Inspector Lewis (2006–2015): Season 7, Episode 3 - The Ramblin' Boy: Part 1 - full transcript

(LAUGHTER AND CHATTER FROM INSIDE)

I wouldn't worry.
We've got a whole wine cellar full of
the stuff.

(MURMUR OF CONVERSATION)

It's a true story.

Don't get me started on that.
Tales from med school.

It'd be better if there wasn't red
tape everywhere you turned.

Well, there is a lot of history to
protect in Oxford.

I'm just saying these planning regs,
they cripple a small business like
mine.

Maybe it's time to stop being
a small business then, Brian.

That way I might even get some
return on my investment, eh?

That's the one good thing about
Croatia.



You can do what you like
with your own property.

# He was a man and a friend always

# He stuck with me in the hard old
days

# He never cared if I had no dough

# We rambled round...
# ..in the rain and snow

# So here's to you, my ramblin' boy

# May all your ramblin'
bring you joy

# So here's to you, my ramblin' boy

(CHATTER)
Well, it's gonna be my project...

Are you all right?

I need a drink.

All right?

Fine. Thanks.

Would you like some more wine, Jack?
Oh, thank you, just a drop.



Thank you.

We're still on the wine.

I'm going onto the grain.

How wonderful.

So we can expect embarrassing jokes
any time now, then?

Jack?

Would you come over here
and help me open the dessert wine?

Come along. Good doggy.

I know he's a bit of a flirt.
Doesn't mean anything.

Thanks, Robbie.
I didn't know who else to talk to.

He said he'll pay the mortgage
and send money for the boys.

As if that's all that matters.

Well, I'll try to talk to him. This
flat he's taken?

Yeah.
Right.

I'll call him first.
Yeah.

He's blocking my calls, but he'll
listen to you.

Well, I'll do my best. I'm sure it's
just a...

People don't change that much.

Jack's a good bloke.

And thinks the world of you and the
boys. I know he does.

Top up?
Driving.

JACK: Do you want a drop more?
That'll be great.

Watch your liver.

Beverley.

(MELANCHOLY TUNE)

Jack, it's Robbie Lewis.

Just touching base.

See how you are.

Erm...give us a ring some time.

A-Any time if...

you think there's anything
I can do to help in any way.

You must miss the boys a lot and...

..well...

There you go, wild youth.

And wild lass.
Great, Dad.

More jobs like this, I can stop
doing Mr Miller's funerals.

Don't turn your nose up at funerals.
We all die. Good steady income.

Morbid.

And you...

do some studying.

I will!

Are you OK, Dad? You're not...?

No.

I'm not.

You're sure you won't...

One day at a time, yeah?

Don't worry. Sober as a judge.

Jack, can I get you a liqueur?

Thanks, no, driving.

I thought you just had to flash your
warrant card if you got stopped.

Those were the days.

(DOOR OPENS, FOOTSTEPS APPROACH)

It was really lovely.
We've had a really lovely time.

And tell me about that wallpaper.

WOMAN: Oh, God, stop!

Get away from me!

Are you getting in, then?

It's all kicking off in there.

"Stop being a small businessman?"
Who the hell does he think he is?

My boss?

(RUSTLING)

(ORGAN PLAYS)

# Having my baby

# You're the woman I love
and I love what it's doing to you

WOMAN: You're supposed to be
studying.

(HIGH-PITCHED) # I'm a woman in love
and I love what it's doing to me

# I didn't have to keep it

# Wouldn't put you through it

Gross.

That's never gonna happen to me,
babe.

Good.

That's me. Just got to hope it
sticks.

Ah, I was supposed to get my hat from
work.

Oh, Li, I knew you'd forget.

It's all right. I can go and get it.

You stand no chance.
Everyone goes as Dracula.

Yeah, but not everyone
has a beautiful corpse.

(AS DRACULA) Zere is more to Dracula
zan a set of fangs, you know?

All packed and ready to go?

Time for a last pint.

So, Pristina? Holiday resort, is it?

Not quite a resort, no.
Right.

But it's seaside?
Not exactly, sir.

I've cleared my desk. I don't think
there's anything outstanding.

