thought it.
~ You're not the best of friends, then?
~ God, no. She hates me.
Why?
Because I've got what she wants.
And everything I got, I got through
hard work and being savvy.
And everything she got, she
got on the never-never.
And where did that get Scott Parker?
At the foot of the High Level.
Sorry, gents, I think
you're dead wrong.
I think he had a million reasons
to chuck himself off
a bridge. A million.
And that's all you're
going to get out of me.
Ask Jo Parker if you want the rest.
~ Are you withholding information?
~ Yeah.
Arrest me, you jumped-up,
smarmy-faced little shitehawk!
Are you finished?
No.
So, what was your last
sight of Scott Parker?
Weaving his way down the road,
with blood down his shirt where
his head had hit the bar,
or a chair smashed over his head.
Cursing. Singing.
Those were pretty much the exact same
words that Michael Woodruff used,
except you're saying that Michael
started smashing chairs,
where he was saying it was Scott.
~ Well, maybe...
~ Nita, you weren't there, remember?!
Does it matter who smashed
the first chair?
Yeah, I think it does.
Oh, well, I'm sorry.
I can't remember!
We were all completely pissed!
All right. One more question.
Does the name Gwendolen Howard
mean anything to you?
No.
Right, just the names and addresses
of the cleaners, please, pet.
You don't have to love
everything about...
~ No.
~ You don't...
~ No, no.
~ .. about someone you like.
No. That's arse about face.
You don't have to like everything
about someone you love.
~ Someone you love.
~ It's almost a definition
of their friendship.
Something strong that
they had between them
all their lives growing up together.
Anita's a bit of a mare, isn't she?
Took a shitehawk to point
it out, didn't it?
To shitehawks everywhere!
To friendship.
To friendship.
God bless you.
You can't bring yourself to tell
me what's wrong with you, can you?
Here we go.
Why have you not shared it
with me, if we're friends?
Your hands are shaking, you keep
dropping things on the floor.
Oh, leave it out.
All right.
John, this is the way I deal
with things, OK? Besides, look.
It's gone?
Well, yeah, gone. Maybe for good.
~ Good.
~ Yeah.
~ I bet you can't do this.
~ Oh, here we go.
Very good.
Oh, yes!
I am the king!
~ Slow! Slow!
~ I, um...
I've just come to say night-night.
~ I'll, er... pop in on Mrs Parker
tomorrow, like you said.
~ Yeah.
~ You do know you've, er... got...?
~ Yeah.
~ Yeah.
I don't think she has
any respect for me.
Your house was burgled
last month, Mrs Parker?
Broke in through the back.
And they took mostly jewellery
and the television?
And a canteen of cutlery.
Silver.
~ Did you make a claim?
~ Aye.
The loss adjustor came last week.
So we should get some money back.
Not we, I.
And your car was stolen, as well.
~ Are you on your own here, Mrs Parker?
~ Yeah.
Do you work?
No, not any more. I used to, though.
No children?
No. I had a lot of
miscarriages in my 20s.
At the finish, I had a hysterectomy.
Oh, I'm sorry.
So, what will you do now?
I'm sorry to have to ask you this,
was Scott worried about
anything? Money?
The thing with Scott is
that he was so positive.
Keep your eyes on the prize.
And what was the prize?
Change. Modernisation. Progress.
Is there anybody you can
stay with for a while?
Anita.
Peter and Anita. I'll
give them a bell.
When my phone's back on.
~ I could give them a call
for you, if you like.
~ I can manage.
I've got to go out in a minute.
Right.
Have you got business here, gents?
We are waiting for
Mrs Parker to leave.
We have an arrangement
with her until she goes.
Right. And who are you, please?
Sorry.
There we are.
Estate agent. What, she's
selling the house?
Um... the mortgage was
foreclosed a month ago.
Er... repossession.
Mrs Parker's allowed to
live here until it's sold,
but she doesn't own it any more.
She's, um... a little bit fragile.
We don't show buyers around
when she's in, at her request.
She goes out.
So, they were completely
broke, weren't they?
The burglary, the car theft?
Frauds, I think, sir. I think they
got desperate to keep afloat.
~ Well, we know where the jewellery went.
~ Mm.
Maybe the mare was right.
A million reasons for him to
chuck himself off a bridge.
So, where did all the money go?
Where is this place?
It's up near the university.
City Vision Developments.
Maybe he put all of his
money into his business.
Last company accounts
showed 25 employees.
I've told Jo to meet us there.
Can I just say, I've got a lot
of respect for the both of you,
if you don't mind us saying.
I mean, I had no idea that you
were in a circus act together.
Is this supposed to
be Newcastle, this?
It's not going to happen, is it?
Scott always said it would.
He wanted to buy up all the
warehouses along the Quayside
as they fell into disuse when
the river trade fell off.
He could always see ahead, Scottie.
Did he buy those warehouses?
No. He couldn't afford them.
What he did buy was land
near the Town Moor.
That was his Phase One redevelopment.
He borrowed from banks
and investors to do it.
But the council rejected his plans.
Would they not give him
planning permission?
Nobody would help him.
Banks wanted their money back.
~ And the investors?
~ Them, as well.
So, what was the argument
against redevelopment?
I mean, I'd like to see
this sort of thing happen.
Who wouldn't?
Plenty of people. Stick-in-the-muds.
People who think development
should be not for profit.
Owned by the community.
Unions, for instance.
Michael Woodruff's union?
Michael's voice was the loudest.
Does he know you're in his chair?
He said I could. I was looking
for somewhere quiet.
I thought you were out.
Teacher's pet.
What is it you're doing, anyway?
Um... swotting on this exam.
~ Or trying to.
~ Sergeant's exam?
Yep.
Ah! What'll you do if you don't pass?
Fail.
What'll you do if you fail?
What'll you do if you fail, Rachel?
Well, I'll do it again. Do you mind?
Sorry.
Ahem! Gwendolen Howard.
Gwendolen Howard.
Did you ask Jo Parker if
she knew a Gwendolen Howard?
~ No.
~ Why not?
Because maybe I thought she
had enough on her plate
without me putting
the idea in her head
that her dead husband was
shagging summat on the side.
Right, OK, but Confucius said that
we serve the dead,
right, not the living.
I'll ring her.
She doesn't have a phone.
Inspector, Sir, please will you
not do this? It's not funny.
~ I'm really stressing over this exam.
~ All right, all right.
Yes, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Good luck.
I mean it.
Thank you.
Ahem!
Gwendolen Howard.
Hey, that's a slash!
It's Gwendolen/Howard.
Rachel?
Rachel!
~ Right...
~ Pass us the A to Z, man, will you?
~ A to Z, quick! Come on!
~ All right!
Right. Gwendolen/Howard.
~ I reckon it's a place.
~ It's not.
Do you want a bet? Ten bob.
~ You're on.
~ Gwendolen Road. Page 54, 1E.
Road crosses Howard Street, Cowgate.
Eh? Look at that!
Eh, local knowledge,
you can't beat it, eh?
You owe me ten bob.
That's me dinner tonight.
Shouldn't bet what you
can't afford to lose.
Gwendolen and Howard,
5:00 Wednesdays.
Why not?
Can I come?
No. You've got your
exams to sweat over.
Go on, son! Get yourself aboard here!
Right.
You, Percy Street!
Howay, son, up for a
bit of graft, are you?
Come on.
All right. Come on! Come on!
Right, wagons roll!
Lovely! Good man.
The lads are doing all right
here. I'll see you later, son.
Rat! Rat!
Go on, stamp on it!
I'm not paying you to catch rats!
Let them strike as long as
they want, eh, bonny lad?
That Michael Woodruff, they call
him the friend of the rats.
Good for business, I call him!
~ Ever come across Michael Woodruff?
~ Just the once.
Old man, what are you doing?!
We're not taking out washers, man!
Just the stuff that stinks!
Howay then, come on! Clear up here!
You can all start drinking
your pay, you lazy bastards!
There are issues of privacy.
I can get a court order.
Yes, I thought you might say that.
Both accounts, I take it?
~ Mrs Parker's first.
~ Mm-hm.
Basket case. Like lending
money to Bangladesh.
Debt, debts, unauthorised withdrawals,
bouncing cheques, missed deadlines.
How much?
At the last count, as of today,
£4,648, 10 shillings and four pence.
You've loaned all that
to a woman without a job?
Her husband is her guarantor.
Not any more, he's not.
No, but he was.
I thought Scott was a good bet.
Until the Planning Department
holed him below the waterline.
Mm. What did she spend it on?
Oh, come on.
Bookmakers.
Jo would bet on two drops of
water going down a window.
Do you think your bank was prudent
using its customers' savings
to finance reckless gambling?
Oddly enough, exactly what
Regional Head Office asked.
Oh.
Next time you see me, I'll be flying through
the air with me trousers on fire.
Scott must have had other
investors. Who were they?
Right.
Thank you.
What, man?
~ It's for you!
~ Eh?
It's for you!
Hello?
'Rachel.'
Sorry, Mr Gently.
Go and see Jo Parker again.
'Investors in City Vision
lost a lot of money.'
Right.
Scotch, please.
I went to see Scott's bank manager.
~ Did you?
~ Yeah.
How did it feel to lose so
much money because of Scott?
Shit, actually.
No, no, no, no. On the house, Neil.
Oh, thank you.
Yeah. Must be hard to come to
terms with something like that.
No. It's the risk you take.
Investing's a bet.
You don't bet what you
can't afford to lose.
Did Scott Parker take that advice?
No. Scott didn't.
No. Scott lost everything
he had and more, didn't he?
His ship went down with all hands.
Are you still trying to
call it murder, Mr Gently?
~ His head was full of wooden splinters.
~ So's my face.
Look. I've admitted
to you what happened.
Michael's admitted what happened.
Scottie walked out
of that door alive.
Do you know about Jo
Parker's gambling habit?
Oh, yes.
How?
Five hundredth time Scottie
blagged us for a loan,
I made him tell us where
all the money was going.
Did you tell Anita that you were
paying Jo's gambling debts?
I mean, Anita and Jo
don't get on, I know -
~ but what about Anita and Scott?
~ What about them?
Did they like each other?
Everybody liked Scottie. Everybody.
Did Scott like your wife?
What's not to like?
How long ago did the ship
go down with all hands?
~ Four months.
~ What caused it?
No planning permission.
But you and Scott still owned the
land. Surely it had some value?
Not while there was no
planning permission.
And it was hard seeing Scottie
get that decision reversed.
He went about things
all the wrong way.
The committee saw through him.
He couldn't even keep up
the rent on his offices.
Too busy keeping up
with Jo's bad debts.
Were you angry with him about that?
Nah. It was Scottie.
That's what he was like.
No point being angry
with him. Thanks.
He spent a fortune on these
unnecessary drawings
and models made by these fancy
architects from Sweden.
He was even talking about chucking
another bridge over the Tyne,
as if there aren't enough
of those already!
This all had to be paid for
and I got sick of forking out,
so he borrowed on the property.
He used property that was partly owned
by you as collateral for his own debts?
As well as his wife's?
~ Yes.
~ Did you give permission for this?
~ No.
~ Did your wife know?
There you go, bonny lad. Don't
say I never gave you nowt.
~ Mine's a pint.
~ Cheers, gaffer.
~ Good man.
All right.
Where did you dump it?
On the tip - where else?
I'll wait on, though, till
the pickets have gone home.
After dark?
Too bloody right. How'd you
find out about us, anyway?
A friend of mine has done
it before. Scottie? Scott?
Might use a different name for
the taxman. Richard Grainger?
Oh, Richard. Aye, canny enough
lad, like. Bit talkative.
Always banging on about bridges.
His hands were soft. I knew
he needed the money, you know.
Mind, he could fight if he had to.
Get in. Cheers, lad.
~ That surprised us.
~ What do you mean?
~ You know you asked us
about Michael Woodruff?
~ Aye.
The one time I come across Michael
Woodruff - hey, what a bastard he is!
Hey up, lads.
Get out of here, you bloody scabs.
Aye, man. We've got a
legitimate day's work here.
Not around here, you've not.
All right, pack it in. Come on now.
Right, move it. We're gonna go now.
Scottie!
All right, ladies. Nowt to see here.
Argh!
Argh! Argh!
Just stay down.
Scottie! What are you doing this for?
I've got nothing. I'm
on my knees, Michael.
I am on my knees! I've got nothing,
man! I've got nothing!
I am nothing.
Come on.
Aye, he could fight all right.
Never seen anybody else fight Michael
Woodruff to a standstill.
He was obsessed with
bridges, you know.
He used to say, "they're
not an invitation to leave,
"they're a door opening. A
new bridge is a new way in."
He loved the High Level
for its dark grandeur.
But he adored the Tyne Bridge
for what it said about change.
He used to point up, where
it comes into Newcastle.
"Looker, man, Jo - were
they afraid of change?
"Were they afraid to take a risk?
"They smashed through the most
beautiful Georgian houses
"to inject the A1 straight
into the heart of the city!"
That's the Scott I married.
And are you the Jo he married?
What time is it?
It's quarter past six.
You have to go. I've got
some people coming round.
All right. OK. Well. Well, maybe
I'll pop in on you tomorrow, eh?
Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow.
Right.
Where you going, pet?
I'm going to see Mrs
Parker. Any objections?
She's a bit busy at the minute.
Come back in half an hour.
What's going on here?
Who are you, like?
Look, no-one's forcing
her to do this.
There's worse ways to pay
off your debt, you know.
Forcing her to do what?
Nobody asked her to
borrow money off we.
Forcing her to do what?
Rachel.
Jo, are these men harassing you, pet?
No. Have an arrangement.
Now just go away and leave
us alone, will you?
Jo? Jo!
How often does this happen?
Wednesdays.
It's just your friend, or....?
Both we.
And how long will it go on for?
~ Till her slate's clean.
~ Do you know her husband died this week?
Nah, I didn't know that, like.
Seemed like a canny lad.
You knew him?
Yeah, he would come and complain.
~ Ask if we'd wait for the money -
usual sort of stuff you get, you know.
~ He knew?
Hey, pet, you better spend
some time in the real world.
There's a cold wind blowing out here.
Yeah, these were the clowns we saw at
the dog track, sir, do you remember?
Do their alibis stand up
for the night of the murder?
~ Yes.
~ Then we're not interested in them.
~ Ah, sir, come on, man!
It's 1969, not 1869 - why should
a woman have to sell herself
to these pigs just cos she owes them!
Rachel, if she's not being coerced,
what do you think I can do?
What law has been broken, eh?
Meanwhile I've got to catch
her husband's killer.
John!
Let's serve the dead, eh?
To hell with the living.
Find out where they drink.
What do you think gives you the right
to attack men going about their work?
Isn't their work, is
it? It's our work.
They're scabs and I batter
them whenever I can.
It wasn't really an official
strike, though, was it?
It was a wildcat strike.
Are they really scabs?
Sorry, you've brought us in here to discuss
my union's rule book, have you?
Do you hate scabs, Mr Woodruff?
With every breath in me body.
Did you hate Scott Parker, then?
Ah, that's why I'm here.
How did you find out about that?
I'm a detective.
Nah. Nothing could ever
make me hate Scottie.
Well, somebody did. He
was beaten to death.
Any ideas who did it?
I cannot tell you who he walked
into on the High Level,
but I can tell you the
world is turning nasty.
There's some really bad
people out on the streets.
We've noticed.
You could spend your time chasing them round
the block stead of me. Do summat useful.
Well, I'll look into it after
my tea. How about that?
So come on. Who started smashing
up furniture on Saturday night?
Scottie.
Why?
I don't know. He was pissed.
Whose head got the first chair?
~ Peter's.
~ Then what?
Peter smashed one over his
head. Got his own back.
Then I smashed one over
Scottie's head, then
they both smashed chairs over my
back cos they thought it was funny.
Then Scottie smashed
one round Peter's face,
then he staggered into
the bar and hurt himself
and that's when blood got spilt
and that's when we stopped.
And it was just the
three of you present?
Was that a yes?
Yes.
And you have no explanation for
this extraordinary behaviour?
Aye. And I've given
you it twice. Alcohol.
Alcohol. High jinks.
We all love each other so much
we couldn't possibly hurt each
other, even with a chair leg.
We're just three mates
having fun. You know what?
I don't believe a word of it.
Your mate was beaten to death.
~ I don't know what else to say to you.
~ Well, try answering this, then.
Why did your union veto Scott's
redevelopment plan? His city vision?
You really don't understand
the political process, do you?
We were one voice among many.
That's not a veto.
It's democracy.
I'm sure you lot are in favour of it.
Cos whenever there's a struggle
for democratic rights,
the cops are always
on the wrong side.
He needed your support.
You refused to give it
to him. Why was that?
Because, analyse the so-called
vision and guess what -
it's just another piece
of property speculation
designed to make a few guys rich.
Guys like Scott Parker.
And Peter Magath.
See, I don't understand why you
bothered hanging around them.
You despise everything
they stand for.
~ Like I told you, you don't have to like...
~ Yeah, no, yeah, no.
I've heard that one before. So this guy that
you loved, this guy that you wouldn't hurt,
you beat the shit out of him cos
he's trying to earn three quid
to pay his bills, right, and now,
he's in a fridge, with his name
tied to his toe and his skull
smashed in three places.
How many times did you hit
him with the chair leg?
Once.
What about Peter Magath? How
many times did he hit him?
~ More than once.
~ How many?
Three times. Maybe four.
Rachel, it's your exam
today, isn't it?
~ Yes, sir.
~ Well, good luck - not that you need it.
~ Thank you, sir.
~ Knock 'em dead, Rachel.
~ Thank you, sir. Inspector Bacchus?
~ That pub you were asking about?
~ Yeah?
It's the Printer's Pie in Jesmond.
Right. I'll give it a go.
Give what a go?
They've got an Aunt Sally team.
So she said, "I'm
not doing it twice"!
Hello, lads. Fancy a beer tonight?
~ Aye.
~ Yeah.
Companies House sent this over, sir.
Thank you, Peter. Hang on.
Can I call you back?
I will.
Gem, let's talk about it.
Right. Half of dark, please.
~ Ta.
~ Ta.
~ Could I have a quick word?
~ What about?
Spot of bother that
I've got myself into.
~ Somebody said you could help us out.
~ Who said?
Bloke called Tommy
Cary at the dog track.
Oh, Tommy, yeah. Yeah.
Financial bother, is it, er...?
~ John.
~ John.
Yeah. I... I lost my job.
I've taken a few too many
liabilities at once.
~ A little bit of bad luck?
~ Aye.
A bit of bad luck - knows
when to turn up, doesn't it?
Just when you least want it, usually.
What are you looking for, John?
~ £250.
~ Over what period?
Um...
Well, I'm...
I could probably just get it
back to you in two months.
Three at the most.
It's 350 after two month,
and 450 after three month.
I'd probably feel more
comfortable with three months.
~ Confident about paying us back, John?
~ Oh, aye.
Cos we're professionals.
We will take your car.
~ We will take your house if necessary.
~ I rent.
Just so you know what you're getting
yourself into. This man...
I've watched him take the rings off
the fingers off a bankrupt's wife.
And smile when he's doing it.
Tell you what - leave the
rings, take the wife.
~ She bad luck, is she?
~ It's not going well.
What's she called?
~ Gemma.
~ Good looking, is she?
~ It's always the good-looking
ones that bring trouble.
~ Ah, she's a...
She's a real beaut.
Ooh, yes. That's trouble.
That IS trouble.
Yeah, we'd like to help you, John.
Ah, fantastic. Great. That's,
that's... that's great, lads.
Could I ask for a bit of help now?
For tonight?
Like... like an advance?
Yeah, yeah, we can do that.
Have you got any identification,
proof of address, anything?
Not here, John. We've got
to be a bit discreet.
20 notes suit you?
That'd be perfect.
There's a yard out back. Meet
us there. Couple of minutes.
Right. All right.
Thanks for everything. I really appreciate
it. It's a big weight off my mind.
Well, we like to help people, John.
There's a cold wind
blowing out there.
Aye, I know. I'm all right now
- I've got me long johns on.
Tosser.
Hey! What's going on? Ow!
All right, lads. That's it.
Well done. I'll see you tomorrow.
This is your only warning.
Jo Parker is protected from now on.