You're the poster boy of police
efficiency. Try and stay that way.

Sir?
Oh, people change.

Try and keep hold of who you are.

I'm going on holiday for a week.
I'm not joining the Foreign Legion.

They wouldn't have you. Too posh.

(LAUGHTER AND CHATTER)

Ooh, hello.
Oh, leave him alone.

What?

What are you like?

I'll see you in ten minutes, tops.

(LAUGHTER AND CHATTER)

You took forever. Where is it, the
hat?

There was someone there, viewing a
body.

Never mind. Come on, the others went
in ages ago.

And put your fangs in.

(BIRDSONG AND DISTANT BELLS CHIMING)

Have a look round the immediate area.
See what you can find.

Morning, Robbie.
Laura. What have we got?

Gentleman of mature years. Been dead
some time but bit of a puzzle.

No maggots, no visible pooling.
Tongue is not distended. The
nails...

Spare us.

Best suit. Polished shoes.
Clean white hanky in top pocket.

No underpants.

No keks?

Ah, you can take the lad out of
Newcastle...

Not your usual focused self, Robbie.

Where's Hathaway?

On his holidays.
Did you ever meet Jack Cornish?

Fast-track detective, destined for
great things.

Yeah, I've met him. Why?
Well, it's just...

We were always great mates, you know,
cut from the same cloth and...

No, ignore me.

Is that it?
'Fraid not.

Saving the best till last. If I were
to say all the usual offices have
been performed...

Robbie, this gentleman has already
been put through the tender hands of
an undertaker.

Interesting?

Best before the 15th?

That was when? Last week.

You're a single bloke.
Zap it in the microwave. Be fine.

You know Jack Cornish well?
I worked with him for three years.

Well, the big gossip - that even I
can't avoid -

is he's having an affair with Tara
Faulkner.

Peter Faulkner's wife?

Pretty solid. Everyone knows.

Jack's wife doesn't.
Please, Robbie.

No wonder he's not answering the
phone. Peter Faulkner's wife?

Have you met her?

I spent a few fruitless hours
interviewing her husband.

We didn't like each other much.

So I hear. Not a good partner for an
ambitious copper.

Your pal needs
to extricate himself double quick.

Haven't you got a body to
investigate?

There's no obvious cause of death.

No broken bones. Skull is complete.

Hyoid's intact.

So not battered or strangled, then?

The soft tissues are too decomposed
to tell us anything.

And the organs have been mucked
about with.

Can't do a blood test due to the
embalming fluid in his veins.

And still no identification?

Nope. Been through all his pockets.

You're enjoying this.

I'm just wondering how you're gonna
start untangling it.

With great skill.

And without Hathaway.

Be like having one hand tied behind
your back.

There's not a lot you can do
until you find out who this gentleman
is...or was.

No. We're waiting for the search
results, ma'am. In the meantime...

Yes, come in, Grey.
Sorry, ma'am.

I'm DC Grey, sir.
Right.

I was told...

DC Grey is your right-hand man
in Hathaway's absence.

He's just out of uniform.
Is he?

Good.

Maybe you could...
Course.

Right. Yes.

A detective constable? Thank you,
ma'am.

When I asked for volunteers to work
with you,

he was the only one who put up his
hand. Be nice, Robbie.

If Inspector Morse had been nice,
I'd still be a sergeant.

Yeah, that man has got a lot to
answer for.

None of these essays lightened my
heart.

But Liam Jay, words failed me.

Where is he?

Any idea?

I thought he'd be here. Sorry.

Why should YOU be sorry? It's hardly
your fault.

Usually when work
is cribbed wholesale from the Net,

some small effort is made to
disguise the fact.

Do tell him.

At last.

How do you fancy an hour or two
busking?

You're in so much trouble.

(SIGHS)
See you later!

The Bodleian is heaving with
Americans.

We'll clean up.

You promised your dad you'd start
studying. And I will.

Come on, Luce, I need the money.

We don't all live in a cosy,
little, rent-free boat, do we?

LAURA: Oh, don't be grumpy.

Hathaway's having a holiday.