You go anywhere near her ever again
and you'll regret it for the rest
of your lives. Do you understand?
Go home, get any agreements that she
entered into with you and burn them.
They won't be bothering her again.
You frighten me sometimes,
Inspector Bacchus.
Me? I'm just a pussycat.
~ Morning, Sir.
~ Morning, Harpo.
How did it go, Rachel?
Oh, yeah, how did it go?
All right, I think. I think.
Fingers crossed.
~ You'll get the result you deserve, Rachel.
~ Well, if she does, she can always re-sit.
You just couldn't resist
it, could you, eh? Is he in?
~ Yep.
~ Rachel. Sit in.
~ Really?
So you knew he was skint.
You knew he was desperate.
I knew he was skint.
Did he ask you for money
on the day he died?
Yeah. So you're telling us for
instance that you didn't know
that he was so short of money that
he was pawning his wife's jewellery?
Aye. Anita noticed the
jewellery had gone.
Yeah. Your wife noticed
it, so you knew.
Yeah.
How many times do I
have to bail him out
because she's a pathological gambler?
I don't know. I'm asking
you what you knew.
Were you aware that he took
work as a casual labourer
working as a scab
collecting rubbish bags?
~ What?
~ Which led to a public fistfight
with Michael Woodruff.
You're making that up. Those
two are like brothers.
Yeah. I had a brother like that, once.
He knocked seven sorts of shit out of me.
Or were you aware that
their debts were so severe
that Jo Parker is being physically
harassed by loan sharks?
No. No, I didn't know.
I'll find a way to help her out.
That's very nice of you.
So, we're agreed he was
desperate. You didn't know.
Or maybe you didn't want to know.
Now this all kicked off on the night
of your birthday party, yeah?
I wanted to help him.
What stopped you?
Or maybe it's a case
of WHO stopped you?
Cos your wife isn't particularly
keen on Jo and Scott Parker, is she?
You leave Anita out of this.
I'll leave your wife out of it when you
tell me the truth about what happened.
The party had finished.
Me, Scottie and Michael were
having one for the ditch.
Cowboy shit, phoney.
Phoney, phoney, phoney.
He's off.
Like you, Peter.
Hah!
Yeah. Smile, Peter.
Nicest bloke in the
world. You know what?
You're empty, man.
Empty life, empty marriage.
Look, I think we'll
call it a night, yeah?
Right, we're closed now.
Oh, Michael. Peter's stopped smiling.
Why's that, you think?
Come on, I'll take you home.
No. What did I say, eh?
That wiped the smile off his face?
Was it the bit about the marriage?
Ooh! All right, Pete.
Ah, you're just drunk.
I'll call you a taxi.
Yeah, taxi. TAXI!
~ This is phoney!
~ Ah, very clever.
Phoney cowboy shit, phoney crap life.
~ Scottie, put that chair...
~ That's phoney, like my life.
You want a piece of that.
~ Hey!
Come on, then!
End of story.
So it wasn't three drunken
boys having fun.
And it had nothing to do with
John Wayne and Lee Marvin.
It was about Scottie lashing
out. At me, and at Michael.
What did he mean by
your "empty marriage"?
He wanted to lash out at
Anita as well. He was angry.
That was it. That's all it was.
If the taxi firm had answered the
phone, if he'd got home safe...
If he hadn't died that night,
we'd all be friends again.
~ All this would be forgotten.
~ You sure?
Well, I wonder if Scott would
have forgiven you for this?
Yeah. It's a transfer of
land ownership, isn't it?
The land that Scott bought
for his vision of Newcastle
and failed to get planning
permission for.
You and your wife invested in it.
And when the bank foreclosed,
you had the right to buy it,
which you did at a knock-down price,
leaving Scott with the debts.
It's a hard world.
It's a nasty world, isn't it?
Especially when you consider
the following -
there are three directors
of this company.
You, your wife...
and Michael Woodruff,
the man whose loud voice scuppered
the planning application
upon which Scott Parker's
dreams depended.
You all shafted him.
Perhaps it's just as well he
never lived to find that out.
Go and pick them up for me,
would you, please, John?
~ Rachel, go and get Jo Parker.
~ Right, sir.
You'll find Michael at my house.
So when did Scott first
tell you about his scheme?
It was at Pete's Bar.
I've just had these plans drawn up from
the architect. Here, have a look at that.
You're spending on
architects again, man.
'What I loved about Scottie
was he had this infectious,
'naive belief in the power of
architecture, public planning,
'changing the cityscape and thus
people's lives for the better.'
Streets in the sky, houses
made of sunlight and steel.
You had to love him for
it. All mad, of course.
Pie in the sky.
Made no sense as a business venture.
So why did you invest?
Because the astonishing thing
was, somehow Scottie,
with all his barking mad ideas,
had managed to get a piece
of prime development land
for a pretty good price.
He couldn't pay for
it, unfortunately,
but that didn't seem to matter
because in some way,
it couldn't go wrong - you
know, as a business deal -
with the right people in.
And the wrong ones out.
He had a chance - the
chance of a lifetime.
He could've been rich on his share
if he'd just been willing to...
.. modify his plans.
Bin them, you mean...
.. in favour of yours.
Go easy on Anita and Michael
when you see them, Mr Gently.
They're in love.
When we were kids, the three of us...
.. Scottie was the strong
one somehow, the leader.
I was the troublemaker,
always in fights.
What makes you?
Where does it come from?
I got chucked out of the Cubs
on me first night for laughing
at the National Anthem.
Why? How did I know I
thought it was funny?
Don't forget your meeting at
the Town Hall, sweetheart,
or you'll get drummed out
the Brownies as well.
Yeah, plenty of time.
I'm going to have you
again before I go.
Are you? Don't I get a say?
Nah.
Lovely.
Peter was the cow's tail,
always hanging behind.
Why are you telling us this, Michael?
Because how is it all
these years later
I more and more get the feeling
I'm part of some plan
Peter's got worked out for us all?
All his life, people have
underestimated Peter Magath.
And now it's Inspector Gently's turn.
Oh, ignore it. It'll be somebody
selling insurance.
Police!
Jo!
It's Rachel!
Jo?!
Having a bit of trouble
locating Mrs Parker.
Your wife and Michael
are on their way.
Since there's a reasonable chance
you could be facing a charge
by the time we finish, I'm reminding
you of your right to a solicitor.
No, thanks.
Oi!
Can I have some bacon, please, and
some eggs and those cigarettes. Jo?
All right.
Go upstairs and wash your face.
Put some smart clothes
on and brush your hair.
We've got to go down to the station.
Jo, those men, they won't
be bothering you any more.
So you can forget about them.
Right, take a seat, please.
They're to have no contact with each
other and none with Peter Magath.
Same goes for Mrs Parker
when she gets here.
Were they in bed together?
Think so.
Sir.
It's come back. There's two
lads just arrived, Sir.
Why didn't you mention
this two nights ago, Neil?
Didn't think.
Didn't think or wasn't
told what to say?
You both work for Anita
and Peter Magath.
Is that just a bloody coincidence?
No, that's why we were
in the area, wasn't it?
We left Pete's Bar at about 12:40.
Mr Magath locked the door behind us
and then we went over the bridge
to a lock in, in Gateshead.
Got there about one o'clock.
We stayed just over an hour and
then came back the same way.
When we were crossing the High
Level again, about half past two,
that's when we saw him.
And you're telling me the same story?
Aye.
So you both saw Scott
Parker, alone, alive,
and on his own two feet, on the
High Level Bridge at approximately
2:30 on Monday morning?
Is that what you're telling me?
What did you say to him?
We said "Goodnight, Mr Parker".
And what did he say to you?
Nowt. He just stared
into the parapet.
He had blood on his head, but
he was standing up straight.
And you would both be prepared to
repeat this story in court, where
to tell a lie is called perjury
and carries a prison sentence?
Write it down.
Done us up like a pair of kippers.
So, what do we do now - just
let them all go home again?
If you'd like to take a seat.
A man is dead.
Between you, you four people
- supposedly his nearest
and dearest - are responsible for
that death, however it came about.
Yes, and I know that I may never
know exactly what happened.
Mrs Parker, your addiction to gambling
ruined his finances and led
him into desperation and yourself
into what amounted to prostitution.
Mrs Magath,
there was no love lost between you
and the dead man, I know that - so
at least in your case it was simple
greed, not hypocrisy like these two,
his so-called best friends.
You betrayed and cheated a man
that you'd grown up with and you
must carry that on your consciences
for the rest of your lives.
Assuming, of course, that
you have consciences.
But it's my opinion that one
or both of you killed him.
But two witnesses have come forward
- both employees of the Magaths -
who are prepared to swear that
they saw Scott Parker alive,
if not exactly well, after he left
Pete's Bar on that Sunday night.
That being the case, Mrs Parker,
I will inform the coroner that
I now have no objection to releasing
your husband's body for burial.
Jo, do you want me to take you home?
No, I'll take Jo home.
Jo, is that OK?
Come on then.
Merciful Father and Lord
of all life, we praise you
that we are made in your image
and reflect your truth and light.
Above all, we rejoice
at your gracious promise
to all your servants,
living and departed,
that we shall rise again
at the coming of Christ.
Which one of them actually
did it, do you think?
We'll never know, John, will we?
Phoney. Phoney. Completely phoney.
He's off.
Like you, Peter.
Look. I think we'll
call it a night, yeah.
Right, we're closed now.
Oh, Michael. Peter's stopped smiling.
Why's that, you think?
~ Come on.
~ No, no. What did I say, eh,
that wiped the smile off his face?
Was it the bit about the marriage?
Ooh...
You're really drunk.
I'll get you a taxi.
TAXI!
You shut it now, Scott.
I've put you down once,
don't make us do it again.
You're right, mate. You're right.
~ I said phoney.
~ Ah, great.
~ Phoney, phoney.
~ Scottie!
~ Crap. Come on then. Do
you want a bit, Michael?
~ Hey.
~ Come on, big man.
~ Stop being a bloody idiot.
~ You want a piece of that!
Come on then.
Scottie. Hey, man.
We thank you for the life
of your child, Scott.
For the love he received from
you and showed amongst us.
Above all, we rejoice that
your gracious promise
to all your servants,
living and departed...
Enough.
Come on then.
Scottie, stop!