Says he is.
Oh?

Like that, is it?

Come on.

He thinks I don't know about it.

Some old churchy pals of his have
roped him in for some do-goodery.

Oh, no!
Fixing up an orphanage.

More or less press-ganged him into
it. Poor James.

Eh...

He'll fit straight back in with all
of them.

He wouldn't know fun if it jumped up
and smacked him in the gob.

Like you would?

I've had my share.

In the distant past.

Oh, you did give yourself up to wild
abandon the other night.

Friday.

Drinking in the beauty of the river,
standing in the dusk and just gazing
at the sight.

Ah, yeah, yeah. Body...

Well, I thought I saw...a body.

But, well, it wasn't.

It was a log.

What?
(PHONE RINGS)

Yeah. Lewis.

Neil Strickley.

Thanks.

Name band.

Cut off his wrist or his ankle.

Found about 100 yards from the body.

Still, it's something to work on.

Sorry. Your treat.

We're not asking you to break any
confidences.

I'm already late for my calls.

(SIGHS)

He'd been our patient for three
years. Nothing unusual about his
death. Cancer.

Do you know the family?

I don't know any families.
I just sit in there like a priest in
the confessional

and they bring me their scabs and
their limps and imagined ailments
one after another.

You like your job?

Probably as much as you like yours.

Sorry I can't be more help!

You're the undertaker?

Mr Miller, Detective Inspector
Lewis.

There's no way this is Mr Strickley.
We cremated him on Tuesday.

You'd recognise him? Of course.
I laid him out. I prepared him.

Mr Strickley was in that coffin. I
put him in it.

I drove the hearse to the
crematorium.

So why didn't you stop him
clambering out?

So you always check the name?

Yeah. Don't want to send the wrong
one off, do we?

Is that it?

Pretty much.

How do you know there's anything
inside it?

Well, it comes from the undertaker,
must be.

And it gets carried in,
so we'd know if the coffin was empty.

But it needn't be a body. It could
be...books, bricks, anything.

I always check the furnace. A spy
hole.

Coffins burn away in minutes.
Made out of rubbish mostly.

What, you can see the body in there?

Yeah.

I was on duty for Mr Strickley.

And I always, always check.

It's just a habit.

Last person to see him, you could
say.

OK, on you go.

And this is the sum total of your
knowledge?

I can remember a few lines of The
Ancient Mariner, ma'am.

The search team is still on the
scene.

And it's a favourite spot for
fly-tippers,
so it could take some time. What?

Peter Faulkner should be on that
list, sir.
According to Companies House,

he owns 80% of Miller's business.

He's an investor. That doesn't mean
he's directly involved.

It doesn't mean he isn't.

OK, you can renew your old
friendship. Just...be nice.

PETER: I have several business
interests.

Garages, construction, all sorts.

But you already know that, don't you?

I do, but I'm concentrating
on this latest investigation, sir.

When did you last have
any involvement with the funeral
company?

I look at the accounts from time to
time.

And when did you last go there?

Couple of years ago. When it opened.

So there'd be no need to take your
fingerprints
for the purposes of elimination?

Absolutely not.

And your wife?

Does she look as if she hangs around
funeral parlours?

Would it be possible to speak to
her, sir?

Tara's on holiday. And she isn't
taking calls.

Where is she staying?

No idea. Some mysterious destination.

She's run off with one of your lot.

When was this, sir?
One lovely summer's night.

The 17th. And where do you think she
might have gone?

The world's her oyster. Now I've got
work to do.

You're not worried about her, sir?

Tara is a grown woman.

Predator on predator.

Worthy opponents.

Heart-warming.
It is.

No-one I know can put up a half
decent fight.

Present company included.

I come in when Mr Miller needs
a pall bearer.

And sometimes they need me for
repatriation.

Bringing a body back from Spain or
somewhere. It pays really well.

Funny job for a student.

My dad got me it.

You were at Neil Strickley's funeral.

Anything unusual?
No.

You seem very sure?
I am.

Hmm.

"Corby Manse - 6pm, the 17th."

The police have been.
Liam, surgery is over.

They say we've lost a body. Mr
Strickley.