..And we ask that in due time we may
share with our brother that clearer
vision when we shall see your face
in the same Christ as our Lord.
We now commit his body to the ground.
Earth to earth, ashes
to ashes, dust to dust.
In the sure and certain hope of
the resurrection to eternal life.
Ergh!
Urgh!
Yes, good, glad you like it,
cos Anita and I both
see this very much
being Scottie's legacy, don't we?
Very much, very much. It's
what he would've wanted.
And we're going to make sure
Jo benefits as well, aren't we?
We're family.
~ You had a brother?
~ Mm?
You said you had a brother.
Used to thump you.
Yeah. Died in the war.
In action?
Yeah. Well, diphtheria.
He was my best friend.
Until I met Isabelle.
Circulate, all right.
Enjoy yourselves.
All right, Craig, get me a drink.
Oh, easy!
Excuse me.
~ Right, I'm just going to say a few words.
~ Really?
All right, everyone. Gather round.
Scottie's going to say a few words.
~ Turn it off!
~ Can we have you on the dance floor, please?
Where is he? Peter?
~ Peter?
~ Come on.
Little Peter Magath, where is he?
~ Ah, there he is!
~ Go on, Peter!
Now, little Peter may not have been
the smartest kid in the village,
but he was the slowest.
I've got short legs.
We used to think, Michael and me,
that Peter had been dropped
on his head as a kid.
~ I had.
~ We felt sorry for him.
We worried about your future, Peter.
How's little Pete going to manage?
We didn't know you'd end up one
of the richest sods in Newcastle!
~ Did we, Michael?
~ No idea at all, Scottie.
Should've paid more attention,
then, shouldn't they?
~ Oh, they're only joking.
~ Hm. Hilarious(!)
Now, when Peter came to me and said,
"I'm going to make my
fortune laying pipe,"
I thought he wanted to be a gigolo!
~ What's a gigolo, Scott?
~ Ask Michael.
~ Gigolo, that's right!
~ Michael thought tonight was fancy dress,
so he's come as a Danish porn star.
~ Have you finished? The pies have come.
~ Not yet.
Our mate Michael, the best-dressed
Bolshevik in Newcastle.
We're all grateful to him for
standing up for our right
not to have our rubbish collected.
It used to be I was talking rubbish,
or he was talking rubbish,
now the whole of Newcastle's
talking rubbish
~ because we can't get it collected.
~ Hear, hear!
~ Scott.
~ Yeah, yeah, yeah.
All right, seriously.
I love Peter Magath. Just
like I love Michael.
Lifelong friends.
I love that Peter's an original.
I love that he had a vision of what
he could be and he pursued it,
even when we laughed.
I love that he has faith in others.
Maybe even in me.
God knows the world needs
people like that.
~ Peter!
~ Peter!
Right, music!
Yeeha!
Yeeha!
Yeeha!
Come on!
Whoo!
Yeeha!
'180 council dustmen
have gone on strike
'for a higher basic rate of pay.
'Fears that the mouldering rubbish
might become a health hazard
'mounted following reports
of rat sightings.
'The markets disgorge their
daily collection of garbage
'onto the growing mess.
'But the dustmen were adamant, they
wanted their basic wage upped from
'£15.9 shillings a week to £20.
'The dustcarts stayed in the depot.
'The general opinion was that
the whole business stank.'
He's got wooden splinters
in his head.
Body was discovered
just after 7:00, sir.
The sergeant reckons he was a jumper.
~ Really?
~ There's been a few of them lately.
They've pulled two out of the
Tyne already this month, sir.
If he was aiming for the
river, he was a bad shot.
Debt. Unemployment.
Is this where they found
him? He hasn't been moved?
No, sir.
There's no blood around him.
He was dead when he hit.
~ Have we got a name?
~ We've got his wallet, but there's no ID.
There's no money in it either.
So, robbery, maybe?
We've got this. It's a
receipt for a pawnbroker,
a couple of betting slips
from the dog track
and a note that says, "Gwendolen
Howard, 5:00 Wednesdays."
Who's she?
Gwendolen Howard?
Sir? Sir, we're a bit shorthanded
with the bin strike.
I need to release men to other duties
if we don't absolutely
need the scene sealed.
It's a crime scene, Sergeant.
No, no, no. You heard him. Seal it.
~ Sorry.
~ Dawson pawnbroker.
A chance to get yourself
a decent suit, John.
She died of leukaemia.
Left me her watch.
~ I'll be with you in a tick, gents.
~ Thank you.
What was your gran's name, son?
Er... I just called her Grannie.
I would've called her Glamorous
Grannie. This is a Rolex.
Look, I-I just need the money.
I'm sorry, son. Mr Dawson has very
strict rules about these things.
I'm not sure that this really
belonged to your gran,
may she rest in peace.
~ What are you trying to accuse us of, like?
~ Being stupid.
~ How are you today?
~ Champion.
I'm sorry about the smell.
The working stiff normally
has all my sympathy,
but this set of work-shy
bastards, I could crucify.
I've got rats.
We'd like to speak
to Mr Dawson, please.
He's not in at the moment.
Perhaps I can help you?
Are you buying or selling?
Ah.
There is no Mr Dawson.
It's just a name I can blame
when I have to say no.
People can get, erm...
What's the technical word? Arsey.
Anyway, how can I help you?
Can you tell us who you
issued this to, please?
I can try.
Here we are.
6733.
He gave the name of, T Dan Smith.
T Dan Smith.
A-ha. That's what it says here.
So, T Dan Smith, until recently,
leader of the council,
has fallen on hard times?
Well, probably not.
Some people aren't comfortable about
using their real names, you know.
And not just the thieves.
There's a lot of shame in
falling on hard times. Sad.
Yeah, I can see the
tracks of your tears.
Aren't you supposed to
take their identities?
I'll tell Mr Dawson.
I can do a full audit
of this place, sir.
Maybe get it shut down, you know.
Hey, and I thought
we were getting along.
What was pawned?
Four weeks ago. And
all on the one ticket.
~ All this?
~ Aye.
He said he'd be back for all of it.
Mind, they all say that,
like, but I believed him.
And all this is definitely his?
No question in my mind.
Well, if he's half-inched anything,
I'll be back to see you.
Now I'm torn, aren't I?
I mean, I don't want stolen
goods on me hands,
but if it's a chance of meeting
you again, Sergeant...
Your T Dan, what's he look like?
Ooh... 40ish.
Short dark hair.
A bit taller than you.
Beautiful skin, soft blue eyes.
How much did you give
him for this lot?
£42.10.
It's a hard life, isn't it?
~ There you are.
~ Thanks, John.
There's no missing person's report
matching the dead man's description.
The pathologist hasn't got anything
yet and won't have until tomorrow.
And we've got no Gwendolen
Howard on any of our files.
Making progress, then(!)
Don't shoot the messenger,
Inspector Bacchus.
She never irritate you?
No.
Our man's not a thief, John.
That pawnshop bloke could have sniffed
out a thief out a mile away.
We watched him do it. He's
pawning the family silver.
This is a man with a wife,
who's got rings and necklaces.
At least, she did have.
So, where is she? What's
she waiting for?
~ It's dead.
~ 'Right. How do you know that?'
Because there's no dial
tone, that's how I know.
'We've noted that you've
been cut off.'
Well, why've we been cut off?!
'Anita Magath.'
Anita, Jo. Is my husband there?
Tommy Cary?
Aye. I've got me licence,
just not on us.
You're all right. We want to know
if you know who this belongs to.
Aye, I know him.
He put a pony on the third race.
Doesn't happen very often.
He chases his bets. Makes us uneasy.
It's like watching them
jumping off a cliff.
Is he? Jumping off a cliff.
When you take the money, you try not
to think about the look in their eyes,
but, aye, there's some
you feel sorry for.
~ Was he one of them?
~ Jimmy?
What, is it an addiction?
Most people bet for a laugh,
but some can't stop laughing till
they've emptied their pay packet.
And that's when the crying starts.
Bills to pay, bairns going
hungry at home, angry wives.
It certainly keeps those guys busy
in that window, I can tell you.
Who are they, loan sharks?
I'm not really in
a position to judge.
Did our man use them?
I don't know. I suppose.
Always managed to find a
bit of money from somewhere.
Do you know his name?
Aye. Said his name was...
T Dan Smith?
No. Richard. Richard Grainger.
But when you find him, tell him there's
£2.10 to come back on that.
~ He won't be collecting it.
~ Off the cliff?
Something like that, yeah.
~ It's all part of the job, pet lamb.
~ It isn't, actually.
~ I had to do it.
~ Oh, please don't tell me
this is character-building
because you're living
proof that it's not.
I could have you
disciplined for that.
~ Go on, then.
~ Lovers' tiff?
Right, guv, there's three Richard
Graingers in the Newcastle area.
One is four years old, one's 78
and the other one is alive and well
and works at The Ministry
in Longbenton.
So, the dead man's not
from the area, then?
Do I amuse you?
What, is this that T
Dan Smith blokey again?
He's called Richard
Grainger now, is he?
Are there any chocolate
biscuits, pet?
What? What's funny?
Grainger Street, Grainger
Town, Grainger Market.
~ Yeah?
~ Richard Grainger.
He pretty much built Newcastle
about 100 years ago.
I knew that.
Local knowledge, John.
Can't beat it, eh?
The dead man's obviously
got a sense of humour.
He was interested in
how the city was built
and then he names himself
after two different blokes
who are known as Mr Newcastle.
I'll just go and, er... chase up
those choccy biscuits for you, eh?
~ Still irritating you, then?
~ Teeny bit, yeah.
~ (Lab report, sir.)
~ What?
He's lost his voice, sir.
He's got a cold, or flu, or summat.
~ (Chest infection.)
~ Thanks.
Just be happy.
Three skull fractures.
Injuries to the legs and upper body.
Injuries are consistent
with a heavy blunt force.
Could have been caused
by a fall. Blah-blah-blah.
Multiple bruises and
lacerations. Victim was beaten.
Wooden splinters found in
the skin and on the body.
~ Well, we saw them.
~ Good examiners(!)
Blood/alcohol level, 293.
Surprised he could stand up.
In no condition to defend
himself, was he?
So, who is our Mr Newcastle?
Well, let her in, Peter.
~ Anything?
~ Have you spoken to Michael?
~ Michael's not answering his phone.
~ What happened to your face?
Have you called the RVI?
What was Scottie doing exactly
the last time you saw him?
Getting a taxi, I think.
We were all stotious.
Jo, maybe you should go back home
and wait for him to turn up there.
~ (What?)
~ Jo, if you think Scottie's
done something stupid,
you should be calling the police,
not standing here staring
at me after 36 hours.
Something stupid? Like what?
My phone's still not working.
Can I use yours?
Police, please.
This way, please.
Sir?
~ Which one's the wife?
~ Er... it's the woman in the cream coat.
Who's the other two?
The bloke is Peter Magath,
the dead man's best mate,
and that's his wife, Anita.
Aye, look. Have you seen
the state of his face?
They don't seem especially
close, do they?
She called in saying that she was
worried about her missing husband
and feared for his mental state.
Her description of her husband
matches our man exactly.
I'll take them down.
No, no. Rachel, you take
her down. Sit with her.
Watch her face and remember
everything that she says.
Afterwards, assuming it is her
husband, bring her back here
and if she wants to talk, let her
talk, but don't tell her anything.
And afterwards, you bring her back
here and I'll come and find you.
~ Um...
~ What?
Do you not think she has the right
to know her husband was murdered?
No. No-one has a right
to know anything
till I know who killed Mr Newcastle.
We work for the dead, not the living.
Off you go.
Are you sure she can manage it?
She's never done it before.
Only one way to learn.
Are you ready?
Is this your husband, Mrs Parker?
I-I-I mean, yes. It's
Scott all right,
but... just the shell of what he was.
What he used to be.
(I'm sorry, Scottie.)
~ All right.
~ Where did you find him?
I, er... I don't have any details.
How did... he do it?
Do what?
Kill himself.
I'm afraid I don't know
anything about his death.
Don't know much for a copper, do you?
Are you the tea lady?
When did you last see Scott?
Night before last. Me birthday party.
Happy birthday.
~ Thanks.
~ Was it?
~ What?
~ Happy birthday.
Well, I was 40. Who wants to be 40?
I wouldn't mind.
Were you there, Mrs Magath?
'Course. We were all there.
Us, Jo, Scottie, Michael.
Michael?
~ Michael Woodruff.
~ Who's he?
Michael and me were Scottie's best
friends. Since we were kids.
Where can we find him?
Organising the bin strike.
Oh, that Michael Woodruff.
~ Good news for rats.
~ Hm!
Do you think we could take Jo home,
assuming she's identified the body?
Although it might not be him.
No, it is him.
You seem to be...
~ What?
~ Are you suspicious, or something?
No. Though I wouldn't mind finding
out who took a lump out of your face.
Oh, this. Oh, it's er...
hijinks at the party.
Michael started smashing
chairs over our heads.
Why was that?
Pissed. Wanted to
see if they'd break.
You know, like, in the pictures.
Like Lee Marvin hitting John Wayne.
Did they?
Yeah.
These are wooden, wooden chairs?
Aye. Wooden chairs.
Tell me more about this party.
~ Oh!
~ It was at our restaurant, Pete's.
Oh, the American one? Ah, right,
I've heard that's good.
~ Do you own that?
~ Aye.
No, we both own it.
~ Right. Near the cathedral?
~ Yeah.
Mighty fine ribs! We should go.
Just near the High Level.
Yeah.
Here's some tea, Mrs Parker.
I don't want a cup of tea!
Jo! Jo, it's all right!
~ Could you just...? Thank you.
~ Come on!
~ (It's all right. Come here.)
~ Where's me bag?!
(I've got it, I've got it.
It's OK. It's all right.)
~ Shock.
~ To be expected.
Yeah.
I'll need a list of all the
people who were at your party.
Also, the staff who were present.
I don't understand, Mr Gently.
My friend has taken his own life.
We need time to deal with
this as best we can.
Why are you asking for lists?
I'm sorry, didn't I make myself
clear? Scott Parker was murdered.
So I'll call round the restaurant
for that list about 7:00, all right?
~ I'm not always there.
~ Be there.
Bring your wife.
Guv, there's something very wrong.
That woman is weird.
In the mortuary, first,
she said, it isn't Scott,
just the shell of who he used to be.
And the next thing, she's banging
on about how her car got stolen
and how her house got burgled.
~ Were they?
~ I don't know, but I can find out for you.
And I think she said,
"I'm sorry, Scottie."
I'd like you to get to know
her over the next few days.
Meanwhile, we'll need everything
that we can get on Pete Magath,
Scott Parker and this other
guy, Michael Woodruff.
All right? Right.
Go on, in it goes!
Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho!
Let's not forget, there was
no money in his wallet.
It's as likely to be a street
robbery, if anything.
Nah. There was a ferocity to it.
Street robbers, they hit
you once, they're gone.
I think there was hatred
in this. A loss of control.
Gentlemen.
Looking for Michael Woodruff.
No?
Michael Woodruff?
What are you looking for him for?
That's our business.
~ What's he done wrong?
~ Who says he's done anything wrong?
This strike is not illegal and
we are not disturbing the peace.
It's got nothing to
do with the strike.
It's about Scott Parker.
I'm Michael Woodruff.
What about Scottie?
I'm afraid he's dead.
It's all right, lads.
Gone.
Just like that.
Did you see him leave the party?
Was no party by the end.
Just the three of us.
Then just me and Peter.
What time did he leave?
I don't know. 2:00?
Where had everybody gone?
Party ended pretty quick when Scott
started smashing the place to bits.
Was he angry or summat?
Aye. Smashing chairs
and the usual crap.
Peter and me tried to
stop him, but he was...
~ What?
~ He was uncontrollable.
Off his head.
Was this the game where
you were trying to see
if the chairs would break,
like they do in the westerns?
~ Eh?
~ That's what Pete Magath said.
Ah, well. Peter!
Peter's the nicest bloke
in the world, man.
Trust him to put a nice gloss on it.
The bloke was smashing
up his restaurant, man.
~ Could Scott be violent, then?
~ Yeah.
Not head-banging violent, but...
Scottie felt the world
was against him.
Take that resentment, mix it with
a couple of bottles of bourbon
and it's goodnight, Vienna.
Next day, he's full of apologies.
There's no next day this time.
Was he suicidal?
Nah.
You seem very sure about that.
All he talked about
was the future, man.
~ His head bulged with
his plans for the future.
~ What sort of plans?
This place. Newcastle!
~ Ah, right.
~ He wanted to rip it down and rebuild it.
Like Richard Grainger and T Dan.
His heroes.
Promise us one thing.
You'll not let anybody con you into
thinking Scott took his own life.
What was your last sight
of him on that night?
Staggering away from the
restaurant 2:00 in the morning,
blood on his head from
hitting the wall,
cursing us, cursing the world,
cursing God, cursing the sky,
singing at the top of his voice.
Which direction?
Towards the High Level.
Scott had no money
on him when he died.
Scottie never had any money.
Now, I know you don't
think he's a jumper,
but could he have been so drunk
that he got himself into a mess
and fell off the High Level?
What was he singing?
Um...
Oh, it was that thing, er...
Five Bridges.
Gemma?
Gemma!
Gemma?!
♪ Five bridges cross the Tyne
♪ And the city sits close by
♪ For some go north and some go south
♪ But each one seems to cry
♪ There's no good
complaining bout dirty air
♪ Because there's nothing
much else to breathe
♪ And it's no good shouting
from nine to five
♪ If you haven't got
the guts to leave
♪ You do not want to leave
♪ But then you make
yourself believe... ♪
~ Are you all right, John?
~ Yeah. Never better.
Is this all part of the celebrations?
Yeah. Me in the middle,
Scott on the left.
We were 10.
Michael Woodruff was desolate
about his friend's death.
I'm sure it's the same
for you. I'm very sorry.
I don't think I'll ever really...
.. get to grips with it all.
Was this one of the things
that was being smashed, then?
~ Oh! Where did this take place?
~ Just where you're standing.
Oh. You've cleaned
up a bit, have you?
~ Aye.
~ Why else do you pay cleaners?
Not opening tonight, then?
Mark of respect.
Here's your list.
~ Much good may it do you.
~ Thank you.
Will the names of the
cleaners be on here?
No, but I'll provide them separately
for you if you really want them.
Yes, please.
Have you always been in
the restaurant business?
No. I started out as a labourer,
installing pipe for
the oil refineries.
Anita thought we could do it cheaper
ourselves, so I borrowed some money.
Set up my own company.
Are you an engineer, then?
Hm! Nah. I'm just lucky.
Lucky that you've got a wife
that's so encouraging.
If you want to say pushy, say it.
Opening this place
was my idea, as well.
How do you do it so
cheaply? The pipes.
Non-union labour.
Yankee oil companies loved it.
What did your friend Michael
Woodruff think about that?
That's the wonderful thing
about lifelong friendships.
You don't have to like everything
about someone you really love.
Like it didn't matter
that Scott was violent?
~ Who told you that?
~ Michael Woodruff.
Michael should shut
his face now and then.
Michael doesn't think it was suicide.
Yeah, he rang me.
Why are you playing games with us?
You tell me murder, but you
ask Michael about suicide.
Well, why don't you tell me
why you assume it was suicide?
It's what Jo thinks.
So Scott Parker's wife thinks
that he's committed suicide,
but she doesn't call the
police for almost two days.
Don't you think that's
just a little bit odd?
~ Well, she is a bit odd, let's face it.
~ Nita.
~ Have you seen the way they live?
~ Nita, that's not...!
I think the woman's borderline
insane. I've always thought it.
~ You're not the best of friends, then?
~ God, no. She hates me.
Why?
Because I've got what she wants.
And everything I got, I got through
hard work and being savvy.
And everything she got, she
got on the never-never.
And where did that get Scott Parker?
At the foot of the High Level.
Sorry, gents, I think
you're dead wrong.
I think he had a million reasons
to chuck himself off
a bridge. A million.
And that's all you're
going to get out of me.
Ask Jo Parker if you want the rest.
~ Are you withholding information?
~ Yeah.
Arrest me, you jumped-up,
smarmy-faced little shitehawk!
Are you finished?
No.
So, what was your last
sight of Scott Parker?