It was that night. It has to be.
I knew there was something weird.

You don't "know" anything. Calm down.

Why would anyone steal a body?

Why indeed? It's nothing to do with
us.

You're sweating.

Do you need something?

You were at Corby Manse four days
before the Strickley cremation?

About that.

They had one of their famous suppers.

Dr Whitby, his girlfriend, all the
usual suspects.

Sorry. Unfortunate turn of phrase.
Good evening?

Very. Everyone on good form.

How long since Peter Faulkner
had a look around his investment?

Came here? He doesn't.

I run the place.

I'm the boss.

Nine o'clock, my appointment.
How much longer?

He may have been called to an
emergency.
Has he not got a mobile phone?

You just can't get enough of me, can
you?

I'll take out a restraining order
if you don't pack it in.

Looks like another GP suicide.

No note?

Not so far.

OK, well, I won't be here long.
Reeks of whisky and the pills tell
their own tale.

Postmortem should be pretty
straightforward.

That's what you said about
Mr Strickley.

Another fine mess you got me into.

The next of kin.
Did you find him?

No, sir, that's it. His next of kin
is Tara Faulkner.

OK.

The facts so far.

Body is removed from its coffin.

Somebody else is cremated in its
place.

Peter Faulkner who owns the lion's
share of the funeral parlour

says his wife has gone off
on some mystery holiday.

And her brother is found dead.

Tara Faulkner was last seen on the
17th.

If she was killed that evening
and then cremated four days later,

this suicide could be Matt Whitby's
confession.

Sorry, I can't take it in. He killed
himself?

And you still haven't heard from
your wife, sir?

Only, as Dr Whitby's next of kin,
we really do need to speak to her.

I've already told you.

When did you last see Dr Whitby?

Not yesterday. The day before.

And this is everybody
that was at your dinner party?

WOMAN: Let me in, please! Peter!

Peter!

Peter?

Mr Faulkner?

Excuse me. Peter!
I've just come past the surgery.

Someone said...

Is it true?

But it can't be.

Not Matt. Why would he...

Probably topped himself to get away
from HER.

The limpet.

What time did you leave the party?

First to go.

I'd had enough of the humiliation.

I'm sorry?

I bored him.

He made me feel like a...
sad, old, academic spinster.

You and Dr Whitby were...?

We were together.

Sometimes.

Never quite sure if we were on or
off.

Not a match made in heaven.

Purgatory...

maybe.

LEWIS: Were you the last guests to
leave?

WOMAN: Yes, I think so.

Maybe Matt Whitby...

and I'm not sure about the policeman.

He was still there?

Might have been. Unable to tear
himself away from Tara Faulkner.

She will be in pieces about her
brother.

She didn't have any other family.

Or none that wanted anything to do
with her.

You don't like her much?

Tara Faulkner's only hobby is
upsetting people.

Banging on about her architect
or her interior designer.

The latest thing being some precious
farmhouse
in Transylvania or somewhere.

No. Croatia, that's it.

(PHONE BEEPS)

I'm not gonna make you a happy man.
I'm always happy.

My face is misleading.

The assumed suicide.
Might just be murder?

He was poisoned. A mixture of PCP,
methanol and formaldehyde.

Formaldehyde?
Embalming fluid.

Combined with the alcohol and
Diazepam. And there was some of it
in his lungs.

Any sign of bruising
to indicate he'd been held down?

Possibly, but he's been face down
on his desk all night

and it's very difficult
to find bruising through lividity.

All right, I'll have another look.

I'll try not to pester you, but if
you could...

Hurry it up? Don't push it.

You saw Dr Whitby several times
over the last few months.

Liam, isn't it? Second time we met
this week.

What were you doing at the doctor's?

It was nothing. A routine visit.

He didn't have an appointment
but Dr Whitby said he'd see him.

And he was at the Faulkners' dinner
party. A waiter.

And you work at Miller's?

What's that got to do with Dr
Whitby's death?

Probably nothing.

Can you tell us why you went to the
surgery?

It's private. Sorry.

Any objection if we take a look at
your room?

GREY: I ran a check on Dr Whitby's
mobile, sir.
He didn't seem to use it much.

No calls on the day he died.
LEWIS: OK. And no texts?

Didn't text and only ever received
one that was way back on the 20th,

10pm, just says "World Cup".

World Cup?
From a pay-as-you-go phone.

Bought that same day. Hasn't been
used since.

INNOCENT:
How's it going? This is Liam's room?

Worth a look, ma'am. Yeah, he was
at Mr Strickley's fake funeral

and he was the last patient to see
Dr Whitby.
Found anything interesting?

A couple of old Diazepam bottles
both prescribed to him.

So, not at all interesting, then?

We're getting nowhere fast.

Well, not entirely.
The Faulkners have a farmhouse

that he neglected to tell us about.
In Croatia.

And?
Well...

I'd just like a chat with
Mr Faulkner, ma'am.

Horse's mouth, and all that.

But if the species has a primary
biological urge to reproduce,

wouldn't we all want to be parents?

And don't we?

Do we?

Hi. Sorry.

Sorry, everyone. Have I missed much?

Just most of the term.

Oops.

You'd better go.

Sorry?

I'll inform your senior tutor
that you've left my course.

But that's... You need to find out
what options you have.

Whatever they are, you will not be
rejoining this course.

Must I lose TWO students?

RUTH: You have to see your senior
tutor.

You've not been sent down.

Stop it! Liam!

Most fun I've had in weeks.

You idiot.
Yeah, I am!

It's not my fault. It's in the genes.

I'm like my dad - a loser.

Your dad, call him. Tell him.
He'll know what to do.

Yeah, right. He's off on a binge,
like always.

It's what he does, Ruth, lets you
down.

Just like me.

And it didn't occur to you to mention
your Croatian property

when we asked where she might have
gone?

If you knew my wife and you'd seen
that farmhouse... It's a wreck.

It's damp, half derelict, no
electricity.

My wife wouldn't be seen dead there.

On the night of your supper party...

Oh, not again.

We believe you had an argument with
your wife.

Probably. It's how we like to round
off the day.

Can you tell me what it was about?

My client chooses not to say
anything.

Chief Superintendent Jack Cornish.

I couldn't stomach it any longer.

We had a slanging match
and the two of them left.

Together.

Do you know where Mr Miller
stores his embalming fluid?

In the embalming fluid cupboard, I
suppose.
How long do I have to take this?

Do you and your wife
often take separate holidays?

Sometimes. How would you describe
your marriage?

Heterosexual.

What the hell are you on about?

When you fought that night
after your guests left...

Argued.
I think you hit her.

Or she hit you.

We have forensics officers at your
home.

There will be forensics. I strongly
advise you to remain silent.

In the fight, I think your wife
died.

So you swapped her body
for one at the undertaker's.

Then somehow her brother found out,
so...

(KNOCKING)
What?

Sorry, sir, you're wanted downstairs
urgently. Two minutes.

Two minutes.

Chief Superintendent Innocent
said to stress it's urgent, sir.

This had better be good.

She's through there, sir.

One more minute we'd have had him
charged and locked...

I don't think you've met Mrs
Faulkner.

Sorry, guys, we're all stood down.
Search over.

All right.

And now we've got to tell her
her brother's been murdered.

Her husband's on the way down,
so she's not completely alone.

Oh, the man you reckoned had murdered
her and killed her brother to shut
him up?

That one. Do you think it'll make it
easier? Ma'am.

We're both gonna get dragged over the
coals for this. Thank you so much.

I just need a bit of help.

Get me some pills.

Say you're depressed.
No.

Right, fine, go your own way and
I'll go mine.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

You're not making any sense.
Get me some pills. Anything.

You're messing up your life
and now you want to mess up mine.

No, I don't. I won't. I'll sort
myself out.

We're over.

That's right, walk out on me.
Everyone does.

Liam...

You're not gonna do anything stupid?

Something I should have done days
ago.

Where are you going?
The police.

A shooting star.

That's what he is.

Lighting up the night sky,

exciting and amazing.

But what is he really?

They burn out, you know.

They turn into useless lumps.