Weaving his way down the road,
with blood down his shirt where
his head had hit the bar,
or a chair smashed over his head.
Cursing. Singing.
Those were pretty much the exact same
words that Michael Woodruff used,
except you're saying that Michael
started smashing chairs,
where he was saying it was Scott.
~ Well, maybe...
~ Nita, you weren't there, remember?!
Does it matter who smashed
the first chair?
Yeah, I think it does.
Oh, well, I'm sorry.
I can't remember!
We were all completely pissed!
All right. One more question.
Does the name Gwendolen Howard
mean anything to you?
No.
Right, just the names and addresses
of the cleaners, please, pet.
You don't have to love
everything about...
~ No.
~ You don't...
~ No, no.
~ .. about someone you like.
No. That's arse about face.
You don't have to like everything
about someone you love.
~ Someone you love.
~ It's almost a definition
of their friendship.
Something strong that
they had between them
all their lives growing up together.
Anita's a bit of a mare, isn't she?
Took a shitehawk to point
it out, didn't it?
To shitehawks everywhere!
To friendship.
To friendship.
God bless you.
You can't bring yourself to tell
me what's wrong with you, can you?
Here we go.
Why have you not shared it
with me, if we're friends?
Your hands are shaking, you keep
dropping things on the floor.
Oh, leave it out.
All right.
John, this is the way I deal
with things, OK? Besides, look.
It's gone?
Well, yeah, gone. Maybe for good.
~ Good.
~ Yeah.
~ I bet you can't do this.
~ Oh, here we go.
Very good.
Oh, yes!
I am the king!
~ Slow! Slow!
~ I, um...
I've just come to say night-night.
~ I'll, er... pop in on Mrs Parker
tomorrow, like you said.
~ Yeah.
~ You do know you've, er... got...?
~ Yeah.
~ Yeah.
I don't think she has
any respect for me.
Your house was burgled
last month, Mrs Parker?
Broke in through the back.
And they took mostly jewellery
and the television?
And a canteen of cutlery.
Silver.
~ Did you make a claim?
~ Aye.
The loss adjustor came last week.
So we should get some money back.
Not we, I.
And your car was stolen, as well.
~ Are you on your own here, Mrs Parker?
~ Yeah.
Do you work?
No, not any more. I used to, though.
No children?
No. I had a lot of
miscarriages in my 20s.
At the finish, I had a hysterectomy.
Oh, I'm sorry.
So, what will you do now?
I'm sorry to have to ask you this,
was Scott worried about
anything? Money?
The thing with Scott is
that he was so positive.
Keep your eyes on the prize.
And what was the prize?
Change. Modernisation. Progress.
Is there anybody you can
stay with for a while?
Anita.
Peter and Anita. I'll
give them a bell.
When my phone's back on.
~ I could give them a call
for you, if you like.
~ I can manage.
I've got to go out in a minute.
Right.
Have you got business here, gents?
We are waiting for
Mrs Parker to leave.
We have an arrangement
with her until she goes.
Right. And who are you, please?
Sorry.
There we are.
Estate agent. What, she's
selling the house?
Um... the mortgage was
foreclosed a month ago.
Er... repossession.
Mrs Parker's allowed to
live here until it's sold,
but she doesn't own it any more.
She's, um... a little bit fragile.
We don't show buyers around
when she's in, at her request.
She goes out.
So, they were completely
broke, weren't they?
The burglary, the car theft?
Frauds, I think, sir. I think they
got desperate to keep afloat.
~ Well, we know where the jewellery went.
~ Mm.
Maybe the mare was right.
A million reasons for him to
chuck himself off a bridge.
So, where did all the money go?
Where is this place?
It's up near the university.
City Vision Developments.
Maybe he put all of his
money into his business.
Last company accounts
showed 25 employees.
I've told Jo to meet us there.
Can I just say, I've got a lot
of respect for the both of you,
if you don't mind us saying.
I mean, I had no idea that you
were in a circus act together.
Is this supposed to
be Newcastle, this?
It's not going to happen, is it?
Scott always said it would.
He wanted to buy up all the
warehouses along the Quayside
as they fell into disuse when
the river trade fell off.
He could always see ahead, Scottie.
Did he buy those warehouses?
No. He couldn't afford them.
What he did buy was land
near the Town Moor.
That was his Phase One redevelopment.
He borrowed from banks
and investors to do it.
But the council rejected his plans.
Would they not give him
planning permission?
Nobody would help him.
Banks wanted their money back.
~ And the investors?
~ Them, as well.
So, what was the argument
against redevelopment?
I mean, I'd like to see
this sort of thing happen.
Who wouldn't?
Plenty of people. Stick-in-the-muds.
People who think development
should be not for profit.
Owned by the community.
Unions, for instance.
Michael Woodruff's union?
Michael's voice was the loudest.
Does he know you're in his chair?
He said I could. I was looking
for somewhere quiet.
I thought you were out.
Teacher's pet.
What is it you're doing, anyway?
Um... swotting on this exam.
~ Or trying to.
~ Sergeant's exam?
Yep.
Ah! What'll you do if you don't pass?
Fail.
What'll you do if you fail?
What'll you do if you fail, Rachel?
Well, I'll do it again. Do you mind?
Sorry.
Ahem! Gwendolen Howard.
Gwendolen Howard.
Did you ask Jo Parker if
she knew a Gwendolen Howard?
~ No.
~ Why not?
Because maybe I thought she
had enough on her plate
without me putting
the idea in her head
that her dead husband was
shagging summat on the side.
Right, OK, but Confucius said that
we serve the dead,
right, not the living.
I'll ring her.
She doesn't have a phone.
Inspector, Sir, please will you
not do this? It's not funny.
~ I'm really stressing over this exam.
~ All right, all right.
Yes, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Good luck.
I mean it.
Thank you.
Ahem!
Gwendolen Howard.
Hey, that's a slash!
It's Gwendolen/Howard.
Rachel?
Rachel!
~ Right...
~ Pass us the A to Z, man, will you?
~ A to Z, quick! Come on!
~ All right!
Right. Gwendolen/Howard.
~ I reckon it's a place.
~ It's not.
Do you want a bet? Ten bob.
~ You're on.
~ Gwendolen Road. Page 54, 1E.
Road crosses Howard Street, Cowgate.
Eh? Look at that!
Eh, local knowledge,
you can't beat it, eh?
You owe me ten bob.
That's me dinner tonight.
Shouldn't bet what you
can't afford to lose.
Gwendolen and Howard,
5:00 Wednesdays.
Why not?
Can I come?
No. You've got your
exams to sweat over.
Go on, son! Get yourself aboard here!
Right.
You, Percy Street!
Howay, son, up for a
bit of graft, are you?
Come on.
All right. Come on! Come on!
Right, wagons roll!
Lovely! Good man.
The lads are doing all right
here. I'll see you later, son.
Rat! Rat!
Go on, stamp on it!
I'm not paying you to catch rats!
Let them strike as long as
they want, eh, bonny lad?
That Michael Woodruff, they call
him the friend of the rats.
Good for business, I call him!
~ Ever come across Michael Woodruff?
~ Just the once.
Old man, what are you doing?!
We're not taking out washers, man!
Just the stuff that stinks!
Howay then, come on! Clear up here!
You can all start drinking
your pay, you lazy bastards!
There are issues of privacy.
I can get a court order.
Yes, I thought you might say that.
Both accounts, I take it?
~ Mrs Parker's first.
~ Mm-hm.
Basket case. Like lending
money to Bangladesh.
Debt, debts, unauthorised withdrawals,
bouncing cheques, missed deadlines.
How much?
At the last count, as of today,
£4,648, 10 shillings and four pence.
You've loaned all that
to a woman without a job?
Her husband is her guarantor.
Not any more, he's not.
No, but he was.
I thought Scott was a good bet.
Until the Planning Department
holed him below the waterline.
Mm. What did she spend it on?
Oh, come on.
Bookmakers.
Jo would bet on two drops of
water going down a window.
Do you think your bank was prudent
using its customers' savings
to finance reckless gambling?
Oddly enough, exactly what
Regional Head Office asked.
Oh.
Next time you see me, I'll be flying through
the air with me trousers on fire.
Scott must have had other
investors. Who were they?
Right.
Thank you.
What, man?
~ It's for you!
~ Eh?
It's for you!
Hello?
'Rachel.'
Sorry, Mr Gently.
Go and see Jo Parker again.
'Investors in City Vision
lost a lot of money.'
Right.
Scotch, please.
I went to see Scott's bank manager.
~ Did you?
~ Yeah.
How did it feel to lose so
much money because of Scott?
Shit, actually.
No, no, no, no. On the house, Neil.
Oh, thank you.
Yeah. Must be hard to come to
terms with something like that.
No. It's the risk you take.
Investing's a bet.
You don't bet what you
can't afford to lose.
Did Scott Parker take that advice?
No. Scott didn't.
No. Scott lost everything
he had and more, didn't he?
His ship went down with all hands.
Are you still trying to
call it murder, Mr Gently?
~ His head was full of wooden splinters.
~ So's my face.
Look. I've admitted
to you what happened.
Michael's admitted what happened.
Scottie walked out
of that door alive.
Do you know about Jo
Parker's gambling habit?
Oh, yes.
How?
Five hundredth time Scottie
blagged us for a loan,
I made him tell us where
all the money was going.
Did you tell Anita that you were
paying Jo's gambling debts?
I mean, Anita and Jo
don't get on, I know -
~ but what about Anita and Scott?
~ What about them?
Did they like each other?
Everybody liked Scottie. Everybody.
Did Scott like your wife?
What's not to like?
How long ago did the ship
go down with all hands?
~ Four months.
~ What caused it?
No planning permission.
But you and Scott still owned the
land. Surely it had some value?
Not while there was no
planning permission.
And it was hard seeing Scottie
get that decision reversed.
He went about things
all the wrong way.
The committee saw through him.
He couldn't even keep up
the rent on his offices.
Too busy keeping up
with Jo's bad debts.
Were you angry with him about that?
Nah. It was Scottie.
That's what he was like.
No point being angry
with him. Thanks.
He spent a fortune on these
unnecessary drawings
and models made by these fancy
architects from Sweden.
He was even talking about chucking
another bridge over the Tyne,
as if there aren't enough
of those already!
This all had to be paid for
and I got sick of forking out,
so he borrowed on the property.
He used property that was partly owned
by you as collateral for his own debts?
As well as his wife's?
~ Yes.
~ Did you give permission for this?
~ No.
~ Did your wife know?
There you go, bonny lad. Don't
say I never gave you nowt.
~ Mine's a pint.
~ Cheers, gaffer.
~ Good man.
All right.
Where did you dump it?
On the tip - where else?
I'll wait on, though, till
the pickets have gone home.
After dark?
Too bloody right. How'd you
find out about us, anyway?
A friend of mine has done
it before. Scottie? Scott?
Might use a different name for
the taxman. Richard Grainger?
Oh, Richard. Aye, canny enough
lad, like. Bit talkative.
Always banging on about bridges.
His hands were soft. I knew
he needed the money, you know.
Mind, he could fight if he had to.
Get in. Cheers, lad.
~ That surprised us.
~ What do you mean?
~ You know you asked us
about Michael Woodruff?
~ Aye.
The one time I come across Michael
Woodruff - hey, what a bastard he is!
Hey up, lads.
Get out of here, you bloody scabs.
Aye, man. We've got a
legitimate day's work here.
Not around here, you've not.
All right, pack it in. Come on now.
Right, move it. We're gonna go now.
Scottie!
All right, ladies. Nowt to see here.
Argh!
Argh! Argh!
Just stay down.
Scottie! What are you doing this for?
I've got nothing. I'm
on my knees, Michael.
I am on my knees! I've got nothing,
man! I've got nothing!
I am nothing.
Come on.
Aye, he could fight all right.
Never seen anybody else fight Michael
Woodruff to a standstill.
He was obsessed with
bridges, you know.
He used to say, "they're
not an invitation to leave,
"they're a door opening. A
new bridge is a new way in."
He loved the High Level
for its dark grandeur.
But he adored the Tyne Bridge
for what it said about change.
He used to point up, where
it comes into Newcastle.
"Looker, man, Jo - were
they afraid of change?
"Were they afraid to take a risk?
"They smashed through the most
beautiful Georgian houses
"to inject the A1 straight
into the heart of the city!"
That's the Scott I married.
And are you the Jo he married?
What time is it?
It's quarter past six.
You have to go. I've got
some people coming round.
All right. OK. Well. Well, maybe
I'll pop in on you tomorrow, eh?
Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow.
Right.
Where you going, pet?
I'm going to see Mrs
Parker. Any objections?
She's a bit busy at the minute.
Come back in half an hour.
What's going on here?
Who are you, like?
Look, no-one's forcing
her to do this.
There's worse ways to pay
off your debt, you know.
Forcing her to do what?
Nobody asked her to
borrow money off we.
Forcing her to do what?
Rachel.
Jo, are these men harassing you, pet?
No. Have an arrangement.
Now just go away and leave
us alone, will you?
Jo? Jo!
How often does this happen?
Wednesdays.
It's just your friend, or....?
Both we.
And how long will it go on for?
~ Till her slate's clean.
~ Do you know her husband died this week?
Nah, I didn't know that, like.
Seemed like a canny lad.
You knew him?
Yeah, he would come and complain.
~ Ask if we'd wait for the money -
usual sort of stuff you get, you know.
~ He knew?
Hey, pet, you better spend
some time in the real world.
There's a cold wind blowing out here.
Yeah, these were the clowns we saw at
the dog track, sir, do you remember?
Do their alibis stand up
for the night of the murder?
~ Yes.
~ Then we're not interested in them.
~ Ah, sir, come on, man!
It's 1969, not 1869 - why should
a woman have to sell herself
to these pigs just cos she owes them!
Rachel, if she's not being coerced,
what do you think I can do?
What law has been broken, eh?
Meanwhile I've got to catch
her husband's killer.
John!
Let's serve the dead, eh?
To hell with the living.
Find out where they drink.
What do you think gives you the right
to attack men going about their work?
Isn't their work, is
it? It's our work.
They're scabs and I batter
them whenever I can.
It wasn't really an official
strike, though, was it?
It was a wildcat strike.
Are they really scabs?
Sorry, you've brought us in here to discuss
my union's rule book, have you?
Do you hate scabs, Mr Woodruff?
With every breath in me body.
Did you hate Scott Parker, then?
Ah, that's why I'm here.
How did you find out about that?
I'm a detective.
Nah. Nothing could ever
make me hate Scottie.
Well, somebody did. He
was beaten to death.
Any ideas who did it?
I cannot tell you who he walked
into on the High Level,
but I can tell you the
world is turning nasty.
There's some really bad
people out on the streets.
We've noticed.
You could spend your time chasing them round
the block stead of me. Do summat useful.
Well, I'll look into it after
my tea. How about that?
So come on. Who started smashing
up furniture on Saturday night?
Scottie.
Why?
I don't know. He was pissed.
Whose head got the first chair?
~ Peter's.
~ Then what?
Peter smashed one over his
head. Got his own back.
Then I smashed one over
Scottie's head, then
they both smashed chairs over my
back cos they thought it was funny.
Then Scottie smashed
one round Peter's face,
then he staggered into
the bar and hurt himself
and that's when blood got spilt
and that's when we stopped.
And it was just the
three of you present?
Was that a yes?
Yes.
And you have no explanation for
this extraordinary behaviour?
Aye. And I've given
you it twice. Alcohol.
Alcohol. High jinks.
We all love each other so much
we couldn't possibly hurt each
other, even with a chair leg.
We're just three mates
having fun. You know what?
I don't believe a word of it.
Your mate was beaten to death.
~ I don't know what else to say to you.
~ Well, try answering this, then.
Why did your union veto Scott's
redevelopment plan? His city vision?
You really don't understand
the political process, do you?
We were one voice among many.
That's not a veto.
It's democracy.
I'm sure you lot are in favour of it.
Cos whenever there's a struggle
for democratic rights,
the cops are always
on the wrong side.
He needed your support.
You refused to give it
to him. Why was that?
Because, analyse the so-called
vision and guess what -
it's just another piece
of property speculation
designed to make a few guys rich.
Guys like Scott Parker.
And Peter Magath.
See, I don't understand why you
bothered hanging around them.
You despise everything
they stand for.
~ Like I told you, you don't have to like...
~ Yeah, no, yeah, no.
I've heard that one before. So this guy that
you loved, this guy that you wouldn't hurt,
you beat the shit out of him cos
he's trying to earn three quid
to pay his bills, right, and now,
he's in a fridge, with his name
tied to his toe and his skull
smashed in three places.
How many times did you hit
him with the chair leg?
Once.
What about Peter Magath? How
many times did he hit him?
~ More than once.
~ How many?
Three times. Maybe four.
Rachel, it's your exam
today, isn't it?
~ Yes, sir.
~ Well, good luck - not that you need it.
~ Thank you, sir.
~ Knock 'em dead, Rachel.
~ Thank you, sir. Inspector Bacchus?
~ That pub you were asking about?
~ Yeah?
It's the Printer's Pie in Jesmond.
Right. I'll give it a go.
Give what a go?
They've got an Aunt Sally team.
So she said, "I'm
not doing it twice"!
Hello, lads. Fancy a beer tonight?
~ Aye.
~ Yeah.
Companies House sent this over, sir.
Thank you, Peter. Hang on.
Can I call you back?
I will.
Gem, let's talk about it.
Right. Half of dark, please.
~ Ta.
~ Ta.
~ Could I have a quick word?
~ What about?
Spot of bother that
I've got myself into.
~ Somebody said you could help us out.
~ Who said?
Bloke called Tommy
Cary at the dog track.
Oh, Tommy, yeah. Yeah.
Financial bother, is it, er...?
~ John.
~ John.
Yeah. I... I lost my job.
I've taken a few too many
liabilities at once.
~ A little bit of bad luck?
~ Aye.
A bit of bad luck - knows
when to turn up, doesn't it?
Just when you least want it, usually.
What are you looking for, John?
~ £250.
~ Over what period?
Um...
Well, I'm...
I could probably just get it
back to you in two months.
Three at the most.
It's 350 after two month,
and 450 after three month.
I'd probably feel more
comfortable with three months.
~ Confident about paying us back, John?
~ Oh, aye.
Cos we're professionals.
We will take your car.
~ We will take your house if necessary.
~ I rent.
Just so you know what you're getting
yourself into. This man...
I've watched him take the rings off
the fingers off a bankrupt's wife.
And smile when he's doing it.
Tell you what - leave the
rings, take the wife.
~ She bad luck, is she?
~ It's not going well.
What's she called?
~ Gemma.
~ Good looking, is she?
~ It's always the good-looking
ones that bring trouble.
~ Ah, she's a...
She's a real beaut.
Ooh, yes. That's trouble.
That IS trouble.
Yeah, we'd like to help you, John.
Ah, fantastic. Great. That's,
that's... that's great, lads.
Could I ask for a bit of help now?
For tonight?
Like... like an advance?
Yeah, yeah, we can do that.
Have you got any identification,
proof of address, anything?
Not here, John. We've got
to be a bit discreet.
20 notes suit you?
That'd be perfect.
There's a yard out back. Meet
us there. Couple of minutes.
Right. All right.
Thanks for everything. I really appreciate
it. It's a big weight off my mind.
Well, we like to help people, John.
There's a cold wind
blowing out there.
Aye, I know. I'm all right now
- I've got me long johns on.
Tosser.
Hey! What's going on? Ow!
All right, lads. That's it.
Well done. I'll see you tomorrow.
This is your only warning.
Jo Parker is protected from now on.
You go anywhere near her ever again
and you'll regret it for the rest
of your lives. Do you understand?
Go home, get any agreements that she
entered into with you and burn them.
They won't be bothering her again.
You frighten me sometimes,
Inspector Bacchus.
Me? I'm just a pussycat.
~ Morning, Sir.
~ Morning, Harpo.
How did it go, Rachel?
Oh, yeah, how did it go?
All right, I think. I think.
Fingers crossed.
~ You'll get the result you deserve, Rachel.
~ Well, if she does, she can always re-sit.
You just couldn't resist
it, could you, eh? Is he in?
~ Yep.
~ Rachel. Sit in.
~ Really?
So you knew he was skint.
You knew he was desperate.
I knew he was skint.