Trust me.

LEWIS: Maybe if you take
Mrs Faulkner home, sir.

We will need to talk later, but it
can wait.

Oh, bloody hell, not that stupid
missing body thing again?

How many times do...
Can I see him?

Of course. I'll take you over there.

I can take her.
No.

Why isn't it YOU lying dead and cold
instead of Matt?

I want to say goodbye to him in
private.

Sir.

There's a young man wants to talk to
you. Liam Jay.

I can't talk to him at the moment.
Says it's urgent. Bit agitated, sir.

Get him to wait. Mrs Faulkner.

Who did this?

Was it a patient?

LEWIS: We don't know. I'm sorry.

It was. I know it was.

Some druggy.

He was too good to them.

I told him.

Liam Jay?
Got tired of waiting.

Call me if he turns up again.

(RINGTONE)

Maybe his sister's right.

If this...student...

Liam Jay.
..was the last patient to see him,

and we know he's on prescription
drugs.

People kill for crack cocaine, ma'am,
not Diazepam and this kid is no
killer.

Famous last words.

I know you think I'm fixated on the
Faulkners

but if Jack Cornish was looking into
their affairs and they thought he was
getting a bit too close.

Maybe they killed him? It's a bit of
a leap.

Well, he was at their party and he
has gone missing. Someone was
cremated, ma'am.

You said that was Tara Faulkner. And
now you reckon it's Jack Cornish.

It's just...a bit random, Robbie.

Well, there was a fight, and if Jack
was getting close to making an
arrest...

If, if, if. He wasn't investigating
the Faulkners.

I've spoken to his number two.

We still don't know whether Tara
Faulkner left with him. Maybe she
went off on her own.

Is anyone trying to track her
movements? We're onto the Border
Agency.

Hobson, ma'am.

Hi.

Excuse me, ma'am.

Yeah.

Right. Why don't we try and meet half
way?

I've found your ante-mortem bruising
on Dr Whitby.

Two areas of pressure either side of
the neck whilst he was sitting,

probably too drunk to fight them
off, because the bruising was pretty
light.

Final toxicology report,
nothing new, same as before.

Drunk, stomach awash with whisky
and undigested pills.

Faulkner is into whisky.
As are a lot of people.

Faulkner said,
when his wife suddenly turned up,

he said, "Not this stupid lost body
thing again."

But if she went off on the night of
the party,

she hadn't been in touch with anybody
since,

why didn't she say,
"What are you talking about?"

He'd just told her that her brother
was dead. Nah, nah, she knew.

Her and her husband pretend to be
at each other's throats,

but actually they're thick as
thieves.

Not if she ran off with Jack
Cornish.

I bet my pension she didn't.

He wouldn't have anything to do
with a woman like her.

You think it was him in that coffin,
don't you?

I hope not, but...

I think he might have been about to
uncover something...something big.

So the Faulkners killed him.

And Dr Whitby? Do you think he was
in on the murder?

I don't know yet.

But I'm sure his murder
links back to the Faulkners, too.

Never mind. There's a lad who wants
to tell me something.

Maybe he's gonna wrap up
all the answers for us nice and neat.

Looking for Liam Jay.
Didn't need him today.

OK, I'll try his girlfriend.

That number?

1966?

Used to be 1066, but we changed it.

Why would that be on Dr Whitby's
phone?

I don't follow.

The text "World Cup",
did you send it to Dr Whitby?

You've lost me, Inspector.
I never sent anything to Dr Whitby.

Who else knows the entry code?

Everyone who needs to.
How often is it changed?

Why is that open? That leads through
to the refrigeration room.

No-one?

We get some stupid kids daring each
other.

Ghouls.
Check the fridges.

What?

We haven't got anyone.

Mr Miller?

999. Ambulance!
He's dead!

Yeah, not far off!

Go on, phone now!

Come on, son. Stay with me.

Stay with me.

You think something terrible has
happened.

We don't know what's happened.

I need you to get to a farmhouse
just outside Split.

You know Split is in another
country?

Your ferret's not doing very well!
Losing his teeth.

Careful, Robbie! There'll be gas
bottles!

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