Did he ask you for money
on the day he died?
Yeah. So you're telling us for
instance that you didn't know
that he was so short of money that
he was pawning his wife's jewellery?
Aye. Anita noticed the
jewellery had gone.
Yeah. Your wife noticed
it, so you knew.
Yeah.
How many times do I
have to bail him out
because she's a pathological gambler?
I don't know. I'm asking
you what you knew.
Were you aware that he took
work as a casual labourer
working as a scab
collecting rubbish bags?
~ What?
~ Which led to a public fistfight
with Michael Woodruff.
You're making that up. Those
two are like brothers.
Yeah. I had a brother like that, once.
He knocked seven sorts of shit out of me.
Or were you aware that
their debts were so severe
that Jo Parker is being physically
harassed by loan sharks?
No. No, I didn't know.
I'll find a way to help her out.
That's very nice of you.
So, we're agreed he was
desperate. You didn't know.
Or maybe you didn't want to know.
Now this all kicked off on the night
of your birthday party, yeah?
I wanted to help him.
What stopped you?
Or maybe it's a case
of WHO stopped you?
Cos your wife isn't particularly
keen on Jo and Scott Parker, is she?
You leave Anita out of this.
I'll leave your wife out of it when you
tell me the truth about what happened.
The party had finished.
Me, Scottie and Michael were
having one for the ditch.
Cowboy shit, phoney.
Phoney, phoney, phoney.
He's off.
Like you, Peter.
Hah!
Yeah. Smile, Peter.
Nicest bloke in the
world. You know what?
You're empty, man.
Empty life, empty marriage.
Look, I think we'll
call it a night, yeah?
Right, we're closed now.
Oh, Michael. Peter's stopped smiling.
Why's that, you think?
Come on, I'll take you home.
No. What did I say, eh?
That wiped the smile off his face?
Was it the bit about the marriage?
Ooh! All right, Pete.
Ah, you're just drunk.
I'll call you a taxi.
Yeah, taxi. TAXI!
~ This is phoney!
~ Ah, very clever.
Phoney cowboy shit, phoney crap life.
~ Scottie, put that chair...
~ That's phoney, like my life.
You want a piece of that.
~ Hey!
Come on, then!
End of story.
So it wasn't three drunken
boys having fun.
And it had nothing to do with
John Wayne and Lee Marvin.
It was about Scottie lashing
out. At me, and at Michael.
What did he mean by
your "empty marriage"?
He wanted to lash out at
Anita as well. He was angry.
That was it. That's all it was.
If the taxi firm had answered the
phone, if he'd got home safe...
If he hadn't died that night,
we'd all be friends again.
~ All this would be forgotten.
~ You sure?
Well, I wonder if Scott would
have forgiven you for this?
Yeah. It's a transfer of
land ownership, isn't it?
The land that Scott bought
for his vision of Newcastle
and failed to get planning
permission for.
You and your wife invested in it.
And when the bank foreclosed,
you had the right to buy it,
which you did at a knock-down price,
leaving Scott with the debts.
It's a hard world.
It's a nasty world, isn't it?
Especially when you consider
the following -
there are three directors
of this company.
You, your wife...
and Michael Woodruff,
the man whose loud voice scuppered
the planning application
upon which Scott Parker's
dreams depended.
You all shafted him.
Perhaps it's just as well he
never lived to find that out.
Go and pick them up for me,
would you, please, John?
~ Rachel, go and get Jo Parker.
~ Right, sir.
You'll find Michael at my house.
So when did Scott first
tell you about his scheme?
It was at Pete's Bar.
I've just had these plans drawn up from
the architect. Here, have a look at that.
You're spending on
architects again, man.
'What I loved about Scottie
was he had this infectious,
'naive belief in the power of
architecture, public planning,
'changing the cityscape and thus
people's lives for the better.'
Streets in the sky, houses
made of sunlight and steel.
You had to love him for
it. All mad, of course.
Pie in the sky.
Made no sense as a business venture.
So why did you invest?
Because the astonishing thing
was, somehow Scottie,
with all his barking mad ideas,
had managed to get a piece
of prime development land
for a pretty good price.
He couldn't pay for
it, unfortunately,
but that didn't seem to matter
because in some way,
it couldn't go wrong - you
know, as a business deal -
with the right people in.
And the wrong ones out.
He had a chance - the
chance of a lifetime.
He could've been rich on his share
if he'd just been willing to...
.. modify his plans.
Bin them, you mean...
.. in favour of yours.
Go easy on Anita and Michael
when you see them, Mr Gently.
They're in love.
When we were kids, the three of us...
.. Scottie was the strong
one somehow, the leader.
I was the troublemaker,
always in fights.
What makes you?
Where does it come from?
I got chucked out of the Cubs
on me first night for laughing
at the National Anthem.
Why? How did I know I
thought it was funny?
Don't forget your meeting at
the Town Hall, sweetheart,
or you'll get drummed out
the Brownies as well.
Yeah, plenty of time.
I'm going to have you
again before I go.
Are you? Don't I get a say?
Nah.
Lovely.
Peter was the cow's tail,
always hanging behind.
Why are you telling us this, Michael?
Because how is it all
these years later
I more and more get the feeling
I'm part of some plan
Peter's got worked out for us all?
All his life, people have
underestimated Peter Magath.
And now it's Inspector Gently's turn.
Oh, ignore it. It'll be somebody
selling insurance.
Police!
Jo!
It's Rachel!
Jo?!
Having a bit of trouble
locating Mrs Parker.
Your wife and Michael
are on their way.
Since there's a reasonable chance
you could be facing a charge
by the time we finish, I'm reminding
you of your right to a solicitor.
No, thanks.
Oi!
Can I have some bacon, please, and
some eggs and those cigarettes. Jo?
All right.
Go upstairs and wash your face.
Put some smart clothes
on and brush your hair.
We've got to go down to the station.
Jo, those men, they won't
be bothering you any more.
So you can forget about them.
Right, take a seat, please.
They're to have no contact with each
other and none with Peter Magath.
Same goes for Mrs Parker
when she gets here.
Were they in bed together?
Think so.
Sir.
It's come back. There's two
lads just arrived, Sir.
Why didn't you mention
this two nights ago, Neil?
Didn't think.
Didn't think or wasn't
told what to say?
You both work for Anita
and Peter Magath.
Is that just a bloody coincidence?
No, that's why we were
in the area, wasn't it?
We left Pete's Bar at about 12:40.
Mr Magath locked the door behind us
and then we went over the bridge
to a lock in, in Gateshead.
Got there about one o'clock.
We stayed just over an hour and
then came back the same way.
When we were crossing the High
Level again, about half past two,
that's when we saw him.
And you're telling me the same story?
Aye.
So you both saw Scott
Parker, alone, alive,
and on his own two feet, on the
High Level Bridge at approximately
2:30 on Monday morning?
Is that what you're telling me?
What did you say to him?
We said "Goodnight, Mr Parker".
And what did he say to you?
Nowt. He just stared
into the parapet.
He had blood on his head, but
he was standing up straight.
And you would both be prepared to
repeat this story in court, where
to tell a lie is called perjury
and carries a prison sentence?
Write it down.
Done us up like a pair of kippers.
So, what do we do now - just
let them all go home again?
If you'd like to take a seat.
A man is dead.
Between you, you four people
- supposedly his nearest
and dearest - are responsible for
that death, however it came about.
Yes, and I know that I may never
know exactly what happened.
Mrs Parker, your addiction to gambling
ruined his finances and led
him into desperation and yourself
into what amounted to prostitution.
Mrs Magath,
there was no love lost between you
and the dead man, I know that - so
at least in your case it was simple
greed, not hypocrisy like these two,
his so-called best friends.
You betrayed and cheated a man
that you'd grown up with and you
must carry that on your consciences
for the rest of your lives.
Assuming, of course, that
you have consciences.
But it's my opinion that one
or both of you killed him.
But two witnesses have come forward
- both employees of the Magaths -
who are prepared to swear that
they saw Scott Parker alive,
if not exactly well, after he left
Pete's Bar on that Sunday night.
That being the case, Mrs Parker,
I will inform the coroner that
I now have no objection to releasing
your husband's body for burial.
Jo, do you want me to take you home?
No, I'll take Jo home.
Jo, is that OK?
Come on then.
Merciful Father and Lord
of all life, we praise you
that we are made in your image
and reflect your truth and light.
Above all, we rejoice
at your gracious promise
to all your servants,
living and departed,
that we shall rise again
at the coming of Christ.
Which one of them actually
did it, do you think?
We'll never know, John, will we?
Phoney. Phoney. Completely phoney.
He's off.
Like you, Peter.
Look. I think we'll
call it a night, yeah.
Right, we're closed now.
Oh, Michael. Peter's stopped smiling.
Why's that, you think?
~ Come on.
~ No, no. What did I say, eh,
that wiped the smile off his face?
Was it the bit about the marriage?
Ooh...
You're really drunk.
I'll get you a taxi.
TAXI!
You shut it now, Scott.
I've put you down once,
don't make us do it again.
You're right, mate. You're right.
~ I said phoney.
~ Ah, great.
~ Phoney, phoney.
~ Scottie!
~ Crap. Come on then. Do
you want a bit, Michael?
~ Hey.
~ Come on, big man.
~ Stop being a bloody idiot.
~ You want a piece of that!
Come on then.
Scottie. Hey, man.
We thank you for the life
of your child, Scott.
For the love he received from
you and showed amongst us.
Above all, we rejoice that
your gracious promise
to all your servants,
living and departed...
Enough.
Come on then.
Scottie, stop!
..And we ask that in due time we may
share with our brother that clearer
vision when we shall see your face
in the same Christ as our Lord.
We now commit his body to the ground.
Earth to earth, ashes
to ashes, dust to dust.
In the sure and certain hope of
the resurrection to eternal life.
Ergh!
Urgh!
Yes, good, glad you like it,
cos Anita and I both
see this very much
being Scottie's legacy, don't we?
Very much, very much. It's
what he would've wanted.
And we're going to make sure
Jo benefits as well, aren't we?
We're family.
~ You had a brother?
~ Mm?
You said you had a brother.
Used to thump you.
Yeah. Died in the war.
In action?
Yeah. Well, diphtheria.
He was my best friend.
Until I met Isabelle.